Abducted By The Future: Revisited: Part Two: First Blood

My epic saga in a foreign land thus continues. When I last left off, I had just received the gift of pants.

The pants that had been given to me were standard peasant garb, but I was considerably more appreciative of their various protective and aesthetic qualities than the drapes that had previously adorned my midriff. Indeed, they were not fit for someone of my station, but none of the lords and ladies of my realm were accompanying me, so I had no reason to fear embarrassment.

I was grateful to be clothed again but it occurred to me that I knew nothing of the land that I had unwillingly ventured into. It was evidently populated by Saxons and talking owls, so I assumed that it was somewhere beyond the river Rhine, but I lacked anything in the way of a map. The people of the inn were only able to give me sketchy directions at best, but I ascertained that my assumption had been an apt one. According to their suggestions, I was very far from home. Their inn was the last bastion of civilization for many leagues, flanked on all sides by the wilds. There was an old Roman road rumored to lead westward though. It had been lost when the regions last garrison had withdrawn centuries prior but somewhere, beneath a bed of foliage, it ran towards my home. I thanked the good people for their help and made off towards the setting sun.

Before departing I had gathered up one of the Saxon axes from the ruins of the metallic hulk. Their axes were clumsy weapons, ill weighted and forged from metals of low quality but it would be safer to be armed than not. My departure from the inn had been hasty, which in retrospect was a poor decision on my part. I came to the realization that I had neither asked for food nor drink to sustain me on my journey home. The folk at the inn seemed more than willing to aid me but I had succeeded in destroying the Saxon's death machine, which was pretty cool. I didn't feel like I'd be able to top that, so I needed to get out of the inn before people expected more from me. I just really wanted to avoid letting them down after having exceeded their expectations in such an ostentatious fashion. Regardless, I was glad to have an axe at the very least, because the woods I was walking through seemed hostile. I could feel the withering gaze that the denizens of the forest cast upon me as I trod through their territory. It was unrelenting.

Confrontation was inevitable and came in the form of a stout creature. It had something akin to a bears head and face with the hooves of a deer and a multi-sectioned, hairless body sort of like an ant made from the pink flesh of a skinned goat. It's abdominal chamber was decorated with bright spines that oozed a pungent and viscous discharge. The abomination called out to me, "Halt! I shall now pose a riddle to you, do you accept?" The skin on its abdomen undulated as the beast spoke, illiciting gags from my own person. I responded as best as I could, given the circumstances, "Vile perversion of nature, I shall attempt to answer whatever riddle you ask of me," and in a lower voice muttered,"...but I doubt that your query will be comprehensible if your horrific visage is an indicator of the mania that lurks beneath the surface of your persona." It disregarded the latter half, straightened its back, spines gently trembling, exciting more of the discharge out of the porous quills, and said unto me, "What creature wears both a hat and walks backwards with the sunset?"

"That doesn't make any fucking sense," quoth I.

"What does yonder human mean? The answer is quite obvious if one ponders upon its nature. Does yonder human imply that I may be following a line of inquiry that lacks a truthful answer for the sake of sexual stimulation by means of deceit and trickery? Does yonder human not see my spiny hump twitching? Does yonder human not realize that this is an indication of mental keenness, not an indication that one is overly enjoying some variety of voyeuristic pleasure derived from observing members of lesser species struggle with an inherent lack of comprehension regarding riddles?"

I would have killed it, but I really didn't want to touch the creature, it just looked gross. I swore to myself that if any of it's discharge touched me, I would burn this entire forest to the fucking ground. The abomination was positively frothing with anticipation of my answer, it was too much. The contents of my stomach flew from my mouth and covered the beast, plastering what little hair it had on its face.

I had never before vomited on a foe. The creature was stunned into silence, I was nervous because I didn't have the appropriate tools to facilitate oral hygiene, which was troubling, what with the miscellanea of acids and biles that had just passed through my mouth hastening the natural decay of my teeth. The creature continued to pulsate gently. It was as if a hundred smaller beasts were pushing upon its abdominal cavity at the same time, their tiny hands manipulating the shape of its flesh, prodding and plying at junctions in the musculature of its rear. I expelled the remainder of my stomachs contents.

"Yonder human, what is this bounteous gift you have given unto me?" quoth the abomination. It was about to begin speaking again, but I gestured that it should hold its silence. The creature gazed at me curiously. I spoke back, "You are the fucking worst." It quivered some more and licked its upper lip... slowly, with a forked reptilian tongue.

Rather than continue emptying the reserves of bile in my body, since my stomach had long since ceased to be full, I decided to turn away from the abomination and continued on my journey. It was unlike me to avoid confrontation, but the thing was gross. Unfortunately, life can never be so easy. The beast called after me, "Yon human, you have still not answered my question! I thank you for the nourishment you have gifted upon my face, but you must answer my riddle!"  It was difficult, but I kept my back to the creature and kept ignoring it. The beast called again, "Yon human! YON HUMAN!" but alas, I would not give it my attention.

Frustration had obviously grabbed hold of the creatures psyche and it began to thrash about, writhing on the floor of the forest, spreading its vile discharge on the branches and leaves that covered the top soil. "Answer me!" it screamed, arching its back in a tremendously unnatural fashion. Indeed, the entire concept that this creature embodied was unnatural, but the position it had found itself in was exceedingly so (unnatural, that is). The creature let out a wail, something akin to a death knell, and the skin peeled back from its rib cage around the abdominal section. The pitch and intensity of the wail increased as the flesh blackened and split, it had my attention, but perhaps it was too late. The rib bones splayed open, rending the abdomen down the center, the spines on the back contracted inwards, and terrible gout of gore sprayed forth, splashing the trees and bushes immediately around the seemingly dying beast.

The death dirge stopped suddenly, but the body retained its unnatural posture. Slipping forth from the remnants of the creature and sliding out onto the slick forest floor came a small, oblong, grey sack. It sat immobile momentarily, then ruptured in a flash of violet light. A portal of some sort manifested itself from the sack and beasts poured through it, clearly aiming for my person. I judged their intent as malicious and readied my crude Saxon axe. The first beast was upon me, with a body akin to that of a small bear, I was not afraid to slay it, for it didn't look totally gross. My axe cut into its skull and split the head in twain. Blood erupted from the wound and sprayed in an unending stream. The second beast I caught in the chest with my weapon. I tore the dull iron head out and it too was followed by a veritable fountain of blood. I was, at this, point, standing ankle deep in gore. I decided to strike out at the next animal with my fist for fear of drowning. The point where I struck immediately swelled up, ruptured, and the hole ejected a geyser of blood. "What the shit?" quoth I.

The three bear-things had ejected enough blood that I was now wading through their fluids. It hampered the other beasts that were trying to make their way over to me, which was fortuitous, but it seemed like every injury delivered upon one of them immediately resulted in a horrid wound violently exploding outwards and inundating the area around me. The clumsy beasts would strike a tree and instant death would follow, or perhaps they would bump into one another too roughly. Any strike resulted in imminent destruction, always followed by that same sanguine release. I could not imagine the maximum capacity of blood their bodies could hold, but it seemed nearly infinite as the blood began to soil the cloth around my chest.

