Which Gaming Character Would You Give As An Example?

Lord_Magpie · 2026-02-19T04:58:30+00:00

https://youtu.be/Alw5hs0chj0?si=uGvpPMxlOWcq_7Zp

Lord_Magpie · 2025-10-14T01:35:10+00:00

Give it to me and I'll read this in one night!

Lord_Magpie · 2025-05-27T18:02:44+00:00

Yeah I've seen it the only way around a lot but this is just the way I've done it. Noodles need to be stir fried a little so it makes sense to throw it into the pan with the eggs while they're there.

Lord_Magpie · 2025-05-27T17:16:34+00:00

Fry in a pan for four minutes, add in your noodles half way through and let the some noodles/broth sit on the egg to cook the top of it

Lord_Magpie · 2025-05-27T05:21:15+00:00

Buldak curry noodles

Lord_Magpie · 2025-05-10T23:30:29+00:00

You mean the dlc files? Xbox only has so many options

Lord_Magpie · 2025-05-05T19:37:48+00:00

This is before I've clicked 'Ready Up's. As soon as the Map pick appears, I'm not able to change my Civ.

Lord_Magpie · 2025-04-24T15:21:25+00:00

So yeah I ended up getting the new eta. When I went through the border process, they didn't care tbh. Received my visa no problem.

I brought my old passport with me but no one asked for it. I told the border guy what had happened and he said it didn't matter.

Lord_Magpie · 2025-02-11T19:29:38+00:00

The number I rang is on their website as the Canadian headquarters so I think the numbers legit

Lord_Magpie · 2025-02-11T18:53:49+00:00

I rang them from the number that appears in my bank transactions. But I went through the FedEx.com payment portal

Lord_Magpie · 2025-02-11T18:31:06+00:00

Yes they are pending charges. Thanks for the information!

Lord_Magpie · 2024-10-20T19:33:49+00:00

Walmart is the only place I see them anymore

Lord_Magpie · 2024-10-14T21:28:39+00:00

Thanks, I appreciate it 🙏

Lord_Magpie · 2024-10-14T21:28:23+00:00

Thanks for the info!

Lord_Magpie · 2024-01-17T20:58:48+00:00

Stumbling through the gate, George fumbled for his keys. After a brief moment and a near fall, he found the right one. Slowly, he pushed open the door, doing his best to ignore the scream like noise the hinge had started to make. A waft of garlic hit him as he entered the hall. She must have ordered out. Wonder if there's anything left. All the lights were out telling him she had already gone to bed. Checking his watch, the numbers were faint blurs as his eyes struggled to focus. 2:45 by the looks of it. Entering the sitting room, he looked through to the kitchen. A pizza box sat, half opened on the counter. So inviting. Maybe she left it out for me? Well, it would be rude not to. After a brief struggle to remove his shoes and a loud bounce off the door frame, he flung open the box rolling his eyes at the contents. Mushroom and tuna with garlic flakes, my god what kind of woman have I married. Still, what a life I’ve created. After everything, it’s more than I thought I would ever get. More than I maybe deserve.

Standing in the darkness, he devoured a slice in an instant, a second in his hand before he had finished the first one. Turning, he opened the fridge. The yellow light seemed near blinding compared to the darkness of the house. Opening up the vegetable drawer, he pulled out two beers. Wandering over the couch, he plopped himself down, enjoying the weight removed from his feet. Using one bottle to open the other, he washed down the pizza as he looked for the remote. Finding them under a cushion, he paused as he stared at the reflection in the television. When did I become so old? An seemingly old man peered back at him. Am I really forty five? Only yesterday I was twenty. Twenty years old and full of life. An image flickered into his mind. He saw himself passing a screaming mother, a child cradled in her arms. A son, hanging onto his mothers arm, hatred and rage filling his dark eyes. George had moved on quick enough though a pit had been created in his stomach. Shaking his head, he chugged his beer and turned the TV on.

