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All men are not created equal.
There are those who are entitled to the finer things in life. And there are those who are damned and born into a life of hardship and servitude to ensure that the others get those niceties that they require.
There are those who walk on the backs of others; sneering and gleering at while they wipe their asses with 115 power scrolls. And there are those give up part of their soul when they submit to the will of the others for those very same scrolls.
There are those who are so secure in their safety and melevolence that they don't bother insuring their very valuable ship keys. And there are those who--
*cracks knuckles, snaps out of intrapersonal soulsearching, and gets to work*
Yo Yo Ma!
This was no meer miner nor a day dreaming adventurer! This was a legendary mage with the most powerful of armors, most sought after of skills, and the finest of neon evening wear! He'll fool you at first glance, but you have to look past his queer exterior to find the warrior within. He was not one to be triffled with...
...but how could I not?
I get in close, fixate on his two uninsured ship keys, glance at his bag of sending with 24 charges, and take my chances.
I return to the scene of the crime and there he stands, still casting his spells, training the (un-bonded) animal's magical resistance. He hadn't noticed! Or had he? It's hard to tell with these crafty, crotchety mages.
I move in to double my chances, double my treasures, (and double the risk). I move in and this the powerful mage reacts.
He heads back to town and I give chase. But first...
"Kal Ort Por!" I say to claim my prize.
And there it was in the exact spot his last boat was parked! (And only 2 screens away from where he now remains.) I had to act fast before I recieved any unwelcomed company.
Ah, sweet victory. But the game's just begun! I head into town and attempt to track down my prey.
I head back to the stables and there he was once again.
If his exit wasn't on account of me, maybe there was still more fun to be had. I get in close. The power eminating from his finger tips makes my balls itch. (Not good.)
And there it sits. He was making this easy...
...a little too easy. I use caution. I pause momentarily to spot any trickery. But I see none.
I reach in and take what's mine.
VICTORY! A DOUBLE STEAL! A PAIR OF BOATS! MY BALLS HAVE INCREASED IN SIZE! "KAL ORT POR!"
I THANK THEE FOR THY DONATIO--
"Kal Ort Por!"
A dud! A fake! This key lead to no ship!
HOW DARE HE!?
The mage thinks he's bested me! The mage laughs at me from a distance. He mocks, he ridicules, and his religious beliefs differ from mine! And what do you do when you encounter another religion?
Stab wildly and ask questions later!
"I'm doing this to save you immortal soul! Peace be with you!" I'd say.
I snoop him again searching for one item in particular. And to my disappointment, there it was sitting in the bottom right hand corner of his pack, staring back at me with its devil eyes:
A cure potion.
I lift the potion, shove it to the side, and I take another sucker-punch to my gut. Bottles upon bottles carefullly piled on top another -- multiple potions. One thing was for certain:
That this, the great crusade of our time, was not to be decided by grand armies nor individual wit. This holy war was to be decided by my element of surprise versus his skill at quaffing potions.
Armed with only 6 applications of poison on my kryss and a limited number of shurikens against his unknown number of potions... Let the games begin.
The plan was simple:
Shuriken the warbeast to distract his attention and keep the mage on his feet, then give him hell. He mutters something about "All hail Xenu." (I'm sure it was unimportant.) I grasp my war fork, summon my steed, look the infidel in the eyes... and strike!
The beast begins to spasm and the mage begins to bleed. With his steed incopasitated, he seeks refuge to the south. This was it! This was my chance! I grab my kryss and try to finish the job.
Bleeding, poisoned, death striked, confused, and abused, (but not defeated) the mage could not get off a spell.
No mistakes. No surrender. Any mis-step, any chance for the mage to speak, and he would finish this lowly thief. He finally disarms his spellbook, giving him a free hand, and the chugging begins. Cure potion after heal potion after cure potion he drinks. Poison after poison I land. Twice I had him all but dead. Five, four, then only three infectious strikes my kryss had left. He steps to the side, drinks a heal potion, I throw a shuriken his way... but miss!
Still, his health was dipping dangerously low. The red in his face was turning an intoxicating green. (He was not a happy camper.) I chase him down with an armor ignore prepared. And he jumps the teleporter and retreats into the streets of Greater Jhelom.
I give chase...
..and realize my mistake!
I hop the teleporter back to the island before his realization catches up with mine. At 1/4 life he has the audacity to run to the protection of the town guards. Stumbling, bumbling, and with a cure potion in hand, he escapes by the hairs on his chinny chin-chin.
I return home and lock down my trophy next to his other generously donated vessel.
I look forward to our next encounter.
Round 1: Draw
P.S. My god can beat up your god.
'Til next time!
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