8. The Most Definitely Final Dungeon
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to bring them to your house?” Juniper asked, watching as Twilight put the last of the perfectly sharpened pencils on the table in her room. “Your friends can be a bit, I’d say, uncivilised.”
“That’s because you haven’t seen Shining Armor’s friends playing,” Twilight replied. “And in case something goes wrong, remember that this is my laboratory.” She grabbed a scalpel that was lying on one of the shelves. “Mischief makers will be experimented on.”
“Then I’m already starting to make a cover story in case Lemon or Sugarcoat disappears.” Juniper shook her head. “Maybe alien abduction? Though actual aliens would probably kick Lemon out, once they find out she doesn’t mind being probed. As for Sugarcoat–”
“Wait a minute, I gotta tell Sunny that we’re meeting at my place.” Twilight walked to one of the laptops and turned on the communicator. After a while, she saw the inside of Sunny’s room on the webcam. It wasn’t a pretty sight – empty energy drink cans were everywhere, and Sunny was nodding off with her face on the keyboard, wearing a pink headset with cat ears.
“Hi, thanks for the bits,” Sunny muttered, her eyes shooting open. “Oh, it’s you, Twilight! I’ve been streaming chess for the whole night.”
“Someone pays to watch this?” Juniper asked.
“You have no idea.” Sunny yawned and looked at the energy drink cans, picking some of them up. “Also, I know we’re meeting at your place. Lemon said her carpet had a ‘Friday night accident’, and as you can see, my room met the same fate.”
“Are you spying on Twilight?” Juniper exclaimed.
“People think covering the camera works, but they never remember about the speakers,” Sunny replied.
“It’s okay, I have access to her computer too,” Twilight said. “It’s a bit of a challenge going on for years now.”
“I’d start having trust issues,” Juniper muttered.
“Don’t worry, we don’t know about this video you’ve made with your boyfriend. Also, I hope you’re not allergic to Greek food because my mathematical model says there’s a 99.8% chance that Indigo will bring gyros and baklava.” Sunny took a sip from one of the cans and winced. “Eww, seems I’ve already drank this one.”
“How so?” Twilight asked.
“You know, I didn’t want to leave the computer, so I used the can when I had to–”
Juniper slammed the laptop shut. “Sorry, my supply of brain bleach didn’t arrive yet.”
“You’d better get some before the evening, then,” Twilight said.
Juniper shook her head. “Oh, I surely will!”
Lemon, Sour, and Sunny were the first to arrive – Lemon’s battered Yugo finally got repaired and although driving it was still an unforgettable experience, at least it was in working condition. Sugarcoat arrived soon after, but Indigo was nowhere to be found. Juniper looked at the clock and at the door, but it didn’t bring Indigo to Twilight’s house.
“Does she even know where you live?” Juniper asked.
“Even if she didn’t, she’d somehow get here,” Sugarcoat replied. “You could drop Indigo in the middle of Alaska and she’d find a way back home. Quite unlike Sunny, I’m afraid.”
“If I ended up in Alaska, I’d just get internet connection in the middle of nowhere, call the cavalry, and wait for them while drinking moonshine with grizzly bears,” Sunny replied.
“Moonshine?” Sugarcoat shook her head. “We’re talking Alaska, not Siberia.”
“Joke’s on you, there are no grizzly bears in Siberia,” Sunny replied. “Also, reminds me of a joke, but the punchline is in Russian. As in, a bunch of Americans go hunting with Russians–”
“I hope Indigo comes before it becomes unbearable,” Lemon muttered.
Sour groaned. “You just had to say that, didn’t you? Although while we’re at it, my favourite bears are two white ones.”
“Why?” Juniper asked.
“Because they’re bi-polar.” Sour chuckled. “For the record, only I can tell this one.”
Now it was Juniper’s turn to groan. “Why did I even ask… If you were a guy, you’d get kicked in the ball bearings for this one.”
“One more pun and I’m leaving,” Sugarcoat muttered.
“Exit, pursued by a bear?” Twilight asked. Sugarcoat sent her a death glare.
“–Nyet, my strielali.” Sunny said. “I guess you didn’t get it?”
“Maybe it’ll be a surprise to you, but the only person I know who spoke Russian was my great-grandmother, and she was so old that she probably learned it from Rasputin.” Sugarcoat shrugged.
“Well, now you know me too,” Sunny said. “I mean, I talked to a hacker from Khanty-Mansiysk a few times, and I started to learn.”
