Eion Gibbs

Godly Disputes

Chapter 1

Sextus Spoonerus crouched silently behind the overgrown bush set before him; he was glad that he had lately become allies with the Bush clan… obviously his enemies, the Puddle clan, still had to. Spoonerus peered through his bargained spy glass at the opposition. They were all desperately trying to take cover behind the bushes but every time they lay down behind one, it would suddenly scoot off into the distance, leaving them extremely vulnerable in the open. Sextus cursed as he saw that they were having success in positioning them selves behind the trees, obviously they had some sort of agreement going on with them.

Sextus notched a long thin metal spoon to his bow; it glinted in the midday sun as its rays shone powerfully through the lower canopy of trees. He whistled for Ladle Mcdollop who was standing to attention behind him. He immediately lurched forward, eager to be under way in his moment of truth, in his small insignificant little head Ladle was thinking 'Bloody hell, what would papa Spoonerism think… he never had this opportunity, neither did grandpapa or his grandpapa, I'm the successful one…' and so on so forth. Holding his breathe so he could do his job well, he drew a hard earned match from his pocket and struck it on a nearby rock before it could launch its self into the distance. Mcdollop then brought the struggling lit match to the end of the drawn spoon; it immediately caught alight as of course that was what Sextus Spoonerus had ordered it to do.

Sextus then pursed his lips for as this is a good luck charm for the Spoon clan, raised his bow to a forty five degree angle, and then stood the pose for five seconds to give the Spoon press a chance to take a few quick pictures of him as anti-Puddle propaganda before fleeing from the front line. His perfect figure stood proud in the flawless position of an archer's stance, then he released. The free spoon couldn't help but give off a gleeful "Weeee" as it soared through the air, dipping slightly to keep the angle correct and also to avoid the oncoming trees before finally slapping an unsuspecting member of the Puddle clan on the cheek sending him writhing in agony to the ground with the black charred remains of the item of cutlery latched to his skin. The burning spoon was the signal for the rest of the Spoon clan to release there own contribution to the deadly shower. There was a faint monotonous, twanging sound that came from all around Spoonerus as everyone released their own delighted spoons.

Sextus once more placed his very foul mouthed eye glass to his own eye and watched with pleasure as the pathetic Puddle clan were caught in the purely metal onslaught. Then from a distance there came a distant yodelling and all the Puddle clan suddenly stopped panicking and running about the place but instead immediately all came together in a perfectly organised three man deep battle line, there brows slanted to frowns. They then began to march towards the shocked Spoon army. There was another shout and all the Puddle clan, without warning lowered terrible looking guns. The final contribution to the act was that they all fired their weapons at once, still marching towards Sextus and his people. From the guns, brown murky water was being propelled: puddle water. A puddle bullet slammed into Ladle Mcdollop and then slammed him into a tree. He crumpled to the ground, dead. Anger rose rapidly inside Sextus. "Charge!" he yelled. All the Spoon clan rose as one from behind the hedges and bushes as well as other various hiding places. Within seconds they had made the spoon head formation, a formation that looks like an arrow but with a spoon shape at the head rather than an arrow shape in the lead.

The gap between the two armies closed rapidly, fifty metres to forty metres, getting smaller and smaller. Both sides losing men rapidly as Spoon men were taken out by puddle bullets, and Puddle men being taken out by spoon arrows. The formation broke and reformed again as they dodged around trees in the dense forest. Then the gap was gone and Sextus leapt into the enemy line, spinning his long heavy spoon around his head, coshing everyone within its range. Men fell like leaves around him as he smashed skulls and bones in swift movements; he loved every second of it.

Murky Puddalot on the other hand was not having any of this. His men who he had tried so hard to keep as a successful unit were being easily controlled under the arrogant thumb of the supposedly mighty Sextus Spoonerus. He knew that he must defeat Spoonerus now rather than just sit there making up long sentences that sounded quite professional. The Spoon army would immediately become de-moralised and then easily defeated at the hands of the Puddle clan once Spoonerus was gone. Then finally they could use a spoon in the dining hall as a part of their growing cutlery collection, so far the spoons had all leapt out the doors in their efforts to escape. Murky drew his sword slowly and dramatically so as to give across the impression of authority and to draw in some men. It worked as a handful of the Spoon clan quickly saw the threat to their beloved clan leader and came rushing towards Murky. He stood his ground, sword positioned in a graceful ark above his head, both his hands holding the handle in a strong grip and puddle water dripping from the blades tip. Puddalot was surrounded by four of the Spoon clan, each looking a bit hesitant at the sight of the man in his battle stance. They had spoons ready at their sides to strike Puddalot if they got the chance, but that chance never came as Murky sliced the air with his sword and expertly brought down one man after another. As the last of the four fell, sporting an identical single slash across his windpipe as his three other comrades, Murky was already storming towards Sextus, anger burning his eyes up to slits.

