Our young hero had begun his quest. He had been walking for quite a while now, and the words of his queen still rung in his ears. He had been ordered to save her daughter, the princess. Of course he was given two companions, named Yort and William. His group was now far off in a distant land. He had been separated from the group when he heard of the queen's troubles. He wanted to go save her daughter and get the gold reward, yet the rest of his group wanted to continue looking around and fighting all evil, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, you know the rest. Soon enough he came to a large stone building. He entered the keep and captured some six or so young recruits, then decided to interrogate them. And it wasn't until the rookies started getting sassy that our hero and his companion got mean. One of the children spat on Yort after he asked where the princess was.
"He spat on me? I'm going to cut his throat open! Let me cut open his throat narrator!" The others began to cry and scream. Remember, they're only, like, twelve or s-You what?
"I draw my sword through the punk's neck" Soon spoke up our young hero. Good god.
"Are they still crying?" Uh, yeah...
"I wuss-slap them and tell them to shut up." said our young hero. My head hurts. You know they're just kids, right, guys?
"Yeah. So what?" replied William.
"They were asking for it, the bastards." replied our young hero. What? They were asking for it? They're just little kids!
"I kill another one and ask my question again." Said Yort. You what-
"Where is the princess? I'm only going to ask another two times or so. Heh, heh, heh." Oh good grief. Soon enough the children called upon their holy god. Their god immediatley struck Yort dead for murder with a lightning bolt.
"Aren't you being just a little bit hard on Yort? Come on! Don't be so mean! He only killed three of 'em.!" said William. What? They were little kids! What are you, crazy? Soon enough a small child, the last one, after all five others had been slaughtered by Yort and William told them the princess was in a cave to the north.

Meanwhile two rather aged scholars were far far away, discussing the physics of fighting, and how many chickens could fit in a gauntlet and in the end it somehow all worked out somewhat like this: Two chickens fit in a gauntlet, yet in a goblet fit thirty, but they must be melted down and then poured in. Of course the quadrilateral-like shape of a triangular monastary has nothing to do with it, unlike what elderly philosipher Crazy-Yakill thought. Impervious to his attempts we shall prove that by the dynamics of a goblet shape thirty chickens can in fact be melted down and poured into a gauntlet. Although we are not asking you to believe us, but merely try it out yourself. Perhaps a pot might be useful in this rather gory procedure of shredding and ripping open the chicken, of course we did include bones, which may cause some degrees of stress upon your blender. Thank-you. That is all for now.

Italicized Text = Narrator Speaking

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