Into the Fire

And Its Name is...

“So what are we up against?” The Ochre Lord growled at Sallow.

The imp chuckled and sauntered about the throne of the Pit Boss.

“They have procured an alliance with a dragon, Lord!” Sallow cried gleefully, after it had finished its widdershins circle of the creature enthroned before it.

“A what? The dragons died long ago, you stupid creature!” The Ochre Lord roared.

“Not this one, Lord. He has watched and waited for the return of Magick. He has friends, powerful friends. A wizard unparalleled, a Fae Lord, one of the Nine Cats. They are friends to mankind, all!”

“Oh, and one of them has the Blade of Lucifer, I should add,” Sallow giggled.

The Ochre Lord rose from his throne.

“We need to kill them all before this gets out of hand! Call the other Bosses. A Summons is necessary, one that I cannot complete on my own. We will need a sacrifice, to fuel it. Fire the missile upon Crossings. Set this world ablaze!”

“You would not dare summon that?” Sallow asked incredulously.

“Imp, what is this dragon’s true name? At least you have that much?” the Ochre Lord raged as he stormed towards the exit from his chambers.

“Why, it’s Sagharthosin,” Sallow grinned behind a cupped hand,

“It’s Mirth, my lord.”

The Ochre Lord wrung his hands fiercely as he passed through his portal. A howl that could wake the dead rung out through the night air of New Vegas.

No, I Have Not Been to Black-Salt Town

“It’s a small town, really. It shouldn’t be too difficult to .subjugate to the will of the mighty Pit Bosses,” Sallow said softly to the Ochre Lord, a slight grin on his face, “They have a fully-functioning munitions plant. There’s only one slight problem, Milord…”

The Ochre Lord sighed in exasperation.

“Go on,” it said in its cacophonous, maddening voice.

“There will be some resistance, Milord. The populace are largely devotees of the New Sun.”

The Ochre Lord smiled.

“I do believe my latest collection of oddments contains one of such disposition. Perhaps it can be positioned as an alliance, then.”

“And if these Salters do not take with the priest’s exhortations?” Sallow simpered, wringing his hands.

“Why, then we turn it over to the ork and his progeny. All they seem to care about is killing. Give him a troop of Red Guards to command, and then let the streets run red with blood. I care not, as long as that munitions plant is ours.”

The imp smiled as his Master plotted ruin.

To Meet His Gaze Invites Madness

The huge common hall glowed with the light of torches set into the walls. A great cauldron bubbled in the center of the room, and on the opposite end of the massive iron double doors rested a throne made from the skulls of hundreds of men, and other things. Writhing flesh glistened in the torchlight, and the cacophonous music of lust filled the air. Hands groped for whatever they could find purchase upon as the massed revelers joined in their frenzied copulating.

Ravash the Breeder stood to one side, watching the work his potions were doing. He performed the bidding of his Master with relish.

A loud clacking of bootheels announced His presence in the hall. Ravash lowered his eyes. To meet His gaze was to invite madness.

A voice, buzzing with the tones of a hundred different vocal cords (some not even human) working all at once, spoke out over the din. The revelers did not stir from their frenzied coupling as He spoke.

“So, there are some new souls who wish to pledge, and in return gain my favor and patronage?”

Ravash nodded, his face lowered towards the ground as he replied to his Master.

“Yes, Mighty Ochre Lord. An ”/characters/redbrand" class=“wiki-content-link”>ork, a dwarf, a Transcendant One, a pale Satanist worm, a ranger, a cyclops and his fish friend, an engineer, and a pixie have all recently arrived. They have been quartered here, awaiting your return and audience. And, my master… a Jotun has been sighted outside of the Walls."

“Such a curious group,” the alien voice uttered in response, “These times make for strange bedfellows indeed. Send for them.”

“As you wish, my Master,” Ravash replied, and turned on his heel to do as his Master bade.

Return of the Jotun


Brothers shall fight
and fell each other,
And sisters’ sons
shall kinship stain;
Hard is it on earth,
with mighty whoredom;
Axe-time, sword-time,
shields are sundered,
Wind-time, wolf-time,
ere the world falls;
Nor ever shall men
each other spare.

He strode onward towards the city of bright lights to the south of his frozen home, certain that something fateful awaited him there. Whether it be good or ill, his people depended upon him meeting that fate head-on.

The Morninglord's a Pussy, the New Sun's Never Coming, and the Void Will Swallow All!


The radio in the truck’s cab sputters to life.

“You all think you know what’s coming. You tell yourselves everything will be okay, that you’ll make a new life in this time of ruin, that shit’s gonna get better. But you fuckwits don’t know the half of it, because if you did you’d know that everything you’re telling yourselves is a line of horseshit.”

A deep pause, the sound of the harsh-voiced man dragging in a deep breath and then blowing something out hard, coughing raggedly.

“Look, I just call it how I see it. And what I see ain’t pretty. The Morninglord’s church says they’ve got a plan. Yeah. Guess you halfwits should get schooled on the difference between devils and demons. You cant command demons, they aren’t part of the Infernal Hierarchy. They belong to Him. They’re chaos embodied, the embodied will of the Void. They don’t wanna subjugate us. They wanna utterly destroy us. So yeah, the Morninglord’s a fucking pussy.”

Another drag, a harsh laugh.

“The New Sun’s a damned lie. The New Sun’s already here. You’re fuckin’ looking at it every damned day! And its sucking the life outta everything.”

“The Pit Bosses, man… they ain’t what they seem. It’s bread and circuses, just like Before. Distractions. Limited freedoms to disguise the life and will they are sucking right outta you. Can’t you see it? Maybe open your fuckin’ eyes! They’re agents of the Demon Lord! Softening us up for His coming.”

A last drag before a crushing noise fills the mic.

“They’re here to put us out just like I’m crushing the cherry on this smoke. They wanna extinguish our fire. Maybe blow a couple of embers a different direction and fan a few flames so we destroy ourselves. Like the fire they lit under the Hidden Kings’ asses. Hell, man, this is the fucking end.”

The radio goes dead…

The Party King Calls

The_Party_King_.PNG “Invitations,” the figure on the shoddy throne croaked, “Invitations… who is coming to the Electoral Ball?”

The footman kneeled before the throne, his eyes averted lest madness be his fall.

“A shriveled gnome, child of loam. A steely dude. A teeny fey fair. An orc most foul. A curious, curious pair. And one as yet unselected,” the footman replied.

“Bring on the dancing horses!” shouted the Party King.


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