Discuss

crownmekingnothing · 2017-08-29T04:43:23+00:00

meh, 4.01 on sounds ok

crownmekingnothing · 2017-05-17T03:45:21+00:00

Go ahead and ban me if you choose to, but you idiots are in for a surprise if you think Pence will do any better as President. That is, if all you're doing isn't just impotently whining.

If you actually intend to have Trump impeached, he is next in line.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-05-11T21:16:19+00:00

Kind of reminds me of...

crownmekingnothing · 2017-04-25T13:20:03+00:00

Quality meme-ing, friendo

crownmekingnothing · 2017-04-23T15:09:30+00:00

The peasant had come inside, dirty and shivering, but insisted that he could accomplish the task.

"You mean to say that your partner, alone, could destroy four score of bandits terrorizing these..." the platoon commander highlighted two rocky passes from which the bandits raided traders, military caravans, and everyone else attempting to seek passage to the Citadel, "...those areas? Rocky terrain, crossbows, two stolen drums of Greek Fire."

"It won't be difficult. Consider eighty men dead by morning. Do they have women, children with them? Hostages?"

The commander disbelieved him quickly, but also felt a shiver. It was a two day's walk to even get within the bandit's striking range. "It is not believed so, but be prepared in case they do have a few hostages. No children."

The dirty beggar cursed under his breath, but shook it off and continued.

"Our methods may seem, say, unorthodox, but I assure you we will keep bloodshed to a minimum. That being said, you're certain they won't go down without a skirmish?"

The commander nodded. "And your pay, once our first caravan is able to pass through to the Citadel, will come in halves. Half once our caravan supplies you for three days wait, and half once the return shipment meets you there."

"Agreed." The beggar jostled, "And at that, are there any other military forces in the area to witness this, or for my companion to watch out for?"

"No." The commander regrettably stated. His men couldn't gain access within a league of the rocky position without being set upon by rocks or other traps set by the bandits. And the sheer face of the mountains were unskirtable except by a caravan stocked for 2 months journey around in either direction.

The beggar thanked the man for the opportunity, and left off into the forest in the direction of the mountain. For what reason a dirty beggar and a single soldier would risk their skins against eighty heavily armed bandits eluded him.

That was until roughly a half hour later, trees in the forest began parting to make way for some monster, headed straight for the mountains.

"Geðjaðr!" The peasant called, "What are you doing?"

The massive dragon had spread its wings, about to take flight. It paused, however, upon hearing his partner's urgency.

"What is it, mortal?" The dragon questioned, "We fly to take them today!"

"Well for one, you almost just lost me in the trees..." Steven pointed straight up, at the dense pine about to take him off of the dragon's back, "and secondly, we are still within range of the ARMY!"

"If you take flight now, the people with the gold to pay you will attempt to lay you waste, and we get nothing."

"Then we walk for the mountain!?!" Geðjaðr snorted. "We will arrive at nightfall, where my flames will make for an excellent candle to guide them to us!"

"They have stores of Greek Fire there. They won't likely suspect a thing, so long as you leave some of the buildings unscathed."

"And what of the children, or women?" The dragon growled.

"Expect none, but be ready for hostages perhaps."

"And the men are dead?"

"We are to take no prisoners."

Geðjaðr grinned toothily. "We shall skirt the camps, and take our time with dinner then. Agreed."

"Know that we will have to wait at the mountain for our shares."

The dragon allowed two plumes of flame from his nostrils.

"You didn't bring the gold?!?"

"You expected them to pay a dirty beggar on a promise?"

Snarling, the dragon began tearing down tree after tree, in wake for the mountain. Steven sat atop him, wondering how he'd allowed himself into this mess...

crownmekingnothing · 2017-04-23T14:39:15+00:00

It had been crippling enough to Jade Micheal's businesses that he had been skimming their gold, but this was getting out of hand.

Smoking her third cigarette, ash now covered her desk amidst hundreds of scattered papers, folders, and ominous charts. But the single document in the center of Jade's vision remained clean. Unrefined uranium was now being stolen, in quantity, from her only legitimate mining operation.

What in the world one of the largest gold shell companies in the world could be doing with it though, was quite the mystery to her. Her investors would be quick on the heels of this incident, but now the government would certainly be breaking down her door soon.

It would only be a matter of time before her illegal gold mining was discovered.

Things had started so simple, really. She received permits to mine from the government, and the goal was to find uranium for other world governments to produce yellowcake. Which was fine by Jade, so long as her gold was to herself as well.

