Huseby
Veteran
From the greatest town crier Warband has ever had the fortune to spawn:
http://forum.melee.org/index.php?action=profile;u=676;area=showposts;start=0
These stories are probably not safe for work with the language and sexual content, so be fore-warned. The total collection of short role-playing stories are very long when shared in their entirety.
These are ordered from the oldest to the newest Role-playing posts. They are mainly in context with c-rpg and Strategus in specific (if you have any questions about any references, feel free to ask and I can likely give you more information). I figured the genius that is Kamikaze_Joe should be shared with all Calradians.
http://forum.melee.org/index.php?action=profile;u=676;area=showposts;start=0
These stories are probably not safe for work with the language and sexual content, so be fore-warned. The total collection of short role-playing stories are very long when shared in their entirety.
These are ordered from the oldest to the newest Role-playing posts. They are mainly in context with c-rpg and Strategus in specific (if you have any questions about any references, feel free to ask and I can likely give you more information). I figured the genius that is Kamikaze_Joe should be shared with all Calradians.
Joe was ****ing with his favorite Champion Courser when the door to his glorious Sex Palace burst open. A mere Rouncey, a simple working horse, strode into the gilded hall. He wore a flowing heraldic coat, on which was sewn the glorious seal of Free Companies of Calradia.
"Sire," he said, his eyes nervous and cast down, away from the glorious debaucher before him. "Sire, I have news of an alliance between neighboring factions.
"I am with my mistress!" Joe cried, still thrusting. Sweat from the bestial duo dripped audibly onto the gold-tiled floor. "Can't you see that I'm busy? **** off!"
"Y-yes my lord. I'll just tell them you're b-busy I guess."
"Tell them the usual," Joe grunted. "It's signed, etc."
The doors burst open again. In strode a red haired woman, beautiful but stern of face. She wore the finest of Plus Three Cavalry Robes. She looked from the Rouncey to Joe, then grimaced, pushing past the anxious messenger. "Joe, Jesus Christ, stop."
"What do you mean by this, Kesh? Bursting into my hall--"
"Oh my God, just stop. You delusional ****. Just get out of the 'Sex Palace' and get to work. We need you to go south to boot CHAOS nerds to EU."
"Oh... Ok." He looked down at the panting Champion Courser. "Leave me, my mistress!"
"Please stop talking to the horses Joe. You can **** them, but please don't talk to them. It's unnerving."
Joe begrudgingly unsheathed his **** from the Champion Courser and collected his pants from the dusty stool on which he'd placed them. Clothes in arm, he stumbled through hay and horse-****, his bare feet slapping audibly against the dirt floor of the stables at Mechin. He strode out beside Kesh, visibly upset, his imaginary play time over.
"Sire," he said, his eyes nervous and cast down, away from the glorious debaucher before him. "Sire, I have news of an alliance between neighboring factions.
"I am with my mistress!" Joe cried, still thrusting. Sweat from the bestial duo dripped audibly onto the gold-tiled floor. "Can't you see that I'm busy? **** off!"
"Y-yes my lord. I'll just tell them you're b-busy I guess."
"Tell them the usual," Joe grunted. "It's signed, etc."
The doors burst open again. In strode a red haired woman, beautiful but stern of face. She wore the finest of Plus Three Cavalry Robes. She looked from the Rouncey to Joe, then grimaced, pushing past the anxious messenger. "Joe, Jesus Christ, stop."
"What do you mean by this, Kesh? Bursting into my hall--"
"Oh my God, just stop. You delusional ****. Just get out of the 'Sex Palace' and get to work. We need you to go south to boot CHAOS nerds to EU."
"Oh... Ok." He looked down at the panting Champion Courser. "Leave me, my mistress!"
"Please stop talking to the horses Joe. You can **** them, but please don't talk to them. It's unnerving."
Joe begrudgingly unsheathed his **** from the Champion Courser and collected his pants from the dusty stool on which he'd placed them. Clothes in arm, he stumbled through hay and horse-****, his bare feet slapping audibly against the dirt floor of the stables at Mechin. He strode out beside Kesh, visibly upset, his imaginary play time over.
Joe rode towards the keep of Senuzgda Castle, pinching his nose against the stink of still smoldering wood and corpses, churned earth, and rotting men and women. The battle had been costly.
He smiled into his gloved hand, remembering the inhuman valor of their warriors. Bale, for example, had sprinted up their ladders time and time again, waving his hands and grinning, shrieking like a dinosaur. The enemy's hammers consistently beat him off the ladders, but he persisted. Such honor!
Joe jerked in the saddle, his horse stopping suddenly.
A little foreign man stood in his path. He twirled his flowing mustache angrily, the motion sending his chainmail a-clinking. "Signora caza! You stoppa da horse!"
"Wut?"
"I am la Arrowaine! Yousa da Effa-Chee-Chee scum! You steala mah pizza!"
"I--"
"You maka da chaos you *****es, lika all da rest! ****a you, I spit!" And then he spat.
"Shut up we're better than you, go away."
Joe's champion courser, at the touch of his spurs, surged forward, knocking the little mustachioed man aside. He needed to get to the keep, as he had an appointment to keep with it's new masters. The ritual was to begin: The FCC Victory Circle Jerk, his favorite event!
He smiled into his gloved hand, remembering the inhuman valor of their warriors. Bale, for example, had sprinted up their ladders time and time again, waving his hands and grinning, shrieking like a dinosaur. The enemy's hammers consistently beat him off the ladders, but he persisted. Such honor!
Joe jerked in the saddle, his horse stopping suddenly.
A little foreign man stood in his path. He twirled his flowing mustache angrily, the motion sending his chainmail a-clinking. "Signora caza! You stoppa da horse!"
"Wut?"
"I am la Arrowaine! Yousa da Effa-Chee-Chee scum! You steala mah pizza!"
"I--"
"You maka da chaos you *****es, lika all da rest! ****a you, I spit!" And then he spat.
"Shut up we're better than you, go away."
Joe's champion courser, at the touch of his spurs, surged forward, knocking the little mustachioed man aside. He needed to get to the keep, as he had an appointment to keep with it's new masters. The ritual was to begin: The FCC Victory Circle Jerk, his favorite event!
Joe stood behind a herd of some seventy five Champion Coursers, fifty Warhorses, and eight hundred Champion Rounceys, trying desperately to cram them inside a quickly filling castle. "****ING MOVE," he screamed, his voice barely carrying over the neighing and stamping of hooves. "ITS NOT SAFE OUTSIDE!"
He turned to see a rising dust cloud behind him, a few miles off. A CHAOS raiding party was hot on his heels. He needed to get the rest of his horses into the safety of the castle. He ran back and forth behind the herd, waving his arms and slapping rumps, shouting. Slowly, the animal ocean flowed though the castle's gates.
An unloomed rouncey approached. He said, "My lord! The leaders of Frisia and the FCC are having a long-distance parlay!"
Joe smiled. Nothing could distract from the thought of imminent death like these two factions' attempts at diplomacy. "Thank you, good horse." He grabbed an armful of hand-written dispatches from a basket on the horse's flank and kicked it in the face, dismissing it.
