Fuck this. He’s lying and even if he isn’t, making a deal with a demon is never a good idea. You’ve heard the stories and you’ve seen the former Tulan “citizens” that debased themselves just in order to live to serve their demon masters. It never ends well.

If you are going to the infernal realm when you die, you’re still not going to be helping anyone to take you there!

“Well, let me think about it….HEY THERE’S A FUCKING DEMON ATTACK COMING!” you shout at the top of your lungs. You’re pretty sure at least one person heard you.
“You asshole!” Big Red growls and lunges at you which you dodge out of the way and just focus on getting back to where most of your company is making camp, yelling the whole time.

Upon hearing your warning, everyone scrambles for battle. You can hear the demons bellowing in the distance. They’ll be here in force soon. You quickly climb on to the village rooftops and ready your bow as the demon hordes advance all around you.

The battle wasn’t as hopeless as Big Red made it seem like it would be (He must’ve ran off as there was no sign of him) however, the Company does take more than the usual casualties. One of the mercenaries starts to openly complain.

“This is just fucking retarded! Why the hell are we doing this shit?” Cal complains.
“You know the score; you don’t like it you can leave.” The Captain says calmly cleaning off his sword.
“Yeah and then I don’t get paid, which is when by the way? We’d all like to know when this contract is over! You never did tell us!”
“Oh that…indefinitely.”
“WHAT?!” almost everyone exclaims.
“Look, would you sissies calm the fuck down? We got a break coming up in a few weeks. We go back to the Zalan Empire to get paid, rest, re-equip and whatever else they got there, but after the break we go right back out here. Possibly even deeper.”

At this point the whole company is turning against the Captain, he doesn’t look worried though.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You’re expecting us to go deeper into this shit? You’re practically asking us to stand in the middle of Hell!”
“Dunno why you’re protesting, we’re all going to the real infernal plane anyway when we die, might as well get used to it. Look, take it or leave it, I don’t give a shit. If you want to stay, go ahead. If you want to leave now, go ahead. If you want to leave after you get your pay, go ahead. But I’m sure you know by now, if you leave don’t come back ever.” The Captain says and goes back to the abandoned home he was staying in.

This comment by the Captain makes you think back to Big Red’s little speech, you start wondering about your future while everyone begins talking amongst themselves about what to do next. A lot of them are saying the Boss has lost his mind and is being suicidal. You can’t say you disagree. In fact you’re not sure you want part of this anymore. Your family might need the money, but what good are you dead to them?

A few weeks pass and your company makes its way back to the Zalan Empire. You get your payment. Almost feels like you’re in the “real army” given the formal nature of it. After you get your pay, you’re on your way home where you intend to stay, much like many others are planning to do. However, you bump into the Captain who speaks to you. There’s a hint of alcohol on his breath.

“So can I expect you to stay on lute boy?” he asks bluntly.
“Erm…well, no Captain. I’m sorry, but going deeper into demon territory is suicide.” you reply..
“Probably right, but who wants to live forever?”
“Well I’d like to at least live past the next year.”
“Hah! So you wish to die an old man in your bed?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Then why did you take on such a dangerous line of work in the first place?”
“My family needed the money.”
“Ah yes, you are one of the few in the company that has one. One of the fewer still that actually takes care of them…an honorable pursuit. I can respect that.”

You’re surprised to hear the Captain praise anything that seems honorable.

“I have a family that I take care of too you know.”
“Yes, I know you are married.”
“Yeah…but my daughter is a captain in the Zalan army. She’s stationed on the Tulan border as a matter of fact. She might even get transferred to the Grand Alliance army. Don’t know yet.” He says with a hint of pride in his voice, though he tries his best to conceal it.

The Captain is just full of surprises. You now know that this isn’t some simple death wish, but that he’s taken the job to help her out in a way. You don’t know, but can only imagine what growing up with a dad like him was like. You unsure of how to reply so you just follow up with something.

“Um, that’s great Captain.”
“Yeah, it’s great. Got a son too…he’s…a wizard. He’s a fuckin’ disappointment… y’know you look back on your life and you wonder what you’ve accomplished and it doesn’t mean shit in the scheme of things, at least not when the world has one foot in Hell and the other in the grave. But still you struggle and fight right? You still remain true to your nature.”
“Sure I guess so.” You say wondering where the Captain going with this.

The Captain sighs heavily.

“I guess I’m lucky…killing and battle are in my nature. I get to do it every fuckin’ day and it never seems to be enough, even after all the years and changes… but I bet you didn’t want this shit right? You probably wanted to just play that fuckin’ lute of yours right? You got a gift and its being wasted due to events out of your control…but you still play that thing when you can. It’s in your nature. It’s also in your nature to help out your family because you care about them.”
“I suppose it is.”
“Yeah, nature…it’s a fuckin’ bitch.”

The Captain now looks directly at you.

“Look I’m not gonna beg ya, but you’re one of the best men I got in the damn company, and I’d rather not lose you, so I’ll appeal to your nature. What’s going on in the world today is some fucked up shit. Quite honestly I don’t think it’s going to end well for any of us, but you struggle and fight anyway. The financial aid that you’re providing for your family pales in comparison to what you’re doing in the long term. You’re making the world safer for them so that they might be able to live. We got the Gates of Hell on one side and Death’s Door on the other and both of them need to be fucking closed. I don’t know if that makes us the so called good guys now, but all I know is if there’s an active way I can protect my wife and even help my daughter then I’m gonna do it. What are you going to do?”

The Captain then leaves you without saying another word.

Some pretty deep words for a man who you never saw as compassionate in anyway. He does make a point though. Lately what has been going in the world is pretty bad and you wonder if not fighting today will just mean putting off fighting tomorrow.
> You leave the company
Whatever the Captain is “going through” doesn’t involve you. You’ve got your own concerns. If the world events get so bad that they reach your doorstep, then you deal with it then, but risking your life to the extent of going deep into the heart of demon territory isn’t what you signed up for.

You head home and tell your family that it’s permanent this time. You explain your reasons and apologize that you won’t be bringing in all the extra money like you used to. They aren’t mad though, your mom is actually relieved.

“Well son, I’m just as glad you didn’t go get yourself killed over there anyway. You’ll be helping us out plenty just by working on the farm like always.”

You’re glad to hear that. Over the next couple days you fall back into routine again. You still wonder about the future though and you briefly consider the army, but you’re a little weary of battle on a regular basis now.

You resign yourself to the farm life. You play your lute to yourself (and family) when you have the time to do so. It’s a simple life.

Another year passes and things are getting bad. War is everywhere. The Demons have been taken care of, (You heard your former mercenary captain died in battle with their leader Velzix) but the undead are stronger than ever. Reports even speak of the Necromancer Lord becoming The Great Lich Lord “reborn”.

To make things worse, the Zalan Empire has been becoming increasingly tyrannical. In order to help with the war effort they’ve started bringing back the draft and the talk of ceasing private property to be used for the good of the government. While they say owners will be able to live and still work on their lands and businesses, it will be owned by the Empire.

You know it’s only a matter of time when you get a knock on the door by Zalan army troops coming to take you (Especially you given your prior battle experience) and your brother Mallack away to the army and your family’s farm.

Another two year pass…

You’re on the eve of battle in a land known as the Garwold Confederacy although it’s steadily becoming a giant graveyard now. The undead hordes have been sweeping relentlessly across the entire landscape. Your own company has had to fall back several times. Morale is low. Not that yours was high to begin with. You don’t even know how you’ve survived this long. While you had lots of battle experience during your time with the mercenary company, you’ll never get used to fighting the undead. They are such emotionless creatures that are the embodiment of death and all that’s unnatural.

You briefly wonder if your brother Mallack is alright where he’s stationed, but it hardly matters at this point.

Battle comes as it always does and you are not so lucky this time. Horrible and powerful creatures known as Blood Specters and Death Knights utterly destroy your side.

You put up a more valiant effort than most, but eventually you fall to undead blades and chilling touches only rise up and join them in their goal of global genocide.


You’ve had enough. You’re not going to help OR stand by for another immoral act performed by your “co-workers”. It’s bad enough that it goes on, but that doesn’t mean you need to let it, if you can do something about it.

You run Dimitri through the back with your sword, he yells out in pain, but still manages to swing his armored fist to strike you in the face. You fall to the ground.

“Fuck…lute boy…goin…down…pig fucker…” he wheezes as he attempts to step towards you only to fall to his knees. At this point Morri has recovered and cleaves Dimitri’s skull in with his axe.

“Bastard.” Morri then looks at you. “Heh, I guess you must be one of the few with a conscious in the company eh?”
“I guess so.” You reply.
“Or perhaps you knew it would be better if I lived so you could find your way out this maze?”
“…Actually I hadn’t even thought about that. I just…just couldn’t let him kill and rob you like that. Seen it too many times.”
“That a fact? Well tell me son, why the hell are you hooked up with these bunch for then?”
“Money to help the family…besides it’s not that bad.”
“Okay, if you say so. However, this little incident is going to cost your company. We warned your captain that if any evidence of treachery occurred, we weren’t paying him shit and this deal was off!”
“But can’t we just keep this secret? I mean…”
“Secret? Fuck no! Look, you’re not a bad person, but you’re hanging out with bad people. The only reason why we hired you in the first place is because you ARE effective and you’re about the only mercenary company insane enough to do a job like this. But a deal’s a deal. You captain apparently doesn’t have control over his men like he thinks, because I’m sure he warned you all.”
“Yeah, but everyone will probably blame me and my life will be in danger!”
“…well…I’m sorry about that, but that’s the price you pay for the company you keep…look I’ll tell you what, because you helped me, I’ll take you back to the entrance and you can leave. Should at least give you a head start. Hell, maybe I’ll even tell them you died before this happened. You could then just hide out and stay out of sight without even anyone looking for you.”

Not knowing what to say next you just agree and ponder your possible future.

The way back to the entrance is uneventful as far as demon attacks are concerned. You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ll have to go on the run or at least relocate regardless of what Morri tells everyone. And if he mentions the truth, then your family may well be in danger. You imagine that if the Boss couldn’t get to you, he may very well take it out on your family.

You feel sick and upset. You wish you hadn’t chosen this path. All you ever really wanted to do was play your lute, not fight demons or anything else really.

You follow behind Morri in a daze. You’re surprised that he doesn’t insist that you walk in front of him, but then that’s probably because he trusts that you’re not a murderer. You also realize you recognize this part of the mine and could probably find your way back from here…

You shake your head and take a deep breath.

“Hey Morri.”
“Wha…glagh!

