Gentle readers, I regret to inform you that the inevitable has indeed occurred. After a solid 19 months, we have missed a monthly session for the first time since "The Crimson Empire" campaign has begun! Whether we had a plethora or paucity of players, I was determined to always have the show go on. Sorry to say, that last minute cancelations, and scheduling a session so late in the month, thwarted said aspiration. In other words: there will be no recap for October.
But fear not faithful followers. Far be it for me to leave you in a literary lurch. For your reading pleasure this month, my dear friend George has allowed me to post, for the very first time, The Saga That is Socool!
A brief explanation: You may have heard rumors throughout this blog about Socool. Socool was a character George played in our campaign before this. He is a Super Model Barbarian. The Professor wants him for his body (see Mini Adventure 7). And Chapter 14 told of a dramatic reading of The Legend of Socool. So without further ado, in his own words, the man, the myth, the legend: Socool!!!
It all started when my father Somean, a barbarian for hire, pillaged a village and took to his fancy a girl named Okfine. My father married this woman, who would later become my mother, making her Sofine. My father being a career barbarian was never home, so I was raised primarily by my mother. I was continuously seeking my fathers acknowledgement. Hoping that someday he would return home.
At the age of five, my mother enrolled me at St. Odin's school for Barbaric Children. While I was attending St Odin's, our own village was pillaged and burnt to the ground my mother was, sadly, killed. My father returned the next day and declared vengeance on the murdering bastards who did this. He then sent me to live with his brother "Sowhat" and his wife "Sofat". Almost immediately, my aunt and uncle sold me to some traveling gypsies who forced me to fight nightly for food and later for money.
It started with chickens.
Later, it moved on to other farm animals, sheep, pigs, cows….and many many small woodland creatures. Eventually, while traveling down stream, I was forced to fight a crocodile. That croc was so big and slippery. I needed to use both hands, and still I wrestled it for what seemed like hours. A boy should not have his hands on a croc for that long. They get all wrinkly. My innocence was lost that night. I believe my gypsy masters were pleased as not a word was spoken while they ate. After all, it is hard to talk with a lot of croc in your mouth.
During one fight, I was handed a battle-axe. Upon wielding that battle-axe, I was reminded of my father, Papa Somean. It was at that moment that I decided I would become a Barbarian myself. With battle-axe in hand, I was able to break free of the gypsies and seek my own fortune, becoming a true barbarian.
While employed at Chain Male Modeling Agency, I learned the finer points in life, like how to show off my axe, how to use my axe to my advantage, how to treat a fine axe, and how to kiss axe. One time, at the end of a Chain Male modeling show, I was throwing back some Orange Mocho Meadalotoes and Ale Spritzers with the boys. I do not know who Al is, but his spritz sure does taste good. By the end of the night, we were all spritzing all over the place. It was a literal Spritzapalooza.
The bar-keep regaled us with many war stories. He spoke of a band of men known for their pillaging, but not so much their raping. I believe he called them the Pillage People. He spoke of their leader the equestrian biker dude. A man "so mean" he could give a guy a rectal pro laps with just one look. I knew immediately that he was talking about my father. After all, he called him Somean, and Papa always love to have horses between his legs. The bar-keep went on to talk about how they were big in the seventies and had a small comeback in the nineties but now their days were numbered as they were no longer "young men."
Hung over, covered in spritzer, and still wearing the chain mail from the previous night's modeling show, I fought gloriously and looked even more gloriously. As I alone would be the last survivor of the great really, really, really good looking boys from the bar who were mad as hell and could not take it anymore and were really, really, really mad and good looking.
Some of the militia went down on the way to the gala as they got into a silly little flaming hot oil fight. Oh those silly boys. The rest of my militia went down the moment they tried to bitch slap their way through the battle. I guess I survived because of my brutal gypsy, fight training, thingy, upbringing. I was, however, knocked out while I was checking the current condition of my golden flowing locks. That is when I was completely blindsided right to the center of my forehead.
I awoke to a elf attempting to mount me. Once again, I felt admired, flattered and accepted but also a little misunderstood. I thought to myself, "well all my boyfriends are gone, I am in the middle of a field full of vultures with no formal agenda. Besides, there is something magical about this man. What the heck!"