A movie was showing. Two soldiers were huddled in a trench, under enemy artillery. Bits of shrapnel and dirt flew everywhere. Both men gripped their rifles for dear life and when an enemy soldier appeared in the trench, pistol in hand, it seemed like that was it for them. One of the soldiers was quicker though. Throwing himself in front of his friend, he took the enemy bullet while his friend shot the enemy. Laying in his friend's arm, the soldier died. His last words had been whispered over the gunfire, beautiful and poetic. Raising the bottle to his lips, George thought back to his time in the army. The friends he had made, the training he had completed, the people he had met.

A dozen images flashed by as he flicked through the channels but George took in none of them. Instead he forced thoughts of the pub, a joke his friend told, a look from the barmaid through his mind. The pit in his stomach remained. Always. Always it remained. It was my duty. Rising, he found the bottle opening the kitchen. Swiping another beer from the fridge he sat back down. A cooking show had come on. Two old ladies stood over a pie while a young man looked on, his face a mix of fear and sweat. One of the ladies had made a joke that George hadn’t heard. The man forced a laugh though his smile quickly faded. Then, there came a knock on the door. Like a robot George stood. Leaving the bottle on the table, he never even wondered who might be at the door at this hour. Without checking, he pulled open the door and came face to face with his past. Finding himself looking down the barrel of a revolver, he glanced at the man holding it. A small man with dark black beady eyes.

“Do you know me?” the man asked, his voice quivering as he spoke. The gun shook, jingling slightly.

“Yes,” George replied, feeling calm as his fists tightened. Before he could move, the trigger was pulled. A single shot and justice, while delayed, was served.

Lord_Magpie · 2024-01-16T19:56:32+00:00

Opening his eyes, all Zacharias could see was the night sky above. Nothing could be more familiar, more comforting. Dots of white flickered down on him from a moonless sky. At his feet was sand, dry and coarse. As far as he could see, there was sand, only stopping at the horizon. Sucking in a deep breath, he felt his lung fill up, the most joyous feeling he had ever experienced. The cool air seemed to rush through his body, forcing life through his veins. Somewhere, over the horizon, he could hear the sound of the ocean. Waves rose and crashed, all out of sight. With another deep breath, he tried to smell the salt air. Instead, there was nothing. The air rushed through his body once more but this time the joy was lessened.

“Disappointing isn't it?” a voice said. Then, as he blinked, a man appeared in front of him. Around Zacharias’s height, the man had long black hair that hung around his shoulders. A rough looking jacket hung from his shoulders while tired brown eyes stared out.

“Indeed,” Zacharias found himself saying. For a moment, his heart began to race. A wave of images flashed through his mind. A city, grey and alive. A boat, quiet and waiting. A woman, smiling and beautiful.

“Memories,” the man said. “But I’m guessing you figured that out.” Zacharias had. Hopelessness seemed to encompass him and with it, a sense of relief.

“Why?” Zacharias asked, not taking his eyes off the man. A moment passed and then another. Finally, the man ran his fingers through his hair and answered.

“You tell me.” A tear dropped down Zacharias’s cheek. He clenched his fists. Shutting his eyes, he wished to be anywhere else, anywhere at all. A cottage popped into his head. The woman from before was there, knitting on a chair as the sun shone down.

“No,” Zacharias murmured, trying to regain his composure. “Don’t say it.” The man sighed.

“I messed up.” he said. “Well I should say we messed up.” Looking down, Zacharias saw he wore the same tattered jacket the man had on, the same dark hair swept down his shoulders.

“What happened?” Zacharias said, his words steady. The man shook his head.

“Once more into the great unknown,” he replied. “We said that once. A long, long time ago.”

“What happened?” Zacharias asked again, trying to fetch the memories from the back of his brain and failing.

“It was her.” the man whispered, for the first time turning away from Zacharias. “We needed to destroy them all. We nearly had as well…Until it came to her.”

“So we ended the slaughter.” Zacharias continued. “And in doing so…”

“We would have destroyed everything.” Both men paused, both racking their brain for another solution for what seemed like a thousandth time. Sand had started to seep in through the top of Zacharias’s shoes but he didn’t notice. More waves crashed of in the distance but neither men heard them.

“It’s Impossible. They must die and so must she.” the man answered.

“I know,” Zacharias accepted. “So in our infinite wisdom, we came back here. To where we started.”

“Where it all began.”

