King of the Hill

DeletedUser973

Guest
The rules are straightforward. Use your imagination to take control of the hill. I'll start us off...

I awake early on a cold morning, enjoying the after rain smell in the air as I wander through the land. In the distance I behold a most glorious hill and am compelled to climb to the top. After reaching the great height of the hill, I lay upon the still damp eastern side to watch the sunrise, blissfully thinking to myself "It sure is nice having this hill all to myself."
 

(*.*)

Earl
When I was walking, I suddenly saw how one person was sleeping on the hill. I went to him and ...ahm..."touch" him...and he roll down :D It wasn't my mistake ! :D but hill is my :3.

I hate story in English... very difficult for my English :D...we need spoiler !
 

DeletedUser831

Guest
Having observed (*.*) tossing someone down the hill I climb the hill and passive aggressively indicate my disapproval by making tea and not offering (*.*) any, as is the british manner. I then proceed to sniff disapprovingly and mutter obnoxiously whilst staring intently at (*.*). Unnerved by this display, (*.*) flees the hill in terror.
So I guess that means it is my hill.
 

DeletedUser894

Guest
When out for a stroll I observe the goings on at said hill. I watch with interest as (*.*) runs away in terror of the antics of a very unmannerly Britanicus who is slurping his tea (I didn't realise the social nuances of a slurp. How is it possible to convey such disdain with a sniff, slurp and mutter?). Whilst Britanicus is smugly observing the sight of (*.*)'s retreating form disappearing into the rather fine sunrise, I sneakily add a couple of drops of my patent sleeping potion to his cuppa. Due to the 2nd distillation process this immediately takes effect and he falls to the ground emitting disturbing snoring noises equivalent to concord breaking the sound barrier. Much to my amazement the noise police screech round the corner, leap out and grab Britanicus by the ankles. With a strong heave they throw him into the van, jump back in and roar off. Suddenly i am alone and in possession of said hill.
 

DeletedUser831

Guest
Having woken up several hours later, drowsy and confused, in a rather dark cell, I stare listlessly at the wall until some brute come to explain my predicament. After meeting with the brute, I quickly began to formulate an understanding of what had happened, and plot a devious escape plan. Once this was completed I merely waited for my opportunity, which came delightfully quickly. The next time the brute entered my cell I simply hit him on the head with the teapot I always keep stashed upon my person and ran away.

Pleased with my victory over the rather incompetent noise police, I, by chance, stole upon an unmanned bicycle and rode to the edge of the hill, where I used a pair of binoculars, another thing that I had stashed upon my person, to disapprovingly observe the moving of the distasteful Zaen. Having made my distasteful musings, I strode up the hill, and pulled, from amongst my person, a rapier, and challenged the evil Zaen to an honourable dual to the death, in order to resolve our differences. However Zaen, foolishly having placed no blade upon his person, proved himself to be a coward, and fled the hill in an ungainly and unmanly fashion.

With (*.*) still hiding in terror, and the demon Zaen having fled, I regained the hill and decided that the more appropriate thing to do was to brew myself a pot of earl grey, which just so happens to be another thing that I always have upon my person.
 

DeletedUser894

Guest
Oh dear...... You mistook me running off as a sign of cowardice and defeat when in reality i was rushing off to get supplies. I rapidly return some what out of breath (it is a rather large hill to run up!).

I stand, panting, in front of you and say......

"There is no need for violence, I henceforth waste no time in challenging you to the Great Britanicus Bake Off instead. Your task (you have 3 hours) is to produce a fitting feast to take part in a Toasted Bun fight at the top of the Hill. The centre piece is to be the most perfect toasted bun and accompanying jam. The theme for your spread is High Tea at the top of the Hill The winner to take possession of this venerated mound. Your time starts now!"

Upon hearing these words you turn an interesting pasty white, choke on the last mouthful of Earl Grey causing a minor eruption of tea and start muttering about raisins and where to get a perfect pot of jam. You quickly scuttle down the hill shouting behind you at me "I accept and will see you in 3 hours".

I stand laughing at your sorry sight as i contemplate your retreating figure. Little did you know i have a secret weapon, the combined knowledge of the WI (Women's Institute, an organisation famed for its baking skill and other culinary arts).

Fast forward 3 hours. The red and white checked tablecloths have been laid and upon them a veritable feast of delights await. Centre piece is the sight of freshly made and toasted buns smothered with butter and anointed with home made jam. A feast for angels. At least my table is. Yours is not quite up to scratch. Yes you have beaten me hands down with your display of teapots and variety of tea but on closer inspection while your sponge cakes are of a high standard and your sandwiches are thin enough with the crusts removed, the centre piece of your spread proves to be bought in and not home made (your buns caught light in the oven and were beyond salvage). Your jam is adequate but your butter isn't artisan produced from cows hand milked at dawn and lovingly churned with just a pinch of sea salt.

You hang your head in shame as the judges have raptures as they bite into my beautiful buns, toasted to the correct shade of golden brown, providing that perfect crunch under their coating of semi melted butter topped with the finest strawberry jam. After much munching and deliberation the panel of judges (made up from the esteemed ranks of senior Inno management, perks of the job you understand). A winner is declared.

As i thought my buns beat yours and it doesn't matter that your sandwiches were perfect, your sponge is light and fluffy as a cloud and your tea is to die for. What counted was the buns (remember it is a bun fight) and yours just didn't make the grade.

Shoulders slumped in dejection, you admit defeat and stumble off down the track.

My Hill, anyone care to join me in celebrating with a cup of tea, cucumber sandwiches, a slice of Victoria sponge and of course my famous buns?
 

DeletedUser831

Guest
After stumbling down the hill in shame I return to my home where I decide that the best course of action to stem my melancholy is a good pot of tea. As I sit there contemplating the meaning of life, it soon occurs to me that this trouble maker must be taught a lesson. Deliberating on this revelation leads me to concoct a cunning plan. I conclude that this plan must be brought to the fore as soon as possible.

Hence, I leave my home and go to the rather murkier part of the area about the regions about the hill, where I meet an exceptionally dubious man, who sells me the means to go back in time, more specifically to the time of the most venerable Mr. Pitt. The means to how this dubious fellow acquired such advanced technology is unknown, and it most likely will remain so for the time being. He also sells some rather enlightening, and illegal, varieties of tea.

Anyway, having acquired this illustrious device, I go back in time, and meet the venerable Mr Pitt (the younger of course), and win him over with an excellent tea party. After this, we talk business. We eventually come to the conclusion Zaen, is in fact, the new Napoleon, and must be stopped before we all fall under the sway of a future French tyranny. In order to prevent this Mr Pitt grants me a most useful regiment of British Musketeers, whom I take back with me.

Upon arriving back at the present day, I hide the sneaky time device, and march to the hill with my regiment of British Musketeers, 'dealing' with a few ruffians along the way. At the base of the hill, I order the regiment to fix bayonets and advance upon the top of the hill, and the dishonourable Zaen.
Whilst all this is happening, Zaen, in his arrogance, has fallen asleep upon the hill. As my men approach Zaen awakes, but he is quickly apprehended. Victory is celebrated by the expedient use of tea and musket fire at whoever happens to be passing by at the bottom of the hill.

We conclude that the best way to deal with the New Napoleon is put him where the old Napoleon was exiled to. Unfortunately I can't remember where that was right now, so we ship him off to Timbuktu instead, to spend the rest of his days doing whatever it is you do in exile, in Timbuktu.
In the meantime, we fortify the hill and bring up some cannon to protect it - or at least 1/2 the regiment does. The other 1/2 goes out on a recruitment drive whilst simultaneously hiring thugs to steal from the local populace, and then we sell the stolen goods back to them (I have thus just started the Base of the Hill Trading Company).
 

DeletedUser894

Guest
Oh dear, its all a fantasy conjured up in your feeble mind after consuming far to much of that exotic brew you thought was a fine bowl of Da Hong Pao, with the alleged Mr Pitt the younger (can you really swallow the fact that one of Britain's finest politicians was a dealer in substances of entheogenic origin as well as capable of time travel?). That brew that slid down your throat was made from some of the finest plants to be found deep in Amazonian rainforests and *Mr Pitt* is a highly skilled shaman who's twin brother was called Fall...

I digress.....

As the unusually spiced drink glides down your throat sending trails of multicoloured stars shooting up past your inner eyelids you enter the dark side of your brain..... A twisted, fevered place full of corrupt imagery that only one so depraved as you can conjure.... A warping of your internal time zone leaves you under the influence of half remembered facts from those endless days of double history on a friday afternoon...... Would that bell never ring for end of school?

You create an alternate reality for yourself as you lay slightly twitching at my feet in which vague mutterings occasionally issue from your foaming mouth allude to such things as *musketeers at the ready*, *fire at will* (who was Will and what had he done?), *no not St Helena, anywhere but* and *Tim, buck two*.....

I had no choice but to let the men in white coats tenderly wrap you in a straitjacket, it's for your own safety after all. I am assured that the padding in your cell is at least 6 inches thick to prevent anything but the most minor bruising... Matron looks stern but i am sure she is very kind, she may rule the ward with a rod of iron (i saw it behind her desk) but she has your best interests at heart. Sunnyhearts Secure Wing will be an ideal place for you to begin your rehabilitation. Matron kindly showed us her pride and joy, the electric shock treatment room that is guaranteed to leave you with curly hair as well as readjusting the polarity of your brain cells.

It's with hope i take my leave of this noble establishment, the smell of boiling cabbage (it's lunch time) gently wafting me on my way to my hill where i contemplate the rashness of accepting tea from a complete stranger professing to be a time travelling politician of the 18th century.
 

DeletedUser894

Guest
Seeing as no one else is able to better my posts in KOH, i guess that this wonderful hill is now mine in perpetuity.....

A view of my beautiful hill.....

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Name the hill for mega bonus pat on the back, especially if you can post an amusing tale to take it........
 

DeletedUser894

Guest
No one interested? Shame on you guys...... Guess I will have to flatten the top of the hill and build a high rise...
 
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