MYTHICAL CREATURE RACE NEXT SUNDAY!

Next Sunday will be the first annual MCR (Mythical Creature Race) where contestants set out on an epic journey across the globe!

Starting from the town square on foot, you will try to find (and tame!) a mount, whatever you are able to ride is allowed, under the condition that is WAS COMPLETED WILD, NEVER UNDER HUMAN CONTROL and NOT HUMANIOD OR INTELLIGENT (for example, you could ride a troll or golem, but not an elf) and continue to the check point in Castlerock (see map below) where you must duel with the next opponent to arrive, if you lose, you must abandon your mount and find a new one.

From Castlerock you will continue to Eldenwood, then to Mystic Mountain, ect, ect. (See map below)

The entry fee is 20 rupees, and any damages caused by action outside of regulation will be paid by the racer.

THERE IS TO BE NO:

• Public disposal of Unicorn Dung
• No fighting outside of organized duels
• No mounting un-wild creatures
• No mismatched socks

For a complete list of rules see the local wizard.

The prize for winning is 1200 rupees, a story in the “Medieval Globe”, and two Bob Ross toasters.

If you are interested, send a pigeon to:

195 MCR Dr.

SEE YOU THERE!

CrazyRickRiordanFan going under the name Tris(just a random name I thought of)

I searched the dense woods, leaves crunching under my foot. The poster said it must be a mythological creature who is untamed, and so far, I've only seen harpies, who have bad breath AND a bad temper. And... Oh wow a hippogriff, but they are noxiously hard to tame so never mind.

Crunch

Oh wow my feet is making a lot of noise.

CRUNCH

Wait wha-

Croak

I turned and saw a wall of slimy, greenish brown skin.

Oh wait a minute, this is

A small, beady eye stared at me.

A giant toad?!

With wings?!

I reached out and scratched its chin

CROOOAAK

Croaking with pleasure, it then barfed on my shirt.

Oh well, at least it is a mythological creature

Now let's take you home, mr toad.

MRC Form:

Name: Tris

Steed: Gigantic Toad

Steed's Name: Mr Toad

Status: Untamed

List one bad habit of its: Barfing on rider often

Any illness or condition?: None

Has any magic powers?: Yes

Then what is it?: Flying

Does it qualify with the MRC mythological creatures standards?: Yes

Are you sure it is untamed?: Yes, duh

Do you have any fighting experience: Yes

What is your favorite food?: I like gummy bears

What is your steed's favorite food?: Baked Mac n' Cheese

How did you find that out?: You won't want to know...

Did you tame your steed yet?: Yes

Does it like you?: Maybe...

Is your steed intelligent?: NO, double NO

Are YOU intelligent?: Duh...

Do you like reading?: Yes

Do you like sports?: Yes

Do you like cooking?: No

Do you like witchcraft?:Yes

Do you do dark magic?: No

Do you do white magic?:Yes

Do you do grey magic?: Yes

Do you like Tommy Tomson from preschool?: No

Are you friends with Sally Sallson from kindergarden?: No

Thank you for your time

I sighed.

Mr toad barfed again.

*crunch, crunch*

I was slowly walking into the abounded gold mine, hoping to be unnoticed until I wished otherwise.

*thud, thud, clinker*

That was a few gold coins being scattered by my bare feet, I dared not pocket them, not when I saw what was ahead.

A Gryftrix, a formidable beast, sorta like a Griffin, but a peregrine falcon instead of an eagle, and a tiger instead of a lion.

She (it was a young female) was asleep, I crouched toward her, then, suddenly grabbed the back of her falcon head.

She awake with a start, glaring, I met her gaze, I felt her inner lightning coursing through my veins.

Right before met my breaking point, her gaze softened, and she laid her head in my hand.

