'Frosty Jack'
A Foul Mouth Freddy Tale by Tony Harwood
Miniatures painted, based and photographed by Tony Harwood.
Foul Mouth Freddy meets three Cryptmass ghosts in this bawdy twist on a classic redemption tale...
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Jack was in a really frosty mood. Ever since he had sat in front of that County Magistrate and been press-ganged into joining the Army of Albion his life had been a nightmare. The warmer weather of Catalucia and the lack of chilly air was having an effect and Jack was pining for the cold and windswept winter storms of his childhood home. Wheel N Turn’s army was now entering the final stages of the war against Mordred but still the army marched on. Then, to top it all, there was a new story coming out of Albion: some ‘do gooder’ author had written an uplifting story glorifying the Cryptmass spirit and telling of the conversion of some miserly old money lender after being visited by three ghosts – Bah Humbug!
Jack just wanted some fun but Mother Earth had contrived against him and his un-natural powers to control the bleak winter weather had deserted him, ever since stepping foot on this sun drenched and bone dry land of swarthy Elves and green-skinned Goblins. Then there was that infernal sergeant – Foul Mouth Freddy who had been a pain in the neck of young Jack ever since he had cheated the fellow recruits out of their precious King’s shilling. What the dickens was he to do?
But with Cryptmass Eve fast approaching things were about to change...
The journey through the high passes of Catalucia meant that snow-capped mountains were now visible and as the troops trekked upwards and upwards the inherent and frigid powers that had been lost began to re-immerge in Jack. On the seventh day, as more ill-prepared troops were complaining of the bitter chill, Jack found that his seemingly-lost power over the inclement weather began to return. The first evidence of this was the ability to produce icicles on the dripping noses of the soldiers around him and soon the worrying signs of frost bite began to make an appearance. Was it now possible for Jack to perform some cold-hearted Wylde Majic, like the japes he had once been so fond of?
His target for these chilly feats was Freddy, obviously. He needed to be taken down a peg or two. That first frosty night, Jack summoned the ghost of Cryptmass Past who, at midnight on the cloudless night, appeared at the entrance to Freddy’s bivouac and proceeded to inform Freddy of what was about to befall him both tonight and on the following two nights. As regular readers of these short stories will know, Freddy is not one to be messed with and he particularly dislikes being woken from his brandy induced slumber. But, after the usual shouting and swearing, Freddy was persuaded to follow the first ghost and, taking Freddy by the hand, the ghost of Cryptmass Past lifted Freddy into the air and they were soon diving down into the flea ridden hovel of what Freddy remembered as his old workhouse dormitory. Beneath Freddy was a shivering urchin that he immediately recognised as his younger self and beside him was Dickie – Tricky Dickie his lifelong compatriot in youth and arms. A distant bell rang, and the overseers began to wake the chilly children from their fitful sleep and frog-marched them both to a featureless wash room where the water was only just enough to allow for a quick face wash and then down to breakfast where the pasty gruel was slopped into chipped china bowls. The ghost looked down at Freddy and, with an accusing finger, pointed at the colourless food. Far from being perturbed, Freddy looked longingly at the bowl’s contents and said:
“Some of the best days of my bl**dy life these, and I miss that gruel. I wish old Leighty could make breakfast half as good as that old stodgy porridge.” The ghost was surprised and a little perturbed that this first lesson had gone so wrong and crestfallen returned Freddy to his makeshift tent with a half-hearted promise that, on the next night, a second ghost would visit Freddy and once again take him on a trip to show the error of his ways.
The next morning Frosty Jack was surprised to see Freddy so upbeat at breakfast and enjoying the contents of a bowl of colourless gruel that Big Fat Leighty had reluctantly prepared for him. With a tear of fond memory, Freddy scoffed down the lot and even asked for seconds! The rest of the group were less impressed.
On the following night at midnight, a second ghost, the Ghost of Cryptmass Present, woke Freddy from his slumber and this time Freddy had less to say as he looked forward to what treats this huge nocturnal visitor had in store for him. Freddy grasped the surprised ghost’s hand and the ghost was pulled out of the tent.
“Well what now?” Freddy asked enthusiastically.
