How the Knight and the Valkyrie Saved the Town

How the Knight and the Valkyrie Saved the Town

It was a dark and stormy night. The Knight in Shining Armor walked into a bar. It was a sleazy-looking place, built of discarded boards and timbers erected on the ruins of an ancient dungeon. The windows, what there was of them, were boarded up, having been ruined when they got in the way of the brawlers in the bru-ha-ha that occurred three days ago, ("that window jumped right out in front of me!") and because glass, unlike the barmaids, was very expensive and hard to get.

Above the flimsy, ill-hung door hung an old, battered signboard illuminated by a guttering candle set in a storm lantern. The shingle squeaked, gyrating crazily on its one remaining link as the wind and rain buffeted it to and fro. By the bright flashes of lightning one might read (if one really wanted to) the scrawled words, "Stagger Inn" burnt into its wooden face.

The Knight in Shining Armor looked as out of place in here as a tuxedo at a rave party. As he entered, all eyes turned to gaze shiftily at him through the thick smoke. (Most of the grubby crowd was smoking and also the fireplace didn't draw well.) Half of the rowdy and noisy inmates, er, that is, patrons, of the place were working hard to get hammered, the other half already were.

The hostess, a slender, dark-haired girl with big knockers, hurried to him through the fumes. She grabbed his arm and said, "Say, you got here lickety-split!"

"Oh, my dear woman! I say, good heavens, no," The Knight in Shining Armor replied. (I know it sounds hokey, but he actually did talk like that.) "I did not travel here in order to lick your slit," he continued with a leer, "however pleasant that may be. But as soon as I received the innkeeper's message, I came."

"Wow," she replied, "Must'a been some message for ya to come so quick."

Another barmaid, overhearing part of that, grabbed him and ordered, "Siddown, big guy. What're you drinkin'? And you can start a-lickin' my slit right now!"

---

Across town, The Horny Valkyrie was getting thrown bodily out of her third tavern that night. No, it's not what you think; she was called The Horny Valkyrie because of the animal horns affixed to her helmet, though they were a bit askew since her last misadventure. The horns, that is, not the Valkyrie. Come to think of it, she was too, having knocked back an incredible number of stiff ones. Drinks, I mean.

In this particular tavern her trouble was the result of her fumbling drunkenly in the trousers of a green-skinned half-orc laborer who was leaning on the bar next to her. It probably wouldn't have risen (ahem) to anyone's attention if she had not waved the zucchini-like, foot-long object she dug up, shouting, "It's true! It's true!" at the top of her impressive lungs.

Anyhow, she was thrown unceremoniously into a mud puddle in the lane. She picked herself up and muttered to no one in particular, "Where c'n I go stagger in next?"

Of course, she was slurring her words badly. A street urchin who was huddled in a doorway overheard her. He paused in his masturbation long enough to answer, "It's down this lane about a hoot and a holler—or maybe a stone's throw—as the crow flies."

And so it came to pass that The Horny Valkyrie staggered in at the Stagger Inn, where she bumped into The Knight in Shining Armor. Actually, she tripped over the bar girl that was kneeling in front of his chair. The girl had unfastened his codpiece as he was downing his fourth flagon of beer. Not all the liquid in his beard was beer-foam, though. In any case, the resulting clash of steel on steel as the two armored bodies fell to the floor frightened Miss Moffet away (I know, but that was the bar girl's name) and when the sparks stopped flying, two people resembling tanks were lying askew and intertwined on the floor. The Knight in Shining Armor had one of his hands overflowing with one of the aforementioned impressive lungs. Don't ask me how he got his hand in there, I don't know.

The innkeeper, thinking there had been a murder and concerned for what little reputation was left to the place, not to mention he preferred not to deal with the police, rushed over to assist. The two steel-encased fighters were already picking themselves off the floor. Crash, thud. Then, they picked themselves off the floor again. And then again. Finally, The Knight in Shining Armor reluctantly let go of The Horny Valkyrie's boob and pulled his hand out of her tattered coat of plates, enabling them to get up. Recovering himself, The Knight in Shining Armor dragged a chair over for The Horny Valkyrie to sit on, and then, suddenly realizing his condition, he re-fastened his codpiece.

