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Introduction
Sentimental Whoopy
Annual Address
Jousting Tournament
Whoopy on Ice
Whoopy on Tap
The Whooped Legacy
Whoopy Reloaded
Whoopy Booked Up
Whooped and Swooped
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THE WHOOPED LEGACY
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The sky above Valley Plunker roiled and writhed with violence. Lightning danced across the sky and stabbed unmercifully at the ground and surrounding mountain peaks causing the entire valley to reverberate with a deep, rumbling, resonance. Rain fell from the heavens in unholy sheets, driven by the wind against anything standing in its face. Today, the sky was a friend to neither man nor beast.
The rain and wind beat against all with a vengeance. Ever the more so upon the stalwart walls of Castle Morbrick. Castle Morbrick, had been the somber residence of one Sir Elmo D. Whoosh, the Wizard’s uncle and also the family home for several generations. It rose, or rather seemed to grow, from a small mountaintop at the north end of Valley Plunker, some distance from Plunkersham Forest. There it had resided for some manner of time and had withstood many such outbursts from the heavens. It’s aging, grayish, walls still bore the craftsman’s marks where each stone had been carefully arrayed one atop the other in purposeful fashion. The castle itself had been designed for an earlier time with many high walls and battlements from which to ward off attack. Several tall, spire-capped turrets, occupied the corners so often associated with defensive structures. Large wooden enclosures capped some of the walls and rooflines within the fortress. Defenders could seek protection there while raining malice on their assailants. Medieval warfare was supposed to consist of ideals and noble outcomes, but when it got right down to it, survival became the game’s central theme. Servant’s quarters, barracks for soldiers, family living quarters and stables occupied the inner sanctum of the fortress. A design for times past. Now it served other purposes and stood in mute testimony to another time, another way of life.
That era had indeed passed and now the peace of Plunkersham Forest was most often broken by the Dragon and maybe one or two of his relatives from time to time. The days of castle storming and large scale challenges to family honor were long since passed. Although – every now and then…….!
Nestled within the solid walls of Castle Morbrick was a large gathering hall which had been host to many functions throughout its lengthy history. Connected at one end to the inner warrens of the fortress and the family living quarters, ornate at the other end with a large stained glass window which caught the morning sunlight. On the south wall was a large fireplace, now softly burning with embers from an earlier fire of some proport. The north wall was a portico with a large grand entrance and a couple of anterooms, now used for cloaks, coats and other such paraphernalia. The walls themselves were adorned with a myriad of objects and colored banners from adventures of past generations. There were stuffed animal trophies and decorations of varied importance to the family’s tenure. High overhead loomed the protective but imposing timbered ceiling that kept the elements at bay. For one to stand in this place and drink in the atmosphere, one would gain a sense of adventure and history which harkened across time. And, were one to take the full measure of the place, there was also a hint of mischief. An impression of something amiss and foreboding that would seep into the consciousness. Despite the warm fire a cold chill would drift into the soul, leaving one to warily regard every corner and sound in the room. A warm soul could never really come to grips with such uneasiness.
The hall was built to accommodate large numbers of guests and to that end many fixtures and furniture occupied the spaces. In the center of the room was the largest and most oft used piece of furniture; a large oak dining table. It was perhaps forty feet in length and some ten feet in breadth. It was made from solid oak from the Black Forest and shined brilliantly in the light. Surrounding the table was a number of large, high backed and elaborately decorated wooden chairs. The largest of which was more extensively decorated and sat at the window end of the dine. The entire scene portrayed one of dignified longevity. The motley group which sat around its periphery today, however, represented a much more diverse experience.
It was always cause for concern when such a group came together for common purpose. ANY kind of common purpose!
At the head of the table sat the Bishop, the King’s authority on such matters as probating estates. Sir Elmo had passed and had bequeathed his healthy estate in unexpected ways. Gathered around the table were several fabled residents of Valley Plunker and each listened intently with stifled emotion to the Bishop as he detailed the final wishes of Sir Whoosh.
