A bear in there...

12 Hours* of hardcore forced march later in sweltering heat through thick undergrowth and slashing thorn bushs :

"Vell vot now mein veely velly brave comrades?" Said Mad Cow
"Mun, ah aint goin in no cave. Ah swear - der's a bear in der!" Said Jeem Bo
"And just how do you figure Mr Bo" I asked the dreadlocked smokestack.
"Ahh just know. Aah can smell bear miles away. Had bad experiences wid bears, Dey are bastards. Mun"
"Well if there is a bear in there, it hasn't been in or out for a while - the entrance is pretty blocked with bush's and nice prickly bushes. I think its a bunny you can smell, not a bear." Said Cola
"Veely! Bunnies!, i'm so excited!" Said cowhead.
"Mmmm bunnies.... stew." Mumbled Cola
"I'm surpised he can smell anything after billowing smoke all day like a bad tempered volcano" Said Abe the Bookworm
"Aah is not bad tempered mun, ahh is coool mun. Relaxed. Chillin'. But I aint goin in no cave"
"Vel it is getting dark, Ze moon is being full tonight and ve could shelter in das cave if der is only bunnies!"
"Blue moon... you saw me standing a-"

Cola threw a silencing look at jumpsuit idiot.

"So... is there a bear in there?... or just bunnies?.. or should we just continue deeper into the forest?" I asked...

************VOTING TIME ************
Enter the cave?...y/n
If yes - who will check for bears?



* 12 hours : 2 hours walking, several hours panting, sleeping, bitching, moaning and combing hair.

If you go down to the woods today...

"Well Mun, aah say we give de Forest Road a crack mun, I 'eard on ze grapevine dat der might even be forest nymphs der. Mun" Said Jeem Bo's voice from somewhere in the middle of a new smog cloud that had formed around his head.

"Veely!?, I is soo excited!, Ve get to find das beast from bourbon maybe! unt perhaps ein nymphs as vell! I heard dat Nymphs vill clean your leiderhousen for only a penny!" exclaimed Aaahnult jumping around with excitement.

"Thats Sprites you giant furry buffoon. Some sprites sneak into you house at night and clean things up ... allegedly. I think you have to do them favours though too, you know... give up your first born, sell tupperware or your soul etc. As a side note, they cook up quite nicely with some sate sauce. Makes a nice kebab." Said Cola

"Nymphs on the other hand might try to at least get you out of that leiderhousen... but there won't be anything clean going on... and they can be quite dangerous too" Said Abe, the uppity bookworm wizard.

"They're the devil in disguise. A huh huh" said the gem spangled idiot.

"Grouff snort drool"

"Ok then people, bovines, canines, jumpsuited retards etc... I guess it's onward into the forest. I kinda do hope we find sprites... I'm feeling a little peckish. Or a bunny. mmm Bunnies" Said Cola, shouldering her pack and heading towards the dark and creepy forest.

Eventually I looked up and realised that while i'd been checking my hair I'd been left behind... so I scurried off after them. I wonder what tupperware is. Sounds a little ominous.

A fork in the road

Ok, so we've left the confines of the grassy pub and hit the road. We have to travel some distance yet to a ruin that is half buried in the ground. Cola was pretty vague about the details - telling me that I will be of great use looking for pressure switches and triggers. Not sure what she meant exactly...

Anyhow... to the conversation :

"Vell ve now huv ein choice don't ve" Said Aaahnult

"A-huh huh" Said the pointy eared twat.

"A choice?" I asked as I looked up from a piece of mirror that had somehow made it into my pocket.

"Vell, der is apparently ein monster loose about das forest!, za Beast of Bourbon! unt ve can get to the ruins though das forest ya?, i vould veely love ein new loincloth made from das Beast from Burbon ya!"

"While there are also the moors, and another fell beast - the dread Becclehoff to avoid in that direction and I for one don't want to catch what ever the hell these two freaks did that makes them do all that slow motion crap." said Cola

"Whilst both of those rumours do sound forboding did you hear about young Billy being taken by that stinking thing in the darkness down by the old coast path?" said Abe trying to look all self important and clever.

"Snuffle woof slobber grrrrowflt" said Batman, licking his wotsits.

"Soo Mun, der would seem (hiccup) to be a choice to be made mah bruvvas : de Moors mun, The Forest or the Coastal Path. Mun. And we avta shoose wun on deez paths to get der. mun. " Said Jeembo, rolling up a joint big enough to club seals to death with.

**************** AND NOW FOR THE TEST ***************

This is where things get interactive. Leave a comment, vote for a path and decide where the party heads. It will be interesting to see if there is more than 2 votes! ;-). Not sure if this will work or not... Moors, Forest or Coast Road.

