[ WP ] The world is about to end , and you 're the only hope humanity has . There 's just one problem . You 're a chicken .

The Bane of Kings, the Harbinger of Death himself, has returned. Some thought him a myth, merely a legend to entertain children, but now the tales have proven to be much more than lore. Only the Chosen One, a man with the body of flesh but the soul of magic, can stop him. 
 
 But alas, this man is no brave warrior. Alas, this man is no staunch mage. Alas, this man is no cunning knave. This man knows one trade, one way: the Way of the Drunkard. 
 
 Talbjorn, a man of about thirty, has lived in my village for many years. Nobody knows where he came from, but he stumbled into town with an arrow in the calf some years ago and has since remained. He does n't speak much, nor does he act much, only wastes his days traversing this sleepy village. Some days he looks to work the forge, others he hunts for pelts, but most days he simply drinks. 
 
 His wound has left him a near cripple, a noticeable gimp in his walk, and his poor routine has not done wonders for his health. Since his arrival, he's gone from a dashing young man with the strength of ten men to an obese sycophant who can barely carry his own weight. While many, including he, seem to think him a wounded animal, an old horse than can no longer pull his cart, I know better. I have studied him on his hunts, seen his expert marksmanship and proficiency with an ax against all manner of nature's worst, and yet he has stayed in this sleep village among the common rabble rather than continuing his adventures. 
 
 While it may not seem like it, this laziness and gluttony will lead to the world's demise. With the return of the Great Harbinger, the world as we know it will not be safe until the Chosen One can slay him. This is why I must get this man back on his feet and into action, out questing and gallivanting across the plains and tundras and in shape to face such a foe. I must convince him to leave this village and out on the path to his destiny, before it is too late. 
 
 Why have I not told him this? I am a chicken. No, not afraid, for I am of the noblest, wisest and boldest of my kind; I am a literal chicken. 
 
 I laid and nested for years, watching this once great warrior as he crumbled into but a husky shadow of his former self, until one day opportunity struck and I hatched an idea. 
 
 Wolves. A whole pack of the dastards came bolting into town. There were no guards, for the village was too small and isolated for such luxuries, and so the townspeople are left to defend for themselves. The local men and women took up arms against the feral beasts, but alas, these villagers were no warriors. 
 
 As the casualties grew, Talbjorn awoke from his slumber and let instinct take over. He drew his bow and put down a wolf with a single shot before emptying his quiver into several others. When he ran out of arrows, the newly able warrior grabbed an ax from a fallen villager, ironically the barkeep who'd served him ale for years, and went headfirst into the pack swinging away. 
 
 I watched as the warrior cut them down with savage blows. While he was powerful, Talbjorn has not as much of a finesse player with his ax as he was with his bow. On multiple occasions, he nearly struck down an ally with his berserk blows. 
 
 This was my chance. I had always been one of the noblest and fairest of chickens, my feathers never ruffled and my peak always clean. I could lay eggs on command, as if by magic, and had faithfully served my town no matter the hardships they had faced. I was loved and respected by all, despite my status as a mere bird, yet I always knew I was destined for something greater. 
 
 Perhaps I was the Chosen One as well. 
 
 I flew, not literally of course, into the heat of battle. As Talbjorn swung his ax downward in an attempt to behead one of the final wolves, I intercepted. Instead, his red wet blade met my tender breasts. 
 
 As I felt his ax crush my frail body and my life fade out, I knew I had won. I had done my duty. 
 
 I watched from the Heavens as the village went into shock. Their prized bird had just been slain in cold blood, indeed a crime most fowl. The villagers turned away from the wolves and united against their common enemy, the forsaken one. After attempting to fend off attacks from all sides, women and wolves alike seeking to rip his flesh, Talbjorn fled into the wilderness. 
 
 He could no longer return to his cushy life as a drunkard, now an outcast from society. Years ago he thought his adventure had ended, but alas, it was just beginning.
