“Pardon?” Melkor said, unable to take his eyes off What’s-her-name.
“That outfit, it’s ridiculous.” She turned to Coryn, who was trying not to stare too much. “You said she was kidnapped while out riding. Who’d go riding dressed like that? Do you know how much that would chafe?” She walked over and examined the prisoner more closely. “She’s the lord’s daughter, for god’s sake. I can accept that she looks like Cindy Crawford, but can’t she afford clothes?”
There was much shuffling of feet and averting of eyes. Bobbin tried to Hide and failed.
“Uhhh . .. it’s the orcs,” Coryn suddenly said.
Everyone, including What’s-her-name, turned to look at him.
“They, uh, made her dress like that.” He turned to the other men for support. “Right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rallis said. “They always do that. It’s standard procedure, really.”
“They’re a big buncha pervs,” Lars added.
“Right.” Tamra’s gaze went to each of the men in turn, her arms folded. “Whatever, let’s get her free.”
Lars and Melkor rushed forward, knocking over Bobbin in the process.
As the two eagerly untied What’s-her-name, Tamra sidled up to Coryn. “This better be standard procedure for orcs,” she muttered under her breath.
Coryn assumed his most innocent expression. “Would I lie?”
“Would you?”
There was a pause, as the cleric surreptitiously rolled a die. “According to that roll, no.” He smiled wanly down at her.
“Oh thank you!” the lord’s daughter exclaimed in a very masculine voice that was deeper than Lars’. “I was out riding when those horrid orcs ambushed us.”
“Yeah,” Bobbin interrupted. “We know.”
“But it was so frightening,” What’s-her-name continued, in a voice you’d expect on a linebacker. “They dragged me back here and, uh, made me dress like this.”
“See!” Lars said, nodding. “Told ya they’re a big buncha pervs.”
“What’s your name?” Rallis asked. “And spell it, so they can get it right when they WRITE IT DOWN.”
There was an immediate scramble for pencils and paper.
“Oh, it’s . . .”
There was a sudden crash, as half a dozen orcs smashed through a nearby wall. More orcs appeared at the entrance, their weapons held at the ready. From outside the hut, a voice rose above the tumult
“Prepare to die, outlanders!” The voice sounded strangely like What’s-her-name, as if she had a long-lost orc twin.
With a roar, the orcs sprang forward, even as the adventurers formed a circle around the lord’s daughter. Tamra needed no coaching this time. She threw up her shield and waved her sword at the oncoming horde. “C’mon, ya sexist pigs!” she said, failing to notice the look that passed between the guys. Then the orcs were upon them, a volley of spears and axes coming over the heads of the lead orcs as they ran at the party, faces twisted with bestial rage. Above it all, a deep voice began chanting in a language of venom and malice, which promised nothing but pain for the adventurers.
“Whoa, one sec,” Melkor suddenly said, as his companions readied themselves to face the onslaught. “I hate to do this, but tomorrow’s a work day. I need to get up early.”
“But it’s just getting good!” Lars said. The orcs, scant feet from the adventurers, their weapons inches from the interlopers, nodded their assent, as did What’s-her-name.
“Hey, it’s better to stop now than in the middle of combat.”
“Oh, all right,” Bobbin said. He sheathed his sword. “Let’s clean up.” He started helping the orcs tidy up the hut.
“Did you have fun?” Melkor asked Tamra, as he collected soda cans.
She smiled. “Yeah, it wasn’t what I expected.”
“Told ya,” Coryn said, as he was collecting his dice.
“I’m still not too sure about the whole chain-mail bikini thing, though.”
Rallis glanced up from putting his books back into his backpack. “Hey, what can you expect from Minions of Evil?”
The orc shaman walked by, headdress under an arm. Without it, he appeared to be little more than a balding, thirty-something guy with a paunch. “It’s a living,” he said with a shrug.
Showing posts with label orc. Show all posts
Showing posts with label orc. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
The Rescue of What's-Her-Name: Part 5
The halfling slipped off towards the village, his movement silent and swift, save for the occasional thud and ensuing obscenities. The rest of the party waited patiently, munching on tortilla chips and playing with the miniatures. Eventually, with much breaking of twigs, Bobbin reappeared.
“Found her,” he said. “They got her tied up in the big hut on the far side.”
“Did she happen to have a name tag?” Rallis asked.
“I don’t remember. Should I go back and check?”
“Let’s not,” Coryn interjected, before the ranger could reply. “What about the orcs? How many, what kind of weapons, etcetera, etcetera.”
“Well, that’s the funny bit. There’s no one there.”
“So What’s-her-name is tied up, all alone, in the middle of an orc camp?” Tamra asked.
“Yep,” said the halfling.
“Trap,” the entire group said in unison.
“Well,” Melkor said cheerfully. “At least we know where we stand. Come on, let’s get it over with.”
The party strolled into the deserted orc village. A light breeze sprang up, doing little to remove the stench that hung around the huts. The trappings of everyday life lay scattered around, a half-mended blanket here, a cooking fire there, embers still glowing red. It was if the entire community had simply walked away. The adventurers wandered along, poking idly at the scattered belongings. Bobbin surreptitiously pocketed a few small items, while Lars kicked over anything in his path. Out of the whole party, only Rallis moved cautiously, pausing every now and again to inspect tracks.
“Their tracks go every which way,” he finally said, as they neared the largest hut. “They’re definitely up to something.”
“Well, duh,” Lars said.
Without any word, they gathered at the hut’s entrance, readying for battle. Lars stood at the front, with Coryn and Tamra flanking him. Melkor and Bobbin backed them up, with Rallis at the rear, bow at the ready. Lars held up three fingers, and then silently counted down: three, two, one.
At one, Lars roared his battle cry and kicked the door open, rushing in with the rest of the party on his heels. The hut was quite large, capable of easily accommodating forty or so people. Furs were rolled up and stacked against the walls, along with numerous chests and barrels, many bearing human and elven marks. Unsurprisingly, there were no orcs to be seen.
“There she is,” Bobbin said.
The lord’s daughter was gagged and tied upright to a supporting pillar in the middle of the hut. She was quite beautiful, with long black hair, a fantastic figure, and a light tan. They could tell all this at a glance because all she wearing a chain-mail bikini that was a good two sizes two small, along with strappy 4" heels, and a few silk ribbons.
Lars let out a whoop. “Now that’s what I call an outfit!”
There were nods from the rest of the men, as well as a “hot damn!”
“Why is she wearing that?” Tamra suddenly asked.
“Found her,” he said. “They got her tied up in the big hut on the far side.”
“Did she happen to have a name tag?” Rallis asked.
“I don’t remember. Should I go back and check?”
“Let’s not,” Coryn interjected, before the ranger could reply. “What about the orcs? How many, what kind of weapons, etcetera, etcetera.”
“Well, that’s the funny bit. There’s no one there.”
“So What’s-her-name is tied up, all alone, in the middle of an orc camp?” Tamra asked.
“Yep,” said the halfling.
“Trap,” the entire group said in unison.
“Well,” Melkor said cheerfully. “At least we know where we stand. Come on, let’s get it over with.”
The party strolled into the deserted orc village. A light breeze sprang up, doing little to remove the stench that hung around the huts. The trappings of everyday life lay scattered around, a half-mended blanket here, a cooking fire there, embers still glowing red. It was if the entire community had simply walked away. The adventurers wandered along, poking idly at the scattered belongings. Bobbin surreptitiously pocketed a few small items, while Lars kicked over anything in his path. Out of the whole party, only Rallis moved cautiously, pausing every now and again to inspect tracks.
