Monday 28 April 2014

The False Moon War. Chapter 5

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Chapter 5.  The Pursuit

First there was nothing.  Nothing but an eternity of cold darkness.  Then a clear golden light.  With the light came warmth, and with the warmth, awareness.  With awareness came a sensation which at first seemed remote, but became more and more urgent and proximate.  The sensation was a sound.  A stricken, keening wail.  As Bob became more aware, he realized that the sound had meaning.  The sound had words.

"Waaa-aa-aaah!  Brain Freeze!  Brain Freeze!  Waaaaah!"

Bob snapped to full alertness.  With his vision restored he could perceive that the sound was coming from Joe.  Joe was kneeling clutching his head.  The scene was bathed in golden light, but Bob could not determine the source of the glow.  Bob found that he had a voice.

"Shut up, Joe."  Bob considered the words he had spoken.  They were good words.  He tried them again, louder.  "Shut up, Joe!"

The wail subsided to a whimper.

"All back to normal!" reassured a deep rumbling voice.  An enormous, four fingered hand reached down and set Joe on his wobbly feet.

Bob shielded his lidless eyes.  Joe's giant benefactor was bedecked with all manner of gold ornamentation from crest to scaly feet.  Every facet reflected flashes of light which were brighter than the noon day sun.

"Mahtis?" Bob enquired.

The kroxigor's massive face split into a toothy grin.  "Bob is okay, too!"

"Great! I'll just....give me a second...."

Bob tried to turn to see the other speaker but he was blinded again by the light streaming from that direction.  Moments later the radiance faded to a warm glow which Bob saw emanated from a weird contraption which was strapped to the rocklike hide of a towering bastiladon.

"What is happening?"  Bob implored.

"Good girl, Bessie!"  Rychek clambered down and gave the armoured dinosaur a scratch between her head and thoracic plates.  The beast snuffled in pleasure and nuzzled the little skink affectionately, knocking him flying.

A bastiladon of Lustria is as heavily armoured as a rock.  It is also as stubborn as a rock.  It looks like a cross between a tortoise, a lizard and a rock.  Its tail is tipped with a rock-like knob of rocky scales, which it will happily apply to friend or foe alike.  Generally the only two safe places to be are far away, or on its back.

Bessie was a bastiladon of Los'tmabo'tl.  She was unusually sweet natured, and had an appreciation of fine music.  With the Spawning of Bob, anything is possible.

Rychek explained the situation to Bob and Joe.  "The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl are frozen.  Everything is covered in ice for a league in every direction."

"Why aren't you and Mahtis frozen too?"  Joe asked.

The kroxigor beamed at Bessie,  "Bessie found us.  Good girl!"  The monster whiffled at the sound of her name.

"Bessie slipped her halter in the monster pits and found us.  She likes Mahtis because he gives her treats when the Beast Master Chief isn't watching.  She had the solar engine on her back and it thawed us out."

"The solo what?" puzzled Bob.

"Climb up and see.  Steady Bessie!"  Rychek led the pair of saurus up for a tour of Bessie's enormous back.  Secured to her back were a series of rails surmounted by wood decking.  The howdah was not strapped about her girth.  Rather, the rails were anchored with metal spikes which were driven directly into her rocky armoured plates.

At the centre of the platform was the Solar Engine.  Its sturdy frame was plated in gold.  Icons representing the sun-aspected Old One, Chotec, covered the stanchions at each corner.  The superstructure was comprised of four glistening triangular mirrors.  Closer inspection revealed no blemish or flaw upon the polished white metal, despite the fact that this device of the Old Ones had existed for at least the eight thousand years.

The centre piece of the apparatus was a cube of some opaque material.  The forward surface emitted a warm yellow glow.  The other five planes were dim.  It was held in place by five metal claws.

Below the front most reflector was a crystal lens fitted into a rotating gimbal.  This allowed the lens to be pivoted around any axis to focus anywhere within the device's forward arc.

On the rear panel was the imprint of a curious hand with five fingers.  "When you put your hand there, the square glows brighter and hotter.  The curved crystal catches the glow and directs it.  That's how we warmed you up."

Bob carefully tallied his own digits, then got Joe to check his calculations.  "That's weird.  Five fingers.  What use is five fingers?"

Joe considered.  "If you had five, you could grip your weapon with the usual four, and use the centre one for signalling."

Bob scoffed, "Don't be stupid.  Four fingers is better."

"Five fingers!"

"Four!"

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Shut up both of you!  We need to chase the ogres!"

"Wha....ogres?"

"The ogres have kidnapped Slann Lord Taisteslaikch'ken.  We weren't fully thawed when they dragged his palanquin out of the city."

"He's old enough to look after himself," sniggered Joe.  He was remembering the Slann's twenty thousandth birthday celebration last solar cycle, which he and Bob had ruined by polarizing the entire city in the catastrophic 'savoury versus sweet' party food debate.

"He can't.  He's sleeping."  Mahtis intoned.

