The Master's little hoptoad of death, apparently, has yet another weapon in his arsenal. In addition to scales capable of deflecting every item of potential harm in this school of doom, in addition to claws and teeth capable of rending the very fabric of life, in addition to breathing flames capable of burning diamonds as soon as making 'toast'... the little vessel of Armageddon is able to teleport things at will.
I saw it this morning while I was polishing the Master's collection of weapons grade solvents and reheating her tea. One moment I was scouring out the last vestiges of bacterial life from the fragile glass walls of a bottle labled "H2 SO 4"(funny name for what Stitchface used to call 'facemelt'), and the next, there's this completely unrelated, entirely coincidental, smoking hole on the table.
Aaaaand..... the rest of the bottles may have fallen when the table gave out.
And there was "Spike," suddenly armed with a rolled up piece of parchment with a coin or some other nonsense glued to it, happily running up the stairs to find the Master... leaving the nostalgic scent of brimstone and burning.
If I had known he could do that, I'm fairly certain our earlier interactions would have gone much more smoothly.
The dragon can breathe fel flames.
And aside from the glass and blisters from the broken jars and beakers, I couldn't be happier: I might have an ally after all.
I don't know all the particulars about the Master's plan, but she is apparently going to be away for the day to 'meet' with the royalty of the land. Finally, some indication of her ultimate goal of conquest comes to light!
Finding out that she is, not only, planning to meet with this 'princess', but to 'visit' her castle and 'discuss recent events over tea' just makes my little heart burneth-up with joyful malice. Finally, FINALLY, there will be some sensible social interaction here.
The Master will go on her little visit. The 'princess' will confront her with evidence of her treachery. The Master will deny it and attempt to flee (hiding one's true ability is paramount to proper villainous accomplishment after all) only for this 'princess' to call for her guards. Having no choice but to defend herself against a 'wrongful' accusation, the Master will unleash destruction, the likes of which this ignorant bitch has never imagined.
The 'visit' will be brief. The guards, doubtless lackwits with sunny dispositions and the combat readiness of a bowl of oatmeal, will be dispatched with only a delay for the inevitable monologue to reveal the Master's true plans.
There will be a scream, somewhere, the gates will come slamming down, and then finally, the real threat will be revealed in all its marvelous majesty.
My Master will climb upon their lifeless bodies, standing proudly upon her throne of corpses, and look down upon this 'princess' with a sneer and a dark chuckle.
And just when everything is going so right, some idiot 'hero' will leap in, magic flying and weapons blazing in righteous glory to try and stop her. The real fight will begin and then she'll call out for her minions. The 'hero' will stand firm, calling her bluff, before the very walls will tremble at their approach.
She'll pull herself up, and with a snort of contempt, fling the 'hero' up against the pitiful throne of the 'princess', forcing the idiots to behold her terrible power as the windows explode and the throne room door crumbles under the relentless assault of her minion horde.
Demons and devils will pour through! Felhunters and Succubi, Infernals, maybe even a voidwalker or two (just for show... she clearly doesn't need damage mitigation). Terrorguards, Doomguards, Abyssals and Shivarra. Voidlords, Observers, Wrathguards and at least a few Fel Imps. The swarm of wild imps will be just like that party a few months back and I'll finally get to peel some idiot's face off their skull!
And through it all, she'll be cackling and throwing death and darkness out across the land, forcing the 'princess' to watch as her realm comes to naught but ruin and woe!
Oh, the wonderful tastes of home!
...
I realize I might have gotten a bit carried away with my daydreaming when the Master calls me back to the here and now.
I assure her that the cackling was just evidence of my pleasure at her enjoying her morning tea.
...
The Master has left.
The Master has left 'Spike' in charge of the lair.
The Master has left me behind... to 'assist' 'Spike'.
I won't get to see her overthrow of the realm.
I should have seen this coming.
The Master is evil.
We have been shelving books for the past 4 hours.
Correction: my genocidally inspired warden has been shelving books for the past 4 hours while I have been re-shelving books for the past 3 hours and 52 minutes.
