The Road to Godville I must walk and forget my fear, for the ones who make this journey will acquire wisdom (and probably an extra beer).
So it has been told for generations before me, and generations after, presuming I’m not declared sterile from all the blunt force trauma to my nether region.
It has been over three years since I started my journey, thirty-seven arduous, traumatizing months since my Goddess came forth to me in a dream (or a drunken stupor, I can’t recall) and sent me forth on a plethora of increasingly confusing quests. “It’ll be fun!”, I remember her say in that once alluring purr. “There’ll be manwenches and wine, victory and bloodshed, gold beyond your wildest dreams! All I want is a gold temple, surely you can do this for me?” I accepted without a second thought. Now I look back, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so headstrong. Perhaps I should have reconsidered. Perhaps I should have brought more socks.
It’s not been fun and games. To my count, I’ve died 47 times; all very unpleasant and messy, stained my long-johns something dreadful; been savaged by a menagerie of grim, grisly beasts, and not one man has been within twenty feet of me (the stench and restraining order combo must have something to do with it); and been left abandoned for a a year and a half (and then some!) while my Goddess goes and lives her Holy Life. All my Goddess has done so far is send me cryptic messages, throw things at me from up high and cause severe hallucinations. She even changed my gender, without consulting me! Granted, I’ve been kept in good health, but this isn’t what I agreed to! Where’s my lawyer? Who’s in charge of the union? I’m going to- Oh, a tavern. Scratch that, I’ll drink until the bad thoughts go away and I can’t feel feelings anymore.
The Road to Godville I will walk and forget my fear, but a week before, a week after, that is no great deal.
There’s no hurry