The Field Reporter

[cootielicious]

I hope that you will enjoy the following story. It is for your entertainment and is written in a fantasy format. Please realize that you simply will no chance of appreciating this story if you do not read it in its entirety.

I would like to give special thanks to Barbara and Scott Siegel whose work has inspired the form of this story. This story is based on the Siegel’s story titled The Storyteller. I strongly encourage anyone who loves to read fantasy novels to read this tale first before tackling this one. It is published by TSR now owned by Wizards of the Coast in a novel titled Kender, Gully Dwarves, and Gnomes. I would also like to thank fellow board member, Squirrels, for "giving me permission" to use his username..

Finally, please do not reply with whiny complaints concerning the length of this story unless you have honestly completed it.

Glossary of terms

Grubs- an average frustrated chump (AFC) or one who in not efficient at dealing with
the opposite sex and their own self.

Stylist (Player hater)- One who is jealous or object to those who are efficient at
dealing with the opposite sex.

Don Juan- One who is efficient at dealing with the opposite sex and their own self.

Swaufer- Those who do not agree with the oppressiveness of the stylist nor the lifestyle of the Don Juan.

Oneitis- pursuing only one object of affection.

Bunny- A beautiful woman.


The Field Reporter

"Squirrels DonJuan, you’re under arrest!" Growled the Stylist brigade officer, the point of his spear at my heart.

I began to sweat, hoping my heart wouldn’t beat through my chest and become pierced by the blade. Trying to maintain my composure I said, “I have not done any thing wrong. Why do you come to apprehend me?”

The officer was a muscular stylist with “pretty-boy” features consisting of arched eyebrows, thinly trimmed mustache and beard, and hair that fell to his shoulders. But there was something in his eyes that signaled danger. “You have been cautioned before, DonJuan, to stop your storytelling. The Grandstylist doesn’t caution more than once.”

I was sitting near the bar in the Forum Inn. I had just told an outstanding field report to a group of grubs. They all had gathered here, dull clothes and all, and stood out like yellow dandelions in a bright green grassy field.

The stylist brigade officer seemed to be uninterested in them. I guess he had no reason to fear the group of grubs since his comrades were positioned near every window and door in the Inn.

A peek out of the corner of my eye revealed the grub, Kellen Wund. He strolled forward with furrowed eyebrows and red cheeks. Although Kellen was very thin and not as muscular as the brigade officers, he seemed not to be phased by them. I wish I could have mustered up the same courage.
“Squirrels is our pal, and he has not broken any laws,” he proclaimed.

“We have enough room in the Grandstylist’s dungeon for you to, grub,” The officer roared.

Kellen seemed to ponder the threat over for a few seconds before sarcastically stating, “I thought the Grandstylist prison was already full of ambitious grubs. How much more room could there possibly be?”

The officer retracted the spear from chest and lunged forward to threaten Kellen.

I quickly tugged on the officer’s huge arms. “He is only kidding. Please do not hurt him. I will go with you.”

Kellen and I had become pretty close pals since I arrived here in Slorum about a month ago. I was messy, down on my luck, and my spirit was just about non-existent until my trip from the edges of Spring Valley ended in this bleak, isolated city. Well, bleak except for the most beautiful women in the world. I had traveled many miles looking to uplift my next audience of grubs with stories and field reports of the Don Juan principles. I had finally found my audience but more importantly, I found a friend.

“I beg of you,” I pleaded to the soldier while tugging on his arm with more force.

The officer reluctantly lowered his spear.

“It is okay, Kellen, I assured him. “I will go and have every thing cleared up.”
“I am sure I will be released before you have any chance to miss me,” I continued, trying to convince myself more than anyone else.

 

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A Swaufer named Virgil Spatch boldly thrust forward and declared, “Squirrels, do not go any where with them. I got a strange feeling about this.”

The brigade officer frowned and glanced down at me. A Swaufer sticking up for a Don Juan? “The Grandstylist was correct in her assessment of you,” he snickered.

“Correct in what assessment?” I asked.
“You are a trouble maker and a dangerous man. Now get moving before I drive this spear down your throat!” he yelled.

Well, I was outnumbered, unarmed, and without much of a choice but to allow myself to be taken into his custody. Kellen and Virgil exchanged glances as the crowd began to become unsettled.

“Where are you taking Squirrels?” a grub cried out.

“Why are you damn stylists always afraid that someone will steal your precious women?” another yelled out before a hard jab from the blunt end of a brigade officer’s spear sent him crashing to the floor. Several audience members ran over to help him return to his feet.

“We want to hear another field report,” yelled a Swaufer sitting at the bar. “Set Squirrels free!”

Cries of “let him loose! Let him loose!” began to fill the inn.

Grubs and Swaufers had never supported each other in any thing, except in avoiding each other, and that is what helped to make the Grandstylist so powerful. But as the Brigade officers listened to the deafening chants, they realized that two groups of people had joined in my defense.

To be honest, I was surprised myself.

The unsettled mob of more than two hundred began to march forward.

“Order them to cease,” the officer demanded, poking my chest harder with the spear and threatening to draw his sword with his other hand.

The rest of the officers began to knock their bows with arrows.

Things were getting way out of hand to say the least.

“Let me give them a field report,” I pleaded to the captain. “It will pacify them.”

The captain assessed the angry swarm and his worried soldiers. He sighed and said, “Make it quick, Don Juan!”

I stepped forward and cleared my throat.

“Quiet, everyone!” Kellen shouted. “Squirrels is about to give a report!”

Silence fell over the crowd almost instantly. Many mob members immediately began to sit where they had stood only seconds before to the relief of myself and the soldiers.

“I will have to depart with these officers but allow me to give you a simple field report to bring a close to this outstanding evening.”

I cleared my throat once again. “This is a field report that is as old as the mountains but as fresh as the spring air. It is a story of three lonely beggars living in a city much like Slorum.”

“It’s going to be a tear-puller,” Virgil sighed. “I can tell Squirrels is going to make me cry.”

Kellen patted Virgil on the back in supportive agreement. He along with many of the audience members became teary-eyed in anticipation.

