The grand halls of the Fire Lord's Castle are eerily quiet while the sun sets over the nearby mountains. Our hero, Chick-O-Sticks sneaks through the shadows of the over-heated fortress. You see, the realm of the Fire Lord is a harsh desert landscape where the thought of a single drop of water will cause a war. The curtain of nightfall doesn't help the heat in the least. A lesser man would be dying of heat stroke right about now but this daring rogue maintains his cool, pun intended. The reason for skulking about the lair of such an evil overlord? To acquire the ruler's sacred battle sword. For without it the Fire Lord has no power and these once lush lands will return to their former green glory.
It doesn't take long to locate the sword. Chick-O-Sticks spots the weapon at the end of lengthy unguarded corridor. Its his for the taking. As he nears the object of his affection he takes in the details of it's surroundings. It rests upon a duly lit pedestal in a large high-domed room with nary an inkling of a trap or defense. He nears the end of the passage. He is so close he can see his reflection framed within the pristine wetted edge of the blade. Still no guards, no ambush. There is no way it can be this easy. He reaches out to take the handle into his grasp. Then... he heard it. The whisper of a noise. It was gone as quick as it had came. He stood motionless, frozen in place. The sword's hilt a fraction of an inch from his finger tips. That noise. So queer that in this place, of all the sounds to hear, he hears the gasp of a sultry innocent giggle. A woman's laugh.
Chick-O-Sticks spots a miniscule sliver of light emanating from a nearby doorway. He turns from the pedestal and moves towards the opening. Kneeling and peering through the slight crack he is witness to a sight most men can only dream of. Three beautiful, scantily-clad, young women can be seen frolicking about a huge bedroom. Red curtains and satin sheets are draped about blocking too-good a portion of the view as the lovely ladies within engage in a heated battle of pillow tag. Chick-O-Sticks opens the door and disappears within.
8 minutes later...
Chick-O-Sticks has a bit of trouble locating his pants in the sea of tangled satin red sheets and under garments. The three mysterious mistresses lay on the bed fast asleep looking quite satisfied in their sexy slumber. Just as he manages to tug a restricted pant leg from under one of the lasses finely toned buttocks he feels the hot gust of breath at the back of his neck. He turns to the sight of a gargantuan rust bearded beast of a man wielding the sacred battle sword clenched tightly beneath his bleach-white knuckles. The look of intense rage emblazoned across his face is unmistakable. He is pissed. Without wasting a single moment Chick-O-Sticks bolts for the room's only exit left unblocked by this mountainous enemy, the terrace. He manages to vault over the balcony before a gust of wind on his naked back tells him that the swing of a sword just narrowly missed his spine. He plummets to the river below. The Fire Lord can be seen waving an angry fist down at the falling intruder. The mistresses tugging and pulling at their master's arms and beard. Begging for more from the stranger. Their bosoms heaving in impassioned rebellion. Their pouting lips clenched beneath a teasing bite...
Is it getting hot in here?
Anyways... ahem... phew.
Back to the story.
Chick-O-Sticks splashes heavily into the rough waters and swims to the nearest embankment. He recollects the course of events from this night. The thought of not retrieving the sword does not bother him. He knows that he will return to the Fire Lord's castle for more action. And after that he is going to attempt to steal the sacred battle sword...