The Abysmal Army

By Greg Tuck

The Abysmal Army is a group of misfits and rejects of armies that tried their best to make a living in medieval times when what we now call mythical creatures lived and worked side by side with humans. Thackery was their leader and he formed 99% of the collective IQ of the army. The Abysmals were a mixed bag of dwarves, gargoyles, grotesques, dragons, orcs and the occasional human. They traveled all over Europe looking for fame and fortune. However they were the least successful army going around and would run up the surrender flag at the drop of a helmet. If you are into puns, impossible situations and have a warped sense of humour, this may be the book for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Tuck
• Release date: Jul 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005149604

Greg Tuck

I am a former primary teacher and principal, landscape designer and gardener and now a full time author living in Gippsland in the state of Victoria in Australia. Although I write mainly fictional novels, I regularly contribute to political blogs and have letters regularly published in local and Victorian newspapers. I write parodies of songs and am in the process of writing music for the large number of poems that I have written.

Book preview

Preface

History tells us many things. It is written by winners and for winners. It hides things that for many people would be unspeakable. It educates the young but only in what other people perceive that they need to know. Humankind has a lot to answer for, but is there anyone left to ask the questions? For years, people have assumed that myths and legends had no factual base because this was how people over time covered their tracks. History for years was never written down. It was just word of mouth passed down from one generation to another. With no credible evidence to back certain events, they were consigned to folklore and not historical fact.

But discoveries are being made every day and the evidence is becoming overwhelming. What we now think only as fantasy was reality at one time. So-called monsters such as the yeti and sasquatch used to roam the earth in numbers but now only one or two remain and stay hidden from any human contact with good justification. Vampires and dragons, trolls, pixies and werewolves have actually a basis in fact rather than fiction. Why else have so called mythological creatures been described in the folklore of different cultures around the world that have had no contact with each other? Sensationalised in movies and literature they strike a chord with long forgotten things of the past in the minds of humans.

So, what really happened? These creatures lived side by side with humans, sharing similar emotions and similar lifestyles. They were at times at war with each other and with humans and other times co-existed peacefully. They developed allegiances which were fluid. They sought to retain their individuality and their land just as humans do today. The lure of wealth be it gold or even food was the same across all creatures.

In those times, magic played an important role and its practitioners were all powerful. Beliefs were strong, particularly about the law of the jungle. Might was right and humans wanted to become the mightiest of them all. They had no muscular superiority, only a more developed brain and this they put to good effect. But it came at a cost to the diversity of life on the planet.

Other creatures noticed what was happening as more and more creatures were becoming extinct and the numbers of humans increased. They rose to confront this tide or rather tsunami of humanity and history as presented by humans merely mentions of a period known as The Dark Ages. It was a dark and dreadful time on Earth. Challenged by a united front of beasts, humans opted not seek some sort of peace, but instead had their sorcerers and alchemists work on a master weapon that would provide a perennial dominance by humans over every living creature. Biological warfare was born.

Experiments were carried out and new strains of viruses released. One experiment went horribly wrong and in one fell swoop every giant on the planet succumbed in just twenty-four hours. However, the viruses were then modified and certain creatures were targeted. Once released the consequences were irrevocable. Evil goblins died by the millions and unfortunately the same strain impacted on peaceful elves too. One by one humans led creatures that could challenge them as rulers of the planet, down the path of extinction, until only a few remained scattered in inaccessible parts of the world.

