Fantasy Comedy Story (Updated 13th Aug)

[Witcher Wolf]

The Dungeon of the Dragon[/b]

Preface: This story has not been edited and it has not been finished, it's another one of my sketches with words so to speak. All characters in this tale either living or dead or perhaps undead are creations of the deranged lupine author that thought them up...

The story is a parody of many fantasy cliches and characters, not to mention tabletop roleplaying - the author would like to point out that he loves all forms of roleplaying and would never demean his favourite hobby to get a few cheap laughs (yeah right, Ed)...

With that over: On with the show

The old Dragon had slept for what seemed like an eternity, deep in the endless chasm that sat in the middle of the Forgotten Mountains.

No one disturbed Fargnargle for the place he slumbered in was known by that moniker because in truth – those in power had forgotten where the range lay upon the maps of the Kingdom.

They simply knew that it rested somewhere between the Spine of the Apex and the Forest of Terrible Clichés.

It was marked on some parchments with a series of makeshift vaguely recognisable symbols, on others they simply wrote – here be Dragons (We hope).

Adventurers of all shapes, sizes, denominations, races and types came to seek out this legendary place, but none returned alive. Those who did return were very much dead, so dead that the morticians of the Kingdom were so pleased to see them they created a festival to go with it.

It became known as the Day of ‘Mortis el Mortis’ or to give it the more common name ‘The Day of the returned dead who didn’t make it out alive from the most dangerous region of the Kingdom’ – later scholars in Fundun renamed it ‘Day of the Dead Dudes who didn’t return’

Finally several years later a clever scholar by the name of Rustick called it: Dead Dude’s Day.

But that did not stop the eventual spread of rumours and whispers. Over time they became tales of horror and terror that made children afraid to step out of their doors, mothers and concerned teachers petitioned the League of Slightly Notable Misfits to put an end to the evil Dragon once and for all.

And while this all transpired, the Dragon continued to sleep soundly and peacefully, unawares that people were really angry with him for the terrible deeds he was supposed to have done.

The League’s headquarters was based in Fundun’s Capital City of Loa Ealeeng and they operated out of the back of the Trusty Thirsty Tavern. Someone had suggested that they place their base of operations at number three hundred and forty two lower knocking street – until the League discovered that it was a house of Ill repute.

The League’s most notorious members would be summoned and a great meet would be held, in the back room of the Trusty Thirtsy Tavern, they’d break for tea and biscuits about eleven and some crumpets – that’s crumpets and not some crumpet, which could easily be gotten from Madame Za-Zas (Number three hundred and fourty two, lower knocking street).

The first to arrive was a human man, a thick black cloak drawn about him in an air of mystery, under his slightly clichéd hood there was a faint glint of humour that rested in dappled green eyes.

He stepped into the back room of the Tavern with a jaunty motion and looked about for someone of import. He saw two inebriated barbarians in the far corner, slumped over their tankards and lying in a pool of his own vomit was an unmistakeable figure.

No taller than half the height of a tall man, the shape was easily recognisable in the dim light of this place. A mop of tousled short greasy hair and the makings of some kind of chic beard marked this sleeper as none other than Geet the Insolent Obbit.

(Obbits are an odd folk that the author of the piece wishes to remind the readers are not a direct rip-off of another fantasy race. Obbits are twice as hungry as the other race and three times more likely to sell their Grandmother as firewood)

[Witcher Wolf]

“Gerrof my land!” The figure on the floor mumbled in a manner that could have been described as articulate, if only he didn’t dribble bits of *carrot and pea onto the wood as well. “Are you going to eat those donkey parts?”

*Why is it always carrots, why can’t it be kumquats or marrows?

An ebony brow shot up inside the man’s hood and he sidestepped the remains of Geet’s last rant, he tried not to retch and it took all of his stamina and the application of a lemon scented candle offered by a craggy individual.

“E’s not normally as bad as this.” Crankshaft offered and thrust the candle under the man’s hood. “Take a deep breath, and think of Rosemary.”

“Rosemary the herb?”

The dwarf gave the man a frown and shook his head. “Suit yourself, I was thinking of Rosemary the hard currency girl, what ever floats your boat.” He then took a closer look at the man. “You’re not an elf are you?”

“No, why?”

“You know herbs…trees…you’ve heard of what elves do to knotholes right?”

“I, er, well…not actually thought about that.” The hooded man replied and turned around to find a seat. “Are you sure, I mean…really sure?”

“Cross me heart and hope to have me beard shaved off.”