Sir Hammer’itt had been left the used wagon lot on the corner of Duggit St and Impish Way. He didn’t even own a wagon! Sir Wenchalot had been fairly embarrassed to learn he was now a proprietary benefactor of the “house” on Duggit St. Sure, he’d frequented the house many times and was said to be on near marital terms with at least two of the women, but he didn’t know that Sir Whoosh, quite the business man, had been a silent partner with Lady Tightbottice and held the controlling interest. Now the place was his. (In partnership with Lady Tightbottice of course.) Since neither of the women was aware of the other, Saturday nights were always fun with Sir Wenchalot.
Sitting rather sheepishly at one corner of the table was the Bagel vendor. Yep. He hadn’t been left out. He was was quite unaware of the affinity held by Sir Whoosh for his wares. All in all, the Kingdom was well represented; Sir Whoopsalot was there. Lady Tightbottice, Squire Boozely, Sir Hit’emlow and one or two others. Even “Ole Toasterbreath” was accounted for. He sat on a bench opposite the bagel dealer and took great delight in causing to him jump every time he belched. Sir Whoopsalot and Sir Hammer’itt took turns casting disdainful glances at them in an effort to maintain some respectful comportment but it was like baby sitting small children. There was just too much temptation. Others shared in the restlessness as well. The Wizard himself was very surprised to learn of his inheritance. Being childless Sir Whoosh had left the ancestral home to him. He mentally mused and compared his modest apartment in town with the near palatial surroundings in which he now found himself. All the while fidgeting in his chair like someone with a rash in a bad place. It was quite an occasion.
“There is one final bit of business to be attended to in these proceedings” said the Bishop.
“All other holdings of the estate have been doled out appropriately and I trust no quarrel will result from it. But there is one more piece of the estate with which I have great consternation as to how to explain. As far as the benefactor, this is a matter for the Wizard alone. It involves a family heirloom of some sort that is not described in detail in this document. It is however described in location. ”A bolt of lightning lit up the hall and announced it’s presence with a loud crack and report against distant hillsides. Its force made the structure tremble. Everyone’s attention was now shifting from face to face and eventually fell upon the Bishop. A moment of uneasy silence followed his words, to be finally broken by Sir Hammer’itt’s crusty voice. He shifted his weight from side to side in his massive chair.
“Wouldn’t this be a matter to which the Wizard should attend to alone?” he asked with an inquisitive tone. The Wizard was stunned into inaction and could only stare at the parchment held by his friend the Bishop. All faces now were lit by the glowing fire light and each searched for something say in the otherwise dimly lit room.
“Ordinarily”, the Bishop uttered in halting syllables, “you’d be right Sir Hammer’itt. But this endowment comes with an admonition to adhere to some very specific conditions and warns of great danger for even the slightest transgression of its tenets. I’m of a mind that perhaps it is best evaluated in the company of friends and confidants.”
The inner curiosity could not be contained and Sir Whoopsalot entered the conversation in earnest. “Does this mean something here in the Castle?” he asked with a stern but resilient quality of voice, gesturing with his hand to include the surrounding structure. “Well, the documents here give a warning, some instructions and a location but that’s all. It’s quite intriguing but somewhat vague as well. It makes no mention at all of the nature of this installment.” The rain beat even harder against the window.
All eyes cast upon the Wizard, beseeching him to make some gesture or statement to the answering of this mystery. “Well, I guess since the inheritance is spelled out I must find out what the big secret is.” To this came a chorus of agreement and support, sprinkled here and there with innocuous humor.