The B Team

Finally.... the last member of the troupe has arrived. A bookish looking fellow, all spectacles and clumsyness. His name is Abe and he claims to be a wizard. Some people will use any excuse to wear a dress...oh..er... a Robe... he calls it.

So here we have it :

Abe : Poncy dress wearin wizard.
Cola : The rogue (she doesn't like the word thief, also the brains of the op)
Aaahnult : The warrior (the opposite of the brains of the op)
Elfis : A bard, a singer and historian. A twat.
Jeembo : A priest apparently... though he seems to worship a bottle. After seeing his plight - to be risking life and limb with these lunatics i don't much blame him.
Batman : A drooling leg humping dog with a face like a kicked in trashcan.
And me... the mighty and devilishly goodlooking Lord F.C. Falconbruger with so many talents that they couldn't possibly be listed here.

If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire...a team of professionals... but if they are busy then maybe you can hire us instead.

Idle Gossip

Another day has passed… this tavern seems to be the meeting place for a few other bands of adventurers. There are always the story tellers… tales of gold and glory… and that idiot elfis crapping on about his blue shoes every hour or so.

Here are some random snippits from random drunkards :

“Oooh arrr…. Be careful out on moors… don’t go out thaaar at night…”

“Ahh don’t know what it was… all I know is there was this eerie ‘ollow sound… like wind blowin across a bottle… and a gawd awful smell, like a big old privy bucket...then me mate billy was gone… taken in the darkness by some eeevil stinkin' thing…down by the old coast road”

"Oooh Arr... speakin of mad hatters, did yer see the ridiculous hat Zeike had on last week when 'e staggered in 'ere. 'e looks a right twat... it looks like a grass hut.

"Av yer seen thut wee lass Nicosugarsmack about?.. ahh do mis her drunken table dancin'..arr....she's a mad lass thut wun!"

“A swear.. this crazy fool came walkin up outta the ocean wearin some stupid kinda bucket on his head with pokey horns and stuff… almost looked as mad as Aaaahnult… even had a leather gimp suit on like woshername the angry girl that hangs out with that bunch. ‘E was skinny as ‘ell too.. like ‘ed been starved for weeks. ‘e looked like an angry whippet shrink wrapped in licorice.”

"Slate!, let us pray! oh mighty slate"

“Beware the beast on the moors…beware the dreaded Becclehoff… tis a fell creature of the night…”

"Woot woot!"

"Veely?, der is ein new monster loose? das beast of burbon? wot!

"Ohh Arr... young Robynn's right, it does look good in leather"

“Get yer fuggin dog orf me leg or I’ll turn im into sausages”

"He aint nothin but a hound dog..."


Sigh. Commoners… this must be how they pass their days. Making up stories.

Motley Crew

So I’ve joined up with this motley crew of adventury types… being highly skilled of course I was a shoe in for the job. They’ve even given me a nickname “NoobyPawnSacrifice” which is nice… not sure what language it is in but I’m sure it means hero or Mr Manly Man or something suitable for a Lord like myself.

Apparently Cola, the small black ..er… coloured girl is the brains of the operation. Her pointy teeth and catlike tail come from some thing bad in her ancestry where her mother was the victim of some sort of demonic spell. Nasty stuff I imagine… but she seems to have benefited by inheriting night vision and lightning fast reflexes. She also cuts a mean figure in leather, everything goes with black apparently.

Elfis, the buffoon in the white jumpsuit is a Bard. So far as I can tell his skills are in the are of playing guitar rather badly and getting in the way. He apparently is writing an epic poetic story about the group.. so if we live.. we shall be famous.

Then there’s Aaahnult the Minotaur. He’s the muscle… if something needs to be negotiated with he will negitiate it into lots of little bloody pieces. I think he’s the one who insists on bringing the elven prat in the jumpsuit because he tends to pose a lot. Posing works better with a soundtrack. Apparently they were attacked once by some nasty beast called a Becclehoff which infects one with occasional attacks of 80's slow motion montage... whatever that is.

The mad bastard outside on the box called Jeem Bo is also part of the troupe. When confronted with something they are calling the undead (I’m not sure what they are but the description (stinky cold bloodsucking bastards) makes me think of lawyers or bankers) he apparently has some power over them.

There is one other member apparently, a wizard or something who will be joining us soon. I hope he’s talented… or we’re all going to die horribly.

Oh… and the bulldog is the mascot… apparently he used to be a member of the group but something bad happened to him… not quite sure what that means. But I do wish he’d stop humping my leg.

Oh well…I think as I comb my hair and admire my reflection in a pool of spilled Slate… at least I’ll make leave a beautiful corpse.