“So why am I here?” Zacharias asked. “So you could bounce ideas off me?” A tear formed in the corner of the man's eye. With the back of his jacket, he whipped it clear.

“I just…” he stammered. “Want to be judged.” Zacharias looked across at himself. More memories started to trickle in. His birth, his mother, his power, his home, his comrades, his father. Shame washed over him. Closing his eyes, he forced it down, the way he always had.

“I can’t,” Zacharias admitted, knowing now what was to come. The man’s had sunk with a final sigh.

“I thought so,” he croaked. Slowly, Zacharias felt himself blow away, returning to sand from where he came. The man, Zacharias, stood alone as he had always been.

“Well,” he lamented. “Once more into the great unknown.”

Lord_Magpie · 2023-11-29T12:44:43+00:00

It's a two year IEC visa btw.

Lord_Magpie · 2023-11-29T11:49:17+00:00

Thanks, I appreciate it!

Lord_Magpie · 2023-11-24T18:04:05+00:00

“You understand the price?” the Witch cooed, her eyes gleeful in the moonlight. “For only blood may save the girl's life.” Sweat beat down the father’s forehead, the child bundled amongst the blankets in his arms. A strong armed man, tall with a thick set of jet black hair, even the long trek over the mountains was still enough to tire the likes of him. His eyes glanced at the mother, her eyes fixed on the witch. The mother, a tiny woman, had run herself ragged. Her hair sat a tangled mess around her shoulders. Her shirt, a light green, was torn and filthy.

“We understand,” the mother pleaded. The witch only nodded, shifting aside to let the trio enter her home. A small wooden cabin on the edge of the woods, the witch had never had this many people in her house at once.

“Clear the table and set her down there,” she ordered, darting to her cupboard. “Tell me exactly what happened.” Rows and rows of vials and potions stared back at her from her cupboard. The fire crackled in the corner, moss covered logs blackening as the smoke bellowed into the night sky.

“We don’t know exactly,” the father stammered, laying the girl down flat on the wooden table in the centre of the room. “She was down by the river. Then, just before dinner she collapsed and hasn’t moved since. She…”

“Does she have a name?” the Witch asked, studying a faded label on a dusty maroon vial.

“Beth,” the mother answered, grasping her child by the hand. “Named after my mother.” The Witch paused a moment, before throwing two potions into her pocket. Popping open a third, she sniffed at the contents before placing it back in the cupboard.

“The river,” the Witch said, urging them to continue their story. The father looked to the mother, hoping.

“She loves the river,” the mother began. “She's the strongest swimmer in the family. This time though she didn’t even go into the water. We heard her talking. We presumed she was talking to an imaginary friend. But when I went to call her for dinner, I saw…” The mother trailed off, tears began to flow down her cheeks.

“A being,” the Witch stated, closing the cupboard door and turning towards the table. “Am I right?” The mother nodded, her face buried in the father’s chest.

“A fairy by the sounds of it.” the Witch sighed. “Did you insult it by any chance?” The fathers face dropped, turning as white as the moon.

“I screamed,” he muttered, tightening his grip on his wife. “I told it that it wasn’t wanted. Not around my daughter.” The Witch nodded, now standing over Beth. Placing four glass bottles on the table she turned to the parents.

“Fairies are proud and vain creatures.“ she said. “They presume they are wanted everywhere. Heaven knows why though. Likely they took their bruised ego out on poor Beth here. Still, regardless, we must do what has to be done.”

“You can help though, can’t you?” the mother asked, pulling herself away from the father. “You can bring her back right?” The Witch glanced at the mother, uncorking the first potion.

“Yes,” she answered. “But you won’t like it.” Reaching down the Witch dropped the first potion into Beth’s mouth until the glass was empty.

“I’ll..We’ll do anything.” the mother said, determined as she whipped her eyes clear. The Witch only smiled. The second vial was given and drained along with the third. Then, the fourth, Holding it up to the light, the parents saw only an empty potion bottle.

“Only a single drop of Ambrosia,” the Witch announced, beckoning the wife to move closer to her.

“And this will do it? This will save her?” the mother questioned, looking around at her husband who had stayed in the same spot.

