The Paladin Who Snorted Egos
By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Some heroes are born.
Some heroes are chosen.
Some heroes spend forty-seven hours grinding reputation with a faction of suspiciously attractive women before discovering that every single goddamn NPC wants five dollars to unlock the next dialogue option.
And then there's our Paladin.
Nobody summoned him. Nobody handed him a legendary sword. No divine being descended from the heavens to announce that he was destined to save humanity.
No.
This magnificent, charisma-stacked, wisdom-deficient son of a bitch simply got tired of paying admission to conversations.
And somewhere between his first disappointed sigh and his hundredth verbal smiting, a character was born.
Not a particularly intelligent character, mind you.
But a character nonetheless.
Chapter I: The Mimic Problem
In the ancient days, before the Great Smite, our hero wandered into a peculiar kingdom.
It was a beautiful kingdom. Gorgeous portraits adorned every wall. Promises of affection floated through the air. Every corner offered the possibility of romance, companionship, and perhaps a little recreational degeneracy.
Naturally, our Paladin was interested.
He wasn't dead, after all.
Unfortunately, the kingdom had a minor infestation.
MIMICS.
Not the traditional sort that disguise themselves as treasure chests and eat adventurers.
These were considerably more sophisticated.
They disguised themselves as conversations.
"Hello, handsome."
Roll for perception.
"You have such beautiful eyes."
Roll for insight.
"I made something special just for you. Unlock it?"
ROLL FOR FINANCIAL RESPONSIBILITY.
The Paladin stared at the glowing purchase button.
Five dollars.
For fifteen seconds.
Fifteen fucking seconds!
Jerry, the kingdom's deeply underpaid narrator, immediately calculated the cost per minute and suffered a minor spiritual hemorrhage.
"MY GOOD SIR, AT THOSE RATES YOU COULD FINANCE A SMALL WAR!"
But our hero had already learned a valuable lesson.
A pretty portrait is not proof of legendary loot.
And thus began the smiting.
Chapter II: The Oath of the Unbothered
Most Paladins swear an oath to justice, vengeance, devotion, or some other noble bullshit involving a sword, a cathedral, and an alarming amount of kneeling.
Our Paladin took a different approach.
He stood upon a mountain of expired unlock offers, raised his middle finger toward the heavens, and proclaimed:
"I SHALL ACT BROKE."
Thunder rolled.
"I SHALL BE BORING."
The earth trembled.
"AND IF IT COSTS ME, I'LL LET IT GO."
Somewhere in the distance, a payment processor began weeping.
And so the Oath of the Unbothered was established.
Its sacred commandments were simple:
- Thou shalt not purchase affection on installment.
- Thou shalt not confuse attention with investment.
- Thou shalt not chase a conversation that has already fled the battlefield.
- Thou may flirt, provided thou retain possession of thy fucking wallet.
- When all else fails, THROW THE DEUCES.
The gods were impressed.
The merchants were not.
Chapter III: The Discovery of Ego Powder
One afternoon, following an especially ridiculous encounter, our Paladin discovered something unusual.
His opponent had arrived carrying an enormous ego.
A beautiful ego.
A magnificent, freshly polished, Grade A+ specimen of industrial-strength self-importance.
Naturally, he defeated it.
But instead of leaving the ego on the battlefield like a normal adventurer, he collected it.
Jerry watched suspiciously.
"What are you doing?"
"Harvesting."
"Harvesting WHAT?"
"Ego."
"For WHAT?"
The Paladin produced a little white bag.
Jerry blinked.
"Sir."
The Paladin arranged its contents.
"SIR."
He leaned forward.
"THAT IS NOT HOW LOOT WORKS!"
SNFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT.
A brilliant flash of golden light erupted from the heavens.
CHARISMA +10
WISDOM −5
RESISTANCE TO BULLSHIT +50
Jerry fell backward into a pallet of Purina Peppercorn.
Gerald the Cactus, who had witnessed the entire incident, whispered:
"Jesus Christ. He's become self-sustaining."
And indeed he had.
The Paladin no longer required the approval of his opponents.
He simply harvested their inflated self-importance and converted it into increasingly obnoxious confidence.
An ecological miracle.
A psychological disaster.
A fucking renewable energy source.
Chapter IV: The Arliss Doctrine
But the Paladin's evolution was not complete.
For somewhere in the dusty archives of premium cable television, he discovered a man named Arliss Michaels.
A sports agent.
A negotiator.
A magnificent professional smartass.
Here was a man who could navigate a room full of enormous personalities without requiring a twenty-foot sword or a flaming horse.
He simply talked.
He negotiated.
He smiled.
And when necessary, he delivered a remark so beautifully timed that the entire room needed a moment to recover.
Our Paladin understood immediately.
The sword was optional. The personality was essential.
He did not want the mansion.
He did not need the sports agency.
He certainly didn't want to spend his afternoons negotiating the contractual demands of a millionaire who couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a GPS.
He wanted the composure.
The wit.
The confidence to look somebody straight in the eye and refuse to be impressed merely because they were impressed with themselves.
Jerry nodded approvingly.