It seemed that I was destined to drown in a mire of gore, which, in retrospect, sounds really badass, but Fortune was on my side. She called from a spot atop a tree branch yet to be sullied by the blood of the beasts. "Northfist, I can take you from this cursed place and put an end to the profuse bleeding out of these creatures, but you must do something for me." I did not like making deals with any variety of god, but I was also averse to the idea of drowning. I asked her, "What do you want?" and she replied, "Slay my clit." I was all, "What?" and she was all, "You heard me," and I was all, "I don't think I did," and then she was all, "You definitely did." This exchange continued for several more moments. I tried to explain that I was a good Christian, or at least, I thought I was a good Christian and often pretended to be one. I had never really made my religious beliefs explicit. I would contend that they really just served me whenever convenient, but I'd never had a goddess make sexual advances on me before. Lesser deities perhaps, but nobody important. Anyways, I took the deal because "slaying clit" didn't sound as bad as dying.

Fortune pulled me from the pool of blood and used magic or some shit to force the bodies of the beasts back through the portal that had opened and closed it behind them. Apparently deities have the power to do these things? I don't know. Anyways, she was all, "Alright, I've fulfilled my end of the bargain, now it's your turn." But she said it in a really lame voice, like the kind of thing you hear really bad actors say to one another when they have no idea what they're doing, it really killed the mood. Then I saw that she was really sweaty and probably hadn't washed. And she had a faint mustache filling in her upper lip. It really was turning out to be just as bad as the blood pool. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not horribly picky, I'll have my way with all sorts of stuff, but I was just getting a lot of bad vibes off of her, you know? Like, I can handle a mustache, they're not a permanent sort of thing. If you really want to get rid of it, you can shave it or something. I was just a little shocked that she was evidently taking such poor care of herself. It's her prerogative if she doesn't want to shave her lip, I'm not going to force anybody to do anything they're uncomfortable with, but I just needed her to understand that not everybody is into that. It spoke multitudes about her personality. She  seemed genuinely filthy and I have a lot of trouble getting into that. I had just punched a bear from another dimension in the face, I felt like I could do better.

She made a lurid gesture in my direction. I shuddered. This wasn't going to happen, so I told her, "Fortune, I'm not really in the mood, can you just maybe return me to that pool of blood? I'm not a bad swimmer and I felt fairly buoyant, blood is certainly thicker than water. I've just been dealing with a lot of things lately, what with being abducted and whatnot, and I don't really feel like... umm... slaying your clit or whatever." Fortune seemed a little bummed out, I think she was really intent on receiving oral sex, but she told me it was cool. She said she wouldn't return me to the blood pool, probably because she was trying to impress me or something, and gave me this really awkward smile baring her weird teeth and misshapen mouth, which was sort of gross, but I managed a wan smile and thank you in return before she sent me off.

My run-in with Fortune had left me somewhat rattled. Death had stalked me before, in fact, on a previous adventure I had wrestled Death, but on that occasion I had felt in control of the situation, I didn't require divine aid. To drown in a pool of blood or be coerced into shamefully mouth-banging a gnarly vagina - and so far from home - well, the notion was appalling. I had to make all haste to resume my journey home. I regained the forest road in short order. My journey back into my lands was fraught but not nearly as eventful as that first day.

Twenty-five days into my trip the forest began to change, the sparse vegetation and tall coniferous trees gave way to thick flora and broad deciduous leviathans. Truly, I was nearing the land I called home. Two days later I crossed a river that I was almost certain marked the outermost border of my kings territory, I was only hours away from habitation, I could feel it in my bones. When I finally came upon the first town, life looked to have not changed considerably since I'd been taken from my bed. I approached a villagers and called out, "Who is your lord and where might I find him?" The voice that responded did so in a strange dialect. I could still understand it, but it twisted and contorted words in ways that defaced my native language. The villager, while cruelly tongue-bashing his words, said something about his lord being a certain noble whose family I had never known to be influential; lechers and drunks, the lot of them. I had no interest in speaking to distasteful lords, so I decided I would press on down the road.

Incidentally, the road led past the lords castle and two of his sons happened to be out with their retainers taking a walk. They were dressed flamboyantly, with alternating blues, yellows, and reds repeating along their shirts and pants, which were comically over-sized and puffy. I gave the slightest nod of acknowledgement as I walked past, a typical gesture between lords when they meet. It is a greeting for equals, but what I had forgotten was the present state of my clothing. It had been of peasant Saxon origin to begin with, now it was tattered and bloodstained from a months hard journey. My hair hung down in thick strands, bound together by grit and sweat, and my beard had engulfed the lower half of my face. That I did not prostrate myself on the ground in front of the youths was evidently an affront, for one called, "Look at this savage who refuses to acknowledge his betters!" Or at least that is what I gathered he had said from the ridiculous dialect. I turned to regard the two youths, both of which were frowning, clearly disgusted, when the one ordered a member of his retinue to strike me; to force me to kneel before them. The subordinate walked up to my side, raised a mailed fist, and swung it at my face. I did not want to make enemies of this family, so I absorbed the impact, which left me momentarily seeing a blinding white light, but my pose neither sagged nor gave any indication that I'd been phased by the strike. I intended to impress the youths through sheer force of personality.

"A good strike!" quoth I. It was their turn to be startled by the way that I spoke. The one, who had until this point remained silent, remarked that I sounded akin to a distant and long-dead relative of his. Indeed, this branch of the family did seem far-removed from proper civilization, likely a concession by my king to settle these petty nobles in the farthest reaches of his realm. Now that I had made contact with this group that I had longed to ignore, I felt that I could, at the very least, ask for some provisions, perhaps a sword of decent iron. I had every intention of paying them back later by using the gold from my fiefs coffers. The arrogant youth who had formerly ordered his man to strike me repeated that order again and the subordinate raised his gauntlet once again. Unfortunately for him, I had no intention of letting him hit me again and delivered a blow to his throat, which dropped him to the ground, where he groped at the soil while gasping for air. Blind rage stole over the lad as he screamed at me for "defying one of my betters." I repeatedly tried to reassure him that I was in fact, at the very least, his equal, but more likely his superior as his impure and muddled provincial family of swine-rapists and petty criminals was nothing compared to the lineage of princes and saints that I descend from. This was apparently the wrong thing to say as the boy drew his sword and charged at me, bringing the blade down in a clumsy and rather slow arc, which I dodged (without exerting myself). His sword came down hard and buried itself in the soil, which gave me an opportunity to strike, so I punched my fist through his chest and tore his heart out. Everyone was super impressed but sort of scared or something. Anyways, the brother to the shithead I'd just killed freaked right the fuck out and ran off screaming about murder most foul. Presumably, he was trying to find someone to take vengeance upon me. This suited me just fine, as I picked up the dead guys sword and bailed, not wanting to be present when an entire town was riled.

I ran for several hours before exhaustion overcame me and I was forced to make camp. I had only been resting for a few hours when a posse of men clamored into the clearing I was sleeping in looking for violence. They were men sworn to the father of the noble I had slain and told me that they were there to deliver their lords justice. They apparently didn't care that I'd just punched a hole in a guys chest and charged at me. I cut most of them in half, length-wise, because that's gnarly. The other ones I just stabbed in the stomach and left for dead. I didn't have time to be dealing with angry posses, I'd been away from home for too long.

