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The Lost Boys vs. The Sunless Citadel (no regional dialect)
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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 3720875" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>Turn 5.1</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">In the night.</p><p></p><p>“What’re we going to do?” Grand Alf flaps.</p><p></p><p>Aleso and Saradomin exchange glances, in unison take to one knee, begin their prayers.</p><p></p><p>“Sweet Pelor’s who’s fiery divine favour has sought refuge in the transient spirit of our young”, Aleso nods towards Dartamor, he can’t remember the Rogue’s name, “the one over there- on the spike, may his heavenly soul wing it’s way through the fundament to the arms of your warm embrace.”</p><p></p><p>“Lord, St. Cuthbert, whose rod of iron and mighty cudgel rules o’er us, whose divine judgement has speared, sorry spared, insert name here from the everlasting pain of life. Send winged angels to guide the spirit of this troublesome soul back to the great alehouse, I mean off-licence, in the sky.”</p><p></p><p>The two stop, stare at each other, and then…</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf tugs at both of them, hops from foot to foot, either he wants a wee or he’s got something to say.</p><p></p><p>“Hold on Alf.” Aleso states.</p><p>“A moment.” Saradomin concurs.</p><p></p><p>They continue with their sermons.</p><p></p><p>“I pray now, in the utter certainty, that Dartamor’s soul sits on your left side, righteous and awe full, erm… for he did mention to me that he was very fond of you and was thinking of converting to the ONE TRUE and JUST cause. Only the other day he said… Erm… he said, ‘sun’s up’, which is a sure fire indication of the devotion he felt for you.”</p><p></p><p>“I ask you mighty St. Cuthbert to accept this wanderer into the massed ranks of your spirit army, swell their holy pride, for Dartamor clearly indicated to me, in times of trouble- when he was sorely… sorely… something… low. Anyway, he said, and I quote- ‘I need a drink’, a clear indication of his devotion to the holy elixir of St. Cuthbert, the vessel through which thy voice speaks to us mere mortals, the ONE TRUE and JUST path to inebriation. Sorry… enlightenment… scratch that… erm… up there.” Saradomin indicates ‘up there’, by pointing.</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf tugs some more, he’s been up to it for a while now.</p><p></p><p>In unison the two turn to him, and say.</p><p></p><p>“What is it?” </p><p></p><p>“Um… Dartamor wants to know if he can get up now… Off the spike, has either of you got a rope.”</p><p></p><p>The divine duo turn to stare, Dartamor, still impaled upon the spike, waves at them.</p><p></p><p>“You mean he’s not dead?”</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf shakes his head, Dartamor does too, grits his teeth- the pain.</p><p></p><p>They whisper to each other as they fumble for rope.</p><p></p><p>“Bloody inconsiderate.”</p><p>“It’s a shame, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”</p><p></p><p>A minute later a stumbling Dartamor, held up on each side, shuffles his way out of the chamber, and from there all the way back to the Kobold empire, he needs a lie down.</p><p></p><p>The others agree to return to their task the next day, even Grand Alf is persuaded, he may look daft but he’s not stup… no, hang on, that doesn’t work.</p><p></p><p>And so while the other three adventurers snooze Dartamor fights unconsciousness again, and again… he gets help from two sources.</p><p></p><p>“My brave King what hast though done to thee, sorry them done to thou… you- where does it hurt, shall I rub it.”</p><p></p><p>Isdrayl slips her hands beneath the sheets. </p><p></p><p>“AAaaaaaG.”</p><p></p><p>Dartamor spasms and then slips into unconsciousness.</p><p></p><p>That’s the thing about Kobolds, lizard like creatures- reptiles- cold blooded makes for cold hands.</p><p></p><p>Isdrayl sheds a tear, several, wipes her snout on the blanket, leaving a silvery trail, and begins her soliloquy.