Saturday, 5 December 2015

Third batch of writing and some GS

Rike Rotshoe peered unhappily over the side of the boat. He glared at the sea. If only it could be nice and flat like the rolling plains back home, he thought. He looked around him at the other goblins crammed on the deck. They all looked as unhappy as he was. The hull of the boat crashed into yet another wave knocking a couple of goblins off their feet. Rike felt like his stomach had just leapt up into his chest and then fell back down hard into the empty cavity that it had previously filled. He fell against the rails and retched horribly over the side. ‘Feeding the fishes’ some genius had called it although now there wasn’t much with which to feed the fishes. He had long ago lost all the contents of his stomach to the hateful sea. He glared at it some more and spat a gobbet of phlegm into the water. He wished they could just land already and be done with it. He couldn’t understand why they were just sitting here like a whole flock of huge fat ugly ducks. He shook his head again and groaned.

“So cap’n, why is it that we is not attacking right now and just floating here like big fat ugly duckses?” queried Nuffnose, Nabbit’s commander of spearmen.

“It’s quite simple really,” explained Nabbit. “We is waiting for da tides to go out. That is, all this water going away. Then we can jump out onto nice dry ground and go charging all crazy-like up that beach. Ya got it?”

“Um, er, yer!” said Nuffnose and smiled stupidly in a way that only the incredibly unintelligent who firmly believe that the relatively intelligent have it all sussed out and will remind them of the plan closer to the time, can.

Nabbit smiled without any humour. “Wonderful.”

“What are they waiting for,” wondered Caelor aloud. The Sylvan kin stood around him, their animalistic forms blending with the trees and foliage that surrounded them.

“I have no idea but I do know that they cannot wait forever. We should strike now, before they have prepared whatever it is they are waiting for,” spoke Corûn  walking up behind the Sylvan lord.

“With what druid? I have nothing that can get to their ships,” came the dry reply.

“Elementals, Caelor. We need to summon elementals.” The druid spoke exasperated.

“I have not studied the summoning of elementals in depth and you know that. Cease attempting to slight me and prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

“For that which shall come,” came the quiet reply.

Corûn stomped angrily back towards where the centaurs where waiting. The great beasts had lit a fire and pranced around tearing the grassy turf apart with their heavy hooves. One, the eldest trotted over to where the druid had emerged from the thicket, carrying a bottle of dark red liquor. The centaurs called it ‘dragon’s blood’ for it put fire in one’s belly and kept one warm on even the coldest of nights. The centaurs consumed large quantities of it before going into battle for it banished their fear of death and drove them into a wild battle-rage.

“See druid, we have come and we are ready to do battle,” he said. His voice was deep and mesmerising. Corûn felt drowsy just listening to it.

The druid cleared his thoughts and let his mind rise higher than his mortal body keeping his mind clear and his judgement unimpaired by the centaur’s voice.

“That is good, for battle shall soon be upon us and we will need your blade and the blades of your kin in the coming struggle.”

“It is our honour and duty to defend the natural realm from the atrocities of all who would defile its splendour,” the centaur spoke slowly his eyes wide, locked with the old druid’s eyes. “For we wish to live in peace without disturbance and how can we accomplish this with goblin mercenaries on our shores.”

The centaur took a deep breath, never moving his eyes from Corûn’s.

“My name is Dorn,” he said after a moment. “Dorn of the Ironwoods and you are ever welcome in my house.” Dorn extended a hand in greeting.

Corûn studied the hand in front of him for a moment. It was huge and callused from many hours spent in a forge. The skin was a dark tanned green dotted with bristly brown hairs. After a moment he took the proffered hand and they shook.

“I am Corûn, Emissary of the Wild,” spoke. Dorn laughed and then smiled at the old man displaying startlingly white teeth.

“Like all druids.” And he laughed again. “Come and join us by the fire, for the day grows cold, the sky grey and who knows whether we will live to see the dawn tomorrow. Not I for one.” 

“We are about to do battle, my friend. I do not have to time to sit idly by.”

“Idly, hah! We are not sitting idly, rather we are preparing. And why should we not sit idly while our foes do the same on their great boats.”

It was a good point. Why did the goblins not just attack? What were they waiting for?

“I must leave you now for I must work magic now, to summon allies that can bring the fight to the foe. I will see you again if we both survive this.”

“And if not I will greet you in the Celestial Lodge as we prepare for the next life, my friend,” said Dorn and turned back to his war band.

Corûn turned away and marched quickly onwards up the steep slopes of the rising grassy hill that made up the land around the beach. He knew of a small river, more of a stream really, that ran its course nearby and whose mouth emptied out into the ocean. He hurried on.

Other than that, I have been doing a lot of sculpting. Well, a little bit. I have been sick and so I haven't had much energy for hobby so when I felt like sculpting I leapt into it. I am not good enough to sculpt anything lotr-ish so I did a WHFB chaos warrior. He is almost done, and I will post picks as soon as I finish of his darn left arm!
Good bye for now, and apologies for not posting anything truly riveting. Anyway, good bye!

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