Trickle's Quest

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I have written a little comedy in my time and it was usually accepted by you guys pretty well but as some of you know it takes a little while for the story to get going and actually get funny, i just thought i would write a prolouge and see what everyone thinks of the story line then put the rest in as i go.
Please i am so lonely and so bored i just want to be loved........


God is a big bloke, he does quite a lot of important stuff, one of his most interesting hobbies is the creation of people. Seated in a small workshop in his back yard the great deity will create person after person, each unique and each special in some way. He does this job continuously for all eternity. Sometimes he is feeling generous (geniuses) sometimes mean (Meat heads), occasionally he thinks it good to reward the human race (Natalie Portman) sometimes he feels it necessary to punish it (Lawyers).
One morning God was in a really pissy mood, he had a hangover after going on a pub crawl with Satan and Peter and his alarm clock forgot to go off. Plus he had reason to believe his wife was off with the milkman. The first lump of clay, and indeed potential person was certainly not going to be blessed.......

Trickle woke up, well to be more accurate he got up, someone as unpopular as he was had to stay half awake incase of assassins or large red coconuts that may viciously kill him during his slumber. Staggering out of his stone walled windowless room he made his way out into the street to pick up some breakfast.
The young walking wart tried to insert his head within a bag to prevent the screaming that would ensue if he entered the street uncovered, but unfortunately the bag got scared and ran off to make a life for itself in the red light district. Today, it seems, was going to be one of those days. Trickle quickly snapped out his hand and grabbed the cliche' by the neck, this would do for breakfast quite nicely.

'My leige i am as adamant as you about keeping Athgasta's streets free of murder and theivary, but your son is causing a hell of a lot of people to become violent.....'
'I know he is a little ugly but...'
'Sir, with respect, to say your son is just ugly is an insult to ugly people, he is truly the most grotesque little shit anyone has ever had the displeasure to be within 200 leagues of and to be honest i think a little bit of stabby stabby is the only abpt reaction to such an abomination of nature'
Lord Fangorn's boots clicked on the slated floor, his huge robust and somewhat handsome appearance was made slightly less dramatic by his ability to keep walking into the chandelier. In fact in our measurements Fangorn would reach nearly 7.5 feet in height, in Athgasta's measurements, he grew above VERY big when he reached sixteen and now at the age of fifty five was within the height region of 'please don't hurt me or touch my children'.
His rulership over the clean streets of this Paladin city had been rather uneventful, apart from the odd riot and parade. In fact his only son, Dargorn, affectionately known as Trickle by his few friends, (not really friends, just people who didn't hate him quite as much as most) had caused the greatest the greatest stir in his 67 year long reign. (He inherited the city from his father who died fifteen years before Fangorn's birth and only 3 years after his own, lets just say that politics had taken the piss a bit at this point).
There was nothing for it, he would have to think up a solution quickly before the Priminister gave the order for a little stabby stabby. Now here comes one of these moments which only appears in minds of desperate people, the sort of ideas that seem flawless at the time but are in fact stupid and fatal and usually lead to pathetic cliche's like 'i am your father' and 'I'll be back'. And here is what he said.
'Lets send the boy on a quest!'

 

Muahahaw..
hah, good Doggie!
So, where is the next chapter??!
/me is waiting

 

LOL poodle. Great comical prolouge there. Love God's workshop.

 

'I HAVE TO FIND A WHAT?'
'A diamond encrusted platinum sword from Fasomaks Cavern'
Silence followed, the tension mounted, a small ferret farted just within hearing range somewhere in the gardens. the tension built up once more. Trickle felt he had to say something before hsi father just gave up and killed him.
'Mother..'
'Father son, Father'
'Isn't Fasomak a....'
'Dragon! Well observed son!'
'Oh.....but i'm not...'
'Intelligent, Handsome, sharp, Brave, sweet smelling?'
'Trained'
The Great Lord looked down on his son with a slight more respect. So this boy realises a flaw in the plan eh? Maybe this will need a little persuasion....
'If you do it, i will give ya a Tenner!'
The disgusting little boy observed his fathers frantic chesire smile and splayed open hands......it was the same trap that all toddlers are forced into. Does he accept the money and fall into his adoring arms or does he back away and cry for help. Most toddlers choose option 2. Trickle had the brain power of the average grey squirrel.
'Alright Dad!' Trickle ran into his adoring mothers.......fathers arms. Only to be recieved by a rather plain, cold flagstone. His Father had already darted half way down the hall......

