Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination, which is currently rabid and on the loose. If you see it, do NOT engage, but contact the proper authorities.

After over a year of not posting things, I make my less-than-glorious return posting what, I don't even know. I originally had this idea years ago and never got around to writing a story about it. However, since I do want to write more in the future, as well as get back in the groove of putting things up here, why not?

Presenting: Marth the Morth! A crack adventure story that currently has little to no plot. Hope you enjoy this prologue.


The Accident

If Marth had known what terrible fate would befall him later that afternoon, he would have insisted that his fellow smashers stick to battles instead of football.

It seemed a good idea at the time; the business of inducting new members into the Smash Mansion and conducting the time-consuming, exhausting, and injury-inducing spectacle that was the Grand Commencement Battle Tourney had worn all of the Smashers out quite thoroughly and left none of them wishing to engage in another brawl for at least a week. Master Hand and Crazy Hand had holed themselves up in their mysterious offices; Master Hand to work, and Crazy Hand to make that task as impossible as he could.

At Roy's suggestion, many of the Smashers formed two teams of football, a makeshift football field, and their own modified set of rules (Sonic, for instance, had a speed limit of 9 meters per second, which he hotly contested). It took a whole day to make the list of rules itself, and left quite a lot of people in a bad mood. Pit agreed to paint the field lines that evening and let the paint set overnight. The game would start after everyone had lunch and waited long enough to make sure it wouldn't be tasted a second time after a few downs.

Despite the obvious potential for conflagration and disputes, the football game proceeded rather civilly through a good three-quarters of the game. There was only one instance where Mario decided to use Pit's head as a springboard that really caused disruption, but the fight broke up before it could get out of hand.

"Marth, you're pretty fast. Run for the endzone as fast as you can and I'll peg the ball to you," Ike muttered as their team huddled together to discuss their next play.

"All right," Marth nodded, only vaguely listening to the rest of the players as they discussed their own strategies for making the play work. There shouldn't be too much problem. With Marth's agility and speed and Ike's throwing arm, all the other teammates needed to do was distract the other team from their true intentions. Not that there was much doubt, with Ike and his monster arms in quarterback position...

The huddle broke, and Marth crouched, ready to spring.

"HIKE!"

Marth immediately broke into a sprint, but Samus must have guessed who Ike would throw to, because Marth found her hot on his trail. He heard a few cries of dismay from his teammates and some of Samus' attempting to follow them before leaving Marth to be tackled by her. In the end, it didn't matter that Marth had screwed up the play, because Ike managed to do even worse. All the players winced as a huge CRASH echoed from a third-story window, causing a shower of glass from a broken window.

"Great job, Ike," Samus snorted as she climbed off of Marth. The knight got to his feet and shook imaginary dirt off his clothes, more annoyed that he had fumbled the play than that Ike had lost their football. Ike had the decency to look apologetic, but that was quickly replaced by, "Soooo... who wants to go get it?"

"Nosegoes!" Young Link shouted.

Marth attempted to place his finger on his nose, only to overestimate the force needed for the action. His muffled groan of pain made everyone turn towards him and laugh as they saw that he had all but punched himself in the nose.

He glared at all of them. "Hey, at least I don't have to get it," he retorted.

"I said Nose goes, not Nose game, smart one," Young Link said with a roll of his eyes. "So hurry up."

The prince was now so annoyed with a good number of things that he didn't even bother to contest the game. With a lot of muffled curses, he turned away from the football group and marched away. He would take his good sweet time getting that football, just to spite them.

It was only when he was inside the Manor that he realized he had forgotten which window it had smashed. He thought a moment, and then groaned. Why, of all windows, did it have to be Toon Link's room?

Of all the Links (and there were quite a lot of them), Toon Link had to be the weirdest. Marth didn't know much of his backstory, but one of the other Links had once tried to explain to Marth how Toon Link befriended a highly-eccentric potions-master during the course of his adventures. Obviously the man had left a terrible impression on the young Link, for now Toon Link had a great number of odd hobbies that included collecting rather gross substances for study and mixing. One time Ganondorf had run out of the boy's room screaming, claiming that the "oh-so-good Hero" was performing a vivisection on poor Mr. Bulbin. No one wanted to confirm the rumor, but everyone had avoided him ever since.

And now a football had crashed into his room.

Marth rethought his plan of taking as long as possible and hurried up the stairs. He wanted nothing to do with Toon Link's weirdness. He wanted that weirdness to stay far away. He wanted to get the football and go. So he quickly ran down the hallway to Toon Link's room, knocked only very briefly, and barged in.

A terrible mess greeted him. The football, it seemed, had knocked over furniture, papers, bottles of who-knew-what, and- was that a brain?!

Marth didn't actually want to find out. Summoning his courage, he barged into the mess, eyes on the criminal football the whole while. He just had to grab it and go.

He slipped. And fell. And jostled the table.

Something squishy flopped onto his head.

Marth shuddered. Somehow, he knew what was on his head, but he didn't want to look, but he had to... he shook the thing off his head and propped himself in a sitting position, hoping the thing had fallen out of sight.

A fleshy, one-eyed thing stared back.

With a scream more girlish than he would ever admit, Marth scrambled back, only to knock over more bottles of potions and slip in them. He landed face-first on the ground, and a host of unpleasant flavors assaulted his tongue. The prince had a major spaz attack getting to his knees, spitting and coughing and scraping the awful tastes off his tongue, but the damage was done. His vision went black.

When he came to, he opened his eyes and found the football looming over him.

This is a dream. This is a really bad dream, I'll wake up any second, and my day will be normal again. This is a dream this is a dream oh please let this be a dream.

As the minutes passed and Marth found himself unable to move or even see any of his limbs, a terrible sense of doom fell upon him. He caught a flash of light. It was a piece of glass. Filled with trepidation, Marth forced himself to the glass shard by a combination of rolling and... bouncing. He looked into the makeshift mirror.

A spiky black ball with only one eye stared back.

Marth wanted to scream. He was decidedly not sexy anymore.