</p><p></p><p>“I knew you’d come my beautiful, rescue me from this wasted life, I knew you’d find me- no matter what. You see my lovely, I wasn’t meant for this life, and I know you’re a pointy-ears, and I should be eating you, but it’s not like that, not for me- beauty is only skin deep- I see through your dashing good looks and flare, I see the inner turmoil and terror that bubbles within you. I know, like me, that you love the thought of smashing something serene and tranquil, of stamping on picnics, kicking Halflings into rivers. I, like you, want to force non-alcoholic drinks down dwarves until they burst, to build houses from the Dryad’s trees, to pave the forest and tell all the bum Druids to get a job. We could be happy… smashing things, and people. We could make a life together; start afresh, a new dungeon, a Hydra… I don’t know why I said a Hydra, I guess I just like them- long necks, and they’d make an ace slide for the kids. We’d have traps, ones that rend and tear, there’d be viscera… Oh think of the viscera my love, think of wizards on spikes, a monk in a gibbet… I’ve always wanted an oubliette… do say I can have an oubliette.”</p><p></p><p>Her voice softens.</p><p></p><p>“We could even kill the others, when they get back, if they get back from killing the Outcast, we could make maracas from their heads, or hanging baskets.”</p><p></p><p>She stops, Dartamor’s eyes blink, once… twice- he opens them wide.</p><p></p><p>Isdrayl leans in, puckers up, and plants a kiss on his forehead.</p><p></p><p>“Night Mum.” Dartamor sighs and turns over.</p><p></p><p>“MUM.” </p><p></p><p>She shakes him, but he’s gone from this place.</p><p></p><p>Sound asleep.</p><p></p><p>Isdrayl gets up and wanders to the other side of the cavern, there’s a fragment from a mirror nailed to the wall. She stares at herself in it.</p><p></p><p>“Mirror, mirror…” She begins, and then thinks better of it.</p><p></p><p>She’s lost her looks, and she knows it, who’s she kidding- herself. She cries again, and then with a shaking hand reaches down for a small pot nestled on a crate, scratches the surface of the substance held within- with one taloned finger, and smears the tincture around her maw. Lipstick applied she turns back to spy her love, the door opens, and the nights second vertically challenged visitor arrives.</p><p></p><p>Isdrayl shakes her head, banishing the bad thoughts, and harrumphs out of the cavern- the taste of her lipstick, blood, in her mouth.</p><p></p><p>Jerky Timbers, the rescued Gnome walks in, and to Dartamor.</p><p></p><p>He places his hand, delicately, on the sleeping Half-Elf’s shoulder, whispers one word.</p><p></p><p>“Sleeeeeeeep.”</p><p></p><p>A blue glow shines from the Gnomes fingertips, and now, Dartamor’s shoulder, it spreads- and all is well, skin and bone knit and mend. Dartamor lives to fight another day.</p><p></p><p>Jerky turns to leave.</p><p></p><p>“Night Dad.”</p><p></p><p>Stops, grins for a while, and then heads off.</p><p></p><p>Early morning Aleso, Saradomin and Grand Alf are awoken… by a hale and hearty Dartamor.</p><p></p><p>“Pelor wants a lie in.” Aleso mumbles and turns over.</p><p>“St. Cuthbert says press snooze on the alarm.” Saradomin confirms.</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf is up in a trice, 0-60 in less than a second.</p><p></p><p>He pumps the Half-Elf’s hand.</p><p></p><p>“Glad to have you back. Thought you were a goner back there. Does it hurt.” Grand Alf touches the spot.</p><p></p><p>“No.” Dartamor fends his poking hand off.</p><p></p><p>“It was there wasn’t it.” Grand Alf lances his arm out again- trying to touch the spot.</p><p></p><p>“NO.” Dartamor again blocks the move.</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf’s not satisfied.</p><p></p><p>“It was right there.” He tries again, and is again rebuffed, with more violence this time. “NO.”</p><p></p><p>He digs Dartamor in the ribs, “THERE”, he punches this time. Dartamor is just quick enough to block it; he pushes Grand Alf away, “NO. For the last time…”</p><p></p><p>“I saw it. A great ruddy spike jammed through you… You…”</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf leaps at Dartamor, the two collapse to the hard stone floor, Dartamor has the wind knocked out of him. Grand Alf scrabbles at his leathers, ripping them aside. Dartamor fights back.