"We must rescue him!"  Rychek implored.

"We are on picket duty.  We are meant to stop enemies getting in.  These ones are clearly going out.  Someone else's problem I'm afraid"  Bob folded his arms resolutely.

"They are taking him away!  We need to get after them."

"I'm sorry, I agree with Bob here..." Joe began.

"So you agree with me.  Four fingers is better!"  Bob smirked.

Joe signalled to him with an imaginary middle finger and continued, "....we cannot abandon our post.  Again."  He rubbed his scaly backside, the memory of the most recent kick he had received from his C.O. brought tears to his lidless eyes.

"So there is no way that I can convince you to give chase?  They are abducting our exalted lord, you know."  Rychek had a devious smile on his face.

"No, sorry.  Under no circumstance will we abandon our standing orders."  Bob rested his hand weapon on his shoulder and turned away.

"They are...FLEEING...with our Slann,"  Rychek murmured.

Bob stiffened.  "What?"

Mahtis brayed with rage, "They flee?"

"We must pursue!"  Joe screeched and sprinted into the jungle brandishing his spear, closely followed by Bob and the mighty Mahtis.

Rychek allowed himself a self indulgent smirk.

"Come on, Bessie."  He led the lumbering beast in their wake.



On the after deck of his vessel, Welhung Thunderloin muttered an obscenity and picked a feathered sting from his nose.  It was a parting gift from the accursed Lustrian bees.

They had renewed their attack on the tyrant as soon as the ogre band had moved out of the zone of ice surrounding the temple city.  The harassment had continued for the entire trek through the jungle, and ceased only when he had escaped to the safety of his ship.



Unseen by all, within the fringe of the jungle, D’an, the most skillful of Lustrian chameleon skinks muttered an obscenity and placed another poisoned dart into his blow pipe.  The previous dart had been a parting gift to the accursed ogre barbarian.

D'an had renewed his attack on the tyrant as soon as the ogre band had moved out of the zone of ice surrounding the temple city.  The harassment had continued for the entire trek through the jungle, and ceased only when the warm blooded brute had escaped to the safety of his ship.

An unfortunate juvenile terradon flapped lazily overhead.  There was a high pitched buzz, then the saurian flyer emitted a startled croak and fell dead from the sky.  With his test completed, D’an cursed again.

There was no problem with his legendary marksmanship, nor with the jungle poisons he had lovingly concocted.  The boorish oaf must have developed immunity to poison from his enforced diet of venomous jungle reptiles.

D’an broke his blow pipe over his knee and faded into the mottled shade.  His once trusted weapon had betrayed him.  If he was to protect his beloved homeland he would need to change his doctrine of warfare.  He would learn from his foes and adapt.  In the future there would be no failure, or mercy.

With a gleam of murderous hate in his eyes, he brandished a pair of bamboo sticks and vanished back into the jungle.


“ ‘Oist sail!  Ship oars, you ‘orrible lumps of porridge!”

After the torment of the gloomy jungle, Welhung could feel the life flowing back into him now that his feet were firmly planted on the deck his beloved ship.  Here he was the master.  And there were no bees.

The operation to refloat the Maw’s Jaws had been performed with practiced ease.  She had then been rowed out beyond the lee of the cape to find a south easterly breeze.

Once the billowing sails were reefed, the ship heeled well to port and she gathered way with the setting sun to her stern, and a pair of full moons on her starboard bow.

“Oi!  Rodekhil!  Lash down the frog.  I don’t want ‘im sliding all over the deck in a swell”

“Aye aye, Chief!”  Rodekhil waved a hand in reply.

“What?  What in Lunch’s name is that?”

Rodekhil started in surprise and looked at his clenched fist.  In it was grasped something that resembled a limp blue lettuce leaf, except for the baleful golden eyes which glared back at him.

Welhung prodded it with a meaty finger, and recoiled when arms and legs twitched fitfully. 

With a glimmer of recognition he said, “That’s one of them skinky priest things from the temple.  Why the ‘ell is it ‘ere?”

“Oh, yaa, right,” Rodekhil remembered.  “Well, when you said, 'Get the Chef out of my way' I thought to myself, since I’d eaten Cookie, maybe a new Chef would come in ‘andy!”

“Maw give Buttered Scones!  I said, 'Get the chaff out of my way,' you melon!”  Welhung leaned in close to inspect the lizardman.  The ogre was so near that the smell of his rancid breath made the little priest’s stomach churn.

“ ‘Ave you been carrying ‘im ‘alfway across Lustria?”

Rodekhil nodded.

The tyrant locked Caneghem’s flashing eyes.  “ ‘E’d better be able to cook…..”


The headlong pursuit by the predatory fighters did not last long.  The further the trio strayed from the warmth of the solar engine, the slower they became.  One by one they were overhauled by the plodding bastiladon.  One by one they sheepishly climbed onto the howdah.