Joe had read through five dispatches, quite giddy by this point, when a +3 Courser appeared, panting and bloody-faced. "Lord Joe, there is no more room in the castle! We are being crushed!"
Still reading, Joe said, "Have the guards throw ladders. You can climb up if the angle's not steep. Fill up the walls and towers."
The courser looked skeptical. "As you wish."
After a few minutes, Joe had satisfied his lust for nerd rage. This round of communiques had been particularly entertaining--the parchment upon which the last exchange between Keshian and kasMVC was written on was actually speckled with dried blood.
He looked up at the castle. Horses stood all along the walls, upon the keep and towers, and filled up the courtyard. They bristled from every surface of the building like the feathers of a great bird. His four-legged friends had done well.
Summoning the rouncey again, he wrote out his own contribution to the diplomatic event: "Nerf cav."
He turned to see a rising dust cloud behind him, a few miles off. A CHAOS raiding party was hot on his heels. He needed to get the rest of his horses into the safety of the castle. He ran back and forth behind the herd, waving his arms and slapping rumps, shouting. Slowly, the animal ocean flowed though the castle's gates.
An unloomed rouncey approached. He said, "My lord! The leaders of Frisia and the FCC are having a long-distance parlay!"
Joe smiled. Nothing could distract from the thought of imminent death like these two factions' attempts at diplomacy. "Thank you, good horse." He grabbed an armful of hand-written dispatches from a basket on the horse's flank and kicked it in the face, dismissing it.
Joe had read through five dispatches, quite giddy by this point, when a +3 Courser appeared, panting and bloody-faced. "Lord Joe, there is no more room in the castle! We are being crushed!"
Still reading, Joe said, "Have the guards throw ladders. You can climb up if the angle's not steep. Fill up the walls and towers."
The courser looked skeptical. "As you wish."
After a few minutes, Joe had satisfied his lust for nerd rage. This round of communiques had been particularly entertaining--the parchment upon which the last exchange between Keshian and kasMVC was written on was actually speckled with dried blood.
He looked up at the castle. Horses stood all along the walls, upon the keep and towers, and filled up the courtyard. They bristled from every surface of the building like the feathers of a great bird. His four-legged friends had done well.
Summoning the rouncey again, he wrote out his own contribution to the diplomatic event: "Nerf cav."
Joe was tying broomsticks to his horses.
He was doing this on a section of wall in New Senuzgda Castle, squeezing between sweating, stinking animals. He would have like to have more room, but he had needed to cram hundreds of horses inside, what with CHAOS and FIDLGB armies roaming the countryside.
Horses were everywhere. In the courtyard, along the walls, in the towers. He had even gotten a few inside the keep, despite The Sweet Prince, Haru's desperate pleas.
"Alright, guys," Joe said, tying the last of the broomsticks to a Well Bred Rouncey, "You remember the plan, right?"
A few nodded, though most stood silent, grim faced. Or as grim faced as horses got.
"I'm not sure where WITCHCRAFT is right now, but you'll find him, I'm sure of it." He stepped a little ways back, and took in his work, laughing--they looked ridiculous. He had taken the precaution of tying several broomsticks onto the armored horses, what with their being heavier.
"My lord," a frightened Mamluk Horse said, a broom tied to his face, "I'm not sure--"
"Shut up," Joe said. "WITCHCRAFT wants talking horses." He took a deep breath, both anticipating and fearing this moment, assured of his success but nonetheless dreading failure.
"Go," he said.
They hesitated, looking around anxiously.
Behind him, Joe saw the faces of many castle guards staring wide-eyed from arrow-slits in the keep. Somebody, maybe Espo, was running towards him, waving his arms. The hundreds of other horses inside the castle stared with open mouths and stricken faces. All eyes were on him, waiting for this moment. This success.
Joe drew his sword and put on his war-face. "****ING FLY MOTHER ****ERS!"
They surged over the crenulations, away from his wildly swinging steel. For a brief moment, WITCHCRAFT's special delivery was airborne, their legs peddling madly at thin air.
Then they plummeted, screaming, fifty feet to the rocky ground below.
Joe peered over the wall, frowning at the pile of twitching, groaning horses below. Cries of "OH GOD, MY LEGS!" and "WHY, WHY?!" graced his ears. It sounded like the lighter rouncey's had landed on top.
Espo, almost at Joe's side, stopped, threw his hands up, and walked back across the courtyard towards the keep. Yes, today's failure had disappointed many. WITCHCRAFT would need to wait a bit longer for his horses.
Joe sighed, realizing that the one thing cav couldn't do was fly.
He was doing this on a section of wall in New Senuzgda Castle, squeezing between sweating, stinking animals. He would have like to have more room, but he had needed to cram hundreds of horses inside, what with CHAOS and FIDLGB armies roaming the countryside.
Horses were everywhere. In the courtyard, along the walls, in the towers. He had even gotten a few inside the keep, despite The Sweet Prince, Haru's desperate pleas.
"Alright, guys," Joe said, tying the last of the broomsticks to a Well Bred Rouncey, "You remember the plan, right?"
A few nodded, though most stood silent, grim faced. Or as grim faced as horses got.
"I'm not sure where WITCHCRAFT is right now, but you'll find him, I'm sure of it." He stepped a little ways back, and took in his work, laughing--they looked ridiculous. He had taken the precaution of tying several broomsticks onto the armored horses, what with their being heavier.
"My lord," a frightened Mamluk Horse said, a broom tied to his face, "I'm not sure--"
"Shut up," Joe said. "WITCHCRAFT wants talking horses." He took a deep breath, both anticipating and fearing this moment, assured of his success but nonetheless dreading failure.
"Go," he said.
They hesitated, looking around anxiously.
Behind him, Joe saw the faces of many castle guards staring wide-eyed from arrow-slits in the keep. Somebody, maybe Espo, was running towards him, waving his arms. The hundreds of other horses inside the castle stared with open mouths and stricken faces. All eyes were on him, waiting for this moment. This success.
Joe drew his sword and put on his war-face. "****ING FLY MOTHER ****ERS!"
They surged over the crenulations, away from his wildly swinging steel. For a brief moment, WITCHCRAFT's special delivery was airborne, their legs peddling madly at thin air.
Then they plummeted, screaming, fifty feet to the rocky ground below.
Joe peered over the wall, frowning at the pile of twitching, groaning horses below. Cries of "OH GOD, MY LEGS!" and "WHY, WHY?!" graced his ears. It sounded like the lighter rouncey's had landed on top.
Espo, almost at Joe's side, stopped, threw his hands up, and walked back across the courtyard towards the keep. Yes, today's failure had disappointed many. WITCHCRAFT would need to wait a bit longer for his horses.
Joe sighed, realizing that the one thing cav couldn't do was fly.
New Samarra Castle
Lord Joe stood behind his Champion Courser on the stairs leading into the dungeons. "My love," he said, "It's two ****ing steps."
"B-but I have four legs. I'm not sure how this is supposed to work." She put a leg forward, then hastily brought it back.
She was a good horse, but vertical movement could be a problem.
Joe squeezed past her sweat-coated flank . "Just let me know when you're ready, alright?"
