The Kremling Horde
05-08-2005, 18:11
The 'Harbour' is actually just a swamp, near the Barrel Bayou, filled with wreckages of formerly sort-of-seagoing ships, rigged down, or, in there rare cases where they aren't, filled with nasty vultures and zingers.
Rats are everywhere, and in between, Kremlings roam, working (Rarely) drinking (Somewhat more often) fighting (regularily) or simply walking around pointlessly (All the time).
Giant teeth, oversized sabers, slow-firing cannons and cannonballs of ridiculous size are omnipresent.
On board of one of the slowly sinking wreckages that had once been ships, on top of a salty lake filled with overly aggressive fish featuring WAY to large teeth, a group of brown, fat Kremlings carrying guns of more or less excessive calibre (How exactly they manage to actually hold the cannons is beyond comprehension) glares at the giant, grey Kremling in front of them, the local boss. "Prepaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare to firrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeee!"
A few shots are fired, too early of course, but that is to be expected, and a few strikes with the ludicrously huge club of the boss teach the wrongdoers some discipline.
As far as Kremlings are aware of the term 'Discipline', that is.
A moment later, far away, a load of barrels is launched, heading straight towards the wreck of a ship the Kremlings are standing on.
"Firrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
The cannons fire, cannonballs heading straight towards the barrels, occasionally hitting. Still, most barrels continue, quickly, coming closer and closer while aggressive fishes are trying to get in their way, taking a bite out of the wood.
"RELOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!"
The process is timeconsuming. First the gunpowder. Then the ramrod.
What follows is the actually cannonb-
And the barrels hit, knocking out most of the Kremlings. The vultures in the rig laugh, so do a few of the smaller, green ones.
Only a fewget through the test unscarred, the big, grey Kremling among them, his giant club taking care of perhaps a dozen of the barrels.
"GOOD! IT WORKS! Kapt'n K. Rool will love it!"
Rats are everywhere, and in between, Kremlings roam, working (Rarely) drinking (Somewhat more often) fighting (regularily) or simply walking around pointlessly (All the time).
Giant teeth, oversized sabers, slow-firing cannons and cannonballs of ridiculous size are omnipresent.
On board of one of the slowly sinking wreckages that had once been ships, on top of a salty lake filled with overly aggressive fish featuring WAY to large teeth, a group of brown, fat Kremlings carrying guns of more or less excessive calibre (How exactly they manage to actually hold the cannons is beyond comprehension) glares at the giant, grey Kremling in front of them, the local boss. "Prepaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare to firrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeee!"
A few shots are fired, too early of course, but that is to be expected, and a few strikes with the ludicrously huge club of the boss teach the wrongdoers some discipline.
As far as Kremlings are aware of the term 'Discipline', that is.
A moment later, far away, a load of barrels is launched, heading straight towards the wreck of a ship the Kremlings are standing on.
"Firrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
The cannons fire, cannonballs heading straight towards the barrels, occasionally hitting. Still, most barrels continue, quickly, coming closer and closer while aggressive fishes are trying to get in their way, taking a bite out of the wood.
"RELOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!"
The process is timeconsuming. First the gunpowder. Then the ramrod.
What follows is the actually cannonb-
And the barrels hit, knocking out most of the Kremlings. The vultures in the rig laugh, so do a few of the smaller, green ones.
Only a fewget through the test unscarred, the big, grey Kremling among them, his giant club taking care of perhaps a dozen of the barrels.
"GOOD! IT WORKS! Kapt'n K. Rool will love it!"