The Economic Woes of the Lord of Evilland
The Sentinel Hill Death Derby – pt. 2
At intervals of fifteen minutes new groups of rigs are waved onto the course to unleash death and destruction upon the course – Lavinia fulfilling her ceremonial role in sending them off as she puts aside her thoughts about her desires for her master. Once the final group was released, she descends from the watchtower to mingle with the crowd gathered to observe the event on the holo-projector set in front of the stands: every few minutes the projector switches views fed to it from the seer stones placed around the base of Sentinel Hill to give the audience a different perspective of the derby as the charioteers make their way around the unholy site.
As she enters the crowd with a box full of merchandise – commemorative hats in this case – to dispense among the fans, she makes her way over to the section where her roommates and best friends from school are seated as she passes out the hats. As she makes her way towards them, she hears a familiar voice call out her name - “Hey Lavinia!” a short, hefty fellow with brown, bushy hair shouts over the roar of the crowd from several rows above in the bleachers.
“Jimmy?” Lavinia answers in confusion as she didn't expect to see him here. “I haven't seen you since that whole Pizza Shed thing – what's new?”
“You saw that sponsorship of the opening sacrifice? My idea!” Jimmy replies with glee. “This partnership with 'Hellolive' and the Bawr Bura figurines is already paying off dividends – it's totally worth the extra 0.25 gold an hour that the bosses are paying me! Moving up in the world, baby!”
“Congrats buddy!” Lavinia calls back as she continues towards her friends. “Keep in touch, will you? I'm going places myself and would very much like to do some modeling for Pizza Shed later, so feel free to drop my name to your bosses!” she continues as she takes her place beside Audrey.
“Well, it's good to hear that at least someone is making it right now...” Audrey pouts as Lavinia takes her seat. “I'm still waiting on your boss to pay back the cash for the motel from that little vacation debachle – you have any idea how many losers I had to service to get that cash?”
“Come now Audrey! I admit that he's no good with money, but he does have a good side to him” Rach chides her. “He did come through for me when I needed him to do so, he will come through for you as well if you just give him time.”
“He was willing to watch you drown and snack on my Warreos as he enjoyed the sight of your naked ass being pulled out to sea!” Audrey retorts. “Yes, he did come through for you in the end but it took every ounce of willpower on his part to not kill you as he did so!”
“Come on, girls – can't we just enjoy the derby?” Lavinia chimes in. “Let's not dwell on who was ready to kill whom – the first special task is coming up, so get out your derby vouchers to see if you will be a winner today!”
“I can't say that I approve of this” Rach replies. “These events are just so barbaric and reek of crass commercialization of suffering – I think that they should be ended!”
“You might be right, but the truth is that no one with any measure of power and influence wants to do that” Audrey responds with resignation in her voice. “So you might as well pull out your voucher and see if you get anything out of this travesty because it's going to happen anyway...”
***
In the darkness of a tighly-packed crate, three prisoners await their fate – illuminated by daylight creeping in by a couple of small holes in the side of the wooden container, a small boy whimpers he curls himself into a ball.
“There has to be some way out of this” a frantic female voice mutters nearby. “This surely can't be the end, can it? There must be *some* justice in this world, right?”
“Make peace with whatever gods you serve” a male voice calmly replies from the darkness. “To act against the will of the Lord of Evilland is death and that is what we all face this day – I discovered that when I refused to alter the curriculum at the University of Evilland to cover up some of his more embarrassing moments.”
“But I just acted in self defense!” the female voice retorts. “He wouldn't take no for an answer and just kept forcing himself on me! Who deserves death for that?”
“You don't get what you deserve, you get what you get – take that young one over there: all he did was pilfer a loaf of bread from a baker to feed himself and now he awaits the end like you and I” the calm male voice answers. “Your fate is now out of your hands, so you might as well make peace with your inevitable demise so that...”
The male voice is interrupted by a series of loud thuds – footsteps of a giant approaching the crate. With a single motion the door to the container is torn open by a massive hand and the prisoners inside are immediately thrown from their resting places as the box is casually tossed over by the beast: the prisoners look up to see a massive rock troll throwing their prison off to the side as a row of goblin spearmen line the roadside – weapons pointed inwards to prevent the prisoners from escaping. Towering over the goblins is a massive marble statue of the Lord of Evilland depicting him standing atop to corpses of his foes whilst holding high the severed heads of Kommang and Barbarian and Blue Zonja.
