"Never, ever empty this person's pockets again!" referencing Harpo Marx, Sergeant Constantine Bothari, and any JOAT! -- Anon Guest
Okay, now I've fucked up, thought Taako, transmutation wizard extraordinaire. Crew-member of the Starblaster. Multi-dimensional traveller. One of the Seven Birds of Prophecy. Member of the B.O.B. Best chef in all of Faerûn. Oh, and main squeeze of the Grim fucking Reaper. This thought came, of course, at half-consciousness as the not-so-stupid guards dragged him to the throne room of the latest Big Bad.
On the plus side, now he knew where the leader of this particular horde was. On the minus side, his allies did not. The most that the B.O.B. could do was track where he was thanks to his bracer. They could not, for example, send a team through solid rock to save his gorgeous ass. Not unless they could get a line to his boyfriend, his sister, or her husband. And worse - someone had taken his hat.
That was an insult worse than his current injuries. And there was no place worse for an injured wizard than right in the middle of the nest of the Big Bad Badguy. Glass cannons did not belong in the middle of the powder keg. Not unless they had something really cool up their sleeve.
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