//------------------------------//
// Entreé 
// Story: The Fat Friar 
// by Ssendam the Masked 
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Two years ago...


I looked over my bulging ripplyness in the mirror. Being a proud man, I flexed my arms, striking a heroic pose in the mirror as best I could.
"Looking good, man, looking good." Then I laughed. Who was I kidding? I was a fat guy, through and through. I weighed in at about 150 kilograms, and it showed. I had a double chin, a large hairy gut and a wide arse. Still, it was perfect for my costume. I slapped my gut, enjoying the wobble of it.
"Let's see if I can drive somebody wild with desire tonight." I picked up my costume, a masterpiece of cloth. 

It was a simple, brown robe, with a mantle and a couple of additional props. Firstly, I hauled on a shirt of cloth, then a layer of faux chain mail. That stuff chafes you something awful if you let it. Then, a pair of underpants, because I refused to let my nether bits enjoy a healthy breeze. That sort of thing is okay for wizards, but not for the Fat Friar. I hauled on my long robe, enjoying how it could serve as an enjoyable bathrobe. To make sure that it didn't flap about unnecessarily, I tied it at the waist with a length of yellowish rope. This assemblage complete, I braced myself for the hard part- shaving myself a monk's tonsure. 

Now, I'd read about how to do this, and watched videos of it being done on Youtube. I grabbed my stone, knelt down, and got to work. It was an interesting process, scraping my hair away on the top, but it was an important part of the character I was playing. I was a friar, a medieval monk who eschewed worldly goods to wander the land, spreading the word of god to all of his parish. So I endured the pain and scraped on, to achieve a perfect tonsure. This was very hard to do- I wanted a fairly large bald spot, but not a wholly shaved head.

Now with a little bald patch on the top of my head, I cleaned up the other parts of my appearance. I shaved my double chin carefully, making sure not to cut myself, as that would just be embarrassing, a friar showing up with a piece of tissue paper stuck to his chin. I threw my razor into my little brown travel bag. In there also was a wine skin, filled with, of course, wine, some bread and cheese, a couple of apples, that sort of thing. It's important to keep the appearance of being a traveller. 

I guess I am a traveller. Ever since I found out about planes and cars, I always liked travelling. Call me a bit mad, but I was prepared to throw everything down if that meant I could see the world. And so, I saw both the good and bad sides of society. You can't really appreciate the skyscrapers of New York without also seeing, firsthand, the beggars in the streets of Berlin and Paris. That's what travelling is all about; seeing the world around you and learning of it. 

I sawyer my hips a bit as I finished my preparations. Everything else done and away, I placed a steel skullcap onto my head, and looked at myself in the mirror. Picking up a simple wooden staff that I made from a piece of driftwood, I tipped my head in greeting.
"Here's looking at you, kid." I fired a finger gun at my reflection, pulled my hood up and walked out ito my car, ready to hit the costume party.

You know something? No matter how far, or how wide you roam, you still call your own country, your own town home. Strange, but true. I could go to New York for a week, and always be glad to get home, even if I really wanted to travel.It's a peculiar thing. I parked my car outside the house, smoothed my robe of creases and rang the doorbell. 

A couple of hours later, and the party was in full swing. I laughed boisterously, drinking beer after beer like there was no tomorrow. For us, there WAS no tomorrow- it was a Saturday night clubbing. Tomorrow, I was going to regret ever thinking about going to this party, but what the hell, the night was young and I was ready to party until I fell over tonight. 

I plopped my wide ass down on a sofa, enjoying a break from the constant talking and dancing. I had eaten a dinner before hand, consisting of an omelette and chips, and now I was feeling pleasantly buzzed.
"Hey, my man!" Normally, I would have grunted at that voice, as it promised only bad things. But right now, with the alcohol pleasantly buzzing around my head like a swarm of bees, I instead greeted the guy with a casual, 'hey.' I really didn't like the guy, but he did work at a liquor store, so we got some, ah, 'employee discount' tonight.

Max was a pretty weird guy. For starters, he was a brony. I'm ambivalent towards bronies in general- some of them are pretty cool. Unfotunately, the 'some' are the vocal minority. Then there are the bronies who everybody hates- even the normal brines. The ones who abandon their friends to watch a show about friendship. How ironic. 
Max was one of those. Before he'd become a brony, he'd had a girlfriend and some hangers-on. Then, he watched the show and his girlfriend had left him. His hangers-on also left. Guy was pretty depressed overall, but tonight the alcohol had rendered him jolly. Tonight, he was wearing a lot of pale white make-up, with a covering of some blue stuff. Apparently, it was a pony nicknamed 'Hugh Jelly' by the fandom. As I said, weird.
"Oh, man, you've gotta try this cocktail, dude!" I looked at it. It was all the colours of the rainbow, in a long glass. 
"Cool, huh? It's known as a 'Rainbow Dash.' So, you wanna drink it, Fat Friar?" I laughed, and downed the thing in a single shot. 

After that, the night became REALLY weird. I vaguely remember getting into a drinking contest (I played to lose,) telling some waif-like girl that I was going to be the next lecturer in Biology on Monday and almost vomiting on her, instead vomiting on a footy jock, and being hit on by some creepy guy wearing a fur suit. Then, I spiralled into unconsciousness. 

