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Post by butterflywings on Jun 10, 2011 20:47:09 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
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Post by SianaBlackwood on Jun 11, 2011 9:17:22 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there.
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Post by butterflywings on Jun 11, 2011 10:22:13 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik!
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Post by SianaBlackwood on Jun 14, 2011 0:39:08 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik! He'd only get in trouble again anyway.
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Post by Flatiron on Jun 15, 2011 14:45:47 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik! He'd only get in trouble again anyway.
His head pounding, he woke to painfully over bright daylight through the waxed paper that passed for a window, the taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bit his tongue, the smell of the dirt and old beer on the floor his face lay against, and the sound of Alarik squawking as someone growled, "Tells us where he keeps the obelisk or we'll put you back in the oven..."
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Post by SianaBlackwood on Jun 16, 2011 1:57:35 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik! He'd only get in trouble again anyway.
His head pounding, he woke to painfully over bright daylight through the waxed paper that passed for a window, the taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bit his tongue, the smell of the dirt and old beer on the floor his face lay against, and the sound of Alarik squawking as someone growled, "Tells us where he keeps the obelisk or we'll put you back in the oven..."
"All right, I'll talk!" Alarik squeaked.
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Post by Flatiron on Jun 17, 2011 14:48:47 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik! He'd only get in trouble again anyway.
His head pounding, he woke to painfully over bright daylight through the waxed paper that passed for a window, the taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bit his tongue, the smell of the dirt and old beer on the floor his face lay against, and the sound of Alarik squawking as someone growled, "Tells us where he keeps the obelisk or we'll put you back in the oven..."
"All right, I'll talk!" Alarik squeaked.
But as Alarik began to speak, and Frank slowly unstuck his face from the floor, Frank understood that Alarik was trying to set up a trap, because he surely knew that the obelisk was no longer in the depths of crypt in the old graveyard outside the city walls.
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Post by SianaBlackwood on Jun 22, 2011 9:32:48 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik! He'd only get in trouble again anyway.
His head pounding, he woke to painfully over bright daylight through the waxed paper that passed for a window, the taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bit his tongue, the smell of the dirt and old beer on the floor his face lay against, and the sound of Alarik squawking as someone growled, "Tells us where he keeps the obelisk or we'll put you back in the oven..."
"All right, I'll talk!" Alarik squeaked.
But as Alarik began to speak, and Frank slowly unstuck his face from the floor, Frank understood that Alarik was trying to set up a trap, because he surely knew that the obelisk was no longer in the depths of crypt in the old graveyard outside the city walls. Now all Frank could do was hope the man would fall for Alarik's story.
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Post by Flatiron on Aug 2, 2011 13:08:01 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik! He'd only get in trouble again anyway.
His head pounding, he woke to painfully over bright daylight through the waxed paper that passed for a window, the taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bit his tongue, the smell of the dirt and old beer on the floor his face lay against, and the sound of Alarik squawking as someone growled, "Tells us where he keeps the obelisk or we'll put you back in the oven..."
"All right, I'll talk!" Alarik squeaked.
But as Alarik began to speak, and Frank slowly unstuck his face from the floor, Frank understood that Alarik was trying to set up a trap, because he surely knew that the obelisk was no longer in the depths of crypt in the old graveyard outside the city walls. Now all Frank could do was hope the man would fall for Alarik's story.
Alarik had always been a bit of a wag (which is how he'd gotten into the bag in the first place) and after a few hints about the treasure to be found in the crypts, Frank heard the sounds of their horses fading into the night as they headed off on Alarik's fools errand.
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Post by SianaBlackwood on Aug 23, 2011 21:44:17 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik! He'd only get in trouble again anyway.
His head pounding, he woke to painfully over bright daylight through the waxed paper that passed for a window, the taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bit his tongue, the smell of the dirt and old beer on the floor his face lay against, and the sound of Alarik squawking as someone growled, "Tells us where he keeps the obelisk or we'll put you back in the oven..."
"All right, I'll talk!" Alarik squeaked.
