A rag wearing wretch tumbled across the mist laden floor. He raised his purple topped head to cast a menacing glare from under his brim. A jagged grimace was his only word to his foe.
"Accept it, old timer. You have been bested," contested the foe, a floating being who beamed with light. "For the first time in many a Rumblon, the Legendary Dairy shall not fall to your unworthy hands." It clenched a webbed, clawed, gloved fist to symbolize seizing victory.
"'Ey now, da Very Airy Berry ain't chosen a Rumblah as a winnah just yet," hissed the freak. "So dun be countin' yer human traffics before da cops show up, Mega-Arctic Cheese-Vermin Swamp-Feline Handy-Lupine."
"Foolish Mortal! Get with the times," scoffed the glowing demi-god, glowing not because of its immense power but its fluorescent accessories and LED display jewelry. "That hasn't been my name for, like, five minutes. I've ingested six more Rumblers since then."
"Well, dey may have gone down easy, but I'd like ta see ya fit dis down yer throat!" Tearing off his jacket, the scraggly fiend revealed a muscle bound, ripped set of pecs. The ample chest masked the lower half of his face with no explanation to how it fit under his garments or how the rest of his body remained unchanged from this enlargement. Letting out a ferocious roar, the two titans leaped at one another to have their final battle.
"An' den we clashed in da air wit' a huge 'splosion, bam!" He smacked his hands together to add to his story telling. It failed to pique anyone's interest in the drunken rambling. "Clear knocked out all da smoke in da enchanted palace. Dat's when Amalgoon threw me down ta da floor. He was 'bout ready ta add me ta da menu when dat floaterin' berry whizzed by. It choose me on account o' m' awesome physique an' gave me da full powah o' its Lengendairy." Bogg smugly brushed his dirty knuckle against his dirtier collar as he patted the prize he had placed at his side. "So, long story short," and it was in deed a long story, "dat's how I came ta win da Rumbl-o-Rama fer da third time in a row. Oh, an' den I shacked up wit' da princess o' da castle 'cuz dey do dat."
"... Wow, that had to be the biggest load of shit that I've ever heard." Bimblesnaff was thrown back by the sudden outburst.
"Whoa, someone was listenin' ta dat all?"
"Listening? I've been spending the last three hours trying to block out that nonsense," fumed the man with his head planted on the bar. "I don't even know where to begin with what was wrong with that atrocity." The man in gray sprung from his stool and feverously counted down the errors. "You did not take down a swarm of helicopters that were, for some reason, supported by strings. There were no robot she-bots that tried to enslave you, which in itself is redundant, disgusting, and unlikely. There were no armies of marshmallow bunnies, which I don't even know what that had to do with the story. It seemed like an inserted promotion."
"Once m' drunken babbles get so long, I can sell ad space in 'em."
"Fantastic," flatly responded the spectacled man. "More over, the Very Airy Berry does not reside in the 'Citadel of Misty'. It, in fact, makes its home in a condo on a sandy beach in Ref. Plus, every Rumbler was not eaten by some power hoarding monster to form some kind of supreme being. That's just things made up to scare kids and newbies. Isn't that right, Mega-Arctic Cheese-Felovermin Handynerd Lupofrog Knight I Mean Not All That I Have A Mustache?"
"... Yes," confirmed the fake facial hair sporting super freak, "that is my name and the truth."
"Now, all of stupidities together don't discredit your tale, Gobbo," continued the drab guy, "but there are these three tidbits you might find of interest: First, you never won any Rumbl-o-Rama. Two, there never was a third Rumbl-o-Rama. And, lastly, that's not cheese!" A bandaged up finger was aimed straight to the bounty the imp was currently munching on.
Petrified with fear, he barely managed to squeak out, "It's disgusting!" before continuing his feasting.
That, it is, boomed an unseen voice, the part about the cheese and the other great injustice. Too long has it been since the great adventure was declared. For this, I cannot standeth. That is why I declareth the start of Rumbl-o-Rama: In Vengeance. At this point, the tavern wenteth ape shit.
"... No, no, we're pretty content at the moment," countered a random patron. "Once it gets going, then, maybe, we'll care more."
Ape shit, I sayeth!
"'In Vengeance'?" pondered the goblin. "O' what?"
Why, Rumbl-o-Rama III, of course.
"I thought that didn't happen?" challenged the gray garbed guy.
"Wait a sec, how can we be havin' a Rumblo at dis time o' da year?" The green fiend pulled out a reference book to call foul against the scheduling error. "Ah, he'e we go. The trusty Tome o' Ref, Ror, an' Othah Three Lettah Acronyms Dat Staht Wit' R." The book really wasn't that trusty, especially since its title alone had seven typos in it. "M' book has nevah steered me wrong before." He stressed his possession of it as he carelessly brushed away the hacked off hands that had clung to it with all their might. "Pried from 'em, in deed." The lunatic leafed through the guide with a tiny pair of sophisticated glasses on and hummed while he scanned through the data. "Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. I fergot I can't read."
