For reasons far beyond normal human comprehension, you elect to compete in the joust: never mind the fact that you do not own a horse and have never held a lance in your life. Remember, dodging is against the rules in a joust, so you are not exactly playing to your strengths.


During a morning patrol, you and Jon discuss the upcoming tournament.


"I still think you should participate in the melee with me instead," says Jon. "But if you're dead set on jousting, you're going to need a horse."


"Any recommendations?" you ask.


"Jousting horses are expensive. You're either going to need a big loan or a big friend. And don't forget, if you lose the joust, you lose your horse and your armor."


"Can I use a quarter-horse? I bet old man Nathaniel David would let me borrow Bessy."


"Sure. You can ride out naked too, but you'll just embarrass yourself." Jon smacks you upside the head. "If you aren't going to take this seriously, don't even bother showing up."


You finish your patrol with Jon and head over to old man Nathaniel David's orchard before you visiting the moneylender in the next town. You know it is not wise to ignore Jon's advice, but you want to keep your options open. Old man Nathaniel David proves easy to find, he is humped over, shitting on a sapling when you arrive.


"Um, what are you doing David?"


"Fertilizing," he says with a massive grin. "What can I do for you lad?" He sticks out his hand for you to shake, which you begrudgingly accept.


"I decided to joust in the king's tournament, but I don't have a horse."


"Ah, well, I can't imagine you'd want to use any of the horses in the hamlet. Plow horses ain't going to win that for you, but I know you don't have much money. So if you want Bessy, you can have her, on one condition."


"What's that?"


"If by some miracle you win, you name my lil' pumpkin, Sally, Lady Fair of the Tournament. If you lose, you pay me back by marrying her. You're a good lad, and you'd make a fine husband for my girl."


You have seen Sally David before, strutting around. She has a fine body for a wench, but holy matrimony is her face hideous. It looks like someone took a rake and beat her bloody. You will have to mull this one over; these are high stakes. Even if you won, you could offend many important people.


"Alright, David, I'll keep the offer in mind," you say as you wave goodbye.


Old man Nathaniel David hitches up his trousers and nods. "You do that, boy."


The Baron's Road has been nice and calm ever since you took care of those trolls and bandits, and you arrive at the moneylender's office without incident. The moneylender's office is small and simple: one desk, two hard wooden chairs, and a few bookshelves. You have heard of these types before, and they are nothing but trouble. The moneylender skims over the pleasantries and bids you sit and begin your business.


"What can I do for you, friend?" he asks. His hair is dark and oily, eyes small and beady. An unnecessarily pointy goatee graces his chin. Yep, slap the evil and unscrupulous label on him.


"I need money for a horse to use in the joust. I'm one of the guys that killed those bandits and trolls on the Baron's Road awhile back."


"I know who you are," he snaps. "I also know you have no money and no experience jousting."


"How do you know that?"


"Because." He points at his goatee. "Now I will lend you the money if you agree to my terms."


"Which are?"


"If you win, I get 50% of the ransom and prize money. You keep the horse. If you lose, you become my personal slave for a year." The moneylender pulls, ink, quill and parchment from his desk. "We can get the contract signed right now."

You changed your mind; you'll fight in the melee like Jon said.

Wise decision: it is best to stick with your strong suits.


You excuse yourself and get up to leave. The moneylender, mutters something to himself while stroking his beard as you head toward the door. Something is really evil about this guy. You turn around and lop off his head before heading home. Yeah, that was probably a good idea.


The morning of the tournament dawns crisp and cool with a slight breeze, just enough to give the ladies' skirts a nice billowing. You feel a familiar stirring in your loins, and it is driving you insane. As a fledgling hero, you have been saving yourself for your future princess bride, but dear God has it left you on edge, not that you have not had offers. Jon was right; your scar is a chick magnet. You practically have to beat them off.


A gaggle of girls giggle as you walk past them. Bitches.


Whoa, where did that come from? That is not very heroic. The proper term is 'wenches.' Remember that next time, fledgling hero.


With your minor slip into villainy over, you prepare for the melee and take your place in the fighting field. There appear to be fifty or so participants as you try to pick out some of the people the Baron told you about. You see Mad Moose McDoogle in his clumsy antlered helmet, Sir Richard Lionsmane with his shaggy locks, Sir Henry Williams a.k.a. The Rabid Fox, the Weasel brothers in their matching silver gilded armor, and Bucktooth Barry among others.


"Save your energy," says Jon. "Let the others wear themselves down. They'll make a mistake eventually. Then you can strike when they're weak and out of position. And stay by me. We might both be able to get knighthoods out of this."