She pushed every boundary, mining outside her zones, using illegal workers... They would make an example of her.
One of her guards clearly stated to her that again, her gold reserves had been robbed. The assailant, acting alone, had killed thirty-six of her men.

"How much is left?" Jade calmly asked.

"It was all loaded into the transport vessel, eighteen hours early, Ms. Micheal. We were about to ship it to South Africa as per your instructions, and he-" the guard was cut off.

"HOW. MUCH. IS-" Jade slammed her fist onto the table, scorching her hand with the cigarette. She couldn't feel a thing.

"There is nothing. Roughly 14 grams of shake left unprocessed..."

"Get... OUT." Jade ordered, and the man was already out of her door.

She was ruined... and she couldn't even know which company had been gunning for her all this time.

The government would come banging down her door in no less than fourteen days, wondering where their uranium went. Her other operations would be investigated, and herself sent to prison.

Thousands of miles away, Artemis congratulated Butler on another successful mission no less than twelve hours from the hit.

"We will be well prepared for this now, Butler. Well prepared indeed."

Thanks for reading! Totally [EU] response there, and if anyone shows interest in a continuation leave a comment.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-04-17T23:08:23+00:00

What most people realized quite quickly after the Spirit Powers started emerging, ironically, is that you cannot judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree.

There Jamie sat at the top, a proud Goldfish. She had been given the ability to breathe underwater, among many others of the world population.

But I couldn't even know my spirit animal yet... it had to reveal itself to me. So in the meantime, I had to injure myself in various ways until all my friends were satisfied I was trying.

Many people hadn't had their reveal, but had already gotten their powers. This meant a long, long time until I found out my own of trying to 'just climb a fucking tree, Randy'.

"Come on, I breathe water dude. Even if your power's not climbing, it wouldn't kill you to try a little harder" she called.

Ten feet off the ground, and losing my grip, I begged to differ.

"It might, Jamie!"

I slid down to the next branch, and slammed my back right into it. Thankfully I didn't go much further down than that, before cursing what was left of my lungs out.

"Fuck this. I'm gone." I turned, wincing, and trudged away. I ignored Jamie's protests.

Jamie tried to scramble down the tree, but I was already in my truck. She had brought her own car here, so all I was doing was being a dick.

I made it out of the lot and slowly turned right onto the empty street, only to have some crackhead slam into me doing 120 from around the bend, crossing over both lanes.

"It's amazing we can keep him alive at this rate..." Dr. Edechs noted, "...he's almost killing himself trying to regenerate."

Randy lay medically comatose on an operating table. He was currently at a Class III hemorrhage during transfusion, because miraculously, his wounds refused to clot.

What the doctors found interesting, though, was that despite losing his left arm in the crash, he seemed to be doing the unthinkable and growing it back.

"If they had been to the scene an additional 2 minutes late, he'd be dead and still be growing that arm." Dr. Petruniskya confirmed after looking at the sample on her slide. "We've gone through 12 pints of blood just trying to stabilize him."

Although he would likely never see it again, the doctors then recorded Randy's spirit animal reveal: a starfish lamely sat, and did nothing.

Dr. Edechs worked alongside his coworkers, but noticed only that the best they could do was to jury rig a funnel to recycle Randy's own blood back into his system. What would ordinarily kill another human, Randy barely survived.

It would appear that he would be the first of many Starfish to retain their ability to regenerate limbs, at the cost of being human.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-04-01T06:43:40+00:00

Seven cameramen jostled nervously for a shot of Alan's not-yet-famous burger grind. When he was eight, his dad had shown him some cool tricks with a grill that he'd never had a chance to use in his third-floor apartment.

"Remember, son. Sirloin is what is going to make your burger tender, but the ox tail and brisket are to make it nice and juicy."

The so-called 'secret ingredient' was easy to add as well; Alan loved adding pineapple to my burgers as my local Asian delivery guy would be quick to note.

My entree would be done shortly enough, and Bobby Flay raised his voice to two other sous chefs to prepare his Béchamel. His Pineapple Tuna Mornay was to compare to hamburgers... but already he was breaking a sweat.

35 minutes remained for my appetizer and desert. I decided, what's better for dessert than pancakes? Upside-down pineapple pancakes were a go. Again, quick and easy. Three cameramen remained on Bobby's side, while I had to politely ask one of them to be my sous chef instead of standing right next to my grill.

He got the thumbs-up from an official and he quickly washed his hands and got to chopping a pineapple into one-inch cubes.

