Page 35 of 50 FirstFirst ... 25333435363745 ... LastLast
Results 1,361 to 1,400 of 2000

Thread: The Never-ending Story Thread˛

  1. #1361
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post Previously on the NeS


    Before we return to our irregularly-scheduled story, here is a quick summary of what is happening in the NeS - the Never-ending Story thread - for the new and old alike.

    Our would-be-heroes continue to give chase to Knowsoul, back down the seductively-nostalgic Memory Lane, attempting to thwart him before he can reach the story's source and consume the very soul of the Never-ending Story. A number of obstacles already appear in their early progress, resulting in Gebohq, Young, and The Last True Evil missing from the band of hero-types. However, Losien also gains the questionable assistance of Soriel, Maeve, and The Otter. Thusfar, their journey appears about an eighth completed, and they still have a long way to go before they can hope to succeed...

    Knowsoul: Once two powerful forces of their own - the Legion-like spectre known as the Darkside and a Grim Reaper-esque construct known as Tsolo, the Avatar of Loss - have now become a soul-devouring amalgamation. Their singular desire now is to consume the forgotten spirit of the NeS itself, bringing an end to the never-ending story-world.

    Michael MacFarlane: A Twice-Forgotten character and Knowsoul's second-in-command, Michael is a former NeS hero turned shade of his former self. Currently, he hides in the shadows, in service of Knowsoul, with the first part of his plan to kidnap The Last True Evil already accomplished.

    Losien Simon: She is now the main character and leader of the NeS would-be-heroes, a role which she is just now becoming accustomed to acting in confidence. Extremely beautiful yet severely lacking in self-esteem. By the tropes that are natural law in the story-world of the NeS, all hope of success relies on her. She aims to not let down either her brother and former main character, Gebohq, or her fiancee, The Last True Evil, neither of which are around to help her. She is accompanied by Soriel's lustful blade, Fred, and his equally lustful cape, Carletta, both of whom only she can hear.

    The Last True Evil: Destined as the Ultimate Villain of the NeS, the former Soviet spy seems to be flying in the face of fate. Now Losien's fiancee and father-figure to Amal, TLTE fights for the possibly-futile hope of his redemption. Resourceful and a Romantic in his own harsh way, though currently held captive by Knowsoul's second-in-command, Michael MacFarlane.

    Al Ciao: A former powerplayer who struggles now with his imposed role as ruler of Hell. Normally, by turns, zany and melodramatic, Al now faces a dilemma: help his friends save existence once more or embrace his selfish power and antagonize all who would stand in his way. If nothing else, having his body riddled with bullet-holes doesn't do much for his image.

    Rachel Pi: Incarnation of April Fools and a servant of the NeS, Rachel is both fated as Gebohq's true love and keeper of conflict within the NeS. Rachel is currently continuing to challenge the authority of Losien, both to test that Losien is strong enough to succeed in the quest and to fulfill her own selfish desire to see Losien fail for having taken Gebohq's place in his former role and his heart.

    Amal: Once "raised" in solitude by Master Thand, Amal had only the company of books provided by Thand until found and adopted by TLTE. Since then, Amal has quickly grown up into a wise and discerning young man under TLTE's tutelage, promising to become a hero the likes of which would surpass Losien and Gebohq. Amal aims to do all he can for his current caretaker, Losien, as well as keep an eye on the likes of Master Thand and Al Ciao.

    Soriel: A no-nonsense, bloodthirsty swordsman, currently wounded by Knowsoul in their previous encounter. Soriel tags along mostly in hopes of satiating his hunger for battle and securing his existence as a living character (since villains have difficulty living).

    The Otter: A half-posh, half-punk, all-drunk British NeS veteran, the Otter seems to be around only because he is too drunk to take himself anywhere else for the time being.

    Maevie: An old college friend of some of the NeS veterans, she can relate to the Otter with both her British heritage and her drinking. However, she normally selects not to relate to the Otter when she can help it. She seems to stick around so that she doesn't become a Forgotten character once again.

    Master Thand: An sagely scholar, Thand is secretly the First Man of the NeS mythology. Unparalleled in his wisdom and knowledge, he is both aloof and altrustic. His agenda is mysterious, having both helped and hindered the would-be-heroes in the past. His presumed current goal is to ensure that Knowsoul does not succeed and to study the problematic protagonists.

    And now, before stepping back to our irregularly-scheduled story, an interlude with vikings and Swedish bikini-clad babes.
    Last edited by Gebohq; 05-21-2012 at 10:11 PM.

  2. #1362
    Tea-sipper, character-killer
    Back in the Scandinavian Mountains the Swedish Bikini Squad are finishing up their dance routine, including Krig the Viking, when one of them glances up to the mountain peaks again.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Ingrid: Hey, girls. Where did that strange pervert go from the mountain top? He was a regular for days now.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Tilda: You mean Benedict Cumberlatch? He's a British Agent, I checked him out on our Super Computer; Mr Jones.

    Krig: Mr... Jones?

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Tilda: It's our super high-tech computer we keep inside the HQ.

    Krig: Why do naked women need that?

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Tilda: Didn't you know, Krig? We're not only super hot, scantily-clad, Swedish babes; we're also super-secret-agents.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Ingrid: That's why we're a squad... and not a troupe. Or something.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Tilda: Okay girls. We've got trouble.

    Every one of the Swedish Bikini Squad, save Krig, whip out long, silver pistols apparently from nowhere (you'd know if they'd been hiding in their swimsuits) and pose for dramatic effect.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Tilda: We have a man down. We know he's a British Agent that was, until recently, spying on us. I'm sure he's here for something else but if his mission went well, he'd have been back to gaze on our beautiful bodies just one more time before heading home. He hasn't returned.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Eva: Sure he's not gay?

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Ingrid: If he'd been gay he would have come down to join us and make comments about how well our bikini colours match our hair-styles.

    Krig: Krig not sure he like such stereotyping.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Ingrid: It's okay, Krig, we're all stereotypes in this group. Stereotypically super-hot babes.

    Krig: Right...

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Tilda: So form up, girls! We're off to save a hot dude from certain danger, bring him back to our Amazonian-like camp and get laid.

    Krig: Krig man too, you know?

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Tilda: Krig, you don't count. You're one of us!

    Krig: ... but Krig not want to be laid by Cumberlatch.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Tilda: No one will force you, Krig, it's your choice who you lie with... but you never know, you might like it! We all do!

    Swedish Bikini Squad: YEAH! LET'S GO!

    And so the Swedish Bikini Squad march up the mountainside, along with Krig the Viking still in his own bikini... complete with his manly, manly chest hair protruding from his thin, pink bra. Fortunately the women couldn't convince the little vikinger to wear a thong, he complained it was uncomfortable because of the hair...


    Al Ciao the Writer: ARGH! MY EYES!!!

    Gebohq the Writer throws himself from a window in horror.


    The group finally reach the level surface where they believed the AWOL Benedict Cumberlatch was last headed. Swedish Bikini Squad member, Tilda, whips out a tricorder.

    Krig: Wow. Fancy bleepy thing.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Tilda: Standard issue for any secret agent these days, Kriggy.

    Krig: Krig not like Kriggy.

    Swedish Bikini Squad - Eva: Awww, but it's so cute just like you!!

    Swedish Bikini Squad member Eva begins to ruffle Krig's beard. In response Krig purrs and his leg begins to twitch with excitement. Unfortunately it is this momentary distraction that leads to the downfall of the Swedish Bikini Squad. Cords whip out of nowhere and bind our now helpless ladies. Before it all gets a bit too Japanese Krig manages to make a run for it as he leaps over a snapping tendril. His axe, which he had been carrying all along, comes down on one of the fearsome toasters and renders it in twain.

    Krig: Krig like to smash!

    He targets the next toaster but suddenly sees a familiar face.

    Krig: WooWoo!

    Voodoo Snowflakes: It's pronounced Voo-Doo.

    Krig: That what Krig said!

    Voodoo Snowflakes: Good to see some things never change...

    Voodoo Snowflakes twitches a little and then her expression becomes darker.

    Voodoo Snowflakes: I'm sorry Krig...

    Krig: Woowoo not worry. Krig don't mind corrections som- ouch...

    Krig looks down at the massive knife jutting out from his bare chest. He falls to his knees and then... he blacks out.


    Al Ciao the Writer: First you remove Gebohq from the main cast, then TLTE, then Young and now you've killed Krig the Viking? Are you trying to remove all of the older characters or what?

    Britt the Writer: I brought The Otter back?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Great. Just the guy we all needed...

    Britt the Writer: Your sarcasm aside, I'm not done yet. This is just an interlude.

    Al Ciao the Writer: I wondered why I thought I heard lift music.

    Britt the Writer: Generally, most people would ask why they can hear lift music. Not muse over it by themselves.

    Al Ciao: It's okay, I just thought I was going crazy. That's all.

    Britt the Writer: That's all?


    There is a rush of colour that was once known as the Bifrost Bridge and then a new world solidified around Krig the Viking. He looks around him and instantly recognises a viking longhouse before him. He is in Valhalla. Or at least he would be if it was available, instead the Norse gods and dead vikings had taken up residence on a part of Mount Olympus.

    Krig: Krig... dead?

    Voice: SON!

    Running from the longhouse is Krog the Viking, father of Krig. He looks very similar to his son except he's much more grey. He runs straight towards Krig with a happy grin on his face... and a massive hammer in his hands which he promptly brings down to crush his son's skull.

    Krig leaps to one side to avoid the warmth of his father's hammer's embrace. Krig lifts his own axe in preparation for another attack from his legendary father.

    But it doesn't come. Krog looks Krig up and down.

    Krog: Krog not understand why son wears... little rags.

    Krig looks down at his bikini.

    Krig: Krig feel shame...

  3. #1363
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post Mild Convergence

    Also set against a snowy backdrop TLTE and The Illusionist are wondering why they were stood outside the bunker freezing their bollocks off.

    TLTE & The Illusionist:

    Not literally...

    The Illusionist (as CM): Thank God I'm a woman!

    TLTE: You are?

    The Illusionist (as CM): Sometimes...

    TLTE: ...

    Having completely forgotten Michael McFarlane thanks to his forgotten powers-

    TLTE: Wait, what?

    Nothing. Stop listening to me and pay attention to what you're doing in the story. Nosy... Anyway, the only clue that TLTE has is scrawled upon his wrist.

    TLTE: My wrist? Oh yes, Michael... Why's that there?

    The Illusionist leans over and peers at TLTE's skin.

    The Illusionist (as CM): No idea. I didn't write it.

    TLTE: I think... I think I must have.

    The Illusionist (as CM): You don't remember? How do you know it was you?

    TLTE: It's in my handwriting. Maybe I wrote it ages ago and just forgot?

    The Illusionist (as CM): Ew, when did you last get a shower?

    TLTE: In the Siberian Wastes we showered in the snow.

    The Illusionist (as CM): Not sure that answered my question. But you're evil so... whatever, boss. Where are we going?

    TLTE: The Eighth Dimension!!

    The Illusionist (as CM): And how the heck do we get there again?

    TLTE: I've forgotten.

    The Illusionist (as CM): Hold on a tick, wasn't I kidnapping you again? I revolted against your tyranny! I'm running the show!

    TLTE: Where to then, boss?

    The Illusionist (as CM): Where was the NeS Hero base again?

    TLTE: The Eighth Dimension.

    The Illusionist (as CM): Oh right... Well... we'll go... this way!

    The Illusionist grabs TLTE by the damsel-grab-zone-


    Stop being so crude.


    Gebohq the Writer: Every post, Britt. Every post. TLTE isn't even crude like that!

    Britt the Writer:

    Gebohq the Writer:
    What the Hell?


    The Illusionist, bored of being disguised as Cool Matty, transforms his appearance to that of a woman wearing thick Winter furs for trekking across the snow-laden landscape.

    TLTE: Where're my furs?

    The Illusionist (as Sexy Fur-Clad Russian): In your other suitcase?

    TLTE: That's an attractive disguise you have there. If I weren't with Losien you'd be just my type... uh, and the fact that you're secretly a man, I guess.

    The Illusionist: How do you know this isn't my true form?

    TLTE: Is it?

    The Illusionist: No.

    TLTE: Right then.

    Suddenly they hear a loud scream of a woman from over the ridge. TLTE, his acquired Hero Senses propels him into action whilst The Illusionist, void of any such heroic duties, simply chases after him complaining the whole way.

    When they reach the top of the ridge they discover that they are close to the peak of a tall mountain over-looking a broad landscape below them.

    The Illusionist: You'd have thought we'd notice we were on a dirty great big mountain, wouldn't you?
    TLTE: Down there!

    Below them they could see a group of women entangled by the black cords of evil, shiny toasters that TLTE knew to be future robot appliances sent back in time to destroy the NeS Heroes of the past. In the middle he could just make out a shimmering portal, using his highly trained snow-vision, a figure leading the toasters and one stout and very hairy man in a bikini.

    TLTE: I think... that's Krig lying in the snow... in a bikini...

    Then TLTE spots the blood spatter coming from the unfortunate Krig.

    TLTE: No!

    TLTE leaps into action as he charges down the last of the mountainside and pulls his pistols on the toasters with righteous Russian fury...

    The Illusionist: ... I'm not with him, Mr Toaster People! Just to be clear when you finish him off and think I'm his friend! I'm not! Never will be!

  4. #1364
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    In the chessboard realm of l33t, Bhac and Mayaal, the twin souls of conflict for the NeS, converse.

    Bhac: We're conversing now?

    Mayaal: Better than playing poker, like Al Ciao the Writer always has us doing.

    Bhac: Well, if we're gonna converse, maybe we oughta do something constructive, like furthering conflict in the NeS.

    Mayaal: I would disagree with you, just to cause conflict, but since we're typically forgotten, our conflicts don't seem to matter. Perhaps if we can get some conflicts going with the current party of heroes?

    Bhac: NEVER! --sorry, reflex reaction. Yeah, let's take a peek on them and pull some strings...


    In response to Fred's oh-so-pervy comment as she grasps the hilt--

    Losien: Now don't you start!

    Hey, I was just describing the physical action you were--

    Losien: Stop already! Now Fred, settle down.

    Carly: Aw, c'mon, honey, let him have his fun. I'm actually having fun too... You have some sexay buns!

    Losien grabs a pinch of the violet cloak between a dainty thumb and forefinger.

    Losien: Carly... I'm mean with a sewing needle. I know all kinds of things about knitting. For instance, if I pulled right here, and just so, I think you'd unravel entirely.

    Carly: No! Don't! Please! Anything!

    Losien: Then quiet down, and no pervy comments!

    Fred: Thatta girl! Put the woman in her place! Back in the kitchen!

    Losien: And YOU, Frederick T. U. Blade! Your blade would still be jagged and just as deadly if I were to "castrate" you.

    Fred goes silent out of sheer terror. Losien nods in satisfaction, then notices that the other heroes are staring at her.

    Al: Wow.

    Otter: That was HOT.

    Maeve: Oy! Los, maybe you've got some dom instincts going on too. Just like Rachel does with Al.

    Rachel: For the last time, I am NOT attracted to Al!

    Amal: Methinks the lady doth protest too much.

    Rachel: Look, just 'cause he's got some sexy buns--

    Losien: You think so, too?

    Rachel and Losien suddenly go quiet, realizing what they've each said. Al is staring goggle-eyed at the both of them.

    Amal: Uh-uh, Al. Don't even think it. Losien is in love with Uncle Tee El Tee Ee.

    Al: I didn't say anything! It's these two that are fighting over me!

    Simultaneously, Losien and Rachel thwack Al upside the head - Rachel with her signature frying pan, Losien with the flat of Fred's blade. Maeve and Otter pull up lawn chairs and break out the popcorn.

    Maeve: And the booze! Don't forget the boose.

    Yeah, with you two, that kinda goes without saying.

    Rachel: You hussy! You think I'm not good enough for Geb, while you're lusting after your fiance's best friend!

    Losien: You whore! You're just leading Geb along, while cozying up to Al here!

    Otter remembers something that should have been an obvious signpost of Rachel's attraction to Al, and the memory forms out of gray fog into...

    Quote Originally Posted by Page 84, Post #1355
    Rachel: Hands off him, Maeve!

    Al: Aw, thanks, Rachel. Didn't know you cared.

    Rachel: Of course I do, sexy. It's MY job to smack you around.


    Rachel, outfitted in black leather and gratuitous spikes, whips Al with a cat-o'-nine-tails, sending him into a frenzy. The other heroes, sans the highly distracted Al, stare at her now.

    Rachel: Hehehe... I may have overdone it just a tad... but he and I both love it.
    Rachel: That is NOT how it happened, Otter!

    Maeve: Yeah, what did I tell you about tampering with memories?

    Otter: Aw, c'mon, Maeve. Don't tell me you didn't think Rachel looked shmexy in that dominatrix getup?

    Maeve considers.

    Maeve: Well, she did look pretty badass sexy. And I'm determined not to be just the Maybe-Expy, so I'll stop berating you. In fact, I think I can remember a time when Losien hit on Al...

    Losien: Hey!

    (walking out of White Castle)

    Al Ciao: "Well, I had fun."

    Los: "Me too."

    Al: "We should get together again sometime and do something different. Do you like bowling?"

    Los: "I love bowling! I haven't been in so long though. That would be a lot of fun."

    Al: "Ok, how about tomorrow?"

    Los: (thinks to herself) "Tomorrow is great. I have nothing else planned."

    Al: "OK, great. I'll pick you up at 3:00 PM."

    Los: "Oh, that's so awesome how you can tell what I was thinking even though I didn't answer verbally! We're totally in tune!"

    Al: "So now where to?"

    Los: "Well, I don't really have anything to do."

    Al: "Me either. Would you like to come over? We could play a game or something. Anything but Candyland."

    Los: (laughs with a sultry flare) "OK..sounds like fun."

    (At Al's Love Pad)

    Al: "Have a seat. Make yourself at home."

    Los: "I think I'll sit on the bed." (gives Al Ciao a come-hither look)

    Al: "Would you like something to drink?"

    Los: "How about... Sex on the Beach?" (winks naughtily at Al) "Even if it's without the Beach, that's okay."

    Al: "Are you sure?"

    Los: "Yes."

    (Al walks into another room and comes out with a martini and a few different board games)

    Al: "Well, we have 'Trouble', 'Life', and 'Battleship'. Which would you like to play?"

    Los: "I think we should play 'Twister' - if you know what I mean."

    Al: "OK, sounds like fun!"
    The heroes stare at Maeve, slackjawed, as her re-remembered memory fades.

    Otter: Oy! You replaced ME with Al!

    Maeve puts on a simperingly sweet smile.

    Maeve: You were the one who said to think of Al and Losien.

    Otter: But not at MY expense!

    Rachel and Losien are no longer paying attention to them, but have each clutched a separate arm of Al's, and are by turns tugging him away from each other.

    Losien: I'll beat 'im up! That'll show you how much I'm NOT attracted to his buns!

    Rachel: Nope, I'll be the one to flog his backside! Then you'll never stare at them again!

    Al has a weird twisted expression on his face, like he's not certain whether he should be utterly delighted or terrified out of his mind.

    Amal: I'd go with terrified, Al.


    In the chessboard realm of 133t, Bhac and Mayaal survey their work.

    Bhac: Well, that went off rather nicely. Just a couple very light nudges to their emotions.

    Mayaal: Oyah. Conflict on so many levels here. Rachel's newly written-in desire for him - hinted at by a joke in Britt the Writer's earlier post on page 34 - warring with her hatred of his powerplaying. Losien and she are now not only at war over Geb, but at war over Al.

    Bhac: A stroke of brilliance. Perhaps, though, we should let the animate artifacts speak again. If they remain silent, that eliminates a big source of conflict.

    Mayaal: And entertainment. You're right.


    In the Massassi writers' offices, Al Ciao the Writer is desperately defending his latest post to Geb and Britt the Writers.

    Al Ciao the Writer: I laid it all right there with Bhac and Mayaal! It promotes conflict on many different levels!

    Geb the Writer: What have I told you about expositions, anyway?! Besides, it's obviously a Mary Sue ploy!

    Al Ciao the Writer: But he's not using any powers at all!

    Geb the Writer: Sure. Instead you're just making him the center of this whole party conflict! Inserting your author avatar into the story and breaking canon romances - just like a Sue!

    Al Ciao the Writer: It had to be Al! Cuz Rachel already has that love/hate element with him, so it spools out naturally from that! And Britt the Writer is the one who first alluded to a possible attraction! Besides, who else are they going to fight over? Otter?

    Geb the Writer: Al--

    Britt the Writer: No, I think Al's right.

    Geb and Al the Writers turn to stare at Britt the Writer's unexpected comment.

    Geb the Writer: You do?

    Britt the Writer: Yes. It's obviously a metafictional jab at his own former Sueness by inverting his typical paradigm of powerplaying as sheer potency into the third wheel of two misaligned love triangles!

    Geb and Al the Writers blink slowly. Britt the Writer's words came too fast, and too fancy, for them to comprehend. Finally, Geb the Writer, not wanting to appear ignorant, simply nods.

    Geb the Writer: Well said, Britt. Okay, Al, you've got a reprieve... for now.

    Al Ciao the Writer gulps as Geb the Writer leaves, then he turns to Britt the Writer.

    Al Ciao the Writer: That was fantastic, Britt! Thanks!

    Britt the Writer: Just you wait until you hear my price...

    Al Ciao the Writer:
    Last edited by Al Ciao; 05-22-2012 at 08:10 AM.

  5. #1365
    Tea-sipper, character-killer


    Britt the Writer: Besides, I know you're not powergaming through Highemp/Al Ciao, you're powergaming through all those other super-uber fellas you keep on making.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Moi?


    The meeting of the ridiculously uber forces in the Multiverse has drawn to its conclusion-

    Serapharch: It has?

    CharacterGod: Well, Master Thand has returned to the NeSiverse so I suppose it must be.

    The Ridiculously Uber shuffle off, or they would if they had corporeal bodies instead of being meta-physical... things. Except the CensorGod.

    CensorGod: The fools just don't take me seriously. They do not value the beauty of copyright laws! But little do they realise how even I can use Writers' panchant for epicness against them. Krig the Ace Attorney was the only thing standing between me and the copyright laws being imposed!

    HorseGod: Uh... are you talking to me?

    CensorGod: What? No! Uh... I mean yes. Of course I was. I wouldn't go through such a blatant piece of exposition unless someone was with me at the time!

    HorseGod: Right... I guess I'll just trot off now then...

    CensorGod: ...

    HorseGod: Geddit? Trot? Like... a horse but also like... to leave?

    CensorGod: I could impose censorship on truly awful jokes...

    The HorseGod grumbles as he [idiot Narrator] off- Hey! I'm just describing it like it is!


    Back in the Writers' Offices again, Al Ciao the Writer and Britt the Writer are once again demonstrating why it is even the strongest beings in the Multiverse FEAR them!

    Al Ciao the Writer: GOAL!

    Britt the Writer: Okay, my turn!

    Britt the Writer flips a coin over Al Ciao the Writer's hand-made (literally) goal posts.

    Britt the Writer: Oh yes!

    Al Ciao the Writer flips the coin towards Britt the Writer's finger-goal posts but winds up shooting it wide.

    Okay, so any minute now they will do this demonstration of their awesomeness.

    Britt the Writer: Hey Al, can you roll your tongue? I know some people can't.

    Any minute...

    Al Ciao the Writer: Oh! We should totally try to do hand-stands against the door of Geb's office and whoever he opens the door on is the loser!

    Britt the Writer: That is the BEST idea EVER!

    They go off to play "piss Gebohq the Writer" off. Seriously, these are the two the Ridiculously Ubers are scared of?

    Suddenly someone bursts into the Massassi Offices.

    CensorGod: WRITERS!!!

    Al Ciao the Writer tumbles to the floor as Gebohq the Writer bursts from his office at the sound of trouble in his kingdom.

    Britt the Writer: HA! I win!

    Al Ciao the Writer: That's so not fair. You had outside help!

    CensorGod: Are you two finished?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Was that a threat?

    CensorGod: No. I was just asking if you'd finished being idiots. This, however, is a threat!

    The CensorGod whips out a document with the large letters printed upon it reading "CEASE AND DESIST". Gebohq the Writer grabs the document and stares at it for a long moment. He slowly raises his head and stares at the CensorGod with wild eyes.

    Gebohq the Writer: What is this?

    CensorGod: My triumph. I'm glad you are suitably afraid!

    Gebohq the Writer: Uh, no I was being serious. What is this? I can't read it.

    CensorGod: What? You're a Writer for the NeS and you can't read?

    Gebohq the Writer: Honestly that wouldn't stop most, but no I meant I can't read this. I have selective reading to things I find offensive.

    Britt the Writer: Then why are you always shouting at us for things we write in the NeS?

    Gebohq the Writer: Because I love the NeS more than life itself.

    Al Ciao & Britt the Writers: ... ... ... ...

    CensorGod: Then it brings me great pleasure to break your heart, Writer. This is warning over the copyright infringements you frequently use in your NeSing.

    Britt the Writer: Did he just use NeS as a verb?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Probably British. Crazy foreigners with their alien languages.

    Britt the Writer: ... I would reuse the smilie from earlier but repeating a gag is so beneath me...

    Al Ciao the Writer: I like spinach-flavoured jam.

    Britt the Writer: ...

    Al Ciao the Writer: HA!

    Britt the Writer: Fuq.

    Gebohq the Writer: Why is it I'm left with just you pair? Why couldn't I have at least one other, more sensible, Writer left?

    Britt the Writer: You'd eat those words if we managed to bring back... uh... um...

    Al Ciao the Writer: Um... hum...

    Britt the Writer: No... I can't think of anyone crazier than Al...

    Al Ciao the Writer: Hey, don't you mean you?

    Britt the Writer: Yes, you are right. I did mean you. Hahaha.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Fuq.

    CensorGod: I'm still here, you know? With my terrible threat.

    Gebohq the Writer: Yes, yes, yes. Fine. No more Star Wars gags.

    Al Ciao & Britt the Writers: Awwww .

    CensorGod: You do know everything in the NeS is founded upon Star Wars, right? So really, what this means, is ... no more NeSing.

    Britt the Writer: NeSing?

    CensorGod: NeS writing!

    Gebohq the Writer:

    Al Ciao & Britt the Writers: Yaaaaaaaaay! Holiday!

    Gebohq the Writer: No! You cannot do this!

    CensorGod: Good, then I shall see you in court! And with no Krig the Ace Attorney to stop me... you're doomed!

    CensorGod disappears, his physical body being a simple manifestation to comfort the mortal eyes of the Writers.

    Gebohq the Writer: Why is their no Krig?

    Britt the Writer: Uh...

    Al Ciao the Writer: Um... well... it's more his fault than mine.

    Britt the Writer: Hey, I was just completing your sub-plot.

  6. #1366
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    Geb the Writer has his head in his hands. His tired, frustrated words are muffled, but nonetheless ring clear.

    Geb the Writer: You killed Krig the Viking attorney?

    Britt the Writer: Like I said, I was just tying up a loose thread that Al here left dangling.

    Al Ciao the Writer: And I'm glad you did!

    Geb glares at him. The glare is also muffled by his hands. However that works.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Uh, I mean - one post does not a sub plot make, Britt!

    Britt the Writer: Sure it does! You opened a door!

    Al Ciao the Writer: No way! Just because a door's open doesn't mean you charge blindly through it!

    Britt the Writer: Yes, it does! This is the NeS!

    Al Ciao the Writer: No it doesn't!

    Britt the Writer: Yes!

    Al Ciao the Writer: No!

    Britt the Writer: Yes!


    Britt the Writer: Aye! --wait, what?

    As one, the three NeS writers turn to face the newest intruder. Geb's puzzled stare is still muffled.

    Al Ciao the Writer: What is a horse-headed deity doing in my office?

    Britt the Writer: Your office?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Our. I said our.

    HorseGod: I was recycling that Aye/Neigh joke I did way back when in NeShattered.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Oh yeah! That's what I wanted to tell you, Britt. I didn't make up all these Ridiculously Uber people in my last post! They existed beforehand, scattered throughout previous pages! The Eternal Pantheon was on page 1 of NeShattered! You're the one who said all the gods were on Olympus - heck, you even introduced Hero Force One! And the Magium had been long established too!

    Geb the Writer: You did just read the NeS, Britt... how could you miss this?

    Britt the Writer: Um... I didn't miss it...? >.<

    Geb and Al Ciao the Writers stare at him. In a muffled manner.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Oh my WriterGod!

    Geb the Writer: You didn't really read it, did you? All those months saying you couldn't write? You were probably off having tea, or whatever it is you crazy Brits do?

    Al Ciao the Writer: You used an excuse like that slack off! BRILLIANT! I wish I'd thought of it.

    Geb the Writer glares at Al Ciao the Writer. His hands have been removed - from his face, I mean - so this glare is decidedly NOT muffled. Al Ciao the Writer winces.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Erm... I mean, don't ever do that again, Britt, you despicable person!

    HorseGod: Say, could any of you give me directions back to the NeSiverse?

    Britt the Writer: What? You knew how you got here, right?

    HorseGod: Not really. I think I took a wrong left turn somewhere.

    Geb the Writer: Hang on. How are fictional Ridiculously Uber deities that Al made up (p)AGES ago finding their way into the real world?

    Al Ciao the Writer: It's obviously 'cause my mad skillz at writing are Awesome(TM)!

    Britt the Writer: Seriously? You're trademarking awesome?

    Al Ciao the Writer:


    The hapless Swedish Bikini Squad are bound by the cords of the evil Toasters. Obviously Britt the Writer has a fetish for... certain adult anime. They brought through the shimmering time portal Voodoo and the Toasters emerged from, to join Benedict Cumberlatch inside a giant toaster-shaped building, completely with steel chrome plating. Outside, the skies are stereotypically red and smoky, as befits your standard THE-WORLD-HAS-BEEN-TAKEN-OVER! scenario.

    Ingrid: What is this place?

    Benedict Cumberlatch: A better question would be, when is this place? This is the future. Well, a possible future. One in whcih the Toasters have taken over.

    Cumberlatch is notably NOT bound by Toaster cords.

    Eva: Hey, why aren't you bound by Toaster cords.

    Cumberlatch: Because Britt the Writer's fetishes don't involve men. For which I'm thankful.

    Tilda: Well, if you're not bound, perhaps you should make a run for it?

    Cumberlatch brightens, as if he hasn't thought of this before.

    Cumberlatch: Excellent idea! I shall--

    He promptly trips as a straitjacket appears out of nowhere on him.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Sorry 'bout that. I forgot to set all the scene props up earlier.

    Cumberlatch: *grumble* Bloody absentminded chap...

    Ingrid: Oy! Voodoo Snowflakes! I've read your file. You're an NeS hero! Albeit a retired, Forgotten one. Why have you joined the Toastinators?

    Voodoo turns just as she was about to go out the cell door. Conveniently, it has taken her this long to reach the cell door, so that the Swedish Bikini Squad and Cumberlatch could have their conversation.

    Voodoo: Because I love my sister.

    Cumberlatch: Wait, what? There's nothing in your file about you having a sister!

    Voodoo: In your time, I didn't have one. But she visited me from the future - this future. To secure the fact of her existence, I must make the Toaster Apocalypse come true.

    And out she goes, leaving the four agents - one British and male, the other three Swedish and female, all purportedly hot - alone in the cell.

    Eva: On the plus side, now we can get laid by the hot British agent!

    Cumberlatch: Spot on!


