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Old 02-28-2003, 03:47 PM   #134
Rimbaud
The Perilous Poet
 
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Join Date: Apr 2002
Location: Heart of the matter
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Pipe

“Hark!” cried the Noblest of the Enobled, the most Masculine of the Emasculated, Halfullion Halfemption Gormlessar III, Prince amongst Men, Stylist amongst Butchers.

“Gravy,” snapped Gravy, peeved that his vastly gorgeous companion could not remember his name. “My name is Gravy, not Hark, or Lo, or Whazzat, or any of the other names you shout at me.”

“Terribly sorry, Gravy, you scrumptious fellow,” said Halfullion soothingly. “It’s just that this tiresome Doom has been laid upon me and I have a nasty feeling that I have to go and get hurt now. This and the general culmination of events are leading to this great Heroic Flux, which makes me prone to saying things that might sound a little stilted, except this bit, which is simply a rather unnecessary and lengthy explanation that still, for some reason, has not ended.”

“I see,” said Gravy, bitterly. “I suppose that means that the Salon is not going to happen.”

“You never know, old fruit,” said Halfullion, girting himself with the sword of a fallen orc nearby. He also equipped himself with the unfortunate Enemy’s helm, and looked rather ferocious. Gravy felt a stirring within him. “Look,” said Halfullion. “I’ll go and slice these fellows attacking my pals, and you can hunt around for a decent hiding place and some food. I’ll be home in time for supper. Maybe some pig loins, Gravy. Go hunt some pork!” He winked lasciviously, and his immense charm caused Gravy to faint.

Our Hero galloped madly into the fray, leaving Gravy motionless.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Huzzzah!” cried Halfullion, decimating rank upon rank of his hapless foes. “Nothing can stand before the might of,” - he checked the handle of his borrowed sword for a name - “Stumpy. Eh? Stumpy? Gah. Oh, well. Yes! You cannot stand up to Stumpy the Valiant!”

Indeed, the nettles before him gave way in no short time and he progressed on toward the maelstrom that his vastly overpowered friends were causing. He smelt barbequed orc, and realised the dragon was casually toasting most of the enemies.

Not to be outdone, Halfullion charged at the ranks of the orcs, who were all facing the other way, waiting patiently to be chopped up by Etceteron.

* * * * * * *

Some indeterminate time later, Halfullion had single-handedly defeated at least one rather puny orc who had been looking for his spectacles, and had been rather unfairly ignored by all the others. “Hey! Fight me you fools!” quoth he. But they stayed facing the other way, well knowing his weakness. He could not stab them in the back, having signed the Chivalry Convention of Geneva. He pounded on their backs, but they would not turn.

As morning turned to afternoon, he became rather dispirited. More upsettingly, he sensed his Doom closing upon him, which was dampening his spirits considerably.

[ March 01, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]
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