The fun! The fall out..

I had a grand day out yesterday. Myself and a good mate went to our annual trip to Knockhill racing circuit to watch qualis for the BTCC.

Insert wax lyrical about how close you get to garages, teams, drivers, action, the smell of the day..everything. for £14!!!! (Purposefully kept short because I could go on and on)


I had so much fun. Bacon rolls and open air chips. Great coffee!

I walked over 9000 steps by the end of the day.

I didn’t use sun cream as it was raining and a low UV day. I still got sunburn. Even though we had cloud cover and at one point my friend was shivering and wrapped up like an Eskimo. My face is a shiny berry with glasses (not sunglasses) stripes along the sides.

I am broken. My pelvis hates me. My calves are in spasm. My back from pelvis to neck is a mess of pain and muscle issues. I am shattered.

So pleasure Vs pain. It is directly proportional to the amount of fun I have how broken I am the following day.

Not happy universe, not happy.

I don’t see why I need to ration my fun and days out. There are not enough pain killers in the world that will help me lead a normal life.

So… Do I lament? No, just vent once in a while.

What I try to do is have a calendar with clear days after an ‘event’. I have to take recovery time into account. I mustn’t have two active/event days back to back. One of the things will undoubtedly suffer. Either holding back on day one to make sure day two can happen, or bust it all day one and usually cancel day two. So, I’ve learnt. One thing a week.

I do hate having limits.

For instance, the first time I went to Knockhill, was to watch superbikes. I was up at 4.30am, we got there early doors and stayed all day walked around a lot (it was tipping down and we got drenched) and had hardly any issues… This is a handy, annual direct comparison of what a degenerative condition is like. This year, lots more sitting down, arrive late, leave early. But I still enjoyed it

I think, if there is a point to this, that it’s enjoy what you have.


This post has been brought to you by a small twinge of regret, but it gets lost in the pain pile so we ignore it.


Fathers day…a tale of mixed emotions: happy fathers day Mum.

Usually on fathers day I will write some words about those who stick around and be actual dads to kids when the sperm donor has done a bunk, that kind of thing.

I have had that kind of stable role model in my life since I was weeny.. he is my godfather and he had always been a ‘force for good’. We are very alike. I’ve always attributed it to absorbed genetics. (It’s a thing, trust me*) I even have a tattoo dedicated to him.
Then the rotten bastard goes and insults my new cat, on facebook, in front of everyone.

Now, you may have noticed, I have a new cat.  May not be interesting to some, but for me it’s MASSIVE. 

I have a soul in the house that I’m responsible for keeping alive, she keeps me company when hubby is out, she is everything I’ve needed for years. Just her very presence is changing my life. And we are changing hers. It really matters a great deal.

Yes. It’s a big Fucking deal.

And this man, this bastion of stability, my faux pa, a psychologist no less, who really should get why it’s a big Fucking deal, tells me to stop posting pictures of my cat, he’d rather see the ginger ladies my husband posts. (Which are all very tasteful if not a tad Shirley Manson based and repetitive..a man needs a hobby, eh).

I was shocked.

I was hurt.

How Fucking dare he.

So, I haven’t stopped, it’s my  wall, it’s my cat, it’s my pictures. I just filter so he can’t see them. He loses out. Love me, love my cat.

Just another father figure who turns out to be a shit bag… two for two.

But… I’ve done this well so far with a mum who done the work of two parents on her own. If there is anyone who deserves a happy fathers day, it’s her. 

She doesn’t like mothers day: “it should be mothers day every day” is her mantra, and I get that. So, happy fathers day mum. Cheers for the cat too, you have helped my life change for the better in so many ways.



*no basis in science whatsoever, but I see it all over the place, so anecdotal, but still true…ish…

Another short story ..Orks tell tales

Just a wee story I wrote: based in 40k universe. Prompt “one moment in time” (it’s in there!). First time I have tried humour as the lead emotion. Well, it’s Orks, you just have to. And Ork talk is quite tricky to write..

A very, very brief and possibly inaccurate history of time 

The warriors of the Death Skullz had had a very interesting and productive day. They had been out fighting and stealing and they were sitting round a camp fire all comparing the bitz and junk they had got from the dead bodies and drinking copious pods of beerz.  Looting on this planet was “da bomb” and they were lamenting the fact that they would have stolen all the stuff and would have to leave at some point.

The crew cracked out yet another round of fungus brewz (Grot’s grottiest rot gut). Some mangled crowd singing had been taken up.  It wasn’t tuneful, it was barely in time, but when inebriated groups get together and sing, all it really needs is a rousing chorus that everyone can go “Hey!!” together at the end.