“Yes, it is a sad report but you will see that it teaches a lesson,” I said. “Well, the beggars were very poor, lonely, desperate, and shy. They were afraid to approach women, let alone beautiful women. They fueled each other insecurities whenever one of them would work up even a smidgen of nerve to approach a woman and they failed to offer each other emotional support after being rejected. The city was filled with beautiful ladies and every one had someone to love except for our three lonely grubs. They were looked down upon, kicked, and hassled by the city noblemen.”

The brigade captain eyed me angrily and clutched the hilt of his sword.
I swallowed hard and rushed on with my report.

“One morning, while camping in the wilderness many miles outside of the city, the three beggars caught sight of a line of Royal carriages and horses delivering three lovely princesses to the city. Many men loved the princesses all across the continent, including the beggars. Each of the princesses was given a set amount of time to choose a husband amongst the city citizens as part of a neighboring royal pact. If they could just win the love of the princesses within that time period and marry them, they would have the loveliest and most admirable women in the country, become royalty, and most of all, they would no longer be lonely.”

“During their trip, the princesses came down with the plague and were too sick and unpresentable to continue their trip into the city. They were forced to set up camp not far from the beggars until they were cured.”

 

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“Here was their chance to win the hearts of the princesses. Born and raised in those parts, the beggars had developed immunity to the plague after surviving the infection as youngsters. If they could just offer their knowledge about the disease, assist in the princesses’ recoveries, they could win their affection, seduce them into falling in love with them, and they wouldn’t have to be lonely and pitiful any more.”

I pounded my right fist into my left-hand palm. “But did they support each other in capturing the hearts of the princesses? “No!” I proclaimed. “So lonely and so desperate, they gave no thought of supporting each other. Instead, they said cruel things to each other to destroy each other’s confidence thinking that would improve his odds of attracting at least one of the princesses. And while they brawled, a group of traveling noblemen from the city offered their own assistance to the princesses and won their hearts and their hands in marriage. This experience forever destroyed the beggars’ confidence and the beggars spent the rest of their lives in misery.”

“Oh, how could those beggars be so ignorant and idiotic!” Wailed Kellen.

“Yeah,” Virgil sniffled in agreement.

Virgil and Mirl each pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away tears rolling down their cheeks. Virgil usually thought of Mirl as a “huge stuttering wimp” but during that moment, they shared each other’s disappointment and patted each other on the back.

Mirl was a well-respected architect in Slorum. His great great grandfather actually designed the Grand Castle of Slorum many years ago; Mirl rarely missed a chance to inform any visitors of Slorum of that fact.

Mirl leaned over to his new pal, Virgil, and sniffled, “They should have joined together so at least one of them had a chance of getting the girl. Then they would have stood proud and confident in front of those noblemen.”

The commanding officer grabbed me by arm and growled into my face, “You think you’re slick, DonJuan? You don’t fool me. You better close this fairy tale book of yours soon or else I’ll close it by running you through with my sword.”

A field reporter doesn’t do any one good unless he can connect with his audience on some level. And this report had connected.

“My friends,” I said then paused to create visible suspense within my audience. “Those three lonely beggars are in the audience this evening.”

The officer began unsheathing his sword while Kellen shouted “Who!? Where!? Are they behind the bar!?”

Some of the audience searched each other’s faces for the beggars, others returned disgusted looks at them for not getting the point; Virgil was one of them. The officers stared at them all in disgust.

“Idiots,” the commander spat out. “Move it, DonJuan,” he ordered, shoving me towards the entrance to the inn.


I was from a small rural area and never had known much about women or the glory of having an audience anticipate my reports. Not like Convo Kekser. If there was anyone who could deliver a field report, it was Convo. Men traveled for weeks, year round to our town in order to hear Convo. They spent their return trip reciting Convo’s wonderful reports.

As a youngster, I followed Convo wherever he went. I carefully studied his reporting techniques, his skills with women, and his conversation techniques. Convo began to expect to see my face whenever he spoke to an audience and soon took me under his wing and taught me every thing he knew. He was like a big brother to me, a big brother who wanted his little brother to be successful in life and with women. But my skills paled in comparison to his, and no one wanted to listen to my reports or date me as long as Convo was around to handle the task. Despite everything Convo had taught me, I was unwanted and not needed in our town.

It was time for me to find my own audience and dates, but I was hesitant to do so. What if no woman became interested in me? And if they did, what if no one wanted to hear my field reports?

One evening, Convo took me on a long walk and he spun a field report to me. In this field report, I was a legend, a great lady’s man, and a field reporter whose name would be honored throughout time. As I listened to Convo, I could see myself standing in front of audiences as far as the eye could see, with hundreds of men gathered to hear me and flanked by beautiful women who wanted me in their beds.

My fear did not stop me from leaving town the following morning, on a wing of Kekser’s words, a demonstration of his field reporting power.

I traveled across the world, visiting little towns and nooks, spinning my own reports without so much as an unenthusiastic cheer or clap being released from my audience. My approaches to women were barely worth mentioning. I resigned myself a failure. But then I arrived in Slorum. There was no field reporter among the grubs there and the men greatly outnumbered the women in the huge city. Using Convo’s lessons as my tool, I began to pick up women more often. When the grubs began to hear my reports, it was if the world had witnessed the first spark of fire. They sat in front of me, listened and gazed with fantastic wonder.

 

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One time, not long after I arrived in Slorum, I gave a field report in exchange for some food at a bar. Many men, who heard my tale that night, had begun to approach many women around the bar after hearing my report although it was one detailing an unsuccessful pick-up.

As I gobbled the food down, the bar tender had told me that many of those men often hear tales of other men bragging about their accomplishment with women in the bar quite frequently but was never inspired to approach women afterwards. “Why”, he inquired, “are they inspired by your tales of unsuccessful pick-ups and not so much by others’ tales of successful pick-ups?”

I wanted to tell him that I was such a good field reporter that it did not matter if I told them a story about an unsuccessful pick-up or a successful pick up; my field reporting skills inspire either way. But I couldn’t tell him that because I didn’t know the answer until I remembered what Convo had once said about field reports.

