The Ecstasy of Gold

The Admiral consoled Turnips who sat forlorn atop a stool at the bar in the decidedly downscale Hydra’s Lair Tavern & Betting Clubbe.

“There, there Turnips, we’ll see to it that Livoniumtonchester is fixed up … right as rain!” the Admiral exclaimed, beaming with confidence.

He continued, “Why with me and Sabrina and old Woody here we’ll pop over, rescue Lady M, complete the Lost Mystical Dingus of 7 Parts and use it to restore balance, beauty, justice and goodness to our faire lande!

As he spoke, the Admiral’s teeth glinted and his aura glowed warm gold as his noble gaze turned skyward to rest on an imaginary star.

Turnips was not to be so easily swayed however, “Don’t you patronize me Rossaronius, we’ll never find the Mystical Dingus of 7 Parts and poor Livoniumtonchester shall remain in the evil clutches of whoever…..”

His energy flagged at that moment due to effects of the half-pint of ale he’d been nursing for an hour.

Turnips roared back however to continue his diatribe “… and whatever, but I don’t see how a washed up illusionist / cleric and a freebooter with a super-powerful magic sword could hope to achieve anything other than to be clapped in irons and escorted off to the nearest looney bin.”

The Admiral, being a man of the sea, had to face many situations like this before and took the appropriate action. He slapped Turnips, then grasped his collar and held his face close.

“Now listen up and come to your senses; we are attracting all the wrong sorts of attention here and that’s the last thing we need.”

No sooner had he finished this utterance than up sauntered Livoniumtonchester’s favorite gang of bullies led by their chief, The Schott (coincidentally, he was the second cousin, once removed of the Admiral’s oaf, also named ‘Schott.’ Funny that.)

The Schott was first to speak.

“Well la-dee-dah, ‘oo ‘ave we gots ‘ere?” he menaced, his foul breath overwhelming the more delicate olfactory receptors of our would-be heroes.

"Harhar harhar harharhar harhar" went the gang

The gang’s evil, insensitive laughter went on for a full seven minutes until The Schott raised his hands in the universal sign of ‘stop larfing you oafs, I gots somefin to say.’

“Now stop larfing, you oafs, I gots somefin to say” The Schott continued, “I have a fine idear – let’s take their lunch money what their mommies done gived them!”

Then to add insult to injury, he farted.

At was at that moment that the Tavern owner, Schlamazel the Butcher, entered, carrying a large serving bowl made of a very heavy earthenware with a pale blue flower motif.

“Ahhh, who ordered the paella for six?? Hey, I said who ordered the paella for six!!” he called out.

Schlamazel the Butcher stopped and his nose wrinkled and his eyes began to tear. Temporarily blinded, he tripped over the Admiral’s magical cutlass, Sabrina, and the paella bowl flew from his hands. The bowl flew in a perfect arc and landed heavily atop The Schott’s surprised noggin, sending him crumpled to the sawdust floor.

The contents of the bowl spilled showering the floor with bits of saffron rice, shrimp and other stuff that was very slippery. Although the gang tried to advance upon our heroes, they were unsuccessful as their feet could find not purchase. In fact, their legs spun madly about ala Shaggy and Scooby Doo.

Unhesitatingly, the Admiral seized the initiative and called out “Let’s get the H-E-Double Hockeysticks out of here Woody! – there’s another exit through the kitchen .. last one to the Planetary Sovereign is a rotten egg.”

“Hey but what about my Morey Amsterdam sandwich I just ordered?” Woody whined as the Admiral dragged him out.

Turnips however, had the last word. “Oh shut up, that sandwich hasn’t been invented yet”