You have to be kidding me. Don't you know anything about the antics of cliché knightly heroes? The gallant knight always marries the blue eyed blonde haired princess and enjoys blissful princess bosom until the end of his days. And you want to throw all of that away for some lowly baron's daughter or common wench? You disgust me.


Fighting for an unworthy cause, you race forward to meet Jon in good old-fashioned master-student combat. The clamor of steel on steel fills the field as you and Jon clash and slash. Sweat stings your eyes as Jon attacks with relentless vigor. You dodge, parry, and counterstrike as best you can, but you are fighting against the man who taught you everything you know. How can you possibly hope to win? You don't even have the righteous thirst for princess bosom riling your untapped potential.


For gritty lowborn buxom wenches!


Well, I must admit they do have their own special brand of flavor. It just doesn't have the same ring to it though.


Drunk on visions of buxom wenches you dodge blow after blow after blow. You resist the urge to strike and continue to dodge; your heart will tell you when it is time to attack.


"I taught you well," Jon pants. "You're dodging like a true champion."


"I learned from the best."


"Time for another lesson." Jon backs off and takes a defensive position. "You can't dodge if I don't attack."


"You son of a bitch."


Jon smirks. "Trumped."


A crazy idea crosses your mind. You don't know if it'll work – or if it even makes any sense – but it just might be stupid enough to work. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, you begin the attack. Just as expected Jon dodges. Then you dodge his dodge, catching Jon completely by surprise. Taking a page out of Samwellington's incredibly short book of useful combat skills you follow up with a dodge ram attack, circling Jon and barreling him into the ground. The maneuver hurts like hell, but like a true hero you ignore the pain and leap to your feet.


You hold your blade over Jon's throat. "Yield."


Jon chuckles. "Nice moves. You win."


You help Jon to his feet as the crowd erupts into a chorus of cheers and shouts.


"What skill! What daring! What a fight!" The king bids you and Jon both kneel and knights the pair of you right there in the field. "They'll be talking about this tourney for ages. I don't even know what that was you did there Sir, but it was fantastic."


All that is left is for you to name the Lady Fair of the tournament. I still don't approve of your anti princess antics, but you showed mettle in the melee and that is something to take pride in.


Two buxom wenches who have caught your eyes on since the tourney started: the ginger haired Baron's daughter, Ginger, and a lowly servant woman, Abbey, with rather typical and mundane features. What the servant woman lacks in grandeur she makes up for with a charming smile and pleasant cuteness all her own. Of course, naming a servant woman Lady Fair could cause some very serious problems by offending the nobles.


Not that it is my place to intrude young knight, but Jon has been ogling the gingersnap all day. Take that as you will. The choice is yours after all; you earned it.

You name Abbey Lady Fair

You already shunned cliché protocol by refusing to fight for princess bosom, so you may as well go full renegade and elect the servant woman Lady Fair. There is something bewitching about good old down to earth country cuteness. All of the beautiful noble Ladies can primp themselves up all they want, but they can never attain the country wild of a lowborn servant girl.


A wave of awe spreads through the crowd as you proclaim Abbey Lady Fair. Fights break out, which quickly turn into full-blown riots. You grab your new ladylove and disappear in the chaos while you still have a chance to escape.


"Not so fast," snarl the high-pitched bitch voices of the weasel brothers. "You committed a great insult today. I think the king will be quite pleased when we bring him your heads."


"I won the melee. By law and tradition the right to name Lady Fair is my choice and mine alone. Now get out of my way or else I'll have to kick your ass all over again."


"Can you fight the both of us and defend your whore at the same time?"


"He doesn't have to." The Rabid Fox draws his blade and springs to your side. It appears you have made a friend. "My good, Sir, my sword is yours."


"Thanks, but why are you helping me? I broke the cliché."


"I don't know what that means, but you fought with honor. And that I can respect."


The weasel brothers topple over unconscious. Jon and Ginger stand behind them each holding a big ass rock.


"My way saves time." Jon discards his rock and beams. "Now let's get out of here so I can get it up and get it on. Know what I mean?"


With that taken care of the six of you make your escape. (The Rabid Fox picked up a prostitute on the way out, that dog.) The kingdom devolves into a bloody civil war as a result of the tournament debacle. In the mayhem, the king got trampled to death and poor Princess Anne was brutally raped by no less than sixty-nine men. Princess Anne recovered from the savagery and personally hunted down every single one of the scum and forced them to castrate themselves and consume the mess. Future reference, don't mess with her.


You, Jon, and the Rabid Fox carve out your own minor kingdoms and remain close friends to this day. You feel horrible about what happened to Princess Anne and offer her a place of honor in your court, but she politely declines, harboring no bad feelings against you. She elects to travel the world as an adventurer. Your life with the newly crowned Queen Abbey is blissful and filled with bosom and country cunt. You never get the ever sought after princess bosom, but queen bosom is a nice too.  


I swear she called it that, not me!