Fanfic - The Conquest of Scalzi the Humorless
Fanfic for this contest and picture.
Seriously, click the link before reading the story, or it will make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
All beta credit and love to the wonderful diachrony, who keeps me from looking like an idiot.
To His most puissant Imperial Majesty,
Gleeful greetings from this, the least of Your vassals. The redemption of this sad and heretical land continues apace, as does that of all cultures exposed to the true colors of Your Message. My liege, it thrills me to report the defeat of yet another repudiator of your loving rule! Scalzi the Humorless is no more.
His end was by no means quick or bloodless. After the army's previous encounter with him, the fiend had retreated to a hellish landscape the like of which I'd never imagined, licking his wounds and penning scathing, slanderous propaganda to his equally disgusting followers. The Bear's spy network served us well here; he was discovered quickly, before Scalzi could re-gather his armies. He was alone on the fire-breathing mountain called Fennix, connected to his minions by only the most slender of cables.
The decision to meet his formidable axe alone was a difficult one, but necessary. I could not risk the newly-birthed faith of our congregation in the insidious miasma of Scazi's presence. It was a long and lonely flight to the battle plain, accompanied only by Softkins' purr.
When we finally caught him, the Humorless had already abandoned his temporary lair, exposing himself on a narrow pathway to the lower lands known as A-zona and the horde of followers that awaited him there. With an exuberant shout, I directed Softkins to stoop, needle-claws unsheathed and spread. The wind rushing through my hair held both the stench of brimstone and the promise of glorious redemption.
Scalzi turned and snarled his disbelief, axe and shield immediately coming to bear. Even then, as I reached for his heart with my spear, I mourned his stubbornness, his refusal to see Your Truth. Such a one would have made a great general in Your army, my lord.
He did not surprise me with resolution to his fate. Nimbly, he dove to the earth a hair's breadth from justice, the wind of my passing surely screaming in his ears. He roared back, thick lips writhing as he crafted his guttural spells, battle-scarred axe beginning to glow with awakened power. Softkins yowled and, at my judicious sprinkling of catnip, swiped the weapon from his filthy hands, leaving long and deep weals in his green flesh. The spell cut off with a scream of anger and loss as his only defense tumbled out of his reach.
My lord, even then he would not yield to Your sweet embrace. Neck unbent, wounded arm cradled against his chest, he hurled curses and insults even as I leveled my spear at his heart and thrust home. Unsheathing my dagger, I removed his vile head from his shoulders, tossing the rest to my mount. (I would also ask a boon of You, my lord. May we attempt to retrain Softkins with respect to his dining habits? His coat is stiff with ichor after that meal, and the beast refuses to allow me to bathe him.) The head now snarls upon the tip of my spear, the easier to break the souls of his followers when we rode into their camp on the morn. Oh, how great were the moans that greeted that sight! I had only to point out his failure to join Your cause, and then lead them in song. These soldiers are now Yours.
This vessel You chose to bear me was as perfect a fit as I could have wanted, a strong body coupled with a quick mind. Though his reaction was initially more mute confusion than the proper adulation we of the Three Rings deserve, he is now fully committed to Your cause and fights willingly in the front lines, lending to the battle his immense popularity amongst these pitiful peoples. The creature's reach is joyfully wide, touching others of his kind thousands of miles from base. Since Your generous creation of my mount, these numbers have soared even higher, all praise and glory to Your Name.
I hope to march soon against the great morass of the Midlands, trapping the center of this land between my eastern and western armies. My lieutenants Mickey the Merciless and Best Friend Bozo will meet me as I bring Scalzi's army northwards, converting or slaying as we must. Eventually, the entire continent will be ours, as the pacifistic Canucks to the north are unlikely to offer much resistance.
Together, we will sing to Your glory:
I love You
You love me
We're a happy Family
With humility,
Tootles the Conqueror
Seriously, click the link before reading the story, or it will make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
All beta credit and love to the wonderful diachrony, who keeps me from looking like an idiot.
To His most puissant Imperial Majesty,
Gleeful greetings from this, the least of Your vassals. The redemption of this sad and heretical land continues apace, as does that of all cultures exposed to the true colors of Your Message. My liege, it thrills me to report the defeat of yet another repudiator of your loving rule! Scalzi the Humorless is no more.
His end was by no means quick or bloodless. After the army's previous encounter with him, the fiend had retreated to a hellish landscape the like of which I'd never imagined, licking his wounds and penning scathing, slanderous propaganda to his equally disgusting followers. The Bear's spy network served us well here; he was discovered quickly, before Scalzi could re-gather his armies. He was alone on the fire-breathing mountain called Fennix, connected to his minions by only the most slender of cables.
The decision to meet his formidable axe alone was a difficult one, but necessary. I could not risk the newly-birthed faith of our congregation in the insidious miasma of Scazi's presence. It was a long and lonely flight to the battle plain, accompanied only by Softkins' purr.
When we finally caught him, the Humorless had already abandoned his temporary lair, exposing himself on a narrow pathway to the lower lands known as A-zona and the horde of followers that awaited him there. With an exuberant shout, I directed Softkins to stoop, needle-claws unsheathed and spread. The wind rushing through my hair held both the stench of brimstone and the promise of glorious redemption.
Scalzi turned and snarled his disbelief, axe and shield immediately coming to bear. Even then, as I reached for his heart with my spear, I mourned his stubbornness, his refusal to see Your Truth. Such a one would have made a great general in Your army, my lord.
He did not surprise me with resolution to his fate. Nimbly, he dove to the earth a hair's breadth from justice, the wind of my passing surely screaming in his ears. He roared back, thick lips writhing as he crafted his guttural spells, battle-scarred axe beginning to glow with awakened power. Softkins yowled and, at my judicious sprinkling of catnip, swiped the weapon from his filthy hands, leaving long and deep weals in his green flesh. The spell cut off with a scream of anger and loss as his only defense tumbled out of his reach.
My lord, even then he would not yield to Your sweet embrace. Neck unbent, wounded arm cradled against his chest, he hurled curses and insults even as I leveled my spear at his heart and thrust home. Unsheathing my dagger, I removed his vile head from his shoulders, tossing the rest to my mount. (I would also ask a boon of You, my lord. May we attempt to retrain Softkins with respect to his dining habits? His coat is stiff with ichor after that meal, and the beast refuses to allow me to bathe him.) The head now snarls upon the tip of my spear, the easier to break the souls of his followers when we rode into their camp on the morn. Oh, how great were the moans that greeted that sight! I had only to point out his failure to join Your cause, and then lead them in song. These soldiers are now Yours.
This vessel You chose to bear me was as perfect a fit as I could have wanted, a strong body coupled with a quick mind. Though his reaction was initially more mute confusion than the proper adulation we of the Three Rings deserve, he is now fully committed to Your cause and fights willingly in the front lines, lending to the battle his immense popularity amongst these pitiful peoples. The creature's reach is joyfully wide, touching others of his kind thousands of miles from base. Since Your generous creation of my mount, these numbers have soared even higher, all praise and glory to Your Name.
I hope to march soon against the great morass of the Midlands, trapping the center of this land between my eastern and western armies. My lieutenants Mickey the Merciless and Best Friend Bozo will meet me as I bring Scalzi's army northwards, converting or slaying as we must. Eventually, the entire continent will be ours, as the pacifistic Canucks to the north are unlikely to offer much resistance.
Together, we will sing to Your glory:
I love You
You love me
We're a happy Family
With humility,
Tootles the Conqueror