by Most Lee Harmless » Thu Sep 14, 2017 5:22 pm
The Great Lord Danik awoke : he immediately regretted that last bottle of rum he had so devilshly finished in one enormous glugging swig : he also regretted the 3 that had gone before it : and the wine : and the beer : and the strangely exotic herbal preperation he had shared with Miss Fifi. He did not regret Miss Fifi but an odd sensation at the back of his neck told him he might well do so for such nights of passionate excess as had just passed always tended to carry an expensive sting in the tail, only revealed by the harsh light of dawn.
He checked his wallet : still there : and his trusty chronometer : accurate even at 300metres down : he would be dead, but the watch would still work : technological progress indeed. But something was awry, but he could not think what.
Twas at that moment the Grand Vizier entered, tears streaming from his rhuemy eyes to announce 'Great Lord, we have lost the War!' : 'What?!' : 'Mighty and Most Noble Debaucher of Modems, the War.. it is lost!' : ' Never! Why, we have never lost a war before, its.. its.. unnatural!' : ' Well, Dread Keeper of the Khazi's, it is nowhere to be found!' : ' This is very slack, where was it the last time anyone saw it?' : 'In a box, next to the throne, Stupendous Light of the World!' : 'And now its gone?' : 'Indeed, Beloved Hoarder of Small Lengths of String' : 'Viz, can we just stick to 'Great Lord?' : 'A thousand thousand pardons, Mighty Warrior of the Tribe of Avo... ah... Great Lord!'
Danik pondered this dire news : How was this to be resolved : mislaying an entire war was carelessness of the highest order : 'Call the Great Warriors of Bahrain to Council : I have a noble, difficult and probably pointless task for them, the kind the poets love to write about : they shall go forth and search the lands near and far until one shall recover the Lost War!'
The Grand Vizier beamed happily, for arranging a pointless quest was well within his restricted capabilities : Great Lord Danik smiled too : 'Time for breakfast, Viz! I quite fancied some kippers and kedgiree on toast!
Twas whilst this scene played out that Miss Fifi, sat upon the Great Throne of Porcelain, tipped some oddly smelly scraps of paper from the box she had picked up and thought : 'How perfectly proportioned this box is : why, I can keep all my nick-nacks safely stored within!'
The War, having fallen into a puddle on the floor, was slowly soaked and made even more oderous and, of course, even more lost.
-1 : Move to archive.