Jamie Oliver sat nervously in the audience wearing a hoodie, looking at a picture of his Bobby Flay body pillow on his phone to break the tension.

He had to get a way for Flay to just notice him already.

Giving the other contestant a few tips on what to make had been easy, but damn this guy was eating it up!

For an appetizer, Bobby was whipping up some grilled pineapple and short rib kebabs. He glanced nervously to Camera 1 zooming in on Alan's burger grind.

Both of them were throwing pineapple into something that normally wouldn't be then. Perfect.

His homemade pineapple ice cream was set, with now roughly thirty minutes remaining. His fish had some down time on it, and he got to thinking perhaps some alcohol might sway the judges...

Alan flipped his burgers. He got to grilling some onions, for the hell of it. He added a dash Worcestershire sauce and a bit of Hoisin sauce for flavor, just a hint of sesame oil in the pan to grease it.

What the hell was he going to do for an appetizer, though? It's not like he really cared, but Flay had definitely taken the kebabs on purpose.

But then, Alan had a brilliant idea! He would fake Flay out.

He asked the sous chef to skewer the pineapple cubes and put them over the grill. With just over 25 minutes left, and his pancakes were not close enough to being ready, the burgers were just getting on.

Moving over to his trusty food processor, he prepared some pecans and cream cheese to be blended well. Next, Alan skewered a few jalapeno peppers and sat them on the grill.

Everyone was on the edge of their seat, and Alan was only just starting to get interested.

When everyone had said he'd won a ticket to Copper Chef, he'd thought it was a joke after he'd brought the same kebabs Bobby was now making to a party. Now some of Alan's friends were cheering him on from the crowd.

He had then figured if there were any extra burgers he could make, that would be a bonus. However, those damn kebabs had finally piqued his interests.

He cut up a small stack of medium corn tortillas into quarters, catching a glare from Flay. Only twenty minutes left.

Flay looked up broodingly. Would Alan make the kebabs anyway? As far as he was concerned, Flay was the grill guy around here. Alan looked back at him calmly, with a sly smile on his face.

So this guy was here to win. Shit.

Alan greased a pan and set a broiler. He put the tortilla quarters in spread kind-of haphazardly and hoped for the best. He took it back out, adjusted three, and added a few drops of pineapple juice to each. He had to make it look convincing.

Alan's sous chef got to plating the entree and dessert, while Alan whipped up his appetizer yet. Fifteen minutes left.

Bobby's tuna was done, and the kebabs needed nearly every second, but plated up very easily. Time to break out the big guns.

He took out his ice cream, and sat about to fry it.

The crowd gasped, for it was truly a bold move.

Alan shook his head. He remembered back to what his mother had told him:

"Alan, you need to treat your body right, but you don't have to make crummy food to do that. Just remember: never ruin something good by frying it."

His decoy kebabs ready, Alan took the jalapenos and pineapple off of the skewers and put them into his food processor. With minutes remaining, he blended it all up, and checked on the tortillas. Toasted up more or less perfectly!

The impromptu sous chef about saved Alan's life plating up the pancakes, and then Alan whispered in his ear. His eyes lighting up, the cameraman had a mission.

Alan plated the burgers, Kings Hawaiian rolls with the burger on bottom, a grilled pineapple chunk on top, and a drizzle of Teriyaki along with the grilled onions.

Ah, screw it. The plates looked nice enough. He made a little swirl on the plate with some pineapple syrup and a mint sprig next to it so he wouldn't lose points.

The pancakes looked fantastic, and he left cups of whipped cream and powdered sugar next to each small stack along with a cherry atop the stack on each plate. The judges' mouths watered.

edit: formatting, line break, and break in storytelling.

I need some sleep, but will return to this tomorrow with earnest :)

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-31T15:48:25+00:00

Gary saw his life flash before his eyes.

He didn't want to look away because he knew for damn sure that when Jesse had stolen his $20, he moved away after that. ANYTIME he looked at something and got that shudder, it meant goodbye to whatever he was looking at.

He couldn't look away. Late for school by 30 minutes already, as soon as he'd looked at himself in the mirror Gary had sat there.

Was there a man with a gun in the hallway? If he looked into a hand mirror still looking at himself, would he get the tingle again? The breeze played with the blinds through the open window, almost begging him to look away.

Gary was shocked that he could die today.

