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Girthir Norsethrust: Sexnarok

Girthir Norsethrust: Sexnarok

Published by Nicholas Everritt at Shakespir

Copyright 2017 Nicholas Everritt

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

This is the second book in the Norsethrust Saga. The first book in the series, Girthir Norsethrust: The Trial of the Sex, is also free to download! I’ve also written some serious novels (gasp!), so give them a read too if you’re interested: Warlord Slayer and Defend Karuk.

I’d be interested to hear your thoughts, comments and feedback– please send to [email protected]

 

Chapter One: The Tiff of the Gods

 

And so another saga begins! Welcome back to readers who’ve read the first book in the Norsethrust Saga, Girthir Norsethrust: The Trial of the Sex (let’s call them Girthirfans). To those who haven’t yet read The Trial of the Sex, I implore you to do so. It’s free to download, and it’s almost as much of a masterpiece as this book. Enough preamble, let’s get on with the exposition!

At the peak of Mount Olympyr, which sits atop the world-tree Yrrskyggyr, which grows from the back of the world-cow Hefyr, who eats grain from the hands of the world- shepherd Ob, stands the mighty hall of the gods: Valkylmyr! It is a wondrous hall of many wonders, none of which I’ll describe here because it’s not strictly relevant to the story.

Sat within one of the vast bedchambers of Valkylmir one fateful eve was Fridgeja, the frosty she-god of ice and winter, combing her icy hair (as women, mortals and goddesses alike, are wont to do).

Her husband, the storm god Stjorm, wandered over in good spirits and planted a tender kiss upon her icy cheek. But Fridgeja huffed and turned away, giving him the cold shoulder (see what I did there?).

Stjorm took pause, taken aback by his consort-wife’s sudden frostiness. “What ist wrong my lovely wife, loveliest of she-gods, coldest of deities, prettiest of snowflakes?” he said, showering her with compliments, for he knew that they are the currency of women.

“I’m fine!” she huffed in her icy way, turning away from him and sticking out her bottom lip in an act of passive-aggressive defiance.

At first Stjorm was satisfied that when his wife had said she was fine that she was indeed fine. But as he wandered off to do manly things (smelting? hammering stuff?) he was suddenly struck with a pang doubt. For is it not the case that women are cryptic and irrational creatures, and when a woman says she is fine it is oftentimes not the case?

“Come my sweet,” he said to her, “art thou really fine or art thou just saying that? Honestly, love, what ist the matter?”

“If you loved me you’d know what was wrong!” Fridgeja huffed, and at once Stjorm was struck by abject confusion, for how could he possibly know?

“How canst I know what ist wrong if thou dost not tell me?” he protested.

Fridgeja relented at last, for she’d been storing up a row all day and was keen to be out with it. “Thou hast cheated on me…In a dream I had last night!”

“Egads, woman!” exasperated Stjorm. “I hast not cheated on thou in real life, and I have nought control over my actions in thy dreams! Aren’t thou being a mite irrational?”

“Irrational? How darest thou insult me thus!” spoke Fridgeja in icy rage.

And with that the world-cock Cockatyr, sat upon the world-tree Yrrskyggyr, crowed once, for this was the first harbinger of the Sexnarok.

Sat within another of the innumerate bedchambers of Valkylmyr that self-same eve was Hellja, the queen of the dead, and she too was combing her hair (how else would women gods spend their time? knitting, maybe?). Poseidjorm, sea-god and spouse, entered and spoke honeyed words to his beloved wife.

“Avast, fair wife, thou lookest lovely today.” spoke Poseidjorm, his words crashing like waves upon the bow of a longship. Though the left side of his wife was a beauteous woman and the right side was a rotting corpse, Poseidjorm cared not and he loved her still, for his left side was man and his right side was shark, and sharks are lured by the smell of rotting flesh.

“Husband,” spoke Hellja, with a muted sigh, and there was a deathy quality to her voice, “dost my bum look big in this?”

Poseidjorm recoiled, suddenly beset by doubts. His thoughts tossed and turned like stormy waves upon the shore. What ist the answer she’s looking for here? he pondered. Ought I to say no, your bum dost not look big in that, for she ist self-conscious about her weight despite being very slimly built and also having more pertinent things to get hung up about since she is after all half corpse? Or ought I to say that yes, her bum does indeed look big in that, for that is, after all, what men find attractive? Or ought I merely to say that her bum looks the same size as it always does – no bigger or smaller than usual?

Wisely, or so he thought, Poseidjorm picked the former option, for women don’t like to be attractive to men, only to other women. “Thy bum lookst small my darkling, my decaying delight, as small as a thimble upon a small man’s thumb.”

“A thimble upon a small man’s thumb? How darest thou!” scowled Hellja with deathy dismay. “A thimble wouldst look rather big upon the thumb of a small man. Why does my bum not look as small as a thimble upon a very large man’s hand?”

“Egads! I hath been undone by my imprecise metaphors!” declared Poseidjorm as he slapped his sharky cheek with his flipper. He knew he’d be in the doghouse for this one!

And with that the world-cock Cockatyr, sat upon the world-tree Yrrskyggyr, crowed twice, for this was the second harbinger of the Sexnarok.

Elsewhere in Valkylmyr the all-god Grimgjorm sat upon his mighty throne in the feasting hall, his raven messengers perched upon his broad shoulders. It was then that his wife Fecundja stormed in, a scroll clutched within her furious palm. She was goddess of fertility and sex, and in her scathing words there was much anger but much sex also.

“Who ist Alice?” she scathed, sexily.

“Alice? Whom ist this Alice of whom you speak, my dear wife? I know no Alice!” spoke Grimgjorm, imperious upon his mighty throne, though his reddening cheeks betrayed his guilt.

“Then how dost thou explain this?” scowled Fecundja. She unfurled the scroll to reveal a detailed drawing of Grimgjorm’s substantial manhood. “One of your messenger crows was taking this scroll to some whore called Alice!”

“That ist not my penis, my sweetest wife, honest…” lied Grimgjorm.

“Nonsense, Grimgjorm. You lie to me, you scurrilous cur.” she spoke with furious sex. “It ist your member which is drawn upon this scroll, for why would your ravens, which obey you and you alone, be ferrying a drawing of another man’s penis to some mortal harlot? Now I shalt ask ye again: who ist this ‘Alice’?”

Grimgjorm spluttered before delivering the immortal words which doomed humanity to extinction. “She ist just some girl! She means nothing to me, my lovely wife…It wast just sex!”

And with that the world-cock Cockatyr, sat upon the world-tree Yrrskyggyr, crowed thrice, for this was the third and final harbinger of the Sexnarok.

Thus began an age of terrible cataclysms, for the goddesses, Fridgeja, Hellja and Fecundja, variously slighted and spurned, decided to take their anger out on everyone else. As all men know there is no force quite as terrible as a woman scorned, and when so enraged they become cruel and violent. Fridgeja spited the mortal realms with three winters in succession. Hellja tore open the underworld, allowing the dead to spill forth and walk the earth once more. Fecundja, goddess of fertility, made the men of the mortal realms limp of the penis.

The gods, in the doghouse and so bereft of sex, stormed about in a blue-balls malaise. Unable to focus on their godly duties they too condemned the mortal realms to terrible cataclysms. Stjorm did not herd the storms, and so terrible tempests scarred the land. Poseidjorm forgot to sire the seas, and so great waves lashed the coast and wrecked ships upon the rocks. And Grimgjorm, wounded by his wife’s hatred, sat in his throne room in a huff with only his ravens for company, and so they did not ferry the prayers of the mortals to the gods, and their pleas, their offerings and their sacrifices, fell upon deaf ears.

Thus began the Sexnarok. It was an ice age. A dark age. An age of no sex. All that was once green and glorious and good and stiff was at once withered and cold and dark and floppy.

(Girthirfans will know that Barry usually delivers a poem at the end of each chapter, but since this is exposition and he hasn’t appeared yet I’m not going to do one here).

Chapter Two: Girthir and Wise King Fekk (again)

 

The wind-blasted isle of Hyrdyrgyrdyr would not escape the ravages of the Sexnarok. Within the mighty hall called Skargarmjal, wise old King Fekk lamented his bad luck to his assembled huscarls (<—a bit like in the first book – in fact I copied and pasted a good chunk of it).

“Curses and lamentations! Troubles and travails! Shiteballs and hootenannies! These are grim tidings, men, grim indeed! Curses that these sad tidings should befall my rule, and so soon after peace and prosperity were at last restored to this isle by mighty, manly, well-endowed Girthir Norsethrust! (<—in the first book)”

The huscarls sought to assuage their king, but wise King Fekk would not listen.