</p><p></p><p>“A BLOODY SPIKE THROUGH YOU…”</p><p>“GET OFFFF.”</p><p>“RIGHT THROUGH YOU- I SAW IT.”</p><p>“GRAND ALF.”</p><p>“RIGHT… THERE.”</p><p></p><p>He uncovers the spot, there’s nothing there, no scar, no bruise- nothing.</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf rolls off Dartamor.</p><p></p><p>They seem to have gathered an audience; Kobolds stop to witness the exchange.</p><p></p><p>Even the divine duo are waking.</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf scrabbles further away, “don’t touch me…”, his arms out to fend Dartamor off, Dartamor looks on confused.</p><p></p><p>“You’re an impostor, a shape-changer, you’ve been possessed…” Grand Alf hisses the last part of the sentence.</p><p></p><p>Aleso and Saradomin simultaneously crouch to inspect the wound.</p><p></p><p>“By the pointy mace of St. Cuthbert I expel thee.”</p><p></p><p>Saradomin slaps Dartamor on the forehead, the Half-Elf falls back, clonks his head on the stone, and jolts back up again.</p><p></p><p>“May the fiery light quench the darkness of your soul.”</p><p></p><p>Aleso repeats the trick.</p><p></p><p>CLONK</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf wrestles himself to his feet, grabs a spoon, it’s the closest thing, and moves to stand over Dartamor.</p><p></p><p>He points the spoon at the Half-Elf, in what could otherwise be construed as a threatening manner, if it wasn’t a spoon, and says in a powerful voice. </p><p></p><p>“By Hell’s Biscuit Barrel tell us how it came to pass that thou art removed of hurt…”</p><p></p><p>Dartamor looks confused, Jerky Timbers wanders over, holding his towel, having just been for a wash and brush up.</p><p></p><p>“What, what d’you mean removed from hurt?” </p><p></p><p>Grand Alf closes in for the kill, hisses.</p><p></p><p>“The spike-hole. Where’s the Spike-Hole gone? For I see it not, and that means you’re a horny demon of the nine pentangles, or else a treacherous shape-shifter come to… shift… er… shape. You bugger.”</p><p></p><p>Dartamor looks blank.</p><p></p><p>“I healed him.”</p><p></p><p>Jerky states.</p><p></p><p>Which sorta takes the wind out of everyone’s sails.</p><p></p><p>“Oh.”</p><p></p><p>And.</p><p></p><p>“Oh.”</p><p></p><p>And one more for luck.</p><p></p><p>“Oh.”</p><p></p><p>At least they think alike.</p><p></p><p>“So you’re a priest…” Grand Alf starts and then grows bored of the conversation, another bloody do-gooder, that’s all he needs.</p><p></p><p>“So Dartamor, can we go yet- back to the sarcof… sarkoffa… sarky… coffee… goose, that’s it? Can we?” Grand Alf finishes.</p><p></p><p>“In a minute.” Dartamor rises, no help from any of the others, Grand Alf punches the air and runs off to get his stuff together.</p><p></p><p>The divine duo close in on the Gnome, some might say, crowd him.</p><p></p><p>“So…”</p><p>“You’re…”</p><p></p><p>And in unison.</p><p></p><p>“Religious?”</p><p></p><p>Jerky nods.</p><p></p><p>“Which one?” Aleso asks.</p><p></p><p>“Which one what?”</p><p></p><p>“Which deity?” Saradomin clarifies.</p><p></p><p>The two get closer still.</p><p></p><p>“Oh. I see.” Jerky says, then nothing else.</p><p></p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“Which…”</p><p>“One?”</p><p></p><p>“The one true god.” Jerky simply states.</p><p></p><p>In unison.</p><p></p><p>“Yeeeeees?”</p><p></p><p>“The Lord of all life.” Jerky adds.</p><p></p><p>“Yeeeeees?”</p><p></p><p>“The cudgel of the dark.”</p><p></p><p>“Cudgel- St. Cuthbert.” Saradomin pokes Aleso in the chest.</p><p>“… of the dark- Pelor.” Aleso pokes Saradomin in the chest.</p><p></p><p>“That’s it.” Jerky nods and goes to walk off.</p><p></p><p>They stop him.</p><p></p><p>“What’s it?”</p><p>“WHICH ONE YOU BLOODY GARDEN GNOME.” Aleso screams, drags the Gnome up to his eye-line, and shakes him.</p><p></p><p>“Pelor, of course.”</p><p></p><p>Aleso drops the Gnome spins on his heels and in one smooth move goes down on one knee and punches the air- you try it.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, you beauty.”</p><p></p><p>He spins back, picks the ruffled Gnome up and fusses him.