“Their tracks go every which way,” he finally said, as they neared the largest hut. “They’re definitely up to something.”
“Well, duh,” Lars said.
Without any word, they gathered at the hut’s entrance, readying for battle. Lars stood at the front, with Coryn and Tamra flanking him. Melkor and Bobbin backed them up, with Rallis at the rear, bow at the ready. Lars held up three fingers, and then silently counted down: three, two, one.
At one, Lars roared his battle cry and kicked the door open, rushing in with the rest of the party on his heels. The hut was quite large, capable of easily accommodating forty or so people. Furs were rolled up and stacked against the walls, along with numerous chests and barrels, many bearing human and elven marks. Unsurprisingly, there were no orcs to be seen.
“There she is,” Bobbin said.
The lord’s daughter was gagged and tied upright to a supporting pillar in the middle of the hut. She was quite beautiful, with long black hair, a fantastic figure, and a light tan. They could tell all this at a glance because all she wearing a chain-mail bikini that was a good two sizes two small, along with strappy 4" heels, and a few silk ribbons.
Lars let out a whoop. “Now that’s what I call an outfit!”
There were nods from the rest of the men, as well as a “hot damn!”
“Why is she wearing that?” Tamra suddenly asked.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
The Rescue of What's-Her-Name: Part 4
Coryn quickly ran to Bobbin’s side, dropping to his knees beside the prostrate halfling. Gripping his holy symbol with his left hand and laying his right on his friend’s chest, he began chanting a prayer of healing, which sounded suspiciously like “Woolly Bully.” As his chant neared its end, he pulled a die from his pouch and rolled it.
“A six, you got lucky,” he said, as the halfling’s eyes fluttered open. “How many HPs does everyone have left?” he asked the group.
“Twenty-one,” Lars said, as he began rifling through the dead orcs’ pouches.
“Seven of twenty three,” Rallis said.
“Two,” Bobbin groaned.
“I’m good,” Melkor said, stepping out from where he’d been hiding.
“Pansy,” Lars said. “You always run and hide.”
“Hey, you try living with fourteen hit points and see how much melee you get into,” said the mage.
Tamra was looking at a piece of paper she’d pulled from her backpack. “Where’re hit points written again?”
“I’ll show her,” Melkor volunteered.
Rallis glanced up from where he was sitting. “Why don’t you two help Lars search the bodies while everyone else gets healed.”
“Roger.”
Tamra made a face. “Ewww.”
“It’s easy,” Melkor said. “Just grab any nice jewelry or weapons and go through their pouches.”
“Dibs on any magic weapons,” Lars said.
“Oh, shut up,” Coryn said, as he launched into “Woolly Bully” again.
So, in short order, bodies were searched, party members were healed, spells were memorized, Lars got a soda, and Bobbin went to the bathroom. Once he returned, everyone got back up and shouldered their packs.
“They ran off that way,” Rallis said, pointing to the south. “Their village is probably over there. Let’s cut through the forest.”
“Good idea,” Melkor said. “By-the-by, did the shaman do anything during the fight?”
Everyone glanced at each other.
“Don’t think so,” Bobbin said.
“Hmmm, he’s probably setting a trap at the village. We should be careful.”
“Right, everyone keep their eyes open,” Rallis said. “Put the magazine down, Bobbin.”
After getting everyone into marching order, the ranger led the way through the forest, pausing every so often to check for tracks. Each party member crept carefully along, eyes intent on the surrounding woods. No orcs were seen, though Lars had to be prevented from attacking a squirrel, which he claimed was ‘eyeing’ him. Oddly enough, after that, no more squirrels or wildlife of any kind were seen.
After a good twenty minutes, Rallis rolled well enough to notice a thin thread of smoke in the distance. They advanced even more cautiously now, ready to pounce on any bush large enough to hide an orc. They soon found signs of habitation, broken twigs, trees that had been felled for firewood, obvious tracks, and the occasional candy wrapper.
Everyone could now easily see the tops of huts only a couple dozen yards away, just outside the tree line, but there was no movement at all.
“I don’t like it,” Coryn whispered. “This is definitely a trap.”
The ranger nodded. “Agreed. What does everyone want to do? No, Lars,” he quickly added. “We’re not just rushing in there.”
Lars said something under his breath.
“Lemme scout a bit,” Bobbin said. “Maybe I can find where they’re keeping what’s-her-name.”
“What is her name?” Tamra asked.
All the men looked at one another.
“I don’t remember,” Coryn said.
“Me neither,” Melkor and Bobbin said simultaneously.
“Who cares?” said Lars.
“Jeez, guys,” Rallis said. “Didn’t anybody write it down?”
There was a great deal of paper shuffling and digging into backpacks.
“Uhh . . . I got the magic word that activates that elevator thingy in that undead guy’s tower,” Bobbin said.
The ranger rubbed his temples. “Great, thanks. Did anybody write down her name?”
“Why didn’t you?” Lars said.
Rallis held up a piece of graph paper. “I map, remember?”
Eventually, it was determined that no one knew the name of the lord’s daughter they were hired to rescue on the promise of five hundred gold pieces, but they had written down several other helpful things, including the phone number of the pizza place that delivered.
“Fine,” Melkor finally said. “We’ll just call her ‘What’s-her-name’ for now. She can tell us when we’ve rescued her.”
“Whatever. Yes, Bobbin, go scout,” Rallis said.
“A six, you got lucky,” he said, as the halfling’s eyes fluttered open. “How many HPs does everyone have left?” he asked the group.
“Twenty-one,” Lars said, as he began rifling through the dead orcs’ pouches.
“Seven of twenty three,” Rallis said.
“Two,” Bobbin groaned.
“I’m good,” Melkor said, stepping out from where he’d been hiding.
“Pansy,” Lars said. “You always run and hide.”
“Hey, you try living with fourteen hit points and see how much melee you get into,” said the mage.
Tamra was looking at a piece of paper she’d pulled from her backpack. “Where’re hit points written again?”
“I’ll show her,” Melkor volunteered.
Rallis glanced up from where he was sitting. “Why don’t you two help Lars search the bodies while everyone else gets healed.”
“Roger.”
Tamra made a face. “Ewww.”
“It’s easy,” Melkor said. “Just grab any nice jewelry or weapons and go through their pouches.”
“Dibs on any magic weapons,” Lars said.
“Oh, shut up,” Coryn said, as he launched into “Woolly Bully” again.
So, in short order, bodies were searched, party members were healed, spells were memorized, Lars got a soda, and Bobbin went to the bathroom. Once he returned, everyone got back up and shouldered their packs.
“They ran off that way,” Rallis said, pointing to the south. “Their village is probably over there. Let’s cut through the forest.”
“Good idea,” Melkor said. “By-the-by, did the shaman do anything during the fight?”
Everyone glanced at each other.
“Don’t think so,” Bobbin said.
“Hmmm, he’s probably setting a trap at the village. We should be careful.”
“Right, everyone keep their eyes open,” Rallis said. “Put the magazine down, Bobbin.”
After getting everyone into marching order, the ranger led the way through the forest, pausing every so often to check for tracks. Each party member crept carefully along, eyes intent on the surrounding woods. No orcs were seen, though Lars had to be prevented from attacking a squirrel, which he claimed was ‘eyeing’ him. Oddly enough, after that, no more squirrels or wildlife of any kind were seen.
After a good twenty minutes, Rallis rolled well enough to notice a thin thread of smoke in the distance. They advanced even more cautiously now, ready to pounce on any bush large enough to hide an orc. They soon found signs of habitation, broken twigs, trees that had been felled for firewood, obvious tracks, and the occasional candy wrapper.
