Bungle In The Jungle Bunghole

Oric,, my friend, it has been far too long since my last missive. These damnable pigeons appear to have flown to this rambling rod fellow instead of your humble abode in Avramstown. I suspect Otto has been furtively undermining my efforts with the winged messengers and subversively whispering the sweet nectar of fowl sedition in their avian ears. The attar of the gods is honey to their ears and milk to their hearts. The Phoenix shall descend even as she rises again. We are, once again, on pigeoning-terms. My devotion to CrIsis has only been surpassed by the Bismarck’s devotion to Bennu. Her trust slips further from my grasp, dangled before my salivating tongue like the Osirian member that so shamelessly dangles from my slimmer inner thigh heaven. A dangling carrot, marred only by a uvula’s dangling participle hung like a wanton pendulum to undulate and gyrate and ululate with the caterwaul’s cacophonous cry! Vestigial sylph shades — Paracelsian on the currents of elemental air — or the Fulminations will dine, tonight, as we did so long ago…on the pitter-patter of my wee heart…in its wee cavity…for a wee eternity.
Cry havoc and let loose Aleph Prime the Cardinal of Transfinite Induction and the Axiom of Choice!!!!

I’m the man in the box. Won’t you come and save me? Or at least post my bail. Here I sit, broken-hearted, came to shit but only farted. I find myself composing this avian-missive in the cell of my incarceration. The natural laws my only governing body — owing allegiance to the natural order — we await arraignment like the censured Cyclopean child. Upbraided and degraded. Dogs, wild and untamed, with our noses shoved in shit. The practices of civilized men drive me further from gnostic society and into the arms of a warlock’s wilderness of unbridled faith-fueled devotion. Forgive me my friend, this is the time to stop being polite and to start being real. I do hope our correspondence can continue uninterrupted. My cell-mates turned soul-mates look longingly at my prayer, bent-over-Bennu, and prey to rise and shine and give my gods their glory. Perhaps why I can only fart.

I met a musician today. The Bizantine Philharmonic misses him sorely but CrIsis has put him to good use in replacing our former bardiche. Oh Oric! Would that the blues had been invented! The black and blues that resonate soundly from my posterior petard…a postilion postiche! Quite the opposite of a mustache — it’s all the rage in the Cyclopean brothels!

Of which I profess to know next to little and little to none. The Bismark has accompanied me on one-too-many incriminated adventure and…well, suffice to say the Gigantes lass resembles a long-tailed cat long in the tooth of long-teeth combs on my Gnomish Saint Bernard Petard! Cava refuses to break my poor little heart but I suspect my illicit activities in soliciting floss from the giantess factored the primacy of preeminent primarily into our incarceration.

And before I knew it we set off for the Yin Slowth Jungles! But not before CrIsis embraced the opportunity to “gear-up” and resupply for the long journey. I wisely used this time to finish my avian bird flew to your, Oric. Cava and OverKill Coral had the rationing under control. When there are too many kings and not enough of the exploited proletariat the chain of command goes to pot. Tyvernos Oriflamme, herald of the heavens and commander of the greatest preternatural forces to have ever shaken the very earth we eat, sleep, breathe, and shit…is not to proud to admit that he will gladly follow the ranger in matters of land navigation and wilderness survival. Offhandedly, I remember the giants, cyclops, orcs, kobolds, humans, and all manner of diverse, variegated population accepting us without qualm. The next morning our weapons were returned to us and we were reminded not to take any more aggressive actions. To think that defending ourselves against Shedim — the wholesale slaughter of demonic creatures — led to this dastardly misunderstanding warms the cockles of my heart! And all along I had presumed the worst! I still need to see Father O’Malley for a prayer of Cure Disease when I finally return. Liberation from the gulag! Emancipation from the hoosegow! HAIL TO THE KING, BABY!!!!!!

