Chapter 2: The meeting of Zarl and Woolah
This tale begins where many good tales begin, that being ‘The Greasy Hobbit’. My own little oasis in the Runiverse.
“Come for the ales, stay for the tales. Aha!”
I’ve had that carved above the door since we opened. It’s my promise of hospitality and merriment to each and every traveler who enters.
Mind you not every guest appreciates the charms of the ‘Hobbit’. Oh no. We’ve had the usual ruffian and scallywags over the years of course. But every so often we meet a traveler who truly leaves their mark upon my door.
This is the tale of one such guest. It was an ordinary magical night at the Greasy Hobbit. I was regaling the clientele with one of my entertaining yarns (the one about the Imp and the Wild Woman if I recall) when the front door suddenly and violently flung open. The force was so powerful that the poor Wooden Boy cleaning tables was launched halfway across the room into the hearth.
“Somebody grab that poor stick boy from the fireplace and douse him in ale!” I cried.
Zarl groaned and slowly shuffled across the room to fetch the lad.
“Never a dull moment in the Hobbit. Now, where was I?” I was about to go on with my raunchy tale when the Kobold lurched in.
He was a large fellow. Green of course. Tremendously built for such an oafish creature. And his eyes had the signature 100 yard stare that one associates with the Koboldish.
“Welcome friend, can I pour you an ale?” I asked, grabbing a mug in anticipation.
“BLLUUEERRRGHHHHHHHHRSPSDKVXXCBVBREKK”
The green chap vomited all over the floor for what felt like a good solid minute.
“...I guess you have room now,” I bellowed. “Aha!”
It’s important to always keep your patrons at ease when running a pub you see. It’s good business.
The large Kobold wiped a ropey strand of drool from his chin and lumbered toward the bar, leaving wet and chunky footprints on the stone floor.
“Zarl, be a chap and mop up this fellows… dinner… once you’ve seen to the boy.”
Zarl gave me one of his ‘looks’ and muttered under his breath as he poured a barrel of the cheap stuff over the smoldering Wooden Boy. Meanwhile the Kobold pushed aside two of my regulars and leant on the bar.
“Koooool..” he slurred, invading my nostrils with a stench that no wizard should endure. “...Aide.”
He hiccuped.
I put on my most welcoming smile even as my eyes watered from his breath and grabbed a bottle from the bottom shelf.
“Indeed. Indeed. A Kobold Koolaide for our fine Kobold companion.”
I began filling the mug but the big chap snatched the entire bottle from my hand and skal’d it down in 3 large gulps. He then held up his fist.
The other patrons all took a step back. Kobold’s were unpredictable at the best of times but when they’re liquored up they can be positively chaotic.
The Kobold’s eyes narrowed as they locked onto mine and he leant forward, extending a gnarled finger directly at my forehead. He had the look of a creature with something profound and earth shattering to proclaim. I braced myself. “BLLUUEERRRGHHHHHHHHVSDKDVKSKAOSFPAKSKCKK”
He vomited again. This time all over the bar and my fine tailored shirt.
“Egads man that’s wool!” I cried. I loved that shirt.
The Kobold threw back his melon shaped head and gurgled with laughter.
I pride myself on being a patient wizard but I’d had quite enough of his shenanigans by now..
“Zarl!” I called out across the pub. “Show our guest outside please”.
Zarl stopped scraping the first expulsion into the slops bucket and he leapt up at this new request, tossing the chunk spattered cloth at the unfortunate Wooden Boy. It hung and swayed from the lads' long nose in a fashion that I found most amusing I must admit.
Zarl cracked his knuckles and grinned.
Now you must know that Zarl is the chief of security here at the Greasy Hobbit. Cleaning vomit and extinguishing enchanted wooden bar staff are not the primary tasks of his job description. Taking care of riff raff like this Kobold here and keeping the peace is where Zarl really excels.
“Alright ogre you heard the man.” Zarl was standing behind the big fellow now.
The Kobold’s eyes narrowed again and I noticed his shoulders tense.
“Kobold,” he snarled.
“Woolah is Kobold… remember that, gremlin.” He swung around with a speed that no beast that size should possess and grabbed Zarl by the throat, lifting him inches off the stone floor. Zarl is no slouch though and immediately brought his knee up, right in the Kobold’s ‘toadstools’.
“Urkkk.” I almost felt sorry for the big oaf.
Woolah crashed to his knees, cupping his little kobolds, and groaned. Zarl looked at the other patrons and flashed a toothy smile. He had a glint in his eye now that only ever appears with violence. He was gloating a little prematurely as it turns out because suddenly he too dropped to his knees, the large meaty fist of the Kobold having connected with Zarl’s own ‘secret tower’.
“Urkkk?”
The two now faced each other rocking back and forth. Groaning. Together. In the annals of epic warfare this skirmish would not even be a footnote I’m afraid.
“...Well it looks like that’s settled then.” I said, hoping to salvage what patronage I could from the night. I stepped down to the other end of the bar leaving the two groaning combatants to their shared agony.
“How about a round of ale on the house?” There was a loud cheer and a burst of conversation as the drinkers excitedly recounted the spectacle they’d just witnessed.
