Hitting solid earth the adventurers had been separated. The place, England. The time (more than likely bloody tea time);
Vindicator pulled himself to his feet with a groan. “The Book!” he looked around frantically. it was gone. He had to find the others and get the book back.
Blade wandered the woods for hours until finally he crossed paths with a group of horsemen. “Hold nave. Or wilts separate thy head from thy body.” He was captured by a roving band of the Sheriffs men. In shackles he was lead back to the castle… probably never to be heard from again (until later)
Dragon… fond of the gypsy outfit and still cuddling the chicken staggered up to a shady grove with a Tavern/Inn tucked nicely in the forest. Inside several husky men, stinking of cheap booze propositioned him/her and made lude comments such as, “Nice beard darling. Give me something to hang on to.” He made a thrusting motion with his hips while at the same time making a gripping motion with his hands. What shall become of our brave cross-dresser now?
Trauma walked into a village and was accosted by several peasants with pitchforks and other nasty looking tools. “‘Ee’s a spy for the Sheriff!” someone cried out. “No ‘ees a witch.” “Burn ‘im! Burn ‘im!”
“No wait! I’m a lost traveller looking for my friends.” Trauma raised his arms and started backing away. Quickly he remembered what had been bothering him throughout the last few hours. Sherwood Forest! Robin Hood! “Wait! I have come to gather an army of cut-throats and brigands to fight Prince John and returned Sherwood to the people.” A slight murmur arose and one peasant answered. “But we already ‘ave Robin Hood doing that. Couldn’t you… like… do somethin’ else?”
“Like what?” trauma was confused.
“Can ya juggle?” someone called out.
“Can ya make funny noises wit’ yuir armpits?”
Looking around Trauma noticed a fence lined with bottles and tin cans.
(How convenient, eh?) Spinning he stood in the old-fashioned cowboy stance. Drawing his Pez dispenser he flicked SpiderMan’s head and spit deadly cherry Pez hitting every target. Cowering and cringing in fear the villagers shied away.
“Now listen here you primitives. This is Zellers’ top o’ the line Pez dispenser! Moulded plastic with hair trigger neck action.” He held it up so everyone could see. “I can knock divot in anyone’s forehead at 20 yards. So don’t fuck with me.” Suddenly they all bowed and kneeled before him. A cry rose up; “Fuck Robin Hood! Hail Trauma Groovy!” they chanted.
Tito parted the underbrush and peered cautiously around the clearing. Still carrying his tools and gymbag, he bolted across the clearing in the old John Belushi-style. Pulling his crowbar he went right to work on the lock, prying it off the framework and then disappeared into the house with smile to loot and pillage. (and if by chance there was an under age little girl in the house…..)
[writer - TRAUMA - Groooooooooovy.]
Blade awoke suddenly to a scuffling sound coming from the corner of his cell.
“Uh who’s there?” “No one!” was the weary reply. “OK”. Looking about the cell, Blade added another scratch to the wall with his shackle. “Wow ten whole minutes in this hell hole”. “Psst”. “Who’s there?” asked Blade more than pleased to know he wasn’t alone. “It’s me.” “Boy that helps.” said Blade. “I not a BOY! I’m Marian. Are you a friend of Robin’s?” asked the female voice. “Who’s Robin” Blade asked overly bored, as he scratched yet another line in the wall. “Well Robin Hood of course you fool.” Finally Blade spotted the origin of the annoying voice. A frizzy haired bag, with less teeth then he had fingers. “Night!” said Blade quickly. Praying the fiend would disappear when he closed his eyes.
Vindicator looked around for some sign of where his companions could be. When he spotted a sign behind him saying, “Companions, and excitement this way”. “Boy that wasn’t easy was it.” said Vindicator overly pleased with himself. After a few minutes of walking in the direction of the arrow he came upon a little house. Walking closer he heard a series of mutterings coming from the pried open door. “Damn nothing here, not even an under aged girl”. Vindicator, knowing the deprived soul. Called out in his best female voice “Is anybody in there?” No sooner did he say these words did Tito spring from the building like a skilled hunter (after three kegs of moonshine) looking for anything to satisfy his needs. Luckily Tito noticed his prey before he striked.
Trauma now showing the people of the little town who’s Boss, strolled into the local Tavern only to notice a shapely women being surrounded by a bunch of drunken farmers, and being the hero he is, and that she had a nice ass. He launched several follies of Pez at the nearby mugs. After this impressive show of skill, the drunkard’s move away. Only to reveal that the lovely assed creature was indeed the crossed dressed Dragon. “Damn” said Trauma. “But nice ass anyways B.”
[writer - Blade?]
Dragon swelled his chest up to look imposing (which is hard to do when you have the imprint of a chicken within your shirt), strolled over to the nearest table…grabbed the glass of one of the patrons and downed it’s contents. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breath for at least 5 mins. The rest of the tavern was laughing knowing that the drink was the hardest stuff that customer usually orders.
Dragon’s mind was racing, what was in this strange tasting Kool-Aid? Do I detect a hint of mint? Oh oh…I think I’m going to sneeze…. ahhh …ahhh… AHH CHOO!!!!
Unbelievably fire erupted forth from his mouth setting the tavern afire and causing mass chaos. People where shouting “Fire Fire!” “Witch Witch!” “Flight 784 now boarding for Chicago!” “Dragon! Dragon!” To which Dragon looked up, alarmed in case there really WAS a Dragon. Seeing the blaze in front of him…he left the town in search of his friends…a few sneezes later and the town was a raving inferno with the threat of the nearby forest catching on fire…. as he was nearing the forest he overheard a farmer talking to another “Nah…nothin’s to fear..that’s SHURE WOOD! It can stand the best of things!”