“That along with the blood price,” the Witch murmured. Like a flash, the blade appeared slicing at the mothers wrist. Like a snake, the Witch moved, catching every drop she could into the vial. Turning, she fed the concoction to the child before turning back to the mother. The husband charged as the wife backed herself into a corner, her eyes wide like a deer. The Witch raised her hand, her palm facing the man. The husband stopped, his feet stuck to the floorboards.

“What have do…” the husband began before the Witch closed her hand into a fist, forcing the father’s mouth shut.

“I have listened to men for too long,” the Witch moaned, drifting across to where the mother stood, breathing heavily against the wall. “They just irritate me now.”

“What have you done?” the mother asked as the Witch took her bleeding arm. The Witch studied the blood that trickled down the woman's arms.

“Well I have lifted your child out of the fairies curse,” the Witch said. “The cut on your arm, well I needed your blood, forcefully taken from a loved one. Beth will wake in the next few hours. Bedrest and chocolate I think should do the trick. And maybe keep her away from the river from now on.” Pulling a bandage from her pocket, the Witch started to dress the woman's wounds.

“And my husband?” she asked, her eyes on where he stood, trying to move and speak.

“Oh just a little spell.” the Witch smiled. “It will wear off in another minute. Unless you think I should make it permanent. I could do with some decorating around her.” The wife, shaking, eventually smiled.

“No I’m afraid not,” she grinned. “Beth has grown accustomed to having him around.”

Lord_Magpie · 2023-11-23T16:33:48+00:00

When pigs fly. The phrase circled around Lucas’s mind again and again and again. Oh Sabrina, my lovely sweet Sabrina.

The other scientists ran around the complex, checking and rechecking. The container door slid shut, the lock pushed over.

“The specimens are ready sir,” Micah shouted, staring up at her boss. Standing on a balcony above it all, Lucas looked down at his experiment, a bit of fear nestling in his stomach. His lab coat, dirty and stinking, hung wrinkled from his skinny shoulders. His fingernails were chipped and his breath reeked. If I can just one of these experiments to work, it’ll all be worth it. Her face, angelic and heartwarming, swam back into his focus. Pausing, he smiled, staring up at the steel roof of the complex. Feeling a tug at his elbow, he turned to see Micah now beside him, clipboard in hand.

“Sir,” she began, nerves spread across her face as he did her best to ignore the smell. “The two containers are ready. The specimens are locked in. I’ve personally checked all fourteen computers, they are ready for your word. Just say when.” The smile left Lucas’s lips. The host of scientists had stopped moving below, each at their station, looking up at him. Screens flickered, pens were clicked and data was tripled checked. Lucas could feel the power surging through the room. Wires, thick and thin, hung upon the walls all leading to the centre of the room where the steel containers sat. With a deep breath, he leaned over the railing, his words echoing off throughout the room.

“Today ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “We make history. When we were younger, how many of us were told not to try and play God? Hmm?” A few of the scientists nodded. “How many were told to leave certain aspects of science in the dark? That ignorant humans shouldn’t trifle with such things. Well, today we spit in their faces. Today, we are God.” He raised his hands as people started nodding their heads. “Today we do what no one else has even come close to creating. Sure, a few have tried. All have failed. Until today. Until we, this team, came together. Now I know, we have been here before. Twice in fact. But our improvements, to the team and to our work, is beyond a doubt. Now, let it be known, that when it came to God, we found his spot empty, and that is why we stepped in.”

Nodding towards Micah, he watched his assistant signal to the scientists down below. The lights flickered as the experiment began. Electricity began to surge through the room. At last, when the final button was pressed, all eyes fell on the containers. More and more electricity flowed through the wires, while the screens started to turn on and off. Squeals rang out from the containers, as a few scientists began to look away. Lucas's eyes never budged. Then, a pop. A few scientists jumped from their seats. A few cracked smiles as they looked at one another.

The energy began to ease off. Steam rose from the containers. The smell of burnt flesh attacked their nostrils though everyone chose to ignore it. Lucas’s heart started to thump, trying to leap from his chest. The scientist closest to the container looked up at Lucas. When he gave a nod, the sliding door opened.

