Legion World Forums LEGION OUTPOST Bits o' Legionnaire Business Numf & Sonnie Go To Hell On A Pushbike

"Hey, Bon, do you play requests?" asks Numf.

"For the conqueror of Thor? I think I'd better, don't you?" says Bon with a grin on his face.

"Do you know any Zeppelin?"

"What, Stairway to Heaven - a bit bleedin' obvious, doncha think?" asks Bon, blinking, with a quizzical look on his face.

"Not the one I was thinking of ...." says Numf, and whispers the suggestion into Bons ear.

Bon nods, looking slightly happier - "Yeah, I think we can manage that one."

"I've got one more request, if I may. Do you know ....."

If this were a TV show or film then this is where the camera would pan back, or there'd be a loud noise off-screen so that you can't hear what the request is.

"Hell yeah, she's a very good friend of mine," says Bon. "Give me ten minutes and I'll see what I can do."

Twenty minutes later Bon Scott walks on to the stage to rapturous applause.

After a few minutes the crowd realises that they're not getting a song, so the quieten down a bit.

"That's better. Before the band come back out to continue the set, we've had a special request for a one off song. Thankfully it's been a request that we've managed to do something about," says Bon.

Behind him, filing onto the stage is an orchestra, all dressed in their penguin suits. The warriors in the mosh pit start looking at each other confused, wishing that they knew what was going on.

"Without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you, Miss Dusty Springfield!"

The warriors are still a bit confused. But when Dusty strides onto the stage an awed silence falls, quickly followed by cheers and wolf whistles.

There she stands -

an

AB

solute

GODDESS !

She taps the microphone.

This time it is a respectful silence that falls.

"Ladies and, " she looks at the crowd, " ummm ... other people, I have been asked by my good friend Bon," she indicates to the side of the stage, to a smattering of well behaved applause, "to come and sing a little song for you. Someone called Numf has written some new lyrics - apparently so that the song's not quite so girly."
She turns to the conductor. "Take it away maestro."

The conductor taps his baton to get the attention of the orchestra, and when he was ready he waves his arms and the music starts.

(Interlude - yeah, I know Harbi could have written this better, but I don't care. End interlude.)

The horn section stand up and gives a double blast.

'DA DA'

There's a soft little bass line running underneath.

'di di dum dum dum'

Two more blasts -

'DA DA '

Bass

'di di dum dum dum'

And then Dusty starts to sing.

To say that she has the voice of an angel, in this place, is just a bit of a cliche.
But when you say that a band of warriors who deem angels voices as being blase fell universally in love with her over the course of the first verse, it kinda gives you an idea of how good she was.
Angelic doesn't come close.

#Sonnie, yesterday my life was filled with rain
Sonnie, you smiled at me and really eased the pain
Oh, the dark days are done
The bright days are here
My sunny one shines so sincere
Sonnie one so true
I love you

Sonnie, thank you for that sunshine bouquet
Sonnie, thank you for the love you brought my way
You gave to me your all and all
Now I feel ten feet tall
Sonnie Bloke so true
I love you

Sonnie, thank you for the truth you let me see
Sonnie, thank you for the facts from A to Z
You shine so bright like crystal glass
Thanks so much for savin’ my ass
Sonnie one so true
I love you

Sonnie, thank for that smile upon your face
Sonnie, thank you for that gleam that flows with grace
You're my spark of nature's fire
You're my brother past the day I die
Sonnie Bloke so true
I love you

Sonnie, yesterday my life was filled with rain
Sonnie, you smiled at me and really eased the pain
The dark days are done
The bright days are here
My sunny one shines so sincere
Sonnie one so true
Sonnie one so true
Sonnie Bloke so true
I love you #

----Interlude -----

F*** !

If that doesn't drag Sonnie out of his lurking habit then nothing will!

