Chapter Eleven - Natterfright

Russ must find a Natterfright to collect the last item in the quest.

He was soon to discover that the madness of The Surgeon knows no bounds, with the Natterfright being a creation with a giants snakes head, the body of a sausage dog, a skunks tail and ....erm.... bunny ears - terrifying.

To defeat the Natterfright the crew must get silver from Vault 17, way below in the area protected by the Vault Keeper.  He must be defeated in a tongue twister challenge, if they are to escape alive.

Contains some naughty words, and attempts at humour.

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It's the Chronicles The Chronicles The Chronicles Chapter eleven Natophrite Russ had been given the task of finding a natophrite, an animal he had never seen or heard of before.

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Nowadays.

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And Dave the Bastard had given his instructions to Russ. Those gnatophrites can be nasty buggers, so you need to be careful. You can find them on the far side of the loop, across the fields where the surgeon lives. He's the one that made them. He is completely mad. Who'd have thought of stitching a giant snake head, a sausage dog body, and a skunk's back end together and start breeding them? Um yeah, indeed. Awkward. Wait, what? inquired Russ, more than a little surprised. Yep, and to top it off, he gave the blasted thing bunny ears. Dave the Bastard went on to explain that the surgeon, a complete recluse, had invented the animals through a series of bizarre experiments. Apparently there were other creations that were lurking in the grounds of his mansion, but nobody ever went there for fear of ending up on his operating table and being welded to some other poor creature. The surgeon himself had not been seen for years. Apparently his real name was John, and he used to run one of the many taverns in the locality. However, he got into an argument with a witch over whether he was serving a bad pint. See relevant publor fact for details. And she cursed him for the rest of his life. He walked out of the pub and was never seen again. But he had apparently been a man of some wealth, as he had hidden himself away in a large house where he studied the dark arts. Are there any others? And began to make his creations in the seclusion of the furthest reaches of the loop. They've got some sort of magic in 'em. I heard that some sort of clever zombie had bitten into one of them, and now they're all infected like the undead. You're gonna need silver to kill it. Bloody sorrub, thought Russ. Back to the Queen's head, Russ gathered the crew in the saloon bar, and everyone was having an ale to celebrate d something. We're gonna need some silver. Anyone got any ideas? asked Russ. Well ask a merchant why don't you? parked up Ben. I think I just did, remarked Russ, in a rather puzzled fashion. I know DOB jumped out of nowhere as if from under the table. Can you stop doing that? said Timmy. It's not doing my ticker any good at all. DOB ignored Timmy and continued, You can get silver from the vault. You know, Vault 17. Vault 17 was a relatively new drinking hole in Chesham. It had previously been a bank with very deep and secure vaults. However, it had fallen into disrepair, and so was salvaged by the new mysterious owners, and turned into a place of drink and dance, and sometimes a cheeky quiz night very popular with the locals. It was rumoured though that deep below where the fun was happening, there was still silver and perhaps even some gold sitting in the furthest part of the vault, and this was where the crew would have to get to. You could have a cocktail while you're there too. They're very good, said DOP. Everybody stops drinking. When men drink together, there is generally an unwritten rule that beer will be consumed. This could come in the form of an ale, a stout, or even one of those fancy fizzy beers that are emerging. They may, if they have had many, many, many ales, have a spirit or a shot. Men must not consume drinks like cocktails, which are primarily designed for ladies sexist, unless they wish to find themselves expelled from their drinking group until they have learned their lesson. Ten men in a pub drinking cocktails is not an acceptable situation. Everyone was now looking at DOB, who realised that he'd made a serious error. I I just meant that you know, some of them are quite nice, you know. Fruity, DOB trailed off, and Jeff said the words that everyone was thinking. Go on, off you go, and take a good look at yourself in a mirror. DOB exited the saloon bar and was seen heading off up the road. Russ laid out the plan, and they finished up their ails without even having a rotor, after the terrible statement of DOB. Russ was a late addition to the Shouty Wednesday team. He had arrived from a faraway town and was not well versed in the ways of Chesham. Nobody really knew what Russ did for money. He did something because he was sometimes late on a Wednesday, and nobody else did that. In truth, Russ had a very boring job that involved him making up pointless rules on behalf of the palace of Lord Jasper, and then taking them to the town council, who would then implement them. He was particularly pleased with the no parking zone he'd put around the Queen's head. Nobody could afford their own chariot apart from Frank, and he wasn't going to leave it there, and Ben, no chance of him driving anywhere, too drunk, so it wasn't entirely necessary. Russ led the merry band out of the back entrance of the Queen's Head and across the bridge past the river chess and through the market square. It was dark, as always, and the dragons were still circling, this time in pairs, in the night sky. They got to the vault, and they could hear that there was some sort of commotion going on inside. It was an imposing building and still looked like an actual bank with a large, formal looking door and arched windows. The poster outside said that it was knife throwing quiz nights, and everybody fancied a bit of that. Listen up, said Russ in his best attention grabbing voice. Richard, you come with me towards the back, and we will try and find an entrance to the vault. The rest of you keep the staff busy by drinking as much as you can and playing the knife throwing quiz game. Got it? What about Ian? inquired Frank. Russ ignored him. Everyone agreed and they slipped inside Vault 17. What a sight to greet the