I am Lastonio of Vallengard, but I will answer to “lasty”. Always lower-case. I was born thousands of days ago, the fourth of nine children in my litter and one of only two uneaten by predators, on the high seas during a squall. No boat, just floating out there. Thunder roared, but not nearly as loud as my mother as she birthed me into this world. Nor as loud as my father, because my mother was squeezing his hand really, really hard. I hurt them both, but am remorseful about only one.
In my early days, I would wander the world. Of course, I thought that only entailed my backyard and the park behind it. They were very early days, as such I was quite stupid. And what I explored, I conquered. The jungle gym was mine and the swing set soon followed. A would-be usurper, a bright-eyed idealist called Marshall, as I recall, rose up to challenge my authority. But no amount of being called a poop-face could topple my regime. Following his insurrection, I sent a sympathy basket containing flowers, candies and Marshall’s nose to his mother.
High school saw me train hard, not to conquer lands but the universe within myself. I sought the mountains to meditate on existence and its antithesis. But I lived on the plains and so settled for the top of an apartment building who didn’t bother to lock their roof access. It was there that I discovered that it was cold that day and went home to play Mario Kart. And its antithesis.
In college, I decided college was lame and dropped out of college. This granted me freedom of time, which I spent working at Arby’s. While still amassing a large debt, somehow.
At age 27, I began my brutal training under harsh conditions in order to hone my body and soul. All in preparation to defend the world against the demon king who shall one day rise to devour the guts of all the good children. The duel will be the fifth hardest of my life. Please, Gods, may I be equal to the challenge.
Plus, I peed in my high school’s auditorium. Off the balcony into the lower seats, it was hilarious.
In my 30’s, I struggled with my research to discover a method by which I could transform the then-useless force of gravity into cheap fuel for automobiles, or “cars”, as they’re known to some. I also studied how to transform into a Super Saiyan. To date, both goals remain elusive.
When I was 52, I lost my father to a drunken UPS driver. In a poker game.
At age 68, I spent the entire year eagerly awaiting my next birthday. I did the same for age 70.
At 73, I challenged Death Itself to a game of chess, which I won easily. It turns out that millions of years of committing serial reap leaves little time to learn board games.
At 72, I figured out how to de-age by a year, but only once.
Age 79, I first saw My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. By far, the hardest I ever came.
At 86, the magic fairy Vulriel appeared before me, her beauty so radiant, I feared my eyes would burn out. And her hotness so hot, my pants would be torn asunder by my boner. She bestowed upon me the gift of a spell, which would bind the winds themselves to my wishes. I need only pull her finger, she said, and hot winds would blow.
At 111, I bade farewell to my horrible, gossiping, judgmental neighbors and left my house with the lawn on top.
At 138, I totally touched a boob, for real, it was super-rad. She was all about it, too. You don’t know the girl, though, so don’t ask her about it. Even though it way happened.
Now, as I approach middle-age, I come here to share in the wonders of controversial horsies with all of you.