The Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum goes to Hell
Igor the Fearful, Grand Vizier of the Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum, hurried through the palace towards the Unspeakable One's laboratory. As his nickname implied, Igor was full of fear. He was not sure what demented scheme the Unspeakable One had dreamed up this time, but he dreaded it. He always dreaded meetings with his master, the supreme ruler of this land, because he, Igor, who had the bad luck to be the Unspeakable One's closest advisor, would always be the one who suffered most from whatever happened.
The Unspeakable One had a name, of course. Igor was one of the few men who knew that the Unspeakable One's name was actually Jacob Chmieleweski. But since no human mouth could pronounce "Chmielewski", Igor's master permitted his servants to call him something else, and "The Unspeakable One" sounded better than "The Unpronouncable One". It was one of the few merciful things the Unspeakable One had ever done.
The Unspeakable One also had a laboratory, which is more to the point of this tale, since that was where Igor was headed. Down the winding staircases he went, along the shadowy halls, through massive oaken doors with wrought-iron hinges that squealed dreadfully when opened, Igor made his way to the castle dungeons. Finally, down one last dark corridor, he passed through a final door into the presence of the Unspeakable One.
"You're late," the Unspeakable One.
"Your pardon, my master," Igor begged.
The Unspeakable One waved his hand. "I lied," he said. "You're early, in fact. But I forgive you for that." The Unspeakable One gestured towards a mysterious-looking black box. "Look, Igor! At last, after years of research and billions of dollars spent, it is complete!" he cried triumphantly.
Igor looked over the black box, noting the lights and buttons and markings on one side. "Um, boss, it's a CD player," he said, slightly puzzled.
"Yes!" the Unspeakable One cried. "But not just any CD player! This one plays the CDs... backwards!"
"Oh, I see," Igor lied.
"Yes! Now at last I have all of the materials we need!" the Unspeakable One cackled.
"Very good, your Unspeakableness. For what, might I ask?"
"Years ago, Igor, I translated an ancient scroll," the Unspeakable One hissed. "It described a most arcane ritual, which required a number of unique objects. Now at last, I have everything I need to complete the ritual!"
"Oh, that's good," Igor lied again. "And what does this ritual accomplish?"
"Once I perform the ritual," the Unspeakable One shouted with a mad gleam in his eyes, "the entire nation will be transported into the uttermost depths of Hell!"
"Oh," Igor said. "And this is supposed to be a good thing?"
"Of course not!" the Unspeakable One said. "That is why I am doing it!"
"Now, look, boss," Igor said. "I didn't protest when you abolished elections. I went along with it when you changed the name of the country from Luxembourg to Dishonorable Scum. I even was OK with it when you enacted the mandatory organ harvesting law and forgot to specify that the donors had to be dead first. But this time... Don't you think this might be a little much?"
"Silence, you fool!" the Unspeakable One shouted. "I am the supreme ruler of this land, the most dishonorable of scum, and my word is law!"
"Yes, boss," Igor said. "So, we're going to Hell, are we?"
"As soon as I perform the ritual!" the Unspeakable One said. "Now, hand me that CD!"
"As you wish, your lunacy. Um, Led Zeppelin 4?"
"Place it in the CD player! And press 'play'!"
"Done, your evilness. What next?"
"Hand me that book!"
"Um... Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix?"
"According to the ritual, I must read from a forbidden tome!"
"Forbidden? But it's being released in hardback next week."
"That is why we must hurry! Now, do you know what this is?"
"Er - a live chicken?"
"Yes! And this?"
"Uh - a Girl Scout?"
"Should I even ask what we are going to do with these?" Igor asked.
"You are going to read the forbidden tome to the chicken, poisoning its innocent mind, while I perform unnatural acts with..." Then, suddenly, the Unspeakable One stopped, and checked his notes. "No, sorry, I keep getting that backwards. We read the book to the girl."
"And the chicken?"
The Unspeakable One consulted his notes again. "Dance with it," he said.
"Chickens don't dance, do they? Then makes it an unnatural act, doesn't it?"
"Well, I don't know. There's this thing called 'The Chicken Dance'..."
"Silence, you fool!" the Unspeakable One shouted. "Now, hand me the chicken, and start reading the book to the girl!"
As Igor read the forbidden tome to the innocent girl and the Unspeakable One most unnaturally waltzed around the laboratory with a very disconcerted chicken to the weird strains of backwards Led Zeppelin music, a great darkness fell upon the land. Later reports were confused and contradictory, but people in neighboring lands spoke of the earth shaking, fire falling from the sky, plagues of locusts, the dead rising from their graves and walking, dogs and cats living together, the rivers running with blood and the trees turning to chocolate pudding.
When the sky finally cleared the next day, the sun shone upon a gaping rift in the earth where the land of Dishonorable Scum had once been. All who peered into the bottomless abyss agreed that only one thing could have happened. The Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum had gone to Hell.
The Unspeakable One surveyed the scene around him with satisfaction. The sky overhead was a deep blood-red color, with dark, sooty clouds floating through it. Things flew in the sky that looked like vultures, but were not vultures. A small copse of what seemed to be dead trees waved its branches in the wind, except there was no wind, and tree limbs didn't move like that in the wind anyway. A few miles away, a volcano spewed fiery lava into the air, which flowed down its sides and combined to make a river of molten rock. Strange shapes could be seen swimming in the lava, as if it was their home. An overpowering odor of brimstone filled the air.
