"In west Ward of Searing born and raised
On the farm plot is where I spent most of my days
Chillin' out maxin' planting all cool
And all shearing some fuzzies to spin by the spool
When a couple of civs who were bent on conquest
Came to the fort and made a mess
We lost one little war where the kingdom nearly fell
And the king said 'you're going to found a new fort by the name of modded hell'
Another music break, this time the koopa on stage didn't pick up his skate board. Instead, he flipped the page in his hand over a few times. Then he leaned over to the curtain where the directors were hiding and whispered "
Is this it? Is there another page? No? Alright". He looks over to the music koopas who are still playing and makes a cut off motion to them. They don't all realize it at the same time, so it's a super awkward and out of time end to the music. The koopa on the stage looks puzzled "Well, I guess that's it for the performance. I hope you learned a lot and all that. But this has left me wondering, what poor sap was actually sent off to found this fort?"
At the back of the room one of the guards who was leaning against the wall in an attempt to look cool (an unsuccessful attempt I might add) tipped his helm up and glared at the koopa on stage. "That poor sap would be you Mottled Petrel, you haven't done a damn thing in years and the king needs someone unskilled and expendable to found a new fort to help get the empire back on its feet. We can't spare the manpower now to send competent koopas to do it, so you and six other dead beats are going to ship out tomorrow."
An almost resigned look spread across Mottled Petrel's face "Well...alright, the song business was fun while it lasted." The guard looks surprised that he gave in so easily and didn't offer any resistance "Really? I brought this steel chain and everything for when you tried to fight us off. I even called in the royal guard and I was going to say something cool like 'not today, punk' or 'the king's orders will be fulfilled whether you like it or not'. Actually, now that I say it out loud neither of those sound cool. Are you sure you don't want to try to fight us off or something? We could-" "
Are you two done in here yet!?" A burly koopa, who many would recognize as head brute of the fort and the most skilled fighter in the whole empire, yelled as he peeked his head through the door."And where's this 'grave threat to the safety of the fort' that you were talking about" He scans the room, only to lay eyes on Mottled Petrel atop the stage. His overwhelming disappointment towards the situation he was dragged into was soon replaced by the anger towards the two guards that had wasted his time.
"
Silverlock! What the hell! You file a formal petition for the help of not only the elite guard, but ME in particular, to help you escort an unarmed and unskilled peasant who doesn't even want to resist!? You know what, don't answer that, you've wasted enough of my time. And this is the last time you'll do so. You know why? Because the two of you just bought yourself a one way ticket for the next expressway going to Modded Hell! And you, the other guard, what was your name again... Asin! Asin, you're not so much to blame for this, but seriously man, you're creeping out all the other guards with your-" Asin is also leaning against the wall with silverlock, but is either trying REALLY hard to act like a professional guard or has literally no idea what is going on. Either in an attempt to try to fake that he was paying attention after hearing his name, because of some weird personality complex, or because of a few loose screws in his head he says one of his poorly timed, nonsensical lines that have made him one of the most disliked guards in the entire fort.
"I've gotta have a serious talk with Croteam, one of these days". The head brute almost looks like he was slapped across the face by such an interruption, even worse, an interruption that made no sense."THAT! That's why I'm throwing you out too! Seriously, you don't listen to anything anyone says and all you say are these dumb lines that sound so prerecorded and make no sense. Who the hell is Croteam!? Why can't you at least keep your mouth shut so you're squad doesn't resent you so much. Whatever, you two are staying in the dungeon until we can secure you a ride with some more useless suckers. Actually, that reminds me."
Still ticked off from this whole course of events, the head brute barges all the way through the door and up onto the stage. He makes sure to go out of his way to aggressively push Mottled Petrel out of the lime light. "This crowd is full of some of the most useless inhabitants of this fort, maybe even the empire. As of now, at the end of every month those judged to be the least beneficial to the fort will be marked to be shipped out to live in whatever disease ridden hole in a swamp this one makes for you all." He gestures to Mottled Petrel, who he assumes is the least worthy person to lead such a mission. The audience also believes this, and in turn, freaks the fuck out for fear that they'll end up in some poorly made death camp where they would constantly have to fight off the abominations of this world with their hands.
