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The goblins flee before you, and after ten minutes in pursuit - your lungs are about to give away - you arrive at a spooky scenery: Apparently the goblins' camp is under attack by wolves!
Their howl fills the night and make it seem even more dark. The goblins, under attack from all sides, fight with uncommon valor, but even the surprise reinforcements that fled before you are cut down by the powerful jaws of the wolves within seconds.
A black, wolfformed shape is within their midst, and the goblins fight back in terror, but hopelessly, against its devastating power.
The camp is situated near a steep hill, and has a caveentrance. And out of that, a creature of your nightmares comes... it is the ugliest, and hugest goblin you have ever seen, with sharp claws like that of a troll. And beside it, stands Farhan Brownhand, the man you came to search for, wielding his dark blade.
Farhan moves like a dancer between the goblins and the wolves, and whenever he swings his blades, a wolf falls down motionless. The big creature swings its long arms, regardless of hitting friend or foe, and whenever it hits, the victim is flung into the air.
Farhan alone would suffice to turn the tide of battle in favour for the goblins, and with the strange creature against them, the wolves do not stand a chance.
Even though you know the next spell might cost you your conciousness, you have to act fast.
> You will launch a barrage of magical missiles against the goblins.
Knowing this is the final facedown, you summon up all the energy left within to create a hail of tiny magical missiles that strike their targets with deadly accuracy. The goblins fall under your precise hail, and even Farhan and the ugly creature are subject to your attack, although both appear to shrug of the magical assault.
You feel you are beginning to blacken out, and the last thing you see is how the ugly goblinoid creature is brought down under three wolves. Then, your vision fades to black.
You awake, unsure how long you were asleep, to the feeling of something breathing in your face. You open your eyes and stare into those of the giant black wolf.
You tense in shock for a moment, but the wolf seems unaware. There is something strange about its eyes... it looks dead.
A pleasant voice calls out to you: "Ah, I see you made acquaintance with my new friend. I admit, it took a while to tame him, but in the end, he was willing enough."
A shiver runs down your spine as you recognize it as Farhan's.
"A brave show of you, indeed. You slew many a goblin. But I no longer require them, now that I have a more powerful ally. So I might thank you for getting rid of them for me."
Farhan pauses a moment, then adds: "Please understand that my gratitude has its limits, though. Blackfang, feed."
Before you can react, the jaws of the black beast close around your throat, and not even a dying scream escapes your lips.
| 3 |
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You open your eyes as blurry vision returns to you. You're covered in broken glass and enveloped in darkness, but your eyes slowly begin to make sense of your surroundings. You're sitting in the truck, looking around as you hear the nearby howls of nearing werewolves. You blink, feeling a rush of pain go through your numb body. Your skin is grazed and cut up, blood running down your skin as your bruised flesh and broken bones scream out to you in pain.
Turning your head to the side, you see that the side door is open, with Hans leaning against the door with an assault rifle in his hands. He looks around rapidly, blood dripping down his face from a large cut on his forehead.
"Guys! We have to get out of here!" he yells. "Let's go."
You look to the front of the car, where Father Féval is either dead or unconscious, while Russel is stirring from unconscious the same as you.
Gunfire erupts out as Hans begins opening fire at the shadows. You watch as he sprays the woods with gunfire.
"We need to go! Come on!" he screams.
You reach down, trying to unbuckle your seatbelt, before you see Hans smashed from the side, a wall of fur and teeth tearing him off into the darkness as he screams. You unbuckle your seatbelt, deciding what to do. You're in a confusing situation, heavily injured, being attacked by an unknown force of werewolves. You're practically out of options.
> You play dead
You go limp, lying still as you feign death. You wait, gently sniffing and listening intently to try get a sense of the situation now that you're lacking a sense. You hear the howls of werewolves as they prowl among the wreckage. You stay quiet, hoping that they'll be leaving soon.
The top of the car crunches as a werewolf clambers atop it, climbing down as it sniffs in at the car. You hear a groan, before its replaced by a horrified scream as Russel is torn apart. Then, you hear the crunch of glass as the werewolf clambers through the car's front window. There's a moment of silence, before you hear the quiet sniffing of a werewolf just inches from your face.
> You grab your blade
You reach down, grabbing your blade and drawing it, before the werewolf's claw smashes into your shoulder, breaking your bone and crushing your flesh. The werewolf raises his claw, slashing down as he tears through your chest, rending flesh from bone in an instance.
You scream as your skin is exposed to reveal flesh, which is soon shredded off to reveal ribs and internal organs. You scream, before the shock and blood loss quickly tear you off into the eternal darkness.
| 4 |
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You go limp, lying still as you feign death. You wait, gently sniffing and listening intently to try get a sense of the situation now that you're lacking a sense. You hear the howls of werewolves as they prowl among the wreckage. You stay quiet, hoping that they'll be leaving soon.
The top of the car crunches as a werewolf clambers atop it, climbing down as it sniffs in at the car. You hear a groan, before its replaced by a horrified scream as Russel is torn apart. Then, you hear the crunch of glass as the werewolf clambers through the car's front window. There's a moment of silence, before you hear the quiet sniffing of a werewolf just inches from your face.
> You continue playing dead
Staying limp, you keep your muscles from making any spasms or movements whatsoever, as the creature's massive snout keeps sniffing. It lets out a low growl, before its jaws snap forward, tearing into your throat.
You try to scream, but your throat is torn out and you find yourself drowning in your own blood. You can faintly hear a howl as darkness sucks you away, before you're gone.
| 4 |
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| 5 | false |
For a moment you almost believed her. For a moment she almost displayed real emotions and feelings.
For a moment you almost were a complete idiot, except you remember the old prejudice that you’ve never forgotten:
“No matter how much the Undead try to mimic feelings, they have none.”
You hear a click of a wall opening up. You see a metal arm point out and run out of the room, pushing Mary in the way. Igor opens fire and Mary takes king’s ransom in silver to her body, toppling her over with a heavy thud. She’s not dead, but she’ll need some new parts and a major stitch job.
“Igor, you fucking idiot!” she yells from the floor attempting to get up. “Go help Dad! Wolf’s probably on his way there!”
If Mary knew you were coming back, she probably wouldn’t have dismissed Igor so quickly. She manages to stand up just as you stand in the doorway…with a torch.
“You know what I like about these old castles? They always have torches and candles lighting the corridors.” You say.
“Even in my present condition, you won’t get close enough to use that thing!” Mary says with defiance.
“Save your feeble threats, but I don’t need to get close, you doused your room with perfume in your overly elaborate and dramatic attempt to trick me. Bye bye baby.”
Mary’s eyes widen as you dump the torch on the floor which lights up the room spectacularly. Mary attempts to get out of flames, but all the silver in her body makes her too heavy and she falls over again.
“Hmm, maybe the undead do have emotions. She certainly looked scared and sounds like she’s in pain.” You say as you leave to catch up with the rest of the pack.
You don’t get far when you see the wolflings running towards you. Many of them are wounded, some badly.
“What’s going on?” you ask, stopping one of them.
“It’s too damn big! It’s unstoppable! We really tried! Honest!”
“What?!”
“Frankie! He’s been heavily modified. He doesn’t look at all like he did the old pictures I’ve ever seen of him!”
No sooner have you been informed when you hear that damn loud speaker again, the remaining wolflings run past you.
“You see Wolf! You see! While you’ve been wasting away in that shitty cabin, I’ve been preparing for my son’s come back! You stole his woman! You ended his career! You didn’t just damage him physically, you damaged his mind! Scarred him emotionally! It’s taken me YEARS to undo the damage!”
“Damaged his mind? He was a psychopathic serial pedophile made of corpses! What the fuck kind of damage could I have done? And Mary never liked him anyway!” you retort.
“She could’ve learned! He could’ve too! They just needed more time! But YOU! You prevented all that! You and your dog dick!”
“For fuck’s sake I wasn’t the only one fucking her!”
“Yes, but you’re the one who did it the longest and destroyed my poor boy’s career! You’re going to pay! Frankie look who we have here! And old friend, why don’t you go and give him a big hug?”
Victor goes into his mad scientist laugh yet again, and Frankie “2.0” comes lumbering down the hallway, he’s definitely got that cybernetic look now.
“FRANKIE BEAT YOUR HEAD IN.” He says with a booming voice.
Still as verbal and articulate as ever.
> You retreat
You jump out of Frankie’s way as he smashes into the wall behind you. You make your way quickly down the stairs, where you here Frankie getting back up and following you down them like a freight train.
You’re still a good ways from the bottom, but you see Igor appear at the bottom. You can’t stop or Frankie will slam into you and probably kill you by breaking every bone in your body and tearing you apart. You can keep going and attempt to jump towards Igor hoping you’ll land on him before he can fire accurately or you could jump over the banister and get out of the way altogether. The only problem with this is you’re still pretty high up. You wouldn’t die from such a fall, but you could break something if you land wrong and you certainly don’t want that disadvantage.
> You jump over the banister
You jump over the banister. Frankie goes flying past you unable to stop himself. You hear gunfire and some sounds of bullets plinking off of metal and burying themselves into flesh.
“OH SHIT!” you hear Igor shout. This term is followed by your own, when you see that you were a lot higher than you thought. You go crashing through a solid wooden dining table. It hurts...A LOT.
You don’t get up right away and you half expect Frankie or Igor to come and finish you off, but fortunately that doesn’t happen. You painfully rise and prepare yourself for the final battle, which doesn’t occur.
You go over to the bottom of the stairs and see the wolflings taking advantage of Frankie’s weakened prone state and getting revenge for the beating he gave them all earlier. As for Igor he’s lying under Frankie crushed and dying. He’s bleeding from his ears, mouth, nose and eyes.
“(Gurgle) (sputter) I’m sorry…Vic…Sorry brother…(Gurgle)” he says before dying.
“Well I guess that explains his loyalty.” You say to yourself.
“Hey Wolf you want to get in on this?” A wolfling says ripping a hand off of Frankie.
“Nah, you’ve earned this. I’m just going to go back upstairs and finish off Victor.”
“Need any of us to come up with you?”
“No, you just make sure you do a good job of killing Frankie there.”
You head back up stairs and head to the lab that Frankie came bursting out of, it’s empty, but there’s another door in the room and you’ve got the impression that a certain doctor is behind it.
You open the door to a small room with a bunch of big computers hooked up to a brain in a jar…
“Dr. Frankenstein I presume?” you say. “Wow Vic, I would’ve thought you would’ve at least made a clone body or something.”
“Frankie! Igor! Get in here! NOW!”
‘They’re dead just like you’ll be soon and should’ve been before.”
“Erm…Wolf! Hold on! Come on, I can’t do anything to you! This isn’t fair! Hold on how about…”
“How about you shut up and die?” you say and take Victor’s brain out of the jar.
“NOOOOOO….” Is the last thing that comes out of the loud speakers as you crush the brain under your foot.
Its over. You won, and you fucking hurt like hell. You stagger back downstairs where you find Frankie completely in pieces. The wolflings look at you expectantly.
“Did you kill him?’
“Yeah, and it was hardly worth the effort.” You reply.
“What are we going to do now?” another asks.
“Well I don’t know about you, but I’m going back home to rest.”
“But aren’t you taking us to raise hell somewhere else?”
“Maybe some other day. Look I’m not here to lead you around by the paw. If you want to raise hell you can certainly do it without me. I showed you the way of the wolf tonight, it’s up to you to do something with it. Just remember you’re fucking werewolves, live up to the name.”
You get back on your Harley and head home. Hopefully you taught the new generation something so tonight wasn’t a complete bust. You didn’t really get to have the epic battle you were looking for, but you survived and in the end that’s what it’s all about.
| 2 |
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What happens next is so quick it’s amazing you survive it.
You leap up in the air in an effort to land on Igor before he fires. Frankie is still charging behind you, but that changes when you leap up into the air, because he ends up being underneath you when gains more momentum.
Meanwhile Igor is attempting to lift that heavy arm weapon of his to accurately shoot you. The weight and the recoil makes it difficult and he’s not very accurate and begins firing everywhere randomly in your AND Frankie’s direction.
You’re still airborn heading towards Igor and now Frankie as well who’s somehow gotten in front of you due to him being unable to stop himself at this point. This is fortunate since this causes Frankie to block most of the randomly fired bullets with his body. You still take a couple in the leg though.
“OH SHIT! Igor yells as Frankie slams into him and the floor at terrific speed. You don’t fair much better since you crash into the back of Frankie which is pretty hard due to the metal plating. It hurts like hell and you crawl off as quickly as possible while Frankie attempts to recover. Igor isn’t recovering as quickly; he’s bleeding from every orifice and whatever cybernetic parts he had can go to the scrap yard.
You’re in great pain and you got some silver bullets in your leg, but you need to act.
> You finish off Frankie
You limp over to Frankie while he’s recovering and land a few well placed strikes, even ripping off some of the back plating. It’s no good though; Frankie’s still got a lot of fight in him. He turns around, grabs you by the throat and begins to squeeze the shit out of it, raising you off the ground. Igor who’s dying makes one last effort to avenge his last blunder.
“For my brother Vic!” he yells and fires his weapon at you one last time. He can’t miss at this range and your death is instantaneous.
| 3 |
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| 6 | false |
You tell everyone to get the hell out of Igor’s range and take cover. Fortunately Igor’s gun-arm isn’t the best design and he’s having problems aiming and standing still due to the recoil, so you all manage to hide behind some nearby rocks
Still, there’s no way you’re going to be able to scale the front gate with Igor on that damn tower.
“See I knew this was a bad idea!” one of the wolflings says.
“How are we supposed to get past that? I’m pretty sure he’s firing silver bullets at us.”
“Oh I KNOW he is. Hence the reason why I told everyone to get out of the way. Okay so we’re not going through the front gate, the castle’s a big place right? Igor’s only guarding the front. I say we split up and scale the walls on the sides and around the back. We’ll meet up inside the castle.”
“Yeah, but won’t there be other defenses?”
“Probably. So you better be fucking prepared! This ain’t no damn game. You cubs think you’re really tough when in fact you’ve probably never had a real challenge. This is it. Don’t think about backing out now. This is where we truly test the idea of survival of the fittest. Damn, my blood is starting to feel that rush! Don’t you all feel it? I haven’t felt this way since they sent a group of ten “werewolf assassins” to put me down. Shit. They never tried that again! Ha ha ha ha ha!”
While you’re reveling in gruesome nostalgia, your pack is looking at you like you’ve completely lost it. And they’re probably right. However, your speech seems to have stirred something in them.
“The crazy old fossil’s right! I remember having to hear about similar stuff my grandfather used to talk about all the damn time. I never really paid any attention to it before. Now I think I understand. We need to prove our skills to truly be proud to call ourselves werewolves!” one of them states.
“Now that’s the attitude I’m talking about!”
You all huddle in the rain and make a howling noise in unison to the moon and proceed with your plan. You all split up into a couple of groups and begin to scale the side and back walls, which really isn’t all that difficult. You know Igor’s probably ran off to warn Vic though. All you can think is, he better have something better than just Igor and Frankie defending him.
As you prowl around in the courtyard, you hear moaning and the clomping of several footsteps. You and your group turn to see some of Vic’s defenses.
“Zombies? Are you fucking kidding me Vic? I thought you’d at least have some robots or something!” you say to yourself. Though upon a second look, you see that the horde of corpses aren’t actually zombies. Zombies are complete corpses brought back to life. These things look more like Frankie, except designed even worse. A lot of them have arms and legs in odd places. Some have a couple of heads or extra limbs. Most aren’t even stitched together neatly, there are just giant rivets and spikes sticking out, holding them together. These are probably some of his “failed” experiments.
Doesn’t matter, they’re close enough to be Undead for you.
> You out run them and get into the castle
You don’t have time to fight some half ass experiments, the wolflings can handle that. You’re after a bigger prize. You leave the pack behind and run to the front door of the castle where upon you rip it off the hinges.
You’re in such a hurry to kill Victor; you don’t proceed cautiously enough and forget that he’s probably trapped the place. You step on a floor panel and a laser beam suddenly shoots out, incinerating you into ash.
| 3 |
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| 9 | false |
Your recent dealings with Mary, have made you think about all the shit you’ve had to put up with from that no talent dickhead. No human has ever given you such trouble. You know he’s still alive. (Mad scientists always find ways of prolonging their lives somehow) That won’t be true for long though, if you get your way. You killed him once before. This time you’re going to make sure he stays that way.
He’s probably got whatever crappy inventions and experiments protecting his castle and from what you know, Frankie’s still living with his “Dad” as well.
You don’t give a fuck, you’ll kill him too. You figure you’ll be doing the world a favor as well as getting some satisfaction. Besides, you’ve got to show these wolflings what being a werewolf is all about.
“All right you cubs! We’re going to go raise some fucking hell. We’re going to Frankenstein’s Castle. We’re going to rip the place apart brick by brick, and I’M going to rip Victor apart limb from limb.”
“Erm…Castle Frankenstien? Isn’t that where Frankie lives?” one of the wolflings asks.
“I heard he’s really powerful, didn’t he fight Dracula and win?”
‘I dunno if we should mess with him.”
You can’t believe your ears! These snot nosed pups know nothing of their heritage! Back in the old days they would’ve been killed and eaten for such cowardice!
“Goddammit are you Wolves or fucking Chihuahuas? Frankie’s a fucking pussy! I personally kicked his ass before and I’ll do it again all by myself if I have too! Now are you going to run with me and be a fucking Wolf or are you going to go back home with your tails tucked between your legs?”
After looking at each other for awhile they all agree to go with you.
“Good! Now I want all of you to transform into your wolf form too! I’m traveling with fellow wolves not humans!”
Just before one of the females begins to transform, you stop her. She’s dressed in a short leather skirt and a tight white t-shirt that’s tied in the center and has long flowing brown hair. You can smell that she’s in heat. You hate to coin a pun, but she literally is one hot l’il bitch.
“Erm, not you. You stay in your human form; I kind of like the whole teenage slut look you got going on. In fact you come here right now; you’ll be traveling on my bike with me.” You say.
As she slides in behind you and holds on, you ask her one more question.
“So what’s your name?”
“Ginger. What’s your name, you never did tell us.”
“Wolf. Just Wolf baby. Remember it. You’ll be screaming it later.”
Damn you’re so fucking cool, you think as you start up your Harley and ride ahead of the pack.
(You’d probably be even cooler if these pups weren’t all riding those Japanese “crotch rocket” bikes, but that’ll have to be another lesson for another day)
After a couple of days of riding, and a few “pit stops” with Ginger, you all eventually reach Castle Frankenstein. You park your bikes at the gate, and size the place up, which now looks a lot different. It looks like a damn Nazi fortress now, there’s guard towers and everything. It seems Victor has been keeping himself very busy in recent years.
As it begins to rain, a familiar voice calls to you from one of the towers.
“Its you. Vic always knew you’d return one day. I never believed him though. I guess I owe him fifty bucks.”
You look up and see Igor, he looks different too. He has a lot of clumsy cybernetic implants, one of them being some sort of gun in place of an arm. More of Vic’s “handy work” no doubt. He’s still got that damn hump on his back though.
“Igor? You still alive? I thought your ungrateful master would’ve just let you die of old age and get himself another assistant. I see he did a real good job of improving you though. Tell me, how’s it feel to be the real brains, never getting the credit and continuing to be a doormat?”
“I’m happy with my lot in life. How’s it feel to be broke ass overgrown dog who’s trying to relive his lost youth?” Igor retorts back.
“Don’t know yet. I’ll tell you before I shove that metal arm up your ass.”
Well looks like the fight’s starting here.
> You memories (Igor)
The Assistant: Igor
You’ve never really had much contact with Igor, other than knowing he’s Victor’s assistant. For awhile you thought he and Vic had something ELSE going on, (Much like Vlad and Renfield) but that’s not the case. Igor’s just a loyal henchman.
You always wondered why he is though. Despite general public perception, he’s not stupid. In fact, he’s been the one that’s given Vic most of his “successful” experiment ideas. Vic wouldn’t even be around if it hadn’t been for Igor. Vic doesn’t seem to appreciate any of his help though and doesn’t treat him very well. He treats his experiments better than he treats Igor. You can only guess Igor is a masochist, or has some severe self-esteem problems.
Probably both.
| 3 |
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| 9 | false |
You awake in a great hall, huge stone pillars holding up the high ceiling, fine stone art carved into the perfect marble walls. Couples dressed in medieval finery dance around you, ignoring the nearly naked man on the floor who just woke up. With surprise and embarrassment you realize you're only wearing a loose pair of breeches that only reach to your knees. You keep a hand on it to stop it from falling down.
"Ah! Another one. I had just begun to believe the party was over. Seems the second round has started! Grab a lady and begin the dance anew. Oh, you might want to put something on first. Or not. Whatever you think is an appropriate way to celebrate!"
