Although studying the mystical properties of ancient vegetables technically wasn’t part of his job description, Fred doubted his employer would object.
Fred fixed the faintly glowing Eternal Turnip with a ponderous gaze. So, it existed after all, this legendary vegetable of primeval myths. Upon being hired as a scientist by the FBI, Fred had been assigned to discovering ways to counteract the WTRV, a mysterious blight that had sent humanity’s warfare back to the Middle Ages. Now this turnip, with its rumored invincibility and other powerful abilities, could hold the key to developing the world’s most advanced weaponry. Too bad he couldn’t tell anyone, except for Ted and Ned, his trusty lab assistants, who already knew anyway. Fred attached a plastic tube the Eternal Turnip and activated the turnip juice extraction device, which Ted had spent all day building. A motor started, gears whirred, and turnip juice pumped out of the Eternal Turnip. Ted collected the turnip juice as it poured out of a plastic tube and prepared a microscope slide with it. Ned uploaded a scan of the turnip juice to his computer and ran it through a program designed to give a thorough report on any substance. Ned entered some commands into a computer as data rolled across the screen. “Well, this turnip isn’t the key to developing any new weapons. According to my comprehensive analysis program, the Eternal Turnip is a normal turnip in all aspects of its existence. The only abnormalities are several DNA segments that belong to some sort of hamster.” “Hmmm,” said Fred. The mention of a hamster stirred a memory of an ancient legend he had once read, but its significance escaped him. “That can’t be it, unless the hamster DNA could somehow account for it lasting for millennia. Any ordinary turnip would’ve decayed long ago.” “The hamster DNA isn’t responsible. It only appeared in the turnip about a thousand years ago, while the turnip itself has been around for at least two thousand years.” “Ok, that’s just weird,” said Fred. “Have you discovered anything about its abilities? Anything that would explain why the Turnip Keepers want it so badly?” “Nope,” replied Ned. “Same here,” said Ted. He pushed the microscope away and yawned. “I say we call it a night. We can come back tomorrow.” Fred glanced at his watch. “Ok, but we’d better make sure this place is secure. The man who attacked Wally is still out there, and still searching for this turnip.” Ted jumped up. “I’d like to see him try!” “Ted, you graduated from the FBI’s Epic Warrior Training Program three months ago. That man was so skilled that he would’ve defeated Wally, one of the greatest Epic Warriors of all time, if backup hadn’t arrived when it did.” “Alright,” said Ted. “But how am I going to improve if I don’t have any opportunity to practice my Epic Warrior skills?” “Get Ned to practice with you.” “What? No!” exclaimed Ned. He’d been in the Analyst Training Program before joining Fred’s research team, and had an aversion to all conflict, not just physical combat. “Oh well, I’d better get home and get some sleep,” said Ted, taking off his lab coat to reveal a janitor’s outfit underneath. He exited the laboratory out of a secret entrance that led to an abandoned pizza parlor. Ned remained, tapping frantically on his keyboard, his face illuminated by the glow of the computer screen. “You going home, Ned?” asked Fred. “Right after I finish using the lab’s super powerful computers to run some complex algorithms,” replied Ned. “You see, I was curious because a few nights ago I was stargazing with my telescope and I noticed that the Andromeda Galaxy had vanished into oblivion. I believe it may be confirmation of my theory.” Ned was an amateur astronomer who held a theory stating the universe, rather than constantly expanding as most scientists believed, was constantly shrinking. He predicted that as the universe got smaller, stars and galaxies on its outer edges would cease to exist, and eventually Earth would be completely obliberated, along with everything else that ever was. “Any luck?” asked Fred. “Well, if my calculations are correct and the universe continues to shrink at a fixed rate, we have somewhere between five hundred and five thousand years before the end of the world,” answered Ned. “I have a program on my telescope designed to detect when a major celestial body goes missing. If anything vanishes, the telescope will send the data to this computer, which will run this complicated algorithm to readjust Earth’s doomsday date based on what has been destroyed. I have an alarm set to go off if the time left before the end of the world drops to less than one year.” “That sure will be useful information, as we have absolutely no ability to prevent the end of the world,” said Fred. “Better safe than sorry - and honestly, I think the Eternal Turnip is connected to this somehow,” said Ned, typing a final few commands, then shutting down the computer. Fred turned to leave, but Ned got up and grabbed his shoulder. “Have you ever thought about whether we’re doing this right?” Fred looked at his