Chapter Six - Fur of Glis Glis

Ben the Merchant must find the fur of Glis Glis, taking the crew from the (relative) safety of the Queens Head to the dark grounds of St Marys Church. They must get past the undead accoutant, defeat the evil cleric at the ancient game of "Crackerjack" and find the fur they need, before getting back to the pub as quickly as jolly well possible. Learn the unbreakable pub lore of the roader, and maybe have a roader while you listen to it.

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:02

It's the Chronicles The Chronicles The Chronicles Obsession Chapter six Fur of Glisclis In the saloon bar the group gathered around their favourite table to discuss matters so far.

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The blind was drawn to the windows, because this is what you did when there were matters to be discussed. More room had to be made, as their new accomplice and Jake the Gollum was now in tow. The fire was roaring loudly in the darkness, to such an extent that everyone there suspected that DOB, the local pyromaniac, must be around here somewhere. What is a Glisclis? asked Ben. I know From nowhere DOB popped up, as if from under the table, seemingly haven't recovered from his previous ordeal. It's a furry animal, a type of door mouse, but much bigger. People used to eat them back in the day. They can be found in the countryside, but beware that they have evolved somewhat over the years, what with all the eating them and that kind of caper. There's been rumoured that a few of them got it on with the werewolves over by the Curious Stones, and that now, if the moon is full and bright, they transform into an evil, nasty form of themselves. Mick slid the blind up slightly, and a bright full moon shone into saloon bar. Don't you ever have any good news? moaned Tim. Oh dear, sighed Ben, finishing his pint. DOB continued. I've heard that they can be found in the church on this very street. The church of Saint Mary's hiding in the rafters. Waiting Waiting. Waiting for what? said Ben, grimacing slightly that his mission was not likely to be as easy as it had seemed. Waiting Waiting, DOB continued. Is it another premonition? asked Ben. No, he's just very drunk, remarked Richard. Well, said Ian, Frank concurred. The church of St. Mary's was a foreboding place, especially on a dark night with a full moon when you're looking for a nasty bitey creature. None of the Shouty Wednesday crew were attendees of the church, and no one but no one went there at night. It used to be lit up with its spire and a Chechen flag flying high, but those days were long gone. It was very spooky, an old building from an old age, with a graveyard of the very, very long gone. Rumour had it that the priest and guardian of the church was somewhat eccentric and was rarely seen in public, a strange man known as the cleric. It was rumoured that he'd fallen somewhat to the dark side of his practices and beliefs, and was now a practitioner of witchcraft and the dark arts. We're going to have to go over there, aren't we? sighed Ben. Let's have a rotor and then we can get going. Everyone agreed. If you are not familiar with the concept of a rotor, then please allow me to explain. A rotor is your absolute last pint of ale before you leave the pub. This is the absolute law. Until someone else says that they are having a rotor and you are just about to finish yours. In those circumstances you're entitled to another rotor, and that is it. Unless of course someone else is having a rotor and you have not finished your rotor after the rotor, it is absolutely carved in solid stone pub law that if you have had your rotor and someone else proposes a rotor, then it is not your fault that a rotor has been proposed. You were forced to accept and so are late home to whoever has the misfortune to look after you and are drunk. It is also absolutely carved into pub law that despite having been in the pub for three or four hours, if someone has a brilliant idea five minutes before you are due to finish your rotor, then a rotor is required to discuss the idea, which absolutely no one will remember tomorrow. Rhoda means one for the road. Fortunately in this parallel universe of Chesham, there are no cars, and the roads aren't that great either, but it can take a very, very long time to get anywhere when the rotor rules are applied. Six pines later, they left the pub. And so the gang left the Queen's head with the short walk to the church. The dragons swirled and circled like shadows in the night sky, sometimes to be seen clearly against the brightness of the full moon. Eventually they paused at the meuse leading to the path to the church. Ben was leading, but there was a tangible atmosphere of apprehension. Everyone had heard stories about this place, but no one had been, especially not at night. They wanted to progress silently, but even on his stony tiptoes Jake was not able to walk quietly. Come here you, said Bob, who produced a spare pair of grocks that he had been carrying about his person. You can wear these. A small tear welled up in Jake's eye as Bob placed the grocks on each of his stony feet. This was an act of kindness that would not be forgotten in a hurry. Jake could now walk perfectly silently, but he knew that at some point someone was going to take the Mickey out of him for his footwear. Ben opened the wrought iron grate slowly. It was medieval and gothic with twists and turns of black painted iron and exceptionally pointy bits. Bob looked at them and was a bit concerned that his track record so far would mean he would end up on one of those points.