    In the relocated Valhalla in the caves of Mount Olympus, Krig is fortunate that his father Krog does not recognize the Swedish bikini as something feminine. Back in the day, Viking women wore no such things! Their sexiness was defined by their prowess with an axe! Or a hammer! Something stereotypically barbaric, anyway. Preferably two-handed. Or three-handed, in the case of the odd mutant child.

    Krog: It is good to see you, my son.

    Krig: Krig not think it good to be dead.

    Krog: Of course it is! Mead and battles, every day! And hot wenches!

    Krig: Krig had hot Swedish wenches when he was alive...

    Krog: Well, don't fret, son! There are a ton of Valkyries who've been awed by your exploits and can't wait to get their hands on you!



    In Switzerland - long ago conquered by the NeS heroes, who then promptly forgot it, save one - the generic Council of Important Persons has convened.

    Colonel Cheesecake, Owner of Swiss Cheese Manufacturies: Our noble leader, Krig the Viking King, is reported dead!

    Captain Chocolate, Owner of Swiss Chocolate Candiers: Alas! He was the best leader our neutral country has ever had!

    Mr. Missy, Owner of Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate: We must rescue him from the land of the dead!

    Mistress Missy, Proprietor of the Other Kind of Swiss Misses: To Valhalla! Send a legion of our best men!

  7. #1367
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post From one Babe Squad to Another Babe Squad

    In the Massassi Offices Britt the Writer is grumbling to himself as he stroms into his own office;

    Britt the Writer: Dare suggest I haven't read the whole damned thing. Swines!

    He picks up the tome that he had reacquired from Gebohq the Writer after a brief tussle in which Britt the Writer had won via use of a lion he had befriended in the jungle.

    Jeff the Lion: Grrr...

    The lions sleeps to- I mean the lion sleeps in the corner of the office. Britt the Writer opens the tome to his current page and his eyes begin to glow;

    Britt the Writer: Paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaage 33. Teeheeeheeeheeeheeeheeeehee! Wait a minute!

    He rushes back out of the office again and yells at Al Ciao the Writer;

    Britt the Writer: Did you just accuse me of enjoying tentacle porn!?

    Al Ciao the Writer is flicking bits of paper at the strange head of the HorseGod, who is currently stranded with the Writers.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Well you did write a lot of toaster related bondage...

    Britt the Writer: How else was I supposed to bind them... with toasters? I was just taking heed from earlier posts involving toasters and... Bokken Monkey... or Sok Munkey... that always confused the Hell out of me. But anyway, what about you and your character's frequent abuses against the Censor?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Eh?

    Britt the Writer: Al Ciao and Mia... in the mech... with the other heroes?

    Al Ciao the Writer: That was more often Liberius than me! I think...

    Britt the Writer: Public exposure. I'm onto you Al!

    After glaring at Al Ciao the Writer for a long moment Britt the Writer scurries back into his office mumbling again about he he had read all of the NeS and no one else remembered that Michael McFarlane returned from the dead... blah blah blah.

    HorseGod: He does like to ramble on.

    Al Ciao the Writer: It's all those tropical diseases he got in the jungle... and because he could only talk to animals.

    Al Ciao the Writer tosses another piece of paper at the HorseGod's head.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Heh heh heh. You're a horse.


    Back in the Scandinavian Mountains TLTE still rushes down the mountainside towards the toaster collective around the temporal plot-hole, despite being forgotten in the previous post.

    Which means when he reaches the bottom the toasters, along with the Swedish babes, have all gone through the portal leaving TLTE alone with the prone figure of Krig the Viking.

    The Illusionist: And me.

    TLTE: I thought you weren't coming down?

    The Illusionist: I saw the toasters leaving so I knew it would be safe.

    TLTE:I am not safe.

    The Illusionist: Uh, if you say so boss.

    TLTE: Help me carry Krig out of here.

    The Illusionist: What about the babes?

    TLTE: I knew you were a man.

    The Illusionist: I could be gay?

    TLTE: Just help me with Krig. I don't care about some Swedish NPCs.

    The Illusionist: Wow, you really are a cold one aren't you?

    The Illusionist transforms into a large burly man, looking suspiciously like Zangeif from Street Fighter, and carries Krig the Viking's body alone.

    The Illusionist: So you're willing to save a dead body but not a few hot babes? You must be gay.

    TLTE: You don't have to do the Russian accent, you know?

    The Illusionist: Part and parcel.

    TLTE: This way. My old friend deserves a proper funeral. One of those burning Viking ones with boats.


    In Switzerland;

    Mr Belch, owner of Swiss Beers: We've had reports about a... dead Viking... or something...

    Colonel Cheesecake, Owner of Swiss Cheese Manufacturies: Are you drunk?

    Mr Belch, owner of Swiss Beers: Of course I am!

    Colonel Cheesecake, Owner of Swiss Cheese Manufacturies: Right... okay...

    Mistress Missy, Proprietor of the Other Kind of Swiss Misses: Send out best men!

    Colonel Cheesecake, Owner of Swiss Cheese Manufacturies: You already said that line.


    A plane circles over the heads of TLTE and The Illusionist.

    TLTE: Trouble.

    They see a small group of para-troopers emerge from the belly of the plane and, with pin-point accuracy, they descend towards TLTE and The Illusionst who have already begun to run across the snowy mountainside to find cover.

    The three para-troopers land and TLTE stares with disbelief. Before them are three 'ladies of the night', appearing as though they'd just come from the set of a stereotypical 18th Century London movie; dresses and petticoats all worn provocatively with worn, though vibrant, colours.

    Swiss Whores Squad - Margrit: We're here for the Viking.

    Swiss Whores Squad - Verena: Hand over our fearless leader!

    TLTE: You do know he's dead, right?

    Swiss Whores Squad - Arjeta: We'll see about that. Our mission is to rescue him from the land of the dead and first we'd need his body.

    Swiss Whores Squad - Verena: I don't think you're supposed to tell everyone our secret missions, Arjeta.

    Swiss Whores Squad - Arjeta: Oops?


    Colonel Cheesecake, Owner of Swiss Cheese Manufacturies: You sent who!?

    Mistress Missy, Proprietor of the Other Kind of Swiss Misses: Who else was I going to send? Besides, that's all we've got. Our country is so neutral we don't even have an army of real soldiers. They're all jus toy soldiers, you know the plastic green ones?

  8. #1368
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    The HorseGod is fleeing from Al Ciao the Writer's bits of paper in sheer terror, being chased around the cubicles.

    HorseGod: Aieeeeeeeeee!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Hahahahahaha! This is so fun!

    HorseGod: Please stop, O feared one! Spare me your wrath!

    Al Ciao the Writer stares at him.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Wrath? I'm just having fun!

    HorseGod: :O Heaven help me when you DO get wrathful!

    Al Ciao the Writer suddenly remembers something!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Oy! Britt! YOU'RE the one who said "tentacle porn", not me. Besides, you said in a post before mine, and I quote...

    Quote Originally Posted by Britt the Writer
    Cords whip out of nowhere and bind our now helpless ladies. Before it all gets a bit too Japanese
    Britt the Writer: Y'know, no matter how good a retort may or may not be, waiting five minutes to come up with it kinda defuses it.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Uh... YOU DIDN'T READ THE WHOLE NeS!

    Britt the Writer: Swine!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Jerk!

    Britt the Writer: Pratt!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Freak!

    Britt the Writer: Welshman!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Corellian!

    Britt the Writer: You wanna piece of me?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Go for it, you homosexual donkey lover!

    Now it is Britt the Writer's turn to receive the HorseGod's horrified stare.

    HorseGod: Oh my Ridiculously Uber gods! You're gonna molest me, aren't you?!

    Britt the Writer: Of course not!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Yeah, he's only into tentacles.

    Britt the Writer: You're asking for it--

    Ohgmorkoth, Supreme God of the Outer Galaxies: Wait, what's this about tentacles?

    He waves his Cthulhu-esque limbs around, looking fearfully at Al Ciao and Britt the Writers.

    Geb the Writer: Okay, seriously, this migration from NeS to Massassi has got to stop.

    Ohgmorkoth and the HorseGod throw themselves at Geb the Writer's feet, wrapping their arms and tentacles around his legs.

    Ohgmorkoth: Geb the Writer! Save us, I implore you!

    HorseGod: We throw ourselves upon your mercy!

    Geb the Writer furrows his eyebrows, totally nonplussed.

    Geb the Writer: Erm...


    TLTE: Aha! If you are on a mission to resurrect my noble friend, I shall gladly lead you!

    Margrit: Wait - lead us??

    TLTE: Of course! I am a prominent protagonist! I outrank you!

    Margrit: But--

    Arjeta: Hush, Margrit! Maybe we can get laid by the hot Russian agent!



    Al Ciao the Writer walks into his cubicle, catching Britt the Writer in the act of typing on his computer.

    Al Ciao the Writer: What are you doing! Are you writing a post under my username?

    Britt the Writer: Um... no?

    Al Ciao the Writer looks at what Britt the Writer has typed up.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Again with hot babes wanting to sex up a hot male secret agent. What's with this?

    Geb the Writer: Al! You perv, don't join Britt in his debauchery!

    Britt the Writer: THAT'S what's with this.

    Al Ciao the Writer:


    Verena: To Valhalla!

    TLTE: Boy, your intel is out of date. The dead Vikings have been relocated to Mount Olympus.

    Illusionist: Boss?

    TLTE: Yeah?

    Illusionist: So, what, you're a secret agent, too?

    TLTE: Yeah, I'm a rogue Soviet superspy.

    Margrit: Alright! He defected from Soviet autocracy!

    Illusionist: What? Maybe you're not such a villain, after all...

    TLTE: No, wait, yes, I am! I'm totally evil, I just want to restore the righteous Union!

    Arjeta: Huh? Then prepare for a fight, mister!

    TLTE: No, really, I'm a double agent!

    Illusionist: You are?

    TLTE: I mean, a triple agent!

    The Swiss Whores squad glares at him, pulling out long golden pistols.

    TLTE: Um... I'm a Double Reverse Quadruple Agent?

    The Swiss whores and the Illusionist look at each other.

    Verena: Okay, good enough for me.

    Illusionist: Yeah, same here.

    TLTE: Then - to Valhalla!

    Arjeta: Didn't you just say--

    TLTE: Olympus! To Olympus!


    In the mead hall of the vast cavern within Mount Olympus, Krig is drinking mead, surrounded by lusty Valkyries, when TLTE and his entourage crash the party.

    TLTE: Krig, ole buddy! We've come to rescue you!

    Krig: Hi funny spy man. Krig not need rescuing.

    Arjeta: There he is, ladies - grab him!

    The Swiss Whores Squad moves to recover him, by force if necessary, but the Valkyries fan out to block their path.

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Brunhilde: Not so fast, hussies.

    Swiss Whores Squad - Margrit: You just better step out of the way, honeybun.

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Frija: I would say, over my dead body, but technically, we're already dead-ish.

    Swiss Whores Squd - Verena: You ever killed a demon? They belong in the realm of the dead, but they can be discorporated. Painfully.

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Sif: Krig the Viking champion is OUR man!

    Swiss Whores Squad - Arjeta: Never! He is ours!

    As the epic tussle of smoking hot babes begins, TLTE, the Illusionist, and Krig stare at them, bemused. TLTE shakes it off and takes a mighty leap over the battle to land next to Krig.

    TLTE: Krig! Come with me!

    Krig: Krig happy here!

    TLTE is torn for a moment, but then invokes story conventions.

    TLTE: Krig, ol' buddy - the world needs you!

    At that moment, the CopyrightGod bursts in through the back wall, on the opposite side of Krig from TLTE.

    CopyrightGod: Krig the Viking Attorney! You have been chosen to be my herald! My champion! My blessed messiah anointed to--

    TLTE: Whoa there, tovarish. Maybe you'd better take a step back.

    CopyrightGod: You cannot keep me from fulfilling his destiny! I am a god! Of the Eternal Pantheon, no less!

    TLTE: I have no idea who you are--

    CopyrightGod: Haven't you read that last few posts?

    TLTE: I've been a bit busy.

    CopyrightGod: I represent the supreme powers of the storyfractal!

    TLTE: I thought that was Bhac and Mayaal?

    CopyrightGod: Bah! They just have better publicity!

    TLTE: Regardless, I don't figure a god of copyrights has too much power in NeS...

    CopyrightGod: Then prepare to be sued!

    TLTE and the CopyrightGod square off. In the middle of all the fighting - hot chicks in catfights, and two lone duelists - Krig sits on his mead bench, seemingly forgotten by all. He looks around, confused.

    Krig: Krig not get say?
    Last edited by Al Ciao; 05-24-2012 at 10:37 AM.

  9. #1369
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    As Otter and Maeve are watching the tussle over Al between Rachel and Losien - which it seems Britt the Writer has been far too timid to take up - and chowing down on popcorn--

    Otter: And booze. Don't forget the booze.

    --and booze, a new memory forms out of the ether over and behind the other NeS heroes. The others don't notice it, but Maeve and Otter have a perfect view.

    Quote Originally Posted by The Grand Conclave
    In the wake of Knightlord Thorn's demand, the other NeSiveral powers are momentarily stupefied. Knightlord Thorn sighs under his breath.

    Knightlord Thorn: I shouldn't have used Entity #6's astral fireworks. They always overawe my audience.

    High Imp's sibilant growl hisses through the silence.

    High Imp: I will gladly tell you.

    Master Thand forestalls him.

    Thand: Master Imp, you can only tell them where he was *arching his eyebrow meaningfully* - as for where he is, he is vanished within the ethers between pages at the moment.

    High Imp: Master Thand, I know my own mind. *to Thorn* As I was going to say, I will gladly tell you how best to hurt him. But I will not tell you where to find him. For he is mine.

    Knightlord Thorn: Yours? *looks at High Imp suspiciously* You reek of his powerplaying. Who are you?

    High Imp: His bane.

    Knightlord Thorn suppresses a gasp. This is the villain the Highemperor has created for himself with his former powerplaying, the only one who can stand up to him? This entity may be troublesome even for the Pantheon of the High Throne.

    Ohgmorkoth: Look, Geb the Writer! He's doing it again! All epic-y stuff! Save us!

    Geb the Writer: Uh...

    Al Ciao the Writer: Yo, a donut truck just passed by on the street.

    Geb the Writer:

    He rushes off, leaving the HorseGod and Ohgmorkoth looking after him hopelessly. Al Ciao the Writer punches the air with a fist.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Wahoo! Nothing can stop me now!

    Britt the Writer: You?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Us. I said us.


    Quote Originally Posted by The Grand Conclave, Continued
    Knightlord Thorn: I... see. So tell me, bane of my bane, your fantastic secrets, the treasures of knowledge hidden sub rosa beneath the fabric of God--

    The NeSiversal powers groan.

    High Imp: Here.

    Images conjured by High Imp appear in mid air, high quality holograms of mystic thought, depicting three beings.

    The first: a fifteen-year-old girl in London, with long dark curly hair and startling blue eyes.

    The second: a xenomorph queen, similar to the ones from the Sigourney Weaver movies--

    CopyrightGod: Krig MUST be my herald! They're breaking copyright as we speak!



    Quote Originally Posted by The Grand Conclaved, Continued Deux
    --but glowing with silvery white energy and surrounded not only by xenomorph stalkers and drones and such, but also xenomorphs formed entirely from the same glowing power.

    The third: A vibrantly redhead woman within a mech, having switched on autopilot and resting her hands on her slightly bulging tummy.

    High Imp waves his hand dramatically, and the images disappear.

    Knightlord Thorn: Tell me the meaning of thy oracles!

    High Imp crooks his lip, a slightly contemptuous smirk. He seems to be allowing the powerplayer's grandiose pomposity out of amusement.

    High Imp: They are his daughters.

    At that moment, Bhac and Mayaal crash the party--

    Dionysus: Wait! I thought you said there wasn't a party, Hermes!

    Hermes Trismegistus: There wasn't. It's a figure of speech.

    Dionysus: Aw...


    Quote Originally Posted by The Grand Conclave. How many quotes does it take to get through a grand conclave? The world may never know...
    Bhac: I demand to know why we weren't invited!

    Hermes Trismegistus: Crap. I knew I forgot someone.

    Eternius the Omnarrator: You heathen paragons of conflict! Stealing my spotlight!

    Mayaal: Stealing, nothing. We're the avatars of conflict in the NeS! We're the very heart and soul of the NeSiverse!

    PublisherGod: Pfft, your sphere is conflict, the foundation of every story. We of the Eternal Pantheon oversee the storyfractal that is unique to the NeS.

    Knightlord Thorn: Aha! Vast potential seems to lie unlocked within these two avatars. The Stronghold of Powerplayers may yet be intrigued by you.

    Bhac: Who are you?

    Knightlord Thorn is on the verge of declaring all his many titles again, but Morthrandur, with a wave of his cloaked hand which is surely not in an annoyed manner, retcons the plot so that Bhac and Mayaal were invited from the very beginning and have been here all along. Knightlord Thorn, being a powerplayer - for whom retcons are his stock and trade - frowns slightly at Morthrandur, having been robbed of his chance to espouse his achievements again.

    Mayaal: Say, was there just a shift in the fractal?

    Bhac: Of course not!

    Mayaal: Be reasonable. I'm trying to-

    Bhac: Reasonable nothing! We're the avatars of conflict!

    An announcer sounding very much like the one from Mortal Kombat yells, FIGHT! and the two go at it, tussling in the bleachers and what-have-you. The rest of the gathering ignores them.

    Knightlord Thorn: High Imp, you shall yet know the gratitude of the Stronghold of Powerplayers.

    He makes a sweeping courtly bow - one designed to imply a tragically epic humility rather than any actual inferiority - and vanishes. The NeSiversal powers notice now that Thand is gone...
    The memory dissipates. Otter and Maeve blink, as the other heroes still argue fruitlessly over Al.

    Otter: I wonder if that was important?

    He and Maeve look at each for a moment.

    Otter & Maeve: Nahhhh.

    They take a simultaneous swig of booze.

  10. #1370
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post America!!!

    The memories of Memory Lane seem to return to their normal pace and the Heroes find themselves on Page 12;

    *The Darkside uncharacteristically whistled for someone, and before them they saw another figure walk up. The figure looked like a man with long black hair, tight black pants and boots, and a "wifebeater" (white T-shirt) under his black leather shirt. The person resembled your typical spouse abuser, terrorist bomber, or Marylin Manson. No, it wasn't Wolf. It was "they".*

    "We're so glad you could join us, our friends," they began to say. They then began to randomly laugh maniaclly. They continued on.

    "And we see the Darkside came along for teh ride too. Oh, how rude of us, we're not sure if we introduced ourself to your friends here. We are "they", and where as our dark friend here is the combined evils of all in hte fantasy world, I'm all the evils of teh "real world": TV, video games, big coorperations, "society", etc. etc. etc...."

    "Man, another guy with too many voices in his head," Geb wispered to Maybe.

    "Well, lets' continue with the fun, shall we?" they asked rhetorically. And with a snap of their fingers, the scenery changed. They found themselves on the Spice channel, and oddly enough, the movie being played was a comedy. Alligator strippers surrounded them amongst human ones, and they were inside a bar, with a contraption to the side to measure your "hooterage". All except Maybechild and Losien found tehmselves gaping with their mouths wide open.

    "Oh yeah.." the guys said in unison. They began to go out and enjoy themselves. Maybechild and Losien stood there in disgust.

    "Oh come on," "They" said. "Didn't you ever want to try being a lesbian?"

    "NO!" the two of them said. Then Maybechild said to Losien "We must find a way to stop this evil, or at least change the channel."

    Will Maybechild and Losien be able to stop this sexual temptation on the male fighters? er, *ahem* jsut remember girls, teh Spice channel is a Pay-per-view channel, and remember who's paying our bills...
    Al Ciao: You know, I always pegged MaybeChilde as a lesbian. That whole FemiNazi thing.

    Rachel: I swear there's some of that egotistical idiot, Citizen Rex, still within you. And I'm gonna pan him out of you!

    Soriel: If They is the evil of the real world, why is he in the NeS? Shouldn't he be with the Writers?

    Maeve: I don't think it means the real real world. Just the real world. Like... our world split into the fantasy and the real world.

    Losien: Actually, I was under the impression it really was the evil of the Writers incarnated.

    Arkng Thand: I believe-

    Soriel: No one cares, Old Man.

    Arkng Thand: Soriel...

    There was a sinister pause in the conversation as Master Thand stares down Soriel.

    Losien: Who's up for a nice cup of tea!?

    Maeve: Whoa, I heard your family used to be British but wow you just excelled, Losien.

    Losien: Uh... thanks?

    Maeve: By all that, I meant yes give me a bloody brew. I'm gasping!


    Just a cup of tea, Losien. A normal cup of tea.

    Losien: Oh right.

    Suddenly Ares transcends out of the story and walks in on the writers. He changes the channel and then crushes the remote in his hands as he re-enters the story.

    TV: "The History Channel now returns to The Revolution-Lexington......"

    Ares (sitting back from the battlefield, enjoying the spectacle): "I love this channel"

    Geb (in the militia): "Did that announcer say Lexington? I think we lose this one. (to others) RUN AWAY!!!!!"

    Sem (in the Brittish regular army): "Time to die militia men!"

    Sem charges, even though everyone else is still waiting for the first shot to be fired.

    Maybe: "eep! he's slipping! He thinks it's real!"

    Los: "Not just that, he's gonna kill us! Somebody up there change the channel!"

    All writers in unison (looking at the pile of remote control bits): "Fuq"
    Maeve: Did somebody just say Eep!?

    Soriel: I think it was more of a ... eeeeeeep! Like a squeal.

    Al Ciao: I am impressed by your attempt at a female cry for help. I didn't know you had it in you.

    Maeve: Oi! Watch it, there's nothing girly about my squeals! Uh, I mean screams... I mean... shouts.

    Amal: Are they on TV?

    The Otter: Yes! Reliving the glory days of British Imperialism!

    Losien: ... Don't you mean British Oppression? Tyranny!?

    The Otter: Wow... that whole... patriotism thing seems to run strong through you yanks doesn't it?

    Maeve: And she's only part yank.

    Losien: Is nobody going to back me up on this?

    Al Ciao: Well, I guess I could-

    Rachel: But you'd be a massive hypocrite since you had that whole empire thing of your own, right? You're practically Mr Tyrant.

    Al Ciao: Yes... I guess... I'm also not American... or British in fact. I'm Armenian. Otter and Maeve are Brits-

    Maeve: But really, we don't care. Yay for Indpendence or... whatever it is.

    Al Ciao: Uh... right. And Rachel, here, is Chinese... maybe half American?

    Rachel: We'll go with that. Yes. Half-American. And I don't care either.

    Al Ciao: So that leaves Soriel... who isn't even from Earth. Amal who is from... Thand's dungeons or something. And Master Thand himself who... I won't even begin to guess. So yes. You're on your own, Losien.

    Losien: When did the NeS get so... un-American?

    The Otter: Oi, I've been around for longer than you!

    Maeve: You're the token foreigner. Got to have just one to spice things up a little.

    Amal: Besides, you say un-American like it's a bad thing? Does it really matter?

    Losien: But if our readers are American... they'll never read it without true American Heroes(TM) !!

    Amal: Wow... good to know you have so much faith in your fellow countrymen.

    Al Ciao: Honestly, I'm worried that she has a point...


    In the Realm of the Writers.

    Britt the Writer: Okay, okay, okay. Fine. You're right. I didn't read any of the NeS, I just know a lot of stuff because I'm psychic or something...

    Al Ciao the Writer: Uh... seriously?

    Britt the Writer: Yes. In all honesty, I don't even write my own posts.

    Al Ciao the Writer:

    Britt the Writer:
    I have a ghost writer.

    Britt the Writer leads Al Ciao the Writer to his office door and swings it open. Inside they see a ghost from the HHH sat at Britt the Writer's computer. The ghost looks up from his typing to stare at the pair of Writers with large, bulging eyes.

    Britt the Writer: Uh, I think we should leave.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Yeah... I think you're right.

    The two Writers back out of the office and gently close the door behind them.

    Al Ciao the Writer: You only hired that thing for this gag, didn't you?

    Britt the Writer: Yes...

    Al Ciao the Writer: And now we're stuck with an incredibly creepy ghost in the office.

    Britt the Writer: Yep...

    Al Ciao the Writer: Not to mention the cthulu thing and the horse-head guy.

    Britt the Writer:
    And they call this the real world.

  11. #1371
    Virgin Fleet Admiral

    Al Ciao the Writer: Well, fortunately, no one seems to be too mad about my whole Al-as-center-of-conflict-between-Rachel-and-Losien thing..


    Al Ciao the Writer goes sprawling to the floor. He turns his head around to see Geb the Writer wielding a frying pan.

    Geb the Writer: You were asking for it, Al.

    He brandishes the frying pan for another blow--


    Geb the Writer slumps over, unconscious. Britt the Writer steps out of the shadows, also wielding a frying pan.

    Britt the Writer: Whoops! Thought that was you, Al.

    Al Ciao the Writer: You, too?!

    Britt the Writer: Yuppers. Haven't you noticed how I completely ignored that conflict thing in my previous post? I'm just shoving under the rug.

    He brandishes his frying pan, ready to deliver poetic justice on Al Ciao the Writer--


    Britt the Writer's skull rings rather hollowly as he slumps to the ground unconscious beside Geb the Writer. A diminutive Chinese woman steps out of the shadows, wielding - what else - a frying pan.

    Rachel the Writer: Oops. Sorry 'bout that, Britt. I like you and all, since you always wrote for Rachel.

    Al Ciao the Writer: The hell? There is no Rachel the Writer!

    Rachel the Writer brings out a neuralyzer.

    Rachel the Writer: Of course there isn't.



    Michael McLongname, Evolved NeShade and Twice-Forgotten One: It appears the writers have forgotten about me...

    Knowsoul gives him a meaningful look.

    Michael McLongname: Oh, right.


    Soriel: Perhaps, if we want more Americanism on the team, we should get the Patriot or something?

    Rachel: How do you know anything about the Patriot?

    Soriel: Well, my writer did read the whole NeS...

    Maeve: Actually, given that the Patriot is a total dipwad, we might insult our American viewers.

    Losien: That's not a very nice thing to say, Maeve. I'm sure he's got a soft cuddly side.

    Maeve arches an eyebrow.

    Losien: Deep down.

    Maeve arches her other eyebrow.

    Losien: Really deep down.

    Otter: Actually, given that most Americans are dipwads too, none of them will pick up on the implied insult of venerating the Patriot.

    Losien: Fine! We'll add rescuing the Patriot as another subquest, along with probing Carly's origins.

    Carlotta: Honey, tell Fred he can probe me all he likes.

    Losien: SILENCE CAPE! *to the rest of the heroes* But now, we are leaving Memory Lane and going after TLTE!

    Rachel: Whoa there, cowgirl. You tried that once before, but we're having a little trouble doing that. I mean, Bhac and Mayaal tampered with our minds a bit too, if you remember. Britt the Writer has gone back to the memories, as well.

    Losien: Bah! Britt the Writer was complaining earlier about not being free to post what he likes. So he can spread his wings a bit!


    Okay, so is everyone familiar with the Special Edition of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi? Where they do that montage of celebrating on different planets all across the galaxy at the end, cuz the Emperor is dead?

    This is sort of like that. At the Magium, the mages are having a monster barbecue. Cool Matty is roasting pigs by the dozens with his blue flames.

    On the Hovercarrier, Hero Forces 1 - 12 are having a mega-pizza blowout, complete with mushrooms this time, that is doubling Joe's Pizza's profit this quarter. Seraphim and Acidspitter are eating from both ends of a single large pizza, in a cutesy, possibly diabetes-inducing, scene.

    At the Phortress of Phractal in outer space, the Eternal Pantheon - sans the WriterGod, who is not often present, the HorseGod, who has gone abroad to Massassi, and the CopyrightGod, who is in New Valhalla - has invited a bunch of party girls over, completely with music, strobe lights, booze, and bumping and grinding. The PublisherGod is happily doing the bump with two women at the same time, one on either side of him. Eternius the Omnarrator is attempting to impress several chicks with his Supreme Being business cards, but they are rather more impressed by the riches he claims to have.

    In the distant reaches of the universe, Ohgmorkoth's vizier - a Gandalf-Expy - sets off a few supernovae as fireworks.

    On Mount Olympus, the gods are having a bacchanalia. Which is really nothing out of the ordinary. Nick, son of Ares and Aphrodite, sneaks out of the party.

    What are they celebrating?

    Cut to the Massassi Writer's offices, where Britt the Writer and Al Ciao the Writer are slumped unconscious on the floor. Britt the Writer is drooling onto the carpet. Al Ciao the Writer has his thumb in his mouth.

    So, cutting back to the Hovercarrier's main deck, we see the pizza mostly eaten, with dancing now going on. Seraphim and Acidspitter are slow-dancing, lost in each other's eyes. Dr. R. Deep is dancing with Judge in a courtly fashion, though Judge is leading. Qhobeg is grinding with an Asian superchick with Hero Force Four. Hmm, apparently tastes for Asian women run strongly in the Ohq gene.

    Magick Snowflakes, sister of Voodoo Snowflakes from the future and apprentice magic-user, leans back against the wall on one leg, her other bent back to brace her foot on the wall. She is nursing a Coke, and is a tad bored.

    Nick: 'Scuse me.

    Magick turns an apathetic eye to see the divine son of Ares and Aphrodite.

    Magick: 'ello there. You from Hero Force Twelve?

    Nick: Um... no?

    Magick: Weird, I thought I knew all the other Hero Forces. #12 had a recent recruitment drive though.

    Nick: Actually, I snuck out of my parents' place. Their party is a snoozefest, and I was just looking for some excitement.

    Magick: Hah. Well, look elsewhere. Nothing but these lovey-dovey grownups here.

    Nick eyes Qhobeg and his Asian partner.

    Nick: Those two don't exactly seem lovey-dovey.

    Magick giggles.

    Magick: You're alright. I'm Magick.

    Nick, as a teenager, eyes Magick's equally teenage form.

    Nick: You certainly are. I'm Nick. Notice how both our names end in -ick.

    Magick snorts Coke out her nose.

    Magick: That's an awful, awful pun. *smiles*

    Nick: Uh-oh. Am I trouble?

    Magick: For sure. But I'll let you out of it if maybe... you dance with me?

    Nick: Magick... I would love to!


    Complete silence reigns in the Massassi offices. Three of the four active writers lie slumped on the floor. Rachel the Writer is probably somewhere--


    Er... was I saying something? Anyway, all three active writers are unconscious. There is no one to complain about Al Ciao the Writer's sappy romantic--

    The hell?

    Al Ciao the Writer is unconscious, too! Who's writing this post?

    Ghost Writer: That would be me.


    Our current party of heroes huddles on the far end of a bridge over lava. They are in a dank white-stone castle, and a dragon sits on the far end of the bridge, blowing random firebreaths their way.

    Amal: How are we gonna get past that?

    Al Ciao: If only Howard Dragonbane were still here...

    Rachel: Let the master show you.

    Rachel charges onto the drawbridge, deftly dives and dodges the random firebreaths, and vaults over the dragon to hit a switch on the far side. The bridge vanishes, and the dragon falls into the lava where it melts. Rachel hits the switch again, and the bridge reappears to let the other heroes across.

    Losien: Awesome! Thanks, Rach.

    Losien rushes past the drawbridge into the dungeon cell.

    Losien: TLTE? Is that you?

    Mushroom-headed Man: Thanks for rescuing me, Losien. But your princess is in another castle!

    Losien: Dammit!

