The Process: A Grumphilda Whoopinstein Adventure

[Kekephee]

It hadn't been a great couple of months since Filbus' death. Grumphilda had been at their Misty Thicket cottage when Nibblewitz came to the door with that look on his face. She knew that look. Nibblewitz didn't even get a chance to say the words before the door slammed in his face, and a few moments later burst open to release the wrath of Grumphilda on the world. It started with the violence. It was an unstoppable wave of bar fights, street brawls, and more property damage than Rivervale had seen since their wedding night. But the violence wasn't enough; there were holes in Grumphilda that needed to be filled, and without Filbus there, it soon fell on the unfortunate souls who frequented the inns and dives of Rivervale to fill them- or else. And Grumphilda was not an easy woman to please. Back home in Kaladim, it was said that dwarves didn't dig the mines where they harvested their gems and ore nearly as much as they dug the graves of men who had failed to bring Grumphilda Whoopinstein to climax. Sliding out from between her thunderous quadriceps and hopping into your trousers before she was sated was an assault-worthy offense, and no god nor dragon could save you if you didn't take the time to cuddle and pillow talk her. The Kaladim river was full of the genitals of dwarves who had made Grumphilda feel cheap or unpretty.


And so began what Nibblewitz would famously refer to as The Process. Bodily fluids flooded the streets of major cities from Rivervale to Freeport as Grumphilda journeyed back to Kaladim. Seeking escape from her unbearable grief, seeking to drown out Filbus' voice in her head with the pleasured or agonized screams of any man or woman unlucky enough to cross her path, Grumphilda chaotically careened across Norrath, and if you met her, no seer or wizard or gypsy could possibly tell you if you were going to be sexually pummeled, physically assaulted, or, you know, the other way around. Grumphilda’s appetites for carnage and carnality were insatiable, and bards would sing of her sex and violence rampage across Norrath for decades.


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There came a day where Grumphilda’s journey crossed her path with that of a barbarian named Haledreg. Haledreg had a way about him that soothed and placated Grumphilda, even in her time of grief and rage. His cool self-assuredness, his confident masculinity, and his stoic understanding or her situation refreshed and tranquilized her. As they lay sweating on the bear-skin rug of his small apartment in East Freeport, Grumphilda felt safe discussing her feelings for the first time since Filbus’ death. With tears in her eyes, she softly whispered her feelings into Haledreg’s chest.

“ACH, LADDY, AH’VE NAE FELT LIKE MESELF SINCE FILBUS WERE TAKEN FROM ME. AH’VE NAE ENERGY FER ANYTHIN’ BUT KILLIN’ AND FEKKIN’. AH CAN’T GO ON LIKE THIS.” She sobbed and he held her tighter. “ET’S LIKE I’VE A HOLE EN ME HEART AND AH CAN’T GIT ENOUGH FEKKIN’ AND FOIGHTIN’ TAE FILL IT.”

Haledreg, pitying Grumphilda, told her he may know of a place she could go. “It’s a very dangerous journey,” he said, “but if you’re hearty enough, across the sea, in the snowy lands of Velious, I know… of a place.”

Grumphilda packed her bags, gave Haledreg a farewell shagging, then gave him a “thanks for telling me about the place I’m going” shagging, then began her journey. The boat ride through the Iceclad ocean was arduous, and as she trudged through the snow of the Great Divide, slaughtering giants and wolves along the way, there were times where Grumphilda grew so hungry, so tired, and so afraid that she almost wanted to give up, lay in the snow, and let the embrace of death come and choke the life from her. Perhaps she would even see Filbus again- as an agnostic, she did not purport to know.

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Finally, after a month of traveling, she reached the gates of Thurgadin. In awe, Grumphilda passed through the waterfall masking the entrance to the city- to her surprise, the water was warm and pleasant. Krag, a guard who stood watch behind the waterfall, handed her a towel.

