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Author Topic: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.  (Read 50297 times)

Ubiq

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The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« on: September 14, 2010, 01:37:11 am »

Today is a most exasperating day. A few days ago, I was gallivanting along through the jungle, minding my own business, and suddenly I came along and found Cousin Eustace in, of all things, an oaken cage. The dear fellow, yes, a bit scatterbrained, but a dear fellow none-the-less, apologies, the dear fellow said that he was minding his own business and had stepped into what he claimed was a cleverly concealed trap. I expressed my doubts and got quite the rude reply from him. I examined the cage a bit, but could see no way of extracting my chum. You would think that he could simply break a flimsy little cage such as the one he was in, but this was apparently not the case.

 "Tough luck, old boy" thought I and began to continue along my path as I had places to be. It was then that I stepped into a cage trap of my own; Eustace thought this quite the laugh, the stupid git. He spent the rest of the evening mocking me quite thoroughly until we each fell asleep. As a mercy, he fell asleep first so that I could at least fall asleep without being serenaded with his feeble attempts at wit. I awoke the next day to find Eustace and his cage both gone. This was an unexpected twist and a pleasant one at first. As time went by, I began to see things differently. Between the both of us, we might have eventually figured a way out of this predicament, but, alas, this was a much more difficult proposition with only one of us about. Beyond that, well, he was still company even if it was exceedingly annoying company.

I began to feel quite sorry for myself as one will and thought for a while that this might be my permanent lot in life. How quickly I would come to miss those quiet moments. My solitary existence continued on for a while longer and finally came to an end when a stocky creature approached. Upon inspection, it was one of those... those diggy, bebearded provincial types. Dwargs? Dorfs?  Something along those lines. He chattered at me in a inane would-be language that I couldn't make out. It sounded something like "Man, you're a big un, ain'tcha!" I remain unaware to this day as to what he said, but I suspect it was unflattering. Oh, I do so wish that I had attended to Uncle Frederick's language classes rather than watching birds.

Ah, but I digress. So there we remained staring eye to eye for a time. My eyes must have been decieving me that day; while I can clearly recall what my apparent captor was wearing, what he was carrying in his right hand (a sort of stick and tusk combination, a tuskstick, if you will), and even how he was missing his back left tooth, I have the oddest impression that he was shimmering the entire time. How the mind plays tricks on one in times of stress!

He muttered something that I did not catch, but which I interpreted to mean that fetching me back to whatever den of inequity he sprang from was his current purpose in life. I admit, I began laughing at the poor fool for this. I've seen these creatures before with their wagons and imbecilic muskoxen (that might seem harsh, but have you ever tried having a conversation with one?) and I could not imagine how he could possibly accomplish this mission without them. I quickly shut up when he reach out his left hand and hoisted the cage onto the corresponding shoulder with a single motion.

"CAD!" I said, "BOUNDER! Respect the laws of physics, you bearded mendicant!" While it seemed to accomplish little more than amuse him, I continued to abuse him verbally all the way back to his "mountainhome" or "footrest". This collection of hovels, this wretched hive of bearded villainy, this... this hole in the ground. Mountainhome, my foot! Footrest, my sainted spinster aunt's trunk! This place is little more than a massive, smoking pit in the ground with a massive collection of assorted objects surrounding it on all sides. One such collection that we passed housed a collection of cages, containing Eustace, that great braying jackass, who laughed at me so hard that his cage shook.

Even now, days later, another such collection currently contains myself along with as odd a menagerie as one might ever see. Crocodiles of all varieties, salt, fresh, cave, bears of various shapes and colors, and what appear to be thirty or forty dogs stacked in a single cage. My heart goes out to them even if they don't seem distressed about it in the least. My nearest neighbors are, of course, all muskoxen, who spend the majority of their time making up chants about something called goblinball. Confound it all.

Next time: Reginald begins his career OR A elephant never forgets. To kill.
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Vaftrudner

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #1 on: September 14, 2010, 08:39:20 am »

I like it, the elephant insults are grand.