I walked for four days when I finally came upon the mill that marked the boundaries of my fief. I danced about and yelled profanities (in a good way) at a group of people. They were stoked for me.

Abducted By The Future: Redux

And so I shall continue to recount my recent brush with death. For reference, when we last left off, I was explaining why I wasn't wearing clothing.

I had found myself inside of an inn and was explaining to a serving woman why I was naked. She seemed skeptical and, after completing my tale, she asked, "So a big'ol owl spoke to you? I find that hard to believe." She had ignored everything I had said and remained transfixed upon the rather minute detail of a giant, talking owl. I responded in the affirmative, "Yes, an owl communed with me." She nodded in assent, as if she were trying to comprehend that one, insignificant detail, and then asked me what happened afterward. I had just told her. In fact, I had spent quite a bit of time outlining my tale in detail, I was not about to repeat it. My blood, it was boiling. As my rage was about to spill over a giant crash sounded above my head. I dove to my right to avoid whatever was coming. A metal protrusion careened into the inn and lodged itself in the chest of the dense waitress. It was a uniform beam and appeared to be made of a tempered metal. It was a light brown color with a golden hue, except where it had penetrated the waitress. There the color only showed thick red streaks.

Before the moment had passed, the beam was hoisted back up through the ceiling. It was evidently still attached to some sort of mass on the other end. "What in the fuck?" quoth I. The waitress, who had since slid from the protrusion, collapsed into a rather vulgar heap of gore and proceeded to bleed copiously onto the ground. Panic had descended upon the patrons of the inn, they milled about running nowhere in particular. Where can one truly go when waitresses are being impaled upon the end of unknown protrusions?

The woman's death was untimely if not for any other reason than I was still in the nude and generally bewildered. I would like to take this opportunity to state that I have no issues with the human form, male or female. My immediate nudity was more a pragmatic concern. I feared scalding, tripping upon intrusive objects, small cuts, and a vast miscellanea of other problems that may befall a naked man. I was not about to rob the corpse of the waitress for her smock, which was soiled in blood and other varieties of detritus native to the floors of inns. I have tempted fate, but I was not about to tempt a urinary tract infection. My solution was to turn about and tear the curtains from the inns fixture. I wrapped the curtain about my waist and then peered out of the window. The curtain featured an antiquated floral pattern that I, in other circumstances, would have been rather ashamed of wearing, but the situation was dire. For beyond the approach of the inn stood a gargantuan metallic hulk, treading about, stomping upon things that apparently deserved stomping. I immediately attributed the death of the waitress to the machine; an apt judgement on my part.

The vessel was clearly not suited to be roaming the countryside. It's legs terminated in a point which sank deep into the soil. It evidently utilized a power-source that output tremendous amounts of energy for any ox of that size with hooves that small would sink into the ground, its muscles unable to budge the body. To even consider an ox the size of this vessel was quite ridiculous. Indeed, it appeared that several oxen could be comfortably housed inside of the hulk. The concept of an ox that could store other oxen inside of it is simply too strange of an idea to fully grasp. This machine was nothing like an ox, I was not even sure how my mind had begun to arbitrarily assign size units that corresponded to the average size of an ox. There was clearly a more pressing issue at hand, namely the metallic hulk, and to a lesser extent the floral-pattern tunic that I had clad my midriff in. I could feel the fabric emasculating me by the second, sapping me of my essential manhood.

As I pondered the nature of oxen and gender roles, the people in the bedding-establishment (I would rather not call it an "inn" for the sake of cadence in my sentence) had not ceased in their panic. They were invoking various deities to come to their aid or to send a savior. In the past I had styled myself as a "savior" so I looked from the window and volunteered my aid. I am not often forthcoming with my help, but in this case, destitute and barely clothed, I felt it would be prudent to establish goodwill with the patrons of the inn. A couple who had been cowering behind a table sneered and accused me of falsely declaring myself a hero. I don't think they meant that I was a coward, but they were certainly in disbelief that this man standing before them was capable of any feat of strength. Had they ignored my heavily muscled torso? The arms that had pulled down a hundred sacred groves and throttled a thousand druids? I supposed so. I gave forth a bellicose laugh and insulted their manhood. One declared that she was a woman and therefore lacked "manhood", but no matter! She was an ugly one at that! I would make short work of this hulk, I just required a weapon. The patrons gave forth a blank look and the proprietor, who had been, until recently, hiding in the kitchen, informed me that he was a dedicated pacifist. There were no weapons to be found in the inn.

The situation was perplexing. I had not been without a sword for many years. It was my nature to keep one belted to my body, but abduction in the night prevents one from leaving home prepared. Thinking quickly, I smashed a table and tore the leg from it. The tables leg had a satisfying nail driven through which, until that moment, had been binding it to the rest of the unit. With mirthful abandon I ran from the inn brandishing my improvised club, prominently featuring its iron spike, and made for the metallic hulk. Much to my dismay, I realized that the portion of the machine that I desired to attack was many rods above me (not quite a chain, but close). I was able to swing at the legs as they clumsily stumbled through the bogs around the inn, but my efforts did not prove fruitful.

Up until that point in my life I had always considered the height of my enemies a trifle. I simply operated under the assumption that everything bleeds when struck hard enough (other than buildings, but I don't often strike buildings, for that is a foolish endeavor). This was not the case with this perfidious contraption. It was as a building, but mobile like a clumsy draft-horse, yet many times the height. The situation clearly called for an ascension into the fuselage that the legs attached to, but I was unsure of how to mount what passed the colossus' legs. I had, in my travels, seen people climb trees in a curious fashion with arms wrapped around the back of the trunk and feet planted on the front. I assumed that it was not only the most effective, but the only way to climb the contraption. So climb it I did!

The ascent took moments. My aforementioned well-muscled body gave me considerable endurance and agility whilst climbing. The metallic beast could neither shake me nor harm me as I made my way up its leg. But, dear reader, do not mistake me, the trip was still harrowing indeed! When I reached the apex of the vehicles leg, there was access to a small platform that stood before a metallic door. I dug my fingers into the seam that separated the door from the hull and tore the damned thing off of its hinges.

My first look into the hulk was one of confusion and then bloodlust. Saxons! Thrice-be-damned! There was a score of them manning the controls of the machine. Perfidy apparently knew no bounds. I knew not how these godless barbarians had commandeered such a vehicle, for they surely had not constructed it! I have spent my life fighting Saxons and have always embraced the idea that one should know their enemy. Thus, I knew that Saxon's were a sub-species, a humanoid, but not truly men; as prone to smearing feces on their bodies as they were to worshiping trees and babbling in incomprehensible tongues like a nation of brain-dead children. That they were controlling a metal beast capable of widespread destruction was utterly baffling. Something was certainly amiss, although the fact that they had trapped the machine within a bog seemed to be a distinctly Saxon blunder.