"Yes!" the Unspeakable One crowed triumphantly. "I am successful! The Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum is now in Hell!"
From behind him, his Grand Vizier, Igor the Fearful, said, "I just want to say that I thought this was a bad idea."
"Nonsense, Igor," the Unspeakable One spat back. "Where's your sense of adventure? We have a whole new realm to conquer!"
"You're going to - conquer Hell?" Igor squeaked.
"Well, that depends," the Unspeakable One said. "If the rulers of this realm surrender without a fight, conquest may not be necessary. I'll have to make contact with them first, of course, and find out what their intentions are. Go and find them, and tell them I demand unconditional surrender."
"I want to make it absolutely clear," Igor said, "that I was against this whole thing from the beginning."
"Yes yes yes, you always are," the Unspeakable One said impatiently. "You were against it when I started the chemical weapons lab. You were against it when I reanimated that army of undead soldiers. You were against it when I invested the entire national treasury in Enron stock. You're just so negative about everything."
"And if you had listened to me, the chemical spill wouldn't have happened, so the army wouldn't have been dead in the first place, so there would have been no need to turn them into flesh-eating zombies that ate half the population, and we might still have a national treasury!" Igor pointed out. "I don't know why you even bothered to make me Grand Vizier! You never listen to my advice!"
The Unspeakable One began tapping his foot impatiently. "Igor," he said coldly.
"Urp - yes, Master?" Igor replied.
"Go find me the local rulers," the Unspeakable One commanded.
"Yes, Master," Igor said. "Um - How should I do that?"
"Well," the Unspeakable One said helpfully, "you might go over to that army of demons that is marching across the plain over there, and ask one of them where their leaders are."
Igor sighed. "Yes, Master," he said sadly, and began trudging towards the demonic army. He marched quickly across the iron-gray rock of the plain. Best to get it over with quickly, he thought.
As he approached them, he saw that they were very large demons. They were twenty feet tall, and winged, with coal black skin, fiery red eyes, and nasty horns. And fangs. Big long yellow sharp pointed deadly fangs, dripping with poison.
Igor hated fangs. He didn't like demons in general, but the fanged ones were always the worst. He could tell that this wasn't going to be pleasant.
But his master had given him a command, and he had little choice but to obey it. So he marched towards the front rank of demons, stood right in front of them, and said, "Take me to your leaders."
The demons stopped in their tracks. They stared at Igor. They looked at each other. They scratched their heads. They shrugged.
Then one reached down, grabbed Igor, picked him up, tossed him into his mouth, and bit down with a solid crunch.
What happened next surprised the demon almost as much as it surprised Igor. As Igor's terrified soul left his mangled body, it screamed, audibly. His soul was quite visible as it exited the demon's mouth and rose into the air, appearing as a gray wraithlike mist. And then, as if being pulled by an unimaginable force, it suddenly flew away at high speed, screaming all the while.
The demon appeared truly shocked by this turn of events. It pulled Igor's lifeless body out of its mouth, looked it over, sniffed at it, and then dropped it onto the ground. It looked at its fellow demons, and shrugged it shoulders. Then the demons resumed their march, and while many of them gave Igor's body a curious glance as they marched past it, none of them touched it.
"So that's what happens when you die in Hell," the Unspeakable One mused. "Interesting. Damned inconvenient though. I need a new Grand Vizier. I wonder where his soul went off to in such a hurry, anyway?"
To be continued...
Lmao, great story!
I'll take a pudding tree please. Can you get a tapioca one?
The Unspeakable One was having a communication problem.
"Take me to the rulers of this land, you stupid cow!" he screamed.
The stupid cow simply stared at him, and chewed her cud.
Actually, as cows went, she was rather intelligent, but the Unspeakable One hadn't taken the time to find that out. He had simply marched up to the cow (who was coal-black all over - even her razor-tipped horns - except for her fiery red eyes) and started making demands.
"Do as I say!" the Unspeakable One screamed. "Don't you know who I am? Don't you know what I can do to you! Why aren't you obeying me?"
The cow considered that for a long moment. Then she answered with a long, hissing "Mooooooo."
The Unspeakable One was taken aback. He had never heard such a sinister moo from a cow. And never had he heard of a cow that breathed fire when it mooed.
"Perhaps," he said, "I should go ask someone else." And he turned to leave.
But the demonic cow charged him, caught him on her horns, and tossed him high into the air. He landed in the limbs of one of the black tree-things that grew on the Infernal plain. The cow looked up at him, snorted a cloud of smoke, and ambled off.
"Well, that's better," the Unspeakable One said, but he was wrong. The tree limbs grabbed onto him, and began pulling him towards an opening high on the trunk. The opening widened, and the Unspeakable One saw that it was lined with nasty wooden tooth-like spikes.
But before it could swallow him, one of the giant vulture-like beasts flying overhead swooped down. It grabbed him with razor-sharp talons, ripped him free of the tree, and began flying towards the volcano, dangling the Unspeakable One beneath it.
