Chapter 1
This story was written as a parody of my friends in their Grey Company characters over thirty years ago. The tale is quite dated and probably only amusing to the people who were featured or who knew them in real life.
It is presented here as an example of what my writing was like so long ago and I hope you can see the improvement nowadays!
The Tale Begins
Against the leaden sky, a tattered banner flapped in the chill wind. Around it clustered the war band of Cap’n Bill, Mercenary sheepherder. The band were a sight to freeze the bollocks off an ice giant, so fierce and butch did they seem.
First amongst them was Cap’n Bill himself, Biochemist turned pillager. Tall he stood, and his broad shoulders were unstooped despite the layers of mail, leather, padding, scale, plate, kevlar and Chobham armour they bore. His prowess with the blade none questioned, or at least only once. Sixteen blades did he bear, ranging in length and width. The mightiest he called “Doomshovel”, four feet long and eight feet wide. With this he mastered the rare double strike known as “Slay and Bury”.
Beside him stood Gaynor of the Forests, a wenchable Ranger from the far, far, far northern wastes of Walkaboutabit. Almost as tall she stood, but unarmoured she was such is the nature of the forest dwellers. Idly she plucked the head off a rabbit and pondered where her next VB would come from.
Heroic of nature and heroic of girth was Trevor the Traveller. He came from a lost Northern tribe called Teddy Bears or some such. With one foot placed against the wooden war chest he always carried he looked a mighty sight. In one hand he bore the long axe “Scott-thumper”, in the other a cup of tea. Whilst others pondered various thoughts, Trev simply considered whether he should keep standing or lie down for a nice nap. This waiting around lark was tedious in the extreme. The sooner they got down to some serious violence, the better.
To one side of the party rested Rennette of the North, with her Rune sword “Blade Baby” snuggled against her mailed breast. Its awesome powers lay quiescent for now, sleeping until woken to war. At her feet lounged a half dozen or so nubile young boys, each linked by a silver chain to her sturdy belt. Their naked bodies shivered in the chill air and she absently stroked them to quiet their fears.
Skulking about came Egil, also known as the Angry Ant. His long handled war-axe “Breadknife the Many Hafted” dragged behind him in one gloved paw. Fifteen Orc heads were tied about his waist, making him look a little like a mean ballet dancer with a Red tutu. The golden ring of devotion to his Northern wife lay snugly about his neck. It was only the steel chain and ball that hampered his careful movements.
At the rear of the party was Sandy, the Banner Bearer. Her slim form belied the furious fighting beast she became in combat. She crushed a tinny of VB to her lips, drained it, then tossed the dregs to her War beast “Cute Dave”. Deftly he sucked the few drops remaining out of the can, then looked imploringly at his superior mistress.
“Please Miss, can I have some more ?” he whined. A quick cuff to the head was his reply. Cute Dave hoped there wasn’t any fighting soon. His position in the group came under the category of “assorted weaponry” and he didn’t enjoy the way Sandy whirled him about her head. Being parried was the worst bit he decided glumly.
The Banner flapped in the wind. On its worn centre was portrayed a once fierce War Budgie, black and mean. Now It was sort of grey and bedraggled. The motto was hardly legible, although the group knew it by heart.
“Quo Solarum Est” it proclaimed. (Translation: “Where is the salt?“)
From their vantage on a rocky outcrop, the warriors surveyed the scene. The Temple of, Absolute Necessities lay beneath them shrouded In the mist cloaked valley. The Ferret scouting party had returned with evidence of an SCA encampment. Both were wrapped in duct tape, and seemed near ready to burst.
Cap’n Bill turned to his war band “Okay men, lets sneak down and surprise the little buggers” As one Egil and Trev leapt down the hill screaming at the top their lungs. Their long axes were swung wildly overhead in the approved technique. Egil nearly hit Trev in the head, but that was okay because Trev nearly hamstrung Egil.
Hastily Cap’n Bill revised his strategies. “Sod it- Lets rush in and kill em!“
His war band surged down the hill, swards waving, with the savage chant of “Oooh, Aaarr!!” snarling from their lips. Alerted by a chance crackling of brush, the SCA warriors were ready. The sunlight gleamed dully off their silver taped swords. The numerous wrappings around the greaves showed hours of careful fitting.
“Keepeth those most wretched mercenaries off our sacred turfeth” shouted their Leader, Sir Knight Baron Lord Milady Erik Von Kipling. With a crash like a dozen stubbies on concrete, the two bands met.
“How do you do?“ enquired Trev as his long axe severed swords and shields like a knife through rattan.
“Eat sword” offered Cap’n Bill as Doomshovel dug it’s way through their ranks.
“Snarl, Growl, Woof, Woof!” yelped Egil, foaming at the Camail. It seemed his tablets were wearing off.
The only sound from Sandy was a high pitched Whirr as Dave accelerated overhead.
“My, my, that one looks cute” observed Renette, espying a handsome young lad In the rear ranks. She killed a half dozen opponents on her way there before Blade Baby was even awake.
Gaynor jumped nimbly from one warrior to the next. A slash here, a tickle there- it was awful to watch such callous brutality.
All seemed lost for the SCA, until from within the Temple came a thunderous roar. Striding forth from the temple came Sir Egocentric, of nearly any fighting group you care to name. Some said he was half man, half demon. Some said he was half man half God. Some said he once blinded twenty men whilst bending for the soap in the showers. All was true, at least so he said.
“I challenge your Champion to single combat!“ he shouted. The melee halted, all eyes fixed on Cap’n Bill and Sir Egocentric.