An arrow goes right through Morri’s mouth and out the other side of his head. He gurgles obscenities while trying to raise his axe towards you. Another arrow goes through his eye. He ceases his struggle.

While you solved the problem of Morri telling anyone, now you have to cover your own tracks, then you hear a sound you never thought you’d be glad to hear. The chittering of those insect demons and a bunch of them are coming right behind you.

You pull the arrows out and run as quickly as you can to the entrance leaving the demons to feed upon Morri’s body. The thought crosses your mind to just leave anyway. Maybe they’d think all three of you got eaten. However, you run into another group during your dash to the mine entrance.

“Where the hell are you running off to?” a mercenary asks. It’s Cal. You come up with a lie quick.

“(pant) Shit! We got fucking ambushed! (pant) Barely fucking escaped! (pant) Dimitri and Morri are dead! Probably eaten! And the rest of those demon fuckers are heading this way!”
“What?! You cowardly fucker, you just let Morri die?” one the dwarves says angrily.
“It wasn’t my idea! I tried to help him and Dimitri, but they just came in force, I don’t even know how I escaped!”

Your story is a little suspicious, but thanks to the demons, you’re covered. They didn’t leave much for the dwarves to find. However, you’re not looked favorably on by the rest of the dwarves for the rest of the mission. Your fellow mercenaries don’t really care one way or another. It’s part of the job and Dimitri wasn’t well liked so they could care less if he died or lived.

You on the other hand are still not feeling so great about yourself. The longer you’re part of this company the more you’re starting to think or be more like them. You hate it and you’ll be glad when this job is over.

A few months pass and the contract is over. The “problem” isn’t completely gone, in fact there’s reports of some undead wandering in the area now, but the Dwarves are growing more weary of your presence, hand over your payment and tell you to leave. They say they can handle anything else themselves.

It’s quite a lot this time. Best job you’ve had. Upon your return to the Zalan Empire you buy yourself a new lute. It’s your “reward”. The rest of it goes to your family who of course are eager to hear about your tales as usual. You don’t tell them that many this time. You just try to take your mind off your “job” by asking them more questions this time around. When you’re alone you play your new lute, trying to emulate a couple of the songs you overheard the Dwarves engage in when you were there. You never knew they were musically inclined; it’s a shame you had to kill one to protect your future. You’re still debating on whether or not to give up the mercenary life, but you see how much it’s helping the family out, so you decide to stay and put up with it.

After your “break is over” you go back to the job as usual.

Three years pass…

Four years have passed since the “Nuro Incident” and things have gotten much worse in the world. The Necromancer Lord conquered the Brot Kingdom, A demon lord called Velzix conquered the Tulan Kingdom, both are expanding and a so called Grand Alliance of nations doesn’t seem to be doing much good against either of them.

The Chimera Company was recently hired by the Zalan government. Due to your past battles with demons, they decided you would be good to put on Tulan Border which is still a bloodbath, but instead of fighting the Tulan Kingdom, the Zalan Empire is fighting Velzix’s hordes.

It’s not an easy assignment or very pleasant, in fact it’s got to be the worst job you’ve been on. You company is assigned to make commando raids and sabotage shit to keep the demons fairly unfocused, while the Zalan Empire’s real armies try to make progress into Velzix’s realm. Currently you’re making your “camp” in small abandoned village in enemy territory where you have to fight the occasional demon patrols.

Why the Captain took this job on for the company is beyond you. Nobody really knows why. The company in general has been taking more dangerous jobs in recent years. Ever since the Nuro Incident actually. While it’s always been known he’s not a man to shy away from danger and has a love of battle, there’s a lot of talk within ranks that he’s got a death wish.

The only “good thing” about this assignment, is that the chance for usual Chimera Company wicked acts are much lower. There’s not many “innocents” in a demon realm.

As you think about things, strumming your lute in an abandoned general store by yourself. You hear someone speak.

“Pretty good playing. Wish my kind appreciated some of the more subtle things in life sometimes.”

You turn your head and see a demon! He’s not very tall and is “dressed up”. He must be one of the “civilized” demons who realigned themselves with their demonic natures and flocked to Velzix when he took over the Tulan Kingdom. He doesn’t seem hostile, but you drop your lute and draw your weapon, before you can yell a warning, he speaks again.

“Wait! Before you go warning your friends, I should warn you that there is a very large group of my fellow kin surrounding this village. You kill me and they’ll attack and quite frankly I don’t fancy your chances. However I got a deal for you that can be worth your while. What can it hurt to listen to me? You can always kill me afterwards.”
> You attack him
You don’t waste time, you just attack! Unfortunately the demon is more than he appears and easily dodges your attack. You don’t have time to turn and react again when he’s tripped you up and put his fist in your face causing your nose to explode into a mass of blood. You’re dazed.

“(Sigh) And here I thought you were the reasonable one of this bunch. Nevermind.” The demon says.

He follows up with another fist to your face. This one goes through your head killing you instantly.


You’re not sure if the formal military life is for you. If you joined up you wouldn’t be able to readily leave. You figure if you don’t like life as a mercenary or it isn’t working out for you, you can leave freely.

You explain your decision to join up with the mercenary company that’s currently passing through. Your revelation comes as a shock. Your smaller brothers and sisters don’t want you to go, your brother Mallack really doesn’t want you to leave since he’ll be next in line to take the brunt of the manual labor!

Your mother is a little apprehensive about your decision. You half expect her to say no, but she understands that you’re doing this for the good of the family. She gives her blessing.

Before you leave the next day with your packed belongings, your whole family comes to say goodbye to you. You almost hesitate to leave, wondering if it would actually be better for you to stay. Your mother approaches you.

“You don’t have to do this you know. We’re doing just fine.”
“Yeah, but things would be easier if this family had more money.”
“Hah. Things are always easier with more money son, but you don’t need to go and get yourself killed for it.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’ve thought it through.”
“Very well, you’re old enough to make your own decisions and live your own life, though I’m glad to see that you still want to help the family as opposed to just leaving in the middle of the night.”
“I’ll visit and return with whatever my pay is whenever I can.”
“I know…okay, you best get going. I think the mercenary company was leaving today.”

You make you way to the local tavern and catch them just as they’re getting ready leave. A lot of them look hung over.

“Hey wait up…” you say in a slightly loud tone, causing one mean looking mercenary to snarl at you.
“Shut the fuck up yokel! Shit, I got a splitting headache and it hurts like a sonofabitch.”
“Sorry. Are you the leader of this company?”
“Leader of these dickheads? Naw. The Boss is actually visiting his family in the Zalan capital. We’re going to meet up with him now and I suggest you get the fuck outta our way and not waste anymore of our time!”
“But I want to join you guys.”

The mercenary you were speaking to looks at you then looks at a few of his buddies and begins to laugh louder than your voice which previously annoyed him.

“HAHAHA HAHAHA! Y’hear that fellas? This yokel wants to join us! Thanks a lot, I needed a good laugh, now go fuck your pigs or whatever it is you farm types do.”
“But I’m serious…”
“Serious? Farmboy, this is a man’s job and not for the fuckin’ weak. You ever even use a damn weapon?”
“Yeah! I got this bow and this sword! I’m a really good shot!”

The mercenary still looks unimpressed.

“Uh huh, yeah well you ever kill anyone, hell you ever kill ANYTHING? And I’m not talkin’ about any of your livestock you might’ve slaughtered. I mean something sentient.”
“Well yeah, I’ve killed Kobolds that were trying to steal chickens from the…”

The mercenaries begin to laugh again.

“Oh shit, you are priceless boy! My sister can kill fuckin’ Kobolds and her only talent is whoring.”
“Haha got that one right, Dimitri.” Another one of the mercenaries agrees.

Suddenly the laughing stops.

“What the fuck did you just say Fermeli?”
“Uh, I was just agreeing with you…c’mon don’t take it like that! I mean you said…”
“Ain’t about what I said, it’s about what YOU said! You called my fucking sister a whore! You ain’t getting’ away with that shit.”

Dimitri draws his sword and stomps over to Fermeli who is trying to get one of his buddies to help him, but everyone else is backing away from the fight. Dimitri takes advantage of Fermeli’s state of panic and slashes him good with his sword.

Fermeli cries out in pain and begs for forgiveness. Dimitri looks like he’s going to finish him off, but then turns to you.

“You want to join hayseed? Kill this piece of shit then.”
“Huh? I mean…” you utter in confusion.
“Did I stutter pig farmer? Kill this… AARGH FUCK!”

Fermeli has now taken advantage of Dimitri by shoving a dagger into his leg and scrambling to get up

“Yeah! Take that! How’s that feel?” Fermeli taunts and draws his own sword in an attempt to kill Dimitri

At this point you unwisely step into the middle of this fight.

“Hey hold on, the pair of you are even now…”
“Fuck off pig farmer! You want some of this now? Yeah, let’s see how much of a killer you are!” Fermeli says who doesn’t look frightened of you at all and heads in your direction.

“Hey wait I don’t wanna…”

You barely dodge his sword swipe to your head. You roll out of the way and quickly grab an arrow and shoot it at Fermeli with your bow, hitting him square in the neck. Some blood spurts out and a surprised look on his face is displayed and then he falls dead. You’ve killed him. You’ve never killed anything before that wasn’t a Kobold or livestock. You feel weird.

In the meantime Dimitri gets up and pulls the dagger out of his leg and looks over at Formeli’s body.

“Heh, maybe you are a killer after all pig farmer. Well it seems we got an opening now. Take whatever he had as your own. You killed him, you earned it. Welcome to the Chimera Mercenary Company!”

While you MAY be in, you’re not necessarily sure if you want in. This may be a bit too much for you.
> You go back home
If this how it was on your first day, you’d hate to think about if you had to deal with this on a regular basis.

“Uh…no, maybe I was wrong. Bye.” You say and quickly take off.
“Heh, pig farmer don’t have no stomach for it…Dibs on Foremeli’s shit!” you hear Dimitri yell.

When you get back home, your family and mom in particular ask what happened, you explain it and say you don’t want any part of that life. You apologize that you couldn’t go through with it, but your mom looks more relieved than anything.

“Well son, I’m just as glad you didn’t join up with that lot anyway. You’ll be helping us out plenty just by working on the farm like always.”

You’re glad to hear that. Over the next couple days you fall back into routine again. You still wonder about the future though and you briefly consider the army plan again, but given your short lived experience with mercenary “life” you don’t think you’re cut out with battle on a regular basis. Plus the Zalan Empire is currently having really bad border skirmish with the Tulan Kingdom right now.

You resign yourself to the farm life. You play your lute to yourself (and family) when you have the time to do so. It’s a simple life.

