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MidReal Story
POTUS & POTIONS
Scenario:can you write me a full length 100k word novel titled POTUS & POTIONS about trump , sleepy joe , obama and bush the ex presidents of the us who got transported into a fictional realm when they woke up there they started fighting while deciding what to do . Just then a book called the Quest Guide tells them that they will have different roles in this world obama becomes a wizard because of his smarts and can cast spells and make potions , trump becomes a cocky merchant , sleepy joe becomes a healer who can use different herbs and plants they find and can also use obamas potions to make different kinds of medicine , bush becomes a spell farmer who can use potions made by obama to grow crops faster . the Quest Guide will give them advise,quests and different tasks for their entire journey {they carry it around as a normal book} . They start of in a kingdom where there origin story is that they come from a village {so they dont know alot about the outside world } later in the story they take over the kindom and continue going on quests and adventures
Create my version of this story
Donald Trump
He is a merchant in the land of Anorea. He is ambitious,cunning,and selfassured. He was transported from a mysterious book,The Quest Guide,into this world. He finds himself in a village where he quickly becomes known as "The Slick Merchant." Using his knowledge of business from his former world,he seeks to make a fortune in this new realm. Despite his brash nature,he forms unexpected alliances with other transported presidents,including Barack Obama and George Bush,to achieve his goals.
Barack Obama
He is a wizard in the land of Anorea. He is wise,intelligent,and compassionate. Transported with his wife Michelle,he discovers his natural affinity for magic due to his knowledge of science and history. He creates potions and casts spells to aid his friends and allies. His knowledge becomes crucial as he leads the group through various challenges. He forms strong bonds with other presidents,including Donald Trump and George Bush,as they navigate their new world together.
George Bush
He is a spell farmer in the land of Anorea. He is practical,brave,and loyal. Transported with his wife Laura,he quickly adapts to his new surroundings and discovers his ability to grow magical crops using potions created by Obama. He becomes a key member of the group,leading charges against enemies and using his knowledge to overcome obstacles. Bush's relationships with the other presidents are marked by mutual respect and cooperation as they face adventures together.
I was Donald Trump, the President of the United States.
The last thing I remembered was going to sleep and now... I was not in my bed.
I was on a grassy plain with three other men who were also presidents of the United States.
Sleepy Joe and Bush were looking around in confusion, while Obama was reading a book.
"What the hell is going on here?"
I asked.
"Where are we?"
"I have no idea," Sleepy Joe said.
"I was just going to sleep and now I'm here."
"I was reading a book," I said, "and then I fell asleep and now I'm here."
"I was the same," Bush said.
Obama closed his book and looked around.
We were in a grassy plain with no trees or anything else in sight.
There was nothing but grass in all four directions.
"What is that book?" I asked Obama.
"It's called The Quest Guide."
"What's it about?"
"It's about quests," he said.
"Like what?"
"Like going on adventures and stuff."
"Let me see that," I said, reaching for the book.
But he wouldn't give it to me.
"No way," he said.
"I'm not letting you have this."
"Why not?"
I asked.
"Because you're going to try to use it to cheat," he said.
"I won't!"
I said, but he knew me too well.
I cross my arms and glare at Obama, who's still clutching that book like it's made of gold.
Before I can make another grab for it, Sleepy Joe shuffles between us, waving his hands in that annoying way he does.
"Look, fellas," he says, squinting at the horizon, "maybe we should check out what's around here instead of fighting."
Bush nods and points to what might be a dirt path cutting through the grass.
Obama tucks the book into his jacket, giving me one last suspicious look.
I'm about to tell them both where they can stick their exploring when I notice something glinting in the distance.
Could be valuable.
"Fine," I say, already calculating potential profits.
"Hold on," Bush says, shading his eyes with his hand, "is that a signpost up ahead?"
Obama raises an eyebrow and smirks, "Well, if it is, maybe it'll tell us how to get out of this mess."
Sleepy Joe chuckles softly, "Or maybe it'll just say 'Good luck, you're gonna need it.'"
I lead our little group toward the weathered wooden signpost.
My feet crunch on the gravel path, and the others follow close behind.
When we get close enough to read "AETHELBLOOM" in faded letters, I spot massive stone walls rising in the distance.
Definitely a kingdom with money-making potential.
Obama frowns, "Before we head in, maybe we should come up with a cover story."
For once, I agree.
We huddle together, and Bush suggests we say we're survivors from some remote village that got destroyed by bandits.
"It explains our weird clothes and lack of local knowledge," he says, "but still lets us show off our newfound abilities."
I nod approvingly, already planning how to spin this tale to potential customers.
Obama leans in, lowering his voice, "And what exactly are these 'newfound abilities' we're supposed to have?"