--------End Interlude--------

Dusty singing 'sonnie' - he doesn't deserve it

More, more, more

Thankfully for Numf everyone was mermerised by the beauty of Dusty and the majestic beauty of her voice, so no-one really cared about what a sappy bastard he was being.

Sonnie, buzzing softly to himself was glowing pinkly. Several people were watching him - it's not often you get the chance to watch a flying diamond blush.

After the obligatory silence followed by thunderous applause, Dusty promised to come back and play a whole set another day. Someone managed to conjure up a bouquet of white lilies for her as she left, to yet more thunderous applause.

# ahhahhhAHHHHaaAHHHHHH !!!
ahhahhhAHHHHaaAHHHHHH !!! #

Bons screams rend the air with their power.
The predominantly Scandinavian crowd goes, what can best be described as, apeshit !!!
They all know the anthem that is being played.
Immigrant Song - the one that the legendary Plant and Page wrote for them. There's a place set aside for them when they make the long nights journey.

# We come from the land of the ice and snow,
From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.
The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands,
To fight the horde, singing and crying: Valhalla, I am coming!

On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore........ #

Bons vocals are a bit rougher, less polished than Percys original ones, but they suit the song well, giving it a rawness that bring to many minds the thrashing icebound seas.

The warriors are left screaming and laughing and crying in equal measure by the end of the first verse. Most of the tressel tables have been broken in their enthusiasm.


And then, as generally happens, when you're having just the MOST fun - well, that's when the shit really hits the fan!

Hooray! You've cottoned onto my trick of ending a post with a cliffhanger! More, more, more!

the Cliffhanger Queen X

Mushroomy, Numf! And I wish we had audio here for Dusty!

"What do you mean 'the plumber got the giants toilet waste pipes and the HVAC system mixed up'?" asks a seriously browned-off Odin of Valhallas head janitor.

Oh very droll Ken, more, more, more!!!

It was a funny way that the hall turned silent. From the back to the front.
A good reason to have at least a quadraphonic speaker system when the DVD comes out, otherwise you won't get the full effect.

What happened was that the door at the back of the hall was slammed open by a seriously scorched warrior. Who stood there silhouetted against the blue glow of the moon-lit night.

And people in the immediate vicinity turned to look.
The people in front of them became aware of the fact that the people behind them weren't making as much noise as they had a brief moment ago, and turned to see what was going on.
This scenario occurred up until the silence hit the stage and the band eventually stopped. Jimis guitar had to be turned off to stop the unwanted feedback.

The scorched man tooka faltering step forward and muttered one word, which only the nearest warriors could hear.
This one word was enough to spread panic like wildfire.

"Ragnarok."

The war of the Gods - the Doom of the Gods!

In the panic, no-one saw the messenger fall on to his face, and turn to ash and smoke.

----- Disclaimer --------


It has very recently (like, yesterday) come to my attention that there is in current circulation a nine volume series of graphic novels by a company called 'Manga' entitled "Ragnarok".

Do not be taken in by this and think that you will find in those pages this story. It is bound to be the work of a confidence man, trying to trick you into parting with your hard earned money.

I have not read any of this. I have not even seen a picture of the cover of any of these volumes.

Therefore, if any of the following three and a half posts is used as a basis for this nine volume epic, then I intend to sue the bastards for pre-emptive plaigerism.

Just 'cos they wrote it first, don't let them think that they can steal my ideas with impunity.

-------- End of Disclaimer --------

The plan had always been that the Einherjar (the elite troops) would line up, eight hundred of them each at the five hundred and forty doors, having collected their shields, swords, spears and breast plates from the rafters of the roof, and would march out proudly shoulder to shoulder to the Last Battle. To live or die as the fates see fit.

However, when some bugger locks all the huge wooden doors bar one, it becomes, quite rapidly, a bad plan.

When, eventually, the chaos calms down, the scuffles stop, and the stampeded warriors are peeled up back off the floor, they become aware that there is a figure standing in the one remaining doorway, silhouetted as the previous man in the blue light of the moon..

