A Builder's Hole

(C) 2005-2150 James Stopard

email=nostalgic@hotmail.co.uk

(First of all, I know the rules state that human-only stories are not allowed, but I believe that my inclusion of a bugbear and a Gryphon is adequate for now. The sex is very subtle, if not non-existent in the first chapter, but the way I am playing it is that people can read the first chapter (4000 words) and then email with their suggestions afterwards. I will write the next chapter with more sex and zoophilia. This is largely based on the Baldur\'s Gate series, but will model a faintly police academy and terry Pratchett weird hybrid. This is a parody of everything. So expect to find references to John Prescott\'s gluttony, or a pontiff with a telescope eyeing up the girls on the faraway shores of Evermeek. The names have been changed, so there is no direct link with Baldur\'s Gate in terms of naming; the story will be modelled in the form of a parody. Be advised that some words may appear out of semantic context in the dialogue. If so, check the meaning in a dictionary that uses archaic registers.)

Scabdel sat by a softly glowing fireplace in the gloom of the Lampstick Inn. He squinted a little as he perused the texts of a dusty, curious tome, which he had procured from a swarthy wayfarer a few days past. The tome was not one of the great, valuable, pornographic works that resided in the renowned library of Lampstick, but an overprinted, run-of-the-mill volume describing the infamous whorehouses of Builder\'s Hole.
(Scabdel was an attractive twenty-year-old man with a smooth and wholesome complexion, and a healthy and exuberant appearance. His countenance was rigid with a constant sardonic fervour, yet he remained fair in manner. At five feet, seven inches tall, and with a weight of about one hundred and thirty pounds, he was only mediocre in strength and stamina, but his size and levity rendered him dexterous and deft with his dagger.)
Lampstick1 was a private citadel situated on a volcanic cliff overlooking the sea at the end of the Way of the Pussy. It was a secluded theatrical-society thirty miles from the nearest settlement, one hundred miles from the city-state of Builder\'s Hole; and it was totally independent of regional law. The Lampstick library housed the most comprehensive collection of erotica and curiosa in all of Feyagony, and it preserved the memoirs of the porn-star Aladdin who had, in a time long gone, called Lampstick home.
A protective ward prohibited entry into the inner rooms of the library to all who did not bear a special dildo-key. In addition, the keep was under the constant effect of an enchantment that made the inhabitants slightly hornier than usual. The library of Lampstick also functioned as an abbey, and the purple-garbed acolytes within, under the supervision of the First Handler, paid great homage to Aladdin and his erotic memoirs. The keep was ruled by Ulraunchy, the Keeper of the Dildo-keys, who was assisted by the First Handler. Eight Great Handlers were governed by these two offices.
As Scabdel scanned the pictograms and pondered the garish illustrations, he began to daydream. He imagined himself in Builder\'s Hole. Well, not exactly, but he felt himself walking through the dusty, gloomy back alleys of the great city. Soon he came to a discreet entrance to a building that had the air of a brothel. With a boyish grin, he entered. There was a dark-skinned woman sat behind the counter, paying careful attention to her fingernails. The woman looked up at him.
\'What dost thou want?\' the woman inquired professionally.
\'Er-\'
\'Would\'st thou care to be anointed?\' she offered.
\'How much?\' he inquired quickly.
\'Ten yeel-\'
Suddenly Scabdel was interrupted from his revery by a tap on the shoulder. He jerked back automatically as he turned and noticed a boy.
\'Uhh, can I help thee?\' Scabdel inquired worriedly.
\'No,\' the boy replied, \'but I have a message for you.\'
Scabdel had hitherto assumed the boy was propositioning him, but now with the misunderstanding resolved, he felt it was acceptable to give a friendly smile.
\'Yes?\' Scabdel inquired.
\'Goliath requests that you make your way to the façade of the library,\' the boy replied. \'He wishes to discuss a matter of great import.\'
\'Tell the old codger that I\'m busy.\'
\'But-\'
\'Go away at once!\'
\'But he said he will be displeasured if I don\'t return with you.\'
\'He was joking, gubbins.\'
\'Uhh-\'
\'Ohh, darn, do you know what it is about?\'
\'I overheard him talking to Methtorrid in the gardens. There was something about a journey, and a rather odd described man called Bellminster.\'
\'Well, I suppose I had better see what this is all about.\'
\'Tip?\'
\'I don\'t have a tip, but would a kick up the arse suffice?\'
The boy frowned and walked away.