He walked into a long, stone hallway. It was dark and cold, despite the flickering torches. Waiting for him was the leadership of the Free Companies. Great lords, all of them, in glittering mail and finely woven heraldry.
Bale muttered something about "nutcase" and "horse". Kesh, her hair lighting up the dungeon with it's glory, seemed worried.
Also present, much to Joe's surprise, was Lord Tydeus. Tydeus hadn't been present during their seizure of the castle, and shortly thereafter the armies of SEMEN STORM had surrounded the place, yet somehow the warrior had gotten in. Joe smiled at the dour group before him. "What'cha need?"
Gristle stepped forward, he seemed less angry than he was sad. He fiddled his little plate-shaped hat. "Joe, we need you to, uh, interrogate a political prisoner. BADPLAYER. He has resisted us, but perhaps you can do something to get him to talk." He glanced over Joe's shoulder. "You and your, erm, maiden."
Kesh cleared her throat, and a man's voice came out. "He glitched the ****ing castle, and we need to know how... So we can do the same. This wizardry could help us defeat Hospitaller and their vassals: Occitan and SEMEN STORM, once and for all"
Joe nodded. "I'm gay."
"I knew we could count on you."
---------------------------
Joe and Champion Courser strode into the interrogation room. BADPLAYER hung from the wall by chains, his sweating, shivering, form shocking to behold. His neckbeard hung to the floor, devoid of its usual luster.
"BADPLAYER--sorry for shouting that--you've been a naughty boy."
"Joe? Is that a horse? Oh God, what the **** are you going to do to me now?"
"We," Joe said, "Are going to talk."
"I've got nothing to say to you. I thought you were going to protect me." He sounded breathless. The Terrortops must have had his way with him.
Joe looked to his horse, smiling. "Honey, I think it's time for the Halibut." He strode to a chest in the corner and retrieved a large fish.
"Are you talking to your horse? Jesus Christ."
Joe put on his fish-beating face and leapt across the room. He fell upon BADPLAYER, smiting him with savage blows.
-------------------------------
In a room next door, the leaders of FCC sat in a circle. They could hear the sound of wet fish-slaps through the wall.
Gristle was pacing. "He's going to kill him. We can't do this. Not when BADPLAYER came to us in friendship."
Tydeus spoke, "We need to know. I can't just ban him on a hunch."
WITCHCRAFT said, "I could try some potions. They don't work, but BADPLAYER--sorry for yelling--doesn't know that.
Kesh frowned. "They work sometimes. Remember that siege and the necromancy?" She looked suddenly worried. "Wait. What if--?"
"OH GOD YOU'RE A WIZARD!"
Joe's cry filled the dungeon, along the neighing of his triple-loomed Courser.
The leaders of FCC and Tydeus leapt to their feet, drawing swords and rushing into the hall. Gristle fumbled with the keys to the interrogation room. The sound of scuffling feet and grunting could be heard on the other side. The door clicked, and the brave lords rushed in.
What the saw was terrible.
Joe and his horse were locked in a deadly struggle with BADPLAYER'S neckbeard. It had grown to twice its normal length, and had a life of its own. Joe wrestled desperately for control of his Halibut.
The lords of FCC and Tydeus fell upon the dread neckbeard with fierce battle-cries, hacking and grappling. BADPLAYER was laughing, cackling, his beard growing more and more.
Suddenly, the fell neckbeard was on fire, a torch caught in its Mountain Dewy tangles. Somebody yelled "GOTTEM COACH!"
It was over. BADPLAYER was consumed by the flames, his last utterance an angry shriek.
Tydeus, panting, sheathed his sword. He looked at the confused faces around him. "I'll, uh, talk Chadz about that. Let's... Let's just say I banned him, for now." This was met with muttered agreements.
Bale shook his great, horned head. "Why did we ****ing do this in the first place?"
Lord Joe stood behind his Champion Courser on the stairs leading into the dungeons. "My love," he said, "It's two ****ing steps."
"B-but I have four legs. I'm not sure how this is supposed to work." She put a leg forward, then hastily brought it back.
She was a good horse, but vertical movement could be a problem.
Joe squeezed past her sweat-coated flank . "Just let me know when you're ready, alright?"
He walked into a long, stone hallway. It was dark and cold, despite the flickering torches. Waiting for him was the leadership of the Free Companies. Great lords, all of them, in glittering mail and finely woven heraldry.
Bale muttered something about "nutcase" and "horse". Kesh, her hair lighting up the dungeon with it's glory, seemed worried.
Also present, much to Joe's surprise, was Lord Tydeus. Tydeus hadn't been present during their seizure of the castle, and shortly thereafter the armies of SEMEN STORM had surrounded the place, yet somehow the warrior had gotten in. Joe smiled at the dour group before him. "What'cha need?"
Gristle stepped forward, he seemed less angry than he was sad. He fiddled his little plate-shaped hat. "Joe, we need you to, uh, interrogate a political prisoner. BADPLAYER. He has resisted us, but perhaps you can do something to get him to talk." He glanced over Joe's shoulder. "You and your, erm, maiden."
Kesh cleared her throat, and a man's voice came out. "He glitched the ****ing castle, and we need to know how... So we can do the same. This wizardry could help us defeat Hospitaller and their vassals: Occitan and SEMEN STORM, once and for all"
Joe nodded. "I'm gay."
"I knew we could count on you."
---------------------------
Joe and Champion Courser strode into the interrogation room. BADPLAYER hung from the wall by chains, his sweating, shivering, form shocking to behold. His neckbeard hung to the floor, devoid of its usual luster.
"BADPLAYER--sorry for shouting that--you've been a naughty boy."
"Joe? Is that a horse? Oh God, what the **** are you going to do to me now?"
"We," Joe said, "Are going to talk."
"I've got nothing to say to you. I thought you were going to protect me." He sounded breathless. The Terrortops must have had his way with him.
Joe looked to his horse, smiling. "Honey, I think it's time for the Halibut." He strode to a chest in the corner and retrieved a large fish.
"Are you talking to your horse? Jesus Christ."
Joe put on his fish-beating face and leapt across the room. He fell upon BADPLAYER, smiting him with savage blows.
-------------------------------
In a room next door, the leaders of FCC sat in a circle. They could hear the sound of wet fish-slaps through the wall.
Gristle was pacing. "He's going to kill him. We can't do this. Not when BADPLAYER came to us in friendship."
Tydeus spoke, "We need to know. I can't just ban him on a hunch."
WITCHCRAFT said, "I could try some potions. They don't work, but BADPLAYER--sorry for yelling--doesn't know that.
Kesh frowned. "They work sometimes. Remember that siege and the necromancy?" She looked suddenly worried. "Wait. What if--?"
"OH GOD YOU'RE A WIZARD!"
Joe's cry filled the dungeon, along the neighing of his triple-loomed Courser.
The leaders of FCC and Tydeus leapt to their feet, drawing swords and rushing into the hall. Gristle fumbled with the keys to the interrogation room. The sound of scuffling feet and grunting could be heard on the other side. The door clicked, and the brave lords rushed in.