This was not the way things were supposed to go and Jack, who had been watching from the bone chilling shadows, began to think that this was not going the way he had foreseen. Freddy, in corporeal form, was taken to the main regimental hall where huge roast meats and wine were being served to the officers and guests. The plum pudding came and the brandy flowed, accompanied by bawdy music.
“This is the true Cryptmass spirit whispered the ghost.”
But Freddy was not listening. His cheeks reddened and abuse poured from his mouth; the ripe language made even the pale ghost blush crimson and Freddy’s fury at the abundance of food being wasted did not abate as his comrades had to make do with just crumbs and scraps. His temper at the revelry was uncontainable. He swung his arms and charged in to the overflowing tables. His corporeal being, propelled by pure will power, ruined the excessive and jovial atmosphere of the dining hall and screams were heard all across the camp. The previously stuffed guests ran from the tables and into the chilly cold air not knowing what evil spirit could cause such a scene, as to them Freddy was completely invisible.
Freddy exited the hall and the second ghost, shaken by the experience, quickly took Freddy back to his tent. Hastily retreated, telling Freddie to expect another visit on the next night. Freddy, ever the entrepreneur, called to his crew to go and get some free grub. As you can imagine, they didn’t need to be told twice and quickly purloined as much ‘scrag’ as they could carry – a wonderful feast ensued (well at least for Freddy’s posse – as the officers were cowering behind anything they could find - typical Albion officer behaviour).
Frosty Jack was beside himself with rage. A second Ghost had completely failed to even upset Sergeant Freddy and, to add insult injury, Freddy was once again seen as a great hero by his men. This was not what Jack had wanted, not at all.
Day three and another ghost. Surely this one could make up for the disappointing results from the previous two phantoms. Freddy asked if this was the ghost of Cryptmass Yet To Come but the hooded ghost said nothing and just pointed a bony skeleton finger towards a group of soldiers standing beside a make-shift wooden cross.
“He’s dead,” said the first.
“Good riddance,” said the second while the third pulled out an old and battered flask from his tunic and raised a toast.
“To our own Foul Mouthed sergeant Foul Mouth Freddy”.
To the third ghost’s surprise Freddy scowled and screamed with an abundance of expletives.
“That’s my bl**dy flask. My old mum stole that and left it to me as a gift. Well, I stole it from her when I was sent to the poor house but, still, it’s my bl**dy flask and my s***ing brandy.”
The ghost broke its long held vow of silence.
“That’s not the point. The point of these visits is to show you the error of your wicked ways, not to point out that your property – something you will have no further use for in the very near future - is now in the hands of someone else.”
“I don’t give a r**s a**e what you think. Give me back that s***ing flask.” And with that, Freddy snatched back the flask from the startled Orc and turned on his heels back to the tent while the ghost, shoulders visibly slumped, crept off in to the pitch black and frozen night knowing that he also had failed.
Jack was beside himself with frustration and, knowing that nothing he could do to hinder Freddy, also slipped off in to the night to lick his icy wounds. His newly returned powers seemingly useless against the larger-than-life sergeant that could, it seemed, survive the attentions of three formidable spectres’ with ease.
Far from Freddy being repentant, Freddy was filled with renewed vigour he made sure that his troops were well fed this Cryptmass and went on to lead his posse against the enemies of Albion with more foul language and kicking of butts.
In most morality tales there would be a final chapter explaining how the main character would repent and change is wicked ways, but this is Freddy. Foul Mouth Freddy. And the normal rules of engagement don’t apply. The moral of this short story is:
You cannot instil any good intentions in someone so bl***dy black-hearted as our anti-hero Foul Mouth Freddy and nor should you try.
It just wouldn’t suit our Freddy or supply such an interesting tale.
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Author's Notes
Obviously the tale is based on the Charles Dickens classic A Christmas Carol, but written with a Flintloque inspired twist to suit the character of our beloved, but sometimes infuriating, hero Foul Mouth Freddy. I hope you like it.
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Webmaster's Notes
This article was written exclusively for Orcs in the Webbe and was first published on the 4th December 2024 as the fourth entry in the 2024 Advent Calendar.
You can read all the previous adventures of Foul Mouth Freddy by clicking on his maroon tag just below and to the left.
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