Kobold King

Lightwards is probably meticulous enough to have cleaned up after himself. I imagine empty cans of spam would have been neatly deposited in the garbage and spare crumbs would have been swept along with them. It occurs to me that there may be a canine Warrior roaming around the neighborhood. I, and by extension Lightwards, sort of lost track of active Warriors during the fight with Nighthound. You really shouldn't upvote nightmare fuel. It only encourages us.

The novel also mentions an infamous High Epic named Obliteration. Until proven otherwise, I'm assuming that Obliteration is Dark!Voidgaze.

Megan came from what you might call a broken home. The comparison between her and Megamind's childhoods is quite apt, because I refuse to believe Funtimes won't create an enormous flashing "PANIC" sign once Oregon starts crumbling.

"You're so naive, Funtimes," Lightwards sneered. "You're living a fantasy. There is no Easter Bunny, there is no Tooth Fairy, and there is no Emperor of Newcago! This is the real world and you need to wake up." It's settled, then. The entire RP shall become an enormous homage to Megamind.

I approve of this format. Posts in Portland can start off with "Autumn Glass, who was in The Dalles, was not present to see the look on Nathan's face." Quick poll: who do we all think has the more magnificent mustache? Aldo or the Mad Ballooner?

Fear not, pir2h. Teams of dedicated Sharders are working around the clock to unlock the power of cadmium Allomancy. With this power unleashed, we will all be able to literally waste years of our lives in the mad pursuit of these future publications. For further information about Allomantic research here on the 17th Shard, I suggest you consult the Denizens of the Dark Alley. And if you're interested in assisting in their studies, you'll be happy to know that they employ a lot of crowdsourcing in their work.

My biggest question is whether Funtimes could transform frozen Weeping Angels.

Looking forward to it. Words cannot express how much I want to see Funtimes and the Unicyclist traversing the universe in their own TARDIS.

0.o I'm not sure if I'm impressed or terrified that you came up with that so quickly. Probably a bit of both. Have an upvote for brilliantly finding a new way of keeping me from a good night's sleep.

I'm really wanting to see a duel between Sightline and Timeport now. Kukris vs battleaxes. Also, for some reason my Kindle's autocorrect insists that Seth's Epic name is "Timepoet."

Awesome. I guessed Reader's identity, though I was still trying to figure out who the others were. I'm definitely in favor of Timeport getting a battleaxe. Sooner rather than later.

Pressure for time skip... too great... can't... concentrate... I just need to post another Sam/Revolution scene and figure out how I'm going to work zombie!Pamela into the situation. I'm thinking he'll send Pamela to the Sadry residence; not fully trusting Funtimes, he'll try another angle to intimidate Sam into good behavior during the meeting. I think I'll be prepared for The Skip after the next post, then. Hopefully. EDIT: Er, not actually that pressured. That all came out wrong.

Yep, that's certainly feasible. (Ironically, the most ridiculous Epics are the ones who were meant to be canon from the very beginning--Mad Ballooner, Chicago Joe, etc. Does anyone else think Jingleberry would have a very complex emotional inner journey if she ever joined the game's events? )

I think he could control an animal Warrior, but he would be unable to contradict any order set by Lightwards. Which means that Lightwards could seize back control at any time simply by ordering "Don't listen to that imbecile." This is the true power of the Question thread. Forging brilliant ideas through the power of jokes. (Quota and Backtrack were both joke Epics at first.)

The mental image of this is ridiculously confusing... Which means, of course, that this is perfect.

What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of how INVALID arguments just became.

Now imagine an Epic!Revolution. She'd be the most extroverted, cheerful, passively aggressive High Epic in the Fractured States. Just for lolz, we'll imagine her with light-manipulating powers, just so she can keep the name "Sunburst."

Granted. You gain the ability to turn into an owl, with all the changes in psychology this implies. This owl, to be exact. I wish for the ability to inflict random curses on anyone I choose.

What kind of logo? And if he starts constantly teleporting to his own exact location... won't that just hasten his complete corruption?

Lucentia and Lightwards first evil date continues in Portland.

True, though I think much of her time would be spent strategically placing mistletoe along Altermind's daily paths. "But... you realize that's just an illusion, right? You know he doesn't really look like Brad Pitt?" "Maybe I'm just a shallow person. Come right along over here, cutie!"

Better than Lightwards' gut response of "throw her to the dinosaurs."

She will deck the halls with boughs of holly, far and wide until her dread-vengeance is realized!

