Meanwhile, at another part of the Island:
“Ogre Hill tour leaves in five minutes! Five minutes! Only open to the bravest and most manly of men, sorry ladies.” the portly, rather short, mustached driver of the mini-bus announces at the small village that is the arrival destination for those purchasing the Pleasure Island cruise package.
Already disembarked and wandering about looking for things to do, three rather burly men hear the driver.
The tallest of the three, Greg approaches the Ogre Hill bus with his two friends, not much smaller than he behind. Greg gets the attention of the driver just as he is getting ready to depart. In a voice, husky from the enjoyment of many fine cigars and with one of those clamped between his teeth now, he asks, “So what’s this Ogre Hill thing? as he strokes his thick red beard, slightly flexing a tattooed bicep as he takes the cigar from his mouth. None of his thick, corded muscular torso hidden by the muscle T-shirt he wears, it’s as if it was painted on.
“Are you interested?” the rotund, balding driver asks, “Because if you are I can assure you, you won’t be disappointed. We have real Ogres, a colony of them in a secluded valley only about ten miles from here. This isn’t a bunch of Hollywood makeup and animatronics. Big muscular guys like you certainly qualify for manly, but I warn you, you have to be brave enough to match your muscle, Ogres can smell fear… they can smell courage too.” the driver says with a knowing smile.
“Oh, We’re brave enough!” Buck answers from behind Greg’s left side, “Greg picks fights in biker bars for fun. He’s an MMA heavyweight champion fighter; undefeated for the last five years.
“And what about you?” the driver asks.
“I’m an ex-marine, I seen shit that would turn your hair white and your shorts brown.” Buck growls.
“I should have guessed by your haircut and neatly trimmed mustache I suppose, very military looking.” The small man says
Buck runs a hand over his buzzed blond hair, “So you got seats or what?”
“Oh indeed! Not many want to go out to Ogre Hill, I guess there are few as brave and manly as you three.” The driver says.
“Now, just how secluded could it be if it’s only ten miles from town?” Amos, the third in the party asks.
“Well secluded. The Ogres keep to themselves and people let them. They have extensive underground dwellings, so it’s not like they take up a lot of land above. They, uhh… benefit… from our tours to their territory, so agree to them. There are plenty of gym toned men like yourself who enjoy a good wrestle with an Ogre to prove their strength and they surely do enjoy wrestling against manly men. They get all oiled up to make it more of a challenge.” The little fat man says.
Amos laughed, “What, like Turkish wrestling?”
“Yes… like Turkish wrestling.” The driver said. “Now, if you’re going you must get on now, I’m late as it is. So what will it be, gentlemen?”
The three looked at each other, Amos was somewhat dubious but Greg answered for the group.
“We’re going.” He growled. “I can’t wait. I’ll finally have an opponent who won’t cry after I kick his ass.”
Buck chortled and the three got on the bus. There was only one other passenger, an older balding man with a still very strong build and white beard. Buck whispered to Amos, “I didn’t know Santa was interested in wrestling Ogres.
The bus wound its way through forested hills, by streams and over bridges. Occasionally a Faun or Satyr would peep out from behind a tree. Nymphs and Fairies played in the water. The group saw Giants, Centaurs, Elves, Orcs and even a Werebear, fishing for salmon with a rod and reel. Surprisingly, Buck with his smart remarks was silenced by the unbelievable sights of these mythical creatures. The bus came to a sudden stop; in the middle of the road was what looked like a huge fallen tree, but that wasn’t right, because trees didn’t have bronze and greenish scales.
“It could be some sort of huge bronze statue.” Marty, the Santa double said from the back.
“No, that’s not a statue, that’s Earl.” The driver said as he got out of the vehicle.
He walked up to the scaled road block and kicked it as hard as he could, three times. “Go on Earl! You know you’re not supposed to lie in the road like that.”
The huge bronze ‘log’ levitated, twisted and at the end a Dragon’s face lowered down to the driver’s level and regarded him with coppery eyes.
“Go on now, I’m late as it is; go sun yourself on a mountain top! The little man said.
Earl snorted, let out a low roar and moved his head back along his huge body, mostly obscured by the dense growth of trees on the right side of the road. The driver waited and watched as the Dragon got up and moved off. There was some crashing about and then the swooping sounds of huge wings beating, wind from them kicking up dust.
The men in the bus were amazed.
“You got some balls, kicking a Dragon in the neck!” Greg said.
“Well, Earl is a nuisance sometimes, but he’s alright. Well mannered; only takes the old and sick livestock, like a predator should and never eats what we call ‘sentients’”.
The tour continued and finally, around dusk, they reached Ogre Hill. They got full view of it as they approached from the road winding down the mountain; it was vaguely skull shaped with appropriate openings to give it that effect. There were torches lit and Ogres standing guard at the rude gate.
“Well gentlemen, here we are. You are guests of the Ogres tonight.” The man said as he got out of the bus.
“What?” Amos asked, “Guests? I’ve got a nice hotel room waiting for me. I wasn’t planning on roughing it.”
“Don’t be such a pansy, Amy!” Greg said, “If they have beer, that’s good enough for me. They do have beer, right?”
“Oh yes. The Ogres say to be strong, you must drink and eat from the strong. They’re fond of beer and raw meat.”
“Raw meat? OK, I’m out!” Amos said.
“Wuss.” Buck snorted. “Go on, run back to your feather bed and your pink bunny slippers. The three of us will tough it out like men do.” Suddenly Marty, though somewhat older than the others, seemed more comrade than his friend of fifteen years had.
Amos hung his head in shame, “Alright, but this isn’t the best way to start a vacation.”
“Heh. Well it’s about time you grew some balls.” Buck said and spat on the ground.
The driver was talking to the Ogre in charge, a dark tanned specimen with a broken left tusk, while the exchange between Amos and Buck happened and as it concluded he walked back over to the group of four manly men, carrying a bag that clinked as he walked. “So, any coming back with me tonight?”
“No.” The four said in unison.
“Good enough! I’ll be back here the same time tomorrow. If you’re not here I’ll assume you wanted to stay longer, there are guys who just can’t resist the rough life these folk offer and spend all of their time here.” The portly driver said cheerfully.
Amos groaned and Greg lit up another cigar.
The gates swung open and the lead Ogre growled around his tusks, “Puny hoomans wekum we have lots to give real manly men at Ogre Hill!”
“Thank you! I look forward to staying and fighting with your warriors!” Greg growled around his cigar and began walking toward Ogre Hill.
“We make you strong, puny hooman, you like much! Meybe Ogre King like you much too!”
“Let’s do this!” Buck said and followed Greg into the gates.
The other two followed them, Amos pausing to look over his shoulder at the mini-bus leaving as the gates closed.