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The sea serpent rose out of the sea and issued a deafening cheesy roar. My bandmates and I were showered with deliciously hot strands of mozzarella from it's gaping mouth. We fought the urge to walk up to it and pull out one of it's pizza-teeth but alas some of my team mates were not so strong and ended up plucking off slices and greedily gobbling them up. Immediately they fell asleep in a happy stupor, completely under the control of this evil sea siren.

I though, fought back with the power of the Budgetizer a sword of reknown with the power to repel the insistent self gratification spells by repeating the phrase, "I ain't got no money!". As the Budgetizer gave off excuse after excuse as to why it would not submit to the monsters demands, some members of my team strapped their weapons to their backs and swam to a point just behind the sea beast, taking care to navigate around the giant Pectoral Popeyes Chicken Fins. How they resisted taking a bite after smelling of the fried chickeny goodness, I'll never know, but their willpower kept the creature ignorant of their presence.

The beast was thrashing angrily, overcome with frustration that it could not manage to hit us with it's McDonalds Jalapeno Double-Strike! As we surrounded it on every side, we performed the Rejection Maneuver. To the tune of a mighty boosh, we slowly rotated 180 degrees until we could no longer see the fiend.

Overcome with agony at our rejection the entity exploded with the force of a hundred happy meals! The land of Habitica was safe yet again...for at least one more day!

Diary Entry: Went for a stroll in the new robe I received from the "Magician in a box" mail order catalog (I do magic trick shows on the side for the kiddos). A group of monsters laughed at me with my bald head and my robe saying it looked like a dress or something. Returned home and came back out with my axe.

The Hambeasts squinted in the night. I could almost see the dirty little hears that infested their quadro-snouts (My vision was excellent through torturing the vision enhancement techniques out of the Vita-Men that ventured into my land daily). Thankfully for me the Hambeasts had terrible vision. With four snouts to every head, as you can imagine, their sense of smell was the best in Habitica. I refrained from taking Fenrir as he may scare them off with his pungent (yet clean for a Shade Lion) odor and as far Sqwabbler...he squawks too much. I shook my head as I remembered the last Hambeast hunting expedition where that daft bird decided to be clever by trying to sneak behind the Hambeast herd...wearing a disguise of dry leaves. Now granted the average Hambeast is pretty stupid...but even they know dead leaves don't congregate in little heaps only to move towards the nearest group of grazing animals when they aren't looking. I mean seriously, even if they can't see him moving, they could hear the rustle of the leaves from a mile away. If they ever make some sort of play out of such bafoonish antics, I will bet my gherkin armor that Sqwabbler would be the star. Anyway, enough said of that.

It looked away. It's gaze was fixed dead towards me but I was a ghost to it.I had no armor on me this time, too noisy, too risky. I left the cabin with my clothes on my back and my training sword. Useless in battle but a fine weapon in a case such as this. You'll see why.

Finally, night had fully arrived, and my little victim-herd had settled in for the night, resting in the tall grass. I moved swiftly, purposefully, until, I was closest to the head Hambeast. A boorish brute he was. 3 feet long and red from head to tail. 8 sharp tusks guarded his quadro-snout and copious amounts of disgusting flem exited from the orifices freely as the creature slept. The wound from this type of game was usually fatal. Not only would you be gored by two or more tusks, but the contact with the disgusting snouts and diseases they carried guaranteed you an instant infection as well. Now, you had to be careful with how close you were. Too close and they would charge you. Too far and they would run away, wasting your valuable time. I positioned myself an optimal distance away and shouted in the direction of the head boor. The creature grunted loudly and got to it's feet..but wait? It's ears were pinned to it's scalp. That's a sign of submission. That would mean....

A muted deep roar of indignation was all the warning I received as a Boss Sow Hambeast appeared! I knew this was too easy! She must have been rummaging to the left of me while the rest of her herd was right in front of me. She punched out of the bushes to my left as I dodged back, just barely avoiding her gruesome tusks. She was a four foot long monster and boy was she angry! She jumped into the bushes to the right as I tried to collect myself. If I ran towards the rest of the pack they would tear me to pieces while she took me down from the back. If I headed up the way I came, she could still gore me in the back. The safest area was where I was, but she was only visible for a few seconds as she jumped from one bush to another. There was only one thing to do...

Pog the Hog!

I got ready for her next attack, as she passed by, I pivoted sideways and grabbed onto the closest ear as she passed by while simultaneously holding the training sword by the butt. Ears are curious things. So small, yet they cause such extreme pain. We use them to steer children in the right direction and funnily enough they work the same way with Hambeasts. They are close enough to the ground to grab and the beast is so elongated that grabbing them is not immediately fatal. The Boss Sow almost skidded to a stop to face me in confusion as I gripped it's ear as if it owed me something. I then used the sword butt to pummel the beast into submission before...well you can guess the rest.

