His cloak donned ragged,
sword imbued with good magic,
our hero sets forth....
The Den of Failure
(Told by Eldric the Unworthy, Bardric Mage from the town of New Tristramville)
And lo did Lord Stevester finally become sated with waiting,
the air heavy with his thoughts,
an empty mug that smelled of ale,
a satisfied nymph (Mmm Hmm!),
all bearing silent witness to his final decision:
"I must find Smeagol."
Many had travelled the darkened land,
some for riches lost,
some for riches perceived,
but none had returned.
It was rumoured, nay, whispered in darkened alleyways and brothels amongst the common skank,
that those intrepid, adventure seeking souls had become Smeagoled,
wrapped in cloaks of Failure so strong,
even Sol's warming rays could not penetrate their horrid stench.
Lord Stevester began his preparations,
as many a brave soul hath done before him.
Knowing this could be his last day, he kissed his fair maiden and 3 young apprentices,
and with a heavy heart set forth upon his adventure into the Pit of Doom.
Neither sword nor axe nor motorcar had he,
not a single luxury,
for these implements were for far different adversary,
and were useless against the cawing raptor.
Only a credit card, debit card or current bank statement,
a work permit or other such proving document
could dissuade the raptor from it's heinous attack.
To Liberty, the land of the Mega-church, Stevester doth travel, leaving his convoy behind in the clearer pastures and sanity of Kansas City.
For to best the raptor,
Lord Stevester knew the only way was to travel alone.
To bring others for security, moral support or to sacrifice at the breath of the Smeagol would lead to a cockiness that could be deadly.
As soon as Stevester crossed the line into Liberty, a pall, dank and dark with failure and the scent of the Green Thong, hung low in the sky.
With each step Lord Stevester bravely took,
the omnipresent cloak of failure threatened to take away his very sanity.
With Herculean effort, Stevester turned his troubled brow toward where the heavens would be, but in it's place he could only see failure, and the red and blue lights that signal Smeagol is in the area.
Following the contrails and currents of the flatulent smelling wind,
Lord Stevester did see a vortex, one of such powerful failure that nothing could possibly survive.
The Den of Smeagol was terrible, an unassuming apartment building to the naked eye,
but an abode of unfathomable horror.
Boasting a +4 Cast Failure Spell with bonus Screech of the Raptor being cast every few seconds,
The Den was a terrible place, and Stevester was instantly sorry he had come.
To know the Den of Smeagol was to know it's many names:
The Den of Failure,
The Hovel of the Raptor,
Gathering his strength and courage, and countering the defensive shield Smeagol's Spell of Hiding had created with his Lasik Eyes of the Ancients,
Stevester entered the Den.
Tomorrow, part II, as told by Cletus "Jive Turkey" Jenkins, who just moved on up to the East side.
As an aside, Smeagol called the day after his birthday to beg my mom for money because he had lived another year, and lamented that no one called him on his birthday. WTF?! I am seriously contemplating posting his number here so we can all spam him unmercilessly and of course sign him up for gay escort services.
I also found out his email address, is it not funny that his name is Reaper69? I will let you all know when he gets his new computer and internet connectivity so we can all write him all the time. JJ said the only reason he would get on the internet was to look at porn, gently massaging his thong while little kids ran around, sometimes stopping to look at him and shake their heads disapprovingly.