Epic #6 – The Sentinel Hill Death Derby pt. 1
The forces of Evilland encroach upon a white marble castle along the Northern border – one that has been contested between Evilland and the Confederated Elven Kingdoms for many decades. But after a multitude of field engagements, involving much attrition to both belligerent factions involved, Lord Emperor Zhorg has gained the upper hand and now presses on the fortress of Alabaster Point in pursuit of his true objective: the gold reserves of the regional treasury.
“Tarrox” the emperor calls forth to his Minister of War - “have your war herd ready to lead the assault from the front – you are tasked with bringing down the gates as the goblins scale the walls! It seems that the forces of Evilland face but a mere shadow of what the elven forces once were: today the cowards shall die behind those walls!”
“As you command my lord” the minotaur warrior replies as he turns towards his troops - “today we grind our foes to powder! Let us go forth and make Evilland great again!” His troops roar and howl with blood lust at his words of encouragement and ready the battering ram: a massive ceder trunk suspended from a series of iron chains draped over a wooden platform constructed over the last several days in preparation for the siege – the front of the ceder trunk being carved into a massive wedge designed to split open the reinforced gates of the fortress.
Just as the Lord of Evilland begins his final preparations for the assault on elven castle, his goth intern – now known as among the troops under his command as “the emperor's pet” - emerges from the command tent with her Istone in hand. “My lord!” she calls to her master over the commotion of the soldiers readying themselves for battle. “My lord! That orc says he really needs to speak with you – it's urgent!”
“Tell him that the Lord of Evilland is preparing to strike a crucial blow against his enemies – that a massive amount of elven wealth is about to fall into his hands!” the emperor casually dismisses the interruption.
“But that's precisely what he wishes to speak to you about” the intern insists. “He has news from that little goblin – you know, the one who wants to stab people but I can't remember the name of – about the fortress.”
“Ugh...” the emperor grumbles as he reaches out for the intern's Istone. “This had better be important! The Lord of Evilland doesn't appreciate his moment of triumph being needlessly delayed!” he shouts into the Istone as a holographic image of his finance minister appears.
“I assure you that this not a needless delay, my lord” the orc answers. “It has come to my attention that the reported reserves of gold bullion within the fortress have more than doubled just days before the beginning of the siege – a feat that our intelligence minister has been unable to explain the logistics of considering the circumstances.”
It just means that the elves are fools!” the emperor retorts. “Those walls will crumble before the might of Evilland and their riches shall be added to the coffers!”
“But my lord, there's simply no way to account for this accomplishment shy of some kind of trick!” the orc insists. “Furthermore, there are reports of the legendary alchemist Adronaii being observed in the regions along the Northern borders: I've heard stories of how he manipulates common metals into interesting new forms – it could be that he planted fools gold in the fortress to divert our attention away from the elves' true objectives.”
“Enough!” the emperor bellows into the Istone. “The Lord of Evilland will entertain this foolishness no more! He has a fortress to seize and plunder to take!” he boasts as he ends the call and tosses the Istone back to his intern.
“Hmph, that nerd can be such a killjoy...” that intern opines as she catches her device. “Why can't he be more like the greatest man this kingdom has ever known? He needs to emulate the ultimate alpha male in the land!”
“Indeed he does” the emperor agrees with the intern. “Now observe as those pathetic pointy-eared bastards meet their end before the axes of the Lord of Evilland!”
“And then we can celebrate, with lots of wine and... maybe some other pleasurable activities? Just the two of us? Away from the others?” the intern queries as she gently takes the arm of her master.
“Uh...” the dumbstruck emperor mumbles as he slowly pulls away from intern's unusual forwardness. “The Lord of Evilland will get back to you about that at a later time!” he recovers his speech shrugging off her touch.
“I see...” the goth intern laments as her master pulls away to resume his preparations. How do I show myself worthy of him? she silently wonders to herself. There has got to be a way for me to prove my utter devotion to him in such a way that that can't possibly be ignored! she continues inside her thoughts as the troops finally receive the orders to charge forward: she stands by in silence – watching the battle unfold in hopes that the sensations the carnage gives her would be, at last, satisfied by her emperor rather than by herself in the privacy of some latrine.