A man sits in a stone throne a few steps up in front of you. He stares at you with dark red eyes as he taps his bare feet on the lovely gold and red carpets. His pure white hair is pushed back over his head, over his ears, and under a dull plain looking iron crown, more like a simple iron circle than a crown. He puts his hand over his chin in a thinking position.
"On second thought; that is the perfect way to celebrate! Everybody naked! Brilliant my speechless friend! Haha, someone grab my friend here a partner!" He jumps up and rips off his coat. "Nevermind, I will!" He grabs your hand and pulls you up, spinning you around and around.
Everyone around you is going through the long process of undressing and he pushes you into the crowd, towards the only person done, a woman who gracefully catches you before you not very gracefully fall into the nearly naked bodies.
You don't know if this is a nightmare or a fantasy.
> You where are you\?
She's behind you, holding you up. You get back your footing and turn around to face her. She grabs your hands and starts to dance, forcing you along. Her long black hair is pulled up into a ridiculous hairdo, nearly making you laugh, but her intense face stops you.
You open your mouth to ask the question, but she places one finger over her red lips.
She turns her head and looks at you.
You look around. The women have all stripped to down to their shifts and the men down to breeches or hose.
> You ignore her warning
As soon as you open your mouth again she pushes you away and stops dancing.
The crowd has stopped and is looking at you. The man, now minus his tight black pants, stares at you. You noticed that some of his guards are walking torwards you.
"Please, please, hold all questions until the end of the presentation." He claps and everyone resumes dancing.
Everyone but you that is, as his guards have long since killed you and are now in the process of cleaning up the mess your blood leaves on the smooth tiles.
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
You place your weapons on a table and stare at yet another wall. Again, there's a wide selection but you're getting better at scanning them. The shorter weapons are packed in much tighter in than the others, nearly making you dizzy. You feel a few; the short weapons are light and nimble with sharp edges and points. Though there are many different kinds and variations between all those you decide to narrow it down to just a few of different kinds.
You look along the choices and pick out three again; a cinquedea about a foot long, with a very wide blade that is decorative and an even longer cross guard with a short handle and pommel; a stiletto at the opposite end of the spectrum, with a very thin blade and handle that can easily pierce or find a way through armour; and a baselard, with a thicker blade, thin handle, and no cross guard or pommel to speak of.
> The baselard
"That one?" asks the Blacksmith. "Very well. It seems you have good taste, though all my weapons are high quality. It seems just the right one for you though. Well, we're done here for now. Armour will wait until later, because we'll have to measure you for each piece, and even then it'll take a while to make. Still, you're set up enough for now. It was nice seeing you Ophelia, and nice to meet you as well."
With your right hand you hold out your arm to press against the baselard. The cool metal cuts your skin lightly, drawing less than even an entire drop of blood on your finger tip. You pick up the blade, smearing that crimson speck on the hilt. It's light as a feather in your grasp, perhaps too light after holding other weapons. With a practice slash from high and then to the left you sense the way the dagger reacts to force, gaining an understanding of its balance.
"Interesting choice." remarks the Blacksmith. "Okay then. All done here I suppose. Armour will come later -- we've little enough time now, and it requires much measuring. But you've got everything you need for the moment. I'll be seeing you Ophelia, and you as well I suppose."
| 4 |
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Thanks for playing. Enjoy the troll blood.
> You play as a Warrior-Cat
You ran out into the road and got trampled by a runaway carriage, and your corpse was devoured by a pack of dogs. The End.
| 1 |
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| 1 | false |
Thanks for playing. Enjoy the troll blood.
> You play as a Dark Elf
Have you not read Eternal? Go read Eternal. Then come back and tell me how heroic dark elves are.
| 3 |
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| 0 | false |
Thanks for playing. Enjoy the troll blood.
> You play as a Sparkly Vampire
Really, you want to be a sparkly vampire? What kind of writer do you think I am? I have standards after all. Do you really want to be a sparkly vampire, or are you just trying to piss me off?
> You you're sorry. You'll pick something more appropriate.
That’s right young lady. No hero of mine is going to be some sissified vampire. My heroes have pretty blue eyes, long blonde hair and flawless pearly whites. Manliness.
| 3 |
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| 0 | false |
Really, you want to be a sparkly vampire? What kind of writer do you think I am? I have standards after all. Do you really want to be a sparkly vampire, or are you just trying to piss me off?
> You sparkly Vampire!
Stephanie, I hate you.
Fine, you want to be a sparkly vampire, go ahead.
Once a pompous little lordling living in the south of Spainland you not only had the misfortune of being bitten by a vampire while having sex with your sister, but also getting gene spliced with a unicorn by the hands of a genre-bending – and seriously twisted – wizard from the future called a Brony. The magic involved with this transformation goes far beyond my comprehension of the arcane, but I assure you it was incredibly painful. On the positive end, however, you now fart bubblegum and shit figgy pudding.
| 2 |
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| 3 | false |
Attacking him head on would be suicide. Sure, it would be nice to blind him or cut into his underbelly, but he would just fry you with a blast of fire before you even got close. There is only one course of action to take in times like this: dodge.
Like a timid bear you perform a false charge, pulling up at the last second as a blast of fire scorches the ground in front of you. Without your bulky armor you are able to twist and twirl, spin and swirl, dip and dive, jump and jive and pirouette away from the dragon fire while inching ever closer to the monster. Since when did you get moves like Jagger?
“Die mortal,” the dragon shouts, releasing another blast of fire.
You duck behind a conveniently placed boulder just in time to escape. The dragon stalks closer. His massive limbs quake the ground with every step: his tail smashing the wall without purpose. Another blast of fire. The heat coming off the rock is like lava. You fear it is about to melt.
Is this it? Is this the end?
“Foolish mortal. The only way to kill a dragon is with a disorganized band of heroes and a bard, or with a magic sword. And you don’t have either. Mwhahaha.”
Shit. I’m totally fucked. Why didn’t I read that book on dragon clichés Jon bought me last Christmas? Think fast, think fast, think fast. Brain blast! Music! Music soothes the savage beast. Shit, I forgot my fiddle.
The dragon rumbles closer, taking his sweet time. Any more bright ideas, Mr. Hero?
> You dodge?
If Jon taught you one thing, it is how to dodge like it is your job, and it kind of is. Sort of. I don’t know, just kill the damned thing.
You leap over the rock and attempt a triple double-axle barrel roll in midair and land on the dragon’s head. For some reason, this works and you manage to dodge the dragon’s fire breath in the process with your sixth sense.
The dragon thrashes his head against the cave walls, but you manage to cling on while avoiding having your body smashed to a thousand bloody bits. You hack at the dragon’s head with your sword, but it may as well be a butter knife for all the good it does against the tough dragon scales. Maybe you should have dodged over toward one of those fancy looking magic swords.
Shut up. I have this under control.
Ok. Whatever you say, Mr. Hero.
“Hey, dragon, you suck.”
“I will not have a mortal make mockery of me!” the dragon bellows. “Get. Off. My. Head.”
The dragon swings his mighty tail at you, but once again, you manage to use your sixth sense to dodge all of the attacks. The dragon repeatedly pummels himself in the head with his own tail to the point where he shatters both his scales and his skull. You drive your sword into the crevice and perform a super-duper double whammy backflip with a 720 degree spin off the dragon’s head as he bursts into flames.
“Wicked. Now how the hell am I going to haul all this shit down the mountain?”
…
What, aren’t you going to finish the story?
Yeah, just give me a second.
What the fuck is the problem? I won, I want to marry my princess and lose my damn virginity already.
I’m just struggling to comprehend how you turned into a jedi.
A what?
Never mind.
…
Word of your victory quickly spreads across the land. The king of Irelandshire showers you in gratitude and offers you his daughter as a bride, which you decline because you proved to be a noble and heroic knight and you already have a bride. You take some of the dragon’s treasure back home with you and build a series of castles and forts at strategic points across the countryside. Your future kin are keeping this kingdom for life. Historians and bards alike flock to scribble down your life story and paint it in song.
Your wedding to Princess Anne is a legend in its own right: drunken revelry at its finest. Samwellington entertains the masses by sticking himself with pointy knives and not screaming in pain, good old pork lard. Jon and The Rabid Fox have a friendly sparring match, showcasing some of the finest swordsmanship since your melee. Jon later demonstrates another kind of swordsmanship with his wildfire gingersnap of a wife. On the table. Next to one of the cakes. The king gets drunk and accidentally burns down the stage while a troupe of troubadours are performing. No one important dies.
Most importantly, you finally get to bang Princess Anne, that blue-eyed blonde haired big bosomed goddess of your dreams: a night of ecstasy ends in an explosion of pleasure with many more to come.
| 4 |
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| 6 | false |
Attacking him head on would be suicide. Sure, it would be nice to blind him or cut into his underbelly, but he would just fry you with a blast of fire before you even got close. There is only one course of action to take in times like this: dodge.
Like a timid bear you perform a false charge, pulling up at the last second as a blast of fire scorches the ground in front of you. Without your bulky armor you are able to twist and twirl, spin and swirl, dip and dive, jump and jive and pirouette away from the dragon fire while inching ever closer to the monster. Since when did you get moves like Jagger?
“Die mortal,” the dragon shouts, releasing another blast of fire.
You duck behind a conveniently placed boulder just in time to escape. The dragon stalks closer. His massive limbs quake the ground with every step: his tail smashing the wall without purpose. Another blast of fire. The heat coming off the rock is like lava. You fear it is about to melt.
Is this it? Is this the end?
“Foolish mortal. The only way to kill a dragon is with a disorganized band of heroes and a bard, or with a magic sword. And you don’t have either. Mwhahaha.”
Shit. I’m totally fucked. Why didn’t I read that book on dragon clichés Jon bought me last Christmas? Think fast, think fast, think fast. Brain blast! Music! Music soothes the savage beast. Shit, I forgot my fiddle.
The dragon rumbles closer, taking his sweet time. Any more bright ideas, Mr. Hero?
> You how about you steal one of those sweet magic swords sticking out of his treasure pile.
You make a mental note to thank the dragon for providing you with the recipe for his death at his funeral as you yank the first magic sword you find from the mountain of plunder. The sword shines a brilliant blue-gold and has a queer hourglass shape carved into the blade: yep, definitely magic. Though, something feels awful familiar about this. Oh well, you can worry about that later. You have a dragon to kill.
“Your day of reckoning has come, dragon!”
“No, you fool,” the dragon rasps. “Put that down. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to meddle with magic you don’t know how to use?”
“Nope.”
The dragon breathes fire at you, but you knock it away with a swing of the sword. The resulting fireball explodes in the treasure hoard. Molten gold and silver splatter everywhere. Droplets burn into your arms and chest, but you struggle through the pain and raise the magic sword for the killing blow.
“You’ll doom us all,” the dragon pleads.
Not that it’s my place, but I think you should listen to the dragon.
What do you expect me to do, negotiate a treaty?
I would endorse that.
> You fine.
“Alright dragon,” you say. “The asshole narrator told me not to kill you. What’s the deal?”
The dragon sighs in relief as steam spouts from his nostrils. “Of all the fucking magic swords, you grabbed the Time-Warper.”
“And I care why?”
“Once the blade slices into something living, the last five seconds of all life are replayed on an infinite loop.”
“How do you stop it?”
“You can’t.”
“That’s fucking retarded. Who would make such a stupid sword?”
“A villain.”
“But the villain would be damning himself for all eternity too.”
“I said a villain. Not a smart villain.”
Agreeing you are at an impasse, you and the dragon negotiate a treaty the two of you find mutually acceptable. The dragon receives 50% of all taxes collected within Irelandshire, 1 out of every 3 sheep, 1 princess of his choice per year, and you receive one dragon ride every Sunday after church. You are not very good at negotiations.
| 5 |
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| 4 | false |
You make a mental note to thank the dragon for providing you with the recipe for his death at his funeral as you yank the first magic sword you find from the mountain of plunder. The sword shines a brilliant blue-gold and has a queer hourglass shape carved into the blade: yep, definitely magic. Though, something feels awful familiar about this. Oh well, you can worry about that later. You have a dragon to kill.
“Your day of reckoning has come, dragon!”
“No, you fool,” the dragon rasps. “Put that down. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to meddle with magic you don’t know how to use?”
“Nope.”
The dragon breathes fire at you, but you knock it away with a swing of the sword. The resulting fireball explodes in the treasure hoard. Molten gold and silver splatter everywhere. Droplets burn into your arms and chest, but you struggle through the pain and raise the magic sword for the killing blow.
“You’ll doom us all,” the dragon pleads.
Not that it’s my place, but I think you should listen to the dragon.
What do you expect me to do, negotiate a treaty?
I would endorse that.
> You you're killing him.
“You’ll doom us all,” the dragon pleads again.
“No, just you.” And you hammer the sword into the dragon.
> You deja vu
“You’ll doom us all,” the dragon pleads again.
“No, just you.” And you hammer the sword into the dragon.
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
There is only one way this story can unfold, and that is with you finally surpassing your master and claiming the princess as your own. For princess bosom! You charge.
Jon dodges your blow. You swing again. He dodges and counters with an upward thrust. No time to dodge, you catch his sword with your shield. The wood splinters, and you snap your wrist, catching his sword in the shield. Déjà vu?
Not quite. A knee slams you in the groin, and you crumple to the ground. Fight through the pain hero! You lash you with your legs, catching Jon in the chest. Both of you regain your feet and slam into each other. Over and over you roll, grappling on the ground. Dust swirls around your heads. You throw blind punches. The crowd cheers.
You fight the good fight, but Jon wins in the end, catching you in a stellar headlock. The king congratulates you both and the crowd gives a standing ovation.
“Best melee in years. I think the both of you earned a knighthood for such a fine display of chivalrous combat,” says the king. “Tonight there will be a feast for the ages... on the Baron’s tab of course.”
You are bummed you will not be getting princess bosom, but you feel proud of how you fought. Even heroes take their lumps from time to time.
As expected, Jon names the princess Lady Fair of the tournament. You see him whisper something in her ear and point in your direction. She is walking toward you! What the hell did he say?
“Princess Anne.” You bow. “It is my pleasure.”
“And mine. Would you care to walk with me in the gardens?”
You readily agree and spend much of the remainder of your time getting to know Princess Anne. She is everything you could hope for in a princess, blonde, blue eyed, fair skinned, sweet, charming, big bosomed, and all the works.
“What did you say to her?” you ask Jon one evening.
He shrugs. “I love princesses as much as the next guy, but really, I’m in to redheads.” He smirks. “I think the farmboy turned knight getting the princess makes the better story. I’m nailing the Baron’s daughter. Wildfire hair on her.” He winks. “Just the way I like it.”
Months pass and you perform several fantastic heroic feats. Jon marries the Baron’s daughter and you become engaged to the princess. Some days it all seems so unreal, like just the other day you were selling turnips and mucking shit. Now you are a hero.
> You time to retire.
Did you seriously just turn down the opportunity to kill a dragon? You may be a hero, but you aren’t the cliché’ hero you were destined to be. You could have done more. Oh well, what is done is done.
You marry Princess Anne and have a beautiful wedding ceremony. All the dukes, earls, barons, and other lords in the kingdom attend. Jon serves as your best man and leads the wedding toast. Samwellington gets drunk and passes out in one of the massive strawberry cakes while receiving a blowjob from one of the maids, not quite sure how that happened.
Sir Henry Williams, your old friend The Rabid Fox, regales the guests with tales from the tournament and other ventures you undertook together in the aftermath. “Would you believe,” he says, “we saw a unicorn fart in a glade a few months back? Mark of a hero’s birth is what that is.” Hmm, so much for that once every thousand years bullshit. You lame ass heroes are becoming a dime a dozen.
Too bad ma and pa could not be around to see this, but heroes almost never have parents survive long enough to see them achieve success. You know their watching over you from somewhere above though.
Later that night, you finally get to relief all that pent up tension that has been building up in your loins for all of these years. You are glad you saved yourself because it was something special. All thirty seconds of it. But you get better with time, and Princess Anne plops out several little you’s, one of which grows up to be king someday.
Still. You could have killed a dragon.
| 3 |
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| 5 | false |
It takes a very special and talented person to handle a fire-crotched wildfire gingersnap, and quite frankly I don’t think you have what it takes.
You name Ginger Lady Fair and marry her shortly after. Jon turns down your request to be your best man, saying something about a dragon he needs to kill in Irelandshire. You’re bummed, but you understand. A hero’s work is never done until the end of the story. Ginger is a freak in bed, and just as I warned, it takes all of your energy to feed her wicked sexual appetite.
Life goes on and you undertake a series of adventures with your new friend The Rabid Fox. Sadly, as the years pass you and Jon grow further and further apart. Years go by without seeing or hearing from him at all.
…
It has been ten years since the fateful tournament, and you have a small brood of gingersnap children to go with your gingersnap wife. You doubt any of them have it in them to be heroes. There isn’t even a strawberry blonde one in the bunch.
After several weeks of adventuring with The Rabid Fox, you wave farewell to him at the fork in the road and head to your respective castles. On the way, you find your lands burnt and salted. The villages are nothing but smoldering ruins and the peasants have completely vanished. Massive piles of dung litter the landscape. Urging your trusty steed, Hot Biscuit Slim, to a full gallop you arrive at your castle to find it lying in ruins. Oh, and there’s a dragon sitting on top of the pile of rubble. Jon is there too.
You are starting to think Jon may be jealous about you marrying Ginger. He does have an unhealthy fixation for fire-crotched gingersnaps.
“Where the hell is my family?” You draw your sword, waving it menacingly.
“In my belly.” The dragon guffaws, releasing a blast of deadly dragon fire. “Thank you so much Sir Jon for raping the woman first. I love my food when it’s properly terrorized and ravaged.”
“Jon! How could you?” You fall to your knees in sorrow. “You were my friend!”
“Don’t listen to the dragon! She’s lying. I’ve been tracking her for weeks. She’s the mate of the dragon I killed in Irelandshire years ago. To avenge her lover, she’s trying to turn you against me by creating this incredibly unnecessary scenario to frame me for the rape, murder, and plunder of all you know and love.”
“That seems excessive, Jon. Excuse me if I don’t buy that.”
“It’s true! She wants to set us against each other so she can kill us both while we’re at one another’s throats.”
“For what greater purpose?”
“Elaborate revenge and kingdom domination.”
“Hmmm, we are pretty badass. I doubt she could kill either of us one on one. And that does sound like something a dragon would do.”
The dragon roars and flaps her massive wings. “I never lie about properly terrorized and ravaged food. Rape and betrayal are the perfect seasonings.”
Well now, this is an unfortunate situation. Who is telling the truth?
> You kill Jon and the dragon
“You bastard! How could you rape my wife!?”
“I’m not a bastard!”
You and Jon attack each other, and just as Jon warned, the dragon fries you both with a blast of dragon fire. With the two of you dead the dragon goes on to… get slain by The Rabid Fox a few hours later.
| 1 |
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| 7 | false |
You roll to avoid his club swing, which slams into the stones next to you, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions. With his heavy club now on the ground, you now have a chance to do something.
> You strike at his side
You step forward, jabbing your sword between his ribs and into his guts as he lets out a horrid scream. He snarls and focuses through his pain, smashing his fist into your snout and sending you toppling to the floor.
"Little cunt!" he screams, grabbing your sword and yanking it from his side.
With a scream of rage and pain, he raises his club into the air and swings with all his might. It slams into your legs, shattering both of your legs as you scream in pain. He snarls, lifting up his club once more as you yell and grab at your broken legs, trying to focus on survival rather than the awful pain. He swings down his club once more, crushing your skull.
| 3 |
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You roll to avoid his club swing, which slams into the stones next to you, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions. With his heavy club now on the ground, you now have a chance to do something.
> You flee
You turn, grabbing Julianne by the hand and yanking her away. The ratling is faster, though, swinging his club again with more accuracy this time and knocking your feet away, sending you slamming into the stone floor. As you go to stand, he swings his club and slams it into your head, cracking your skull and killing you with a heavy blow.
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
"No!" you say, punching the massive ratling in the jaw and sending him stumbling backwards, more out of surprise than anything else.
"What did you say to me, you little prick?" he says, raising his club to strike.
> You run
You turn, grabbing Julianne by the hand and yanking her away. The ratling is faster, though, swinging his club and knocking your feet away, sending you slamming into the stone floor. As you go to stand, he swings his club and slams it into your head, cracking your skull and killing you with a heavy blow.
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
You keep walking, as the girl falls silent, becoming quiet. Soon, you walk down into the burrows through the caved in portion of sewer and into the top layer of the many layered burrows. The weakest and most feeble rats are forced to live here, away from the safety that waits lower down. They look gleefully at the girl, talking and chattering among themselves. They grab at her, groping at her breasts and bosom and tearing pieces of fabric off her dress. You raise your sword to threaten them off, and they easily follow orders. You're weak for a Ratling, but you could easily kill the crippled and the the meek who surround you. You find a corner of the room, shoving the girl into it and raising your sword, waiting for Pak to arrive and take his prey.