eyes. It was dark, but there were glowing green lanterns around the main area which was dominated by a stage. Opposite was a bar that had four members of staff tossing drinks around to each other and making concoctions of who knows what. The main atrium was full and all eyes were fixed on the stage. There was a tall man on the stage in a fancy red and gold tunic top. He was Bill the Bull, and he was the quizmaster. He was nearly as wide as he was tall, and he spoke with an accent that was most certainly not Chechen. Beside him was a large board with different sections on it. What in some other universes would be called a dartboard. Most notably, in the middle of the dart board there was attached, somewhat against her will, a pixie. She had blonde pixie hair and a small green pixie dress. Aside from this, she was looking a bit rough and was smoking a cigarillo. This was Lila, the Pixie. Bill the Boar was explaining the rules of this game to the audience. Roll up, roll up, come and play the greatest game in the town. Bill had them in the palm of his hand. One cup a piece of gore, and if you answer the question correctly, then you can throw a knife at the board. The higher the score with the knife, then the bigger the prize. You mustn't hit the pixie though. There's nothing in this game for one in the head. All you'll get is your bus fare home. BFE. Timmy was slightly irked by this last comment, because there was no way he was going to be driving this evening. The punters began to queue up to take turns, including Bob, who fancied his chances at both Jimbal knowledge and throwing a knife. Meanwhile, Russ and Rich had got to the back of the entertainment area where it was quiet, and they saw a door with the sign Authorised Personnel Only. Ooh this was tempting, and Rich pushed slowly on the door, and they could see steps leading down to the underground below. As they descended the steps it became damp and moisture was gathering on the stone walls. Strange fungi on the walls provided a dim blue light, and further and further they descended. After much descending they came to a large iron door with a wheel on it for turning a great iron lock. Russ looked at it and said to Ian, sorry, Rich. This must be about two feet thick. Maybe we can attack the hinges? Rich looked doubtful, but inspected the hinges carefully. He then shrugged and hooked down his shorts and started to wee on the hinges. What on earth are you doing? asked Russ in a rather exasperated voice, but at the same time trying to keep his gaze at eye level. If you are a chap going for a wee in the public house, then it's acceptable to make small talk with your neighbour if they are also weing at the same time. This comes with strict rules that you must know that person, or if you don't know them, then you have something so extraordinarily funny to say that it simply cannot wait. Eye contact must be maintained at all times and periphery vision must not be used to see another chap's chap. I'm loosening the hinges, they look like they could break. Rich Slashyan had had a lot to drink that day, and he was going for a wee that was almost a rival to Ryan the Ruiner. Remember him? This was making quite a commotion, and unbeknownst to Rich, had caused the inhabitant and guardian of the vault to be awoken from its slumber. As Rich was on the death throes of his very long urination and was having a shake, one's never enough, is it? The door to the vault flung open, and there before them was an odd sight. This was the vault keeper. The vault keeper, known by no other name, was the guardian of the vault. A little of over three feet high. He wore a bowler hat and waistcoat, shirt and tie, suit trousers and little shiny shoes. He had pointy ears like a leprechaun to look at, and held a clipboard and pen in his little hands. Curiously enough he was also wearing barigolds. It was not to be known to Russ and Rich that this particular vault keeper had a high level of OCD, and had heard Rich splinking away to his heart's content on the hinges to the vault. What do you want, you filthy fly knackers? inquired the vault keeper, rather aggressively. Russ thought the diplomatic route might be the way forward. Um we're here to get some silver, to fashion an arrow, to kill a Natophrite, which we believe is undead, in order to save the whole of Chesham from destruction. Well, why do you say so? said the vault keeper. Come in. He turned and walked into the darkness, and Russ and Rich followed, rather nervously, but also unable to believe their luck. It was now completely dark, but the pair heard a snap of fingers, and Rich could hear Russ yelping. And then a light came on above a chair to which Russ was now strapped with a glowing orange orb, sat directly above his own, now shrinking, orbs of power. It really depends how you look at it. The vault keeper was stood to one side, his eyes glowing with evil intent. Did you really think it'd be so easy? Did you really think you could walk in here and take what you want? The vault keeper was not shouting, but his eyes were glowing an evil green with every word that came louder and louder. Rich Slashian answered yeah, that's exactly what I thought. You fool. Now you must pass my test or your friend will never dance the can can again. He laughed evilly. But Russ stopped looking at the orb for the minute and was wondering if he had ever danced a can can. He hadn't, but now he really, really wanted to be able to if he got through this. You must pass my test, said the keeper. What test? asked Rich. An evil and dastardly difficult test, said the keeper. Yes, but what is it? Evil, dastardly and exceptionally difficult. Ha he laughed evilly. Yes, but watch you little knob. Rich was getting annoyed. Russ was trying to signal to him with his eyebrows to keep it civil, but to no avail. Behold, the keeper said, producing a scroll from thin air. You must defeat me in oral combat. What? Everybody stopped at this point, and Russ and Rich raised their eyebrows at each other. Russ pointed his eyes towards the burning orb above his lap. Rich conceded with a nod. I mean you have to read this and quickly. If you fail then your little friend will have marshmallows for manparts. Then the scroll will choose one for me, and then you until one of us fails. If you win, I will give you what you seek. Rich grabbed the scroll and then cleared his throat and began to read. Brisk, brave brigadiers brandish broad bright blades, blunderblusters, and