“The Tiff of the Gods has come to pass, and so my lands are blighted by blights. We’ve had three winters in succession and there’s no end in sight. The dead walk the land, strolling about like the own the place, and they’re attacking people and also generally gross to look at. And we men find our loins unroused by the ladyparts of our wives. And in the meanwhile, storms and maelstroms lash this fair isle, and Grimgjorm and the other gods care not a jot! And there’s nothing we can do about it, for who can stand against the sex-starved wroth of the gods? It is foretold that these terrible blights shall wipe out mankind in its entirety – and that it shall be called the Sexnarok!”

The huscarls shuffled their feet and looked at each other awkwardly, though none could offer a solution to their king.

Many others were in attendance besides those bashful huscarls. Servants, serfs and attendants filled out the great hall, lit by a roaring fire, along with many comely maiden-wenches. The King’s wife, who was the Queen, sat at his side, and she was most comely also. All were pretty down about the whole apocalypse situation.

The resident soothsayer, Hekkmar Hekkmarsson, emerged from the shadows to say his sooths.

“Hark, my King, ‘tis said in an ancient prophecy which I won’t elaborate on now that the Sexnarok can indeed be averted.” he soothed as he stroked his grey beard and clutched his knobbly staff. Those in attendance gasped with sudden hope, but Hekkmar’s next words were grim indeed. “’Tis said the spited goddesses can be sexed out of their vengeful rampage, for what better way to get back at their spouses than with a revenge affair?”

“’Tis a vain hope indeed, wise and creepy Hekkmar.” spoke wise King Fekk. “For what mortal could hope to withstand the sex the gods? It would take a mighty sex indeed.”

The brave huscarl Swordswain strode forth to offer his penis in his King’s service. “My King,” he declared, striding forth, “I offer my penis to you, and I shall undertake this quest on your behalf. Though I fear that, made impotent by Fecundja’s curse and in any case lacking the girth and masculinity required to satisfy a goddess, I will be sent packing with their cruel laughter ringing in my ears, or else shall be killed by them in an act of random violence, I shall nonetheless set out on this thankless quest to sex the gods themselves.”

“Stay your member, fair Swordswain.” spoke wise King Fekk. “You are a brave lad and moderately well-endowed too by all accounts, but as you say you lack the sheer length to satisfy a goddess. It would take such a man, of such masculinity, such length and such virility, that I doubt there is any man manly enough in all of the Norselands!”

As King Fekk spoke his world-weary words the doors of the great hall swung open, and a chill wind and flakes of snow blustered in. All eyes turned to the mighty silhouette of the man who entered, one manly step at a time.

Those in attendance gasped as they set eyes upon Girthir Norsethrust, who looked just the same as he did in the first book. The women in the hall swooned as they looked upon his muscular physique and his barely-concealed genitals, and they were made moist with sexual anticipation. (<—I’m reliably informed that this happens to women when they’re aroused). So sexy was Girthir that all of the men in that hall were mighty aroused also, but none got erections because of Fecundja’s curse, and even if they had got erections it would have been in vain because Girthir was equally as straight in the sequel as he was in the first book, that is he was entirely straight and only ever had sex with women, and indeed had never even contemplated what it might be like to have sex with a man, not that there’s anything wrong with that if that’s what you’re into, and since that’s all clear I won’t labour the point any further.

Following Girthir into the hall was his dogsbody Barry, though nobody noticed him. Just as in the first book he was a scrawny, gimpish toad of a man who nobody paid any attention to.

Girthir maintained a masculine silence, and so the less-manly, yet undeniably wise, King Fekk addressed him.

“Girthir, mighty, manly Girthir, you have returned in our hour of need! Have ye come to rid this fair isle of the blightings of the Sexnarok? Do you have the guts and the genitals required to sex the very gods themselves?”

Girthir stared broodingly into the middle distance as he gave his manly reply. “Aye.” he spoke, and so brief was his utterance that the badassery of it made all the women in the hall ejaculate. (<—I’m reliably informed that women can indeed ejaculate much in the same way as men).

“Hark and hurray!” beamed the King, throwing up his hands. “Surely if there is any man manly enough to do it, it is you, manly Girthir. But pray tell, oh long-loined wanderer, what reward do seek for this terrible labour?”

“My reward shall be the glory that comes with heroic deeds.” said Girthir. “And also I shall make sex with all of the women here, if they agree to it. I am desirous for sex right now so I’d like to sex them in advance of the questing if that can be arranged. Being a man of great sex, Fecundja’s curse has no effect on me, and so I can get an erection pretty much at will.”

There was a general murmur of approval from the women in the hall, none of whom had much in the way of personality or backstory. What’s more, none of them had been sexed in a while thanks to Fecundja’s curses, and so all were eager for a sexening by manly Girthir.

The King did not object, and nor did any of their husbands. “Very well, then…It is decided!” he declared, raising a tankard of mead in a toast to Girthir’s bravery. “To sex, then, great Girthir! Do sex all the women in the hall called Skarmgarmjal, but do it quickly, for there is questing to do! Once they are all duly sexed and satisfied, be away with you, mighty Girthir, and begin your dreadful labour!”

But before the sexening could begin the doors of the great hall swung open once more, and a chill wind and flakes of snow blustered in. All eyes turned to the silhouette of the woman who entered (gasp), one strongly independent female footstep at a time.

She was a stunning, mighty beauty of much beauty but much might also. Her hair fell about her shoulders in luxuriant curls, as black as a dog (a black one). Her skin shimmered radiantly, as bronze as a spear-tip (a bronze one). Her figure was tall and powerful, but in a sexy way, as sexy as an elk (a sexy one). Her face was a sexy face, but in a non-slutty way. She wore close-fitting armour, sexy but in a strong way, a bit like Wonder Woman – a breastplate, greaves and tunic. In one hand, a spear. Beneath one arm, a helmet, black-crested. Upon her back, a shield. There was a confident expression upon her face, one which was both strong but not in a butch way and also sexy but as I’ve set not in a slutty way.

Girthir cocked an eyebrow in admiration for this sexy newcomer, for he was desirous to sex her, be he allowed her a little time to introduce herself before saying so.

“Ho there, strong and sexy warrior woman, who are you and what business have you in my hall?” queried wise King Fekk as he groped his white beard.

“It is I, Vulvatron Maximus.” she said in a strong but not butch sexy but not slutty voice. “I have come from afar in search of worthy deeds. I have heard tell of a great cataclysm which befalls this fair isle, and I have come to pledge my spear to you, o wise King, to help avert the Sexnarok.”

“Alas your travels were in vain, fair-limbed Vulvatron.” spoke the grizzly soothsayer Hekkmar. “For ‘tis said that only by sexing the vengeful goddesses can Sexnarok be averted. And as we all well know, women cannot have sex with each other.”

“Fear not, creepy old man.” spoke Vulvatron, confidently but not in a bitchy way. “I have come to sex the gods, not the goddesses, and thus ease the wroth of Stjorm, Poseidjorm and Grimgjorm all. I fancy my sex is robust enough to sate even the gods themselves, but it is a sex I use sparingly because I’m not a slut.”

Girthir cocked an eyebrow in admiration for this sexy warrior’s mighty sex, but once more he kept his counsel.

“Then your sex must be mighty indeed, wanderer!” spoke wise King Fekk. “But we have our own champion already. Girthir Norsethrust, manliest warrior in all of the Norselands, has pledged to sex the vengeful goddesses. But as you are famously straight, Girthir, that is you only have sex with women and not with men under any circumstances, not even to avert the apocalypse, what say you to this saucy warrior woman tagging along to appease the male gods with her sex?”

“Girthir Norsethrust works alone.” spoke Girthir, staring broodingly into the middle distance. “I am as lonesome as a lone wolf, as solitary as a solitary mountain, as mysterious as a mysterious manatee.” As he spoke the women in attendance ejaculated once more for his manly words were badass indeed, but Girthir couldn’t help but notice that Vulvatron herself did not ejaculate, nor did she even orgasm!

“We will face manly perils, Girthir Norsethrust.” said Vulvatron. “Gods, monsters and the legion of the dead shall bar our path. I will be useful to you – my shield is strong and my spear is long.”

“My spear is long enough as it is, if by ‘spear’ you mean ‘penis’.” spoke Girthir. “But very well, you may tag along if you like. I shall enjoy objectifying and patronising you as we go about our business.”

“It is so.” nodded Vulvatron.

“Jubilations!” exclaimed King Fekk, raising a tankard of mead. “Then the people of Hyrdyrgyrdyr have the services of two champions instead of one! Be off with you, then, great warriors, and put paid to the Sexnarok once and for all!”

“So we shall. But first…” spoke Girthir, setting his musky gaze upon the sexy Vulvatron. “Let us make sex.”

“Nay.” spoke Vulvatron, to gasps from those in attendance – for no woman, be she mortal or monster, had ever successfully resisted Girthir’s sexual advances. Barry swooned in shock. “We’ll be working together for now, and so I’d like to maintain a working relationship. ‘Twould be weird otherwise.” she explained.