***
The gates of the marble fortress lie in ruins before the great ram, the spear men on the walls are cast down in heap by the orcs and goblins that storm the walls by ladder and the minotaur shock troops have advanced towards the keep as they slaughter the elven officers and halfling conscripts that offer feeble resistance to their might. After a brief duel in the courtyard between the elven commander and the Lord of Evilland, resulting in the elven commander being split in twain, most of the surviving forces discard their weapons and throw themselves upon the mercy of their captors.
“You shall open the keep for the Lord of Evilland this instant or be slain where you stand, halfling!” the emperor bellows at a young conscript – the halfling rises to his fur-covered feet, searches the body of his slain commander for a set of keys and then proceeds to undo the series of locks that secure the barred gates of the keep: after several minutes of removing the locks and disabling the traps, the gate swings wide open and the halfling bows himself in fear before the emperor as he steps aside to let him pass unopposed.
As the Lord of Evilland steps through the gate, he is greeted by the sight of a room filled with bullion – enough to settle the debts of his kingdom for months and refinance his war efforts. “Ha!” the emperor exclaims as he reaches out to grasp a few bars of the precious metal, only to see them lose their luster the moment he touched them. “What is all the hells in this? Treachery!” he bellows as the great mountain of gold transforms into bars of common lead before his eyes.
***
The Minister of War is preparing the captives to for a celebratory feast when he sees the emperor emerge from the keep – the head of the halfling conscript in hand. “The battle is won and our lord joins us for the feast!” he announces to his troops, only to have the head of the conscript hurled at him in rage: the minotaur manages to dodge the head as it smashes into the wall of the fortress behind him before turning to his master with a stunned expression on his face. “Is... Is something the matter, my lord?” he stammers as the Lord of Evilland comes towards him to grab him by the throat.
“What have you done!?!” the emperor bellows out at the top of his lungs. “You have ruined the Lord of Evilland with this siege, you nitwit! Have you no consideration for the costs incurred here?”
“My lord...” the minotaur gasps in answer. “You commanded me to... to spare no expense... You said this... this siege... was to succeed at all costs. I have done... my duty to you.”
Upon realizing that his minister had indeed acted according to his orders, the emperor releases him – having no one left to blame but himself but not the will to admit this fact, he storms back towards the camp as he destroys the celebratory decor set out by his men whilst the troops give way to their infuriated lord.
“My lord!” the intern exclaims as her master approaches the command tent. “Congratulations on a battle well won! Have you come to see me about that 'private celebration' I have planned out? Brett sent me a bottle of wine from Oonia that we could crack open to celebrate this victory – as well as my upcoming one year anniversary in your service, which has easily been the best time of my life!” she continues as she produces the aforementioned bottle only for her master to snatch it from her hands and dash it on the ground before her.
“There shall be no celebration – this operation was for nothing!” the emperor shouts at his fear-stricken intern. “Why does that gods damn orc have to be right about everything? Does Chorneesh mock me? How long must the Lord of Evilland be plagued with the specter of debt that looms over him?”
“It's... It's alright...” the intern stutters as she regains her composure. “We'll make due like always – getting ourselves some extra work to get through this rough patch, wait for our next opportunity to make it big and I'm sure that the gods will come through for us! You are the son of Chorneesh, after all – how could he abandon you?”
“You have no idea what that title means!” the emperor rebukes his intern. “If only you knew what it takes to be the son of a god like him...” he pauses before changing the subject. “But that's neither here nor there – the truth is that the Lord of Evilland had planned to announce this glorious victory at the Sentinel Hill Death Derby in the next few days. Even if he so desired, the Lord of Evilland couldn't get himself any extra work as he must focus on preparing to host this event.”
