Gulool Ja Ja, leader of the infamous Mamool horde, had returned to his palace in Mamook, intending to tarry some days and replenish his vigor before returning to the front lines. Little did he know, one not of the brood had witnessed his arrival.
Indeed, while dining for an afternoon at the acclaimed Shararat teahouse, my relentless maw reached too deeply and too greedily around the flanks of my fourth quad stacker, and, for a moment, I swooned. During those seconds, in a half state of trance, I watched an image of the dauntless, two-headed savage himself marching past an assembled guard of honor, through bleak and bemired wooden gates.
"Egads!", I exclaimed, startling my moogle, who had grown so unsettled by the boundless capacities of my appetite that he'd taken to watch the skies instead, dreaming of the days when his people were free to line dance across the plains of Mindartia and to pluck the eyes of Kuluu as they lay sleeping, wrenching them into a blind, nightmare world from which they could never escape. Even I, sometimes, would find myself leaping awake in bed, heart racing, and making a quick tactile scan of my face to ensure that those sockets above my cheekbones held those precious organs still. Mark my words, one of these days those duplicitous bastards will be free again and we will all pay dearly.
Anyway, hurrying out into the stifling heat of Serpentking Square, I cried to whomever dared listen: "Gulool has returned to Mamook! The time to act is now! Let us live free from the spectre of his wrath! Let us gird ourselves with sword and taco, and march unabashed into the lair of the Monster himself!"
"Nowai", said a servile cur, black circles framing his droopy eyes and a Defending Ring adorning his feeble hands.
"lol", said another, putting on his PLD gear to farm for his GF.
"I will go", said Tornrage.
"Yes", chimed in Kaeli. "Why don't we give those motherfucking, shit-eating sacks of ballsweat a little Besieged of their own."
To my surprise, mere hours passed before I'd accumulated a bevy of Al-Zahbi's bravest, stalwart examples of the best that the East has to offer. I suggested we visit the Shararat Teahouse once more before our departure, that we might first get to know each other a little, maybe play a few rounds of Galaga, but warriors of this caliber whet their swords all too anxiously, and would not abide by any delays. I tried to suggest Ms. Pac Man. Still, no dice.
Our arrival in Mamook took the fiends by surprise, and spelt doom upon scores as the unprepared Mamool were caught in the middle of walking back and forth, clearly dedicating their reptilian brains not to the business of observing sodden walls or rotting timber, but to schemes of dashing our childrens' heads against rocks, and stealing our favorite flavors of Kool-aid right out of the cupboard. Yea, never again will I return to my mog house after a hard day's work of examining gear in Whitegate only to find that I am inexplicably out of Blue. Never again.
Fresh corpses of their devil kin tumbled to the ground around our advancing column. While we experienced casualties, impact on our progress was negligible, and on each occasion one of our number struck earth with a mortal wound, only moments passed before they found life again, gasping for air and clawing at the sky and screaming before they realized they were with friends, and had suffered only a minor loss of xp.
Within hours we'd reached the venerable Mahogany Door, behind which it was said that the tyrant dwelt. War drums and shrill, reedy sirens from every corner of the metropolis continued to ring in our ears, all to no avail. I inserted the 3 keys and turned them in sequence, each shattering in the process.
"I think you turned them too hard", said Lefiel.
"No I didn't", I said.
"You're just a big, dumb ass key-breakin' bitch is what you are", said Lefiel.
"I swear to god", I began.
"Guys", said Chasan, pointing through the opened doorway, the inflection in his voice indicating danger, as well as self-motivation, and an honest and open kinship with nature.
Inside was no astral candescence, no repository of gold, no bowflex or giant, talking pumpkin. Nay, there was only Gulool, half-empty 40 of King Cobra in hand, dual heads grinning.
"Naturally, I've been expecting you", croaked the left head.
"Gulool Ja..." started Carmisse, when suddenly a hefty bottle of glass was hurtling through the air, speed lines whirring around it as a screaming metal guitar solo blasted itself into existence. Lonekent pitched backward end over end as the bottle crashed against his bulbous Taru head.
"MEDIC!!!" yelled Scionith, hurdling the unconscious West Sarutabarutan and making a beeline for the guffawing warlord.
"Guards!" bellowed Gulool's other head. From seemingly out of nowhere, a quartet of his most elite minions appeared to harry the intruders.
Now it was on.
Though the scoundrel fought savagely, in the end, his efforts were for naught, just as his royal peers in the Lamian and Troll realms.
Since, I have returned triumphantly to Al'Zahbi, keeping trophies of the fallen tyrants on my person:
With all 3 kings defeated, I suppose this means a safer world for all. Back to eating quad stackers.
Ahem.
Yeah Q_Q
PS nice job, folks. We'll have to make the rounds again sometime (titles to collect, after all!!!)
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Originally Posted by Bartuc
