Chapter 12a,in Which a Prankster and a Party Animal Seek Fun.
I've been at sea without internet access (that I was willing to pay for) in the last couple of weeks. Sorry for the tardiness of this latest episode. I thought it was time to check in on the Pantheon again and to report on Pastor Nutt's followers joining in. And Om is in strife again.
Hoki the Jokester had walked home from work and was having a bath. (1) Then he heard the unmistakable sound of Blind Io striking the beat and saw the flashes through the window. Nobody had told him there was a party going on. (2)
Hastily finishing his ablutions (perhaps too hastily, sewer stink tends to linger after all) he set out from the small chapel he had been assigned as digs by the other Gods. If there was a fun event going on he was determined to be a part of it. Surely his return to the Divine City wasn't meant to be a never ending round of drain rods, steam hoses and unpleasant residues down drains ?
Neoldian (3) was proving to be a sympathetic boss and provider of technical support as the drains used to be part of his duties, but even this wasn't enough to satisfy Hoki's anarchic personality. He wanted a chance to prank somebody again. Preferably several somebodies. He would have to be more careful these days. His long banishment had taught him the desired lesson, but he'd allow his mind to freewheel as he walked towards the sound of the festivities, (4) something would turn up from his subconscious. (5)
'Hey Goat Boy, join the fun and get zapping those intruders ! Back up the lumberjacks ! Targeting's easy, the raiders look – and smell – a bit like you !'
Blind Io's manners towards minor Gods still left a lot to be desired, but Hoki had to admit He knew how to host a shooting party and was laying down some cool beats. A crowd of deities had gathered around a public square, the centre of which had become congruent with what looked like a lumber camp.
It was a lumber camp with a lot going on.
Gods and goddesses were throwing lightning at barbaric figures in beads, feathers and rags. The men of the camp were acquitting themselves well against the incursion.
When you can't englamour an opponent, the fact he is holding an iron headed axe and knows how to use it becomes very significant.
A scimitar swinging one way and its wielder simultaneously making a strange head movement towards a second opponent's midriff can seriously put to inconvenience both of the man's enemies.
Especially if he is wearing a spike – topped steel helmet.
A cavalry sabre in the hands of a man who knows how to use it is a very effective weapon (6) and the mass of a pressing iron being used as an improvised buckler and blunt instrument in the other hand would prove effective even against an ordinary opponent. Against an Elf all this iron distorted their sense of direction/place and made it hard to determine if a cut or quite a bit of blunt trauma were coming next.
Yarrow stalks as modified by the Elves' magic to make them large and strong enough for an Elf to fly upon, in theory provided a tactical advantage as the men of the camp were largely incapable of getting airborne. (7) With a lot of trees around it is important to be aware of where you are flying. When the presence of iron is disorientating you, you have a problem.
When there is a stroppy wizard shooting fireballs at you, and he can aim accurately, that compounds the problem.
The thunderstorm's lightning bolts coming from who – knows – where weren't helping the Elvish warriors' peace of mind either.
Even a warrior who can't feel pain can fear being maimed or dying.
That said, there were still more coming through. Not enough to turn the tide of the battle at this point, but the lumberjacks were tiring, the Klatchian coffee was beginning to wear off, and the psychological effect of Hickory Cutter's accident was beginning to sap men's confidence.
At this juncture Pastor Nutt decided to commit his forces.
Audible in the camp and resounding through the dimensions to be heard in the plaza at Dunmanifestin was the sound of armoured men marching, beating weapons on gauntlets and chanting some short, loud slogan.
Elves continued to arrive. It might be thought the lightning would preferentially run to disc (7a) through all that handy metal armour. For some reason it continued to strike Elves, often those in flight who had not met a fireball going the other way. Or who had not yet run into a well wielded mass of iron. Or flown into a tree.
The chant was hard to make out over the thunder hammer riffs, the tearing sound of lightning bolts flying through the air, the cries of men in battle, the clash of weapons and the discharges of wizardly magic.
Om had stumbled closer to the living tableau in the heart of the plaza. It still hadn't occurred to him to sober up. He was vaguely aware that two of his priests were somehow involved with the melee and wanted to take a closer look.
As he woozily made his way towards the battling figures he found he could make out what the armoured men were chanting.
'Om ! Om ! Om ! Om ! Om !'
'Some of my boys ! Tell Sweevo I think some of his are in this too ! Wait a minute, there's something odd happening around that wiza..'
At this point Om tripped over his own feet and fell headlong into the middle of the fray in the camp.
Then he took the trouble to sober up and realized he'd landed himself in the middle of some serious trouble.
(1)Find out why this is so in my story 'The Strange Delivery of Mr Von Lipwig.' Plug over.
(2)Sorry, couldn't resist the song riff.
(3)Neoldian the Smith, among other identities, Janitor of the Gods.
(4)Festivity by Dunmanifestin standards, not Human ones...
(5)Somewhere even a Bonk School philosopher would not dare to tread.
(6)Roundworld 1790's French officers are said to have protested British sabres were too effective.
(7)I haven't forgotten Dr Hix, but he had decided flying was too risky in this battle.
(7a)On Roundworld we'd say 'to earth.'