Topic: Power To Make My Evil

The Redneck

Date: 2012-03-18 10:27 EST
The Horseman of Death had a cozily sprawling home. He'd chosen the land for the view of the river valleys before. And, for the lovely way the limbs and branches of a massive oak tree spread and dipped outside what would become the window of his study.

His own personal space where he could relax after a hard day of ..Deathing. Terrifying Christians who simply read his name, and the names of his brothers. Spreading his hand here and there to make a bit more room. Trying to cheat his brothers and compatriots out of their poker winnings, blogging about the most absolute to DIE FOR doughnuts in three states. Very serious business really, all accompanied by the susurrous whispers of oak leaves in the breezes.

Once a month, rain or shine, hell, high-water or a hare-lipped Pope (ha!), the four would meet over coffee and discuss ... Well whatever the four horsemen had to discuss really. Usually it was such apocalyptic things as what color one of them should paint the den, or whose girl friend at the time was the most absolutely adorable, or most horrifically psycho. Sometimes these two things went hand in hand depending upon which of the brothers' pretties they were discussing at the time.

And so it was that on the day of their meeting for this particular month, Death was running a little late. Had something to do with an argument with his housekeeper over whether the shower grippies should be duckies or kittens (he'd been leaning toward flaming skulls, but it seemed they didn't make shower grippies in that particular style).

Toweling his hair as dry as possible, Death hurried out the door. More than a little disheveled, and more than a little harried, he'd finish grooming himself in the car.

"How's it gonna look if you, I mean you of all people, slip in that shower? -- And who needs a shower that big? I mean really?!-- And wind up dead?!" In a sing-song, prissily high voice he'd mocked the woman and her arguments. Carefully out of earshot as he didn't put it past her one bit to grease just enough of his shower floor to make his split his head on a wall or something just to prove her point. And lamenting the good old days when employees and servants were properly afraid, even terrified of their masters and kept their lips zipped.

It wasn't until he was more than half way to his destination, and unforgivably late, that he realized he'd forgotten his ring. His Signet of power. Knowing he was in for all kinds of teasing misery for both offenses, he kept going. Better to take what was coming on the ring than to compound that by being even later than he already was just to go back and get it.

Death's housekeeper, one Meredeth Noble, chose that afternoon to air out the Study. Room was stuffy, smelling thickly of those damn cigars he smoked for hours on end with the doors and windows closed. Puttering, muttering under her breath, she wiped down surfaces and straightened books and pieces of art. But never once, not in the long years of her employ, touched the carved bone box that looked rather like a small brain at the left upper corner of his desk. That'd be worth more than her ears to mess with. And since the master of the house had quite a collection of preserved human ears in frames on the walls, well it wasn't just a saying.

When the phone rang her muttering ratched up a notch to grumbling as she bustled through the over-sized house to answer it. And completely forgot to close the windows in the Study.

Now, that oak tree? The one that'd drawn Death to this particular spot in the first place? Well, you see, it was home to a small, but well established family line of grey squirrels. Their bloodline had lived in the hollowed out places in the great tree's trunk for hundreds of generations. They had status in the local squirrel community. All but one that was.

He was a bit ...err, special yes. Different to say the least, though quite a few of the folk thought there was a bit of pack-rat or chipmunk hiding in his nut-hole. Slender to the point of seeming underfed, a constant embarrassment to his mother as they had plenty of food and their stores were such that they often gave to the less fortunate in the community to keep from seeming wasteful hoarders (as opposed to useful hoarders). His fur most often sticking up in wild tufts in truly odd places; the sort of places that had other squirrel parents tugging their children behind them when they saw him in the woods. Just because they could did not mean they should. At least not half so often as they thought that one did.

And, he had the most abominable attraction for shiny things, odd things. Things that squirrels had no right messing with. At least not decent Woof fearing squirrels.

So it was that on the day that Death forgot his Signet, and Ms. Noble forgot to close certain windows, this particular squirrel happened to be scamper-skulking along one of the lower branches of the Great Oak. Looking for something to do, and avoiding the bath his mother swore he needed to take.