"Aw, shucks," The Horny Valkyrie said, though it's not clear exactly why. She picked up her helmet. Its horns looked straight enough to her, even though one pointed forward and the other backward, so she dropped it on the table and sat down.

"Ah! I see you've already met," the half-halfling innkeeper exclaimed, wringing his hands on his apron. "Good! Now that there is two of ya, it'll make the job easier."

"Job? Wha' job?" The Horny Valkyrie asked, foggily. "Oh, and I'll have a dry Martini, stirred, not shaken."

"Eh, why's that?" the innkeeper asked.

"Shaking hurts my boobs."

The innkeeper opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again thinking it better that way. He motioned to one of the barmaids to bring her a martini and another boilermaker for the knight.

"O' course, you do understand the Northern dialect, ah, er, don't ya?" the innkeeper asked The Horny Valkyrie.

"Oh, sure, no prob'," she slurred.

"Ah, good! See, a bunch o' Northerners ha' made an encampment a little ways from town, out by the ol' castle ruins. We want you to spy on ‘em. Get close soz ya c'n hear ‘em talking, find out what they're up ta. We don't want no trouble, but you know those Northerners."

The barmaids arrived with the drinks. One of them looked – and smelled – like rot-gut whiskey and old beer, the other smelled worse. (The drinks, not the barmaids.) The Knight in Shining Armor eyed the glasses, his eyes shining nearly as brightly as his armor.

The Horny Valkyrie grabbed the martini and took a deep, long guzzle. "Ahhh," she sighed. "Tha's better. Now, whuzzinit fer me, keep-inner? If'n I take this job?"

"Uh, how 'bout a nice, new suit o' armor?" and he pointed to a shiny, though dented, steel suit standing in a dark corner. Did I say a dark corner? There were no other kinds in The Stagger Inn.

"Uh, whut?" she said, squinting through the clouds. "Oh. Tha's nice. Meh!"

"And all the martinis you can drink."

"Ah! Tha's better."

"And what of me?" The Knight in Shining Armor asked.

"Eh? You're already on retainer, dude."

The innkeeper gave him a look of disgust, remembering the last assignment The Knight in Shining Armor had taken. On celebrating its completion, he passed out, dropping face down into the bowl of stew he had been trying to eat. The girls had barely saved him from drowning in it.

"Oh, dear," The Knight in Shining Armor complained, "I do not reap a reward, but she gets that shiny new suit. It's just not fitting!"

"Oh, don't worry about the fit. I'll just hammer it out here and there to make room for her… er… lungs!"

Although neither The Horny Valkyrie nor The Knight in Shining Armor had agreed to take the assignment, the innkeeper seemed to tacitly assume that they would. So he kept providing booze to the two armored sots.

Around them, mostly hidden in the thick smoke, all varieties of revelry went on, lasting well beyond when the tin-plated pair sank senseless to the table.

---

The morning arrived, the rain had ended, and the sun was peering cautiously over the mountains in the east. It watched the people, farmers and farriers, blacksmiths and bootblacks, all the industrious workers of the town, come out of their houses like ants going to work. But not the denizens of The Stagger Inn. Most of them had wandered off sometime in the night, staggering to be sure. Presumably they had gone to their homes, there to accost their wives (or to be accosted,) then to fall into a stupor. A good thing, too. The stupor, that is.

One of them, nearly falling off his horse while going down Memory Lane, loudly singing A Tinker's life, had been arrested by the Town Guard for Riding While Intoxicated. The judge was contemplating adding Cruelty to Animals to the charge, a much more serious violation in this town.

Fortunately for the sun, its gaze could not penetrate the boarded up interior of The Stagger Inn. The remaining few of the, er, patrons, in no condition to leave, were currently still in the Common Room of that establishment in various states of repose; in other words, passed out. One was noisily snoring while curled up under a table, another's legs could be seen feebly twitching under the bar, and our two armored ones were indecorously draped over each other. No, nothing interesting had happened between them; they had passed out too soon.

