Tastacles was undoubtedly the most handsome, stupendously capable and strongest knight the kingdom of Cummadummadown had ever seen. He’d slain dragons, toppled empires, brokered peace and damn near became king. However, he was a humble man, a kind man. Politics was also super complicated and like, such a drag, man. So after another long, bloody conquest against an opposition he could never quite pronounce the name of (The Arkadians? Acadians? Ah-kah-dee-ins?) it came as a vast shock-to well, pretty much everyone-that the hero with windswept jaw-dropping blonde hair had announced his retirement. There had to be more than swinging a sword to this life, thought the massively muscled hero.
Despite his many opulent and wonderful gifts, thinking wasn’t among. Sure, he’d managed to get his GED through Noble High. And yes, becoming a certified buggy mechanic seemed like a comfortable way to spend his days. Yet the half-brained hero dared to dream of more, and sought counsel with King Cuckamonga.
Who, given the hand-wringing he was currently doing before Tastacles, was in a sorry state indeed.
“Your majesty,” said Tastacles on bended knee, “That’s it! I’m through! My sword arm is awfully tired. There’s a high chance I pulled some sort of muscle and the cramps just aren’t going away. I’d like to cash in my pension, if that’s alright?”
The king-bless his gold encrusted heart-went right on wringing his hands. That is, until he reached into the silk folds of his many ruffled shirts to pull out a handkerchief. He dabbed it at his brow as his lips wavered, every syllable a broken mess.
“P-P-Pension? A-are you sure? I m-mean Tastacles, there’s still so much to do! The Arkadians are in shambles, but someone has to go in and rebuild! Their infrastructure is absolutely destroyed! D-don’t you think t-that might lead to them h-holding a grudge and-”
Tastacles threw back his head and gave a deep bass laugh. “What? An imperialistic conquest leading to a built in ideology that ultimately comes back to bite us post-invasion? Absolutely not, that’s preposterous! Whenever has such a thing occurred?”
“W-well, there was the Daniels, and the North Men, and-”
Another hearty laugh from Tastacles sent a jolt through the king’s entire frame. He nearly tripped, but managed to land his other foot and instead did an odd half-dance step. The sight made Tastacles smile widen, and he gave a massive shrug of his shoulders.
“And each was dealt with in turn! Swiftly, might I add!” he bellowed.
“T-Tastacles, that might be true, b-but that’s b-because we h-had you. A-and I hate to break it to you, but it’s not by the metallurgy of our trusted blacksmith Plotticus you s-s-survived engagements,”
The hero pondered. Not for long, as it gave him horrible headaches. He gave a deep sigh as his quiet life seemed to loom even farther from his mind.
“Bah! Fine then-what of a replacement? I’m sure there’s someone eager to lead our folk into fights. Some lass, or lad. Or maybe someone who is a bit of both! That would be a nice change, wouldn’t it?” said Tastacles as his stout arms crossed his chest.
King Cuckamunga’s brow narrowed as he gave a sigh. He held his gaze upon Tastacles, and shook his head. For once, his voice spoke with even candor.
“Tastacles, yes. There’s a few promising upstarts, but this is a job that requires experience. You know that, right?”
“I didn’t have any and you hired me right away,” replied the hero.
“Yes, but-”
“But what? So what if they’re inexperienced? Doesn’t someone deserve a chance to prove themselves worthy of pay and their title? Why, when I started-”
“Tastacles,” said the king with a horrid, stern tone that our hero had only heard a few times before. Normally after Tastacles had spoken to the queen.
“Listen. I’ll allow your retirement-with honors you’re obviously due-on the grounds you choose, train and vouch for someone to replace you. Is that clear? Do I need to say it slightly slower?”
Tastacles thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose a tad slower might be alright. But I get the gist. Fine. Send a scribe with a list. And I’ll pick the most promising of the bunch, and do as you require sire,”
The King gave a tremendous sigh, and nodded. Out came the handkerchief again as he dabbed his brow once more. “Fine, fine. I will. Tastacles? I’m entrusting you to do the right thing here, and make a sound judgement. Do I make myself clear?”
“Don’t I always?” said the hero as he rose, a sly smirk on his face.