What the saw was terrible.
Joe and his horse were locked in a deadly struggle with BADPLAYER'S neckbeard. It had grown to twice its normal length, and had a life of its own. Joe wrestled desperately for control of his Halibut.
The lords of FCC and Tydeus fell upon the dread neckbeard with fierce battle-cries, hacking and grappling. BADPLAYER was laughing, cackling, his beard growing more and more.
Suddenly, the fell neckbeard was on fire, a torch caught in its Mountain Dewy tangles. Somebody yelled "GOTTEM COACH!"
It was over. BADPLAYER was consumed by the flames, his last utterance an angry shriek.
Tydeus, panting, sheathed his sword. He looked at the confused faces around him. "I'll, uh, talk Chadz about that. Let's... Let's just say I banned him, for now." This was met with muttered agreements.
Bale shook his great, horned head. "Why did we ****ing do this in the first place?"
Joe removed his thin cotton shirt, sticky with sweat, and flung it away. He then removed his pants, for good measure. The stables of New Knudar Castle were sweltering this time of year. He yearned for his old quarters in the keep.
But Kesh didn't like him sleeping in the keep. Not after that whole bestial orgy thing.
The stables were boring, in addition to being painfully hot. Horses of all shapes and sizes stood in small groups, chatting idly, their colts carefully ignored, left to their own, playful devices. The murmur of conversation filled the hot building.
Joe, still naked, sought to entertain himself by entertaining others. He approached a little group of horse-children, his large, uncircumcised **** dangling much like those of the adult horses. "Children," he said, "would you like to hear a story?"
"Please go away."
Joe scoffed. "Sorry! I guess you don't like stories... Would you prefer flying lessons instead?"
"N-no." The horses looked terrified. The stables had fallen silent.
"Are you sure? You're Uncle Rouncey seemed to enjoy himself." This was silly-talk, of course, as that particular rouncey was just a pile of bones at the foot of the castle walls, bleaching amidst the remains of his comrades, and some broomsticks--a failed venture of Joe's. He wondered, briefly, whether the younger horses might have a better chance of flight, being lighter.
"I think w-we're ready for a story."
The adult horses resumed their chatter in the background. Someone said, "Christ that was close."
"Good! I'll tell you about the time that HoC sucked." This was a very pertinent tale, as word of HoC's most recent aggression was spreading across the land like wildfire. They king had send out messengers to every corner of the continent with orders to go door-to-door like ****ing Jehovah's Witnesses, screaming their master's drunken war declarations word-for-word.
"Alright. Once upon a time, I fought in a big battle between MURDER BONER and HoC. Knowing ahead of time that HoC was bad, I offered my services to the other team. They welcomed me, no doubt hearing of my phallic strength--" and here Joe paused to flex his large member. "Our foes formed the dreaded..." He paused again, this time for dramatic effect. "THE DREADED HoC SHIELDWALL!"
The colts jumped, all of them frightened. One of the gasped.
"Yes! I know! It was terrifying. But then they actually tried to fight us and we killed hundreds. I myself was the third best of our soldiers. We were keeping score, you see."
"But Joe, didn't they know how to block?"
"No, young one." He shook his head mournfully. "I'm afraid they couldn't block for ****."
"That sounds sad." The other colts nodded.
"It was sad." Joe scratched his untrimmed pubic wilderness. "Funnily enough, I signed up for the wrong side. Our glorious leader, Kesh, whose gender transcends all reason, told me that I was supposed to help HoC during that little war."
"That was silly!"
"You're going flying."
But Kesh didn't like him sleeping in the keep. Not after that whole bestial orgy thing.
The stables were boring, in addition to being painfully hot. Horses of all shapes and sizes stood in small groups, chatting idly, their colts carefully ignored, left to their own, playful devices. The murmur of conversation filled the hot building.
Joe, still naked, sought to entertain himself by entertaining others. He approached a little group of horse-children, his large, uncircumcised **** dangling much like those of the adult horses. "Children," he said, "would you like to hear a story?"
"Please go away."
Joe scoffed. "Sorry! I guess you don't like stories... Would you prefer flying lessons instead?"
"N-no." The horses looked terrified. The stables had fallen silent.
"Are you sure? You're Uncle Rouncey seemed to enjoy himself." This was silly-talk, of course, as that particular rouncey was just a pile of bones at the foot of the castle walls, bleaching amidst the remains of his comrades, and some broomsticks--a failed venture of Joe's. He wondered, briefly, whether the younger horses might have a better chance of flight, being lighter.
"I think w-we're ready for a story."
The adult horses resumed their chatter in the background. Someone said, "Christ that was close."
"Good! I'll tell you about the time that HoC sucked." This was a very pertinent tale, as word of HoC's most recent aggression was spreading across the land like wildfire. They king had send out messengers to every corner of the continent with orders to go door-to-door like ****ing Jehovah's Witnesses, screaming their master's drunken war declarations word-for-word.
"Alright. Once upon a time, I fought in a big battle between MURDER BONER and HoC. Knowing ahead of time that HoC was bad, I offered my services to the other team. They welcomed me, no doubt hearing of my phallic strength--" and here Joe paused to flex his large member. "Our foes formed the dreaded..." He paused again, this time for dramatic effect. "THE DREADED HoC SHIELDWALL!"
The colts jumped, all of them frightened. One of the gasped.
"Yes! I know! It was terrifying. But then they actually tried to fight us and we killed hundreds. I myself was the third best of our soldiers. We were keeping score, you see."
"But Joe, didn't they know how to block?"
"No, young one." He shook his head mournfully. "I'm afraid they couldn't block for ****."
"That sounds sad." The other colts nodded.
"It was sad." Joe scratched his untrimmed pubic wilderness. "Funnily enough, I signed up for the wrong side. Our glorious leader, Kesh, whose gender transcends all reason, told me that I was supposed to help HoC during that little war."
"That was silly!"
"You're going flying."
Joe stood naked before an easel (he worked better unhindered), a paintbrush poised mid-air, his eyes distant and thoughtful. He wanted this portrait to be perfect--a masterpiece.
A work of love. Inspired.
He looked from the painting to his beloved model, Champion Courser, who stood a few feet away. She looked at him with tired eyes, "My love," she said, "Are you done yet?"
"Shut the **** up and hold still."
She shifted her head back to the agreed upon pose, her head hovering over a bowl of grapes.
A messenger knocked, then entered. "My lord, sorry to interrupt your, erm..." his gaze lingered on Joe's painting. "You are aware that it looks like a three legged penis, my lord?"
Joe twisted, his face a mask of inspired rage. "This is art, you uncultured pig! It is beautiful, and captures the essence of my beloved!" He pressed his face to the paper and inhaled. "Can you smell the art?!"
"N-no my lord."
Joe drew his paint-stained face back and, seizing his painting, leapt across the room, his **** sent a-flopping by the explosion of movement. He pressed his masterpiece against the messenger's face. Leaning in, he whispered, "Can you smell it now?"
A mumbled, "Y-yes," was the reply.
"Good," he flung the painting away. "The message?"
The man, his face coated in reds and blues and pinks, took a moment to remember. "Acre. Acre isn't doing ****."