Everyone could now easily see the tops of huts only a couple dozen yards away, just outside the tree line, but there was no movement at all.
“I don’t like it,” Coryn whispered. “This is definitely a trap.”
The ranger nodded. “Agreed. What does everyone want to do? No, Lars,” he quickly added. “We’re not just rushing in there.”
Lars said something under his breath.
“Lemme scout a bit,” Bobbin said. “Maybe I can find where they’re keeping what’s-her-name.”
“What is her name?” Tamra asked.
All the men looked at one another.
“I don’t remember,” Coryn said.
“Me neither,” Melkor and Bobbin said simultaneously.
“Who cares?” said Lars.
“Jeez, guys,” Rallis said. “Didn’t anybody write it down?”
There was a great deal of paper shuffling and digging into backpacks.
“Uhh . . . I got the magic word that activates that elevator thingy in that undead guy’s tower,” Bobbin said.
The ranger rubbed his temples. “Great, thanks. Did anybody write down her name?”
“Why didn’t you?” Lars said.
Rallis held up a piece of graph paper. “I map, remember?”
Eventually, it was determined that no one knew the name of the lord’s daughter they were hired to rescue on the promise of five hundred gold pieces, but they had written down several other helpful things, including the phone number of the pizza place that delivered.
“Fine,” Melkor finally said. “We’ll just call her ‘What’s-her-name’ for now. She can tell us when we’ve rescued her.”
“Whatever. Yes, Bobbin, go scout,” Rallis said.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The Rescue of What's-Her-Name: Part 3
The orcs came on, in a frenzy of bloodlust. The ranger dropped several more with his bow, but was forced to draw his long sword as the orcs looped around the group. He parried the first orc’s thrust, and then ran him through with an expert riposte. Even as the orc dropped, another leaped over him, hacking with an axe. The elf was slashed across the left arm and staggered back, wildly parrying. “I need some help!” he shouted.
The halfling looked up from petting the cat. “Oh, we’re going again.” He shoved the cat off his lap, and then ran back to the battle. Drawing his short sword, he darted from tree to tree, before spotting the beleaguered ranger. He stepped out, moving noiselessly towards the orc that was hammering away at the ranger’s defenses. As the halfling neared, he stepped on a twig, which cracked loudly. Freezing, he waited for the orc to turn, but it failed to notice. “Damn, I blew that roll!” the thief muttered, then continued his cautious advance. Rallis took another blow, which knocked him to the turf. The orc, with a cry of victory, swept his axe down in tremendous two-handed blow, even as the halfling leapt at his back, short sword raised.
“Hey?” the halfling suddenly asked, poised in mid-air. “Is this a simultaneous attack or should we roll Dex?” He looked at the orc in front of him, who’d turned around. “I think it’d be a Dex roll.” The orc shrugged. Bobbin looked over at the orc shaman, who gave a thumbs-up. “Okay, Dex it is.” He pulled out a 20-sided die and rolled. “A seven, I made it.” Lowering his axe, the orc waited, rolling his eyes and checking his wristwatch. He got back into position, though he did not begin his swing. Bobbin dropped to the ground, backed up several feet, and then ran once again at the orc, who was waiting patiently. The halfling jumped again, short sword held high, aiming a terrific blow at the orc’s back. With a ‘thunk,’ the short sword sunk into the orc’s garish leather armor, though only a small trickle of blood could be seen running down.
“A one!” said the halfling, pulling at his hair. “I can’t believe it! I’m dead. I am completely and utterly dead!” He turned back to the orc, who was calmly waiting for him to finish. “Fine, just make it quick!” Ripping open his shirt, he bared his chest, face screwed up. “Go ahead, do it!”
With a shrug, the orc slashed Bobbin across the chest with his axe. The halfling fell, though he managed to make a rude gesture as he did. The battle resumed. Lars, now covered head to toe in blood, killed another orc, decapitating it with a single mighty stroke, though another orc sank a spear deep into his thigh. Rallis had regained his feet, but it was obvious that another hit would probably finish him. The cleric, Coryn, hard pressed by several orcs, had his back to a tree and was grimly fighting on. Of all the fighters, only Tamra appeared unhurt, as she slew orcs left and right, shouting “Hi-yaaaa!” at every stroke. The mage, Melkor, stood calmly in the center of the chaos, unperturbed by the spears that flew by, barely missing, as he chanted softly to himself. As he raised his right hand with a flourish, three balls of bluish energy appeared, each leaping away to unerringly strike an orc. “That’s it for me, guys!” he said. “I’m all tapped out!” He then promptly disappeared.
Even as the mage vanished, Tamra slew the last orc opposing her. She glanced around. “Uh, who should I help?”
“Me!” bellowed Lars, even as he slew another orc.
“Shut up, Lars,” Bobbin managed to say, even though he was unconscious. “You’re only down half.”
“Help Coryn,” Rallis said, as he blocked a barbed spear that almost found his head. “He can heal.”
“Pretty please!” said the cleric. He landed a mighty blow with his mace, striking an opponent flat across the shoulder. Despite the resounding ‘thud,’ the orc hardly appeared to notice. “Dammit!” Coryn said. “How come maces do such crappy damage?” He held the weapon up, letting the sunlight glisten off the flanges. “Look at this thing! I should be able to crush skulls with this. Shouldn’t this do more damage?” he demanded, brandishing it at the nearest orc, who glanced around sheepishly, then shrugged. “Jeez, I’d give my left arm to be able to use a decent edged weapon.” He got back into his fighting stance. “Sorry,” he said to the orc. “Just had to vent for a second.”
The fight continued. Tamra, oblivious to the entreaties of the embattled Lars, sped to her love’s aid. With a yell, she cut down the nearest orc, even as the cleric finally dropped one. The sole remaining orc attacking Coryn glanced around, did some quick math, rolled a die, and then promptly fled. At that, the rest of the orcs also turned tail, leaving the party victorious.
The halfling looked up from petting the cat. “Oh, we’re going again.” He shoved the cat off his lap, and then ran back to the battle. Drawing his short sword, he darted from tree to tree, before spotting the beleaguered ranger. He stepped out, moving noiselessly towards the orc that was hammering away at the ranger’s defenses. As the halfling neared, he stepped on a twig, which cracked loudly. Freezing, he waited for the orc to turn, but it failed to notice. “Damn, I blew that roll!” the thief muttered, then continued his cautious advance. Rallis took another blow, which knocked him to the turf. The orc, with a cry of victory, swept his axe down in tremendous two-handed blow, even as the halfling leapt at his back, short sword raised.
“Hey?” the halfling suddenly asked, poised in mid-air. “Is this a simultaneous attack or should we roll Dex?” He looked at the orc in front of him, who’d turned around. “I think it’d be a Dex roll.” The orc shrugged. Bobbin looked over at the orc shaman, who gave a thumbs-up. “Okay, Dex it is.” He pulled out a 20-sided die and rolled. “A seven, I made it.” Lowering his axe, the orc waited, rolling his eyes and checking his wristwatch. He got back into position, though he did not begin his swing. Bobbin dropped to the ground, backed up several feet, and then ran once again at the orc, who was waiting patiently. The halfling jumped again, short sword held high, aiming a terrific blow at the orc’s back. With a ‘thunk,’ the short sword sunk into the orc’s garish leather armor, though only a small trickle of blood could be seen running down.
“A one!” said the halfling, pulling at his hair. “I can’t believe it! I’m dead. I am completely and utterly dead!” He turned back to the orc, who was calmly waiting for him to finish. “Fine, just make it quick!” Ripping open his shirt, he bared his chest, face screwed up. “Go ahead, do it!”