Bush grins, tapping the side of his nose, "Well, I reckon we all got something special when we landed here."
Sleepy Joe tilts his head, looking thoughtful, "Yeah, like maybe I can finally stay awake past nine."
As we stand there discussing our plans, a golden glow suddenly emanates from Obama's jacket.
The Quest Guide floats out on its own, hovering between us.
Its pages flip rapidly, releasing sparks of light that dance around our heads.
In a booming voice, it announces our roles: "Donald Trump, the merchant. Barack Obama, the wizard. George Bush, the farmer. Joe Biden, the healer."
Before I can protest being labeled a mere merchant, tingling sensations spread through my body.
My expensive suit morphs into traditional merchant's robes, complete with coin pouches hanging from my belt.
I watch in amazement as Obama's clothes transform into wizard's garments and a staff materializes in his hand.
Bush's outfit becomes earthy farming gear, while Sleepy Joe's transforms into healer's robes with herb pouches attached.
I lead our newly transformed group down the dirt path toward Aethelbloom's gates.
My merchant robes swish with each step, and the coin pouches at my belt jingle pleasantly - already containing some strange local currency the magic provided.
Obama keeps consulting The Quest Guide while walking, muttering something about protective spells.
Bush points to the setting sun and I quicken our pace, not wanting to risk camping in the open.
Biden starts gathering herbs along the path but I bark at him to hurry up - those stone walls mean shelter, food, and most importantly, potential customers.
I stride confidently toward the massive wooden gates.
The guards eye us warily, hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
"Who are you? What business do you have in Aethelbloom?" one guard demands.
I launch into our rehearsed tale, gesturing dramatically at Obama's wizard staff and Biden's herb pouches as proof.
"We're survivors from a remote village attacked by bandits. We've banded together to seek new opportunities."
The guards exchange skeptical glances but I slip them a few coins from my magical purse and they wave us through without further questions.
As we enter the marketplace, the cacophony of sights and sounds overwhelms me.
Stalls overflow with exotic fruits, shimmering potions, and strange creatures in cages.
Local merchants eye us suspiciously, while common folk whisper and point at our unusual group.
Obama leans closer, whispering, "We need to find out what they value most here if we're going to make any real profit."
Bush nods, scanning the bustling market, "Let's split up and gather intel. I'll chat with the farmers; they always know the lay of the land."
Biden chuckles softly, adjusting his herb pouches, "And I'll see if these herbs can earn us some goodwill with the healers."
I scan the area, my merchant instincts on high alert.
"I'll see what I can find out from the local traders. Meet back here before sunset and we'll find lodging together."
Obama nods, his staff drawing curious stares as he heads toward a nearby potion shop.
Bush wanders off to chat with the produce vendors, while Biden shuffles between herb stalls, his new collection in hand.
Before we part ways, I make sure we all agree to meet at the bronze fountain in the town square before sunset.
A merchant's instinct tells me we'll need to pool our coins for a decent inn.
As I walk through the market, I notice a jewelry merchant counting gold coins.
I approach him with a friendly smile, "Good day! Those coins look like they have quite the story."
The merchant glances up, his eyes narrowing slightly, "Aye, stories they do tell. But it's not the gold that's rare here; it's the silver."
Intrigued, I lean in closer, "Silver, you say? What makes it so special in these parts?"
The merchant leans in, a conspiratorial look on his face.
"Silver has magical properties here. It's said to enhance enchantments when used in crafting."
I raise an eyebrow, my mind racing with possibilities, "Enchantments? You mean like the ones Obama can do?"
The merchant nods, "Aye, but silver takes it to another level. I've seen simple trinkets become powerful artifacts."
He pulls out a small, intricately designed ring from his pouch.
"This is a simple ring made from silver. It may look ordinary, but watch closely."
He holds the ring up and mutters something under his breath.
The ring begins to glow faintly.
"This ring can warm its wearer in cold weather," he claims.
I eye the ring skeptically, "Is that so? How do I know it's not just a trick?"
The merchant smiles slyly.
"Watch this."
He drops a small piece of ice onto the ring.
To my amazement, the ice melts instantly.
"That's impressive," I admit, my mind racing with possibilities.
If Obama's magic combined with silver could create enhanced items, we could corner the enchantment market.
"Tell me more about how this works," I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible while discreetly checking how much silver I already have in my coin pouches. The merchant leans in closer, a knowing glint in his eye, "Ah, you see the potential. Well, let me tell you. The key is using pure silver ingots for crafting. Anything less and the enchantment won't take hold."
He rummages through his inventory, pulling out a small ingot of silver.
"This is what you need. Pure silver ingots infused with magic."
I reach for the ingot but he pulls it back with a chuckle.