All along the stretch of road before them this scene is repeated – each set of prisoners bearing different markings upon their garments: some marked with logos for “Friter Los,” others for “Notterfinger” or for “Dairy Way” or any other number of snack foods – all representing brands that have sponsored with special event.
The young boy, only eight years of age, looks down at his shirt to brush off the dust of the road to see that he is marked with the logo for “L&Ls” - as are his companions from the crate. “I... I want my mommy!” he cries out in terror as he falls back to the ground sobbing on his knees as the rumble of the chariots can be heard in the distance.
“No, no, no, no, NO!” the female prisoner shouts frantically as she throws herself to the ground and begins searching for a decent-sized stone on the dusty path. “That bastard who did this to me will have to live with that scar I gave him and so too will the bastard that tries to run me down here!”
“You can't be serious...” the male prisoners observes as he prepares to meet his end with dignity as all others on the road prepare to either run or fight the oncoming charioteers – he simply stands his ground with his arms stretched out, awaiting the arrival of his executioners.
Just around the bend, the derby contestants come into sight – the Hell Raiders leading the group: the orc captain readying his javelin to make the first kill of the event. He locks eyes with the female prisoner from a distance of about fifty yards as he steadies his aim. “You aren't getting out of this unscathed you fucker! I've dealt with ruffians like you in The Frothy Mug all my life! You don't scare me, you tiny little prick!” he hears the prisoner shouting at him as she casts the stones she found on the road at him with no success – once he comes into range, he releases his missile at his target before reaching for another one from the quiver on the side of the rig.
As the javelin flies towards the target, it splits itself into a multitude of projectiles through a special enchantment designed for this purpose – within a matter of moments, the prisoners face a hail of spears above them: the female prisoner takes two in her stomach before one mercifully pierces her skull while the older male gets three in his torso – pinning him to the ground in the position he stood in. The boy, kneeling and weeping for his now-deceased mother, finds a projectile going into his chest and just missing his heart.
“Mo- mommy...” the boy gasps as he desperately tries to pull the javelin from the heaving wound in his chest to no avail – he breathes his last calling out for her with tears in his eyes and blood dripping from his mouth before the great monument to the Lord of Evilland as the seer stones capture every last detail of his final moments...
***
“Dammit!” Audrey shouts as she throws her voucher to the ground. “Why did it have to be the “L&Ls” going out like bitches first? Why couldn't it have been the “Jit Jat” or “Three Rifleteers” instead?”
“Oh, the poor souls that gave their lives for our prizes...” the hippie girl laments at observing this scene play out on the holoprojector in front of the bleachers. “I now send out positive vibes to them so that they might take some comfort in knowing that their fates are mourned by at least one compassionate soul.”
“I don't think your 'positive vibes' are helping Rach...” the punk girl retorts as various other members of the crowd around them react to the events before them according to the vouchers they held. Within moments, a triumphant shout is heard from just a couple rows above them.
“Yeah! That bitch got what she deserved and I just won a thousand gold!” a large male human with a scar on the left side of his face cries out in victory. “There is justice in this world! I owe Chorneesh a brand new virgin for this favor!”
“Congratulations sir!” Lavinia replies as she rises from her seat to greet the winner of the special task sweepstakes. “Allow me to take you to the photo booth – we'll get your picture taken for the wall of winners and you will redeem your voucher for your prize!”
“Hmph!” the punk girl pouts. “That should have been me...” she whines as Lavinia tends to the winner of grand prize.
“Let go of your simple loss and join me in alleviating the suffering of those who lost all” the hippie chides the punk girl as she continues her mournful chanting.
“You are insufferable...” the punk girl retorts with a sigh as she watches the victor walk up the stairs to the exit with the prize that should be hers...
***
“Dat was a good start ta getting' some carnage points, huh?” Tharook observes as he finishes off the last of the prisoners sponsored by various snack brands for the special event – his javelins piercing the hearts of a couple of young girls wearing the label of “Twistlers” that sought to hide behind a marble statue of the overlord. “Let's go – we gots all dere is to kill here!”