“Oh that’s just sick…and wrong, in many different ways.”

“Tell me about it, I saw it with my own eyes…poor Oak’s never gonna be the same again, they tell you it’s Dutch Elms Disease, but we know the truth.”

“Oh…” The hooded man looked as though he might pass out any moment so Crankshaft took pity on him - subtly he changed the subject. “So what’s yer name Stranger?”

“Well no, actually, it’s the Cloak’ed Stranger, but you can call me Stranger, if you really like.”

“Why did I ask?” Said the dwarf with a frown.

“Curiosity?” Offered the cloaked man with a grin this time. “Or was that one of the questions directed to the Gods?”

“The latter.”

“Ah.”

“So you’re one of the League then?” Crankshaft invited himself to sit at the Stranger’s table. “Good good.” He added before the man could speak again. “So tell me a bit about yourself, how’d you find out about the League and what’s your special power?”

“I…”

“Me…I could talk the hind leg off a stone donkey they say, of course I don’t believe em, I think they’s jealous of me sparkling wit and the size of me axe.”

“Well…”

“Yep that’s right, Crankshaft’s my name, named after my father before me and his father before him and his father’s father’s father’s father…I think…lemme double check on that.”

The Cloak’ed Stranger sensed his moment to break in and took the plunge. “Well I’m glad you asked, I’ve been looking for a soul to relate the tale of how I gained my ability to…if you have the time I could go into a long winded account of how I came by my powers?”

The sound of a snore convinced the man in the hood that Crankshaft had the attention span of an ant that had just imbibed too much sugar from a nearby spilt highly sugary beverage.

A large shadow fell over the Stranger’s table and he looked up into the bright white toothy smile of a huge barbarian. The man was built like a brick privy and his shoulders were twice as wide as the rest of him, his muscles had muscles of their own and looked as though they could easily pick a fight on their own.

“Beer?” He questioned the hooded man hopefully.

“Er, no ta.”

[Witcher Wolf]

The grin that spread over the blond haired giant’s face told the hooded one that he had just made one of those mistakes, this was further confirmed when he bellowed. “Nothar will have three beers!”

The Stranger gave a wince and put his hand over his head, to block out the shape and the terrible pun that just hit him with the force of ten escaped elephants. To further enhance this particular idea, imagine the elephants were all riding big trucks and you have the impact of this bad joke down to a ‘T’.

As if by magic the dwarf awoke as well and looked at the barbarian, the world held its breath as the two beings met in a stare of challenge. “Three beers, bah…my Granny could drink you under the table, three beers is for a pansy.”

“What you just say?” Nothar’s brain cell tried to comprehend the enormity of the bearded man’s statement and he replied in his usual witty manner. “Why you smell like goat?”

Crankshaft gave a snort and stood on the table so he could meet eye to chest with the huge man. “I said…” He spoke slowly this time. “May Granny Geldenlocks could sink down three beers…an she’s six hundred and fourty seven!”

The brain cell tried once more to fire and it gave a tiny spark.

“Never heard of Geldenlocks.” Nothar managed to say; those who listened in described it as a fairly articulate statement.

The dwarf was flabbergasted; he put his hands on his hips and snarled loudly. “What do you mean, you’ve never heard of Geldenlocks and the three beers?”

(The author at this point would like to apologise for the last pun, but since he’s too busy laughing insanely – he’s not going to)

“Excuse me?” The Cloak’ed Stranger had sat here on the sidelines enough he thought; it was about time to diffuse this situation. “Would you both like to hear a story?”

The dwarf turned around and gave the Stranger a look; he rubbed his chin and grinned. “Alright, sounds like a good idea!”

Nothar was easily distracted. “Story!” He chanted until the Cloak’ed Stranger leaned forwards and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Shhh, or how can I tell my story?”

“Oh…Nothar be quiet now.” He rumbled and sat down; even seated he still towered over them both.

“A long time ago.” Stranger began his tale in the manner of all good tales that have come before it; well those tales that really mattered and didn’t just consist of bare-naked breast filled stories of leather and bondage.

“My father and my mother were rulers of my home country of Nerfia.” He chuckled a little and continued. “They had sex and I was the result.”

“You came from sex?” The barbarian grunted and shook his head in disbelief. “Nothar was told babies came from hell.”

“I can assure you, that most children don’t come from hell my friend.” Stranger explained. “They come from a very beautiful and natural act.”

[Witcher Wolf]

The dwarf by this point laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair. “Where’d you hear that about babies?”

“Me?” Nothar pointed to himself.