Before Sugarcoat could respond, Lemon’s phone started to ring – or rather, it let out a loud guitar riff. Lemon picked it up. “Indigo? Where are you? Wait, I’ll turn on the speaker.”
“Something stopped me for a moment,” Indigo said. “Do you want some doner kebab? I’d also get borek with feta, but I don’t remember which of you is allergic to feta.”
“Sugarcoat is allergic to everything,” Sunny said, looking at her wrist device and tapping the screen furiously. “Weren’t you supposed to get Greek food today?”
“How do you know?” Indigo asked. “The Greek place was closed, so I went to the Turkish bar just to piss off the Greeks. I think they don’t like each other, right?”
“Huh.” Sugarcoat raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were aware that those countries exist, not to mention the relations between them.”
“I only know because of food and sports,” Indigo replied. “Sour should know that too. There was that Greek dude, Achilles or something? He won a gold medal in archery at the olympics, I think? Then he had a tendon injury.”
“Let’s say you’re in the right geographical region and leave it at that.” Twilight shook her head. “Also, I’ll get mixed sauces, no onion.”
“Same,” Lemon said. “Also, come here quick. The girls are becoming unbearable.”
Sugarcoat sighed. “Lemon, shut up.”
“What took you so long?” Sunny asked when Indigo finally showed up in Twilight’s room, carrying several bags with her. “Did you go to Istanbul to buy this kebab, or what?”
“I got stopped at the border between Greece and Turkey.” Indigo rolled her eyes. “Pork with curry sauce for you, right? Did I miss something?”
“Sunny speaks Russian, somehow,” Sour Sweet replied. “Although I still can’t believe that you and Lemon know sign language. I mean, Lemon is slightly crazy about helping people and stuff, but you?”
“Why is everyone always surprised that I know things?” Indigo asked. “Sugarcoat and Sunny know ten ways to fuck you up whenever you move a chess piece, Lemon can hear a difference between two notes that sound exactly the same, and I know the location of ammo racks in every tank in the world. Also, sign language.” She made a complicated gesture with one hand, holding a kebab in the other.
“Did you just tell Sour to get stuffed?” Lemon asked.
“Maybe.” Indigo smirked. “Let’s get back to the game, okay?”
“Where’s Hunzrin and his jolly company?” Fafhrd asked. The corridor was getting lower and the barbarian kept bumping his head against the ceiling. “I need to kick someone’s ass.”
Gray Mouser coughed. “At this point we may get a beating from an ogre defending his swamp, you know. Not to mention that our enemy is Dagon.”
“Dagon-shmagon,” Sour muttered. “Do you think demons can resist a well-aimed arrow to the face?”
“Actually, they can shove the bow up yer ass before ye even think of shooting it,” Gmork replied. “Gmork means, that’s a bit like shooting a god. Ye get a lightning bolt to the face in return.”
I’d like to see that. Charlene looked at Sour and smirked. The Sour Elf is in a desperate need of getting something shoved up her ass.
“What are you talking about?” Sour asked. “This gesture looked familiar…”
Charlene chuckled.
“She’s very interested in your bow,” Fafhrd said, tripping over something and knocking over a stalagmite. “I stepped into something gross.”
“It’s a rotten skin kite,” Gray Mouser replied. “Must’ve been lying here since the third edition…”
“I also found those funny rocks.” The barbarian said.
“Don’t touch this!” Sour exclaimed, her eyes widening. She grabbed the bow and looked at the ceiling, aiming in the darkest spots.
“Why?” Fafhrd asked.
“Those are hook horror’s eggs, you moron,” Sour replied.
“Shit.” Gmork backpedalled. “Gmork reckons the mommy is somewhere here?”
“The hook horror, the cultists, the whole fucking menagerie,” Sour said, aiming her bow at the ceiling.
Guess it’s time for a tactical retreat. Charlene backpedalled, hiding between the stalagmites. Fafhrd followed her, bumping into more rocks and cursing loudly.
“Shut up,” Sour muttered. “I think the cultists are somewhere here. Not to mention that I can’t see the hook horror.”
“What if we sic the hook horror on the cultists?” Gray Mouser asked. “Two birds with one stone or rather, two heretics with one clawed beasts.”
“No, we’re not doing this!” Sour exclaimed. “We’ll be in the middle of the fight, between the cultists and the hook horrors. Also, how are you even going to steal the eggs from the nest without getting cut to pieces?”