Girthir, to his credit, maintained a respectful, manly stance. “Very well, fair Vulvatron. As you wish.” he bowed, courteously.

“You’re taking this very well, Girthir.” spoke Barry, for Girthir was unused to being spurned by women.

Girthir stroked his mighty beard as he outlined his brilliant intentions to his worthless dogsbody. “Vulvatron is a prize worth waiting for, Barry, for as she says herself her sex is mighty indeed, but she uses it sparing and so isn’t a slut, and therefore when the sex does inevitably follow it’ll be of greater value. I shall play the long game – as long as my penis, which is very long indeed.”

And so the two warriors (and Barry) would set out into the snow-strew, wind-blasted night, cursed as it was by Fridgeja’s icy spite. But first Girthir took the opportunity to sex all of the women in attendance (besides Vulvatron, who drank a glass of wine and read a good book while Girthir was getting it on).

The women were much desirous for Girthir and all were randy indeed, and they did ejaculate one and all when Girthir produced his noteworthy member.

I described Girthir’s penis at length in the first book, but for the benefit of newcomers I think it’s fair to describe the limb a second time. It was a mighty penis possessing of much sex, as tall as a dog is long (a long one – and with tail included to boot). It was a thunderous, brazen thing, as bristling and muscular as a wild boar with a man’s finger up its bottom. And yet, somehow, it also seemed peaceful and reassuring, a bit like hearing the dulcet tones of Huw Edwards on BBC News.

While I have devoted many words to Girthir’s penis, it would be remiss of me not to also describe his testes. They were a constellation of mighty boulders, brimming with manly sauce, and they seemed to shimmer with an inner light. All of this, cock and balls all, were smooth and entirely hairless because that’s how women prefer them (<—check this).

And so the sexening began, and there were many orgasms, and Girthir’s penis dived this way and that like a swooping falcon, but instead of ducking, weaving and plunging into and out of air currents, it ducked, weaved and plunged into and out of (well, you get the idea). Much sexual fluid was dispensed, and in all directions, until at last the hall was covered in a dense film of ejaculate. The women were all largely satisfied with the sex, including the Queen, and the men were largely content to watch their wives being sexed by manly Girthir and none raised any objections.

Now I said I wasn’t going to labour the point, and I won’t, but let’s just be clear that by having sex with a multitude of women in this chapter and the ones which follow Girthir has shown, once again, that just as in the first book he is wholly and entirely straight, and this should be borne in mind for the remainder of my opus.

And then at last, when the sex was done, the warriors two stepped out into the snowy gloom to begin their dreadful quest. All that was left was for Barry to deliver one of his wimpy poems, but nobody was listening because they were all too busy cleaning up the vast amounts of sexual fluid which now covered everything.

 

The Sexnarok is upon us! Fear! Woe!

It makes men’s loins as soft as dough.

Three winters now have came and went

And what’s more the dead do rise again!

 

Fear not, friends, Girthir answers the call!

But who else is this who enters the hall?

Strong, sexy, mighty, tall

Why, ‘tis Vulvatron who answers the call! (<—yes I’m well aware I’ve already used ‘call’ in this stanza but I couldn’t think of anything else)

Can these warriors two prevent man’s downfall?

 

Strong of limb and good of sex, she’s quite the catch

Has Girthir at last met his match?

 

Chapter Three: Girthir and Fridgeja

 

And so the three wanderers wandered out into the blustery tundra. The snow was thick beneath their feet, and it blizzarded around them, and all the while the dark sky lit up with thunderous storms – the wrath of the gods indeed!

Girthir, being entirely manly, found the cold to be pleasingly bracing. He had expected Vulvatron, being a woman and therefore colder of the blood, to begin moaning about the chilly weather straight away, and he planned to be on-hand to offer her a wolf pelt to keep her warm. This pelt he kept stuffed in his belt for just such occasions, and when deployed he could draw her close in a sexy embrace. But Vulvatron seemed untroubled by the chill, and Barry, tiny and insignificant, was ignored even by the cold, and so he escaped the bulk of the bluster.

Eventually Girthir decided he had bided his time long enough, and he was desirous for sex, and so he made his move on Vulvatron, bringing out a sexy, ingenious chat-up line.

“You have nice tits.” spoke he.

“Thanks, Girthir, but I already told you, I’m not keen to sex you. It will make our working relationship complicated.” she said, simply.

Girthir slowed his pace until he lagged behind her, and he vented his frustrations to Barry. “She has spurned my advances once again! Really, I’m quite prepared to play the long game, but just how long am I going to have to wait?”

“Longer still, I’d wager, Girthir. After all, we did set out from Skarmgarmjal literally two minutes ago.”

“So be it.” moped Girthir, his otherwise impenetrable pride dented somewhat by this latest setback.

Over the hours and days which followed they waded deeper into that blizzardy tundra, and from time to time they passed homesteads and farms, and they would stop off to eat and drink and rest, and where the womenfolk they found there were comely Girthir made sex with them and they were mighty satisfied with it to boot.

While Girthir was sexing, Vulvatron made busywork for herself by interrogating the villagers and farmers and following the tracks of giant beasts, all to track down their first target: Fridgeja, goddess of winter, ice and wolves.

“She is said to have built herself a fortress made of ice hidden within the blizzard.” Vulvatron explained to a half-listening Girthir as they trudged onwards through the snow. “She is master of wolves, and so I propose we follow the tracks of the beasts to track down the seat of her sulk.”

“Aye.” concurred Girthir, content to let Vulvatron have her fun. He’d save his genius for later.

And so they followed the tracks of her wolves, giant beasts the size of oxen judging by their footprints, and as they ventured onwards the blizzard became colder and more blinding. With their vision thus impaired, they stumbled right into a trap set by two frosty trolls.

They were passing through a ravine when a boulder slammed down in front of them, barring their path. Moments later two trolls came up from behind them with grim scowls upon their faces. They were lumpen beasts, twice as tall as a man, their skin covered in rock-like plates and studded with icy shards.

“Stand back, sexy warrior maiden! I’ll deal with these beasts…” spoke Girthir, stepping forth.

“Stand aside, Girthir. I have slain many a troll in my time.” insisted Vulvatron.

Barry hid behind a rock and played no relevant role in the events which followed.

“You foolish mankin have stumbled into our trap!” growled one troll in a gruff voice, holding aloft his icy club.

“Aye, we shall eat you for our tea!” growled the other.

Girthir noted that the second troll’s growl was slightly less gruff than the first. It must, therefore, be a ladytroll, and the first troll must be a man. Bringing his genius to bear, Girthir outlined his magnificent plan.

“One troll is a woman, whom I can subdue with my sex.” he proposed. “The other is a man, and being not gay I cannot sex him, but being a woman then you surely can, Vulvatron. Come, let us sex these disgusting beasts into submission!”

“No need, Girthir. I have killed both with my spear.” spoke Vulvatron, and indeed she had. “Let us be off then.” she said, and with a single leap she skipped over the boulder which barred their path.

“She truly is an impressive woman.” remarked Girthir, following her with his gaze, his eyebrow cocked in an interested manner.

Barry looked a little perturbed. “You are not yourself, Girthir. Never before have I heard you compliment a woman you were not simultaneously trying to seduce.”

Girthir shrugged off his dogsbody’s useless observation, and he grabbed Barry by the arm and leapt over the boulder, dragging the screaming gimp behind him.

On they went, deeper and deeper into the blizzardy gloom, following the giant footprints of the wolves. At last they reached a huge fortress made entirely from ice, complete with turrets, parapets, a drawbridge and etc.

“This must be the frosty abode of Fridgeja. I have found it at last!” noted Girthir, geniusly.

“Aye.” spoke Vulvatron, with a roll of her eyes.

And so they stepped into the glittery, cavernous fortress. A door of ice barred their path, but with the flexing of a manly bicep Girthir shattered it into a thousand pieces. He hoped this display of machismo would stir Vulvatron’s longing, but instead she was already exploring the vast icy citadel. The three companions search the many halls and dungeons of the fortress until at last Vulvatron found what they were looking for.

“Hark, the throne room!” she called.

The three reconvened and looked upon the icy throne. At first they thought an icy statue of a beautiful woman sat upon it, but then her eyes shot open, eyes full of icy chill, and she scowled, for women can get very scowly when they’re in a bad mood.

“Who dares disturb my malicious moping?” scowled Fridgeja, her voice chilly and tundra-like (<—do tundras make noises? it’s metaphorical so I guess it doesn’t really matter). “I should like to vent my furious anger in peace, thank you very much!”

“We wanderers come to beg you to stop your frosty rampage, oh queen of snowflakes…” implored Vulvatron. “The people will starve if their crops cannot grow, and the blighted frost will take many a life if it continues.”