Scabdel exited the inn and strolled directly ahead through an archway of the inner wall of the complex. As he walked, he noted and appreciated the beds of fuchsia and lemon flowers on the verge of the footpath. The trail curved around the beige tower, which stood tall and dark with a somewhat perverse air about it. The central turret stood very tall, its pinnacle an azure-hued, pointy cone. As Scabdel made his way to the other side of the library, he noted the stained-glass windows, which depicted various demigods in highly erotic poises.
Goliath stood before the tall, hefty wooden doors at the entrance to the library. He leaned against a mottled, grey staff, clad in a ragged, grey robe, with the poise of a wizened old man. His unpleasing face was obscured by his long white beard, which descended all the way to his hips.
Before the library entrance, there was a stately topiary of various anatomical shapes, and numerous erotic simulacrums, graced in the centre with a fountain, with a centrepiece resembling an upturned phallus. Upon its location, a stream of liquid ascended.
Scabdel climbed the few steps that led to the dais-entrance, where Goliath stood waiting.
\'You summoned me,\' Scabdel said.
\'That I did,\' Goliath agreed in a rank and hazy voice.
\'So?\'
Goliath frowned. He stepped forward, tripped over, and narrowly missed a tumble down the steps. Then he grabbed hold of Scabdel.
\'This is no laughing matter,\' Goliath insisted.
Scabdel laughed.
Goliath frowned again.
\'Uhh, what is it you wish to discuss?\' Scabdel asked worriedly.
\'There is no time for me to expose,\' Goliath began, \'but we must leave the comforts of Lampstick anon. A dangerous foe is abroad. I know this may seem improbable - with the excellent security of the citadel - but a moving target is safer than a stationary one.\'
Scabdel stared at Goliath with a blank expression.
\'What are you talking about?\' Scabdel asked.
\'We have not the time to bandy idle words,\' Goliath said loudly. \'We must leave this place anon. It is no longer safe to abide within these walls.\'
He\'s gone mad, Scabdel thought.
\'I haven\'t gone insane,\' Goliath riposted with a weird grin. \'I received a parchment from a friend, this morning, detailing the enemy\'s next move.\'
Scabdel gasped in shock.
\'Did you just read my mind?\' Scabdel asked. \'What\'ve I told you about reading meh mind, daddy?\'
\'No, no, it\'s \"Uncle\" when we\'re out. Anyway, hark to my voice, child,\' Goliath began. \'I command you to head to your chamber, pack your possessions, and return here in ten minutes. You understand?\'
\'Well, uhh-\'
\'Avaunt!\' Goliath commanded.
Scabdel made his way to his quarters to pack his belongings, which consisted of his mauve vesture, sparkling with silver-glitter embroidery; his under-doublet; a worn ashen walking stick; a spell book; a large dagger; a plush bugbear plaything; a collection of trading cards of his favourite luminaries; and a pouch containing various apothecary items.