Stool sample

Aaaaahhhhhhh…er...ouch.... what the hell happened to me?. I woke up with a barstool wedged in a place that stool is only meant to exit… not enter!.

However could that have happened?… I must have slipped and fell… like that time in the bathroom back at the castle when I er…got sick…. That time that had nothing to do with hitting my elbow on the sink when I fell off it…er… Not that I would be standing on it and looking across the courtyard into that young ladies tower window.

er… what was my point…?

Anyway… last night there may have been some drinking involved… I feel like someone’s taken a bucket of wet sand and poured it into my head. There was a lot of tale telling and carrying on. The minotaur and his crew seemed fairly well off in the gold department too.

From what scattered bit of memory I have left I think the Minotaur, the blue shoed hair piece-o-doom wearin’ hippy “Elfis”, and the black tail whipping lass they call “Cola” are adventurers or some such crap. Apparently they break into old abandoned ruins, castles, dungeons etc and liberate the leftovers of kingdoms past.

Sounds like blatant thievery to me…

Sign me up.

F word.

So I’ve been in thish shpub for hoursh now. Shlate tashts like arsh but good arsh. Oops that shounds a bit orf dunnit?. Farkin minotaur and is farkin drinking competitions. Farker. And thish orther farker elfish, alvis, whatdafark finks ‘e can shing. I tell’im ders more den sayin ‘ah huh farkin huh’ to make yerself a singer. Fancy farkin blue shooz or not. And dis... dis farken dorg... farkin buttman the barkin bullshit ..opps..snigger... dawg.. i wish the farker would git orf me farkin leg. E's gawn and drooled all over me duds the farker... at least i farkin 'ope its only drool. farker.

Oi I reckon thish farken black chick with the tale farken fancies me… I mean how could ge not cos 'om so farken alluring and all...I fink I’ll go farken pinch her arsh cos chicks dig that yeah!

A load of bull.

Ok… So it’s not actually a cow as such. I didn’t actually know these things really existed. I thought they were myths like tooth fairies, honest lawyers and true love. It’s a Minotaur. He straightens up once he’s through the door to tower at about 7ft in height, his horns only just avoiding the ceiling rafters. He wears a leather kilt and has a big cigar hanging out of his mouth… smoke curls from his large bovine nostrils.

The bulldog ‘Batman' rushes over …well... as much as a bulldog can rush and huffs and puffs around the Minotaurs hooves wagging its stumpy tail with excitement as torrents of drool plops and slops from its very lippy maw.

“Behold, Aaahnult the Amaysink. Vorsheep deis vonderful beevvfcake boody unt bask in mine glory ya” The Minotaur proclaimed in a voice that sounded like it really should belong to someone wearing a spandex leotard on a rainbow coloured parade float surrounded by a number of other similarly attired and buffed, waxed and oiled up fellows all named Percy.

Mad cow disease?

But are you gonna tell a seven foot tall half man half bull that?

I don’t think so.

Aaahnult proceeded to strike a beefy muscle flexing pose in the doorway while some other people edged their way around him. From behind Aaahnult come two more freakshows… a lithe girl with jet black skin, pointy ears and a long tail poking out of her leather pants She smiles at the barkeep, presenting a pair of catlike fangs and slaps a few coins on the grassy knoll we’re using as a bar. Following her is a near opposite, a slightly chubby fellow, also with pointed ears and tsunami of black hair oiled and slicked up in such a way that his forehead was a good 2 inches higher than the back of his head. He wears a tight white leather suit speckled with cheap gems and bits of glass. He carries a guitar of some description.

I’m starting to think I’m a lot further from home that I thought.

Batman begins

I wake up laying on a soft verdant green field…a gentle breeze blowing on my face… and then my vision clears and I realise that I’m laying on the ‘carpet’ in the pub. The wind is the huff puff panting of a bulldog with a face like a kicked in trashcan sitting 2 inches away from my face. Casually I pick myself up off the floor and right my mushroom laden stool before sitting back at the bar again. Strangely I have no muck on my face… seems to be clean… though a little wet.

“So…er…. What exactly is in this” I ask, indicating the tankard.
“Izzlate” Says the captain beardy of the good ship alcohol.
“Izzlate?... interesting…er… locally brewed?” I ask, my voice raspy.
“NahludnorIzzlate…Is…Slate. Brewedinaweesockfullorocks.”
“Ah.. Slate” I vaguely remember the mad bastard on the box outside. “Brewed where?”

I am about to ask him where Innaweesockfullorock is when the door opens and a gigantic cow walks into the bar. It’s wearing a kilt.

The bulldog barks and the beardy bartender Says “Keep it down Batman! Ye stoopid mutt!, I told ye they’d come back for ye.”