“You shall not command me, sexy mortal wench!” fumed Fridgeja, who rose from her throne and paced towards them, one frosty footfall after another. “I am a god, and a woman god no less, so if I want to take my anger out on everyone else then that’s just what I’ll do! How did you find me here?” she demanded.

“I followed the tracks of your wolves to track down your icy abode.” declared brave Girthir, displaying his genius like a baboon displays its bottom. Vulvatron rolled her eyes, which Girthir assumed was a quirky facial tick because she seemed to do it quite often. Then he set to his task, locking his sexy eyes upon the frosty goddess. “Come,” he said, “let us make sex.”

“Sex? How darest thou! What dost thou thinketh I am, some kind of floozy?” she scowled. “I shalt rend ye to shreds with my loyal wolves for this impertinence!”

Fridgeja threw back her head and howled in a wolfy manner. The howl echoed throughout the icy castle, until at last her wolf servants responded in kind, and they came charging into the hall. They were giant wolves, as big as oxen, and their fur was snowy white.

“Girthir, I shall hold off the wolves.” declared Vulvatron. “You set to seducing the goddess once more. And don’t be so abrupt this time. Maybe a bit of small-talk wouldn’t go amiss? This is a goddess we’re talking about, wife and lover to the shepherd of storms. It’s going to take a bit more than a tired old chat-up line to do the trick!”

Girthir’s unbreakable pride was broken slightly by her barbed remark, but he had no time to take umbrage, for she was already locked in combat with a dozen giant wolves, her spear flashing this way and that, spattering their white fur with red blood.

Barry, meanwhile, ran to hide behind Fridgeja’s throne, and there he quivered, uselessly for pretty much the rest of the chapter.

Very well, thought Girthir. I’ll show her whose chat-up lines are old and tired! He turned to Fridgeja once more and tried a different tack. “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, o sexy ice goddess. May I say what lovely tits you have.”

Fridgeja howled in indignation, and her icy breath froze Girthir, entombing him in a block of ice. Barry covered his eyes – he couldn’t watch!

“My ice is the hardest ice of all – no man can break free!” scowled Fridgeja.

But Girthir was no ordinary man. He did what any man would do in that situation – he thought sexy thoughts! Such was his virility that his penis became immediately erect, and with such force that it broke clean through the ice, which shattered entirely.

Fridgeja gasped in sudden arousal at the sight of that glorious member. “No man has broken my ice before, not even my husband Stjorm!”

Girthir saw his chance. “Come,” he said, “let us make sex.”

“Oh alright then.” relented Fridgeja, and Barry whopped for joy.

“So far so good! Godspeed, Girthir!” called Vulvatron, from within a whirling melee or fur, teeth and claws.

Suddenly, Girthir was struck with a pang of doubt. Vulvatron had seen his erect penis, but here in the icy castle, nipped by the biting cold, it was fractionally smaller than usual. Awash with shame, he almost lost his manly urges. What is more, he felt reluctant to make sex there in Vulvatron’s presence. What if Fridgeja was unsatisfied? The shame would consume him…

“I’m…Not sure I want to…” he muttered, but thankfully none of them heard him.

“Come, mortal, sex me like no man or god hath sexed me before!” cried Fridgeja in aroused ecstasy, snapping Girthir out of his oh-so-momentary stupor, and the sex did indeed begin.

At first, as mortal member met icy, celestial vagina, the biting cold made Girthir wince, but then as the sex proper began the sheer friction generated by Girthir’s pneumatic manhood generated enough heat to thaw even the goddess of winter herself. Indeed, so fierce were the fires of passion which emanated from their locked loins that the icy fortress began to melt, collapsing one turret and one wall at a time, until they lay there writhing about in a giant puddle, and Fridgeja howled in wolfish ecstasy.

The force of their simultaneous ejaculation was so great that it started an avalanche some miles away, killing many, many people, but nobody important to the plot so not to worry.

“Egads, Girthir! You have sated my godly desires, and I have been satisfied muchly.” proclaimed Fridgeja, who was suddenly pink-cheeked and sprightly. “I think I’ll stop covering the world in ice and wolves after all.”

“Good job, Girthir!” commended Vulvatron from within a pile of giant wolf corpses.

“But Girthir, I fear my husband will be mighty angry with you for ploughing my frosty tundra!” gasped Fridgeja in sudden realisation.

“No worries, Fridgeja. I’m planning to sex him later.” spoke Vulvatron.

“Alright then. That should set us square and calm his stormy rages.” replied the goddess.

“I’ve also killed all your pet wolves. Sorry about that.”

“No worries.”

And that was that. The companions emerged from the puddle which was once a fortress, now foaming with Girthir’s plentiful juices, and they went on their way. As they did so, they saw the snow begin to melt, and the blizzard begin to calm, until at last all was green and pleasant on Hyrdyrgyrdyr once again. Men and women came out of their houses and holds and rejoiced in the spring, and as they did so Girthir took the opportunity to have sex with them (the women that is!).

Once he’d had several sex, Vulvatron turned to business once more. She cast her saucy eyes toward the horizon, which roiled with thunderous storms. “Your sex is mighty indeed, Girthir, and I think you do not need my help after all. Let us divide and conquer, then. I shall seek out the storm god Storm to calm his stormy rages. You, meanwhile, should enter the sacred grove of Fecundja, and free the menfolk of the mortal realms from the burden of impotency.”

“Very well.” spoke Girthir. “I take it by ‘sacred grove’ you mean ‘vagina’?”

“Well, yes and no.” said Vulvatron. “Fecundja resides within her sacred grove, but you must enter her vagina also, because that’s how sex works (<—check this).”

“Very well, then, fair saucy warrior maiden. I don’t suppose you’d like to have sex before we part ways?” proposed Girthir.

“Thank you for asking politely, Girthir, but I fear I must save my sex for the god of storms. But…” she said, planting a soft kiss on his cheek, “you did well today. Farewell.”

As Vulvatron left, Girthir found himself dumbfounded. Her kiss left a tingling feeling upon his cheek (as well as his loins) and a pounding in his heart.

“I say, Girthir, I’ve never seen a woman’s kiss make you smile so broadly, not unless it was a kiss on the penis. Are you sure you’re quite yourself?” asked Barry.

“Yes, of course. Simply savouring the sex to come.” blustered Girthir, and he set off in a random direction, because knowing where you’re supposed to be going is very un-manly indeed.

Before following along behind him Barry delivered a poem, but nobody was there at the time so he just spoke into the middle distance, weirdly.

 

Fridegja! Queen of ice, wolves and winter.

What trials beset Girthir before he was in her?

Two trolls barred their path – horrid knaves!

Vulvatron sent them to their graves.

 

A fortress of ice, Girthir broke down the door.

Wolves a-came with deadly claws,

Answering Fridgeja’s icy call,

But our heroes beat ice, beat wolf, beat all!

And with Girthir’s sex her womb did thaw.

 

Now our heroes go their separate ways

Perhaps with sex the gods can be assuaged?

Chapter Four: Girthir and Fecundja

 

Girthir wandered about aimlessly for many days, wasting a huge amount of time, before he finally found Fecundja’s sacred grove (the forest, not the vagina!) by sheer luck. Still, it was manlier to do it that way than to have to ask someone for directions!

Needless to say, while on his travels Girthir had a great deal of sex with the various maiden-wenches he met along the way. (Barry, as usual, had none at all). But when he did make sex he found himself somewhat distracted, and on occasion thoughts of Vulvatron would enter his mind at the moment of ejaculation.

He also found himself thinking about Vulvatron when he was out and about, but unusually for Girthir, he wasn’t specifically thinking about having sex with her. Instead, his thoughts lingered on the tender kiss she had planted upon his cheek, or else he imagined them prancing through fields of barley or feeding each other gapes – very un-manly pursuits! When he caught himself thinking such thoughts he shook his head to clear it, and distracted himself by thinking about sex, or, better still, by sexing any maiden-wenches who happened to be nearby.

In any case they found the grove at last, a small patch of forest which was unremarkable aside from a small wooden placard saying ‘Sacred Grove’. Girthir was about to enter when Barry said something pointless.

“Have caution, Girthir.” he said. “Fecundja is master of her domain, and she is said to be a shrewd and spiteful goddess, able to taunt a man with his heart’s desires.”

“Nonsense, worthless Barry.” dismissed Girthir, with a manly shrug. “My heart’s desires are sex, meat and beer, and I fear none of those things.”

And so with a masculine step he entered the grove and delved deep into the forestry.

Soon he came to a cottage which sat alone in a foresty clearing. Girthir peered through its window, and saw inside a man’s withered corpses sat at an empty table, covered in twiggy creepers and vines. Girthir tried to enter, first by attempting to smash through the wall, which held fast, and then by trying to open the door, which also proved impenetrable.

“A riddle indeed.” pondered Girthir, an eyebrow raised in rumination, a thoughtful hand rummaging through his beard.

