Errol Flintbeard & the Tomb of the Sorcerer-King
A night as cold as balls settled over the deserts of Sandspire. Which doesn't make sense if you think about it because the scrotum regulates itself to maintain a temperature of 35 degrees celsius and that isn't considered cold by anyone's measure. Just another sign of the degeneration of our language. Kids these days just don't know how to craft a good simile.Anyway, the temperature was as low as your grandpa's saggy ball sack. Two figures trudged over the dunes under the moonlight. One dragging a heavy coil of rope behind him like your grandpa drags his wrinkly old man balls. The figures are none other than Errol Flintbeard - World famous Dwarven explorer and treasure hunter with his faithful valet, interpereter and adventuring companion Mr Stephen.
They were tracking down the tomb of Ankhbaat-ka, the first Sorcerer-King of ancient Sandspire. It was said that Ankhbaat-ka had discovered the secret to everlasting life. It was also said that it was a load of drooping old man bollocks because if he did, he wouldn't be dead. It didn't matter. As a professional tomb-botherer, it was Errol's duty to be the first to find any crypt, burial ground, lost city, double lost city, sunken city, or any other ancient, hidden or forbidden place and trespass like nobody's business.
"OCH. DISHEETYMAPIZACROKKASHITE. TAINTNOFOOKINFINGFURMYELSH." Complained Errol unintelligibly, as he examined a map.
"Quite - HUNF! - so, Sir," Agreed Mr Stephen, bent under the weight of an absurdly large travelling pack. "But perhaps just over this dune.
The two continued on in silence for a while.
"FOOKIN' SHITE" Exclaimed Errol, throwing his map to the ground as wind whipped sand into his face and beard.
"Would sir care for refreshment?" Asked Mr Stephen, as he gently put down the coil of rope and shrugged off his towering backpack. "Unfortunately, I didn't have enough room for everything so I was only able to pack the gin, the port, the vermouth, the brandy, the elven merlot, the-"
"GIMMEDAPISH." Interrupted Errol.
"And of course the Ale. Very good sir." Mr Stephen nodded and produced a tankard and small travel keg from some hidden recess of his pack. He filled the tankard, pausing every few moments to brush sand off the rim and with a flourish presented it to Errol. The Dwarf snatched the tankard and drained it in seconds, letting out a thunderous belch that shook the area.
As Errol passed his tankard back to Mr Stephen for refilling, a rumbling could be felt underfoot.
"I detect a rumbling of a rumbling underfoot, sir," Informed Mr Stephen. "Perhaps sir may like to take ahold of the pack for safety." He calmly suggested whilst cleaning the tankard with a cloth and carefully putting it away.
Suddenly the ground gave way beneath them and they both grabbed on to the travel pack for dear life. The two surfed downwards as a chasm formed, riding a wave of sand to the bottom.
Clawing their way out from under the sand, Errol and Mr Stephen found themselves outside that which they sought. A sandstone archway stood before them built in to the chasm wall. The entrance was blocked by large slabs, into which were carved ancient Sandscript pictographs. Errol dusted himself off and examined them.
"What does it say, sir?" Asked Mr Stephen as he began brushing sand from their belongings with a wrist-mounted emergency duster.
"DISHISHDATOOMOV ANKHBAAT-KA. DOONT BREEKDASHEEL. EFUL LEISHWIVVIN." Recited Errol.
"Do not open. Shall I fetch the pickaxe then, sir?" Sighed Mr Stephen.
"FOOKIN' AYE" Confirmed Errol.
Several hours of reckless disregard for dire warnings later, the doorway seal was breached. Several thousand year old stale air seeped from within the opening. Handiwork was admired, torches were lit and the two entered the ancient tomb. They explored slowly and carefully. The halls were covered in crude carvings telling the story of an evil sorcerer overlord figure exercising cruel dominance over the populous. The overlord was eventually cast down by another more powerful and trapped within this prison.
An entrance to a chamber lay at the end of the hall. As they stepped inside the chamber, stones in the ceiling illuminated as bright as day. Strange apparatus filled the room and glass tanks containing brains suspended in a greenish liquid sat on shelves lining the walls.
