Pendraken Miniatures Forum

Gentlemen of the Forum.
It is that time of year again. The reaction to last year's effort has been calmed somewhat by insane doses of anti-histamines, and so I put hoof to keyboard to offer for you, the toy moustaches in the Pendraken cracker, this humble offering in response to all the things you have said about me in the previous year.

It's called revenge.


FSN was awake, but refusing to open his eyes. He knew he wasn't in his nice, safe bed. He was fully dressed, wasn't in his Dark Lord pyjamas. He's explored the area on which he lay around him with tentative fingers but his knitted friend, Raggy Phil the Scarecrow was nowhere near enough to offer cuddly (if slightly scratchy) comfort.

"Notagainnotagainnotagain" he whimpered, eyes tightly shut, body contracted into the foetal position. He lay there for several minutes, rocking slightly, chanting his mantra, eyes screwed shut. His orgy of self pity was interrupted when something like a lump hammer nudged him none too gently in the spine.

"What the Minifig are you doing down there?" FSN stopped rocking. He cracked open one tear rimmed eye.

"Bert?" He asked, tentatively. (For those of you who have have missed FSNs previous encounters with Bert, and so enjoyed the last two Christmases, Bert is FSN's guide during these troubling times in his life when reality seems to be ripped asunder.) 

"Kallistra! He remembers me!" As FSN's vision cleared he found he was staring up at the metallic figure of his long time companion, Bert the British Paratrooper (BR11 – with Sten). FSN leapt to his feet as gracefully as a gazelle, with arthritis. And a bad back.  And a blister on his heel.

"Bert!" Ejaculated FSN.

"Yup. Still me." Bert put a cigarette between his thin lips. Now he had four. "Magister Militum! I hoped I'd seen the Minifigging last of you."

"Bert." Said FSN is a reproachful tine.

"We've got days of this Old Glory. You better stanrt saying something other than Minifigging 'Bert'." FSN groped (mentally) for something intelligent to say. Bert waited patiently for the process to complete, watching the obvious suffering it caused FSN dispassionately.

"Why am I here?" FSN managed, with a sigh of relief that he had said something other than 'Bert'.

"Ah well. It's that time of year innit?" Bert casually added a fifth cigarette as he watched FSN's confusion as a cat watches a goldfish dry out on the kitchen floor.

"Yes." FSN placed a finger on his chin, as he had seen a photo of someone else doing it and they looked terribly clever. Who was it? Einstein? Stephen Hawking ... don't be silly ...

"Kim Kardashian!" FSN snapped his fingers in the glee of a memory recaptured. Bert was so nonplussed at the answer that he lit a fag to calm his normally steely – well leady – nerves.

"Just when I think you can't get any Minifigging worse, you come out with this Dom's Decals." FSN had a procedure for these circumstances and mentally replayed the last few minutes to see if he could find where he'd become sidetracked.

"Oh!" He said seriously, "Why does the time of year make a difference?" Bert scratched the back of his neck with his Sten, then examined the few specks of Panzer Grey paint that were now clung to the magazine.

"Obvious, innit?"

"Obviously not." Quipped FSN. Bert sighed.

"Well, it's at this time of year that your doctor goes on a long holiday to the place where they calm him down."

"Yessss." Agreed FSN dubiously.

"And then they get a locum in."

"Ohh! Yes. This year it's Dr. Petal. He's very nice but his beard tickles my ear." Bert paused to contemplate that statement, but thought that there would be a great effort in getting something like a sensible story. He shuddered at the thought of what that story could be and decided to move on.

"I think it might be Dr Patel." He supplied. "Anyway, what's the first thing the locum does?" FSN knew this one. He raised his hand, and made squeaky "IknowIknow"noises, and squirmed impatiently until Bert gave him the nod to answer. FSN put his hands behind his back, and rocked from side to side and made sure his answer could be heard at the back of the class.

"He looks at my medication and says it's too much and ..." he faltered until Bert gave an encouraging, but slightly strained smile "... and he changes what sweeties ... tablets I can have and then I wake up here."

"Very good." Said Bert. FSN clapped his hands and pogoed on the spot. That would show rotten old Westmarcher that FSN wasn't really dumb.

"Kallistra!" Now it was Bert's turn to ejaculate.

"Bert?" queried FSN, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing delicately at the mess.

"Yers."

"You're not swearing the way you used to."

"Nah. New policy." A smoke appeared which Bert lit in his cupped hands before resuming his narrative. "The Dark Lord" – at this point, both Bert and FSN made the sign – change pocket, right nipple, left nipple, right ammo pouch, left ammo pouch – of the mystic "P" which denotes true followers of the One True Scale.

"Have you quite finished?" Asked Bert ... who me? "Yes you. Perry Me! Minifigging narrators hogging the scene with their explanations and Heroicing and Minifigging Ros expositions! There's a character count you know!" Sorry.

"Anyway." Bert stared icily at ... sorry. Do carry on. "The Dark Lord "(Mystic P)" has decided that the names of all potential rivals to Pendraken are to be used as obscenities and profanities in an effort to denigrate their brand name and so boost sales.

"Hmmmm. Will it work?"

"Well, it's a scheme dreamed up by the HäTting Dark Lord" (Mystic P) "himself, (may his X Box never get a webcam)so it's got to work. Or ... are you an unbeliever? "

"All right Narrator. Stop Minifigging sulking. We've got a urine joke coming up that ain't gonna work unless you contribute. Just keep it down to a minimum will you?" Say your're sorry.

"Kallistra! I'm sorry Narrator. Please contribute."  Said Bert in a high pitched voice like a six year old girl with knicker trouble and tonsillitis. "Watch it." Anyway ... back to FSN

"I believe!" Said FSN, Mystic p'ing himself energetically.

"Tumbling Dice, I believe you. Anyway, all the other companies are fair Minifigging game – except don't use the 'P' word."

"Which one?"  FSN gulped. "'Phil'? I think the Narrator's already said that."

"BUM off."

"BUM? Isn't that a bad word in the real world?"

"Nah it's a Spanish firm, does some American stuff and a fair bit for the Spanish Civil War. All in 20mm"

"So it's a bit BUM then?"

"Not as good a Pendraken, any day of the day or night. 10mm Pendraken – Looks good, tastes good and by 'eck it does you good." FSN regarded Bert thought fully for a few moments.

"Parrot? Plebiscite? Polymorphic Light Eruption? Pentecost? ..." Bert silenced this prattle with a gentle finger inserted in FSN's nostril and jerked rapidly upwards.

"It's a company. 10mm. World War II stuff. Starts with 'P'. Rhymes with 'Spithead'. Worst thing you say round here." He paused as he saw FSN's lips moving as he went through the alphabet trying to find a rhyme for 'Spithead'.

"Tithed!"

"I think you'll find that's pronounced 'tie-thed', and it's not even a company! By the Dark Lord's" (Mystic P) "gently dimpled and inexplicably hairless right thigh, you're a right Foundry."   

They stood in silence for a long moment. Bert took the opportunity to set flame to a gasper. FSN went back through the alphabet from 'Aspithead' without luck. Eventually he convinced himself that he'd actually bought something from  'Xspithead'.   

"That it then?" He asked. "Have we done enough to get the story going?" Bert ticked off the points on his fingers.

"Overarching premise established. Reference to previous year's work for continuity. Running joke with the swear words introduced."

"Gives 'em something to look for when the narrative runs a bit slow."

"Yers. Have we mentioned the Christmassy theme yet?"

"Good point - we haven't." At that point a huge Viking warrior approached. He carried a round shield, with rim appropriately bitten, and wore a conical helm. He did not wear a hauberk - basically because the whole mail / chainmail thing gets tiresome – but carried a wickedly sharp spear.

"Is that Maenoferran?" Asked FSN, idly curious as the warrior came to a halt some distance away.

"Yup. Think so." The silent warrior thrust the butt of his spear into the ground and laid the shield carefully against it.

"What's he doing now ... oooh ... ooh! Charades" FSN called his hands excitedly. "I love charades! But he's not doing it right, he's not said it's a film or a book or a gentleman's magazine or a prescrition medicine. Ooh! Ooh! Undressing! Budgie Smuggler! Incontinence Pads! I know, I know, League of Ausberg ... no, there should be more wiping for that ... head, shoulder, hips and knees ... but without the head ...or the shoulders." Behind him, Bert was wondering what the punishment for beating FSN to death with the blunt end of Sten would be. Probably an eternity of nothingness. He sighed at the attractive prospect, and ruefully shook his head.

"It's Minifigging obvious innit?"