“No no, Cloaky there.” Crankshaft was still in fits of laughter. “Babies come from rocks, don’t you know nothing?”

“Hell.”

“Rocks!”

“Hell!”

“Rocks!”

“Ahem? Story?” The Stranger added hopefully before the dwarf and barbarian started another war.

“Story…story…story!” The chant began again and Nothar started to slam his fist on the table.

“Goddess save me.” The Stranger said darkly and frowned under his hood. “As I was saying before you two went on a tangent…my family were King and Queen of Nerfia.”

“That makes you a Nerf then?” Crankshaft said and then hid his laughter with his beard. “Sorry, do go on.”

“It makes me a Prince, but I want you to treat me like a normal human being.”

“I had no plans to treat you otherwise.” The dwarf shot back acidly and his laughter ended abruptly. “Get on with it, you’re cutting into me drinking time.”

“Ok, third time.” Stranger grumbled. “Rulers, sex, me…baby…Prince, Kingdom of…Nerfia.” His voice had the slight tones of exasperation, the kind used when you deal with people who have a very short attention span (People like Crankshaft).

(Note: The Author would like to note that barbarians are people too)

“I was born under a very auspicious occasion, a total eclipse of the six suns of Nerfia.” The Stranger continued to babble for a while upon the facts that his parents were very much in love and not as Crankshaft intimated, responsible for a bigger mistake than the last rise in King Ewan’s taxes.

(Note: There is only one sun in Nerfia’s sky, for Nerfia indeed shares its sky with the rest of the planet – but King Ewan’s ‘Blind’ Royal Astronomer has a broken Telescope that shows more than one sun, of course he can’t see it – but Gaspian is noted in Nerfian history as the first and last man to see the six suns through the Telescope.)

(Note2: Since then the Nerfian’s use a reflecting Telescope and project an image of the one sun upon a white cloth, but because the King is fond of practical jokes he hasn’t yet told Gaspian that the six suns he saw were the result of damaged optics.)

[Witcher Wolf]

Free from interruptions and distractions the Cloak'ed Stranger was able to continue his tale now, and he did so quickly just in case the rather chatty bearded fellow decided to butt in again.

“When I was very young, so young that I could only hold the ceremonial rattle in both hands I was visited by a very beautiful and quite beguiling Goddess.” The man continued to explain to the dwarf, who looked askance and quite bored and of course the barbarian who was sitting in rapt attention.

“She was about to cast a spell over me so I might endure some modicum of good fortune, she picked me up from my crib and called upon her powers.”

“And you peed on her?” Crankshaft said hopefully. “Yeah?”

“No I did /not/ pee on her, as you so crassly put it.” Stranger snapped back and narrowed his eyes. “I did however throw up all over her slinky black dress if you must know.”

The dwarf rocked back on his chair and began to bellow.

“You barfed on the Goddess of Luck?” Tears began to well in his eyes and he started to shake with mirth, his broad shoulders rolling back and forth as his belly-laugh echoed about the room.

“I was sick on her yes, just a little bit.”

“How little?”

“Oh i don't remember that much.” The man lied.

“And let me guess, she was so peeved ye got cursed for puking on her?” Crankshaft giggled and had to stand up, he walked around the bar holding his stomach.

“It isn't a curse, well it is a curse but it's not a curse that you get for annoying a...oh shut up with you!” Stranger snarled and threw a wooden mat at the dwarf, it ricocheted off the short fellow's head and landed in someone's drink.

“Cursed since a baby for throwing up all over Lucky the Goddess of Luck!”

“I am not cursed, the spell went awry...I disturbed her concentration that's all!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

The barbarian looked at them both and smiled. “Nothar like it when friends talk to each other.”

“We are not talking – we are arguing!” The Cloak'ed Stranger looked for something else to throw and lacking any useful missile weapons he sat and glowered at the dwarf who was now making hacking noises and prancing around the tavern.

“Barf!” The short fellow echoed and started to roll around the floor now crying and laughing even louder.

He rolled back and forth and suddenly found his motion arrested by a boot, it was one of those long boots, the kind that goes from toe to thigh and fits snugly. The short fellow looked up and continued to look up – standing watching him was a woman, not just any woman – but the most divine beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

There was just one thing wrong with her, she hadn't got a beard.

[Witcher Wolf]

A mass of tousled long red hair crowned this woman's head and flowed with the fierce determination of a forest fire, she was tall, over six foot six and garbed in very little indeed.

