Most people, when woken by a five pound hammer slamming down next to their head, wake up terribly frightened. Scroat, however, was accustomed to such methods, having been awakened daily for the last 200 years in precisely this manner.
"You shitty, horse-faced motherfucker! What's your problem?" he yelled.
Hep, Scroat's friend and roommate for the last 200 years, was similarly accustomed to Scroat's morning curse.
"Get up and pack. We've got an epic quest to begin." Hep started to leave the room, swinging his hammer as he walked.
Scroat rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and climbed out of bed.
"What the fuck are you talking about, motherfucker? An epic quest? Aren't we a little old for that? More importantly, aren't we a little forgotten?"
Hep turned and said, "You'd think so, but here we are."
He left the room, and soon Scroat heard him rattling around in the kitchen.
"Fuck," Scroat said.
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