Motley Crew

So I’ve joined up with this motley crew of adventury types… being highly skilled of course I was a shoe in for the job. They’ve even given me a nickname “NoobyPawnSacrifice” which is nice… not sure what language it is in but I’m sure it means hero or Mr Manly Man or something suitable for a Lord like myself.

Apparently Cola, the small black ..er… coloured girl is the brains of the operation. Her pointy teeth and catlike tail come from some thing bad in her ancestry where her mother was the victim of some sort of demonic spell. Nasty stuff I imagine… but she seems to have benefited by inheriting night vision and lightning fast reflexes. She also cuts a mean figure in leather, everything goes with black apparently.

Elfis, the buffoon in the white jumpsuit is a Bard. So far as I can tell his skills are in the are of playing guitar rather badly and getting in the way. He apparently is writing an epic poetic story about the group.. so if we live.. we shall be famous.

Then there’s Aaahnult the Minotaur. He’s the muscle… if something needs to be negotiated with he will negitiate it into lots of little bloody pieces. I think he’s the one who insists on bringing the elven prat in the jumpsuit because he tends to pose a lot. Posing works better with a soundtrack. Apparently they were attacked once by some nasty beast called a Becclehoff which infects one with occasional attacks of 80's slow motion montage... whatever that is.

The mad bastard outside on the box called Jeem Bo is also part of the troupe. When confronted with something they are calling the undead (I’m not sure what they are but the description (stinky cold bloodsucking bastards) makes me think of lawyers or bankers) he apparently has some power over them.

There is one other member apparently, a wizard or something who will be joining us soon. I hope he’s talented… or we’re all going to die horribly.

Oh… and the bulldog is the mascot… apparently he used to be a member of the group but something bad happened to him… not quite sure what that means. But I do wish he’d stop humping my leg.

Oh well…I think as I comb my hair and admire my reflection in a pool of spilled Slate… at least I’ll make leave a beautiful corpse.

Stool sample

Aaaaahhhhhhh…er...ouch.... what the hell happened to me?. I woke up with a barstool wedged in a place that stool is only meant to exit… not enter!.

However could that have happened?… I must have slipped and fell… like that time in the bathroom back at the castle when I er…got sick…. That time that had nothing to do with hitting my elbow on the sink when I fell off it…er… Not that I would be standing on it and looking across the courtyard into that young ladies tower window.

er… what was my point…?

Anyway… last night there may have been some drinking involved… I feel like someone’s taken a bucket of wet sand and poured it into my head. There was a lot of tale telling and carrying on. The minotaur and his crew seemed fairly well off in the gold department too.

From what scattered bit of memory I have left I think the Minotaur, the blue shoed hair piece-o-doom wearin’ hippy “Elfis”, and the black tail whipping lass they call “Cola” are adventurers or some such crap. Apparently they break into old abandoned ruins, castles, dungeons etc and liberate the leftovers of kingdoms past.

Sounds like blatant thievery to me…

Sign me up.

F word.

So I’ve been in thish shpub for hoursh now. Shlate tashts like arsh but good arsh. Oops that shounds a bit orf dunnit?. Farkin minotaur and is farkin drinking competitions. Farker. And thish orther farker elfish, alvis, whatdafark finks ‘e can shing. I tell’im ders more den sayin ‘ah huh farkin huh’ to make yerself a singer. Fancy farkin blue shooz or not. And dis... dis farken dorg... farkin buttman the barkin bullshit ..opps..snigger... dawg.. i wish the farker would git orf me farkin leg. E's gawn and drooled all over me duds the farker... at least i farkin 'ope its only drool. farker.

Oi I reckon thish farken black chick with the tale farken fancies me… I mean how could ge not cos 'om so farken alluring and all...I fink I’ll go farken pinch her arsh cos chicks dig that yeah!

A load of bull.