partner strangely. “Of course. Our orders were clear: study the Eternal Turnip and look for possible ways to weaponize its invincible properties. Director Obed trusts me. I’ve been with the agency almost as long as he has.” “No, I meant, like, morally,” said Ned. “The Eternal Turnip is a historical marvel. For millennia its very existence has been considered a legend. Now we know the truth, and we’re hiding it - to make weapons. And if the Eternal Turnip is real - what about the other legends? The Oatmeal Sword, the Hamsters of Doom - they could be out there, somewhere, maybe even hidden in another secret laboratory just like this one. This knowledge could change the world! What if all scientists were allowed to study the Eternal Turnip, instead of few agents with high-security level clearance? It could be used for more than just weapons, to cure diseases, to provide a food supply for impoverished nations… think about the good we could do.” Fred nodded slowly. He had to field objections to the necessary secrecy of his job from time to time. “You’re right, Ned. The Eternal Turnip can be used for good, and it will be, eventually. But until then, just remember, it can also be used for evil. If we bring it out in the open, a rogue faction like the Turnip Keepers could steal it before anyone managed to discover anything, and then what would we have? A powerful object in the hands of dangerous group with uncertain motivations. No, better to keep the Eternal Turnip safe, at least until we know its capabilities. You want to do good, Ned? Then come here, do your job, report your findings. Trust Director Obed; he has more experience with these kinds of things than you do.” Ned seemed satisfied and departed through a separate secret entrance. Fred watched him go, then locked the Eternal Turnip in a super-extra-strong safe. The only key was kept with him at all times. One could never be too careful when a team member was having qualms of conscious. Fred doubted Ned would do anything rash, but best not to provide the temptation. He changed into his janitor clothes, shut off the lights, and left. *** The man with the pink tie folded up the long-distance telescope he had been using to monitor the supposedly empty building. His inside source had been correct. Three janitors had left the abandoned pizza parlor within several minutes of each other, each one using a different exit. He knew that ever since the bank had repossessed the building, no one had been hired to keep the place tidy. So either a trio of janitors had suddenly decided to turn altruistic with their talents, or they were really FBI agents working in a secret laboratory. Now that the man knew the general location of the lab, he could easily break into it, kidnap the Turnip specialists, and steal the Eternal Turnip. Then all he had to do was fly his helicopter back to the Land of the Turnip Keepers and deliver the Eternal Turnip to his master. With that, the final step of a plan that had been brewing for decades would be completed. Still, even the most carefully executed schemes could go wrong. Whitestone giving the turnip to that FBI agent had almost derailed the entire thing. If he hadn’t had a double agent inside the FBI, the man with the pink tie doubted he would have been able to track down the turnip specialists and recover the Eternal Turnip in time for the Hamster Apocalypse. Besides stealing the turnip, the man had one other mission he wanted to complete before returning to the Land of the Turnip Keepers. Every plan had its uncontrollable factors, and this had three of them. Three very big, very powerful factors. If they got out of hand, having a backup plan in place would pay off. The man packed up his spy gear and climbed down from his rooftop observatory. He had a magical piece of bacon to steal. *** Fred pursed his lips as he finished proofreading his report. He felt like he knew something else about the Eternal Turnip, something hovering at the back of conscienceless. He really needed to check out a good translation of The Legend of Freddie the Great from the library. The ancient Oriental text contained some of the earliest references to the Eternal Turnip. “Ted, you really shouldn’t leave your trash from dinner all over the lab,” said Ned as he picked up a hamburger wrapper. Ted swirled around and stabbed the wrapper with his rapier, then scraped it into the trash. Suddenly, the blaring of an alarm filled the lab, greatly startling Fred, who had been quite focused on his work. Ned rushed over a computer screen and stared at it shock and horror. “Oh no, it’s the end-of-the-world alarm!” “Quick, grab me the cookbook!” exclaimed Fred as an old memory suddenly leapt to the front of his mind. “I need to look up something it says about turnips!” “Yes, sir, boss!” Ted leapt into action, sheathing his rapier and dashing to the lab’s small bookshelf. Ned frantically typed some commands on a keyboard, hoping to find that the data streaming across the screen was due to some anomaly or glitch. Alas, it was not to be so. “How could it possibly be so soon?” he murmured. Ted