Badstench
09-25-2009, 01:31 PM
FISHMOO AND THE BABBLE BOOT HORDE
From the "Examinations of the Royal Ecologist"
A little known creature of the Deep Swathe is called by men, "Grass Pig".
These creatures dwell in the depths of lands unclaimed by Men. As such they have gone unrecognised and unheralded and, by simple proof of geography, have survived to evolve a rudimentary intelligence.
In truth, these beings possess no societal habits, nor any feature which might distinguish them from common beasts, so it was a great surprise to find that they possess a language. I have borne witness to communication between individual Fishmoo and, through prolonged exposure, learned a smattering of their tongue.
I cannot take sole credit for this amazing feat. Fishmoo are akin to cows, the same animals of a bovine nature you might encounter on any farm in the Kingdom of Tysa.
There is, however, a very great difference between the common cow and Fishmoo; the fact that they can communicate is fact enough to place these creatures among that category of beings called sentients.
And so it was, I begged the King to supply me with a company of guards and permit travel to the sparcely populated lands of East Tysa, there to examine and study the habits of the Fishmoo.
*
My studious endeavor might have come to naught but for an equal curiosity displayed by one particular Fishmoo. It greeted me in its own language, which is to say it pawked, gooped, and squibbled.
To me, the sound was like the squawk of a lowly beast, but what he said was, "Babble babble two legs, why do you squish me talk this wave-wave grass and disturb me such?"
What I actually heard was, "Urkle-meef. Grorf-Grorf. Grorf-Pork. Urfle meek".
And so, without comprehension of his sounds, I set up camp.
*
For six days continuous, the Fishmoo came to our camp and made its noises at me. These noises were always the same: "Urkle-meef. Grorf-Grorf. Grorf-Pork. Urfle meek".
On the seventh day, a soldier of the guard threw a stone at the animal. "Piffle Ass", it said, and presented it's buttocks to the soldier. This handed me a hint of how to address the beast.
When he appeared the next day, I turned my back to him, bent over and bared my buttocks. ""Piffle ass", I said.
Upon which the Fishmoo made this noise.... "Fribbafribba- sh-sh".
I didn't know, then, that he was laughing, and as he waddled away through the dense undergrowth of waving grass, we all heard it.... "Fribbafribba- sh-sh". The sound came from all around; many Fishmoo were watching and listening... and laughing.
************************************
It had been a valuable lesson, for now I had a clue to the syntax and structure of their language. They vocalized and moved in harmony, each sound having a particular meaning to a particular movement.
But I was wrong.
************************************
When Fishmoo appeared the next day, I bared my buttocks and spoke; "Fribba-as- sh-sh"
There was an uncomfortable silence while I was thus positioned in front of the soldiers who had been guarded to watch over me, before Fishmoo said, "Up-up with cover, Two Legs".
It took me a minute to realise I had understood, then I understood he was telling me to pull my pants up.
Fishmoo regarded me unblinking while I re-positioned my clothes.
Once attired, I spoke. "You understand me?"
Said he, "I hear-hear. Babble babble two legs does babble and share with other two legs. I listen and learn-learn."
From which I gathered that Fishmoo had been spying on our camp, listening to out conversations and commiting everything to memory. He had been learning our language!
************************************************
In the weeks that passed, I found occassion to strengthen the language barrier between myself and Fishmoo. I learnd many things, not least of which was their over-riding xenophobia for everything beyond the "wave-wave grass".
Also, the Fishmoo have individual names, but their language is so subtle that differences are noted by inflection and tone. Thus, the animal I refer to as "Fishmoo" could be any variation of the above; Flishmop, Gishimfoo, Moofish, or George.... Fishmoo is a collective of the whole. It could relate to their race, but regardless, I called the instigator of our parlay, Fishmoo.
In this report, my Lord, I would recommend that we curb our expansionist aims eastward. There is nothing to be gained and everything to be lost-lost.
*********************************
And it came to pass, in the second year of my tenure among the Fishmoo, that a great army of men passed through the wave-wave grasslands on their way to face an enemy of the Ogre-Being called Runeskin.
I was surprised to be confronted by a council of Fishmoo one morning. Spoke Fishmoo;
"Hi hi, Two Legs. A thump and boom boom invades our wave-wave grass. Many two legs come. What gives?"
