No Chance

Maybe you're not the brightest tool in the shed, but you're not falling for a trap this obvious.

"No way," you say, beginning to walk down the length of the table towards her, "Let's just get on with the fight, shall we?"

"Oooh, how uncouth," says the princess, smiling and clapping her hands, "A barbarian! Well, barbarian, you wish to fight for my honour? Let's see how you fare against my champion!"

She plucks a small silvered hand-bell from the table and gives it a ring. Her honour? a champion? What's going on here?

From a low doorway at the end of the hall, another girl enters the room. She's of average height, broad across the shoulders and hips and strong looking. Her dark blonde hair is pulled back in a pony tail, her skin pale and painted with a couple of obviously fake scars, and she's wearing strappy, cod-fantasy leather armour - the sort that female warriors on the covers of cheap fantasy novels wear, the sort that seems more suited as a bikini than actual armour. Hanging from her belt are a short sword on one side, and a long, heavy looking dildo on the other. She stares at you levelly, eyes like chips of blue ice, expression serious.

"This is Gunna Friggsdottor, a barbarian warrior as mighty as you are, challenger!" trills the pretend princess, "She is my champion, and you will fight her as your battle fuck, for my honour. I believe you know the rules!"

"What, I fight her and not you?" you protest, not least because the muscular "Gunna" looks a lot tougher an opponent than the pudgy Peach, "Why not you?"

Princess Peach Pouts.

"I am a princess. Princesses do not fight! I have risen above that. I no longer need to get my... hands dirty. "

She seems a little upset with your protests, but this really does not seem fair - if this is her arena, she's the one who should fight, right? Do you keep arguing, or agree to fight her champion? You do wonder how she feels about this arrangement.