TURN II
(Grandpa Scream sounds to me like what happens when Uncle Grandpa took too many drugs and wants to turn the world into his favorite trip.)
Go and lead my army to the nearest village and kill whoever is the leader there, as well as those who resist our rule
1Glebnea mobilizes her subjects and leads them to a remote human settlement called Glitzpeg. Slimes pour into the village, but to her horror, they are met by disciplined troops. The people of Glitzpeg, no stranger to the wastes themselves, have disproportionately chosen careers like "monster hunter" and "grizzled veteran!"
They form a ragtag militia and begin slaughtering hordes of her brethren. Glebnea will win this battle - the town cannot possibly hold against her might - but at what cost?
Go and stab vizier whisperling, for REVENGE!!!!
Sophie!...
2Nah Impartain wanders the land in a haze of grief and rage. He strikes down every being that dares to cross his path, but their lives cannot sate his thirst for revenge. He wanders over deserts and mountains in search of the entity called Whisperling, eternal foe and source of all his misery. The Vizier must pay for what he has done.
His travels lead him into the depths of an underground hive. It is populated by bug-folk and ruled by the Hive King Mandible, but Nah Impartain is here for one person only. He finds Whisperling seated in the Hive's inner sanctum, having taken his place on Mandible's council.
Unfortunately, Nah Impartain has fallen directly into my trap.
The ground beneath his feet crumbles, plunging him into a hole hundreds of miles deep. While he's busy dragging himself back up, I gleefully make my escape!
"What is a drop of rain, compared to the storm? What is a thought, compared to a mind? Our unity is full of wonder, which their tiny individualism... cannot even conceive. We are the Hive! The individual Primate is obsolete! When their kind is extinct, we will cleanse our collective memory of the stain of their wretched existence. Now, we march for the Rodents, for only we can rule the Undergrowth!"
Mandible's Hive will march against the Rodents and their King for full control of the Undergrowth, while their individualism is not as wretched as that of the Primates they still are rivals in their quest for the coming of a New Age of the Hive. Although a few might be spared and kept as pets like with the Hive's Royal Vizier Whispering.
5Lord Mandible, I am deeply grateful for the seat you have offered me upon your Council of Doom. However, it seems I must depart from your Colony as a result of circumstances utterly beyond my control. Though the Council did not have a discretionary budget, I am certain that you will be accommodating in regard to the bottomless pit.
Yours truly,
Grand Vizier Whisperling the First.
---
Mandible leads the Horde into the lands of King Zultan, which are... completely empty? His subjects waste no time in making these tunnels a part of the Colony, but they cannot find the Rodents anywhere. It is as if the king and his people had vanished entirely.
With control its control of the Undergrowth now uncontested, the Hive expands tenfold. Caverns that once housed Rodents are put to more productive use as birthing chambers for Mandible's armies. The Horde digs new tunnels towards strategically important points on the surface.
Rampage through another village, but leave people alive. Tell them to send their strongest knights and warriors after me. I shall crush them all!
Who are you?: The Almighty Nix
What are you?: Hulking Brute
Your evil plan: Beat everybody up until they listen to me
4Nix follows a dirt road until it takes him to a place called Charter. He kicks down their wall and stomps on the town hall until it's a smoldering pile of rubble, but instead of killing the villagers he roars a challenge at everyone within earshot! Knights in shining armor come to battle him, but he kicks them off their horses and punches them until their helms crumple.
When it becomes clear that nobody in Charter can stand against him, the townsfolk all cower at his feet. The mayor comes to congratulate Nix on his, er, brilliant performance, truly excellent. Ahem. Er.
*Eerie beautiful singing that translates in a two hour rant against the air-breathers and five minutes of instructions to her minions*
Order attacks against all ships shipyards and pirates coves we shall retake the seas first.
5
Princess Coral sings the music of the waves. The ocean stirs around her, moved by her deep and passionate hatred for air-breathers and their works. Instructions to her minions are scattered within the tirade. When she's finally done monologuing, the ships and dockyards she railed against are already under attack.
Her merfolk tear every last plank apart, and drown every sailor or pirate within reach of sea!
Gather a loyal army of cats to assist me.
