The Trials and Tribulations of Sir Samuel Sultana (standard:humor, 2514 words)
Author: Dani	Added: Dec 11 2000	Views/Reads: 4198/2407	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Random snippets from a book I hope to piece together one day. Humour-Adventure-Fantasy. Sir Samuel is on a quest, but how will the forces of evil overcome his idiocy?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


Throwing himself unceremoniously onto a barstool and struggling to
maintain an uninterested expression on his face, he nodded his head at 
the bartender, who could only be described as big and hairy, and 
clicked his fingers. 

The bartender raised an eyebrow at Sultana then shrugged and loped over
in a halfhearted fashion. "W'lcome to The Liberated Carrot, sir. How 
can I help ye?" His accent was thick with...something. Sultana couldn't 
place it. Probably a side effect of too much ale. 

"I'd like your strongest ale, bartender!" Sultana said in his
well-rehearsed loud and commanding voice. 

The bartender nodded, "Comin’ right up." Turning his back on carrot, he
picked up a stein and filled it with ale from one of the many vats that 
lined the back wall. Dropping it on the counter in front of Sultana he 
said, "That'll be ten gold pieces." 

"Ten gold pieces? Are you out of your mind??" Sultana spluttered and
began to push the ale away. 

" 's a reasonable price. Firstly, we're the only inn around for at least
forty miles, like. Secondly, this is like one of them fancy memorial 
pubs, see? When you come 'ere, you get a memorial stein wif yer drink." 
His pudgy hand pointed to the stein. 

"Geez, what a load of..." He sighed and shrugged.  One could always do
with a memorial stein with the picture of a mean looking carrot on the 
front. He threw the money on the counter and took a swig of his ale. At 
least it was good ale. "So, what's so memorable about this place, 
anyway?" He asked, adding, "Other than the name." 

A farmer lept from his stool beside him, "It's all about the name,
sonny! Those carrots are liberated because of our heroic grandfathers!" 
He raised his arms as the surrounding farmers cheered and nodded. 

"Err..." Sultana contemplated walking the extra forty miles for his next
ale. 

"Back when my granddaddy, Elma was his name, were young we was horribly
overrun by rabbits! And not by your usual cute bunnies but by annoying, 
self-centered, and so-called smart rabbits! Popping up all over the 
place, spouting crazy words at us. No matter how many times they were 
told how far away from Albuquerque they were, they never listened." A 
roar rose in the crowded little inn. "All the while they had us 
distracted with their so called conversations, they was really stealing 
'n' smuggling our carrots. 

“So our granddaddies put a stop to it once 'n' for all." The farmer
cackled and raised a funny looking, metal tube in the air. Farmers 
around him suddenly did the same. "Them rabbits never knew what hit 
them! Our granddaddies made super deluxe peashooters filled with little 
balls of steel, melted down from old farming tools! BAM! Down went the 
rabbits in explosions of blood and dirt! Cooked 'em up for tea too, I 
hears." The man's eyes fairly danced about with the excitement of the 
pain the rabbits must have gone through. "We liberated our carrots but 
we've had our eyes out for them pesky bunnies ever since." The man 
leaned close to Sultana to get a better look. 

Sultana raised his hands and leaned away, "Hey, I'm not a bunny, I'm a
Sultana! Plump and juicy but definitely not very filling." The farmers 
relaxed, shrugged and went back to drinking their ales. Even the farmer 
beside him was leaning over his stein again, as if nothing had ever 
happened. Sultana blinked and downed the rest of his ale. One was 
definitely enough. More than enough. 

Or not... 

****** 

Sultana staggered drunkenly into the forest, his toes dragging as they
refused to leave the safety of the rough, patchy grass.  His eyes were 
bleary and he blinked and squinted, trying to focus on the trees that 
he dodged and weaved through precariously. 

“Oooooh, the loooong rooad home....oops!  hehe.  That, I believe, was a
log...ooooh, the loong roooooad 
home....isreallylong...wheeereonearthamI?”  Sultana sang and slurred as 
he stumbled about in the darkness of the forest. 

The sound of tiny snickers caused him to pause briefly.  “Damned
carrots.”  He muttered as he looked about, shrugged and continued on 
his merry way.  “Thrrrr out of c’ntrol since thrrr libratsh-sh-shun.” 

The snickers followed him, floating from the trees.  Sultana shrugged
off any concerns; he was drunk, after all.  Super senses were not an 
issue here. 

THOK.  The sound barely registered in his mind before he felt an intense
stinging in his posterior and a tingling in his spine. 

Sultana grabbed his butt and balanced precariously as his leg suddenly
flew sideways at the speed of light and shook about uncontrollably as 
if it were trying to break free. Executing a perfect pirouette, he 
screamed "Ayayayayeeeee!" at the top of his lungs and hit the ground, 
dainty as a hippo on ice. 

Suddenly, he was feeling sober.  Very, very sober.  Damn. 

"Mmph." He could feel the grass intruding and tickling the caverns of
his mouth and nose and yet he couldn't seem to move. "Uuunnnnnnngh!" 
Nope, nothing. "Rrrrrrrrggggggnn." Bah! 

"Ahahahahahaha" Insane, tiny cackles interrupted his weak attempts at
movement and tiny feet padded up his spine. Two little bottoms fell 
heavily onto his shoulders and little legs kicked back and forth like 
children on chairs too tall. "What's going on?" Sultana demanded, his 
words muffled by the clumps of grass gathering between his teeth. 