There may have been a slight disagreement as to if I was allowed to follow the Master. The, possible (but unconfirmed), disagreement may have been the result of a set of unclear rules and expectations that maaaay have slightly conflicted with existing expectations. Such a potential, and by no means recorded or reported, disagreement would most certainly not have resulted in a number of small explosions, falling bookcases, or any assortment of weighted objects being released at high velocity due to an unfortunate stumble down a flight of steps.
Such a thing would simply be unconfirmed and vulgar rumor... because I have been following every rule laid out for me by my Master; one of which is explicitly stated as that I am "not to be naughty."
The Harbinger of Doom can back me up here.
It's been nearly forty minutes since we finished 'cleaning' the lair of the Master. 'Spike' has gone off to 'make some dinner' and left me to 'tidy up the lab'... a task which reminded me of this morning's discovery.
Funny thing about 'facemelt,' when you don't mop it up or neutralize the acid, it apparently can dry up into an acidic powder which becomes even stronger when exposed to moisture. As a side note, after hopping across a freshly mopped floor, the surfaces of my feet apparently count as moisture.
After taking care of the discomfort (fire seems to clear that right up), I realized that the table and the Master's collection of chemicals were just the thing to occupy my time. After all, I had been present when the death lizard had demonstrated his summoning abilities, and I was, therefore, at least partially responsible for the destruction of the Master's table. Marginally responsible. Fairly unrelated.
I did nothing wrong, it was the contents of the beaker.
So, with a tentative plan formed, I darted up the stairs to the main level, scouted the main chamber for intruders or captives (still haven't found the Master's collection of Soul Shards), and sought out 'Spike.'
He was sitting on a pillow, one claw hooked around a scoop he'd likely used to gut and clean countless victims, the other clawed hand grasping a small colorful box that shed white smoke with the same subtlety of fel taint, and reading from a tiny tome of colorful depictions of wonton violence.
I KNEW IT!
I FRAKKING KNEW IT!
Finally, we're getting somewhere. I could almost hear the boys cheering back in Embershole, could almost smell the sulfur pits and the crisp tang of blood boiling over brimstone. Finally, a taste of something I actually could wrap my head around.
He was studying methods of combat.
I approached slowly, because one does not want to startle a dragon... any dragon... but especially the enthralled infinite dragonflight butler of a powerful warlock whose insanity branches far enough to include 'food safety' in a checklist for her demons when absent.
He seemed calm, other than the bladed end of his tail that twitched back and forth occasionally.
Tails: GREAT indicators of the mind.
Terrorguards have them. Felhunters have them. Succubi have them. Dragons have them. The Master has one.
Tails are great indicators of the state of the mind. 'Spike' appeared outwardly calm, but the tiny twitches of his tail told a different story. He was sitting there, but his mind was hunting. His thoughts were leaping over barriers and weaving between defenses. His mind was dodging attacks and gifting merciless agony upon victims of his own choosing. This tail was responding to those thoughts.
He might not be moving much, but his brain was still whispering that he needed to counter balance that jump or compensate for eating that victim.
I backed away and crouched into a bookcase for the time being. It was not wise to disturb the infinite dragon flight... even if they were relaxing with a tub of ice cream.
While waiting for the mental massacre to resolve itself, I began glancing over the books we had reorganized. They were a bizarre mix, ranging from simple spelling books (both of the written word and application of magic) to advanced something-or-other for use in that-thing-that-nobody-cares-about. Why the Master had them all, I do not know.
The best I can guess is that she had collected them over the years, either as trophies of her conquests or as methods of applying her cruel tortures to future victims.
After seeing her responses to attempted murder, explosions, fire, and personal injury, both options were equally likely in my mind.
That being said, my plan required a very particular type of book... one that I should probably procure before addressing the minion of slaughter that was continuing to stuff his face with food stolen from the young, sweetened, and frozen for his pleasure.