Sextus had glimpsed Murky out of the corner of his own spoon loving eye walking purposefully towards him, like an unstoppable wagon drawn by metal horses, effortlessly punching men out of his way as if they were mere flies. Desperately trying to stop the blood gushing out of a wound on the side of his thigh, Sextus shuffled around as best he could so he could face his opponent straight on. Murky kept on walking, past everyone and everything, until he was only a few metres from his temporary worst enemy. As he dragged his sword through the forest undergrowth behind him, he also dragged a silence. Men stopped fighting to watch this one on one combat between the clan leaders. The sword scraped loudly over a covered rock and snagged in a little patch of twigs, this yanked Murky's arm back. He swore loudly as the entire Spoon army used this as an excellent opportunity to laugh at the humiliated Puddle leader.

The two opponents now looked equal; one injured the other shrouded in embarrassment, both elements as powerful as one another. A ring of men formed around the two circling leaders, both daring the other to make a move. It was Murky who broke the potentially endless side stepping ballet and he made a stab at Sextus who batted the attempt at his life away without even blinking. The fight went back to the circling, it was Sextus' turn to make an advance, and that he did. He spun his spoon over his head and brought it crashing down on Murky who tried in vain to stop the huge weight coming down on him with his sword as he cowered desperately beneath it. The beautifully shaped master piece snapped like a dry stick but averted the direction of the overgrown spoon; it crashed down and glanced off Murky's shoulder. He fell back clutching it, his face going red as the blood whipped about his body at a quicker rate and entered his head in larger quantities.

A large cheer once more went up from the Spoon clan as Sextus carried on walking towards Murky with the ambition to finish him off. It took one last surge of anger inside Murky to give him the strength to stand up. As he did so his hand snaked out to the broken blade laying on the forest floor a few metres from him. He grabbed it, ignoring the slice of pain that shot up his arm while a deep cut ripped into the base of his thumb and second finger.

Sextus Spoonerus merely laughed at Murky Puddalot's attempts to defend himself. Then with a roar so loud that even the squirrel clan in Brakamakdoo could hear it, Sextus brought his large spoon once more shooting down onto Murky, the lump of metal was so close to Murky's head that he now had no way of avoiding it. That wasn't what Mr Puddalot wanted to do anyway. His blade snaked forward and pierced straight into Sextus' gut, but Spoonerus' spoon just kept on falling straight onto Murky's head, killing him instantly and sending him flying across the forest floor to the feet of his men.

Yet another enormous roar leapt from the mouths of every spoon archer and swordsman as they saw victory in their grasp but then Sextus stumbled backwards revealing the long piece of metal sticking out from his lower stomach. The roar was exchanged for a groan as Sextus fell heavily to the ground moaning for a flagon of water. One was immediately brought to his side and not a single member of the Puddle clan resisted, they just looked in amazement at their dead leader; Murky.

Sextus drank deeply from the small flask but half of the content just dribbled down onto his beard.

"Leave." He ordered.

"But Sir…" objected the man who had donated the water, but he never finished as Sextus suddenly arched his back and screamed. Then he slumped back down into the dust and died. The puddle water from the tip of the blade had acted like acid inside the poor unsuspecting clan leader's body.

"What now?" Asked a voice from deep inside the Puddle clan's ranks,

"I know!" A separate voice answered, this time from the Spoon clan, "Because it is a draw, we both give each other our clan material. We give our spoons the order to be used by you and you tell your damned puddles to stop moving beneath us so we step in them, agreed?"

"Agreed," Said the same voice from inside the Puddle group. Somehow these two no bodies and their voices from the two clans had managed to make a deal that even the now dead clan leaders couldn't have made.

Chapter 2

Silence fell on the extremely vast crowd up beyond the clouds in Nevaeh. A continually changing number of now 4 billion Gods and Goddesses sat in a completely marble auditorium, stretching left 50 miles, right 50 miles and back 70 miles. Large Speakers were positioned every square mile. Three members of the male gender sat in the middle, they were the Gods of Water, Fire and Yoghurts. Slumped amidst the crowd was the God of Earth as he had been beaten in the latest election and could no longer sit in the three thrones as there had become a sudden obsession with yoghurts down below and so because of this he had lost the latest vote. He was no longer one of the three most worshipped Gods but was now number four and he had no say any longer in the ways of the decisions made by the top three.

