Here we go! Loyal readers (of whom I think there are but two), I present to you Chapter Ten of ye olde Donuts...
Chapter Ten
They landed on a sandy beach. Almost as soon as they arrived, they heard a shout, and in the blink of an eye they were surrounded by bristling spears.
“State thy name, imposter!” commanded one of the spearman, who was obviously the leader – he wore more ornate armour, had a fancier spear, and even had a shiny badge declaring just how special he was.
“My name is Zorgon,” Zorgon replied, “and I have come to visit the Isle of the Dead.”
“No outsider may visit the sacred Isle! You are hearby under arrest!”
“Where will you be taking us?”
“To the TOWAAAR!” replied the elf with such enthusiasm that it was obvious that he had spent hours rehearsing it infront of a mirror.
“And is there someone there who really knows there history?”
“Yes, chief constable Sayl Menayeth. He majored in it at school- wait, are you saying I don’t?”
“Have you ever heard of an elf named Filigree Donuts?”
“Well no, but-”
“Exactly. Now shut up and lead the way.” The guard turned bright pink with anger, a shade that turned more purple as the other elves started to giggle.
“Very well,” he said through clenched teeth, “But that is an insult you will regret. AND AS FOR THE REST OF YOU, GROW UP.” The other elves stifled their laughter, but you could see from their eyes that they didn’t take him seriously. Every so often one of them would snigger.
Eventually they arrived at a tall, wide tower made from white marble.
“I give you...” began the guard. He took a deep breath. “THE TOWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!”
“Very nice,” Zorgon said, “I especially liked how you pointlessly drew out the final syllable in a desperate attempt for attention. Give yourself a sticker.”
The other elves burst out laughing. The guard’s face went purple again.
“IF YOU INSULT ME ONE MORE TIME, I’LL-”
“Ooh, that’s a neet trick you’ve got there. Can you do magenta?”
The guard screamed, and fainted.
Seeing the other’s looks, Zorgon merely shrugged and said “meh. You’ve got to have some fun once in a while.”
After the elves had calmed down, they took them up the tower, and into an oval-shaped office. Sitting behind the desk in the middle was a middle-aged elf. Oddly dressed elves stood behind him, all in black, and wearing strange spectacles with tinted lenses. They looked very serious.
The elf sitting behind the desk looked up.
“I am Chief Constable Sayl Menayeth,” said the elf, “and who are you?”
“I am Zorgon, and I have come to see the tomb of Filigree Donuts.”
Realization dawned on his face.
“I see. I will escort you there immediately. By the way, I head Yrxum’s scream. Know anything?”
“Oh, he probably just saw a ghost or something.”
As promised, Sayl took them straight to the inner coast of Ulthuan. There, they got into an elegant, slender boat, and set off.
All this was watched by a cowled man sitting on a horse-drawn cart.
“How will we get across?” came a voice from the back of the cart.
“By being very shneaky.”
Before too long they arrived on the Isle. It looked unexpectedly just like a regular island. Except for the enormous swirling vortex of magic in the sky above that funnelled into the tip of pitch-black obelisk. But other than that, just a regular island.
“This way,” said Sayl, “and don’t touch the obelisk.”
Accompanying them were several of the elves that had first apprehended them, filled no longer with mirth but with stark terror.
The Isle was utterly barren, but for the obelisk, and complety flat, save for a lone cairn. It was at this cairn that Sayl Menayeth stopped.
“This is it.”
They filed in, down a few steps and into the dusty, cobwebbed cairn.
Inside the cairn was an open space. A coffin was shoved surreptiously to one side, while in the middle of of the room was a large basin. They went over to have a look.
“What the hell?” cried Admos, “A swamp, a gravestone, and... dentures?!” Indeed, the basin was filled with swamp. At the back was a gravestone, partially sunken into the bog. In front of the gravestone were a set of dentures.
“What could this mean?” wailed Admos.
“Well, I think-” Zorgon began, before Tellenin interrupted him.
“You’re always figuring these out. Why not let the rest of us have a try?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I think that we must find the grave of someone with dentures, and find something there we can use to defeat Morgus in a swamp.” Tellenin suggested.
“I think that the dentures signify a vampire,” said Groff, “so perhaps we need to go the resting place of a vampire, then find directions to the swamp were we will fight Morgus.”
“I think that the grave of this person with dentures we must go to is in a swamp, and there find directions to where Morgus actually is.” Aren mused.
