On a bright, sunny day in Bowerstone Castle under King Logan's reign, sometime before the Darkness...
When the maid lifted the sheets, she was horrified to find a long, swirling brown mass of fecal matter. For a moment, she pondered how her master had managed to get such a definite swirl in the shite, but she cleaned it up all the same. "This is the third time this week that Master Elliot has left his bed in such a state. I wonder if The Princess knows of his incontinence."
At that moment, Jasper entered the room, and his lip curled unpleasantly. "What is that horrid smell?"
"Why it's shit, my friend," said Reaver, popping his head into the room, as if he owned the palace. "Or have you grown so very constipated in your old age that you are unfamiliar with the aroma? Perhaps a bit more fiber in your diet would loosen your aging bowels."
"What's the meaning of all of this?" questioned the commanding voice of The King of Albion. "Oh sweet LIGHT! What does that boy eat?"
"Your sister!" Reaver squealed excitedly.
Walter, in passing, took a whiff, and he shook his head. "Oh, BALLS! That stench! The rumble from that boy's bumble is enough to send the shadows back to the Void!" He brought his hand to cover his mouth and nose, trying to shield himself.
The maid quickly dismissed herself, carrying the offending turd in the previously empty chamberpot.
"Oh, you really must have that masterpiece bronzed," Reaver chortled, bringing his handkerchief to his eyes to blot at the tears of laughter that had spilled forth.
It was at that moment that The Princess, standing down the hall from the incident, noticed a crowd gathering around her paramour's room. Her eyes widened with realization. Elliot must have had another accident. She brought her hand to her face, cursing softly in disgust and disappointment.
"Oh my dear!" Reaver exclaimed, waving his handkerchief in her direction. "You simply must see it! Come back here!" He waved down the maid, trying to persuade her to return with Elliot's finest work. He took a hold of the maid's arm, urging her to stay put.
Logan had turned a rather pale shade of green, and he ran his hand over his hair, trying to steady his nerves. He heaved, but his efforts had produced nothing. He was both thankful and disappointed all at the same time. At least if he had vomited, it may have covered the Light-awful stench now seeping out into the castle.
The Princess's eyes were full of shame, and she shook her head, silently gathering her thoughts. Gods, Elliot. I do not know how much more of this humiliation I can endure. Albion's future prince must have a stronger bowel control than this.
"Oh, Princess," Reaver sympathized, sensing her embarrassment. "Come, take a look. It will brighten your mood, I am sure of it. I think it rather resembles a heart. What do you think?" He released the maid to wrap an arm around The Princess's waist, and he drew her closer to the spectacle.
"I cannot take much more of this," Logan growled. "That boy must be brought before me. Perhaps a physician. I am not sure what needs to be done, but it must be done soon. Every morning, my senses are assaulted by this offensive smell. I am nearing my breaking point."
"Your Majesty!" huffed Hobson, hurrying down the corridor.
At that moment, a dark glimmer of mischief flashed in Reaver's eyes. He released the maid, patting her gently on the bottom, sending her on her way. He thrust the end of his cane into her path as she rushed away from his groping hand.
In a jumble of limbs, chamberpot, and Reaver's cane, Hobson and the maid collided. The contents of the chamberpot spilled down the front of the older man's rotund belly, leaving a long, brown stain on his previously white trousers as it slid to the floor.
A squeal that rivaled that of a banshee rang through the corridor, and much to everyone's surprise, it hadn't been the maid. Hobson shrieked as he turned back down the hallway, leaving documents and royal decrees laying in the malodorous puddles of Elliot's horrendous production.
Reaver, in an act of both chivalry and perversion, scooped The Princess up into his arms. His hand brushed her backside, unintentionally, of course. "I cannot simply allow such dainty royal feet to tread through such...filth." He leaned his face closer, his mouth barely brushing against her ear. "Fear not, ma croquette. No harm will come to you with moi."
The Princess blushed, and Logan's face shifted from green to red with fury but still some nausea. Logan growled, avoiding the pile of shite on the floor as he pushed past Reaver and his sister who were now giggling and whispering amongst themselves.