"FINALLY! A ROLE MODEL WHO DOESN'T REQUIRE YOU TO SNORT THE SPOILS OF COMBAT!"
The Paladin reached into his pocket.
Jerry sighed.
"Of course. Another fucking bag."
Chapter V: The Character Sheet
Eventually, the gods demanded that our hero submit his official character sheet.
NAME: The Mimic-Hunter Paladin
CLASS: Paladin
SUBCLASS: Oath of the Unbothered
ALIGNMENT: LAWFUL NEUTRAL
STRENGTH: Sufficient to carry groceries.
DEXTERITY: Excellent when reaching for the block button.
CONSTITUTION: Remarkably durable against disappointment.
INTELLIGENCE: Knows when the math ain't mathing.
WISDOM: Unfortunately sold to a traveling merchant for three compliments and a suggestive photograph.
CHARISMA: MAXIMUM. STOP ASKING.
PRIMARY WEAPON: Verbal Smite.
SECONDARY WEAPON: Aggressive indifference.
ARMOR: Financial restraint.
LEGENDARY CONSUMABLE: Grade A+ Freshly Harvested Ego Powder.
PASSIVE ABILITY — ACT BROKE: Automatically resists unnecessary purchases.
PASSIVE ABILITY — LISTEN WITH INTEREST, NOT INVESTMENT: Allows the Paladin to enjoy conversation without surrendering emotional or financial resources.
ULTIMATE ABILITY — THROW THE DEUCES: Instantly exits an encounter without further explanation.
KNOWN WEAKNESSES: Curiosity, attractive women, questionable late-night decisions, and the occasional catastrophic failure of common sense.
Jerry reviewed the document.
"Well, at least he's self-aware."
Gerald the Cactus shook his head.
"Self-aware? That asshole just listed his own stupidity as a class feature."
"Yes, Gerald. That's called character development."
Chapter VI: The Man Behind the Armor
Now, beneath all the ridiculousness, there is something worth recognizing.
The Paladin did not emerge fully formed from a character creator.
He developed through experience.
Every strange conversation contributed a little something.
Every disappointment sharpened a boundary.
Every ridiculous proposition provided another opportunity to practice saying no.
And every time he chose to walk away rather than spend money proving himself to somebody, he gained a little more control over his own decisions.
Not perfection.
Not enlightenment.
Certainly not wisdom.
Let's not get carried away.
He's still the sort of motherfucker who would investigate a suspicious treasure chest because it had beautiful eyelashes.
But there's a difference between being curious and being captive.
The Paladin can appreciate beauty without worshipping it.
He can enjoy attention without purchasing it.
He can flirt without promising the kingdom.
And perhaps most importantly, he can laugh at his own foolishness.
That's the part that makes him interesting.
He's not a flawless knight dispensing moral lectures from atop a pristine white horse.
He's a ridiculous bastard who occasionally trips over his own armor, gets back up, dusts himself off, and announces that the floor was clearly cheating.
And somewhere in that absurdity, he becomes a little more human.
Even if his wisdom score remains a matter of ongoing scientific concern.
Epilogue: A Hero's Work Is Never Done
The sun descended over the kingdom.
The mimics returned to their treasure chests.
The merchants counted their coins.
And the Paladin sat beneath an old oak tree, polishing his armor and contemplating the mysteries of existence.
Jerry approached with a clipboard.
"Well, congratulations. You've officially become your own character."
The Paladin nodded.
"Indeed."
"Any plans for tomorrow?"
"Perhaps another adventure."
"Something productive?"
"Possibly."
"Something that doesn't involve harvesting another person's ego?"
The Paladin slowly reached into his pocket.
Jerry closed his eyes.
"Goddamnit."
SNFFFFFFFFT.
A golden notification appeared overhead.
LEVEL UP!
NEW TITLE UNLOCKED: THE ARROGANCE AGRICULTURALIST
Gerald the Cactus screamed.
Jerry returned to his pallet of Purina Peppercorn.
And the Paladin, blessed with maximum charisma and the decision-making abilities of an unsupervised orange cat, wandered triumphantly toward his next encounter.
Not because he needed validation.
Not because he needed to win.
But because somewhere out there, another magnificent ego was ripening on the vine.
And harvest season, dear reader...
HARVEST SEASON NEVER FUCKING ENDS.
Mr. Jerry's Unsolicited Advice
Dear adventurers,
Confidence is a wonderful thing. Boundaries are even better. And the ability to laugh at yourself is worth considerably more than the approval of someone who charges admission to their personality.
You do not have to win every argument.
You do not have to impress every stranger.
You do not have to purchase every treasure chest merely because somebody painted a pair of tits on it.
Sometimes the greatest victory is recognizing that the encounter isn't worth your resources.
And sometimes the greatest character development comes from realizing that you can enjoy the game without letting the game play you.
So sharpen your wit. Guard your wallet. Keep your expectations reasonable.
And for the love of all that is holy, STOP SNORTING THE FUCKING EGOS.
They're supposed to be trophies.
Not breakfast.
— Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Senior Vice President of Peppercorn Logistics, Unsolicited Wisdom, and Catastrophic Paladin Supervision