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“Welcome tae Thurgadin,” he said. “Here’s yer towel. Enjoy yer stay, lassie. Be warned! Nae friends a’giants nar slayers a’dwarves are tae be tolerated within these walls.”
“Thank yeh,” Grumphilda responded, drying herself off. “Tell me somethin’, lad: why is the water in yon falls sae warm? Should it nae be colder?”
“Aye, that’s a very good question,” Krag responded. “The water flows from a hot spring high in the mountains above tha city. Be warned! The hot spring is private property, owned by the wealthy Thurgadinian industrialist Hember Horhammer. Trespassin’ in tha springs is punishable by a fine!”

“Ach, that’s too bad. A little dip sounded loik a greet theng after me long, arduous journey. Say, kin I ask yeh one more question?”
“Of course,” Krag smiled. “Part a’ me job is answerin’ questions for newcomers!”
“I’m lookin’ fer the Thurgadin Exchange- I was told they’d be able tae help me with somethin’. Where kin I find ‘em?”

Suddenly, Krag’s demeanor changed drastically- the friendly, helpful dwarf was suddenly icy, a rage within him bubbling out to the surface beyond his control. He spat.
“Exchange! Aye, they’re exchangin’, alright! PFAH! My advice, lassie, yeh stay the fek away from that lot a’ nae-good farnicatars! Be warned! That lot is a sex cult, and they’ll swallow up yer whole life and turn yeh intae a soulless sex robot, just like them! Now off with yeh, I’ve nae more tae say tae any who come seekin’ their disgustin’ lifestyle! Begone with yeh! Be warned! If’n yeh dare tae speak tae me again, I’ll have yeh thrown in the cells!”
Grumphilda, dazed by the revelation, walked into the city. A sex cult! Could it be? She was intrigued by the idea, but she was also very concerned. What if they tried to brainwash her? She resolved to ask around before going in- it was important to know what she was getting into.

People around the city seemed generally to not mind them. The general consensus was that they were a sort of shopping mall- a group of merchants, all in one place, who lived and worked and had sex with each other. A commune. It didn’t sound so bad. Grumphilda was beginning to think it might be just what she needed- retire from the life of violence, settle down, open a weapons shop, have sex with a bunch of hippies. Why not? They seemed like an interesting bunch of people- there was Rexx Frostweaver, whose manhood was said to be the same size as his arm- “his short arm,” the person who had told her this clarified. “He was born with a disease. The arm’s about the size of a pretty large penis. Kinda odd that people talk about his penis instead a’ the arm, you know.” Then there were the Doughbeard brothers, handsome and strong, who Grumphilda anticipated she would like to have at the same time if they were as attractive and skilled in the ways of love as the townspeople said they were. Then there was Hulda, the imbecile, who the townspeople called Hulda Butter- by all accounts a rather plain-faced woman, with a bowl haircut that really accentuated the fact that she was a complete dullard, but apparently some sort of champion gymnast with a body that they were talking about all the way in Kaladim. Grumphilda, of course, hadn’t heard them talking about it in Kaladim at any point, and felt confident this was an exaggeration, but was still very interested at the prospect of having an idiot gymnast with an unappealing face around to pleasure her without making her feel insecure. There were, all told, something like 14 of them, and they all seemed to have something to offer- as well, she was led to believe, as some very fine wares at very affordable prices. They all lived in the little house where they plied their trades- and each other.

The last person Grumphilda spoke to was an old man she found sitting by the fountain in front of Thurgadin City Hall. When she asked him about the Exchange, a dark cloud seemed to wash over him.
“Be careful there, lassie,” he said to her. “They’ll play games with yer mind. They’re a charismatic bunch, but there’s a side they dennae show tae people. Yeh met Krag down in front a’ tha gate, did yeh?”
“Aye,” she said, “I met him.”
“They took 'is daughter,” the old man whispered. “She got assigned tae guard the inside a’ the Exchange- followed in her father’s footsteps, ya see. Proudest day a’ his life. Within a month, they had their hooks in ‘er. She’s nae the same person she was. It snuck up on him, snuck up on all’a’ us. She was a good girl, that one, sound a’ morals, loved ‘er father. Then, one day… poof.”