They ventured on, and soon enough they came upon another clearing, another lonesome hut, and inside, another withered corpse covered in those same twiggy vines.

“A riddle within a query within a dunno.” pondered Girthir as he set his genius to work.

Onwards they went. More clearings. More huts. More corpses. Until at last they came to a hut whose door was open, and on that door was a sign which read: ‘The Norsethrust Residence’.

“Since this hut has my name on it, it seems to me that I ought to enter it without thinking it through properly.” resolved Girthir.

Once again, Barry gave his inevitably unheeded warning. “I warn you, Girthir, not to step inside that hut. It is surely the domain of Fecundja herself, and if you go in you’ll end up just like those other men, withered and dead within huts of their own, huts which became their tombs!”

“I do not heed this warning.” dismissed Girthir, simply, and he stepped inside.

Immediately the door slammed behind him with unseen force, and Girthir found himself locked in. He tried, briefly, to smash his way out with his mighty fists, and then with his mighty penis, using it as a sledgehammer, but to no avail.

“These must be powerful magicks indeed to resist the power of my penis.” Girthir remarked as he stroked his beard in thinkery. Barry could only watch impotently through the window in meek despair.

Girthir observed the contents of the room. A cauldron bubbling on a fire. A table bedecked with food and drink: cooked meat, fruit, vegetables, mead. There was a bed. A cot. A rocking chair…And in it sat a woman, who Girthir could have sworn hadn’t been sitting there when he’d walked in. She was a beautiful, golden-haired lass, and much desirous to Girthir’s eye. He resolved to ask her what the magic containment field which trapped him there was all about, but he decided that could wait a couple of minutes.

“Come,” he said, “let us make sex.”

“Yes, my husband, let us make sex.” she spoke as she rose from the chair.

“Husband?” exclaimed Girthir, suddenly rocked by this turn of events.

“But first, I have to feed our son.” spoke the golden-haired woman, and she was holding a rosy-cheeked baby in her arms which definitely hadn’t been there before.

Girthir went weak at the knees and struggled to stay upright. “Baby?” he blabbed.

“Come, my loving husband, let us eat, let us drink. There’s enough food here to last us for all eternity.” she said, beckoning for him to join her at the feasting table.

“Eternity?” gawped Girthir, staggering backwards.

“Come, daddy, let’s eat, and after dinner we can play!” gleamed a lovely young girl who appeared out of nowhere.

“Daddy? Play?” gazumped Girthir, before falling over and shivering in a cold sweat. Out of the corer of his eye he saw Barry gesticulating through the window, but as usual he took no notice of him.

When at last Girthir struggled to his feet and joined his ‘family’ at the table, he asked his ‘wife’, plainly, “What’s going on? I’m tripping balls here!”

“There is nothing to worry about, my sweet.” she said with a loving smile, as he placed her warm hand upon his own. “I am your devoted, beauteous wife. These are our lovely children. We may stay here in this glade for all eternity, living a life of peaceful solitude, just the four of us. We’ll never grow old, never get sick, never want for anything.”

“Devoted wife? Children? Peaceful solitude?” blurted Girthir, falling off his chair backwards. He staggered to his feet and pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at them. “So that is to be my fate? To be trapped in this damn glade for all eternity? To be damned to only sex one woman for year after year after year? To have children who I’ll have to see every day and raise and take responsibility for? Nay, it cannot be! This is trickery and black magic! Begone foul demons!”

Howling in fearful rage, Girthir swung his sword three times, and three bodies did fall, severed, to the ground. But they were not the bodies of women and children, but instead they were bodies made of vine-like, twiggy branches.

“You have passed the test.” spoke a saucy, fertile voice from behind him. Girthir turned to see the gleaming fertility goddess Fecundja, red-golden hair falling to her waist, flecked with summer flowers, glowing in a marvellous white dress. Seeing that she was a goddess and was saucy, Girthir sheathed his sword, though his hand still trembled.

“What were those things?” he stammered.

“Shapeshifting wood-nymphs. They were sent to test your resolve.” spoke Fecundja, and her every word dripped with moist sex. “They offer a man what he truly desires – hearth and home, health and happiness, a beautiful wife and healthy children. Those who are weak-willed allow themselves to believe this fantasy, and they are trapped here in my domain forever, until at last they die and rot away, only to be devoured by my wood-nymphs. But you…You saw through my illusion. You broke free.”

“Aye.” spoke Girthir, looked into the middle distance, which since he was indoors was actually just a wall. “For hearth and home are not my heart’s desire, o saucy goddess. Merely sex.”

“Then sex me, o wise, quick-witted wanderer, for I am much aroused by red-blooded men who can see through my cunning ruses.” spoke Fecundja, sexily.

And so Girthir did begin sex with the goddess of good harvests, and the harvesting was good, if by harvesting you mean sex. It was a sex of the ages, as the sexiest of the gods met the sexiest of mortals, a sex which bards would recount for aeons to come. Barry watched it all through the window, giving his chum a thumbs-up for encouragement, but the bards would not mention him.

But mid-way through the sex, peril! A sound erupted, involuntarily, from Girthir’s manly lips, blotting our Fecundja’s fertile orgasms.

“Vulvatron!” howled Girthir in the throes of passion.

“Vulvatron?” scowled Fecundja. “Who is this Vulvatron? I am the goddess of fertility, of sex itself! How can you desire another more than me, mortal?”

“Erm…She’s just a girl I know, nobody important, really…” blustered Girthir, but the damage was done. Fecundja stormed to her feet, a face like thunder.

“I am goddess of sex, long-loined wandered, but no amount of girth will help you if you can’t get it up! I curse you to a lifetime of impotency!” she howled, and so pointed at Girthir’s still-erect penis, bombarding it with her magical energies.

Girthir at first felt the stiff leaving him, and so he fought back, gurning as he thought sexual thoughts, fighting back against the flaccid state. Sure enough, his erection held fast, and Fecundja gasped in sexual excitement. Pleased with himself, Girthir made a badass quip at this point. “Howzat!” he said, as if he were playing cricket, and it was badass indeed.

“Such a member you have, o sexy wanderer, that it resists the magical powers of the goddess of sex herself!” she beamed. “Sex me, then, and you may call me Vulvatron if you like!”

Girthir did so. The sex was long and it was good, and he did call her Vulvatron after all and that made the sex better somehow, and when the eruption finally came it filled the hut to the brim with sexual fluids. Only then did Fecundja disappear, howling in ecstasy, and the door of the hut swung open, and Girthir spilled out on a tide of his own juices.

“How did it go?” enquired Barry after wiping himself down.

“I sexed her and I sexed her well.” reported Girthir. “I assume her curse is now lifted. Quick, try to get an erection!”

Barry blushed. “I’m afraid I was largely impotent even before Fecundja’s curse, and I fear my penis is so minuscule that it is impossible to discern an erection from a floppy!”

Girthir was unsurprised by this, and so as they went off on their travels he stopped a random gent as they passed and asked him if he could get an erection (but not in a gay way!). The gent did indeed get an erection, for Girthir was very sexy to men even though he didn’t have sex with them, and so it was proof positive that the curse had been lifted!

And so here and there and all about Hyrdyrgyrdyr there was much rejoicing and much sex, as husbands could please their wives once more and young lovers rolled about in the hay, and everywhere he went they appealed to Girthir to sex their womenfolk, and he did so gladly, and they were glad for it. While there was much sex, none of it involved Barry, for he wasn’t very sexy at all, so he passed the time by delivering one of his poems to some uninterested passers-by, who were also having sex at the time.

 

A cabin in a glade: Girthir searched near and far.

But “It’s a trap!”, so said Admiral Ackbar.

It seemed that Girthir had been trapped!

But his visions were twiggy beasts, who he soon snapped.

 

For what is it that men desire? Love? Peace?

Two bouncing bairns upon their knees?

Mayhaps a happy home amidst the tress?

But Girthir? Nay, it’s not for he.

But give him sex, he’ll say yes please! (<—but only if you’re a woman)

 

Can Sexnarok be stopped, which godly quarrels instigated?

There is but one more goddess to be inseminated.

Chapter Five: Girthir and the Dark World

 

Having sexed the second goddess on his list, Girthir again wandered about aimlessly, having sex with those he met, drinking beer and eating boar. Though Vulvatron was never far from his thoughts he tried not to dwell on her overmuch, and instead focused on who/what he happened to be sexing/drinking/eating at the time.

Eventually they happened upon something odd. It was a bridge, but rather than stretching out over a river, it instead led downwards into a whirlpool which roiled in the middle of a black-watered lake, and rather than being made out of wood it was instead made out of the bones of dead men.

“This is odd.” noted Girthir correctly, stroking his beard in rumination.

“Girthir!” came a cry, and Girthir’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to see Vulvatron approaching, a smile upon her wonderful face, dimples upon her lovely cheeks, her bosom shuddering somewhat with each saucy footfall.