So, with a quick check to make sure he hadn't decided to end me while I had been musing, I darted out and scuttled around to one of the lesser used portions of the Master's Lair.... the 'DIY' section. I'm pretty certain that's a typo she simply hasn't gotten around to fixing. "DIE" is clearly misspelled.
Regardless, I began to search titles on the carefully prepared tomes.
"Painting?" No.
"Gardening?" Pretty sure yard work is supposed to involve graves, so the book is clearly outdated.
"Sewing?" Only if Stitchface needed to reattach something.
"Chemistry?" Potentially, though the Master was already fairly well versed.
"Cooking?" Not unless the ingredients are screaming.
"Cleaning?" Some facemelt ~would~ take care of those stains around the drai... getting sidetracked.
AH!
"Home Improvement!" Perfect! If I can convince the bloody maw of wrath who's "in charge" of me that we can impress the Master, he might give me the leeway I need to get something worthwhile done. And all I'll have to do is disguise my plan in a neatly packaged little ploy to distract him away from the obvious.
With a careful glance back to his position, I snatched the weighty book from the shelf and darted into the kitchen to set things in motion.
It is done.
I've selected an enticing array of shiny objects, clustered them together and piled them into a vessel to tempt my warden. I've collected the silverware (which I had to unbend and polish after last week's attempt on the Master's life), and set out a sensible selection alongside the vessel. Procuring the ewer of fermented apple juice was almost too much, but I know that my task is worth any personal hardship.
I'll likely cry myself to sleep tonight, but it had to be done.
The kitchen window has been covered and the stove has been partially disassembled to let me get back at the pilot light that the Master secured after the bathroom incident. I've taken the liberty of lashing flower stems together to make a crude bit of piping and poked holes in strategic locations to create the effect I'm looking for.
The book is secure in the back of the breadbox and the kitchen table has been moved to the wall, optimizing the availability of the vessel.
Everything is ready... now I must simply tempt my warden, convince him of my plan, sway him to my side, and proceed with care until it all comes to fruition.
Wringing my hands, I take a moment for one final check before slinking to the door, peeking back into the main room of the lair, and sneaking out.
He is right where I left him, though a number of the small instructional tomes he's been studying have shifted from the 'unread' to 'mastered and only used for good memories or things to try next time' pile.
I cough softly.
What? I'm half a room away and I still don't trust him not to simply rend my face with those diamond crushing fangs.
I cough a bit more loudly.... still to no effect.
Finally, I gather the nerve to poke him in an effort to get his attention.
It works.
His head whips around with the speed of a ballista and glares at where I've poked him.
I am doubly grateful that I foresaw such a reaction since his look of anger slips to one of confusion. As his eyes track the broken quill stitched to the pencil, lashed to the duster, glued to the mop, nailed to the chair-leg, tied to the broken plank of wood from the door to the upstairs bathroom, his confusion finally shifts to an expression of incredulity.
SUCCESS!
I've garnered his attention and escaped death at the same time.
Once he spots me, on the other end of my makeshift dragon-attention-getter, he raises an eyeridge and simply asks, "Really?"
It was better than I could have hoped.
After a brief bout of panic, I remembered the reason I had disturbed him, and dash over to the kitchen doorway, pausing only to wave him over.
My joy at seeing the little monster blink a few times before starting to toddle over was just enough to offset the terror of realization that I was about to lock us both in a small room which may, or may not, shortly become a fuel-air bomb.
"So, let me see if I got this right," Spike said as he looked over the ring of flames sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. "You wanted my help in fixing Twilight's desk in the basement and you thought I'd need a sacrifice and bribe to agree?"
The imp, hopping nervously a few paces away, flinched briefly before nodding.
"And you thought it was a good idea to steal coins, some broken glass, a bunch of gems, three spoons, and.... I'm not really sure what that one is..."
"felblood gem"
"... um... right... and a felblood gem to convince me not to kill you while Twilight was away?"
Again a slight nod.
Spike stared at the strange little creature Twilight had been playing host to for the past two weeks for a moment, before resolutely pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling deeply.
