Ain't No Fun 1299

Carpenter Johnathan, Jhonen to the others, sat by a crackling fire in a village that had once housed twenty of the savages. Now it housed only him and his four fighters.

The forest was oddly quiet to human ears.

"Hey, Jhonen, when we leave this shithole?" The small wiry man, named Bohemond, wasn't grinning as he said it.

John grinned, showing a new gold tooth, wired in where an elf had smacked it out of the broad-faced Northerner.

"When the Captains says we can." John didn't show his own dissatisfaction in the flat, harsh northern accent.

"When by the Horned One? I ain't had a women in months."

"None of us 'ave."

"This job, its no fun."

"Gold's not bad." Johnathan stuck a finger inside his mouth, pointing to his tooth.

"I'll take whores before gold. We was in the Spice Islands, I'd have whores. I'd have gold too."

"Not as much gold. Y'want some, go get some. Grab some hada-puta next time." John turned his eyes to the fire, staring at it as it died down. The bones of the Hada were obvious even amidst the dancing flames. They would pick through the ashes in the morning, to find anything of value.

Everyone around the fire looked at John with distaste. "Y'know thats how Bautista died, senor. That one was only a girl, and she still gutted him mid-thrust." The one who spoke was Franco, Bautista's cousin. His voice wavered a little, maybe he had dibs on the second go?

"Hellja, Jhonen, you're the only man big enough to fuck an elf girl. Too tall for us, like climbing a ladder."

"Why'd ah want to fuck one? Look like they were rolled in pig-shit."

"Spice Island girls ain't much different. And asides, we all smell like we rolled in pig-shit here." Bohemond smiled, and then a spear point came through his chest. Bohemond's scream was muffled by a trilling war-cry from the savage Hada, hiding in the darkness.

"Tabernac!" Jhonen, swearing most solemnly, leapt to his feet.

The warrior that had stabbed through Bohemond was hit by four shots, he was fired at by eight guns. Good shots, especially under pressure.

Jhonen threw down his two pistols and grabbed two more hanging from his jacket. He was about to fire when a savage leapt upon him from above in the darkness.

He'd probably been hiding on the thatch roofed huts. He smelled of straw and the coppery tinge of blood that always seemed to follow these fairies. His short spear, the assegai, went through Jhonen's left shoulder. Jhonen fired the pistol in his right hand, shattering the savage's skull through and through. Gray matter slumped out and down the side of the quivering body as it fell.

Funny that Bohemond would die without a chance to fight. He had been the one to suggest the pistol sleeves, the first one to carry six loaded guns and the first one to notice that the Hada were too stupid to use ranged weapons.

Jhonen dropped his fired pistol and grabbed another from his jacket. He missed a leaping women by only a few inches and her assegai slammed into the skull of Franco with a crunch audible even over the other sounds of combat.

John had one pistol left. He fumbled to get it from his left side, and carefully took aim. There was a tall warrior Hada, bedecked in gold and with an assegai trailing many bloody cloths. The bullet had been aimed for his head but hit somewhere lower. He fell to the ground vomiting blood and clutching his stomach. The fighter laughed and stabbed into the writhing figure.

Then John passed out. He smelled pigshit. Someone had their bowels cut.