grabbed the cookbook and leapt over a table in his haste to get back to Fred. “Ah, well, it’s not ideal, but it will work until I can order the fifth edition from Amazon,” said Fred, taking the cookbook and flipping through its pages. “Thanks Ted! I don’t know what I would do without you!” Ted turned to his partner. “So, Ned, what’s up with the alarm?” Ned gestured at the computer screen. “These graphs depict several dangerous trends that, if they are allowed to continue, threaten to destroy the entire universe!” “I’m sure it’s not that bad,” said Fred. He shut the cookbook and stood up, walking towards Ned. However, before he could look at the computer screen and analyze the data for himself, the power went out. “Does this have anything to do with it?” asked Ted as the lights turned off, plunging the lab into utter darkness. “I don’t know,” whispered Ned, straining his eyes to see the movements of his boss and partner. However, the obscuring blackness thwarted his efforts. That was when the door exploded. The sound of a heavy object striking wood with immense force sounded from outside, and the door shattered under a powerful blow. Splinters splattered onto the floor, which was now illuminated by artificial light from streetlights outside. At the doorway stood a tall, muscular man wearing a three-piece business suit, a pink tie, and dark sunglasses that obscured his eyes. His right hand held upright a heavy oak spear with a bronze tip. Jiggernozj! cursed Fred inwardly. Wally had described this man to him. How had he discovered where the Eternal Turnip was being kept? “I’ll hold him off! You guys go get help!” said Ted. He drew his rapier and leapt towards the intruder. Ned stumbled around in the darkness, trying to find his iPhone, which he remembered leaving on a desk somewhere. If he could just call Wally and get reinforcements, they would probably arrive before the man with the pink tie could find the Eternal Turnip. The intruder blocked Ted’s rapier strike with his spear, then turned towards Fred. He said something in French, something only Fred understood, because Ted and Ned didn’t speak French. This dire proclamation filled Fred with so much terror that he fainted on the spot. His body collapsed against the table with a thunk. “Fred!” Ned exclaimed. He turned and stumbled to the side of his fallen boss. “I think he might be dead!" “You jiggernozj!” shouted Ted angrily. He launched a furious attack against the man, striking several rapid blows. Ned breathed a sigh of relief as he felt Fred’s chest rise and fall. He extricated Fred’s iPhone from his pocket and tried to call for help, only to realize that he didn’t know his boss’s passcode. The intruder roared in pain as Ted slashed his cheek. He swung the spear in a wide, powerful arc, hitting Ted in the side and sending him flying against the wall. The man lifted his spear in the air to stab Ted with a killing blow. Ned reached out blindly and grabbed the first thing that came into his grasp, a microscope. He heaved it at the intruder with his left while tapping the emergency call feature with his right. The microscope smashed into the man’s face, knocking him off balance so that his spear thrust missed Ted. The intruder bellowed furiously and turned on Ned. His spear whirled with a lightning-fast movement and smashed the iPhone from his hand. Before Ned could even blink in response, the spear’s butt was flying towards his head. The last thing Ned heard before the spear hit him in the head was Ted yelling, “The Turnip Keepers are here!” Then everything went black. *** When Arthur McDonter entered his apartment after a difficult day at work, the last thing he wanted to see was the piece of moldy green bacon that typically hovered a few inches above his countertop. He hadn’t considered that its absence might be worse. Arthur typically disregarded the disgusting object, which he considered to be the ultimate emblem of his family’s disdain. But today, he groaned as he noticed the bacon’s absence. Regardless of whether or not he was their least favorite child, Arthur’s parents wouldn’t be happy at him losing an item of the Champion’s Breakfast. A grimace formed on Arthur’s face as he sunk dejectedly on his couch. He had always been his parents’ least favorite child. This had started, Arthur suspected, at his birth, because his parents’ had named his three older brothers, Eisenhower, Truman and Jefferson, after U.S presidents, but had left their youngest out of the trend. Arthur had grown certain that he was disliked by his family members four years ago, when he had turned twenty, the age at which each member of the McDonter clan received a piece of the Champion’s Breakfast. Arthur’s great-great grandfather, Michael, had been a great adventurer, who traveled all over the world on a quest to unite the items of the long-lost Champion’s Breakfast. By the time his task was completed, Michael was extremely old, so he gave one breakfast item to each of his descendants and charged them to use their gifts to protect the world from evil. Ever since then, Michael had