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Tuesday, 18 April 2017

The TEABAG Goblins 3

“Now that's a mixed metaphor, and should not be used.”
“Are you a grammar Nazi?”
“We're too early for Nazis.”
“Grammar Napoleon? He's an earlier dictator.” Then Ruhtra turned into Napoleon.
Smetherwick admired him, “He wasn't that small was he really, about 5' 7” I would say.”
Ruhtra looked at him with disdain, “Goblins would say he wasn't that small, seeing as they're only about 5' tall.”
“We are slightly taller than the average goblins,” explained the goblin leader, “as we are part of the goblin nobility.”
Just then, as if to bring this part to an end, a couple of random goblins turned up, as if the Author had rolled an 8 on a goblin encounter table.


"Fatagh!" Spat the first goblin.
"Rawer," rawred the second goblin.
"Great," thought Ruhtra, "they can't even speak English!" He then thought he would change into a butterfly to try to remain in earshot of the two enemy goblins.

However, thought the Author, remembering the bad decision he had made 30+ years ago when he was playing the Marvel Superheroes RPG. [He had had the ability to turn into three people and any creature. He turned one of himself into a fly, to listen to some bad guys, and got swatted in the process!] The butterfly must not get too close...
Blintington-Smetherwick started to grumble, "I thought we were supposed to be capturing one of them?"
Tunning-Cymbals heard this grumble and replied, "Let's just capture one ourselves." He clipped a clip of needles into his electric pistol, (standard TEABAG issue for non-lethal missions.)
Taking aim at the rearmost goblin he fired... and hit butterfly Ruhtra who, because of the electric shock, immediately turned into his green gelatinous state, fell on the two enemy goblins and accidentally captured them.

"Well I never," blew Blintington-Smetherwick, "did you mean to do that?"
"Err..." erred the other goblin, "yes."
One of the captured goblins began to shout. He expelled so much air that that Ruhtra started to bubble up around him.
"Great," moaned Smetherwick the 3rd, "if he keeps ranting like that Ruhtra's green bubble will expand so much that they'll see it from the tower."
"Let's pop him," suggested Vinigrette.
"Not on your Nellie!" exclaimed a Ruhtra-like mouth that formed near the three TEABAG goblins on the green bubble. Instead, when he had regained enough composure, he turned into an iron cage. "You question them Tunning-Cymbals. They might find it a little strange to be questioned by a cage."
"Not if that Cage was called Nicholas," replied Tunning-Cymbals before he realised that
he wasn't supposed to know that modern pop culture reference. He looked at the foremost goblin. "What's your name?"
The goblin poked his arms out of the cage and sneered, "What's it to you?"
"I want to know if we're related. Can you hear me mother?"
The goblin began to give his clan call sign, "Wahaay..."
"Shhhh," shushed the other captured goblin as he bash d his friend to stop him revealing the sign.
Smetherwick and Vinigrette came over to discuss what they should do next.
"We need to threaten them," threatened Vinigrette.
"Why are you threatening me?" asked Cymbals.
"I'm not, I'm just suggesting it. It was the Author who described me as threatening instead of suggesting."
"Oh," vented Cymbals, "OK then, I'll threaten him." He looked at the forward facing goblin, you know, the one he had spoken to first. The one who was surly. "Just don't tell me then if you're related to me. I'll just get the shapechanger to pull off your arms."
The spoken to goblin quickly withdrew his arms from out of the gaps in the cage.
"Or your legs," threatened Vinigrette.
The captured goblin began to dance around to keep from stepping in the gaps of the cage beneath his feet.
"Bazinga!" Shouted the hopping goblin.
"Ba-da," quoted Vinigrette
Tunning-Cymbals looked at him, "where did ba-da come from?"
"Oh, home..."
"You mean the Dreamworks film?" He mused for a second, "Is that a call sign from your mother's tribe?"
Vinigrette looked a little ashamed, "What if it is?"
"It's just that my mother's tribe didn't associate with your mother's tribe."
"What was your mother's tribe's call sign then?"
"Have you finished?"
"No, that was my mother's tribe's call sign."
"Oh, I see. We'll never mind, we're brothers now."

Ruhtra was listening to this exchange and decided to say something, to get the story moving again.
Vinigrette, Smetherwick and Cymbals looked at him. "Trying to get the story moving again are we?" derided Smetherwick.
"Of course, we've only been here for three months."
"No we haven't," disagreed Vinigrette.
"No not here," explained Ruhtra, "but stuck at this part in the story because the Author was going through a crisis."
"Again?" questioned Cymbals, "it must be his age."
"Or that he's an eccentric," thought Vinigrette.
"Ahem," ahemed Ruhtra, "it matters neither way, we must rescue Shill."
"Oh yes," flibbled Smetherwick, "it is such a time critical mission that the Author takes three months off."
I got a bit annoyed with Smetherwick and decided to give him size 14 feet.
"Ouch," he cried as his feet grew. He was lucky I allowed his boots to grow to the correct size as well.
Ruhtra looked at Smetherwick's feet and started to dance around in anger, "How are we supposed to get into the camp now. No normal goblin has feet that size!"
For a minute Vinigrette thought, "He could be a wandering clown."
The shapechanger nearly popped, then calmed down, "Where's the face paint?"

After about 10 minutes they had face painted Smetherwick.
He looked in a mirror, "I look a bit sad really, can't you make me look happier?"
"The tears of a clown..." quoted Ruhtra.
"When there's no one ar..."
I stopped him there because I didn't want to pay the copyright fee for using song lyrics.
"Abound," finished Tunning-Cymbals, just in case there were any copyright legalists among the readership.
"He looks good enough," looked Ruhtra, "let's get on with it."
"What do we do about those two," asked Vinigrette, nodding towards the enemy goblins.
Ruhtra took out his stun pistol (though where he was keeping it I have no idea) and shot one pin at each enemy goblin. They fell, stunned, to the floor.
"Now let's be on."

They arrived at the outskirts of the tower of Tawa.
(Outskirts, thought I, without looking on Google, I wonder if it has something to do with a ladies outermost skirt on a crinoline?)
Now this thought belied the fact that I, the Author, had done a G.C.E in the History of Costume when I was at Art School. Maybe that's where I got the idea for Victorian Adventure from...

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