The adventures of losers looking for adventure on their asses.
The village of Slubludop rose with its familiar aroma of manure, drunken shouts, and a green mist clinging to the rooftops. In a crooked hut, a young wizard opened his eyes, tangled in a rough animal hide instead of a blanket. A thought struck him:
"Damn, fell asleep in my robe again..."
He glanced around the room, littered with spell scrolls, empty bottles, and a crystal seemingly fit only for children's games.
"Well then, new day, new adventures... or at least breakfast."
Reaching for his staff, he accidentally grabbed a sticky pot.
"AAH! Who left this... what even is this?!"
No answer.
In the kitchen, bottles cluttered the table, and drunken voices echoed down the hallway.
"Son, come here! Meet my friend, the dwarf Gromil Stonebelcher!"
"Oh no...
Gromil, a dwarf as wide as a wardrobe but only as tall as a stool, grinned and waved a green bottle.
"Have a drink?"
"No, thanks."
But the dwarf splashed the contents onto the mage.
"What is this? Acid?!"
"Nah, it's morning ale!"
The mage sighed and cast an illusion on the pot, transforming it into a statuette of an Oscar.
"Here's a gift from the Magic Academy," he said, and the pot flew into the dwarf's forehead.
"Hah! But what's that shiny spot on your backside?" Gromil asked, squinting.
"WHAT?!"
The mage's robe had turned into "ale."
The bard, strutting in his tight leather doublet (which Gromil claimed "strips its wearer of heterosexuality"), plucked at his lute strings. The apprentice wizard put on a light show, with sparks dancing in the air. The crowd gasped, coins rained into a hat—along with a dead fish.
"Someone mistook us for cats," grumbled Gromil, shaking fish scales from his beard.
"Maybe it's a compliment?" the bard winked playfully.
"You smell like fish," Gromil snapped, blushing. "Chew on a mint leaf."
"Let's pretend we own this market!" the apprentice suggested, inspired by crime dramas.
"Yeah, and we'll end up on the gallows," Gromil replied, folding his arms.
But the bard was already flashing his "I'm a businessman" smile and approached a merchant.
"Good sir, I own... uh... all this. Let's say two fur-lined vests for fifteen gold."
Merchants exchanged glances, snickered, and sold them. Probably hoping to see what these fools would do next.
---
Scene Three: The Donkey Drama
The parrot on the bard's shoulder squawked:
"Forgot the donkey!"
"Screw it," the apprentice waved dismissively.
"It's got more dignity than you," Gromil remarked.
Huffing, the hero went to make amends. The donkey greeted him with a pitiful "hee-haw," as if accusing him.
"I'll charm it with music!" the bard declared, launching into a passionate tune.
"It hates you," Gromil stated bluntly.
"But you don't?"
"Shut up."
The donkey sighed and followed them, tailless but dignified.
The bard noticed the apprentice holding a poster of an elven woman—stolen from the tavern—depicting a silver-haired beauty with a mysterious smile. Feeling a thrill, he slyly snatched it.
"Oooh, who's this?" he murmured, licking his lips.
"Just tore it off the wall. Maybe it'll come in handy," the apprentice sighed. "I'm studying magic."
He laid the poster on the ground and began muttering spells. After half an hour, it levitated, glowing bright yellow, and transformed into a slender elf with silver hair in a minimalist chainmail bikini. She adjusted her hair and approached their campfire.
"I'll win her favor!" the bard sang a ballad and strummed his lute.
From a nearby window, a tall elf with identical silver hair appeared.
The song's charm worked, and she approached the bard, pressing her chest against his face.
After taking a quick breath and smoothing her hair, the enchanted bard grinned like an idiot.
"Let's get lost in the bushes," he suggested.
They disappeared into the thicket, the bard flashing a rock-on sign before vanishing.