”Welcome to the race Gyx, I think we’ll get along fine

Name: Quinn

Age: 15

Steed: Gryftrix

Steeds name: Gyx

Favorite color: Green

Steeds favorite Color: Gold

Does your Steed have any magical abilities: Yes

If yes, what? Storm manipulation

Steeds favorite food: Human/goat

Your favorite food: Human/Goat (just kidding)

Can you Dance: just the waltz.

Who is Tommy Thomson: sounds like a fake name

Is your steed intelligent: not in a human way no.

Was it wild: it tried to kill me.

Thank you for your time.

I turned to Gyx, “We got this.”

The good news? Mark's favorite band was back together and going on tour. The bad news? They hadn't announced which cities they were going to, just dropped a blurry teaser post that he had spent literal hours looking at cross-eyed. Now his eyes hurt, and he still had no idea where he needed to get tickets. And no money to get tickets with, but that wasn't as bad, because he could just get a job. Or get a bunch of crows to steal coins for him (hey, it had worked before!)

The even worse news, though, was that he was currently trapped in another dimension.

Assuming this wasn't a dream, which was a fair bet since he had pinched himself several times and not woken up, he was somehow back in the Middle Ages in a picturesque town with grass roofs and cobblestone streets. Mark wasn't an expert on medieval times, but he was pretty sure they didn't have internet or flushing toilets. How was he supposed to figure out where his favorite band was playing if there was nowhere to go to the bathroom?

A piece of paper nailed to the wall caught his eye. Mythical Creature Race Next Sunday! The more he scanned the flyer, the more exciting it started to look. He had never dueled anyone before, but it couldn't be that hard. Befriending wild animals was just what he did every afternoon. And 1200rupees and two Bob Ross toasters was probably enough money to get two tickets to a concert in an unspecified city. He was pretty sure Bob Ross was the guy who sewed the American flag. That had to be worth at least a couple hundred dollars.

He took a quick walk outside of town to the forest, immediately feeling three times better about this whole medieval-dimension situation. He extended his life sense, trying to figure out if there were any tamable mythical creatures in the area.

Two seconds later, he found out there were more than he could ever have expected. He knew what the life signatures of regular animals felt like, and even the life signatures of human-animal hybrids (long story), but mythical animals were totally different. Their minds felt bright and colorful, like they were covered in an extra layer of glitter. He hadn't even known that life signatures could be colorful. Must be the magic.

Despite all this magic, he had no idea what any of it meant. They could be dragons or... what was a small, pointless mythical creature? Jackalopes? No offense to any jackalopes that might or might not exist in this world. Anyway, the mythical creatures could be anything. Maybe he could ride a unicorn or a basilisk or something. Or a griffin. There was definitely a joke he could make there, but he digressed.

Something swooped over his head. He flinched and looked up to see what looked like a flying deer with saber teeth. "Profane mortal!" the creature screeched, then flew away.

That was hurtful. Actually, now he had another question. Could he understand these creatures because he could talk to animals, or did they just all speak human language? Or a combination of both?

He kept going, spotting a couple of cat-looking creatures in the trees with clubs on the end of their tails. None of them looked big enough to ride, and anyway, Mark had met enough cats in his life to know that they weren't the most companionable animals. If he was going to win the America toasters, he needed something friendly and fast. And hopefully something that doesn't fly, he thought nervously. He didn't get along with heights.

"What are you doing here?" asked an animal voice from behind him. He turned around to see a seemingly ordinary brown squirrel sitting on a tree branch. He scanned it with life sense. Yep, it was just a regular squirrel.

"I'm actually looking for mythical creatures," he said. "I'm trying to find the most powerful mythical creature in this forest for a race."

The squirrel's tail shot up in alarm. "You're a human! How can you talk?"

"Because I'm just that cool," answered Mark without missing a beat. "And because where I come from, everyone can do it. How can you climb trees and not get dizzy?"

The squirrel snorted. "The most powerful mythical creature in this forest, huh? You want the Red Death. Go to the center of the cherry grove and look for the great cave beneath the roots. That's where he lives, surrounded by the bones of those he kills."