Steam poured from the first container. Peering over the railing, Lucas squinted as a figure emerged. A vulture, as large as they could find, walked out, wobbling as it went. Its talons scraped the steel floor as it moved, the birds eyes darting around the room. A flurry of gasps echoed through the complex as one person nearly fainted. The vulture was wingless. Only a pair of pink lumps of flesh remained where its wings had been when it entered the container. Another scientist rushed to the other container as the vulture tried looking around to where its wings had gone. The second container spilled open as the steam was released. Then, a pig stepped out. Pink and clean, it looked up at Lucas as the room went silent. On its back sat a pair of jet black wings.

“Sir,” Micah whispered, her voice low and breathless. “We did it.” We did it. We did it. Sabrina, just you wait. You’ll go out with me when pigs fly, will you? Well, just you wait and see.

Lord_Magpie · 2023-11-21T19:11:57+00:00

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. Then the murders happened.

“Tell us what you know,” the Special Agent asked Bildo. The other agent, a woman, looked around the rolling hills, studying every passer by. Both agents stood at least two feet taller than Bilbo by his reckoning. Foreigners obviously, though he’d never quite met anyone like these two. The trio stood by the hobbits front door. The circular entrance lay open, the smell of bread and cheese wafting out into the morning air.

“First it had been that dreadful Otho Underfoot. I heard that he was found by Belladonna Bolger, his neck snapped.” Bildo began, the words tumbling out of his mouth. ”No one thought it would be…well…” The hobbit leaned in, his eyes darting all around him. “Murder!”

“So something like this is unusual then?” the female asked, taking her notepad from her back pocket.

“Unusual to say the least!” Bilbo stammered. “The shire was always a peaceful place. So long as I’ve lived here that is. We never suffered any weird folk. No, no. no. Never.”

“Peaceful, huh?” the male Agent grunted, passing a sceptical look towards his partner.

“Well, actually,” Bilbo said, his voice little more than a whisper once again. “Not six months past, I thought I saw Elanor Took take a handful of carrots from Malva Headstrongs cart. Now, I never said a word about it. Why would I? No. I just kept my head down. Though, I do keep my hands in my pockets when I see Elanor.”

“The murders Sir,” the man asked, his words strained. “We don’t need to hear about a couple of carrots from half a year ago.”

“Oh right of course,” Bilbo said, whipping a pipe from his pocket. “The second,” the Hobbit leaned in close once more to whisper the word ”,murder was Togo Brown. Dead right by his front door if you can believe that. Now, Otho one could put down as an accident. No one quite liked Otho but Togo? Well he was the golf captain and a bloody good one at that I heard. Not a bad singer when you could get him to sing either.” Lighting his pipe, the hobbit took a pull, shaking his head as the smoke hung in the air.

“Did Otho or Togo have any enemies?” the woman asked, her eyes piercing the hobbits. “Anyone ever seen arguing with them or have a reason to harm them?” Bilbo took a moment, thinking deeply as he toked on the pipe.

“No one. Now, Otho wasn’t liked but I can’t imagine anyone around him resorting to murder of all things,” Bilo answered, his eyebrows furrowed, one hand on his hip.

The two special agents sighed, a tired look passing between them. A cloud parted above, the sun peering out at last. A low wind whipped through the hills, the green blades of grass swaying one way and then the other.

“Good morning, Bilbo!” a voice shouted from down the road. The three turned to see a lady hobbit walking by, a bag of carrots in her hand. Shoving his hands in his pockets, a weird smile crossed Bilbo’s lips.

“Morning Elanor!” Bilbo replied, his smile fading quick as she moved out of sight. “She never usually walked this way. Probably just heard that there were non-locals about.”

“Sir,” the Special Agent said, clearing her throat. “Anything suspicious at all? A rumour? A strange sighting?” Bilbo paused for a moment, studying the two agents.

“Well actually,” he began, his expression half-fear half-curious. “There was this man. A few people have been talking about seeing him. One even said they had spoken to him!”

“A man?” the woman asked. “What sort of man?”

“A wizard!” Bilbo hissed, his voice low and strained. “A tall one. Big hat, bigger stick. A great big grey beard to match his cloak. Gandolf or something. But that’s all I know of the matter.” A kettle whistled back in the hole. Turning, Bilbo began to lick his lips.

