Sunday, 24 February 2013

TRoL the Third: Argonian Pincushion

Lordy scrambled around the place - tackling pirates and fumbling masts in a desperate attempt to jump the plank. His only chance at escape. Swords slashed air while arrows slid by his back.

 Lordy: Ahhggh!!

Pain entrenched his right shoulder. Then again at his waist. Then again at his left shoulder and again just below.

Lordy fell towards a glistening saber; held high above the head of the one who would end him. Half a moon was cleft into quarters by the light of that sword, and Lordy knew the end was near. 

With all he had left, Lordy pushed himself forward, tripping over his own feet and into the waist of the cutlass wielding pirate. Together they tumbled through the abyss of the sea; coughing, spluttering and panting within the seemingly rage-filled waters of the dock.

The fight went on, but eventually Lordy emerged. It had lasted a whole eight hours, and within the first half hour the pirate had drowned - but Lordy did not realize this, as he could breathe underwater...

 Lordy: ...and that's how I got this hat.

Lordy took the last bite of his pig's blood pudding and bid farewell to the tavernkeep. His search for the note would continue. He rose from his seat, and suddenly a shocking pain fell through him. He wondered hard for a split second. What is causing such pain? What have I encumbered, what ailment could have harmed me so much?


Lordy wondered and wondered, but the entrancing pain numbed his reason. Soon he was interrupted by a familiar voice...

 Citizen: Mer-her, Argonian Pincushion.

The Tavern went silent. Waves of trepidation took the nervous occupants as Lordy slowly turned round to face the man who had disgraced his race.

 Lordy: Who has disgraced my race?!

 Citizen: Not your race *snort.* Just you.

 Lordy: I see. Then this makes it personal.

 Citizen: Uhh, Uhh. Don't take me, take my wife.

 Lordy: A wife to you? Why, she must be no more than a fish to a fishmonger.

 Citizen: Uhh, Uhh. Okay. Take my wife's boss' husbands' uncle's favourite barkeep then.

 Lordy: And who would this barkeep be?

 Citizen: Uhh, Uhh. She's called Augusta, she sleeps behind the counter.

 Lordy: I see. Very well, I will accept your offering in place of your life.

Lordy put his search for the note on hold in favour of the citizen's reparation.

...

Later that night....



Gufufufu, what a heavy sleeper.

Lordy swiftly ran his hands down her backsi- 

 Lordy: Quiet Narrator! She will hear you! And then my perverse ways will be ill at ease!

Lordy envisioned the situation. The citizen said he could have her. Now, he surely had no right to say that, but Lordy thought that Lordy was sitting here right now and any excuse to carry on was  a good excuse.

There was only one problem.

What does it mean to "Have her?"


Lordy wondered meticulously.



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