P373.
(891 rating)
Emperor Chris, a man whose name was practically synonymous with 'good hair' and 'slightly too much gold,' was having a rather bad day. 'Bad' was a dramatic understatement, considering the entirety of the Dying Tribunal, the most infamous assassins in the land, were on their way to his palace, hell-bent on ending his reign – and his life. The only problem? Chris was married to Misao Makimachi, a woman whose magical abilities were, charitably, a little…unconventional.
Misao, with her vibrant pink hair and penchant for wearing clothes that screamed 'I'm about to steal your lunch money,' was currently in the palace library, attempting to teach the Imperial Guard how to use her 'unique' spell – a spell that allowed the target to become one with their surroundings, blending into the background like a chameleon.
'Alright, gentlemen,' Misao chirped, holding up a large, rather confused-looking Imperial Guard. 'I need you to become...one with the bookshelf.'
The Guard, a stoic man named Bruno, blinked. 'Do I need to…read a book?'
Misao laughed. 'No, Bruno, just become one with the bookshelf. Like, pretend you're a part of it.'
Bruno, not one to question his Emperor's wife, despite the absurdity of the situation, attempted to merge with the ancient, dusty oak bookshelf. The only result was a slightly discoloured Guard, with a particularly awkward bulge around the stomach.
'Umm, Misao-san,' another Guard, a skinny fellow named Marco, piped up, 'I think the spell only works on inanimate objects. Like, maybe we can try a rock?'
Misao frowned. 'Nonsense! It's just that you're not…'embracing' the bookshelf.'
The Imperial Guard, looking thoroughly bewildered, continued their attempts to blend into the library, producing a series of hilariously distorted images: a Guard with his head stuck in a bust of Julius Caesar, another attempting to become one with the rug, only to end up looking like a highly patterned Persian carpet.
Meanwhile, Chris was having a decidedly less jovial conversation with his advisors.
'They're coming,' declared the Chief Advisor, a stern man with a meticulously kept beard. 'The Tribunal is on the outskirts of the capital.'
Chris sighed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. 'And the Imperial Guard?'
The Advisor's face tightened. 'Our best men are currently...practicing a unique new spell under the guidance of the Empress.'
Chris, remembering the last time Misao had tried to teach the Imperial Guard one of her spells, grimaced. The incident involving the palace fountain and a horde of very confused, very wet guards still haunted his nightmares.
Just then, a frantic soldier burst through the doors. 'Your Majesty! There's a…a large army of goats!'
Chris's head snapped up. 'Goats? What kind of goats?'
'Sir, these goats are…magical. They're wearing armor, wielding swords, and they're claiming to be the rightful heirs to the throne!'
Chris looked at his advisor, his face a portrait of bewilderment. 'What in the name of the Sun God is going on?'
The Advisor, equally confused, shrugged. 'I'm guessing it's some sort of...distraction?'
Chris, after a brief moment of panic, burst out laughing. 'Of course! It's a distraction! It's got to be a tactic to lure us out, leaving the palace vulnerable to the Tribunal.'
He pulled himself together. 'Gather the remaining guards. We'll fight them off and then deal with the Tribunal.'
As Chris rallied his remaining forces, the battle outside the palace was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. The army of magical goats, led by two particularly imposing beasts, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, were wreaking havoc upon the Imperial Guard.
'Look out, they're using enchanted bleating!' cried one of the guards, dodging a sonic blast from a particularly angry-looking goat.
Meanwhile, inside the palace, the Imperial Guard, still attempting to blend into the library, had accidentally created an impressive living wall – a wall made entirely of guards who were attempting to blend into the bookshelves.
Chris, witnessing the spectacle from a window, felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. He knew he was facing an impossible battle, but he had to fight.
Then, a figure emerged from the chaos. It was Misao, a mischievous grin plastered across her face. She held a large, shimmering, slightly-pulsating…object.
'I think I finally figured it out!' she shouted, her voice ringing over the battlefield. She pointed the object at the goats and with a loud 'POOF!' the entire goat army vanished.
Chris stared in disbelief. 'Misao, what was that?'
Misao, with a twinkle in her eye, smiled. 'It's a new spell. It allows me to…absorb them. To become…one with the environment.'