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Oh no.

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Ben pushed the gate open and ushered the group through, where he quickly assumed the lead again. There were gravestones all around them of long forgotten Cheshamites, who had the money to be able to afford a stone to mark their demise. On through the gravestones, some as tall as a man, and all of them taller than Jake and Bob, and a mist was forming and swirling around the stones in a sinister manner. The mist was now becoming a fog, and Ben raised his hands for everyone to stop. There was something that he had seen. One of the graves began to start moving, the earth was vibrating, and then all of a sudden amid a cluster of dirt flying up in the air, an undead man rose bolt upright from the waist, with his arms crossed across his chest. It wore ragged clothes, and had wretched dark skin, and also quite cool glasses that made you look very clever indeed. The group stepped backwards from this creature nervously. Richard had his hand behind his back on the handle of his knife. Frank a hand just rested on the bow strapped to his back. Russ had unbuckled his double headed axe, and Timmy began to build up some momentum with his morning star, building up speed in a circle. Mick raised his hand on the heel of his sword. Bob, who kept a small knife in the back of his lovely hair, decided that this was not worth the hassle of having to put it all back up again and moved slightly behind Mick. This sorry creature was known to the group. This was Sorrob. Sorrob would occasionally come into the saloon bar at the Queen's head and would always just have half a ale. This was exceptionally annoying to the rest of the shouters, and was gravely frowned upon. Sorub was a bookish and clever man, and was well known for his ability to help the wealthy residents of Chesham pay less tax to the treasury of Lord Jasper. Nobility of the town, keep up and it was for this reason and only this reason that he was tolerated. Sorrob seemed to have a particular knack of annoying DOB. This was because DOB thought that he knew every fact in every conversation that ever occurred in the Queen's head. And if he didn't, then he'd make one up and talk very convincingly about the fact until everyone seemed to agree that it must in fact be true. This is an important part of pub law. Anyone speaking with authority about something, even if they know absolutely nothing about the topic, shall be believed unless another person present is a greater authority and can demonstrate this, or at least speak as if he knows more than the other. This was the problematic part. Sorrob was clever, and he would consistently challenge DOB on his many facts, to the point that DOB became very annoyed. The beer didn't help. It is rumoured that the last time Sorrob was seen at the Queen's head some months ago, DOB had left shortly afterwards, and Sorrob was not seen again. Do not go here, the undead accountant wailed. There is great peril and evil in this graveyard. Tell us of this evil, ventured Ben, who was unarmed and walked ever so slightly towards him, who was still buried in the ground to the waste. If you stay here you will meet the cleric, and he will kill you if you do not pass his challenge. Tell us of this challenge, undead one, asked Ben, who felt that they were starting to bond now. The challenge is dangerous, and the cleric can call upon great evil powers to bring your greatest fears to life. He's gonna stop us drinking, asked Mick. Everyone nodded and looked horrified. Far, far worse than that, for he will.

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What did you do that for?