It seemed only seconds before Trickle had packed his back pack and been sent, r indeed booted on his way.....in fact......it really was only seconds.....
The little shit was not totally thick, just ugly. He had been taught a little swordplay as a child, and had become quite proficient (although noone ever knew how hard he practiced) in the prediction that one day he would need to defend himself. Lots. So at least he had a starting point to go and slay a Dragon. Now what he needed was a party, but where to start? Trickle made a bee line for the Bakery, obviously the moment of intelligence had slipped away.

'Can i offer you a baked good?'
'Erm....' Trickle placed a diserning eye over the rather offputting selection of buns and pastries (and buns formaly known as pastries) 'I was looking for a mercenary actually'
The Baker looked bemused. He had never heard of that before...
'Does it have raisins?'
'No, no i think it is some sort of adventurer........i am looking for a adventuring party to help me slay a Dragon' Trickle thought a smile was appropriate at this point. It gave the same effect as a butt showing an extra bumcheek.
'Well we don't sell those, would you settle for a danish?' The baker spotted that the attempt at a sale might not persevear. 'Look if you want to hire mek-canaries then i would suggest the Tailor's as your best bet'
'Ok, ta'
The rather strange teenage baker broke into a smile, then laughter then he started to sweat, tremble, broke into a fit and start whining like a small dog. He contained his , rather scary, levels of excitment and asked 'Did you say adevnturers?'
'erm........yes?....sorry'
'SORRY!? HAHAHAHAHAHA! I have been waiting for this moment' The adolescent stood up to his full height and screamed; 'I AM THE GREAT FIRESTORM! And i am ready for adventure!
An awkward silence followed, Trickle was speechless, he had never met a real life moron before.
'Riiiiiiight ok you can come'
Firestorm gave a solemn nod and picked up hsi ready made back pak and marched out of the bakers shop hot on the heels of his new, if slightly weedy, boss.

It was Trickles opinion that any extra running arund town picking up people was pointless, as most people seemed to be more focused on making clothes and selling meat pies and thigns like that. It was just as he and a skipping baker left the main gates.............

'Ooh who hit yu with the ugly stick sa? A brash cockney voice cried out from a large, tanned beggar... 'Oh dear sa! you look like you've been chasing parked cars sa!'.
Trickle was surprised and flattered, noone had ever wasted their precious breath insulting him before.
The strange little smelly thing continued; 'Look sa! i will do ya a deal alright? you gime a penny and i will insult you as much as you like! butt munch!' The tramp accompanied this last insult with a complimentry caper.
Trickle had another near intelligence experience. 'You want me to pay you for insults? that doesn't make sense'
'yes......buissness has been a little slow lately, i just need enough money to grab me some kit then i can become a proffessional theif again'.
Trickle gently stroked his imaginary purple goatie in deep thought, maybe he could hire this.........and the moment of intelligence passed. the young adventurer started to make gurgling noises and examine his left foot.
The new member of the party, Firestrom had to take over.
'I think he wishes you to join our party, we are on a quest to find a fabled sword in a drgon's cave, we can buy all the kit you need.......what's your name'
'Shralp' He was going to say a little more, but the writer was eager to get this f**king story moving...........although he did just have time to perform a little jig of excitement.

more tomorrow.......

 

Wonderful stuff Poodle. Can't wait till i'm in it. (You've all already glimpsed (or heard me in the second part> Still can't get over Firestorm's character....

 

YES! Finally a story, starring me! I love your humour Poodle, but I seriously think you should be betting to mkae money on this later on (your writing/comedy talent that is).

Oh and Z-Layrex, I can't get over my chracter either

 

Haha! What a great way to flame and insult people. And not only don't they hate you. They love you.

Dargorn quit writing. Go for politics instead

 

Sorry about the delay, found myself rather busy of late. Oh and please do criticise my grammer or technique if poss. I am not a good writer yet and i am posting this story in the hope that it will improve my technique somewhat.

It was a wonderful scene, raisins flooded down from the beautiful green sky. Trickle ran through the sweet smelling red grass, wearing a mini skirt, being chased by a pink heffalump after his honey. Somewhere in the distance he could feel a warm arm around his neck, hugging him and squeezing him like his mother...father used to do when he was young...