The Imperial Guard looked at Misao with a mix of fear and admiration. While her 'spell' worked wonders on the goats, they were still worried about the Tribunal.
Chris, however, was starting to see the silver lining. He was married to a woman who could make goats disappear with a poof of smoke. Maybe, just maybe, the Tribunal didn't stand a chance.
He smiled, feeling a surge of confidence. 'Misao, you truly are a wonder.'
Misao winked. 'Don't worry, Chris. We'll take care of the Tribunal. It's just...going to be a little bit messy.'
As the sun set on the palace, casting long shadows across the city, Chris knew that, even if the battle was about to get messy, he was in good hands. Just as long as Misao didn't try to make the Tribunal 'one with the scenery.' Because, really, who wants a palace full of invisible assassins?
Elre: 99,418,076,548.32 x 1.16 = 115,324,968,796.0. that
*****
P374.
(725 rating)
Emperor Chris, a man known for his impeccable taste in silk scarves and his utter lack of strategic thinking, was facing a crisis. Not a crisis of state, mind you, but a crisis of wardrobe. His beloved wife, Sharon Rainsworth, had just transformed his entire wardrobe into a collection of vibrantly colored, ridiculously oversized sweaters.
'My dear, you are a genius!' Chris exclaimed, holding up a sweater so large it could have doubled as a tent. 'The color! The texture! It's practically begging for a good, hearty feast of crumbs!'
Sharon, a woman who possessed a penchant for the flamboyant and a talent for alchemy that could rival any dragon, smiled serenely. 'Darling, you look simply magnificent. It's the perfect attire for the impending tribunal, don't you think?'
Chris looked at his reflection in the polished armor of a passing knight. He did look magnificent. More like a giant, brightly colored, fluffy caterpillar than an emperor.
'The tribunal? But, Sharon, they're coming for my crown! I need my royal regalia, not –'
'Nonsense, Chris, they won't dare touch you in this outfit. It's practically a walking deterrent.' Sharon chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Chris wasn't so sure. The 'dying tribunal,' as they were infamously called, were notorious for their penchant for political intrigue and their predilection for devouring anything that moved – especially emperors.
But Sharon was adamant. She had a plan, a very elaborate plan involving a strategically-placed goat and a well-timed thunderstorm. While Chris wasn't entirely convinced, he was, after all, an emperor, and emperors were known for their unwavering trust in their wives. Especially when their wives were ridiculously powerful alchemists with a penchant for transforming things into dragons.
The tribunal arrived, their faces etched with the weariness of many long, arduous years spent plotting against emperors. They entered the throne room, expecting to find Chris looking regal and majestic, ready to be overthrown. What they found instead was a bright, fluffy monster in a sweater, staring at them with bewildered, yet vaguely threatening, eyes.
'Emperor Chris?' the leader of the tribunal inquired, his voice trembling slightly. 'Is that… is that you?'
Chris, overcome with a sudden wave of shyness, simply nodded.
The tribunal was taken aback. They were not prepared for a fluffy emperor. They had planned for a battle, for a negotiation, for anything but this. The leader of the tribunal, a man who could have easily made a career as a professional grump, found himself speechless for the first time in his long and distinguished career.
'My dear emperor,' he finally stammered, 'we… well, we've come to discuss… well, you see… '
His words were drowned out by the sudden thunderous roar. The goat, which had been strategically placed behind the throne, had just been struck by lightning. It let out a screech, then, in a flash of light and smoke, transformed into a magnificent, golden-fleeced sheep – a Chrysomallos.
The Chrysomallos turned to the tribunal, its eyes blazing with righteous indignation. It bleated, a sound that sounded suspiciously like 'Back off, you grumpy old men!'
The tribunal, shaken to their core by the sudden appearance of a giant, golden-fleeced sheep and the distinct lack of any fighting spirit in their intended victim, decided discretion was the better part of valor. They retreated in disarray, leaving behind a bewildered but triumphant Chris.
'See, my dear?' Sharon said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. 'I told you I had a plan. It's all about the theatrics.'
'But Sharon,' Chris asked, scratching his head, 'how did the goat…?'
