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The Novel!


The Filthy Six A Brief Synopsis

When Ashandra, the evil, yet still cute and cuddly Necromancess put out adverts asking for heroes little did she know what sort of a response she would get. Meet the Filthy Six, Eric, Wielder of the mighty runesword Windbringer. A deadly weapon in the right hands, capable of inspiring fear and flatulence in his enemies. Legless the Elven hero, able to sniff out alcohol from five hundred paces. Arrogant, the human ranger, winner of the best dressed hero award five years on the trot. Waistline and Macaroon, the brothers. One a powerful mage with a really good tan and stomach so big it needs to be carried in a wheelbarrow.  The other a ferocious fighter whose I.Q. is equal to that of his bicep, somewhere around the 56 region. And finally Thongor, all round pervert and prodigious sheep worrier. By fair means or foul this lot are hired to nick the artefact that the side of light thinks it needs to win. At last even incompetence has a hero, or in this case several of them.

A Small Sample Of The Novel


Thongor the Un-masculine 


     The hot sun beat down mercilessly upon the barbarian village. Little clouds of light grey smoke could be seen coming through holes that had been cut into the dirty rooftops of the mud and straw huts. Inside of them the women, scantily clad in little bits of leather and fur, tended the fires and bubbling cooking pots. Outside toothless and senile elders peeled and ground corn in the shade of the buildings. Some drooling and the others talking amongst themselves about the, good old days. Young children chased their mangy pets through the dusty pathways between the huts, which tried to pass themselves off as streets. Whilst the children who were old enough, sparred against those who were stupid enough to teach them the art of the sword, bow and arrow, in a small clearing in the middle of the village. A training session that was punctuated by the occasional scream, followed by the cry of medic.


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            From the eastern edge of the village, a hunting party made up from the rest of the adults trooped in. Bearing thick wooden poles that were carried by two men upon their shoulders. To these, the days catch had been tied. Pigs, calves, even a couple of chickens completed their haul. It was all they had been able to steal before the farmer had set his dogs upon them. Nothing weaker and smaller than themselves was safe from these mighty hunters. As they walked in, they laughed among themselves swapping dirty jokes and telling lies about how brave they had been.

   Ha! You thought that was big? You should have seen the one that was chasing me! It was this big. One of the hunters spread his arms apart indicating something the size of a small elephant.

   The Chief raised his eyes skyward and shook his head. It was a Chihuahua.

   Wasnt. Sniffed the crestfallen hunter. Anyway whatever it was it could have given me a really nasty nip. It had teeth this long. The hunter started to spread his arms apart.

   The Chief sighed and carried on walking without saying a word, after all what was the point? It was like dealing with a group of children. No it was worse than that, at least children did on the odd occasion behave quite well. Especially when they were younger and unable to talk.


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            From the only building built of stone and wood, came the deep ringing tones of metal striking upon metal. Inside, the blacksmith was just adding the finishing touches to a sword. It was his finest work ever, a sword to end all swords. It was the kind of sword that made the masters retire after finishing it. His alone, (or so he thought) was the secret of steel. Rumoured to have been dropped on a battlefield by one of the Gods, (Which when you think about it is just bloody careless, and it makes you wonder what else theyve left lying about,). It had been found by one of his ancestors and ever since then, it had been passed on for generations from Father to Son. This time however the Father was wondering if it was going to be such a good idea. Tonight he would cast a couple of protective spells over it and see if he could get his son interested. 


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But this cute scene of rustic nirvana was about to be ripped apart.