A meeting had been called by the top God's as they wanted to enter a new rule in their little chess game that was going on down on the land. The God of Earth sat next to a small weak God that looked as if he only had one or two hundred followers, then on his right a huge hulk of an extremely handsome man plonked himself down. He looked close to ripping out of his toga, he was almost as big and strong as the God of Earth, he was recognised immediately to be the God of Love, sporting a good 20 million worshipers. The weedy God whimpered and looked as if he wanted to go and sit about 6,000 aisles away. He obviously wasn't used to being in the presence of such power.

Finally the three big cheeses decided to cut the fast growing suspense and they stood up, elegantly and very, irritatingly slowly just to tantalise the Gods who were desperate to get out of the stuffy room. Their temples expanding and contracting as they got restless and their ankles got itchy as their minds quickly became jumbled.

Then once their highnesses had stood themselves comfortably in front of a pulpit each, the God of Water began to speak. "As you may have watched on the other nights Nevaeh T.V. the fight between the Spoon clan and the Puddle clan ended up with a bit of a twist and that two mere men ended up making the final decision, we can not have this." At this there was much staring around, immortals (apparently) looking completely unsubtly for the Puddle and Spoon Gods, even though here was the smallest chance they would be in the vicinity. When they had gotten bored of this they returned to the conference in hand. By now the Fire God had taken control, "…and so," he began as he cleared his throat, "because of this we have decided to instate a new experiment down on Earth." He was beginning to sweat heavily and he wiped his brow with the papers he was using for the meeting. Obviously even the Fire God suffered from heat, but then again fire isn't heat. This is a mistake commonly made as the people who should worship heat usually traced it back to fire; this meant that they praised fire instead of heat. The God of Heat was somewhere in the crowd of Gods and looked only average with a couple of million followers, the God of Fire was fortunate that people made this mistake. When he looked back at his papers, he realised that the sweat had smudged his notes and he began to visibly panic.

The Yoghurt God leapt on this opportunity to show the people that he was not the one off big shot they all thought him to be. "What Brother Fire was about to say was that we, meaning the brothers and I were planning on instating a new way of controlling the people down under." He then stopped to take a quick spoonful of strawberry flavoured yoghurt, "The plan is that each God chooses one of his followers, that follower will be his most loyal and will be given powers relevant to his religion. That dedicated follower's mission is to try and take followers from other religions by preaching to them your cause. Should two followers meet then they may become allies or preferably they will fight. Whoever wins will get the entire population of the conquered Gods worshipers. The man that the God chooses will be called his disciple. You have 48 hours to find your disciple and tell him what he must do. That is all, conference dismissed."

'Well didn't he do well for himself,' thought the Earth God bitterly. 'Stupid Yoghurt God ruining my life.' He wandered out past all the rest of the Gods and Goddesses, walking briskly and already contemplating his choice of disciple, one that was preferably a dastardly character and would do some dirty work on the yoghurt clan… boosting him once more to the top. Suddenly a puff of smoke erupted before him. He stopped immediately and began to stare at the new resident of Nevaeh, it was a tiny woman that quite obviously only had one worshipper.

"What Goddess are you?" asked brother Earth.

"I am the Goddess of…" She paused to take a small piece of paper from her pocket, "TADPOLS," she shrieked in anger as she read the small crumpled note. 'The things people were coming up with to worship these days are amazing.' Thought the ex member of the top three cynically.

Chapter 3

I wasn't always going to join in with the full on Inn brawl before me but in the end it was too tempting. After downing the last of my beautiful mug of beer, and then thanking the God of Beer, and then giving thanks to be a member of such a great clan, I charged into the ever growing throng of shouting, raving mad men from hundreds of different clans.

It was Nevaeh, I adored every second of it, dealing out punches to my left and right, never tiring and knocking out countless men. But every time one man went down, another would take his place, yet more men to knock down, I am the King of Bar Brawls at 16, I am mighty, I am the best, I am lying on the floor being trampled on, I've been knocked out… drat.

When I did finally come around, I was lying in a puddle outside 'The All Clan Inn' I groaned when I realised that it was the same Puddle that had dived beneath me as I had entered the Inn (fine it was a brothel but I cant tell you that, what would Mother think). I punched the watery bugger and it gave off a small whimper and shrank back into the shadows to wait for its next victim. I crawled to my feet moaning about the lack of beer when a great mug of the stuff suddenly shot of nowhere and struck me in the head, knocking me back down, the puddle used this as an excellent opportunity to get revenge and vanished from the shadows and reappeared beneath me just as I was hitting the ground drenching my already drenched clothes. I looked about for the considerate person who gave the mug of nectar to me and was thinking about telling them that maybe they could improve their aim a bit, but saw no one. Oh well beggars can't be choosers and I bent down to pick up the mug which miraculously hadn't spilt any of its contents and drank deeply. Then whence I had finished I chucked the mug aside and was about to start to make my way back to the centre of Beer clan city when all of a sudden I heard a loud and very sinister voice shout, "Jack," from directly behind me.