"He's a Viking taking off his drawers." Bert added, taking in a deep breath.




"He's a panty-mime Norse."



The world stood still. It would have been time for tumbleweed to blow in, but the tumbleweed refused to do so out of embarrassment.

"Time for a song?" Suggested FSN.

"Yers." Bert lit a cancer stick and added it to the collection arrayed in his pie-hole. As the Viking collected his weaponry and made his slightly rushed way out, a gaunt, ragged figure appeared peering myopically about him as if he couldn't see anything in front of his optivisor. 

"Raggy Phil!" squealed FSN.

"Otherwise known as Techno, master model maker and general all round nice fellow." FSN looked at Bert quizzically.

"He promised me a longer weapon if I said that."

"Well don't let him make it too long. What's he doing?"

"Tuning up."

"He doesn't have an instrument."

"Air guitar."

"Oh dear. Is he ...?"

"Yes."

"Oh no. Not Yes."

"Yes, Yes."

Techno had begun playing his air guitar. Well, he just stood there, looking expectantly around his invisible band members. Suddenly he began plucking and swaying, small flecks of blood going in all directions.

"What's he playing?" Asked FSN

"My fear is that it's Minifigging 'Close to the Edge'."

"Bit near the knuckle if you ask me. Shall we pop out for a cup of tea and come back in half an hour or so and see how he's getting on?" Bert muttered something.

"I'm sorry Bert?" asked FSN politely.

"I was thinking about my cousin. He runs a sheep croft on a small island. The Peter Pig who made the island didn't leave any flat bits, so my cousin kept losing sheep as they rolled off the island. Anyway, my cousin came up with a SHQing brilliant idea. He tied a bit of rope to each sheep, and then tied the other end to a Minifigging big stone. I was comparing your brilliant idea to this Dixon genius." FSN glowed slightly in the unwonted praise.

As they wandered off in search of a nice cup of tea, leaving Techno in apparent ecstasy as he fingered an invisible organ, FSN asked "What did he call this brilliant idea?"

"Ewe anchor."

Groan (again)

Eagerly anticipating the next episode !

(Can I play "Starship Trooper", Next ?......I used to be able to play bits of that on a real guitar.)  ;)
Cheers - Phil

Bare him

Bare ?  :o :o :o

Don't think anyone would want to see that.  X_X

Cheers - Phil

 ;D ;D ;D ;D

Totally insane ("ewe anchor" - you should be lambasted for that!) - but good!   =D>

[Although, a word of caution from The Wise to Little Bert about his ejaculations. This is a family forum and when people read that, they only think of one thing. sCUM.]


Looking forward to the next instalment of Raggy Phil and Little Bert!   :)


I once gave an air guitar to someone as a gift. Helluva difficult to wrap up. But worth it to see the delight on their face when they unwrapped it. Least, I think it was delight ....
:-\

Har!  ;D

Quote from: Techno on 19 December 2015, 04:26:46 PM
(Can I play "Starship Trooper", Next ?......I used to be able to play bits of that on a real guitar.)  ;)
Cheers - Phil

Is that you on the end Techno?

Nobby !....You OIK !

"Starship Trooper" by 'Yes'......Not that appalling bit of poop, above.
You can tell it's not me.....There's no air guitar being played.....Sheesh !

Cheers - Raggy (& Wet) Phil.......Jeepers ! Has it been raining over here for the past few days.

Mad and Brilliant.   :D

Dear Lord - this is what you were talking about!

OMG!

It's bazar yet - yet - I don't know - almost erotic - or autoerotic - or torturously clever - yet also erotic.

Quote from: d_Guy on 20 December 2015, 05:16:58 AM
Dear Lord - this is what you were talking about!
OMG!

Heeeeeeeere's, Nobby !
It's going to get worse, Guy.
Trust me on this.

Cheers - Raggy Phil

 :D enjoying it so far....and yes the maille does get tiresome and heavy and an absolute bugger to get off ...keep up the good work

When I were a lad we used to refer to Sarah Brightman's mob as Hot Gussett.

FSN was so engrossed in his conversation with Bert that he didn't notice the large white horizontal tube until he hit it with his head.

"Oh for Freikorps Sake!" He ejaculated. Fortunately the tube was rather fluffy, so he didn't suffer too much damage. Bert chuckled and ducked under the tube, continuing his musing as if nothing had happened. He pulled up short. FSN, once again delicately dabbing with his handkerchief, didn't notice until he walked into Bert's back.

"Hello fellow chaps!" Came a cheerful voice. FSN looked up at the newcomer. She was a healthy woman, dressed in a very short green tunic worn over a wide collared white shirt with very few buttons done up, and a green Robin Hood hat which sported a very large red feather. The ensemble was completed by green suede boots reaching far above the knee. Behind this vision, was either a very, very large black and white cat or a man in a cat costume.

"Cor!" Said Bert, taking a cigarette from his mouth.

"Wothcha!" Greeted FSN, less distracted than Bert by the display of femininity. The newcomer slapped a shapely thigh.

"Greetings! My name is Mila ... Miladdie, My Laddie. You can call me Lad!"

"OK." Said FSN slowly. "So you're a chap?"

"Indeed." Lad smiled. Legs akimbo, hands on hip, in a most engaging stance.

"Really?"

"Oh yes."

"Not a girl?" In response she laughed. A high pitched, tinkling laugh.

"Am I not dressed as a boy?"

"Ummm... not really." Lad looked a little uncertain.

"Can you prove you're a male?" Asked Bert, a little oily to FSN's way of thinking.

"Of course." Lad replied. "Manchester United, posh bint, pint of lager, sweaty armpit, ... " FSN held up his hand to stop the flow.

"You go into a urinal – 4 positions - there's a bloke standing at trap 1, nearest the door. Which trap do you use?" Lad nodded vigourously.

"Trap 4!"

"Unless ...?" prompted FSN. Lad looked a little concerned ... his/her brow furrowed ...

"Unless " she/he cried "Trap 4 is a child's urinal, in which case Trap 3 is acceptable."

"Dixon me, she's good!" Ejaculated Bert.

"Will you stop that!" Snarled FSN "Me hankie's getting soggy – and we'll have to accept that Lad is a ... lad. Tell me Lad, what's your story? "

"Well, it's funny you should ask ..." replied Lad, and began to sing.

      "When I was just a little g – boy, I asked my moth - father what should I lead?
      Should I lead armour? Should I lead horse?
      Here's what he said to me?"

FSN had moved to the cat and was scratching it behind the ear.

      "Make it infantry,
      Only lead infantry,
      'cos horse needs support you see
      Make it infantry."

The cat tried to bat FSN's attention away with a paw, but FSN was so engrossed in Lad's song, he didn't notice.

      "When I grew up and fell in love,
      I asked my boy – girlfriend 'what lies ahead?',
      Shall we use hussars, a half track or Loach,
      Here's what my girlfriend said."

The cat tired of FSN unwanted attention, stood on his hind legs and with a swift economy of movement, kneed FSN in the groin.

      "Make it infantry,
      Send in the infantry,
      They sneak and they peek you see
      Make it infantry."

FSN grabbed the cat around the neck and they fell to the ground, fists and paws flying. Lad was deeply engrossed in the song, and Bert was a rapt audience, lighting cigarette after cigarette.

      "Now I have children of my own,
      they ask their father, what will they be?
      Will they be pilots, gunners or pikes,
      I tell them tenderly."

The cat had got the upper hand and enjoyed the last chorus sat upon a dazed FSN's back, occasionally pulling contemplatively on one of FSN's ears.

      "Oh, please stay a civ-vie,
      Take exams, get a degree,
      Just don't join the army
      Stay a civvie."

Lad turned as Bert burst into an enthusiastic round of applause.

"More!" He cheered. "More! Never seen no-one twerk to a Doris Day song before, but that was Minifigging magnificent!"

The cat had released FSN and by the time Lad had turned towards them, the cat was sitting again in a most feline posture, cleaning its paws and ears in a most feline way. FSN climbed slowly to his feet, looking evilly at the cat as he did so.

"Very nice." He offered. "That cat of yours?"

"My kitty-witty Mr Floppy?" Lad supplied. FSN laughed a short barking laugh and the pointed at the cat accusingly.

"Yes MR FLOPPY." He laughed again. The cat stopped cleaning his ears and pointedly turned his back on the pair. "MR FLOPPY. The cat, your kitty-witty, well, he's a bit aggressive isn't he?"

"Aggressive?" Lad put on finger on a finely sculpted chin. FSN noted that Lad looked really intelligent doing that – even if the lipstick was a little distracting.