“Vulvatron!” squealed Girthir, but then he regained himself, coughed, and spoke in a deep and manly manner. “Vulvatron. How do?”

“Very well, thank you.” she reported. “I have sexed the three gods I set out for. We had an orgy, actually, me and the three gods, Stjorm, Poseidjorm and Grimgjorm. It seemed quicker to do it all at once. Are you alright Girthir? Why are you quivering on the floor in the foetal position?”

“No reason.” spoke Girthir, regaining himself and clambering upright, then standing in a manly stance.

“You must have known I’d been successfull when the storms and raging seas died down, and when the soothsayers rejoiced in Grimgjorm’s counsel once more?” she said.

“Erm, yes, I did spot all of those things.” lied Girthir.

“Great, well I noticed that people were having lots of sex, so you must have sexed Fecundja well enough.” she spoke her lovely words from her lovely mouth which was on her lovely face.

“Aye.” spoke Girthir, trying to sound gruff.

“And you’ve done very well to track down the Hellskyggyrsgate, the secret route into Hellja’s hellish domain, which is Hell, just as I have done. Well done!” she beamed.

“Erm, yes.” blushed Girthir.

“All that’s left is for you to sex Hellja, for the dead still walk the earth and wreak their havoc. Do this, reliable Girthir, and the Sexnarok shall be averted altogether! Hurray!” she said, and she hugged him briefly, and her bronze-clad breasts touched his chest momentarily, and he swooned. “Are you alright Girthir? You seem to have collapsed into a sweaty, twitching heap?”

“I’m fine.” he insisted after regaining his footing and his gruff. He was about to ask her to have sex with him, but for some reason he hesitated. What if she were to refuse again? Would it not crush him? Could he take the heartbreak, the loss? Could he live one more day in a world where he wasn’t going to have sex with this woman who he wanted to have sex with?

No! Shake off these un-manly doubts, he resolved at last. I didn’t get to where I am today by not asking women to have sex with me!

“So, err, Vulvatron, since we’re doing so well, might we have…Sex…Just, you know, to celebrate.” he proposed, and awaited her response with bated breath.

She sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Girthir. I’ve not been entirely straight with you. I’ve got to turn you down. You see, I’m already dating Tim from accounts (<—note to self: replace with something Viking-y in the final version). Are you alright, Girthir? You seem to have crawled into the foetal position once again.”

“I’m fine.” he insisted as he regained his footing. “Tim from accounts? Who is this ‘Tim from accounts’, and what has he that Girthir does not?”

“I’m sorry Girthir, but Tim from accounts and I have a really strong connection. And while he’s ok with me sexing gods to avert the apocalypse, I’d obviously never sex a random guy, because I love him too much for that. And to be honest, I see you as more of a friend anyway. But a really close friend, like a brother or something. Oh dear, you seem to have collapsed again.”

Vulvatron tried to rouse Girthir, and Barry poured a flask of the black water on his head, but he stayed there, slumped on the ground, eyes shut fast, mouth agape.

“What’s happened to him?” Vulvatron asked the until-now pointless Barry.

“He seems to have slipped into some sort of coma.” he said.

“What could have caused such a thing?” pondered Vulvatron.

“I have heard tell of a dark place…” spoke Barry, portentously. “A place which swallows up the souls of men who have been spurned by the women they desire. Some call it the ‘Dark World’. Others, the ‘Friend Zone’.”

Vulvatron scoffed. “This place is fictitious, surely! Men do not really disappear into a dark abyss when women say they’d rather just be friends instead of having no-string sex with them or what have you, they just get depressed and irrationally angry with the world.”

“Mayhaps…” mused Barry, stroking his weedy chin. “But for a man of Girthir’s manliness and sex, being spurned like this will have come as a terrible shock to the system, perhaps enough to transport his soul into another dimension!”

“Can it really be? Does he really love me?” wondered Vulvatron.

“I’ve never heard him mention another woman by name, not even when he recounts the sex he’s had, as he does to me each and every night.” spoke Barry. “But your name he mentions at every turn, and in fact he’s been chanting it repeatedly in his sleep. Yes, I think it must be love! Perhaps if you were to realise that you love him back, then true love’s first kiss would rouse him from his mopey torpor!”

“Erm, no, I love Tim from accounts, not Girthir. Frankly I’m just not attracted to him.” she said as she and Barry tended to poor Girthir, there on the edge of the abyss of Hell.

 

“What is this place?” demanded Girthir, storming about in pitch darkness.

It is the Dark World, Girthir.” spoke an echoey voice directly into his mind. “Have you heard of it?”

“Nay.” spoke Girthir, stroking his chin in rumination. “The last thing I remember, Vulvatron was saying that she didn’t love me, she loves Tim from accounts, and she sees me as just a friend, maybe even as a brother…”

You seem to have collapsed into a heap, Girthir. Regain yourself and I shall explain all. You may call me ‘Mim’.”

“Yes. Quite right, ‘Mim’, o disembodied voice. I was just taking a brief nap. But what is this place?”

It is known by many names. Perhaps you know it as the Friend Zone?”

“Aye, I have heard of such a place, but I had never thought it possible that I’d end up here…” mused Girthir, stroking his beard. “So what’s the deal with this place?”

You are trapped here until you can come to terms with the fact that Vulvatron doesn’t want to have sex with you, she only wants to be your friend.”

Girthir picked himself up once more, having once again collapsed in abject shock and shame. “I have many friends, Mim, but I have sexed them all, all those who are women in any case. But what use are friends without frequent bouts of no-strings sex?”

Friends provide companionship, Girthir. Support. Trust. Someone to laugh with, someone whose shoulder you can cry on. Someone you can confide in.”

“Bah! I can find all of those things in the company of men, whom I do not have sex with by the way.”

I never said you did.”

“Yes, but you were thinking it, weren’t you? And why the hell haven’t I escaped yet!”

You clearly haven’t come to terms with it, Girthir!”

“Very well. Help me, o wise echoey voice called Mim. Help me understand how Vulvatron could prefer another man over me. Me! Girthir Norsethrust, strong of arm and long of cock! Show me this so-called ‘Tim from accounts’. Let me assess is mettle.”

So be it, Girthir, but I doubt it’ll help…”

And so there appeared before him a vision of a man, and that man was Tim from accounts. He had stupid silly hair and stupid smelly eyes and a rubbish chin and he was silly and shitty and rubbish.

“Who is this gormless whelp? This is the man Vulvatron chose over me?” harrumphed Girthir. “I am far mightier than this man, and far more genius, and my penis is far larger. What does he have that I don’t?”

Well, he has a sort of low-key, easy-going charm and charisma.”

“Bah!”

And he and Vulvatron have a lot in common and many shared interests.”

“Shared interests? I can pretend to be interested in whatever Vulvatron wants!”

And he’s been very good to her family, helping care for her elderly grandmother and what have you. He cooks a damn good lasagne. And he treats Vulvatron like a person, not a thing, and he doesn’t have a Madonna-whore complex like you do, Girthir.”

“Nonsense! I have sexed Madonnas and whores alike, and all have enjoyed it.”

She doesn’t owe you sex, Girthir. She can give you friendship, and trust, but you’ll have to earn that.”

“Bah! What use are friendship and trust without the sex to go with it?” howled Girthir, whose patience had run dry. He drew his mighty sword, and he swept it through Tim from accounts, who disappeared in a puff of smoke.

But then a voice came from behind him. A voice with a certain low-key, easy-going charm and charisma.

“How about I whip us up a nice big portion of my famous homemade lasagne?” he said, in a jovial and likeable manner. Girthir turned in an instant, to see not one, but two Tim from accounts!

“Don’t worry about the dishes, Vulvasaurus. I’ll clean them up.” said the other, with a sweet, good-natured grin.

“No! What madness is this?” howled Girthir, and he charged at the apparitions, and he swiped his sword through both, but where two once stood, now there were four Tim from accounts!

“Let’s go for a spot of rock climbing! I know how much you enjoy it.” proposed one, and Girthir rammed his blade through it, but no sooner had the blade bit than he was gone in a puff of smoke and replaced by two more.

“I’ll put your Nana to bed, then we can snuggle in front of the fire.” said another, and Girthir swiped his blade frantically through him, too.

On it went, and Girthir become more frantic, the Tim from accounts multiplying even as they were struck down, until he was surrounded and overwhelmed by their well-meaning, selfless utterances.

“I know how much you like the work of Skeggyr of Whale Island, so I bought you a first edition for your birthday!”

“Let’s have a you day today, Vulvasaurus. What would you like to do?”

“How about a foot rub?”

“Cup of hot chocolate? I’ll make it how you like it! With extra cream and marshmallows on top!”

“No! Back! Back I say, you foul demons! Back!” howled Girthir, but he could fight back no more, and he collapsed in a heap as the Tim from accounts closed in on him, surrounded him, filling his ears with the din of selfless offers. Darkness closed in all about him, and all was lost within the blackness.

