Grignr squinted intimatingly at the bland-haired newcomer, who was dressed. In woolen breaches, a leather gherkin and a clean white shit. On the feet he trod on he wore long boats, and Grignr rankled his nose at the faint sent of emasculating perfume.
"Well met, good barber ian," smiled the other,
flashing his steely blue orbs in teh Ecordian's dimension. They burned like
wood. "I am Ajerdfir of Klxxlharz, defender of Righteousness. I have
need of a stedfast henchling, strong of four arms and thick of skull. Will
you aid me in my battle agains the Odds!"?
"Your quest is truly nobble plucky Ajerdfir. But, as your discernation of me will tell you, I fight for lucre. It will take more than comely words to transmute my stance" Grignir moaned. The atmosphere was tense: both humanoids could feel their hairs just on the nape of their necks rise upwards towards the skye vertically.
"Hehehe", Ajerdfir bellowed, "I would have anticitaped nothing less from the robust Grignir. My toil is just and will allow you to harvest great rewards? For at the epicentre of the endavore is the lengendary gemstone known only as The Evil Eye".
"Mrifkt!" Grignir whimpered.
"Yes my friend we will ultimately acquire that curs'ed orb at the end of our whimsacorical journey into darkness", Ajerdfir threatened. Grignir silently noted the ceasuras, then nodded to show his compliance.
The almost ethreal gem rock which bar s had soo much to say. A wheel
of scarlit saphire, hacked by the finest jewlers of history.
"Come, you shall be born striaght to my camp."
Two ears picked up and a roped shape edged the door. "Spy!! Stop him" Frignr pounced; a thin, glass-like leg shot from under the robe of the old man, catching the Encordian quadrilaterally between the legs. Grignr frowned. "The world would be a better if people stopped doing that!" he philosopised, whilst disassociating the spy.
Bright crimson swirls sprayed across the chamber as Gringir brought
his gargantuan axe through the suddenly limp bifurcated body of the man.
Flacid wenches and brawling drunkards suddenly doused with blood dove for
cover, upturning stout oaken tables and hurling themselves through opaque
windows to evade the power of the aroused barbarian in their midst.
"Enough of this" Gringir cryed, ignoring the scurrieing of lesser bipeds beneath him "Let us to your camp".
Adjerfir geusterd at his seething minions of war, the mighty host
of giant warriors, "Behold the chosen few" he screeched
"each man hear is wanted by Halkfilmt's Innsuffulator as victims"
. The host cheered the incoming of their leader, but the cheers died out
as a wearied man on a staggering lashed horse galloped in to the clearing,
fell of the equine mount before Adjerfir and gasped "Master I bring
grave news. . .
Put book down