[FIC] #3 - Sex Massacre of the Lizard God

Working her way up the sheer cliffs, she cursed the jagged rock face.
"Shitty shit fuck, you fucking piece of sheer rock," She paused a moment to brush aside the tawny locks that clung across her brow, stuck fast with sweat. "Fucking ass shit hair, I'll piss on your dog!" Her muscles screamed and blood pumped like lava. "And fuck you too, blood!" She didn't mean it. Blood was her bff. Despite her protestations, she ascended the forbidding crags with unnatural agility and ease. The bloodthirsty creatures on her trail were the real cause of her vitriol.

Several Lizardmen, hot in pursuit were a short distance below and gaining. They hissed and growled as they ascended after their prey.
"Sshitty sshit fuck, thesse fucking warmbloodss alwayss make thingss hard!" said one in Lizardtongue.
"And look! Sshe sstopped to fix her hair! Ssuch vain creaturess!" spat another.
"Hey, now. Nothing wrong with a girl wanting to look fabulouss before sshe diess." Said a third Lizardman, wearing a gaudy feathered headdress and sequinned loincloth. The others laughed.
"Oh Tony, you're alwayss sso…delightful," remarked the lead Lizardm'n as a rock sailed past his head and splattered the face of another just below him. The rest hugged the cliff as the body fell; catching one more reptilian on the way and sending him Wilhelm-screaming into the jungle below.

The brown-haired barbarian laughed and made a rude gesture at her pursuers.
"Suck a ghoul's leprous ding-dong!" She mocked before making a final push to crest the top of the cliff.
The angered Lizardmen hunters scrambled up after her. The first one to scale the cliff was rewarded with his own rock to the face and a free trip through the tree canopy. The rest grouped together and swarmed up and over. A rustle in the bushes indicated the direction their prey had run. Readying spears, they followed.

They came to a small clearing. Facing them was the ferocious female, clothed in hide and furs, brandishing a thick tree branch. Her legs were braced, lips curled, eyes smouldering like a cornered she-wolf. Behind her the plateau ended abruptly in another deadly drop. Evidently there was no means of escape, so she had turned to meet her end with fangs bared and claws extended.
"Pinkssskin," croaked the leading Lizard in a broken river folk dialect. "Tell me your name, sso that our priesst can properly ssend your ssoul to Yakthaka on the altar of ssacrifice."
"Heh," snorted the wild-eyed northern warrior "You can tell Yakthaka yourself when I - Faolain of Clachad - send you to him."
"Oh daaaaaaaaaaamn!" called Tony from the back of the group, "Stone. Cold."
"Hey!" snarled the Lizardman, "Whosse sside are you on, Tony?"
"Herss now, if you're too much of a fuckboy to top that harssh diss," sassed Tony. The Lizardman sighed and turned back to Faolain.
"Uhhh…" He stammered, trying to think of a suitable comeback. "Not if I kill you firsst?"
Tony imitated a fog horn while the rest of the hunters shook their heads in disappointment.
"Fine," Said the Lizardman, defeated. "Fuck it. Jusst get her!" He shouted and they immediately leapt upon their prey.

---

Faolain awoke with a pounding headache made worse by the rhythmic beating of drums in the distance. She hung from a log - carried between two Lizardman hunters - bound at the wrists and ankles. Looking around, she saw primitive huts on either side. Ahead, a large stone ziggurat loomed, the peak of which stood just above the line of the tall jungle trees.