"Not so fast! These are rare and valuable. But if you're willing to pay the price..."
My mind races with calculations as I consider how much silver we already have and what we could potentially create.
"Tell me more about these enchantments," I press on, trying to gauge the extent of the market demand.
The merchant leans in closer again, lowering his voice further.
The merchant smirks, clearly enjoying the negotiation, "Well, there's a high demand for protective charms and healing amulets. The nobles pay handsomely for anything that can give them an edge."
I nod, thinking of the possibilities, "And what about offensive enchantments? Something that could turn the tide in a skirmish?"
He raises an eyebrow, lowering his voice, "Those are trickier to craft and even more sought after. But if you have the right connections, they can fetch a fortune."
I lean back against the merchant's wooden counter, processing the implications while pretending to examine a display of copper bracelets.
If Obama can infuse silver with spells, we could corner the enchanted jewelry market.
The merchant keeps glancing at my coin pouches, clearly hoping for a sale.
I purchase a small silver ring as a test piece, haggling him down to half his asking price.
When he wraps it in cloth, I catch him studying my merchant robes with suspicion.
I quickly make an excuse about meeting my companions and hurry away, clutching the ring tightly.
I hurry through the crowded marketplace, weaving past stalls selling everything from fresh produce to intricately woven tapestries.
The scent of spices and roasting meats fills the air, mingling with the cacophony of merchants haggling with customers.
I keep my eyes peeled for Obama's distinctive wizard robes, pushing past a group of locals examining a basket of fresh fruit.
As I turn a corner, I spot Obama through the crowd.
He's deep in conversation with a potion vendor, his staff glowing faintly as he examines a bubbling purple liquid in a vial.
I rush over and grab his arm, pulling him aside just as he's about to purchase the potion.
The vendor shoots me an irritated look, but I ignore him and thrust the silver ring toward Obama.
"We need to talk," I say between breaths.
I explain my discovery about the silver market, showing him the ring and how it melts ice.
His eyes widen as he realizes the implications.
"We can infuse silver with magic," he exclaims, "Just think of the enchanted jewelry we could create!"
He's eager to start experimenting, but insists on buying three small vials of enhancement potions first.
We haggle with the vendor while I tap my foot impatiently.
Just as we're finishing up, we spot Bush examining a basket of crop seeds nearby.
We wave him over and he hurries toward us, his eyes fixed on the vials in Obama's hand.
"Did you find something?" he asks excitedly.
Obama holds up a vial, "Enhancement potions. We're going to experiment with combining them with silver."
Bush nods enthusiastically, "I found some interesting seeds over there. Maybe we can use them to enhance our crops."
We glance around for Biden, but he's nowhere in sight.
"Let's check the herb market section," I suggest.
As we make our way through the stalls, I notice a small wooden sign swinging in the breeze above an inn.
The Silver Swan reads the sign in elegant cursive script.
I point it out to Obama and Bush, "Look, it's like fate. We need a private place to discuss our plans."
I lead our group toward the inn, approaching the innkeeper who's sitting behind a wooden counter.
He looks up as we enter, his eyes assessing us quickly.
"Welcome to The Silver Swan. What can I do for you?"
I lean forward, "We're merchants looking for a private room. What's your rate?"
The innkeeper glances at my robes, "Ah, a merchant. I can give you a discount. Three silver coins per night."
I nod, "That's reasonable. We'll take it."
As we wait for the innkeeper to retrieve the key, I glance out the window and spot Joe at an herb stall nearby.
He's surrounded by customers waving silver coins in the air.
I nudge Obama, "Look, there's Joe. He must have found something valuable."
Obama follows my gaze, "It looks like he's selling his herbs."
I turn back to the innkeeper, "Can you send someone to retrieve our companion? He's at the herb stall across the street."
The innkeeper nods and calls over a young boy who hurries out of the inn.
I hand him a small copper coin, "Tell him we're waiting here."
The boy nods and runs off toward the market.
Obama and I climb the creaky wooden stairs to our room while Bush waits downstairs for Joe.
The room is small but private, with two beds and a worn wooden table in the center.
I sit down on one of the beds and examine the silver ring Obama purchased earlier.
After a few minutes, Bush returns with Joe in tow. Joe's pouches are noticeably fuller than before, and they jingle with silver coins as he moves.
I bolt the door shut behind them and gesture for Joe to join us at the table.
He dumps his pouches onto the table, revealing a pile of silver coins mixed with dried herbs.
"We did well today," I say, gathering everyone around the table.
"Let's count our earnings and discuss our next move."
Obama pulls out his pouches and adds them to the pile while Bush counts out his own coins.
Joe leans forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"There's a rumor going around the market," he says, lowering his voice.
"They say there's a hidden vault beneath the city, filled with enchanted silver."