“A good field report must be told to inspire and not to impress,” Convo said. A really good field report shows that even the experienced as well as the non-experienced lady’s man can fail at pick-ups quite often. It is this knowledge that gives a grub hope that no matter how many times he is rejected, he can learn from his failures and one day become satisfied with his pick-up skills.

Without field reports that detail unsuccessful pick-ups, the grub may think he could never have what it takes to seduce women like other men and will never learn how successful pick-up artists deal with failure. So it is important, Convo told me, that your audience be able to identify with you in your field reports. A grub that has never been successful with women can hardly identify with a man who seems to never make mistakes in the presence of women.

Indeed, if Convo can fail at times in seducing women anyone can, especially if they have yet to acquire the skills Convo possessed. How I wish Convo could be here in the Forum Inn to see how many grubs I had inspired through my field report of an unsuccessful attempt at seduction. These men had obviously learned from my mistakes. Convo would have been so proud of me. I had inspired the crowd and not once did I try to impress them.



I was presented to the Grandstylist. She had long tanned legs running into a short dress.
And there were sensuous curves filling out her silk outfit. But it was her face, with fiery brown eyes and fleshy lips that captivated me. She was the kind of woman you excitably spoke of in field reports. But not often since her beauty was certainly rare.

As I kneeled in front of her, she quietly spoke orders into the ears of her officers.
I heard whispers about taking care of some grubs who were trying to pick up royal women as well as trying to have more than one love interest. The last whisper I could make out had to do with arresting those men and imprisoning them. That was obviously going to be my fate as well, to say the least, since I had probably inspired those men to commit the act, making myself a party to a crime here in Slorum.

“Guilty or not?” she asked, suddenly turning her hypnotic stare towards me.

“What’s the charge?” I asked with feigned ignorance.

Her fleshy lips turned up into a demonic grin and suddenly she looked a thousand times more dangerous than she had only a few seconds prior.

“The charge is,” she said in a sudden seductive tone, returning her lips to a non-menacing form “is treason.” Twisting her lips back into a smile, she continued “I won’t have you encouraging men to disrespect the women and nobility of Slorum with their womanizing and I certainly won’t tolerate grubs fooling around with royalty. Women are to be treasured and the only way a woman can be treasured by a man if she is the sole woman of his heart.”

“Furthermore,” she continued, “there are not enough women for every man in this land as it is. These women must be reserved for men born of noble birth. Noble blood means more political power in this world, as I am sure you already realize, Don Juan. Women not chosen by nobility may choose your kind. Your kind does not have freedom of choice,” she finished with growing signs of disgust in her voice.

“Please,” I began, returning her smirk, “you must realize that a woman may choose whom she please and at any time she wish. If she wishes to see a man who sees other women, that is her choice. Attraction is a part of human nature and it cannot be controlled through laws nor should it be inhibited. It is no crime to discuss field reports detailing moments spent with those whom are attracted to. Without them, my audience might as well be eunuchs.”

“Eunuchs,” The Grandstylist laughed. “Now there is an option. Neither you nor anyone else will disrupt the social structure of this land. Now, do you plead guilty or not.”

I did not know how to plea. Yes, I hated the snobby unfair laws of the Stylist brigade, but I believed in the importance of field reports and how they could help inspire to change one’s life. “Not guilty, “ I declared.


The Grandstylist stared at me for a moment with those fiery brown eyes and said, “I believe in the practice of giving accused criminals a fair chance to defend themselves. But, Squirrels DonJuan, I am the final judge in all trials in this land and I declare you guilty as charged.”

 

[cootielicious]

I began to rise from my knees in my defense but a group of Stylist officers shoved me back down to the floor.

“You are sentenced to death by decapitation,” she announced. “The sentenced will be carried out tomorrow at sunrise. Let his sentence be known throughout Slorum. Residents of Slorum must know the consequences of men who try to seize the privileges of women and nobility.”

While waiting for my death sentence to be carried out, I was shoved into a dungeon cell with a young man named Cootie. He was the silent type and didn’t speak a word. But I was not known for silence.

I began to tell him a field report.

While I began to tell him my story and of my fate. Something exciting and wonderful was beginning to stir in Slorum, outside of the dungeon cell.


Kellen Rowan, the aspiring Don Juan, smoothly strolled into the poor section of the city and searched for Virgil Spatch.

“Did you hear about Squirrels’s fate?” he asked Virgil. Before Virgil could respond, Kellen stated, “We have to save our friend. If he is killed, there will be no more stories, no more inspiration.

Virgil rung his hands tightly before he said, “You know how I feel about those who do not devote themselves to one woman. They are just full of trouble around here. They don’t respect women. “But,” he added placing an hand on Kellen’s shoulder. “Squirrels is different. He isn’t like many lovers of women I know. And he is definitely not like those Stylists. I am fond of him just as much as you are and even more.

Kellen sighed. “That is crazy,” he objected. “Squirrels is more than just a field reporter. He is a great handler of women and I like Squirrels more than you or any of his pupils.”

“I don’t think so,” Virgil said.
“Well, it is true,” Kellen returned.
“No, it’s not,” Virgil replied.
“Yes, it is,” Kellen insisted.

They would have probably gone back and forth like this all day if Mirl had not come barging through the door.

“Squirrels will be beheaded at sunrise!” Mirl stuttered loudly.

Virgil and Kellen stopped their bickering, sadly hung their head low, and said in unison “we know.”

“We can’t let this happen,” stuttered Mirl. “If Squirrels die, there will be no more lovely women rock climbing to beautiful picnics with men on mountain tops, no more wild parties with exotic beautiful princesses from all over the land, and no more men who sneak into different women’s rooms during the late night in random inns. How unexciting life would be without him.”


Virgil stared at the other two whom he never really cared for before meeting Squirrels. They had all been poor and lonely men all of their lives but they now realized that they at least had each other. They had felt a strong tie to each other through Squirrels DonJuan. And that must be enough for them to come together like the three beggars in Squirrels story should have. A plan had come to his mind and it struck him how strangely the plan was similar to the one in Squirrels’s field report about the beggars. But Virgil dismissed it almost immediately. He must use his thoughts in his plan to free Squirrels.


