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Weekly Contest #347
The metal clinked neglectfully on the floor at the front of the cell. Heylir shrieked in desperation for his prize. His chain would not let him get close enough as his teeth chipped on the cobblestone floor. The pinicale prize of noroball, the Premier Championship was his. And this guard droppped it like he was discarding an empty pint of ale. "Hey! Don't dent it!" Heylir cried hoarsely. Of course, the drop wouldn't dent it. That trophy was made of the finest metals, pulled right from the mine beneath the city. Tough and beautiful, the most ...
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