Stupid Human Year WHATEVER, day 3

Oh, mum!

I’ve got ichor in my beard! I’ve got ichor in my nose! I’ve got bits of demon stuck in my chainmail shirt! HOW DO YOU CLEAN CHAINMAIL? Calm down, calm, calm. I’m lucky to be alive; I don’t mean to worry you, but when the demon fizzed and exploded I was standing right next to it. If it hadn’t been for Fishy Heinrich grabbing my fingers as I went over the cliff edge I’d be food for the sparrows. Starlings? Whatever eats flattened dwarf anyway. Around here, it’s probably flying beastmen.

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To the tune of: Björk – Hunter

Oh, mum!

I’ve got ichor in my beard! I’ve got ichor in my nose! I’ve got bits of demon stuck in my chainmail shirt! HOW DO YOU CLEAN CHAINMAIL? Calm down, calm, calm. I’m lucky to be alive; I don’t mean to worry you, but when the demon fizzed and exploded I was standing right next to it. If it hadn’t been for  Fishy Heinrich grabbing my fingers as I went over the cliff edge I’d be food for the sparrows. Starlings? Whatever eats flattened dwarf anyway. Around here, it’s probably flying beastmen.

That Glowing Stone

Sorry, yes, so that arsehole of a Witchhunter turned out to be a big fat liar. He told us that he’d got that funny stone (look, I’ve drawn it – imagine, it’s glowing green and kind of sizzles – I didn’t have any green colour, so I’ve used some of this glowy pink ichor.)  he told us he’d got it from a Cultist temple in the middle of a wood. After threatening him with grandad’s axe for a bit, and him begging for his healing draught, he agreed to lead us there, mumbling about having repented his evil deeds, and the town guard, Heinz or Hurtz, said he’d say we’d set ourselves on fire if anyone asked where we’d gone. Not the best lie, but he said he’d come up with something better later.

What a trek it was! Fishy tied up Rankoff really well, reluctantly left the sacks and sacks of heads he’d found behind (he wants us to carry them to Altdorf to get the bounty), and dangled the glowing rock around Rankoff’s neck, and we were off – aiming for a mountain peak in the distance that was the first stop on the journey. First, we had to cross a huge river at a waterfall. Karl spotted a gap behind the waterfall, so Heinrich snuck across holding one end of the rope (narrowly avoiding waking a hibernating bear (bit like a really big rat)) and then tied it to a tree on the other side of the river. It, uh, was still quite low and I nearly drowned getting across – but Heinrich dived in and swam me to the bank! Didn’t even know he could swim. Then Karl came across and then we dragged Rankoff through the water tied to the rope. He looked like a drowned, um, fish.

Then we snuck along a track, ever so quietly because it was covered in beastmen poo (looks like big raisins) and we were just about to get to the foot of the peak when I heard something behind me – four sheepmen were sneaking up on us!  Karl plonked a couple of arrows into what looked like the leader, I hit him with the axe, and he went down like a sack of, um beastmen heads, sending the three little ones scurrying off in panic. Karl took them all down; he’s really getting good at this archery thing.

I’m not going to bore you with how long it took to climb the peak; it was mainly granite , though had some interesting shales as well. Very unusual! We all roped together, partly for safety, partly so Rankoff couldn’t run off. At the top there was an obsidian plateau with nothing on it, save for embedded white flowers of radial cristobalite. While we all catching our breath and admiring the view, Rankoff pulled his healing draught from his clothing – we’d forgotten to tie his hands! He drank it quickly, intoning that he would “revenge myself on y…”, and then started screaming. The screaming choked off as shifting limbs pushed themselves out of his mouth, splitting it open sideways and… something… crawled out, sloughing Rankoff aside. I don’t think he expected that.

I can’t describe it now. It didn’t stay still for a moment, a gross of gelatinous eyes roiling across the bloody torso. When it sprang and grabbed you, it had eight limbs covered in hooks and claws, but when it swung for you, they melded into one monstrous talon. Karl filled it with arrows until it looked like an Kislevite knight, and Fishy unloaded Rankoff’s pistols at it, but it kept coming. I saw Sigmar’s sign glowing on its shoulder and when a pistol ball struck nearby, the monster shrieked and staggered back. I took careful aim and (on the second go) hewed Grandad’s pick into the sigil. The creature stopped, losing limbs, and just… fizzed. Swelled. I looked around for the others, but they were both hiding behind a rock, which is why I started to worry… and why, I ended up blown over the side of the cliff when it popped. Twice today, Heinrich saved my life.

There wasn’t much of it left, or of Rankoff. Just a curious bottle, with a sign on it, a bit like Sigmar’s comet, but with an extra tail or two. Heinrich said “Can I have a look?” and when I gave it to him, hurled it over the edge. It fell a long way, and I was again glad that I wasn’t following it.

I don’t feel like writing any more now mum. I’ll write again soon.
Grok.

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