Chapter 11. Da Bloo Shaman
Chapter
11. Da Bloo Shaman
Fawlty
Spelchekka looked at the "guests" through slitted eyes. With the larger orcs away with Warhuh's
Waaagh! he was interim leader of the remnant of the Hawkhatz tribe. The presence of a new shaman and three
greenskin warriors, one of whom had a regal totemic headdress, and all of whom
were bloo, was not welcome.
Neehai
Tuacrikket had taken Rychek and his escort back to the Hawkhatz' shanty town to
present them to the goblin Great Shaman.
"...an' da wun wif da Hork Hat sez he speaks for da Bloo Shaman wot
is da boss..."
Fawlty
held up his hand to silence his subordinate.
"Bring dem too da shrine."
The
centre of the squalid Hawkhatz village housed the Shrine to Mork and Gork. This was surrounded by a wide apron of earth. The soil had been beaten down to form a hard reddish
crust. Glowering idols of the twins
flanked the low timber building which was decorated with skulls and other trophies
of war nailed to or heaped against the walls.
The
inelegant structure contained all of the magical 'Fings' of the tribe, with the
exception of those which were 'Owt on Lone.'
The
idols prevented entry by the uninitiated.
To gain access, a supplicant needed to greet each idol by name. As noted earlier, differentiating the pair
was challenging, even for priests. Most
others had even odds of getting it right first time. Paradoxically, the most cunning would-be
temple thieves were the least successful because they would try "Hail Mork
and yoo too Mork," reasoning that "wun outta two ain't
bad."
In
any case, a misspoken name would lead the speaker to find themselves embedded
in the beaten earth by one or both of the idols. Even though 'remembring' is not a valued
skill among greenskins, it is possible that some might have been able to
recollect that "dat wun is Gork,"
after observing another supplicant.
However, the idols would routinely exchange position when no-one was
watching.
Mahtis
was protectively clasping Rychek to restrain his twitching dance, with Bob and
Joe standing to one side. Bessie hung
further back as she defoliated a leaf-thatched hut.
"If...IF
he's a shaman, ther's gotta be a challenj," Fawlty intoned menacingly.
Mahtis
clenched his mighty jaw and handed his spawn brother to the sauri to hold. He stepped forward, flexing his trunk like
arms.
"Not
yoo! Him!" The goblin wizard indicated Rychek. "A shaman challenj!"
"Oooh!" The crowd of goblins were impressed.
Fawlty
turned to address the press of eager greensins.
"Ya all knowz me! Wot's my
name?"
"Fatty
Skulchukka! Farty Spilsloppah! Basil Fawlty!
Frilly Suspendah!" The
goblins huddled together to argue it out.
Presently they pushed the smallest of their number forward to present
their consensus.
"Yoo
is.... Fawlty Spelchekka?" The
goblin cringed.
"Dat's
rite! And am I a shaman?" He continued to warm up the crowd.
"Yah!
S'right! Dunno! Finkso! Woss a shaman? Ouch!"
"I
yam a shaman! But... ow do ya know e'z a
shaman?" the evil goblin stabbed a
gnarled finger at Rychek's chest.
There
was a pause. "E...lookz like a
shaman...?" a timid voice called out.
Goblin
Shaman Fawlty Spelchekka had a deep green complexion. His hooked nose had a bone thrust through its
nostrils and its snotty tip almost touched his outthrust chin. His bat-wing like ears were pierced with bits
of bone and animal horn. His tattered
cloak was made of the hide of a dwarf, with the beard part turned outside in to
make a scratchy but warm lining. From
his waist hung several shrunken heads.
His bandy legs were bound with strips of rag which continued down swathe
his grubby feet like bandages. About his
outstretched wrists and upper arms were fetishes made of the scraggly feathers
of long dead vultures.
Even
in his absent state, Rychek, looked normal. At least, he looked normal for a
skink of Lustria.
Clawed
feet supported sinewy legs. His lean,
ice blue torso was balanced by a short muscular tail. Across his shoulders and back were tougher,
darker coloured scales than were found on the rest of his body. He was completely innocent of clothing. His wide grinning mouth was studded with a
regular row of needle sharp teeth. He
had a bright crest of skin stretched between a long spine of bone on his head
and the nape of his neck.
It
was clear that someone would eventually notice that Rychek did not look
terribly shaman-y at all. Bob felt the
need to divert them from this line of enquiry.
"Well...
He turned me into a newt!"
Every
eye turned to study Bob in disbelief.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
"See,"
Bob pointed at his tail.
"Oooh!"
went the gawking throng as they pressed
forwards for a closer look.
Fawlty
chose to ignore him. "Dere arr ways
of telling if 'e iz a shaman! Wot do
shamans do?" the goblin leader asked.
"Burn!
Dey burn! Shhh! Nah,
dey do... magick! Yarright Magick! Magick!"
"Wot
else duz magick?"
"More
shamans! A duck! Shaddup! Shamans and....Mork! Yah Mork! Mork! Mork! And pozzibly Gork! Yerr him too!"
"So,
why doo shamans doo magick?" Fawlty
was sure he had them now.
"....Becoz....becoz
dey knowz Mork, or pozzibly Gork?....."
"So,
ow do we know dat he knowz Mork, or pozzibly Gork?"
