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On the night air came the whiff of menacing bonfires. Someone had thrown the keys to the asylum dwellers and all hell was breaking loose; yet on He strode, gripping his mighty hammer.
Towering at twenty-three feet in height and weighing in at four-hundred pounds, His name is Glib Pulverizer, and He's as hard as a concrete slab. When Glib is hungry He just grabs a sheep with His massive hands and rips out its spine. When He's thirsty He just sucks up puddles. Glib Pulverizer, nomad of the wastelands, if you ever see His fiercesome form, just run for your life.
And so on He marched, felling young trees with His bounding stride. When the burning spires of the asylum came into view, Glib ground to a halt and scratched His wirewool-like beard. His night-blue eyes scanned the scene: escaped lunatics were running riot – some were chasing each other in giddy circles waving flaming torches, giggling like demented goons; others were revelling in frenzied copulation, howling like wild dogs as they gyrated and thrusted; one slathering cretin was attempting to saw off one of his feet with a shard of glass.
Glib sneered, gripped His hammer ever tighter, and behind clenched misshapen teeth chunnered the slogan of His killjoyous fetish:
—'I FLICK MY WRIST AND LAY WASTE TO YOUR INSOLENCE.'
With the utterance of these words, His ogre rush of brutal style commenced.
Poets the world over have waxed lyrical about Glib's stomach-turning ultra-violence – and with good reason. When He thunders into action it's like witnessing a human tidal wave, and the lunatics of the burning asylum were the latest scapegoats to be on the receiving end of His supra-exuberant smiting.
In a blur of savage fury, the hapless nutters were pummelled into a bloody pulp. Decapitated heads span through the air and splattered against stone walls. Blood spurted hither and thither as if ghoulish fountains were being intermittently turned on and off. The deep-crunching resonance of bones being mashed created a symphony of spine-chilling rhythm. The splodgy giblets of the fast-falling lunatics lay everywhere, steaming and twitching on the cobblestones of the asylum's courtyard.
Then suddenly stillness... the maelstrom was over, and Glib stood there, gently rocking from side to side. After a brief moment of eye-blinking contemplation, He yanked the pelt of a grizzly bear from His back and wiped the sticky entrails from His mighty hammer.
Glib Pulverizer, nomad of the wastelands, He's as hard as a concrete slab. If you ever see His fiercesome form, just run for your goddamn life.
Towering at twenty-three feet in height and weighing in at four-hundred pounds, His name is Glib Pulverizer, and He's as hard as a concrete slab. When Glib is hungry He just grabs a sheep with His massive hands and rips out its spine. When He's thirsty He just sucks up puddles. Glib Pulverizer, nomad of the wastelands, if you ever see His fiercesome form, just run for your life.
And so on He marched, felling young trees with His bounding stride. When the burning spires of the asylum came into view, Glib ground to a halt and scratched His wirewool-like beard. His night-blue eyes scanned the scene: escaped lunatics were running riot – some were chasing each other in giddy circles waving flaming torches, giggling like demented goons; others were revelling in frenzied copulation, howling like wild dogs as they gyrated and thrusted; one slathering cretin was attempting to saw off one of his feet with a shard of glass.
Glib sneered, gripped His hammer ever tighter, and behind clenched misshapen teeth chunnered the slogan of His killjoyous fetish:
—'I FLICK MY WRIST AND LAY WASTE TO YOUR INSOLENCE.'
With the utterance of these words, His ogre rush of brutal style commenced.
Poets the world over have waxed lyrical about Glib's stomach-turning ultra-violence – and with good reason. When He thunders into action it's like witnessing a human tidal wave, and the lunatics of the burning asylum were the latest scapegoats to be on the receiving end of His supra-exuberant smiting.
In a blur of savage fury, the hapless nutters were pummelled into a bloody pulp. Decapitated heads span through the air and splattered against stone walls. Blood spurted hither and thither as if ghoulish fountains were being intermittently turned on and off. The deep-crunching resonance of bones being mashed created a symphony of spine-chilling rhythm. The splodgy giblets of the fast-falling lunatics lay everywhere, steaming and twitching on the cobblestones of the asylum's courtyard.
Then suddenly stillness... the maelstrom was over, and Glib stood there, gently rocking from side to side. After a brief moment of eye-blinking contemplation, He yanked the pelt of a grizzly bear from His back and wiped the sticky entrails from His mighty hammer.
Glib Pulverizer, nomad of the wastelands, He's as hard as a concrete slab. If you ever see His fiercesome form, just run for your goddamn life.
Raised a smile.
I don't know if it was supposed to, but it did.
I don't know if it was supposed to, but it did.
Black Glove wrote:
>I've posted this before.
.. and I remember it vaguely.
>I've posted this before.
.. and I remember it vaguely.
Warhammer is incredibly expensive. And I read a collection of Warhammer short stories once. Some were alright, some were weird and some were plain sick.
I flirted with Warhammer a few years ago, but all that dice-rolling kind of gets repetitive after a while. BUt yeah, all that comic-book/Warhammer violent imagery was an influence on this. Thanks for commenting mister English!
Do you play Warhammer?
This sounds much like one of the stories from the White Dwarf mag...what? My Aunt used to buy it for me!
It was quite good. Had your usual descriptiveness with less made up words, which made a nice change.
I love to read most of your stuff but rarely comment on it. So...um...this brought a comment. Well done.
This sounds much like one of the stories from the White Dwarf mag...what? My Aunt used to buy it for me!
It was quite good. Had your usual descriptiveness with less made up words, which made a nice change.
I love to read most of your stuff but rarely comment on it. So...um...this brought a comment. Well done.