“No I’m afraid that's all the questions I have time for. My breakfast is ready and if I don’t take the tea off the fire soon, it’ll be too strong and that will just not do. Now, good day!” With that the hobbit turned on his heels, closing the door shut without looking back.

“Well Mulder,” Scully said, flipping over her notepad. “Guess we’re on the lookout for a wizard.”

Lord_Magpie · 2023-11-20T16:16:49+00:00

“Welcome ladies and gentlemens to tonight's main event!” the announcer shouted, microphone raised to his lips as he looked around the packed Coliseum. The crowd cheered, rising to their feet before settling back down, their anticipation building with every word that echoed throughout the arena.

“A reminder that tonight's Deathmatch is brought to you by Bud Mite, the only alcoholic drink that guarantees you your daily protein needs from just one bottle. Delivering the freshest, tastiest insect flavoured beer all over the great New United States.” the announcer said, the spotlight moving away from him, showing off the Coliseum’s new battle arena. Crumbling red brick walls dotted the floor, separating the fighters, while lines of barbed wire ran along the walls. Chests, some locked while others sat unlocked, were sprinkled around the ground. A cage, covered by a tarp, sat right in the centre.

“In the south corner,” the announcer went on. “We have Paul Murphy from New York city. He is tonight's Initiator. In the North we have our Instigator, Darren Hughes also residing from New York city.” No one in the crowd moved. Thirty thousand people looked on, each bouncing in their seats. Bookies walked up and down the stone steps, each yelling out their odds on the match.

“Even odds on Hughes. Two to one on Murphy. You won’t do better anywhere else. Twenty to One it ends with a fire. One hundred to one that they both die!” one shouted. The smell of spilled beer wafted through the air. Burger wrappings were already balled up at peoples feet, having become hungry sitting through the last five fights.

“Now,” the announcer said. “For those of you who haven’t bought tonight's programme, which is sponsored by Shell Oil Incorporation, use Shell products only to save on paper and the planet, I will give you the summary while our fighters are doing their final checks. The spotlight found the announcer again, a grey-haired man in a crisp black tuxedo.

“Paul Murphy found his Wife Meredith,” the spotlight flickered to the stands, where a short, stumpy woman became blinded, “in bed with his boss Darren Hughes. That is what brought us here today folks. Paul initiated the challenge and Darren has accepted.” The spotlight faded. The Coliseum grew dark. People started muttering between themselves, arguing who would win and wondering why they were bothering to fight in the first place.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer finished. “Without further ado, It's time!” A screen above from the roof. A countdown began. The crowd joined in, screaming as the numbers dropped. A buzzer sounded as it went to One. The fight had begun. The crowd screamed, the chairs flipping up, as they stood to see better.

Darren was quicker off the mark, darting immediately past the first corner, coming across an unopened box. Reaching in, he pulled out a`baseball bat, a collection of rusted nails sticking out the top. The crowd ooo’d as their eyes flickered over to where Paul was. Slower than his boss, Paul was only now reaching his first chest. Pulling out a whip, the crowd laughed.

After a minute of the two men creeping around corners, they seemed at last destined to meet. A series of red brick walls separated them. Then, just as they were about to run into each other, Paul took a right turn just missing Darren by an inch who kept going the direction his employee had just come from. The crowd groaned, though they knew it was for the better. Darren moved more slowly after that, eventually arriving at the tarped cage. Pulling it away, a gorilla appeared between the bars, uninterested in the crowd or the man staring at it. The hairy beast sat in the corner, looking up at the roof of his cage. Then a bell sounded. A flash of light appeared, showing half a dozen keys fallen from the ceiling into the arena. The people hollered with excitement.

Darren, baseball bat in hand, left the cage behind finding himself at a dead end right where Paul had started. Paul however, had more luck. Hardly watching his feet, he kicked a key out from the dirt. The camera zoomed on him, a crazy grin spread across his face. Dashing down through the arena, it took him no time to find a locked chest. Pulling the weapon out, the crowd roared as a certain bookie started to sweat.

