Prince of Thieves, Parte the Fourth

[The Fallen]

Consciousness fading... darkness growing... life flashing... before eyes... hey, isn't that... the Viscount of Arcondi's daughter... why I remember... and the things she could do with... memories fading... and then all was black.

It was one of those days, one of those days where you had wished you had never heard the word, hangover. It was as if the entire Imperial Army had decided to march across the dry, dusty Wasteland of Roos that was my mouth. The anvils ringing in my head, were as if the entire Blacksmith's guild was pouring molten metal down my throat and forging it into millions of those spiky-on-the-inside helmets that are such the rage in dungeons these days, and testing them out on me.

I blearily opened one eye, hmm darkness. I opened the other, still dark. Then I felt the coarse pressure of a blindfold, that seemed to have the odour of an orc's sock after a tenday trip in the Khent Mire. Swallowing my gorge I tried to move, but I quickly discovered I was trussed up tighter then the unlucky bachelor on Merry Widows Day.

A gravely voice that sounded like the owner had gargled half of a mountain, chuckled, "Awake are ye, lil elf boy? Well, welcome to the party." Thunderous laughter that sounded surprisingly like a landslide, echoed through the room.

"What is the meaning of this, have you any idea who you have kidnapped, don't do anything rash, just ... not in the face." I replied my voice cracking at the end, gods I get so dramatic when I need a distraction, but it still worked as my group of kidnappers laughed it up as my fingers quickly worked themselves free and started to work on the rope holding my hands together.

"Oh, no, no, no, my tasty little friend, you won't be getting away that easily," chortled my gravelly sounding captor as a large meaty hand encircled both my wrists and raised me clear off the ground. I was then hung from something, some hook, that hopefully, I prayed, would not clash with my bracers.

I swung back and forth lightly from the hook as I was released, when a warm sensation seemed to run along my legs. Egads, no, I better had not soiled these tights, unmanly it would be, unseemly, and 18 silver at the Satin Bazaar on Court Avenue wasted. Oh, the tragedy.

Twas then that my ears focused below me and I heard a burbling sound. Rubbing my head against my arm, I slipped the blindfold up to see one of the most horrifying sights in my life! A troll with a mismatched wardrobe! Gag-me-green warring with I-am-color-blind-incarnadine checkered tunic, splattered with unidentifiable substances on a troll the size of something between Oh my Gods! and It's coming this way!

Gulping to keep my rising gorge down at this fashion nightmare I looked down to see my feet dangling over a very large iron pot, filled with a viscous bubbling substance...and fainted.

What has our hero fallen into now (besides the soup pot)?
Will he escape from this culinary predicament?
And will he go well with a nice orc casserole,
or simply be an apertif?

Tune in next time for our exciting program...

Prince of Thieves!