"Cos
he duz magick....?" Spelcchekka
silenced this one with a withering look.
"...we
could...we could...ask 'im?" someone in the crowd murmured uncertainly.
"Procisely! A Mork, or pozzibly Gork test!"
Fawlty
scurried to the two idols in front of the shrine as the spectators gasped and
shrank back several paces. The shaman studied
the statues carefully.
"Praize
Mork!" he said to the statue on the right.
The other statue turned its glowering eyes toward him and balled an
enormous stone fist as he blurted, "an' Praize Gork!" to his left as
quickly as he could get the words out.
The
idol returned to its state of dormant menace.
Fawlty ducked inside and returned moments later with one of the tribes
most precious fings.
This
was a sceptre which was surmounted by a representation of one of the
twins. The dark wooden shaft was
decorated with the obligatory shrunken heads and other fetishes. The likeness was crowned with feathers to
denote that it was the property of the Hawkhatz tribe.
Fawlty
thrust the sceptre into Rychek's hand and scuttled quickly back. The crowd retreated another few steps.
"Wot
wun of da twinz is da image on the stik?"
All
of the goblins knew that if he invoked the wrong twin, there would be one less
bloo shaman, and one more bloody crater in the town square.
Rychek
looked uncertainly at the rod in his hand.
Bob and Joe instinctively tightened their grip on his arms as an eerie
hush fell across the assemblage. The
tense silence stretched until every nerve in Mahtis's body jangled with
apprehension.
"Gawk?"
suggested Len, helpfully.
"Gork!
Gork! Gork! Gork!" Rychek burbled happily.
After a few seconds the tense onlookers released a collectively held
breath. He knew Gork from Mork, and
possibly Mork from Gork. He was a
shaman!
Fawlty
snatched the sceptre of Gork from Rychek's hand in annoyance. "Yoo are a shaman iz ya? Then wez'll hav to hav a shaman challenj ta
see who'z boss owt of uz!"
"The
Bloo Shaman accepts your challenge!"
The Bloo warrior with the Hork Hat spoke for his tiny master.
The
crowd tittered and stepped even further back.
"It
shall be....a staring competition!" Joe declared.
"Wha'?"
gasped Fawlty.
This
was a new one. Usually a shamanic
challenge would involve an exchange of curses and magical missiles which would
often leave both challengers with nasty injuries, if indeed the bodies could be
found afterwards.
The
goblin shaman considered his opponent and an evil smile crept onto his crooked
face. This bloo shaman lacked focus and
discipline. Fawlty was sure he could
best his opponent in a test of concentration.
"I
axcept da challenj!"
It
was agreed that the first challenger to blink or turn away would concede to the
victor. A wide circle was scraped onto
the rusty earth. Bob and Joe continued
to restrain Rychek as he was manoeuvred in one side of the ring. Fawlty positioned himself opposite.
Under
the malignant gaze of his gods, the greenskin shaman prepared himself. As the sun reached its zenith, he raised the
sceptre and screeched, "Da challenj baggins!"
After
the first hour the contestants remained with eyes locked. The crowd was finding it difficult to
maintain their own focus. Most
challenges would be over by now, and the population would be able to get on
with the task of rebuilding their town and recovering their scattered
livestock.
This
challenge while obviously very important was actually, incredibly dull. Boredom was a new experience for many
present, because they had rarely gone more than a few idle minutes before
getting a solid boot up the backside from the nearest orc.
Another
hour passed. The only movement was the
incessant lashing of the bloo shaman's tail and the odd bead of sweat on the
goblin's brow.
By
the middle watch of the afternoon, Fawlty's shoulders had hunched and his
forehead was creased with effort. He had
to shift weight from side to side to alleviate the ache in his legs. Rivulets of sweated trickled down his beak
like nose to splash into a growing puddle at his feet. Rychek continued to lash his tail and grin
enthusiastically.
Soon
before the fourth watch, the goblin developed an uncontrollable facial tic. He screwed up his face to try and alleviate
it. This dislodged sweat from his bushy
brow. The salty liquid trickled into one
eye and started to sting unbearably. To
his credit, Fawltyh endured for four more minutes before staggering out of the
circle, blinking furiously.
When
he had regained some semblance of composure he turned back to his vanquisher
with slumped shoulders, ready to pledge obedience to the victor. The Bloo Shaman was still maintaining his
uncanny stare.
Fawltyh
looked closer and gasped. He pointed the
sceptre in his hand at Rychek's face and shrieked, " 'E don't even hav
eyelidz, for Mork's sake!"
With
a roar of supernatural rage, the icon of Gork-on-a-Stick sprouted a pair of
colossal green arms. The enormous hands
clapped together on the greenskin shaman as if he were a mosquito to be
swatted. The arms shrank and disappeared
just as quickly as they had appeared and the sceptre clattered down onto the
blood sprayed earth.
Bob
and Joe had recoiled in alarm and released Rychek's arms at the manifestation
of the aggravated god. The disturbed
skink swooped to clutch the sceptre in his bony hand.
"Gork!
Gork! Gork! Gork!" he chirped as he waved his prize and capered around his
friends and into the crowd of admiring goblins.
Mahtis
boggled, "He IS the Bloo Shaman of Gork!"
Neehai
Tuacrikket and the assembled goblin tribe chorused, "E'z Rite!"
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