Anyway. So I'm there, and some folks are saying how the cumquat is a ferocious rodent, see, and others are saying what it's some kind of citrus fruit and things are getting rowdy, which is the best thing that things can get. The citrus fruit gang seems smarter so I side with them, also on account of there's this one bloke on that side who has a fine fucking scarf and you gotta respect a good scarf.
Of course, we get into it. Fists flying. Beer and blood everywhere. Fucking glorious.
Then this human walks in and she wants help getting some vegetables and nuts and honey. Now I figured this was on account of her being a trash-diving gutter snipe, and there ain't nothing wrong with that. But it turns out she doesn't want to eat any of this, and I mean, since the vegetables involved are beets and radishes, good on her. I wouldn't want to eat that shite either. She also says that there's likely to be some tussling involved.
So I figure sure, why not, let's help this human bash some farmer's face in and abscond with their veggies. Fine way to spend an afternoon. Joining in are two more windlings, because if there's one thing windlings know it's how to mug farmers. Don't fucking interrupt me in me own story ya cheeky bugger. If I say that's how it is, that's how it is. Unless you want your teeth relocated to your rectum. Yeah, didn't think so.
We got these two blokes, one all skinny and spooky like and the other all in tune with the spirits. Bunch of tosh if you ask me but they seem keen enough. Then there's another human, you know the type. Cock of the walk. Good for talking the guard down. And there's this elf who's up for it. So we've got our crew and off we go because fuck farmers.
Actually, first we gotta go to this tree what has the walnuts. It also has bats. Big fucking bats. With red glowing eyes and teeth made of ice. Every time they beat their wings, it's like the sound of babies screaming. They navigate by sending out the cries of wailing widows and measuring how they bounce back. That's called echolocation it is, and now you know a big word you fancy tosser.
The elf, whose name is Orphan, which seems likely enough if you ain't got folks t'name you but is kind of embarrassing for namegivers at large seeing as how we're about the giving of names, anyway, this girl lights my sword on fire. No not like that you wanker. Me actual sword on actual fire. Me metaphorical sword don't need any help lighting on metaphorical fire. At least your literal mum didn't think so.
Now I've got me a flaming sword and I'm zipping around like Death's own torch bearer. Itzal, me spooky mate, is ripping into the souls of these flying demon rats, and Kayapo, me spiritual mate, is calling up leopard spirits and such. The bats get done proper, and we put a bunch of nuts in sacks which is where nuts belong in the first place.
Then we go to give these farmers what's theirs. Except they're already on the warpath and looking to scuffle and that's my kind of mood so I go with them. There's some other family of dirt pickers named the, uh, Dermots, or Rednots, or fuck. I don't remember. The bad ones. I'm with the good ones. But it turns out the whole, whatever, the raison' de guerre, the cassus belli if you will, is actually a bunch of dyres, which are basically what happens when a bull humps a mountain and a baby happens. I'm sad that there's to be no dust up but everyone else seems happy so job done, we get the beets and the radishes.
Finally, it's time to get the honey. Now I've got it in me head that the way to get honey is to punch a bear till it gives it up. Turns out honey comes from adorable houses, bit smaller than what's comfortable for the likes of me. Right cute little things, though. Except it turns out bears are involved and smashed up the houses! I'm all for smashing some bear face but Kayapo has some clever tosh about putting boards with nails and spikes in them around the bee houses on account of no bear likes to step on a bunch of nails.
Now I'm familiar with boards with nails in them, what with them being a fine way to bash uppity wankers so as they remember it proper. But this way involves just leaving them around. I'm skeptical but fuck me, it worked. So, learn something new every time, right? It also turns out that if you kip in a field of wildflowers you get turned into all kinds of colors from their pollen and I don't mind saying I looked fucking beautiful.
Somehow, somewhere along the way, we got paid. I'm not sure for what, but mostly I guess for kicking bats in the bollocks. And the human girl got her these sticks that are like candles that you don't light on fire but rub on paper.
And that's how I made this drawing of you after I kicked your nose flat and why the blood actually looks red. Now ain't that a thing! Now go give this story to the Great Library, that's a lad.Statistics:Posted by bronzemountain — Sat Feb 27, 2021 2:02 pm
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