Joe gave him two thumbs-up. "****ing fantastic."
Distracted from his work, he rubbed himself absent-mindedly, tracing little blue swirls around his nipples. The movement stirred something inside him: an idea. He walked over the courser and, ignoring the messenger's presence, dipped a finger in some spilled paint. He dragged his finger across the horse's flank.
"What are you doing to me?"
"Painting. I have found my Muse."
"Alright then."
A work of love. Inspired.
He looked from the painting to his beloved model, Champion Courser, who stood a few feet away. She looked at him with tired eyes, "My love," she said, "Are you done yet?"
"Shut the **** up and hold still."
She shifted her head back to the agreed upon pose, her head hovering over a bowl of grapes.
A messenger knocked, then entered. "My lord, sorry to interrupt your, erm..." his gaze lingered on Joe's painting. "You are aware that it looks like a three legged penis, my lord?"
Joe twisted, his face a mask of inspired rage. "This is art, you uncultured pig! It is beautiful, and captures the essence of my beloved!" He pressed his face to the paper and inhaled. "Can you smell the art?!"
"N-no my lord."
Joe drew his paint-stained face back and, seizing his painting, leapt across the room, his **** sent a-flopping by the explosion of movement. He pressed his masterpiece against the messenger's face. Leaning in, he whispered, "Can you smell it now?"
A mumbled, "Y-yes," was the reply.
"Good," he flung the painting away. "The message?"
The man, his face coated in reds and blues and pinks, took a moment to remember. "Acre. Acre isn't doing ****."
Joe gave him two thumbs-up. "****ing fantastic."
Distracted from his work, he rubbed himself absent-mindedly, tracing little blue swirls around his nipples. The movement stirred something inside him: an idea. He walked over the courser and, ignoring the messenger's presence, dipped a finger in some spilled paint. He dragged his finger across the horse's flank.
"What are you doing to me?"
"Painting. I have found my Muse."
"Alright then."
Joe was masturbating in his room.
A carrier pigeon landed on window sill, interrupting his happy-time.
He stared at it for a long while, his hand dripping moisturizer onto the floor. "You'll do," he said. Then he lunged, snatching up the helpless bird, his hand like the eagle's claw. "PLEASURE ME, MESSENGER!"
The bird slid over his **** like a glove.
A few pumps, and it was all over. The animal's eyes bulged, and it exploded, like a little sex grenade, showering Joe with feathers and semen.
Matey burst into the room. "Joe!" he said, "Did you hear about MB's new..." His voice trailed off as he took in the scene before him. He saw Joe sitting on his bed side, covered in semen and feathers with a bird carcass in hand, it's flesh peeled away from the head like a banana. Matey made confused noises, a series of "Uh's" and "W-what's?".
Joe slowly raised a finger to his lips. "Ssssh."
Matey stepped out.
A carrier pigeon landed on window sill, interrupting his happy-time.
He stared at it for a long while, his hand dripping moisturizer onto the floor. "You'll do," he said. Then he lunged, snatching up the helpless bird, his hand like the eagle's claw. "PLEASURE ME, MESSENGER!"
The bird slid over his **** like a glove.
A few pumps, and it was all over. The animal's eyes bulged, and it exploded, like a little sex grenade, showering Joe with feathers and semen.
Matey burst into the room. "Joe!" he said, "Did you hear about MB's new..." His voice trailed off as he took in the scene before him. He saw Joe sitting on his bed side, covered in semen and feathers with a bird carcass in hand, it's flesh peeled away from the head like a banana. Matey made confused noises, a series of "Uh's" and "W-what's?".
Joe slowly raised a finger to his lips. "Ssssh."
Matey stepped out.
Joe stumbled forward along the mountain path. Driving snow and whipping wind were making the journey arduous, and the trail's cobblestone surface, worn smooth by many pilgrims, made the hike treacherous. He dragged a reluctant caravan of twelve Champion Destriers along behind him.
Beside him walked his on-and-off-again passionate lover and/or ****-buddy, Champion Courser.
OP Courser cast a worried glance behind her, still walking. "I'm worried about them. The cold will kill them before we can get to the top."
Joe looked back. The horses were miserable, shivering in the cold; this, despite the scarfs he'd tied around their necks. He'd thought that that'd be enough, but apparently he'd overestimated the animals' tolerance for cold.
One of the Destriers called out, the cry almost inaudible because of his shivering. "E-e-everything g-g-good up th-th-th-there, my lord?"
Such ****ing pansies. Joe shouted back, "E-e-everything's FINE UP HERE, YOU SHIVERING ****! GROW SOME BALLS!" He added some spice to the statement by thoroughly groping his own genitals, which, it should be mentioned, were the size of melons, despite being exposed to the cold. It should also be mentioned that Joe was naked, save for a lovely orange scarf.
Joe turned back to +3 Courser. "They're just being pansies. They've got scarfs, I don't see what the problem is."
They continued their ascent. At last, after another hour of schlepping, they made it to the mountain's summit.
It was flat--a small plateau. Snow piled up here and there, as it continued to fall from the sky.
In the center of the plateau was an alter: A massive stone donkey with golden spectacles stood on it's hind legs, defying the cold. Offerings were piled at it's feet--mostly money. There were some flowers, too. Torches glowed. Somebody shouted.
Joe and his horses were not alone.
Kneeling before the statue was a man whose face was as white as the thickly-swirling snow, and his hair was a sickly green. He work a strange, purple jacket. He looked foreign.
Behind him stood a train of naked women, all with sumptuous titties.
Every now and then, the man would scream, "BUMP!"
Joe whispered to Champ Courser, "He's bumping with tits. Let's not disturb him."
"BUMP!"
Joe and his horses circled around to the other side of the plateau, careful to keep the statue in sight. Joe tied the horses to a jutting rock, and they gathered together before him. One destrier spoke, "My Lord Joe, where are the cookies you promised?"
Joe ignored him. He turned to address the distant statue. "CHADZ," he shouted, "PLEASE HEAR MY PRAYER! FULFILL YOUR PROMISES, AND GET YOUR PEOPLES' **** TOGETHER!"
"BUMP! BUMP!"
"I OFFER YOU SACRIFICES: THE THINGS MOST PRECIOUS TO ME!"
The destriers were starting to get the gist of what was about to happen. Cries of "Wait, please!" and "No, no, no!" sounded behind Joe. He didn't care. There were enough ****ing horses in this world as it was. No one would miss a few cav.
It was for the greater good.
"BUMP!"
He drew his recently nerfed sword, and mounted his beloved Champion Courser. He needed to make up for the ****tiness of his one handed weapon by being on horseback. Good speed bonus. He whispered into his beloved's ear, "Let's nerf 'em, baby."
"Let's."
He put his spurs into her sides. She lurched forward.
The two of them spent the rest of the day killing destriers, hoping desperately that the Great Donkey would take two a moment to remember his forgotten people.
Beside him walked his on-and-off-again passionate lover and/or ****-buddy, Champion Courser.
OP Courser cast a worried glance behind her, still walking. "I'm worried about them. The cold will kill them before we can get to the top."