"I'm scared," the girl says.
"I'd be, if I were you," you admit.
"What's your name?" she asks.
"Ritz," you say.
"I'm Julianne," she says. "I don't want to die here."
You don't say another word, as she begins to chant.
"I have the soul of the dragon. Dragons to not break. Dragons do not die. Dragons do not show fear. Dragons survive the flames. I have the soul of the dragon..." she continues to chant.
You turn, staring at her. You notice a long, silver necklace hanging around her, and grab it.
"This is pretty," you say, admiring the silver.
"You can have it. If you help me get out of here, it's all yours. It was a gift from my father."
You stare at the necklace, knowing there's not a chance she's getting out of here alive, even if you tried to save her.
> You lie and agree
"I'll get you out of here," you say, unable to meet her gaze.
"Thank you! Thank you!" she whispers in relief, taking off her necklace and placing it in your hands.
You sigh, nodding as you wrap it around the handle of your sword. You wait patiently for Pak to arrive.
After a few minutes, the massive, black-furred rat clambers into the burrow, grinning as he sees her prey. He stomps forward, grabbing her by the hand.
"Come on, darling. Let's take you down to the lower levels. I have a few of the others I want pulled over to my side, and I'm sure your sweet ass will do a great deal in getting them there."
The huge brute begins dragging the girl away, leaving you standing there.
"Ritz! Help, help!" she cries out, looking desperately to you.
Suddenly, he stops, turning around.
"Ritz, huh? That's your name?" he asks.
You nod cautiously.
"You did a good job protecting her from the cripples and in the raid, and I'm feeling generous. Care to join in the fun?"
| 3 |
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| 6 | false |
You drag the girl along the path to the burrow, as she cries.
"Please, you have to help me get out of here. We can run, just run into the wilderness."
"Can't do it. Too many bad things there. They'd kill on site a ratling. No, no," you say.
"Please! I don't want to die..." she whimpers. "Can... can you tell me what's going to happen to me?"
> You tell her the truth
"Most likely? They'll take you down to the lower chambers as a treat for the more important Ratlings. They'll rape you for a few hours, maybe a few days depending on how resilient you are, and then they'll finally kill you and feed you to the giant rats."
The girl bursts into tears, sobbing with terror. You stare at her with a twinge of sympathy and guilt, before continuing walking.
"I need to get out of here! I need to...!" she says, looking as if she wants to run, so you tighten your grip on her arm, knowing there's no way she'll escape either way.
Soon, you walk down into the burrows through the caved in portion of sewer and into the top layer of the many layered burrows. The weakest and most feeble rats are forced to live here, away from the safety that waits lower down. They look gleefully at the girl, talking and chattering among themselves. They grab at her, groping at her breasts and bosom and tearing pieces of fabric off her dress. You raise your sword to threaten them off, and they easily follow orders. You're weak for a Ratling, but you could easily kill the crippled and the the meek who surround you. You find a corner of the room, shoving the girl into it and raising your sword, waiting for Pak to arrive and take his prey.
"I'm scared," the girl says.
"I'd be, if I were you," you admit.
"What's your name?" she asks.
"Ritz," you say.
"I'm Julianne," she says. "I don't want to die here."
You don't say another word, as she begins to chant.
"I have the soul of the dragon. Dragons to not break. Dragons do not die. Dragons do not show fear. Dragons survive the flames. I have the soul of the dragon..." she continues to chant.
You turn, staring at her. You notice a long, silver necklace hanging around her, and grab it.
"This is pretty," you say, admiring the silver.
"You can have it. If you help me get out of here, it's all yours. It was a gift from my father."
You stare at the necklace, knowing there's not a chance she's getting out of here alive, even if you tried to save her.
| 5 |
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| 8 | false |
You laugh gleefully as you dash forward, punching the man in the side of the head and knocking him backward as he grunts in pain, knocking into the blow of a sword blade. You slash at his ankle as he collapses to a knee, before one of the ratlings decks him a blow from the butt of his spear. He tries to stand, blood down streaming down his face.
"Please, I'm sorry. I didn't...!" he cries, looking genuinely petrified, before one of the rats takes it too far and stabs him in the throat with his sword, killing him.
He slumps to the ground, before lying still.
"Bah! Could've played with him for hours!" you complain.
The largest rat, a big brute who's taken charge of the raid named Pak, strides forward. Not too many ratlings have joined the raid, a fact Pak is clearly enjoying as it means he gets to take charge, and since you all get a bigger part of the profit, all the better.
"You, you and you!" he shouts, selecting three rats from the group. "Start moving the prisoners back."
"Yes, yes," they snarl, as they begin to shout and whip the prisoners into movement.
"You!" he shouts, pointing a long finger at you. "Kill the horses."
You nod, walking over to the horses. They seem terrified and scarred, and look at you as if begging for mercy. You wonder if it's best just to untie them and scare them off.
> You scare off the horses
You walk over to the horses, untying them from their carriage before gently giving them a hit with their sword on the rump, sending them running off into the wilderness. Pak notices what you're doing, turning to stare at you, snarling.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing? That was good meat, good leather! You dumb cunt!" he snarls, enraged by your lack of obedience.
> You try to convince him they deserved to live
"But they were ki..." you begin to say.
Unfortunately, in all your life here you seem to have failed to pick up how society functions. By now, Pak's club is already flying through the air, and it smashes into your head, crushing your skull against the carriage and killing you instantly.
| 2 |
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| 8 | false |
You walk over to the horses, untying them from their carriage before gently giving them a hit with their sword on the rump, sending them running off into the wilderness. Pak notices what you're doing, turning to stare at you, snarling.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing? That was good meat, good leather! You dumb cunt!" he snarls, enraged by your lack of obedience.
> You duck
You duck, but Pak slams his foot up, smashing you in the face. You sumble back and he punches you, sending you toppling to the floor. Pak stands over, stomping on you repeatedly as his weight and muscle breaks your bones as he smashes into you repeatedly as you scream for help.
With your limbs broken and lacking the strength to move, you hope you die of your wounds before something, some enterprising scavenger or worse, finds you.
| 2 |
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| 4 | false |
You step forward, grabbing the spear's shaft and yanking the guard forward. You swing your sword, slashing him in the massive gap between his helmet and shoulder pads, biting into his neck. He screams, collapsing to the ground as blood spurts forth.
You yell with glee, at other Ratlings begin arriving to take care of the other guards. The merchants and passengers of the caravan either flee back inside the caravans or procur weapons and get ready to fight, but this isn't a unified raid where the scraps will be given out later. You take what you can get. You run towards the camp fire, grabbing the stew cooking there, jabbing your snout into it and beginning to gulp down the delicious mixture. You manage to finish half before a much bigger rat grabs the pot from you, and you know you can't fight him. You turn to one of the caravans, where rats have killed the guards and are dealing with the merchants. The merchants are surrounded, looking terrified, as all those willing to fight have been cut down.
Although the majority of them are to be enslaved and sold to the Lizards or the Eastern Tribes, while the women will be taken back to the burrows for a less than kind fate, one unfortunate soul has made his presence known by trying to negotiate.
"Please, taken the cargo! It's yours! Keep the men as well, we'll fetch a heavy ransom! But leave the women and the child go, won't you?" the merchant leader says.
Bad choice. The boys have taken note of him now, and he's a fat one. His weight, the fact that he has so much food he can grow weak and fat, only angers you all thanks to the fact that you're all constantly hungry and eating scraps. One of the ratlings slashes his axe, cutting open the man's belly in a superficial wound. Another ratling jabs him with a spear, as the boys begin to jab and slash at the man as he yelps in pain as he's slowly cut and hacked apart.
The torture has drawn the others attention away from the actual carriages. You stare at them, contemplating sneaking away and grabbing yourself some more food.
> You loot some more
You scurry into one of the carriages, clambering outside. Blood cakes the inside, where some poor soul was hacked apart in their sleep. You find a jar of cider, opening it and quickly downing the delicious drink, before tossing it aside. You grab a jar of honey that's almost empty and begin scooping it into your mouth.
"Everyone out here! Now!" one of the ratlings yells, as you turn and walk outside.
The largest rat, a big brute who's taken charge of the raid named Pak, stands there. Not too many ratlings have joined the raid, a fact Pak is clearly enjoying as it means he gets to take charge, and since you all get a bigger part of the profit, all the better.
"You, you and you!" he shouts, selecting three rats from the group. "Start moving the prisoners back."
"Yes, yes," they snarl, as they begin to shout and whip the prisoners into movement.
"You!" he shouts, pointing a long finger at you. "Kill the horses."
You nod, walking over to the horses. They seem terrified and scarred, and look at you as if begging for mercy. You wonder if it's best just to untie them and scare them off.
| 4 |
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| 10 | false |
You scurry towards it, as do the others. Dozens of brown and black bodies scurry up from among the rubble and out of the ancient sewers underneath where your camps lie. You're one of the first on the sign, climbing atop a crushed tower as you see it. Three wagons circled around a campfire, basking in its light. The moonlight shines on your brown, shit-matted fur and catches on your blade as you run forward towards the camps. The man on guard, a young, cleanly shaven guard with armor that's too small for him yell as he sees you approach,. He readies his spear, looking ready to plunge it into you. You dance at the edge of the spear point, waiting for your chance.
> You charge him
You raise your sword, charging forward. The guard yells and steps back, jabbing his spear out. The metal spear jabs into your fur and into your chest and you yelp as he runs you through. He pulls the spear out as you collapse to your knees, before he jabs it through your throat, killing you.
| 4 |
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| 2 | false |
You scurry towards it, as do the others. Dozens of brown and black bodies scurry up from among the rubble and out of the ancient sewers underneath where your camps lie. You're one of the first on the sign, climbing atop a crushed tower as you see it. Three wagons circled around a campfire, basking in its light. The moonlight shines on your brown, shit-matted fur and catches on your blade as you run forward towards the camps. The man on guard, a young, cleanly shaven guard with armor that's too small for him yell as he sees you approach,. He readies his spear, looking ready to plunge it into you. You dance at the edge of the spear point, waiting for your chance.
> You wait for the others
You continue circling the man the as he jabs at you, as you back step to avoid the jabs. Soon, other rats arrive. You can see the man's eyes bulge as he realizes how outnumbered he is. He jabs at another ratling and you take advantage, grabbing your sword forward and stabbing him in the throat. He tries to yell but blood bursts into his throat as you pull out your blade.
You turn to one of the caravans, where rats have killed the guards and are dealing with the merchants. The merchants are surrounded, looking terrified, as all those willing to fight have been cut down.
Although the majority of them are to be enslaved and sold to the Lizards or the Eastern Tribes, while the women will be taken back to the burrows for a less than kind fate, one unfortunate soul has made his presence known by trying to negotiate.
"Please, taken the cargo! It's yours! Keep the men as well, we'll fetch a heavy ransom! But leave the women and the child go, won't you?" the merchant leader says.
Bad choice. The boys have taken note of him now, and he's a fat one. His weight, the fact that he has so much food he can grow weak and fat, only angers you all thanks to the fact that you're all constantly hungry and eating scraps. One of the ratlings slashes his axe, cutting open the man's belly in a superficial wound. Another ratling jabs him with a spear, as the boys begin to jab and slash at the man as he yelps in pain as he's slowly cut and hacked apart.
The torture has drawn the others attention away from the actual carriages. You stare at them, contemplating sneaking away and grabbing yourself some more food.
| 4 |
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| 12 | false |
You are quickly beginning to wish Brandolf had given you a torch, but given the nature of your quest he probably figured you didn't need to draw attention to yourself. Still, you can barely see more than a few feet in front of your face and it is only getting darker as you continue further inward. You run your hand along the right wall and move carefully, scouting each step with your foot to avoid a fall. Your heart is racing and you know that at any moment, something might come out and attack.
Eventually, the cave leads into a small inner chamber with a campfire in the middle. Three humunculi are sitting around the campfire, roasting human limbs on a stick as if they were marshmellows. Fortunately, they are not aware of your presence and the campfire enables you to see there are several tunnels leading out from this chamber. On the other side of the chamber is a tunnel that goes deeper in, but you won't be able to go down this way undetected as long as the humunculi are here. There are also nondescript passsageways to the left and the right (large and small respectively) that you can reach as long as you stay in the shadows.
> You attack The Humunculi With Your Sword While They Are Relaxed
These humunculi are blocking a passage that may lead to the Craxil; and the fewer of them there are, the less difficult it will be for you to have to sneak around. You draw your sword and lung forth plunging it into the back of the nearest unsuspecting humunculi. You swell with pride realizing that you have just killed your first monster, and a humunculi too! Unfortunately, you have difficulty removing the sword from the humunculi's body and the others have immediately taken notice of you. You attempt to run back out of the cave from whence you came, but the creatures are faster than you are. They beat you savagely before bringing you back to their campfire for desert.
THE END
| 3 |
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| 9 | false |
"The trouble is that this poison must be ingested or applied to a blade, simply splashing your opponent with it will not suffice."
"But how will anyone even get that far? Without royal aid, how can anyone even hope to reach the Craxil?"
At this point, many in the council are reminded of your exploits at last year's "capture the flag" contests. In fact, at every annual festival you manage to outfox your opponents, evade their numbers, and sneak up on their flag. Your success record was almost unrealistic. Suddenly, the council gets it in their minds to send you in with the poison. In fact, you're alarmed by how quickly they're all agreeing to this idea despite the fact you haven't yet. Then again, you've always sensed that as a swineherd you've never really been well liked or considered "valuable" by the townsfolk so this response isn't entirely unexpected.
Nonetheless, you aren't going to go anywhere or do anything that you haven't agreed to do first. Unlike the others in the room, Brandolf has the decency to walk up and ask your opinion on the matter. He is usually dismissive of stupid ideas, but he seems to think this one might actually work. You take a moment to decide how to respond.
> You refuse The Offer And Tell The Assholes In Your Community Where They Can Shove Their New Idea
The people of Jacquescrappe have never really treated you with respect and you never really liked them either. Moreover, you are offended by how many of them just agreed to send you in without even bothering to ask you how YOU felt about the idea. You decide to return to your swineherding responsibilities and let the rest of the townspeople try to figure this out for themselves. "Fuck 'em" you think as you leave the council chambers and return to the fields.
In the weeks that followed, several intrepid individuals attempted to reach the Craxil and never returned. Many townspeople gathered together all the gold they had in hopes of putting together a reward for a worthy adventurer who might succeed in this task. Many others were sent to the royal palace, begging desperately and fruitlessly for military assistance in their remote and low value settlement. In the end, all these events failed and soon, the raids returned.
If the townspeople didn't like you before, they certainly hated you now. While before you would sometimes get dirty looks or the occasional one word answer, they now ignore you completely wherever you go. You insist that you had every right to refuse such a foolish plan, but most just dismiss you as being a selfish bastard. You return to the fields to talk to "oinky" and "snout", the only friends that haven't turned their backs on you yet.
In the monthes that followed, numerous people are dragged off into the mountainside, never to be heard from again. You smile as the fat hog of a woman with a barbed tounge that pissed you off the most is seen screaming while in the grasp of one of these creatures. However, one night while you are cleaning up the digested remains of oinky's chili burritos you are surprised by two humunculi. You may have enjoyed it when others you didn't like so much got carried off, but this time it is you. You are never heard from again.
THE END
| 5 |
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| 5 | false |
"I don't know anything," you say.
The man grabs your throat, strangling it as he impales your hand. You try to scream, but you can't even get out a breath.
"Quiet," the man says, pulling out the knife and releasing your throat as you whimper, clutching at your wound.
"Do you think I picked you out by chance? You have her necklace. I tracked it here. Now, answer me."
> You lie
"She was taken off to be ransomed off by one of the travelling ratlings."
You see the runes of the blade glowing, as the man snarls.
"Filthy lying vermin," the man hisses. "Perhaps the next rat will be more trustworthy."
The man slices open your throat, and you collapse against the ground, quickly dying.
| 3 |
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| 1 | false |
"I don't know anything," you say.
The man grabs your throat, strangling it as he impales your hand. You try to scream, but you can't even get out a breath.
"Quiet," the man says, pulling out the knife and releasing your throat as you whimper, clutching at your wound.
"Do you think I picked you out by chance? You have her necklace. I tracked it here. Now, answer me."
> You tell the truth
"She's been taken down to the fifth layer. You... you won't want to find her. She's dead by now, and her body won't be in the best condition."
The man doesn't respond for some time, before snarling.
"No, she's alive. I can feel it. You, however, are no better than the rest of your lying kind. Death's for you."
The man slices open your throat, and you collapse against the ground, quickly dying.
| 3 |
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| 1 | false |
You awaken to a knife pressed against your throat. You reach for your sword in the darkness, but a hand catches yours.
"Scream for help or try anything and I cut you open," a harsh voice growls.
You try to nod, but the knife is pressed so tightly any movement would slice open your throat.
"A prisoner was taken into the burrows. Where is she?"
> You lie
"She was taken off to be ransomed off by one of the travelling ratlings."
You see the runes of the blade glowing, as the man snarls.
"Liar. The knife speaks to your honesty. The truth, now, or you die."
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
You awaken to a knife pressed against your throat. You reach for your sword in the darkness, but a hand catches yours.
"Scream for help or try anything and I cut you open," a harsh voice growls.
You try to nod, but the knife is pressed so tightly any movement would slice open your throat.
"A prisoner was taken into the burrows. Where is she?"
> You tell the truth
"She's been taken down to the fifth layer. You... you won't want to find her. She's dead by now, and her body won't be in the best condition."
The man doesn't respond for some time, before snarling.
"No, she's alive. I can feel it. Your fate, however, is less certain."
The man's blade illuminates, casting golden light on the both of you. You stare at his grizzled face with a thick beard growing. However, he gets a clear view of you, seeing your blood, sweat and semen-encrusted fur. He stares at you, realizing what you've done.
"You had her way with her... you disgusting vermin!" he near shouts, hopefully waking some of the other Ratlings to come to your side.
The man slices open your throat, and you collapse against the ground. He rams his knife into your chest repeatedly as you try to scream in pain, but blood quickly fills your throat. Your life is quickly drained from you, and you lie there as death takes you.
| 5 |
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| 2 | false |
You grab the necklace, snatching it off her neck and clutching it in her hands.
"Hey!" she cries, grabbing at it before you snarl, scarring her away.
She whimpers, shuffling away from you. You stare at her, wrapping it around the hilt of your sword and clutching it tightly. You wait patiently for Pak to arrive.
After a few minutes, the massive, black-furred rat clambers into the burrow, grinning as he sees her prey. He stomps forward, grabbing her by the hand.
"Come on, darling. Let's take you down to the lower levels. I have a few of the others I want pulled over to my side, and I'm sure your sweet ass will do a great deal in getting them there."
The huge brute begins dragging the girl away, leaving you standing there. Suddenly, he stops, turning around.
"What's your name?"
"Ritz," you say.
"You did a good job protecting her from the cripples and in the raid, and I'm feeling generous. Care to join in the fun?"
> You refuse
You shake your head sadly, just staring at the rat. He lets out a grunt of disgust, before dragging the girl away despite her crying protests.
You head to your chamber, curling up in a bed of animal hides and lying there. You hear the girl's crying and screaming for help in the distance of the caverns, but know you can do nothing. You push your furs against your floppy ears to drown out the sound, trying to find sleep. Eventually, you manage to do so.
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
You grab the necklace, snatching it off her neck and clutching it in her hands.
"Hey!" she cries, grabbing at it before you snarl, scarring her away.
She whimpers, shuffling away from you. You stare at her, wrapping it around the hilt of your sword and clutching it tightly. You wait patiently for Pak to arrive.
After a few minutes, the massive, black-furred rat clambers into the burrow, grinning as he sees her prey. He stomps forward, grabbing her by the hand.
"Come on, darling. Let's take you down to the lower levels. I have a few of the others I want pulled over to my side, and I'm sure your sweet ass will do a great deal in getting them there."
The huge brute begins dragging the girl away, leaving you standing there. Suddenly, he stops, turning around.
"What's your name?"
"Ritz," you say.
"You did a good job protecting her from the cripples and in the raid, and I'm feeling generous. Care to join in the fun?"
> You try to stop him taking her
"No!" you say, punching the massive ratling in the jaw and sending him stumbling backwards, more out of surprise than anything else.
"What did you say to me, you little prick?" he says, raising his club to strike.
> You go for his eyes
You leap into the air, grabbing the massive ratling's shoulder and jamming your sword into his eyes.
"Ah! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't see! I can't fucking see!" he yells, grabbing you by the fur and flinging you against the ground with a painful thud.
