Ratastrophe Catastrophe Read Online Free PDF

Alchemists.’”
    Loud footsteps approached, and a sword was stuck into a patch of ground beside the tree. A palm the size of a melon gripped the dwarf’s shoulders and lifted a stout battle-axe off its half-rotted strap. It had been hanging precariously for the last half an hour, and Groan was tired of watching his small companion struggle with it.
    “Thanks,” said Gordo.
    A nod.
    “Looks like your typical idiot gold brewer,” the dwarf continued, attempting to read the small print on the poster with little success. “Don’t suppose there’s much money in it.”
    His companion said nothing.
    “Is there something wrong with you, Groan?”
    Gordo looked up at a man of immense proportions. Muscles jostled for position in every limb, like snakes trying to escape from a sack. He was absolutely massive, and would have struck terror into the hearts of most living beings, had it not been for the crocheted bobble hat that perched atop his head like a cherry on a cupcake.
    “You’ve been miserable all week,” said Gordo, removing his helmet and tucking it under one arm. “Ever since you saw that magic rainbow thingy just past Irksome.”
    “Yeah, well, you know ’ow it is,” said Groan, turning his bulbous head skyward. “I don’t trust magic, specially when it comes from the clouds. ’S bad enough when we ’ad sorcerers firin’ off spells left, right, an’ center, now we’ve got magic comin outta the sky. Can you ’magine what’d’ve ’appened if that blast ’ad hit us?”
    “Well, it didn’t,” snapped Gordo, impatiently. “It hit some stranger down in the valley.”
    Groan frowned. “How’d you know that?”
    “I saw it through the telescope,” answered the dwarf as he stuffed the poster into his belt. “I didn’t show you because you were waving that sword around like a lunatic. Oh, and speaking of lunacy, Groan, where exactly did you get that hat?”
    “Killed an orc up near Scoon,” said Groan, flossing his teeth with a length of twine. The warrior gave great attention to his teeth and—when engaged in combat—to those belonging to other people. “This hat was all he had on him.”
    The dwarf appeared to consider this. “Couldn’t you just have left it there?” he asked.
    The warrior tried to shrug off the observation, but Gordo was undeterred by Groan’s attempt to avoid giving a straight answer.
    “What is it? Why the hat?”
    When it came to taking hints, the dwarf wasn’t the quickest of companions. The only drifts caught by his family were the kind you had to remove with a shovel.
    Groan stared down at Gordo long and hard. Then he removed the hat. The hills echoed with laughter.
    “How did that happen?” said Gordo, once he’d managed to regain control of himself.
    “You remember that dragon up at Vale Wake?” said Groan, flushing with embarrassment.
    “You said it missed you,” said Gordo, still smirking as he gazed at his friend.
    “I lied,” said Groan, crestfallen.
    There were approximately ten hairs left on Groan Teethgrit’s once lock-laden scalp.
    “Cheer up,” said Gordo, patting the warrior companionably on the kneecap. “Could be worse.”
    Somehow, the statement was less than convincing.
    “Horse up ahead,” said Gordo, changing the subject. “Maybe more than one. You know what that means?”
    “Aye,” answered Groan. “It means we’ll ’ave somethin’ to ride to the next village.”
    A sudden flash of inspiration brought the dwarf to a standstill. “I’ve an idea! Why don’t we just go back to Spittle and take that air balloon the locals were mucking about with?” he said. “There’s no reason to kill these riders; we could just storm the square and…what?”
    Groan raised one eyebrow, a particularly expressive gesture for a man whose discourse was usually limited to a succession of grunts. He shrugged.
    “What I mean is,” Gordo continued, “we can’t attack on the road. Remember? The only folk who use the road these days are