It took no special skill to track the ogre party.  They had crushed a wide avenue through the forest understory with their ironbound boots and iron hooped wheels.  Here and there would be a cracked bone with the marrow sucked out, or a scrap of grey fur, but no sign of the fate of the slann could be found. The ogres had at least two days lead, but Bessie could continue her inexorable pace day and night, pausing only to crunch up the large tasty flowers which were scattered in the gloom.

The heroes passed the time discussing the finer points of the tactical disposition and effectiveness of the many units deployed by the Armies of Lustria.

“Razordons!”

“Salamanders!”

“Razordons!”

“Salamanders!”

“Razordons!”

“Salamanders!”

“Shut up you two !  Don’t make me come back there!”


After what seemed like an intolerably long time, Bessie burst through the curtain of trees and stood upon a wide strand near an abandoned fortified camp.  Off shore they heard the boom of sails filling with wind and saw a squat and ugly barge slide towards the horizon.  The Slann was slipping out of their reach.

Upon the howdah Bob howled in impotent rage and flung his hand weapon towards the retreating vessel.  This was a token gesture considering the range and his total lack of ballistic skill.  Rychek and Joe cursed and swore.  Beneath them, Bessie absorbed the ill temper of her riders and became agitated.

Only Mahtis kept his composure.  He began to remove the golden bracelets, torques and other adornments which he was wearing.  “Swim time!”

Joe looked at him suspiciously, “I don’t swim.”

“I only dog paddle,” Bob pantomimed an ineffectual stroke with his hands.

“How did you two get out of the spawning pool?”  Rychek wondered aloud.  “Anyway, Bessie is not aquatic.  There is nothing we can do.”

“Rats!” blurted Bob. 

Bessie thudded her club-like tail on the ground to show her empathy with her upset pasengers.


Clan Catarrh was ascendant.  Soon it would reach its zenith and eclipse even the great Clan Skryre in terms of power and warp-token wealth.  Its warlord would have a permanent place on the secretive Council of Thirteen, not as first among equals, but as supreme Lord of all Rat-kind.  He would be envied, feared and worshipped in equal measure.

This was the kind of irrational belief that most people would be put away for having.  For a long, long time.

But Under Lord Pickit Raw was not most people.  Although he had wisely abandoned his plans for the conquest of Lustria, he did not want to slink back to the skaven haunts of the Old World without a single victory.

To this end he led his few faithful remaining rats from their shallow tunnel beneath the sand.  The beast and her crew had their attention fixed out to sea.  In a few more seconds he would plunge the warpstone Sword of Abstinence through the back of the lizard-ogre-thing.

He had learnt from bitter experience that appearing in front of his enemies put them at an unfair advantage.  Far better to have a fair fight with he and his cutthroats approaching from the rear.  Much safer this way.

Suddenly one of the proposed victims shouted, “Rats!”

“Wee-ee are reevea-ee-eeled!  Flee-…..” Pickit was cut off in the middle of his warning by a bony lump the size of a cart horse which was propelled like a thunderous bludgeon by eighteen tons of agitated bastiladon.


First there was nothing but darkness.  Then a clear golden light.  With the light came awareness.  With awareness came a sensation which at first seemed remote, but became more and more urgent and proximate.  The sensation was a sound.  A stricken, keening wail.  As Bob became more aware, he realized that the sound had meaning.  The sound had words.

"Waaa-aa-aaah!  My tail!  My tail!  Waaaaah!"

Bob snapped to full alertness.  He was in an echoing tunnel, illuminated by a beam of light which shone like a lance from the back of a massive beast.   The tunnel sloped away as far as the light would carry.  Bob found that he had a voice.

"Shut up, Joe."  Bob considered the words he had spoken.  They were good words.  He tried them again, louder.  "Shut up, Joe!"

The wail subsided to a whimper.

"All back to normal!" reassured a deep rumbling voice.  An enormous, four fingered hand reached down and set Joe on his wobbly feet. 

"Mahtis?" Bob enquired. “What just happened?”

The kroxigor's massive face split into a toothy grin.  "Bob is okay, too!"

“The roof of this tunnel collapsed and we fell in when Bessie thumped her tail,” Rychek explained.  “We can’t get back up, but the tunnel goes the same way as the ship.  It must come out somewhere.  We can still rescue Taisteslaikch’ken!”

“I can’t rescue anyone.  I’ve dropped my hand weapon.” Bob moaned

Joe sniggered at him,  "Spears are better," he mouthed.

“Why not use this hand weapon?”  Mahtis picked up an odd looking sword from beside a moist pile of rags and grey fur.

“That will have to do!  Now climb on!”  Rychek was already scrambling back onto the howdah.  Bessie grumbled impatiently as the others resumed their places on her back.  When they were safely aboard she continued her dogged march.

“You know, Joe, just before the tunnel collapse, there was a squeaking sound.”

“No there wasn’t.”

“Yes, there was.”

“Wasn’t!”

“Was!”

“Wasn’t!”

“Was!”

to Chapter 6:  The Maw's Jaws, coming soon.

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