Through the inn's window, I notice dark clouds gathering over Aethelbloom's spires.
The wind picks up suddenly, rattling our shutters and making Joe jump in his seat.
I spread a crude map of the city on our table, pointing to where local smiths might sell basic weapons.
Obama suggests enchanting whatever gear we buy with his magic, while Bush argues we should get armor first.
Lightning flashes outside as we debate the costs.
I empty my coin pouches onto the table, counting our combined silver.
The storm grows louder, but we need to finish planning - those underground vaults won't explore themselves.
Joe leans back, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. "If the vault's real, it's our chance to get ahead of the market."
Obama nods thoughtfully, "But we'll need more than just silver; we need allies who know the city's secrets."
Bush taps the map, his finger landing on a district marked with a faded emblem. "I know someone in the Thieves' Guild who might help—for a price."
I watch in surprise as The Quest Guide suddenly springs from Obama's robe, hovering above our table with a stern glow.
The book flips open to a page filled with magical text.
A message glows brightly, "Rushing into danger without preparation is folly. You must first establish a base of operations and gather sufficient resources."
I frown, "But think of the profit potential if we find that vault!"
More text appears on the page, "Your current funds: 2,002 silver pieces."
The book displays images of a modest house near the marketplace, followed by illustrations of Bush's seeds growing into valuable magical crops in its garden.
Joe yawns, stretching his arms over his head.
"These beds are more uncomfortable than they look," he complains.
I reluctantly agree we should focus on establishing a permanent base before chasing after the vault.
I lean back in my creaky inn chair, studying the crude property deed sketch in The Quest Guide.
The book's pages glow faintly as I calculate purchase costs on a scrap of parchment.
Obama peers over my shoulder, pointing out the house's strategic location near both the marketplace and his preferred potion vendor.
Bush excitedly describes where he'll plant the magical seeds, while Joe maps out a herb garden on the back page.
When the innkeeper knocks to collect our breakfast payment, I tell the others to pack quickly.
"We'll secure our future before the storm passes."
I lead our group through puddles left by the storm, clutching the property deed from The Quest Guide.
The marketplace crowds part as we hurry past, my merchant robes and Obama's staff drawing curious stares.
At the property office, a balding clerk named Mortimer scrutinizes our silver coins one by one, testing each with a strange crystal.
My fingers drum impatiently on his wooden desk while he counts, recounts, and fills out forms in triplicate.
When he questions our village background story, I smoothly mention influential merchants I've met, making Obama tense beside me.
Mortimer raises an eyebrow, his voice skeptical. "Influential merchants, you say? I hope they taught you the value of honesty."
Obama leans in, his tone calm but firm. "We're here to build something real, Mortimer. Our intentions are as genuine as the silver you're holding."
Bush nods in agreement, adding with a grin. "And once our crops grow, you'll see we're not just dreamers—we're doers."
I snatch the deed from his hands, ignoring his forced smile.
I inspect every detail, from the parchment's texture to the official red seal.
Perfect and legitimate.
Obama peers over my shoulder as I count the property boundaries listed, making sure we got every inch we paid for.
Bush asks to see it next, but I hold up one finger, still reading.
Joe starts to doze off in his chair, and I snap at him to stay alert—this is a big moment.
Joe blinks awake, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, it's just been a long night," he mumbles.
Obama chuckles softly, patting Joe's shoulder. "Don't worry, Joe. Once we're settled, you'll have all the time you need to rest."
Bush leans forward, eyes gleaming with excitement. "And then we can start planning our first harvest festival—show this town what we're really made of."
I lead our group down the muddy street toward our property, clutching the iron key Mortimer gave us.
The afternoon sun breaks through the clouds as we approach the two-story stone house with its overgrown garden.
Bush immediately walks the perimeter, measuring spaces for crop rows, while Obama examines the crumbling stone wall for magical reinforcement needs.
Joe discovers a patch of medicinal herbs growing wild by the front door.
I unlock the heavy wooden door, which creaks open to reveal a dusty interior with cobwebs everywhere.
Obama steps inside, waving his staff to clear the cobwebs. "This place has potential," he says, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Joe nods, picking up a dusty book from the floor. "And secrets," he adds, flipping through pages filled with faded runes. Bush dusts off a window ledge and grins. "Let's uncover them all and make this house truly ours."
I stand in our dusty main room, directing everyone on cleaning duties while making a mental inventory of what we need.
Obama's magic could speed things up, but he insists on saving energy for important spells.
When Joe starts sneezing from the dust, I send him to the market for cleaning supplies with a list I've prepared.
Bush finds old farming tools in a corner and sorts through them methodically.
I examine the walls, planning where to display valuable merchandise once we're set up.
