In which Sir Roger discovers the dangers of geysering when fending off one’s mortal enemies, not to mention risking the wrath of Leonardo DiCaprio…
—5—
There is something immensely satisfying about a trusty Craftsman™ broadsword crunching into the bones of a despicable enemy. Unfortunately, immense satisfaction was not what I enjoyed. Instead, my beloved blade cracked.
It was especially disappointing after I had so acrobatically ducked, parried, dodged, and pivoted. Emmaretta had aahhed and Edward Hopper had ooohhed. Even Gremnik had hmpfed most suitably as I sidestepped a swipe from his axe, then thrust at my rival’s backbone, fully expecting my trusty broadsword to—at the very least—disembowel and eviscerate him.
The horror of my beloved blade cracking rather than my archrival finally meeting his doom nearly overwhelmed me. Tears threatened to flood my eyes, generally a fatal flaw for gallant knights such as myself. Worse, the shame of such a failure in front of both Emmaretta and Edward Hopper was nearly enough to undermine my honor.
Princess Hag cackled at my misfortune. Yes, the villainess in this mess was indeed the same princess who had hired me (and whose name I still did not know). The mist had obscured both her and her goons, led by the aforementioned Gremnik, as they hid amongst the lily pads. Just as my cherished Emmaretta had knelt to slice the ropes binding the two frogs, our enemies had leaped onto the island, crushing the sedge grass and thwarting our rescue. With one sweep of my mighty forearm, I had pushed my love to safety before ducking, parrying, dodging, and pivoting, felling a goon with each suave swing of my trusty Craftsman™ broadsword until the fateful moment.
Gremnik had lurched when I successfully swerved, providing me with the opening that should have ended the battle. For one brief moment, the thwack of my broadsword had resounded as beautifully as any chiming bell. Then fate intervened.
As mentioned hitherto, a flood of tears threatened to overwhelm me. Fortunately, due to years of steadfast training, I was able to forestall said flood by dropping what remained of my sword and raising both fists in a perfect boxer’s pose. I had not read Arnold’s Guide to the Manly Art of Fisticuffs 72 times for nothing!
“Sir Roger!” exclaimed the delightful voice of Princess Emmaretta. I dared not spare her a glance, but I could spare her a listen.
“Yes, my love?”
“You’re sinking!”
“He’s not sinking!” shouted Edward Hopper far too enthusiastically, considering I was saving him from almost certain death with nothing more than my fists. “He’s crying!”
Gremnik guffawed. Now that, I will admit, was embarrassing. Your enemy should never guffaw at you whilst in the middle of a life-and-death struggle.
“He’s not crying! He’s blubbering!” my blue-skinned rival chortled.
“That’s not blubbering!” cried Princess Hag. “That’s geysering! He’s sinking the island!”
I risked a glance at my feet. Sure enough, there was a rather large pool forming, but that could not possibly be my fault! It must be the sheer weight of my chiseled knightly body. I brandished my fists in Gremnik’s face.
“Fight me, you knave!”
“Retreat!” cried Princess Hag. “Before he drowns us all!”
“Sir Roger!” cried Princess Emmaretta. “Save us!”
For a moment, I could not decide. What should I do? Save the love of my life or chase down my archrival? I could not do both!
At this point you the reader must choose one of the following (please make sure your sound is on):
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