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[Ubiq]

In times of peril or even mild distress, my uncle Olie was found of saying "Regular", he often called me that. I don't know if it was a nickname or if he thought it was my name. Pardon. "Regular" said Olie, "when tha old world starts to turnin' widderschynnes and tha tames go nort cause of some great gammalatches, thas tha time when an elephant has to accept has plans hae gone agley and tran has thoughts to savan' has own trunk. Billybarn tha lot, ma stircherop!" That was Olie for you. Not even Eustace can compare to Olie when it comes to being scatterbrained.

His words came to me unbidden as I stood there and watched the drama unfold beneath me. The walloons had broken up into three small groups. One walloon headed down into the deep, four turned their attention to the nearby trophy room that was partially visible from where we now stood, and the remainder wandered off away from us though it was only a matter of time until they realized where we were. If ever a situation had turned widderschynnes, it was the one below me. I muttered something to this effect, which caught the attention of Mr. Atemlanlar, a giant bat who was a recent acquaintance of mine. Atemlanlar had been trained years ago to help digbeards hunt. This idea was given up when it apparently occured to the digbeards that hunting walloons was not a profitable venture. Atemlanlar overhearing my comment was unavoidable since he was using my left tusk as a perch.

"Ah, don't you worry, Reggie" said Atemlanlar. "Things could always be worse." My response was merely to point downwards to where a couple of walloons had begun knocking over a collection of cages that had, until now, contained rockclads and shagtusks from the recent visiting herd. "Huh. Well, that ain't good" said Atemlanlar, which cost him several points in my eyes. Ain't? How vulgar. Another battle began in earnest beneath us as the other shagtusks joined in the frenzy of cage tipping and an army of rockclads swarmed those few walloons. No gratitude there. Atemlanlar flew across the room and disappeared upstairs.

"Billybarn this!" thought I and turned to follow him. Just as I turned, a great drumming noise rang through the cavern floor, which sent most of the digbeards flying for the stairs upwards while others hurried to a nearby room to grab sharp sticks and rocks to put over their leaves. The sheer volume of digbeards forced me to bypass the first set of stairs and move for the farther stairwell. Just as I prepared to ascend, a walloon surged upward from the downward stair below.

Pure reflexes stepped over as I stepped on its skull, which gave way with a thoroughly satisfying crunch. What else could I do? Chances like this are all too rare, normally. That solitary walloon was soon replaced by an entire host of rockclads; several of which received the same treatment as their predeceased predecessor. The rockclads kept coming up the stairs towards me despite this for some time. In all the world, only the rockclads rival the digbeards in imbecilic disregard for their own safety.

After a while, they paused in their futile attempts. I cannot say why. Perhaps it was to work up courage to attack me in large numbers; they had to have been well aware that the first few rockclads to charge me would meet a squishily unpleasant end. Well, probably. Perhaps they were simply trying to figure out if any of them weren't aware of this obvious fact. They had to come up here though as this was the nearest staircase that had access to the levels below and above and the others were well-guarded by now. I could not flee myself for fear that one of the gammalatches might slip up and cut a ligament from behind. I'm not worried about being stuck by one of those sharp sticks except in the eye, but have a heathly respect for the cuts they can inflict.

This little standoff soon worked out to my satisfaction when I perceived a flutter of wings and Mr. Atemlanlar returned to his perch on my tusk. He said only "you may want to step back a bit" before folding his wings and going to sleep. Atemlanlar might butcher the language, but he is still one of the more sensible beings I've encountered in this great bastion of insanity so I stepped away from the staircase.

Seeing this, a braver than average rockclad screamed out a probable warcry and charged up the stairwell onto our level. As he did, a great, green head dropped down from the level above. Luto and the rockclad regarded each other face to face for a brief second before the former opened his mouth as if in a great yawn. The rockclad screamed "NOT THE FACE! IT'S WHERE I KEEP MY EYEBA-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" and instantly turned into a cloud of ash as a cascade of flame enveloped him and those following rockclads directly behind him on the stairway.

