[shaman]

4) Oddworld is burning.

The weirdo glistened with unnatural light in the palm of Toko’s hand; they were deep in the jungle. Evening was rolling in and Abe’s moon was appearing high in the sky, the jungle was empty now, and the only sound was of the dull thud of distant gunfire miles away, made by enormous guns the industrialists had employed to push the natives back as their war machine advanced further and further. All the birds and paramites had stopped making noise; with a little “outside interference” from Toko convincing them to sleep early it was perfect for him to conjure this little advisor.

“Do you think they’ll turn up?” Toko asked.

“Certainly!” The weirdo replied in their trademark echoing whisper. “This Ianto, young as he is has a lot of greed in his heart; we have seen it Toko, He will lead his fellows to the capital. The first of the three bad kings is in our grasp, well done.”

“But there’s another problem” Toko replied to the glistening spirit standing in his palm who stood transfixed like a poorly made wax model. “By the time i gather the other two kings Ianto would have arrived at the capital, I won’t have enough time”.

Toko sniggered; “Five hundred years and I don’t have enough time”... He whispered.
The spirit laughed with an unearthly cackle. “Of course you will” He said. “As we speak the industrialists will clash with the Mudanchee and Mudomo tribes in the jungles outside the Capital; Ianto and his friends will have to keep their heads down, that’ll buy you some time; a little trick we pulled just in case this happened.”

“Good but don’t kill them” Toko begged “I’m not sure what the prophecy says about one of the kings dying.”

“We are ... don’t worry Toko, they won’t die; the battle has been foretold, it is where you will find another king - the murderer”

“So I should go back to the capital?” Toko sighed, it had taken him weeks to get here, and he was in no hurry to take the long walk through fetid jungles and stinking
swamplands anytime soon.

“No” The weirdo barked abruptly. “We need you to continue north, that may you can uncover the traitor. The Murderer will be found at the battle inside the capital, we are sure of it Toko.”

Toko sighed, the capital was a beautiful place and the thought of it being ravaged in a brutal battle was repulsive. The bombing raid he survived had been the lesser of the evils by far; sligs, he knew, took a far greater toll when they were in battle but this was war and war was cruel, Toko turned to the weirdo.
“Where can I find him?”
The weirdo quit his frigid stance and grinned evilly. “Let me show you” he replied.
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A few miles away, a ponderous ship floated high above the jungle.
The view from the air ship was tremendous. As though the whole continent of Mudos was laid out before it, stretched out below were millions of acres of jungle and saturated marshland, a few spooce – covered mountains stood like forest Gods over the landscape, and there was an immaculate sunset in the distance.

There were signs of war too. From the observation deck on the airship burned out villages littered the landscape, along with countless wrecked industrialist machinery belching fire and smoke from their ruptured hulls. Still after a long and costly fight against the guerrilla fighting tribesmen, this small section of The Old Kingdom was now under Industrial hands, the natives had fallen back to protect their cities – no doubt the jungle in their wake had been scattered with so many deadly booby traps and anti – personnel mines it would yield appalling damage for the sligs to attempt to cross it.

Murphy stood on the observation deck surveying the landscape, it was a large room with grey metal walls and a glass floor, allowing users to see the ground hundreds of metres blow their feet. Murphy stood with his hat drawn over his eyes for the glare of the evening sun. He was a young steef, his muscular frame which was usually covered by armour was now clad in a simple dark green poncho and brown trousers.

Murphy was in fact a great warrior, and had earned himself a high rank in the Magog Cartel’s army; still he preferred to work in the field than take a desk job –that was for the vykers. – He had just returned from west Mudos where Industrialists had fought over native – held lands, after those lands had been made compliant he had signed up for The Old Kingdom campaign. However, as of late ... Murphy had started to have some frighteningly wilful ideas.
Murphy sighed. But his finely tuned senses knew immediately that he had been interrupted. He darted around to see a suit wearing Octigi wander into his midst.

“Hello Sir.” Murphy said absently.

“Hello Murphy.” The Octigi droned, “Taking in the scenery before we move out tomorrow?”

“I suppose you could say that.” Murphy replied, though it much more important than that.