The alluring aroma of Ham filled the little cabin as I grunted in satisfaction. Fenrir was outside gnawing on a legbone and I was just finishing up baking a batch of bread on the hearth. Being entirely famished from the day and the hunt, I did not have time to properly dress the meat. I decided to cut a loaf in half stuff the cooked (Slightly burnt...I like it that way) meat in the inside and just eat it like that, washing it down with a frothy mug of milk ofcourse. Barbaric I know, but what is a lonely warrior to do? Perhaps if a comely lass were to walk into this warriors life..but no enough of such daydreaming. As I bit into my hastily made creation I thought to myself that the loaf and meat made quite a pleasing combination. Perhaps I shall have this again someday.

The fight was getting harder. I was older now, and larger. I was depending on my armor more than my body. The smith remarked that I was getting piercings on my armor that I didn't get before. Thankfully, now that I earn more income, I can afford better coverings. A strike that the enemy makes now, that I let through, would have been fatal when I was young was depending on that old boiled leather gherkin I used to wear. Before agility was my strength and passion was my fuel. Now though size is my strength, and perseverance is my fuel . The same quests and challenges I complete now used to be completed in record time...now I take just a little bit longer.

"All set Task Master!" "There is no need for my formal title here blacksmith" "And yet" he says with a twinkle in his eye, "You always address me by my title." He was right. I do that because it's a matter of identity. How we refer to each-other confirms who we are to ourselves and who they are to us. They call me "Task Master" What does that say about me? What does that say about others? With no time to ponder these deep philosophical questions, I plop down a bag of gold for the blacksmith and set off on my way. I embrace, the title, and I embrace my destiny. With my own sparkle in my eye, I set my mind to conquering the days tasks ahead!

My back was creaking. My arms were buckling. I would surely be crushed by the huge weight I was bearing.

::inhale::

What was I thinking? This was torture. What is wrong with me sometimes? Some things are just too hard...even for me.

::exhale::

I was going to die. I would be crushed. The ground rose and fell in front of me. Pretty soon it wouldn't fall. It would just rise. I would be the person meeting it however. I did.

::inhale::

My arms. They're falling off. I know it. The nerve endings are dying. How can anything living take this much pressure?

::exhale::

And I'm done. I get off the floor...slowly. I'm still in a lot of pain. I take my armor off and go for swim in the basin of hot water that has just been heated. Others...they think I'm crazy. "Exercises with your armor on? This is madness!" "No" I reply. "This, is, discipline!" as I proceed to lift my foot and kick them into a hole. Just kidding. I don't kick anyone into the hole....on their first visit.

Let me tell you, the other knights, and adventurers etc around here think I'm crazy. You don't have to be crazy to do what I do. You do have to be determined though. That's what separates me from the pack. They meet expectations. I surpass them. They do what's required. I do what's necessary. They gain strength and resolve from eachother, I gain the same from my self.

Hard work pays off at some point. Laziness pays off now. I've heard that, and that anthem will never fix itself in my brain. I push onward to victory, to satisfaction, hardwork, and yes....to discipline!

I kneel in the darkness before my Maker. The God of Habitaca reigns in this land and every other land. Every plane of existence pays homage to His awesome existence in it's own way. This is the only land I know...I know of no other, but I know my God is sovereign and rules this world and every other if they exist. My faith tells me so.

The first rays of dawn appear and bathe my form. I am on one knee, facing towards the sun. A figure cut in granite with a soul cut in determination. Everyday I bathe in the waters of struggle, and I clothe myself in discipline. Toil is my breakfast and excellence is my daily work.

I am known for success. My band and I have slaughtered many a rampaging terror. I reflect on what I hear the people say in the marketplace. "He is so strong! Look at his great black lion, his fiery sword (They never mention Sqwabbler for some reason), look at his muscles! Surely he is successful, because of his great power!"

I laugh to myself and shake my head. In a land where the people each worship a thousand gods, I worship just One.

As I kneel, the stone beneath me starts to chaff my skin. I ignore the pain. No instead of switching positions I dig harder into the ground. I will not be moved.

Now the heat reaches me. Beads of sweat form on my brow. I raise my hands towards the heavens. Some worship here by sacrificing animals. Some worship by sacrificing monsters. Some worship by sacrificing people. Not I. My worship is a sacrifice of work. I lift up my hands and honor the one that gave me the breath to breathe. Every task I complete, every beast I slay, Every quest I perform, I do it to His honor and glory.

