Thursday, August 13, 2009

Daily Story 120: The Teacher's Lounge

There's nothing like a good ogre, is there? You see the way they glisten just a little in the light like that?
That's a troll. Look, it has horns.
You're both wrong... maybe. Does our new host have bad eyes? I can't tell if the horns are part of a helmet or actually growing there.
I'm just waking up I think... How many of us are talking right now? Lord, this is miserable. Does it get better?
You must be the new one. Yes, you get used to it. There's eight of us now, counting yourself.
Eight? That can't be right.
It is. And I'm sure that's an ogre - it's closer now, look at the layer of mucus.
Ogres don't have a mucus layer.
Hold on. There was the original swordsman, and then Barris, and then Moore, and then me.
And after that Flynn and... who came after Flynn? Wait, I did. Sorry.
And then Benton and then Tell. And now this new kid, with the bad eyesight.
I think you switched Barris and Moore.
I'm Moore, and I say he didn't.
Sorry then.

Does everything always happen this slowly?
No, heavens no. Just when something is trying to kill whoever is wearing the glove. Like this troll here.
Ogre.
Giant kobold.
Giant what? There's no such thing.
There is, I killed a whole pack of them once.
Not after you put on the glove or I would have remembered, and before that you were useless in a fight - so either way you're lying.
I'll have to side with Flynn on that, mate.
At any rate it's close enough now, have a look. Huh. Okay, the horns are part of the helmet, my mistake.
Still doesn't look like an ogre though. Hey, Tell - you're the one that died here. Remind us what sort lives in these parts.
Goblins, mainly. Nothing that big. I was killed by a spider, if you recall. Rather embarrassing, actually.
Shame, that. The greatest swordsman in the world, killed by a spider. Still, not as bad as me.
Nothing is as bad as you.
Oh, let's not bring it up.
I didn't, he did! Oh, the ogre or whatever is getting within striking range. Does the new kid even have a sword?
Of course he has a... huh. No sword.
That's awkward.

Okay everyone, look around. We have three more giant kobolds rounding the entrance, we really need a weapon.
I had an arsenal, someone must have taken them while we were sleeping and just left the glove. Worthless graverobbers.
Calm down, more than half of us are grave robbers. Let's see...
Got it. Fireplace poker, right there.
Oh, excellent. Here we go, let's grab him.
Done. Oh, it's heavy! This kid needs to build some muscle.
Bad eyesight, weak arms... speed is decent though. I assume we don't have legs?
No, he's not used to the glove yet. We just have his left arm. Swinging...
Well that settles that - ogres don't have any bones in their noses and I distinctly heard something shatter there.
Ooh, drop the poker mid-swing and pull that spare sword out of the thing's belt. There!
Good call. Here's the disembowelment... done... the other three aren't in range, drat.
We need legs, I could have lunged there. Is he going to turn and run?
No, he's pretty much paralyzed with fear.
Giant kobolds can do that, you know.
Oh, shut up.

Okay, here's the next set. Blocked that easily enough. Let's... oh, dear, I seem to have lodged the sword into that thing's neck. Stuck on a vertebra or something; I had grown used to just slicing clean through.
I know, if he makes it we'll need to make him exercise.
Well he's not left-handed, that's the problem. Speaking of, is the right hand doing something?
Look at that, so it is! Slow like tar compared to us, but it's groping for a weapon. You know, I think I like this kid.
You liked him as soon as he put the glove on. I woke up and you were already talking about him.
Well, there's something wonderful about someone who finds an obviously magical glove on a corpse in an abandoned cottage and slides it right on. A bit stupid, yes, but wonderful nontheless.
He sure did seem upset when he couldn't take it off.
Third one is swinging, and we're losing the sword. Not enough control to spin around him.
Relax, here comes the right hand... There!
Ahh, frying pan to the side of the head. Excellent form, we'll make a master swordsman out of him yet.
Don't we always?