The Night of A Thousand Donatos
by Bill Stripp
It was a dark and stormy night... it was
always a dark and stormy night. However, in one
corner of the dark and stormy night, it was not quite as
dark... or stormy. That was the Twisted Goat Inn,
haven to Mordheim's finest warriors and most dangerous
chilli.
Inside this refuse, I mean refuge, men
and women laughed and cried as life was surely meant to
be. However, this small beacon of hope and life in
an otherwise dreary world, was home to one of the
strangest occurrences the Old World had ever seen.
You see my friend, I am about to relate
to you the tale of "The Night of a Thousand
Donato's". This tale of horror, or at least
some serious spooky-ness, should never be told
backwards. Because you would hear the end and care
less for the beginning after realizing that this tale has
no point. However, more importantly, it is said
that the Donato's will return if this tale is ever read
backwards.
I am digressing, trust me it will
continue.
Not long ago, but after the fall of
Mordheim, a mighty warrior came to this city. His
name, as the title of this tale implies, was
Donato. A more gallant hero you could not have
found. His chiseled features and fine Tilean spun
clothes that would make any maid jealous, were seen
through out the city as he boldly went from duel to duel,
enforcing honor in an otherwise honorless city. The
fact that he could look dashing in manly in a pair of
velvet tights only added to his legendary status. Did I
mention that it was really dark and stormy? Yes,
well then I will continue.
It seems that more than one nefarious... that means
bad... villain took notice of this paragon of
virtue. For they had evil designs and plans.
They were going to hold the world hostage for, "One
Million Dollars". No, that was the first
Austin Powers movie. Well, the more I think about
it, their plans really have nothing to do with this tale.
You see that Donato was spending an enjoyable evening in
the company of friends. Even after eating the
chilli, which is not so good for a man of my age, he was
still happy and content. There were tales from
across the town, tales of woe, sadness, valor, kindness,
joy, small fluffy pink kittens, and other
strangeness.
Still, there was something amiss, here in this womb
of tranquility. For in each of the tales told
that evening Donato heard exploits attributed to him that
he had never done.
Now it was not out of the ordinary for a man of his skill
to have a few 'copycat's' out there. In fact it was
a bit flattering... with the exception of the time that a
extremely large Norsican barmaid was dressed in his
trademark tights. That was just vile.
However, most of the others he put up with his typical
good cheer.
This however, seemed a bit out of the ordinary. For
every tale had someone claiming to be him, or at least
acting like him. This sent a chill through him.
Mordheim had few available women, at least live
ones, and there was a real danger that one of these
impersonators might claim one of the few prizes left.
He was about to get up and gather together a group of
brave souls to help him in his newfound quest.
There would certainly be danger, and thrills
aplenty. Things that the Twisted Goat's patrons
thrived on. As he was about to declare this quest
to rid the town of Donato impersonators, the door to the
bar burst open.
Did I mention that it was dark and stormy? Yes,
well forgive me. The door did not open because it
was dark and stormy, but there is a theme that I am
trying to keep up with.
As I said, the door burst open and every head in the bar
collectively turned to see who was entering without
wiping their feet first!
It was Donato!
Well, perhaps not. It was a poor clone of
him. A small scruffy halfling, dressed in Donato's
Tilean garb strode into the bar.
"I am Donato, I challenge all of you to a
duel!"
Now, halflings are not known for their ability to stride
at all, and this was not one of the better
attempts. After the imposter spoke his challenge,
every head in the bar simultaneously turned back to
whatever they were doing before.
That was when the door slammed open again.
Yes, I know the door was open already. But, it was
a dark and stormy night, so I am sure someone would have
closed it by now. Again, each and every head
snapped to the door. Again, a Donato clone stood
before them.
A portly middle aged man brandished his rapier backwards
tripped in the door and shouted.
"I am Donato, I challenge all of you to a
duel!"
A large sigh went through the room, heads snapped back,
and the door was closed.