"Yes." I answered, scared at the thought that I had just drunk someone else's drink, someone with a very low voice.

"Over here Jack," said the voice once more from directly behind me. The hairs on the back of neck began to stir and rise as I slowly turned to face whoever had spoken. Before me there stood a man that looked to be my perfect idol, I loved him from first sight (don't get me wrong, I'm not gay).

He was wearing a large metal helmet that had two beer barrels hanging at the side with straws that went from the barrels to his mouth, waiting for him to latch on and take a long gulp. I felt like doing it for him. The man before me was around four times my size and strength, and I'm tall and muscular. He looked like he was an extremely experienced alchaholic, the long and short of it was that he was a perfect version of me.

"Hello Jack." He said as his mouth curled into a large perfectly arranged toothy smile.

"Hello Sir." Says I, not to sure on what else to add. There was an awkward silence and it was one of those things when you are both standing there waiting for the other to say something and looking around desperately to try and find a topic. When none arises you just pretend to be deep in thought about something. I really wanted to scream, 'who the hell are you' but restrained my self. Mercifully the silence was broken by him answering my question. I got the intention that he could read minds as he asked,

"Don't you know who I am?" I tried to sound regretful and answered,

"No Sir."

"Well damn your impudence." Was the sudden harsh reply making me jump, I was momentarily taken off guard by this outburst but regained my composure when it dawned on me that I was in the presence of a greater power than even myself. A feeble, "Sorry Sir," was all I managed and the giants face softened slightly.

"Well let's just say that I am your wonderful, strong, handsome and much loved God." And I believed it. Who else could carry two great big barrels of beer on their head? If you do know someone then tell me, I would love to meet him/her (getting a bit ambitious here don't you think).

My beloved God decided to carry on after seeing my blank expression, shaking his head slightly to show his disappointment in the lack of reaction.

"Well anyway I have a couple of Goddesses waiting for me back up in Nevaeh so lets make this quick. I am here to tell you that the authority back home has decided in making every God chose a disciple, preferably there most loyal…" At this his eyes bore deeply into mine waiting for me to take in the hint. I did after a good 10 seconds and after many 'Oh rights' and things of the like I gave him what he wanted and said in words that I hoped sounded courteous enough, "Thank you oh Lord, I feel so honoured to have been chosen, I shall not let you down and give whatever it is my full time, strength and knowledge."

"Wise words," he answered and at this I beamed like an idiot, "but can you live up to them?" I was damned close to screaming, 'How the hell should I bloody well know, I haven't even heard the damn thing I'm supposed to live up to yet,' but I managed to contain myself once more and transformed back into the smiling git.

"Well as you may have guessed, I would like to choose you," He continued. He then gave me time for this to sink in and so I let it do just that… Holy dregs, this God wants me to become his premier worshiper, his numero uno disciple, what was I supposed to do again? Well once more the psychic God answered my question before it had even started to form on my tongue.

"Look at me." I was already staring at him and when he said 'look at me,' it threw my simple brain into turmoil. I came to the ragged conclusion of looking at him with an expression of more interest. It worked as he carried on.

"Do I look Strong to you?" he asked, and then flexed his bulky muscles just to illustrate the remark.

"Yes Sir," I replied hastily and then quickly added "stronger than any Mortal and Immortal man or woman that I have ever seen." This was a cunning reply on my behalf as I had never seen another Immortal man in my life so I wasn't lying like I usually do, also good old Muggy Binge, the strongest man I know, or knew was nothing in comparison to this beast.

"Well, don't get any ideas but my muscle purely comes from you and the rest of the Beer clan." At that he took a long gulp from the straw hovering before his mouth. My mouth began to water just at the sight of it. He saw this and filled up a mug that he produced from behind his back, and then after passing across the full tankard went back to what he was saying.

"Up in Nevaeh, every God purely gets his strength from the amount of followers he has. The three men with the most followers make the decision and rules for you mortals. The latest one as I have already told you is for you to now lead my beloved clan. They now follow you and trust you to conquer the other tribes and incrase that clans population, increasing the strength of the clan and my biceps."

This remark drew my attention from the mug of paradise. My God wanted me to lead the entire 1.5 billion strong Beer clan against other clans in order to take their population. This was new, times were changing. Usually we would just gain what the enemy clan is clan for. I finally managed to get out a question that my God had not predicted, "If I'm disciple what difference does that make? What is the point of disciples when we already have a clan leader, Dreggy the Drunkard."

