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Doth Baby Picketh Goose, Thus Begins The Hunt

Hark! Be nimble and move quick! One revolution amongst thine peers and you become their prey. Doth Baby picketh Goose, thus begins The Hunt!

You've rested long enough, the mighty bell beckons and the fabled words have muttered upon your scalp. Forget your past and heed the call. You sat dormant in a sea of Ducks but you shall arise as "Goose" frothing at the mouth and hungry for the kill. Chase thine Baby who'st call has culled onto you and fled in fear. They know not your temperament nor your anguish. In leaping gapes, thine knees bend to and fro, cracking and creasing in squeal and joy. Your target, Baby, runs scared and laughing. LAUGHING! Laughing at you, mighty Goose! Let not their laugh slow your legs. Step further and close in on targeted Baby. Tackle your prey with great force or become the very Baby you've sworn to vanquish. Be Goose! Honk and hiss in ornery fashion. Flutter your arms and grow fuller. You mustn't allow this. Baby is nearing your former squat, where'st you rested your bum in gleeful hibernation. Strike before they find comfort on your warmed grass patch. Baby is nearer in moments grasp. Goose! Flap your wings and take flight! Swoop down and strike fear into the hearts of onlookers. They know not your speed, they know not your strength. They think of you as weak and vapid. Dull and filled empty with no room for urgency. O Goose, moments passed! Young Baby has snatched your home. The Hunt is failed. You get no bounty. No feast. No hide for warmth or guts for satchels and wallets. You are reduced, no longer Goose. You've become the dreaded Baby.

You stomp and gait slowly. Decreeing each persons title and fate. A sea of Ducks awarded to nearly every peasant waiting desperately to charge fourth and strike you down. Choose one lucky, unknowing, foolish and filthy coward to gain the title of Goose, and let The Hunt begin again.

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