But as Alarik began to speak, and Frank slowly unstuck his face from the floor, Frank understood that Alarik was trying to set up a trap, because he surely knew that the obelisk was no longer in the depths of crypt in the old graveyard outside the city walls. Now all Frank could do was hope the man would fall for Alarik's story.
Alarik had always been a bit of a wag (which is how he'd gotten into the bag in the first place) and after a few hints about the treasure to be found in the crypts, Frank heard the sounds of their horses fading into the night as they headed off on Alarik's fools errand.
"Now I just have to get out of here and get the obelisk while Alarik has them distracted," Frank said to himself, wondering how this night had veered so far away from his original plan.
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Post by butterflywings on Aug 27, 2011 14:29:48 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik! He'd only get in trouble again anyway.
His head pounding, he woke to painfully over bright daylight through the waxed paper that passed for a window, the taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bit his tongue, the smell of the dirt and old beer on the floor his face lay against, and the sound of Alarik squawking as someone growled, "Tells us where he keeps the obelisk or we'll put you back in the oven..."
"All right, I'll talk!" Alarik squeaked.
But as Alarik began to speak, and Frank slowly unstuck his face from the floor, Frank understood that Alarik was trying to set up a trap, because he surely knew that the obelisk was no longer in the depths of crypt in the old graveyard outside the city walls. Now all Frank could do was hope the man would fall for Alarik's story.
Alarik had always been a bit of a wag (which is how he'd gotten into the bag in the first place) and after a few hints about the treasure to be found in the crypts, Frank heard the sounds of their horses fading into the night as they headed off on Alarik's fools errand.
"Now I just have to get out of here and get the obelisk while Alarik has them distracted," Frank said to himself, wondering how this night had veered so far away from his original plan.
Blaming Alarik seemed pointless, blaming himself felt more fitting since he should have known better by now.
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Post by SianaBlackwood on Sept 15, 2011 0:44:13 GMT -5
It was a dark and stormy night. The chicken clock chimed twice on midnight, then broke. Frank swore at it, but it made no difference. He put on a raincoat and left the castle, slipping a wicked looking knife into his sleeve. There was work to be done.
He mounted his horse and sped towards the village.
Meanwhile, two swordsmen entered a tavern and sat at the bar. They began bargaining quietly over a large sack that sat on the floor beside one of the men. The sack whimpered and moved occasionally, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. The man leaned over, and with his one good eye he glanced down into the bag and muttered, "Keep it down Alarik, or I'll feed ya to the dogs." "Sorry, boss," the sack mumbled.
With a nod, the man returned to his business of haggling.
Meanwhile, Frank had just tied his horse up outside the same tavern. He pulled out the knife, looking at the embedded jewels glinting in the torchlight, hoping that this would be enough to trade for the return of Alarik. He had no idea that the meeting was a trap. He entered boldly, confidently, and sat at the only remaining chair around the table mentioned in the note he'd received.
Just before everything went black, he wondered why the other people were there. Serves me right for trying to help that stupid Alarik! He'd only get in trouble again anyway.
His head pounding, he woke to painfully over bright daylight through the waxed paper that passed for a window, the taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bit his tongue, the smell of the dirt and old beer on the floor his face lay against, and the sound of Alarik squawking as someone growled, "Tells us where he keeps the obelisk or we'll put you back in the oven..."
"All right, I'll talk!" Alarik squeaked.
But as Alarik began to speak, and Frank slowly unstuck his face from the floor, Frank understood that Alarik was trying to set up a trap, because he surely knew that the obelisk was no longer in the depths of crypt in the old graveyard outside the city walls. Now all Frank could do was hope the man would fall for Alarik's story.
Alarik had always been a bit of a wag (which is how he'd gotten into the bag in the first place) and after a few hints about the treasure to be found in the crypts, Frank heard the sounds of their horses fading into the night as they headed off on Alarik's fools errand.
"Now I just have to get out of here and get the obelisk while Alarik has them distracted," Frank said to himself, wondering how this night had veered so far away from his original plan.
Blaming Alarik seemed pointless, blaming himself felt more fitting since he should have known better by now. The best he could hope for was that he would somehow retrieve the obelisk and earn himself a trace of redemption.
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