Sounds not ominous at all. "Is there... any other option?"

"Hmm. Nope!" The squirrel skittered away up the tree, leaving Mark with nothing but a half-dead cell phone, his favorite cowboy boots, and some very cryptic and scary instructions. So basically, right where he liked it. What was the point of living if you didn't run directly toward danger with no plan every once in a while?

It took another twenty minutes to find the cherry grove, most of which involved wrangling a bunch of bluebirds to give him directions, but eventually he got there. Right in the middle was a big tree with pink flowers that almost looked plastic, and underneath the tree was a small burrow surrounded by tiny mouse bones.

Well, that's disappointing. Of course a "great cave" to a squirrel would be tiny for a human. Mark was about to turn around and go back to the village when he saw something small and fuzzy moving inside the den. He reached out life sense to check what it was... and the magic sparkles on this thing were off the charts.

"Hey," he said gently to the underground creature, "how are you doing?" Classic conversation starter. Really chill.

A pointed nose poked out of the burrow, followed by two yellow eyes. A young fox. "Human!" the canine shrieked in terror. "Fear me!"

"No, no, I'm not here to hurt you!" Mark held up his hands. "I was actually wondering if you could help me with something. I'm looking for a mythical creature called the Red Death to help me in a race."

The fox tilted his head. "Mythical creature?"

"Yeah, you know, like an animal but with magic. Are you magic?" Evidently the answer was yes, but he had no idea what kind of magic.

"Magic." The fox stepped outside the burrow and padded up to Mark, and with its whole body visible, he saw his second tail for the first time. "I am magic!" With a golden flash of his eyes, the fox transformed into a deer, then a hawk, then back into a fox.

Oh, wow. Mark could totally work with this. “How do you feel about getting out of your forest for a little while and seeing the world?”

The fox’s tongue lolled out. “More prey?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. So much.” Mark grinned. “By the way, do you have a name, or is it just the Red Death?”

“Wind in cherry branches. Red brush, sharp claw. Death to mice and rodents.” The fox seemed proud of himself.

“Yeah, none of those are names. Okay if I just call you Red?” The fox barked his approval, so Mark set off to find a pigeon for his registration form. He could worry about getting back to Earth later.

Name: Mark Wilder

Steed: Uh… it’s a fox… with two tails

Steed’s Name: Red

Has any magic powers? Yes

Then what is it? Shapeshifting

What does your steed eat? Rodents

Is your steed wild? Yes

Is your steed intelligent? All animals are more intelligent than humans give them credit for, but I don’t think he’s any smarter than the average fox

Are you intelligent? Yeah

Do you like sports? Only if it’s the Tennessee Volunteers

Have you met Tommy Tomson? No

Can you fight? Kinda, maybe

Can you do magic? Not the flashy kind

Can you dance? Absolutely not

Do you have any allergies? No

I turn around quickly after hours of searching, almost to quickly I soon find out when I nearly tripped over a cat, or at least I think it is a cat, but it has the unmistakable look of a lion.

“Meeoow,” It cries, and lifts a single paw. At least it hasn’t attack me yet

”Well hello there little kitty,” I reply, though I don’t quite know what I am replying to, then, reaching down and petting her head, I ask a silly question of a cat who can’t even understand me, “You wouldn’t happen to know where any magical creatures live right,”

Almost startlingly I hear a squeaky voice trying to sound offended behind me say, “Magic! Look down, you have magic right in front of you”

I look down and I see the kitten, staring up at me. “How did you talk???”

”MAGIC!!! You thick skulled idiot” Now she looked genuinely offended, and before I even had a second to process, she grew before my eyes into a full size lion, except with wings.

”Ummmm…” I stuttered, not quite sure what had happened, and extremely confused, “First I am not an idiot, second what are you? Also please don’t eat me.”