As I poured I cast a sideways glance at the two warriors. They’d slumped against the bar shoulder to shoulder and were now weeping in a most ugly and messy fashion. I nodded to Leroy and gave him a wink before turning back to the now rowdy patrons.
You see, friendship is a funny old thing. The shared experience of crushing each other’s nether regions had drawn Zarl and Woolah into a powerful bond of kinship. They had fostered a strange mutual respect through brutal physical combat, and from that day forward the two became the unlikeliest of friends.
I’ll let them tell the tales of their various adventures in their own rite. But this first meeting of Zarl and Woolah belongs in the rich tapestry of the Greasy Hobbit. And my good self of course.
Aha!
Entered by: 0x13A7…33cA and preserved on chain (see transaction)
Chapter 3: There’s a bugbear in my bonnet
“Whoaaaa Smithers! Steady girl.”
I tug on the reins and Smithers stops abruptly, almost launching me from the saddle. She whinnies her amusement.
“Cheeky scamp,” I mutter. “Now be quiet… do you smell something?”
Smithers shakes her head.
Leroy croaks.
“There is a scent in the air, friends. An animalistic musk most foul!”
I pride myself on having highly advanced olfactory receptors but at times it can be a curse.
“Most foul… indeed…”
Case in point.
“Leroy, remember the dreaded Dung Cave of the Flatulent Manticore?” I whisper. “I’m getting a similar whiff. Look alive old chap.”
The Runiverse is home to all manner of beasts and unfortunately they’re not all as gentle as Smithers here. Indeed, a portion of them will have your head for breakfast with barely a warning.
I squint and peer at the surrounding shrubbery. All is still save for a pair of fluttering butterfly seeking the sweet nectar of the forest. But wait! There’s a flash of movement and I see a hairy brown blur barreling through the foliage.
“Aaaaaargh!” I let out a very heroic cry to warn Leroy and Smithers of the approaching beast but it’s too late. The hairy monstrosity knocks me off my feet and I land solidly on my rump.
Without missing a beat the beast leaps onto my chest knocking the wind from my pipes. I feel it’s warm breath on my eyes which are now very heroically tightly shut.
“Farewell Leroy old chap!! It’s been a pleasure.” I brace for the end.
NNEIEEEEGGGHHHHH. THUD.
The weight is no longer on my chest and I pop an eye open. Smithers is standing next to me stamping her hoof on the ground. Leroy is perched atop Smithers head. He croaks.
I look across the clearing. The brown furry beast is lurching onto its hindquarters and growling in my general direction.
To my surprise the creature is only waist height. Indeed it would appear I have been assaulted by some form of miniature monstrosity.
“Ha! It’s a wee bastard!’ I cry in relief.
The little beastlet howls and stamps its tiny padded feet.
“My that’s quite a temper.” I laugh again shaking my head.
This really sets the little bugger off into a full blown tantrum. Its mewling howl rises into a shriek.
There is a much deeper reply from the nearby woods.
The smile on my face melts instantly and the little bastard seems to smirk.
I spin around to see a hulking brute burst through the branches with a bowel twisting roar.
“Bollocks. It’s a bugbear!”
The little bastard howls and scampers across to its dad, looking back at me and poking out its tongue once safely behind papas leg.
“Papa I presume.”
The enormous beast bares a row of chainsaw-like teeth and growls. Saliva slopping onto its bone necklace.
“I know it looks like I was picking on your little one here but I assure you I am a renowned lover of animals. See?” I gesture toward Smithers and Leroy who are now edging slowly away from me and the situation.
The bubear chieftain licks its cracked lips and pats its ample belly.
“I see. Before you ah… tuck in…” I say as I roll slowly to my side. “Let me just share one thing that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”
With that I immediately turn myself into a large vegan cucumdog. Essentially I’m a hollowed out cucumber with a smaller cucumber poked inside of it.
The bugbear cocks its shaggy head to one side like a puzzled pooch.
There is a popping sound and now Leroy and Smithers are also vegetable based hors d'oeuvres. An avocado tartare served in a melon and a parsnip wellington if I’m not mistaken.
“Awwwwwooooooooo!!”
The bugbear lopes over to the large cucumdog laying in the mud. It sniffs at my green skin. Being a master of illusion I have perfected my skills to operate on all senses, so to him I am indeed a vegetable by all means and purposes.
The little bastard scampers over to the Smithers wellington and licks the crusty pastry.
“Phhttblurgh” It spits onto the ground and grimaces.
After a final growl the big bugbear turns and lopes off into the woods, no doubt wondering where its meaty meal has gone.
After a beat the little bugbear sets off after its father but as it gets to me it stops.
“No no no no,” I’m thinking.
The little bastard cocks its hind leg and proceeds to urinate over my fine travelling cape.
I’m sure the little bastard is grinning again.
After what feels like an eternity it finally scampers off into the brush.
I allow myself to exhale but I keep the illusion alive until I’m sure the beasts are long gone.
Smithers and Leroy sidle over to me as I rise to my feet.
“Once again I am covered in some form of beastly excrement,” I say as I wring out the corner of my cape.
Leroy croaks.
“Yes I’m sure it won't be the last time.”
I turn to my animal friends and whip my soggy cape over my shoulder.
“Now come. For adventure awaits for no wizard. Aha!”
Entered by: 0x13A7…33cA and preserved on chain (see transaction)