Lizardchildren scampered about, laughing, hurling insults and stones at the wildwoman. Faolain spat and cursed at them like a rabid hound in response. They started crying and one even peed himself. The lizard men put Faolain down a moment. One set her upright as the other gave her a brutal slug to the jaw. She spat out a glob of blood, grinned fiendishly and laughed at her captors. They tried not to cry but one peed himself. The lizard children stopped crying and began laughing and taunting peepants lizard guard; calling him "peepants Jeff". They weren't very inventive. The other lizard man shooed the children off and consoled his friend. Touching piano began to play.
"Don't worry Jeff. I involuntarily sshit mysself when I orgassm." Said the lizard man, rubbing peepants Jeff's shoulders.
"Uhh…" replied Jeff, clearly weirded out.
"And ssometimes, when I'm taking a sshit, I get a boner." continued the oversharing lizardman.
"Okay, I think I'm fine now, Kyle." said Jeff, trying to end the awkward bonding session.
"And you know you gotta jerk that boner out. Can't go walking around with a hardon," continued Kyle unabated.
"Yep. Tearss gone. Massculinity resstored. Let'ss get going…" urged Jeff, standing up and dusting himself off.
"And ssince, you know…completing makes me poop," added Jeff in a weirdly hushed tone as if he hadn't been talking about shitting and jerking off this entire time. "and poopin' givess me a boner…" murmured Kyle, connecting the dots.
"Sstop. Sstop Kyle. Sstop now pleasse." said the completely ignored Jeff.
"I jusst gotta keep jerkin' and poopin' until I passs out from dehydration in a pool of sshitty jizz," The two stared at each other in silence a few moments. "Bodiess are weird, huh? Good talk, peepantss. Let'ss go."

They came to a plaza before the ziggurat. Faolain was cut loose and thrust into a wicker cage of jungle vines and branches. She scrambled to her feet and launched herself outwards. The two lizard man guards were prepared and wrestled her back in, closing the cage fast. Clutching at the bars, Faolain rattled the cage and raged at her predicament, the lizardmen, Kormm, the earthen ground, the wind, happy couples, a bird, an irritating itch that was just out of reach, the establishment, civilisation in general, lack of a sword, puppies, and so on until she was spent.

Panting and leaning against the cage, Faolain surveyed the surroundings. The reptile tribe were gathering and dancing at the foot of the moss and vine covered ziggurat. Sweaty scaled bodies thrusted erotically under the lusty light of the sexy setting sun. The drums beat a hot latin rhythm that made hips move with minds of their own in a pantomime of safe-for-work sexy sex thrusts. Shit was so hot Faolain had to fan herself like she was in a 90's Diet Coke commercial.

A voice called down from a platform halfway up the ziggurat. A lizardman priest in fine robes stood behind an altar. In one hand he wielded a wicked curved dagger and in the other, a skull sized glittering blue and amber jewel. He chanted, swayed and moaned in exultation over a human figure tied down to the altar.

Wearing naught but golden armlets, matching anklet and a white semi-transparent silken loincloth, the boy struggled against his bindings. The token gesture of clothing showed a great view of supple young side-sack as he writhed about on the altar - glistening alabaster skin turning a sultry shade of pink from the exertion. Faolain couldn't help but pop a ladyboner at the helpless cliche reversal of sexual objectification. Her barbarian blood surged and spurred her to action. She watched her guards like a hawk, ready to take advantage of any opening to escape.

"And so we shall ssacrifice this pink-sskinned devil to Yakthaka," yelled the lizardman priest down from his platform. "And Yakthaka will drink of itss dissgussting inferior warm blood." He continued in a racially insensitive manner.
"And thiss sshall ssate him and he will not eat uss and will guide our hunterss and give uss good weather and fertile women and help uss conquer other tribess and not eat uss and provide affordable health care and lower taxess and upgrade infrasstructure and hopefully not eat uss. So it wass for our ancestorss and sso it sshall alwayss be until we fuck up and he eatss uss. It iss a good ssystem of government and hass worked sso far."
The crowd yelled "Pleasse don't eat uss!" in unison and resumed their sexy dancing.

As the sun began to set, the drumming and dancing became more intense. Loincloths were flying and lizard people just started totally fuckin' in the streets.
"Hey boyyyyyss!" Cooed Tony the Lizardman at the guards. "Why don't you join in?"
The guards looked at each other.
"You go ahead Jeff," said Kyle. "I jusst like to watch and jerk it."
"You're one crazy ssex pervert, Kyle." Replied the other as he doffed his loincloth and waded into the scaly street orgy.

