Merlissa hesitates at the door. She says: “I’ve been scrying with my ball.”
“As you do.”
“And I don’t think we should go any further. Through there
is The Gallery. Nothing to see in there. You definitely don’t want to go in. I’m
turning back.”
“Back towards that beach of invading hordes? Rather than following
safely on the trail of berserking orcs who are destroying every opponent they
encounter, through this Gallery?”
“Look,” says Merlissa. “The Gallery is fine. Perfectly safe.
But there’s an Armoury on the other side. Where do you think those wretched
invaders are going to gather?”
“An armoury? Full of golden swords, silver helmets, mithril
socks and diamond encrusted nunchucks? Treasures undreamt of?”
“Probably. And lots of sharp edges, so an ideal gathering spot
for any passing invading hordes. I’m sure they’ve lured those orcs in there.
Soon to be ex-orc-cised. Suit yourselves. I’m off.”
Merlissa turns on her heels and leaves the way they’ve just
come, slamming the door behind her.
“I don’t trust that twitchy-fingered witch,” Getrude says. “We’re
better off without her.”
“She didn’t seem keen on us exploring anywhere at all, did
she?”
“I’m not worried about her. Let her go. On the other hand, those
figures I can dimly perceive on the far side of the chamber are a different
matter.”
“They’re motionless. They look like statues. They appear totally harmless.”
“Exactly. What’s more dangerous than the totally harmless? Maybe
we should do as Merlissa says..”
“I think,” says Elfbow, “I’m prepared to brave the perils of
six – no, there’s only five now – motionless statues if there’s a promise of
diamond encrusted nunchucks.”
With cautious valiance the five stalwart adventurers draw
their weapons and creep up on the statues, taking them completely by surprise. They
don’t react.
The first they come across is a dandy, hat doffed, a rascally
smile upon his face.
“Look at that!” Titchy says. “Spitting image of Clerihew!”
The cleric shakes his head and shrugs.
“There’s a plaque by the statue,” Getrude says. “Here see
the likeliness of Casablanca the rapscallion
Casablanca was a charmer who loved gambling, drink, fraud,
women and peculation.
Which of them he preferred remains speculation.
When compelled by the magistrate to own up to his many sins by ranking what he
confessed.
He said “Sins? What you talking ‘bout? I’ve never once transgressed.”
“I know what kind of verse that is,” boasts Elfbow. “The
elves of Idle Bottomley make them up all the time. It’s a clerihew.”
The cleric begins frantically miming.
“Two words. First word: ‘Pour’. Second word. Four syllables.
First syllable. ‘Moo’. No. ‘Cow’. Second syllable. Little word. ‘In.’ Third
syllable. ‘Rib’. No. ‘Side’. Fourth syllable. Sounds like ‘Gnawbone.’ Thick?
Dense? Sounds like ‘Dense’.”
“Pour cowinsidedense. Pure coincidence?”
“Obviously. Now, what’s Scruff barking at?”
“It’s that heroic statue of an elf. Seems a bit like you,
Elfbow, though he’s tall, somewhat stately, incredibly handsome, way fit and undoubtedly
brave.”
“Exactly like me then.”
Titchy reads the plaque by the elf statue: “Sureshot de Elvenbough
– who, even blindfolded and riding an agitated springbok whilst whistling The
Pixies’ Lament, could shoot out the nosehairs of a fleeing badger at 200 yards.
No-one ever discovered why. Righter of wrongs, singer of songs, banger of gongs,
quite fond of thongs.”
“Clearly my ancestor, though equally clearly I far surpass
him.”
“Then I’m guessing that this wild woman is one of your
ancestors, Getrude,” says Titchy. “Looks like a lowly kitchen maid to me,
though clearly she’s eaten rather too much of her own cooking.”
She’s an angry looking woman waving a rolling pin in one
hand, a burning torch in the other, her apron covered in stains of jam, ketchup
and various indeterminate shades of green and brown.
Getrude is red of face: “I’ve no idea who she is. Nothing to do with me. I’ve no truck with modern art, in any case. Let’s move on.”
Next is a werewolf.
“No need to guess whose ancestor this is, eh, Scruff?”
The little dog raises his hind head against the statue.
“I suppose you mean that with the greatest respect, eh, Scruff?
What does the werewolf’s plaque say?”
“Woof!” reads Getrude.
“Here’s a very peculiar one,” says Elfbow. “This podium’s completely
empty. No, wait! There’s something on it. Oh look, how cute! It’s quite the tiniest
little halfling you ever did see!”
“Don’t read the plaque,” exclaims Titchy, racing across the
chamber to throw Elfbow to the ground.
“Woof!”
“What’s that, Scruff? Titchy’s not too well?” Getrude scans
the plaque. “Here almost stands – yes he is standing, honest –
Titchybritchington the Almost Invisible, the first of that name. Famous circus
freak, performing seal (they’d put hot wax on his nether regions), and spider-wrangler,
he disappeared under strange circumstances involving a basket of kittens
and some candy-floss(1).”
“Never heard of him,” mumbles Titchy, sitting on Elfbow’s
face. “Obviously no relation of mine!”
“From my perspective,” splutters Elfbow, “there’s a strong
resemblance. Obviously.”
“Well, what have we learned?” summarises Getrude. “Clerihew’s probably
descended from the wrong side of a reprobate’s blanket. Scruff might transform
into a violent, naked adolescent at the first whiff of moonlight. If we’re lucky.
Elfbow is the degenerate descendant of a decadent dullard, whilst Titchy is the
giant of his clan. And Gerald says how surprised he is that there’s no statue
of my ancestors and anyone who thinks otherwise will get some stick!”
“But how can such statues be here? Of anyone’s ancestors? How could anyone know we were coming?”
“One person
did. Merlissa. “I’ve not said it for ages: It’s a trap.”
“Did that
statue move?”
“Time to get out
of here.”
“The door to
the Guardroom is locked! We can’t go back.”
“Surely
Merlissa can’t have misled us?”
“Only one thing for it,” says Getrude, “and Gerald agrees. Time for a
very rapid exploration of the Armoury.”
“Let’s go for it,” says Titchy, “and repatriate the Greatest Treasure the World has Never Seen!”
***
(1) Or cotton candy.
The five “ancestors” of my adventuring party are a GW LOTR elf, a North
Star Frostgrave werewolf, a Mithril hobbit child, a Reaper bones cook (I guess)
and a Wargames Foundry SYW personality.
Scoring: These are all 28mm scale figs, but the halfling child is very small, whilst the werewolf stands over 40mm, so perhaps they cancel each other out.
25 points for 5 x 28mm figures, 20 points for the Gallery of Ancestors.
Total: 45 points