“We should attempt to rescue Squirrels,” Virgil announced.

“Huh?” Mirl asked, thinking that he had to have misunderstood Virgil’s suggestion.

“He said we should try to rescue Squirrels’s,” Kellen said.

“I heard him! But he could not have meant it,” exclaimed Mirl.

“Well, it is possible for us to do it without bloodshed. There is the annual Grandstylist Ball tonight. If we can get inside of the castle and seduce some of the Ladies of the Castle, we can get them to help us free Squirrels.”

“Yeah,” Mirl agreed. “All of the women of the castle hold keys to the dungeon cells. Between now and the beginning of the ball, all we have to do is come up with our plans of seduction and get as many women attending the ball acting for our cause. Then we can either convince those women with keys to set Squirrels free or convince those without keys to convince those with keys to open up his cell to allow him to escape, we can protect and hide him so he can always give us field reports.”

Kellen stood for a moment trying to digest what Mirl had just said before stating, “Those women will never risk the wrath of the Grandstylist to help us.”

“Don’t be so sure, Kellen,” Virgil chimed in. “The Grandstylist won’t be so quick to punish the women who would help us. After all, these women will be from powerful kingdoms from around the world. The Grandstylist would not risk war by punishing noblewomen who participate in setting a prisoner of Squirrels’s crime free.”

 

[cootielicious]

“Squirrels committed no crime,” Kellen reminded Virgil. Virgil shrugged the comment off.

“The Grandstylist won’t allow us to step within a league of the castle, not to mention inside of the castle to attend the ball,” Kellen said.

“We’ll just have to come up with a plan to seduce as many women as we can at the ball as well as get inside to attend. What other choice do we have but to allow Squirrels to be killed,” Virgil stated.

“You are right,” Mirl agreed. “We have to at least attempt to free Squirrels. He is worth the effort, even if the situation gets bloody.”

“Yes, we must try all that we can.” Kellen agreed.

The three men agreed that Squirrels had to be rescued tonight and attending the ball was their best chance. They shook hands on the agreement and began to devise their plans. Not much time had past before many of Squirrels’s regular audience members had joined in on the effort.


Word of the companion’s plans to “go out into the field” had flowed throughout Slorum. Soon every grub in town was aware of the plan to free Squirrels.

The Grandstylist and her officer’s had gotten word of the grubs’s attempt to attend the ball. She thought them foolish to attempt to play on such a large playing field as the Grandstylist Ball. She decided that she would teach them a lesson and destroy their ego for good by allowing them to take on the challenge of socializing at such an extravagant affair. She ordered her personal messengers to deliver many invitations to the Forum Inn.

The grubs at first thought it was some sort of trick to throw off any plan that they may create to free Squirrels. Nevertheless, the group accepted the invitations and planned for the possibility of a set-up. By late afternoon, their plans were complete and they were ready.




The road that led to the Castle was jammed with royal carriages, horseback riders, buggies, and wagons as far as the eye could see. Flags that proudly flapped in the night air’s breeze represented each royal court and house. Grandstylist soldiers positioned at various points along the road acknowledged each flag and assisted in the smooth flow of traffic. Each soldier gave a puzzled look at the makeshift flag that flopped on top of Mirl’s wagon.

The spirit of the occasion washed over the grubs and they joined in on singing of songs and laughter that filled the night air. They were so excited that no one seemed to mind being crammed up into Mirl’s long wagon, except for Virgil who ribs were constantly being prodded by one of his companions making singing seem more like a cry of pain. But no one really noticed through all of the voices.

A sense of pride began to overwhelm Mirl as the Castle Graugwin came into view. A powerful fortress stretching across the horizon, the castle radiated power. Protected by a huge stone wall, the castle reached towards the stars. Countless numbers of soldiers could be seen in the distance positioned at numerous posts around the great fortress and archers stood like statues on top of the stone wall.

Mirl began to stutter about the history of the castle as he often did to the disappointment of many. He went on about how his great great grandfather had worked day and night designing the castle and drawing the blue on hundred of napkins that had to be put together like a jigsaw puzzle to begin work on the castle.
“Oh, no, grandpa was no fool. He would only give one napkin at a time to the constructors. He made sure that the royal family would need him at least until the castle builders finished to ensure their continued favor,” he said to distracted ears. They had all heard the story more times than they cared for.

The wagon had finally reached the courtyard of the castle to Virgil’s relief. The group began filing out of the wagon and stretching. Mon stared around in amazement. He had never seen so many people in one place in his entire life.

Across the courtyard, armored guards stood like pillars with scanning eyes, carefully eyeing the crowd. Those soldiers stared curiously as the companions approached the castle gates.

Kellen flipped one of the stable boys caring for the guests’ horses a silver coin and ruffled his dusty brown hair before a couple of the guards swept down their swords in front of the companions, blocking their entrance into the castle. The group became startled at the sudden adversity.

“What business do you have in the castle,” the guards demanded.

The companions stared at the guards in feigned surprise. They assumed it would not be a simple affair getting into the castle. Each began to quickly produce their invitations from their trousers almost simultaneously. The guards quickly snatched the invitations from each of them and began to read them.

“Only half of you will be allowed inside the castle,” the guard stated, crumbling the invitations and throwing them back.

“Half?” Boomed Virgil. “These invitations were delivered to us by the Grandstylist personal messengers themselves!”

 

[cootielicious]

Many guards around the gates began to pay full attention to the event at the gates.
“There has been a change of plans by the Grandstylist herself, grub. I warn you not to be difficult,” a voice announced from within the gates before a large figure emerged. The companions recognized the figure as the Stylist officer who had arrested squirrels. One hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

“No problem,” Kellen said, pushing the other back away from the gates to form a huddle a few feet away. “This is not unexpected. Some of us will have to stay outside and pick up any ladies we can in the courtyard while the others work the ballroom.”

