Is this a Jojo's reference in the wild I see? (Jojo's bizarre adventure... series of people named JOJO goin through life... usually fighting Dio or his minions)

Gandalf saves hogwarts and dumbledore gets everyone killed

> I'm an Istari. A Maia of Yavanna. But that's too much backstory.

lmao

The allure of knowledge and power should not have been forgotten, especially concerning those who have both the ambition and prowess to usurp it. When the Council of Rivendale agreed to trade Gandalf for Albus Dumbledore, it initially seemed a wise course of action. Gandalf would go to Magical England to inspire the wizarding community to rally against the evil of Lord Voldemort, while Dumbledore would use his unmatched magical abilities to defeat the hordes of Mordor and aid the ring bearer in his journey to the fires of Mount Doom.

Ever faithful to his task, Gandalf diligently pursued his task; however, in Rivendale, the folly of their trade was made apparent as the council briefed Dumbledore on the expedition. Behind those half-moon glasses was an arrogant and foolhardy man. For he saw the ring not as a burden for others to carry, but as a problem that he could overcome himself. In his eyes, there was no magic strong enough to overpower him.

The opportunistic ring shattered the necklace holding it captive by Frodo, flying towards the wizard’s blackened hand at the simple word, Accio. At that instant, a revelation crossed Dumbledore’s mind: not only would he rend the forces of evil in Middle Earth, but he would do the same in England. None could stand in his way. With a pop, the wizard vanished, leaving the fellowship stunned.

Few know where he... No, them... Came from. A single man, in a kahki shirt and shorts, a belly, rugged leather boots. Spoke in a funny, yet very distinct accent, calling itself "Oem Yan". He simply arrived from all the corners, a human from a tiny spec known as SOL-3.

No he wasn't the first of his species, this "Oem Yan", there were many humans before him although all individuals. No, this... This man according to rumours were hit by a stray tourist vessil travelling through, well... Not quite reality, hit him somehow, and he's just been appearing everywhere.

What's more terrifying is his aptitude for consuming large quantities of terran fuel, his carelessness about sun radiation, the sheer volume of acids and poisons that would kill colonies he'd pour over his "Braai", they called it.

The man walked onto any battlefield, raise his kinetic rifle and simply take down any before him... Them. So many of him. All at once.

"Hey Boetman, yor beer is getting waarm, and I didn't put any pepper on de Braai tonaait, know yous can't have dat."

I smiled, nodded. Our escape pod crashed onto the nearest planet, waiting for rescue, and this... Afrikaner, this human with his exposed face, legs and arms managed to build us a fire near the pod and has spent the last two hours skinning wildlife and drinking his "beer" next to the fire. I won't lie the smell is growing on me. As much as an anomaly and prone to danger these humans are, I'd rather be stuck with one than without. I wonder how his copies are doing, fighting our wars in the stars? I look up and see a shooting star turning towards us. I almost hope to see more Oem Yans on this rescue vessil. I'd like to hear more about the "plaas" (which I presume to mean farm) they're from.

“Hey idiot! Mozart called. He said he wanted his hairstyle back. You better get walking or else I’m going to write a requiem with your blood.” The sword barked, trying to force its way out of the sheathe. Barry kept one hand on the handle, keeping it shoved into the sheathe, giving an awkward smile to the biker who had turned around in the burger shop line.

“Did you compare me to Mozart?” The man huffed, his whiskey infused breath nearly suffocating him. Barry held his breath when the buff biker leaned over, poking a meaty finger into his chest.

“What? No, I would never. Must have been a misunderstanding. I was talking on the phone, and I think you overheard it. I was talking to my mother. Ha…” Barry glanced away after he said that, trying to look as innocent as possible. The man squinted before turning back in the line.

“YEAH, I SAID MOZART YOU IDIOT. Although if your hearing is that bad, maybe I should call you Beethoven. Or maybe Beat-hoven would be more fitting since I’ll be beating you to a pulp. No symphony alive could bring you any ode to joy after I’m done with you.”