“I think that the gravestone doesn’t signify an actual grave, but just somewhere that someone died,” said Blade, “so maybe we just have to find the place where a very old man died (because of the dentures), and there find instructions on how to defeat Morgus in this swamp.
“Personally, I think that we have to use the dentures to eat Morgus, killing him, and then egest the remnants in a swamp.” Admos said.
“Well who’s right, Zorgon?”
“Have you ever heard of the story of the blind men and the elephant? The one where each one was partly right, yet all were mostly wrong? Well this is just like that. Except for Admos – he’s just completely wrong.
“Groff is right that the dentures signify a vampire. Blade is right that it is not an actual grave, but just a place where someone died. Aren is right that it is in a swamp. And Tellenin is right that there we will find something we can use to defeat Morgus.
“So which famous vampire died in a swamp (supposedly)?”
“Count Mannfred!” exclaimed Groff. “We must go to Hell Fenn!” He paused. “I don’t think we have enough fu-”
Suddenly he stopped, and keeled over. There was a knife buried up to the hilt in his back. Everyone turned to the doorway. Standing there was a figure.
“See?” it said. “VERY schneaky!”
The figure leapt into the room, did a summersault, and landed behind them. Four more figures dashed into the room. One was short, one was huge, and the other two were normal sized – but one of them was giggling.
“Vampires,” breathed Zorgon.
Zorgon drew his dagger and turned to face the vampire behind him. Blade charged to meet the serious one. Tellenin, Admos, and Aren readied there weapons, but were thrown to the floor as the huge one barrelled into them.
“BAAF FRUG SMASH!” he bellowed.
The short vampire ran towards Sayl.
The giggling one sighed, and rushed over to help Baaf Frug.
Zorgon stabbed with his dagger, but the sneaky vampire turned out of the way. As he did so, his hand whiplashed out, and several needles flew through the air, killing many of the high elves. As soon as they hit the floor, they immediately staggered to their feet and charged at the still living elves.
As Blade clashed blades with the vampire, he heard it say:
“When you meet the devil, tell him Motor von Carstein sent you.”
Baaf Frug drew a horrifically large sword, and swung it down at Tellenin, who just managed to roll out of the way. Aren leapt to his feet and slashed at the huge vampire’s back with his sword. He was rewarded with a club-like elbow in the face. Admos just managed to get up in time to defend himself from the now hysterical vampire’s leading attack.
Sayl parried the short vampire’s first lunge with ease, and brought his sword around at the vampire’s head. The vampire ducked, and drove his long knife into Sayl Menayeth’s crotch. Sayl Menayeth’s cry was cut short as another knife was driven into his gut.
“Ming-Mong Cheese is too shneaky for you!” said Ming as he whirled and danced, avoiding Zorgon’s thrusts. The vampire had not even drawn his weapon yet.
Motor parted Blade’s swords with a deft stroke and lunged towards his heart. Blade quikly parried, and twisted his hand, directing Motor’s sword into the ground. The other sword went straight through the vampire’s face.
Baaf Frug swung his sword again, this time at Aren. Aren dived out of the way. Before the lumbering terror could recover, Tellenin slapped his face with her staff. Baaf did a twirl, and slumbed to the ground.
Admos awkwardly deflected another lunge, before swinging his sword around so that the flat of the blade hammered into the side of the vampire’s head. The as yet untested strength vampirism had given drove the steel hard, sending the flailing, limp body of the other vampire wheeling away.
“Whoa.”
The short vampire did a backflip towards the unchecked Blade.
The lving High Elves were outnumbered by the zombies, and dismayed that their once friednsd were attacking them. But, reluctantly, they fought back. One High Elf drove his spear deep into the belly of a zombie. The zombie hissed in return, and slashed the tip of its spear across the elf’s chest. The elf sharply withdrew his spear, and the xombie cried out as its guts and entrails went with it.
The short vampire’s head snapped back as the butt of the spear shaft rammed into his forhead. The campire tumbled to the ground.
Ming-Mong Cheese became a swirling cloak as Zorgon’s dagger once more slashed through thin air. The cloak reformed into Ming, who promptly slapped Zorgon across the face.
“Lol!”
Then he saw that all of his compatriots were either dead or unconscious.
“Uh-oh! Time to go!” And with that, he vanished.
