Bryggan slowly crawled from under the table and ordered his third breakfast beer. Chock full of confidence and a beery feeling of goodwill, he was convinced this one wouldn't cause another pass-out. He was right.
Holding on to the bar table with both hands, practically white knuckling it to cause the room to stop spinning, he glared with his bloodshot eyes into his faithful assistant muck scrapers eyes. "Damn it Dirk," he averred, "We are now powerful enough to actually do something in this damn Strat map. When I first started trading, I was terrified every moment of the way, expecting to be attacked. Now I realize that was a load of rouncey shit. In this game, everyone's all nicey nicey. In fact, I haven't checked on my army in a week, what with it being summer and all, and those damned wenches in the patio bars showing off all that cleavage and such, but the one thing I know is that a neutral trader is safe as safe can be."
Dirk stared at the ground. "Well, perhaps not as safe as safe can be," he suggested.
"WTF do you mean, dammit!" Bryggan roared, "This is just a bloody trade forkin show. Guddamnit, I used to be a warrior, but now I've spent months counting silver and adjusting ledgers. A bloody Krist almighty tradesman. Well, I got one bloody almighty shiny army, and for Gord's sake It's time I used it."
Rizlan took a long sip of his mead, and gave his fearless leader a dark look. "You no longer have a fragging army, oh mighty dumb ass," he said, "While you were passed out under this table your army was attacked and surrendered without a fight. Just because they had no leader. The FIDLGB bastards are chomping away right now on your exotic carrots."
"What the frickin fracking kant uss kick locking courser crap are you saying," Bryggan shrieked, vomit laced spittle shooting from his lips, "no one attacks us! We're the Flacking 13th! Threre's no fligging way an established clan would attack another clan without due provocation."
"It's true sir" said Neff, "it hap.."
"Shut the flick up!" the other three shouted simultaneously.
Bryggan scowled into his goblet. Grumbling, he scowled into his goblet of ale. There were three cigarette butts in it, but being a 13th century warrior he was not aware of the grossness so he tossed it all back. He then belched. "Alright you dumbasses," he growled" Summer hiatus is over. We've been too slack..."
"You were too slack," mumbled Rizan.
"I still have my shiny army," asserted Dirk.
"WE'VE been too slack" Bryggan repeated, banging his fist on the table, "This is our bleeding bloody blasted wakeup call. All inactive members will raise troops to give to any enemy of the bowlers. The rest of us will rebuild and harass those mother flickers!"
With a hearty unified, "whatever", the company was agreed. Except for the non-active members. Maybe we'll hear from them (ok, him) someday.
P.S. Does anyone know who are the enemies of FIDLGB? We'd like to be their friends.
