Sir Greg the Annoyed
“We only need cross these mountains, Sir Knight, and we shall be of no more bother to you.”
“I’ve already told you, I’m not a knight. My name’s Greg,” the man said, rolling his eyes.
“Ah, clever ruse, Sir Knight, but we would not be fooled so easily! What other reason would anyone be up in the mountains were one not a knight?”
“Uh…I’m a hiker, I came here with my family.”
“Ah-ha! Where are they now, then, lying braggart!”
“In the cabin.”
“The cabin he says…” said the strangely dressed man, looking over at the old woman to his left. “Well, then Rofilga, what say you?”
“Methinks Sir Greg here is hiding something, we does,” she croaked.
“Oh, what the heck are you talking about? And where’d you get the costumes, Party Tree?”
They gasped. “An affront! Run him through!” The man and woman let loose a garbling warcry and drew plastic swords, poking them at the hiker’s torso.
“I don’t have time for this,” muttered Greg, and walked away. The couple followed him, shouting and warbling.