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He zipped across the field with surprising agility given his girth
“Fine. Hit me with my sheep of terror.”
“I hope a spider bites you,” Pax said. “Your mercy and compassion astound me, as usual.”
“Do you just happen to carry a keg of beer on you at all times for battle celebrations?” “Of course!” King Brasil puffed his chest up as he trundled up to them. “And in case a babe is born, or someone dies, or it’s someone’s birthday, or if there’s a festival I don’t know of but would be happy to observe.”
“Oh…yay…” Kit said with zero enthusiasm.
The Hood of White Righteous? Because obviously a poor divine oracle can afford such a rare piece.” “It’s because I’m bad at budgeting. I don’t even have a house. I’m a homeless hipster,”
“You yellow-bellied, bacon-bits-eating, bucket-headed prunes!” she shouted. “I hope you choke on your ale and fall overboard—you toe-kissing, weasel-faced frogs!”
“She’s an elf…is she allowed to say this?” “You bet your arse I can, you uneducated, boil-popping rat!” Kit shouted. Abacus pirate clutched his tool to his chest. “I am too educated,” he muttered.
“What are you looking at, ear worm?” she demanded. “Have I offended your mother? You deserve it, you low-level—most likely scurvy-riddled—scumbag. And get a new SHIRT! I don’t want to see your nasty, old-man belly button!”
“I know you’re mad, but is now really a good time to go on a swearing rampage?” Re-animated, Kit shouted at the top of her lungs. “Of course it is! It is the optimum time to swear!
It’s worse than a one hundred-column Excel spreadsheet, a poorly made Powerpoint, and a picture drawn in Paint!
“This is it!” Noir shouted. “Death has come—I will die in the inglorious act of being squashed by a dragon.
“Saint George is an idiot,” Noir announced—thankfully not on the chat, but to the Elba Tourists who were standing nearby. “And we don’t need idiots here. We already have more than our quota.”
I’ll be their pet heal slave, and that will make me snap, which will make some delicate dewdrop cry, and then the fussy and/or overly-moral guildmaster will get involved—blech.
Not only am I in a horribly named, tiny guild, but it is your horrible, miniscule guild! The Saint just might choke on his own arrogance when I strut past.”