I’m ending this chapter on a cliff-hanger, so I won’t spoilt it with one of Barry’s ludicrous poems!

Chapter Six: Girthir and the Sexnarok

 

Vulvatron and Barry dragged Girthir through the land of the dead using his wolfskin as a makeshift sled. It was a long, laborious and terrible ordeal. They dragged him through the Plain of Bones. They carried him gingerly across the Field of Woe. They tossed him over the Fiery Place. They hauled him along the Icy Patch. They rolled him through the Gooch of Mourn.

They stopped, here and there, and slapped Girthir about his manly chops, tried to rouse him from his self-pity induced coma.

“We might have to face down the goddess of death on our own, Barry.” panted Vulvatron as she and he dragged Girthir through the Swamp of Ennui.

“But how are we to sex the goddess of death without Girthir?” Barry despaired.

“I don’t know, Barry. I don’t know. I can try to sex her myself, but what if she isn’t a lesbian? Maybe…” she stopped herself, and the words stuck in her throat, because it was such an absurd and grotesque suggestion. “Maybe you could try to sex her?” she said, and her stomach churned and she gagged on her words.

“Alas, Vulvatron, I am but a weedy imp of a man with a minuscule pecker. I could scarcely satisfy a mortal woman, let alone a goddess!” he lamented.

“All we can do is march onwards and hope that Girthir can snap himself out of it.” sighed Vulvatron, and on they went, one steadfast footstep after another.

At last they reached Hellsgarmyr, the Hall of the Dead, which sat upon the Plain of the Dead, beneath the Sky of the Dead, and all was very dark and dingy. Though she was afeared to open the mighty doors and enter the hall, Vulvatron mustered her courage and pushed the doors open nonetheless. Barry scuttled in after her and they dragged Girthir between them.

There she was, sat upon her skeleton throne. Hellja, half woman, half corpse, lit by a burning pyre, fierce-red.

“Who dares enter my deathly domain? Who dares disturb my score-settling, my grievance-gathering, my row-mongering?” she demanded, with a noticeably deathy voice.

“It is I, Vulvatron Maximus of the mortal realms.” sighed Vulvatron in grim resignation.

“And for why have you come, Vulvatron Maximus?” spoke Hellja.

“I just wondered if…” she said wearily. “If maybe you wanted to have sex?”

“No, I’m not a lesbian.”

“Shit.” It was always going to be a long-shot.

“I might have sexed that sexy man who lies there now, with his sizeable Johnson clearly visible, and his mighty sex would surely have assuaged me and averted Sexnarok, but since he’s unconscious that can’t be done, and so I’ll have my undead legions devour you both instead, and then they and I will destroy the whole world.” spoke Hellja, spelling it out in unnecessary detail.

“Shit.” repeated Vulvatron, and she readied her shield and spear, and Barry quivered behind her.

And with that the many doors of Hellsgarmyr swung open, and in rushed legion upon legion of walking corpses, zombies and skeletons. Vulvatron tried to fend them off, smashing them with her shield and piercing them with her spear, but there were so many of them. It was only a matter of time before their numbers would win out…

 

Girthir found himself alone once more. He was clutching his head in his quivering hands. He peeked out to see only darkness, no Tim from accounts in sight. He sighed a sigh of relief, and then appealed to the disembodied intelligence called Mim.

“I think I’ve come to terms with it now, actually.”

Oh really?” replied Mim, sceptically. “I suppose you’re content to just be friends now, maybe even glad of it, and you’ve accepted the fact that she’s not attracted to you and never will be?”

“Sure, but…I mean…Never say never, right?”

Nope. Never. And I mean never.”

“But maybe she’ll learn to love…”

Nope.”

“Maybe I’ll convince her that…”

Nope.”

“Maybe I’ll do something that…”

Nope.”

Girthir sighed in resignation. “Perhaps you are right, echoey voice called Mim. Perhaps my love – for it is love, I have accepted that much – is destined to remain unrequited forever. Perhaps I’ll have to console myself with a life of casual sex with a vast number of other women, though I’ll be cursed never to spend my days with the one woman I truly desire.”

That’s the spirit. Do you want to hear something that’ll cheer you up?”

“Go on.”

They don’t actually have sex that often.”

“Eh?”

Vulvatron and her beau, Tim from accounts. They only have it twice a week or so. And that’s only when she’s not off adventuring and slaying monsters, which is most of the time. And even when they do have it, it’s mediocre at best, for Vulvatron can rarely be bothered to unleash the full potency of her sex while she’s with nice, stable Tim.”

This did indeed lift Girthir’s spirits, and he was soon strolling about feeling rather more chipper. “I feel a lot better now, Mim. Cheers. No I’ll just be off then…”

Not so fast, Girthir. You’ve got to prove you’ve really come to terms with it. I propose a test: The Trial of the Lasagne!”

“The Trial of the Lasagne? What shittery is this, Mim?”

If you can sit through a helping of Tim from accounts’ famous home-made lasagne without smashing his silly smelly head in, I’ll release you from my wollowy domain.”

Girthir took in a deep breath and girded himself for the sternest test of his life. “Very well, Mim. Test away.”

In a heartbeat, Girthir found himself sat at a kitchen table. Tim from accounts came over with a warm smile and placed a bowl of delicious-looking lasagne in front of him. He was wearing pink oven mitts and a comedy apron which had a bodybuilder’s torso on it.

“Eat it while it’s hot!” he beamed, amiably.

Girthir had never wanted to punch anything more in his life. His mighty fists squeezed against the wood of the table, buckling it.

“Thank you, Tim from accounts. It smells delicious.” snarled Girthir through gritted teeth. He went to pick up his fork, but his fists clenched with such scarcely-restrained fury that it snapped in two. Girthir could rely on no tools bar his own – he began to eat the lasagne with his bare hands!

“I’d tell you what the secret ingredient is – but then it wouldn’t be a secret! Haha!” chuckled Tim from accounts as he sipped a craft bear. The fucking knobhead.

Girthir kept eating as the urge to kill surged within him at an exponential rate. He was almost done when Tim from accounts spoke again.

“Vulvatron and I have been talking about setting you up with a friend of mine. She works in corporate finance. I’m sure you’d get along famously, and we could go on double dates and things! Wouldn’t that be great? Waddayasay, buddy?” he said, and he punched Girthir on the arm playfully.

Girthir’s entire body quivered with incandescent rage and hatred. He felt fit to erupt at any moment. But he remembered what he had to do – he had to escape this place, he had to avert the Sexnarok. So he stood up calmly, smashed his chair into a million splinters to let out a portion of his fury, and then he finished his last mouthful of lasagne.

Finally he spoke through gritted teeth. “Sure thing, ‘mate’. That was delicious. Are there any seconds?”

 

Vulvatron fought on against the endless legion of the dead until rotted corpses and shattered skeletons were piled up all around her. Barry scurried this way and that, hiding between her legs, mostly. She couldn’t hold out forever…

Then, a crash like thunder. Vulvatron gasped and looked down to see Girthir gone! At first she thought he had been stolen away by dark magic, but then, gloriously, she saw him striding into the thick of battle, furious sword swinging this way and that, sending dismembered corpses flying, tumescent penis clattering into skeletons as he went, shattering them into dust.

“Girthir, you’re back!” beamed Vulvatron as they began to fight off the endless dead, back to back.

“Aye. Now let’s defeat the legion of the dead and we can all go for a nice drink…Just as friends, mind you…Chum.” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh Girthir, that would be great! Can I invite Tim from accounts along?” she said as a thrust of her spear send a dozen corpses tumbling.

“Don’t test me, woman…” muttered Girthir beneath his breath, his sword sending a score of zombies sprawling.

“Stop!” cried Hellja, and the restless dead stopped all at once. Girthir and Vulvatron stood side by side as Barry cowered behind them. But Hellja, rather than looking furious as before, now looked aroused.

“Mighty warrior,” she said to Girthir with deathy lust, “you wield your sword with no less verve than you wield your penis. Come, make sex with me, and quell my wrathful ways for good! Avert the Sexnarok, and save all humanity from oblivion!”

“Erm…No thanks.” spoke Girthir, to gasps from all.

“Girthir, why? Surely you’re not saving yourself for me out of love? You know we can’t be together…” implored Vulvatron.

“No, it’s just…She’s half corpse. It’s kind of gross.” admitted Girthir. “I’ve sexed many women, beasts, gods and whirlpools in my time, but a half-corpse is where I draw the line.”

A scowl formed upon Hellja’s deathy face as she seethed with anger, for women get very angry when men turn down sex (<—check this – I’m not convinced it’s ever happened, or at least it’s never been recorded). “You dare to spurn me, mortal? How darest thou! I am a goddess, not only of death but also of monsters! I will unleash them upon you and all your mortal kin, within the underworld Hell and upon the overworld also! All will die in a storm of cataclysms, corpses and monstrous beasts!”