Her chain-mail halter top fitted where it touched and her chain-mail briefs were just that, very brief. She did wear a loin cloth and that was made of red silk, flowing just down to the knee.

Finally across her back was slung a longsword, an elegant looking blade covered in runes and strange symbols.

A sardonic voice exclaimed from just behind her right ear.

“A nice footstool you've found there m'lady.”

“So it would seem.” She answered and cast her gaze about the tavern. “Is this the meeting place for the League?”

“Hamsters...” Said Crankshaft quite overcome by the tall figure above him. “Are you here to take me to Valhalla?”

“Valhalla?” Said the sardonic voice. “Is no place for short people, and certainly not dwarves.”

“Shush.” The woman said to the voice. “We must be nice to him, he looks as though he's a bit special.”

“Eh?”

“Hello there.” She put on her best tones, the bright and cheery ones that were usually reserved for people who she thought were – somehow not quite as bright as they might think. “I have come looking for the League, would you happen to know where I can find someone to talk to?” Each word was politely uttered and spoken very slowly.

It was the Stranger's turn to laugh now and that caught her attention, she gave the hooded man a long appraising look.

“Is that who I think it is?” She asked the hilt behind her right ear.

“Dunno – who do you think it is?”

“Ere.” The dwarf stood up and brushed himself down, looking at the woman's navel or thereabouts. “I'm not thick you know, I was just looking for my...my...” He flustered and looked to the Stranger for help.

“Brain.” He said with a smirk.

“Yeah Brain that's it...HEY!” It was too late, now the dwarf was the centre of the humour in the tavern and he didn't like it much.

“That confirms it.” She replied and invited herself to sit at the Stranger's table, propping one leg onto the wooden top, crossing the other over it. “Well how are you handsome?”

“Nothar is very well thank you.” The smitten large barbarian made 'dovey' eyes at the woman off to one side, who ignored him and waited for a reply.

“Me?” A gloved hand pointed to a silk-covered chest.

“No the other Stranger.” Said the hilt once more at the woman's ear. “Of course she meant you, how many other Strangers are there?”

“Well...odd you should mention that.” The man gave a wicked grin, just visible under the hood. “There's a few.”

“You're talking to yer sword!” Crankshaft pointed at the woman's back and began to try and jump up to see the hilt. “It's a magic sword!”

“Oh gods save me – a fanboy.” The blade replied with a sharp tone. “It's really the mushrooms talking dwarf...and you're having a *Wyrdstock moment.”

*The name given by certain druids and wizards to their yearly get together where they sit around camp fires and smoke strange pipe weeds whilst listening to odd warbling music played by stoned bards.

“I know a talking sword when I hears one!” The dwarf pulled a stool closer so he could examine the blade across the woman's back. “And you've got some lip!”

“Hardly – or are you blind as well as short?”

“Oi!”

“Excessive!” The woman sighed and clicked her tongue harshly. “Please for a moment just shut up ok?”

“Sorry Maiden.” The sword replied and the Stranger swore that he could actually feel the sulking emanations coming from the blade now.

[Witcher Wolf]

The man looked between Nothar, Crankshaft and the woman known as Maiden, he shrugged his shoulders. “I'm the same as ever – if that helps?”

“That bad huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Shame – I could really think of some things to take your mind of your troubles.” She muttered for a moment after turning her head to the side.

“Where'd you get it?” Crankshaft said and poked the blade with a stubby finger.

The woman turned her head again and narrowed her green eyes. “Amazon.” Came the reply.

“Nothar heard that you can get anything off Amazon...”

She looked at the barbarian now and folded her arms, this had the added effect of putting her cleavage into stark relief – his eyes were inexorably drawn to that direction.

“Anything?”

“That's what Nothar's father say – he was good at sports...especially bootball.”

“He played the field then?” Stranger chuckled and then looked away as the woman's stare found him, a stare that could not only melt butter but also cook toast.


“No, he was always in goal.” The large man replied and scratched his chin. “Pretty Amazon.”

For his compliment he earned a sudden punch to the nose which sent him reeling over the back of his chair, the table almost went as well. Maiden sat back down and glowered a little.

“More /Striking/...if you ask me.” Stranger couldn't help but chuckle again.

Crankshaft fell off his stool as well and landed on the floor with a thud.

“I am not a sex object.” She snarled. “Why can't I find a man who wants me for my mind not my...other attributes!”

“Because you show off your other attributes my dear, so that's all they see.” The sword rasped and Stranger swore this time he heard a little raspberry noise at the end.

“This armour?” She said. “Was my mothers and it has been in my family for centuries...”

