"The Uprising"

[Teal]

As I'm not sure if I've posted this here yet - I couldn't find it, if I have - here is the start of my Uprising... Hm. I should have the second chapter finished soonish, anyway... *fingers crossed*

*cries 'cause she's a gabbit again*

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Prologue

Zek had his nose to the boardroom door, as usual; being small, his pack-mates had coerced/bullied him into snooping for them some time ago, and so far he’d not been caught. Although sometimes he wondered why they’d insisted, as most days it was deadly dull and he had to tank up on caffeine an hour in advance so he’d not fall asleep halfway through. The board meeting had started off calm, but now it was getting noisy; Upper Management was pissed off at something. Zek pressed his snout to the crack in the door and listened…
“I’m tellin’ yer,” One Glukkon yelled, over the row. “We have to stop ‘em before they get the chance to ruin anythin’ else!”
There was a chorus of agreement from the others.
“Yeah, but how? The forest’s a pretty damn large place, y’know.”
There were some angry mutterings.
“Well, it’s simple,” one of the high executives said. The sea of faces turned to look at him. “We’re goin’ in there,” he snarled, softly. “An’ I don’t care if we need an army and have to cut down every tree, but we’re goin’ in there. And we’re going to wipe them out. That’s what we’re going to do.”
Zek drew back from the door with a sense of unease. Wipe them out? There was only one group he knew of, aside from the infamous Abe, that could get Management so hot under the collar… The Guardian Pack was pretty well known among the sligs posted here, especially after two of them had killed Lenk, one of the biggest tyrants in barracks. Zek fled down the corridor; he had to tell someone…!

Unfortunately for him, Zek was the one that got “elected” to go and look for the Guardians, to tell them the news. And he ran almost all the way, not wanting to be caught out after dark; for a small, unarmed slig, even small, solitary paramites were a terrifying thought…
But, well… once he’d found the trail, it was easy enough to follow. He loped along with his head low to the ground; he could discern four scents – three slig and a mudokon – so this was likely the right way. The path wasn’t particularly recent, so he was lucky it hadn’t rained, or it would have been obliterated.
But… was that voices he could hear…? Yes, voices – a lot of them, as well. So he was getting closer – he pushed himself faster-
Something lunged out of the bushes and floored him with a smart kick in the ribs. Zek peeled himself out of the leaf-litter, and looked up to find Skan standing over him, his spear levelled at his throat, looking threatening.
“Don’t hurt me,” Zek wheezed, holding his hands up to illustrate he was unarmed, struggling to get his breath back. “I’ve got news.”
“News?” Skan lowered the spear, frowning faintly. It must be important, to have sent someone all this way to tell them… “Well… go on, then.”
“Promise yer won’ skewer me…?”
Skan bit back a scathing comment; instead he just nodded, mutely.
The youngster nodded. “Well… I overheard some glukks talkin’ yesterday mornin’… they’re goin’ ter kill yer all!”
“What?” Drek asked, loping up. “Kill us…? Who is...?”
“They said,” Zek tried to totter back to his feet, but failed dismally, sitting back down in the leaf litter with a whump. “That they were tired of yer meddlin’ an’ ruinin’ everythin’. An’ then they said they were goin’ ter come out here an’ wipe yer out.”
Skan and Drek exchanged looks.
“That sounds serious,” Drek said, softly.
Skan nodded. “We’d better get together, an’ discuss our options. If we’ve got any, of course. C’mon, you,” he hauled Zek to his feet. “Yer seem ter know what’s goin’ on…”
Zek tottered after the two Guardians, and wondered what in Odd’s name he’d managed to get involved in…

[ May 22, 2001: Message edited by: Teal ]

[Teal]