He stands there, in a white suit of finest silk. With a midnight blue shirt and a white tie. And white oxford shoes.

On his tie there is a plain tie-pin in 24 carat gold.
He has a gold tipped white walking cane, upon which he leans two-handed.
His buffed fingernails have a sheen to them that suggests clear nail varnish.

He has blue-black pony-tailed hair, with a goatee beard and moustache ensemble. And blacker-than-black eyes.

On his lapel there is a gold cross.
A self-satisfied smirk pulls up one side of his mouth.

Almost half a million souls face him. And not a sound do they make.

Apart from one, of course.

"Fa's tha' cu.." starts Numf.

"Hud thy wheesht, young upstart, and let us hear of our fate," says the huge form of Thor quietly from beside him, much to Numfs surprise.

Over the heads of half the warriors the blacker-than-black eyes turn to meet Numfs. In a soft voice that can be heard by everyone in the hall, the man in white says ominously, "You would do well to heed his words, young Numfster."

Young?

Bwah ha ha ha!

More, more, more

It's a relative term - and when Numfs in the illustrious company of Thor, Odin and JHC it fits.

At least that's my excuse.
And I'm sticking to it.

"The facts of the matter are simple. The time of the Christian Faith has come. As can be seen by the number of people entering the Christian heaven...."

At this point a Windows Powerpoint TM chart appears hanging in mid-air. Our white suited smooth mystery man waves his cane at it flashily, and then it disappears before anyone can actually focus on what it all means.

"... far oustrip the numbers entering the halls of the older religions - such as yourselves - and therefore we require more land in which to house them. Or at least to expand our theme park. We have already annexed the Red Indian Happy Hunting Grounds for our planned Wild West Show..."

Gasps of incredulity from all who hear - which is everyone.

"Gasp!"

"... whilst you were all getting pissed and headbanging."

Mystery man pauses.

"And you lot are next!"

As can be imagined, a kick-in-the-arse off of half a million Viking warriors are not going to be too happy about this prospect.
There is a great amout of jeering and catcalls at the last statement.
And shaking of fists.
And maybe the occasional rude word or two escapes from lips untrained in the art of diplomacy.

Oh, and one well aimed jug of piss.

Through the resultant laughter, Odin appears from the bathroom, wiping his wet hands on the arse of his tunic, and stamps one foot.
And gains instant silence. Everyone here knows that when the Allfather demands respect then he'd better bloody well get it.

"Whoooooooo threw that?" Odin asks, surveying the gathered warriors like a primary school teacher.

In amongst all of the innocently whistling warriors, Odin spots one horny helmeted warrior moving away from him through the crowd.

"Heimdall - come here!" Odin barks.

Heimdall turns around to face Odin, and then, wide eyed, points at himself, as if to say "who? me?"

Odin nods slowly.

Heimdalls face turns red in embarrassment, and he starts to force his way through the throngs to the front. As if by magic a clear path makes itself available. Heimdall walks slowly to the front, hands held in front of him, head down, swinging slowly back and fore.

"For goodness sake man, stand up straight like the warrior you are," snaps Odin.
"And stop playing with your horn!"

"Right," says Odin, once Heimdall has pulled himself together,"you will apologise to Lord Jesus, and then you will go and find a corner and stand facing the walls until I see fit to let you off."

"IIIIII'm sorry, Lord Jesus," says Heimdall in a small childlike singsong voice, once more rocking back and fore.

Jesus, who has been standing there dripping, looks at Heimdall, and waits until he returns eye contact. Then he clicks his fingers, and his hair, face, and suit are all dry again. He no longer drips. And the stains and smell have vanished also.
"I know someone who can't wait to meet you once more," Jesus says so quietly that only Heimdall hears. Heimdall quakes at the thinly masked menace in his voice, and scampers away.