Ok… So it’s not actually a cow as such. I didn’t actually know these things really existed. I thought they were myths like tooth fairies, honest lawyers and true love. It’s a Minotaur. He straightens up once he’s through the door to tower at about 7ft in height, his horns only just avoiding the ceiling rafters. He wears a leather kilt and has a big cigar hanging out of his mouth… smoke curls from his large bovine nostrils.

The bulldog ‘Batman' rushes over …well... as much as a bulldog can rush and huffs and puffs around the Minotaurs hooves wagging its stumpy tail with excitement as torrents of drool plops and slops from its very lippy maw.

“Behold, Aaahnult the Amaysink. Vorsheep deis vonderful beevvfcake boody unt bask in mine glory ya” The Minotaur proclaimed in a voice that sounded like it really should belong to someone wearing a spandex leotard on a rainbow coloured parade float surrounded by a number of other similarly attired and buffed, waxed and oiled up fellows all named Percy.

Mad cow disease?

But are you gonna tell a seven foot tall half man half bull that?

I don’t think so.

Aaahnult proceeded to strike a beefy muscle flexing pose in the doorway while some other people edged their way around him. From behind Aaahnult come two more freakshows… a lithe girl with jet black skin, pointy ears and a long tail poking out of her leather pants She smiles at the barkeep, presenting a pair of catlike fangs and slaps a few coins on the grassy knoll we’re using as a bar. Following her is a near opposite, a slightly chubby fellow, also with pointed ears and tsunami of black hair oiled and slicked up in such a way that his forehead was a good 2 inches higher than the back of his head. He wears a tight white leather suit speckled with cheap gems and bits of glass. He carries a guitar of some description.

I’m starting to think I’m a lot further from home that I thought.

Batman begins

I wake up laying on a soft verdant green field…a gentle breeze blowing on my face… and then my vision clears and I realise that I’m laying on the ‘carpet’ in the pub. The wind is the huff puff panting of a bulldog with a face like a kicked in trashcan sitting 2 inches away from my face. Casually I pick myself up off the floor and right my mushroom laden stool before sitting back at the bar again. Strangely I have no muck on my face… seems to be clean… though a little wet.

“So…er…. What exactly is in this” I ask, indicating the tankard.
“Izzlate” Says the captain beardy of the good ship alcohol.
“Izzlate?... interesting…er… locally brewed?” I ask, my voice raspy.
“NahludnorIzzlate…Is…Slate. Brewedinaweesockfullorocks.”
“Ah.. Slate” I vaguely remember the mad bastard on the box outside. “Brewed where?”

I am about to ask him where Innaweesockfullorock is when the door opens and a gigantic cow walks into the bar. It’s wearing a kilt.

The bulldog barks and the beardy bartender Says “Keep it down Batman! Ye stoopid mutt!, I told ye they’d come back for ye.”

I look at the Captain Beardy behind the bar, I look at the towering kilt wearing cow man in the door way and the rotund bulldog apparently named 'Batman'... and then eye the Slate suspiciously...

Bars n mushrooms.

So here I sit in the local pub. A grubby little place with carpet that is either green or just really really needs mowing or dowsing in mold killer. Seems to be a fair array of foreigners about… people dressed for travel and such. I pick up a stool that someone knocked over, noting the mushrooms sprouting on its underside and perch myself at the ancient wooden bar.

I put one of my recently earned coins onto the grubby surface and the barkeep ambles over. He’s a stocky fellow… in fact to draw you a mental picture just imagine a big pair of brawny shoulders with Popeye type forearms attached, connect the shoulders with a beard like a rug full of mushrooms and put some eyes and a bulbous hairy nose in between the shoulders and then just add boots. He’s a dwarf.

Apparently the other side of the bar is higher than this side because he appears to be of normal height from this side. He takes the coin and dumps a metal tankard down in front of me.

Not wanting to look like a girly man I take a large manly swig of the offered beverage. My eyes water… if I’d taken a feral cat, dunked it in bucket of “make cat angry” and then slapped it a few times before trying to swallow it… well that would have hurt my throat less.

Vision... tilting....