The Bishop, clasping a medallion which hung about his neck, began to read of black magic, secret passages and trap doors located within the very room in which the group sat. All eyes became fixated upon an obscure corner of the room with a large rug and end table. Supposedly, underneath the rug was a large trap door which led eventually to a secret location deep within the mountain and there lay the object of secrecy, whatever it was. The documents mentioned also that the item carried with it certain daily responsibilities which must be dutifully attended to without fail. The group was noticeably uneasy now as all eyes fell upon this one spot in the floor. The stout wooden floor had, over many years, been worn and polished by heavy traffic. All except one place. That place. It bore much more signs of wear and traffic than the remainder. It bespoke of being a significant part of someone’s life. But what secrets did it represent? What dangers did it hold? Curiosity was now overcoming fears and all agreed the trail had to be followed. To whatever lay at the end.
Everyone stood and made their way over to the rug and Sir Wenchalot reached down and pulled it back to reveal a large trap door which bore a solid ornamental pull ring on one side. It was obvious this handle had been used regularly since it exhibited no rust and was well worn in the center. The group looked at each other in sequence and finally someone spoke.
“Okay Henry,” said Sir Wenchalot to the Wizard, “It’s up to you. Do we open this thing and find out?”
The Wizard, bedecked in his robe and pointed hat, glanced around the group carefully as if to gauge the depth of its resolve. Here was where trust and loyalty come into play. Here was where your friends separated themselves from your TRUE friends.
With a shrug and a small exhibition of strength Squire Boozely reached down and yanked the heavy door upwards and to the side in one fell swoop. The group came together in a smaller huddle and all gazed intently down into the newly created opening. Its dark recesses revealed a set of steps that led downward into what seemed endless darkness. And yet, there was some sort of light, or more precisely a glow, coming from another recess into the mountain at the bottom of the steps. One could discern that the passageway led further into the mountain from the bottom of the steps. The group all took a glance at “Wizzy” and his return look told of utter surprise. He had been in the castle many times but he had never even caught a hint of secret tunnels and passages. Suddenly all eyes beheld the Dragon. He’d burped and smoke bellowed from his nostrils. With a unanimous and silent agreement it was decided he’d go down the steps first. No one wanted to be caught in such tight quarters when he let loose again.
Lady Tightbottice declined to accompany the group and elected instead to remain in the hall and await a report from the “survivors.” No one questioned that.
Slowly the group began to descend into the mountain’s heart. Warily they took each step, tightly bunched and practically walking on each other as they went. It had gotten pretty dark in the stepped tunnel but as soon as they got to the bottom they beheld a larger passageway that was carved rather than occurred naturally in the mountain. Along the stone walls were lamp fixtures with torches mounted in them. Someone must have passed here recently as every other one was lit. They cast light enough in the tunnel to see it extended for a considerable distance into the mountain. After taking a moment to survey the situation the group moved at once to begin exploring the length of the tunnel. Sir Lunchalot grabbed a torch and passed it to Sir Whoopsalot who assumed the lead in this “safari.” A moment later he grabbed another of the unlit fixtures and borrowed a light from Whoopy. Possessing more light now the crowd inched its way along the passage. It was well worn and obviously used quite often as cobwebs were only in the smallest of corners and the pathway was beaten and smooth. Their steps echoed against the walls with haunting repetition. The tunnel itself was perhaps ten feet in width and stretched for maybe two hundred feet. As this unlikely crowd of explorers reached the far end of the tunnel they stopped to take stock of the situation.
The tunnel now made a right hand turn and followed a much larger cavern with an underground stream running inside of it. There was plenty of room for walking on both sides of the stream but the path they were on was the most heavily traveled. Again there were torches lit along its length. Someone had been here very recently. Moving now alongside the stream the team came to a bridge over the stream which was perhaps 40 feet in length and maybe two people wide. On both sides were heavy ironwork gates and fixtures designed to prevent passage. They had locks but neither one had been secured. It was as if they were a contingency and not a regular precaution.
The crowd, after taking comfort in each other’s presence made their way across the bridge and to the other side. Sir Whoopsalot and the Dragon almost came to blows over being side by side in crossing the bridge. Once safely on the other side it was apparent the trail made it’s way down that side of the stream for several hundred feet and then made a sharp left hand turn into yet another tunnel cut into the face of the cavern wall. Between them and the next tunnel were two more heavy iron gates with heavy wooden locking beams standing idly by to lock the gates with if necessary. Everyone in the team looked at Wizzy and their gaze was met with complete confusion. He was just as amazed as everyone else.
