Epic Expedition

Note: This story is not canon and contains vulgar language as well as sexually implicit themes. Advance at your own discretion. Also you're a stupid nerd if you don't.
The year is 4840.
After cruising the world and doing a whole lot of literally nothing for 25 years, former legendary hero and serial arsonist and mass murderer and serial jaywalker Samuel Darkwalker has decided to put his three brain cells together and journey toward the great Sultanate of Dashari in hopes of fulfilling his fant- I mean conquering it. As you can see, those three brain cells don’t work together very well.
Some backstory: the end of the Aether War was hard for Sam; after journeying the world with an insane greasy old man, a depressed stinky younger older man, and an actual shameless manwhore (who made him hate brown people), he fell into a deep depression and turned up in clubs all around Nova Aquila absolutely plastered. And often with no pants on.
No more, he thought. In an absinthe-fuelled haze, he marched up the steps of the Dreichstag while putting the “assless” in assless chaps. No longer able to walk past the front door, he slithered gracefully to the desk of Arlo Jennings, or whoever was the president idk, and launched into a drunken tirade on how Vicis did nothing wrong, Makrozoia was a drag queen, Moros was a simp, yada yada.
“Absolutely fascinating…” Presidentman thought as Samuel began to submit to alcohol-induced convulsions. “My security detail is absolute shit.”
Young (actually he’s like 60 but we wouldn’t know that because WHERE IS THE CHARACTER PAGE SAMUEL) Samuel woke up in the Castle Dreiton gaol the following day. He was nearly naked save for his Sack Shorts and Old Boots, and half-submerged in a stanky cauldron.
“Notchdammit.” Samuel thought. “Whose cubes did I fondle this time?”
Just then, the Gaol door swung open with the lamest force of all time, like a little schoolgirl waking up her parents after a nightmare.
“I’m telling you, that girl’s rectangular prisms are out of this world. I think I’m gonna make Bistro Garlande’s female workers’ uniforms a thong and thigh-high boots.” Said an older, bow-wielding man who sauntered in. “That sounds like grounds for a class-action sexual harassment lawsuit, Garland.” Responded a goggle-wearing young with osteoporosis.
The duo arrived at Sam’s cell door and opened it. “You are expected in the Situation Room.” They said in ominous unison. The sheer terror caused Sam to piss himself. Actually no, he’s just incontinent.
Sam arrived damn near buckass naked to the room and was greeted by five individuals: Presidentman, a fat politician who you could just tell had a crumbling marriage, a drooling guy with an eyepatch juggling crossbows, a Transformationalist priest, and… the human incarnation of Moros?
“Listen guys, I’ve read over the dossier and I’m not really comfortable with the language and goals expressed here. I think I’m out.” Said Moros before fluttering up into the sky like a token gay TV show character.
Presidentman looked elated to see the legendary Samuel in his full glory. The remaining three guys were just vibing ig.
“Listen, Samuel. You’ve won my heart. Not only have you succeeded in bedding me, but I will grant you the funding for the Peepeepoopoo Expedition!” said Presidentman. “I mean, what is that?” responded Samuel.
“Why, Samuel, don’t be silly! You said last night you wanted to march right into the Dashari castle, go to the Grand Council’s antechamber, and [REDACTED]” screeched Presidentman.
“I mean, how the hell are you making that sound?!?!”
And so the fat man, priest, and drooling guy set off in a rotting dinghy. Don’t judge, the Dreiton treasury was raided earlier that year by Mad Gulls™. Twas a bittersweet sunrise for Sam. He reminisced on the times he landed the killing blow on an angry god, helped break into the Aragonian King’s palace, got homicidally angry at a bluebird, and avoided being shattered across space and time during the Aether War. Now, he was just a wrinkled old drunkard with a homosexual curiosity, but it’s too early for that.