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Ben asked Timmy. He was getting right on my wick, countered Timmy. But he was going to tell us about the challenge, Ben protested. He's talking nonsense. There is nothing worse than stopping us drinking. Jeff nodded his head sagely in a kind of fair enough kind of a way. Fair enough. And there were a few further nods and grunts to confirm that this was actually a fair point. Sorab's head, which was now about ten gravestones away, was making muffin noises, but was so badly damaged that no one could hear what he was saying. Meanwhile his body remained rooted in the grave, waving its arms and wondering where its head had gone. Let's get moving, shall we? suggested Russ, and they headed off towards the church, leaving the stinking headless corpse to fend for itself. On the approach to the church, slightly uphill in the darkness, there was suddenly a flash of lightning from nowhere. Everyone jumped back. In front of them was what they knew must be the cleric. He wore a priesty mitre, and held a staff, and looked exceedingly grumpy. Colours of white, gold, and green in his robes, and a sceptre in his hand. I am the cleric, boomed the cleric. Really? asked Ben, trying to discompopulate the cleric. He looked confused for a second, then retorted in a loud order. Yes I am. I'm sensing some disorder. Frank piped in. Don't look like a cleric. Oh dear, oh dear. No one were to know that the cleric suffered from confidence issues. Sensing weakness, Mick piled in. What's your real name? The cleric was very much thrown, and rather timidly answered Er Kevin, actually. Ben, seeking to gain the upper hand, ventured Yes, well we are here to get some fur of Blisklis, so hopefully that will be okay with you. Jeff rolled his eyes at the sense of weakness. And then Kevin the cleric realized where he was. His eyes grew bright green. He started to hover slightly above the ground, and the lightning began to pierce the ground around them. Listen here, you lot. If you want access to the church to look for the sacred bisclis, you will have to pass my challenge first. Timmy started to subconsciously shift his morning style and said at last, someone who can tell us what the bloody challenge is. This took Kevin the cleric back a little bit. He was not used to apathy like this, and was one who liked to retain control. He was sure that he would shock them with the challenge. Surpass You must beat me in a round of Cracker Jang No bollocks. There was a gasp from the gang as they realized the potentially heavy price that was to be paid. Crackerjack was an ancient game, designed in a time where wits was low and people really didn't have very much to do. The nature of the game was such that a coin would be flipped, and the first player must guess correctly whether a head or a tail had landed. If the first pair guessed correctly, then they could kick the other player in between the legs without interference. What? And this whole process would repeat until one or the other gave in. Bob immediately declared himself out on the basis that his gentleman area had been antagonized enough in recent times, and everybody nodded and agreed. The terms of the battle were clear. The cleric could battle anyone who had two testicles. This did not matter how the individual identified. A couple of testes was all it needed. No need to identify as anything else, everyone was happy. I shall smash the balls of any competitor who's stupid enough to challenge me, raged the cleric. There was now a team conflap. Bob, Ben, Frank, Richard, Russ, and Timmy didn't fancy it. Mick was wearing full armour, so volunteered. He went forward towards the cleric with some confidence until the cleric unrolled his scroll of rules and stated clearly No armor must be worn in this combat. It must be removed. Mick looked back at the others with his best. I don't want to get kicked in the ball's face, and they accepted him for who he was. It was amazing. Jake ventured forward with his heavy feet, and the cleric surveyed his opponent with some scepticism. He's made a stone, protested the cleric. Is that a breach of the rules? asked Ben. The cleric searched his scroll and then smugly declared No. But he has to have some, you know nuts. Everyone looked very intrusively at Jake's bare undercarriage and was starting to see the point being made, until suddenly Jake declared Wait, behold my precious stones. Jake scrunched his face up and made several noises like he was trying to have a massive poo. Everyone watched as he strained with the effort, until suddenly the most satisfying popping noise occurred. Not once, but twice. And there for all to see were two perfectly round but