Curiosity began to take hold now and the crowd, pushed, elbowed and stomped its way down the path. Eventually they came to the next tunnel and turned into it. It was without lights and ended only perhaps a hundred feet into the wall. At the end of the tunnel was a large iron door, carefully crafted into a stout and heavy wooden frame that isolated whatever was behind it from the cavern system. And intruders. With curiosity now firmly in control the group made its way up to the door and without much fanfare managed to open it. It opened without a great deal of effort as its bulk was finely balanced on the hinges. A child could have opened it. But it was solid. Built to withstand quite a challenge. Once inside the doorway the gang found themselves inside a large room with smooth walls and equipped with furniture. The walls were stocked with wooden shelves and there was room for storage in one corner. A fire pit was evident in the center and a large flat stone stood nearby. Its flat upper surface had obviously been a repository for things over the years but nothing abided there now. Stains and crumbs told of use. By someone. The two torch holders began to make their way around the room and light torches. Slowly the room began to lighten up and revealed a workshop of sorts for sorcery. Black magic if you will.
Suddenly, from the back of the room, opposite of the doorway, a sound was heard and all eyes quickly fixed in that direction. Their scrutiny was met with a large iron bar cage with an animal of some sort in one corner. There was hay and several banana peels lying on the floor. Squire Boozely reached out and grabbed Sir Wenchalot’s hand in a vain effort to obtain solace and was severely rebuked. Sir Wenchalot took offense and slapped Boozeley’s hand away. Momentarily all attention was cast upon those two as they jostled each other, one needing comfort, the other offended at this decidedly un-manly gesture. Eventually the Dragon stuck his snout in between them and made peace. Albeit with the threat of much worse than simple offense of sensibilities. It was almost comical. The Bishop, heretofore quiet and meek, spoke up.
“It says here that this animal is a Purple Gorilla. One of Sir Whoosh’s experiments that went wrong. He kept it here in this cage until he could find a way to change him back into the simple monkey that he was. It also says here that he’s extremely intelligent, strong and prone to temperish fits.” Said the Bishop with some authoritative tone. “There’s more” he hastened. “It says here that one must never, and it’s emphasizes this, NEVER, show any humor around him as depression is the only thing which keeps him calm.”
Sir Wenchalot took a long gaze at the cage and then muttered something about Country music being a good source of depression.
“It ought to keep him calm and very depressed.” He said in reticent fashion. It was then it happened.
The Dragon stepped on Squire Boozely’s foot and when the shoving match started it caused an all out melee in the room. It took several minutes before the shouting and arguing stopped.
“He started it!” shouted Squire Boozely.
The Dragon made hand, (or maybe paw??), motions to show it was Boozely who transgressed. Before long the Bishop, normally reserved and docile, got into the act, sounding like a Baptist preacher rained out of revival.
“Aw right!’ he yelled in the role of leadership. “That’s enough! It’s bad enough that “Toasterbreath” has gas; you two have to act like school children. Enough!”
Right about then the Dragon succumbed to a “gas attack” and an episode of bad manners. The resulting noise could be heard all around the room. This brought about the normal amount of accusatory glances and giggles. Before anyone realized what had happened the Purple Gorilla stood up in his cage and cast his burning gaze upon the group. They stood there, frozen in fear, staring back at him with an “Aw @%$#” look. Without so much as a warning the Gorilla’s eyes glazed over and he assumed a threatening stance, somewhat closer to the bars. With a grunt he reached out and grabbed the bars and began to shriek and shake the cage violently. The intrepid gang of explorers, gathered up in a tight group and utterly frozen in fear, had the very real appearance of being caught in the headlights of an on-coming vehicle. No one moved. No one breathed. It’s of real debate as to whether or not there was any conscious thought going on at that moment.
