I wrote you a good-bye story. Luckily I have plenty of down-time at work today.
Joe sat on his horse with the rest of the cavalry, waiting for Kesh's signal. He stared at the back of the woman's unhelmed head, distracted by her glorious locks. They glowed like fire in the sun. He wondered if her nether regions were similarly maned.
A sudden movement. Kesh's hand rose, and Joe along with the rest of the cavalry charged through a breach in the castle wall, crushing their own infantry in the process. Cav always have the right of way.
Joe sallied forth with his fellows, now plunging through the enemy ranks. He skewered an archer with his trusty lance before popping out the ass-end of the enemy's formation. Like poop.
Everything was chaos. He couldn't see any friendly cavalry.
He braced himself to charge back through the enemy formation, ready to kill a dozen more men, because this time their backs would be to him--he would be fighting a familiar battle now.
Then, suddenly, something hit him really hard in the fucking head. It knocked him sideways out of the saddle, his world spinning. His foot caught in the stirrup. He dangled, half hanging, half lying on the ground, looking up at the sky. His horse just stood there.
A mounted figure appeared between him and the blue. It was a familiar face. "Good fight, Joe," Daruvian, King of the Frisians said from above. He was looking down at him with a little smile, twirling a spavalthakalakaiono.
Joe spat out a tooth. "Frisian Freedom huh? More like Frisian my old friendg--"
Daruvian slapped Joe's horse, and the beast flew away from the battlefield.
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Later that evening, Joe was sitting in the keep of the same castle, sipping cocoa before a blazing fore. WITCHCRAFT sat beside him, sipping scotch in a beanbag chair.
Joe sipped. The hot drink and burning logs all reflected his temper--he was angry, hot, raging inside at his defeat.
WITCHCRAFT, sipped. "Joe," she said, her voice startlingly male, "We all lose eventually."
"But he's so fucking bad."
"I know," WITCHCRAFT said, "I Know."
Joe felt his face go hot, and his throat clench. "I must have my revenge," he choked out, a half sob. He dropped his teacup. It shattered on the stone floor. Tears and cocoa pooled at his feet.
He felt WITCHCRAFT's hand on his shoulder. "C'mon man, don't cry."
Joe sobbed something incoherent.
"Yeah sure," WITCHCRAFT said. Joe felt the reassuring hand disappear. "Joe, how about I help you out? I'll cast a spell maybe..."
Joe sniffed, hope causing his heart to flutter. "Can you make him go away WITCHCRAFT?"
"Why are you yelling?" WITCHCRAFT said. "And yes, yes I can Joe. We'll make the big bad Daruvian go away.
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Daruvian was in his room, sitting at his computer. Horses and men clashed on the screen in a medieval simulation, of sorts.
He sipped an apple martini, careful not to spill the full glass. He smiled. It was pretty good, for a first try. A little too strong, for something that you'd drink in your room for the taste of it, but still good.
He set the glass back down on his desk, preparing for a new round to begin.
A sudden trembling sent the green liquid rippling. The house shook.
He frowned, still in his seat, his hand now clutching the drink to keep it from falling. Was this an earthquake?
Another tremor, this time stronger. Daruvian moved to stand up.
Another tremor, this time strong enough to knock him off balance. He fell back in his chair, spilling his drink in his lap. He cursed, but a terrible rumbling overwhelmed his voice. Suddenly, the air pressure changed, and his ears popped as if he were in an airplane about to land.
Then there was a massive roar. The house rocked and groaned. The roof was peeled away by some terrible force, exposing Daruvian's room to a grey and cloudy sky. The wind was whipping him backwards, pushing him into his chair and pushing the chair into the desk.
Then the wind let up and a bright light flashed, blinding Daruvian for a full minute. When it relented, he pried his burning eyes open again to see two figures hovering above his room, where the roof should have been. They were fully naked men, built like gods, their nipples erect and their eyes glowing with some ethereal power.
One of them spoke, his voice as deep as the ocean. "Daruvian, we have come for you."
"Holy shit, please don't kill me!"
"Death is merely a transition, Daruvian."
Daruvian, shaking in his chair, tried to explain: "That's not my real--"
"Dicks, dicks, dicks," the other man said. He stroked himself.
The other, other man said, "You are being taken to a place where you'll be happier. You like dick, right?"
He was right, but Daruvian wouldn't have chosen to phrase it in quite that way. "Sorry?"
"Your clan. Frisia. They profess a love for dick. You're gay. We have been called to take you with us to a place of eternal, homosexual bliss."
That didn't sound so bad. Clearly, he didn't have a choice. "Will I even get to say goodbye? To my family?"
"You may say goodbye to your internet family." The naked man gestured with a well muscled arm towards the computer, still intact despite the destruction surrounding it. "Type your message."
Daruvian pulled his chair up to the desk, he raised shaky hands to the keyboard and typed his good-bye. It took a few minutes. He knew that the cRPG community wouldn't quite get it--he was vague, intentionally. He had a persona to fulfill. The trolling was the best part of it all, really.
He stood. "I'm done. I'm ready to ascend."
One man said, "Dicks, dic--."
The other man said shushed his partner. He turned to Daruvian. "Good. Take my hand."
Daruvian did so. It was strong, and warm. He liked it.
Both men began chanting. "Dicks, dicks, dicks, DICKS, DICKS, DICKS..." They got louder, and louder, until their cries echoed through Daruvian's very being. There was a trembling, and a bright white flash, and he was gone. [/i]
