The Eye of Argon, by Jim Theis, may be the greatest piece of fan fiction ever written.
"The story introduces Grignr the Barbarian, closely resembling Conan but worse-tempered, worse-spelt and harder to pronounce."
~ David Langford
The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked climes of the baren land which dominates large portions of the Noregolian empire.
Small rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily accomplishments of their dismal lives.
Grignr leashed his mount forward as the hoarsely piercing battle cry of his wilderness bred race resounded from his grinding lungs.
A gasping gurgle from the soldier's writhing mouth as he tumbled to the golden sand at his feet, and wormed agonizingly in his death bed.
"You city bred dogs should learn not to antagonize your better."
Eyeing a slender female crouched alone at a nearby bench, Grignr advanced wishing to wholesomely occupy his time.
"The slut should have picked his quarry more carefully!" Roared the victor in a mocking baritone growl.
"By the surly beard of Mrifk, Grignr kneels to no man!"
Crushing prudence to the sward, he plowed into the soldier at his left arm.
Grignr grappled with the lashing flexor muscles of the repugnant body of a garganuan brownhided rat, striving to hold its razor teeth from his juicy jugular.
The antagonized pack of leering shaman converging tensely upon her prostrate form were entangled all too lividly in the grim web of reality.
"Take hold of this rope," said the first soldier, "and climb out from your pit, slut. Your presence is requested in another far deeper hell hole."
Grignr slipped his right hand to his thigh, concealing a small opague object beneath the folds of the g-string wrapped about his waist.
With a zealous grunt, the Ecordian flexed his tightly corded biceps.
Snorting a gusty billow of mirth, he once more concealed th e tiny object beneath his loin cloth; the tediously honed pelvis bone of the broken rodent.
If not for his keen auditory organs and lighting steeled reflexes, Grignr would have been groping through the shadowed hell-pits of the Grim Reaper.
Grignr percieved a scene which caused his blood to smolder not unlike bubbling, molten lava.
Writhing agonizedly against the hideous image, foam flecking his chalk white lips, the priest struggled helplessly - - -the victim of an epileptic siezure.
After all, a man cannot slink from a heavily guarded palace while burdened down by the intense bulk of a squatting statue, providing of course that the idol can even be hefted, which in fact was beyond the reaches of Grignr's coarsing stamina.
Grignr merely voiced an sighed grunt.
"Aye! The ways of our civilization are in many ways warped and distorted, but what is your calling," she queried , bustily?
The priest was transformed into a raving maniac bent soley upon reaking vengeance. With lips curled and quivering, a crust of foam dripping from them, the acolyte drew a long ,wicked looking jewel hilted scimitar from his silver girdle and fled through the aperature in the ceiling uttering a faintly perceptible ceremonial jibberish.
Then the hideous transgressor of nature flowed towards Grignr, a trail of greenish slime lingering behind it.
Mounting one of the disgruntled mares, and leading the other; the weary, scarred barbarian trooted slowly off into the horizon.
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