At this the giant chuckled, it was a deep rumbling sound, a bit like thunder. I didn't appreciate being laughed at but this was my God, what else was I supposed to do except for just chuckle along with him? What a lawyer I would make! After his laughing fit he finally had the decency to answer me.

"The Disciples are to have powers."

"Powers?" I replied, just to show him that I was listening intently.

"Yes, powers. With those powers you will have a personal mission to defeat my colleagues' disciples. Defeat them then we own them, but if you are crushed by them, then all the Beer clan will no longer exist. This is all to make one supreme God rather than many small ones; the world is to become a monotheistic community. The entire future of the Beer clan is relying on you to become the supreme clan. Your powers are to be relevant to our religion, you gained them when you drank that mug of beer I just gave you. What the powers are will become apparent over time. My life is in your hands Jack; don't let our clan go to waste."

Then without another word he vanished before my eyes. I was confused, very confused. Ah well, might as well get back to the camp. So I started the four and a half mile journey back home through the forest. It was getting dark and the forest wasn't letting any of the moon or sun in. I hunched my shoulders and regretted finishing the flask of beer in my back pocket. It would have comforted me on the journey home, then again it comforted me on the journey to the 'All Clan Inn.'

Then the sound of angry squeaking erupted from above my head. I recognised it to be a squirrel and immediately took cover; I managed it just in time as layer after layer of acorns rained down onto the struggling bush I was holding above my head. It emitted a few groans then gave in as it knew it couldn't beat me; it would have to face the acorns. I managed a glimpse through the rustling leaves and saw a branch covered in brown fur. Squirrels were squashed together along its length chucking acorn after acorn at me as nuts were passed down to them by a separate squadron of squirrels on the branch above it.

I firstly cursed my fore fathers for not becoming allies with such a mischievous clan, and then I groped at my waist for my throwing knives sharpened purely to perfection from blocks of frozen beer but to no use; they were gone. I had left them back in my beer house at the camp. I was trapped, pinned down against the forest floor by an infinite supply of squirrel food. An acorn yelped with delight as it tore through a leaf and knocked me on the fore head. It was then that I realised that I was holding a bare branch and the few leaves that were still attached to the scraggly stick tuned red in embarrassment when the bush realised with a start that it was naked. So with one last bid for freedom it tore away from my hand and crawled off into a rabbit hole beneath a tree. I turned a quick 360º in my own desperate bid to grab another unsuspecting bush but none showed its self to me. A sharp pain slapped my chest as an acorn slammed into me. I triumphant high pitched chattering exploded from the bunch of fur balls as they slapped high fives and executed back ward somersaults.

I stumbled backwards and while I was dazed they continued their siege. Acorns hit me everywhere (even the naughty parts, yes that's right… the nose) more sharp pains in the legs, arms, face and feet. I blindly tripped my way backwards before finally resting against a tree, my arms covering my face. But still the persistent buggers followed through their attack, the squirrels were now frothing at the mouth and hurling abuse in their dirty chirpy little way.

Then without any warning whatsoever a blinding rage grasped me and I roared,

"Hiccerus squirrelus," a liquid shot from my hand drilling into the line of squirrels. Then as quickly as the liquid had come; it went, leaving a stunned silence from both sides. Silence and then an overwhelming wave of hiccupping as every squirrel before me fell into a helpless drunken stupor. Some began to fall from the branch, landing heavily and limply among the forest undergrowth, while others immediately became lost in a deep sleep; their arms and legs dangling on both sides of the branch. One squirrel tried hard to stay in his hind legs and waltzed drunkenly to his companions' side, then they both stuttered into their chirpy singing with their arms slung over one another's shoulders. I looked at my hands, absolutely fascinated at what they had done. In a few seconds I had made around fifty squirrels blind drunk. When my God had said that I would have powers I thought he was joking, I mean after all that laughing and things it would have been good natured to chuck in a side of sarcasm as well, don't you think?

I continued the potentially fatal walk back home and ran the last twenty minutes over and over again in my head. I had nearly been obliterated by a bunch of rodents lobbing acorns in my direction and then I had thrown them into drunken unconsciousness and fits of hiccupping. What was it I had said to make it happen? 'Hiccerus squirrelus' I think. Well I could always try it again on something else. It was then that a particularly unfortunate crow began to make its way back to its nest in the hope for a relaxing night with the wife. In fact it was going to be struck by a stream of beer tossing it into what I got into every day; the world of the drunks, a.k.a. paradise. Then in the morning its wife would ask where the hell he had been, he would say, 'I don't know.' Then the alchahol would be smelt on his breath, he would be dubbed a liar and kicked out. So as Mr Crow flapped happily over the tree line, down below was I. I saw the crow and shouted,

"Hiccerus squirrelus," nothing happened. Then I got it… since when was a crow a squirrel?