This process of thought was interrupted moments after it began by the wail of a woad-painted barbarian running at me with his axe. Evidently, my arrival by means of the door-hole was noticed. I stepped to the side as the axe sliced the air where I had been standing. I fumbled for my club, which I had tucked into my makeshift tunic, but as I brought it to bear, a snag pulled the tunic off with it. As the tunic was ripped from my body, the oppressive shame of wearing an embarrassing piece of clothing went with it. My masculinity found itself immediately recharged (if I could quantify masculinity on an absolute scale of 1-10, 1 being hardly any masculinity and 10 being the apex of masculinity, the scale slid from somewhere around 3 back up to 10). I swung the club at the Saxon whose attacks were imminent. He had missed me with his axe once and that was his undoing! The club, aided by the nail embedded in its tip crashed into his face, ruining the barbaric visage and positively drenching me in blood and skull fragments. The body sunk to the floor and released its bowels... everywhere. Four other Saxons were upon me as I recoiled from the stench. The first one I stabbed through the chest with my club. The action initially struck me as unusual, seeing as clubs are generally blunt and not conducive to stabbing, but I accepted that the Saxon would no longer be dogging me in the fight. I unfortunately lost my club. The second I struck in the throat with my fist, which penetrated through the flesh and came out the back. Once again, I was somewhat confused. The flesh of these men seemed to be the consistency of wet paper. I chalked it up to inferior Saxon breeding. The third man I was able to grab as my fist flew through the seconds throat. I caught his face and squeezed. His skull exploded, sending fragments throughout the cabin of the machine. The fragments shredded the fourth Saxon and a handful of the machines pilots. Approximately nine "men" were left before me.

I delivered them an ultimatum, "Stop this evil contraption or meet the same fate as your comrades." They clearly could not understand my civilized tongue and only returned blank expressions. I made threatening gestures, graphically described the process in which their whore-mothers bore them, the union of unholy and bestial that was necessary to breed the Saxon race, and cursed their families. Once again, I was met with stares, drool falling from the corners of their mouths. "Bah!" quoth I. It was useless trying to communicate with savages.

As a heart pumps blood to the body, I assumed that something must be powering the lifeforce of the machine and allowing it to stomp about the countryside. There were gears churning behind me, much like those one would see in a mill. In my rage, I picked up one of the Saxon corpses and wedged it into the gears. The cogs ceased their turning and began to vibrate violently. This elicited a response from the living Saxons. They began to panic, smashing their fists upon dials and buttons of great variety. I felt as if I had finally succeeded in getting through to the savages, perhaps they would now acknowledge me. To no avail! The sound of explosions emanated from the depths of the hulk and it began to lurch to and fro. I had evidently caused some type of catastrophic mechanical failure. Had I known that my actions would cause such things, I would have refrained from pitching a corpse into the gears of the machine. It's not my fault that Saxon's don't know how to communicate like normal, god-fearing men. It was infuriating.

The machine ceased up completely for one brief moment and then I felt the distinct changes in my body associated with falling. My stomach rose into the upper reaches of my abdomen and my blood raced into my head. Thanks to quick-thinking, it occurred to me that it would be wise to brace for an impact and grabbed on to a strut for support. As the machine crashed into the ground, I clung to the strut for the sake of preserving my life, which is quite dear to me. The hulk crumpled and the remaining Saxons were crushed to death. I threw myself clear through the hole that the door had formerly covered. I was unscathed, the same could not be said about my foes.

I returned to the inn where its patrons had evidently been watching me, enraptured by my deeds. They welcomed me back, promising me food, drink, land, titles, animals, daughters. It was all very flattering. When they ceased in their exultation's, I requested pants. They were promptly brought to me. Once again, all was well in the world.

Abducted By The Future

Now I shall recount a recent brush with death and pretend that there have been absolutely no breaches in continuity with this journal dedicated to finding spouses/fornication.

I was laying upon my straw mattress when I fell through the floor and smashed into a glass structure. I was immediately set upon by a group of creatures sporting bizarre masks and grotesquely deformed bodies. I shan't recall too much of the horror as I run the risk of delving into a state of catatonia. The figures advanced on me and then vanished into nothingness. I had no means with which to speculate when they would reappear, or if that were a possibility.

An owl spoke to me in its strange language as I pondered the chances of being run through by one of these disappearing creatures that disturbed my sleep. The owls size was remarkable. Indeed, I remarked upon it. I called out, "Owl, thou art of a great size, what dost thou want of mine person?" The owl blinked twice and spoke back to me, "Mortal, by what sorcery do you perceive my language? Only my kith are capable of rendering this tongue usable, certainly, you must be descended of like blood." I informed the owl that it was unlikely, as a common ancestor between man and owl would have to go back many eons. Furthermore, it seemed likely that I was suffering from some sort of head trauma that merely made me think that I was having a conversation with some variety of sage owl.

The owl laughed at me. Under normal circumstances I would have taken this as an affront to my honor and run it through with my sword. Unfortunately, I lacked my sword and was still in a state of disorientation. The owls laugh continued to boom, filling the otherwise soundless air around me. It took me a considerable amount of time to decide whether the owl was a figment of my imagination, and if I possessed the ability to transform a thought into a tangible being capable of laughter and coherent speech. It seemed improbable, but I went with it.

After some time the owls laughter began to ebb into something of a giggle. I requested that the owl refrain from laughing in the future, he requested that I enter him. I was not sure if there was some innuendo in his desire for my entrance, but I obliged him by entering his body. It was spacious enough, there was room for one to outstretch ones arms to full length whilst still standing erect. I could not communicate with the owl from the inside, unfortunately. Yet, after several moments of observing the interior of the beasts body, I felt that it had taken flight.

I was not sure what type of bio-luminescence kept the interior of the owl lit. I could tell that it was a living creature, but I could not decide what kind of creature is capable of transporting a human being in its body without dying. It didn't make any sense, until I remembered that certain demons have the ability to transform their bodies into improbable shapes. This realization brought a wave of panic upon me. I had been coaxed into entering the body of a demon and was now being taken to places unknown, captive. In my state of panic, I threw myself against the side of the bird and began to gnaw upon its insides. I tore flesh from the walls like a starving man gorges upon a sumptuous feast. As the lining of my cell came apart I found equal parts of suet and muscle concealed beneath something of a thick membrane lining the walls. I clawed at with my fingers and gnawed it to pieces with my teeth.

Clearly my attempts to escape were causing the owl discomfort. It's flying became erratic as it tried to cope with my tearing through its flesh. Before I could force my way through the final layer of skin, the bird crashed clumsily. It probably died, I couldn't give a fuck. When I regained the composure that the crash knocked out of me, I got to my feet, ready to continue ripping my way out of the bird. Yet, as I was about to resume my task, a gentle voice called from behind me. I recognized her as a woman, which she attested to, but I could see hideous fur-covered legs that terminated in hoofs. She attempted to seduce me, but I would not be swayed (I was fairly certain this had happened before), so she placed me under a sort of trance. She knocked me upon my back, and jumped astride my chest, straddling me. The blow must have broken the trance, which brought on a wave of intense pain. Much as I had used my fingers to claw at the insides of the owl, the demon was scratching at my chest, taking bits of flesh away with her talons. I moved to block her claws with my forearm, but she just opened it up as well. Oh, how the blood flowed. I had only seconds to reconcile myself with imminent death when I did something unexpected. I forced the open wounds on my arm into her mouth, forcing the blood that was rapidly exiting my body into her throat. Despite her tenacity, the demon began to choke on the sanguine fluid and soon expired.