Xenos

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #2 on: September 14, 2010, 05:26:42 pm »

That is amazing...It sounds like my forts...only there are massive amounts of various monkeys and gorillas...and elephants.  ;)
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Urist McKing

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #3 on: September 14, 2010, 06:21:30 pm »

Lets see how he reacts.. to MAGMA
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Ubiq

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #4 on: September 14, 2010, 09:44:34 pm »

I have heard a lot in my day about magnetic personalities; mine it seems is broken as it attract only fools. Several times today, I have been approached by some confounded idiot or other, who always fires off the same "Man, you're a big 'un, aintcha?" It's possible that this is some sort of digbeard (lacking the correct nomenclature, I have chosen to call them this for simplicity's sake) greeting, but I still harbor suspicions that they are expressing a familiarity unbecoming creatures that haven't been properly introduced as of yet. I suspect something is going on, but I have no clue as to what that would be. Once I saw a digbeard clad in purple leaves come up to me, speak to another digbeard, and then wander off. I've observed this digbeard before; it appears that he is of no value, does no work, and, as a result, must be in charge.

It was shortly thereafter that I was approached by a green clad digbeard. I'm not sure as to what his intent was. I know only that he fed me some fish. Fish! Can you believe it? I still find it amazing even now. My initial response was "Don't know much about elephants, do you, old boy?", but I found myself quickly devouring it anyway. Odd thing that; I don't recall ever being that hungry before or since. Or ever being hungry for that matter.

At last, whatever it is going on is settled and I'm blessedly removed from the vicinity of those confounded muskoxen (I fear that their asinine HERE WE GO, GOBBO! HERE WE GO! chant shall forever remain in the dark recesses of my brain) by the same green fellow before being transferred to another cage. Odd thing that; the only difference I can see between the two is that the first was wooden and this one is made of copper. I remain there only a short time before another purpleclad digbeard comes along, pointing at different objects, jabbering rapidly and then heading back the way he came. Shortly thereafter, I found myself, cage and all, being carried, none too gently I might, by the same glimmering miscreant who brought me to this digbeard hellhole in the first place to a small stone structure. I give my spleen full vent and should rightfully be proud of the insults I unleashed upon him, but it was ultimately futile. There is little profit in verbally abusing a barbarian. They either cannot understand you or do understand you. The former results in confused looks or laughter while the latter results in a sharp stick in the face.

I leave off my lengthy list of insinuations about my porter's heritage to note the largish collection of folks around the stone structure. There seem to be three different types of creature involved; the reedy, pointy-eared fellows who like to lecture a hapless elephant who desired only to scratch their back against a handy bit of foliage, the digbeards, and creatures who seem to fall between the two. The latter lack any other defining characteristics and are the most boring creatures I've ever seen. There seemed to be a bit of heated discussion between chosen representatives of the three and that same purple twit, which is punctuated by many a headshake, nod, and waving of fingers. The latter towards me, the sky, and everything in between. The purple chap seems particularly fond of a single digit, which is often employed whenever the pointy-eared fellow is involved.

At least, the matter is settled and I have apparently been purchased by one of the digbeards. I am not sure what to make of that. Pointyears are annoying, but have a decent reputation amongst my jungle and savannah comrades. The nondescript fellows are usually considered quite fair, but it rumored that they consort with that most dreaded of hells, the circus. The digbeards, well, my feelings about them ought to be quite obvious; suffice to say, I do not consider them the lesser of the available evils. I begin to complain about this profusely, but immediately cease when my cage is lifted onto the back of what appeared to be a clinicly depressed warthog. The look he gave me while my porter was approaching him was a great reminder of how somebody is always worse off.

And so we set off. I attempt to make conversation with the warthog once or twice, but the poor fellow will talk of nothing but his lumbago sadly for a few minutes before falling silent. After two such isntances, I abandon any notion of further attempts at passing the hours in idle chit-chat. We travel a day and a night before we arrive at our presumptive destination. Imagine, if you will, a great mountain rearing up against the sky, belching smoke and an eerie red glow reflecting off of everything around. The ground, the sky, and the vast waters in the distance behind the mountain. Beneath that mountain sits a massive rock wall with a single, formidable gate at its center. We pass through the gate in a relative hurry; in fact, we'd been at an accelerated pace like that ever since the scenery went red and purple. 