"Well, he's been a bit grumpy since the " Lad continued in a whisper "snip, snip, plink, plonk." Lad mimed scissors for good effect.

"He's more than a bit grumpy. He near had my ear off. He's downright aggressive!"

"Aggressive?"

"Aggressive, combative, threatening ..." FSN groped for a word  "Fierce."

"Fierce! My Kitty? No, I don't think so. Anyway, I have to go. I'm off to find a beautiful girl to marry."

Lad gave an over-huge wave and walked off. The cat followed, turning to direct rude gestures at FSN. FSN replied with scissor mimes, and demonstrations of walking whilst in a particularly masculine type of pain.

"Dixon!" breathed Bert.

"No, if she says she's a girl, I believe her." Retorted FSN, tentatively examining an ear for blood.

"Let's find a pub."

The continued their aimless perambulation. After some minutes they became aware of a familiar figure.

"Is that Techno?" Asked FSN. "Have we walked in a circle?"

"Nah. It's just that you can't go anywhere on the Forum without him appearing sooner or later."

"What's he up to now?"

"Oh no!"

"Oh no what! Not Yes?"

"Yes, Yes, but still Oh No!"

"What? What?"

"Drum solo!" Indeed, Techno had begun a free-form drum solo, energetically flailing away at a pair of Toms, a look of pure elation on his weatherbeaten face.

FSN and Bert hurried away. FSN looked back, and ran headlong into another horizontal furry tube.

"What the ERTL are these things?" He asked, rubbing at his throbbing forehead.

"Oh, those." Replied Bert nonchalantly. "That's just BigJackMac firing off a few missiles."


"Right-o. This way then I think." FSN pointed in an arbitrary direction and strode off. Bert muttered something.

"Sorry Bert, didn't quite catch that."

"Well I was remembering a time when I was seconded to the 1956 Suez campaign. Minifigging horrible it was – hot, lousy intel and general who didn't know the rules, and couldn't throw a six to save her life."

"Her?"

"Yers. It was the daughter of the Egyptian general. She must have been eleven or twelve at the time."

"So, you lost?" Bert eyed him scornfully.

"What with a troop of Centurions, I think they were MDV5's ..."

"That's the Pendraken " (Mystic P) "code of course."

"Indeed." agreed Bert, "Refreshes the parts others cannot reach."

"Do go on with your story."

"Well, we were having a hard time, pinned down by some Peter Pigging mortars, we were waiting for the Centurions to come up, and we would have broken if it weren't for our officer – Lt Kerr – he was originally BR6, but got transferred to our mob with a paint job."

"Really?" Supplied FSN, as Bert lit another fag.

"NAVWAR true! Inspirational leader was the lieutenant." (For the avoidance of doubt, Bert pronounces it "Left- tenant". A "loo-tenant" is someone who dwells in a public toilet.) "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted – the lieutenant was a fine soldier. It was bad luck what happened to him." He puffed on the array of cigarettes hanging from his mouth. 

"What did happen to him?"

"Was horrible. I wasn't there at the time, you understand?" FSN nodded. "But I heard it from a mate who was in the same op – first day of Normandy. Some Perry can't keep his dice off the table, and rolls a D20 with no Minifigging consideration for the tactical situation. First thing my mate knows, the D20 lands right on the lieutenant, breaks him off at the ankles and his body goes skittering right off the table, and under a sideboard."

"No!"

"Minifigging yes! Never did find the body, and as he goes over the table, he's still shouting 'hold firm lads, armour's on the way'." He paused. "You know what the worst of it was?"

"What?"

"It was the Minifigging Yank player that threw the die! Friendly fire!" The pair fell into a comfortable silence – Bert in memory, FSN digesting the story.

"And what brought the late lamented lieutenant to mind?" Asked FSN.

"You remind me of him." FSN became suspicious.

"What was Lieutenant Kerr's first name?"

"Ewan.  Ewan Kerr."

Oh dreary dear! 8)

 X_X

;D ;D ;D ;D ;D

Cheers - Phil

Oh lord....  ;D

This is getting good!

Is there a charge for reading this that I don't know about?

Like when you take one of them tiny little liquor bottles out of the fridge in your motel room?

The only cost is that sometimes you may end up ... in the story.

And to your sanity!

Am I showing my age by admitting I thought of Una Stubbs as the "boy"?

Cheers
Ian

Ian.....Yes !  ;D ;D ;D ;D

Quote from: fsn on 20 December 2015, 07:35:51 PM
The only cost is that sometimes you may end up ... in the story.

Far too late for me to worry, then.

Cheers - Phil

Unfortunately for my sanity this is getting addictive. ;D

Quote from: fsn on 20 December 2015, 07:35:51 PM
The only cost is that sometimes you may end up ... in the story.

As I look around I am a mere ranker (and dang few of us there are too!) - cannon fodder - used to the concept of it always rolling down hill  :)
So - no worries  :D

Don't think you'll be a ranker for long chap. ;)

Quote from: d_Guy on 21 December 2015, 03:47:15 AM
As I look around I am a mere ranker (and dang few of us there are too!)

Enjoy it while it lasts!  ;D

Quote from: fsn on 20 December 2015, 07:35:51 PM
The only cost is that sometimes you may end up ... in the story.

*runs and hides!*  :o

A ranker.

Dearie me. Now you've done it.

(I have a feeling something Chinese is about to be included)

Truly inspirational stuff, makes one appreciate the potency of modern pharmaceutical preparations.

I'm just wondering, if I print out FSN's parable can I roll it out thin enough to get the whole magnificent work into the Mother-in-Laws Cracker?  It would keep her quiet for hours but then she might start asking questions

FSN had been walking for nearly 20 minutes and the unwonted exercise was causing him some distress.

"Wait!" He gasped. "I need to rest." He sat down on a convenient box and/or sack (GR44). Bert sat on an adjacent sack and/or box and put a flame to a cigarette.

"Nothing to say Bert?" Asked FSN.

"Nope."

"Sure."

"Kallistra! Absolutely certain."

"No pithy stories?" Bert assumed a look of hurt innocence.

"Nah." Fortunately, the sullen silence that descended upon them was broken into by a great shout.

"You there! I say! You fellows! You ... yes! The British Paratrooper with Sten (BR11) and the ugly one!" The hailer was a large figure – FSN felt a spurt of recognition.

"Is that Ithoriel in the wimple?" Whispered FSN, as he carefully dabbed with the hankie again.

"I'm afraid so." Bert watched the motley group hurrying towards them. "And that's definitely Mad Lemmey dressed as the washerwoman, and could be Westmarcher in the Chinese frock, but I don't know who that is dressed as the harem dancing girl."

"Must be one of the new chaps. Could at least have shaved his belly." FSN sighed. "You'd think we could get a girl to be a girl."

"On this forum? You're having an Essex giggle. We only had Marie, and what became of her? Then, of course, there's the other one."

"The other one? Which one?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"Don't know what?" The colourful quartet of transvestite gamers had closed to FSN and Bert now, and stood expectantly awaiting intercourse. (And by that I mean a chat – you dirty minded ...)

"Never!" Exclaimed FSN, carefully avoiding any more ejaculations until he could get the laundry done. "I'd have never of thought it.- of him especially. Jill from Dagenham?"

"True as I'm sitting here with a splinter up my BUM." FSN looked at Bert, who nodded that what he said did in fact follow the Dark Lord's (Mystic P) guideline on foul language. "Readers Wives, volume 4, Spring Edition. Look it up."

"I certainly will – would if I had a copy. Which I don't." FSN blushed slightly.

"Plenty of member will lend you a copy." At this, Lady Ithoriel, who seemed to be the leader of the colourfully, if not sexually-stereotypically dressed group, decided that she/he had been ignored enough.

"Enough!" Told you.

"Greetings!" Said FSN, in a cheesy, 1970's sort of way.

"Shut it, octopus face." Snarled the Lady Ithoriel.

"Yeah! Shut it!" Echoed Widow Westmarcher, fortunately without any attempt at an Asian accent. Washerwoman Lemmey laid a hand on the Widow's arm.

"I don't think you should be so ... well ... shouty." The Washerwoman spoke is a small, timid voice, then backed away as the Widow angrily shook off the restraining hand and glared at him/her.

"And you can stick a Skytrex right up your Ground Zero!" The Washerwoman shrank from the tirade, holding her washboard in front of her. She seemed to be on the verge of tears. FSN felt for her, but she slapped his hand and moved to stand by the duck.

"Wait! You never mentioned a Minifigging duck!" Snapped Bert. Sorry. Didn't seem important until now. *Sigh* The group of Pantdraken Dames were followed by a eight foot tall, white duck.

