Collaborative Carnage

Mutation 3: Storm Clouds Gather; Wirt Speaks Out

by Stephen van Ham

It was, as they say, complete and utter chaos. Cain’s headless corpse lay crumpled in the town square and bled at the adventurers accusingly. Pepin blanched in horror - the world had indeed gone insane!

WirtGriswold, muttering something about “damn annoyin’ magicians,” was now involved in a heated battle with the second brutish Mud Runner. (This one had simply appeared out of thin air upon death of its brethren). Sparks flew as the smith’s axe bounced off the Mud Runner’s toughened brown hide. Then his arms flailed as the massive monster backhanded him across his bearded cheek, sending the burly smith halfway back towards his forge. But Griswold simply picked himself up and charged again. His deep Scottish accented voice filled the air with a string of curses as he attacked again.

The former Horadrim Cain continued to bleed all over the grass.

Nearby, the warrior Lord Cool was in a heated debated with the tall, vivacious rogue Sugar, arguing over the whereabouts of their missing friend Stupidhead. Lord Cool looked almost regretful about the disappearance. But then Regretful warred with Revengeful - Maximum Evil would surely pay for this affront. Lustful stepped in to join the fray, winning the emotional battle. Cool stopped in mid-bellow, grinned, and attempted to get down Sugar’s pants. Sugar yelled in anger and looked ready to kill her long-time companion on the spot.

The visored form of CowLord/Conjurer, sipping an expresso, stood in deep discussion with Gillian about the latest fashion trends.

Another rag tag band of adventurers was looking around at its surroundings, mouths open in confusion. Nikkin, Grand Fromage, Gonnard the Great, Purple, and Jack'Al. Some looked ready to run full tilt for the next fanfic, having no interest in taking further part in this debarcle. As to who would stay and who would go . . .

It was then that Wirt, everybody’s best weapons practise dummy, came hobbling, dragging his peg leg through the long grass. He looked terrified. He was terrified. More terrified than he’d ever been before in his short, self-centered life. Oh, he’d certainly been scared when the scores of rogues, mages and burly warriors had threatened to kill him over the inflated prices of his wares, but this was different. This was something he couldn’t talk his way out of. He needed help.

Everyone ignored him as he reached the square. He frowned. He wailed. He hopped up and down on his good leg. “Hey!” he whined. Everyone turned to stare at him. Even the Mud Runner. “Listen up! This is important! The Boojum . . . it’s, it’s gone . . . insane . . .”

Lord Cool gasped in disbelief at the news. “Well, go fuck a turkey . . .” he murmured.

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