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Grumphilda entered the exchange cautiously. It was not quite what she’d expected- a very small room, indeed, for housing so many merchants, and not particularly crowded. The people of the town seemed to care a great deal about this store, and yet, no one seemed to be shopping in it. She approached one of the merchants whose wares were on display beside what had to have been Hulda Butter- by all the gods, stories of her face’s lack of charisma were tremendously underexaggerated, but as soon as she turned her back to Grumphilda and bent down to pick up a potato chip she’d dropped on the floor (and eat it,) Grumphilda vowed to bury her face between her legs for days and to kill any man who attempted to pry her out.

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As she browsed the selection, Grumphilda was approached by an older dwarf who clearly ran the place. He introduced himself as Trademaster Kroven. She told him her name, and to her surprise, he recognized it.

“Ach! We'd a gentleman come an' stay in our establishment several months ago who spoke of you,” he said. “Yer husband, what was it, Filbert?”
Grumphilda quaked with rage. Of all the god damned rotten- that lecherous son of a- ACHHH!!!! If he weren’t already dead, she swore, she would have killed him a thousand times as soon as she got home. She made eye contact with a young female guard standing watch over the room as she spoke to Kroven, who was more than happy to give her all the details she could ask for about how he had wandered into the Exchange looking for some backup weapons, gotten to talking to Hulda- of course it had to be Hulda- and had made himself right at home with all of the female vendors, but had left the place in a hurry when approached by the Doughbeard brothers for what they referred to as a “halfing sandwich between two slices a' Dough bread.” The female guard seemed sad and distant. Grumphilda excused herself from the conversation and went to talk to her.

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“Excuse me, lassie,” she said, “might yeh be the young Krag gal?”
“Nae,” the girl sighed. “I am a Krag nae longer. I have only me first name now, which is Suuna.”
Grumphilda could sense that the merchants were eyeing her as she spoke to the young girl, so she dismissed herself and continued perusing. She spoke to each of the vendors, one by one, perusing their wares and seeing what they had to offer outside of the realm of business. Her conversation with Hulda was strained and tedious- the girl clearly had nary a brain in her head- but she got on quite well with the Doughbeard brothers. They flirted, and she, of course, flirted back. She toured around the Exchange- it turned out there was only one bed in the whole building, and it was used entirely for sex. The merchants all slept on the floor of their respective stalls. Of course, the bed was always in use by someone, so most of the time the sex was had on the floors, as well.