[writer - DRAGON!!! --twisted enough for ya Trauma?<BG>]
Well, the dragon flew over Dragon and started to burn the forest. Dragon just froze there. Then a fleet of B52 came and dropped H-Bombs over the forest. However, the dragon was prepared with his anti-matter grenades and flung them at the bombers. The bombers were taken completely out by surprise. The H-bombs haven’t reached the ground yet, but the dragon named Al wasn’t afraid. He warped the electro-magnetic field of the earth and shot the bombs into space, where they happened to hit a weather satellite and all over the world voices could be heard saying “What! No weather channel? I’m calling the cable company!”
That’s pretty weird.
[writer - ???]
The entire ruckus created by Dragon’s indigestion did not go unnoticed. Dodge City and the Sheriff have responded. Sending out men to round up the troublemakers and bring an end to Robin Hood and his band of merry men.
In the village, Trauma Groovy awaited the arrival of his companions:
Dragon, finally over the heartburn was lead into the village by several drunken louts who for the entire journey made hooting and catcalls towards him. Offering him the chance to enjoy the company of real men. Upon seeing Trauma sitting on a makeshift thrown surrounded by scantily clad children with giant fans, he quickly ran over. Tenderly rubbing his goosed bottom. The chicken still clutched protectively to his chest.
A rickety old wagon pulled by two mules (Sister Sarah’s mules) was driven by an Monk. Tito, dressed as a holy friar climbed down from the furniture laden wagon and swaggered up to Trauma, his eyes never leaving the little girl with the biggest set of fans.
Shouts echoed through the village, “Its Robin ‘ood! And his band of pansies!” Just then into sight came a group of men in tights. The villagers split aside and let the two groups face off in a skirmish line. Held up by two of Robin’s men, Vindicator seems to still be unconscious and effectively out of the fight.
On one side, Trauma Groovy, Friar Tito and Maid Dragon (and his chicken) stood their ground. On the other, Robin Hood, Little John, Scarlet Will and several other no names, including the comatose Vindicator, opposed them…
[writer - TRAUMA - There... stop your bitchin’.]
…The sun gleaned off of Trauma’s menacing grin as he sized up the competition that had dared challenge him. His left hand dangled at his side as his right twitched, just inches from his Pez dispenser…
“We are here to challenge your claim to the leadership of the people of Sherwood Forest!” Cried Robin.
“Then step into eternity!” replied Trauma, in his cheesiest pseudo-intellectual voice.
Robin fired an arrow at his head, which Trauma narrowly avoided by diving to the ground. He let loose a flurry of Pez, which missed Robin’s head by a hair’s breadth… Unfortunately, they did not miss the head of The Vindicator who had just awaken from his 27-hour nap. 6 Pez pummelled his skull and knocked him (once again) unconscious.
“Oooooh!” cried the ecstatic crowd… “Ahhhhh!”
“Ohhhh!” Said The Vindicator, just before he fell back to the ground.
[writer - The Vindicator - Mia Skullpa!]
… Robin, being the coward he was, decided that the Pez came a little two close for comfort. Shaking his hand menacingly he and his men backed off slowly. Two of them still dragging the sleepy-headed Vindicator. “You haven’t seen the last of us!” Robin cried. And with that he and his band of merry men scattered into the woods. A cheer arose from the peasants. And that evening, a party was called.
As the villagers danced and drank the night away, Trauma, Tito and Dragon held a small discussion about how they were going to rescue the Vindicator and find that damn book and get the Hell outta Dodge.
“Make way. Make way. I have news for Trauma Groovy. It’s from the Sheriff of Dodge City!” Handing him a poster, which read:
“Hear ye! Hear ye!
Tomorrow, the fair city of Dodge will hold a quick draw tourney. And all men of infamous reknown are welcome. The prize will be a free seasons pass at the future Sherwood Fun Park. Come one come all.”
Sheriff of Dodge City.
“Gadzooks!” Dragon cried. “Me thinks it be a trap.”
Tito looked at the gypsy clothed Dragon and shook his head, “You been hugging that chicken too long.”
“Nonetheless.” Trauma stuck out his chest in the typical cheese-fashion.
“Trap or no trap. I must go and face this grave challenge.”
“‘Tis a days ride to Dodge, me lord.” One peasant interrupted. Trauma turned toward him and punched him, “How dare you eavesdrop on our conversation. Spy!” Several other villagers ran over at the cry from the Trauma. Seeing a man sprawled out on the ground they asked what was the matter. “He is a spy for the Sheriff. Burn him!”
“No no! You got the wrong guy.” The poor soul cried. But alas it was too late. The villagers were a volatile group with pent up frustrations and a major fetish for burnings. “Burn ‘im! Burn ‘im!”
“Wot? Is he a witch?” one peasant called out.
“Naa. He’s a spy.” The one carrying his thrashing body said.
“I bet he’s a witch too.” An old hag called out.
Silence fell on the crowd as they stared at the old woman. “I bet she’s a witch too!” Someone called.
“Burn ‘er! Burn ‘er!” The unruly mob grabbed her as well.
As the stake burnings began. Trauma, Tito, Dragon and the chicken slipped quietly out of the village and rode on to Dodge City.
[writer - TRAUMA - Groovy.]