The Story of Lord Badass of Win

[Dabir]

This is the story of Lord Badass of Win, the only character about whom you can say it's a quantifiable fact that he's awesome. For everyone else, it's just an opinion. Even Batman. The occasional long, rambling, confusing sentence is free of charge.

I'm not going to include a character list unless I wake up one day and suddenly realise I have like fifty people to keep track of. If you want to know who's in it, read the damn thing.

[spoiler=Prologue: A Bard's Tale]In the back room of a small-town pub, a group of adventurers sat around a small round table, drinking mead and listening to a bard.

“I shall tell you a tale,” said the bard. “This tale is a true one, and it is one for which no music will do, for it is a tale to tell only in secret, while hidden away, as we are now. Behind a solid door and a sturdy bolt, I will tell you the story of Lord Arthur, of his great plan, and of his tragic fall.”

“Gerron wif it,” grunted a large, hairy man. The bard shot a nasty look in his direction, and cleared his throat.

“T’was nigh twenty years ago that the third son of Arthur, Lord of Wynne, was born, the birth claiming the life of his wife. He had formerly been a cheerful soul, but the death of his beloved turned him to brooding. He was determined to secure his legacy in the form of his sons, and so he began the long process of raising them to rule his lands well once he himself had passed on.

Now Lord Arthur was a man of virtue, if misguided virtue it was, and a man of principles, if false they were. He believed in three great qualities that a leader should have: They were firstly the wisdom to rule justly, secondly the strength to rule effectively, and thirdly the knowledge to rule correctly. His eldest, Alexander, was born to rule, and so he had the boy learn all the great theories of leadership, that he might one day assume and hold the title ‘Lord of Wynne’. His middle child, Christopher, he took as a squire, and gave him all the martial training he would need to someday become his brother’s Captain of the Guard. His youngest, Eric, who was neither born to rule nor strong of body, he sent to a tutor to spend long hours in the library, learning his histories, geography and other useful subjects, to be his brother Alexander’s Chief Scholar.

And so Lord Arthur believed his lineage was safe, with his three qualities divided amongst his three sons. Yet not everyone was satisfied with their lot. One dark and stormy night-“

The bard fell quiet as a loud hammering echoed around the tiny room. It was coming from the door.

“Open up!” a man shouted from outside. “Open in the name of His Lordship!” The bard’s eyes darted to the bolt, but it was shot all the way, and didn’t look like budging. “Innkeeper!” demanded the voice. “Open this door!” Faintly they heard the elderly innkeeper’s protests:

“I wish I could,” he wailed, “but the door is bolted from the inside! This room was built as a shelter from ruffians who seek to rob me!”

“IN THAT CASE,” roared a third voice, “I SHALL DEAL WITH THIS MYSELF!” With an enormous crash, and a sound of splintering wood, the door burst off its hinges and fell into the room. The creature that lowered its leg and followed the unfortunate furniture inside was no less than a figure of absolute dread: It seemed to be a man, but it was tall, seven feet at least, and carried so much muscle that it put the party in mind of a giant, or an ogre, come to slay them and feast on their corpses. It wore the armour of a knight of the realm, though it had left its upper arms and hands shelless and, relatively speaking, vulnerable. Even without the steel plates that covered the rest of it, its muscles alone looked practically blade-proof. A mane of black hair cascaded down its back from under its helmet, which left all its face except its eyes uncovered. What could be seen of its visage was twisted into an expression of utter fury. Despite themselves, the adventurers couldn’t help but feel a profound respect for the man. It wasn’t a conscious feeling, more like a deep-seated instinct.

“L-Lord Badass!” stammered the bard, for Lord Badass it was who had kicked in the door.

“Take them away!” Lord Badass bellowed. “They are to be tried at noon tomorrow! The crime: intending to speak ill of myself!” From behind him there poured what looked like an entire company of guardsmen, who seized the adventurers and the bard and dragged them out. Lord Badass turned on his heel and followed them out of the room, stopping in front of the innkeeper and facing the terrified man.

“You will be compensated for the damage to your door,” he proclaimed. “In addition, I will choose to believe that you were not complicit in the disgraceful acts going on in there. However, in future I expect you to be more careful about whom you allow into your back room. Am I understood?” The innkeeper nodded quickly, happy just to be getting away with his life. “Very good!” boomed Lord Badass, his face suddenly the picture of cheeriness. Turning slowly, he inspected the room, making sure to favour every patron with eye contact from their liege-lord. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “I bid you a good evening.” With no further word, he left the bar, slamming the door behind him. The innkeeper wiped his brow on his sleeve and took a deep breath.

“Well, I know I’ll need a drink after that,” he said. “Everyone listen up now, the next round’s on me.” And if that seems uncharacteristically generous of a barman, that’s just how meeting someone like Lord Badass makes you feel.
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