It was quickly decided by the companions that Kellen, Virgil, and Mirl would lead a group into the Ballroom. The others flipped silvers coins in couples to decide who would attend the ball. The losers of the toss did not feel like losers while witnessing all of the pretty women standing in the courtyard socializing in good spirit.

Virgil issued the over all game plan to the group and a couple of minutes later, half the group entered the gates without much hassle while the other half immediately began to approach the many ladies gathered onto the courtyard. The event became known as “courtyard courting” and it would become popular at many of the future balls thrown all over the world.



The luxurious ballroom was truly a sight to behold. It was almost the size of the castle’s courtyard. There was a large band of musicians performing on -stage on one end of the ballroom and alluring women covered almost every square foot of the magnificent hall. There were women laughing, women eating, women gossiping, women standing, women sitting, women being entertained by men, women fixing their hair, women dancing to the music, and women who obviously had a little too much too drink. They all wore elegant evening gowns, some a lot more revealing than others.

I have never seen so many enticing bunnies in one place in my entire life, Kellen thought. Neither had he ever seen a more splendid and gigantic crystal chandelier than the one that hung below the rafters of the highest ceiling he had ever seen. Nor had he ever seen such a large banquet table. It stretched from one end of the room to the other and it filled with hills of food. There was roasted pig, juicy honey roasted ham, steaming stuffed turkey, mouth-watering roast beef, corned beef, long loaves of freshly baked bread, fresh green salads, fresh baked beans, cheesy mashed potato, buttery mixed vegetables, golden corn on the cob, apple pies, chocolate cake and every other dish imaginable. There were also many drinks to choose from such as ale and expensive bottles of wine imported from every corner of the globe.

The wingmen adjusted their clothes, offered each other’s breath mints, and asked each other if their hair was “okay.” After some reassurance from each other, they glided into the ballroom with confidence worthy of kings.

During the Ball, game was kicked…

Once they entered the ballroom, the group of grubs immediately swooped down onto their prey like graceful crows. One grub approached a gorgeous redhead with hair cut into a brilliant crop. She had a curvaceous figure hugged by a silk dress that made his mouth water just as much as the scent of the roast beef. As soon as he became face-to-face with her, he froze. The redhead stared at him strangely for a moment before she turned on her heels to join her friends who were being approached by another group of grubs.

The grub shrugged the insult off and approached a blonde standing alone a few feet away. He froze again. The blonde snickered at him and moved to join a dashing stylist on the dance floor. This did not discourage him; he continued to approach every woman he possibly could that night. He froze every single time. But each time he would recuperate almost instantly, never losing track of his purpose to rescue Squirrels.

Kellen, who along with his companions, was the target of many nasty stares thrown across the room by various noblemen. But that didn’t stop him from targeting a delightful ebony-skin woman who wore a red sleeveless dress with a long flowing tail.

“Hello, my name is Kellen,” he said offering her his hand.

“My name is Arianna,” she returned, lightly grasping his hand while revealing her pearly white teeth behind tempting lips. “I don’t recall ever seeing you at any of the past Balls.”

“Well, I am actually paid not to attend the Ball each year by most of the guys here,” Kellen explained staring her directly in the eye and returning the smile.

“Oh, yeah? Why is that?”

“Well, the guys are afraid that all of the princesses and wealthy bunnies will walk away with me by the end of the evening. Since I try not to strike fear into too many hearts, I just take the easy cash and call it a day.”

Arianna began giggling. That is when Kellen lightly wrapped his hand around her elbow and said, “why don’t we move to a less conspicuous area before they spot me talking to you and begin to worry. Arianna, this place will become a mess if that happens. By the way, that dress is outstanding. If I were a lady, I would rip it right from your body this instant and claim it for myself.”

“Why do you have to be a lady in order to do that?” Arianna teased.

“Because, my dear, anyone else besides a lady would be more concerned with what is in the dress.”

 

[cootielicious]

Continued...

 

[cootielicious]

Arianna giggled as she walked along side of Kellen to a doorway that led to the balcony. Out on the balcony, the stars shined upon them as they engaged in stimulating and playful conversation.

Across the room, Virgil was telling a story to a group of captivating young ladies who were roaring in laughter at his hilarious impressions of stylist officers. One grub noticed and went over to join Virgil and provide backup. After Virgil completed his story, he led one of the noblewomen to the dance floor to dance the night away.

Virgil and his partner drew impressed stares as their body’s song a rhythmic duet on the dance floor. He led her delicate body gracefully around the dance floor and she followed. She followed with sensuous movements that complemented every smooth jitter and magical footwork Virgil conjured up. He twirled and dipped her to the sound of the band instruments leaving the audience spellbound. By the end of the song, the other dancers were hypnotized and had formed a circle around Virgil and his partner. By the time the two had finished their first dance, the grubs were pulling jealous stares from across the room, mostly from other males.

Mon, who occasionally followed Squirrels all around Slotrum, approached more women than any of the other grubs, only spending enough time with each of them to build rapport before moving on to another. Later that night, he found himself flipping a coin to help him decide which mistress he would choose to help him rescue Squirrels and eventually leave the castle with to take back to his place.

At one point in the evening, Mon success inspired him to get really bold. He walked right in between a stunning beauty and a handsome well-dressed fellow who seemed to be enjoying each other’s conversation.

“Why don’t we leave this place and head back to mine before the candle-lights burn out at my dining room table?” he suggested as he squeezed between the couple.

“Yeah, and why don’t my boyfriend here join us,” she spat out.

“Well, I was just going to use you to get to him anyway,” he fired back.

The boyfriend immediately shoved Mon to the floor after the insult and stood over him threateningly. Mon frowned, rose from the floor, dusted himself off, and lightly jogged over to join Virgil and his group as if nothing had ever happened.

He began using some of his own story-telling skills to entertain the ladies after Virgil took one of them aside for a dance. The debutantes laughed even more at Mon’s stories. It wasn’t long before the stunning beauty that insulted him earlier began to notice all of the attention he was getting from the group of ladies and the fun they all were having. He noticed her glancing at him out of the corners of his eyes. He turned his head to glance at her in return and she smiled at him. Mon mirrored the smile briefly but continued to entertain his group when the beauty’s boyfriend reappeared with a deadly stare in his eyes.

