Petting his little lightball gently, Worf indicated for it to check ahead along the path for him to see if there was any deception at work. So as not to look too insane, however, he crouched down and ran his hand along the ground, then stood back up and went to put some weight on the rails, just to check for himself if any of said deception being awork was, in fact, awork.

He turned and shrugged to the other two.

Folevarr yawned. He rocked back and forth while periodically shaking his head to stay awake. He was worried for the party below and hoped his ball of light would not dim away.

And the yawning continued.

Adonis furiously masturbated as he decended down the cliff; ejecting a while fluid from his pink rod that dropped to the abyss.

Doran, still keeping watch, wonders who will die for no apparent reason next.

(OOC: Spoilers Will dies next spoilers))

As Worf pats and prods and jiggles and tests, he finds the path sturdy, reliable, and seemingly, safe. The lightball over his shoulder casts a dim beam down the path, only enough to see 4 meters away. There is a slight growling noise, and the edge of a nest can be seen in a cave to the left, barely in reach of the light.

Folevarr slowly begins to relax, piling up a bit of leaves below his head. He tries to stay awake by counting the stars, but appears to be experiencing great difficulty and frequent yawning.

Adonis unsheathes his short sword and whacks away merrily while walking past Worf, down the path towards the nest. He gets halfway there before Odin hoarsely whispers "STOP!".

Doran, more awake than Folevarr due to not being Skythe, pokes at the ground and stares into the trees. He doesn't see any signs of movement or threat, so he takes the opportunity to reflect on the mysteries of the universe. +1 intelligence modifier for 24 game hours

Knowing that his rest would mean the end of the light's existence, Folevarr rolls over. While yawning, Folevarr taps the ground with his left hand to cast mage hand. He then rolls over again on to his belly to receive a painful five-star on his back.

(mage hand)

''What's all the hub-bub, darling?''

"T-that thing! Can't you see, the nest just there?"

Averting his eyes away from Worf's firm ass, he finally notices the nest. ''oic''

Doran, in a moment of genius compelled by his recently acquired int bonus, runs over to Folevarr, brings him to his feet, then guides him over to the cliff side and beckons him to look for their descending party.

He then runs back a few yards, faces Folevarr again, then enters a full sprint and launches himself through the air feet first, drop kicking Folevarr off the cliff.

Faintly aware of a strange screaming noise, Worf decided that the best course of action would be the grab a nearby rock of significant size and throw it hurtling at the noise. What that would accomplish, Bahamut only knows.

Worf then turned to his lightball, patted it again gently, tickling it under the chin (bottom of the ball?). "WORF HAVE NEW BEST FRIEND. I CALL YOU... LARS!"

Doran heaves the half-asleep Folevarr up and drags him over to the cliff edge. Folevarr, already entering the pre-sleep lunacy stages, simply stands at the edge and twirls his hands in the air while giggling. Doran dashes back a few meters, then turns to Folevarr and prepares to bust out the first dropkick ever recorded.



Folevarr flies off the cliff edge into empty space. Off in the distance, a spectating pair of trolls agree: “That was **** awesome.”



Worf, highly irritated by the noises coming from the shadows, chooses to rip up a piece of the outcropping and hurl it at the source of the sound.

“WARK!” comes the cry, like that of a chobobo from the darkness.

However, Worf’s minute attention span works against him, and as he turns to snuggle with his new bff lightball, the enormous gryphon emerges from its nest, and advances towards him quickly. Distracted as he was, it is impossible to tell for sure if Worf felt any pain when the gryphon slashed clean through his midsection with its razor sharp talons. The lightball still clutched in his arms, Worf’s upper torso arcs over the cliff edge, trailing blood and entrails much like a kite does decorative ribbons. His legs fall over sideways, left foot kicking slightly.

Adonis, who had avoided detection for this long by simply standing completely still, cries out at the destruction of Worf’s delightful washboard abs, and reaches out as they fly off into the night sky. The gryphon turns to him immediately, and Adonis turns to run, tears streaming down his cheeks. It is impossible for Odin to see what happens with the lightball gone, but Adonis certainly didn’t get far before the gryphon caught up. A muffled screech is heard, then an “Oh, MY~”, and finally, a terrible ripping noise. A shredded loincloth flies through the air to land at Odin’s feet. Odin’s jaw drops, and he emits a piercing, shrill scream unbefitting of his manly name.

Doran, proudly staring over the cliff, hears the scream.
“I totally called that.”

From the corner of his eye he sees something fly up the cliff, but when he turns and looks around, he sees nothing. He shrugs, and begins to walk back to the fire when the gryphon lands heavily on the ground behind him, driving its beak down through his skull and out the front of his throat. With a smug smile still on his face, he slides gently off the gryphon’s beak and falls face down in the dirt.

Poor little Pookie. Asleep by the fire, and all alone, nothing tips him off. He is much too small for the gryphon to notice, but when morning comes and every watch-person is dead, nobody is around to tell the poor midget he is surrounded by the brutes they had been running from previously. Pookie awakens, yawns, and has a nice, big stretch before noticing the smiling, drooling, naked goblin standing at his feet. A lifetime of sexual slavery awaits.


The End.