Annnd for the second post of the night! Enjoy my wordcount for today, people - which I'm proud to say is exactly 8333 as of right now! Yay for celebrating mediocrity.

(Chapter 4 starts! Finally! Plus: a new character!)

As they became more and more restless, the slightest items of interest began to spawn more and more conversation, from the initial comment from Last (“Why, what a piquantly shaped mushroom! I wonder what type it is”) and Mr. Ian Woon’s swift scorn (“Probably poisonous, you dunderhead”) to the long and philosophical discussion Last, Someone, Charlie, Main, and even the confused young man (who during the discussion revealed somewhat nervously that his name was “Polo”) had had regarding whether or not fairies did, indeed, create fairy rings (Charlie and Main’s insistence), or if they were actually evil hive minded mushrooms that intended upon overtaking the forest (Last and Someone’s opinion). So, when Polo suddenly noticed a bright red outhouse, it accrued an overabundance of attention from the entire adventuring party.

“What – what in the /world/ is /that/?” Polo said in melodramatic interest, leaning forward to peer through the thick shadows at the blaringly, near fluorescent red object in the distance.

“Why – it’s a red outhouse!” shouted Charlie, exhibiting his knowledge of not only the exclamation point, but the much beloved en dash as well.

“Red? My dear chap, that is an outhouse to be sure, but I believe you will find that it is /orange/, and not red at all,” Lord Squigglebottom said from the sjhadows, from whence he had not ventured for the entirety of their admittedly short journey. The rest of the party members looked at him with interest not a little motivated by extreme boredom and desperation – for as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants had not involved himself in any of the conversations that had sprung up so far (with the exception of the snarky little exchange he and mr. Ian Woon had shared in the campsite), he was far more interesting than the dull musings, curiously shaped pinecones, and amusing squirrel exchanges they had had to divert themselves with for the several hours they had been tramping through this forest.

“Oh, no, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants,” Main said, coming to Charlie’s aid with no little relief. “I believe that if one examines the outhouse properly and accounts for the dimness of this forest, one will be forced to admit that the redditude of this outhouse is so exemplary that there is no way that any orangeyness could make itself seen – in fact, any yellowitude at all is so far from tainting this redliness that this outhouse may even be proclaimed (a little boldly of course) a paragon of redness.” Nobody even flinched at this overly pompous and clearly trumped up statement of ridiculousness, because they were so desperate for conversation that they (including Main) were willing to speak in Verbose Gentleman Speak in order to obfuscate their conversation and stretch out the time it took to say anything. In fact, Main preened a little at his small speech, because he could have said his point in four words, namely, “I think it’s red.”

Mr. Ian Woon piped up. “No, my good sir - you see, it is because of the dim lighting in this great forest, which dampens the yellowitude of this paragon of orangeyness, that you poor plebians are mislead into believing this outhouse of such outstanding orangitude is a mere red outhouse. If you could but place it in full, unobstructed sunlight, even your blind eyes would be opened to the exemplary amount of orangeliness that this outhouse possesses.” This statement also elicited interest fform the other party members, because Mr. Ian Woon, like Lord Squigglebottom Fancypabts, had remained (sourly) silent for much of the amazingly boring tromp that today had yielded. Mr. Ian Woon tried to preen at his contribution, but since his statement (which could have been said in only three words, namely, “No, it’s orange,”) was a full five words shorter than Main’s, he hadn’t managed to elicit the same amount of awe [bad word] as Main had.
However, they were unable to continue their verbose exchange, because at that very moment the door to the outhouse flew open to allow a person egress (who, because of the distance that still remained between the adventuring party and the outhouse of questionable color, was rather indistinct). This person, although rather far away, flew toward them fleetly – in fact, this person was fast enough for the party to decide she was female after five seconds although she had been a mere ant moments ago. The adventuring party began to fear they were experiencing a random encounter as the woman drew nearer. Their assumption proved correct, as within the minute she had reached them; as soon as she saw Main, she fell upon him in a rage and began to maul. The whole adventuring party was taken by such surprise that they could do nothing but stare as she gouged savagely at Main; then, as suddenly as she had fallen upon him, she grabbed his shirt, ripped it off him, and ran off with it, growling like an angry tiger.

