3.

Therefore, the best option would be the riddle game.

22???2/2///twotwotwo

quote:

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Ruv Model 2000 was programmed to say:
Mountain beings tend to have iron constitution (I made a funny!), so fighting and drinking are both not good ideas. Even if they do win, if they fought Call, they'd likely be seriously injured, and if they drank, they'd be too drunk to fight Bloodsage.

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I think you just summed up all the reasons why I voted 3 right there.

Onward,
two
tsvy
dos
deux
II

quote:

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Vernaltemptress had this to say about Jimmy Carter:
/wonders what happened to the Bugbear as there isn't enough female characters in this story.

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My Elf is enough! Speaking of which, go sex my elf up, wench! Bloodsage, get the camera!

*Searches through his vast array of electronic gizmos*

"Sir knight, please reconsider!" Lashanna pleaded.

"Nobody has ever been able to out-drink the Man of the Mountain," Vorbis said warily, "though many have tried, they have all choked on their own boozery!"

"Then today is the day the Man of the Mountain falls!" Sir Snoota said. He pointed an accusing finger at Callalron. "Start the drinking, O Man of the Mountain!"

The great earthen man laughed, his voice sounding like a quake. With an eerie creak, he opened his mighty jaws, exposing the black void contained in his rocky maw. With one mighty swing, he slammed his stone fist into the face of the mountain, cracking the rock beneath.

Like an amber waterfall, a mighty gout of honey brown ale poured from the stones, giving forth their vast secrets to their master. Drop by drop, the entire waterfall gushed from the rocks into the maw of Callalron, disappearing in the black hole contained therein.

It continued for an eternity, a never-ending flow of beer pouring from the mountain and vanishing into Callalron's mighty jaws. Then, as the last drops began to leak from the mountainside, he inhaled and sucked every last drop into his mouth.

Wiping a stony hand across his mouth, he looked down at Sir Snoota and grinned a rocky grin, taking great pride in the blank, wide-eyed stares looking back up at him.

"Your turn, knight," he growled.

Sir Snoota raised a brow and thought for a moment. There was no way he could drink that much! How could he possibly get past this earthen monster? No doubt about it, this was time to draw upon all his cunning, strength and willpower.

"The elf will flash you if you let us pass."

"Deal."

*** LATER, AT THE DRAWBRIDGE OF BLOODSAGE'S FORTRESS ***

The pig trotted across the stony bridge stoically as the mighty black spires of the Warlock's fortress towered over the companions. They loomed over the land like evil faces, staring down with contempt upon all that they saw.

Such a descriptive metaphor left no doubt: they were most certainly in the heart of evil.

Suddenly, the black gates of the fortress rose up before them at the end of the bridge. On a ledge above, a pair of stony, skinny arms and legs dangled over lazily. Sir Snoota looked up at the ledge and called out.

"I say there!" he cried. "Open the gate!"

"Huh?" came a gravelly, feminine voice. "Oh...I am the great Terenagoyle...I guess. What is your business? Because if you're here to kill Bloodsage, I probably won't let you in...I might, but probably not...die."

Sir Snoota furrowed his brow and thought.

What should Snoota say?
1: Hark! We are ye Merry Pizza Crew, here to deliver the greatest of anchovy pizzas to the Warlock!
2: We are but a poor band of bards, here to entertain the Warlock before his domination of the land.
3: Escort service. Open up.

"You may ent-" the Terenagoyle began.

"I am known as Snoota, the Assmaster," the knight interrupted, "with my pink and fleshy quarterstaff, I dominate the Domain of Anus, like my forefathers before me."

"...that's great, just go-" the stony creature began again.

"And I am Lashanna, Mistress of all that is Oral," the elf suddenly butted in, "utilizing my Jawbreadth of the Ages, I reign supreme over all things involving the mouth and tongue."

"I don't really-" the Terenagoyle started once again.

"And I am Vorbis of the Vorpal Dildo," the bard proclaimed loudly, "I have a +9 penetration bonus against manbutt!"

There was a long, eerie silence. Somewhere in the distance, there was a rumble of thunder.

"Just...go in," Terena said with a sigh.

*** LATER, IN THE WARLOCK'S CASTLE ***

Sir Snoota was wary, and rightly so, for this was the lair of all that was evil. In all of the ages since the great Kagramadragon, there was none that could even ponder the thought of an evil greater than the Warlock Bloodsage.

No doubt the cunning wizard would have many tricks and traps, most likely drawing upon the party's own suspectibility to their own temptations. Sir Snoota must be cautious...

However, he forgot all of that when he spied the plump meatball sub sitting on a perfect plate in the middle of the cold corridor. He moved forward to take it for himself...

"Sir knight," Lashanna suddenly urged, "it is most likely a trick! Though the sandwich is real, it is bait for a wicked trap. You must not get it."

"True," Sir Snoota said, "one of you shall get it!"

But which one would get it?
1: The Mistress of all that is Oral has superior sandwich-fetching skill! Send Lashanna!
2: Vorbis must put his Vorpal Dildo to use! Send the bard!

quote:

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A sleep deprived King Parcelan stammered:
2: Vorbis must put his Vorpal Dildo to use! Send the bard![/small]

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quote:

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Vernaltemptress was listening to Cher while typing:
2, so we can keep the chick for the final battle!

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With a deft movement, he snatched up the sandwich and held it above his head triumphantly. Perhaps there wasn't any trick to fear after all. Maybe the Warlock had simply left it out for someone who was hungry.

As he heard the clicking sound and the floor moving beneath him, however, Vorbis suddenly realized that he was an imbecile. Not that it did him much good, however, for in moments, the swinging trap door stood where he once did.

Sir Snoota cast a glance to the trap door, then to his elf.

"Well...let's keep going."

*** LATER, IN THE DARKNESS BELOW ***

Vorbis awoke from his sudden coma, rubbing his head and moaning softly (haha masturbation pun). He glanced about, spying no light save for the box of light above him from the trapdoor. It was far, far above him...there was no chance for escape.

"Well, well," came a mascufeminine voice from the shadows. Vorbis raised an eyebrow and glanced to the darkness.

"No, it cannot be!" he cried.

Suddenly, as the pretty, blonde-haired lad with the sparkle in his eyes emerged from the darkness, he realized...it certainly could be, and it was.

"The Evil Count Lemmy!" the bard said, narrowing his eyes at his arch-rival.

"None other!" the vile count said, grinning. "My master asked me to come down here and keep your taut ass busy...I'm sure he meant to fight you or something like that."

"No doubt," Vorbis said, glaring, "but this taut ass is one you shall never pound...with your fist or mace or what have you. Your madness ends tonight, Count Lemmy!"

"So be it," Lemmy growled, narrowing his girly eyes and growling (or hissing, since he's kind of feminine), "as you are about to die, I shall allow you to choose the mode of combat."

Vorbis narrowed his eyes and thought...

How will these homos fight it out?
1: They are fruity gentlemen; let their weapons be rapiers!
2: They are fiercely independent souls; let them compete in a poetry reading!
3: Slap fight! Slaaaaaaap fiiiiiiight!