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  1. #11
    Community Moderator Guğmundr's Avatar
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    May 2012
    Skogr, Setterlund
    Chapter 1

    As the village slept, dark deeds were planned by bandits. Good intentions, ruthless methods involving fire, silent footsteps, sharp knives. Death ensued. Dawn approached, but the wily Varl slashed away the mighty chief of the haughty and obscene — but distinguished — Red Carpet Dapper clan, laughing as he jumped headlong into mighty dreams about liquorice, which he bathed into for Zardoz.

    The villagers, profoundly upset by the defenestration of already blind wooden-legged Petey Pirrrate who thennnn grew wings and promptly escaped prison but discovered that he was the son of Red Beard's second cousin, and thus it all came tumbling down, straight into the well's dirty water. Sadly not the good kind, but the pestilent kind: fetid liquid teeming with sickly rodents, oryx skulls and numerous bloated toads.

    Petey then loudly growled and said, "Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr m'hearties, it hurtssss." He felt melancholy over and again.

    The gods responded promptly to Petey's dark soul, "Your hatred must tame the violent north winds; icy plains full of green goats will not save you. The gale will crush the village, until finally the winds subside. Fear the consequences unless you act wisely."

    Petey replied, boisterously and with great eloquence, "Me ain't gunna do nuthin' 'bout that, so yous' hatin be pointless, yo."

    Chapter 2

    Belly-dancing beauties descended from the stormy creche of interstellar infants. Big Afro Joseph sighed, "Aw man! Da hell with this!" as he spouted those grey trolls. Suddenly there was a heavy rain falling from the ground up. "WHAT! RAIN? WHY?" he opined, his eyes aimed at the sky. "Have the ancestors forsaken us? Why do they let the wrath of Petey Pirrrate punish me?" Joseph fell over and landed on the wet grass. His head was hammering. "Who would do such a maleficent deed?"

    Only the wind answered: "In your mind, kiddo. In your mind." Unfortunately, Joseph wasn't ready to believe whispers by treacherous air spirits.

    Meanwhile, Vándr simply laughed as she threw the last of the puny villagers off a cliff, knowing that humans could bring the earth to it's knees if they kept eating the many winged lemmings. She was rather pleased, knowing that it was the final fight against the guardian that would forever set Vándr's course toward the death of all mortals. "Petey will show the foolish humans that he truly is above humanity's poor souls," she said, looking down on the old little lady's remains, "I, Vándr, will have the last laugh. Truly, the gods don't know how to handle such incredible power."

    Suddenly, a surge of enormous power came from the lower level of Manheimr's core, destroying the veil between toon world and the realm of the sketchy and capricious Bjorn the bear herder. Bjorn was very surprised to see that the bears were as red as the blood of humans. He sought eagerly to get his new axe sharpened, though he knew not which way to go. He looked around for a sign. Where could the ancient city of the dredge be hidden? "It must lie beneath one of the millenium old pillars of the Varl, covered by little ponies' houses and their many furry friends," said Bjorn, "I will have to unlock the ships and murder all of my peoples' enemies. Only then will I find peace."

    Chapter 3

    The dredge were hiding, waiting for the sign from their forsaken lord. But as they waited, the earth started trembling, and they wailed to mighty Vándr, "Save us and we shall forever keep your name within our sacred lands, to honor you and forever obey your mighty laws."

    Vándr answered from the height of the cliff looking down on the dredge, "If you only had the power to resist the temptation offered by the pirate lord! Petey is one slimy heck of a man! Don't you disrespect the respectful radiant charm he spills out upon every living soul? I am astonished by your lack of faith! Do as your ancestors would have so bravely done: cower in your filthy hovels and worship the real heir to the obsidian tower of fossil mammoths; only then shall I allow you the power to resist the mighty powers of —"

    But suddenly the sky turned crimson, and the earth turned a dark shade of fresh blood. "What is the meaning of this?!" And as she spoke, a bright darkness engulfed the ruins of the elder Àlf city of dark stones.

    Out of the mist came a lone warrior, bleeding, shaking, and staggering. He cried, louder than the loudest raven could hear from the highest peaks of icy Jotunheim, "Why, hello! Would anyone care to please explain what I have just endured for? I have these fabulous holes in places that a Hobbit would find quite cumbersome."

    Realizing that what he said was pure genius, that all of his rantings were the foundations of the New Order of the Champions of Freedom and Bodacious Drinkers, the warrior proudly resumed: "I will gather the villagers and offer them free ale and peanuts for as little as their eternal gold. After this sudden transfer, I will tell you how great hydromel really is! Trust me, you're gonna have a hell of a time! Just remember, never mix ox-carts and copious amounts of the legendary, illustrious drink called Heimdallr's steady!

    "I remember when I was a little boy, we used to dig in the very dirty black soils around the fortress of Svartmold, because my mighty hoe was 'accidentally' buried by my naughty dog, when we ate roasted peanuts and drank Heimdallr's steady along the road to fortune."

    Vándr snarled in reply: "Har, what on Midgard would you think if your dog were to hear this story, bro?"

    Hearing those injurious words, the warrior screamed, "But I don't want to lose all these funky memories! If I try to be quite vilifying towards my long-eared dog, (after all, we had — me and the man with those long and excessively hideous white fangs, vile breath, and hideous white fangs, and those lice like grey hands — two dogs and one pet rock!) I'll be dead before the memories of radiant sunsets and cold prairies fade into dark oblivions — at least while the small, stony rocks are frail and need to be protected."

    "Hah! You fool! Do you even know what you are saying? You prattle endlessly about things of no importance, which betrays inner conscience, and you will soon bear the responsibility of being my crest bearer, the most monotonous occupation known to the Nine Kings of Deep Mountain."

