In the rustic realm where the wilderness meets civilization, Smokey, a wandering hunter of indomitable spirit and untamed grit, weaved his way home with a bountiful hunt draped across his shoulders. His eyes held a sense of pride, his usual destination, Joe’s butchery, loomed on the horizon. However, as he neared, an eerie sight caught his attention — the butchery was closed, windows boarded, an event as unprecedented as a cloudless storm.
Adapting to the strange circumstances, Smokey trudged his way to the back, where forgotten tools lay scattered like relics of a past era. With the skillful precision of a seasoned butcher, he processed his game, packing away a portion for himself. Confusion took the rein as he pondered the strange fate of his butcher friend, leading him to the neighboring shop.
The shop owner, with an uncanny eagerness, lured him down a confusing maze of dark dungeon-like corridors. Smokey decided the little information of Joe potentially in the local prison was sufficient for his needs and made his hasty retreat. Distant screams of pain echoed behind him as he quickened his pace further.
The local prison was not a substantial edifice, but would still require a bureaucratic dance of discussions with various guards to enter and visit with the cellmates. Within the prison walls, Bowser, Snaps, and Doug found themselves locked in a grueling conversation with Sheriff Billy and the local Highprince. Even the fortifying refreshment of sweet iced tea could do little to ease the tension. Despite their best efforts, they could not satisfy the relentless questioning. An agreement was reached, trading assistance in recovering stolen items for the same assistance of releasing their friend Archie from the same group of bandits.
Upon entering the prison, Smokey was taken aback. Large, turtle-like creatures conversed with the Sheriff, their speech as articulate as any man’s. The Sheriff’s piercing gaze fell on Smokey, suspicion painting his features. Accusations were flung like arrows, alleging Smokey’s involvement in a rebellion hidden beneath Joe’s butchery. Stunned, he was cast into the prison, his pleas of ignorance and protestations falling on deaf ears. His fate hung in the balance, mirroring the offer extended to the turtle-like creatures: aid in recovering stolen items or face a dire end. Left with no other choice, Smokey agreed.
As they journeyed on their quest towards the bandits lair, they stopped to find their buddy Giambi who was supposed to meet Bowser and Snaps in the city. They found Giambi not 200 feet from where they were originally picked up by Sheriff Billy and the Highprince. He had settled himself by a flickering fire fueled by an intoxicating bush. The plant’s potent fumes seemed to have transported him to a peculiarly intoxicating realm.
In the dancing flames and shifting shadows of his makeshift camp, Giambi had lost himself in a hallucinogenic reverie. He was a deity in this twisted realm, and a congregation of rocks and sticks were his devout worshippers, their silent forms echoing a profound reverence. A rudimentary sketch on the nearby rock face, a house in his fevered imagination, served as his divine mansion. It was nothing more than crude lines etched into the stone, but to Giambi, it was an exquisite palace, each stroke radiating unimaginable detail and grandeur.
The group watched Giambi, a bemused mixture of concern and curiosity painting their faces. The sight of a grown man engaging in divine conversation with rocks and sticks was, to say the least, a novel sight. They quickly intervened, pulling Giambi from his self-styled pedestal and coaxed him back into sober reality. In their company, Giambi shook off the intoxicating fumes of the bush and readied himself for the task ahead.
As they approached the bandits’ lair, their wits became their greatest weapon. The front guards, unaware of the impending storm, continued their idle chatter. Meanwhile, the unlikely alliance of Smokey, Bowser, Snaps, Doug, Giambi, and Sheriff Billy, readied themselves, their plan to disarm and eliminate the guards without raising the alarm as sharp and promising as the new moon’s crescent.