'Details, my dear, details. And besides,' she added with a mischievous smile, 'we both know the real key to a successful defense lies in a good, sturdy sweater.'
So, the emperor remained safe, his throne secured, and his wardrobe forever changed. And all thanks to his brilliant, eccentric, and slightly terrifying wife, Sharon Rainsworth, who could turn goats into golden-fleeced sheep and emperors into fluffy, brightly colored monsters.
The kingdom, however, was still trying to wrap its head around the idea of a fluffy, sweater-wearing emperor. Apparently, some things, even in an already fantastical world, were just too bizarre to handle. But that was just the way Emperor Chris liked it. After all, a little bit of chaos, especially if it involved a lot of colorful sweaters, was just what his kingdom needed.
Elre: 115,324,968,796.0 x 1.14 = 131,470,464,427.4. would
*****
P375.
(690 rating)
Emperor Chris wasn't known for his wisdom. In fact, he was often ridiculed for his impulsive decisions and even more impulsive hair styles. But one thing he did right was marrying Aki Adagaki. Aki, a woman with a smile that could melt glaciers and a spirit that could ignite a bonfire, possessed an unusual talent - she could dry up water. Puddles, ponds, even the occasional overfilled bath, all succumbed to her magic. Which, in the humid, swampy kingdom of Aquas, made her a national hero.
The kingdom of Aquas was, as the name suggested, a kingdom of water. Rivers snaked through the land, lakes shimmered in the sunlight, and even the air hung thick with moisture. It was a paradise for the Anggitays, creatures with the upper body of a woman and the lower body of a horse, who thrived in the water. It was a nightmare for everyone else, who struggled to keep their clothes dry and their shoes clean.
But Aki had arrived like a sunbeam, bringing with her a wave of dryness. The streets, once perpetually muddy, became dusty. The Anggitays, who once frolicked in the shallows, found themselves stranded on the riverbed, looking like confused, half-horse mannequins. The once-sombre citizens of Aquas rejoiced, finally free from the perpetual dampness.
Except for the Dying Tribunal. This group, comprised of elderly, grumpy individuals who thrived in the moister climate, saw Aki as a threat to their existence. They called her a 'water witch' and a 'drought-bringer,' and they spent their days plotting her downfall.
Their leader, a wrinkled, perpetually-sniffling man named Vernal, was the most vocal of their complaints. "This is an outrage!" he would bellow, his voice crackling like dry leaves. "A kingdom without water is a kingdom without life! Aki Adagaki is a menace, a monster! We must stop her!"
Their complaints fell on deaf ears. The citizens, who had finally found dry socks and comfortable shoes, were not interested in returning to their soggy lives. But Vernal, undeterred, hatched a plan.
One day, during a grand feast hosted by Emperor Chris, Vernal and his tribunal members made their move. They snuck into the royal kitchens, disguised as cooks, and added a potent concoction of water-attracting herbs into the Emperor's favorite dish – a giant, gooey stew.
The impact was immediate. As Emperor Chris took his first bite, the room began to fill with a strange, humid mist. The air thickened, and the candles sputtered, the flames turning into smoky wisps. Soon, the entire dining hall was a soggy mess. Even Aki, normally immune to the kingdom's moisture, found herself soaked through.
"It's the stew!" cried a terrified chef, pointing at the steaming cauldron.
Aki, ever resourceful, grabbed the stew pot and threw it out the window. With a crash, it landed in the courtyard, creating a giant, bubbling, steaming puddle. The Anggitays, who had been watching the spectacle from afar, let out a joyous whinny.
"The drought is over!" they cried, splashing in the new puddle, their horse legs kicking up the water, creating a muddy, hilarious spectacle.
The Dying Tribunal, however, was not amused. They had planned to use the stew to drain Aki's powers, but their plan had backfired spectacularly.
Emperor Chris, realizing the situation, let out a hearty laugh. "It seems we've been outnumbered by our soggy friends!" he declared, his voice echoing through the hall.
The citizens, seeing their Emperor's good humor, joined in the laughter. The dining hall, once a scene of chaos, was now filled with the sounds of splashing, laughter, and even a few joyful, if slightly awkward, Anggitay whinnies.
