The Trials of Shmarity: an Ogres and Oubliettes Story

by TheMessenger

3. Out of the Abyss

3. Out of the Abyss

It could’ve been worse. There were certainly far more disgusting brown, wet, and sticky things out there she could’ve landed in. And at least the mud had softened the impact, leaving her bruised rather than broken. Yes, all things considered, everything could’ve been much, much worse.

The thought didn’t exactly cheer her up.

Slowly, Rarity picked herself out of the muddy puddle, letting out a soft groan with the least amount of mouth movement possible to avoid getting any wet dirt inside. She cleaned her hooves as best she could, flicking the excess mud off before wiping them against each other. Once satisfied, or at the very least as close to satisfied as she could get with her limited capacities, Rarity moved on to her face, taking hold and flinging off large clumps of mud from her cheeks and snout, and wringing out what she could from her mane.

She needed a bath, a hot one, with several bars of soap and bottles of body wash and shampoo followed by a second hot bath for a proper rinse. Maybe a third just to be safe.

With the mud now out of her eyes, Rarity took a moment to look over herself and her surroundings. There was nothing she could for the dress, and as much as she hated its gaudy style and color, Rarity couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for its ruin. The shackles and chains around her legs had vanished, as did the castle’s walls and all of its furnishings and inhabitants. Instead, she found herself staring in a field under a bright and open sky. Several stalks of corn or possibly wheat, some sort of crop in any case, grew a little distance away while on the other side were a few heads of grazing cows. A small collections of cottages could be seen, with smoke rising from the chimneys and villagers, ponies from what Rarity could tell, rushing down the dirt road leading out to the field.

The same dirt road she had landed in, Rarity swiftly realized as she watched those ponies grow larger and closer. Were they friendly? In league with those ruffians and that talking squid? None of them appeared armed, but Rarity couldn’t be sure. She started to take a step back only to stumble and nearly collapse as the world began to wobble and shake. Her stomach churned, and a growing lump in her throat threatens to reach her mouth.

“Whoa! Miss, you alright?”

There was a comforting rural twang to those words. It reminded her a bit of home.

“Fine. Just—“

Rarity leaned over and heaved out what little was in her stomach onto the ground. Hooves firmly grasped over her shoulders, holding her steady. “Hey, that’s alright,” the voice said. “Better out than in. Probably.”

“Wait, isn’t that.” There was a new voice, younger than the first, female, but with the same country accent. “It is! Pa, it’s the princess.”

“What are you, wait.” The first voice gasped. “Heavens above, you’re right! What in tarnations?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Another newcomer, male. “It can’t be. Y’all know they’ve got her.”

“Just look at her!” the female said. “There’s no mistaking it. Those adventurers must have rescued her!”

“But—“

“Let’s get her inside first,” the one holding her interjected. “Princess or not, she needs our help. Come on, miss. Can you walk?”

Rarity nodded weakly and took an wobbly step. Strong hooves caught her before she fell back onto the ground. “Here, miss, lean on me.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, accepting the offered shoulder. The nausea had passed, and in its place came a wave of exhaustion and lightheadedness. Every step she dragged through the dirt was an effort. A young filly pranced nearby, the owner of the female voice perhaps. Every so often, she’d run up right in front of Rarity and stare in awe, looking up at the tired mare as she cantered backwards until she was shooed away.

More ponies were arriving. Curious mutters and questions filled the air, blending into an incomprehensible cacophony. Some voices were raised, then came the sounds of bickering and arguing, none of which Rarity could understand. The noise grew louder, approaching unbearable, and her dizziness became worse, driving Rarity to close her eyes for a brief respite.

When she opened them, she found herself indoors, sitting on a stool at a small table. A mare walked over to her, her cherry colored mane mostly hidden under a gray bandanna, and set down a cup.

“Here,” the mare said. “You look like you could use a drink. It’s nothing fancy though, just water. Sorry.”

Rarity nodded her thanks and raised the cup to her lips. The first sip of cool water drove away the dryness of her mouth and tongue. The second sip returned feeling to her throat. Rest of the cup soon followed.

“Thank you, madam,” Rarity said after a short refreshed sigh.

“It’s nothing, Princess. Another?”

“Please.”