I was at a loss to explain, not being appraised of the advent of Runeskin, so I took a small contingent of guards and sought for the human army currently coursing through this territory.
The leader of this army was a great soldier by the name of Shadowblack, and in his retinue was a host of other famous names: Elendil The Balanced, Magical The All-Encompassing, Sub-Zero, the Judges Gallows and Fury, Bounty Hunter The Frightening To Behold... and many more.
This was not just an army, but a gathering of the greatest heroes of the age. A war was afoot that necessitated the calling of great figures against a great enemy.
And with these great personages was a host of men; lesser barons, personal soldiery of the Thanes, militiamen, adventurers, corpmen, magicians, history tellers, accountants, wainwrights, armourers, blacksmiths, chefs, prostitutes, urchins, and wannabe bards.
I was escorted to a captain of the garrison out of Graldok, and there discovered the reason for this great army marching eastward: "We go to Silverwysp", he said.
Said I, "But Silverwysp is far to the north. Whyfor doest thy path bring you through The Wash? (which is the common name for the wave-wave grasslands).
"Don't ask me, scholar", he replied. "I merely follow orders, and my orders right now are to find food for our army. What do you know of game in this region?"
"Game? Why, there is none except for the grass-pigs, and they are not really 'game'. They are...."
"Grass-pigs? Aha! we shall feed our army on pork this night!"
****************
I am happy to relate that the Ogre demon known as Runeskin was defeated. The army from Tysa finished their trek by turning north and flanking the hordes of goblins, ogres and trolls, thereby surprising them and crushing their strength.
In the wake of the Human horde, Fishmoo came to my camp. He was ragged of breath and close to collapse.
"Two Legs? Why-why? Why were we slaughtered?"
I waited for him to expunge his last breath before answering; "Man", I said. "Man needs to feed".
*************
I live-live within the folds of the wave-wave grass, listening for the slide and shrump of a surviving Fishmoo, ocassionally whispering a gawp and squibble in the hopes a survivor might trust me to show itself.
I only encountered a babble-babble. He came amidst a booted retinue and wanted to "rescue" me. Said I to him,
"In the Deepening wash where the Will-o-wisp cries, hear you the talk talk of the vanished Fishmoo, and wonder why?"
In the deepening wash of the wave-wave grass, I wander still.
From the "Examinations of the Royal Ecologist"
A little known creature of the Deep Swathe is called by men, "Grass Pig".
These creatures dwell in the depths of lands unclaimed by Men. As such they have gone unrecognised and unheralded and, by simple proof of geography, have survived to evolve a rudimentary intelligence.
In truth, these beings possess no societal habits, nor any feature which might distinguish them from common beasts, so it was a great surprise to find that they possess a language. I have borne witness to communication between individual Fishmoo and, through prolonged exposure, learned a smattering of their tongue.
I cannot take sole credit for this amazing feat. Fishmoo are akin to cows, the same animals of a bovine nature you might encounter on any farm in the Kingdom of Tysa.
There is, however, a very great difference between the common cow and Fishmoo; the fact that they can communicate is fact enough to place these creatures among that category of beings called sentients.
And so it was, I begged the King to supply me with a company of guards and permit travel to the sparcely populated lands of East Tysa, there to examine and study the habits of the Fishmoo.
*
My studious endeavor might have come to naught but for an equal curiosity displayed by one particular Fishmoo. It greeted me in its own language, which is to say it pawked, gooped, and squibbled.
To me, the sound was like the squawk of a lowly beast, but what he said was, "Babble babble two legs, why do you squish me talk this wave-wave grass and disturb me such?"
What I actually heard was, "Urkle-meef. Grorf-Grorf. Grorf-Pork. Urfle meek".
And so, without comprehension of his sounds, I set up camp.
*
For six days continuous, the Fishmoo came to our camp and made its noises at me. These noises were always the same: "Urkle-meef. Grorf-Grorf. Grorf-Pork. Urfle meek".
On the seventh day, a soldier of the guard threw a stone at the animal. "Piffle Ass", it said, and presented it's buttocks to the soldier. This handed me a hint of how to address the beast.
When he appeared the next day, I turned my back to him, bent over and bared my buttocks. ""Piffle ass", I said.
Upon which the Fishmoo made this noise.... "Fribbafribba- sh-sh".