Donato, the real one that is, stood up and shooed the
Donato clones back to the door. The smaller of the
Donato clones, realizing he was in the presence of his
idol, swooned and demanded an autograph. After
obliging the little man, because, he is a generous soul,
he shooed him out.
"My friends," he spoke in his best accent,
"I have need for your strength and wits. I
must hunt down all of these Donato clones. My
mission in this city would be in grave peril if all of
them are allowed to run unchecked."
Before he could finish his inspiring speech, the door,
getting tired of being banged open, quietly opened to
reveal a pair of Donatos squabbling over who gets to use
the Donato(TM) brand rapier in the upcoming challenge
they would fight.
This was too much. Leaping to the chandelier...
Why? well that is what legendary heroes do. He
swung in a mighty arc and booted both of the clones back
into the night. I mean the dark and stormy night.
"That is it!" Donato shouted.
"Who is with me?"
There was a large roar as the gathered patrons of the
Twisted Goat flocked to a cause. They prepared to
rush out the now exhausted door when it burst in on them.
Let me tell you all now, this is the spooky part.
Gathered in the dark and stormy night, packed tight, were
a horde of Donato clones, each challenging someone to a
duel. Never has such a horrifying sound been heard
as the bad attempts at a Tilean accent performed that
eve. In fact, several of the bar patrons ran
screaming... yes you guessed it, into the dark and stormy
night.
"Back into the bar, we can not hope to confront them
here!" Donatos real voice could be heard.
The Twisted Goats patrons needed no coaxing. Back they
went flying into the bar and preparing for battle.
Donato himself just made it to the safety of the Inn as
the first wave of impersonators crashed into them.
They fell upon the Twisted Goat like ants onto a pile of
sugar, pressing to get to their idol.
The gathered host of patrons fought with a
vengeance. Actually, they didn't have to fight that
hard since most of the clones were more interested in
posing than fighting. Still, the sheer numbers
were enough to drag many a patron down under heavy
velvet covered thighs.
It seemed as if they were going to hold, until the
windows burst and Donato clones flew in from all
sides. Back, they were pressed until their backs
were to the bar. This was even more terrifying
since the prospect of spilling beer loomed before
them.
All looked grim as the horde of tight wearing, cloak
flapping, sword bumbling, bad accent speaking, autograph
seeking, Donato Clones was on the verge of overwhelming
them all.
This was when Xhillipepa came out of the kitchen.
"Oh my, I knew this would happen!"
Xhillipepa exclaimed. He just looks too dang good
in those tights.
On the wall, there was a glass enclosed case with the
words "In case of a real emergency, not your typical
garden variety one like a chaos incursion".
Inside was his most potent Chillis. Chillis that
should never have seen the light... er, the dark of a
stormy night.
Running to the now clear courtyard, he placed the chillis
in a pot, his favorite, and set them to boil.
Looking around, he saw a few stragglers trying to pour
into the Inn.
There was a Zombie, with a hair piece and all groaning
"MMMMMM MMMMMM MMMMMM" Which could only mean,
"I am Donato, I challenge you to a duel!" The
myriad of imposters was nearly overwhelming and must be
stopped.
With seconds before the chilli boiled over he mustered
his best come and get it voice, "What, Donato is
raffling off his tights in the courtyard? Don't let
anyone find out!"
The response was both disturbing and immediate. Hundreds
of Donato clones flew from the Inn clawing their way to
the pot of chilli.
"All you have to do is get a number from the
pot!" Xhillipepa shouted as he dove out of the way
from the teeming mass.
He then counted down. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1"
With a mighty roar, the chilli boiled over. Instantly,
the crowd vanished, leaving only small piles of dust
where the clones had been. A faint voice could be
heard in a bad Tilean accent, "And I would have
gotten away with it too if it hadn't been for those pesky
kids!"
The dark and stormy night came back. Not that it
had gone far, however, even it was kind of amazed at all
of the Donato clones and slightly disturbed.
Xhillipepa walked back into the amazingly intact
inn. Heads turned, as they always did, and then
went back to their business.
It was just another night at the Twisted Goat.
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