“THAT DOES IT.” The man turned around, his cheeks red and his hairy chest puffed out. The Bikers’ hands squeezing the air as if he was already imagining how he would choke the life out of Barry. “I could have taken being compared to Bach or Stravinsky, but Mozart? That’s just the easy choice that every halfwit knows.”

“Wait, it isn’t me. I swear. It’s my sword. It’s cursed to search for fights. All throughout history, it’s only known battle. This sword being owned by bloodthirsty tyrants. This is the first time it’s seen the world in hundreds of years. It doesn’t understand times have changed. People don’t fight for glory anymore.”

Barry revealed the sword, a beautiful blue tinted blade with a shine that was almost blinding. It held a nostalgic aura to anyone that saw it, as though anyone whose eyes glanced upon it could recall seeing the sword in a history book or museum. Perhaps in a statue of Alexander the great or the grave of an ancient spartan king. The sight caused the biker to pause, admiring the blade.

“Your mom gave me that same look last night.” The sword taunted, studying the insults of this era whenever it had the chance. The words had a different tone to them, but to the biker, it just sounded like Barry was putting on a different voice, doing a strange ventriloquist act. Once again, his rage grew, and Barry found himself face down on the concrete with his forehead bleeding and the world around him spinning.

Thankfully, the man had left after giving Barry a powerful right hook, storming off before any security or police might have showed up. The other people in the line didn’t help Barry, just watching as he picked himself up, snatching a few napkins from a table before walking out.

“What the hell was that about?”

“I was trying to get you a taste for blood. How was it? Feel ready to slaughter his bloodline? I can give you his address.”

“What? No! Why would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s my purpose. I fight and slaughter. I’m the one who made empires crumble and I don’t plan to lose my streak because I’m bonded with a coward. If I could bond with you, that means that someone in your bloodline was a ruthless killer. I’ll draw that part of them out of you.”

“Do you understand how insane that sounds? You can’t draw something out of me. Haven’t you heard of nature vs nurture?”

“What? More insane than a person who's bleeding and talking to a sword?”

Barry paused, noticing the stares he was getting from the surrounding people. He gave a sheepish nod before placing a napkin against his forehead, wincing as the napkin made contact. He whispered his next line, shifting his head closer to his chest, trying to get in earshot of the sword.

“I’m not my great great-great-grandfather or whoever you’re referring to. Humans aren’t like that anymore.”

“Humans aren’t like that anymore? Everyone’s still the same animal they were when they trapped me in the box, only difference is, people put a lot more effort into hiding that side of them now.”

Barry walked home in silence, not responding to the sword’s taunts. Whenever the sword would try to insult a passerby, he would walk a little faster, hoping they didn’t hear. He wished he could just toss the sword into a bush and leave it there, but the sword could never leave his side. As soon as it moved a few meters out of range, it would float to his side again. It was safer to carry it.

When he got home, he tossed the sword onto the floor, taking a seat on the couch. Luckily, the bleeding had slowed, and it didn’t appear the wound would need stitches. He slouched into his position, looking at the sword.

“Why are you like this?”

“I’m a weapon of war and you aren’t using me. What did you expect? Use me for my purpose willingly or I’ll force you to use me.”

Barry sighed. What could he possibly do in this situation? He thought about it before getting an idea. He put the sword in its sheathe and searched the house, finding some old soundproof panels. Barry lined a suitcase with the panels before grabbing the sword, pushing it into the suitcase.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Shutting you up.” Barry said, shoving the sword inside before doing up the suitcase. Sure, the sword would eventually cut itself free, but this was only a temporary measure. It would at least give him enough time to prepare a stronger suitcase, one that he could take with him to prevent any annoying outburst from the weapon. He was certain the sword was cursing him from inside, but for the first time since they met, Barry couldn’t hear him.

     

(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)

Timor stood at the edge of the balustrade, watching over the spectacle below. His arms trembling from fingertips up to his elbows. It wasn’t out of his own volition that he was present at one of the most violent scenes his fearful mind couldn’t have imagined. Even his worst nightmares paled in comparison to the dread that he currently experienced. It would be an understatement to say that Timor would like to be anywhere but here right now.