In one corner of the ballroom stood an amazingly gorgeous tall woman. She had an innocent round face with soft delicate features. Her eyes were like those of a doe with long eyelashes and she had full pouty lips accentuated with red coloring. Curly locks black as a raven’s wing flowed down to her backside. The bodice of her dress seemed to strain to contain the flesh within them and long pink legs peeked out beneath splits on either side of her elaborate dress. She was easily the most beautiful woman at the ball, at least in Mirl’s eyes.

Mirl immediately began to feel as if he was coming down with a bad case of oneitis. His stomach churned like a machine and beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed him as they tumbled down his face. Mustering up every ounce of courage possible, he strolled towards the beauty. With all of his attention fixated on his prize, he did not notice the servant crossing his path holding a tray full of wine-filled glasses and goblets. Mirl bumped into the waiter sending him flying to the floor, drinks and all. There was so much going on in the ballroom that no one seemed to notice. Mirl helped the gentleman to his feet, issued his quick apology and continued along his path.

By the time Mirl had made his way within a few feet of the beauty, she caught sight of him with incising intelligent eyes and raised her eyebrows in curiosity.


Mirl offered his hand as he began to speak, “h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h…”

The enchantress politely raised her hand to met Mirl’s and she patiently waited while he battled to construct his words.

“h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h,” he continued, his face burning red with flames of embarrassment. “H-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h –he-he-he-he…oh, just sleep with me, dammit!”

The woman burst into laughter, her face turning just as crimson as Mirl from a good belly laugh. Mirl began to wonder if the mounds of flesh beneath the top of her dress would escape their confinement with each shudder of laughter. She slapped her hands on her thighs and threw back her head in a roaring laugh. A smile began to grow on Mirl’s face as he began to realize that he just might have made a joke. Considering that possibility, he began to join her in laughter.

The beauty placed her hand on Mirl’s chest and leaned upon him for support. Once she regained her composure, she stood upright once again, adjusted the top of her dress over the flesh that Mirl struggled to ignore.

“Why don’t we take it from the top again,” she song as she grasped Mirl’s hand and began to shake it. “My name is Larina.”

 

[cootielicious]

“Mirl,” Mirl replied with a big grin on his face.

“Mirl , you are one funny guy. It looks as if you and your friends are having a lot of fun here tonight.”

“Yes, it does appear that way.”

“That is good. It is nice to have a lively bunch here tonight for a change. After attending so many of these events around the year, I kind of get bored with them…but I can tell that tonight will be different.”

“I –I-I-I-II-I-t will be, Larina,” Mirl assured her. “Where are you from?”

“I am from Pasteur Island”

“Oh, yeah? I hear they don’t sleep much on Pasteur Island…too much partying going on.”

“You haven’t heard the half of it…”

Mirl stood there listening to Larina for what seemed like only seconds but what was more like hours. She told him about life on Pasteur Island, her travels around the world, her childhood, her “stuck-up” wealthy family and her even more stuck-up suitors. He stood there soaking it all in with an occasional nod of the head, a reciprocated hearty laugh, and an occasional stuttered comment here and there to encourage Larina to continue. He could not recall that last time he enjoyed himself so much or if he ever had.

Indeed, the group of DJs delivered their A-effort that night during the Ball.
There was even one member who had “disappeared” into a secret room with the Grandstylist right-hand lady herself. They were out of the sight of the other attendees for a good portion of the evening. Before they reappeared, she made him promise to not “kiss and tell.” And he had every intention of honoring his promise…well, except for with the fellows, but he wasn’t going to tell any one other than they.

The DJs out in the courtyard where having just as much fun with crowd outside. They quickly set a trend that soon had several other ballroom attendees attempting to pick-up women in the courtyard.

The companion’s believed that this night was meant to be, especially since the Grandstylist was busy most of the night entertaining the King of Pasteur Island in a private chamber.

Once the companions felt that they had built up enough rapport with their women, they began to tell them of Squirrels’s predicament. Just as they were gaining sympathy it appeared as if the male stylist had had enough of the brotherhood aggressive approaches with the many women. Fights began to break out around the ballroom.

One officer gripped a grub into a headlock and pounded his face with a hard fist. Virgil came to his rescue, goblet grasped in one hand, and broke it into many pieces across the officer’s head. The officer’s comrades immediately rushed to his rescue. Before long the whole ballroom erupted into one big brawl, the grubs defending themselves against the envious male stylist.

Some folks used food as weapons, some drew swords, others pulled rugs from under feet, and some men were even thrown from the balcony.

Many of the women didn’t give themselves a second thought about getting dirty in order help defend the grubs. Dresses were torn, heels were broken, and purses were swung as each of them fought as best as they could. Some of the women kneeled next to their falling DJ sobbing. There were countless young ladies gathered around Mon’s slain body.

Kellen knew that things would not go smoothly all night. But that didn’t prevent a horrible feeling from gnawing at his insides at the sight of many of his fellow DJs spread across the ballroom floor with sword-pierced flesh. He pulled one of the swords from Mon’s back and haphazardly swung it around in an attempt to protect Arianna who was actually defending herself and Kellen quite well with her own skilled swordplay.


Mirl used one hand to remove one of many decorative spears situated on the wall of the ballroom while his other grasped, Larina’s. He began poking the spear in the air in hopes of stabbing at least one of the many stylist offenders.

“We must leave,” Larina urged.

“We’re not going any where without Squirrels,” Kellen shouted just before he ducked under a bulk of flying roast beef.

Kellen with Arianna in tow sought out Virgil who was gallantly protecting a ring of fellow DJs and ladies with a long sword. Kellen ran up to duel beside his friend.

“If we die here tonight,” Kellen began. “ I just want you to know that your success with the women here belongs in one of Squirrels field reports. Not all of it,” he continued. “Just maybe a sentence or two.”

