The Legendary Tales of Notch Johnston

He had just sat down at the bar. The first drink his hands had held in decades froze half way to his lips. His lips trembled slightly as his eyes looked at the beings entering the bar in the mirror behind the bottles of booze.

It had been a very long time. But the small shot glass slowly descended toward the bar. Cord had wanted that drink for a very very long time. But Cord had been wanting to settle a grudge with these guys for an even longer time. They had caused him much pain and grief over the long years of his exile. It had took years of research to confirm it. But there was absolutely no doubt. They had caused his life to be utterly ruined by the poisonous lies they had spread about the events surrounding his early career. The screaming masses of social media had ignored his pleas of innocents as they demanded his removal and as a result he had left in dishonour, stripped of his titles, his once proud name soiled.

Disgusted at there belief in the poisonous lies. He had ignored the profuse apologies that had came too late. He had found a new, simpler life with hard work and just rewards. He had stayed in his new life. And pushed the crimes they had been committed against him so long ago from his mind.

Until just now that is, the whole crew had just came in walking casually into the bar, it all came rushing back with the force of a physical blow. He slowly carefully placed his full drink on the counter.

Over the last hour certain patrons of the bar had been lured away to keep them from harm while certain other beings had been given opportunitys to partake of the bars services. It was an elaborate operation put on by the shellpeople for their own pay-per-view entertainment and betting purposes. The bartender placed Cords incomplete bar-tab on the bar by the shot glass, he then pushed a button and disappeared through a wall panel.

Alec had known of the history between Cord Konobi and the crew of the Balroth. Him and five brainships had worked there asses off to keep there presents unknown to each other for as long as possible. The bribes required to keep Master Cord in the dark were staggering but worth every mark for a chance to witness the small furry monk in action. He was after all a legend. Sales opened to the public as the doors slammed tight. Teasers for the upcoming live pay-per-view battle pop-uped everywhere.

Cord would win, no doubt about that, the old Visuvian school master was a legend in his own right. And with no weaponry at all available, the good betting action was on time and techniques to be used. Tiamat had agreed not to sway the outcome in exchange for access to the five huge level nine prison transport ships that had plowed through the enemy lines with ease.

The inmates of the Stigian penal colony on Hades Prime, a prison planet, had repaired there disabled transport ships and launched a desperate escape as the enemy had nova’ed the sun behind them. They had then ran down their fleeing prison guards who had left them for dead. The guards escape ships were smeared across the bows of the unarmed prison transport ships along with everything else that had got in their way. To prevent hijacking and escapes those hulls were crazy tough.

The crew of the Balroth had guided them out here. Those prison transports had no nav-computers for a very good reason. And the dirty cowards had exchanged nav-information for safety and now Alice had almost a million violent maximum security inmates to deal with. She was really pissed about that and had almost vaporised the lot of them. But Alec had stopped her when he had received word that Master Cord was on his way.

The worthless scum that Master Konobi was about to clean up would be shocked to find out that the ship they stepped out of just two minutes ago already had a new captain and crew stepping onboard.

But not nearly as shocked as the remaining patrons of the bar were as they slowly realized that they had not received the call to evacuate on propose and the only exits were now all locked.

The old school master slowly turned around on his bar stool and gently stepped on to the floor. The captain of the Balroth suddenly recognized the short, orange, hairy and rotund form of the last fully ordained Grand-Master of the old Visuvian order of orange monks.

The once brave and proud captain of the Balroth lead the charge back to the entrance door that slammed in his face with an ominous boom and all ten of them clawed uselessly at the locked and shielded hatch for a full ninety seconds as Master Cord slowly and methodically stretched his muscles and tendons. The sounds of the acknowledged, grand-master, of inter-species hand-to-hand unarmed-combat making his old grumpy body ready for battle was outright scary sounding even to the brainships in orbit. The bar exploded with action as they all tried there best to get away from the small hairy demon.

He had been called a walking furball of mass destruction, twenty fingers of fate, iron palms, hammer toes, the four winds, a windmill of justice, the hero of peasants, the voice of wisdom, the hair of experience, the word of law, the savior of ark, the earl of bruce, brother of kings, tyrants bane, angels first advisor, the librarian unseen, theorangutan, the prince of paupers, the merchant of might, thou who art smitemyster, the smite of gorn, whispering death incarnate, the pelt of persuasion, grand-master of vegetables, owner of the quivering palms, the duke of earl, master of the trembling feet and the grand vicar of book.