"Hiccerus crowus," this time it worked. Once more beer shot from my hand and innocent Mr Crow dropped from the air like a stone hiccupping the whole way down. Now I was satisfied, my birthday had come early. I tried it on a few stationary objects and it worked on them too. Now I could really take care of my self in the forest. As I tested my new skill, the city centre came ever closer until not long later I was in it. I had made the decision to go straight to Dreggy in the main palace. I strolled casually past Bennett and Greg; the two guards on duty and purposefully ignored there sudden shouts of,

"Jack, what on my left buttock do you think you are doing." I then turned to face them and said, "That's no way to speak to your new leader." Greg cocked an eyebrow while Bennett hit the deck in floods of laughter.

"You're the most un trustworthy member of this clan," was all he managed while desperately gasping for air. Greg took this up when he realised how unable his friend was able to talk, "Why you?" was the simple question. It sounded sad, no surprise there as he was hoping to be the next clan leader, this showed that he already blatantly believed what I was saying. Bennett sensed this to and stopped his relentless sobbing on the ground and stood up.

"I was visited," I said simply, as if it was nothing.

"Yeah well we've all been visited. Who was it you muppet?" said Bennett a little too forcefully for my liking. Greg just carried on staring at me with those puppy dog eyes like he didn't want to hear who had visited me.

"It was our God." I carried on. Bennett returned to his laughing spasms.

"How much did you have at that Inn you keep sneaking off too?"

"Only a few pints," I said defensively.

"A few pints my ass you bloody slippery bas…" he didn't finish as once more the blinding rage that wasn't me took control and I yelled for the fifth time that day, "Hiccerus Bennettus," the beer soared from my hands on cue and struck Bennett in the legs, knocking them from under him and onto his stomach. The rage left me but my consciousness filled its place. It was far worse.

"What have I done?" I screeched in panic.

"Proved a point," Groaned Bennett from the ground. "I believe you, you can go in." Greg just carried on staring with those doleful eyes he had used since we were at school together. They were beginning to scare me so I turned tail and walked quickly into the palace.

I kicked aside the large oak doors and immediately recoiled. Dreggy was curled under a thin blanket with a woman that gave off the impression that if a Genie came to her now and gave her one wish, she would choose to be somewhere very different. The woman squealed and ducked beneath the blanket, while Dreggy was taking a long deep soulful gulp from a tankard. It wasn't until he lowered that he saw me. He began to splutter the un gulped beer down the front of his chest and immediately demanded in a slurred voice an explanation. I told him that we must talk now, in private. He didn't seem too interested but then I told him that the future of the clan depended on it and so he reluctantly heaved himself out of the bed, sent the woman away and pulled on a purple robe.

Whence he had done all of this he shoulder barged past me out into the opening. The shoulder barging was obviously his way of saying, 'thanks a lot you oaf.' I took it on the chin and followed him at a distance, wondering how to give him the news that I was to now lead the clan.

Chapter 4

Marcus Cornerus surveyed the overwhelming yoghurt army before him. They stretched for as far as the eye could see to the left and the right. A wry smile came to his mouth as he remembered how this clans army had once been the smallest ever known to go into battle but still won against an opposition three times their size. When his God had come to Marcus, he had been delighted to learn that the Yoghurt clan was one of the top three. They had grown phenomenally due to a sudden yoghurt craving. Marcus couldn't quite get over the fact yet that out of these millions of followers, he had been picked to be disciple; he had the powers and the power.

The yoghurt clan had been waiting for around two hours for their opposition to show up. They were allies with the Sandal clan, but times had changed, they were no longer fighting them to wear sandals but instead to gain their army and citizens. The yoghurt clan had picked the battle field. It was an open plain, this was where the yoghurt clan performed best, victory was assured. The Yoghurt army had been re-trained to capture men at all opportunities rather than kill them. The more men killed on the other side means the less the gain to the yoghurt army.

Instead a special squad had been trained up. The assassins were especially created to punch a way through the fighting men and target the Sandal disciple. If he was killed then the rest of the force automatically become part of the yoghurt clan.

A disturbance in the ranks of men turned out to be a scout galloping on a thin chestnut coloured horse. He pulled up alongside Marcus, made a rushed salute and churned out what he had seen.

"A large army… comes our way… sir." He blabbered desperately.

"Large?" Queried Marcus,

"Yes Sir, they must have already defeated a couple of medium armies."

"How many men would you say?"