The kitchen was quiet save for the gentle whistling of a teapot. Elizabeth poured a small mug of tea for herself and her friend, stirring in sugar and cream as she talked. "Running a touch low on tea," she said by way of conversation. "It's hard keeping in stock these days." Pamela nodded sagely. Her husband Jack was a food smuggler who spent much of his time in Thoughttown; any member of the Tithers family could go on at length about the difficulties of finding proper cuisine in a post-Calamity world. She took her tea with a smiling thanks, and the pair drank in silence for a little while before drifting into a light, casual conversation. They spoke of the unusually bright and sunny weather. They exchanged a few pieces of harmless gossip about their respective neighbors. They even spoke briefly about local politics (this week's juciest piece of trivia was about how Hotwire had finally managed to run Jingleberry out of town. The latter was reportedly bruised and furious, vowing revenge as she stormed out of the city.) But despite such promising topics, Elizabeth had trouble getting into the conversation. It was helpful to hear her friend's voice droning on and on, comforting her; but there was no getting around the one central fact of her life now. Samantha Trattner had very likely suffered a very painful death. She would never see her daughter again. Pamela's voice ground to a halt as she saw the look on her friend's face. There was another moment of awkward silence before the other woman began to open her mouth. Presumably, it was to speak some words of comfort. Elizabeth never found out. At this moment a series of loud thuds echoed from the front door, as if a number of strong arms were crashing against it repeatedly. To Elizabeth's horror, the thudding stopped suddenly, replaced by a loud tearing sound, as if the door had been utterly ripped from its hinges. Pamela seemed frozen to her seat in pure terror. Forcing herself not to join her, Elizabeth found herself rushing to the hallway drawer, pulling out the pistol within with shaking hands. Her dear, long-departed husband had taught her to shoot years before Calamity. Fortunately it had been years since she last had to make the lessons count. A pair of people stepped into the kitchen, their contrast as stark as it was terrifying. One was a large and heavyset man, aiming a rifle with steady hands but unfocused eyes. He looked like a particularly well-armed man who'd taken to sleepwalking. The other intruder was a tall woman who looked to be in her thirties. She wore a sleek blue dress finer than anything Elizabeth had seen in years, but that was not her most striking feature. One of her arms glittered in the light, apparently crafted out of solid diamond. It was beautiful sight. Elizabeth wasted no time in raising her pistol and firing. The shock from the blasts hurt her arms, but she kept a steady aim and fired into the intruders. The man with the blank face was the first to be hit, crumpling to the floor with a thud. Elizabeth frantically turned the pistol from him and locked it onto the female Epic's sneering, contemptuous face. It was a good shot. The bullet flew directly into the woman's forehead, connecting with an audible popping sound.The outcome, however, made a sinking feeling in Elizabeth's stomach. The Epic with the diamond arm didn't even flinch. The bullet squeezed out of her skull, replaced by a stream of glistening crystal that filled the wound. The woman raised her hand in a languid response, as if she were swatting aside a troublesome moth. A jet of diamond flowed from the tips of the Epic's fingers, launching across the room and knocking the gun out of Elizabeth's hands. She let out a yelp from the sting, and abruptly cut off as crystal engulfed her arm. She felt herself being dragged to the floor by the diamond's weight, and was soon laying flat on her face with the regal Epic standing over her. Crystal covered her throat, making it steadily harder and harder to breathe. This is it, she managed to think between gasps. Death. The lights seemed to be getting dimmer, and more the vacant-eyed men began pouring into the kitchen. She could vaguely tell that Pamela was being forced to her knees, shaking in powerless terror. This was it. Now she'd die. She'd be with her daughters again; back with Sam and Phoebe. And her husband. If there were a heaven for cursed men, she might see poor lost John again. Somewhere above her, it seemed that the regal Epic was speaking. “I'll be considerate enough to ask," she was saying, "is there any reason why I shouldn't kill her?” A man's voice answered. His was a softer voice with a sophisticated bend to it. It didn't sound like the voice of one of those dead-eyed automatons. "Thank you, Lucentia," the man was saying. "That will be enough. I may need her alive, if my Warriors don't find anyone else in the house." The diamond constricting around her throat slowed to a stop, making Elizabeth cough and stutter into the tiled floor. She was aware of shuffling footsteps all around her. It seemed that this man's "Warriors" were searching the whole house. One of them spoke from above her, in a deep but toneless voice. "There's no one else in the house," the Warrior said simply. She couldn't see what the master's face looked like, but his silence seemed to indicate some brand of displeasure. Rough hands grabbed her by the hair, yanking her to her knees. Her hand was still trapped on the floor, and the connection to her throat made the position quite painful. But for the first time, she could see the master of these "Warriors." He was a man of average height and average build, with a slightly haggard face and