> A Battleground of Kindness
>  by StormDancer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Obligations
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is nothing like the warm fuzzy feeling of being home on a cold autumn evening, propping your feet up on a comfy cushion and laying back in an overstuffed lounger while leisurely thumbing through a well loved book while the soft popping of hardwoods plays accompaniment to the spicy sweetness of a smooth liquor.

Well, except maybe for finding that schmo, knocking him out, gluing him to the chair and setting his house on fire only to throw some smelling salts in once the floorboards ignite.

Yheah... good times.

But, my enjoyment isn't really what you're here for. Yheah, I know that. I'm smart like that. I can read minds!

It's part of the job you know. Figuring out what people want and making sure they get it at any cost. 'Cuz at the end of the day, I'm still going to jump on the tab and leave some other mark with the bill. But in the meantime, well, I'm everyone's best buddy.

I'm your pal!

Your partner!

Your very very best friend!

You know what they say... friends will stick up for you, best friends will lead a stickup for you, and very best friends will help hide the bodies?

Yheah... I'm at least one more 'very.'

Like, seriously.... murder? Pffft. Childsplay. I'm all over that.

I, after all, am an imp... and until very recently, I was the sole minion of one, very accommodating, undead who just happened to be tangentially involved with an ongoing conflict between two warring factions.

I say 'was' because, while engaged, I had the misfortune of encountering a senior warlock on the field of battle...

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Suffice it to say that my brief adventure was, strictly speaking, not in my contract.
> Arathi
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A nice hot bath in the phosphorous pits with a toasty jug of ... something that vaguely resembled alcohol, and a relaxing flip through the latest edition of 'Corrupting the Innocent Weekly'. Soothing brimstone and the soft crackling of toys pilfered from that orphanage burning in the pit below the tub... such a nice evening.

The boys and I had been out playing a game of Shins with the locals when I'd felt it. That buzzy, itchy, kind of annoying pull that hits ya like a bloodcurdling scream in the middle of the night?

I was so surprised that I almost missed clubbing the little girl in the leg with my board (upgraded with a rusty nail!). After a few seconds to gloat, my buddies giving me their best smirks and scowls, I did a little back flip and completed the summoning on my end.

A little cloud of sulfurous smoke, a quick pinch of brimstone to make sure I was presentable and WOOMP! Right into the middle of a summoning circle.

I was beside myself.

Not only had my first 'master' decided to summon me without protective wards, but she was already dead!

I could roam around causing mayhem and never have to worry about a dam.... um.... the dead chick was moving?

Oh heck.... undead.




Great.

Summoned.

'Master" is some undead warlock nobody with enough sense to beat me senseless within seconds of the summoning.

Great.

At least her contract, and I use the term very lightly, is pretty loose.

Heh... ok. For a normal demon, it'd still be pretty tight, but for us imps there's a lot of wiggle room.




I love her. She's great!

As far as Malchim told me about his first master, the first few weeks are really just one string of torture after another. Long days of threats and longer nights of slaving away. I mean, yheah, I get it that we're only low level demons in the greater scheme of things, but we imps have a great turnover and conversion rate.

We're small, 'helpless' and 'easily controlled' enough that just about any idiot with a few pints of blood, the right tools, and a grudge can summon us up. The free labor and lack of civil rights just sweetens the deal for them.

But wow, did I ever luck out with this crazy little ball of spite.

Malchim's first month: cleaning out lavatories with his face.
MY first DAY: slaughtering wildlife, pillaging farms, looting corpses, and - get this - being summoned into a pitched battle against a troop of prissy flower tossing lily-loving tree huggers with some delusional attraction to a blacksmith forge on an island in the middle of a valley just large enough for idiots to fight over.

I mean, seriously? This place shouldn't even exist. There was a little cottage with a garden, a 'gold mine' only about 40 feet deep, a 'lumber mill' with a whopping half dozen trees and NO WOODS, and a little stable for the animals the valley clearly couldn't sustain.

I was in hell.... the good kind. These idiots were so desperate to wipe each other out that BOTH sides were summoning demons! I mean, I SAW Gildrim giving me the thumbs up when he popped in and started throwing fireballs!

Yheah, drinks were going to be good tonight.

And then, out of nowhere, this gluttonous ball of fat in a goofy black and white rug wearing a bear mask plugs my adorable little undead chick in the face with sword... on a chain.

I mean... WHO DOES THAT?

Sure, she kind of just pulled it out and hissed, but that's just rude.

And then some little keg swilling ham-for-hands midget wiggled his fingers and I found myself being forcibly ejected from that world.

Dimension.

Whatever.

I'm an imp, not some stinking mage with a library of self-important, personally irrelevant, notes of the nature of magic.

But, you see, the thing is that being banished with a loose contract kind of leaves you open to a few other possibilities.

Like someone with a better grasp of magic... or a better contract.

...

Or something.

> For the Love of Spite
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was painfully obvious exactly what had happened.

Some wildly powerful spell had plucked me, quite literally, from the aether, and plunked me down in some little po-dunk, no-name, backwater village with a well meaning, inexperienced, warlock.

If not for the disorientation of being pulled from the contract binding me to my lovely little ball of wicked (whose face I certainly hope can be stapled back together) with all the surgical precision of a fel cannon loaded with caltrops, I would have been all over that place.

I mean, whoa... LOT of magic there, but this 'master' made Stitchface look like a lawyer with how well their 'contract' was constructed. I mean... seriously... I have it memorized.

It goes like this:
(1)Help me clean up the library and
(2)find books and 
(2a)you can have some treats when we're done. 
(3)Don't be naughty.

That's it.

Bullet points actually, SOMEHOW, magically included. Never seen that before.

No lie.

Yheah, us imps get the jist of a contract even if it's not on paper. It's part of the summoning I guess, though some folks like to write their own with scorch marks on our faces or broken bones before listening to us beg for mercy, this one was an amateur.

I was sure I was going to be having a field day and just rolling in the angst with time for gloating and a little arson by lunchtime. The boys would have been laughing their little flaming faces off at the pub that night.

And then she screamed.

It was like hearing a bird choking on a rubber ball. You know, almost a scream and almost just saying 'scream'... and then she started freaking out sayin' 'nononononnonononononono' really fast. Must be some kind of cultural chant or something.

I was just rolling onto my shoulders to flip to my feet when, all of a sudden, I'm drenched in ice cold water.

From nowhere. Ice water. Just like that. Any idea how unpleasant that is?

So, of course, I screech out my displeasure as my skin starts to sizzle. A moment later, and I re-ignited.

Funny thing about brimstone, sulfur, and imps: we all burn nicely and have a pleasant aroma.

The warlock, apparently, didn't think so.

Two more drenchings, a blast of ice, and some weird red can with foam inside occurred before she figured out that my cussing at her wasn't from being burned alive. Sharp as a pillowcase full of doorknobs, this one.

She was apologizing and whimpering and trying to explain and panicking all at the same time.

I finally got the foam off my face and had decided that whipping around and screeching at my new 'master' would probably buy me enough time to just kill her and be done with it when I suddenly found myself airborne.

Not in pain from a clubbing or flipping through the air with a smoke-trail from a fiery explosion... but just.... floating.

And the strangest thing? Everything had a pinkish-lavender tint to it.

Whoever my master was, they were pretty quick though. I still couldn't figure out where I was, zipping past old wooden walls (nice paneling though, couldn't even see the nails) and so many books I briefly considered what kind of archmage wouldn't think of protective wards for a summoning. The only answer I came up with was rather disturbing.

One who didn't need them.

But that still left the matter of her surprise and ignorance. I mean, sure, demons aren't exactly run of the mill, but we're common enough that anybody with half a spellbook and a dead animal can call us up. We're not exactly hidden lore. Hell... some of my buddies make bets on who will beat who the next time their masters summon them to battle.

And then my thoughts were derailed again as I found myself being rapidly spun around, posed, and generally manhandled as some little golem poked and prodded me all while staring at me with its enormous eyes. And when I say enormous I really mean freakishly, mutated, anatomically bizzare, evolutionarily imbecilic, must-have-been-on-a-drunken-dare-for-that-polymorph sized HUGE eyes.

Great, not only was my new master an idiot warlock wannabe, but a powerful one... one who was skilled enough to create fully autonomous golems to work for them. Great. I'd probably be part of some giant, hidden, legion working in the shadows and competing with my 'fellow' minions to please their inexperienced heart. And if this thing was any indication, I'd probably end up the victim of some hideous transformative magic.

Figures.

I missed my rotten little ball of hate former-master already. At least she liked making a mess with the bodies. Something told me that this one would be contacting families, sending threatening letters, and monologuing if given the chance.

And then, it spoke.




"What are you?" the golem asked as it leaned in close. Like, seriously close. With those enormous eyes, it was either blind or stupid... perhaps both. I mean, let's see... 

Creepy little thing you don't know: Check.
It's on fire: Check.
It's got fingers like 5 inch long daggers: Check.
You've got giant, squishy, highly sensitive jelly filled looky-globs taking up more than half of your face: Check.

What idiot would put those two things closer together?

And what was even weirder was that it actually used her voice. What freak would make such a deformed golem and then take the time to give it a perfect copy of their own voice?

Well, actually, that's a pretty good idea. Make a golem to distract a victim, sneak up and do your dirty work and if anything goes wrong? BAM! Escape plan and scapegoat in one shot.

Crap. Whoever this was, was looking to be more and more clever by the moment. So, I did the only thing that made logical sense, I screamed, phased, and started lighting the dang place on fire.

It was great. Really. The whole place... up in flames in three minutes tops. Had her wrapped around my finger, begging for mercy.
That's what I told the guys.

That's what I keep wanting to tell myself.

Blasted golem had the whole dang place fireproofed for some stupid reason. I mean, not just the books or the stuff near the lanterns and candles, but positively everything. It's like she thought the place could go up in flames at a moment's notice.

And then I saw the dragon scales in the little pink and purple trash bin.

Frak. Not only was she a powerful archmage with her own WALK-IN library, not only was she strong enough to steal me from a contract, not only was she an experienced creator of very complex (though imbecilic looking) golems, but she was apparently in the habit of killing dragons for spell components... and fireproofing everything, implying that this was both a normal occurrence and that she was prepared to do so at a moment's notice.

This 'master' was all over the place.

Within moments, she'd SOMEHOW plucked me back into phase, yanked me over to the little table I had been prodded on, and the golem was staring at me with some weird look.

I think it might have been constipated really.

Next thing I know, I felt a very light tap on my head and looked up to see a loosely rolled, rather large, sheet of paper floating in the air about me with a very slight singe on it.

It took me a moment to close my mouth when I realized I had just been swatted with a rolled up newspaper.

Being blasted with fire, beaten with clubs, stabbed until the ground had more blood than my body, tortured, diseased, blown up, frozen, or even fed to some wild animal to keep the 'master' alive... those I understood. Warlocks are a notoriously feisty and self-centered bunch, but a newspaper?

I really didn't know what to say.

Apparently, the warlock was also a master strategist since before I could respond, the golem nodded its deformed head curtly and addressed me again.

"There. Now, if you behave, I won't have to discipline you again," it said as it's little mouth curled up into a disarming smile. I don't have to tell you how freakish that is really.... complete 180 on emotional scale in the time it takes to smack a DEMON with a newspaper. Psychotic warning signs EVERYWHERE.

I flinched, which apparently was the right thing to do because the next thing I know, it's looking sorry and apologizing for hitting me. If the golem's anything to go by, the master must be more unstable than a teacup full of kittens floating on an ocean of cat-nip.




Insane.

The master is insane.

I'm not even using mind-quotes for that anymore, this one takes the cake. What I thought was some disfigured fever-dream winged zherva turned out NOT to be a golem after all. That hideous thing is apparently the master. MY master. I'm a minion slave to some mutated purple horse thing that has the magical reserves to overthrow a demonic contract, manifest physical objects, maintain multiple spells at once, TALK, and summon demons because her 'assistant' was busy EATING DIAMONDS.

Did I mention that her 'assistant' happens to be a member of the Infinite Dragon Flight? The little monster is about my size and eats diamonds. EATS them. That deathtrap is her PET. It talks.. She keeps a pet dragon to do CHORES. Those things wiped out all life MULTIPLE TIMES because they FELT like it, and she keeps one around, trained to do chores, while it eats DIAMONDS.

I'm a demon, for all intents and purposes immortal, and I'm a bit passed scared.

That dragon's name is 'Spike" and he came back from wherever he'd been destroying life a few hours later. He was purple with a green ridge that ran from his forehead down his back in little blunted spines. Blunted Spines. That little abomination didn't even have the decency to allow his victims a quick death... and when he saw me, he just looked at the master and rolled his eyes before saying "Really? What did you summon this time? It looks a little scrawny." 

THIS TIME? She's done this before? What the heck has she summoned that made me look scrawny?

I know imps aren't the most impressive demons out there, but if she didn't even know what I WAS, what kind of stuff had she summoned before that made me look scrawny?

And more importantly, why did she need to summon something new to replace it?

Them?

Oh hells.

I'm a replacement.

"Aaaahhhh..... MAYbe we got off to a bad start?" I tried. You know, a little ego stroking works wonders on these dangerous types. "You summoned me?   Erm.... Master?"

The look on their faces was odd. The dragon seemed almost bored and just rolled his eyes before strolling off. The master just gave a look like she'd just discovered something in her mouth that shouldn't be there... like a door handle or a mallet... kind of a mix between confusion and horror.

You sick freak. I told you I could read minds.

Weirdest nutjob I've met yet. The Master too.

"Um, Let's try this again. I'm Twilight Sparkle. I'm an alicorn princess and yes, I summoned you. And you are?" she prompted with a tiny hint of a smile.

Smiles are dangerous. Whenever someone smiles when a demon's involved, something's about to burst into flames, get stabbed, blow up, be eaten, or suffer some horrible wasting illness while being stabbed, bursting into flames, and blowing up. I started to sweat.

"Aaaaaaah.... mmmm... I'm Gakham. You, summoned me...  Um.... Master." I rather hoped the little bow and brief bit of cowering would help my cause.

Oddly, Master seemed... distraught. She turned her head this way and that, looking me over, no doubt for signs of weakness or deformity. I'd heard of that with particularly strict warlocks. They'd summon demons, sometimes dozens or even hundreds, one by one until they found one that suited their tastes. Most of the time they'd just dissolve the contract. Other times... other times it might be decades before their 'minion' found their way back to a body.

She just kept examining me, her expression slowly growing more and more displeased. I could almost feel the little hooks she probably kept in the multiple desks around the room tearing little bits of me off. 

"Just what are you?" she asked after a minute of dissecting me with her eyes. 

Great... 'Powerful amateur warlock seeks demon from tracts unknown!'... I could almost see the summoning spell.

Seeing as how I was likely about to be punished out of principal, I tried my best to mitigate. "I," I started as I hopped back and forth in a bit of tightly controlled panic, "am your imp."

Her enormous pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Huh.... I suppose if they could do that, anything puncturing one of them would likely be subjected to incredible pressures. Dear maker, even her EYES are dangerous.






> Doomed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shelving books is good.

Shelving books is safe.

Shelving books on the Ethereal Application of Thaumaud's Reticulating Rapture Principle is a remarkably frightening experience when you consider that a very, very, brief perusal of the contents explain how forgetting to blink at the correct frequency may cause your lungs to forcibly eject through your sinuses.

It was heavily bookmarked and showed signs of use as a pillow.

It also had a note carefully clipped in the margin noting that "this should make toasting bread more efficient!"




It's been three days and she hasn't slept. She keeps flipping through tome after tome, muttering things that I'm afraid to listen to... never know when a half formed spell might cause internal combustion or an abrupt teleport of a few inches involving only a handful of important organs.