Elliot stood before King Logan, whose lip curled in bitter disgust. The young, loose-sphinctered noble glanced in the direction of his Princess, who looked very reluctant to return his gaze. Her mind still battled with the horrors she'd witnessed mere hours ago.
"Your Majesty," said a guard. His fellows dragged along a group of dirtied factory workers. "This group of violent protesters has organized a budding attempt at a rebellion against you."
"Execute them, then," Logan snarled. "I have more offending matters to deal with right now."
"Well, Your Majesty," the guard replied. "If you want to execute ALL of them, we'll need a great deal more bullets."
"You can't just kill them!" The Princess interjected, her eyes growing wide. She stepped forward toward her brother. "You can't be serious, Logan!"
"My dear sister," Logan growled. "Albion has been offended in more ways than one today." His eyes slashed towards Elliot, who had suddenly gone white as a sheet, much like the one he had soiled earlier. "I think that perhaps it is time for you to learn a valuable lesson. You will decide. These violent protesters, who, at any moment may burn the castle to the ground with us inside...or your beloved Elliot, who will undoubtedly burn our nostrils on a daily basis with his constant failure to control his defecation."
"Yes, even a toddler can hold their shite for longer than that boy can," Walter chimed in, putting his hands on his hips.
The Princess's eyes moved toward the protesters, already knowing her decision. Her eyes fell upon Elliot, full of pity. She exhaled, and she said, "Elliot, I am not sure quite how to say this..."
"You've got to be kidding me," Elliot whimpered. "My darling, I thought you loved me! I never wanted that feeling to end!"
"I'm sorry, Elliot, but I cannot keep waking up every morning fearing that there may be a hot, stinking mess in the bed with me. It's not the life that I want." She brought her hand to her face, hiding her shame.
Reaver, who had appeared out of nowhere, chimed in, "Let it be known that I have unrivaled skill in holding my bowels." He grinned with pride.
"Reaver!" Logan barked in a warning, but he returned his attention to his sister. "It is decided then?"
She nodded.
"Elliot, I hereby sentence you to death," Logan said, standing from his throne, pleased with his sister's decision. "The castle shall soon become a more pleasantly fragrant place once it is rid of you."
"But..." Elliot whined, tears gathering in his eyes.
"Oh buck up, boy," Reaver said, patting him on the shoulder. "If it is of any comfort to you, I will take great pleasure in caring for the Princess in your absence."
"It doesn't," Elliot wept.
"Oh, well, we can't all have our way," Reaver said, but his face shifted. "Your Majesty, if I may just note one thing..."
"What is it?" Logan huffed impatiently, undoubtedly ready to move these proceedings along.
"You know...It is not wholly uncommon for one to lose one's bowels shortly after death," Reaver pointed out, chewing on the tip of his finger. "Do you have any thoughts to how we may spare our nostrils from the aftermath of the coming festivities?"
In a final act of defiance, Elliot strained, producing another horrid abomination from his backside. The room immediately filled with the pungent stench of death and revenge. Elliot cried out, "One less thing for you to worry about after I'm gone, you bastards!"
With a swift motion, Reaver drew his Dragonstomper and aimed for Elliot's, sniveling, whiny head. His shot, of course, struck its mark, and when Elliot's smelly, smelly corpse hit the ground, Reaver shrugged. "C'est la vie."
A/N: We hope you enjoyed our first collaboration. This was as strange for us to write as it probably was for you to read, but hopefully we all shared in the same level of amusement. Elliot: love him or hate him, there is no denying his childishness. This all started late one night as we both suffered writer's block (mental constipation, if you will). One poop joke and a bit of Elliot bashing later, we had the beginnings of this masterpiece. This aromatic tale inspired our new fanfiction collaboration project that we call "Alternative Albion", and rest assured, there will be much more to come. The idea is to take things from our favorite game and mixing those lovely things with very unlikely elements...such as poop in a bed.
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