In a way, the people are right. I'm covered in slabs of muscle, my red and golden armor is the envy of warriors miles around. Fenrir the Shade lion I raised and tamed is a 6 foot tall, nine feet long beast that strikes fear into the heart of my enemies. These strengths though are not what give me victory. No. The Almighty is the one who gives me victory. My true armor protects me. Faith is my shield. Righteousness is my breastplate. Truth is my belt. Salvation is my helmet. The Spirit of the Almighty is my sword. Others practice magiks and the occult. As for me and my band? We shall behold miracles.

With my ritual complete, I finally stand up. The rock (and many other smaller rocks) has become imprinted on my knee without breaking the skin. I'm disappointed. "Next time I shall have to kneel longer" I quip to myself.

Hope is in my heart. A new day has dawned. A perfect day is behind me...and this one has only just begun!

Tick-tock goes the clock. No-one knows when or where it will stop.

Days. Days we've been searching this dreary dungeon. Our rations were getting low, but our patience was getting lower. We knew there was a beast to slew here...we just knew it! Why would the lord of the castle commission us if it were not so? Our minds were starting to get to us. Sqwabbler would think he saw something in the shadows and pounce on it, only to discover it was some dusty and useless refuse. Phantoms started springing to life out of the corner of my eye only to dematerialize into nothing when I turned my face to it.

Sqwabbler and I had been getting on eachother nerves for as this day long quest turned into days long. To start with I never noticed how annoying his wattle was, it was large, and ugly and red. It looked like a giant deformed maggot. I hate maggots. Furthermore he prances about like he owns the place showing off like he is some kind of daggone Prince of Cluck Land. What a peacock. He wandered off somewhere looking for worms to snack on (of which the ground was crawling with thanks to the dankness of this dungeon) . "Who cares", I thought to myself. I was glad to see the back of him. What was that? My gaze fell up on a pile of..bones? I took out my sword What are bones doing in a dungeon? The remains of other adventurers? We were told we were the first ones...

Clash!

I had parried a blow from a very fast moving metal object. The part of the dungeon I was in was almost pitch black. If you were not adept at night-fighting or fighting with blindfolds, you would not last long in that type of environment. I taught Sqwabbler when fighting in that type of darkness to never give away your position. Never make a sound, don't even let them hear you feet moving. The only thing they need to hear is the sound of your blade swishing through the air, but by then it would be too late. Those lessons were coming in handy for me now. Whoever my opponent was, they were fast. Strong? No, but definitely fast, and clever.

I had to guard against several points mostly my legs, groin area and abdomen. I also had to block the my front sides and back at one point. Either I was facing several short attackers or one really agile one.

As I put these factoids together in my mind, the cobwebs finally started to clear away. I cleared my throat and yelled out, "Sqwabbler!" "Gobble?" came the startled reply.

Apparently, Sqwabbler came upon the same bones during his worm feast and heard the sound of my sword being unsheathed but could not see me...so he attacked silently as he had been trained. I had custom metal claw sheathes made for him and a custom beak attachment he wears when we are on quests. Oh yes. This turkey will put a hurting on you. I lit a candle and looked over the bones. These were the bones of previously adventurers alright...ones that turned on eachother in the darkness.

We left there. We didn't care about the money anymore. We chalked the time wasted as a loss. Something about that place caused paranoia and anxiety on all who ventured there, and the crazy old lord of the castle is convinced something is lurking there. Maybe he's right. Whatever it is, it must be adept at skulking around shadows like a rat and fleeing when it was approached because we never saw a thing.

6 seconds

It looked at me sizing me up. I did the same. This task-beast was a little bigger than the others. A little badder. A little redder. And a little angrier.

5 seconds

I was in a corner. Well not really a corner, sort of like a small pocket of an outcrop of rocks. Regardless I had nowhere to run. It charged.

4 seconds

I calculated impact time in my head. It would take 3 seconds for it to reach me. Four seconds for me to reach my sword. Forget the sword.

3 seconds

Animals like this respect one thing and only one thing only: Force. If I could hurt it at least as much as it was going to hurt me from the get go, I might have a chance of making it out of this alive.

2 seconds

s we charged eachother I thought about how dumb of an idea this was. To go hunting on my own? The heck was I trying to prove? Now I was facing 300lbs of red muscle...alone.

1 seconds

I braced myself impact.

A few minutes later

I came to. Was lying on the ground. 3 inch gash in the abdominal section of my plate armor. Golden shield was buckled slightly but it held firm...worth every penny. From the trail of blood drops, it looks like the Task Beast was hit pretty hard when he slammed head first into my shield. Like me he lived to fight though, he lived to fight another day. The next time I faced him, he would be redder, bigger, badder and stronger. Just like me.