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Old 11-13-2003, 10:08 PM   #102
The Barrow-Wight
Night In Wight Satin
 
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A series of pitiful groans and regular splashes marked Orogarn Two’s position at the rail of the spinning and teetering cart. Not since his first and only ride on the Astronaut Accelerator at Park Galore had his stomach so violently rebelled, and then he had been only 12 years old. Ever after that time he had avoided all vorticular conveyances, even shying away from the slowly rotating Noodleorean Needle Restaurant atop the Citibank Spire, regardless of its wonderful view. Now, as the Insertcleveradjectivehereship floated down the torrential outflowing from the flooded dwarven city of sin, each boulder the cart struck sent a signal directly to his lurching stomach that outwardly projected what remained of the prodigious portions he had scarfed from the all-you-can-scarf buffet at the Glitzy Caverns.

Unexpectedly, the overfilled floating wagon snagged on a tree limb projecting from the shore, and everything suddenly stopped, nearly sending over half of the occupants into the water. Those that had not been tightly gripping the rails were thrown forward into a pile of rusty metal and sweaty flesh, but a lucky few who had been smartly steadying themselves were able to remain standing. Orogarn Two’s queasy stomach found itself momentarily stabile, and the Grundorian found himself able at last to look around and see exactly where the rushing waters had taken him and his companions.

Near the front of the craft was a great heap of various adventurers, at the base of which was the drunken Chrysophylax, still bound to the writhing Balfrog. In fact, besides Orogarn Two, the only person left standing was the beautiful Merisuwyniel, who seemed to have not noticed the calamity surrounding her, but instead was busily applying a fresh coat of blush. Orogarn Two watched her with a combination of intense desire and unbelief. Though she was wonderfully charming, he also found her incredibly haughty, and her ability to maintain her makeup during such a collision was very disturbing. Normally he admired such spaciousness, but the combination of pointy ears and self-admiration was not something he could make himself comfortable with. Her ability to fard while floating was also distressing.

He was considering pushing the elven lady into the mangled pile of his comrades when the cart abruptly broke lose from its captivity and the entire Concomitantship bounced back to its feet. Concurrently, Orogarn Two’s dinner pail proceeded to empty itself again, but it was interrupted when the cart crashed dangerously into a tall wooden pier. Splinters flew, as well as curses, as the group again found itself again wedged into a small corner of the cart. As before, only Merisuwyniel and Orogarn Two remained standing.

“Oh my,” said she. “I do believed we’ve stopped.”

Orogarn Two looked around and noticed the obvious lack of motion, either forward or in circles. “You don’t say?”

“I do,” she replied.

“You would,” he answered. “Correctly, of course, for we have indeed stopped. Let us disembark as soon as possible.”

The Clustership heartily agreed with the Grundorian, and everyone quickly left the cart and climbed onto the dock where they found themselves at the end of a long, wooden landing that stretched to the shore of the Unmarked River. At the river’s edge, the pier met a gravel path that led into a thick wall of trees.

“BEHOLD THE FOREST OF CANNED CORN!”, shouted Kuruharan from within the tangle and holding up a selection of forest brochures he hoped to sell.

“No Caps!” yelled everyone as they extricated themselves from the pileup.

“Sorry,” muttered the chastened dwarf, angrily castigating himself for buying so many of the Canned Corn maps without thoroughly studying the potential market for them.

“If I’m not mistaken, this must be the entrance to the Forest of Canned Corn,” said Earnur.

“No kidding?” asked Kuruharan. “What ever gave you that idea?”

Lord Etceteron missed the sarcasm and answered truthfully, “The sign at the end of the pier that says “THE FOREST OF CANNED CORN”.

He was right. Where the path met the forest it passed through a wooden arch topped by a sign with the very words Earnur had spoken. Below the sign, on one of the posts that supported it, a large white parchment had been nailed:

Quote:
To all who here enter…

Per Order of his most honorable Orogarn One, the Denimthor and Proctor of Grundor, notice is hereby given that the Forest of Canned Corn is declared off-limits to all Grundorians and people of decent upbringing who are not total cretins.

Hear ye, that the Ents of the Forest are knowingly harboring persons of ill reputations, including the renegade Skinflint, who is suspected to be trafficking in stolen goods, including the wallet of the most favored son of Minus Teeth, Orogarn Two.

Sanctions against the Ents are in place, and all peoples buying an selling from them will be added to our “We Don’t Like You” list. This inlcudes you, Kuruharan!

Until such times as this situation can be resolved, all people are advised to boycott the Forest of Canned Corn.

Signed – Denimthor – Proctor of Grundor.
[ November 14, 2003: Message edited by: The Barrow-Wight ]
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