text: 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.