Kobold King

I can only pray for Edgedancer's sake that he has a better character than Nighthound to start the year with. (That would definitely be an awesome thing to happen.) I considered adding a minor flashback to Backtrack's next scene, just to show how long he's had his sunglasses for. While scrapped for the time being, it would have featured the High Epic "Anvilicious," whose catchphrase is "My fists are like heavy anvils at the ends of my arms. Meaning I'm really strong."

I have! This is a dream. I'm thinking Sam. Somehow she seems to be the healthiest option.

You become afflicted with the delusion that the Nightwatcher is non-existent. As this clearly contradicts reality as it is known to your fellow man, you are sent to an insane asylum. Nightwatcher don't play games, son. I wish to no longer ninja people over the internet.

Ooooh... I thought you meant the original curse from the first season. The one that sent the fairy tale characters to Storybrooke. I agree that the Spell of Shattered Sight could have been cooler as an invisible menace. Also, let me just say how very Discord-ish the Spell of Shattered Sight is. If I were the type to come up with wildly improbable crossover theories, I'd almost be inclined to suggest a connection... And Leela. Leela is one of the best companions of all time.

Granted. They hatch into unspeakable eldritch abominations. I wish for a robot programmed to follow me around and pat me on the back when I'm feeling down.

[fluttershy voice] Uh, actually, I kind of liked the storm cloud curse. I thought it was effectively realized with a low budget and vividly illustrated the curse as an unstoppable force. Eep. [/fluttershy voice] Classic Who definitely has cheesy special effects, but the Fourth Doctor's era in particular countered this with clever storylines and witty dialogue.

You now realize that the only possible result of Funtimes meeting Panacea is a real Baymax being introduced to Oregon.

It ate me as a cub? Wow, Smilodon's even more awesome than I'd anticipated.

Granted. You will feel a stabbing pain somewhere in your body every time someone on the planet uses one of the completed dice. I wish for a saber-toothed cat cub to be cloned from amber and delivered safely to my house.

Shipping hasn't died. It's just developed integrity. I'm pretty sure that's how you react to anything Nighthound does. Nighthound's flirting? Nuke the entire site from orbit. Nighthound's harassing someone on the street? Nuke the entire site from orbit. Nighthound cuts someone off in traffic? Nuke the entire site from orbit. Nighthound tries to buy a package of Skittles from a vending machine? Nuke the entire site from orbit. Taste the rainbow, you slontze.

I think it's a neat idea, but I'm afraid it's too late to introduce to the game by this point. He's had too many resurrections. So... if it were Nighthound flirting with Autumn instead of Shiny Sparkle, would Autumn have played along, or tried to blow up the butcher's shop to finish him off once and for all?

Yep, I'm trying to get a post up for him now. I confess I don't remember what you're talking about. Are you referring to the suggestion that Lightwards' zombie limit goes up with his number of personal resurrections? Because I don't think that was ever canonized.

In Which It Is Conclusively Revealed That Backtrack's Glasses Are Literally Shipping Goggles.

My best guess: Remington Springfield, in the hopes that bringing it into Nighthound's presence would cause Jager to burst into flames.

People came. People went. It seemed fellas from all corners of creation were turning up for this thing; the Kobold recognized a bloodstained member of the Alleys, an Epic from Oregon, and even the Lorekeeper of the Edassan Tomes. The last one even seemed to recognize him. He didn't get a chance to speak with any of them, however, as the lady lycanthrope took a step forward. "Hi, Kobold King. The Queen sure does know how to throw a bash, doesn't she?" Her voice dropped, taking on a dangerous tone. "What do you want with me? I don't react kindly to threats." The Kobold responded with a barking laugh. "Straight to the point, eh? That's what I like about you wolves. Ya don't waste time playin' around." He pulled a finely rolled cigar from his sleeve, lighting it as he continued to speak. "See, here's what I'm thinkin'. Yer what we in the business like to call a wild card. And by 'wild card,' what we really mean is 'Hemalurgic abomination.' Which is fine. Some of my best buddies have been abominations of some sort or another. But it means that if we're ta turn a profit from this ball thingamajig, we've gotta make sure yer not plannin' anything funny." His eyes narrowed. "So let's level with each other, Winter Cloud. Are ya or are ya not here to fight against the Dark Alley?"

Sweet mother of the Ancient Hive Queens of Dormoth. The Question threads fill fast. The best way to get Arsenal to fire on something is to tell him not to fire at it. If Arvin introduced himself as an ally of The Dalles or as a non-combatant, he'd receive very strict instructions on where to land the dragon and how to wait patiently for further orders. However, if the dragon were to swoop in during a major wave of pigs/pandas, they might not have the guns to spare to fire on it. Or otherwise... well, if Ari can imagine a dragon out of thin air, could she imagine her dragon to be invulnerable to bullets? In other news, I just read about Mr. Meh. He's... okay, I guess. When can we expect a meh pony?

