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Bedtime Stories


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So there's someone I know that asks me every now and then to tell them a bedtime story which I then proceed to make up on the spot, I thought I might share them with the rest of you for giggles, fun, or to help you sleep at night. They're not exactly traditional bedtime stories, but the person I tell them to seems to like them. I have only touched these up, with no real edits since writing them.


[log=St. George the Dragon Killer]

Once upon a time, long long ago there lived St George, the dragon. Now, he wasn't really a saint, but he met someone who talked about them once, so he decided to be one. George knew that people were scared of dragons, but he also knew that that was just because nobody had spent time getting to know them, or at least him. So he flew about a while looking for a person to talk to. Now, this was troublesome because firstly, people were scared of dragons, but more importantly, he didn't know what they actually looked like - he'd only heard about them from other dragons. So off he flew in search of the people.

After a while of flying, he grew tired and hungry, and seeing some animals down below swooped down and had a light snack, then he rested for a while on the hillside. As he roused from his nap, he opened one of his eyes to see a figure leaning in towards him, so happy George was to find this person, for that's what he guessed the figure was, that he jumped up and smiled.

Now, a person smile looks friendly and joyful to another person, and similarly a dragon smile looks happy and joyful to another dragon. Unfortunately, a dragon smile looks horrifically terrifying to a human, as all the teeth bar a little and a snort of fire peeks through them. Off ran the person.

The dragon, not knowing human customs, thought to follow them, thinking that he was going to be introduced to more people to be friends with. When George made it to the village where the person had ran to, he made a point to be super friendly, smiling and saying hello to everyone, and introducing himself. This was rather unfortunate, as the buildings were mostly wooden constructions, and the people couldn't understand the dragon language.
And thus he became known as St George the Dragon, Killer.[/log]



A long time ago there was a group of wizards. Whilst a group of Owls is called a parliament, and a group of Geese a gaggle, a group of Wizards is called a disaster. Now the reason groups of them are called a disaster is because of this particular group.

Wizards, back then, ranged from specialising in all sorts of things, from those who possessed a magnificent ability who tended towards fighting and construction, to those with the least talent who practised what was referred to as "advertising magic" (this was a rather new sort of magic, and the business hadn't quite picked up yet). This group specialised in alchemy, so in the scale of things they were about middle of the range, and couldn't get more than the basic sort of spells working, but what they could do with metals and chemicals was astounding, so they weren't largely fussed.

The group met each Wednesday afternoon in their local pub to discuss what they had each been working on, and how they could contribute to each others work. The reason for the pub was largely due to their early experiments with alcohol, and their producing the stock for the bar - this meant free drinks all evening. The pub also didn't complain much about the explosions and odd marks on the ceiling, there was a rather weird issue when they managed to turn the floorboards into custard, which had certain....complications, but on this particular night, they were talking (once again) about how to achieve immortality. Thoughts ranged from those who didn't think it possible, aside from legacy of work, to those who thought they had already achieved it (though these were few, and decreasing, as each at some point wanted to prove it and failed).

A newcomer to the group proposed the the idea that there was a tree that he had heard about, that if you rest before it, your wounds would heal, including that everlasting wound of age. He even proclaimed, this young looking man, that he was in fact 92 and had been doing this every couple of years for a long time now. The man did however proclaim that as a result whoever did it would not be recognised by those they knew, and so would have to leave their old lives behind. Each member therefore announced to the others that they could not possibly do this because the friendships with each other, and the group, mattered too much to them.

Over the coming weeks and months however, each member remembered about this tree, and was tempted. One by one, they went to the tree, and the group slowly dwindled. There was one member, that did not wish for the immortality however, but he had noticed the group dwindle, and proceeded to follow a couple of members until one made their way towards the tree. There, he hid, whilst the other wizard rested by the tree.

As they rested, he noticed another figure approach, that of the young man who had told them about the tree. The young man proceeded to remove all of the clothes and items of value from the resting wizard. The wizard, upon waking and finding himself without any of his belongings could not bare to face the humiliation of being tricked (wizards are very proud peoples) and so headed into the woods where he was never seen again. The one who had been watching went back to his group the following week and told them what he had seen, word quickly spreading around the community about what disaster had befallen the wizards (many laughed).