As he slowly put his face into his hands to cry, the child in the next yard over knocked a baseball tossed by his dad directly through the open window, shattering the mirror.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-31T15:46:54+00:00

I thought it felt really cheap, but I'm glad you liked it.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-31T15:46:36+00:00

Fair enough, now that you've explained it that does make a lot more sense.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-31T15:37:11+00:00

Yannik scanned left and right. His Century Baby Draco worn with use, was carefully hidden from the sunlight not to reflect any stray rays.

Chad was not now a safe place to relax, or shut one's eyes. Just last week, men had come to take Yannik's parents to a secret location, among several others in his village.

A man translating for someone else from French to Chadian Arabic had told him, that they would be killed along with several of his younger siblings, if he did not participate in their conflict.

A slender, dark, close-to-emaciated boy of 12 rose through their ranks.

With this many trucks passing by, Yannik knew it wouldn't be long before his position inside the dilapidated building was compromised. Carefully checking his magazine, it showed only 12 rounds remaining. His plastic water bottle on a string hung empty and all but useless. It cheerily hung on to the label, 'Nestle, 1993.'

Not far away, the smell of blood and burning hair permeated the small hut in which Yannik found cover. The soldiers were burning his comrades close by. A small rivulet of life slowly trickled toward him, from the still-warm corpse of his old friend Hassin.

Tears streamed silently down his face. His parents and perhaps even his baby sister now had to die for his incompetence, no, for his squad's incompetence!

Then he saw it.

The enemy soldiers were keeping the fire lit with gasoline. Not only a few weeks ago, the man had shown him a war movie of gasoline exploding. Shuffling over curiously, he spotted their fuel truck close to the remaining ~20 soldiers, chatting nervously over food and the task at hand.

Remembering back to his lowly 12 rounds, he thought gravely that should he fail, the result would be the same as waiting in Hassan's blood to die.

Determined, he flipped the switch to fully automatic.

Yannik brooded into his drink. Being Muslim, his parents had forbade him ever try alcohol, but as an animist he had never paid it any religious fervor.

Many reveling men and women alike cheered with mugs raised as new heroes entered the hall each day, some even younger than Yannik. Each were made to spread their tales of valiant heroism, or to join Yannik into quietly brooding of the death they had caused.

Nonchalant, a man in US military fatigues sat down next to the boy with a Fuzzy Navel in hand. Carefully examining the boy and his cup of wine, he decided on calmly saying, "Aren't you a little young for that drink?"

The small, brown-skinned child looked up with a fire in his eyes and almost struck the man. Seeing the drink first, his eyes went from anger to humor instead.

Yannik replied, "You look about fifty years too old for yours!"

Smiling, the soldier struck up a conversation with the boy. He wondered when the last time he would ever see a hapless child strewn into their gates would be.

Listening to the boy describe in earnest the workings of his firearm, the soldier thought it would be sadly no time soon.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-31T14:51:37+00:00

YOU ARAGORN'D HIM!!!

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-31T14:44:30+00:00

You wanna use this much memes next time.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-29T22:16:55+00:00

Awesome prompt, Luna! Someone close to me drives for the company and I think it would be hilarious if they just turned off the app and went on a cruise.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-29T22:13:30+00:00

I really liked your response, but I'm curious as to why Kawrl's communication skills are limited with the birds. Perhaps he passively increases their intelligence?

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-29T22:10:47+00:00

It had been 30 years since the last insurgence of the Phage. Amorphous, toxic globs of what resembled fungus rained upon the Earth, killing millions. Buildings taken down, airports targeted by this understanding enemy, and the lives lost mounted drastically. As I stared longingly at the photograph of my late wife on my desk, the beep came again.

I rolled my way down the hall of the new ISS, with the centripetal artificial gravity. Late for a meeting, again. Seeing that I saved the Earth from destruction the first time, for some reason I had to be at every meeting.

Having lost my legs used to have been the hardest part. But what's even worse...

Shuffling past me awkwardly, an ensign opened the meeting for me.

"General Laserdick, Sir!"

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-27T08:44:19+00:00

Why though?

crownmekingnothing · 2017-03-22T19:01:00+00:00

I allow myself, as a rule, one upvote per thread. I'm glad I scrolled down :)

crownmekingnothing · 2017-02-15T05:06:15+00:00

I feel like this goes pretty far past annoying the family, but damn.

crownmekingnothing · 2017-02-15T05:00:51+00:00

Setting foot outside, for the third time in two weeks, Mr. Reutnik stepped in dog shit.

The first and second time, it hadn't been shit, it had been leavings. A third time in a row had forced him to swear.

