Once again, happy Friday yall! Heres PART FIVE of Le Story, enjoy! (I did my best with this horrid migraine, so cut me some slack!) As our heroes formed a fighting circle, backs to each other, the smoke slowly cleared. Standing before them was a towering, burly, muscular hunk of glorious…ahem. Standing before them was a muscular barbarian, all of seven feet six inches tall, startlingly clean long hair shining in the morning sun, beard neatly trimmed, sword gleaming the promise of, if not death, certain dismemberment. There were no other bandits to be seen. Out of sheer surprise, the four relaxed their fighting stances. “What in blue blazes are you doing? You nearly scared seven hells out of us!” Ironold yelled, angrily waving his battleaxe. The sword’s tip swung to make its point an inch from Ironold’s nose. His eyes crossed as he dared not take his focus off it. “I am Vlad the Barbarian and these are MY woods you dare intrude in!” the barbarian squeaked. That did it. First Whitethorne, then Ironold, then Quinn started to giggle, then laugh. Stormwing followed suit, and next thing Vlad knew, what should have been his prisoners were four laughing idiots holding onto each other, clutching their sides, tears streaming down their faces. Vlad sighed and swung his sword onto his shoulder, waiting for the laughter to die down. Eventually Quinn spoke. “I’m quite certain that, er, a man of your size must have had something happen to cause this unfortunate event with his, er, voice,” he said. “Care to talk about it? I’m a wizard and I may be able to help you.” Vlad eyed Quinn warily. To speak or not to speak, that was the question. Heaving another sigh, Vlad gave in and told his story. “I was once a 90-pound weakling until two days ago I won a bet in a bar. Nothing bad about that, right? Wrong! I had the misfortune of winning against the most arrogant Bard I’ve ever come across. His traveling companions, a wizard even shorter than your Dwarf friend here, and an evil-looking Elf, looked all smug as if they were the ones who’d won the game. Anyway, I collected my winnings and went to bed. I woke up the next morning from a terrible dream. I dreamed I was singing in something called a carry-oak contest and woke up feeling hoarse. I go downstairs to order something to soothe my throat and next thing I know, I’ve got severe growing pains! At this point I’m getting annoyed, and boy people don’t like me when I’m annoyed. I didn’t sleep well, my throat hurts, and I’m getting bigger by the moment. The innkeeper’s wife is screaming bloody murder and my clothes…well, they’re ripping apart and I’m looking everywhere for cover, if you know what I mean. I eventually just run out into the woods and then I run into a group of bandits; by this time I’m fully grown, I knock them out, rummage around in their goods, find clothes that fit, get dressed, and I’ve been on the run ever since. When I saw you guys here, I figured I could just terrify you into helping me.” Whitethorne snorted again. Quinn shot him a warning look, feeling sympathy for Vlad. He’d obviously run into that nasty Songbird, who had his little wizard companion exact revenge. “I can help you, but in order to do that, I need to ask you: how do you want us to help?” Vlad looked down and dug a toe into the ground. “Well…I hated being a tiny weakling. I’m bigger, stronger, and much better looking. Obviously there’s the issue of my squeaky voice.” Here Ironold sniggered. Quinn hushed him, and a thoughtful look entered his face. “I’m afraid we all have an issue with this selfsame Bard. He has taken something of value from all of us, and we are a day and a half from Cloudtrap, where we believe he is sheltering. If you would like to join us, we can use your strength when we finally face him.” Vlad grinned. “It’s a deal,” he squeaked. “Halfpint Harry is at your service!” And he bowed with a flourish. Whitethorne rolled his eyes and giggled. “Halfpint Harry? Really?” Vlad, nee Halfpint Harry, shot Whitethorn a dirty look. “My name is Harold, but I was too short and small which earned me the nickname of ‘Halfpint’,” he retorted. “I can’t help the name I was given.” Quinn gestured for quiet. “Now, Harry, you stand right here,” and he pointed to a spot. Harry obeyed. Whispering a spell, Quinn directed his power to Harry’s throat. Harry felt a warm tingling sensation that intensified, then died down. “Speak,” Quinn directed him. “Okay, what do you want me to say?” Harry asked. Quinn’s face fell, but not as far down as Harry’s. The spell had failed! “I don’t understand what happened,” Quinn apologized. “This spell usually works, unless…unless your voice has been switched with someone else’s!” Harry slapped a hand to his forehead. “I am so stupid,” he squeaked. “I had an unusually deep voice for my size! No wonder my throat was so sore…someone pulled a switcheroo on me!” “I bet it was that damn bard,” Whitethorne said, now feeling sympathy for their new companion. “Let’s hike it over to this town and see if there’s anyone there with a brand-new set of pipes.” They all agreed on this and set off for the town. By this time the daylight was in full swing. The town was bustling, not in a good way, but in an angry-mob-arming-themselves-with-pitchforks-and-torches kind of way. The group went unnoticed until a woman let out a shriek of “IT’S HIM!” and all the villagers gathered in an angrily advancing mob. “Ohh dear,” said Harry. “I forgot to mention…this is the town where it all happened. The lady that screamed? She’s the one who saw me change.” Quinn groaned inwardly. Whitethorne winked at a cute girl in the crowd, Ironold grumbled “What are you lot looking at?” and Stormwing just stood there, staring back. A fat man wearing a sash with “MAYOR” painted on it huffed up to Quinn. “We don’t want your kind here, you hear?” he shouted. Quinn waved a hand in front of his face while contemplating a breath-freshening spell for the man. “And why is that?” he asked politely. “That…that FREAK exposed himself indecently to half the town! It was a full moon in broad daylight! On top of that, those sideshow rejects he was hanging out with the night before had the audacity to steal half this town’s treasury! You all have five seconds to get out or else!” The mob roared its approval. ANGRY MOBS AND PITCHFORKS AND TORCHES, OH MY! You: 1. Turn the mayor into a gigantic chicken and convince the townsfolk they REALLY want a roast chicken feast. 2. Literally knock some sense into the mayor. 3. Have Quinn cast a motion-freeze spell on the mob so you can explain what happened to Harry so everyone knows you are all innocent. 4. Right, that’s it! All we’re doing is trying to help this poor guy and these people just assume he’s in the wrong. How typical of backwater towns! We’re leaving ‘cause we don’t need this kind of crap.
Posted on: Sat, 17 Jan 2015 02:18:46 +0000
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