The moral? If something is too good to be true, it probably is.[/log]


[log=Jack and Jill]

(ok, so this one wasn't a bedtime story, just a rhyme expansion of sorts, search 'Jack and Jill' if you don't know the rhyme)


Jack and Jill were childhood sweethearts, they did everything together

But Jill's parents were always concerned about their relationship because Jack came from a family who had let's say, a colourful background.

One day Jack encouraged Jill to go with him up the hill towards the neighbours well.

There was also an orchard up there, so after getting some water from the well, they took some apples and ate them happily.

However the owner didn't look too kindly upon this, he had a livelihood to maintain.

He sent his dogs after them, and so they ran, ran as fast as they could, away from the dogs.

They made it just past the well when Jack tripped, and with her hand in his, Jill fell with him.

Jack cracked his head on a stone, causing him to lose consciousness.

This left Jill to carry him home. (had to change this line upon finding out the next verse of the rhyme)

Jack cracked his head, and Jill broke her arm.

Jack then ran off in a daze, leaving poor Jill at the bottom of the hill.

He came across a madman offering medical advice which he mistakenly accepted.

He lay in bed, hallucinating for several days.

Jill eventually came around to see him, after all that had happened.

She smiled maliciously at his misery, for he had left her in pain as well.

And so Jack's mother slapped her for her reaction.

...To cut a long story short, Jack's mum then got arrested for ABH(Acute Bodily Harm), and was determined guilty. Jack then pursued a life of crime, particularly directed at Jill's family.

This led to a family feud between the two houses, who both prospered through the years.

Those houses of Jack Montague, and Jill Capulet.




There always were, and always have been people in the world with certain gifts.

These gifts all stemmed from 7 brothers who came across a stream which ran across their path.

The stream, as the story goes, glittered in the mid-morning sun, and drew the brothers towards it

Each in turn the brothers looked down into it and without consciously doing so, plunged their heads beneath the water, before returning to fresh air again.

It's said that from that moment on, if you looked closely, you could see that same glittering in their eyes

These brothers had been given a gift, though they knew it not, the first gift, from which all others followed.

Over the coming days, the brothers noticed this amongst themselves, strange things occurring, things that they wished for, but had not said out loud, things that should not have been possible.

The most noticeable among those early days was the eldest, who sprouted wings upon the thought that he might fly.

He flew and flew, embracing the air, the wind under his new wings.

Over time the wind soared through his head, his memories of being a man faded, of his brothers vanished. His brothers saw him not again, the legend flows that he became full bird, as his mind was want to become.

The remaining six, seeing his wings sprout, and him take off, grew concerned and tried to determine what had happened.

They came to no conclusion, but they started to piece together all those strange things that had been happening to each of them.

That it had all started with the stream. That stream which had cut their path in two.

Two of the brothers embraced this new found power, but jealous of one another's affection towards it parted ways, one heading west, the other east.

He who headed west stumbled upon the ocean, some islands, temples and pillars. Remaining there he set up a school to learn more about this ability, and to try to teach others of it's ways.

The brother who headed east found elephants and arid land, he also set up a school of sorts, and with his power helped out where he could with the food sources.

of the other four brothers, two more went back to the stream, hand in hand they walked into it, and immersed themselves to learn more of it.

Wildlife have spoken about it since how neither returned to the surface, but how a faint glow appeared on either bank and the trees and reeds grew ever taller in that area than any other from that point on.

Now the remaining two brothers didn't wholly get along, and both desired power over the other. So one wished for power in it's fundamental form, that of electricity, that of thunder and lightning. To this day he resides in the clouds, casting down this power upon the landscape.

The last brother desired that he should have dominion over the dead, so that even when his brother died, he might torment him for eternity. So there he waits, just beneath the crust of the earth, waiting for the day to come.

These brothers you might know by other names, that of Icarus, Plato, Buddha, Poseidon, Neptune, Zeus, and Hades. Some are remembered as gods, others as wise or stupid, but their story remains throughout history because of the gift bestowed upon them.[/log]



I'll undoubtedly be adding more as I make more up.