The sun, as industrious as the ones it actually saw, had climbed halfway to the zenith and was already thinking of the easy slide down the afternoon sky when the innkeeper arrived. He came with his torch-bearing army of barmaids to sweep up, dispose of the used condoms, gather the half-empty pewter mugs, empty the ashtrays and spittoons, and kick out the strays. Revolted by the scene of The Horny Valkyrie and The Knight in Shining Armor looking like a junkyard, he shouted, "Up and at 'em! Time ta earn all 'at booze! Let's go!" and prodded the heap of metal with his broom handle.

"Ooh! That dick's nice and long, but kinda skinny," The Horny Valkyrie murmured.

"It is a broomstick, you slut," The Knight in Shining Armor sputtered.

"Groom's stick? Who got married?" she said, one eye opening.

"Suit up and show up!" the innkeeper bellowed.

"Quiet; that hurts my aching head," The Knight in Shining Armor moaned.

"Yeah. I need the hair of the dog," The Horny Valkyrie groaned.

"I was not aware that you were a sorceress too!" The Knight in Shining Armor said in surprise, "What spell does ‘hair of the dog' invoke? I've heard of eye of newt and toe of frog, but never before, hair of dog."

"Oh, shut up! Innkeeper! Help me!" she croaked.

"OK, I got bacon and eggs and coffee fer ya," the half-halfling shouted.

"Oh, shit. That makes me want to throw up!"

"Naw, ye have work ta do, you two," he answered in more normal tones. "Now shape up 'fer th' eats. Oh, and Valkyrie, you c'n change inta th' steel suit behind tha' partition o'er there." And he hurried off to the kitchen.

"I need to take a whiz," The Knight in Shining Armor said, looking uncomfortable.

"He ain't here," The Horny Valkyrie replied. "I ain't seen The Wizard in weeks."

"No, no, I mean take a leak. Make water. Do number one."

"Oh. Yeah, me too."

They searched unsuccessfully for a privy door, and finally rattled into the kitchen to ask.

"Aht in back," the half-hobbit said. "But make it quick, the eggs is almost done."

They groaned as the bright light of the outdoors hit their eyes, but true to the innkeeper's word, there were a half dozen outhouses in back. They chose two whose stench wasn't overpowering.

"So," The Horny Valkyrie said when they returned, relieved, "What may I call you? ‘The Knight in Shining Armor' gets to be kinda long-winded."

"You may call me ‘Eddie'," he intoned.

"Eddie?!?" she burst out incredulously.

"Yes. True, I may not respond, for that isn't my name, but you may call me that anyway."

"Crap! Well, what is your name, then?"

"Fred."

"Fred!?"

"Yes. Short for Frederick Pedro Henry Alistair Hubert Miguel…"

"Fuck it. Fred will do."

"…Jonathan Oscar Peter Phillip."

"Jesus!"

"No, that is not one of my names. And what shall I call you, then?"

"Val."

"Hunh, short for Valkyrie, no doubt."

"No, for Valdís. That's my name."

"Oh. How ordinary."

The innkeeper returned carrying two plates, followed by Miss Moffet carrying three huge steaming mugs.

"Breakfuss," he announced, putting the plates on the table. "Now, while yer eatin', lemme tell ya aboot th' Northerner's camp."

"So, you are Canadian then, aye?" Fred asked around a mouthful of eggs.

"What?"

"Oh. Never mind."

While they ate the innkeeper sat down at their table. He pulled one of the mugs of coffee across the table to himself and started his spiel:

"So, we dunno how many there is, but they set up jus' over the hill from the old castle ruins out there." he pointed vaguely westward, "Down in the valley, valley so low."

"I suppose they call it ‘Home on the Range'," Fred said, gulping coffee.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Like I said, yer ta sneak down the hill to whur ya kin hear 'em talkin', find aht whut they're aboot. We don't want no trouble none, but them is Northerners, after all, an' ya kno' how Northerners is."

