#ModQuest2018

[Oriphiel]

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.

[The Batlord]

Originally Posted by Oriphiel

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 ****.

Why this comma?

[Oriphiel]

Originally Posted by 66Sexy

Why this comma?

Strategic narrative pause to improve the comedic flow. And also so Patrick Stewart can get plenty of breaths in when this **** is inevitably put on tape.

[Oriphiel]

Day Five

I saw Urban in a dream last night. I fell asleep pondering where next I ought travel, my worries obscured by the haze of rest, whence came him through such glittering shards of which memory and imagining join and crystallize.

"Leave me out of your dreams, you ****ing dork," he said. "I don't give a **** what you do, or where you go. Figure that **** out on your own."

As I woke, I did ruminate on those seeds of wisdom he had so haply sown, tending to them with the warm succor of patient consideration, till at last an idea did sprout, taking deep root in my mind.

I would get another really big sword. And this one would be even bigger.

I broke camp, extinguishing what faint smolders remained of the fire with a healthy morning piss, and set off down the road with a limp. That peasant gal back in the village I saved? Yeah, she had hand herpes. **** itched like a bitch. Yet until upon the path of a healer I might cross, I'd just have to suck it up and deal with it.

Not long on the path, I stood atop the crest of a hillock and did mark smoke on yonder plains ahead, churning through the sky so blue as liquor churns through a maiden true.

Twas a town I spied, within which I'd soon arrived. The past few days, I had hunted many a bandit, filling my knapsack to bursting with what coinage I had liberated from their coffers. And now, I dumped all that **** on the floor of the smithy's shop.

"Fashion me a sword," I said, "of such length and girth that I might cleave the very world upon which I tread, should it offend me."

The smith, an eldery gentleman of a portly sort, laughed as he cleaned his hands with a rag. "I'm a goldsmith, son. Says so right on the sign. Weapons aren't really my-"

I punched some **** off of a table. "Sword."

He seemed as if he didn't quite understand the situation. "Son, you need to calm down. Now, there's a blacksmith just a stretch down the road, not five minutes from here on foot. If you just-"

I ripped off my loincloth. "SWORD. NOW."

I saw many things flash across his face. Fear. Revulsion. Maybe some jealously. But I also saw understanding, and that was good.

"I'll get right on it," he stammered, hurrying to his forge.

And that's how I ended up with a seven hundred pound sword made of gold.

And it was glorious.

Until I swung it into an armored orc, and it got all bent and ****. You know, for a metal with such a heavy rep, gold is actually kind of a bitch.

I consulted the Mods on what I ought do next. Vanilla answered my call, and told me to join her cult for a woke 'n smoke. But a cult is no place for a true warrior, and so I sadly had to decline.

Before hitting up a nearby inn and buying a room and a wench for the night, I sought out the services of a local healer. I traded my warped weapon for a remedy, and so was rid of my penile ailment. In a manner of speaking, anyway; it made my dick fall off. But it was fine. I rolled with it. Hardly the first time a cheapo quicky potion had bent my gender.

[Key]

Originally Posted by Oriphiel

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 entree 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.

Originally Posted by Oriphiel

Day Five

I saw Urban in a dream last night. I fell asleep pondering where next I ought travel, my worries obscured by the haze of rest, whence came him through such glittering shards of which memory and imagining join and crystallize.

"Leave me out of your dreams, you ****ing dork," he said. "I don't give a **** what you do, or where you go. Figure that **** out on your own."

As I woke, I did ruminate on those seeds of wisdom he had so haply sown, tending to them with the warm succor of patient consideration, till at last an idea did sprout, taking deep root in my mind.

I would get another really big sword. And this one would be even bigger.

I broke camp, extinguishing what faint smolders remained of the fire with a healthy morning piss, and set off down the road with a limp. That peasant gal back in the village I saved? Yeah, she had hand herpes. **** itched like a bitch. Yet until upon the path of a healer I might cross, I'd just have to suck it up and deal with it.

Not long on the path, I stood atop the crest of a hillock and did mark smoke on yonder plains ahead, churning through the sky so blue as liquor churns through a maiden true.

Twas a town I spied, within which I'd soon arrived. The past few days, I had hunted many a bandit, filling my knapsack to bursting with what coinage I had liberated from their coffers. And now, I dumped all that **** on the floor of the smithy's shop.

"Fashion me a sword," I said, "of such length and girth that I might cleave the very world upon which I tread, should it offend me."

The smith, an eldery gentleman of a portly sort, laughed as he cleaned his hands with a rag. "I'm a goldsmith, son. Says so right on the sign. Weapons aren't really my-"

I punched some **** off of a table. "Sword."

He seemed as if he didn't quite understand the situation. "Son, you need to calm down. Now, there's a blacksmith just a stretch down the road, not five minutes from here on foot. If you just-"

I ripped off my loincloth. "SWORD. NOW."

I saw many things flash across his face. Fear. Revulsion. Maybe some jealously. But I also saw understanding, and that was good.

"I'll get right on it," he stammered, hurrying to his forge.

And that's how I ended up with a seven hundred pound sword made of gold.

And it was glorious.

Until I swung it into an armored orc, and it got all bent and ****. You know, for a metal with such a heavy rep, gold is actually kind of a bitch.

I consulted the Mods on what I ought do next. Vanilla answered my call, and told me to join her cult for a woke 'n smoke. But a cult is no place for a true warrior, and so I sadly had to decline.

Before hitting up a nearby inn and buying a room and a wench for the night, I sought out the services of a local healer. I traded my warped weapon for a remedy, and so was rid of my penile ailment. In a manner of speaking, anyway; it made my dick fall off. But it was fine. I rolled with it. Hardly the first time a cheapo quicky potion had bent my gender.

Fun read.