“Well, we’re already here,” Fafhrd said. “Also, in case you don’t know, the omelette made of hook horror’s eggs is a barbarian delicacy, but only if you steal the eggs from the nest yourself. It tastes like hornets and it may kill you, but if you can’t stomach it, then you can’t call yourself a man. Also, it’s good for chest hair.”
“You’ve just made that up,” Sour said.
“Only the bit about hornets. They’re sweeter.” The barbarian smiled sheepishly.
Sour rolled her eyes. “No, we’re still not doing this!”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Hunzrin muttered, picking up a dwarf’s skull and looking at it. “Years of preparations and we have to chase a bunch of idiots across the dungeon.”
“We should’ve had them executed on sight,” Finnan Tealeaf said. He was bruised and battered, but unlike Perrin Tosscobble, he was still able to walk. “Especially Jolly Sackville-Baggins. He’s just evil.”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me about being evil.” Hunzrin muttered. “But I agree they’re too dangerous to be kept alive. We’ll find them and skin them, or my name isn’t Hunzrin Hundsfott!”
He spun dramatically, but the mood was immediately ruined by something large and slimy splashing on his head. The rest of his detachment, mostly drows and half-orcs laughed. Hunzrin wiped the slime off his face and winced, looking at it.
“What was that?” Finnan asked. “Some cave bird’s shit?”
“No.” Hunzrin looked at the slime on the floor and saw a small, bug-like creature thrashing in it. “Though now that I think about it, I’d prefer it to be shit.”
“What is it?” Finnan asked.
“The good news is, those guys are already dead,” Hunzrin said. “The bad news is, we’ll soon follow them if–”
He was deafened by an agonising roar, echoing across the caves. He raised his bow, looking at the place the egg fell from while his soldiers backpedalled, keeping the tight formation. They looked around.
Still, the sight of Sour jumping from the corridor above them with a somersault wasn’t something they expected. Especially since she was followed by a huge mass of chitin and long, sharp claws.
“Fafhrd, I’ll kill you!” Sour exclaimed just as the entrance of the tunnel burst into flames. Charlene, Gmork, and Fafhrd darted out of it, followed by two more hook horrors.
“Fire!” Hunzrin shouted, firing the bow at the nearest hook horror. The arrow bounced off the chitin armour, but a few more arrows found its mark and the hook horror thrashed, hitting a few cultists and beheading one of them. Hunzrin turned back and saw Sour shooting more arrows at the hook horror.
“Aren’t you with them?” he asked.
“Well, for once I like not being dead.” Sour replied, firing the arrow at the other hook horror’s eye. It screeched and waved its claws, almost cutting Fafhrd in half. The barbarian dropped to the floor and pierced the monster’s underbelly with his sword, yanking it out and cutting off the hand of a cultist trying to stab him in the back.
“Yeah, I can go with that.” Hunzrin shrugged, slowly reaching for the knife he had up his sleeve. “Maybe you should leave them and–” He grabbed the knife and tried to stab Sour, only to hear his blade hit one of Sour’s hunting knives.
“Cooperation with a side of treason?” Sour smirked. “I’d rather be open about my feelings!” She raised the hunting knife and tried to stab the drow, who jumped back. Sour charged at him, slitting the throat of a cultist trying to stop her. Hunzrin grabbed a sword, barely dodging one of Gmork’s bombs and rushed through flames to reach Sour. She dodged the blow, and jumped over Hunzrin’s head, landing on the hook horror’s back and smirking.
“I think it’s easy to be open about your feelings when you’re standing on the top of a death machine,” Hunzrin muttered, spinning the sword and dodging the hook horror’s claws to sink the blade in the creature’s head. The monster screeched, dropping Sour on the floor.
Letting out a battle cry, Hunzrin ran towards Sour and raised his sword. He was about to stab the elf, when he felt the sword suddenly getting heavier, almost falling out of his hands. He turned back and saw Fafhrd holding his sword down. Flames, dying cultists, and screeching hook horrors made for a nice background for this unforgettable picture.
Hunzrin frowned. “You–”
“My name is Indigo Montoya,” Fafhrd said. “You killed my father. Prepare to die.” With these words, he punched the drow, who flew across the room, hit the wall, and lay there, motionless.
“Did he kill your father?” Sour asked.
“No, but I always wanted to say that.” The barbarian chuckled. “Let’s see how the rest are doing.”
