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) but the feedback and conversation with you all has been great, so thank you.Secondly, although the end of the competition, the Clash of the Titles WILL continue on a semi-formal basis - basically I'll match up anyone who seems interesting and have some fun. If you want to make a suggestion, either of a single "participant" or of a full roster, feel free to let me know - I will ALWAYS respond to any PM's sent to me, one way o the other.
Pretty soon I'll be undertaking some new project (thanks to KYP for the suggestion) but not yet. I'm going to concentrate on my University work before starting something new and confusing.
Thirdly.... I just love it on Friday morning, when you all start posting things like "I can't wait for this" or "damn this is gonna be good". For the record, I'm probably unconscious so whatever you type won't speed me along at all...
That being said, pull up a bench and get a good ringside view - there's about to be a whuppin'
Mod Note: Part 2 will be completed ASAP - Must Sleep. Must Feed. Etc
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Part the First:
The sun shone. The bees buzzed. The birds sang. The trees drank dinner through their toes. The clear blue sky..... did... whatever it thought it had to do. It was summer, and the lawns of Unseen University were berift of even the lowest forms of life; even students.
Ambling peacefully through the warm shimmer of the air, Modo the Gardener pushed his wheelbarrow in quiet contemplation of compost. Wonderful stuff, compost, if you knew what you were doing. A Dwarf, Modo was far longer-lived than any human - even the immensily decrepid Wizards that lurked fearful of the outside world in their stuides, or gave quiet, uninterrupted lectures in Room 3C - and as a habitual pedant borne from a long line of traditional people it was unsurprising that Modo had been the gardener for the last two-hundred-or-so years.
In that time he had seen many things: recently-buried faculty members dig their way through the turf and lurch off to their old studies, many-tentacled monstrosities from the coldest reaches of the Dungeon Dimesions slithering and and sliming their way through the rose bushes, and once even a woman on campus. Indeed, such trivialities were pratically mundane compared to some of the REAL problems he'd encountered. Like semi-sentient compost, for example.
Therefore, the sudden appearence of a tall, red-haired human on the path before him - spiked helmet and enormous engraved warhammer glistening in the sunlight, and bulging biscepts apparently oiled for the occasion - barely even registered. The Dwarf and his load trundled to a halt just before the big man and waited. Generally, if you waited long enough, most things moved out of the way.
The big mn, however, didn't seem to notice him either, and looked about with a forehead bent in intense concentration.
"Archanzlorr Ridcull!!!" He bellowed, like a bull with a hang-over. "Come out! Fight! Thor will SMASH!"
The deep gulf of silence was only broken by a gentle cough at ankle-height, and the God looked down into the silvering beard of Modo.
"E'scusin' my pardon, sir, but you be lookin' for Mister Ridcully, aye?"
Thor threw his head back and roared out.
"Yes! Thor will SMASH one called Archanzlorr Ridcull!!!"
"Ah, well, y'see, there be a problem with that," The Dwarf sucked his tongue thoughtfully. "Y'seein', Mister Ridcully be havin' his dinner at present, so you won't get to smash 'im at least for another two hours. He jus' won't allow it, see?"
Thor's face suddenly went blank, and he bent down to match eye-height with Modo, almost having to rest on his stomach to do so.
"Archanzlorr Ridcull not come fight Thor?" He said, with a voice like a bewildered grizzly bear to Modo's shaking head.
"Nope - he's off in the great hall, so if'n you make an appointment now you might catch 'im before he starts on supper."
"Where is 'great hall', short one?" A faint glimmer of cunning flashed across the god's face, and he cracked his knuckles thoughtfully.
"Well, right'n over there, sir." The dwarf pointed, oblivious to the looming hulk above him.
"You take Archanzlorr Ridcull a message?" Came the next question?
"Of course sir, I'll just sort out this here 'barrow and I'll be rght wi--"
The great Hall, though quiet compared to anything found during term-time, was a din of scraping cutlery, chomping jaws and smacking lips. The longest table immediately before the door creaked ominously though unheeded under the weight of the feast laid out on it - roast deer, suckled pig, whole salmon, hog's heads, and a veritable forest of salds and leaves being the least of it, though by the minute the weight was dimishing, a great deal of which in thanks of the immense figure at the head of the table - one Archancellor Mustrum Ridcully, 22 stone of solid Wizard and rising.