The cup was filled then emptied. The previous vertigo had been banished, and though she was still feeling tired and somewhat weak, Rarity was now coherent enough to take stock of her new surroundings and notice the din of raised voices just outside.

“Is something the matter?” Rarity asked, gesturing toward the door that muffled most of the argument.

“Hm? Oh, that.” The mare shook her head. “Don’t worry about that, Princess. Just some ponies who’ve forgotten their manners. You just focus on getting better first. Hungry? It ain’t much, but we’ve got a bit of leftover stew and some bread.”

Her empty stomach gurgled its approval. When was the last time she had eaten? Her last opportunity had been in that cell in the tower, and Rarity had left that sickly broth and crusty loaf largely untouched. “That would be lovely, please.”

“Right away.” The mare stepped up to what appeared to be a crude stove and opened a cabinet at the base, revealing a couple of still smoldering embers. “Just got to heat it up a bit,” she said with an apologetic smile as she began feeding the embers chopped pieces of wood. A plate of bread was placed on the table, a little less than half a full loaf, but it was certainly a fresher morsel than what had been offered earlier today.

Had it only been a day? It couldn’t have been more than an hour or so since she first awoken in that damp, dark cell, but so much had happened since, it might as well been ages ago. The walking skeletons, the knight in black, those massive castle walls, the keep, the silly talking squid.

Discord with long, flowing hair. Spike, unresponsive, motionless.

Lifeless.

Rarity took a deep breath and held down a shaking hoof with the other. No, she couldn’t be sure that was the case, and if she was going to figure a way out of this whole disaster, she needed to keep a level head. No unnecessary thoughts, no jumping to the worst assumption.

The first step was determining where in Equestria she was. Rarity gave the room another once-over, looking for distinctive souvenirs or pictures, posters of landmarks or flags from local sport teams, anything that could be a clue. The kitchenette was bare, with only the stone stove as an appliance. There wasn’t even a sink or a refrigerator in sight.

The cottage itself was impressively small, making even Fluttershy’s cozy abode seem opulent. From her position, she could see just about every corner of the home. The only other pieces of furniture besides the table she was at and its companion stools were a couple of lumpy, frameless mattresses.

“Princess?”

The mare had returned with a bowl of thick stew. Rarity’s mouth began to water at the fragrance of the dish set before her. “It ain’t much,” the mare said again with a rueful, sad smile, “but I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Rarity repaid the smile with an appreciative one of her own. “It looks wonderful. Thank you.”

The mare brightened, either at the gesture or at the simple compliment, perhaps even from both. She placed a wooden spoon beside the bowl and stepped back to tend the pot on the stove. Rarity stared at the utensil for a moment, recalling her attempts to use magic and the subsequent discovery. Figuring out where her horn went, finding out where she was, somehow saving Spike and Discord from whatever was ailing which also probably meant getting them away from that squid, she was going to have to come up with a priority list.

Her stomach rumbled. First on the list, food, Rarity decided with a blush as she picked up the spoon after some practice. The stew was a warm hearty blend of squash, pumpkin, and onion with chunks of carrots and potatoes. A simple affair, the only seasoning appeared to be a bit of salt, but still delicious, and it worked wonderfully with the bread. The spoon quickly scrapped against the bowl’s bottom.

“Would you like some more, Princess?” the mare called over from the stove.

“Oh, no. I’m fine for now,” Rarity answered. “And please, you don’t have to keep calling me ‘Princess.’ It’s flattering but hardly appropriate.”

“Oh, er.” The mare gave her a quizzical look. “I, um, if you insist, Prin—er, Miss Shmarity.”

That name again. Rarity frowned. “That name, Shmarity,” she said slowly. “Miss, er, I don’t believe I got your name.”

“Oh, it’s Hearth Stead, Prin—I mean, Miss Shmarity. My husband, Farm Right, he’s the one who brought you to our little village.”

Hearth. Like the holiday. It matched the mare’s Cutie Mark, the image of a lit fireplace. “Well, Mrs. Stead, you called me, ah, ‘Shmarity,’ was it?”

Hearth Stead nodded. “Oh, er, was that too forward? I’m sorry, Prin—Your Majesty? Your Highness? Sorry, haven’t much practice in referring to royalty.” She laughed nervously.

“Go with whatever you’re comfortable with,” Rarity assured with a dismissive gesture. “I just wanted to know, why did you call me by that name?”

