...the blade fell...

...Hom-Ken turned - he heard the swipe as the weapon of death-deliver cut the air like a bamboo dildo.

His eyes turned red and I quivered.

In a lightening flash he spun around and grabbed my blow at the wrist. I cried out - it was really sore.

"SSSSSSSSHsshshhhhh"

He clamped his hand over my mouth and pulled me down into the harsh undergrowth. Beads of sweat fell into my eyes and burned like nasty vinegar.

I thought my time had come. He was going to bleed me - real quiet.

To my surprise - he motioned into a small clearing 100 yards or so to the north. Slowly, he eased his hand from my talk void. His hand reeked of kelp and musty fish arse.

"Up ahead. By them trees"

I followed his nod.

In the distance between the boughs of two brittle rape trees, was a small hideous looking shape. I could hear it sniffing at something on one of the trees. Because of the uneven ground, and the dark it was hard to acertain the sex or height of this shadow crawler.

Suddenly the air around it grew misty. It looked as though it was covering the bark in its own piss stream.

I looked to Hom-Ken for explanation and tried a expositon question while trying to tuck the blade discreetly back into my waist band without buggering myself or puncturing my man sac.

"Clarts" Hom-Ken hissed without removing his eyes from the pissing black creature.

"Very dangerous. Eat men, leave nothing but bone. This is a scout"

"A scout? Then there's more of the cunts?"

"Sshh. They have keen hearing and large fists. They render their prey helpless by fisting their wasteholes and then rip the prone being inside out. They save the skin to make duvets."

"Hideous"

"They are fell beasts"

"Shall we move around him?"

"No. We wait. We follow"

"Follow? Are you insane. I don't wanted fisted this far from home"

"We follow"

I huddled back and watched.

Suddenly the scout blew a small fife made out of man-cock and very slowly a small procession made it's way from out of the jungle. Hundreds of Clarts, small, swarthy; stinking, appeared in the low light of the clearing.

At the forefront they carried three long poles. On each pole carried, tied upside down; three figures.

One, a small peasant of fisherman stock, the t'other the swarthy sea Captain Nevermind, the other Cyrius the Duckman of Glasgoid.

The pole carriers stopped in the clearing. Some muttered exchanges, in an argot of indistinguishable hue grated on mein ear.

Then, Nevermind was uncut from the pole and made to stand upright.

A stout and lavishly decorated clart proceeded to approach the wacky Captain and signalled for him to drop to his knee. Under duress from several prodding spears, Nevermind complied. Then, and to my horror, I watched as the lead Clart's right fist extended by some alchemy from another time and was soon filling Nevermind's aquatic anus.

The Captain, tough and mental though he was, was soon vanquished by an enemy hand in his chuff.

Soon they cut him inside out and his dripping outerskin was taken off to provide warmth to some evil Clart's bed chamber. I felt violently sick but I had to swallow the chunks as any wretching would alert them. And I just wasn't in the mood to be fisted into the etherworld at that juncture.

Cirius and the manky looking fisherman type were untied also and I feared they would soon go the way of Nevermind. But they were asked in broken, grunting Goidian to identify themselves.

"I am Cirius, last of the Goidian Duckman and keeper of the Giffnock tunnel"

Next it was fisherman's turn:

"I am Francis Merriweather Gooselane, captain of the Rusty Hornpipe, disgraced second in command of the Kinky Cod and on the board of Nothern Rock"

This brazen and proud outburst created some commotion in the Clart ranks and I feared for this bold man Gooselane's ring. However some fleeting recogntion washed over me. I knew this man from somewhere. Perhaps he knew tale of Rambling Bob.

I had to get to this man!

Soon the procession were led off again into the jungle.

Hom-Ken and I followed. We said naught a word.

He knew I had tried to off him. I could now look forward to either a decapitation or a fistation.

I didn't like the odds.

And after a few yards of discomfort I realised I had put that blade firmly into the back end of my bollocks. Perfect, just perfect.

Jez