This was simply too funny a story to be lost forever - from Defective-Monk on the US Forums.
Introduction: This is an unauthorized companion piece to Kylikki's Crypt, authored by RogueLion here on these boards. I intend to make it every bit as epic as the story I am paying tribute to. Please to enjoy, Yakhmar's Hole.
Part One:
Cold. The cold of ice, of the northern winds, of a metal flagpole trapping innocent children's tongues. Cold. She wasn't really familiar with the word or the concept. She was an ice worm, really THE ice worm and to her a cold day in Cimmeria was no more or less discomforting than trying to digest a fully armored knight. Her children called it cold, endlessly whining on to her about how they lacked the protection of her majestic white fur or her layers of hard earned blubbler. But then, what didn't her kids whine about. Most of the time, she just tuned it out, thinking instead about slowly digesting those deeply tanned Stygians. Man, those were good eating.
She rolled over, looking to a piles of scat that resembled her mountain home, but in miniature form. She groaned, or did the closest approximation that an ice worm can. Her children were slovenly crybabies with no sense of pride in their surroundings. She hadn't slowly consumed all those lost adventurers and animals just to have her home turned into some sort of crapsicle storage area.
With a bone rattling screech (she didn't have bones, but she did have some vague understanding of what the crunchy bits were in the people she ate), she summoned her children to her. They burrowed out of the ground around her, daring to come with unkempt fur and bits of snow ape still dangling from their rows of serrated teeth. She rolled her eyes and started barking at them to clean up this wretched filth.
Her children cowed in submission, but one dared to speak up in response. It was Greg, one of her favorites. (No, the worm wasn't really named Greg, but it really was one of her favorite children, which was a feat in itself, given that she literally had thousands of offspring. The other iceworms teased Greg mercilessly, but we really should save that for another story).
A new band of strangers? Greg confirmed what he had said. Many two-legs came up the dangerous paths towards their home, with torch and blade in hand.
The grand matron regurgitated a small treat for Greg, a half digested bear. While he ate it greedily, She screeched out new orders. They would hide and lay in wait until she called for them. Then, in coordinated groups of three to four, they would spring up to surprise the invaders and thwart their attempts.
It was a good plan. Sure, she had used it plenty of times before, but why break with tradition? Certainly no beast was more cunning than her and able to plan a counter strategy to her brilliant tactics.
While the lesser worms quickly hid, she smoothed out a rough spot on the fur lining her outer mouth. No need to look ill-groomed for guests. If they were going to die for her, the least she could do was look presentable. Above her, close to the mouth of the cave, she heard the hushed chatter of those that had come. She could not understand their words. She could not understand if they were fortune hunters, do-gooders or fame seekers. Like cold, she had no concept of what any of these things were.
All she knew is that they had come, and since it was still several hours before lunch, she was hungry.
(To be continued)