Although he can't see, he still hears where you thud against the ground. With a scream of rage and pain, he raises his club into the air and swings with all his might. It slams into your legs, shattering both of your legs as you scream in pain. He snarls, lifting up his club once more as you yell and grab at your broken legs, trying to focus on survival rather than the awful pain. He swings down his club once more, crushing your skull.
| 2 |
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| 6 | false |
"No!" you say, punching the massive ratling in the jaw and sending him stumbling backwards, more out of surprise than anything else.
"What did you say to me, you little prick?" he says, raising his club to strike.
> You dodge
You roll to avoid his club swing, which slams into the stones next to you, sending splinters of wood flying in all directions. With his heavy club now on the ground, you now have a chance to do something.
> You dodge again
You slash at him, ready to dodge again as he lifts his club back up. He roars, swinging his club back at you. You roll under it again, before he changes direction of his swing, prepared for this. It slams into your legs, shattering both of your legs as you scream in pain. He snarls, lifting up his club once more as you yell asd grab at your broken legs, trying to focus on survival rather than the awful pain. He swings down his club once more, crushing your skull.
| 3 |
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| 7 | false |
You ponder what the grippli captain said as you continue on your northward journey. You haven't seen any cactii yet so you surmise you still have a long way to go. But what other dangers await you? So far you've encountered humunculi, undead, grippli, and even a beholder. More amazing is that your sorry swineherding ass has survived this far. Still, you have to wonder just how many different types of creatures there are under the Craxil's command and what this Craxil even looks like.
Your musings are cut short when your path is suddenly blocked by a very large wolf. Its eyes glow red and it snarls with both anger and malice evident. This wolf is no ordinary wolf. It is huge and it looks like its possessed or something. You draw your sword preparing to defend yourself but it doesn't attack, it simply stands there staring at you. You attempt to move to the side and it follows as if to block your path. You move to the other side and it follows again. You take a step back and it follows with a step forward. You aren't sure you even want to know what it will do if you take a step forward, and for once you aren't crazy enough to find out.
Suddenly, the creature does something you did not expect. It speaks.
"Tell me human, do you serve the Craxil?".
You are tempted to lie and say yes but then how do you know that is the answer it wants to hear? Maybe it serves the Craxil or maybe it is its enemy. Either way, it looks like its going to kill you if you don't share its loyalties so you are going to have to decide what to say.
> You what Is A Craxil? Is That A New Brand Of Butter Cracker?
You attempt to lie to the giant wolf creature but despite your skill as sneakery you've always been a horrible liar. The dishonesty is not taken well and before you know it, the massive canine has you on the ground and is sinking his jaw into your throat. You spend the last moments of your life in sheer terror.
THE END
| 2 |
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| 10 | false |
You need to dispatch with the three grippli keeping watch but you cannot do that in the camp or you will almost certainly get attention. Therefore, your only real option is to lure them out and eliminate them somehow while they're away from camp. Even if you do lure them away from their camp though, three grippli are more than a match for you so you are going to have to construct a trap of some sort. You remember seeing a small drop off in the middle of the path you just came down and that gives you an idea.
You take about a dozen of your arrows and plant them firmly in the ground (arrowhead up) at the bottom of the hole you encountered along the path. You only lightly cover it with what little large leaves and vines you can find, then cover this foliage completely with sand and small rocks (enough to cover the vegetation but not enough to make it fall into the hole). Your hope is that you will be able to lure your three grippli out here away from the camp and then fall in on top of your arrows. The only thing left to do is figure out how you are going to lure them away from the camp without them alerting the camp as well.
You decide to mimic the sounds of the small prairie dog like creatures out here and toss small pebbles around the corner where they would see them. You seem to have their attention as they are too bored to really entertain themselves with anything else. Unfortunately, the prairie dog gag isn't enough to make them come so next you imitate the sound of a ewe while making loud pawing noises at the ground. For whatever reason, this one gets their attention and they start approaching quietly with their weapons drawn.
You continue making animals noises but move back slowly at the same time. At point for them is a hunter brandishing a bow. The other two apparently believe in the sword. Maybe that's not as atypical for a grippli as you thought. You are careful to remain unseen but back up slowly and continue leading them forth with animal noises. Eventually the game is up as the hunter seems to get suspicous and notices you are there. You turn and run using the indentations in the rockwall to your right to help protect you from arrow fire. You take your position behind a rock on the other side of the trap and to your glee they are running straight for it.
YES! The sound of your cover giving way under their weight is music to your ears, as are the ribbits of pain emitted shortly thereafter. You surmise they are dead until one of them jumps out of the pit with only a leg wound. He pulls out his sword and glares at you. You feel like facing him like this, it would be an even match. Still, you would much prefer some kind of advantage whereever you can get it. You draw your sword and begin to think carefully about how this is going to go down.
> You don't Waste Time With Elaborate Trickery, Just Fight The Thing
There is no longer any element of surprise so the time for elaborate tricks is over. You are simply going to have to face this thing one on one. At first things seem to go well. His 2 foot tall stature is no match for your strength (which is saying a lot coming from you) but he is fast as hell. Given that he's part frog he's hopping around behing you, above you, between your legs, all with the speed and reflexes of a frog. You've always wondered what made people consider these things to be so dangerous.
In the end, you've taken on more stab wounds than you can possibly handle and drop to the ground looking like one of Freddie Krougar's victims. The 2 foot little froggie bastard develops a new air of pride and marches back to camp, no doubt to brag to his friends about his new victory. But for you it is simply...
THE END
| 3 |
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| 10 | false |
The man you just dismissed earlier is standing at the front of the pack. You knew there was something off about that earlier request and seeing this display only reaffirms that you were right to avoid them in the first place. They are all looking down at the ground but now he is looking up directly at you with a creepy smile on his face.
"So, you saw through our little ambush scheme did you?" he sneers.
"What is it you want?"
"Quite simply we're aware of your quest to reach the Craxil and we are not prepared to allow it."
At this point their heads begin to twist and contort and their skulls appear to come out of their mouths. It is almost as though they were never human at all but part of some kind of disguise. In fact, it is now readily apparent that this is the case. You are now looking at five maniacal looking skeletons armed with an assortment of swords and hand axes. They seem like they are eager to get things started and in fact, they are all rushing down the beaten path towards you. You turn the other way until you can decide what to do and despite what you've been told about the undead, you discover they are perfectly capable of keeping pace with you.
You know you aren't going to be able to take on five of these guys and they seem intent on sticking together during the pursuit. To your left is another cave you've chosen to pass up on your journey, figuring it was just another humunculus den. Perhaps, if you are lucky, you can lose your pursuers in there. Alternatively, you could always try climbing the steep rockface off to your right. You've had plenty of climbing experience as a kid and somehow you hope these skeletons won't be able to follow you. You could also turn around and start unloading arrows into your enemies. They may be keeping pace with you, but you still have a heck of a head start and you'd wager you could release quite a few before they catch up to you. It's up to you...
> You rain Arrows Upon Them
Why run when you can fight? The arrows worked for you before and you believe you can get off quite a few shots before they start catching up to you. To wait until you reach the top of a local hill then spin around and draw your bow. The five skeleton creatures are still running towards you in a tight grouping. You let fly the first arrow and it hits the collarbone of one of the back skeletons. You release another and it hits the leg of another skeleton. In fact you score a lot of hits, even putting one through the skull of the lead skeleton. There's just one problem... they aren't slowing down!
Maybe you've forgotten, but arrows and bladed weapons are only effective against enemies that still have flesh and blood to let. These skeletons are not slowing down or taking much damage as a result of your arrows. In fact, it would require a more blunt weapon to kill. As they start drawing in close you turn and continue running. You've pretty much lost your head start and now they are hot on your heels. This continues for a while until one of your skeletal pursuers gets it in his mind to throw its hand axe into your back. It only goes downhill from there for you.
THE END
| 4 |
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| 7 | false |
You are standing on a narrow plateau in the rugged mountainous region beyond your village. Unlike the brownish/tan rockface you see near your village, the rocks in this region are more redish and vibrant looking. You see a path leading forward and you decide to follow it. On the plus side, you haven't encountered any hostile creatures so far. You walk for at least a few miles and it appears to extend beyond your sight. You curse at your luck and begin to slump into depression when you realize you don't even know where to fnd this Craxil thing in the first place. You decide to build a campfire for the night, think things over, and gather some rest. As you are doing so, a strange man lumbers out from behind a large rock and begins to beg you for help.
"Please, it won't take long. My caravan was beset upon by foul creatures and I fear for my families safety. You must help me!"
You pause. It seems odd that a human would be up here in such a hostile region, let alone a caravan. But this is definitely the face of a human and he shows no signs of hostility.
"Why are you up here anyway"? you ask. "The Craxil and his followers will kill anyone that wanders into their mountainous territory."
"We got lost trying to find our way to Jacquescrappe village, perhaps you've heard of it"?
"Yeah... I just came from there... but I don't think you want to go back that way, you won't get far."
"Look, I don't wish to be rude, but my family is in danger and I need your help NOW!"
At this point, the man turns and runs down the path. You call out to him to stop but he keeps going. You aren't sure if you would be of much help to him in battle, but you aren't sure how you would feel about abandoning him like that either. Time to decide...
> You help Him, What Kind Of Adventurer Are You?
You decide to help the man. What kind of adventurer would you be to deny a father the aid he needs to save his family from the Craxil's minions? The royal military may have abandoned Jacquescrappe because it was remote and of no strategic value but dammit if you are going to end up just like them. However, something about this is starting to feel weird. Why would there be a human caravan up here in the Craxil's lands and why do you have this strange feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Just as you are having these thoughts, an owl looks at you from atop a dead tree and just looks at you with intent. You've never been able to communicate to animals like the druids do, but somehow you just know this thing is telling you to turn back. You stop for a minute, then strike yourself and shake it off. Since when did you become a druid and take advice from animals? Aside from your pigs "Oinky" and "Snout" you've never really connected with any animals anyway. Besides, your gut hasn't helped you win any gambling tournaments so why should you trust it now? You're probably just afraid and subconciously looking for a way to avoid a potentially dangerous situation. Helping the man is the right thing to do, you're sure of it...
Right?
> You indeed, What Kind Of Hero Abandons His Fellow Man When His Family Is At Stake?
You arrive in a clearing and the man who pleaded with you earlier has just stopped in his tracks.
"So where's the caravan?" you inquire, expecting some sort of explanation for this sudden drop in urgency.
Silence
..............
At this point you are quickly surrounded by other men who are equally silent. The feeling in the pit of your stomach has just gotten worse and you realize that you've been had.
"There is no caravan is there."
.....
At this point the man who led you here turns to face you. The head suddenly begins to twitch and distort and the head of a skeleton emerges from the mouth as if pushing through a mask. You back up and realize the four other men around you are doing the same. They rush you from all sides and you are quickly overwhelmed. You made a grave mistake in not trusting your instincts earlier, they exist in us for a reason.
THE END
| 2 |
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| 8 | false |
You decide to help the man. What kind of adventurer would you be to deny a father the aid he needs to save his family from the Craxil's minions? The royal military may have abandoned Jacquescrappe because it was remote and of no strategic value but dammit if you are going to end up just like them. However, something about this is starting to feel weird. Why would there be a human caravan up here in the Craxil's lands and why do you have this strange feeling in the pit of your stomach.
Just as you are having these thoughts, an owl looks at you from atop a dead tree and just looks at you with intent. You've never been able to communicate to animals like the druids do, but somehow you just know this thing is telling you to turn back. You stop for a minute, then strike yourself and shake it off. Since when did you become a druid and take advice from animals? Aside from your pigs "Oinky" and "Snout" you've never really connected with any animals anyway. Besides, your gut hasn't helped you win any gambling tournaments so why should you trust it now? You're probably just afraid and subconciously looking for a way to avoid a potentially dangerous situation. Helping the man is the right thing to do, you're sure of it...
Right?
> You no, Something About This Whole Situation Is Fishy. You're Turning Back.
You don't like any part of where this is going and decide that the best thing to do is to turn back. After all, no humans from Jacquescrappe have ever made it this far into the Craxil's territory so why should you believe there is a human caravan out this far? None of this makes any sense and you think to yourself that these beastmen are not above using your compassion against you as a weakness. It is low, but well within the bounds of what these things might do.
You come to a stop, and look up at the owl. He gives you a warm, approving look then flies away. "What a strange creature" you think to yourself. You wait for the man to disappear from view, then wait a while longer for good measure, then continue forward on foot as you had originally planned. Frankly, you're just glad to be away from the suspicious man.
As you continue on your journey you wonder if you made the right choice. I mean, what if the man's family really was in danger and you could have made a difference? Did you make the right call? You console yourself by reminding yourself of the importance of your own mission and how you cannot afford to take unnecessary chances. Just as you are having these thoughts, you discover the man who approached you earlier as well as four others standing in the middle of the beaten path with their heads down. It looks like you aren't done with them after all...
| 3 |
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| 6 | false |
You run down the passageway that you were previously unable to get to while the three humunculi were at the campfire. Unfortunately, the humunculi have chosen the same path. You aren't sure if it is because they saw you or because of bad luck, but they are not far behind you now. You reach another chamber and find a large, demonic looking creature blocking your path. Before you can even think about how to describe this thing you feel the humunculi grab you from behind and pull you to the ground. They are about to stomp you to death when the demonic looking creature disintigrates them on the spot.
"Nobody takes my prey in my domain. Tell me little thing, what are you here to do?"
This thing looks like a large floating eye with multiple smaller eyes attached atop its head. You realize this thing is a beholder and soon you find yourself paralyzed in its gaze. That's what you get for staring into its eye I guess.
"Answer me puny one, why are you here in my domain?"
You are too terrified to answer, but this creature appears to grow irritated by your silence so you muster all the courage you've got and speak up
"I'm here to slay the Craxil" you proclaim, terrified of how this creature will respond to such a bold statement.
"HA! Amusing little one, someone of your strength doesn't have what it takes but it would entertain me to see how you die in the Craxil's mountains. Answer this riddle correctly, and I will permit you to continue through to the other side of my domain. Answer incorrectly, and you will share the same fate as your pursuers. Are you ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be" you squeak.
"Very well!" it bellows, clearly enjoying every bit of this. "I am a vast canyon that spans beyond sight. I am without end and have been a part of every man whenever there is trouble. What am I?"
> The Thirst For Knowledge
"Wrong" it proclaims. "While the thirst for knowledge may be limitless in your kind, it is not your primary concern in times of trouble now is it?"
"Well... erm..."
You don't have time to retort. It fires a beam of negative energy into your chest and you disintigrate on the spot, bringing your quest to an abrupt end.
THE END
| 2 |
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| 10 | false |
“Jump on top of me baby.”
Bell does as you say. Two beings disappear and reemerge as one as the pair of you become lost in the heat of passion. Funny thing about passion: it often comes and goes without warning. In this case forty-seven seconds.
Bell giggles. “First time?”
You groan. “First time.”
“No shame in that, darling. I’ll be here when you get back. Practice makes perfect, am I right?”
You nod and step out of the tent.
“Holy shit, what the hell happened!?”
The entire fairground is on fire. The air is rank with burning flesh and hair. Bodies are everywhere. Horses whinny in agony. Those not too injured to flee scramble about in sheer terror. High above you see the evil moneylender, floating on a black cloud, cackling and tossing lightning bolts.
Bessy plods toward you. A bolt catches her in the flank and explodes into a fireball. She collapses to the ground and shrieks. Another bolt pierces her neck and her and she lies silent.
You hear the tent flap jostle, and you wheel around. You clutch Bell by the throat and dive-tackle her into the tent. “What the fuck is this?” you scream.
Bell claws at your hand, gasping for breath. You relieve pressure, but keep her pinned to the ground.
“I don’t know.” Tears well in her eyes.
“Liar.”
“No, I swear. Your friend Jon sent me.”
> You trust her.
Whether you trust Bell or not, a true knight never harms a lady… or a whore.
“Alright,” you say pulling Bell to her feet, “help me save the day, and we can get back to putting a little baby hero in your belly.”
“You think I want that after what you just did to me?”
“Everyone wants the hero,” you deadpan. “So yes.”
And you are right. Feminism is for spunky heroines, not the spunk covered ragtag sack ticklers of heroic knights. Bell grumbles a pithy supplication and follows you out of the tent into the inferno of the fairgrounds.
The evil moneylender stares at you from his floating cloud, with his face screwed up into a scowl of utter disgust and contempt. He leans over the edge of his cloud and vomits.
“You,” he jabs an accusatory finger, “are a vile, putrid, scumbag of a hero. Have you no sense of decency?”
You hear a soft plop, plop behind you.
“What are you talking about?” you ask, drawing your blade, preparing to pounce during the villain’s moment of weakness, but you hold off, curious of his ailment.
“Your woman is naked before the world, dripping your seed! And the script says I’m the villain? What depraved fool green-lit this?”
*Poof*
The narrator appears, riding a gigantic black German Shepherd, which is both ferocious and adorable. He wields a word processor and keyboard with a suspiciously sticky set of keys. He wields unadulterated badassery and lowbrow humor.
“I’ll tolerate snark from the hero and the spirits that control him, but not the damn villain, and yes the script says you are the villain. So unless you want to be spontaneously transfigured into an elephant entering the initial stages of menopause, then I suggest you shut the fuck up and let his hoe decide if she’s being mistreated.” The narrator turns to Bell. “Are you being mistreated?”
“Sort of, I guess.”
“Would you like a pony?”
“Yes?”
“Done.”
A pony wanders through the carnage, and Bell climbs on top, uncertain of what to do.
The narrator scowls at the villain. “Merek the Mad Mage of Misery, are you content with the current proceedings? Well are you?”
The villain tugs at the collar of his robes. “Yes, your godliness.”
*Poof*
“That was interesting,” you say. “Anyway, I’m making baby heroes. And that’s heroic. The naked human body is an art form to be admired, not scorned! Besides there’s no one left to ogle her since you killed them all. Except Jon, over there, staring at her burning bush. And I bet Sir Jamison is alive somewhere. He seems pretty badass.”
Jon smiles dumbly, sword in hand.
Merek the Made Mage of Misery shrieks. “You perverted bastards! I’ll kill you all!” Lightning bolts sparkle in his hands, and he hurls them at you with the accuracy of a drunken Storm Trooper smoking black tar heroin.
You stand still, watching the blasts scorch the already scorched ground twenty yards away.
Jon lurches out of his stupor and rushes into battle, tucking away his playing sword and drawing his fighting one. “I’ll show you who the bastard is, you slut!”
Merek the Mad Mage of Misery curses his incompetence and swings his attention toward Jon. The two engage in a very boring battle. Wild lightning blasts scatter the land while Jon meanders around and tries to jump onto the floating cloud, which always drifts beyond his reach.
You turn to Bell. “I have an idea.” You pull Bell from the pony’s back and make sweet love to her in the middle of the burning fairgrounds. Merek the Mad Mage of Misery catches sight and gawks in horror. This provides Jon the opening to leap onto his magic cloud and cut his throat with the magic dagger Sir Jamison conveniently just threw to him: because deus ex machina is beautiful and everyone knows only magic items can kill magic beings.
…
Sweet, so what happens now?
The spirits guiding you probably leave mean comments because of the sexism and ridiculousness bomb we just exploded all over the place. At least we took it up to eleven.
It was rather ridiculous, but hey, I won, right! What should I do with the pony?
Breed it with a unicorn and find out what manner of being is born when the abomination spawn spews magical flatulence.
Wicked. Do you have any parting words of advice for me or wrap-up narration?
What the hell, is this twenty questions? I don’t know, go murder every sparkly vampire and warrior-cat that you see and you can’t go wrong. Shit, I just earned more hate comments.
| 4 |
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| 12 | false |
There is no way you have gained enough skill to make a precise aim. Your best bet is too just hold on with the fury of hell and hope for the best. You grit your teeth; here it comes.
Crack! Both of your lances splinter on contact. The collision jars you, but you manage to hang in the saddle. What a rush. Your heart hammers in your chest, and the world snaps back into focus. The crowd screams and cheers. Flags twirl in the wind and a herald’s trumpet booms. You turn around and see Lord Cleaver’s squire helping him to his feet while another attendant runs down his horse. You won!
Jon rushes forward to greet you. “Fantastic, I never thought you could win riding that old draft horse! It looked like you were moving in slow motion compared to Lord Cleaver.”
“Bessy and I may not be a fast duo, but we’re tough as nails and hard as stone.”
Jon chuckles. “Interesting, we’ll have to have someone take care of that for you.”
“What are you talking about?” you ask. Your face flushes red as you realization hits you. “Oh, damn it. You perverse bastard.”
Jon snatches the reins from you and snarls. “Never call me a bastard again. Got it?”
“Uh, sure.”
He helps you off Bessy and slaps you on the back. “Good.”
I wonder what that was all about?
You head back to your pavilion and bask in your glory. The road ahead is still long and perilous, but you took another step down the path of success. You kick back to relax when the flap of your tent opens. In steps a gorgeous lass, with gingersnap hair and vicious eyes. She looks wild and… hungry.