“I see Gmork and Charlene brought in the fireworks.” Sour grabbed her bow and shot at the feeling cultist. “Where’s that Mother Nature’s illegitimate son, Gray Mouser?”
Fafhrd shrugged. “We lost him when running away from the hook horrors.”
“He might be dog food now,” Sour said. “Also, you should totally name your next character Indigo Montoya.”
“We should look for him, though.” Fafhrd dodged a burning cultist running around in circles, and almost tripped over a dead hook horror. “Hmm, is anyone alive here anyway?”
Charlene dropped on her knees in front of the barbarian, panting heavily. She raised her hand – it was almost too shaky to properly express her thoughts. If Gmork doesn’t stop throwing bombs at people on fire while we’re underground, we can choose between getting fried, exploding, getting crushed by the ceiling or suffocating.
“Didn’t you start the fire?” Fafhrd asked.
It was always burning. Charlene smiled sheepishly. Since the world’s been turning.
“A Mystic, indeed.” Fafhrd shook his head. “Where’s Gmork?”
“Gmork found someone alive,” the half-orc said, dragging someone short and clad in a black, torn robe. For a moment Sour, Charlene, and Fafhrd thought it was Gray Mouser, but once Gmork turned the body around to lie on its back, it turned out to be a different halfling.
“Finnan Tealeaf!” Sour exclaimed. “How come people keep dying around you and you still turn up alive?”
“It’s harder to hit a halfling,” Finnan muttered.
Sour turned to Fafhrd and chuckled. “That’d explain why Gray Mouser was your only companion. All the taller ones got hit by missed sword blows.”
“Maybe.” The barbarian groaned. “Anyway, we’ll better find our necromancer.”
“Actually…” Finnan chuckled. “My old body sucked already, but after getting trampled by hook horrors it became rather tedious to use. Luckily, I’ve always been preparing for this, so I kinda became the pissed-off ghosts guided by unconditional faith in Tharizdun. And let’s say that poor FInnan Tealeaf failed a charisma check pretty hard…”
“Gray Mouser?” Fafhrd asked. “Huh, now that’s a feat.”
“Fucking halflings are immortal now…” Sour shook her head.
“Is Finnan Tealeaf still there?” Gmork asked, looking at the body.
“Yes, and he’s pissed,” Gray Mouser replied. “So far I basically put him in the basement, but he may get out at some point. Charlene, did you want to say something?” he asked, looking at the innkeeper’s daughter, who furrowed her eyebrows.
“Son of a bitch!” Lemon exclaimed.
“What’s wrong?” Sugarcoat asked.
“When I die, I die for real, but you just get another halfling to play with?!” Lemon groaned and turned to Twilight. “How did she even do that?”
“Well, if I didn’t find Finnan, I’d possess Indigo,” Sugarcoat said. “This was my backup plan in case of death, you know.”
“Why didn’t I have a backup plan in case of death?” Lemon asked.
“You’re not insane,” Sunny replied. “I’m pretty sure Sugarcoat is already planning to screw us over and turn us into zombies or run with the money.”
“I’d say she’s far more pragmatic.” Twilight chuckled. “She’ll turn you into the undead to help her carry the money.”
Juniper smirked. “If you two ever decide to become supervillains, call me. Just get me my mirror back, then I can turn into a huge, angry movie star.”
“Twilight can turn into a demon that rips holes in time and space without the mirror,” Sugarcoat said. “Or at least, she was able to do this before, but then she got struck with the magic friendship beam or something. Just in time to get Lemon a new pair of underwear and go to a party.”
“Hey!” Lemon exclaimed. “If I recall correctly, I wasn’t the one who needed a new pair of underwear.”
“I can tell she spent the whole day wearing the same panties.” Sour gave Sugarcoat a glare. “Anyway, Sugarcoat is kinda undead now, the cultist party got wiped out, and Hunzrin is apparently down to one hit point, somehow. Do we heal him and interrogate him?”
Juniper shuddered. “Last time you and Lemon tried to interrogate me, my head exploded.”
“We’ll be gentle, this time.” Sour smirked in a way that made Juniper think of bathroom doors and fire axes.
“I have a strange sense of deja vu,” Hunzrin muttered, waking up only to find out that his party had been wiped out and that he was lying in the ruins of a scorched underground hall, surrounded by carcasses of dead hook horrors. He looked up and saw two people looking at him – or rather, an elf with a psychotic grin and a plain-looking girl wearing a simple canvas robe. “What do you want?”
