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A ton of people *Coughnotrealpeoplecough* told me to put up something, so here you go. Happy now?

On another star, in another galaxy, there was a clock. A giant clock, the size of a large room. Now, this was no normal clock. This was a meeting clock. At each number, there was a throne, each vastly different from the others. One was comprised of scrap metal and ragged cloth. The next, however was beautiful, with a gold frame and red velvet pillows, intricately embroidered with scenes of a peaceful forest. After that, there was a seat that looked like it was pulled from a fighter plane, complete with a steering wheel, and so on. This clock had been in use for years, decades, millenia even. By who, or more accurately, what, i do not care to explain. I do not think i can do these facts justice with mortal words. Behind each throne, sat a door. But these doors were not like the thrones. They were all the exact same, simple white rectangles with golden knobs. At this point, a single door opened, behind a throne that looked like it was comosed out of speakers, musical instruments, earhorns, and other sound-associated parephanelia. Through the door walked a man, shaped like a barrel of lard, if you will pardon the metaphor. He wore an elaborate white gown, embroidered with an entire song. He had a shaved head, squinting eyes, and a fat, frog-like mouth. Behind him came a meek, slight man in a simple white garment. It consisted of a pair of trousers, ripped and torn beneath the mid-calf, and a ragged, yellowed shirt. The man himself was very much unremarkable. He was slightly below average height, about forty, with a slim build, glasses, and short hair. He stood next to his master as the giant man sat down in the throne. It groaned under his weight, but held, and the slight man winced. The fat man, oblivious, spoke out in a musical voice that sounded better that most expert singers with years of training and experience. “Sotto, bring food.” Sotto looked puzzled and more than a little disapproving. “You know you’re not supposed to eat during a sanctioned meeting.” The portly man scowled “Sotto. Food.” He replied arrogantly. Sotto submitted. “Yes, milord.” He presented

a plate of gourmet shrimp, with a side of fries, for some reason. “Ahh, lovely. Now, when will the other princes get here?”, possibly wondering how long he had to wolf down the food before a figure of authority took it. Just then, another door opened, behind a solid gold throne, with a single heart engraved on the back and the armrests. Other than these facts, the throne was unremarkable. Through the door walked a young, blond boy, in a blue school uniform, with large brown eyes and a mischevious grin. He was followed by a woman in her early thirties, wearing a simple green sundress, with a long face and straight brown hair. She seemed to be perpetually rumpled and happy with it, like a mother or teacher of young children. “Sotto, you know youre not supposed to let the Prince of Sound eat during meetings!” The boy’s voice was as clear as a bell, with a rascally edge. Sotto smiled despite himself. “Why, yes, i’m not, young Prince. I have no idea what came over me.” The boy smirked, this exchange seeming to be a private joke between the two. “Just don’t let it happen again.” The Prince of Sound looked up, annoyed. “This is insolence, Prince of Purity! I am nearly 8 centuries your senior in princehood!” The Prince of Purity smirked. “Yes, but are you 8 centuries my senior in intelligence?” Not the best retort, but it got the job done. “Now, can we just sit and wait for the others? This bickering is becoming tiresome.” He said unreasonably, for they had only been speaking for a few minutes. The Prince of Sound realized this as well, but his piggy mind seemed to be unable to properly process it, so he just sat down fuming. Over the course of the next hour, 8 individuals arrived, taking their seats in respective thrones.

