In the chaos-infested realm known only as James's Garage, one man faces the tide of empty cardboard boxes, forgotten furniture, old shoes that only kind of fit, abandoned bicycles, a bag of some unholy abomination labeled "s'mores flavored coffee" left by an old roommate and slightly mauled by a wild animal that lived in here for a little bit, what might actually be a dead possum (presumably deceased because he ate the s'mores flavored coffee), and more old shoes (marked by a trickling trail of evidence that seems to support the previous hypothesis)…
One man prepares to PURGE.
Our first opponent appears…
It's a Waterstained 8 Foot Wide Furniture Box from the COVID years!
Alignment: Plague
Hitpoints: 250
Special: Waterstain might actually be non-negligible quantities of dying possum poop.
Furniture Box uses EAT UP AN UNNECESSARY AMOUNT OF SPACE FOR FIVE YEARS.
GAH! It's super effective!
Fortunately, we are prepared.
Fleamarket ninja sword from 2003, activate!
IT'S NOT VERY EFFECTIVE!
…Apparently, the box possesses an elemental strength against fleamarket slashing damage.
We have no choice but to REND IT WITH OUR BARE HANDS.
(Apparently, being filled with righteous fury makes my hands look like hairless cats' butts? ...You learn something new every day.)
AS THE LORDS OF BATTLE INTENDED.
(The rending part, not the hairless-cat-butt part. At least, I think. Who can fathom the minds of the battle lords?)
AND THEY SHALL KNOW US BY THE TRAIL OF THE DEAD.
Let that be a lesson to the rest of you…
Except for you, water damage Sonic the Hedgehog Pinball machine box. You hold too many childhood memories.
And you, He-Man Landshark box art. You're going up on the wall because I'm too cheap to buy a poster.
And you, stack of interestingly shaped appliance packaging. You look too much like a space fortress to not be made into Battle-Tech terrain.
And you, Bubba. You have tenure.
Yup, another ruthless purge successfully executed.
Our quasi-effectual hero returns to his resting place in the very well organized tool/sword/Tiki-torch-fuel pile, there to slumber until the world calls on him once more…
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