</p><p></p><p>“Oh brother Pelorite, it’s so good to see you, I have been lost in this dark place, starved of any proper theological discussion having NOTHING BUT A BLOODY HEATHEN FOLLOWER OF ST. CUTHBERT FOR COMPANY.”</p><p></p><p>You can guess who he’s looking at when he finishes his little tirade.</p><p></p><p>Saradomin makes to slink off.</p><p></p><p>“Although I worship Pelor, I appreciate the efforts made by our fellow travellers, the clergy of St. Cuthbert, who are, in my eyes; leading the charge against the followers of the dark- I salute you.” And Jerky does.</p><p></p><p>Saradomin wipes away a tear.</p><p></p><p>“WHAT?” Aleso makes for apoplexy.</p><p></p><p>“I think instead of making light of our differences the churches of Pelor and St. Cuthbert would perhaps be better served by acknowledging first our common causes. I think that would be what Pelor, and St. Cuthbert wanted. Don’t you agree?”</p><p></p><p>The divine duo turn to sneer at each other.</p><p></p><p>And in unison.</p><p></p><p>“Yeeeaaaaah.”</p><p></p><p>They slink away.</p><p></p><p>“Thanks for that.” Dartamor fills the gap, shakes Jerky’s hand, “I bet you’ve got a story to tell...”</p><p></p><p>Next Turn: Level Up</p><p></p><p>Next Turn after that: A Short Story.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 3720875, member: 16069"] Turn 5.1 [CENTER]In the night.[/CENTER] “What’re we going to do?” Grand Alf flaps. Aleso and Saradomin exchange glances, in unison take to one knee, begin their prayers. “Sweet Pelor’s who’s fiery divine favour has sought refuge in the transient spirit of our young”, Aleso nods towards Dartamor, he can’t remember the Rogue’s name, “the one over there- on the spike, may his heavenly soul wing it’s way through the fundament to the arms of your warm embrace.” “Lord, St. Cuthbert, whose rod of iron and mighty cudgel rules o’er us, whose divine judgement has speared, sorry spared, insert name here from the everlasting pain of life. Send winged angels to guide the spirit of this troublesome soul back to the great alehouse, I mean off-licence, in the sky.” The two stop, stare at each other, and then… Grand Alf tugs at both of them, hops from foot to foot, either he wants a wee or he’s got something to say. “Hold on Alf.” Aleso states. “A moment.” Saradomin concurs. They continue with their sermons. “I pray now, in the utter certainty, that Dartamor’s soul sits on your left side, righteous and awe full, erm… for he did mention to me that he was very fond of you and was thinking of converting to the ONE TRUE and JUST cause. Only the other day he said… Erm… he said, ‘sun’s up’, which is a sure fire indication of the devotion he felt for you.” “I ask you mighty St. Cuthbert to accept this wanderer into the massed ranks of your spirit army, swell their holy pride, for Dartamor clearly indicated to me, in times of trouble- when he was sorely… sorely… something… low. Anyway, he said, and I quote- ‘I need a drink’, a clear indication of his devotion to the holy elixir of St. Cuthbert, the vessel through which thy voice speaks to us mere mortals, the ONE TRUE and JUST path to inebriation. Sorry… enlightenment… scratch that… erm… up there.” Saradomin indicates ‘up there’, by pointing. Grand Alf tugs some more, he’s been up to it for a while now. In unison the two turn to him, and say. “What is it?” “Um… Dartamor wants to know if he can get up now… Off the spike, has either of you got a rope.” The divine duo turn to stare, Dartamor, still impaled upon the spike, waves at them. “You mean he’s not dead?” Grand Alf shakes his head, Dartamor does too, grits his teeth- the pain. They whisper to each other as they fumble for rope. “Bloody inconsiderate.” “It’s a shame, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.” A minute later a stumbling Dartamor, held up on each side, shuffles his way out of the chamber, and from there all the way back to the Kobold empire, he needs a lie down. The others agree to return to their task the next day, even Grand Alf is persuaded, he may look daft but he’s not stup… no, hang on, that doesn’t work. And so while the other three adventurers snooze Dartamor fights unconsciousness again, and again… he gets help from two sources. “My brave King what hast though done to thee, sorry them done to