I look at the Captain Beardy behind the bar, I look at the towering kilt wearing cow man in the door way and the rotund bulldog apparently named 'Batman'... and then eye the Slate suspiciously...

Bars n mushrooms.

So here I sit in the local pub. A grubby little place with carpet that is either green or just really really needs mowing or dowsing in mold killer. Seems to be a fair array of foreigners about… people dressed for travel and such. I pick up a stool that someone knocked over, noting the mushrooms sprouting on its underside and perch myself at the ancient wooden bar.

I put one of my recently earned coins onto the grubby surface and the barkeep ambles over. He’s a stocky fellow… in fact to draw you a mental picture just imagine a big pair of brawny shoulders with Popeye type forearms attached, connect the shoulders with a beard like a rug full of mushrooms and put some eyes and a bulbous hairy nose in between the shoulders and then just add boots. He’s a dwarf.

Apparently the other side of the bar is higher than this side because he appears to be of normal height from this side. He takes the coin and dumps a metal tankard down in front of me.

Not wanting to look like a girly man I take a large manly swig of the offered beverage. My eyes water… if I’d taken a feral cat, dunked it in bucket of “make cat angry” and then slapped it a few times before trying to swallow it… well that would have hurt my throat less.

Vision... tilting....

...and the Lord said "Let Them Drink Slate or They WILL be Beaten!"...Mun.

I have found my way into town. It's a shanty array of lopsided buildings with thatched roofs (rooves?) and smoke lazily winding up into the now grey sky. The weather has cooled considerably, the air itself feels damp.

There's a rather imposing fellow standing on an overturned crate in the centre of town, right outside the local pub. He looks like something of a foreigner with his odd robes and waist length dreadlocks. In one hand he holds an enormous hammer sporting an aged and worn leather grip and quite a bit of rust. In the other he holds aloft a metal tankard which he waves about somehow without spilling its contents as he rants at the crowd.

"And the LOOOOORD said...."Let Dem Dreenk Slate or.....or... Dey Shall be Beaten!...and..." he bellows... then he looks about at the sky as if he's actually listening to someone before saying "...and... stuff...Mun"

Interesting fellow I thought as I mugged a small child in a back alley and shook all the loose change out of them before walking into the pub for a drink and some gathering of local information. Not sure if drinking slate could be good for you, surely they'd be better of lining paths and rooftops with it?.

I'm really going to have to find a way to steal...er...earn some cash to finance my trip back to my realm... sigh. When i find out just which direction it lies in.

Sigh.

Reduced to ...dare I say it... working for a living!

Oh the shame.

Lifes a Beach

I am Falconburger, Lord of the realm.

This I remember.... now. I have been away, lost at sea on an island. Attacked and chased by monkeys and coconuts. Beaten by evil men in silly hats and left to die. Enslaved by a shiny silver box. Seems that the blow to the head reconnected the bridge to my past that a coconut broke asunder after I was foolish enough to be a test pilot for a mad bastard.

So I am lord of the realm and yet i find myself sitting on a rock on a beach, once again in an unknown place. A fisherman found me adrift at sea, and when he found he couldn't use me as bait he dragged my soggy self back to land.

I asked him where he road to Castle Falconburger was, the shining beacon of modern thinking and wonderous capital of the realm to which he replied in his bizarre language "Wotareyouonabootyamudbustard?, thetoownisdoownthatroodoverthehill".

Obviosly a man whose intellect is barely above that of savage monkeys in far away lands. He did sound vaguly familiar though, so maybe i'm on my way home at least. So I'm going to head down this poor excuse for a road and see if i can find anyone who knows the way.

My biggest problem is of course that i have no money, no belongings and i look like something the cat dragged in, ate, and then threw up, licked... and then pushed under a couch with its nose to go mouldy. I look like a common begger.

As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.

It seems that we've struck something of a dry patch. Day after day we've struck no breath nor motion. We sit as idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean. There's water, water everywhere... and it seems that all the boards on the deck did shrink. Water, Water everywhere but I can't find a drop to drink.

And it pisses me off. Rastus is off his dial because he started chewing on some of the magic brown sand that makes the water go brown and yummy in The Precious. He keeps on sniggering to himself about revenge and saying "watch out, charlies in the trees" and crazy stuff like that. He's also led a raid on the Gerbil cage in the captains cabin and freed his kinsmen. So now he has a Gerbil posse.

So here I sit on the parched deck, chewing brown sand as the boat sits dead still and idle in the mirrorlike calm of the sea. The sun beats down relentlessly. I close my eyes...

Conning wakes up... extracts himself from the helmet.... and looks about. Blood and feathers lay scattered and stuck to the deck. My eyes open, I hear a hiss as the moisture in them evaporates in a puff of steam. I smile at him, my parched and dry lips crack dribbling blood.

