to Chapter 8
Chapter 9. The Law of Six
Joe
boggled from his position on the table.
There was nowhere to run or hide.
With
exaggerated care, Akhseptsamex opened a foam lined black casket and removed
a figure. It was a fist sized leonine
beast, carved from obsidian and bedecked with gold and enamel. Wings sprouted from its shoulder blades and its
spare pair of forelimbs terminated in enormous glittering blades. The creature’s stinging tail arched up and
forwards to poise above its head.
Akhseptsamex placed the arcane construct on the table.
“My
champion is the Vengeance of Gaimsworkcheops,”
Akhseptsamex indicated the obsidian behemoth. “Special Rules: Ability to Fly, Causes
Terror, Always Strikes First, Killing Blow, Flaming Breath (Strength 4). Rulebook, pages sixty-six to seventy-nine.”
Twenty
four inches away, Joe blinked in consternation.
“Don’t
worry Joe, he doesn’t sound too bad.”
“He
is also a level four wizard and Master of the Lore of Death. Rulebook, page four hundred and
ninety-nine. Let us begin.”
“Joe,
I think you are in the poo now,"
whispered Bob.
"Kneedeep,"
Joe agreed.
"Wait! Doesn’t Joe have Special Rules, too?”
“What
do you suppose his rules to be?”
Bob
looked at his shrunken, transformed spawnkin and considered what made Joe unique
among the forces of Lustria. “Special
Rule: Chicken-stride. When fleeing, three mystic cubes are cast for
distance, with the lowest being discarded.
This represents the blessing of Los’tmabo’tl. Rulebook, page seventy-six.”
Joe
boggled at him. “Something a bit more heroic perhaps, Ribbit?” he piped in a tiny voice.
“No.” Akhseptsamex interjected, “Only I can make
inexplicable, illogical or contradictory Special Rules. If you give another rule, it must be in
keeping with the true nature of your champion.”
Bob
paused for a moment. “Okay. Special Rule:
Susceptible to Pain. In any round
of combat, the first unsaved wound Joe suffers causes him to emit a stricken,
keening wail. On a roll of six this will
ward against harm because the attacker is startled by the irritating noise and
fails his attack. Rulebook, page
forty-four.”
The
Lord of Citadel nodded his acquiescence.
"Do you wish to use some Citadel Mystic Cubes? They come in four dreary colours and have
soulless dots on each of their impractically small sides.”
“The
elite of Lustria have their own mystic cubes!”
Bob reached under the shell on his head and withdrew a pair of
shimmering cubes. Before he could place
these last on the table, Akhseptsamex snatched them away to examine them.
The
Lustrian mystic cubes were clearly priceless works of art. Somehow the two prisms caught the light and
reflected no less than eighty-three distinct and beautiful colour options. Each of the facets was detailed with vivid
representations of mighty beasts which were inlaid with pure gold. In the hand, the cubes had a reassuring
weight about them which would give their caster confidence in their ability to
manipulate the Law of Six.
Akhseptsamex
cast them on the war table several times to convince himself that they were not
loaded in any way. He glared hatefully
at Bob and returned the cubes. “They are
works of art. But no matter, I will
defeat you in battle and then I will own you.
I will destroy your special rules and you will know the true meaning of
nerfed! Your awesomeness, your jauntily
worn eggshell and your cunningly wrought dice will be the property of the
Citadel forever!
“Let
us then roll for the first turn."
Akhseptsamex’
drab die clattered to the table, revealing six boring hollow pits. “Ha!”
Bob
unleashed one of his own. The Mystic
cube flashed like fire and finished its tumble showing the image of a six
pointed, leering reptilian mask.
“I
deployed first. First turn, Lizardmen.
Rulebook, page one hundred and forty-four."
Bob
leant over the table and imperiously commanded his avatar, “Joe!
Run!”
Joe
did not hesitate. He turned and hopped
his maximum allowance of four inches.
“My
turn.” The Citadel lord gestured and the
Vengeance of Gaimsworkcheops launched skywards for a twenty inch flight. Only eight inches separated the two
miniatures. “Flaming Breath, strength 4! Rulebook, page sixty-six.”
The
animated construct released a cloud of corrosive vapour which obscured the tiny
frog.
"I
need but roll more than one to fatally wound your champion! Rulebook, page forty-two." the undead general grinned and trickled a die
out of his bony fingers.
At
the instant the cube stopped to reveal a single dot, the cloud dissipated to
reveal Joe gulping miniature frog sized lungfuls of air.
“That
was lucky, Ribbit!” he piped.
“No! There is no luck. There is only cold blooded probability. You
had one chance in six to take first turn, and one chance in six to keep your
one wound. So far, one chance in thirty
six. However, the Law of Six will right
itself. King Balance commands it.”
