“… What in the…?”
Yorick Trout was a simple man. All he did was sleep, eat, talk, what have you. He lived as normal a life as one could have ever hoped for. He took kindly to grasping the strong chains of reality and staying bound to the terms of the real world.
Until this day, when that reality was challenged by a seven foot, glowing green man and his womanly taste in apparel.
“Hello!” He greeted, beaming. “My name is Y'turo Kljah Ghrou Du'Ish'Bqualv, and I would like to join this guild, the… what was it? Echo Falls? Lovely name. By the way, you can call me Y’turo, as I’m sure my complete name would be quite the mouthful. Well, any name will be fine, such as George. In fact, nobody has ever called me ‘George’ before…. So, if you may, you can call me George!
… Are you a member of this guild?”
Mr. Trout could only shake his head, his mouth agape. “I… I-I don’t even know what this building is for. A guild? …. What the hell are you!?”
Y’turo studied the oblivious man, placing his hands on his hips (a seemingly impossible task, considering his arm length). “You’ve lived a very sheltered life, haven’t you? I suggest you venture out into the world, open your mind, but with a partner; these are dangerous times to head on out alone. Besides, ‘the more the merrier’, right?!”
Yorick just gaped at the giant.
“Oh, excuse me, my manners have been poor with you. I’m just very excited to join a new guild, though! I wonder how long I’ll stay in this one…?” He held his chin in semi-deep thought for a second before remembering Yorick. “Oh, pardon me, I suppose I should be on my way. It was a pleasure, sir!”
Swallowing hard, Trout replied, “Uh, no problem… Yih-tooroh... Kli, klishaw… George.”
“There you go!” Y’turo exclaimed enthusiastically, approaching the doors to Echo Falls. He stood before them, staring up to the top. The door was perhaps two heads taller than he was, fairly ornate. Pushing them open and stepping inside, he beamed harder.
He looked back at Yorick. “So far, these are the largest doors that I have ever had the pleasure of passing through. This bodes well for my future! Wish me luck!”
And Yorick Trout will never be spoken of ever again.