Never ending story (ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah)

Chapter Three.

Once upon a time there was a knight named Francis. Sir Francis was a knight in a once great kingdom that had fallen on hard times after the prince was deceived by a diabolical alchemist, the result of which saw the prince become an outcast and many citizens leave.
“Damn that faulty gate latch.” said the diabolical alchemist. “It’s as though you need to be shot in the head before someone comes and fixes it”.
As if on cue - the diabolical alchemist slumped to the ground, screaming in agony, blood pouring from his face, with a black and red fletched arrow protruding from his right cheekbone.

Chapter Three.

Once upon a time there was a knight named Francis. Sir Francis was a knight in a once great kingdom that had fallen on hard times after the prince was deceived by a diabolical alchemist, the result of which saw the prince become an outcast and many citizens leave.
“Damn that faulty gate latch.” said the diabolical alchemist. “It’s as though you need to be shot in the head before someone comes and fixes it”.
As if on cue - the diabolical alchemist slumped to the ground, screaming in agony, blood pouring from his face, with a black and red fletched arrow protruding from his right cheekbone. Almost immediately, a wicked nasty old witch used the town cryer to blame the outcast prince for this dastardly act, inciting the rabid masses to riot against the order of St Francis.

Chapter Three.

Once upon a time there was a knight named Francis. Sir Francis was a knight in a once great kingdom that had fallen on hard times after the prince was deceived by a diabolical alchemist, the result of which saw the prince become an outcast and many citizens leave.
“Damn that faulty gate latch.” said the diabolical alchemist. “It’s as though you need to be shot in the head before someone comes and fixes it”.
As if on cue - the diabolical alchemist slumped to the ground, screaming in agony, blood pouring from his face, with a black and red fletched arrow protruding from his right cheekbone. Almost immediately, a wicked nasty old witch used the town cryer to blame the outcast prince for this dastardly act, inciting the rabid masses to riot against the order of St Francis.
St Francis sat in a corner of his tower, slowly rocking back and forth, thinking “how can I make things right?”

Chapter Three.

Once upon a time there was a knight named Francis. Sir Francis was a knight in a once great kingdom that had fallen on hard times after the prince was deceived by a diabolical alchemist, the result of which saw the prince become an outcast and many citizens leave.

“Damn that faulty gate latch.” said the diabolical alchemist. “It’s as though you need to be shot in the head before someone comes and fixes it”.
As if on cue - the diabolical alchemist slumped to the ground, screaming in agony, blood pouring from his face, with a black and red fletched arrow protruding from his right cheekbone. Almost immediately, a wicked nasty old witch used the town cryer to blame the outcast prince for this dastardly act, inciting the rabid masses to riot against the order of St Francis.

St Francis sat in a corner of his tower, slowly rocking back and forth, thinking “how can I make things right?”

Knight Sir Francis was but only a name to many. He had only recently come to the lands that had become barren due to the overly harsh rulers.

Chapter Three.

Once upon a time there was a knight named Francis. Sir Francis was a knight in a once great kingdom that had fallen on hard times after the prince was deceived by a diabolical alchemist, the result of which saw the prince become an outcast and many citizens leave.

“Damn that faulty gate latch.” said the diabolical alchemist. “It’s as though you need to be shot in the head before someone comes and fixes it”.
As if on cue - the diabolical alchemist slumped to the ground, screaming in agony, blood pouring from his face, with a black and red fletched arrow protruding from his right cheekbone. Almost immediately, a wicked nasty old witch used the town cryer to blame the outcast prince for this dastardly act, inciting the rabid masses to riot against the order of St Francis.

St Francis sat in a corner of his tower, slowly rocking back and forth, thinking “how can I make things right?”

Knight Sir Francis was but only a name to many. He had only recently come to the lands that had become barren due to the overly harsh rulers. For Francis hailed from more agreeable climes. Rolling hills of green, swaying fields of grain, gentle seasons and rulers that were used for measuring stuff instead of using them for harsh things.