Re: Phong\'s Head Bar & Grill
Mr. Ashton's image flickers, goes blue for a second, then in a wierd wiggley voice mutters something about "gravity waves." No wonder he had seemed so unresponsive... it also explained his ill-advised "back to the door" habit.
Now furious with himself for having been fooled, Turin draws his black blade and takes a mighty swing at the holographic device on the chair. Gurthang of course slices cleanly through the trinket... and the chair... and the floorboards...
"Oops..."
The flesh-eating mongeese (ha!) in the basement wail in despair as a horrible sickly-black stain spreads in a 3 meter circle around his sword stuck in the floor. Luckily, the bar wench... err... FBW had been approaching with the brewskis and his backswing had caught her bikini top, sending jugs bouncing everywhere so none of the patrons notice his embarrassing moment.
"Sorry miss..."
Turin hastily sheathes Traitorous Death and deftly flicks her another ducket. Nearby Sancho holds out his empty metal palm demandingly, apparently about the chair mess, and judging by the stern look on Woundwort's face behind him, the Turambar begrudgingly empties the rest of the pouch for the robot.
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Aa Turam Empire
Geekdom is eternal... you will be assimilated... resistance is futile.
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'We, the weird, chasing the pointless, for no reason at all, have been finding out things that have no effect on anything important for at least a couple days and are now qualified to chase our tails to the merriment of all watching.'-Narf et al
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