I bound my wounds in the clothing that she wore and tore her arms from their sockets; their sharp claws allowed me to cut through the remaining layers of owl as a sword cuts through the wicker-shield of the desert infidels. As I left the owl carcass, I was overcome by my wounds and fell to the ground, unconscious.

I awoke in a dimly lit room with several blurry figures milling about my bed. I was intrigued by them, that is until I noticed the glint of steel out of the corner of my eye. I gripped the handle of what turned out to be a blade of moderate length and swung it about my head. I may have been grievously wounded, but I felt invigorated by the sharp steel. The figures about me suddenly backed away in alarm shouting that they were, "Just trying to help me," or that "I would have died if not for their help." It was demonic nonsense. Clearly they had healed me with witchcraft. Had my wounds been as serious as they claimed, I'd still be bedridden and not swinging a weapon. I charged at a couple that were standing beside one another. My vision was still not functioning as well as it had in the past, so I swung the sword broadly to make sure I didn't miss. Evidently my aim was true, for I felt a warm spray of liquid cover my face. One of the other figures screamed most woman-like. I don't know what became of said figure. I flung a chair in its direction and the noise stopped. The two others fled from the house by means of a door and I pursued.

The outdoors were bright. I swung at something to my left. It may or may not have been living and/or a draft animal. I think I struck it's face and it probably died. The poor state of my vision was alarming and disconcerting me. I swung a second time at something else, I guess. I don't think it was a draft animal, a person, or a water fowl. Any guess would really just be speculation at this point. At any rate, the two figures from the house were nowhere to be found, so I walked down what I assumed to be a road. I deduced this because it was coated in gravel, rather than grass. It cut my feet up and generally sucked.

By nightfall my vision had returned and realized that I was apparently naked. It was horrifying to think about the weird junk that might have been done to my butt while I was asleep after murdering that demon. That said, there weren't any particularly sharp pains inside of me that indicated sodomy or even gentle exploration. What's more is when I looked at what I thought was a blade clutched in my right hand, I realized it was a stalk of fennel, rigid and sharp as exotic, eastern steel. I lamented, "What malediction has afflicted me, a man simply desirous of gentle sleep? Why have I been cruelly torn from my slumber and ejected into a bewildering realm of avian abominations?"

A small woodland creature answered me thusly, "Northfist, you have angered the great goddess, you must go to her as a supplicant, prostrate yourself on the grounds in front of her altar, and eat a whole bunch of dirt." Clearly, this was bullshit. I told the creature to fuck right off if he or she knew what was good for him or her. It laughed at my attempt to be inclusive of both genders and split in twain, with the second half retaining the exact form of the first. The pair took up the laugh that the original had formerly used against me, except the laugh was clearly an octave higher. The two then made a second split and there were four, laughing in an even higher range. This process continued for several moments as the area in front of my filled with a veritable choir of laughing woodland creatures. The laugh ceased to register in my ears as the octaves moved out of my ability to hear them. The animals were merely gaping at me with open mouths and squinted eyes. What was alarming were the sheer numbers of critters that had materialized before me. I could not possibly stomp fast enough to kill them all. Fortunately, an answer presented itself in the form of predatory rodents akin to weasels that had stalked up behind the hysterical creatures. Much blood was spilled before me.

As I watched, a hand gripped me from behind and pulled me into the tree line. I was hastily dragged through the trees and into a clearing. A handsome home had been erected there. The hand that grasped me was not of the disembodied variety, in fact it clearly belonged to the body of a young woman. She gestured towards the home, presumably wanting me to enter. I was intrigued and had clearly learned nothing from my debacle with the giant owl. I opened the front door and was greeted by several rows of beds. The young woman entered from behind, shut the door, and moved towards one of the beds a couple of rows away. She pointed at the body laying in the bed and motioned for me to approach. As I came closer, I realized that the figure in the bed was familiar. It was a man, with a mustache and jaw line much like my very own. Indeed, the resemblance was uncanny, my very own mother would not be able to differentiate between myself and this... clone.

My decision making process had been seemingly impaired for the last several hours, but one thing became immediately clear to me, there could be only one! I lifted the fennel stalk high above my head and brought it crashing into the chest of my impostor. The stalk slapped uselessly against the body, turning flaccid as it struck ribs. The young woman shook her head in disapproval but didn't say anything, which was irritating. I berated her with cruel insults, hoping that she would indicate what she wanted of me. She merely stood there impassive. It was really frustrating, but I didn't need a weapon to kill my sleeping clone. I bent over and began to crush its windpipe with my strong hands. The woman continued to display disapproval but refused to intervene. Yet, I could feel no life beneath my hands, indeed, I had not felt it from the very start. It was as if I were throttling a corpse. As I stopped, the woman nodded, moved to my left and exposed a concealed door. Once again, she gestured for me to enter and I obliged.

Beyond the door was a great stone wall with a face projected upon it. The features were androgynous, but it spoke unto me, "Northfist, would you like to know the time of your death?" I had heard of these things before. You pay a gold florin and they guess your weight or perhaps the date of your birth. I spoke thusly, "I am not interested in falling prey to your ploy, do you take me for a fool? I have been around long enough to realize when a man or apparition is trying to loosen my purse strings!" The apparition was momentarily bewildered but shot back an unpleasant response, "How dare you speak to me thusly? I am a god! I have no use for your gold, I merely asked if you would like to know a secret regarding the end of your life? But, you have offended me. I shall give no information!"

I was pissed. If this were a god, he would have known that I wasn't interested in the details of my eventual death. I knew that I would die peacefully after a furious bout of lovemaking and after slaying my mortal enemies. I didn't need a god to tell me this. Yet here this thing was, being a dick. I was all, "Fuck this shit," and knocked a brazier over. The priestess finally broke her silence and began to scream about the flames that were beginning to consume the inside of her secret chamber. She was hysterical and had obviously never been inside a burning building before. I told her to calm down or else I wouldn't be willing to help her. To make a long story short, she didn't calm down, so I left.

Then I came here. And that's why I'm not wearing any clothes right now.

Wikihow: To Slay the Unchaste

Chastity is one of the most important virtues that we as a modern society uphold. It is the very groundwork upon which we build our sense of morality and honor. The unchaste are bereft of integrity and honesty. They are equally as comfortable smothering a babe in its cradle as they are pilfering the goods of a merchant, literally robbing him of his livelihood. A community cannot trust a man or woman who has indulged in extra-marital intercourse. They are, by nature, liars, rapists, murderers, blasphemers, and thieves.

With a threat this grievous lurking beneath the surface of every society, it falls upon the ordinary citizen to rectify this problem before it propagates and threatens to tear our very civilization to pieces. But how does one punish transgressions of this nature?

Step One

First, one must identify the the accused and their gender. Men sport beards and often wear pants, whereas women do not have beards and wear dresses. This is a crucial step, identifying gender is integral to determining how the accused had or was conniving to corrupt your kin and neighbors. Most commonly, unchaste men flaunt their genitals in gourds adorned with runes and gem stones. They are marvelous to behold and, through that means, enchant maidens to bed them. Unchaste women are more diabolical. They pray to devils to empower them with spells that steal the minds of spry young lads and bed them in a most unsavory fashion. Either unchaste men or women despoil maidens and boys with vile sorcery.