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Beyond the outskirts of the village, hidden away deep in the forest from prying eyes, the raiders gathered. They were a motley crew of desperate men who came in search for the secret of steel, and anything else that they could get their grubby little mitts on. They were more than ready to sweep in and attack the sleepy little hamlet, and if any of them died, so what. That only left more for the living. Three men led them. Two of them obviously brothers. Both had long blonde hair and sea green eyes. The only difference was that one of them sported a large bushy moustache and long flowing beard, and the other was clean-shaven. Well, cleanish. Both also wielded weapons nearly as large as themselves, and neither were small men. They even wore exactly the same brown leather armour. The man they looked to was even bigger than they were. He was dressed in bulky, sinister looking metal armour, with a full-faced serpentine helmet that obscured his facial features. Long black hair poked out from beneath the confines of his helmet to trail down his back. Whilst the yellow pennants with there black snake and sun standard hung limply from their banners in the still air. He like the two brothers sat astride a huge dark war-horse. All three sat still in their saddles, surveying the forces arrayed before them. No speeches were necessary; every man knew what they were here for. The brothers gazed up expectantly at their Commander. He paused, and then signalled to a man behind him, who raised a trumpet to his lips and sounded three loud sharp notes from the horn, all he could manage of the tune before someone threw a rotten spud into its aperture.


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The raiders began moving, at first they were little more than a breeze, but as they gathered speed, the breeze became a wind, the wind a gale, and the gale a storm. The flags and pennants flapping wildly in the breeze, and the horses hooves sounded like the beating of an army of drums. They swept through the village like a tornado, setting fire to the huts and killing all those who stood against them. Some of the men, led by the blacksmith took up position in the village clearing, and began putting up a spirited defence. Managing to kill several of the men and their horses. Seeing this the warrior chieftain summoned several of his archers. A hail of yard long arrows sailed towards the men. Metal heads punched through the wooden shields to strike at he unprotected flesh beneath. It wasnt long before the last man hit the dusty floor, his eyes still open, and his chest pierced by several arrows.


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            On a small green hill some distance away from the village, Thongor gazed up at the sun with his myopic, watery brown eyes. He could hear the raiders attacking the village. The screams of the dying clear even above the worried bleating of the nervous sheep. He shook out his long, lank, greasy, black hair, and stood up. The screaming was beginning to disturb his concentration, little that it was. He began to pick bits of grass, mud, and twig from out of his purple, furry, thong. His hands starting to travel ever closer to his groin. The bleating of the sheep took on an even more worried tone, and several began rolling their eyes in alarm and apprehension. Thongor had looked after them before. With that task finished he began slapping away the dust from his body, spending a lot more time than was strictly needed slapping away the dust from his buttocks. His eyes closed and breathing heavy. The sheep began to calm down. It looked like he was leaving. After he had applied a few more hearty slaps to his rump for good measure and enjoyment, he began to mince down the hill towards the village. He stopped halfway and turned round.

   Ill be back. He shouted at the sheep, and then continued on his way.

The sheep waited until he disappeared over the brow of the hill then legged it in the opposite direction never to be seen again.


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            Eventually Thongor reached the village, and much to his surprise he found that the fighting had been over for some time. He wasnt a coward, just cautious, he assured himself. Most of the huts were already little more than glowing piles of charcoal and ash. Several young men lay dead on the ground in front of him.

   Thongor sighed. What a wath. He lisped to himself.

In the village, he could see men and women, both young and old. They were being led off in chains. And it looked like fun to him, now that he had left his place of hiding, and actually entered the village; several of the horsemen began to close in on him. Swords gripped tightly in their hands, their soot-grimed faces were stern and implacable. Blood and sweat stained armour creaked as it strained to cover bulging muscle.

   Youhoooo! He shouted, then waved at them with a slim, limp wrist. The cerise nails catching the sun. Over here!

The horsemen looked at each other before slowly trotting over towards him somewhat confused, people normally ran in fear.

   Dont you want to capture me and chain me up to? He asked wiggling coquettishly, his hands held outwards in supplication.

   One of the horsemen looked Thongor up and down unbelievingly. Taking into account the way one hand now rested on his hip. And that the other wrist didnt seem quite able to support his hand. Combined with his trim frame that had all the muscle of a jellyfish; it made for a truly pathetic sight.

   Erm no, not really, be on your way.

   What, no thpending yeath of my life grinding up corn on the wheel of pain, and being whipped when I go thlack?

