The Almost Report Shrinks its News Coverage While Enlarging its Ego

[Wyvern]

The cameras flicker on to the cacophonous sounds of clanging metal, which ram away in the background like a long wall of hollow armor clashing down in sync. The cameras wobble unsteadily to the (lack of) beat until they spot the sound troglyodyte in charge of wielding the set of iron frying pans that are producing the noise. The troglyo-gaffer turns at the sight of the cameras and signals to someone off-screen, then drops the frying pans with a headache-inducing clatter and almost bumps his head on the exceptionally low ceiling of the quarters. The cameras watch the troglyodyte hobble through a cramped doorway, then turn to catch a glimpse of the homely orcish bludgeoning table and miniature war hammer resting near them in what appears to be a kitchen/living room area. Greasy buckets of mutton and cheap animal skin furniture give the spot a décor that might be best described as a cross between a butcher’s block and a garage sale, though the tiny size and unusual musty odor of the quarters suggest otherwise.

 

“That wasss troglyo-deity Gurenny G with his frying pan rendition of the Almossst Report theme, belatedly played in honor of Racouol’ssss birthday.” Wyvern inches his way onto the screen, leaning forward and ducking his head so he doesn’t get his horns caught in the ceiling. The overgrown lizard adjusts the rusty viking helmet on his head and tears a piece of pork rind from his Almost Dragonic Brand Ration-al Belt™. He takes a macho bite out of the rind and sneers towards the cameras. “Greetingsss, and welcome to the Almossst Report. Reporting to you live from Norman the Runt’s quarters…”

 

Wyvern curses as he bumps his head on the arch of a doorway despite his best efforts to crouch forward. The overgrown lizard grits his teeth and slumps onto a boar skin chair, giving his wings a little room to breath but still finding it difficult to sit up straight without his horns hitting the ceiling.

 

“Why would we choose such a cramped orcish backdrop for our Report, you asssk?” Wyvern tilts his head to try to fight off a neck cramp. “Well, aside from the general need to show off, it jussst so happens that a certain Runt is celebrating his birthday today. And we didn’t wanna let it pass by without dropping off a lil’ surprise gift package from Almost Dragonic Inc.”

 

Wyvern grins to the cameras and pulls out a 50% off coupon for Almost Dragonic Brand Imitation Orc Tusk Enlargers.™ He waves it in the air for a moment, then sets it down on the arm rest of the boar chair and nails it into the furniture with one of the room’s many war hammers. The overgrown lizard wipes the sweat from his scaly forehead and drops the hefty hammer down once he’s finished, then pants and lets his forked tongue hang loose.

 

“*Pant* could sssomebody fetch me something *pant* other than water? No tipssss *pant,* but I’d appreciate it *pant* and it’d be wissse if ya wanna see full wages.”

 

Wyvern leans forward and ducks in order to make his way over to Norman’s bludgeoning table, clattering stray frying pans with his tail as it sways back and forth across the floor. The reptilian reporter ducks further still to check for any kegs of mead under the table-top, then hisses a sigh at the lack of brew. He raises a claw to his chin as he examines an heraldic symbol of orcs crossing spears that hangs on Norman’s wall, ignoring the news crew troglyodytes that dart on and off camera in the search of a Wyvern-accessible drink.

 

“*Ahem* In recent Pen newsss, an Unexpected Barbeque update. As I’m sure many of you pennites are already aware, Cole and Mordekai have outdone themselvesss in providing good eatsss to the pennite masses at this event. But are you aware of the sexay and ssssscandalous games currently occurring there?” Wyvern winks to the cameras and nudges one of the cameramen with a scaly elbow. “Come and join the Spin the Bruteweiser Bottle game if you’re into hot chicks, random kisses, making out, and of courssse a certain almost dragon.”

 

Wyvern snickers and bares his teeth to accentuate the gossipy nature of it all, then turns as a troglyodyte steps into the room carrying a pitcher of something. The troglyodyte doesn’t get far, however, as he trips on a frying pan misplaced by one of Wyvern’s tail swaps and spills the pale ale over the reptilian Elder’s outfit. The news cameras move closer to get a better shot of the stain, only to suddenly come into abrupt contact with the holder end of an extra-large frying pan. The screens go black, but the clanging and cursing echo for several minutes to come…