//------------------------------// // THE OVERGOAT HAS RETURNED... For Those Of You Who Didn't Know Already. // Story: ALL GLORY TO THE OVERGOAT!!! // by Bucking Nonsense //------------------------------// "So, who are these two?" Bray looked over to me as I watched the cavalry begin to dismount. As expected, they went about their work quickly, quietly, and efficiently, the mark of a well-trained army. If I was any judge, these guys were a vanguard, and there were likely to be more on the way. Somehow, I doubted that they were here just for Trog-Gob and his pals: If this was a vanguard, the full army was likely a thousand strong at least, and Gobby, his pals, and whatever bodyguards he had numbered only around a hundred, all told. These Trogs were expecting something bigger... ...And I had a sneaking suspicion I knew what it was. "I can't say for certain," Bray admitted, "at least not at this distance. I can't say I am familiar with every officer of the army. However, there's only one that I can think of who would ride at the head of a vanguard. I'm not sure why Trog-Hawk would be here, though: He's not the type to get himself involved in politics for any reason, so either he's been sent here under false pretenses, or there's something very big going down.." The Trog in question dismounted from his chariot, and with a slight flourish, extended a hand to the female Trog that had been riding with him. She accepted it and stepped down, and just that small action sent various portions of her anatomy moving in all manner of directions, an action that drew no small amount of attention from the soldiers nearby. "And Jiggles, over there?" I asked, utilizing a secret technique I had learned from a Buddhist monk to keep myself from staring at the show in progress. Yes, really. I'd just gotten out of a bad relationship with an extremely stacked girl, who had been able to wrap me around her little finger because I spent more time staring at her chest than paying attention to what she was actually doing. When we broke up, leaving me $50k poorer in the process, I paid that monk something like six grand to teach to me the secret of being immune to the power of the rack. Don't laugh, it works. I am immune to the power of boobies. Bray looked at me oddly, and then, to my surprise, began laughing, going, "Hee-ha, hee-ha, hee-ha!" Well, he was a donkey, I suppose. After a moment, he regained his composure, and then admitted, "That was a good one, master. I'll have to remember it, should I ever have a chance to do a flyte." He took a moment more and said, "While I cannot make out her face, those... curves are difficult to forget. She is Trog-Ella, a member of the Regency Council. She's a major power in the current governing body, and leader of a faction large enough to be able to challenge Trog-Gob's... at least, until you cut through his faction the way that a knife cuts through an apple. She's also an enchantress of significant power, as well as being a seer of things to come. She can be a powerful ally, or a dangerous foe." Of course. Alright, let me lay it on the line for you, kids. There are four kinds of ladies, generally, that have figures like that (There are probably more, but this is just my own personal experience here). There's the dumb ones who don't really realize that a figure like that can open a lot of doors for them, so they don't really do much with it, and only focus on making themselves pretty for their own enjoyment, rather than using it to get the things they want. There's the shy ones who are embarrassed, ashamed, or just outright hate the figure that they have, and treat it like a burden, rather than trying to use it to get the things that they want. There's the ones who accept that they have this figure, and treat it more like an ordinary characteristic of their body, like having freckles, rather than as a tool to get ahead. And then there's number four: The type with a figure like that, who aren't embarrassed about it, and who know exactly how much power it can give them, provided they are willing to use it. Like any power, this can be used for both good and evil, but the point is, as the song goes, 'They're Sexy And They Know It.' As Trog-Ella stretched, wearing a dress that did more to accentuate her curves than conceal them, and putting her assets even further on display than before, I noted the small smirk on her face. Yes, she knew exactly what she had, and she knew how to use it... and she had no problem with using it to her advantage. Brains, beauty, and power, both political and magical. A dangerous combination. I may have been unexpected, but the look of calculation that she flashed as she looked at me was unmistakable, even on a Trog's face: She was already working out how she might make the best use of my presence here... Dangerous curves ahead. I looked over to the Eidolon of the Grave, and used the link I had to the entity to send a request. Within moments, a group of undead arrived, carrying a table large enough to seat a dozen, plus as many chairs. I considered requesting refreshments, but I didn't think I'd want to eat food carried or prepared by the undead. Sanitation issues and all that. As the commander and the enchantress approached, I gestured towards the chairs, and said, "Have a seat, I am certain we have much to discuss." -------------------------------------- Ironically, it was the Festival that had brought this army here. "Trog-Gob was a fool, plain and simple," Trog-Ella explained in a voice so sultry that you could almost see the sex in it, "and sadly, so were his confederates." She took