Bold! Courageous! Daring! Punctual to a fault! These were just a few heroic traits that this particular “Hero” was too lazy to supply. He would drink himself stupid most nights and find himself passed out in a different ally with no recollection of how he got there. One chancey night in particular landed him in an allyway behind a monastery where he was discovered by The Silent Frier. Now The Silent Frier was not your typical friar. In fact, he wasn’t really a friar at all! On Fridays, he volunteered his time at the monastery, working as a fry cook for the Monks who loved their Fish Fry Fridays. The Silent Frier was given his nick-name after a freak grease fire accident claimed his tongue. Silent as The Frier was, he wasted no time in communicating to the monks the distress of the poor drunken fool drowning in his own vomit outside. The confused sod was not expecting that night to be manhandled by a group of balding men in simple dressrobes, and he flailed about and shouted obscenities that would make the grandmothers of the villiage weep! An hour and four injured monks later, the man was cleaned up, fed, and resting well in the guest quarters, which were a little shabby, but much preferred to the cobble stoned ally. As payment for their kindness, the monks only asked that the young man stay and study with them for one years time. In that one year, the man learned much of the monks holy ways and grew stronger in spirit and stature. He was smitten with their ways and severely smited (smote?) for his ways. To be sure he was smotenly smitten. As the months passed, the monks came to refer to the stranger as “The Smitten”. He knew nothing of the great Hero that the heavens were preparing for him to become. Untill one fateful Friday as he was meditating alone over his fried fish dinner, he heard the faint whisper of his Goddess calling him to quest…
Some EXP and several beer relapses later…
00:31: Tried to be good. Planted some flowers along the roadside and hugged some kittens.
The Quest to Join a Guild
Setting foot outside the confines of the Monestary was unnerving for The Smitten at first. It wasn’t easy giving up his expected meal of fried fish each Friday. Once he managed to cut the cord from the life he had known, however, he grew uccustomed to the harsh environment he had avoided for a year. At least, that’s what he would tell himself repeatedly as he sat in the mud crying and hugging his arrow pierced knees. Once he had finally achieved the appropriate level, however, the blubbering fool wasted no time in finding himself a guild in which he could belong. Smitty would hop around from guild to guild, lasting a few hours in each one, sometimes a few days before becoming bored (or frightened) and moving on to the next. In his down time, The Smitten would console himself by reading Disc World novels by Pratchet. One morning he was rising from his sleep in a marsh when he saw it! The thing of legend… emerging from the fog as if summoned by the Goddess herself: The famed Watch Tower of Ankh Morpork! There was no question. THIS was the guild that The Smitten was destined to join. The voice of Goddess Munkee was firm in Smitty’s ears. He strapped on his bed pan boots and adjusted his bubble wrap garments just so, gripping his large trout with all his might, and then he was off on his quest to become the 227th member of The Ankh Morpork City Watch Tower.The Legend of the Bacon Robes
Three months in and The Smitten found himself not all that bored with his place in the AMC Watch Tower. In fact, he was becoming rather fond of his fellow watchmen, even if he wouldn’t bring himself to admit it in their presence. He would gawk in admiration as the Cardinals of the guild would flock by in their scarlet robes and he would long for the day when he himself would don them. When no one was watching, he would wrap himself in his own blood drenched wrappings from his visits to the medic and prance about pretending to be one of them. One day, when Smitty was busy pretending to take the delicate robes in for cleaning (but actually rifling through the pockets for spare change for his beer fund), he twitched as the voice of his Goddess tickled his ear. He strained to make out what she was saying: “” Smit couldnt be sure, but he assumed that what She was trying to say was “Replace with bacon to appease hunger.” He looked down at the robes, and then towards the sky as he said a quick prayer. “I’m not sure what you mean by this, my Goddess, but I will do what you ask. Then maybe you will reward me with some strong ale to clear this fuzziness in my head!” So off he went to Tradeburg to trade in the glorious robes for immeasurable amounts of bacon to appease the presumed hunger of his fellow watchmen. It was all he could do to keep the monsters from devouring his stash and lucky for him, his pet dust bunny Simba was a vegitarian. Upon his arrival back at the tower, the mostly nude (save for the hat) Cardinals were unsure weather to be excited or outraged, so they settled for mild bemusement as The Smitten presented them with his gargantuan gift of bacon. They looked at the bacon, then at their empty closets, then at Smitty, then at the Watch Tower clock, and then at the bacon again. Thier stomaches rumbled. Their bare skin goose pimpled. They all scratched their heads for a while until a light bulb went off above The Smittens head. After changing the light bulb for a new one, Smitty got an idea. “What if,” he proposed, “we fashioned some of this bacon into new robes?” The Cardinals exchanged glances, shuffled about and then exchanged glances back again. They agreed amongst themselves that this was of course a silly idea. But as they were also becoming quite chilly, the idea was becoming, in their mind, more and more practical. They left some heaps of bacon in the hands of the infamous Mith Igorina, the Towers personal Igor, to fashion up some rather fetching, if not slightly crunchy and appetizing sets of apparel. The Cardinals of the Watch Tower soon became recognized far and wide for their robes of bacon and it wasn’t long before other guilds began taking a liking to the idea themselves. No other member of any guild anywhere, however, was prouder than The Smitten when he finally was awarded the honour of wearing the very robes of his own design! He beamed as the bacon was fitted over his censored bar for the very first time. That night, after the feasting and celebrations in his honour had died down and he was full on scumble and wine and bacon wrapped crickets (another story), he found a small glittering note rolled up on his pillow. Inside, written golden ink was scrolled a message: Dearest Smitten Although everything panned out well for you in the end, I think it’s important that you know that what I was ACUTALLY saying in regards to the robes was NOT ‘replace with bacon to appease hunger’ but ‘place them back on the appropriate hangers’. It’s okay. I know you heros are hard of hearing sometimes. Love and blessings, Godess Munkee
Mother Knows best... 0:56: I dreamed I was a young hero again, and heard my mother say, “You’d better get your act together, because someday you’re gonna have to walk halfway around the world, then give up and head back!” Well, she always knew best.
06:37 PM Carefully placed the last brick, swept all the rooms, opened all doors, and cut the ribbon in a stately manner with my sword. I can’t believe it’s finally happened! After all these months of work, the temple in your name is finished, my Lady! I feel crazy with happiness.