The ancient bard settled more comfortably into his furs and breathed in deeply. The air held the scent of pine needles, campfire smoke, and eager anticipation.
His audience held their breaths with rapt attention, awaiting the bard’s words of adventure, beauty, and wisdom.
The bard opened his mouth to begin…
@gameking218: “I forgot the Smores,” he said. Everyone up and left.
@VikkieTheMimm: …but alas, he’d lost his voice. Darn that Mage Flu.
What happens next? Write your own conclusion to this story and either write in a comment or send it to me via Twitter at @50wordstories. Your conclusion must be ten words or less!
I’ll add in responses as I receive them, though I may make some edits of my own before including them.