I was a warrior. A badass. A pissed off barbarian charging into a horde of orcs, my flowing hair and loincloth blowing majestically in the wind, nothing but my balls and a really big sword between me and a hot entrée of horrible death, with a side of eternal glory.
I kicked ass. Took names. Kicked said names. Rocked the world harder than the Poison Clan. Shamed spammers, partied with the jammers, and cheesed off bosses with the yes-man-kablammers.
Then, at the very height of my excellence, I was cock blocked from taking up my rightful place among the Mods of Mount Olympus. I submitted myself to their judgement and was found unworthy, even though they probably just rejected me because there wasn't enough holy real estate available to fit my huge wanger, or some ****.
I was cast down from the holy mountain, thrown back into the cesspool of plebery, shamed and dishonored.
So now, I'm on a quest. A mission of redemption. A journey to discover what Modship really means, and who I truly am. An adventure to awaken...
the Mod within.
Day One
They took everything from me. My sword, my honor, all of the biscuits I had stashed in my knapsack. Bastards didn't even leave me my loincloth. ****ing *******s. I had to hunt ten gigantic man-eating tigers to get enough pelt to make that damn thing. All of the store-bought loincloths were way too small for my morningstar.
Oh well. I'd just start over. Work my way back up to the top and take it all back. Till then, **** it, I could free-ball it.
I started off down the path, stealing a final glance back at Mount Olympus. Those holy ****s were probably sitting around up there, laughing their asses off as sexy ladies in togas and oiled up beefcakes fed them grapes and ****. And I knew that one day, those grapes would be mine. And when they were, I would put them in the freezer for like an hour, 'cause that **** tastes really good.
An hour or so later, I ended up in a ****ty little village of goat herders. Probably goat ****ers, too. Some lady came running towards me from out of a shack, yelling some **** about an attack through her tears. Her legs were all ****ed up, so she kept falling, and that just ****ed up her legs even more. It looked like someone had mangled them years ago. Yeesh. Guess this village was really on it's last legs.
A guy came running out of the shack behind her. Bandit. The heavy furs and rusty axe were dead giveaways. All those bandit ****s shop at the same places.
He threw his axe at my face. I headbutted that **** into a cloud of dust. You might think that would've scared him, or at least given him a moment of pause, but nah, that ain't how bandits in barbarian flicks roll. They really just don't give a ****. You could chokeslam a chimera right in front of them, and they'd still be like "Yeah, we can take this guy!"
He rushed me. I kicked him square in the chest. Beneath his cracking ribs, I could almost hear his heart make a generic movie soundclip of a grunt as it exploded. Blood flew out of all of his orifices, and I do mean
all of them. He also got an erection, so I guess he was into it.
Anyway, the bandit fell to the dust, and I helped the lady up. She stammered out a story about how some nearby bandit clan had totally wrecked the village's ****, and enslaved pretty much everybody. The guy I'd just killed had stayed behind to search for anyone that might've still been hiding around, and found her.
The lady beseeched me to go after the bandit clan and rescue all of her buds.
I closed my eyes, and used my mind to briefly consult the Mods. Goofle was the one who picked up the mind-call. I explained the situation to him. "You provide a valuable service," he said, and I'm just gonna tell you right now that if you're not reading his words with a limey accent, get on that ****, "and thus you should be compensated for your efforts. Preferably with cash, but sex is also acceptable. Just please don't let those dirt farmers talk you into doing **** for them for free. It's their own fault they're in this mess. If they weren't such lazy twats, they wouldn't be useless peasants, would they?"
I opened my eyes. "Sure," I said to the peasant gal, stretching out a palm. "Pay me."
She acted all surprised. "Pay you? You mean... you want
money? I thought you were... you know... a
hero?"
And I was like, "I
am a hero. And for the right price, I could be
your hero."
Her eyes started welling up with more tears. "But... heroes are supposed to fight for honor, and virtue, and-"
"And look where all that honor **** got me. I was a legend. I saved the world. And now, I'm just another naked ******* roaming around without a purpose. That's what happens when you fight for honor. At least with money, you can afford enough booze to drink away the guilt. So yeah. Pay me."
She looked around the village through a gust of wind, her ugly peasant girl haircut (every peasant girl always has the same one) blowing against her face like it was trying to strangle her. She opened her mouth, probably to try and reason with me, but was having a hard time settling on the right words. Eventually, she just kinda shrugged, and let her hands fall to her thighs with a slap. "We've got nothing to pay you with."
And I was like. "Really? Nothing? Nothing at all? You don't have any food, or booze, or maybe even just a CRT that you've been meaning to put out on the curb?"
She looked down. "We're simple people. All we had was our herd. They were all that we needed. And now, we don't even have th-" She got all choked up and raised a hand to her mouth, her mind probably playing a rerun of the bandits slaughtering all of her goats. Wish I could've been there. Would've made a sick album cover.
And I sighed, and was like "Alright. Fine. I guess the bandits'll probably have some **** I can loot. I'll go save all your brother-husbands."
She beamed and gave me a hug.
"But," I continued through her hair, which was actively trying to go into my mouth, and it was really gross, "we have to **** first."
She snapped open her eyes and pushed me away. "What? Why?"
My monster vine was already rising towards the warmth of the sun. "'Cause this is a Fantasy story, and I'm a male power fantasy, and you're a grateful peasant lady, and-"
She raised a hand. "Alright. I get it. But no. I'm not gonna sleep with you."
"Why not?"
"Well, for starters, I'm married."
"To a guy who couldn't even handle a few bandits. Now come on, let's go."
"Are you serious? I just watched my whole family, my whole
village, get enslaved. Not five minutes ago, I almost got raped. And you think, what... all that **** has made me super horny?"
"Uh... yeah?" I briefly consulted my memory of the genre. "Yeah, that's definitely how it's supposed to go. So, should we just do it right here? Or does your village have, like, a **** shack we can use?"
She slapped me. I still had the mark on my cheek when I reached the makeshift fort nestled in the foothills and started the slaughter. My fists were like a whirlwind of bloody destruction. There was this one part where I turned really fast, and I'm pretty sure my dick whipped out and knocked someone cold. It was great.
I found a nice stash of pilfered gold and jewels in the bandit chief's quarters, and plenty of food for my journey in their supply stores. I even cobbled all of their furs together and made myself a new loincloth. All of the peasants cheered me on as I ripped their chains off. They all loaded themselves up with as much food and booze as they could find, and we had a huge feast when we got back to the village.
During the festivities, the peasant lady found me and apologized for slapping me. And I was like, "Hey, it's cool. Don't worry about it," and not just because I'm a forgiving guy who pretty much had it coming anyway, but also 'cause I kinda like it when girls hit me. Don't tell anyone, though, 'cause that **** is top hush.
Anyway, the day ended much better than it began. The peasant lady and I got buzzed on bandit moonshine and then snuck off, and she gave me an awkward handjob in the **** shack. Aw yeah. Fantasy.