Arylett Charnoa

*Takes objects with shaking hands*

Wow. Th-th-thank you, your Arylettyness...

Are you sure? Did you really like it?

The Royal Storyteller can die peacefully now.

Hellooooo? *Knocks on screen*

So, did her queeliness like the story?

Heh, that got pretty crazy, huh?

I'd just like to tell you that I'm almost finished with my half the art trade, but my atamony's a bit off and I haven't fininshed shading yet.

B-But dogs are beings of corrupted energy!

Do you has cat? Cats are said to be beings of pure energy.

Why is Arylett frizzlefrazzled?

*Pokes.* Arylett? How are yous?

Have a random high-five. *highfive* :p

Here is your story, your Arylettiness. Please do enjoy, for I took quite a while composing it. Please forgive any typosI MEAN mistakes I may have made.

Once, in a land far, far away, there was a little village in the mountains. This village was far away from any other civilization, and so their resources were rather sparse. One thing they did have a lot of, however, was milk. It was a rural village, and they tended the mountain goats that lived around the village. Nearly every family had at least one herd of the things, and the staple food – or rather, drink – was the milk.

Every few weeks there came a time when all the people had was milk and an edible grass that the goats grazed on. One of these times, the duty fell upon the son of the village mayor, a young boy named Cheez, to go to the closest city and trade for some bread and fruit.

The journey would be a long one, so he was supplied with rations of woven goatgrass and a couple of flasks full of milk. He set off for the city one morning, trekking across the mountains with only a wooden staff to protect him from wild beasts, until he finally reached the glorious city at a misty midnight.

Cheez entered the city, but as it was at night the trading market was closed. He gratefully fell upon a small inn, paid for a room and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillows.

The next morning, the mist hadn’t completely cleared up. Cheez woke up and went to the market, searching for a fruit stall first. He came across a brightly coloured table covered in exotic-looking fruits, all the colours of the rainbow and more. The bartering began, with Cheez offering the stall owner a bag of carved charms that his village was famous for.

Eventually, the owner gave in. “I’ll let you have a couple of bags, because I like you,” the man said, and Cheez picked some fruit – a bunch of huge, yellow berries that smelled like fresh water, some small yet dense and juicy pear-shaped things and a lot of blue oranges, his favourite.

He then went to a breadseller. The owner seemed to fall instantly in love with the charms, and allowed Cheez to take three large loafs along with him immediately.

And so the boy began to make his way through the fog back to the village. He guessed the journey would take him even longer with the mist, and so decided that when it got dark he’d find a nice cave to sleep in. He walked over the hills until he reached the mountains, and began to be wary of beasts and fogmonsters that may have been wondering around.

Eventually it began to grow dark, and the fog even thicker. He was getting very tired and weary, and to his pleasure saw an orb of light flickering in the distance. Thinking it was the lantern that hang by the village gates, he ran over to it, but soon found himself enveloped by darkness. He appeared to be in a cave. He followed the light, which he didn’t realize was moving, deeper and deeper, until the light stopped moving and illuminated the whole cave.

Monsters. Around six of them, surrounding him, and right in front, the floating light, which he now saw a had a mean, laughing face. The creatures closed in on him and he tried to defend himself with his staff, whacking a green goblin over the head, but there were too many of them, and soon a little fairy-like think with huge fists knocked him out cold.

He woke up later, finding himself in the middle of a different chamber. The monsters must have dragged him here. He looked around and saw them. They were cowering around the room’s edges, covering their noses fearfully. He sniffed the air and detected a horrible, sour stench coming from his bag. Had he broken wind? No, even that didn’t smell this bad. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out everything, one by one.

First the bags of fruit, which smelled normal, then the goatgrass, which smelled of goats, and finally – the milk.

It had turned solid and yellow, and from it the awful smell was coming. Smirked, Cheez gathered his belongings, pinched his nose and held the milk bottle high, using it to ward the creatures away from him.

When he finally emerged from the cave, he found himself in bright daylight, with no sign of any fog. He continued walking the long journey back home.

Eventually, though, he had eaten all the goatgrass, and surely the mayor would notice if any fruit and bread was missing. Cheez gazed at the solidified milk thoughtfully, and decided to try it.

He held his breath and used his nail to scrape a few shavings of the stuff into the palm of his hand, and put them in his mouth.

They tasted… good. Better than the goatgrass, at least! Eating a few pieces of the stuff every now and then, he continued walking, and soon enough he found himself in the village again.

He triumphantly entered his house and found his father. He told the mayor of his whole journey, and persuaded him to try some of the solidified rancid milk. The mayor nibbled reluctantly and the stuff, and suddenly grinned wildly.

The food, which they named ‘Cheese’ after its discoverer, became the village’s new favourite food. They ate it with fruit, with goatgrass, even in sandwiches.

And that is how cheese was invented!

Her majestic highness shall have her story soon.

The cheese one?

Hmm. The Royal Storyteller will summon his Royal Storyquill and write it up immediately.

Ah. I see. Thank you.

The word 'transsexual' means changed gender, and even if you changed back, wouldn't you still be one?

Executioner?
Alright.
I bet you never guessed anything like this:

It all started when he always said 'really?... I better make a few phone calls' every time you stated the obvious. As an example, I'll say what he said when I told him that the Sydney Opera Houses weren't owned by some opera singer (it seemed as if he thought they were, and I can't remember the name of the singer).

"Really?... I better make a few phone calls."
*gets out his 'new phone' (bus ticket)*
"Hello, is this the Queen of Opera? Yeah, it turns out the houses in Sydney aren't owned by that singer...

What that? You're in Canadia?!?!? (because he asked why Canada was called that if there's an i in 'Canadian')
Oh, yes that's right, I did sell you to them for slavery.

What's that?
You're about to be executed?!?!?
Let me talk to the executioner.

Let me put it on speed dial (to him speed dial = "Speakerphone" and speakerphone = "Speed dial").

*really deep voice*

HO! This is the executioner! I am from Canadia! HO! Look at my Canadian accident! (supposed to be accent, and I have no idea you're supposed to look at it)

Why are you executing the Queen of Opera?"

The reasons vary, and sometimes the executioner realizes I'm there and tells me that he's going to kill me next Monday. I ask why, it's not because he was asked to, because I'm apparently his boss. He's just doing it because he hates me and his job. When he doesn't kill me, he says that it's because if he did, he loves his job.

The executions vary, sometimes in Canadia, sometimes on the Canadia-Amercia border next to Viagra Falls. (the Americian executioner sound suspiciously like Homer). Once he was in Norwegia.

Anyway, after he hangs up the phone, he asks me if I want to some haggis, and calls the takeaway haggis shop. He orders irradiated haggis, and I order whitmore soup. They say that we get a refund if it doesn't arrive within the next 400-500 years (so if it takes less than 400 years we get a refund).

Eventually it turns out that they don't sell haggis, they're just a random phone number called 'The Takeaway Haggis Shop'.



Did you guess that?
(jeez, this took a long time to type)

Indeed it is. But please, your majestic highness, do not bow to me, for I am far inferior to you.

I was asking if you wanted to change the subject.

Pirate Jenny?
He's a boy from year 7 who apparently is an ex-transsexual and a pirate. (don't ask why there's the 'ex-' prefix, it doesn't make any sense to me either.)

He is odd.
Would you like to know about:
1) Pirate Jenny
2) The executioner from a country called 'Canadia' and the haggis shop
3) Len Moles the 60 year old postman and security guard who plays the banjo.
4) Can we please change the subject already?

hi