“"I 'ave told you beefore! Zhees 'reecycling' works wondeurs on zee revolutionary scum 'eathens!"!!??!?”

Inside the Fisher’s Hall, all members of OAFS stood around the Rod Table and raised their rods in honour of the Comte de Frou Frou, whose face beamed triumphantly as the latest news from the battlefield arrived. It was he who had come up with the brilliant idea of using last week’s spill of soup to poison the waters of FEL’s biggest realm. This way, they had saved money on buying real poison and now OAFS was able to spend their money on specially prepared celebrational cushions.

All seemed to be going according to plan. Mesengers came and went, bringing news of the soupy demise of the peasants of the big FEL-realm. If they would succeed in finishing off this realm, their smaller realms would be able to make mince meat out of all the smaller kingdoms ruled under FEL’s shiny banner. The plan was working brilliantly!

“Your men are reporting another 700 deaths by soup, master Porckie!”

“Hurray! Bring them more soup!”

Still standing around the table, the OAFS started to thump their feet and flailed their arms from left to right.

“Sir Nagash, your men have another 200 deaths to report!”

This news was greeted with loud screams of “hurray” and even one “hoozah”. The flailing of arms and thumping of feet continued as yet another scribe came running in.

“Good sirs, the savage soup has killed off yet another 25 followers of Leto!”

“Good! This means there are only a few peasants left!”

Porckie the dwarf stood next to Frou Frou and clapped the aristocrat on the shoulders. He did this so hard that the man’s wig fell over his eyes.

“Good show of tactics, my dear Frou Frou! In fact, I believe I speak for everyone here if I say that we want you to lead all our warchats in the fut-“

Panting for breath, another servant rushed into the Fisher Hall.

“Sirs, sirs! A sudden increase in FEL-villagers, sirs! Our men report 1000 deaths now!”

Porckie wiggled his eyebrows and lifted his hand slowly from Frou Frou’s shoulders.

“Double our efforts! We will give them He..err..Soup!!”

The flailing of arms had stopped for the moment, but the thumping of feet continued. They had met stranger things in the past; they all remembered the silly person dressed in a sheet and talking to his horse, now that was strange. All eyes turned to the door as another messager came rushing in.

“Bad news I am afraid! We have received multiple reports and they seem to contradict each other. Whenever we get the news that FEL-populace is down to a mere few, the next report speaks of a sudden increase in the number of peasants!?”

“Hmm…something has gone amiss!”

Then something dawned upon him and Porckie slapped his forehead.

“Tell me..what was in the soup?”

“ Why, it was the soup lord Frou Frou gave us, my liege; I think it was a mixture of garlic, ginger, almonds, strawberries, chocolate, figs and oysters”

“Ginger, strawberries, figs, oysters, choc- I knew it! We’ve been feeding them spoiled aphrodisiacs! Sure, they were rotten and they got rid of most of the feeble bodied, but it apparently did wonders for the others! They must be going at it like rabbits!!”

With that, all the present OAFS slapped their foreheads in unison, except for Frou Frou, still blinded by his own wig, who was having a hard time locating his. Sighing heavily everyone sat down.

* PFFFRRRTT *

Hearing the whoopee cushions go off all at once, Porckie could not suppress a little smirk.

“Well, at least that was money and time well spent.”

Sitting comfortably in their kitchens the FEL villagers ate the delight soup presented as a gift by the kind order of almighty fishingrods. The soup was delicate, but oops, one got some terrible flatulances from it.
Many brave villagers fell unconcious by the terrible smell and almost the whole village became deserted due to the stench.
By chance Cluesen, the Fire Avatar, rode by that poor village on his warhorse and wanted to take a short rest.
Seeing what happened and almost fading himself he broke open the windows and led fresh air in.
By time the villagers regained their contiousness and Cluesen spoke: "You fools, how can you eat cold soup? You gotta heat it over our eternal fires before you eat it". Listening and following their lords advice the villagers heated the soup and ate more of it. Hot the soup did not cause any discontent anymore, in contradiction, it increased the libido to heights never thought possible. So right after the meal a love feast started and when the feast was over everyone was in best mood any eager to spend some more calories.
So we marched over to the fishinggrounds to thank them for their presents.
But noone was there anymore.
Apparently the foul stench that was blown over the border caused them all to flee.
As it was already late and the sun setting we decided to simply camp on these lands and guard them until their lords may eventually return.

‘Death by soup’ had a wonderful ring about it. The plan was simple: find decomposing edible things, make soup of it and send it to the heathens. Add to that the leftovers of last week’s soup and there was a lot of poison lying around in the lands of the OAFS.

Frou Frou was strutting around like a peacock as the reports came in: many peasants had died in the lands of the heathens of FEL. He wondered aloud whether FEL was actually short for ‘felching’ as another messenger came in and told tales of incapacitated infidels, poisoned pikemen and deceased dwarves. He beamed and adjusted his wig. This plan – Operación Gazpacho – was almost as successful as Operation Gruyère had been!

Then the unthinkable happened. Just as Porckie was appointing him, Le Comte Jean-Jacques Frou Frou, as war leader a messenger came in and brought news of an increase in the population. Frou Frou blushed visibly despite the rouge he was wearing and turned to one of his present military aides as all others disappointedly sank down on their whoopee cushions.

“Shoot ‘eem.”

“Oui, mon Comte”, the man said and started pulling down his pants.

“No, not like that! Shoot ‘eem! In zee ‘ead!”

The soldier was not quite used aiming his ‘shots’ that high, but he shrugged and dropped his pants to his ankles.

“Oui, mon Comte”, he said and started to make his way to the messenger, who dared not move and stared wide-eyed at the approaching pantsless soldier and mutely looked at Porckie, his eyes screaming for help.
But there was little Porckie would be able to do, for Frou Frou swore and pushed the soldier aside.

“Merde! Idiot! I told you to shoot ‘eem! In zee ‘ead, not to make sweet loveeng to ‘eem!!
Bah! I will do eet myself!”

Not awaiting an answer, he sank to his knees in front of the soldier and reached for the man’s belt. He took the crossbow which was attached to it, and loaded it. The bringer of the bad news panicked and ran to the door. Frou Frou calmly aimed and shot the man in the back of his head. Everyone in the Fisher’s Hall had fallen silent and was looking at Frou Frou.

“What? ‘Ee was lyeeng! Eh? Zee plan, eet ‘as worked!”

Just then, the roar of the soldiers of FEL could be heard. Frou Frou was afraid that they came for looting and slaughter, but it was more likely that they were aiming to take their massively increased libido’s out on the OAFS.

“Quickly, ‘ide! Zee revolutionaree scum ‘as come and eez ‘ere to roger us to death!”