With a shrug, the orc slashed Bobbin across the chest with his axe. The halfling fell, though he managed to make a rude gesture as he did. The battle resumed. Lars, now covered head to toe in blood, killed another orc, decapitating it with a single mighty stroke, though another orc sank a spear deep into his thigh. Rallis had regained his feet, but it was obvious that another hit would probably finish him. The cleric, Coryn, hard pressed by several orcs, had his back to a tree and was grimly fighting on. Of all the fighters, only Tamra appeared unhurt, as she slew orcs left and right, shouting “Hi-yaaaa!” at every stroke. The mage, Melkor, stood calmly in the center of the chaos, unperturbed by the spears that flew by, barely missing, as he chanted softly to himself. As he raised his right hand with a flourish, three balls of bluish energy appeared, each leaping away to unerringly strike an orc. “That’s it for me, guys!” he said. “I’m all tapped out!” He then promptly disappeared.
Even as the mage vanished, Tamra slew the last orc opposing her. She glanced around. “Uh, who should I help?”
“Me!” bellowed Lars, even as he slew another orc.
“Shut up, Lars,” Bobbin managed to say, even though he was unconscious. “You’re only down half.”
“Help Coryn,” Rallis said, as he blocked a barbed spear that almost found his head. “He can heal.”
“Pretty please!” said the cleric. He landed a mighty blow with his mace, striking an opponent flat across the shoulder. Despite the resounding ‘thud,’ the orc hardly appeared to notice. “Dammit!” Coryn said. “How come maces do such crappy damage?” He held the weapon up, letting the sunlight glisten off the flanges. “Look at this thing! I should be able to crush skulls with this. Shouldn’t this do more damage?” he demanded, brandishing it at the nearest orc, who glanced around sheepishly, then shrugged. “Jeez, I’d give my left arm to be able to use a decent edged weapon.” He got back into his fighting stance. “Sorry,” he said to the orc. “Just had to vent for a second.”
The fight continued. Tamra, oblivious to the entreaties of the embattled Lars, sped to her love’s aid. With a yell, she cut down the nearest orc, even as the cleric finally dropped one. The sole remaining orc attacking Coryn glanced around, did some quick math, rolled a die, and then promptly fled. At that, the rest of the orcs also turned tail, leaving the party victorious.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
The Rescue of What's-Her-Name: Part 2
Rallis fired twice more, missing once, but wounding another orc. From behind him, Melkor, who’d been chanting softly, suddenly raised his arms, eldritch energy playing around his hands. A ball of fire formed in front of him, and with a shout, he hurled it forward into the oncoming orcs. Just before detonation, Melkor glanced around. “Uh, did we ever come to an agreement on spell components? Just so we’re working on the same page?”
With a groan, the orcs slowed and stopped. A few orcs accidentally knocked their fellows over, and others took nasty cuts from being poked with weapons. The fireball sat in the midst of several orcs, who stared at it nervously as it hissed and sputtered in mid-air. The orc shaman elbowed his way to the front and began a conversation with the mage.
Everybody waited as Melkor and the orc shaman continued their talk. Lars glanced around and then started inching forward.
“Lars! Get back where you were!” Rallis shouted, pointing a nocked arrow at him. Lars grumbled, but went back. The orcs jeered at him, with many a rude gesture and raspberries.
“Oh yeah?” Lars said. “Just come on over here.” He dropped his axe and began making rude gestures back.
“Okay,” finished Melkor, as he and the shaman walked back to their places. “If that’s the way you want to play it. I guess I better stock up on guano.”
The fireball exploded, incinerating the nearest orcs, though several more were set afire to die more slowly, smoldering on the green grass. The remaining orcs came on, heedless of their losses. A sling bullet stretched another orc senseless, to be trampled by his brethren. The front ranks reached the adventurers as the ranger pulled back, firing arrows with amazing speed. A massive orc, its arms and chest covered in the scars of dozens of battles, ran straight at Tamra, his scimitar in a two-handed grip, screaming a guttural war-cry. Just as he was about to swing, the orc skidded to a stop. The orc and half-elf stared at one another for a second, and then the young half-elven woman glanced over at Coryn.
“Do I go now?”
“Yep.”
She looked back at the orc, who was waiting patiently. She shrugged, smiling. “I’ve never done this before. Eri . . . Coryn’s my boyfriend and he really wanted me to play.” Tamra brought her shield up, and then peering over the rim, jabbed tentatively at the orc with her long sword. The orc shook his head. He walked over to stand beside her, then mimed holding up a shield with his left hand, while pulling back with his scimitar. He stamped forward, bellowing, swinging the scimitar in a vicious arc. Then he motioned to her. Tamra imitated his pose, and then swung her sword. He nodded, and then moved back to his original position.
With a scream, he resumed his charge, scimitar above his head. Tamra raised her weapon, waited until the orc was almost upon her, and then shouted “Hi-yaaaaa!” and slashed downwards. The sword caught the orc warrior in the shoulder, cleaving downwards into his chest. Blood sprayed as he staggered and fell, almost twisting the weapon from her hand. The orc hit the ground, his weapon skittering away. As the feral light left his eyes, he managed to raise his right hand in a thumbs up, and then died.
“Hot damn! A 20!” shouted Coryn, as he ran over to kiss her. “Nice shot!” The rest of the orcs politely applauded, and then readied themselves as Coryn jogged back into place.
“Come on ya gutless wonders!” shouted Lars, as the orcs closed upon him. “I’ll give ya what for!” The first orc leapt at him, spear aimed at his throat. With a speed that belied his size, Lars sidestepped, his massive axe cutting the orc in half with one swipe. A thrown spear also missed, but a wiry orc with a saw-toothed short sword darted in, slashing the barbarian across the side. “Ow!” roared the northerner. “Hey, how could he hit me? Orcs ain’t that tough!”
Coryn, locked in mortal combat with an orc, their faces inches apart, each straining to push the other over and deliver the finishing blow, looked over. “Not again!” He turned back to the orc. “I can’t believe this; he does this every single time he takes damage.” The orc rolled his eyes and nodded. The orc shaman, obviously flustered, shouldered his way forward through his followers and began talking with the barbarian.
“Hey, what’s up?” asked the halfling, as he peeked out from behind a tree.
“Lars is whining again,” said Melkor.
“Oh, yeah!” Lars half-yelled at the shaman. “We’ll just see!” He dropped his axe and yanked off his backpack, then began rummaging through it. Pulling out a battered rulebook, he began flipping through the pages.
“Well, this’ll take a while.” Melkor pulled a pizza box out of nowhere and flipped it open. “I’m gonna eat the last Hawaiian.” Bobbin began playing with the cat, while Coryn wandered over to Tamra and they shared a Coke as he explained what goblins were. Rallis pulled out a hackeysack and he and several orcs formed a circle. After about ten minutes of intense conversation with the shaman, Lars finally shoved the manual back into his pack and picked up his axe.
“And?” asked Rallis.
“He said that all rules are only suggestions and that if he wanted to beef up the orcs then he could.” Lars kicked the pack out of the way and got back into a fighting stance as the orc shaman once again took up his position at the back of the horde. The orcs quickly reformed their charge, with much jostling and changing of places. The adventurers got back into their positions, and then the fight started again.
With a groan, the orcs slowed and stopped. A few orcs accidentally knocked their fellows over, and others took nasty cuts from being poked with weapons. The fireball sat in the midst of several orcs, who stared at it nervously as it hissed and sputtered in mid-air. The orc shaman elbowed his way to the front and began a conversation with the mage.
Everybody waited as Melkor and the orc shaman continued their talk. Lars glanced around and then started inching forward.