The little man on his left shoulder dismounted and he heard what could
only be identified as a match being struck against its box but in 
smaller proportion and then the scent of tobacco mingled with that of 
soil and grass. Tiny but strong, and none-too-gentle, hands pulled at 
his chin and he came eye to eye with a red goblin, a dark glint in its 
eyes and the tiniest cigarette Sultana had ever seen pressed between 
its thin lips. Clad in black leather pants and shirt, one ear pierced 
and his fire-engine red hair spiked, the goblin looked nothing short of 
ridiculous. 

The goblin took a long drawn puff of its cigarette and carelessly blew
the smoke into Sultana's face. Tapping the ash on Sultana's nose, he 
looked at him with a bored expression. Taking another deep puff he 
said, "You," quick exhale, "have been goosed by the Gobbles." 

"Say what??" Again Sultana tried to move but simply couldn't. The other
goblin sensed this and gave his ear a good kick. "Naughty little -" 

"Oi! We aren't naughty, merely of the...cheeky persuasion,
thankyouverymuchindeedy. And you'll be good to mind your manners and 
pay attention when my brother Gobbles is talking to you!" With a little 
thud, he too landed before Sultana, tiny cigarette stuck behind his 
pointy ear and arms crossed in a threatening manner. He, too, was 
dressed in black leather and was desperately attempting to copy his 
brother's attitude. 

"Like I have much choice." Sultana muttered under his breath. 

The first goblin flicked his cigarette butt expertly to the ground
beside him and trod on it purposefully. "Allow me to introduce us. We 
are Snotty and Flemmy Gobbles, and you have been goosed." 

"Goosed?" 

"Darted in the arse, mate. Good central spot for temporary paralysis to
set in. Spreads up and down the body like wild fire." The goblin 
grinned and waggled his eyebrows. 

"Goosed." Sultana grumbled. "Don't you little people wait until we sleep
and then tie us down with old bootlaces or something?" 

"Tried that once. The guy escaped. They just don't make bootlaces like
they used to." Flemmy shook his head sadly then looked at Sultana and 
cackled. "This is far more entertaining than bootlaces. I've never 
laughed so hard in my life, watching you dance around on one leg with 
all the dignity of a naked elephant." 

"I thought elephants were always -" 

"Oh, do shut up. Obviously that stuff hasn't reached your tongue yet."
The goblin checked his watch. 

"But I... KRCHT!" Sultana's eyes bulged as he felt as though he were
choking on his own tongue. Snotty laughed, his mirthless eyes filling 
with something that resembled glee. 

"Cracks me up when that happens." 

****** 

Zanarg sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. Yet another so-called hero
battling his way to their lair of Zanarg. 

Fools. 

They should know better by now, and it was really becoming SO tiresome
for Zanarg, evil sorcerer and potential world leader. "Aha, Zanarg, I 
have you now!" ...turn to stone... "Your ass is mine, Zanarg!" ...turn 
into a frog... "Finally, Zanarg, you are looking defeat in the eye." 
...sizzle with lightening from fingertips (truly a good effect, very 
emasculating). 

These days he preferred to simply dispatch of them by giving orders to
one of his many loyal henchmen. The whole thing bored him terribly. If 
only people would stop trying to kill him and see how difficult his 
life was already. He had people to personally torture, henchmen's 
families to provide for and an entire world to take over. If the 
so-called heroes would just leave him be, life would be a lot simpler 
for him and everyone. 

But for now, everyday was a bad day at the office for Zanarg. 

Turning away from his Pool Of Vision, he picked up the jewel encrusted
tin can on his stately, wooden desk, which by the way was stacked so 
high with paperwork that he couldn't see himself finding the time to 
make anyone's Christmas miserable this year. 

Zanarg gave the can a tug so that the string attached to the closed end
of it became taught and a bell could be heard tinkling in the next 
room. Holding it to his ear, Zanarg waited. "Yes sir?" 

"Bob, I need you to go out and make a quick slaughtering of Sir Samuel
Sultana. He's in the Geross Woods." He commanded into the tin, then 
shifted it quickly back to his ear. He hoped one day they'd devise a 
can that had an earpiece and speaker. 

"But, sir...little Timmy is sick, chicken pox we think so you can
imagine how miserable he is. I was about to go home and look after 
him....oh, don't worry. I'll take care of it." 

"No no. You go home, Bob. Timmy needs his dad and I'd feel frightfully
guilty if I kept you away." Zanarg rushed. 

"Thanks, boss. That's a big help." Bob sounded relieved. It was good to
be a henchman of Zanarg. 

"Just do me a favour and quickly ring Phil's can for me, will you? Tell
him I need Sultana killed A.S.A.P. Give him tomorrow off, too." Zanarg 
scribbled signatures onto papers while he talked. "Oh, and give that 
little tyke a hug from Uncle Zanarg, will you?" 

"No worries, boss." 

Zanarg put the can back on his desk and sighed, tapping his fingers
restlessly on the surface of his desk. He spun in his chair and gazed 
into the Pool Of Vision. Sultana appeared to be progressing fast. Best 
slow him down until someone finally got there to dispatch of him. 

Zanarg thought carefully then gave a sudden hoot of laughter. "I know
just the thing." He rubbed his hands together and then circled a finger 
in the water, chanting some magic incantations. 

***** 


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