King Cuckamunga stared at the massive meat mountain of a man before he shook his head. “No, no you actually don’t, that’s how this entire affair with the Arkadians beagan and-”
“Adeu, your majesty. Give my regards to your wife,” said Tastacles as he turned a shod heel and marched from the throne room. Which, by the time he reached the door, was thankfully farther than the king could throw something.
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After the third interview, Tastacles decided that the list held in the scribes hand was far, far too long. So up his mighty sword arm rose once more, just to cut it in twain! Much to the chagrin and terror of the scribe, who threatened to quit on the spot. Tastacles gave a deep, booming laugh like rolling thunder and said “Fine, fine. One last interview! We’ll call it a day after. Fair enough?”
The scribe muttered something about exploitation of labor and shook his head as he marched towards the door. Those silly scribes, thought Tastacles, always using multi-syllabic words, like he’d understand them.
The scribe shoved his head outside, and barked “Last call! This is our last one today! The rest of you, go die in the gutter like cut purses if your name isn’t…Trousercus? Do I have a Hue G. Trousercus here?”
A soft voice came in reply. “Oh, that’s me! Praise the gods, I’m coming! Keep the door open mate!”
“Aye, move it berk! The benefits ain’t worth ya’ tarry!” said the scribe back. Yet keep the door open he did. Not that Tastacles noticed-he was far too preoccupied with a rather nice mirror in the corner. His hair was brilliant, his muscles bulged from his platemail, his-
“O-oh my, you’re real! Tastacles? The heaping hero of the shining blade? The legends don’t do you justice!”
Tastacles turned at last as his lips curled into a practiced smile. A fan, how quaint. His lips parted to spill his usual lines of adoration. Yes, it’s me. Ah why thank you, my physical visage is superb, I-
Only for his jaw to fall slack.
The only people within the meager stone-walled room were he and the scribe. The latter of which continued to mumble something about unpaid overtime. Tastacles blinked as his brow knit and his eyes searched the room. He knew he had heard a voice. Unless it was that dreadful “morality cricket” showing up again after all these years, warning him of the dangers of smoking and gambling. He was so certain he’d squashed that little broodling in his youth, but if being an adventurer had taught him-
“Uh, great hero? Down here? Below your simply ridiculous pectorals?” came the voice again.
Oh. Tastacles took a step back, and spied a sprig of hair the color of pure flame. It framed a meek face dotted with freckles that topped a tiny frame, one that grew not tiny at all actually as it met his waist. The man before him was the oddest he had laid his eyes upon in all his years. Despite the tight cinch at his waist and fae-like appearance, the lad had an absolute dump truck of an ass. His body was the inverse of Tastacle’s own, with his trousers pulling the odd image of a carnival to the front of the hero’s mind. Tastacles screwed his brow, and shook his head.
“Trousercus? Is that a name or profession?” he said as his arms crossed his chest.
The man smirked, his brow arching as he imitated the cocky bravado of the hero. As his own arms crossed, he said “Oh, some would call it a divine gift. But yes, I’ll answer to that if it pleases you sire,”
“I’ve yet to see if you please me at all actually,” replied Tastacles.
“Sire, with all due respect? Of all the feats you’ve proven yourself capable of, pleasure seems the lowest hurdle. I can and will,” replied Trousercus. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his massive saddle-bag like pants jangling and jostling as he did.
Tastacles felt his ears pin to his head. His arms met his side, and he began to walk round the odd lot before him. His eyes curled and rolled over every curve of Trousercus (or would it be Huey?), and stopped only at the stitching of his pants. The hero gave a snort, his voice booming as confidence returned.
“The pants, they’re a party trick. Far too much stitching for one that moved so quietly I hardly noticed their entrance. Be ye what class of man?”
Huey (or was it Trousercus? Was that only during business hours?) snorted, and slapped his palms against his cheeks. He looked up at Tastacles and gave a small nod.
“Aye, aren’t you clever? Sire, I’m a brigand,” replied the double-stuffed man.
“Pardon?” said Tastacles.
“Uh, a roughneck? A rogue?”
“I’m sorry, that’s really kind of obtuse. Could you be more direct?” replied Tastacles as his face softened. Trousercus stared at the man for a long moment before he shook his head. The cunning smile he’d gave seconds ago returned.