“Yeah... Hey! Maybe I could be of some help to you here!” Lavinia exclaims. “You know that I have a background in cheer leading – that's how I got my scholarship to Evilland University – so maybe I could join the race queens! They get all sorts of sponsorship deals just for showing up in skimpy outfits and getting the attention of the crowd!”
“Hmm...” the emperor mutters to himself as he considers the proposal. “The interior minister does have some pull with the Major League Death Derby organization – perhaps he can get you in on the condition that your compensation is given directly towards the treasury, and from there into the Lord of Evilland's personal salary.”
“That's the idea, my lord!” the intern shouts with glee. “You just be the best MC you can be and leave the rest to me!” And maybe he will finally see me as the valuable servant I am that wants nothing more than to please him... she leaves unsaid. “You get some rest, I'll get in touch with the interior minister and take care of everything for you, master!”
***
A new day dawns as the lead chariot driver of the Hell Raiders, known only as “The Scarred” to his teammates and fans alike, rises to the sound of the baying of diameden horses hitch to the machine of carnage – donning his black leather mask, presumably to conceal the scars he is known for, he throws body parts from yesterday's virgin sacrifices to the flesh-eating stallions before inspecting his rig: ensuring that the wheels are oiled, the scythes are polished, the reigns and rigging are in good condition and that there are sufficient javelins in the quivers along the sides for the crew before he joins the rest of the team in the cafeteria for breakfast.
“So what's da rig lookin' like?” asks a massive orc clad in leather armor with protruding spikes from the shoulder pads as “The Scarred” enters the room and heads towards the table. “We don wants da rig to give out on us in the middle of da fight, ya know?”
“All is well Tharook” replies the masked racer - “if you still have your javelin arm in good shape, there will be death a plenty this day.”
“Good ta hear – da Hell Raiders haven' had a real derby since Ajaxan got his manhood taken by dat amazon and we betta not suffer for it wit a driva who never been in a real fight wit us before” the orc continues. “Da boys and I gonna grab us our gear and head out, so have the rig ready to go!”
“Right after I have a bit of sustenance, ok?” the chariot driver retorts to his team captain as he approaches the buffet table – upon which lies a spread of cheap fast food items from McBurgerprince: Egg Princemuffins, Virgin McCroissanwiches, toast sticks, griddle cakes and many more – items that he has become all too familiar with in a former life. After inhaling a couple of items he chooses not to pay too much attention to, he represses the horrible memories affiliated with them and heads out to the track for final inspection before the Sentinel Hill Death Derby begins.
“Today is the day...” he chants to himself as a mantra as he exits the door – a day of bloodshed, a day of retribution for all that has befallen him...
***
The Lord of Evilland finds himself sweltering beneath the stage lights of the set – a far cry from the field of battle or the halls of his lair, the studio of the Major League Death Derby's “Chariotworld” is a world where the seer stones are always on and only those who keep their cool under pressure last: traits that the emperor isn't particularly known for...
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Across from the emperor's chair is a cyclops in a business suit with perfectly coiffed hair – after flipping through a few pages of notes, he turns to the Lord of Evilland to address him. “Sooo...” he begins awkwardly. “I see that this isn't your natural environment, so I'm going to keep the questions simple – only softballs about things like your predictions for the derby or which teams you favor. Got it?”
“The Lord of Evilland understands, but he would rather be spilling blood on the fields of battle or executing his enemies within...” the emperor quips in response.
“Ha!” the cyclops replies. “You are a funny guy! You might have a future in stand-up if this whole evil overlord thing doesn't pan out for you!”
“Wha-” the emperor begins to object before the director calls out a countdown.
“We are on in five. Four. Three...” he pauses as he signals the last two numbers with his fingers and points towards the seer stone to indicate that they have gone live.
“Greetings out there all subjects of Evilland!” the cyclops says enthusiastically into the seer stone - “I'm Gen Anchorman and welcome to the Sentinel Hill Death Derby pre-show! We have a very special guest with us today – our MC to host the derby this year, Lord Emperor Zhorg whom you all know and love as our favorite tyrannical overlord!”