  12. #1372
    Driven by a renewed desire to rescue her fiancee, The Last True Evil, the beautiful Losien nearly flips her metaphorical feces as she fails to find her beloved upon storming the seventh castle. Most of the others have followed her lead up to this point, magnetized by her new force of will. The exception, naturally, is Master Thand, with his countenance hardening as Losien approaches a fork in the road. To the right, Memory Lane continues into the thick fog of nostalgia, the Land of Story-Arcs past hugging its right side. To the left, a new road peels around a high ridge, and a sign pointing down the road simply reads "Eighth." Without hesitation, Losien steps to turn left when Master Thand stops her with a hand to her shoulder.

    Master Thand: Losien, you mustn't go that way.

    Losien glances at Master Thand - an unassuming old man - and turns to rally the others with her. However, the others - that is, Rachel, Soriel, Maevie, Al Ciao, and Amal - have been distracted by a nearby memory that has surfaced from page 13...

    Gebohq, Losien, Antestarr, Maybechild, Semievil, The Otter, and Krig the Viking continue to run away from a mob of very desperate and lonely fanboys while trapped in a magical TV currently displaying STAR WARS: EPISODE IV A NEW HOPE.
    Geb: I always wanted to be liked by the public, but not like this!

    Ante: Yeah, there isn't one good looking chick in the crowd anyways.

    Los: Oh boy! Friends I can relate with!

    Enter Dark Lancer, a decrepit old man with strange powers, who appears very revived from his previous encounter with Semievil.

    Dark Lancer: Note to self: avoid duct tape at the receieving end... Now, let's look at my list here. Ah, add Se..mi..e..vil.. to my list of "people to eliminate"... there. Now time to do what I came here for.

    Dark Lancer magically yanks Gebohq far away from the screaming mob that was chasing after him and his friends.

    Geb: Thanks man I really--oh, guess I was too quick to speak, eh?

    Dark Lancer: Prepare yourself!

    Gebohq and Dark Lancer duel in the dramatically dark shadows. The mob of lonely people continue to head for the other fighters.

    Sem: Quick! We need to build something.

    Maybe: Seriously, I think you shouldn't. You made this wasteland, and a rather dismal one at that, seeing how its been cleared for 10 miles 'round and all.

    Sem: I got it! Hurry, I'll need a lot of christmas lights and the duct tape.

    In a fast-foreward action, the fighters build out of duct tape, lights, and other assorted parts a singles bar. The mob immediately hurries into it.

    Maybe: *phew* That was close

    Otter: Hey, a new bar! Who's up for a drink?

    Sem: Oh not so fast there, wet rat! We still have a score to settle.

    Krig: What's the big shiny ball in the sky?

    Otter: That would be the Death Star

    Sem: I knew we forgot something...oh look, the Rebel base in the Massassi Temple is right past our arena. They'll take care of it.

    The fighters stand in a lack of action. A ghostly image of Obi-wan Kenobi stands besides them.

    Obi-wan: The laziness is strong with these fighters...
    Otter: Hahaha! Classic NeS times, I tell you! Classic!

    Maevie: *to Soriel* Do you have any idea what's going on?

    Soriel: Not in the least, and I wish I could have been around when this group did so much more fighting!

    Maevie: I feel like we've been excluded on one big inside joke.

    The memory shifts slightly ahead to another part of page 13...

    On the Death Star, events unfold slightly differently from the familiar tale as the superweapon's planet-destroying laser fails to charge under the supervision of Darth Vader's speech-challenged stand-in, Dart Wader.

    Storm-trooper on Deathstar: "Man, this lazer is taking a ridiculously long time to fire."

    Dart Wader: "Whad couwd powwibly be wong wid dis waser-bweam? Id ouwd do hawe fiwewed by now. Owe, hewe is de pwobwem"

    Wader dislodges a polmegranite from the opening labeled "Waser Fiwewing Mwechanwisim", and tries to fire the laser again, aiming for the Temple.

    Meanwhile, down on de pwanet--er--planet, Geb is driving the speeder at break-neck speed through the forest, and runs smack into a convieniently placed mirror. The mirror shatters, and a small shard flies through the forest and comes to rest on the top of the Massasi Temple, just as the laser hits, sending it ricocheting back towards the Death Star, destroying it's "weapwons wechanwisims"

    Back on the planet, a bad-luck imp suddenly appears.

    Bad-luck imp, to Geb: "I curse you, with seven years of bad luck!"

    Geb: "I wasn't driving!" *grabbing Krig* "It was him!"

    Bad luck imp: "My bad. Ok, I place a curse of seven years bad luck on you then!"

    The imp leaves. Geb, looking around to see everyone staring at him but Krig, who just had an unfortunate incident with a pinecone.

    Geb: "What!?!?!?"
    As the majority of the present-day heroes continue to watch the memories, Losien drifts her attention to Master Thand. Despite his unassuming and elderly appearance, Losien could not help now but stare at him as if he was something far more intimidating, herself frozen in place.

    Master Thand: Listen to me. I once acted as you did long ago, fueled with the raging fire of pure love for the one person that completed me, as you burn now. I have personally journeyed with you on this trying quest which tests the fiber of your very character. I have witnessed many possible futures, each one more grim and hopeless than the last spun from the very events that are unfolding here. And I do not say this lightly: if you walk down that path, to abandon your duty to good and indulge instead in your selfish desire for his love, you will usher in a future darker than I have seen or even dare imagine, your moral fiber will unravel as you embrace The Last True Evil, and your burning desire will consume you and those you love.

    Losien musters the courage to step back from Master Thand, using every ounce of her self control to restrain her shuddering as she stares at the old man. Her stare tears to find any weakness in his logic, any fault in his character, any flaw that she would easily see in anyone else and would have chosen to ignore. Fury turns to fear as she finds none. Losien manages to face away from Master Thand, and in the comfort of her own imagined escape, collects herself. Still not facing him, Losien begins to weave her own yarn of rationalizations.

    Losien: I know your games. You would have me believe that, if I stray from your perfect plan, that I will encourage some grand plot tumor, and all the while push me around to do what you want...whatever that is. You've already failed, though, and your pretense as anyone other than a manipulative villain is falling apart before you. I am the main character of the Never-ending Story, and I am not running away! The quest will wait for me -- I must step aside and save my love now.

    Master Thand: And if you're wrong...

    There was no question in his voice, only warning. Losien's uncertainty grabs hold of her again.

    Master Thand: If you stay the course, know that you cannot rush or sidetrack further from this quest. You must remember that, and you must remember the spirit of the NeS which has become Forgotten itself, and find it before Knowsoul does. Only then can you ensure that he does not consume it before you can save it, and all of us, from becoming forever lost in the darkness of plot.

    Losien slowly turns around to face Master Thand, suppressing all the frustration she can with a deep breath.

    Losien: This is a decision I must think over. Your wisdom...

    She does not complete her sentence, however, as she steps aside, alone for the moment with her own thoughts. Master Thand shows the smallest of smiles before returning to his usual unreadable expression, bringing his pipe to his mouth as he studies the other heroes.
    Last edited by Gebohq; 05-26-2012 at 03:17 PM.

  13. #1373
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post "Rosebud..."

    We are taken away from all current plot-lines, epic and minute, to a dark street of Detroit, USA, where we see a dipalidated van sitting upon the road side. To a casual eye it would appear to be just another grubby van but to those with an expert eye, this Astro-Van appears to be highly souped-up.

    The owner of the van is a tennant in the nearby block of flats, living on the ground floor. Hawthorne, the one-time hero and unknown saviour of the NeS, is sitting on his living room floor counting the packets of burritos he bought earlier in the day. His flat is fairly run-down and hasn't been cleaned in weeks. The only piece of equipment in the room is an old laptop which Hawthorne uses to check out the latest conspiracy theories.

    Hawthorne: I miss Thatchett...

    Those were the first words he had uttered in days. He stares at the burritos. He had given Thatchett to his ex-girlfriend Sasha after he managed to save the NeS and regretted it ever since. However he knew it was the right thing to do. Thatchett had a better home now and Hawthorne himself was too busy for pets. Too busy with his burritos.

    There is a knock at the door. Hawthorne topples over in shock. Another knock, louder and clearer.

    Hawthorne shuffles to the door. Before he opens it he asks;

    Hawthorne: Who's there?

    Voice: Someone with a job for you.

    Her voice is a little husky with a strange accent that he instantly pegs as French-Canadian. He looks at his burritos. He would need more money to buy more of them.

    He opens the door to reveal a dark-skinned woman with a lot of hair on her head coloured black and red in a style that he could only describe as cyber-punk. She is wearing a thick cloak that conceals her entire body save for her pretty face, a face that seems too innocent for the sultry voice it used.

    Hawthorne: What job? I'm not going to the Forgotten Convenience Store. I accidentally robbed one once.

    Woman: Oooooooookay. Whatever. It's not for them. It's a quest. A mission. For America.

    Hawthorne: I don't do government contracts anymore.

    Woman: It's for the American people. Not the government. I want you to investigate the death of its most beloved hero.

    Hawthorne: The Patriot?

    Woman: No! He's a dolt! I'm talking about Citizen Rex.

    Hawthorne: Isn't he a dolt too?

    Woman: I know that, you know that, but the people of America don't. To them he was the people's hero and they deserve answers.

    Hawthorne: Hold on a minute, Citizen Rex is dead!?



    Al Ciao the Writer awakes in a sudden fury and leaps to his feet. The sudden movement also wakes Britt the Writer up who jolts in a sudden panic.

    Britt the Writer: It wasn't me!!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Of course it was you! You killed my character off!?

    Britt the Writer: Uh... no! It was Ghost Writer! I've been unconscious all this time!

    Britt the Writer points inside his office to the computer where Ghost Writer stares at the monitor with huge, terrifying ghoul eyes. However Al Ciao the Writer, in his rage-fit, still charges up to Ghost Writer and slams his fist against the desk.

    Al Ciao the Writer: How could you, Ghost Writer!? I thought we were friends!?

    Ghost Writer: We are?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Not any more! You killed Citizen Rex!

    Ghost Writer: Oh... that? I thought that was the plan all along?

    Al Ciao the Writer: What the Hell gave you that idea?

    Ghost Writer: Isn't he a parody of Citizen Kane in some way?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Uh...

    Ghost Writer: So we're starting up that parody. That was the plan anyway.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Citizen Kane died?

    Ghost Writer: Right at the beginning of the movie. That's the plot of the movie, investigating his last words.

    Al Ciao the Writer turns to glare at Britt the Writer.

    Al Ciao the Writer: I know this was you. Ghost Writer would never betray me!

    Britt the Writer: Uh, you haven't said two words to Ghost Writer before today...

    Al Ciao the Writer: In retribution, I'm going to kill off one of your characters!

    Britt the Writer: Hold on, I only have one real character. I guess I started up Magick Snowflakes, but really I think you've developed her more than me with that last post you... uh, I mean Ghost Writer on your behalf did.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Magick dies then.

    Britt the Writer: Okay.

    Al Ciao the Writer: You don't care? Damn you!

    Britt the Writer: Might be better to leave her alive anyway. I kind of imagine her being more important in the future. Her, this Nick I suppose, and Amal. They're like... NeS: The Next Generation or something.

    Al Ciao the Writer: AWESOME! She can live. But if this Citizen Rex sub-plot is rubbish... I will seek vengeance.

    Britt the Writer: So, as long as it's good, we're good?

    Al Ciao the Writer: If it's good.


    Some time later Hawthorne is drinking a cup of tea with the mysterious woman.

    Hawthorne: What should I call you by the way?

    Woman: You can just call me... Apple.

    Hawthorne: Apple? Isn't that too cute for someone so mysterious and clearly of moral ambiguity?

    Apple: Not if it's a poisonous apple. Your code name can be Snow White, if you'd like?

    Hawthorne: No thanks. Hawthorne is just fine. Why did you choose me?

    Apple: Closest detective-style character the NeS has, save for The Dectective, but he's dead now isn't he?

    Hawthorne: He is. I remember.

    Apple: So, you'll take the job?

    Hawthorne: Yes. I need burrito money.

    Apple: You have just one clue to investigate right now.

    Hawthorne: Which is?

    Apple: His last word. Rosebud.

    Hawthorne: Rosebud? Could it... be a sleigh?

    Apple: What? Why the Hell would it be a sleigh?

    Hawthorne: Because of the movie we're parodying?

    Apple: ...

    Hawthorne: Okay, no. You're right. Stupid idea. As if the Writers would make it that easy. I suppose it's time to get back into the old Astro-Van and do some investigating.

    Apple: Good. The people of America are counting on you, Agent Hawthorne.

    Hawthorne: Please don't call me that. I'm not agent. Not even an officer. At best Detective Hawthorne would suit for now.

    Apple: Detective Hawthorne then. Good luck.

    Apple leaves Hawthorne's flat and proceeds down the corridor. She unbuckles the cloak and lets it slip from her strong, yet slender, frame and we are given a tantalising glimpse of dark, bare flesh before her body shimmers into nothingness.
    Last edited by TheBritt; 05-26-2012 at 07:03 AM.

  14. #1374
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post The Fork of Plots

    On Mount Olympus events are taking a turn for the worst as it looks like beatings all round are due for everyone in the longhouse-cave-whatevertheHellthisplaceis. Krog the Viking Lord sees his son's unhappiness with the events unfolding before them and decides to take action on Krig's behalf.

    Krog the Viking: Krog SLASH!

    The older, yet just as gramatically challenged, Vikinger leaps over the table crammed with food and jumps into the fray with every intention of pounding everyone into dust so that he and his son can continue their long-overdue quality time.

    Swiss Whores Squad - Margrit: Quick, that's him. Grab him and let's go!!

    The busty Swiss whores all dive on Krog, who is momentarily incapacitated by the presence of breasts in his face. Whilst this was a regular occurance for the man, he has been lacking in variety so the opportunity for Sweden's flavour is taken with great relish.

    Krig the Viking: Father!

    Krog the Viking: Krog sorry, son! Krig will have to go on without father! Busty ladies too... powerful.

    With that Margrit, leader of the Swiss Whores Squad, whips out a strange cube that looks suspiciously like it came from a Marvel movie we won't name. In a flurry of colours the Swiss Whores Squad and Krog the Viking disappear through the bifrost bridge.

    TLTE: We're on Olympus!

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Brunhilde: The bifrost link leads to a redirect to the new Olympus site.

    TLTE: No way did you just make a mytholigical joke using Internet jargon.

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Brunhilde: If I make a four-oh-four joke about your observation, would that be going too far?

    TLTE: Yes. Definitely.

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Brunhilde: What about a four-oh-four with regards to our Lord's disappearence?

    TLTE: Way too far.

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Brunhilde: Oh well. Either way, we must rescue our Lord Krog from those vicious slappers from Sweden!

    The Illusionist: Did she just say "slapper"?

    TLTE: I think it's another one of those mild British swear words the Writers keep using to avoid The Massassi Censor.

    The Norse Valkyries Squad also vanishes, apparently in pursuit of Krog the Viking.

    TLTE: Okay Krig, let's get out of here before anyone returns.

    Krig the Viking: Krig not want to leave. Krig happy here.

    TLTE: But Krig, we need you! And you're our friend, we can't leave you for dead!

    The Illusionist: By we are you including me?

    TLTE: The other NeS Heroes.

    The Illusionist: Oh good.

    The Copyright God: You forgot someone.

    TLTE is sent flying from a quick punch to his face. Coins spill out of TLTE's "aura" and tumble to the ground.

    The Illusionist: What the Hell? Money?

    The Copyright God: I told you already. I'm suing him!

    Suddenly court-room settings appear from nowhere and various dead vikingers are set up as the jury. The Illusionist is made judge. TLTE, after staggering to his feet, sighes.

    TLTE: How many times have we been through this? How many courts have we subverted in the NeS already?

    The Copyright God: Ah, but this time- Krig! I will allow you to remain here so long as you act as my lawyer!

    Krig the Viking: Deal.

    TLTE: What!? Krig!

    Krig the Viking: Friend spy-man not leave Krig choices.

    The Illusionist: I've never been a judge before. Do I hit TLTE with this?

    The Illusionist, who now appears to be Judge Judy, is waving her gavel in the air like a maniac.


    When we return to the fork in the road Losien has left Master Thand and is slowly approaching the rest of the group. She doesn't know what she should do. Se understands Master Thand's points and even recognises hhis experience in the matter, afterall she had seen his dead wife's coffin in Deitopos. She doesn't know what to say to the group. Should she ask them for advice? Shouldn't she make the decision for them?

    Carlotta the Cape: What are you milling about for, Losien?

    Fred, Teh Uber Blade: Babe, if you wanna get laid by one of this lot you'd better take the lead. Just walk up to one of them and say "wanna shag?".

    Carlotta the Cape: Ooooooh, Fred. You know just how to get me excited!


    Soriel: You know, it's illuminating to see someone else doing that.

    Losien: Sorry Soriel. I shouldn't have taken either of them from you, really.

    Soriel: It's fine. I'm experiencing self-awareness this way. I'm sure it's developing my character in some way too.

    Soriel had approached Losien and sat down upon a large, smooth rock nearby. Losien, seeing that she no longer needed to approach anyone in the group, sat next to him.

    Losien: What would you do, Soriel?

    Soriel: I'd be lying if I said I have no idea what you mean. You're talking about the cross-roads, right? Left or right. I understand this TLTE is important to you, yes?

    Losien: He's everything to me.

    Soriel: I have heard he's a fierce man. I'd love to fight him someday.

    Losien: Soriel!

    Soriel: I am just being honest. I live for battle. If he turns to evil again, then maybe I'll get my chance to face him. But... I understand that prevention of that would be in the best interests of the NeS, right?

    Losien: It would.

    Soriel: So then you should love him with all your heart.

    Fred, Teh Uber Blade: Listen to him, Carly. That's what I've had to put up with all this time. He could easily bed this bimbo right about now.

    Losien: Your sword is getting on my nerves.

    Soriel: Sorry, I could take him back but I think you'd do more good with it.

    Losien: Yeah. I'll manage. I'll just have to learn to control him. So you're saying I should follow my heart?

    Soriel: I'm saying you should always love him. I can't make this decision for you. It's way out of my forte. But... don't you think he can take care of himself?

    Losien: I do. But... if he's the damsel now, he won't be able to defend himself simply because of story-conventions.

    Soriel: I suppose so. You know what you should do? Call your brother.

    Losien: Geb?

    Soriel: He was once the hero of the NeS, wasn't he? Seems the best idea I, or anyone else here, could offer you.

    Losien: Thank you Soriel.

    Soriel: Not sure I deserve thanks for that. It's about all I can do right now. Talking...

    Soriel, the former swordsman, walks away from Losien and returns to the rest of the group who were debating their preferences between Rachel and Losien; an extension of the former fight over Al Ciao.

    Losien pushes a button on her recently acquired Hero Watch that she had also inherited from Soriel at some point. Pressing it contacts Gebohq, back at the HHH, on his own Hero Watch that he'd claimed from MZZT on the other side of the portal to London.


    I'm sure this thing makes the Power Rangers tune.

    Losien: Ha! Well don't go morphing just yet. I need your advice.

    The holographic image of Gebohq beams out from the watch.

    Gebohq: No problem. How's Memory Lane?

    Losien: Well... we're not on Memory Lane right now.

    Gebohq: Uh... I still see your bodies.

    Losien: Yeah... I don't really get it either. But I have the choice to return to Memory Lane or go and save TLTE. What should I do, Geb?

    Gebohq: Ah... well... I can't tell you what to do, Los. You're the leader, you must make the choice yourself. I know it's hard but you have to believe in whatever choice you make. But... well... I gave up Rachel for the sake of the story. It left me miserable. But it did save the NeS. Is TLTE really in that much trouble?

    Losien: I think so...

    Gebohq: Honestly, Los, the only thing I will say is this; you won't be able to save TLTE if Knowsoul destroys the NeS.

    Losien nods slowly.

    Losien: Thank you, Geb.

    Gebohq: Call me back soon, Los. Either way, you should know I'll support your decision.

    The hologram fades and Losien is left with nothing but the background noise of the other heroes. Maeve makes a particularly loud comment about the virtues of Losien's cleavage leaving the rest of them is shock and awe.

    Losien buries her face in her hands and freely weeps in silence.

    Michael McFarlane: You know what you must do, Losien.

    Losien snaps to attention. Suddenly she remembers Michael back in the memory of the Arena, the reason she had found tears on her cheeks.

    Michael McFarlane: It seems you're always crying when I'm around these days.

    When Losien leaves the main group of heroes she suddenly sees the figure of a man before her. His familiar form was both terrifying and comforting at once. Michael McFarlane had once been the love of Losien's life until she fell further into a relationship with TLTE. The two men had been rivals for her love and ultimately the dark forbiddenness of TLTE won-out over the simple purity of Micahel McFarlane. When he was Forgotten by the Writers he was driven to insanity and kidnapped Losien to draw TLTE out and kill him. But Michael was defeated and even killed. She remembered how she and TLTE placed his body on a distant planet, far away from the chaos of the NeS, to rest in peace.

    Then he came back. Inexplicably he returned. He appeared in the HHH with the other heroes with no knowledge of his past activities. As soon as he returned he was swept away again, Forgotten all over again.

    Losien: What are you doing here, Michael?

    Michael McFarlane: What a way to greet one of your fellow NeS Heroes! And I thought you were the beloved leader now, shouldn't you treat me with more respect so that you can garner my trust?

    Losien: I- I'm sorry Michael. But I can't trust you. Even if you don't know what you did to me and TLTE.

    Michael McFarlane: What I did!? You drove me to it! You and him!

    Losien: I see... so you've remembered what happened?

    Michael McFarlane: Being twice-forgotten can be... illuminating.

    Losien: Then your being here can only mean trouble.

    Michael McFarlane: I'm hurt, Losien. I only wanted to see you.

    Losien: I'm not coming with you. You can't make me this time! I'm the main character!

    Michael McFarlane: Oh, I could do so much worse than just kidnap you.

    Michael McFarlane has gotten close to Losien but not enough to touch her. He keeps some distance between himself and the woman he once loved.

    Losien: If you're here to fight, me and the others will defeat you. Again.

    Michael McFarlane: So melodramatic! I told you, I just wanted to see you! Your pretty face always used to make me smile.

    Losien: Michael, I'm sorry about what happened between us. But seriously, I'm not the only woman in the world! There are many more you could have met!

    Michael McFarlane: I was FORGOTTEN, LOSIEN!!

    She was sure his sudden bellow would attract attention from the other heroes but it seems she is trapped in a bubble where only he and she are aware. The world outside doesn't exist.

    Michael McFarlane: I was gone. I wasn't in the story. All I had were my memories. My memories of you. Only you! And your betrayal.

    Losien: I'm... so sorry, Michael!

    Michael seems to soften slightly.

    Michael McFarlane: He doesn't deserve you, you know? You're far too good for him. Someone so sweet and filled with goodness deserves someone who will be good to you and love you for who you are. TLTE loves you for himself and what you can do for him.

    Losien: I don't believe that.

    Michael McFarlane: Believe what you will! Doesn't matter to me! I'm not here to try and steal you away for myself. Not this time anyway. In all honesty, I think I was wrong to blame TLTE. How could he not love you?

    Losien: So... you want to... apologise?

    Michael McFarlane: HA! That'd be the day. No. I blame you, Losien.

    Losien: What?

    Michael McFarlane: You broke my heart. You took it and crushed it. You did.

    Losien: Please Michael...

    Michael McFarlane: What? You should be apologising to me, you know?

    Losien: I'm sorry! I really am! I never wanted to hurt you! I was just as lost as you. I didn't know what I was doing, I was in love, I was young and stupid!

    Michael McFarlane: Lovely sentiment. Thank you Losien. I'll leave you alone then!

    Losien: Really?

    Michael McFarlane: Only joking! I'm going to be your conscience from now on, my love. I'll be there when you need me. I'll tell you what you need to hear and I'll help you achieve it. The day will come when you'll understand what so many others say about your lover. What even Master Thand fears about him. And I'll fix it for you. I'll stop the pain.

    Losien: Michael... how did it all come to this?

    Michael McFarlane: A question I ask myself on a daily basis.

    With that Michael McFarlane was gone and Losien is left with a tear running down her cheek. She doesn't remember him, she doesn't take any notice of the tear. The world continues on as though Michael had never visited her.
    Losien: How could I forget all of that? How?

    Michael McFarlane: That does not matter right now. What does matter is your decision. You know what must be done, Losien. You need to take the road back to Memory Lane. Master Thand knows it, Soriel knows it, even your brother knows it. You know it! Follow TLTE and destroy him and everything else you love. Or leave him to the whims of fate and save the NeS. The only certainty is if you try to save him; he will die. Leave him and he may die.

    Losien: I can't leave him!

    Michael McFarlane: I know that. That's where I come in. I can help you ease that pain.

    Losien: How?

    Michael McFarlane smiles pleasantly.

    Michael McFarlane: A little... magic, shall we say? A little of my magic and you will forget that TLTE is in danger. If he's not in danger, you can continue on your path right?

    Losien: Forget that he's in danger? How is that possible?

    Michael McFarlane: You cannot question magic, or it won't work. C'mon, every child learns that!

    Losien: Why would you do this, Michael?

    Michael McFarlane: And once again you wound me! I was to help you, Losien! I can't stand to see your pretty face marred by these tears! Just say the word and you'll be free from this burden.

    Losien: Can't you save him?

    Michael McFarlane: That's asking too much. I will tell you, if it helps to soothe your conscience, that he's in the good company of Krig the Viking right now.

    Losien: Really!? You aren't lying are you?

    Michael McFarlane: No. I do my best not to lie these days. They're having yet another one of those court-cases. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.

    Losien couldn't help but laugh a little at that thought. She could imagine Krig in his lawyer suit defending TLTE against some indignant prosecuter. She could only guess that he was in trouble if he was involved in a court-case but she felt with Krig on his side maybe he wasn't as helpless as she once thought.

    Losien: I accept your offer.

    Michael McFarlane: Good! Though for my own brand of mangic to work, you'll need to sign this-

    Michael whips out a contract from thin air, along with an exquisite quill.

    Michael McFarlane: Simply sign the contract and you will not remember that TLTE is in any danger at all.

    Losien, still not fully trusting Michael, reads the contract properly; however it only states the same as his words. She would not remember that TLTE was in danger. She takes the quill and quickly writes her name.

    A moment later Losien dries her eyes.

    Losien: Why am I crying?

    She looks around to see that she had been sitting by herself with her thoughts. She hadn't been sure which path to take and after talking to Soriel about the issue she had come to a conclusion. There was no reason to return to the real world just yet. News of Citizen Rex's death was an affair of Hero Force One, not the NeS Heroes. She would make sure to pay respects to them and him once they had saved the NeS from the threat of Knowsoul. She approaches the group and tells them of her choice and everyone agrees, including Al Ciao though she detects his concealed sadness.


    On Oympus the court had already come to a conclusion. After Krig's fellow vikingers were won over with promises of more ale and The Illusionist had been suitably threatened with Krig's axe, TLTE was found guilty and sued for the grand total of sixty-billion dollars.

    TLTE: Are you being serious?

    The Copyright God: Totally. In fact that's just for your personal crimes. Wait until I sue each of the other heroes. Especially that Gebohq character. He's a fraudulent one if ever I saw!

    Suddenly the world stops and a dark mist envelopes TLTE. The Russian super-spy reels against the darkness, fighting futilely until he bumps into someone behind him.

    TLTE: You!

    Michael McFarlane: Me.

    Michael grabs TLTE.

    Michael McFarlane: It is a shame you will not be forgotten, TLTE, I would have liked for you to suffer as I had suffered. But just in case story convention works in your favour and you are only temporarily removed from the NeS, I will impart you with some knowledge.

    TLTE struggles against Michael but the NeShade has unearthly strength when surrounded by his dark mist. Michael leans close to TLTE's ear and whispers.

    Michael McFarlane: It was Losien who condemned you to this. She wants to forget you and move on for the sake of the NeS. So sad!

    TLTE: As if I would believe you!

    With his free hand Michael takes out the contract that Losien signed.

    Michael McFarlane: And there it is, my old friend. Her signature. I couldn't do this any other way. I need a contract and I have it. Toodles!

    TLTE vanishes into the ether. Michael and his mist vanish a second later.

    The Illusionist: Krig the Viking you are sentenced to pay a fine of sixty billion dollars for breaking copyright laws!

    Krig the Viking is defending himself against the accusations of The Copyright God. The Illusionist, who had happened by, was only on Olympus because she had followed a bunch of whores through the bifrost but she was now loving her new-found job. She smashes the gavel down.

    The Illusionist: GUILTY! HAHAHA!

    Krig the Viking: Krig apeal!

    The Illusionist: Uh... okay, sure! Apeal away!

    Krig the Viking: Krig not guilty! Copyright God guilty of imposing foreign laws not invented in times of Valhalla!

    The Copyright God: We're not in Valhalla!

    Krig the Viking: Not exist in times of Olympus either.

    The Illusionist: Good point! Copyright God, I find you guilty! Your sentence is... uh... a fine of sixty billions dollars to be paid to me!

    Krig the Viking: Krig!

    The Ilusionist: To Krig! And Krig will buy me car!

    Krig the Viking: Drink only!

    The Illusionist: Fine. Drinks only.

    Krig the Viking: One drink!

    The Illusionist: Fiiiiiine...

    Krig the Viking: Of cola.

    The Illusionist: You drive a hard bargain!

    Krig the Viking: If Illusionist not accept offer now, Krig will make cola diet!

    The Illusionist: Accepted!
    Last edited by TheBritt; 05-26-2012 at 09:43 AM.

  15. #1375
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    Britt the Writer suddenly remembers something!

    Britt the Writer: Crap! I left the stove on!

    Not that! Something else!

    Britt the Writer: Oh yeah! Oy! Al!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Oy! Britt!

    Britt the Writer: You killed yourself off, remember?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Eh?

    Britt the Writer: Al, the character, is also Citizen Rex, right?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Yeah...

    Britt the Writer: And didn't Mia kill Al with bullets?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Psh, he got better. Uh... didn't he?

    Britt the Writer: Nope. He's a bullet-ridden ectoplasmic entity.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Oh.

    Ghost Writer: I knew it was in the plan!

    Al Ciao the Writer: But what is this movie you were parodying? Who is Apple? At first I thought it was Voodoo, then I thought it was Nyneve, but I really have no idea... Spill!

    Britt the Writer: Later. I need to go home and turn the stove off!


    The Swiss Whores Squad has brought back Krog the Viking Lord - who looks a lot like Krig, only taller, with gray hair, and a hammer instead of an axe. The Swiss council members eye him askance.

    Colonel Cheesecake: I don't recall His Majesty looking quite like this.

    Captain Chocolate: Apparently, being dead ages you.

    Mr. Missy: But this new look could create a panic within our noble citizenry!

    Mistress Missy: Pfft. You men know nothing about the art of cosmetics, do you? Dye his hair, touch up his wrinkles, and suddenly, you have a taller Krig!

    Naturally, Krog refuses to have makeup applied to him, until the Swiss Whores Squadettes volunteer to do it. Arjeta gets a little excited and paints his toenails pink, but Krog is too blissful to care. Captain Chocolate eyes the toenails with a heavy sigh, but consoles himself with the thought that the boots will hide them.

    Krog the Viking Lord (alias: Krig King of Switzerland): Now Krog is shiny! Krog like shinies!

    Mistress Missy: And now to present you to the populace to reassure them.

    She places an ornate crown upon his newly-red locks. At this point, the Norse Valkyries Squad bursts in, but are placated with the fact that Krog is being honored, plus the fact that Krog assures them he likes it here, and they're more than welcome to stay with him!

