The Battle of Waldomere

The following takes place following: The Jeremy Kyle Show: Witherfield Edition

Mr Goblinhouse led the march of Witherfieldian protesters southwest through the streets of Widdicombe, bound for Waldobury and the Masters Council HQ. As they moved, more people poured from their homes, stirred by the scenes unfolding on the telly. The crowd swelled—and so did the chaos. In the heat of the moment, many began smashing up local businesses, looting shops that belonged to their own neighbours.

At the Chronicle building, Master Devlin issued urgent orders: the Council's defences were to be raised, and all members were to return home at once. Then he took flight for the Citadel, retrieving Wesley Wyndam-Pryce with Kaiserin Mayuri’s reluctant blessing. Together, they returned to Council HQ, arriving just as the first lines of defence rose from the earth—a towering stone wall bristling with watchtowers, encircling the grounds like the old days.

On the ramparts stood the Masters — a mix of humans and dragons — silent and ready. It had been a century since the Council last faced open assault. Now they waited again, grim and unyielding, the wind hissing through the towers like a warning.

And then, out of the dust and smoke of the city, the crowd appeared. Goblinhouse at its head. The Battle of Waldomere had begun. The army stopped outside the wall. Master Devlin stepped forward to address them.

Master Devlin: "Cease this madness! This is not the way to resolve your grievances. Return to your homes immediately. We don’t want to hurt you — but we will defend ourselves if necessary."

Mr. Goblinhouse: "Hand over the gold you stole from't treasury and we’ll gladly do so..."

Ken Barlow: "Yeah!"

Master Devlin: "WIDDLE FRUNKUT! YOU WILL STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!"

Mr. Goblinhouse: "That’s Goblinhouse1973 to you, ya dirty bastard! We’ve coom for our money back! Hand over all the gold and jewels... In fact, clear off. Leave this place. We’re takin’ back our land. Elsewise, we’ll coom in there and grab you! And it won’t be pretty, I can tell you that fer nowt..."

Master Devlin snarled and began to morph, growing in size as his wings spread wide. He entered full beast form. The other dragon Masters followed, transforming into towering reptilian forms, eyes burning, ready for war.

Mr. Goblinhouse: "Hold steady, lads. Don’t be intimidated by a smokeshow... All bark an’ no bite, these bastards are, I can tell ye..."

Wesley: "Counter-defences are ready, Steven."

Master Devlin nodded in acknowledgement.

Master Devlin: "This is your final warning. If you choose to take this course of action, you will be condemning yourselves to death. Leave now."

Mr. Goblinhouse: "Shove yer warnings up yer arse! Alright, lads! They want a fight, let’s give it to 'em!"

Mr. Goblinhouse began the ritualistic Widdle Frunkut pre-battle dance. The confused army awkwardly tried to mimic the moves, but after a few minutes grew impatient. Jez Quigley was the first to break.

Jez Quigley>: "Screw this! I’m takin’ the bastards now!"

Jez charged at the wall, baseball bat raised. The rest followed in a disorganised rush, leaving Goblinhouse still dancing at the rear.

Mr. Goblinhouse: 😏

Master Devlin: "HOLD..."

The army drew closer. Jez was nearly at the wall. Some of the younger Masters glanced nervously at Devlin.

Master Devlin: "HOLD..."

The charging army was almost too close for comfort.

Master Devlin: "NOW!"

Spears shot up from the earth, impaling many of the attackers mid-charge. Panic rippled through the mob. Behind them, a trap pit opened, cutting off retreat. The protestors were trapped in the kill zone.

The Masters leapt from the walls. Devlin and his fellow dragons unleashed torrents of flame on the front lines. Jez Quigley screamed as he was engulfed in fire.

Moments later, the flames ceased. The Masters returned to the ramparts.

Below, the surviving protestors looked around in horror. They were boxed in, wounded, leaderless. Goblinhouse — now revealed as Widdle Frunkut — was gone. His disguise discarded, he walked calmly away from the battlefield, hands in his pockets, whistling.

Jim McDonald: "Alright lads... we gave it our best, but this was not our night... Let’s surrender."

The protestors reluctantly nodded. Fred Elliott stepped forward.

Fred Elliott: "MASTERS COUNCIL! WE WANT NO MORE BLOODSHED, I SAY! WE OFFER OUR UNEQUIVOCAL AND UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER, I SAY, I SAY... WE HAVE MANY WOUNDED HERE!"

Tracy Barlow: "Eh, wait a minute. I didn’t agree to surrender. DON’T LISTEN TO HIM! HE DOESN’T SPEAK FOR ALL OF US! WE WILL FIGHT TO THE LAST MAN!"

Sally Webster: "Shut up, you stupid bitch!"

Sally slapped Tracy across the face. Greg Kelly stepped in, shoving Sally back.

Greg Kelly: "Who do you fink you are?"

Sally Webster: "Greg, we—"

Greg Kelly: "Shut your fackin’ mouth, you stupid bitch."

Sally Webster: "But Greg, we have to give up. It’s over!"

Greg Kelly: "I said shut up..."

Sally Webster: "But Greg!"

Greg punches Sally in the stomach, then kicks her in the face as she doubles over and collapses to the ground.

Kevin Webster: "SAL!"

Kevin rushes forward and hits Greg in the face with a spanner. Chaos erupts as the protestors begin fighting each other in a full-blown brawl.

Wesley turns to Devlin.

Wesley: "Well, that went rather well..."

****

Meanwhile, back at the now nearly empty bingo hall, an impatient Travers, Sarah, and Foxy Bingo are still waiting. The TV crew is packing up the set when a slightly rattled Jeremy Kyle returns to them, holding an envelope.

Jeremy: "Sorry about the wait folks... but I have the results of the DNA test."

Travers: "Well get a move on, man! Give us the results! Tell them Travers is the father already!"

Jeremy: "Alright. The father of Sarah’s baby is..."

He opens the envelope.

Jeremy: "Neither of you."

Travers: 😟

Sarah buries her head in her hands, then—without a word—waddles slowly off stage. One of the crew members helps her.

Jeremy: "Soooo... much on for the rest of today?"

Foxy: "I was supposed to be 'avin an organisation wiv some foxy ladies tonight—until this weird little bloke in a Hawaiian shirt hired me to come in and claim to be the father of the baby. Well, I’ve done me bit. Ta-ra."

Foxy dances out of the hall. Jeremy raises an eyebrow, then turns to a dejected Travers.

Jeremy: "Hard luck, my friend. Though I’d have been astonished if you’d actually managed to impregnate her... that way."

Travers: "Well, it’s probably for the best that I’m not the father. I just got taken in by the idea. Guess I should get back to the office. Sounds like we’ve got some actual big news to print..."

Jeremy: "Yeah. I think trying to resurrect this show was a bad idea. They’re going to blame me for all this—no doubt. Ah well. No matter. Good luck with your newspaper."

Travers: "Hey, you want a job? You could do a column."

Jeremy: "Maybe... what kind of column?"

Travers: "Whatever you like. The paper’s lowbrow trash that appeals to the dregs of society anyway. You’ll fit right in... Plus it pays well."

Jeremy: "Hmm... can I have an office?"

Travers: "...Sure. Why not? You can start tomorrow."

The Waldoverse continues in The Day After