"Don't worry. I got your back Jon."


A blast from the bugle signals the start of the melee. The clamor of blunted steel on blunted steel rings through the fairgrounds. You and Jon fight back-to-back, just as you did against those trolls several years ago. You two are not the only ones fighting on teams. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the Weasel brothers and Mad Moose McDoogle charge The Rabid Fox.


The Rabid Fox looses ground as the trio attempt to surround him. He isn't dodging. He's parrying. He's done for. The Rabid Fox's and one of the Weasel brother's swords shatter on impact. Mad Moose McDoogle peels off the attack and rounds on the Weasel brothers, catching them unaware. He knocks them both down and out just before The Rabid Fox charges him in turn.


A sword slashes inches from your cheek, and you regain your focus. Dodge, slash, dodge, dodge, slash, dodge, trip, kick. Another one bites the dust.


The fighting continues until there is just you, Jon, The Rabid Fox, who has not only obtained a new sword but a horse as well, and Bucktooth Barry left.


Maybe you should turn on Jon now?

You fight with Jon.

Heroes fight with honor at all times. There is no way in hell you are going to betray Jon. How could you ever look him in the eyes again? Besides, he is pretty fucking awesome. If you are going to win this thing, you are going to do it the right way and beat him with pride, honor, dignity, and all the other bullshit that goes with being a hero.


"I'll distract him. You knock him off the horse," says Jon.


"What about Bucktooth Barry?"


"Dodge."


Jon darts off to run interference while you attempt to flank. The Rabid Fox is on to your plan though and outmaneuvers you while Bucktooth Barry hedges his position. This might go on for a while. What would a hero do?


You glance up at the spectators and catch sight of the princess. A blonde haired blue eyed bombshell with a bosom to die for. She flashes you a smile of perfect pearly whites. Did you expect anything else? Take a moment to picture all the ways you would love to chivalrously plow her into next Sunday. Just try not to ejaculate prematurely in your armor. That is not heroic. No, go ahead. I can wait.


Got all that out of your system? Good. With the princess's bosom in your mind to inspire you, you charge the mounted knight. He reels the horse around and barrels toward you, eager for the challenge. As you are about to collide, you dodge. The Rabid Fox brings the horse around for another pass. You feel the blood pumping through your veins. The air tastes sweet. Colors are brighter. The world slows down. This is what being a hero is all about.


You and The Rabid Fox rush each other once more. As you are about to collide, not only do you dodge, but you grab the reins as well and yank. Your arm feels like it is going to pop out of its socket, but you grit it out. The Rabid Fox flies through the air and thuds into the dirt. He stumbles to his feet and grabs a greatsword off the ground. Man, this motherfucker just does not give up.


He has the reach advantage, but he is hurt. Pretty bad, judging by the fact he just fell off a galloping horse decked out in mail while brandishing a sword. He should probably be dead: or at least broken. He uses his reach to keep you at a distance, but you bide your time. He will make a mistake. Dodge, backstep, yawn, dodge. A quick glance up at the princess's bosom. With princess bosom lighting your fire, you see an opening and dive in and drive The Rabid Fox to the ground.


"Well fought, friend. I yield," says The Rabid Fox as you hold your sword tip over him.


Jon has finished off Bucktooth Barry. It is down to the two of you.

You for princess bosom!

There is only one way this story can unfold, and that is with you finally surpassing your master and claiming the princess as your own. For princess bosom! You charge.


Jon dodges your blow. You swing again. He dodges and counters with an upward thrust. No time to dodge, you catch his sword with your shield. The wood splinters, and you snap your wrist, catching his sword in the shield. Déjà vu?


Not quite. A knee slams you in the groin, and you crumple to the ground. Fight through the pain hero! You lash you with your legs, catching Jon in the chest. Both of you regain your feet and slam into each other. Over and over you roll, grappling on the ground. Dust swirls around your heads. You throw blind punches. The crowd cheers.


You fight the good fight, but Jon wins in the end, catching you in a stellar headlock. The king congratulates you both and the crowd gives a standing ovation.


"Best melee in years. I think the both of you earned a knighthood for such a fine display of chivalrous combat," says the king. "Tonight there will be a feast for the ages... on the Baron's tab of course."


You are bummed you will not be getting princess bosom, but you feel proud of how you fought. Even heroes take their lumps from time to time.


As expected, Jon names the princess Lady Fair of the tournament. You see him whisper something in her ear and point in your direction. She is walking toward you! What the hell did he say?


"Princess Anne." You bow. "It is my pleasure."