“May I help you?” you ask.
“The name is Bell. I’ve been sent to help you with a little problem.” She winks. “Your friend said you needed some refreshment before your next bout.” She shakes her breasts free from her loose shift and steps fully into the tent.
Before the tent flap falls, you see the shady moneylender prowling around Sir Jamison’s pavilion.
“Come on hero,” she urges. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
> You ugh, you better go check out what that moneylender is doing.
Despite adamant protests from your little head, your big head wins the day, insisting you act responsibly and investigate what that shady character is up to: shenanigans no doubt.
“I’m sorry, Bell. I have to take care of something quick.”
“Oh, don’t leave me hero.” Bell wraps her arms around, drawing you in tight against her bare bosom.
You pull away from her enticing embrace before you change your mind. Now where did that moneylender run off? You don’t see him skulking around Sir Jamison’s tent anymore. Could your eyes have been playing tricks on you? The bad feeling in the pit of your gut says no.
Muffled noises are coming from Sir Jamison’s tent. Not wanting to intrude on a living legend in the throes of lovemaking, you ruffle the flap of the tent to announce your presence. “Sir Jamison, are you in there? I noticed a shady character lingering around your tent a moment ago.”
The noise inside the tent ceases.
Oh, crap. Your dodge sense tingles.
You jump aside just in time to avoid incineration via fireball. Within the smoking remains of the tent, the shady moneylender stands poised to attack. Magic crackles in both of his hands. The shady moneylender is a sorcerer, who knew.
“I knew you were up to no good,” you say, drawing your sword. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m going to put a stop to it.”
“Imbecile, you may have the skills, but you lack the tools to defeat me.”
“We’ll just have to see about that!”
“Is that really the best line you’ve got?”
“I know you are but what am I?”
The sorcerer face-palms. “You’re an idiot aren’t you?”
“Bring it on, bitch!”
Onlookers scurry about to put out the fires the fireball ignited and to get a front row view of what is shaping up to be a good old-fashioned melee on magic standoff.
The sorcerer simultaneously hurls a fireball and casts a bolt of lightning.
> You dodge the bolt; bat the fireball back at him with your sword
You dodge the bolt with ease and set your feet. You’re going to knock this fireball right out of the park. You step, swing, and… your sword melts as the fireball passes through and explodes amongst the crowd of onlookers.
You scream in agony as molten steel splatters across your body.
The sorcerer cackles. “Imbecile, only a magic artifact can repel a magical attack.”
You collapse to the ground, defeated. And dead. The sorcerer proceeds to extract your hero blood, which he uses to conquer the entire kingdom. A shame, you couldn't even save your friends.
| 2 |
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| 12 | false |
Despite adamant protests from your little head, your big head wins the day, insisting you act responsibly and investigate what that shady character is up to: shenanigans no doubt.
“I’m sorry, Bell. I have to take care of something quick.”
“Oh, don’t leave me hero.” Bell wraps her arms around, drawing you in tight against her bare bosom.
You pull away from her enticing embrace before you change your mind. Now where did that moneylender run off? You don’t see him skulking around Sir Jamison’s tent anymore. Could your eyes have been playing tricks on you? The bad feeling in the pit of your gut says no.
Muffled noises are coming from Sir Jamison’s tent. Not wanting to intrude on a living legend in the throes of lovemaking, you ruffle the flap of the tent to announce your presence. “Sir Jamison, are you in there? I noticed a shady character lingering around your tent a moment ago.”
The noise inside the tent ceases.
Oh, crap. Your dodge sense tingles.
You jump aside just in time to avoid incineration via fireball. Within the smoking remains of the tent, the shady moneylender stands poised to attack. Magic crackles in both of his hands. The shady moneylender is a sorcerer, who knew.
“I knew you were up to no good,” you say, drawing your sword. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m going to put a stop to it.”
“Imbecile, you may have the skills, but you lack the tools to defeat me.”
“We’ll just have to see about that!”
“Is that really the best line you’ve got?”
“I know you are but what am I?”
The sorcerer face-palms. “You’re an idiot aren’t you?”
“Bring it on, bitch!”
Onlookers scurry about to put out the fires the fireball ignited and to get a front row view of what is shaping up to be a good old-fashioned melee on magic standoff.
The sorcerer simultaneously hurls a fireball and casts a bolt of lightning.
> You double dodge!
Few living souls can successfully perform a double dodge, but you are a hero damn it. From the moment the unicorn farted, you were destined to accomplish great feats. You have the skill. You have the power. You have… ah, to hell with it. Just get on with it.
You avoid the bolt and the fireball, perfectly executing a textbook double dodge. The onlookers cheer and scream approval… except for the ones who got incinerated by the fireball you dodged. The bloodcurdling screams of the not quite dead but still severely burned could wake the dead. Way to not take one for the team, asshole.
“Dodge all you want!” cries the sorcerer. “It won’t do you any good in the end. Your pathetic blade can’t kill me.”
You’re about to test that theory when a sparkly pulsating glow coming from behind the sorcerer catches your eye. The tantalizing and addicting flash of spectral lights can be only one thing: a magical artifact. The sorcerer must have been trying to steal it from Sir Jamison. If the sorcerer wants them, that must mean they can kill him. Or destroy the kingdom. One or the other.
“We’ll see about that,” you shout as you charge ahead.
“I’ll humor you, simpleton,” says the sorcerer. “Just try and strike me down. I’ll stand still.”
The sorcerer crosses his arms and smirks as you lumber toward him. His evil sneer disappears once you run past him. The magical artifact turns out to be a magic sword and shield combo. It’s on like a donkey’s hard on now.
“No, you can’t!”
“Sure I can,” you say as you bash and slash him with your magic weaponry. “By the way, if these things can kill you, why did you let me get so close to them?”
The world will never know the answer to that question. The sorcerer shrivels up and dies within a cloud of evaporated blood. His death screams awaken some of the recently deceased onlookers, which you swiftly put back in their graves unburied corpse state.
Fires rage throughout the fairgrounds and more bodies than you feel like counting litter the ground. Crows and ravens already flock to the feast. It looks like the tournament is going to have to be canceled. Oh well, there is always next year. You turn around and look to see if Bell is still alive and willing for a romp.
| 3 |
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| 12 | false |
Probably not a great idea to borrow money from such an obviously evil character: you excuse yourself, leaving the moneylender fuming. He mutters something under his breath while stroking his goatee as you walk out the door. Perhaps you will cross paths with him again.
Your heart is still set on riding in the joust, so you head back to old man Nathaniel David’s orchard and agree to his bargain. You spend the remainder of your free time preparing for the tournament. Jon coaches you as best he can, which is not very well since he has never jousted either, but you think you have the hang of it.
Bessy’s training has mixed results. She works hard and seems to appreciate the change of scenery. You figure being a plow horse is probably pretty dull. She has spirit, but the old girl does a lot more plodding than charging. At least, she does not shy away when the other horse speeds toward her.
The day of the tournament dawns cool and crisp. Sweaty with excitement, you try to relax in your pavilion before your first match. You have already made water five times this morning, and you think you have to go again. So many things ride on the outcome of today’s events, but you cannot think about that. The here and now is what is important. You watch squires scurry around the grounds, doing the bidding of Sir this or Sir that or some other random bastard. You fall into a daze and your thoughts wander.
Why don’t I have a squire? Crap, I think I need to piss again. Dear lord, please grant me the strength and will to win today. I don’t want to marry that troll Sally David. Have you seen her? Oh, is that who I think it is?
Sir Jamison Hill, The Iron Boar, approaches and shakes your hand: what an honor! Ser Jamison serves as the Baron’s champion and is renowned throughout the kingdom for his tourney skills.
“I heard about how you helped take care of those bandits and trolls on the Baron’s Road,” he says. “The kingdom needs more fine young men like you. I expect to see great things from you today and in the future.”
“Thank you, sir.”
You want to talk some more with him – he certainly has plenty he could teach you – but the herald calls you for your first bout. You wave farewell and enter the lists, wishing you had taken the time to make water one more time.
“Are you ready girl?” you ask as you mount Bessy. Bessy snorts in reply. “That’s the spirit.”
Your first match is against Lord Isaac Cleaver, The Cleaver. The man has a penchant for the flamboyant. The sun gleams off his silver gilded armor as he rides into position on his roan courser: his shield emblazoned with his house emblem, a silver cleaver beheading a golden goose.
Not a very creative nickname, you think. Perhaps not, but it is the badassery of a nickname that is too be feared, not the cleverness.
The herald blows his trumpet, and you urge your horses on. Bessy hobbles along as fast as she can, but she is completely outmatched in speed by the roan courser. Everything else disappears as you focus on Lord Cleaver. The distance closes. You raise your lance and prepare to strike.
> You pinpoint your aim
If you can hit Lord Cleaver’s shield just right, then you can knock him right off of his horse. You can do this. This is what you spent all those hours training for. You pinpoint your target and adjust your aim. The horses draw closer. You can see the roan courser’s breath. Here it comes!
Crack! Thud! Crack!
Weightless, you are falling. A flash of pain. Blackness.
I have good news, bad news and worse news, hero. Good news: you managed to hit your target. That first crack was both of your lances splintering. Bad news: the thud was you hitting the ground. Worse news: the second crack was your skull splitting in two when it bounced off a rock.
| 4 |
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| 6 | false |
That’s the spirit!
Emissaries arrive at the capital from the neighboring kingdom of Irelandshire pleading for assistance with a dragon problem. It seems the fiend has been soaring around the country, torching towns, devouring livestock, looting treasuries and snatching young ladies from their bedchambers. Naturally, you don your shining armor and volunteer to help rid them of the menace once and for all. Princess Anne kisses you goodbye as you ride off to hunt down the winged beast.
Finding the dragon’s lair – a cave high up a tall mountain with half the forest burnt to ashes – proves easier than you anticipated. No one ever said dragons were discreet. The march up the mountain presents more of a challenge. Far too steep for your steed, you hike up on foot. You soon learn hiking in full plate armor is not easy. Every step requires sheer willpower and brute strength. Sweat pores off you so fast you fear you are going to rust, so you strip down to your leathers and continue to the top light as feather, just like the old days when you first practiced with Jon in the yard.
“Well at least you aren’t a knight in shining armor,” says the dragon as you enter his cave. The behemoth is resting on a hoard of gold, jewels, swords, cups, and other valuable crap because of course he is.
“Pardon me?”
“Do you have any idea how annoying it is fighting knights in shining armor? I just fry them with a nice blast of fire. They’re too heavy and clunky to dodge. No challenge at all. You should see the nice collection of armor I have though. I could outfit an entire empire.”
“Actually, I stripped my armor coming up. I got sweaty.”
The dragon sighs. “Well you’re smarter than most at least.”
“Your days are done dragon!” You prepare to make a heroic speech, but cut it off. “Wait, where are the noble ladies?”
“Didn’t you see all the dung piles on the mountainside?”
“You ate them!?”
“What did you think I do with them? Keep them as company?”
“You bastard!”
You draw your sword. Fate has finally arrived. Are you up to the task?
> You attack his belly.
Everyone knows the underbelly of a dragon is vulnerable. If you get in close, your sword can rip through him like hot crocodile shears through flesh.
You charge the dragon with sword in hand. The dragon blasts fire. You have too much forward momentum; there is no way to dodge this one. The world slows to crawl and your entire life flashes before your eyes: all that time spent mucking shit and selling cabbages, long hours training in the yard with Jon, your sexless courting of Princess Anne. Wow, your life sucked.
Well, maybe you can take the dragon with you: go out a hero and all that.
You grit your teeth and shut your eyes as you barrel into the firestorm. The stink of charred flesh and burning hair cloak you. Your blood boils, lips sear off, eyes burst and brain tingles as it begins to melt inside your skull. Somehow, you are still conscious as you storm through and plunge your sword through the dragon’s soft underbelly bounce your sword off the dragon’s rigid scales. Turns out those underbelly scales are just as tough as the rest of them. Who knew?
The dragon chuckles as you collapse to the cave floor in a smoldering heap. “Foolish bravery, mortal, is foolishness all the same.” The dragon admires you a moment longer before he devours you as a midday snack.
If it serves as any consolation, your remains go on to fertilize several small trees… which promptly get burnt down.
| 4 |
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| 6 | false |
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 are Vegeta, prince of all saiyans!
No teaser here, but you wouldn't actually get to play as Vegeta, just an angsty prince with a dead father.
| 4 |
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| 1 | false |
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 is there any way you can be a girl?
Certainly, you can be a girl. However, I am afraid it only comes in one flavor: spunky!
Born to ho-hum parents in a ho-hum village in a ho-hum kingdom, life growing up bores the daylights out of you. You are faster and stronger than all the boys are, and sexier and wilder than all the girls, despite their best efforts. You thirst for adventure and always prance around with an almost – but not quite – slutty smile on your face.
One evening you find yourself down at the lake with your friends: Cherry, Melisa, Tommy, and Brad. Of course, you have more friends because you are just so damn spunky, but these are your best friends.
You notice Tommy staring at you for the sixth time today. “Is everything alright, Tommy?” you ask. “You seem to be off in the clouds.”
“Yeah, I’m ok. Can I tell you something?”
“You can tell me anything, Tommy.”
“No offense, but you have awesome breasts.”
You smack Tommy upside the head. “Tommy. Stop. Now. That is not cool. Just because I’m spunky does not mean you get to ogle my body. If that is all you can think about, stare at Melisa. She’s the whore of our group.”
Melisa nods. “Guilty as charged.”
You storm off with Brad and Cherry following at your heels like a pair of nipping puppies while Tommy and Melissa disappear into the bushes. After all, this is a tale of a heroine’s escapades, not her sexcapades.
“The nerve of that guy,” you say, shaking your head. “I am a prime virgin flower, and I will not be treated like some common whore. I think it’s time we went off on a grand adventure and left that jerk behind.”
Brad’s face glows with delight. “I second that!”
“What about Melissa?” asks Cherry.
“As long as there is a man around with a penis and a pulse, Melissa will be fine,” you say. “I say we go adventuring!”
So you decide to leave your quaint little life in village ho-hum for the experience of a lifetime. Any thoughts as to where you are adventuring?
| 4 |
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| 5 | false |
Thanks for playing. Enjoy the troll blood.
> You play as a Dwarf
Game of Thrones changed the world for dwarf kind forever. Are they a species or are they people? The species-ist in me is skeptical. Judgment shall be reserved.
| 2 |
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| 1 | false |
A week later, a regiment of soldiers for the Kingdom of Man arrive, led by a large man in plate armor with a red cloak with a golden dragon on it. He enters the Main Hall, bowing as he approaches your throne.
"Greetings, Chieftain Mazkil. I am Sir Ignate. I was chosen by our Royal King Alexander to thank you for your refusal to attack the Kingdom's towns, cities and men. I am happy to offer you a proposal, that if you give troops and support to the Kingdom's counter-attack to wipe out the aggressors. If you accept this proposal you shall be taken on as a vassal for the Kingdom and receive our full financial and military support to allow for your expansion into aggressor territory. Will you accept our proposal, Chieftain Mazkil?"
> You don't join the Kingdom of Mankind in repelling the Orcs
You decide against joining the Kingdom of Mankind. You don't wish to take up sides in this war. This proves to be one of your worse ideas, as both Orcs and Men have no issues raiding your village for supplies whenever they wish. Battles spill into your territory and any hunters or gatherers you send out are struck down by both sides. Your tribe begins to fall apart. Your men begin to flee, either signing up on either side of the war to take up arms against their enemies, becoming mercenaries or simply fleeing to escape the territory. This leads to the death of the Red Blades. You've failed as Chieftain.
| 3 |
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| 5 | false |
The next and final issue is the spread of a new religion. The worship of Ka, a monotheistic Creator God, has grown popular among young Orcs for reasons you're not sure. This is leading people away from the worship of the many Gods, especially Gorgok.
> You don't ban the religion of Ka
You decide against banning the religion of Ka. The religion spreads slightly throughout the village, but fails to gain a significant foot hole among the Red Blades.
| 3 |
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| 0 | false |
The next issue is the issue of excess warriors. The Red Blades are producing excess warriors, all young, bloodthirsty warriors who wish to fight. You can send them to fight with the Raiders, the Orcs who fight against the Kingdom of Man's expansion into Orc territory and their taking advantage of Orc Tribes and Villages. You could also send them to work as Mercenaries for the Kingdom of Man in the Man-Elf War.
> You send them to work as Mercenaries
You send your excess warriors to fight as Mercenaries, fighting against the Elvish Kingdom for the Kingdom of Man, sending their profits home to the Red Blades.
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
The Red Blades have survived another winter. Once again, Thraka Flameborn and Elder Dokt stand to give you an endless stream of tasks to sort out. The main three are the Farok Mines, the problem of excess warriors and the growing worship of Ka.
"Chieftain! We have unearthed a massive iron and coal mine down the mountain, the Farok Mines. It was used by men to supply the war machine, but was abandoned because it was left undefended and abandoned by man. Still, you have excess Orc Workers who could head down to the mines to work, with only a small amount of the profits taken being given to the Kingdom of Man in payment for using the mine. It would mean working for the Kingdom of Man, but could prove very profitable for the village." Thraka says.
"We still have mines up the mountain, Orc mines. We don't need to come crawling to the Kingdom of Man in order for a pittance of iron and coal. They'll be able to make more profit in the Orc Mines." Elder Dokt says.
> You don't send Workers to work in the Farok Mines
You decide to send your workers to the Orc Mines instead of the Farok Mines. They make more profit than they would've in the Farok Mines, strengthening and improving the village and Red Blades as a whole.
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
You walk up a mountain, trudging through the harsh snow. You're cold despite being wrapped in furs and leathers, and you really need to piss, but you know that if you tried, your dick would freeze off. You lost three farmers and a dozen goats to a Frost Troll wandering down from the mountain in the cold, icy winter that's just started. You're taking a five war parties of twenty warriors each to wipe out any trolls up in the mountains. You lead the main war party of the best warriors who wish to target the cave system most likely to hold sheltering trolls. Wind and snow begins to block your view. You know you need to find shelter soon.
> You begin the long trek back to the village
You turn around, and begin trekking back to the village. Within a half hour, the cold is so brutal that you lose all feeling. The snow's bad you have no idea where you're going. After two hours of walking, you feel a sudden sensation of warmth. You begin unstrapping your armor to cool down. You're hot and tired. A quick nap in the snow would be nice...
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
"Assemble the warriors." You say. "Get me a group of sixty warriors who are hungry for blood."
You have the group assembled, and quickly begin making your way up the mountain. About halfway up, you begin to regret it.
"It's cold, my feet hurt and I'm fucking tired." You grunt as you trudge up the mountain.
"Damn right, Mazkil." Urug Eaglebow says.
You look further up the mountain, and hear the howls and rasps of the dead as well as the roars and screeches of the dragon. There's few dragons up here, so you presume this Red Dragon fighting is Mont Pre'Igni Rubrum, a near unpronounceable name, or the Volcano of Gargarum. The Undead are no doubt deserters from the Necromancer's Army. You reach the top of mountain, at the edge of a crater. At the center, a large group of two dozen undead soldiers armed with spears and swords are attempting to kill the dragon. It seems the undead are very unmatched.
> You attack the Dragon
"I want the Dragon's head in Gorgok's treasure room!" You roar.
You charge forward, towards the dragon, ducking under a jet of flames. You stab forward, and with Gorgok's aim, your sword slides in between a missing scale and stabs the dragon through the side. You pull out your blade and slice, making a small cut in the leathery wing. You wing your blade, knocking into the neck of the Dragon. With the combined army of Orcs and Undead behind you begin to slay the dragon. It's fire incinerates three zombies, and several weapons begin thrusting at the dragon's softer belly and face, cutting gouges and wounds. The dragon only lasts a few minutes of fighting, only killing three Orcs before its killed instantly, killing the beast. It's head thumps against the cold stone floor.
"Ha! Have the dragon's skull taken and dragged down back to the village. I want it put above my throne."
You turn to talk to the undead, but they've already began trudging further up the mountain. You wonder why they're leaving, but decide not to bother them. The dead have enough issues to be bothered by the living.
| 2 |
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| 1 | false |
"Chieftain! Chieftain!"
"Yes?" You ask.
You're met with a young Orc, a cousin of yours, who reminds you of Gruzub. You feel a twang of guilt, before deciding that in honor of Gruzub, you're going to kill this Orc if he brings up something like the placement of the new well or whether to build the new stable of stone or wood.
"There's a disaster up at the Kes Nests."
"Disaster? That's a strong word."
"It's accurate. A group of Zombies have engaged a Red Dragon perched on the mountain."
"If Death and Destruction met on a Road." You quote, remembering one of the few books you read as a child.
"What?" The Orc grunts.