"I don't suppose you could take me to the local rulers?" the Unspeakable One asked it.
The vulture-thing's only reply was a blood-curdling screech.
"This would be so much easier if Igor hadn't gone and gotten himself killed," the Unspeakable One mused. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with all of these problems myself. The damnable wretch - never could rely on him for anything."
At first, Igor was cold. Then, for a long time, he felt nothing.
He remembered a brief, intense moment of pain, as the demon's jaws clamped down on his body. Then there had been an even more painful moment when his soul ripped free of his body, and then - most painful of all - something had grabbed onto him and taken him... somewhere.
Wherever Igor was, he felt nothing. He could hear things - breathing, low muttering, intermittent clicking - but he couldn't see anything, because...
"Because I haven't got any eyes!" he screamed.
"Oh, sorry about that," a high-pitched, nasal voice said. "Just a minute..."
There was a sudden burst of clicking, and then, abruptly, Igor could see.
He found himself face-to-face with a bizarre creature - it was horned, and winged, and a sickly gray color, with an incredibly long nose and a spindly body. It sat in a chair, with its hands on what looked amazingly like a computer keyboard, and was staring straight at Igor.
"Who are you? And what are you?"
The creature gave Igor a toothy grin. "Call me Ishmael," it said. "Imp, second class. I'm your reanimation technician."
"Oh, I see - reanimation technician?"
The imp nodded. "It's my job to give your soul a new, suitably demonic body to go with your new responsibilities."
"Er - you lost me there. New responsibilities?"
"Man, they don't tell you new guys anything in orientation, do they?"
"Orientation? I didn't get any orientation," Igor complained.
"Well, they never really tell you what you need to know anyway," Ishmael said, "so don't sweat it. The deal is, you died, see. But under rather unusual circumstances. You died here."
"You mean, I died in Hell?"
"Right," Ishmael replied. "Which puts you under a special set of rules. If you'd died up there and had been sent down here, you'd probably be assigned to some punishment detail for all eternity. But since you died here, we aren't authorized to do that. So - you're on staff. Welcome to the Company."
"Wait a minute. You're telling me I'm some kind of devil now?"
"You got it," the imp said. "So, let's get to work. I've got to get your new body designed and fabricated before lunch. And I'm getting hungry."
"Okay," Igor said. "Is this going to take long?"
"Nope. Ever since we went to digital reanimation, the process is a lot faster. It used to be we'd spend days in the morgue piecing together a new body out of whatever parts we could find. But now - just point, click, and there you go! Horns!"
Igor felt something grow out of the top of his head. "Horns?"
"Don't worry, they're just little ones," Ishmael said. "Now, let's make the face a bit narrower..." The imp typed rapidly on his keyboard, and Igor felt his face change shape. "Hm," the imp said, peering intently at Igor, "needs something more. I know - fangs!" Ishmael typed again, and two large fangs sprouted from Igor's mouth.
"No!" Igor protested. "I von't vike fangs!"
"Yeah, they do make it hard to talk when they're that big, don't they?" Ismael said. "Maybe lots of little sharp pointed teeth instead..." He typed furiously.
"That feels much better," Igor said. "What's next?"
"Skin tone," Ishmael told him. "Basic black would look good with this, but you're looking a bit too much like Darth Maul as it is, and I don't want Lucasfilm's lawyers coming after me again. So let's try blue." The imp typed, and frowned. "Nah, that's no good. Green, maybe?" Ismael typed some more, and shook his head. "Wait, I have it! Burnt orange!" A few more keystrokes, and Ishmael smiled. "That'll do," the imp said with satisfaction.
"Um - do I get a body to go with this head at any point?" Igor asked.
"Oh, sure," Ismael said. "Here, let's try this one - it's one of my favorites!"
"Ah - that's not good," Igor said.
"Why not?" Ishmael asked. "You have a killer body!"
"But I'm not a woman," Igor protested.
"Not into the transgender thing, huh?" Ishmael said. "Okay, if you insist, let's try this one instead."
"That's much more like it," Igor said.
"So, just to make you more menacing, let's make you seven feet tall," Ishmael said, putting a hand to a trackball by the keyboard. Igor felt something grab the top of his head and pull upwards. "And just to give the ladies a little something to scream about," the imp continued, moving the trackball again.
"Hey! Careful with that!" Igor yelled.
"Relax, I'm a professional," Ishmael said. "There, how's that?"
"Um - won't I trip over it?" Igor said doubtfully.
"Well, maybe I did overdo it a bit," Ishmael said. "Let me back it off a bit... There, better?"
"Yes, much," Igor said.
"Now, we could go for the old-fashioned wings and tail look, but that's such a cliché," Ishmael said. "So let's give you claws instead," typing a bit, "and a nicely trimmed devilish goatee. There, take a look."
Suddenly an image formed in front of Igor, of a massively-muscled, evilly handsome humanoid demon. Igor smiled, and the image in front of him smiled back, showing a mouthful of razor-sharp incisors.
"I think," Igor said, "that I'm going to like this."
