Location: Home / / Two Heads on Halloween, by Gastro

Horace, the orc child, had set out that Halloween eve with a gaggle of orc chums to knock on the doors of Dortmund in search of such tender tidbits as batwings soaked in hyperbole, an orc favorite. Unfortunately, on the rope bridge from New Thalos a paladin superhero had set upon Horace's adolescent horde and hacked them to pieces. Horace was the sole survivor. Undaunted, he picked through his friends for morsels of sustenance and chewing thoughtfully on the ankle bone of a onetime buddy, entered Dortmund and began to recite the tradition-marbled mantra of mendicancy: trick or treat. He was proud of his costume which consisted mostly of a second head erupting from his t-shirt. He did fairly well for a while, bagging a honeyed precipice and the candied gonads of a used guitar salesman. He then had an awkward experience with some rather rapacious plumbing and found himself underground. Blundering around for a bit, bashed by rats and jabberwock, he eventually found himself dangling in the web of a singularly hideous spider lady and her two hellish henchspiders. She said to Horace, 'You are about to be eaten alive, young orc, but one path of salvation extends itself to you. Answer three questions and you shall be set free'. Horace fancied himself an orc of some erudition, so he stopped struggling and said, 'Proceed, Madam'. The spider lady gurgled happily and asked, 'One: what was Heidegger's big question?' Horace thought for a moment and said, 'Why is there something rather than nothing?' The spider lady was impressed. 'Correct. Now, if you were to extrapolate beyond Heidegger, what would the second question be?' Horace chewed on his tongue for a while and said, 'Why is there cosmos rather than chaos?' 'Very good, young orc. And the third question?' Horace was stumped. Those two seemed to exhaust the matter. The spider lady smiled triumphantly and said, 'Why are we having this conversation?' Horace sighed with resignation. He knew he had been had. But just as the ecstatic octopod was about to inject him with a paralyzing venom, so as to enhance her dining pleasure, an idea came to him. 'Can you tell me which philosopher I represent tonight? That is my riddle for you'. The evil widow thought for a long time. She was stumped. 'I give up. If your answer is a good one, I will set you free'. Horace murmured, 'Kierkegaard, of course'. The lady furrowed her arachnoid brow, then exclaimed with a chuckle, 'Of course, Either/Orc'. Horace was soon once more on the streets of Dortmund, prowling for savories.