Upon reaching the center of the town, I, along with a rather surprising amount of food and beverage, am removed from my beleagured warthog compatriot. The latter offers several thanks to a particular deity with whom I am unfamiliar. I freely admit, I'm not the religious sort. My family and most of my friends are fairly devout worshippers of The Great Koganusān , but I am sceptical by nature. That is not to say that I was not touched by the sincerity of Brother Warthog's devotions, but I'm not sure that divine anything had to do with his relief. This place seems to have less of the divine and more than the demoniac.

After a brief interlude, one of the digbeards approaches and allows me out of my cage. I laugh triumphantly and head for freedom through the gate; the digbeard pays no mind to this and simply wanders off. So much the better as I can escape without the hassle of fighting my way out. There were traps there to be certain, but I inspected them carefully on the way, could see them quite plainly now, and was quite confident that I could navigate them without any trouble. I was nearing the entrance when I noticed the giant creatures, walloons I think they are called, stomping around in the far distance. I immediately slowed for two reasons. While I only dabble in biology of creatures who do not live in my home territory, I was quite aware of the fact that walloons are sea-going fishtypes. Secondly, I'm quite certain that they usually have skin. In light of that unfortunate development, I thought it not unreasonable to display the greater part of valor and turn back. In doing so, I bumped into one of the squeaky short creatures. I attempted to apologize as I had honestly not seen him earlier, but the little fiend stabbed me with a pointy stick. It did no lasting damage, but stung. A lot in fact.

"MOUNTEBANK! BANDITO!" I screamed. "ASSASSIN! Take this, you lilliputian brute!" With that, I picked the jabbering villain up by his right foot, small toe and threw him, as the vernacular goes, a country mile. Over the gate, over the field, and in the general vicinity of the walloons. I imagine they dealt with him; I have no desire to find out. As I arrived back to the scene of my deliverance, apologies, I noticed several of the dwarves staring at me. I seem to have drawn attention to myself. My dealings with the digbeards remain fairly limited, but I have come to the conclusion that such attention is not to be desired. Oh, bother.

Next time: The Education of Reginald or A Clockwork Elephant.
« Last Edit: September 14, 2010, 09:48:27 pm by Ubiq »
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darkflagrance

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #5 on: September 15, 2010, 10:01:57 am »

This is far, far too enjoyable. I had a smile on my face the whole time I read it. I want to see more of Reginald!

that most dreaded of hells, the circus.

I found this line exceedingly humorous.
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Urist McKing

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #6 on: September 15, 2010, 02:43:48 pm »

The purple chap seems particularly fond of a single digit, which is often employed whenever the pointy-eared fellow is involved.

Best. Line. EVAR
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Ubiq

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #7 on: September 15, 2010, 05:50:59 pm »

I know not why, but I often find myself drawn to the Grand Dining Room. It is an unusual, but thoroughly charming place, full of random statues, tables, thrones, and a marvelous waterfall. The mist is particularly delightful on a hot day. Many a time I've seen a sad or trouble digbeard enter this wonder of architecture with all the world on their shoulders and leave minutes later in a trance of wonderment. I admit, the effect is somewhat spoiled by the rabble hanging about. The digbeards don't seem to mind, I've seen one of them shove a dozing horse off of the nearest table and then immediately sit down and eat on it. This seems unsanitary, but cleanliness does not seem to be a digbeard virtue. They seem totally unaware of something so rudimentary as a nice dirt bath. Savages.

Not to say most of the other company is any better. The troglodytes are an especial nuisance with their chants of "Gooba gabba geeba gabba" and "ooga chaka ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka" and "Yabba dabba doo!" and other such nonsense. As often happens, one stumbles across a diamond in the rough and I have found an oasis in this intellectual desert. This consists of an elderly giant olm named, in the vulgar, Solon Welldrinker, a rather pompous, but certainly interesting Giant Eagle named Sam (he claims this is after the famed Giant, but I have my doubts), and, greatest of all, a Giant Cave Spider named "Stray Giant Cave Spider [Tame]". The latter is a decidely worldly creature and has a better understanding of the digbeards, which he refers to as Urists, than any creature I have encountered. As such, when he claims [Tame] is a title bestowed upon a respected member of the community by Urists, I am inclined to believe him.