She eats, drinks, and reads... muttering the entire time. Sometimes she pauses for a few moments to look at me and I try to look even more busy than I was. I can't risk THAT thinking I'm slacking off.

Even my former master rested. My master can't be mortal.

Spike keeps checking on her, bringing her food and taking away her dishes. He's been wearing a yellow apron with little pink flowers on it.

I miss the Legion. Being used as ammunition in the fel cannons was less stressful and I was reloaded more than most of my burrow.




Finally! My escape is at hand!

After 4 and a half days, that nightmare child has finally passed out! She's got her face pressed firmly onto the pages of some old libram thicker than her chest and that genocide-engine butler of hers is off chasing some extremely rare something or other... probably some other spell component... not sure I want to know what for.

All I have to do is hop up, douse her with something flammable, rope her down, light her up and I'm free! I'll be out of here in no time, away from this little nut job!

Let's see... books everywhere... but they're all fireproof. Wooden walls, wood burns, but..... she's got a fireplace built in.... made of wood.... .... fireproof. Drapes! Drapes burn! No... wait, I tried that when I got here.... fireproof.

The lanterns! I've SEEN her light the lanterns and candles! They can burn!

With a very careful bit of creeping, a few short hops, and a tiny jump, I retrieved the lantern from the stairwell, brought it over, and started to set my escape in motion.

Twenty minutes was all it took to completely immobilize the master. I know the boys are going to give me hell for this, but this one is waaaaay out of my league. Crazy as a purple of 4.

It's not supposed to make sense. She's nuts.

So, the Master is tied down. She's got an alcohol beaker hanging above her, filled with oil. The table's covered with oil. The chair is screwed into the floor so she can't get up or run for help. I've set trip lines all over in case she does get up. I bent all the silverware into caltrops, scattered them around, and dipped them all in oil and salt so if she, somehow, gets up she'll land on them and be in even more agony while even the caltrops catch on fire. I've brought all the dishes in and balanced them on their edges to make even MORE sharp edges when she panics. I cut the table legs on one side so that when she moves, it will collapse, pinning her while she burns. And I lit a candle next to her head after setting an alarm clock for two minutes.

Now all I have to do is sit back and shelve books until it goes off and she kills herself.

What? I told you imps find loopholes.

I had just finished dragging a chair over to put Arcane Infusions for Use with Yogurt Covered Raisins away when I looked over to watch the spectacle when I knew something bad was about to happen.

Her eye was open... and she was glaring at me.

In that second, I knew all was lost. She had seen my treachery! She knew! Now would come the fireballs and the hooks and the non-standard application of hairdryers with power tools and, well, probably something in a shade of pastel lavender to fit her general theme... but it would be agonizing and I would suffer. I started to sweat.

And then the alarm went off.




The Master jumped, apparently startled by the loud noise, and smacked her head into the hanging beaker, sending a splash of oil over herself and the chair. The table shifted, the legs sliding off with a groan as they collapsed, yanking the master back down, pinning her rear legs to the chair and slamming her face, once more, onto her book. The candle tipped, falling to the ground, and igniting the oil on both the table as well as the caltrops and floor. There was a strangled yelp as the ropes I had used to tie her down tugged across her body and held her firm to the burning furniture.

For the first time in days, I felt a truly glorious cackle rising in my throat.

I'd done it! I'd set the stage and let the master 'kill' herself! She was too surprised to react, she'd fire proofed everything EXCEPT the most flammable materials in the building, and she couldn't utter a counterspell given the smoke! For the Fel, it felt GOOD to kill something!

I felt my face doing something unexpected and I had to reach up and feel it to understand what it was.

I was frowning. No, not frowning, I was GLARING.

Something was wrong. After everything I'd seen, I knew it couldn't end this easily. She was planning something.

This was a test.

She was testing me.

Oh Maker, she was preparing to replace me!

Oh nonononononononononononono!

Oh crap! Now I'M saying it!

I had just resolved to put the fire out when it happened.

One moment there was my Master, engulfed in flames, pinned to a burning, fire-proofed, table, and the next there was a flash of purple light and she was gone.

And then there was a blazing inferno in the air as the Master floated above the table while on fire.

Now, I'm pretty used to seeing people on fire, kind of comes with the job you know, but I'm not really used to seeing people on fire who don't habitually burst into flames on a daily basis.

Imps, corehounds, Fire Lords, possessed birthday candles, Shivaras, and any number of other demons... sure, we all burn, but she didn't seem to really fall into any of those categories. To be honest, warlocks (in general) DO burst into flames on occassion, but it's normally due to someone else lighting them up... and it smells like bacon.

She was not normally on fire... and she wasn't getting crispy.

Her coat turned white, her mane and tail erupted into twin infernos, and her eyes became twin embers of wrath that just so happened to have taken up residence on a mask of absolute fury as she shot a glare that could give any Fel Lord a reason to wet themselves.

I screamed. Not even ashamed to admit it.

I phased and tried to get away, and that's when all my carefully laid plans fell apart.

Phasing is great. It really is. You can't quite be hit by attacks, doors and most barriers don't really mean so much, and there's this wonderful bit about being much more difficult to see. Phasing is great, but it does have one drawback: overconfidence.

Being used to ignoring attacks from battle hardened warriors and spell casters kind of makes you a little bit jaded. You just don't sweat the small stuff when you get used to dodging 30 foot long lances of magic force, 30 pound battle hammers, and barrages of poisoned daggers. You tend to ignore things like... caltrops.

I ran and immediately leapt into the air and a bent up spoon I had sharpened sliced clear into my foot. I tumbled into a trip wire, flipped over, landed in MORE caltrops, got caught on fire, felt the agony of salt in open wounds, and then... THEN the bad part happened.

She was floating over me. I stopped screaming.

When the Master just floats out of a deathtrap and looms... well... there's not a manual, but if there was, it would say "Just give up and prepare to have your skull hollowed out and used to serve treats at Winterveil."

"You got oil on MY BOOK!" she erupted. I could actually feel my joints ache from the force of her shout. Her eyes were bottomless wells of cosmic power and her pupils, tiny red points of wrath that they were, looked like nothing less than the opening barrage of one of those elder gods you hear about.

Never seen one, but I'm pretty sure I could play poker with one now and not flinch.

And then, poof.... just like that... purple flash of light and there's no smoke. There's no fire. There's no caltrops or broken glass (well, ok, there was broken glass but we got it out of my hide eventually).

She was still glaring at me and I was on the ground gasping.

And then, I felt my ear bump something and I reflexively looked.

Only to see a rolled up newspaper floating nearby in a purple/pink glow.

Oh Maker, I can't escape. She's going to kill me.




Shelving books is good.

Shelving books is safe.

No one disturbs the Master while she is busy.

The Master is unkillable. I've tried now more than a dozen times.

She just wakes up, teleports, flings, shields, wards, or ignores everything I throw at her.

IGNORES it.

How can you ignore a fel tainted fire bolt to the face? Well, in retrospect, she seems able to channel elemental fire by nature, so that one might be understandable, but I dropped a cast iron skillet on her head and she just grumbled about a 'pinkie' or something... must be some kind of defensive proxy if she can survive what should have crushed her skull and shattered her fragile spinal column.

It's as if she's the most innocent, ignorant, strategist tactician with the forethought to plan against all forms of personal harm but no brainpower left to prevent those harms from coming to pass.

I think she secretly likes it.

She should have summoned a succubus.



> For the Horde
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

* Wake the Master.
* Make tea.
* Prepare the next plot to destroy the Master.
* Realize that the plot is doomed to fail.
* Shelve books until the Master has more need of me.
* Avoid the infernal spawn of Genocidal Tendencies and the Infinite Dragon Flight that is her slave/butler/pet.
* Keep the Master happy at all costs.

My routine is as simple as it is repetitive but, so far, my skin is still on my back as opposed to lining some whimsically decorative teapot cozy.

I'm ok with my skin remaining mine.

That being said, I was just finishing up sanding the scorch marks from my latest escape attempt off the restroom door when I heard the main door open downstairs. A quick glance told me that the Master was still resting peacefully under a pile of 'fallen' books and I knew that the spawn of evil was out searching for more rare components, so it couldn't be anyone who was supposed to be here.

For the briefest of moments, I was unsure of what to do.

"Twilight?" came a voice from below, the sound somehow drawing up half forgotten memories of blackened spear tips and meat hooks glowing orange from the heat of smoldering coals. "Twilight, ya here? I got your apples and 'Mac's haulin' the cider for next week 'round back."

No one disturbs the Master while she's resting. No one disturbs the Master while she's 'studying.'

Crisis averted: I must kill the interloper.

With the first sense of joy I've felt in nearly a week, I threw the sanding block I had been carrying onto a nearby pile of blankets before hopping over to the second floor landing to peer down into the main room. If the Master were to wake, she would be upset. If, on the other hand, I could dispose of this distraction and let her rest, I could present the flayed hide to her with the latest volume of Dissociative Compulsive Obsessions Weekly (a day by day accounting) and perhaps curry a bit of favor.

There wasn't much hope, but anything is better than nothing with her.

With that thought in mind, I looked below to see what manner of creature would brave my Master's lair.

It was another one similar in shape to the Master, but bright orange and lacking the Master's wings and head-mounted pike. Where the Master was all dark colors, ranging from midnights and lavenders to the streak of near-rose in her hair, this one was a clamorous pallet of bright oranges and yellows. Where the master was a little plumpish, likely from reaping the rewards of years of the pandering pleasantries of her pet, this one was lean and well muscled. Where the Master was unclothed, this one wore some kind of thin leather helm.

It must be some kind of conjured lack-wit hunter or perhaps a brain damaged mercenary out to secure a bit of gold. No sane being would intentionally invade the domain of a warlock as powerful as the Master without at least a few other idiots to use as meat shields. Even a paladin would baulk at the thought of foolhardily charging into a warlock's den... and they're stupider than the average winner of the annual "free full frontal lobotomy" promotion the boys put on at the orphanage in Nagrand.

Spying accomplished. Now, to implement the standard protocol for killing anything that moves: Fire.

A quick glance told me all I needed to know. It was looking around expectantly, probably thinking that its ploy of a 'delivery' would be met with a cheerfully unguarded target. THAT was not going to happen. I checked the nearby piles of discarded books, stacked haphazardly near the ledge, and considered how much force I would have to use to 'accidentally' cause a collapse.

With a frown, I came to the conclusion that, despite it being a nearly perfect plan, it would make too much noise... and thus risk waking the Master.

Additionally, the Master was rather fond of her books... damaging them may be counterproductive.

Perhaps a few simple firebolts? The entire place (even the oil and candles now) was fireproof. There would be little to no damage that could be traced back to me.

But, again, the agonized screams of the hideous invader would likely wake the Master, and cleaning up the greasy smears afterwards would likely become my duty.

Something quick and efficient then. Not as classy or showy as I'd like, but perhaps elegant solutions had their place after all? The rogues that traditionally spelled the doom of careless warlocks were notorious for their stealthy executions... both of deed and of dead. I know I'm not a rogue, but I do rather enjoy my skin. If she asks later, I can just say I was trying to 'improve' myself and become 'more efficient'... she likes those words.

With a quick nod, I skittered over to the stairwell, careful to phase before the howling idiot below could see me. I listened as it clomped around below, probably rummaging through the desks and cabinets looking for loot, as I waited. I wasn't too worried, after all, I know the Master doesn't leave dangerous tomes, artifacts, or spell components laying around.

I've looked. Still haven't found any... she's that good at covering her tracks.

The only real risk at the moment was if her looting might cause the Master to stir. Admittedly, that would be a very bad thing, but the plan required it not to know of my existence until it was too late.

After a few more moments, I took a deep breath and carefully schooled my voice into a passable version of the Master's, "h-hello?"

The sounds from below abruptly stopped. "Twilight? That you girl?"

I waited a few seconds before coughing softly and teasing out another line to tempt the would-be assassin. "please... help m...help me," I coughed again for emphasis.

The act worked like a charm. I should probably think about dating a succubus with skills like these. Eat your hearts out boys!

The scrabbling of the invader's plated feet told me it was coming at speed. Makes perfect sense really... if you sneak in pretending to be some innocent delivery-sap, can't find your target or loot, and manage to stumble upon the sucker already injured, you want to get there as fast as possible to stick your sword into the deep squishy bits and lop its head off.

Killing. Sometimes a sword is just a sword... and always when you're killing something with it.

Freak.

The important part was that it was running up a flight of stairs, without a guardrail, and not paying attention to potential threats.

I waited until it came into view, which it did MUCH faster than I had anticipated, at which point I hurled a ball of bright orange flames, point blank, into it's face.

Well, I would have, if it weren't going so fast that it was half over me before I hurled the firebolt.

Which isn't, technically, right either... since it did rather stomp on my face as it ran...

... riiiight as I was about to throw the firebolt.

...

For the Fel, it wasn't my fault. That THING stomped on my head and I missed. I was phased so it didn't hurt too much, but when its foot stomped down, it kind of slipped. One moment, I was the last line of defense for my Master, and the next I have a face full of orange fur that smells like rotting fruit mixed with an orc's armpit... and THEN the firebolt connected with the wall next to us.

Fireproofing is great for keeping things from burning. Funny thing though, explosions of demonic fire.... not really covered in the 'burning' category.

Suffice it to say that while the wall didn't light up, the loud boom and concussive wave hurled both myself and the cesspool of poor hygiene that was using my tongue as a sodding washcloth over the edge and into a shallow arc across the lair.

Not what I had planned exactly but, in retrospect, there had been a certain amount of painful gravity testing involved. True, I hadn't imagined I would be assisting in quite the same manner but at least I knew I would survive it. That lavatory scented cutpurse would never know what hit it.


-~oOo~-





"GAKHAM!" the Master bellowed from somewhere above, "What Did You Do?!"

The world was kind of fuzzy at that moment. Kind of warm and fuzzy. Kind of warm. Kind of moving really fast and I'm pretty sure I heard something rattling in a tin can as it all came to a stop abruptly.

Something was in front of me, swimming around slowly in a pinkish-purple glow. Rather pleasant colors really. Complimentary colors actually... complimen...

The cold pit of fear that formed in my throat suddenly contracted, painfully paralyzing the organ which controlled my screaming while simultaneously hunting down and killing all the warm fuzzies that had momentarily occupied my vision. The Master was glaring at me, eyes angry slits and lips peeled back in a tightly controlled show of tooth grinding anger.

I was, not surprisingly, floating in her magic cloud thing, helplessly trapped as her eyes bored into my own with the force of a Fel Reaver's stomp. I began to sweat.

I had woken the Master.

There were very few things that I had found merited waking the Master.

I did not know for certain if 'someone was sent to kill you and I tried to stop them' would be an acceptable excuse for my Master.

She isn't quite right in the head.

Attempted murder isn't quite the same as 'the dragon burned a book', 'there's a giant animal destroying the town', or 'a new edition of some-stupid-Illidan-be-damned book just showed up.'

Don't give me that look... she's crazy.

My fearful thoughts suddenly derailed as I saw movement behind the Master. A number of books shifted, sliding down to the ground almost silently as the slightly charred form of the assassin slipped smoothly back to its feet. I watched wide eyed as it quickly donned its bizarre helm and slunk up behind the Master. For a moment, I envisioned my freedom coming; all it would take would be a moment of inaction and I would be free. Gloriously, mercifully, ironically, free!

And then I remembered how impossibly durable my Master was.

In a snap decision, I flung my hands out and cast the fastest firebolt I've ever cast, burning through enough mana to make a felhunter drool, as I hurled the bolt at my Master's would-be-assassin.

The world slowed. I could see the Master's pupils fight to dilate from the surprise as they struggled to shrink from the blaze of light. I watched as the shadows played across her mutated muzzle, a few hairs twisting and curling from the heat as she yanked her head away from the uncomfortably close magical discharge. I studied the flow of her hair as it briefly drew tight from the motion before springing away from the path of the firebolt as it screamed to connect with the orange killer behind her. I choked as I saw that same killer's eyes snap up in recognition before it leapt out of the way in a feat of speed beyond what any simple combatant should be capable of.

