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The cat sat on the mat. The cat was very fat. So the mat started to smell pretty foul and look rather grody.

People started to resent the cat. What had began as a utopia was now little more than a self-serving dictatorship under this feline tyranny. Humans and cats in harmony?

He had never seen a corpse so exquisite. Each hair lovingly framed about a beautiful face, a figure resplendent in a silk gown. How alive she appeared! How he wished he could have known her! But they had crossed paths far too late.

Her soul was commended to Saradomin now. Saradomin became the minesweeper god. He learned all her minesweeping skills. GWD was replaced with a huge minefield.

The boss off the minefield was a horrible boss... He lays everywhere bombs so it all leads to a massive explosion on the minefield then the Minesweeper war begin on 25/09/2365 in Varrock...

The huge minesweeper war has begun. Mines were buried everywhere. every day the brave broom wielding mine sweepers would set out with their trusty straw brooms meticulously sweeping the fields. there were many casualties as the brooms were only good at finding mines by detonating them.

Eventually it was decided brooms aren't good for fighting wars. No, the general mused. He needed something that would cause real carnage. Soldiers swept the battlefield wielding mops, vacuum cleaners, even power washers. But their enemy was prepared. A legion of dump tracks halted their progress with a veritable mountain of manure and septic waste.

It was, all in all, a crappy situation. Nobody even thought to use fuel or fire in the minesweeper war. Saradomin banned all from doing it the right way.

Nobody except his rival, Zamorak, did it properly. Which is why Lucien was so incensed to see the Legatus Maximus walk into the High Temple for the Imperial Souffle Bake-off. Lucien had spent centuries perfecting his ingredients, perfecting the lift, finding that precise blend of egg whites and sugar. Today, he would prove to all Legates in attendance, and especially those stuffy Pontifexes, that he was more than a mere lieutenant. He was just as good as any of them - better! For who but the greatest of the Stern Judges could make an immaculate souffle? But that all had depended on Zamorak, the greatest pastry chef among the Mahjarrat, being out of Senntisten when the bake-off happened. Now, centuries of carefully-orchestrated planning could deflate in an instant.