    "*GASP* Not cool! Just chill out! But why would you even want to hurt me so?"

    "Just because you don't seem to see me in your drunken stupor. Tell me, do you really need to ask about the hurting stuff? I'm Vándr, by all rights of almighty Hel, Destroyer of Jagdpanther and all things living and that sting, even Königstigers and other awesome crap! Excuse the long-windedness and the extenuating speech, but I guess I could have been not quite as — wait, what am I really going to say? I'm sorry? No, no, forget about that! I will instead try to forge a mighty weapon! Yes, a most dreadful weapon! And magnificent axes. Sharp spears, too! (Like the kind you see on those eternal bandits that seem to be everywhere you put your eyes!)

    "Ah man, you are a bandit, aren't you?! I will tell you a secret: I don't really know if I'm actually qualified to make leather boots. Alas, my old mother loved those stupid sandals, to make me jealous. I always hated her. Bah! Listen to my incoherent ramblings! What was never said shall be heard... tomorrow!"

    And thus both Vándr and the mighty warrior stepped back from the moss-covered walls, away from the crowds: tentative, but confident and sanguine, with lots of charisma spilling from their ears. The many onlookers looked on, wondering what was happening in this large, dirty building in the village that was already burnt by the seaside resort's fiercest rival, Mudwater Heavy Industries. Mudwater was building a terrible fiery chariot that was pulled by a dozen fire-breathing purple people eaters!

    Chapter 4

    Sky pigs were bred to counter the rampaging permed hamsters that are so foolishly rushing to meet their inevitable fate: the heavenly hamster balls of awesomeness. The sky pigs burned as they painfully transformed into their final meaty form, the great pigs' combined form, the Pyro-pig! This sight shall forever be engrained in the onlookers' handmade purses. Thus will the people rue the day that this affront was brought to light.

    "Damn them!" said a strange old man with bright red wooden horns, "These animals are gonna bring this whole village to the edge of disaster! You maniacs! I'm warning yous!" The crazed old man lifted his bony hands toward the growing flames in preparation of great and terrible things, and magical ones. Little did he know, wrong deeds began by Vándr's minions accidently started the end of the Era of the Gods. If he had only had the Runic Staff of Hamless Bones, he might have been able to change the outcome of this tragedy. Only if he had chosen the proper adventurer for the task would he have then been able to conquer the highest high pirrrate lord, Petey, Lord of the Butt Goblins. (Said goblins are named after Butt, the dark cigarette-smoking sorcerer who was bolted down to the bowels of the auld ale brewery and spanked quite rigorously by the blazing hearth.)

    Because of maritime laws, no one in the local reading club was able to discern what the hell was going on; so they had a sagacious soothsayer, an expert axinomancer, and an audacious used-cart salesman team up to climb Mount Yossarian and search for the mysterious Magical Book of Misinterpreted Truths.

    This book was first discovered back when time-travelers from the ruins of Sheboygan, Michigan were first released from the DeLorean's new owner's prison of charred Pintos. They were beyond recognition, all ragged and smelly, but enough of their lineaments were kept under cover to exploit latent premonitions about the metaphysical forces running amok and convince the gods to send a new keg to Butt's wine cellar.

    Chapter 5

    While this is all deemed foolish by the New Order of the Bodacious Champions and Drinkers of Freedom, the Gods' Martov Clan was worshipped as if it were a savior come from Asgard. It should have instead been a little more popular with the newly crafted clan of partly nude but fully clothed savages. Said savages lived in shambles, but they were quite luxurious, using gold cell phones and watches made of pure carbon, extracted from deep under the Mountains of Diamond Soul and Damnation.

    The one thing that they forgot to skin alive still haunted their every waking moment: the rabid blood eagle with cheese for brains. This ridiculous concoction of extraneous features should never have been created by the old beard-weavers or their younger counterparts. However, their abnormal creativity was used to craft their secret weapon, which was bathed in pure moondust. This dust will always be sticky, but will not gather dust. Surprisingly, the weapons were toy rabbits which could gather dust. Not the moondust, but diamond dust.

    The sharp rectal warts dripped with pure H2O, super critical for the human bread baking species. It bore offspring in an unfathomably complex lack of simplicity and then died a thousand deaths upon even teams of six to one. This only recurrent theme of complete and utter awesomeness is how the village of Hard Stone was able to quickly regain its reputation as the most horrible place on every known continent.

    Chapter 6

    "Wake up!" growled the crippled man.

    "It's time for breakfast!" snapped the confused Varl, "After all, we have been through knee-deep toxic sludge to finally listen to you complain about your empty stomach! I can't follow this reading comprehension test! What are you thinking of right now? Is it my shoes or my fancy vest? Take careful aim and try to take down as many of those crunchy red zombie dwarves as possible. If you beat my mother's score, you'll earn my old golden respect!"

    "Now we're getting close to the real reason you've chosen to join me and my elder brethren on our dust-gathered dust bunnies of doom! Those raving beauties will never stop 'till the end of the longest dusty day. Do as I shall: follow the yellow lent of supreme everlasting supreme power and magic! Supreme might is the means to extract the most deadly toxin from our supreme Lord Spambot! Thank you, oh Master. What is more glorious than being your servant? Indeed, the recipe for my cake is truly worthy of thy praises!"

    The Varl yelled, "Tonight I ate his cake!"

    An offended ox-herder was mad and drooling when he committed grand theft pastry, which got his clan banned from cake baking by the dark pharaoh Tutanviking. Only Yog Sothoth, deep lord of Lovecraft's popular novel, "The Call of Ubuntu: The Epic Call of Indie Hipster", starring Chowderclef the lumpy
    Last edited by Guğmundr; 12-01-2012 at 07:34 PM.
    Án brynju, mağur er varnarlaus. Án styrks, er hann ekkert.

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