The party faces a massive wall of text. Various magic mouths appear to be gibbering on about Wrestlemania or something.
Will the party...
(A)ttempt to scale the wall
(F)ight it
(H)ire a bulldozer to demolish it
(R)un away
Select:
TIM: There he is!
ARTHUR: Where?
TIM: There!
ARTHUR: What, behind the wall of text?
TIM: It is the wall of text.
ARTHUR: You silly sod!
TIM: What?
ARTHUR: You got us all worked up!
TIM: Well, that's no ordinary wall of text!
ARTHUR: Ohh.
TIM: That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered text you ever set eyes on!
ROBIN: You tit! I soiled my armor I was so scared!
TIM: Look, that text's got a vicious streak a mile wide! It's a killer!
GALAHAD: Get stuffed!
TIM: He'll do you up a treat, mate.
GALAHAD: Oh, yeah?
ROBIN: You mangy Scots git!
TIM: I'm warning you!
ROBIN: What's it do, nibble your bum?
TIM: It's got huge, sharp-- eh-- he can leap about-- look at the bones!
ARTHUR: Go on, Bors. Chop its post off!
BORS: Right! Silly little bleeder. One alphabet stew comin' right up!
TIM: Look!
[squeak]
BORS: Aaaugh!
[dramatic chord]
[clunk]
ARTHUR: Jesus Christ!
TIM: I warned you!
ROBIN: I done it again!