The odd breaking of the forth wall made me a lil uncomfy to read, but it's a solid roleplay, despite that.

Max Thordicus was written in by Konall, so it's a cameo, not a co write. It works, though. I'm told it should be considered in continuity, 'more or less,' even though it wasn't put on the mission board. The author shares his own comments on all of this.

I began writing this story and realized it was a little funny, but it was just going nowhere. I debated tossing it or not and thought I’d throw it in as kind of a deleted scene. Nothing important happens in it, but if you’re bored and suffering from chuckle deficiency this might give you a couple more hours to live.

Oh, and it didn’t get proofread. If you’re reading this to determine who wins the most mission points, don’t. It doesn’t count. Not official. Blame someone else.

* * *

“… and from that point on, Jorgen would scream like crazy any time someone mentioned ‘swamp weasels’ to him,” Konall said, nearly doubling over with laughter.

Spaz stopped flying and hovered in the air for a moment. “I feel a great imbalance in the forces of nature,” he said.

“Like someone who was once a force for good decided to switch sides and fight for darkness?”

“No, more like an Author decided to forsake his gift of humor and try to write a long, boring section that’s dark and serious even though it takes place in a world filled with off-the-wall humor, pop culture references, and rampant absurdity.”

Konall stopped walking down the path. “Sounds serious.”

“My point exactly.”

“What does it mean?”

“Well, for the forces to balance, the Author must let the power of hilarity run free for awhile. I can sense the Fourth Wall cracking already. If the balance isn’t restored, we’re all doomed.”

“Wasn’t that a Yu-gi-oh Abridged reference, right there?”

Spaz went from depressed to perky in an instant. “It was. We’re saved! Things are turning around. Who wants cookies?”

Konall turned back to look at the long line of refugees they were protecting. Spaz was already passing out baked goods from his malletspace compartment. The demon had his own portable mini-hell, a dimension he could use to store small items. He’d just thrown raw cookie dough in thirty seconds previous. The results were already blackened, crumbling ash, or as Spaz put it “Just like Mom used to make. She always cooked the best soot.”

Thousands of citizens had fled Seaside Town. A few had returned to the areas not claimed by the fire or the undead, but most had to move on to Little Canadia for a place to live, a chance to find enough food to live on, and cheaper prescription drugs. The fact that herbs were completely legal there helped.

Maximal and Konall were leading a bedraggled stream of people to freedom, and they were keeping their eyes wide open for danger.

“The weather’s cold up here,” said Max as he stopped to rest on a rock.

“Yeah,” said Konall, setting his gear down. “It feels like home. I come out here a lot between missions.”

“‘Tis strange though, that so cold a terrain should be found an hour’s walk from the city.”

“I know. That’s weather for you. Hey, Spaz, check my traps would you.”

Max suppressed a flinch. Traps hurt animals. And while all creatures had to take their place in the circle of life, but it was best to avoid pain where it could.

As the hungry villagers reached the rest point, Spaz brought back trapped animals and pointed out the locations where game too big for him to haul back was. Konall went and fetched these larger beasts. Maxi tried to gather edible plants and do a bit of hunting, and managed to come back with some food. Konall hadn’t checked his traps in a while, so there was plenty in his pile.

“Konall,” asked Max “What plan you for all these manifold beasts?”

“That timber wolf is going to become a nice jacket. Those two killer rabbits are about to be a pair of slippers. The possum, I don’t know, maybe a hat. I can make a solid piece of armor out of that bugbear. The noses on the killer mosquitoes can become a nice set of rapiers. I can probably make the trio of saber-toothed squirrels into a tea cozy. I’m thinking for the mimmoth… a single glove? I dunno. The swamp weasels-” Jorgen screamed “will become a matched set of furry wineskins- fur on the inside you understand. It’s the Viking way. And instead of wine they hold mead.”

“Mead? I suppose this is a beverage of sorts.”

“Yup. Fermented honey.”

“Ah, suitable for young lasses and children then.” Max laughed.

“Um, no, it’s for hardy Viking warriors after a long day of building stuff and killing things and, um, spitting.” Konall started to get flustered.

“Verily? Surely you jest.”

“If you mean am I joking, I’m not.”

“As you say, then. So what fate, perchance, falls upon the swans-a-swimming, the ones that no longer swim?”

“Feather dusters.”

“The geese-a-laying?”

“Matched set of coasters.”

“Three-headed poison-spitting platypus of peace?”

“Toe socks.”

“And what of the terrible lag beast?”

“Dinner plates.”

Maximal looked around. “I think thou hast slain every animal within a mile.”

“There’s still a duck up there,” Konall said, knocking an arrow.

“Just leave the duck be. What are you going to do with all the meat?”

“Cash, mostly.”

“And the people who are standing around with empty stomachs and hollow spirits?”

“…can be encouraged by watching capitalism in action.”

“Prithee, what shall they eat.”

“You gathered a lot of greens there Ranger Rick.”

“This cannot feed them all.”

“Course not. A man needs some protein in his diet. Vegetables are what food eats. Oh, all right.” He said something under his breath that might have been “Costing me a fortune” or possibly “Better be tax-deductible.”

“So why do your citizens barter in meat. Where I hail from, gold is the currency of the realm.”

“Well that’s a stupid system. Can’t eat gold. It’s worthless as a metal for forging. Can’t build anything out of it.”

“I suppose it appears fair to the eye.”

“So’s Miss Porktober. We don’t trade her for stuff. Though if someone made an offer I’d give-”

“Food’s done!” said Spaz, kebab in hand. “I cooked it just the way you like it Konall, not at all. And for you Maxi, medium rare.”

Max took his. “Blessings upon your house, Spaz.”

“Mmm… Good grub.”

Max concentrated on his food. “Thank you, spirit of the woodland beast, for giving up your earthly shell that I may be nourished by its essence.”

Konall merely began chowing down.

“Perhaps an attitude of thanksgiving is appropriate, friend.”

“You’re right.” Konall concentrated on his food. “Thank you Konall, for being such an amazing hunter. And thank you little beastie for being to slow and stupid to get away. And an extra thanks for being so delicious.”

Max facepalmed to the best of his ability, though his efforts were insufficient.

Konall turned to Maximal. “So I was thinking, you’ve got the dog whisperer thing going. Why don’t you get your animal pals to help us out?”

“First of, sir, most of them are sitting in a pile next to your gear. Secondly, I have yet to acquaint myself with the local wildlife.”

Konall thought for a second. “What do you know about swamp weasels?” Jorgen began screaming madly.

Max ignored him. “Not much, I fear. Mayhap there is some other creature that could aid us in our quest?”

“I’ll think about it. I’ve run across, killed, eaten, and forged into something useful pretty much everything in these woods. I’ll think of something.”

“And if we’re extremely lucky,” interrupted Spaz, “It’ll even be a good idea.”

The two play off each other well. The next piece, and currently the most recent, is another Live RP.