HurkenLurkenLopilis
Lauren narrowed her eyes and gazed directly into the eyes of her adversary. She snarled, exposing her teeth and saying “You are disgusting and dirty” Jake, her dog looked at her quizzically and resumed begging for the food she was currently eating. Alan looked and Paul and they both chuckled at Laurens consistent, and unrelenting animal abuse. At this point, molasses, the cat, placed two paws on the counter to peer over it’s edge and inspect the food that was being consumed. Immediately sensing the transgression of the beast before it was even fully completed, Lauren sprang into action, scooping up the doomed beast and sprinting to the sink, to plunge molasses into a WATERY ABYSS!
She then put the cat and scolded her mightly: “That is what you get for going on the counter!” in response, molasses went off downstairs to skulk and crawl about in the ceiling space (as cats are wont to do.) Paul finished eating his remaining bruschetta, and remarked on how a tasty banana brulée would taste. Alan shook his head and remarked how the ancient skills of the fabled brulée have been lost to man for centuries, ever since the fall of the Egyptian civilization. Paul launched into a story immediately, about how he once held the very tome of knowledge (Dean Koontz’s Lost tome, ‘A dissertation about the Brulée’ with the addition by Hermann Hesse: ‘A Brulée codicil’) in his very hands. He started something like this:
“The Year was 3000 BC, I had just helped the Egyptians establish their hydraulic empire, I had mastered their sexy, but incredibly hard to apply eye make-up. Things were looking up, until, that is I came across the eldest of the Unlife Shamans.... His name was ‘KunOpFrey’...”
Paul looked out as the blood run sun set upon the shores of the mighty Nile River, from his somewhat dignified home in the Administration sector of the City of Amarna. Things were looking up, as Paul enjoyed the fruits of his helping the pharaoh establish his flood control and stabilize his empire. He had a nice apartment with a view, as many peasants as he could ever hope to oppress and eventually, a cushy religions appointment. Paul smiled as he was to be inducted into the Egyptian religion in a few days. Some sort of religion based on an all powerful deity that awarded pleasure or pain based on the faith of the followers. Pretty standard stuff, really. Paul retreated back to his reading, his room littered with scores of papyrus scraps with the occasional codex interspersed in the madness. Paul sat down on the sofa as the candle farthest from him guttered out. Paul looked up, and quickly dismissed it as the wind. Two more candles flickered and died. Paul slowly stood up and moved to his weapon, two short swords kept in good condition. A score of candles to his left of the room were snuffed out simultaneously, as he drew his swords. The wind howled briefly, and a shadow appeared in the darkness. A figure strode forward as Paul leveled his weapons and steeled himself for a fight.
“Put down your Arms, Paul. I am Kunopfrey, and your initiation begins now.” A grizzled old man strode out of the shadows and stood before Paul. Paul could sense the dark power flowing out from him. The nearly limitless pain and suffering that he had inflicted and caused now swirled about his person like a foul miasma. Paul sheathed his swords and walked forward into the dark’s embrace. A dark cloud arose and both were swallowed whole as the remainder of the candles guttered out and darkness enveloped the room.
Paul regained consciousness in the temple of the darkness, he got up and began to poke around. He walked out of his quarters into the hallway when he smelt the sickly stench of decay. Decay and Basil. Paul stood still, listening as a scuffling, shambling noise grew louder, just around the bend of his hallway. Paul drew his swords as two zombies, armed with sabers, shambled into sight. Paul drew back in revulsion. They continued to shamble mindlessly forward and took a left at the main intersection, ignoring Paul’s hallway, which appeared to be comprised of a dead end and other rooms, which were empty.
The thought crept into his head that he was probably a guest here, given a room, and still left with his armaments. Paul sheathed his weapons and walked after the patrolling zombies, obviously guards of some sub-caliber. He went back to his room and checked on the back of the door for the federally mandated fire-escape diagram, and saw that the main throne room was only a corridor away - heading there, Paul noticed a few apprentices, easily identified by their terrible application of makeup and generally scared demeanor.
-Alas, this story remains unfinished for now: the general time frame is after freshman year of college (I think?)
She then put the cat and scolded her mightly: “That is what you get for going on the counter!” in response, molasses went off downstairs to skulk and crawl about in the ceiling space (as cats are wont to do.) Paul finished eating his remaining bruschetta, and remarked on how a tasty banana brulée would taste. Alan shook his head and remarked how the ancient skills of the fabled brulée have been lost to man for centuries, ever since the fall of the Egyptian civilization. Paul launched into a story immediately, about how he once held the very tome of knowledge (Dean Koontz’s Lost tome, ‘A dissertation about the Brulée’ with the addition by Hermann Hesse: ‘A Brulée codicil’) in his very hands. He started something like this:
“The Year was 3000 BC, I had just helped the Egyptians establish their hydraulic empire, I had mastered their sexy, but incredibly hard to apply eye make-up. Things were looking up, until, that is I came across the eldest of the Unlife Shamans.... His name was ‘KunOpFrey’...”
Paul looked out as the blood run sun set upon the shores of the mighty Nile River, from his somewhat dignified home in the Administration sector of the City of Amarna. Things were looking up, as Paul enjoyed the fruits of his helping the pharaoh establish his flood control and stabilize his empire. He had a nice apartment with a view, as many peasants as he could ever hope to oppress and eventually, a cushy religions appointment. Paul smiled as he was to be inducted into the Egyptian religion in a few days. Some sort of religion based on an all powerful deity that awarded pleasure or pain based on the faith of the followers. Pretty standard stuff, really. Paul retreated back to his reading, his room littered with scores of papyrus scraps with the occasional codex interspersed in the madness. Paul sat down on the sofa as the candle farthest from him guttered out. Paul looked up, and quickly dismissed it as the wind. Two more candles flickered and died. Paul slowly stood up and moved to his weapon, two short swords kept in good condition. A score of candles to his left of the room were snuffed out simultaneously, as he drew his swords. The wind howled briefly, and a shadow appeared in the darkness. A figure strode forward as Paul leveled his weapons and steeled himself for a fight.
“Put down your Arms, Paul. I am Kunopfrey, and your initiation begins now.” A grizzled old man strode out of the shadows and stood before Paul. Paul could sense the dark power flowing out from him. The nearly limitless pain and suffering that he had inflicted and caused now swirled about his person like a foul miasma. Paul sheathed his swords and walked forward into the dark’s embrace. A dark cloud arose and both were swallowed whole as the remainder of the candles guttered out and darkness enveloped the room.
Paul regained consciousness in the temple of the darkness, he got up and began to poke around. He walked out of his quarters into the hallway when he smelt the sickly stench of decay. Decay and Basil. Paul stood still, listening as a scuffling, shambling noise grew louder, just around the bend of his hallway. Paul drew his swords as two zombies, armed with sabers, shambled into sight. Paul drew back in revulsion. They continued to shamble mindlessly forward and took a left at the main intersection, ignoring Paul’s hallway, which appeared to be comprised of a dead end and other rooms, which were empty.
The thought crept into his head that he was probably a guest here, given a room, and still left with his armaments. Paul sheathed his weapons and walked after the patrolling zombies, obviously guards of some sub-caliber. He went back to his room and checked on the back of the door for the federally mandated fire-escape diagram, and saw that the main throne room was only a corridor away - heading there, Paul noticed a few apprentices, easily identified by their terrible application of makeup and generally scared demeanor.
-Alas, this story remains unfinished for now: the general time frame is after freshman year of college (I think?)