Oh great fiery volcano, Sindar mountain of explosive explosiveness, why do you blow so? I told that bastard to go easy with his concoction, but he never listens; he takes the risks, and I pay the price. And it’s always a high price. That last time it was two drams and then I woke up naked and covered in some kind of sauce amongst a litter of freshly hatched Salavasters. They didn’t eat me, but then again they were too young to have teeth — their tongues were like sandpaper, but that’s a whole other story.

Brother, let’s be real, we all know you like it. Now me, on the other hand, I’m in here hiding out — biding my time, waiting to strike — until those damn Amalguard busy-bodies get ripped. As if I don’t have better things to do than standing on the shitter, hoping nobody especially tall comes snooping around. That would be just my luck, some hairy giant peeking over the stall, and it wouldn’t be the first time either.

Come to think of it, has he been following me? Does he really have six arms, or is it just the confounded alchemical hot sauce gone to my head? Shit. For a good time, go anywhere else but here. I think I’m gonna vom.

Editors’ note: An “exquisite corpse” is a parlor game created by the French Surrealists. In one version of the game, players write in turn on a sheet of paper, fold the paper to conceal most of what they wrote, then pass the paper to another player to continue the story. Co-creators/co-editors Benjamin Reeves and Robert Frankel wrote 2-3 sentences in turn on a Google Doc, made all but their last sentence invisible, and then passed the story to the other for three rounds. Thus, you have before you An Exquisite Corpse Found in the Toilets of the Ale & Marrow.

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Happy New Year — le cadavre exquis boira le vin nouveau (the exquisite corpse shall drink the new wine).