"Won't you introduce us to your friend?" Said Bert, quite obviously caring not a whit for the duck.

"This, said the Lady, is the newest member of our group. This is the flower of the mystic West Virginia. She is a cool as a mountain stream, as pure as clarified butter, and as wide as a Walmart aisle, if properly propositioned. This" dramatic pause "is d_Mary! A cadet – never been promoted."

"S'up!" Said FSN in welcome. D_Mary giggled underneath her face veil, and made as if to respond, but succeeded only in giggling again. Still giggling, she scuttled delicately to the Washerwoman who took her in her arms defensively and glowered at FSN as a perfect man-beast.

"Right. Nuff chat, " interjected the Lady "there's a wedding round here somewhere and I want food, booze and a good Tumbling Dice. If I wake up tomorrow in me own bed, and can remember what happened, then it's been a wasted night."

"Yeah. What she said." Echoed the Widow. Scratching her nethers with a painted nail. It was a 3" ringshank nail (A round nail with rings around its shank to make the fixing more secure. Use for tasks such as laying sub-floors and pinning exterior trim where the nail is unlikely to ever need to be removed) and the story of how the Widow came by the nail, and how it came to be painted is a curious one ...

"No time for that FOW." Interrupted the Lady. "You," she pointed a beringed finger at FSN, "the one who looks like my backside the night after a bad pint and a good curry."

"Yeah – stinky!" Added the Widow.

"We'll tell you what you want to know " offered Bert, "once you've sung us a song."

The four ladies went into a huddle for a moment.

"All right. But only one song, and no touching." Said the Lady.

"I wouldn't dream of it!" FSN felt a little bit of sick rise at the thought, but managed to choke it back.

"Yeah, well we would." Leered the Widow. "Especially her." She jerked a thumb in the direction of d_Mary, who giggled and spun on one foot, then giggled again.

The quartet took their positions. Surprisingly, the Washerwoman was thrown in front to sing lead. They all began to move in nearly rhythmic undulations of hips and shoulders. Feet apart, knees flexing as the Washerwoman began to sing in a remarkably fine contralto.

     "Yeah it's pretty clear I like World War II
     But I can make it, make it, like I'm supposed to do,
      'Cos I got the secret that all the boys chase,
     I can put flock in all the right places"

The dance was enthusiastically, if not skilfully done. They needed a little more practice there, but the singing was excellent.

     "Because you know I'm all about that base
     'Bout that base, no trouble
     I'm all about that base
     'Bout that base, with rubble
     I'm all about that base
     'Bout that base, corn stubble
     I'm all about that base
     'Bout that base... base... base... base"

The girls definitely had the chorus down – exquisite harmonies, even the bumping and grinding was more confident and emphatic.

     "I see the magazine workin' that Photoshop
     We know that HäT ain't real, come on now, make it stop
     If you got blue coated, infantry, just spruce 'em up
     with a fence they can carry from Bull Run to Little Round Top

     Yeah, my mama she told me "don't worry about the size"
     (Shoo wop wop, sha-ooh wop wop)
     She says, "add a little bit detail upon the side"
     (That bitty, uh, that bitty bitty)
     You know I won't stick no figure on without a wall
     Or a log or a shrub, oh go on, let's add it all

     Because you know I'm all about that base
     'Bout that base, no trouble
     I'm all about that base
     'Bout that base, with rubble
     I'm all about that base
     'Bout that base, corn stubble
     I'm all about that base
     'Bout that base... base... base... base"

At the end of the performance, FSN applauded. He noticed that he was the only one.

"Clap." He said to Bert from the corner of his mouth.

"I thought it was quite good." Retorted Bert, "but then again, I've got a tin ear."

"Right, Porcupine Breath, " said the Lady, waving a good sized fist under FSN's nose. "Which way to the wedding?"

"That way. You can't miss it. Said FSN, picking a random direction to point at.

The wedding party moved off. As she passed, d_Mary giggled and was gently pushed on by the Washerwoman.

"Have you got any laundry you need doing?" She asked, brandishing her washboard.

"Just this hankie." Replied FSN. He proffered it to her. The Washerwoman took one look.

"No skiddy undies?" She asked hopefully.

"Come on!" Roared the Widow from the front. The Washerwoman leapt nervously, then with a shy smile, hurried off to join the rest of her party.

"That Duck", said Bert conversationally, "has some really good ideas. Armies based on the signs of the Zodiac. Got a Canadian and a Mexican interested. One to keep an eye on." His discourse was interrupted by Techno, hurrying in at a great pace. He was wearing a gold leotard the wrong way round to expose his navel and nipples, and a red cape flowed around his bony shoulders. As he ran, his silver knee high boots flapped and he was forced to use one hand to keep his pearl encrusted tiara on his matted hair, the other clutching his air Moog.

"Hinchcliffe! He's gone the full Wakeman!" Screamed Bert. "Run!"

FSN and Bert bolted away from the crestfallen Techno, who consoled himself by trying to get his tongue around the finer points of "the Opening".

They came to a halt. FSN puffing like a steam train, Bert adding another fag to the assortment he was puffing on. He said something sotto voce. 

"What did you say Bert?" Asked FSN testily.

"All I said" said Bert "was that there seemed to be a great chasing about around here, and all for love. As the Normans would say, 'Hue and Coeur'."

 =O =O =O =O =D> =D>

Well played sir, well played!

(Did anyone understand a word of that?)

Quote from: fsn on 21 December 2015, 06:04:27 PM

Scene 3: PO

"...and as wide as a Walmart aisle..."

HAR!! ;D snort <giggle!> and dang true that!

But as we keep explaining, poor fellow, d_Mary was the ward nurse BEFORE the lobotomy - she went home days ago. :D

Grippingbeast!   :)

 =O =O =O =O =O =O =O

Cheers - Phil

Quote from: fsn on 21 December 2015, 06:04:27 PM

Scene 3: PO

Techno, hurrying in at a great pace. He was wearing a gold leotard the wrong way round to expose his navel and nipples,

NO!! NO !! NO!!  I do not want this image in my mind  :o

Quote from: Just a few Orcs on 21 December 2015, 11:06:21 PM
NO!! NO !! NO!!  I do not want this image in my mind  :o

Made me think of Nik Turner in his Hawkwind days

Cheers
Ian

Quote from: Just a few Orcs on 21 December 2015, 11:06:21 PM
NO!! NO !! NO!!  I do not want this image in my mind  :o

If we have to suffer, then so do you......  :'(

FSN and Bert had run for what FSN considered to be a long distance. Bert too was disconcerted, as the ash had fallen off one of his fags and he'd been hoping to get that one right down to the filter without losing any ash at all.

They ducked under another of Mac's Missiles and were confronted by a small, run down building. It was red brick, two stories and many lighted windows. Bert sniffed.

"Stale beer. Chips. Disappointment. Puke. - It's a pub!" He trotted off towards the welcoming bar. FSN chose a more circumspect approach, partly because of a natural animal caution, and partly because the stitch in his side was giving him gyp, and his vision had not yet returned to normal. As the pink haze receded, he saw that Bert's olfactory diagnosis had been correct. From an unvarnished wooden post hung a gaudy sign. It depicted a pair of heavily stylised forearms – one whose hand was in the act of releasing large quantities of bank notes, the other groping towards an equally large quantity of small metallic figures.

"The Pendraken Arms!" (Mystic P) Exclaimed FSN, who was wary of ejaculating at this late stage of the game. This revelation quickened his pace and he skilfully avoided the tripwires, bear traps and punji pits that discouraged the less that fervent seeker of a good pint, a stale sandwich and topical banter.

He skidded into the bar at the precise time that Bert should have taken to have ordered, been served and most importantly paid for two pints, and perhaps a bag of salt and vinegar crisps. Alas! Bert stood forlornly surveying the hostelry. Chairs were placed on tables. The lights behind the bar were off, and most telling off all, the pumps were covered in cloths.

"Perry me! It's closed!" Said Bert in a more than disappointed tone.

"Heroics and Ros! It's enough to make anyone say the 'P' word!" Returned FSN, suffering the twin blows of not getting a pint and not getting Bert to pay for it.

"Oh hello!" Called a friendly voice. Bert and FSN could only stare as three short figures appeared as if from nowhere. The tiny trio grinned equally stupid grins, and stood in equally odd positions, and wore equally odd costumes of red caps, blue chef's tunics, yellow and green striped trousers and purple clogs.

"Renaissance fans, I'll be bound." Whispered FSN from the side of his mouth.

"Well it ain't Lemmey. He's out looking for a good time." He peered closely at the heavily made up faces in front of him.