The Kobold King smiled, flicking out his tongue to get a whiff of the air. The scent of food wafted freely through the Court--in particular, the chocolate that the Queen was well known for filled the air. She surrounds herself with joviality and whimsy, he pondered, allowing his gaze to drift across the castle. And yet, she trades freely with the Dark Alleys. A merry shell surrounding a rotten core, or a deception of many different levels? His eyes settled on the lycanthrope in the fancy dress, whose scent tasted of distrust. She was the key. A known antagonist to the Dark Alley, chatting with a known trade sponsor of theirs. There was more here that met the eye--and Kobold hadn't gotten this far by ignoring indescrepencies of the courts. At best, Winter's presence was a simple scouting mission. At worst, it could be a downright assassination attempt. An assassination attempt in this place would likely succeed. And successful assassination attempts led to war. And war was bad business. "Hello, Winter," purred the Kobold King of Crime, staring up at the woman. "How goes that pack of yours? None of you have been made into throw rugs recently, I presume?"

I wonder if it's significant that Quota won't let me upvote that... The frightening thing is that if Timeport's divine mission thing aligned well enough with Lightwards' philosophy, they could easily become allies against the rest of Oregon. What is Timeport's mission, anyway? Did I miss it somewhere, or has it yet to be revealed?

Or, if we want to name them like a rock band, "Remington and the Springfields." I wonder if Lightwards and Timeport would get along half as well as their victims.

So... I suppose Remington's going to start a collection of battered and abused people from across Oregon?

"Just enjoyin' the scenery," the Kobold said, yawning in such a way that showed a row of fangs. "Ya really outdid yourself with all the ice this year. How long does it take to prepare this place for a ball, anyway?"

The Nightblood/Stick romance novel we've all been secretly praying for?

A glinting dagger picked between a set of sharp fangs, at least one replaced with a golden tooth. Eyes with slitted pupils watched the Queen talk make small talk with the shapeshifter, and a smile stretched across the Kobold King of Crime's jaws. "Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, Boss?" a kobold grumbled from nearby. A smartly dressed gang of the puny reptiles surrounded their King, watching his every move for subtle orders. It wasn't as if they had anything better to do. The very concept of an ice palace was appalling the cold-blooded visitors to the Court, and there was only one furnace in plain sight. "Nothing much," the Kobold King responded languidly. "Just thinkin' about the low security on this place. If it weren't for us, any bozo with a smidge of Investiture could sack the whole Court." The other kobolds frowned. "Whaddya mean?" "Give it some thought, ya ectothermic lug," the King said with a snort. "The Queen herself just put herself in spikin' distance of a feral lycanthrope with ties to the Dark Alley. She let us in here without so much as confiscatin' our daggers. I betcha I could have gotten an Excidium-class plasma cannon in here and the royals wouldn't bat an eye." The other kobolds stared in bemusement. "So..." one ventured slowly. "Yer sayin' we can rob the place?" "Of course not," the Kobold Capo snapped. "First of all, they're under our protection, and second of all, there's no way this place is half as undefended as it looks." He watched for a moment more, than hopped away from the furnace and began making his way across the ice. "Where ya goin'?" kobolds cried in dismay. "Yer gonna freeze!" "No I won't," the Kobold King laughed. "I'm not actually a kobold." He left the reptiles to scratch their heads in confusion. There was no way they'd understand the truth. For he'd told them the truth--he wasn't a kobold. The kobold with the slitted eyes was only a form that he took. His true form was far more etheral. A form capable of dining with Nog-Zathoth without bursting into flame. A form that had gazed into Chaos Itself without blinking. A form that made Epics and humans dance like puppets across the land of Oregon. He was the King of the Kobolds, and it was time to speak with the Queen of Newcago.

My guess is that her story is the story of how Funtimes settled on a prom dress as her Epic costume. Hmm. Revolution + Forrest shipping? There's only so much happiness we can squeeze into a dystopian RP where our end goal is obliteration and possibly genocide. Looking forward to it! Way more than the citizens of Connel, WA, anyway. EDIT: Hmm. Nevermind. It turns out there's plenty of happiness available to writers who think outside the box.

"Look, we really can't serve this dish. Restaurant regulations and most Abrahamic religions forbid it." "THEN HENCEFORTH, YOUR OFFSPRING AND THEIR OFFSPRING WILL BE BORN WITH CLAWS AND SCALES WHERE THEIR LEGS SHOULD BE. THIS I DECREE, AND SHALL NOT BE SWAYED." "...Can't you just ask to speak to the manager like a normal customer?" I tried talking to It after the date, but all It said was, and I quote, "בצ͡י̦͘פ̫̥י̣̜͇̭͙̟י͎͕̞͓͇ה̣̰ ͉͖̻͎͜נ̛פ̫̪̣͎̯͚͡ג̡̼̜̝ע̯.͙̫̮͖͜ ̴͖̱נ̧̲͉̗̹̮̘ג̛ו̢̩̰͖͕̲ͅͅע͙̬̪̕ ͎͎́נ̰̰̳̪̯צ̳͍̻͇͇̤̱ח̴̜̜̰̠̻̮̼י̖̩͇.͖̭י." Do you see the kind of sarcasm I had to put up with?