Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Lord Skullcleave Ravenshadow

Lord Skullcleave Ravenshadow’s skeletal nightmare jaunted saunterly over the mooring meadows. The air vibrated with cleanliness, and with each step that his morose steed misgave, he felt his lungs empty of the sulfur from his home. It was a startling feeling of freshness, a lifting weight he’d not known was there before.

His orcish entourage—Febrar; Maker of Mincemeat, Grinchwin the Basher, and Dolt—fanned out behind him. Ever alert, their ceremonial gauntlet spikes shone like the black diamonds they were, embrued with the souls of the orcs who had served faithfully the Ravenshadows since time immemorial.

Suddenly, Lord Skullcleave’s lingam clutched inside his onyx codpiece. Danger was near. There was a bustle in the hedgerow beside him. A pale white fleshman tumbled from his hiding place. These, who had been but hairless apes when the Ravenshadows had build their glorious crystal castles ‘neath the sulfur puts, had taken over the countryside with their squat stone dwellingplaces in recent millenia.

Lord Skullcleave thought back to his tutelage under master Crackwhip so many centuries ago, and brought to his lips what little monkeytongue he remembered from his lessons.

"Fart nary, wee meatcreature. Though brazen am bashful, and wish you no mincery." His words froze the very air they touched, and had the opposite effect as what he’d wanted on the little creature. It began to whimper and release liquids from various orifices. For a moment he felt pathos for the small monkeything quivering below his exsanguinous mount. Then Grinchwin’s overzealous warhammer came down, and its suffering ceased.

Amends would have to be made. He would personally see a retinue under the black flags of peace, carrying the body of the fallen victim on the ends of pikes, as befit one who died a warrior’s death. He would make Grinchwin set torch to the stonedwellings in penitence for his brash bashing, and once the village was razed would erect the finest black towers from molten minemetal for the squalid meatcreatures to occupy as an offering of peace, that they might better their lot in life.

Surely they would be thankful. He wouldn’t want to be a bad neighbor.