“Um, you mean, uh?”

“‘Shmarity.’ That squid called me that as well.”

“Because, that’s your name?” Hearth Stead offered uneasily. “Miss Shmarity, are you feeling alright?”

In all honesty, Rarity wasn’t sure she could answer that inquiry with a definite yes. Before Rarity could even begin to think of a reply, the door swung open, and in stepped a stallion. Much like Hearth Stead, he was an earth pony with a dirt brown coat, and instead of a handkerchief he wore a torn gray skullcap. The mark on his flanks was that of a pitchfork stabbed into a bale of hay.

“Alright, got them leave, least for now,” he said with a tired exhale. “Oh!” The stallion removed his cap, revealing a messy mane of tan. “Pardon me, Princess,” he said, lowering his head toward Rarity. A little filly, maybe a good few years younger than Sweetie Belle, peeked over the stallion’, staring with eyes wide.

A familiar uncomfortable silence invited itself inside along with the brisk outside air as once again, everypony waited for Rarity. “Oh! Er, please, there’s no need to bow,” she said quickly.

The stallion’s back straightened. “Thank you, Princess,” he said before kicking the door shut. “You gave us all a bit of a scare back there, if you don’t mind me saying. Hope you’re feeling better. We don’t got a lot, but if there’s anything you need, you just let us know.”

“Um, Farm, dear?” Hearth Stead walked to the stallion’s side and placed a hoof on his shoulder before turning back to Rarity. “I’m so sorry, Prin—Miss Shmarity, but I need to have a quick word with my husband. Pardon us.”

“Oh. Of course.” Rarity started to leave her seat, but the two had already retreated to the other end of the cottage, whispering furiously. She settled back down on the stool, doing her best not to appear offended. Though she couldn’t make out the details, it was obvious that she was their discussion subject, but considering the situation in its entirety, their suspicion wasn’t exactly unwarranted. It must have been very odd after all, Rarity reasoned, for somepony you thought you knew to suddenly not know her own name.

Almost as odd as waking up without your horn and being mistaken for somepony else with a strangely similar name to your own by every single being you’ve meet.

Something tapped against Rarity’s leg, interrupting her thoughts and musings. She looked down just in time to see the filly’s blank flanks as she leapt behind the table.

“Hello there,” Rarity greeted as gently as she could. She had never been particularly good with children, those were more of Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie’s expertise, but she had been around both to pick up a couple of things. “It’s alright, I won’t bite.”

The filly stuck her head out, her eyes as wide as ever. “If you bite me, do I become a princess?”

Rarity blinked, the unexpected question catching her completely off guard. “What?”

“You know, like werewolves.” The filly bounced out of her hiding spot. “Like the ones in the forest that the heroes took care of. Were there any werewolves with the Squidzard? Ooh, what about vampires?”

“Vampires? Squidzard? What’s a Squidzard?”

“It’s what the heroes called the Squid Wizard,” said the filly. She began to approach. “But don’t let Ma or Pa know I said that. Lot of the grownups are afraid of even saying his name. Some of the older foals say that’s ‘cause his name is enchanted or something, and if you say it three times at midnight near water, he’ll appear and gobble you up, but I don’t think that’s true, ‘cause if it was, the heroes would’ve done it already and beat him up, right then and there instead of having to find a way into his castle. Oh, but they’d still have go there to save you, huh?”

“Is, is that right?” Rarity wasn’t sure how to address the filly’s sudden enthusiasm, a complete reversal of her early subdued demeanor. It was only due to her practice in entertaining the excited rants and raves of Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, and, to a lesser extent, Twilight that she was able to follow the filly’s words. “You seem to hold these heroes in rather high regard.”

“Um, what?”

“You seem to really like these heroes.”

“Yup! They’re so amazing, nice too. They come ‘round here every so often asking if there’s anything they can help with, like with those werewolves ‘while back. My favorite’s Mr. Captain Wuzz ‘cause he’s the tallest. Who’s your favorite? Oh, oh, did you see them in action when they rescued you? Is that how you got here? I bet it was Mr. Garbunkle, he’s got all those spells and magic and stuff. Where are they anyways? Did they stay back to fight?”