"The Poem, where the Grim Reaper meets the Mother of Dragons on a road. They debate their roles, with the Grim Reaper saying how his job is necessary ot prevent overpopulation, while the Mother of Dragons says that she prevents empires from wiping out all... What the fuck am I doing? I'm not explaining a children's poem to you."
"Sorry Chieftain. The Warriors are suggesting you lead a party up there."
"To do what?"
The Orc shrugs.
> You do nothing
"I'm not going to deal with that, Orc. I want you to go, and I genuinely mean this, fuck your mother and stop bothering me."
The young orc runs off. Perhaps you were too mean to him. He reminds you of Gruzub, who you loved to degrade, insult and bully. You miss him so much. You sigh. Time to find a drink. Then, many, many more drinks.
| 2 |
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| 4 | false |
You sit on the Throne, looking over hunting cycles. Gemin's Point is good hunting ground, but it could lead to fighting between the Dead Bone Tribe, who also uses the area. You could send hunters there, not send hunters there, or the third and by far the greatest option, fall on your own sword and end the painful trial worse than any other Orc has endured of doing crop rotations or hunting areas.
You hear yells outside, and the doors to the town hall is kicked open. A group of six Orcs appear, dragging a brutally beaten man with them.
"Chieftain! We have found a man in our territory, the goat fucker." One of the Orcs yells, tossing the man in front of you. "He's been hunting our deer and boar for weeks, it seems."
"Explain yourself, human, before I release my warriors to tear you apart."
"Sir, please." He says, begging. "I'm from the village of Eckleglade. It was destroyed by an Elvish Assault Party, and we were forced to flee. Many of us headed to the hills and mountains, to hide from Elvish attacks, and formed small camps up there. I was only trying to hunt to feed my family."
"Sir, orders?" One of the Orcs asks you. "Shall I take his head?"
> You have the Trespasser exiled
"Hmmm... Where are the camps, trespasser?"
"Sir, if I tell you..."
"Don't preside to know who I am or what I'll do, trespasser."
"They're at the Morinspeck Mines, sir."
"Good. Go back there, and tell them to leave. I'll send warriors up there in a week. Anyone left there will be wiped out to the last man."
"Yes, sir."
"Go. If you're found in my land again, I'll make you beg I had killed you here."
"Yes, sir." He nods, standing and quickly running out of the room."
You watch him as he runs off. Well, that takes care of that issue.
| 2 |
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| 5 | false |
You sit on the Throne, looking over hunting cycles. Gemin's Point is good hunting ground, but it could lead to fighting between the Dead Bone Tribe, who also uses the area. You could send hunters there, not send hunters there, or the third and by far the greatest option, fall on your own sword and end the painful trial worse than any other Orc has endured of doing crop rotations or hunting areas.
You hear yells outside, and the doors to the town hall is kicked open. A group of six Orcs appear, dragging a brutally beaten man with them.
"Chieftain! We have found a man in our territory, the goat fucker." One of the Orcs yells, tossing the man in front of you. "He's been hunting our deer and boar for weeks, it seems."
"Explain yourself, human, before I release my warriors to tear you apart."
"Sir, please." He says, begging. "I'm from the village of Eckleglade. It was destroyed by an Elvish Assault Party, and we were forced to flee. Many of us headed to the hills and mountains, to hide from Elvish attacks, and formed small camps up there. I was only trying to hunt to feed my family."
"Sir, orders?" One of the Orcs asks you. "Shall I take his head?"
> You welcome the Trespasser to join the village
"Hmmm... Where are the camps, trespasser?"
"Sir, if I tell you..."
"Don't preside to know who I am or what I'll do, trespasser."
"They're at the Morinspeck Mines, sir."
"Good. Well, I'll give you a choice, trespasser. You leave my lands with the threat of death if you return, or you join the Red Blade Tribe as a Free Worker with no blood or legal connections to the tribe."
"Sir?"
"We have hunting grounds and farmlands that go unused. If you wish to work, I'll give you the chance to do so."
"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"
Over the next few days, the refugees from Morinspeck Mine arrive, and are given jobs so they can get food, water and beds in the village.
> Two Weeks Later...
Due to your choice in accepting the refugees from Morinspeck Mine, there are more refugees arriving. Most are humans from destroyed or attacked villages looking for a safe place to work, though a few are Wood or Dark Elves who do not wish to partake in the war. They're all requesting to take up work as Hunters, Farmers or Craftsmen in your village.
> You allow them to join
You welcome these refugees into your village, both for ethical and economic reasons. This allows your village to expand as your population experiences a boom.
| 5 |
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| 5 | false |
Due to your choice in accepting the refugees from Morinspeck Mine, there are more refugees arriving. Most are humans from destroyed or attacked villages looking for a safe place to work, though a few are Wood or Dark Elves who do not wish to partake in the war. They're all requesting to take up work as Hunters, Farmers or Craftsmen in your village.
> You don't allow them to join
You decide enough is enough. You're not a safe haven for every coward and weakling who cowers from war.
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
You have to be kidding me. Don’t you know anything about the antics of cliché knightly heroes? The gallant knight always marries the blue eyed blonde haired princess and enjoys blissful princess bosom until the end of his days. And you want to throw all of that away for some lowly baron’s daughter or common wench? You disgust me.
Fighting for an unworthy cause, you race forward to meet Jon in good old-fashioned master-student combat. The clamor of steel on steel fills the field as you and Jon clash and slash. Sweat stings your eyes as Jon attacks with relentless vigor. You dodge, parry, and counterstrike as best you can, but you are fighting against the man who taught you everything you know. How can you possibly hope to win? You don’t even have the righteous thirst for princess bosom riling your untapped potential.
For gritty lowborn buxom wenches!
Well, I must admit they do have their own special brand of flavor. It just doesn’t have the same ring to it though.
Drunk on visions of buxom wenches you dodge blow after blow after blow. You resist the urge to strike and continue to dodge; your heart will tell you when it is time to attack.
“I taught you well,” Jon pants. “You’re dodging like a true champion.”
“I learned from the best.”
“Time for another lesson.” Jon backs off and takes a defensive position. “You can’t dodge if I don’t attack.”
“You son of a bitch.”
Jon smirks. “Trumped.”
A crazy idea crosses your mind. You don’t know if it’ll work – or if it even makes any sense – but it just might be stupid enough to work. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, you begin the attack. Just as expected Jon dodges. Then you dodge his dodge, catching Jon completely by surprise. Taking a page out of Samwellington’s incredibly short book of useful combat skills you follow up with a dodge ram attack, circling Jon and barreling him into the ground. The maneuver hurts like hell, but like a true hero you ignore the pain and leap to your feet.
You hold your blade over Jon’s throat. “Yield.”
Jon chuckles. “Nice moves. You win.”
You help Jon to his feet as the crowd erupts into a chorus of cheers and shouts.
“What skill! What daring! What a fight!” The king bids you and Jon both kneel and knights the pair of you right there in the field. “They’ll be talking about this tourney for ages. I don’t even know what that was you did there Sir, but it was fantastic.”
All that is left is for you to name the Lady Fair of the tournament. I still don’t approve of your anti princess antics, but you showed mettle in the melee and that is something to take pride in.
Two buxom wenches who have caught your eyes on since the tourney started: the ginger haired Baron’s daughter, Ginger, and a lowly servant woman, Abbey, with rather typical and mundane features. What the servant woman lacks in grandeur she makes up for with a charming smile and pleasant cuteness all her own. Of course, naming a servant woman Lady Fair could cause some very serious problems by offending the nobles.
Not that it is my place to intrude young knight, but Jon has been ogling the gingersnap all day. Take that as you will. The choice is yours after all; you earned it.
> You name Abbey Lady Fair
You already shunned cliché protocol by refusing to fight for princess bosom, so you may as well go full renegade and elect the servant woman Lady Fair. There is something bewitching about good old down to earth country cuteness. All of the beautiful noble Ladies can primp themselves up all they want, but they can never attain the country wild of a lowborn servant girl.
A wave of awe spreads through the crowd as you proclaim Abbey Lady Fair. Fights break out, which quickly turn into full-blown riots. You grab your new ladylove and disappear in the chaos while you still have a chance to escape.
“Not so fast,” snarl the high-pitched bitch voices of the weasel brothers. “You committed a great insult today. I think the king will be quite pleased when we bring him your heads.”
“I won the melee. By law and tradition the right to name Lady Fair is my choice and mine alone. Now get out of my way or else I’ll have to kick your ass all over again.”
“Can you fight the both of us and defend your whore at the same time?”
“He doesn’t have to.” The Rabid Fox draws his blade and springs to your side. It appears you have made a friend. “My good, Sir, my sword is yours.”
“Thanks, but why are you helping me? I broke the cliché.”
“I don’t know what that means, but you fought with honor. And that I can respect.”
The weasel brothers topple over unconscious. Jon and Ginger stand behind them each holding a big ass rock.
“My way saves time.” Jon discards his rock and beams. “Now let’s get out of here so I can get it up and get it on. Know what I mean?”
With that taken care of the six of you make your escape. (The Rabid Fox picked up a prostitute on the way out, that dog.) The kingdom devolves into a bloody civil war as a result of the tournament debacle. In the mayhem, the king got trampled to death and poor Princess Anne was brutally raped by no less than sixty-nine men. Princess Anne recovered from the savagery and personally hunted down every single one of the scum and forced them to castrate themselves and consume the mess. Future reference, don’t mess with her.
You, Jon, and the Rabid Fox carve out your own minor kingdoms and remain close friends to this day. You feel horrible about what happened to Princess Anne and offer her a place of honor in your court, but she politely declines, harboring no bad feelings against you. She elects to travel the world as an adventurer. Your life with the newly crowned Queen Abbey is blissful and filled with bosom and country cunt. You never get the ever sought after princess bosom, but queen bosom is a nice too.
I swear she called it that, not me!
| 3 |
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| 5 | false |
Wise decision: it is best to stick with your strong suits.
You excuse yourself and get up to leave. The moneylender, mutters something to himself while stroking his beard as you head toward the door. Something is really evil about this guy. You turn around and lop off his head before heading home. Yeah, that was probably a good idea.
The morning of the tournament dawns crisp and cool with a slight breeze, just enough to give the ladies’ skirts a nice billowing. You feel a familiar stirring in your loins, and it is driving you insane. As a fledgling hero, you have been saving yourself for your future princess bride, but dear God has it left you on edge, not that you have not had offers. Jon was right; your scar is a chick magnet. You practically have to beat them off.
A gaggle of girls giggle as you walk past them. Bitches.
Whoa, where did that come from? That is not very heroic. The proper term is ‘wenches.’ Remember that next time, fledgling hero.
With your minor slip into villainy over, you prepare for the melee and take your place in the fighting field. There appear to be fifty or so participants as you try to pick out some of the people the Baron told you about. You see Mad Moose McDoogle in his clumsy antlered helmet, Sir Richard Lionsmane with his shaggy locks, Sir Henry Williams a.k.a. The Rabid Fox, the Weasel brothers in their matching silver gilded armor, and Bucktooth Barry among others.
“Save your energy,” says Jon. “Let the others wear themselves down. They’ll make a mistake eventually. Then you can strike when they’re weak and out of position. And stay by me. We might both be able to get knighthoods out of this.”
“Don’t worry. I got your back Jon.”
A blast from the bugle signals the start of the melee. The clamor of blunted steel on blunted steel rings through the fairgrounds. You and Jon fight back-to-back, just as you did against those trolls several years ago. You two are not the only ones fighting on teams. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the Weasel brothers and Mad Moose McDoogle charge The Rabid Fox.
The Rabid Fox looses ground as the trio attempt to surround him. He isn’t dodging. He’s parrying. He’s done for. The Rabid Fox’s and one of the Weasel brother’s swords shatter on impact. Mad Moose McDoogle peels off the attack and rounds on the Weasel brothers, catching them unaware. He knocks them both down and out just before The Rabid Fox charges him in turn.
A sword slashes inches from your cheek, and you regain your focus. Dodge, slash, dodge, dodge, slash, dodge, trip, kick. Another one bites the dust.
The fighting continues until there is just you, Jon, The Rabid Fox, who has not only obtained a new sword but a horse as well, and Bucktooth Barry left.
Maybe you should turn on Jon now?
> You turn on Jon.
Fuck this shit. You’re in it to win it. You whirl around and knock Jon out cold. Poor bastard never saw it coming.
Bucktooth Barry gestures toward The Rabid Fox and the pair of you charge the mounted knight. You pull up at the last moment and watch The Rabid Fox clobber Bucktooth Barry aside the helmet. Seizing the opportunity, you bolt in, grab the reins and yank. The horse bucks, but The Rabid Fox manages to cling in the saddle.
With no other options, you hack at the horse’s legs. The beat cries out in pain as The Rabid Fox topples from the dying beast. You thrust your sword, sticking the point an inch from The Rabid Fox’s throat.
“Yield.”
The Rabid Fox coughs blood. “You have no honor. You’re no… hero.”
“Hero’s win. I won. Now yield.”
Blood gushes down your leg, and you scream in pain as you collapse to your knees. What happened? What the bloody fucking hell!? The dying horse lying beside you twists its neck, reaches up and bites you in the throat. Warm blood trickles down your body. You cannot breath.
You fall into a pool of blood.
The Rabid Fox staggers to his feet, shaking his head.
You hear Jon’s voice. “A heroic knight fights with honor at all times.” Those are the last words you hear as the world fades to black.
Well that was disappointing. Killed by a horse. Apparently, you were not the hero I thought you were. He must be somewhere else. Enjoy death.
| 2 |
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| 4 | false |
Without a moment’s hesitation, you turn and rush the bandits. You are the fledgling hero of this story after all, and the hero always wins. The bandits either agree or are too shocked by your blazen stupidity and gawk at you as you close the gap.
By the time one of them gathers his wits, three of them are dead at your feet. A bolt grazes your cheek as you cut the fourth man down. The fifth man, who fired the bolt, turns to flee back into the forest. He does not make it. Jon skewers him from behind.
“That’s going to be quite the scar,” says Jon. “It’s not so much a deforming scar as a handsome, charismatic scar. All great heroes get them. Chicks dig it.”
“I don’t have one,” whines Samwellington.
Jon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I wonder why.”
The three of you hobble back to the hamlet. You have one of the priests help draft a report of the incident and send a runner to deliver it to the baron. Some unimportant nobodies go clean up the mess while you kick back and relax. Not bad for a (k)night’s work.
“Good work today kid, but don’t get ahead of yourself kid,” says Jon. “You still have a long way to go to be a true knight. It takes hard work to bang a princess and ride off into the sunset. Oh, and remember.”
“Dodge,” you say in unison.
The baron is pleased with what he reads in the report. You become Bowie’s replacement in the hamlet guard and undertake some other minor missions with Jon and Samwellington. Soon you become a bit of a celebrity and inspiration, and your fame goes countywide. Priests take time out of their day to tutor you in your letters, and the baron invites you and Jon to take place in the next tournament he’s hosting. The king will even be there; it is supposed to be quite the shindig. Things are looking up. All you have to decide now is what event you are going to compete.
> You compete in the melee.
It is best to stick with your strong suits. You have combat training and can dodge with the best of them in the melee. From what you understand, dodging is frowned upon in jousting. Besides, you would have to borrow a horse from someone, and you do not have the money to ransom the horse if you lose. Debtors do not make good heroes.
Jon decides to enter the melee as well.
The morning of the tournament dawns crisp and cool with a slight breeze, just enough to give the ladies’ skirts a nice billowing. You feel a familiar stirring in your loins, and it is driving you insane. As a fledgling hero, you have been saving yourself for your future princess bride, but dear God has it left you on edge, not that you have not had offers. Jon was right; your scar is a chick magnet. You practically have to beat them off.
A gaggle of girls giggle as you walk past them. Bitches.
Whoa, where did that come from? That is not very heroic. The proper term is ‘wenches.’ Remember that next time, fledgling hero.
With your minor slip into villainy over, you prepare for the melee and take your place in the fighting field. There appear to be fifty or so participants as you try to pick out some of the people the Baron told you about. You see Mad Moose McDoogle in his clumsy antlered helmet, Sir Richard Lionsmane with his shaggy locks, Sir Henry Williams a.k.a. The Rabid Fox, the Weasel brothers in their matching silver gilded armor, and Bucktooth Barry among others.
“Save your energy,” says Jon. “Let the others wear themselves down. They’ll make a mistake eventually. Then you can strike when they’re weak and out of position. And stay by me. We might both be able to get knighthoods out of this.”
“Don’t worry. I got your back Jon.”
A blast from the bugle signals the start of the melee. The clamor of blunted steel on blunted steel rings through the fairgrounds. You and Jon fight back-to-back, just as you did against those trolls several years ago. You two are not the only ones fighting on teams. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the Weasel brothers and Mad Moose McDoogle charge The Rabid Fox.
The Rabid Fox looses ground as the trio attempt to surround him. He isn’t dodging. He’s parrying. He’s done for. The Rabid Fox’s and one of the Weasel brother’s swords shatter on impact. Mad Moose McDoogle peels off the attack and rounds on the Weasel brothers, catching them unaware. He knocks them both down and out just before The Rabid Fox charges him in turn.
A sword slashes inches from your cheek, and you regain your focus. Dodge, slash, dodge, dodge, slash, dodge, trip, kick. Another one bites the dust.
The fighting continues until there is just you, Jon, The Rabid Fox, who has not only obtained a new sword but a horse as well, and Bucktooth Barry left.
Maybe you should turn on Jon now?
| 5 |
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| 9 | false |
Sometimes the odds are just stacked too highly against you. It is not that you are a coward or anything. It is just that you know a lost cause when you see one. If the situation had been different… Oh well, what is the worst that can happen? They will probably just steal your valuables and leave you on your merry way. Thankfully, none of you are women.
“I yield,” you say, unbuckling your sword belt.
“Some knight you are,” Jon scoffs as he rushes the bandits. Five bolts tear into his body, ripping his flesh to ribbons like a ragdoll.
Samwellington squeals incomprehensible gibberish.
“He never even had a chance to dodge.” A lone tear trickles down your cheek. “Poor bastard.”
Jon’s eyes snap open. He glares at you as he struggles to his feet, using his sword as a crutch. “Cunt.” He takes a step toward you. Five more bolts drive into him, and he collapses in a heap.
Samwellington squeals more incomprehensible gibberish.
“What the-?”
…
Your head is throbbing and you taste dirt and blood. Bindings dig into your wrists and ankles. The bandits are dragging you through the undergrowth: rather unkindly as your head bangs into root and trunk alike.
Oh dear God, I hope I don’t have a concussion. Mom always told me to wear a helmet.
How long had you been unconscious? Surely, it could not have been more than a minute or two. The road should still be close. If you could only somehow manage to escape, you could gather reinforcements.
You thrash in an attempt to break free, but your efforts are rewarded with nothing but a series of swift kicks to the ribs. You slip into your happy place for the remainder of the journey, day dreaming of sweet, succulent, juicy bacon and princess bosom.
…
A fist drills into your gut, wrenching you out of your blissful imagination. The bandit leader towers over you, looking buff and pissed. You know he is the leader because he is wearing a cape and is the only black dude in this story.
“Alright, punk, you’ve got two choices.”
“Naturally.”
“I’m always looking for good men to join my crew, and since you surrendered like a good little bitch, you get the first crack at signing up. All you have to do is kill your friends to prove your loyalty.”
“Did you have to hit me?”
“Yes, it illustrates my tough guy, no bullshit attitude.”
“Oh, I see. Kind of like how Dark Lords sacrifice random minions to show how evil they are.”
“Exactly. You get the picture. I knew I liked you. Now go kill your friends and maybe one day you can earn the right to wed my ebony bandit princess daughter.”
“Is she tight and curvy?”
“What part of bandit princess don’t you get?”
“Sweet.”
> You refuse the offer
There is no way you can betray your friends like that, even if it means certain death. They would never betray you. That manner of treachery is the stuff villains are made of, and that is a long dark road you want no part of. Villains never get princess bosom! You’re also not too sure about their bacon situation.
“I’ll never join you!”
“Really? What a pity. I suppose I’ll have to waste you now.” The bandit leader draws his scimitar. “Ebony, get in here!”
A slick dark chocolate goddess enters the tent: scantily clad in bosom emphasizing furs. “Yes, father?”
“I wanted this chump to see what he was missing out on. Flash him a little more skin… no not that much! Put your top back on!”
“Wait a second,” you say. “You named your daughter Ebony? Isn’t that crass?”
“I’m not very creative, alright. I don’t even have a fucking name of my own.”
“I’m just going to call you Sinbad. Because you sin and you’re bad. Get it?”
“Oh mother-fucking merciful God!”
The bandit leader, now known as Sinbad hacks your body to bloody bits with his scimitar while Ebony rubs her nipples in the background. Something tells me she has daddy issues. Anyway, you’re dead, so you won’t get to explore them.
| 2 |
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| 5 | false |
You resent that the rest of the village is so quick to agree to such an idea without bothering to consult you first, but these creatures carried off your sister and they are going to have to pay for that. Besides, this shit has to stop. You inform Brandolf that you agree and he smiles warmly.
