Malbractes
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Wolff poled his way in a small flat-bottomed punt across the channel. The channel followed the road to the tin mines, as it had in the past. The goddess of wisdom had made it her home, amidst stands of maple and towards the more clement parts of the land.
Little creatures chirped and burped, mewed and croaked, trilled and hummed all around him. He found himself smiling at a frog, laughing at a flycatcher.
And then, the river erupted around him. Aooooouuuuuuuuwwuuwuwwrgggh.
He found himself looking into the maw of something that was part giant bloodworm, part crustacean, part legendary nightmare. The ravens flapping away did little to distract him from the sulfurous taint of rotting vegetation as the huge mouth dripped its fangs at him.
Wolff said, Hello.
The mouth closed. One of the two ravens approached and fluttered noisily onto Wolff's punt. It spoke to him in the silent speech, eye to eye. Lord Malbractes the Large and Horrible says, "Oh it is you. Where are you going?"
Wolff said, It is beginning again.
There was a microbelch, but enough to stink up the surroundings and extinguish flames. Wolff winced.
The raven winked beadily, as if by accident. Lord Malbractes says, "Stop sticking your pole into the ribs of a sleeping person. Go away. And give my regards to the Lady."
Wolff replied, I will.
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Large and terrible, Malbractes slept. In the world of mortals above him, Wolff found his way into another campaign.
This time, however, Wolff carried the stenchful blessings of Malbractes. This time, he would win. The distant voices of his ancestors prophesied war. And Bishop William's sword glowed fitfully.
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Note: The fictional adventures of Sir Wolff do provide much that is of interest. You can find them linked here. Just ignore the one about earwax. That was an accident.
Labels: Wolff
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