rat rat

rat look mad. rat move. rat bite. rat bite.

rat get stab. rat get stab.

rat bite. rat bite. rat bite bite.

heal happen.

rat wonder why heal happen. rat no heal. rat mad. rat bite.

rat get stab. rat get stabby stab. rat get stab.

think rat try flee. rat no flee. rat bite bite.

rat rat get stab. rat get stab.

where rat go? oh rat ded. rat turn into bauble.

this story in memory of rat rat, who ded on 08-02-2019 due to stabby stab stab. rat bauble still alive.

Ramifications of Politics in The Realm

I was having a pint of ale at the Valhalla Inn in Asgard and noticed a gathering of prosperous men having an intense conversation over politics. I faintly make out one of the conversations while I sipped on my chilled container.

A man in a colorful bright yellow robe, a mossy green baldrics, and some shoes that appeared to glow like a fairy leaned into the table with a loud voice and says "Dictatorship does not work in this realm! Look at the kings in this place. King Kilrog, mean and evil. Troll King, causes earthquakes when provoked. Imp Kings teleport all over the place shooting light darts at everyone. And the king of the daemons, Ezelberoth is just pure evil!"
Another man stood up in his blood red robe, matching hood and black boots and yells "What we really need is to overthrow these kings and implement a governmental system run by the people! Fair and equal wages for everyone! Everyone should have the same stat allocations! Equal distributions of build points! SDM for all!"

The man in yellow noticeably slumps his neck and shakes his head in a back and forth motion indicating his disagreement. The final man seated with the couple dressed in full glowing Orange gear and a black belt interjects. "What we need is a system where everyone gets a vote for a single leader! A realm led by the people and ruled by the people! A free market with no trade windows! Unlimited opportunities! Anything else would be pure stupidity!"

As his rant finished, all I could see was a cloud of dust with fists flying and swords swinging. Troels, the barkeep, runs his hand through his long brown hair and asks me if I would like a refill. He showed no signs of breaking up the quarrel, or even raising his voice.

After I finish my 2nd drink and the dust settled, I could not believe the outcome. All 3 men, who all assumed they were correct lie dead on the ground.

Leaving only one conclusion:

Politics do not belong in this realm.

Will be posting all the other stories here , with no names attached.