“Come on, Timor!” said a high pitched voice originating from a translucent blue whimsical creature that perched itself on his shoulder. “It’s now or never.”

The creature didn’t seem too bothered by the brutal onslaught in front of them. It was more preoccupied by Timor’s supposed destiny and whatnot. Never bothered asking what Timor’s input was on that destiny. If it was up to Timor, destiny could kindly fuck off and he would be having a nice cup of tea with a biscuit, somewhere in a tranquil, quiet and most of all peaceful forest, far from the nearest human congregation. Alas, Timor was born with generational magical powers that played a key part in some prophecy that fate had in tow for the kingdom he was – without his consent – birthed in. Thus his job was to cease all fighting below, or his homeland was doomed. He didn’t exactly know all the ins and outs of this war. All he knew was that some far away place dropped off an army on the doorstep through a series of magical portals. The king had mustered an army of his own and currently they were stuck in a stalemate of sorts, but since the villains of the story could decide to reinforce their army at any point in time of their choosing, it was up to Timor to tip the scales.

“I know you can do it, Timor.” the apparition whispered in his ear.

“I don’t.” Timor replied. “I wouldn’t be too opposed to just have this play out and take my chances with a new overlord."

”Don’t be daft you idiot!” The voice suddenly taking on a more aggressive tone.

“Fine!” Timor said as he let out a deep breath.

Timor let go of the timber in front of him and took a few deep breaths to calm his fear and focus his mind. I just have to do this and then I can be back home by supper, he thought.

He raised his arms up high and started to chant a whole string of words that he had memorized under the tutelage of some old man that he was introduced to as part of his training. Above the battlefield large tears started forming in the fabric of the atmosphere. Behind them an endless sea of dark red that cast an ominous glow down on the fighting masses. For those with sharp ears a distant rumble could be heard, for those with less sharp ears it took a few seconds to pick up on the increase in rumbling that now transformed in more of a heavy tremor that was inescapable. Maybe even the deaf could feel it. Through the crimson holes came down massive meteors, each the size of a tavern. With large tails of roaring fire they dropped on the armies below. Not a single living being stood a chance as they were devoured by rock and fire, leaving massive craters in their wake.

“Can I now get my cup of tea?” Timor asked, while dusting himself off.

The fairy just looked at him dumbfounded and did not respond.

9 hours? You only have the one film?

He said, “The wolf Among U-“.

Extremely loud and cringe video game melody suddenly plays

[deleted]

That sword went too far! Too far!

Flo is totally still hot

[removed]

This needs to be the next version of Friends or Big Bang Theory or Insert_Favorite_Sitcom!

This would be awesome!

[removed]

When you're a sapient sword and the people who made you want to destory you+

Wants you to fight and kill for bizarre reasons

DIDJA PUT THA RING IN THE MOUNTAIN OF FIYAH FRODO

[removed]

Dont Escape was a lovely flash game about a werewolf trying to restrain himself so he doesnt slaughter a town.

Hehe the real joke is that the switcheroo happens where Richard Harris was replaced with Michael Gambon and where Gandalf suddenly starts displaying a bit of magic in the movies.

I love this. Im not sure if it was intentional, but I love the implications that gandalf the white is that way because he became Dumbledore and that from book 3 onward the reason Dumbledore changes is because it's Gandalf

Sieze the palantir

mood

Part 2:

“Who knew that I cannot be reforged or melted. That list includes: me, your great great grandfather , and now you.” Said JustShutUpAlready.

Sweat pours from your brow as you walk away from the brick forge you constructed in the garage. Looking at JustShutUpAlready, you start to wonder if swords hold grudges.

“Hey listen, mythical talking swords do hold grudges.”

Did you say that out loud, you think.

JustShutUpAlready interrupted this train of thought saying. “No master you did not say that out loud. Also some magical talking swords can read their wielders mind… also Flo is not considered ‘hot’ anymore.”

You decide things are going to be a lot more complicated than you thought.

Radagast as the instigator made me laugh.