Humans then set about rewriting the pages of history omitting any reference to other creatures that may have been their equal if not better in times gone past. The enormous structures of the Mayan empire and the masterfully built Angkor Watt temples were given back to the jungle in the hope that any links to the creatures that once lived there would be lost forever. Places were renamed. Stories were rephrased and, at glacial speed, history was altered to reflect the belief that only humans had developed intellectually on earth. Special breeding programs were conducted to filter out any genetic links to a time when creatures and human hybrids existed. Humans were made to believe that the centaurs, fauns and mermaids were part of old religious folktales. Yet they used sphinxes, griffins and the Pegasus as symbols to unite groups of people. They even made light of elves and fairies with childhood tales of the tooth fairy and Father Christmas. Yet the tales of these creatures were consistent from country to country and across continents. Cults grew around these. Pagan rituals still occurred so humans developed religions that either took into account such gods or offered hellfire and damnation to those who even mentioned them. Just as biological warfare had altered forever the ecology of the planet, history and belief systems were altered by psychological warfare the like the world has never seen.

The following is an account of a much happier pre-Dark Age time.

Chapter 1

The sun rose pink and iridescent in the eastern sky, but he couldn’t remember whether that mean rain or no rain. He was pleased to see the sun and feel the warmth on his cheeks. That wasn’t a normal thing for his kind. They preferred the dark, and often squinted in the bright sunshine, so used to where they normally lived. Normal that was a joke. He had been told since birth that he was far from normal. He was the runt of the litter, in fact of the whole tribe, he was often told; at least he thought they said runt – he had always been hard of hearing. He preferred to be called different, because, as he acknowledged, that was what he was.

So, upset with the constant jibes over the years, he had struck out on his own. Belittling a dwarf was heightist and showed that the dwarves that he had almost grown up with, had very small minds. They could keep their opinions. They could keep their taunts. They could keep their gold; well not all of it, because he had accidentally liberated some of it as he left. It deserved to be free, just like him. He had set much of it free after leaving the Tatra Mountains and heading west. He had set so much of it free that there wasn’t much left and employment was scarce. You needed references and he had none, except bad ones. Mercenary armies, like the one he now led, survived on reputation built upon victories. He could count the number of those on the fingers of one hand, if he made a fist.

Thackery didn’t bother shaving. He never had. He had been ridiculed because, as a young man, he couldn’t grow a beard like his mother and father. Perhaps it had been too scared to sprout, because soon as he left home and he smelt freedom, it had started with a rush. It was now plaited and occasionally trimmed to get the food morsels out of it. Inside it was a microcosm of what life was like in the real world. Armies of fleas took on the lice that infested it. It was pretty much an even contest and they were too busy fighting each other to have a go at him, so he rarely scratched. Thackery; what a mistake that name was he thought. It was his father’s fault. He was supposed to be Zachary, but his father, having lost his upper front teeth testing whether a coin was real gold or not, had a terrible lisp. This lisp had also added to Thackery’s own misery during his teenage years when his cleanskin face became covered in acne. His father went around telling everyone that he had the zits, although it didn’t come out the way it should have been pronounced. Consequently, the name calling became worse and nearly everyone kept well away from him and seemed to be holding their nose with their fingers in a sign of disgust and pointing at the brown pants his mother had made for him.

His lack of beard had been a sign of immaturity and then as he grew older, it became a sign of ugliness. He wasn’t overly handsome he knew, but he felt that it wasn’t justified saying that he had been touched by the ugly stick. If you wanted ugly, all you had to do was to look at the orcs under his command, they hadn’t been just touched by the ugly stick, they had nearly been beaten to death by it. The orcs were part of the overall problem he faced. They showed no fear and showed no mercy. However, they also showed no intelligence or capacity to take more than one idea at a time into their vast cavernous skulls. Tactics, much like diplomacy and hygiene were unknown to them. They formed the bulk of Thackery’s army, but every battle lessened their numbers. They were easy to confuse. Once, they had been overrun by someone leading an attack against them saying, look at that bright shiny thing over there. By the time they had turned their heads they had been outflanked and only realised this when the same person said, Look out we’re behind you.