One

It had got late. The moon hung low in the cobalt sky, but its light felt oddly cold tonight. The Guardians sat around the fire pit, none of them speaking. Zek had explained everything he’d heard, but it didn’t reassure any of them.
“Mebbe they was jus’ gettin’ mad,” Zek tried, vainly. Two pairs of eyes swung up to glance at him, the others remained resolutely staring at the dying fire that flickered away in front. “I mean,” the youngster struggled on. “They often say stuff they don’ mean when they’re mad… when they calm down they usually decide it’s too ‘spensive, an’ don’ bother ‘bout it no more.”
“I find that hard ter believe,” Skan said, despondently, the firelight flickering against his elaborate mask and sending odd shadows chasing across his narrow face. “They hate us. An’ it ain’t too expensive to send a coupla packs out huntin’. We don’ stand a chance.”
“Mebbe we do,” Drek said, softly. “Mebbe we jus’ need ter even things out a little.”
Everyone turned to stare at him.
“What yer mean, Drek?” Jark asked, sitting back up – he’d been flat on his chin for most of the time, although not asleep.
Drek stared back, a stony expression on his face. “They want a war,” he said, softly. “So we’ll give ‘em a war. An’ here’s what we’ll do…”

There was a soft noise from the corridor; a low, melodious chime. The slig nearest the door put his head out to see what was going on, and nearly got his eye put out by Skan’s spear.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” he demanded, sleepily.
Skan grinned. “We’re startin’ a war. Want ter lend a hand?”
“A war?” A second slig clattered to the doorway. “What yer on about?”
Skan glanced down the corridor, at where Drek, Jark and Pru were banging on doors and waking everyone up down the corridor. “Management wants ter kill us. We want ter even things out a tad.”
“What’s in it fer us, then?” the first asked, looking more than vaguely interested.
Skan shrugged. “Chance ter be yer own boss. No more glukks yellin’ at yer…”
The second slig honked a laugh. “Hey, yer don’ have ter convince me – I’m up fer a scrap…”
Skan grinned. “Well, c’mon then, yen can gimme a hand convincin’ everyone else…”

Drek had gone back to the other side of the portal, leaving Skan and Pru in charge on the barracks side. The muds were taking shifts to keep the portal open, as it was taking time to get everyone and everything through it.
They weren’t just getting all the occupants to follow them, he thought, with a grin, they were just about cleaning the place out…! There was a growing pile of stolen armoury – weaponry, ammunition, even a few sets of heavy duty combat gear. Then there were the radios, field glasses, maps, general supplies… And Rek was pleased at all the pharmaceutics they’d stolen for him and the medical team. They were shifting most of that and about half of the medical gear down to somewhere a lot deeper in the forest, where it’d be safer, and they could set up a field hospital of sorts…
Drek watched as a small pack appeared through the portal – the lead one tripped over and the one following fell over him, scattering ammunition, and making the others hoot with laughter. Drek just rolled his eyes…

