Notes from Nochet – Odds ‘n Sods

[XXIX.mostal/mostal/0010111010.00101.001] Solid waste is excreted by Dwarves as geometrically perfect cubes. Their latrine pits are uniformly filled, layer by layer, until full, when they are permitted to dry out and are then used as paved entertaining areas. [MOB]

[XXIX.soc.tasty.bev/classif.9] It is believed that the current classification of the Aldryami (“elves”) is yet another mistake and/or rewrite of the original by the God-Learners. The original classification was obviously into green, yellow (oolong) and black/brown based on the type of tea that they produced for the Green Age peoples. [Dave Pearton]

[XXIX.fear&loath/greyb] Findings of the Coronial Inquiry into the disappearance of Hunter S. Greybeard, freelance Lhankor Mhy scribe, ordered after his notebook appeared at the Library gates, pinned to a live ham-beetle.

A conversation reconstructed by diverse magical means by Lucien, Chief Diviner:

[It is a dark cave: two very inebriated trolls – who identify themselves as Tadacok and Bugalugs, chew on what I discern as a human’s thigh.]

Tadacok: “Dat wuz a good idea.”
Bugalugs: “Wot?”
T: “Killin’ dat human scribe wot paid you for bein’ his bodyguard.” B: “Had to. He wuz practically dead anyway, and I had the munchies real bad! (burps)”

[They continue to stuff their faces for a while]

T: “What wuz he doin’ there anyway?”
B: “He wuz writin’ a story ’bout the game”
T: “What you gonna do with his story?”
B: “I send them his notes: go get me a beetle.”

[He sucks the marrow from the thigh-bone]

FEAR AND LOATHING AT THE SUPERTROLL, by Hunter S. Greybeard. The Argan Argar temple at Halikiv – like others designed by architect Porala is a cave complex built around a vast stadium for trollball…

…I must note, for the sake of accuracy that I am now seriously twisted and will remain this way for several days, if the brewer is to be trusted. I’m here sinking a few cold brews with the Argan Argar priestess Gwendala, a very sexy troll and built like a brick six-seater shithouse…

…earlier this afternoon my bodyguard Bugalugs and I went to the Argan Argar All Stars team reception. The place was packed with drunken trolls, hard-eyed cult officials, hustlers (of almost every persuasion) and a legion of big and small-time gamblers from all over Genertela with an eye to picking up a last-minute sucker bet from some poor troll half-mad with booze. Bugalugs had to kill one just to make a sporting observation about the Zorak Zoran Rhinos. And speaking of suckers I saw Orzak’n’Orzaker, he of the Yelmite biscuit scandal pacing up and down, but enough of the losers.

What kind of sick and twisted impulse would cause a Lhankor Mhy Sage to suddenly take to the main hall late into the night and start making bets with all kind of trolls? Knowledge is everything in a game like the Supertroll, and in a bedtime conversation with Gwendala (while I was Healing up the worst of my bruises) she let me in on the secret of the game. Figure it out for yourself but I have a 28 Wheel bet on an All Star victory, and all my bolgs and other assorted currency on various point spreads at the best odds that I could find on the floor. But this will have to be our secret until the end of the game.

The crowds came early for SuperTroll; some have even camped in the stalls all season to catch this almighty game. The recent elf war was provoked by the concessionaires, who needed to restock their supplies, and 5000 borefly maggots (each the length of my arm) were beetled in for roasting from the Grubfarm. The smell of roasted live maggots, the troll-strength alcohol and the blood already in the stands makes my stomach rumble as Bugalugs, my great troll bodyguard pushes our way through the anxious crowds queuing for tickets. What do I care? Gwendala’s got us reserved seats right behind the Rhinobeetle’s score zone. We come well-prepared, laden down with armour, weapons, shields, Morokanth steak, a keg of Lunar wine, and six snorts of the best dummy, fresh in from Sun County. Bugalugs has a whole leg of dwarf – trolls get stoned on dwarf; however it didn’t do much for me the one time I tried it. Unfortunately it turns out that these fabulous seats (that two dark trolls died obtaining – but that’s another saga) are right next to Orzak’n’Orzaker. Now, unlike thousands of other trolls, I’ve got nothing against Orzak’n’Orzaker: in fact, I admire his dirty snake-like greed and his disgusting show of newly-acquired wealth. (In case the reader hasn’t heard, Orzak’n’Orzaker made billions of bolgs in the Orlanthi Biscuit Trade before the bubble burst. Orzak’n’Orzaker was one of the few who got out of that sordid affair with both his hands still attached to his body.)

However, things did not go well from the start for poor Orzak’n’Orzaker. I think it had something to do with my bodyguard who yelled out, apparently at random: “Don’t worry Iban, Zorak Zoran will forgive you for dealing with the Yelmites.” Bugalugs upset Orzak’n’Orzaker further when he tried to eat Orzak’n’Orzaker’s wife’s value trollkin: Orzak’n’Orzaker is so wealthy he can buy his trollkin a seat at SuperTroll, but enough of his financial affair’s – I’m a sports reporter not an accountant. I’d hate to be Orzak’n’Orzaker’s accountant as he had 6 million bolgs riding on a Rhino victory.

I don’t know how these sportstrolls can call themselves professionals – I’ve seen a half-blind cave troll play better ball. In the first half both the Rhinos and the All Stars failed to show the form that such a hyped spectacle deserves (not that I’d want to swap places: all the Healing spells in world aren’t going to take away the pain of being trampled on by a pack of great trolls).

The field pounded under the sandled feet of many an All Stars charge. I could feel Orzak’n’Orzaker trembling beside me, watching the last chance of paying off his debts crumble away with every goal. The All Stars entered the red zone amid a shower of dwarf bones, bolgs, tankards and other refuse, but still they kept coming. The few times the Rhinos got the ball down their end they were stopped in their tracks by the goalie Atlas, the All Stars’ special surprise (and the reason I staked all my money on them). Atlas was the largest troll I’ve ever seen: rumour has it he was a Pamaltelan Mountain Troll, specially imported for the event.

Finally the anguish, fear and loathing of the inevitable All Star’s victory was too much for Orzak’n’Orzaker, who emptied all his stomachs onto his value trollkin, and tried to skulk away before his creditors found him. Bugalugs was completely incoherent with excitement, and actually enjoyed the inevitable riot that followed the game. He’d lost the plot so completely, I eventually had to Befuddle him, but not before he and dozens of other ZZ Rhino fans had launched themselves at Atlas, crying foul (Atlas simply batted them away, and spent the rest of his time picking them out from between his toes).

As a sports event this is a joke, as a gambling event let’s just say that a fool and his money are soon parted, but as a spectacular for repressed but bloodthirsty male trolls it is a highly cultural and religious event. [Mark Holsworth].

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