Lord of the Coffee; The Fellowship of the Cup;
The Halls of Breadoras
Warning! This is a parody. This is only a parody. In the event of true satire, please follow the instructions on the underside of your inflatable rubber seahorses. Thank you for not snoring.
The companions have found their wizard again, and there was much rejoicing, especially after discovering that he had brought a bottle of coffee liquor that he shared sparingly with them. After an aperitif, the Wizard spoke frankly to his friends...
"You must call me Grandélf, now. I leveled-up after the battle with the foulgrog. I have been waiting for you... um, four to arrive." The Wizard paused, counting the hunters again. "I say, wasn't there supposed to be three of you?"
"Yes, well," said Aromagorn, gesturing at Boromocha, "Some of us are too hyper to die!"
"Grandélf, what of the half-caffs? Have you seen them? Do they have any biscotti left?" asked Gemli.
"They are safe, with the ThermEnts. At the moment, they are on their way to the stronghold of Isencoaster, where Saccharineman dwells and brews his plots of deceit. There will be a storm there soon, and you don't want to be there when the beans hit the fan! Come with me now, friends. I go to the land of Yuban, where we shall meet King Karòden, Héomer and the lady Mayòwyn. If we hurry, we should be able to get there by tea-time."
And so the much reduced Fellowship made their way to Yuban's capitol city Breadoras, a beautiful structure of golden brown set atop a great mound of coffee. They rode upon the horses that Legolatté had 'borrowed' from some riders that had just happened to fall asleep suddenly after the Elf had blindsided them with a sap filled with lead shot.
Aromagorn sat upon his strudel-coloured sorrel remembering his sweetheart Arwenchel, now many hundred leagues behind, waiting patiently for him to go forth and become king. He wondered if their little problems mattered as much as this hill of beans in this crazy world. He sighed and practiced his Bogart impression.
When they arrived at the Goldenroasted Halls of Breadoras, they were met at the door by Grahma Burntongue, the surly and sinister counselor of the King. He tried to slam the door shut, but Grandélf got his staff in the crack and levered it open. "Go away!" he whispered hoarsely. "Don't wake them up!"
Inside was the grand court of King Karòden, and all the courtier and ladies lay about the floor, snoring softly. On a raised dais was a great throne, and upon it sat an old man, frowning at a chessboard. He would move his hand to hover over a gamepiece, then mutter and shake his head, withdrawing his hand. A layer of dust a quarter of an inch thick covered the chessboard.
"Hail, Karòden King!" said Grandélf loudly, kicking one or two idle courtiers as he walked toward the throne. "The courtesy of you hall is somewhat lessened that once it was, my king. What you folks need is a good jolt of coffee." He raised his staff and waited, but no waiter came to take his order. Miffed, he went into the kitchen himself, muttering about how hard it is to find good help nowadays.
Gemli followed the wizard into the kitchen, and he quickly prepared some of his magnificent cinnamon rolls. Legolatté searched the cupboards for some clean cups while Boromocha stood on Grahma's neck as he writhed and squeaked and begged them to "Shhhhhhh!"
Aromagorn took the empty seat across from King Karòden. He looked at the chessboard. A game sat there, in stalemate almost but for one more move. The King could win, but to do so he would have to make a decision. "Why do you hesitate, my king?" asked Aromagorn quietly.
King Karòden raised his head slowly, looking at the ranger. "If I win, I lose," answered the King softly.
"Who is your opponent?" asked Aromagorn, looking around.
"I am," said the King. "I began to play this game with myself fifty years ago because no one else in this stupid cattle ranch knows how to play chess. But I have become afraid to finish the game, for if I do, I will lose even as I win, and then I will have naught to live for."
Boromocha overheard the King's soft words, and he snorted with derision. "That is the stupidest thing I ever... how interesting!" he amended, recoiling from the glare that Aromagorn shot him. Then he jumped and yelped as Grahma Burntongue bit him on the knee and scrambled away.
Aromagorn gazed at the King in sympathy, then he stared past the King and pointed, exclaiming, "Holy Mother of Mocha! Will you look at that!" When the wizened king turned to look, Aromagorn jogged the chessboard, sending the pieces scattering across the flagged stone floor. "Did you see that? A velour gremlin just jumped right in the middle of your game! I am so sorry my lord. Perhaps you should start again?"
King Karòden stared at the scattered gamepieces. "No," he answered, "Never again will I be stalemated by myself. Let the coffee pour and the teakettle whistle! Bring me my sword and call my agent. Where is Héomer?"
A tall handsome man came striding into the room. He had long yellow hair and was armed and girded for battle. He walked up to the king and saluted sharply. "Are you ready for your massage, sire?"
The king shook his head and made a cutting-off gesture with his hand. "Not now. We are having some guests for tea. Then I though we might go and fight a war somewhere."
"Good idea! My sword is getting rusty. Let me call out the guard. Let horse be saddled and horn be sounded. Let banner be unfurled and spear be polished. Are we playing a home war or visiting?"
Grandélf walked back into the room at that instant, bearing a great pot of aromatic coffee. The very smell of the beverage itself was enough to wake the entire court. The wizard poured a great cup for the king. "Welcome back, Karòden! Who won?"
"Who cares," muttered Boromocha, drawing his sword and sighting down the blade. "If I don't kill something soon, I am going to forget how!"