The elf lay on the grass, beckoning him with a finger. He approached, climbed on her, and their lips met in a fiery kiss. His hands ventured eagerly—until he felt something unexpected. He yanked his hand back, screaming loud enough to wake the forest.
The elf remained silent, smiling enigmatically. The bard scrambled into his pants and fled back to the campfire.
He sat, face blank.
Gromil burst into laughter, and the apprentice snorted.
"Still courting?" Gromil taunted.
"Appreciating art!" the bard retorted, blushing.
The apprentice caught his breath.
"She showed you her little secret?"
"It wasn't little," the bard mumbled, still shaken.
The party left town and began discussing their mission.
"Dark elves, seasoned warriors, and... possibly death," Gromil said.
"We've got warm vests, grease, and..." the bard trailed off.
"And?" Gromil prompted.
"Nothing," the bard shrugged.
The apprentice snorted.
"You two aren't a couple."
"WE'RE NOT A COUPLE!" they shouted in unison.
The donkey brayed, and the parrot cackled.
"Next session in a week!" the wizard announced, firing a firework into the sky.
"Adrenaline guaranteed," the bard winked.
"Less drama," Gromil grumbled.
"Especially from you two," the apprentice added.
They yelled "WE'RE NOT A COUPLE!" as usual.
In the tavern, they found a man in a puddle of what looked like potion residue.
"Dead?" Gromil asked warily.
"Gotta check," the mage replied, prodding him. The man groaned.
"Alive! Is this potion?"
"Blood?"
"Acid-proof," the mage dismissed.
The man opened his eyes and grabbed a bottle.
"I LIVE!" he shouted.
"Now he's dangerous," Gromil noted.
The mage summoned Kesha, the parrot, to attack.
"Kesha, sic 'em!"
But Kesha refused.
"Kesha good," he said. "Kesha no fight."
"This is wrong," the mage muttered, disappointed.
He cast a spell to cool the air, but the man remained unbothered.
"Cold-proof," the man explained.
"Who are you?"
Kesha snatched a shiny object, likely part of the man's body.
"MY EAR?!" the man screamed.
Kesha flew off, leaving the man stunned.
"COME BACK!" the man shouted, scrambling after his missing ear.
The mage fumbled with a ritual staff motion, and the donkey kicked him in the gut.
"OUCH!" he exclaimed, clutching his stomach.
"Plan B," he muttered, getting up.
He cast an illusion, making the donkey's tail look like a golden chain artifact. Intrigued, the donkey turned.
"Actum est!" the mage shouted, leaping onto the donkey, grabbing Kesha's tail, and—
CRACK.
Kesha dropped the ear into the donkey's saddlebag.
"Drat," the mage grumbled, assessing the damage.
"Surgery it is!" he declared, drawing a knife.
The bard and Gromil gasped.
"Sacred donkey!" the bard exclaimed.
"Just a donkey!" the mage retorted.
He continued: "An ancient half-elf ritual—extracting wisdom from our divine beast!"
"Just want your ear back," Gromil muttered.
"Quiet, science!" The mage slit the bag open and pulled out...
A soggy but intact ear.
The bard and Gromil applauded.
"A real one!" "Wisdom!" "This is history!"
With a flourish, the mage raised the ear.
"Now, I shall reattach it!" he announced.
He pressed the ear to his head and whispered a spell. It had to work.
FWOOSH!—the ear stuck.
"Huzzah! It holds!" the mage exclaimed.
But his joy was short-lived. Gromil pointed out:
"Backwards."
The mage grinned.
"Intentional. Better hearing this way!"
The crowd murmured, skeptical—until the donkey, Kesha, and saddlebag suddenly bolted.
"At least I saved the ear," the mage sighed.
The bard added:
"Plus, 12 gold!" counting coins tossed by the crowd.
Gromil remarked:
"And a saddlebag as a trophy!"
The mage eyed his upside-down ear, the dwindling crowd, and the fleeing donkey. With philosophical resignation, he declared:
"Y'know what? I'll call this a win."