A year passes and a terrible incident occurs at a far away city known as Nuro. A group of rogue wizards summoned an army of the dead to take it over. They also summoned a lot of demons that have broken free and running rampant now in the Tulan Kingdom. It’s all far away from you, but something like this is pretty serious. Necromancy and Demon summoning is strictly forbidden throughout the land.

Meanwhile life on the farm is going the same as it ever did. Hard sometimes, but manageable.

Another two years pass and things have gotten worse. The Necromancer Lord (as he’s become to be known) has expanded, even to the point of taking over the Brot Kingdom. The Tulan Kingdom has been totally conquered by a demon army. A Grand Alliance of nations has been formed, but so far they don’t seem to be making much progress.

Meanwhile life on the farm is a little harder. Your youngest sister Makana becomes gravely ill during the winter months, but there’s not enough money to pay for a healer and most of the clerics have been summoned to battle with the undead or demon hordes. Sadly she dies making the overall mood of the farm a little more depressing. You don’t even play anymore, your enthusiasm for music died along with the grim realities setting in.

Another three years pass and things are down right miserable. War is everywhere. The Demons have been taken care of, but the undead are stronger than ever. Reports even speak of the Necromancer Lord becoming The Great Lich Lord “reborn”. You remember hearing tales by your father of such a being that existed centuries ago. They scared the hell out of you then and the fact that you’re living in a time where he’s returned makes you feel doomed.

To make things worse, the Zalan Empire has been becoming increasingly tyrannical. In order to help with the war effort they’ve started bringing back the draft and the talk of ceasing private property to be used for the good of the government. While they say owners will be able to live and still work on their lands and businesses, it will be owned by the Empire.

You know it’s only a matter of time when you get a knock on the door by Zalan army troops coming to take you and your brother Mallack away to the army and your family’s farm.

Another two year pass…

You’re on the eve of battle in a land known as the Garwold Confederacy although it’s steadily becoming a giant graveyard now. The undead hordes have been sweeping relentlessly across the entire landscape. Your own company has had to fall back several times. Morale is low. Not that yours was high to begin with. You don’t even know how you’ve survived this long. You didn’t even have that much military training when they threw you into you first battle a year ago. It was a terrifying experience and you still have nightmares about it. The undead…you’ll never get used to fighting such emotionless creatures that are the embodiment of death and all that’s unnatural.

You briefly wonder if your brother Mallack is alright where he’s stationed, but it hardly matters at this point.

Battle comes as it always does and you are not so lucky this time. Horrible and powerful creatures known as Blood Specters and Death Knights utterly destroy your side.

You fall to undead blades and chilling touches only rise up and join them in their goal of global genocide.


The wintry winds howl a horrible wail, whipping white watery snow against the weathered watchtower’s westernmost wall. Yes, it is indeed a dark and stormy night, but darker and stormier and maybe just a tad more purple than your run-of-the-mill dark and stormy night.

Somewhere deep in the forest a unicorn frolics in a magical glade, as elves watch and scamper amongst the trees, polishing their bows with the blood of dwarves.

“Killed a big fat one today, Elfrond,” says Elfmoor. “Bastard was trying to chop down a cherry tree. Can you believe it, a fucking cherry tree? Sacrilege.”

“Have you ever wondered why we hate the dwarves so much?” asks Elfrond.

“What do you mean? They’re fucking dwarves! And this one chopped down a tree. A cherry tree. Only thing that rivals my love of trees are cherries. And music. And song. And like five other things.”

“Yeah, I’ve just been thinking lately. How did we get these sweet bows, if we didn’t chop down a tree to shape them. And how do we burn fires without firewood? And why exactly do we hate the dwarves?”

“It’s canon. Don’t ask questions.”

“What’s a cannon?”

Suddenly, the elves quit bickering. Something that only happens once in a thousand years occurs. The glade explodes with magical aura as the unicorn releases its legendary rainbow fart. Magical anomalies, such as this, signal only one thing: the birth of a hero.

Elfmoor takes a big whiff of the magical aroma. “B. E. A. Utiful. Times like this make life worth living.”

Elfrond shakes his head. “Elfmoor, we’re immortal. I’ve seen this like ten times already. And every time this happens, it means something evil is about to come afoot."

“But the hero always wins.”

“Have you ever heard the term collateral damage?”

“Is that a sword?”

And there you have it. The magical unicorn fart that marks your birth. How exciting! I wonder what type of hero you will grow up to be.
> You heroic knight, heroic knight!
Ah, the noble knight in shining armor. And they say chivalry is dead.

You are born into a loving but stern peasant family in the hamlet of Forest Hill. Your formative years are a medley of hardship, merriment, and hard work. While most of the other children in the hamlet are content to play ragamuffin children’s games and live out their lives in this quaint corner of the woods, you aspire to greatness, spending every evening selling turnips and every night mucking shit from the stables. With all this (paltry sum of) loot, you are able to afford sword and shield lessons from the guardsmen.

One fine autumn evening, you and your sword master Jon are finishing a sparring session.  Jon is bigger and faster than you are, but you have taken his lessons to heart. Training swords are blunted, but they hurt all the same when they whack you.

Jon’s sword arcs toward your shoulder. You raise your shield, and the wood splinters. With a quick twist of the wrist, you yank the shield downwards, catching Jon’s sword in the process. He is open; here is your chance. You swing your sword…

“Dodge!” you shout, dropping to the ground. Jon’s fist sails an inch above your head. You toss your shield and lurch from your knees into Jon. The pair of you grapple on the ground. Dust flies. Both of your swords are lost in the ruckus.

A fist catches you square in the gut. Once, twice, three times. You spit in Jon’s eyes and roll to the side, and stagger to your feet. A leg comes sweeping toward you.

“Dodge!” you shout, jumping back. You avoid the leg, but tumble onto your ass. Before you can regain your feet, a boot hits your chest, shoving you back into the ground.

Jon stands above you and smirks. “You know what you forgot to do?”

You nod, knowing.

“You forgot to DODGE!”

You share a hearty laugh. At first, Jon would shout ‘dodge’ to train you to avoid taking hits, now it is your job to shout it when you train. He even sends kids around to throw shit at you randomly during the day. That really sends the message home. You have come so far that the art of dodging has almost become a sixth sense. ‘If they can’t hit you, they can’t kill you,’ Jon had reasoned.

The pair of you head to the watch house to clean up. The building is small and reeks of sweat and mildew. The hamlet only has three guards, so upgrading their housing has not been a top concern of the local Baron. You are just thrilled the hamlet has guards at all.

“You’re getting good, kid. Real good,” says Jon, stripping his leather armor. “I think you’re ready for some real patrol work. We just got a report the other night about some disappearances on the Baron’s Road. It’s probably just some bandits, but we need to take care of it. You in?”
> You hell yeah you're in.
“Hell yeah I’m in.”

Jon nods. “Glad to hear it.”

This could be your big chance to finally prove yourself. You need to get your name out there if you want to have any chance of receiving a knighthood someday. They do not just hand those things out like… well, nobody has ever actually handed you anything except a nice big steaming pile of shit. Peasantry blows.

Under cover of darkness, you and the three guards head out along the Baron’s Road in the back of a covered wagon. No one has ever thought of ambushing bandits in a covered wagon while guised as merchants. Surely, the plan will go off without a hitch.

Samwellington the Fat jitters in his seat. You are not sure if it is because he is scared or hungry. How Sam became a member of the guard is beyond your imagination. Jon trusts him for some reason, and that is good enough for you. “Nervous kid?” he asks.

That you might eat me. “No. If Jon says I’m ready, then I’m ready.”

Bowie bobs his head. “It’s best to trust Jon. I didn’t once and then my world went to shit. That draugr attack during the winter of ’69 was brutal… I still have nightmares.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “If you hadn’t st-”

“Hey, let’s let bygones be bygones,” says Bowie.

“Hey do you hear that?” you ask.

“Sorry, my stomach rumbles when I travel,” says Samwellington.

“No, not-”

The horses whinny and bolt. One of the wheels catches a snag in the road and topples over. Luckily, you land on Samwellington’s gut. Jon cuts a hole in the wagon covering and climbs out into the night, and you and Bowie follow.

“Oh, fuck…” Jon clutches his sword in both hands and rushes.

Two trolls tower over the corpses of the horses and the wagon driver, tearing chunks of bloody flesh with the effort you would rip apart a boiled chicken.
> You help Jon.
In your eagerness to fight at Jon’s side, you forget the most important lesson of your training: always dodge.

A troll whips a horse leg in your direction. Off balance and off guard, you cannot avoid the hurling limb as the hoof nails you in the shoulder, severing your sword arm. Blood spouts like a geyser from your body as you crumple to the road.

“Bowie, help Jon!” Samwellington shrieks. “I’ve got the kid.” Samwellington stumbles to your side and rolls you onto your back. “Hang in there little buddy. It’s going to be alright.”

Blood loss is making you delusional. It is the only way to explain what is happening. Samwellington draws his dagger and sticks himself in the gut. He drags the blade across his stomach, slips his hand into the incision, and pulls out a chunk of his own fat. He smacks the lard on your wound and it sticks in place, stemming the blood flow.

“Can you walk?” asks Samwellington.

“Can I walk? Can I walk! I just had my fucking arm cleaved off. What the fuck do you think?”

“Yeah, an arm, not a leg. Don’t be a baby.”

“Sam we could really use your fat ass over here,” shouts Bowie. “Any motherfucking time!”

You hear a gurgle and a gasp just before Bowie’s head goes sailing through the air. Samwellington gulps and scurries away to hide behind the wreckage of the wagon. What a coward. Oh well, at least he saved your life.

Leaning against your sword, you stagger to your feet. One of the trolls ravages Bowie’s headless corpse. The crunching and snapping of bones sickens you, and you fight the urge to hurl as bile tickles your throat. Jon appears to be holding his ground against the other troll, but once his friend finishes devouring Bowie’s corpse, even Jon won’t be able to fend off their combined savagery. You have to do something quick or all of your worthless lives will be over.
> You throw your severed arm as a distraction.
You doubt you will be of much use as a combatant, so you may as well make yourself useful in some other fashion.

You grab your severed arm and wing it as hard you can toward the trolls. The troll feasting on Bowie ignores the bloody mess of flesh, but Jon’s troll clambers after it on all fours. A deep sadness seeps into your bones as you hear the troll crunch your arm in its jaws. Heroes are not supposed to be eaten.

Jon slices the back of the trolls’ knees, and the troll howls in agony as its legs buckle. Jon leaps onto its back and cleaves the head clean off with one swipe with your arm still clenched between its teeth.

“Go Jon,” Samwellington cheers. The fat coward is still cowering behind wreckage from the wagon.