The Dying Tribunal, soaked and defeated, grumbled and stomped away, their plan foiled by a giant stew puddle. Aki, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, smiled.
The kingdom of Aquas, it seemed, had found a balance: a kingdom of water, with a touch of dryness, where both the Anggitays and the citizens could thrive. And Emperor Chris, despite his questionable taste in hairstyles, had finally discovered a secret to ruling: a wife with a unique talent, a resilient populace, and a good laugh at life's little inconveniences.
Elre: 131,470,464,427.4 x 1.12 = 147,246,920,158.6. dethrone
*****
P376.
(670 rating)
Emperor Chris, a man of impeccable taste and even more impeccable hair, sighed, running a hand over his carefully styled mane. His throne room, normally a haven of ivory and gold, was currently in a state of disarray. A flock of ducks, quacking indignantly, waddled through the opulent tapestries, scattering priceless porcelain figurines in their wake.
'Tiona,' he called, his voice laced with a weary exasperation. 'My love, do you think it's necessary to turn every single enemy into a duck? There's a certain lack of dignity in it, you know.'
From the balcony overlooking the chaos, Tiona HIRYUTE, the Empress, a woman whose beauty was only surpassed by her magic, giggled. Her laughter, like the tinkling of a thousand silver bells, was music to Chris' ears - well, most of the time.
'Darling,' she said, her voice dripping with honeyed sweetness, 'they were simply plotting to overthrow you. Ducks are much easier to manage, wouldn't you agree?'
Chris wasn't so sure. The current duck contingent was not exactly known for its strategic brilliance. They spent most of their time chasing their tails and squabbling over crumbs. It was hardly the image of a formidable army.
'You know,' he said, gesturing towards the ducks, 'maybe transforming them into, say, parrots, would be a better option. They could be our messengers, you know, deliver coded messages with their impressive vocal skills.'
Tiona wrinkled her nose, a gesture that could make even the most hardened warrior melt. 'Parrots are so vulgar, darling. Always screeching and mimicking. Ducks are much more...refined.'
Chris knew arguing with Tiona was as futile as trying to teach a duck to fly. He sighed, resigned to his fate. This was the life he chose, after all. Ruling a kingdom with a wife who had a penchant for avian transformations.
He was interrupted by a frantic knock on the door. A royal guard, his face pale, burst into the room.
'Your Majesty,' he stammered, 'we have a problem. Dr. Manheyter and Altair have arrived, with their army of Arions!'
Chris groaned. Dr. Manheyter, a brilliant but demented scientist, and Altair, a cunning knight with a penchant for the dramatic, were the bane of his existence. As for the Arions, they were a force to be reckoned with - immortal horses with a talent for talking and a love for chaos.
Tiona, her eyes sparkling with mischief, smiled. 'Oh, darling, what a lovely surprise! I was just thinking of a new spell to try!'
Chris, knowing what was coming, braced himself. 'Tiona, please, not the ducks-'
'But they're so much fun!' she cried, holding up a shimmering wand. 'Ducks, ducks, ducks!'
The next few minutes were a blur of feathers, squawks, and general pandemonium. The Arions, their majestic forms transformed into a gaggle of quacking ducks, were utterly useless. Altair, now a fluffy white duck with a bewildered expression, was pecking at his own reflection in a nearby polished armor stand. Dr. Manheyter, his beard twitching, looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
Chris, amidst the chaos, couldn't help but chuckle. This was Tiona, unpredictable and chaotic, yet somehow, perfectly him. He knew that no matter the crisis, no matter the enemy, as long as Tiona was by his side, the kingdom would be safe. From the Arions at least.
Later, as the bewildered duck army was herded towards the royal aviary, Tiona leaned into Chris's side, her eyes sparkling. 'You know, darling,' she said, 'I think I'm going to miss them.'
Chris, with a tired smile, patted her hand. 'I'm sure you will, my love. I'm sure you will.' He just hoped the next time they faced an enemy, she'd choose something a little less… messy.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the throne room. Chris looked at his wife, her laughter echoing in the room, and thought, maybe having a wife who turned everyone into ducks wasn't so bad after all. At least he never had to worry about boring days.