Big Bazza shifted himself on his elbows and through very bleary eyes; he rose up his head and shouted over the noise of the grot target practise. 

“Oi youse skum, listen up. I as got an idea an I fink we should all do it. Cos if you don’t I will shoot ya. So, who’s in!?”

There was an assorted mumbling of “Yeah, ok den boss, I’d like to keep me ‘ead an all dat” and they shifted generally up to sit cross legged in a circle with all the beers in the middle, and looking vaguely in his direction.

Big Bazza looked around “Yeah, ok den youse lousy snots, listen to this.  I heard a really nails story an I fink you would like it cos its History, ya see?” He really over pronounced the ‘H’ in history to underline what he was about to say. He took a big breath swallowing a fly in the process, and without even choking much started the tale. “Right den. Ready for dis? So dere was dis planet right, an it was crashed into by a rock ‘ard bunch of lads, right? Den when they sorted out who waz ded and who was not ded, the boyz with all da arms an legz and stuff left on all got up and went to look for bitz and den dey found dis place wiv all da bitz an they made a mekky fing wiv fire comin’ outta its arse, an den day got a.. a.. gun an den dey blew up some hoomies dat dey found and is was great!” He looked around at everyone and pointed a chubby, dirty clawed digit, “An Dat, my friends is History!”

A murky looking Ork raised his head and said “Nah Bazza, that was like yesterday innit!?” He laughed at Bazza and said “Mate, youse really is quite fik, you cannot even tell if yesterday is history or nuffink!” Unfortunately that was the last he said as Big Bazza had levelled his new shiny kustom mega shoota at him and had shot his face right off.

Bazza turned to look at the rest of the group “Right, dat sorted dat out. Ee was disreespeckful an I won’t ave dat kind of fing going on. Whose got any uvver stories den? I want to hear a really good one. Dunt even ave to be History, it could just be like fun yeah!?” and he settled back, but noticeably kept his gun in hand.

A storm boy looked up, dressed in a spotless uniform with shiny boots, a surprisingly clean face, his short hair greased down, nervously raised his hand “if I may be so bold, I do believe I have a story that will not only entertain, but may even make your head explode.” 

Big Bazza looked at him and said “Youse called Kevin aint ya? Bin showing a bit o’ promise in da gang, innit!?”

“Yes Bazza, Sir, it is” and he smiled as he had been recognised by the nob boss, he ripped off a dead smart salute.

“Well “Kevin”…” he pronounced it like it was a grimy snot in his mouth “Kevin, let’s see, erm, nah, youse alright an every fink, but I fink youse a lousy scrote, wot wiv dat clean face an stuff and I iz not bovvered by anyfink you ave to say” He levelled the gun right at him. A look of panic crossed Kevin’s face, but Bazza carried on “But…” and he waved his beer pod around “Youse show respeck, innit, an I take dat very serious.  I fink I will let youse tell your tale, but if it does not make my ‘ead explode, youse know what will ‘appen, right!?” He patted the gun and set it down on his lap.  “First, we should all get sum more beers in, I don’t want my ‘ead exploding and if all sober like!”

Bazza made a vague wave at some passing grots who scuttled off to get the round in “And I now ow many dere are so dunt go nikkin none as I will shoot yer bleedin’ leg right orf!”

“Bazza, youse can’t count” said the Ork to his side; he nudged him with his elbow spilling some of the beer he was still holding.

Bazza looked down at him. “I can count innit. Look.” And he took aim at a grot, shooting him square between the ears. “Wun!” he shouted triumphantly.  He looked round and spotted another grot that had seen what was happening and was trying to hide behind an ammo box.  Bazza took aim and shot the box, which exploded with various bangs and pops, and took the head off the hiding grot.

“Wun!” Bazza screamed, “Cos I started again innit!!”

The Ork that was sitting next to him looked in awe.  “Cor Bazza, you is well clever!  Beerz for da boss!”

Once the beer had been bought in with some various, well, let’s call them nibbles, the group settled back.  Bazza turned to Kevin, and said in his poshest voice “Why, Kevin, you have the floor, be hour guest”, every consonant pronounced dripping in syrup.

Kevin got to his feet, swayed slightly due to beer consumed, blinked, remembered what he was here for and his life was at stake, filled his lungs and went for it.

“I present to you: the tale of Gork and Mork, bought to you in glorious technicolour, hold on to your hats, I did warn you it could get good.”