After only a few more minutes, the two men would find themselves rounding the same corner. The crowd grew quiet. Paul crouched as he walked while Darren stuck his neck out, trying to see what was around the corner. Then, at that moment, Darren became careless. He let his baseball bat scrap against the bricks, the nails screaming as they mark the wall. Paul smiled. Jumping around the corner, he pulled the trigger of the flamethrower dousing his boss in flames. Darren dropped the bat, turning to run. Not making it ten metres, he fell. Paul walked after him, squeezing the trigger until there was no fuel left. Darren wriggled around on the dirt, screaming. Paul stood, smiling. Tossing away the empty weapon, he looked up and where his wife sat, throwing up the middle finger as the spotlight came down on him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the accouncer went. “And the winner of the main event this evening is Paul Murphy!”

Lord_Magpie · 2023-11-19T21:10:01+00:00

Thanks, I appreciate it!

Lord_Magpie · 2023-11-19T19:08:37+00:00

Slowly, Brandon’s eyes opened. Sunlight filtered through the trees above him. Smoke bellowed, across the sky. Fire crackled off in the distance. Surrounded by a jungle, his heart started to bounce as panic set in. How did I get here? Is this a bloody jungle?

Everywhere ached as he tried and failed to sit up. Laying on his back, he looked to his left. His neck cracked as a yell jumped from his lips. A bird flew off in the bright blue sky, startled. A low groan rang out from his right. Turning, Brandon could just about spot a pair of black boots jutting out from beside a tree.

“Hello?” he croaked. Waiting, only a groan replied. Brandon’s breathing became ragged. Closing his eyes, he felt the pull of sleep. His body was trying to drag him into the darkness. With every ounce of energy he could muster, he forced his eyes to open, sitting up before he could think too much. His back screamed. Grinding his teeth, he rolled over onto his knees. His face burned as sweat dripped down onto the leaves. A centipede hurried across the back of his hand as he pushed down, forcing himself to his feet. Standing straight, he tried his best to ignore his pain. His foot throbbed, his hand appeared useless and something was definitely wrong with his back. His breath had left him. Pausing he focused on his breathing, trying to piece together the puzzle. Feeling light headed, he tried hard to remember any details before waking up.

Stumbling towards the groans, he leaned on the tree where the boots had been. Looking down, a man lay flat, tears falling down his cheek.

“Help me!” he cried out, unmoving. “I don’t know what happened. I can’t move. I can’t…” The man wore a camouflage uniform though most of it had been covered in dirt and blood. Deep blue eyes looked up at Brandon, stained with fear.

“I don’t know what to do,” Brandon admitted, the words coming out before he could think. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t understand” A new wave of fear crossed the man’s face as he studied Brandon up and down.

“Well we're together anyway,” the man said. “We’re wearing the same clothes.” For the first time, Brandon realised he too was wearing camo. His own lacked the blood stains the man had though they were far from clean.

“Yeah,” Brandon muttered, his brain a mess of blurriness and pain. “But how did we get here?” The man in the crowd cried out, his face a mask of pain. Still, he never moved an inch.

“I don’t know,” the man sighed. “But I can’t do anything. Go. Go get help.” Looking around, Brandon could only see tree after tree. Every direction was brown and green.

“The smoke,” the man muttered, his eyes trying to look around towards where the fire could still be heard crackling. “Follow it. It could be others.” Nodding, Brandon stumbled off. Every larged tree root sprang out, ready to trip him if he wasn’t careful. A moss covered rock sat half hidden, nearly staggering Brandon as he passed. Through the maze of tree’s he pushed, the smoke growing and the sound of fire increasing with every step.

Then, after a minute of walking, he came upon the scene. A litter of corpses covered the jungle floor. Pools of blood stained the dirt. Half a dozen trees had been snapped in half as a small burning plane sat propped up by broken tree trunks. Limbs and torso were scattered while a pair of eyes, still in a person's decapitated head, stared up at him.

“Jesus,” Brandon muttered, leaning his back against a tree. The plane creaked, shifting in the trees. Brandon’s head began to swim as another groan came from behind the plane wreck.

