Fart story one-shots 2!

A Farting Fantasy

The great western road was, for the most part, a fairly peaceful place. While it was a bustle of activity down where it connected to the Southern Republic, it got quieter the further north you went. Here, there weren't many people to be seen: with an ocean to the west, the great Fairdurn Forest to the east and only a few villages dotted along the road, it was relatively cut off from the civilised world. As a result, there were few travellers to be found on the road and even fewer who were looking for trouble. Unfortunately, on this particular day a group of bandits were traversing the road, seeking out any unsuspecting victims they could separate from their possessions. Suddenly, the group stopped.

"Well, well, well. What 'ave we 'ere?" the lead bandit sneered. He was a squat, rather ugly man with the lovely nickname of Boil, a name which was rather fitting given his general air of unpleasantness. As if his greasy, black hair, bulbous nose and the eponymous giant boil wasn't enough, he also had the tendency to spit every time he spoke, guaranteeing to cover whoever he was facing with saliva with every syllable he pronounced.

The person he was currently spraying with spittle was sitting at the side of the road, fiddling with a blade of grass as 2 horses grazed next to him. He was the polar opposite of Boil, being a well-groomed and good-looking man in his early 20s. While his hair and stubble were a caramel brown, his eyes were a striking green and seemed to pierce the soul of whoever he was currently staring down... which in this case was Boil. Taking a deep breath, the man got to his feet and turned to face the bandits.

"Look, I'm not looking for trouble. Just move along and no-one needs to get hurt." He said coolly. Boil snorted.

"Oh, please. A young lad like yourself all alone in the middle of nowhere? Methinks your jus' ASKIN' to be parted from yer' material possessions." Boil said, chuckling nastily. The man sighed.

"Well, I don't think you want to do that. Me and my travelling companion aren't going to take kindly to you, uh... parting us from our material possessions." He advised.

Boil laughed, a short, ugly sound that seemed to crack through the air like a whip.

"Ha! Bullshit, laddie. Ya think we ain't never seen the 'travel with 2 horses to pretend you ain't on yer own' trick before?"

"Well, I'm not on my own." The man said simply. Boil grinned at him, showing off a set of yellowed teeth.

"Right, sure. What's yer name, son?" he asked.

"Thomas. But my friends call me Tom." The man replied."Right then, Thomas." Boil leered, making sure to stress the 2nd syllable. "Why don't you tell us where yer friend is, then?"

"Well, she's in the woods behind me." Thomas explained, pointing behind him. Now the entire group of bandits burst into laughter.

"A she!?" One of the bandits choked, wiping his eyes. "You think we're going to be beaten by you and your broad? Oh, this is just-"

The man suddenly stopped talking, his eyes bulging as an arrow whizzed through the air and embedded itself into his neck. He fell lifeless to the ground, cries of alarm sounding out around him as 2 more arrows found their mark.

Thomas quickly lunged at Boil, his sword having appeared in his hand. To the man's credit, he actually managed to draw his sword quickly enough to block Thomas' initial strike; however, it soon became clear the two were hopelessly outmatched. Boil's clumsy blows were easily parried by the younger man and he was barely able to avoid Thomas' slashes, the blade nicking his skin a few times. Finally, as the bandit tried to sidestep his latest attack, he found that he was unable to move; looking down in panic, his eyes widened as he was met with the sight of roots growing around his ankle, holding him in place. Unfortunately for him, this would be the last thing he ever saw as a split second later Thomas' sword entered his chest, killing him instantly.