thou… you- where does it hurt, shall I rub it.” Isdrayl slips her hands beneath the sheets. “AAaaaaaG.” Dartamor spasms and then slips into unconsciousness. That’s the thing about Kobolds, lizard like creatures- reptiles- cold blooded makes for cold hands. Isdrayl sheds a tear, several, wipes her snout on the blanket, leaving a silvery trail, and begins her soliloquy. “I knew you’d come my beautiful, rescue me from this wasted life, I knew you’d find me- no matter what. You see my lovely, I wasn’t meant for this life, and I know you’re a pointy-ears, and I should be eating you, but it’s not like that, not for me- beauty is only skin deep- I see through your dashing good looks and flare, I see the inner turmoil and terror that bubbles within you. I know, like me, that you love the thought of smashing something serene and tranquil, of stamping on picnics, kicking Halflings into rivers. I, like you, want to force non-alcoholic drinks down dwarves until they burst, to build houses from the Dryad’s trees, to pave the forest and tell all the bum Druids to get a job. We could be happy… smashing things, and people. We could make a life together; start afresh, a new dungeon, a Hydra… I don’t know why I said a Hydra, I guess I just like them- long necks, and they’d make an ace slide for the kids. We’d have traps, ones that rend and tear, there’d be viscera… Oh think of the viscera my love, think of wizards on spikes, a monk in a gibbet… I’ve always wanted an oubliette… do say I can have an oubliette.” Her voice softens. “We could even kill the others, when they get back, if they get back from killing the Outcast, we could make maracas from their heads, or hanging baskets.” She stops, Dartamor’s eyes blink, once… twice- he opens them wide. Isdrayl leans in, puckers up, and plants a kiss on his forehead. “Night Mum.” Dartamor sighs and turns over. “MUM.” She shakes him, but he’s gone from this place. Sound asleep. Isdrayl gets up and wanders to the other side of the cavern, there’s a fragment from a mirror nailed to the wall. She stares at herself in it. “Mirror, mirror…” She begins, and then thinks better of it. She’s lost her looks, and she knows it, who’s she kidding- herself. She cries again, and then with a shaking hand reaches down for a small pot nestled on a crate, scratches the surface of the substance held within- with one taloned finger, and smears the tincture around her maw. Lipstick applied she turns back to spy her love, the door opens, and the nights second vertically challenged visitor arrives. Isdrayl shakes her head, banishing the bad thoughts, and harrumphs out of the cavern- the taste of her lipstick, blood, in her mouth. Jerky Timbers, the rescued Gnome walks in, and to Dartamor. He places his hand, delicately, on the sleeping Half-Elf’s shoulder, whispers one word. “Sleeeeeeeep.” A blue glow shines from the Gnomes fingertips, and now, Dartamor’s shoulder, it spreads- and all is well, skin and bone knit and mend. Dartamor lives to fight another day. Jerky turns to leave. “Night Dad.” Stops, grins for a while, and then heads off. Early morning Aleso, Saradomin and Grand Alf are awoken… by a hale and hearty Dartamor. “Pelor wants a lie in.” Aleso mumbles and turns over. “St. Cuthbert says press snooze on the alarm.” Saradomin confirms. Grand Alf is up in a trice, 0-60 in less than a second. He pumps the Half-Elf’s hand. “Glad to have you back. Thought you were a goner back there. Does it hurt.” Grand Alf touches the spot. “No.” Dartamor fends his poking hand off. “It was there wasn’t it.” Grand Alf lances his arm out again- trying to touch the spot. “NO.” Dartamor again blocks the move. Grand Alf’s not satisfied. “It was right there.” He tries again, and is again rebuffed, with more violence this time. “NO.” He digs Dartamor in the ribs, “THERE”, he punches this time. Dartamor is just quick enough to block it; he pushes Grand Alf away, “NO. For the last time…” “I saw it. A great ruddy spike jammed through you… You…” Grand Alf leaps at Dartamor, the two collapse to the hard stone floor, Dartamor has the wind knocked out of him. Grand Alf scrabbles at his leathers, ripping them aside. Dartamor fights back. “A BLOODY SPIKE THROUGH YOU…” “GET