Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Guest Post From Miss Medicina: Dead Horses Don't Lie

A special treat today! Jessabelle of Miss Medicina sent me an email with a guest post in it. Well, rather, she sent me an email with a thinly veiled, in character, personal ribbing, and I love it.  (You may recall that we raid and play together quite a bit, thus hilarity ensues at times.)  If you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at. Besides, this is totally not canon; I mean, my character hasn't held a staff in years. In any case, perhaps you will enjoy it too. I may or may not get to post the rest of the week, as we will be attending GenCon in Indianapolis. If any of you are going, I'll be wearing a red guild hat with my character name on the back of it, so feel free to say hi. Jbelle will be there too. And maybe some horses...

Jessabelle awoke with a start, and on reflex, bubbled, dispersed, and let out a horrendous scream of terror.  After calming down for a few seconds, she attempted to find the source of her rude awakening. She was in her tent, comfortable as can be. She could hear the whinnies and swishing of tails all around her outside of her tent, so she knew she was still parked near the Argent Tournament grounds. But what had awoken her?

THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish.

Arthas’ knees. The idiot was at it again.  Groaning in annoyance, she donned her slightly less sissy robe and stumbled sleepily out of the tent to find her target.

THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish.

Not far from her tent, she located the source of the unLightly racket. A strange scene unfolded before her. Tordun, the lovable and number spouting plated dwarf, was tied to the top of a post. He couldn’t have been happy about his situation, however, it looked as though he’d been asleep for hours, indicated by the drool in his straggly beard.

Standing a few yards away stood an elegant Fuubaar, looking both amused and slightly drunk. Jessabelle caught her friend sneaking a sip from a golden flask and tucking it back in her breastplate as she leaned against another fence post.

THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish.

And there, in the middle, for all to see, stood a very angry looking Warlock beating some poor four legged animal with his staff. Behind him, a small imp bounced around energetically, cackling non-stop about something incoherent. What was his name? TweakerTyke or something? Jessabelle always hated that creepy thing, it annoyed the Light right out of her. Everytime she tried to kick the stupid thing it went invisible too. Pansy.

Jessabelle rolled her eyes and slowly creeped nearer to the loudly rambling Warlock, who was working up a real sweat with his staff-wielding. The animal before her was unidentifiable, and long since dead from the strenuous beating. Granted, it was a Warlock beating on it, so it must have taken a long time.

“Fulguralis. What in Tirion’s New England Accent are you doing?”

The ‘lock looked up, not surprised in the least, but with a strange glint of madness in his eyes. “This horse needed to die. It was diseased! There were problems in the nether…” blah blah blah. Fulguralis began to wave his arms about wildly and ramble even louder than before.

As he continued his hysterical musings, Jessabelle looked over to Fuubaar for help with a questioning look. Fuubaar raised an eyebrow, chuckled and let out a sigh.

“He’s at it again, isn’t he?” Jessabelle asked.

“Yup. Been going since dusk, actually.”

Jessabelle pointed at the Dwarf tied to the pole. “This is new. What’s that about?”

“Well, Ful has to have an audience when he’s on one of his rampages, and I had to run to Dalaran to refill my supply of HappyDrink. I figured Tordun would suffice. He wasn’t very happy about it, but he fell asleep about the time Ful started the segment about his Nether-granted super psychic abilities.”


THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish.

“Clever, Fuu.”

“Yes, thank you. I’m getting better at this.”

Jessabelle turned back to Fulguralis, and decided to once again place herself in the middle of something in which she had absolutely no business .

THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish. THUMP. squish.

“Ful, honey, why don’t you put down that staff, and just take a break for a minute?”  Jessabelle tried.

“NO. THE HORSE MUST DIE.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s dead already, actually.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, dwarf! It’s still bleeding.”

“I don’t think it’s actually actively bleeding, Ful. I think you are just drawing forth all the blood that was already there before it died.”

“Well it’s not dead until all the blood is gone.”

“Blood doesn’t evaporate, Ful. It’s just going to keep spouting blood the more you beat it.”

“Well then it’s not very dead, is it?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s dead.”

“What level of certainty do you have in that estimation?”

“At least 99.9%.”

“Well there’s still that .1%.”

“I said ‘At least’!”

“At least doesn’t mean less!”

“It means it could possibly be more!”

“Not necessarily.”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT, FUL.”

“It’s an important component TO the point, J-belle! You can’t ignore all the relevant details!!”

“We’re arguing about semantics again, aren’t we?”

“SEMANTICS ARE IMPORTANT TOO. Also, how do you know blood doesn’t evaporate? Things that are dead should not bleed.”

Jessabelle and Fulguralis continued to argue for ten minutes about the proper way to determine if a dead horse is, in fact, dead, and then whether the beaten beast before them was actually a horse in the first place. Somewhere during this heated debate they also ventured down various lines of argument regarding animal husbandry, and the proper way to determine the sex and genus of a beast of burden until Fuubaar finally cut in.

“Jessabelle, I don’t think you’re actually helping this situation. Ful, put the Light-damned staff away.”

“Not until Jbelle admits that there is a possibility that this beast is not entirely dead!”

“IT’S PRETTY BLOODY DEAD, FUL. STOP BEATING IT.”

Fuubaar glared at Jessabelle, and whispered “If you don’t tell him what he wants to hear, this will continue on for weeks, Jbelle.”

“But he is so blatantly wrong, and in complete denial about it! He can’t go on continually thinking he’s right about something so obvious!”

“You’ve got a lot to learn sweetheart. I would like to sleep sometime this week, thanks.”

The raised voices had apparently awoken Tordun, and he whimpered. “Can you pass a bit of that liquid over this way, lass? Feelin’ a bit parched.”

Fuubaar swaggered over to the post, and lifted her flask somewhere near the vicinity of Tordun’s bearded mouth, and proceeded to pour some of it on his beard. Tordun seemed satisfied, and slurped some of the liquid from the hairs on his face.

Fuubaar gave Jessabelle a look that plainly said “Well?”

Jessabelle sighed, stamped her foot, and turned back to Fulguralis. With gritted teeth, she succumbed. “FINE, Ful. There is a slight, almost nonexistent, but still there in some small way, chance that the beast is not actually entirely and completely demolished.”

Fulguralis gave a smug smile, and nodded approvingly. “That is correct. And since that is the case, it’s important I make sure that this evil and diseased beast is fully and completely dead, for the good of all Azeroth.”

Fulguralis lifted his staff to begin again as Jessabelle groaned in misery and Tordun began to weep. Both were caught off guard by the swift cast of Repentance by Fuubaar.

Fulguralis stood stunned and immobile, and Jessabelle glanced over to Fuu with a smirk.

In the next edition of “Adventures with Fulguralis”, the manly warlock seeks the source of the [Shimmering Scarf of Tact] worn by all of his companions, only to decide that it’s a pointless piece of epic loot anyway, and he’s far too superior to need it.

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