Epilogue - Skullulon’s Slumber Party
Darestrong and Sexina stood with the remaining dwarven warriors and their king. With Skullulon once again out of commission his legions had quickly reverted to their natural state of being dead.
“Well lad, it looks like ye have dinnit again,” said the dwarf king patting Darestrong on his lower back.
“Hopefully all of the Forgotten Worlds can live in peace from now on,” said Sexina.
“Shut up, both of you,” commanded Darestrong. “We lost a good man out there today.”
There was a moment of silence and they all burst out laughing at his joke, because he called Trueshot a man even though he was an elf.
Meanwhile Skullulon’s generals carried his remains towards the Temple of Skullulon. If they could locate the Unholy Rope of Doth Dragazor, it might just be conceivable that Skullulon could be awakened from his slumber.
“You know we could just not wake him up this time,” said Colonel McFemurocles. “I think it would be nice to just relax for a few hundred years and not worry about conquering the Forgotten Worlds.”
“What?!” Replied Boneacles Von Skeletopolis, quite aghast. “My 401k is entirely invested in skeleton helmet and spear stocks, this guy is fantastic for our economy. He’s a friggin’ cash cow.”
“I guess you’re right,” said McFemurocles with a shrug. “The Temple of Skullulon it is.”
Ferguson's long arm of the law laments the latest cutback.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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