Thackery longed for an army like others that he’d seen. An army that looked like one that had uniforms, weaponry and especially the possibility of winning. The orcs didn’t need uniforms for within a day they would be little more than rags covered in filth, snot, drool and other unnameable bodily excretions. There was no chance of changing their ways simply by dressing them up. Thackery looked ruefully at his own attire and that too had seen better days, but he could ill afford to spend money renewing it or those of his other leaders. Yet another joke. Those in his leadership group were almost moronic, standing in intelligence slightly above orcs. Anyone who had been booted out of an army, ended up in his. Most armies kept ignorant soldiers as cannon fodder or decoys. Only the lowest of the low were asked to leave. They flocked to his army trying to still be involved in the only thing they knew how to do. Most of them didn’t even know that. At first Thackery had tried to train them, but they had the attention span of a gnat and that was even an insult to a gnat.

He looked at the campfire again and decided against putting more wood on. During the night many of the other campfires had died out simply because no-one had told those sitting around them to put more wood on. Orcs were fine; their leathery skin kept away the cold, but you could tell where the others were by the sound of shivering and chattering teeth. Thackery decided there and then, that if by some miracle they made some money, it would be spent on warm clothing possibly with the emblem of St Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. As the only literate person in the camp, he noted in his diary, the events of the previous day, but also, he began to sketch a type of uniform logo. He decided against the fleur-de-lis as that was pretty common and it represented the holy trinity. He was sure that God had forsaken them, Jesus wept when he saw them, and the Holy Ghost had given up the ghost and was now just Holy. He needed something spectacular, something that would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies and as a rallying call to arms for his own army. They didn’t really have a banner except for one. It was white and quickly held aloft after a battle had begun.

He looked again at the orcs who were constantly bickering amongst themselves. It didn’t take much for a fight to begin; an evil look by one of them and it was on for young and old. The trouble with orcs was that their normal countenance was an evil look, but none of them recognised that. None had seen their own reflection or for that matter a bath. The former would have shocked each of them as their tiny brains would have concluded that they looked nothing like their companions. The latter was the reason that Thackery always camped up wind of the orcs. He was pretty fastidious with his own appearance and personal hygiene. He had hoped that him setting an example would have quickly been taken up by others, but alas, that subtle leap of logic needed so much brainpower which they just didn’t have. Not for the first time did he contemplate another vocation, but what? Who had time for a bearded quick witted intelligent short person? He wouldn’t get a look in. Dwarves were known not to be the brightest people, nor the most honest. He was different on both counts, but such was the low esteem that dwarves were held in, he would not get a chance to demonstrate his capabilities. Many times, up to this point, he had tried and failed and had to deal with the ignominy. As he continued to write and draw in his diary, his mind was trying to work out ways that he could use the innate stupidity and brutal strength of those he led, in order to win a battle. Just one win would be a novelty, but may set his army on the road to greater things. It had better come quick because they were running out of gold to buy food. The orcs could of course steal some but that went against Thackery’s principles. He had impressed that upon them and that was one thing that had stuck. He wondered whether, when the gold ran out, the orcs would cannibalise each other. They were quite capable of doing that, but the thought of having to eat such foul fetid creatures made his stomach churn. He would rather eat his principles and swallow his pride before doing that.

A dish of unidentifiable origin was placed in front of him. If it tasted as good as it smelt, then he would continue to lose weight. He wondered why no other army got rid of their cooks. He would have happily accepted the worst of the worst, because the one he had was even worse than those. He had no idea how fresh vegetables and meat that had been bought the day before, could somehow be turned into a glutinous stew that stuck to the plate even when the plate was turned upside down. If it did that to a plate, then he certainly wasn’t going to contemplate what it would be doing to his stomach. While his stomach gurgled through lack of food; in the clearing, where the orcs were gathered, they belched their joy at such sustenance. Judging by the other noises that they were emitting as well, Thackery was glad the wind hadn’t changed.