A cough interrupted the stream of questions. Hearth Stead and the stallion had returned. “Harvest, please, you’re bothering the princess,” said Hearth as she peeled the filly away from her guest. “I’m so sorry, Miss Shmarity, Harvest here’s can be a tad excitable.”

“Am not!”

“It’s quite alright, no trouble at all,” Rarity assured, despite her growing relief and gratitude toward the parents’ timely intervention.

“Well, Prin—er, Miss Shmarity?” the stallion, Farm Right if Rarity recalled and assumed correctly, began. “Are you, ah, feeling alright. Pardon me for asking and all,” he quickly added. “I know it ain’t my place. It’s just, you were looking a little green when we found you, and, well, maybe it’s all just a misunderstanding, but it sounds like you’ve been having problems with your own name.”

“I...” Rarity hesitated. Could anypony call themselves fine after everything she had just suffered through? She wasn’t sure she’d be able convince herself of that, let alone the ponies before her. “I’m certainly feeling better,” she finally answered with a practiced smile. “Hearth makes a wonderful stew.”

Farm gave a small smile back. “That she does,” he said, sneaking a glance at the mare next to him, and for a moment, the tension in his features was gone. “Ahem, uh, well. Good to hear but, um, then you are well?”

“I, yes.”

It was obvious from look the couple shared that her reassurance did not assured nopony. Rarity sighed. “I am feeling rather confused and more than little tired,” she admitted. “It’s been a long day.”

“Ah. Well.” Farm Right let out a weak chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Hate to be the one to tell you this, but the day might be getting a little longer. See, not everypony is too happy with you being here—“

“What? Why?” demanded the filly, ducking out of Hearth’s hold as the mare tried to hush her. “She’s the princess!”

“I know, Harvest, I know,” Farm Right said, shaking his head. “But a lot of ponies are afraid.” He turned to Rarity. “The ponies in this village are good ponies, really, but we’re not fighters or heroes or adventurers. If they find out you were here, that’ll be the end of us.” His gaze fell upon Hearth Stead and Harvest, and his shoulders tensed. “All of us.”

“But what about the heroes?” Harvest asked. She looked to her parents, then to Rarity. “They’ll protect us, right?”

Nopony spoke for a good long minute. Nopony could look directly at the filly. Rarity’s mouth opened, but the comforting lies froze and jammed up her throat. Just as well, she wasn’t sure if she could come up with something that would even fool a child right now.

Farm Right cleared his throat. “Nopony’s decided on anything yet though. The plan’s to first wait for the village head to return later tonight and see what he thinks. He’ll want to see you and hear what you have to say, Princess, and that could take a while, so you should probably take it easy until then, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“This village head, is he reasonable?” Rarity asked, wary.

Farm Right nodded. “Elder Woods, he’s a good stallion, a little odd but always does the best for all of us. He’s the one who asked those heroes of yours for help when we had a werewolf problem a while back. Wasn’t a popular decision at the time, but I think most of us’ll say it was the right one. You can stay here while we’re all waiting, if you like,” he added. “It ain’t much, but we’ll try to keep things comfortable. Like I said, you’ll probably be wanting to rest up for tonight.”

“That sounds wonderful,” was Rarity’s reply. “You’ve already done so much for me, I can’t thank you and your family enough.”

“Shucks.” Farm Right chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just trying to be neighborly. Though if you, I don’t know, could remember us when this is all over, maybe—“

Hearth Stead nudged her husband in the side who hid his yelp under a cough. “I’ll, er, be outside if anypony needs me. Still got a couple of chores to finish off while there’s still sunlight. Come on, Harvest.”

“But I want to talk to the princess some more,” the filly whined even as she was led outside. The door closed behind Farm Right, leaving Rarity and Hearth Stead alone with each other.

“You’re welcome to the bed, if you’d like,” Hearth eventually said, gesturing towards the mattresses. “It’s, well it’ll probably be more comfortable than that seat anyways.”

“Oh, thank you, but I couldn’t.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to insist, but it could be another hour or so before the head gets back,” said Hearth. “You mentioned you were tired?”

Yes, Rarity had mentioned that, and it hadn’t just been a deflective excuse. While she no longer felt in danger of fainting away, a short nap did sound rather nice, if only to give her head a little break from all those stressful questions and mysteries. And those mattresses certainly looked much softer than that cot she woke up in, cleaner too.