And then Jesus lifts his head slightly and says slowly, "I am afraid, Allfather, that you are behind the times. I am no longer merely 'Lord' Jesus. In my fathers absence I have been elevated in status to 'God' Jesus."

"By whom, may I ask?"

"By everyone! Belief is everything, and everyone believes. Therefore I am a God," Jesus states.

"Can't say I necessarily agree with that," states Odin in reply. "But lets get to the heart of the matter. What do you want here?"

"I aim to take the land on which we are currently standing and turn it into a Scandinavian Theme Park," says the big J, matter of factly.

"Over my dead body!" fumes Odin, to cheers from the audience.

"That can be arranged very easily. But, I have actually come with an offer for you," says Jesus.

Odin opens his one good eye and inclines his head in a 'well, get on with it then' manner.

"The offer is that you can stay here for a further thousand years, free of hassle, for the price of one body," says Jesus.

"That's a small price. You can have mine then, Jesus," offers Odin selflessly.

"That is an exceptional offer, Allfather. However, it is not the body that I require," says Jesus. "And yes, I noticed that you deliberately snubbed me by not using my new title in front of your minions."

It's Odins turn to do the 'who?me?' act.

"It is not for me to offer the body of anyone else," says Odin. "I'm sure you have someone already in mind. To whom do you refer?"

"I can see in your eye that you know very well to whom I refer," states Jesus, leaving most people present very confused.

"Until your arrival I would never have remembered. It has been many a year since I read the Code-X Codex," says Odin, to gasps from the audience.

"It's in there too, is it?" asks Jesus. " I was going by the Writing of Wry Ting."

"Nah - that's just crap that one - I should know, wry old Ting and I got rat-arsed on sake and wrote that one together," says Odin, much to Jesus' chagrin and embarrassment.

"Ah!" says Jesus. "What about the What Prophets Say Prophecies?"

"Yeah, they're pretty much genuine - but I find that they all contradict each other. You can find whatever you want in there if you're prepared to look for long enough. Every mad bugger for the last three thousand years has got something in there."

"Yes, good point. So, remind me - what exactly does it say in the Code-X Codex?" says Jesus hopefully.

"Something else else about :
The son who declares himself king
Shall come to the horn-ed halls
For the future ruler of the realms below
Who can kick gods in the balls
With impunity.

For the diamond brothered fool
Will fight to bring back the light
From the petulant son
With the soul as black as night -
And whiney.

And the man who comes in white
You cannot bloomin' trust
'Cos he speaketh only shite
And his heart is full of lust
For eternity, " quotes Odin.

"Oh," says Jesus sheepishly. "So not much in the way of ambiguity there, then." He pauses for a mere second while he composes himself. "So, give me Numf-El and I will spare you. Don't hand him over and you bring Ragnarok to your hall, and I will turn your skull into a sand pit for cats to defecate in."
Jesus shrugs in a 'take-it-or-leave-it' manner.

"'Defecate'? Is that that crap coffee? I think that I speak for all present when I say 'You and whose army?'" answers Odin menacingly.

Jesus smiles. In a manner that suggests he can taste the afore-mentioned coffee.
"I was hoping you'd say that."

They just don't write prophesies like that anymore do they?

More, more, more!!!

"Whoa there!" shouts Numf as he wedges himself in between Odin and Jesus before they resort to fisticuffs.

He holds Jesus off behind his back, and faces Odin, one hand on his chest, staring unblinkingly into the huge Gods single eye.
"Since it's my body we're talking about, don't I get a say?" he asks matter-of-factly, but quietly enough so that everyone has to stop shouting to hear what he's saying.

Odin is taken aback.
"Ummm, of course, but I have to warn you ....."

"No, you don't actually, but thanks for the thought. It's appreciated," says Numf sincerely before turning around to face Jesus.

"Now. You. What's your fucking problem?"

--------Interlude---------

I wonder if I can get away with that last quote as my sig. ......

