8FOLD: Mighty Medley # 28, April 2016, by Messrs. Brenton, Perron, Russell, and Stokes

Drew Perron pwerdna at gmail.com
Mon Apr 25 00:53:31 PDT 2016

On 4/16/2016 3:29 PM, Tom Russell wrote:
> The Man With The Green Gloves speaks with our
> favorite traitorous Nazi necromancer; the startling implications of
> "they".

Oh, man, don't I know from those. <3


Awwwwwwwww <3

> Your humble servant wishes to record his excitement and anticipation
> at the addition of a new serial beginning in our next number, "The
> Science-Blades of Terra Alter", by Adrian McClure. This is welcome
> news as the conclusions to our two oldest serials are just down the
> road a spell.

WOO <3

>     Joan did recognise the being opposite them, at least in general
> terms rather than specific identity.

Oh that's bad.

> Rumour was that
> sometimes force fields were set up to constrict and pulverise their
> captives as a grisly means of execution. And that some sadists did it
> slowly.


>     The Man With The Green Gloves raised an eyebrow. "I won't say that
> I'm not angry. Your actions have caused the Scultzstaffel, the
> Reichsmages, and the Many Angled Ones considerable inconvenience.

AHA. I seeeeee.

> However here is the key point: In order to engineer
> this world into an incoherent nightmare we needed to harness the power
> of beings who could manipulate reality on a grand scale. These are
> sorcerers that we call Anarchitects, and only a small number of them
> appear each generation. They are a resource that must be carefully
> fostered."

Huh. Interesting.

> He contrived to look puzzled. "Who are the Many Angled
> Ones?"
>     Joan spoke up in a stern voice. "Qliphothic demons. They are
> abominations left over from when God created the universes."

Ohhhhhh. Dang, that's... exactly what I would have expected. XD

> Bunny twitches her pink nose at the weasel, Snuff. Mangy, scrawny
> little thing, always hungry, always angling, perpetually on the make.
> Nothing worse in this sorry irradiated excuse for a world than a mangy
> weasel on the make. Snuff is trying to give her six tabs for clearing
> out the bonesies on the far side of the brush. The deal was seven, and
> that means Bunny isn't leaving with less than seven.

...huh. Well then. @.@

> What it really means is that Pups is two steps away
> from breaking his neck. Step one: Pups lifts the weasel in his jaws.
> Step two...
>     Long story short, the weasel gives Bunny eight tabs for the
> bonesies. She paws them one after the other into her sack while her
> basenji gently lets the weasel down.

Fascinating. :o

>     There was a time when a weasel, even a mangy one, could appropriate
> his own eggs, but that was before the Last Human War. Now that
> chickens were radioactive, and grew to be five feet tall, and had two
> heads, raiding the coop was more than any weasel would ever dare.
> Point of fact, most animals were too scared and beaten down by life in
> the wastes to do much of anything other than be scared and beaten
> down.
>     But that just means more tabs for Bunny and Pups.

Now I'm wondering what part of the timeline/what timeline this takes place in. 
@- at v Fascinating.

> The Throne's occupant knew the daemons' true names -
> and knew how to leverage that knowledge in the most damaging ways. He
> was fortunate that the Librarian either did not know, or had showed
> restraint; Fn'ordh shivered a little as he tried not to think of the
> golden-eyed nightmare completely unbound, knowing the things she knew
> already.

I mean honestly this serial isn't as *explicitly* kinky as mine, but...

>     As Fn'ordh began sailing through the blackness, he looked down at
> the vault through the now-tiny circle - and was just barely able to
> hear a shout of alarm, before the connection snapped shut. Well, he'd
> just have to deal with that on his return trip, then.

I do love that sort of fastidious response.

>     "Not as sorry as you're gonna be," said Strife. There was a
> finality in his voice that told Adams the discussion was at an end.
> This gave Adams further time to ponder what on God's green earth that
> Strife had that would turn a man like Jack Peake into a shivering
> coward and toady.


>     "It's true, sir. He walked up to us, blood on his knife, said he
> was going to skin us alive." (The reader will remember that no words
> were uttered by "Peake", but the night's ride had embellished the
> man's memories somewhat.)

Naturally enough. <3

>     "Ned, please. Please. Don't make me do it."
>     "Hate you," said Ned.
>     "No. Please Ned. Not that. Anything but... ack!"
>     "Hate you. Hate you. Hate you," Ned said, wheezing with every
> syllable as he squeezed tighter and tighter. Then, Peake drove a knife
> into Ned's belly, and opened him up. The grip loosened.
>     Peake sunk to his knees, and stared at the body. "Ned," he said
> softly. "Ned." It then occurred to Adams what kind of power Strife had
> had over Peake.

ohhhhhhhhh. damn.

Drew "jeeeeeeez. jeez" Perron

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