“Why don’t you try and help?” you snarl.

“I am helping. I’m providing emotional support.”

You roll your eyes and look back in time to see Jon finish off the second troll.

“Wow, that was fast,” you say.

Jon shrugs. “A little emotional support can go a long way. Nice job yourself. You didn’t even need to have your sword arm attached to the rest of your body for it to be useful. Try dodging next time though.”

“I don’t know if there will be a next time. How can I fight without a sword arm?”

Jon winks. “I know a guy: magic fellow and what not. He should be able to do something for you.” Jon raises his hand. “Hold on one second. I’ll be right back.”

Jon darts into the forest and you hear the lovely sound of steel biting into flesh and the accompanying screams.

“Sam, why don’t you go back to the hamlet and draft the report,” says Jon, emerging from the forest, “add five dead bandits to it. I’ll take our buddy here to the hedge wizard.”

With that, you and Jon part ways with Samwellington and enjoy a relatively droll venture to the hedge wizard’s hut. You understand why he is only a hedge wizard. The hut is a ramshackle smattering of twigs and leaves that appear to be held together by nothing but mud and bird poop. The entire place smells worse than a popcorn fart. This may not have been the best idea, but before you can raise your concerns with Jon, he hollers out.

“Hey, Osprey, get out here. I need a favor.”

“Is that you Jon?” You hear weird pops and bangs from inside the bird poop hut. “Just a second.”

“Take your time,” says Jon. “No hurry.”

After a few minutes, a bent white-bearded man with smoldering eyebrows and a staff teeters out of the hut amidst a cloud of smoke. The smoke shrouds Osprey and follows him around. It smells of rancid cheese and burning bird shit.

“Whew,” Jon attempts to wave the stink away, “what were you doing in there?”

Osprey’s eyes light up. His lips twist into a smirk as he cackles. “Wizard things.”

“Oh, Dear God.”

Osprey’s smile vanishes as he notices you and totters over. He grabs your head in both hands, lifts your chin, peers into your eyes, and prods your chest with a bony finger. A chill courses through your bones. He proceeds to violate your personal space for several minutes while you do your best to avoid suffocating in the smoke.

“Mmhmmm,” he says to himself. “Just as I thought. The boy is missing an arm.”

You roll your eyes. “How observant.”

Osprey whacks you upside the head with the staff. “Mind your manners, boy, or I’ll turn you into a leprechaun.” He shakes his head. “Ain’t nothing sadder than a leprechaun.”

“Not even a smelly old man living in a bird shit hut?”

Osprey clobbers you with the staff again. “I’ll have respect from you boy. This is no joking matter. You ever see a leprechaun you give that poor bastard nothing but your sincerest sympathies.” He smacks you with the staff one more time for good measure. “Now about that arm. I can fix you right up. Get you a brand new ethereal arm. Those things are sweet: impervious to physical damage. Magic will fuck you up though.”

Osprey begins nodding his head and drawing weird symbols in the ground with his staff while mumbling to himself.

“Jon,” you whisper, “I really don’t think this is a good idea. This guy is cracked.”

Jon scoffs. “Posh. You want to be a knight, right? Well, a knight needs both arms.”
> You bring on the magic.
Truer words have never been said. Well, they probably have, but you cannot think of any at the moment.

“Alright,” you nod, “bring on the magic.”

“That’s the spirit.” Osprey bumbles around finishing his runes. He mutters some incantations, bops you on top of the head a few times with his staff and bursts into poetry.

A wizard did it, a wizard bid it.

An arm grew, fresh and new.

Ethereal, but not imperial.

As we live in a realm, surrounded by elm.

Nature’s magic, is never tragic.

My rhymes are bad, but I’m not mad.

This spell worked, ‘cause Cyrus twerked.

Just like that, a sprite and shiny ethereal arm appears from your shoulder. You clench your fist and feel the power pulsing through your… veins? Jon claps politely as Osprey bows.

The hedge wizard slaps you across the back, smiling. “Now don’t go committing sins of self-pleasure with that thing. You might rip something important off.”

You gulp.

Osprey cackles and slaps you some more. He seems to like hitting you. “You can shoot magic energy blasts out of that thing too. I thought that might be useful for a hero.”

Jon shakes his head. “If you want to be a heroic knight, don’t do that. Knights aren’t magic. Only trouble can come of it. This isn’t a wizard’s tale.”

Osprey shrugs and wanders back into his hut. The door creaks shut and you soon hear the calamity snap back to life. He pokes his head out to offer one last piece of advice. “You treat them leprechauns with respect, boy, you hear me?” He slams the door shut and that is that.

“What do we do now?” you ask Jon.

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hamlet and make sure everything’s in order. You should go try out your new arm and get used to it.”

You consider that a smashing idea and head off to the neighboring kingdom of Irelandshire to seek out one of these mystical leprechauns. With the help of several drunken and boisterous natives, you learn the not-so-secret location of the Valley of Rainbows where the leprechauns supposedly abound. They warn you not to go though because it is a sad and wretched place. Obviously, you ignore them.

Hundreds of rainbows dot the easy to access valley, and you have little difficulty tracking one down to its end. Naturally, a great pot of gold sits next to it, but no leprechaun.

You try calling for them, taunting them, begging them, praising them, but none appear.

“Well at least I’m rich.”

You pack as much gold as you can onto your horse (which isn’t anywhere near the entire pot since gold is heavy, yet it’s still enough to buy a castle or two) and prepare to return home.

As you approach the precipice with the cave that leads out of the valley, a shrill cry booms from deep in the heart of the valley.
> You you're rich. You're going home.
Where is your sense of adventure? Heroes aren’t supposed to be in the game just for the money!

What about for princess bosom?

Princess bosom is nice, but even with that you are still only a cheap imitation of a true hero. Besides, I do not see any princess bosom in the area, and no, you cannot buy princess bosom. You must earn such luxuries.

Are you telling me I don’t actually get to go home?

No, you can go home if you want. I’m merely giving you an opportunity to reconsider because I am a kind and kindred spirit. Eh, who am I kidding? I’m kind of a dick, but my offer still stands.
> You piss off, you're going home with your booty.
You elect to go home with your wealthy horde of treasure, as you have every right to do so. I applaud your resolution. That takes cajones. Even divine intervention cannot derail you from your path.

With your newfound riches, you decide to take a luxury cruise on the C.Y.S.  Generic Heroine. She is truly a gallant vessel. You dine on raw oysters and baked clams, which you eat off the bare breasts of dashing dames. At night, mermaids sing scandalous songs as they swim along with the ship, attempting to lure foolish sailors and passengers into their clutches, but not you, no, you are too wise. You simply listen and enjoy the sweet melodies.

The seas stay smooth and calm and you enjoy a pleasurable sailing experience. Pirates only attack once, and with your bitchin’ ethereal arm, you smash and bash them to bits, claiming their brig as your own. You even remembered to heed Jon’s warning and not use the magical energy blasts to preserve your status as a heroic knight.

“How was your trip?” Jon asks as you arrive in port.

“Profitable.”

Samwellington’s mouth waters as he sniffs the seafood on your breath. “Do you have any more clams?”

“I hope so,” says Jon, ignoring Samwellington. “You missed the king’s tournament. Sooooooo much shit went down.”

“Jon found a fire-crotch.” Samwellington beams gaily. “And killed a no good dirty evil wizard.”

Jon nods. “The future looks bright. That’s for damn certain.”

The three of you leave the docks and head into the city, ready to raise hell and fuck bitches make sweet tender love to beautiful maidens. What, did you think I would be spiteful and have you die of the Great Pox or be devoured by the kracken?


Where is your sense of adventure? Heroes aren’t supposed to be in the game just for the money!

What about for princess bosom?

Princess bosom is nice, but even with that you are still only a cheap imitation of a true hero. Besides, I do not see any princess bosom in the area, and no, you cannot buy princess bosom. You must earn such luxuries.

Are you telling me I don’t actually get to go home?

No, you can go home if you want. I’m merely giving you an opportunity to reconsider because I am a kind and kindred spirit. Eh, who am I kidding? I’m kind of a dick, but my offer still stands.
> You convinced you, oh benevolent and mighty guardian angel.
No one likes a kiss ass. I'm more akin to a god than an angel anyway.

Taking a deep whiff of air you can smell the magic. This place has more to it than abandoned pots of gold and rainbows after all. You order your horse to stay and guard your gold as you dart towards the disturbance, and he obeys, because that is what good horseys do.

You storm through the trees, snapping branches and scaring furry little forest critters. In your haste, you trample a chipmunk. The little fellow’s bones make a nice crunching noise.

“Hey what’s the big idea!”

You whirl around but do not see anyone. You inspect the bottom of your boot, but the chipmunk is not the speaker. He is squashed like a rotten pumpkin all juicy and splattered.

“Over here you idiot.” A giant of a man posing as a tree rumbles toward you. He has moss and vines for a beard and hair. His green eyes glimmer with malice. A bear and a wolf lumber along at his sides. “Why are you destroying my forest?”

“Sorry, I was looking for whatever made that awful cry.”

“That was a leprechaun bemoaning his sorry fate of being a leprechaun.”

“Cool, can you show me where they are?”

“You murder my friend and harm my trees and you ask me for help? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t bring you home to my wife and tickle you to death for her amusement while my children eat your toes!”

What in the name of Pegasus is this thing? Oh, if only you had brought that book on mythical creatures Samwellington bought you for your birthday. At any rate, something tells you he does not belong in Irelandshire. You do not think you will be able to reason with him. If the chipmunk was his friend, honor would dictate that he avenge the cute little guy’s mushy corpse. How do you want to play this?
> You tell him, 'Everything you say is a lie.'
A smug smirk crosses your lips as you proudly declare, “Everything I say is a lie.”

The weird tree man thing stares at you then shakes his head in pity. “What did you think a paradox would do? Make my brain melt into soup?”

“Yes, actually.”

“I am a leshy. Not an imbecile.”

“I have no idea what that is. Do you sing songs?”

“You’ll see what I do.”

The leshy’s animal friends attack and pin you to the ground before you can react. You manage to strangle the bear to death with your ethereal arm, but this only enrages the leshy further. He plucks you from the ground as a princess would an eyelash and carries you off to his shanty with the wolf nipping at your feet.

Once inside his home, he binds you with vines and hangs you from the ceiling. His wife and children enter from kitchen.

“Oh, wonderful,” his wife cries with glee, “you found a wanderer! We get so few in the Valley of Rainbows.”

“The stupid leprechauns keep everyone away,” says one of the children. “No one wants to be near a leprechaun.”