He looks at the feathers. Notices the discarded duck head laying on the deck... (I don't like anything I'm eating to look at me unless I know her name and shes bought me dinner). I reach over and protectivly draw the shiny metal precious closer to me. My fingers hiss as they touch the hot metal. They stick for a moment. Smells funny. Like burnt chicken.

Thats funny... he looks mad... his eyes go all wide and he points at the dead duck and waves his arms about. I don't know why he's so mad... I left him a drumstick (I'm a breast man) We laugh at him, the Precious an I...then he pulls the horny helmet out of the deck and swings it at my head.

The deck tilts sideways and I feel like I'm watching it in the 3rd person...remotley... and a feel it burning on the side of my face when it slams against the deck as a well of hot darkness envelops me. As vision fades I see The Precious kicked across the deck. If I could move I'd kill him for touching it. Just before everything fades to black I see Rastus and his small gerbil Army charging at the evil viking lunatic...

Killed by a village idiot with a horny helmet. Oh, the shame of it.

A voice in the darkness.

Whispers a name that's familiar in my mind.

Falconburger.

F... a duck.

Well... how lucky am I. I crept upstairs onto the deck of this wayward vessel and found that Conning the lunatic was laying on deck unconscious. Well... kinda laying. He must have landed from an angle cos his horny helmets horns are stuck in the deck and he's kinda hanging from his helmet like some weird modern art. So at least i can sneak about without a worry. Apparently the helmet isn't enough to protect one from landing on ones head. He must just wear it for decoration. Freak.

On the upside I found the largest duck in the world sitting on the prow of the ship. I reckon its wingspan was about as wide as...as....as... a wide thing!. Like a cow. Big it was... white too. Biggest duck I've ever seen. Majestic. Awesome example of nature.

So I brained it with The Precious and took it back below decks to share with Rastus.

As I dragged the twitching meal back to the deck hatch I noticed that the sails were suddenly loosing their shape. I hope the wind picks up soon of we'll never get anywhere.

I wonder where they keep the water on this boat... I need some for the precious...can't get it from the sea cosit tastes funny.


Water, water everywhere nor any drop to drink.

Sigh. Yummy duck though.

Launched

Well... it seems that we are at sea. Apparently Rastus does NOT like the rocking motion as he has thrown up through is pipe three times. Like a whale spouting water it rockets up and coats the ceiling of the wardrobe in which we hide in a disturbing multicoloured mess. And then it slowly drips back down.

The boat started to rock while that helmeted moron was trying to get it free when there was this thunderous explosion somwhere. it was so loud that it made my very bones tremble. Then we were thrown about like ragdolls. I hit my funnybone. It wasn't funny. Someone is going to suffer for that.

Just before we launched the boat (literally by the feel of it) I thought I saw someone else creep past the cabin door. I couldn't see more than a shadow as they passed but they made an odd sound... like when you blow over the mouth of a bottle.
A hollow sound. I must have imagined it.


I'm not actually sure if , after all the flying about in noisy upside down-ness, the helmet headed Conning made it back on board or not. So its entirly possible that we're adrift at sea. Unless that was a person I saw... the hollow noise person. Maybe I'm going a little crazy. And I'm getting hungry... even the slow but steady drip drip drip of Gerbil vomit raining from the ceiling cannot quell the hunger. I'd bite the bum out of low flying duck right now.

I might have to venture up stairs and steal some food.

Lord of the Gerbils

I have decided to recruit Rastus, thats the gerbils name.... well Rastusafian Gnarf Googlewhisker the 3rd actually. Calls himself Lord too... Lord of the Gerbils. Despite his obvious pompusness (I mean... who'd go around proclaiming themself a lord and huffing and puffing and stuff if they weren't an over stuffed fop) I've decided that a talking rodent might make a usefull ally. He's combing his hair now, admiring himslef in the grimy reflection of the precious as we hid in the cupboard.

Reminds me of something but I can't think what. I use the sliver of light that creeps through the cupboard door to check my refection in my mirror as the boat in which we hide wiggles about while I ponder.

I wish that hemlet headed buffoon would hurry up and steal this boat and get us anywhere but this god forsaken island. I'm sure I can still feel that bass thrumming rumble too.

It's getting stuffy in here... Rastus is puffing on his pipe and i'm sipping yummy precious drink. Glad I'm safe in here with my friend the talking Lord of the Gerbils and not out there with the crazy people.

Last call, boarding now

As I head back down the mountain I notice a slight trembling in the ground... a rumble so low that I'm not even sure if I can really hear it or not. One might even use the word 'ominous'. I notice in the shiney (and slightly blood spattered) reflective Precious a reflection on the mountain behind me.. it seems there is more smoke.

