Fagballs the warrior
It was a long time ago, the year was 1476. The heated war between the two rival factions was at its most prevalent time. This was the year fagballs was born. He was always destining to become a fearsome warrior, as his father once was. He was expected to grow a
2 foot long beard and use it to slay his enemies. He was never coddled as he would need to be battle hardened by the time he was 7. He was beaten and was forced to kill his own mother with his beard. He always had a motto “it is not the beard on the outside that counts, it’s the beard on the inside” and he lived by this motto. Though his ideas were always suppressed by his father the marvelous warrior “shitdick”, he always knew in his heart that his fearsome beard was a weapon of great power, perhaps too much power. Too much power for one person to handle...
One night in his study, fagballs was reading up on his beard to beard combat techniques.
“FAGBALLS!” his father roared.
“Oh great, what the fuck am I in trouble for today.” Fagballs muttered under his breath
He walked down the mahogany staircase, nearly coated in blood, and stood before his father.
“Get down to the arena, we have a surprise for you.” His father said calmly
“Ok?” fagballs said with certain defiance under his breath.
As he walked to the war torn arena he wondered “what could father possibly have in there.”
He walked in on a crowd of people, a full house. In the center of the battlefield was a set of hand forged armor. A breastplate with his family’s emblem, a bloody beard, elegantly painted on. A shield forged from a rare alloy, it was said to be unbreakable. Last, a helm of power. Only this helm looked different, but how? It had the chin cut away to allow his beard to pass through to be used to its fullest killing extent.
Along with the magnificent armor was a cage with a tarp thrown over it.
“What’s in the cage?” fagballs asked.
“Your first kill…” fagballs's father said in a deep, malevolent tone.
The crowd roared with excitement as the feral prisoner was released into the stadium, wielding a sword and a lust for blood in his eyes. Fagballs stood motionless, unsure of what to do.
“KILL HIM!” the crowd roared
The prisoner charged at fagballs with the promise of freedom if he defeated the young warrior. Fagballs's eyes darted up into the slave’s soul. He let out a battle cry that made the floor rumble. He dodged the prisoner’s initial attack and countered with a beard uppercut. His thick beard made a “THUMP” as it collided with the lower jaw of the inmate. The slave fell to the floor, bleeding profusely. This did not slow him as he charged again. This time fagballs decided to end it. He ducked and caught the convict off guard and then sank his beard into the heart of his opponent… his victim.
It felt good; this must be what they were always talking about. The crowd’s cheers grew to a deafening level. He felt the rush of taking a life. He stood over the body for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity. He finally lifted the body up by its head and decapitated it. He held the head with its eyes agape for the crowd to see.