He'd nearly made his escape to the ground too, when a strong gust of wind moved his branch closer to the hole in the house that had its force field disarmed. And he saw it. He saw today's prize. Possibly the biggest prize any-rodent in the tree or forests had ever found. A huge, pale walnut. Sitting right there in the open, a gift from Woof (who giveth and taketh away, whose paws bring both life and death, whose teeth turned all folk into gooey bits to feed the forest with their passing...).

Now, he knew he shouldn't go into the Big One's hole, it was more dangerous than the hole of the last Woof in the neighboring country. Once, generations ago the greatest warrior the Tree had ever sheltered, had gone in there. He hadn't come out again. Though, there were legends that his body remained, poised on the edge of launching attack, just behind the head of the Big One whenever he went into that particular chamber of his hole. Forever frozen, never to return to the Tree. He'd been the very bravest among them. And a personal hero of our young lay-about squirrel.

When he as sure no one was looking (especially the Iron She), he'd skittered in through the opening, bitten back on his curiosity (now wasn't the time to explore really) and run up the leg of the stump where the Woof Sent Walnut rested. The shell was harder than he'd thought it would be, and tasted funny in his mouth when he tried to gnaw it open. Plus there'd been the Bzzt! that'd thrown him back off the stump with a funny numb-shaky in his limbs and a might puff! in his tail and fur.

Stubborn, and not to be beaten by some nut, Woof Sent or not!, he'd scrambled back up, and with a series of careful, and mighty (there must be a lot of nut-meat in there, it was very heavy) foot nudges -- and a lot of leg shakes and trembles from the Bzzt-- pushed the nut off the stump.

And crow-chittered in triumph when the shell burst, clean in two, after hitting the stone flooring below. With a thankful nod and bow of his head, and a rather disrespectful flick of his poofed up tail at the frozen body of his hero (come to think of it, why was there a bit of Tree on an other wise smooth run?), he'd bounded down to claim his prize.

Swaggering forward on all fours with joyous hops that ended in quarter turns, he approached the split nut.

And sat back in confusion when he looked inside.

What in the name of Woof's Bowels was this?

The Redneck

Date: 2012-03-18 11:10 EST
He wasn't as stupid as most Folk thought him to be, he knew that the shiny stuff wasn't food. And that the glittery rock wasn't good for much of anything besides blinding a squirrel. But really? Really?!

All that work, all those Bzztings, for this? What the pellets was this? How was he supposed to eat this?

Squirrel temper tantrums don't take all that long, and while our young lay-about was indulging in an epic tantrum, Ms. Noble was gossiping away on the kitchen phone. Death had realized he'd left his Signet behind, and was already grousing at the soon-to-be ribbing he'd receive from his brothers.

For several heart beats (well, four human heart beats, and likely a couple of hundred squirrel heart beats), the squirrel lay there, emotionally exhausted by his disappointment, and physically exhausted by both the epic tantrum, and the effort involved in cracking open the Woof Sent Bzzty Nut. Dejected and sullen, he drug his sorry self to all four feet, tail low (though still poofed up), and studied his not-so-special prize. Kicked the nutshell a few times, was Bzzted each time. And remembered.

Remembered seeing the Big One, wearing the shiny circle and glittery rock on his hand.

Foolish little squirrel endured more, stronger, Bzztings while prying the circle out of its nut resting place. Eyed the shiny, so shiny, and shoved his arm through the hole in the center, all the way up to ...well he stopped at the shoulder once he realized that he could fit his head in there too. Only Woof was allowed to wear anything around his neck, and squirrels were not Woofs. Not by any stretch of any of their imaginations were they Woofs.

Wiggled his squirrely fingers as though to admire the way the over-sized circle looked on his arm. And shrieked in horror when the shiny circle and its glittery rock started to shrink! Shrink down to fit his arm perfectly even!

Oh he'd known this day was coming! For all the times his mother had warned him about changing his ways and becoming a productive member of the community. For all the times his mother had threatened him with the Little Woofs that would come and play tug with him if he didn't clean his room. For all the times he'd done that thing that'd make him go blind if he kept on doing it. For all those times he'd made sure to rough up his fur just to see Folk hide their children from him. He'd known, oh Woof he'd known.