Great... pissed off the Master and there's a pit fighter trying to kill her.

My musing's were cut short as the explosion and subsequent blast of reflected magic sent the Master's surprised face into an absurdly painful collision with my own.





"I don't care what it is Twi, that thing's dangerous!" Applejack snapped as she glared at the strange creature Twilight kept suspended in a globe of some amber colored glass. "T'ain't safe and it sure enough ain't making a case for itself with all that screeching."

Twilight cringed a bit as her friend snapped. It wasn't actually a bad point. Gakham had apparently attacked her and tried to blow up the library.... again... but through his screeched apologies and begging, he had tried to 'warn' her about the 'assassin' that had snuck in while she slept.

Despite his murderous tendencies, she understood that he had been trying (in his own horrible little way) to protect her. She couldn't let it go, but she couldn't punish him severely when his intentions had, for the first time, been good.

With a sigh, she looked back to Applejack. "I know he's got a few rough edg-"

"ROUGH EDGES?!? HE tried to KILL me!" Applejack shouted.

"... es, but he was only trying to protect me Applejack. He didn't know!"

"Didn't know! He didn't KNOW? Didn't know what? That blowing things up can kill ponies?!? That attacking somepony MIGHT HURT THEM? That KILLIN' IS WRONG!?!?" The Apple farmer's face inched closer with each exclamation until she was nearly bumping noses with Twilight.

"He's only a week old Applejack... he was trying to protect me!" Twilight's plea seemed to arrest the angry shouting as Applejack's head snapped back.

"He's what!?" Applejack blinked back as her tone fell. "He's just a .... he tried to.... Twilight...." She plopped down with a confused expression on her face. Clearly she had every right to be upset, that little monster had tried to knock her down the stairs, blown things up, and threw fire at her, but... if he was just a baby....

With a moment's thought, Applejack's head snapped back up. "Look Twilight, I don't know what yer doing with that thing, and I don't rightly care, but I can't believe you'd be fool enough to not at least train it to behave if yer plannin' on keeping it." She took a moment to rub a hoof over her face before looking back up. "You know I'll be there for ya Twilight, but you're not makin' a lick'a sense."

Twilight's expression slipped slowly from pleading apologies toward a worried frown before she turned to face the imp suspended in the reflective magic bubble behind her.

"Gakham..." she started slowly, "Why did you attack Applejack?"

The imp squirmed visibly, his discomfort clear even to the normally stoic apple farmer behind Twilight. "mmmmmrrrREEEEE Because the Master was in Danger!"

"She was not yah durned liar!" Applejack snapped before a glance from Twilight silenced her.

"Gakham, why did you think I was in danger?" The words slipped out before Twilight had considered them.

Applejack's eyebrows slid up and her ears perked as she picked up on her friend's acknowledgement of a title like 'master' but she remained silent.

"Because Master was sleeping and it came in and lied and tried to find the Master while the Master was sleeping and was trying to kill the Master!" the imp shrieked in it's barbed-wire voice.

Internally, Applejack flinched. She liked to think of herself as a pretty good judge of character, but that little critter was a ball of tangled everything. On the one hoof, it was a violent, hostile, dangerous, equicidal monster... but on the other, from what she could tell, it seemed to honestly believe that Twilight had been in danger. She frowned. Even so, it didn't excuse the violence it had attempted.

"Gakham, Applejack was just coming to visit..." Twilight looked back to Applejack and raised an eyebrow, "I think?"

"I was bringin' the cider for next week, well, Mac was at least. I was bringin' your apples." Applejack replied.

"Right... she was just bringing the supplies for the celebration next week. Why did you think she was trying to hurt me?"

The imp fidgeted briefly before looking up and starting a high pitched whine.

Twilight squinted against the steadily rising pitch before lightly bapping the imp with a rolled up newspaper, silencing him immediately.

"Stop that! Now... calmly, because I'm not going to kill you or maim you or light you on fi....dowse you with water... why did you think Applejack was trying to hurt me?"

Applejack's expression became a startled mask of shock as she heard Twilight's words. Why would she even have to say she wasn't going to do those things? Had she threatened that little thing before? Suddenly Applejack wasn't quite as comfortable with her assessment of the situation as she had been. She still completely trusted her friend, but suddenly the critter's actions seemed a bit less drastic.

The imp cowered for a few seconds before a soft assurance from Twilight caused him to hop from foot to foot in agitation. "The Master was in danger! The Master was sleeping when her lair was invaded! I didn't want the Master to end up like Stitchface!" His howl was enough to cause both mares to flinch.

"Stitchface?" Applejack questioned.

"No idea," Twilight shrugged as she glanced back to her friend before once more turning to the imp. "Who is Stitchface?"

"Stitchface was Master before Master."

"Twilight... what's with this 'Master' thing anyway?"

Twilight blinked for a moment as she took in the imp's words. 'Master before Master?' Had he lost his previous master somehow? Had she stolen him away with an idle spell and inadvertently kidnapped him? She certainly didn't think of him as a slave, but he always referred to her as his master. Was his previous master murdered? Just what kind of life had the little imp lived before she had summoned him up?

She blinked a few more times, considering questions she hadn't taken the time to ask. She'd been so focused upon identifying his species and controlling his outbursts that she hadn't even taken much time to consider him as a sapient being. Had she, in an act of innocent negligence, inadvertently even caused his previous master's death? What if 'master' was a different word for friend where he came from. What if it was more than friend? What if she had stolen him away fr-

Twilight's thoughts were arrested by the firm grip of Applejack's hoof on her shoulder. "You alright there Twi?"

Shaking her head clear, Twilight glanced back at the imp for a moment before nodding. "Yheah.... just... just thinking." The smile she put on was a bit more forced than she was aiming for, but it seemed to assure Applejack enough.

Taking a slight breath, Twilight turned back towards the imp as her smile fell. "What happened to... Stitchface... anyway, Gakham?"

"She got in a fight and I tried to protect her but I couldn't heal her from the sword in her head before you summoned me."

Twilight's heart stopped as she felt her knees go weak under her.


-~oOo~-





Somewhere, she heard faint voices as her imp's words played back in her head.

"But I couldn't heal her from the sword in her head before you summoned me."

She swallowed. Hard.

"I couldn't heal her from the sword in her head"

Her skin felt like ice.

"before you summoned me."

She could feel the sensations of movement vaguely, distantly, but everything seemed muffled.

"You summoned me," she thought, "but I couldn't heal her because you summoned me."

Her throat was too dry to swallow again as the echoing sentence shifted again and again in her head.

" The sword in her head. I could have healed her, but you summoned me."

She felt sick.

"I didn't want you to end up like Stitchface, who I could have healed, before you summoned me."





As soon as Twilight hit the ground, her magic fizzled out. Applejack rushed forward but froze as the little smoldering creature got between her and her friend. Despite his size, she remembered clearly what he was capable of, and yet, she couldn't just leave Twilight on the ground like that.

"Now lissen up yah little monster, I'm not trying to hurt Twilight. I'm her friend. I'm just trying to make sure she's okay." Applejack watched the imp's face carefully, biting back the urge to buck it clear out of Equestria to get to her friend. It wore an expression halfway between a snarl and a manic grin, something that sent little shivers up and down her spine, but at the same time, she could clearly see it was not attacking Twilight... or for the moment, herself.

For his own part, Gakham was torn. On the one side, his Master was down, stunned or afflicted with something he hadn't been able to deflect. On the other, his Master was DOWN... he could escape and flee this hell-hole and get back to the wanton violence and depravity that his kind so loved. And on the other, other side, his contract clearly stated not to be 'naughty' which fell clearly in the realm of 'behave and listen to the Master.'

Ultimately he clenched his dagger-like fingers and performed a simple spell to burn away hostile magics. For the briefest of moments, his Master's body rippled with searing orange embers before they extinguished, leaving her unharmed. Confused, he had just stopped to examine her when he felt the unmistakable impact of a greater ebonsteel warhammer as it launched him across the room and into a bookcase with enough force to dislodge the entirety of the books upon its eight shelves.

"How DARE you after she stood up for yah?! You.... you Buck-Eyed, flaming, parasprite bait!"

Applejack leapt between Twilight and the pile of books before suddenly spinning, ready to stomp the imp out of existence.

"Applejack don't," Twilight's voice barely above a sob, "it's not his fault."

Taking in the tearstained face of her friend, the farmer who had bucked manticores in the face and stomped a changeling army into the ground suddenly found herself feeling like she had just kicked a foal which, as Twilight's words slammed back into her, she realized, might be too kind even for her.
> Burst Damage
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pain pain pain pain pain.

The not-assassin is a bringer of pain.

In retrospect, the Master thinking of her as her friend makes a little bit of sense. She's messed up like that, and given how durable she is, she probably really likes it when that skeleton-powdering backstabber kicks.

Did I mention the Master is insane?

Yheah. It's kind of like that. Makes more and more sense the longer I'm here.

So, after I dug myself out of the mountain of murdered tree corpses, I found a very strange sight. The Master was crying, which, according to the mental checklist:

* Wake the Master.
* Make tea.
* Prepare the next plot to destroy the Master.
* Realize that the plot is doomed to fail.
* Shelve books until the Master has more need of me.
* Avoid the infernal spawn of Genocidal Tendencies and the Infinite Dragon Flight that is her slave/butler/pet.
* Keep the Master happy at all costs.

violates rule number 7, and indirectly, number 5!

Nononononononononono! The Master will be unhappy! Thinkthinkthinkthinkthink! The Master is upset, the Master MUST be happy at all costs, The smelly-interloper is being 'corrected' - ergo the smelly-interloper has brought about the condition that has caused the Master to be unhappy.

The Master CANNOT be unhappy.... therefore the smelly-interloper must be removed. It is foul and vile and has caused the MASTER TO BE UNHAPPY.

It must be destroyed.

Yheah.... in hindsight, it wasn't my best reasoning, but with all due consideration, I was under a bit of stress, very confused, concerned that the Master was vulnerable while a very real threat (if my condition was any indicator) was standing only feet away, and I may have been suffering from severe cranial trauma from the high speed impact of a set of titanically muscled and absurdly hard hooves.... to say nothing of the rather abrupt application of my body to the bookcase.

Don't worry, it wasn't so bad. My face broke my fall.

So, yheah.... I took the most obvious answer and ran with it. The Master was being mind controlled and the assassin was playing it up so she could get in enough damage to take the Master out before the Master could come to her senses.

Firebolt.

More accurately: Firebolts.

Lots and lots of firebolts.

Have I mentioned how fast that orange one is? By the time the Master figured out what was going on and put a stop to us, well, quite a few more books were knocked down.

On the upside, we did manage to find almost all of my teeth in the following hour.

Should have figured it out when the Master was talking to it earlier... this Applejack is another minion.

She's got the Spawn-of-Doom fetching spell components and this orange Fel-Cannon fetching groceries.

Whatever happened to the simple application of terror and senseless violence as a means of subjugation?





"So, lemme see if I got this right..." Applejack began, eying the imp shelving books as it kept nervously glancing back at her friend. "You 'found' a book.... which given that it's you I actually kinda doubt, but movin' on... thought Spike might like the day off, and just 'happened' to notice that yer book 'happened' to be 'bout summonin'?"

Applejack gave a deadpan look as Twilight offered up a weak smile.

"Something like that?"

"Sugarcube, yer a lota things but a good liar taint onev'um."

Twilight fidgeted for a moment before throwing her front hooves in the air and groaning in frustration. "Fine! I borrowed a book from the archives and might, possibly, have sent Spike out to fetch some rather difficult to obtain gems as a pretense to safely try out a few new spells." Twilight smiled uncertainly, "But that's beside the point! I think I might have done something very, very bad."

"Like summonin' up a little monster 'et wants to burn down the town as soon as say 'hi?'"

"It's not like that! He's an imp! He's a ... well... I'm not exactly certain, but he's an obscure arcane species capable of magic and independent thought that has an inborn need to serve others!" Twilight hopped to her hooves and gestured quickly towards the imp currently shelving books. "He LIKES doing work! He's MADE for it! His entire species is!"

"That ain't what I mean an' you know it!" Applejack snapped before biting back another shout as she saw Twilight flinch. Taking a moment to calm down, she rubbed her face with a hoof before looking up. "Look Twi, I know you didn't mean anything by it, but that little thing's a monster... and a dangerous one at that. An' even if he weren't, what yer doin' pretty much amounts to slavery! I can't believe you'd do that.... this... " she gestured towards the imp herself who was now... apparently building a pile of debris from their earlier scuffle.

Shaking her head, Applejack looked back over to her friend who was likewise watching the imp curiously. "Look Twilight, I get that you're curious an' all, I do... I really, really do... but this just ain't right on so many levels. What would Fluttershy thinka' this? Heck, what would Celestia think of this?"

Twilight's eyes widened as her pupils began to shrink in fear, but before she could truly start to panic, Applejack touched her shoulder, illiciting a startled squawk.

"All I'm sayin' is that yer not thinking things through again Sugar. You, of all ponies, know yah have to step back every once in a while and make sure yah ain't getting too caught up in new stuff to realize what you oughtten'ta do."

Twilight blinked a few times before taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out. When she looked up again, she seemed a bit more composed as she took a moment to light her horn, lifting the majority of the remaining books up into the air. Tumbling in her magical field, the imp grasped a nearby tome and clung to it as he watched the two talking.

"You're right Applejack.... like usual," she sighed. "I got excited about learning something new and maaaay have taken a few shortcuts to try it out."

"A few?"

"Yes! Only a few. It's not like I didn't read the entire book four times, notate all the relevant sections, cross reference all the sources, update and modify spell components for modern equivalents and lexicographical similarities before attempting the spell itself! What do you think I do on my days off?"

"That's not what I meant. I know you like your magic an' all, but I meant you didn't think to warn anypony, let your friends know, contact us when something went wrong, and I think we can both say that HE is not what you were expecting so don't you try to argue that nothing went wrong, or send for help when things got weird. Girl, haven't we had enough adventures to know when to ask for help by now?"

Twilight immediately jumped back in, "But it's not an adventure and it's not weird and nothing went wrong!" She flinched as the imp squealed as he was inadvertently shelved with the book he had been clutching. Glancing over, she floated the book out, the imp taking a moment to scuttle down the bookcase and peer over a nearby cushion. "I have everything completely under control and he's learning to behave better every day!"

The soft *pomft* of a cushion detonating into a cloud of feathers and velvet caused both mares to glance at where the imp had been. He was presently jumping up and down, apparently trying to collect the feathers as they floated down, but instantly froze when he noticed their gazes.

"And I'm positive there's a very good reason why he just destroyed one of my pillows." Twilight's attention sped back to Applejack. "He's not evil. He's just very, very, twitchy and easily startled. Heck, " she threw a glance upwards, "he's caused less damage than Rainbow Dash when she crashes into the library... and she does that at least 3 times a week!"

Applejack frowned for a moment, glancing down. Twilight had a point, their pegasus friend did have a propensity for property damage, but those were just accidents... this.... 'imp' didn't seem like the accident type. He seemed like an accident waiting to happen... the kind of accident that involved one of Pinkie's waxed mustaches, a black cape and a top hat.


"Now, I know you think I'm being too hard on him Twilight, but you gotta see that throwing fireballs, making explosions, and trying to kill a pony ain't the same as crashing into the library. If it were, most'a Ponyville'd be behind bars by now. Heck.... YOU'D likely as not be in jail somewhere." She took her Stetson off and used it to point at where the imp had been.... which was now distressingly vacant... before continuing. "It ain't the same thing on account of them being accidents while he's trying to hurt ponies and cause trouble and where did that little monster get off to?"