"Gimme that!" ordered the man of sense. Tearing away the upside-down tome, he told the trivia. "'A Rumblo shall be held once a Rumblon, which is the passing of a year, month, week, and day from the start of the previous.' 'Fraid he's got ya, Gary. Bimblesnaff just outsmarted you. We'll all understand if you want to kill yourself and support it."
Normally, yes, I would have to toaster my tub, but, in this case, it be a Leap Rumblon, so 'tis all good.
"Oh, dat makes sense," accepted the drunken maniac, which did nothing for the statement's credibility. "... Why is dat, now?"
We leapeth over Rumblo 3.
"We get it, okay? You're all emo over the time off," snapped out the man in glasses. "Go cry about in your blog, pansy."
I already haveth, but I refuseth to grant thou my screen name to preventeth any from leaving a negative commentary on my posting.
"Excuse me, Mr. Booming Voice," spoke up the previous random occupant, random on account of his pulling from the lot and not because he said stupid non-sequitur nonsense that his friends thought were totally hilarious. Although, he was that, too. "It's getting close to last call, and most of us have wives we don't want to face or tabs to skip out on, so that Rumblo is looking mighty fine. Any chance you could get that thing going soon? ... Lampshade." A nearby slew of fools moronically chuckled. "Where are you, anyways?"
I cannot be found as I am beyond comprehension to your mortal mind yet understood by the merest of child folk. The in particular Rumbler to-be shifted his eyes to the left, your left, to see an odd fellow seated at a table with a less than spectacular sign draped around his neck reading "GARY" and his hand over his eyes. No where and everywhere. Here and there. To and Frodo. Again, the choir of chumps started up. Ack, terrible!
That aside, this Rumblo shall not pass with as much ease as the previous ye hath known. This time, I maketh the rules as the Legendairy to which I am Guardian to is on the line.
"What splendor will dis year bring?" drooled the pointy, purple weirdo. "We had cheddah, den shahp cheddah, and den supposedly extra shahp cheddah. Could we be seein' a new, mythical, double extra shahp cheddah?"
Nay! It be mine own Dull Cheddar Legendairy! With a lackluster plop, a lumpy brick of dreary dairy was dropped on display. There were no "oohs" or "aahs" but a few "eews" and "wfts". At this point, the bar went ape shit.
"Quit saying we're doing what we aren't," insisted the man in gray who had way too much face time to be a passing background character.
Never! And with this Dull Cheddar placed as the prize in mine own abode, the Taffy Log Cabin, this Rumblo shall hence forth commence under proper T.L.C. rules, which art simply this: kill everyone. The tavern was frozen. None had expected a sudden rule change and were already printing up their matching "Rumbl-o-Rama '08 Team" T-shirts. No longer shall ye cohort and mingle as a team. This be a hardcore, last man standing, Royal Rumbl- ... Rumblo. Royal Rumblo. Yes. That all clear, lawyers? A near by swarm of suits sternly nodded. Good. Then, alloweth me to sayeth: Hear ye, hear ye! The Grand Quest for the Legendary Cheese is Upon Thou All!
"Hm, a knock down, drag out, fight ta da end? Well, I've said it before, but," the goblin began and never finished. His murky eyes rolled back into his head and his putrid tongue dropped out of his mouth. The lunatic fell to one knee as his claws feebly scratched at the air. Trails of blood made themselves known down his face, and he finally keeled over.
"Well, that's stupid," repeated the frigid warrior William. "I'm gonna go on my own adventure, which is to claim the Legendairy... in this Rumblo... which is actually this adventure... I just needed an in." The icy Aisucard stepped back from the growing pool of blood. He wasn't worried about stepping in spilled vitals, but this particular puddle bubbled and reeked of week old garbage and sautéed infant. "Is... is he dead?"
"No, of course not," blew off the glasses wearing man. "He always gets clobbered and keeps on- ... Sweet Sally Sawmill, he is dead!" His head turned to the aforementioned maiden who shrugged to the news.
And so, officially decreed Nary Wary Gary, the lunatic Bimblesnaff Bogg cameth to expire, hereby forfeiting is eligibility in the Rumbl-o-Rama as well as his claim to the five bucks I owed him for lunch on yester Tuesday. Personally, I am most relieved. I dareth to say that I scarcely could decipher a word that poured from yonder urchin's filth-filled mouth.
