T.A.S.I.I.M.T.
Klive Vaarzius is walking home from his job at the paper company on a not so mysterious Tuesday in late October. While he is walking home, he encounters a homeless man staring at him intensely.
“I’m not going to give you money, if that’s what you want.” insisted Klive.
“It’s not.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want to warn you.”
“Of what?”
“Of your doom!”
“What are you talking about?”
“You shall see.”
“Right…”
With that, Klive walks away and falls into an open manhole. Unfortunately for Klive, the manhole was a manhole, and also a portal into medieval Europe. But at least he didn’t fall into sewage water like he would have, and for this, he should count himself lucky.
Klive then found himself staring at an increasingly growing ground. It took him a second to realize that it wasn’t growing, and why there was so much wind. He then met the earth by landing safely enough next to a haystack and into a pile of manure.
“So much for my suit” muttered Klive to himself as he got up.
“Oi! You there!” came a voice from somewhere near the haystack.
“Who- me?” queried Klive.
“Aye, you. Are ye per chance either a wizard or an alchemist?”
“Err, neither. Why do you ask?”
“Well you did just fall from the sky, so I was just wondering. Also, would thou like to fight back, or run away? I just think it’s nice to ask before I attack people.”
“Pardon?” pardoned Klive. Now that he was standing, he could see who he was talking to.
His would be attacker was skinny, exceptionally skinny actually. This however was probably due to the fact he had no skin, or organs, or anything besides bones. He was in fact a skeleton. A moving skeleton. That talked. And carried a large battle axe.
“Oh dear.” Said Klive.
“Well which will it be?” asked the one who was now known to be a skeleton. “Are ye going to run or fight? I just think it art be easier this way.”
“Err, I think I’ll run. Do I get a head start?”
“Are ye wearing running shoes?”
“No, I just came here from work.”
“Then ye get a two minute head start. I suggest ye go now.”
Klive didn’t reply to this one, on account of he was now fleeing for his life. The skeleton sat down on a stack of hay mentally counting the seconds to 120. He liked to give them the whole two minutes, unlike some skeletons he knew to count like ’29, 39, 49, 59, 119, 120!’ he considered himself better in this respect.
Klive continued running as he since the last paragraph, though he admitted to himself now that perhaps he should have bought that exercise equipment that was on sale last month, since he wasn’t exactly what he’d call physically fit. Luckily for Klive here, he was about to get a lucky break, sort of.
“Chaaaaaaaaaarge!!” Came a new voice accompanied by the sound of pounding hooves. Klive turned towards it and realized it was knight in, well not exactly shining armor, but it looked durable enough anyway. The person currently wearing the armor also seemed about to drive a lance through Klive’s chest. “Die foul undead!” roared the knight.
“Wait!” shouted Klive as he leaped out of the way. “I’m not dead! I’m being chased by an undead!”
The knight then stopped his horse and lifted his visor. “Oh, terribly sorry about that. ‘Tis bloody hard to see much of anything wearing this thing. You say you’re being chased by an undead?”
“Yes! That’s what I just yelled as you tried to impale me!” screamed a Klive.
“Alright lad, no need to yell. But, may I ask, why are dressed like that?”
“What?” Klive looked down at his muddy suit. “Oh, that. I’m uh, foreign.”
“Really? Well I suppose that explains your accent. We aren’t at war, are we?”
Klive had more or less accepted he was in medieval England by now, which hadn’t even discovered America yet. “No, we’re defiantly not at war.”
“Oh, good. I’ll go impale that undead now. Chaaaaaaarge!!”
The paper salesman watched the knight leave, I suppose something worse will happen next now. He thought. This thought was shortly followed by an uncountable horde of skeletal warriors marching over the horizon.
“Oh bugger,” muttered Klive.
“Hey look another one of them living guys!” Shouted a skeleton near the front.
“Alright men, let’s go and do what we’re paid to do, kill!”
“This was followed by the horde breaking into an enthusiastic run towards Klive. Klive responded by running away from the horde, and tripping on a small depression in the ground.
Upon hitting said ground Klive woke up in his bed to sound of an alarm. However, It was not Klive’s alarm, as his said 4:20 at the moment, rather than 7:00. The alarm was coming from his driveway, because his car was being stolen.
“Bugger” said Klive to himself, which had now gone to the window to see his car driving away. “Now I’ll have to walk to work today…”
