THEY’RE GONE. The words echoed into the darkness. And a vortex erupted, depositing Queefblade and Barzag on an ox cart.”
    “Is it true about the fifteen minutes? I’ve never seen such beauty in my life,” said Barzag,”Look. Theres a mountain full of mushrooms and a river of THC. Where are we?”
    “Don’t worry baby, this is where my fake moustache serves double duty. Put one of these on and act like you belong here.”
    Queefblade proceeded to fleece the small village, combing through the waste bins and trash cans. Each one revealing intimate details about its inhabitant.
    “This is called dumpster diving. Low class, considered by some visitors, but I generally have positive results. Just so long as I remember that none of this exists,” guided Queefblade.
    Barzag joined in and started exploring the small houses. An elf in the first house was busy rotating a squirrel tank. In the second, a family of elves were playing two dimensional leap frog.
    “Flozart!” Barzag erupted. The third one contained a freeze dried effigy of Barzag’s ex husband.
    Flozart had been quite the asshole to her. Hence the reason for their divorce. But there were more than a few times that Barzag had longed for just one more night of guiltless sodomy.
    “Shall we continue being interrupted by you humans. Here to have a good time, watch our lives end as if its some kind of spectacle?” an elf enquired.
    “Remember what he said about verbal interactions Barzag. Control them if you can. They use mind tricks to remove you from the game,” said Queefblade.
    It would take more than banter to make Barzag lose her cool. She had graduated from Weed High with an impressive tolerance for hard madness, one that would not soon be toppled.
    “Pay attention to your own journey, my fiend,” Barzag harped. She continued crawling through the town.

Continued tomorrow…

      Gratz meef,
            Reverend Speefnarkle