"Orcs? Is that you?" One of the trio nodded enthusiastically, a hitherto unseen bell on his cap setting a merry tinkle. Bert examined the other two.   

"Sandy! Sandy Nista! And let me see, well if ain't little Tawa! Kallistra, I ain't see you two since ... well, erm ..." The trip waited patiently for a denouement to the sentence, fixed grins fixed in place.

"Is the bar open?" Cut in FSN, less from a desire to aid his companion and more from a desire to get a pint, even if he had to pay for it himself.

"Not yet," said Orcs, grinning just a little bit wider.
"We have to" added Sandy
"redecorate first." Finished Tawa.

FSN felt a cold shiver go down his spine, pause at the crack of his backside then retrace it's steps back to his neck where it knocked at the skull as it had important information to impart. He looked round. The walls had been stripped of any art work, decoration or the heads of patrons who didn't have sufficient to cover the cost of the comestibles they consumed. A long plain table had been set up on which stood rolls of wallpaper, and dotted around the place were buckets, wide enough to put your foot in, filled with a cold and gungy looking goo.

" Magister Militum!" he breathed. "Bert, we have to get out of here." His eyes darted around the rooms, taking in step ladders, large brushes (even bigger than an 4) and planks of wood.

"Why? We just have to help these guys decorate the bar and then we'll probably be given a few jars as a reward." FSN clutched at Bert's arm, swung to face him and said slowly but urgently.

"Bert. We are in a Games Workshop of a mess. We are stuck in a pantdraken bar which needs redecorating, with three grinning idiots whose clothes are designed to show every spot of wallpaper paste and paint that drop, spatter or splash on them." Bert looked round, his smile slowly draining from his face.

"Kallistra!" But it was too late. The doors had been locked. They were trapped.

"Not the kind of lock in I like." Said Bert fatalistically.

"Before we" started Orcs
"decorate, we" added Sandy
"have to ..." Tawa was acutely and uncomfortably aware that he had said the same as the previous two, but  there was still sentence unsaid. He tried to remedy the situation.

"Before we decorate," began Tawa
"decide the rules" added Sandy.
"we have to." Finished Orcs uncertainly.

"Proud Yoda would be" commented FSN, in his best Star Wars voice. The trio went into a huddle, then rearranged themselves before trying again.

"Before we decorate," started Sandy
"we have to" chipped in Tawa
"decide the rules." Finished Orcs.

"No biting, gouging or getting paint or paste on FSN?" offered FSN hopefully.

"Indeed not!" Piped up Sandy.
"Rules for" Continued Tawa.
"Biblical warfare." Completed Orcs.

"Why don't you tell us about it?" Asked Bert, an evil glint in his eyes, or perhaps a bit of paint was coming loose. The trio nodded, then conferred in a huddle before emerging to sing the following. For the avoidance of doubt they did sing one line each, but it would be terribly tedious for everyone to indicate who sang which line, so just use your imagination, will you?

     "Well we got no choice
     Between PIAT and Boyes
     Loosin' all your poise
     'Cause you got new toys
     Though you went to Salute you
     Can't paint a flag
     Lemmey would help
     But he's wearing drag!

     Rules are out for Sumer
     Rules are out forever
     Rules been blown to pieces

     No more bases
     No more charts
     No more umpires stoppin' starts!

     Well we got no class
     And we got no principes
     And we got no hastati
     We can't even think of a word that rhymes

     Rules are out for Sumer
     Rules are out forever
     Rules been blown to pieces."

"Have you considered adapting the Warband rules?" Asked FSN as the trio reached the end of their song. The diminutive trio clapped their hand and laughed and jumped about and hissed and wheezed and finally came to a halt.

"Good" from Orcs
"Idea" added Sandy
"Pal." Finished Tawa, his tiny chest still heaving with the effort of both the song and the celebration.

"Right, let's get this bar decorated, and then have a couple of pints ..." Suggested Bert, clapping his hands together in a manly manner.

"Then we" Sandy
"must go" Tawa
"to the ..." Orcs. His little face furrowed as he realised that something had gone wrong.

"Wedding?" Added FSN helpfully. The diddy decorators nodded fervently and their little bells tinkled down their backs.

Two hours later, Bert and FSN stepped from the Pendraken Arms (Mystic P) much refreshed.

"That wasn't too bad." Said FSN.

"Indeed not. Those little chaps were most efficient. I think Lady Lemmey will be very happy with that wallpaper. What was it? Spiderman?" FSN nodded.

"And clean too. Not a drop of paint spilled! Nice work on the cutting out on those window frames." FSN made to put a friendly arm around Bert's shoulder, partly because a feeling of camaraderie, partly because of the three pints of Old Painter's he'd consumed. Only Bert knew that FSN had been supping pure turpentine, but he moved away from the proffered arm.

"What did you say Bert?"

"I was" said Bert, wondering if he lighted a cigarette FSN would catch fire, then philosophically he didn't give an Old Glory and lit up. "I was thinking about the time when I was stationed with this bloke who made figures. I watched him one day sculpt a little dog out of dried putty. Just hacked away at it with a craft knife until it looked like this street dog, you could see every muscle under the coat, head up, teeth bared. I reckon you could even see the glint in the dog's eye, you could almost tell its story from that one sculpt. All in 10 mil too. Best workmanship I've seen – ever."

"Really?" Asked FSN, who hadn't worked it out yet.

"Really. Hewn cur."




"And where", I hear you ask, "is Techno?" Alas, poor Techno, he had pursued FSN and Bert to the Pendraken Arms (Mystic P) and had seen them enjoying the merry miniature minstrelsy from outside the bar, his nose pressed against the glass, his foot caught in a bear trap. He felt the unfairness of the world well up in him, and as he limped away, his cloak wrapped tightly around him (because he was becoming self conscious about his nipples being on show), his air instruments clutched under his arm, a tear of self pity and frustration formed in his eye, and rolled down his leathery cheek. 

Just so you can get the tunes in your head:

Scene 2: Be Fair


Scene 3: PO


Scene 4: What it Is


The full album will be available from FSN only £19.99 in a collectors "FSN Goes to the Pantdraken" sleeve. 

Brilliant piece of Christmas cheer. Well done  :-bd =D> =D> =D> :-bd

Quote from: fsn on 22 December 2015, 02:20:27 PM
Just so you can get the tunes in your head:

FSN, first let me say that, as I suspicioned, once you slowed down huffing the ether you would prove to be a gifted writer - well done!

Also I don't know how you arranged it but when I queued up the Meghan Trainor vid I first got an advert for "Mike's Hard Lemonade"

Finally - Joyous Noel , Bra'!

Well done FSN! Getting better all the time! 8)


Can someone please explain it to me?

Quote from: mad lemmey on 22 December 2015, 04:57:05 PM
Can someone please explain it to me?

Yes.....He's extracting the urine.  ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D

Quote from: d_Guy on 22 December 2015, 02:55:58 PM
FSN, first let me say that, as I suspicioned, once you slowed down huffing the ether you would prove to be a gifted writer - well done!

We keep telling him that.

Cheers - Phil

 :D  I think 

Cheers
Ian

Deary me  ;D

Well done FSN !

As they say in my neck of the woods .... WTF? .... that was rerr !  *   =D>


* (rare)

Quote from: Westmarcher link=topic=13353.msg186061#msg186061 date=1450826752
* (rare)

/quote]
Dude, thanks for subtitling!

d_Guy

Most excellent sir, most excellent

And a very Merry Christmas

The effects of the Old Painters were beginning to tell on FSN. He stood beside a tree (TRD48 or 50, he wasn't sure) and tinkled a little tune.

"Oh!" The distinctly female voice was a little shocked. FSN whirled. She was beautiful. Long blonde hair fell below her shoulders, her heart shaped face was, to his eyes, perfectly symmetrical and ... just lovely. Her eyes were large and blue, and her lips full and reddened, but not enough to be slutty. She wore a white dress that left her dimpled shoulders bare, and fell in curve accentuating folds to the ground. Around her, she had draped a white cloak. All in all FSN thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

"I was looking for someone to marry, but you don't seem to measure up." Said the vision. Pointed looking to where he was not only flying without a licence, but had the nose out of the hanger doors.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry!" He stammered, righting his confusion. It was then that he notice the vision was accompanied by two outriders. One was a striking red head, wearing a very attenuated costume that the Royal Canadian Mounted Police would have just recognised as being akin to their ceremonial outfit. The other was a dark haired, dark eyed girl in a skimpy outfit that was topped off with a cute little sombrero to indicate Mexican origins.