I don't know what that meant, but I doubt it's the sort of thing that any creature wants as its last words. I, for one, intend to curse the digbeards with my dying breath as I've often heard that such curses tend to be more effective than normal ones. Great Aunt Sareva always said that anyway. Said that her grandfather Olie, a different Olie than the one Uncle Olie was named after, mind, Olie is a common name in the Phant side of the family. Pardon. Great-Great Grandfather Olie had cursed a particularly obnoxious warthog with his dying breath and three days later that warthog was serving as dinner for a group of digbeards. Had a plump helmet shoved in his mouth, Sareva said though she said that her grandfather would have wished that... well, never you mind.

The immediate threat of the rockclads was now over, but it had occured to me by then that I hadn't seen my Blueclad lately. After a bit of thought, I realized that he had been one of those who had rushed for a stick and rocks earlier. I cursed him profusely for this when it occured to me as I feel responsible for him and had better go look for him.

Next time: Into the Depths or Billybarn every last single one of the Gammalatches!

[Phenixmirage]

Excellent storytelling good sir! Pip pip, cheerio, and all that.

[monk12]

Ah, 'tis like Christmas every time this thread updates.

[Ubiq]

As I walked over to the nearest stairwell, I recall pondering as to whether or not insanity is contagious. I often worry about that these days; I notice myself rambling on and on over some odd tangent when I usually to be quite focused and concise. Stupidity is not contagious obviously as I would never have lasted this long around digbeards with my vast intellect intact if it were. Reasonably intact at any rate. Looking for for a confounded Blueclad under the circumstances was a startling lack of judgment on my part.

I was brought out of my reverie when I realized that the stairwell was abandoned when it should have been swarming with either digbeards or rockclads. It was quiet. Doubtless you expect me to say that it was too quiet, but your expectations can go hang. I'll have no part in such an odious cliche. Besides, there was noise though it was all in the background. Noise that was primarily of the F-WHOOOSH and "NOT THE FA-EEEEEE" variety. At other times, I could hear a distant rattling sound. I suspect that was Eydri beating on a walloon with his heads.

It was odd all the same. If the digbeards or rockclads weren't here, then it seems likely that they would on another floor. They couldn't be above me as there's no racket to indicate a battle above me or the assorted gore that would have been the result if the rockclads had fought their way through to the upper levels. Nor were they directly below me as there were no signs or sound of battle below me.

This would require closer investigation and, steeling my will and cursing myself as a fool, I descended the stairs. Down I went ever deeper into the abyss. The stairwell was fairly narrow and the stone layer around was untouched; neither smoothed for decoration nor carved into passages so that the digbeards could plunder the various rocks they treasure so well within it. After a time that was probably much shorter than it felt, it opened into a vast cavern that extended off into either direction as far as the eye would see. I had never been done this deep before; my Blueclad had no reason to venture this deep. A position I wholeheartedly endorsed as this dank cave managed to exceed the surface when it comes to being a landscaper's nightmare.

As I stood there and surveyed the scene, a small creature lunged at me. I forget the name of the sniveling beasts. A crumble? Crumpet? At any rate, it promptly bounced of my knee and laid there stunned. I debated stepping on it, but decided against it. Stomping was too dignified for this little fool so I punted it clear across the cavern instead. I'm quite proud of the distance I got on it. Rare kick that.

I know not if this lone crumpet was the only inhabitant of this portion of the cavern or its erstwhile colleagues saw that kick and decided discretion was the better part of valor. I do know that my crossing of the cavern from then on was unobstructed though I did catch the odd glimpse of the denizens of the dark every so often. Gad, what a hideous place this is. Trees that look designed by committee, animals that look like they've been assembled out of the spare parts stockpile, and Koganusân knows what all else. From what I've heard of that particular deity from Aunt Elle, I doubt he knows about this lot though. Old Kogy is big on smiting and my suspicion is the entire lot would have been done for from the start he had known about it.  Not that I normally condone smiting for something so relatively minor as merely being ugly, but there's only so much an elephant could take. A tree that is constantly spitting seeds for instance. That's well over the line.