Now was her chance. As Kyle fiddled his lizardjunk, Faolain struck her arms through the bars and pulled him in. She wrapped her steely forearm around his neck and began to choke the sex fiend.
"Jusst…a…little…more," he gasped through a crushed windpipe. "I'm about to complete…" he said, as he completed. And as he completed, a foul stench of poo-poo struck Faolain's nostrils.
"Oh, fucking gross!" said Faolain in disgust. She reached down to the lizard man's waist and pulled a bone dirk free from its scabbard, then proceeded to furiously stab the wretched shitting pervert.
"Ow! Sstop! Casshewss!" Kyle wheezed as he tried to say his safe word, but it was too late.
Everyone else was too busy gettin' busy to notice what was happening in the twilight gloom. Later, some lizardfolk would happen across his corpse - dick in hand, lying in a puddle of blood, jizz and shit - and point and laugh. Kyle Shitgasm would become a schoolyard taunt for generations to come.

---

"Quiet, femboy!" Hissed the lizardpriest. "Ssoon the ssun will sset and the Dragon'ss eye will ssup of your warm blood."
"Aieeee!" wailed the virginal young man as he wriggled and a busomy testicle popped free of his loincloth.
"Won't somebody save me?" Cried the helpless lad.
At that moment, Faolain heaved herself up onto the ziggurat's platform, dagger in teeth, blood dripping from red stained hands.
"I'm here to take your cool gem, sweet robes and hot fuckboy." She growled at the lizardpriest.
"Augh! How did you esscape?" Shrieked the reptilem'n in response. "No matter. The ssun has sset and I'll ssacrifice you both to Yakthaka!"
The priest plunged his dagger downward towards the hysterical damselboy, but Faolain struck with the speed of a viper. She sent her bone dagger through the priests hand.
"Ahhh, geez!" Cried the priest, sucking in air. "Ahhh. Fuuuuck."
Without thinking, he dropped his blade and the glittering gem to clutch at his punctured claw.
The Dragon's Eye dropped to the ground and rolled off the edge of the platform. The three watched in stunned silence as it bounced down each of the ziggurat's massive stepped blocks, cracking with each impact.
"Ssssssssshit..." Stated the lizardpriest. He hiked up his robes and fled the scene. "Good luck, asssholes!" He added, "See you in lizard hell!" as his voice trailed off.

Presently there came a rumbling. Followed by a bestial roar. Faolain was working on the boy's bindings as Yakthaka began to emerge from his prison amgonst the mating lizard people. After a few frantic moments, Faolain released the young man and pulled him down behind the altar, causing his willy to slide out the side of his loinwear.
"Wait here," she said. "I'm gonna watch these losers eat shit" and crawled towards the edge of the platform.

In the plaza below, a great black mist had formed around the Dragon's Eye. Most of the lizardman villagers had stopped their hot bone sesh to stare dumbstruck at the mist. The rest were still so into it they didn't even notice.
Faolain squinted; Shapes were beginning to coalesce in the mist. Horrible forms from the world's lost primordial aeons, too fantastic for this lazy author to describe. Dim memories of blasphemous horrors from beyond the pits of hell taunted at the back of Faolain's primate subconscious.
"Fuckin. Cool." whispered Faolain to herself as the damsel threw himself upon her in hysterical fright.
"Ohhhhh, this is awful!" He cried, "How will we escape this dreadful creature of gnashing teeth and hook'd claws? My heart surely cannot take much more of this!" He squirmed and rubbed his supple young body against Faolain's leg as he waxed melodramatic.
"Quiet, boy-wench!" Faolain hissed, "Your insipid puling is like to reveal us."
The boy shrank back and pouted as a testicle popped loose again.

