✨🌀 ☿ The Windy Bastards ☿🌀✨

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Welcome Back ye lousy bawbags, I'd better catch ye up since you're obviously too daft to keep track of what's happened. Wee Kevin an' Lance, two complete dafties, were just mindin’ their own business when they stumbled intae a right shite show. Fallin’ doon a bloody hill an’ landin’ smack in the middle o’ a cave full o’ glowin’ symbols, they met Maginnis MacBagginis, a crusty auld wizard wi' a face like a slapped arse. He threatened tae roast their balls if they didnae help him gather seven rare ingredients fer some potion only he seemed tae give a toss aboot. Since then, they’ve been barely survivin’ disaster after disaster. First, they almost got barbecued by a Firehawk while tryin’ tae steal some Solar Ember Blossoms. Then, in the last chapter, they ended up knee-deep in muck at the Swamp O’ Sorrow, nearly drownin’ in Lady Midnight’s soggy swamp while chasin' after somethin’ else they didnae fully understand. Now, they’ve got their sights set on their next challenge – findin’ Mercury’s Fleet Foot Fern. But the only thing standin' between them an’ the fern? A pack o’ windy bastards called the Wind Spirits. Aye, this is gonnae be a rough one. Episode 4: The Quest fer Mercury’s Fleet Foot Fern "Aye, Lance, ye fekin' tube! Keep movin', or the wind’ll blow yer fat arse clean aff the cliff!" Kevin was halfway up the Howlin' Cliffs, clingin' tae a rock ledge as the wind blasted him in the face like it had a personal grudge. Lance, as per usual, was strugglin' behind him, puffin' like an asthmatic rhino, his tartan flappin' round like a flag on the Fourth o' July. "How did we end up on a cliff wi' nae rope, nae plan, an' nae idea what the fek we’re daein’?" Lance shouted, his voice nearly gettin’ swept away by the wind. "I blame ye entirely, Kevin!" "Blame me? It’s yer dumb arse that followed me!" Kevin shot back, his baldy heid glistenin' in the sunlight like a peeled tattie. "Besides, we’re halfway there noo. The Fleet Foot Fern’s at the top, an' ye’ll be able tae tell yer grandweans aboot how we got blown tae bits." "Nae bloody kids fer me, mate! No since that last accident wi' Farmer MacDougall's sheepdog. Bastard bit me clean through!" Lance grumbled, his face red from both effort an’ the wind. "Ye reckon this fern’s even worth it? I’d rather be home wi’ a pint an' a sausage roll." But there was nae pint or sausage roll in sight, only the endless wind, screamin’ round the cliffs like a pack o' banshees after a night on the sauce. The cliffs seemed alive, movin' wi' every gust, an’ the air had an edge tae it that made it feel like it wasnae just tryin' tae knock them o’er – it was tryin’ tae fekin’ kill them. "Och, listen!" Kevin suddenly hissed, stoppin' in his tracks. The wind wasn’t just howlin'. It was whisperin', murmurings driftin' on the breeze like some drunk fella slurrin' shite after too many drams. "Whit the fek is that?" Lance muttered, his eyes wide as he tried tae make oot the words. "Are the cliffs talkin'?" "Talkin'? Nae, it’s the Wind Spirits, ye daftie!" Kevin said, squintin’ against the gusts. "MacBagginis warned us aboot these bastards. They cannae be fought wi’ fists – it’s all about outsmartin' them. Language, communication, ye ken? Mercury’s domain." "Ah, bollocks," Lance groaned, scratchin’ his beard, which by noo was a tangled mess. "So we cannae just punch 'em in the face an' hope fer the best?" "Naw, Lance, nae everythin’ can be solved by ye swingin’ yer fists like a pissed-off gorilla. We’ve got tae use our heads fer once… even though that's clearly a challenge fer you." As soon as Kevin said it, the wind picked up again, an' this time it came wi’ shapes. Swirlin’ figures o’ air an’ mist gathered in front o’ them, changin’ form like smoke in a glass bottle. One of the spirits, taller