“Lars! Get back where you were!” Rallis shouted, pointing a nocked arrow at him. Lars grumbled, but went back. The orcs jeered at him, with many a rude gesture and raspberries.
“Oh yeah?” Lars said. “Just come on over here.” He dropped his axe and began making rude gestures back.
“Okay,” finished Melkor, as he and the shaman walked back to their places. “If that’s the way you want to play it. I guess I better stock up on guano.”
The fireball exploded, incinerating the nearest orcs, though several more were set afire to die more slowly, smoldering on the green grass. The remaining orcs came on, heedless of their losses. A sling bullet stretched another orc senseless, to be trampled by his brethren. The front ranks reached the adventurers as the ranger pulled back, firing arrows with amazing speed. A massive orc, its arms and chest covered in the scars of dozens of battles, ran straight at Tamra, his scimitar in a two-handed grip, screaming a guttural war-cry. Just as he was about to swing, the orc skidded to a stop. The orc and half-elf stared at one another for a second, and then the young half-elven woman glanced over at Coryn.
“Do I go now?”
“Yep.”
She looked back at the orc, who was waiting patiently. She shrugged, smiling. “I’ve never done this before. Eri . . . Coryn’s my boyfriend and he really wanted me to play.” Tamra brought her shield up, and then peering over the rim, jabbed tentatively at the orc with her long sword. The orc shook his head. He walked over to stand beside her, then mimed holding up a shield with his left hand, while pulling back with his scimitar. He stamped forward, bellowing, swinging the scimitar in a vicious arc. Then he motioned to her. Tamra imitated his pose, and then swung her sword. He nodded, and then moved back to his original position.
With a scream, he resumed his charge, scimitar above his head. Tamra raised her weapon, waited until the orc was almost upon her, and then shouted “Hi-yaaaaa!” and slashed downwards. The sword caught the orc warrior in the shoulder, cleaving downwards into his chest. Blood sprayed as he staggered and fell, almost twisting the weapon from her hand. The orc hit the ground, his weapon skittering away. As the feral light left his eyes, he managed to raise his right hand in a thumbs up, and then died.
“Hot damn! A 20!” shouted Coryn, as he ran over to kiss her. “Nice shot!” The rest of the orcs politely applauded, and then readied themselves as Coryn jogged back into place.
“Come on ya gutless wonders!” shouted Lars, as the orcs closed upon him. “I’ll give ya what for!” The first orc leapt at him, spear aimed at his throat. With a speed that belied his size, Lars sidestepped, his massive axe cutting the orc in half with one swipe. A thrown spear also missed, but a wiry orc with a saw-toothed short sword darted in, slashing the barbarian across the side. “Ow!” roared the northerner. “Hey, how could he hit me? Orcs ain’t that tough!”
Coryn, locked in mortal combat with an orc, their faces inches apart, each straining to push the other over and deliver the finishing blow, looked over. “Not again!” He turned back to the orc. “I can’t believe this; he does this every single time he takes damage.” The orc rolled his eyes and nodded. The orc shaman, obviously flustered, shouldered his way forward through his followers and began talking with the barbarian.
“Hey, what’s up?” asked the halfling, as he peeked out from behind a tree.
“Lars is whining again,” said Melkor.
“Oh, yeah!” Lars half-yelled at the shaman. “We’ll just see!” He dropped his axe and yanked off his backpack, then began rummaging through it. Pulling out a battered rulebook, he began flipping through the pages.
“Well, this’ll take a while.” Melkor pulled a pizza box out of nowhere and flipped it open. “I’m gonna eat the last Hawaiian.” Bobbin began playing with the cat, while Coryn wandered over to Tamra and they shared a Coke as he explained what goblins were. Rallis pulled out a hackeysack and he and several orcs formed a circle. After about ten minutes of intense conversation with the shaman, Lars finally shoved the manual back into his pack and picked up his axe.
“And?” asked Rallis.
“He said that all rules are only suggestions and that if he wanted to beef up the orcs then he could.” Lars kicked the pack out of the way and got back into a fighting stance as the orc shaman once again took up his position at the back of the horde. The orcs quickly reformed their charge, with much jostling and changing of places. The adventurers got back into their positions, and then the fight started again.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Snot
So, I was typing away this morning at work and while pausing to consider whether or not a Pink Ponysaur could defeat a Silver Snakeatops, I noticed that there was a humungous glob of . . . something stuck to my chest.
NOTE: Yes, a Pink Ponysaur could take a Silver Snakeatops. They not only have the power of Heart, but the power of a Thompson Submachine gun.
It was green and globby and rather voluminous. It looked like something that would come out of an orc’s nose. It wasn’t particularly dry, either, which made it all the more disturbing.
The question is, of course, where did it come from? I’m pretty sure it didn’t come out of me, as I think I would have remembered that. I mean, the sheer volume alone suggested that no mere human could have generated this thing. Honestly (and I’m not trying to be gross here), we’re talking slug-sized here.
And the other question is when did it get on me? I didn’t walk past any goats or horses or rabid hippos all weekend, so at what point did this thing land? Which brings up another question: how did I not notice when this thing made contact? And more importantly, how long had it been there?
Anyway, I cleaned it off with a couple paper towels (I would have preferred a flamethrower) and I deposited the hoodie directly into the washing machine once I got home, so hopefully it’s taken care of.
I quizzed the ninjas about it, but they denied any knowledge. I tend to believe them, as their tastes run more to swords and humorous flatulence devices.
This suggests I may have a new enemy, one who deals in slime and ichor. I had best be on my guard, lest I fall into another mucous-y ambush.
I’ll keep you updated.
Cheers,
-Jason
NOTE: Yes, a Pink Ponysaur could take a Silver Snakeatops. They not only have the power of Heart, but the power of a Thompson Submachine gun.
It was green and globby and rather voluminous. It looked like something that would come out of an orc’s nose. It wasn’t particularly dry, either, which made it all the more disturbing.
The question is, of course, where did it come from? I’m pretty sure it didn’t come out of me, as I think I would have remembered that. I mean, the sheer volume alone suggested that no mere human could have generated this thing. Honestly (and I’m not trying to be gross here), we’re talking slug-sized here.
And the other question is when did it get on me? I didn’t walk past any goats or horses or rabid hippos all weekend, so at what point did this thing land? Which brings up another question: how did I not notice when this thing made contact? And more importantly, how long had it been there?
Anyway, I cleaned it off with a couple paper towels (I would have preferred a flamethrower) and I deposited the hoodie directly into the washing machine once I got home, so hopefully it’s taken care of.
I quizzed the ninjas about it, but they denied any knowledge. I tend to believe them, as their tastes run more to swords and humorous flatulence devices.
This suggests I may have a new enemy, one who deals in slime and ichor. I had best be on my guard, lest I fall into another mucous-y ambush.
I’ll keep you updated.
Cheers,
-Jason
Monday, July 6, 2009
A WoW Commercial
This was brought to my attention the other day and I thought it was fairly cool, so I figured I would pass it on.
Just the fact that they're fighting in a supermarket and none of the other shoppers appears to notice amuses me to no end. Remember when you were a kid and your mother told you not to stare at some weirdo at the store?
"Mommy? Why is the purple lady fighting the green man?"
"Don't stare! They might notice!"
Cheers,
-Jason
Just the fact that they're fighting in a supermarket and none of the other shoppers appears to notice amuses me to no end. Remember when you were a kid and your mother told you not to stare at some weirdo at the store?
"Mommy? Why is the purple lady fighting the green man?"
"Don't stare! They might notice!"
