Back in the deep mists of ancient Britain, where thick forests grew and large stones were stood up randomly to mess with the heads of future generations, a cloaked and hooded figure strode to the summit of a rocky outcrop. Where this place was exactly, nobody knows, as it was lost either to history or buried underneath the M25.
This man was carrying a long wooden pole. Upon it at either side shone symbols painted onto the blue fabric. With a mighty thrust, he drove this vexillum into the rock, just like some other bloke he'd heard about last week had done with a sword. Pulling back his hood and addressing the steady breeze ruffling his hair, he called out.
'Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii'
He paused. This was not the phrase he had in mind. After a moment, he tried again.
'Iiiiiiiihhhh AhAhah'
Something was definitely wrong. Was he possessed by some demonic curse? Did he interfere with the lay lines from the nearby standing stones somehow? Was this the result of a bad batch of cookies consumed in haste the previous night?
Inspiration struck. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, he pulled out a mouse that was chewing through something that it wasn't supposed to. He discarded the mouse in a manner that was compliant with animal rights standards.
'Seems like I need a new one of those. Actually, a new everything.'
To his surprise, his power of speech had miraculously been returned to him! At last he could speak the words and perform the rites! The mouse by some bizarre and mystical set of circumstances was the cause of the problem.
Standing proud once again, he spoke confidently into the winds.
'I, Tomz, proclaim the clan of
Clear Skies
to be founded! May it stand for thousands of years!'
The ritual he performed is also lost to history, but it probably involved cookies.
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Bump!