Chapter Four - Tooth of Worm

What happens when a giant toothed worm gets drunk for the first time? Tune in and find out.

The Shouty Wednesday Crew must venture into the woody darkness of Chesham Bois to locate the 18ft long giant toothed worm.

This is the first of 8 tasks that the band must complete to save the fantasy world of Chesham.

Will Richard/Ian complete the task - we hope so, or this will be a rather short series!

Transcript

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It's the Chronicles The Chronicles The Chronicles of Chesham Chapter 4 Tooth of Worm Richard the Half Goblin had originally been relieved to have been given the task of finding Tooth of Worm. He quite rightly deduced that he had never seen a very big worm in his entire life, and he had never ever seen one that had teeth. After receiving the wisdom of Dave the Bastard and conveying it to the rest of the Shouty Wednesday crew, it was decided that a visit to the armory at the furthest southeast point of the city may be a good idea. The armory was something to behold, a stone shop with a counter of wood behind which stood the Burley Armourer. Nobody knew his real name, not even Mick. He had just kind of always been there. He had a thick neck and tattoos of various people being strangled, and he wore a thick chainmail apron and a metal helmet. A large scar down his face indicated that perhaps some customers had tried to take his wares for free. It is a wonder what happened to those that had tried. In one corner were some standard torture instruments, a rack for stretching people to the truth, an Iron Maiden for persuasion purchases, and a funny looking mouse trap with a spike on it. Who's that for? asked Richard, pointing at the mouse trap. For loosening the tongue, replied the armorer. Richard didn't ask any more questions about that. Whilst there, apart from Mick, who always wore armour anyway, it was decided that they may need to get tuled up. Richard, the half goblin, already had his goblin knife, but the others decided perhaps a bit of self defence was going to be required in the circumstances. Timmy chose a morning star, a spiky iron ball attached to a chain and handle. He wasn't great with it, but he loved the swishy sound it made above his head. Russ chose a double headed axe. His rotund physique gave him a low level of gravity, perfect for swinging it around. Bob and Jeff would stand no such nonsense, although Bob liked to keep a pointy knife in the back of his lovely hair, leaving the merchants Ben and Frank. Ben didn't want a weapon, but Frank was more practical. He purchased a bow and arrow. This was not just any bow and arrow though, it was a Kovachi. The most wonderful bow and arrow ever. He didn't really want to use it, but he liked how it made him feel, and that was the main thing. Plus it was expensive. The armorer spoke to Frank about the Kovachi. This here is a top of the range Kovachi bow with accompanying Kovachi arrows. You pull back on the bow and whisper to the arrows the target that you want to hit. You might even be lucky and get two targets out of one arrow if your timing is right. You release the bow and the arrow does the rest. Got it? Got it, replied Frank, as he slid the quiver onto his back and hung his new purchase from it. As long as you name your target correctly, it will never ever miss, said the armorer. Suitably told up, the gang left the armory for the walk across the town, dragons circling in the sky above menacingly. Dave the Bastard's briefing had been clear to Richard. The only place to find worms with teeth was within the Cheshire Boyce, also known as the Boyce. This was an area of woodland that no Chesham resident would wander into at night. Fine, tall, thin, spooky looking trees, hundreds of them. Dave was also specific that Chesham Boyce should not be confused with the other nearby woods of Lady Boyce, going there would lead to a very different discovery indeed. They arrived at mid morning, and although it should be light as they entered the Cheshire Boyce, it became extremely dark and quiet. The ground was completely covered in leaves of reds and golds and browns, ankle deep and magnificent, and the ground rose up and down at impossible angles and curves, and small hills and mounds at almost every turn. But the quiet it was deafening. Bob was beginning to regret wearing his grocks, with leaves sticking in between his toes and twigs impaling his feet. As this was Richard's task, he led the way carefully, his tusks protruding from his bottom lip, which were being sucked on nervously as he moved forward step by step. Dave the bastard had told him that the toothy worms were very large, not to be messed with. Get in there and get out and don't hang about. Dave had recommended that Rich take a watering can with soapy water in it to drive them out of the ground. Richard was not a fan of soap, so he decided to bring a flagon of beer instead. Eventually the eight of them reached a clearing, circular and brown and damp. Come on Ian, get on with it, said Frank. Richard ignored him splendidly. They formed a circle. No one was really quite sure why, but it seemed like a dumb thing to do in the circumstances. Richard popped the cork from this flagon of ale and poured it into the ground. Russ and Ben were looking on, and would find it difficult to hide their disappointment that Richard was not pouring it into them instead. Again, it was quiet. Everyone watched as the ale made a damp patch on the floor and a sad little puddle of beer. Ben was quietly contemplating causing a distraction and then slurping it from the earth until suddenly it was not quiet anymore. If this had been a nature programme with a confirmed and trusted natrist doing the voiceover, then he would surely have said the following In nature, in the natural habitat of the giant toothed worm of Chesham Boyce Woods, a person not familiar with the area would be well advised to watch out for the slow crawl of the giant worms some as large as 18 feet long, with teeth that would strike fear into the very heart of any man. However, imagine if an 18-foot-long worm with teeth that would make a daytime TV presenter proud were given for the very first time.