I hurried along in a desire to get this over with. If I didn't find that Blueclad shortly, I'd give up and try upstairs. This thought began to comfort me more and more as time wore on and I was just about to gladly give up when I heard the sound of a host of marching feet. The universe conspires against me; my confounded conscience. It came from over a ledge towards the farther end of the cavern. A vast island of rock rose up behind up and disappeared in the darkness above.

I cautiously crept to the edge and peered down. What I saw staggered me so much that I had to lean against the near wall for support. I convulsed for a while with silent laughter, but all too brief as it quickly gave way to rage. For below, in two groups, the rockclads and digbeards pursued each other around that island of rock in a great circle and probably had been doing so ever since I stepped on that one walloon what seems like ages ago now.

A pestilence on all of them; digbeard and rockclad alike!

Next time: Like a Moth to the Flame or Some Things Are Best Left Forgotten.

[monk12]

What, rapidfire DF updates and now a quick Reginald? I daresay, if this continues I shall become spoiled.

[bowdown2q]

This is fantastic beyond reason. Posting to follow!

[Ubiq]

Upon seeing such a sight, I would normally turn and walk away, but this... this... this. These current actions were on a level of idiocy that cannot be forgiven or turned into an amusing anecdote to be recited at holiday gatherings or even as a means to while away a dull evening. Blood. Blood alone would rectify this and I resolved myself to setting into motion the means to achieve just that. I would go down and interpose myself between the two groups with the idea of slowing up one group long enough for the others to catch them. Ideally, it would be the rockclads who were caught, but I was beyond the point of caring about the particulars. Cast the bones and let them lie.

This first required that I find an area that would allow me to go down to their level. Geographically, mind you; I'll never reduce myself to the level of a digbeard. I'll join the graveyard of my ancestors before that happens. So I cast my eye along the ledge to find a handy ramp; soon spotting one, I travelled to it. Just as I arrived, there was a great keening sound and the entire cavern became as bright as a midday in summer. All of us, elephant, digbeard, and rockclad alike turned as one to see what this was.

A great, squirming and writhing creature of fire that resembled nothing so much as a scaly moth that walked with its wings and had no discernable eyes. I would appear that my intervention would not be necessary afterall beyond fulfilling my obligation to that Blueclad. An elephant is, after all, faithful one hundred percent of the time. I had spotted him by this point and he was well away from that whatever it is.

The creature gave out another great wail and began to waddle forward with flickering flame. It headed for the rockclads, which is a mercy to me for once. They might kill each other and then my obligation is over. That or the digbeards will kill the remainder. It moved with a speed that belied its method of movement and drew towards the rockclads as if their very existence filled it with an unfathomable rage that must be vented. At least, I gathered this from its body language. I suspect this interpretation is the correct one. I know that feeling well.

Closer and every closer it came and the vibrations from its ponderous movements rattled stalagtites and stalagmites alike. I could feel each step to my very core and that keening, wailing cry. Was it of rage or pain? I cannot say and will never know for the oddest thing happened.

I still don't know what happened exactly as there is no possible way that what I recall happened actually did. Yet, I have no other reasonable interpretation of the event than the one I made at the time.

The creature, by whatever name it hailed by and whatever type it was, sneezed. That is the best interpretation of what I saw. The creature started, reared back, snapped its head forward, and vented off a great cloud of dust. Perhaps it had accumulated the dirt while crawling through a tunnel that it was only barely able to fit through. At any rate, it sneezed and the dust went everywhere.