Joe looked back. The horses were miserable, shivering in the cold; this, despite the scarfs he'd tied around their necks. He'd thought that that'd be enough, but apparently he'd overestimated the animals' tolerance for cold.
One of the Destriers called out, the cry almost inaudible because of his shivering. "E-e-everything g-g-good up th-th-th-there, my lord?"
Such ****ing pansies. Joe shouted back, "E-e-everything's FINE UP HERE, YOU SHIVERING ****! GROW SOME BALLS!" He added some spice to the statement by thoroughly groping his own genitals, which, it should be mentioned, were the size of melons, despite being exposed to the cold. It should also be mentioned that Joe was naked, save for a lovely orange scarf.
Joe turned back to +3 Courser. "They're just being pansies. They've got scarfs, I don't see what the problem is."
They continued their ascent. At last, after another hour of schlepping, they made it to the mountain's summit.
It was flat--a small plateau. Snow piled up here and there, as it continued to fall from the sky.
In the center of the plateau was an alter: A massive stone donkey with golden spectacles stood on it's hind legs, defying the cold. Offerings were piled at it's feet--mostly money. There were some flowers, too. Torches glowed. Somebody shouted.
Joe and his horses were not alone.
Kneeling before the statue was a man whose face was as white as the thickly-swirling snow, and his hair was a sickly green. He work a strange, purple jacket. He looked foreign.
Behind him stood a train of naked women, all with sumptuous titties.
Every now and then, the man would scream, "BUMP!"
Joe whispered to Champ Courser, "He's bumping with tits. Let's not disturb him."
"BUMP!"
Joe and his horses circled around to the other side of the plateau, careful to keep the statue in sight. Joe tied the horses to a jutting rock, and they gathered together before him. One destrier spoke, "My Lord Joe, where are the cookies you promised?"
Joe ignored him. He turned to address the distant statue. "CHADZ," he shouted, "PLEASE HEAR MY PRAYER! FULFILL YOUR PROMISES, AND GET YOUR PEOPLES' **** TOGETHER!"
"BUMP! BUMP!"
"I OFFER YOU SACRIFICES: THE THINGS MOST PRECIOUS TO ME!"
The destriers were starting to get the gist of what was about to happen. Cries of "Wait, please!" and "No, no, no!" sounded behind Joe. He didn't care. There were enough ****ing horses in this world as it was. No one would miss a few cav.
It was for the greater good.
"BUMP!"
He drew his recently nerfed sword, and mounted his beloved Champion Courser. He needed to make up for the ****tiness of his one handed weapon by being on horseback. Good speed bonus. He whispered into his beloved's ear, "Let's nerf 'em, baby."
"Let's."
He put his spurs into her sides. She lurched forward.
The two of them spent the rest of the day killing destriers, hoping desperately that the Great Donkey would take two a moment to remember his forgotten people.
Joe stood on a windy hill top, looking down on a dismal scene. Some distance away, the village of New Ayyike was besieged, encircled by an army whose tents and patrols bore a red banner.
He couldn't make out the heraldry, but he knew that Le Chevaliers Occitans had Ayyike surrounded.
He turned to face his beloved Champion Courser. "Chevaliers," he spat. "The good Cavalieres."
She gave him a worried look. "I don't think either of those are things anymore, Joe."
He mounted her, a single, fluid motion. "Lies," he said, "Evil, Hospitaller rumors. Don't let those EU vassal scum put lies into your head like that."
They galloped back to the rest of Joe's army, and after deliberating with his subordinates, decided that now would be the best time to reinforce Ayyike.
Joe lead his army towards the Occitanian fortifications at a brisk trot, in single file. He had so many horses that most of his men were able to ride on two horses at once, which doubled their rate of movement.
The train of mounted soldiers moved steadily towards the enemy's perimeter. Tents and barricades loomed before them, and red banners flew.
Then, suddenly, they were amongst them.
Men with twirly mustaches in bright chainmail stood in small groups on either side of Joe's still-moving army, but none made a move to intercept them. The air was filled with the enemy's strange language.
Champion Courser whispered. "What are they saying? Why aren't they stopping us?"
"I do not know, my love," Joe hissed back. "They're speaking Spanish, and so are likely busy with their quesadillas."
Her eyes widened, but her face steeled itself with new resolve. She continued to weave through clumps of soldiers. "Remember the Maine," she said.
Joe's gaze took in the armored men. They all seemed busy eating their strange, flat sandwiches to pay Joe's 400 strong army any attention. Their mustaches were gooey with cheese. Joe and company managed to get inside the village without any trouble.
What he found shocked him.
More of the Spanish dogs. They filled every crack and crevice of the small village, intermingled with FCC soldiers.
Kesh approached, smiling. "Joe," she said, "Glad to see you could make it." She followed his worried gaze. "Don't worry about them, they're just waiting to besiege us after the upcoming battle."
"I see. They were all to busy with their panini's to bother us outside." He dismounted and saluted his leader. "Remember the Maine!"
"Yeah, Joe. We'll make them suffer for, whatever that means."
He couldn't make out the heraldry, but he knew that Le Chevaliers Occitans had Ayyike surrounded.
He turned to face his beloved Champion Courser. "Chevaliers," he spat. "The good Cavalieres."
She gave him a worried look. "I don't think either of those are things anymore, Joe."
He mounted her, a single, fluid motion. "Lies," he said, "Evil, Hospitaller rumors. Don't let those EU vassal scum put lies into your head like that."
They galloped back to the rest of Joe's army, and after deliberating with his subordinates, decided that now would be the best time to reinforce Ayyike.
Joe lead his army towards the Occitanian fortifications at a brisk trot, in single file. He had so many horses that most of his men were able to ride on two horses at once, which doubled their rate of movement.
The train of mounted soldiers moved steadily towards the enemy's perimeter. Tents and barricades loomed before them, and red banners flew.
Then, suddenly, they were amongst them.
Men with twirly mustaches in bright chainmail stood in small groups on either side of Joe's still-moving army, but none made a move to intercept them. The air was filled with the enemy's strange language.
Champion Courser whispered. "What are they saying? Why aren't they stopping us?"
"I do not know, my love," Joe hissed back. "They're speaking Spanish, and so are likely busy with their quesadillas."
Her eyes widened, but her face steeled itself with new resolve. She continued to weave through clumps of soldiers. "Remember the Maine," she said.
Joe's gaze took in the armored men. They all seemed busy eating their strange, flat sandwiches to pay Joe's 400 strong army any attention. Their mustaches were gooey with cheese. Joe and company managed to get inside the village without any trouble.
What he found shocked him.
More of the Spanish dogs. They filled every crack and crevice of the small village, intermingled with FCC soldiers.
Kesh approached, smiling. "Joe," she said, "Glad to see you could make it." She followed his worried gaze. "Don't worry about them, they're just waiting to besiege us after the upcoming battle."
"I see. They were all to busy with their panini's to bother us outside." He dismounted and saluted his leader. "Remember the Maine!"
"Yeah, Joe. We'll make them suffer for, whatever that means."