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Krunk Funny!: Part 2
Wait, where was I? Oh yes . . .
So what kind of comedy would orcs prefer? I’m going to guess that keen observational comedy or political satires really aren’t their thing. I would suspect that their tastes run to simpler fair. Think broad physical humor such as Abbot and Costello. Only as orcs. With swords. And one of them dies at end.
Simple word plays would also probably prove very popular.
“Knock knock.
Who’s there?
The orc.
The orc who?
The orc who’s going to kill you, desecrate your remains, and then burn down your home!”
Though not really comedy, I would imagine that sleight-of-hand would also go over very well.
“And now, sawing a Man in half!” Proceeds to saw a Man in half to riotous cheering.
Despite its simple structures and penchant for bloodletting and outright savagery, I would hesitate to call orc comedy lowbrow. I would imagine there would be a delicate undercurrent to their work, an almost melancholy air as the orc comedians struggle to define and illuminate the rich culture and history of their people. Their examinations of cherished orc traditions, their (perhaps unsubtle) views of the world hold up a mirror to the orc peoples and ask ‘Is this all we are? Can we not find a place where we can all live in peace?’
Actually, no. I’m totally messing with you. Orc comedy basically revolves around orcs killing others and each other horribly. And yes, I majored in English (hence the truly amazing b.s. of the preceding paragraph).
If I had to guess, I would say the Mouth of Sauron got his start as a comedian:
Cheers,
-Jason
So what kind of comedy would orcs prefer? I’m going to guess that keen observational comedy or political satires really aren’t their thing. I would suspect that their tastes run to simpler fair. Think broad physical humor such as Abbot and Costello. Only as orcs. With swords. And one of them dies at end.
Simple word plays would also probably prove very popular.
“Knock knock.
Who’s there?
The orc.
The orc who?
The orc who’s going to kill you, desecrate your remains, and then burn down your home!”
Though not really comedy, I would imagine that sleight-of-hand would also go over very well.
“And now, sawing a Man in half!” Proceeds to saw a Man in half to riotous cheering.
Despite its simple structures and penchant for bloodletting and outright savagery, I would hesitate to call orc comedy lowbrow. I would imagine there would be a delicate undercurrent to their work, an almost melancholy air as the orc comedians struggle to define and illuminate the rich culture and history of their people. Their examinations of cherished orc traditions, their (perhaps unsubtle) views of the world hold up a mirror to the orc peoples and ask ‘Is this all we are? Can we not find a place where we can all live in peace?’
Actually, no. I’m totally messing with you. Orc comedy basically revolves around orcs killing others and each other horribly. And yes, I majored in English (hence the truly amazing b.s. of the preceding paragraph).
If I had to guess, I would say the Mouth of Sauron got his start as a comedian:
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Unemployment: Part 2
So the question is: what would a bunch of violent, unwashed psychopaths like orcs be good at? Assuming it doesn’t involve exterminating all that is good in the world.
Here then, are my top 5 jobs for unemployed orcs.
#5 Meter Maids
Yes, Meter Maids (or Parking Enforcement Officers, if you prefer). They would drive around in little carts, writing out tickets to unlawfully parked cars. The writing the ticket part could be troublesome, but they would get absolutely ZERO guff from the public.
#4 Driving Tester
If you can drive while a 200-pound orc snarls and glowers at you from the passenger seat, nothing you see on the road will ever faze you.
#3 School Crossing Guard
Honestly, there would never be a problem with people stopping at crosswalks if orcs were the crossing guards. Mainly because they would have spears and would be allowed to kill your car if they thought it necessary. Frankly, you would stop half a block away, just to be certain.
#2 Professional Hockey Players
They wear armor and helmets and charge around with sticks trying to hit a small puck while doing violent things to one another. It’s perfect. The orcs have every needed skill save for ice-skating and I’m willing to bet Sauron had a crack team of snow orcs out there somewhere. Granted, he didn’t have a crack team of ‘Defend Mount Doom’ guys, but there you go.
#1 Motivational Speaker
Do you have a group that needs motivating? Are they umenthused and lackluster? Well, just have an orc come in and scare the crap out of them!
Argth: Me Argth! Me kill tweny Men! Me kill you if you no (checks paper) sell more insurance! You do what paper say! You do it many times! Or Argth come back with club! You no want Argth to come back with club!
You! You look happy! You want Argth come back? You want Argth to eat Man flesh? You no do what paper say, Argth come back! Argth bring whole tribe! We have a luau!
And there you go! Tune in tomorrow for the results of the voting for the Nerd Naming!
Cheers,
-Jason
Here then, are my top 5 jobs for unemployed orcs.
#5 Meter Maids
Yes, Meter Maids (or Parking Enforcement Officers, if you prefer). They would drive around in little carts, writing out tickets to unlawfully parked cars. The writing the ticket part could be troublesome, but they would get absolutely ZERO guff from the public.
#4 Driving Tester
If you can drive while a 200-pound orc snarls and glowers at you from the passenger seat, nothing you see on the road will ever faze you.
#3 School Crossing Guard
Honestly, there would never be a problem with people stopping at crosswalks if orcs were the crossing guards. Mainly because they would have spears and would be allowed to kill your car if they thought it necessary. Frankly, you would stop half a block away, just to be certain.
#2 Professional Hockey Players
They wear armor and helmets and charge around with sticks trying to hit a small puck while doing violent things to one another. It’s perfect. The orcs have every needed skill save for ice-skating and I’m willing to bet Sauron had a crack team of snow orcs out there somewhere. Granted, he didn’t have a crack team of ‘Defend Mount Doom’ guys, but there you go.
#1 Motivational Speaker
Do you have a group that needs motivating? Are they umenthused and lackluster? Well, just have an orc come in and scare the crap out of them!
Argth: Me Argth! Me kill tweny Men! Me kill you if you no (checks paper) sell more insurance! You do what paper say! You do it many times! Or Argth come back with club! You no want Argth to come back with club!
You! You look happy! You want Argth come back? You want Argth to eat Man flesh? You no do what paper say, Argth come back! Argth bring whole tribe! We have a luau!
And there you go! Tune in tomorrow for the results of the voting for the Nerd Naming!
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Unemployment: Part 1
I happened to be thinking about the Lord of the Rings the other day. This happens to me sometimes, for no readily apparent reason. I’ll be walking along and suddenly think ‘If Mordor had a fast food restaurant, what would they serve?”
NOTE: It would be called Sauron’s and it would serve Hobbit Burgers, Men-on-a-Stick, Orc Nuggets and Diet Dr. Pepper. Happy Meals would come with very small trebuchets.
I blame my parents.
Anyhow, it occurred to me that with the defeat of Sauron and the Beginning of the Age of Men, what would all the orcs do? There has to be a couple hundred thousand of them left and they can’t all get jobs at the DMV.
Obviously, they would need to interview first:
Interviewer: So now . . . Argth . . . is it?
Argth: Yah.
Interviewer: Great. Now, I just have to ask. What are you wearing around your neck?
Argth: Man skull.
Interviewer: Super. So then, what are your qualifications?
Argth: Me inna army long time. Me kill (slowly counts on fingers) 8 Men at white city. Me killed dem gud.
Interviewer: Ah. Is there anything else?
Argth: Me gots . . . er . . . people skill.
Interviewer: Excellent. And why do you want to work as a Kindergarten teacher?
Argth: Me likes kids. Dey tasty.
Tomorrow: Part 2
NOTE: It would be called Sauron’s and it would serve Hobbit Burgers, Men-on-a-Stick, Orc Nuggets and Diet Dr. Pepper. Happy Meals would come with very small trebuchets.
