The Saga of the Thong part 2

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Here we go...and remember, no one is safe...

The Friendly Arms Inn was lost. Not “lost” in the typical sense, only lost to the more senior members of SP, due to some specific changes that had occurred there. It no longer was a palatable venue to meet and discuss matters of importance to grizzled Adventurers. The changes had begun with the surprise release of Baldur’s Gate 3 in early December of 2003. Within 27 hours the game had sold a million copies, and within 6 days the membership of Sorcerers Place had doubled. The veteran explorers found themselves awash in newbies who descended upon the boards and chat rooms in a cloud not unlike locusts. Questions flooded in such as, “How do I level up?”, “What is an Elf?” and “Is a sword a melee weapon?” in such an endless torrent that there were more threads closed than open in the game forums. The biggest impact of the newbie influx was felt, however, at the venerable Friendly Arms Inn.

The Inn was no longer recognizable as the gathering hall for SP fortune-hunters. The oil soaked torches that had provided the moody light had been replaced with flickering strobes and a disco ball. The weathered table that had seen the toss of untold numbers of multi-sided die, had been exchanged for a row of bean bags from which the junior members played “Tony Hawk” on X-box. Gone was the ancient oaken bar bearing the scratched messages of countless wayfarers, in its place a gleaming, stainless steel juice fountain. Where once stood rows of battered wooden kegs, brimming with all forms of intoxicating meads and grogs, there now existed an immense neon-backlit fish tank stocked with sea horses. The old, suspended dance cage had transformed into a plasma screen TV, tuned at all hours to the Cartoon Network. A dance floor and grind rail occupied the area formerly home to the stage where Sir Bel was so oft to quote dirty limericks. It was gone, gone…all gone, seemingly as distant as the antebellum South.

Despite the sad desecration to the Friendly Arms Inn, it still would have been unsuitable for the meeting called by Blackthorne. Even the quaint grunge of the old inn would not have provided the level of security required for this meeting of only the most senior members of SP. After careful deliberation, he had settled on the Elk Lodge in Compton, California, as it was not only perfectly geocentric to all the invited members, but it was also free. Indeed the accommodations were Spartan, as the furniture was composed of folding tables and chairs, and the available refreshments were stale pretzels, provided in 10kg bags, and short, brown bottles of foul beer with faded labels that appeared to say “Schlitz”. Nevertheless, it would serve the purpose, and at least this disco ball was turned off.

BTA was pleased with the turnout, as the room was abuzz with a liberal assortment of SP’s most experienced members. It was sadly true that a large number of them spent most of their time sleeping, lulled into rousing dreams by the repetitive “click-whirr, click-whirr” of their respirators, but the sheer fact that they had chosen to be deposited at this high level gathering was a mild encouragement to the more motile seniors. At this very moment, those adventurers who had remained alert during Blackthorne’s deposition of the current crisis threatening the future of SP, were engaged in strident discussion in numerous groups about the room. Gaining his feet, Blackthorne began to strike his long, knobby staff on the floor to quiet the throng. One of the sharper blows caused a spark to cartwheel from the knotted top of the shaft, and spin across the room to lodge in the grey beard of one of the sleeping guests. Several helpful neighbors proceeded to beat out the fire hazard with available blunt objects.

“That’s enough, people, come to order” bellowed BTA, in his most Moderator-ish tone. “Before any of you begin to panic and draw up wild plans, you need to be aware that several of us have already been working toward a solution”.

From a dimly lit table at the side of the room, Sorvo stood, a ubiquitous brown bottle in each hand. “If this is such a crisis, why isn’t Tal here himself?”

Beren, seated to BTA’s right at the front table cleared his throat and answered “In addition to his numerous duties with SP, Tal is currently overseeing the growth of a sentient life form on a distant planet. He has entrusted us to solve this problem, and accordingly we will”. Sorvo sat down, scattering a tower of empty bottles stacked by his chair.

Blackthorne continued, “First, I would like to take a moment to thank Ragusa, the only member who actually offered to wear the SP thong. Unfortunately, Sorcerer’s Secret did not agree to his terms to post a link to a Leftist website next to his picture. But I think that we can take this all as a sign of encouragement that some solution will present itself”. Nodding toward a hooded form at his left, BTA continued. “In fact, Lokken has been tasked with the responsibility of approaching every female member of SP, and I would like to hear his report at this time”

Lokken shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable at being the center of attention of so many men, and said “No go, BTA, they all refused”.

Blackthorne leaned toward Lokken, and without letting go of the half eaten pretzel in his hand, gently pushed back Lokken’s hood, revealing that his right ear was completely missing…severed, with a small track of crusted blood trailing down his neck. BTA chuckled as he remarked, “Looks like one of our Ladies was pretty handy with a katana, eh?”

Lokken grimaced, as he raised both his arms, revealing bandaged stumps where his hands had once been. “They all were”, he said, as he slowly shook his head.

Beren spoke to break an awkward silence. “It’s well known that our SP ladies are a pretty tough bunch. I threatened one that I would reset her post count to ONE, and she just laughed at me and said ‘I’ll have that Rogue Stone back within a month’. Perhaps we need to accept the fact that there will be no assistance from that corner”.

“Tough indeed”, mumbled Blackthorne, as a nervous whisper began to circulate about the room. At that moment, the rear doors of the Elk Lodge flew open, and a chill night breeze assaulted the hall. Heads turned toward the gaping portal as a new, unexpected guest burst upon the scene.

To be continued...

 

Much better than the last! Your mix of bad metaphors and worse decor is perfect! Hurry up with part 3!

Let me guess...the mystery guest is you...wearing a thong.

 

I will make no appearance in my own story...writer's perogative, and BTA...with as much as you wave it around, how could anyone not know it's characteristics?

 

*cleans blood off the katana*

Fun!

 

hehe very funny, bagsy not being the person to finally wear the thong

 

Part 1 was good; this one is even better, probably due to the fact that you had more time to write it. Humour aside, you've done a really good job of setting up the visuals.

Ooh, I love a good suspense story! Bring on Part 3.

 

lol, very funny

 

*shakes head*
Imagine what would happen if the senior members actually DID gather together in one place. The fashion police would be appalled.

BTW... when is one considered a "senior member"?

 

No idea.

The idea is... scary. It was bad enough when a bunch of us met in a convention.... *shudder*