One might ask why this would be of any import. Embarrassing perhaps as it thoroughly undermined the aura of menace that the creature had previously established. Like having a leg cramp when slowly raising your foot to prolong the moment when preparing give some scoundrel a well-deserved head-stomping. You misapprehend the scale of this sneeze and the resulting effect of the sneeze on the rockclads.

The sneeze cast up a wall of dust that enveloped some of the rockclads and scattered them as if they were leaves in a typhoon. The sneeze also propelled the creature backwards like a punted crumpet. It whizzed through the air like a shooting star and slammed it into the far wall with a thunderous impact. It promptly burst into a thousand pieces, which showered the surrounding area with a rain of firey assorted moth bits.

I miss the jungle with its cold, rational survival of the fittest, warm monsoons, multitude of trees and fruit, and its utter lack of flamable moths that are hoist by their own petard. Bah, let me never speak of it again. Such things are best left forgotten.

Next time: All around the Cave Quarry Bush or Stomp! goes the Reginald.

[Naryar]

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Reginald, Elephant, Proficient Sarcasm User.

[Karnewarrior]

Watch out for exploding lungs or other organs. Armok forbid you have explosive livers!

[Meta]

Stomp! goes the Reginald

It's going to be legendary!

Love the story so far. Please continue it!

[Ubiq]

As I said, let us forget the entire sorry incident and count it as a something that never happened and that we shall never speak of agin. Every family has its hyrax they say and this was mine.

Pressing on. The unmentionable and quite imaginary unpleasantness I had just not witnessed left me as bewildered as I had ever been in my entire existence; I doubt any elephant had ever been more confused than I was at that instant. It was, let us call it, a nonplussed ultra moment. I fear I may have temporarily gone rogue in this state as I don't recall climbing down the slope and closing with the enemy.

One moment, I was peering down a ramp from atop a precipice, the next minute I had a small round object that seemed to be made of some indeterminate object bumping into me. I have a chilling thought that it was made of flesh, but after the utterly uneventful sequence that had occured a few moments before, I had decided to ignore my senses and rational thought as much as possible until I managed to return to the relatively sanity of a surface where giant aquatic creatures strut about without skin or muscle. True, the trees have branches whose shadows occasionally form images of rabbits and birds that prance about, but it is still preferable to the nonsense that I haven't been encountering down here.
 
At any rate, the round object kept bumping into me despite my attempts to bypass it. When rational belief fails, surely instinct will suffice. I therefore dealt with this in the customary fashion, which distressingly enough, seemed to not work as intended. When stomped upon, the wossname simply flattened out under my foot; it went from a three-dimensional sphere to a two-dimension circle in an instant. I am not sure what the mathematical term for such a conversion is as I am hardly an expert in that field; I shall have to take it up with a camel sometime.
 
The flattening was only temporary as the unexplainable material it was made of soon began swelling up around my foot. I shifted said foot sideways and raised it in preparation for a tactical withdraw and the spheroid promptly shot off at an angle away from my foot with a great Ta-WHANG. It rebounded off of a stalagmite nearby, came back, cuffed a rockclad on the side of the head, and sailed off into the dark distance.
 
My faith was shaken to the core.  Stomping had encountered something that it apparently could not fix! I feared that I might go mad for an instant, but deep, deep within me, I heard dear old Father's words of encouragement. "Son," said he "when times go bad, and they often might, rely on your feet. Whether defense, recreation, or simple retreat, they shall never fail you." And they never had prior to then. Was it possible that it was merely a fluke? A test. A test was necessary!
 
I found the nearest rockclad and stepped on him, which proved the efficiency of that old standard. Once was sufficient, but one had to be certain. I stepped on him another five or six times to be on the safe side. Quite effective. It was quite evident that my imagination was running away from me ever since I had kicked the crumpet across the cavern. The strange orb was merely a figment of my addled brain. No such thing could exist in the first place and certainly wouldn't be so hardy if it did, which it couldn't.
 
