Chapter Three - Getting on with the Story (please)

This episode starts with Shouty Wednesday in full force when suddenly poor D.O.B is struck by a magical bolt and a strange and ethereal voice instructs the team that they must collect 8 items in order to save the town of Chesham from destruction.

“ONE TASK EACH MUST BE PERFORMED – 

YOU MUST GO FROM THIS PLACE AND FIND FUR OF GLIS GLIS, TOOTH OF WORM, 

A LAGGARDS TOE NAIL, A DRAGON SPERM, 

BARK OF SILVERTREE, A MAGIC LIGHT 

A GOLDEN EYE, AND A  NATTERFRIGHT

– YOU HAVE EIGHT DAYS….”

Contains some bad language.

Transcript

0:01

It's the Chronicles! The Chronicles! The Chronicles! Objection! Chapter 3 Getting On with the Story. And so, on this fine shouty Wednesday, Frank was not in a good mood. He'd spent the entire afternoon out in his chariot looking for people to splash and not had a single success. Very disappointing. All that talk of splashing had focused the minds of the group on the Queen's Head wet shirt competition that was extremely popular with the locals. Now, this is an alternative universe, so let's allow for some explanation. Yes, this was an exercise in drenching human beings and other creatures so that their attire became wet and clingy. But there were two main differences. Firstly, this was an activity that was strictly men only, sexist. And secondly, the liquid that was used was beer. This had created an interesting subcompetition, which is who could open their mouth the widest and catch the most beer whilst being drenched. Who looked the most fetching after becoming beer soaked had become something of a secondary consideration. It turns out that being loud also meant that you were quite good at keeping your mouth wide open, and Timmy the Orc and Bob between them had caught nearly a gallon in one fling of the bucket. Their technique had been studied and copied over the years, until nearly all of the locals were getting better at this vital life skill. And then comes the unfortunate drawback. The competition had become so boozy that no one could really remember who had won. Or cared. And so, back to this shouty Wednesday, the saloon bar was full of the crew, and the room was tight. The table that everyone liked to sit around consisted of a long wooden table, and a bench that would not look out of place at Lord Jasper's great debating chamber. Enough room for three, the others sat on their chairs around the table, but the bench created a sometimes awkward dynamic. The person who sat in the middle of the three people on the bench had to be someone who was not of a certain age, and was not required to get up and down to go to the toilet every five minutes. Today it was Russ who had been entrusted with the middle seat, but unfortunately, in a rush of enthusiasm, Russ had arrived at Shouty Wednesday rather early, and now his seal was well and truly broken. Oops, sorry, said Russ, as he tried to clamber over the others. This was not going well. Russ had imbibed rather too many for this early stage, and balance was becoming an issue until it happened. One of the worst crimes that can occur in a pub. He knocked over Mick's pint with his backside. Everybody watched in horror as a full pint of ale flew from the table and spilled across the floor. There was only one correct course of action. Spilling another man's pint is an act of pure abomination and must be rectified immediately by first apologizing profusely and then immediately offering to restore the bereaved drinker with another drink. This is a three-line whip. And anything else in doing this is completely and utterly unacceptable. It doesn't matter how much beer was left. You have wronged and must immediately put the universe back to being right. Anything else will lead to being exiled from the pub. End of Lord Fact. Needless to say, Russ apologized profusely and immediately bought Mick a fresh pint. Balance had been restored. After many, many ails, Bob was questioning Jeff the engineer about his attire. Are you sure you're not a wizard? asked Bob. No, I'm an engineer, replied Jeff, rolling his eyes in annoyance. But you've got a wizardy hat, remarked Bob. It's just a typical pointy hat, said Jeff. You've got wizardy robes, said Bob, pulling slightly at Jeff's sleeve. They're just in fashion, that's all, replied Jeff, his annoyance beginning to grow. And you've got a wizardy wand, shouted Bob, and in doing so reached into Jeff's robe and pulled out what indeed appeared to be a magic wand. And Jeff was not happy and clutched at the wandy looking object, and Bob tugged back, and Jeff pulled it towards him, and in the tooing and throwing of two adult males with far too much ale on board, a green streak of light flew from the object that definitely wasn't a wand and shut across the room, striking poor DOB straight in the crackers. D O B yelped and dropped the logs that he was about to put on the fire, and he then became enveloped in a strange bright green glow. The Shouty Wednesday crew gasped and there was silence as DOB began to levitate in front of them in his unholy glow. What's going on? asked D O B, sounding more than a little worried until his eyes rolled back and a voice that was not that of DOB emerged from within him. Be warned a great evil is coming, and a band of men must be formed to stop the destruction of Chesham. Eight men must complete a quest for eight items, which must be taken deep inside Herbert's hole. This last part