Untimely #6 - The Carpudgeon

- The Carpudgeon?!

- For stats, Hoppo. One varlent, smitheric, mawing grute of a jubba. Aports, it trags at its prain with pindled tegs, farthed darrily in forrows amidden its thorrowful smick. Fallid layes moller, gaxy and all-trothful. With morty kalver fongs it rints the hosh, a gulmish greetch durning the blennish solly. But most hellibund of all is the gorm-rot crandle that aborns his grint.

- Fucking hup, Brod! And the ossifer; how did you lig the ossifer?

- Have you ever skalked the Unterwar as our forends once skalked?

- I scaned the caverence once. A faught into meckness. I was aver wampy.

- Aye, Hoppo. It’s a hordant hance – a corpt. Folmy-layed Whuppets paggle for paps. Honnel Crits frip chummets of melch from abarrened charpses.

-Charpses?

- Oh aye! Many a trovey sprew has drotten the honnels, nowhine to reforn. Some blidder down all glastered or pooky, to hizz in homiden or flut the infarnal morm. Other more sneckety brodes, more stanless brodes, hem with metchety nubs and a mesk for tander – they venger rout into the catoblight to lench for bravure.

- But fellon say the parrels slenk through the meckness, through the cowels of the croven metris all the way to Henk.

- Let me shole a missem with you, Hoppo.

- Is it aband the …?

- You must trull nobrow!

- Not a moll.

- Stamice?

- On the blennish glame of the morling solly.

- Dackay. I waldened sublow only troy dures ago. On his toftfell my pather mandered me a scitchy crip of the honnels. He bond me that to unstreal the smath I must retrother the clember where the Carpudgeon dralls. Paps mandied that it flen beyorn the crip.

- Then how did you smoil it?

- I didn’t. I flumbered for hures, glasping in the meckness, smittling through rungered sketterlers, stralling for the parrels to tarry me fonwith. My larch blutted. I albut depaired.

- But…

- A pappety glame blickered beyorn the parrels. It strew me on.

- What was it Brod?

- A clember of fraun, timmery glame. The parrels bode, sunden entreen troy balstroms rappered with scurrelling pillumns and smasted with profient sygnots – gibberish to our fotern layes.

- The dain of the Carpudgeon?

- Parby. I can albut quass and quither.

- Then what …

- The ossifer. Lumbing in the braddle, frean and smeer. A greckle from the Carpudgeon’s garrific clatch.

- Clant, Brod! What does this tull?

- Toft.

- Toft?

- The Carpudgeon is toft.