Scabdel and Goliath looked back at the citadel as they began their trek along the Way of the Pussy. It was a dark, towering fortress ahead of the backdrop of the moon and the clouds. The twin suns had already disappeared beyond the horizon, but Scabdel and Goliath could still make out the features of the large citadel. Upon the highest turret, a flag blew in the wind and shimmered with a light that could only have been magical. The motif depicted an elfish maiden, her head tilted back and her frock revealing a set of globes, which twisted like vortexes.
They continued along the track for a few minutes. The trees that overhung the footpath seemed to be watching them with ominous interest. A light wind brushed over the patches of ferns at the verge of the path. Leaves rustled and scratched on the ground. Branches swayed in the intermittent breeze; though Scabdel thought there was something sinister about the frequency and pattern of the sudden bursts of wind. Every time a gust of wind hit him, he quickly glanced around, expecting to see malevolent creatures poised to kill. He saw nothing.
\'We must enter the cover of the woodland, I feel,\' Goliath suggested.
\'Who is this foe you speak of?\' Scabdel asked.
\'All will be exposed when there\'s time,\' Goliath insisted with a cheeky wink. \'The gloom of the night can only get worse, so we must find refuge.\'
Goliath touched Scabdel on the shoulder and the young protégé began to glow blue. A surge of white energy, with twisting boughs, climbed up him like the coiling stems of a wild plant. The whiteness fused with the striking blue, and soon the glow dissipated.
\'This will protect you from any nasties we may meet tonight,\' Goliath declared. \'If we become separated, it is imperative that you head to the Friendly Balm Inn. There you will meet Perseus and Medusa. They are good friends of mine and you can trust them.\'
They entered the gloomy woodland at the left side of the path, heading through a creepy looking archway in the crowd of trees. Goliath took out a small device and held it in the air. A small arrow within the device began to spin around; as the arrow slowed, it started to glow red.
\'Is that a compass?\' Scabdel inquired.
\'No,\' Goliath began. \'It points to the direction of a location of my desire. In this case, the Friendly Balm Inn.\'
\'How does it function?\'
\'Well,\' Goliath began, with a slight raise of his eyebrows, \'some structures along the Bored Coast - notably less reputable ones - have beacons, and this apparatus can be configured to point to them.\'
\'Less reputable?\' Scabdel posed. \'Oh, now I understand: Friendly Balm Inn, indeed.\' He shook his head.
\'Oh, don\'t be shy,\' Goliath started. \'You\'ll be up to your ears in voluptuous, exotic elfs with twin-melon bosoms in no time.\'
Presently Scabdel grinned worriedly. They followed the direction of the homing device for a few miles, and soon came to a large clearing.
Scabdel was shocked to see a dark figure standing scarcely illuminated by the gleam of the dusk-twilight, at the far edge of the glade, ahead of a forbidding aperture to a gloomy copse.
Goliath, with his heightened visual acuity, easily espied the dress of the figure. It wore a black jacket with white breeches and black stockings, and a black athelion1 adorned with a lavender crest. Where its eyes should have been, two slightly transparent pink orbs sat and gawked menacingly at Goliath and his protégé.
Goliath was more taken aback by the outlandish, ridiculous garb of the figure, than he was concerned about the phosphorescing globes in its eye sockets.
\'Thou know\'st why I have come, Goliath,\' the dark figure stated. \'Surrender thy charge.\'
\'Surrender my charge?\' Goliath repeated. \'Are you totally insane?\'
\'Yes,\' the dark figure admitted.
\'Oh-\'
Suddenly, and miraculously, two ogres came out from nowhere and took position alongside the dark figure. Goliath glanced at Scabdel and arched an eyebrow.
\'Surrender him,\' the dark figure commanded.
\'No,\' Goliath said.
\'Then I shall kill thee.\'
Goliath let out a weird chuckle as he raised his hands and pointed them at the two ogres. A loud sizzling sound accompanied a quick pop and then two bolts of energy, colourless and rippling, whizzed unerringly toward the ogres.
Nothing seemed to happen.
\'Oh bugger,\' Goliath exclaimed.
The dark figure let out a snigger.
Suddenly a deep, bubbling, rumbling sound - suggestive of imminent, uncontrollable diarrhoea - came from the ogre on the dark figure\'s right flank. Goliath had in fact mistakenly cast Dimpleflab \'s Diarrhoea Disaster.
\'Oww, meh tummy feels a wee bit loose,\' said the right flank ogre in a thick Scottish accent. The ogre, rather abruptly, made another deep, rumbling sound, this time louder and more disgusting. \'Ohh, noo, I\'m gonna haf to take a crap pretty soon,\' said the right flank ogre, with a stretched grimace.
Goliath stared at the ogre with a blank expression. He was more amazed at the ogre\'s accent, than he was astonished by the mishap of the spell he had cast. Bloody northerners, he said inwardly.
The first ogre contorted his lips and looked around the glade with interest. Soon, the other ogre started to make rumbling noises in unison. The two ogres grunted in distress and quickly staggered out of the glade. Soon, from a distance, the company heard bubbling noises redolent of watery bowl movements, and deep exclaims of relief.
The dark figure brandished a lengthy sword and darted forth with a twisted glower. Scabdel saw two eyes glinting in the darkness of the thicket directly in front of him. Suddenly an arrow whizzed passed Goliath\'s head.
\'Whoops,\' a chubby, impish figure whispered, from the bushes.
Goliath spread his legs and flourished his staff. A loud crack preceded a flash of white light, which was followed by the appearance of a dazzling cylindrical shield. As the dark figure came closer, Goliath discharged five glowing red balls.
The dark figure crashed to the ground as the balls struck him. Then he quickly got up and regained his balance, clearly not affected by the weapons being used.
Goliath threw the locating device at Scabdel.
\'Bear yourself hence, child; flee!\' Goliath shouted.
Without so much as a fleeting thought of objection, Scabdel - in a great feat of bravery - scampered away.
Goliath raised his staff menacingly at the approaching dark figure.
\'Tremere!\' Goliath shouted with an insane quiver in his voice.
Goliath\'s insane incantation shook the ground. There was a sudden rumble and then a crack appeared under the dark figure. The fissure increased in size and the dark figure lost his footing. The dark figure fell into the deep gloom of the gaping crack. Unfortunately, Goliath also lost his footing and fell into the darkness with a holler of panic-