a moment to arrange her thoughts, and to subtly adjust herself, setting off a wave of ripples in her anatomy. However, I was utilizing still utilizing that technique I'd learned, which allowed me to continue looking her right in the eyes, allowing only peripheral vision to capture the show for later recollection. I think it upset her, somehow, that I was speaking to her face, not her chest. Regardless, I was not going to allow myself to be distracted by the jiggling, rippling, dancing flesh she had on display. I'll try to keep my descriptions of her chesticular acrobatics to an absolute minimum, going forward, but I'd be leaving out most of the scene if I didn't give at least some idea of what was going on there. And just so you'll know, she did all of it while sitting, and without using her hands. It was the feminine version of a male bodybuilder making his pecs 'dance'. "The biggest mistake the Trogs ever made," she continued, "was the breeding camps (Jiggle). With no regulating body to control them, each one focused on the 'production' of as many ponies as possible, with no consideration of the long-term consequences (Wobble). Within three centuries, there were over eight hundred thousand ponies, and those numbers continued to grow at a startling rate (Complex combination of jiggling and wobbling). However, after the twin princesses, may they rot in Hades for a thousand years, decimated our forces in the final battle, the number of Trogs were much lower (A series of bounces that would have made Studio Gainax proud). At the time of the last official census, the number of ponies was eight hundred thousand (A complex series of bounces so extreme that I swear that they switched places for a second there). The number of Trogs was only one hundred thousand (I swear, at this point, they were trying to detatch themselves from her body). Eight ponies for every Trog (How her dress didn't explode at this point, I will never know)." Yikes. That meant that, if ever there was a widespread revolt by the ponies, the Trogs were going to have a bad time. At this point, Bray was struggling, with minimal success, to keep from laughing out loud. Trog-Hawk had somehow gotten ahold of a tub of popcorn, and was just sitting there, enjoying the show. I'll admit, in a world without television, this was probably the most entertainment he'd gotten this month. "For that reason," Trog-Ella went on, "we have tried to do what we can to keep the ponies seperated, working, and perhaps most importantly, happy (Her chest performed an action similar to two beanbags filled with chocolate pudding trying to mate). Well, happy might not be the right work, but we tried to keep them from getting so angry that they might turn against us (The same as above, but now the beanbags were trying to reinvent the Kama Sutra). Any Trog with a brain could see what might happen if the ponies got fed up with the lives they lived, so we tried to inspire those who worked with slaves on a regular basis to use the minimum necessary force to keep the ponies working (Her chest performed an action so spectacular that, by all rights, the gonads of every male creature on the planet should have detonated)." "But then Trog-Gob came along," I inserted, "and started convincing others to start treating ponies... poorly. But it took you, what, two years to get around to doing something about it?" The fact that I was able to keep up with her explanation, and was able to actually insert something relevant, seemed to stun her. It was probably the first time that had happened since she reached puberty. After a moment, she recovered, although her chest ceased its acrobatics for a bit. Trog-Ella nodded, and said, "Indeed. Admittedly, Trog-Gob's power bloc made it hard to take action against him, as the last thing we wanted was to risk a civil war. However, five nights ago, I had a vision of what may come to pass. I have had such visions before, but never one of such clarity, or of such terror. I foresaw the festival, and all the wicked works done there. Then, suddenly, I saw the Trogs and ponies changing places, with the Trogs there experiencing the fear and terror that the ponies had once felt. Were it to stop there, that would have been enough, but then, I saw a wave spread across Tambelon, and within it, I saw the breaking of chains. I saw ponies rising to claim power. I saw the end of the world as we knew it... and then a new one take its place." So they'd marched an entire army here to stop the festival. The vision she'd had implied that it would be an event that would start the very thing that they'd spent seven centuries trying to prevent. Ghandi had once used non-violent methods to show the British that controlling India was impossible when the difference between the armed forces occupying the country, and the native population being subjugated, is too large. Had anyone other than Ghandi had lead the charge to get the Brits out, it would have been a bloody, brutal war. It had almost ended up that way regardless, but in the end, it had worked out. Likewise, Nelson Mandela did similar works in South Africa. The point is, history is filled with instances where a non-violent majority was able to overrule a powerful, domineering minority. However, there are far more examples of violent revolutions than peaceful ones... Somehow, I doubted that there was going to be a pony-Ghandi showing up at a time like this. Ponies all across Tambelon had been mistreated by Trog-Gob's faction, literally tortured to death for the entertainment of their so-called 'betters'. When you have a justification like