“Sire? I’m a thief by trade. Best in all the land, might I say,” he said. Tastacles gave a snort, and tilted his head.
“Then why haven’t I heard of you then? Can’t very well be famous without everyone knowing your name. That’s how you get free mead at the tavern!”
Trousercus gave a curt shrug, and said “I wouldn’t be a very good thief if you knew my face and name, now would I? But the pants, well-I’ve the wealth of ten kingdoms in here. All stitched to the side. And, if you’ll not consider my professional feats, I’ll happily pay,”
“Bah! What a load of trite!” boomed Tastacles. “Wealth of ten kingdoms my incredibly toned arse! Prove it then, if your words are true!”
The great hero readied himself to toss the conman out the door. His hand rested on the hilt of his massive sword-and then Trousercus gave a tug at his side. A string, a miniscule thing. Far too small to catch with the naked eye, far too little for anyone without deft hands to catch. A single tug was all it took for every seam upon the strangers dress to burst simultaneously with the uproarous flood of coins hitting the cobblestone floor. They rolled in every corner of the room. Rubies, emeralds and other gems glinted bright in the torchlight.
Along with the scribe, whose eyes opened wide for the first time in years as he scrambled to shove as much as he could in his pockets.
Trousercus crossed his arms and gave Tastacles a smug grin. The rogue tapped his foot, and said “See? A thief I am, true. But a liar? Nary a word is false good sir,”
Tastacles coughed as he tilted his god-like visage towards the vagabond. “So, uh. Trousercus wasn’t just about the pants either?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Tastacles snorted, and shook his head. “You’ve put an awful lot of effort to get here, that much is apparent. But why? Being the sword arm of the king isn’t light work-”
Trousercus narrowed his eyes, and leaned forward. “And stealing this lot was? Is that what you think? Do you know how many positively hideous widows I had to seduce? By the gods man, I’ve dodge more arrows from angry husbands than-”
Tastacles laughed, and raised his hand. The thief fell silent as he held his breath.
“All I am saying Trousercus is this-it would be a shame to take your gift-” said Tastacles as he splayed his palm over the mountain of wealth, “-and be forced out of retirement because you fell on your own sword. If you’ll give me your word, as honest as you claim it is, that I shant be forced to wake early in the morning to rescue you…well, I’d say you’re our most qualified candidate by far,”
Tastacles crossed the room, the crunch of coin beneath his heels already spinning dreams of comfort. It was the crunch of Trousercus’ massive meat anaconda that brought more deft steps and a blush to his face. He stuck out his hand as his voice stammered, “S-so we’re in business then?”
“Aye!” cried Trousercus.
“I told you I was sorry!”
“No, not that you handsome idiot! Aye! I agree,” said Trousercus. He took the heroes massive hands, and gave it a firm shake.
“Thick as thieves-”
“I’ll say,” said Tastacles. “Now uh-if you don’t mind? Let’s gather all this up. And uh, Trousercus?”
“Yes, my liege?” replied the rogue, a gleam in his eye.
“Do roll that up over your shoulder if you don’t mind. Swift and sure footed as I am, I’d hate to step again upon your slithering shlong,”
The rogue made haste to do just that, much to the hero’s joy.
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What Tastacles thought would take months had taken only weeks. Trousercus and his craft grafted well into being the hero the empire needed. By the time Tastacles was ready to present the rogue to the king, he did so with a clap of his hand on the man’s shoulder. They were more than mentor hero and cunning student-he’d come to truly enjoy the rogue’s company over countless tankards and songs. Royal introductions even went well! As it turns out, Trousercus already knew King Cuckamungas wife! What splendid fortune for them both.
Tastacles had settled into a quiet life in the country. He built a barn suitable for buggy repair, and soon grew to love the absolute monotony of the work. There was no invading army to single handedly destroy, no dragons to parlay with. Just the turn of his tools and the grease upon his hand. Day in, day out. Always the same thing, the same problems.
It was fun, wonderful and calm.
…At least for the first few months.
By the time spring rolled around, Tastacles was pent up. Work began to back up out of his tiny barn past the door. The dryads had refused to supply wood to the kingdom anymore, which drove the cost of all buggy repairs up. Every drunken merchant that argued with Tastacles stoked a flame deep in his gut. One that told him oh, just sock him one time. You’ve got the muscle! A single one liner would destroy him!