(Written as a good-bye post to Daruvian)
Joe sat on his horse with the rest of the cavalry, waiting for Kesh's signal. He stared at the back of the woman's unhelmed head, distracted by her glorious locks. They glowed like fire in the sun. He wondered if her nether regions were similarly maned.
A sudden movement. Kesh's hand rose, and Joe along with the rest of the cavalry charged through a breach in the castle wall, crushing their own infantry in the process. Cav always have the right of way.
Joe sallied forth with his fellows, now plunging through the enemy ranks. He skewered an archer with his trusty lance before popping out the ass-end of the enemy's formation. Like poop.
Everything was chaos. He couldn't see any friendly cavalry.
He braced himself to charge back through the enemy formation, ready to kill a dozen more men, because this time their backs would be to him--he would be fighting a familiar battle now.
Then, suddenly, something hit him really hard in the ****ing head. It knocked him sideways out of the saddle, his world spinning. His foot caught in the stirrup. He dangled, half hanging, half lying on the ground, looking up at the sky. His horse just stood there.
A mounted figure appeared between him and the blue. It was a familiar face. "Good fight, Joe," Daruvian, King of the Frisians said from above. He was looking down at him with a little smile, twirling a spavalthakalakaiono.
Joe spat out a tooth. "Frisian Freedom huh? More like Frisian fagg--"
Daruvian slapped Joe's horse, and the beast flew away from the battlefield.
-------------------------------------------
Later that evening, Joe was sitting in the keep of the same castle, sipping cocoa before a blazing fore. WITCHCRAFT sat beside him, sipping scotch in a beanbag chair.
Joe sipped. The hot drink and burning logs all reflected his temper--he was angry, hot, raging inside at his defeat.
WITCHCRAFT, sipped. "Joe," she said, her voice startlingly male, "We all lose eventually."
"But he's so ****ing bad."
"I know," WITCHCRAFT said, "I Know."
Joe felt his face go hot, and his throat clench. "I must have my revenge," he choked out, a half sob. He dropped his teacup. It shattered on the stone floor. Tears and cocoa pooled at his feet.
He felt WITCHCRAFT's hand on his shoulder. "C'mon man, don't cry."
Joe sobbed something incoherent.
"Yeah sure," WITCHCRAFT said. Joe felt the reassuring hand disappear. "Joe, how about I help you out? I'll cast a spell maybe..."
Joe sniffed, hope causing his heart to flutter. "Can you make him go away WITCHCRAFT?"
"Why are you yelling?" WITCHCRAFT said. "And yes, yes I can Joe. We'll make the big bad Daruvian go away.
-----------------------------------------
Daruvian was in his room, sitting at his computer. Horses and men clashed on the screen in a medieval simulation, of sorts.
He sipped an apple martini, careful not to spill the full glass. He smiled. It was pretty good, for a first try. A little too strong, for something that you'd drink in your room for the taste of it, but still good.
He set the glass back down on his desk, preparing for a new round to begin.
A sudden trembling sent the green liquid rippling. The house shook.
He frowned, still in his seat, his hand now clutching the drink to keep it from falling. Was this an earthquake?
Another tremor, this time stronger. Daruvian moved to stand up.
Another tremor, this time strong enough to knock him off balance. He fell back in his chair, spilling his drink in his lap. He cursed, but a terrible rumbling overwhelmed his voice. Suddenly, the air pressure changed, and his ears popped as if he were in an airplane about to land.
Then there was a massive roar. The house rocked and groaned. The roof was peeled away by some terrible force, exposing Daruvian's room to a grey and cloudy sky. The wind was whipping him backwards, pushing him into his chair and pushing the chair into the desk.
Then the wind let up and a bright light flashed, blinding Daruvian for a full minute. When it relented, he pried his burning eyes open again to see two figures hovering above his room, where the roof should have been. They were fully naked men, built like gods, their nipples erect and their eyes glowing with some ethereal power.
One of them spoke, his voice as deep as the ocean. "Daruvian, we have come for you."
"Holy ****, please don't kill me!"
"Death is merely a transition, Daruvian."
Daruvian, shaking in his chair, tried to explain: "That's not my real--"
"Dicks, dicks, dicks," the other man said. He stroked himself.
The other, other man said, "You are being taken to a place where you'll be happier. You like ****, right?"
He was right, but Daruvian wouldn't have chosen to phrase it in quite that way. "Sorry?"
"Your clan. Frisia. They profess a love for ****. You're gay. We have been called to take you with us to a place of eternal, homosexual bliss."
That didn't sound so bad. Clearly, he didn't have a choice. "Will I even get to say goodbye? To my family?"
"You may say goodbye to your internet family." The naked man gestured with a well muscled arm towards the computer, still intact despite the destruction surrounding it. "Type your message."
Daruvian pulled his chair up to the desk, he raised shaky hands to the keyboard and typed his good-bye. It took a few minutes. He knew that the cRPG community wouldn't quite get it--he was vague, intentionally. He had a persona to fulfill. The trolling was the best part of it all, really.
He stood. "I'm done. I'm ready to ascend."
One man said, "Dicks, dic--."
The other man said shushed his partner. He turned to Daruvian. "Good. Take my hand."
Daruvian did so. It was strong, and warm. He liked it.
Both men began chanting. "Dicks, dicks, dicks, DICKS, DICKS, DICKS..." They got louder, and louder, until their cries echoed through Daruvian's very being. There was a trembling, and a bright white flash, and he was gone.
Joe sat on his horse with the rest of the cavalry, waiting for Kesh's signal. He stared at the back of the woman's unhelmed head, distracted by her glorious locks. They glowed like fire in the sun. He wondered if her nether regions were similarly maned.
A sudden movement. Kesh's hand rose, and Joe along with the rest of the cavalry charged through a breach in the castle wall, crushing their own infantry in the process. Cav always have the right of way.
Joe sallied forth with his fellows, now plunging through the enemy ranks. He skewered an archer with his trusty lance before popping out the ass-end of the enemy's formation. Like poop.
Everything was chaos. He couldn't see any friendly cavalry.
He braced himself to charge back through the enemy formation, ready to kill a dozen more men, because this time their backs would be to him--he would be fighting a familiar battle now.
Then, suddenly, something hit him really hard in the ****ing head. It knocked him sideways out of the saddle, his world spinning. His foot caught in the stirrup. He dangled, half hanging, half lying on the ground, looking up at the sky. His horse just stood there.
A mounted figure appeared between him and the blue. It was a familiar face. "Good fight, Joe," Daruvian, King of the Frisians said from above. He was looking down at him with a little smile, twirling a spavalthakalakaiono.
Joe spat out a tooth. "Frisian Freedom huh? More like Frisian fagg--"
Daruvian slapped Joe's horse, and the beast flew away from the battlefield.
-------------------------------------------
Later that evening, Joe was sitting in the keep of the same castle, sipping cocoa before a blazing fore. WITCHCRAFT sat beside him, sipping scotch in a beanbag chair.
Joe sipped. The hot drink and burning logs all reflected his temper--he was angry, hot, raging inside at his defeat.
WITCHCRAFT, sipped. "Joe," she said, her voice startlingly male, "We all lose eventually."
