The cool morning fog in the Thicket sat heavily on the ground. Filbus could barely see the winding road five feet in front of him. The hobbit huddled his cloak closer to his face, in part to stay warm, and also so no one could see his face.
For Filbus shook with rage. His mind raced. Tekilya was a fucking pretender. The monk's poorly penned stories (more like lies, Filbus quipped desperately to himself) were libel against Filbus, and now Tekilya had the audacity to claim HE was Norrath's #1 Premiere Story Teller.
"Everyone knows that's ME!" Filbus barked at no one. And wasn't that right? Wasn't HE Norrath's #1 Story-teller? Who else had even come close to his depth of literary exposition upon Everquest's strange and perilous lands? Kekephee perhaps? Well, Kekephee was DEAD. For better or worse, Filbus had sacrificed his friend to escape the wrath of the Dial-a-Port Mafia, and in hopes of free ports...
Filbus found a nearby dog and strangled it. "You little bitch!" the halfling growled. "I'm the fucking best RP storyteller. ME!"
Over the corpse of the dog, the hobbit sighed and shook himself. He felt a little better now. Suddenly, Filbus smirked. He had an idea.
The halfling paid some noobs a few plat to dig him a big hole. Then he paid them a few plat to leave. "Pesky rascals," Filbus thought merrily to himself. He took all of his weapons and armor and cast them into the freshly dug hole. He then filled it again with dirt. Taking his chlamydia-ridden penis in a dirty hand, he peed upon the disturbed soil in the shape of an "F."
No one would mess with this stash. But now, perhaps Tekilya the Pretender wouldn't recognize him.
Filbus felt more confident. He would save some face even if he'd have to submit a story to the bogan scum.
But another problem ailed the halfling warlord. He had been in retirement for some months, since reuniting with his dwarvish wife. And, he had no plans on returning to his adventuring ways for a long while yet. He had no stories to tell!
Suddenly, Filbus grieved for his lost bard companion. Even though Kekephee had often been too drunk and dimwitted to tell the story well, he had always come up with the best ideas. He cried a single tear for Kekephee.
Then, Filbus had another idea. He cackled to himself. At best, he'd get an amazing story. At worst, he would forever die and escape the debasement of submitting to Spyder73's tricks.
Filbus's hand swept across his throat. Where once there was a jocular and wobbling halfling neck, now there sat a gaping, bloody hole. Halfling Alpha type blood spewed across the grass of the Misty Thicket. Druids and young hobbits looked on in horror as the redness spumed onto the ground and gathered in thick clots. Filbus fell to his knees. The hobbit cackled, but the only sound he made was a horrible sucking and weezing as the air went directly into his trachea. He fell forward onto his face and died.
A second later, Filbus woke up in the afterlife. Kekephee was before him.
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