They looked around. Bodies of elves littered the floor. Groff lay face-down on the floor, the dagger still buried in his back. One elf remained standing, the bodies of his friends all around him. He had lost his helmet, letting down his flowing blond hair. His eyes had a wild, terrified look, and blood splattered his face, hands and spear. There was a diagonal slash across his chest. He looked at them.
They heard a groan. They turned around to see Sayl propping himself up. Blood dripped from a wound in his gut and from between his legs.
“Are you alright?” asked the elf in the voice of a perfect tenor.
“Yes, Syriol, I’m fine,” replied the wounded Sayl, “Yes, the wounds are deep, but nothing important was damaged.” He smiled painfully as he realized how wrong he was. “Except for the fact that I won’t be having any children. And anyway, at my time of life, sex starts to loose its appeal. You may think I’m bonkers, but it’s true. I’m afraid I won’t be able to stand for a while, so you’ll have to help me.”
Syriol helped him to his feet, and supported him.
“What about them?” asked Tellenin, motioning to the unconscious vampires. Two of them had bleeding head wounds which were already starting to congeal, while the other was fortly whistling in deep sleep.
“Do not kill them. It is against our code to harm a helpless being. I would take them myself, but as you can see I am a little short on men.” He sighed sadly.
“Don’t worry, we’ll help,” Zorgon replied. Blade grabbed the medium-sized one and slung him over his sholders. Aren grabbed the small one’s ankles and carried him behind his back. Zorgon beckoned to Admos to help him with the huge one.
“But... But...”
“Shut it, you idle fool. We’re the strongest here. And this isn’t a job for a woman” Admos moaned, and reluctantly grabbed Baaf’s feet, as they carried the slumbering giant out.
Tellenin put her hands on her hips.
“Damn right.”
Tellenin
Sayl kindly organized for a ship to take us back to the Old World. It’s strange, now that our adventure is nearly, I can’t imagine life without it.
Aren
We nearly got pwned by those vampires back there... Things are not looking up...
Zorgon
And one of them escaped. Morgus will know we’re coming.
Blade
I have fought vampires, skeletons, giant rats, ogres, dark elves, acolytes of Nurgle, undead fiends of every kind, and men. I have yet to meet my match.
My gut tells me that that is about to change.
Bring it.
Admos
Here we go, here we go, here we go...
Chapter Ten
They landed on a sandy beach. Almost as soon as they arrived, they heard a shout, and in the blink of an eye they were surrounded by bristling spears.
“State thy name, imposter!” commanded one of the spearman, who was obviously the leader – he wore more ornate armour, had a fancier spear, and even had a shiny badge declaring just how special he was.
“My name is Zorgon,” Zorgon replied, “and I have come to visit the Isle of the Dead.”
“No outsider may visit the sacred Isle! You are hearby under arrest!”
“Where will you be taking us?”
“To the TOWAAAR!” replied the elf with such enthusiasm that it was obvious that he had spent hours rehearsing it infront of a mirror.
“And is there someone there who really knows there history?”
“Yes, chief constable Sayl Menayeth. He majored in it at school- wait, are you saying I don’t?”
“Have you ever heard of an elf named Filigree Donuts?”
“Well no, but-”
“Exactly. Now shut up and lead the way.” The guard turned bright pink with anger, a shade that turned more purple as the other elves started to giggle.
“Very well,” he said through clenched teeth, “But that is an insult you will regret. AND AS FOR THE REST OF YOU, GROW UP.” The other elves stifled their laughter, but you could see from their eyes that they didn’t take him seriously. Every so often one of them would snigger.
Eventually they arrived at a tall, wide tower made from white marble.
“I give you...” began the guard. He took a deep breath. “THE TOWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!”
“Very nice,” Zorgon said, “I especially liked how you pointlessly drew out the final syllable in a desperate attempt for attention. Give yourself a sticker.”
The other elves burst out laughing. The guard’s face went purple again.
“IF YOU INSULT ME ONE MORE TIME, I’LL-”
“Ooh, that’s a neet trick you’ve got there. Can you do magenta?”
The guard screamed, and fainted.
Seeing the other’s looks, Zorgon merely shrugged and said “meh. You’ve got to have some fun once in a while.”
After the elves had calmed down, they took them up the tower, and into an oval-shaped office. Sitting behind the desk in the middle was a middle-aged elf. Oddly dressed elves stood behind him, all in black, and wearing strange spectacles with tinted lenses. They looked very serious.