"Close to the size of our army sir," he whispered hoarsely. Marcus was not expecting this. If they were almost the same size as the Yoghurt army, then they must have won more than a few battles already. Probably due to fluke, and if they were a combination of a few separate armies, there would still only be one disciple and also they would not be properly trained quite yet as a unit. Defeating this army would double the size of the yoghurt army. This could be more interesting than as Marcus had first thought.

"How far away are they?" he asked.

"About ten minutes from us," murmured the scout turning pail. Marcus didn't see why, scouts don't have to fight, they just tell the army when they are going too and whom they are facing. Unless there was something he wasn't saying. Marcus tested this.

"Is there something you're not saying?" The scout turned to look away. Marcus took this as a 'yes.'

"I need to know what it is, tell me now," pressed Marcus.

"It wasn't only… only men I saw on the march towards us, I also saw… saw,"

"Saw what man? Tell me now." Yelled Marcus, his face rapidly changing to a purpled blue,

"Froids sir," said the scout shortly and sharply.

"The Froids were defeated?" Said Marcus aghast,

"It seems so."

"Shut up, I am having a rhetorical conversation." At this the scout slipped away. Marcus couldn't believe it. The Godless Froids never meddled in the humans business, times were really changing. How the fearless Froids had been defeated, especially by the Sandal clan was something Marcus didn't know. Maybe the Sandal disciple was something special. Marcus began to wonder if the Froids would become part of his army if defeated, they would be a useful extra to one of the supreme forces on this soil, 'or maybe, just maybe' thought Marcus, 'the Froids were not defeated but a truce was made between them and the Sandal clan.'

The sounding of a horn in the distance told Marcus that the enemy was fast approaching. He gestured for his main general to come to him and then whispered to him the situation with the Froids.

A confused expression crossed the battle hardened mans face and he tried not to let the fear he was feeling show through. Marcus told him not to tell the men about the Froids as it might welcome unwanted fear. The General nodded unenthusiastically and after Marcus had told him to get the men ready for battle, he shrank back to his position and yelled,

"Attennntion!" as one the expertly trained army stamped to attention; thousands of boots clicking together at once.

Froids- Ork like creatures that dwell in caves over the entire world, very neutral creatures and they never usually meddle in human business.

"Fix bayonets," came the second call. Every man's hand dived to his waist and grabbed the long sharp bayonets hanging there. Then together they slipped them on the end with barely a click.

"Load up the guns," this command too was done with expert precision as men ripped open the cases containing the small explosive yoghurt bullets and slipped them into the gaping chasm of the gun chamber. The artillery loaded there own custom made yoghurt shot cartridges into the cannons.

All was deathly silent. The turbulent wind its self had stopped for this occasion. Another horn, this time far closer was sounded. The enemy were just about to come into sight. No terms would be made by the two clans. It would just be a straight head on collision between them both when the charge is started.

A distant, very faint shout was heard and then it was answered by a huge army of men as the Sandal clan boosted there men's morale. Then the give away sound was made; the deep unmistakable rumble of a colossal mass of Froids. Men from the yoghurt clan momentarily broke there discipline and turned around to see if anyone else had heard it and it wasn't just their stomachs roaring for food. Marcus swore under his breathe.

Now it was an uneasy silence that swept across the army. They were extremely confused and afraid. They had heard an army that sounded roughly the same size as themselves and they had also heard the sound that you can't misplace; the roar of Froids.

Minutes were spent in agonizing anticipation as the army waited to see what would come over the horizon. It turned out to be a huge blur, a huge blur which then transformed into a long line of shimmering metal where the sky meets the land. Then the Sandal clan began to run quickly towards the Yoghurt clan.

"Let them tire themselves," called the general. Leave it until they are a couple of hundred metres away. The order was given and carried out as the Yoghurt army stared completely stationary at the enemies approach. The sun was in the Sandal clan's eyes, that was how the Yoghurt clan had positioned themselves, so they faced away from it while the opposition looked into it, Marcus thought he was very clever by doing this, he wasn't! Not many people know this but when Froids have the sun in their eyes is gives them energy even though they dwell in the dark most of their pitiful lives.

The sun turned the Froids eyes to a deep red and their pace quickened fluently. The yoghurt general's voice once more rang out over his army.

"Platoon fire formation." This was immediately carried forth and once it had been accustomed by all the order to hold fire until further notice was also dished out. The sight of the Froids had sent even the bravest men shaking but they only made Marcus' smile widen. The prize of this victory was more than mere men, it included the legendary supposedly neutral beasts of the light and dark. With them he would be more unstoppable than he was at the moment. Marcus and his monster of a confidence was not going to be short lived, in fact it had a very long life… good for the yoghurt clan but devastating for others.