Meanwhile, the gathering of lizard people had turned into a bloodbath. Yakthaka moved amongst the expanding mist with the speed of a panther, ripping and rending lizard flesh indiscriminately. Faolain saw a couple still in a sex fugue explode into a confetti of gore and giblets. She couldn't help but pop a barbarian boner. The massacre below was igniting her wildling bloodlust.
"Fuck it. I gotta fight this thing. Wait here while I kick it's 700 teeth in." Said Faolain.
The damselm'n fainted for no reason.

With bone dirk in one hand and sacrificial dagger in the other, the she-asskicker bounded down the ziggurat's steps and waded into the thick black fog. Faolain couldn't see a ding dang thang. Guided by her barbarian instinct and the screams of the dying, she punched, stabbed, choke-slammed and bicycle kicked her way to Yakthaka.
"I'm going to kill you now" Stated Faolain in the frank manner of her people. "It's nothing personal," she added. "It's just badass."
"Oh daaaaaaaaaaamn!" called Tony from the clutches of the ravening hellspawn, his lower body missing and gushing blood, "I told y'all sshe was sstone cold!", he said before being lowered into one of the godling's gaping maws. As the mouth chewed and crunched bone, Yakthaka spoke out of some other orifice. The words came in an infernal tongue that would rend the mind of any normal person to hear, but Faolain was of the hardy cragsmen of Clachad, whose brains were chiseled from stone and therefore impervious to most forms of magic, hypnotism, daemonic manipulations and eldritch mind fucking.
"I don't know what the tits you just said" yelled Faolain. "I don't speak ugly motherfucker!"
"Ssweet disss!" gargled the hype-lizard from within some noisome gullet.

Without any attempt at overcoming the language barrier, Faolain and Yakthaka proceeded to fight. The lizard god enveloped Faolain completely, clawing punching and biting from all directions.
"Ha ha ha!" laughed the barbarienne gleefully as she dodged swiping claws, "You just give me more angles to kill you from!"
Faolain was a whirlwind of fuck-you-up; Stabbing, ripping, tearing, biting, eye-gouging, dick kicking, German suplexing, reverse German suplexing, Boston reacharounding and ear flicking.
The battle raged on for seventeen hours, with ten minute breaks every two hours for occupational health and safety reasons. Finally, the victor stood over a bloodied, mangled mess that used to be Yakthaka and teabagged it for several minutes, which was customary for her clan.

Afterward, she went over to the sexy damsel - who had woken up and fainted several more times during the battle - took him in her slashed and bleeding arms and lustily kissed his pouty crimson lips.
"By Kormm!" She exclaimed with a hearty laugh "I'm covered in blood but my foes are brought low. I have a boy with lips like wine and an ass like woah. All I need now is a tankard of ale and a horse to carry me home!"
And then Faolain sexually assaulted the young man.

THE END

[FIC] #2 Brain in a Jar & 50ft of Rope

Errol Flintbeard & the Tomb of the Sorcerer-King

A night as cold as balls settled over the deserts of Sandspire. Which doesn't make sense if you think about it because the scrotum regulates itself to maintain a temperature of 35 degrees celsius and that isn't considered cold by anyone's measure. Just another sign of the degeneration of our language. Kids these days just don't know how to craft a good simile. 

Anyway, the temperature was as low as your grandpa's saggy ball sack. Two figures trudged over the dunes under the moonlight. One dragging a heavy coil of rope behind him like your grandpa drags his wrinkly old man balls. The figures are none other than Errol Flintbeard - World famous Dwarven explorer and treasure hunter with his faithful valet, interpereter and adventuring companion Mr Stephen.

They were tracking down the tomb of Ankhbaat-ka, the first Sorcerer-King of ancient Sandspire. It was said that Ankhbaat-ka had discovered the secret to everlasting life. It was also said that it was a load of drooping old man bollocks because if he did, he wouldn't be dead. It didn't matter. As a professional tomb-botherer, it was Errol's duty to be the first to find any crypt, burial ground, lost city, double lost city, sunken city, or any other ancient, hidden or forbidden place and trespass like nobody's business.