In this calm moment, I took in the surrounding area and noticed that the floor was of the shiny blue rock that the digbeards valued so highly close behind me. The elephant's share had evidently been carved out of the living rock though they had curiously avoided a single outcropping, which had some images engraved upon it. Upon closer inspection, I saw that one was a rather crude drawing of a woozle while another was a coconut with sticks embedded in it at odd angles. Strange that. Presumably, the digbeards had simply not carved into this region yet though they would presumably have to do so after too much longer since the bulk of the remaining blue rock was in that outcropping.
 
A great clatter from behind me brought me out of my musings. The digbeards and rockclads had finally collected themselves enough to revert to their fundamental state of being: hitting each other with pointy sticks. I then realized I would have to see this idiocy through to its utterly moronic end. Some days, it does not pay to wake up. Most days, in fact, when you live in a footrest with the digbeards.
 
Next time: The Natives are Restless Tonight or They are Vengeance, They are the Night!

[flieroflight]

Epictacular good chap.

[monk12]

Oh now I am entirely too excited about the next update. I love the alternate titles.

[Razonatair]

I recently took the time to read all of these updates, and I must say, this is a tremendously good story.

[Ubiq]

By my reckoning, it was well into the night and I was quite tired of all this aggravation I had been given. The lack of discipline was appalling on all counts and the only way to right it was the old fashioned method. Yes, this very night was right for stomping and it was high time that I get my action in.

I walked slightly around the melee and waded into the chaos from behind. Then I set to my grisly work. A stomp here, a kick here, and things went quite swimmingly as the enemy numbers decreased dramatically and a considerable portion of the remaining rockclads fled back in whatever direction that they could. Some of the uninjured digbeards pursued them with a great zeal while the others began gathering up the wounded of which there were a few. No dead that I could see, which I wholly attributed to my timely intervention.  Of course, the more seriously wounded, of which there were several, would have to survive the rigors of digbeard medication and the tender mercies of their witch doctors. My Blueclad was uninjured, which meant that I had succeeded in my role as a bodyguard, and was already heading back upstairs while carrying a fellow digbeard that had been stabbed in the foot.

At that moment, I heard behind me a low muttering. I turned about and peered downward to see a fairly small creature that was apparently trying to look as large as its small frame would allow. It appeared to be clad in a large black leaf that wound around most of its body and had a leaf that covered much of its face.

"FGEH MEG!" said the creature. It's voice sounded rather unnatural, as if it was trying to speak with a menacing tone and failing miserably. "Beg pardon?" asked I. The creature blinked its massive eyes and spoke again more slowly and with great deliberation; its enunciation was superior this time and I could understand it. I suspect that it would have had an odd sound to its voice even without this odd affectation due to its oversized fangs.

The conservation, as best I recall it, went along these lines.

"FEAR MEH!"
"What?"
"FEAR MEH?"
"What."

It was here that the creature reverted to its normal, somewhat high-pitched speaking voice, and, yes, those fangs did indeed affect its speech.

"Fear meh?"
"Who in this confounded world of tragic idiocy are you supposed to be?"

The creature went back to attempting a gruff voice.

"I am Vengeance for all theh thieving that has been done by theh bearded moles! I am theh terror that flutters in theh night!"
"Is this a joke? Did Eustace put you up to this?"
"I never joke."
"What are you anyway?"
"Can't you tell by theh wings? I'm a BATMAN! Who else has wings?"
"Any number of creatures. Cave swallows, eagles, cardinals, penguins, bl...
"PENGUINS ARE AN ABOMINATION!"

I paused for a second to collect my thoughts. I was rapidly running out of patience and the next moments would determine the final outcome of this conversation.

"What?"
"What?"

We stared at each other for a brief instance before the Batman broke the silence.

"FEAR ME!"

Batmen exceed crumpets by a considerable margin as a projectile. I expect the wings have something to do with it.

Next time: Abandoned in the Dark or Our Princess is in Another Cavern.