TwiLyghtSansSparkles

Koschei would have preferred birds, although they would have been hard to come by in winter. People, though, would have been a definite yes.

Cool. What animals did he possess most often under Koschei? Did he have a favorite form?

And that thread is rapidly approaching 100 pages, at which point we'll probably have to start another thread. That, or 150 pages.

I'd leave it up to you. Do you want him to have served under the purest force of evil The Dalles has ever seen, or would you rather he remains a sleazy force for petty evil?

Sweet. Anyone else wanted to add Koschei to their Epic's backstory?

Weather report for the Empire: There's a 75% chance of a speech by Lightwards, and a 93% chance of Funtimes interrupting that speech.

A black suit with a red, black, white, silver, or gold tie? Or maybe a suit, but he only wore the jacket for special occasions or when he was outside?

He can't miss what he never had. And since she transformed the books and pamphlets, too, what he doesn't know can't hurt him. And what he doesn't know is that he'll be down more than a few dinosaur Warriors.

Oh, you. That was her main reason, but there were other reasons, too. Did he get a chance to see and raise every dinosaur skeleton in that museum before she welcomed him to the floating jungle?

More respectful than turning her into raptor food. Or trying to raise her as a zombie. (Fun fact: Funtimes had no idea he couldn't raise Epics, and so made Hotwire part of the jungle to keep him from getting his hands on one more zombie. She had other reasons for turning the museum into a jungle, but that was one of them.) Karma? Everyone who had Epics under Koschei, tell me what they would have done and worn. Koschei liked his followers to look their best, but made concessions based on personal preferences.

She certainly could affect a corpse; she did it with the tree, leaves, and Hotwire's corpse. (She turned her into soil, which seemed the least disrespectful thing to do.) I was wondering if the hand necklace would be technically dead or technically alive.

I believe it. Lightwards' devotion to his sick "cause" is well beyond "fanatical" status. Actually, if he could dial it back to "fanatical," he might approach something akin to someone who was once a decent human being. Now, here's a question: Would the severed hand count as living, or could Funtimes transform it into a kitten-shaped pocket watch, or even a wall clock so he'd look like Flava Flav? Yeah….that'd be great. Also, question to everyone: Who is using an Epic who used to work for Koschei? If you'd rather PM it to me, that's fine, but I'd like to know which Epics Koschei had in his employ so I can include them in his flashbacks.

….yeah. Again, good thing they never met. Koschei would most likely try to kill him, or hold death over his head as a constant warning against rebellion, but I have the distinct feeling that had Lightwards gone along with Backtrack to see these visions for himself, the Empire would be a much nastier place to live. (Also, Lightwards' habit of attaching inspirational adjectives to crimes against humanity is super creepy. ) I agree. If he tones down his creepiness and she decides to move from pity to actual attraction, we could have another OTP on our hands.

It does. He needs a cute ship in the present tense (not a crush on a sweet girl who walked the Oregon Trail). Only, a Sunday School teacher would be insulted, if not horrified into therapy, if someone compared them to Koschei. Lightwards would probably be momentarily stunned, then humbled, then honored, before deciding to live up to the comparison. (Unless that shred of goodness in him is a little stronger than I thought.) Thanks. I figured Calamity would probably spawn a few Epics like him—those who took the idea of "godlike power" to heart as they handed themselves over to Calamity's corruption. (At least he gets a little more insane and random each time. Not much of a consolation, but Koschei didn't have the same mental-decay caveat that comes with Lightwards' resurrections. All the same, it'd probably be best for the citizens of the Empire if he didn't find out about Koschei for a while. It might give him ideas. )

Well, Koschei started out as the answer to the question "Why does Remington Springfield hate Lightwards so much?" Well, I decided it was because he had known, probably killed, a resurrection Epic in the near past…who was like Lightwards, but worse….and since Lightwards saw himself as an emperor, that meant Koschei saw himself as one step above that, which meant he saw himself as a god….so I took that ball and ran with it, following him past the Moral Event Horizon and straight on down. Maybe I made him too depraved…. if it's any consolation, that scene wasn't easy to write. After, I think? Not sure what Kobold wants to do.

... I can't decide whether that's bittersweet, pathetic, or a little bit of both. Maybe I'll combine the two to get "tragically adorable." Horrifying is what I was aiming for. Still, I feel bad about the shaking fingers so…. Have a pile of sleeping pug puppies.

Poor Backtrack. He needs a girl who genuinely likes him. (Wonder if Backtrack/Candyflame would work out….) Hope that last flashback was okay.