Goliath fell about a fifth of a mile down the narrow crack and came soon to an opening to a great chamber in the earth, and fell another furlong before he landed in warm water. He swam frantically heading for an island about two fifths of a mile away. He soon came to the shore, exhausted, and climbed up onto the plateau.
Upon the bleak plateau in the midst of a vast underground ocean, a great tower, dark and sleek, stood before him. Truly impressive it was, and it climbed aloft to the ceiling. A vast stairwell coiled up the tower like the vines of a mandrake. A great orb of light gleamed, across the sea, about half a mile from where he had landed.
Goliath\'s enemy was nowhere to be seen, but he noticed, looming in the distance, a birdlike figure. As it approached him, he recognised its dichotomous form. It had the likeness of a lion and an eagle.
Goliath quickly brandished his sword. Boner was its name and an enigmatic elf princess, visiting the library of Lampstick, had long ago bestowed it upon him.
The great beast landed upon the plateau quite close to where Goliath was standing. As it approached him, Goliath quickly parted the folds of his robe, and with a prurient cackle, revealed his naked body. The beast quailed in shock and disgust and began for the spiral stairwell. It quickly made its way up the tower, quivering in panic. Goliath followed the great bird up the stairs. He gripped his Boner tightly in his hands and flourished it forth-


Scabdel ran as fast as he could through the narrow gaps of the huddled trees of the wood north of the Way of the Pussy. He ran for five long minutes and then stopped at some unknown location, and rested against a tree. He panted to regain the rhythm of his breathing, but soon crouched and sat back against the trunk in exhaustion.
Presently a great spark of light flashed in the distance, and soon after, he heard the deep roars of thunder, which sounded akin to rumbling dins of holy dissent. More zigzag streaks of light flashed in the distance; and here and there, like voices in unison, great dins of thunder roared and cracked. Great whips of light thrashed at the hills and the mountains anigh him.
Scabdel fell asleep. He dreamed that night of strange, fell voices in the distance. He sensed, by some queer onset of clairvoyance, a terrible cry of pain from some monstrous animal. A vivid image flashed before him now and he espied a hideous form upon a tower. A second form stood before the monster; though smaller; but seemingly more menacing. It wielded a great brand; which glowed continually in a mystical light.
The second form veered around and brought about its weapon at a ferocious speed, through some adroit tactic; and then drove it into the heart of the monster.


Scabdel awoke sometime after the dawn twilight had passed. He soon became perturbed like some moth or fly caught in a web, when he noticed vines coiled around him. Quickly it occurred to him that his garb had been torn. \'Oh, darn,\' he cried. \'My gay vesture!\' Some wild plant had set its will against him in the night. Now he writhed and struggled in an effort to break free. But, as he realised that his efforts were in vain, he began to despair. In a strange lament, whilst strumming a bizarre melody on his lyre, he began to talk to himself in a bewildered soliloquy.

