Just this random idea I had when re-reading the Ruins of Gorlan. Hopefully I'll be able to have enough ideas to sustain me all the way through the Ruins of Gorlan as I'd ideally like to re-write all the chapters...I'll just have to see how it goes.

Read on an enjoy :D

N/B: I re-uploaded this chapter due to some blindingly obvious typos I hadn't had the chance to edit before. I did add a few extra words here and there as well XD Sorry for any other typos, a few always get away when I'm proof reading stuff -_-

This chapter is dedicated to Savannah Silverstone for being my first reviewer, thanks!

Moranate, Lord of the Really Wet Moutains Which Are Also Really Dark and former Baron of Gory Fief in the Kingdom of Araluuuuen, looked out over his windy crib and for the 1000000002347th time cursed (which has been censored for the convenience of the audience).

It had been fifteen years since he had been booted out of Araluuuuen and made to rule over this place. Gory Fief had been beautiful, green fields...forests...rainbows...marshmallows... The Really Wet Moutains Which Are Also Really Dark was a desolate place compared to the beauty of Gory Fief.

It had been fifteen years since he'd been booted out of Gory Fief and shoved into the Really Wet Mountains Which Were Also Really Dark, but he could still remember the beauty of Gory Fief. The streams had been full of water and fish, and the forests which with game (mainly checkers and scrabble). But these mountains were desolate and empty.

A platoon (which is another word for group) of Gargals were drilling in the courtyard below. For a few moments Moranate watched them wielding the power tools whilst chanting Gangham Style in Korean for the chorus they would all pause the do the dance then resume drilling.

They were strange mishappen beings, one-third hamster, one-third labrador and one-tenth human (no-one was to sure what the rest of them was). The Gargals had avoived all contact with humans (which was a wise move) and had lived all this time in the Really Wet Mountains. No one in living or dead memory had set eyes on them but rumours and stories had remained of the tribes of hemi-semi-demi-intelligent beasts in the mountains.

Moranate, planning a really evil rebellion, had snuck out of his castle in the middle of the night and set off to find them. It had taken him a really, really, really long time to find the beasts, (mainly because he kept on turning right instead of left) but he'd found them.

The Gargals relied on a primitive form of mind communication, not speaking any langauge. When marching or working they would chant Gangham Style in Korean, a phenomena that would baffle scientists in centuries to come. As a result of this they were susceptible to to domination by a superior intelligence and willpower, Moranate soon bent them to his will and they become his backside-kicking army of doom.

Now, as he stared at them, he compared them to the knights in sparkly armour at Castle Gory and their ladies dressed in silk dresses cheering them on as they competed in tounaments. Comparing them to the pink and purple furred creatures he cursed for the 1000000002348th time.

The Gargals attune to his emotions through his thoughts, sensed his anger and paused in the Gangham Styling and drilling. Angrily he directed them back to the drilling and the Gangham Styling resumed.

Morgarath moved away from the double glazed window, and shuffled closer to ye olde medieval radiator that seemed incapable of raising the temperature in the room above 30 degrees F.

Fifteen years, he thought pouting and crossing his arms. Fifteen years since he'd tried to kick the newly crowned King Duncan, a youth in his twenties, off the throne. He had planned it really well, the awesomeness and sheer evilness of his plan had blown him away; the old king's sickness had progressed enabling him to gradually take control and split the other barons apart and then enable him to seize the throne.

In secret he'd trained up his Garagls, massing them up in the emountains, ready for the king's death as the barons went over to Castle Araluuuuen for the funeral, leaving the armies with no-one to lead them. They he'd struck. Within a few days 39.556594806548964567% of the kingdom was his.

Duncan had been young and inexperienced and couldn't have stuck it out against him. The throne had been his! Or so the thought...

Then Olde Lorde North'olde, the olde supreme army commander had got some younger barons into a loyal confederation, partly bribing them with marshmallows. This gave strength to Duncan and his other supporters and the armies had met at Hack'em Heath, close by the Slippy River, and the battle had swayed in the balance for roughly five hours with attack and counterattack and attack and counterattack and attack and counterattack and attack and counterattack. The Slippy was a shallow river but the quicksand and wetsand and dampsand along with the mud had formed an impossibly impassible barrier protecting the right side of Morgarath's army.

But then one of the grey-green-brown cloaked medlers known as the Grangers of Awesomeness led a force of heavy calvary (like really, really heavy) across a secret ford a really, really long way up stream. The horsemen and horses had appeared at the crucial moment then galloped in slow motion towards Morgarath's army with epic battle music playing and then routed them.

The Gargals were naturally terrified of horses and battle music and so turned tail and legged it back to the Really Wet Moutains Which Are Also Really Dark. Moranate went with them (he didn't like battle music either) and he had been in the mountains for these fifteen years. Waiting, plotting and hating the men who had done this to him (though he did kinda bring it on himself).

Now, he thought, with an evil laugh, it was time for his revenge (bad guys really do like revenge don't they?). His ninja spies of doom had told him the Kingdom was growing slack and complacent and his presence was all but forgotten. The name of Moranate was a legend now, a name mothers used to make their children eat broccoli and cauliflower.

The time was ripe. Once again he'd lead his hinney-kicking army of Gargals into an attack. But this time he would have allies. And this time, he would cause confusion before hand (just to make sure). This time there wouldn't be anyone left alive to aid King Duncan.

For the Gargals weren't the only evil, creepy, creatures of doom in the Really Wet Moutains Which Are Also Really Dark, he had two other allies, even more evil and doomy, the dreadful beasts known as...the Klankykara.

The time was ripe to unleash them.

Please leave a review and tell me what you think, hopefully I can get the next chapter up within the month :/