Ducks VS Undead=Dead Ducks

From: Bernuetz, Oliver: WPG <Bernuetz.Oliver_at_cbsc.ic.gc.ca>
Date: Thu, 07 Aug 1997 17:33:48 -0400


V.S. Greene in response to David Gadbois noted...

>>>
>>> Easy. Ducks swim, undeads don't. Ducks vs. Undead in Marsh, Ducks
>>> win.
>>>
>> Ah, you forget the undead whale-octopus monstrosity that haunts the
>> marsh. Remember, Delecti can stitch *anything* living together. [1]
>>
> Sure, but I suspect that a team of ducks can make short work of it.
>I'd guess that ducks have special battle techniques for fighting in water.

> It does hit me though just why the ducks hang out by the Marsh. They
>can handle the Undeads but others really can't. It gives them extra
>protection.

This is a very RQ3 rules related response but considering the size of ducks and their favoured weapons (short swords) they'd be so much meat versus undead. Only slashing weapons are particularly effective versus undead and most ducks are too puny to effectively utilize them. It's true you can use a short sword to slash but not underwater. Ducks would
probably use their superior mobility to evade undead. I doubt they'd fight them
much.

I can't remember who said it but someone had the theory that the ducks escaped the notice of Delecti's undead through a technicality-i.e. they were neither air, water or land creatures. I like this explanation much better
than any suggestion that ducks are great undead fighters. Undead just aren't the sort of critters that puny species can defeat on a regular basis.

Oliver D. Bernuetz
bernuetz.oliver_at_cbsc.ic.gc.ca




"There was once an occasion once when I feared I would be the dinner rather than the diner. I and my entourage had been forced by the imminent onset of night to stop in a grotty little hamlet named O_____ on the borders of the Lunar Redlands. I selected the least loathsome of the squalid huts to spend the night in and my batsman knocked on the door and informed the tenants of their great honour. Much to my surprise they seemed thrilled to put us up for the night. They almost fell over each

other in their haste to make their dive hospitable for us. At the time I thought it a trick of the light but I could have sworn that the grizzled family
patriarch almost drooled when he caught sight of my noble immensity. He kept babbling on about how he and his "kinfolk would be plum honored to have us for dinner".

They were quite a strapping family with such neat, white teeth. I had been so long without feminine companionship that I actually forgot myself and had lustful thoughts for the daughter of the family. She definitely forgot her
low position and was so familiar as to actually grab hold of my arm whispering that I certainly was a toothsome morsel. I almost blushed I was so shocked by her forwardness. I snatched my arm back from the lowborn hussy and inquired where I could freshen up. This question was met by many blank stares on the part of the yokels until my batsman explained what I wanted. By this time the rest of my entourage had been shown to an out building where they would spend the night. The littlest yokel showed me to a dark and dank outhouse where I could gratefully if somewhat reluctantly empty my bowels and my bladder. I debated the merits of actually seeing the interior of the structure but decided that a little light would make the operation all the easier. I invoked the Yelm's blessing onto an Imperial I took from my money pouch (far be it for me to trust anyone with my purse). I cursed my somewhat thick, yet noble and graceful fingers as the coin slipped from my fingers and fell into the privy! My father (damn him to Hell) had always impressed into me with his fists that an Imperial saved was an Imperial earned so I reflexively leaned over and looked into the hole. I was shocked by what I saw. There below me clearly lit by Yelm's Blessing and smeared with excrement were human bones including many skulls the braincases of which had been cracked open like so many melons to extract the tasty brains within. Obviously I had fallen into a nest of ogres!

Forgetting my Imperial I quickly finished my business and stole outside to fetch my entourage from the outbuilding they had been ushered to. What horror met my eyes there but the sight of my entire entourage hanging from the rafters like so many capons with their gizzards slit. I quickly realized that I had no one to rely on but myself so I resolved to steal to the front of the hovel, steal a horse and ride to the nearest authorities to issue a complaint. (Woe to me that such a talented hairdresser should die so young. And after I finally had him properly trained). I stealthily snuck to the front of the hovel. No horses there. I was stealthily glided to an outbuilding that looked like it might be a stable when I was spotted by a brutish youth with a large mace who accosted me. "Where da ya think you're goin' fatty? Ain't ya staying fur dinner." After uttering this witticism he guffawed heartedly and relaxed his guard. Like many others he made the fatal error of imagining that an individual of my immense girth would be both devoid of muscle and slow and thus no threat. The edge of my hand to his windpipe quickly silenced his laughter and picking up his mace I crushed his skull. I proceeded to the stable and found my noble Blackie tied up inside. I quickly saddled him and we lumbered out of the stable and away to safety.

When we reached what passed for civilization I filed an official complaint against the cannibals but of course they were long gone by the time the troops arrived. My only regret about the whole incident (besides the lack of vengeance and the loss of my hairdresser and batsman) was having missed an opportunity to taste actual longpork rather than herd man. Maybe someday."

>From Fresser's Gourmet Guide to Glorantha.




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