Oblivion: The Travels of Swordbeard Dickpunch, Man Among Men (Part 1)

Swordbeard Dickpunch. Yes, that is your name. And a fine name it is, too. Even if it wasn't, you'd say it was your name. Why? Because fuck you, that's why! The manliest of men, born in the cold wilds of Skyrim, arguing loudly with dragons and screaming at pumas. Few know that pumas dislike being screamed at, especially by Nords. Indeed, none can withstand even the mighty timbre of your voice.

Born under the sign of the steed, you are a muscular beast, yourself. Snapping trees with a single punch, sending mountains crumbling to dust. Fleet of foot and mighty of fist! Look at your beard. You see it? No, you don't, because that is just the STUBBLE. You are the manliest of men. Truly, it can only be properly shown by your current career choice. But what is your current career?

Professional bear wrestler! What else? Well, you're really not completely sure it counts as "professional", or even if there are professional bear wrestlers. You've decided it doesn't matter because you haven't run into anyone that could prove otherwise, and if anyone argues you just punch them, anyway. Speaking of punching people, you seem to have woken up in a prison. You can only guess as to why.

You appear to be lacking a shirt, although you can see some shredded cloth on the ground. Must have been flexing in your sleep again. That seems to happen a lot. Some mamsy-pamsy faggot in the cell across from you is taunting you. What an ass. Does he not know to whom he speaks?! You make a mental note to snap him like a twig later and proceed to look around. There's not much here; some straw, bones, a table, and... what's that? Oh, man. Yes.

Yes!

YES!

After slaking some of your MANLY thirst with some C-grade ale, you decide it's time to blow this place like that lady did that one time. You don't see any way out except for the locked bars. You think it's time to make one the only way you know how.

WITH YOUR FISTS.

The wall cracks and flies away, the bricks compacted together by the sheer force, most of the material behind is vaporized. The explosive punch seems to have broken through to another hallway.

Smooth stone architecture meets your intense gaze. The craftsmanship, fine. The structures, ancient. Truly, the place has been here for eons and must have seen many things happen over the course of its existence. It must be composed of the strongest stone and sturdiest construction to have lasted so long. Most would be in awe of such a hidden wonder, careful to avoid disturbing the ruins of a time lost.

However, most people aren't you, so FUCK THAT. You ready yourself and proceed to do what you always do when confronted with something of notable durability: test your mighty strength against it. You challenge the strongest-looking column to a fist fight.

You are triumphant! You commend the pillar for a fine battle, and give it a friendly bro slap to show your appreciation in your gruff, manly way. You cannot fault it for being unable to withstand the might of your godly hands. The noise seems to have attracted the attention of some rats, however. You crack your knuckles, almost pitying them.

BAM!

They never stood a chance. You revel in your victory for a moment before skinning the animals and collecting some meat. As the STRONGEST fellow around, you do enjoy your meats. You fashion a sack out of what's left of your shirt, wrap up your prize, and carry on your way. But what's this?

The way is locked?

NOPE. You choose a suitable-looking wall and make your own way through. You're not going to let a little thing like the tunnels being impassable stop you.

On the other side, you find a skeleton with a torch. It also has some weapons and a shield, but you have no need for such things. Your MIGHTY FISTS do all the talking, and when they talk, they roar. You have no means to light the torch, so you simply focus all of your man grit into one, powerful stare.

It seems to have worked. With the fire (that YOU made) in hand, you easily dispatch the things waiting for you in the tunnel; two rats and one of the undead. After being struck with a powerful, masculine glare, the rodents simply topple over. The rats stood no chance, and even the zombie falls quickly to your mighty fists. You claim your victory rights over the rats.

You decide to check out the zombie, too.

He doesn't have anything on him, and he's been dead a long time. Come to think of it, he was pretty fucking rude, too; shambling around, moaning and drooling at you when there was fighting to be done. That wasn't manly at all! From the looks of things, he was just randomly attacking weak stuff. What a wuss. You decide to show him what you think of him.

It is far too dark down here. Maybe you didn't throw enough manliness into the torch. Of course, you realize that's dumb as you always have too much of it, but you decide to light the place up, anyway.

Rocks, dust, and debris rain down from above. Light streams in.

That last punch seems to have hit something else. With a grinding crack, some stone and a chest fall through the hole. Looks like some rats got in the way. You regret that they did not have a chance to fight you like men. Rats. Men-rats. Whatever. By the light of your fist-lamps, you spot some wooden crates! Good. All of this punching is making you hungry, as well as thirsty. Maybe there's some beer in there. You decide to open them.

Open is just another word for punch, by the way.

There is an assortment of things inside, including some cheese and a head of lettuce. Is lettuce manly? You decide that it is. It's rough and green, like the outdoors. And punching a head of lettuce is the same as punching the head of any other thing, right? You gather your spoils and give the lettuce an experimental punch. Hmm, you need to compare.

You suppose it's sort of similar. With that mystery out of the way, you remember how thirsty you are. A barrel hidden off in a corner catches your attention.

OH FUCK YES

Things are looking up. The fights down here have been pitiful, but a swig of ale can keep you going for a good while. You let the alcohol run down your throat and find yourself appreciating the strength of it. Not as strong as you are, obviously, but you are still impressed.

These mushrooms look pretty safe.

This also seems innocent.

Through the door, you can hear footsteps. You come across a goblin, who seems to have challenged you to a fight among men! Excellent! You ready your fists, and...

...lay him out in one punch. Well, that was anti-climactic, and kind of embarrassing. But the guy had a fire going, so you decide to grab one of the rats you killed and have a quick meal.

It's pretty good. After punching through several more goblins (and throwing one through a wall), you come to another dead end.

Wait, a dead end? What's that? What a strange combination of words to have randomly popped into your head. You chuckle to yourself as you make another door.

Ah, good. It's brighter in here. You wonder where the light comes from. In this room, there is a statue that looks as if it has also been here for a long time. You ask it if there's a nearby exit, and also where the light comes from.

The statue decides not to answer. How rude. You could ask again, but you decide that you are in no mood for more of its stony sass, so you challenge it to a fist fight, instead.

Nothing for it. You guess you'll just keep walking down halls and punching through things until you get outside. You're bound to come across the way out eventually, right? Now just what the FUCK is going on here?

Heartily confused by what you have seen, you eventually wander across a manhole leading to some sewers.

You are not looking forward to this.

The smell is horrible. Slimy things drip from the ceiling and walls. You think someone had corn. Despite the unpleasantness of it, you don't complain because complaining is for pussies and pussies aren't manly men like yourself. You arm wrestle trolls and thumb wrestle ogres! You've knocked out minotaurs with your powerful headlocks! You send bears into unconsciousness every morning for a warm-up! Who cares about some sewer? Your own manly essence blocks out a good portion of it, anyway. Maybe pussies would whine about this place, but not you! You are Swordbeard fucking Dickpunch, and you are THE GREATEST MA-- oh, look; the exit.

The gate swings freely with a slight touch, and you walk out into the open air.

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