“Just a minute there, one-eye!” the emperor bellows. “What was that about 'the evil overlord thing not panning out?' Are you implying that the Lord of Evilland hasn't proven himself worthy of the title after all these decades? Are you mocking him?”
“Whoa!” the cyclops exclaims as he raises his hands in the air to indicate surrender. “That was just a little bit of off-seer stone banter! A joke to relieve the tension of being in the public eye and all that – don't take that too seriously.”
“The Lord of Evilland takes all commentary on his performance as the ruler and master of all Evilland seriously, you insolent fool!” the emperor shouts in rage as he rises from his chair.
“Quick! Cut to commercial!” the director instructs his crew just as the Lord of Evilland leaps over the anchor desk and begins pounding the cyclops in the face. As the chaos unfolds in the studio, the audience at home is treated to a special message from Virgin-Mobil...
“Clean. Wholesome. Pure.” speaks a disembodied voice as images of a field of golden grain under a clear, blue sky plays on the holo-projector. “This is how our Premium Grade virgins are best described – we take care to ensure that they live their lives in communion with nature and with piety towards the eldritch gods their entire lives before they come to you” the voice continues as the scene does a fading transition to images of the virgins playing on wooden swings, blowing bubbles outdoors and saying their prayers to the idols of the beings they shall one day be sacrificed to.
“We care about the quality of our virgins because we care about you – the subjects of Evilland.” the voice goes on as the scene again transitions to the corporate logo. “Virgin-Mobil: keeping Evilland strong.”
The scene returns to the studio as a new anchorman sits at the desk – a bald ogre with highly-polished tusks and a deeply concerned look on his face. “Koraath the Consumer of Hearts says that he apologizes for the sudden interruption of this broadcast – it seems that Gen Anchorman has had an accident on set and is now indisposed. Koraath the Consumer of Hearts says that he shall strive to fill in for him until he is well enough to resume his duties...” the new anchorman says into the stones with a sense of despair in his voice as his coworker is hauled off set in a stretcher behind him: it can be clearly seen that his hand is protruding from his singular eye socket as he groans with agonizing pain while the medics cart him off to take full advantage of the medical benefits that his contract with Major League Death Derby affords to him.
“Koraath the Consumer of Hearts says that he wishes to say that Lord Emperor Zhorg had nothing to do with the accident whatsoever and to ask our esteemed guest today what predictions he has regarding the derby today – do you see one of the favored teams, like the Road Warriors, winning this year as they have over the past three years or do you predict an upset?” the ogre continues as he makes an attempt to restore a sense of normalcy to the set.
“The Lord of Evilland predicts that it matters not who the winner is” the emperor retorts - “what matters here is what teams shall score the highest in the carnage category!”
“Koraath the Consumer of Hearts says that he doesn't want to contradict the Lord of Evilland, but there is more to this sport than carnage – teams are also judged on ground covered over time, skill in managing obstacles as well as special objectives scores for completing tasks that arise as bonus objectives during the course of the derby” the ogre explains to the seer stones for the viewers at home. “As most of you are aware, the different chariot teams are released from the starting lines at different times: the teams strive to cover as much ground as they can in a short period of time while racking up carnage score via kills made on the course, but the course is ever-shifting with new obstacles constantly arising – bonus scores are given out based on the precision with which the drivers can deal with the sudden changes in the course as well as completing special missions that arise during the event: this allows for teams with slower chariots a chance to catch up without necessarily covering more ground – faster chariots might be less suited to these challenges and thus may have to forego them in hopes of covering more ground faster to score points for the derby.”
“Bah!” the emperor interrupts. “All these rules are why the Lord of Evilland despises the present state of the sport! This should return to the good old days where only slaying matters! In homage to those days, the Lord of Evilland shall reward the top five carnage score teams with a special honor – they will be given a chance to meet the Lord of Evilland himself after the derby, where he shall grant them a personal audience with them to make any request they desire: the request shall be granted to them on the condition that they agree to serve as shock cavalry for the forces of Evilland on the Lord of Evilland's next campaign!”
