|If I Were an Evil Overlord, Part 1|
This'll probably end up on dA rather than in an issue here, but writing it here hopefully will get some useful comments :P
Inspired by this page: http://www.eviloverlord.com/lists/overlord.html
Been wanting to do this for a while... :P
"Thraxxyk the Unpronouncable is gone."
I wiped the spit of my face and looked up at Bob. "Another one?"
Bob nodded. "Yup. Slain in his Inner Sanctum just as he was about to perform the Rite of Undoing. Some do-gooder crawled in through an air-duct, apparently."
"That's, what, five in this last month?"
"Six. Ry'kk, Lord of Constonants, went a couple of nights back."
I shook my head. Things were looking grim. "What is it with all these damn heros that keep showing up, just when a decent oppressive regime gets going? Do they have any idea of the time and energy it takes to instill complete terror in an entire population?"
"I know, I know," Bob said, taking a huge swig from his tankard. "Our current boss doesn't seem to be very promising either."
"Tell me about it. I mean, look at these uniforms. Anybody could be wearing them and you'd never know. Some wannabe could walk right into your centre of operations and hit the self-destruct button before you even knew."
"Isn't that what happened to Klaang the Metallic a few years back?"
"Indeed." I nodded sorrowfully. "That was tragic. Such a waste of a brilliant plan. Years he spent researching the ultimate spell of power. It was an absolute masterpiece of dark-magic, the like you'll never see again. It required several virgins, the heart of his mother and no less than ten astronimcal signs to be in alignment. And what happens? Right in the middle of casting, just as he reached the sixth virgin, somebody waltzes up to him and..." I jerk my hand forward, acting out a sword thrust, accidently knocking over several other patrons' beers. They turn round angrily, but go very quiet once they see the uniform. That's why I like working for these evil dictators. You get respect.
A deep, mournful wail drifted through the air, a howl that cut right into your soul and made your mind want to run away gibbering. Everyone stopped talking, the silence of death descending upon the common room.
"Is that the one o'clock banshee already? Best get back I suppose." I drained the remnants of my over-priced ale. Not that I ever paid, of course. Another of the perks of the job.
Climbing the barren, craggy path that led up and up towards the sinister gothic fortress where I was currently employed, I pondered what Bob had told me. The availability of Evil Overlords to work for was rapidly diminishing, it seemed. So many damn reluctant heros and revengeful youths around that working as a henchman was beginning to feel like temp work.
I strode through the ever open gates of the fortress unchallenged. I sighed. Good guards were hard to come by. As I crossed the outer courtyard, Frank, our stablemaster, hailed me.
"Boss left a message for you to meet him in his inner chambers. They were bringing some prisoner in, and the boss wanted to interrogate him there."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, for badness sake. Thanks Frank." I set off at a run. If I was quick enough, I might still have an employer.
I ran up the spiral staircase two at a time, my legs complaining at the effort after the walk from the tavern. I forced them to keep going, the hoped for jingle of gold that was my paypacket providing just enough motivation.
I slammed the door to the inner chamber open with my shoulder, and was brought to a sudden stop by a cluster of guards just inside the entrance. As I picked myself up from the floor, I heard someone shouting. I didn't catch all of it, but there was something about bravery, alone and facing something or other.
"Not again." I groaned, my head in my hands. I had lost at least three overlords to that damn trick. Why did these Emporers of everything have to be so proud all the time? I forced my way to the front of the underlings.
"Sir, I know you're all-powerful, that no one can harm you, and so on. With that in mind, is there really any point to this? It's not going to be a challenge, you certainly don't need to convince us of your splendour, and this upstart will be too dead to appreciate your skill."
"Silence!" my overloard roared, glaring at me from beneath rippled brows. "No one shall challenge me and live." He stopped, the end of his sentence lost admist a crowd of coughs. I thumped him on the back a couple of times. "Thanks. The evil voice always makes me choke. What kind of overlord would I be if I can't defeat one lousy hero?"
"Dead," I replied.
That earnt me another glare, and he waved me away. Sighing, I moved away as instructed, knowing what would happen, but powerless to stop it. I hated this feeling of helplessness.
The square-jawed, blue-eyed youth was handed back his sword by a very nervous looking guard. His muscles rippled and flowed over each other like waves upon a copper sea, and he gripped his returned blade with understandable confidence.
The fight did not last long. Long black cloaks may look impressive, but they are very easy to trip over, especially if you are moving around a lot. Say, for example, when in a sword fight.
As my ex-employer sank to the ground, cluthing the gaping chest wound and muttering something about being invincible, I stepped up behind the smiling hero and beheaded him with a quick swipe. There was gasp behind me, and a buxom and attractive yound lady threw herself upon the now not-so-handsome corpse. I made a mental note to remind everyone what "restraining a prisoner" means.
"No. You, you can't be dead. You can't be. You'd won. You can't be dead." On and on she went, sobbing and generally making the place look untidy. Eventually I cut her head off too, just to shut her up.
"Right. Looks like we are minus one evil overlord. Any ideas?" I asked, glancing around the confused and apprehensive faces. Well, what I assumed were likely to be confused and apprehensive faces. I couldn't actually tell through the overly ornate face plates.
No one said anything. There were a long, dramatic pause. Then someone said, "Well, why don't you do it?" A few voices joined in, relieved they didn't have to think anymore and could just follow orders as they were used to.
"Me? But I don't..." I stopped. What was I saying? Of course I knew what to do. I'd been a henchman long enough and seen more utlimate plans than I could remember. Why the hell not?
"Right. Okay, I accept your proposal." I took a deep breath, trying to sort out the sudden rush of thoughts. "First, burn these bodies." Two guards stepped forward. "Second, I need an architect and a tailor. Finally, someone find Bob for me."
Everyone scurried off on their assignments. I sat down on the huge blackened throne that dominated the chambers. My chambers. It was going to take some getting used to. The throne, that is. They certainly don't build these things for comfort, it seems.
(January 11th, 2007, 10:00 pm)
I find it refreshing that someone has taken the time to tell a story from the other side of goodness... I mean don't we all have those days when we just don't want to be good? keep up the good work,if you'll excuse the pun.
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