Many times have we whiled the hours in polite conversation. Little was I to know what was to come though. During one such day, right in the middle of an engaging lecture by Sam upon the deleterious effects of today's engraving on youth, a greenclad showed up and dragged me off. I tried to resist one or twice, but to no avail. He spirited me away to a large building that consisted of many small corrals and a large central building. What a collection of animals there were! One could hardly set foot on the ground without fear of the ground turning out to be a very indigant dog.

I remained there for some time before I was finally approached by a purpleclad digbeard, who dismissed the greenclad with a perfunctory nod. At least, I assume that is what the creature was and I assume that that was a nod. It seemed to be nothing more than an ambulatory pile of purple leaves, layer upon layer of them that disguised all features, but it spoke the digbeard language and exuded that same confounded superior attitude. We had yet another standoff, regarding each other, and the purple twit fired off the customary "Man, you're a big un, aintcha!" greeting. This removed all but the last little vestige of doubt as the identity of this creature. One day I intend to discover the meaning of this phrase; if it is unpleasant as I suspect, there shall be a great accounting.

At this point, I found myself shackled to the floor by another greenclad that had appeared as if summoned by magic. Several blueclads also sprang out of the aether and began to play musical instruments. It's rather amazing what a tonal range can be accomplished with things made out of rock. Despite being shackled, this was an altogether pleasant experience. I rather like the trumpets; I reminds me of home. The purpleclad seemed satisfied with these arrangements and left. Yet another blueclad approached at this point was a massive stack of leaves, which had other leaves attached to them.

The first was a pleasant scene of happy elephants frolicking in the wild jungle; this is ironical on several levels, but I do not think it was intended to be. The next was one of a collection of ugly creatures that appeared to be wearing sharp rocks and waving sharp sticks. Not necessarily unpleasant, but baffling at the time. The next image was certainly less ambiguous as it showed the elephants and rockclads together. I began to have an uneasy feeling at this point. The next image showed the elephants in various stages of distress, which seemed highly amusing to the rockclads. The fifth, well, it shall remain unsaid. I still shudder to think back upon it. The entire sequence was repeated again and again for several hours with musical accompaniment all the while. I think I was in a state of shock by the time it was released as I hardly recall when it ended. 

Since this has happened, I have often felt a strange compulsion to follow the purpleclad idiot that inflicted this on me in the first place. I will say that the next few weeks were quiet, uneventful ones. This came to an abrupt end one late autumn day when loud trumpets rang out and the purple fool ran out to see what was the matter. As usual, I felt drawn along in his wake though at least part of it was curiosity to see what was going on.

Off in the cold distance where the walloons did prowl, I beheld a massive walking juggernaut of shiny rock, who was heading straight towards us. "Ah, there's something", thought I, "you do not see everyday." At this point, my attention slid over to the purple dolt, who was gibbering at me in his customary fashion. I have no idea what he was saying, but I judged from his gestures that he wanted me to attack the creature in question! "The Hell you say!" was my initial response, which lead to a reiteration of his hackneyed attempt at conversation and a renewed gesture. It was at this point that I first began to lament the inability to replicate the gesture I saw so long ago between the digbeard and pointies. I attempted it with my trunk, but it failed to elicit any response other than a repeated command to engage.

As would any sensible creature, I continued to balk as the monster continued to approach. Each thunderous step shook me to my core and set my tusks aquiver. Even now, it was at the gate and my mind was still against interfering with it. I considered the possibility that any hostilies would exist solely between Shiny Rockthing and the digbeards, but there was also the possibilty that I would be guilty by proximity. Every day with these fools is a great trial.

Next time: Reginald at war OR Elephantitis of the Ego.
« Last Edit: September 15, 2010, 05:56:57 pm by Ubiq »
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Ubiq

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #8 on: September 17, 2010, 03:20:51 am »

I found myself moving towards the rockthing albeit unwillingly and in no great hurry. My purple colleague chose to remain behind, confound him. While en route to the gate, I passed a dog that I recognized from my unpleasant experience the other day. He looked from me to Shiny Rockthing and back again. The misbegotten fool then had the audacity to say "Better you than me, pal" and went off on his merry way. May all his offspring be scrawny and flearidden forever.