"Okay. Let's get a few things straight here," Spike started as he looked up, "No one's gonna kill you. No one's gonna hurt you. And no one's gonna be just angry with you unless you do something that makes them angry in the first place! Ponyville's a NICE PLACE. Twilight's a GREAT MARE. And other than you stealing things and overreacting, the past two weeks have been remarkably calm for once."
Spike gestured slightly at the ring of flower stems that had somehow been turned into a gas-jet from the oven... which looked like some kind of precursor to an cult ritual or arson... depending on what caught on fire next.
"But stuff like this? This isn't helping you out here little guy."
There were a few moments of silence as the two watched each other, only broken by the soft hissing and crackle of the stems drying out further.
"So.... can we ~please~ stop trying to maim people and blow stuff up?"
A few more moments passed before the ring of flower stems finally ignited in earnest, sending a gout of flame towards the ceiling as the gas from the oven caught without the stems to act as a burner.
Spike looked up, watching the pillar of fire for a few seconds before looking down at the imp.
"You really do have some bad timing don't you?"
"So, when I hold up the table, you wedge the leg back under it and then I'll set the table down. You grab the hammer and I'll get it nailed into place and then we can have Inlay send over some thin panels to cover up the damage. Shouldn't be too hard."
The two looked over the pile of oddly shaped wood that used to be one of Twilight's lab tables, wondering how exactly they had both found themselves in this position.
The day had progressed rather smoothly after the fire in the kitchen, neither one of them wanting to upset Twilight when she made her inevitable return home. The clean up had gone remarkably well between the two of them.
While Spike had crimped the tubing for the pilot light, Gakham had scrambled around collecting smoldering bits and pieces. Between Spike's normal cleanliness and Gakham's particular brand of terror over upsetting the Master, the kitchen looked almost perfect.
Minus the scorch marks on the ceiling, but there really was very little either of them could do about that.
After the cleanup, Gakham had, once again, attempted to sway Spike to his 'plot to appease the Master,' to which Spike reminded the imp that Twilight didn't need to be appeased, so much as he needed to settle down and try to make her proud.
The resulting argument had been short.
Turns out that making the Master "proud" could be taken in more ways than Spike had originally believed.
Ultimately though, Spike managed to drag out what Gakham's original 'plot' had entailed... and he had been pleasantly surprised.
Three hours later and the broken and burned lab table wasn't quite back together, but it looked like all the major parts were there at least. All the chemicals and beakers had been carefully labeled and set aside, protected behind a filing cabinet, and all the equipment had been safely stored so they would have room. All that remained was to actually replace the damaged parts and reassemble the piece of furniture.
"So... did you happen to take notes on where each part went?" Spike asked with a half-embarrassed smile.
*****
We finally got that table back together. Wasn't easy... those blacksmiths back on Azeroth make this kinda thing look like cake: Pile up a bunch of crap, shove it onto a red hot anvil, hit it with a sledgehammer for a few seconds and BAM! Perfectly repaired whatever.
Turns out, I'm not a blacksmith.
Also turns out that Azeroth's apparently got some pretty special magic going on since Spike damn near blew a fuse when I attempted to light the table on fire and started swinging.
A few minutes of screaming and dodging and we called it a lesson learned... on both our parts. He apparently figured out that I wasn't just being a jerk.... more of a jerk... and trying to make his life difficult. I learned that even though he's stronger than anything should be, tougher than anything has any right to be, and more dangerous than a roaming fel reaver, he's actually pretty slow on those stubby little legs.
All things considered, it was a ... less horrible time than I expected.
Aaaaaaaand, once we got the flames put out, we found that if I spun the timber, his claws make for a passable lathe.
Never thought I'd pick up woodworking... probably from the whole fire thing.... you know... me being on fire and all, but we make a pretty good team.
The boys are never gonna believe that I tamed one of the infinite dragon flight. Heh... Damn I'm good.
Evil.
Whatever.
So, anyway, after the little death lizard conked out, I drug him over to a box of sand near the stairs and figured this would be my one and only chance to get rid of the threat, so, I lit him up.