"Thank you young one, you are certainly bold to undertake such a suicidal mission."
"Well, what choice do I have right?"
He hands you the vial of poison, a short sword, a longbow, and a quiver of basic iron arrows. For once, some of the people of the village actually look at you with respect but then you realize that they are commenting on how stupid you must be under their breath. The ingrates! Still, you need to focus on the task at hand. Brandolf reminds you that the Craxil will be larger that the other creatures and that you should seek to evade rather than engage its underlings. At this point, you realize you have a problem...
You stink! The stench of swine manure spreads forth like body odor of a sweaty fat girl and you realize you are going to have to do something about this if you expect to succeed in your quest. The council members may be used to it as this is a farming community, but the creatures almost certainly will not be. You are going to have to consider how you are going to go about dealing with this issue.
> You roll Around In Mud And Grass So You Smell More "Earthy"... Like The Monsters Do
You reason that many of the monsters that come down from the mountainside smell a bit "earthy" so you try rolling around in the mud and grass to try and acheive that same smell for yourself. Unfortunately, it doesn't mask the stench of the hog manure that still stains your pants and boots. It isn't long before the humunculi are aware of your presence. The villagers got to see their hero pounced on and torn apart before he even got out of sight range. Too bad.
THE END
| 3 |
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| 12 | false |
Humanity may not be perfect, but it certainly doesn't deserve the kind of death and destruction the Craxil has in mind. You announce to her that you would rather die than support her in this plan. You were terrified that this being might become infuriated and attack, but instead she calmly and slowly backs away... then looks to your sister. Your sister looks back at the Craxil and you realize the Craxil has just given her a nonverbal order. By now your sister's blade is unsheathed and she is coming at you.
She fights with a furocity and intent that is completely out of character for your shy and reserved little sister, but her physical strength is the same. There is nothing special about her swordplay technique either and you are pleased to see that you can block and parry her attacks. Still, this is your sister, and you don't want to kill her if you don't have to. The Craxil is obviously enjoying this and you can't help but think that if you could just find some way of killing her then perhaps your sister can be saved.
The Craxil is currently in her noncorporeal true form, but she has taken corporeal forms before when she was watching you. You wonder if striking her while she's in one of these corporeal forms might actually damage her. Alternatively, you wonder why a shapeshifting being with noncorporeal capability would even need others to spread the plague in the first place. Perhaps she isn't immune like you once thought or perhaps she felt secure from it in her noncorporeal form. Would you still need to get her into corporeal form for that first or could you try and give it to her while she's in her noncorporeal state. Or perhaps there is some other way of getting your sister back to normal. Unlike you, she knows some very basic magic. Perhaps she will have something that will damage the Craxil in its noncorporeal state.
While your mind wonders to ponder these things, your sister manages to get a shallow cut across your right shoulder and you respond by kicking her onto the ground and stopping down on her sword hand. You remove your sister's weapon and the Craxil moves in as if to protect its vassal. You quickly begin to go over your previous ideas in your head knowing you will need to try something and soon lest the Craxil decides to attack first.
> You fire A Poison Coated Arrow Into the Noncorporeal Form Of The Craxil
You draw a poison coated arrow from your pack and immediately notch it into your bow. You realize you don't have a lot of time so you draw it back, aim, and fire immediately. The Craxil does not move. Instead, she allows the arrow to pass directly through her noncorporeal state and land somewhere in the dark distance. You realize she only felt secure enough to give you the poison in the first place because she existed in this noncorporeal form whenever she wasn't spying. You attempt to quickly consider your other options but it seems she doesn't much care for you any longer. She stretches forth her hand and it feels as though you are being lifted into the air by your own skeleton. You scream as you feel what feels like a brain aneurysm. You continue to suffer the pain until it kills you.
THE END
| 3 |
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The bad feeling in the pit of your stomach returns and you realize that eating all those pork rines and only pork rines for several days until seeing the old man did not do your digestive system any good. You spring into action, find a secluded corner, and relieve the mess that was building up inside you. Unfortunately, it is not until after this messy endeaver that you remember you neglected to pack bottom tissue when you left on this quest. You've braved many dangers and survived several impossible situations but now you are going to have to make a decision. A decision that is more frightening than any you have made before.
To your left are large, round, orange leaves. They aren't brittle and look as though they might work. To your right are a bunch of ferns sporting three fingered leaves. These are green with red spots. It's time to make an all important decision.
> You wipe With The Three Fingered Green Leaves With Red Spots
You choose the three fingered green leaves with red spots and it is not long after your sanitation ritual that you realize what a mistake that was. Whatever manner of herbs those were you have a burning rash all along and in your backside. Between that and the turtle bite, you are finding it difficult to walk without pain. You really hope this journey ends soon, you really do.
The next three days of travel down the Redridge Pass are surprisingly uneventful. You sneak past the occasional orc patrol and wild animal but nothing particularly difficult. You half expect something to come jumping out at you from the darkness or to find some large camp around the corner but to your plesant surprise the way seems more or less clear. Part of you wonders if it is a trap given the Craxil knows you are coming but then ... what choice do you have?
As you come up a steep incline you look down and with great satisfaction you find what you've been searching for all this time. A colossal chasm, the canyon you've been searching for! The old man said you would know it when you see it and damn if he wasn't right about that! Still, this canyon is freaking huge. It will take probably half a day just to get down to the bottom safely and once down there, there is a LOT to explore. You know the underground cavern that houses the Craxil is accessed somewhere down there, so I guess you don't have much choice than to go down there and investigate huh?
You are about to cautiously decend when you hear the sound of hoofprints behind you...
| 2 |
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You climb the peak and though it takes a considerable amount of time to get to the top, it isn't nearly as tiring as you expected it would be. You are now standing on an even higher plateau on the mountainside and the Redridge Pass is precisely where you expected it to be. You are thrilled to have finally found the pass, which is really more of a trail than a pass, but you still have a lot further to go. As you move forward you suddenly get wind of a foul stench and hear a lot of loud, obnoxious grunting noises up ahead.
You immediately get off the beaten path and find a good hiding spot. It is midday now so there isn't a lot of darkness to aid you. Still, you manage to crawl forward unseen until you see a small group of orcs. This is VERY not good you think you yourself. Orcs are exceptionally strong. Even one on one you stand no real chance of defeating one. There are about five blocking the path forward so you are going to simply have to sneak around them and continue on your journey. You've interrogated lesser creatures, but if the Craxil is commanding these creatures then just how strong is the thing? No, don't dwell on such thoughts. You need to focus. You've come this far and you're sure as hell not gonna let yourself be intimidated now.
Returning to the task at hand you see a couple of different options. There is a river that runs down the middle of the orc group's position and some hollow reeds close to you. You remember one time during capture the flag where you moved through the river underwater and breathed through reeds very similar to these. That was an epic maneuver worth remembering, perhaps it will serve you again here? The orc camp and you are at the same elevation; but there is a ditch that runs from your current position, along the side of the camp, and out the other side. Presumably, if you hug the side of the ditch closest to the orcs and move along quietly they shouldn't be able to see you. Alternatively, you still have plenty of poison. Even if you applied it to all your remaining arrows, you wouldn't even have used half the bottle. Orcs are large and there are only five of them...
Time for a decision. What's your plan of action?
> You move Through The Ditch To The Other Side
The orcs might notice a moving reed and get suspicious and attacking a superior number of superior enemies is just inviting death. You decide the best bet is to move through the ditch and move through while tightly hugging the wall closest to them, thus minimizing your chances of being seen. You hop in and start moving. A tiny little stream trickles through and much of the ground here is mud. The stench of orc shit is strong in here and you begin to realize this is where they've been dumping it (no pun intended). Still, you brave on knowing this is a life or death situation and no time to be getting squeamish.
You are now so very close to the orcs but they haven't yet seen you. You move even slower than before but you are confident you will make it. That is, until one of them lifts his nose and sniffs the air. It seems you forgot to take into account the fact that orcs have an exceptionally keen sense of smell. Despite the fact that you are clean, and the fact that the orc manure should be overpowering their senses right now, it seems they've identified your scent. They move over and it isn't long before you are seen. You try to run, but you stumble in the mud that has taken your shoe. You try to run without it but you don't get very far. The orcs were put there on the path to stop you from reaching the Craxil and they've succeeded.
THE END
| 3 |
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| 9 | false |
You climb the peak and though it takes a considerable amount of time to get to the top, it isn't nearly as tiring as you expected it would be. You are now standing on an even higher plateau on the mountainside and the Redridge Pass is precisely where you expected it to be. You are thrilled to have finally found the pass, which is really more of a trail than a pass, but you still have a lot further to go. As you move forward you suddenly get wind of a foul stench and hear a lot of loud, obnoxious grunting noises up ahead.
You immediately get off the beaten path and find a good hiding spot. It is midday now so there isn't a lot of darkness to aid you. Still, you manage to crawl forward unseen until you see a small group of orcs. This is VERY not good you think you yourself. Orcs are exceptionally strong. Even one on one you stand no real chance of defeating one. There are about five blocking the path forward so you are going to simply have to sneak around them and continue on your journey. You've interrogated lesser creatures, but if the Craxil is commanding these creatures then just how strong is the thing? No, don't dwell on such thoughts. You need to focus. You've come this far and you're sure as hell not gonna let yourself be intimidated now.
Returning to the task at hand you see a couple of different options. There is a river that runs down the middle of the orc group's position and some hollow reeds close to you. You remember one time during capture the flag where you moved through the river underwater and breathed through reeds very similar to these. That was an epic maneuver worth remembering, perhaps it will serve you again here? The orc camp and you are at the same elevation; but there is a ditch that runs from your current position, along the side of the camp, and out the other side. Presumably, if you hug the side of the ditch closest to the orcs and move along quietly they shouldn't be able to see you. Alternatively, you still have plenty of poison. Even if you applied it to all your remaining arrows, you wouldn't even have used half the bottle. Orcs are large and there are only five of them...
Time for a decision. What's your plan of action?
> You attack With Poison Tipped Arrows
You have way more poison than you need to kill the Craxil so why not use it to help you get there as well? If Brandolf was right about this stuff, it should kill anything that ingests it or is stabbed by it. The orcs are very large creatures too, so you hope you will be able to hit them. You apply the poison to about a dozen of your arrows and take your stance. You pull out the first poison arrow, notch it in your bow, pull back the drawstring as far as you possibly can, and release.
The first shot is a success. One of the closest orcs takes it in the shoulder and it isn't long before the poison takes effect. He is laying on the ground vomiting and though he isn't dead yet, you know it won't be much longer for he has the look of death upon him. The other four are now charging at you. The two in front have their shields out, as if to block any subsequent shots. You quickly let fly another arrow. It goes precisely where you aimed but one of the front orcs anticipated it and blocked it with his shield. You manage to get one of the ones in back in the leg with your next shot, bringing your enemy's total to three but they are nearly upon you now. You only have enough time for another two shots and the forward orcs manage to block them with their shields. They've certainly developed a clever counterstrategy to your strategy haven't they?
Now they are upon you, hacking you to pieces and bellowing insults like "stupid morra". You don't live long enough to hear him finish his next line.
THE END
| 3 |
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| 10 | false |
There is no point in hiding in the storage room as they may very well send more kobolds in to retrieve the tinder. Instead, you are going to set it all ablaze. Even if the distraction doesn't work well enough for you, it will only be a matter of time before the quell the fire and run out of tinder for their torch basins. You sneak in start a fire using their own flint and tinder. Soon this fire spreads to the rest of the tinder in the room (with your help of course) and you quickly find your way out of there and out of sight before the kobolds are aware of what has transpired.
It isn't long before they take notice and flock over to their storage room. The taskmaster kobold keeps jumping around shouting "yip yip" or whatever the hell these things say and the other kobolds are struggling to stop the fire. You manage to slip around the corner and evade the bulk of them and you think you've found the passageway leading up towards the taskmaster kobold. In fact, you have. There's just one small problem. There are two kobolds guarding the taskmaster and you would be foolish to assume the taskmaster is unarmed so that makes three. At present, the taskmaster is clearly focused on the fire, to the point of ignoring all else, but the two guardian kobolds are still vigilant. You're going to need another plan.
You consider using your bow again. You are actually pretty close to the bodyguard kobolds yet still veiled in darkness so you would not likely miss from this range. Of course, with one dead you would have to immediately focus on the other and subdue the taskmaster all in quick succession lest the entire colony become aware of your attack. Another, possibly crazier idea is to just run past the guards before they mentally register your presence, grab the taskmaster, jump from the ledge, and just run. The fall may be considerable for a kobold, but you are sure that as a human you can handle it.
> You run Past The Guardians, Grab The Taskmaster, Jump From The Ledge, And Run
You may be in close range, but you doubt if your skills with a bow would enable you to kill in quick succession like that. Instead, you choose the more daring approach. After all, the crazier the plan the less likely they are to see it coming. You gather your nerve, fixate upon your target, and bolt. The kobold guards jump back like they've just seen a screamer or something and you sail past them and onto the ledge. The taskmaster, still focused on the fire, is completely surprised when you grab him and jump off the ledge. By now, every kobold in the colony is aware of what you've done so you just blindly run down the back passage and deeper into the mines.
You haven't any idea where you are going and there are numerous kobolds chasing you from behind. Thankfully, their legs just aren't long enough to keep pace with you, though they certainly push themselves trying. You focus all your attention on trying to avoid the kobolds that are deeper in these mines while simultaneously trying to find a secluded place to stop and interrogate your new prisoner. Unfortunately, you're so focused on this task that you don't see the dagger your kobold prisoner pulls out of his sleeve and plunges into your chest. Seems the flaw with your plan was that you didn't have any time to properly restrain your prisoner and now you are dead.
THE END
| 3 |
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You move your hands forward and find something to drag yourself another few inches forward. Thankfully, the leaves grant you some shade from the hot sun, but the pain's beginning to become unbearable. Then, as if the Gods have all agreed to fuck up your life, you hear wolves.
"Fuck you!" You scream, as three wolves begin prowling towards you.
> You try defend yourself with your blade
You swing your blade, slashing open one of their eyes. You stab again, killing the wolf, but get your knife lodged in it's head. Another one leaps forward, and bites your arm.
| 3 |
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| 0 | false |
You decide not to drink it. You know that you need to get moving soon, to escape before nightfall, but hold on to the fact their still might be something useful nearby.
> You continue searching
After another few minutes of searching, you find a small silver flask with a red cross on the front strapped to a medic's belt, which you recognize as a healing potion, and eagerly drink down. As you feel the warm liquid go down your throat, it warms your soul and ends, or at least lessens your pain. Your energy renewed and strength revitalized, you begin dragging yourself yourself out of the building and off in search of help.
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
You scream as you awaken and are hit with a fresh wave of pain. You look around. You're surrounded by slaughtered Orcs and Men, many killed in their sleep, but it's clear some awoke in time to resist. You attempt to stand, before collapsing on the floor. The pain is all-consuming, and you consider allowing death to overtake you and end your struggle to survive.
> You embrace the sweet release of death
You stop fighting, and allow the sweet painlessness of death to release you from the constant pain.
| 5 |
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| 3 | false |
You awaken a few hours later, lying on a bed. You're heavily bandaged, lying next to several dozen sleeping Orcs and Men. Captain Darruk had the Medic take care of you, it seems, and you've been dumped to heal next to the sleeping soldiers. You assume you'll be taken back to the nearest fort to be taken care of until you've healed up enough to head out to war again.
You lie in the silence, trying to fall back to sleep. Then, you hear a window shatter. You look around, and struggle to get up. Thankfully, the Medic's left your knife on you. You look around, before a fist smashes into the side of your head, knocking you backwards. You try to scream, before you feel the cold steel of a blade on your throat. You look up, to see a short Elven sword being held by a tall elf.
"Say your prayers, Orc." He says.
You grab at his throat, but he quickly deflects your hand. As he goes to slice open your throat, you see a hand stop him. You notice another Elf stop him.
"Wait. Don't."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"He helped us earlier. He saved Gwendilyn's child."
The Elf with the sword shrugs.
"Fine."
You look around. The room's filled with a group of Elves, all armed for war. It appears you're the first to awaken. With the serious burns covering your body, you'd struggle to do anything physical. You could still warn your team-mates, though.
> You stay silent
You stay silent, and the Elves quickly make their way through the room, slaughtering all those across the room, slicing open their throats and stabbing them through the hearts. Eventually, everyone in the room lies dead across the floor. The Elf who had held his blade to your throat takes a final look at you, before leaving you alone in an empty room. After a few minutes, pain begins to sear from your burns as your medicine wears off, and you lie their, struggling to stay conscious through the pain, which you eventually fail at doing.
| 3 |
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| 10 | false |
You walk outside, and as you go to the next house, you hear a scream.
You turn to see a large house has erupted into flames that are quickly growing. Captain Darruk sprints over, followed by you.
"What's going on?" Captain Darruk asks.
"We were putting the civilians in this house when they resisted, so we torched the place." One of the Orcs explains.
You see civilians; men, women and children rushing out of the building as it rapidly erupts into flames. You hear crying coming from the top floor, a high pitched noise that could only come from an infant.
"Captain! There's a baby in there!"
"There's nothing we could do. The flames would kill anyone who tries to enter."
You watch the building, flames licking the sky. You see a small gap in the flames that someone could easily use to get inside.
> You do nothing
You stand, watching the building burn with a few uneasy soldiers and sobbing civilians being kept from entering the building for fear of their brutal death.`Thankfully, the baby's cries only last another few minutes as smoke spreads throughout the house. Once it ceases, Captain Darruk nods.
"Alright, everyone. Back to work. Continue searching."
You search the next few houses, but the populace is either dead or cowering, allowing for you to find a few small weapons stockpiles. Eventually, you finish up and find an empty house to sleep in. Captain Darruk assigns a few Orcs on guard, but thankfully you're not one of them.
> You rest
You awaken a few hours later, lying in a bed. You've woken up again.
You lie in the silence, trying to fall back to sleep. Then, you hear a window shatter. You look around, and struggle to get up. You draw your knife slowly. You look around, before a fist smashes into the side of your head, knocking you backwards. You try to scream, before you feel the cold steel of a blade on your throat. You look up, to see a short Elven sword being held by a tall elf.
"Say your prayers, Orc." He says.
> You lunge at him
You lunge forward, grabbing his wrist and flinging the sword away. You grab his head and bring your knife up, repeatedly stabbing him through the eye. Another Elf runs forward and slashes your chest open, and you smash his head across the room, and fling him repeatedly against a wall unless his body's shattered. You slash another Elf's throat open, before the Elves surround you. You roar as every single Elf begins slashing at you. Blood begins down to streak down your chest as thousands of cuts and slashes open all over your body. You only last a few seconds of brutal pain before you collapse on the floor.
| 2 |
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| 5 | false |
You awaken a few hours later, lying in a bed. You've woken up again.
You lie in the silence, trying to fall back to sleep. Then, you hear a window shatter. You look around, and struggle to get up. You draw your knife slowly. You look around, before a fist smashes into the side of your head, knocking you backwards. You try to scream, before you feel the cold steel of a blade on your throat. You look up, to see a short Elven sword being held by a tall elf.
"Say your prayers, Orc." He says.
> You beg for mercy
"Please. I won't say a word, just..." You begin.
The Elf sneers in disgust, and swings his blade. He slashes a deep wound in your stomach, and you scream. The Elf slashes at you repeatedly, opening endless red lines of blood and pain across your chest. After over a dozen cuts, you collapse into unconsciousness.
| 2 |
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| 1 | false |
"Kannish! Release her!"
Kannish stops smiling, and snarls.
"What, have you fallen in love, Mazkil? Fuck off, or this shit gets bloody."
> You continue trying to stop Kannish
"I'll tear off your head and give it to the crows, Kannish! Let her go!"
Kannish lets go of the girl, who quickly turns and scurries off. Kannish draws his blade.
"Are you willing to die for that bitch? Die just so she can spread her legs to some Elven cunt who killed our friends?"
"Drop the weapon, Kannish!"
Kannish clumsily lunges at you, rage in his eyes.
> You behead him
You swing your blade, killing Kannish. You drag his head outside to Captain Darruk, who growls at the sight.
"Who did this? Elves?"
"I did. Sir." You add.
Captain Darruk's eyes narrow.
"Why?"
"He refused to follow orders. I found him trying to have his way with one of the elves."
Captain Darruk's eyes widen in surprise.
"Mazkill, I don't have time to deal with this. Karn and I are returning to the Fort. We need to be gone by nightfall. We don't have time to deal with you killing our men."
"He was doing shitty things, sir."
"This is war, shitty things happen."
"Our jobs are to minimize the amount of shitty things happening."
Darruk opens his mouth to say something, before you hear a scream. You turn to see a large house has erupted into flames that are quickly growing. Captain Darruk sprints over, followed by you.
