Mogworld

I had passed on from life, from the world of struggles and hardship and big fat women with annoying laughs, and entered a glorious new existence of utter peace, and joy, and love. And then some git brought me back to life

He seemed to notice for the first time that we weren't exactly rushing to his side, but were mainly watching him as a zoo patron would watch a crazy monkey, curious but ready to move at the first sign of poo-flinging. There was a minute of awkward silence before someone near the back with their head held under their arm said "who's this twat?

I am a crab. I am thinking crabby thoughts. I am tightening my grip on this rock with my big red pincers.

The obedient Pit bull becomes the escaped tiger and it's got a knife

His perpetual grin was wider than any I'd ever seen, and that included several guys I'd known at Dreadgrave's with no skin on their faces.

The Necromancer's Tower squatted over the river like an incontinent titan.

I don't actually remember if I was able to get a firebolt off. I have a vague memory of seeing orange light splatter harmlessly against a spiked breastplate, but that might just have been sparks from all the metal rubbing against metal. Then there was a sound rather like a bag of wet laundry being hurled across a gravel driveway, and that was the first time I died.

State your HURRAAARRGLAB,” went the monarch. “Mr. Wonderful,” said the advisor, daintily wiping the king’s mouth with a hanky. “What do we keep telling you about your interrogation methods? The information’s never reliable and it really hurts our image.” “It’s all right,” I sighed. “This is my actual face.

Ponyleaf was tall and thin, with a curly beard and the kind of rugged tan and fidgety nervousness that comes from a career adventuring through the gnoll-and-goblin-haunted wilderness. He stepped forward, separating himself from a bored-looking Loledian dwarf and a poorly dressed Anarecsian warrioress who looked chilly in every sense of the word.