Arcs - June 1994
Wank Fantasy - the two Eds
(with illustration by Sett You)
(page 8/8)



Grunt grunted.

"No, honestly, it was this big!" declaimed Spaz the Dwarf.

"Hey, where's Gutless?" piped Nutless the Pixie. "He's been in those toilets an awfully long time."

As if on cue, Gutless (King of the Elves) emerged from the little elves' room clutching a stack of crumpled fantasy novels, tugging at the rope of his trousers and flushing mightily.

"Cor, that was a good one I can tell you," he said breathlessly as he flopped on to his stool.

As he did so, the tavern door blew open with a flurry of leaves, wind, rain and a baffled peasant being dragged by his oxen, and The Stranger stood in the doorway, silhouetted by intermittent bursts of actinic lightning, wreathed in gratuitous smoke from the fag end just visible under his huge floppy brimmed black hat.

"We don't serve their kind in here," intoned the barman, motioning towards the peasant.

"Come on then, Barry, let's try down the next village," said the oxen, and left.

The Stranger strode purposefully over to the table infested by Grunt (whose given name by his barbarian mother was 'Mutt-ley') the Barbarian, Spaz, Gutless and Nutless (hereafter to be referred to in a poor lampoon of the heroic fantasy tradition as 'The Posse'). As he approached, Nutless noted with disdain the serious fashion error of his skin-tight black jeans, big swishy black coat and 'Sandman' T-Shirt.

"So, what can we do for you then, Strang-er?" asked Spaz Grunt grunted.

"Nice speech impediment, shortarse. [See, it wasn't a typo -Ed] I've got this problem with my stepmother, the Wicked Sorceror Anal."

"Did you say he was your mother?" ejaculated Nutless pointlessly.

"Look, it's an ancient family curse imposed on us by the Elder Gods which I don't want to get into at this stage, fairy. The point is, he's rich as buggery-"

"Ooooh!" tittered Nutless, nudging Gutless playfully in the crotch.

"Listen, the point is, since we're rapidly running out of page, that I'm willing to give you stacks of money if you'll go and do the old fucker in. He lives in the Rubber Castle by the Swamp of Jism in which he regularly drowns virgins. Took him years to fill that moat, but anyway-"

"Where is this Rubber Castle of which you speak, Stranger?" asked Gutless.

"And more to the point, what's your name, big boy?" wondered Nutless

"I am Goth Yretentive from the faraway Fields of the Nephilim and if you keep fucking interrupting my dramatic flow I'm going to take those crap fantasy books and shove them page by page up your arse."

"-" began Nutless, but thought better of it

"Fact is, I don't know where the castle is, so you'll have to find it your bloody selves But the Wise Man of the tribes of Norax should be able to help you."

The Posse got up and left, with Nutless and Gutless singing one of their irritating range of setting-off songs.

Grunt grunted.


"Isn't this fun?" beamed Nutless, skipping merrily along the Wobbly Road down which they had been travelling for the past week or two.

"Hey, who's that over there?" cried Spaz, indicating a sad looking figure seated on a rock who seemed to be gazing intently at a large scroll in his hands.

Grunt grunted.

As the Posse approached, the figure looked up at them with rheumy eyes.

"Hallo!" he whined nasally. "You haven't seen any stagecoaches around, have you? Only I'm looking for a type 44 which should have passed by here an hour ago and it hasn't showed up yet."

Grunt continued to munch noisily on the horse's leg he was carrying, saying nothing but squeezing off the odd grunt.

"Er, gno," said Spaz furtively "Do you know where we can find the tribes of Norax?"

At these words, the sad stranger reeled as if blown and fell off his rock.

"The tribes of Norax! I was exiled from the tribes of Norax for being too sad. My own twin brother Dork, I myself am known as Dweeb, and there's a fascinating reason why, it's a history that stretches back for Generations back to, ooh, at least the Nth Age when-"

"Yes, yes, your own twin brother Dork."

"Yes! My own twin brother Dork, he's the Wise Man you know, claimed that I neglected the Holy Book for my own studies, which involve-"

"Hold on, hold on - your brother's the Wise Man of the tribes of Norax?" interjected Gutless, catching on as fast as ever.

"Why yes, in fact there's a stagecoach passing by here in five minutes according to my scroll if you're headed that way. Did I mention my hobby to you? I spot stagecoaches," said Dweeb proudly.

Grunt grunted.

"That's fascignating," said Spaz "Look, here's that stagecoach of yours, it's early."

"Really?" said Dweeb looking round in surprise, "only it's very odd for them to ever-"

"Christ, what a dweeb," said Spaz dusting off his mace. "Here comes that stagecoach now .."


"Hey, what's that? Looks kinky," said Nutless as a huge white barrage balloon drifted by morosely.

"Aar. that be 'cause we're approaching the village, that be," drawled the coachman. "We be stoppin' there awhoile before we go on to the plains of Norax, we be."

As the Posse drew closer to the village, they were passed by a number of people riding strange two-wheeled contraptions, all of whom were dressed in black Spons jackets with white trim. The coach eventually pulled up in front of a tavern called 'The Con' from which came the sounds of lively, animated chatter.

Grunt grunted.

As soon as they disembarked, they were set upon by a small, round woman dragging a short hairy man by his beard.

"Why don't you come inside and be more social?" she asked. "I'm Midget and this," throwing the hairy one at their feet, "is my shag Phallyx."

"Hi," said Phallyx. "Come on in, I'll introduce you to the Rabbi Schmydon the Besandaled. "

Inside, the tavern was packed with ponytailed men in beards with enormous beer guts, all wearing the same white-trimmed jackets. One man sat alone in a corner without a jacket - he only wore the similarly ubiquitous black polo necked top. "Who's that?" asked Nutless.