"Great!" Ishmael said. "Now, I'll just run you through the fabricator, and I can knock off for lunch a bit early. Thanks for being easy to deal with. Now, fair warning, this is going to hurt a bit." The imp pressed a button -
- suddenly, every nerve in Igor's body was on fire, he felt a million tiny ice-cold electric needles piercing his skin, a high-pitched squeal assaulted his ears -
And then he collapsed onto the floor.
"You okay?" Ishmael asked. The imp was revealed to be about three feet tall, and was sitting on a stool in front of what looked like a sophisticated computer graphics workstation.
Igor slowly rose to his feet. "Ouch," he said.
"You'll be fine in a while," the imp said. "Just report to the wardrobe department, one floor up, second door on the left from the elevator. Unless you like running around naked."
To be continued...
Now THAT is an interesting story! Congratulations!
"So, I see that in life you were Igor the Fearful, obsequious flunky of the so-called Unspeakable One," the man in the long scarlet robes said, reading from a file on the desk in front of him.
"Yes, Your Grace," Igor replied nervously. He had received a summons to appear here, but had not been told why.
"Please, not 'Your Grace'," the tall, slender Spaniard replied. "I renounced that title when I arrived here. 'Judge Torquemada' will do, or 'Your Dishonor' if you insist."
"Sorry, Your Dishonor," Igor said.
"Relax, Igor," Torquemada told him. "I'm no longer in charge of the Spanish Inquisition, so I'm not about to put you on the rack."
"That's very good to know, Your Dishonor," Igor sighed in relief. "May I ask why I am here?"
"The Department of Injustice has an opening in the Special Persecutions division, and you look like a good fit for the job."
"Um - I do?" Igor gasped, caught off guard.
"Your file shows that you have extensive experience in the area of unjust persecution," Torquemada explained.
"Well, yes, but mostly on the receiving end."
Torquemada nodded. "Exactly. Some of our best persecutors were once flunkies to psychotic dictators. The desire for revenge for a lifetime of abuse is often a powerful motivator."
"I... see," Igor said slowly. "So I can get revenge on those who persecuted me?"
"Well, not always," Torquemada explained. "This is the Department of Injustice, after all. But vicarious revenge is often just as satisfactory."
"Oh," Igor said. "Too bad. I can think of someone who I would particularly like to persecute."
"Well, maybe we can give you a little bit of personal revenge for your first assignment," Torquemada said with an evil grin. "For example, I see that you were killed by a demonic soldier."
"Yes," Igor said eagerly. "A big ugly one with huge fangs. What can I do to him?"
"Not much," Torquemada replied. "You see, he's War Department personnel, so we can't be as completely arbitrary about it as we might like. There are guidelines that we have to follow in issuing his punishment; it has to be something proportional to his offense. No tossing him into a pit of boiling lava, you see. We need to find a punishment that is within the letter of the law, while totally violating its spirit."
"I think I see," Igor said. "So how do you punish someone who's already in Hell, anyway?"
"Normally we try to make their positions even more unbearable than they already are," Torquemada explained. "Though you do have a range of options. For example, you could decide to be merciful towards him..."
"Why would I want to do that?" Igor asked.
"Honestly, I have no idea," Torquemada said with a shrug. "But the option is available if you ever want to use it."
"Oh. Well, forget that one."
Torquemada smiled. "You're going to fit in well here. Do you have any idea of what you'd like to do to him?"
"Well, I could, say, condemn him to suffer from a toothache for all eternity..." Igor mused.
"A toothache?" Torquemada asked. "He bit you in half, and you want to give him a toothache? Are you sure that's sufficiently vengeful?"
"Check his file," Igor said. "Look at the size of his teeth."
Slowly, a grin spread across Torquemada's face. "Yes," he hissed. "It seems a minor punishment at first, but he will be in eternal agony! I like the way you think."
"So, when do I get to work?" Igor asked.
"Immediately, Special Persecutor Igor," Torquemada commanded. "There are many sinners awaiting punishment. Go and smite them without mercy and without justice!"
"I think," Igor said, "that I'm going to like this job."
"This isn't fair," the Unspeakable One complained.
The giant black vulture-beast merely hissed at him in replied. Obviously it wasn't concerned about the injustice of the situation.
After plucking him from the carnivorous trees, the vulture had carried him over the plains of Hell to a nearby volcano, which was in the act of erupting. Despite the heat and flowing lava, the demonic bird had built a nest on a ledge on the mountainside. There were several large black eggs in the nest, along with an assortment of bones of various shapes and sizes.
"Don't you know who I am?" the Unspeakable One protested. "I am the Unspeakable One, supreme ruler of the Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum! I did not come here to be a meal for you or your offspring!"
The giant vulture turned one red-rimmed black eye on him and looked him over. It did not seem impressed.
"Once I conquer this land, I shall send my armies here to destroy you!" the Unspeakable One threatened.
The bird let out a harsh, grating shriek, and then launched itself into the air and flew off through the sooty clouds.
"And don't come back!" the Unspeakable One yelled at it.
Then he began looking for an escape route. The vulture's nest was on a ledge several hundred feet up a sheer cliff. There were no hanging vines or other vegetation he could use to climb down from the nest. The nest itself appeared to be woven out of iron bars; he tried vainly to pry one loose, but the task was beyond his strength.
