While looking through a little old exercise book I used for rpg notes, I found this. Bon appetit!
Following the descriptions scrawled across the lines of his almanac, Hemulos wandered through the littered streets of downtown Daggons in search of a prophet. Initially his directions seemed to imply some sort of epic journey, and although he had met "Many Challenges" (a nice man who pointed him towards the east end) and what he sought did, in fact, come after a "Long Trek" (some sort of camping shop) he did feel a bit disappointed. The note had more or less an exact address on it. Hemulos stood outside the door. It was not the tiny cottage hidden deep in the moors of Scotland he had imagined. A neon light flickered on directly above the door "XXX!" it exclaimed unabashedly.
"X marks the spot." thought Hemulos, and satisfied, he skipped down the steps towards a harshly lit office.
He stood in the middle of the room taking in his surroundings. The lemon paint peeling off the walls, the musty smell rising from the carpet, and the plastic potplants made him feel a bit nostalgic.
"Sir, the club is upstairs." Said a nasally, deep noise from behind him. Hemulos turned about to see a man pointing at the roof. Although he hadn't expected the prophet to be a middle aged turkish man with sparse amounts of bling, it did seem strangely fitting. Underneath the mans comb-over and moustache his teeth sparkled as he performed his most alluring smile.
"Er... no." explained Hemulos, "Prophecies?"
"Ah!" the man became animated. "You are my first customer in a long time! My name is Akmal, may I ask yours?"
"Hemulos, like the moon, apparently." He replied reluctantly.
"Hemulos moon! That is very special, you are chosen one. Do you know what that means?" there was a meaningful pause. "Chosen-one Discount!"
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