“Let me set the scene” he said, “Imagine a time when there was nothing but stars and empty planets, all rife for the taking.  Nothing but firmament (that means the empty universe, boss,) and the two brothers came to be.  They had the knowing of the fighting and the knowing of the magik.  They looked about and they were lonely for their own kind.”

“Erm, Kev?” Said one of the crowd sitting there, “how comes they was lonely? They had each other! Surely they could fight and magiks all the time and it would be great!” and there were cheers from round the fire and rousing shouts of “Gork!” and “Mork” and small weapons were thrown about in a friendly gentle manner.

“Ah,” said Big Bazza, “they hadn’t invented beer yet, they was missing the very important fizz of life innit! Now let the young turd get on wiv his little story.”

“Anyway” Kevin said, slightly miffed, “They said to themselves ‘We should make mighty folks to keep us company, some perfect creatures who can share in our awesomeness’.” He pondered a moment and looked at the collected show of ‘perfection’. He continued, hardly thrown off track at all.  “They took it upon themselves to take raw star stuff and squish it up in their paws, drop it on the floor, spit on it a bit and the Orks were born. In that one moment in time, our people were laid down.  We got told there and then ‘go to every bit of the universe and take your Orky brothers and build and fight and steal and make” We knew we would take mek and make such things of beauty, such gunz and stompaz. Be amazing things, so strong, so beautiful, and so full of win. They sent us out, us Orks, to own the universe and everything in it.” He wiped away a tear dramatically and turned to Big Bazza. “What do you think boss?” he asked hopefully.

Big Bazza took a few moments, had a swig of beer, and then looked at Kevin. “And that’s how youse think it went daan, is it?” His face crunched up with the effort of thinking. “I reckon” He said “I reckon that’s mostly right, but it wasn’t so fancy.  All in, I fink youse can have” and he paused for major dramatic effect “an eight outta ten!” and he looked at everyone with a huge grin on his face.

One small Ork piped up “Cor, Boss, youse really is getting these numbers pinned daan innit!? Youse has to be the biggest boss wiv da biggest brain. Three cheers for Big Bazza!!! Hip hip…”

“How many is that then?” said one huge Ork with a very furrowed brow and clanking with skulls and chain.

The small Orc said “just keep saying hurrah until every fink goes quiet like.”

Everyone erupted in one huge “Hurrraaaaawaaaaaagh!”

“Well now” Big Bazza said, “considering dat big waagh, I fink you, Kevin, can live. But I want a better story, wiv a bit more fightin’ and such.” His eyes scanned the crowd and landed on an apologetic looking grot. “What you doin’ sitting there you snivelling pile o droppins?” and picked the gun up to kill him.

The grot was quick on his feet and got up and scampered round screaming at the top of his lungs “I’ve got a story sir, you’re gonna love it, it’s great, it’s got fighting an drinking an stuff an everything… Please don’t shoot me! Argh” the last word was a squeal as Big Bazza had let off a shot in his general direction.  Behind the grot, an Ork called Nosher had taken the shot to the shoulder and was growling and grabbing at his arm.  Realising he was oozing from the shot, Nosher picked up his empty beer pod and lobbed it over at the grot who was still running circles around the outside of the group. The pod hit another Ork, Bad Breff, who then got beer all down his face. Not happy with that, Bad Breff roared and stood up so fast, trampling Little Nadgers, who was sitting next to him, Little Nadgers then took a swipe at Bad Breff, with a cleaver he just happened to be holding, and took his leg out from under him, literally.  A random leg, now in the mix, got picked up and hurled across the group and it landed on Stinky Bogrot, who flung it away and grabbing his mate sweaty Warkstegg’s face, sunk his teeth right in to its nose, causing a squeal.

An old, pale green weirdboy, Wagrat, with feathers in his hair, which was now standing out horizontally with little sparks leaping of the ends, slit his eyes, mumbled and pointed, loosing a magik curse that hit three different bodies, sending limbs flying in all directions. 

Big Bazza was nearly sick with laughing so hard, he was still trying to shoot the grot and had so far missed four times, causing almost mortal wounds to his group, each shot caused the Ork hit to jump up and hit whoever was closest to him with whatever they had to hand.

The Boss stood up and looked round at everyone having a massive fight. This was just as it should be, he thought. “Dats my boyz!” he said, and fell forward into a puddle of blood and beer and snored like a rusty chainsaw.

The grot, who had missed out on any of the violence by being nimble and quick, took the opportunity to clamber up on the back of Big Bazza’s prone body and wave a small and grubby flag, and he shouted out “And that is how the red grot wins!!”