O what sorrow abides now in me
As forced I am to lie here and see,
In garment so badly rent and grazed,
These dark and terrible vines so crazed.

Suddenly he was interrupted by a disconcerting noise in the distance. A chubby1 young girl dressed in a too-tight-corset - about twenty odd years old - came waddling along a narrow path in the leaf mould. She quickly approached his position, flapping her hands above her head, her excessive body mass almost cascading out from her garments.
\'Cooey!\' she shouted, with all the decorum of a drowning feline.
Scabdel scrunched his eyelids automatically and grimaced at the loud noise. Quickly he noticed his stepsister standing before him. Ohh darn, just my luck, he mused inwardly.
\'Heya,\' she said with undue enthusiasm, \'it\'s me, Imodium.\'
\'I may be stuck in the vines of a malevolent, but lethargic perennial,\' he stated reproachfully, \'but I\'m still in possession of my visual faculties.\'
Imodium pulled a cruel looking dagger of an unusually large size from her belt. The blade glinted in the starlight and Imodium adopted a rather worrying grin. Scabdel recoiled worriedly. Presently Imodium began cutting at the vines.
\'I\'ll have you free in no time,\' she said with a distinct Bristol accent.
Soon when Scabdel was extricated from the vines, they both began ambling along the path in the leaf mould.
\'How did you manage to sneak out this time?\' Scabdel asked sagely.
\'I gave the Gatewarden a blowjob,\' she said.
\'Aghh,\' he grunted with a reproachful look. \'It would seem, now then, that Lampstick is about as secure as a lone hamburger in Prescott\'s vicinity.\'
\'So,\' she began, \'where\'re we going?\'
\'My vesture is torn,\' he said. \'I\'ll feel I must get a new one from the citadel.\'
\'Don\'t be daft, you bender,\' she shouted. \'There\'s no way we\'re getting back in there; not unless you happen to have any rare and unusual pornographic artefacts for sale.\'
\'Oh, of course,\' he said sarcastically, \'I just know I have a hefty tome of the pornographic kind, in my vesture, somewhere.\'
\'It was only by Goliath\'s influence that we were able to abide in that place.\'
\'He has fallen,\' Scabdel said with a forlorn face.
\'I know; I saw the whole thing. Good riddance to him I say. But I found his staff by the fissure.\' She handed it to him.
Scabdel arched an eyebrow.
Presently he rummaged through his pockets. Quickly he pulled out the homing device, which had been given to him by Goliath. He gazed at the phosphorescing red arrow as it spun amiss.
\'Well,\' he said, \'this device doesn\'t seem to want to work properly. I guess we\'ll just have to follow the path and see where it leads.\'
Soon they found their way back to the path of the Way of the Pussy and set off along the track, heading to no particular location. Scabdel scampered in a fey manner with the odd skip ever and anon, and Imodium sort of toddled along the road like a pig in a hurry, her big flabby bingo wings flapping as she trotted.
For a full hour they traversed the picturesque woodland with all the whimsicality you\'d expect to find in a Disney movie. Soon Scabdel\'s evil plush bugbear - eyes glowing red - become bored and, in a voice like a balloon being rubbed against a window and a talon being scuffed along a wooden board, decided to recite a short poem.

There was an old man with a crisis,
In whom dames would cause arthritis.
His tool was oft at unrest,
Which frequently made him distressed.
That lecherous old man with a crisis.