stony man pebbles. Clear evidence that he was ready to pass the testes uh test. What do you think of them? remarked Jake, proud as punch that he was able to show his manly crowned jewels. Kevin the cleric looked at his scroll and began to sweat. Um well you see the thing is these rules were written a long time ago, and uh Ben interjected. None against the rules, though, is it? Oh bugger, declared the cleric. Jeff produced a coin and asked with some sarcasm, it must be said. Heads or tails, cleric The cleric, realizing that this may be a life changing event, muttered Heads, I'm calling heads. Jeff flipped the coin in the air and it landed on the back of his hand, which he then concealed with his other hand, and then had a peek. Jeff began to chuckle. It is heads. Off you go. Jake braced himself, pebbles out, hands behind his back, ready for the blow from the cleric. The cleric, emboldened, ran towards Jake and launched a shin of leg for all he was worth into Jake's gentleman area. Ah my leg screamed the cleric, as his bare shin struck Jake's perfectly smooth but stony hard drain. Jake blinked. He didn't love it, but it'd been so long since he had felt anything in that area that a slight bit of action was quite welcome. The cleric was doubled over on the floor in pain, clutching his shin and ankle and moaning about outdated rules for a modern world. This time Ben piped up. Time for round two. Jeff flipped the coin again and this time asked Jake. Heads or tails? Tails, declared Jake. And tails it was too. The cleric slowly dragged himself to his feet and faced Jake. Jake kicked off his grocks menacingly. Every man present apart from the cleric was absent mindedly holding their crown jewels in anticipation of the awful scene that was about to unfold. Frank snickered nervously. The cleric stood with his hands behind his back, braced, ready for a full right foot of mini gollum stoniness to whacken straight and scrott him. The cleric's mind was racing. He'd wanted children, even though he was man of the cloth now. He knew that this would not be possible after this. He said a small prayer under his breath and waited. Jake scraped the earth beneath his right foot like a bull, and then ran towards the cleric. As he approached at speed he swung his foot as hard as he could and he made contact. The cleric collapsed in a heap. Timmy, Richard, and Russ were all sicking their mouths, and for Jake this was the greatest accomplishment of his entire life. I concede, wept the cleric. I'm not doing that again. And the crew swept up Jake onto their shoulders like he had just won the World Cup. This was the greatest feeling Jake had ever had, and couldn't wait to kick some other idiot in the bollocks to get this level of adulation again. Defeated, the cleric dragged himself off in the direction of Sorob, and the group slowly approached the church. There were several trees outside and then that is when they saw it in the trees. The gliss gliss. It hissed and growled, and the colour drained from Ben's cheeks as he realized that this was not going to be easy at all. It bared its teeth hissing and was at least five feet from head to tail. Then unexpectedly it dropped to the floor. Bob, sensing that it would somehow know that he was the one to cause peril to, started to run back towards Church Street. The Glisclis gave chase. Bob ran for his life the whole length of Church Street and then into the Queen's head, where he slammed the door behind him, the Gliscliss was shut out. All of this had happened in such a flash that most of the group had been left behind at the church, where they were pillaging the holy water from inside of the church. The Gliscliss was pouring and snarling at the door that Bob had slammed shut. But even more unfortunately for the Gliscliss, Richard the Blacksmith had decided to stop off at the Queen's head and have an ail. Or ten. Madame Manuela looked out of the window and pointed at the Gliscliss, and within a minute or so Richard the Blacksmith was out in Church Street to assess the situation. Richard looked at the Gliscliss, clawing the door to the saloon bar, and then the Gliscliss stopped and looked up at Richard. He could see it gulp slightly. Within a nanosecond, Richard the Blacksmith picked up the Glisclis, broke its neck, skinned it, and with his bare hands turned it into individual burgers, leaving the fur intact and a small rug type affair. The crew had by now made their way back to the pub, and Richard the Blacksmith happily declared All yours. Hope you didn't mind. I don't mind at all, said Ben. Can I buy you a pipe? Well just go in, said Richard the blacksmith. Or maybe just a rotor, countered Ben. Everyone knew what that meant.