Virgil didn’t put much effort into trying to figure out what exactly Kellen was trying to say. “Squirrels could weave a fine story of what went on here tonight. Let’s just make sure we get him out of here alive so that he can tell it! Each of the ladies of the castle has a master key to the cells down in the dungeon. Most have agreed to help us so let’s lead them down there so that they can set Squirrels and all of the other DJs free.”

“But we can become trapped down there and flanked by the guards. How will we escape?” Kellen asked.

 

[cootielicious]

“I will lead the guys positioned outside of the castle to trap the guards from behind,” Mirl volunteered.

“Yes, and then the guards will become flanked,” Kellen added.

Virgil agreed. He was sure there were many guards already crawling all over the dungeon waiting for them at either entrance to the cellblock. “Let’s go,” he commanded. “Squirrels is probably wondering about all of this ruckus.”


The ruckus did capture my attention and I wondered what was going on in the castle. It was almost dawn and I was beginning to accept my death sentence. My cellmate, Cootie, had listened to my story the whole night in complete silence.

I soon heard yells and battle cries with my name rushing down the stairs leading to this nasty prison where I was to wait in agony until my death.

“What is happening out there?” I called out to a couple of soldiers sprinting towards the staircase.

“What is going on?” I asked Cootie. He shrugged his shoulder.

I could here the sound of metal clashing against metal. There were cries of pain, bodies thrown against iron bars, and sounds of many voices, some female, yelling out my name.

“Down here!” I yelled back. “I am down here!”

I wouldn’t have believed it if my own ears had not heard it for themselves. Indeed, It was the voices of Kellen, Virgil, Mirl, and several women calling my name. Soon I was able to distinguish Mirl’s voice amongst the others.

“How can this be?” I asked myself. I turned to face Cootie and asked, “Have my friends actually come to rescue me from this place?”

For the first time since I’ve met him, Cootie was about to answer me but instead, he pointed a finger behind me.

Before I could react to the warning, two huge hands stretched between the cell bars, wrapped themselves around my throat, and began choking me. “I’ll spill every drop of your blood myself before I let anyone rescue you, Don Juan” a dungeon officer roared out as I began to lose conscious.

Cootie quickly raced to the bars and took hold of the guard’s monstrous hands. Just as he was prying one of the hands away from my throat, the guard released the grip and used his free hand too unsheathe a dagger from his belt. Just as he thrust the blade through the bars, Cootie caught his arm and bent it on the iron cells bars with a loud crunch.

The guard cried out in pain as the dagger clanged to the ground. He quickly ran away as Kellen, Virgil, and Mirl led a group of the loveliest young women I have ever seen to my cell. One of the ladies removed a key from the bodice of her dress and opened the cell door

“I am so glad to see you all!” I cried out in disbelief.
“Follow us,” Said Virgil. “We have come to rescue you. Now your field reports will live forever!”


Squirrels Don Juan concluded his story about himself with a thriving inflection. His timing was flawless. The second his tale came to an end, a prison guard unlocked the door of the jail cell.

“It is time,” announced the Grandstylist guard.

Squirrels sighed deeply and slowly stepped forward. “Occasionally,” he whispered, “I partly believe my own tales. Deep down inside, I really believed that my pals would come and rescue me. Was I crazy to think that, Cootie?”

I was not able to answer him. I was too busy shedding tears.
Squirrels spent his last few hours of life leaning up against the prison cell wall, spinning his final field report, the most brilliant of them all. His only audience was I.
Squirrels was beheaded only a short while after departing the cell.

It has been many years since they took Squirrels’s life, but his tales and memories live on. Even some have named themselves and their children using parts of his name in his honor. For that night, it seems as if he found the passage that led to my dormant spirit and somehow passed his talents on to me. I have told many of his tales and field reports all over the world. But I never hesitate to tell this one, the grand, and the majestic, final tale word for word as Squirrels told it to me that night in the dungeon.

Oh, I know what really occurred that night. Kellen, Virgil, and Mirl did make an attempt to rescue Squirrels along with many other grubs. But once they constructed their scheme, Kellen began to worry about getting rejected by every woman he would have approached that night, staying true to his grub nature. Virgil, never the one to agree with the Don Juan principles, began to talk himself out of the whole endeavor. Meanwhile, Mirl was overcome and paralyzed with the feeling of humiliation; he was humiliated at the simple thought of stuttering in front of a woman. Mon worried about not knowing what to say if he approached a woman and spent all night fueling his own insecurity with negative thoughts. One group of grubs began writing out a long list of plans and dialogue on the wall of the Forum Inn detailing what they would do once they approached a lady. They used a lot of the material picked up from many of Squirrels field reports but by time they were satisfied with their work, the Ball was over and Squirrels was dead. The plans are still written on the walls of the Forum Inn to this day. Most of the content written was used to create a manual known as the DJ Bible and every so often, more content is selectively transferred from the wall to the Bible.

Now, some might think that the truth doesn’t make a good field report. But that is not the idea here. There is something that is more superior than mere truth and that superiority springs forth every time I recite Squirrels’s story. You see, as the years flew by, the grubs of Slorum actually grew into believing they did attend the Ball that night, seduced all of the women there, and rescued Squirrels. They convinced themselves that on one chilly, and windy night they individually gathered up enough courage to make history, transcend to greatness, to strut out into the grandest of all social occasions to become part of the greatest field report ever. And if they did it once before, what will stop them from doing it again?


-Cootielicious

 

[white_hype]

wow

did u just write that? i hope not

 

[spanky]

Good stuff!

Nice way to tie every thing in.

 

[squirrels]

I cooperated in this?? I vaguely recall giving you permission to use my username.

Anyway, can you give me some Cliff's Notes? I skimmed it, but I was confused by the terms you were using. Apparently, I'm being arrested for seducing the princess and saving her from Bowser, King of the Koopa or something.

The best way I can describe this is "Sosuave Fanfiction", which has to be one of the more ridiculous things I've seen. Maybe I'm just not cultured enough. Maybe it has merit as a short story, but I just can't justify the effort in reading it.