I blame my parents.
Anyhow, it occurred to me that with the defeat of Sauron and the Beginning of the Age of Men, what would all the orcs do? There has to be a couple hundred thousand of them left and they can’t all get jobs at the DMV.
Obviously, they would need to interview first:
Interviewer: So now . . . Argth . . . is it?
Argth: Yah.
Interviewer: Great. Now, I just have to ask. What are you wearing around your neck?
Argth: Man skull.
Interviewer: Super. So then, what are your qualifications?
Argth: Me inna army long time. Me kill (slowly counts on fingers) 8 Men at white city. Me killed dem gud.
Interviewer: Ah. Is there anything else?
Argth: Me gots . . . er . . . people skill.
Interviewer: Excellent. And why do you want to work as a Kindergarten teacher?
Argth: Me likes kids. Dey tasty.
Tomorrow: Part 2
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Ask Gorg: Part 2
Gorg,
I hate all this killing that the other Orcs like so much and most of all I hate eating entrails every day. I want to become a vegetarian! What should I do?The Vegie Orc
Dear Vegie Orc,
You seem to have two problems: One, you hate killing. Two, you like vegetables.
As far as the killing goes, I have one word for you: Accountant. Yes, Sauron needs accountants. The Great Eye has all the psychotic killers he can handle, what he really needs is orcs who can count past two. Massive armies of Evil don’t run themselves, they need entrails, weapons, armor, and knitting supplies by the ton (the ogres love knitting, don’t know why). As an Accountant, you can help make sure the books are balanced, the Nazgul get fed, and the entrails keep flowing in.
Vegetables, eh? Well, if you become an Accountant, Sauron will give you whatever you want. You’ll have more vegetables that you need and a couple dozen bodyguards who’ll kill anyone who dares mock you.
Gorg,
I don’t feel like I’m reaching my full potential. I kill lots of orcs and men and horses and whatever, but I never seem to get promoted or recognized. What can I do?
Vorok, the Many-Killer
Dear Vorok,
Maybe you’re too good a killer. If you kill everyone, no one will be around to point out how great you are. Next time you’re in a battle or a fight, try leaving someone alive or just maiming a couple of them. They’ll let everyone know what a vicious bastard you are and the promotions and recognition will flow in.
Send more questions to Gorg and he will answer them. Until then, kill them and feast on their entrails.
I hate all this killing that the other Orcs like so much and most of all I hate eating entrails every day. I want to become a vegetarian! What should I do?The Vegie Orc
Dear Vegie Orc,
You seem to have two problems: One, you hate killing. Two, you like vegetables.
As far as the killing goes, I have one word for you: Accountant. Yes, Sauron needs accountants. The Great Eye has all the psychotic killers he can handle, what he really needs is orcs who can count past two. Massive armies of Evil don’t run themselves, they need entrails, weapons, armor, and knitting supplies by the ton (the ogres love knitting, don’t know why). As an Accountant, you can help make sure the books are balanced, the Nazgul get fed, and the entrails keep flowing in.
Vegetables, eh? Well, if you become an Accountant, Sauron will give you whatever you want. You’ll have more vegetables that you need and a couple dozen bodyguards who’ll kill anyone who dares mock you.
Gorg,
I don’t feel like I’m reaching my full potential. I kill lots of orcs and men and horses and whatever, but I never seem to get promoted or recognized. What can I do?
Vorok, the Many-Killer
Dear Vorok,
Maybe you’re too good a killer. If you kill everyone, no one will be around to point out how great you are. Next time you’re in a battle or a fight, try leaving someone alive or just maiming a couple of them. They’ll let everyone know what a vicious bastard you are and the promotions and recognition will flow in.
Send more questions to Gorg and he will answer them. Until then, kill them and feast on their entrails.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Ask Gorg: Part 1
Whilst on the plane home from San Jose, I found a newspaper stuffed in the little magazine holder in front of me. I casually flipped through it and noticed the advice column. It had the standard ‘husband problem,’ ‘kid problem,’ and ‘mucous beast from other dimension problem’ that are the primary kinds of letters featured.
It then occurred to me that it would be funny to write in with some bizarre problem and ask for advice. However, they probably quite a few extremely weird letters, so mine would probably not rate very highly.
Then, being a nerd, I wondered who orcs would turn to when they desperately needed advice? Who would they trust with their innermost thoughts and feelings?
Gorg,
There is an orc in my unit that I hate. He always pushes me and tries to steal my food. What should I do?
Thork
Dear Thork,
Kill him and eat his entrails.
Gorg,
Sometimes the other orcs make fun of me because I like flowers. I just think they’re pretty (the flowers, not the orcs) and like to put them on my armor. How can I get them to stop making fun of me?
Orc with Flower
Dear Orc with Flower,
Kill them and eat their entrails. If you kill enough of them, no one will laugh at you for liking flowers.
Tomorrow: Part 2
It then occurred to me that it would be funny to write in with some bizarre problem and ask for advice. However, they probably quite a few extremely weird letters, so mine would probably not rate very highly.
Then, being a nerd, I wondered who orcs would turn to when they desperately needed advice? Who would they trust with their innermost thoughts and feelings?
Gorg,
There is an orc in my unit that I hate. He always pushes me and tries to steal my food. What should I do?
Thork
Dear Thork,
Kill him and eat his entrails.
Gorg,
Sometimes the other orcs make fun of me because I like flowers. I just think they’re pretty (the flowers, not the orcs) and like to put them on my armor. How can I get them to stop making fun of me?
Orc with Flower
Dear Orc with Flower,
Kill them and eat their entrails. If you kill enough of them, no one will laugh at you for liking flowers.
Tomorrow: Part 2
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
A Memo: Part 2
To: Lord Aragorn, Heir of Isildur
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Coronation
My Lord,
Let me first congratulate you on your great victory over Sauron and his fell forces. It was truly a magnificent deed that will shine in the songs of Men until the end of our days.
However, the continued requests to clean up the city and its surrounding environs in time for your coronation are patently impossible. My men have cremated almost a thousand bodies and have worked to exhaustion, but they simply cannot work any faster. If we are to remove all the bodies in time for your coronation, we will need the combined armies of Rohan and Gondor to help.
Your humble servant,
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
To: Lord Aragorn, Heir of Isildur
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Coronation
My Lord,
While your constant messages are flattering, they are not helping us progress any faster. If your lordship wishes his guests to not notice the piles of corpses I suggest you buy a lot of tents, erect them over the bodies and then spread enough potpourri to fill Mount Doom ‘cause we’re not going to be done.
Your exhausted, increasingly frustrated servant,
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
To: Lord Aragorn, Heir of Isildur
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Coronation
My Lord,
Let me tell you a story. It involves trying to move a month-old Oliphant corpse. First, you have to gut it and let all the innards out, being careful not to be crushed by the hundreds of tons of offal or passing out from the smell. Then you have to build scaffolding inside the beast and starting hacking and sawing away. I cannot begin to describe the smell, save to say that I would rather be an orc bathroom attendant for 100 years than spend five minutes inside a dead Oliphant. Not to mention the fact that you get to be literally covered in bits of Oliphant all day and can’t quite get rid of the smell, even after several hours of bathing.
In short: bite me.
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
To: Whom it may concern,
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Up Yours
We quit.
We’re tired, we stink, and we’re getting nothing but grief.
If you want everything cleaned up for your coronation, do it yourself. Maybe you should’ve had that undead army tidy up for you before you let them go.
Btb, if you feel the need to arrest us and charge us with treason or something, please do. We could use a break and even jail is better than standing hip deep in rotting offal.
