Thematic: Gorillaz- Three Hearts, Seven Seas, Twelve Moons
It was a towering mountain of crap overlooking a small farmstead in the Noscean fields.  It was rumored the thing had been standing since before the Calamity 5 years ago.  It was rumored that there was a corprolite golem at it's core kept slumbering by applications of fresh dung.  Left sleeping by some mad mage until whatever final coprophagic cataclysm called for it to rise. Maybe guarding some treasure left under it's stinking mount.
None of this was true, of course, but the local farmers liked to screw with city dwellers and predatory merchants. Â Every outlander that went digging in the collective farm-hold's shitpile was another joke they could laugh about over grog that evening. Â
A shared joke they knew would never stop paying out. Good stories don't start with a pile of shit, afterall.
This one does.
This one starts with one of those farmers perched on the edge of their wagon, sipping from a steel flask. Â He was watching something much larger than him dig through the pile of shit. Â In between nips from the flask, he shouted to the thing tunneling into Crap Kingdom.
"Geezer! Remind me again why you thought this was a good idea?"
The thing that looked out of the hole was a mass of rich, blackened loam, and stinking brown. Â Every inch of it's skin was covered in waxed leathers and stained the same shade of regret associated with a night spent on the porcelin throne. Â It's voice was muffled from the mask tied tight around it's mouth but, even with that, it still sounded like stones grinding in a volcano.
"Because y'still owe me for fixin the axel on that cart yer sittin in. Â And for m'booze yer drinkin. Â More importantly because I got princible y'wee shitball. Â "
There was a laugh from the cart as the farmer nodded and took another hit from the flask. "So you keep telling us. Â What's it got to do with getting waist deep in waste then, eh?"
"Because I told someone I'd come back here in a year and pull a stick out of their ass!" Grunted the excremental, who had returned to shoveling.
"Lot of work just to make good on a metaphor I say." Quipped the farmer, starting to sway back and forth as another, longer pull from the flask was taken. Â And then another. Â And another. Â As the filth laden laborer 's shovel hit something in the mines of disgust, the farmer had long since fallen backwards into the hay-filled cart, blessedly unconscious both to both toil and stench.
The lord of shit, however, was pulling something from the hole. Â
The first came easy enough, the sickly earth sucking at the length of gnarled, barbed wood as he pulled. Â It was a long length of wood, with a massive knot on the end. Â Strait as anything. Â It was wiped down with a rag before it was tossed into the cart alongside the unconscious farmer.
The second length of wood took time. Â The earth fought back, resisted. Â There was grunting and bracing as the large, filthy man hauled and pulled to get it free of the noisome, spiteful terra firma. Â Eventually the thing came free and was held up to the sky for inspection. Â Another long length of gnarled wood, filled with barbs and a wide knot on the end. Â This one's handle, as it were, had a complication that revealed why it had refused to come free.
It had been wedged into a pelvic bone that still hung off the edge like an over-tight sheath.
The giant chuckled as he looked at the stick and wiped it down. Â A hammer was produced from a belt-loop and used to crack brittle, forgotten bone. Â The stick was tossed into the cart along with it's twin and the farmer as the king of shit creek hauled himself out of the hole. Â The remains of someone's hips and life were tossed back into the hole as it began to fill and swell with the unstoppable tide of shit from the peak above. Â
It would be gone by morning. Â Not a trace.
Under a bright moon, standing in the shadow of Shit Mountain, Hammersmith removed his mask and plucked a cigar and match from where they'd been left on the wagon. Â A glittering red eye burned up at the sky alongside a bright, red coal as he spoke.
"Never said it was a metaphor, did I?"
It was a towering mountain of crap overlooking a small farmstead in the Noscean fields.  It was rumored the thing had been standing since before the Calamity 5 years ago.  It was rumored that there was a corprolite golem at it's core kept slumbering by applications of fresh dung.  Left sleeping by some mad mage until whatever final coprophagic cataclysm called for it to rise. Maybe guarding some treasure left under it's stinking mount.
None of this was true, of course, but the local farmers liked to screw with city dwellers and predatory merchants. Â Every outlander that went digging in the collective farm-hold's shitpile was another joke they could laugh about over grog that evening. Â
A shared joke they knew would never stop paying out. Good stories don't start with a pile of shit, afterall.
This one does.
This one starts with one of those farmers perched on the edge of their wagon, sipping from a steel flask. Â He was watching something much larger than him dig through the pile of shit. Â In between nips from the flask, he shouted to the thing tunneling into Crap Kingdom.
"Geezer! Remind me again why you thought this was a good idea?"
The thing that looked out of the hole was a mass of rich, blackened loam, and stinking brown. Â Every inch of it's skin was covered in waxed leathers and stained the same shade of regret associated with a night spent on the porcelin throne. Â It's voice was muffled from the mask tied tight around it's mouth but, even with that, it still sounded like stones grinding in a volcano.
"Because y'still owe me for fixin the axel on that cart yer sittin in. Â And for m'booze yer drinkin. Â More importantly because I got princible y'wee shitball. Â "
There was a laugh from the cart as the farmer nodded and took another hit from the flask. "So you keep telling us. Â What's it got to do with getting waist deep in waste then, eh?"
"Because I told someone I'd come back here in a year and pull a stick out of their ass!" Grunted the excremental, who had returned to shoveling.
"Lot of work just to make good on a metaphor I say." Quipped the farmer, starting to sway back and forth as another, longer pull from the flask was taken. Â And then another. Â And another. Â As the filth laden laborer 's shovel hit something in the mines of disgust, the farmer had long since fallen backwards into the hay-filled cart, blessedly unconscious both to both toil and stench.
The lord of shit, however, was pulling something from the hole. Â
The first came easy enough, the sickly earth sucking at the length of gnarled, barbed wood as he pulled. Â It was a long length of wood, with a massive knot on the end. Â Strait as anything. Â It was wiped down with a rag before it was tossed into the cart alongside the unconscious farmer.
The second length of wood took time. Â The earth fought back, resisted. Â There was grunting and bracing as the large, filthy man hauled and pulled to get it free of the noisome, spiteful terra firma. Â Eventually the thing came free and was held up to the sky for inspection. Â Another long length of gnarled wood, filled with barbs and a wide knot on the end. Â This one's handle, as it were, had a complication that revealed why it had refused to come free.
It had been wedged into a pelvic bone that still hung off the edge like an over-tight sheath.
The giant chuckled as he looked at the stick and wiped it down. Â A hammer was produced from a belt-loop and used to crack brittle, forgotten bone. Â The stick was tossed into the cart along with it's twin and the farmer as the king of shit creek hauled himself out of the hole. Â The remains of someone's hips and life were tossed back into the hole as it began to fill and swell with the unstoppable tide of shit from the peak above. Â
It would be gone by morning. Â Not a trace.
Under a bright moon, standing in the shadow of Shit Mountain, Hammersmith removed his mask and plucked a cigar and match from where they'd been left on the wagon. Â A glittering red eye burned up at the sky alongside a bright, red coal as he spoke.
"Never said it was a metaphor, did I?"
![[Image: tumblr_mjwxnlcz6Q1rl52wjo2_500.gif]](https://33.media.tumblr.com/224cfbd6e79103f0520a30eabfc5085d/tumblr_mjwxnlcz6Q1rl52wjo2_500.gif)