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Ale.

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Then it happened. From the exact spot where the puddle had been made, a hole opened up with unimaginable speed, causing all eight of our trepid explorers to fall backwards with the force it created. It whooshed into the air, a gigantic worm, all 18 feet, supercharged with a feeling that no worm had ever felt before. It was absolutely hammered. It landed in a coil, smack bang in the middle of our merry bang, not knowing quite what to do with itself. Timmy gasped. Jeff pointed. Richard peed a little bit. He had never seen anything like it. And then it got up, swaying backwards and forth. It had reddened eyes. Strong stench of ale emitted from its giant toothy mouth. It was now looking accusatorily at the band of misfits. Then it made its move, swishing its tail, and with great force it launched it forward with malice of forethought. What happened next occurred in slow motion. He looked in horror as the tail moved forwards towards him. Timmy shouted in slow mo, Look! He's gonna get your crackers! And the Brotherhood of Men looked on in abject horror as the tail did indeed ping the underside of Bob's crown jewels. All of the men knew this was the worst kind of injury of them all. A man can handle a full-on kick in the Nadges in limited circumstances, but the underside flick of the cojones, that was unbearable. My ghoulies! Yelped Bob as he braced for impact, and when he felt the force of that abominable blow, fell straight to his knees, clutching his throbbing man marbles. Russ looked away. Ben closed his eyes. Frank laughed his head off. Worm staggered a little, eyeing up the remainder of them, deciding who would be his next victim, like an angry drunk looking to tell them all another thing. Mick knew exactly what to do, and taking a run-up, he used Bob's bowed head as a stepping stone and launching himself into the air where he kicked his armoured foot straight into the worm's mouth, causing its teeth to explode in a horrendous bloody firework of destruction. Oh, the worm was struggling. Not only was it drunk for the first time, but now it was getting into its first drunken brawl without so much as a buy or leave. As the teeth shot across the woods, there was a slight shriek and then an owl. One of the worm's teeth had landed smack bang in the middle of Bob's forehead. It stuck out like a rhinos horn, with a small trickle of blood, acknowledging that this was not part of Bob's natural form. You're not having the best of days, are you? remarked Timmy. Frank was still laughing at the first injury that Bob had sustained. The worm had fallen straight to the ground and was out cold. Richard collected some of the teeth and put them in his pouch, relieved that he'd managed to complete his task successfully. We'd better get out of here, said Jeff, who could see in the darkness the outlines of other giant toothed worms slithering around the trees, observing what had happened to one of their own. Timmy and Russ picked up the groaning Bob and put him back on his feet, and the gang beat a hasty retreat towards the market square. As Russ looked back behind him, he could see seven or eight other giant worms slurping at the ground where the ale had been poured and beginning to fight each other and wrestle. Chestram doesn't have a Royal Society for the protection of animals, but if they did, they wouldn't believe this if you told them. No worms were injured in the creation of this chapter, just Bob. Very badly.