”I’ll consider it, but I am a Lizon, a house cat, flying lion, and… MOUSE” A burst out out laughing at the irony, only to be quickly reprimanded, “Hey!” The Lizon says at my chuckling, “Don’t forget I can still eat you, but you see the mouse was originally a curse, until the day I learned to be great full for it”

”Ok, I have a feeling we’ll be a great team, if you would join me on a quest.”
“Sure!!”

MCR FORM:

Name🫟ixey

Mo🫟🫟zon

Mounts name: Also Lizen

Does it wh🫟 socks: Not by choice

Do you 🫟🫟🫟 socks: No

Is it intellig🫟: Not te🫟ically

A🫟 🫟ou intelligent: Technically

Mounts favorite food: Me

Your 🫟🫟orite food: Not me

Is it wild: Very 🫟🫟

🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟

🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟🫟

Sorry, hope the rest wasn’t necessary, Lizon just knocked over my ink onto the form.

My first thought when I saw the flashy poster was, “Great, the towns’ holding another parade.”

But as I looked closer, put on my reading glasses and scanned the document, I quickly realized that this was something quite different.

A race with wild creatures? These kids won’t know the first thing about it! Why, back when I was young, we’d go out, find a jackalope, and race across the sand flats. And two Bob Ross toasters? Who could ask for a more valuable prize than that?

As I set my glasses down I mumbled to myself,”Now where did those jackalopes get off to…”

Name: Edward Jones

Age: Not a day over 82, thank you very much.

Mount: Jackalope

Mounts abilities: Can run quicker then a whip, along with its superb size compared to regular rabbits.

Mounts name: Alexander the Great

Where is Tom Tomson Hiding: Why, does he owe you money?

If you where a professional wrestler, what would you’re name be: Is this seriously a question? Fine I suppose the Silver Haired Gent.

Do you wear lederhosen: Of course not! What an absurd idea!

Can you fight: With my mind.

Do you know any magic: I can pull a quarter from your ear.

Does your insurance cover any injuries that may be caused or related to the MCR: My insurance is top-notch.

If a pterodactyl is flying north at the rate of 30 miles per hour, over a volcano with a 40 mile diameter, and the wind is blowing against him at 10 miles per hour, how long until the pterodactyl gets across the volcano: 2 hours.

Are you allergic to Toad puke: Why is that important?

Thank you for your time;

-Edward Jones.

Now where was the local messenger pigeon?

WELCOME TO THE RACE!!

For all the racers here today, welcome!

This is the official start of the MCR (Mythical Creature Race), so let’s go over the basics:

all contestants are already teamed up with whichever Creature they have tamed, NO DUELS WILL BE COMPLETED AT THIS TIME.

You will sprint, slither,or fly to the first location, then duel (no bones no foul) with the next arrival. (See map below)

If you win, you continue as normal, if you lose your mount will be returned to your home, and you must tame another one form the local area.

You may have your mount return home at anytime, even if you don’t lose.

No public disposal of unicorn dung.

Use the promo code NODUNG for 50% off at the food truck,

Best of Luck,

The MCR team.

“Hey, Red, anything I can get you before the race?” The fox was currently pacing around Mark’s feet, playfully sniffing the ground and wagging his two tails.

“Food?” he barked, gesturing towards the catering tent with his nose.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll get you a sausage or something.” As they walked towards the tent, Mark sized up the competition. It seemed to be mostly flying creatures, which made him a bit nervous about his chances. But Red was a freaking shapeshifter. There had to be something he could do with that kind of power.

When they arrived, he suddenly realized with a flash of horror why the fox was so excited. “Food!” Red barked excitedly, staring with glowing eyes at a freaking chipmunk who seemed to be the owner of the catering stand. “Rodent!”