“Koraath the Consumer of Hearts says... Uh... That's...” the ogre stammers as he searches for words to answer this most absurd offer. “Certainly an... Interesting offer being made to the participating teams. Let us now go to Grubby Paws down at the stables!”
“And cut!” the director calls.
“The Lord of Evilland demands to know how much longer he must be in the studio!” the emperor barks out to the crew filming this event. “He has other things to do!”
“Koraath the Consumer of Hearts says that his colleague Mr. Paws will interview the derby teams at the stables as they prepare for the event and then the director will cut right back to us – this should take about ten minutes or so” the oger explains to the emperor. “However, a certain level of insightful commentary will be expected from us here in the studio and Koraath the Consumer of Hearts believes that you aren't prepared to offer much commentary on the derby participants.”
“What's all this 'insight' nonsense about anyway? The Lord of Evilland only watches this sport for the bloodshed – as does most of Evilland!” the emperor dismisses the ogre's concerns. “So long as there is a high body count and the deaths are graphic, the average viewer will be content and thus distracted from the grim realities of living in Evilland!”
Just as the emperor finished his commentary on the reality of the socio-economic function of sport in his kingdom, an upbeat, high-energy tune can be heard coming from his pocket. “ Koraath the Consumer of Hearts says that he wants to ask if that's the opening theme of 'Hunnypow' playing there?”
“What? Absolutely not!” the emperor objects. “One of those buffoons must have changed the Lord of Evilland's ringtone as some kind of joke! There is no way that he would ever be affiliated with that degeneracy! Now leave as the Lord of Evilland must take this!”
“Master!” the enthusiastic voice of the emperor's intern exclaims once he answers his Istone. “I am at the photography studio right now – I just got word that your interior minister pulled some strings to make me the cover girl for “Chariotworld” magazine! I'm gonna be a star! Aren't you happy, my lord?”
“Ah, yes – the Lord of Evilland is most certainly happy to hear that his minion has such a lucrative contract from which his own personal account shall be replenished” the emperor responds. “After all, fresh virgins don't grow on trees...”
“Oh, I wish that you were here right now to see it – I've got a whole rack of teeny, tiny little outfits and would just love to model them for you before every teenage boy in Evilland takes my photo into the toilet with him, but I'm sure that you're pretty busy right now...” Lavinia answers with a bit of longing in her voice. “Anyway, just know that I'm thinking of you – wish me luck, master!”
“Of course – go forth and generate those profits for the Lord of Evilland!” the emperor replies as he hangs up the Istone. The Lord of Evilland hopes that this is all worth it – he has much debt to cover before he can launch a new campaign against those pointy-eared bastards that spoiled his latest victory... he silently muses to himself as he prepares for the live feed to return to the studio.
***
The goth intern puts her Istone back into her purse just as the director of photography – a greater demon of Chorneesh named Asmodeth – enters her dressing room: a lanky being standing over eight feet tall with a distended head more than two feet in length, bearing concentric rows of elongated, razor-sharp teeth capable of easily peeling away flesh from bone. “Alright my succulent little morsel of flesh, it's time to show us all your money-makers!” he exclaims with a high-pitched, lispy voice. He extends his long, gangling arm wrapped in a purple and gold exoskeleton towards the clothes rack and pulls out a pair of red short shorts with a black-and-white checker-patterned tie-off t-shirt. “I think this will go very well with some black sandals for some leaning shots against the new Bodyshredder 3,000, don't you agree you tasty, little snack?”
“Tee Hee – you are just too much!” Lavinia banters playfully with the physical manifestation of a being that devours humans body and soul. “But these shorts do highlight my ass cheeks pretty well – perhaps you can get some cheeky photos from behind as I lay myself on the front of the chariot? And the shirt pushes up these B-cups of mine, accentuating them for poses against some rather suggestive portions of the chariot's build to remind the readers of some... Other portions of the male anatomy, if you catch my meaning?”
“You have a dirty mind, hon!” the demon chides the goth intern. “And that's why you and I will get along so well – we'll start with that outfit and then try on some others for size after looking at the images the stones capture.”
