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Kingfisher Chronicles

Not many people know this but I love playing online war-games, so much so that I actually created a book of sorts chronicling the adventures of my character “Kai Ang V’shoor” or Kingfisher to those of the common tongue. Seven feet tall and sporting a shock of pale blue dread locks he is by far the most unlikely looking Dwarf there has ever been



 By lee Swords

An Introduction to Dvorganna Fjall

(Dvorganna Fjall for those that are struggling with it as a Kingdom name it is pronounced Dvor-Garna-Fee-Yorl or  Dvoor-Ganya-Fee-Yarl dependent on whether you are either Northern or Southern.  Northern being of the above ground “Races”, Southern being anyone of the below ground “Races”. There are  way too many “Races” of  Dvorgannian citizens, both Northern and Southern to list at this point in time)

dvorganna fjall


Dvorganna Fjall, the frontier kingdom ruled by Kai Ang V’Shoor, a blue haired warrior from across the eastern Sea, a King that  finds that however hard he tries to avoid War and Pestilence those two particular Riders of the Apocalypse seem to ignore the “Private Property” signs that festoon the borders of his lands and enjoy regular jaunts down the many scenic bridle paths available to them within the ‘Fjall’.

Life on the edge of the civilised world is hard for both King and commoner alike but against all the odds “the Fjall’ as those that live there call it, is a thriving and fertile oasis that could if left alone, quite easily pass for paradise.

Unfortunately that will probably never happen as it is hard pressed on all sides by forces that would see it burn for their own selfish reasons.

To the East is a sheer and almost unbroken cliff face as a coastline, a coast that is continually at war against the wild and bloodthirsty Eastern Sea and yet for all the wild storms and mountainous waves that crash against the Guardians creating widows by the score as they crack boats into kindling leaving nothing but flotsam and jetsam, this is the direction from which the least trouble arrives.

To the North are the homelands of the violently unpredictable mountain tribes, the men and beasts of the Northern Fold can never be trusted, they are utterly mercenary and as ruthless as the range of mountains that they live among, mountains that are surpassed in size and danger only by those to the West.

The Western Mountains are infamous and ever threatening, generally known as the Vermillion Mountains, they are the home to the Incarnates, ancient Hell born creatures that were released from torment in the time of the “Great Splicing” and now move freely upon the Earth to befoul the world of mortals with famine, War and Pestilence.Vermillion2

 Pain, torment, lust, avarice, vanity, sloth, hardship and sorrow put meat upon their bones; the countless tears of women and children and the blood of the innocent are the drinks that slake their thirst.

And finally to the South grows the almost impassable Border Woodland. More than a simple stretch of blameless forest these trees are sentient and form a lethal arboretum that gives safe haven to numerous varieties of non-mythical and mythical beast alike. The only conditions being that they must have a bounty upon their heads, a treacherous streak a mile wide and an occasional taste for man flesh…and they must defend the Border Woodland from all that wish to make war against it. This is not the place to be seen carrying an axe.

“If you went down to the woods today…you would be in for a big surprise”

Which is why Dvorganna Fjall is forced to be all but self-sufficient, it is a brave child that aspires to be a traveling salesman in the Fjall, for which ever way the merchant sets out to ply his trade be it either on foot or by sail he or she is more than likely going to end up dead, sooner rather than later.

Therefore to soothe the population and keep everyone as happy as possible Kingfisher imposes a very low rate of taxation and keeps alcohol duty at zero.

In addition, The Fjall unlike most of the other Frontier Kingdoms allows for the opening of various styles of bar and tavern that would never be given planning permission anywhere else and as such is “the” Frontier Kingdom destination of choice for Hen and Stag parties alike.







Well that is not exactly the truth, there are several barely discernible types of being dead and currently the King is suffering from one of the reversible and less fatal varieties of dead-ness, so even though he is what could be classed as dead he is actually not quite fully dead as in not breathing on a permanent basis and lacking any sort of a pulse but rather “dead” as in snot running down into his dried saliva encrusted three day old  pale blue stubble “dead to the world” type of “dead”.