Sweat poured from Trickle's forehead as he woke suddenly, he gingerly rotated his head, suspecting the worst... And sure enough, wrapped around his neck was Firestorm, a friendly fellow, not usually THIS friendly granted, but a nice guy altogether and Trickle had no intention of waking him. It seemed, however, that he did have a choice in the matter, as it is widely known that a teenage human male when sweating will produce a stench so foul, it would make a sewer works seem like a perfume shop.

Firestorm woke, rotated his head so his eyes pierced straight into those of trickle. He screamed, and in typical Cliché' fashion, Trickle replied with a similar screech. The combined resonance of the pair was at exactly the correct pitch to loosen Shralp's bowels, and unsurprisingly, the rest of his body woke up not long after…
The hysteria gradually died down, the unlikely trio settled down to a breakfast of baked goods, or at least it would have been if they had any food, instead Firestorm was forced to improvise. Shralp was halfway through his Cowpatstick-belgian when he spotted a small red light far off in the distance.
‘Looksh guysh! Redsh Lisxch!’ Pieces of partially rotted wood and decomposing bull turd sprayed across the campsite. Firestorm began removing bits from his hair and nose.
Shralp removed all traces of sewage from his mouth and turned back to re-examine the situation. ‘Erm…guys….it’s getting quite big in fact I think we should get out the wa…..’
The noise that stopped him, started off as a distant whine…
‘hhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllppppppppp!!!!!!’ An obscenely large aeroplane flew past, followed by an alarming stream of metal pieces and smoke, crashing into the trees, screaming occupant still present, into a small patch of trees.

Trickle watched with fascination as a small Ferret, complete with a pair of flying goggles and a scarf crawled from the lower bushes.
‘Are you the Hippo trainer?’ The small creature had the sort of whiney little voice that made you want to hit him repeatedly with a spiked club, and a face which suggested someone had got to him first.
Shralp observed his companions glazed expressions and decided that maybe he should take care of this one…
‘And what exactly is a Hippo?’
‘Well it’s big and grey’ Firestorm seemed to catch on and whipped out a notebook and pen, scribbling furiously. Shralp had got him started; the young baker could take it from here.
‘And what other things does a ‘Hippo’ have?’
‘Well it has small hairs, likes to soak in mud, lots of big teeth, and is very round.’
‘Uh huh’ Firestorm continued jotting.
‘And it likes to lie in the sun, oh and if you stir it up then it can get dangerous’
‘OK!’ Firestorm quickly revised his notes ‘And does this ‘Hippo’ use self raising or plain flour?’
An awkward silence ensued… Awkward got bored and went out to get a cup of tea; embarrassment sidled over into its place. Eventually Embarrassment skulked away and boredom seeped in through the doorway and took the position.
The Ferret was speechless; Firestorm just stared back inquisitively. Trickle had got bored and had decided to examine a nearby bush in case of Hippos. Shralp took a ridiculously long sigh and felt that he better intervene before they all starved to death…
‘Come come my dear Ferret! Tell us your name and explain to us what that strange flying contraption was?’
The Ferret took a sidelong glance a Shralp, and then turned his eyes back to the Baker. He had the distinct feeling that if he looked away he would find himself trapped in an oven before he knew it. ‘The names Z-Layrex-muntambo-quintu–morgan-titus-mill Crambottom, but people just call me Z-Layrex. Oh and the strange machine hasn’t actually been invented yet so hush hush’. The strange rodent then proceeded to perform a series of bizarre winks and elbow barges, ending in tapping of his wet black nose.
Shralp was not too sure what to make of this bizarre act but decided that it would be appropriate to continue communication in the physical fashion, maybe it would turn out to be a form of greeting.

Trickle woke up from his daydream, well he thought he did but now he was watching Shralp and a Squirrel committed in some bizarre dancing ritual, probably evil, most dancing is evil. Patrick Swayze for example.
However the fun was interrupted midstream by the sound of a helicopter…yes really!

