The Altavista mountains were once a well trodden path, browsed by many, littered and loved. Since then they had fallen in popularity due to harpies and digital pollution. What were once teeming pathways were now lonely aisles through the mountains. The harpies were bad but the bitcoin bandits were worse, with their jagged tongues and their confusing jargon. The Kid increased his fov so he could keep a better view on his surroundings and tweaked his gamma a little bit. It wouldn’t do to be mugged and tossed down the side of a mountain, especially since it was very likely he’d land in the swamps of the orkut wastelands. Myriad digital showers could scarecely put a dent in the stink a man (or a Kid for that matter) would pick up there. The coast seemed clear, though, and the rendering of the sky was particularly well done. The Rofl Kid was no slouch when it came to making a trek, and with the aid of a poorly pixelated branch as a walking stick, he was well on his way. The warning of the danger of the mountain seemed a particularly tasty joke, and in spite of himself, the Kid had to rofl a little bit. It seemed as though the lack of traffic through the mountains had been hard on the bandit trade.
He should have known better to think such things, especially online where potentially any scrag could be listening, even in your head, because as soon as he did an oversized pack of bitcoin bandits came charging around the next bend in the path. The Kid noticed bitcoin pirates amoungst them and his hopes sank even further. Since the Vast Ocean of Knowledge had dried up the pirates had come on tough times. Very tough indeed if they were teaming up with the bandits, a formerly sworn enemy and sometimes secret lover. His father had always told him that he’d die mid-rofl and the Kid had always thought it to be a name related joke, but it seemed as though his rofling ways were sometimes a curse more than a benefit. He could hardly help himself, though. His general lack of money was difficult to hide and would be rather infurtiating for the bandits, who were already hard up for some good sport. This was obviously going to take all of his skill to escape.
“U! Wats ur name?” the lead bandit yelled, advancing on the Kid and drawing out a particularly nasty scimitar made of the serpent sharp tooth of the older sister. Such a blade could cut you in parts of your psyche you didn’t know existed. The Kid started to sweat.
“Wut did u just say 2 me?”
“I said Rofl Kid. That’s my /nick,” the Kid said, eyeing the rest of the bandits. They were starting to surround him and he knew his antique firewall armour would be nothing against their barbs.
“Got NE money, Rofl Mao?” he asked, leaning in a little closer.
“Looks broke to me,” one of the pirates said, shaking his head sadly.
“Not broke enough if you ask me,” a dirty bandit with a grey bandana and a horse mask said from the back of the back. “I think we can broke him up a little more.”
“Stfu, the lot of u! My micro is better than all of yours! I’ll decide what happens here,” the lead bandit yelled, turning back to face his group with some serious cut-eye. When he turned there was a rustling of many feathers and before anyone knew what was happening the air was dark with harpies, and all present were more than a little alarmed to see the lead harpy, Stephen Harpy, in their ranks. Her piggy eyes surveyed the scene below her and she smiled her vile and putrid smile down on them, making more than a couple of bandits phyiscally ill. They /barfed all over the side of the mountains. The Kid’s only hope was to escape in the confusion, but he didn’t want to be the first to run as it would surely make him a target. He held his ground and watched what would happen.
“We’ve finally tracked you down you mountain ravaging ass bandits! Know the grip of our talons and the point of our teeth, savages! You’re all going to take a bath with our friends over at Orkut! Those of you that survive the fall, anyway!” The bandits who had yet to draw their arms now drew them and gritted their teeth. It was likely the harpies would win the fight, but they’d give those feathered bastards a hell of a lumping in the process.
Now Stephen Harpy’s eyes fell on the Rofl Kid, seeing him for the first time. She didn’t recognize his scent, meaning his was not one of the bandits/pirates they had been tracking. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to spill his guts out, though. She was not fond of the cut of his jib. Seening the look of distaste on her face, the Kid looked up and yelled, “I’m not one of them. I’m the president of The Harpy Fan Club. I was just telling these brutes about how much I love harpies! I love harpies like a cat loves a cardboard box!”
At this there was a crack in the sky as part of the sky collapsed and a gigantic cat stuck its face though the hole and looked at them. It was Ceiling Cat, one of the powerful gods of the online world. Many sought his favour but met their untimely end when Ceiling Cat batted them around for several hours and then ate them, sometimes sharing their internal organs with loved ones as cats are wont to do. Ceiling Cat was always high, due to his lofty position in the ceiling, and thus could not be bribed with catnip. He held those who felt the need to dress their cats up in clothing in the lowest regard. It appeared as though more than a couple of the bandits were guilty of this, as they began to cringe in ways the harpies could never make them. When Ceiling Cat spoke loose rocks tumbled down the mountains and the wildlife in the area made itself scarce.
“Who speaks of cats? More importantly, who speaks of cardboard boxes? I greatly desire one as their texture is a pleasure to my body!”
The Rofl Kid bowed to his catty greatness and said, “It was I, your lord catship, though I do not have a cardboard box big enough for the likes of you. I apologize profusely!” His apology was mostly unheard, though, because the harpies had begun to scatter and the ruffling of their wings caught Ceiling Cat’s attention. His gigantic paws hooked them in, pulling them towards his furry grimace and chewing them up. The sight of this was too much for the bandits and they began to flee wildly, hoping against hope to escape in the mayhem. The Kid still held his ground, and could only watch as the Cat batted them off of the mountains and directly into 404 webpage error walls. When their bodies had all finally stopped moving and were sufficiently stomped, Ceiling Cat returned his attention to the Kid and smiled at him.
“I was initially upset that you had teased me with the temptation of sweet, sweet cardboard,” the cat purred, “but you have summoned me for a delicious feast and a great deal of enjoyment, so I have decided to let you pass unharmed. If you ever locate a cardboard box big enough for the likes of one such as I then I would appreciate it if you call on me to sit in it and peek out from its edges. Fare thee well, Rofl Kid!” and with that he withdrew into the sky. The clouds filled back in and with that the Rofl Kid was left alone on a bloodly battlefield, miraculously unscathed. He ate some cookies from his pack and found the body of the bandit with the horse mask and took it for himself. He’d spent many lonely nights thinking about how he should get a horse mask, and now that he had the chance there was no way he was going to pass it up. There was a little bit of blood on it but he reminded himself to wash it off in the next video stream he came across. He also took great pains to find the lead bandit’s scimitar, as he knew few things were sharper than an older sister’s tooth, and sheathed it very carefully, strapping it to his hip.
Having survived the craziest of circumstances and seen Ceiling Cat and survived, the Rofl Kid saved his game before anything else could happen, and then drifted off to sleep on a down bed of harpy corpses. The online world was his oyster. He’d be out of the Altavista mountains soon and he was fairly certain he wouldn’t run into any further trouble whilst being their guest. He kept his rofls to himself, though, lest he call down something even more frightening. Something like the Rage of Stephen Thrasher. Best not to think of such things, though. Best to sleep. He moved a talon so it wasn’t sticking into his back and drifted off to sleep.
To Be Continued