The elf sitting behind the desk looked up.
“I am Chief Constable Sayl Menayeth,” said the elf, “and who are you?”
“I am Zorgon, and I have come to see the tomb of Filigree Donuts.”
Realization dawned on his face.
“I see. I will escort you there immediately. By the way, I head Yrxum’s scream. Know anything?”
“Oh, he probably just saw a ghost or something.”
As promised, Sayl took them straight to the inner coast of Ulthuan. There, they got into an elegant, slender boat, and set off.
All this was watched by a cowled man sitting on a horse-drawn cart.
“How will we get across?” came a voice from the back of the cart.
“By being very shneaky.”
Before too long they arrived on the Isle. It looked unexpectedly just like a regular island. Except for the enormous swirling vortex of magic in the sky above that funnelled into the tip of pitch-black obelisk. But other than that, just a regular island.
“This way,” said Sayl, “and don’t touch the obelisk.”
Accompanying them were several of the elves that had first apprehended them, filled no longer with mirth but with stark terror.
The Isle was utterly barren, but for the obelisk, and complety flat, save for a lone cairn. It was at this cairn that Sayl Menayeth stopped.
“This is it.”
They filed in, down a few steps and into the dusty, cobwebbed cairn.
Inside the cairn was an open space. A coffin was shoved surreptiously to one side, while in the middle of of the room was a large basin. They went over to have a look.
“What the hell?” cried Admos, “A swamp, a gravestone, and... dentures?!” Indeed, the basin was filled with swamp. At the back was a gravestone, partially sunken into the bog. In front of the gravestone were a set of dentures.
“What could this mean?” wailed Admos.
“Well, I think-” Zorgon began, before Tellenin interrupted him.
“You’re always figuring these out. Why not let the rest of us have a try?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I think that we must find the grave of someone with dentures, and find something there we can use to defeat Morgus in a swamp.” Tellenin suggested.
“I think that the dentures signify a vampire,” said Groff, “so perhaps we need to go the resting place of a vampire, then find directions to the swamp were we will fight Morgus.”
“I think that the grave of this person with dentures we must go to is in a swamp, and there find directions to where Morgus actually is.” Aren mused.
“I think that the gravestone doesn’t signify an actual grave, but just somewhere that someone died,” said Blade, “so maybe we just have to find the place where a very old man died (because of the dentures), and there find instructions on how to defeat Morgus in this swamp.
“Personally, I think that we have to use the dentures to eat Morgus, killing him, and then egest the remnants in a swamp.” Admos said.
“Well who’s right, Zorgon?”
“Have you ever heard of the story of the blind men and the elephant? The one where each one was partly right, yet all were mostly wrong? Well this is just like that. Except for Admos – he’s just completely wrong.
“Groff is right that the dentures signify a vampire. Blade is right that it is not an actual grave, but just a place where someone died. Aren is right that it is in a swamp. And Tellenin is right that there we will find something we can use to defeat Morgus.
“So which famous vampire died in a swamp (supposedly)?”
“Count Mannfred!” exclaimed Groff. “We must go to Hell Fenn!” He paused. “I don’t think we have enough fu-”
Suddenly he stopped, and keeled over. There was a knife buried up to the hilt in his back. Everyone turned to the doorway. Standing there was a figure.
“See?” it said. “VERY schneaky!”
The figure leapt into the room, did a summersault, and landed behind them. Four more figures dashed into the room. One was short, one was huge, and the other two were normal sized – but one of them was giggling.
“Vampires,” breathed Zorgon.
Zorgon drew his dagger and turned to face the vampire behind him. Blade charged to meet the serious one. Tellenin, Admos, and Aren readied there weapons, but were thrown to the floor as the huge one barrelled into them.
“BAAF FRUG SMASH!” he bellowed.
The short vampire ran towards Sayl.
The giggling one sighed, and rushed over to help Baaf Frug.
Zorgon stabbed with his dagger, but the sneaky vampire turned out of the way. As he did so, his hand whiplashed out, and several needles flew through the air, killing many of the high elves. As soon as they hit the floor, they immediately staggered to their feet and charged at the still living elves.
As Blade clashed blades with the vampire, he heard it say:
“When you meet the devil, tell him Motor von Carstein sent you.”