The first was an older fellow, his well-groomed hair and moustache grey with age, but his body still it top shape beneath his army uniform. He was followed by a brawny young man with an assault rifle strapped to his back, and took a seat in the fighter plane chair. After him, came a stout fellow with a bruised, round face and a crooked nose. It looked as if someone had been hurling stones at him. He was clothed in a victorian dress shirt and pair of pants, with a bowler and a bow tie. He took his place on a throne composed out of precariously piled rocks, that looked as if they would topple at the slightest touch. However, when he sat down, overall-clad, cole-stained miner at his side, the rocks held fast. After him came a Priest, gray-haired and bespectacled, with a bemused, habit-clad old nun at his side. He took a seat at a white stool, in front of a wooden podium with a silver cross on the front. After him came a grim-faced man, who looked suitibly enigmatic. He wore a green shirt, and next to him was a young woman bearing a heavy tome, and wearing a somewhat...exotic dress. He sat is a throne with a very high backrest, covered in text in an indecipherable language. After him was a man with scraggly, salt-and-pepper hair and beard. He bore a staff and a thick, gray cloak. Following him was a pilot in a dark jacket, his head covered by a flight helmet. He took his place on a car seat. After him came a woman, clothed quite scantily, every inch of skin inked in tattooes varying with hearts with arrows through them, to the word “Death” in Japanese. He was followed by a bookish man in a simple tunic, carrying a quill pen. The tatooed man sat down a chair that looked as if it had been dranched in buckets of different-colored ink. Finally, there was a thin, malnourished young man, with slicked-back, grasy hair, and grubby medieval throne. He had a wolf’s smile on his pasty face, and his gums were receded, giving the appearnce of fangs. He was followed by a haunted young girl, her simple dress and beatiful features marred by dirt. He sat on a throne that look as if had been made in a junkyard by imbeciles, composed of fabric and a sharp, jutting metal frame.

“Now, it seems as if we are all here, ah?” Came the french-accented voice of the latest arrival.

“Not quite.” Replied the military man, in a gravelly tenor. “The Harlot has yet to come.”

“Ah, of course. That one. It always had a flair for dramtic arrival.” Just at that moment, the last door, behind the velvet-and-gold throne, flew open. From it came a golden glow. Out of it walked the last of these people. However, unlike them, this person had no definite appearance. Their body shifted and swirled, changing infinitely, one second with black hair, the next with brown, one second male, the next female, you get the idea. She was followed by pair of young people, a man and a woman. They were both concrete in tehir appearance, but they were the most beautiful people you will ever see. They had faces so similar, they may be twins. The boy was slim, and leanly build, with luscious blond hair and a cocky smile. He had a boyish charm about him. The girl was slim, somewhat...well-endowed, with long blonde hair and a graceful charm. The shifting individual took a seat on the gold-and-velvet throne, the beatiful twins at either side. The transforming mouth opened, and spoke, a voice clear and constant. “Now, it seems as if we are all present. Can we move on with this?” The frenchman chuckled “you are on to talk, Prince of Harlots.” The Prince of Harlots fixed him with a cold stare. “At least i speak in a manner associated with my age, instead of adopting the modern rabble they speak with now, Prince of Rats.” The Prince of Purity chuckled. “You two always act like a cat and a dog. I think you both just need a metaphorical tummy rub.” Before either of the outraged princes could reply in kind, the Prince of Purity yelled in a disproportionately commanding and loud voice , which sounded as if it came from all directions, not just the boy’s mouth“LET THE CONVERGANCE OF PRINCES BEGIN!” Suddenly, from the middle of the clock, there was an incredubly bright flash, and all of the princes sat up,completetly rigid. “MATTER THE FIRST!” Came the voice of the Prince of Purity. “HAVE WE ANY GUESSES AS TO TEH IDENTITY OF THE LAST REMAINING PRINCE?” He gestured to a throne that looked as if has made out of pure shadow and spattered with blood. The armrests were tipped with skulls, and it had an abnormally high backrest, with lots of ragged edges and an embossed screaming face that looked almost real. The man in the Question-mark throne raised his hand. “PRINCE OF SECRETS! SPEAK!” The Prince of Secrets lowered his hand “My research into the thrones of past princes have led me to two conclusions: Either the future prince will be The Prince of Suffering, or The Prince of Vengeance, based off of the features of the throne.” The Prince of Purity nodded. “THANK YOU. YOUR CONTRIBUTION IS RECOGONIZED. NOW, ONTO OTHER PRESSING MATTERS.....”

