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privy
Freud would have a field day on this one.
laddie
was by unleashing the hellish wrath of Fluffifufu the Adorable, Dark Overlord of…
dogs
braying and bragging about his astounding music career…
a transformation I did of the Jabberwocky poem
It was brillig, those few hours near the end of the day when the first sun, Garanoth, set and the air becomes colder under the fleeting magenta light of the second sun, Blarth.
The slithy toves, those ethereal creatures that glide upon the cold gentle breeze with beautiful diaphanous wings between brillig, where they dance through the air in magnificent, sweeping displays known as gyres and gimbles, and mome, when the six moons rise and they swoop back to their silken nests in the course, tall, spiny wabe-grass.The boy watched this scene of natural grace and beauty, as the last of the magenta light faded to be replaced by the eldritch silver light of the moons, blanketing his small jungle village in their pale glow. He heard the barking-shrieks of the mome raths, scavenger creatures, no larger than your hand, which scurried through the undergrowth upon their spindly legs feeding upon small insects and carrion. The boy looked up slightly from the wabe-grass towards the borogroves. The sticky mimsy nectar secreted from their drooping branches, while a boon to both the villagers because of its adhesive qualities and the slithy toves for food, was a bane to almost every other inhabitant of the jungle, effectively warding off the larger and more dangerous predators such as the Bandersnatch and the Jub-Jub birds, but most importantly the fearsome Jabberwock, scourge of all that wandered through the trees.
A slight stir behind him caused him to draw his small bone-knife from the sheath on his leather belt, quickly and silently as he had been taught to do since he was old enough to hold a blade, as all the men of his village had been taught to.
His knife, a streak of white in the shadows, stopped dead, mere inches away from his father’s throat. His father’s strong, calloused hand held an iron-like grip upon the boy’s wrist, preventing the blow from slashing his oesophagus open; gradually he released his grip, the boy sheathing his trusty knife back into its sheath. After a short time his father spoke, his voice calm and serious“Tonight my son, you shall become a man…” his hand moved to gesture the moons in the sky “…for countless generations our tribe has made young warriors, on the brink of manhood, go out into the jungle under the light of the full moons…” his hand moved down to point outwards, into the depths of the jungle “…there you shall slay a fearsome jungle beast, with only your father’s sword and your years of training, and bring back a trophy of your victory…” the hand moved in a sweeping movement that encompassed both the boy and the wooden huts of the village “… If you do not return with your trophy before the next mome, you shall be cast out of the village, a pariah forced to wander the jungle.” He laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder, in a shaky, uneven voice the boy replied
“Father, I swear this onto you, I shall slay a Jabberwock and upon my honour I shall bring you back its head before the next mome…”
His father replied with a solemn nod “You choose an arduous task my son… for all fear the Jabberwock, its jaws that bite and claws that catch… Other inhabitants of this forest too must you be wary of my son, the stealthy, wily Jub-Jub bird as well as the vicious and wrathful Bandersnatch… but I am proud of you my son, no matter the outcome of the hunt to come.” With that he drew his vorpal blade, the keen, crystalline edge shimmering in the moonlight. Ceremoniously, and with great respect, he offered the worn hilt to the boy, who graciously accepted it.
Sheathing the razor-sharp sword into its scabbard, the boy bowed towards his father. With one final backward glance to his village, the boy ran barefoot into the jungle.
For a long time he wandered through the dark, uninviting jungle. The cackling of the Jub-Jub birds and howls of the hunting packs of Bandersnatch his only companions in the lonely, but far from empty, jungle. The Boy shivered slightly at the prospect that he was no longer within the protection of the borogroves, or within the warm, bright glare of the village fires.
He tripped over an over-ground root, silently cursing himself for his lack of attention. He sat down by the great trunk of an ancient and grand Tumtum tree and rubbed at his ankle; the tree’s prodigious boughs stretched up towards the heavens and cast eerily long, twisted shadows across the clearing.Silently, stealthily, slyly, a shadow detached itself from a nearby tree. Patiently, cautiously it slunk across the clearing, its body pressed flat to the shadows of the Tumtum tree’s large branches. Its eyes, those smouldering gimlets of hatred in its monstrous visage, burned with a cruel intelligence that belied its ugly, misshapen form, calculating each movement with unerring precision and macabre grace.
The beast that only a few seconds ago was on the outskirts of the clearing, was now almost within striking distance of the boy, it inched slowly towards its intended prey, burbling quietly to itself in anticipation.
Instinctively the boy looked up and saw the shadow of a claw raised above his head; he turned and drew the vorpal blade from its scabbard in one fluid movement.Nothing was there, though the boy did not sheath his sword, instead he turned slowly and deliberately in a circle, knowing he was not alone.
Unable to view his would-be assailant, the boy sheathed his sword and stood stock still, his eyes closed, focussing upon the night-time sounds of the jungle, searching for something that seemed out of place.
There! A soft burbling noise behind him, lightning quick he pulled out his blade and swept it in an arc behind him.
A monstrous scream erupted from the Jabberwock as dull red blood spurted from its wrist and its amputated claw twitched spastically on the floor. A slight smile crossed the boy’s face.Its stealthy assault thwarted, the Jabberwock raised its other three arms, its snaggletooth maw opened wide to reveal three rows of deadly sharp fangs. Standing upon its four hind legs, the beast towered over the boy, its smooth, scaly skin bleeding through from blue-black to crimson red to a dull burgundy as it began its attack.
Wildly it lunged at him, its claws raked through the air towards his head. Though the beast was fast, the boy was faster and dived out of the way as the claws passed through where his head had been scant seconds ago. Seeing his window of opportunity, the boy jerked his sword to the side, the blade tore into the Jabberwock’s abdomen.
The beast clutched its open wound. Relentlessly the boy began to slash at the crippled monstrosity, his blade singing as it pierced the Jabberwock’s hide. Not stopping until he was sure it was dead.
He stopped, his breath heavy, his entire body drenched in the Jabberwock’s blood. Gradually he gathered himself and began to severe the beast’s head from its neck, ready to take it back as a trophy of his success.hmm, I wonder what else I’ve got knocking about the place
his henchmen were complaining about…
Bra
chicken *Buk-buk BA-KAAAW!*