They all stopped in shock, still staring at Main, who was lying on the ground, panting. Then, they all looked up at each other in near unison, and asked each other wordlessly, “Anybody have some healing experience?” They each cast about the entire party, but as nobody stepped forward, they realized that the only thing they could do would be to bring Main to the next town. They fashioned a makeshift stretcher for Main, who was now irritably insisting they do something while slowly slipping into unconsciousness from lack of blood (fortunately, Lord Squigglebottom FAncypants knew that that was what was happening, and stopped the bleeding as best as he could, for his own reasons). They set off down the road again, hoping a town came along soon.

CHAPTER 4
>In which Main visits a healer, investigates the veracity of the claims that chaos has been spreading throughout the realm, eavesdrops, and finally gets himself some new clothes.<

The traveling party was in luck, for the (debatably) red outhouse was the harbinger of a sizeable town. They walked into the town rather hurriedly, because Main was not faring terribly well. “Hello!” shouted Someone, with the strong voice he had cultivated for music. “Hello! Is there a healer in this village? Please! Someone is hurt!”

The few people walking about in the heat of the day (which was rather hot indeed, because the town itself was in full sunlight and unprotected by the forest which ended rather abruptly after the arguably red outhouse) looked at him oddly, as if they did not understand. Suddenly, a huge bull walrus wearing a top hat and a monocle while smoking a thick cigar burst through the seven people clustered around the saloon thing, barking in a loud, German accented voice, “Was ist das? Ein doktor? Come vit me, ja, I vill show you to him.” He flopped forward along the street, moving at a strong clip despite the fact that he was a walrus and not exactly built for land. The adventuring party was more than slightly flabbergasted at the sight and experience of a behatted, monocle wearing, cigar smoking German walrus who could speak, but as he was moving quite rapidly and Main was in a steadily worsening state, they followed at a near run, trying not to jar Main while at the same time trying to keep up with the amazingly fleet walrus.

After a short but harrowing run, trying to keep up with this incredibly agile walrus, the adventuring party came to a stop before a small hut on the outskirts of the town, which was thatched in reeds and clearly made from rather aged wattle and daub. “Go insite, der herb vife vill fix him up qvick, ja!” the walrus urged, taking a long drag on his cigar, then using his flipper to knock the ash off against his tusk. The members of the adventuring party looked at each other, unsure, but one look at their leader, to whom most of them were becoming awfully attached somehow, impressed upon them the pressing need to get him some help, any help, and soon. Charlie was chosen to carry Main in (for it was clearly too small for two people to carry him in on his stretcher, and Charlie was after all the strongest person in their party, with the possible exception of Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, who was in any case making it abundantly that more blood would be shed if he was forced to carry out any kind of menial labor), and he gingerly scooped up Main, who was by this time looking rather alarmingly pale (though not as pale as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, although it would be awfully hard to manage this side of death) and carried him into the hut, saying cautiously, “Excuse me? Herb wife? Are you there? Please we need your help!” (It was a very valiant effort for him, what with the three question marks he was forced to pronounce, and he could be excused for leaving out a mere comma.)

“Yes child?” a crackly voice asked, the owner of which was still enshrouded in shadow in much the same way as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants perpetually was. “Ah, I see! Yes, this one has lost a lot of blood. Yes, much, much blood. Was it the pale one? Oh, no, I see, it couldn’t have been him. Yes, yes, child, place him on the table, there, yes.”

Charlie, confused by the amount of punctuation this woman seemed to be familiar with, did not notice this then, but when he left the hut, he felt it was much bigger on the inside than on the outside. And indeed, Charlie had plenty of head room and space to maneuver in order to place Main gently on the canvas covered table the woman had instructed him to. As Charlie backed away from Main, the owner of the rather aged sounding voice moved forward into the relative light of the section of the hut which contained the table where Main lay.