“Next time I get to slice some fools!” Fenrik objects.
“We're keeping you in reserve for the next event” The Scarred chides the wolfman. “Better to hold off until we have a greater number of targets and we may be coming up on a small town soon – reality-phasing dependent. You know that this course can be more than a little random.”
“Well, either there's a town at the next course marker or I am gonna snap!” the wolfman retorts. “Gotta have my daily slaughter!”
“Ya will kill when we sayz you kill!” the orc captain sternly responds. “Its just 'nother quarter mile or so, only 'bout a half hour away!”
The wolfman and the orc continue their banter as “The Scarred” focuses himself on the road and on his internal turmoil – he just needs to ensure that his team gets one of the top carnage scores so he can finally come face-to-face with the one who took everything from him: the great fool in the red-and-black armor that destroyed everything he spent years building would meet his end this day if it's the last thing he does with his life.
Just as his mind began to wander into the specifics of his grievances, an arrow strikes the side of the chariot - “The Scarred” looks to his left to see a pump wagon crewed by goblins pulling up alongside them. “Ya not gonna out-kill us!” a goblin calls from the rig. “Da Blood Pumppas will be da ones that git da top carnage score today!”
“Fenrik,” the chariot driver calls to the wolfman non nonchalantly - “you want to get your daily slaughter, so please deal with these fools.” Without any further words, the wolfman leaps from the chariot and charges the pump wagon: easily dodging the archers' missiles, he jumps onto the opposing rig and immediately decapitates the driver.
“Git da fucka!” a goblin shouts in panic just before the wolfman slices out his bowels with a single swipe from his powerful claws. The remaining goblins, seeing that they aren't a match for the wolfman, jump from the rig in a rout only to be hunted by Fenrik and torn apart one-by-one.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The diamedan horses slow to half-speed as Tharook readies a javelin to lend support to hi teammate, but he puts up his weapon once he sees that the wolfman had completely destroyed the crew of the pump wagon – with a sharp whistle, he summons him back to the chariot before commanding the driver to head to the next marker without delay.
***
“And it looks like the Blood Pumppas are eliminated” the announcer's voice booms throughout the stadium as the crowd roars with cheers after witnessing the 'Hell Raiders,' a crowd favorite due to past performance, tear them apart. “Everyone with a wager form that picked the Blood Pumppas as the first team for elimination as part of the Orange Corporation Elimination Challenge report to the main office to redeem your prize – a brand new Istone version 15!”
“Wow, that was fast...” Lavinia comments as she continues to escort the winner of the last prize to the photo booth. “I didn't think that the charioteers would start going at each other until the end of the first lap and a leader was established.”
“I guess some folks are just really eager to get at what they want” the prize winner replies. “In fact, I think I see something I like right now...” he continues as he leers at the race queen beside him, noting her slender hips and small bust size that's barely covered by a pair of red shorts and a tie-off shirt. Just before he does anything else, the door to the photo stage opens and Asmodeth stands before the pair.
“Hey there honey! And hello hot stuff...” the demon of Chorneesh greets the pair as they enter before engaging in a passionate kiss with the prize winner. “See? I told you that this would work out – I got connections, you know.”
“Wait, you know each other?” Lavinia queries – unaware that her colleague had any connection to the winner. “Doesn't this carry any implications concerning conflicts of interest or anything?”
“Honey...” the demon chides Lavinia as he turns his attention to the new race queen. “I'll let you in on a little secret, ok? If there's a sweepstakes event, someone has found a way to rig it to benefit themselves – the only question is who will do the rigging and how.”
“So... You rigged this event for mister... uh... I didn't get your name sir” Lavinia stammers out as she processes what she sees before her.
“Oh yes!” the demon exclaims. “Allow me to introduce my boy toy Gruuther – he works as a bouncer at a bar I frequent, a little place called 'The Switch-Hitter' that caters to clientele like myself, and he was a little down on his luck after some chick refused his advances. So, I used my connections to see to it that the bitch got what was coming to her while my little piece of ass got a nice little compensation package for what she did to him.”