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"Bleah..." I sat up, tasting in my mouth the aftertaste of a hangover. I screwed my eyes shut, as apparently they had been removed, pissed on and put back. Every sound- the wind blowing through the grass, the chirping of birds, and the scuttling of insects, seemed deliberately amplified, as if somebody had taped a microphone to my ears. I moaned, wallowing in self-pity and outrage at my own body tormenting me. 

Eventually, the sunlight had decreased in intensity from 'kill eyeballs,' to 'okay, you can see now.' I blearily opened my eyes, then paused.
"Okay, where the fuck am I?" I rasped, wanting a drink of water. I had a hangover, I needed a glass of water to quench my thirst. Standing up, I brushed myself off, getting little bits of grass and dirt off my ass. I looked around.

Apparently, I was in a forest glade somewhere. Which is very strange, considering that the only place like that around here is the Botanic Gardens, and we were on the opposite side of town from there. I tried looking around for any landmarks, but didn't find anything. Eventually, I just sagged in defeat.
"Alright, don't panic. I can find my own way. Just gotta get my phone out..." I whipped it out and looked at it.

No signal. Figures.

With an annoyed sigh, I turned it off entirely. No sense in wasting battery power with no buildings around. I looked at my worldly possessions. My staff and backpack looked back at me innocuously. I sighed, throwing on the backpack and picking up my staff. Thus armed and prepared, I chose a random direction and headed in that way.

After a few minutes of this, I was utterly lost. Still, not everything was bad; my hangover had receded to nothingness and I had taken a drink from my wineskin. Even so, I was watching around me for any sign of civilisation. Hesitantly, I called out.
"Hello?" No answer.
"Hello?" Still no answer.
I shrugged, pressing on. Sooner or later, I'd find civilisation. I walked on, calling out the whole way.

Eventually, I think that I found something of civilisation. A path. I giddily skipped along it, previous tiredness forgotten. Eventually, I came across a large castle, dilipated and seemingly dead. I didn't really care; it was a castle, and castles meant tours, and tours meant civilisation. I ran towards it- well, jogged. 

Entering the castle, I felt a sense of fear, worry and... hunger. Don't judge the fat guy for being hungry, I'd been walking for about two hours, I deserved to be hungry. I sat down on a bench and rummaged through my supplies. I pulled out my small loaf of bread, and tore off a small hunk; until I found people, I was conserving my food supply. I masticated furiously, thinking. Have I ever been to this castle in my life? I leant back, thinking, then sprang back up when I heard what sounded a bit like two hooves hitting the ground. Then, I heard a voice speak.
"I thought that I heard a voice earlier, but maybe not. It may be utter rot." It was an African accent, and female. I stood up. Rescue was at hand!
"Hello?" I called, trying to attract my mysterious rescuer. I heard more two hooves impacting with stone, then  met...
wait wat.

I was looking at a freaking anthropomorphic zebra lady. She was wearing a dark brown robe with a hood. Her intelligent blue eyes regarded me with curiosity. She had a mohawk as well, which looked kind of weird.
How did I know she was female? Easy to answer that; she had tits like a porn star. Seriously, those things had to be the size of my head.

I mentally slapped myself.
Rescue, even if it is by anthro zebra porn stars, is always appreciated.
"What manner of creature are you? Your like, I have not seen, and it seems as if you are in a bit of a to-do." I nodded.
"Yes, I'm rather lost. Could you give me directions to the nearest town, please?" She nodded.
"Follow me."

As we walked through the forest, I struck up a conversation.
"So, uh, what's your name?" She glanced back.
"My name is Zecora, and I am a herbalist. Should you have any ills, then tell me, and I'll see what remedy fits." Seems that she can't speak two sentences without rhyming. I was pretty curious about that.
"So... what's with the rhyming?" I knew that as soon as I'd said that, it was rude. Zecora didn't seem to mind.
"It is a tradition amongst my people. To ask me to stop would be far too steep." Ah, good rhyme there. We walked on, in silence after that. The forest quashed all small talk. Eventually, we came across a run-down hut, which Zecora opened, beckoning me in.

We sat in her house for a while, me sitting politely while she made some tea. 
"I like the masks. Very nice." Did I mention that I utterly failed at small talk. She chuckled, handing me a large cup. I inhaled the scent, then drank a mouthful. 
"The nearest town is a place called Ponyville, just over yonder. Follow the path, and you should see it in all its splendour." I nodded. 
"Ponyville? Bit of an odd name..." I wracked my brains for where I'd heard that name before. Wait a minute... was I in Pony land? Huh. I thought that they were ponies, not anthro porn stars. Still, I was nothing if not a courteous guest. I finished my tea, setting it down.
"Thank you for the tea." I stood up, and walked out. 

I travelled along the path, thinking hard. Was I really in Pony Land? Well, I didn't rightly care. I eventually crested the small hill. There was a bloody treehouse, with animal coops. I walked past it, ignoring it. 

This 'Ponyville' looked positively idyllic, There were buildings that looked like jesters' caps, a library made out of a tree, even- good lord- a giant gingerbread house. It looked so sweet that I was sure that I had diabetes now. I frowned. I much preferred the Everfree forest.