I actually sperged out, fictionally, and wrote something so amazingly inane and long-winded that I had to put it in a spoiler. I, uh, have no life.
Joe's longship darted through the sea towards a milk-white shore, still some distance away. The Un-Nerfable barely trembled beneath Joe's feet, so perfectly calm was the water. The sky was a perfect blue, and the sun not yet too high to cause discomfort to Joe or his men. He thanked whatever gods there were for their assistance.
One of the oarsmen shouted out, "My lord! Is it yet time to strip?"
"No!" Joe turned around in his saddle to stare mightily into the man's eyes. "It is not naked time."
The man was struck by Joe's piercing gaze. He dry heaved, but managed to get out a strangled, "Yes, sir!"
"And call me by my proper title!"
He was crying now. Little lines of wet were appearing below his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad!"
Joe bared his teeth at the man, asserting his dominance one final time before turning back around to face the rapidly approaching shore.
He pet Champion Courser. The proud beast stirred beneath him. "You shouldn't be so mean, my love."
"Shut up oh my god I hate you."
She sighed. "You're nervous."
That damn animal knew him so well. "You're right, you're right. It's just--so much depends on my success." He paused, suddenly mirthful, a pun on his mind, what with him being on horseback at the moment. "You could say that there's just too much riding on it...riding on me...too many we're riding on it much to the can't..." He'd lost the joke. His mind was drowning. He felt himself slipping away into some dark place. "...Much riding the joke can't joke.... No sergeant, can't do that...babies in the village..."
He hated this. Here he was, going back to Vietnam. "NOOOOOO! BABIES IN THE VILLAGE SERGEANT! NOT THE WHILLIE PEETE, WHAT WE YOU DOING!"
Something hit Joe's face. He blinked, his head suddenly clear. One of the men stood beside him, his face calm, an oar held high. "Should I hit you again, Dad?"
"That's quite alright." Joe dismissed the man with a little wave of his hand, then returned his attention to his horse-lover. "So much depends on our success. We need to find him, dammit."
"I know, love. Freedom is at steak." She corrected herself, "Stake."
It damn well was. He knew he was doing something treasonous--betraying Kesh and the current King of Acre. He had had to fund this whole venture himself, using his own ship and men. His own horses and food.
It had to be done. He'd known that from the start--from the moment he'd heard the whisper of a dying king. King Reinhardt, of Acre, one of FCC's many pitiful vassals, subject to an increasingly egomaniacal Kesh's unquestioned authority--Reinhardt had died. Joe saw it himself, one dark night. He'd been visint New Slezk castle, in the snowy north, on a routine inspection of Acre's cavalry forces. He despised the task--Acre shouldn't even be a vassal. Yet there he was, speaking with an officer in the stables when a messenger appeared, whisking the man away with a flurry of whispered lords. Joe followed, of course, his suspicions aroused. Remembering something he had learned from Gmnotutoo, mightiest of ninja warriors, Joe stripped himself down so as to be less encumbered. Naked, Joe had slipped past guards and servants alike, slithering snake-like on his belly through the castle. The spirit of the snake now fully in possession of him, Joe managed to slither up a tower wall and an open window, soundlessly infiltrating a secret meeting of the leaders of Acre.
None of the gathered knights and lords saw him. He wriggled naked across the floor, his balls flopping softly, under the dying King's bed. And then he heard it, amid a stream of incoherent babble. The name of an heir.
Joe slithered the fuck out of there. There was hope, now. He fled Slezk Castle in all hast, heading towards the nearest port, sending carrier pigeons in every direction at the first opportunity.
Joe was going to find Reinhardt's heir.
He was going to do it for Acre. The rightful king would not stand for this silly vassalage.
He was doing this for Kesh.
Kesh had grown too powerful. He had too many vassals and castles and soldiers. It was beginning to wear away at the man/woman's psyche, twisting Joe's friend into something terrible. Something dark, powerful, and terribly familiar to those with good memories.... Long ago, another man had been twisted by power, turning into a dark fiend of tyranny: Echo, of ATS. Joe shuddered at the thought of the name.
He would not let Kesh's brilliant mane of red hair be corrupted into a terrible neckbeard. The rightful king of Acre must return, fight for a free Acre, and strike a blow against FCC--to save it and it's leader from self-annihilation. Somewhere out here in the tropics was a man--or boy--by the name of Ronald McDonald, and Joe was going to find him.
"One way, or another," Joe whispered under his breath as his ship rammed against the shore, grinding to a slow halt in the sand, "I'm gonna find you. I'm gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha."