bludgeons, balancing them badly. Rich smiled and made a drop the mic movement. He threw the scroll to the keeper, who then said A tutor who tooted the flute tried to teach two young tutors to toot, said the two to the tutor, is it harder to toot or to tutor two tutors to toot? The keeper then did a little spin and then pointed at Russ's crotch and made a burning sign with his fingers and threw the scroll back to Rich. The tongue twister trial went on and on, each becoming steadily more progressive until Rich looked at the scroll and a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. He began to read. A skunk sat on a stump and thunk the stump stunk, but as the stump thunk the skunk stunk. Rich gasped at the end, as did Russ, and threw the scroll back at the keeper, who was now visibly sweating. He looked at the scroll and began to tremble. I'm not a pheasant plucker, I'm a pheasant plucker's son, and I'm always plucking pheasants till the pleasant fucker c Oh no. Rich and Rust looked at the keeper in triumph, and the chair and the orb disappeared, and they were all once again standing by the door to the vault. What do you desire? asked the vault keeper. Slightly saucerily it should be noted. Silver, said Rich. Just some silver. The vault keeper waved his hands and a large leather pouch of silver coins appeared in Rich's hand. You'll need these, said Rich as he passed them to Russ, and they went back up to the main atrium. In their absence, chaos had ensued in the vault. The competition had initially started quite well. Everyone was enjoying their ale until someone, Ben to be precise, in direct contravention of pub law, had ordered everybody a ball buster cocktail. Lethal. And as everyone drank them, the competition began to get out of hand. Bill the Bull had to stop Timmy trying to pull the pixie off the dartboard in a heroic attempt to save her. She didn't want saving, which had resulted in her pulling the knife out of the board and throwing it at Tim, who deftly moved out of the way and caught Bob square in the right nipple. Ben then jumped on stage, wanting to join in, but was thrown off by Bill the Ball. Sadly, Ben had not let go of the dart board, and it also came flying across the room with him, much to the annoyance of the other punters who were now starting to push and control each other. Sensing the danger, Rich and Russ ran through the atrium to the exit, shouting at the others to join suit. And by hook or by crook they managed to get outside to the cold night air. Russ surveyed the group. Despite a harrowing experience, Russ and Rich were intact, some parts a little toasty, but generally okay. The bullbuster cocktail had taken its toll, and the others were not great. Apart from Bob, who had a thin dagger sticking out of his nipple, but was so drunk he decided he would leave it there in case he started a trend. They traiced across the square to the forge, where Richard the Blacksmith was busy working away. He watched as they entered, but he knew the shouty crew now, and he greeted them all with a meaty handshake as they entered the boiling hot room with its fiery furnace. What can I do for you? asked Richard the Blacksmith enthusiastically. You make an arrow out of this silver, asked Russ. What's in it for me? inquired Richard the Blacksmith. Um would you like to be part of Shouty Wednesday? Russ looked around at the others at this point, who were all very drunk, but heard the question and were nodding in an approving fashion. I would love that, exclaimed Richard the Blacksmith, and Russ could have sworn he saw a small tear well up in his eye. Give that here. In no time at all Richard the Blacksmith had fashioned a silver arrow and passed it to Frank. Everyone agreed that he had the right equipment for the task, and they set off, with Richard the Blacksmith in tow to find the Natophrite. The gang wobbled their way to the Pednor Loop, where it was once again dark and cold and moist. On and on they trekked. The loop was a mysterious place, but they needed to reach the far end, where nobody would go, for there was nothing here but deathly quiet. They cut across some of the fields to where they thought the surgeon's house may be. Public footpath number nine, according to the Ramblers, those mad bastards. As they pushed on the magic light began to throb. Frank held it aloft, and there was a definite drop of temperature and sound of a large beast padding up ahead in the darkness. They walked gingerly forward, and the magic light throbbed some more, like a bright twinkly throbber that it was. Then they saw it. It must be the Natophrite. The full moon lit up its scaly head, which was that of a giant snake. Its body was long, maybe six feet but low to the ground and thick in circumference. At the back there was a large black and white tail of a giant skunk. The tail on its own was some five feet in length. This would have looked a fearsome creature indeed, if not for the bunny ears protruding on top of its head. I'm not sure whether to kill it or stroke it, muttered Russ, until it opened its mouth and a long, serpent like tongue tasted the air. It approached slowly, and the gang placed their hands on their weapons as it drew closer. Everyone started to walk backwards as it approached, but Bob had become distracted by trying to get the knife out of his lovely hair. It was in a tangle, and he hadn't noticed that the Natophrite was drawing closer. Bob suddenly realised what was happening and grabbed the knife out of his nipple with a little yelp and held it like a weapon. Then he felt himself being dragged backwards and lifted upwards. Frank had seen what was happening and had decided to do something nice for Bob and get him out of harm's way of the impending gnat of fright. Sadly, in doing so, Bob had got his crocs caught in the ground, and this made them both fall backwards. The gnatophrite pounced. What happened next was most unfortunate. The gnatophrite jumped in the air, but not towards the ground did Bob and Frank. It went straight up in the air and did a 180-degree turn so that its tail was now pointing towards the group. The rest of the crew knew exactly what was happening, but the giant skunk tail pointed towards them and fell back. However, Bob was squashing Frank on the floor, who had both the silver arrow and the bow. The Natophrite backed towards them, and as the others looked on in horror, a spray of septic tank quality stink fired forth towards Bob and Frank.