The next few hours consist of Lavinia sensually caressing the body of a chariot in numerous poses as the photographer plies his trade – shots of the goth intern-turned-model lying prone upon the top, leaning against the front with crossed arms her rear protruding out towards the photographer, pressing her bosoms into the javelin quiver whilst suggestively licking the heads of the protruding javelins and many, many more are taken in various outfits pulled from the rack as the two quest for the perfect cover girl glamour shot. After a while, the amateur model begins to sweat profusely under the heat of the stage lights.
“You know, the lights in this studio are starting to get to me – maybe I should take a few minutes to re-hydrate before going on...” Lavinia remarks as the sweat flows down her barely-covered form.
“Well, we have been at this for some time and all but the heat of the lights really accentuates that cute, little bottom of yours” the demon comments. “I can almost taste the juices now just thinking about how good it would be if it were roasted in a marinade of olive oil, garlic and rosemary...”
“Ha! Good one, but this wouldn't be the first time a demon tried to eat my ass!” the goth intern retorts.
“Ok, we can take fifteen for you to refresh yourself” the demon concedes. “You are so lucky that you are a real natural for this sort of work – not too many new models have your instincts for how to make love to the seer stones! I swear that you would have no trouble making a career for yourself here if you wanted to.”
“Thanks, but I have other goals in mind” Lavinia replies as she takes a seat in a shaded portion of the studio after taking a water bottle from the cooler. “Honestly, I'm only doing this so that I can get the attention of a... Shall we say a very special someone...”
“Oh!” Asmodeth exclaims. “You have a lust for someone with status then! Well, you are in luck as I am an expert in such matters!”
“Yeah, I want my boss to pay attention to me – make him just... Take me!” the goth intern shouts with gusto. “I want to to finally see me as more than just a minion and to recognize that I can be his personal pleasure toy as well! Oh gods, how I desire for him to just grab me unaware, tear me out of my clothes like a child unwrapping a gift and then just release his darkest desires on me without me even saying a word!”
“Girl, what if I told you that I can make it happen?” the demon queries. “Chorneesh is a master of humanity's base desires and as a greater demon that serves him I have been given the power to manipulate those urges – for a price, of course...”
“Yeah... You see...” Lavinia stammers as she searches for a way to redirect the conversation. “I... I know the kind of deals that demons make and I find that they often charge far more that most folks are willing to pay. Besides, I would like to do this on my own: getting outside help would probably make the thrill of a successful seduction less satisfying.”
“Well, the offer still stands if you change your mind” the demon replies. “I know of quite a few humans over the centuries who have believed that they could achieve their dreams via a 'pure path' or what have you only to realize later that no amount of effort on their part would get them where they want to go. Just keep the offer in the back of your mind for now – and when you are ready I can drive your boss absolutely wild with lust for you.”
“I'll keep it in mind, but I don't know if I could do that” Lavinia answers. “At any rate I'm ready to get back to work!”
“Good to hear, hon! Now, let's finish up here and head on down to the track” Asmodeth elaborates. “I want to get some shots of you mingling with the charioteers before the race – not to mention the moment where you wave them off at the starting line. You must have some real connections to get that gig with so little experience in the industry.”
“Hehe – I know people who know people” Lavinia replies coyly - “now let's get back to showing my ass to a bunch on horny teenagers!”
***
The Hell Raiders bring their rig to the starting line – diameden horses reigned in by “The Scarred” as they await the opening ceremonies of the derby. “Me not get why dere's all dis pomp and blusta ova dis – would be betta if we just got to the killin'” Tharook observes.
“Bah! Let the humans have their fun – just take the time to savor the kill ahead” a wolf-man seated on the opposite end of the rig. “I can almost smell the blood right now and the checkered flag will free me to lap it up...”
“Relax Fenrik” the driver responds to the wolf-man. “Don't psyche yourself up too soon – the other racers haven't even lined up just yet. You know that all of us aren't released onto the track at once, so we have to pace ourselves.”