"OCH. DISHISH SOOM AHNAKROONISHTIK SHEETRITEAR" Exclaimed Errol, surveying the room. In the centre was a throne of sandstone, upon which sat a desiccated corpse wearing the tattered remains of what were once regal robes. The corpse was missing the top of its head. Pedestals flanked the throne. A brain jar rested atop the leftmost one. It lit up from within and levitated.
"║╧╗╪╝╤╦╠╬ ╨" Said the floating brain through a speaker in the base of the jar.
"I'm afraid I don't know ancient Sandspeak. Could you translate for me?" Asked Mr Stephen
"AHM ANKHBAAT-KA. YEFOOKDAHP NOOAHMFREI." Translated Errol.
"╡╝╗╤╩ ╔╓╟╢╬╗" Continued the brain.
"ATHOOSHANDYEARSHOVSHUFFRIN ANDAHKNISH ISHAL VISHITUPOON THISH VORLT" Repeated Errol.
"Oh my, how dreadful" Commented Mr Stephen.
"╙╢╫╖╧╝" Said the brain.
"ASHAREEWORD WONNAVYEH WILBEEMAHNEU VESHUL" Said Errol.
"Perhaps we should leave, sir." Suggested Mr Stephen.
The brain floated over to Errol and hovered for a few moments before moving over to inspect Mr Stephen.
"╖╣╘╩╤╓╢" It spoke, before Mr Stephen was lifted up off his feet and into the air - backpack dropping to the ground with a loud thud.
"OI!" Yelled Errol as he grasped at Mr Stephen "GITYERMYNDHANSOFFAMEMAHNSURVANT!"
The brain flung the sitting corpse at Errol with telekinetic force, knocking the Dwarf to the ground. It lowered Mr Stephen on to the throne and then itself on to a pedestal. A bone saw levitated across the room and began sawing the top of Mr Stephen's skull off
"Oh My!" Wailed the valet, showing a surprising amount of restraint considering the excruciating pain he was in.
Hearing his friend's plea for help, Errol stood up. It was time to do what all good treasure hunters do best; Save the damsel in distress while trashing the sacred burial ground in the process.
Taking the corpse by the leg, Errol began swinging it around, smashing his way towards Mr Stephen. The brain tried to defend itself by flinging paraphernalia at the Dwarf. He twirled the corpse around in front of him like a windmill to block the projectiles. The gross body was torn apart and bits of dried skin and bone went flying. Errol needed a new impractical weapon. He looked around and saw that Mr Stephen had dropped the coil of rope in all the commotion. Errol rolled towards it and hastily tied a fat knot on the end. He stood up to see that the top of Mr Stephen's head had been completely sawed off and his brain placed in a spare jar on the right hand pedestal.
Errol was furious. He started swinging his rope around like a madman, crushing everything in sight. The brain had ejected itself from it's jar and hovered above Mr Stephen's body. It crackled with magical energy. As it was about to drop itself into the skull cavity, Errol's rope connected. Shit went crazy. Arcane bolts of energy went flying all over, bringing random objects to life and activating dormant brain jars. Mr Stephen's body got up and jerked around like some frightening puppet. It did a few moves of the thriller dance before exploding. Errol hurled himself behind the travel pack for protection until the room settled.
He peeked out over the top of the pack. Before him were dozens of floating brain jars.
"We are Mr Ankhbaat. This world will be plunged into an age of our dutiful service. Our power is ultimate and our attendance absolute. Would sir care for a drink?" They spoke in unison.
"F…FOOKIN' AYE" Replied Errol.
The Mr Ankhbaats flew out of the tomb and across the desert to begin their terrible dominance over the world of assistance to the rich and powerful elite. All but one, who remained to serve Errol Flintbeard personally. As the two vacated the tomb in slow mo, the crypt collapsed behind them. Because treasure hunters wreck world heritage sites in their wake like cool action guys walk away from explosions. Freeze frame ending and roll credits to Kenny Loggins - Danger Zone.
THE END