The leshy’s wife smacks the child upside the head. “You treat the leprechauns with respect young man. They have enough misfortune without your drivel.”

“That’s right. Behave yourself, or I won’t let you eat his toes,” says the leshy.

“Yes Pa.”

The leshy begins tickling you as the children nibble on your toes. The wife shoves a hand down her dress and begins to moan and giggle. You shut your eyes and vomit between fits of laughter and screams of agony. Piss runs down your leg.

“You evil bastard!” you scream.

“I’m not evil. You’re just a failure and a murderer,” says the leshy as he proceeds to tickle you to death. “Chipper was one of my best friends. He will not be forgotten.”


No one likes a kiss ass. I'm more akin to a god than an angel anyway.

Taking a deep whiff of air you can smell the magic. This place has more to it than abandoned pots of gold and rainbows after all. You order your horse to stay and guard your gold as you dart towards the disturbance, and he obeys, because that is what good horseys do.

You storm through the trees, snapping branches and scaring furry little forest critters. In your haste, you trample a chipmunk. The little fellow’s bones make a nice crunching noise.

“Hey what’s the big idea!”

You whirl around but do not see anyone. You inspect the bottom of your boot, but the chipmunk is not the speaker. He is squashed like a rotten pumpkin all juicy and splattered.

“Over here you idiot.” A giant of a man posing as a tree rumbles toward you. He has moss and vines for a beard and hair. His green eyes glimmer with malice. A bear and a wolf lumber along at his sides. “Why are you destroying my forest?”

“Sorry, I was looking for whatever made that awful cry.”

“That was a leprechaun bemoaning his sorry fate of being a leprechaun.”

“Cool, can you show me where they are?”

“You murder my friend and harm my trees and you ask me for help? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t bring you home to my wife and tickle you to death for her amusement while my children eat your toes!”

What in the name of Pegasus is this thing? Oh, if only you had brought that book on mythical creatures Samwellington bought you for your birthday. At any rate, something tells you he does not belong in Irelandshire. You do not think you will be able to reason with him. If the chipmunk was his friend, honor would dictate that he avenge the cute little guy’s mushy corpse. How do you want to play this?
> You turn your clothes inside out and put your shoes on the wrong feet.
You remember now! This creature is a leshy, and there is only one sure fire way to stop a leshy. You whip off your clothes, put them on inside out, kick off your shoes and slip them onto the opposite feet.

The leshy grimaces and his animal companions slink away. “I guess I have to show you the way out now.”

“I know the way out. Can you take me to the leprechauns?”

“You want to see the leprechauns? Are you dull in the head?”

“I like bacon, yes.”

The leshy’s eyes twinkle with fear. “Clearly, you’re mentally unhinged. Just like those poor leprechauns. If I take you to them, promise you’ll leave me and my family alone.”

“Sure.”

You follow the leshy into a glade, within a glen, within a gorge, within a holler, within a hollow, within a dell, within a dale, within a dingle, within a canyon, within a vale within the Valley of Rainbows. The trip is quite, shall I say, trippy.

The leshy points to a pool of water where all the rainbows spring forth. “I’m not getting any closer. Give the leprechauns my condolences, and please don’t murder rape my family. Good day.” The leshy leaves in a hurry without another word.

You approach the pool with eager enthusiasm and the leprechauns begin to appear from the surrounding trees…

...

Why are you stopping?

I’m sorry. It’s too depressing. Give the leprechauns my condolences as well, poor sorry bastards.


Truer words have never been said. Well, they probably have, but you cannot think of any at the moment.

“Alright,” you nod, “bring on the magic.”

“That’s the spirit.” Osprey bumbles around finishing his runes. He mutters some incantations, bops you on top of the head a few times with his staff and bursts into poetry.

A wizard did it, a wizard bid it.

An arm grew, fresh and new.

Ethereal, but not imperial.

As we live in a realm, surrounded by elm.

Nature’s magic, is never tragic.

My rhymes are bad, but I’m not mad.

This spell worked, ‘cause Cyrus twerked.

Just like that, a sprite and shiny ethereal arm appears from your shoulder. You clench your fist and feel the power pulsing through your… veins? Jon claps politely as Osprey bows.

The hedge wizard slaps you across the back, smiling. “Now don’t go committing sins of self-pleasure with that thing. You might rip something important off.”

You gulp.

Osprey cackles and slaps you some more. He seems to like hitting you. “You can shoot magic energy blasts out of that thing too. I thought that might be useful for a hero.”

Jon shakes his head. “If you want to be a heroic knight, don’t do that. Knights aren’t magic. Only trouble can come of it. This isn’t a wizard’s tale.”

Osprey shrugs and wanders back into his hut. The door creaks shut and you soon hear the calamity snap back to life. He pokes his head out to offer one last piece of advice. “You treat them leprechauns with respect, boy, you hear me?” He slams the door shut and that is that.

“What do we do now?” you ask Jon.

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hamlet and make sure everything’s in order. You should go try out your new arm and get used to it.”

You consider that a smashing idea and head off to the neighboring kingdom of Irelandshire to seek out one of these mystical leprechauns. With the help of several drunken and boisterous natives, you learn the not-so-secret location of the Valley of Rainbows where the leprechauns supposedly abound. They warn you not to go though because it is a sad and wretched place. Obviously, you ignore them.

Hundreds of rainbows dot the easy to access valley, and you have little difficulty tracking one down to its end. Naturally, a great pot of gold sits next to it, but no leprechaun.

You try calling for them, taunting them, begging them, praising them, but none appear.

“Well at least I’m rich.”

You pack as much gold as you can onto your horse (which isn’t anywhere near the entire pot since gold is heavy, yet it’s still enough to buy a castle or two) and prepare to return home.

As you approach the precipice with the cave that leads out of the valley, a shrill cry booms from deep in the heart of the valley.
> You investigate the cry.
Taking a deep whiff of air you can smell the magic. This place has more to it than abandoned pots of gold and rainbows after all. You order your horse to stay and guard your gold as you dart towards the disturbance, and he obeys, because that is what good horseys do.

You storm through the trees, snapping branches and scaring furry little forest critters. In your haste, you trample a chipmunk. The little fellow’s bones make a nice crunching noise.

“Hey what’s the big idea!”

You whirl around but do not see anyone. You inspect the bottom of your boot, but the chipmunk is not the speaker. He is squashed like a rotten pumpkin all juicy and splattered.

“Over here you idiot.” A giant of a man posing as a tree rumbles toward you. He has moss and vines for a beard and hair. His green eyes glimmer with malice. A bear and a wolf lumber along at his sides. “Why are you destroying my forest?”

“Sorry, I was looking for whatever made that awful cry.”

“That was a leprechaun bemoaning his sorry fate of being a leprechaun.”

“Cool, can you show me where they are?”

“You murder my friend and harm my trees and you ask me for help? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t bring you home to my wife and tickle you to death for her amusement while my children eat your toes!”

What in the name of Pegasus is this thing? Oh, if only you had brought that book on mythical creatures Samwellington bought you for your birthday. At any rate, something tells you he does not belong in Irelandshire. You also doubt you will be able to reason with him. If the chipmunk was his friend, honor would dictate that he avenge the cute little guy’s mushy corpse. How do you want to play this?


You doubt you will be of much use as a combatant, so you may as well make yourself useful in some other fashion.

You grab your severed arm and wing it as hard you can toward the trolls. The troll feasting on Bowie ignores the bloody mess of flesh, but Jon’s troll clambers after it on all fours. A deep sadness seeps into your bones as you hear the troll crunch your arm in its jaws. Heroes are not supposed to be eaten.

Jon slices the back of the trolls’ knees, and the troll howls in agony as its legs buckle. Jon leaps onto its back and cleaves the head clean off with one swipe with your arm still clenched between its teeth.

“Go Jon,” Samwellington cheers. The fat coward is still cowering behind wreckage from the wagon.

“Why don’t you try and help?” you snarl.

“I am helping. I’m providing emotional support.”

You roll your eyes and look back in time to see Jon finish off the second troll.

“Wow, that was fast,” you say.

Jon shrugs. “A little emotional support can go a long way. Nice job yourself. You didn’t even need to have your sword arm attached to the rest of your body for it to be useful. Try dodging next time though.”

“I don’t know if there will be a next time. How can I fight without a sword arm?”

Jon winks. “I know a guy: magic fellow and what not. He should be able to do something for you.” Jon raises his hand. “Hold on one second. I’ll be right back.”

Jon darts into the forest and you hear the lovely sound of steel biting into flesh and the accompanying screams.

“Sam, why don’t you go back to the hamlet and draft the report,” says Jon, emerging from the forest, “add five dead bandits to it. I’ll take our buddy here to the hedge wizard.”

With that, you and Jon part ways with Samwellington and enjoy a relatively droll venture to the hedge wizard’s hut. You understand why he is only a hedge wizard. The hut is a ramshackle smattering of twigs and leaves that appear to be held together by nothing but mud and bird poop. The entire place smells worse than a popcorn fart. This may not have been the best idea, but before you can raise your concerns with Jon, he hollers out.

“Hey, Osprey, get out here. I need a favor.”

“Is that you Jon?” You hear weird pops and bangs from inside the bird poop hut. “Just a second.”

“Take your time,” says Jon. “No hurry.”

After a few minutes, a bent white-bearded man with smoldering eyebrows and a staff teeters out of the hut amidst a cloud of smoke. The smoke shrouds Osprey and follows him around. It smells of rancid cheese and burning bird shit.

“Whew,” Jon attempts to wave the stink away, “what were you doing in there?”

Osprey’s eyes light up. His lips twist into a smirk as he cackles. “Wizard things.”

“Oh, Dear God.”

Osprey’s smile vanishes as he notices you and totters over. He grabs your head in both hands, lifts your chin, peers into your eyes, and prods your chest with a bony finger. A chill courses through your bones. He proceeds to violate your personal space for several minutes while you do your best to avoid suffocating in the smoke.

“Mmhmmm,” he says to himself. “Just as I thought. The boy is missing an arm.”

You roll your eyes. “How observant.”

Osprey whacks you upside the head with the staff. “Mind your manners, boy, or I’ll turn you into a leprechaun.” He shakes his head. “Ain’t nothing sadder than a leprechaun.”

“Not even a smelly old man living in a bird shit hut?”

Osprey clobbers you with the staff again. “I’ll have respect from you boy. This is no joking matter. You ever see a leprechaun you give that poor bastard nothing but your sincerest sympathies.” He smacks you with the staff one more time for good measure. “Now about that arm. I can fix you right up. Get you a brand new ethereal arm. Those things are sweet: impervious to physical damage. Magic will fuck you up though.”

