Once, there was a boy named Pickle.
Nov. 28th, 2004 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kickahaPickle lived in the woods with his mother, Fruya, and his father, Wobin. Pickle dreamed of the day when he could grow up to be a fighter, a strapping man of sword and bow, and go out into the world and seek his fortune.
Daily Pickle would roam the woods, honing his hunting skills, learning the woodlore for survival and craftiness. He grew, as all boys do, but his mighty form became almost a force of nature itself, as he made the woods his home more than hearth.
One day a band of thieves set upon a lone merchant travelling through the wood, and as luck would have it, Pickle happened upon the fracas. Wading in to the small mob besieging the poor traveller, he made quick work of the scurrilous men, and saved a very grateful man about town. So grateful was he, that he offered Pickle a job as his man-at-arms... on one condition. 'Pickle' was not a name to inspire awe or fear. In keeping with spirit of the name, but casting about for a slightly harder, edgier name, the moneyed man suggested 'Dill'. And so Dill he became.
Dill said goodbye to his parents, and started his new life as a hired sword, protecting the aging merchant for several years, until finally, the man passed away silently in the night. (Rumor persisted that he actually died loudly in the night, in the company of several young things of incomparable beauty, but Dill would not listen to such slander against the memory of his good master.) Knowing that Dill had the capacity to be a great fighter, and a wealthy man in his own right, the merchant left Dill a not inconsiderable sum of money, and an letter of introduction to a Master of the Fighter's Guild, in a far off city. Dill started off the next morning.
After many weeks of arduous journey, dear reader, Dill arrived at the door of his new teacher (he hoped). With the letter, and his now bulging wallet to match his bulging muscles, (wiping the floor with several of the teacher's most promising students didn't hurt,) he was able to easily gain entrance to the school. For years he trained, both within and without the walls of the academy, not to mention more than a few barhalls. For night and day he sweated and wrestled with his competitors, not to mention more than a few barmaids. Several years passed, with Dill's every talent and skill honed to perfection for being a fighter in any environment... but he unsurprisingly showed a unique aptitude for the hunt and lore of the wood. Due to this, on the day he graduated, he was awarded the rarest of ranks and titles within the Fighter's Guild, as befit his abilities.
Yes dear reader, on that day, he fulfilled his destiny and became Ranger Dill Wobinson.
Daily Pickle would roam the woods, honing his hunting skills, learning the woodlore for survival and craftiness. He grew, as all boys do, but his mighty form became almost a force of nature itself, as he made the woods his home more than hearth.
One day a band of thieves set upon a lone merchant travelling through the wood, and as luck would have it, Pickle happened upon the fracas. Wading in to the small mob besieging the poor traveller, he made quick work of the scurrilous men, and saved a very grateful man about town. So grateful was he, that he offered Pickle a job as his man-at-arms... on one condition. 'Pickle' was not a name to inspire awe or fear. In keeping with spirit of the name, but casting about for a slightly harder, edgier name, the moneyed man suggested 'Dill'. And so Dill he became.
Dill said goodbye to his parents, and started his new life as a hired sword, protecting the aging merchant for several years, until finally, the man passed away silently in the night. (Rumor persisted that he actually died loudly in the night, in the company of several young things of incomparable beauty, but Dill would not listen to such slander against the memory of his good master.) Knowing that Dill had the capacity to be a great fighter, and a wealthy man in his own right, the merchant left Dill a not inconsiderable sum of money, and an letter of introduction to a Master of the Fighter's Guild, in a far off city. Dill started off the next morning.
After many weeks of arduous journey, dear reader, Dill arrived at the door of his new teacher (he hoped). With the letter, and his now bulging wallet to match his bulging muscles, (wiping the floor with several of the teacher's most promising students didn't hurt,) he was able to easily gain entrance to the school. For years he trained, both within and without the walls of the academy, not to mention more than a few barhalls. For night and day he sweated and wrestled with his competitors, not to mention more than a few barmaids. Several years passed, with Dill's every talent and skill honed to perfection for being a fighter in any environment... but he unsurprisingly showed a unique aptitude for the hunt and lore of the wood. Due to this, on the day he graduated, he was awarded the rarest of ranks and titles within the Fighter's Guild, as befit his abilities.
Yes dear reader, on that day, he fulfilled his destiny and became Ranger Dill Wobinson.
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I called you.
Date: 2004-11-29 04:04 am (UTC)BAD.
Really bad.
Ed and I read this together, and I read a lot faster than he does. I was writhing on the floor clawing at my eyes before he got to the end, and he kept saying "Shhhh! Don't ruin it for me!"
So I tried to write and eye-claw quietly. This? It is bad. Painfully punny.
Naughty, bad toad.