    Since even Valhalla gets a little tiresome after so many hundred years, the Valkyries agree. Meanwhile, in Valhalla...

    Krig: Krig like getting shinies! Especially 60 billion dollars worth of shinies!

    CopyrightGod: Here's your fricking 60 billion dollars.

    He hands Krig a suitcase. The diminutive Viking opens it up to find million dollar bills.

    Krig: What? These aren't shinies!

    The Illusionist, thinking fast, turns the bills into equivalent value coins.


    CopyrightGod: I hope you're happy. That was my entire fund with which to pursue my various suits within the NeSiverse. Plus I had to mortgage the Phortress of Phractal. Um... let's keep that last bit between you and me, eh?

    Krig: Now Krig only has to wait for Val-kee-rees to come back, and life--

    Illusionist: Afterlife.

    Krig: --will be perfect!

    Much later...

    Krig: Krig still waiting...


    The newly christened Detective Hawthorne decides to check with Hero Force One. Y'know, since they're Citizen Rex's team and all. He has a little trouble figuring out how to get to the Hovercarrier, though, floating as it does above Big Ben.

    Hawthorne: Aha! I shall climb Big Ben and do a mighty leap to the Hovercarrier from there!

    He enters the ruins of Big Ben, noticing all kinds of newly shredded rubble, already-sprung traps, speakers, and cameras.

    MZZT: Oy! Who goes there?

    Detective Hawthorne: Who's asking?


    Hawthorne: What?


    Hawthorne: I still can't understand you. That's some awful static you've got going on there.

    MZZT: No, eejit, MZZT is my name.

    Hawthorne: Erm... okay? Well, Mr. Static, that's an awful name.

    Someone else's voice crackles over the speaker.

    Geb: At least it wasn't chosen from a Scrabble draw.

    MZZT: For realz.

    Hawthorne: So I don't know what you're doing here, but I'm coming up.

    MZZT: No! This is a restricted area!

    Hawthorne eyes the stairwell in front of him, partially covered in debris. Next to it, he sees a brand new brass elevator, with a line of people waiting for it.

    Hawthorne: Restricted, eh? You've got a buncha tourists down here.

    MZZT: Yeah, they're customers. Cris B finally fulfilled his dream and built his rotating Chikin Chateau restaurant on top of Big Ben. The elevator takes 'em straight to it. But we got everything between the ground floor and the eats.

    Hawthorne: Pfft, I'll just take the 'vator then. I'm trying to get to the top, so I can get to the Hovercarrier, anyway.

    Geb: If you want to get to the Hovercarrier, just come up our way. We've got a portal.

    MZZT: Geb! You can't go around giving away our secrets!

    Geb: Um... you know I follow your Top Secret NeS Tech tweets, right?

    MZZT: ...

    Hawthorne: Oh, really? Well, thank you, I'm much obliged.

    He climbs the stairs to near the top, where Geb and MZZT are. Geb is lounging on a dusty red couch. MZZT is in a folding lawn chair in front of various technical instruments. A swirling black portal is looking through to a haunted living room with several apparently sleeping people in it. A great view of downtown London is offered through the gaping hole in the wall.

    MZZT: Say, why do you want to get to the Hovercarrier, anyway?

    Hawthorne: Um... well, I want to ask them about Citizen Rex.

    Geb's ears perk up. MZZT answers, however.

    MZZT: I doubt they'll tell you anything. The official story is that he's undercover at the moment. I even hacked into their database, and the only other thing in there is his incognito alias.

    Hawthorne: Oh, so they don't know about his death?

    MZZT stares at Hawthorne in surprise. Geb coughs uncomfortably.

    Geb: Well, I guess he hasn't gotten around to telling them. He was shot to death by his ex-girlfriend.

    MZZT and Hawthorne turn shocked looks on Geb.

    MZZT: Wait, what? How do you know something Hero Force One doesn't know?

    Hawthorne: And of course he hasn't gotten around to telling them, if he's dead!

    Geb: Oh, no, he's just fine. The bullet holes don't appear to be causing him any discomfort.

    MZZT: Hang on, I've read Citizen Rex's file. Isn't he like invincible or something? Like Superman without the Kryptonite?

    Geb: Um, well...

    Hawthorne: I want all the details. I've been hired to find out why, where, and how he was killed.

    Geb: Um... Ex-girlfriend, Convenience Store of the Damned, hail of bullets.

    Hawthorne groans.

    Hawthorne: Not that Damned Store again...

  16. #1376
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    Losien: To Knowsoul!

    She charges down the lane, bypassing memory after memory. Soriel sighs, takes out a long pole with a hook on the end that he swiped from Evil Geb, and pulls Losien back with it.

    Losien: Soriel! What are you doing?

    Soriel: Saving your life.

    Losien: What? I'm the main character! Nothing can happen to me!

    Thand: Actually, Soriel is quite correct.

    Soriel looks a little displeased at agreeing with anything Thand says or thinks.

    Losien: Do tell.

    Having given his stamp of approval, Thand grows silent, and gestures Losien's attention back to Soriel with his eyes.

    Soriel: Your main character invincibility is a story convention. It is also a story convention to journey along the quest, instead of just doing an insertion, efficient mission, and extraction. If you ignore story conventions to do the latter, then you lose the story convention of main character invincibility as well - especially since the story will wreak horrid revenge on you for defying conventions.

    Losien twists her lip in a grimace.

    Losien: I guess I have a lot to learn.

    Al: It's okay, Los. You're cool. And you're willing to learn, which is a much greater thing than someone who knows much and thinks he knows everything.

    Thand doesn't bat an eye. Meanwhile, another memory crops up.

    Quote Originally Posted by Page 13
    Geb: All I have to say is I don't think the DMV is gonna let me keep my driver's lisense after reading this...
    Losien: So *that's* why he never drives anymore!


    Geb the Writer: Seriously? That's your one attempt to dredge up a memory? An NSP one-liner?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Hush you.


    Within Michael's dark mist, TLTE is helpless. He struggles to move, but his limbs feel sluggish, as though the fog is quicksand. He manages to press a button on his NeS hero wristwatch.

    DEET-DEET dee-dee DEET-DEET!

    Hero Watch: I'm sorry, but your call could not be completed. The morphin grid is down in your area. Please hang up and try again later.

    TLTE: Morphin grid? What the frack?


    In Big Ben, MZZT is staring at one of his computer terminals. This is the communications junction, with a light and corresponding set of switches for each NeS Hero Watch he's ever constructed. All the lights are either green (for active), yellow (for reserves), or red (for inactive or offline).

    Except one. Its light is dark. Its set of switches is dusty, with a small cobweb stretching for a miniature lever to the panel. MZZT furrows his brow.

    MZZT: I know I had a reason for adding an extra circuit to this terminal when I constructed it, but for the life of me I can never remember why.

    Upstairs from them, Cris B's Chikin Chateau is busy to overflowing, as always. Its walls are constructed entirely of bulletproof glass, offering a slowly rotating panoramic view of London from any side, as well as the nearby Hovercarrier. Speaking of bulletproof glass, Cris B has invested a lot of money - or perhaps some of the storywielding powers some of the pages-earlier training montages gave him - in making the Chikin Chateau indestructible. Y'know, since he's had bad luck with his restaurants being destroyed by heroes and their ilk before.

    Due to this, several members of the various Hero Forces like to dine here, both for the convenience and for that fact that, should a villain attack them there, their hero insurance premiums will not go up. Joe's Pizza delivery boys often come through here on their way to deliver pizza to the Hovercarrier; Cris B allowed it in exchange for some stock.

    Pirates double as waiters and bouncers. One pirate, Jolly Roger - so named because he's generally happy, and his name is Roger, and also because Al Ciao the Writer is a terrible punster - comes up to one of the coveted tables right beside the window, where a young woman sits alone. There is a giftwrapped present on the table, as well as some legal-looking documents beside them.

    Jolly Roger: Yarr! May I take your order, missy?

    Iriana Emp - for so she is - tucks a few black curls behind her ear and looks up at Jolly Roger. Despite her youth, there is a certain hardness, or perhaps bitterness, to her features. Nonetheless, she smiles warmly.

    Iriana: Yes, please. Y'all have a birthday special, right?

    Jolly Roger: Aye, missy, that we do! All-you-can-chikin for $5.99, and a free cake!

    Iriana: I'll have that, thanks. And a sparkling mineral water.

    Jolly Roger: Yarr! If I may be so bold, what age are ye?

    Iriana: 16.

    Jolly Roger: Yarr! Sweet sixteen! Happy birthday, little missy?

    He stumps off on double peglegs to fulfil her order. Iriana looks back at the legal documents on the table. They confirm her legal emancipation, effective on this day. She then looks at the present. Its tag says only "From Dad". She bites her lip, then opens it.

    Within, there is a pouch, a letter, and a locket. She reads the letter first.

    Quote Originally Posted by Letter from Al Ciao nee Highemp nee King Emp
    To my little moon,

    Happy birthday. I know you're not thrilled to hear from me, and I've tried to honor that by keeping my distance. But I wanted to give you what blessing I can on this day. I hear you've applied for emancipation; congratulations!

    I know I'm no longer required to pay child support, now that you're emancipated, but nonetheless, I've sent some monies in the pouch for you. I've come into some small wealth, and you're the only one I want to share it with.

    May the story never subject you to its whims.


    Dictated by His Infernal Lordship, by the Majordomo
    Iriana: Dad, what have you gotten into now?

    She does manage to chuckle though. Opening the pouch, she sees several condensed-soul tokens, of gold and silver denominations. Finally, she takes the locket and opens it to find a portrait of her father - as Highemperor - and her mother Alole standing together. Alole is visibly pregnant beneath her generic Disney-princess-style dress. The couple look almost obscenely happy.

    Iriana: Dad...

    Her voice is breathless. She knows how much that locket has always meant to him. She puts it over her head and around her neck, and places a hand over it.

    Loud Voice Ringing Through Restaurant: Give Krog and Krog's on-toor-aj seats now, or Krog slash!

    Iriana, along with every other customer in the Chikin Chateau, turn to see Krog the Viking Lord (alias Krig King of Switzerland) coming into the restaurant with the Swiss council and his six bodyguards (three Valkyries, three Whores). Even the head waiter Dirty Harry - so named because he never takes a bath (only showers) and his name is Henry, AND because Al Ciao the Writer has a horrible predilection for puns - is a bit intimidated.

    Dirty Harry: Er, sir, I'm sorry, but we're booked solid, and we have no currently available seats.

    Krog is starting to look angry, and the Swiss council is starting to look worried about possibly causing a diplomatic incident. Iriana rolls her eyes and calls over.

    Iriana: You can sit over here - Krog, is it?

    They all look her way. She is sitting all alone at a very big party table. Dirty Harry's knees wobble with relief.

    Dirty Harry: Thankee, missy.

    Krog and his entourage crowd in at the table around Iriana, jabbering in Swiss and Norse. Iriana, being the daughter of an Atlantean princess and a notorious former powerplayer, speaks both languages fluently and joins the conversation with a natural acumen, whilst still maintaining a slight reserve.

    Krog: Thanks, nice girl! I'm Krog!

    Mr. Missy: Krig.

    Iriana: Pleasure to meet you, your majesty. I am Iriana.

    Krog: Eerie Anna? Krog not think you scary!

    Captain Chocolate facepalms. Iriana smiles.

    Iriana: Thank you, Krog.

    Mr. Missy: Krig.

    Iriana: I don't think you're scary, either.

    The doors to the Chikin Chateau blow open with a melodramatic gust of wind - despite the fact that they were already standing wide open - and flares of light cascade into the room. A silhouette stands in the door, cloaked and hooded, before striding purposefully inside.

    Knightlord Thorn: I am here for the daughter of the Highemperor!

    Iriana shrinks into her seat, not out of fear, but of abject embarrassment. No one else in the restaurant knows who or what the powerplayer is talking about, but Thorn quickly spots the unmistakable black curls and blue eyes. He strides majestically over to her table.

    Knightlord Thorn: You shall come with me, young lady.

    Iriana: If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. I haven't even eaten yet.

    Insulted by Iriana's blithe response - when it should be melodramatic, of course! - Thorn reaches out his hand over the table, only to have it pushed away by one of the Valkyries.

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Brunhilde: The girl said, she doesn't want to go with you.

    Knightlord Thorn: You act as if she has a choice.

    Krog: Wenches! You and Krog protect nice girl!

    As one the Whores, Valkyries, and Krog leap out of their seats into positions around Knightlord Thorn, who rubs his hands gleefully at the chance to show off his powerplaying abilities...

    In the far corner of the restaurant, Seraphim and Acidspitter are on a lunch date. Spotting the imminent fracas, Seraphim groans.

    Seraphim: Villain?

    Acidspitter: Villain.

    Seraphim: Dessert first?

    Acidspitter: Dessert first.

    They begin stuffing chocolate cake into each others' mouths.

  17. #1377
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    The Trouble with Rhinos

    On Memory Lane, our Main Cast of Characters (Losien, Al Ciao, Soriel, The Otter, Maeve, Rachel, Amal and Arkng Thand), are about to experience a minor sub-plot.

    Losien: Not another one...

    Maeve: Who cares about some pointless drivel that never goes anywhere?

    A memory unfurls before them.

    Page 13 of the NeS the Past Cast of Characters had lost one; Antestarr. The dark anti-hero of the NeS group who has a dark and mysterious past involving many facets and possible sub-plots that the readers (HA!) of the NeS will never learn about.

    Today, however, we will learn of one.

    The pleasant English garden was bathed in moonlight and the soft glow of lanterns. Sat upon a couple of garden chairs were Antestarr and none other than Nyneve.

    Al Ciao: Well finally we get to clear up that bit of backstory!

    Rachel: Don't interrupt the memory, Al! Shut up!

    Nyneve, the NeSferatu, suddenly glanced around the garden.

    Nyneve: Did you hear something?

    Antestarr: No?

    Nyneve: Something about backstory?

    Antestarr: No...

    Nyneve: Doesn't matter. I'm glad you came to see me again, Antestarr.

    Antestarr: Glad I came to see you again too, Nyneve. I'm surprised you can make such a good cup of tea though. Being a NeSferatu, it's not like you need to drink much tea yourself is it?

    Nyneve: I wasn't always.

    Antestarr: Touchy subject?

    Nyneve: Guess.

    Antestarr: Right. Well, last time we met it was quite... wild and impulsive. I'm just trying to get a little more... depth from you.

    Nyneve: Do you need it?

    She leant forward on the table and gave Antestarr a wicked and mischeivious smile.

    Antestarr: Not really, no. I suppose I'm trying to be polite.

    Nyneve: I'm over a hundred years old, boy. You're not the first man in my life... anywhere near.

    Antestarr: Well then. The night is young. What do you want to do with me?

    With a sudden burst of vampiric speed, Nyneve was upon the table and leant down to embrace Antestarr in a fierce, passionate kiss. Her hands cupped his jaw and the tingle of excitement ran down her spine. Antestarr wasn't the main character of the NeS with ink-blood in his veins, but Antestarr was a Character. And a character that had a great destiny ahead of him.

    But before the juicy stuff- uh, I mean the passionate romance could ensue there came a sound. The sound of thunder; yet there were no clouds, no rain, no wind, no lightning.

    Antestarr: That's not thunder... it's a stampede!!

    Suddenly the fence at the bottom of the garden is trampled down by a massive horde of rhinocerous, grunting and howling with anger. At their lead is none other than Soriel, young swordsman who battles a hundred enemies. However this time he's running for his life.

    Soriel: That never happened! I swear!

    Rachel: Stop interrupting the flashback!

    Nyneve: What never happened?

    Antestarr: What? What're you talking about? C'mon, we've got to get out of here!

    And so Antestarr and Nyneve both start to run for their lives too as the rhinos charge straight for them. They dashed through the exurberent mansion belonging to Nyneve and the walls crashed down behind them as the herd smashed their way through. Soriel soon overtook the two of them and was out of the door.

    Nyneve: No way!

    Antestarr: How did he--?

    Nyneve boosts her own speed, moving at a vampiric blur once again, leaving just Antestarr in danger. A giant rhino head cames up beside him.

    Rhino: Hey there, bud.

    Antestarr: Uh... hi!

    They burst out of the house and onto the street. The mansion was left with a gaping hole through the middle and threatened to collapse at any moment.

    Rhino: Sorry about your house, pal.

    Antestarr: It's okay, it wasn't mine.

    Up ahead Antestarr could see the distant figures of Nyneve and Soriel.

    Antestarr: I really need to even this score. Like... a time... modulator.

    Rhino: For a dude about to be squished by rampaging rhinos, you sure like to talk a lot.

    Antestarr: Good point. Time to resolve this flashback.

    Rhino: Flashback?

    Antestarr: Nevermind.

    His eyes scanned the houses all along the seemingly quiet street until he spotted what he was searching for. A big, fat cat. Antestarr pulled up his hook-shot and fired it straight at the lazy feline. Morris the Cat snarled at the incoming projectile and tried to chomp down on it but, as he quickly learnt, he was now hooked and being reeled in by the incredibly resourceful Antestarr. After a brief moment of being indignantly hauled, Morris the Cat grew angry and opened his mouth wide to consume anything and everything in front of him. Which just so happened to be the entire herd of rhinos.

    Antestarr: Brilliant. I amaze even myself sometimes.

    Nyneve: How'd you know that fat cat was even here?

    Antestarr: Oh, so now you show up. Now that danger's past.

    Nyneve: Of course! I'm not going to get trampled to death!

    Antestarr: You could have saved me with your NeSferatu strength! Carried me like a doll!

    Nyneve: Oh right. Well, I'm not used to thinking about other people. So sue me.

    Soriel: So how did you know about the cat?

    Antestarr: Morris is an incredibly fat cat, I figured where there's a quiet street with a lot of old ladies, there's Morris getting fed and petted.

    Morris: You make it sound like a bad thing! Anyway. I'm off. Try and hook me again and it'll be you that gets to be dinner.

    The fat cat sauntered off, his tail waggling proudly.

    Antestarr: Wait. Who the Hell're you anyway?

    Soriel: Soriel.

    Antestarr: You know, that question usually means much more than just the literal, who are you?

    Soriel: Just passing through on another one of my many adventures.

    Antestarr: Many adventures, eh? Do they often end with you getting your sorry-arse rescued by strangers?

    Soriel: Admittedly no. But I do get the occassional side-kick, so thanks. See you around.

    Antestarr: Side-kick!? Me!?

    Nyneve: Haha! We'll have to get you into some spandex, Robin! I think the underwear look would suit you.

    Antestarr: So we're playing dress-up now?
    Losien: Why didn't you ever tell us that you knew Antestarr?

    Soriel: You never asked!

    Losien: That's a pretty clichéd excuse, Soriel.

    Soriel: I can't tell you everyone I've ever known! How was I supposed to know that you knew who he was. How about Jeff? Jeff the barman in The Lion's Head in Colchester? Or Dave. Dave the Milkman I once met in New England?

    Losien: Okay, okay, we get your point.

    Soriel: Actually I ended up killing Dave so I'm glad you didn't know him.

    Fred, Teh Uber Blade: Yeah. Just a shame auld Soriel didn't take on that sexy vampire witch. That woman is so kinky she'd break an iron just looking at it.

    Losien: ...

    Fred, Teh Uber Blade: Just in that short time of running down the street together I could see that perfect, pale body in that tight, tight corset pushing up her ample b-

    Losien: SILENCE BLADE!

    Carlotta the Cape:You know, I actually thought she was going to be able to ignore you for a minute.

    Fred, Teh Uber Blade: You should never doubt my ability to make a woman blush.

    Carlotta the Cape: Ooooh! I like the sound of that.

    Losien: I'm going to toss you both into Mount Doom, I swear it!
    Last edited by TheBritt; 06-02-2012 at 02:40 AM. Reason: Spellings

  18. #1378
    As Losien attempts her best impression of not hearing the voices of what should be inanimate objects - and failing - she and the others approach another nostalgic moment of her past in their stroll down Memory Lane, the previous flashback clicking past into darkness while the approaching memory from page 14 clicks into view as a lighthouse might in a night fog. It is a memory still highlighting their adventures magically trapped in a television...

    Quote Originally Posted by Krig the Viking View Post
    *The heroes fall into the inky blackness for what seems an eternity.*

    Geb:"What's that up ahead-er-below? It looks like... it is! The Holy Hand Remote! We've found it! Now we can get out of here!"

    *Ante reaches out to grab remote as it get closer*

    Ante:"I got it... I got it... I got..."

    *The heroes whip past the Holy Hand Remote, leaving it floating somewhere inside the Death Star*

    Ante:"Dang, I missed..."

    Losien in tight sexy spacesuit:"How long is this dark, inky pit?"


    *The heroes and Dart Wader are in a big pile. Losien sits on top, unharmed.*


    Losien, looking upwards:"Uh-oh..."

    *Losien jumps off of the pile of human and semi-human bodies, just in time to avoid the plummeting Millenium Falcon*

    Ooh, that's gotta hoit! Tune in next time when our heroes find out where they are, and what they're doing there, and who opened the doors to this pit, and why they haven't died yet, and what the sinister plan involving the Furb--er--Burbies is!
    Maeve: Looks like you had a knack for avoiding harm even before you were a main character, Losien.

    Fred Teh Uber Blade: spacesuit.

    Losien: I, uh... learned from Geb.

    Another memory from page 14 sweeps in...
    Quote Originally Posted by Krig the Viking View Post
    *Everybody stands next to window, faces pressed against the glass. The camera pans around outside, looking in. Everyone's faces are all deformed and freaky looking because they're being pressed against the glass*

    Geb:"Ok, somebody's gotta go out into space and get the Holy Hand Remote. Who here has training in zero-G manouvering?"

    Randy:"Um, I do, why?"

    Geb:"You just volunteered to go get the HHR!"

    *Sem and Ante grab Randy and throw him into the airlock. Maybe hits the big red button, the inner door closes and the outer door opens. Randy floats towards the Holy Hand Remote.*

    Losien:"Maybe we should have given him an oxygen mask before we threw him out..."

    ***Star Wars-style horizontal wipe***

    *Airlock door opens. Randy collapses on the floor of the interior.*

    Randy:"Air... *gasp*... *wheeze*"

    Geb:"Did you get it?"

    Randy:"Remote... *breathe*... here..."

    *Randy weakly holds the Holy Hand Remote up to Geb. Geb takes it. Randy collapses on the floor, gasping for air.*

    Geb:"Ok, now let's get out of this heck-hole...*goes to change the channel"

    Maybe:"Wait! What about the Star Wars universe? We've totally messed up the timeline! If we leave now without fixing things, the last two movies may never even happen!"

    Geb:"Hmm. Ok, I'll just hit rewind, and we'll just go back and not do what we were going to do!"

    *Geb hits rewind. Images begin to flash by in reverse. An explosion gets smaller and smaller and coalesces into the Death Star. Randy's X-wing whips back into hyperspace. The Millenium Falcon and the crew fall up to the surface of the Death Star. The duct taped x-wing flies backwards to Yavin. Everybody hops backwards into a landspeeder. The speeder whips away in reverse, chasing a T-Rex who is also going backwards. The blurry motion suddenly stops in the hold of the Millenium Falcon.*

    Krig:"Krig's head hurts..."

    Geb:"Ok, good, we're back to here, before we did anything. Now, everybody grab hold of the remote and we'll change the channel."

    *Krig the Viking, Gebohq, Antestarr, Semievil, Maybechild, Losien, the Otter, and Lt. Randy grab the remote.*

    Maybe:"Hey, waitaminute... If we just went backwards in time, why is Randy with us?"

    Krig:"The hyperdynamic fluctuations of the device commonly known as the Holy Hand Remote were undoubtedly in effect in a larger radius than we had previously estima -- I mean -- Ugh. Krig's head hurt."

    Geb:"Uhh, yeah, anyway, we shouldn't waste any more time and risk the timeline getting messed up. Let's go!"

    *Geb slowly depresses the "Channel Up" button. The world flashes white, and dissapears. In the cockpit of the Millenium Falcon, the story that is Star Wars advances as it should. The tiny discrepencies in the plot caused by our heroes do not show up until many years later, when the Expanded Universe books begin to be written.*

    *The world flashes, and the rocking interior of a train comes into focus, swaying with the rails. Our heroes sit in a small compartment, the kind with the two bench-style seats facing each other.*

    Ante:"Where are we?"

    Otter:"And why is everything all black and white and greyish? It's like we're in the Twilight Zone or something..."

    *Twilight Zone theme begins*

    With the move to a new setting, the fate of our heroes is even murkier than it was before, if possible. What will happen in the near future? Only you can decide! (or me, cause I'm very powerful.)
    Otter: I never liked The Twilight Show after that time.

    Losien: I can't say that adventure made me want to watch more T.V., period.

    In another quick follow-up, another memory from page 14 appears...
    Quote Originally Posted by Highemperor of the Force View Post
    The NeS Heroes are relieved as they are rescued by who they assume is one of the actors from The Matrix in his car from their pursuing enemies.

    Geb: Thanks for rescuing us, Lawr - hey, you're not Lawrence Fishburne or Keanneu Reeves!

    Highemperor: Correct, O Brainless One. Though why I even bothered to save your worthless hides is beyond me.

    Losien: Can we just get OUT of here?

    Highemperor: Sure thing. [punches button on console]

    *Starlines appear, then disappear*

    Krig: Hyberslace?

    Sem: Hyperspace, Krig.

    Highemperor: No, it's not hyperspace, it's the hyper-dimensional televisual space/time continuum transportation field!

    [Others stare blankly at him.]

    Highemperor: [disgusted] Hyperspace.

    Maybe: OH...

    [In the murky recesses of Krig's mind, Darkside is despairing.]

    Darkside: I give up! I'll go find someone else's mind to possess. Hmm, how about that Highemperor guy, he seems to have some evil tendencies. . .
    Rachel turns to Al Ciao in some disbelief.

    Rachel: I think I can actually see a part of you in that old Highemperor.

    Al Ciao: I'd rather we not dwell on that.

    Al Ciao's face says otherwise, however, as he turns melodramatically into a spotlight, ready to conjure some grand tragic memory of his past.

    Rachel: Good. I don't care for your past.

    The spotlight flashes away, and disappointment falls over Al Ciao.

    Al Ciao: Oh. Ok...

    Losien: I'm sure we'll stroll across some more great memories with you in them, Al.

    Al Ciao beams an embarrassingly-joyful smile.

    Amal: I have my doubts.

    Al Ciao's smile quickly drops.

    Losien: Amal!

    Amal: I'm just stating the truth.

    Master Thand smiles approvingly.

    Losien: I'll have to have a talk with you later, young man.

    She does her best to ignore the absurdity of addressing someone who is virtually an adult as a child and instead press on down Memory Lane, though she finds her drive somewhat lacking. Losien tries to remember what drove her before, failing to come up with an answer...
    Last edited by Gebohq; 06-02-2012 at 04:50 AM.

  19. #1379
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post Rise NeSferatu

    Back in the present we turn to the long-standing Heroes HQ; the Haunted House of Heroes. Currently in one wing of the houses are our intrepid main cast of characters who are all dozing in their memories on Memory Lane. Linked to that room is the portal created by MZZT and through which can be found the former HQ of the NeS Heroes known as the Hall of Heroes where MZZT himself, along with Gebohq, have just met Detective Hawthorne.

    However we remain with the present HQ. In an entirely different room of the house is a decrepit old man, withered and worn by the ravages of time. And yet the man is not truly old, he is old-induced. Worn down by his over-indugenced on his improvised technology; the hyper-time-modulator.

    Young, the pregnant woman that is supposedly the fabled Avatar of the NeS, enters the room with a glass of warm milk for the man she, on some level, regards as her older brother if not a father-figure. She places the glass down on the table besides the old man's armchair. She checks his I.V. drip and then quietly walks out of the room, not wanting to wake him up from his midday nap.

    She wanders into the kitchen to make herself a ham sandwich. Unknown to her a couple of ghosts are gathered in the corner of the kitchen.

    Ghost #2: Wow, you have your humans well-trained!

    Ghost #1: Yeah. Took a long time but they're finally house-broken. For ages they kept on trying bust ghosts. Absolute nightmare. But now they're capable of looking after themselves and they respect their owners.

    Ghost #2: Aw. It's so cute. I should come over more often!

    Ghost #1: You're welcome round anytime, my friend! Wait til you meet old Bloody Skeleton. He's always a laugh. Still terrifies the humans though, I guess they'll always be a little on edge with some people.

    Ghost #2: True. Hey wait, why am I Ghost number two? I spoke first, shouldn't I be number one?

    Ghost #1: Sorry, pal. My house, my rules.

    Ghost #2: Sorry, didn't mean to imply anything. Just wondering. What about that soon-to-be-a-corpse you have in that other room?

    Ghost #1: I've already picked out a room for him to haunt! It's a lush place with cobwebs and everything. Spiders as big as your head. Literally. In fact I think they have wings too. God knows where they came from, but they seem friendly enough. They haven't tried to eat my humans yet.

    Having finished making her sandwich, Young takes a small plate of buscuits for Antestarr and places them besides the milk. Hopefully he'd still find his milk warm when he woke up. She decides to go back to watching the other heroes sleeping and wait for Gebohq to come back through the portal after visiting MZZT in London. But when the heavily pregnant woman leaves the room, a new figure enters. Morphing out of the shadows appears Nyneve, NeSferatu and old friend to the old man. She slowly walks around the armchair where he sleeps until she can see his face. She leans in close.

    Nyneve: Antestar...

    The old man doesn't stir.

    Nyneve: Oi! Old codger!

    Antestarr snaps awake.

    Antestarr: What? What? Oh... you...

    Nyneve: Don't sound too happy to see me.

    Antestarr: I'm... not.

    Nyneve: Why?

    Antestarr: You... are... nothing... but... trouble.

    Nyneve: That's unfair... but yes, probably true. Still. I'm not the one gasping after every word. How long do you have left now?

    Antestarr: Did... you... come... here... to... gloat? You... live... forever... and... I... have... days?

    Nyneve: Yes!

    With a tinkling laugh at could both please and chill the soul she climbs onto Antestarr's lap, who is too weak and frail to resist. He turns his face from her.

    Nyneve: Oh, Antestarr. Are you... embarassed? Ashamed?

    Antestarr: ... Yes.

    Nyneve: Antestarr. Human's grow old. That's what happens. I've seen it many times already. You have nothing to hide from me. I still see your handsome face beneath all of those wrinkles.

    Nyneve leans in and kisses the old man's lips.

    Nyneve: And I tell you now, that little Subaru couldn't see you like I do.

    Antestarr: That's unfair, Nyneve.

    Nyneve: I know! But it's true. She's young and impulsive. She doesn't know you like I do!

    Antestarr: Why are you here?

    Nyneve: Can't it just be for old times' sake?

    Antestarr: You were right, you do know me. But I also know you. So no. It can't be just for old times' sake.

    Nyneve: I'd like to make a joke about you becoming cynical in your old age, but you've always been mean like that.

    Antestarr: No games, Nyneve. Just tell me.

    Nyneve: You used to love my games. And we used to play them every night.

    From her cleavage she pulls a thin vial. A vial filled with deep crimson blood.

    Antestarr: What... are... you... doing?

    Nyneve: Do you know what this is?

    Antestarr: Blood... ink... right?

    Nyneve: Right. That clone of Gebohq I had was keeping me mildly satisfied for quite a long time, you know? But I finally found a better use for him. I drained every last ounce of blood from him and filtered it through 'til I finally had a single vial of this precious blood-ink.

    Antestarr: You... killed... him?