“I wouldn’t want to impose anymore than I already have,” Rarity said even as a part of her protested in the form of a yawn that punctuated and undermined her statement. “Maybe for just a few minutes, just to rest my eyes.”

Hearth averted her gaze, but her attempts to spare Rarity of further embarrassment just intensified her blush. “Of course, Miss Shmarity. Let me just get it all sort.”

The two mares made their way to the opposite end of the cottage where the mattresses lain, covered by a thin sheet of bedding. Hearth Stead smoothed out the most noticeable wrinkles and unfolded a patchwork quilt. “It’s not exactly palace quality, I imagine.”

“Still impressive compared to my previous arrangements.”

They shared a giggle. “Well, if there’s anything else you need, just holler. I’ll be around.” Hearth Stead started lowering herself into a bow only to catch herself and stop. She quickly raised her head, straightened her back, and gave Rarity an unconfident nod. “Prin—Miss Shmarity.” And with that, Hearth returned to the kitchenette.

Rarity slowly climbed onto one of the low mattresses and struggled to hide her grimace. They were much harder than they appeared. She patted the surface. Was that, straw? She could feel the fibrous stalks beneath the sheet.

She shuddered as she forced herself to lie down. That made it so much worse, with loose pieces stabbing at her if she made any attempt to move. There were no cushions to rest her head or support her neck; Rarity had to improvise with the quilt.

Her eyes squeezed shut. How she missed her own bed, that wonderfully plush mattress, those incredibly soft pillows made from the finest down, silk sheets that caressed and soothed every aching muscle. Thoughts of such familiar luxuries slowly grew into thoughts of home, of her boutique, of Ponyville. Some dark part of her wondered if she’d ever see that little rural town of hers again, and Rarity found that part harder to argue against without the presence of her friends acting as a constant reminder nearby.

So much for giving herself a break. Her worries bounced between the unknown fates of her friends to the ambiguous fate of Spike and Discord to her own personal predicaments. Rarity still had no idea where she was and missed the opportunity to ask her hosts. Perhaps this village head could provide her with more information, and not just on her location. Who was this “they” Farm Right has referred to? Were they the ones who had been imprisoning her. Who and what was the Squid Wizard? Was that the same squid on the throne?

What was she supposed to do now? And what after that?

The nap was a bust. Whether from the physical discomfort that her tossing and turning only seemed to worsen or the multitude of questions and worries bothering her like a swarm of gnats, Rarity couldn’t fall asleep. She opened her eyes and sat up. Hearth Stead was at the other end, peeling vegetables and humming softly.

Hearth raised her head at the sound of hoofsteps. “Oh! Miss Shmarity, is everything alright?”

“Fine, fine. Just a lot on my mind is all,” Rarity said. “Is there anything I can do to help, maybe with a few chores?” She made a motion toward the potatoes and carrots.

“Oh, I couldn’t ask something like that from you. I mean, you, helping with something like, I don’t, it’s beneath you. But thank you, I—“

“Please, Hearth.” It sounded more like a plea than a request. “I could use a distraction, and it’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

Hearth Stead chewed her lip and looked around anxiously as if the cottage was full of eavesdropping busybodies. “Well, I suppose, if you insist. Can you wash these in there?” The mare gestured first to a pile of vegetables, then to a basin full of water. “Er, I can show you how it’s done, if you like.”

“That’s alright, I believe I know how,” Rarity said with a small sniff of annoyance that didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”

“No, no. I apologize. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Rarity settled down in front of the bowl and started on the pile. It was a simple task, washing produce, though she was more used to having a sink and a constant stream of clean water to work with. Still, Rarity quickly found her rhythm, dunking the potatoes and carrots and such into the water and rubbing the dirt off their skins before air-drying them and giving them to Hearth to peel.

Hearth tried not to hide her surprise. Apparently, wherever this was didn’t exactly hold royalty in very high esteem when it came to simple kitchen chores, though admittedly Rarity herself had a hard time imagining Prince Blueblood and some of the Canterlot nobles doing such tasks like this. Eventually, Hearth came to trust Rarity with a knife after a some practice and left her to slice the vegetables while she finished up on the peeling and started preparing the pot on the stove.