The Octigi moved closer taking a space next to Murphy. “I don’t usually come in here.” He said in the classical guttery hum of the Octigi voice. “It’s the glass floor, it scares me, I’m afraid of heights -”.

“Why did you come in here?” Murphy snapped.

The Octigi chuckled. “The powers that be want you to abort the mission into the jungle tomorrow and take up something a little more important.”

Murphy wheeled round, this was something to cheer him up. Sligs were irritating at the best of times and being placed with a few better disciplined of their ilk was a very attractive offer.

“I’m listening”. Murphy said warily.

“Good, go to the special operations centre. Someone will meet you there”.

Murphy smiled. “The industrialists already have most of south east mudos under their control sir, why do we feel the need to capture The Old Kingdom too?”
The Ogtigi frowned. “That is not my concern Murphy, the world is changing; these natives must find their place or perish. Same as you Murphy ... and your place is on the battlefield.”

Without a moment’s pause, Murphy turned and walked from the observation deck.
The next morning, Murphy sat in a tired heap in the back of the drop ship; his place in the special operation unit had been accepted instantly and now they flew from the air ship towards the jungles.

There was a rebellion taking place in the industrialist held lands, since the assailants were reported to be armed with heavy weapons the regulars had been spared the task of mopping them up and a special operations unit comprising of a few dozen sligs and Murphy would attempt to capture the rebellious village.

Murphy got up from his cold metallic corner of the drop ship and peered through the small slip of a window; a path had been cut through the dense jungle by firebombs and in the distance stood the fortified village. Anti aircraft shots were flying wildly from the area – and the sky lit up with occasional bright light and bang when one of the attacking ships was hit. Murphy ignored it, after all they were far out of range, but still there was no hope of defeating the natives by bombarding the village; the natives were expert guerrilla fighters and they would have to be engaged on solid ground before the area was retaken.

Inside the ship, the inhabitants were talking hurriedly about the coming battle, or slapping magazines into their weapons. The sligs were clad in black armour and their visors were edged with vicious blades for close quarter fighting.
Suddenly there was a deafening bang, the crew ran to the windows to see another drop ship. Murphy felt a pang of fear in his chest, that ship had suffered a direct hit. Stricken by the shot from the ground, the nearby vessel burst into flames, molten metal poured from its engine room like tears and the awful sound of metal girders tearing under the heat filled the air. As its engines failed it plummeted to the ground out of sight, it was now horribly obvious that they had entered the kill zone, where they were clearly visible and fare game to be shot down.
After a few fear – filled minutes, the drop ship finally touched down on the ancient looking landscape of The Old Kingdom. The only thing greeting them there was the seasonal downpour, humid air and loud bangs firing off in the distance. For more than the hundredth time in his life, Murphy charged out of the drop – ship with dozens of sligs by his side onto the waterlogged land.
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Barely half a mile away, Toko was standing inside a ruined temple, out of the reach of prying eyes. Over the jungle he could make out the shapes of hundreds of air ships floating over the land, and the bright glare of the projectiles rising steadily from the jungle below. Toko had spent a long time in here in his youth, now the ceiling had partly fallen and the stone carvings were weathered and bare. He looked up; there was a snap and a flash but Toko wasn’t startled, it was a usual occurrence for him now.
The weirdo sparkled as it became more solid. “Ianto and the other bandit’s have reached a village about ten miles from their base” He whispered.


“Odd that was quick”! Toko snapped. “We’re running out of time. What else do you have to tell me”?

The weirdo turned slowly to look out onto the jungle. “The traitor is there” .

Toko smiled. “I thought as much, who is he”?

“He is a steef” The weirdo whispered excitedly. “He is also in great danger”. The weirdo
looked around and then gasped, “HE IS IN A BATTLE!” He shrieked. “WE NEED HIM!, GO NOW!”

Toko nodded, there was another loud snap and a blue flash ... Toko vanished.
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Murphy roared in pain and anger, a spoocebolt had hit him in the leg. He stood up and shook out the vicious little dart, all around was the deafening sound of gunfire and screams from both sides. He and the sligs had walked into a native ambush.