"OCH. DISHEETYMAPIZACROKKASHITE. TAINTNOFOOKINFINGFURMYELSH." Complained Errol unintelligibly, as he examined a map.
"Quite - HUNF! - so, Sir," Agreed Mr Stephen, bent under the weight of an absurdly large travelling pack. "But perhaps just over this dune.
The two continued on in silence for a while.
"FOOKIN' SHITE" Exclaimed Errol, throwing his map to the ground as wind whipped sand into his face and beard.
"Would sir care for refreshment?" Asked Mr Stephen, as he gently put down the coil of rope and shrugged off his towering backpack. "Unfortunately, I didn't have enough room for everything so I was only able to pack the gin, the port, the vermouth, the brandy, the elven merlot, the-"
"GIMMEDAPISH." Interrupted Errol.
"And of course the Ale. Very good sir." Mr Stephen nodded and produced a tankard and small travel keg from some hidden recess of his pack. He filled the tankard, pausing every few moments to brush sand off the rim and with a flourish presented it to Errol. The Dwarf snatched the tankard and drained it in seconds, letting out a thunderous belch that shook the area. 

As Errol passed his tankard back to Mr Stephen for refilling, a rumbling could be felt underfoot.
"I detect a rumbling of a rumbling underfoot, sir," Informed Mr Stephen. "Perhaps sir may like to take ahold of the pack for safety." He calmly suggested whilst cleaning the tankard with a cloth and carefully putting it away.
Suddenly the ground gave way beneath them and they both grabbed on to the travel pack for dear life. The two surfed downwards as a chasm formed, riding a wave of sand to the bottom.

Clawing their way out from under the sand, Errol and Mr Stephen found themselves outside that which they sought. A sandstone archway stood before them built in to the chasm wall. The entrance was blocked by large slabs, into which were carved ancient Sandscript pictographs. Errol dusted himself off and examined them.

"What does it say, sir?" Asked Mr Stephen as he began brushing sand from their belongings with a wrist-mounted emergency duster.
"DISHISHDATOOMOV ANKHBAAT-KA. DOONT BREEKDASHEEL. EFUL LEISHWIVVIN." Recited Errol.
"Do not open. Shall I fetch the pickaxe then, sir?" Sighed Mr Stephen. 
"FOOKIN' AYE" Confirmed Errol.

Several hours of reckless disregard for dire warnings later, the doorway seal was breached. Several thousand year old stale air seeped from within the opening. Handiwork was admired, torches were lit and the two entered the ancient tomb. They explored slowly and carefully. The halls were covered in crude carvings telling the story of an evil sorcerer overlord figure exercising cruel dominance over the populous. The overlord was eventually cast down by another more powerful and trapped within this prison. 

An entrance to a chamber lay at the end of the hall. As they stepped inside the chamber, stones in the ceiling illuminated as bright as day. Strange apparatus filled the room and glass tanks containing brains suspended in a greenish liquid sat on shelves lining the walls.
"OCH. DISHISH SOOM AHNAKROONISHTIK SHEETRITEAR" Exclaimed Errol, surveying the room. In the centre was a throne of sandstone, upon which sat a desiccated corpse wearing the tattered remains of what were once regal robes. The corpse was missing the top of its head. Pedestals flanked the throne. A brain jar rested atop the leftmost one. It lit up from within and levitated.

