Hmm. I think I might have to actually take this in a story direction, in order to have it not get old. I actually have 2 whole people reading, incredible. Well as long as people are still reading, I guess I'll keep writing. That is how i tend to work. Who knows, maybe someday I can adapt this into a story and send it somewhere. ::shrug::

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"It grieves me that you think so, master. But I promise you one day, you will understand my true merit. And my ability may increase as your abilty to use me does. For I am a living sword."

Our hero made an amused, wry face, and it was safe to say, another inspid comment was imminent.

"I cannot but be disapointed in they true nature, O noble sword, for how may I rend mine enmies in twain with a sword that's SHAPED LIKE A COAT HANGER." To demonstrate, he swung the sword at his bed post, and observed it clang pitifully against the wood and then reverberate out of his hand and onto the floor. Thus it appeared to him in any case,as he still lacked the mage sight.

This time the sword stayed silent, for only time would change the hero's mind about the greatness of Terahedon


"What, no wry comment, O imaginary friend?"

Our hero was at this point merely wasting time, and reveling in a most unfortunate superiority conplex.

"Oh so you're my psychologist now? Wellhere, make sure you write down AGRESSIVE TENDENCIES" Our hero at this point made a lude gesture hardly worth troubling the minds of our gentle readers.

"Why can't you talk to me directly anyway? Didn't your mother ever tell you that refusing to talk to people politely is really freaking rude? I mean, b now, the whole "narrarator" shtick isn't really fooling anyone. Although, you are just a delusio, so I should just ignore you. Good point."

It is unfortuante that our hero starts off at such humble beginnings, and that he doubted his own senses so thoroughly.

"Hello? I'm right here acid dream. And why shouldn't i doubt my senses? I mean, a little thing can make them cheat. A drop of acid, a little meth. Why there's more gravy than grave about you."

As a means of marking where the hero starts, in relation to his amazing journey of development, it could be useful to say that Jacob Marley was one fortunate aparition to never grace the hero with his presence, as his warnings of ill-doing would be most likely met with an altercation and blows to the face.

Our hero laughed in that sharp way of his, and then his face wrinkled in the warning sign of another pointless comment.

"Well said, evidence of my mental stability. I'm glad you are developing some wit. I might as well be entertained while in the mental ward."

Abruptly, a new voice emanated from beyond the room door, in a most unpleasant and grating manner.

"JASSSOOONNNNN. TIME TO DO YOUR CHORES! WHO ARE YOUT ALKING TO IN THERE?"

Jason snickered briefly, and then called back through the door.

"IT"S ALRIGHT MOM, I"M UST TALKING TO MY INTERNAL CRITIC AND MY INVISIBLE COAT HANGER SWORD."

"OH, ALRIGHT DEAR. WELL IT"S TIME TO DO YOUR CHORES!"