Bedtime story beginnings

Poople and Noople were sitting around the table at the witch’s house. Strewn across the surface were figurines of all different kinds. Some were made of plastic, some made of cardboard, and others that were little strips of paper. All were clearly involved in a full scale battle
Poople picked up a skeleton figurine and waved it in the air. “Swords don't work on me! I'm all bones and no flesh so there’s nothing to cut!”
Noople grabbed a piece of paper with a lizardman drawn on it. She made circles around the skeleton Poople was holding. “Lizardmen! Ditch your swords and use your hammers. Those nasty skeletons are immune to sharp edges. Don't cut their bones, smash their bones!”
Poople tried to skewer the piece of paper with her toy, but Noople kept swerving out of the way. “Skeletons! Gather around me. Let's all attack at once. Everybody go after Noople. If we take our their leader, they won't be able to fight!”
The two friends chased each other around the table until Noople dropped her paper lizardman. Poople stomped on it victoriously and laughed.
Noople grabbed a plastic scorpion off the table and made a hissing noise. “Wait! What’s this? It’s Quill, transformed into a giant scorpion, come to save the day!” She started knocking skeletons off the table with the plastic stinger.
Poople ran over to a stack of paper with pencil in hand and quickly drew a beaver on the top piece of paper. “And the king beaver joins his friend Quill, smashing through the panicked legions of lizardmen!”
Noople grinned. “Cool, we’re on the same team now?”
Poople gave her friend a gentle punch in the shoulder. “Of course. Quill and the beaver king versus the lizardmen and skeletons!”
“Yeah! And Stylus should be the leader of the lizardmen and skeletons!” Noople said.
Poople nodded and looked at the plastic scorpion. “I wonder how Quill is doing?”
Noople grabbed a piece of paper and drew Stylus behind the bars of a cage. “I wonder how Stylus is doing, locked up in the dungeon of the castle. Guess he can’t lead an army of bad guys from there.”
Poople nodded again. “Good!”

The bad news, unbeknownst to Poople and Noople, was that Stylus had escaped from behind the bars of his cage and was, once again, fully capable of leading an army. It all started when the guard who was in charge of delivering meals forgot to take the fork off of Stylus’ dinner plate. The rules were that Stylus wasn't allowed to have ANY silverware because his captors were afraid that he might use the forks, knives, or even spoons to attack someone. It as a valid fear, but misguided. He didn't use the fork to assault anyone. Instead, Stylus pretended to fall asleep that night. He waited, patiently, for the sounds of snoring.
Once he was sure they were all asleep, he quietly tiptoed over and jimmied open the lock of his cell. Next, he snuck down the hallway, then clambered down into a sewer opening. Down in the dark, Stylus walked with his hands out in front of him, feeling for the walls. A giantrat, mistaking the fingers for a family of delicious, wriggling worms crept up and bit off his left pinky! Yelping in pain, Stylus stabbed the hungry monster in the eye, killing it instantly.
He ripped a small piece of his shirt off and used it as a band aid to cover up his missing finger. Grumbling in pain, he walked the rest of the way out of the sewer. Once out, he saw that there was a full moon, smiled, and made his way into the nearby forest. He knew that soon enough, the guards would wake up and discover he had escaped and they would be out searching for him so he had to keep moving.
As he ran between the trees, it occurred to him that he should have used his books and his pillow to stuff the blankets in his pillow bed. If he had done that, he could have made it look like there was somebody sleeping in the bed and the guards would have thought it was him, Stylus, still sleeping late into the afternoon. Maybe around lunch they would have come in and said “hey, Stylus, wake up, dude! You've been sleeping all day.” And then they would have realized that it wasn't him at all but it was just a pile of books and pillows stuffed in the blanket.
But he hadn't done that. Instead, he had just gotten the heck out of prison, which was much better than still being in prison. He ran through the forest, occasionally getting smacked by swinging branches or tripping on knobby roots, all the time cursing Poople and Noople, as if somehow his misfortunes were their fault.
Finally, the sun came up and Stylus knew that now the guards had figured out he was gone. He grumbled and stumbled further into the forest. After a while, Stylus started to hear other people running through the forest. He figured it was the guards, so he climbed and tree and hid high up in the branches.
Sitting up there, he heard voices get closer and closer and he knew the guards were going to find him. He'd broken too many branches, made too much noise, left too obvious a trail, and had chosen a lousy hiding spot. As these terrible thoughts were about to envelope him completely, an owl flew up and perched on the branch next to him.
“Who… are you running from?” The brown and white feathered owl asked.
“Bad guys. They killed my sister and burned down our house.” Stylus lied.
“Wow. That's awful! Want to hide in my nest?” The owl blinked.
“Yes!” Stylus smiled.
So the owl showed Stylus his nest inside a hole in the tree. Stylus crammed himself through the hole and then, once inside, hid under a pile of sticks and leaves that was sitting in the corner.
From his hiding spot, he could hear but not understand the conversation between the owl and the guards. It seemed to go on forever but then, finally, he heard the retreating footsteps of the guards. Stylus emerged from the stick pile.
“I told them I hadn't seen anyone.” The owl smiled.
“Good. Now maybe you can help me find the village of these people who killed my sister. They live in an old mining town. Some ants helped rebuild the place.” Stylus said.
“I was just about to go to sleep when you climbed my tree.” The owl said. “Shall we sleep the day away and then depart by the light of the moon to find this town?”
“Sleep during the day? That’s absurd.” Stylus said. “What kind of person sleeps during the day?”
The owl ruffled its feathers. “The kind of person who hunts at night. Like me. I take it your people are diurnal, then?”
Stylus coughed. “Di-what? Is that like a urinal but like, two urinals? What the heck is a diurnal?”
The owl’s already giant eyes got bigger. “Diurnal animals are awake during the day. Nocturnal animals are awake during the night. I am a nocturnal animal. I am guessing you are diurnal?”
“Yeah. Usually. I mean I can stay up in the night. You are awake right now and it is morning, right? So we can do whatever we want, really.” Stylus said. “Who cares what kind of animal we are, anyway?”
The owl turned its head back and forth a few times. “Well I am going to sleep during the day. If you’d like my help, you’ll need to wait until sunset.”
The six horned demon shrugged. “Alright. We’ll wait. I guess the night time will be a good time to sneak up on them when they are all asleep.”
“Ah. So these enemies of yours are diurnal.” The owl observed.
Stylus shrugged again. “Sure, whatever. Yeah.”
“Sneak, you said. Who are these enemies of yours, again?” The owl asked.
“Memory snakes. They killed my sister and burned our home.” Stylus said.
“And this tragedy, this loss of your family, is why I will help you… after I sleep.” The owl closed its eyes.
Stylus looked around the room. He strolled over to the kitchen area and started to open drawers at random. The owl’s eyes snapped open. Its head swiveled around to stare at him. “What do you need?”
Stylus froze, his hand deep in a drawer of paper bag. “Nothing. I'm just not used to sleeping during the daytime. I thought I'd make myself some tea.”
The owl closed its eyes again. “I am a very light sleeper. Owls have amazing hearing, you know.”
“I'll remember that.” Stylus made some tea as quietly as he could, all the while searching for a weapon, something more functional than a fork.