Nightfall, same day, two years ago The church was not what Koschei would call a proper cathedral. The narrow, pointed brick building entirely bereft of stained-glass windows or marble steps was separated from the somewhat distant and darkened homes by nothing more than a steeple and a small white cross. Still, it was the most church-like building near the edge of town, suiting it to his purposes. With the Epics he had recruited on his way waiting at the exits, Koschei paused to give the cross a smirk before striding through the door. The entry hall was dark, save for the light of a single lantern. Most churches met at night these days, not for fear of Epics, but so as not to spend daylight on an activity that could just as well be accomplished in darkness. Warm light spilled from lanterns and candles behind a pair of wood-paneled doors. Within the sanctuary, there was music. Someone plinked away on a piano with a hundred voices raised in reverent song: I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy power throughout the universe displayed Koschei scowled as he opened the door, spilling music into the hall: Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee, How great Thou art, how great Thou art! The pianist stopped her playing; voices quieted as he passed. Worshippers paused to stare at the regal Epic who commanded their attention, who strode down the aisle in purple and gold. Their fear was palpable. Perhaps they knew what he had come to do, perhaps not—their knowledge mattered little. He had their attention and he had their fear. “Can we help you, sir?” That was the pastor. Koschei recognized him from a picture one of his scouts had taken. The man wore a pressed polo shirt and dark slacks, sensible shoes on his feet and grey in his hair. Koschei laughed. “Look at you. And you call yourself a minister of your god.” Six—seven—eight men separated themselves from the other worshippers and stood in the aisles, drawing pistols. The pastor himself took a 9-millimeter from his holster. “Epics are always welcome here,” the pastor said. His voice was so calm, so cool. “But I’m going to have to ask you to follow the rules and leave your weapons at the door.” So he had seen the knife and pistol at his side. “Your ushers are armed.” “They’re here to protect the others. Please, hand over your weapons.” Koschei drew his pistol and quickly dispatched the nearest usher. Headshot killed three more, Koschei shot another, turned to the pastor, and saw the bullet coming a second before pain shattered his skull. He plunged into fog. Thick, white fog that swirled around him, coalescing into vaguely human shapes. Koschei waited for the shapes to solidify, morphing back into the shape of a pastor standing over him, aiming a pistol. Koschei opened his eyes. “You think to be rid of me that easily?” The pastor said nothing. The other ushers lay dead, their pistols claimed by the Epics who had caused their deaths, now guarding the exits. Worshippers glanced around, shuffling their feet nervously, but no one attempted an escape. The woman nearest him had tears on her cheeks that glistened in the candlelight. One man nearby had his head bowed, his lips moving in silent prayer. The crack of gunfire sent pain tearing through Koschei’s middle. His hand went to his stomach, blood pouring through his fingers. The pastor waited, watched to see if the wound would stick. Koschei shot him in the skull. He plucked the pastor’s pistol from the floor and tucked it into his belt, pain vanishing with the wound. “Did your god protect this man, who died in his service? Did your god descend from the heavens to keep his executioner in the grave?” He turned and faced his congregation. “Or is your god as dead as the man who served him?” There were no shouts of anger, no verses tossed like grenades at his feet. Only the sound of weeping and the whispered prayers of a man whose head was bowed. Koschei slit his throat, healing it in an instant. “I am your god.” He spoke not to the congregation, but to the man with blood on his neck. There was no gratitude in his eyes, nor was there fear. Only defiance. Calm, resolute defiance. “I decide when you live…and when you die.” The praying man’s wound reopened, and he fell. Koschei nudged the twitching body with distaste, then slit and healed the throat of the woman nearest him. He did the same for a couple across the aisle. “Your lives are in my hands,” Koschei said when he reached the front. “All who acknowledge me as their god will be healed quickly and mercifully. Those who do not will be given to my Epics.” He faced his congregation, arms outstretched, blood drying on his fingers. “So bow. Bow to your god, that he may show you mercy.” Glances were traded. The woman with blood on her neck gingerly touched her throat. She was the first to turn her back. Like a stone tossed into a pond, the effect spread from where she stood. Men and women, old and young, turned their backs to him. Koschei knew this was a possibility. The likelihood of this very event was one of his many reasons for choosing the church for his declaration of war. Yet the sight of a hundred mortals turning their backs on him made him want to slit every single throat in that place and leave them to bleed. But he hadn’t the time. “Leave the children.” Koschei slammed the nearest door, took a wild monkshood root from a pouch at his side, and chewed it. He sank to the floor, smiling as the chatter of gunfire drowned out a hundred screams.

If you want. I don't have any strong opinions either way.

Oh, I'm sorry. I know what panic attacks are like.

Had Nathan not lived his entire life in Newcago, he'd believe it. Drunk Weeping Angel >>>>>>>>> murderous precog. Period.

"…until the three writers simultaneously typed the four magic words: 'And then Slaughterhouse/Nighthound/Koschei died.'" (Oooh. And since you were running, his weakness was obviously not in effect. )

Aside from Slaughterhouse, I suppose. So the Trifecta of Terror could be completed?

I'll have Quota reply in a minute.