Diary of a re-homed cat

The start of week four in new house:

Baggins diary:

Well, I’ve not been to sleep all night. I was trying to keep my concrete feet quiet in the stairs, but my idea of quiet and mums are slightly different apparently.

I have killed the catnip mouse so dead!! So many times! I am a hunter supreme!

Mum got up at 3.40am. I know it was that time as she told me. She also acknowledged that she could smell my litter needed changing but she was buggered if she was doing it now. She’s miserable at night, she went back to bed. So to fill my time, I decided to see how fast I could do circuits of up and down stairs, all rooms. Record stands at 25 seconds. I’m a whizz cat!

Mum finally got up at twenty to bloody six, whatever time that is, and went to stroke me, but I’m too fast! I showed her how quickly I can do a circuit. She wasn’t that impressed and went to the bathroom for ‘a bit of peace’ but I chatted to her the whole time she was in there so she knows how awesome I am and what I’d been doing all night

When mum came out, she realised cat daddy hadn’t bought my morning feed up, so I was helpful and went downstairs with her and into the food cupboard, I love getting in there!! She mentioned I had a stinky bum too, but I don’t know what she means. my bum is wonderful.

And then I chased her upstairs and watched her put my pouch down. I didn’t want to eat!! I had things to kill.

Mum trapped me in the front room and said bad words quite a lot but when she came back in she said all the stinky bum stuff was sorted out.

Mum then spent forty bloody five minutes playing with me and the ball of wool, she’s great!!!

When she trapped herself in the kitchen after, I meowed a lot to make sure she was OK. She wasn’t in there long and looked panicky when she came back in. I  attacked her toes as I was hiding under the table. I am a wicked hunter!!!

Then I helped mum wash up a bowl for breakfast. I wanted some and jumped up on the sofa and got my paw right in the bowl. Mum made a bad word noise, but I’d got my little foot wet and made a fuss about it and mum got me a special tissue to make sure it was all nice and dry. I still haven’t tasted the fabled rice day…

Then I went for a run. Mum went upstairs again so I waited outside the bathroom door..waiting for her feet. But she came out with a brush and I sat and got brushed. I played with her but was really good and didn’t use my claws and I think I really liked being brushed, but I won’t let on!

Now I am having breakfast so I can wait for cat daddy to get up and I will pretend I haven’t had any fun and he will play with me for hours!

I have had a good day so far. I will sleep later!


A post taken from my FB 

​Sorry if this is a bit of a rant. It’s taken me a while to formulate how to say it. Still may ramble in places.

Right now the world is a bad place (not saying it wasn’t before, but now feels really bad). Things are going on at home and abroad that are down right vile. I am angry and frightened. The future is not what I ever envisaged.

I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to do everything I can.

I’m getting really annoyed that people are bandying around snowflake and liberal as negative terminology. Since when did being sensitive become a bad thing, that empathising and wanting to take a liberal stance made you weak?

I understand that people will not agree 100% of the time. That’s people. But we need to all be people of the world and stop this current racist bullshit. 

Seriously, look at history.. racism doesn’t work and gets people killed and it’s just rubbish. 

Let’s call out what we can, change what we can, be involved at any level we can. Stand up and be part of the side of right.

I have hope for the future, that it can be less shit for everyone and that we can all be a bit more sensitive to others needs and less about what’s in your personal bubble.
Yeah. All that. Probably more.

Additional: stop treating people like things.

New Year… new me??… nope, I’m still the same.


Here we are. 2017. At least 2016 is over, right?

Hubby was ill over Xmas, it was a horrible day unfortunately, then I was ill over new year. It’s hit me quite hard and I’m fighting a fibro flare.

Work has actually started to get busy and interesting again. I need to interrupt a critical work situation and go to bloody pain management therapy on Monday. I don’t want to go, I’ve got to go. Gonna cost £30 round trip in a cab. FFS. Talking abut my pain doesn’t get rid of my pain. Mindfulness is great if it works for you. I’m struggling with it.

Anyway, this year I have not set any resolutions. Not for any other reason than I have no idea if I wil be able to see it through so no need to out pressure km myself, right!? There is no new me. I’m the same as 8 days ago. A mess and in pain.

I’m trying to cope with the T2 diabetes thing too, so healthy eating is a must, not a new year fad. I need to lose so much weight it is incomprehensible to me how I am supposed to do it with the lack of support I am getting. I’m trying things on my own, and it’s OK, but I’m not able to push myself as it hurts. 22kilos to go…

The pain takes no heed of the change of calendar. I do try my hardest to crack on despite everything, but there has been such a level of expectation (pressure to get presents sorted, feeding stuff sorted, keep hubby entertained etc.) with the festive break, it’s actually been detrimental to my overall well being. Mad isn’t it? It’s supposed to be a happy time too. Was actually a very lonely day.