Osprey begins nodding his head and drawing weird symbols in the ground with his staff while mumbling to himself.

“Jon,” you whisper, “I really don’t think this is a good idea. This guy is cracked.”

Jon scoffs. “Posh. You want to be a knight, right? Well, a knight needs both arms.”
> You continue as a cripple.
There is no way you are about to let this bird-brained lunatic work any form of magic on you. Somehow, someway, you will adapt to your crippled state.

“It’s just not happening, Jon,” you say and walk away.

“Hey, get back here, kid!”

“Let him go, Jon,” you hear Osprey say. “He’ll come back. They always do.”

You ignore them and keep walking. Left, right, left, you allow your mind to wander and just let your feet carry you where they will. How could this have happened? You are supposed to be a hero! A young knight in training, you had such a promising future…

Time passes and the sky darkens as you continue to roam without purpose. Self-wallowing will certainly help you in your quest for glory. You meander deeper into the forest, down into a dell. A coyote’s howl jars you back to reality. You slump against a rock beside a bubbling stream and bury your head into your hand.

“Everything I ever dreamed,” you scream, “ripped apart and devoured by some beast from hell.”

“Oh, do tell,” whispers a soft voice from behind. “I love stories about fallen heroes.” The voice giggles. “Or, would-be heroes.”

Slippery wet fingers trace your cheeks and run through your hair. A veil of mist seeps into the dell. Queer sensations stir in the pit of your gut. You think you are being enchanted, and you are not sure if that is necessarily a bad thing.

“Who are you?”

“I have many names,” sings the sweet voice. Her fingers caress your body. You feel at ease in her arms, as if all the aches in your body and pains in your mind wash away at her command. “But you may call me Organa Mel Fy.”

“What are you?”

“Ah, now that is a better question, but still not the right one.” You feel her teeth nibble at your neck. “I am an angel to some: demon to others. Last question my sweetness, make it count.”
> You say "What happens next?"
“What happens next?”

“Now that, that is the question of the hour, isn’t it?” sings the sweet voice.

The mysterious creature’s slick fingers trace their way into your breeches and tickle your Johnson. An overwhelming sensation of euphoria courses through your veins. Blood surges through your body. You feel… invigorated, as if you have more energy than the sun itself.

“I get ever so lonely here by myself,” the voice sings. “Won’t you… play with me?”
> You sexytime!
You have never felt so amazing in your life. How could you possibly let this sensation escape? You make sweet tender love to the mysterious creature. She looks human enough, except for the fact she can transform into water at will, which only serves to enhance the awesomeness of the experience. It just feels soooo damn good.

A little too good. Blinded by euphoria, ecstasy, magic, hormones, and a fatal condition I like to call “being a goddamned idiot,” you fail to notice your lover drag you down into the deceptively deep depths of the stream where you drown in the throes of love-making. Oh, those pesky water sprites!


“What happens next?”

“Now that, that is the question of the hour, isn’t it?” sings the sweet voice.

The mysterious creature’s slick fingers trace their way into your breeches and tickle your Johnson. An overwhelming sensation of euphoria courses through your veins. Blood surges through your body. You feel… invigorated, as if you have more energy than the sun itself.

“I get ever so lonely here by myself,” the voice sings. “Won’t you… play with me?”
> You it's a trap!
Shit, it’s a trap! Jon once gave you a book about just this situation. This magical sexy creature is none other than a water sprite, posing as the evil sorceress, Organa Mel Fy, probably one of her sultry minions. She’ll sex you up then drown you in the stream and feast on your corpse.

“I want you to want me.” The water sprite moans and works magic on your body with her fingers.

Try as you might you cannot resist her allure as she toys with you in her lap. The magical enchantment and sexual tension corrode the fibers of your mind, breaking the mental barriers you constructed for just such a situation.

Saggy old nuns. Saggy old nuns. Saggy old nuns. Sally David. Mom. Oh shit, I’m still getting hard.

Hard as a brick in fact.

Help me!

Do you have a sister?

Yes, but that won’t work.

You whacked it while watching her bathe in the river didn’t you, perv.

Maybe…

I suppose there is always self-castration.

Go to hell.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” sings the water sprite, “I just want to rock you like a hurricane, shake you all night long, twist and shout, scream a rebel yell, make you walk on water, take you down to the paradise city, administer rough justice, and get your rocks off.”

Losing the battle of self-control your johnson twitches wildly. “Oh, sweet merciful God, that sounds orgasmic.”

The water sprite leans in close and whispers in your ear, “Let me take you home tonight so I can keep on loving you.”

The sultry songs of the water sprite prove too much for your feeble constitution. Your johnson explodes into a fountain of blood from a colossal aneurysm brought on by an overload of magical sexual tension. Since I’m not completely depraved, I’ll spare you the grisly details. Short agonizing story in brief: you bleed out.


There is no way you are about to let this bird-brained lunatic work any form of magic on you. Somehow, someway, you will adapt to your crippled state.

“It’s just not happening, Jon,” you say and walk away.

“Hey, get back here, kid!”

“Let him go, Jon,” you hear Osprey say. “He’ll come back. They always do.”

You ignore them and keep walking. Left, right, left, you allow your mind to wander and just let your feet carry you where they will. How could this have happened? You are supposed to be a hero! A young knight in training, you had such a promising future…

Time passes and the sky darkens as you continue to roam without purpose. Self-wallowing will certainly help you in your quest for glory. You meander deeper into the forest, down into a dell. A coyote’s howl jars you back to reality. You slump against a rock beside a bubbling stream and bury your head into your hand.

“Everything I ever dreamed,” you scream, “ripped apart and devoured by some beast from hell.”

“Oh, do tell,” whispers a soft voice from behind. “I love stories about fallen heroes.” The voice giggles. “Or, would-be heroes.”

Slippery wet fingers trace your cheeks and run through your hair. A veil of mist seeps into the dell. Queer sensations stir in the pit of your gut. You think you are being enchanted, and you are not sure if that is necessarily a bad thing.

“Who are you?”

“I have many names,” sings the sweet voice. Her fingers caress your body. You feel at ease in her arms, as if all the aches in your body and pains in your mind wash away at her command. “But you may call me Organa Mel Fy.”

“What are you?”

“Ah, now that is a better question, but still not the right one.” You feel her teeth nibble at your neck. “I am an angel to some: demon to others. Last question my sweetness, make it count.”
> You kill it
When in doubt, flay ‘em like a trout. Swift as a cat hopped up on methamphetamines you draw your sword, spin around, and hack off Organa Mel Fy’s head. Magic may not be dope, but you sure are.

What didn’t you know? Magic is a stimulating drug. That’s why even the best wizards are twitchy and half-cracked in the head. Shit’s addictive, man.

Whoa, what the hell is going on? Organa Mel Fy’s body and freshly decapitated head melt into what appears to be water and seeps into the ground. That is not normal. Perhaps now would be a good time to get out of here. You are still feeling funny from the magic and can swear you are being watched as you clamber up out of the dell. In fact, your feet are moving in a flurry, but it does not seem like you are getting anywhere. You definitely passed that big ass maple like five times already.

You whirl around and brandish your sword. “Ok, what the fuck gives? Will the mysterious magic bitch or bastard please stand up?”

“If you insist.” A mysterious magic bitch with bountiful breasts appears before you out of thin air wearing low-cut red robes. She reeks of magic and virility.

“Listen, err, lady, my day’s been one odious load of shit, so unless you want me to wrap you up in the stink, I suggest you bugger off.”

The woman’s lips curl into a seductive smirk. “Aren’t you curious as to whom I am, or what I am going to offer you?”

“At this point, I really don’t give a damn.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“Perhaps you should suck my dick.”

“If that is what you truly desire, that may be arranged. But for now, you will listen to my proposal like a good puppy.” The woman raises her hand, immobilizing your body with her magic. “Now then-“
> You hear her out.
“If you agree to be my obedient and ever loyal servant, I will allow you to be my second in command and we shall rule the world with a magical fist! I’ll even fix up your arm for you, much better than that crackpot Osprey could do for you too.”

“Can I be a Knight in Shining Armor?”

“You can be a Black Knight.”

“Awww, that’s not heroic at all.”

“Well, you could just be my Dragon.”

“You’ll turn me into a dragon! That’s awesome!”

“No. A Dragon is a trope. Don’t you have the internet?”

“What’s a trope? Or the internet? Is it like a cliché?”

Organa Mel Fy face palms. “Go here and waste countless hours of your life and educate yourself. http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HomePage”

“I don’t speak foreign. Just Common.”

“I think I’ll just kill you.”

And so she does. Now you are free to lose your soul in the vast voids of the internet.


When in doubt, flay ‘em like a trout. Swift as a cat hopped up on methamphetamines you draw your sword, spin around, and hack off Organa Mel Fy’s head. Magic may not be dope, but you sure are.

What didn’t you know? Magic is a stimulating drug. That’s why even the best wizards are twitchy and half-cracked in the head. Shit’s addictive, man.

Whoa, what the hell is going on? Organa Mel Fy’s body and freshly decapitated head melt into what appears to be water and seeps into the ground. That is not normal. Perhaps now would be a good time to get out of here. You are still feeling funny from the magic and can swear you are being watched as you clamber up out of the dell. In fact, your feet are moving in a flurry, but it does not seem like you are getting anywhere. You definitely passed that big ass maple like five times already.

You whirl around and brandish your sword. “Ok, what the fuck gives? Will the mysterious magic bitch or bastard please stand up?”

“If you insist.” A mysterious magic bitch with bountiful breasts appears before you out of thin air wearing low-cut red robes. She reeks of magic and virility.

“Listen, err, lady, my day’s been one odious load of shit, so unless you want me to wrap you up in the stink, I suggest you bugger off.”

The woman’s lips curl into a seductive smirk. “Aren’t you curious as to whom I am, or what I am going to offer you?”

“At this point, I really don’t give a damn.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“Perhaps you should suck my dick.”

“If that is what you truly desire, that may be arranged. But for now, you will listen to my proposal like a good puppy.” The woman raises her hand, immobilizing your body with her magic. “Now then-“
> You spit in her face.
Spitting isn’t exactly heroic, unless you’re a cowboy. Unfortunately for you, you are not a cowboy.

You hack a glob of spittle onto the woman’s face. “I’ll cut your fucking heart out. Bitch.”

“Interesting, I’d love to see you try.” The woman wipes your saliva from her face, as you remain helplessly immobilized. “Yes, that’s what I thought. Though I imagined you had a little more sense in you than that. You are not the vessel I am looking for. That is clear to me now. Still, I can use your corpse as a fine minion. And you gave me such a wonderful idea of how to kill you.”

