Post by Grand Lord Fiddle on Mar 25, 2018 3:21:44 GMT -6
Thread Power Level: 2,000
The arid winds of Diablo blew harshly this early morning. Sand and dirt and fouler, more magical things were carried on the howls of that wind. An ominous presence, fueled by ego and malice. And perhaps a few more carefree things.
In the heart of a rocky outcropping sat a large fortress. Its body made of sandstone and guarded by mortal men, it bore no outward appearance of malice. One might assume that it was simply some old ruin, refurbished by bandits or even a small band of heroic wanderers-- but those with a keener eye, a sixth sense, would know what lay hidden behind those walls of old rock. There were bandits here, yes, but they served a great and powerful magician.
"Not good enough!"
The shrill, high-pitched whining of a young Namekian echoed through the halls, as the diminutive Lord Fiddle slapped a bowl of food to the side. It clattered helplessly to the ground, spilling a few small wrapped candies onto the throne room's stone. Its owner, a towering tiger Zoanthrope, cowered in fear at his bosses displeasure.
"I-i-i-i-i'm sorry Lord Boss! It was the best I could find? Not many people bring candy to the desert, especially not since you started taking so much."
Fiddle turned his nose up at the Zoan, a displeased scowl on his miniature face. "So, you blame this on me, then? Perhaps I shall exert my power for such insolence." Fiddle hopped from his throne a long ways down. His throne was small, but tall. The foolhardy among Fiddle's men used to joke about its resemblance to a high chair without the table, but when one of them had been turned into a toad, the jokes vanished.
Slowly, he walked over to the zoan, each step echoing harsher than the last. In those few moments, the tiger was certain of his demise. But it had not come. In its stead, he had found that his massive curved blade, which had been strapped to his back moments prior, was gone. Fiddle had magicked it into a small bar of chocolate, and immediately chowed down.
It wasn't like Majin's had a monopoly on loving sweets, okay? Namekians could enjoy them just as well. Besides, a Majin had poor taste. They'd eat any sweet. Fiddle, though, he was an epicurean. Only the finest would suit him.
"I always find that steel turns into a far more bitter chocolate than I like," Fiddle explained between bites, "But, I suppose it will do. Go away now!"
Fiddle flicked his free hand idly in the air, and the tiger warrior was sent tumbling back down the hall. The handful of other bandits in the room were shocked. He'd gotten away easy. Most of the time, Fiddle would have transmogrified his transgressors into something horrific, like a postbox or a tree stump. Maybe he was in a good mood today.
With a slow turn, Fiddle observed his boring old throne room. The dull stone was lit dimly by the few sconces on the walls, and besides the throne itself, there was little decoration. He definitely needed to dress this place up a bit.
He floated back onto his eight-foot-high throne, and pondered. Maybe he could tax the nearby villages again, and force them to bring cool decorations instead of money. Either that or just raid the towns. One of the two would work.
"SERVANT!" Fiddle demanded, snapping his fingers.
From the corner of the room, a large slab of stone rumbled to life. It shaped itself into a man, and lumbered forward, bending the knee to its creator. Fiddle smiled at it brightly.
"Servant, I want you to tell my little slice of Diablo that the tax has gone up! Starting today, all citizens within my realm must bring something that would look good in a throne room! Now, hurry up! Get the message out."
Servant rose slowly, and exited the room. He would inform all three villages, and with any luck, no do-gooders would overhear the new decree...