\'Please be quiet,\' Scabdel said sagely. \'You\'re not a real bugbear; you\'re an artificial bugbear. Artificial bugbears - especially those made of velvet - are not supposed to talk.\'
\'Eat my fluffy testicles,\' it said grimly.
Little did Scabdel know that the undead curio - for it could be described as animate in no other way - was far more diabolical than was apparent on the surface. He had considered it evil in a whimsical way, but not capable of any appreciable bale. However, the context of the little terror\'s origin was in fact shockingly depraved.
It was a time long ago in the southern lands of Tether, when the famous playwright Fakeseer - a malapert gentry-man with a penchant for political conspiracy - was in the state of the highest perfection of his career, having just marginally avoided being lynched by an angry proletariate in their successful egalitarian uprising against the bad, bad monarchs. After a successful escape to the nearby state of Spam - a land where devious magic-wielders are frowned upon but educated playwrights are welcomed - Fakeseer had settled down, in a sylvan hamlet south of the City of Grimmer, known as Laketarn upon a Hillock, and had become well known to the natives, to the severe displeasure of an already established celebrity in the area.
Now as Fakeseer\'s fame grew - thanks to his popular literary style involving incessant debauchery and sexual innuendo, the already established luminary became angry and plotted to have Fakeseer killed. After a few unsuccessful attempts - partly due to Fakeseer\'s extremely high luck modifier and partly due to the fact that the majority of mercenaries in Feyagony are a bunch of baboons who couldn\'t writhe their way out of a wicker casket if their lives depended on it - Fakeseer\'s rival knew he would have to plan something more insidious than mere assassination.
After his publisher refused to print his eight seventh play \'The Merchant of Marvellous Acumen\', Fakeseer journeyed to the renowned library, Lampstick, in the northern lands of the Bored Coast, after being assured that the pornographers who resided there, would be only too happy to purchase such a rare and curious opus. Little did the lucky but carefree young fellow know that a silent and deft spy would be following him all the way there. Shocked at the Gatewarden\'s demand of a tome of no less than ten gil1 in value, Fakeseer was quite lucky to persuade them to allow him to pay with cash, instead of pornographic literature. His one thousand yeel (ten gil) bought him about three days of library perusal. He thought that that was a blatantly excessive charge, and he was obviously very annoyed that he had only a few days to examine the famous porn stores, and debauch the exotic demireps.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, Fakeseer left the citadel after three days of incessant debauchery and after having sold his manuscript for double the entry fee. The spy remained, however, and as the opportunity arose stole into the playwright\'s room in the tavern, and rather shockingly, nicked a stray hair from the used bed pillow. Yes, that\'s right, a hair. And, yes, they were going to make a voodoo doll.
Whereupon the stealthy mercenary arrived back at the City of Grimmer down in the lands of Spam, Fakeseer\'s rival began to construct the voodoo doll. It was difficult to find a good quality doll that would serve the arcane requirements, but eventually the rival came upon a rare artefacts merchant who seemed more than happy to be rid of the only doll in his possession - a velvety bugbear. By some horrible twist of fate the doll the rival bought was a sort of curst curio, which had had a long history of being handed down from owner to owner, never staying in one person\'s possession for any appreciable length of time. This may have been due to its unsettling black velvety look, or the strange feelings people tended to have when it was near them, or perhaps just the fact that it talked.
Fakeseer\'s rival succeeded in imbuing the doll with voodoo properties, and thereafter ordered his mercenary to abide at the Citadel of Renown and wait for the return of the carefree young playwright. And soon enough Fakeseer came back to the Citadel of Renown, as one might expect. He just couldn\'t wait to get back to those exotic demireps, you see. His next play was called \'As She Liked It\' and he was quite looking forward to the high price he would get from those balmy dealers. So when he got there and eventually retired to his lodgings at the inn, the furtive mercenary got himself put in the opposite room. He would have to be near to the victim, for the doll to work, you see. The merc took out his large dagger and attempted to brutally plunge it into the very heart of the doll. He missed. Yes, that\'s right, he missed. That was very strange, as it was highly implausible and ludicrous that he would fail to stick the knife in. What he didn\'t know, was that Fakeseer\'s uncannily high d&d luck modifier score had a very large part to play in the circumstance. In that very moment when he slipped and missed, the doll leapt to life and stuck its sharp teeth in to the man\'s jugular flesh. And when the doll bit and pulled away, a spray of claret painted the walls in a diabolical pattern. The merc grimaced in his fell throes, and wailed sonorously in a bewildered dying scene.
How the doll made its way into Scabdel\'s possession, is anyone\'s guess, but it probably had something to with the menial and unbecoming cleaning duties.

End of chapter I.