given a breakfast item to each McDonter family member on his or her twentieth birthday. Eisenhower had been given the Oatmeal Sword; his cousin Philip, the Pancake of Power; Arthur, a piece of moldy green bacon. Now, the bacon was gone. Arthur searched through his tiny apartment quickly, but his endeavor yielded only empty cupboards bearing no trace of the revolting food. Not that Arthur cared about it anyway. Seriously, what was moldy green bacon doing in the Champion’s Breakfast anyway? Whoever ate it would probably have to be hospitalized. The only other member of the McDonter clan who even came close to having a worse item was Arthur’s great-aunt Muriel Whitestone, Guardian of the Eternal Turnip. Why anyone would want any turnip, let alone one that lasted forever, was a great mystery to Arthur. It wasn’t even a breakfast item. The ringing of his iPhone interrupted Arthur’s search. Arthur slammed a palm against the counter in frustration. First a long day in which his computer appeared to be conspiring against him to make his life miserable, then the missing bacon, now a phone call, likely from one of his family members. Arthur slid his iPhone out of his pocket. Sure enough, it identified Eisenhower as his interrupter. “Hello, Eisenhower,” said Arthur. “Arthur! Did you get Komri’s email?” Komri, Michael’s second son, had succeeded his father as head of the McDonter clan after the latter’s death two years ago. “Wh-? Oh, that email,” replied Arthur. Komri regularly sent out a family newsletter. His most recent communication had gone the route of all his other emails: straight into Arthur’s junk mail folder. “What about it?” “He said that there might be somebody trying to steal the Champion’s Breakfast! You know, Muriel and Phelmatar were worried so they decided to give the Eternal Turnip to their friend from the FBI for safekeeping? Anyway, he was right! I just had to fight off three guys that tried to steal the Oatmeal Sword!” “Oh, that’s wonderful,” murmured Arthur. Then he started as the significance of Eisenhower’s words hit him. “Wait. Somebody is trying to steal the Champion’s Breakfast?” “Hold on a second,” said Eisenhower. The sound of a crack followed by two groans came through the phone. “Ow. Remind not to punch a wannabe oatmeal thief in the jaw next time. It damages my knuckles as much as his face. Anyway, as I was saying, what do you know about whoever is trying to steal the breakfast?” “While I was at work today, somebody broke into my apartment and stole that measly piece of bacon.” “Somebody stole the Bacon of Revelation? I’ll come over to your apartment right away! Wait, no, actually, I think you’d better come to my bakery instead. The police are arriving, and I have to fill out a report explaining how I defeated these guys without tipping anyone off to the secret of the Oatmeal Sword. I hate filling out paperwork. Oh well, see you soon!” The Bacon of Revelation. The official name for the moldy green bacon. It was supposed to give Arthur visions of the future, but had completely failed. “Ok, Eisenhower. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Arthur said as he hung up. He might as well join Eisenhower at his bakery. His exuberant elder brother could help him recover the bacon and prevent conflict with his other family members. In addition to this, Arthur was a little bit nervous. If this thief knew about the Champion’s Breakfast, he might want to eliminate anyone else who held that knowledge. Arthur wasn’t certain he was any danger, but being around Eisenhower, a skilled warrior and wielder of the invincible Oatmeal Sword, would make him safer. At very least, the thief would attack Eisenhower first, giving Arthur time to escape. *** Arthur arrived at the Oatmeal Sword Bakery, his brother’s popular restaurant, shortly after the cops. “I fought them off with this sword that I regularly carry around for self-defense,” explained Eisenhower to one of the policemen. Several others dragged three unconscious and masked men out of the bakery and handcuffed them. “Sergeant Jones, I found some more evidence!” called one of the cops as he walked out of the bakery holding two pieces of a sword sheared in two. The one who had been speaking with Eisenhower raised an eyebrow. “How did that happen?” “Um, well, his sword must have been really poor quality. Shattered in half when I struck it,” said Eisenhower. Then he noticed his brother stepping out of his car. “Hello, Arthur!” Arthur eyed the smoothly cut end of the broken sword suspiciously. He was no swordfighting aficionado, but knew that a snapped sword should have a rough and jagged edge. Of course, with the Oatmeal Sword it was a different story. Eisenhower’s breakfast item was unbreakable and capable of cutting through nearly any substance. Furthermore, Eisenhower’s bond with the Oatmeal Sword allowed him to absorb oatmeal directly into his body and use it to give him enhanced strength, speed and endurance. Years of practice had granted Eisenhower extreme skill at using this ability. He sometimes worked with the FBI to capture dangerous criminals, while