Post by Greybeard on Jan 15, 2016 9:29:25 GMT -5
A distraught Alchemist trudged into the tower. The events of Slam could not be removed from his head. He wiped a tear from his chubby face and headed for his room. He looked through his belongings and took a deep breath. He pulled a large travelling trunk from under his bed and started piling things inside. He put a picture of Greybeard and him at the Bon Jovi concert inside. “What a great time.” Al thought, even though he had blacked out and didn’t remember any of it. He put some potions in there as well. He blew some dust off of the glass housing and saw a label saying “Fifteen victory potion.”
“I’ll never get to quaff that I guess.” Al said in a thick, southern drawl.
He stuffed it in the trunk and continued on with his work, gathering his belongings and cramming them in the trunk in no specific order. He started to closed it, using all of his weight to crush the overflowing trunk closed. After too lengthy of a struggle for a man against an inanimate object, the Alchemist eventually managed to close the massive trunk. He stood up, dusted off his hands, and proclaimed his task finished. From his closet he produced a garmet, a shroud. Greybeard had gifted it to him. He said he got it on a quest, it was called the shroud of infinite pouches. Al threw it on and awkwardly lifted the heavy trunk carrying all of his belongings. He balanced it on his gut and managed to open a pocket on the shroud. He tilted his body so the chest slid in, looking like it disappeared completely. An impressed “hmm” escaped Al’s lips as he gave his keep one last look around, his eyes growing misty once more. He looked around the empty room and headed for the door.
“Oh!”
Al rushed to his mattress, lifting it quickly revealing a sword with the engraving “Trollbane” that he had found recently in “Greybeard’s” room and a couple shameful, shameful magazines. With equal vigor, he put Trollbane and his copy of Hawaiian Butt Sluts into the shroud of infinite pouches.
Al made his way to the long spiraling staircase that cut through the middle of Greybeard’s tower. He said his goodbyes to some of the guards and others who lived there. He glanced upward toward Greybeard’s personal keep and let out another sigh, distraught that his longtime friend had turned out to be a person affiliated with WCF that he was unaware of for these many years. Somehow this didn’t strike Al as very strange and he accepted it without question. He headed down the stairs, ready to begin a new adventure.
------------------------
Meanwhile, at a seedy strip club, Grimebeard was celebrating. He was dressed as the wizard, but his fake beard now hung low, displaying his chin prominently. He had a bevy of thirty-something methed out strippers rubbing on him, feigning arousal.
“These WCF fucks are so dumb. I outsmarted them again! HAHAHAHA!”
He threw out some bills, making the skanks scuttle to retrieve their meth money.
“I’m gonna pretend you’re Celeste!” Grimebeard said to one of the strippers. Grimebeard slapped her on the ass and was promptly thrown out of the building. Undeterred, he stumbled down the street and into a bar, lighting up one of his only friends, his cigarette. He sat at the bar, ordering a beer and turning his attention to the tv. It was the early morning replay of Slam. He watched with glee as the clip showed him assaulting the Alchemist. His beer arrived and he guzzled it down without hesitation. When he tilted the bottle down, the tv now showed the part where Alchemist pulled his fake beard off and sent him fleeing. With a loud grumble, Grimebeard threw his bottle, breaking the tv screen.
The bar staff had no choice but to throw him out on his ass. He stood up, dusting off his glorified Halloween costume. “Applebee’s has really gone to shit! You know that right!?”
He pulled out his cock and pissed on the curb in front of the restaurant and shambled down the street into the darkness.
--------------------
The gates creaked open and gave the Alchemist room enough to leave Greybeard’s tower. He looked up one last time and gave a military salute for some reason. He headed toward the forest road when he suddenly heard a familiar sound. A light, pleasant tune was being whistled. It travelled down the road more swiftly than Al ever could and reached his ears with supreme accuracy. Al forgot his troubles for a moment, the familiar tune bringing a smile to his face. Suddenly, a figure emerged into view on the road. Al snapped back to attention, craning his neck forward, peering intently. A cape, pointy hat, and beard all adorned the mysterious figure. He stumbled down the road, whistling all the while. Al’s hand began to shake. He reached into the shroud and produced Trollbane, ready to strike down whoever it may be.