Back at the factory belt, the glukkons were planning their next move, not realising they now had no soldiers.
“Go get a couple of Alphas from barracks,” one snapped at the nearest slig, a youngster named Lek. “I want to tell ‘em what’s going on.”
“Rightio, boss,” the slig skittered off, lightly.
The glukkons swapped looks. “Reckon we can trust ‘em?”
“Trust ‘em to what?”
“Stay loyal.”
“What the frack you on about? ‘Course they will. For one they’re too scared of mummy dearest, and for two, if they don’t stay loyal, they won’t get all them luxuries they always fight over. Hard to find cigarettes out in the woods.”
It was then that Lek returned, almost falling through the doorway in his agitation. “Barracks is empty!” he wailed, helplessly.
“What?!” The glukkons both span to stare at him, as though he’d just said everyone had turned into cabbages.
“How can they be empty?” One demanded.
“So much for your assertions,” the other said, quietly.
“I don’ know, but they are!” Lek babbled. “Ev’ryone’s gone!”
“Gone where?!”
“I don’ know, I don’ know…!” The slig whimpered, clutching at his face, helplessly; the thought of being alone was a scary one to a naturally gregarious creature. “They just have…!”
“Not ev’ryone’s gone, Boss,” a soft, cynical voice said, from the doorway.
Everyone turned to look – a stocky young slig with a fair number of scars mottling his sharp, angular features lounged against the doorframe, arms folded.
“There’s ‘bout twenty o’ us left,” he went on. “Excludin’ the li’l squealer there.” He jerked his head at where Lek stood, whimpering about being left behind.
“D’yer know where the others went?” One glukkon asked, sharply.
“Oh yeah,” the slig nodded, lazily, acting as though it was a stupid question to ask. “Them freak sligs what live with the muds must’ve got wind o’ yer plan, ‘cause they paid barracks a li’l visit.”
“WHAT?!”
“They said,” the slig went on regardless, as though he hadn’t heard his Boss’s bellow. “Somethin’ like ‘Management’s goin’ ter send yer lot out ter kill us – so if yer want ter give us a hand, then look sharp an’ foller us. It’ll be dangerous, but yer’ll have the chance o’ bein’ yer own boss when it’s over’.”
“Why the frack didn’t yer tell someone?!” the glukkon raged. “We could’ve stopped them so fracking easily…!”
The slig shrugged, exchanged a look with two of his pack-mates in the doorway. “If we hadn’t o’ hid, they’d’ve killed us. We ain’t stupid, boss, however much yer think we are.”
The glukkon ignored the comment. “So you’re the only ones left…?”
The slig nodded.
“Name?”
“Taik. Alpha.”
The glukkon nodded. “You feel up to a fight?”
Taik grinned. “Sounds fun.”
The taller glukkon turned to scowl at Lek, who was looking terrified. “Will you deal with that first, though…?” he asked, jerking his head at the youngster.
Taik smiled, nastily; “With pleasure…” he purred, walking lazily over to where the youngster stood, bleating and gabbling incoherently by turns in his corner… Taik’s two pack-mates went to either side, neatly boxing Lek in.
“What’s up, Squealer?” Taik asked, coolly, folding his arms. “’Fraid of us…?”
Lek just sobbed and begged them not to hurt him.
Taik laughed. “Hear that, lads? He wants us ter be nice li’l sliggies an not hurt ‘im…”
The other two honked nastily with laughter.
“Jus’ like yer traitor pals, huh?” Taik asked, softly. “I’ll bet that given half the chance yer’d go out there an’ join all yer traitorous li’l friends, huh?”
Lek shrank down against the wall. “No… No, I-”
Taik reached out, idly, and closed his long fingers around Lek’s throat, dragging him closer. “Don’ lie ter me, Sunshine,” he whispered, his voice dripping with menace. “Mebbe we ought ter teach yer a lesson. Yer want ter be taught a lesson, huh?”
Lek shook his head, convulsively, sobbing helplessly. “Please, I didn’ do nothin’, please Boss…!” he shot a pleading glance at the glukkons standing watching impassively.
Taik smiled, nastily. “Yer think the boss is goin ter want ter help yer…?” he looked over his shoulder, as if to say ‘can I?’
One glukkon nodded, curtly.
Taik’s smile turned even more unpleasant, even more chilling.
“Please don’, please don’ hurt me, please…!” Lek seemed to have lost every other word in his vocabulary.
Taik laughed. “I got the Boss’ permission. And last requests?”
The youngster dissolved in incoherent pleading. Taik just laughed, nastily…
Lek wasn’t a very pretty sight by the time Taik got bored and finished him off; both arms broken, one cut cleanly away at the elbow, blinded in one eye, the rest of the maskless face carefully covered in elaborately carved graffiti… He’d been thorough, ensuring it hurt as much as feasible, somehow managing not to cause any fatal injury until the one that took the young sligs head completely off his body.
Taik lifted the decapitated head by its tentacles and stared down into the sightless eyes without a hint of remorse, then flung it out of the doorway. “Any more where that came from, Boss…?”
The glukkons nodded, approvingly. “I think I know where there’s about three hundred, if yer up for a fight,” the taller one said, dryly.
Taik just smiled that chilling smile, and nodded.

