Chapter Two - The Heroes UniteBrave, strong, and cunning are all qualities of Darestrong Stormheart.Darestrong Stormheart strode down the center of the dirt road, his tanned skin glistening in the hot sun as if ten thousand snails had just raced across his back. To his right walked Sexina Spellwind, the powerful and extremely scantily clad sorceress who had accompanied him on each of his quests. To Stormheart’s left side was the annoying elf that Stormheart wanted to crush into powder, and then mix into a protein shake, and then crap out, and then dry his crap and crush it into powder too. His long flirtation and offhanded remarks about Sexina were just starting to get somewhere when the stupid elf and his dashing pointy ears came into the picture.
“Thine buttocks sway hither and yon like a sack full of rambunctious tots,” commented Stormheart, glancing over at Sexina’s skin-tight chain mail bikini bottom.
The comely sorceress sometimes went by the nickname “Iron Guts” because she had been stabbed in her unarmored abdomen so many times and somehow survived. But her pristine abs bore no scars of battle, for she was a wizard of cosmetics, able to turn a goblin into a beauty pageant winner with a flick of her wrist and a powerful incantation. She was level nineteen and also knew more normal spells such as Magic Missile, Fireball, Lightning Bolt, Frost Ball, Captain Corduroy’s Unmending Pantaloons, and Teleport.
They continued their slow journey toward Elflandia, where they soon found the conquering armies of Skullulon already victorious over the pitiful and questionably heterosexual militia of the Elves.The beautiful sorceress Sexina has accompanied Darestrong on all of his quests to defeat Skullulon.“Looks like good old Skullulon beat us to the punch,” remarked Darestrong tactlessly as he gazed down into the valley of Elflandia.
It was a smoldering ruin, and all that remained of the great Elven palace were a few gaily colored stones stained red with blood. The legions of the undead had made their camp among the burned out houses, while their necromancers worked to cast level ten raise dead spells to bring back the fallen elves as zombie shock troops. Standing near the corpse of the elven high king was Skullulon himself, holding the magical elf sword Mistragandica.
Trueshot Longbowry punched his girlish fist into his gloved hand and prepared to run down into the valley and attack the forces of Skullulon. A brawny hand grabbed his armored shoulder, pulling him back.
“No,” said Darestrong in a gruff voice, “that is certain doom elf. We must seek the aid of the dwarves who live in the nearby caves. They will provide a way to separate Skullulon from his horde of undead minions.”
Turning his back on his beloved homeland was difficult, but Trueshot swallowed what little pride he had as an elf and joined Sexina and Darestrong on the path towards Dwarf City. The tears began to creep from the corners of his eyes and he wept silently, watching as Darestrong reached over and squeezed Sexina on the ass.
He had a yellow inflatable tube around his waist, the kind with a comical duck head. There was a tiny fish in one of his hands, and a trident in the other. In the background a squirrel wearing shades was water skiing.
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