3Cat Guy wanders through the village and enlists the aid of other outdoor cats. His army gathers at the stroke of midnight, when it is too dark for the lesser races to see. A thousand felines gather behind him, eyes glowing in the darkness. They follow him, but to his dismay, it is impossible to get them out of the town square! Half of his new army has fallen asleep. The other half has decided to take matters into their own hands by shredding human furniture.
Its time to abandon the underground, lead my army to take over the first fort we can find.
1King Zultan climbs towards the surface, followed by a horde of rats that could be mistaken for a biblical plague. They squeeze into minuscule tunnels and slide between cracks in the rock. A few enterprising youngsters even burrow into holes dug by groundhogs, moles, and chipmunks, which provide them with an even more direct route to the world above.
When Zultan discovers he's too large to fit through any of the holes, his subjects are already gone. The rats abandoned him! Him, their rightful king!
Grampa Scream turned around to look at his handiwork. It was beautiful.
Not as beautiful as what it'll be when they learn to scream in harmony, but everyone's screams are chaotic at first.
Something didn't give him rest, though.
Something that was floating around his head for a while now.
An... idea.
He pictured that idea as a damselfly, then gave it an imaginary mouth.
THERE ARE 10,000,000,000,000,000,000 INSECTS IN THE WORLD! the idea screamed in his head. YOU ARE DISTRIBUTING MOUTHS AT A RATE OF 17 MOUTHS PER MINUTE OR LESS!
Grampa Scream stroked his beard. "SO?!" he thought back.
10,000,000,000,000,000,000 INSECTS/17 MOUTHS PER MINUTE = 590,000,000,000,000,000 MINUTES = APPROXIMATELY 1000 BILLION YEARS!
Grampa had been healthy for his age - he attributed his longevity to screaming's beneficial effects on the lungs - but he had no illusions that he'll live that long.
"...GODS DAMN IT!"
Q E FUCKING D, the idea responded.
He was about to tell it to shut up, before recoiling in horror at such a heretical thought.
Screaming his rage to the heavens was a far better way to vent.
After the rage ran out, Grampa stood there for a while, surrounded by steadily harmonizing shrieking, thinking what to do.
Then the idea showed him two letters: ex.
After that, his further course of actions was perfectly clear.
"I MUST LEAVE YOU, MY FELLOW SCREAMERS! MY FORMER APPROACH WAS SHOWN TO BE INEFFICIENT!"
Go to my evil lair cunningly disguised as a local university, the CLAMORHALL.
More specifically, go to the LABORATORY OF APPLIED VIVISECTION.
5Grampa contemplates the overwhelming abundance of life. For the first time, it occurs to him that personally providing a mouth to every insect and every blade of grass is a sheer impossibility. Why, by the time he's made a charitable donation to the last mayfly, the first will be a fossil! His quest for a solution brings him to the CLAMORHALL, a venerable university that specializes in
Scream Theory.
He descends into the LABORATORY OF APPLIED VIVISECTION, a secret facility accessible through the Department of Hollering and Wailing. There, he finds the brightest and most twisted minds in all the CLAMORHALL, who have taken it upon themselves to supply undergraduates with additional mouths and vocal chords.
Who are you?: Bagarin Tilter
What are you?: Space Hitler
Your evil plan: The people of the planet have proven their inferiority, by letting their world devolve into a feudal mystical hellhole. The glorious spacenoid people meanwhile, has obtained a purer form of existence, including various vague psionic powers. Therefore, we are the Superior people, that must liberate our planetbound cousins from the tyranny of GRAVITY and their bad architecture. No, this is totally not just an excuse for me to conquer the planet and rebuild it into my own image. We're complex people, I swear! And with our massive mecha army, spaceships, an pension for orbital based war crimes, we will prove our success. SIEGE TYON!
Bagarin Tilter stands on the deck of his capital ship, some twelve kilometers above the surface of the planet. Even from space, it is clear that the inhabitants of this backwards world are in sore need of re-education. There are no urban centers, no lights, no civilization worthy of the name. Evidently they have allowed primitive mysticism to stand in the way of evolutionary progress.
Some genocide might be in order.
Author
Topic: VILLAINOUS (Read 6526 times)