The two mares paused to glance around, finally getting to their hooves as they started quickly searching the room.

While Applejack started checking behind desks, Twilight instead scrutinized the bookcases, peering between volumes and in the gaps for the remarkably flexible little imp.

"But it's not his fault Applejack!" She called back. "Wherever he's from, he's lived a hard, violent life, and it's all he knows. You heard him; Stitchface was his master before I summoned him, and she ended up with a sword in her head! It doesn't sound like that was even uncommon to him. He was upset because he couldn't HEAL her before I-" she faltered, letting her head hang, "-before I summoned him away and killed her."

Applejack paused, taking a moment to really think about what Twilight had said. She didn't know what kind of place he came from, and she certainly didn't know what kind of life he'd led, but she couldn't even imagine what she'd be feeling like if something happened to Granny or Mac or little Applebloom. To even imagine one of them being hurt took a lot out of her, but to think about having a sword in one of them.... and being suddenly whisked away with no way to help... she suddenly couldn't really be angry at him.

Applejack sat down and ran a hoof over her face as she glared at the insides of her eyelids. She couldn't imagine what it would be like for the little guy, she wouldn't imagine what it would be like, but she still had to look out for her friend who happened to be one of the most brilliant, and yet gullible, mares she'd ever met.

"Look, Twi, I ain't gonna' say what you did was right, or safe, or even smart, but what's done is done. If you're determined to keep that little mons... him... we gotta do somethin' about making him more civil. He simply ain't safe to have around like he is. Can you imagine somepony else in here? What about the Crusaders?" Rising to her hooves, she paced over to Twilight, where she sat, head against a bookcase, and placed a hoof on her shoulder. "'Tain't your fault, what happened to Stitchface... she took that sword before anything you did... but that don't mean you get ta baby him just because he's hurtin' and scared. He's dangerous, but we can't do much to help him if he keeps lashin' out at everypony."

The two stayed there for a few moments, until a slight movement brought Twilight's head up. Not far away, ears down and clearly nervous, Gakham rocked on his little feet, a steaming cup of tea balanced on a (slightly overstuffed and singed) pillow, clutched before him.

Forcing a smile, Twilight lifted the cushion and floated it over, noting that the imp watched with a mix of emotions on his face. Applejack, likewise, watched while Twilight carefully took a sip, apparently confused.

"Twi it's no-"

"It's fine Applejack. He'd trying to apologize for waking me up. He's got a list he doesn't think I know about, and he's afraid that I'm unhappy with him since 'wake the Master' is number one and 'keep the Master happy at all costs' tends to be broken when I wake up cranky... he's just trying to start again with number two: "make tea" and hoping that I brush this all under the rug." Twilight's smile became a bit less forced yet, somehow, tinged with a bit of sadness. "In his own way, he is trying his very best to be good..... he just doesn't know how."

Applejack looked between her friend and the little flaming creature that shifted uncertainly a number of feet away. Somewhere there was a whole world of them... somewhere there was a place where everything he'd done was not wrong.... somewhere... he fit in like a normal everyday critter. She didn't want to find where that somewhere was.

Straightening up, Applejack flipped her hat firmly back on her head before placing a hoof on Twilight's shoulder. She turned to look straight at the imp, who suddenly dropped into a half crouch as she smiled. "Yet."






> Food Buffs
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finally. FINALLY something makes sense.

All this time the Master has been slowly trying to break me... to deceive me. The Master has been trying to convince me that everything will be fine. I knew it couldn't be that simple... no warlock of her caliber could stand to not torture something, it just doesn't work that way. But now, NOW I see what she has been doing.

She has been quietly biding her time, manipulating the mind of this 'Applejack', for surely no one would willingly do the Master's will with such conviction if not for blackmail or the threat of imminent doom. No... certainly not this Applejack. The orange mutant is not a rogue or warrior at all, but instead a monk or paladin of some sort. She never goes without her helm for more than a few minutes, but she is stronger than any monk I've ever seen. She wears no other armor, and her weapon of choice is certainly non-standard, but all that pales in comparison to her idea of 'training' me.

Apparently, she is of the opinion that physical labor is the best method of influencing behavior.

I have been tasked with picking apples. Of all the imbecilic things to try and break me with, my trainer thinks I will submit to her will by being forced to pick fruit? Hah... she'll be begging for mercy within the hour, wailing about how she ran out of apples before she could break me. Through the window, I've seen the town... and there are exactly 3 apple trees. I only have to listen to Applejack until I've run out of apples... then it's time to kill her.

Oh, this is going to be fun.





The Master is evil.





Today was, perhaps, one of the worst experiences of my time here.

Applejack is apparently a very hearty farmer... not even a combatant in the traditional sense. Her 'garden' consists of acre upon acre of towering trees, laden with enough fruit to bury Stormwind City. She arrived early this morning, woke up the death lizard, and escorted me to her farm. Only the Master's direct and explicit warning about following the rules (of which there was a 34 page list) kept me from lighting Applejack on fire.

Our arrival was met with no fanfare... instead she ordered me to a large barn of questionable construction, loaded with flammable materials, and directed me to carry a lump of wood which vaguely resembled a bucket.  While I struggled under its great weight, she must have felt the need to assert her dominance, for she went to a nearby pile and, with a single kick, flipped no fewer than 8 atop her back before loading them into a cart.

I knew it was a beast of burden, I can't imagine the Master would keep the smelly thing around without a purpose, but after loading the eight, she proceeded to load the cart with another few trips. I'm not sure how many she managed to cram into that thing but, by the time we were ready to leave the barn, she had stacked enough to dwarf an ogre.

By that point, my one wooden 'bucket' had left me sore and tired but she seemed almost still asleep. I followed her out, quietly flipping through my list of 'do not do this or I will be very unhappy with you's and tried to think of a way to dispose of the rancid pile of horse meat.

Unfortunately, the Master is exceptionally thorough.

By the time I looked up again, it was almost too late to avoid a very unpleasant collision with her rear end... which, thanks to the wooden frame of the cart, I was spared.

After getting back up, I received my first look at the task ahead of us... and there is a very slight possibility that I might have made a few very undemonlike sounds as I surveyed what appeared to be an unending ocean of dark green trees with enough apples to choke Yogg'Saron.





The 'farm' is larger than I thought.





The 'farm' has hills that make Outland's floating islands seem like low-flying birds.





I have very few things in my memory that will ever compare to the torture of this day.

Not only does this 'Applejack' seem to have boundless stamina, but she seems to be capable of surviving entirely off the use of apples, apple based products, and nonsensical incantations that include the word 'apple' in them. I am sure of it now, she is some form of bastardized paladin that has, somehow, found a twisted holy power that stems from fruit trees.

I would have assumed she were a shaman or druid but for one thing: she is far, FAR too strong to be something that blindly stupid. She doesn't seem to shapeshift, and she, most certainly, doesn't have any totems.... unless this orchard is nothing more than the universe's very own totem farm.

That, in and of itself, is a horrifying thought.

How she draws power from them is something that I would have looked into if not for one simple thing...
...
...
...
I may just kill myself if I ever have to touch an apple again.





I have no idea how long we were 'bucking' apples, and in all honesty, I don't want to. What I do know is that when she told me it was time for a break, I was all too happy to oblige.

I ran as fast as I could, Rule 214 clearly stated that I "must follow any, and all, instruction 'Applejack' (or her family) gave." Following Rule 214, I did the best that I could to make a break for it.

I hurled a few bolts of fire, phased, tried to singe magic, ANYTHING, to get away.

It didn't work.

She dodged the bolts, batted away the cauterization, and didn't even flinch when I tried to singe her magic. She even caught up to me, on foot....hoof....whatever when I was phased!

There is no way that she isn't some kind of well-trained, secretly held, private elite creature that the Master is holding for her eventual takeover.

I was so intent on getting away and avoiding her wrath (she apparently was not pleased with the fire igniting a few of her trees) that I wasn't looking when I ran straight into something large, and hard, enough to lay me flat out.

The next few moments are still a bit of a blur in my mind. I remember blinking as I looked up, seeing the nauseatingly blue sky, only to suddenly smell the rancid barn-stink of my tormentor. Next, there was some screaming, though I'm not sure if it was her or me, followed by pain as whatever I'd run into finally caught up with me.

My head was throbbing, my body already sore to the point of weakness, and the screaming wasn't helping in the least.

And then.... that's when I realized that the thing I had run into wasn't another accursed apple tree.

The thing moved. This enormous, red, wall frakking moved!

I was so startled that I barely even heard the cesspool of sweatstink say "Big Mac, Don't let 'im get away!"

And then the wall landed on my chest and pinned me with all the finality of the Black Temple falling onto an orphanage full of crippled kittens.





I was returned to the Master some time later.

I don't want to talk about it.

The Master is Evil. The Orange thing is Evil. The Red Thing is... I don't know. If the Legion had a few of them, we wouldn't have needed the orcs.

When the Master saw me, she smiled a bit. I didn't know whether I should run to her and hide or hide from them both. The Master has defended me before, and she claims she just wants to know things about me, but I still haven't found the dungeon or the hidden cache of torture devices she must have somewhere... but I know what smiling means for warlocks.

Ultimately, I started whining until she flinched and told me to "Stop That!" like she does sometimes.

I was almost home free!

And then the Applejack 'paid' the Master for my 'services'.

I've been staring at that payment for the last two hours since the Master fell asleep. It's sitting there, on the table. Mocking me. Reminding me. Making silent promises to me about what happens if I misbehave.

The basket of apples is a warning.

The Master has a general who specializes in psychological warfare.
> Changing Specs
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.
> Talent Points
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'll admit it, I was not terribly comfortable in the room the Master had given me to rethink my actions. That was likely because said room consisted of a glowing pink ball that continued to shrink smaller and smaller until 'Spike' rolled over with a snort and the Master realized he was only napping.

In retrospect, the oven may not have been the best location for keeping him warm. The fireplace would have been much better since I could have added more logs.

But, all things considered, the week wound up fairly well.

'Spike' and I have a kind of understanding going. We're both the Master's 'helpers'... as Spike puts it... and we're both a bit too resilient to kill each other outright, so we're at a kind of mutually non-violent alliance for the time being.

Which works out for me since the little engine of calamity is a pretty good cook and if all else fails, he knows the Master wants me alive.

That being said, the Master has decided that the orange sweat-stink's assessment was correct... so she's attempting to punish me into being a better minion. Her 'lessons' involve long periods of sitting still, not burning things, and pretending that her make-believe 'guests' aren't all plotting her imminent death.

Spike keeps smiling and brought us little chalices for offerings, but when I threw felfire into the cup, he yelled and put it out.

He put out felfire. Not even going to attempt to figure that one out. Stuff burns like a nun at a candlelight vigil after 'sampling' 30 bottles of communion wine, and he just snuffed it out.

But then he went and taunted me with this little speech about being 'good company.' The Master nodded the whole time.

He's better at sucking up than I am.

Anyway, the Master calls it "etiquette."

I'm supposed to sit still and 'be good'... listen to mindless whining and act interested about whatever her imaginary 'guest' is talking about. I'm supposed to offer them..... tea.... and ask if they want any 'sugar' and pull out their seats for them and answer the door and....well, it's not as bad as Marfritz got with polishing his master's belt sander with his face, but it's pretty bad.

The Master keeps 'correcting' me, giving me these little glances when she sees me reaching for the knives, sniffing softly when she saw me trying to heat the tea with molten lead, even going so far as to clearing her throat when she saw me idly cutting little notches into the chair legs to make them break.

She says I have a ways to go, but she's not giving up on me.

Oh, she calls them 'etiquette' and despite the horrible nature of the lessons, I'm starting to wonder if she's testing me again.

Well, obviously she's testing me. She's crazy and she loves tests. But it happened while I was idly practicing my 'interested face' while Spike was lecturing me on table manners... the moment where I understood so very clearly what she had been trying to beat into my head with the doily-clad mace of 'polite conversation.'

I was wondering just what she hoped to gain by getting me to be 'polite' and 'helpful' and 'friendly' with potential threats that happen to waltz into her sanctum.

And there it was, right in front of me the whole time! The Master is brilliant. The Master is devious. The Master is evil beyond Gul'dan and his little uprising or even Mal'ganis and his vicious magics. Oh yes... the Master is truly wicked... and when I figured it out, everything became so much easier.

I pulled out the chair and smiled up at her.

I hopped off into the kitchen and brought out the teapot while keeping it warm in my fiery grip.

I sat at the table and listened for hours as she related her, simply riveting, trip to the market for a bag of carrots, all while seated atop my tiny tower of etiquette books.

Oh yes, I even helped Spike do the dishes... though that worked less well, given that my methods of drying them seem poorly suited to wooden tableware.

But at the end of the day, the Master was positively beaming at me and told me that it had been a rough start, but that I was making great progress.

And then she went to bed and left me to prepare for guests tomorrow.

I had smiled. After all, I had figured it out.

The Master needs me to lull them into a state of comfort. I'll open doors, help them get seated, engage in polite banter and conversation, stroking their egos and lowering their defenses. They'll ease into a lazy stagnation and I'll offer them tea and cookies, offering to take their hats and coats. Oh yes, I'll laugh at their jokes and fetch them small trinkets to appease their appetites.

I will be, for all intents and purposes, a good little butler.

And they'll never see it coming when the poison hits from the tea. They'll never realize as I lock their weapons and armor away. They'll sputter and choke as the cookies turn to bitter ash in their mouths, silencing their spellcasting. They'll writhe as the Master descends from above, a grim specter of wrath, only to spare them all a wicked smile and instruct me to bring them to the holding cells before lighting the sacrificial fires.

Oh yes. I see where the Master's lessons go. She's preparing me to enslave more minions.

And Spike probably never figured it out, so she's training me.

My Master is evil, and I love it.





Today is a wonderful, terrible, gloriously agonizing day.

Today, the Master is having 'guests' over.

We started the day with a three hour refresher on etiquette and manners, good behavior, and the difference between helping someone and springing traps meant to maim and kill. I'll admit I don't recall the last one from any of the books, but the Master assures me it was in some of the earlier editions and was simply assumed in the ones we had gone over.

I'm pretty sure she's just seeing if I'll argue with her since I was required to copy down the tables of contents in triplicate for all 26 volumes of the guides we had gone over.

Regardless, the table has been set, the meal prepared, the lair, ~parlor~, swept, and all the incriminating evidence disposed of or hidden behind false panels in the lower bookcase shelves. So far, I've only found the one, but I'm sure there are more hidden around the place.

I was even reminded of my contractual obligation to "not be naughty" as the Master decided to give me a 'bath' in the upstairs washroom.

... A full basin of sudsy water, not even boiling, and I was alternately scrubbed and drowned for nearly half an hour until the Master was confident that I was no longer a flight risk. She called it "filthy," but I think we all know what she meant. The look she gave me only confirmed it as I floated in that little pink glow of hers: a smile.

I got the message. Today was a preliminary assessment of the new help. I was to follow the plan, to the letter, and let her or Spike handle any situations that came up.

And if I didn't... she'd likely not even heat the water next time, or worse yet, line my 'bed' with fluffy pillows or give me a pastel blanket or something equally threatening.

Don't think that's a threat? Have you ever seen a dragonhide boot be mistaken for a washrag or a spring loaded bear trap attacked by wild wolves? Of course not! No one is blind enough to try cleaning up flesh-eating fungal spores with a boot and no predator is ever going to mistake a bear trap for a delicately swaddled morsel of a one night stand.

Oh no, I know how warlocks think. Nothing is safe or soft or comfortable unless its a deception of the most agonizing kind. Stitchface gave a little orphaned gnome a stuffed teddy once... never even asked why before hugging it tight and crying into its felt for comfort. Heh.... little thing started really crying a few seconds later - shrieking really - when the fire ants started swarming.