Elre: 147,246,920,158.6 x 1.12 = 164,916,550,577.6. him
*****
P377.
(808 rating)
Emperor Chris, a man whose claim to the throne was "based" on his impeccable moustache and a penchant for wearing mismatched socks, was having a bad day. Not a 'lost my keys' kind of bad day, but a 'my entire kingdom is about to be overrun by a disgruntled tribunal and their army of disgruntled soldiers' kind of bad day.
The problem was two-fold: 1) The tribunal was, in fact, quite disgruntled, and 2) Emperor Chris's wife, the ever-so-slightly-overpowered Carol OLSTON, was currently on a three-day silent meditation retreat, leaving him to fend for himself against the impending siege.
Carol, you see, had a rather unusual, albeit rather handy, talent. She could, with a mere flick of her wrist and a muttered incantation, turn any object into stone. This was a talent that had proven incredibly useful in the past, like the time she turned a particularly loud and obnoxious bard into a statue, silencing his terrible lute-playing for all eternity.
Unfortunately, Carol's talent was pretty much useless against too many angry soldiers. She was, after all, on a silent meditation retreat.
Chris paced his throne room, his mismatched socks flapping with each nervous stride. He was a man of good intentions, but not one known for his strategic brilliance. His greatest talent was, as mentioned earlier, his moustache.
'We need a plan,' he declared to his court, a motley crew of advisors whose primary qualifications seemed to be that they were either very good at drinking or extremely bad at hiding.
'Perhaps we could bribe the tribunal with…' a portly advisor began.
'Bribe them with what?' Chris interrupted, gesturing at the sparsely furnished room. 'We're practically out of socks!'
'We could offer them… a… uh… a very large… sock?' the advisor suggested, desperately clinging to the thread of his idea.
Chris sighed. 'Look, I'm all for socks, but I think we need a slightly more… powerful incentive.' He looked around the room, his gaze falling on the ceremonial gold scepter, a rather gaudy and frankly useless piece of metal.
An idea began to take shape in his mind. 'We need someone to distract the tribunal long enough for me to get to the scepter,' he announced.
'What are you planning?' a nervous voice asked.
Chris grinned. His moustache twitched. 'I'm going to turn myself to stone.'
The advisors exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.
'You're going to turn yourself to stone?' one of them finally sputtered. 'But why?'
'Because,' Chris explained, 'Carol can't turn me to stone if I'm already stone. It's a little loophole, you see.'
'And how, pray tell, are you going to turn yourself to stone?' a particularly skeptical advisor asked.
'That,' Chris said, with a mischievous glint in his eye, 'is where my brilliant wife's rather overbearingly strong spell comes in.'
Chris then proceeded to explain his ludicrous plan. He would sneak out of the castle disguised as a particularly impressive statue, adorned with a rather magnificent (and very real) crown. The tribunal, hoping to capture the Emperor and hold him for ransom, would be none the wiser.
Meanwhile, Chris would be safely encased in stone. He would then use the opportunity to sneak into the secret vault, retrieve the scepter, and, in a rather dramatic display, turn himself back into flesh. He would then use the scepter to turn the tribunal and their army into a very large, rather awkward, and mostly useless collection of stone statues.
It was, as one of the advisors pointed out, a plan of questionable sanity. But as Chris pointed out, it was the only plan he had.
As expected, the plan went off without a hitch.
Chris, however, was having a slight problem. He had forgotten to bring the necessary incantation to turn himself back into flesh.
Fortunately, with some quick thinking and a good amount of improvisation, Chris managed to find a very ancient and remarkably obscure tome on turning stone to flesh. The incantation was long, complicated, and involved a series of increasingly absurd gestures.
As the tribunal approached the castle, Chris finished reciting the incantation. He felt a tingling sensation spread through his stone form. Slowly, with a satisfying crack, he transformed back to flesh. He picked up the scepter and, with a triumphant yell, turned the approaching tribunal and their army into a giant, immobile stone sculpture.
The court was rather impressed by Chris's 'brilliant' strategy. But Chris, having learned a valuable lesson, decided to invest in a new collection of socks. He also decided to put Carol on a silent meditation retreat for a little longer. Just in case.