   The horseman looked Thongor up and down again, and was seized by the sudden urge to pound Thongors swelling groin with something large, blunt, and heavy. But after a moments consideration he realized that it was more than likely a very bad idea. This guy would probably enjoy it.

   Erm no.

   No Tree of Woe? No thelling me to thum gladiator training thool, full of great, big, men, with bulging thith and muthleth? No thpending the reth of my life, thruththing mighty weaponth in the ring. Thongor seemed to be quivering from head to foot at the thought.

   Erm definitely not. Replied the horseman. Starting to back away as the swelling became even more pronounced, threatening to burst free from the tight confines of his thong. He glanced around for the support of his companions. But they had already done the decent thing. Grabbed the prisoners and ran.

   Oh pleath, go on, I don't eat muth. Well that depends really. Thongor winked slowly at the horseman.

   Erm, I gotta go, and, erm. The horseman wheeled round and galloped off sweating profusely. Feeling that he had just escaped a fate worse than death.

   Humph! Well! Really! What a bith! He sat down on a large rock, unsure as to what to do next. He supposed he could always strip the dead, and take any valuables that the raiders had left behind then head off for the city, fame and fortune. Well it was an idea. Hmmm that was something he could do, and after all, the dead couldnt say no, or even fight back.


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            Thongor had finally finished rifling the dead after a few days, and he was quite pleased with his haul. Several thick gold torques, and delicate rings bedecked his puny frame and fingers. He only wished that he had been able to find the sword his father had been working on. It would have fetched a fair amount of gold when he went to sell it. Still the dagger he had found would do admirably; at least it was sharp enough to pare his nails with. He also had a couple of days food, several of the chickens caught in the coop had been nicely cooked when the raiders had set the place on fire, at least he assumed it was chicken. And he had a couple of small sacks of grain. There was just one other problem, well two really. How to carry the stuff he had found, and he didnt know where he was going. In all of his life, he had never left the safety of his village. That wasnt strictly true, he hadnt been allowed to leave the village on his own. Which way to go? Now there was a problem, the village hunters normally travelled to the east, so it probably was a safe bet that east wasnt a good idea. West, he would go west. He remembered a phrase his Father had always said. Go west young man. But that in turn left another problem, just which way was west?


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            A day had passed by the time he had started moving, west, east, north, south, he didnt know which way he was going, for the first hour he just simply walked in what seemed like a pleasant direction. It didnt even take his simple mind long to realise that he was walking in circles, Follow your nothe huh! he said to himself, what a fat lot of good that did. What a bloody stupid phrase. It was like a word from the wise, why only one word? You couldnt get much from one word. Fit as a fiddle there was another one, how can anyone be as fit as a fiddle? Or where did your lap go when you stood up? Where does the itch go when you scratch it? But this was getting him absolutely nowhere; in fact for all of his philosophical ponderings all he was getting was an extremely bad headache and he was still lost. What he would do he decided was follow the sun. But then another thought hit him. What happened when it got dark? Still he couldnt sit here all day. So after deciding to stop when it got dark he headed off.


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            Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes into hours and hours into days. Thongor travelled almost single-mindedly in the same direction. Stealing food and worrying the local cattle as he travelled. Farmers would turn out their dogs to chase him off, but they would return. Scratching at the door to be let in, shaking in fear, their tails tucked firmly between their legs, refusing to go out until the rains had washed away Thongors scent. Eventually he came across a small village. On the brow of a hill, he could see a castle. It looked like he could get a decent meal from there. So oblivious of everything he walked up the gravel path. Dodging the triffid's, and avoiding the poisonous plants. Spying the large metal knocker he ignored it and rapped on the door with his fist.


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            Kayvan peered through the spy hole. Through its orifice, he could see the barbarian standing there. A hero, he thought to himself, or a close approximation to one anyway. Although what this one could offer was beyond him. Opening the bolts, he threw open the door.

   Welcome, brave hero. He responded. Please come in, the castles services are at your disposal.

Beaming in delight Thongor looked up at him. Thankth, he replied. And walked in. Got any theep? he asked with a wink.

   Kayvan shut the door behind him. A worried look on his face.



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