Shane Porteous - The Battle of Ebulon - A Shared Anthology

The order was issued by the Orc commander and the hordes began casting their spears towards the three. The sky was almost blackened with projectiles and Alatearame waited with baited breath to see the divine kitchenhands in action. Edamgouda raised his hand towards the heavens and decreed in a voice of immense intensity “By the power of the almighty Pothcroth, supreme God of cookery, I summon the divine bib of guarding!” The clouds parted and an enormous, ethereal bib descended from the heavens. It was large enough to stand before the three divine kitchenhands and stood over 20 feet tall. It glowed with a majestic radiance and was emblazoned with the seal of the almighty Pothcroth, a roast pig complete with an apple in its mouth. The flying spears of the Orcish hordes hit the divine bib of guarding and simply deflected away except for one poorly aimed spear which passed to the side of the bib. Semillion ran to his left to collect the spear and, as it was what was happening with the rest of them, decided that it was a good idea to throw this spear at the bib too. After all, it might feel left out. He cast the spear at the bib and it deflected back and bounced off his saucepan helmet. Semillion stood there looking dazed for a moment and fought to stop himself from crying again.

As the final spear deflected off the divine bib of guarding, Celarius stepped around it and faced off against the hordes, reaching his hand towards the sky and proclaiming “By the power of the almighty Pothcroth, supreme God of cookery, I summon the divine cupcake sprinkles of flaying!” Instantly, a stream of multi-coloured sprinkles began descending from amongst the clouds directly towards Celarius. Just as leading edge of the stream was upon him, Celarius raised his other hand and pointed it towards the assembled masses of Orcs. The stream of sprinkles deflected off his outstretched hand and poured down on the Orcs with all the intensity of hellfire. The multi-coloured stream of cake decorations tore through the Orc’s armour like an arrow through tissue paper and the Orcs in its path were swiftly cut to pieces. Celarius guided the stream across the ranks of Orcs, leaving nothing but devastation and sliced bacon. Seeing their comrades taking this punishment was enough to cause the remaining Orcs to break formation and begin charging towards the three divine kitchenhands. They focused their offensive on Semillion who had not yet participated in the battle in any meaningful way.

Semillion raised his hand towards the sky and began to scream in anticipation. The hordes moved closer and Semillion was still screaming, appearing to take no action to stop them whatsoever. Finally, he called out “Give me the mighty tongs of holding. Please”. Nothing appeared to happen and Semillion was still standing there, hand raised to the heavens with the horde teaming towards him. Somewhat confused, Semillion lowered his hand and turned away from the oncoming Orcs. He looked at his hand as if it were a broken toy, trying to figure out what went wrong. Alatearame began to panic as it was clear that even with the mighty powers of the divine kitchenhands, Semillion was about to get swarmed by the Orcs and the line would buckle. While Semillion was still inspecting his hand, a dark shape came down from the clouds. What appeared to be a giant’s bottle of barbecue sauce landed on top of the oncoming Orcs, crushing them and ending the offensive. Somehow, Semillion had managed to summon the Divine Barbecue Sauce bottle. It was even smokey barbecue, the perfect companion for the pork meat that was the Orcs it had crushed.

The troops of the Ebulonite 7 thbrigade looked over the battlefield in utter amazement. The entire Orcish assault had been quashed in a matter of minutes using nothing more than a bib, cupcake sprinkles and a bottle of smokey barbecue sauce. What WERE these beings? Nemmin joined Alatearame in the lookout post to witness the carnage just as the three divine kitchenhands assembled in a circle. They then crossed their giant cutlery pieces together in the fashion of knights crossing swords and began to chant. “Ham and Bacon and Roast Pork, I want piggy on my fork.” Nemmin turned to Alatearame with an exasperated look on his face “What on earth are they doing now?” The chanting suddenly stopped and the three declared in perfect unity “By the power of the almighty Pothcroth, supreme God of cookery, we summon the skillet of the heavens!” On command, a frying pan almost as large as the outpost itself descended from the sky and came to rest before the three. In a flurry of action, the divine kitchenhands moved to the frying pan and attempted to light a fire under it with which to cook their hard won feast. After several minutes of work, Edamgouda turned back towards the outpost and addressed Alatearame, still standing in the lookout post. “Commander, how can we start a fire on such a frigid and snow covered landscape?”

Alatearame turned to her assembled troops and issues orders for her sappers to assist the divine kitchenhands by lighting a fire under the frying pan. As she turned back, Nemmin addressed his commander “Ma’am, I must confess I am confused. Why are we lighting a fire for them?” Smiling for the first time that day, Alatearame simply said to Nemmin “Well, they saved our bacon back there. So it’s only right that we save theirs.” Nemmin snorted in laughter and proceeded to descend the ladder in order to assist the troops in their efforts. Alatearame issued orders to her remaining troops to assist in gathering the fallen Orcs for the divine kitchenhands.

With the fire now burning under the skillet of the heavens, the divine kitchenhands began preparing the Orcs for cooking, binding their flesh and throwing them into the pan. Semillion stood and raised his hand “I summon the mighty seasoning of salt”. Upon his command, a rain of pepper began to fall into the frying pan. Edamgouda walked up beside Semillion and smacked him in the back of the head with his giant fork. “You idiot Semillion. It’s ruined now. You need to add salt BEFORE you add pepper.” As Semillion began sobbing softly again, Edamgouda turned to the skillet of the heavens and jumped on the handle, launching the half cooked Orcs like a catapult. One of the Ebulonite soldiers turned to Nemmin and said “Gives new meaning to ‘when pigs fly’, don’t it sir?” Nemmin shook his head laughing and walked away. Could this day get any stranger?

With the pan now empty again, the troops started helping the divine kitchenhands to throw the remaining Orcs into the pan. Alatearame had descended from the lookout post to render aid herself when one of her soldiers approached her “Commander, we’ve found the Orc chieftain. He’s badly wounded but still alive.” Reflecting on the earlier battle, she remembered the way the Orcs had slaughtered so many of her best troops. The brutal savagery that had been inflicted on her kingdom by these brutes and with a coldness she rarely felt declared “Throw the bastard in. Let him cook alive.” Overhearing the command, Celarius approached the commander and implored her “That is not right Commander. It is barbaric and uncivilised.” He then pulled a pepper grinder off his belt and handed it to her. “Here. Bash his skull in with this first.”

Meanwhile, Edamgouda walked up to Semillion who had spent the past few minutes preparing but a single Orc. “What ARE you doing Semillion? You’ve been preparing this one Orc for over five minutes now?” A confused look on his face, Semillion looked up at Edamgouda and said “But I really want Crackling. It won’t turn out any good unless you score the skin and rub some salt in. It’s just taking a little longer than I thought it would.” Edamgouda simply shook his head and replied “Well, you could take the armour off first. That might make it a little bit easier Semillion.” This took a minute or two for Semillion to process and as Edamgouda was walking away called out to him “I never would have thought of that. Thanks.”