Arthur was limited to filing the paperwork necessary to put them in jail. The Oatmeal Sword had made Eisenhower into a hero. The moldy green bacon had made Arthur into a lawyer. “Mind if we confiscate your attackers’ weapons as evidence?” asked the sergeant. “No, of course not,” replied Eisenhower. “Take whatever you need.” The sergeant handed Eisenhower a form. “You’ll need to fill out this incident report. Make sure it’s turned in by Tuesday. My men and I have to get going now. As you can imagine, there are many other crimes to investigate in a city as large as Upper Ogleden.” The policemen finished loading the criminals and the evidence into their cars and drove away. Eisenhower tucked the form under his arm. “So, Arthur, what have you been doing lately?” “Nothing,” replied Arthur. “Which is why I’m here. Do you know how boring life as a prosecuting lawyer can be? It may sound exciting, but I spend most of my time filling out paperwork. I need some variety in my life.” “You should take up baking someday,” said Eisenhower. Arthur snorted. “Without using an item of the Champion’s Breakfast to artificially enhance my products? Who would want to eat my cooking when they could come here?” “It’s not artificial enhancement. The Oatmeal Sword is 100% natural.” Eisenhower glanced at the busy street. “We should go inside if we’re going to talk about such things.” Arthur walked inside the Oatmeal Sword Bakery. The cafe’s eponymous weapon, which usually hung over the entryway to the kitchen, was conspicuously absent. Although most customers at the bakery assumed it to be a replica rather than the actual legendary weapon of ancient stories, Eisenhower probably hadn’t wanted to call attention to it so soon after wielding it against a the robbers. Either that, or he simply hadn’t had enough time to reposition it before the cops arrived. “I’m going to have to vanish for a little while,” said Eisenhower. “Once those criminals wake up, they’ll testify that I used the Oatmeal Sword. Once the government uncovers my secret identity, it’ll only be a matter of time before they confiscate the Oatmeal Sword and whisk it away to some dark undercover laboratory for testing. They’d probably kidnap me too, and then interrogate me to find out where the rest of the Champion’s Breakfast is. Before you knew it, the entire McDonter family would be arrested on trumped-up charges, locked away in an unregistered prison to be forgotten, while some corrupt government official wielded the power of the breakfast to rule the world.” Arthur grunted. That outcome didn’t sound so bad to him. Regrettably, its chances of coming to fruition were slim. Eisenhower was paranoid; this was still a free country, after all, and the FBI wasn’t powerful enough to cover up the unexplained disappearance of a prominent member of the McDonter family. “Well,” said Eisenhower after gazing nostalgically around the bakery for a moment. “I’m sure going to miss this place. But my assistant will be glad to hear I’m leaving the bakery to him. Anyway, Arthur, why don’t we call Uncle Komri and see how quickly we can organize a family meeting? The McDonters need to present a unified front in the face of this new threat!” “Er, I’m really busy with work right now,” said Arthur. McDonter family conferences were notoriously protracted affairs, and spending multiple days crowded in Komri’s mansion, in the midst of ubiquitous cousins heatedly debating a crucial issue, sounded rather like a violation of the Eight Amendment. “You must find a way,” said Eisenhower. “Your testimony will be vital to uncovering the truth about who stole the Bacon of Revelation!” “Fine, whatever, just send a detective to my apartment,” said Arthur with a dismissive wave of his hand. He turned to leave. “But whoever is behind all this is still out there! You could be in grave danger, Arthur. Better stay with me until we can get to a safehouse.” Arthur hesitated. If only I had been born into an ordinary family… But Eisenhower was right. Arthur was involved in this fiasco whether he want to be or not. And since his family had gotten him into this mess, it was only fair that they keep him from becoming a target until the mess was cleaned up. *** Three days until the Hamster Apocalypse. Karri was merely a hardworking turnip farmer, and didn’t have time for supposed apocalypses, no matter how dire the warning of the Turnip Keepers. She stood in the middle of her turnip field, surrounded by sacks full of turnips she had spent all day pulling, and looked the traitor in the eye. “You know this is for the best, Karri,” the traitor said. The two soldiers under his command stood beside a wagon halfway filled with turnips that from other farmers who had paid their taxes. All three wore gray uniforms bearing the Turnip Keeper emblem, although the traitor’s had a gold ring around it indicating his rank. Once, this region had boasted the greatest turnip farms in the world. At the height of turnips’ popularity, thousands of turnips had been exported each year. Farmers studied the ancient lore of turnips and grew wealthy