They had took all that and much, much more away, and now, they must pay ‘the piper of four palms’.

The crew of the Balroth turned and rushed their former instructor from there days in the navel academy. Cord bitch slapped the captain with an open palm so hard it removed the fur from his face in the shape of a five fingered hand. The master spun around the center of his own mass on one foot and a finger of one hand poked the navigator in the eye and the other foot shot out and struck the first mate in the central nerve cluster with enough force to disable it. The first-mate then got snatched up by the ankle and then he was used as a club to literally beat the drive plasma out of the rest of the crew.

The chief engineer produced a small plasma torch that was not in the script. Alec ripped it from his grip using a tractorbeam with enough force that he flew over and smacked the window right in front of fireworm Tiamat, who had took a window seat with some savvy engineers wearing space suits who preferred live action.

The sergeant at arms was kicked in a leg joint by Cord bending it the wrong way with a sickening pop. The orange blur grabbed the back of his round head and deftly slammed that head against the deck plates twice.

The engineers-assistant grabbed a chair and hurled it at the small furious furball of furry fury. That chair went up-a-side three heads before the hairy hand of judgement sent the busted leg flying half the length of the room to rack to knuckles of an know assassin disguised as a member of the opposite sex. He was trying to hack a door panel.

Cord swayed right as the Bolean cargo-master swiped at his head with an arm, he curled his left hand into a fist and felled it with one blow to its exposed mating organs. Two drug smugglers were making progress on the spinward door until a curled up ball of the bolean buried both of them.

The slutty bangtail whore came at Cord with a dressing pin eight inches long. Cord snapped its arm spun it around and launched it at the window face first using his right foot.

The assassin threw a bottle of ol’ blue dreams whiskey at Cord’s head. The bottle stopped in midair as cord grabbed it. The action paused as Cord took a long pull on rotgut so nasty a few people dry heaved at the sight. Few creatures could handle drinking a straight shot of that god awful stuff. The thought of that taste going past those lips as cord drained the last half a liter had hardened veterans turning their heads away from the screens.

The cook of the Balroth was new to the crew and Cord was going to go easy on him. Five retractable claws slid from the cooks finger tips. Cord stuck one of the clawed hands in the captains back The other hand full of claws had with an big its shoulder ball joint dislocated to allow cord to stick it someplace really painful. The audio of those screams was being transmitted directly to the prison transport ships.

The drug dealer who had took over after Grugnut was killed stoodup and then died of an overdose from all the drugs he had took since the door had slammed shut.

Cord started throwing the beings around the bar. The bodys were aimed at the other patrons of the bar. The make shift missiles impacted at near fatal velocities.

The last conscious body was owned by a lowly janitor that had lied about causing a billion marks worth of damage to an outsiders drive unit last year. He sailed the full length of the room and slammed spread eagle against the window six inches from Tiamat’s quivering nose. Even Cord could smell the stigma of the shriveled-up driedout soul with-in.

The body slid down the window with a squeal of flesh on window Tiamat quickly appeared next it and gently caught it. She licked the air around its face tasting the soul within as she lowered it to the ground cradled as one would a lover. The souls she consumed were very hard to find and they only stayed ripe for a very short time.

She was always hungry. But the soul of this coward was not scared enough to seek refuge with her. It’s eyelids flicked open as Cord kneeled down and looked deeply into its small beady eyes. Cords mind ripped into the weak pitiful disturbed mind of the cowardly little janitor. Cord stripped the mental barriers down that concealed the many crimes he had made under many different names. The massive waves of guilt broke free and crashed upon the souls feeble spirit and it fled seeking refuge from Cords psychotic assault on it’s mind. It escaped and found oblivion in the only place the small orange monk would not go to get him. To Tiamat it was almost a full meal.

When Cord stood up the missing bartender suddenly was at his side holding the now complete bar-tab, it had almost six thousand entrys for items damaged/destroyed in the brawl. His still full drink was proffered along with it on a platter.

Cord looked at the tab, scanned the wreckage, shrugged his shoulders and placed his thumb on the pay-tab button.

“Worth it!”, was all he said as he strolled out to go visit Ethel a friend of his from back in his days as a playwright.

The bartender quickly downed the shot as the new decor arrived from stores. It was a green motif this week it appears.

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