"║╧╗╪╝╤╦╠╬ ╨" Said the floating brain through a speaker in the base of the jar.
"I'm afraid I don't know ancient Sandspeak. Could you translate for me?" Asked Mr Stephen
"AHM ANKHBAAT-KA. YEFOOKDAHP NOOAHMFREI." Translated Errol.
"╡╝╗╤╩ ╔╓╟╢╬╗" Continued the brain.
"ATHOOSHANDYEARSHOVSHUFFRIN ANDAHKNISH ISHAL VISHITUPOON THISH VORLT" Repeated Errol.
"Oh my, how dreadful" Commented Mr Stephen.
"╙╢╫╖╧╝" Said the brain.
"ASHAREEWORD WONNAVYEH WILBEEMAHNEU VESHUL" Said Errol.
"Perhaps we should leave, sir." Suggested Mr Stephen.
The brain floated over to Errol and hovered for a few moments before moving over to inspect Mr Stephen.
"╖╣╘╩╤╓╢" It spoke, before Mr Stephen was lifted up off his feet and into the air - backpack dropping to the ground with a loud thud.
"OI!" Yelled Errol as he grasped at Mr Stephen "GITYERMYNDHANSOFFAMEMAHNSURVANT!"
The brain flung the sitting corpse at Errol with telekinetic force, knocking the Dwarf to the ground. It lowered Mr Stephen on to the throne and then itself on to a pedestal. A bone saw levitated across the room and began sawing the top of Mr Stephen's skull off
"Oh My!" Wailed the valet, showing a surprising amount of restraint considering the excruciating pain he was in.
Hearing his friend's plea for help, Errol stood up. It was time to do what all good treasure hunters do best; Save the damsel in distress while trashing the sacred burial ground in the process.

Taking the corpse by the leg, Errol began swinging it around, smashing his way towards Mr Stephen. The brain tried to defend itself by flinging paraphernalia at the Dwarf. He twirled the corpse around in front of him like a windmill to block the projectiles. The gross body was torn apart and bits of dried skin and bone went flying. Errol needed a new impractical weapon. He looked around and saw that Mr Stephen had dropped the coil of rope in all the commotion. Errol rolled towards it and hastily tied a fat knot on the end. He stood up to see that the top of Mr Stephen's head had been completely sawed off and his brain placed in a spare jar on the right hand pedestal.

Errol was furious. He started swinging his rope around like a madman, crushing everything in sight. The brain had ejected itself from it's jar and hovered above Mr Stephen's body. It crackled with magical energy. As it was about to drop itself into the skull cavity, Errol's rope connected. Shit went crazy. Arcane bolts of energy went flying all over, bringing random objects to life and activating dormant brain jars. Mr Stephen's body got up and jerked around like some frightening puppet. It did a few moves of the thriller dance before exploding. Errol hurled himself behind the travel pack for protection until the room settled.

He peeked out over the top of the pack. Before him were dozens of floating brain jars.
"We are Mr Ankhbaat. This world will be plunged into an age of our dutiful service. Our power is ultimate and our attendance absolute. Would sir care for a drink?" They spoke in unison.
"F…FOOKIN' AYE" Replied Errol.

The Mr Ankhbaats flew out of the tomb and across the desert to begin their terrible dominance over the world of assistance to the rich and powerful elite. All but one, who remained to serve Errol Flintbeard personally. As the two vacated the tomb in slow mo, the crypt collapsed behind them. Because treasure hunters wreck world heritage sites in their wake like cool action guys walk away from explosions. Freeze frame ending and roll credits to Kenny Loggins - Danger Zone.

THE END

[FIC] #1 Skeletons & Gelatinous Cubes

Bonecave of the Bonewizard

Finnegan Fightmans is the best fighting man in the land. He's fought wolves, bears, bugbears, bear-bugs, bugbears riding bears bareback and at least three or four more combinations that I won't mention because that would just dilute the gag. He fought every other man claiming the name of Fightmans and bested them all. He's got buff-ass muscles, cool-ass scars, a sweet-ass 'tache and one bad-ass attitude.

And then there is Marvin...

Meek in both appearance and demeanour. He hasn't fought any bears. Nor has he defeated a worthy opponent in single combat. Goddamn, what a sorry excuse for a hero. The sight of him just makes you wanna contempt-puke. And the puke wants to grow buff arms and legs, walk over to him and kick sand in his face before absconding with the girlfriend he'll never have.