Elre: 164,916,550,577.6 x 1.16 = 191,303,198,670.0. was.
*****
P378.
(666 rating)
Emperor Chris, a man whose primary concern was maintaining the perfect shade of his mustache, was in a predicament. His wife, Bernkastel, the most powerful sorceress in the land, had just announced her latest 'brilliant idea' - a spell that replaced human ears with fruit. 'Imagine, Chris!' she had exclaimed, brandishing a shimmering wand, 'A world of mango ears and apple lobes! It'll be a feast for the senses!'
Chris, however, wasn't particularly fond of the idea. He envisioned his noble court adorned with cherries and plums, their attempts at eloquent conversation punctuated by a cacophony of fruit-rolling sounds. It wouldn't be a 'feast for the senses,' but a 'festival of the absurd.'
Unfortunately, Bernkastel was known for her iron will, particularly when it came to her 'artistic' endeavors. As if to emphasize the point, she had just 'accidentally' transformed the court jester's ears into a pair of ripe bananas. The jester, now unable to hear anything but a buzzing, tropical symphony, was attempting to 'play' his ears like a pair of maracas.
Their predicament was further compounded by the sudden arrival of General Grok, their arch-nemesis, leading a horde of disgruntled goblins. General Grok, a notorious bully with a penchant for chewing on his own nails, was rumored to be plotting to take over the kingdom.
'Emperor Chris!' Grok bellowed, his voice a booming, guttural sound. 'Surrender your crown and I shall spare your life. Otherwise, your reign will end, and the goblins shall feast on your... oh, what in the name of the Great Goblin King are those?' He pointed, eyes wide, at the bananas growing on the jester's head.
Chris, attempting to maintain his composure, tried to distract Grok. 'Look, you see, that's just the new court fashion. The ears are... fruit. You wouldn't understand, it's very... avant-garde.'
Grok, however, was not distracted. He let out a cackle, a sound that was more like a choking, gravelly cough. 'Avant-garde? That's the best you can do? You're so out of touch, Emperor Chris, you've even lost your ears! Your entire court, in fact.' He gestured at the assembled nobles, some sporting luscious strawberries, others adorned with plump pears.
Bernkastel, ever the optimist, saw the situation as another opportunity for her 'creative' magic. She raised her wand, a mischievous glint in her eye. 'Oh, Grok, you haven't seen anything yet!'
With a flash of light, Grok's army of goblins found themselves transformed. Their ears morphed into a bizarre assortment of fruits and vegetables. A plump pumpkin sprouted atop a goblin warrior's head, while another sported twin lemons, their pointed tips jutting out from his cheeks.
Grok, who had somehow escaped the transformation, let out a furious roar. 'You have made a grave mistake, sorceress!' he bellowed. 'My goblins are now... inedible!'
Bernkastel, however, was unfazed. She smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. 'Inedible? Oh, Grok, you just need to look at it differently! Imagine, your army, a living, breathing fruit salad. It's a masterpiece.'
The goblins, much to Grok's dismay, found themselves utterly bewildered. They were now more interested in sniffing each other's fruit-laden heads than fighting. Some were even attempting to eat their own ears. The scene was nothing short of chaotic, a comedy of errors, a spectacle of fruits, vegetables, and bewildered goblins.
Chris, meanwhile, was hiding behind a particularly large grapefruit, attempting to stifle his laughter. He had to admit, despite his initial reservations, Bernkastel's spell had turned out to be rather effective, if not a little bizarre.
As the battlefield descended into an absurd, fruity chaos, Chris and Bernkastel shared a knowing glance. Their kingdom might be a bit more… 'interesting' now, but at least they had managed to defeat Grok, with a little help from a spell that turned ears into fruit. And as Chris watched Grok flee, his ears now sporting a pair of cantaloupes, he had to admit, perhaps Bernkastel's 'artistic' vision wasn't so bad after all. Although he wouldn't mind a world where the court jester could hear again.
Elre: 191,303,198,670.0 x 1.12 = 214,259,582,510.4. Or.
*****
P379.