from selling their vegetables. Over the centuries, as tastier foods were developed and the popularity of turnips had waned, the land’s immense wealth had departed. But the people had always had plenty to eat, even if their meals grew a bit bland and repetitive during times of famine. Although other crops were sometimes destroyed by pestilence, the turnips never failed to produce an adequate harvest. That was presumably why the Turnip Keepers had come. They had renamed the land after themselves and ruled it with an iron fist. Now, they claimed to know of a rapidly approaching cataclysm. Hamsters, they said, would emerge from the sky and devour all the turnips. Karri thoroughly rejected their propaganda. The so-called ‘Hamster Apocalypse’ was only an excuse to steal more turnips. Karri didn’t know why, but over the ten years since the Turnip Keepers gained power, their goal had never changed. Recently, things had been worse than ever, as the Turnip Keepers used ‘preparing for the apocalypse’ as an excuse to confiscate ever-increasing numbers of turnips. Perhaps their maniacal leader had an ulterior motive that he kept hidden from everyone. If he did, Karri didn’t know it. She couldn’t even recall his name right now. “If these turnips aren’t sold in the market, people will starve,” said Karri. “Not only me, but those who buy my crops.” “But if we don’t the lock the turnips up in the Super-Duper-Extra-Hamster-Resistant Safe, the hamsters will just eat them all, and those people will starve,” explained the traitor. He had been Karri’s brother, once, a man called Brogard. Now he was gone, all the common sense drained out of his mind and replaced with Turnip Keeper propaganda. “At least this way, we can return the turnips to the people that need them after the apocalypse is over.” “Do you seriously believe that nonsense?” spat Karri. “The hamsters have never apocalypsed before, because they can’t. Hamsters don’t come from the sky; they come from mother hamsters.” “Have you read Bradwig Madok’s How to Survive the Hamster Apocalypse? It contains a thorough argument for the likelihood of such an apocalypse within the next-” One of the soldiers standing behind the traitor cleared his throat loudly. “Oh, yes, alright,” said the traitor. “Since you’ve obviously decided not to hand over your turnips voluntarily, we must do what is best for society and confiscate them by force. Oh, and, I’m sorry, but we’ll have to arrest you and toss you in the dungeons.” “I never knew anyone who would sink so low as to arrest his own sister when she hasn’t done anything wrong,” growled Karri. “Look on the bright side!” said the traitor. “This way you’ll be protected from the Hamster Apocalypse. No place in all the Land of the Turnip Keepers is safer than our dungeons, except, of course, for the Super-Duper-Extra-Hamster-Resistant Safe.” Karri glared at the two Turnip Keepers who marched forward to handcuff her. She kicked the nearest one in the shin with all her might. The soldier grunted and stumbled, but soon recovered and punched Karri in the face. Karri staggered backwards as pain exploded in her face. She gritted her teeth and charged back at the Turnip Keeper. She had nothing to lose anyway. Without those turnips, she would starve to death. She punched the Turnip Keeper in the stomach. “You scum! I’ll teach you to assault a Turnip Keeper!” yelled Karri’s target. He elbowed Karri in the throat, causing her to fall back, choking. His partner grabbed Karri and threw her to the ground. “Stop!’ yelled Brogard as his two Turnip Keepers kicked Karri. “Just arrest her! We’re supposed to focus on saving the world from the Hamster Apocalypse, not beating up prisoners.” Brogard’s subordinates rolled their eyes, but stopped. Karri didn’t know what he’d done to merit the position, but he was a lieutenant, and lesser Turnip Keepers would be punished if they disobeyed one of his direct orders. “Here, Karri,” said Brogard, reaching out his hand and helping Karri get up. “I know you don’t like that I’m a Turnip Keeper, but maybe we can still be brotherly towards one another?” Karri shook her bruised and muddy head. “Traitor. You work for evil. Do you know how many people will die because of this contrived ‘hamster apocalypse’?” Brogard sighed. “Sorry I have to arrest you, but when the apocalypse is over, you’ll see that this is all for the best. Trust me.” Karri groaned. Her body ached all over, both from the hard day’s work she’d done and from her recent beating. “The only apocalypse coming is a turnip famine. When that’s over, maybe you’ll understand why I can’t stop hating you, at least until you leave the Turnip Keepers.” Brogard’s face assumed a look of tragic resolve, and his mustache drooped. He handcuffed his sister and hauled her into the turnip wagon.
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Progress on Doombear, Rough draft:10%
Progress on The Lore of Yore, third draft:
100%
"In truth, by leaving, I was seeking only one thing. A journey."
-Oathbringer, pg 981 Types of blog posts:
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