BoldItalic
First Post
He took a breath, righted his now impressive seven-foot body, gripped his battleaxe and opened the door…
"They're not here yet," said Jak the one-eyed barkeeper.
"Who aren't here yet?"
"The others. Check the old Fish thread. They turn up on the 7th of May. You're two weeks early."
ClaW was bewildered. This was not how it was meant to be. He stared at Zak, suspecting a trick. He wanted to disbelieve but his mind was confused. A phrase kept saying itself inside his head in that annoying way that they do sometimes and the more you try to forget it, the more it comes back. Like when you try very hard not to think about blue elephants and you end up thinking about not thinking about blue elephants and the blue elephants just stand there smirking up their trunks refusing to be not thought about. Except the phrase that had taken possession of his mind wasn't blue elephants, it was "The Throg of War". Just that. "The Throg of War". It didn't even make sense. But he didn't know why. He didn't know ...
"You okay? You look a bit green around the gills. Can I get you a drink?" asked Jak solicitously.
"Erg."
"Do you need a cleric? I can fetch Sister Hermione if you like? She's very good."
"Erg."
Just then, Sister Hermione entered the Painted Pumpkin. Jak the barkeeper had diversified into selling embroidery cottons and she needed some three-ply turquoise for some new vestments she was making.
"Blessing upon thee," quoth she, "Today doth all the world rejoice, for be it not verily the feast of Bless'ed Antiphoné?"
"Erg?"
"Hmm," said the good sister looking professionally at Claw. "Methinks thou art in need of ministrations," whereupon she picked him up, turned him over and applied a salve from a jar that she always carried in her reticule. It tickled and felt hot.
"Erg!"
"Take these tablets three times a day after meals and try not to walk on it for two weeks."
"Erg. Erg?"
"Not when I'm working, dear."
"Erg."
ClaW fell into a doze. The salve was beginning to work and consciousness slipped away peacefully, dreaming of blue elephants.
Suddenly ...
"They're not here yet," said Jak the one-eyed barkeeper.
"Who aren't here yet?"
"The others. Check the old Fish thread. They turn up on the 7th of May. You're two weeks early."
ClaW was bewildered. This was not how it was meant to be. He stared at Zak, suspecting a trick. He wanted to disbelieve but his mind was confused. A phrase kept saying itself inside his head in that annoying way that they do sometimes and the more you try to forget it, the more it comes back. Like when you try very hard not to think about blue elephants and you end up thinking about not thinking about blue elephants and the blue elephants just stand there smirking up their trunks refusing to be not thought about. Except the phrase that had taken possession of his mind wasn't blue elephants, it was "The Throg of War". Just that. "The Throg of War". It didn't even make sense. But he didn't know why. He didn't know ...
"You okay? You look a bit green around the gills. Can I get you a drink?" asked Jak solicitously.
"Erg."
"Do you need a cleric? I can fetch Sister Hermione if you like? She's very good."
"Erg."
Just then, Sister Hermione entered the Painted Pumpkin. Jak the barkeeper had diversified into selling embroidery cottons and she needed some three-ply turquoise for some new vestments she was making.
"Blessing upon thee," quoth she, "Today doth all the world rejoice, for be it not verily the feast of Bless'ed Antiphoné?"
"Erg?"
"Hmm," said the good sister looking professionally at Claw. "Methinks thou art in need of ministrations," whereupon she picked him up, turned him over and applied a salve from a jar that she always carried in her reticule. It tickled and felt hot.
"Erg!"
"Take these tablets three times a day after meals and try not to walk on it for two weeks."
"Erg. Erg?"
"Not when I'm working, dear."
"Erg."
ClaW fell into a doze. The salve was beginning to work and consciousness slipped away peacefully, dreaming of blue elephants.
Suddenly ...