Shiny Rockthing had apparently taken notice of me and had politely decided to wait for me outside of the walls. We stood there for a moment, sizing each other up. And up and up and up, in my case, since Shiny Rockthing towered well over my head. There he stood in what seemed to be a gracious offer for me to make the first move. I wished to run and should have, but something compelled me to remain there. So I did the only thing I could and desperately sought a weapon; by which I mean I picked up whatever was handy and flung it at Rockthing. Sadly, this turned out to be nothing more than a random wooden log. Ash if I recall correctly.

Judging by his lack of reaction, I can only conclude that Rockthing was rather embarrassed for the both of us. He took a step foward with the evident intent of relieving said embarrassment by relieving me of my living status when it happened. The brainless (literally I think) twit stepped on the aforementioned log and tripped. Do you recall the traps I mentioned earlier? Well, he landed right across one of them. Not a cage trap, mind one, but one that employed many shiny rock objects though of a different shade than his. If I recall correctly, at least a few of them were a light blue color. I know at least one of them was since it neatly removed Rockthing's head from his impressive shoulders. The head bounced a few times and landed behind me.

After a few minutes of watching, I cautiously moved forwards to investigate. A prod from my trunk resulted in no movement from the Rockthing's corpse. It was then that one of the digbeards, himself clad in rocks, came puffing up behind me. Before now, I had never really noticed that the digbeards had rockclads amongst them; they must be rare or frequent areas that I do not. The rockclad was soon joined by several fellows, who seemed rather excited about the whole thing. After a bit of work and the help of a rather sturdy fellow (another tuskstick; they must be the bulls of the herd), they sat the body upright. I rather liked the effect it gave off; a being forever stuck in mid-stumble with it's arms flung out before it.

This whole situation has apparently made quite an impression on the digbeards. As I recall this, I am observing a thinnish digbeard engraving yet another tribute to this event. This particular one seems to involve the Rockthing pleading for mercy and me laughing. I assume that is supposed to be me; these little beggars always make my tusks too small in any such image and fail to capture that certain air of refinement and classic breeding that define me to my very core. There seems to be a cottage industry built around such engravings of me; nothing else must ever happen of interest in this sordid little burg. In purely artistic terms, the Dining Hall's corner image of me striking down Shiny Rockthing with a single blow is my favorite, but the current example is rather nice.

It is good that I have fine colleagues such as Solon, Sam, and Mr. Spider, [TAME] as I might get a swelled head otherwise. I've attempted several times to impress upon the digbeards that this was only a happy (for me anyway; Shiny Rockthing would dispute it) accident, but such pleas fall upon deaf ears. They keep me grounded; often by reminding me of what would have happened had Rockthing gained hold of me. Sam is especially adept at painting what a gruesome picture that would be. I often have to leave the Dining Hall when he begins since the body of Rockthing is now standing against the wall of the Hall. It would seem that the digbeards are not opposed to using corpses as decorative briq-a-braq. I expect that my own skull might someday by considered objet d'art.

Apologies, but I grow weary of story telling and will pick this up again later. Good day to you, sir and/or madame.

Next time: Reginald and the Rockclads or Foolish Inconsistencies are the Goblins of the Small Mind.
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GannonDorf

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #9 on: September 17, 2010, 06:44:58 pm »

Reginald is magnificent.

Keep updating, I love this. :)
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mgrinshpon

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #10 on: September 18, 2010, 12:09:10 am »

This is just amazing. Artifact level.
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Ubiq

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #11 on: September 18, 2010, 05:12:08 am »

Another day, another indignity. The purple poltroon who am I bidden to follow has taken to showing me off to the gawking imbeciles that constitute his peers. Even now I find myself surrounded by a goggling gaggle of them. I suppose that, on some level or other, I should appreciate their quite evident admiration of me, but my conscience won't allow me that pleasure. Moreover, my dislike of this particular set of digbeards grows by the day; ill-mannered brats seems the best description for them.