One could mention his noble features and then concentrated intently on the chicken leg held up before them, or the skillful dexterity of his otherwise bear-like paws and scotch-egg-after-radish-after-pork-pie where scooped up and flipped into the great bearded darkness of his mouth, however that would leave no room to describe the great, multi-storied condiment tray by his arm; overflowing with various relishes of a dozen flavours and a hundred ingredients - truley a monster of cooking technology.
It was, then, a catastrophie of immeasurably culinary proportions when the Great Doors burst in and a ballistic Dwarf crashed nose-first into the table, skidding along and upsetting everything in his path - boar bounced on the flagstones, deer danced into the dust and gravy splashed with gay abandon on all bystanders, and onwards the Dwarf plunged, right up untl the very nearly stopped infront of Rudcilly himself.
"Very nearly" being the target phrase, as with a very faint *ting* the tip of Modo's helmet bumped the condiment tray, which turned, rocked..... and fell all its length into Ridcully's unprotected lap.
Red in the face, seething at the fringes and mint sauce flavoured on the groin, the Archancellor of Unseen Univsity drew himself up to his full girth and dragged the stunned Gardener to eye-height by his lapels.
"By the fifteen Burning Orbs of Marox the Giggley, what in blazes is going on here!?!?" Mustrum roared, voice like frenzied thunder in the rafters.
There was silence for a few seconds, though Wizards being Wizards it didn't last long.
"Thirteen."
Ridcully blinked. "What!?"
The Dean - older, wider though arguably no more sensible than Ridcully - stood upright and brushed the fall-out of airbourne Black Pepper kernels from his beard.
"Thirteen Orbs. Advanced Eldritch Thaumacartography - remember it well."
The silence returned, even more embarrassed and bewildered than before. If looks could kill, then the Dean - happily oblivious to the added upset his presence had just added - would have been a pudle of twitching flesh smouldering under Ridcully's glare before it was turned back at the matter in hand.
"Well!? Speak up, man! Can't a chap enjoy his dinner in peace with having it smashed all an' sunder like this?! Explain yourself!!"
Slowly, the Dwarf managed to mumble and answer.
"M..m..mess...message f..for you....s....sir...."
"Well?! What is it? Out with it man!"
"M...man here to se...see you, s..sir. Something 'bout sm....smashing...."
"Too right it was!" cried the Archancellor, letting the Dwarf slump gently into a plate full of mashed potatoes. "Smashed just about ther whole bally lot, so he has! Well, *I* am the Master of this College, and if anyone's goin' to do some smashin', it'll be me!"
Archancellor Mustrum Ridcully grabbed his hat, rammed it tighly onto his head, hefted his okan staff in both hands, and stomped like a bad-tempered thunderstorm out into the sunshine....
The sun shone. The bees buzzed. The birds sang. The trees drank dinner through their toes. The clear blue sky..... did... whatever it thought it had to do. It was summer, and the lawns of Unseen University were berift of even the lowest forms of life; even students.
Ambling peacefully through the warm shimmer of the air, Modo the Gardener pushed his wheelbarrow in quiet contemplation of compost. Wonderful stuff, compost, if you knew what you were doing. A Dwarf, Modo was far longer-lived than any human - even the immensily decrepid Wizards that lurked fearful of the outside world in their stuides, or gave quiet, uninterrupted lectures in Room 3C - and as a habitual pedant borne from a long line of traditional people it was unsurprising that Modo had been the gardener for the last two-hundred-or-so years.
In that time he had seen many things: recently-buried faculty members dig their way through the turf and lurch off to their old studies, many-tentacled monstrosities from the coldest reaches of the Dungeon Dimesions slithering and and sliming their way through the rose bushes, and once even a woman on campus. Indeed, such trivialities were pratically mundane compared to some of the REAL problems he'd encountered. Like semi-sentient compost, for example.
Therefore, the sudden appearence of a tall, red-haired human on the path before him - spiked helmet and enormous engraved warhammer glistening in the sunlight, and bulging biscepts apparently oiled for the occasion - barely even registered. The Dwarf and his load trundled to a halt just before the big man and waited. Generally, if you waited long enough, most things moved out of the way.
The big mn, however, didn't seem to notice him either, and looked about with a forehead bent in intense concentration.
"Archanzlorr Ridcull!!!" He bellowed, like a bull with a hang-over. "Come out! Fight! Thor will SMASH!"
The deep gulf of silence was only broken by a gentle cough at ankle-height, and the God looked down into the silvering beard of Modo.
"E'scusin' my pardon, sir, but you be lookin' for Mister Ridcully, aye?"