So no, I'm not planning anything at all for today. Just a simple little bit of recon. I tiny bit of observation. A teensey little pinch of brown nosing.

And a staggering pile of contingencies for when it all inevitably goes up in flames.

...

The Master's gonna love it!
> Talent Tree
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The table is set with all the simple cups and dishes in the cabinets. The silverware is out... the good stuff made of metal I haven't bent or burnt. The whole thing is sitting on a thin, delicate, 'spring-flower' yellow tablecloth... I've been told 'bile' is not a polite color... and I'm just about ready to puke from the scent of the cider that she insisted we pull out for today.

Spike has been busily slaving away in the kitchen making snacks. I've been going over the Master's incantations and dark rites... it doesn't matter that she calls them 'notecards,' I know they're meant to call upon dark powers even if I haven't seen them work yet. And all this after spending the first seven hours of the day meticulously cleaning the lair again.

But, ~BUT~, that's all in the past now, and I'm ready to do my part.

The Master's given us a list of what to expect, no doubt information obtained by the sacrifice of a disposable, though capable, minion. The two that the Master is hoping to ensnare are named "Rarity" and "Rainbow Dash" ... and if their names are any indication, they'll likely be just as disposable as the next victim.

I mean, really? Who names their spawn "Rainbow Dash?" Sounds like some kind of artistic seasoning.

'I say! Rainbow Dash, could you please fetch the Dire Warmaul of Cretanicus the Wrathful? Wait, on second thought, maybe we should send Dominus the Impaler to fetch it from the Boundless Pit of Eternal Suffering. Getting the Soggy Milksop of Mildly Unpleasant Dampness sounds more your speed.' 

No. Definitely disposable.

Regardless! The Master wants them and Spike and I will collect them for her!

Mostly Spike. Almost completely Spike.

Spike will be doing the hard work, he's a dragon, they're built to do tough things!




The Master came down from her sanctum a few minutes ago to let us know it was almost time. Her 'list' of preparations was floating beside her as she strode around, examining and ticking things off as she went.

When she stopped to examine the silverware again, I began to sweat. With all the pikes and swords, little daggers and organ scoops she has, I can't keep straight which ones are 'dessert forks' and which are 'salad forks,' to say nothing of the other, less recognizable, weapons.

I may have just started putting them out by size.

When her horn started to glow, I knew I had failed her. When one of the blades rose in the air, turning slowly as her lips turned down in a frown, I could almost taste the blood that was about to erupt from me as she 'showed' me which was the 'butter knife' and which was the 'paring knife'... which I must have put out of order.

One must have an ordered method of torture. All things must have order, if my Master is to be believed.

But when she started smiling again, I couldn't help myself. I leapt forward and grabbed the blade, begging for another chance.

She blinked and pulled me off before setting us both down.

Then she continued on, complimenting me on the polish of the 'hollow handle butter spreader.'

HA! Take that etiquette!

And after a few more minutes, she declared our preparations satisfactory.

I was overjoyed! She'd checked everything over, from the placements of cushions to the measures for her guests drinks. She'd approved of our cleaning and even complimented me on my polish!

So, when there was a light, though measured, rapping at the door, I knew it was time to put the plan into action.

While Spike scampered off to indulge the curiosity of our minion applicant, I raced off to start the tea.

The Master has given me the responsibility of making the tea.

Spike is somewhat upset about this. I assume it is because it means he will have fewer corpses to consume if I claim the bodies first.

But Spike will not disobey the Master... so he is answering the door and I am making tea.

The Master assures me that tea is all I need to brew, having found I had 'mistaken' a distillate of alchemical toxins as ground tea leaves earlier. As such, I am forced to use dried, whole, leaves to simplify the process. Of course, upon looking over the leaves, it would have been far too obvious to simply poison them... the Master is clever in her methods.

We have two guests coming. Since only the one is here, if the other were to arrive as the first was choking to death, the plan might fall apart.

Tea can be served throughout the evening, and once they are assured it is safe, they may lower their guard, allowing us to take them at the opportune moment.

With a huff, I threw the leaves in, boiled the water, and clutched the little metal handle the Master had added to the teapots to help withstand the flames. Still not sure why she did that... shrapnel works wonders for close quarters fighting.

And after a moment, the smell of deception and wickedness started to rise.

...

I'm told 'rose infused pekoe' is remarkably akin to the scent of deception and wickedness.





She was another magic user, vain and perhaps highborn. A coat the color of bleached bone and a spray of hair that coiled like the tentacles of some forgotten god, all the color of deathbloom blossoms. This 'Rarity' carried herself with the sure steps of one who is used to giving orders and expecting them to be followed. Her face bore a smile, like the Master's, and only served to confirm my fears: The Master was being hunted.

But, the Master had clearly expressed that I was to leave such things to Spike, especially with this 'Rarity' creature. And as she strode through the 'parlor,' I could see why. Unlike any of the others I'd seen through the window, save Applejack and the 'Big Mac', 'Rarity' wore a full set of armor.

From the tip of her horn to the glittering glow that shimmered over her hooves, 'Rarity' was adorned with splendorous gear. A helm, of cream colored cloth with more gems than I've ever seen slotted before, rested upon her head. A vestement of blue silks with intricate silver thread, clearly spellthread since no smith could hope to make such fine work, slid across her body. Her legs were gilded in a fine, shimmering, something I can only assume is a glamour of some kind. And her tail... even her TAIL... was wrapped in a skin of some gossamer fine threadwork with a lattice of glistening violet facets.

And as I stood there, hoping against hope that the Master was prepared to face this cutthroat, she lit her horn in a clear display of power.

Within seconds, her armor was peeled away, flitting off in a cool cyan glow as she disrobed in front of us, casually casting away what must have taken months, or perhaps years, of bloodthirsty raids to acquire.

She was that sure of her skill that she desired to challenge the Master with nothing but her wits and skin.

Not gonna lie... that was pretty hardcore. I may have accidentally lit something on fire last week.... but after the Master's 'lessons' I kept things in check.

Mostly.

And all the Master did was smile and welcome her, as if this were a normal occurrence!

This 'Rarity,' appears to have been of the same mind, since she too smiled and the pair hugged, before retiring to the table for what would, no doubt, be a test of wills for the ages.

About that time, Spike stepped in front of me and growled out something about not staring at his mare.

I have no desire to treat with that thing... he can face her when the Master requires. I'll wait for this 'Rainbow Dash.'





The two of them have been 'chatting' for the better part of an hour now. I've tried to follow along with the conversation, but no matter how I skew it, I can't figure out who's winning. Every few minutes 'Rarity' will erupt with a tiny little laugh, something akin to the taunting call of a felboar, while the Master will roll her eyes or chuckle along. Then, the Master will go along with a lecture about something or other and 'Rarity' will get a glazed look in her eyes, but before the Master can delicately slip a dagger between her ribs or peel her face off with a spell, 'Rarity' will snap back to clarity and return the mental fire.

I... actually have no idea how they're fighting, but if the Master is this jovial, she must be thoroughly enjoying the combat.

I keep having to fight the urge to simply leap on 'Rarity' and blind her with my claws. She's right there, taunting my Master with her offhand dismissals and subtle displays of power. Oh sure, she's about as 'subtle' with her self-importance as a worgen is covered in fleas, but somehow she's still alive..... which I suppose means the Master is actually considering her for employment.

Minion status.

Better be below me.

Whatever the case, I've noticed that she's somehow rested control of 'Spike' from the Master... something that is both unsettling and entirely too dangerous for my liking.

And even though I keep trying to get the Master's attention, keep trying to warn her of the traitorous bitch's impending backstabbing, the Master keeps just brushing me off.

I mean, I'm trying to be polite here.... the Master's lessons were clearly outlined... but I'm still fairly certain that no amount of polite discourse or etiquette will defend against the infinite dragon flight's wrath.... mind controlled or otherwise.

Heck, I even asked the Master if she wanted me to stab the Rarity when she wasn't looking... in case the Master simply hadn't noticed her treachery.... and the Master actually stopped her conversation long enough to summon her list, highlight bullet two-hundred and seventeen, and instruct me to fetch more tea.

And when I brought it back, she even cleansed it of the felblossom sap I'd snuck in to immobilize this 'Rarity!'

I'm trying to help here!

Something is clearly wrong with this situation... it's clear that the Master is somehow losing this battle against the Rarity.

Spike is unpredictable. He is fiendishly loyal to the Master, but no amount of loyalty can withstand mind control for too long. Nevermind that the Rarity is somehow using what is traditionally a priest spell. I'm starting to get concerned that she has some form of trinket or artifact that we missed and is simply wearing the Master down.

I want to help.

I NEED to help.

But the list is much more strict than the Master's original contract.

And then it stuck me, literally in this case, as a bolt out of the blue!

A feathered blue bolt, with a madness inducing spray of color, out of the sky, through a window, and directly into my face with the force of a fekking Fel Reaver.

As I'd find out later.... that was to be our second 'guest' of the day: one Rainbow Dash.








> Off-Spec
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wasn't the first time I've had my face used as a doorstop. Wasn't the first time I've found out that blunt impacts can leave open wounds. WAS the first time I've discovered that flying horse beasts can propel themselves at near ballista speeds and maintain the aerial maneuverability to aim at a tiny window and strike from a quarter mile away.

Spike may have just fallen a bit on my list of 'potentially more dangerous than the Master believes' list.

My list is a list and I just absorbed the momentum of a small equine traveling at near-teleport speeds. I'm allowed to say list twice.

Either way, my course was clear... it was time to ignore the rules and defend the Master!

Fireballs!

Well, it would have been fireballs but, like I said, I was a little bit out of it. So, instead of a heart stopping battlecry and the roar of fel fire screaming through the air to impact the blue invader, there was quite a bit more stumbling involved and an overturned tea kettle.


-~oOo~-


Once the soothing caress of boiling tea and overheated metal had sobered me up from my stupor, I came to the realization that the Master had been wholly unprotected for however long my loss of senses had been. I scrambled to my feet, tripped over the oven mitts that had been placed for the teapot, nearly fell down the stairs to my Master's lab, and barely managed to grab the leg of the blue assassin.

I say "barely" because, as I've said before, my fingers are like daggers.

There was blood.

There was screaming.

There was a kick of the type that was becoming increasingly familiar as being reminiscent of the smelly, orange, 'farmer'... but was, in this case, actually from a smelly, blue, aerial warrior.

I would like to say that I held on doggedly; that I bore its violent thrashings as a demon in the most glorious sense. I would like to be able to state that when that beast planted its hooves into the ground and kicked, that I bore the impact with a stoicism reserved for fel reavers and other monstrous creations that habitually shrug off siege weapons.

I would be lying.... which the Master continues to claim is "dishonest" and therefor "naughty."

I was launched like a stormbolt, shrieking, through the door to the Master's lab. Bounced off the ceiling to the stairwell, and promptly pinballed down the steps into a crate of broken Erlenmeyer flasks (yes.... the Master has endeavored to teach me their proper names) and onwards into a similarly compromised sack of Calcium Carbide.

Calcium Carbide? It's a fancy chemical that alchemists use to light ice on fire. Little pinch of the stuff and pretty much any heat source and the flames can cut metal.

As a side note, I was unaware, exactly, what I had fallen into, which should explain exactly why I was confused why my own fire suddenly felt hot.

Real hot. Really, REALLY hot.

Suffice it to say that my screams of pain and fleeing at high speeds towards the nearest source of water (the kitchen sink), may have been misinterpreted as a sign of aggression.

Also, I stand by my assessment of this "Rainbow Dash." It is most definitely the most ready combatant the Master has attempted to subjugate yet.

When I came bolting up the stairs, leaving a trail of searing flames, screaming bloody murder (which, in my defense, is a relatively mundane thing back home), the Rainbow Dash spun around fast enough that I didn't even notice it. There was a thumping sound, which I ignored due to the pain of being bodily immolated, followed by the world seeming to abruptly change.

One moment, I was fleeing the (chemically speaking) fires of hell, and the next? The next moment I found my face embedded in the porcelain basin of the sink.

Oh... and before you think that was the end of my suffering, let me emphasize that "Spike" had been put in charge of doing the dishes... and had left the sink full of soapy water in anticipation of the end of "tea."

Remember what I said about Calcium Carbide? Turns out that soapy water will ignite as well.... but even better! The stuff was all over me, so when I found myself stuck in the basin, my body fell into the water... the scalding-powder-of-inferal-suffering started to bubble from where it touched, and the bubbles started to froth over the sink.

Combine highly flammable gasses with bubbles, add one partially incinerated imp, and you get a spreading field of flames capable of cutting metal and igniting wood at four paces.

... with me in the middle of it.

And, at about that moment, I had an epiphany.

... what? I live with a mentally advanced crackpot with the magical reserves of a greater legion of warlocks. I learn fancy words from time to time.

I remembered I could phase.

The resulting combat was brief... though not of my choice. By the time I had leapt upon its face and started biting, the Master had regained her senses and pulled us apart.

This "Rainbow Dash".... it is a worthy minion for my master.

... even if 'she' keeps shooting me death glares when the Master isn't looking.


-~oOo~-


"Tea" resumed with the decorum of one of the Dreadlords of Ruin. That is to say after a brief (though impressive) display of overwhelming force, all parties retired to the 'lounge,' whereafter the Master apologized to the Rainbow Dash and Rarity for the misunderstanding.

Oddly, or perhaps to my good fortune, the Master spoke just as harshly to the Rainbow Dash as she did to me.

Apparently, I was "not to blame" for the Rainbow Dash's ballistic fire (which it waved off as a *supposed* "crash landing"). There were heated 'words' exchanged between the Rarity and the Rainbow Dash over 'proper etiquette' and the inappropriate use of the lounge as a landing site.

HAH! The Master planned ahead! I knew it! "Etiquette" must be some form of corrupted arcane spellform to muddle the senses and induce paranoid delusions. I'm actually rather surprised that the Master went this far. For all her power, she keeps almost convincing me that she is, in reality, just a wildly powerful, though naive, warlock. But- BUT then she goes and manages something like this!

It was glorious!

The Rainbow Dash had just started shouting about how I 'attacked her'... waving around her bloody legs as proof, when the Master glared, a glow surrounded its mouth, and the Master simply pointed out that it had crashed directly into me, and probably scared the 'living daylights' (whatever those are) out of me.

The Rainbow Dash's ears began to flatten, but the Master continued. She pointed out that I had probably thought she was under attack, and that I was "very-VERY protective" of her. Then she pointed out that the Rainbow Dash and I were quite similar in that respect... which I highly doubt, but that's besides the point.

I couldn't see the magic. I couldn't even sense the magic, but there it was.... working right in front of me! The Rainbow Dash began to almost wilt when the Master pointed out that I was "basically helpless" when she'd kicked me THROUGH the door, down a set of stairs and then into the Calcium Carbide (which she simply called the "fire powder" for the Rainbow Dash since it seems rather stupid), caught me on fire, then proceeded to make it even worse when I was only trying to put the fires out.

There is no possible way that the Master wasn't using magic. This "etiquette" is some powerful stuff..... it reduced the Rainbow Dash to a 'polite', though clearly reluctant, participant in the "tea"... And I got off without any actual punishment.

Oh? You were wondering how I was talked to harshly when I wasn't punished? Well... it went something like this.

"Gakham!" said the Master, "Don't grab our guests. You wouldn't mean it, but your fingers are sharp and they could get hurt."

And there it was. The Master turned her dark powers directly upon me. I had been grinning right up until the moment I realized that she was probably using high level etiquette upon me as well.

Then.... well.... then........ I started to panic.

It turns out that when I panic and don't phase, my fires get warmer... and, on a marginally related note, we're short another teapot. But on the upside, the Master has clearly claimed another minion.

I couldn't be more proud.... unless that's her doing as well, but... well.... she IS the Master.
> Save Versus...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Life is good.