Baaf Frug drew a horrifically large sword, and swung it down at Tellenin, who just managed to roll out of the way. Aren leapt to his feet and slashed at the huge vampire’s back with his sword. He was rewarded with a club-like elbow in the face. Admos just managed to get up in time to defend himself from the now hysterical vampire’s leading attack.
Sayl parried the short vampire’s first lunge with ease, and brought his sword around at the vampire’s head. The vampire ducked, and drove his long knife into Sayl Menayeth’s crotch. Sayl Menayeth’s cry was cut short as another knife was driven into his gut.
“Ming-Mong Cheese is too shneaky for you!” said Ming as he whirled and danced, avoiding Zorgon’s thrusts. The vampire had not even drawn his weapon yet.
Motor parted Blade’s swords with a deft stroke and lunged towards his heart. Blade quikly parried, and twisted his hand, directing Motor’s sword into the ground. The other sword went straight through the vampire’s face.
Baaf Frug swung his sword again, this time at Aren. Aren dived out of the way. Before the lumbering terror could recover, Tellenin slapped his face with her staff. Baaf did a twirl, and slumbed to the ground.
Admos awkwardly deflected another lunge, before swinging his sword around so that the flat of the blade hammered into the side of the vampire’s head. The as yet untested strength vampirism had given drove the steel hard, sending the flailing, limp body of the other vampire wheeling away.
“Whoa.”
The short vampire did a backflip towards the unchecked Blade.
The lving High Elves were outnumbered by the zombies, and dismayed that their once friednsd were attacking them. But, reluctantly, they fought back. One High Elf drove his spear deep into the belly of a zombie. The zombie hissed in return, and slashed the tip of its spear across the elf’s chest. The elf sharply withdrew his spear, and the xombie cried out as its guts and entrails went with it.
The short vampire’s head snapped back as the butt of the spear shaft rammed into his forhead. The campire tumbled to the ground.
Ming-Mong Cheese became a swirling cloak as Zorgon’s dagger once more slashed through thin air. The cloak reformed into Ming, who promptly slapped Zorgon across the face.
“Lol!”
Then he saw that all of his compatriots were either dead or unconscious.
“Uh-oh! Time to go!” And with that, he vanished.
They looked around. Bodies of elves littered the floor. Groff lay face-down on the floor, the dagger still buried in his back. One elf remained standing, the bodies of his friends all around him. He had lost his helmet, letting down his flowing blond hair. His eyes had a wild, terrified look, and blood splattered his face, hands and spear. There was a diagonal slash across his chest. He looked at them.
They heard a groan. They turned around to see Sayl propping himself up. Blood dripped from a wound in his gut and from between his legs.
“Are you alright?” asked the elf in the voice of a perfect tenor.
“Yes, Syriol, I’m fine,” replied the wounded Sayl, “Yes, the wounds are deep, but nothing important was damaged.” He smiled painfully as he realized how wrong he was. “Except for the fact that I won’t be having any children. And anyway, at my time of life, sex starts to loose its appeal. You may think I’m bonkers, but it’s true. I’m afraid I won’t be able to stand for a while, so you’ll have to help me.”
Syriol helped him to his feet, and supported him.
“What about them?” asked Tellenin, motioning to the unconscious vampires. Two of them had bleeding head wounds which were already starting to congeal, while the other was fortly whistling in deep sleep.
“Do not kill them. It is against our code to harm a helpless being. I would take them myself, but as you can see I am a little short on men.” He sighed sadly.
“Don’t worry, we’ll help,” Zorgon replied. Blade grabbed the medium-sized one and slung him over his sholders. Aren grabbed the small one’s ankles and carried him behind his back. Zorgon beckoned to Admos to help him with the huge one.
“But... But...”
“Shut it, you idle fool. We’re the strongest here. And this isn’t a job for a woman” Admos moaned, and reluctantly grabbed Baaf’s feet, as they carried the slumbering giant out.
Tellenin put her hands on her hips.
“Damn right.”
Tellenin
Sayl kindly organized for a ship to take us back to the Old World. It’s strange, now that our adventure is nearly, I can’t imagine life without it.
Aren
We nearly got pwned by those vampires back there... Things are not looking up...
Zorgon
And one of them escaped. Morgus will know we’re coming.
Blade
I have fought vampires, skeletons, giant rats, ogres, dark elves, acolytes of Nurgle, undead fiends of every kind, and men. I have yet to meet my match.
My gut tells me that that is about to change.
Bring it.
Admos
Here we go, here we go, here we go...
