What the fuck are you talking about, you gold plated tossers?

“Listen, mate. I lives a proper simple life, I does. I gets up, I goes to work, I does me job, and I go ‘ome. I ain’t got any complicated shite going on. I’m a regular bloke with a regular life. Love me peace, love me quiet, hate when some nobjockeys try and rope me into shite I don’t wanna do. Simple as. So why, mate, have you dragged me from the comfort of me bed to wherever the feck this is?”

The seven gold-plated prats in front of me, all dressed in the sort of shite you’d see when your history teacher makes you learn about Henry The Eighth and His Six Bints, all stared holes through me like I’d just ran their mums over in me 2002 Ford Fiesta.

“Percy, you are certain that they and we speak the same language, yes?” said the prat-in-chief, sat there on his big fuck-off chair with his big fuck-off crown on and holding a big fuck-off sceptre. Who d’ya think you’re impressing, you pillock?

“Yes, your majesty, I triple-checked. It was supposed to be a one-to-one match. I… truly don’t understand what went wrong…”

The cunt with the massive specs, with the appropriately wank name “Percy,” looked half-ready to cry.

“Pull yourself together, you bloody wuss, I understand what you’s sayin’. You ain’t made any bloody mistake other than interrupting me afternoon kip. Hell, if you sends me back now, I might still get an hour or so before the footie’s on. So come on, off your trot, pip pip.”

Even though I spoke clear as bloody day, the seven wankers on their seven wankery thrones still looked at me like I was speaking Swa-bloody-hili or something. Reckons they’re either a bit deaf or a bit dumb, honestly. Dunno how much clearer I can be.

“Ah- what he said is that you didn’t make a mistake, we really do speak the same language…” said some timid prick next to me. One of four timid pricks next to me, in fact. Two on either side. Bunch of bloody pansies, the lot of them, by the looks of it. If me and them went to the same school when we was kids I’d have probably bullied the shite out of them.

Oi, that’s a good shout actually. If I’m stuck here it’d be a way to keep meself occupied.

“Ah, splendid!” said the royal cockthistle on his golden bloody throne. “I did pick up a few words here and there from this one. I suppose he must simply have an odd dialect?”

“Y-yes, your majesty, something like that…”

“Oi, you what? Just ‘cos I ain’t some posh cunt from a gated bloody neighbourhood or some shit don’t mean there’s summat wrong with ‘ow I speaks. You’re the sods who needs to learn the language, you ‘ear me?”

I was met with even more blank stares. You’re the bloody king of this place and you don’t even speak your own language? Wanker.

“We… may require translation for this one. Though, it at least seems that he understands us, no?” Said the pompous arse.

“Needs a translator to speak me own bloody language, feckin’ joke…” I muttered to meself, though I almost hoped his royal highness could hear, bring him down a peg or two.

“In any case…” said the only female pompous arse in the room, a blonde tart with lashes big enough to hide under when it rains, and a head big enough to make them look the right size. I had assumed this wasn’t England until now, but considering the attractiveness of the women, I rethought that snap judgement. Seems like home to me. “...the five of you have been summoned to this world to help us combat a grave threat. One I’m sure you all know about well. The Great Dragon of Ryuukoku.”

Ay? The feck is that? The hell am I supposed to know about it already? I just bloody got here. And why are the other four pricks nodding like they actually know what the feck is happening?

“As you will know from the Drakonomicon, the Great Dragon descends upon the lands of Angland once every thousand years to sow death and destruction, leaving nothing in it’s wake but ashes. And as the Drakonomicon also should have told you, that day will arrive soon.”

I have absolutely no bloody clue what this bint is talking about. The other Earth chaps still seem to get it, though.

“In accordance with the prophecies within the Drakonomicon, you five heroes have been selected by the gods to save our home from cataclysm. If you succeed, you will be the greatest heroes this land will have ever known. If you fail, the death toll will be catastrophic.”

“As was foretold in the Drakonomicon…” said the four-eyed cunt on my right. The other three around me all muttered like they agreed. I’m still none the bloody wiser.

“The Drakonomicon holds the secrets to defeating the dragon once and for all, and bringing about an age of peace and security for our people. But the volumes we have here are incomplete, they lack the information we need. Only you five, holders of the true Drakonomicon, may take on this task, though you may find allies along the way. Please, I beg of you, protect our people and end this scourge. You are our only hope.”

God, what a pain in the arse. Dragged out of bed to listen to some LARPing twats reading out their amateur DnD set up. And they didn’t even explain half of it. If I’m stuck here until they chooses to send me back, I needs to actually know shit. Like where the fuck am I, what the fuck is going on, and most importantly,

“What the FUCK is the Drakonomicon?”