The Daily NESW was a clockwise parchment dealing with news from the North, East, South, and West, with its chief rival being the counter-clockwise NWSE Daily Parchment. There were those that read the new upstart parchment – the Daily NEWS – but since that didn’t even make sense direction-wise, those people were considered unstable and not very trustable.
Drimblerod cleared his throat, “This particular battle had begun like no other war in local memory; with a parade. It was an especially cool morning when, a clanging of bells and beating of drums broke the morning calm. The soldiers marched by thirty-five abreast, smiling and waving as they went; bells a-clanging, drums a-beating. The melody was horrible but the soldiers were all in step. Leading the parade’s front-most contingent, which as the six behind it, was fifty soldiers deep, was a grizzled warrior waving a double-bladed axe like a baton.
“ ‘Are and Are’ was his reply to the mayor that had come out to meet the Army to ask (nervously) why they were there. ‘We’ve had a long campaign and the men could use a little Are and Are. Battles win wars you know, and you can’t win those with worn out troops.’
“ ‘Fine, fine. Quite nice’, replied the mayor in typical politician speak, ‘so where do you plan on taking this Are and Are?’ With only a slight pause he added hopefully ‘Up the road perhaps?’
“Perhaps not, apparently. It seemed the mayor’s town was the first stop in a tour of local towns, villages, and castles in The Region. ‘Trickle-down economics.’ That’s what the warrior called over his shoulder as the procession continued its march, ‘That’s the road to prosperity!’ ”
“Neat!” Interrupted Grimbledung as he scooped some grits into his mouth. “I love parades!”
Drimblerod peered over the top of the parchment at the Gnome. “Yes.” He squinted as a warning then continued, “As the mayor looked forward to the thousands of prosperous villagers, or more precisely, prosperous registered villager voters. A warm glow filled his innards. Lining the pockets of constituents with other people’s money seemed like a win-win situation. Until.
“Until an evening two nights later when the mayor sat upright in his bed and bellowed ‘Reservations!’ That had been nagging him since his brief conversation with the Grizzled Warrior, the mayor explained to his very startled, newly awoken wife. It had seemed peculiar at the time that none of the soldiers had even tried to make reservations before they arrived, but well lined constituent’s pockets had pushed the thought right out of his mind. Even the hasty bivouac and foundry set up by the river had not pushed it forward. ‘First thing in the morning’, he told his wife, he would speak to that warrior about their ill-planned trip. ‘No reservations? Bad form, that.’
“By nine o’clock that same morning, the Army controlled the entire city. Thanks to a well-planned (and adhered to) operation called ‘Kill Everyone’ with a follow-on operation called ‘Take Everything’, it was nearly a month and a half before a lone survivor was able to get word out that even though ‘R and R’ usually stood for ‘Rest and Relaxation’, in the case of this Army, it stood for ‘Rampage and Rage’. The locals were not pleased at all with this subtle, yet noteworthy, difference. The local politicians, sensing the displeasure of their remaining constituency did what all politicians did; they immediately formed a committee and two focus groups. Three months later, the remaining two Kingdom’s armies in The Region had massed in a last-ditch effort to stop the Invaders as they were now being called -appropriately so.”
“Is this story almost done?”
Drimblerod squinted at Rat this time. “And the invaders were beaten.” He lowered the parchment. “There.”
“Well, I was hoping for a little more exposition,” Grimbledung said. “Was that the end of the invasion? Are there follow on armies to worry about?”
“Was there a love story in the background between the invading army and a local gal?” Rat asked. “There usually is.”
Drimblerod raised the parchment again. “The battle being won, the locals decided to return to their calm way of life- after all if this massive battle has been lost, whatever nation was behind it would have to realize the folly of their ways and move on to other, more easily vanquished, quarry. Unfortunately for the locals, the invaders were, in a word, ‘not easily deterred and willing to do whatever it took to succeed in whatever task was before them’ (well, in Orcish it’s one word; “chutzpa”). Not that they were Orcs, but the term was appropriate. As such, the loss of their lead contingent was only mentioned once -and only in passing- at the weekly roundtable along with the weekly weather report. That’s chutzpa.” Drimblerod put the parchment down. “The end.”
“Huh. So no love story?”
Drimblerod squinted at Rat. “And the couple that met on the field of battle lived happily ever after.”
“Well, that’s better, at least.” Rat nodded at Drimblerod.
Now Grimbledung did the squinting as Drimblerod rolled up the parchment, “Now wait a grain of sand. If there were no survivors, how’d the parchment come up with such a detailed story from the battle? And that timeline just doesn’t make sense at all. Something’s fishy.”
“It’s called ‘artistic license’, I’m told.”
Grimbledung thought for a moment. “Well, I must admit I don’t know much about art.”
“Who does, really?” Rat said.
“True,” Grimbledung said. “And I didn’t even realize one needed to be licensed to produce it. If they’re licensed, who am I to argue with artists -journalistic or otherwise?” He pursed his lips. “Wonder where I get a License to Art.”
“Oh boy.” Rat said. “Got new topic to read about, Drimblerod?”
Drimblerod looked down at his plate, “Not with my eggs getting cold. No more readings until tomorrow.” He reengaged his breakfast with fervor.
“Deal.” Grimbledung followed suit as he too took to eating with the seriousness that Gnomes had when it came to eating.
Rat had never stopped eating so he just kept at it.
Once breakfast was done, Rat returned to the front of the stove and fell asleep on his side, distended belly rising and falling with each breath. Grimbledung and Drimblerod went to the front of the shop. “Time to open the shop!” Said Drimblerod as he rubbed his hands together, “Let the coins flow!”