The High King of Dvorganna Fjall, Kai Ang V’Shoor or Kingfisher as the common tongue would pronounce it lay just about motionless still sprawled in exactly the same position he had landed in when he threw himself across his bed, the only discernable movement being that of his chest rising and falling in time to his snoring which was truly epic swamp hog class type snoring. Having become hopelessly drunk the night previous on a suicidal mixture of Duvel Ale and numerous over generous shots of  Witches Piss (a potent Absinthe like spirit that contrary to popular belief contains absolutely no urine whatsoever, be that either of witches or non-witches alike, it just tastes like it does) anyway regardless of urine content and trade description infringements the lack of it constitutes the King of Dvorganna Fjall had decided to sleep in and take the morning off work.


A strange concept you may think for the ruling monarch of a medium sized kingdom but as the King in his inebriated state had not thought to pass on his intentions to the editor of the Kingdom Forum Daily Newspaper his realm as a whole had no idea that their King had called a halt to today’s proceedings when he signed a particular Royal Decree upon the back of a scruffy and rather damp beer mat halfway through the night previous. And so whilst their monarchs liver struggled to deal with the dual onslaught of toxins left over from consuming enough ethanol to subdue a half grown Troll along with the monumental effort involved in  processing the half digested chicken leek and mushroom pie that was currently making its way through his lower bowel along with the double portion of chipped potatoes and the half gallon of mushy peas at a rate of knots any ship of the line would be proud of, the kingdom itself continued to function as though nothing unusual had happened was happening or would happen because that as they say is “life” and “life” is like that.


For although the King does indeed possess absolute power, it could  be argued that this novel concept of choosing to take a day off is simply not a feasible plan, but he was drunk when he came up with the idea and it came across like an inspirational thought at the time however it is irrelevant how drunk and incapable of even the most minor acts of voluntary achievements Kai Ang V’Shoor has rendered himself by means of deliberate intoxication, life will not stand idle. Life would sin its web regardless.




In fact life never stands idle; life it is said is a large fat spider that preys upon humanity a ravenous creature that feeds upon the weaknesses and strengths of mankind with equal relish. Weaving a complex web of stories in which to entrap the cautious and fearless alike so that it may feed upon their souls at its leisure, life is always hungry and life never stops to rest, it cares nothing for the incapacitation of the intoxicated, it does not stop whilst the individual recovers their senses but moves ever onward spinning its tangled web as it goes, occasionally finding a point of interest around which it will linger a short while and amuse itself by spinning a truly great story.


And even though the King is not currently in any fit state to be actively involved, Life cared very little as it continued unabated, drawing out its silken threads and affixing them not only to this comatose drunkard of a King but the whole of the known world.


Life had long ago decided that this particular story would occupy a great deal of its time and be a once in a generation epic and Life would feast heartily and grow very fat bringing forth many new souls into existence and exhausting many millions more in its telling, the only problem it could find within the intricate design of this trap was that it could not decide upon the eventual outcome. Life had no interest in good over bad as it found no preference in right over wrong just the aesthetics of the web and so with no more thought given over to the conclusion Life moved on and left that part of the web in balance. The anticipation of the outcome would season the meat far better and the finale would be a tasty surprise.








 Somewhere in the distance a church bell began to toll…Eight bells…And all is well…

Kingfisher, was utterly oblivious to the bells, in fact he was oblivious to everything because at this particular  moment in time he was dreaming of a rather well proportioned young lady called Holly…It was as dreams go a good dream, a pleasant change for one that tries as best he can to avoid such things for fear of seeing his past too often.



Four Hours Previously…

The dancing girls had been amazing, the company was as always excellent and by the time Kingfisher finally made it to his fur covered four poster bed he was by his own admission and in his own words “Ratted”

But before conceding the fight with drunken stupor and finally retiring himself to his cot, Kingfisher had decided that the following morning, this morning to be exact was going to be an especially out of the ordinary morning that would blow away his cobwebs and leave him feeling just ever so slightly superb and ready to face another day of Kingship.


So with quill in hand he set about writing a note to his butler, it simply read


Dear Jeeves,


Get Faye ….Get Faye to….Get Faye and….Just tell her to bring me a bowl of cornflakes at six..no, its two bells now… make that eight bells and tell her to get me some juice from the kitchens (She knows which juice to bring) as my tongue is going to be furry. Not really furry like a rabbit or a weasel but it will still feel odd all the same.

And tell her to bring me a copy of the morning scrolls (Tribune and Daily Oracle…not that shitty lefty Guardia or Metralite rubbish)

And tell her that she should go to Necrototh first and get me a draught of asprintia because my head will be banging like a cleric at a choir boy convention come sun up.