“You and ya pacin' gonna take all da fun outta dis!” the orc captain retorts as another chariot pulls up alongside the Hell Raiders' rig – one pulled by two massive boars and crewed by a trio of minotaurs. Shortly afterwards, yet another rig pulls up on the opposite side powered by a strange contraption pumped by a pair of goblins with four more of the same wielding short bows placed at various points on the rig.
“Attention all contestants” a loud voice calls over an amplifier stone - “the opening ceremonies for the race are about to begin. We request your cooperation for the proceedings upon threat of disqualification from the derby.”
“Well, here it is” the charioteer known as “The Scarred” comments as the Lord of Evilland takes to the stage set up just beyond the chariot path – a large stone structure with an alter in the center. Today shall be my day of reckoning – mark my words... the patient but wrathful charioteer says to himself in silence...
***
The Lord of Evilland doesn't really want to do this... the emperor muses to himself as he ascends the steps to the stage – the Lord of Evilland swears that Chorneesh only created this ritual to mock him for how he became the son of that arrogant bastard!
“And now, at this sacred site upon which Wilber Whateley himself was conceived by Yog Sothoth, we beseech the Lord of War, Bloodshed and Carnal Pleasure himself to bless our contestants before the derby” the voice on the amplifier stone announces - “our very own Lord Emperor Zhorg will now defile the ceremonial virgin, generously provided today by Pizza Shed: now entering all customers who purchase two medium pizzas or more into a drawing to win a Bawr Bura figurine made available by our partners at Hellolive – while supplies last, no purchase necessary to enter, offer is void where prohibited and Pizza Shed takes no responsibility to injuries or deaths incurred as a result of this contest” the announcer continues as a young girl in a white dress ascends the opposite side of the stage and approaches the alter.
“It's such an honor to be part of this, my lord!” the innocent virgin exclaims with joy as she approaches to alter and bows her knee to the Lord of Evilland. “My body shall be a sacred vessel for your pleasure and the pleasure of your father Chorneesh!”
“Shut the fuck up you stupid girl!” the emperor bellows as he smacks the virgin across the face before seizing her - “you have no idea what this rite even means!” he shouts in fury before he throws her delicate form into the stone alter erected on stage. He leaps upon her body, tears the white dress of the virgin from her form and proceeds to defile her before a cheering audience of drunken Death Derby fans as they celebrate the unholy ritual taking place before them: some throw flowers to the stage, others chant profane quotes of unholy tomes and still others wave signs with messages that read “Chorneesh 3:16” or “Necronomicon P. 751” - all reveling in the destruction of innocence while being completely ignorant to the true significance of what they are seeing.
Once the Lord of Evilland has finished the deed, he immediately jumps down from the alter – shaking his fist towards the spiral-shaped stone placed above. “Are you happy now father?” he angrily questions the stone. “Has not the Lord of Evilland pleased you today with your painful mockery of him? Answer him!”
***
Lavinia climbs the observation tower at the starting line with checkered flag in hand – ready to wave it and start the race upon the completion of the ritual below. I wish that he would do that to me... she yearns to herself in silence with a tear rolling down her cheek as she observes her idol deflowering the virgin on the alter. Once the emperor shakes his fist at the spiral-shaped stone, she notices the skies around her growing darker and eventually turning from blue to crimson: an otherworldly light of violet and gold begins emitting from the spiral-stone and a loud, echoing voice fills the air from no apparent source. This is my son in whom I am well pleased! the voice speaks menacingly as a giant claw comes from the spiral stone and takes the virgin from the alter, followed by the violet and gold light leaping from the stage and settling upon the chariot crews gathered on the track – a sure sign that this event has been blessed by the eldritch god!
With the settling of the light, Lavinia waves the flag – sending off the fist wave of derby contestants on their three-lap journey around Sentinel Hill: a place of awe and mystery filled with obstacles like no other place in all of Evilland – a place touched by The Key and Keeper of the Gate himself and hasn't been quite the same ever since...