Many men had tried to figure it out, they tried and died. Tim had decided that perhaps the answer lay not with brute force but with magic. And so he poured himself into mystic arts of enchanting, and for 20 years gained mastery over fire and brimstone and smoke. The town’s folk were terrified of Tim’s ability to summon fire, so much so that instead of trying to put him on a giant scale with a duck they feared and shunned Tim. Banished from the town, isolated and alone, Tim spent his days trying to blast that rascally rabbit from a far. Alas it was no use, the rabbit just hopped out of the way.
Frustrated, Tim decided to let off some steam by blowing things up. This caught the attention of a man named Arthur. Arthur, a self-described king, seemed to have the favor of the Almighty, and Tim perceived that this man and his small army might finally be able to succeed where he and so many others had failed. Arthur was looking for some sort of mystical challis and Tim knew he could use that to his advantage. With the promise of the Arthur's prize, Tim led this King and his knights to The Cave of Caerbannog…and to the rabbit.
The battle over, the smoke cleared, Tim was embarrassed that the final solution had been but a small variation of his own, “Of course, a hand grenade…damn, I was so close.” Regardless, the bloodthirsty rabbit was dead and he was free to uncover its precious secrets. Unfortunately for Tim, the revelation that the rabbit was guarding another more cruel and foul tempered monster was enough for him. Having wasted 20 years on this stupid rabbit, he decided to cut his losses and get on with his life. On his way out of the cave he found the rabbit's remains, a single charred foot. Tim decided to keep it as a luck charm of sorts. As for what to do with the rest of his life, Tim had been seriously considering a career in the shrubbery arts.
The End.
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