"You can call me Millie." Said the vision in an authoritative tone.

"Evening." Called Bert. "And what might we call your delightful companions, Milady?"

"Millie! Call me Millie!"Millie stamped a delicate foot. She recovered her poise with an effort. "These two aren't members for the Forum yet, so they don't speak and don't have names. They're friends of the Duck, and have been telling me about a terribly exciting idea of armies based upon the signs of the Zodiac."   

"What a clever idea." Said FSN enthusiastically, beginning to feel a warm spot that may have indicated that the hanger doors may have been closed a little too quickly and had nipped at the cockpit.

"I'm looking for a husband." Declared Millie. "He has to be ... oh, I don't know, male, youngish and with clean feet."   

"It's good to be picky." FSN was convinced that the problem had travelled from the cockpit to the bomb bay.

"Hmmm." Said Bert suspiciously. "Do you know a chap called Lad?"

"No, I don't know that I do." Millie changed stance to further emphasise her femininity. He tribute to America's neighbours did the same. FSN began to be worried that if he took off, he may lose part of his undercarriage.

"'bout your height. 'bout your age. 'bout your weight. 'bout your looks. In fact," he added like a TV lawyer about to introduce a surprise witness, "he could be your double."

"Oh. Sounds nice." Said Millie, oblivious of the accusation. "Does he game? I'd love a man who can field an army of the undead!" And so saying, she shucked off her cloak and launched unbidden into song.

     "The French are like to die, my love,
     Tactics made by fools,
     So I prefer a man who picks,
     From the undead troop type pool.

     Hotchkiss on the land
     May be quite continental,
     But zombies are a girl's best friend.
     Hotchkiss may be grand
     But I think that you'd be mental
     If you fought with that
     When the undead land upon your map.
     Men grow cold
     turn Zombie I'm told,
     And we all will be undead in the end.
     But vampire or mummy,
     My outlook is sunny!
     Zombies are a girl's best friend.

     There may come a time
     When your foe gets a laser,
     But zombies are a girl's best friend.
     There may come a time
     When some chap in a blazer
     Thinks you're awful nice,
     But he measures short and tricks the dice,
     He's the guy
     Whose voice is high,
     As he knows all the rules he can bend.
     You can show this elf lord
     That he's made of cardboard!
     Zombies are a girl's best friend."

FSN missed the last verse. The very sophisticated, yet sensuous movement of absurdly lovely female bits had the effect that he had feared, so he had withdrawn behind the tree, to emerge a little later, a small tear in his eye, and he feared a small tear in his wingroot.

Bert clapped and whistled, and even took some of the cigarettes out of his mouth. Millie nodded her thanks to the enthusiastic applause and gracefully donned the cloak that her companions held for her. Every movement was grace and style with Millie.   

"Well, thank you very much." Said FSN, extending a hand.

"Have you washed that in the last 3 minutes?" Inquired Millie. "No, thought not. I'll just be on my way then." And with a whoosh of white cloak she was gone, elegant, graceful and everything that a woman should be.  FSN thought he heard a snicker from Bert.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Well, she was a very womanly woman. No Dixon!" Said Bert thoughtfully. "I thought it would be nice to wish her good luck."

"Yeesss?" FSN was, like the rest of you desperately trying to work out where Bert was going with this.

"Well, when I was in Suez ..."

"With Lieutenant Kerr ..."

"Indeed, with the much beloved Lieutenant, I was taken off the table after a nasty Minifigging incident with a recoilless rifle. I was accidentally stashed with a box of Anubis Troops (FEY1) and we got to chatting, you know? 'Nice paint job – what were you dipped in', that sort of thing, and they told me about how before a battle the priest (who was only part time, normally being one of Pharoahs undead tomb guards - FEY3) waved this good luck charm over everyone and wished 'em life. Bit Tumbling Dice if you ask me, them all being undead, but there you go, and I thought it would have been nice for you to have wished the young lady luck."

"So you said ..."

"You ankh her!" 


Techno was alone. On returning to his cave he had carefully stacked his air instruments in their racks, noticing that his air guitar needed a new air on a G string. He stripped off his party outfit, and dressed in his more usual garb – what FSN had called his "Raggy Phil" outfit.

He was annoyed that he hadn't been able to perform. He was also annoyed that no-one would listen to him play his air guitar.  He began to sing a little song to cheer himself as took out the miniature he'd made of FSN and a scalpel.

    "I once did amazing sculpting
    With fingers all scabby and green
    When the others heard, in so many words said, *stab*
    The best I've seen. *stab, stab*
    The best, *stab, stab*
    The best, *stab, stab*
    The best I've seen.

    So I can't make a truck,
    Or a panzer or a DUKW
    But I'm a wiz with an Elven gown.

    So I took my amazing sculpting,
    To a shop in Nottingham town,
    And in that place, they said to my face, *stab*
    The best in town. *stab, stab*
    The best, *stab, stab*
    The best, *stab, stab*
    The best in town. "

At this point, Techno put his head on his arms, nicking an eyebrow slightly with the scalpel that he should have put down first. He was a very miserable Techno. As he sat there, cursing fate, FSN and everyone in general who didn't appreciate Prog Rock, he became aware of a small light in the corner of the room.  As he watched it became larger and larger, and brighter and brighter. Techno was a little afraid as the light took human shape, and then with a sound like a semi-inflated balloon being rubbed on a cat's belly, the light was gone to be replaced by a figure in a long pale blue ball gown. Tiny glass slippers peeped out from beneath the full blue skirt, and the slim white arms were clad in long white gloves. The hair was a perfect coiffure, set off by a headpiece of sapphires, which matched the delicate chain of gems around the slim neck.

"Hello, Leon." Greeted Techno. "Why the blue dress?"

"My green one is in the wash." Admitted his visitor. "Why are you going around with an expression like a squeezed tea bag?"

"Oh. No-one wants to hear me play the air guitar." Leon thought about this, his finger on his chin. Techno thought he looked very intelligent, but found the lipstick a bit unnerving.

"Well, " said Leon brightly, "you have the solution in your own hands!"

"I do?"

"You do. Just sculpt what you want to happen."

"And then you will do something magical to make it come true?"  Leon smiled and snapped his delicate gloved fingers. The ball of light returned.

"Dave," Leon said into the ball, "get ready for an emergency job will you?"

"Freikorps off!" Came a small tinny voice from the light. Leon smiled a tight smile, that showed he had a little bit of lipstick on his teeth.

"Be a good chap, Dave, otherwise" his voice took on a tone of menace "that chain can be shortened." The reply was inaudible to Techno. "Yes, I know there will be puddles, but that's your choice isn't it?"

Leon watched Techno as he worked. He was tempted to stroke the sculptor's head, but BUM it! These gloves were new – and doeskin. He'd have to get them cleaned afterwards and there was the wedding to go to. Techno, oblivious to this internal monologue, continued to work. 

Will Millie find a mate? Can Lad and Millie be in the same room together? Will Techno get to show of his Flying V in public?

I don't know. I've got a headache.

Join us tomorrow for the final episode of "FSN goes to the Pantdraken".

Great lyrics..

Please can someone please explain the plot? Or at least tell me which Panto we are all in this year?

I understood almost all of that !   ;D ;D ;D ;D
(But I only use the Flying V air guitar when I play along to Wishbone Ash.)

So.....I've now met Princess Leon, from Star Wars ?
What an honour !

Looking forward to the final scene, Matey......Then I'll do my song.

Cheers - Phil

Quote from: fsn on 23 December 2015, 07:07:18 PM
I've got a headache.

That's funny .....


.... too!  :)

Plot? There's meant to be a plot?

OK ... well FSN has had another one of his reactions and has met up with Bert again. They have arrived in a non-specific panto, in which everyone knows the main goal is to get finish on a wedding. They have met with a number of typical panto characters - principle boy, pantomine dame, a trio of buttons and now the female lead.

Lad and Millie appear to be the same person, but they're candidates for the bride and groom.

Techno has been ostrich eyed because of his air-guitar playing.  He's plotting his comeback with the aid of Leon.

As a random aside, while we were setting up the tables for Battleground this year, the other half of the sports hall was being used by a Uni group doing interpretive dance.  So we had to listen to 'All About That Bass' around 25 times as each one of them took a turn at interpreting it...

Quote from: Leon on 23 December 2015, 10:23:40 PM
As a random aside, while we were setting up the tables for Battleground this year, the other half of the sports hall was being used by a Uni group doing interpretive dance.  So we had to listen to 'All About That Bass' around 25 times as each one of them took a turn at interpreting it...