"You bunch of pussies, standing around like you've never seen a corpse before," a bold voice broke through the solemn air.
"I have," corrected the glacial gladiator, "twice."
"Does it count if it was our own?" questioned the gray man.
"Pfft, you two won't be any competition," scoffed the bald man as he slung a bloody crowbar over his shoulder. "I don't even have to worry about knocking you off early."
"You! You killed off Bogg? You... You!" the reluctant Rumbler choked on his words. "Wait, are we angry that he killed off the goblin or that he doesn't see us as threats because I'm certain it isn't both."
"Oh, that wasn't to get rid of competition. He just annoyed the hell out of me. I was chillin' the most back in the taverns VIP lounge when I hear this ass jacker spelling my name wrong," explained Gno Whun.
"Spelled wrong? But... it was told!" pointed out the drab man. The killer did not notice the words against his reason. A distraction was provided by his previously pristine white pants now showing sanguine splatters.
"Hm, I should've went with the razor wire," mused the man. "This bar splashed too much." A pair of snaps sounded from his lifted hand. "Someone?" he beckoned, as though it did not matter. The overseer of the Rumblo himself came dashing out into the bar pushing a cart with a television set atop it. Speedily, he connected the wires and got the somehow recorded play rolling. The screen showed how, as Bogg made his tired proclamation, a metal noose quickly ended his mission and life as a cascade of blood spilled out specifically onto Whun's pants alone.
"Yeesh, that's no where near cleaner," frowned the murderer. "How about with a chainsaw?"
"Oh, now how would that be any better?" protested anyone. After the tapes were switched out, Gary had the display showing yet another round of goblinocide with a blood bath so mighty that it actually dripped out of the set.
"Hm... think I'm gonna stick with the crowbar and not rewrite time," Gno finally settled.
"You can do that?" blurted the drab man. "Play with destiny?"
"Oh, me an' Destiny go back." Turning, Whun shot a wink to very voluptuous vixen seated at the bar.
"Wait, is that a stripper-skank or a force of fate?"
"You talk too much!" roared the bald one. He quickly put the footage to the test and went Texas chainsaw on his naysayer. "That wasn't nearly as gruesome as I'd expect a cold blooded murder to go." He peered over his shades to see William covered in a fresh coat of crimson. "Well, the important thing is that guy is dead now."
"... no, I'm not," weakly groaned the butchered. "How could you not kill someone with a chainsaw? Were you aiming to make me suffer?"
"Wait wait wait wait! Back up a minute," halted the frozen fighter. "... I didn't know this bar had a VIP area."
"And you never will, square," shot the suave stud. "It's kept hidden from lame wads like you." The air behind the murderer swung open to reveal a doorway in nothingness. Flashing lights, techno music, and gorgeous people raved within. Two lovely lasses with champagne glasses leaned out of the portal.
"C'mon, Gno. We're waiting," they singsongly sung.
"Just the two of you? Pfft!" the bald man blew off. "I don't really feel like a light night. I'm goin' for the cheese."
"You're horrible!" menaced the gray man from the floor.
"What? My womanizing? My brash nature? My indifference to human life? My attempted murder of you? Narrow it down for me a little."
"No, everyone tries that last one," he countered, "at least once. I'm talking about how you're spoiled!"
"Hey, what can I say? Or," Gno started. With a snap of his fingers, the lights blacked out except for a spotlight on him, "sing!" Funky beats filled the room as he busted out some fly moves.
Player, that's my game.
I love any dame.
Got no time for name.
They're all the same.
Don't call it a shame,
And don't say I'm lame.
You can't blame.
I'm too much to tame.
The graceful steps subsided as he slid over to where Sally Sawmill sat to continue his show. "Hey, girl, I see you looking at me, an' I know what you're thinking, and I just gotta say it's alright. I got some timber for you, baby. Just take my hand and I'll show you to- the back of the line. It won't take long. I take 'em three or four at a time." Sliding back out to the dance floor, he continued his groove with extra emphasis on suggestive thrusts.
"Damn he's cool," admitted the one originally offended, now sporting a frosty pick in his back.
"Even I want him after that." Necks slowly craned towards Aisucard. "Is what a gay man would say."
"Later, losers," Whun bid farewell after toweling off the sweat from his rockin' routine. "I got some mad cheese to claim. Peace." His retreat was blocked by the gaunt, gray guy. "Oh, what? You're gonna stand in my way? Who the hell even are you? I don't think I've ever seen you before."
"Oh?" The stranger cracked a sly smile. "I've been around."
Mr. Jed, aka Dead Man Jed. A drab individual devoid of any color and what should be life. His thin, sickly face is covered by hanging strands of hair and his oversized spectacles. His dingy button shirt and slacks are hidden beneath a long, worn coat. A noose adorns his neck like a tie. It and the several bandages attest to the number of times he should have died but refused. The bastard!