The head brute can't help but grin at the fear he had instilled in the audience, a wild feral grin. Mottled Petrel couldn't help but grin too, but a more thoughtful grin, almost sinister. 'This fucker is putting me in charge of my own fort' went the thoughts in his head 'Almost unchallenged power over my peers for almost no effort on my part'. For you see, Mottled Petrel was the last peasant who would fuck up a fort like some of his fellow peasant would over something as trivial as 'I forgot to set up food and water systems' or 'wait, there's stuff out here that wants to kill us?'. For you see, he was not as simple as he appeared. He was the physical vessel of the great ₥ᴕʅʈΞꝺ ꝕꭂ₶ⱤꜪʅ of old, Armok's creative assistant, and ruiner of worlds.
After seeing Armok perfect his art of creation, ₥ᴕʅʈΞꝺ ꝕꭂ₶ⱤꜪʅ decided a little more, entropy, was needed to make his worlds more interesting. What resulted was by far the most deranged and deluded realm either of them could ever have possibly imagined, he created The Ageless Planets. It was better entertainment than either of them could have dreamed. So great, that ₥ᴕʅʈΞꝺ ꝕꭂ₶ⱤꜪʅ couldn't help but insert himself into it. He made himself a koopa body to control, but not directly. Mottled Petrel was still a free thinking, independent creature, but when help was needed or when there was an opportunity to seize ₥ᴕʅʈΞꝺ ꝕꭂ₶ⱤꜪʅ would intervene a little.
Now was one of those times, ₥ᴕʅʈΞꝺ ꝕꭂ₶ⱤꜪʅ would go far out of his way to take an opportunity to increase the power of the Koopa warlords to help drive this world farther into the ground. Mottled Petrel was oblivious to all this, and was just glad he was being forced to be useful instead of forced to the guillotine. The local idiot and aspiring skate boarder thought 'oh boy, I'm going to get to start a quiet little town of my own! I'll get to invite over all my friends and we can have sleep overs every night'. But little did he know, this fort, Modded Hell, would either become the pinnacle of civilization and a lasting testament to the might of the koopa empire, or the most apocalyptic insane asylum the two great creators had ever seen.
'Either way,' thought ₥ᴕʅʈΞꝺ ꝕꭂ₶ⱤꜪʅ 'these custom pawns I've made will lead to quite an amusing show'. At this point Mottled Petrel's grin was reaching almost demonic levels because of ₥ᴕʅʈΞꝺ ꝕꭂ₶ⱤꜪʅ's influence. If a magikoopa had been present, the amount of dark energy coming off of Mottled Petrel would have been enough to drive them insane, if not cause their head to explode. The head brute finally lost interest in the crowd's hysteria and looked over to Mottled Petrel to see if he was quaking in his boots. Seeing the almost unholy expression on his face nearly caused a red flag to go off in his head, but this koopa, who had vanquished undead abominations and mega beasts across the Velvety Continent, would not allow such a weak excuse for a koopa unsettle him.
"Hey, quit smiling jack ass, you're being punished for your uselessness, remember?" With that the head brute slapped him across the face so hard Mottled Petrel was strewn across the floor. 'One day,' thought ₥ᴕʅʈΞꝺ ꝕꭂ₶ⱤꜪʅ 'his time will come. He'll soon be cleaning the blood of his friends and family from the bottom of my human leather boots with his tongue'. All Mottled Petrel could muster was a slow rub of the wounded cheek and a thought of 'Wow, I'm glad we've got him defending the empire. One day I hope we have a strong warrior like him to live in my little town. Think of all the neat party tricks he'd be able to do!'.
And with that, the head brute's patience had run out. "Now the rest of you, get out of here and find a job!" He didn't have to tell them twice, the audience was out of the room in under a minute. A few of them may have been truly inspired to become legendary metal smiths or engravers, but most of them would likely end up being novice fish cleaners at the end of the month. "And you!" the head brute was back to yelling at Mottled Petrel, who still lay on the floor "Get up, you're coming with me. As much as I want to send you out with only the shell on your back, the king actually wants your fort to succeed. So I've been tasked with helping you pick out your supplies, because we both fear you'll just take 500 step ladders or something. Come on, I want you and your friends out of here as soon as possible".
And with that, they went to the royal stock room, not realizing that they had just ushered in a new age for this world, one most likely full of death and dismemberment. It would all be centered around Modded Hell, the soon to be base of operations for the ruiner of worlds, ₥ᴕʅʈΞꝺ ꝕꭂ₶ⱤꜪʅ.
AND SO, MODDED HELL BEGINS!