------End Interlude---------

A hushed silence.

Pause.

Jesus makes squeaky noises through his teeth. His lips twitch

"You!" he spits out. "You are my fucking problem," he states, matter-of-factly.
"You can not know the years of planning that have gone into my rise to power. The centuries sitting on bloody white bloody cotton bloody clouds, listening to whiney assed harps, sighing wistfully. The only real enjoyment plucking angels flight feathers when they're not looking, and then watching them plummet!"

"Yeah, I'd always thought that - the whole of the Christian faith breaking Big Rule numero uno for the past 1700 years at least. 'Thou Shalt Not Have Any Gods Before Me.' And there they all are, worshipping you, the means of your death, and your mum. Trailer park teenage pregnancy eh? I'll bet that smarts," sighs Numf. There are a few sniggers in the audience.

"Yes - but they don't even realise that they're doing it," says Jesus smiling, tapping the gold cross on his lapel. Ignoring the insult to his 'mother'.

"But, I've never even met you before - so what's all this about? What have I done to you that you've come gunning for me?" asks Numf.

"It's not what you have done - it's what you WILL do that's the problem. You heard the prophecy held within the Code-X Codex. You are destined to wrest power from me," explained Jesus as if to an idiot. As if?

Numf looked confused, "What? You really believe that shit? Some stoned hippy writes some fairly broad, but crap lets face it, poetry, and suddenly you're killin' people over it?"

"Strictly speaking they're mostly dead anyway," interjects Jesus.

"So, do you believe everything that you read?"

"No, of course not. What, do you think I am - gullible or something?"

"'Course not, he was just a big bloke in a travel book," explained Numf. " So why do you believe this one?"

"Ummm," Odin puts in from behind Numf, "I think it's because it states at the start of the Codex that it is 'The Word of the God of Gods, The Allfather of Allfathers'. So you know it's got to have some powerful mojo workin' for it." Jesus nods his head in agreement.

"So," says Numf, speaking to both of them, "If JRR Tolkein had written in the foreword of The Lord Of The Rings that an angel of The Lord had visited him in Englandshire and had dictated the following account to him, do you think that years from now that there would be great Earth devouring wars over whether or not Merry or Pippin were truly destined to become Ruler of the World?"

"Don't be silly!" booms Odin.
"Absolutely, don't be silly," says Jesus, with a snort.

"Yeah, everyone knows that Sam is!"
"Too right!"

"Samwise! Samwise! Samwise!" the crowd starts chanting. Feet stamping. Weapon waving. Mob stupidity.

Numf shakes his head to himself. And they call HIM stupid? He stands on his tippy-toes, looks back to the stage and nods his head at Jimi Hendrix, who promptly delivers an eardrum splitting riff of feedback - just the thing to cure a dose of mob stupidity.

"So, what's in it for me?" asks Numf, once everyone has straightened up again and removed the dislodged wax

from their inner ears.

"Slow, expertly rendered, torture over a number of millenia followed by the inevitable slow but expertly rendered

torture over several more millenia, I shouldn't wonder," says Odin.

"Now, now, lets not make assumptions," says Numf looking round at Odin, "Give the man a chance to speak

for himself." He turns back to face JHC. "Well?"

"No, he's absolutely spot on, actually," comes the reply. "That's exactly what I had planned."

"So, I should hand myself over to you why?" asks the numfster.

"Because you think you're some kind of hero. Because otherwise all around you will perish. Their great

adventure will have ended. Valhalla, the hall of the Viking Gods will be no more. It will have ceased to be. It will

have shuffled off this mortal coil and joined the choir invisibule."

"Yeah, I follow," says Numf, picking up on the Pythonism. " It'll have 'fucking snuffed it'. Right?"

"Got it in one," replies JC, with a stage wink.

Numf lets out a big heartfelt sigh. "How about double or quits using the Australian Three Kicks Method?"

The crowd holds its collective breath.