The Great Rustling of 'Shawn's Peak: Truffle Shuffle

[Slathar]

The Great Rustling of 'Shawn's Peak: Truffle Shuffle

The Robe of the Azure Sky fluttered majestically in the winds of 'Shawn's Peak as Samsung stood with one knee propped upon a boulder revealing his inadequate genitalia near Phara Dar the Mother of All Dragons Corpse. Jibeknn let loose a scream of rage and disappointed lunacy as he ran with the speed of the queer-wolf towards Xyzgoz's swamp lair of dankness and Jersey-stink. His mind rent and broken by the wretched pig sorcerer Lite.

"Ye will not see the last o' me in this realm for I will lead a Sky exploration mission in which I decide to whom the treasures go," he exclaimed before vanishing on the swamp portal in a mist of spray-farts ground into a $49.99 Target Computer Chair over the course of 3 years mixed with Febreeze, Axe body spray, and CostCo rotisserie chickens.

The adventuring crew was led by a circus freak. This renowned mutant pig sorcerer, known for hand stands on various public Norrathian monuments and spare roller blade wheels, was left shocked and appalled by his latest defection. He had miscalculated. As the leader of the expedition collected his onions of the blooming nature from his most recent prosperous and diabolic agreement between a half-weasel, half-man child, he pondered if it was worth losing the psychotic but reliable and generally good-natured Jibeknn.

However, the mutant pig sorcerer was almost instantly brought back to the cold, shitty reality of Brobby the dimwitted lunatic ranting in a disjointed and rye-alcohol fueled raving of inner circle triangle-rectangular-butt-fucking scenarios involving General Beastagor, Captain Powered the Retard, and various holders of the the fabled Tyson Wish Bone pixel that transformed the wearer into a skeleton.

As the pig sorcerer shrouded himself in his cloak and began his plan to banish himself to the pixel afterlife, various pleas for help erupted around him as the latest iteration of the Duke's Remnants swarmed them. One by one they fell. As time went on, fewer and fewer of these brave, pixel-crazed retards rose from their prolonged slumbers to do battle with the Duke's Remnants.

Voices would randomly cry out in southern accents that summoned visions of Rascal wheelchairs, diabetes, and Old Country Buffet lines of geriatrics, "I got really busy with real life and I can't raid, man."

And another in a nasally I'm-allergic-to-the-grass-sun-and-women-and-or-social-interactions voice, "Yeah I mean what's the point, we're just going to lose anyhow."

The pig sorcerer sat atop his spire of pixels, platinum, and backroom handshaking deals in which pixels of the first name Phara, surname Dar, were promised while pondering this most terrible conundrum. Suddenly a light atop the desert fortress of Karnor was lit. In this twilight the faint, but steady sound of a horn was sounded.

"Will this work," asked the dark shadowknight.

"I don't know but we have sounded the horn of the hill tribes. We must unite to bring down the Duke's Remnants or else Norrath shall fall into a second darkness," Vaporize responded.