| Skeletons In My Closet; Hup, Hup, they're in my closet now | |
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| Topic Started: Aug 17 2011, 10:14 AM (33 Views) | |
| scarththegrim | Aug 17 2011, 10:14 AM Post #1 |
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"Forty eight years of living, eh?" Scarth Maheart, horse farmer extraordinaire or deranged zoophile (pending on who you asked) sipped from a bucket of water docked outside of Eco's tavern. Scarth had recently learned his ban was still in force. Barkeeps were far too sensitive about trying to impregnate their daughters with equine semen. It wasn't like he had done anything sexual to her. Now, he was stuck sitting out on the street with his horses, Muffins and Lyra. Next to him sat a very lean, bony gentleman. "Brains?" the gentleman replied. His hollow stare focused on Scarth's dome. "I wish. You know I suggested that to their cook once, even gave him a recipe and explained how the high protein did wonders for muscle development. But noooo! Noone wants to eat the brains of a wolf, he says. Yet they'll use the intestine in their sausage. Savages." Scarth rambled. "Brains." the gentleman sighed. Scarth nodded his agreement. "You know, you're an easy person to talk to my friend. Most of this village insists on remaining in the stone age, refusing to make any scientific progress. But you, you know just how important brains are. If we don't allow our brains to grow, we'll never reach the potential the gods intend of us. And we can't access our brains unless we're willing to dig deep and get a little messy." Scarth continued his rant, getting more and more fervent with each word. |
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7:45 AM Jun 21