It is a welcome relief when the alarm trumpets sound and I am sent out to deal with whatever situation has newly arisen. I had thought previously that it had been quiet in recent days though I understand that this is somewhat deceptive and not really the case. Dangerous situations apparently often arise. The universe itself seems to have it out for this city; there have been several attempts to attack us by the opposing rockclads in recent days. Their attack was blunted each time when they blundered directly into the walloons, who seem to be quite impartial when it comes to dealing out skeletal violence. I myself saw one such instance from a great distance while that purple dolt ventured up onto the wall for a better view of the oncoming horde. Lacking tooth or claw, the walloons made do with bulk and wallowed the rockclads to death.

As I descended the wooden walkway (one might ask how an elephant can walk on a flimsy wooden scaffold, the answer is, of course, very carefully), it was then that I learned of the digbeard's great mania for leaves that go on the feet. Almost the entire footrest turned out to the gate to watch from a distance as the rockclads were reduced to a fine paste and wait for the all-clear signal. The minute the last walloon shambled off into the distance, said signal was given and an entire host of digbeards charged out to liberate the leaves from the rockclads. I noted few purpleclads went out in this charge, but I suspect that they simply picked out the best that was brought back in for themselves and left the rest for the hoi polloi to squabble over.

Anyway, the walloons are asleep at their posts or whatever they do with their spare time as a great collection of rockclads has made it to the digbeard's very gates. A number of them have already fallen prey to the traps; some of them sit in cages and await the tender mercies of the digbeards while a few have been scattered o'er the countryside by the shiny rock trap. A few of them are still hanging around outside as I make my way out there; one of them is a particularly large fellow for a rockclad and has the same insufferable air of self-importance that the purpleclad digbeards possess.

We regard each other from across the line of traps and the big rockclad makes several gestures and utterances which I suspect are a challenge. I step forward to accept his challenge and the infamous swine pokes me with a sharp stick before I had formally agreed to duel him. I attempt to show him the proper way to issue a challenge by stripping him of the leaves from one of the his forefeet and striking him with it. This does not achieve the desire effect and is, alas, my own fault. When I forget myself, I know not my own strength and this proved deleterious to the health of the rockclad in question. In my own defense, his head did arc quite nicely. I suppose that I could make some joke about the rockclad losing his head over the situation, but that would be gauche.

Still, it seems odd that two very different situations would have largely the same result. One might begin to think that decapitations, invasions, and shambling monstrosities are an everyday thing in the world of the digbeards, but this seems unlikely to say the least. No city could be that unlucky.

One of the other rockclads rushes at me in an evident attempt to avenge his fallen comrade. I've had quite enough of this and simply step on him. Even amongst elephants, my family has long been reknowned for it's ability to crush things underfoot and I firmly believe I did my ancestors full justice in this instance. Seeing as how their leader is now roughly a foot shorter and another of their comrades now flattened, this rest of the rockclads realize the lateness of time, make what apologies they can (or so I imagine), and speed off into the setting sun.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a digbeard stripping the leaves off of the late, possibly lamented rockclads feet. Another collects the head of the big one; I wonder what happened to the head of Shiny Rockthing. A digbeard laid claim to it as I recall, but I know not why. What purpose could somebody have for a giant stone head? I shudder to think.

Next time: Reginald and the Hydra or Six of one, over a half-dozen heads of another.
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noodle0117

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #12 on: September 18, 2010, 09:12:14 am »

The purple chap seems particularly fond of a single digit, which is often employed whenever the pointy-eared fellow is involved.

Sorry to express my dwarven noobyness, but what's the digit? 123456789? and what are walloons?
« Last Edit: September 18, 2010, 10:19:39 am by noodle0117 »
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Urist McKing

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #13 on: September 18, 2010, 10:16:32 am »

Reginald should be made an honorary dwarf. He is totally awesome.
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noodle0117

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Re: The Life and Times of Reginald Goblinstomper, Elephant at Large.
« Reply #14 on: September 18, 2010, 10:21:14 am »

Reginald should be made an honorary dwarf. He is totally awesome.
I'm pretty sure he'd prefer to remain his old elephant self rather than turn into an "ungraceful, unsanitary, and leaf clad digbeard."
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