Drek sat atop a hill, and sighed, tiredly; it was only three days later, and he already felt exhausted. He’d had set up a very rough camp near the edge of the forest; a lot of the muds felt understandably more than a little wary of the sizeable pack that was now residing close by. Besides, when the army finally reached them and the fighting began it would give them somewhere to go when they fell back… The Guardians had managed to “recruit” around three hundred, but would that be enough…? Only time would tell, he felt… He listened as Skan tried to get some degree of order, so they could hear him speak…
“All right, you lot!” Skan barked at the top of his lungs. “Stop bloody fightin’, I want ter speak wi’ yer!” He stood on the hillside, arms folded, and waited, impatiently. All they’d done since arriving was squabble, or so it seemed. “I said,” Skan howled. “SHADDAP!"
Drek shook his head, tiredly. The younger slig was having difficulty; they were determined not to listen to him…
Next second Pru marched down the hill, over to the nearest two, and cracked their skulls together. That shut everyone up…
Drek left his pack barking orders left, right and centre, and trotted away, in the direction of the factory belt. They’d had reports from a number of the scouts that the glukkons had still managed to form an army of a sort, in spite of not having their soldiers, and it was on the move. He wanted to see it with his own eyes before he decided what was going to happen, though…
Leaving his pants at the bottom of a sufficiently tall tree, he reached up and snagged one of the lower branches in his tentacles… It didn’t take him long to scramble and haul his way up to the top branches, swaying lightly in the wind; away in the far distance, beyond the forest and well into the desert, was a tiny dust cloud, barely visible to his poor eyes. He switched on the gyro-stabilisers in his binoculars and settled himself to see exactly what they were up against, tail firmly round a branch for support…
The army was huge. Fleets of something that looked like an all-terrain version of a greeter rolled ominously along, flanked by mugs bristling with armoury, literally thousands of slogs, automated tanks… It was reassuring, however, to note that there were only a handful of sligs there, all running in the same pack, so the glukks hadn’t “borrowed” any soldiers from other barracks. Drek suspected it would have been a lot harder fighting your kin…
He fiddled the zoom on his field glasses – the army jumped closer and more sharply in focus. He homed in on the pack he’d spotted near the head of the field – roughly twenty-strong, all of them small, worker-class sligs, although they had similar heavy armour to the type big brothers wore in battle. And… there was something about the Alpha… What was that he was carrying? Looked like a standard of some sort. Drek frowned, tried to squeeze a little more magnification out of his binoculars…
His heart sank. Yes, it was a standard – the flag was a little torn, emblazoned with a bizarre, twisted version of the barracks emblem, a vivid splash of lurid scarlet streaking in a diagonal line across its surface, but that wasn’t what made his stomach turn over.
Impaled on the sharp tip of the flagpole was a slig’s head.

[Teal]

Feh, got stuck. You'll have to wait some more. Not that anyone's vaguely interested

[Sl'askia]

silly fox, I'm interested! I like ALL your stories!

[Pacen]

Oh, poor Lek. He never hurt anyone.

<-- See? Another reader, so don't be so pesimistic!

[PinkHaired Mudokon CWR]

That story is soo mad bunny yo, I love it ..pesimistic?

[ May 24, 2001: Message edited by: PinkHaired Mudokon CWR ]

[Teal]

Phew *mops brow* Finished the second chapter at last... sheesh, does a war take an age to write or what??