“Wow...” Lavinia whispers. “I had no idea that you had that kind of influence – how does a photographer get that kind of clout?”
“You know how there's lot of folks out there that just want a picture to commemorate an occasion, without thinking of the future consequences?” the demon answers with a question. “Imagine how many folks in positions of power will do anything to have some of those photographs just go away? Entities like me keep plenty of these on hand in the event that we need to call in a few favors...”
“That...” Lavinia pauses. “Is... So... Awesome! What I'd give to have that kind of influence – maybe then my boss would finally be impressed with me and make me all his!”
“Really, you already have a connection to someone for that – you just need to be willing to make the deal.” the demon responds. “But enough of that for now – let's get some photos of two hot pieces of ass for the wall!”
***
The rig of the Hell Raiders comes up on the first course marker with a few other rigs tailing behind them – none of them terribly anxious to engage them directly after seeing what became of the goblin rig that did so. Just beyond the marker lies nothing but empty road and the wolfman is quite distraught over this situation.
“Were's the town? There's supposed to be a town!” Fenrik protests to the orc captain. “I need my bloodlust sated now or there will be hell to pay!”
“Relax – it looks like a reality shift is coming just around the proverbial corner, my bloodthirsty friend...” the driver attempts to pacify the wolfman in his rig. “See that slight ripple effect over there? Just wait a few seconds for it to expand” he continues as he points to his right towards a strange phenomenon that resembles a mirage reflection: within a matter of moments this phenomenon expanded to cover the road – soon a series of small buildings made of wood and thatched-roof materialized along the sides of the road, and with them a population of halflings that appears confused about the sudden shift of their surroundings.
With the town now fully embedded in the reality of the Death Derby, the charioteers charge forward and proceed to slay all before them – the Hell Raiders deploy the wolfman to slay any pedestrians within a one-hundred-foot radius of the rig to the left whilst the orc dealt with large groups of passer-byes with his multiplying javelins. The other chariot teams deployed their own death-dealing implements: a rig driven by minotaurs charges straight into a crowd and mows down the halflings with their battle axes, a rig powered by a steam engine and carried by spider-like legs lights up a hose nozzle with a green flame and pours out liquid fire onto the buildings to drive the inhabitants out or be burned alive and still another rig pulled by a massive horned salamander with flames protruding from the mouth and nostrils carrying an old sorcerer conjures a demonic beast, standing over thirty feet in height and breathing hellfire, from a portal of shadow and flame that proceeds to destroy the longhouses around it with but a single swipe of its massive claws!
As this chaos unfolds around him, “The Scarred” continues forward – dodging wagons and street markers that materialized in front of him as his teammates engages in wanton slaughter. Then before him a pair of halflings appears before him – from the looks of it a mother and young child: the mother hunched over the younger halfling in an attempt to shield it with her own body – all for nothing as the diamedan horses pulling the rig snatch them up and proceed to pull apart flesh from bone as they continue running the course. The cries of agony from the little people ring in his ears as their blood flows in front of the horses, allowing them to leave ruby red tracks on the cobblestones as they head towards to edge of the little town that now lies in ruins from the derby contestants' rampage of death.
“That was satisfying...” the wolfman remarks as he climbs back into the chariot covered in the gore of his victims. “This should put us in the lead for carnage score for sure!”
“Just be ready to git killin' again at da next marker – I think it'll be a village of lil' pixies next” the orc captain responds. “I hear dat dey taste really good wit a bit of ketchup, so I'm gonna save a few of dem for a snack!”
The driver ignores this chatter as he dwells upon what had previously happened – how he had just destroyed so many lives in an instant for the opportunity to avenge the destruction of his own. But he reassures himself that there is no other way this can be: that he needs to fulfill the pact or else all he has done up to this point will be rendered a vain sacrifice. Needing a bit of reassurance, he produces from his armor a small, green glass bead to gaze upon it for a few moments before tucking it away once more before his teammates notice anything unusual. I swear once again before Tzurggle, the Decaying Eagle of Change, that I shall destroy this puppet of Chorneesh as he has destroyed me by the time this day is over... he silently muses to himself as he continues onward to meet his fate.
