Chapter Three, Page 2

"What is wrong man!" bellowed Adjerfir, fixing the man with a glare fierce as ice. The tremulous wretch staggered to stand and began to stammer a tongue-twisted tale. Grignr listned not to him, his instincts honed by eons of nobel savagery under the merciless blazing eye of Mrifk. Nostrils flaring, he drew his blooded weapon and turned to face the bushes, whereat he spies a discombobulating lack of stillness.

Gignr's lobes detected a silent breathing, and forthwith ran his sword through the bush, boring the eavesdripper betwix its orbs. Wiping the life juice from his weapon on the epydidymi of the bush's leaves, the heaving hero turned to face the exaspirated messenger: "It is safe to torque now," he moaned exultantly. The messenger turned to face his master.
"Lord Adjerfir: The maiden Freawara, Prince Hasjaal's daughter, your slut, has been captured by Halkfilmt!"

Almost four seconds of silence passed before anything was audible. Then Ajerdfir erupted in a vomitous bellow of gargantuan wattage. Sinking to the ground, he placed his right knee on the soil first and then his left slightly forward of it he prostated himself in the mud and bet His fourhead savagely against sedimentary rock three times in abject objection.
"Noooo!"" he interposed forcefully. "Not Freawara! Anyone but her! Take myself! Take my olde Grandemother, or my loyal dalmatian, Truffle! Oh, whoa is me!" And he bet his head agan and agan upon the turf until he stopped.
"All is lost my faithful servant. You are released from your vowls" he said in consonants.
"No my master, I have the stollen plans for the insuffulator - it has a weak spot, a small target but you have to hit the Argh" An arrow imbedded it's self into his piquant, pliable spine; sending the ruby like sworls of his existance arcing around the camp.
"Is he still breathing? We need that information. If I'm to infiltrate the cidital, I have to know!" Grignr pontificated.
"It's worse than than, he's dead Grign"

Halkfilmt reared over the enumeration to which the wench was tied, gloating over her prostated form, her curvous form glissening in the diffused light.
"Don't play games with me, your Highness. You are part of the rebel's alliance. Yamppil, tear this witch apart, until you have found those plans"
" Now I shall return to the Innsuffulator, to prepare for the final destruction of the Adjerdfirian Alliance. Nothing can stop me now!" he cackled, inanely.

"You must infiltrate the Citadel of Despair," Adjerdfir requested Gringir, " It lies near Draonfilet, the City of one hundred Screams. I will go there and wait for you, but me and my able four armed men are too easilly recognised by the forces of Halkfilmt. You must go in alone and recover Freawara, only she and this poor wretch knew the secret of the Innsuffulator. We must have those plans or we are domed. "
"Evil Eye" snorted Gringir.
"Yes, if you require payment" returned the bereft Adjerdfir.
"Gringir go."

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