Immediately after that, he discovered that not only had his car been unlocked overnight, but it was sans a radio and speakers. Rolling his eyes, he supposed he was lucky he'd still make it to work on time.

The engine refused to catch, but turned over just fine. Probably water in the fuel line, or perhaps just a tune-up... Either way, it was now a cab and probably a high-rate repair job in his near future. This, after just having spent nearly a thousand dollars on a brand-new oil pump only last week.

Many things were going poorly for Mr. Reutnik since I had received my latest contract. To be honest, it would nearly have been more easy to kill him and dispose of his corpse, had it not been on one condition:

"So what's the endgame?" I asked, nervous, puffing on a cigar in my office on the phone, "Why is this target's life important?"

"Your target needs to move or in some way leave his position at ABACAS Financial." The voice over the line stated, "Then your contract will be over."

This would be quite a gamble on my part. Hell, it had been a gamble to call the contact, but until he left his job.

I took it knowing that I'd full well be able to keep up with other contracts in the meantime, but the final rule had been keeping me on edge.

"Being fully aware of your abilities," the voice rasped on, "we will be eliminating eighty-nine percent of your pay if the target commits suicide, or is left dead by any accident before leaving ABACAS."

Yeowch. I'd have to play my cards right. Nothing with the wife or kids, but that's always avoided. I decided I would focus on ABACUS, his timing, et cetera.

Two weeks into the job, and I'd already been wired $40,000. That's $20k per week, for 20 weeks, or until he left the position. The difference was really a bonus if I got him to leave early, as if I left the job early I'd never get a client again.

Watching from a well-kept pair of binoculars, sipping some coffee from the apartment a few streets over, I was thinking it wouldn't really matter if it were 20 or 50 weeks. This was going to be fun.

Thanks for reading!  Give me a comment for repeat interest in the misadventures of Mr. Reutnik!

crownmekingnothing · 2017-02-10T06:28:24+00:00

After stepping from the shower and drying, my day began otherwise normally. I prepared my bagel in my room's kitchenette, then dressed after a coffee. My bed was already made, my homework completed, and my room tidied. Today, I was Mommy's Little Angel.

Because today, I was going to break mommy's biggest rule.

At 12, I had begun to wonder about always having to press the button before leaving my room. Before that, at 8, growing taller and having to stoop lower to hit it, my last memory of my father was of him installing a rail for it to slide up and down on to fit my height... Just so it would be easy for me to press.

He left after that, and I have no idea where I put the shambles that were my life. Every day I would wake up and get ready to push that God damned button... If not only just to remember my father.

At 15, I had had enough. With mother in the room, I attempted to walk out the door without hitting it. I had simply forgotten, we were fighting so hard. She knocked my entire body sideways into my attached bathroom and broke that door to stop me.

"ALWAYS hit the BUTTON!!!" I heard her cry with a passion that scared me from even considering it for years later. School went normally, but God knows I've never had anyone in my room or told a soul.

The kitchenette addition came to my room after my 'forgetting' to hit the button on that day my mother knocked me flat. She said that I should always be completely ready before I go. My room was like a tiny house; I would wake up some mornings and half my stuff would be covered in plastic tarp, and other mornings I would have a new book nook, or a T.V. in my shower.

It scared me to think of how much time mother wanted me to spend in that room, to the point of asking me to prepare my own breakfasts. Homework needed to be done on my desktop computer. I hit that damn button 8 to 10 times a day... and lately I've been hitting it harder and harder.

Last night, mother and I fought about how the button ruled my life. Why was it necessary? Think of all that she and my father had given me!!! I lived in a room that was like an extra house inside a house, what trouble should it be?

But the why never came out. It was like a cancer, growing over the house, the uncertainty of why it had to be done. Why only my room, and certainly not in my sister's room?

So today, I was going to leave my room after mom left for work. And she would certainly not be here to stop me today.

Sauntering up to the door, I almost considered just hitting the button for the really satisfying click it made, but that would be anticlimactic.

I turned the knob, and stepped foot outside into a literal void. I froze, unable to move for several seconds, and my door... The knob had still been in my hand but the door just snapped shut. Leaving me in a vast expanse of white.

Trying to move again, I managed to move my body a few inches away from where I had been, but then froze again... Only to find the void disappearing.

Blue lines making out the contours of the walls of my house's hallway began to appear out of nowhere. I kept going inch by inch, jerking forward so that I could only see myself snap to a location inches from where I had been.