"But he's so ****ing bad."
"I know," WITCHCRAFT said, "I Know."
Joe felt his face go hot, and his throat clench. "I must have my revenge," he choked out, a half sob. He dropped his teacup. It shattered on the stone floor. Tears and cocoa pooled at his feet.
He felt WITCHCRAFT's hand on his shoulder. "C'mon man, don't cry."
Joe sobbed something incoherent.
"Yeah sure," WITCHCRAFT said. Joe felt the reassuring hand disappear. "Joe, how about I help you out? I'll cast a spell maybe..."
Joe sniffed, hope causing his heart to flutter. "Can you make him go away WITCHCRAFT?"
"Why are you yelling?" WITCHCRAFT said. "And yes, yes I can Joe. We'll make the big bad Daruvian go away.
-----------------------------------------
Daruvian was in his room, sitting at his computer. Horses and men clashed on the screen in a medieval simulation, of sorts.
He sipped an apple martini, careful not to spill the full glass. He smiled. It was pretty good, for a first try. A little too strong, for something that you'd drink in your room for the taste of it, but still good.
He set the glass back down on his desk, preparing for a new round to begin.
A sudden trembling sent the green liquid rippling. The house shook.
He frowned, still in his seat, his hand now clutching the drink to keep it from falling. Was this an earthquake?
Another tremor, this time stronger. Daruvian moved to stand up.
Another tremor, this time strong enough to knock him off balance. He fell back in his chair, spilling his drink in his lap. He cursed, but a terrible rumbling overwhelmed his voice. Suddenly, the air pressure changed, and his ears popped as if he were in an airplane about to land.
Then there was a massive roar. The house rocked and groaned. The roof was peeled away by some terrible force, exposing Daruvian's room to a grey and cloudy sky. The wind was whipping him backwards, pushing him into his chair and pushing the chair into the desk.
Then the wind let up and a bright light flashed, blinding Daruvian for a full minute. When it relented, he pried his burning eyes open again to see two figures hovering above his room, where the roof should have been. They were fully naked men, built like gods, their nipples erect and their eyes glowing with some ethereal power.
One of them spoke, his voice as deep as the ocean. "Daruvian, we have come for you."
"Holy ****, please don't kill me!"
"Death is merely a transition, Daruvian."
Daruvian, shaking in his chair, tried to explain: "That's not my real--"
"Dicks, dicks, dicks," the other man said. He stroked himself.
The other, other man said, "You are being taken to a place where you'll be happier. You like ****, right?"
He was right, but Daruvian wouldn't have chosen to phrase it in quite that way. "Sorry?"
"Your clan. Frisia. They profess a love for ****. You're gay. We have been called to take you with us to a place of eternal, homosexual bliss."
That didn't sound so bad. Clearly, he didn't have a choice. "Will I even get to say goodbye? To my family?"
"You may say goodbye to your internet family." The naked man gestured with a well muscled arm towards the computer, still intact despite the destruction surrounding it. "Type your message."
Daruvian pulled his chair up to the desk, he raised shaky hands to the keyboard and typed his good-bye. It took a few minutes. He knew that the cRPG community wouldn't quite get it--he was vague, intentionally. He had a persona to fulfill. The trolling was the best part of it all, really.
He stood. "I'm done. I'm ready to ascend."
One man said, "Dicks, dic--."
The other man said shushed his partner. He turned to Daruvian. "Good. Take my hand."
Daruvian did so. It was strong, and warm. He liked it.
Both men began chanting. "Dicks, dicks, dicks, DICKS, DICKS, DICKS..." They got louder, and louder, until their cries echoed through Daruvian's very being. There was a trembling, and a bright white flash, and he was gone.
Joe was back to killing from horseback, and he was doing well. A random brawl had broken out in an open field, just in the shadow of a big castle. A little river bisected the battlefield. It's waters flowed slow, and reflected the sky back at itself. It was lovely, despite the bloody business transpiring all around it.
The river was keeping Joe from running down one last group of random men-at-arms. They fled to the relative safety of some ruins. Joe watched from his side of the river, smiling.
He knew they would wander back into the field. They always did.
He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and yelled, "HEY NERDS! YOU'RE BAD!"
Someone shouted back, "NO WE'RE NOT!"
"YES YOU ARE! BAD BAD BAD!"
Another voice, "F-**** YOU!"
In a few seconds they were charging back. Joe cantered back into the middle of the open field and waited for his prey. This was too easy.
He heard the thudding of hooves behind him. He twisted in the saddle, just in time to get hit in the face. He was flung from the saddle, spitting out teeth and trying to curse through the blood and his broken mouth. He'd been blindsided, too distracted by the infantryman.
It must have been another cavalryman.
He tried to get up, but a heavy boot planted itself firmly on his chest. Joe looked up into the face of the man who'd so cruelly dehorsed him.
He recognized that face.
Joe sputtered, and managed to say, "I-I though you were gone!"
Daruvian, back from the dead, leered down at Joe, batting his mace against his thigh. The bastard was loving this. "I came back, just for you... Gf." He said that last part like, "guh-fff".
Then he walked away, leaving Joe to sob on the ground while the men he was chasing earlier gathered around him and laughed. They pointed fingers. They spat. "NERFED HIM GOOD!"
"YOU SUCK!"
"LOOK WHO'S BAD NOW! BAD BAD BAD HAHA!"
Joe covered his face with his hands. "Oh god," he sobbed, "I'm so bad! I hate you Daruvian, you ****ty, ****ty cav!"
Then the soldiers kicked him until he died.
The river was keeping Joe from running down one last group of random men-at-arms. They fled to the relative safety of some ruins. Joe watched from his side of the river, smiling.
He knew they would wander back into the field. They always did.
He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and yelled, "HEY NERDS! YOU'RE BAD!"
Someone shouted back, "NO WE'RE NOT!"
"YES YOU ARE! BAD BAD BAD!"
Another voice, "F-**** YOU!"
In a few seconds they were charging back. Joe cantered back into the middle of the open field and waited for his prey. This was too easy.
He heard the thudding of hooves behind him. He twisted in the saddle, just in time to get hit in the face. He was flung from the saddle, spitting out teeth and trying to curse through the blood and his broken mouth. He'd been blindsided, too distracted by the infantryman.
It must have been another cavalryman.
He tried to get up, but a heavy boot planted itself firmly on his chest. Joe looked up into the face of the man who'd so cruelly dehorsed him.
He recognized that face.
Joe sputtered, and managed to say, "I-I though you were gone!"
Daruvian, back from the dead, leered down at Joe, batting his mace against his thigh. The bastard was loving this. "I came back, just for you... Gf." He said that last part like, "guh-fff".
Then he walked away, leaving Joe to sob on the ground while the men he was chasing earlier gathered around him and laughed. They pointed fingers. They spat. "NERFED HIM GOOD!"
"YOU SUCK!"
"LOOK WHO'S BAD NOW! BAD BAD BAD HAHA!"
Joe covered his face with his hands. "Oh god," he sobbed, "I'm so bad! I hate you Daruvian, you ****ty, ****ty cav!"
Then the soldiers kicked him until he died.
