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Are you, in fact, a pregnant lady who lives in the apartment next door to Superdeath's parents? - Commodore |
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The OFFICIAL EitB XXI Trash-Talking Thread: Less Talk. More Trash
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Further confirmation that this whole world is in league with evil.
If only you and me and dead people know hex, then only deaf people know hex.
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[SIZE="6"]At last, I take form once more.[/SIZE]
![[Image: Eurabatres_the_gold_dragon.jpg]](http://s13.postimage.org/z6w5beuvb/Eurabatres_the_gold_dragon.jpg) [SIZE="1"]Hey, WTF is the army? I was assured there would be an army...[/SIZE] HidingKneel Wrote:Thoth, we need to borrow your Fortress of Solitude. I hope half a turn was long enough for you.  BTW: Illios you now have the distinction of being the only player in the game (including the barbs) to have never occupied a Lanun city. When you do, please remember to give it back promptly. 
fnord
Mr. Scratch leaned back in his fifty-foot tall Devilwood chair and eagerly clasped his hands together in evil contemplation. Devilwood wasn't exactly the sturdiest material to make evil lounging furniture from, being a variety of small evergreen shrub, but having his underlings clear-cut dozens of acres of the stuff was a small price to pay for comfort. Mr. Scratch ate deviled eggs and devil's food cake, not because he had any sense of taste or even the need to consume nutrients, but just to keep his little theme going. Some days he worried that he was laying it on too thick, but then he remembered that he was a giant physical embodiment of hate made of literal elemental evil.
Mr. Scratch was watching his piddling empire through one of the enormous scrying pools scattered throughout his lair. He had been unable to directly manifest in Erebus after his recent banishment, but to his surprise and moderate aggravation, some of his demon subjects had remained and managed to survive in his absence. He used sophisticated proprietary evil technology to transmit orders to his underlings even from Agares' Hell. Mr. Scratch had lately found himself struggling to care for the rancid little fiefdom he had spawned; it was clear from even casual observation that he wasn't investing more than two minutes on any given day's operations, and he often wished that one of the living world's baleful mammalian inhabitants would hurry up and blow everything the hell up, so that he could move on to more promising ventures. Still, he had souls to reap, and there were Angels to murder. Mr. Scratch had yet to actually kill even a one, even when his evil accounts had informed him that surely it was within the realm of probability that he might manage to finally permanently kill something in this battle, but Agares wasn't the God of Hope for nothing. Anyway, Mr. Scratch was in a fine mood at the present. He was chatting with Barry Wheeler, the portly, lovable comic relief imp who always came through in a pinch despite his endearingly cowardly ways. "So, the plan is in motion? The artifacts are being disbursed as we speak?" asked Mr. Scratch, an evil twinkle in his most cruel eye (the left one). "Uh, sure. You mean the resources? Yeah, we're shipping those suckers off to basically everywhere. Some of the troops are complaining about the lack of iron weapons, but none of the demons on the front lines survive long enough to do much more than make angry noises, and everyone in the rear is mostly just content to shut up and keep their heads down. " Mr. Scratched grinned a toothy, evil grin. He rubbed his palms together until he realized that the friction was making his hands uncomfortably sweaty. "Most excellent. Soon our corruption will spread across Erebus, and the world shall be ours!" Barry tilted his adorable burning impish head slightly askew. "I guess, boss. Actually, the Hell terrain we brought keeps receding every time we lose a major battle, which is pretty much constantly. It's really annoying." Mr. Scratch narrowed his eyes in frustration. "I don't mean that corruption, you moron. I speak rather of the corruption of the soul!" Barry didn't like where the conversation was heading. "You mean the Veil? We haven't spread that in ages. The Ritualists spend most of their time writing dirty limericks about Junil, and we lost all the Savants when some of the other Imps got bored and fed them to a Beast. " Mr. Scratch pinched the bridge of his nose as his annoyance grew. "What are you talking abou- no, I mean the artifacts, the resources, whatever! Have they turned the other empires to evil yet?" "Er, no. Why? Were they supposed to or something? I don't think it works that way..." Mr. Scratch felt like smashing something. He felt for his Gela, before remembering it was gone. "So" he screamed, spitting chunks of egg with wild abandon, "we have been just giving away all of our resources, and the world hasn't become even a bit more evil?" "No, sir. Actually, maybe the opposite. Just yesterday I heard that a procession of Angels had been seen holding hands with some Manes outside the city of-" Barry's voice abruptly went silent as Mr. Scratch bodily heaved his throne into the pool, terminating communications. "Oh, for the love of God!" he swore, before spontaneously combusting in a puff of eschatology. Thoth Wrote:I hope half a turn was long enough for you. Yes. It was all part of our cunning plan to trade half our army for a Balseraph archmage. 
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