The Scrolls of Hamtaro

Rules set: House fantasy rules

Miniatures: Reptiliads, Medeivals, Samurai

“They’re gone! Lost! And HE is to blame!” The thin man’s eyes danced like a fencer’s toes as he indicated the general beside him.

“The right to judge belongs to this tribunal, not to you. Does it not?”

“Aye …” His gaze met the tribune’s for one brief moment, then flicked reflexively to the floor. He gave a few little nods.

“Very well. State your name. And tell me what it is that was lost.”

“Master archaeologist Lysander Bates, excellency.” He kept his eyes angled partway down, as though peeking through his eyelashes at the official. “I have given eight years of my life to combing this swamp – in the name of the Emperor – for the lost Scrolls of Hamtaro.” At a raised eyebrow, he added “The Hampster God. He who crawls between the walls of the Many Worlds and into the Demesnes of the Gods, who of their food does steal, and on their pillows does drop his –”

“Move along, Master – ah – Lysander.” The tribune flicked the tips of his ring-adorned fingers with the soft touch one would use on a Persian cat.

“We had found his temple. Three moons ago. The great temple, of the Inner Circle, the highest priests. I spent those moons excavating it from the swamp.” He gestured expansively with hands that looked as though they had yet to even excavate cherries from pudding. “I brought in all my apprentices, and we recruited from the native lizard-folk enough strong arms to dig down to the foundation. Then we started pulling the mud out of the hallways and chambers. I discovered the altar, and the Great Wheel. We even found the chamber where the ritual salt disks were hung on the wall –”

“But you lost it.”

“I was betrayed! The lizard-folk – they watched me until I was nearly upon my prize, and then seized the camp! They brought weapons, and their own mage-priest to read the writings. I marched hard for the nearest garrison, where I demanded of General Forynx that the Emperor’s will be asserted over these ignorant savages –”

“Then let us hear the good general’s story.”

Forynx had a body like a side of beef, but not fresh beef, more like beef that had been smoked and jerked and left to petrify into a block of solid stone. That the mud and vines had been scourged from his armor and the hair scraped from his chin detracted little from the impression that he was just another of the swamp’s ubiquitous ruins. His voice had the pitch, and the emotion, of gravel. “Your indulgence, Excellency. “I responded to this fellow’s call with due haste. I brought all the cavalry and poleaxes I could spare from the garrison. And I recruited Eastern mercenaries from the port for auxiliary duty.
“The lizards had not the time to fortify the dig, but the terrain was forbidding enough regardless. They had assembled poleaxe squares of their own, along with war dragons –” “Dragons?” “Brutish lizards. More like a scaly bear – they don’t breathe fire. But they’re large, and a threat to men on foot. Worse were the war turtles. They’re mobile fortresses, and the riders carry large crossbows in the howdahs. They had placed a pair of ballistae on the highest ridge, and they had their mage-priest up there where he could see the entire field.”
“Was he able to bring sorcery to bear?” “Oh yes, Excellency.” The general’s lips twitched dourly in the first sign of emotion the interview had elicited thus far. “He was.” “Carry on.”
“I brought the main body of my forces toward their front, but split off the auxiliaries and a small group of cavalry to circle on the right flank. They held ground, keeping a broad circle with the mage-priest in the center.
“It was a calculated move. I expected them to either divert assets to challenge the auxiliaries, or at least to withhold troops from their front line. They did, in fact, keep a war turtle and infantry back along the flank. But I did not expect the wisps of floating mist.” “These mist creatures attacked your troops?” “No, but the difference is meaningless. The mage-priest, apparently, could channel his power through them.” “What did he do?”
Master Lysander let out a frentic mumble, drawing a look from the Tribune. “The Curse of Ten Thousand Hamsters,” he repeated, loud enough to be heard. “What?” “One of the Great Spells, from the Scrolls of Hamtaro. They had found the scrolls, while we wasted time out in the swamp!” He rolled his eyes heavenward as if reciting from memory “’And the orifices shall be doors / from which in deluge shall pour / Ten Thousand Hamsters.’” “Orifices? The spell made hamsters pour out of their mouths?” “No.” Forynx’s voice carried the thud of stone on stone. “Not that orifice.” “Uuh.” The Tribune’s face took on the expression it might have held if one of his servant girls fed him rotten grapes. “I see.”
“I still held hope for the front line. We were taking ballista and crossbow fire, and I was leaving men on the ground, but they had not brought reinforcements from the flank. If that spell had drained the priest enough that he couldn’t repeat the performance then we still, I thought, had a chance at victory.
“I also ordered the remaining reserves to push directly through deep water to get around the hamster mess. Mainly to keep the flank troops in check.”

“Your assault did not succeed, I take it?”

“It was a gamble, Excellency. I lost. Apparently the fat priest-frog had enough strength for just one more of the Hamtaro Spells. He was able to impart some unnatural force into the hamsters already on the ground amidst my men.

“Let me phrase it thus: have you ever seen a man eaten alive by hamsters?” The tribune’s expression said that he hadn’t, nor did he want to, and that this whole subject was becoming a little uncomfortable for him. “Or a hundred men? And hamsters smeared with … well, you can surely imagine what such a sight would do to the morale of a fighting force.”

“Your men ran.”

“The auxiliaries did, and the cavalry accompanying them. The lizards’ flank guard started a doubletime march toward my main force, and it was over. I took my remaining troops off the field while I could still do so in good order.”

The Tribune nodded slowly, scowling. “There is only so much even a seasoned soldier can be expected to bear. In my judgment your force was driven from the field by a superior supernatural enemy. And certain master scholars do the Emperor no favors by flinging mud that should be left undug.”

This scenario was a tribute to potty humor. I would apologize for offending your sensibilities, but I’m too busy laughing in juvenile glee. Take a little solace, however, in that I’ve toned down the narrative a bit for the “family oriented” Internet medium. Do you really want to hear that the mage-priest recharged his mana by eating his subordinates whole? Or that, in order to clear his colon of their half-digested corpses, he resorted to the spell “Dump of Hercules?” Trust me, you’re better off in ignorance.

- Vynnie

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