"Hold your fire," yelled the general. His voice was terrifyingly close to breaking into a high pitched squeal which really would send his men running for the hills. The pounding of sandals hitting the sand became louder and louder, dangerously close to drowning out the generals voice. The Sandal clan swiftly broke out of there organised charge and it was now the fastest runner there was most probably going to be the first to die unless he was extremely lucky. Unfortunately for them, none of them were as the general called out,

"Fire," in a voice that showed some signs of relief, he of all people knows the effectiveness of platoon fire. The men at the lead of the oncoming Sandal clan were obliterated by a wall of fatal yoghurt bullets that exploded on impact. There was the screaming that came next from the other side as men moaned and growled and gurgled as the life was squeezed from there bodies and they could do nothing but watch it float away.

When the rest of the yoghurt from the battle field had settled down it showed that the rest of the Sandal clan had stopped charging and were lined up in front of the yoghurt clan. Waves of confusion swept through both armies and no one dared fire just in case a cease fire had been called but they didn't hear it.

It was so silent that you could have heard a pin drop. But no one felt the urge to waste such a useful artefact so instead all that could be heard was the sound of someone dismounting. A parting was made through the centre of the Sandal clan as every man parted in confusion to let there leader through.

Marcus appeared apparently out of nowhere and confronted the Sandal clan leader. There was something strange about the man's face and both armies could see that. If you were standing up close to the Sandal's disciple you would see that his eyes were looking far into the distance. They were glazed over and going a lighter shade of blue by the second. Marcus chuckled quietly but it could still be heard loud and clear by every man as if they were standing next to him. The Sandal clan leader stopped in front of Marcus, his head flopped forward and he still stood there staring at the ground. So this was the reason for Marcus' extreme over confidence. He hadn't used this power quite yet as there was no need before, all the other battles were won from the start. He obviously felt threatened by this army, it was so large, obviously too large for its own good so Marcus felt the urge to control it without further ado with his mind control trick. He drew his sword loudly to slay the disciple before the Sandal army and it's soon to be Yoghurt clan Froids could work up the idea of trying to save the disciple,

"I'm coming Jack," murmured Marcus to himself, "oh I'm coming."

Chapter 5

"You're going to bloody well lead my clan?" screeched Dreggy, almost in tears.

"Well I didn't ask… it just sort of… you know, happened." I replied, not really sure if this was going to work.

"How did it happen then? Hmm, go on… tell me." He demanded, leaning back on a desk that groaned with the weight. "Did our God appear to you something," he mocked.

"Well actually he did," I said trying to hide the smug look that was attempting to attach string to the side of my mouth and drag upwards.

"Oh I'm sure," he laughed.

"Believe him sir, trust me… believe him," wheezed Bennett as he crawled over to us.

"What on earth happened to you?" asked Dreggy in horror.

"That's what happened," quaked Bennett, his shaking finger pointing at me.

"But Jack's a weed; he wouldn't be able to punch a large tree trunk even if it asked him to do so." I felt close to informing him of my spectacular inn brawl wins but then realised that Bennett was doing a good enough job for me anyway.

"I did nothing to him," spluttered Bennett "and then all of a sudden a jet of beer spurted out from the palms of his hands and got me in the stomach."

"Of course it did," said Dreggy sarcastically, ok then… I reckon I should join in with the conversation now and try and prove it all is not completely wrong and show up the strong element of truth in it.

"No honestly it did!" I butted in before Bennett could carry on.

"Fine then, prove it… do what you did to Bennett again," said Dreggy, sounding sure of himself. Bennett squealed and desperately tried to crawl away while panting heavily and glancing nervously over his shoulders, his eyes watering. "Thou shalt not tempt Jack," I stated, taking pity on Bennett.

"If you can't do it then you can't lead the clan," smiled Dreggy in a triumphant tone. I hoped that he would irritate me enough to send me off on another rage but annoyingly I stayed calm, I really needed a reason to hit another human.

"Hey Dreggy, your fat!" He scowled at me but didn't take the bait, "I can drink more than you in any competition." That sparked it, Dreggy marched towards me and punched me strongly in the chest, I stumbled backwards and fell, I leapt up again expecting to feel mad with a thirst for blood leaping up and down my throat but still no real urge presented itself.

"So what if I do prove it?" I asked, preventing the moment in question, "You'll just give me the honours and be on your way?" At this Dreggy opened his mouth about to say something but then realised that his voice box needed waking up so closed his mouth, collected his thoughts and said slowly with averting eyes, "Maybe!"

I was at a loss so I turned on the spot and marched off in utter frustration, out of the palace court yard and across the road to my nearby home. I cautiously prodded the door open.