And that’s it, nothing else; see you in the morning…Love you mate! Don’t forget that…

Honest I really do…Not in a gay way or anything like that…

I am going to bed now…




Oy, Jeeves… before I go I have got to tell you this mate… Endryll’s youngest daughter Princess Bronwyn was working at the Peppermint Hippo last night…I thought he was going to shit a boulder…The pointy eared buggers eyes were bulging like a chuffing cane toad that had swallowed a cannon ball…

They had a proper barny about it…He said that “As an Elven Princess she should behave as such” and she replied “I am three hundred and twelve years of age and will do as I like”

It went on for ages before she said “I am sick of talking to trees, eating lambas and shitting in the woods …and you shouldn’t lecture me on my values after spending three gold edged rune slips on private dances with two midgets and a very flexible hermaphrodite from Westonia”

Seriously funny!!

I thought he was going to blow a fuse!!

Anyway I had better get some kip…The room is spinning a bit









The door to the Royal Bedchamber opened and ever so quietly entered a barefooted maid of the most astounding beauty; her wild red hair cascaded carefree down her back and crashed upon the pale alabaster skin of her shoulders. Her more than just “pretty” and ever so slightly feline features suggested somewhere in her distant ancestry there had been somewhat more than a dalliance with one of the Elder races. Carefully she moved towards the Kings bed carrying an assortment of washing materials and a clean white cotton shirt.


Like an assassin she moved without making so much as the tiniest of sounds, soon she had reached the Kings bedside table where she could begin planning how she would best assault her morning duties. Opening a small drawer she began to clear a gap amongst the clutter that had been cast down without thought upon the table top, by the looks of it the King had simply thrown out the contents of his pockets before collapsing on his bed.


His communication orb that sat upon a large wooden plinth atop his bedside table flashed into life as she touched it. “Thirty seven communications awaiting your response” Whispered the magical female voice from within the polished black sphere which was the size of a rock melon, the tone  of voice far more sexual than necessary to convey simple factual messages.


The maid snickered, of all the communication orbs she had ever come across (not that she could afford one herself) had a standard vocal spell that sounded like a quadriplegic bullfrog being gang raped by a dozen angry chimpanzees, however it seems that position and power had its benefits and the King had been given the up-graded version by sales druids at Dragon Orb Warehouse.


Continuing to clear herself some space she carefully placed each item in the small drawer that now contained among other things a short stack of casino chips and three Gold Runes (about six months pay for her and her family with enough left over for two weeks in Elderis (all inclusive) as well as a bit of extra spending money and a thrice daily ride on one of those banana boats pulled by a baby Kraken). Behind where the Runes had been was an empty glass vial with the infamous Witches Piss logo ( a squatting hag) engraved on the stopper, this she took as trash and threw in the bin, its inclusion among the debris of the night previous did not bode well. As everyone who worked in close contact with the King knew, he is an out and out Duvel drinker; anything else usually ends up in tears. Gingerly and with the tips of her long and elegant fingers she picked up and placed in the drawer a short bladed knife that looked more practical than ceremonial, an observation that was enforced by the semi congealed blood on the hilt, indeed by the looks of it last night had ended in tears for somebody. Finally the maid had enough free space to arrange the ablutionary equipment around the pitcher and bowl that already stood in wait upon the table.


Very soon she was ready to begin washing her King and so she looked at his torso for a weakness, some soft spot upon which she could begin to work her charms, finding very little in the way of an obvious starting point among the rolling mounds of scarred flesh and pale blue body hair that was almost thick enough to be classed as fur she simply raised the whole pitcher and poured the icy cold water over his entire body.


The effects were immediate and dramatic.


“What the frikkin’!!” Bellowed the King turning and twisting as he tried to escape from the clutches of his bed furs.


“Good morning My King…I am here at your request to clean you and when that is done I have breakfast waiting outside the door”


“Who…What…?” Kingfisher frantically but with little coherent physical organization began looking around for his assailant with one eye barely open and the other firmly sealed, closed by an accumulation of dried saliva and thin alcohol based vomit that had over the previous few hours dried into something that resembled dragon ambergris.


A sponge of soapy water hit him hard in the face and began to scrub away the dried vomit from his chin whiskers.