And so within the underworld, a vast stormy wind tore the roof off Hellsgarmyr, and the Sky of the Dead burst open with lava-like explosions, and out of the Plain of the Dead rose gargantuan undead beasts, giant wolves, serpents and giants, all rotting and dead, and they and the legion of the dead attack the three companions with renewed vigour.

Above, in the overworld, the skies were rent in twain (<—I assume this means ‘two’?), and through the slits in the sky lightning, fire and lava arced down. There the dead fought the living, and when the living died they joined the dead in attacking the rest of the living. Beasts sprung up from beneath the earth: trolls, ogres, fiends and worse, and they all attacked the mortals on sight.

On Hyrdyrgyrdyr, wise old King Fekk and his brave huscarls fought back against the monsters and the dead who stormed the hall called Skarmgarmjal, but as they fought on the casualties began to mount.

Meanwhile, in the underworld, the heroes Girthir and Vulvatron fought like warriors reborn.

“Have you considered sexing her? I’ve been reliably informed that women can sex one another after all, but using their other limbs in the place of a penis (<—check this).” queried Girthir as he lopped the head from a giant undead snake, before slamming his battering-ram-penis into a formation of zombies, sending them tumbling like dominoes.

“Yes, but sadly she’s not a lesbian.” explained Vulvatron as she hurled her spear, which impaled a giant zombie wolf, and then she dived aside of an undead titan’s gigantic club.

“Then we are doomed – unless we can kill the entire legion if the dead, and all of Hellja’s monster to boot!” spoke Girthir, his sword sending an undead troll reeling.

“Will you not reconsider, and sex the corpse-woman to save all of existence?” implored Vulvatron, flooring the zombie titan with a kick to the gonads.

“Nay, Vulvatron, for she is gross.” explained Girthir, hurling his sword and bringing down an undead dragon which then plummeted from the deathly sky.

All the while Hellja watched on from her skeleton throne, furious anger burning within her eyes, one of which was dead, the other merely deathy.

But in all the carnage none notice Barry. Who ever does? He had inched his way closer to Hellja’s throne until he was stood before the mighty goddess of death, who at last set her deathly stare upon him.

“I’d just like to say, o gallows god, o maiden of death, that I actually think your corpse side is the prettier one.” he piped up, more in hope than expectation.

Hellja gave him a thin glare. But then her glare seemed to soften somewhat, and she looked out upon the scene of carnage and sighed in resignation. “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers. I am half-corpse after all. Very well, then. Let us to sex.”

The legion of the dead stopped still all at once, and all watched in abject disgust, the living and the dead both, as the lamentable sex began.

“Erm…Are you in yet?” queried Hellja, goddess of death, as she laid back.

“Yep, job’s a good ‘un!” said Barry, with a thumbs-up. Indeed, he had ejaculated immediately upon entry.

“Well…I suppose that’s that then.” said Hellja, bashfully, and she rolled down her dress. Girthir and Vulvatron, and those of the corpses and zombie monsters who still had digestive systems, were busy projectile vomiting.

“Do you feel less wrothful, o queen of death?” said Barry, glowing with a lover’s light and with a twinkle in his eye.

“I…Suppose so.” she said. Her wroth had ceased, not from the sex, but rather from abject embarrassment. Her living cheek flushed red as she looked upon the eyes of the endless legion of the dead, judging her, knowing she could do better.

“Would you like to do this again sometime? Maybe we could get some breakfast.” proposed Barry.

“I can’t today, sorry…I’m, like, really busy. I actually have work I need to be getting on with. I’ll catch you later, yeah?” she said.

“How can I reach you? I don’t have…” said Barry, but his words were in vain.

With that Hellja waved her hands, and there was a deathy flash of fire and death, and the three companions were torn out of the Land of the Dead and thrust back into the mortal realms.

They all landed with a thump upon the crisp green grass outside Skarmgarmjal. There they joined a crowd of jubilant revellers, huscarls, servants and maiden-wenches. They were surrounded by fallen corpses and slain monsters. Girthir, Vulvatron and Barry dusted themselves down and went to join them.

“Huzzah!” proclaimed Swordswain (the huscarl who said something of little relevance in Chapter 2). “The Sexnarok has been averted! The dead have fallen, returned to the underworld from whence they came! The monsters which rose from the earth have disappear in a clap of deathy flames! The cataclysms which scarred the heavens have closed! Praise be to Girthir, who sexed the goddesses! Praise be to Vulvatron, who sexed the gods!”

Before the gathered crowd could cheer, Girthir, heeding Mim’s wise counsel on friendship, spoke honeyed words: “Praise be also to Barry, who sexed the goddess of death herself, who is half woman and half corpse!” he said, raising Barry’s hand above his head. The grin that was plastered on Barry’s face slowly faded when everyone in attendance projectile vomited. But they soon recovered and they all cheered as one.

“Mighty Girthir,” spoke Hekkmar (the soothsayer from Chapter 2), “King Fekk died in the Sexnarok in a manner that I’m not going to elaborate on now. Hyrdyrgyrdyr needs a new king to shepherd the people. The hall of Skarmgarmjal needs a new ruler to sit upon its well-polished throne. The Queen needs a new plough to tend to her lonely furrow. Will you not agree to become King of Hyrdyrgyrdyr, and husband of the Queen?”

“I do not object to this.” said the Queen.

Girthir signed, and he looked upon the faces of all those in attendance. He saw the admiration in their eyes. They looked to him for courage, for leadership…For sex.

At last, Girthir spoke. “Perhaps it is time to put my roving penis out to pasture. Time to sow my seed within one woman alone. Time to rest, time to reflect. I say to you this: Aye. And I shall do so with my friends at my side. Insignificant Barry, sexer of the dead. Mighty Vulvatron, strongest and sexiest of all warrior women. Maybe even Tim from accounts can join us on this fair isle, and we can live out our days, friends one and all, in the hall called Skarmgarmjal?”

Vulvatron had a smile on her face, but it was a melancholy one. “I’m sorry Girthir, I can’t stay. I have head back to my homeland, back to my beau Tim from accounts, back to my ailing, aged grandmother. I am not ready to settle down in docile domestic bliss – there are more quests to conquer, more beasts to best. I must leave, Girthir…And I will never return, for reasons I will not explain.”

With that a single tear fell from Girthir’s muscular eye, and a single tear fell from Vulvatron’s saucy eye to match it. They hugged, but this time in a brotherly/sisterly way where Girthir wasn’t overly preoccupied with feeling her boobs on his chest.

Then she left, and all in attendance watched, crestfallen to see their hero go. Girthir most of all was sad to watch her leave, walking in a badass and sexy manner towards the horizon, and whilst he did indeed enjoy watching her bottom as she went, he also felt sad, for he would never see his friend Vulvatron again.

As she grew smaller and smaller in the distance the folk of Hyrdyrgyrdyr returned to their revels. They celebrated, they drank and ate and made merry, and many of them did indeed make sex. But Girthir did not. He bade his restless penis stay put as he watched his friend, his love, leave with melancholy in his heart. And soon she was out of sight, gone for good.

Then, and only then, did Girthir have sex with all the women in attendance, for he was soon to be wed and he wanted to have as much sex and possible beforehand, for once wed his famous member would at least be shackled by monogamy. But as he sexed, he did so with melancholy, and with a tear in his eye, in it but never quite falling, but the women he sexed enjoyed it all the same, and their orgasms were plenty.

A tear fell from Barry’s eye also as he looked out towards the horizon over which Vulvatron has disappeared moments ago. And then, with sorrow in his soul, Barry delivered a final poem.

 

Girthir was lost, wallowing in whiney grief.

Vulvatron fought the dead, Hellja their chief.

But Girthir escaped! His sword was ready.

And the goddess of death popped my cherry.

 

Hark then, men, be thankful for what you’ve got

Even if friendship is to be your lot,

For you’ll miss it when she’s gone and it’s been lost.

But what of terrible Sexnarok?

‘Twas abated, through the Sex of the Gods.

 

That’s it, then. It’s done. The end is here.

Has love lost made an honest man of manly Girthir?


Girthir Norsethrust: Sexnarok

The adventures of Girthir Norsethrust, manliest and sexiest hero in all of the Norselands, continue in this rip-roaring adventure tale, featuring mighty monsters, spiteful gods and much sex. Despair, dear readers, for the Sexnarok has come! To prevent this apocalypse, Girthir will have to sex the very gods themselves. But he'll need the help of mighty female warrior Vulvatron Maximus...Has Girthir finally met his match?

  • ISBN: 9781370979554
  • Author: Nicholas Everritt
  • Published: 2017-08-26 16:20:09
  • Words: 13740
Girthir Norsethrust: Sexnarok Girthir Norsethrust: Sexnarok