"What's going on?" Captain Darruk asks.
"We were putting the civilians in this house when they resisted, so we torched the place." One of the Orcs explains.
You see civilians; men, women and children rushing out of the building as it rapidly erupts into flames. You hear crying coming from the top floor, a high pitched noise that could only come from an infant.
"Captain! There's a baby in there!"
"There's nothing we could do. The flames would kill anyone who tries to enter."
You watch the building, flames licking the sky. You see a small gap in the flames that someone could easily use to get inside.
| 3 |
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| 6 | false |
"I'll tear off your head and give it to the crows, Kannish! Let her go!"
Kannish lets go of the girl, who quickly turns and scurries off. Kannish draws his blade.
"Are you willing to die for that bitch? Die just so she can spread her legs to some Elven cunt who killed our friends?"
"Drop the weapon, Kannish!"
Kannish clumsily lunges at you, rage in his eyes.
> You dodge him
You dodge him, and he smashes past, managing to slash your arm open. He rises up again, ready to strike.
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
You walk into the next house. A young Elf, as young as you, stands behind the door holding it closed. You smash the door open and he rolls to his knee, his bow readied with an arrow notch.
"Drop the bow." You say, raising your shield.
He fires, and you easily knock the arrow aside. One quick swipe, and his head is lying on the floor. You search the bottom floors, finding nothing, but upstairs you find another barricaded room. Using your impressive strength, you smash open the door with brute force. Four Elf Warriors are in the room, covered in bandages and with visible wounds. You quickly slash your sword killing one, kicking another in the head and stomping on his throat repeatedly, crushing it. You stab another one through the chest to kill him, and stab the final one through the eye. As his body hits the ground, you notice a backroom. You open it, to find a small stack of Elvish Jewelry. Golden bracelets studded with golden gems, eloquently designed necklaces and a golden ring with a large ruby. Your orders are to leave all valuable items to be taken at a later time by Captain Darruk to be used to buy supplies and food, but... shiny.
> You leave the valuables
You leave the valuables. You're a soldier with a mission, not a thief.
| 5 |
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| 2 | false |
You walk along the woods with a small group. Twenty Orcs, thirty Men and a dozen War Hounds. You're led by Captain Darruk, who stands proudly at the lead.
"Recent Elves have attacked our forces, and taken heavy losses. We believe they've retreated to the village of Abhaile to resupply and have their wounded taken care of. I want this threat dealt with."
You gently pat one of the war-hounds on the head, amused by the cheerful dog. Suddenly, the war-hounds burst forward, barking.
"Here we are. Orcs! No looting, killing or anything of the sort! Once the village's secure, we stay here for the night."
"Yes, sir." You all respond.
You march forward past the trees, and see the village. It's a large village, with many homes, all wooden and natural looking, reminding you of several rich men's summer homes you passed on the march to Elf Territory. Many of the civilians notice, and begin to yell and hurry inside.
"HOLD IT! This village is under control of King Alexander and the Royal Army!" Captain Darruk barks. "Search house to house! Confiscate any weapons. Kill any soldiers or those trying to resist."
You nod, and quickly hurry towards the houses. Inside the first you enter is a small girl holding desperately to a stuffed toy, with her mother standing defensively in front of her, a dagger clutched in her hands.
"Stay out!" She cries.
You look at her briefly, before ignoring her. You quickly search the upper floor and confiscate a bow, some arrows and three hunting knives, before returning downstairs. The house is empty except for the mother and daughter.
"Give me the blade." You ask.
"Get out of my house!" She shrieks, and you wince.
> You force her to give you the knife
You move forward, knocking her back with a punch. She cries out and you grab her wrist, twisting it. She drops the knife, which you catch.
"Here's some advice. Don't fuck with an Orc. You're lucky you're not dead." You growl.
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
You stick with the group, deflecting spears off your shield. You move forward, stabbing your blade forward as your shield stays raised to deflect any blows. You stab a Elf Rider through the thigh and he screams, falling off the horse, where you stomp repeatedly on his face. You swing your blade again, slashing a horse's chest and causing it to rear up in terror. The Elf falls off and hits the ground, allowing for an Orc to stand over it and stab it through the chest. The melee only lasts a few seconds, as the Calvary Units are desperately massacred as they're clearly surprised and unprepared for fighting, struggling to find their weapons and prepare to fight. Several Orcs armed with crossbows contribute to the massacre.
"Alright. Losses?" Captain Durrak asks, as you survery the battlefield.
"Twelve Orcs fallen. Three wounded."
"Two. I can still fight." One of the Orcs grunts, pulling a spear from her side.
"Alright, begin stacking the horse carcasses into a barricade."
You grab one of the dead horses, and begins dragging it into place, placing it on top of another dead horse. After a few minutes, you take position on the bridge. You hear screams from the main battle, as you watch the calvary battle take place in the form of jousts and sword-fights from horseback. You grab a spear from one of the dead Calvary Units, smiling.
"This could be useful. Sir, if we use the Elvish Spears, we could assist in the battle." You point out to Captain Durrak.
"This would be risky. We need to stay here to defend the bridge." Captain Durrak says.
> You defend the Bridge
You stay behind, waiting patiently at the bridge. Eventually, a large group of Elves on horseback begin riding towards the bridge.
"Alright, boys, hold the bridge."
The horses approach, and you aim your spear. You aim carefully, and as soon as the calvary units arrive you attack. You stand on top of a horse, jabbing with a spear, aiming at the riders. You stab them with your spear, hitting hearts, faces and throats to take them down. Many of the riders manage to leap over the barricade and escape to freedom, though the majority of them easily taken down.
"Good. Now, we have work to be done. With the advance of our calvary, we can finally begin to invade and launch attacks on the Elvish Villages." Captain Darruk says. "The Elvish empire is crumblings, boys. Take what you want off the dead, kill the wounded, and we'll head back to the Fort and find something to drink."
| 4 |
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| 6 | false |
You sit at the camp, at the edge with a campfire, a pig roasting on a spit. You wait eagerly for your meal, before Captain Darruk arrives.
"Mazkil, come with me for a moment."
You struggle not to snarl in annoyance, knowing you'll miss the best cuts of pork, but nod and follow Darruk anyway. You follow him out of ear range of the camp, before he starts speaking.
"You were with Karn on the mission yesterday, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"We lost a massive amount of men for a mission that important. I need to know: Was it Karn's fault as a leader?"
> You say "No."
"Really? The other men I talked to seemed to think it was. Anyway, thank you. Please, go eat."
You nod, and quickly return to eat. You have to punch one of the smaller Orcs, but you manage to grab a large, juicy piece of meat and eagerly chew into it.
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
You bring up your shield and raise your sword. The warriors quickly take advantage of the situation, attacking the unprepared Orcs attempting to take shelter from the arrows. One of them goes towards you, and swings. You block his sword with your shield and repeatedly jab him through the stomach, the third stab penetrating his armor and going through his stomach, which after a few more stabs kill him.By the time the Orcs manage to fend off the Elven Warriors, they're barely a dozen men, including Khan. The Elves outnumber you, but only slightly, and they clearly either don't like their odds, or figure they've killed enough of your allies today. The warriors quickly turn and go sprinting off into the woods.
> You gather your men and flee
"Come on! We're getting out of here!" You yell.
You allies quickly follow as you turn and sprint out of the trees. Shortly afterwards you break free, and to your relief none of the Elves have followed.
"We need to get back to camp." Karn grunts.
Karn's covered in bright red Elf blood mixed in with the darker Ork blood from those around him. You realize that Karn is a fantastic fighter, but should never be given a position of power again. He led your squad straight into an ambush.
| 3 |
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| 1 | false |
Karn lets out a war cry and breaks into a full sprint towards the woods. You follow, your shield covering your chest and your sword raised. As you burst through the trees and run through the undergrowth, you hear a yell.
"Fire!"
Arrows fire down from the trees. After ten seconds which you spend huddled together with your allies, arrows thudding into your shield, half of your group is dead. Then, Elves Warriors with short swords heavier armor than the archers, though still a lot lighter than yours, coming to wipe out the unprepared, cowering Orcs that remain.
> You act offensively to fend off the warriors and protect the group
You charge forward, slamming into one of the warriors. You raise your sword and slam it down through her gut, killing her. You grab an Elf about to stab an undefended orc by his hair and yank him back, slitting his throat. The Elves notice your aggressive tactics and five of them crowd around you. You feel a brief sense of fear. They jab and slice at you, opening up your shoulder with several jabs knocking into your chest and smacking the plate armor, causing you to grunt painfully. Then, Karn arrives.
"DIE!" He screams.
He flings at throwing axe with such strength it beheads one of the elves and embeds itself in the shoulder of another elf, who drops and screams. Karn then barrels into a third Elf and begins stabbing her through the chest, leaving you with two elves to fight. You block one of their sword thrusts and parry the other's, before kicking one into a tree. You jab the other in the neck, twisting your sword to have a spurt of blood hit you in the face. The other goes to stand back up, but you kick him in the head and slash his throat.
"Come on, Orcs! We fight and we kill today!"
The Orcs are now prepared to fight, with their formations taken up and their weapons ready. The Elven Warriors quickly begin to retreat.
"Now, Orcs! Target the Archers the foolish warriors left behind!"
| 4 |
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| 6 | false |
You raise your shield, and three arrows thuds into it.
"Orcs! Regroup, and keep those shields up!" Karn screams.
You huddle together, and as a group begin rushing uphill rapidly towards the Elves. The Elves fire a few more arrows at you both, but quickly turn heel and run. You reach the summit of the hill and watch as the Elves disappear into a small woods down the hill.
"Come on, Orcs! We follow them and make sure the worms can feast on Elf Flesh tonight!" Karn yells.
> You stop Karn from charging into what might be a trap
You let out a shout.
"Wait!"
Karn turns and snarls.
"What?"
"We shouldn't go in there. It's another Elf ambush for sure. We need to wait for reinforcements."
"Reinforcements? Is your Mama bringing fresh milk and honey? We fight and strike a blow against the Elves. You either charge with us or die."
| 3 |
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| 0 | false |
You march through Elf territory with a little over 50 other Orcs, marching through a hilly area with some trees. You've been sent with Karn Deathreaper, the massive orc with the notched armor, to investigate a small Elf War Party. You've yet to experience any real combat, with your previous time here simply being maneuvering into flanking positions to force the enemy to retreat and moving forward. Still, the sun is particularly red, so you there'll be a battle today with Gorgok watching.
"Orcs! Halt!" Karn screams, and you stop moving.
Karn Deathreaper truly earned his name. The amount of enemies he's slain is among the hundreds if not thousands. He's a fearsome creature, and you can't wait to see him do battle.
"The sun wishes us good luck. We'll do well in the battle." One of the Orcs near you says happily.
"Cease your superstitions, Nagrak. We might not even fight today." Another replies.
"One can hope." Nagrak eagerly replies.
In the blink of an eye, a dozen Orcs are dead. You see six Elves standing on top of the hills, light golden armor and long blond hair holding bows.
> You quickly alert and direct your own Archers to the Elves
You turn to your archers, but it's clear the Elves targeted them first. Most are dead, and the few remaining drop to their knees and begin firing, but the elves are uphill, naturally better archers and have the wind in their favor. It's clear the elves have carefully chosen this ambush site.
You feel an arrow thud into your chest. It shatters on your plate armor, but the force is enough to break a few ribs and you groan loudly. You raise your shield, and another arrow thuds into it.
"Orcs! Regroup, and keep those shields up!" Karn screams.
You huddle together, and as a group begin rushing uphill rapidly towards the Elves. The Elves fire a few more arrows at you both, but quickly turn heel and run. You reach the summit of the hill and watch as the Elves disappear into a small woods down the hill.
"Come on, Orcs! We follow them and make sure the worms can feast on Elf Flesh tonight!" Karn yells.
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
Once you've spent your gold coins, you make your way back to Dendar's cart. Unfortunately, you find yourself in the poorer part of town, clearly having taken a wrong turn. As you make your way through a side street, a voice cries out.
"Hello! A little lost, are we?" A voice cries.
You turn, and are faced with a trio of men holding knives.
"Fuck off." You grunt angrily.
"'Fuck off', he says. What an angry orc."
A voice from behind you says.
You turn, to see two more men wielding knives.
"Listen, sir. Give us your coins, and we'll see you find your way to where you're going."
> You tell them you have no gold
"I have no coins on me."
"Really, sir? Larn, go see if our new friend's lying."
One of the men walks forward, and begins searching you.
> You grab the man
You grab the man, drawing your blade and driving you knife into his chest repeatedly, tossing his body aside. The men begin charging towards you, three on one side of the street, one on the other.
> You charge the single man
The single man is quick and manages to jab you in the side, his cold iron causing you to groan in pain. You swing your blade, slashing the man's throat, and toss him at the trio. You rush onto the main street, but the trio don't follow. You check your wound, but it's not deep. You wander through the street, until eventually you come across Dendar's Cart. You climb on the back, and lie there, as Dendar arrives with a caged chicken.
"Ah! Mazkil, how are you? Ah, you're bleeding."
"Someone tried to rob me."
"Well, I hope you made sure they'll never try again."
You nod, and Dendar chuckles.
"Well done. You're a true orc."
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
You grab the man, drawing your blade and driving you knife into his chest repeatedly, tossing his body aside. The men begin charging towards you, three on one side of the street, one on the other.
> You charge the trio
You run forward, leaping through the air as you slam into one of the three, stabbing him through the neck. The others grab you and a knife is painfully brought across your throat, before your limp body is released.
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
"I have no coins on me."
"Really, sir? Larn, go see if our new friend's lying."
One of the men walks forward, and begins searching you.
> You let him
You stand there, as one of the men walks over and begins patting on your pockets. As the few coins you have left jingle, the man quickly draws a knife and stabs you through the back, right through the heart. You yell in pain, collapsing.
| 3 |
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| 1 | false |
Once you've spent your gold coins, you make your way back to Dendar's cart. Unfortunately, you find yourself in the poorer part of town, clearly having taken a wrong turn. As you make your way through a side street, a voice cries out.
"Hello! A little lost, are we?" A voice cries.
You turn, and are faced with a trio of men holding knives.
"Fuck off." You grunt angrily.
"'Fuck off', he says. What an angry orc."
A voice from behind you says.
You turn, to see two more men wielding knives.
"Listen, sir. Give us your coins, and we'll see you find your way to where you're going."
> You yell at the men
"FUCK OFF, HUMANS! GO SUCKLE ON YOUR MOTHER'S TITS!" You roar.
"Oi, Sir! Quiet down. Wouldn't want the Guards to..."
"FUCK YOU, YOU TWO-BIT THIEVING CUNTS!"
"Shit, Larn, shut him up."
You hear a whistling noise, and you turn to investigate. Two throwing knives plunge into your chest. You gasp, and struggle to stay standing before a third enters your heart.
| 3 |
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| 2 | false |
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.
| 3 |
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| 11 | false |
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.
| 5 |
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| 7 | false |
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.
| 5 |
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| 8 | false |
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.”
| 3 |
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| 8 | false |
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.
| 2 |
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| 4 | false |
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.
| 4 |
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| 6 | false |
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 charge into the fray.
You throw caution and sanity to the wind and charge into the fray.
Well, charge is a kind term. You mostly stagger along the blood-slicked road, swaying from side to side, until you topple over and slam your head against the cobblestones. Your sword flies from your grasp and slides beyond your reach. Adjusting to missing limbs takes time.
Both trolls look up, and in your blurred vision, you swear they are laughing at you.
Mocked by a troll, you think, how embarrassing.
Jon takes advantages of your momentary distraction and hacks his troll in the legs, sending the beast to its knees. The troll roars. Jon drives his blade into the troll’s open mouth and out the back of its throat. One down.
The second troll grabs the remnants of Bowie’s body and rushes toward you. The troll stands above you and squeezes the juices from what used to be Bowie, taking care to cover every inch of you in Bowie juice. The stink is agonizing.
“Oh my god,” Samwellington cries, “He’s marinating you!”
“Just kill me you son of a bitch,” you sputter as you spit some of the vile goop from your mouth.
The troll grips you by the shoulders and bares his teeth. The tip of a blade tears through the troll’s chest. Troll blood and the sweet smell of apples descend upon you. And the troll’s lifeless corpse… which crushes you.
| 6 |
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| 2 | false |
“You lying whore!” You bash her head into the ground and clobber her with your fist.
“Stop, please. I don’t know anything.”
“Tell me the truth!”
“I am. Please, you’ve got to believe me.”
Her pleas for mercy only anger you more. You know she is lying. “Last chance. Tell me what’s going on. Who are you? Who sent you? What the hell is that floating madman doing?”
“I don’t know.”
You hit her again and again and again and again. You pummel the poor girl until her once fair face is a mask of blood and tears. The tent flap ruffles open and you spin around to see Jon step inside the tent.
He gapes. “What the hell are you doing?”
“She distracted me while the lunatic set the world on fire.”
“No she didn’t. I sent her to f-” he smacks his forehead. “Damn it all. What’s done is done. We can worry about this later. Right now, we have to stop this lunatic. Come on.”
You leave a broken Bell lying on the tent floor and follow Jon outside. Everything except your tent is in flames. The moneylender – perhaps it is time to start calling him a sorcerer – floats toward you on his cloud. You and Jon draw your swords.
“Why didn’t he fry my tent too?”
“How should I know?” says Jon. “Let’s just kill him and go into damage control mode.”
> You attack
You don’t have the time to sit around and listen to a monologue. When evil rears its ugly mug, there is only one viable option: destroy it with extreme prejudice.
With swords in hand, you and Jon leap into action, literally. Unfortunately, the sorcerer is beyond your reach on his floating cloud. You and Jon jump as high as you can, but your best efforts are nowhere near good enough.
“Well this is embarrassing,” says Jon after another failed leap.
“A bow and arrow would really come in handy right about now.” You scan the bedlam for a projectile, but there is not much of anything to work with. “Well I’m stumped.”
“Fools.” The sorcerer cackles as he tosses bolts of lightning toward you. “You should know better than to defy an all-powerful mage such as myself. Now perish!”
You successfully dodge the first couple bolts, but the sorcerer is throwing them around like candy and eventually one catches you in the leg. The bolt explodes on contact, obliterating muscle, tissue, ligaments, tendons, and bones. The intense heat cauterizes what little remains of your leg. The stink of your own charred flesh hits your nostrils and you gag. Crawling on hands and knee, you seek shelter in your tent, praying the smoke will conceal your movements. Jon will have to handle this on his own now.
Inside the tent, you pass out from the pain: never to awake again.
What the hell happened?
Bell cut your throat with your own dagger while you were unconscious. If it is any consolation, Jon and Sir Jamison Hill managed to kill the sorcerer. When Jon found your lifeless corpse, he took it upon himself to brutally murder Bell.
What happens now?
Well, you were on the path to heroism, but you failed to kill the big baddie and fell into an act of villainy by beating the ever-loving life out of poor sweet Bell. So I imagine you’ll go to limbo where they’ll force you to play a never ending game of Monopoly for the next 1,000 years.
| 4 |
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| 4 | false |
You've gotten past the bulk of the humunculi and the goblins were refreshingly easy, but as you continue forward you shudder to think at what else may lie in store for you up ahead. This nondescript plateau had dredged on for quite a while and still no sign of Redridge pass. Suddently you reach a tunnel and you are dismayed to see a large troll blocking access. Trolls are even stronger than humunculi so you won't be fighting this one anytime soon. The tunnel represents the only way through to the other side as an inclimbable rockface extends in both directions along the plateau. You're gonna have to get through that tunnel one way or another.
You remember that the shaman said that the Craxil uses riders to send its orders out to its minions and that these riders are basically human thralls. Perhaps you could fake it to get past him. Another option is your bow. Trolls are very large creatures and therefore pretty hard to miss, even for you. A final option is to try and distract it somehow. You reason that you could cause a lot of commotion in the half-dead vegetation nearby to draw him away from the tunnel, then circle around and make a run for it.
> You draw Your Bow And Fire Upon The Troll
You may only be able to hit a general area, but a troll is a very large and broad target so you have practically no chance of missing here. You position yourself behind a large rock, just out of the trolls sight and ready your bow. The troll is still completely unaware of your presence and just stands there looking bored out of his mind. You pull out an arrow and draw it back in the string. You take aim and release.
The first shot hits the troll in the navel but seems to deal minimal damage. You draw back again and fire one into him, this time just below his chest. He looks confused but now lumbers in your direction. As you pull another one back he detects your presence and is now moving faster. You put another one into his midsection but again this deals minimal damage. You prepare to draw back another but he is upon you now.
It's too bad you forgot that trolls have exceptional regenerative capabilities. It takes more than a few arrows to bring these things down. Unfortunately, this is a lesson that has cost you your life.
THE END
| 4 |
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| 2 | false |
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