The shiny circle was a trap! A trap as sure as the bigger shiny circles were traps for the rabbity folk in the grass. Only this one wasn't going to kill him clean by choking him no! It'd just cut off his arm and leave him unable to climb back up to his home in the Tree. He'd have to live on the ground, or go live with the (horror!) ground squirrels and eat his dinners in a hole in the ground. He'd be disfigured, crippled, maimed ---wait.

The shiny circle, wasn't cutting off his arm. In fact, once it felt it was tight enough to not slip off, the ring settled on that size. And hugged there, warm against fur and the skin beneath. Pulsing occasionally in the thin sunlight that filtered through the leaves on the Tree. And whispering to the mind of the one who'd been chosen to wear it for a time. It got rather boring in the bone brain box after all, and it wasn't time yet for The End. A little diversion, should be entertaining.

"Run! The Iron She comes!"

Startled by the Voice, and feeling more than a little foolish at his melodramatics, the squirrel fled back the way he'd come. Bounded to the branch, and ran down to the ground. Ran like his tail was on fire for the edge of the stables, all at the bidding of the Voice, that really did sound a lot like his own Inside Voice did.

"I need a mount. Something to carry me away from here." The ring, and the power within it were going to have so much fun with this. Really didn't help that the squirrel, well he'd been well on his way to be a villain of his folk anyway. This would be the same, on a much, much larger scale.

Into the stables where the Big One kept his Snort-and-Stomp, the squirrel raced. His heart pounding in passionate expectation, he was going to do something Big! He was going to be known among all the Folk, and his name would be Feared.

With eyes wide and liquidly round, rather like a child standing in front of the greatest toy store ever, he'd stood on two feet. Making his selection. It had to be just the right Snort-and-Stomp. The greatest Snort-and-Stomp ever!

Oooh! That one there!

Jet black and heavily muscled, End Game, stomped a hoof in his stall eyeing the disheveled, wild eyed squirrel that was staring at him in the most inappropriate of ways. All attitude and power, at eighteen hands in height the stallion was a handful even for his chosen rider. This puny little squirrel who may have been nibbling on the mushrooms that grew in the cow paddock next door, was being eyed. Derisively.

When the squirrel scrambled up the stall door, and raced along the divider to leap onto his back End was so startled he hadn't moved. At least not until slowly craning his head on his neck to eye the little thing. Amber eyes narrowed when he caught sight of something shiny and glittery on the squirrel's upper arm, leg, limb.

The ring, and the squirrel were pleased that the Snort-and-Stomp hadn't objected to their weight on his back. It could be frightening for a horse to accept a new master, End seemed to be taking their usurping Death's place quite well. So well in fact, that he was looking at them for direction.
The squirrel needed no prompting from the Ring. Pointing imperiously through the open door to the stallion's paddock, he drummed his heels against the Snort-and-Stomp's ...spine. Took hold of the black mane and tugged End's head around. He was going to ride like the wind! He'd go farther, faster than any of the Folk ever had before! He'd lay waste to their enemies and make the world safe for the Folk once again!

His spirit was riding as high as his body when the Snort-and-Stomp started to move at his urging. This was going to be a beautiful relationship. End would stomp the squirrel's enemies into dust beneath his hard feet, he would crush them to gooey things in his teeth, he would roll over on them and make them wet spots on the dirt. It was going to be glorious! Absolutely glorious.

And it was, it really was, for the short amount of time End tolerated the thief and defector's presence on his back. In a rocking-horse canter he'd headed for the furthest fence, then planted a front hoof and flicked the squirrel off over a shoulder. Oh look, flying squirrel. And now a rolling-bouncing-skidding squirrel. Snorting both his amusement, and his very low opinion of the situation, End turned to prance back to his stall, tail flicking derisively every other stride.

The squirrel, who was slowly becoming something so much more, drug his twitchy, pain wracked body up to all fours again. Whimpering, he spent a few moments grooming his tail, vowing all sorts of revenge on Snort-and-Stomps everywhere, and thinking.

When an alternative was presented to him, he took it as his own idea, his own thought. Which, in truth it had been, just amplified by the Ring to the point he'd consider it. Oh yes, that would be perfect!

Why settle for a mangy Snort-and-Stomp, when he could, and would, have something better. More fitting.