Computer engineer Oliver “Ol” Abernathy was pissed. Ol had had a very, very important meeting he had scheduled his day around, cancelling going out to celebrate his friend of 19 years publishing a book, which had been this friend’s lifelong dream. That is, until the CEO he had been going to have the lunch with had cancelled, the ass! Now he had a clear day, almost a foreign concept in recent weeks. He had no idea what to do, so he decided to go down to his favourite coffee shop. He could use the exercise, so he walked. Down Rowan Street, turn the corner, past the video shop. He could use a good movie right now, actually. Maybe Ol would swing by after he got his coffee. As he walked, Ol passed a woman, the most beutiful he had ever seen. She had everything he looked for in a woman: Green eyes, red hair, even glasses, She loked at him and smiled. He blinked, and she was gone. Nothing there. Just your head pulling tricks on you, Ol. He thoughth. He realized he was frozen When he arrived, he took a window seat and ordered a cappuchino. The city was boring, he thought. The same old boring cars driving down the same old boring streets to the same old boring parking lots so the same old boring men and women could go to the same old boring jobs, each of them cogs in the collective, societal machine. The thought struck him as amusing, considering he was probably including himself in the “Same old boring men and women.” He sucked from his recently deliverd cappuchino, deep in thought, when he saw the same woman from before, walking past. She looked to the side, caught his eye, and smiled. Ol quickly got up, pulling on his jacket and leaving money on the table. He chased after the woman, losing her around a corner. He turned, prepared to do home, defeated, and saw her vanish into a tiny shop. He sprinted across the street, pissing off a 30-ish woman in a silver volvo. He didn’t care, though. He had just found the love of his life. He ran into the dingy shop, and was enveloped by darkness. His excitemtent turned to fear, his eyes and ears becoming redundant in the all-consuming blackness. What if he was stuck here? What if he just eternally drifted, unable to sense? Maybe it would be like those books, where the person is imprisoned in infinite nothingness, and, with so much time on their hands, figured out the secrets of the universe. That wouldn’t be half bad. If he had someone to tell, of course. Which he didn’t. Then, just as he came to terms with it, the darkness retreated, to reveal the most beautiful room Ol had ever seen. The walls were made of some impossibly smooth, blue stone, the stained-glass ceiling held up by marble columns. Ol stood there, marvelling at it, before he noticed the redhead from before. “You!” He accused! “You teleported me! You...You....” He didn’t have the words to express his rage. The woman immediately bowed down. “I am so sorry, milord!” She said frantically. “Punish me as you see fit.” Ol immediately recoiled. “I-i’m not into that kinda stuff!” Just then, he noticed four people behind the woman. First, there was a fit, older man with gray hair and a victorian military uniform, with a younger man wearing a more modern uniform behind him. Beside them, were a stout man with wiry hair, who looked like people had been hurling stones at him. Behind that man was a thin, wiry miner, stained with coledust and clad in overalls. Then the old man spoke “Greetings, fellow Prince. I am The Prince of War, and This is The Prince of Stones.” He gestured to the man beside him. “These are our retainers, Melfraine,”He gestured to the younger man “And Hamphrey.” He gestured to the thin miner. The Prince Of Stones spoke, his voice far higher than one would have thought. “And we have been selected to pronounce you The Prince of The Damned, so blah, blah, blah, ceremony and other malarkey.” The Prince of War turned his head and scowled “Do not make a mockety of ceremony!” He said intensely. This fellow struck him as very strict and intense, perhaps meant as a foil to The Prince of Stones’s laid-back character.“Why not?” Replied The Prince of Stones lazily. “It’s not like Eir High and Mighty majesty is here to royally wallop me one. Here, kid. Take this. You’ll need to read it. You have a whole 3 month grace period to do it, though.” He handed Ol a scroll. “O-ho-ho-ho-kaaaay.” He said. “Now, I have no idea what this is about, with Princes and other things, but i am most certainly not of royalty. And what’s this about a grace period?” The Prince of Stones put his head in his hands, which looked significantly painful. “Well, friend you seem to have drawn the short straw. You’ve been the last elected prince, meaning you have a whole of 3 months to get acquainted with your powers.” “B-” The Prince of Stones gestured to the scroll. “Read” Deciding to call the short man’s bluff, he opened the scroll, and was suddenly engulfed in words. A few paragraphs completely immersed his being, becoming the only thing he could sense. What they said was

Hello! You have been elected Prince of the Damned, a very important position! Now, before you can assume your role as a competitor for the throne of god, you must be farmiliarized with the world you will be living in until your inevitable demise (Current chance: 97.871%) Or victory! (Current chance: 2.129%)

Well, that was encouraging.