OFFFF.” “RIGHT THROUGH YOU- I SAW IT.” “GRAND ALF.” “RIGHT… THERE.” He uncovers the spot, there’s nothing there, no scar, no bruise- nothing. Grand Alf rolls off Dartamor. They seem to have gathered an audience; Kobolds stop to witness the exchange. Even the divine duo are waking. Grand Alf scrabbles further away, “don’t touch me…”, his arms out to fend Dartamor off, Dartamor looks on confused. “You’re an impostor, a shape-changer, you’ve been possessed…” Grand Alf hisses the last part of the sentence. Aleso and Saradomin simultaneously crouch to inspect the wound. “By the pointy mace of St. Cuthbert I expel thee.” Saradomin slaps Dartamor on the forehead, the Half-Elf falls back, clonks his head on the stone, and jolts back up again. “May the fiery light quench the darkness of your soul.” Aleso repeats the trick. CLONK Grand Alf wrestles himself to his feet, grabs a spoon, it’s the closest thing, and moves to stand over Dartamor. He points the spoon at the Half-Elf, in what could otherwise be construed as a threatening manner, if it wasn’t a spoon, and says in a powerful voice. “By Hell’s Biscuit Barrel tell us how it came to pass that thou art removed of hurt…” Dartamor looks confused, Jerky Timbers wanders over, holding his towel, having just been for a wash and brush up. “What, what d’you mean removed from hurt?” Grand Alf closes in for the kill, hisses. “The spike-hole. Where’s the Spike-Hole gone? For I see it not, and that means you’re a horny demon of the nine pentangles, or else a treacherous shape-shifter come to… shift… er… shape. You bugger.” Dartamor looks blank. “I healed him.” Jerky states. Which sorta takes the wind out of everyone’s sails. “Oh.” And. “Oh.” And one more for luck. “Oh.” At least they think alike. “So you’re a priest…” Grand Alf starts and then grows bored of the conversation, another bloody do-gooder, that’s all he needs. “So Dartamor, can we go yet- back to the sarcof… sarkoffa… sarky… coffee… goose, that’s it? Can we?” Grand Alf finishes. “In a minute.” Dartamor rises, no help from any of the others, Grand Alf punches the air and runs off to get his stuff together. The divine duo close in on the Gnome, some might say, crowd him. “So…” “You’re…” And in unison. “Religious?” Jerky nods. “Which one?” Aleso asks. “Which one what?” “Which deity?” Saradomin clarifies. The two get closer still. “Oh. I see.” Jerky says, then nothing else. “Well?” “Which…” “One?” “The one true god.” Jerky simply states. In unison. “Yeeeeees?” “The Lord of all life.” Jerky adds. “Yeeeeees?” “The cudgel of the dark.” “Cudgel- St. Cuthbert.” Saradomin pokes Aleso in the chest. “… of the dark- Pelor.” Aleso pokes Saradomin in the chest. “That’s it.” Jerky nods and goes to walk off. They stop him. “What’s it?” “WHICH ONE YOU BLOODY GARDEN GNOME.” Aleso screams, drags the Gnome up to his eye-line, and shakes him. “Pelor, of course.” Aleso drops the Gnome spins on his heels and in one smooth move goes down on one knee and punches the air- you try it. “Yes, you beauty.” He spins back, picks the ruffled Gnome up and fusses him. “Oh brother Pelorite, it’s so good to see you, I have been lost in this dark place, starved of any proper theological discussion having NOTHING BUT A BLOODY HEATHEN FOLLOWER OF ST. CUTHBERT FOR COMPANY.” You can guess who he’s looking at when he finishes his little tirade. Saradomin makes to slink off. “Although I worship Pelor, I appreciate the efforts made by our fellow travellers, the clergy of St. Cuthbert, who are, in my eyes; leading the charge against the followers of the dark- I salute you.” And Jerky does. Saradomin wipes away a tear. “WHAT?” Aleso makes for apoplexy. “I think instead of making light of our differences the churches of Pelor and St. Cuthbert would perhaps be better served by acknowledging first our common causes. I think that would be what Pelor, and St. Cuthbert wanted. Don’t you agree?” The divine duo turn to sneer at each other. And in unison. “Yeeeaaaaah.” They slink away. “Thanks for that.” Dartamor fills the gap, shakes Jerky’s hand, “I bet you’ve got a story to tell...” Next Turn: Level Up Next Turn after that: A Short Story. [/QUOTE]
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