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 It had been lost when the regions last garrison had withdrawn centuries prior but somewhere, beneath a bed of foliage, it ran towards my home.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.