“Information,” Sour replied. “I want either information or to put an arrow in your ass and spin it, but the choice is largely up to you. Where do we find Dagon?”
Charlene made a few quick gestures.
“What did she say?” Sour asked.
“Something like, ‘we don’t want to find Dagon, we want to find the gold stash and run as far away from Dagon as possible’,” Fafhrd replied. “Which is also my opinion.”
“Yes, but if we run away with Dagon’s gold, he’ll rip us a new one.” Sour rolled her eyes. “Remember Sinbad?”
“Oh great, so we’ll go to Dagon and let him rip us a new one so he doesn’t have to bother going across half of the world.” Gray Mouser groaned. “Great plan. How exactly do you want to kill Dagon?”
“By having someone more powerful on our side,” Sour replied. “Aren’t you pals with Tharizdun?”
“I think he’s getting more and more amused by my exploits.” Suddenly, Gray Mouser’s left hand raised, flipping Sour off. Gray Mouser looked at it and smacked it with his right hand. “I don’t know why it does this.”
Hunzrin furrowed his eyebrows. “Do all halflings look the same, or are you Finnan Tealeaf?”
“I borrowed his body,” Gray Mouser replied. “And you shut up, unless you can tell us how to kill Dagon or at least convince him not to rip us a new one.”
“Only the Chancellor can talk to Dagon,” Hunzrin replied. “Also, while we are at it, our gold stash is located near the Chancellor’s chambers.”
“How convenient,” Gmork muttered. “So, we just go there, beat up the grandpa, ask him to tell Dagon to bugger off, and take the gold? This should be simple.”
“Tell that to Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, and Kit Fisto,” Fafhrd said.
“Who?”
“The Jedi who tried to arrest the Chancellor with Mace Windu.” The barbarian smiled sheepishly. “Old barbarians said this tale happened a long time ago in a Galaxy far, far away.”
“Chill out,” Sour said. “It’s not Star Wars, he can’t be this dangerous.” She turned to Hunzrin. “Can he?”
“He talks with Dagon as equal,” Hunzrin replied. “Take a guess.”
“Yeah, we should be fine,” Gray Mouser said. “I mean, we can always end up as undead, after which we could do crazy stuff without being afraid of death.”
“Or our souls can be consumed by some insane abomination,” Sour replied. “We need to approach carefully. After getting stabbed in the back a few times, the guy should be a bit easier to defeat.”
“I hate stealth-based missions!” Fafhrd exclaimed. “Also, how can it be stealthy if we have to drag this elf parody around as our guide? He’ll betray us at the first occasion.”
Do we really need him? Charlene ended the signs by snapping her fingers, causing a small flame to appear above her hand.
“What did she say?” Hunzrin asked.
“Gmork has no idea, but he knows she enjoys a good roast,” Gmork replied, smirking. “But I guess this won’t be necessary…”
“Why is it so dark here?” Fafhrd whispered, trying to walk through the narrow corridor with the grace of a battleship navigating its way through a bathtub.
“So inferior humans with no night vision could ask stupid questions,” Sour whispered back. She looked around. “Where’s Hunzrin?”
Charlene waved her hand and pointed at the drow, who was smiling at a large stack of coins. After being forced to drink one of the potions Gmork had in his luggage, walking and smiling at things was the most he could do.
“What did you give to him anyway?” Gray Mouser asked.
“One of Gmork’s failed attempts at creating grease,” Gmork replied. “Gmork means, it works as grease if ye don’t mind seein’ dragons after inhaling it. Also, sometimes it causes bloody diarrhea, but seems drows don’t exhibit these symptoms.”
“If so, he’ll stop being stealthy.” Fafhrd muttered. “Also, look at all those coins!” He grabbed a handful of gold and shoved them under his armour.
“Shut up,” Sour whispered. “And stop ringing with those coins or the Chancellor will hear us.”
“Isn’t this the point?” the barbarian asked.
“No, the point is to see him before he sees us and summons an army of cultists,” Gray Mouser replied. “We ran out of hook horrors, you know.”
“Okay.” Fafhrd looked around. “Where exactly is his office? Or does he have business hours?”
“I can assure you my office is open all the time.” A cold voice echoed across the hall full of coins. “Also, you’d better give me back my money, you stupid oaf.”