Step Two

Once one has identified the gender of the accused, you must detain the offender. If you are a woman detaining an unchaste man, it would be wise to fashion a type of ocular enhancement that does not allow you to see anything below shoulder height (not that a maid would be looking there anyhow, ho ho!). I recommend purchasing a tall hat with a brim, cut eye slits in the part that accommodates ones cranium and pull it down over your eyes so that the brim is below eye-level, thereby obscuring any genital accoutrement that might encourage one to forswear promises of celibacy. If you are a man detaining an unchaste man, take him at the point of a broad sword. If you are a maid detaining an unchaste woman, I would recommend incapacitating her first. This can be done by striking at the temple with an oblong object of at least 30 centimeters and made from either iron or perhaps a rock held in the end of a stocking. Strike true and rapidly if one is interested in encountering the least amount of resistance. It is best if a man does not detain an unchaste woman who wields the power of sorcery, but, if it must be done, do so with at least three members of your local clergy in attendance. You may also want an amulet containing the blood of a mare who has never borne a horseling, for it will ward off feelings of temptation.

Step Three

Once one has the accused in custody, they must be delivered to either ones lord or the clergy. They will be tried and inevitably convicted for their crimes. They must submit themselves to a trial by fire. The very nature of their crimes makes them untrustworthy and therefore unworthy of a trial by water. A sword must be heated in a furnace until it glows hot. The accused must grasp the sword and, as the flesh sears, the lack of godly intervention proves the accused guilty.

Step Four

With the unchaste man or woman proven guilty, it comes time for swift action, not mercy and healing. A knight of high status must plunge his broadsword into the breast of the deviant. A lesser man might not be able to force his blade through the ribcage or, through sheer lack of training, miss the heart. A goodly knight has jacked muscles and a castle-forged sword that will make short work of rib bones and all matter of humors that steel might encounter whilst encroaching upon the heart.

Step Five

When the accused has met their end, sever the head from the body and mount it upon a pike. Let it be a grim reminder to all that forsaking ones morals and turning ones back on the community shall be met with the harshest of retribution.

Tips

• Keep your broad sword sharpened and your hand deft with a blade.
• Marry all you wish to bed.
• Detain the accused while they are sleeping for the least amount of resistance.
• If you are in a lordly position, do not let the peasant men and women of your village mingle.
  

Warnings

• Do not succumb to sins of the flesh, lest you find yourself at the tip of a sword
• Be wary of traps such as pits with no perceivable bottom.

http://www.wikihow.com/Slay-the-Unchaste

Cooking for Maidens

Cooking is a peasants job, there is no denying that, but certain maidens would have their suitors learn to properly prepare a meal. I would sooner put a village to the sword and merely abduct their finest cook, but sometimes that simply is not an option. So, I would like to take this opportunity to share my step-by-step instructions to preparing a meal that will delight any potential spouse.

Cooked Boar:

Step 1- The first step to cooking boar is to acquire a boar. One must set out into the woods with an intrepid band of merry hunters, preferably armed with spears long enough to impale a charging animal and long swords of reliable quality. This process takes some several days, but with the proper knowledge of boar habitation, one can be tracked easily enough. Boars are attracted to blood sacrifices so you may have to slit the throat of a goat or calve in order to convince the woodland spirits that you are worthy of entering into combat with one of their denizens. But I digress, when you finally come upon a boar, ideally, you will plunge your spear into the animals face or heart instantly murdering the animal. If you miss the boar, there's a good chance it will impale you upon its tusks and inflict wounds grievous enough to cause a fairly painful and drawn-out death. One should avoid this as death is undesirable.

Step 2- Once you have a boar carcass in your possession it would be best to return to your castle. This is an interregnum step of sort.

Step 3- Appoint a date with the object of your affection to sup with you.

Step 4- Several hours before your dinner place the boar in a fire. The fire cooks the boar or something. Take the corpse out before it's reduced to ashes.

Step 5- Carve the cooked boar with a knife or equally sharpened piece of steel and place upon a serving platter.

Step 6- Eat your hard-earned food and bed the grateful maiden.

Cooked fish:

Step 1- The first step to cooking fish is to acquire a fish. One must locate a suitable body of water teeming with a myriad of aquatic vertebrates and depart for it with an intrepid band of merry hunters, preferably armed with spears long enough to impale a charging animal and long swords of reliable quality. Fish are in far greater abundance than boars but it would be wise to consider blood sacrifice to ensure the capture of the largest possible fish. One must enter the water with spear and sword and thrust the spear through the face or gills of your quarry and use the sword to defend against treacherous bottom dwelling creatures (krakens, sperm whales, leviathans, etc.). You may only leave the water triumphant. Pro-tip: you may want to do this with haste for humans untainted by black magic cannot breath beneath the surface of water.

Step 2- Return to your castle with your trophy.

Step 3- This time, do not appoint a time to sup with your maid, rather, in the middle of the night, steal into her room and throw a canvas bag over her head. Confine her to a light-starved room for the day and then have a gaoler bring her to your dining room when you're ready. Maidens love surprises.

Step 4- Several hours before your dinner date, place the fish in a fire and allow its flesh to cook or something. This will take an indeterminate amount of time based on your elevation, ventilation, and the amount of wood used in your fire.

Step 5- Carve the cooked fish with a knife or something and place upon a plate, platter, or any receptacle with a depth shallow enough to facilitate supping.

Step 6- Eat the fish and bed the grateful, lusty, maiden.


Cooked Bread:

Step 1- The first step to cooking bread is to acquire grain, or, preferably flour, since bread is derived from flour. Unfortunately, the process involved in producing flour is lengthy and usually involves several months of growing grain and harvesting. Unless you possess infinite patience and enjoy planning your dinner dates well in advance I would suggest a different method. Gather up an intrepid and merry band of hunters armed with long spears, swords of reliable quality, and clad them in plate armour. Lead your band into the field and trespass into the lands of another lord, preferably one that you do not get along with. It is important to send scouts out ahead of your band to locate a village; you must go to this village, steal their flour, burn it to the ground, and slaughter the inhabitants so that no word of your trespass might later incite war.

Step 2- Return to your castle with your flour.

Step 3- The bread making process is somewhat hazy to me, but I imagine it is similar to cooking boar and fish; take the flour and place it in a fire, bread will inevitably result.

Step 4- Serve bread to maiden.

Step 5- Bed maiden.


If you follow these steps, culinary prowess will ensue. Heed my advice, dear reader.

Exotic Pets

My ostrich should have come to me in my 25th year. I was in the midst of a week-long celebratory feast, probably because I won some sort of bad-ass victory over barbarians, when a man from a foreign land told me an enchanting tale of a large, flightless bird. His tale was riveting; the bird was exceptionally dangerous, rather tall, possessed claws that could disembowel a thousand men without dulling, eyes that could set ones soul ablaze, and vestigial wings that could stir up many a dust cloud. They apparently lived in super-colonies on a far-away continent where they traded sugar to the west and gold to the east. I set out immediately from my home and made for the distant lands in the south.

