I woke up this morning with my stomach pinching my insides for every spare bit of fat that it could digest, all the while growling at me to get my weak ass off the ground and search for food. I smiled wryly and told my stomach to shut up. I couldn't be that weak, after all I hunted stags all the time and after the hits I dealt them, all that was left was leather. Not a single edible scrap of food remained after a decent strike from yours truly. It replied by biting my naval from the inside causing me to wrench in hungered agony. So I did what any warrior determined to survive would do. I stood up. I traveled by Map because walking just seemed too time consuming for my weakened legs. I put a few ads in the papers, dropped a few items at auction houses. I got a few messages from people willing to trade me some food for the items. I could almost feel my stomach leap with relief.
Unfortunately my stomach is one of my least convincing organs. As I sat ready to devour a large morsel of food, I saw a trader passing by toting a bag of goods. He appeared a bit shady, but curiosity got the better of me and I could still pack a punch if he tried anything funny, so I took a moment to see what he had in the bag. A large rope that if by magic seemed to illuminate the bag in pink radiance caught my eye. He whispered, "Only 100 bites of your food, and I will let you have it" and as if by some mystical spell, I pulled the string of glowing bulbs out of his sack and began packing them carefully away in my pack as he began taking his 100 bites.... foolish of me I know. His bites were those of a bad date that had just passed on your offer to buy her dessert, but then asked for just "one" bite of yours--You know what I'm talking about... The silly female pride prohibits them from ordering something that may add an inch to their hips but then take a bite of your pie that would have fit better on a shovel than the teaspoon the waiter provided. Hell she might as well have put her face in the bowl and inhaled... I digress, anyway those days are long gone. I haven't found a restaurant that even offered dessert in these parts since.. well since I can remember. And here I sat, 1000 bites later, I found my food sack empty again and my pack filled with shiny trinkets, glowing lights and a icicle tipped staff that didn't quite fit in my pack and mostly just gave me the odd craving to murder a proctologist if I were to ever find one.
The man walked away patting his stomach and cackling at his gain. These were hard times and food was scarce, he knew that... I knew that. But my passion for war and weapons had somehow veiled my need for the food that now lay cozy at the bottom of a scavenger's stomach. The thought crossed my mind to gut him and take the food back... but I am no bird. And I would never stoop to eating someone else's regurgitation. Even if it was only halfway through the process still dripping with the juicy gravies and slightly mixed with that bit of bile and digestive fluids... it could still be.. satis-- NO.. no. I am not that desperate.
I began traveling again when a messenger roc came to me with a message from one of the taverns. Someone had work for me. At first I wasn't sure whether to accept or even respond. In fact, I was a bit offended at the suggestion. The movie was stupid and I had no encouragement for being a part of a sequel, but the message did promise that it had nothing to do with Kevin James or Donnie Wahlberg, so I gave it some consideration. The prospects of food and the absence of shiny weapons had put my thinking process straight. I needed food. And I needed it soon. So I agreed to be a Zookeeper in a mysterious place filled with zoos. No houses, city structures, just zoo after zoo after zoo. Most of them filled with the same stupid animals; a gorilla, a crocodile, a giraffe, and a hippopotamus. There were a few zoos where the keepers hadn't committed suicide within the first 5 minutes of work that had managed to secure for themselves some loud annoying owls. The most annoying thing about these zoos was that the employer refused to let us call the zoo anything else but "Zoo". I argued,
The only response was,CorvisCorvax wrote:"But what is going to set my zoo apart from the other zoos in this country?"
I couldn't help but think, "Since when do little kids read newspapers?"TapZoo Franchise Distributor wrote:"Shut up and pick up that newspaper that the kid just dropped."
What's wrong with this world, they should be lighting mines on fire and taunting orcs about the dis-proportioned size of their legs when compared to their heads. Or shooting slings at the moshas that have also fallen victim to the lack of food as their appearance now resembled that of an annorexic squirrel, you know the one that always loses his acorn but submits himself to all manner of pain and abuse in his attempt to retrieve it? Again, I digress... point is this world was backwards, but it was going to give me food. So I endured. My gorillas had a baby, then my crocodile had a baby, then my giraffe had a baby, then my hippo had a baby... then My owl had a baby. Then I thought... yeah this world is really messed up all the mammals are laying eggs. I had seen V and I knew that this had to be some alien invasion. I would destroy the eggs and the hatching facility. But I didn't have any of those cool neon blue grenades, so I just lit a torch, cause I am good with torches...
But I was interrupted by a very large chubby man with rosey cheeks. He flew in to my zoo without the aid of any rocs, but instead sat in a boxed contraption pulled by 8 flying stags. I drew my axe as he approached but he just laughed, his overstuffed belly shaking like a bowl of jello. He said with a smile that stank of too many days of over eating and gluttonous living in a time where many of us were reduced to zoo keeping just to get a measly portion of food. He raised his hands and pleaded for me to let him speak before I got any crazy ideas. I lowered the axe. And he proposed that he would feed me if I were to build a secret spot in my zoo where his stags could have refuge. So I built the facility with care and precision expecting a large reward of food from this portly gentleman, he obviously had food to spare. When he returned from his evening of roc nog and frivolities, he passed me a measly 30 bites worth of food and stammered a drunken "Thank you."
I can't say I am proud of what I did next, but I share so that others may learn from my mistakes and not judge too hastily in anger... I shoved him on the ground and with an armful of snow white washed his face blinding him with bitter snow. Then as he rolled back and forth crying, "Ralphyyyyy, Heeelp, I caaan't get up," I kicked some more snow on the portly nut job and skinned his stags. I had no idea who Ralphy was, but with a name like that he would sooner shoot his eye out than threaten me; So I walked away taunting him over my shoulder, "Get a LifeAlert© old man". Again, I can't say I am proud of what I did, but I have a feeling I will sleep warm tonight wrapped in the fresh leathers, still steaming from the overworked stags... ah yes. Revenge served cold has a funny way of keeping a man warm at night.
The Exiled Warrior,