This is a short story I wrote using different usernames from members of the World of Warships forum community. It' s a bit rough as it's the first story I wrote but it should be read because it sets the stage for my other, better, stories. If the names and characters seem a bit strange it is because they are usernames from the WOWS forums.
One Elegant Winter
One elegant winter, as an alien observer (yes, they are not figments of your imagination) watched from afar, a timber wolf was lurking in the woods, hoping to catch a big black rat. Walking through the woods was a bird hunter, who was the guardian of Lord Zath. With them was their dashing companion Ensign Cthulhu. Cecil The Diddler wanted to come along too but they refused to hang out with him (we all know why). At their side were their faithful hounds Ghost dog and Sovereign dawg. Lord Zath's fluffy fat cat wanted to come along too but they left him at home. The trio then spied a little white mouse and a spotted green frog sitting on a nearby log but they were after bigger game. Our trio better beware, or the Canadian Reaper will get them. Yes, they better use all their savage technical skills in this hunt because their quarry is dangerous indeed.
As they passed a house, deep in the woods, they spied Compass Rose. Some said she was a witch, others a demon. However, she was just a wise woman who knew her aether tech and other wood's lore. She was out back of the house, burning trash in the incendiary tanker. Her wise companion, Dr. Venture, then came out and gave the hunters the wulfgarn he had collected, bound into an amulet with plenty of slimeball and an egg from a cobra clutch. He then invited the hunters out on the deck for a beer and a smoke.
After their short break, our hunters ventured farther into the woods, into the dark regions of the abyss of the triffid. Here, the price of being unwary would be high indeed. Good thing each was protected by a shield and each was wearing his safari hat. Ensign Cthulhu turned his head and surreptitiously flicked a goober into the brush. He was a bit ill because his shigures were inflamed.
The trio then spied their quarry, the mighty hazard drake, which was ten times as dangerous as any grizzly bear or even the mighty iron wolf. Quickly, our smart flying warriors donned their skis and did a slalom to the place where they had hidden their pew-pew-pew. The tank would serve them well in this fight, with its thick HTS metal armor. The Bord hunter then put on Danny boy1939 by the Murccs, which was his favorite hunting song.
Will our trio survive? Or will the Canadian_Reaper reap their souls? Tune in next week, same time same station.
Our intrepid trio sallied forth against the mighty hazard drake. Each was a mighty paladin, a kombat wombat, if you will. Side by side, they rode down that fiery mountain. Ensign Cthulhu said to the others, "Sometimes I wear pants. "We would hope so," they replied, "to do otherwise you would be kuckoo."
Lord Zath then said, "You know, this might seem slack, and I hope you don't think me a killjoy cutter for saying it, but could you show me your loads? Each pulled out his bullpup rifle and opened the breech. "Fully-loaded with megadeux ammo, sir!", they both said. Zath quietly approved of his comrades and their discipline. He couldn't hope for better companions, neither was a major renegade.
Zath then took a note from Rommel's book and turned the tank to face the creature, which was gnashing its mighty teeth and stamping its paws. The two war dogs were flanking the tank, ready to move in and attack on command. Suddenly, a small fuzzy kitten popped out of the forward hatch. Why, it was old fluffy fat cat's kitten, Pikohan. She'd better be careful, a battle was no place for a tiny kitten.
Pikohan's daffy yellow tabby brother, River The Idiot, then popped out of the hatch too. "What are we doing with all these kittens on Board ?", said Lord Zath. Pikohan was snarling, as best a tiny kitten can, it was almost as if she was saying "let me kill 'em mister." She was quite alert for such a tiny little thing. River The Idiot, of course, was being a nutty biscuit, as usual, oblivious to the danger.
The hazard drake was standing there a wigging. It had been on the warpath but now was confused at seeing the bravery of such a tiny kitten. "I had better be careful," he thought "Who knows, she just she might be a life-taker disguise,"
Suddenly, a sound like a devil dog's roar shook the forest, it was an X15 from the airbase. The murray hawks flew from the trees and the forest crokodone scampered for cover.
The hazard drake looked all around, thinking in its ancient mind "sense not made." The bird hunter was thinking more vulgar thoughts at the X15 for startling his quarry. A startled hazard drake was even more dangerous, or so they'd heard. Then the hazard drake summoned all of its winter power and roared a mighty roar. It was enough to give even the mightiest hero the king squirts.
The battle was about to ensue but then the ground rumbled and the trees shook. What new monstrosity was approaching? Then, into the clearing, strode the Snargfargle. He was eight feet tall and green as the woods from which he arose. For a helmet he wore a Roc skull. As a weapon he carried a werewolf's jaw. He raised the Staff of Ages and cried out in a mighty voice "Enough!"
Our heroes sat there stunned. The mighty hazard drake bowed its head in submission. "Hunt my woods, if you must," said the Snargfargle, "But heed my warning; hunt only for food, not for pleasure and do not destroy that which you don't understand. The hazard drake is the last of its kind. Once they were many but for thousands of years he has been alone. He is dangerous, yes. Fear him if you must. but know this: he is under my protection, as are all endangered creatures."
The trio of hunters stowed their weapons and quietly prepared to leave. Even though they might have prevailed against a hazard drake, they knew that they were no match for the eldritch power of the Snargfargle. Not that they would have dared to stand agsint him, nor had they any reason to. The Snargfargle was old, so old that tales of him had been told throughout human history, and even in prehistoric times, as evidenced by ancient petroglyphs. The Snargfargle was more myth than legend and more god than man. In fact, some said that he was a god, the last of the Old Gods that the gods of man themselves had once worshiped.
Only Pikohan and her brother were unafraid. They scampered up to the Snargfargle, who gave them a bit of pemmican from his pouch and scratched them behind the ears. Of course, the hounds too then wanted a treat and some attention. The hazard drake slowly slipped away and disappeared into the woods. Our trio of heroes stood there in bemusement. They would have quite a story to tell around the hearth fire this evening, and for many evenings to come.