I'm probably imagining it. It's bound to be the smouldering carcasses of the accursed hairy monkey men that were slain by my righteous hand. A hear a hollowish clonk sound behind me... right behind me. I dive into the bushes yelling "SNIPER!" again... only to see a hairy ball roll across the trail. It must have fallen from a tree. Could have brained me. I wonder what a Sniper is?

My head hurts. My body feels.... embalmed... and kinda sticky. My eyes feel like there's sand mixed with ants in them. My tongue feels like its one that someone else has sold at a second hand store and I bought it thinking i was getting a bargain. ripped off. It feels like someones used it to sweep up glass on a sandpaper floor... whatever sandpaper is. The precious tells me that its good. All good.

Up ahead I can see that dodgy Conning fellow trying to shake the boat out of the tree. Using my stunning intellect I deduce that he is stealing it. Lucky for him whoever owns it has similarly rancid taste in headgear. When he's not looking I climb aboard all stealthy like and hide in the cupboard below deck.

As I crouch there amongst the smell of leather gimp suits a gerbil lurking in the corner of the cupboard says to me "Pssst... wanna help me dig a tunnel outta here!?".

He takes a puff on a tiny pipe, smoke lazily oozes from his whiskery nostrils as he hands me a teaspoon.

Bloody Monkeys

What is going on... here I am waking up again...

Last thing I remember is that fool with he horny helmet rocketing past me screaming like a little girl. Now I find myself leaning against the Very Bad Thing at the edge of the village. The same Very Bad Thing that cored Skook like an apple before hurling the hollow remains off the edge of the cliff.

And whats this... The Precious is red... no wait... it's red a dripping... the red is blood. Oh... I see I'm covered in blood. All around me are the bloodied remains of there are giblets swinging from trees like wind chimes. Well... bloody... wet ... floppy wind chimes.. . that don't chime. They just kinds slap together wetly. And drip.

Arms... Legs.. heads... various odds and ends... lay all around me... a veritable sea of dead monkey men. I sense others watching me fearfully from the darker corners of the village. Apparently they fear coming out now.

Wait... whats that... I thought I could hear a voice... a weasely.. hollow sound... "aww maate... not nice maaaate"... no wait... must be the wind.

As I comb my bloodslick hair into place I ponder why I would have gone on such a rampage. I guess the evil monkeys must have tried to take the Precious away... so that kinda justifies mass murder. The Precious provides me with a hot black drink that gives me energy and goodness. As I sip it, flicking unidenified sticky bits of monkey off the cup and admirning my gaunt features in my mirror I decide to head back into the jungle and try to launch the boat myself. The precious will show me the way now. I can't spend my days looking for a freak who keeps gerbils locked in a cage on his boat with his Horny Helmets and Gimp Suits. It could take forever to find someone that odd.

A Penetrating Scream

I think I'm suffering from Narcolepsy.... whatever that is...the amnesia keeps on making me forget... I keep on falling asleep. I need more of Mr Coffees magic. I'm twitching so much I think my outline is constantly fuzzy.

I woke up to a rather shrill and penetrating scream to find that the Very Bad Thing had been activated, its greased up ramming attachment thrusting forward with great thrusty lard force and malicious intent.

Hmm... That had to hurt.

I assume that funny felow Skook's body then went sailing off the edge of the cliff in to the smoking hole. Well.... it had to go somewhere as its not stuck on the end of the Very Bad Thing as one might expect.

Now that other fellow, Conning the Viking has broken free... it seems terror, much like lard, is a creat lubricant and he's wriggled free of his bonds. Maybe he got some on him as Skook became the hollow man. Lard that is.

The monkeys are quite agitated. The gerbils look disappointed.

He's running towards me... I could easily grab him and hide him in this hidey hole as he runs past..

But thats not what I'm here for... I need to find someone who can sail that boat I found in the tree.

Dawn of Skook

I found some yummy mushrooms on my way down the hill into the village... the precious told me to eat them. As i got closer i realised that the two hapless silly headgear fashion victims were none other than Conning the Viking and Skook. In terrible danger and in need of rescue.

I fell asleep waiting for someone to show up to do that. Now its just on dawn and when I woke up I noticed that the Very Bad things Fisting attachment has been lined up with Skooks backside and currently sits there dripping lard and ooze onto the stony ground while he begs an whimpers. There is a black haze around his head. Flies. Drawn to the kittyhat. It does make quite a sorry sight.

If I didn't know better I'd say this Skook fellow is the kinda person who'd say "Yeah man..cool... excellent... we'll link up and play Dawn of War at 7 on thursday...yeah maaaate.....maaaaate" and then not show up. Chaos Whore.