“Lizardmen,
Turn Two. Joe. Run some more.” Bob felt the strategy had been effective so
far. Joe hopped four more inches toward
the table edge.
“There
is no safety there.” The lord gestured
with his sceptre and the edges of the table burst into towering miniature
flames. "I declare a charge.”
Bob
weighed his chances. To flee would
almost certainly plunge Joe into the flames.
“Joe! Hold!”
“He
must master his terror first. Rulebook,
page seventy-eight. On Leadership
Level…five”
Bob
paused, “I usually use 3 cubes for this…”
“You
have but two. Roll!"
Bob
sighed and cast the exquisite pair of cubes.
They revealed a spiked lizard surmounted by three heavenly bodies, and a
flying reptile with a pair of unfeasibly large testicles.
“Five! Croak, how lucky was that?”
"Marhlecht!" Akhseptsamex cursed. “Thus far there was but one chance in one
hundred and twenty-eight. But the illusions
you call “luck” and “life” will end now.”
Only
twelve inches separated the figures. The
Citadel charge could not fail. The
Vengeance of Gaimsworkcheops swooped to crash to the table top in contact with
the hapless lizard-frog.
“Six
Killing Blow Attacks, Strength six!” The
skeleton scattered a handful of crude dice on the table.
Among
the ones and twos there glowered a cube which showed ugly pits in two rows of
three. One of the attacks would strike
home. Akhseptsamex snatched up the cube
and rolled it again to reveal another six. The blow would be fatal. The obsidian monster raised one bladed arm
and swept it down to cleave the tiny frog.
“Killing
Blow! I have defeated your champion!”
There
was a sound. A stricken, keening wail
which rose in intensity to an ear shattering crescendo. The sound had words. The sound had meaning.
"Waaa
aa aaah! Where is my tail? My tail!
Waaaaah!"
The
startled Vengeance of Gaimsworkcheops recoiled in surprise. This twitched his mighty blade off course. Unseen by Akhseptsamex, Bob had rolled a cube
which revealed a grinning, six pointed
death mask.
“Frogs
don’t have tails. Shut up, Joe.” Bob savoured the words. “Shut up, Joe.”
Joe
peered behind himself. “That was SO
lucky!”
“There
is no luck! My champion charged! You lose combat, Lizardman! Will your soldier break and run? Modified leadership value of four. Rulebook, page fifty-four.”
Bob
accidently picked up two of the tawdry citadel dice, which treacherously rolled
a total of seven. Joe would flee.
“I
will never use these uninteresting and cursed dice again!” he vowed. “Lizardmen should only use lizardmen
dice!"
Joe
was poised only four inches from the flames.
Bob retrieved the dice of the Old Ones.
“Chicken Stride requires the highest two of three cubes,” said Bob.
He
noticed the box marked “Arcane Items” from which the Citadel lord had produced
the flying carpet / invisibility cloak.
Bob spied a mystic cube and fished it out. The small, black cube contained millions of
tiny pin-pricks of blinking light, each circling a sphere of pure darkness.
“Not
the Cube of Darkness, please. It cancels
any magic spells which are in place."
Akhseptsamex looked nervous. "You can reroll one of your own dice,
if you wish.”
Bob
shrugged and gently placed the tiny black cube on the table. He tossed his brace of mystic cubes, rolling
the well endowed terradon icon and a reptilian eye. He retrieved the eye and rolled again. Another one.
Joe
leapt three inches, then stopped and cringed.
The flames were close enough to singe his slimy skin, but he remained on
the table.
“Pursue,
my Vengeance!” The skeleton hurled three
swift striding cubes at the table. Three
single dimples peeked back at him.
“Ribbit. That was really lucky” Joes eyes could not possible bulge any
further without springing from their sockets.
“There!
Is! No! Luck! You have just had your one
chance in….” Akhseptsamex paused to
calculate, “…in….four million, one
hundred and seventy-three thousand nine hundred and thirteen. However, you still flee. Rally and cease fleeing if you can! Those flames look hot…..”
The
opulent mystic cubes tumbled again. An
unblinking pair of snake eyes glowered at the Lord of Citadel.
He
spluttered, “You have rallied, but you
can perform no other actions. Citadel
Turn Three. No Movement. Magic Phase!”
He
cast a pair of tawdry dice which rolled up a six and a one. Without pause he snatched six more inferior
cubes and shouted as he hurled them at the table.
“Purple
Sun of Xereus! Rulebook, page
four-hundred and ninety-nine.”
Amongst
the dross was a pair of malevolent, but uninspiring, sixes. “Double sixes! Irresistible Force! You cannot dispel the magic!” he crowed.
An
orb of purple edged darkness materialized before the Vengeance of
Gaimsworkcheops. Joe’s froggy form was consumed.