Terramore took his leave of CrIsis; the gods have called him away and repurposed him. We faced a balmy 80 degree day with a warm sea breeze with a quixotic Quixis Ote in full battle regalia as the bardic replacement. Personally, I didn’t see the “tag” but, as I understand it, Terramore cooed ’bout the “slap heard ’round the world.” No sooner than we welcomed Quixis were we informed of Rogtilda’s new ability to manifest a defender whilst in port. These two facts appeared to be related…somehow. The scions of the gods were ready to leave — we had are antediluvian map, and Sir Quixis, and even some strange metallic contraptions designed to buoy us should a quickly-sanded fate befall us. I believe this might have been the suggestion of a Rahu-man guide named Tittycockaaah but I can’t be certain. His Cyclonic accent was strange for my Northern ears to decipher. Also, at about this time, Cava met a lovely new assistant named Eeyjahanah. She is an elven mind mage and appeared out of nowhere, without a CrIsis ring, and utterly devoted to “master” Cava…all of which is suspect.

Titikackla worships Kim Narc Maher! Cousin of bill and cause for caution. We spoke to a Jotan giant to get a map and a reference. I spent the day in another house of ill-repute. Cava obtained 29 lightning arrows (that should ease my work-load some). A Cyclops smith made the frame crate things.

Then…

Oh by gosh by golly! It’s time for BUNGLE-TOW and Holly! A Halfling wearing a CrIsis decoder ring appeared out of nowhere! We used the evening to rest up and have our fireside shat with Bugle and left for the Yin Sloth on the morning of the 9th.

Before we knew it Tittycockaaah found a tooth and everyone had to move silently, like chameleons, through the thick jungle flora. GASP! TEZCAT!!!!! Living breathing poisonous and carnivorous PLANT LIFE!!! I lit up the forest with a little Chain Lightning and fried me up some silky smooth sauteed weeds! The next few days transpired in a disjointed, anachronistic fashion. I wouldn’t know it until after I recovered but I had apparently come down with a raving lunatic’s form of heat exhaustion syndrome — also known as Jungle Fever. The next thing I remember is fighting off rodents of extremely unusual size! Fending them off and fighting for our lives was second-nature to the Saint Bernard. Furry bedraggled beast! In the next flash of bellicose brilliance we were fighting giant, man-eating toad-frogs! The primitive tribe of jungle junkies were so hopped-up on Hopplites they didn’t notice HOPPITUS, BUNGLE’S LONG LOST COUSIN!!!! Clearly a brother from another mother.

! ! ! H u z z a h ! ! !

All of a sudden we hard a large beast crashing through the underbrush! An Oliphaunt was charging right at us! Then some unseen thievery purloined the ring right off of OKC’s pudgy little finger-fuckers. I believe the invisible burglars also absconded with a toothpick from the bull. OK Coral, in a fit of fleet-footed rage, found himself quickly sinking in a quickly-silted sieve of sand! Cava’s ring replaced my ability to bestow Fly as the Eagle on my compatriots. Warlocks and seat-belts save lives. We then fought three giant horse-like creatures with four arms and lots of horns, not unlike the bull, but bigger…and fearsome! At some point I remember seeing the largest squirrel I’ve ever laid eyes upon. He was carrying a horse-headed human in peacocked regalia who bade us worship his beauty. Unflinchingly and unabashedly I knelt in obeisance.

Oh!

…and I vaguely remember Bungle and Ariel taking turns on Eelyjahnah…the heat stroke was blistering! On the evening of the 5th night, the 15th of Ra, CrIsis stopped for the evening so that Ariel could finally forgo sloppy seconds and make once round the mulberry bush before the briar patch with his twig ‘n berries.

Bidnass as usual my diminutive friend! Wishing you were here but, in your stead, wishing you all the best!

Your steadfast Garden Gnome,

Tyvernos.

Written by Tyvernos on the 15th of Ra in the 69th Year of the Wolfen Empire.
St Bernard picture from OLX

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