Of course... I don't know what Dawn of War is... being an amnesiac fop lost in the jungle... it must be the mushrooms talking. And I wouldn't hold it against him...

Oh look... the monkeys are winding up the Very Bad Thing... it sounds like it's under a lot of pressure.

Lard Arse

Hmm... now they are tying the silly head gear club to odd racks that leave them bent over the edge or the precipice looking down into the smoky darkness... and they are lining up the big ram thingy with Mr Horny Helmet's backside. Oh look... one of the monkeys has a big tub of lard and he's greasing up the end of the ram.

A gerbil has just sauntered up beside me... he has a few gerbil friends... they are pointing at the bound duo near the Very Bad Thing and rubbing their paws togther. It's strangly disconcerting to hear a gerbil do the Mwa a a aaah laugh...

The mad hatters are getting quite animated now.... well as animated as one can when tied to a rack while a monkey lubes you up with lard that is...

I think I'll sneak closer so I can hear their begging. After I comb my hair of course.

Temple of the Very Bad Thing

Well here I am hiding in the bushes and spitting out bugs. I'm at the top of the slighly smokey montain looking down at small stone village. It's some kind of temple. The evil cat hat loving monkey men seem to inhabit it, though it looks like it was built by creatures larger... the doors to the buildings are about 15 feet high. Maybe the monkeys of old wore really really big hats.

More intersting is the large wooden construction that dominates one end of the village. Of course it's the dramatic end of the village that kinda hangs over a cliff overlooking a hot looking hold in the mountain. The device is very odd indeed. Tied to posts in front of it I can see two strange looking fellows. One has a horny helmet... the other has a dead cat on his head.

Drawing on my vast knowledge of engineering, ritual sacrifice, evil monkeys, torture devices, seige warfare ... of which I have none... I'd say the device could be called a "Very Bad Thing".

Especially if you're tied to a post in front of it and wearing a silly hat.

The precious tells me to wait and see where that curious fist shaped ram on the device ends up...

The precious knows best.

Crazy people

I've set off on my trek up he fiery mountain (insert dramatic music here)... well actually its more of a smoking moutain... well... when I say smoking mountain.... it more a pointy mountain that might have once smoked... or even been fiery. Or both. I'm not a mountainologist.

The precious thinks I worry too much, told me to have some more magic precious drink... apparently my nervous twitch and darting eyes were fading. Can't have that.

The precious tells us that I must climb it... so climb it I will.

I was talking to a rock earlier... called itself Sanjeev. Said it'd just been laying around for ages. It was bored though. I would have talked more to the rock but then I heard high pitched whiney voices from the jungle... "Maaate...awwwww. cmon maaaaate...not nice maaaate!".

Obviusly a crazy person by the sound of it. I said farewell to Sanjeev the rock and moved on. Can't let the crazy people catch up with me.

Sleep is for wimps

I haven't slept in days... weeks even. Its a blur. But thats OK.

The precious is lookin after me. It keeps me going. With its energising drinks. The precious is goooood.

A manky monkey man tried to take it away from me. He did covet its shinyness.

I beat him with it. I beat him till the precious was shiny and red with monkeyblood.

Bad monkey. I went to the stream to wash the blood and monkey giblets from my face. My reflection didn't look like me. Huge eyes... red rimmed... insane grin/grimace...hair out of place. The precious likes it. The precious gave me more precious drink.


Every time I hear the crack of a hairyball falling from a tree and landing on the ground I dive for the bushes screamin SNIPER!. I don't know why. What is a sniper?... i seem to be wound up fairly tight. The precious tells me thats its good to twitch like this and talk to rocks incessently.

The precious also tells me that I must climb the mountain. The smoking mountain. I will do as the precious says. After I comb my hair. I shall climb the mountain.

Getting precious

After I dusted myself off, spat out the dirt, and quickly fixed my hair with the brill cream and mirror I took a closer look at the odd item in the ground.

It was some sort of hatch... no doubt leading to a hidden research lab where I'd run into a long lost scientist ...

No wait...

It was the curved edge of some amazing massive metal flying machine buried for a millenia... and digging it up could well unleash an invasion of...

No... not that... keep on digging...

Hmm... I've unearthed an strange and archaic artifact from a civilzation no doubt lost in antiquity. I polished the dust and scraped off the dirt and muck and bugs... slowly but surely becoming obsessed with it. Its mine. The shiny. All MIIIIINEEE!...

Nobody else may touch it...

Nobody!...

Its mine...

My....

Precious!!!...

and as I sneak off into the jungle, stroking the precious, ancient words gleam in the sun like fire across the side of my precious...

