Achieving it

Mine brethren, I will share with thee mine story. For the great length of this manuscript, I have divided it into seven segments. I hope it will prove a pleasant read, and I would like to hear thine stories as well.

>be a scrawny serf-mode lad, the fourth borne scion of a minor lord
>mine father passeth away, and mine brother Chadrick inherits the fief
>the wicked man he is, he driveth me out of mine home
>I wander around, but no man takes me under his roofe
>soon I must resort to begging, for I cannot otherwise feed mineself as a vagabond
>one rainy night I curle up beneath a great oaken tree, mine belly empty and mine bones shivering from the colde
>“Lord, I can withstand no longer; take mine soul and deliver me from this torment”, I invoke
>as I fall asleep, I am certain that never shall I wake again
>nonetheless, I doth, albeit I am feverish
>I am lying in a wagon, this much I can fathom
>I attempt to rise up, but a strong hand gently presses me down
>in a deep, gruff voice I hear: “Thou must rest now. Sleep tighte, pupper.”
>when I wake up again, I am lying in bed
>”What is this place?” I inquire
>”Ah, it is most good thou hast woken up”, a man says
>I turn mine head and look upon his face: the man is an olde greybeard sitting in a chair
>”Thou art in the monastery of Gainesborough. Thou were on the gates of death, when brother Robert found thee lying on the side of the road. Fortunately, it seems now thine proper healing is nigh. Tis no wonder; thou hast slept for three days.”
>”Three days?”
>”Aye. What is thine name?”
>”user.”
>the olde man nods, gets up and walketh to the door
>”There is some food and water yonder on the table. Eat and drink, and then rest. Thine training starts in the morrow.”
>”Mine training?” I inquire dumbfounded. “Who are thou?”
>”I am Agrippa, the abbot”, the man says, leaving the room.
>soon after eating the oats and drinking the water on the table, I drift back to a blissful, healing sleep

a quality shitpost for once

Part 2 of 7

>in the morn I am awakened by the voice I heard on the wagon: “Tis time to get up. There art great many tasks to be done today.”
>”Art thou Robert?”
>”Aye. I take it that thou can read.”
>”I can. How did thou know?”
>”Thou hast spoken in thine sleep. Thou can begin thine training by reading this manuscript.”
>he hands me a tome
>”Ye Olde Stickey?”
>”Study it for some time now. Afterwards thou may break thine fast; there is food and drink in the great hall.”
>the broad-shouldered giant leaves
>I begin reading the olde book
>its contents are most strange to me: there are drawings of stout men hoisting poles, dockets of ingredients, some arithmetics, and an illustration of a yellow dragon sprinting with great haste
>after studying the peculiar tome for some time, I leave the room in search of food
>I find mineself in a spacious hall: seated at the tables are men, whom I surmise art the monk brethren of the monastery
>oddly, most of them seem rather robust to be men of the cloth
>I fetch a wooden plate for mineself and fill it with oats
>for Robert is the only man there whomst’ve’ed I met, I go to him
>”What is this strange place?”
>”This is a monastery of the Samsonite order. We have dedicated ourselves to unraveling the mystery of flesh and iron for the glory of God. ‘Hoist, dine, retire, reiterate’; that is our motto.”
>”So ye are monks?”
>”Aye. ‘The Brethren in Brawn, the Guild of Growth’, like our founding father saint Eugenius of Sandow once described us.”
>”Thou art verily welcome so stay”, he says. “Father Agrippa has commanded me to be thine mentor.”
>though I thought the monastery quite peculiar, I had no other place to go
>I decide to stay
>”Goode”, says Robert. “Make sure to refill thine plate, once thou hast eaten. Thou hast to eat starkly to become stark.”
>”After that, go back to reading Ye Olde Stickey. Once the oats hath settled in thine belly, tis time to train.”

>7 segments
>hasn't posted in 5 minutes
>therefore is writing everything out rather than having it all prepared beforehand
Deliver thine self to the gallows, knave

Verily, I have prepared everything beforehand. I am merely leaving some time for reading.

Part 3 of 7

>my bodily training began shortly after the meal
>brother Robert leadeth me outside to a courtyard, where there art many iron poles, round slabs of stone with holes, humongous rocks, wooden scaffolds and other artifacts I had never beheld before
>”The backbone of any hoisting regimen”, sayeth brother Robert, “is the deathheave.”
>he thrusts two stone slabs the ends of one of the poles
>the great ox of a man graspeth the pole with both hands and raises it to his loins with nay effort
>”Thine shift.”
>deusmeus.stainedglasswindow
>how could I ever achieve that feat of strength?
>nevertheless, I grasp the pole and pull with all mine might
>I am able to raise the pole to mine knees, but no further
>I descent the pole back to the ground
>”Thou wilt snappeth thine shite, if thou attempteth to raise the pole with relying so greatly on thine back. Utilise thine legs.”
>I attempt to raise the pole again, and now it reaches mine loins, albeit with great effort
>”Excellent. Now put it down and raise it up once again.”
>I attempt to do so, but the pole will not move above mine knees.
>”Dost thou even hoist?” brother Robert yells
>”In the morrow thou wilt carry out two repeats”, he sayeth sternly
>After a while of teaching me he says: ”Let us move on to the cleane & jerke, but with merely the pole.”
>brother Robert heaves the pole to his chest
>from there, he presseth it over his pate
>fortunately, I am able to do the same
>after that he tells me a little more about the cleane & jerke, and remarks some of the mistakes I made
>when he had decided I was done for the day, he leadeth me to a bathhouse
>some man is already there cleansing himself
>he is in the nude
>his legs are like Boaz and Jachin, his back like a colossal heater shield of meat, and the width of his chest is like that of a bear
>”Ecce homo (no homo)” brother Roberts sayeth
>”One day, thou, too, wilt be as large as brother Aldwin”, he promises