Despite being the owner and sole employee of Heros Buggy Repair (And Saucy Calender Sales), Tastacles soon grew to realize that this work with the public wasn’t netting him nearly the pay he got as an adventurer. The public was apt to exploit him for his labor, haggling prices until the profit margins were nearly non-existant. A man had to eat, and Tastacles was a great man. A single loaf of bread and the occasional bite of a green vegetable couldn’t possibly sustain him!
All of this compounded and wore the hero away to the point he caught himself idly staring at the road. For what, he’d never say out loud. But in his heart he knew. A messenger. A squire. Hell, even a worried looking peasant. Anything to summon him away from this life of drudgery and-
And lo, one day on the horizon, they came. With the attire of the royal Tax Collection and Execution services. Oh, oh gods no, this isn’t-
“Sire! Sire is that you, the great hero Tas-”
“Sir, I assure you that my books are in order. If you’ll just come this-” said our hero, a bead of sweat already breaking upon his brow as he turned shaking towards his office.
“No! Tastacles, that’s not why I’m here! This is just my second job, I swear. I’m a courier and I was sent post haste! That’s like, even faster than normal! Great hero Tastacles, slayer of the frozen spine (and adept buggy repair mechanic), it’s Trousercus! He’s been taken!”
“Oh? Well finally, I knew he’d not stay a single lad for long. Not with that massive-”
“No!” shouted the courier-who-moonlit-as-a-tax-collector. The man doubled over, his simply ridiculous royal hat nearly falling to the ground. He took a moment to catch his breath, and rose back up to see the hero. “He-it’s that warlock, you know the one! He kidnapped him and demanded ransom! You’re the only-”
Quick as a wink, Tastacles had stripped from his uniform with a single jerk from his mighty hands. His full platemail laid beneath it, and glinted in the sun. The hero raised his hand, and his sword came bursting through the barn window to his grip. Not that the sword was magickal in any way, but it too had grown weary of working with the public.
“You’ve my steel. Which way to this horrendous, hideous abomination unto the gods?”
“Oh wow, you just had that at the ready? That’s concerning. Uh, it’s to the west sir. And Tastacles, one last thing-” said the courier. He reached into the back pocket of his tights, and pulled out a slip of paper. Up shot a hand as he plucked the feather from his cap-which was revealed to be a quill.
“Since I’m here, you should be aware that you’re being audited by the kingdom for-hey, hey wait! This is important!”
Yet the courier’s cries fell on deaf ears-for our valiant, handsome and undoubtedly ready hero had already begun briskly running westward. “Brisk” being a relative term for someone evading taxes.
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The warlock-rumored to be the most evil, vile creature to ever emerge from the abyss-stood in his bathrobe as he watched the stranger on the wall. The shackles held as the man tossed and turned. The stranger shot the occasional sneer towards him, which the magician thought awfully curious. The entire affair was quite curious actually. He raised his ceramic mug to his lips (the one that had a sassy orange cat on it) and slurped his tea.
“Bah! You’ll never get away with this, you curr! Soon, any moment now, the kings entire army will be here!” shouted the lithe (and not unattractive at all) stranger from his bonds. The warlock would have disregarded this plea-what’s more, would disregard the stranger entirely if he could-were it not for the lads attire. Clothed in the purples and golds of the court beneath his plate, it stuck in the back of his mind like a word puzzle. The ones that came with the morning paper. He loathed those utterly.
“Uh, sir? This is the second day you’ve been here. Um, are you sure I can’t get you some breakfast or-” started the warlock, only for the chained man to twist his head towards him.
“I’ll partake of no such vile poisons that you might offer, coward! Were I to break from these bonds-”
“-Sir, you broke into my home. You locked yourself in those bonds after shouting something about the queen being-and I’m quoting- ‘an insatiable harpy that reeks of a troll’s bowels’. I really don’t mind unlocking you from-” started the warlock, only for the strange, fashionably clad man to laugh.
“A trick! A trick you speak! I, Trousercus, the most honest and humble of the king’s guard, would never purposefully engineer a situation so that I might escape accidental amorous meanderings of another! Why, that’s preposterous!” said the lad.