Suppressing the urge to fling the scummy fecal stain in to the nearest hard surface, Finnegan had taken it upon himself to mentor Marvin. Normally he wouldn't waste his time on such a task, since it didn't involve arm wrestling an ogre or swording a mythical beast or whatever. But this time, he had been offered a heavy pouch of coin from some folks who decided Marvin was a shame to the whole village and needed to be taken out in to the forest to be dealt with. If there was one thing Finnegan hated more than wussy dweebs it was whining villagers who wouldn't take care of their own shitty little problems. Oh, he'd take care of Marvin all right. He'd mentor the everloving shit out of this kid just to spite them. I'm gonna train him and mould him in to the best mutha-effin' warrior this land ever did see, Finnegan thought. Yeah. We're gonna go on adventures and form a lifelong companionship and maybe even a father-son bond. Shit yeah. This'll be sweet. And so Finnegan dragged the little twerp off in to the forest for the greatest adventure of his life...

~

"Manservant!" Bellowed Finnegan, towering over the loser.

"It's Marvi-" Marvin tried to correct.

"Shut up! We have adventuring to do and my sword, pecs and horse aren't going to oil themselves!" Finnegan swung around and marched over to a nearby rock to do eight hundred squats. Marvin steeled himself for the uncomfortably erotic rubdown sesh.

SOME SEXY HOURS LATER...

"Lesson one.You failed it! Don't do shit for anyone. Especially not weird shit like oiling my hot bod. Even though I told you to go slow and careful on my firm thighs and tight butt, it was uncomfortable and now I can't look you in the eye anymore. And then you did the horse too!? You're fuckin' sick, kid."

The Horse gave a disgruntled snort and stared askance at Marvin.

"B…But you said t-"

"Not listening, chodeface! Let's go to that cave over there. We need to get you danger-laid. You're not going to have sex though. It just means we'll probably fight something in there and it will be your first time fighting so it's kind of like losing your virginity but for fights."

The two walked over to the cave. A line of adventurers were standing outside, apparently waiting for their turn to enter. Beside the cave entrance was a sign which read:

FREE TREASURE

ENQUIRE WITHIN

Marvin politely took his place at the back of the line. Finnegan shook his head.

"Lesson two. You fucked it! Lines are for dorks." Finnegan started strolling confidently past the adventurers.

"Hey! Jackass! Didn't you see the line? Suck my dick! Don't you know how to follow unwritten social rules? Eat a poo!" Yelled a Halfling. Finnegan stopped and slowly turned his head; neck muscles making cartoon balloon twisting sound effects.

"Hear that, Mary?" Yelled Finnegan to Marvin. "This guy called you a name and told you to eat something gross. Are you gonna take that from a short-ass, no-dick-havin', piece of shitty dirt?"

"It's Marvin, sir," called Marvin from the back of the line. "And I think he was talking to y-"

"Can it, buttshit! Now get over here," Ordered Finnegan, snatching a blade from a nearby adventurer. "Take this sword and ruin this idiot's face."

Marvin sheepishly walked up the line. Adventurers were giving him the stink eye and some even threw him the double stink eye. He had never felt more ashamed in all his life. Finnegan shoved the sword in to Marvin's hand. "Go get him, tiger!" He said, giving Marvin a slap on the back for encouragement. The halfling stepped out of the line, cracking his knuckles and pulling out his knives.

"Sorry kid. Shouldn't-a broken the line rules. Now you're gonna die because of that one time in your life you thought challenging the status quo was acceptable behaviour."

As Marvin stepped forward - sword rattling in his poncy grip - he tripped on a rock, falling forward and into the halfling. Marvin's blade landed right between the eyes and sliced downwards, cleaving the halfm'n in twain. He landed flat on his face as guts rained down.

"Daaaaaaaaaaamn. That's some cold-ass Ninja Scroll shit right there" said a line dweller.

"He crazy as shit!" Exclaimed another.

"This mad dog will end us all! Flee you fools!" Shrieked a third overacting extra. The line dispersed quickly and soon only Marvin and Finnegan were left.

Marvin sat stunned in a pool of blood and internal organs. "I…I killed a guy." He stammered.

"By the gods, kid!" said Finnegan, surveying the mess. "You've got some anger issues. Let's go get that treasure before I vom." He grabbed the now catatonic Marvin by the scruff of the neck and dragged him into the cave entrance, leaving a trail of viscera behind.

