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[Kayla]

(Follow on to Omnilord's do Red Nose Day)

The darkwater swamps, home to assassins, alligators and occasionally moss covered monsters known as swamp thing. Here was also haven to a strange wizened old woman with matted hair and a necklace of bones. She was better known since the accidental birth of Gothador’s small, bulbous and rather red charity collectors, but she had still not managed to win the lottery.

A huge cauldron bubbled over her meagre fire, for it was hard to get dry wood within the damp dark swamp. Still it was hot enough to cook dinner, a testament to the multi-fireball spell, which was about all it’s worth. The old woman threw in a selection of leftovers, as all good cordon bleu chefs, completely at random and so not to waste anything. Unfortunately, she was not a cordon bleu chef and had added chicken bones, the bottle of wine, glass and contents and some suspicious looking cheese that may or may not be blue stilton. Spooning a little into her mouth, the hag decided it would be ready in about ten minutes and gave it a stir.

The old woman looked up suddenly, gazing into the damp shadows of the swamp. “Oh, back again are you?â€

[Kayla]

Tall, stunning and basking in a golden light that emanated from himself, Shifu was noticing that it suddenly wasn’t enough. All transcendents bathed in the eternal bright self aura that separated them from their inferior angelic cousins, it was more than a blessing, they claimed, greater than the highest honour. Or perhaps it was little more than a fungus infection, others chuckled.

This transcendent paced. He knew when the change had begun within him, when the dissatisfaction had commenced. The bitter tang burst into memory upon his tongue, followed by the metallic flavour of red life, causing his mouth to water. The echo of power pulsing through his veins proved too much for even his willpower and he found himself outside a bank in moments.

A frown marred his ethereal brow. Darn, he was short. He could have sworn… but the vials they were not cheap… how many had he now consumed? The buzz, the strength, the taste of the forbidden nectar, so vile to him in this form, yet so succulent in that temporary morph to Vampire Lord. He needed more gold now, a sweat appeared upon his brow and his golden eyes widened and glanced frantically about him for… for the lair of a cretin known to hoard masses of treasure… for a rich, fat merchant with an even fatter purse.

But he saw none of these. What he did see, however, was a tumbled down, rickety wagon with what appeared to be a dwarf at the reigns of a scraggy nag. At least he thought it was a dwarf. After all, everyone knew someone, whose cousin three times removed had met a dwarf. Short, squat, hairy. He scratched his head with one long, slender finger, puzzled. No one had ever mentioned false beards though.

“What ho,â€

[Kayla]

With narrowed eyes… or rather one narrowed eye as he had yet to replace his lost eyelid… the Master of the Tombs, Lord of Dirt, King amongst Undead, Dafadil lounged upon his throne. He appeared to be in thought, his fingers tapping upon the arm of the throne in monotonous rhythm. Tap, Squelch, Tap, Tap, would be more precise, but nonetheless it revealed the Necromancers irritation.

Not all appeared well in the Undead Lord’s realm… with the exception of the gardens surrounding the tomb’s entrance. His national flower was in full bloom in an array of golden colours, thanks to Igor’s secret compost, secret as one was never totally sure what he used.

A skeleton chicken feebly flapped past the archway to his throne room. All else was not well, Dafadil growled. There had been reports of Zombies with shrunken heads or limbs, an array of misshapen bats in addition to the walking poultry bones within his realm. And now there was a fierce, angry dragon in Clotho’s quarters and for some reason the pale eyed creature was bound by her chains, where she should rightfully be. However he would see to his bride’s punishment for removing them without his express permission later. The dragon needed to be dealt with. It had already claimed Igor’s cousin, Igor, for dinner and LeChuck had not been seen in a while, though a piece of his favourite shirt was between the fire-breather’s large teeth.

Come to think about it, many of his legionnaires had not been seen in a while…

The tapping ceased abruptly. Dafadil sighed heavily.

“You!â€

[Kayla]

The Knight Krum was large even by demonic standards, though the feathered wings upon his back proved that he was definitely not one. Tall and powerfully built, many a horse seemed to weep if he even glanced in their direction. Finally he had had to settle upon a Tho’runshi provided by Lord Thomas, who was trying to breed a herd for the Temple, as his steed. Tho’runshi were changling creatures from the Plains of Demos, favoured mount of Demonkind for their size and strength. As far as the eye was concerned, they appeared to be horses, though often thought swifter and surer footed. This was due to the fact that their hooves seldom touched the soil, just appeared too. They were also far too intelligent in Krum’s opinion. This one had beaten him at chess the last five times in a row.