Thor threw his head back and roared out.
"Yes! Thor will SMASH one called Archanzlorr Ridcull!!!"
"Ah, well, y'see, there be a problem with that," The Dwarf sucked his tongue thoughtfully. "Y'seein', Mister Ridcully be havin' his dinner at present, so you won't get to smash 'im at least for another two hours. He jus' won't allow it, see?"
Thor's face suddenly went blank, and he bent down to match eye-height with Modo, almost having to rest on his stomach to do so.
"Archanzlorr Ridcull not come fight Thor?" He said, with a voice like a bewildered grizzly bear to Modo's shaking head.
"Nope - he's off in the great hall, so if'n you make an appointment now you might catch 'im before he starts on supper."
"Where is 'great hall', short one?" A faint glimmer of cunning flashed across the god's face, and he cracked his knuckles thoughtfully.
"Well, right'n over there, sir." The dwarf pointed, oblivious to the looming hulk above him.
"You take Archanzlorr Ridcull a message?" Came the next question?
"Of course sir, I'll just sort out this here 'barrow and I'll be rght wi--"
The great Hall, though quiet compared to anything found during term-time, was a din of scraping cutlery, chomping jaws and smacking lips. The longest table immediately before the door creaked ominously though unheeded under the weight of the feast laid out on it - roast deer, suckled pig, whole salmon, hog's heads, and a veritable forest of salds and leaves being the least of it, though by the minute the weight was dimishing, a great deal of which in thanks of the immense figure at the head of the table - one Archancellor Mustrum Ridcully, 22 stone of solid Wizard and rising.
One could mention his noble features and then concentrated intently on the chicken leg held up before them, or the skillful dexterity of his otherwise bear-like paws and scotch-egg-after-radish-after-pork-pie where scooped up and flipped into the great bearded darkness of his mouth, however that would leave no room to describe the great, multi-storied condiment tray by his arm; overflowing with various relishes of a dozen flavours and a hundred ingredients - truley a monster of cooking technology.
It was, then, a catastrophie of immeasurably culinary proportions when the Great Doors burst in and a ballistic Dwarf crashed nose-first into the table, skidding along and upsetting everything in his path - boar bounced on the flagstones, deer danced into the dust and gravy splashed with gay abandon on all bystanders, and onwards the Dwarf plunged, right up untl the very nearly stopped infront of Rudcilly himself.
"Very nearly" being the target phrase, as with a very faint *ting* the tip of Modo's helmet bumped the condiment tray, which turned, rocked..... and fell all its length into Ridcully's unprotected lap.
Red in the face, seething at the fringes and mint sauce flavoured on the groin, the Archancellor of Unseen Univsity drew himself up to his full girth and dragged the stunned Gardener to eye-height by his lapels.
"By the fifteen Burning Orbs of Marox the Giggley, what in blazes is going on here!?!?" Mustrum roared, voice like frenzied thunder in the rafters.
There was silence for a few seconds, though Wizards being Wizards it didn't last long.
"Thirteen."
Ridcully blinked. "What!?"
The Dean - older, wider though arguably no more sensible than Ridcully - stood upright and brushed the fall-out of airbourne Black Pepper kernels from his beard.
"Thirteen Orbs. Advanced Eldritch Thaumacartography - remember it well."
The silence returned, even more embarrassed and bewildered than before. If looks could kill, then the Dean - happily oblivious to the added upset his presence had just added - would have been a pudle of twitching flesh smouldering under Ridcully's glare before it was turned back at the matter in hand.
"Well!? Speak up, man! Can't a chap enjoy his dinner in peace with having it smashed all an' sunder like this?! Explain yourself!!"
Slowly, the Dwarf managed to mumble and answer.
"M..m..mess...message f..for you....s....sir...."
"Well?! What is it? Out with it man!"
"M...man here to se...see you, s..sir. Something 'bout sm....smashing...."
"Too right it was!" cried the Archancellor, letting the Dwarf slump gently into a plate full of mashed potatoes. "Smashed just about ther whole bally lot, so he has! Well, *I* am the Master of this College, and if anyone's goin' to do some smashin', it'll be me!"
Archancellor Mustrum Ridcully grabbed his hat, rammed it tighly onto his head, hefted his okan staff in both hands, and stomped like a bad-tempered thunderstorm out into the sunshine....
On a personnal note, if the Discworld is ever made into a live-action movie, I vote Brian Blessed to play the part of Ridcully
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