Part 1: The basics

In the beginning, there was a Lord On High, the first being ever to exist. He found himself lonely and bored, and thus crated wht you now know as the multiverse! He soon became bored again, and decided to create great conflicts on planets that caught his eye. He would bring children into being, to assume roles he had pre-determined. After a few million years, however, he found he was eroding, in body and mind. His emotions were out of control, he was destroying entire timelines on a whim, and generally being a bit of an ass. He then decided to create the ultimae conflict. Out of his favourite planet, He took 12 individuals, giving them powers relating to concepts on that planet, and naming them ¨¥ƒç√∆∆˙, or, in your language, Princes. They then battled it out for the throne, with him watching the whole time. Finally, one came out on top, just as the former god died, and took the throne. Sadly he noticed the same problem. Before that however, he created The Princely Institute of Records, where journals of the games, compiled by the Princes would go, for future reference by future Princes, to, in his words, “Spice things up a bit.”

That was a lot of commas.

This has gone on, as a viscious cycle, for trillions of years, with each Lord On High becoming less and less perfect. A copy of a copy, you may call it.

Part 2owers

This scroll is not permitted to explain your powers past a very vague description. Your powers include: Empathy and damnation.

Part 3:Competition!

*=You

This is a list of princes, from greatest chance of winning to least.

Prince of Rats

Prince of Harlots

Prince of War

Prince of Purity

Prince of Secrets

Prince of Sound

Prince of Faith

Prince of Thought

Prince of Paths

Prince of Stones

Prince of Pens

*Prince of the Damned

Most of those don’t sound too bad. I mean, Prince of Purity? What’s he gonna do? And The Prince of Secrets? Is he gonna tell my high-school crush that i like her? Though i have a justified bad feeling that my name is more than a little foreshadowing.

It is, but not in the way you think!

Wait, what?

Oh, I apologize. This scroll was compiled thousands of years in advance for you, and knows exactly what you’re going to say.

Alright. If nothing else convinced me, that did.

Good!

Conclusion

We hope that this scroll was very enriching, and wish you luck on your seemingly ill-fated journey to become the Lord on High.

Wait! if you can predict the future, can’t you just predict the future Lord?

That was expressly forbidden by more powerful lords long ago. Goodbye, and good luck!

Wait! Stop! I have so many questions! I-

And then everything gave way to a very welcoming black.

:P (Lick) — Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

A ton of people *Coughnotrealpeoplecough* told me to put up something, so here you go. Happy now?

On another star, in another galaxy, there was a clock. A giant clock, the size of a large room. Now, this was no normal clock. This was a meeting clock. At each number, there was a throne, each vastly different from the others. One was comprised of scrap metal and ragged cloth. The next, however was beautiful, with a gold frame and red velvet pillows, intricately embroidered with scenes of a peaceful forest. After that, there was a seat that looked like it was pulled from a fighter plane, complete with a steering wheel, and so on. This clock had been in use for years, decades, millenia even. By who, or more accurately, what, i do not care to explain. I do not think i can do these facts justice with mortal words. Behind each throne, sat a door. But these doors were not like the thrones. They were all the exact same, simple white rectangles with golden knobs. At this point, a single door opened, behind a throne that looked like it was comosed out of speakers, musical instruments, earhorns, and other sound-associated parephanelia. Through the door walked a man, shaped like a barrel of lard, if you will pardon the metaphor. He wore an elaborate white gown, embroidered with an entire song. He had a shaved head, squinting eyes, and a fat, frog-like mouth. Behind him came a meek, slight man in a simple white garment. It consisted of a pair of trousers, ripped and torn beneath the mid-calf, and a ragged, yellowed shirt. The man himself was very much unremarkable. He was slightly below average height, about forty, with a slim build, glasses, and short hair. He stood next to his master as the giant man sat down in the throne. It groaned under his weight, but held, and the slight man winced. The fat man, oblivious, spoke out in a musical voice that sounded better that most expert singers with years of training and experience. “Sotto, bring food.” Sotto looked puzzled and more than a little disapproving. “You know you’re not supposed to eat during a sanctioned meeting.” The portly man scowled “Sotto. Food.” He replied arrogantly. Sotto submitted. “Yes, milord.” He presented