"This is totally unfair," the Unspeakable One sighed, sinking to a seated position with his back resting against one of the giant eggs. "It's all Igor's fault, damn him. And now that he's dead, I can't even punish him for it. Oh, the injustice of it all..."
Just then, the egg behind him rocked violently. The Unspeakable One scrambled away from it. The egg was now steadily rocking back and forth, and a large crack appeared in the black shell.
"Just what I need," the Unspeakable One said. "This is not turning out the way I planned."
Suddenly, the eggshell shattered into fragments, and a black slime-coated bird struggled free of it. The Unspeakable One noted with dismay that, while the hatchling was considerably smaller than its mother, it was still larger than he was. And it had a large serrated beak, and a hungry look on its face.
Then it looked at him, and it uttered an oddly soft cry. It rose unsteadily onto its feet and hobbled towards the Unspeakable One.
There was nowhere to run, so the Unspeakable One decided to try to bluff his way out of the situation. He rose to his feet and shouted, "I am the Unspeakable One! Bow before me, foul hatchling!"
Much to his surprise, the bird bowed its head, and then rubbed its forehead against his chest, uttering the same soft cry the whole time.
"Now this is more like it!" the Unspeakable One shouted gleefully.
The bird lifted its head then, and cawed happily. It seemed to have gotten the idea into its head that the Unspeakable One was its mother.
"Actually, you'll be quite a handsome bird once your feathers are dry," the Unspeakable One said. "You may make an acceptable servant."
The bird flapped its wings in reply. The Unspeakable One saw that the feathers were rapidly drying, and the wings looked strong. It was possible that the bird was already capable of flight. Which gave him an idea...
"Come to me, bird," he commanded. "We need to get out of here before your real mother shows up."
The bird squawked in confusion as the Unspeakable One climbed onto its back, but did not protest when he urged it towards the edge of the nest.
"Fly!" the Unspeakable One commanded. The bird obediently spread its wings and hopped over the edge of the nest.
And then it plummeted towards the rocks below.
"No, you're not doing it right," the Unspeakable One shouted. "Flap your wings! Fly!"
The bird flapped once, then again, and suddenly it leveled out, just before it would have struck the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Slowly, it struggled to gain altitude.
"Yes!" the Unspeakable One shouted. "We fly! We are free!" The bird gave a shrill caw in response.
"Fly me back to my castle!" the Unspeakable One commanded. "I'll feed a couple of the servants to you, and then - Then, my beautiful black beast, we will see what Hell thinks of us!"
They flew off above the infernal plain into a blood-red sunset.
To be continued...
I find this pleasing.
His Most Infernal Majesty
"Igor, we have a problem," Torquemada said, in a tone that indicated that it was much more Igor's problem than it was Torquemada's.
Igor sighed, awaiting the inevitable. Long experience in serving brutal, arbitrary madmen had taught him that it was his lot in life to clean up the messes that those madmen created. While Torquemada was less psychotic than his previous master, it was only a matter of degree.
"It's about your former employer," Torquemada continued.
"The - um - Unspeakable One?" Igor asked.
"Yes. It seems that he's been causing quite a bit of trouble," the Spaniard said. "It's going to require some straightening out."
Igor brightened. Perhaps this wasn't going to be too bad after all, or at least, not for him. "What exactly has he been doing, Your Dishonor?"
"In the first place, when he performed the Ritual of Condemnation, he made several errors," Torquemada said. "They're rather technical, and normally we'd be willing to overlook them - he did, after all, bring an entire nation into our domain. But it doesn't end there. His territory is encroaching on a wildlife refuge."
"There are wildlife refuges in Hell?" Igor asked, surprised.
"Oh yes," Torquemada said. "His Infernal Majesty is quite keen on protecting the endangered Black Soul Vultures. And it seems that this so-called Unspeakable One raided a nest and made off with a hatchling, which he has now trained to serve him as a mount. It's most irregular, Igor."
"He's always been prone to be a bit irregular, Your Dishonor. I suspect it's a dietary problem. Too much cheese."
"And now he's sending harassing messages to the Executive Office, making the most outrageous demands. He's made quite a nuisance of himself."
"And someone is going to have to punish him, I take it?" Igor asked hopefully.
"Precisely," Torquemada said, with an evil grin slowly spreading across his face. "Which brings us to you."
"Given my prior experience, I believe I can be extremely effective at punishing him," Igor replied, matching Torquemada's grin. "I know all of his weaknesses, and should be able to humiliate him most thoroughly."
"So you're volunteering?"
"Your Dishonor, if you've taught me anything, it's never to volunteer," Igor said. "But if you assign me to this case, I will pursue it very enthusiastically."
"Excellent," Torquemada said with a sadistic smile on his face. "Keep this up, and you'll make Employee of the Month. You get a free t-shirt, you know."
"Your Dishonor, I'm on the case," Igor said, and rose to leave.
In the courtyard of his castle, the Unspeakable One fed the remains of his latest Grand Vizier to his pet Black Soul Vulture.
"That's the fourth Grand Vizier I've been through this week," he grumbled. "It's getting hard to find new ones."