And by good, I mean wicked, because that is what the Master, most assuredly, is.

After yesterday's 'tea' with the Rarity and the Rainbow Dash, the Doom Lizard and I set about cleaning up the lair with the knowledge that our Master had secured not one, but TWO new minions.

Yes, there were some stumbles. Yes, the door to the Master's lab will need to be replaced. Yes, the sink spilled over and the frothing mass of metal melting fire did manage to scorch the floor, walls, ceiling, and table.... but on the upside? Well, on the upside, I will not have to polish that particular teapot ever again.

Incidentally, when Spike walked into the kitchen and saw flames everywhere, I rather expected at least a bit of surprise.

Unexpectedly, ~I~ was the one who ended up surprised when the little Cataclysm in Waiting set his jaw in a frown, slid his claws up his arms.... not sure why, he doesn't have a shirt so there were no sleeves to roll up... and simply marched into the inferno.

I saw him about an hour later with a mop and bucket, calmly swabbing out the lounge. Curious, I snuck by and peeked into the kitchen.

Spotless.

AB SO LUTELY SPOTLESS.

Must have some bronze dragonflight blood in him somewhere since I'm pretty sure no warlock knows how to turn back time. Oh... and when I asked him, he offhandedly mentioned that yes, the Master does INDEED know how to go back in time but that all the kitchen needed was a bit of elbow grease.

I glared at him but he only kept on mopping.

Stitchface used to have a bucket of elbow grease. She collected it from the kitchens in the Undercity. Pure, undiluted grease made by rendering the fat collected from the elbows of gnomish orphans.

What? She was a twisted little ball of spite and madness. Can't really blame her though, what with being undead and all. Probably had a touch of brainrot in there somewhere.

Anyway, after the cleanup, the Master mentioned that she was going to be going out for some 'supplies' and that she trusted the two of us to behave while she was out.

Spike saluted and smiled, flinging mop water all over the floor of the lair.

I cackled a bit and earned a raised eyebrow from the Master.

My cackling may have shriveled up and and died a slow, pitiful, death at seeing her momentary disapproval.

So, after I was given a "list for good imps to remember so that they don't need to be reminded of what bad imps have to worry about," the Master set out and left the lair to Spike and I.

Spike resumed cleaning while humming some little incantation about packaging the winter season... truly terrifying what must go through his head. And I.... I began sorting through the books on arcane theory to see what I could do with a few drops of blood that had been flung around from the Rainbow Dash.

And just about that time, there was a firm pounding at the door of the Master's Lair.

-~oOo~-


RAIDERS! MERCENARIES! ASSASSINS! Door to door Salespeople! HARLOTS and CHARLATANS! THOSE OF QUESTIONABLE BREEDING!

I was halfway through breaking the legs of a chair into an improvised stake when Spike pulled the furniture from my hands.

There was a bit of shrieking involved, but ultimately, the whelpling just sauntered over and OPENED THE DOOR for our invaders.

...

Upon seeing a pink horse-beast on the other side, buck naked, with a smile large enough to make me question the anatomy that would allow such a horrifying rictus, I prepared for the worst.

The Master smiles... when the Master smiles, it is a statement of her overwhelming power. It is a threat and a warning that crossing her is both unwise and a directly willful sacrifice of ones health and sanity.

Warlocks smiling... is akin to an open declaration of assisted suicide.

That being said, seeing a random invader smile is nearly as dangerous. It implies that they're either very capable, very sure of themselves, or vapidly incapable of grasping even the ~notion~ of their own mortality. None of these things are good unless the lair has been adequately trapped in the absence of the Master.

And since the Master has both forbidden me from making (or even placing traps) AND is currently out, I maaaaaaay have overacted slightly.

If the Doom Lizard is too stupid to see the threat this thing represents, I shall have to protect the Master's domain myself.

Fire.

Don't roll your eyes at me. Remember, I know things! I can tell you're just rolling your eyes at me!

Look... imps are conniving, vicious, determined, and dedicated.... even if we're not all that economical from the destructive standpoint. We're not big or scary. We don't puke lightning or feast on the souls of the unborn.... though scrambled eggs are pretty good. And we don't really have the massive magical reserves to act like a tank when the walls come crashing down. But... what we lack in physical prowess, we make up for in durability and cunning.

Fire isn't just something that burns. It's alive. It spreads. It consumes and grows and moves on its own! It's a crippling beast that can attack and defend with no extra instruction. It's not like a sword that can be dropped. It's not like a cannon that needs to be reloaded. It's not a beast to be trained or armor that needs to be repaired. Fire is a monster all on its own.

Oh! ... and it makes a passable bandage in a pinch!

And imps make it, hurl it, understand it, and for the most part are completely immune to it. So.... yheah.... sue me for my limited reflexive death-inducing-choices.

-~oOo~-


Anyway, the door was open. The Lair was exposed. The Master was gone. The Doom-lizard slash Butler was an idiot. The traps, didn't. All in all, it was a pretty much impossible scenario.

Well, impossible for a normal guardian at least.

But, as we've discussed, I am an imp!

I started hurling fireballs while screaming bloody murder. Spike, apparently shaken from his traitorous brain fog by my scream, dove for cover with a yelp. And the pink thing? It went up in flames.

I'd seen enough of this world to know it couldn't be that easy.

If something had managed to enter (and by association, find) the Master's lair, it was not something to be dismissed quickly. Oh no.... after the Applejack, the Big Mac, the Rarity, and the Rainbow Dash, I had learned my lesson.

So, while I couldn't inflict etiquette upon the pink invader, I ~could~ pile on enough fel fire to melt the souls of any head of church this side of Whitemane.

I..... just realized that "Whitemane" is a Cardinal who preaches to a corrupt and evil organization of religious fanatics out of a blood-soaked villa known as the Scarlet Monastery. She's a human....and with a name like that, I'd actually rather think she'd fit in better here.

But that's besides the point!

I had dumped fireball upon fireball into the doorway the pink invader had been in, all the while dodging Spike as he attempted to thwart my defense of the lair.

When I finally deemed it safe, I let Spike grab ahold of me as I panted, staring at the searing column of fire that towered over the both of us.

I had done it! I had protected the Master's lair! I had thrown fire at something that didn't just result in a sputtering flicker of flame before going out! I had avoided Spike long enough to kill something that threatened the Master!

Finally! FINALLY! Maybe she'll see that all this 'polite' and 'etiquette' nonsense is inferior and we can get on with the corruption and domination of the masses..... you know.... something that I know the rules for?

Spike was gaping. His little head whipping back and forth between me and the fire that continued to sizzle and hiss in the doorway, his eyes nearly the size of dinner plates.

"Wh....what have you done?" he whispered.

I, of course, cackled as I explained in delicious detail how I had saved the Master, single-handedly repulsed the assassin, and secured our continued existance when the Master returned. I believe my exact words were "I Killed it! I killed it with ~F~I~R~E~!"

And then, I found myself being shaken violently.... and there was that sound of coins in a tin can again....hmmm... have to get that looked at.

"You IDIOT! THAT WAS PINKIE PIE! THAT WAS OUR FRIEND!"

Friend? Warlocks don't have friends. They have Minio........ oh..... oh my.

I think I just killed one of the Master's favorite minions.

I was just starting to panic when a stick with a marshmallow on it propped itself over my shoulder.

I turned to look, and promptly screamed as I saw the Pink Thing behind me, STILL SMILING.

I may have screamed..... just a little.

Oh... you noticed I already screamed? Fine! Fine! I'll say it. I screamed a whole freaking lot!

-~oOo~-

> The Element of (S)laughter
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, in situations like this, where a possible threat has just circumvented the best conceived response to lair invasion available, there are only a few potential outcomes.

1) The threat is neutralized and just doesn't know it yet. This usually happens when the Master is unexpectedly home and has laid a series of terrible wasting curses upon the invader and is simply sitting back to watch the hapless fool die. Glancing around, I failed to see the Master, so I mentally checked that option off.

2) The threat is unexpectedly powerful and is taking the time to gloat... leaving an opportunity to strike! Seeing as how the Pink one had a stick with a marshmallow on it, toasting said confection in the blaze of fel fire behind me, I slashed at its throat. When the stick snapped upright, deflecting my blow as the invader nibbled, unphased, upon its treat, I hissed and continued my contemplation.

3) The threat is accident prone and has been simply stumbling from one point of good luck to the next. Watching it chew happily upon the marshmallow, I mentally burned that option. Smiles... indicators of wickedness and impending doom and all.

4) RETREAT! Well... normally such situations where the invader has overcome the lairs defenses would allow one to flee and take up a better position with stronger defenses. Notedly, however, the Master had forbidden me from placing traps.... or modifying non-traps into defensive measures. DAMN.

5) Ah... the fifth outcome. Defeat.

I frowned. The Master was not home. The lair had been breached. The idiot, Spike, had let it in. It had overcome my defenses by avoiding them completely, and was currently mocking me while eating a squishy ball of unlit confectionery napalm.

Eating treats while in front of an enemy is considered gloating, right?

I took another experimental slash at the Pink thing, only to find a cardboard cutout painted to look like it where it had been a moment before. Definitely gloating, then.

With a howl, I sprinted from the doorway to find the Pink thing's current whereabouts. It could NOT be allowed to roam, unchecked, through the Master's lair! What would the boys back home think? What would the Legion think?

I swallowed.

What would the Master think?

And about that time, I heard a sound that made my immortal ears try to implode in a vain attempt at protecting my hearing. I stumbled to a stop, clutching my head as the noise grew in pitch until I was certain blood would be spraying from my ears at any moment, only to wheeze as I felt my body being crushed into a horrifyingly squishy doom.

"I didn't know Twilight got a new pet!" the Pink thing bellowed.

Then there were explosions as pastel paper rained down around us.

Oh.... right.... it was, supposedly, the Master's minion.

How was I supposed to have known?

-~oOo~-


Let me be absolutely clear on this: imps are almost completely fireproof.

Yes, we can get burns. Sure, we can get hurt by a fireball. And, of course, there's the ever present threat of immolation from upsetting our masters, but when it comes to natural fire.... meh, it's pretty much just a nice, warm, relaxing, dust bath.

That being said, with the amount of flammable objects that the Pink mage summoned out of thin air, I was pretty sure I could have suffocated if a fire had started.

And, yes, I said it was a mage. An engineer mage at that. She summoned a "party CANNON" out of nowhere and teleported on a whim.

Don't give me that confused look. Actions speak for themselves and she did it. Also, I know it's pretty much the most backwards combination possible, magic and science, but there it was.

Magic and technology.... something's inherently wrong with that combination.

Usually when you mix those two, something explodes. What's that? You need a source of heat for this engine but don't have the room for a boiler? Well sure! Why not use a crucible of eternal fire in place of a water cooling system?

Boom.

And let's not forget about the other end of it. Need to dump some extra magic from a spell matrix that might overflow? Why not use a latent arcane flow to bleed some power off?

Sizzle and then boom.

Oh, and that's ignoring when you try to mix them together. Flammable gassified fuel and a shield spell combined with a perpetual spark worked into a kinetic sculpture with greased pivots and a luminescence effect?

Sizzle, Pop, and then Boom.
Very big, moving, river of Boom, to be precise.

Rather explains why the Legion loves infusing fel magic into siege weapons, actually. Love those engineers on the front lines. If the cannons don't work, then we send the engineers to 'work' on the walls. Booms either way! Everydemon wins!

But then, there's the Pink mage.... and the Master.

Who, I might mention, arrived right about the time I had been chasing the Pink one around while she was giggling about how I was playing freeze tag wrong.

I ended up in a bubble of the Master's magic.... again.

And you know what? Despite having to teach the Master how to put out the column of fel fire in the doorway, despite being told to write out lines on the chalkboard, despite helping Spike to clean up the lair..... AGAIN.... I actually kind of, almost, nearly, and just barely, think I like the Pink mage.

I mean, after all, who else around here hasn't been angry at me for trying to kill them with fire, conjures artillery, and blows things up on a whim?

...

And she gave me a cupcake, which has absolutely nothing to do with it.

-~oOo~-

> Spell Locked
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apparently the pink mage is named Pinkie Pie.
This, in and of itself, is a bit neurotic. I mean... she's pink... VERY pink... but how does that become a name? And PIE? Well.... the Master did say she was a baker.

I reiterate. Messed. Up. World.

The Master is a 'librarian'. The Orange sweat stain and the Big Mac are both 'farmers'. The Rarity is a 'dressmaker' and the Rainbow Dash is some kind of bloody athlete. And let's not forget about the infant form of the coming draconic apocalypse.... Spike... is a butler or pet or something.

And the pink battle mage, capable of teleportation, merging science and magic, and apparently seeing the future if the Master wasn't just mocking me.... apparently, she's an apprentice baker.
That's right.... not even a full on cook... but a trainee.

This world is messed up, something fierce.

But, whatever the case, I've been told that once Pinkie meets someone new, there's no avoiding what grand doom awaits in their future.

So, following the Master's instructions, I am preparing myself for my "Welcome to Ponyville-slash-Twilight's got a new pet-slash-guest-slash-demonic entity bent on world domination - but not really".... party.

I've seen the banner. No, I'm not making it up.

I always knew mages were strange, but THAT mage? That one takes the cake. Pie. Whatever.

Of course, all this will be ultimately meaningless, once the Master takes over. Regardless, I've been told to be on my best behavior since I'll be meeting the 'rest' of the 'town'... which I assume means the Master's collection of disposable rank and file.

My 'party' is apparently a gathering that Pinkie is planning, and with her bizarre selection of skills and talents, I have no doubt that the Master's recruiting of the chattel will be successful.

After all, she did meet with the royals of the land already, so it's quite clear that she's already cut off the head of whatever joke this land calls an army. I still wish she'd have taken me to help out.... or at least to watch.

Hmmm....

Come to think of it, she came back completely unharmed, and while I know from experience that my Master is quite durable, it is rather strange that I couldn't find any battle damage.

Oh, I looked. I checked over the Master while she slept. I picked through her hair for scorch marks. I groomed her fur for blood stains. I even picked her teeth in case she'd decided to bring the pain in a very personal manner. And, despite my best efforts, I couldn't even find evidence of a little death and dismemberment.

I know she's a stickler for cleanliness, but no one is that good.

Unless she just decided on a nice round of artillery annihilation or... wait! Did she decide to use my fel-fire spellform from the table downstairs? Was it all just a ruse to try a new spell for assassination?

Oh... she's good.

No.

No, wait.

She was at the meeting when I carved that in.

So, no... artillery doom or magical disintegration is much more likely.

Unless... hmmm... Spike did say she dabbles in time travel.... so, I suppose she could have gone to the meeting, disliked the outcome, returned to the lair, got cleaned up, seen the spell, then travelled back in time to kill off the royals, thus preventing her having to return and get cleaned up... I mean, if I could time travel, I'd probably just give myself the stink eye, kill whatever was bothering me and then take my own place.

Or would that make a world destroying paradox?

You know what? I don't care. I'm immortal. I'd be perfectly fine with blowing up the world if it meant a little more destruction.

Except on Tuesdays. Tuesdays are the day the Master reorganizes the library. She would be very cross with me if I blew up the world on a Tuesday.

Oh fel.... she's getting to me.

-~oOo~-


Tomorrow is the day: My party.

I should point out that the boys back home are probably bursting out in fits of laughter with no clue as to why... right this very moment.

I mean, seriously. Me? A Party? And there's no fire or maimed children? How can they even call it a party without fire and maimed children?

Whatever. I was told, by the Master, that I must be on my best behavior for the party... and when I asked if I should try etiquette, the Master gave me an uncertain look before nodding.

I'm not sure if that means she's debating my grasp of the terrible form of magic or if I accidentally suggested invoking its wickedness without proper torture first, but whatever the case, I have thusly prepared myself.

