by Deckenpuppel
Hey everybody, I wrote a little piece of fanfiction. Charmed by Dungeon Degenerates unique style and tone, I was also impressed by the amount of lore that is available on the setting, so much so that I felt inspired to use it for a little writing project. I adapted/rewrote a scene from one of my favorite books and used it to set up a little scene for a character idea that I had. Couldn't really think of a good place to post this, so if you think there are better places for fanfiction for Dungeon Degenerates, please let me know.The Legend of Wurstlander — The Barbarian and The Monk
They had begun to torture the monk when the stranger stepped from the shadows of the Witchwood.
"Three against one, that hardly seems fair," he called. "Are all of you lowlanders such cowards?"
The three men spun around. In the midst, the old monk sagged against the ropes that held him, raising his head to squint through swollen eyes at the newcomer. The man was a giant, clad in primitive armor that clearly marked him as one of the Ödlander. He gave the three soldiers a cocky grin.
"Well, what's the matter, did you swallow your tongues? Speak up!"
"You would do better to hold yours, stranger. We are Knockenkopfs, conducting official business. Move along before I teach you a lesson!" answered Dünnpfiff, the trio's leader.
When the stranger had first spoken, Dünnpfiff had felt the thrill of fear course through him, expecting to find several men armed and ready. But now, as he scanned the gloomy trees in the gathering dusk, he saw that the giant was alone. Alone and crazy, interfering with their business armed with nothing but a sword. Fucking barbarians, Dünnpfiff thought, feeling the reassuring weight of his pistol at his side. He licked his sickly green lips and glanced at the pathetic form of the old mendicant. As always, the members of the Deprived Brotherhood had proved poor sport for him and his men, putting up no struggle and refusing to curse and beg for his life. Maybe this stranger, Dünnpfiff decided, was just what they needed.
The newcomer kept coming closer, undeterred by Dünnpfiff's sharp words.
"Doesn't look like official business to me. All I see are three weaklings tormenting an old man."
Dünnpfiff's temper burst like an overcooked sausage.
"I am going to enjoy hearing you scream. Take him!" he barked, reaching for his pistol.
With a sudden burst of speed, the stranger surged forward and leapt at him. Tong-like hands closed around Dünnpfiff's wrists. He struggled, trying to bring the barrel of his meuchelpuffer to bear against the barbarian, but he felt like a child trying to compete against an adult and was easily subdued.
"Ah yes, your thunder-farters." The giant laughed, almost lifting Dünnpfiff off the ground as he inspected the weapon."You know, the God of Smoke and Thunder will not be happy you are squandering his gifts for such cowardly weapons."
Flailing helplessly against the giant's might, Dünnpfiff felt fear rising once again within him. As panic overtook him, the Knockenkopf instinctively pressed down on the trigger of his weapon and with a thunderous boom the meuchelpuffer spew its deadly load into the air above. Though unharmed, the giant flinched away from the sudden explosion of stench and sound. All good humor vanished instantly from the man's face and when he opened his eyes again, the baleful stare that he gave Dünnpfiff sent a deadly chill down the soldier's spine.
"What are you waiting for?" he squealed at his men. "Shoot him already!"
For a brief moment, Dünnpfiff thought the order might have saved him. But the giant spun him around like a ragdoll, right into the path of his men. Dünnpfiff's mouth opened to stop them, but the words died on his lips as the two guns blossomed fire and their lead balls tore into his body. Fading quickly, the last thing he felt was how he was lifted further up and flung at the very men that had just killed him. One of the remaining Knockenkopfs went down as their leader's corpse barreled into him. The other soldier, wide-eyed, drew his saber and lunged at the giant.
With a speed that belied his size, the giant side-stepped the attack. From behind his back, he drew a crimson-bladed sword and sent it towards the Knockenkopf's neck in a single fluent motion, lopping his head clean off. The two separate parts fell to the left and right, hitting the ground with dull thuds.
The last soldier began to scream. Still pinned under the corpse of his comrade, the man had lost all semblance of control, writhing and scrambling in frantic attempts to free himself. The blood-red sword appeared above him and as he was begging to be spared, it plunged down through Dünnpfiff's corpse and straight into the soldier's heart. The giant tore it free and a fountain of blood spew into the air, showering the purple-blue grass underneath. The body twitched a few more times, then lay still.
With the soldiers all dispatched, the man's good humor returned to the giant. He grinned, gave a sigh of contentment, then cleaned his sword on the clothing of the slain. Afterwards, he pilfered through the dead men's pockets and smashed their pistols against a nearby rock, before turning towards the three large horses that had miraculously not fled despite the gun-fire and carnage.
"Wait!" the monk called. "Aren't you going to free me?"
The giant stopped but did not turn. "Why should I?"
The old monk blinked in confusion. "Because I will die if you don't! Please, I thought you came to my aid to rescue me?"
"You thought wrong." The giant turned and nodded towards the three corpses. "These men were cowards and cruel. These are things I cannot abide. But at least they fought to stay alive. You, however, didn't even try and a man who is not trying to stay alive is not a man worth saving."
The old man smiled sadly. "A very harsh outlook on life, but then again these are dire times for the Würstreich. Very well, stranger. Regardless of your intent, I thank you and wish you luck on your journey."
The warrior looked at the old man and raised an eye-brow. "You are not going to beg?"
"If you have watched me, then you know I did not beg when those men were torturing me. I will not beg now trying to convince a man who puts no value in life. If my time has come, then so be it."
The giant gave the monk a long and hard look. Then he chuckled and cut him free. The monk struggled feebly to his feet, rubbing at his chafed wrists.
"Thank you, but may I ask what changed your mind?"
"You lowlanders are an odd bunch," the giant replied. "But maybe I have misjudged you. You've got spirit, old man."
"I am glad you see it that way. I am Armut von Habenitz and it seems I owe you my life. What is your name, stranger?"
The giant, towering more than a head above the monk, leaned down and stared straight into the old man's eyes. In the distance, the rumbling of thunder could be heard.
"I am Wurstlander."