I feel like cack. It is hard to keep a lid on things. 

But, and this is the important thing, I will persevere. I have no option. One foot in front of the other.

Sorry this is flat and a bit whingy. It sums me up right now. Give me a week and I’ll get my head straight.

In the mean time… happy New Year. 😊

A short story I wrote.

So. This is for a small competition on a group on facebook. Nice little challenging short story.

Theme was “the gathering dark” to be set within a game/gaming IP. I went with D&D.

I hope you like it. 🙂
​Never accept a mission from a man in a pub.

As the figure hunkered down behind the bush, a slump of snow slid languidly off the branches above, gracefully dropping straight down their back.  “Oh! By all the blasted dog faced gods!!!” The hunched figure vowed not to let the next cloak purchasing opportunity slide by. Winter was setting in hard and fast and the group were nowhere near completing the quest.  A voice, deep, harsh and barely whispering, shocked the figure; it was far closer than it should be. “What kind of lookout are you? Your swearing will wake the dead, and you know we don’t deal with that very well. What’s actually happening?”

The figure turned to look up at the speaker. He was about seven feet tall and built like a brick outhouse, which made his deft footwork even more surprising; even in this weather he only wore skin boots and a fur loincloth. With his large battle axe strapped across his back and his knife tucked in his boot, he said he was ready to go at a moment’s notice.

The figure stood to meet his gaze. Shaking off the snow her features were revealed. She was, by all accounts, fairly plain. She didn’t have the appearance of any particular human group, this helped when trying to ‘fit in’, which to be honest was not something the group were good at, so every little helped. Currently she was sporting a short haircut, which had proven useful in the past, as getting gunk out of long hair had been a nightmare. She thought back to their most recent skirmish with a band of gobbos where they had barely made it out alive. Using all of her healing skills and resources, she had patched the group up as best she could, but picking bits of goblin carcass and innards out of her hair and off of her group was something she would remember for a long time.

“I haven’t seen any movement, which is why I haven’t reported anything… I do wish you’d let me do my job.” She stopped short as she heard something.

Her head whipped round and she swiftly squatted with her back to the tree trunk. Motioning Mr Man Mountain to do the same with some urgency, she glanced back to the rest of the party, took a breath then let out the apparently fail safe warning noise of ‘a wood pigeon in distress’ watching for a reaction. One figure heard it and scuttled up a tree, disturbingly fast, but the remaining party member just sat still, in open view.

“Godsdamn that bloody man. He picks his time to meditate,” she hissed. “Go back to him and get him out the way, I’m going to check that noise out and I’ll come back”.

Ignoring the incredible cold dribbling down her back, she carefully eased herself forward into a vantage point.  She saw a lone goblin crouched down behind a bush, oblivious and communing with nature. “Why here?” she wondered aloud. “You never get a solo gobbo, they like back up, the snivelling little turds. So, an arrow in the head is probably not a good idea as something will be looking for him. Eventually.” She concentrated, fixating on the sound. “Oh, that didn’t sound good at all.” It was a deep rumble, low and constant.

She crawled forward to peer through the foliage, keeping an ear open for the goblin, who was loudly defecating.From her vantage point, the view opened below to a large clearing of fields rolling away dotted with small copses or an individual tree here and there, then more woodland. It was pretty, with the sun glinting off of the snow.

Right there, sitting in the dappled shade at the edge of the clearing in a small hollow, was a damned Orc snoring away, and scratching his groin in his sleep. There were also about a dozen goblins sitting close by, sharpening a variety of nasty looking, spiked weapons.

“O…K…” she mumbled worriedly. “These are a bit too close for comfort.”Carefully she made her way back to the stopover camp, all the way thanking, whichever small gods were looking over the group that the green skins hadn’t landed on top of them during the night.

Man Mountain turned round as she approached.

“Call yourself a light foot? You sound like a grumpy child wearing hobnail boots. Just pick up your toes, it will help no end,” he smirked at her playfully.

“Thanks, but I don’t have time for a ‘technique critique’ right now, we have a band of greenies having a rest just over there.” She waved her hand vaguely in the right direction “Right, so, two plans… One, we just go around, or two, we do something about them.”

She fervently hoped the vote went for going around. This was a hurriedly put together group and were still not overly coherent when fighting, not having been much tested in combat.  She looked up at the third member of the group who was in the tree.