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Shh.

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With no thought for his own personal safety, Frank bravely grabbed Bob and held him in the air like a human shield, and Bob received the full payload over his entire body. And more concerningly, in his mouth. Oh gods of Chesham, why in the mouth? The spray went on for about three or four seconds, and Frank then held Bob towards the Natophrite. This was also very unfortunate, as Bob had lost his senses from the smell and stumbled forwards towards the still erect tail of the Natophrite. Bob lost his footing, and everyone looked on in horror again, and some in amusement, as Bob tripped forward and thrust his head straight into the Natophrite's bottom. Ooh nasty. The Natophrite wasn't entirely sure what to make of this, this being the first time it had experienced such a thing, and it turned around to face our intrepid adventurers. Frank had got his wits about him and loaded the silver arrow into his bow. He whispered his target, and the arrow flew straight and true into the Natophrite's heart, and piercing deep into its body. With a terrible wail, the Natophrite collapsed in a heap, and the muffled yelps of Bob could be heard as his shoulders and legs were flailing around with his head firmly stuck in the bottom of the gnatophrite. Richard the blacksmith stepped forward, grabbed Bob's feet and the tail of the natophrite, and with a satisfying pop, his head came clean out. Bob was a mess. However, more unfortunately for him, the silver arrow had gone clean through the gnatophrite and was sticking out of the top of Bob's head like an antler. Get yourself another one of those and you could be like me, exclaimed Richard the blacksmith. But Bob pulled out the arrow and proceeded to be sick on the floor. Frank was laughing so much that he was worried he may injure himself. Blacksmith produced a huge sack, grabbed the body of the Natophrite, and placed it in the sack and threw it over his shoulder. Time to get back to the pub and see what we have got, said Russ. And everyone held their noses and made sure that Bob was downwind from them as they made their way back to the Queen's head for the final planning of their quest.