*You will fi nd previous installments of the Four Horsemen series online at http://forum.blacklibrary.com/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=9105
to furrow his green brow over a crinkled note.
‘Fur “an equal share in all assets sequestered from the weak-gened Eldar”,’ he read carefully.
‘Employed? What?’ Azaena was getting increasingly agitated. ‘By whom?’
The Nob hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Morg. ‘’Im.’
‘But…you can’t!’ Azaena protested to the Chaos Warrior.
Morg gurgled with satisfaction. ‘Now you feel the cold chill of defeat creeping up your fl imsy spine,’ he said. ‘The treachery of Chaos knows no bounds.’
‘You can’t do this!’ Azaena continued. ‘It’s totally against the rules!’
‘Pah – rules are for the weak! I am the embodiment of Chaos!’
‘And what do you mean by “an equal share of all assets”? What assets?’ he demanded of the Nob.
‘Treshur an ‘at,’ said Gusha vaguely.
‘Treasure? What treasure?’
‘Alla preshus metals an’ stuff them tanks is made outta,’ the Nob clarifi ed, busy with a Squiggoth in each hand.
‘Precious…what? What are you talking about,
you green fool?’ Azaena’s
voice was climbing to a hysterical pitch. ‘What treasure? This is a toy army!’
Gusha was unmoved. ‘I reckons ‘em shiny bits is gold or summink,’
he stated with some authority.
‘Gusha, these are plastic models – there is no treasure!’
Morg was giggling maliciously. ‘There is no escaping the jaws of my trap, bleating he-she,’ he said.
‘Prepare to meet an ignoble end.’
‘Hink!’ Azaena cried in desperation. ‘Tell him!
Tell him you can’t...Hink?’
The Guardsman was sheepishly putting down a line of basilisks behind Gusha’s cluttered hordes. ‘Sorry, Azaena,’ he said, his face crimson.
The Warlock gasped dramatically and clutched his heart through his tunic. ‘Et tu, Brutus,’ he hissed.
‘I gave the human a fair choice,’ Morg said by way of explanation. ‘He could relinquish either the use of his army…or his legs.’
‘You monster!’ Azaena spat at the gloating Warrior.
‘Flattery will not save you,’ Morg chastised. ‘My victory is mere moments away. I only lament that my genetic superiority forces me to discern the irritating pitch to which your voice has climbed.’
‘You’re cheating! I won’t play!’ declared the Warlock, crossing his arms defi antly.
‘Then I win!’ roared Morg. ‘Chaos is triumphant!’
‘You don’t win, you armoured clod – I’ve abandoned the game!’
Morg raised his fi sts in victory. ‘Another tribute for the skull throne!’ he boomed.
‘Does that bucket on your head interfere with your hearing?’ the Warlock snapped. ‘I just said…’
‘Enough woman’s shrieking,’ interrupted Morg.
‘You have fled the battlefield in disgrace, Fiction: Four Horsemen Amateur Night
leaving only the stench of your fear. Incidentally, I fi nd that more palatable than your effeminate perfume.’
‘’As we won, then?’ Gusha wanted to know, having lost the thread of the conversation immediately after the word lament.
‘The transvestites have been vanquished,’
confi rmed Morg, resting a heavy gauntlet on the Ork’s shoulder. ‘You may claim your prize, faithful dog.’
‘Magic,’ said Gusha. He surveyed the Eldar forces with wiggling fingers, not unlike a glutton selecting from a box of chocolates. At length, he plucked up a model from
the table and popped it in his mouth, crunching noisily.
‘Hey, that’s my Farseer,’ objected Azaena. ‘It took me ages to paint that!’
At that moment, a grinning umpire in a Games Workshop t-shirt appeared.
‘Wow – there’s a lot happening here, guys,’
he said, surveying the cluttered table. ‘Love the costumes, by the way.’
‘Oh, thank Kaine – an offi cial,’ Azaena gushed, clasping the man’s arm.
‘Morg here is cheating.
He has enlisted another two armies to get him out
of the hole he dug with his clumsy leadership.’
‘Okay,’ said the umpire. ‘It is kind of unusual to have four different armies on the table at the same time.’
He frowned. ‘Is…is that tomato ketchup?’
‘Tell him,’ urged Azaena, pushing the confused employee towards Morg. ‘Tell him he isn’t allowed to do that.’
The umpire looked up at the hulking Warrior and swallowed. ‘Well, it isn’t so much that he’s not allowed,’ he said, beginning to sweat.
‘Just that it’s…erm…unusual. 40K was originally designed for two opposing players, after all.’