The lights turned on, revealing the man clad in dark, stylish robe, carrying a long stick. Sour raised her bow and fired at him, but he blocked the arrow with his weapon effortlessly.
“Nice try.” He chuckled. “I’d even let you go with the money, but it’s a matter of principles, you know. How am I going to terrorise the whole continent if someone hears I paid a bunch of imbeciles to leave me alone? I already had a lot of work with Sinbad.” He rolled his eyes.
“Just great,” Sour muttered. “That’s some fucking bureaucrat.”
“Hardly.” The Chancellor smirked. “Though I admit, taking over the world will probably be impossible without at least some bureaucracy. I already had to gather all that money, as if the power of Dagon wasn’t enough for conquest.”
Charlene turned to Fafhrd. Maybe I should fire him?
“Just try.” The chancellor chuckled.
“Alright, we gotta focus and attack him all at once,” Gray Mouser said. “Or else–”
“Fafhrd, son of Onan!” Fafhrd exclaimed, raising the axe and charging at the chancellor.
The halfling shrugged. “Well, this works too.”
The Chancellor spun his staff, blocking the axe and another of Sour’s arrows. Gmork grabbed a handful of coins and threw them at the opponent, who didn’t even notice this – mainly because Charlene just attacked him with fire.
“Don’t burn us, you idiot!” Sour exclaimed, sliding on a pile of coins and landing in front of Gmork in a definitely not elf-like pose. “Don’t you have something more useful?” she asked. “Like grenades or something? At least a coin launcher.”
“Gmork will see what Gmork can do,” Gmork replied, producing a pouch with some grenades. He took one of them, weighing it in his hand and then tossed the entire pouch in the general direction of flames.
The explosion showered them with coins, ripping a part of the cave’s roof apart. Sour dodged a falling stalactite and dropped on the ground next to Fafhrd, who screamed; he was missing a part of his armour and the blade of his axe was glowing red from the heat.
The barbarian looked around and turned to Gmork. “Before we lost contact, Charlene said something like, ‘this dumb cunt Sunny is trying to kill me again’, you know.”
“Gmork doesn’t know who’s Sunny.” The half-orc shrugged. “Did she at least succeed?”
The flames disappeared. The Chancellor stood in the middle of molten gold, smirking a bit despite horrible burns covering most of his body.
“You fools!” he exclaimed. “Did you think this is my final form?” He closed his eyes and lowered his head as a mass of grotesque tentacles erupted from his body, twitching and coiling around the cave in a twisted mass of deformed flesh.
“Great, Twilight is a fan of Dragon Ball,” Fafhrd muttered. “Brace yourselves, this is gonna be a long fight.”
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Bad and naughty players get put in the Science Chamber.
Makes sense to me.
Heh. You can't keep a good necromancer down. That's what makes them a good necromancer!
Sorry, Juniper, but "ten-foot tall diva" doesn't compare to "dark angel of fractured space and twisted science."
Now, now. Frieza didn't invent the multi-form boss. But yeah, this is going to suck. The question is whether the collateral damage will kill everyone before the eldritch blob gets the chance.
A long fight, but a good one! And another great chapter, Samey!
10504524
I'm pretty sure Lemon would like to see the Science Chamber...
I guess the only way is to get a wooden stake...
Oh yeah, especially since Juniper's demon form wasn't all that impressive (as opposed to regular Juniper, who's pretty cute).
And that's why it's Sunny who's the resident anime expert.
Heh. Love the end there.
Beware confusing Greek Coffee and Turkish Coffee within earshot of Greeks and/or Turks. Especially if you value your kneecaps.
That's on par with belonging to the wrong football club.
10506686
And probably ends just as badly...
10509725
Close.
https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Lobelia_Sackville-Baggins
10509989
Yeah, I'm better with faces and voices than I am with names. The secret to faces is in the cheekbones. Without some form of injury or surgery the cheekbones remain the same once you stop growing.
My favorite spanish horror film ever, done by one of the same guys who did re-animator.
Jolly Sackville-Baggins keeps cracking me up for some reason.
Everything except name and country was wrong.
10879840
Well, she's onto something with the tendon injury.
The anecdote about the grizzly hunt? We usually tell it about the Georgian hunters, not Russian - with thick Georgian accent. And the Georgia that is Transcaucasian country, not the state of the USA.
10941858
I'm not sure anyone in here could do a Georgian accent, so there we are. Also, the Transcaucasian Georgia is funnier because of the wine and stuff.