    Nyneve: Not really. He was one of Jim Seven's more... corrupted clones. Brain-dead would be a compliment. But all I needed was the blood. There wasn't a lot of blood-ink in there, he was only a clone, but enough, in the end, to get this.

    Antestarr: Why...?

    Nyneve smiles at Antestarr and for the first time it seems genuine. Antestarr had always felt like a plaything to Nyneve but this smile cut deep into him and he could finally see that glimmer hidden behind her vampiric mask of hate and despair. Antestarr wants to hug her tightly but he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't going to like whatever she was up to, affection or not.

    Nyneve: You know I'm one of the last NeSferatu, right? Possibly the last, I was never certain. I never... made another.

    Antestarr: ...Don't...

    Nyneve: Until now.

    Antestarr: Nyneve...

    Nyneve: My little clone died for a good cause. He saved your life and allowed you to live forever. With me.

    She suddenly moves to Antestarr's neck and bites down hard, her fangs cutting into his flesh. NeSferatu enjoy the blood of any human but it pales in comparison to the flavour of a Character and is nowhere near as sustaining. Like eating a packet of crisps couldn't compare to a full steak dinner. Only blood-ink would top the blood of Antestarr. Blood ink would be like and exquisite meal gifted by the gods. She drains Antestarr of his blood until, close to death, she stops and stares down into his wide eyes.

    Nyneve: I'll save you when no one else can.

    She pops the cork on the vial and quickly drains the blood-ink. She closes her eyes and gasps with a few small twitches as the release of feeling floods her body. When it is over she bites her own wrist, releasing the blood of Antestarr and the cloned blood-ink from her veins. And then into Antestarr's mouth. Initially he didn't react to the dripping life fuel but then, without conscious thought, he drew up to Nyneve's wrist and began to injest the magically charged blood. A combination of mythology, NeSology and story convention works to restore youth to Antestarr's withered body. He grows younger and younger, stronger and stronger, returning to his former state before he began to feel the effects of the hyper-time-modulator. Then he pulls away from Nyneve's wrist as pain surges through his body. Pain of change. He was transforming into something non-human. He would be... NeSferatu.

    Ghost #2: Does this mean you've got a room to let?

    Ghost #1: I guess so!
    Last edited by TheBritt; 06-02-2012 at 04:09 AM. Reason: Line spacing

  20. #1380
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post I smell... Retcon

    And now to the Writers' Realm where our three primary Writers are discussing the current events of the NeS.

    Gebohq the Writer: See!? I knew this would happen! Not only do you have three alter-egos for your character, you have a Past version who also has three alter-egos the same as the first!

    Britt the Writer: Actually I think maybe the past one only has the two.

    Gebohq the Writer: My point proven! Who knows who's who anymore!?

    Al Ciao the Writer: It's not that bad...

    Gebohq the Writer proceeds to slap Al Ciao the Writer with a large haddock.

    Gebohq the Writer: You will never be a NeS Writer!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Yes I will!

    Al Ciao the Writer is slapped again.

    Gebohq the Writer: You will never be a NeS Writer!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Yes I will!

    The fish swings again.

    Gebohq the Writer: You will never be a NeS Writer!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Yes I will!

    Britt the Writer: You guys... As for the parody. It's more... of an... inspired by. Let's face it, parodies are just boring. It's Citizen Kane, of course. You know, he says Rosebud when he dies at the beginning of the film and then the guy, who isn't really a detective but he kind of acts like it, goes around and gets memory land style material. Seemed to fit.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Except... he didn't say rosebud when he was shot by Mia.

    Britt the Writer: ... Oops? I only just reached the end of page 33 today, what do you want from me!?

    Al Ciao the Writer: I smell... RETCON!

    Gebohq the Writer: NO! I FORBID YOU!

    Britt the Writer: Too late!


    On Memory Lane, our Cast of Heroes are briefly seen moments before a new memory, from the future (what?) appears;

    Mia: Goodbye, lover.

    Al: But... why?

    Mia: Weren't you listening? I just told you last post!

    Al: Yeah, but this is your cue for a flashback.

    Mia: Oh right.

    Al Ciao: Rosebud...

    Mia: What?

    Al Ciao: Uh... I have no idea where that came from.

    Mia: Aw. Poor baby. You've become delirious with fear. Well, I'll end that for you...
    Losien: Uh, wasn't that recent history?

    Amal: I think so. Just a page before we went to Memory Lane, I think.

    Al Ciao: That... was... horrible.

    Maeve: Actually, didn't we just see that before? I mean literally just before I'm sure I saw Al getting his arse crunched by a foxy bint in a mech.

    Amal: Strange that we keep coming back to this point. Maybe we're somehow being guided by residual interest from specific people here? And since Al Ciao is still fairly raw from his experience we keep returning here?

    Rachel: Or the Writers are just idiots.

    Maeve: I find Rachel's argument far more convincing.


    Britt the Writer: Done. Rosebud. Citizen Kane-dom established. Go forth and write, minions.

    Gebohq and Al Ciao the Writers move away before running back screaming blue murder at Britt the Writer for calling them both minions.

  21. #1381
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post How to Win a Woman's Heart

    At the Cris B. Rotitin Chikin Shack atop of Big Ben, two more people enter the fast-food restaurant behind Knightlord Thorn. Magick Snowflakes and Nick on their immature teenage date. As soon as they enter they both feel a sudden connection to somebody else in the room, though they have no idea what it is. Iriana Emp looks away from her would-be-captor and stares straight at the other two teenagers. NeS Heroes: The Next Generation is on the verge!!


    Al Ciao the Writer: Are you being serious?

    Britt the Writer: Well it entertains me anyway.

    Back on Memory Lane Amal feels like he's needed elsewhere to lead a new and bold group of NeS Heroes to victory over the evils that plagued their older counterparts in all new adventures!

    But then The Otter and Maeve start to coach him in the ways of alcohol and he forgets whatever it was he was contemplating.

    Losien: I totally disapprove of this, Amal.

    Arkng Thand: Oddly enough, so do I.

    The Otter: Aw, yous two're just upset that we're not giving yous any!

    Maeve: Unlucky for you, I don't do teaching on sex. But I'm pretty sure Losien will loosen up if I ply her with a few.

    Amal: I...

    Amal wonders at his own hesitation. He likes Losien, she's nice and very pretty, but he felt like he ought to defend someone's honour but he couldn't think of who. Losien had no boyfriend or husband and yet there was, briefly, a feeling that someone might be upset if he did date Losien. He glances at Al Ciao. Nah.

    He leans to Maeve to whisper.

    Amal: Maybe I should ask her on a date?

    Maeve: Totally! But wait 'til I've got her drunk.

    Amal: Uh... okay?

    The Otter: And I'll teach you how to chat up a lady. As example, I'll practice on Maeve here.

    Maeve: This... I don't like the sounds of.

    The Otter: 'Ello, darlin'! Wotcha!

    Maeve: Yeah... nice opening line. Idiot.

    The Otter: Love your knockers. Wanna go for a shag?

    Maeve: I feel... an overwhelming desire...

    The Otter: Yeah!?

    Maeve: To beat you with a very big hammer.

    The Otter: Like... in a kinky way?

    Maeve: ... Hey, maybe!

    The Otter: SCORE!

    Amal: Wow... that was easy!

    Maeve: Are you calling me easy?

    Amal: Uh...

    Maeve: Honestly, Losien drunk would be even easier. She'd probably be unable to even speak let alone threaten you with a hammer. So I wouldn't worry about it too much.

    The Otter: You know... even I think you might be going a bit far with this one. I mean... taking advantage of her when she's so drunk she can't form words?

    Maeve: Is that bad?

    The Otter: I reckon so, aye. She needs to be drunk enough to loosen up and feel more free but not drunk enough that she's paralysed on the floor.

    Maeve: I'm impressed Otter. You do have some decorum after all.

    The Otter: Totally! I'm such a charmer I could whip your knickers off with my very words!

    Maeve: Not unless you've got story-wielding powers from somewhere... and you touch me and I'll break your fingers. One by one.

    The Otter: ... In a kinky way?

    Amal: Wow... sex seems so... strange.

    Maeve: I think we're setting a bad example. Look, just relax, give Losien a few drinks and see where it goes.

    The Otter: Aye, we already know how easy she is after we watched her shag that Joe the Soundguy in the laundrette.

    Maeve: Uh, but you want her for your girlfriend, right? So maybe you don't even have to sleep with her? You could just ask her to go out with you.

    Amal: Right. How do I ask her to drink with us?

    Maeve: Simple. Like this.

    Maeve turns around and shouts so that all can now hear her.

    Maeve: Oi, Losien! Come and have a drink with us!

    Losien: Um...

    Losien turns to see The Otter, Maeve and Amal all stood around with broad grins on their faces trying to look as innocent as possible.

    Losien: I suppose I could have just one...

    The Otter: Boss! Here. Which do you want? I got gin, girl's drink-

    Maeve: Oi!

    The Otter: Or whiskey that'll put hairs on your chest.

    Losien: Ew...

    The Otter: There's... Taboo. That's a really girly drink. We can put lemonade in it for you too.

    Losien: Sounds lovely.

    Amal: Yay! I mean- *ahem* - Excellent choice, my dear Losien. Did I tell you that you look absolutely ravishing today? Truly!

    Losien: Oh no, I really don't. I look awful. I'm such an ugly mess.

    Amal: You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Losien! Uh, I mean, my dear, I honestly believe you to be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

    Maeve: I think she's worth a good romp in the sack, but I wouldn't say the most beautiful woman...

    The Otter:Is that a hint of jealousy?

    Maeve: I'll give you a Newcastle kiss if you carry on.

    The Otter: I look forward to it.

    Maeve points to an empty bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale.

    Maeve: I mean it!



    Britt the Writer: Wait, did they all get these watches? I thought there were only a few that got them from MZZT when they went to the Dining Hall of Heroes with MaybeChilde and The Otter. In fact, pretty sure the list was very, very short.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Uh... Ask Geb? He's our walking encyclopaedia.

    Britt the Writer:
    He's dead. I think Cthulu-creature-thing ate him. Ghost Writer is the new Editor.

    Al Ciao the Writer:


    The Hero watch ringing was, this time, the watch belonging to Al Ciao. Being engaged with the NeS Heroes was always a time-consuming job that seemed to sap away at everything else in life. And so it was no surprise that Al Ciao had largely forgotten that he was also meant to be acting as ruler of Hell on some level.

    Majordomo: Sir. I just thought I ought to call you ask what you'd like to do about this long-standing war against Disneyland?

    Al Ciao: World.

    Majordomo: Uh. Yes. But either way we still have no end to the war, we have resource problems, and by that I mean our demons, and we are still no closer to getting Totally Evil back in our custody.

    Al Ciao: Can't you send in some stealth ninja demons or something? You know, while they're distracted fighting us.

    Majordomo: I don't think we have any stealth ninja demons available, Sir.

    Al Ciao: Damn. Hire some?

    Majordomo: We have no money left.

    Al Ciao: Aw, c'mon. There must be some assassin out there who wants to kidnap Totally Evil for a the thrill and challenge of it, not just the profit, right? Story convention means there should be a few bad guy characters like that bound to show up! Besides, I can promise something else... like... eternal youth or something. You know, the whole soul-buying stuff. But this time for assassination. Then again, that's the same as buying their soul, am I right? Being an assassin, it's not like they'll go anywhere else when they die! Ha!

    Majordomo: I'll look into it for you, Sir.

    Al Ciao: Alright. Cool beans.

    Soriel: Did you seriously just say "cool beans"?

    Al Ciao: So? Am I not allowed? ... Stupid-head!

    Soriel: Uh... what?

    Rachel: I think he called you a ... stupid-head.

    Soriel: Stupid... head?


    Very, very far away from Al Ciao And Losien's plights we see a rather large mansion in England. A large mansion that happens to be on the same street as Nyneve's that was destroyed in a couple of posts ago! Talk about tying things together, right?

    Britt the Writer:

    In this mansion we see a dark-figure lounging upon a long sofa wearing nothing but her underwear.

    Ghost Writer: Okay, I'm editing this stuff! Stop making sex references and get on with it.

    Britt the Writer: But she's a super-sexy character that needs to get naked to turn invisible! It's impossible to edit this stuff out!

    Ghost Writer: Watch me!

    The woman, who is somewhat attractive, was lay upon the sofa with a blanket to conceal her modesty.

    Britt the Writer: BORING!

    She answers the telephone.

    Majordomo: Is this Apple?

    Apple: State your business.

    Majordomo: I have a job for you...

  22. #1382
    (A Gebohq-Erik collaberation)

    Back with our main NES heroes, Amal is distraught at his apparant lack of success at winning over Losien's heart.

    Amal: I don't understand. What am I doing wrong?

    Al Ciao: Have you considered treating her like a normal pers-

    Amal: Wait!! I've got it.

    Just then, Amal wields the story for an environment more comfortable for him. A black frame surrounds a mostly inanimate Losien. Her voice is replaced by streaming text below her.

    Losien: Ahhh! What a nice day, don't you agree Amal?

    Several different thought patterns of Amal appear below her dialog which read:

    1. "Not as nice as you are."
    2. "Actually its rather moot since we are in a descriptionless void."
    3. "Look behind you, a three-headed monkey!"
    4. Put it in.

    Amal considers his options thoughtfully. However, before he has time to decide, a three headed monkey jumps on Losien, and the dating simulation environment drops away.

    Losien: Ahh, ahh! Get it off!

    Rachel laughs at Losien's misfortune.

    Maeve turns to Amal.

    Maeve: Hey Amal, that monkey is getting more action than you are.

    Fred Teh Uber Blade: Heh, "get it off"...

    Without further hesitation, Amal swoops in and smacks the monkey off of Losien.

    Losien: Thanks Amal...

    Losien turns away in embaressment.

    Amal: Think nothing of it! I'm just doing my job as a hero.

    The Otter: Smooth as scotch.

    Master Thand looks upon the scene with some concern...
    Last edited by Gebohq; 06-04-2012 at 12:21 AM.

  23. #1383
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post Questions

    In the Writers' Realm Britt the Writer wanders past Gebohq's office only to hear an ominous voice coming from within.

    Voice: Otaaaaaaaaaaku...

    Britt the Writer freezes.

    Voice: Ooooooooootakuuuuuuu!!!

    Britt the Writer runs away squealing.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Uh... you scared of a ghostly voice? What about Ghost Writer?

    Ghost Writer: I'm so unappreciated.


    In the Forward Operating Base set-up by MZZT, Detective Hawthorne has Gebohq, former the NeS Hero leader, sat down under lamp-light.

    Detective Hawthorne: So. What do you think Rosebud means?

    Gebohq: Honestly I don't really remember him saying it.

    Detective Hawthorne: He did. It was retconned in.

    Gebohq: Oh... it could be... a girl's name?

    Detective Hawthorne: His girlfriend's name?

    Gebohq: No. That was Mia.

    Detective Hawthorne: What was her surname? Did she have a middle name?

    Gebohq: Uh... no idea.

    Detective Hawthorne: You're a good friend to Citizen Rex, right?

    Gebohq: Sort... of...

    Detective Hawthorne: And you don't know the full-name of his girlfriend.

    Gebohq: In all honesty, I'm not so sure he did!

    MZZT: No wonder she shot him up, Jesus!

    Detective Hawthorne:
    Could he have had another woman? Maybe she killed him for that?

    Gebohq: Um... I think it was something to do with a book.

    Detective Hawthorne: Was the title Rosebud?

    Gebohq: No... I don't think so. It had a really long name. Like... Hermes Thurmygurmy Fantasy Pornos or something.

    Detective Hawthorne:

    MZZT: Want me to open that portal for you now, Detective?

    It took a moment for Hawthorne to realise MZZT was addressing him.

    Detective Hawthorne: Yes... I think it would be better to try some of the Hero Force One members. I may need to return though, so don't skip town, son.

    Gebohq: Son? How old are you?

    Hawthorne stares off into the distance.

    Detective Hawthorne:
    Old enough...

    Gebohq: Well I'd be surprised if you were under-age!

    Detective Hawthorne: I didn't mean that...

    Gebohq: Well I think I'll go back to the HHH and get back out of the story. I'm already taking up too much screen-time. Losien's credibility lowers every time I'm mentioned.

    Detective Hawthorne: Is her middle name Rosebud?

    Gebohq: ... no...

  24. #1384
    Virgin Fleet Admiral

    Something Retcon in the State of Denmark

    Ghost Editor: BRITTTTT!

    Britt the Writer: What? I'm right here.

    Ghost Editor: Yooooouuuuu have made a griiieeevous error...

    Al Ciao the Writer: Look, I like melodrama as much as the next guy--

    Britt the Writer: *cough*MOREthanthenextguy*cough*

    Al Ciao the Writer: But that's overdoing it just a tad.

    Ghost Editor: Sorry.

    Britt the Writer: So what error I have made? Whatever it is we can retcon it.

    From within Ohgmorkoth's belly (the Cthulhu-ish creature), Geb the Writer's voice can be heard rising in protest. The others ignore it.

    Ghost Editor: The war with Disneyland--

    Al Ciao the Writer: Disneyworld.

    Ghost Editor: Ended a page or two ago.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Seriously, why can't people get it straight?

    Britt the Writer: Well, like I said, I'm not fully caught up yet.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Am the only one who feels this way?

    Ghost Editor: Well, then maybe, you should catch up before posting!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Fine, just pretend I'm not here.

    Britt the Writer: Oh, really? I'm the only reason the NeS isn't on life support right now. Do you REALLY want the NeS back in a coma?

    There is a stricken silence for a moment, as the Ghost Editor and Al Ciao the Writer - and presumably, Geb the Writer within Ohgmorkoth's stomach - stare at Britt the Writer in terror.

    Al Ciao the Writer: NO!

    Ghost Editor: Please keep writing!

    Geb the Writer: Mnmgmhhfhgh!

    Britt the Writer: That's what I thought.


    In the chessboard realm of L33t, Bhac and Mayaal, Avatars of the eternal Conflict that defines NeS - or so they angrily assert at every Symposium of the recently-defunct NeScholars - are reclining on lounge chairs on Mayaal's flying yacht. Bhac's lounge chair is near the prow, which is hovering slightly over a black square, whilst Mayaal has the majority of the yacht to himself, floating over his home territory.

    Mayaal: Good Lord, there are a lot of subplots going on.

    Bhac: Fo sho. We've got Memory Lane, which is purportedly the main plot of the current arc.

    Mayaal: Then there's the whole Toastinator future with the traitorous Voodoo and their British and Swedish captives.

    Bhac: The Chikin Chateau, which is currently uniting Krog and his squadettes with the Stronghold of Powergamers' mission as well as Al Ciao the Writer's two Shipped couples with Hero Force One.

    Mayaal: Nyneve and Antestarr. Plus perhaps some romantic angst there, Nyneve with Merlin's ghost in Doughnutdelf beneath Stonehenge, and Antestarr with Subaru in her training at the French-based Magium.

    Bhac: That little thing with Hawthorne trying to figure out what happened to Citizen Rex aka Al Ciao the character.

    Mayaal: The whole hiring of Apple as an assassin to kill TotallyEvil.

    Bhac: Michael McLongname as the NeShade.

    Mayaal: Eh, that's mostly tied in with Memory Lane, as he seems to be vaguely affiliated with Knowsoul.

    Bhac: Anything else?

    Mayaal: I think that's it.

    Bhac: We've probably missed something.

    Mayaal: Several somethings.

    Bhac: Eh, we'll just claim that Michael ate them.

    Mayaal: Convenient excuses. I like it. But how can we tie all these things we *do* remember together?


    Within a chamber of the Magium, Hermes Trismegistus feels a disturbance in the Force-Expy!

    Hermes Trismegistus: My gods. It's happening. Britt and Al Ciao the Writers are trying to tie all these threads together! I need to get a message to Geb the Writer, stat!

    DEET-DEET dee-dee DEET-DEET!

    Hermes Trismegistus: Eh?

    He looks at the NeSiverse God Watch on his wrist. Engraved in tiny lettering along the top arc of the timepiece are the words, Produced by MZZT Industries.

    Hermes Trismegistus: Yeah, what is it?

    HorseGod (via watch): HT! There's some horrible news! Geb the Writer has been eaten!

    Hermes Trismegistus: What? Who would-- Oh ye gods, Ohgmorkoth just couldn't control his appetite, could he?

    HorseGod: Neiiiighh, he couldn't. We're doomed!

    Hermes Trismegistus: Not quite. We do have our back up plan: empowering High Imp...


    On Memory Lane, as Amal cozies up to Losien, Al Ciao suddenly remembers something!

    Al: Crikey! I left the stove on!


    Al: Sorry, I think there was some bleed between posts there.


    Al: *through his Hero Watch* Majordomo! We've already ended the world with Disneyworld!

    Majordomo: You forget, the concept of time is weird in hell.


    Al Ciao the Writer: See? It didn't even require a retcon!

    A muffled sigh of relief comes from Ohgmorkoth's stomach.

    Britt the Writer:


    Al: Swell. So if the war's still going on, at least from our temporal point of view--

    Majordomo: I say, sir, you seem to have a good grasp of the metaphysical dynamics of the situation.

    Al: Not really. I have a powerplaying alter ego, so I've picked up the trait of using five-dollar words to sound smarter than I actually am. So anyways, if the war's still going on, do we have more demon warriors at our disposal now? Instead of them all being discorporated?

    Majordomo: As long as they stay in Canada, yes. Should they enter the earth proper once more, they will be re-aligned with the normal timestream and return to discorporate state.

    Al: So the only way they'll be useful is if someone invades Canada in force?

    Majordomo: Well, yes, but I should point out that instigating a war is hardly in our best--

    Al: Yeah, yeah, catch ya later. *dials a number on his hero watch* Yo, Colonel Cheesecake! You're ugly and your mother dresses you funny!

    Colonel Cheesecake: *via hero watch* Argh! This means war, Mr. Eight! Er, as soon as we finish dealing with this would-be kidnapper.

    Krog the Viking Lord: *in the background* KROG SLASH!

    Swiss Whores Squad - Arjeta: *via the hero watch* Say, Colonel, aren't we supposed to be the defiantly neutral country?

    Colonel Cheesecake: Don't bother me with inconsequential details like that!

    Meanwhile, a memory forms in the background.

    Quote Originally Posted by A Newly Revealed Memory! During their escape with Highemperor
    Our hero-types are fitted uncomfortably in Highemp's conveyance as he speeds through hyperspace. Krig is idly picking his nose.
    Losien: That's it?

    Amal: Ah, forget the memories, my dear, and let us make some new memories of our own.

    Rachel: Okay, that's enough of that.

    She beans Amal over the head with a frying pan.

    Losien: *horrified* Rach! What did you do that for?

    Rachel: Teenage hormones.

    Losien: Say what?

    Rachel: He was trying to make like Joe the Sound Guy.

    Losien: What? He--

    A horrified light dawns in her eyes.

    Losien: That's GROSS! I'm supposed to be a mother-figure to him.

    Rachel: I know, right? Looks like a certain writer has a fetish for more than just tentacle porn.


    Ghost Editor: Britt!

    Britt the Writer: Yeah?

    Ghost Editor: Why do you keep staring at that Ohgmorkoth god-thing?

    Britt the Writer: Er... no reason.


    As Rachel and Losien find common ground in being grossed out, the memory that just appeared before them takes only a smoky black texture...

    Quote Originally Posted by A Newly Revealed Memory! During their escape with Highemperor
    Our hero-types are fitted uncomfortably in Highemp's conveyance as he speeds through hyperspace. Krig and Sem are idly picking their noses.

    Ghost Editor: Seriously? That's the important Twice-Forgotten part? Sem was picking his nose?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Hey! Do I insult your mother?

    Ghost Editor: ...what?


    Quote Originally Posted by A Newly Revealed Memory! During their escape with Highemperor
    Our hero-types are fitted uncomfortably in Highemp's conveyance as he speeds through hyperspace. Krig and Sem is/are idly picking his/their noses.

    Highemperor looks around and murmurs to himself.

    Highemp: Did something just... happen?

  25. #1385
    Virgin Fleet Admiral

    NeS: The Next Generation!

    In the future! Well, a possible future anyway, in which the Toastinators have taken over the Earth. How the Canada sentient toasters can take over anything is beyond me, but there you have it. Benedict Cumberlatch is being sexed up by the Swedish Bikini Squad, but those little black censor bars are covering up the naughty parts--

    Britt the Writer: Aww...

    --and any loud yelps that might occur are covered up with a loud *BEEP*.

    Once they are finished, just lying on their pushed together cell cots, Benedict Cumberlatch is smoking, despite the fact that he's a prisoner and by rights should not have access to a cigarette. Story conventions are strong, what can I say?

    It is at this moment that a plasma torch begins to burn through the outer wall of their cell, cutting a molten circle. Once the circle is complete, there is a THUNK, as of something being placed on the other side of the wall, followed by a staticky ZZZTT sound as the circular shaped section of wall flashes white and disintegrates into fine powder.

    Four young heroes, probably in their twenties, dive, tuck, and roll through the hole they have just made, followed by a fifth.

    Young Man #1: My name is Luke Skywalker, I'm here to rescue you.

    Young Woman #1: *smacking his shoulder playfully* God, Amal, you're such a geek.

    Young Man #1, aka Future-Amal, grins sheepishly.

    Young Woman #2: Aw, lay off him, Iriana, he's cute when he geeks out.

    Young Woman #1, aka Future Iriana Emp, rolls her eyes.

    Young Man #2: Look, ladies, are we here to rescue these folks or not? Let's get moving.

    Young Woman #2: Right-o, Nick. Oy! You there! I'm Magick Snowflakes. We're springing you. C'mon.

    Benedict Cumberlatch: I say, it was rather nice of you to wait till we were through.

    Future Iriana arches an eyebrow at Future Magick, as if to say, All men are pigs. Magick twists her lips, and speaks an incantation, as her eyes briefly flash an iridescent blue. In a flash, the British agent and the Swedish Bikini Squad are clothed - although that means relatively little in the case of the Swedettes.

    Young Man #3: We ought to get out of here; we only have a small window of opportunity.

    Curiously, Benedict Cumberlatch looks around.

    Benedict Cumberlatch: Did you hear something?

    Future Nick: *grimly* Unfortunately, no.

    Future Iriana: Oh, he's good. Picking up on the hyper-plothole meta-debris like that.

    Future Amal: Enough! My storywielding can create convenient distractions to the guards for only so long.

    Future Nick: Right then. Everyone ready?

    In a burst of super-speed, Future Nick dashes everyone out, carrying them one by one so quickly they all arrive at their destination simultaneously. Nick also comes back from Young Man #3.

    Swedette #1 (cuz Al Ciao the Writer cain't remember their names): Whoa... I feel dizzy.

    Future Iriana: Yes, that's a common side effect the first few times you're externally accelerated.

    Swedette #1: No, I mean, being around that hunk there makes me feel dizzy.

    The Squadettes' gazes are fixed on Future Nick, who has grown into a tall, well-muscled young man, as capable as his father Ares, as handsome as his mother Aphrodite is beautiful. Future Amal is a hunk, too, albeit to a lesser extent than Future Nick; a glowing golden ring adorns his finger.

    Future Iriana: Lay off, chick. Nick is my fiance.

    This doesn't seem to bother the Swedish Bikini Squadettes any, however. Future Magick decides to preempt any further flirtation on their part by moving possessively to her boyfriend, Future Amal.

    Future Magick wears a black latex spacesuit, skintight, but with a lacy white tunic over it. Future Iriana, for her part, is in a red blouse, skirt, and leggings, all glossy. Her long black curls spill to her waist.

    Before the prose can get too purple, however, Benedict Cumberlatch speaks up - rather jealously, trying to get the attention off the two hunks.

    Benedict: So who are you chaps?

    Young Man #3: We are NeS: The Next Generation.

    Future Nick: We are NeS: The Next Generation.

    Benedict stirs uneasily.

    Benedict: Was there... I don't know, almost an echo? I could swear I'm seeing someone out of the corner of our eye.

    Magick looks at Amal. He nods.

    Amal: Yup. The meta-existential anomaly's still here.

    Iriana: Agent Cumberlatch, there is more at stake here than an Earth ruled by sentient Toasters. The... very fabric of existence has been unravelled... but existence itself is unaware of it.

    Swedette #2: Does this have something to do with plotholes?

    Amal: It has everything to do with plotholes.

    Swedette #2 groans and looks at her two partners.

    Swedette #3: I knew it. I hate plotholes.

    Benedict: I don't believe that was in my briefing.

    Iriana: Amal here is our resident storywielder; he can probably explain it best.

    Amal: Plotholes, as has always been known, are discontinuities in the fabric of hyper-libraric space. But it turns out there is a more sinister origin to them... They are created when reality is unravelled, and its automatic reweaving leaves loose threads in its tapestry.

    Young Man #3: The Never War. Of which I am a casualty.

    Agent Cumberlatch and the Swedettes cock their ears.

    Swedette #3: I could have sworn that... I was supposed to hear something?

    Nick: Yes. There was never a fifth member of the Next Generation. There once always was; now there never was.

    Agent Cumberlatch: Is this similar to something out of Doctor Who?

    Nick: Yes.

    Agent Cumberlatch: Alright, then everything makes a lot more sense now. So who's responsible for all this?

    Iriana: We don't know.

    Agent Cumberlatch: How can you not know?

    Iriana: Because he never existed, either.

    Magick: As nearly as we can determine - and that only by pooling together my magicks, Amal's storywielding, Nick's divinity, and Iriana's powerplaying - there was an NeShade who somehow... evolved into an NeShade squared. He was not only Forgotten, he was... I don't know, Twice-Forgotten. And as such, this entity can erase nuggets of reality such that they never existed in the first place.

    Amal: Hence, the true reason for the existence of plot holes. And, incidentally, the true reason Toasters were able to take over the Earth. And that's only a side effect.

    Swedette #1: But how can you even know that something was erased? If it was erased so that it never existed to begin with, how you could you know about it in the first place?

    Magick: That's Amal. As the most powerful storywielder of the NeS, he is able to detect metafictional anomalies created by the meta-debris of erasure. That's the only reason we know about our fifth member, whoever he or she is.

    Squadette #3: Wait, wait, wait. I recognize you four now. There are files on you - well, on your past selves. Magick Snowflakes? That evil Voodoo's sister from the future?

    Magick: Yes. In this future, I am only a toddler. I have not yet grown to age 12 and gone back to the past, from which I have aged normally throughout the years.

    Squadette #3: Member of Hero Force One, right? Apprentice magic-user?

    Magick twists her lip.

    Magick: There is no Hero Force One anymore. The Magium has been sacked. Even the activation of Hero Force Zero only staved off the Toastinator takeover.

    She snarls at the memory, baring little fangs. The Squadettes and Cumberlatch recoil.

    Magick: Right. After Cool Matty, the NeSorcerer, died, I inherited his mantle... and Nyneve, the contemporaneous NeSorcerer of your time - as she learnt all her magicks from Merlin - passed her... gifts... to me as well.

    Agent Cumberlatch shifts uneasily. Swedette #1 decides to change the subject.

    Swedette #1: And you - Amal Doe, familial nomenclature unknown.

    Amal: My parents were Twice-Forgotten.

    Swedette #1: Okay. Some kind of amateur Storywielder, correct?

    Amal: I have come into the fullness of that power. After the NeS Princess died, Losien, God rest her soul, trained me to my full potential. Her eternal feelings of unworthiness compelled her to seek a successor she saw as better than herself.

    Agent Cumberlatch: But what's that ring on your finger?

    Amal is silent for a moment.

    Amal: It is Losien's engagement ring.

    Agent Cumberlatch: Wait - you and her--? But isn't she like ten or fifteen years older than you?