Though the journey would be long and tiring, the squirrel set out at a run for the neighboring country.

Oh yes, this was going to be just right.

The Redneck

Date: 2012-03-20 11:02 EST
Once every three generations for the Folk, a new Woof was chosen to guide them into the Right Ways of life. Sometimes the Woof lasted twice, or three times as long as it should, such was the power of the Greatest of Woofs. The Greatest were terrible things in their wrath to be sure, but their kindness and gentleness in making the Wood and Forest and Lane and Field safe for the gentler Folk who did not incur his wrath, or try to steal his Holy Bowl Bits, were the stuff of legend. Else, why would they all fear, and love the Woof so deeply?

He had been lucky enough to have been born in the Time of The Greatest of Great Woofs. This Woof had been massive, by far larger than any other Woof in remembered history, and terrifying beyond measure, giving beyond selflessness, and Old. For ten generations of Folk he'd reigned over the World, giving all things life or death as was fitting. At the time of his birthing and for many Long Times after, he'd seen the benefit of the Woof first hand, and had nearly been on the receiving end of His Diving Punishment more than once (who'd've thought such a massive and terribly old creature could move so fast? Or have all of its teeth still?). Much more than once, but not more than four. Couldn't have been more than four.

Everyone knew there were only four Folk Eyes glittering in the Owl-Time sky.

Lest he became too distracted in a futile attempt to count past the number four, the Ring gave Rex (seemed fitting to call the future squirrel king of all by that moniker), a mental prod to get him moving again. They'd covered more than three quarters the distance they needed to, and the Ring would not wait much longer. Refused.

Energy and vigor renewed by the immensely strong (and no little bit startling when he stopped long enough to think about it) force of his will, the squirrel now known as Rex, went sprinting along the edges of the fields. Streaked from sunlight to deep wood shadow with determination gleaming in his slightly mad, beady little eyes. A rictus smirk of coming triumph twisting his little face into something almost, ferret like so fierce was it.

Out, out again into the sunlight! Into the sunlight that danced through leaves high over head, stippling shadows across the lush grasses of this most Sacred Resting Place of Woofs. An endless line of Woof Sleeping Places In The Ground, back before the founding of the Tree, spread out before him. And there, there, there!

The Greatest of Great Woofs was there, under a semi-fresh scar of turned earth and rock.

It was whispered up and down the rows that five Folk Times back, the Woof had been chasing a Hiss as it slithered through the grass and the Hiss had had the temerity, the blaspheming black-thumpity-ness to bite the Woof! Blessed be His Name, May He Rest Forever In His Hole In The Dirt.

What else would one such as he choose for His most fitting mount to ride into Battle with the World? The Greatest of Great Woofs, of course.

Standing on two feet, the poof! of his tail twitching occasionally, Rex stared long and hard at the brown dirt before him. Confused, and more than a little lost let's face it, chittering to himself as though trying to remember something that lay just beyond the reach of his mind.

Following a sudden impulse, Rex made a gesture with his right paw, another with his left. And felt the ground tremble under his feet. Emboldened by his success (and guided by the Ring ), Rex went through a series of Arcane gestures and Potent Words.

Again and again the earth trembled and shook. Shuddering and bucking like to throw Rex to the ground in an ungainly heap. A mighty wind sprang up in respect to his Power. The Bright-Nut-High-Above hid its shell in fright and awe. The heavens wept stinging tears of horror to beat his pelt flat, begging for forgiveness.

And slowly, slowly, the Greatest of Great Woofs, or what was left of him considering he'd died of a snake bite a week ago and been in the ground for only a few hours less than that, dug his way free.

"Rise! Rise my pet! Rise my minion and we will take our vengeance on the World!" This Rex did promise, dancing in gleeful triumph in little circles, waving his little arms in the gestures necessary to complete the spell. Rather looked like some ratty furred, soaked to the skin squirrel had been part of an LSD experiment, chittering wildly.

Not a full acre away, the farmer's wife had just managed to pull in the last load of laundry she'd be able to get dry until this spring storm passed. Good thing she'd been keeping a weather eye out on the horizon since getting started. Damn meteorologists never could get it right; storm was supposed to have broken the night before.