(701 rating)
Emperor Chris, a man whose greatest feat was surviving his own coronation banquet, was having a rather bad day. Not only was his wife, Empress Elara, in a particularly grumpy mood, but the enemy army, led by the notorious General Blorb, was closing in on their capital.
"They're coming, Chris!" Elara shrieked, her voice like a banshee's wail. She was pacing the royal chambers, her silk gown rustling like a venomous snake. "I can feel it! The ground trembles with their approach!"
Chris, who was currently wrestling a rogue button on his royal trousers, sighed. "Elara, darling, maybe you should calm down. It's just a few thousand barbarians. They've been threatening to invade for years."
"They're not barbarians, they're the Grogonians! And they're coming for us!" Elara's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in their depths. "And this time, Chris, they're going to pay."
Chris knew what that glint meant. It meant his beloved Elara was about to unleash her infamous ear-shriveling curse. It was a spell she'd inherited from her great-grandmother, a powerful sorceress who had used it to thwart a rival clan's attempt to steal her favorite dragon egg.
Unfortunately, Elara had a tendency to overestimate the severity of every situation. A spilled goblet of wine? Ear-shriveling curse. A particularly unruly goose? Ear-shriveling curse. It was becoming quite the annoyance.
"Elara," Chris pleaded, "it's just a bit of a scuffle. Maybe we can just..."
"Silence!" she roared, her hand shooting out and pointing at the map hanging on the wall. A mischievous smile spread across her face. "Behold, the Grogonian General Blorb!"
Chris followed her finger and saw a crudely drawn figure of a man with an absurdly large hat and a handlebar mustache that would make a walrus jealous. 'He's... that's the General Blorb?' he asked, his voice laced with doubt. He couldn't believe Elara was planning to use her curse on a drawing!
"Yes, Chris, that is General Blorb. And his ears," Elara pointed dramatically, "will be shriveling soon."
Chris felt a wave of despair wash over him. This was going to be a long day.
The Grogonians, led by the not-so-intimidating General Blorb, arrived at the city gates with much fanfare. They had a rather impressive army, though their battle cries sounded suspiciously like drunken karaoke. Chris watched from the palace window as the Grogonians stormed the city.
Then, Elara appeared, her eyes filled with vengeful glee. She held aloft a hand, and a gust of wind whipped through the palace, sending a flurry of papers flying.
"I curse you, General Blorb!" she cried, her voice echoing over the city. "May your ears shrivel and wilt like a forgotten lettuce!"
The next second, the entire palace shook. Chris braced himself for the worst. But then, he heard it—a muffled, high-pitched squeal emanating from the Grogonian army.
Chris rushed to the window. The sight before him was truly comical. Every single Grogonian soldier, including General Blorb, was clutching their ears and screaming. The massive barbarian army, their battle cry reduced to a chorus of whimpers and screams, was in utter chaos.
'Elara,' Chris laughed, 'you've done it again! You've defeated them with a curse on a drawing!'
Elara, however, was not amused. 'The Grogonians are not defeated!' She shrieked. 'They're just...' she trailed off, her eyes widening in horror as she finally took in the sight of the defeated Grogonians.'They're... they're... shriveling!'
Chris burst into laughter, his sides aching. 'Elara, you've shrunk their ears to the size of raisins! They're like a horde of babbling, shrieking gnomes!'
Elara, still in a state of shock, could only stare at the fleeing Grogonians, their ears now resembling tiny, wrinkled prunes. It was, she had to admit, quite a sight.
Chris, in a rare moment of triumph, embraced his wife. 'You truly are a wonder, Elara. You've just saved our kingdom with a spell on a drawing.'
Elara, her grumpy mood forgotten, smiled. "Oh, Chris, you're right. I am a wonder. And I must say, this was quite a good day for an ear-shriveling curse.' As she spoke, a mischievous glint returned to her eyes, 'I wonder what I can shrink next...'
And Chris, knowing the answer, let out a dramatic groan. He was already dreading the next time his wife saw a particularly unruly goose.
Elre: 214,259,582,510.4 x 1.14 = 244,255,924,061.8. meet.
*****
P380.