I didn't know, then, that he was laughing, and as he waddled away through the dense undergrowth of waving grass, we all heard it.... "Fribbafribba- sh-sh". The sound came from all around; many Fishmoo were watching and listening... and laughing.
************************************
It had been a valuable lesson, for now I had a clue to the syntax and structure of their language. They vocalized and moved in harmony, each sound having a particular meaning to a particular movement.
But I was wrong.
************************************
When Fishmoo appeared the next day, I bared my buttocks and spoke; "Fribba-as- sh-sh"
There was an uncomfortable silence while I was thus positioned in front of the soldiers who had been guarded to watch over me, before Fishmoo said, "Up-up with cover, Two Legs".
It took me a minute to realise I had understood, then I understood he was telling me to pull my pants up.
Fishmoo regarded me unblinking while I re-positioned my clothes.
Once attired, I spoke. "You understand me?"
Said he, "I hear-hear. Babble babble two legs does babble and share with other two legs. I listen and learn-learn."
From which I gathered that Fishmoo had been spying on our camp, listening to out conversations and commiting everything to memory. He had been learning our language!
************************************************
In the weeks that passed, I found occassion to strengthen the language barrier between myself and Fishmoo. I learnd many things, not least of which was their over-riding xenophobia for everything beyond the "wave-wave grass".
Also, the Fishmoo have individual names, but their language is so subtle that differences are noted by inflection and tone. Thus, the animal I refer to as "Fishmoo" could be any variation of the above; Flishmop, Gishimfoo, Moofish, or George.... Fishmoo is a collective of the whole. It could relate to their race, but regardless, I called the instigator of our parlay, Fishmoo.
In this report, my Lord, I would recommend that we curb our expansionist aims eastward. There is nothing to be gained and everything to be lost-lost.
*********************************
And it came to pass, in the second year of my tenure among the Fishmoo, that a great army of men passed through the wave-wave grasslands on their way to face an enemy of the Ogre-Being called Runeskin.
I was surprised to be confronted by a council of Fishmoo one morning. Spoke Fishmoo;
"Hi hi, Two Legs. A thump and boom boom invades our wave-wave grass. Many two legs come. What gives?"
I was at a loss to explain, not being appraised of the advent of Runeskin, so I took a small contingent of guards and sought for the human army currently coursing through this territory.
The leader of this army was a great soldier by the name of Shadowblack, and in his retinue was a host of other famous names: Elendil The Balanced, Magical The All-Encompassing, Sub-Zero, the Judges Gallows and Fury, Bounty Hunter The Frightening To Behold... and many more.
This was not just an army, but a gathering of the greatest heroes of the age. A war was afoot that necessitated the calling of great figures against a great enemy.
And with these great personages was a host of men; lesser barons, personal soldiery of the Thanes, militiamen, adventurers, corpmen, magicians, history tellers, accountants, wainwrights, armourers, blacksmiths, chefs, prostitutes, urchins, and wannabe bards.
I was escorted to a captain of the garrison out of Graldok, and there discovered the reason for this great army marching eastward: "We go to Silverwysp", he said.
Said I, "But Silverwysp is far to the north. Whyfor doest thy path bring you through The Wash? (which is the common name for the wave-wave grasslands).
"Don't ask me, scholar", he replied. "I merely follow orders, and my orders right now are to find food for our army. What do you know of game in this region?"
"Game? Why, there is none except for the grass-pigs, and they are not really 'game'. They are...."
"Grass-pigs? Aha! we shall feed our army on pork this night!"
****************
I am happy to relate that the Ogre demon known as Runeskin was defeated. The army from Tysa finished their trek by turning north and flanking the hordes of goblins, ogres and trolls, thereby surprising them and crushing their strength.
In the wake of the Human horde, Fishmoo came to my camp. He was ragged of breath and close to collapse.
"Two Legs? Why-why? Why were we slaughtered?"
I waited for him to expunge his last breath before answering; "Man", I said. "Man needs to feed".
*************
I live-live within the folds of the wave-wave grass, listening for the slide and shrump of a surviving Fishmoo, ocassionally whispering a gawp and squibble in the hopes a survivor might trust me to show itself.
I only encountered a babble-babble. He came amidst a booted retinue and wanted to "rescue" me. Said I to him,
"In the Deepening wash where the Will-o-wisp cries, hear you the talk talk of the vanished Fishmoo, and wonder why?"
In the deepening wash of the wave-wave grass, I wander still.