“I’ll never get to quaff that I guess.” Al said in a thick, southern drawl.
He stuffed it in the trunk and continued on with his work, gathering his belongings and cramming them in the trunk in no specific order. He started to closed it, using all of his weight to crush the overflowing trunk closed. After too lengthy of a struggle for a man against an inanimate object, the Alchemist eventually managed to close the massive trunk. He stood up, dusted off his hands, and proclaimed his task finished. From his closet he produced a garmet, a shroud. Greybeard had gifted it to him. He said he got it on a quest, it was called the shroud of infinite pouches. Al threw it on and awkwardly lifted the heavy trunk carrying all of his belongings. He balanced it on his gut and managed to open a pocket on the shroud. He tilted his body so the chest slid in, looking like it disappeared completely. An impressed “hmm” escaped Al’s lips as he gave his keep one last look around, his eyes growing misty once more. He looked around the empty room and headed for the door.
“Oh!”
Al rushed to his mattress, lifting it quickly revealing a sword with the engraving “Trollbane” that he had found recently in “Greybeard’s” room and a couple shameful, shameful magazines. With equal vigor, he put Trollbane and his copy of Hawaiian Butt Sluts into the shroud of infinite pouches.
Al made his way to the long spiraling staircase that cut through the middle of Greybeard’s tower. He said his goodbyes to some of the guards and others who lived there. He glanced upward toward Greybeard’s personal keep and let out another sigh, distraught that his longtime friend had turned out to be a person affiliated with WCF that he was unaware of for these many years. Somehow this didn’t strike Al as very strange and he accepted it without question. He headed down the stairs, ready to begin a new adventure.
------------------------
Meanwhile, at a seedy strip club, Grimebeard was celebrating. He was dressed as the wizard, but his fake beard now hung low, displaying his chin prominently. He had a bevy of thirty-something methed out strippers rubbing on him, feigning arousal.
“These WCF fucks are so dumb. I outsmarted them again! HAHAHAHA!”
He threw out some bills, making the skanks scuttle to retrieve their meth money.
“I’m gonna pretend you’re Celeste!” Grimebeard said to one of the strippers. Grimebeard slapped her on the ass and was promptly thrown out of the building. Undeterred, he stumbled down the street and into a bar, lighting up one of his only friends, his cigarette. He sat at the bar, ordering a beer and turning his attention to the tv. It was the early morning replay of Slam. He watched with glee as the clip showed him assaulting the Alchemist. His beer arrived and he guzzled it down without hesitation. When he tilted the bottle down, the tv now showed the part where Alchemist pulled his fake beard off and sent him fleeing. With a loud grumble, Grimebeard threw his bottle, breaking the tv screen.
The bar staff had no choice but to throw him out on his ass. He stood up, dusting off his glorified Halloween costume. “Applebee’s has really gone to shit! You know that right!?”
He pulled out his cock and pissed on the curb in front of the restaurant and shambled down the street into the darkness.
--------------------
The gates creaked open and gave the Alchemist room enough to leave Greybeard’s tower. He looked up one last time and gave a military salute for some reason. He headed toward the forest road when he suddenly heard a familiar sound. A light, pleasant tune was being whistled. It travelled down the road more swiftly than Al ever could and reached his ears with supreme accuracy. Al forgot his troubles for a moment, the familiar tune bringing a smile to his face. Suddenly, a figure emerged into view on the road. Al snapped back to attention, craning his neck forward, peering intently. A cape, pointy hat, and beard all adorned the mysterious figure. He stumbled down the road, whistling all the while. Al’s hand began to shake. He reached into the shroud and produced Trollbane, ready to strike down whoever it may be.