The warlock scratched the side of his head, and slurped down more tea. Ace, his plump charcoal tabby, circled around his feet and gave a lazy meow. The warlock-Tom was his name, truth be told-gave a smirk and bent to pet the beast. Ace replied in kind by offering his soft underbelly, purring against his masters touch.
“Hark! A Familiar! Seeking to bewitch me is it?” Shouted the man from the wall. Trouser-what? What had his title been?
Tom gave a sigh, and rose once more as Ace scampered off to the far corner of the room. “Trousercon? If I may-”
“Trousercus! Scourge of virginity and fat purses everywhere!” replied the brigand.
Tom stopped, and furrowed his brow as he looked at the man. “Uh, didn’t you just say you were part of the royal court?”
“I-well a man has to seek employment any way he can, doesn’t he?” Replied Trousercus, rattling his bonds. Tom gave a snort, and nodded.
“Quite, but lad? Listen. I’m no warlock, that’s just the title heaped on me. I’m actually more of a doctor? Do you have any pains that might be causing this madness? Aye, say of the tummy? The back? Er, perhaps the head?”
Trousercus parted his lips to speak, only for the very walls of the rather well furnished tower the warlock chose to live within to shake. Tom tilted his head up towards the ceiling and watched as the rafters shook. The spiders in the cobwebs above were awfully upset. Thankfully, they couldn’t talk.
“Hark! Salvation awaits me! You’re in for it now, you beguiling warlock!” shouted Trousercus as a daring smile cut across his lips.
Tom gave a sigh, and shook his cup towards the man. “Doctor, I say! I’m a bloody doctor, not a warlock! I didn’t go through three years of school in total to be talked down to like a bloody illiterate farmer!”
The warlo-er, doctor-was ready to fire off another round of class based insults. They were right on the tip of his tongue, but slipped into the abyss as a door on the opposite wall exploded off the hinges in a fury of splinters. There, gleaming in the warm light of day was none other than-
“Oy! Is that you Tastacles? You’re a week late for your appointment lad. I say, did that salve help with the bubose on your scrotum?” said Tom as he cupped a hand over his eyes.
“My hero!” shouted Trousercus, as his bonds rattled loose. “Quick! Free me my friend, so that you might be honored enough to avenge my good name on my behalf!”
Tastacles-looking incredibly swoll for someone out of practice-stepped from the god-rays of the sun and peered into the room. Puzzlement (never a good sign for our hero) crossed his features as he looked at the warlock, his mighty hand on the pommel of his sword.
“Uh, Tom? What manner of hipocratic hypocrisy is this? Why do you have my replacement strapped to the wall?”
Tom snorted, and pointed over his shoulder with his mug. “Aye, laddy broke into my home last night and did the binds himself. Was screaming his head off about a harpy and slop on a knob. You know this dolt?”
“A nonce by any other name would still be noticed when they’re that loud. Yes, that’s my replacement, Trousercus. I’m so sorry for the trouble. If you’ll oblige me with a key-”
“I will, I will. About that rash-” said the doctor, his brow raised.
“-Oh, yes. Quite, uh. Yep, not a single boil! Thank you kindly Tom,” said Tastacles, his booming bass voice wavering all of a moment. Tom paused as he crossed the room, and tilted his head towards the hero.
“Aye? That so? Mind if I take a look? You don’t possess the years of learning that I do, and might have very well overlooked something,”
“N-no, I don’t believe that will be-”
“Oh, come off it proud hero! Even the mighty get the odd ailment. If you loosen your pants for all of a moment, I’ll loosen the lads bonds. What say ye? ‘Snot like you’ve anything the both of us haven’t seen on the daily. Isn’t that right lad?” said Tom as he turned towards Trousercus.
The rogue’s jaw was slack as he beheld the pair, only for his binds to sing as he jolted towards Trousercus.
“Oh I did not escape the queens bedchambers by the hairs of my backside not to turn this into a story! Tastacles, if you dare to dally any longer, while I’ll-”
“Not do a damned thing,” said Tom as he slurped his tea. He turned back towards the absolutely astounding hero, and sat his mug on a nearby table. Ace encircled Tastacle’s feet and gave a slight purr.