    Amal: No, not her and I. Her and... someone else. We don't know. He was Twice-Forgotten. I only uncovered the ring by reaching into one of the hyperfictional discontinuities. It now holds the script of NeS as well, as once did JK the White's ring.

    Agent Cumberlatch: Okay. Well you, Nick, even I know. Some divine *******, right?

    Nick doesn't even flinch. Apparently, future Nick is a lot more mature and self-assured.

    Nick: Power of Ares, charming abilities of Aphrodite. Hermes Trismegistus also bequeathed his speed and a portion of his spells to me with his dying breath. The other portion went to Magick.

    Agent Cumberlatch: Ah. And you - Iriana? - I have no clue who you are.

    Iriana gives a small smile.

    Iriana: That's the way Dad wanted it.

    Squadette #2: But I think I have read a file on you. Surname Emp, right? Highemperor's kid?

    Iriana: Yes.

    At this point, the operations center of the Next Generation's hidden HQ is invaded! By two gangly teenagers.

    Gangly Teenager #1: Aunt Maaaaagick, the pantry's out of food!

    Magick shakes her head.

    Magick: How they can eat out a magical self-replenishing cupboard is beyond me.

    Gangly Teenager #2: Uncle Niiiiiiick, Gangly Teenager #1 is hogging the phone!

    Iriana: Shoo, you two. We're having a strategic session.

    Sullenly, the two gangly teenagers leave the room. The four agents - one British, three Swedish - look at the Next Generation, an unspoken question in the air. Nick answers it.

    Nick: Young's child. Mia's child, and Iriana's half-sibling.

    Cumberlatch: Is it just me, or is this post devoid of humor?

    Iriana: Yup. Ever since the NeSiversal powers were decimated, there was no one to check the epic tanglings of Britt and Al Ciao the Writers.

    The four agents - one male, three female - stare at Iriana in stark terror.

    Swedette #2: The horror... The horror...

  26. #1386
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    The Massassi Writer's offices!

    Britt the Writer: Al! You're awesome!

    Al Ciao the Writer: I already knew that, but why in this particular instance?

    Britt the Writer: You extended that NeS: The Next Generation I wanted to do! Wooooohoooooo!

    Al Ciao the Writer: I know. Cool, right? Especially since I was able to get all epic-y about it. That tantalizingly brief mention of the "Never War".

    Britt the Writer: But aren't you afraid of being slapped down for all of this?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Pfft. Geb's been eaten, and Ghost Editor doesn't care.

    Muffled shouts of outrage can be heard from the far side of the office, where Ohgmorkoth has taken up residence, snoozing in an abandoned cubicle's office chair.

    Britt the Writer: I'm surprised he hasn't been digested by now.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Actually, I'm pretty certain that Ohgmorkoth doesn't have any digestive systems. Y'know, since Eldritch Abominations don't really require sustenance.

    DEET-DEET dee-dee DEET-DEET!

    Britt the Writer: Don't tell me you have a Power Rangers ringtone. That's sooo dorky.

    Al Ciao the Writer: *pulling out his cell phone* Don't tell me you recognized that. Cuz if you did, you're just as dorky.

    Britt the Writer: >.>

    Al Ciao the Writer: Oh, hey it's from Geb. Guess he still has his phone in there with him.

    Britt the Writer: What's it say?

    Al Ciao the Writer: "Cease and desist, Al! Continue at your own peril! The oceans shall run a sweet-smelling orange with my wrath!"

    Britt and Al Ciao the Writers stare at each other for a moment.

    Then they burst out laughing. Angry grumbles can be heard from Ohgmorkoth's stomach.


    Hawthorne: So when's the last time you saw Citizen Rex?

    Judge: I'm afraid that's classified.

    Hawthorne: Why is it classified?

    Judge: That's classified, too.

    Hawthorne: Did they just tell you to respond to every question with, "That's classified"?

    Judge: Um.....that's classified.

    Hawthorne: That's what I thought.


    On Mount Olympus!

    Monkey King: I've got it!

    The other gods turn to him expectantly, ears perking with interest.

    Dionysus: The latest shipment of booze?

    Ishtar: The Chippendales?

    Thoth: The latest season of Jeopardy?

    Monkey King: No! The solution to all our problems with Al Ciao and Britt the Writers!

    The other gods turn away disinterestedly, in disappointment.

    Hermes Trismegistus: Do tell, Jet L-- I mean, uh, Monkey King.

    Monkey King: If we could find some way to erase Highemperor's epic streak...

    Hermes Trismegistus: That would be quite good! But who or what could do such a thing?

    Monkey King: I dunno... Maybe if there were somebody able to annul things, Doctor Who style.

    Hermes Trismegistus rolls his eyes.

    Hermes Trismegistus: Don't be ridiculous, Monkey King.

    Monkey King: Yeah, you're right. It's a stupid idea.

    They both laugh.


    Hawthorne: Do you recognize this?

    He holds up a copy of Penthouse's Hermes Thurmygurmy Fantasy Pornos: Big Bottom Edition.

    Judge: That's DEFINITELY classified!

    Hawthorne: Are you blushing?

    Judge: >.> That's--

    Hawthorne: Classified. Right.


    On Memory Lane, our heroes are standing around, shuffling their feet. Maeve and Otter are introducing Amal to the delights of drinking. The perils of drinking will be revealed to him later, when he wakes up with a hangover from Canada. Losien and Rachel are starting to bond over their common gross-out factor. Al Ciao is trying to win a starting context with Master Thand.

    Um, why aren't y'all doing anything?

    Losien: No lines.

    So, improvise!

    Maeve: Improvise later. Booze now.

    *sigh* This is what happens when the Writer is too lazy to look up old memories of NeS...


    Hawthorne: Do you know anything about Citizen Rex's girlfriend?

    Judge: He has a girlfriend?! That swine! I'll tear him-- Er... I mean, that's classified.

    Hawthorne: Do tell.


    In the mead hall of Valhalla, the Illusionist is enjoying his free soda, while Krig the Viking attorney rolls around in his pile of sixty billion shinies. The CopyrightGod is still hanging around too, vainly begging for spare cash to catch a taxi ride back to the Phortress of Phractal.

    Krig: Krig happy!

    Illusionist: *briefly shimmering into a likeness of Krig* Illusionist happy, too!

    Krig: AGH! Krig no like mirror! KRIG SMASH!

    Illusionist: No, wait-- I didn't mean-- AIIIIEEEEEE!

    The CopyrightGod watches the curbstomp with glee.

    CopyrightGod: Now that makes me happy!


    Judge: ....and then he pressed his hand to my lips and whispered, "Enchante, mademoiselle." He made me feel special!

    Hawthorne offers her another swig from the whiskey bottle he snuck past the Hovercarrier's cavity searchers. Judge gladly accepts, smearing tears across her face.

    Judge: I mean, he never said anything, but the way he looked at me... I could have sworn that he liked me.

    Hawthorne: I understand he was a very charismatic man.

    Judge: I LOVED him!

    She starts bawling. Hawthorne purses his lips.

    Hawthorne: Now this, I wouldn't mind being classified.

  27. #1387
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post The Pi Dynasty & The Totally Awesome Quest

    In the HHH Antestarr is leaning upon a table by the lit candle, casting his figure in a moody, flickering shadow against the bright glare of the flame. The angsty melodrama of our anti-hero Antestarr is almost palpable.

    Nyneve: This is so O.T.T.

    Antestarr: Please... get out.

    Nyneve: Seriously? You're going to pull the brooding, angry vampire routine?

    Antestarr: I said... GET OUT!

    Antestarr throws the candle to the floor and the flame is whipped out by the sudden flow of air. The room descends into darkness and, sulkily, Nyneve vanishes into the ether from whence she came. Only the heavy breathing of the newly reformed Antestarr is heard in the room.



    The door. Somebody else can answer it, Antestarr thinks to himself.

    There is a moment of silence.


    Antestarr: Surely someone's awake in this God-damned place?


    Antestarr: I can't even get a moment to angst by myself, can I?

    Antestarr stomps out of the room and makes his way across the great hall of the HHH that is large, empty and grandiose to fulfil the stereotypical haunted hall. To ruin it the ghosts on the upper landing, rather than screaming or creeping out of shadows, are playing badminton complete with sun-visors.

    Antestarr: The dead have no dignity these days...

    Badminton Ghost #1: Don't act like you're suddenly an authority, sonny!

    Antestarr ignores the stupid ghost and swings open the great double-doors of the mansion. Stood in the doorway is a whole entourage of Chinese people wearing very traditional, old-fashioned Chinese clothes.

    Antestarr: What the...

    One prominent figure steps forward. He wears yellow and red and has a long, fine beard.

    Chinese Gentleman: I am here for my daughter.

    Antestarr: I think you missed Chinatown by a few dimensions.

    Chinese Gentleman: Her name is Pi Xue Jing.

    Antestarr: That was language? Sounded like a strangled ferret with a bad headache. Wait... Pi? As in... Rachel?


    And now we return to see our Writers discussing the recent developments.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Geb says "Stop with the fuqing sub-plots!".

    Britt the Writer: He even used an exclamation mark?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Actually he used ten of them but I didn't fancy saying each one aloud.

    Britt the Writer: Tell him they're not really sub-plots. They're all little bits of a single story that will all come together, at some point, and make an epicness.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Make an "epicness"?

    Britt the Writer: Exactly. That's how epic it will be.

    Al Ciao the Writer:
    And how will it all come together to form this... epicness?

    Britt the Writer: Uh... I'm sure we'll think of something. It just kind of happens naturally doesn't it?

    Al Ciao the Writer: Another text from Geb... he says "I don't care how epicness it will be. Stop it or else!". Again there's quite a few of those marks. He sounds pretty serious...

    Britt the Writer:
    It's fine. I know how to control Geb right now. Yo... Cthulu-thing.

    Al Ciao the Writer: He has a name, you know?

    Britt the Writer: There's no way I could type that name, nevermind say it. So Cthulu-bloke. Do you like... hula-hoops?


    Gebohq the Writer (from within Cthulu-thing):


    Disney... place.

    A guard drops to the ground like a sack of spuds without seeming cause. His friend runs over to investigate but winds up flat on his face, apparently tripping on his own feet. Then he smashes his own face against the metal floor several times until he drifts off to sleep like his previously fallen friend.

    The automatic doors decide they'd fancy a stretch and open before closing again shortly afterwards.

    The security camera, tired after a long day of recording, goes to sleep.

    In the sinister lair of Disney, Dr Evil is currently trying his hand at cloning.

    Dr Evil: Jim 7 managed to clone that idiot hero God knows how many times and I can't manage it even once?

    Disney Guard #1: Are you talking to me, Sir?

    Dr Evil: Apparently so.

    Disney Guard #1: Very good, Sir.

    Dr Evil: I cloned my children from myself, which was no problem at all. They worked out rather well. Mostly. But now, when I try to recreate an exact copy it all goes wrong.

    Disney Guard #1: Couldn't you steal the cloning technology from Jim 7?

    Dr Evil: If I could steal his technology, I'm sure I could just steal back my daughter again! Dolt!

    Dr Evil throws a glass test tube at the Disney Guard. Surprisingly the little glass tube seems to render the guard completely unconscious after being thrown across the breadth of the room.

    Dr Evil: What the Hell did I put in that tube? I'd better write it down!

    Apple: AWESOME KICK!

    Dr Evil: Awesome ki-?

    Dr Evil, wheelchair and all, go sprawling across the lair.

    Dr Evil: You'd kick a man in a wheelchair!? Now that is evil! Who the Hell are you and why haven't I hired you yet!?

    Ghost Writer: Before you even think about it, Britt the Writer, there is a convenient white lab-coat nearby!!!

    Britt the Writer:

    The conveniently placed lab-coat floats in the air for a moment, as though it were being displayed on a fashion-magazine. Then a body materialises within it.

    Apple: Because I'm currently employed to bump off your daughter. Where is she?

    Dr Evil: You know, even if she was here, telling me that you plan to kill her isn't much incentive for me to tell you...

    Apple: Stow it. Where is she if not here?

    Dr Evil:
    Dead. I think.

    Apple: Can't be. Then she'd be in Hell.

    Dr Evil: That's exactly where she is. That High Imp came and took her! After wiping out all of my staff, I might add. I swear he sneezed once and blew a hole through five men.

    Apple: So... she's already in Hell? Then why was I hired?

    Dr Evil: Are you sure you were hired to kill her? Or maybe you were just meant to find her?

    Apple: Maybe... Either way I'll only get answers if I find her. I have to get paid one way or the other, right? Okay, geezer, I'm off to get your girl.

    Dr Evil: I'll pay you to bring her back here.

    Apple: ... deal.

    Dr Evil: That was easy!

    Apple: Hell are cheapskates. Besides it'll be even more awesome if I break into Hell and steal her away! Ha, and I thought it couldn't get any cooler than breaking into Disneyland.

    Dr Evil:

  28. #1388
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    At the door to the Haunted House of Heroes - sometimes abbreviated as the HHH or HHoH, depending on the writer, or even as ad;slkjfaksdjf if the Writer in question happens to be really drunk - the latest addition to the ranks of NeSferatu stares aghast at the little Chinese man and his entourage.

    Antestarr: Longtime NeS hero, often in reserve. An NeScholar, formerly mentored by Master Thand. Currently a vampiric NeSferatu, given immortality and restored youth against his will by his onetime lover Nyneve.

    Rachel April May Pi: The incarnation of April Fools, in love with Gebohq. Apparently just revealed as a Chinese girl by the name of Pi Xue Jing.

    Antestarr: So wait... Rachel is a strangled ferret?

    Little Chinese Man: *sigh* Given her predilection for pranks, that wouldn't surprise me.

    Antestarr: Hold on... I'm a tad murky on Rachel's origins, but I thought she was the incarnation of April Fools? Whom Thand helped take on flesh?

    Little Chinese Man: Geb the Writer isn't around to stop me, so I'm claiming her.

    Antestarr: Okay...

    Little Chinese Man: Let me frame it like this. My daughter, the Princess Pi Xue Jing, was possessed by the trickster goddess with the help of the sage Master Thand. I've tracked her whereabouts to here, and I'd like her back please.

    Antestarr: How did you get to the 8th dimension anyway?

    Little Chinese Man: As Emperor of China, I have access to great esoteric technology.

    Antestarr: China has an emperor?

    The Chinese Emperor puts a finger aside of his nose and winks, as if to say, Shhhh.

    Antestarr: Right... Well, Rachel is not *quite* here at the moment. She's, um... astral traveling, I guess.

    Chinese Emperor: Then I shall wait for her spirit to return. Now come, extend us your hospitality.

    Antestarr reluctantly steps aside to let the Chinese Emperor and his entourage of eunuchs and concubines walk into a conveniently large parlor.

    Antestarr: These uninvited guests are really gonna cramp my style. How am I supposed to angst with them around?


    At the Magium, based in France and invisible to Muggles (ATTENTION COPYRIGHTGOD: This has been a Lawyer-Friendly Cameo), Taliesin, teacher of the great NeSorcerer Merlin, and bard more immortal than Shakespeare, is instructing Subaru in the fine arts of her magic.

    Taliesin: The even-more immortal bard, whose harp is more entrancing than Orpheus of old, and whose verse is greater than Shakespeare, who was also his pupil.

    Subaru: A sometime companion to Cool Matty (inactive NeS hero, mageling, and destined NeSorcerer), and best friends with Cool Matty's wife Mimiru. Is currently in love with Antestarr, who (p)AGES ago seemed to acknowledge feeling the same.

    Taliesin: Your ki-generated swords are a great asset. But as it is powered by your internal energies, you must continue to learn to channel your ki more efficiently.

    Subaru: Does Dr. R. Deep do that? He has purple energy swords, doesn't he?

    She tosses her purple-prose-prone blue hair.

    Taliesin: He has such vast energy reserves he hasn't bothered to learn the art of ki channeling, though it would do him good nonetheless.

    Subaru takes an experimental swipe in the air with her silent blue-energy katana. A nearby pixie is almost hit and chatters angrily at Subaru.

    Subaru: So what do I need to do?

    Taliesin: Let your sword sing.

    Subaru fixes a sullen glare on Taliesin.

    Subaru: Please tell me you not gonna do the obscure Buddhist master routine with me.

    Taliesin: *laughing* No. I mean, seriously, let the motions of sword make music as it slices through the air. Such magical rhythms will coalesce around you and targets, creating temporary connections that make your ki flow stronger and more efficiently.

    In the manner of heroic stories everywhere, Subaru grasps the concept nearly instantly, and is soon conducting a symphony of lilting, whistling music with her ki-generated sword as a baton, and nearly decapitating every angry pixie nearby in the process.

    Taliesin: Very good. I think you've earned some leave time.

    Subaru: I'm going to visit Ante! He's sick at the asdlfjasdf, last I heard.

    Taliesin: At the where-now?

    Subaru: Sorry, I think the Writer is drunk.


    On Memory Lane! Our current cast of heroes, supposedly the main party, are milling about in the gray matter of unaccessed memory. Otter and Maeve are entertaining themselves by showing memories of their past... exploits--

    Britt the Writer: Yay!

    --which will not be described.

    Britt the Writer: Awww.

    Amal: Yum, this liquor stuff is goooooooooooood.

    He is drooling, slumped over in the memory of a chair.

    Losien: God, that's disgusting.

    Rachel: Those two are already turning him into a living, walking, breathing stereotype.

    Losien: We've got to stop it!

    Rachel: Oh, I know how we can stop it.

    She whispers in Rachel's ear.

    Losien: I can't do that! I thought we both agreed that was gross!

    Rachel: Of course. But it'll whip him into shape, and he's so drunk right now that he won't remember it when he sobers up.

    Losien grimaces.

    Rachel: Hey, think of it as a little prank. Those are my stock in trade.

    Losien: Fine.

    Losien walks over to Amal, and murmurs into his ear. Amal instantly sits straight up, grinning from ear to ear, and tosses his liquor bottle away. He runs looking for the memory of a toilet to dunk his head into. Watching him, Rachel ponders to herself.

    Rachel: Of course, it'd be an even bigger prank if he does wind up remembering what she promised him...


    The Great Granite Fortress, perched on a rugged cliff on the east coast of Canada - otherwise known as the Ninth Layer of Hell - is the seat of government in Canada, the throne of authority in Hell, and the vice den of the don of the Mafia. Formerly housing Jim Seven, now it serves as Al Ciao's residence. Ever since a misfire from Geb's plothole pistol switched out Jim with Al, Al has been known as the head of Canada, the mafia, and Hell, only by the nomenclature of Mr. Eight, his true identity little known.

    Of course, Al is out on adventure with the others on Memory Lane at the moment; his Majordomo and lawyer - the Devil's Advocate - are running affairs in his stead.

    Stinking, sprawling dungeons rest in the bowels of the Great Granite Fortress, and it is here that two burly fiends stand guard outside the cell of Totally Evil, the notorious daughter of Doctor Evil.

    Fiend #1: You think they've forgotten about us?

    Fiend #2: We haven't gotten paid in months. What do you think?

    Fiend #1: No one's gotten paid in months, idiot. The soul-euro exchange being what it is, our joke of an economy is high and dry.

    Fiend #2: Well, but they haven't sent rations down for us. Or sent a relief detail. The giant spider over in the abandoned cell is dead; seems like the caretakers haven't come down to feed her.

    Fiend #1: Considering that the caretakers are the ones that got fed to her, I don't find that entirely surprising. But yeah, I'm a bit peaked.

    Within her cell, Totally Evil rolls her eyes.

    TotallyEvil: You dolts. It's obvious they've completely forgotten I'm a prisoner here. And by extension that means they've forgotten the two of you guarding me.

    The fiends' heads whip around to look at TotallyEvil through the bars of the cell door.

    Fiend #2: That totally makes sense. Bureaucracy being what it is, and Hell's bureaucracy infinitely worse.

    Fiend #1: Canada, I forgot you were here.

    Fiend #2: Seriously? What did you think we were guarding?

    Fiend #1: We were guarding? I thought we were just on static patrol.

    Fiend #2: Static patrol? You mean, standing still?

    Fiend #1: That's a crude way of putting it.

    Fiend #2: You mean accurate.

    In her cell, TotallyEvil rolls her eyes again. So she's been forgotten, it seems. An ignominious fate. The only way she got out last time was by springing with a bunch of other baddies in the worst jailbreak of Hell's history.

    An inky black mist floats through the bars of the tiny window of her cell, rolling out of the Canadian fog. TotallyEvil, being totally evil, recognizes this as a probably sinister apparition and curves her lips into welcome.

    TotallyEvil: Well, whoever you are, I'm glad you're here. Well, assuming you're not just here to kill me. Actually, scratch that, I'd still be glad just to see a fellow villain.

    The inky smoke forms in a man clad entirely in black clothing. A bland smile highlights his face, making him seem all the more spooky for its blandness.

    Michael McLongname: You won't remember having heard of me, my dear. But, as you have been Forgotten, I have a proposal for you.

    TotallyEvil: Wait - you better not be here to recruit me for Twin Suns' little gang. Or for Stafford's drone workers.

    Michael laughs, a richly hollow chuckle, TotallyEvil has the odd sensation that a shiver should be running up her spine but isn't.

    Michael: Neither one. I represent myself only. You see, I am not merely Forgotten... I am Twice-Forgotten.

    TotallyEvil: That makes no sense. Unless this is like something out of Doctor Who.

    Michael: It is.

    TotallyEvil: In that case, it still doesn't make sense, but at least it's cool.

    Michael: In that case, my dear, shall I spirit you away, and we can discuss my proposal?

    TotallyEvil: That sounds...evil.

    She smiles.
    There is a rustling wind through the empty cell. Its stones are slick and damp with the fog that has creeped in.

    Fiend #2: I don't even remember why they sent us down here.

    Fiend #1: For no reason at all. This is Hell, after all.

    Fiend #2: Forget Hell. This is Canada.

    They both shudder.

    Then they shudder again, and collapse to the floor. A woman materializes.

    Britt the Writer: Woo!

    Didn't you just shoot yourself?

    Britt the Writer: I got better.

    Whatever. Apple's indecent parts are covered by Godiva Hair anyway.

    Britt the Writer: Bollocks!

    Apple: Now why did I come here again? I just had a weird impulse to prove I could break into Hell, I guess.

    In Dr. Evil's lab in the bowels of the Disney Castle, a photo of Dr. Evil with his single cloned child, Semievil, can be seen. Oddly, the photo is off-center, as though the photographer was trying to fit three people into the picture...

  29. #1389
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    In the Massassi writers' offices, Al Ciao the Writer is chatting with Geb the Writer. The latter is in the stomach of the Cthulhu-looking deity Ohgmorkoth, who himself has fainted dead away in fear from Al Ciao the Writer's presence.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Huh... I wonder where Britt is.

    Geb the Writer: Mmmngnhfgh.

    Al Ciao the Writer: You're right, he does seem to disappear for a couple days at a time.

    Geb the Writer: Mfngh.

    Al Ciao the Writer: I think it's something called "Real life."

    He makes quote marks in the air with his fingers.

    Geb the Writer: Mmnghghhddgnngh?

    Al Ciao the Writer: I don't know. I think it's a disease or something. He probably caught it in the Chinese jungle.

    Geb the Writer: Mngh!

  30. #1390
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Talking Sex Wars

    On Memory Lane, memories of Page 14 are passing by our heroes;

    *Meanwhile, on a distant planet, an sinister plan takes shape...*

    *A dark, fuzzy (and short) presence enters the room. Shrouded with evil, its eyes glow a brilliant, firey red.*

    Burby 00: Yes... Yes, all goes according to plan. Soon I, with my supirior AI, shall rule the UNIVERSE!!! &lt;insert sinister laughter here&gt;
    The NeS Heroes stare at the memory.

    Rachel: Riiiiiiiiiiiight...

    SCA(Sexy Computer Assistant): Sir, I have located the required device 12 parsecs from our current location... Displaying specifications on Holy Hand Remote.

    *Display specifications... in Japanese, of course*

    Burby 00: Yes, excellent. Baby..err..Computer, plot shortest course to the remotes location.

    SCA: Compliance...

    Burby 00: oohhh... I get goose bumps when she says that.
    The NeS Heroes stare at the memory.

    Maeve: And Gebohq the Writer thinks there's too many sex jokes these days...

    *Meanwhile, a giant vessel bursts out of hyperspace right above the Death Star. Behind it, Lt. Randy's x-wing also bursts out of hyperspace, almost ramming into the Back End of the Big Giant Ship*
    The NeS Heroes stare at the memory.

    Maeve: See!? The dirty little bleeder.

    Al Ciao: I'm pretty sure that was an unintended pun...

    Lt. Randy: Coming out of hyperspace in 5..4..3..2..1...
    The NeS Heroes stare at the memory.

    Maeve: Co-

    Losien: Please don't...

    * Randy's X-wing plunges back into real space only for him to find that he is about to auger into the tail of the Burby vessel*
    The NeS Heroes stare at the memory.

    Maeve: And his name's Randy...

    Losien facepalms.


    The NeS Heroes stare at the memory.

    Maeve: That's just nasty.

    Soriel: How do you make everything sound so wrong?

    * Randy wrenches the control yoke to the right in an attempt to save himself -
    Losien: Okay, seriously, enough of this memory. Maeve, you totally ruined it.

    The Otter: And it was epic.

    Maeve: I'm especially proud of myself.
    Last edited by TheBritt; 06-09-2012 at 02:33 AM.

  31. #1391
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Talking Who The Mummy?

    * Randy's X-wing plumets toward the titanic spheroid and into a conveniently placed hole... *
    Losien: I already said enough of this!



    Britt the Writer: I bring myself to tears .

    Gebohq the Writer:


    In the Haunted House of Heroes Antestarr, and now the pregnant Young, are entertaining their unexpected guests.

    Concubine #1: I would love some more of your tea, Miss Young.

    Concubine #2: Wait, why are you Concubine #1!? I'm older than you!

    Concubine #1: Exactly.

    Concubine #2: You cheeky little sh-!

    Emperor Pi: Wives! Please! We are guests in this home, try to keep your squabbles until we get back to our awesome palace in the sky.


    Emperor Pi: Well, we can't live in the Forbidden City any longer.

    Concubine #2: Not in the least because there's hundreds of people traipsing through there every day.

    Concubine #1: Not exactly forbidden any more is it?

    Young: Could I just try to get something clear for a moment?

    Emperor Pi: Certainly!

    Young: Rachel is your daughter and she was possessed by this... spirit thanks to Master Thand?

    Emperor Pi: Yes.

    Young: But... wasn't she also a R.A.M.?

    Concubine #3: With, like, horns?

    Concubine #3 makes swirling motions either side of her dainty face.

    Antestarr: As in a Random Audience Member.

    Emperor Pi: Yes... she was a RAM and possessed by a spirit. She fell in love with Gebohq, your hero, as a RAM and then I believe her deal with Thand was Gebohq's love in exchange for sharing her own... soul with this... April Fools' creature.

    Antestarr: Wow... you know that actually makes sense! Who'd have thought?

    Young: So... one more question. Who is Rachel's mother?

    Emperor Pi: Oh no...

    Concubine #4: That's me.

    Concubine #2: No it bloody is not! It's me!

    Concubine #5: I'm Rachel's mother!

    Concubine #4: What? You're younger than Rachel!

    Concubine #5: Yeah? Well, you're not even Chinese and Rachel is clearly Chinese!

    Concubine #4: Half-Chinese!

    Concubine #1: She's naturally my daughter. I'm Concubine #1.

    Concubine #2: No, she's mine. I'm the eldest woman here. I remember the birth and everything.

    Concubine #6:
    She's my daughter, ladies, and you all know it.

    Concubine #7: No, it's me. I'm the one she called mama first.

    Concubine #2:
    Now wait a minute-!

    Young: I really wish I hadn't asked...

    Emperor Pi: I wish you hadn't asked too. Only something really major could possibly distract them now, else they'll be at it all night long...


    Memory Lane;

    * Geb drags Krig to the ground-
    All Heroes (Except Maeve): AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!!!!!!!!!


  32. #1392
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post In Space No One Can Hear You... Suffocate.

    Geb: ...And we were so close to getting the Holy Hand remote too...

    Krig: Krig see shiny object. Look.

    *Krig points outside a window, where everybody sees the Holy Hand remote floating pass.*

    Geb: FOLLOW IT!
    Amal: It really does seem like we go the raw end of the stick in later story arcs.

    Losien burns bright red at Amal's unintended innuendo.

    Maeve: Ha ha ha, raw end of the stick.

    Al Ciao: Tsk, Maeve...

    Maeve: What? Even Losien got it!

    Al Ciao: She did?

    Losien: No! I was just... thinking about... something... else...

    Maeve: You dirty mare.

    Losien: No! It was something about Rachel! What we agreed.

    Maeve: Double-dirt!

    Losien: No! Just- shush!

    Losien clamps her hand across Maeve's mouth.

    Maeve: Mmruf.

    *Everybody stands next to window, faces pressed against the glass. The camera pans around outside, looking in. Everyone's faces are all deformed and freaky looking because they're being pressed against the glass.*

    Geb: "Ok, somebody's gotta go out into space and get the Holy Hand Remote. Who here has training in zero-G manouvering?"

    Randy: "Um, I do, why?"

    Geb: "You just volunteered to go get the HHR!"

    *Sem and Ante grab Randy and throw him into the airlock. Maybe hits the big red button, the inner door closes and the outer door opens. Randy floats towards the Holy Hand Remote.*

    Losien: "Maybe we should have given him an oxygen mask before we threw him out..."

    ***Star Wars-style horizontal wipe***
    Maeve: Mmurg.

    Losien: I know, even back then, I was ever so thoughtful.

    Al Ciao: Wow, you actually sounded a little bit vain there.

    Losien: I did? I am so sorry!

    Maeve: Mmurt.

    Losien removes her hand from Maeve's face.

    Losien: What?

    Maeve: I said I think your sexy when you're cute.

    With sudden shock Losien plants her hand across Maeve's mouth again. But then she feels the other woman's mouth twist into a smirk, her lips against Losien's own palm.

    Losien: ARGH!

    She snatches her hand back.

    Rachel: All part of the plan to make her let go, right Maeve?

    Maeve: Naturally But I wasn't lying.

    The Otter: Why do you get nervousness from girls and I get a frying pan?

    Maeve: Because I'm an alien concept to straight women. You, on the other hand, are a given.

    The Otter: Damn.

    A whole new memory then unfurls before them and they see the interim of the screen-wipe.

    As Lieutenant Randy floated towards the quickly escaping Holy Hand Remote there is an unusual, loud noise that sounds a little bit like the grinding of a hand-break on some inter-dimensional time-machine.

    The TARDIS materialised out of thin air (and into absolutely no air, since we're in space) and the doors swung open.

    The Doctor: Go on, hop it your murdererous rapscallion!

    Despite his words, The Doctor appeared to be entirely at ease with the supposed murder and even jovial about it.

    The Doctor: Hope you enjoy your visit to the Death Star, you little scamp. Be sure to send me a post card, right?

    Soriel: I'll make sure it reads "Wish you were here" with an autograph from Vader. See you around.

    The Doctor: 'Til next time!

    Time. Ha.

    Soriel, of the past, had hitched a lift with the enigmatic Doctor and hopped across space-time to have holiday slaying a few hundred Storm Troopers. His feet land on the outside of the Death Star and he checks his breathing equipment.

    Lt Randy: Knew... I... forgot... something...

    The Doctor: Oi, Soriel. Looks like your new friend could use this!

