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Old 11-14-2003, 07:43 AM   #103
Mithadan
Spirit of Mist
 
Join Date: Jul 2000
Location: Tol Eressea
Posts: 3,310
Mithadan is a guest at the Prancing Pony.Mithadan is a guest at the Prancing Pony.
Sting

The Politically-correctship shuffled off their makeshift vessel in various stages of disarray. Merisu, for example, was...well, perfect as usual. None the worse for the wear, her dampened hair seemed to sparkle in the sun and when she shook her head, sending a spray of water into the air, rainbows appeared halo-like over her locks. On the other end of the spectrum were Chrysophylax and Mordaenárur, who were still hopelessly tangled, as well as being wet and sporting a variety of bumps, bruises, dings and scratches. Worse was yet to come though the two did not yet know it.

Grrralph was somewhere in between. Predictably, he was nowhere near flawless like Merisu. Nor was he unable to disembark because his legs were pinned by various body parts of another, like Chrysi and Mord. But he was wet. Very wet. And for Grrralph, this meant trouble.

From the moment his feet touched solid ground, he began shaking, twirling, leaping and spinning. Having seen such behavior from the inimitable showtune fan before, the members of the Itship were somewhat non-plussed. Kuruharan, Earnur and Vogonwë looked on with a degree of boredom.

"I think it's Elves and Dolls this time," commented Earnur with a yawn.

"No, no," disagreed Vogonwë. "It's Springing in the Rain."

"Nope," proffered Kuruharan, wondering if he could profit from a guessing game. "It is clearly Westernesse-side Story."

"Aiiiii!" commented Grrralph as he began scratching himself vigorously. "The water has aggravated my condition."

Orogarn (Two), concluding immediately that he was on the verge of receiving too much information hurried off towards the forest. Earnur, Kuruharan and Vogonwë looked at one another and, after some quick discussion, engaged in a mystical contest known as rock, paper, scissors. "Paper wraps rock, rock breaks scissors," cried Earnur in triumph. "You ask him!"

Vogonwë ambled reluctantly over to the wraith who was now lying in the dirt, scooting along on his back, propelled by his feet. "Um, Grrralph," said the Half-Elf. "What seems to be the problem?"

Grrralph leapt to his feet and dived into a nearby thornbush, writhing desperately. "My curse!" he cried. "The spell!

'You'll wear my gear,
cloak, armor and hood,
now don't shed a tear,
but they're with you for good.'"

He extricated himself from the brambles and Vogonwë winced as the threads bordering the tears and rents in Grrralph's cloak began to writhe like snakes as they rewove themselves into whole cloth. "I've worn these same clothes, this same armor since I was enchanted by...my former employer," explained the wraith.

Earnur cringed and took a step back. "Uh, how long would that be Grrralph?"

The wraith again began scratching his chest, arms and legs. "Almost 600 years," Grrralph answered.

Kuruharan gasped. "You mean...?"

"Yes!" cried Grrralph. "I suffer from chafe! And dampness makes it worse!"

Vogonwë backed away until he stood next to Earnur. "I could have lived my whole life without hearing that," he muttered.

"The Mother of All Rashes!" said Earnur with awe (not to be confused with awwwww).

At that moment, a new sound filled the air. Or actually it was a series of sounds. It sounded something like this: Hic. Foooshhh. Aiiiiiiiii! When the odd succession of noises repeated itself several times, the Nongenderspecificship turned back towards the cart/raft. Chrysi and Mord had apparently managed to roll themselves to shore and were now, more or less, sitting upright. Hic. The dragon hiccoughed. Foooooshhhh The ethanol-tinged gases ignited in the dragon's gullet. Aiiiiii! The Balfrog screamed as the blast of flames broiled the back of his neck, which is where Chrysi's snout was presently located.

Grrralph raced over. "Dragon, could you manage to turn your snout towards me when you next burp?"

"Yes, please do!" cried Mord.

Chrysi pondered the request for a moment, then craned his neck and faced the wraith. "No!" cried Merisu. "Yes!" cried the rest of the Thingship. Hic. Fooooshhhh.

Grrralph was immolated in the resulting gout of flames. His cloak, breeches, gloves and other articles of clothing burned merrily. In moments, he was reduced to a smouldering suit of armour, standing like a burnt treetrunk after a forest fire. Then the black threads began writhing and bobbing and weaving in and out as Grrralph's clothing reassembled itself, good as new.

"Ahhhh," sighed the wraith. "Dry at last!"

[ November 20, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]
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