Chapter 1
A chill Autumn wind blew through the straggled line of trees, whipping the campfire of Cap’n Bill and his band.
Cap’n Bill, reknowned warrior and bearer of the blade “Doomshovel”, surveyed his small force of adventurers. They had travelled deep into the wilderness of Essex, sent on a mission from the local Saxon Warlord, Uther the Unlikely.
Uther’s villages had been harried and plundered by a roving band of Orks, led by the Orkish brigand ‘Ironballs the Unstoppable’. Uther needed someone expendable to locate the Orks and test their mettle. Cap’n Bill and his village had been honoured with the task.
The Cap’n remembered the scene in his split level feasting hall when he announced the quest. Hardly had he finished asking for volunteers before the hall lay empty. It was only by the passion of his speech and the accuracy of his sword arm that he had captured the small group of ‘Volunteers’ with him now.
There was Gaynor of the Forests, her wenchable form snuggled deep beneath the layers of rabbit skin blankets. She had caught and skinned them herself, using her unique Ranger skills and very strong teeth.
Renette of the North slumbered amidst her boys, each now kitted out in leather jock straps and wristbands. She claimed it kept them warm enough.
A long chain led to where her husband, Egil, slouched around the campsite. He was on guard duty, although Cap’n Bill was certain he could hear him snoring. Since Egil always wore his helm, Bill could never tell if his eyes were open or not.
Bazza the Pale Pink was a huge mound of blankets, from which a small, close-cropped head protruded. Bazza had the kind of haircut historians would later confuse with helmet padding. His twin 8-foot short swords rested at his side, ready for immediate death dealing to any intruder. Egil made sure to scuff well around his sleeping form. When Bazza tossed in his sleep, it was usually knives.
A diminutive form lay huddled against a tree trunk. Helen the Timid actually lurked in the branches above, weapons ready, just waiting for some foolhardy brigands to attack in the night. She’d used this ploy often and enjoyed ambushing ambushers. They always looked so surprised as she apologised then killed them.
Yes, Cap’n Bill knew his small band were ready for anything they might encounter. Thus, he was most surprised when the ghost of Sir Egocentric arose from the earth and clutched at Bill’s heart.
“I thought I buried you!” the Cap’n wailed as icy fingers closed around his organ.
“Not deep enough”, the ghost replied and gave a menacing squeeze. “Now watch as my loyal warriors destroy your pitiful band!” A dozen translucent forms lifted themselves from the ground, the duct tape still gleaning dully even in death.
Two ghosts approached the sleeping form of Renette and ran chilled fingers down her mailed thigh. Haunting chuckles came from their ethereal throats. “Not now Egil, I’ve got a headache” she murmured and pushed them away.
Two approached the slumbering mound called Bazza and prodded him with their unearthly Rattan.
“Sod off!” He rumbled in his sleep “It ain’t my watch yet!”
Two more boldly strode up to Gaynor of the Forests and whipped off her rabbit skin blankets. As is common among the forest folk, she only wore her hunting garb to bed, a thin leather belt and a sheathed knife.
“Cor, lookit that, would ya!” moaned the ghosts, gripping their rattan tightly.
It was all too much for Cap’n Bill. “To Arms, to Arms!” cried the Cap’n and rushed to his feet.
“Two legs, two legs!“, replied Egil and rushed at the ghost.
“Sincerest condolences!” chortled Helen as she leapt onto two surprised ghosts.
“Wake up mistress, wake up!” wailed Renette’s boys, their tiny hands shaking her. A ghost grabbed one in its arms and the terrified lad aged ten years in fright. Luckily, this put him past puberty (just).
As the ghosts closed on Bazza the Pale Pink, he rolled over in his sleep. The two were crushed instantly.
Gaynor of the Forests felt a chill wind blow over her, and drowsily awakened. “Is that you, Billykins?” she murmered. She blindly reached out and touched the long, rigid length of rattan.
“Oh, it is you!” she said gleefully, “But you’ve got a nasty chill there!” She opened her eyes, and saw a ghostly warrior fervently gripping his sword.
“More, more, please!” it moaned. “Eek!” she squealed and drew her skinning knife.
Her arm was a blur and duct tape fell like streamers from the weapon. “Oy vey!” it cried in alarm and backed away. The other ghost, who was probably gay anyway, loomed over her and raised his sword.
Cap’n Bill slammed Doomshavel against Egocentric - The ethereal form was thrown to its knees. Two warriors came at him, rattan ready. Bill uttered the enchanted phrase that brought his mighty blade fully awake
“Doomshovel Excavatius Maxims!” he yelled, and went for the ghosts. His awesome Runeshovel opened a gaping ten foot square pit and a single back hand sweep tumbled them in. A reverse counter swipe entombed them for good.
The ghosts over Gaynor barely heard Bill breaking ground before they too were sent spinning back into the dim depths.
The ghosts facing Egil met an even worse fate. They had some revenge though - he got stomach cramps from eating too fast.
Helen the Timid was still backstabbing her two when Egil scuffed over and asked if she had finished tenderizing them. She apologised that she hadn’t and proceeded to kick them as well. Egil sat down to wait. A good breakfast was worth waiting for.
Of the ghosts that had gone for Renette no sign was to be had except for her contented smile. Ghosts are tireless you see.
Sir Egocentric climbed carefully back to his feet, and snuck out of the campsite.
“We’ll meet again Cap’n Bill!“ he threatened, and his ghostly form disappeared into the night.