Chapter 2

As the army began to form up ready to move on to a new location, Thackery looked at the mess that they would leave behind. He liked order and cleanliness. What he saw around him resembled more of a rubbish dump. In a way that was what his army consisted of; people and creatures that were the cast offs of societies, the ugly, the deformed and the rejected. They had bonded simply because there was nowhere else to go. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was the glue that held the fabric of this society of misfits together. Somehow, each member had found a role to play where they may not have excelled, but at least were tolerated. Most in their former lives had been shunned or locked away.

If he could choose an army, he certainly wouldn’t have chosen the likes of these, but beggars can’t be choosers and shortly it looked like he may actually have to practice his begging skills. Like many of his group, he couldn’t go home and withdraw gold from the bank of mum and dad. Pride wouldn’t let him and the terms under which he left showed that he wouldn’t be welcome anyway. His parents had been suggesting for quite a while that he should leave. These were no subtle hints from his parents, just blatant threats that became more and more severe. As he packed his bags, he heard them discussing how much rent to charge for his room and just how many would be coming to the party when he had gone. He had no idea what he had done to offend them except by being himself. He certainly wasn’t disfigured, disobedient or disloyal; far from it. Now if he was one of the Grotesques, he could understand!

His army somehow had acquired these creatures, he had no idea. One night he and his small army had camped overnight in a valley and the next morning they woke surrounded by these mutant creatures. They had hideous faces with the skin stretched taut over their skulls. Needle point fangs capable of puncturing and ripping flesh to the bone were aided by very muscular jaws. It wasn’t those, nor the two massive muscular three-clawed arms or the three crocodile-like legs that they stood erect on, that concerned him; it was the inability to communicate and distinguish between friend or foe. You could point them in the direction of a small enemy group and they would dispose of them. However, once their lust for blood was up, they were just as likely to turn on fellow members of the army they had joined. By accident Thackery had found a means of halting them in their tracks. During the first battle after they had attached themselves to his army like unwanted parasites, they turned on their new leader. In absolute fear, Thackery froze and yelled out a blood curdling high pitched scream. This reverberated around inside the empty heads of the grotesques knocking them senseless; not that they had much sense to start with. After that, Thackery experimented with whistles and now carried one with him at all times and had plenty of spares made as well. The thought of meeting such a horrible death kept him awake at nights for a while, but he now slept with a comfort whistle between his lips. His high pitched ‘snoring’ attracted dogs for miles. That is how he came across the mastiffs.

The mastiffs were no cute and cuddly lapdogs, but deformed canines whose short fuse was constantly being lit by anyone brave enough to stare into their eyes. At first, they would appear affectionate, coming up and licking their dwarf masters and dripping drool over their heads because they were that tall. It was easy to be fooled especially given the intellect of the mastiffs’ supposed masters. What these misshapen dogs were actually doing was conducting a taste test. Some of his fellow dwarves found out the hard way. Beneath their gravestones lay the splintered remnants of bones that could be found when the mutated mastiffs had caught their stares. Centuries later historians would argue about what was written as epitaphs. Many would argue that the middle letter was just a misshapen letter I, however the RtP actually stood for Ripped to Pieces. Between orcs, mastiffs and grotesques, it was an ongoing battle to stay alive in the encampment. In fact, it was possibly even safer to quickly concede in battle and be taken prisoner.

Thackery’s fellow dwarves, he found to be unlike any others he’d met in his life. None of them had gone into the family business of mining, hoarding gold and dreaming big. Most were stout and muscular, but had an aversion to work, deeming it beneath them. However, it was more a case of them being incapable. Judging only on what they had shown so far, they were a danger to themselves. Some bore the scars of trying to fit into their normal society. They were clumsy, totally unaware of those around them, had no peripheral vision and certainly no awareness of the havoc they could cause with simple implements such as picks and shovels. Yet they were the ones he put front and centre should dragons dare to attack. The blunderbusses they carried were capable of frightening away such creatures and these platoons of dragon decimator dwarves seemed at ease with these weapons. Thackery had trained them to work as a