Whoa!  :o ~X( :-q

Quote from: fsn on 23 December 2015, 10:06:16 PM
Plot? There's meant to be a plot?

Oh, yes there is!   :P

Has this ever happened?

"Techno put his head on his arms, nicking an eyebrow slightly with the scalpel that he should have put down first"

Cheers
Ian

Ahhh, makes some sense now! ;)

Quote from: Sandinista on 23 December 2015, 11:55:09 PM
"Techno put his head on his arms, nicking an eyebrow slightly with the scalpel that he should have put down first"

No.....Not yet !  :P ;)

Cheers - Phil

As is the nature of these things, and because if they hadn't this wretched piece of rubbish would have no end, FSN and Bert found themselves at the wedding.

As they entered they were announced by a liveried flunkey, He wore a pink periwig under a too, too cute pink tricorne hat, and matching pink tailed coat over a ruffled shirt in oyster. His legs were encased in oyster coloured silk breeches and gleaming white stockings. His feet were sensibly snuggled into fluffy slippers with a cuddly Atilla the Hun motif.

"Afternoon Fenton." Greeted Bert.

"Peter Pig off." Responded the ridiculous figure. "Got to announce you. Now stand back ..." And he opened his gob and made a loud noise. It was a job he had been born to play.

"My lords, ladies, gentlemen and imaginary characters of all ilks!" He called in italics so we can all see it later on. "May I present Mr or Mrs FSN, and Bert the British Paratrooper with Sten, BR11."

Bert and FSN glided in, keen to join the thong. Unfortunately that was a typo, so they joined the throng instead. The room hand been decorated by BigJackMac – missile trails of all colours were artfully draped around columns and across the ceiling.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen – presenting a few easy ones to begin with. Mr. Norman Knight and Mrs Sippirifleman."  

All the Forum members were there – Dan J in another one of his own cellophane creations, Ianr54 was dancing with the Lady Ithoriel - possibly unaware of her true nature, and Skywalker was showing off as usual – juggling with a billiard ball, a live chicken and a light sabre.


"Nobs, totty and  geezers! Mr and Mrs Illery, with their son Arthur who has a sore throat – that's the hoarse Art Illery."

"Every year!" Tutted Bert, to sounds of a chicken being distressed by the misplacement of a billiard ball.

"A right lot here – the Scun family – Lewis, Tommy, Bren and the one who took to the church, the Vicar Scun."

Tawa, Orcs and Sandy appeared, bearing trays of comestibles.

"Wine?" proffered Tawas.
"Canape?" offered Orcs.
"These?" Tendered Sandy, stumped for a short description of pineapple, cheese and a cocktail onion on a cocktail stick.

"Oi, you lot! From the Luftwaffe we have the Messrs Schmitt and Dawn Neer.

FSN and Bert politely declined with fists and knees and made their way to the bar. There, Washerwoman Lemmey was doling out glasses of strangely coloured liquids. She had changed into a suitable outfit for a barmaid – low cut, high on the thigh and tight as a miser's grip on a penny.

*Burp* "Presenting Lord and Lady Ade, and their ancient Chinese relative Han Gran Ade, and while we're on that one, The Right Honourable Adeer and his patriot nanna, the British Gran Adeer."  

Bert drifted off to see if he could find the Oriental Westie, and was disappointed to find her snogging the Duck. However he began to follow d_Mary's giggle in the hopes that she could perhaps perform another kind of belly dance.

"All right, leave it! ... Yeah I know how to do it ... My Lords, Laddies and others. Presenting little Mannie, who is very pretty, but in a foul temper. The cross beau, Man, accompanied by some tart from the docks, Marie Nexpeditionaryforce."

FSN wandered aimlessly around the party. He drank the bubbling – and steaming pink liquid he had secured from Washerwoman and looked around for a friendly face. Bert was at the buffet. He muttered something.

"Naw then. Returning is Mr Gofausberg, who looks like he's been in a bit of a punch up. Yes, it's bloody Lee Gofausberg again."

"Sorry Bert?"

"I was just saying how these sandwiches were Dixon good. Really nice bread. Very moist and tasty. Guy who baked it really knew what he was doing"

"Yeah?" Said FSN wearily.

"Master baker."

"It's the German-Greek Mr Zerfor, with his goaty legs and way with the ladies. If you haven't worked it out yet, it's Pan Zerfor."

FSN spotted Lad, now resplendent in the same outfit as before, except possibly shorter and in white, and with a cat skin cape. Lad looked nervous.

"Kallistra – who makes up this rot? Mrs and Mrs Zantinesareinthepipeline, and their daughter who goes both ways, the Bi Zantaniesareinthepipeline, with her partner for tonight Wendy Heckarependrakengoingtomakebyzantines. It's all Greek to me."

"What ho, Lad!"

"Oh hello ..." Lad looked at FSN "Thingy. I'm a bit nervous. It's my wedding day, you see." Bert appeared from nowhere with what looked suspiciously like a veil wrapped around his Sten.

"One down, six to go!" He hinted, archly. "So who's the Minifigging bride then?" He asked, lighting up.

"Right. Miss Zonescale with her deity, God Zonescale and looking bronzed, Miss Hope Light."

"Oh! I've not met her before, she's called Millie!" FSN and Bert looked at each other.

"Are you listening? It's you own time you're wasting if you aint Minifigging listening ... Mr. Cass Ianbowman ... I'm sorry, he's been recently knighted ... Sir Cass Ianbowman, accompanied by his long time and aged partner from the peerage, the Old Count Emptable."

"This is about to get interesting." Said Bert and slid off in the hunt for more veils.

"Right a few more before I get blasted – Mr Barry Oooka, but just call him Baz. Sidney Mluke and his exotic Eastern mother the Ma Mlulke. Mr Lewaygun (BP56), and his blind, piano playing, but very well endowed son – 14" Ray Lewaygun (BP56)"

At a fanfare from some unseen instruments, no doubt played by the mini-factotums Sandy, Orcs and Tawa, the crowd was still. A hitherto unseen door opened and in came the Canadian and Mexican, in the same outfits as before, but shorter and in Pink. After the sighs of appreciation had died down Millie was drawn in to the room in a gold and white carriage drawn by Manoferran, the Panty-Mime Norse. She descended gracefully and stood expectantly scanning the crowd.

Bert urged Lad forward with the butt of his Sten. Lad smiled nervously at Millie, who flashed an brilliant smile in return.

"Well Dixon me! There are two of them. That can only mean that Leon's in for trouble." He elbowed FSN in the ribs, partly to get his attention, but partly because he liked seeing him in pain. FSN though, was deep in thought. One stray notion had woken up, possibly because of the steaming drink of whatever the Washerwoman had given him, and he was trying to form it into a coherent idea.  

A shambling figure in a mitre was pushed forward. He was incredibly ancient and had the confused expression of the imbecilic. Obviously, he was high up in some church. Which one, Bert wasn't sure because he didn't know of any clergy that wore Rupert the Bear pyjamas.

"Gentle and ... you know the others ..." began the grey haired wreck.

"Oh Leman!" Breathed Bert. "You should never have given up on that Puritanism."  

"Umm.. " continued Archthingy Leman "We are here to  lay to rest ..." he looked at the confused faces of the audience and tried another tack. "It is with great joy ... where is the baby?"

"'bout nine months away!" Called a wag from the crowd. (It was Westmarcher, breaking character. Can't trust him to do anything right!)

"Ah! Wedding it is. Do you ... well do you? Have you? Oh you should it's great fun. So does anyone here have an object? Does anyone object to the Union or the Confederates?"

"Does a Luke and Leia situation count?" Asked Bert, introducing a third Star Wars reference into the piece. FSN's thought had got out of bed and was scratching its belly.

"So, will you *crump* and will she? Well I bet she will? Where is Will anyway? He's a good lad in a tight situation. So ... are you two still here? I'd have thought you would have, well you would have wouldn't you? Well I would, I think I did once, but that may have been Pendrakenmas."  

"Just tell him to kiss the bride then we can all get Dixoned!" Shouted Bert. By now, FSN's brain process had brushed its teeth and was contemplating porridge or toast for breakfast.  

"Certainly. Pucker up!" commanded the aged cleric.

There happy couple complied. The guests applauded politely, then there came the inevitable "what  do we do now?" silence. It was at that point that FSN thought put in a spurt and came to fruition.

"PITHEAD!" he roared. "Rhymes with 'Spithead', starts with a 'P' it's PITHEAD!" in his joy he raced around the room, grasping random people by the shoulders and yelling "PITHEAD!" into their faces, until he was stopped by Bert who, it has to be said with great relish battered him into unconsciousness with his Sten.