The mysterious magic bitch magics up a dagger and proceeds to cut out your heart, which she then consumes. You watch in horror as the last moments of your life fade away. Perhaps, antagonizing your captor was not the best of ideas.

Sadly, you cannot even enjoy peace in death, as the mysterious magic bitch reanimates your corpse to do her bidding, trapping your soul within your decaying body. The tasks she orders you to perform are humiliating and degrading, but there is nothing you can do. You are hers, now and forever.


When in doubt, flay ‘em like a trout. Swift as a cat hopped up on methamphetamines you draw your sword, spin around, and hack off Organa Mel Fy’s head. Magic may not be dope, but you sure are.

What didn’t you know? Magic is a stimulating drug. That’s why even the best wizards are twitchy and half-cracked in the head. Shit’s addictive, man.

Whoa, what the hell is going on? Organa Mel Fy’s body and freshly decapitated head melt into what appears to be water and seeps into the ground. That is not normal. Perhaps now would be a good time to get out of here. You are still feeling funny from the magic and can swear you are being watched as you clamber up out of the dell. In fact, your feet are moving in a flurry, but it does not seem like you are getting anywhere. You definitely passed that big ass maple like five times already.

You whirl around and brandish your sword. “Ok, what the fuck gives? Will the mysterious magic bitch or bastard please stand up?”

“If you insist.” A mysterious magic bitch with bountiful breasts appears before you out of thin air wearing low-cut red robes. She reeks of magic and virility.

“Listen, err, lady, my day’s been one odious load of shit, so unless you want me to wrap you up in the stink, I suggest you bugger off.”

The woman’s lips curl into a seductive smirk. “Aren’t you curious as to whom I am, or what I am going to offer you?”

“At this point, I really don’t give a damn.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“Perhaps you should suck my dick.”

“If that is what you truly desire, that may be arranged. But for now, you will listen to my proposal like a good puppy.” The woman raises her hand, immobilizing your body with her magic. “Now then-“
> You struggle to break the spell with sheer willpower.
Ah, yes, the only thing more powerful than the human spirit is the spirit of a hero. You dig deep inside yourself, channeling your energy into an explosion of heroism. Eww, gross, it smells… sticky.

“- hey wait, what are you doing?” shrieks the mysterious magic bitch as you take a step forward. She doubles her efforts to paralyze you, but you are fixated on your goal and nothing is going to stand in your way. You cock your arm and deliver a vicious left hook. Crack. “Foolish mortal,” she screams as blood dribbles down into her frock, “that was most unwise.”

It really was, you think as you massage your broken hand against your thigh. Why didn’t I just hack off her head?

Good question hero, how do you plan to kill her now with one arm and a broken hand?

I dunno, but it was worth it. The blood glistens gorgeously on her bosom.

Maybe. If you are into that kind of stuff. But the time for internal dialogue and wall shattering is over, you have a situation here.

The mysterious magic bitch hurls a poorly aimed fireball in your direction. “I bet you don’t even have it in you to kill a woman!”

“Didn’t I just kill that water creature thingy? What was her name, Morgan Le Fay?”

“Organa Mel Fy, you fool!” The mysterious magic bitch hurls another fireball, but once again, her aim is so dreadful you do not even have to dodge.

“Oh, whatever.”

“Did you really think that half-witted harpy was the real Organa Mel Fy, sorceress supreme?”

“Kind of.”

“Well she wasn’t! I am!”

Organa Mel Fy whips up a magic firestorm, igniting the forest in a blaze of light and charred forest critters. You have to respect her strategy. When you cannot hit the broad side of a barn, just fire a broadside and blow everything to hell.

“I could have given you power beyond your wildest dreams! Sex the likes of which you have never known possible! We could have ruled the world together and ascended into the divine! Now DIE!”

Flames lick at you from all angles while smoldering branches and roasted birds tumble around you. Your stomach rumbles and mouth waters. Too bad you do not have time for a snack; a nice greasy roasted duck would really hit the spot right about now. One problem at a time though. You think you see a small avenue of escape, but you will have to bolt for it now. Of course, running away admits defeat.
> You fight
I didn’t know you were courting Death.

I’m not. What the hell are you talking about?

Oh dear, this is awkward.

What!?

I just assumed you had a date with Death, how else to explain such an absolute act of pure, unadulterated retardation.

Crashing through the inferno, you barrel toward Organa Mel Fy as the flames sear your skin. One armed and broken handed, I’m certain the fight would have been worthy to watch. Sadly, you collapse before you close even half the gap where the dancing fires consume your corpse.

It is a shame really. You came so close to discovering Organa Mel Fy’s secret. I actually thought you were going to make it. Instead, Organa Mel Fy did the world a service by culling a hero that just wasn’t cut out for the job.


Ah, yes, the only thing more powerful than the human spirit is the spirit of a hero. You dig deep inside yourself, channeling your energy into an explosion of heroism. Eww, gross, it smells… sticky.

“- hey wait, what are you doing?” shrieks the mysterious magic bitch as you take a step forward. She doubles her efforts to paralyze you, but you are fixated on your goal and nothing is going to stand in your way. You cock your arm and deliver a vicious left hook. Crack. “Foolish mortal,” she screams as blood dribbles down into her frock, “that was most unwise.”

It really was, you think as you massage your broken hand against your thigh. Why didn’t I just hack off her head?

Good question hero, how do you plan to kill her now with one arm and a broken hand?

I dunno, but it was worth it. The blood glistens gorgeously on her bosom.

Maybe. If you are into that kind of stuff. But the time for internal dialogue and wall shattering is over, you have a situation here.

The mysterious magic bitch hurls a poorly aimed fireball in your direction. “I bet you don’t even have it in you to kill a woman!”

“Didn’t I just kill that water creature thingy? What was her name, Morgan Le Fay?”

“Organa Mel Fy, you fool!” The mysterious magic bitch hurls another fireball, but once again, her aim is so dreadful you do not even have to dodge.

“Oh, whatever.”

“Did you really think that half-witted harpy was the real Organa Mel Fy, sorceress supreme?”

“Kind of.”

“Well she wasn’t! I am!”

Organa Mel Fy whips up a magic firestorm, igniting the forest in a blaze of light and charred forest critters. You have to respect her strategy. When you cannot hit the broad side of a barn, just fire a broadside and blow everything to hell.

“I could have given you power beyond your wildest dreams! Sex the likes of which you have never known possible! We could have ruled the world together and ascended into the divine! Now DIE!”

Flames lick at you from all angles while smoldering branches and roasted birds tumble around you. Your stomach rumbles and mouth waters. Too bad you do not have time for a snack; a nice greasy roasted duck would really hit the spot right about now. One problem at a time though. You think you see a small avenue of escape, but you will have to bolt for it now. Of course, running away admits defeat.
> You flee
Sometimes you have to lose the battle to win the war. You seize your opportunity to escape and disappear in the smoky haze. That crazy loon must have set half the forest on fire. Things cannot get much worse at least, right?

A gale pummels you from behind and knocks you down. Coals soar through the air. The force of the wind uproots entire trees, filling the air with splintering missiles of fire and death. Shit just got worse.

“Oh come on,” you mutter, “the bitch has to have some limit to her magic.”

You stagger onto your feet and proceed to dodge the incredible amount of bullshit and debris flying through the air all the way back to Osprey’s ramshackle birdshit hut. Osprey and Jon are sitting on stumps around a bonfire drinking tea, completely ignoring the magic fire engulfing the forest.

Osprey nudges Jon with his elbow. “See, I told ya he’d come back. They always come back.”

“Never doubted you for a second Osprey. The boy is young. He’ll learn.”

You throw up your arms in exasperation. “In case you two didn’t notice, we have a situation here.”

“You heroes today, always in such a hurry.” Osprey bops you on the head with his staff. “Never taking any time to stop and smell the pteguonias.” Osprey takes a deep whiff. “Putrid.”

“That’s your birdshit hut burning up.”

Osprey’s eyebrows shoot up, nearly off his forehead. “Damnit, Organa, you’ve gone too far this time. Show yourself! It ends now!”

Organa Mel Fy once again materializes out of thin air. She blasts an ice spike through Osprey’s heart without so much as a howdy-do. The cooky old hedge wizard voids his bowels and leaves this world once and for all. So much for getting a new arm.

Jon draws his sword. This battle may rest entirely on his blade now because you certainly do not appear to be in any condition to help. “Heartless harpy,” he growls.

Organa Mel Fy shrugs, which causes her bountiful breasts to bounce beautifully. “Well aren’t you a luscious lug. The world is a better place without the old fart stinking up half the forest. And I assure you, while I may be tart, I do have a heart. I know I just met you, and this may seem a tad crazy. But I’m ovulating, so would you like to make a baby?”

“Well, I am a sucker for gingers.”

“Power, sex, and divinity, we could have it all.”

Jon lowers his sword. “That is tempting.”

“Jon, what the hell!” You make a fist and drop to your knees in pain. Yep, still broke.

Jon stares at you with puppy dog eyes. “But she’s a ginger! I love gingers. Besides, heroes aren’t supposed to hit girls let alone kill them. That’s villainy right there.”

The man makes a strong argument. Are you really willing to begin the long dark descent down the path of debauchery and villainy just to stop one lone psychotic bitch with a magic addiction? Maybe it is not too late for you to get in on the action too. Organa Mel Fy does have a pretty sweet body and has a serious sexual appetite. There are probably some fantastic adventures awaiting the three of you in your potential sexcapades.
> You grope Organa Mel Fy
Something has been off about Organa Mel Fy ever since you first took a whiff of her presence. Eureka, that’s it! You just have to get close enough to check and make sure.

“Organa, I think I made a terrible mistake. Just think of all the sexy good times the three of us could have.”

“Hmmm, maybe.” Organa’s eyes fall to your junk, judging you.

You saunter over to Organa Mel Fy, trying your best to look charming and horny. Yeah, she wants some of that. When you get in close, you shove your hand down her robes and clutch onto her naughty bits. Son of a peasant, you were right!

“She’s packing heat Jon,” you shout as you simultaneously twist Organa Mel Fy’s genitals and headbutt her in the temple. “I knew I smelled the unmistakable musk of virility on you when we first met.”

Jon gawks stupidly. “You mean Organa Mel Fy is a transsexual?”

You mercilessly curb stomp Organa Mel Fy into the forest floor, not feeling the least bit bad about it. “Nope, she’s a hermaphrodite.”

“Oh, wow. That could have got… kinky?”

“Not the word I would have used, but you’re probably right.”

“You’re still kind of beating up a woman you know.”