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That night, the merchants invited Grumphilda to what they called their “special spot.” Shaking with anticipation, she followed them outside the city gate- past Krag, who stared with a broken heart at his daughter as she held hands with both of the Doughbeard boys, kissed one, then the other, and avoided eye contact with her father. They climbed the side of the mountain face in which the city was carved, and there, at the top, they found the hot spring. Hulda, of course, was the first to strip off her clothes, cannonballing into the water with an obnoxious “WEEEEE” that completely turned Grumphilda off- no matter how fantastic a pair she had, Grumphilda could absolutely not tolerate anyone who said “WEEEE.” The group swam merrily, exchanging flirtations, touches, kisses, and in some cases, going ahead and satisfying themselves with each other, right there in front of everyone. No one seemed to give it a second thought, but Grumphilda saw young Suuna avert her eyes nervously. She wasn’t made for this, Grumphilda knew then.
Suddenly, there came a bellowing. It was guard Krag.
“Attention!!” he hollered. “Trespassing on private property is a crime punishable by a fine! Yer all under detainment! By order a' Dain Frostreaver IV, and by the power invested in me by tha city a’ Thurgadin, I place yeh all in custody! Be warned! Resistin' arrest or detainment by an officer a' tha law is grounds for the application a' force! Come peacefully, or suffer the consequ-HOOF!”
A vicious blow from behind caught him on the head. Kroven stood behind Krag with a chunk of ice in his hand, laughing. The merchants all laughed with him. Suuna and Grumphilda did not.
“What should we do with ‘im, lords and lasses?” Kroven sneered, standing over the bleeding old man and stepping on his hand as he reached for his sword. “Mayhaps he got lost in the snow on the way up here. Mayhaps he fell off a' the cliff. Mayhaps, just mayhaps, this poor lad got chased by a direwolf and wound up in front a' the ice giants’ little fort up top a' tha cliff by the spires. I’d hate to think what they did tae him there!” The merchants laughed venomously as they agreed that he must have gotten chased to the giants’ fort. They began to truss him up and prepare him to be carried down the mountain. Suuna was frozen in place. Grumphilda could see her eyes screaming. She did not have the courage to do what she wanted. But Grumphilda did. She took a run, dashing toward Hulda, swung her massive, powerful leg forward, and caught her right between the legs. Hulda’s eyes crossed, yellow stuff came out of her mouth, and she fell to her knees, gripping desperately at her severely injured genitals. Grumphilda finished her off with a vicious punch in the mouth. Hulda would have two sets of fat lips for a few weeks, and she certainly wouldn’t be using that creepy bed in the back room for a while. Gilthan Brittleblade charged at her with a ferocious roar; with almost no effort at all, she grabbed him around the neck, kneed him in the ribs, headbutted him, and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards into the hot springs. Two of his compatriots dove in to save him from drowning as Grumphilda addressed the rest of the crowd.
“Ye’ll nae touch a fekkin’ hair on that man’s beard, yeh fekkin’ weirdo perverts!” she cried out. “Ye’ll leave ‘im be, not jest fer tonight, but fer the rest a’ his life, and if auld Grumphilda Whoopinstein e’er hears yeh did otherwise, ye’ll be getting’ a visit in yer harrid little fekk-dungeon, do yeh hear??” They looked to each other, each hoping one of the others would have the confidence to make a move- none did. Grumphilda grabbed Suuna by the hand.
“Let’s get yeh outta here,” she said, “back tae yer father’s house.”
“Nae,” Suuna said. “I want tae stay.”
“Yeh fekkin’ WHAT?” Grumphilda asked, bewildered.
“’Twas wrong what they were gain’ tae do tae him,” Suuna said, “bet this place is where I belong. I’ll n’er let them hurt me papa again, I swear’t, but that does nae mean I’m leavin’ ‘em. The Doughbeards and I are… expectin’. We’re hopin’ fer twins. Thank yeh fer all ye’ve done fer me, Grumphilda, bet I’ll be stayin’ right here.”

Grumphilda left Thurgadin the following morning. When she arrived at home, Nibblewitz offered to draw her a hot bath after her long journey. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch him or hug him. She did both.

[indiscriminate_hater]

1st

[Swish]

2nd

[Victorio]

3rd

[Baler]

4th

Originally Posted by Kekephee [You must be logged in to view images. Log in or Register.]

Bodily fluids flooded the streets of major cities from Rivervale to Freeport as Grumphilda journeyed back to Kaladim. Seeking escape from her unbearable grief, seeking to drown out Filbus' voice in her head with the pleasure

[captnamazing]

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[captnamazing]

Originally Posted by Kekephee [You must be logged in to view images. Log in or Register.]

They seemed like an interesting bunch of people- there was Rexx Frostweaver, whose manhood was said to be the same size as his arm- “his short arm,” the person who had told her this clarified. “He was born with a disease. The arm’s about the size of a pretty large penis. Kinda odd that people talk about his penis instead a’ the arm, you know.”

[luckynclover]

bravo!

[Kutsumo]

Good read!

[Lojik]

I didn't read, is there anything about exploiting broken mobs in this story?