The Gorilla was displaying muscle and anger as he shook the cage and rattled its contents. More and more the cage looked as if it was going to yield to the terrible pounding. The cage was plenty strong but it was beginning to break apart. The heavy steel was actually bending under the assault of this banana eating behemoth. By now the cage was coming up off of the floor and rattling its way across the room. But this was of little consequence as the bars themselves were bending and beginning to come loose from their mountings.
With a loud crack that sounded like a cannon shot one of the bars parted and fell inwards of the cage. And then another. And then another. With the snap of another Plunkersham’s finest residents panicked and began an all out retreat from the room. They grabbed at each other and traded insults as they fought to gain forward momentum towards the door. In a cloud of dust and insult the group fought its way to the door and through it. Just as Squire Boozely pulled the door to, he caught sight of the Gorilla freeing himself of the cage and beginning to run towards the door. They slammed the door shut and brought the locking bar down hard to secure the door. Everyone felt a small measure of safety as the locking bar slammed into place.
“THAT should keep him in one place” said the Bishop, almost out of breath from the panicked exit. It was then that they heard and felt the Gorilla hit the door from the other side. Bam! Bam! Again and again the “swinger” hit and punched the heavy iron door and it was beginning to rip loose from its frame. That took real power and no one in the group felt “froggy” enough to confront THAT kind of force! Sir Whoopsalot turned and started a blind dash down the tunnel pathway. He was met in a head-on collision by Squire Boozely, who in turn was rear-ended by Sir Hammer’itt. This pile-up was closely followed by a chain-reaction accident involving the Bishop, the Dragon and Sir Lunchalot. It didn’t take long to regain their footing and the entire crowd began running at a frantic pace towards the next set of barriers. Just as the Bagel vender left eyesight of the door he saw the Gorilla turn it into scrap metal. That was all he had to see. He accelerated to Olympic speed and actually passed the others in an attempt to gain safety on the other side of the gate. When the others had reached and passed through the gate, a frantic effort was made to close the gate and lock it down with the heavy wood beam located right next to the gate for that purpose. After a bit of a clumsy fight the gate was shut and the beam drawn down. This was done in haste as the Gorilla could be heard coming down the path from the tunnel leading back to his cage. One look was all it took and the crowd was off again. In a hurry! The dust flew as the crowd, running almost on top of one another, hastily made its way to the next gate. They turned see the Gorilla grab hold of the previous gate and begin to mangle its formidable ironwork into unrecognizable fragments. The ironwork was torn loose from its mounts along the wall and bits and pieces of rock as well as ironwork sprayed through the air. They riccocheted off of the other wall and splashed into the stream. That was further confirmation that an all out retreat was necessary and wasting time watching this menace come down the pathway was highly unadvisable. Downright ridiculous as a matter of fact. They retreated across the bridge in an outright footrace. Stopping only to secure the heavy gates on both sides. It was a comical thing to witness as a dozen sets of hands attempted to do what was a normal task for one. At one point Sir Lunchalot beaned the Dragon with the locking bar. He bellowed loudly as if to announce his discontent, only to stop and realize he was no longer the center of attention! This small portion of humble pie didn’t set well but there was no time to argue. They had no sooner gotten the last gate locked on their side of the stream when they saw the Gorilla absolutely shred the other side. Pieces of metal and wood careened off of the walls and again splashed into the moving waters. Okay! This had all been interesting up to now but enough was enough! This “cat” meant business! And nothing could stop him. All the chivalry and Dragon flame in the world couldn’t slow THIS beast down. And from the look in his eye, he meant to harm! And the worst part of all this was he was gaining on them!! The Bagel vendor got the bottom of the stairs first. He had taken about two steps when the Dragon caught up with him and grabbed him by the shirt tail and pulled him physically