***
“Alright Mr. Gruuther – we got your photo on the wall and the thousand gold should be transferred to your account in the next couple of hours!” Lavinia happily informs the winner of the prize put forward by the L&Ls brand. “Once again congratulations and you are free to return to your seat at this time – enjoy the rest of the derby!”
“Oh, there's something else I wouldn't mind enjoying right now...” he replies with his eyes once again leering at the race queen in a lewd manner. “You wouldn't mind giving me a little bit of what you've got on offer now, would you?” he continues has he reaches around her waist and pulls her towards him.
“Oooh – very forward. I like that in a man!” Lavinia complements the aggressive nature of his approach. “But, unfortunately, I am off the menu right now and I really wouldn't want to upset the man who has first dibs on me, you know? Sorry to turn you down.”
“You know what happened to the last bitch that said no to me – you want to find out want can happen to you?” Gruuther threatens the race queen. “Let me give you a little hint: you don't...”
“Come now Gruuther...” Asmodeth interrupts the conversation before it becomes more awkward. “Let this one go, ok? I think that it's possible for me to make this up to you later.”
Gruuther pauses for a moment before releasing Lavinia from his grasp, bearing a scowl on his scarred face - “I'll take your word for it...” he mutters as he turns around and walks down the hall towards the bleachers.
“Poor guy...” Lavinia whispers softly. “I wish there was something I could do for him...”
“It's fine, honey” the demon responds as he places his elongated claw on her shoulder. “I'm sure that there's something you would be willing to trade for a favor – I've seen many girls just like you over the centuries who are hungry for success in some area of life and it's really just a matter of time before they decide to make a deal. When you're finally ready, you'll know how to find me and we can bargain then...”
“Lavinia!” a familiar voice calls from down the hall. “Have you seen Lord Emperor Zhorg anywhere? This is urgent!”
“Rorgaag?” the stunned Lavinia questions. “What's going on?”
“We have an emergency and I can't get him to answer his Istone!” the orc finance minister answers frantically. “Tell me where he is right now, girl!”
“Well, I haven't seen him since the virgin defilement ceremony – oh, what a ceremony it was...” she trails off as she pictures in her minds' eye the sight of her boss displaying his might and sexual prowess before the crowd. She remembers how he tore through her dress and hurled the young virgin to the alter before thrusting himself into all of her orifices and...
“HEY!” the orc shouts at her before giving her a slap to the face. “You can drool over your master later – I need to see him now!”
“Ow...” Lavinia interjects as her daydream was cut short by the strike of the orc's massive hand as she rubs her face to soothe the pain. “Well, my guess is that he's still in the chapel area – I know he likes to talk to his father at special events and that's the best place to do that...”
“Alright, show me the way!” the orc commands as he takes the race queen by the arm and shoving her in front of himself. “This can't wait any longer!”
***
The Lord of Evilland stands in a room lit only by a handful of candles with green flames – one lined with idols of the various deities worshiped by the popular religions of Evilland: Cthulhu who lies dead but dreaming in the city of R'lyeh, Dagon of the Esoteric Order, the great prophet Wilber Whateley the Son of Yog Sothoth and many, many more. But the Lord of Evilland pays attention to one idol above the others gathered here – the one of Chorneesh.
“Why do you torment your son like this?” the emperor questions the statue. “Over one hundred years since the day of betrayal and you can't allow the Lord of Evilland to live it down? Must you remind him of Miina? Of how he came to be?” he rants to a statue depicting a tall, lanky figure with a distended head bearing a mouth filled with needle-like teeth and four elongated arms holding in their hands axes, severed heads and goblets of wine.
“Admit to yourself that you love it!” a whispering voice from the idol responds. ”That day didn't change you into anything - it simply revealed what was already there. I merely showed you the truth of what you are - that you are capable of doing anything to anyone if properly motivated. And that all are willing to do such to you if it so suits their interests to do so.”
”The Lord of Evilland has long accepted that others will betray him, but you have taken from him his ability to trust. Yes?” the emperor retorts. It is by your decrees that Miina took it upon herself to betray the Lord of Evilland - you could have ended it all before it began!”
”You think my decrees are all about you and Miina”? the whispering voice inquires with disbelief. ”Surely you know that you aren't the first to face the Trial of Love I have established since this world was first formed - and you most certainly won't be the last, my son.”
