Slyfox

Plot Sickening or Custard In 5 Seconds

Travelling in The Other Direction is thirsty work, so Dongo and company stopped at the Bar in The Middle of Nowhere, a bar with a reputation for being nowhere in particular all year long.

The inside of the bar was pretty smoky and stank of cheap liquor, like Rotgut. In the corner, a amount of Tragic addicts were playing the obscure game and scaring the other people in the bar. As Dongo’s eyes adjusted to the gloom of the bar’s interior, he examined the rest of the patrons. In one (vacated) corner of the bar sat an old ghoul, busying himself with a Gamma Gulp Beer and decomposition. Various rough-looking characters, tribals and other wasteland denizens were strewn across the rest of the interior, all busy with their drink, drugs, and every now and then the odd spot of sex.

Finally Dongo sighted the last group of people in the bar, in a gloomy corner at the back of the bar. It was none other than the knights searching for the Holy Hand Grenade, albeit in a bit worse shape than they had been in Klamath. They were still loud, though.

Dongo motioned at the bartender for a large amount of alcohol, and then at his partners in crime to join the knights. As they neared the table, the knights rocked up nice and loud again.

“Greetings sirrah!”, and “Bringeth thee ale?”. Thou dost knoweth, the usual medievaleth bar bantereth.

As stated, the knights weren’t looking all too peachy. The whole bandaged arm, tears in the clothing, “We’ve just been through a dungeon crawl and back” look. They didn’t have any ph47 13w7 though, so Harold got uninterested pretty quick and went off to find something he could drink large amounts of.

“What the hell happened to you guys?”, asked our pragmatic protagonist.

Came the answer: “Verily, we didst continueth our search for the Holy Hand Grenade,” a chorus of “Yea!”, “Verily!”, and “More ale!”, went round at this point, “when we came upon a gr347 dung30n, filled with ph47 13w7 and 3vi1 m0n574hz, from which we couldst gain m3g4 3xp3ri3nc3!”

Dongo nodded sagely, not paying any attention whatsoever.

“We were busy slayething creatures, when suddenly a gr347 m3ch4nic41 b3457 appeared and nearly destroyethed us! Here, I’ll mark it on your map.”

Dongo looked up blankly. “My map?”

The knights looked at each other. “You mean this isn’t D&D?”

Dongo shook his head slowly.

One of the knights turned to the other. “Great going, dimwit! I told you so, but noooo, we’re in dwarven country!”, and the knights disappeared in a fizzle of blue light and a bad smell.

Spud opened his eyes and removed himself from a painful looking yoga position. “Now that’s taken care of that nuisance. Now, what do we do now, Dongo?”

Dongo began pondering. He pondered for a record 30 seconds. “Um… we go-”

Spud interrupted him: “No, Dongo, we do not go get laid.”

“Oh. Ummm…”, an interval of silence followed, “Ummm… Spud, is this a trick question?”

Spud sighed and resumed the painful looking yoga position, and touched the space-time continuum a bit.

Realisation dawned in Dongo’s eyes for the first time in… well… Realisation dawned in Dongo’s eyes for the first time. “We go to the evil dungeon those armoured guys told us about and uh… we uh… we… we go look for booty! Yeah! That’s it! Hey, more beer needed here!”

Spud sighed. Even a radiated potato master of the space-time continuum couldn’t have everything all the time. In little ways like that Mrs. Continuum was a bit of a bitch.

Interlude

“Flop flop,” said the sperm whale. The petunia maintained a stony silence.

“Flop flop!” said the sperm whale, with a bit more emphasis. The petunia maintained a stony silence.

“Flop flop!” shouted the sperm whale, losing its temper. The petunia turned its back on the sperm whale. The sperm whale then bashed the petunia out of existence with its tail, and shortly thereafter became a splatter on the face of the planet. And thus began the enmity between sperm whales and petunias, which lasts to this very day.