The vulture, which the Unspeakable One had (in a fit of supreme unoriginality) named Bubbles, croaked happily. It enjoyed fresh meat almost as much as it enjoyed rotting carrion, and since its hatching had been fed plenty of both. It now stood much higher than the Unspeakable One's head, and its wingspan had grown to more than twenty feet. It made a suitably impressive mount for the supreme dictator of the Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum.
Suddenly the vulture looked skyward and croaked in alarm. Some kind of winged demon was flying down into the courtyard.
"There there, Bubbles," the Unspeakable One said. "No need to take alarm. It's just an infernal messenger, hopefully bringing news of the abject surrender of the forces of Hell to me."
The demon landed in the courtyard and stalked across the stone towards the Unspeakable One. "About time," the Unspeakable One demanded. "Has the Infernal Court agreed to my terms? Oh, and on your knees when you speak to me, if you don't mind. I'm a stickler for protocol."
"Silence, you fool!" the demon commanded, raising its arms skyward as it spoke. Thunder crashed as if on cue, emphasizing the demon's words.
The Unspeakable One was taken aback. This wasn't the attitude he'd expected from a messenger of surrender. He decided he had better chastise the demon, to remind it of whom was in charge. "That's my line," he pointed out.
"I've always wanted to use it on you," the demon answered.
The Unspeakable One looked at the demon curiously. It seemed somehow familiar... "Igor?" he asked, incredulous.
"Back from the dead and ready to party," Igor replied.
The Unspeakable One looked him over. Despite the wings, claws, horns, orange skin, and demonic visage, it was definitely Igor. "This is a new look for you, isn't it?" he asked.
"They gave me a makeover when they reanimated me," Igor said. "What do you think?"
"Well, those leather pants are a bit too punk-rock for me, but it does go with the look," the Unspeakable One said. "But enough gossiping. You've been gone a long time, and your replacements simply haven't been able to keep up with the workload. I'm afraid you're going to have to put in overtime until you've caught up with the backlog."
"Silence, you fool!" Igor commanded again. This time, when he raised his arm, twin bolts of lightning struck the ground to either side of him, leaving scorch marks on the stone.
"Impressive," the Unspeakable One commented. "Nice effects. But it's still my line. I say 'Silence, you fool!' and you cower in fear."
"I don't have to obey you any more!" Igor shouted back. "I'm now a Special Persecutor for the Department of Injustice, reporting to Secretary Torquemada himself! You will obey me, and you will be silent!"
The Unspeakable One shook his head sadly. "It's really too bad. You were the best Grand Vizier I ever had. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to fire you for insubordination. Bubbles, eat him."
The giant bird screamed shrilly and advanced on Igor. But Igor merely waved his hands and shouted an arcane word, and the vulture abruptly shrank to the size of a chicken. Alarmed, the now-tiny bird ran around the courtyard in a panic.
"Bubbles!" the Unspeakable One screamed in dismay. And then his expression hardened, and he turned to face Igor. "Now you've made me mad," he hissed, raising his hands to cast a spell upon Igor.
But Igor was faster. He gestured frantically and spoke a long phrase in the Black Speech of Mordor that sounded like "Sheboygan chappaquiddick fuquay-varina walla walla!" Half a dozen bolts of lighting converged and struck the spot where the Unspeakable One was standing, enveloping him in a cloud of black smoke.
When the smoke cleared, the Unspeakable One was no longer standing there. Instead, a small blonde girl, about six years old, wearing a frilly pink dress, stood in the same spot.
She stamped her foot. "Igor, this isn't funny," she said. "Put me back the way I was!"
Igor merely laughed. "Run along, little girl," he commanded, "before I perform an unnatural act on you!"
The little girl, in a remarkable feat of linguistic and logical versatility, said something unspeakable in reply. But she seemed to think retreat was the better part of valor, and so ran for cover, pursued by a panic-stricken black chicken. She took shelter in a doorway, and looked back to where Igor was cackling in insane glee.
"Of course, you know this means war," she muttered to herself.
:twisted:this is very deserving of a bump :twisted:
~(peers into the depths of the Belfry...which incidentally ends in hell if you go deep enough, and laughs madly watching this opera of the Damned unfold)~
~(He calls to his faithful toad Valet)~
"Get the TiVO in here now!!! ...and one of those orange smoothies with the whiskey!!"
~(Mirvin respectfully reminds the 3' 4" imp that the doctor ordered no more liquor for a week)~
"Fine...make it without the whiskey.
~(He hurmphs under his breath and scowls for a moment, then grins, lighting a candy cigarette as the show resumes)~
Trying to save myself, but myself keeps slipping away :twisted:
~.~We are MAD for this guy....When will we get more ?
~.~I never thought HELL could be so Funny ! ~.~
~.~We are MAD for this guy....When will we get more ?
~.~I never thought HELL could be so Funny ! ~.~
More is coming soon. Hopefully Monday. I've had some truly irritating RL issues occupying my time, preventing me from working on this (goddamn lawyers), but I hope to get back to it soon. :twisted:
"Well, let's try this again," the Unspeakable One muttered to herself.