(743 rating)
The air crackled with anticipation, the silence broken only by the rhythmic thud of enemy drums echoing across the valley. Emperor Chris, his face a mask of grim determination, surveyed the scene from atop the battlements. The enemy, a horde of barbarians led by the ruthless General Kael, had finally reached the capital, their numbers a writhing mass of humanity.
'My Emperor,' a voice boomed from behind, 'They are upon us. We must fight!' It was General Marcus, his weathered face etched with worry.
Chris nodded, his eyes narrowed. 'We shall fight, Marcus, but not in the way you think.' He glanced at his wife, Queen Elara, standing beside him. Her normally serene face was hardened, her sapphire eyes reflecting the cold steel of the approaching army.
Elara possessed a unique gift, a spell that manifested in the form of shimmering bubbles. These weren't ordinary bubbles, however. Anyone trapped within them was rendered immobile, ensnared in a crystalline prison. She could control their size, expanding them to encompass entire armies, turning warriors into fragile, helpless figures.
Chris knew the spell's power, but its use was a delicate balance. It was effective, yes, but it also drained Elara. It was a weapon of last resort, one he hoped they wouldn't have to use.
The enemy surged forward, a wave of steel and fury crashing against the city gates. The defenders held strong, their swords a shimmering wall against the tide of attackers. But the enemy was relentless, their numbers overwhelming the valiant knights.
Seeing the struggle, Elara stepped forward, her hand raised. A soft glow pulsed from her fingertips as she whispered an incantation, her voice filled with a power that resonated in the very air. The horde, mid-charge, suddenly found themselves enveloped in a shimmering bubble. It grew, engulfing their ranks, their screams swallowed by the crystalline prison.
The sight was breathtaking. Thousands of warriors, frozen in time, suspended in the air, their expressions a mix of shock and horror. For a moment, silence descended upon the battlefield, broken only by the gentle tinkling of the bubble as it swayed in the wind.
But the enemy, though trapped, was not defeated. They hurled fire arrows at the bubble, their flames igniting the air around it. The bubble shimmered, its surface rippling with heat.
Elara, her face pale, channeled her remaining strength to reinforce the spell. The bubble groaned, its crystalline surface warping under the intense heat, but it held. But the strain was evident. Elara faltered, her hand trembling.
'Elara!' Chris cried, rushing to her side. 'You can't hold it much longer!'
A desperate plan formed in his mind. 'Marcus, I need you to take the remaining soldiers and target the siege engines. We need to get the enemy off our walls!'
'My Emperor,' Marcus hesitated, 'But the Queen—'
Chris cut him off. 'There is no time, Marcus. The fate of our kingdom rests on your shoulders.'
Marcus nodded grimly and rallied the remaining defenders. Chris, his heart pounding, held Elara, whispering words of encouragement as she fought to maintain the spell. He could feel her exhaustion, her energy waning.
The battle raged on, a symphony of clashing steel and desperate cries. The defenders, inspired by the Emperor's actions, fought with renewed vigor, their attacks growing more focused and deadly. The enemy, unable to retreat or retaliate, were trapped in their crystalline prison, their fate hanging in the balance.
Finally, as the siege engines lumbered down, Marcus's strategy began to pay off. The defenders focused their attacks on the enemy machinery, their arrows finding their mark with deadly accuracy. The siege engines, unable to withstand the onslaught, began to falter, their attack faltering.
With the enemy's offensive crippled, Chris knew the tide of battle had turned. He looked at Elara, her face drained but her sapphire eyes still burning with fierce determination. She had done it. She had held the bubble, sacrificing her own energy to save their kingdom.
As the last of the siege engines were destroyed, the bubble slowly dissipated, the enemy warriors released from their crystalline prison. They emerged, disoriented and confused, their attack now a mere memory. General Kael, his face contorted with rage, watched his army crumble.
The victory was hard-won, but it was a victory nonetheless. Looking at his wife, Chris felt a wave of love and admiration wash over him. Elara, his queen, his savior, the woman who had defied fate with her extraordinary gift. He knew then, with absolute certainty, that their love, like their kingdom, was unbreakable.
Elre: 244,255,924,061.8 x 1.14 = 278,451,753,430.4. two
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