"Yeah," Val started. "a Northerner once tried to…"

"I see," Fred said sagely, ignoring her. "Are they armed?"

"Silly!" Val interjected, "how could they make camp if they had no arms?"

"I ain't seen 'em," the innkeeper said, ignoring her as well, "but Northerners never go anywhur witha't none."

"Humph. About how far away is this encampment?"

"Maybe fifteen klicks."

"Fifteen kilometers? That is long way to walk, especially in armor."

"I'll loan ya horses."

---

So it was that our intrepid pair was on their way out of town by early afternoon. Val had donned her new steel suit, so they both were shiny. The innkeeper had enlisted the aid of the blacksmith in banging out two lumps in the breastplate of the suit for Val, so there would be adequate space for her... attributes.

Fred remarked, "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone."

Val replied, "Gonna be a bright, bright, sunny day."

Our tin-plated pair rode through town amid leers and jeers from the children, but they gave them the fickle finger and were soon out of earshot from them. They clopped along—or better said, their horses did.

"I'm getting an itch," Val said after a while.

"I'm not surprised. The modifications they made to your suit are rather too pointy."

"No, no. Those're fine. The itch is elsewhere."

"Oh? Where?"

With a leer, she said, "Between my legs."

It took a while for that to sink into Fred's consciousness.

"Maybe the chain mail down there doesn't fit right, either," he ventured at last.

"Shit!"

"Maybe. But I'm sure that Clyde would have given you a clean suit, though."

"Who's Clyde?"

"The innkeeper, of course."

"How do you know his name is Clyde?"

"What kind of horses are we riding?"

"Er, Clydesdales."

"See?"

While Val shook her head, Fred considered her plight, then offered, "Maybe it's jock itch."

"I never wore one."

"Oh. Of course. That would be The Make-believe Ballroom."

Val groaned.

They were about five clicks out of town when they came upon a fork in the road. They stopped and regarded it.

"Is it time to eat?" Val remarked, eying the fork.

"It's not that kind of fork."

"Oh."

The one path led up a steep, rocky incline, the other seemed to dip into the Red River Valley.

"OK, Now what?" Val asked.

"You take the high road and I'll take the low road," Fred sang.

"I don't want to split." Val said, pouting.

"Not do a split? Does that mean you still have that itch?"

"No. I mean yes. Uh, I mean I do, but I don't want to split up," Val said.

He considered that, wondering why she would want to ride upside down. Then it registered.

"Oh. OK. Well, Clyde said the ruins were on a hill, so let us go the high way," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, it's my way or the highway," Val said, her pout growing.

"No, no. Just the high way."

"You sure you wouldn't rather check out my itch?" Val murmured.

"Uh, later."

So the pair remained together, and climbed the steep path. Actually, the horses climbed while their riders urged them on. Soon, the path leveled out and they entered the forest. Some say it was a deep, dark, enchanted forest. But, meh! It was daytime. The road narrowed and wound around mounds and gullys. A light breeze ruffled the leaves in the branches above.

"Hey, did you notice? We're deep in the woods!" Val said, suggestively.

"Yeah. So?" Fred replied.

"Er, that doesn't give you any ideas?"

"Yeah, well, I filled my water flask before we left the inn," he declared.

Clearly, that had nothing to do with her idea. "Eh? So?"

"With vodka," Fred answered with a wink.

"Ah, cool! Don't you think we need to stop to, er, rest the horses?"

"Um, yes. Say, I think I see the castle ruins up there. That might be a good place to stop."

So, they forged ahead, speeding up their mounts. In very short order, they reached the old ruins. The roof had fallen in, most of the walls were crumbled, and only about half of an old donjon remained. The whole was overgrown by grass; vines hung on the broken walls. They dismounted and tied their horses to a tree growing near the old tower, beside the broken wall.

"Nice spot," Val said, looking around, "for a quickie."

