The scantily-clad maiden cast her bright eyes on Conehead the Barbarian and smiled demurely. Conehead was the last of a breed of warriors called the Inepts. True, the name didn't exactly inspire young wastrels or strike fear into villains' hearts, but that's why Conehead was the last of his breed. They were so named because every quest they joined, every fight they entered, every scantily-clad maiden they attempted to seduce were met with such ineptness and lack of skill and talent that nobody wanted them around anymore. (It is rumoured that this breed eventually evolved into the more well-known breed called Politicians) It was not for a lack of trying; God knows these boys were trying their utmost, but their utmost at best was... less than mediocre. And so it was with surprise that Conehead met this beautiful young thing's gaze. Obviously, she didn't know who he was. Her gaze changed from thoughtful to anxious.

"Please, I need help. There are these men that are chasing me." Her tone was plaintive, but yet oddly exciting for Conehead. Probably because the last time a female had spoken to him without a derisive tone was four years ago, when he had visited a brothel. He had paid 100 silver pieces just so she would talk to him without laughing in his face or spitting on him. 100 silver pieces for five minutes. Conehead considered it money well spent. Of course, he had to steal the money out of his mother's purse, but what she didn't know couldn't hurt him. Right?

"But of course, young maiden! I will defend you from these scum-sucking dungheaps!" He hoped that that was masculine-sounding enough for her. He drew his sword, which took an extra few seconds because he had trouble pulling it out of its sheath. Finally it slid out with a WHOOOSH! and Conehead turned to face the attackers. The sword was shaking, mainly because the Barbarian was scared beyond belief. The last time he had fought was at a bar fight. This guy had kept bugging Conehead, calling him the most inept of the Inepts, calling his mother all sorts of names, and it didn't matter that most of what he said was true, it still hurt too much to be ignored. Conehead had stood up, took one swing, missed, and that was all he remembered. At least he had survived. Conehead believed in living to fight another day.

There were three of them. The tall, dark one, obviously the leader, had armour plating, and a helmet with feathers that made his head look like he had a Mohawk haircut. In his hands was a heavy, black sword. He was panting hard, as if he had run a long way. Actually, it seemed like the fellow was dying of heat exhaustion. The villain to the left of the leader was short and fat. He was panting hard, but that was because he was short and fat. He had leather armour, but Conehead figured that this guy had all the armour he needed with all that blubber. In his left hand was a mace, which is a long stick with a spiked ball on the end. Of course, you couldn't walk around with a weapon called, 'Long Stick with Spiked Ball', so some brilliant man decided to name it after the stuff women spray into men's faces after it becomes clear that saying 'no' isn't going to work. The third villain was short, but he was so skinny that he looked like he was going to float away with the breeze. All he had was a dagger, mostly because that was all he could carry. He was panting hard, but that was because he thought he was a dog. And so there were these three against Conehead. Three against one. Good odds, if you were betting on the three to win.

If that young, voluptuous maiden hadn't been standing there, waiting for her hero (Conehead) to save her (save her for later, probably), Conehead would've been two miles away by now. But the hopes of getting laid and losing his virginity if he won was keeping him there. He tried to bluff, to scare them off. "All right, you ruffians! I'll let you live now if you just turn around and walk away! Move!"

Of course, none of them even flinched.

"I said MOVE!!!" Conehead yelled in desperation.

Again, none of them moved.

"Move, please?"

The leader smiled. "You are asking us to leave? You, an Inept?"

The maiden stared at Conehead in shock. The Barbarian's heart plummeted to his feet. He stuttered, "I... I am not an Inept!"

The leader's smile grew wider, vulpine. "Prove it, then."

Conehead looked at the leader, then at his sword, then at the maiden, who was looking at him with horrified eyes. He then made the bravest, and therefore, dumbest decision of his life. "Okay! Come on, one at a time!" With that, the maiden looked less like she had made a horrible mistake, and more like someone who'd rather be shopping at the Gap. The leader stepped backward. He nudged the short, fat one. The fight began.

Fatty didn't walk up so much as he waddled. The mace waved threateningly in the air. He had a deadly serious look on his face. Conehead decided he wasn't going to waste any time or breath; if he was going to die, let it be quick. Conehead bellowed, and ran straight at Fatty. The big man swung the mace, but before it could hit our hero, Conehead tripped on a root and fell to the ground, rolling. The spikes missed his head by inches, and Fatty tried to move out of the way of the rolling Barbarian. He was unsuccessful. Conehead's body slammed into Fatty's legs, and the big man went down like a pile of bricks... into Conehead's upraised sword, which by some miracle had worked itself into such a position. The sword's blade pierced through the many layers of fat and blood squirted out like a fountain. The only problem was that Fatty was lying on Conehead with all of his now dead weight. With all the strength he could muster, Conehead rolled him off. He took one look at his sword and knew that it would take a couple of days to get it out. So he turned to face the other two.

The skinny one advanced now, and he was waving his dagger at Conehead, saying, "You got lucky with him but your luck ends right here," or some such cliche. The Barbarian gulped, and looked at the maiden to remind himself why he was still there instead of in the corner of some pub somewhere enjoying a nice bottle of wine. She looked suitably impressed. That gave him a bit more confidence. Not much, but a bit. Skinny stared at him for a second and then rushed him. Conehead instinctively backed up, and tripped over Fatty. His legs came flying up, and his feet hit Skinny in the jaw, who was flying through the air at Conehead. The force of the kick broke the man's jaw and several teeth, as well as knocking the poor bastard unconscious. Conehead picked himself up and simply could not believe his luck. Inept no more, he thought. He took the dagger from Skinny and faced the leader.

"I am surprised at this display of fine swordsmanship and fighting skill. I had thought you were an Inept; haven't I seen you before? No matter. Your life is about to meet a bloody and painful end." The leader frowned, and that was when Conehead recognized him. He was the man that Conehead had tried to fight in that bar. Suddenly the Barbarian saw a chance for revenge as well as sexual gratification (which would come later, of course). He held the dagger up challengingly.

"A sword against a dagger? Hardly fair, don't you think?" Conehead tried to look calm and cool, but he was afraid that he actually looked like he needed his mommy very soon.

"Fair? Are you joking? Why do you think I carry this blasted thing around, anyway? Because I have an unhealthy obsession about size? Damn thing's hard on the wrists, you know. I have to wear a bloody arm brace at night or I can't even lift a spoon the next morning. So; are you finished stalling? I've got a wench to ravish, after all."

He must be a bad guy - he called her a wench, thought Conehead. He raised the dagger, and the leader raised his big, big sword in return.

And that was when the maiden, heretofore unnoticed except as an object of sexual desire, swung the mace and struck the leader in the head, killing him.

Later on, while walking towards some grassy, soft meadow to fulfill the unspoken promise of sexual gratification, Conehead said, "I would have killed him, you know."

The maiden replied, "I know you would've."

"Honest, I would've."

"I know..."

"Really, I could've killed him."

"I'm sure..."

"If I had the chance..."

"You would've killed him."

"Right."