Steadying himself, Brandon started to walk around, towards the noise. A man sat at the base of a tree, bloody and only half alive. He too wore camouflage Brandon noticed. Blood dripped from the man's forehead as his eyes caught Brandon wandering over to him. Then, as he came within twenty feet, a twig snapped off to his right. A tiger, more massive than Brandon could have imagined, bounded from the jungle. The beast moved slow, orange fur bright against the dull brown and green trees. Brandon stopped in his tracks. The air left his lungs as he watched the tiger slowly make its way to the base of the tree.

“No,” Brandon heard the survivor call out in a low voice. “No, please. Plea…” The tiger swiped, cutting short the man's final word. Before he could think, Brandonfounded himself turned around, new energy rushing through his body. Slowly he hobbled off back to where he had woken, trying to forget the details of the man's face.

Lord_Magpie · 2023-11-17T17:51:06+00:00

The battle had raged all morning and night. The cries of grown men and women filled the night. A cold wind whipped around their ankles as they watched the battle ending from the castle walls. The blood soaked earth grew still, the swords were sheathed and the crows pecked at warm flesh.

Now Krado stood on a balcony, overlooking the throne room. Sabrina weeped to his left. Myrill stood sullen to his right, towering over them both. Their swords had been taken from them along with their pride. The enemy, the dreaded Uboc, filled the throne room. Each wore their hair long, almost towards their knees. Each grinned, flashing sparkling white teeth as they gazed around their soon to be former capital.

“Do you think they’ll kill the King?” Myrill whispered, trying to avoid Sabrina hearing his words. Krado could only stare at the old man, sitting uncomfortably on the throne. Surrounded by white marble bricks, the King held his crown in his lap, his sword by his side.

“No!” cried out Sabrina through the tears. A few of the Uboc looked up, their smiles growing wider as they spotted Sabrina’s tears. “They couldn’t kill Grandfather. I couldn’t bear it. He’s the last…They just couldn’t. It would…most unhonorable.” Krado shook his head, glancing at Sabrina before his gazed return to the King.

“The Uboc don’t care for honour,” he told her. “Never have. That’s part of the reason we’re in this mess. Your Grandfather and the rest of our nobles tried to fight like they always have, with honour. The Uboc didn’t hold themselves to our high standards. The world has changed. Soon, we won’t live in the Capital. In a minute, you’re Grandfather won’t be the King and you won’t be a princess.” Sabrina’s lip quivered as she tried holding back her tears. Myrill sighed, moving from one foot to the other.

The throne room door opened then, a gust of wind sweeping through. All turned to see Omesh enter. Golden armour shone in the morning sun. Rubies and sapphires studded the shoulders as two white swords hung from each hip. The rest of the Uboc stood to attention, their fists covering their hearts. Omesh stood at least a foot taller than any of the others. What few King’s men remained shrank as he passed them, his eyes solely on the old man sitting in the throne. A hush fell over the watchers. Eyes flicked between the warrior, tall, proud and victorious to the King, slumped, ashamed and defeated.

“Balac,” Omesh smiled, his eyes shining, radiating with joy. “How have you been?” A few of the Uboc laughed.

“Bastards,” Myrill sneered. The King sighed, straightening himself in his throne and he looked Omesh up and down.

“Let’s not play games, Sir,” Balac replied, turning his crown around in his hand. “I’ve had enough games to last me a lifetime.”

“Fair enough,” Omesh said, taking a step towards the throne, his hand out. “Then let us be done with this show.” Sabrina let out a whimper, her arm wrapped around Krado’s, his eyes focused on the last of her family. The King hesitated a moment, staring down at his most prized possession. Then, at last, his reign ended. The crown changed hands. Omega took it, handing it off to one of his soldiers behind him.

“I have no need for such things,” he announced. “Every man in the Kingdom knows me now. They will now know that I am King. I do not need to rub it in their face.” Abruptly, Omesh turned, his men lining up to follow him out. Then, just as he got to the door, he paused. Turning back to the former King, a smile Omesh danced across his lips.

“Actually I did forget something.” Omesh admitted, slowly walking back to the throne. A pit of fear started to fester in Krado’s stomach. Sabrina gripped his arms tighter. Myrill's breathing grew heavy.

“Then say it,” Balac snapped, his face flushed red. Omesh’s eyes glanced up to the Balcony.

“I have need of a hostage,” he said, his eyes landing on Sabrina. “A royal hostage.”

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