His Tho’runshi was named Sho’sun and he was not in a pleasant mood. The Herd Leader and his Knight were away at present leaving the field open for the lesser ranked stallions and there had been this pretty female offering him some promising looks. However, before he could convince her to take a little walk with him, he’d been dragged away, told he and his knight were due to go on some mission.

He did not bite Krum as he was saddled, even his teeth could be broken upon the heavy metal encasement the Knight favoured, but he did stamp on his foot, producing a satisfying bell like sound. The Knight, however, seemed unfazed by this, which annoyed Sho’sun even more. To make matters worse, the Drow Kayla appeared. He was allergic to mages.

“Here are the vials, Krum,â€

[Kayla]

In amongst a massive jumble of glass and bubbling liquids stood a small man with a mad glint in his eye. He was close, he giggled, so very close and then… and then they would cease looking down on him wouldn’t they! Hoofmaster, Cowboy, DocSooty and all the other Omnilords would finally treat him with the respect he deserved!

The thick oozing liquid in one small pot went gloop.

Mort lit the candle beneath a flask of luminous yellow liquid.* The steam it produced distilled into a twisty glass tube before dripping into a flash containing red powder, which hissed threateningly. Mort backed away slightly. He’d lost two alchemists to this process before he had perfected it. One had become a pair of smoking boots in one corner. The other had created an unwanted skylight in the roof, which he’d yet to repair. So Mort now experimented alone.

*That would one day be used for the betterment of mankind… and lollipop ladies.

The oozing cerise liquid went gloop.

With one finger, the small Omnilord scratched the skin beneath his itchy beard. Whether he was being a bit of a romantic or just an idiot, he had liked the notion of a man so wrapped up in his work that he forgot his personal needs like food water and hygiene. But never a whisker had grown upon his bald chin and he could not seem to grow his hair any longer than his brother Mortis Elder.* Hence the false brown beard and in addition a snowy white mountain of a wig that appeared as if it had once been caught between a lightning rod and one of Hoof’s sparky elementals.^

*Close crop back and sides.
^Possibly the one still in therapy due to Mort’s last failed experiment, which was now recounting it’s childhood trauma’s. (see Omnilords do Red Nose day)

Thick, cerise and oozing, the liquid in the pot went gloop.

Using a long pair of iron tongs, he carefully took the flash with the dampened red powder and poured it into what first appeared as water, but as it turned green, it was obviously not. He debated what he would do next, by scratching his forehead, which incidentally knocked his wig askew, so that when he turned around to grab a jar of rats droppings from the shelf, it knocked the flask over. The liquid splashed into the shallow pot of gloop.

The now brownish liquid burped… then went gloop.

Mort sighed, partially relieved, partially annoyed because now he would have to start again. The resultant explosion took with it his eyebrows and turned his fake beard into ash.

Glistening, the sparkling liquid no longer went gloop.

There was a knock at the door.

Still a little startled, the Omnilord went and answered it.

“Good eve….â€

[TechnoDemon]

Definately enjoyable, and you're as funny as Pratchett

[Kayla]

:oops:

I blush, I could never compare with Prachett, but thank you anyway.

[TechnoDemon]

Actually, since you seem to be copying his style, you are as funny as Pratchett, with the small asides, the almost-unnoticed inserts of universal humour (the potion sizzling, then going back to gloop), and the footnotes.....

Yes, you're as funny, though admittedly in a limited way, but only limited by the small size of your posts (small compared to-say-Hogfather).

[Kayla]

It took just a few hours to journey to the darkwater swamps, though the Knight silently felt that it had been a lot longer a time. He also wondered in the recesses of his mind whether his ears would fall off any minute now and not due to the blade of the blue dark-elf that had become his shadow but rather the drow's unending chatter. Krum, or rather "Noble Krum, the silent Knight of Nanaea's arm that wields both shield and sword for the people of Gothador," (as he had been renamed by Karamazov (sly azure mage of the Great and Royal Order of Darkness) who had decided "Krum" was not nearly as impressive a title.) sighed inwardly. The swamps of Darkwater were close by, perhaps Karamzov would now finally go away... or at least kill him, as he often reminded the large angel that he could easily do. Either option seemed fine to Krum right now. Alas his hopes were in vain.

"Darkwater? We are headed there then?" Karamazov began as he sighted the swamps. "Easy to get lost in there, they say. Good fortune that you've got me with you then isn't it! I never get lost, I always know where I am going. Did you know that the Thieves and Assassins are rumoured to have an outpost there? And there's supposed to be a witch around here somewhere too! Small wonder she hides out here, know what I mean? Well it must be difficult to burn a witch in a place thats so... well so..." His foot sunk deep into one of the squelchy bogs that lurked within the dark forest this close to the swamps. "soggy."