"And mine. Would you care to walk with me in the gardens?"


You readily agree and spend much of the remainder of your time getting to know Princess Anne. She is everything you could hope for in a princess, blonde, blue eyed, fair skinned, sweet, charming, big bosomed, and all the works.


"What did you say to her?" you ask Jon one evening.


He shrugs. "I love princesses as much as the next guy, but really, I'm in to redheads." He smirks. "I think the farmboy turned knight getting the princess makes the better story. I'm nailing the Baron's daughter. Wildfire hair on her." He winks. "Just the way I like it."


Months pass and you perform several fantastic heroic feats. Jon marries the Baron's daughter and you become engaged to the princess. Some days it all seems so unreal, like just the other day you were selling turnips and mucking shit. Now you are a hero.

You time to kill a motherfucking dragon.

That's the spirit!


Emissaries arrive at the capital from the neighboring kingdom of Irelandshire pleading for assistance with a dragon problem. It seems the fiend has been soaring around the country, torching towns, devouring livestock, looting treasuries and snatching young ladies from their bedchambers. Naturally, you don your shining armor and volunteer to help rid them of the menace once and for all. Princess Anne kisses you goodbye as you ride off to hunt down the winged beast.


Finding the dragon's lair – a cave high up a tall mountain with half the forest burnt to ashes – proves easier than you anticipated. No one ever said dragons were discreet. The march up the mountain presents more of a challenge. Far too steep for your steed, you hike up on foot. You soon learn hiking in full plate armor is not easy. Every step requires sheer willpower and brute strength. Sweat pores off you so fast you fear you are going to rust, so you strip down to your leathers and continue to the top light as feather, just like the old days when you first practiced with Jon in the yard. 


"Well at least you aren't a knight in shining armor," says the dragon as you enter his cave. The behemoth is resting on a hoard of gold, jewels, swords, cups, and other valuable crap because of course he is.


"Pardon me?"


"Do you have any idea how annoying it is fighting knights in shining armor? I just fry them with a nice blast of fire. They're too heavy and clunky to dodge. No challenge at all. You should see the nice collection of armor I have though. I could outfit an entire empire."


"Actually, I stripped my armor coming up. I got sweaty."


The dragon sighs. "Well you're smarter than most at least."


"Your days are done dragon!" You prepare to make a heroic speech, but cut it off. "Wait, where are the noble ladies?"


"Didn't you see all the dung piles on the mountainside?"


"You ate them!?"


"What did you think I do with them? Keep them as company?"


"You bastard!"


You draw your sword. Fate has finally arrived. Are you up to the task?

You attack his eyes.

The eyes: go for the eyes. If you can blind the dragon, you can pounce in and end this while his guard his down.


You scoop a handful of ashes from the ground and fling them at the dragon's eyes as you bound toward him. It's not very effective… The dragon stares at you and shakes his head as you scuttle to a stop.


"I burn entire cities and forests for a living," says the dragon. "Do you have any idea how much ash is floating around in the air after I start lighting shit up?"


"Uhm…"


"Literally, a metric fuck ton." The dragon blinks. "I have protective coverings over my eyes to keep all that crap out. How else would I be able to see with all that debris in the air? I'd be spending my entire fortune on eye-drops."


"Like a camel?" You sidle closer to the dragon.


"Did you just compare me, a dragon, to a dirty, smelly, filthy, no good camel? You wannabe heroes have no resp-" the dragon sighs. "You know what? It's not worth it. Sure, like a camel," the dragon sighs.


 "So where's your hump?" You continue to inch closer to the dragon.


"Wh- what?"


"Your hump. You said you're like a camel, so where's your hump?" You jump up and down, searching for a hump on the dragon's back while closing distance.


"You have got to be kidding." The dragon slams his head into the cave wall. "Why do all the retarded heroes have to come fight me?"


While the dragon wallows, you pitter-patter your way in close and drive your sword deep into his eye socket. The wyrm wails in agony as you wrench the sword free, clamber over his snout and shove the blade into his other eye. Before you can scurry away, the dragon whips his head around and snaps his massive jaws around you. You scream as your bones splinter and your innards trickle from your body. The world fades to black as the dragon swallows you down his gullet.


That seemed quite painful. If it is any consolation, you managed to both severely wound the dragon and piss him off before he ate you. The dragon goes on to burn the entire kingdom of Irelandshire to ashes in a blind rage before Jon and The Rabid Fox save the day and cut out his heart.


Princess Anne is heartbroken and goes on to become a sex addict and develops a dungeon porn fetish to cope with your untimely death.