EPILOGUE:
When the dust settles, my friends, you will not be remembered for your fierceness in battle. You shall not be recognized for your philanthropic deeds, your knot-tying abilities. Great people are not remembered as martyrs, warriors, kings or commoners — in the end each of us suffers the same fate. Friends, listen — we are remembered for the state of our relish in facing adversity. Take with you this lesson, and march on to what awaits.
There he stood in front of the river of blood, the great chili dog affixed to his sword like so many heads before it. Its chili was all that prevented the beasts surrounding him from mounting an attack. No creature would dare alter the perfect distribution of chili across the frank! No, they would wait. The moment he gave in to his hunger they would burst forth from the shadows, tearing him limb from limb. Was this why he had spent so much time at the gym? In the tanning bed? He musn’t succumb to the chililure.
Reader-provided captions welcome
The Gorgon emerged from the fog, her deadly gaze fixed upon the warrior. He had come all this way for her head, that he might use it to destroy the Krakon. How many had done just that, only to end up frozen, lifeless statues reminding new challengers of their inevitable fate. He saw her reach for her arrow holster and his jaw dropped. There it was, the great Link of Euryale, its relish intact although it was now carried by her sister Medusa, the vile beast who had lain with Poseidon. For a moment, he thought it might be the link she grabbed, and his stomach growled. He cursed his own mortality. He must be of sound mind to face this Gorgon, not a slave to his own senses. Curse that collosal link, that loathsome treat!
“Um, honey — What the fuck is that!?”
The sirens reached out toward the two Bratwurst, both supsended just above the surface by their captivating song. They would devour them soon enough, but now took a moment to bask in the beauty of the unsmudged relish, its dimensions so ordered. Perhaps they should keep it intact. Adventurers might stuff their ears with beeswax to avoid their song, but what man could resist its green sheen?
It seemed the Phoenix had arrived just as he had, equally determined to make the great frank its own. Its piercing shreik echoed through the vast canyons as the dragon considred its options. The frank-maiden simply stood there on the bun, unsure which fate was worse, to plummet toward the ground or be consumed by some great beast. The smell of singed mustard drifted skyward as the Phoenix neared. It was go-time.
The dragon Brirrgrorrr clutched the twin franks in his sharp claws, now backed into a corner. Arrgarr-r-ar plunged again, swinging his weapon at the great beast’s head, taking care not to blemish the flawless relish. Would this fiery opponent be his end? Would his long path end here? Arrgarr-r-ar was not afraid of death. He had pondered it long into the evenings back in Org-or-orrrrrr-zorr in his youth after his father’s demise. He had been there in the room when the bounty hunter Zarok burst through the door and collected his prize. He barely had time to react when his father’s head rolled toward his feet. No, Arrgarr-r-ar was no stranger to a violent end. His nostrils flared as the weinersmoke diffused. He would return to Org-or-orrrrrr-zorr and Brirrgorrr would remain here in Zorgoth-mgar.
