Magnus is Attacked by Ancient Romans, Part 3

Back in the saddle again, Magnus, once he recovered his breath from the rope climbing exercise, wondered out loud what had happened to the sentient beings in those parts they were now traversing.

Easy that Magnus, they were slain outright, then, when their bodies rotted, their constituent nutrients were absorbed.

Really! What insidious evil got them?

Fierce great plant serpent hybrids got them Magnus. It happened like this. Once upon a time in these parts there lived a wicked boa constrictor. That boa constrictor was so wicked that no one, even among his own species, would have anything to do with him. He was totally alone, so he had plenty of time to think between meals. After a while he became interested in genetic engineering. Long he thought, and as always, his thoughts were wicked thoughts.

I know, I shall combine my genes with those of Panicum obtusum. The vine like stolons of that plant should combine with my genes easily enough. That is what that wicked boa constrictor thought up.

Sure enough, one day the evil boa constrictor succeeded in producing carnivorous stolons that were half giant wicked boa constrictor and half Panicum obtusum. The first thing the new baby hybrids ate though, was the wicked boa constrictor progenitor. He was handy.

Really! What happened then?

Well, those boa/stolons went everywhere in these parts. Anon, those boa/stolons had strangled nearly all the sentient beings in these parts. Yes. This is how the boa/stolons fed. They strangled a sentient being, allowed it to rot, then slurped up the constituent nutrients of those once sentient beings.

Yet, one only of the sentient beings survived to tell a tale. That lonely survivor was a young duck of a kind that is all black, black as the stygian darkness save for a white ring around its neck. Plus its feet and bill are orange.

Really? What did the young duck do, once it ducked those stolons?

It fled these parts Magnus. Yet it was too young to fly. That brave, lonely young duck, though flightless, determined to walk or swim to safety. Anon, after a terrible journey frought with perils that would have dismayed all but the amphibious, the little duck reached the relative safety of the WG Bar and Grill.

Blodeuwedd found the little duck one afternoon when She went out to sweep the porch. There the little duck lay on the porch steps, exhausted, nay, worn out from its tedious journey.

Oh my goodness!, proclaimed the beautiful Blodeuwedd. Here is a poor little tired out duck. I shall fold this little duck up in my apron. If it turns out to a good duck, I shall keep it as a pet.

Whoa! Dang it! I wish I was that little duck, Twrch. That is one lucky duck.

So it would seem Magnus. Yet that duck, though lucky, had a speech impediment so severe that even the WG could scarcely understand its speech. Long the WG labored to understand the little ducks’s excited quacks. At last though, after many tedious sessions, the WG began to understand the little duck and to glean something of the horrible goings on that had transpired in these parts. Yes, eventually the little duck and the WG were able to communicate so that at last the WG understood that an unnatural environmental disaster had overtaken these parts.

Mercy Twrch! What did the WG do then?

Well, of course, the WG always relies on me to sort out these kinds of disasters and to set things right and back to normal.

Twrch Trwyth mightiest of pigs, assemble yourself!, the WG cried out. Alertly I trotted over to the WG’s favorite table where She was ensconced upon Her favorite chair.

Twrch! Blodeuwedd’s pet duck has just barely related an incredible tale. Through all the spittle I deem, seemingly that the Panicum obtusum stolons in the parts where that daffy little duck formerly habitated tried to eat him, her or it, instead of vice versa, as is normal. You need to go check it out.

As you wish, Highest and Lovliest. I shall go check it out. Where do I go? Should I take prisoners?

The WG, after another laborious conversation with the little black duck, and after wiping most of the duck saliva off Herself, got some directions for me. Then She Ordered!, Spare No One, Twrch! Eat them all!

That’s my favorite order. I like that order. That is just the order for a real he man pig like me.

So then you came to these parts and ate up all the boa/stolons, right Twrch?

Yes I did, Magnus. But as things turned out, I got mighty tired of boa/stolon; breakfast, dinner and supper. Those dern things were everywhere. Plus, after I ate maybe half of them, they became wary. I would have to play dead to lure them in. That was the hardest part, Magnus, playing dead. You might expect that someone like me, possessed of hams, would be more of a natural born actor. Yet playing dead was not the part for me. As soon as I lay down, the flies would afflict me. Try as I might, once those flies afflicted me, especially on my anus, I would thrash about in order to counter afflict those same flies. Then the boa/stolons lurking nearby would see that I was not really dead. Mercy! It took forever to lure the last of them in.

How did you finally get them all lured in, Twrch?

Manure Magnus. Manure proved irresistible to those bottom feeders. What I would do is try to always go to the comfort station in the same clearing. Then, once I had huge pile built up, I would lurk in the adjacent brush out of sight and mind. Then, to that very location those boa/stolons would come, slithering along. Once a great many of them had assembled, I’d pounce. By that stage of the game, I was well beyond showing any mercy whatever. Eventually, I ate every last one of those unnatural boa/stolons.

That’s swell Twrch. Uh. What happened to the duck? I don’t remember a duck of that same description while I was lucky enough to habitate at the WG Bar and Grill.

Easy that Magnus. That particular duck eventually became a stud duck.

Whoa! You don’t mean he got a date with Blodeuwedd, do you Twrch?

No, no, no, Magnus. Once we figured out that he was never fixing to be less annoying, and also his sex, the WG sent him off to Her duck farm. She thought maybe the other ducks could cure his speech impediment and teach him to fly.

How did that work out, Twrch?

Well, the speech impediment persists, and he never learned to fly , but as is it turns out, those traits are of no account anyway when it comes down to a career as a stud duck. You may see, Magnus, that specializing, rather than generalizing, can come in handy as a career option.

But he was Blodeuwedd’s pet duck. If he was good, surely Blodeuwedd wanted to keep her pet duck, always.

No Magnus, She didn’t. By the time that duck got put out to stud, everyone was tired of him. It was time for that duck to move on.

Mercy, thought Magnus. I have a lot in common with that duck. Yet that duck eventually found his niche. Alas! When shall I find my niche or destiny?