"Mr Coffee"

Lost

Well... last night I slept under the boat that I found. I didn't feel comfortable about sleeping inside the boat... the way the gerbils all tried to hide behind one another everytime I entered the cabin disturbed me.

After sleeping under the Dogarella I set off back into the jungle again looking for anyone or anything that might be able to help me get theboat back in the water and drive the damn thing.

Not that I know where to sail it. I don't know where home is anymore. I don't even know what my name is.

As I wandered aimlessly looking at myself in my portable miror I tripped over something metal sticking out of the ground...

Dodgerella

As night began to fall I decided to seek shelter. So far I have seen no further evidence of the hairymen or the ministry of silly hats. Good for me of course... probably not so good for them. But thats a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

So anyway... as I fought my way though the dense and tangled undergrowth I came across a strange site. well... probably not as strange as Skook and his cathatastrophic hat of cat but still somewhat unusual. I found a boat parked half way up a tree. How the boat ended up in tree is anyones guess... but I'd say it was probably the result of extremely poor sailing. Scrawled across the hull of the boat was the name "Dodgerella". If I could get the boat out of the tree I might be able to sail the away from this cursed island. I climbed the tree and boarded the boat.

It was wedged in the tree pretty well... but by the looks of it if it could be broken free it might slide all the way down this hill and into the water. Unfortunatly though some fool had put a device upon the steering wheel... some sort of metal device called "Ye Mighty Club".... it seemed to prevent the wheel turning. I needed a key to open it.

So... I needed to find the owner... or at least the key. I looked into the cabin to see an odd assortment of objects. A black leather gimp suit, a cage that contained several worried looking gerbils, an array of oddly shaped wooden knobs, a bucket of soapy frogs, handcuffs, a wardrobe full of studded loincloths and a large helmet with two stupid looking horns poking out of it. Sigh. How was I to find out who owned the boat.

Mad Monkeys

A hairyman stepped out from behind a tree.... then another... and another... one was holding another potential cat hat it its hairly little hands...

Skook was making straining noises as he tried to pry the cat off his head... it had quite a good grip and was making suctiony noises like a fat mans bum in a bathtub as he wrestled with it.

As Conning the Viking slowly toppled over due to the overbalancing of his horny helmet I thought it best to exit stage left before one of the hairymen messed up my hair by doing unto me what they'd done unto Skook.

So run I did, into the jungle away from the evil hairymen and the ministry of silly hats. Behind me i could hear a lot of squawking and hollering rapidly fading into the distance until eventually all I could hear was the wind in the trees.

Safe at last I sat against a tree and let that warm wind blow over me... and i relaxed...

To the sound of the wind...the buzz on insects...the slithery sound of snakes...
the skittering of several large spiders... and if a spider's large enough to hear... I don't want to hear about it!... as deep growl of someithing with big teeth rumbled off in the distance... it became more and more difficult to relax.

I tried in vain to remember my name... Hawkshnitzle?, sparrowbun?, magpie..er..pie, owlhotdog? Albatrossnuts?...

sigh...

My name is...

"My name is...".... I realised that the spot in my head where my name should be lighting up in big *neon letters was unfortunately dark and lacking in name type information.

I glanced around for clues...

One of the hairball stealing hairy little men had sauntered out of the trees again... hands clasped behind its back.... I swear it looked like it was trying to whistle and look inconspicuous as it edged toward another of the fallen hairballs from the trees. Skook the Peon dropped down on his knees as it approached and tried to communicate with the native...

"Maaate...awww... c'mon Maaaaaate" He babbled....

I wondered what bizarre language he was speaking for a second and then the hairy man grabbed a nearby dead cat and jumped upon Skooks head. There was a flurry of screeching from the hairyman and Skook... and a few "Maaaate...whatcha doin? maaate....awwww maaaaaaate thats not nice maaaaaate!" and when the dust cleared the hairy man was gone... and Skook was wearing a new hat. It had a tail and a distinct cat like look about it.

Skook tried in vain to remove the hat...or rather cat... cat hat perhaps... but the aperture wrapped around his forehead was far too tight. The tail hung out over his ear... the cats dead eyes stared up at the sky. Like some demented **Davy Crockett Hat… In retrospect it was a lucky cat... lucky that it was already dead. Now ask yourself just what the aperture was.

Conning sniggered… just as a hairy ball fell from above him and impaled itself on his horny helmet… unbalancing him… and making him stumble to one side.

So there they were… Skook with his cat hat and Conning with his lopsided horny helmet. The ministry of silly hats.

“My name is…”… I pondered…

Then I heard noises rustling in the undergrowth…





* Neon : what the hell is neon?... is that word a memory?... never mind.
** Davy Crocket : not sure who this person is… a have vague memories of him having a similar hat…