Gno Whun, the player. Calm and calculating, he is above the inane nonsense that has a stranglehold over most Reffers and strictly obeys the nonsense that passes him off as cooler. Ladies just dig his chrome dome. And what woman wouldn't be wooed with fingerless gloves? Wrap this recipe for bad ass up in a scarlet jacket and bake in a preheated oven at 400° for an hour and get yourself some cookies. Awesome cookies!
Nary Wary Gary, Guardian of the Fourth Legendairy. A timeless being who precedes over the competition known as Rumbl-o-Rama. He dictates the rules and announces various ongoings with his ever audible vocals. As with all higher beings, he is personified as a thin male wearing a red T-shirt and blue pants, not jeans, and a name tag strung around his neck.
Bimblesnaff Bogg, MySpace screen name Sk8rBoi13reallyIam. Wanted in several countries for unsavory acts ranging from drunkenness to transplant organ theft, which he then drank. Stole, puréed, and drank. He currently is lying dead in a pool of his own slowly leaking vitals, so a corpse will not be covered any more than it has been already.
"Someone care to explain what that was about?" asked Aisucard.
Don't looketh at me. That wasn't my narrating.
"No, not that it happened," whined the reluctant Rumbler. "Why wasn't I introduced?"
"Probably 'cuz you're gonna quit in five seconds."
"Uh-uh! Gah! You're stupid. Screw this. I'm going on my own adventure without you guys."
"Five seconds," Jed restated, pointing at his watch. "What did I say? On the money. Pay up, bitches!" He passed along is open, bloody hand to the surrounding in hopes that they wouldn't realize that they never made any monetary promises regarding the event or that the hand was not attached.
"Quit your bragging, Dead Man. Anyone could have seen that coming," passed off Gno.
"Somebody call for me?" asked a large man in black emerging from some mysterious smoke.
"Er, sorry. Not you, 'Taker. I meant that dead man," apologized the hairless killer. "But, hey, we might be needing you to go Old School on somebody, so, who knows?"
"'Sall good." The lights dropped dark at the toll of a bell. When they relit, the phantom figure had departed.
"Oh, that's just always great," geeked out Jed prior to fainting. That, or blood loss.
William Aisucard, the quitter. He is a battle ready warrior in the wussiest of baby blue threads. He hails from the frozen wastelands where folk are cool as ice. Thermally, not figuratively. In that respect, he's as popular and happening as wet socks dampened by anything but water. Currently seeking his own escapades in an alleyway outside the bar, he fails to realize what is offered is not the same type of "adventure" he is soliciting. That will certainly lead to quite the quest.
Randall, the spontaneously chosen bar patron who-
"There it goes again!" yelled the noosed, springing back conscious. "What the hell is that?"
"It was I," proclaimed a red armored ruffian. He stepped out from the mundane masses gathered in the facility and begged the questioned how he ever blended in with the lot in the first place. "I was providing participant information to better inform those Rumbling this year."
"... You're not from these parts, are you, big guy?" easily guessed the corpse in glasses.
"Why, yes, I am not. I hail from the Reffian Peninsula to the south." The warrior reached into his satchel to produce a parchment. "Would you like to see my character sheet? It lists all my abilities and equipment."
"Ooh, You come from RP, below Ref. Far, far below Ref. That makes sense." To humor the man, Jed took a peek at the sheet. "You're class is a Dark Paladin of Light?"
"Of course! I wanted the cliché anti-hero syndrome associated with a dark version of anything but with standard attributes of a regular paladin. You see, a regular paladin can-"
"Agh! You're boring. Die!" A swift swipe lodged the crowbar into the eye socket of its second victim, and a stiff jerk applied to the lever popped his top and scattered brain bits like candy from a piñata. "Was being killed by me on his character sheet? Huh?" huffed Whun in the rain of bloody bits. To maintain the seriousness of his action, he kicked away the little Mexican kids that flocked to the scene to collect the scattered gray matter.
"Actually... yes," answered Jed with much amazement. "Wow, those RP folk like to have everything predetermined."
"Okay, forget what I said earlier," called the familiar voice of chilly Billy as he returned to the bar. "I want to be in this- ..." His words stopped upon seeing the new exploded body and the swarm of cannibal children. "... I'll come back later."
"What? This is bothering you?" Jed scolded as though the ruptured skull and blood thirsty youth were nothing new.
"No, it's because I'm not bothered by it that I have to step out."
"... Was... was that Destiny out there with him?" Gno shrugged.
"Fate, she's a fickle strumpet.