"Oh, that's Nik the Wanker," answered Phallyx "Midget, she's our matriarch and sometime floozy, caught the little bastard shagging the last of our cows to death the other night, so he's been single-fistedly replacing our entire milk supply since then. He's just on his break now."

Wearily, Nik got up and strolled back to the toilets.

Midget led them over to the far side of the tavern where she proceeded to introduce them to a bearded man who was indeed wearing sandals.

"Shalom," he said, "let's eat Have a matzoh."

"That's okay, actually," said Gutless, "I've got my sandwiches. We're on a Quest to rid the Seven Lands forever from the evil scourge of Goth Yretentive's mother the Wicked Sorceror Anal." "Oy!" kvetched Schmydon, "mother already! Don't talk to me about mother. 'Learn your Torah, Schmydon', 'Straighten your skullcap, Schmydon', my life! Let me tell you..."

Leaving him to continue his tirade to Nik, who had by this time emerged again from the toilets, the Posse moved to leave the tavern Near the door, they were accosted by a tallish shambling character who bore a boring resemblance to Dweeb.

"Hulleau," he said.

"Uh, hi," replied Gutless.

"Hulleau, I'm Dork."

"You mean Dork the Wise Man of the tribes of N-"

"Yes, I'm Dork. I'm a Norak."

"We've been searching for you! We thought we'd have to travel out to the plains to find you though."

"Oerh, I cum down 'ere wunce a munth. Oo-er. Thursdays usually. Ye're luckeh to've bumped inter meh. What did yer want then?"

"Well actually, we were told you'd know where we could find the Rubber Castle.

"Aye, ah go down theer ev'ry uther Thursday."

"What, to see the Wicked Sorceror Yretentive?"

"Oerh, that Rubber Cassle. Ner, but ah know where that Rubber Cassle is too. It's marked in the Herly Buke, the Aaytooozeee. Ah'll just look it up fer you." He began patting his pockets, of which he seemed to have far more than anyone else, then pulled out a bumper sized tattered tome over which he muttered a few incomprehensible Nonhem mutterings before reverentially opening it at the back. After some time, he leafed through the Aaytooozeee and pointed out a page to the Posse.

"Theer it is," he said triumphantly. "Oer, it's just over those mountains theer Yer could get theer before the sun goes down, oo-er, if yer hurry."

Grunt grunted And with that the Posse set forth once more.


"This swamp's a bit .. sticky," said Gutless

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh Tell me about it, mate," mumbled a thin, pale, smelly creature with long, straggly hair who had emerged from the white foam at their feet. He stared desultorily at them with his lamplike eyes before pushing off with a final "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

"Strange chap," said Nutless.

Grunt grunted.

"You know, I can't see any waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyy-" began Gutless as he, along with the rest of the Posse, handily fell into a huge chasm under the swamp allowing us to cut to:


"Well, I like mine but I don't think much of your outfit," carped Nutless.

Gutless awoke to find himself strapped upside down with studded rubber thongs, legs akimbo, wearing only a spiked dog collar and a cock ring.

Nutless shivered, enjoying the sensations thus produced by his nipple clamps which were chained to the cork up his fundament.

"You think you've got problems," complained Spaz, whose new nose ring was chained to the back of Grunt's thong while his wrists were chained about Grunt's thighs.

"Haylp! Haylp!" came a plaintive cry from the comer Gutless turned his head to see a buxom young strumpet lashed to a pole being pawed by the same creature they had been unfonunate enough to encounter outside. He seemed to be trying to give her a note. Seeing that the Posse had awoken, he shambled over to them and proceeded to wave the note in Gutless' face.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh She doesn't love me She won't accept my letters!" he moaned The green-inked runes made even less sense to Gutless upside down than they would have the right way up.

"R-really?" he asked "Didn't we see you outside, foul creature?"

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh It's Smelgol, actually And yes, my precious, you did. I just popped out for a drink."

"Nyeh-he-he-heh! " came a cry from the door at the top of the stairs All eyes turned as the door flew dramatically open to reveal a camp figure dressed in a long red robe with an overblown greying haircut with a real whopper of a ponytail, making obscene gestures with his hands.

"You fiend!" screamed the wench, "Haven't you held me here long enough? Haven't you satisfied your foul appetites yet?"

"Not by a long chalk, Princess Elsinore The minor degradations to which you have so far been subjected are as nothing to the hot, waxy, spiky future which lies in front of you, bitch." He began to descend the stairs, his robe swishing dutifully around him revealing a wetsuit with the bottom cut out underneath. "So Any virgins here? You look like an inexperienced slackjawed small-wicked lily-livered tosser, how about you?" he asked, indicating Gutless "You look like the sad fucked up kind of dickweed who gets his jollies wanking himself off between the pages of shite fantasy decalogies. I bet you're a big Terry Brooks fan."

At the mention of his favourite author, Gutless inadvertantly burst the ring which was quite messy considering he was upside down at the time.

Grunt grunted.

"Aaaaaahhh!" screamed Spaz.

"So, you do have some spunk in you I see. Smelgol! Lick that off the Princess And fetch me my carrots, while you're at it. The big, knobbly ones. I feel the need for some pointless humiliation."

"No, no, anything but that!" wailed Gutless "Okay, okay, I am a virgin!"

"You know, I always thought so," said Nutless. "You can tell, you know, because-"

"I grow weary of your ceaseless witterings And besides, my moat needs refilling thanks to dogdick over there and his constant fucking 'Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I'm just popping out for a drink' Smelgol, you shambling sack of shit, send for Nik. And where's those carrots?.