caused Russ to snigger very loudly. He was not aware that Herbert's Hole was a place in the west of Chesham within the Great Loop of Pednor, or as the locals called it, the Pednor Loop. Stop laughing, boomed the great voice from within DOB. One task each must be performed. You must go from this place and find fir of Glisclis, tooth of worm, a laggard's toenail, a dragon's sperm, bark of silver tree, a magic light, a golden eye, and a nataphrite. You have eight days. With this, DOB dropped to the ground with a crash, and the crew looked at each other in amazement. Who'd have thought that a worm had teeth? DOB shuffled off to get more logs for the fire, and Ben the merchant then spoke. We need to get organized. We're going to have to work together to get these items, or Chisham will fall to great evil. Can we finish Shouty Wednesday first? asked Timmy, and they all agreed that they would. After all, they would still have a couple of days to prevent the total destruction of the town. In the morning, among a blizzard of hangovers, the gang met again at Brazil's. Brazil's was a special place. A small cafe that specialized in curing hangovers. A bacon sani, or a more complex hangover cure, such as smash avocado and sourdough chimichuri. This was not, however, the secret source. The coffee of Brazil's was renowned throughout Chesham as the cure for the morning after, and our trepid crusaders all drank from the coffee cup to bring them back to life. Bugger it, said Russ. We're going to have to go and see Dave the Bastard. Oh no, said Richard, slashy in. We haven't seen him in a while. Is he still as bad as they say he is? I think it will be necessary, chipped in Frank. He does know these lands. With a collective sigh the group left Brazil's, bacon sarnies in hand and coffee pulsating through their veins, to go back to the Queen's head, where Dave the Bastard led the early shift. The doors of the Queen's head flung open, and there in his throne in the saloon bar sat Dave the Bastard. The chair itself was not special, but be warned, if you sit in Dave the Bastard's chair when he enters the pub, then you must surely move or be subjected to such hellish antics that you will wish you have never sat anywhere at all. Ever. This morning Dave the Bastard sat elegantly in his chair, drinking super strength ale and awaiting his audience. The crew approached gently. Ben the merchant approached initially. Dear Dave, we seek your wisdom and guidance. Dave looked unmoved. We have a serious mission to undertake and need your thoughts. Dave did not talk. He was a handsome man of north of eighty years, however, sometimes dressed in the style of a man from several decades before. He wore open shirts, fine breeches and wellies that could take him over a river of lava. He had a craggy face that had seen many a scene from his earlier years as a merchant sailor and later a gamekeeper for the Jasper family. Eventually he spoke with an accent of almost pirate quality, which was exciting for us who had firm ambitions of being a pirate one day. Listen here, you idiots, he spat as the group leaned in, and unbelievably Ben was listening but also buying a round of beers. You're gonna need a plan. I've seen curses like this when at sea and they're not much fun. You'll need to be selected for a task each. The task will choose you, you cannot choose the task. Then and only then will the gods be on your side, if they even know you exist. Here, gimme. Dave the Bastard pointed his leather finger at some stirring sticks. Give 'em to me and a writing device. Dave the Bastard was carefully handed a quill and ink from behind the bar, and having asked for the tasks, he scratched them into the stirring sticks, one by one. Use your task for you, and then I will explain what you must do. And then I want you all to fuck off. Ben placed Tankers of Grob in front of everyone as they queued up to select their fate. In doing so, Ben also bought Dave the Bastard another super strength ale, hoping it would somehow influence the outcome. Come forth, Richard, Ian, whoever you are, and choose. Dave the Bastard grinned. Richard the half godlin was nervous. He extended his semi clawed hand towards Dave the Bastard's fist, which clutched all eight sticks. He could not see which one was which. He picked one and slowly drew it out of Dave the Bastard's hand. Tooth of Worm, I've got Tooth of Worm. Richard was elated, although he had to confess to his being mildly permused about where he might find such an object. Frank stepped forward, confident, elegant, and still mildly hung over. Although the hair of the dog was helping. He reached forward and he pulled out his stick. It's a magic light, declared Frank. It went on drawer after drawer. Veruglisquis shouted Ben. A laggard's toenail, said Timmy. A golden eye, exclaimed Mick. Balk of Silvertree, announced Jeff. There was now some nervousness, with only Bob and Russ left to draw. Bob approached Dave the bastard nervously and then drew. Oh bugger, sighed Bob. He slowly turned the stick over to reveal the item that none of them wanted to see. I've got dragon sperm. Russ sniggered again for a minute with relief, before pondering. Hang on a minute, what the hell is a Natoprite? Russ was not from these parts. The others didn't say anything, but quietly laughed into their eyes. Dave the bastard gave each of them instructions on their items, and with a couple of more rails, the quest began.