The surrounding jungle was alight with blue and red lasers, with the occasional explosion tearing open the floor spilling earth and shrapnel everywhere, due to countless incendiary rounds the jungle to their right was now alight and the screams of creatures native and industrial echoed around as they had been too late to escape the blaze. Murphy took a gasp of air and let fly with his automatic crossbow. The noise and sights so disorientating he wasn’t sure who he had killed.

Suddenly there was a cracking sound and a tree behind Murphy became riddled with tiny stone darts; if Murphy had been there he would be pulverised. He looked around to see dozens of mudanchee head hunters screaming and brandishing remorseless looking weapons, they were painted red with scrab based tattoos all over their sinuous bodies and tied to their loincloths were several slig helmets and masks.
At once Murphy whipped around and opened up with his crossbow at the charging horde, several of them fell but their agility made them able to keep furiously advancing, loosing off darts from blowpipes, slings and spoocebows as they ran.

A group of sligs were firing wildly into the mudokons when they were decimated by a flurry of razor sharp darts and arrows, and the ones who survived crawled terrified into the trees.

Murphy steadily reloaded and began carefully firing again, every shot counting, but the mudokons were too close. And with chilling uniformity they all drew their tomahawks, the sligs ran forward and in an instant the clearing had broken out into searing hand to hand combat, lasers from slig held guns and native spoocebows littered the air, tomahawks met metal, flesh and bone in a horrible echoing splatter and those who ran were inevitably cut to pieces in the deadly crossfire.

Murphy knew that this battle was in the lap of the Gods, he couldn’t do anymore here, but he heard the rustle of the trees and looked around to see a group of Mudokons and Grubs sneaking past the line.

“Come on”! Murphy shouted and several of the sligs accompanying him followed his lead and began firing wildly into the trees, sure enough blue darts were firing back and Murphy found himself in his own private fire - fight, rushing off into the trees towards the natives to get a better shot.

Muphy ran using all his might to penetrate the dense jungle around him, darts and arrows stung the trees in his wake and he knew he had to keep going to avoid being fatally hit. Up ahead he saw the group of natives firing at the sligs in the clearing and jumped out, spiralling into the crowd and getting in amongst them.
Murphy stood up, all at once the mudokons drew their tomahawks, the sligs in the clearing – who took advantage of the relief from the mudokon’s fire, ran in to help Murphy. Who barely had a chance to think before the fight started again and he was pounced on by a mudokon clad in tomahawker gear.

Murphy clashed with the mudokon as the sligs and tribesmen around him fought their own private wars. Murphy’s blade met the mudokon’s tomahawk and sparks flew, Murphy was now almost nose to nose with the mudokon and he could see the hate in his eyes,
The mudokon dealt Murphy three monstrous blows which he almost failed to block, becoming angrier and more blood thirsty with every swing; Screaming at Murphy who didn’t have a moment to strike back as his strove to protect himself from the insane tomahawker.

“LEAVE – OUR –LAND”!! The Mudokon yelled lashing out terribly at Murphy. Who blocked forcefully.

Murphy’s heart was pounding. At last he threw himself upwards and pinned the mudokon against a tree, the mudokon grabbed Murphy by the throat drawing him closer till he saw the whites of the tribesman’s eyes.

“I will tear you into ribbons”! The tomahawker spat at Murphy. He then cleft his weapon through the air and it clanged loudly against the blade on the side of Murphy’s crossbow.
Murphy and the mudokon wrestled with each other, occasionally lashing out brutally with disembowelling sweeps. Murphy blocked the attacks and parried with his crossbow, the mudokon dodged it and punched Murphy in the face, knocking him to the ground, then pinned him.

Murphy was trapped as the mudokon sat on him and raised his tomahawk to deliver a deathblow. The bloodlust was clearly visible in the mudokon’s face. Murphy could not move for fear, he closed his eyes and prepared to die.
There was a bang and Murphy gasped , daring to open his eyes to see if he was still alive. The mudokon was there, with a surprised expression on his face, his grip on the weapon loosened and it fell with a thud to the floor.

Slowly the Mudokon closed his eyes and rolled over onto the ground; revealing a slig standing in front of Murphy with a small plume of smoke rising from his recently fired rifle.