Steve: Welcome to the Hyborian Age! It is a time of danger and deadliness. Where men are men and women are expected to wear the absolute minimum possible. It is a mysterious time where magic threatens the peace. You are part of a mercenary band that has joined up with Turanian army to march on a rebellious city across the steppes. Those first through the gates can become rich men and so you have been lured into the ranks of fortune-seeking swordsmen.

Zack: The name of Nestor the Gunterman will be burned in the history of this rebellious city!

Steve: The army has set up camp for the night. Tents rise from the steppes, lit by the glow of dozens of fires. You, being a mercenary, are assigned the thankless task of guard duty.

Zack: I remain vigilant with one foot up on a log. Surveying and airing out my junk.

Steve: After long hours of watching the night you spy a strange storm cloud on the horizon. As you watch, it moves swiftly towards the camp.

Zack: Is there anybody standing watch with me?

Steve: Yeah, there's a guy named Greg.

Zack: Is he a barbarian?

Steve: He's more of a horseman.

Zack: What's the difference?

Steve: A horse.

Zack: So when Conan is on a horse he's a horseman?

Steve: Conan doesn't allow his horse to define him.

Zack: Okay. "Hey, Greg, do you see that cloud over there. Is that supposed to do that?"

Steve: "By Crom!" he exclaims. "Sorcery is afoot. We must warn the camp!" He begins blowing the warning horn.

Zack: Aw, ever since we were put on guard duty I've been wanting to blow that thing. Can I take a turn when he's done?

Steve: The camp has hardly been roused by the bellowing horn when the storm cloud descends, blotting out almost all light. You can hardly see the torch in your hand. Through the whirling clouds you see that something moves among you. Black, shadow-shaped people. Several circle you and Greg. You feel the cold fear of magic in your blood.

Zack: My blood is afraid! Greg, stand with me, we will fight off these fiends! I swing my sword at the nearest of the shadow men.

Steve: You cleave him in twain. Greg joins you, swinging his own sword, destroying another shadow. But now they attack. Shadow claws rake over you and tear up your arms really bad. Greg's face is half cut off.

Zack: Can I go barbarian berserk?

Steve: No, you're a fighter.

Zack: I shout my fury "Damn you to hell, wizard-minions. Face the wrath of Guntland!" I attack them in a fighter freakout with my sword.

Steve: You slay the shadow men attacking you, driving others back into the swirling clouds. After only a few minutes the storm lifts and you see that the campsite has been devastated. Nearly the entire army lies dead or dying. Tents are shredded and most of the horses are dead.

Zack: So does that mean Greg defaults to being a barbarian?

Steve: Greg is dead.

Zack: No! He had so much yet to give the world. I cradle his unfaced body and curse the cruel gods of Hyboria.

Steve: The few survivors are gathering up and looting the dead and escaping in a scatter. If you act you might be able to find a horse.

Zack: Alright, sorry, Greg. Your awesome barbarian funeral pyre will have to wait for later. I need to upgrade from fighter to horseman.

More WTF, D&D!?

This Week on Something Awful...

Copyright ©2014 Rich "Lowtax" Kyanka & Something Awful LLC.