‘Your tiny squeaking words have no power over Chaos,’ growled Morg, rudely shoving the offi cial aside. ‘Attempt to foil me and I shall smash your stupid bearded face.’
The umpire laughed in a slightly desperate manner, slick with sweat. ‘Ha ha - that’s great, guys. I love how you stay in character. I just have to, uh, go over here.’
Hink watched him hurry away with trepidation.
‘This is going to get ugly,’ he said, reaching for his fl ak helmet.
Fiction: Four Horsemen Amateur Night
‘Trust Morg to ruin everything,’ snapped Azaena, hands on his hips. ‘I just knew this would be trouble, Hink – I told you inviting him would end in disaster. It’s always the same.’
‘I just thought it would be a good way to meet new people,’ Hink said forlornly. ‘Some new players, you know? Amateur night sounded perfect.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Azaena sighed.
‘Between Morg’s condiment fetish and having to explain the rules to Gusha again every round, I’m surprised we’ve stuck it this long. Where is Morg, by the way?’
The youngster with the Chaos Undivided symbol on his t-shirt was busy fi ltering out any dice below a four when a vast armoured shadow fell over his table.
‘What folly is this?’ grunted Morg, staring down at the tiny boy. ‘Your army seems to consist only of peons with sticks. Where are your marines?’
‘Marines?’ the kid echoed. ‘These are Mordor Orcs, mister.’
‘Orcs.’ Morg pondered this. ‘A mercenary force, then. Good. I approve of your annexation.’
He scanned the other side of the table, where a pallid ginger-headed boy was nervously eyeing the gigantic marine, then leaned low over his adopted charge to exclude the other from their conversation.
‘Tiny acolyte,’ he muttered, ‘have you not noticed that your foes are all weak humans riding fl esh mounts? You should be lathered in the gore of victory by now!’
‘They’re Riders of Rohan,’ the kid pointed out.
‘They’ll run right over me if I attack.’
‘They are dung-stained farmers,’ scoffed Morg.
‘A single tank would crush them to jelly.’
‘I can’t have a tank,’ the kid said. ‘We’re playing Lord of the Rings.’
‘It matters not,’ the Chaos Warrior blustered, slamming down two Land Raiders on the table directly in front of the horsemen. ‘You are a disciple of Chaos! Rules are there to be exploited, not obeyed.’
‘Okay,’ the kid said, brightening while his ginger opponent continued to pale. ‘I’ll fi re my lascannons at your Riders.’
‘Lascannons?’ whispered the other kid.
‘Yeah, that should wipe out all these guys at the front,’
the acolyte continued.
‘ A l l o w m e , ’ M o rg interjected. A thick mass of tomato ketchup sprayed over the ginger kid’s army.
‘Oh, and I’ve got these twin-linked heavy bolters, too…’
More red sauce splattered the table, completely engulfing the Riders of Rohan.
The ginger kid began to cry.
The mayhem spread
quickly. Within minutes, kids were shouting and bickering as the careful order of tabletop gaming unravelled like a smashed audio cassette.
Hink and Azaena fought their way through the anarchy while shell-shocked, ketchup smeared Games Workshop staff staggered from table to table, trying to establish why Gandalf was being stomped on by a Defi ler and just exactly where all this sauce was coming from.
The Warlock ducked a tartar sachet and gripped the Guardsman. ‘They’ll be lynching the staff in a minute – we’d better get out of here!’
Fiction: Four Horsemen Amateur Night
Hink flinched as a Grey Knight terminator bounced off his fl ak helmet. ‘What about the others?’
They looked at Gusha. The Nob was sitting on the fl oor and dipping plastic Catachans into something that might have been salsa.
‘Okay, forget Gusha,’ Hink corrected. ‘But let’s at least get Morg out of this.’
‘Morg?’ snorted the Warlock. ‘He’s probably the reason things are in this state.’
Sure enough, as they struggled past a knot of kids arguing over whether or not ordinance blast templates were applicable to fantasy rank formations, they spotted the Chaos Warrior. He was standing in the eye of the child hurricane, roaring with laughter while broken miniatures, condiments and scenery were thrown every which way.
‘Morg!’ Azaena shouted. ‘I might have known you’d be to blame for this! Not only have you trashed the entire store and traumatised the staff, but you’ve corrupted every child here with your twisted chaotic theories! You’ve completely ruined everything!’ He stomped his foot.
‘Then my work here is done,’ the armoured titan intoned sagely.
Fiction: Four Horsemen Amateur Night
Remember, you will find previous installments of the Four Horsemen series online at http://forum.blacklibrary.
com/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=9105