green flag = play remixed project = play animation = remix = rule break = i can't read
Most Exalted and Eternally Radiant Sovereign of the Illuminated Halls of Wisdom, Keeper of the Sacred Scrolls, Defender of the Eternal Ink, and Grand Arbiter of All Letters Both Great and Small, It is with a spirit most burdened, and with a heart heavier than ten thousand anvils forged in the deepest furnaces beneath the mountains of the ancient realm, that I humbly approach Thy Most Resplendent Presence. For many moons and untold seasons have I wandered through the corridors of civilization, observing the scribes at their noble labor and the scholars at their endless studies. Indeed, I have gazed upon manuscripts bound in gold and sealed with wax of crimson majesty. I have listened to monks recite ancient verses beneath cathedral ceilings so vast that even the heavens themselves appeared humbled before them. And yet, despite all such marvels bestowed upon this mortal existence, there remains within my soul a peculiar difficulty most troublesome in nature. Many physicians of intellect have attempted to understand this invisible challenge. Some claimed the stars themselves were aligned strangely against me. Others insisted that mysterious forces within forgotten libraries had tangled my destiny. A wandering alchemist once prescribed me an unusual mixture brewed from owl feathers and melted candle wax. Alas, none succeeded. For when the heralds present decrees before me, I smile and nod with the confidence expected of a nobleman. When maps are unfurled before the councils of learned men, I brush my beard thoughtfully as though deciphering hidden truths. When contracts, proclamations, and sacred commandments are delivered unto my chamber, I hold them upside down with astonishing dignity. Such performances, though admirable in theatrical merit, have grown exhausting beyond measure. There are whispers within the kingdom. Murmurs among servants. Suspicion among advisors. Even the royal pigeons appear increasingly judgmental. Yesterday, a child of merely seven winters handed me a parchment and awaited my response. I pretended to study it carefully for nearly an hour. It was later revealed to be a drawing of a goat wearing armor. The embarrassment still echoes through my spirit like thunder rolling across distant valleys. Thus have I become masterful in the art of diversion. Should a document be presented, I immediately request water. Should another insist upon immediate interpretation of written symbols, I begin discussing military strategy. Should urgency persist, I simply point toward the horizon and declare that storms approach. This technique has proven remarkably effective during smaller gatherings. Regrettably, it becomes less reliable during literacy examinations. Not a fortnight ago, I attended a banquet hosted by the Duke of Eastern Marshes. There, amidst roasted pheasant and songs performed by bards of questionable sobriety, a scholar requested that I examine a sentence inscribed upon a banner. I stared upon the markings with the intensity of a warrior confronting a dragon. In truth, the symbols resembled decorative worms. The scholar waited. The musicians stopped playing. Even the candles seemed to flicker in anticipation. At last, in desperation most profound, I declared the script “philosophically provocative.” The audience applauded. To this very day, I know not what was written. Perhaps it was poetry. Perhaps it was a recipe for soup. Perhaps it merely warned guests not to touch the curtains. Such mysteries remain forever beyond my grasp. And so I continue onward through this grand and bewildering existence, armored not in steel but in improvisation. Each sunrise brings fresh terror in the shape of letters. Each sunset concludes another battle narrowly survived through distraction and excessive confidence. Yet hope, that stubborn lantern of mankind, refuses to perish entirely within my weary heart. For surely, in this vast kingdom of enlightened minds and miraculous inventions, there must exist somewhere a guiding manuscript. A sacred instruction. I shall nod solemnly at meaningless squiggles. And may destiny, in all its infinite mercy, eventually provide clearer instructions regarding whatever confusing system everyone else appears to comprehend so effortlessly. -- music - spongebob's chase theme mixed with killing moon (street fighter).