"Even so, why must you continuously taunt him with reminders of this?” the emperor queries. “Every day, he is reminded of this day through the armor he wears - the blood of Miina whispering to him with jeering mockery! Is it necessary to remind him through the rites and rituals he preforms to sate your thirst for excess?”
”You of all men should know the answer to that...” the voice from the idol replies scornfully. ”Excess is the source of my potency, yours being no exception - in fact, the excess of men like you fuel my power most of all as you are inherently given to sating your base desires without much thought to the consequences. In other words, I exist because you exist.”
Filled with rage over that revelation, the Lord of Evilland pulls his axes from his back and proceeds to hack at the idol - leaving the statue a heap of marble rubble on the floor of the chapel as he stands over the pile. “You don't exist because of the Lord of Evilland! He exists because of you!” he barks at the rubble before him.
Just as the Lord of Evilland finishes his tirade, a knock on the chapel door can be heard followed by a familiar voice calling out for him. “My Lord, we need to speak to you! It's urgent!” the voice of the orc finance minister shouts through the door.
After a few moments the emperor takes to gather his thoughts, he makes his way to the entrance and throws the door open to see his finance minister and his intern-turned-race-queen standing before him. “And what is so dire that you must interrupt a conversation the Lord of Evilland has with his father?” he demands of his minister.
“My Lord, that monuments you had erected in your honor along the road of Sentinel Hill - the accounts used to pay for their construction are overdrawn!” the orc finance minister explains. “The craftsmen are looking to repossess them immediately!"
The emperor pauses to remember how he ordered his new statues - eternal testaments to his victories over the barbarian mercenary and his treacherous daughter, as well as his final victory over the debts incurred by the years of warfare by way of seizing the elven treasury which failed to materialize. “Yes. Those monuments...” he mumbles. “Just... Just tell the craftsmen that they will get their payment next month and go enjoy the derby.”
“But my lord, you remember who the craftsmen you commissioned for this work are?” the orc inquires. “They are specters! It's not about the amount of money, which is actually relatively small - it's about the principle of the bargain! They won't negotiate on payment dates and will just repossess them instead: today! In front of a crowd gathered to watch the derby!”
“So... You mean that...” the emperor stammers.
“Yes! This will alert the general public to the true state of our financial affairs - riots and rebellions will follow as the people lose faith in our ability to honor our debts! We need to deal with this now!”
The emperor sighs with disbelief as he turns back towards the idol of his divine father - which has miraculously reconstituted itself to its original form with no signs of fault or blemish upon it from the shattering blows that he dealt to it not but minutes earlier. “This isn't over, father...” he grumbles to the idol as its eyes begin to glow with a crimson hue and a muted chuckle can be heard emanating from it.
“Very well, ready the chariot and prepare to meet the collectors they send for the Lord of Evilland's monuments - the emperor commands of his minister. He shall remind them why he alone is the one who sits upon the throne!”
“And I'll go with you!” Lavinia chimes in. “Where my master is, so am I!”
“You are more valued here, minion” the emperor chides the intern. “Continue to dazzle those drooling idiots with your charming personality and sex appeal to put money into the coffers of the Lord of Evilland!”
“But...” she attempts to object before being cut off by her master.
“No buts! Your lord needs cash immediately and you are the best tool he has at his disposal to acquire it!” he corrects his minion as he rushes down the hall to his chariot, leaving the intern alone with her thoughts by the chapel door.
“I - I want you to see me as more than that...” she whispers to herself. Surely there's some way to make him see this, yes? she silently muses. Maybe there isn't and I should go straight to that demon photographer for his assistance - see if he can drive him mad with lust after me. Or at least look at me! What does it take to grab the attention of a man who sees me as a tool to generate money with...
Her thoughts pause for a moment as she processes the words of her master for another minute - with... My sex appeal! And charming personality! she finishes the thought. Is he starting to see me as a real woman? Someone he's attracted to? Someone he can take into his harem to ravage at his will? No, you are getting ahead of yourself on that last one...
With that thought, she makes her way back to the bleachers - walking tall with pride in knowing that her master finally recognizes a measure of worth in her...