“We should burn them all!” The face which looked down at her grinned evilly. This statement would have been a lot more disturbing were it not for the fact the voice was high and reedy, not fitting the beautiful features it came from. Teric was the unfortunate product of a meeting between a Halfling and an Elf. Well, he maintained it was an Elf, but after knowing him for a while, Gwen reckoned it was a Dark Elf, because Teric had a very particular skill set. Whatever, he was destined for a life on the road as he would never be accepted by either of his ancestor races. “Burn them and leave their corpses for the crows!!!” he giggled, a particularly uncomfortable sound.

She turned away from him toward the Man Mountain. “What about our magical friend? Where has he gone?”

The warrior walked over to a thick clump of brambles, reached in with one hand and produced a stiff figure, cross legged and with a serene look on his face.

“Oh ye arse faced gods, how long is he going to be like that?!?” Gwen cursed loudly. She understood his need for meditation, but his timing was freakishly dreadful. He never got it right or convenient, at any rate.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” Man Mountain rumbled, “He said he had a new spell that will be quite impressive, he just needs to pin it down.” He looked at her with an expression somewhere between admiration and disgust. He was uneasy with magic: he’d never got the hang of it, and didn’t understand why you couldn’t just ‘snot’ something. But then, not everyone had been born with his natural prowess with a weapon. 

“Dammit!” she shouted, “We don’t have the time for this. Have you seen how fast the sun sinks these days? If we are going to reach the Far Tower and return in time for the feast day, we must avoid unnecessary distractions. And fights. Really, the fights.” She shot the warrior a look.

“Hey, I was hired to do a job and I’m very good at it, thank you. Nobody said ‘Hey mate, fancy going on a really boring adventure where very little will happen apart from getting nagged constantly by some bint, sleeping with one eye open to watch out for a midget maniac with blades, and having to stuff a deranged wizard in a bush?’ No! They came to me because they knew it would be dangerous and I AM the best. And you know it too!”

“Yes, yes, OK, don’t hammer it home.” She retorted, fairly agitated at it being quite close to the truth. “I thought we would get more practise before we got sent off, that’s all, and I don’t even know you lot properly, and this is not the romantic notion of adventuring I had, and at no point have my feet been even close to dry in days!” At this point Gwen was shouting loudly. And then, with his usual skill and timing, the wizard decided now would be a good time to re-join the party, unfortunately doing so with a good long scream. A regrettable side effect of his years of magic use. Reality always did that to him. Poor guy.


From his vantage point up in the tree, Teric saw the Greenskin troupe move towards them, alerted by the fracas that had suddenly kicked up.  The big woman and the really big guy were having an argument again, the bloody mage had just woke, and no one was aware just how loud they were.  Teric was attempting the alarm, but managing what could only be called a strangled eagle. “Close enough,” he thought, but they weren’t listening. “Sod it,” he decided “Enough.” He took a breath “OI!!!  Morons! Greenies fast approaching!” he shouted. “Yeah, that got their attention.” he said to himself “Right, looks like I am going to get to burn some filth after all!  All righty then!”

 He jumped down from his branch, drawing his blades, devilishly sharp and ready for blood…or ichor, they were not that bothered; they just loved the death! “So, one big guy and a few goblins… This should be over in a matter of minutes,” he thought. He looked and saw the kettle still bubbled on the fire. He should get a decent breakfast too, if he could keep the fight over the other side of the clearing and keep one Goblin alive.


The mage was ever so slightly confused.  He always was when he came round from meditating: Right, where do we start?  Who am I? Erm, Cloydor, yes… that sounds right. Pain… oh, only some, a slight throbbing in my elbow now, that is much better than it could have been. Hungry… yes, very as always, but magic and food are not a good mix. No eating before meditating and this is a big spell.  

It had taken him weeks to learn this spell. It buzzed and bounced round his skull, itching to get out.  He hadn’t realised it would be SO fizzy, but now he understood why. 

Cloydor was suddenly aware that it was not just his screaming he could hear, so he stopped.  It seemed all levels of hell had broken out. The giant warrior, Bogdan, had barrelled with a gleeful shout towards what looked like a walking pile of smells which had a most ginormous rusty two handed sword. It was slashing the blade around whilst making a nauseating noise, apparently a barrage of Orcish curse words, foul on the ears. They were such disgusting, filthy brutes.  He also heard the squabbling high pitched chattering of nasty, spiteful little goblins, all sharp and spikey, jeering and after blood.