    The Doctor tossed a second breathing apparatus to Soriel. He then waved goodbye and the TARDIS disappeared, leaving Soriel with a sense of happiness and sorrow. Then he remembered the stranger choking to death.

    Here. Try this.

    Soriel helped Randy into the breathing mask.

    Lt Randy: Thank God you were here. Who was that? And what're you doing here?

    Just fancied a bit of a trip is all. And some killing. Say, weren't you chasing after that thing?

    Lt Randy: What?

    Randy followed Soriel's pointing finger to see the last glint of the Holy Hand Remote as it bounced off of a random laser turret and nose-dived into one of the many smaller trenches of the Death Star exterior.

    Lt Randy: Bugger!

    He dashed after it and Soriel, unable to resist any challenge, pursued him. The two of them skidded to a halt at the edge of the trench.

    Soriel: Shouldn't we be floating about or something? We're in space right?

    Lt Randy: Maybe there's a gravity generator keeping us tethered?

    Soriel: Then why's that thing floating about like nobody's business?

    Lt Randy: Good point. Best not to think about it now. NeS logic.

    Soriel: What logic?

    Lt Randy: Nevermind, doesn't matter. We've got to get that remote.

    I notice I'm being roped into this? Fine. But there'd best be something to kill down here or you're on your own. Crazy guy.

    Lt Randy: Did you just call me crazy? After telling me you want to kill things?

    Soriel: You were stood out here without any oxygen.

    Lt Randy: That just means I'm forgetful. Let's go!

    Soriel and Randy both jumped down into the trench where they saw a new hand grab the holy hand remote. A very slinky-looking Storm Trooper that was evidently not a man.

    Lt Randy: Do they make customised sexy Storm Trooper uniforms?

    Soriel: Apparently.

    Without waiting for the two men to finish their female-Storm Trooper debate the mysterious woman makes a run for it, headed down the trench. Soriel and Randy ran after her. Suddenly laser blasts began to sear down the trench, narrowly missing all three of them. Above them X-Wings soared toward some unseen goal.

    Lt Randy: We really want to hurry this up!

    Soriel, using his incredible speed, rushed forward and took a leap at the escaping thief. His hand grabbed her wrist, instantly rendering the woman helpless, and in a cruel, typical Soriel, moment he ripped her helmet off. Her long black and red hair was freed by the helmet and her dark skin glistened with fresh sweat from the chase. She was also wearing a breathing mask underneath the helmet.

    Soriel: Seriously.

    Apple: You'd better believe it, bub.

    With sudden, unexpected, dexterity her leg came up and her boot connected with Soriel's face which sent him tumbling to the floor. She then swung open a convenient door and rushed inside the Death Star. Randy reached Soriel and helped him up.

    Lt Randy: Heh. You got pwned by a girl.

    Soriel: Stow it. Now this just got personal. Nobody kicks me in the face.

    Lt Randy: Cheer up, I can think of a few blokes that would have given anything to be kicked by a hot babe like that.

    Fred, Teh Uber Blade: I can think of a few swords that wouldn't mind being on the end of that foot too.

    Soriel: I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer.

    He ran inside the Death Star after the elusive Apple. Randy went after him and they discovered a trail of white Storm Trooper armour. A glove. A shoulder pad. Another glove. A boot. The torso. The crotch guard. Then the padding a trooper might wear beneath the armour.

    Lt Randy: Whoa is she naked round here?

    Soriel: Now she'll be too easy to kill.

    Lt Randy: You know that isn't the first thing most men would think of?

    They pulled off their breathing equipment to survey their surroundings, and to give the audience more connection to them.

    Lt Randy: What did the Narrator just say?

    Next minute Soriel staggered back clutching his face.

    Lt Randy: Hey pal, what're you doing?

    Soriel took a leap into the air and landed on his back.

    Lt Randy: Are you enjoying yourself there?

    Then Randy felt the air rush out of his body and something collided with his stomach. Winded he fell to his knees and winced before taking an soft, yet firm, foot-like-object to the face.

    Lt Randy: Ouch...

    It took him several minutes to recover but when he did he realised that the Holy Hand Remote was in his hand. He clutched it to make sure it was real.

    Lt Randy: What the Hell? How'd that get there?

    Soriel: More importantly, why would our invisible friend give up her prize so willingly?

    Lt Randy: For the good of the universe?

    Soriel: Yeah... right...

    Lt Randy: You know what? It doesn't matter. I've got to get this back to the others to get us out of this universe. You enjoy murdering Storm Troopers or whatever it is you're up to.

    With that, Randy ran back out onto the trench and headed towards the airlock where the other heroes had shoved him outside. Of course he had, once again, forgotten his breathing equipment and began struggling before he even got to the door.
    Amal: Wow, Soriel, you sure do get around.

    Soriel: I have a lot of adventures, yes.

    Rachel: Like the time he killed this creature. Or the time he killed that creature. Or those beasts. Or these monsters. Too many.

    Fred, Teh Uber Blade: If I'd had my way, it would have been stories about how we bedded these women, or those women. Those virgins or those milfs.

    Why did I agree to hold your sword again, Soriel?

    Maeve: HA!

    Amal: Did you ever get to the bottom of that woman, by the way?

    The Otter: I would have. ZING!

    Maeve: Brilliant, Otter! Less of the zing though. You're not American, please remember this.

    The Otter: Aww.

    Soriel: No I didn't. Never saw that guy with the remote again either. Or the woman. I just don't really remember much of that time to be honest. It's a bit hazy...

    The Forgotten Sections

    They pulled off their breathing equipment to survey their surroundings, seeing yet another stranger before them. This was an old man that Randy initially believed to be one of the eccentric pseudo-British Imperial commanders aboard the Death Star. However he wore no such uniform and he carried himself as though he had complete awareness of who they both were. No Storm Troopers, no backup.

    Lt Randy: Who the Hell're you?

    Arkng Thand: My name is Arkng Thand. Beyond that, it doesn't matter.

    Soriel: Old Man, where's the woman that just came through here?

    Arkng Thand: Old Man? Idiot youth. The woman you have been chasing is in my employ. Apple, you can take care of them.

    Lt Randy: What did the old guy just say?

    Next minute Soriel staggered back clutching his face.

    Lt Randy: Hey pal, what're you doing?

    Soriel took a leap into the air and landed on his back.

    Lt Randy: Are you enjoying yourself there?

    Then Randy felt the air rush out of his body and something collided with his stomach. Winded he fell to his knees and winced before taking an soft, yet firm, foot-like-object to the face.

    Lt Randy: Ouch...

    Apple: Done.

    Apple materialised from the ether, conveniently plagued by shadows of the dimly lit corridor with only fleeting glimpses of bare skin in the illuminous flashes of laser fire from outside.

    Arkng Thand: And now you may return this object to them.

    Apple: Wait, what? I just stole it.

    Arkng Thand: We wouldn't have noticed it, my dear, but I already used the remote for my own purposes. In an instant I was gone and now I am back. They will need it now, else they'll be trapped here forever. And right now, I can't have that.

    Apple: Whatever, Master Thand. It's your show.

    Apple knelt down beside the unconscious Randy and wrapped his fingers around the holy hand remote.

    Apple: Okay, so where to now?

    Arkng Thand: For now, we melt into the shadows and wait for the Heroes to return us all to Earth with the holy hand remote.

    Apple: Simple enough...

    The two of them leave the corridor during a particularly bright flash of green.

    It took him several minutes to recover but when he did he realised that the Holy Hand Remote was in his hand. He clutched it to make sure it was real.

    Lt Randy: What the Hell? How'd that get there?

    Soriel: More importantly, why would our invisible friend and the Old Man give up their prize so willingly?

    Lt Randy: For the good of the universe?

    Soriel: Yeah... right...

    Lt Randy: You know what? It doesn't matter. I've got to get this back to the others to get us out of this universe. You enjoy murdering Storm Troopers or whatever it is you're up to.

    With that, Randy ran back out onto the trench and headed towards the airlock where the other heroes had shoved him outside. Of course he had, once again, forgotten his breathing equipment and began struggling before he even got to the door.

    Soriel, still inside the Death Star, frowned as he stared down the ominous corridor. He was sure he had seen some kind of dark mist swirl in the air for just an instant...

    The Current Heroes, still on Memory Lane, act as though they had not seen the previous 'forgotten memory' play out, continuing watch the actual storyline play out from Page 14;

    ***Star Wars-style horizontal wipe***

    *Airlock door opens. Randy collapses on the floor of the interior.*

    Randy: "Air... *gasp*... *wheeze*"

    Geb: "Did you get it?"

    Randy: "Remote... *breathe*... here..."

    *Randy weakly holds the Holy Hand Remote up to Geb. Geb takes it. Randy collapses on the floor, gasping for air.*

    Geb: "Ok, now let's get out of this heck-hole...*goes to change the channel"
    Arkng Thand: Hum...
    Last edited by TheBritt; 06-09-2012 at 04:14 AM.

  33. #1393
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Talking Who's The Daddy? No Seriously, Who?

    In the HHH Young manages to smile sweetly throughout The Great Concubine Debate of Tuesday Night. Antestarr just stands still with his arms folded and a grim expression on his face, whilst Emperor Pi sips at his tea without a care. Young strokes her belly as she feels a twinge.

    She glances at Antestarr.

    Young: Um...

    Then a sharp pain and a warm trickle down her leg.

    Young: Uh...!

    She grabs Antestarr.

    Young: It's... happening.

    Antestarr: What? What's happening?

    Young: My baby!

    Suddenly, as though Young had screamed the announcement at the top of her lungs, all of the concubines crowded around Young, shoving the two men out of the way.

    Concubine #2: Don't worry, my love, we'll help you through this. We've each done it a dozen times.

    Young: Rachel has... siblings?

    Concubine #4: Many. It's no wonder we lose track of who birthed which.

    Young: Oh my...

    Concubine #7: Come and lie down. Deep, slow breaths.

    Antestarr: I think we should try the hospital...

    Concubine #1: Nonsense! We know what we're doing. Now get out. Both of you!

    Concubine #1 and #2, finally united, push Antestarr and Emperor Pi, who is still trying to sip his tea, out of the room. They slam the doors and block the two men out. They can hear Young moans and complaints through the thick wood.

    Emperor Pi:
    Your young lady has impeccable timing! I thought they were going to go on all night. Certainly saved my ears.

    Antestarr: Uh, Young is not my young lady...

    Emperor Pi: Oh, sorry. I just assumed. Who is the father, can I ask?

    Antestarr: Um, that would be Young's mother I guess.

    Emperor Pi's comment is then lost in a splutter of tea.


    Back on Mount Olympus the Viking Hall is suddenly filled with an immense grinding noise that sounds like a freaky blue box appearing out of thin air.

    Krig: Doctor-Man!

    The TARDIS has once again cameoed in the NeS and its doors open to reveal The Doctor.

    The Doctor: Krig, my old Viking chum... how the Hell are you?

    Krig: Krig dead.

    The Doctor: Ah... right.

    Krig: What Doctor-Man doing here?

    The Doctor: Well I just dropped someone else from the NeS off on the Death Star, although that would probably be in the past for you... wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey. Anyway, I've only ever had two NeS companions before! Figured I'd dropped one off, I'd drop in on the only other NeSian I know. Who happens to be dead as it turns out...

    The Illusionist: As if I wasn't freaked out enough as it is.

    The Doctor: So! Do you need a lift anywhere? Get you out of this Land of the Dead? I do love the whole vikinger look they've got here though. Nice horned-helmets. Oi!

    The Doctor snaps at a random burly Viking who was poking the TARDIS.

    The Doctor: Hands off. So what d'you say, Krig? Fancy a spin in the TARDIS? There's plenty of life in the old girl yet!

    Krig: Krig need to be somewhere. Haunted House of Heroes.

    The Illusionist: What about Krog?

    Krig: Krig father able to fend for Krig father. Krig father no need Krig.

    The Illusionist: You have such a way with words.

    The Doctor: Alright. Let's go!

    Krig and The Doctor head inside the TARDIS.

    The Doctor: You know, we should make a quick detour. Don't worry, it's a time-machine, remember? I'll get you home on time.


    Antestarr: It's a really difficult thing to explain right now and I'm seriously not in the mood for it. I've had such a trying day already what with being turned into a vampire and all.

    Emperor Pi against splutters another splash of tea.

    Then there's a loud grating sound that fades in and out as though a crazy man in a box was appearing from across time and space. From the next room bursts Krig the Viking dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, sandals and a pair of large sunglasses. The sound of the TARDIS emits again as it disappears from the pages of the NeS.

    Krig: What happen when Krig absent?

    Antestarr: That's all I needed right now...

    The large front doors of the Main Hall also burst open, letting in a sudden chill air and in steps newly trained Subaru.

    Antestarr: I really am cursed.


    The Illusionist: Great. They just leave me behind. Now I've got to get back by myself. Swines.
    Last edited by TheBritt; 06-09-2012 at 05:05 AM.

  34. #1394
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Talking The Grasp of Fate

    In the bowls of Canada the enigmatic, and apparently impulsive, Apple is sight-seeing.

    Apple: This must be Parliament Hill.

    She checked her Canadian tour guide.

    Apple: Oh... now it's ... Hill of Doom. Not quite as formidable as Mount Doom I guess. That must be Peace Tower!

    She checks her tour guide again.

    Apple: Oh... Punishment Tower. Actually that sounds a little exciting maybe I could sneak in and take a peak.

    High Imp: Hello, Little Dove.

    Apple: Holy f-!

    Apple almost leaps into the nearby river.

    Apple: Call me "Little Dove" again chump and we'll see who comes up short.

    High Imp: How droll.

    Apple: I'm here all day. Now who the Hell are you?

    High Imp: Don't you mean Canada?

    Apple: Now who's being droll? Just answer the bloody question.

    High Imp: Some call me... High Imp!

    Apple: ...

    High Imp: ...

    Apple: ...

    High Imp: ... Well?

    Apple: Well what? Was I supposed to be impressed? I still have no idea who you are. And you don't really sound all that intimidating or anything with a name like High Imp. I mean seriously? Imp? You should be kind of... smaller...

    High Imp: Well, aren't you a barrel of laughs? What are you doing here, Little Dove?

    Apple: I already told you about that name, didn't I?

    High Imp: I think it suits you perfectly. Now answer me.

    Apple: I'm just mooching.

    High Imp: Liar.

    Apple: I am! Look! I have a tour guide and everything!

    High Imp: Your name is Apple and your a notorious assassin spoken of only in whispers-

    Apple: Nice bit of melodrama, thank you.

    High Imp: You were hired by Majordomo to assassinate Semi-Evil only to find he's already been taken to Hell by me. So now you've come to Hell to find out why and probably try to kill the ruler of Hell if you get bored. Am I right?

    Apple: This isn't an episode of "This is Your Life" is it?

    High Imp: Not... quite. But one day you'll look back on this moment and realise this the day your life began to make sense.

    Apple: I suppose I should have expected Hell to be full of the crazies.

    High Imp: I will answer the question you came here to figure out. If you weren't actually needed to kill Totally Evil and Majordomo, as the Devil's Advocate, is a very intelligent demon so he's not likely to make a mistake as big as hiring a top assassin to do a job that doesn't need doing is he? It's because you weren't hired by Majordomo. You were hired by... me.

    Apple: Right. Couldn't you have just told me on the phone? I mean I'm not exactly picky about my employers, you know?

    High Imp: It's the job I want you to do. I couldn't discuss it over the telephone and I needed you right here in Hell of your own free will. The current ruler of Hell is an imbecile. Useless. It would be a waste of your talents to kill him. Or try because he can't really be killed right now as he's already technically dead.

    Apple: So then why am I here?

    High Imp: This!

    High Imp pulls out a syringe.

    High Imp: This contains the DNA of a most sinister and potent enemy to everyone in the NeS. A being so corrupted by his own power that he's ashamed of himself and reverts into a weakling he calls Al Ciao.

    Apple: Al Ciao? Like... as in the Italian word?

    High Imp: Doesn't matter what he calls himself. The true name of the man is Highemperor and it is Highemperor's DNA that's in this syringe.

    Apple: His true name is Highemperor? What arsehole parents he must have had!

    High Imp: Okay fine that's not his true, true name but his true name for now... or whatever. I haven't gone to this much effort to have a conversation with somebody in a long time, assassin!

    Apple: You know you love it.

    High Imp: Actually yes. I have to admit it's been a more entertaining conversation than the usual run-of-the-mill melodrama I get lumbered with. Anyway. This is your job, Little Dove. This syringe can impregnate any woman with the offspring of Highemperor. Not that fool Al Ciao, but the true Highemperor.

    Apple: Okay, I see. So who's the target you want me to jab with that thing?

    High Imp: Don't you worry, Little Dove. It's me that'll do the jabbing.

    Apple: Haha, you know how wrong that sounded, rig- OW!

    High Imp removes the syringe from Apple's bare neck, empty.

    Apple: Aw, you didn't jus-...

    High Imp: And if you're wondering how a syringe to the neck is meant to get you pregnant, just think of it as magic. You also won't be able to abort the child without harming and probably killing yourself. Hell's greatest scientists were working out how to get Jim Seven a child for centuries. When they perfected it, I stole it.

    Apple: Why the Hell...?

    High Imp: I am taking fate into my hands.

    Apple isn't sure if she should attack the brute or wait and listen to whatever else he has to say. The past few weeks had been nothing but a nightmare for her. First there was the strange information on "Rosebud", then there was the job to kill Semi-Evil without any apparent cause and now she was apparently impregnated with some power-mad man's child. She decides she really needs answers. Then she'll murder the swine.

    High Imp: There is a book that predicts the future.

    Apple: Yeah right.

    High Imp: Indeed. Most of it is useless drivel pertaining to just one man but there is a whole passage about the birth of Highemperor's child. "Ye Olde Historie Fantastique by Hermes Trismesgistus" is the book's name. Many mistakenly believe that the passage states Highemperor's child with be borne by a red-headed woman. But that's not true. It simply states that she has red-hair and you have, within your dark-hair, plenty of...

    High Imp reaches out and gently strokes a long strand of Apple's red hair.

    High Imp:
    ... red. I am attempting to manipulate fate and you, my Little Dove, are the contender. The challenger. There is another, a woman with natural red hair but her child is the offspring not of Highemperor but of Al Ciao.

    Same dude isn't it?

    High Imp: Is it though? Perhaps you are right and the book speaks of this child of Al Ciao's, assuming Al Ciao and Highemperor can be argued as interchangeable. But now that I have broken fate's iron grip you are a second statement for fate and you truly hold the child of Highemperor, not Al Ciao. I would argue that fate has swung in your favour. I should say... our favour.

    Apple: You must really like this douchebag.

    High Imp: I hate him.

    Hate. That's an emotion I'm currently very familiar with.

    She suddenly leaps at High Imp with a knife that she seemingly pulled from nowhere. The blade comes inches from the side of his face but he moves as though expecting the attack.

    High Imp: Ah, ah, Little Dove. You shouldn't be fighting in your condition.

    Apple: I'd rather take my chances with an abortion and die than be a pawn in your game.

    High Imp: Now we both know that isn't true. If there's one thing a true assassin knows, it's the importance of living.

    Apple: You... scumbag!

    She lunges again but this time he shoots into the air. As he slowly ascends he calls down to her;

    High Imp: I'll see you again soon, Little Dove! And you should know, the baby will grow within you at a much quicker pace than normal. You'll want to take it easy...

    Apple: Aw, man. How could this happen to me?

    She falls to her knees in a depressed slump. For a long moment she sits in silence. Then she suddenly becomes aware of a very sharp and cold object against her cheek. Her eyes shoot open ready for action but realises that she's completely surrounded by a lot of very pointy sticks.

    Apple: Fuq.

  35. #1395
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    Quote Originally Posted by Page 14
    &lt;NSP: Those who have played an RPG will prolly recognize this. (Don't worry Geb, I'm not introducing anything new, pretty much just a "recap" on the past action-packed posts...)&gt;

    & lt;Camera pans back as our heros/heroins morph into small pewter figuines of themselves on a hand-drawn game map...&gt;

    Game Master: *roll roll roll* Hmmm... Ok, Randy your X-wing does enough damage to blow up the Death Star.

    Randy: WoooHooo!!!

    Geb: Umm, Randy...that's bad. We are still ON the Death Star!!

    Randy: Oh... Sorry

    Sem: &lt;sigh&gt;

    Krig: So, what happens next?

    Game Master: Hmmm... *roll roll roll* ... *roll roll roll* ..?..!..*roll roll roll*...Ok, you all fly out into space. Randy, you came up a bit short on the stamina roll so you really need oxygen, SOON. The rest beat the roll easily.

    Geb:"Uh, guys, I think we'd better get to some oxygen... we're kinda running out!"

    Randy: Need oxygen!!

    Krig:"Urgh, Krig think New Guy need oxygen mask."

    Randy: No, ya think?!?

    Krig: I'm going to look for something for Randy.

    Game Master: 10 seconds Randy. *roll roll* Krig, you see nothing but space...and the ship, of course.

    Randy: Well, since I don't have a mask I guess I'll "borrow" Krigs mask.

    Krig: No your not!

    GM: *roll roll roll* Krig prevents you from taking the mask Randy, 6 seconds left.

    Ante: Do I see ANYTHING of use?!?

    GM: *roll roll roll*...hmmm..consults game manual)...*roll* Yes, you spy a near-by airlock, it has a...*roll* knob on the..*roll*..outside and is..*roll roll*..oooohhh 8O ..*roll*..unlocked.

    Ante: All Right, lets get inside!

    GM: *roll roll roll*..Ok everyone(aside to Randy: except you) gets inside the ship.

    Losien: I'm going to check to see if everyone is here.

    GM: hmmm...*roll roll*...You notice that Randy is still outside with very little oxygen left.

    Geb: I'll let him in.

    Randy: Thanks guys and girls.

    Geb: So what happened to the Holy Hand Remote?

    GM: *roll roll* Krig sees it out the window.

    Krig: ooohhh!!

    Geb: FOLLOW IT!!

    & lt; and so, the endless RPG continues...&gt;
    Our heroes look askance at each other as the memory rolls by.

    Maeve: So, we're not in a story, but an RPG?

    Amal: Wow, that would totally invalidate many metaphysical assumptions about the nature of the NeSiverse.

    Al Ciao: We're NOT in an RPG... I don't think.

    Otter: If this is an RPG, can I play a FATAL character?

    Maeve, Al, Rachel: NO!

    Losien: What's a FATAL ch--

    It is Maeve's turn to slap a hand across Losien's mouth. Otter looks disappointed. Soriel still looks confused.

    Soriel: ...but why would we be inside a rocket propelled grenade?

    Losien: Mmrrm.

    Otter: Oy! I bet we are. Metaphorically speaking. I mean, we know the NeS is headed for disaster.

    Al: This is the NeS. It's always headed for disaster.

    Otter: My point exactly.

    Losien: Mmmrruuurgh.

    Maeve starts, and pulls her hand away from Losien's face.

    Maeve: Did you just kiss my hand?

    Losien: NO!

    Maeve: You know what, that's okay. I don't mind.

    She slaps her hand back over Losien's mouth before she can protest.


    Maeve: I love you too.

    Fred: Oooh, kinky! I'm loving this.

    Carly: Hey, if I sex up Maeve's jeans, I'll let you watch, too.

    Fred: Awesome! My kind of woman.

    Losien fumes, unable to silence them. Amal looks at Master Thand.

    Amal: Uncle Thand... are we in an RPG?

    Thand smiles enigmatically.


    Game Master: Okay, AT, roll a Bluff check. Amal, give me an Insight roll.

    Thand: *roll roll* Add my +5 Knowledge, x2 Mystique feat modifer, carry the 3... 108.

    Amal: *roll roll* I exploded! Keep the ten, reroll... *roll* ...45.

    GM: Okay, AT, you could tell Amal his eyes are purple, and he'd believe you.

    Al: Psh, one of us could tell him otherwise, or show him a mirror.

    GM: True, but Rachel could go along with it, pranking him.

    Rachel: Hang on. My character might be mischievous, but she's not about to let Thand do anything like that.

    GM: Okay, but I'm invoking your protector status. *roll roll roll* You have to live up to your prankster status for balance reasons.


    Thand: No worries, I'm not gonna tell him he has purple eyes.

    Amal: Whew! What then?

    Thand: I'm gonna tell him, "Trouble yourself not with these thoughts, young nephew. It is your destiny to rise above all metaphors, and become one with the NeS itself."

    Otter: Whoa there. Your character might not always tell the truth, but he's not gonna be all mischievous and make something up.

    GM: Okay, AT, I'm gonna roll to see if your aged sage status takes effect on you. *roll roll* ! *roll* ??? *roll roll roll roll roll... roll* Nope, you can tell him whatever you like!



    Maeve: Just 'cause he always brings the GM snacks...

  36. #1396
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    Quote Originally Posted by Page 14
    &lt;Randy looks at himself and his companions, noticing that they are all dressed in 1940's attire(the men in overcoats and hats, the women in dresses and hats) all of which are black and white&gt;

    Randy: Ok...Now what?

    Krig: It appears that the interpolarized phase shift between dimensions has deposited our party in an episode of the popular "Twilight Zone"...

    & lt;The rest of the party look at Krig with puzzled looks&gt;

    Krig: ...uhhh..I mean Krig look funny.

    Ante: Right... anyway we need to find a way out of here, and fast.

    Maybe: It would be a lot more safe if we disembarked when the train has stopped moving.

    & lt;Just then... A man in a black trench coat emposes himself in the doorway of the compartment our heros reside in. Flanked by two men in Nazi stormtrooper uniforms, he holds a small, furry creature wearing a black fedorah (&lt;-=- spelling?). The creatures eyes roll open revealing two blood red eyes. The two soldiers point their sub-machine gun toward our heros...&gt;

    Black Coated Man: Halt! You are under arrest for crimes against de fur.

    & lt;the furry creature begins laughing malicously&gt;

    Geb: Uhh...I think we're in trouble guys...

    & lt;Suddenly, The three men's eyes roll back as they sound forth a collective groan. Standing in the doorway where the men just stood is Losien wielding a baseball bat which appears to be procured from the luggage compartment.&gt;

    Burby 00: NOOO!!! NOT SLEEPY-TIME MOooodddeee...&lt;snore&gt; woowoowoo &lt;snore&gt; woowoowoo &lt;snore&gt;...

    & lt;The sound of the train coming into station can be heard&gt;

    Sem: I believe this is where we make our escape.

    & lt;Quickly filing out of the compartment our heros make their way to the loading dock. Upon steping out they notice the world is a VERY strange place...Sure there are the swaztikas(spelling?) around but the picture of...a BURBY, not Hitler, are posted through out the city.&gt;

    Randy: It is obvious that 00 is changing storylines in order to get the Holy Hand Remote from us.

    Geb: Now all we have to do is find a way out of this mess and...

    Soldier: HALT!!!

    Ante: Uhoh...This is bad.

    & lt;At the end of the street several soldiers begin to form. They begin firing upon our heroes&gt;

    Krig: RUN!!

    & lt;Our heroes begin to run as bullest wizz by and ricochet off of the stone walls and metal lamp posts of the city street.&gt;

    & lt;Will our heroes escape their perilous peril? Will Krig admit his intelligence or is it a fluke from repeated exposure to radiation/knocks to the head? Is there an end in sight? (No) Tune in next time for "The Twilight Zone" do de doo doo do de doo do...&gt; &lt;fade to black&gt;
    Before Thand can respond, however, another memory pops up. Soriel's jaw drops.

    Soriel: When did Krig ever say anything intelligent?

    Al: Right then, apparently.

    Maeve: Actually, he's done that on occasion throughout the NeS...

    Losien: Aw, I always knew he was special!

    Quote Originally Posted by Page 14
    *Inside Krig's mind, a dark and evil presence has begun to intrude, occasionally taking control and causing him to say things he wouldn't normally say. Yes, that's right, the infamous Darkside, having taken control of Semievil's mind, is trying to take possession of Krig's mind! However, he is not finding it as easy as he had planned. Not only does Krig not have any evil tendancies... he's completely insane.*

    *Inside Krig's head*

    Darkside:"What is it that you most desire, Krig the Viking?"

    Krig:"Krig like pretty flowers."

    Darkside:"You like flowers, do you Krig?"

    Krig:"Flower smell nice."

    Darkside:"Come with us, Krig, and you'll have all the flower's you'll ever want..."


    Darkside:"Uh... yes... if that's what you want..."

    Krig:"Krig think donkey funny."

    Darkside:"Oh, there's oodles of funny donkeys in the happy place, now just follow us..."

    Krig:"Where Krig follow?"

    Darkside:"Right this way, Krig, follow us,it's just a bit over here..."

    Krig:"Over here?"

    Darkside:"Yes, over here, just a bit further... a bit further..."

    Krig:"Potato! Krig follow potato!"

    Darkside:"Wait! Come back! The happy place is waiting..."
    The other heroes turn as one to arch eyebrows at Losien.

    Losien: Um... very special. If you know what I mean.

    Amal: He could be an idiot savant, perhaps.

    Quote Originally Posted by New memory from Page 14!
    Highemperor is cruising at breakneck speed down the streets of the Twilight-Zone-esque Furby-Nazi regime. Yes, cruising. Power-mad people such as he and Ares tend to break the speed limit even in parking lots.

    SS Motorcycle Cop: Actung! Ee just clooked free hundred mph!

    He pulls out, trying to catch up to Highemp's car. He doesn't turn on his siren, cause let's face it, SS agents like to sneak up on their prey. Inside the trendy black Volkswagen...

    Apple: Ugh! Do you mind!

    Highemp: Hey, it's not my fault we both tried to carjack the same vehicle at once. Uh, I mean - SILENCE, WOMAN! I have commandeered this vessel for my own purposes.

    Apple: Give me the wheel, NOW. What's a fancy-outfit chap like you even want with a 40's era relic like this?

    Highemp: Hm, I can't remember, something to do with... a rosebud? -- I mean, Do not question me, mortal!

    Apple grabs the steering wheel and in her haste, yanks it off the control yoke. She and Highemp exchange glances, then Apple opens the passenger side door and tucks-and-rolls out.

    Highemp: She totally wanted to have my baby. Erm, I mean, good riddance.

    He looks around uneasily, and is relieved to see that there is no audience around to see his unguarded moment of silliness. Satisfied, his eyes flash silver, and the inner workings of the car begin to glow in silvery-white light, running not on gasoline and mechanical parts, but on pure power.

    Highemp: Now, to add hyperspatial capability...

    Ahead of him, a group of heroes stumble out of an alleyway in front of him. He screeches to a halt.

    Geb: Look, an escape car!
    Fingers of dark mist coil around the edges of the memory...

    Quote Originally Posted by New memory from Page 14!
    Highemp strides through the dim gray streets, his cloak billowing behind him. Peasants cower before the aura of his power. A trendy black Volkwagen driving down the street has to stop, as he is in the way. A redhead sticks her head out the window.

    Mia: Oy! Do you mind? I'm on a top secret mission here!

    Highemp: Be of good mind, maiden. I am here on a mission of mercy, to save all Anti-Existentessence.

    Arnie (from within the car): Is he hitting on you? I'll beat him up.

    Mia: Now, Arnie, hold on--

    Arnie grabs the joystick of the car, transforming it into a mech, towering over Highemp, giant gun barrels cocking. Highemp springs into action, his white energy sword Drynyrn flashing into his hands to deflect the hail of bullet fire. He leaps into the air, landing on the mech's hand and running up its metallic arm, sliding into the cockpit and tossing Arnie out the side.

    Mia: Impressive.

    Highemp gives her a crooked smile.

    Highemp: I try.