"The Northerners camp should be right down that hill," the knight said, ignoring her remark, "If we go quietly, we should be able to walk almost up to it."

"What's your hurry? Let's have a pull at that canteen of yours!" she said.

"My what?" he wondered.

"The good stuff. In the canteen."

"Oh, that."

So they sat on the ground with their backs against the broken wall and passed the water- er, vodka-flask between them. Each took a good pull and passed it to the other, who also took a good pull before passing it back, and so on.

"So," she slurred to Fred, "Howdja like ta roll I' th' hay wi' me?"

"I don' see any hay. Oh! Ya mean..." Fred mumbled. In his surprise he slid sideways along the wall and onto the ground.

"Uh huh!" she agreed.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Fred blurted out.

"Wooden eye? No, I might have some scars, but my eye is fine."

Val, seeing Fred lying on his back on the ground, took that as agreement. She undid his codpiece.

"Whatcha doin?" he mumbled.

"Ooh. A double flail," she said, swinging his ball-sack to and fro.

"Uh..."

"And lookit that spear!" she enlarged. Well, so did his "spear."

"Oh, its nice and big!" she cooed.

She mounted up. No, not on her horse, on him.

"Hey," he slurred drunkenly, "there's a buncha tin in th' way!"

"I c'n fix that!" she said and started yanking on parts of his armor suit.

"AYEEEE!" he yelled.

Val apologized, "Oops! Sorry, I didn't mean to jab you with my spurs!"

Fred fumbled around, remarking, "Ugh! It's really hard to pull those chain mail panties aside! Can't you undo them just for a moment?"

"What if someone comes?" she said, coyly.

"That's the idea! Two someones, in fact!" he retorted.

"Oh, good! I like that idea!"

Then there arose such a clatter! (But not from the rooftop!) Rattle, Rattle. CLANG!

"Ouch! Shit! Owee! Easy, I really need those testicles, dear." Fred howled.

"Oh! Sorry! I didn't realize the armor went that low!" Val leaned back, affording them some room. "Now if you can just shove your spear in my... NO, NOT THAT ONE!! That's better."

Somehow, even though it wasn't easy with all the metal in the way, he got the tip of his "spear" in her "scabbard." Amid sighs and groans of pleasure from them both, she slowly lowered herself, impaling her well-greased "scabbard" fully on his long, hard "spear." She loved the feeling.

"You like that," he mused.

"Thirty wild horses couldn't pull me off, now!"

The clatter grew louder, faster, and more rhythmic. CLANG! Slosh, CLANG! Slosh, CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

"Who is beating on a gong?" Fred asked. "Oh, it's us!"

The clanking went on. Shortly, the gong-like sounds were joined by howling from them both.

"I'm gonna go off!" he howled.

"Hang on, I'll cum with ya," she bellowed back.

And it ended in a great shouting. She collapsed onto him with a final clang.

At a furtive sound from the bushes, Val looked up, "Damn! Northerners! Grab your spear... NO, THE OTHER ONE!"

So they got up in a condition of disarray. Fluids dripped from them, pieces of their armor hung this way and that. They hastened to get back into a semblance of a fighting state.

Two northern scouts had been searching the woods near the ruins. They had overheard much of it, but their understanding of the southern dialect was spotty. They ran back to their camp yelling to their comrades, "We heard them! We heard them! There are at least thirty of them, all in full armor, mounted on heavy horses! Each one has at least two spears! They're banging on a big gong, and shouting their terrible war-cry! Make for the horses! Run away!"

Val and Fred adjusted themselves and their tin suits, and despite their soppy state, somehow managed to get back in their saddles. By the time they rode down to investigate, the northerners had abandoned their encampment and fled to parts unknown.

They rode back to town to tell Clyde. Then, in the private room of the Stumble Inn, they celebrated the departure of the northern threat with martinis and a resumption of their activities, only without armor.

So it was that The Horny Valkyrie and The Knight in Shining Armor saved the town from the nefarious northerners.

The End

---