Inside the cave, a wizard wearing purple robes stood beside an archway leading to parts beyond. Atop the wizard's head was a dope looking black iron crown with jagged metal spikes, a skull shaped half-mask and studded with green gems.

"Where did all the sucker-I mean other prize winners go?" Asked the wizard as Finnegan and Marvin entered.

"I murdered in cold blood…" Mumbled Marvin to himself - still in shock.

"Of course it's a wizard..." sighed Finnegan. "Alright, you smelly old coot. What's the scam?"

"You insult me. I'm but a kind old man, wanting to share the wealth I gathered over the course of a long and full life." Explained the definitely not a kind old man, unconvincingly.

"Uh huh. What's with the evil looking skull crown then?" Asked Finnegan, gesturing to the head wear.

It felt so good. Thought Marvin.

"This? Oh, it's just an old memento from my adventuring days. There are plenty more like it just beyond this hallway next to me. Won't you take a look?" Deflected the very evil wizard, still not fooling anybody.

Finnegan leaned over and peered through the hallway. Beyond he saw a cavern full to the brim with skeletons, just chilling out.

"All I see are a bunch of skeletons. This is definitely a trick. I fuckin' hate tricky wizards."

"I can see you're a clever one," Said the wizard, taking a few steps towards the heroes. "Very well. I am not some kindly old man, but in fact; THE BONE WIZARD JORVAXX!" He paused, hoping the name would strike fear in to the two heroes. Alas, it was not to be. Finnegan had few fucks to give at the best of times, and just being in the presence of a decrepit old wizard was draining his fucks account dry. Also, Marvin was still working through some existential issues or something and wasn't really paying attention.

"Now prepare to die and join my skeleton army, fools!" Screeched Jorvaxx.

I feel so fucking powerful. I just wanna cut and hack and kill and kill and kill and kill. Marvin's inner monologue was getting kinda creepy at this point.

"It's fuckin' on you piece of old cheese smelling, stupid dress wearing, farty old fart!" Roared Finnegan.

As Fightmans drew steel and Wizard drew wand, Marvin snapped out of his stupor.

"KILLING IS THE FUCKING BEEEEEEESSSSTTTTT" Screamed the boy as he leapt towards Jorvaxx, sword and rage boner fully extended. Finnegan watched the two tumble backwards in to the hallway, stopping mid way as they hit something soft, squishy and previously unseen. The wizard had placed a Gelatinous Cube in the hallway to catch, absorb and convert witless adventurers in to skelemen.

"Nooooooooooooooo," Jorvaxx wailed as the acidic jelly cube began to engulf him and dissolve his flesh. "Killed by my own traaaaap. I should have known it would end like thiiiiissssss," The wizard craned his neck to get in one last line before carking it. "Evil never paaaaays! Winners don't use drugsssssssss." Finally, he was reduced to bones and shut the fuck up.

Marvin turned his head back to Finnegan while he too was absorbed.

"Lesson three. You nailed it. Die in a totally metal way." Finnegan nodded in respect as the sad Terminator 2 ending theme started playing. Marvin gave a thumbs up as he sunk in to the cube. As the boy's flesh was painfully stripped from his bones, Finnegan mused that there was probably plenty of time to save him while the wizard died, but whatever.

Finnegan stood around awkwardly for a few minutes before shuffling out of the cave. He returned to the village and was welcomed as a hero. The villagers assumed he had dealt with Marvin. Finnegan had already forgotten who that was.

"Wait a minute," said Finnegan to nobody. "I'm the fightiest fight mans in all the land and I didn't get to fight a single thing all day? What a load of sh-"

THE END

~

POST ENDING STINGER

Closeup of an iron skull crown crashing to the ground in slow motion. Followed moments later by a skeletal hand. Suddenly the hand springs to life and clutches the crown. Maniacal laughter echoes through the cave.

Cut to black.

THE END FOR REAL THIS TIME