    Mia smirks. She leans forward to peck his lips, then winks and hops out of the cockpit - yanking the joystick out with her. Without the joystick, the mech reverts into car form.

    Mia: Later, handsome.

    Highemp shakes his head with a small smile, shifting into the driver's seat - even as another secret agent hops into the passenger seat he just vacated.

    Apple: Drive! Or I'll blow your head off.

    She levels a pistol at him. Highemp smirks, and the pistol disintegrates in a flash of silver fire. Nonetheless, he drives.

    Highemperor is cruising at breakneck speed down the streets of the Twilight-Zone-esque Furby-Nazi regime. Yes, cruising. Power-mad people such as he and Ares tend to break the speed limit even in parking lots.

    SS Motorcycle Cop: Actung! Ee just clooked free hundred mph!

    He pulls out, trying to catch up to Highemp's car. He doesn't turn on his siren, cause let's face it, SS agents like to sneak up on their prey. Inside the trendy black Volkswagen...

    Apple: Ugh! Do you mind!

    Highemp: Hey, it's not my fault we both tried to carjack the same vehicle at once. Uh, I mean - SILENCE, WOMAN! I have commandeered this vessel for my own purposes.

    Apple: Give me the wheel, NOW. What's a fancy-outfit chap like you even want with a 40's era relic like this?

    Highemp: Hm, I can't remember, something to do with... a rosebud? -- I mean, Do not question me, mortal!

    Apple grabs the steering wheel and in her haste, yanks it off the control yoke. She and Highemp exchange glances, then Apple opens the passenger side door and tucks-and-rolls out.

    Highemp: She totally wanted to have my baby. Erm, I mean, good riddance.

    He looks around uneasily, and is relieved to see that there is no audience around to see his unguarded moment of silliness. Satisfied, his eyes flash silver, and the inner workings of the car begin to glow in silvery-white light, running not on gasoline and mechanical parts, but on pure power.

    Highemp: Now, to add hyperspatial capability...

    Ahead of him, a group of heroes stumble out of an alleyway in front of him. He screeches to a halt.

    Geb: Look, an escape car!


    Arnie: So why did we decide to ditch the mech again?

    Mia: Um... it was obsolete, wasn't it?

    Arnie: Oh yeah. Now I remember.

    Mia furrows her eyebrows, a dreamlike image of a charismatic stranger touching the edges of her memory...
    Last edited by Al Ciao; 06-09-2012 at 01:32 PM.

  37. #1397
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post Hands of Fate

    Having returned from the jaunt across time-space to visit the Uber Pantheon of Uberlings, the Left and Right Hands of the NeS have returned home. Bhac and Mayaal both look at each other with expressions of deep concern. They are stood upon the chessboard of the l33t (which is apparently the current flavour of the l33t after having been an endless white landscape for many previous pages).

    Bhac: Did High Imp do what I think he did?

    Mayaal: He's trying to subvert fate and thus he's subverting us.

    Bhac: And here was me thinking that there's really only two players in chess. Then he comes in and stops on our black and whites with green pieces.

    Mayaal: We should try to contain this situation. We need to bring the woman here.

    Bhac: I think it might have gone further than just the woman. Her whole... Rosebud mission. I think we just saw that word crop up in some random memory on Memory Lane. I've got a horrible feeling about it. Something's seriously wrong.

    Mayaal: Okay. So, we work together on this one?

    Bhac: Of course! I promise not to double-cross you!

    Mayaal: Pinky-swear.

    Bhac: Aw, c'mon-!

    Mayaal: PINKY-SWEAR!

    Bhac: Fine, fine. Pinky-swear.

    They exchange a pinky handshake.

    Bhac: You deal with the girl-

    Mayaal: Woman.

    Bhac: And I'll look into this Rosebud thing. I'll probably make it some kind of Forgotten sub-plot. That'll take care of it well enough. And the only real links to it will be the girl-

    Mayaal: Woman.

    Bhac: You kidnap-

    Mayaal: Reprimand.

    Bhac: And my old buddy; Hawthorne.

    Mayaal: Buddy?

    Bhac: Well... acquaintance. Of sorts. Doesn't matter. I'm sure he'll listen to me. I'm like the only other character he actually knows in the current climate of active personalities.

    Mayaal: See you soon.


    In Hell there stands the tall Tower of Punishment which is now the private domain of "The Blood Countess", Elizabeth B
    áthory. Apple was already in a line of unfortunate virgins ready for the slaughter; all to be killed for their virginal blood to keep the Blood Countess young and beautiful.

    Apple is being herded along with the rest of them, constantly making declarations that she isn't an escaped virgin and her blood wouldn't do the Countess any good.

    Up ahead Apple can see each of the poor women jumping into a large blender and, further down, being extracted as soup for the Countess' very frequent meals.

    Apple: This is so wrong. I think I've entered some kind of horror novel.

    Mayaal: Well, this is Hell, young lady. But I'm here to take you away from all this.

    Apple: Brilliant! Thank you!

    Mayaal: Oh, don't thank me yet. I've just come to take you to a new prison.

    Apple: What a tosser!

    Mayaal: And, I'm even more sorry to say, you'll be sharing that space with one of the NeS' most terrible villains...

    Apple: Vlad the Impaler?

    Mayaal: No.

    Apple: Ivan the Terrible?

    Mayaal: No.

    Apple: Adolf Hitler?

    Mayaal: No.

    Apple: ... I could go on but there's a rather long list of evil wankers in the world.

    Mayaal: Evil Geb.


    On the Hovercarrier above the Chikin Chateau, attached to the top of Big Ben, Detective Hawthorne is still grilling Judge. At least he would be but he'd long run out of questions and none of the other Hero Force One members were actually about.

    Judge: Typical isn't it? You take the time to come all the way up here to help out and they all naff off. Call.

    Using Al Ciao the Writer's old trick, Britt the Writer has our two minor characters playing poker.

    Detective Hawthorne: You know, I'm not really very good at this game.

    Judge: I am! I have an awesome poker face. It comes from years of wearing my oh-so-skimpy costume.

    Detective Hawthorne: I was wondering about the whole British flag underwear...

    Judge: You and many other men.

    Detective Hawthorne: All except Citizen Rex?

    Judge bursts into tears again.

    Judge: Why'd you have to bring that smeghead up again!?

    Detective Hawthorne: Uh... Oops?

    Bhac then appears in a spray of blood.

    Judge: What in the name of-!

    Bhac: Oh. I forgot the blood bit. Oops. Sorry.

    Judge: Now I'm going to have to go and shower.

    Bhac: That sounds like a plan. Go on, get lost. I've need bro-time with Hawthorne.

    Hawthorne is staring wildly at Judge. She points at him accusingly.

    Judge: No! Bad Detective. You can't have any of this.

    She indicates to her rather fetching figure on show. Her long trench coat covered a great deal of her outline, but the front was always worn unbuttoned for that tantalising view.

    Detective Hawthorne: No! No! I wasn't-!

    Judge: Aw. You like playing the nice guy, don't you? A shame I'm promised to Rex.

    Detective Hawthorne: Wait, what? That's new!

    Judge: I only just remembered... or decided... anyway. I've got to clean myself thanks to your friend here.

    Bhac sits down in her place and slaps Hawthorne on the shoulder.

    Bhac: So, how's it hanging pal?

    Detective Hawthorne: You did not just say those words after looking at Judge...

  38. #1398
    Virgin Fleet Admiral

    Redheaded Scotswoman: What is that?

    The Doctor raps his head on the metal atop his head.

    Doctor: It's a Viking helmet. Viking helmets are cool.

    Redheaded Scotswoman: *laughing* No, it's not.


    The Viking helmet is shot off the Doctor's head by a well-placed bullet. The Doctor and the Redheaded Scotswoman turn to see Hell in High Heels blowing the smoke out of the barrel of her revolver.

  39. #1399
    Virgin Fleet Admiral
    NSP: With credit to Britt for the dialogue inbetween Knightlord Thorn's bouts of megalomaniacal laughter!


    Al Ciao the Writer is hunched over in his cubicle, peering tensely at the glowing computer screen. His finger hovers over the "Send" button on the keyboard, that will update the NeS with his newest post.

    Two miniature figures pop into existence, one hovering above either shoulder. One of them resembles Highemp, complete with cape and shoulder pauldrons, but sports a pair of devil horns. The other resembles Al Ciao, complete with neon orange spiky hair, but with a pair of angel wings.

    Devil Highemp: Do not post that! Don't surrender your greatness.

    Angel Al Ciao: On the contrary, it takes a man to own up to his mistakes.

    Devil Highemp: Bah! A powerplayer never makes mistakes!

    Angel Al Ciao: Sure, 'cause he retcons them.

    Devil Highemp: Stay strong, Al Ciao the Writer!

    Angel Al Ciao: Be strong, Al Ciao the Writer!

    Al Ciao the Writer hesitates, then presses the "Send" button firmly. Devil Highemp sighs in disappointment, whilst Angel Al Ciao salutes. Then both vanish in twin puffs of smoke.


    Michael McLongname walks through the gray matter of Memory Lane, leaving footprints of inky mist where his feet fall. Beneath one footprint, a memory shatters...

    Quote Originally Posted by NeSorcerer
    In ancient Atlantis...

    Ancient One: Magistarr, Archmage of the Realm, I dub thee the NeSorcerer, true herald of all that is magickal in the Story that is to be.

    In ye olde Camelot-knockoff...

    Arthur: Yo, Merle, what makes you so special anyway? Y'know, from all those other wizards out there?

    Merlin: Sire, I am the chosen NeSorcerer of this time...

    In the present-day Magium...

    Hermes Trismegistus: Cool Matty, as new NeSorcerer, you are hereby granted all the titles and privileges of office in authority. But first you will have to hunt down and kill the current usurper of that mantle: Nyneve.

    Cool Matty: Cool. Can I start burning things now?

    In the near future...

    Cool Matty: Magick... I'm dying, but... taking my blessing upon you...

    Magick: Okay, for realz, since when do you start talking all grandiosely?
    Beneath another smoky footprint, the legend of the NeSummoner vanishes. Under a third, the reporter who first introduced Losien Simon's charity work to the world is never born.

    And Michael continues to walk...


    Quote Originally Posted by Run of the Mill Sorcerers
    In ancient Atlantis...

    Ancient One: Magistarr, Archmage of the Realm, I name thee Druid, the Head Chef of All Pastries and Banana-creme Oreo knockoffs.

    In ye olde Camelot knock-off...

    Arthur: Yo, Merle, what makes you so special? Y'know, from all those other wizards out there?

    Merlin: Good marketing.

    Arthur: Eh?

    Merlin: Let's just say... sex sells.

    In the present-day Magium...

    Hermes Trismegistus: Cool Matty, how on earth you conned your way onto this master council by pretending to be a scion of Merlin is beyond me, but then you went and burned down one of our wizard towers! You are hereby kicked out of the council and suspended from the Magium, barring further review.

    Cool Matty: Cool. Can I start burning things now?

    In the near future...

    Cool Matty: Magick... I'm dying, but... I hereby confer my blessing upon you...

    Magick Snowflakes: A birth certificate showing your ancestry to Merlin? Pfft, I coulda bought one of these at the little shop that wasn't there yesterday.

    In the Chikin Chateau!

    Knightlord Thorn: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! None of you puny mortals can defeat me! I have never lost a battle!

    Krog, the Swiss Whores Squad, and the Norse Valkyries Squad look at each other.

    Brunhilde (Norse Valkyries Squad): He hasn't stopped maniacally laughing in a half hour.

    Arjeta (Swiss Whores Squad): That's probably why he hasn't lost a battle; everyone gets bored with the melodramatic routine and leaves.

    The Swiss Whores Squad begin a tirade of abuse that only a whore could come up with after many years of street experience.

    Iriana: Such... filthy mouths...

    Swiss Whores Squad - Magrit: Better believe it, honey.

    Swiss Whores Squad - Verena: And there's more where that came from, Mister. If you know what I mean?

    The Swiss Whores Squad strike their signature group pose, which is even more 'stirring' than all other group poses.

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Frija: Maybe we could learn something from this.

    King Krog: Krog agree. Learn much from night ladies. Then show Krog.

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Sif: We aren't some standard Norse wenches, please remember that Lord Krog.

    Iriana: I notice Krog-

    Mr Missy: Krig.

    Iriana: -speaks a little... broken. But you Valkyries have perfect English!

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Brunhilde: We wouldn't be so attractive if we spoke like the hairiest characters in the NeS.

    Iriana: And being attractive is important for your role, is it?

    Norse Valkyries Squad - Brunhilde: Very. Dying men want nothing more than to be swept up by buxom ladies.

    Knightlord Thorn: Have you lot finished? Thank you. *ahem* MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

    Suddenly Knightlord Thorn breaks off his laughter as he espies an astral signature on the far horizon of the interdimensional ethers!

    Knightlord Thorn: Aha! There is the Highemperor now, apparently exiting this cosmos! Strange, he reeks of the past. I deduce with my awesomeness that he is the past version of the current traitor, and that he has already executed swift justice on the present version of himself! Now to follow him and return him to the Stronghold!

    Iriana: Um... did any of you actually follow that?

    As one, the Whores and Valkyries shake their heads, mystified. Knightlord Thorn stalks to the exit of the Chateau. He passes Acidspitter & Seraphim's table, where they're licking chocolate cake off each other's fingers.

    Knightlord Thorn: Ugh. How disgustingly boring. Romance should be full of pathos and tragedy! I say ENOW!

    He throws a super-duper mega-uber fireball at them, incinerating them both to ashes - but of course, leaving the invulnerable Chateau furnishings untouched - and strides out.


    In the Writers' Realm, the miniature angelic Al Ciao pops into imaginary existence by Al Ciao the Writer's ear.

    Angel Al Ciao: Screw Geb & Britt the Writers, keep them!

    Al Ciao the Writer smiles.

    Angel Al Ciao: Just make it a tad more interesting, 'kay?

    Al Ciao the Writer grimaces.


    Knightlord Thorn stalks to the exit of the Chateau. He passes Acidspitter & Seraphim's table, where they're licking chocolate cake off each other's fingers.

    Knightlord Thorn: Ugh. How disgustingly boring. Romance should be full of pathos and tragedy! Good riddance to you two.

    He strides out.

    Acidspitter: Y'know, he does have a point. Your being an angel does kind of... inhibit you.

    Seraphim: Wait, you're criticizing me?!

    Acidspitter: No, I didn't mean--

    Seraphim: Louis, I am waaaaaay out of your league. You should be thanking your lucky stars I give you the time of day.

    Acidspitter: Now, look here, Miss High & Mighty, I'm an incubus now. I have girls begging for me!

    Seraphim: About that! Aren't you gonna renounce those Hellsworn curses!

    Acidspitter: I don't remember you complaining about those "curses" last night!

    Seraphim slaps him, the sound ringing through the restaurant and silencing all the chatter.

    Krog: Uh oh. Lovers' spat. Krog go back to Swiss-land right now.

    The Swiss delegation rushes out.

    Seraphim: I left Heaven for you! The least you can do is leave Hell for me!

    Acidspitter: I'm not in Hell at the moment, or hadn't you noticed? But I could leave and go there if I wanted to!

    Seraphim: Fine! Go to Hell! See if I care!

    Acidspitter: Alright then, I will!

    He stalks out of the restaurant. Seraphim huffs.

    Iriana: Huh. That wasn't an argument contrived by Writer fiat at allllll...


    In Canada!

    Majordomo: Y'know, I always dreamed of overthrowing Jim Seven and becoming Devil myself, but now that I'm basically doing the Devil's job, I find I don't particularly like it.

    Devil's Advocate: Why do you think I refused the job when it was offered to me a few centuries ago?

    Majordomo: I always wondered how a mafia boss was considered more evil than a lawyer.

    Devil's Advocate: Haha! Quoted for truth.

    Majordomo: Something must be done about Mr. Eight. Either we bring him back, or we... replace him.

    The doors burst open, and Acidspitter stalks in.

    Acidspitter: I want a job!

    The Majordomo and the Devil's Advocate look at each other and slowly smile.


    In the Toastinator future! Agent Benedict Cumberlatch and the Swedish Bikini Squad have left the Next Generation's HQ, out to search for a time portal to return to the past - er, I mean, the present - well, I mean their present - God, I hate time travel.

    As soon as the door closes behind them, our five four Next Generation heroes look at each other and burst out into laughter.

    Nick: Haha! They totally bought that.

    Magick: I know! Suckers.

    Amal: You don't think we should have told them that the Toastinators actually turned the world into a paradise?

    Iriana: That wouldn't have been nearly as much fun.

    Magick: Not to mention as believable. I mean, c'mon, a side effect of the weather-control toaster satellites is the skies turning red and the clouds black. But world hunger has been solved and world peace achieved.

    Nick: What gets me most is how they actually bought those superpowers we said we have.

    Iriana: For real. I saw what powerplaying did to my dad, I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole.

    Magick: Ha! And I never finished my magical apprenticeship after the Toastinators killed Dr. R. Deep.

    Amal: Yeah, and that B.S. about Hermes Trismegistus bequeathing you and Nick his power was pure genius.

    Nick: Spur of the moment, but it worked.

    Iriana: It's too bad the NeSferatu bit is true.

    Magick: Eh, it's not so bad. I just snack off Amal when I need to. Where do you think all those hickeys of his come from?

    Amal blushes.

    Amal: I may have never developed my Storywielding potential, but even I can tell this is a contrived, and needlessly expository, post.

    Young Hero #5: Pfft, fine, forget about me. I died in the Never War, right? But that's okay, since it never happened. A pox on you!

    Young Hero #5 goes to sit on the couch and sulks. He tries to turn the TV channel to a movie, but being Twice-Forgotten, the remote doesn't react to the touch of his fingers. Magick comes and changes the station to a Lifetime movie. Young Hero #5 groans.


    On Memory Lane!

    Losien: You know, seeing all these memories is really fun. Especially seeing all those bits we never knew about before!

    Rachel: I dunno. I think I liked it better when I didn't know Soriel was part of it before.

    Soriel: I thought we got along?

    Rachel: I'm a woman. I don't have to be consistent.

    Amal: Really?

    Otter: Believe it.

    Maeve: I'd slap you, Otts, but I can't really deny it.

    Al: Look! A new memory!

    Quote Originally Posted by The Grand Conclave of NeSiversal Powers
    As the entities depart, High Imp approaches Master Thand.

    High Imp: Master Thand, you...

    Thand says nothing, and High Imp reluctantly finishes his statement.

    High Imp: You kept my secret.

    Master Thand: Of course. Knowledge is worthless if it is known to all.

    High Imp: So... I don't have to worry about you revealing that I...

    He looks around surreptitiously and lowers his voice.

    High Imp: ...lost nearly all of my uber powers?

    Master Thand looks at High Imp with something vaguely resembling sympathy.

    Master Thand: Pactmakers never really come out ahead. Even though you cheated the gods, you wound up cheating yourself after all.

    High Imp grimaces, remembering his last, off-panel battle with Highemp, far above the Convenience Store of the Damned. Highemp's banishing of him had been too much strain on the fallen angel, and his soul had fractured under the weight of all the pacts pulling at him - taking the powers bestowed by the pacts with it.

    High Imp: You could have told me this before... before it happened.

    Master Thand: Would it have made a difference?

    High Imp: I suppose not...
    Al Ciao turns to Master Thand, aghast.

    Al: When were you gonna tell me about this?

    Thand favors him with a small smile.

    Thand: Obviously, I just did.

    Otter: Oy! Who was that devil bloke?

    Maeve: I think I remember seeing him in the Arena once. Wasn't he prime minister of Canada?

    Rachel: Al boned his girlfriend, he hates Al, Al craps his pants at the mention of him.

    Otter and Maeve turn to Al with a new measure of respect.

    Otter: My man! *fistbump*

    Al: Er... *hesitantly fistbumps back*

    Maeve: I didn't know you had it in you!

    She whispers in his ear.

    Maeve: You should introduce me to that girl sometime. If she's hot enough to be worth pissing off that devil character, I'd be interested in hitting her up.

    Al: Um... she's dead.

    Maeve stares at Al in slight horror.

    Maeve: Wow. I... didn't know you swung that way.

    Al: What? No! She was alive at the time.

    Maeve: It's okay, Al, I won't judge you.

    Al: I'm serious!

    Otter: Wow, this is juicier than that one bloke's anime fetishes...


    In the Massassi writer's office, Al Ciao the Writer surveys his latest post with satisfaction.

    Al Ciao the Writer: That should do it. A good start, anyways.

    Geb and Britt the Writers stomp into his cubicle then.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Hey, guys, I thought about what you said, and--

    Britt the Writer: This is an intervention!

    Al Ciao the Writer: --and I - what?

    Geb the Writer: It's okay, Al. We know it's an addiction. But we're sticking by you.

    Al Ciao the Writer: What are you--?

    Britt the Writer: You can get help. There's a local chapter of Powerplayers Anonymous down the street.

    Al Ciao the Writer: Guys, you were right. I--

    Geb the Writer: Don't try to deny it, Al! We don't judge you!

    Al Ciao the Writer: No, seriously, I just posted--

    Britt the Writer: He can't see it! He's blind to his own plight!

    Geb the Writer: Don't worry, Al! We'll help you, no matter how much pain it causes you!

    Al Ciao the Writer: Wait a--

    Geb and Britt the Writers truss up Al Ciao the Writer in a straitjacket and gag him for good measure. Then they break out the shickling sticks - electrified feathers - and go to work on him. Al's muffled laughs of terror at the crackling tickling only encourage the two other writers.

    Elsewhere, Ohgmorkoth finally recovers from his faint. He has a bad taste in his mouth, like someone just crawled out of his throat. He quickly dismisses it and goes back to his realm in the Outer Galaxies of the NeSiverse, where he discovers a crisis of mediocre proportions! It seems Highemperor has just blown up several stars on his way out of the NeSiverse, but no one cares, so it's all good.
    Last edited by Al Ciao; 06-11-2012 at 12:10 PM.

  40. #1400
    Tea-sipper, character-killer

    Post Angel Dispute

    None-NeS-Note:Okay this didn't quite go in the direction I originally intended and wound up a lot more over-the-top than I'd planned. Ah well.


    In the Chikin Chateau everything had become muted from embarrassment over the apparent break-up of Seraphim and and her boyfriend. King Krog and his massive entourage have scarpered and Iriana is left facing the prospect of a very large bill.

    Seraphim stands and stares at the table she had shared with her boyfriend just moments ago. He was beneath her, she knew that, and yet he was so much better than her in so many other ways.

    Seraphim: But still... who needs him, right?

    Serapharch: Apparently not you.

    Seraphim: Whoa! What the Hell're you doing here?

    Serapharch: You spend just a short time out of our Heavenly graces and that the kind of language you pick up?

    Seraphim: ... sorry. What the buggery are you doing here?

    Serapharch: I've come to collect you. I knew your little tryst wouldn't last so I watched you. And now it's over, it's time to return.

    Seraphim: Is that even possible?

    Serapharch: We can find out together. Let God judge if you may repent and rejoin Heaven. Leave all of this behind. No more Hero Force One. No more Earth. No more demons.

    Seraphim: But Hero Force One is... everything to me. My friends need me.

    Serapharch: Heaven needs you. Let them go. They're not worthy of you anyway. Not that demon who led you astray, not those fools who trust you to solve their petty problems. Heaven is above such matters. We are above such matters.

    Seraphim: I don't like the sound of that.

    Serapharch: It does not matter what you like right now. You are under the influence of mortal life.

    Seraphim: You make it sound like a drug.

    Serapharch: It is. And now it's time to be cured of it. Come.

    Serapharch places a hand on Seraphim's arm but she hesitates within his grasp. Sensing the hesitation he pulls a little more forcefully. She resists more then wrenches her arm from his.

    Seraphim: I will not go with you! There is a chance for me and my boyfriend and these people are not beneath us!

    Serapharch: I can make you.

    Seraphim: Are you sure about that?

    Serapharch: What do you mean by that? Are you honestly going to fight me?

    Seraphim: Consider this my answer.

    Her fist connects with Serapharch's face and golden blood (because, as we all know, angels blood is gold!!) spurts from his nose. He staggers back in a panic having never received such a blow in his long existence. He had never even dreamed that he might, one day, need to use his angelic powers in a real fight.

    Serapharch: You just... punched me!

    Seraphim: And it's only going to get worse for you. Let's take this outside!

    Seraphim shoots into the air with the aim of performing her signature-exit/entrance technique of smashing through the ceiling.


    Seraphim: Oooooooow...

    Iriana: This place is indestructible, remember?

    Seraphim: Thank... you... random... stranger. Could have... told me sooner, though? Let's try that again, eh?

    Her next punch has all of her super-power force behind it and the imperious angel is sent soaring across the room of the Chikin Chateau. He crashes into one of the windows with a dull thud that is quickly followed by the ominous creak of cracking glass.
    Seraphim: They said the Titanic was indestructible too.

    She leaps across the room and shoulder charges Serapharch. His back strikes the cracked glass which instantly gives way and the pair of them tumble from the Chikin Chateau.

    Roger the Cabin Boy: Damn. Mr Cris ain't gonna be happy about that.

    Iriana: You have a very unfortunate name, Roger.

    Roger the Cabin Boy: More unfortunate is how I got that name. But honestly, you should see Seaman Stains.

    Iriana: I think I'd rather not.

    Seraphim whizzes past the empty window again, this time clearly being thrown upwards. Serapharch finally got himself a backbone and he chases up after her.

    He snatches her wrist and wrenches her limp body around in a half-circle until she smashes into the roof of the Chikin Chateau, sending bits of "indestructible" roof in every direction. He drags her body along the roof, carving up yet more roofing. When he reaches the end of the roof he gives Seraphim's arm one final tug and whips her up and over himself until gravity swings her down into a solid window. Again this window cracks but doesn't yet shatter, which is fortunate for Iriana who happens to be sat right next to it.

    Iriana: Time for me to leave I think.

    Roger the Cabin Boy: Come again!

    Iriana: Not very bloody likely, is it? Honestly?

    Her words are accompanied by the clattering of glass shards as the window finally caves in after a few extra beatings of Seraphim's body against it. Her frame tumbles inside, finally free of Serapharch's grip, and she lies motionless amongst the glass fragments.

    Iriana: Perhaps you should fetch the poor woman some water, Roger?

    Roger the Cabin Boy: Yeah...

    After getting a small plastic cup filled with cold water, Roger the Cabin Boy shuffles over to the prone angel. The other guests all mill about, staring with mild interest and continuing to stuff their faces with Cris B's chikin. He kneels down beside her and places a hand on her cheek to move it into a drinking position but suddenly her eyes break open and she stares up at Roger the Cabin Boy with massive, beautiful green eyes. But they are filled with fury.

    Seraphim: Where is he?

    Rather than respond Roger the Cabin Boy can do little more than loosely point out of the window Seraphim had been thrown through. Without making further comment she slowly rises, her body appearing only a little battle scuffed from her ordeal. In all of her scantily-clad glory Roger the Cabin Boy's proximity and lowered stance almost makes his face melt. Seraphim seems oblivious and is suddenly outside almost quicker than anyone could see.

    Unfortunately her heroic comeback is short lived as Serapharch delivers a quick blow from behind as he jumps down from the roof of the Chikin Chateau.

    You know, I don't think such a fight can be taken seriously when it's done around a fast-food restaurant stuck to the top of Big Ben...

    As if they heard Iriana's words Seraphim uses a sudden great burst of holy light to blind her foe, who reels despite being an angel of the very same light. She tackles him, wrapping her arms around his body and forcing her shoulder into him. With incredible speed and force she flies upwards and straight at the Hero Force One Hovercarrier. It takes just a moment for Serapharch to regain his wits but then it is too late. Seraphim lets go of him just before he smashes into the side of the impregnable flying fortress.

    When he is able to open his eyes he has the indulgence of seeing the next attack upon his person for a mere split-second. A gigantic chicken, mascot and symbol of Cris B. Chikin. Seraphim had detached the ridiculous-looking thing, which happened to be a chicken wearing a beret and bright checkered trousers, and sent it flying straight at Serapharch. He had the luxury of seeing it enormous chicken bum flying towards him before it finally collided with the Hovercarrier. Making a rather large arse-shaped dent with Serapharch mangled in the centre like a minute deposited egg.

    He is not allowed a moment of rest as Seraphim comes at him again, this time personally. Legs pointed together her bare feet connect with Serapharch with all of the force of a cannonball that sends them both crashing through the already battle-weary wall of the hovercarrier and into some unused lower depths of the headquarters where a small rat happens to be hiding.

    Benjamin Mahir: Bloody Hell. Well, they always thought the Titanic was impregnable too.

    Serapharch rolls onto his side, getting an eye-full of the rat and snapping more readily to attention. He struggles onto his knees only to see Seraphim saunter towards him from the gaping hole they'd both made. She appears to have all of the fury of legendary fallen angels of old. He stares wildly at her, knowing there was no turning back for her now. She would never be welcome in Heaven again.

    In a last ditch effort he rises his arms and releases a surge of divine energy upon the body of Seraphim. He knew that would not have worked on her just an hour ago when she was within the Chikin Chateau but now she was well beyond the graces of God. She convulses from the power of light that racks her body.

    Seraphim: No...

    Serapharch: Yes.

    Serapharch relents for the moment, allowing the pain of her situation to settle on her mind. She had to know she was lost to Him. His hands remain poised.

    Serapharch: You are truly forsaken Seraphim. You are beyond God. Only now... do you realise... your mistake.

    He continues the surge of divine energy through her and she cries out with anguish.

    Benjamin Mahir: Argh! I'd been hiding down here all this time, knowing they'd never look for me right under their noses and now this happens. I can't leave her like this. I suppose I should finally fulfil my duty as Company Kid.

    The rat sighs, which is a rather unusual visual when you think about it.

    Benjamin Mahir: Plus he's making a bad impression of The Emperor. It's got to end.

    He runs over to Serapharch and bites his ankle.

    Serapharch: Ye-ouch!

    Seeing the tiny rat, a creature she had long hated and feared, save her life Seraphim feels a tiny surge of hope within her. If she was forsaken by God and all his glory then so be it. There was much greater beauty and glory in the world of humans. And rats apparently.

    She grabs Serapharch by the neck, lifts him off his feet and slams him down to the metal floor. However the force breaks through the floor and breaks into the room below. She continued their descent, forcing him downwards whilst clutching his neck. Again they smash through another layer and she releases him but speeds past him, using every ounce of agility and stamina she can muster. She halts upon the floor of the massive room and when Serapharch's wriggling body reaches her she gives it a great kick, punting the high-angel through yet another solid object, this time a wall.

    Judge: What the bollocking wank!?

    Seraphim enters the room to find she had thrown Serapharch into the ladies showers. Judge has a shower curtain pulled across her otherwise starkers form.

    Seraphim: Sorry for the intrusion, Judge. I'll get him out of here in a moment.

    She grabs his ankle and proceeds to drag him out towards the door when two strangers bumble into the room.

    Hawthorne: Judge, we heard a massive ruckus! Are you alright!? Uh-...

    Seraphim: Everything's under control. I have something to dispose of.

    She stomps past them in an angry huff, dragging the unconscious body of Serapharch with her.

    Bhac: Well, that was different. Oh hey, naked chick.

    Hawthorne: Whoa!

    Detective Hawthorne covers his eyes.

    Hawthorne: Really sorry Judge! Didn't think about... the... shower... thing.

    Judge: You know, leaving the room might work better than covering your eyes?

    Hawthorne: Right! Leaving room!

    Detective Hawthorne leaves the room.

    Judge: You too.

    Bhac: Damn.

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts