Mr Gurrim R. Eaper was not a particularly unfriendly fellow though his habit of dress might make him appear, at the very least, aptly solemn and unyielding. However, Dear Reader, I beg to differ with such a hasty appraisal based on the limitations of fashion alone, to which Mr Eaper is quite untrained, and offer my humblest opinion as to whether Gurrim’s boney jawline and piercing eyes, as black as liquid coal tar, do more to convince thee of the degree of cordiality one might expect upon unexpectedly meeting him one night cloaked in fog as thick as cat spit… but I digress.
If it be true, ‘the clothes make the man,’ well then, Mr Eaper is indeed, in need of a total makeover which would, no doubt, ally the initial suspicions and apprehension of his soon to be lifeless charges!
Eaper was, in fact, overdue some new threads befitting one entrusted with the duties and legendary status of Death’s number one errand boy. He was, in truth, growing long in the tooth and needed an update to his habardastardly wardrobe more befitting a character of his disquieting distinguishments.
The first item of apparel to go must be, nay, would have to be those brown leather clodhoppers. Everyone, except Gurrim R. Eaper, knew that brown and black worn together was not a fashionably compatible color palette but, he was so particularly attached to this atrociously cloddish pair of boots which followed and emitted a foreboding refrain and rhythmically rapacious ‘gluck-da-dunk, gluck-da-dunk, gluck-da-dunk’ as he sauntered his way down a deserted street in the deadliest hour of night that appearances meant nothing to him.
Above all else, he quite adored the aural ambience the ghastly boots lent to the scene of soul-napping and was loath to give them up.
My Dear Reader, as your entrusted narrator I feel it my literary duty to disclose to you the thinly disguised ‘Mr Eaper’ a bit foolish in his attachment to less pertinent, even cliched details regarding the collection of souls, of which he’s been doing for a millennia without complaint I might add. However, it seems he’s become bored of late with the humdrummity of it all and somewhat contrary whilst performing the duty of his primary errand; thus, he’s devised a few minor concessions with which to entertain and console himself through the tedium of his long held position. One such eccentricity being those ‘gawd-awful’ pair of brown boots he wears, a new appearance in this century; one such frivolous and undignified concession which must be dealt with post haste.
Indeed, to be stalked by Death’s wing man wearing a pair of worn out, square-toed, clippity-cloppety cowboy boots, brown, no less, would be more than a commoner might be asked to bear at the end of an already long and lackluster existence. But then, Death is not above imparting one final insult over the bow of a sinking ship before sending its poor fools deep into the slumber of the longest night, especially should it befit them and their deeds.
Do accept my humble apologies once again Dear Reader for I have digressed for a second time and fear I may be abusing your generous attentions. I shall get to the point of our business here today.
I have been sent forward with the honorable and necessary task of posting a bounty on a particular item of clothing owned and worn incessantly and to Death’s disgrace by one Mr Gurrim R. Eaper.
Here ye all!
Whosoever shall bring me the boots of Gurrim R. Eaper shall be granted immediate absolution without further examination or deliberation of all sins committed by him while occupying his corporeal form, further, the brave soul, if ye survive Mr Eaper’s wrath, shall be rewarded with one Cheat Pass* to be played on Death in this lifetime or held for the next.
*All rules and restrictions apply. See Death’s list of Special Exceptions and the Rules in their entirety for all applicable entry fees and restrictions.
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