Lightna
Local Ceraunophile
"Existence is huge. No, it's not just huge. It's massive and ever-expanding. No, I'm not just talking about the universe. That's just one tiny speck of existence. Your universe is just one of many, my friend. The multiverse theory. Parallel universes. You heard of any of that? It's real.
"And with that I'm bringing you a problem that I hope you can solve. You see, pal, I don't have any ideas. I'm supposed to be this great disembodied voice with endless knowledge, wielding the power to just spew out stories whenever asked. Do you know how exhausting that is? So I have a task for you, my little friend.
"I want you to decide the story. Who said it had to be my job in the first place? C'mon, bub. Sit in my seat for a day. Of course, to have a seat, I suppose I can't be a disembodied voice anymore, now can I?"
The figure of a man materialized out of the darkness. He was bare from the waist up, tan, a bit overweight. A set of reed pipes rested on a cord around his neck, sitting comfortably below his wispy chin. He looked generally middle-aged, frown lines deepened the corners of his mouth. His black hair was curly and tangled like he'd slept for a month and hadn't bothered to brush it even once.
He appeared a generally normal man on the top half, save that growing out of his head were two enormous ram's horns. If he lost one of them, he would permanently be leaning sideways. This paired with his lower half, which was covered in shaggy fur. Where his feet should have been instead were hooves. A satyr.
"Not what you expected, am I?" The satyr shook his head, absentmindedly scratching his right thigh. "Alas, they do always say a person is more trustworthy when you know their face. My name is Fandion, and unlike my luckier brethren, who die at a reasonable age and get reincarnated as a poppy or a fig tree, I'm immortal. Cursed by the gods to tell stories to ungrateful heroes, such as yourself. I'm done for the day. I want you to tell me a story."
"And with that I'm bringing you a problem that I hope you can solve. You see, pal, I don't have any ideas. I'm supposed to be this great disembodied voice with endless knowledge, wielding the power to just spew out stories whenever asked. Do you know how exhausting that is? So I have a task for you, my little friend.
"I want you to decide the story. Who said it had to be my job in the first place? C'mon, bub. Sit in my seat for a day. Of course, to have a seat, I suppose I can't be a disembodied voice anymore, now can I?"
The figure of a man materialized out of the darkness. He was bare from the waist up, tan, a bit overweight. A set of reed pipes rested on a cord around his neck, sitting comfortably below his wispy chin. He looked generally middle-aged, frown lines deepened the corners of his mouth. His black hair was curly and tangled like he'd slept for a month and hadn't bothered to brush it even once.
He appeared a generally normal man on the top half, save that growing out of his head were two enormous ram's horns. If he lost one of them, he would permanently be leaning sideways. This paired with his lower half, which was covered in shaggy fur. Where his feet should have been instead were hooves. A satyr.
"Not what you expected, am I?" The satyr shook his head, absentmindedly scratching his right thigh. "Alas, they do always say a person is more trustworthy when you know their face. My name is Fandion, and unlike my luckier brethren, who die at a reasonable age and get reincarnated as a poppy or a fig tree, I'm immortal. Cursed by the gods to tell stories to ungrateful heroes, such as yourself. I'm done for the day. I want you to tell me a story."
So, young narrator, where will your story begin?
A. Heaven
B. Hell
C. Earth's Dimension
D. Elsewhere
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