“Can
your champion dodge Death? Test on
initiative one!” Akhseptsamex nudged one
of Bob's mystic cubes towards the saurus general.
Bob
picked up the cube and stroked it against his scaly cheek. He turned it in his hands. He blew on it. He tossed it from hand to hand. He did a lucky little dance.
"Stop
wasting time! The game is
now!" The command pierced Bob's
mind. In fright he dropped the cube and
it tumbled onto the table. Its erratic bounces
finally stilled.
A
snake eye. Akhseptsamex’ smouldering
eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
His next utterance was unspellable, and darn near unpronounceable.
“Fine!” he grated.
“Your turn four!”
“Croak.
Resolve the miscast. Rulebook, page
thirty-four.” A tiny voice reminded.
“What?”
“Two
sixes to cast Purple Sun. Irresistible
magic will reflect back on the caster.
Roll two dice. Rulebook, page
thirty-four. Ribbit.”
With
another unpronounceable curse, Akhseptsamex flung out two more dice. They totalled three. The resulting five inch wide explosion which
caused a wound to the Vengeance of Gaimsworkcheops. Joe continued to gulp and blink. He had escaped the blast unscathed.
One
more die tumbled from the Lord of Citadel’s bony fingers. Two.
With
a yelp of fear, Akhseptsamex’ animated construct prepared itself to be
permanently plunged into the Realm of Chaos.
“Lizardmen Win.
Crushing Defeat. Turn Three. That was lucky! Ribbit!”
Akhseptsamex
raised his head. His every insubstantial
fibre radiated hatred. “One chance in
one hundred and sixty-six billion, two hundred and eighty-eight million, six
hundred and ninety-three thousand nine hundred and twenty. Give or take.
"However,
you forget. I make the rules." He plucked a tiny rod out of the box marked
Arcane Items. “Earthing Rod. Reroll any results on the miscast table. Rulebook, page five hundred and four. Ha!”
He
threw two more of the treacherous Citadel dice.
Three dimples. He howled as he
flung one more against the furthest wall of the chamber. The pathetic cube ricocheted to rest at his
feet. One dimple.
The
Vengeance of Gaimsworkcheops vanished from existence with a whimper.
Somewhere
else entirely, Queen Bias, sipped from a fine china teacup and smiled sweetly
at her husband.
King
Balance glowered, red-faced, back at her.
He was bound and gagged and stuffed in the corner of the chamber that
they would share for all eternity.
Akhseptsamex
screeched in incoherent rage. With a
strength that did not seem possible, he grabbed the edge of the gaming table
and flipped it over. Joe's tiny froggy
form was flung to the floor. Dice,
incomplete models, and other bric-a-brac scattered throughout the chamber. Bob himself was knocked sprawling by the Lord
of Citadel’s tantrum.
Joe
hopped as quickly as his tiny legs would carry him to cower under the shelves
which lined the walls.
Bob
gathered himself to stand. As he did so,
he felt a cold, sharp edge under his scaly hand. He investigated. It was a cube. A small, black cube which contained millions
of tiny pin-pricks of blinking light, each circling a sphere of pure darkness.
The Cube of Darkness.
Akhseptsamex
saw what he held. “Noooooooooo!”
Without
hesitation, Bob cast the Cube of Darkness into the centre of the room. It burst open like a black flower. Every shred of magic power within the citadel
was consumed by the tiny black sphere which hovered, for an instant, before
returning to the null dimension which was its home.
The
chamber erupted in chaos. Not
Chaos. The regular kind of chaos. This was the kind of chaos which ensues when
every kind of warrior, beast and monster, of every allegiance, is
simultaneously released from a spell of miniaturisation, within the confines of
a single large room.
Troops
of halberdiers, and packs of wolves vied for dominance. Spiders, trolls and dragons chittered,
bellowed and roared their annoyance.
Even great reptilian beasts of the jungle burst out of the boxes which
had imprisoned them, and thundered from the room, smashing their own doorways
because the original ones were too small to admit them.
As
Bob cowered under the remains of the battle table, an iron like claw grabbed
him by the shoulder and dragged him to his feet.
“I salute
you, General Bob. I am T`hinker`er.”
The
claw belonged to a doughty looking Lizardmen Saurus Scar Veteran. Bob had never been treated with this much
(any) respect by such an exalted hero.
“Take
Joe with you, and escape. I have a score
to settle with this so-called Lord of Citadel.”
T`hinker`er held up a vicious implement.
“Is
that a modelling knife?” Bob gasped.
T`hinker`er
grinned evilly and advanced towards Akhseptsamex, who was struggling to rise
from beneath a rabble of smurfs. Or they
might have been Halflings. (Who cares?)
Bob
spied a large amphibian which was cowering beneath some shelves. He grabbed it and fled to the balcony. Behind him he could overhear T`hinker`er, in
a low and menacing voice, say "...and now Lord of Citadel, for the last
time, I'm going to demonstrate the difference between a conversion and an
original sculpture, even if it kills you!"
