Get to Work!
 

Prologue:

League ran as fast as he could. He weaved through trees, disappeared through shadows, leaped over boulders, dodged the gaping mouths of wolves: all he could do to get away from that terrible lady...


Not really. Such was just a metaphor of his imagination. You see, the terrible Sarah could not be escaped from, save in the last refuge of one's mind. Long ago the dreadful mod had doomed many forum-goers to fetch bottles of rum from the bottom of the depths.

"Get to work!" the terrible voice of the underworld cried. The Earth squealed in pain at the sound, wishing to cover its ears, yet being unable to do so seeing as it was a giant ball and lacked hands. League too squealed in pain at the sound, as he was forced from the last refuge he had from the dreadful Sarah.

"Yes m'lady," he whimpered. The mod drank the one bottle he had gathered--it was the only bottle anyone had gathered. She was going to be in a bad mood.

Not wanting to stick around, League quickly climbed the 2,345 story ladder of the diving board and sprang a few times for height. Upon hitting the icy cold water, he didn't make so much as a splash. The judges gave him a 35, which was pretty good, considering the max score possible was 30. He quickly made it to the seafloor in half a second from the surface.

Here at the bottom of the ocean he found his only refuge from Sarah, though in reality it was where he conducted his work for her, gathering bottle by bottle. He would here bemoan everyday his woeful job, and compare it with other jobs:

I do suppose I could be stuck instead serving Davy Jones... he'd then conclude that a thousand years in Davy's service was better than being around when Sarah would belch. I do suppose that I could be soulless and forced to do heinous things at the whim of Jolly Roger... but then he'd consider that the ever-thirsting soul of Sarah was far more to be feared than that of the soul-consuming menace himself. But alas, all these were thoughts to just pass the time and the torment. Davy Jones and Jolly Roger and the Devil himself he'd all gladly welcome as saviours, but they indeed all were frightened of the anger of a sober Sarah. Woe is me, woe is me, he concluded.

Long ago, the wicked mods imagined that there need be an incentive for the fallen forum-goers to gather rum bottles as fast as they can. So they declared that when 50 bottles were stored in the storage, they'd release all their miserable slaves. At first, all were terribly happy with this idea, and decided that even dying would be better than continuing to serve such foul beings, and began to collect bottles harder and harder. But the mods proved just as treacherous as they are foul, and cunning, and stinky (and boy do they stink!). They quickly emptied the storage, and soon became to claim that some among them stole of the rum that all put there. Later, the mods became more brazen and began to take the rum in front of their eyes. The mods were powerful, and wicked, and, as such is the case when one has power over you wth you having none over them, you submit.

However, it has occurred once or twice in the terrible servitude of the forum-goers that the bins have been filled! Indeed, once the bins have been filled threefold! In these occurances, the mods not only proved treacherous, foul, cunning, and stinky, but they have proved dishonourable as well, emptying the bins, drowning hard work and tears in a thirst as deep and unloving in the sea is a disturbing spectacle of... of words that aren't quite usable in the English language. And so, with the mods never being full, and with the mods never being truthful, League continues to this day, to serve his masters, who themselves are slaves to their thirst.

He silently rose to the surface in a weary mood, contemplating his sad existence, carrying one bottle.


Unfortunately, he could not stay in the refuge of his mind so close to the surface. The water, trying to ever so desperately to flee at the loathsome screech that is Sarah's voice, quickly vaporized. League found himself at the surface than sooner anticipated. Worse, he found Sarah sooner than anticipated. Worse still, he found the bins empty, Sarah having just emptied them. As always, she was not satiated. League knew what was coming.

"Get to work!"

hehehe, mate, are ye sure the mods treat us like this? maybe ye regular folkes, but us trivia winners get better treatment (footrubs, mud baths, and a share o' the rum) ;)