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Oct 31, 2007
Ho, pasty-faced wanderers of the highways of information! I am named Conan, a Cimmerian of some renown - I am given to understand that one of your more leathery statesmen grew famous portraying me in moving pictures, and that a game has been made from one of the more obscure episodes in my no-ways uneventful life.
But mine is not to question why some would make sport of my wandering days. Mine is to present to you the many bare-chested lasses whom I rescued during this dark and strange adventure. From the Barachan Isles to fair Argos, the one constant in this world is young girls in diaphanous loincloths, chained and in need of rescue from the lustful clutches of barbarian dogs without mercy. What follows will reveal them to the last. Let us begin:
I - Crom's devils! Why would I simply break the chains and leave the girls to fend for themselves? There are still bloodthirsty pirates and mercenaries about. Should I not at least have told them to stay out of sight? Truly, some things are beyond even my ken. Things like why these girls would stand, staring, after being freed. I confess I lack the instincts of a civilized man, but no Cimmerian could feel sympathy for a woman without even a basic sense of self-preservation.
I fail, also, to understand why I did not bed at least one of these women. Perhaps the men who crafted this game think me simple, interested only in breaking chains? Perhaps they would like a furry boot wedged into their nethers. This is terrible. This game is terrible.
Or mayhap I am too hasty in my judgment, and the scattering of the red runes when the women are freed is meant as some manner of lascivious metaphor. But I have no use for metaphors. Better that they be left to the ineffectual quills of sorcerers and civilized weaklings.
Bah. Leave me now. I am in a fell mood.