On
the edge of the balcony, Bob tucked the frog under one arm and vaulted onto the
back of a terradon which had just taken flight.
The flying reptile faltered for a moment, let out a high pitched squawk,
and furiously beat its leathery wings to leave the Citadel far behind him.
Bob
clasped the bumpy amphibian to his chest.
“Joe!” he wailed, “Why didn’t you turn back into yourself? Why aren’t you talking to me?”
The
sound of rushing wind as the terradon sped north east filled where Bob’s ear
should have been, but he fancied there was another sound. A stricken, keening wail. The sound was coming from the terradon.
Bob peeked
beneath the wing of the distressed terradon to investigate what was causing
this upset. There he saw Joe, restored
to his normal form, hanging by his claws from the scrotum of the unfortunate
flying reptile.
“What the….?”
Bob looked carefully at the warty amphibian that he had been cradling in
his arms. A blot toad, which he had
rescued by accident, scowled back at him with open hostility.
These
loathsome creatures dwelt deep in the Lustrian swamps feeding on the eggs they
found in ripperdactyl nests. The winged
ripperdactyls could be driven to a murderous frenzy just by the smell or sight
of their natural enemy.
The
ripper's distant and distressed cousin, the terradon, had suffered enough for
one lifetime and plunged toward a leafy oasis where he attempted to brush his
unwelcome payload off his tender parts and onto the crown of a date palm. Bob and his new companion soon followed as
the flying reptile shrugged them off its back.
“That
was lucky!” an impressive kroxigor observed.
Bob
had fallen from a great height to splash into the centre of the desert oasis
where Mahtis, Rychek and Bessie had paused in their journey. When Bob surfaced from the cooling waters he
had a bumpy amphibian perched on his eggshell.
“Where
is Joe?” asked Bob.
There
was another sound. A stricken, keening
wail. The sound had words. The sound had meaning.
“Waaa-aa-aaah! Get off me!
Get off me!” it seemed to say.
Rychek,
Mahtis and Bob peered upwards. In the
fronds of a tall, spiky palm tree, they could spy a distressed saurus
warrior. On his head was a collection of
sticks which formed a nest. On the nest
was a large bird with long curved beak.
The saurus warrior and the ibis competed for the title of “most
surprised”.
Joe
flapped his arms ineffectually and toppled from the tree and landed heavily on
a nonchalant bastiladon. Bessie
continued to munch on the delectable thorn bushes that grew around the
waterhole.
“That
was lucky,” observed Mahtis. “Unless you
count what happened to Joe. Where have
you been?"
Joe
and the ibis recovered their composure.
“There was this evil ruler, who wanted to nerf Bob!”
Rychek
shuddered. If Bob were nerfed, what joy
would remain in the universe? There
would be no point to existence.
The
light around them seemed to dim as if a shadow had crossed the sun, just for a
second.
“You
have something that belongs to me.”
Silhouetted
below the setting sun was a badly beaten skeleton. He looked as if he had just gone two days
against a saurus scar veteran and lost.
As he spoke, the sunlight flickered and dimmed again.
“Get
behind us, Bob. It’s you he’s
after” Rychek and Mahtis stood shoulder
to shoulder in front of their friend.
“Do
not play childish games. I will take
what is mine!” The menacing skeleton was
riding on a flying carpet of Arabyan design.
Around him was a faint aura which screamed, “Magical protection from
mundane attacks!”
Joe
stepped forward. “Great Akhseptsamex,
Lord of Citadel. You win. Bob, come forward.”
“You
can’t surrender Bob to him!” Mahtis
protested.
“Trust
me,” Joe mouthed silently.
Mahtis
and Rychek grudgingly parted. Bob
stepped forward, with the toad still perched on his shell.
“Here. Take him.
I never liked him anyway.”
Joe
snatched the startled blot toad from atop Bob’s head and flung it to the Lord
of Citadel.
Akhseptsamex
looked at the slimy amphibian cradled in his arms. “No, I didn’t mean……”
He
was interrupted by a chorus of enraged screeches. A ripperdactyl swooped out of the glare of
the setting sun and raked its claws across the Citadel Lord’s thin shoulders,
bowling him from his flying carpet. As
more rippers slashed him, Akhseptsamex curled into a ball, with the blot toad
still clutched to his breast. These
frenzied killers were the very same that had been magically imprisoned within
the Citadel. They would continue their
fearsome killing blows until the blot toad and its scent had been eradicated.
The
four lizardmen climbed onto Bessie’s howdah and steered her gently away from
the whirlwind of dust, leathery wings and frenzied claws.
As
they slipped into the gathering night, Mahtis turned to watch the downfall of
the Lord of Citadel.
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