I'm sure all of you have noticed how many very excellent posters we have, and how creative they are in relating their recipes, experiences, observations and methods for all of us to enjoy. So I think it might be fun to start up a story for everyone to pitch in their own creative additions and some twists and turns. Just pick up from where the previous poster leaves off and add your two cents worth. I'll start things off and hopefully we can have some fun with this.
So . . . here we go:
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A Mead Tale
The camp.
“By the gods, I’ve gone blind!” Kryvak roared and heaved to his feet only to stagger and careen into the jackass tethered next to his bedroll. The normally docile beast protested braying wildly and bucking violently enough to break his tether. Pots and pans clanged loudly and the din brought everyone else to their feet, weapons in hand as the frightened ass wrecked havoc in the camp.
Kryvak was in an ugly mood now that he realized his beard had been pulled back over his face, and his legs had been loosely hobbled with a leather thong. Invariably, after a long night of drinking mead and trading barbs with Dwyden, there would be some sort of mischief at Kryvak’s expense, and this morning was no different. That damnable elf was probably laughing at him right now. Well, he wouldn’t laugh for long.
“By Moradin’s beard I’ll have your bob-eared head on a pike you prancing Woodie!” he bellowed and fingered the haft of his axe. With an indifferent flip of the axe he cut the hobble, and shook his beard loose to look about for his tormentor. Brother Malcom, and the rest of the camp were all laughing and trying to manage the bucking donkey which only managed to darken Kryvak’s mood. . .
So . . . here we go:
=======================================================================
A Mead Tale
The camp.
“By the gods, I’ve gone blind!” Kryvak roared and heaved to his feet only to stagger and careen into the jackass tethered next to his bedroll. The normally docile beast protested braying wildly and bucking violently enough to break his tether. Pots and pans clanged loudly and the din brought everyone else to their feet, weapons in hand as the frightened ass wrecked havoc in the camp.
Kryvak was in an ugly mood now that he realized his beard had been pulled back over his face, and his legs had been loosely hobbled with a leather thong. Invariably, after a long night of drinking mead and trading barbs with Dwyden, there would be some sort of mischief at Kryvak’s expense, and this morning was no different. That damnable elf was probably laughing at him right now. Well, he wouldn’t laugh for long.
“By Moradin’s beard I’ll have your bob-eared head on a pike you prancing Woodie!” he bellowed and fingered the haft of his axe. With an indifferent flip of the axe he cut the hobble, and shook his beard loose to look about for his tormentor. Brother Malcom, and the rest of the camp were all laughing and trying to manage the bucking donkey which only managed to darken Kryvak’s mood. . .