After joining Levi for a night at the Fiddle Inn, the Thinker Boy woke up in a thicket. With him as always, or at least for the past 12 hours, were Levi and Fletcher “Flappy” Murphy, the town drunk. They were thick as thieves, these three, and they were in a thicket at the moment. A sticky wicket, as it were.
Two-thirds of them were hungover, and they were starving. Levi noticed an enticing berry.
"Should we pick it?" he asked.
"Not from this thicket," said Ron. "Not unless you want to be sick for a bit."
Ron and Levi went along with Flappy, still drunk, following behind. Our heroes eventually found themselves at the Leon Bridges, of which there were two, spanning the great river that served as Leon’s western border. Ron and his pals all came up in Leon, a small working-class town with no real reputation to speak of other than a local legend regarding its proximity to a rumored fountain of youth.
Though it had come to be known across the region as the birthplace of the Thinker Boy, Ron was not born famous.
The bridges were the only forms of river passage for miles. As our trio got closer, an objectively shrill troll voice rang out from behind them: "Hey why don’t you all save us some time and hand over your coins now, you bitchy fucks.”
A small roving gang of maybe half a dozen trolls armed with bedposts and the like snickered to themselves.
One of the trolls broke wind. Unfortunately for our heroes, this did not ease any tension. It was, instead, super weirder now. Not only was the guilty party visibly sniffing and enjoying what he’d just done, the rest of the attackers were kind of into it more now.
“It is not I who is the bitchy fuck,” said Flappy, with confidence, before pausing to realize how hungover he had become. “It is thou?”
Seemingly out of nowhere, the breeze picked up and dark clouds filled the sky. Flappy looked back at his companions for reassurance and noticed something strange -- Ron’s eyes had begun to glow.