It was a bitter cold winter's day, a very long time ago, and Sir Prancealot, the pride of the paladin guild, set forth on a mission of derring-do.

The weather turned worse and soon the light snow grew to blizzard proportions. Prancealots horse, stumbling and exhausted, might have collapsed in another minute, but fortunately toward nightfall they came upon Shmo's tavern in Shard. Grateful for this unexpected sanctuary, Sir Prancealot rushed inside and warmed himself by the fire. His horse, poor creature, was bedded in the stable, safe at last from the howling elements.

"Mister Shmo", said the Knight, "if you provide me with another horse I will be on my way."

"What's the big rush in such rotten weather?," Shmo wantoed to know.
"I'm thinking of slaying a dragon," answered Sir Prancealot. I'll save you some of the meat!

"Feh!" Dragon flesh we don't eat, we're vegetarians!. But no matter, I don't have a horse for you anyway!"

"But I'm a bold knight!" protested the paladin. "if you haven't a horse for me, how about that big dog lying there by the fire? A dog that size should be able to carry me easily!"

"Sir Prancealot!, thundered Shmo indignantly, " I wouldn't even consider sending a knight out on a dog like this!"


<<Because it's a gigantic can of worms. Eldritch, necrotic, squamous worms, writhing in a vile stew of coagulating ichor, crushed from the living gullets of a thousand infant puppies, ululating in wordless terror. - Lorz>>