Edited by Grido
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  • 11 months later...

So I wrote a couple more impromptu ones today, to help Mur test chat, fairly sure besides him Seph was the only one reading them!


[log=The taxidermist and Steve]

19/04/14 14:21

Once upon a time
there was this strange fellow
..and his pet chameleon
the chameleon wasn't actually alive of course
the strange fellow was a taxidermist
and had stuffed him many moons ago
but there he sat, on his shoulder
as chameleons are wont to do
this strange fellow of a taxidermist, who shall remain nameless - i mean really, would you want to be named if that were you?
he went from place to place, stuffing these strange and bizarre animals
he even came across a dinosaur once, though who bought that, how should I know
So this strange fellow, he met many people
and many met him...though I think they'd rather they hadn't
As he was particularly smelly...
One day this smelly fellow met another man
This man was steve
Not well liked for how he made his product, was not the most appealing
But his product always sold
That product of soap
Soap they say, when made
Can make a high explosive, one so high it blows the top off
it's tiny little mind
So these two met, once upon a time
Smelly man and fragrant steve, and when the two combined
You had two men, that all would meet and be pleasantly suprised
For this taxidermist smelled sweet, and had a manequin named steve

19/04/14 14:34




[log=Jonh the Shaman]

19/04/14 14:38

There was, upon a time, as these stories go
A shaman in a little hut, name of Jonh from Bo
The little place, from whence he came, this minor place of Bo
Held a reputation of being superstitous, and so
His mother, seeing how he was marked at birth, cast him out to fend upon the world
So off he set, at age of three - they developed quickly in that place of old
Cast out and all alone
Except for that, for he could talk to those that no other could
For those that died, but stuck around, could communicate in spirit
So this shaman left his place of birth, and went to hide from those that feared
There he sat, and thought, and stood
In silence, lest he be found, and tried
Now many years, they passed and went
And he forgot himself quite thoroughly
Until one day there came this time a strange "knock, knock"
He had not heard that sound before, this not like another
For no visitors had called upon him in his years of struggle
So with caution, and a lack of haste, he crept up to his door
And with slow reaching fingers, flicked the door ajar
Now what did he find, upon the other side
But a small man named Jerry
Jerry came to tell a tale, of woe and great dispair, but try as he might, he met with empty air
For young little Jonh, had left his home, and had learnt but not a word, so all he spoke and tried to point, was lost upon his ears
So head in hands, the little man, wept and wept and wept
For what he could not say to him, was that his mother had left
Not left to shop, or walk the pet, but left this mortal coil
And that if they could not speak to her, the lives of others would be lost
Somehow or another Jerry managed to take Jonh with him home
The journey long, the weather harsh, they spent a lot of time
And over that two month journey, Jerry started to teach
So that by the time they got to Bo, Jonh could at least understand
The rudimentary language that a toddler might
But language could take many years, and time they did not have, so hoped he Jerry, that when he communed, the spirit it would differ
Jonh he crept up to his home town, and saw the sights and sands
Of a place he barely recognised, in the time that he had gone
Now Jonh, he went, up to that door
The green green door of home
And there he felt some..thing, quite new
A tingling sensation
A little itch, behind his ear, a feeling quite entirely new
That tweak he went, and scratch scratch scratched, upon that doorstep his
Upon doing so, a sort of glaze set down upon his face, a chill set on his brow
And there stood, before him now, as clearly as me to you
His mother bright, and shining clear, like on the morrow gone
And so he blinked, some tears away, to see his mother clear
A mix of hate and anger, true, for doing what she'd done
But also love and hope for all the things to come
So there he stood, and spoke to her, and learned but all he could, to help that sleepy township out, of their dire and their strife
And from then on, the village grew in size as well as fame, for someone like a shaman is hard to keep concealed
He lived his time from then on there, and then a while, it's true, for his life had been extended for time spent with the dead
He found no wife to settle down, though happy he was sure, and after time he sat and smiled, and laid down his head and crown.
Though gone he was from body, true, he stayed on, for when a new shaman came, they would need teaching and that was his place

19/04/14 15:24


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