“What?…No!…I don’t want…No!…Leave me alone!” Protested the King but his condition meant that he could barely coordinate his words never mind his body and so the onslaught of sweet scented soap and water continued almost unchallenged


The maid once again reached for the pitcher which was now full of steaming hot water, something that should not surprise as many things in Dvorganna are magical as Dvorganna is the home of many wizards and numerous species of creature that are of a magical nature. Lifting the pitcher high she poured its contents over his head. The maid laughed out loud, she showed little respect for the position of her subject “Stop squealing like a stabbed piglet my King, I will not be dissuaded from my task by the drunkards begging…Hot water, these soaps and a good coarse sponge are just what is needed on this fine morning Sire and trust me when I say, it is for the best! You cannot possibly leave your chambers to meet the new day in such a condition as you bade farewell to the old one! So please be still, lay back and enjoy… You will feel so much better afterwards”


The King knew that he was done, what little strength he had raised by the means of adrenalin had now all but dissipated and so he chose to say noting more but instead surrendered to the onslaught of fragrant foam and flopped back onto his bed and closed his one good eye.


As he lay quite still upon his bed furs Kingfishers pale blue plaited locks took on a life of their own, they seemed to writhe in agony like a strange collection of whips and snakes, some of them were held together with small mithril clasps and rings, others free to do as they please.


“You really shouldn’t mix your drinks Sire, Lady Sh’Vorn said that you were sailing very close to the wind when you arrived at your bed” The maid chatted happily as she scoured away the grime from her Kings hands and arms, each one a slight less thick than her long pale thighs, thighs that she was currently using as a work station upon which to hold steady the assorted appendages that protruded from the Kings semiconscious torso as she busily scrubbed them to a polished shine.


“Sh’Vorn said what?! She wasn’t that far behind me…I …I wasn’t even that bad” Mumbled the King “Not…Not like I was after the last…”


“Last time? I would hope not either Sire, you spent two days in the infirmary after that sorry little episode!” The maid finished his sentence for him.


“That was Necrototh’s fault…He spiked my drinks” Groaned the King


All thirty seven of them?”


“Yeah… All thirty seven of them!” He flopped back onto his furs his eyes closed tight his mouth wide open as if to recommence his snoring practice.


“Ah, yes! Speaking of Wizard Necrototh, he instructed me to administer this asprintia tonic” The maid reached inside her dress and removed a very small iridescent blue vial that seemed to glow from within “He said you would be in need of a boost” Swiftly and without hesitation she poured the contents of the vial down the gaping maw of the King without asking his buy nor leave.


The king shuddered and slowly opened both his eyes, they were small, squinty and blood shot but to his great relief seemingly fully functional, however not wanting to rush things before he attempted to focus them he ran through their opening and closing routine several times just to guarantee he had it all sorted out, he needed to be sure just in case their opening was a fluke or he needed to do the same thing again at some point in the near future.


Something he would more than likely be doing as blinking is seen as a necessary task most people perform in an attempt to stop themselves looking like wild eyed lunatics. Eventually when the King was sure that his eyes were functioning at a reasonable level of efficiency he moved them into second gear and attempted to focus upon his soap wielding assailant.


“Good morning Sire…I see you have finally joined me…and if I may ask, what was the occasion that rendered you down into such a poor state?”


“The usual…Opening night type of thing occasion” Kingfisher liked opening nights, they made people happy. Kingfisher found it was the small but luxurious things in life that made this intemperate location for a Kingdom just about bearable and so it was with this simple assertion in mind he ruled his people.


Another table dancing bar then?” Sniped the maid as she scrubbed wildly at a rather rough and altogether scruffy looking elbow.


“Yes…And don’t say another like that, there are only four in the whole of the Fjall! And I would have you know that life in the Fjall for the average person is hard, it is not my task to make things harder still!” Kingfisher scowled at his assailant “Girl, do you intend to leave me the use of that arm or will you be removing it at the bend?” Grumbled the soap sodden monarch.


“When the grime has been removed my King the sponge will move on!”


“Then move it on and leave me some skin…Surely one elbow cannot hold so much grime as to take up so much of your attention, there is not that much filth in the whole of Dvorganna Fjall!”


“One would be surprised at the amount of filth that I can find when I set my mind to it Sire”




One Response to “Kingfisher Chronicles”

  1. Absolutely BRILLIANT Lee ;)

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