Two

Skan met Drek walking back into camp; “Well? Is it as bad as they were sayin’?” He demanded.
Drek sighed, feeling tireder and older than normal. “Yeah; it’s every bit as bad as they were sayin’,” he said, sitting down on a convenient crate. “We don’ stand a chance, Skan… there ain’t enough of us…”
“What, even with all the new lads helpin’?”
“Yeah. You ain’t seen the size o’ their army.”
Skan scratched the back of his head, worriedly. “Oh,” was all he managed.
“Yeah, oh. There’s only one pack there, though, so they ain’t borrowed any soldiers…” Drek leaned his head against his hands. “I’ll bet we have trouble wi’ ‘em,” and explained what he’d seen.
Skan visibly paled. “That, uh… don’ sound too good,” he managed.
Drek shook his head, weakly. “No. So th’quicker we get our lot organised the better. How far you got wi’ ‘em? They startin’ ter listen to yer or are they still bickerin’?”
Skan shook his head, wryly. “Yer don’ wanna know – yer’d only get pissed off.”
Drek put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples, tiredly. “Bloody amazin’ – I shoulda known somethin’ like this would happen…”
Skan looked back toward the main square. “Well, uh…” he tried, halfheartedly, but petered out halfway through the second word, and just stood, feeling useless.
“Oh, c’mon,” Drek said, tiredly, hauling his old frame up off the crate. “We better get ourselves in order before we try kick ‘em into shape…”

Drek subjected everyone to a slow scrutiny before speaking. “We’re goin’ ter have ter split the pack,” he said, softly. “Else we’re goin’ ter lose track o’ what’s goin’ on…” he rubbed his temples. “An’ so, as I seem to have been assigned Alpha from now on…”
The others nodded agreement. “I think we can live wi’ that…” Jas replied, solemnly.
Drek leaned his head against his hands. “Yeah,” he replied, muffledly. “In which case I better be in charge o’ tactical,” he lifted his head, stared each of his pack-mates in the eye by turns…
“Right, well… Skan, you oughtter go rope some lads into covert surveillance. Three packs should do it, an’ if they get bolshie give ‘em a kickin’.”
Skan nodded silent agreement, and was gone in seconds.
“Jark, I’m guessin’ yer won’ want ter be chargin’ round shootin’ things, right…?”
His old colleague made a one-handed shrug. “I’ve been playin’ wi’ some of the weaponry. Can fiddle some stuff. I’ll go get on,” and followed Skan out, lazily.
Drek watched him pace out and let the curtain drop back across the doorway. Then turned back to the others, watching him, waiting patiently. “So that leaves you lot,” he rubbed his nose. “’Lu – y’ought ter go see Rek or Foggy, get a bit more trainin’ in. We’ll need as mane medics as we can get. The rest of yer… well, I can’t assign ev’ryone away from the front, an’ yer our best fighters, so…” he spread his hands, apologetically. “Looks like yer goin’ ter be best in offensive positions…”
The last three looked at each other for a long few seconds, then nodded, slowly.
Hak was last to leave. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, one massive hand holding back the curtain, then looked down at his Alpha, and said, in that deep, almost ponderous voice; “yer goin’ ter do fine, boss. I don’ think we could find a better one…” then was gone.
Drek sighed, and hung his head; the burden of responsibility was starting to weigh heavy round his neck…

Skan trotted over to the low building backing onto the foot of a cliff. He’d headed back to the mud village, after getting some new packs together, to see what he could scrounge, and wondered if there would be anything he could use in here… A mud called Scee lived there, he remembered – Scee and Rek were on pretty good terms, as the little pharmacist got a lot of raw materials from the mud’s “shop”. Maybe he could help…
Skan pushed the curtain aside, ducked into the indoor gloom.
“Can I help?” a mud voice asked, vaguely suspiciously.
Skan gave the mud a look, his slowly eyes acclimatising to the lack of light – yeah, that was Scee. “I’m after vegetable dye,” he replied, curtly, looking at the racks of pots.
The mud padded over to a large vessel, and beckoned the slig over, then lifted the lid off. “Like this?” He dipped a paw in, sploshed the liquid around, and when he pulled his paw back out his fingers were stained dark green.
Skan nodded. “Does it wash off, though?”
“Yeah…” Scee gave him a look. “What you want it for?”
Skan peered into the vessel. “Camouflage.”
“Oh,” the mud scratched his head. “I suppose I could mix it with a gum of some kind…”