“Aye, off with ‘em then. Just a peek lad, then we’ll send you on your way. Do uh, I bill the king for the door, or-”
Tastacles steeled his nerve with a temperance he hadn’t felt since the Arkadian’s sieged the high towers. Fighting with people was one thing. Slaying a dragon? An afternoon delight. Yet revealing his pride before his friend (even in the eyes of a medical professional) was most certainly a disquieting thing. Yet he had to show resolve, strength and courage! Why, wasn’t Trousercus still learning?
His pants hit the floor with a clamber that sent Ace howling towards the far corners of the room. Tom knelt before the knight’s massive member, a popsicle stick in his hands as he lifted the shaft and peered at the man’s balls.
“Oy, that cream did work. I do hope you’ve been avoiding those Arkadian brothels. I told you, they don’t serve broth there despite the-Uh, mate? Are you okay?”
Tastacles tried very hard to keep his lips taught. For if they loosened, they’d reveal what the hero-and all in the room, including poor fuzzy Ace-held apparent. He hadn’t meant to, certainly not in front of Trousercus or Tom! But he had been awfully busy at the buggy repair shop recently, so much that he barely had time to-
“So that’s why they call you a great hero,” sputtered Trousercus from the opposite wall. Tastacles felt the heat in his cheeks race faster than his thoughts. Unfortunately, they weren’t faster than his sense of self control, and his tongue wagged his tight-lips free.
“Oh you’re one to gloat! Trousercus isn’t subtle at all!” said the hero. The swarthy rogue laughed from the opposite side of the room, which left the doctor puzzled between them.
“At least when I get hard there’s profit to be had! A mere touch sent you heralding high as the ramparts!” cried Trousercus.
“Lads, it’s a perfectly normal-” started Tom, only for Tastacles to turn to face Trousercus, smacking the doctor in the face with his mammoth meat and send him reeling to the floor unconscious. At last, with the warlock defeated, the mighty hero stepped forward with his pork sword at the ready. By the time Tastacles was close, the beguiling rogue had slipped his hands easily enough from his bonds. A smirk peeled across his face as he crossed his arms and stared at the hero.
“And what of it, rogue? ‘Tis a sign of good health, is it not?” shouted the Hero, the swollen tip of his pride nearly smacking against the belly of his plate.
“Aye, and one of a lack of control. No wonder you sought retirement! By the gods man, I can’t imagine one so lily-fresh as to grow erect from a mere wizards touch!” said Trousercus. He snapped his fingers and pointed towards the incredibly attractive summer sausage. “I mean, look at that! How in the nine hells does it fit in your plate?!”
Tastacles gasped, and furrowed his brow as he took another step. His girthy cock pressed betwixt the legs of his friend, right into the rogue’s massive balls. “I’ll have you know Plotticus had no trouble fitting me for my garb! Unlike you. Still wearing the borrowed kit of Marcus Cornelius Hammer, are we?”
Trousercus, reeling from an insult far too grave to be said in good company ever, tugged at voluminous pants. They hit the floor as his shocking snake of virility unfurled like a rope. “Well by the nine, how best do I contain this? It’s bloody well enough it gets goosed by every noble lady in the land, and now I’m the subject of mockery? BY A FRIEND NO LESS!”
“I bite my thumb at thee and thine fashionable crimes, sir!” said Tastacles, his polearm of positively enormous delights smacking against the rogue’s own. Trousercus gasped, and gripped himself by the base. Within seconds the rogues rampant rousing rigid cock smacked against the heroes own.
“It’s a duel then, is it? The student shall surpass the master, brave Tastacles! Enough talk-have at you!”
And so the pair fought, and fought. Armor was lost along the way, sent clattering to the floor in a cacophony of moans and excitement. And though in time the brave rogue succeeded (by pinning his friend to the ground, their breath warm against each other’s neck), it is hotly debated in hushed whispers throughout the land whomst was the first to pierce whomst. Regardless, the two found themselves at a stand still.
No, really. A stand still, as they were both so emplastered in each other’s love jelly that they couldn’t move.
And that, dear reader, is why we now have statues to them both within the warlocks office-turned-tourist location. A testament to both our incredible heroes from a bygone age.
Just uh, don’t lick them. They taste like they smell.