Stuck as the blue elf appeared to be, Krum actually debated leaving him there, but with a sigh, pulled the mage out by his collar. "Hey, hey, hey!" Karamzov protested, teleporting from the Knight's grip and reappearing up in the branches of a tall tree. "Less of the rough handling! I could still kill you, you know!" Krum nodded, miserably.

"Camp here," Krum decided, as dry wood from the forest was still available and the ground less likely to swallow them whole in the night.

Karamzov teleported down from the tree beside the campfire that Krum had begun to build. He watched, continuing his lecture about the swamps, as the Knight attempted to light the fire with his flint and steel. "I've heard that the Necro's often like to visit Darkwater, something about foraging for certain herbs for their cooking pots or something like that anyway. They're also fond of mushrooms when they can find them, ones bright red with white spots. They call them magic mushrooms, apparently. I found one once, though I couldn't see what was so magic about it. Still some Necro or was he undead?, Cloudstrife, what kind of a name is Cloudstrife? I'm sure I could come up with a better name for him than that, well he offered me 50k for the pathetic thing! What an idiot!" he paused long enough for air and to cast a multi-fireball at the stack of dry twigs.

Krum stared upwards, flat on his back a couple of yards away from the roaring fire. Damn, he'd survived, was his first thought. But then despite the obvious power of the annoying mage, it had only been a multi-fireball spell. A grinning blue face appeared in his view. "Got anything to eat?" Karamazov asked.

Ham, bread and cheese later, the blue mage reckoned that he needed a drink to wash that lot down, wine or mead ought to do it. Krum, however, was a beer man. Karamazov was not impressed and insisted that a Noble Knight of the Order of Nanaea ought surely to have a drop of something more refined upon his person. Knowing it was pointless, the Angel glanced into his backpack, which was all that his Tho'runshi had left behind. He spied a flask of liquid that he had long forgotten about. And old alchemist used to make him the stuff during a troubled period of his life when his nights had been filled with either nightmares or restless hours. Fortunately, he needed it no more, that time long behind him. However a grin came to his stern face.

"Good stuff that, bit of an unusual aftertaste, but I wouldn't say no to some more, sure you don't want some? Oh well, more for....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

Krum smiled smugly as he made himself comfortable for a queit night's sleep.

[Kayla]

The white-faced Omnilord stepped back a pace sweeping his long dark hair from his dark eyes as he did so. Then with one hand under his elbow and the other holding a paintbrush, the wooden tip of which tapping against his chin, he examined his work. "Perfect!" he exclaimed to the air. "A master piece!" The Omnilord known as DocSooty then went about painting the second toenail of the latest, (though currently inanimate) monstrosity to emerge from Hoofmaster's labratory.

DocSooty was the Ar-Tist of the family (capital A and T). He added the final touches to the creatures Hoofmaster created before they were let loose onto a wary populace.

The crocodile-headed Omnilord, Cowboy entered as he was carefully painting the monster's left toe (the smallest one on his left foot to be precise). Doc's tongue poked out of the side of his mouth as he concerntrated, Cowboy noted.

"Hey Doc!" he called out. Doc's hand slipped and the brush left a long streak of green up the creature's foot. He swore then glared at Cowboy, who in turn feigned innocence. "Hoof is just about to turn loose a bunch of Taragon and cast the sky dark at the same time. Wanna go watch the show?"

"Not now, no! There is simply no way I can leave my work at this time!" Doc sighed as he wiped away the mistake. "I must finish this piece whilst I have the inspiration!" The brush in his hand twirled airly to accentuate his words.

Cowboy cast one beady eye at the creature and decided it was ugly enough without Doc tampering with it, but shrugged. "Suit yourself," he replied. "More popcorn for me..." And with that he wandered away.

Half an hour later, Doc was flitting about adding touches to the left toe when he suddenly threw the brush across his studio. "I can't do it!" he cried out overdramatically. "I have lost the flow, the magic is gone, there is no je ne sais quois! Oh woe am I!" He spun about, his black cloak flaring out behind him and he sighed.

The doorbell rang.

Angry that someone dared interupt him whilst he was having a moment of crisis, he stormed to the door and swung it open to give whoever hand rang a good talking too.

There was no one there... just a crate containing a few bottles of what looked like Runic's Finest Red.

Doc picked up the crate and took it into his studio, slamming the door behind him. He glanced over at the monster, then back at the bottles. Well a quick break wouldn't hurt...