“Eh, it’s got a penis. I think my hero’s soul is safe.”

“You son of a whore!” Tears pour down Organa’s cheeks. “We could have achieved great things, the three of us, united as a triumvirate of power, glory, and sexual ecstasy.”

This is true. Do you want to give all of that up? I know it requires a new perspective on life and an open mind, but that sounds interesting if nothing else. You could shatter boundaries and usher in a new age of sexual exploration and understanding. Then again, she does want to take over the known world, so it is not like she’s a nice lady… gentleman... person. Or is (s)he just misunderstood?
> You heroes kill evil things. She's evil.
You don’t make the rules; you just follow them. Canon dictates you kill all evil things that cross your path. Open-mindedness is not canon. Therefore, it must be evil. When was the last time you read a cliché story about two homoerotic knights swordfighting their way through the kingdom, never.

A few curb stomps later, Organa Mel Fy is dead. Congratulations, you rid the world of a great evil. Jon shoots a passing red herring. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Jon slaps you on the back. “Well kid, turns out you had it in you to be a hero after all. You’ll earn a knighthood for this beautiful handiwork, no doubt. How do you feel?”

“Dirty.”

“Nothing a good bath won’t fix.”

“So what happens next?”

“Oh, I imagine you’ll have some titillating adventures over the years and wind up marrying a big bosomed princess with blond hair and blue eyes. She’ll give birth to a brood of little prince-lings and you’ll grow old in a nice big ass castle. Doubt you’ll ever get your arm fixed though. You proved today you don’t need it.”

“That sounds fine by me.”

“Amen. A cliché life is a happy life.”


Something has been off about Organa Mel Fy ever since you first took a whiff of her presence. Eureka, that’s it! You just have to get close enough to check and make sure.

“Organa, I think I made a terrible mistake. Just think of all the sexy good times the three of us could have.”

“Hmmm, maybe.” Organa’s eyes fall to your junk, judging you.

You saunter over to Organa Mel Fy, trying your best to look charming and horny. Yeah, she wants some of that. When you get in close, you shove your hand down her robes and clutch onto her naughty bits. Son of a peasant, you were right!

“She’s packing heat Jon,” you shout as you simultaneously twist Organa Mel Fy’s genitals and headbutt her in the temple. “I knew I smelled the unmistakable musk of virility on you when we first met.”

Jon gawks stupidly. “You mean Organa Mel Fy is a transsexual?”

You mercilessly curb stomp Organa Mel Fy into the forest floor, not feeling the least bit bad about it. “Nope, she’s a hermaphrodite.”

“Oh, wow. That could have got… kinky?”

“Not the word I would have used, but you’re probably right.”

“You’re still kind of beating up a woman you know.”

“Eh, it’s got a penis. I think my hero’s soul is safe.”

“You son of a whore!” Tears pour down Organa’s cheeks. “We could have achieved great things, the three of us, united as a triumvirate of power, glory, and sexual ecstasy.”

This is true. Do you want to give all of that up? I know it requires a new perspective on life and an open mind, but that sounds interesting if nothing else. You could shatter boundaries and usher in a new age of sexual exploration and understanding. Then again, she does want to take over the known world, so it is not like she’s a nice lady… gentleman... person. Or is (s)he just misunderstood?
> You heroes show compassion and understanding.
With time and love, you are convinced that Organa Mel Fy can be converted into a peaceful member of society. Perhaps she will even redeem herself and become a hero. As much as you would like to tell yourself that your actions are purely heroic, deep down you know what you really wanted. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you. After all, you are at that age of sexual hyperactivity where the only thing on your mind is sex, and sex, and sex, and sex.

You offer Organa Mel Fy an awkward hand of love and friendship, which she accepts, not that (s)he has much of a choice at this point. You, Jon and Organa Mel Fy consummate your union in the smoldering ruins of a once proud forest and Osprey’s birdshit hut. The sensations you experience are… unique.

The divine overseer in the eternal heavens is rather displeased with your choice. Canon dictates Organa Mel Fy is evil and deserving of a gruesome death. You cannot just spit in the face of canon and expect to come out unharmed. Consequently, the titles of knight and hero are beyond your grasp. Naturally, you turn to a life of villainy in retaliation.

 and your unholy union is on the verge of kingdom-wide conquest and savagery. The bedroom antics are as fierce and wild as ever. Organa Mel Fy didn’t lie about the sexual ecstasy. It’s amazing what a little magic can do in the bedroom. By the screams, one would swear the dead are cumming. But kingdom-wide devastation is not all sex games. Castles lay in ruin, cities burn, and famine and plague ravage the land. You personally hunted down and rape murdered every last unicorn to prevent the birth of another hero who may one day end your reign of terror. Fortunately, villains always get their comeuppance in the end.

One day while enjoying your depravity a rouge dragon from the nearby kingdom of Irelandshire flies overhead and roasts the three of you in a blast of dragonfire. The wyrm proceeds to eat you and utilize your energy as an aphrodisiac. The dragon is celebrated as a hero and he and his mate are pronounced king and queen of the kingdom.


Sometimes you have to lose the battle to win the war. You seize your opportunity to escape and disappear in the smoky haze. That crazy loon must have set half the forest on fire. Things cannot get much worse at least, right?

A gale pummels you from behind and knocks you down. Coals soar through the air. The force of the wind uproots entire trees, filling the air with splintering missiles of fire and death. Shit just got worse.

“Oh come on,” you mutter, “the bitch has to have some limit to her magic.”

You stagger onto your feet and proceed to dodge the incredible amount of bullshit and debris flying through the air all the way back to Osprey’s ramshackle birdshit hut. Osprey and Jon are sitting on stumps around a bonfire drinking tea, completely ignoring the magic fire engulfing the forest.

Osprey nudges Jon with his elbow. “See, I told ya he’d come back. They always come back.”

“Never doubted you for a second Osprey. The boy is young. He’ll learn.”

You throw up your arms in exasperation. “In case you two didn’t notice, we have a situation here.”

“You heroes today, always in such a hurry.” Osprey bops you on the head with his staff. “Never taking any time to stop and smell the pteguonias.” Osprey takes a deep whiff. “Putrid.”

“That’s your birdshit hut burning up.”

Osprey’s eyebrows shoot up, nearly off his forehead. “Damnit, Organa, you’ve gone too far this time. Show yourself! It ends now!”

Organa Mel Fy once again materializes out of thin air. She blasts an ice spike through Osprey’s heart without so much as a howdy-do. The cooky old hedge wizard voids his bowels and leaves this world once and for all. So much for getting a new arm.

Jon draws his sword. This battle may rest entirely on his blade now because you certainly do not appear to be in any condition to help. “Heartless harpy,” he growls.

Organa Mel Fy shrugs, which causes her bountiful breasts to bounce beautifully. “Well aren’t you a luscious lug. The world is a better place without the old fart stinking up half the forest. And I assure you, while I may be tart, I do have a heart. I know I just met you, and this may seem a tad crazy. But I’m ovulating, so would you like to make a baby?”

“Well, I am a sucker for gingers.”

“Power, sex, and divinity, we could have it all.”

Jon lowers his sword. “That is tempting.”

“Jon, what the hell!” You make a fist and drop to your knees in pain. Yep, still broke.

Jon stares at you with puppy dog eyes. “But she’s a ginger! I love gingers. Besides, heroes aren’t supposed to hit girls let alone kill them. That’s villainy right there.”

The man makes a strong argument. Are you really willing to begin the long dark descent down the path of debauchery and villainy just to stop one lone psychotic bitch with a magic addiction? Maybe it is not too late for you to get in on the action too. Organa Mel Fy does have a pretty sweet body and has a serious sexual appetite. There are probably some fantastic adventures awaiting the three of you in your potential sexcapades.
> You villain Smillain, you're saving the day.
“I don’t give a damn if she is a woman, I’m kicking her ass.”

Jon sighs. “Fine, but you owe me a red-headed whore.”

“Dude, Jon, man, you need therapy.”

“No, I need a fire-crotch to melt the icy walls of my soul.”

Organa Mel Fy claps her hands together. “What a wonderful idea. Ice and fire! And in song form.” She claps her hands once more, and a snowstorm blizzards into existence. Ice, fire, and steam clash together while small mutant dwarf elves dance and sing in circles.

A song and storm of ice and fire, while we strum on our lyre.

Hit the bong and throw ‘em in the fryer, while we drum by the funeral pyre.

Dum dee dee dum dum dum dum ho, dum dee dee dum dum dum dum wo,

Magic in the morning.

Watch them suffer hear them scream, while we make love by the bubbling stream.

Botch the murder we die as a team, while we fuck in a collective dream.

Dum dee dee dum dum dum dum ho, dum dee dee dum dum dum dum wo,

Magic in the morning.

Drink blood red wine at a wedding on the river, hope we get to dine on someone’s liver.

The bread is fine honey don’t you shiver, hope we bet on the cruelest sinner.

Dum dee dee dum dum dum dum ho, dum dee dee dum dum dum dum wo,

Magic in the morning.

If you suckle too long on Organa’s teat, we hope you find an extra treat.

We may chuckle ‘cause she’s packing heat, pray we don’t die for this beat.

Dum dee dee dum dum dum dum ho, dum dee dee dum dum dum dum wo,

Magic in the morning.

You blink and rub your eyes. “Jon, I think I’m tripping. I inhaled a lot of smoke; there must be some wicked shrooms growing in the forest.”

“Either that or the narrator isn’t even trying anymore.”

A flaming chunk of ice crashes into the back of Jon’s skull. The poor bastard never saw it coming. He topples to the ground like a turd. You feel your emotions building up, too surreal to touch. They boil over and burst. You feel yourself nut, but it doesn’t matter it’s time to get rough.

“Bam! Pow!” you shout.

Organa Mel Fy cocks her head and gawks at you. “Uhm, excuse me?”

“Those are the sound effects about to go off upside your head, bitch.”

Bam. Pow.

Your headbutt kick to the jaw combo work perfectly. Organa Mel Fy hits the ground, and the magical maladies plaguing the forest vanish. Tears well in her eyes as you end her miserable existence by stomping on her face.

“Too bad so sad,” you say. “By choosing villainy over heroism you brought this on yourself.”

With one final stomp, the light in Organa Mel Fy’s eyes go out, hopefully for good. You never know with these magic types. They come back like cockroaches or supposedly dead G.R.R.M characters. Just playing homie, we love you.

Jon picks himself off the ground and massages the back of his head. “Eh, I’ve had worse.”

You nod. “Good to hear.”

Well congratulations my noble crippled hero. You killed the evil Organa Mel Fy. Now go find Jon a fire-crotch like you owe him.