a pair of slightly cracked glasses over his eyes. He wore a ragged coat that belonged in a university more than in her kitchen, and a ridiculous shamrock-green bowler hat sat atop his sandy hair. "Hello," he said in a soft but business-like manner, looking down on her with a faint smile. "I am called Lightwards. Is your name Trattner?" She stared at him blankly for a moment before painfully nodding her head. He was obviously an Epic, and Epics did not appreciate being lied to. "Excellent," he replied brusquely. "How many family members of yours live in this house, Mrs. Trattner? And please do not bother lying to me. If you speak a falsehood to me, I will simply kill you again and again until you cooperate." He said these things while tapping a heavy pistol holstered to his side. Elizabeth felt her heart racing. A few feet away from her, Pamela was emitting a faint, almost inaudible whimper. There was no way of knowing whether this Epic could genuinely tell if she was lying. But considering that the only person she had to protect had likely already died at this man's hands... With a trembling lip and a glaring expression, Elizabeth turned her head up and met his eyes. "Just me and my daughter, Emperor." Lightwards stared at her incredulously for a moment before breaking into a mirthless chuckle. "Yes, I'm familiar with your daughter. She has the same glare you do." Has. Sam was still alive--possibly, hopefully. Assuming Lightwards wasn't the kind of Epic to give out false hope just for the fun of it. False or not, Elizabeth clung to that hope. One of Lightwards' Warriors returned from a room bearing a framed picture. "Now we're getting somewhere," Lightwards said, smiling at the dumbly staring man. He angled the portrait and showed it to Elizabeth. She knew that picture well. It still sat by her bedside, though she knew Sam hated it. It was a picture of the Trattner family two years before Calamity; one little girl and a smiling teenager sat in a field of tall grass, their parents standing over them. A younger Elizabeth stood next to her husband, a tall man with blunt features but a wide, sincere smile. Lightwards waved it in her face impatiently. "How many people in this picture are still alive?" he demanded bluntly. "This man. This teenage girl. Are they still alive?" Elizabeth shot Lightwards a scowl full of loathing. "No," she replied stiffly. "They aren't. Samantha and I are all that's left from that picture." Lightwards nodded curtly, then let the picture drop to the floor. Elizabeth winced as the glass shattered, feeding into her furious rage against this man. He didn't seem to notice. "You," he said sternly, gesturing at Pamela. "Who are you?" Pamela looked terrified to the brink of tears--she'd always been one of those people who hid from trouble at all costs. Elizabeth tried to give her a sympathetic look, but she had a hard time craning her head that far with her throat encased in diamond. "P-Pamela Tithers, sir," the woman squeaked. "I-I'm just a friend." "A friend," Lightwards said thoughtfully. He turned to Elizabeth with an unreadable expression. "Would your daughter recognize this woman?" For the first time, Elizabeth seriously considered lying. But she glanced around at the kitchen filled with Warriors. If what she'd heard about the necromancer Emperor were true, then they would both join these creatures' ranks the second she lied. But what would Lightwards do with her friend if she said the truth? It was Pamela who responded. "Y-yes," she stammered. "I know her. She'd recognize me. You can take me to her, I'll do anything you say. I swear." A smile flickered across Lightwards' face. "My dear woman," he replied softly, "That was never a matter for debate." It was quick. Lightwards pulled the pistol from his side, pointed it languidly, and fired it into Pamela's face. Elizabeth closed her eyes tightly shut, burning with tears. She heard the sickening crunch of shattered bone at the sound of the gunshot, followed immediately a thud as her friend's body hit the floor. She managed to blink back tears, glancing again at the necromancer. Lightwards was kneeling down, touching the back of the dead woman's head. When his fingers touched her hair, her body began to stir, slowly rising from her position and standing stiffly in the kitchen. Her gaze was vacant. No trace of her previous fear. Or her compassion. Or the life that once sparkled in her brown eyes. Elizabeth found herself unable to look away, staring in dumb horror at her friend. The necromancer in the green hat scarcely gave his new Warrior a second glance, instead grabbing Elizabeth's hair and angling her face towards his. He forced her to meet his eyes; she could barely see at all through the tears she was fighting back. But his expression was stern. "You will not leave this house," he said simply. "I will leave two Warriors in the dwelling with you. If you attempt to fight or flee, they will spot you and they will kill you. And they will bring your carcass to me to join my service." He let go of her, facing his diamond-armed partner. "Lucentia, could you perhaps do something about the slab of crystal around her neck? I'd rather she didn't suffocate while I am away. And perhaps we could do something about these windows...?" Lightwards continued, but his voice trailed into a low drone to Elizabeth's ears. She couldn't tear her eyes off of Pamela Tithers. Standing stiffly in the kitchen, waiting for orders from the man who'd murdered her. A Warrior of Light.

Not sure if totes adorbs or hair-raisingly terrifying. I caught that she was a teenager. Murdering a 16 year-old girl is still a little on the sociopathic side of morality, though.