Woe unto all those who would do the Master harm, for I have donned my jerkin of ultimate destruction (which the Rarity simply called 'adorable') and my battlestave of suffering (likewise referred to as a 'very dapper cane'). I have made sure the lair is secure, sealing all the doors with nails and glue, epoxying the windows, and binding all the cutlery so as not to prove a temptation for our 'guests'.

I've prepared multiple plates of 'treats' to lure them into a false sense of security and even provided bowls of 'punch'... completely free of any kind of poison!

Oh yes, I studied the 'Dread Grimoire of Proper Etiquette' at length. I've plumbed it's depths for the secrets of its unparalleled madness and found myself confused, though more than capable of invoking its cruel spells.

Soon.... soon I will make the Master proud.

Anyway. The doors are sealed, the windows are sealed, the basement is sealed, the kitchen was sealed until Spike explained that we needed to get in there, and the various cabinets, drawers, and closets have all been rendered inaccessible.

All of the Master's spell components are hidden away and all of her books are on proud display to discourage rebellion.

I am to 'enjoy myself' and 'have a good time'... while remaining on my best behavior.

Apparently the look I gave the Master was confusing since she felt the need to give me a list of all the fun things I wasn't allowed to do.

And really, how is 'not setting the guests on fire' supposed to make me feel happy? Whatever... this time tomorrow, the Master will finally have her legion at the ready and we can march on ... um... wherever it is that has defied her rule.

Come to think of it, the Master doesn't seem to ~have~ any enemies. Most warlocks have their sleep interrupted three or four times a night with would-be assassins. Hmmm.... wonder why that is?

Oh... that's right... she's terrifying.

-~oOo~-


It was just past noon when the first 'guests' started to arrive. Horsebeast after horsebeast, normal, winged, and horny; all of them baring the same brilliant smiles until they saw me answering the door. Then those smiles turned uncertain.

HAH! My grasp of etiquette must be more advanced than I thought. Already they are losing confidence at my mere presence. Regardless, one and all, they entered and proceeded to mill around, sampling drinks and treats alike.

Most came naked, though the Rarity brought another of her battle garments complete with a helm of some distinction.

And to think, just a few days ago, I had never heard of this branch of magic.

The Master truly is a fiendishly smart tyrant to have somehow seen the worth of this forgotten family of spells.

Who could ever imagine the act of offering a drink to be some kind of clandestined mind warping thaumic attack? My Master, that's who.

Anyway, I was happily wandering around, offering drinks and avoiding being stepped on by the local livestock when the Rainbow Dash suddenly stormed up to me and glared.

Well, I assume it was a glare... kind of hard to tell with how enormously large their eyes are. In all honesty, even if they're squinting to only a hairs breadth of having their eyes closed, there's more surface area than the average family of giant spiders.... and those beasts have 8 eyes each.

But, I was fairly certain she was glaring, what with the raised lip and half growl she displayed until the Master called her name.

Then? Bang! All smiles and "Hey Twilight!"s. Deceptive little rogue.

Of course, the Master saw none of it. Or, more likely, if she did, she didn't deem it worth a response. She is a busy tyrant after all and addressing every slight against her reign personally would chip away at her leisure time.

So, after the Rainbow Dash was suitably distracted, I added some "not poison, I swear!" to her cup and waited for her to turn around.

No, really. That's what the Pink one labeled it as.

As fate would have it, Rainbow Dash did turn back around a moment later, swiped the cup from my tray, and stormed off the moment the Master wasn't looking.

Hmmm.... suppose that was better than our first meeting at least.

Yep... all my fingers and toes are unbroken and I haven't been doused with ice water... so all in all? Not bad.

Or course the 'party' itself was a bit of an oddity to me. There were crude anatomical designs hung upon the walls with hollow forms and severed tails. There were buckets of water with the accursed apples to taunt the hungry or foolish. There was even a homonculus hung in effigy awaiting passerby to practice their combat skills.

Truly, I was not expecting this level of depravity from the Master... she normally seems so proper and........ peaceful.

Then again, she would. She is the Master. She has likely honed this mask for years simply to deflect the curious. It really should come as no surprise that she has such twisted 'party games' in her repertoire.

Still don't understand why I can't set the guests on fire, but if that's the worst of the day, then I suppose I can live with it.

...

Hmmm... actually, come to think of it, I just realized that with all of them wandering around, I almost didn't notice the yellow winged one that remained eerily silent until the Rainbow Dash sat down next to it and started whispering.

Oh.

Oh, I see now.

Cower before the Master but secretly hire an assassin to wait in the shadows? Silently watching and plotting for me to lower my guard?

You are even more dangerous than I originally thought, Rainbow Dash.

Fine then.... if you're plotting our downfall, then I suppose I can plot yours.

....

And after checking my list of  fun activities I'm not allowed to do, I can confirm that 'plotting the downfall of a treasonous minion' is patently NOT listed.

Very clever Master.... very clever indeed.

-~oOo~-


Well now, it seems that "Pinkie Pie" is more dangerous than even I thought.

No sooner had I set my course for the kitchen to start plotting the downfall of the traitorous Rainbow Dash then she decided to down her cup to steel her nerves against my oncoming storm!

That or she was thirsty.... but I'll choose to think she was appropriately fearful after seeing me catch her plotting. Regardless, it was no more than three seconds and her eyes became pinpricks and she suddenly started bellowing great plumes of flame.

No kidding, actual fire.

I did NOT see that coming.

Now, before you go and start getting all silly about this, think of it from my perspective. Not only is this the single most violent horsebeast that I've met so far, but she is also the only one, other than the Master, who has caused me any realistic injury.

The orange sweatstink doesn't count. Mental suffering and a COMPLETELY reasonable aversion to apples aren't injuries... those are the results of torture.

But the Rainbow Dash HAS hurt me. She was able to spear me from more than half a mile away, plunge me into the surrounding architecture, cause me to end up covered in broken glass, powdered with dehydrated fire, beat me fast and hard enough to break the sink, and then dose me with water that effectively dehydrated the powdered fire that had been ground into my injuries.

I may also be remembering that a little off, but give me some slack! I was on fire... and not MY fire.

So finding out she can breathe the stuff is more than a little worrying.

Then again, hearing her scratchy voice yowling in pain made everything more clear.

She wasn't making the fire at all. Pinkie's 'not poison, I swear!' must have caught up with her.

HAH! Pinkie is officially the least hated of the Master's minions for the next two minutes.

And then.... oh... the next part was priceless. Remember how I said I had secured all the doors and windows? Well, get this, the filthy little traitor jumped up, flew across the room and up to the second level while trailing a cloud of her vile intentions, and smashed face first into the bathroom door!

She started pounding on it before flipping over and flying directly into the reinforced windows and falling right back down to the main level. Pinkie just started laughing while the Master just shook her head with a smile.

I had to blink. The Master had known! Somehow she had known what Pinkie was doing.

Well.... of course she had known. She's the Master.

I found myself chuckling until I glanced around and saw other 'guests' were likewise laughing or smiling.... then I just got a bad taste in my mouth. If ~they~ were all laughing, it didn't bode well. Either the Master intended to make a public display of her displeasure over the traitor's behavior or they were ALL being affected by something.

While the Master is potentially the most dangerous creature I've ever seen... diminutive and misleading as she may be... even I know that no one is immune to every attack. Everyone was laughing or smiling, some quaking with suppressed guffaws while others simply dropped to the floor in humor.

I hadn't sensed any magic used. I hadn't felt any sharp stings or seen any bright flashing lights. I hadn't heard any hypnotic voices or whispered words of power. No.... this had to be mundane. A POISON!

I quickly looked around for anyone not laughing or smiling. An attack could come from any angle, any side! Everyone was 'jolly' or 'having a good time'... STUPID PARTY!

But.... a brilliant way to hide an assassin's poison.

I could almost feel the grinding of bones in my neck as I looked back to where I'd seen her last... the yellow winged one who had bee hiding along the wall.... the one the Traitor had been whispering to.

She wasn't there.

And then, I heard a voice that was like fluffy bunnies on a soft pink baby's quilt, whispering through the room, as if from everywhere at once.

"Rainbow Dash! Are you alright?"

I swallowed hard and looked up.

Directly above me, floating in the air with the slowest wingbeats I've ever seen, was the yellow one with the pink hair.

Pink hair, which was so long, that I abruptly lost sight of everything as it floofed down around me.

ASSASSIN! She was trying to suffocate me before I could warn the Master!

I shrieked, leapt free, landed in the punch bowl (which hurt like hell since it was so freaking cold), and ended up sending the snack table flying.

Cupcakes were launched, drinks were spilled, the Traitor was rolling on the ground spitting flames, the assassin squeaked.... no, seriously, she squeaked like a dog toy, and everything erupted into a blur of magenta light as the Master, apparently, had had enough.

-~oOo~-


Being held in the Master's magic is something that I'm still not quite used to.
On the other hand, being flung through the air at high speeds, used as a blunt force weapon, or even sacrificed to power a warlock's dark rituals.... those are things I get. But just floating there while everything else gets put back in place and cleaned up? That's still something that just feels off to me.

Oddly, the guests did not seem even remotely concerned that an assassin was in their midst. Granted, they are likely only disposable rabble, and thus probably only in possession of the most meager hint of intellect, but we are talking about an ASSASSIN here.

Of course, the Master was well aware of this, I assume, since she prevented a panic that would have likely ended the pitiful lives of a good number of her perspective fodder before she had. Then again, watching her simply sort everything, clean up, and offer the Rainbow Dash a glass of milk all at the same time, I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking.

I had been right about to voice my concern when the traitor, Rainbow Dash, leapt up from the floor and lunged at me.

Point of note: the Master was still levitating things when Rainbow Dash attempted this maneuver.
Point of note, number two: Rainbow Dash is apparently an idiot as the Master was still levitating things when she attempted this maneuver.

The resulting moment of awkwardness as Rainbow Dash stuck firmly in the air continued trying to strangle me from two feet away prompted the Master to roll her eyes.

Ah HAH! She's not smiling! the Master always smiles! She must be about to destroy the Rainbow Dash and shackle the lot of these 'guests' into immortal servitude! I knew she was just biding her time!

And then, the Master frowned at the traitor, floated her over to the other side of the room, and politely excused us from the guests.

Within moments, I found myself being pulled into the kitchen and the door closed. The Master put a hoof to her head and sighed before turning to me and asking what that had all been about.

I was overjoyed! Finally I can tell the Master that I discovered a plot within her own ranks! I can help her to enslave the masses. We can go out there, outside of the lair, and openly challenge one and all who would seek to oppose us. We can DESTROY the orange sweat stink and burn those accursed apples to the ground.

I was positively giddy as I prepared my carefully thought out argument.

"The Yellow one was hired by the blue traitor to kill you!" I shrieked. "I heard it talking to the rogue in the corner and then the yellow one hid while she poisoned all your minions!"

The Master's eyes looked almost tired... but given the fact that she had likely been poisoned, it only stood to reason that her superior endurance had prevented the worst of the toxin's effects.

Without speaking, she rolled a hoof for me to continue.

"The Pinkie put 'not poison, I swear' in the traitor's drink and the yellow one used it as a distraction to get close to you! Then, before I could warn you, she tried to kill me by smothering! She planned my escape and made sure I landed in the bowl of frigid agony! You saw the blue one trying to silence me! The Pink one is all alone!"

The Master blinked.

"Gakham.... just.... no."

And, just like that, I suddenly had no idea what was happening.

"Those are my friends. We've been over this. No one is trying to kill me. No one is trying to hurt you. Those are not my 'minions' or 'slaves' or anything!" she nearly shouted.

I, in turn, blinked in confusion.

"But the traitor—" I started, before she cut me off with a snort.

"Rainbow Dash is NOT a traitor. She's the element of LOYALTY. Even if she wasn't, she's still my friend!"

The world didn't make much sense at that moment.... so I did the only thing I could think of.

I lit the Master on fire.

... Which... in retrospect, may have been better done with an explanation before attempting to burn away mind-controlling magic.

Of course, the Rainbow Dash chose that exact moment to push open the kitchen door and try to apologize... until she saw the Master on fire.

Then, well, I found out what it feels like to be smashed through the kitchen window at roughly the speed of sound.

Which, given I phased as soon as I was out of the Master's immediate vicinity, wouldn't have been quite so bad if you ignored things like broken bones... except for the manner of my removal leaving me some few hundred feet above the ground.

By the time the Rainbow Dash realized I was no longer in her grip, I had hit the ground, and was already on my way back to save the Master.

-~oOo~-


Racing across the battleground of Arathi basin has always been a favorite pastime of mine. There's nothing quite like darting between those little 'important' objectives, dodging attacks and stuffing a ball of fel fire down some idiot's armor. Every now and then, I'd get really lucky and Stitchface would start cackling madly while up on the cliff and I'd get to laugh as whatever numbskull was fighting her would simply leap off to their death. Oh yes, Arathi was simply adorable.

At least it had been until that ham-for-hands dwarf and the panda rug kicked me out of that realm entirely.

Since then, it's been more a game of trying not to anger the Master... well... my ~new~ Master.

Admittedly, there've been some bumps along the way; the fires, the glass, the sharp pointy objects embedded in my flesh, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF HER "FRIENDS"... but I'm not bitter.  No, no, no. I, after all, am an imp, and what imps do best is adapt to the situation.

So, when the Master pulled me out of the "welcome party" to explain that I was not being hunted, that no one was trying to hurt or kill me, and that her minions were not minions, but "friends," I, understandably, took all these bits of information into account and concluded that the Master was being mind controlled.

Perfectly reasonable given my background.

...

Also, a really long sentence when you stop to think about it.

But that's beside the point. Being a dutiful and loyal imp, I attempted to singe the invasive magic out of the Master, freeing her from its (no-doubt) terribly inconvenient grasp!

That singeing magic causes the target to erupt in flames (momentarily!), was witnessed by one of the Master's "friends", and that said "friend" then proceeded to launch herself at me, spearing the both of us through the kitchen window, and up into the freaking SKY before I could phase.... well.... also inconvenient.

Breaking a bunch of bones in the process before falling back to the ground, breaking more, and then attempting to save the Master.... inconvenient again.

So, in summary, my current situation is "inconvenient" — with a multiplier no less.

The good news? I'm an imp! And, as I've said before, imps are very VERY durable.

By the time I was on the ground, I was already springing to my feet and cutting a little flaming trail across the town.

Oh! Did I mention that?

Yes, the Master's lair is smack dab in the middle of a little hamlet; some little wood and thatch thing with a smattering of stonework and stucco. Whoever came up with this fever dream of architecture and urban planning should really be sent to an institution... or the Master's secret dungeons, whichever is nearer.

That being said, I was racing down the empty streets, skipping corners and diving under carts and around flower planters when I suddenly found myself plowed into the ground again by the Rainbow Dash.

All ~kinds~ of fun cracking and popping sounds from that impact! Buuuuuuut, I digress.

She was howling about something and her eyes were little pinpricks of fury as she hauled back to punch me with hoof after hoof.

I say "hauled back to punch me" because I saw it coming.

Phasing.... great skill.

Being pinned while phasing, not such a great thing.

End result? A LOT of glancing blows.

Oh yheah, this little blue traitor was a fighter, which makes my response completely understandable in retrospect.

...

Don't roll your eyes as me. We all know she'll be fine once the surprise wears off.

I lit her on fire.

There was a scream of surprise, followed by an INCREDIBLE crush of force as she leap up and streaked off with a trail of smoke, and I was back on my feet.

... in a furrow plowed half a foot deep in the cobbled stone of the street. Holy Fel, she hits hard. BUT the Master was in danger so I was instantly off racing again!

And then I found myself smashed into the wall of a house with a steaming, soaking wet, Rainbow Dash snarling at my face.