“Is it magic?” Crankshaft's voice rang out once more.

“Yes.”

“Thought so, because to be honest it don't look as though it'd work without magic.”

“If it wasn't magic – I wouldn't be wearing it, you think I like looking like a chain-clad tart?”

“Think very carefully before answering my short friend.” The sword warned and began to glimmer a little.

“Er...no?”

“Good shorty.” Excessive replied and the glow vanished, he was terribly protective of his mistress – for all his sharp edged tongue and manners.

The Stranger was looking down at the unconscious barbarian and the big man had a wide smile on his face, the other had a feeling that this was the start of a very painful one-sided courtship ritual.

“Is he alright?” She asked as the man's attention returned to her. “I'm sorry, I just lost my temper that's all – it's the red hair and genes.”

“Too tight?” Crankshaft said and pulled his stool back upright. “I had an uncle that.”

“Genes!” Both Maiden and the Stranger exclaimed in unison. “Not Jeans!”

“Oh.”

“A wizard said that our family had something wrong with ours, that there's a gap in our genes – makes us homicidal and psychotic.”

“If there was a gap in my jeans I'd be bloody cold.” The dwarf replied and ducked another thrown mat. “Sorry, ok...no sense of humour these Amazons!”

[Libby]

Yay! ;D ;D ;D So glad you posted this...it's just as funny (if not more so, actually) the third...or is it fourth... time around) ;D

[Witcher Wolf]

It's been extended somewhat since you saw it

[NateP]

I read the story 10 minutes ago, and I'm posting now, becuase I was laughing too hard to post sooner. This is hilarious! I hope you continue with it. I haven't laughed this hard in weeks. Thanks for posting this story!

[Witcher Wolf]

Meanwhile! and I say this with the dark undertones of a narrator that's about to show his audience something so mind-bogglingly scary that by all rights they should find something to hide behind. Or of course I could just be padding, a tactic used by some writers that have run out of things to say.

Time passes.

More time passes.

Bored yet?

Close your eyes and imagine, no wait, that won't do, you can read with your eyes closed can you? Ok, a better idea, read the following text in a dark spooky voice and then close your eyes.

The author advises you at this moment not to close your eyes at all, and refrain from doing the above, unless you really want to.

The League spent the rest of the day, after they had woken up the Barbarian from his Maiden induced slumber, repaired his broken nose and generally made sure there was enough ale to go around, deliberating what to do about the danger of the Dragon.

“Kill it.”

“Boil it!”

“Kill it, Boil it, and end the food shortage for ever!”

“I hear Dragon meat goes down well with Auld Speckled En.”

The Cloak'ed Stranger gave Maiden one of those looks, the kind that could wither the patience of a cat and sighed. “Who invited them?”

She followed his gaze to the small assembled crowd of concerned townsfolk who just happened to have snuck into their secret meeting, in the secret back room of the tavern, even when the sign read: Secret meeting of the League of Slightly Notable Misfits in progress, League members only and ties to be worn at all times.

“Well.” She began with a snort. “I didn't if you think that I did, you can just come outside and!”

Stranger put his hands up defensively (To ward off any kind of sudden vicious attacks) and gave a smile. “Did I say that you had invited them, no, I was wondering who had, mayhap they invited themselves – like Dwarves, I heard that they're good at that sort of thing.”

“Only when in the company of Wizards I believe.”

Both Stranger and Maiden turned to look at this newcomer and nodded, then turned back, only to turn back around once more and regard him with a pair of suspicious stares.

(Note: While one suspicious stare is enough to worry most people, a pair of stares ganging up on someone in some Cities can be a crime punishable by having your optics removed by a sharp burning brand)

“Excuse me?” Stranger dared to question. “But you wouldn't happen by chance to be a Wizard would you?”

The stranger, not the Stranger, who is always referred to as Cloak'ed Stranger or Stranger or The Stranger hereafter and forthwith, looked at the pair of them from under a conical pointed hat, the brim hanging over his eyes.

“No, I'm a flower arranger, I don't have any truck with magic.”

He was dressed in the traditional garb of a Wizard, he had the hat, the robes and the stave.

“Oh it's only that you look well.”

“Yes?” Said the old man, the beard was a dead giveaway, a long and full growth of snowy-white facial hair that tucked into his belt.

“Like a Wizard.” Stranger reiterated and gave him a professional looking-over.

“I assure you Sir that I am not a Wizard at all.” The old man, craggy features breaking into a wizened look of contempt, replied.