Ostrich's are controlled by a meta-bird that knows the dreams of all. Their link to their hive mind can only be broken by severing the head from the leader of their brood. This leader lives several miles beneath the surface of the earth and is surrounded by legions of their warrior and priest classes. Penetrating the many defenses and traps the birds had created to keep the heart of their colony safe would be a momentous undertaking; I was prepared.

As I made my way south, towards the massive metropolis of the ostrich, I met a traveler. The traveler hailed me from atop my horse, but as I attempted to ignore the otherwise unremarkable visage to my fore, the travelers cloak was shed and a horrible monster emerged. The creature had the head and legs of a goat, the sagging breasts of an overweight, elderly woman, and the body of a man, muscled and be-jacked and tanned. It towered over me and began to ask me riddles. "How does one know what the stars are made from?"
"Easy," I replied, "The stars are merely holes in the sky from which the ring of fire surrounding the Earth is visible."
That gave the beast pause, to which it followed with, "These holes in the sky, could they be the windows of the Gods?"
To this I was outraged, a polytheistic demon? I could not stand for it. I unsheathed my sword and leapt from my horse towards the beast, who was shrinking in fear. The cold steel from my blade plunged into the chest of the heathen; it let out a death rattle and I withdrew my sword. What I was not expecting was the explosive pressure of the blood in its veins, as I pulled out my weapon a blast of blood forced its way out of the wound, drenching a number of people standing nearby; their faces expressed pure horror. I wasn't really in the way, so I was fine. Whatever, I just kept kind of went on my way or some junk. Fuck blood covered peasants.

To make it into the south, one has to cross through a monolithic gate that opens into a mountain pass. The gate is guarded by a large edifice that emits blasts of heat when it senses any foreign presence. The heat is enough to make your eyes bleed. To get past the gate, I went around it. Mountains aren't fucking walls, they're slopes, I just walked around the gate and descended back into the pass; whoever designed that entrance was fucking stupid and should have built a wall. So with that out of the way I continued south.

When I came out of the mountains I met a man who was a snake. I needed to ride upon his boat in order to cross the sea to reach my goal, but I did not trust him. He told me that I would have to pay in order to sail in his ship. "An outrage!" declared I. The mere honor of bearing me in his craft should have been payment enough, but he insisted. I paid him by thrusting my sword into his abdomen and kicked him to the ground where he writhed for several moments before becoming motionless. I did not know how to pilot his water craft, so I rode his bloated corpse across the sea instead. The journey was fraught with peril. Examples of such peril were: large sharks, mermaids that refused to speak my language, the steady decomposition of the man I was journeying upon, my general lack of buoyancy whilst wearing a considerable amount of plate armor, and lusty freebooters of many nations. By the time I reached the shore opposite of the one I departed, there was nary a man beneath me. The body had broken in twain but my immense mental fortitude held it together. As I stepped out onto the foreign shore, the body dissolved into a black mass.

The land I had arrived at was a barren waste. Undulating dunes of sand stretched for as far as I could see. Indeed, it had to be the land that the story teller of yore had described. My goal, although it was not within sight, felt within my grasp. It's difficult to describe because I'm relegated to using metaphors and imprecise language. Essentially, I knew that there was an ostrich around there somewhere. They had to have nested somewhere. I was unable to attach a quantifiable distance that I would need to travel to fulfill my quest, which, in my experience, might irk some, especially those who require very specific itineraries when questing. Nonetheless, I felt as if I were closer to finding an ostrich. I began to walk, a walk that would stretch for several days.

My whims brought me to the peak of one dune. In front of me were more dunes. To my right and left... more dunes. There was fucking sand everywhere. Had I left my beloved home just to trek through a goddamn desert looking for some stupid bird that probably wasn't even that cool to begin with, despite what douchebag storytellers might have you think? Evidently. I began to scream curses, utter profanities, whisper threats. I was emitting all manner of obscenities at nothing in particular. Apparently, even the heavens themselves found my distress alarming, for an apparition descended from the sky and spoke at me:
"Hark, Northfist! Your distress is alarming. What you seek is not in these dunes, it is beyond them. Do not lose hope, fortify your spirit and press forward!"

The apparition seemed to be mocking me. These were all things I already knew. It was evident that what I was seeking was not in the dunes. Nothing was in these fucking dunes. Why the shit would anything want to be there? That would be stupid. Furthermore, if what I was seeking was in fact in said dunes, I would have already found it and departed for my home, rather than spending more time than was absolutely necessary in a godforsaken desert. This spirit was fucking with me, so I just tried to ignore it.

I walked for another day and as the sun reached its apex, a familiar voice once again came upon me:
"Northfist! I implore you to keep on moving through this vast desert. You must not falter in your quest, continue on, your current plight will give way to great rewards!"

The words reminded me of the vague proclamations of soothsayers, with their prophecies so general that they could encompass any possible event yet-to-happen to those they were prophesying. The spirit dogged me for another fortnight plaguing me with cliches and aphorisms that I had heard repeated on the tongues of the "positive thinkers" I had long ago expelled from my realm. My frustration with the spirit gave way to rage. I wanted to stab it a million different ways. I wanted to spill its heavenly ichor upon the ground in front of it's ethereal family. I wanted to stuff the spirits progeny in a burlap sack and drag them behind my horse. I wanted to do unspeakable things, but alas, I could not, for spirits exist in a different plane of existence than man. I had always felt more than mortal, but never had I felt so human as I walked through that desert wishing that I could shed my mortal coil to destroy that damnable spirit.

It was after a fortnight of walking that the thought finally occurred to me; if one could transcend the mortal realm of existence through death, what would be stopping me from killing myself in order to enter the domain of the spirits so that I might destroy this phantom that harassed me? The notion was brilliant, there was nothing stopping me! I unsheathed my sword and plunged it into my heart, much to the dismay of the spirit. As I embraced my shadow, I could feel myself leaving the temporal body that tied me to the mortal realm. I became corporeal, but it did not occur to me that death would try to drag me off to whatever heaven or hell awaited me so soon. He stood above me and declared that I must go with him to which I informed him that I do not take orders. Death was amused and ordered me to follow him. I told him that I was an adult and expected to be treated as such. He was no longer amused and told me that if I didn't want to take orders, I shouldn't have killed myself. I asked him if he wanted to wrestle, but he wasn't really into it and ordered me to follow again. I still didn't want to follow, so I grappled him and brought him to the ground. He was all, "Oh, guy! what choo doing that for?" And I was all, "Submit! Submit!" He submitted and I told him to begone. He didn't really have any other choice because I had him in a really badass hold.

With death gone I wandered the spiritual realm looking for the specter that drove me to suicide. At that point I really could not give a fuck about ostriches. Anyways, I found him outside this food purveyor trying to pick up some spirit babe. His courting tactics were an aberration. I watched him for several minutes and not once did he thrust or gyrate his genitals. I did not believe it was possible for my rage to grow, but I have realized, as I've grown older, that I can often surprise myself. I leapt from the bush where I was hiding and charged. As I was making haste to where he stood, he inquired into my well-being and expressed a certain amount of confusion regarding my death. I was unable to answer him, for I was engulfed with rage. I fell upon him and my hands embraced his throat, throttling the life out of him. The spirit babe stared as I crushed the bastards larynx. Unbeknown to be, she was not staring at the embodiment of my wrath, rather the massive erection I happened to be sporting. Evidently, death had submitted to me so readily earlier because my rage had encouraged my penis to engorge with blood. The girth of the organ was pressed against the small of his back, which made him profoundly uncomfortable.

