Chapter one: Barhopping doesn't count as a quest
When minstrels sing the ballad of the troll that wasn't, they always start with the hero's first steadfast and true friends, the holy and wise cleric and the stoic and patient monk. The songs always start as the two steadfast friends preparing to leave the Halfing's tiny hamlet on their personal mission. That mission is often a discussion of late night talks around bards and scholars. Why it is no doubt noble and grand undertaking, it is sadly lost to one and all.
"No, no, no, no!" snarled the human woman, her black eyes flashing and her hands balled up into fists "This is not what I meant!" The young monk's mere voice would have been enough to chill the blood of the most vicious goblin warrior in Misty Thicket.
However they were not in Misty Thicket and her companion was not a vicious goblin warrior but a sweet looking halfing cleric. The halfing cleric looked up from her trunk with an innocent sweet look. Since the monk knew the cleric like a daughter knows her mother, it didn't work at all. The monk also knew her halfing friend practice it for when she got into a game of King's Court and other high-risk card games. The monk bent down and got nose to nose with the cleric-not such a great feat considering they were in a halfing clerical cell.
"Visiting the taverns of Norrath is not what I bloody had in mind you short twit and you bloody know it." Snapped the monk turning a shade of pink and the bridge of her nose wrinkling up.
The cleric smiled sweetly at her friend as if the potential damage, mayhem and death that the young woman could cause, was nothing to worry about.
"You came to me, my lost sweet friend. You request my companionship in a journey to see the many zones of Norrath. Did I say nay? Did I give excuse? I, a small halfing, bravely following –nay aiding you against the dangers- "the cleric spoke in calm solemn tones one expected from a human or high elf cleric.
"Dangers?" suddenly purred the monk in a dangerous silky tone "the dangers of Norrath?" Then the monk's voice exploded "WHAT GETTING TO DRUNK TO WALK STRIGHT?" flinging out her arms, nearly destroying a shrine to Cesar Romero.
The cleric eyed her little fan shine. She had consider taking it as a good luck charm and a source of inspiration but decided that its proper place was always the temple of Bristlebane as a source of motivation to the younger clerics. Some can to the temple with crazy ideas like honor and justice.
"Are you even listening to me?" snap the monk
The halfing consider lying but decided to tell the truth. It was written in the Big Book of Mischief and Mirth to tell the truth every once in while for it confuses your foes.
"No. You nearly broke my fan shine and then I was debating about taking it. Listen if you are only out to get a adventure or experience, something will come up." Said the Cleric slamming the trunk shut and turning around looking her friend in the face. "However if there is something specific you are after..."
The monk was not adept at hiding what was up her sleeve as the cleric and the cleric knew that this trip had nothing about adventure, experience or seeing Norrath. However the monk's face transform itself into a fierce and silent glare.
The cleric would and could hide what was up her sleeve as well was in her heart. She felt a strong jolt of pain but she wore a big smile as she cheerful spoke "Come on Monk, the bars are beckoning"
Writer's note
There is actually more chapters written for this story in a dog-ear notebook. I have a sort of plan. I guess when the hero is a troll sort of that is all right.
Now a test to see if you were paying attention, why would there be a Cesar Romero shire in Bristlebane temple?
Book of Mischief and Mirth stole tell the truth every once in while for it confuses your foes from Mark Twain.
Standard Disclaimer. Don't own Sony. Don't own Everquest. Merely borrowing the world of Norrath as a backdrop. The only income is in the form of reviews. : )
When minstrels sing the ballad of the troll that wasn't, they always start with the hero's first steadfast and true friends, the holy and wise cleric and the stoic and patient monk. The songs always start as the two steadfast friends preparing to leave the Halfing's tiny hamlet on their personal mission. That mission is often a discussion of late night talks around bards and scholars. Why it is no doubt noble and grand undertaking, it is sadly lost to one and all.
"No, no, no, no!" snarled the human woman, her black eyes flashing and her hands balled up into fists "This is not what I meant!" The young monk's mere voice would have been enough to chill the blood of the most vicious goblin warrior in Misty Thicket.
However they were not in Misty Thicket and her companion was not a vicious goblin warrior but a sweet looking halfing cleric. The halfing cleric looked up from her trunk with an innocent sweet look. Since the monk knew the cleric like a daughter knows her mother, it didn't work at all. The monk also knew her halfing friend practice it for when she got into a game of King's Court and other high-risk card games. The monk bent down and got nose to nose with the cleric-not such a great feat considering they were in a halfing clerical cell.
"Visiting the taverns of Norrath is not what I bloody had in mind you short twit and you bloody know it." Snapped the monk turning a shade of pink and the bridge of her nose wrinkling up.
The cleric smiled sweetly at her friend as if the potential damage, mayhem and death that the young woman could cause, was nothing to worry about.
"You came to me, my lost sweet friend. You request my companionship in a journey to see the many zones of Norrath. Did I say nay? Did I give excuse? I, a small halfing, bravely following –nay aiding you against the dangers- "the cleric spoke in calm solemn tones one expected from a human or high elf cleric.
"Dangers?" suddenly purred the monk in a dangerous silky tone "the dangers of Norrath?" Then the monk's voice exploded "WHAT GETTING TO DRUNK TO WALK STRIGHT?" flinging out her arms, nearly destroying a shrine to Cesar Romero.
The cleric eyed her little fan shine. She had consider taking it as a good luck charm and a source of inspiration but decided that its proper place was always the temple of Bristlebane as a source of motivation to the younger clerics. Some can to the temple with crazy ideas like honor and justice.
"Are you even listening to me?" snap the monk
The halfing consider lying but decided to tell the truth. It was written in the Big Book of Mischief and Mirth to tell the truth every once in while for it confuses your foes.
"No. You nearly broke my fan shine and then I was debating about taking it. Listen if you are only out to get a adventure or experience, something will come up." Said the Cleric slamming the trunk shut and turning around looking her friend in the face. "However if there is something specific you are after..."
The monk was not adept at hiding what was up her sleeve as the cleric and the cleric knew that this trip had nothing about adventure, experience or seeing Norrath. However the monk's face transform itself into a fierce and silent glare.
The cleric would and could hide what was up her sleeve as well was in her heart. She felt a strong jolt of pain but she wore a big smile as she cheerful spoke "Come on Monk, the bars are beckoning"
Writer's note
There is actually more chapters written for this story in a dog-ear notebook. I have a sort of plan. I guess when the hero is a troll sort of that is all right.
Now a test to see if you were paying attention, why would there be a Cesar Romero shire in Bristlebane temple?
Book of Mischief and Mirth stole tell the truth every once in while for it confuses your foes from Mark Twain.
Standard Disclaimer. Don't own Sony. Don't own Everquest. Merely borrowing the world of Norrath as a backdrop. The only income is in the form of reviews. : )