No joke! It worked this time!
Fel flames all over, stuck to him like molten lava and got hot enough to melt the sand I'd left him on. Ended up with a nifty little puddle of glass and a very content little dragon.
Yep, I'm pretty sure we're good now.
Buddies... pals... non-hostile neutral parties at least.
Well, while he was busy rolling over and getting a nice cozy coating, I hopped back over to the table, intent on giving my Master a congratulatory prize for her subjugation of the realm. You know... that ego stroking thing I mentioned? Yep... that's me, making sure that if the Master's finally decided to make her move, she can come home to a prize worthy of a domineering, megalomanaical, tyrant.
I carved the basic spellwork to cast firebolts into the tabletop, then threw some little coin things that were just laying around in a glass box, into the box with Spike.
A few minutes later and I scooped them out with one of those fancy spoon things she had in the wooden case labeled "antiquities"... pretty sure that's a fancy word for "poorly made, flammable, spoon thing." Anyway, poured the metal into the carvings on the table, panicked a bit when it caught fire again, but managed to put it out with some of the left over sand from a box I found under a pile of rags, and my gift was done.
Took a few minutes to clean up the mess... can't let her come home to a messy lair after all, and it was just about time to call it quits.
So, I went over to Spike, dug under the box of glass, and carried the whole thing upstairs. Killed the lamps along the way, shoved him in the oven to keep warm, and pulled out a book to pass the time.
Hmm.... Cooking in the Gryphon Empire: A Beginner's Guide to Using What You Kill. Hey! Stitchface would've loved this!
It was far later than she would have liked when Princess Twilight Sparkle returned to her home. The visit with Princess Celestia and, unexpectedly, Princess Luna had spanned the entire day, bleeding from lunch into a series of discussions and eventually dinner before the trio had reluctantly broken for the night. All of this was something that Twilight understood. The Princesses weren't able to 'get out' much and, while they did make many public appearances, their ability to simply be themselves had been greatly reduced over the centuries.
On the upside, it meant that a private visit and tea could be a very enjoyable experience if one were relaxed enough to see the diarchs as anything other than near-dietic royals with the magic capacity to crush continents and paint at the same time.
That being said, after a long day of company, it was still a wonderful feeling to simply be home again, in Ponyville, with all its marvelously mundane little quirks.
As she bid the chariot pegassi goodnight, she smiled a tired, though content, smile and approached her library.
The stars were out, the moon shining down from among its glorious masterpiece that was the night sky, the streets were softly lit with lamplight, and the quiet little town of Ponyville seemed to be breathing a soft sigh of peace as she took the final steps up to her door, pushed gently, and entered.
The first sign that something was wrong hit her when she blinked back the utter darkness of the library, broken only by the soft light from the windows and an odd green glow coming from the kitchen.
The second sign came a moment later when her tired mind realized that Spike hadn't poked his head out or called down at hearing the door open.
The third sign was the smell of burnt wood and the faint crackling coming from the kitchen itself.
Swallowing nervously, Twilight cast a weak light spell and stepped towards the odd glow.
Faintly, she heard the sound of paper shuffling as she passed the decorative bust near the center of the main room. Ears perked, she searched the darkness for any other sound before continuing on.
Passing the door to her basement lab, the sharp smell of alchemical agents and the heavy scent of sulfurous brimstone assaulted her, causing her to almost stagger from the strength of the odor. A sense of foreboding set in as she desperately tried to force down a feeling of rising panic.
Slowly, she approached the source of the strange green glow.
Stopping just a hoof or two from the door, she swallowed again as the soft crackling coming from within was, once more, interrupted by the sound of pages rustling.
Stealing herself, she set her eye to the edge of the door, peeking into the room beyond and stifling a shriek at the scene before her.
Sitting on a small pile of gemstones and silverware, Gakham was paging through a gryphon cookbook while Spike lay unmoving in the oven, bathed in vicious green flames that roiled and spat like a thing alive.
The Master is Evil.
...
Heh... but at least she's starting to act like a proper warlock.