Suddenly, the drooling guy, noticing Sam about to start crying again like a little bitch, began skillfully massaging his shoulders. “GLORGLORGLORGLORGLORLORGLROGLORLGO” spat out the man. It became clear now to Sam; his name was Koom, and he was picked up by Dreiton police for getting too frisky with the goblins in the Grotto.
The priest approached, them, his 7-inch-long white staff in hand. “Ah, I see you’re getting to know each other. My name is Vu Kaki. I used to work at the Emerald Shores church, but I kinda got laid off when they found out I was using raw pufferfish toxin to hold gay raves under the church. Awkward stuff.”
The fat politician then shimmied over, almost capsizing the dinghy. “My name’s Painus. I advocated for an expansion of democ-“
“GLORGORGOGRLRGORLGROGRGOORGOGRLGRO!”
“DUDE WHAT THE NETHER! YOU’RE A MONSTER! STAY AWAY!”
“I median, I support the legitimists because I realise that the best defence of the flavour of the colour is the mediaeval colonisation of tea and biscuits.”
All was quiet for the rest of the voyage. Sam tried picking up his Author’s Edition of the Lusty Dreitonese Maid, but realized that he had clumsily tried to read it upside down, and fixed that. He then tossed it overboard upon remembering he couldn’t read anyway. As night approached, Koom fell deep asleep, salivating all over the Aphelian coast. Vu Kaki looked overboard at the moon with a subtle smile, 7-inch-long white staff still in hand. Painus remained distant, as he damn well should, but kept his hands intertwined and smirked as if he were scheming something. Not that we should care because he’s a dumbass.
That morning, the sun shone more vigorously, and the quartet knew they were approaching Dashari shores. Before long, the sound of obnoxiously loud Voshi trap music harassed the crew’s ears. They stopped sailing just under a tall, well-built sandstone beach house from which the music emanated. The mere sound of it almost drove Samuel insane, as the rapper enunciated every verse with much the same accent as the man whom he had lain with in a drunken stupor 30 years prior.
Scouting the structure adjacent to the primary house thingy place, they found a pool party taking place. A squadron of Ayndrvunlas were “free and easy” and enjoying Sultanate life around two men, one wearing nothing but a salmon pink tank top and the other being easily recognizable as the once-goggled man from the gaol, now wearing only hot purple shorts. The latter rested his legs on the pool table, and both seemed to be smoking fat pufferfish blunts.
“…and this guy, like, he was a total idiot lol… so like, we sent a vampire into his tent to give him Burniewang and like… he did it lmao!” said the older, salmon-pink-shirt-wearing man.
“Jaarn… that’s like… dude… man…mmm” the other, younger man seemed to be traversing multiple dimensions. Haha get it?
Just then, as if out of nowhere, a Dashari officer leapt onto the boat, tearing it in twain with her massive obsidian greatsword. She grabbed Samuel and tossed him easily into the sandstone wall and held him at swordpoint.
“Ah, babe, thanks for saving us.” Said Koom, with a surprisingly deep voice. He had lost both his drool and the eyepatch. “Been too long, they couldn’t hold me ya know?” he continued, before kissing the officer on the cheek and ripping off his clothes to reveal swimwear for the party.
Vu Kaki and Painus followed him out of the dinghy wreck, holding hands. They were elated; they could freely practice their love forever in the midst of 9.5 million dominatrices! For them, the sultanate was heaven. Kaki turned his staff into a broom, and he strategically rode into the horizon with his lover.
For Samuel, things seemed grim. He pissed himself again, this time actually out of terror but also incontinence again. Still, he could not deny that being held in such a compromising position made him feel differently.
“I range… no! I HATE RACES AND GENDERS DISTINCT TO MINE!!! RAWR XD!” screeched Sam violently. The officer then smacked him upside the head, knocking him unconscious. Whereas Koom would enjoy the rest of his days surrounded by hot babes and Kaki and Painus would be free to love each other forever, Sam would rot in a Dashari dungeon for the next few years, scrubbing sandswept floors in skimpy clothing.
“I standard deviation… mission… failed…”
Category:Invidere