that, no one would have a problem justifying murdering as many Trogs as possible, up to and including all of them. A slave revolt would have likely meant the extermination of the Trog race. The ponies might take casualties, but the result was going to be more or less one-sided, even if the Trogs did have magic users at their disposal. Mages are a squishy lot, for the most part. The jiggling began again as Trog-Ella said, "But your arrival here has prevented that vision from coming true..." I forestalled another round of what most males would consider the greatest show on Tambelon by saying, "I suspect your vision wasn't a prediction of a slave revolt. Rather, it was a prediction of my arrival. It is past time that the slaves were set free." Bray suddenly stopped with his muffled laughter, and Trog-Hawk set down his popcorn. Trog-Ella gave a startled, "WHAT?!" Unable to resist, I said, "Oh, I'm sorry, you may have had difficulty in hearing me. My understanding of Trog anatomy must be lacking: I didn't realize that you use those things to hear." I quickly climbed atop the table, and stuck my head into her cleavage, shouting into her chest, "I SAID, IT IS PAST TIME THAT THE SLAVES WERE SET FREE!!!" I thought I heard Trog-Hawk chuckle as I, with a certain amount of regret, pulled my head out from between the two of the seven wonders of Tambelon. I know for a fact that Bray was laughing his ass off. Trog-Ella blushed furiously for a moment, but then, after a few seconds, she gave a small laugh, and admitted, "I've acted quite the fool, haven't I?" "You were shaking your teats at a goat," I answered, as I took my seat, "in an attempt to seduce him. There's a very, very large number of things that I could call you, fool not the least of them." I chuckled, then added, "I applaud your eagerness to get my attention, but if you want to really impress me, it isn't that hard: Produce excellent results. Exceed my expectations. Do better. I don't expect to be able to free the slaves instantly, but it is going to happen. If not by the end of this year, then definitely within the next three." Why can't I just wave my hoof and instantly proclaim the ponies free? Well, technically I could, but it would be a very foolish thing to do. Why? Well, consider this: You have Delta Force go into a prison camp, deep in enemy territory. They take out the guards, get the keys to the prison cells, and open the cage holding the guy they were sent to rescue. They then toss the guy a knife, a compass, and a crude map, and then rush back to their helicopter, high-fiving each other and congratulating themselves on a job well done all the way. After all, they freed the prisoner, right? Navigating his way through hundreds of miles of enemy territory, with no actual training or further aid? That was all the freed prisoner's responsibility now. If you can see everything that is wrong with that picture, I hope you can see everything that was wrong with just freeing the slaves instantly without any preparations whatsoever. You had to walk before your could run, and you had to crawl before you could walk. I would need time for the ponies to be made ready to embrace freedom. But I'd need a good reason for why, as well... "I have spent the last thousand years dead," I continued, taking a moment to sort my thoughts, trying to frame this properly, so it would sound like a proper overlord. "Death brings clarity, and clarity brings perspective. I was so short-sighted before. I brought an entire world into the realm of shadows, and then tried to use the resources of that world to conquer a small, insignificant little country. All for the sake of a meaningless grudge. A millennium ago, I saw the vastness of the cosmos, a potentially limitless number of worlds, with tremendous natural resources that were ours for the taking, and I failed to see what could be done with them. I was blind: With the power at my disposal, we could have an empire that spans worlds beyond counting. But we can hardly do that if we're fearing a slave revolt at every moment of the day. Slavery might, at one point, have been to our advantage. But now? It is a chain that holds us back, that prevents us from reaching our full potential. Whether Trog or pony, donkey or goat, I say that we are all Tambelonians!" A pointy-toothed grin crossed my face as I said, "So, l say, let us break these chains. Let us work to free the slaves, so that we may free ourselves. Let them be made an equal part of my empire, that they might work to their fullest to spread our glory far and wide." I stood, struck what I felt was a dramatic pose, and proclaimed, loudly, "'Ad innumerabilis mundos ad regnum tangit fimbriam infinitum.' To worlds beyond counting, to a kingdom that touches the edge of infinity!" Yes, I know Latin. I'm awesome. Why wouldn't I know Latin? The stunned silence that followed was broken when Trog-Hawk began to applaud, followed by Bray, and then Trog-Ella. And then dozens more, followed by hundreds. I looked behind me, and say that the ponies who had been watching Trog-Gob's punishment were now looking intently upon me, admiration in their eyes. They must have overheard when I'd said I planned on freeing them, and everything that came after it. I looked over to where the soldiers had been setting up camp, and saw that they, and their mounts, were applauding as well. Given that they'd probably been enraptured by the show Trog-Ella had been putting on, of course they'd caught all of that. I smiled to myself as the applause grew louder, and soon turned to chanting. "Grogar. Grogar. Grogar." Heh. Nailed it.