The Unspeakable One hadn't been feeling at all like herself lately. Indeed, the fact that she was currently "herself" was the root of the problem. For fifty-three years, the Unspeakable One had been comfortably male, until a spell cast by his former Grand Vizier, Igor the Fearful, had turned him into a six-year-old girl. To add insult to injury, everything the Unspeakable One tried to wear, no matter how dark and menacing, immediately turned into a pink dress with lacy frills. The situation was entirely unacceptable, and the Unspeakable One had been trying to come up with a counterspell ever since.
Her first attempt had been less than successful. It left the gender modification entirely unaffected, and only partially undid the age reduction; it had turned the Unspeakable One into a nineteen-year-old girl. That actually hadn't been too bad at first, since the Unspeakable One had wound up strongly resembling Britney Spears. But then the acne had started. And then the Unspeakable One had developed menstrual cramps. And then, as the Unspeakable One had suffered a fit of rage at her fate, the counterspell had collapsed completely, returning her to her present six-year-old body.
But she had studied the spell more carefully this time, and believed she had the proper counterspell now. It was time to put the spell to the test.
"Wish me luck, Bubbles," she said to her pet bird, who squawked in reply. (It had never struck her as incongruous to name a giant black vulture "Bubbles", and now that the bird was the size of a large parrot, she gave it even less thought.)
She began an incantation in the Black Speech, while simultaneously moonwalking across the laboratory. Upon reaching a table on the far side, she lifted a large iron hammer with magic runes engraved upon it, and unceremoniously hit herself in the side of the head with it.
Pain coursed through the Unspeakable One's head. Stars filled her vision. Agonizing cramps spread throughout her muscles, and a piercing scream clawed its way out of her throat. She felt herself fall to the floor.
The Unspeakable One lay there for a while, before daring to check the spell for success. A hand between the legs left one aspect confirmed. "Male," he grunted in satisfaction. He looked down at the cloth that covered his body, and whispered "Black," with a sigh of relief.
Finally he stood up, and looked at his reflection in a mirror. He almost shouted with joy at the image; it was his old, familiar self. Well, close to it, anyway, as he had less gray in his hair than he had formerly had, but that was but a quibble.
"I did it, Bubbles!" he cackled joyfully.
Bubbles merely gave an annoyed chirp in response. "Yes, I know, I'll get to you soon," the Unspeakable One promised his pet. "But first, I have a score to settle."
"Well done, Igor," said Torquemada, the Infernal Secretary of Injustice, looking around the courtyard of the Palace of Dishonorable Scum in satisfaction. "You neutralized your former employer and punished him in a single stroke. I knew you had talent the moment I saw you."
"Thank you, Your Dishonor," Igor replied. "It was most enjoyable."
"Now, to business," Torquemada announced. "This land will, of course, pass to the control of the Infernal government."
"I suppose that was inevitable," Igor said with a shrug.
"But, it will require a viceroy," Torquemada continued. "Someone who can rule it in His Infernal Majesty's name. I'd be tempted to take the job myself, but I much prefer remaining in the Infernal capitol, close to the heart of things, as it were."
"Of course," Igor said.
"However, there is an ideal candidate for the job," Torquemada said. "Someone who has recently proven himself to be especially skilled in the arts of persecution. That makes him a potential rival to me, you see, so I need to find a way to neutralize his threat."
"Yes, I can see the problem," Igor said. "But if he was banished to a distant province as viceroy, you not only would get him out of your way, but turn him into a potential ally as well."
Torquemada smiled. "You're quite devious, Igor. I knew I liked you for a reason."
"So, when does this ideal candidate find out about his new post?" Igor asked.
"Immediately," Torquemada declared. "I name you Igor the Feared, Viceroy in His Infernal Majesty's name over the Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum!"
As Igor bowed to accept, a voice from the entrance of the courtyard shouted, "Wait just a minute here!"
Igor and Torquemada both turned to face the entrance. Before them stood the Unspeakable One, with his face contorted in outrage.
Torquemada gave Igor an annoyed glance. "I thought you had him taken care of. It seems he broke the spell all too easily."
"Not quite," Igor replied. "Watch this."
Then Igor advanced to face the Unspeakable One. "Too late, Jacob," he said. "You've been stripped of control of this land by the Secretary of Injustice himself. It's all mine now."
"Silence, you fool!" the Unspeakable One shouted. "It will never be yours! The Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum is mine!"
Igor just smiled, and shook his head. "Mine," he said. "All mine."
"Mine!" the Unspeakable One protested. And then, in a voice that rapidly rose in pitch, he screamed, "Mine! Mine! Mine!"
But as the Unspeakable One screamed, he began to shrink in size. His dark robes lightened, and slowly took on a pinkish hue. His hair turned from gray to blonde, and acquired curls. In seconds, the Unspeakable One had turned into a six-year-old-girl again.
Suddenly the Unspeakable One noticed, and began to cry.
Torquemada gave a hearty laugh. "Well done! That's a nice trick!" he said to Igor.
Igor smiled. "Thanks. I stole the idea from Marvel Comics. Any time the Unspeakable One becomes angry or outraged, he'll transform again. But by turning him into a six-year-old girl instead of a giant green hulk, I avoided all kinds of nasty copyright issues."