an' twistier than the rest, floated toward them, its voice hissin’ through the air like a snake trapped in a wind tunnel. "Mortal fools," it spat. "Ye dare challenge the winds o’ Mercury? Ye’ll nae pass here unless ye answer us!" "Oh aye, fekin’ brilliant," Kevin muttered, already sick o’ this shite. "Gae on, what’s yer bloody riddle then?" The spirit let out a sound like a cackle, but it was more like a scream caught in a gale. It drifted closer, its misty form hoverin’ above them, twistin’ in the air like a pissed-off tornado. "Answer me this, or be blown tae the depths: I fly wi’ nae wings, I speak wi’ nae lips, I bring calm or chaos, through yer fingertips. What am I?" "Ach, ye daft bugger!" Kevin groaned. "It’s wind! Wind! Obvious, innit?" The spirit paused, clearly nae expectin’ Kevin tae get it right so fast. Lance, on the other hand, just stared at the spirit like a cow watchin' a train, still tryin' tae process what the hell was goin' on. "Aye… aye," the spirit finally admitted, though it sounded a bit pissed off that its wee riddle wasnae that much o’ a challenge. "Ye’ve answered true, but now ye’ll face our fury!" Before they could so much as blink, the wind went from a heavy breeze tae an all-out hurricane. Kevin barely had time tae grab onto Lance before they both got lifted clean off their feet. "Bloody hell, Kevin! We’re gonnae die!" Lance screamed as they spun round like two rag dolls caught in a blender. His tartan was flappin' so violently it was practically makin’ its own wind, an' his face was frozen in sheer terror. But instead o’ panickin', Kevin had a moment o’ brilliance. Or insanity. Or both. "Dinnae fight it, ye eejit!" Kevin yelled through the wind. "Let it take us! We’ve gottae ride this out!" "Ride it oot?! We’re fekin airborne, ye madman!" But Kevin wasnae wrong. Instead o’ strugglin’ like a couple o’ fish caught in a net, they let go, lettin' the wind carry them higher an’ higher, their bodies spinnin' and whirlin' through the air like discarded chip wrappers. The Wind Spirits circled them, their voices cacklin’ in the storm, but instead o’ batterin' them tae a pulp, they seemed tae be testin' them. Dae ye resist or dae ye listen? An' listen they did. They went wherever the wind wanted them tae, driftin' like two daft balloons on a windy day at the fair. Eventually, the wind softened, the chaos calmedin’, and they were lowered tae the ground on the peak o' the cliff. There it was – Mercury’s Fleet Foot Fern, shimmering like silver, its delicate leaves dancin’ in the breeze. Kevin reached oot an' plucked it carefully, then tucked it safely into his wee pouch. "That was danged mental," Lance panted, sprawlin' on the ground like a landed fish. "I thought we were goners fer sure." Kevin wiped the sweat frae his brow an' shook his heid, chucklin’ tae himself. "Aye, mate, but sometimes ye’ve got tae listen tae the wind instead o' fightin’ it. An’ sometimes ye just need tae hurl yerself intae the madness an’ hope ye land somewhere useful." They stood there fer a minute, the wind gently blowin' round them, nae longer tryin' tae toss them aff the cliff like a couple o’ unwanted sandwiches. "We better get this fern back tae MacBagginis before somethin' else tries tae kill us," Lance muttered, dustin’ hisself off. "Aye, but first," Kevin said, turnin’ tae the wind, his hands on his hips like some kind o’ conquering hero. "Oi, ye windy bastards! If ye liked this shite show, don’t forget tae like an’ subscribe fer more tales o' sheer f**kin’ stupidity! An' if ye want tae see us barely survive the next death trap, leave a comment below an' hit that wee bell icon!" The wind howled in response, but this time it sounded less like fury an’ more like laughter. An' wi' that, Kevin an' Lance started the long climb back doon the cliffs, ready fer whatever daft shite awaited them next. Slàinte!