Bill, Ex-Head of Groundskeeping
Cheers,
-Jason
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Coronation
My Lord,
Let me first congratulate you on your great victory over Sauron and his fell forces. It was truly a magnificent deed that will shine in the songs of Men until the end of our days.
However, the continued requests to clean up the city and its surrounding environs in time for your coronation are patently impossible. My men have cremated almost a thousand bodies and have worked to exhaustion, but they simply cannot work any faster. If we are to remove all the bodies in time for your coronation, we will need the combined armies of Rohan and Gondor to help.
Your humble servant,
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
To: Lord Aragorn, Heir of Isildur
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Coronation
My Lord,
While your constant messages are flattering, they are not helping us progress any faster. If your lordship wishes his guests to not notice the piles of corpses I suggest you buy a lot of tents, erect them over the bodies and then spread enough potpourri to fill Mount Doom ‘cause we’re not going to be done.
Your exhausted, increasingly frustrated servant,
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
To: Lord Aragorn, Heir of Isildur
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Coronation
My Lord,
Let me tell you a story. It involves trying to move a month-old Oliphant corpse. First, you have to gut it and let all the innards out, being careful not to be crushed by the hundreds of tons of offal or passing out from the smell. Then you have to build scaffolding inside the beast and starting hacking and sawing away. I cannot begin to describe the smell, save to say that I would rather be an orc bathroom attendant for 100 years than spend five minutes inside a dead Oliphant. Not to mention the fact that you get to be literally covered in bits of Oliphant all day and can’t quite get rid of the smell, even after several hours of bathing.
In short: bite me.
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
To: Whom it may concern,
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Up Yours
We quit.
We’re tired, we stink, and we’re getting nothing but grief.
If you want everything cleaned up for your coronation, do it yourself. Maybe you should’ve had that undead army tidy up for you before you let them go.
Btb, if you feel the need to arrest us and charge us with treason or something, please do. We could use a break and even jail is better than standing hip deep in rotting offal.
Bill, Ex-Head of Groundskeeping
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
A Memo: Part 1
So, I happened to watch the Return of the King the other day and at the end of the battle in front of Minas Tirith, it occured to me that somebody is going to have to clean all that up. That thought inspired the following:
To: Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Bodies
My Lord,
I have recently received orders that the corpses from the recent battle in front of and within Minas Tirith be cleaned up post-haste. I would like to remind your lordship that we number but fifty, while the dead number greater than ten-thousand, not counting the Oliphants.
If my Lord wishes the corpses to be removed in a timely manner, I must ask for more men, preferably in the number of five-thousand.
Your humble servant,
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
To: Whomever’s in Charge
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Bodies
My Lord,
I have once again received an urgent missive regarding the state of the corpses decomposing in and in front of our fair city. I must humbly remind your Lordship that we can remove no more than 200 men or orc corpses (or some forty horse carcasses) a day. I cannot begin to imagine how long it will take to remove a single Oliphant!
While the ten additional men you saw fit to assign to us have helped, it will take at least a thousand to make any sort of progress.
May I remind your lordship of the numbers that we must deal with:
6,000+ Orcs
4,000+ Men
1,000+ Horses
200+ Random Trolls, Nazgul Mounts, & Fell Creatures We Cannot Identify
10 Oliphants
Several Hundreds of miscellaneous Squirrels, Cats, Dogs, Wombats, Lawyers, & Street Performers
Your humble servant,
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Tomorrow: Part 2 - 'I suggest you buy a lot of potpourri'
To: Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Bodies
My Lord,
I have recently received orders that the corpses from the recent battle in front of and within Minas Tirith be cleaned up post-haste. I would like to remind your lordship that we number but fifty, while the dead number greater than ten-thousand, not counting the Oliphants.
If my Lord wishes the corpses to be removed in a timely manner, I must ask for more men, preferably in the number of five-thousand.
Your humble servant,
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
To: Whomever’s in Charge
From: Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Re: Bodies
My Lord,
I have once again received an urgent missive regarding the state of the corpses decomposing in and in front of our fair city. I must humbly remind your Lordship that we can remove no more than 200 men or orc corpses (or some forty horse carcasses) a day. I cannot begin to imagine how long it will take to remove a single Oliphant!
While the ten additional men you saw fit to assign to us have helped, it will take at least a thousand to make any sort of progress.
May I remind your lordship of the numbers that we must deal with:
6,000+ Orcs
4,000+ Men
1,000+ Horses
200+ Random Trolls, Nazgul Mounts, & Fell Creatures We Cannot Identify
10 Oliphants
Several Hundreds of miscellaneous Squirrels, Cats, Dogs, Wombats, Lawyers, & Street Performers
Your humble servant,
Bill, Head of Groundskeeping
Tomorrow: Part 2 - 'I suggest you buy a lot of potpourri'
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
A Conversation at Helm’s Deep: Part 1
I happened to be watching The Two Towers the other day and during the Helm’s Deep battle, I started feeling slightly sorry for the orcs.
Sure, they’re smelly, vicious, evil, murderous, environmentally unfriendly, and they would probably not only kick a puppy, but eat it as well, but y’know, they were made that way.
If you think about it, they weren’t really given any choice. It’s not like Saruman stood at the top of Orthanc and said:
“Today we start our war against the Rohirrim! We will burn their homes and crops! We will kick their puppies! The ground will run red with their blood! And you will eat man-flesh!”
“However, I realize that some of you might not be interested in fighting. Therefore, all those who want to go to war line up at the east gate. No, the other east gate. No! That one! Look at where I’m pointing!”
“Now, for those of you who chose to stay, I have arranged for some something fun. The Dark Lord has obliged us by sending Urk-bar, Master Chef and Pâtissier to teach a class on how to make brioche. So please go down to the kitchen and give Chef Urk-bar your full attention.”
Pretty much, they were born (more or less), they got handed a sword, and were sent off to fight. They didn’t even get to go to the prom, for Pete’s sake. Actually, that’s probably for the best, seeing as how I don’t think Saruman got around to making female Uruk-Hai. Otherwise, it would have gotten weird:
“Lurg, would you go prom with me?”
“Sorry, Gark, me already ask Rart.”
“Oh. Okay.”
And, frankly, they were probably terrible dancers anyway.
Tomorrow: Part 2 – what do Uruk-Hai talk about?
Sure, they’re smelly, vicious, evil, murderous, environmentally unfriendly, and they would probably not only kick a puppy, but eat it as well, but y’know, they were made that way.
If you think about it, they weren’t really given any choice. It’s not like Saruman stood at the top of Orthanc and said:
“Today we start our war against the Rohirrim! We will burn their homes and crops! We will kick their puppies! The ground will run red with their blood! And you will eat man-flesh!”
“However, I realize that some of you might not be interested in fighting. Therefore, all those who want to go to war line up at the east gate. No, the other east gate. No! That one! Look at where I’m pointing!”
“Now, for those of you who chose to stay, I have arranged for some something fun. The Dark Lord has obliged us by sending Urk-bar, Master Chef and Pâtissier to teach a class on how to make brioche. So please go down to the kitchen and give Chef Urk-bar your full attention.”
Pretty much, they were born (more or less), they got handed a sword, and were sent off to fight. They didn’t even get to go to the prom, for Pete’s sake. Actually, that’s probably for the best, seeing as how I don’t think Saruman got around to making female Uruk-Hai. Otherwise, it would have gotten weird:
“Lurg, would you go prom with me?”
“Sorry, Gark, me already ask Rart.”
“Oh. Okay.”
And, frankly, they were probably terrible dancers anyway.
Tomorrow: Part 2 – what do Uruk-Hai talk about?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