‘Excuse me! Yes you! Hi there, hi! Look, this may sound a little rude but may I perchance take your squirrel?’
The pilot was half orc of substantial proportions, he resembled the sort of person who had not really prepared to fly and had in fact only nicked a chopper on the spare of the moment. Dressed entirely in studded leather, carrying various weapons ranging from Katana blades to pistol crossbows and seeming to have a face consisting mainly of teeth and forehead, Trickle got the distinct impression that this was one gentleorc who had no moral restrictions over thievery. Firestorm quickly followed Trickle’s gaze and found himself staring at another three gang members who had managed to squeeze into slightly smaller Helicopter, in such a way to start each one praying for the other not to fart.
Finally Shralp swivelled on his heel and glared at the fresh disturbance. The gang leader suddenly felt very uncomfortable and decided that maybe a quick introduction was necessary.
‘Hi! I’m Extremist, and this is Veldrin’
‘Hi’
‘Lokken’
‘Erg’
‘And young Wildfire’
Wildfire could not speak; he demanded total concentration on controlling his bowels.
Shralp continued to stare.
‘Look, he he, sorry but that Squirrel there, he…erm…has been a little naughty. And…’
‘What did he do?’ shralp folded his arms, giving off the image of a head Teacher who has just caught the school bully…in a helicopter. Silence ensued, Extremist gently twiddled his thumbs. Then thought it best to study his feet.
‘I am waiting! Oh come on I am sure he hasn’t been that bad.’
‘He slept with my wife!’
Firestorm who had been scoffing a rock bun to relieve the tension, projected raisins and bun mixture in a wide circle, bunging up the blades of the second helicopter and sending it crashing to Earth. Three bemused young bandits crawled out, followed by a smell of old sprouts…
Shralp stood with his mouth gaping, he slowly turned and stared at the blushing Ferret.
‘That’s disgusting!’
Extremist began to get impatient ‘Look are you going to give me that Squirrel or am I going to have to fight you for it, as you may be able to tell I am not in a good mood and extra blood on my hands would not make me feel any better’.
Shralp thought he should retaliate to this insult with something truly barbaric, ‘Well Sa! I bite my thumb at you Sa!’
‘You Bite your thumb at ME Sa! Well Sa! I bite my thumb doubly at you Sa!’

As you may guess Firestorm lost interest in this pathetic behaviour quite quickly and was just about to bite into a second rock bun when the words ‘You Egg!’ were screamed. This was it, he had had enough of petty insults, it was time for the bakers to do their real job. You see little do many people know that Bakers in fact are chosen from birth and are then stolen away to a remote Germanic castle. Wherein they are trained in the deadly arts of rolling pin mastery and high velocity kneading. Needless to say, these skills require a great deal of background training in the arts of the Ninja and Kensai arts. They then remain a member of this sacred pact for life, which prevents them from revealing their true identity unless within the kitchen or in times of dire need. Thus it was for this reason that two seconds later Extremist lay dead on the floor with a rock bun lodged in his skull.
And almost the same fate befell Lokken, although he managed to destroy the first shot, much to Firestorm’s disgust and subsequently found himself bleeding to death after being grievously wounded by an apple strudel.
Veldrin jumped in Extremist’s Helicopter and started to flee, much to the protest of Wildfire who was left on the ground and began whimper. But Firestorm was in a very mediocre mood and found himself before the thought of mercy had even entered his mind, unsheathing a wholemeal baguette. The baker brought back the memory of his extreme velocity wind tunnel training and began to spin on the spot. The breadstick was launched at such pace that it travelled faster than the speed of light, arrived two seconds before hand and struck the Helicopter just as it passed over Wildfire.
Strawberry jam is the only acceptable way of describing the result.

Shralp once again found his mouth gaping.
‘Bloody Hell’

 

/me is ROTFL!!!

THis is wonderfuly funny poodle! I love it. My god Firestorm's character is hilarious, love my intro too can't wait till part 4!

 

LOL
/me is laughing her, well not really fat, ass off!!!

Great Poodle!
I loved that part. Hahaha!
/me starts to calm down...
*snörvel*
I just cant wait till the next chapter is here!

 

Damn you, Poodle. Post the corrected version I sent you. Can't you people even speak American properly?

 

/me opens a can of whoopass on Shralp. Fear us!

 

There, Im posting to your Blasted Story topic

Anyway.. great story, I like it

 

Oh boy, that was sooo funny I had to run to the bathroom! LOL

 

This is classic. Truly classic.

LOL