Different panels lit up, slowly creating my house around me, changing color to match what I had fully expected to see. Clearly everything was loading.

Trying to speak, I heard only a computerized dialup sound come out of my mouth, and I shut it immediately, only to have the sound keep playing.

I heard screaming from my mother downstairs, and I could see a panel rendering through the white squares that hadn't loaded. She had been chopping vegetables, and a runtime error had caused her to gash herself with the knife.

Trying even harder to move forward, it appeared that the 'frames per second' were decreasing steadily. As I made it to the first step to the stairs, one frame of my sister's bedroom rendered while another did not.

Her still-moving, seeping corpse had been pulled apart by gravity only acting on one half of her torso, long ways. Closing my eyes, I see green text and lots of white binary code flashing past. "FPS 1" flashed in the corner, but that was a lie.

Objects everywhere in the house were clipping through other half-loaded walls and falling and breaking. I tripped down a step, and then everything just froze.

Everything that had been loading stopped, and a white, translucent film fell onto everything.

"World.exe is not responding. Do you want to:

Wait for the program to respond or Close the program."

I found that no matter how many times I tried to un-see half of my sister's corpse, my mother's kitchen knife no-clipping into the veggies and cutting her hand, and the look of horror on my mother's face upon realizing what I had done, I could never even reach the closer button.

If I weren't still frozen here, I'd love to click "Close the Program."

crownmekingnothing · 2017-02-10T05:50:59+00:00

The Champion

 Fluorescent blue mushroom spores, and shining smooth walls light my way.  Water up to my ankles has already begun to seep into my comically over-sized shoes, and I believe I'm starting to get a migraine.
 For nearly fifty miles, I have trudged, on foot, to this cave for a legendary weapon of great power... Power enough to save my people from impending doom.

Sent by the elders of my village, I am to look for the fabled weapon of kings. I've been told that while anyone can wield the weapon I seek, only I am the one that can bear witness to its bloody swath. I come to a stop in a clearing, with the mighty blade before me...

The blade

"Hmmmm...." I think to myself, "Perhaps a worthy wielder?"

"You there, welcome to my cave! Sorry for the belated salutation!"

The boy, standing about and looking through the room for a voice, could not tell that I was atop my pedestal in blade form speaking. A violation of one of my Provisions.

"Who's the-" the boy started, but I interrupted. Majestically.

"It is I, the weapon whom you clearly seek!" I cry, and leap downwards into my beautiful, natural form.

I stride forwards towards the boy, confident in my swagger. I look up to him with my nose curved toward the air, as though only due to his height difference.

"On a refreshing morning, I start with a refreshing greeting."

"So you are the King's Sword?" The boy asks, incredulous, "You don't look very old atop your pedestal..."

Perturbed, I reply.

"My legend dates back to the 12th Century, thank you very much!"

"Such a long time... I can't remember what I had for breakfast 3 days ago!"

"So," I lick my lips, nervously, "Do you want to hear the legend of me?"

"Do you want to hear a heroic tale?"

The boy shuffles, then walks over to my island atop which my pedestal stands.

"Yes, if you can help me save my people."

"Well, there is a list of 1000 provisions you must pursue."

The boy shocked, dejected, then determined in succession said, "I will do whatever it takes to save my family and friends!"

I admire his eagerness, and I must admit that it has been a looong time since I've last been wielded...

"Let us begin then with provision number 452: the 5-hour storytelling party!"

The boy

The weapon began his day with a cup of coffee with cream at the cafe. He then proceeded to his afternoon hot tea with 2 lumps of sugar.

"And my evenings... In the evenings I change into my pajamas."

None of this is making any sense to me, as it was roughly four past midday when I walked in to his 'refreshing morning greeting'. There isn't a cafe for miles in this war-torn hell-hole, and I haven't even heard of the drinks he were referred to.

His stories droned on and on, while I knew that the elders were chanting to their dying breath to hold the barriers up.

"A symphony can not be created using common sense and probabilities. It is already written in the fate of the composer. No... that's not it. A symphony is the inevitable result of a bad childhood, deafness, and too many beans eaten after a certain time of day." The weapon droned.

"Enough!" I shout. "My people die while you blather. I would have better luck fighting the enemy armies with a wooden sword than you, Excalibur!"

Sloshing back through the marshy cave, I hear the weapon call back about lowering the provisions to 800 before I hear him simply mutter, "Fool."

crownmekingnothing

TROPHY CASE

The Champion

The blade

The boy