davywavy | Jesus, I'm bored.

Grandorg the barbarian stalked sliently through the dank and dimly-lit halls of Zigband tower, home of the foul archmage despot Inztrond. His sword dripped with the blood of his slaughtered foes, some of which still flared with silvery sparks as it dripped onto the ancient stonework. The Glanazil Genies had fought hard, and been good foes, but he had slain them in the end.
Grandorg knew in his heart of hearts that all who dwelled in this tower were foes. Even the serving wenches were ensorcelled Succbi, ready at the drop of his guard to suck his manly essense from him and reduce him to a shrivelled husk. They had no such opportunity. His blade, the enchanted battle-wand Yungdrobb, was enchanted aeons past to smite down the foes of its bearer and he had wrested it from the dead legions of necromancer-King Hiotrith only with great peril.
With flashing blade and teeth Grandorg made his way closer to the stench ridden chambers of Zingband. None whom he encoutered lived; his time spent battling the Lizard-demons of the Rentswerd Swamps meant he knew no quarter could be given to a living foe, servants of evil as they all were.
Finally, the door stood before him. Runes of ancient power glowed upon that terrible portal, iron bands enwrapped it, grazen with terrible spells. The Barbarian was undeterred. He lifted one mighty-thewed leg and with a kick smashed his way forth through the door.
"Inztrond the despot!" he roared, the stars shaking before his wrath. "Your time has come!"
Before him upon a dais a withered mockery which had once been a man was seated upon a throne of black jade. As Grandorg cried forth his defiance, the figure raised his head.
"Inztrond?" It croaked. "You've got the wrong tower. I'm Mixnard the Soul-Reiver. You want the tower on the next hill over."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Not to worry. Happens all the time. Shut the door on your way out, and if you'd be so kind tell my butler to advertie for some more serving wenches."
"Righto."
"Right. Bye then."
"Bye."