The Night Before The Crowning (Aggy)

[DoS Archive]

From: agrenish@aol.com (Agrenish)
Date: 07 Jul 1999 02:20:03 EDT

Sitting at home was never enjoyable unless sleep was involved. Not being able to exert himself was maddening alone and the claustrophobic feelings the small hut inspired did not help. The fire was dying down, which was the sign that the hour was growing late. He stopped to think about the simple word. Late hour. Another absurd phrase. If 3 O'clock came after 4 o'clock, then it would be a late hour, and four would be the
early hour. How can an hour be late?

There was another absurd phrase, an hour. According to the rules of English, you use 'a' for a word beginning with a consonant, and 'an' for a word starting with a vowel. This must be their saving exception, 'In the case that there is a word that begins with a silent consonant and is followed by a vowel, then you use 'an' instead of 'a'.

He shook he head. The cavemen had the best language. If they wanted sex, they'd hit the woman over the head with a club and drag her into a cave. If they saw a male with a women he wanted, he'd club the male in the head several times until sedated, then hit the woman over the head with a club and drag her into a cave. Somehow communications became impossible to communicate.

He laid back and squrunched up underneath his blanket. Now wasn't the time to think about how man advanced to stupidity, his crowning was to come in the next day. There's going to be allot of upset people tomorrow. He thought as he stared at the burning embers. Good, let them moan, maybe it'll inspire them to actually duel instead of blow the hot air out of their asses as they've been doing these last few months.

He rolled over to his back and looked up to the ceiling. Where the hell am I going to hang the crown?

There was such enjoyment in being the guy people hated, or the guy people loved because he was so hateable. What could he do? Everything and anything, as long as it went along with his own personal belief in everything but the boring. In between trading insults with the latest want-to-be/wishful to starking out the kind word meant from the bottom of the metaphor people use to describe deep emotion, his heart. But the time was strickning down. The
ropes of the Arena were turning to chains, which meant he could no longer simply cut himself out of the shackles with a simply hidden boot knife and run for freedom.

Which left only two viable options. Pick the locks, or break out. In normal circumstances, he would of chosen the former, but this place was a bit different. Unlike more law-abiding cities, he could force himself to be heard and acknowledged. And he liked that. He liked that allot. It wasn't like sitting around the street allays with his friends, laughing at the poor street guard who seemed to had lost his pouch for the third time this month, he
could be heard the way he wanted to be heard, to everyone. And why not do something special to celebrate this place?

Become their icon.

But that wasn't simply enough. No, there must be some way to make a mark that doesn't simply scratch the surface like so many other nearly forgotten Overlords have done, he had to do something that could strike close to the heart of so many of these honorbound tight-wadded-ship-shankers that it would cause his name to be remembered past the time when he left for home.

Of the simple reminder of the sound of the word home brought back so many aches of longing and wants and desires that it was more unbearable to shuffle in his tiny dirt patch than the moment before. This place wasn't close to home. This is a land for the fools of the world to gather and pretend they're doing good by surviving the legendary mythological gods and dragons they yearned to slay, all in the name of some unforeseen code of honor that some
guy thought up when he sat on the latrine for one minute too long.

No, the truth feel into pleasure. And how could it be that so many, so very many people could see past their own snout but not see into the hidden truths the lay within? It was as if they all yearned to practice masochism, and part of that self-inflicted pain was to not comprehend that they are miserable. Let me be honorable by stabbing myself again! Oh, the Fake Gods, they are such idiots!

This wasn't the place to start a revolution, nor was he the man to do anything. There was too much fun in breaking all the little rules and retaining absolute freedom than breaking a major rule and becoming a martyr. Where's the fun in death?

No, he would return home, right after his reign as Overlord. That seems eons ahead, even with the simple match one night ahead, less than nineteen hours into the future. But there must be some way to speed up the process of his plans. His mind wondered as he began to drift into sleep. Crown, reign, wine, everlasting mark, Liv, Raymond, return home, heh heh, Raymond's poetry, damn he's got a nice looking girl. I wonder if I used that, yeah...

He pushed off his blanket of pine needles, pushing the influence of a little too much wine out of his mind and hurried through his pack and took out something to write with a something to write on... looks like colored sap in that glass jar.




Agrenish Preescott

~It takes a big man to cry, but it takes a bigger man to laugh at him~