From there, they moved onto cleaning the kitchen and dining area, making sure the floor and table were clean. Much like with cutting up the vegetables, dusting without her magic took some time getting used to, and Rarity hadn’t been able to be as thorough as she liked, but they got to a point where Hearth was satisfied.

Cooking came next, and after a short impromptu lesson, a pot of stew consisting of the earlier leftovers mixed fresh broth and vegetables sat simmering on the stove.

“That stove,” Rarity began as she watch Hearth throw in a few pieces of firewood.

“Hm?”

“It’s quite, rustic. Is that a common design around here?”

“I guess?” Hearth answered after a moment. “Its what everypony here uses anyways.”

“Here, as in here in this village here, or?”

“I mean, can’t say I’ve been to many places outside of the village, and it’s not exactly a safe time to be traveling.” Hearth tapped her chin. “There used to be a town about half a day from here we’d do some trading with, can’t say I paid much attention to that sort of thing the few times I visited, but they had an honest to goodness bakery, and as far as I could tell their ovens worked just like ours.”

She patted the top of the stove. “Probably something was different though, their bread was the best gosh darn, er.” Hearth blushed. “Well, anyways, why do you ask?”

“No particular reason, it’s just, not a design I’m quite used to.” Rarity tittered. “Just curious.”

Hearth shrugged, failing to find anything untoward about Rarity’s inquiries. Did Rarity know of any places in or around Equestria where such ancient kitchenware was considered common? Yakyakistan perhaps, though the lack of snow and, most obviously, yaks made that unlikely.

Farm Right and Harvest stepped inside shortly after, and once Farm got over his surprise of finding Rarity up and about and helping, they settled down at the table. Harvest managed to sit still for a commendable minute and a half before she launched into a torrent of questions and statements about being a princess and life as a prisoner, all directed at Rarity at breakneck speed.

Between breaths or scolding by Hearth, Rarity managed to sneak in a few questions of her own to Farm Right, about the village itself, the types of crop he grew. The information she got was next to useless, with nothing standing out. No notable landmarks or attractions, no unique cuisines or products, there was nothing distinctive. The village didn’t even appear to have a name.

“Alright, enough talk,” Hearth said, interrupting Farm Right in the middle of an anecdote on growing turnips next to carrots. She placed a loaf of bread down in the center before setting down bowls filled to the brim before each pony. “Tonight’s supper’s special.“

Harvest bounced in her seat. “Is there cheese?”

Hearth chuckled. “Not tonight, no. Maybe tomorrow. But this stew, the princess helped make it.”

Both the filly and her father’s eyes grew large. “Hearth, honey, you didn’t—“

“It wasn’t any trouble at all,” interjected Rarity. “And I was the one who offered my assistance.”

“Ah, oh. Well. Wow.” Farm Right swallowed. “Just, wow. I mean, having a meal with royalty was one thing, but then having her make the food for you?” There was another visible gulp.

“Hearth did the majority of the work. I just helped where I could.”

“Still, wow. This is—Harvest!”

The filly slammed her empty bowl down and licked her lips. Some of the stew still clung to the edges of her mouth. “Seconds, please!”

The thump on the door could barely be registered over Hearth’s scoldings, Farm’s pleads and apologies, and Rarity’s assurances. The second one went ignored as well, and it wasn’t until a third, louder knock that everypony’s attention was drawn to the cottage entrance.

“Now who could, it’s supper time,” Farm grumbled as he got up and marched to the door, opening it just a crack. “Yeah?” he said. “What are you doing here? You know what time it—“

“Yeah, yeah. And you know I’d rather be at home enjoying a hot meal.” a gruff voice shot back impatiently. “But figured since you’re the one taking the biggest risk, harboring her and all, you’d want to know first.”

“Know what?”

“Elder Woods, he’s back.”

Comments

[FridayPie]

Player stubborness is main enemy of GM

Once I was a part of campaign where party approximately did U-turn on road planned by GM , then went into forest (literally) and in guerilla warfare style fought through ranks ... their anonymous client forces instead of enemy, reached goal by tangent road , and wiped after successfully achieving it.

[Mystic Sunrise]

And this just reminded me of why Spike should never be allowed to name anything. It's not you. Just hearing these names again is causing my ears to bleed.

Story should be funny either way. We need more D&D stuff on this site :D