Part 4 of 7

>the following weeks and months are filled with hard labour, as brother Robert trains me mercilessly
>he teacheth me the secrets of the deathheave, the back-lying pole thrust, and the squatte
>every morn he takes to the courtyard, where I upthrust and raise burdensome weights in all ways imaginable, from curles to upheavals
>mine members ache every day, but in some queer way I begin to take a delight in it
>I take notice that as mine might grows, so do mine arms, legs and torso
>I become grander by the day
>when I am not hoisting or partaking in muscle lengthening drills that aid recovery, I am studying
>the monastery has a vast library, where I spend hours on time
>brother Robert presents to me books fitting for a novice, such as the works of Marcus of Rippeshire and saint Scoobius
>mine knowledge grows concurrently with mine strength, and so does mine hunger
>never before have a I eaten as much: oats, venison, eggs, cabbage...
>following the advice of the ancient master, I begin drinking a congius of milk a day
>before going to the bathhouse after hoisting, I commonly head to the barn, where I lay under a cow and clench the milk from its udders straight to mine mouth
>the floor of the barn is covered in cow shite, but I doth have to obtain protons and other nutrients forthwith after hoisting, for this ensures the greatest growth, as I have learned
>”If ye suffer no pain, nothing shall ye gaine”, I telleth mineself, as I lay in foul cow shite
>as time passeth on, I learn motions I had never envisioned before, as brother Robert teacheth them to me
>I master the cranial shatterers, begin hoisting the stones of Atlas, and struggle with the serf’s strides until mine palms nearly bleed
>brother Robert allows me to begin training alone, for he takes notice that I have understood the bedrock of the burdensome worship we give the Lord, the Granter of Gaines

Nice

Part 5 of 7

>as time passeth, I begin delving deeper and deeper into the secrets of our ancient order by studying books not many deem worthy of reading
>some of the tomes are naught but tales with little to nay truth to them
>these include the story of a man who trained his arms for eight sequential years with nay rest or sleep, and a fable of the gaines goblin who deceived Lennifer the Golem
>some of the books, however, hold secrets from time immemorial
>exempli gratia, I read about the dwarf Alexandros Leonidas, who was deemed a heretic by the great Samsonite conclave Anno Domini 463 for his unorthodox teachings
>I also expand my research beyond the Christendom: I learn of al-Zyzzi, the saracen, who perished due to the unearthly potions he ingested in his quest for heavenly gracefulness, and the Abyssinian twin scholars, Hod and Gdet
>some of the books are little more than ramblings of madmen, like the nebulous quires of the esoteric Elio de Hulsa
>there are even those, who would have men ingest their own seed, for a “oikonomia protónio autarkēs”, or to behold statues of voluptuous women for hours at a time in order to affect the workings of a certain humor in the body
>be it as it may, I gain wisdom from these texts, and the growth they help create is considerable
>mine body has changed a great deal after I arrived in Gainesborough: now I can with ease overhead deathheave what I originally could barely deathheave in the traditional manner

Part 6 of 7

>one day, as I am in the library reading a tractate about driving with one’s loins, I am astonished to hear a female voice speak
>”I beg thine pardon, brother, but could thou help me?”
>as I turn, I see the fairest maiden I have ever beheld; she is verily an X/X
>she has wide hips for childbearing and a bosom that could feed two calves
>”A-art thou a blacksmith? For I have a lengthy spear for thee to sharpen”, I utter without thinking
>”A blacksmith? Art thou jesting with me?”, she says with a bright smile
>”N-nay.”
>”I was sent here by abbess Mary to lend some books. Could thou be bothered to help me find them?”
>”Yes, of course, I would be honored to. Abbess Mary… thou comest from London?”
>”Tis true, from the Halewood monastery.”
>”Thou art one of the Swole Sisters?”
>”I am still a novice, but yes.”
>”So am I”, I tell her
>”I see.”
>”I am user.”
>”I am Marigold.”
>”What books did thou require?”
>”Katharsis Bioenérgeia, Asporto Indominitus, The Genovian Account, and Tractatus Manleticus.”
>”All of them are verily intriguing works.”
>”Hast thou read them?”
>”I have.”
>I can sense her undergarment wettening
>after I have helped her find the books, I say to her: “I am heading to the training court. Wouldst thou want to see it?”
>”With pleasure. I have only ever seen the one in Halewood.”
>as we arrive there, I remove mine habit, so that I only have mine breeches on
>I can see her eyes avariciously gorging on mine chiselled body and its sinews
>”Mine habit would get it the way”, I say nonchalantly, as I lay down on the wooden bench
>I begin thrusting the pole and adding stones after every series of repeats
>finally there art five stone slabs on both ends of the pole
>”Brother, art thou sure thou can thrust it?” Marigold asketh with worry
>”I am, but come here and spotte me.”