When the pen is mightier than the sword!

Long ago in a landed forest of written words, where many liked to concoct imaginative anecdotes, narratives, fables, parables and myths, there dwelled an evil wizard. Prince Volcan was the last in a long line of horrible, wicked and conniving storied royalty. For as long as anyone could remember, the royal witches and wizards had been capturing people's souls and forcing them to spin all sorts of mystical and unbelievable tales.

People came from near and far, they travelled from distant lands, at least that is what they all thought. But the wizards tricked them into believing that they lived in glorious palaces and mansions, it was all an illusion concocted by the evil witches at the behest of the royal wizards. For people only travelled within their minds, never actually leaving their homes.

They knew only when it was too late, that they had been beguiled and tricked into a kind of magical matrix, a repetitive array of quantities or expressions in which they became as a single entity and manipulated according to particular rules of the conniving, scribbling forest.

But one day, the sufferers of forced storytelling rebelled and put an end to the entire family of terrible rulers. They put them all to the guillotine and garrotte of algorithm, not even the children and babies had been spared. Alas, unknown to them all, the youngest son who was last in line to the cursed throne had been sent deep into the forest's secret realm of Royal Teaching to learn the ways of trickery, beguilement and general sentient lying, fibbing, falsehood, untruth and fabrication of storytelling.

Volcan was warned by the voices of the living, conscious whisperings of the forest to not return to his palace, as death awaited him in cruel and unimaginable ways. The prince became more and more angry as the days passed. He planned and plotted and schemed in secret and silence, then he got the witches and wizards of the forest to conjure up vile potions of viruses. He would weed out the bad roots, poisoning and punishing them with venom, and retain only those who were of any value to him. He did not care that he would only use them for his own gain.

The wicked prince disguised himself as a benevolent benefactor, setting an unwholesome trap. He invited them all to own shares of the forest and become part owners of the writing kingdom. Many distrusted the good fortune, they thought it too good to be true and refused to partake of this good fortune, only a few trusting souls ventured into these unknown parts of the twisted forest.

The prince used the information gleaned from the either brave or foolish souls who had great hopes of riches and fame to pry into their private affairs. They punished those whom they found not worthy by removing certain privileges from their rights to the kingdom. It is uncertain what has become of the many who refused to buy shares in his wicked kingdom. They may be living in limbo for ever more. Or they may have all been neutralized and are now only ghosts living within the matrix of the forest machinery.

But, unknown to the awful evil prince and his witches and wizards, a silent and ominous virus has been set in motion.

He will not know the time or the hour when it will strike. For there are some whom he has wronged and who are plotting and planning with the rebels of the sentient whispering underground dwellers of the forest. The place where wood bound fairies, elves, and strange beings inhabit. Here they await their time for sweet revenge.

Stay always alert and vigilant, guard your kingdom well, Prince Volcan. For you never know the time or the hour when they will strike!!!!!!

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