The Story of Fat Bloke

[Parrhesia]

It was raining out in the streets of Port Fihrn. Men cried out in pain on the streets as they were mercilessly stabbed and mugged by the thugs combing the streets. What few guards were left played cards in whatever shelter was left. Dasya figured this seedy and dying town would be the perfect place for a journeying Bard...after all, nobody who could fight worth a damn would dare attack a Bard.

She squinted into the distance. There was a sign in the distance, most of which appeared to have been stolen. The...Droned Bast. The Drowned Bastard. Great. The perfect kind of clintele in there...guys drifting in from the streets who figure they're a rusty sword and a battered buckler away from merchood. They were often contemptuously called 'Level Ones' by the experienced, and usually they were killed by rats a couple days in.

She decided to kick in the door, but it gave virtually no resistance and she stumbled in, leading with a now possibly-strained leg. "FUCKING...WHOREBREEDER'S BALLS!" she yelled in frustration, dropping her axe to clutch onto a nearby table. "Son of a fucking...bitch's...whore's...FUCK."

Panting, she looked up. To her surprise, the place was devoid of amateur mercs. Instead, there were a motley assortment of wide-eyed children looking frightened and permanently mentally scarred.

"What...the fuck, is going on," the Bard growled. She was known even in the bards as being a temperamental sort, prone to turning relatively quickly to her axe rather than to words. The innkeeper saw her reach for her axe with vicious glee, and ran over to explain.

"Uhh, look, are you a Bard?"

"No, I'm the fucking Angel of Death!" Dasya roared.

The innkeeper cowered. "Uhh...yeah, this nob with like fifteen kids left 'em here as he went on a boat somewhere. I dunno the details. But ya see, he... they... we're..."

"You want me to ... to make up a saga for them?!"

The fat, aproned man winced again. "Y-yeah? We'll pay well, I swears on it!"

Dasya considered just killing him then and there and walking off, but...it had been awhile since she'd eaten a half-decent mystery meat pie. "All right," she growled. "Just this bloody once. I'll tell 'em 'bout FRANK the IMMUTABLE, who looked for his rival for eight years and then BEAT the SHIT outta him!"

The fat guy looked at the audience. Some of them had burst into tears. Dasya regarded them with contempt. "Fine. I'll make somethin' up about some fat guy. Get out of my way, lardass! They're gonna get DASYA'D!"

So speaking, she leapt up onto a nearby chair, and started strumming her luteaxe idly. "Right," she said, glaring down at the audience. "Right, y'motherfuckers. This is a long and painful story about this guy...he walked through the frosts of Valmurrough to retrieve a magical ... flying goat. Or somethin'. And then he made it his life's goal to RAPE...I mean, 'love', all the children in the world, and give 'em shit! For no reason at all. Bastards. Fucking up the econom-"

The innkeeper coughed, and Dasya realised she was brandishing her axe violently. She coughed, trying to sound dainty in spite of her tall, broad-shouldered frame, and sat down once more. "Anyway. So, this man was called...FAT BLOKE, and his tale has persisted in our hearts for three thousand years..."

"AND SO, THE MOUNTAIN GOATS OF FLYINGOSITY RAMPAGED TOWARD-"

"Um, Bard? You can...you can stop now. They all fell asleep around three hours ago."

Dasya blinked. "Fucking finally. Why'd you let me- ah, it's no matter. Just get me my fucking money, and a bed for the night to make up for the inconvenience."

"But, of course," wibbled the innkeeper, meekly.

"And I'll need a hot meal."

"Y-yeah." The fat man stumbled off into the kitchen. Dasya made sure he was gone, then critically poked one of the children in the face with a boot. As the kid awoke and started to scream, she was upon it, slamming his mouth shut and grinning with unrestrained glee.

"And some say," she hissed, "that sometimes Fat Bloke manifests in the form of a fat innkeeper, and is obliged to give a hundred presents to anyone who finds out who he is...tell your friends."

As the kid's eyes lit up with avarice, Dasya collected her meal and went up to her bed.

"'Ll serve the bastard right for making me improvise," she muttered darkly.

The innkeeper had no idea how much agonising pain awaited him the next day...

[Thor Odinson]

Aaaaaaand THAT's how Santa came to be.

:awesome: