Blood dripped from his brow as his heaving chest forced out rapid, raspy breaths of putrescent air in and out of his lungs. Toril’s mustache was matted and caked with barely-dried scabs as his eyes frantically scanned the now-empty feasting halls of Magni’s dungeon. Lord Magni had recently received a new costume and, in his jubilation, he hosted a great feast with all of his closest friends. Boril, Richard, Karil and Isarnia, to name only a few. They’re all dead, he thought to himself, I must warn the others if I can just escape… It had only been just yesterday where he was out with his favorite sheep in the meadow, he had great plans to take her to the cliffs later that evening after some mead. But it was not to be… my how things had changed after such a tragic and violent turn.
King Arthur and his latest side-piece (and supposed soul-mate) Frida loaded Toril and his brothers Toril, Toril, Toril and Toril, along with his many maternal half-sisters named Ragnhild into giant cages pulled by two Ancient Tigers. Toril recalled with disgust the way Frida batted her eyelashes at King Arthur, as she dabbed the blood and from his beard. The old king had gotten impatient and decided to start the feast prematurely-- without cooking or seasoning, an unceremonious rending of a limb provided him a snack for the journey. The aching in Toril’s heart as he saw another Toril on the ground at his feet, faint from the loss of blood and intense pain. No one would stop this madness. The somber looks in the eyes of the captives as they knew the rumors to be confirmed as reality: Magni’s claim that the commission of his newest costume would increase his hunger and lethality all at once, that he would take his place among the top fighters of the realm once again. =Of course, it wouldn’t be possible without the subjugation and cruel, cannibalistic practices rampant across the kingdom.
Toril saw an opening and darted across the feasting hall. The doors remained opened, perhaps foolishly for his hungry captors, but a boon to him. They can ducking eat ducks godduck it, he thought to himself. Success! He scrambled through the grand entrance hall, through the raised portcullis gate to the outside and over the bridge. His adrenaline coursed through his veins as he spotted a discarded axe off the path beyond the bridge. As soon as he rushed to grasp it, he was struck with the flat of Sonya’s blade. This sapped him of all of his energy and will to live. A strong Nord, Sonya was able to hoist his dwarven body into a large cauldron that had been hidden in the bushes. He landed on the desiccated remains of his best buddy Olaf. As the lid closed upon them, he heard Sonya caterwauling. “Hey Kiril, your costume looks ROCK SOLID! By luck I found the final ingredient for your brew! Now watch this cauldron while I go get changed into mine…”
The final hours of Toril’s life were spent wheezing and gasping for air as the cauldron was super-heated from below. The last sight was the greedy, beady eyes of Kiril as he opened the lid to observe the contents of what would be his greatest concoction to date.
Alas, poor reader… “Special Brew” falls in the same category of “Mystery Meat,” and “Frank Barbeque with Fried Green Tomatoes.” In some places, you can’t drink the water. In this case, you can’t drink the “Special Brew,” especially when you are listening to a Blessed Solo and communing with your closest friends and allies.