To be clear, the fact that the tent was owned by a chipmunk wasn’t the weird part—in fact, Mark didn’t even register it as weird for a few seconds. He had spent most of his summer getting cookies every day from a restaurant owned by a raccoon, and they were the best cookies anywhere. The really confusing thing was that a food truck existed in this medieval world at all, and also that the chipmunk was wearing turquoise jewelry. Red was already starting to shift into a hawk with scary curved talons. If he didn’t do something fast, she was definitely about to get eaten.

“Oh, dear!” the chipmunk exclaimed. Mark wasn’t sure, but he thought she was speaking real human language. “It seems like our customer is hungry for chipmunks! Security!”

Red, in hawk form, leaped into the air. Mark jumped up and tried to grab him, but the bird tail slipped between his fingers. “Red!” he yelled. “Please don’t eat the staff!”

Red glanced down at him, slightly annoyed. Then he shifted from a hawk into a puma and landed on the ground, growling and lashing his tail. “Death to rodents?”

“No! She’s working here!”

“Hmm.” Red’s ear twitched. “Eat her anyway.” He turned around, getting ready to pounce, when a massive sasquatch appeared from behind and scooped him up. The fox shifted between different forms—bear, snake, horse—but the hairy giant held on tight.

The chipmunk smiled and waved to the sasquatch. “Thank you kindly, Sherman! I owe ya one!” She turned to Red and put her paws on her hips. “Now, what did you learn today?”

Red hissed and clawed at the sasquatch, Sherman. “Come on,” Mark told him sharply. “You’re making us look bad. Tell the nice lady you’re sorry.”

“Not eat this rodent,” whined the fox, turning back into a fox. “Very sorry.”

“Promise?” Mark asked pointedly.

“Swear on tails. This rodent is not for eat.”

“There you go.” The chipmunk gestured to Sherman, who put Red down. “Now that we’ve reached an understanding, let’s try that again. What can I get for you today?”

“Biscuits would be great,” Mark told her sheepishly. “And some sausage for him, now that he’s calmed down. Right, Red? You’ve calmed down?”

“Right,” the fox answered, licking his paw where the sasquatch had gripped it.

“Right. I’m Mark, by the way, and this is my mount Red. Sorry he’s like that.”

“Kimana. Pleased to make your acquaintance. That over there’s my mate Chet, at the food truck.” She sniffed the air. “Smells like he’s got some Anaheim peppers cooking. Could barely drag him away from his bike to get here this morning.”

“Bike?” What was the logic of this world? Never mind, silly question, it doesn’t have any. “Like… a bicycle?”

“A motorcycle.” The sausage sizzled on the stove. It smelled so good after a day stuck in the forest with no real food. “He’s in the RCMP, you know. The Rowdy Chipmunk Motorcycle Patrol. Or as I like to call it, the Rotund Chipmunk Men’s Playground.”

Mark chuckled. He would’ve loved to keep talking with this chipmunk, but somehow he didn’t think it was a good idea to keep Red in proximity to her for very long. He thanked her for the food, then scarfed it down as fast as humanly possible before he had to be in position for the race.

At the start of the race, almost everyone seemed to already be there. Fashionably late as always, he thought, walking confidently to his spot while Red, now in blue jay form, zipped around his head. Something like a falcon griffin with tiger stripes glanced at the two of them, lightning sparking between her feathers. He waved to her. “Nice to meet you! You know, I kind of know one of your cousins, technically, in another universe. Well, a griffin, at least.”

“Eat tarnished gold,” she squawked back viciously, then turned to her rider. Red, still flying, shot back with an insult that she ignored.

Mark eventually found where he was supposed to go. A race official walked by and looked at him curiously, standing alone on the track. “Where’s your mount?”

“Oh, he’s somewhere around here.” He reached out and sensed Red sitting on top of a bleacher. Get down here, he muttered telepathically to the fox. They’re looking for you.

Red landed on the ground right in front of the official. “I am here!” he exclaimed.

“That’s a blue jay.” The official pulled out a clipboard and pointed to a line of tiny text that Mark didn’t bother to read. “It says here that your mount must be large enough to ride.”