He saw that Gwen had taken up station at the back of their group and was doing what she could with a bow and arrow, but she was an awful shot.  He still thought she may have lied about any aptitude with adventuring, but her healing skills were top notch, which was a good thing really.  He thought she should try to throw rocks, it would be far more helpful.
The little Halfling elf thing was surprisingly adept at almost any weapon he chose to wield, but had a deep love for some elven daggers, apparently a gift from his father, and they were currently glowing and hissing through the air as he skipped toward the oncoming mob, singing.
Before Cloydor could even blink, his lips tingled as the spell fought to be spoken.  “Gosh, well!” He exclaimed. He had thought it was a long term keeper of a spell, but apparently not. That was a shame, he would have to learn it all over again, then. “Ah, but remember it is all about timing!” 

Yes, timing was incredibly important.


Gwen was in way over her head. She was busy trying to remember all the basic rules of archery, things like hold and point and… Ah, everything always happened so fast in combat, targets moved and everything. She doubted that would ever be something she got used to. After dropping the third arrow from the bow, she actually gave up and started to walk towards the closest goblin.  She knew she would have greater effect if she just swung her bow at them, it would at least keep the enemy away from her. She shut her eyes, clenched her jaw and flailed. Yes, there was no other word for it, she flailed, swinging wildly. The bow connected with such a jarring blow that she opened her eyes, shocked, and stared at a collapsing goblin whose face really shouldn’t look like that. “Euwgh, goblin insides again,” she thought, “I’ll never get used to what brains look like, who’d have thought they were like that?” 

She had no time to dwell, that was one down, she knew there were eleven more. Oh no, and the big one too.  She could smell him quite a distance away.  She looked over to where Man Mountain was doing his stuff.  He really did love fighting.  She blushed to herself when she realised she had been looking at the fluid motion of his fighting for some time, watching the muscles moving as if she were enchanted.  “Oh come on, this is not a spectator sport,” she mumbled to herself, irritated. “Go and do something!” 

She turned just as a goblin went to stab her arm, raising his scabby knife high and letting out a shriek. She stepped back and fell over a damned tree root, landing heavily on her arse with the wind knocked out of her. She had just about the right amount of time to raise her bow over her face to shield herself from the knife approaching at speed.


Teric saw her go down. He turned away from the pile of dead around his feet, his blades singing, revelling in the liquid spewing from his fallen foe. He jumped closer to Gwen as he brought down his blade into the back of a goblin’s neck. He sliced it through the bone and scraped it down as he landed, severing the spinal cord, yanking his blade from the carcass. Limply the body fell. He leapt, landing in front of Gwen.  “Get back on your feet!” he shouted at her, “We have things to kill!” as he watched her fumble on to her knees. Well that was a start, they were the same height now: she might be able to learn a thing or two. “Stick with me!” He instructed. At least that should keep the healer alive.


Bogdan was in his element. 

The Orc came straight at him, huge weapon matching the huge arms that wielded it.  It was a monster of an Orc. Bogdan had killed Orcs before, but this was possibly the largest, meanest and smelliest he had seen.

There was a titanic meeting of blades, the shock spectacularly vibrating through the both of them.  With his hammer axe hooked around the blade of the enemy, Bogdan pushed the Orc backwards a good few steps, anger coursing through him, allowing him to shove with almighty force. The weapons locked, the fighters’ faces mere inches apart, contorted with the effort of the struggle. The Orc roared into Bogdan’s face, covering him in filthy spittle. Realising he needed an edge, he resorted to his favourite party trick that Gwen had dubbed ‘The Bogdan Special’. Quickly he pulled his head back and rammed it forward with colossal force, connecting with the ugly beasts’ nose, smashing it in a spray of blood and gore.
The Orc, now blinded with blood and roaring in pain, let go of its weapon with one hand. It roared again: an inhumanly guttural sound, then raised its paw to its face.  Bringing its gore covered talons away from its maw, it snatched Bogdan’s face in a lightening quick move, squeezing the warriors’ skull, driving him to his knees with brutal Orcish power. 
Enduring the pain crushing against his skull, Bogdan switched the grip on his weapon with a swift twist, so the hammer was facing forward. Moving his hand further up the shaft, he swung the hammer back as far as his crouching position allowed. He then drove the hammer home with all his might, striking the beasts’ knee.  

It connected with the unmistakable sound of snapping bone. 

The Orc howled, stumbling back, letting go of Bogdan’s head. Snarling and raising its weapon high, roaring with fury, the Orc swung the blade towards the kneeling warrior. Seeing the blow coming, Bogdan tried to dodge, but the speed of the blow was surprising, and connected with his side as he tried to roll away. The failed dodge splayed him in the dirt, with a burning sensation around his ribs. He realised He had been caught by the fetid blade. Face down in the dust, he phased in and out of consciousness.