from the stairs. Next, as these two began to fight to get up the stairs Sir Hammer’itt, Sir Whoopsalot and Squire Boozely attempted to fit three people into the space meant for two and created a real traffic jam. The Dragon, seeing his escape route blocked by panicked neophytes, resorted to flames to motivate them. A bright yellow tongue of flames shot from his snout and found Lunchalot and Boozely with ease. This caused a momentary lapse in memory as to what had caused the original panic and now they were running up the steps in full retreat, clasping their backsides as they went. By now all that could be heard was the clanging of armor, the roar of flames and the utter destruction of heavy ironwork. The actual roar from the Gorilla was drowned out. Now the group reached the top of the stairs and, amidst the sounds of destruction, could see the purple Gorilla reach the bottom of the stairs. Pausing a moment, he surveyed them from his lower position. Like a predator, eyeing helpless victims, he watched. The gang was gathered around the hole, totally beyond rational thought and wondering what to do. The overgrown monkey began to take the stairs and this shocked the group into action once more. In haste and panic, for lack of any other course of action they slammed the trap door shut and quickly spread the rug out as if nothing was happening. Collectively they stopped, still huddled together in fear, and listened. They could hear his footfalls as the Gorilla cleared each step. They drew ever closer as he reached the top and paused, as if to listen for himself. For several moments nothing happened. No one moved. Breath was taken in short, halting gasps. Then, all at once the trap door was hit with tremendous force and it flung open and slammed into the floor opposite its hinges. The Gorilla stood in the hole, only inches from the top floor, looking for the objects of his pursuit. Quickly he spotted the frightened group, several feet away huddled in the corner. As a hunter with malice in his heart would eye his prey, the Gorilla fixed his gaze upon the crowd. Slowly he began to take short, pre-mediated steps towards the group. With each step the crowd would whimper and back up against the wall. The crowd had taken to trembling in unison and they looked like a giant crystal, vibrating in harmony. Slowly the Gorilla crossed the floor, his padded feet deliberately taking each step. Sir Hammer’itt reached up and slammed his faceplate shut, as if THAT would do any good against the certain end they were all about to face. Slowly, but with purpose the marauding simian crept closer and closer. With each step the gang would recoil further and tighter against the wall. Now, as he was close enough to touch, his eyes met George’s. Their eyes locked together, each searching the other for a sign. Something that gave a clue as to what would happen next. The Gorilla reached out for Whoopy. George recoiled even further, certain his end was near. His trembling got even worse, rattling his armored suit like a wind chime. Just as the Gorilla grabbed Whoopy by the arm he suddenly froze and a big smile broke out across his hairy face.
“TAG! YOUR IT!!” he bellowed with a grin to beat all.
Whoopy fainted. The Dragon clutched the Bagel dealer and almost strangled him, growling as he did so. Sir Lunchalot crumpled to the floor and sobbed. Squire Boozely giggled. Lady Tightbottice rushed to Whoopy. He wasn’t quite yet a candidate for CPR but she was ready anyway.
Someone, (and no one would own up to it!), had another episode of gas.
The Gorilla began to jump up and down and acted like he wanted to be pursued next. The rest of this misguided safari looked at each other in amazement and relief. The Bishop mentioned taking up heavy drinking as a hobby. The Wizard cursed his uncle. And then broke out in hysterical laughter.
The day ended in sunshine. The white billowy clouds drifted by with no hint of their earlier fury.
It was happy hour at the Wretched Monkey. No one thought about the coincidental irony in the name. Everyone was having a good time. Sir Whoopsalot bought a few rounds. The Gorilla did the same. Sir Hammer’itt and Sir Wenchalot were hotly engaged in a “chugging contest.” Lady Tightbottice was refereeing. The Bishop was in the corner, talking to a used wagon salesman. The salesman was passed out. The Wizard sat at the end of the bar, his pointed hat pushed upwards on his brow and pondering his reflection in his drink. What does one do with a castle, anyway??
Eventually, everyone found honor.
Somewhat.
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