the warrior, lion's mane,
his sword turned evil to stone
Can it stop Raptor?
Journey into... (as told by Cletus "Jive Turkey" Jenkins)
So lissen up lil niglets, ol Jenkins goan give you da lowdown, cat!
So there he was, Steve of the Impeccable Weave, in his velvet leisure suit, platties with the goldfish swimmin' underneath, Burger King crown and Scepter of Listerine. Making sho his cape was tied on thizzle, he wormed into the-
ELDRIC: Wait, wait, wait a minute. What the fuck are you talking about?
Cletus: Man shaddup, I'se tryin' to finish the tale you almost fucked up son!
ELDRIC: 'Almost fucked up'? How dare you, to fisticuffs, brigand! (a brief, very gay scuffle ensues)
Eldric: Now that I have bested this smarmy negro in unarmed physical combat, I can properly end this tale.
Forsooth! Before our hero stood the Den of Failure, a low vibration emenating from it's very foundation. The stench of Smeagol's Thong was so great, Lord Stevester tried to spray Listerine from his Sceptre on it and it melted before it could penetrate the foul stench.
With trembling hands and steady heart (and iron cock) Stevester bravely grasped the latch of the faux wooden door, intent on battling the minions of the Raptor King. Slowly, the door eaked open.....
And it was a normal apartment. The smells of the hearth, of someone cooking something with too much onion, of what was hopefully a baby's filled diaper and not a dead body served to partially mask the dank undertow of Smeagol's raptor thong.
credit card and positive balance imbued bank statement in hand to ward off the Failure Minions, Stevester made his way to the second floor, as the mailboxes were all marked save 3, and they were all ont he second floor. The claw marks, probably left due to a lack of dexterity (The cloak of failure, while adding +4 Failure and a +2 Horrid Stench, also adds a -5 in dexterity, due to their crippling nature) gave the raptor away.
At the top of the steps, Our brave hero stopped to listen. Hark! The mumblings of Stupidity could be heard, uttered by none other than The Thonged One's Sorceress, Mister-E the Unlearned. Known to the villagers of Kansas as simply "The Dumb One", Her powers were unique, able to end all hints of argument with nary a word, simply exhaling could end all rational conversation, her sweaty, ass scented leggings, slightly browned from prolonged use, bearing silent witness to her senseless killing of many a cuddly kitten.
Lord Stevester knocked upon the door, marveling at how well his Gloves of Archeon, known to be doused in the Soap of Kralgon, which adds a +2 Cleanliness to his manly attributes, survived the searing heat from the flatulent breath of the raptor thought to be ensconced within.
Upon his knock, a silence fell where once the idiotic babbling of a Smeagoled lover had once emenated. A sudden new wave of crotch stench hit our hero as Mister-E got up off of her throne, the kitten dangling precariously over oblivion, and sadly, the only freedom it would ever know.
Footsteps, uncoordinated and heavy, like the fog over a toilet when one forgets to flush, thudded toward the door. Lord Stevester had begun to lose his nerve. Would his armor stand up to the breath of the Raptor?
We may never know. Smeagol was out working booty ass overtime. Stevester had to endure the breath of Mister-E for what seemed like minutes as she explained, wincing every time she uttered the letter "h".
And so the story comes to a temporary end, as Stevester did not get to battle the Wily Smeagol, but now knew where his lair was. And to all other adventurers seeking to find and capture Smeagol, be it for entertainment or lovemaking, know that his lair is in the heard of Liberty, and that you can see the cloak of failure rising as a triumphant plume into the night sky.
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