The Redneck

Date: 2012-03-25 07:41 EST
Things, once living things, that'd been in the ground much at all, tended to go a little (or a lot depending really) icky. Smelly and mushy when nature was allowed to take its course as it should.

The Greatest of Great Woofs, had done just that. What had, in life, been a massive mix of ...gods only knew what with heavy lacings of mastiff, was equally impressive in unlife. With the added benefit of having the vast majority of people, and Folk who saw, or smelled it, retching or gagging. Bonus points when they did both.

Rex neither saw, nor smelled the worst of the changes in his newest and most potent of minions. True, the Woof was his only minion at the moment, but Rex wasn't going to let a little thing like that stop him. Not for long at any rate.

Chittering with unholy glee, his tail jerking side-to-side, Rex circled the Woof, eyeing it critically. For his part, the Woof formerly known as Tank, just sort of lay there on and in the dirt he'd clawed through to answer the call back to semi-life. He was relatively sure he wasn't supposed to be here, just as he was relatively sure that the fluffed up squirrel walking around him in a manner that suggested Humans kicking tires, was not only off his little rocker, but was normally something he'd have been chasing with the intent to crunch.

However, that rather seemed to involve more effort than it was worth, and he really didn't feel that 'chase it!' urge quite like he used to. This whole zombie dog thing (though this was a term that was completely alien to Tank, and Rex as well; what was dead, was dead and stayed that way; usually) was going to take some getting used to. So was listening to a barmy squirrel with a shiny arm band and more tics than the town drunk after a long weekend.

Almost gibbering with something beyond joy, Rex pat-patted his paws across various parts of the Woof's body. Testing both the reanimated corpse and himself, if the Woof suddenly took it in its head to chase him up the nearest tree he'd like it to be now and not at some later time when he wasn't expecting it. With both paws cupping the Woof's nose he raised his already mad eyes, drunk with the wonder and power of it all, to meet the dull, mindless eyes of the Woof. And smiled.

Smiled and crooned words of praise and promises of power and retribution. The world would bow at their feet, the Big Ones would be washed away in a torrent of blood and death. There would be Shes of all sorts to see to their every --! There would be glory yes, glory and power and vengeance!

All the while Tank's brain-spark was guttering lower, he really wasn't going to need all that much in the way of thought and reasoning after all. And just laid there, listening to the one he'd wind up calling Boss before too long. Dreaming of the remembered feeling of chasing little fluff-balls like this one until their little hearts burst, or their hind legs cramped up and they couldn't do much more than drag-limp themselves along into holes that were oft-times too shallow to keep them safe. Good times those.

This time when Rex leapt astride of his chosen mount, he did not acquire a flying lesson soon after. Tiny heels drumming against the Woof's ribs, he held onto to the collar that'd been left to rot with the dog's body with one paw, and pointed deeper into the wood with the other. Held on tight as could be when the Woof surged to its feet and began trotting in the direction he'd been bidden.

With his mind full of the glory to come, Rex didn't see the scrap of cloth whipped around by the wind. Not until it was too late and the black fabric was wrapped around his head fit to yank him off the back of his Woof-charger. Couldn't react until it felt like his head was being yanked and twisted off like a Peck-and-Scratch in their barren fields.

Squeaking, squawking and flailing with his free hand, Rex clung to the Woof's harness while trying to disentangle himself from the Fabric From Woof's Bowels. It was a Titanic Struggle, but he finally did manage to pull it off. Might've been hanging half off the side of the undead dog in the end, but he freed himself all right.

And was pleased to find a black robe, complete with a deep villainy cowl to hide his features from the world and protect his secrets. Sized just right to fit him, loosely. With lovely silver and dark green piping around the edges. Just so, pretty.

Dressed for the role he'd been born to play, mounted properly, and gaining in power with every moment, Rex was cackling in squirrely-madness when he urged the Woof into a galumphing run. A galumphing run that listed slightly to the right in the hind-end.

They had plans to make. Accessories to acquire, and a super-secret-hideout to find before the World would be made to pay.

Before they could begin their conquest.

A nap would be a good thing too. It'd been a very, very long and eventful day for one of the Folk.

He really needed to work on his cardio yes.