And thusly did the Red Swordsman, the most legendary, the most badass, the most stubborn player in all of aincrad, did one night imbibe too much of the strong fire water, and ventured out into the wilds, wearing naught but his skivvies, and armed only with a butter knife from the tavern, did return not till three weeks later, battered and bruised, with but three health points left, returned with the horns of three dragons of crystal dragging behind him, dragging behind him in the riven helms of twenty giants, riven by the weapons of a thousand dwarves still remaining embedded in the helms, still clutching in his free hand the bent and bloodied butter knife, used to slay them all, once appeared did he speak these words, "To those who doubted me in my drunken stupor, I tell the flee, to those who supported my claims, another round for all of thee!" And thus did the red swordsman, slayer of dragons, feller of giants, squisher of dwarves, trip upon the step of the tavern, flying headlong into the bar, smashing his face into the paneled supports, say "Blast everything," and vanished into a shower of crystalline shards, finally slain, not by man or beast, but by a tavern step and a plank of wood.