The Orc roared in victory. It had conquered another warrior! It looked eagerly for its next kill.


On the floor, Bogdan muzzily opened an eye, managing to look around very briefly to see the state of play. He was shocked that little Teric had amassed such a body count in such a small span of time, and Bogdan was quite pleased that Teric was apparently looking out for Gwen too.  He saw the Wizard, staring at his own hands, little sparks coursing over his skin and round his teeth, his hair and beard starting to stand out from his head under his stupid hat. Bogdan started to feel a pull on his own skin like static before a storm. This was not good.  Not good at all.  He then heard the wizard scream again, and this time it was words, not just meaningless sounds.



As one suddenly well-oiled machine, Bogdan’s party hit the dirt. From past experience they knew this meant that the damn fool mage had no idea what was actually about to happen.  

The Greenskins turned on the lone standing human, now unguarded and looking vulnerable. As they advanced on him, he looked to them and said “Very well, let’s do this, shall we?” and let out a string of bizarre words that appeared in front of him as they were spoken. The feeling in the air became like treacle, a buzzing that invaded the brain to the point where it felt their skulls would explode, then suddenly the clearing danced to the thumping impact of burning rocks. Large rocks, small rocks, all burning, setting their surroundings on fire. The sound was like nothing they had heard before, an almighty high pitched whistling and then *doof* as the rocks hit the floor, shock waves travelling up through their feet.  Faster and more urgently the rocks fell as the spell reached a terrifying crescendo. The goblins tried to scatter but were incinerated by the burning rain of rocks, their bodies exploding with the force of the impact, the smell of burning wood mixed with burning flesh and rapidly heated metal. 


The Orc saw what was happening and was very confused. A few minutes ago it’d been asleep, and now the goblins were literally being struck down by the sky itself. The Orc did what it did best and took another step towards the frail looking, crazy old human, brandishing his freshly bloodied blade. The old human looked at it and laughed.  Laughed! Well he’d not be laughing once the Orc got his claws on him, crazy old fool. The Orc needed to kill something else, and the old man would do. The Orc took one more step and everything went suddenly blank.


Gradually the sounds of fire subsided and the “plink plink” of cooling stone indicated it was safe to look up.  Gwen saw that Cloydor stood with a huge megalith buried in the ground in front of him that wasn’t there before. He was painting a symbol on it. Funny, Gwen didn’t remember him having painting equipment with him.  She got up to and went to have a look and nearly retched as she realised it was one of the Orcs arms he was using for a brush. He was painting with the Orcs blood, pooling from the half exposed body that was very much pulverised by the stone. Vivid green goo against the light grey stone streaked with dark burns. Looking anywhere but there, she also saw that Teric had a goblin wrapped up in rope and was poking it with a stick shouting various nasty things at it.  She headed towards him.  “Why haven’t you killed him?” she croaked, “That’s not like you.”

“Erm, I thought I would do some information gathering,” he muttered shiftily. He was lying; they both knew that Teric was going to roast and eat the gobbo, but it sounded good. “Anyway, as it turns out, there is a huge gathering of the forces of darkness or some such crap, happening right in our path to get to the Far Tower.” He giggled. “Looks like you are going to have to get a bit better at swinging your bow before we move out!”  

This was not the news Gwen wanted.  She turned round though, as Bogdan was shouting again, but this time at Cloydor. She noticed Bogdan was holding his side together, and the back of his leg was smouldering from a rock that had hit him.

“Why for all the little green apples held in this kingdom, didn’t you think to warn us?!?” Bogdan was pretty incandescent already, his anger at the wizard the only thing keeping him upright.

“Well, I did actually warn you.” The mage stammered out under the onslaught of a viciously pointing finger.

“Just shouting ‘get down’ is not an adequate warning, you daft old fool!!!” Bogdan shouted, inches away from Cloydors face, forcing the old guy to stumble back.

“Look, we won didn’t we?” Cloydor stammered as he continued stumbled back, avoiding puddles of goblin. “No harm done, no injuries as such and I also got to practise a quick curse on that stone.” He pointed to the blood-daubed monolith. “It will be interesting to see if that holds,” he babbled. 

It was all too much now for Bogdan, whose arm was wheeling back for a bit of a punch, but Gwen caught his fist and said, “All is well, really, considering, don’t you think?” She was using her best calm voice, even though today had been a bit trying already.  “Let’s just patch you up and have breakfast whilst we work out how the hells we are going to make it to the Far tower in one piece. Oh, and get back again too, that’s quite important.” 

She sighed and reached for her healing pack.