The Deep Cover teams smelt Skan get back long before they saw or heard him. The Alpha staggered into the circle of assembled sligs and dumped a bowl of something dark-green and vile smelling onto the ground. “No-one kick that over or there’ll be Odd ter pay,” he warned, and trotted off again.
The nearest peered at the bowl. “What the frack is THAT?” he asked, disgustedly. “It bloody reeks!”
“Heh, get a closer look,” a larger collage snorted, and tried to shove him into it.
“I tol’ yer,” came Skan’s voice, and with the flat of a spear he swiped the larger slig off his seat. “Not ter prat about! Now cut it out!”
“Yes boss…” the culprit replied, surly, picking himself up.
Skan snorted and dumped a second bowl down beside the first, this filled with a thick murky brown fluid, smelling almost as bad as the first.
“What is it, boss?” The first slig asked, wrinkling his muzzle in distaste.
Skan dipped his hand into the basin. “Camouflage. Unless yer lads want ter get fried yer better get grimed up…” he said, watching the gum dribble off his fingers and back into the basin, then closed his left eye and drew a shocking line of dark green across his muzzle.
There was a chorus of disgust, and more than one commented with an “Aw, do we have ter?”
Skan hurled a glob of gum at the nearest; it caught him neatly on the side of the face, splattered across his skin. “Yes yer do,” Skan snapped. “An’ if yer don’ want ter, I’ll do it fer yer…”
“But boss…” one whined, tentatively dipping the tips of his fingers into the nearest basin and cringing.
“It stinks!” another pointed out, arms folded, and sulked.
Skan narrowed his eyes. “Yes, it stinks,” he grated out. “Yer meant ter be deep cover, remember? It’s meant ter disguise yer own smell, stupid,” he flung another blot of gum at the sulker. “Now get on before I get even more pissed off…”

Aalu sighed and padded along, her heart in her mouth. This… this impending… war… it was grating on her nerves, and she was jumpier then normal…
The bushes rustled, faintly. She startled, turned to look…
Nothing, just broken shadows, and motionless foliage. She narrowed her eyes, sniffed thoughtfully at the air… Nothing. Maybe it was just a bird, and she’d surprised it into flight…
She turned back to her path, and strode on, breathing slowly to calm her racing heart…
And there was another faint rustle. “Who’s there?” she demanded, scouring the under-tree gloom with her poor eyesight…
…another rustle, more definite than the first two. She stumbled backward a step or two… “Who’s there?!”
There was another rustle, and next second a howling banshee exploded from the foliage, yelling blue murder. She squealed and fell over an exposed tree root, scrabbled backward…
The banshee resolved suddenly into Skan, maskless, covered in leaves and vile smelling plant-gum, hooting with helpless laughter at her.
“That wasn’t funny!” she howled, hurling rocks at him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!!”
He held out a hand to her, stifling the laughs. “Sorry Lu…” he said, grinning.
“You stink,” she commented, primly, nevertheless accepting the hand and letting him haul her back to her feet.
He gave a hoot of laughter and hugged her, fiercely. “There, now we can both stink…” he said into her neck, while she squealed indignation and tried to worm free.
“I’ll kill you!” she shrieked, “Odd help me, I swear I’ll kill you…!!”
He gave a hoot of laughter and fled…

