King of the Hill

There's a hill.

You're trying to conquer it from the person currently on the hill.

Find creative ways to annihilate your foe and take their throne!


For starters:

I run up the hill, look around and see nobody has claimed it. I shrug, sit my arse down on the grass and triumphantly scream: KING OF THE HILL!

I quietly walk up the hill, push the king of hell off and put barbed wire all around me, claiming my place as King of Hell!

I go get a hedge shear and charge back up the hill. your barbed wire is no match for my garden cutting equipment! I snap it off of you and it tumbles to the ground, purposeless. You look at me in shock and I smirk at your defeat, shoving hard against your chest so you tumble down the hill. I shall defend my hill with these shears to the end of my days!

KING OF THE HILL.

I sit and Ponder how to beat you without force, then it occurs to me. A really cute dog. I send in my sweet Corgi, Sir Fluffy Paws, and he wags his tail and tries to lick your face. While you scratch behind his ear you drop your guard and put the shears on the ground to give Sir Fluff your full attention. Seeing my chance I stealthily sneak behind you, steal your shears, and push you down the hill. Seeing no foe able to face my new shears and adorable dog, I sit calmly and place a beautifully crafted crown on my head.

A King of my stature needs a crown.

I scramble back up and stare at you and that treacherous corgi from the bottom of the hill. How dare he be so cute! I briefly think of charging right back at you, but then I remember the shears.

I shall not be bested so easily!, I shake my fist as I think to myself. I know exactly where to go for help.

After weeks of journeying deeper and deeper into the wildlands of Carvargh Blutnaghrosjxnkay, slaying many a magnificent foe along the way, I have finally reached my destination: the cabin of the Hermit, who had once had a magnificent singing voice, but was driven mad by the inability to sing melodies pleasing to her own ear.

I visciously murdered the Hermit and cut out her vocal chords, which I needed for the most ancient of spells: the Curse of the Really, Really Abhorrent Sound Sequence. Upon returning to the hill, I cast my evil curse, not upon you, but upon that wretched fluffy ball of tail-wagging four-legs you adore so much.

Sir Fluffy, instantly plagued by a really, really abohorrent sound sequence, goes crazy and flees the hill in agony. You're confused and frightened and ditch the shears as you run after your nausiatingly cute fluffball, leaving your crown trembling on the ground.

I smirk and confidently march back up the hill. This should be mine, I thought as I picked up the crown. I elegantly place it on my head and do a little victory dance on MY HILL.