Paradox: wrote:
> I got a comic-book kind of feel from it, which was cool.
That's what I was after. I've posted this before. The new one I wrote isn't any better than this, so..... Iwillll pprobbb
> I got a comic-book kind of feel from it, which was cool.
That's what I was after. I've posted this before. The new one I wrote isn't any better than this, so..... Iwillll pprobbb
I think you were attempting a double strike at the "nomad" thing, the guy being the no mad, and the destruction of crazy people (no mad), which was a nice thing to have a pop at.
Was good but not great. Some of the comedic words didnt quite fit, like "splodge" and "nutters" whilst the rest of the piece was semi-serious.
I got a comic-book kind of feel from it, which was cool.
Pretty different from your other stuff, without poetry! Hurah! Nice to see you branching out.
Was good but not great. Some of the comedic words didnt quite fit, like "splodge" and "nutters" whilst the rest of the piece was semi-serious.
I got a comic-book kind of feel from it, which was cool.
Pretty different from your other stuff, without poetry! Hurah! Nice to see you branching out.
Hm.
Well.
Er.
Hard to comment on.
Strange but good is the best I can say.
Well.
Er.
Hard to comment on.
Strange but good is the best I can say.
On the night air came the whiff of menacing bonfires. Someone had thrown the keys to the asylum dwellers and all hell was breaking loose; yet on He strode, gripping his mighty hammer.
Towering at twenty-three feet in height and weighing in at four-hundred pounds, His name is Glib Pulverizer, and He's as hard as a concrete slab. When Glib is hungry He just grabs a sheep with His massive hands and rips out its spine. When He's thirsty He just sucks up puddles. Glib Pulverizer, nomad of the wastelands, if you ever see His fiercesome form, just run for your life.
And so on He marched, felling young trees with His bounding stride. When the burning spires of the asylum came into view, Glib ground to a halt and scratched His wirewool-like beard. His night-blue eyes scanned the scene: escaped lunatics were running riot – some were chasing each other in giddy circles waving flaming torches, giggling like demented goons; others were revelling in frenzied copulation, howling like wild dogs as they gyrated and thrusted; one slathering cretin was attempting to saw off one of his feet with a shard of glass.
Glib sneered, gripped His hammer ever tighter, and behind clenched misshapen teeth chunnered the slogan of His killjoyous fetish:
—'I FLICK MY WRIST AND LAY WASTE TO YOUR INSOLENCE.'
With the utterance of these words, His ogre rush of brutal style commenced.
Poets the world over have waxed lyrical about Glib's stomach-turning ultra-violence – and with good reason. When He thunders into action it's like witnessing a human tidal wave, and the lunatics of the burning asylum were the latest scapegoats to be on the receiving end of His supra-exuberant smiting.
In a blur of savage fury, the hapless nutters were pummelled into a bloody pulp. Decapitated heads span through the air and splattered against stone walls. Blood spurted hither and thither as if ghoulish fountains were being intermittently turned on and off. The deep-crunching resonance of bones being mashed created a symphony of spine-chilling rhythm. The splodgy giblets of the fast-falling lunatics lay everywhere, steaming and twitching on the cobblestones of the asylum's courtyard.
Then suddenly stillness... the maelstrom was over, and Glib stood there, gently rocking from side to side. After a brief moment of eye-blinking contemplation, He yanked the pelt of a grizzly bear from His back and wiped the sticky entrails from His mighty hammer.
Glib Pulverizer, nomad of the wastelands, He's as hard as a concrete slab. If you ever see His fiercesome form, just run for your goddamn life.
Towering at twenty-three feet in height and weighing in at four-hundred pounds, His name is Glib Pulverizer, and He's as hard as a concrete slab. When Glib is hungry He just grabs a sheep with His massive hands and rips out its spine. When He's thirsty He just sucks up puddles. Glib Pulverizer, nomad of the wastelands, if you ever see His fiercesome form, just run for your life.
And so on He marched, felling young trees with His bounding stride. When the burning spires of the asylum came into view, Glib ground to a halt and scratched His wirewool-like beard. His night-blue eyes scanned the scene: escaped lunatics were running riot – some were chasing each other in giddy circles waving flaming torches, giggling like demented goons; others were revelling in frenzied copulation, howling like wild dogs as they gyrated and thrusted; one slathering cretin was attempting to saw off one of his feet with a shard of glass.
Glib sneered, gripped His hammer ever tighter, and behind clenched misshapen teeth chunnered the slogan of His killjoyous fetish:
—'I FLICK MY WRIST AND LAY WASTE TO YOUR INSOLENCE.'
With the utterance of these words, His ogre rush of brutal style commenced.
Poets the world over have waxed lyrical about Glib's stomach-turning ultra-violence – and with good reason. When He thunders into action it's like witnessing a human tidal wave, and the lunatics of the burning asylum were the latest scapegoats to be on the receiving end of His supra-exuberant smiting.
In a blur of savage fury, the hapless nutters were pummelled into a bloody pulp. Decapitated heads span through the air and splattered against stone walls. Blood spurted hither and thither as if ghoulish fountains were being intermittently turned on and off. The deep-crunching resonance of bones being mashed created a symphony of spine-chilling rhythm. The splodgy giblets of the fast-falling lunatics lay everywhere, steaming and twitching on the cobblestones of the asylum's courtyard.
Then suddenly stillness... the maelstrom was over, and Glib stood there, gently rocking from side to side. After a brief moment of eye-blinking contemplation, He yanked the pelt of a grizzly bear from His back and wiped the sticky entrails from His mighty hammer.
Glib Pulverizer, nomad of the wastelands, He's as hard as a concrete slab. If you ever see His fiercesome form, just run for your goddamn life.