[Saurreg]

A faint reddish hue tinted the night sky, but the clouds were smooth on the underside. There were no rumbling of thunder or bouts of lightning flashes within the wispy cotton nimbuses. There would be no storm tonight, not even a heavy downpour. The evening was turning out to be an anti-climax despite the cloud built-up during dusk.

Loudewater bursted through the door of the Prancing Pony and barely came to a stop at the middle of the dirt road. He was breathless with amazement and had to bend down with his arms propped against his kneecaps to catch his breath and allow the blood to flow to his head. Nausea came but he did not feel the urge to heave. As the farmer continued to breathe heavily and stare at the ground, he espied his old dagger dangling by the left side of his leather belt and froze in terror.

It would have been so easy for him to simply reach down, unsheathe the blade and slash Lenny across the neck, had he felt the dagger during his moment of temporal insanity at the bar…

Morbid realization sent shivers down the farmer’s frame and he suddenly felt the urge to make water. The lavatory of the Prancing Pony was behind the establishment, whereas he was standing in front of it. Loudewater felt immensely irritated by his inconvenient location and he was reluctant to walk around the huge complex or worse, reenter the serving hall where he had just committed his self exodus.

Nature’s call persisted and Loudewater’s temper augmented. He was irritated both by the discomfort of his bladder and the shameful state he was in. Face distorting hideously, he emitted a harsh low growl and kicked at the dirt, fashioning a small cloud of dirt and sand in the night air.

The imp of perversion and his sidekick, the pixie of irrationality paid a visit again. Loudewater’s eyes flashed with mad mischief and he bellowed,

“I AM ANDAS LOUDEWATER! A REAL MAN! RULES OF PATHETIC TOWN FROGS DON’T APPLY TO ME! I’LL MAKE WATER WHEN EVER I WANT! WHERE EVER I WANT! ARRRAAGH!”

The farmer then proceeded to untie the drawstrings of his trousers right where he stood, but his fingers were clumsy with adrenaline and complicated the knot even further. The more he struggled, the tighter the knot went. Loudewater was in such a desperate state of exasperation that he found himself clenching his teeth and literally hopping around like a great ape in heat.

The world worked in mysterious ways. Sometimes it drove normal men to the brink of unexplainable insanity and sometimes it was compassionately kind to said men. In this case, it decided to spare Loudewater the blushes and embarrassment of potential memories. An icy night wind blew and its cold touch washed over the maniacal farmer, who immediately became still. He tilted his head thoughtfully, cursed a little under his breath and then toddled into a dark dingy alley (well sheltered from the elements) between the inn and another mason building to relief himself.

After he was done, the farmer found himself unable or rather, unwilling to leave the dark recesses of the deserted pathway. Loudewater’s legs gave way and he fell heavily onto his own filth. He drew his knees together, rolled his shoulders so that he was in a fetal position and wept silently to himself…