On the Eastern Continent, there is a small town full of winding streets. One of these streets is host to a tavern full of the cheeriest band of ruffians to ever grace the planet. There's also a beach full of brigands, thieves and persons of ill repute. In the midst of this beach is a small crater of scorched earth, a remnant from a fallen meteorite. There is a fallen meteorite In the middle of this crater, still burning after all these years. At night, its ethereal glimmer can be seen across the land and those seeking redemption crowd around it and toast marshmallows.
This is but one of those marshmallows.
"Wow, that was a weird marshmallow." Spake Hennessy, popping it in his mouth. He passed the fork to his comrade, Fitch.
"Hey, look," Fitch pointed into the darkness. Someone was stumbling along the shoreline, obviously drunk.
"Hey, friend! What is thy story (morning glory)? Come hither to the bonfire and relate your tale!"
(Basically, you write either fiction or nonfiction about either your day or pretty much whatever. Do a rushed summary of a story if you'd like, maybe a horror story (short) or pretty much anything you'd talk about at a bonfire with a bunch of strangers. Then pick up a marshmallow, toast it to excellence, pop it in your mouth and pass on the marshmallow stick).
I'll begin:
The drunkard melted into the sand wearily and took the toasting stick. He stared into the flames for awhile and then began his tale, "Today, I babysat my one-and-a-half-year-old nephew, who peed all over his crib at six in the morning. He's cute, though, and I normally wake up then. I spent the rest of the day writing limericks and punishing hypocrites."
He drew a marshmallow from the proffered bag and watched as it blackened in the fire.