I'm trying really hard to avoid busting on you here, because you may have literary talent and I don't want to discourage you, but this looks like a clear-cut case of forum-nerdity. You spend all this damned time reading these forums and trying to build your own little fantasy world and religion out of it and live in there.

This WHOLE FORUM is about DEALING WITH THE REAL WORLD. It is not some damned cult, fantasy universe, underground society, or anything else. Instead of WRITING long-ass fantasy stories about women and womanizing, maybe you should be out MAKING stories. How many women did you approach during the writing of this story?

In the future, though, I'd like you to ASK me before you sign my name to something. I know I gave you permission to use my username, and I'm not talking about that, but your intro makes it sound like I had something to do with the story, when I didn't. I suppose this is a lesson to me to "read contracts before signing them," so to speak.

There...I'm done. Maybe if I get the time I'll read it and try to judge it on its literary merit.

 

[cootielicious]

Whew! Tough crowd--

Squirrels, considering the respect that I have acquired for you during the short time I spent on this board months ago, I am surprised by your response. Ironically, the story deals with the sort of response you provided in your post.

I asked you if I could use your name because I thought you one of the more respectable members on this forum and I believed it would be a good name for the main character. I am sorry that you are offended by this but it is too late to change any thing now. I only wanted to thank you for letting me use your board name in the story (cooperating).

Also, you have done just what I specifically requested that every one not do and that was to judge the story before reading it in its entirety. If you were to read it word for word to the end, I am sure your response would have been different.

" This WHOLE FORUM is about DEALING WITH THE REAL WORLD. It is not some damned cult, fantasy universe, underground society, or anything else. Instead of WRITING long-ass fantasy stories about women and womanizing, maybe you should be out MAKING stories. How many women did you approach during the writing of this story? "

Squirrels, how many women I approached is irrelevant but if you must know, I am currently engaged so the answer is "one", at least in a romantic manner. But I began writing this story before proposing to my fiance' and wanted to complete it.
I am an accomplished writer and writing is what I do for a living.

A pro basketball player does not waste his time playing basketball outside of a professional game, correct? He plays all of the time because it is where his passion lie.


Squirrels what you fail to see here is that fantasy, fairy-tales, and most all other fiction deals with "the real world." They attempt to get across specific points to the reader. They just do it using different ideas. You should really be more open-minded. I am reminded of the fable discussed on this board about the scorpion and the frog.
If you recall this discussion maybe you will get my point here.

You should still read the story. Despite your disappointment shown above, you may be surprised at the substance of the tale. It is 100% relevant to the topics on this board and the "real world."

Finally, Squirrels, as for the "forum nerdity" comment. I have to point out that a search on you and I would reveal that you spend a much greater proportion of time on this site compared to me.

 

[spanky]

Originally posted by cootielicious
Whew! Tough crowd--

 

[spanky]

Originally posted by cootielicious
Whew! Tough crowd--
Finally, Squirrels, as for the "forum nerdity" comment. I have to point out that a search on you and I would reveal that you spend a much greater proportion of time on this site compared to me.

Lol. Yeah, but Squirrels also has a point. Now, don't get me wrong, your story is written well and it does have quite a bit of concepts that is relevant to approaching women and posts on this site but I am also the kind of guy who would read any thing. I will sit in a doctor's office waiting for my appointment and read a sesame street book.

That is probably a lot different from the guys that show up here where most of them think in the context of night clubs and HB standing on a corner or at the grocery store. A story dealing with that sort of setting would probably have more of a chance at being read around here. Still, it was a decent read. Peace.

 

[Frosty]

This story is actually pretty deep for a fairy tale. I could see what you aimed for. How long did it take for you to write this? Five page writing assignments in college used to hurt me.

 

[cootielicious]

Originally posted by Frosty
This story is actually pretty deep for a fairy tale. I could see what you aimed for. How long did it take for you to write this? Five page writing assignments in college used to hurt me.

Um, thanks-----I think. I started it a few months ago and worked on it sporadically for a few minutes.

You say you could see what I aimed for. Good. That is why I say, considering Squirrels response to this story and the meaning of this story, the sheer irony between the two is a good enough reason to read it. Squirrels response makes it so much more meaningful.

 

[squirrels]

Once again, I want to make clear that I DIDN'T read the story for its literary merit, and it could be a very good tale. I am not criticizing your writing style, and if I get the time, I WILL take the time to read it as a literary work and judge it on that merit, but as I said, despite my background, I am not what you would call the most "cultured" person in the world.

I guess there were a few things that really bugged me:

1) I don't mind you using my name for one of the characters in the story, but saying "thanks to squirrels for his cooperation" makes it sound like I was involved in the planning and writing, which I was not. I don't like taking credit for other people's stuff, good or bad. I noticed you changed it in your original thread and I appreciate that.

2) I'm worried that something like this could be mis-interpreted. You know, there are a lot of crazy RPG kids running around on the Internet, especially on this forum, trying to find out the "mystical secrets" of attracting women and treating this forum like one big exclusive club. It's even got its own language and acronyms, and now it has its own fantasy world.

I tried to check myself in my response, because like I said, I only SKIMMED the story, and I had proceeded from the assumption that you weren't a professional story-writer, just another high-school kid sitting around writing poetry and wondering why women won't go out with him. That's the kind of people a lot of newbies come in as, and they end up clinging to this fantasy world instead of their own because they're too scared to deal with REALITY.

There's a whole wide world out there, not a fantasy world, but a REALITY world...the thing people don't realize is that each and every one of us HAS the potential to "write" existence as we see fit. We can create these grand stories, but we're afraid to do so because there's no backspace key, and we can't always predict what foibles and nemesisis (nemesii? help me out here ) can come out and cause a premature ending to our tale. But that's the beauty of it...it's only a TALE.

My reply was overly harsh, and I apologize. It was a combination of things. I WILL take the time to re-read the story, but it's important that newbies realize that this is NOT what sosuave.com is about...fantasy. It's about reality, which is a fantasy of sorts, but millions of times more vivid and powerful and REAL.

Maybe this IS the point you were trying to get across. As I said, let me make it clear to everyone that I did not read this story yet. Take what I said as a disclaimer for the AFCs.