“We’re working on it,” answered Mark diplomatically. “He isn’t always a blue jay.”

“I am a fox!” Red chirped, then shifted into his regular form.

The official’s eyes widened. “A kitsune!”

“Bless you,” Mark said, because he wasn’t sure what kitsune meant. “Wait, I mean, of course he’s a kitsune. What else would he be?”

“I’ll note it down. Does your insurance cover lightning-related injuries?”

He thought about the totally terrifying falcon-tiger-griffin with her lightning feathers. “Yeah, totally,” he lied.

“Outstanding. Race will be starting here in just a few minutes, after we talk to everyone. Watch for the green flag.” Then the race official left, and Mark wondered if he should have admitted he didn’t have insurance.

Nah. Better to live dangerously.

He still had to figure out how he was actually going to ride Red for the race. Luckily, thanks to Kimana the chipmunk, a crazy idea was starting to form. “Hey,” he whispered to the fox, “how many things can you turn into?”

“Many things!” Red barked back. “Animals. Objects. Not humans. Not dragons.”

“So, like, if I showed you a picture of an object, you could turn into it?”

Red considered the question. “Likely,” he answered at last, which was exactly what Mark was hoping to hear.

“Great!” He pulled out his phone, which was almost dead, and went to his camera roll. He pulled up a screenshot of a sleek racing motorcycle with red and yellow decals, which he had taken last year as part of a meme he was making. “Can you turn into this?”

The fox’s tails wagged. “Is it fast?”

“So fast.”

Twenty minutes later, when the green flag waved and the racers took off, among them was one telepathic hillbilly riding a red and orange motorcycle with golden headlights.

I looked around nervously, checking out our competition. A giant toad, a white horse, a two tailed fox, wait did it just shapeshift!?)

and one very British jackalope. A very impolite sounding grumble from Gyx as the shapeshifter fox came by, “Gyx! Manners please?” received a haughty chortle in reply, probably meaning something along the lines of “I’ll do what I want.” I could’ve help but sigh, my and the faithful Gryftrix had bonded over our short time together (once she got over the fact of my stronger willpower and I got over the fact she tried to kill me.) We’d fly the horizon, stalking the sunset, and every now-and-then try a loop-de-loop, or a corkscrew.

To anyone out there wanted to ride a Gryftrix? Don’t try a saddle, your mount will throw you off from pure spite. And then send and electrical shock through your body. Multiple times. I used the spare time (and the molted feathers Gyx shed over the summer for her warmer coat) to make a jacket; useful for warmth, electric protection, and looking snazzy.
But I didn’t feel that way now. We were among multiple other flyers, and some scary looking abilities (I.e highly projectile frog barf) and some creatures I’d never even seen before! And trust me, I know a lot about mythology and the creatures it contains.

Gyx’s stomachache rumbled and tail twitched, which (if I am a somewhat accurate translator) meant she was hungry, she tilted her beak to the air and started sprinting to a small, cherry red food truck, which was apparently run by a chipmunk.

Sadly, I do not possess the ability to understand animals, so I order a chunk-a-goat (for Gyx) and a burger (for me) and hoped he could understand, after some chittering, Gyx’s threats (which I apologized for profusely), and a discount code NODUNG, we got our food. I left a couple my spare Gyx feathers as a tip after seeing his Harvey out back, maybe his wife could make him a tiny jacket? If not I’m sure he’d find a use for them.

An speaker clicked on telling us that the race was starting, we made to the starting line, my heart racing as I mounted onto Gyx’s back, to my surprise I got an authentic “It’s alright, we got this,” purr. My shock quickly wore off when I heard her “Just don’t screw it up.” The ominous countdown began

3! (Deep breath)

2! (an engine roared, was that a motorcycle?)

1! (I gripped with my legs)

Go!
We rocketed into the sky, racing the wind, and risking life and limb for some Bob Ross toasters.