Needless to say, the mudokons were not particularly happy with the current state of affairs, especially the younger generation. And even more annoyed that they couldn’t take those frustrations out on the local deserters, as the elders had told them they weren’t to go picking fights… The local sligs had all had it firmly drilled into them that they were not to brawl with the muds for no reason, either.
One small group of young mudokons were out wandering, bemoaning the unfairness of it all, when one of their number spotted something somewhat opportune… He gave a laugh, elbowed one of his friends, and pointed, laughing…
The slig in the clearing had apparently not seen them; he appeared to be rooting about for a trail, oblivious, three bold vaguely triangular scars drawing a shocking line across his shoulders and down his back. He was a bony little creature, apparently having lead a rough life, judging by the scars mottling his wiry frame, and was likely an enemy – all the rest of the deserters were busy getting in order, preparing for the impending battles, and fighting among each other, squabbling over who got to be each pack’s Alpha and who would be Second…
Which meant, if this slig was the enemy…
…they could have a bit of fun…
The tallest, oldest mud padded silently out into the clearing, and said, calmly, “BOO!”
The slig leapt, startled, and spun to face them. “Um…” he stammered, and backed unsteadily into a tree stump, and then clarified; “Um.”
“Hey there, little sliggy…” the eldest mud sauntered forward, lazily. “Aren’t you the brave little hero, coming out here, all alone, with no weapons…”
“Oh, nono sir,” the slig bobbed his head, nervously. “I got weapons…” he lifted a hand, and dropped a pair of weights on a length of supple cable.
“Bolas…?” the mud asked, smiling wryly, and exchanged a knowing look with his friends.
The slig bobbed his head again, earnestly. “Yessir, that’s right…”
The mud sniggered, turned to his friends. “What say you lot we take our first prisoner of the war?”
“Prisoner?” one of the others queried, arms folded, a critical look on his face. “Why not just kill it?”
“Naw, you heard what that old one said,” the first mud said. “Don’t kill no-one unless you absolutely have to. I dunno why…” he spread his paws. “I… guess he’s gone soft. You saw how old he is…” He gave the slig another one of those speculative looks. “Maybe it’d be fun to get our own back for all them years of torment, though… Y’know, as we aren’t allowed to beat any of the locals shitless… we could have a bit of fun with the enemy, though…”
They’d already started to fan out, hemming the smaller slig in, his back still to the tree…
“Don’ ‘urt me…” the slig whined, plaintively. “I didn’ do nothin’ to yer, I’m jus’ doin’ my job…”
“Like they all say…” the mud replied, dryly. “Look, slig… maybe you haven’t got it through your thick little skull yet, but we’re the enemy. You know, the ones you’re fighting against? Perhaps you haven’t realised you’re meant to kill us…?” he laughed and mockingly patted the slig on the cheek. “If you survive this, go see your boss and have him explain what ‘war’ means to you.”
“Don’ you patronise me…” the slig said, softly, eyes narrowed in annoyance, flicking at his bolas and setting them spinning, lightly, humming ever so slightly as they looped over and over…
“Patronise you?” the mud touched a paw to his chest. “As if I’d commit such a… a heinous crime…!”
His friends laughed at that, boosting his confidence.
“I tol’ yer not to patronise me…” the slig grated, spinning his weapon faster, now.
“Why not? What you going to do?” the mudokon laughed, head cocked arrogantly to one side. “Throw them things…?”
That was as far as he got. The slig had moved like lightning, loosing the bolas so fast they never realised he’d moved before the ringleader mud gave a strangled noise, swiftly curtailed with a hideous, wet crack sound as the weights smartly met in the front of his face.
The slig’s attitude had undergone a rapid transition. No longer the scrawny, nervy head-bobbing youngster, he now lounged against his tree stump, idly twirling a second set of bolas in one lean, scarred hand, the cables fairly singing with the speed they were moving at. “Anyone else want a taste…?” he asked, coolly, fairly oozing menace.
The muds were already fleeing, panicked, expecting the bolas round their neck any second.
The slig honked a cruel laugh, and flung the bolas…
The slowest mudokon gave a strangled yelp as his ankles were suddenly pinned; his brain, however, was still running, so when he automatically went to take a step the bolas took his legs out from under him, pitching him face-first into the mulch of dead leaves on the forest floor. He whimpered, hearing the slig striding closer, tried to crawl away.
“An’ where d’yer think yer goin’…?” came the slig’s voice, laden with every bit the predatory menace of a scrab’s roar. “You don’ wan’ ter go crawlin’ off, I got a li’l job fer yer…”

[ June 01, 2001: Message edited by: Teal ]

[Lampion]

Great, Teal! Poor Lek, having such a painful death,
This second chapter was fantastic, specially the twist in the end. That reminds me to never make things easy to the enemy, hehe.

[ May 26, 2001: Message edited by: Lampion ]