God's retort: The Truth - being a sad tale of bumbling fools!

The unorganized rabble were directed out of town for the price of some slightly soiled blankets. The Lady Agasta, having dealt with the riff-raff, moved on to more pleasant duties.

The inept swarm stumbled along the road until they reached the village of Mickleford. Kindly inn-keeper, Molnjir, took pity on the wretches, offering them shelter and care. Three of the more vertically challenged locals were keen for some boisterous, good natured fun. The craven kill-joys ignored their efforts and retired with their warm milk and blankies.

The meandering circus continued the next day, to the quaint hamlet of the Neck, and once again were welcomed warmly by the locals. The crude oaf, otherwise known as Sinjin, proceeded to blab to all within earshot: telling the world of his partys' mission.

The egocentric entrepreneur, Hanse Sloughthought, unable to contain his basic weasal-like nature, commenced spying and prying into the affairs of a poor innocent peasant boy.

Thus endeth another sad chapter in the misadventures of this sad, unnamed, company.


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Stupid things we've overheard...

You racist! They're elves. So what if they're black?

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I have a lot to be modest about.