a plate of gourmet shrimp, with a side of fries, for some reason. “Ahh, lovely. Now, when will the other princes get here?”, possibly wondering how long he had to wolf down the food before a figure of authority took it. Just then, another door opened, behind a solid gold throne, with a single heart engraved on the back and the armrests. Other than these facts, the throne was unremarkable. Through the door walked a young, blond boy, in a blue school uniform, with large brown eyes and a mischevious grin. He was followed by a woman in her early thirties, wearing a simple green sundress, with a long face and straight brown hair. She seemed to be perpetually rumpled and happy with it, like a mother or teacher of young children. “Sotto, you know youre not supposed to let the Prince of Sound eat during meetings!” The boy’s voice was as clear as a bell, with a rascally edge. Sotto smiled despite himself. “Why, yes, i’m not, young Prince. I have no idea what came over me.” The boy smirked, this exchange seeming to be a private joke between the two. “Just don’t let it happen again.” The Prince of Sound looked up, annoyed. “This is insolence, Prince of Purity! I am nearly 8 centuries your senior in princehood!” The Prince of Purity smirked. “Yes, but are you 8 centuries my senior in intelligence?” Not the best retort, but it got the job done. “Now, can we just sit and wait for the others? This bickering is becoming tiresome.” He said unreasonably, for they had only been speaking for a few minutes. The Prince of Sound realized this as well, but his piggy mind seemed to be unable to properly process it, so he just sat down fuming. Over the course of the next hour, 8 individuals arrived, taking their seats in respective thrones.

The first was an older fellow, his well-groomed hair and moustache grey with age, but his body still it top shape beneath his army uniform. He was followed by a brawny young man with an assault rifle strapped to his back, and took a seat in the fighter plane chair. After him, came a stout fellow with a bruised, round face and a crooked nose. It looked as if someone had been hurling stones at him. He was clothed in a victorian dress shirt and pair of pants, with a bowler and a bow tie. He took his place on a throne composed out of precariously piled rocks, that looked as if they would topple at the slightest touch. However, when he sat down, overall-clad, cole-stained miner at his side, the rocks held fast. After him came a Priest, gray-haired and bespectacled, with a bemused, habit-clad old nun at his side. He took a seat at a white stool, in front of a wooden podium with a silver cross on the front. After him came a grim-faced man, who looked suitibly enigmatic. He wore a green shirt, and next to him was a young woman bearing a heavy tome, and wearing a somewhat...exotic dress. He sat is a throne with a very high backrest, covered in text in an indecipherable language. After him was a man with scraggly, salt-and-pepper hair and beard. He bore a staff and a thick, gray cloak. Following him was a pilot in a dark jacket, his head covered by a flight helmet. He took his place on a car seat. After him came a woman, clothed quite scantily, every inch of skin inked in tattooes varying with hearts with arrows through them, to the word “Death” in Japanese. He was followed by a bookish man in a simple tunic, carrying a quill pen. The tatooed man sat down a chair that looked as if it had been dranched in buckets of different-colored ink. Finally, there was a thin, malnourished young man, with slicked-back, grasy hair, and grubby medieval throne. He had a wolf’s smile on his pasty face, and his gums were receded, giving the appearnce of fangs. He was followed by a haunted young girl, her simple dress and beatiful features marred by dirt. He sat on a throne that look as if had been made in a junkyard by imbeciles, composed of fabric and a sharp, jutting metal frame.

“Now, it seems as if we are all here, ah?” Came the french-accented voice of the latest arrival.

“Not quite.” Replied the military man, in a gravelly tenor. “The Harlot has yet to come.”