"At last." He said, with grim satisfaction.

The uncomfortable moment was deflated by the sound of a balloon on a cat's belly. Leon stood there, resplendent in red taffeta. He'd had to change because he'd found something unpleasant on the hem of his white gown after he'd visited Techno's cave. For information, the dress had to be destroyed. At his heels lay Dave, who'd been let out for the night.

"Ladies, Gentlemen." He began, in a soft yet commanding voice. All faces turned to him. All ears strained to catch his words.

"It is Pendrakenmas, and we all know the true meaning of Pendrakenmas." Confused murmuring in the audience suggested that the real meaning of Pendraknmas had escaped them. Leon sighed. So much to do, so many idiots to do it to.

"The real meaning of Pendrakenmas is being kind to our friends." The confused murmuring could have led one to believe that being kind wasn't in most peoples' top ten.

"And so," continued Leon, wishing he'd opted for a mince pie and Call of Duty 4 instead of this, "I want you all to welcome Techno, and his air band." He began the applaud, which slowly built up. Then someone started cheering so when the fireworks went off and Techno made his entrance the crowd was screaming and stamping their feet. A pair of mysterious undergarments, possibly Lady Ithoriel's slopped in front of Techno as he made his way to the stage.

He threw back his cape. His nipples were rouged. Even that didn't put off the crowd who were now beyond sanity. He played for them then. He played Yes, he played early Genesis, he played Wishbone Ash, he played Arsenal in the quarter final, and he played a little bit of Abba, because that's what he loved best.  The crowd swayed to his silence. They air-clapped along with his absence of sound. They slow danced to his quietude.  Candles appeared and soon all Techno could see was a field of lights. He was finally, truly happy.



FSN woke. He had a massive headache. Unfortunately, he wasn't with the Canadian, but, he mused philosophically, he wasn't in the Washerwoman's bed either. He was back in his own bed, and the only one with him, the only one he really wanted with him, was Raggy Phil.

"It must nearly be time to go see Dr Petal." He thought. "I wonder why her beard tickles that way."

A suitable finale, well played sir!

Great read, the Christmas highlight on Pendraken Forum  :D :D :D

Thank you, I hope you enjoyed it.


Now step away from the chicken.

You've done us proud, Nobby.  ;D ;D ;D
Cheers - Phil.

(PS...My nipples aren't rouged.....a 10A blade shattered and came back and hit me in the chest.  ;)...... :^o :^o :^o)

Oh yeah? Well why was Mrs T complaining about small hairs in her favourite lipstick?

:P

How do 10as do that! Mine are always going at random times!

And then I realized--like I was shot...like I was shot with a diamond...a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought, My God, the genius of that, the genius, the will to do that. Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure.
                                                                                          - Colonel Kurtz (Apocalypse Now)

=D>  ;D :-bd  :D =D>  :-\  <:-P =O :O) =D> :-bd  :P m/ :) =D>


pssst! [from sidelines stage left] ...... what? ...... what's that you say? ...... he wasn't talking about the Pantdraken ...... oh .... anyhoo, jolly good show, fsn! Bravo!

Quote from: fsn on 24 December 2015, 12:52:41 PM
Oh yeah? Well why was Mrs T complaining about small hairs in her favourite lipstick?  :P

Mrs T ?

Don't think she's GOT any lipstick.


Anyway......

I should not have chosen a song that doesn't scan, or rhyme easily, to play 3 different air guitars to.
(I just cannot get a couple of the lines to work.....So feel free to offer alternative suggestions.  ;)

With apologies to Messrs Plant, Page, Jones and Bonham.........


There's a gamer who plays, with his soldiers most days,
and he's buying the tanks of Pendraken.
When a parcel arrives, he just feels so alive,
'Cos the Dark Lord has sent him his order.

Ooooh.....Ooooh.....and he's buying the tanks of Pendraken.


There's a sign on the door, says 'Don't slip on the floor'.
And don't knock any dice from the table.
If you want to join in, there's more troops in that tin,
But be careful, their bases aren't stable.

Ooooh....He makes me wonder,
Ooooh....Nobby makes me wonder.

There's a feeling he gets, when he fails his troops' tests,
and his luck often feels it's all leaving.
He rolls dice by the score, some end up on the floor,
'Cos the table he uses is heaving,

Ooooh...He makes me wonder.
Ooooh...He really makes me wonder.

And it's thought, that if soon, we retire from his room,
then poor Nobby will start to see reason.
His new game will begin, maybe this time he'll win.
(But does fighting yourself count as treason ?)

(More air guitar bits)

If there's a mishap in the fable, don't be alarmed now.
It's just a cat jumped on the table.
Yes, there are two ways that he can win now, but in the long run
do we all think that he'll be able ?

And he makes me wonder.

His head is spinning: It's the pink pills, in case you don't know,
the Duckman's calling on the phone now.
So, Nobby, can you hear the paint dry, and did you try,
What all those painters on the forum say....

And as we leave our Nobby's house.
(Just creep out quieter than a mouse.)
There stands the gamer we all know,
who wrote the Panto just to show,
Our forum members are pure gold.
And if we listen to his prose,
the giggles come to us, at last.
When we're all sane, (There's not much hope),
To have a laugh, and never troll...........

And he's buy....iy...ing the tanks, .......Of Pendrak...en.

Happy Christmas, Gang.

Cheers - Phil.

Not since "The Masque of the Red Death" has there been such an assemblage! Poignant and redolent of Bon Ami (and here I think of the cleanser). It did not disappoint (for nipples have again crept in) - but hark - a final message of good cheer!
Well done Sir - Oh well done!

And then an ode - The Saga of Nobby - rendered my the inestimable Techno (Raggy P)

Peace be upon thee all,

(And I now embrace the horror and sign myself)
d_Mary

Brilliant FSN,  Thanks for putting me in the Panto.

Erm, Next time can you make sure i get off with the stunning redhead ?? Pleeeeeease. 

Love the lyrics Techno

Quote from: d_Guy on 24 December 2015, 03:24:27 PM

(And I now embrace the horror and sign myself)
d_Mary

Looks like my 2 votes paid off after all.  ;)

Well done FSN, great lyrics Techno

=D> =D> =D> =D> =D>

 ;D ;D ;D =D> =D> =D>

Quote from: Westmarcher on 24 December 2015, 06:10:18 PM
Looks like my 2 votes paid off after all.  ;)

Indeed Westie, Indeed :)

Truly an inspirational work of great magnitude, solemnity and inspiration, thank you for all you hard work.

I'm now left wondering if I can work any of those themes into the IHMN game I'm running tonight.

Great lyrics, I showed it to the two non wargamers but rock fans in the office and they were highly amused.
;D ;D m/ :-bd =D> =D> =D> =D> =D>

FSN, I salute you. Thank you for squandering your amazing talents on us undeserving denizens of this forum. "FSN Goes to the Pantdraken" is a work of genius. ("Oh no it isn't", "Oh yes it is", "It's behind you" etc).

Chris

Quote from: fsn on 24 December 2015, 10:12:07 AMA pair of mysterious undergarments, possibly Lady Ithoriel's slopped in front of Techno as he made his way to the stage.

"slopped".....   :o :-&

My undergarments do not slop ... I assure you a La Perla "Tribal Dream" thong drifts to the floor softly as featherdown ... erm ... too much information, maybe! ;)

Quote from: Ithoriel on 30 December 2015, 01:44:52 AM
My undergarments do not slop ... I assure you a La Perla "Tribal Dream" thong drifts to the floor softly as featherdown ... erm ... too much information, maybe! ;)

Ah! But you had been dancing with Ianr54! Guaranteed to make your undergarments sloppy.  :P

Quote from: fsn on 30 December 2015, 08:27:45 AM
Ah! But you had been dancing with Ianr54! Guaranteed to make your undergarments sloppy.  :P

GO AWAY you TOTAL OIK

>:( >:( >:( >:( >:( >:( >:(

IanS

That was a compliment!  :P

Quote from: ianrs54 on 01 January 2016, 09:20:00 AM
GO AWAY you TOTAL OIK

>:( >:( >:( >:( >:( >:( >:(

IanS

That's SIR Total Oik to you

Quote from: Fenton on 01 January 2016, 09:28:56 AM
That's SIR Total Oik to you

No its not.

IanS  ;)

Quote from: Ithoriel on 30 December 2015, 01:44:52 AM
My undergarments do not slop ... I assure you a La Perla "Tribal Dream" thong drifts to the floor softly as featherdown ... erm ... too much information, maybe! ;)

Not hungry anymore.....