Bully on the Beach

[herculean_wud 3662]

 

Picture this -- the sun has still to take his seat at the highest point in the sky. He is benevolent yet, casting soothing plumes of heat down upon your skin, instead of doling out the midday browbeating that so often kills Orenian peasants out in the provinces.

 

The sand moves gently beneath your feet. The water laps at your toes. On each arm is an Elven maid, and within your hand is a hollowed coconut -- only the finest rum there within, and a slice of lime wedged on the edge. You take a sip, swill the rum around your palette and sigh -- that slice of lime, you think, is emblematic of this perfect slice of heaven.

 

Now stop picturing it. 

 

With a violent wretch, the good Captain awoke, face down in the sand.

 

“Land ho,” He groaned, reattaching his wooden leg that -- either in the maelstrom, or by the hand of his goblin first mate trying to get at the green that was stashed safely inside -- had become untethered. He dragged himself to his feet and took the first few steps of many towards Krugmar. Towards home.

 

 

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