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'sorted' exclaims the indifferent (and fairly useless, it may be added) DonkeyWan archer.
There cradled amongst the treasure is some objects that Lord shield in his generosity has missed and the rather dazed chicken seems to have forgotten.
'Crom Faeyr' gasps Donkeywan. He picks up the warhammer and feels the strength pulsing through his veins.
'boots of speed. Muwhahahahaa' he laughs. Quickly the Archer speeds towards his objective, the treasure hidden a mere 5 leagues away. 4 leagues later and the Archer is cautiously approaching the cave where the treasure is contained. Slowly (relatively, anyway, those boots of speed really make being stealthy difficult). He moves toward his goal. He wades through a field of corn. Ziip, 'oowww',ziiippp, 'oowww',ziiippp, 'oowww',ziiippp, 'oowww',ziiippp, 'oowww',ziiippp, 'oowww',ziiippp, 'oowww'.
'That really hurts, when you have boots of speed on'. Bleeding from a variety of wounds, Donkeywan swears to never again wear boots of speed and walk through waist high crops. He drinks a precious potion of healing. Suddenly he spies a lich in a clearing. He stares bemused for a second! 'Whats a lich doing out here, in the middle of the day, in the open, seemingly unaware, though the buggers normally spot you a mile away?' he wonders.
Not being terribly experienced (or intelligent for that matter) Donkeywan decides to smack up the Lich. He quickly knocks back some potions. feeling invincible (magic resistant, stoneskinned, firebreathed and slightly intoxicated) Donkeywan thinks 'I really must stop drinking all that oj'. He slowly/quickly approaches the Lich and swings. 'Ha!' he shouts, 'and even more ha!' he bellows.
Two minutes more and he slowly/quickly realises he has been had. A dark shadow forms around him, which DonkeyWan realises is not a normal thing in a sunny glade.
He looks up to see an approaching blur and a screamingly fast noise along the lines of
!mmooooOOOOOOOOO!
'WHUMP'
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When Donkeywan comes too, he realises that he once again has been rather lucky. The strength of Crom Faeyr has saved him from being crushed by the rather large falling cow. He remains winded and pinioned, unable to move due to the beefy goodness leisurely lying on top of him, gently mooing occassionly. His arms and legs stick out but his vision is obscured.
Due to the unfortunate positioning of the cows derriere, Donkeywan is unable to see who is robbing him of his boots and his weapon. He does hear a slightly manic, mage like laugh and in his peripheral vision he sees a blur of red. Later however, when the cow finally leaves and he lies there winded, he is still unsure to the identity of his ambusher.
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hours later on arriving back to the bar Donkeywan gives Lord shield and his comely serving wench an embarrassed nod.
He feels wiser more experienced, more learned for his adventure. He has at least learnt one new valuable skill.
'No need for a drink, Mr. Barman, I have pulled my own pint if milk...'
Moral: A falling cow gathers no chestnuts... or something... I'm not sure... I feel rather concussed... I think I'll lie down in this nice comfortable gutter.
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