[Oriphiel]

Day Ten

I awoke to the noise of excited chattering beyond the canvas of my tent. Temporarily swordless, I reached for the sturdy club that I had been using in the interval, and sometimes using as an anal stimulator when my whacking sessions needed that extra oomph.

Hobgoblins. Dozens of them. They leapt at me, razored claws retracted, screaming their squeaky battlecries. Adorable.

My first swing turned three skulls into goblin pasta. The next ripped through their tiny torsos like a hot dick through a bunch of ugly little butter sculptures, cutting at least one of them clean in half. The few left unmangled soon scampered away, shouting vaguely hurtful insults and edgy alt-right rhetoric as they disappeared into the foliage.

And as for the corpses, well... let's just say that breakfast took care of itself that morning.

Bloated with gobby burgers and covered in green blood, I decided to wash up in the nearby stream. But when I got there, looking down into the crystalline waters, I found a pair of tits staring back at me.

Damn. I checked between my legs. Yup. That potion really had bent my gender.

Whatever. A few good dungeon crawls, and I'd have more than enough gold to get myself changed back.

I spent the next few minutes cleaning up and playing with my new tits, and then broke camp.

As I prepared to leave, I knelt down and opened my mind, praying to the Mods for guidance. Maybe they could give me a hot tip on some good bandit lairs.

Wolverinewolfweiselpigeon answered the call.

"Ayyyyyy," she sang, waving to me through a thick haze of smoke. "Just got the Incepta-Bong fixed. You wanna come by for a rip?"

"Uh, I -"

"Oh, wait," she said, raising a hand to her mouth and giggling like an anime bitch. "I forgot. You couldn't get an invite to Mount Olympus. Loooooool."

"Yup," I sighed, trying not to roll my eyes. "Look, I just called to ask for some advice."

"Oh? 'Bout what?"

"Uh... my quest?"

"Oh yeeeeaaahhh..." she smiled, shooing away an oiled up beefcake grape-bearer. "How's that been workin' out for ya'?"

"Fine. But I could use some pointers. Hence the prayer-call."

"Oh, sure. Some pointers. Like, on how to tap into the essence of the True Mod, and ascend above the dregs of mediocritous humanity, or whatever?"

"Or just a heads up on where the nearest thing to kill is would be fine."

"Can do, bro," she said, cracking her knuckles. Raising her hands to her temples, she scrunched her face like she was straining her mind, or just taking a really painful ****. "Oooh. I'm scanning the area around you. Really scouring around. And it looks like... the nearest thing to kill... is..." Opening her eyes, she laughed and blew a raspberry. "You. As in, kill yourself, dork. Ha ha ha! How d'ya like that? Mod clan ain't nothin' ta **** wit!"

"Oh, shut up, bitch."

"Aaaaaaaaand infracted," she grinned, dropping an invisible gavel.

"Oh yeah? Infract these, bitch," I said, standing up to show her my rockin' new pair of tits. "I've only had them for one morning, and they're already bigger than yours."

"Oh shiiiiiiiiiit," she laughed. "Those are pretty nice. Infraction lifted, I guess. Anyway, I've gotta run. Janszoon just tossed up some edibles all over my carpet. Have fun with your quest thiiiiing byyyyeeee."

Well ****. What a waste of time.

I needed something to kill.

Trekking my way to the nearest road, I followed it for a few miles. Not much happened. There were some gooey skeletons. A crow looked at me. I smashed it. Cheeky little ****er.

Eventually, I ended up in yet another generic fantasy pastiche village. Oh joy.

Gods, I was done. Done with that ****. I saw those cutesy little cottages and those jolly woodcutters, and I just couldn't. I kept my gaze locked to the ground as I trundled to the nearest tavern to get ****faced, knowing that if I for any reason had to look back up, had to look at that ****ing village one more time, I would just start swinging. It would just happen. It does sometimes, you know. I start swinging, and I don't stop until everything is... well, whatever color blood the people around here have.

Life is so much simpler when you reduce it to a swing. Good? Evil? No. Swing.

Rich? Poor? Swing.

Human? Monster? Swing.

All is swing.

Swing.

And then I wake up naked inside of a pile of body parts.

Just a few steps from the tavern, some tubby baker gets in my way, trying to sell me some freshly baked rolls. I told him that he could bake himself a roll shaped like a vagina and go **** it. Then I pushed him away.

Some town guards saw that ****, and rushed in.

I was so close. One of my feet had found the porch steps. And then I felt their hands drop on my shoulders.

"Awlroight," one of them said, because of course he was a limey. "Wot's all this, then? You havin' a loff, you saucy wanka? Don you know we don stand for sush ooliganism in ese pahts?"

"Let me go."

They had a chuckle. "Oi wiw naught. In fact, oi think you beh-ur come along wiff us. Roight now."

Swing.

"I'm serious. Let me go."

Their grips tightened. They started to pull me back.

Swing.

"You ear at, Chahleigh?" laughed one of them. "Ee wants us to let im go. Wehw, maybe we should..."

"Aye," chuckled the other. "Wiw let im go, awlroight." He leaned in closer to me. I could feel his limey breath on my neck. "To hell."

And then I turned around.

And smiled.

And swang.

[[MERIT]]

I was onboard with you getting modded until you started spouting made-up lies, saying that I beat my wife, hit women and build bombs.

[WWWP]

^ a pm would be more appropriate than bringing it into an unrelated thread.

[Oriphiel]

Originally Posted by [MERIT]

I was onboard with you getting modded until you started spouting made-up lies, saying that I beat my wife, hit women and build bombs.

My lies are made up, are they?

[[MERIT]]

Originally Posted by WWWP

^ a pm would be more appropriate than bringing it into an unrelated thread.

Not saying that I beat my wife, hit women and build bombs would have been more appropriate as well.