“Oh Ok, but I've always thought that Thoughtstrum's Artificia Magica Luminaria Pantaloona was a very interesting book, but I tend to agree with the Chapter on Wizards with long beards making up for something.” Maiden said coyly and leant back on her stool, daring the old man to say just one word about her attire, while she didn't speak the dare, it was there in her eyes like a trap waiting to be sprung.

“Preposterous, I tell you now, Wizards with long full beards like mine are not making up for anything!” The old man snorted. “I have just as big ... bigger ... stave as anyone!”

* Thoughtstrum was a Wizard who could not, for the life of him, grow any kind of beard.[/b]


“Got you!” She said triumphantly and elbowed Stranger in the gut hard. “See I told you he was a Wizard!”

“No you didn't.”

“Yes I.” She bit her lip and looked at the man. “No, you're right I didn't, but I would have.”

“Of course you would.”

The old man looked at the svelte young woman crossly, that was his best defence, because her attire gave him thoughts that he thought he'd forgotten long ago. “Well yes, I am a Wizard to be honest, but I don't like to broadcast it too much you see.”

“You don't like to broadcast it?” Stranger spluttered into his beer. “You ponce around in a big blue robe decorated with tacky ornamental sigils and signs, wear a big pointed hat that just screams WIZARD – and carry a staff, not to mention the beard, and you don't like to broadcast it?”

“Quite right, can't have everyone on the sphere knowing I'm a Wizard.”

Maiden burst out laughing at this point and drew the attention of the gathered hoard of peasants, the ones that were not supposed to be there but made up more than sixty percent of the room's current population.

“Look, it's a Witch!” Screamed one and lunged forwards, he was rapidly caught by his fellows. “I'd recognise a Witch's beard any-day!””

“Burn her!” Another yelled and met the same fate fortunately.

“Fetch me pitchfork!”

“Burn the Witch!”

“That's a Wizard you ploughshare!”

“Burn the Witch that looks like a Wizard!” The man struggled to get free as the leader of the peasants turned a wary eye on the old man. “Sorry about this, but Hector here was cursed by a bearded lady, she said she was a Witch.”

“Is there any way we can convince him?” Stranger said coldly and looked to the old man, shaking his head. “I mean he's not a woman.” He leaned over and whispered into the old man's ear. “You're not are you?”

“Of course I'm not a woman you blooming cloaked moron!” The Wizard ranted, some of the peasants stepped back, all barring Hector who yelled.

“Witch Witch, I's seen her beard, she's a Witch!”

“I am sorry, but he's convinced.” Said the peasant leader and frowned at the three people. “He'll go mental until someone proves he's not a woman.”

“Witch!”

“Burn her, burn the Witch with the beard.” The chant was catching on like wildfire.

“We'll have to do something soon, and something drastic.” Maiden said as she looked at the old man and Stranger. “Because that chant's pretty catchy, it's got good rhythm and pretty soon Bard's will be picking it up for a new number one.”

“Indeed.” Stranger flipped a dagger from his belt and neatly severed the drawstring of the old man's robes, his lower half was now on display for all to see.

“Oh Goddess.” Maiden being an Amazon of course didn't avert her eyes, some of the people in the back room fainted and others just stared with open jaws.

“Burn the...” The chant stopped dead and Hector fainted as well.

“Well that proves Thoughtstrum extremely wrong.” The warrior woman noted and wriggled her eyebrows at the old Wizard.

He stood there mortified and slowly drew his pants back up, he gave everyone a really harsh stare and Stranger swore that his face was turning redder and redder, he ducked, expecting a magical outburst of some kind.

“Burn the Witch!” One of the youngest of the peasants shouted trying to get the momentum back, he was too busy looking at Maiden's attributes and missed the whole thing.

“Lad, he's no Witch.” Said the leader of the peasants and gave a low chuckle. “We've had that proved to us now, for certain.”

“Oh.”

“Can we please stop discussing my...my...my...stave thank you very much.” The old man snorted and turned his attention back to the other two by his side. “Thank you, for at least having the courage to deprive an old man of his pride.”

“Oh you'll get over it, the offers from all the ladies will come flooding in, just you wait.” Maiden gave a lewd chuckle and waggled her brows once more. “Not me though, I'm hunting my own man down.”

“Er.” Stranger said as she looked at him, waggled her brows and winked.

[Libby]

*splutters*

Just taken a break from Goblin bashing to read this...and I definitely say...Burn the Witch/Wizard...who cares...it'll keep us warm these cold summer nights...