I wish I could have cut the wraith to pieces with my blade, but strangulation seemed to suffice. As he ceased struggling and as I was finally beginning to experience feelings of elation, the babe spirit jumped upon me and embraced me. She had never had the rogue spirit of a would-be dead mortal man before. We made sex passionately and I masterfully listed off all of my triumphs and vanquished foes. She was impressed.

Leaving the realm of the spirits was merely a matter of threatening the right spirit. The lord of the spirits was a great dragon with one hundred eyes and as many wings. He sat upon a great gilded throne pointing here and there for reasons that were beyond my comprehension. I requested transport back into my mortal body. When the great dragon denied me I began to shout curses at him and I could feel the blood rushing back into my junk as I once again became paralyzed with ire. Unfortunately the dragon was not intimidated, so I was forced to challenge him to an ultimate fight. When the fight began, I forced a balled-up fist down the dragons throat and pulled its lungs out. I held the grizzly trophy about my head and began to wield them, as one would a club, against the dragon, who was now experiencing a rapid loss of consciousness. The dragon slouched over after a brief moment. It was probably dead, I'm not quite sure how spiritual dragons react to having their lungs pulled out. Regardless, a spirit of great magical knowledge came forth and agreed to transport me back into my mortal coil, if only I would stop murdering and spirit-boning all of his spirit-friends and spirit-family. I agreed, reluctantly, but only under the condition that I not be transported back to that desert, rather to the great metropolis where ostriches supposedly lived. He agreed and I found myself quickly losing consciousness.

As I opened my eyes I found myself amongst a mass of birds. They were large and resembled something like a glorified, flightless vulture. Where were the massive man-killing talons, the demonic eyes, the metropolis centered around the meta-bird?! Could these be the ostriches that I had sought for so many months? Indeed, they were. I felt cheated. It was all I could do to stab each one to death before returning home. I slipped into depression for many months. I never listened to stories ever again. My childhood was ruined.

Slaying Usurpers

There is an aforementioned article I penned dedicated to grooming an appropriate heir, but there is no mention of what one should do if conniving and jealous relatives seek to undo years of careful planning on your part. That shall be the topic of this article.

Approximately six months after I first expanded the domains of my father, my uncle, jealous of my feats, hired four barbarians of Varangian descent to drag me from my abode as I slumbered. The men trespassed into my castle and were promptly impaled on a vast iron spike wielded by my anthropomorphic canine companion or they fell into a pit of infinite depth or something. My uncle, foiled, sent another group of assassins, for his coffers are filled with seemingly unlimited amounts of money begotten by ill means which allow him to do things like send multiple bands of assassins. These ones were infinitely more skilled than the clumsy axe-wielding apes from Rus. They drugged me with all manner of herbs and carried me off to my uncles fortress. The bastard demanded that I cede my kingdom, so I shat upon the cobblestone of his floor, accused his wife of adultery, wagged my engorged penis before his squires face, and broke the neck of one of his servants. I was cast into his dungeon for my impressive display of penile defiance.

The dungeon had no perceivable exits, there was a lack of natural light, and I had heard rumors that there was a rancor in the third level. I thought to myself, "Fuck this place." Fuck it indeed! I began to repeatedly kick at the wall and called to the ghosts of my ancestors to empower my appendage that I might break through my fetid enclosure. No ghosts aided me, rather the jailer was roused by my energetic display of wall-kickery and requested that I stop, for it was futile and distracting. I told the man that he was suckled at the bosom of a whore and cast a rock in his direction. Offended by my trespass, he opened the door to my cell, presumably to administer a beating with an iron rod that he was brandishing, but, before he could react, I swiftly began kicking at him, rather than my former target, the wall. Several blows struck him at various points on the leg, shattering the bones, sending fragments about as they exited his body with devastating force. The jailer exploded in a wave of gore and a forceful blast of air. I stood triumphant in the puddle of man that had momentarily threatened to be my foe. The door to my cell stood ajar and I made a most glorious escape! I made for the door that I had been dragged in from and began to seek my uncle.

As I ascended the stairs to the ground floor of my uncles keep, I met a sentry who attempted to bar my passage. I leapt upon his chest before he could brandish his weapon and began to bite at his face, tearing copious amounts of flesh from his cheeks and throat. The sentry proved no match for my powerful mandibles. I stripped a halberd and sword from his corpse and continued my ascent. When I reached the great hall of the ground floor, there was something of a procession passing through. Oblivious to its purpose, I buried the halberd in the chest of the lead maiden and proceeded to run amok for several moments before finding the staircase that I sought. It was unfortunate for several poor souls that they impede my progress, for I raised them above my head, cursed their fathers and cast them to the floor with all the righteous anger that a captured noble might manifest against an enemy. The other inhabitants of the room fled in terror.

I mounted the stairs to the great tower that my uncle resided in running into no trouble as I made my way to the great oak doors that marked the ante-chamber of his bedroom. Standing before the door were the three assassins who had carried me to the castle. The blood-rage that had gripped me only grew more feverish as I grappled with one man, only to throw him through the body of another. The remaining assassin, horrified that I had impaled his comrade with his other comrade attempted to flee, but I was upon him like a gull on the lunch of a young lad, too oblivious to defend his means of sustenance. I tore at his face and threw him through the window of the tower. It was unnecessary to watch him plummet, for there was only hard pavement to meet him several stories below.

After I had dispatched my assassins I burst into the chamber of my uncle. He demanded to know the meaning of said outburst but only began to stammer as I stumbled in, drenched in violence. The man was naked from the waist down and surrounded by pieces of fine art that he was unceremoniously rubbing his genitals on. I was momentarily bewildered by his odd fetish but dismissed it as a madness befit for a man of his treachery. I took several steps into the room, watching him retreat backwards with his awkward erection, now sitting somewhere between half-mast and flaccid, taunting me from beneath his night-shirt. I tried to avert my eyes because it was weird, you now, seeing a family member naked from the waist down; that sort of thing makes me uncomfortable. I really didn't want to tackle him or really even touch him, so I cast an ornate candelabra at his head. The wrought-iron of the piece had the desired effect upon the old bastard in that it struck him in the temple and he collapsed, dead.

Satisfied, I retreated from my uncles chamber and left his fortress. Moments later I put it to the torch and watched it burn to the ground, rancor and all. I had no desire for the treasure he kept hidden in the sub-basements, for I wanted nothing to do with his damnable wealth. The castle slowly slumped beneath its own weight as its wooden supports burned and collapsed. I later forced the village my uncle administered to fill the considerable hole the castle left with earth, sealing up all traces of the fortress. When they finished it was off to the salt mines for the lot of them. I was victorious and ended up absorbing my uncles land into my kingdom.

So, what have we learned from this anecdote? Transgressions must be forcibly punished. I could have simply given my uncle a stern warning after leaving his dungeon, but no! He would not learn from such a thing. Death by candelabra was the only solution. I must insist that similar situations be remedied with the same process.

Heed my advice, dear reader.