The Arth Series

The Arth Series
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Tuesday, 25 April 2017

The TEABAG Goblins 8

Arthur stood there giving the TEABAG goblins a dressing gown. (I meant down but gown sounds funnier.)
“I don't want this,” balked Smetherwick as he handed Arthur the dressing gown back, “it's pink!“
“Not a girl's colour in this time and dimension,” spoffed Arthur.
“Still...”
“Now look here,” continued Arthur, “you left Ruhtra behind.”
“He's dead,” re-iterated Tunning-Cymbals, “Shill told us so.”
“He's not, I have it on good authority...”
“Which authority?”
“The Author authority.”
“Oh, do you believe in him?”
“It goes without asking, anyway he wasn't killed just mashed up a bit so that you lot have to rescue him.”
“Why us?” moaned Vinigrette.
“The story's about the TEABAG goblins?” he looked forcefully at them, “that's what YOU are!“
Smetherwick looked at Vinigrette, “We'd better do it or we'll not get paid by the Funny Character's Union.”
“Are you Union spies or not?” queried Arthur.
“Erm, sort of,” thought Smetherwick, “we're part of the Funny Character's Union Special Fun Force.”
“And what's that when it's at home?”
“We observe Union members and if they're not funny enough we can either revoke their licence...” Arthur immediately went into his slapstick routine with Sid, who was quite non-plussed. Smetherwick looked disparagingly at the Colonel/King. “Or...”
Arthur stopped, hoping that his 'slap a pork pie in Sid's face' was good enough to keep him in the Union.
“We have the authority to make things funnier.”
Sid spat out the crumbled pork pie, “I hate the pork pie slapstick routine,” he grumbled, “it makes me feel that snout is sacred.”
Smetherwick got out his notepad and compared notes with the other goblins, “Snout,” he compared, “it IS a pig joke...”
“But not necessarily a pork pie joke,” warned Vinigrette.
“Oi'll give it foive,” utterated Tunning-Cymbals (if anyone is old enough and British enough to understand that reference, if not then look at Janice Nicholls and 'Thank Your Lucky Stars' on YouTube.)
The TEABAG colonel looked absolutely agog in desperate panic to see if a five was good enough to keep him in the Union.
“What about me?” moaned Sid.
“Automatic 10,” replied Smetherwick, “even adjusting for the racial bias between goblins and dwarves.”
Sid smiled broadly at Arthur and nudged him, “Automatic 10.”
Pulling a sour face Arthur lemoned it into the next chapter.






CHAPTER FOUR

“A lemon, a lemon, my kingdom for a lemon.”
I made Arthur say as he waved off the Talent and it flew away to re-rescue Ruhtra.


In the belly of the Tesla coil powered airship Smetherwick was looking at Vinigrette and spoke softly, “I can't wait till this gig is up. It sickens me to have to work with dwarves and elves.”
“Me too,” bawled Vinigrette, “I want to get back to bashing them not befriending them.”
“What about Ruhtra though?” suggested Tunning-Cymbals, “he's a wicked shape changer, turned good. It shouldn't take a lot to to set him back on the road to destruction.”
“Like a knife in the back it was to so traitorously treat our own goblin kind at the tower of Awat.”
They all looked goblinish and nasty until Soft Ann popped her head round the door, “Tea anyone?”
They quickly put on their snooty faces.
“Er, Darjeeling for me,” said Tunning-Cymbals.
“Assam for me,” quoted Vinigrette.
“Lap...”
“Sorry,” interjected Soft Ann, “we only have Theran Eran, or coffee.”
“Oh,” snooted Smetherwick, “erm, coffee then, for us all.”
She popped her head back out and they heard her in the galley getting the cups ready.
What was happening there?
They all looked at each other like The Sweet in a Ballroom Blitz.


Brug was on the island where Corsica would have been on the earth. The tower of Awat was in the South of the island, Brug was in the North. The safety of the electric shield kept Brug from attack, the tower of Awat had no such protection. To get back inside the safety of the electric shield, he's would have to make contact with the outpost about 6 miles before the city. He's could not pass through the shield or he's would turn into green jelly again.
“Mmm,” mmmed the lesser of the two Ruhtra's, “green jelly, I like that.”
Ruhtra 1 thought it but didn't say anything.
And then they saw the outpost, part of the Fenegan empire.
He's didn't know much about Fenegans, well, about any of this world really. He's would have to play it by ear (or ears?)
The Fenegan entry post was well fortified in case giants or other enemies tried to access the protection of the area behind the electric shield.


Two gun turrets surveyed the skies about the area and a large artillery piece looked out to sea to guard the approach from that direction by naval units (no, not navel units!) [Swimming belly dancers by chance?]
As he's approached, a gun turret lined up on them.
“Ooer,” exclaimed Ruhtra 1 from the side of his mouth that was facing forward.
An authoritative voice spoke from a Tannoy system, “Name your business, or be shot.”
As quickly as he could speak from the side of his mouth Ruhtra 1 spat, “Secret mission to rescue our Queen, gone wrong, stomped on by Lord D'ark's Pegasus.”
“Mmm,” hummed the voice on the other end, “I didn't quite understand that, but your outfit shows that you're from the British colony. I'll assume you're lost and need help.”
Ruhtra's heard the microphone being switched off.

The roving gun turret re-aligned itself on the sky and a door opened into the entry post.

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