“Ah, of course. That one. It always had a flair for dramtic arrival.” Just at that moment, the last door, behind the velvet-and-gold throne, flew open. From it came a golden glow. Out of it walked the last of these people. However, unlike them, this person had no definite appearance. Their body shifted and swirled, changing infinitely, one second with black hair, the next with brown, one second male, the next female, you get the idea. She was followed by pair of young people, a man and a woman. They were both concrete in tehir appearance, but they were the most beautiful people you will ever see. They had faces so similar, they may be twins. The boy was slim, and leanly build, with luscious blond hair and a cocky smile. He had a boyish charm about him. The girl was slim, somewhat...well-endowed, with long blonde hair and a graceful charm. The shifting individual took a seat on the gold-and-velvet throne, the beatiful twins at either side. The transforming mouth opened, and spoke, a voice clear and constant. “Now, it seems as if we are all present. Can we move on with this?” The frenchman chuckled “you are on to talk, Prince of Harlots.” The Prince of Harlots fixed him with a cold stare. “At least i speak in a manner associated with my age, instead of adopting the modern rabble they speak with now, Prince of Rats.” The Prince of Purity chuckled. “You two always act like a cat and a dog. I think you both just need a metaphorical tummy rub.” Before either of the outraged princes could reply in kind, the Prince of Purity yelled in a disproportionately commanding and loud voice , which sounded as if it came from all directions, not just the boy’s mouth“LET THE CONVERGANCE OF PRINCES BEGIN!” Suddenly, from the middle of the clock, there was an incredubly bright flash, and all of the princes sat up,completetly rigid. “MATTER THE FIRST!” Came the voice of the Prince of Purity. “HAVE WE ANY GUESSES AS TO TEH IDENTITY OF THE LAST REMAINING PRINCE?” He gestured to a throne that looked as if has made out of pure shadow and spattered with blood. The armrests were tipped with skulls, and it had an abnormally high backrest, with lots of ragged edges and an embossed screaming face that looked almost real. The man in the Question-mark throne raised his hand. “PRINCE OF SECRETS! SPEAK!” The Prince of Secrets lowered his hand “My research into the thrones of past princes have led me to two conclusions: Either the future prince will be The Prince of Suffering, or The Prince of Vengeance, based off of the features of the throne.” The Prince of Purity nodded. “THANK YOU. YOUR CONTRIBUTION IS RECOGONIZED. NOW, ONTO OTHER PRESSING MATTERS.....”

Computer engineer Oliver “Ol” Abernathy was pissed. Ol had had a very, very important meeting he had scheduled his day around, cancelling going out to celebrate his friend of 19 years publishing a book, which had been this friend’s lifelong dream. That is, until the CEO he had been going to have the lunch with had cancelled, the ass! Now he had a clear day, almost a foreign concept in recent weeks. He had no idea what to do, so he decided to go down to his favourite coffee shop. He could use the exercise, so he walked. Down Rowan Street, turn the corner, past the video shop. He could use a good movie right now, actually. Maybe Ol would swing by after he got his coffee. As he walked, Ol passed a woman, the most beutiful he had ever seen. She had everything he looked for in a woman: Green eyes, red hair, even glasses, She loked at him and smiled. He blinked, and she was gone. Nothing there. Just your head pulling tricks on you, Ol. He thoughth. He realized he was frozen When he arrived, he took a window seat and ordered a cappuchino. The city was boring, he thought. The same old boring cars driving down the same old boring streets to the same old boring parking lots so the same old boring men and women could go to the same old boring jobs, each of them cogs in the collective, societal machine. The thought struck him as amusing, considering he was probably including himself in the “Same old boring men and women.” He sucked from his recently deliverd cappuchino, deep in thought, when he saw the same woman from before, walking past. She looked to the side, caught his eye, and smiled. Ol quickly got up, pulling on his jacket and leaving money on the table. He chased after the woman, losing her around a corner. He turned, prepared to do home, defeated, and saw her vanish into a tiny shop. He sprinted across the street, pissing off a 30-ish woman in a silver volvo. He didn’t care, though. He had just found the love of his life. He ran into the dingy shop, and was enveloped by darkness. His excitemtent turned to fear, his eyes and ears becoming redundant in the all-consuming blackness. What if he was stuck here? What if he just eternally drifted, unable to sense? Maybe it would be like those books, where the person is imprisoned in infinite nothingness, and, with so much time on their hands, figured out the secrets of the universe. That wouldn’t be half bad. If he had someone to tell, of course. Which he didn’t. Then, just as he came to terms with it, the darkness retreated, to reveal the most beautiful room Ol had ever seen. The walls were made of some impossibly smooth, blue stone, the stained-glass ceiling held up by marble columns. Ol stood there, marvelling at it, before he noticed the redhead from before. “You!” He accused! “You teleported me! You...You....” He didn’t have the words to express his rage. The woman immediately bowed down. “I am so sorry, milord!” She said frantically. “Punish me as you see fit.” Ol immediately recoiled. “I-i’m not into that kinda stuff!” Just then, he noticed four people behind the woman. First, there was a fit, older man with gray hair and a victorian military uniform, with a younger man wearing a more modern uniform behind him. Beside them, were a stout man with wiry hair, who looked like people had been hurling stones at him. Behind that man was a thin, wiry miner, stained with coledust and clad in overalls. Then the old man spoke “Greetings, fellow Prince. I am The Prince of War, and This is The Prince of Stones.” He gestured to the man beside him. “These are our retainers, Melfraine,”He gestured to the younger man “And Hamphrey.” He gestured to the thin miner. The Prince Of Stones spoke, his voice far higher than one would have thought. “And we have been selected to pronounce you The Prince of The Damned, so blah, blah, blah, ceremony and other malarkey.” The Prince of War turned his head and scowled “Do not make a mockety of ceremony!” He said intensely. This fellow struck him as very strict and intense, perhaps meant as a foil to The Prince of Stones’s laid-back character.“Why not?” Replied The Prince of Stones lazily. “It’s not like Eir High and Mighty majesty is here to royally wallop me one. Here, kid. Take this. You’ll need to read it. You have a whole 3 month grace period to do it, though.” He handed Ol a scroll. “O-ho-ho-ho-kaaaay.” He said. “Now, I have no idea what this is about, with Princes and other things, but i am most certainly not of royalty. And what’s this about a grace period?” The Prince of Stones put his head in his hands, which looked significantly painful. “Well, friend you seem to have drawn the short straw. You’ve been the last elected prince, meaning you have a whole of 3 months to get acquainted with your powers.” “B-” The Prince of Stones gestured to the scroll. “Read” Deciding to call the short man’s bluff, he opened the scroll, and was suddenly engulfed in words. A few paragraphs completely immersed his being, becoming the only thing he could sense. What they said was