"He'll do this every time he gets mad?" Torquemada asked in astonishment.
"As long as he's in Hell," Igor said. "The spell draws a bit of power from the Infernal Land itself. Not much, but enough to make it self-renewing. It would all fall apart if he left, but that's not likely to happen."
"My faith in you has been justified, Igor," Torquemada said with pride. "Rule this land with an iron fist, and bring injustice and suffering to its people, and you shall be richly rewarded!"
As Igor bowed again, the Unspeakable One ran sobbing from the courtyard.
"It's not fair!" the Unspeakable One screamed in the privacy of her laboratory. She was throwing an outrageous temper tantrum, but there was nobody there except Bubbles to see it.
"It's mine!" she screamed. "He can't take it away from me! I won't let him!"
Bubbles gave her a curious chirp.
"Yes, that's a good question," the Unspeakable One said with a sigh. "I see only one way to manage it. I'm going to have to reverse the spell that brought this land to Hell in the first place."
Bubbles squawked in alarm, but the Unspeakable One quickly reassured him. "Don't worry, I won't be doing anything unnatural to you. I'll just have to read a book to you. It's called Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten."
Bubbles cried out in dismay, but it was too late. The Unspeakable One began reading, and the sugar-coated words of the book quickly began to sink into the bird's head, purifying his mind of anger and hatred.
As the counterspell progressed, the laboratory began to tremble. The foundations of the Palace of Dishonorable Scum shook as powerful tremors rocked the ground that it stood upon. Outside, the sky brightened, and flowers burst forth upon the land.
Within minutes, Igor burst through the laboratory door, with Torquemada close behind him. "You fool!" Igor shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Getting out of here," the Unspeakable One said. "And I'm taking my land with me."
"And just how do you propose to do that?" Torquemada challenged.
In reply, the Unspeakable One held up a CD jewel case, and removed a shiny disk from it.
"No!" Torquemada screamed in horror. "You can't do that! Not here! Not... Barry Manilow's Greatest Hits!"
"Watch me," the Unspeakable One spat back.
"Jacob, step away from the CD player," Igor hissed, raising his hands to cast a spell.
But this time, the Unspeakable One was faster, and also a much smaller target. She dodged the bolt of lightning that Igor's spell produced, and shoved the disk into the CD player. When she pressed "play", all of Hell was filled with the sound of demons shrieking in pain and agony.
"Enough!" Torquemada screamed. "Hell cannot take this ourage! I cast you forth from this Infernal realm!"
As Torquemada pronounced his exorcism, the Palace of Dishonorable Scum - indeed, the whole of the land it ruled - began to spin. Hell itself heaved and shook as it vomited forth the Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum into the universe, leaving the land to fall where it may.
In an obscure corner of the Caribbean Sea, the waters suddenly became choppy, as if a subsea earthquake was disturbing the ocean itself. The sky darkened, and bubbles of foul-smelling gas began to rise from the depths.
Abruptly, the waters parted, and an island suddenly rose above the waves. It was dark and rocky, and steam rose from it, as if the very land itself had been baked in the fires of Hell. Interestingly, the new island came equipped with buildings, most prominent among them a large palace made of dark basaltic stone.
Just offshore, a gray-haired man in a dark robe broke the surface and gasped for air. "It is accomplished!" he shouted.
Near him, a demonic-looking man with strangely orange flesh also appeared from beneath the waters. "You fool!" he shouted. "What have you done?"
"I regained control of my land the only way I could," the Unspeakable One said. "You left me with no choice!"
"You lunatic! You moron! You pervert! I liked being in Hell!" Igor screamed back.
"You think you were in Hell then?" the Unspeakable One shouted back. "Wait until I get my hands on you, you incompetent buffoon! And don't even think of asking for your old job back!"
"I wouldn't serve you if you were the last psychotic dictator left on the planet!" Igor blustered. "You know what this means, don't you? This means war!"
High overhead, a black vulture the size of a large parrot circled expectantly. Bubbles was hungry, but he could be patient. There were two living humans below him in the water, and sooner or later one of them would surely kill the other. And then it would be time to eat.
It was one of the fundamental laws of Hell: Where there is life, there is death. And therefore, hope.
The End :twisted:
Coming Soon! Episode 2: Dishonorable Scum of the Caribbean
The Republic of Goobergunchia has granted the Rogue Nation of Dishonorable Scum Permanent Normal Trade Relations.
Thou hast done most well, Dishonorable Scum. I hereby award thee the coveted title of Hell's Scriptor Laureate.
His Most Infernal Majesty
:lol: BRAVO >< CLAP-CLAP
THE AUDIENCE IS GOING WILD
CHEERS TO OUR OWN DISHONORABLE SCUM
SILVER CLOUD BRINGS A GARLAND OF RED ROSES
TO THE ESTEEMED AUTHOR WHILE THE CROWD
CONTINUES THEIR LOUD CHEERING
AT THIS TIME WE WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE
THE WINNER OF THE GRAND STORY PRIZE THIS
YEAR IS ~~~~~~~~~
(the envelope is being opened)
YES.....YES.....THE WINNER IS....
DISHONORABLE SCUM !