text: [Themes: fantasy]
  
  Heroes fight with honor at all times. There is no way in hell you are going to betray Jon. How could you ever look him in the eyes again? Besides, he is pretty fucking awesome. If you are going to win this thing, you are going to do it the right way and beat him with pride, honor, dignity, and all the other bullshit that goes with being a hero.
  
  "I'll distract him. You knock him off the horse," says Jon.
  
  "What about Bucktooth Barry?"
  
  "Dodge."
  
  Jon darts off to run interference while you attempt to flank. The Rabid Fox is on to your plan though and outmaneuvers you while Bucktooth Barry hedges his position. This might go on for a while. What would a hero do?
  
  You glance up at the spectators and catch sight of the princess. A blonde haired blue eyed bombshell with a bosom to die for. She flashes you a smile of perfect pearly whites. Did you expect anything else? Take a moment to picture all the ways you would love to chivalrously plow her into next Sunday. Just try not to ejaculate prematurely in your armor. That is not heroic. No, go ahead. I can wait.
  
  Got all that out of your system? Good. With the princess's bosom in your mind to inspire you, you charge the mounted knight. He reels the horse around and barrels toward you, eager for the challenge. As you are about to collide, you dodge. The Rabid Fox brings the horse around for another pass. You feel the blood pumping through your veins. The air tastes sweet. Colors are brighter. The world slows down. This is what being a hero is all about.
  
  You and The Rabid Fox rush each other once more. As you are about to collide, not only do you dodge, but you grab the reins as well and yank. Your arm feels like it is going to pop out of its socket, but you grit it out. The Rabid Fox flies through the air and thuds into the dirt. He stumbles to his feet and grabs a greatsword off the ground. Man, this motherfucker just does not give up.
  
  He has the reach advantage, but he is hurt. Pretty bad, judging by the fact he just fell off a galloping horse decked out in mail while brandishing a sword. He should probably be dead: or at least broken. He uses his reach to keep you at a distance, but you bide your time. He will make a mistake. Dodge, backstep, yawn, dodge. A quick glance up at the princess's bosom. With princess bosom lighting your fire, you see an opening and dive in and drive The Rabid Fox to the ground.
  
  "Well fought, friend. I yield," says The Rabid Fox as you hold your sword tip over him.
  
  Jon has finished off Bucktooth Barry. It is down to the two of you.
  
  > Actually, you was going to name one of the other girls Lady Fair of the Tournament.
  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.
  
  > name Ginger Lady Fair
  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?
  
  > kill the dragon
  "I trust you, Jon. Let's make this scaly freak go the way of the dinosaurs. Extinct."
  
  "Leave the witty one-liners to me and you've got a deal."
  
  Together you and Jon dispatch the dragon after a long and grueling battle. You don't remember any of the details because your heart is too choked with grief. The important thing is the dragon is dead and you're not. Exhausted and suffering from severe burns you and Jon slump against the ruins of your castle.
  
  "Well, so much for a heroes ending," you say, emptying your canteen. "I guess this is what I get for breaking the cliché."
  
  "I have a confession to make," says Jon.
  
  "Oh, God, don't tell me the dragon was telling the truth."
  
  "It's a dragon, man. They always tell half-truths. Everything I said was true. I really was tracking the dragon to kill it."
  
  "But..."
  
  "But I got here before the dragon and raped your wife. I'm sorry, man, I have a sickness for fire-crotch. In the meantime, the dragon wasted your livelihood then came and ate Ginger out from under me."