Hello! You have been elected Prince of the Damned, a very important position! Now, before you can assume your role as a competitor for the throne of god, you must be farmiliarized with the world you will be living in until your inevitable demise (Current chance: 97.871%) Or victory! (Current chance: 2.129%)

Well, that was encouraging.

Part 1: The basics

In the beginning, there was a Lord On High, the first being ever to exist. He found himself lonely and bored, and thus crated wht you now know as the multiverse! He soon became bored again, and decided to create great conflicts on planets that caught his eye. He would bring children into being, to assume roles he had pre-determined. After a few million years, however, he found he was eroding, in body and mind. His emotions were out of control, he was destroying entire timelines on a whim, and generally being a bit of an ass. He then decided to create the ultimae conflict. Out of his favourite planet, He took 12 individuals, giving them powers relating to concepts on that planet, and naming them ¨¥ƒç√∆∆˙, or, in your language, Princes. They then battled it out for the throne, with him watching the whole time. Finally, one came out on top, just as the former god died, and took the throne. Sadly he noticed the same problem. Before that however, he created The Princely Institute of Records, where journals of the games, compiled by the Princes would go, for future reference by future Princes, to, in his words, “Spice things up a bit.”

That was a lot of commas.

This has gone on, as a viscious cycle, for trillions of years, with each Lord On High becoming less and less perfect. A copy of a copy, you may call it.

Part 2owers

This scroll is not permitted to explain your powers past a very vague description. Your powers include: Empathy and damnation.

Part 3:Competition!

*=You

This is a list of princes, from greatest chance of winning to least.

Prince of Rats

Prince of Harlots

Prince of War

Prince of Purity

Prince of Secrets

Prince of Sound

Prince of Faith

Prince of Thought

Prince of Paths

Prince of Stones

Prince of Pens

*Prince of the Damned

Most of those don’t sound too bad. I mean, Prince of Purity? What’s he gonna do? And The Prince of Secrets? Is he gonna tell my high-school crush that i like her? Though i have a justified bad feeling that my name is more than a little foreshadowing.

It is, but not in the way you think!

Wait, what?

Oh, I apologize. This scroll was compiled thousands of years in advance for you, and knows exactly what you’re going to say.

Alright. If nothing else convinced me, that did.

Good!

Conclusion

We hope that this scroll was very enriching, and wish you luck on your seemingly ill-fated journey to become the Lord on High.

Wait! if you can predict the future, can’t you just predict the future Lord?

That was expressly forbidden by more powerful lords long ago. Goodbye, and good luck!

Wait! Stop! I have so many questions! I-

And then everything gave way to a very welcoming black.