Fire.

Off and running again!

And falling from the sky as a Rainbow Dash proceeded to pile drive me through a cloud for some reason. Not sure what the point was.... clouds.... you know, not very durable, but the impact with the ground hurt.

And running again!

And....smashed into a cafe table by the Rainbow Dash.... and stomped on... and pummeled... aaaaaannnnd FIRE!

...

Now... let me make myself ~ABSOLUTELY~ clear on this point. Imps are durable, very durable, very very durable, and yet there does come a point where you just have to take off the kiddie gloves. Buuuuuuuuuut, the Master CLEARLY stated I was not to hurt her minio- er... I mean... her 'friends.'

So, tough or not, I wasn't really fighting back, and there's only so much even ~I~ can ignore.

I finally just couldn't take it anymore and curled up in a little burning ball and let her beat me.

Oh... that was going to sting in a few minutes. Hooves are NOT soft, well, at least not Rainbow Dash's hooves, and being stomped, punched, bucked into the local architecture, and pile-driven repeatedly into cobblestone streets is not my idea of a relaxing afternoon.

That the Rainbow Dash seems to know wrestling moves of some sort only vaguely registered.

That she finally let up enough for me to think it was over, only to unleash FRAKKING LIGHTNING BOLTS from the sky to strike me REPEATEDLY... well, that was unexpected.

But what was the real shocker of the afternoon? That would have to be the Master finding us and saving ME from the Rainbow Dash by jumping in FRONT of the lightning when she saw it.

One moment, I'm thrashing on the ground in a kajillion volts of brain melting sky explosions, and the next I'm just hearing the explosions and smelling burnt hair.

And then I looked up and saw the Master glaring up at a very angry and confused sky horse... smoke billowing from her twitching purple coat and a glowing dome of magenta separating us from the traitor. Never saw that one coming in a million years.

...

Since when do Warlocks care about their demons?

-~oOo~-


So, there I was, curled up in a little flaming ball of shock and pain, watching as the Master stood over me, shielding us both, while simultaneously keeping the Traitor at bay.

To say that I was surprised would have been an understatement. I mean, yheah, warlocks and demons go hand in hand...er... hand in hoof in this case, but it's always, ALWAYS, the demon who gets the short end of the stick in combat.

We're tough. We're mean. We're dangerous in ways that most things have trouble thinking about. But, at the end of the day, for a warlock at least, we're expendable. Hells, we're SACRIFICIAL. Literally.... like, I know it doesn't happen on a minute to minute basis, but no summoned demon of any self-respecting warlock ~hasn't~ been sacrificed a few hundred times to save their master's skin.

My Master, excluded.

But a warlock ~actually~ protecting a demon? Now, that's unheard of.

I knew the Master was nuts before, but... I mean.... WHAT?

Anyway, next thing I know, the other horsebeasts all come charging up the road, looking like their tails're on fire. The Orange sweatstain was pounding along like she was ready for war. The Rarity came along at juuuust shy of a prance before stopping ~just so~ to keep the dust cloud from touching her immaculate war-robes. The Pinkie Pie was jumping along like some kind of monk-mage-rogue-hunter-priest with levitation — still think she's cheating somehow, but she has artillery hidden all over so I'm not going to question her to her face.

And then there was the assassin, gliding along on silent butter yellow wings, with her pink fluffy garrote of mane, drifting in the non-existent breeze as she fixed the world with 'shy and fearful' eyes.

I know that look.

It's the look of a master actor; one who is so preternaturally good at playing her role that she can get lost in it when interrogated. One who can slip into a name or occupation with the comfort of well oiled leathers and a warm meal. One who can kill in cold blood before taking a leisurely stroll home, wave at the neighbors, and enjoy eating a meal with a cluelessly devoted family and a good book before bed.

In short, I'm pretty sure she's a fel-corrupted hunter infused with black magic, a priest's mind control, and the acting abilities of a succubus.

Actually, she's got wings... she's probably a succubus with hunter training. I heard she keeps animals.

So, there we were on the street. The Master keeping us from her minions while they ran up with looks of concern and confusion.

Except the Traitor... she still looked like she wanted blood.

Words were exchanged... I'm not sure which words because at that point I found out that all that lightning had apparently burst my eardrums, but within about a minute, the Master lowered her magic shield on all but the Traitor — who, consequentially, was looking a bit more abashed and nervous than before.

The Master lowered her to the ground then drug her over in a pinkish ball of magic, before pointing at her and then swinging her hoof back to point at me.

The Traitor had the dignity to act even more embarrassed, pointedly looking everywhere but at me and scratching behind her head before mouthing something quickly and turning to dart off.

Only for her to stop violently as her tail jerked her back, locked in the glow of the Master's magic.

Over the course of the next few minutes, the Master gestured repeatedly to each one of her minions before snapping her hoof back at me. Each time, their faces flicked through a few expressions before settling on some form of embarrassment.

Well... except for Pinkie and the Rarity. Both of them seemed pleased with the outcome.

The Assassin only retreated further under her mane even though the Master was clearly suckered into her facade. I swear, even if I could have heard her, I didn't see the Master even gesture angrily towards that one. I think the Master might have even been trying to comfort her.

That's a scary thought though too.... what if the Master KNEW she was an assassin and that the Rainbow Dash would hire her and decided to hire her first instead, thus setting off this specific chain of events that would result in a clear statement of superiority and dominance unrivaled in the land?

No... no one was that clever. No one was that capable. No one thought of that many contingencies and acted to place just the right actors to carve out exactly the right future without revealing themselves.

That kind of mind, that kind of madness.... no one could function in a world with that kind of genius being held back by every second they were forced to interact with the common vulgar existence of the populace. It would drive them insane. They would be reduced to mumbling fools, so exasperated with the mindless crush of everyday activities that they would be forced to remind themselves of their brilliance. Slowly, over the course of years, they would delve deep into the abstract, following the torturous woes of life until mundane activities, too, became naught but a chore — and a chore that required specific actions lest their slowly slipping sanity sequentially submerge sublimely.

Alliteration.

...

Checklists.

The Master has checklists for everything.

...

She knew.

And before I could decide how to handle this revelation, I found myself being picked up and held to the smoky coat of the Master as she hugged me.

And, one by one, the others joined in — the Trai...the Rainbow Dash looking supremely uncomfortable and stalling for nearly a minute before I felt the Master's chest vibrate and the blue devil reluctantly closed in on the group ........ hug.

...

If it had been anything other than the Master, I would have thought they were attempting to smother me.
The Master, as I have asserted from the first day, is insane............ but, it's a not-bad kind of insane.

-~oOo~-

> Polymor- er... Apotheosis
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

So...
It's been a few days and the Master has been doing a good job on making sure no one found out about the open rebellion of her minions.

And by that I mean she's been in the lair, taking care of cleanup and destroying all the evidence of my efforts to idiot-proof the lair from the idiots.
I mean 'guests'.

Idiots... guests... really, it doesn't seem like much of a difference to me, but she insists that they're 'good ponies' at heart despite their extreme cowardice and willful disobedience.

Anyway, so we were all just sitting down to feast upon the flesh of the local ... (sigh) you know what? I can't even attempt to make eating a daisy sandwich sound evil. It's.... just no.

Fine... we were just sitting down to breakfast when this skull-shattering ringing started up. Spike and the Master immediately leapt up and ran out the door, leaving me to dodge cutlery and plates. I had just considered cleaning them up when my world turned pinkish and I found myself being carried through the air in one of the Master's little magic bubbles.

We traveled all the way to the Sweatstain's vile demesne, Sweet Apple Acres.

And since I'm pretty sure you all don't know that word, it's pronounced 'Di-main'.... it's the older, magical, and proper word for DOMAIN... region... personal holdings of import.

I swear, if not for the corrupting influence of etiquette, this worlds educational systems are simply without redemption.

Apparently, some little monsters had infested her trees. "Vampire fruit bats," she called them... I kid you not. Looked like crotchety doilies with wings if you ask me, but somehow this was a bad thing and she wanted 'help' in clearing them out.

My first impulse was to burn the trees, one and all, and deprive the little vermin of their livelihood. Buuuuut, the Master said that doing that would be bad, that it would hurt Applejack.

I remained silent... I never said anything about bats. Aaaaand, from the dirty looks I got from the Traitor and Applejack, I think they probably guessed as much.

Things went around for a bit, but the only one who even tried saying anything that made sense was the assassin.

THE ASSASSIN had an idea on how to get rid of the problem... and nobody wanted to listen.

Now, don't get me wrong, she and I have had a bit of a challenge in our past: that being she tried to suffocate me when no one was looking! Buuuuuuuuut, be that as it may, when you want to 'get rid of' something, and an assassin suggests an idea, generally they're the ones with the experience to go by.

So, it came as a complete surprise that they all turned against her.

Musical number... no joke. Actually had a musical number with intimidating marching and magic clouds that blocked out the sun for a bit.

Gotta remember that... the Master DOES have a bit of a vindictive side after all.

Anyway, they pretty much just decided to have the assassin terrify them into staying still and then have the Master mind-rape them into ignoring the apples.

Despite the heightened levels of stupid involved with trying to intimidate an assassin, I was kind of proud that the first thing the Master thought of was mind control and forced labor.

I knew she had it in her!

So, we went back to the Spine-Shatter Slave Plantation and started gathering up the bats.

Pinkie tied a bucket of fruit to her head and just jumped around. The Rarity put on some kind of camouflaged Arcane robes and used compulsions to force the bats to attack her helm. The Traitor ignored all that and simply flew around catching them with organ rupturing velocities, rendering them incapable of fighting back.

And in no time at all, they were all stuck in one tree. All of them. Hundreds of bulging, blood-red eyes, mangy fur, tattered wings and hollow fangs hissing and snapping in the noon-day sun. The scent of death wafting off their putrid little bodies as they railed against their enforced captivity.

It brought a tear to my eye. Ahh.....nostalgia.

And then? That's when the Master told Fluttershy, the assassin they've all been browbeating into enslaving the vampire fruit bats, that it was time to demand their complete and utter surrender.

She tried to back out again, but they just kept up until she buckled.

The Master just closed her eyes and nodded... as if there were no other possible options. Silently crushing the assassin's will until there was nothing left but terrified acquiescence.

It's moments like these when I remember that the Master really can be a cruel, hateful, and uncaring monster.

I'm so proud of her.

And in moments, it was over.

The bats were convinced that their sole source of sustenance was repugnant, dooming them to a slow, agonizing starvation and the pain of watching their offspring wither and die before succumbing themselves.

It was like a tiny symphony of genocide... and the only one who looked unhappy was the serial killer: Fluttershy.

...

I'm conflicted here. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

-~oOo~-


So, after the Master and her little minions got done brain raping some flying rats, we all went about our respective business.

And by that, I mean that the sweaty farmers went back to rolling in mud or whatever it is they do when not torturing me. The Pinkie Pie jumped around before shouting something about a party. The Traitor flew off to plot more insurrections, and the Assassin continued to watch the bat things with a sad look in her eyes.

I say a 'sad look' because I'm pretty sure she was weighing her options on how to escape the Master's enslavement without being killed in the process.

Hey, it's an inherently stressful exercise!

So, we all went home and that was the end of that.

...

What?

Oh, you noticed I failed to mention the Rarity?

Well, since you asked, she wandered off the Fields of Suffering complaining about all the sweat and dirt like any sane being would.
Unlike any sane being, she then mentioned the 'spa' no less than eight times until the Master finally caught on and agreed to accompany her. That of course is not terribly impressive...but what the 'spa' lacks in awe-inspiring anything, the fact that the Rarity distracted the Master enough that she let go of my little bubble and left me on the outskirts of the town ~is~ a feat worthy of legend.

So, we all went home, like I said, but I ~did~ decide to take a better look at these 'dastardly varmints' that the Sweatstain was so upset over.

I mean, Come On! They're bats! What's so terrifying about bats in trees? And the answer? Well, if they could spook that smelly naked warrior, then I wanted them for the Master's use.

She wouldn't have just 'forgotten' about me after all. Heh... almost got me there, Rarity. Bet you feel really proud of yourself for that one, but it's the Master we're talking about. She doesn't 'accidentally' anything.

So, she must have 'left' me when she was 'distracted' by the Rarity.

And whhhhhy would the Master 'forget' her demon on the edge of a plantation full of creatures capable of terrifying her minions?

Heh... because she wants them to be hers as well, of course.

So, there I was, hopping along through the vile land again, eyes toward the trees and doing my absolute best not to be spotted by the Applejack... or worse yet, the Big Mac, when I spotted them.

Sitting...In the trees.

With tiny little newspapers and card tables — no joke.

I snuck around, carefully watching for any sign of hostility or traps. Off in the distance, I could hear the Applejack muttering darkly, probably trying to summon one of her dark gods from the apples that lay rotting on the ground.

Silly Sweatstain, you can't sacrifice rotting fruit to summon dark powers.

You need the living... and preferably the young and innocent.

But, despite her dark cursing, the Applejack wasn't what ultimately held my attention.

Because there, in the fields, under the tree where most of the fruit bats were sitting with their little newspapers and card tables and tiny wooden radios, the Assassin was sitting.

Just sitting... and staring... hours after everyone else had left.

And then I saw it, the proof of everything I had suspected since I'd first seen her.

It was her eyes.

She was staring at the tree, and her eyes were no longer sad.

They were intense, and angry, and... probably more than a little mad.

She shivered once, and I watched as her feathers drew away to reveal leathery skin and little hooks at the joints. Her ears twitched and stretched, little tufts of hair accentuating their larger size. And then, all at once, her head snapped back to look at me and she hissed with the viciousness that had been so carefully hidden beneath a mask of timidity.

And the bats just sat there, unphased. It's like they were waiting for something.

...

Succubus. CALLED IT!

-~oOo~-


So, there I was, staring down a murderous, bat winged, demonic horsebeast. Pretty sure that sentence is all kinds of wrong but, eh, screw it.

The Master had set it up so I could get some recon on the little bat things and instead, I'd seen the proof of the Assassin's demonic form.

Sure, it was still fluffy and yellow. Sure it still had a garishly pink mane and tail. And sure, it was still the fever dream of some coked up screwloose with a fetish for horses, but now? NOW it was the fever dream of some coked up screwloose with a fetish for horses and some kinky S&M overtones.

I mean... horsebeast succubus? HA! How the hells would anyone ever top that?

I must have been laughing because the next thing I know, there's a set of blood red eyes inches from my face. Took all of a second for the laughter to die in my throat as I realized what else had changed.

She had fangs. She had full blown, needle sharp, finger length fangs and the resulting scream that erupted from my throat was matched only by the furious shriek that tore from hers.

I was running before the echoes had stopped.

Well... I was running and jumping and phasing and doing my damnedest to learn teleportation, but it's much easier to say 'running' when talking about things in retrospect.

What? You don't think I consider these things WHILE fleeing , do you?  HELLS no. There was a crazy murderous demonic horsebeast chasing me!

So, dodging and fleeing and just a bit of hiding when I could manage it and eventually getting away. Yep... that was the order of the night until, all at once, the shrieking stopped.

No... I did not look out and let her know where I was.... I learned that trick in the ashen fields while the Legion 'trained' us. If things get quiet too fast, one of three things has happened.

1) They lost sight of you and are waiting for you to show yourself. Pretty much the easiest thing in the world to do. You wait until backup comes or they get tired of waiting for you and inadvertently show themselves.

2) They got killed! Pretty much never assume this. The Legion loved to use this as a joke. Oh yheah... you ran and they all ~somehow~ died to butterflies and magic rainbows. BULL... anyone who believed this would be loaded into the cannons and used as rangefinding artillery ammunition.

If you didn't get the clue on the first round, then the next would be as the 'guidance system' of a depth charge.

or 3) something else just changed and you DO NOT want to find out what kills the things that make demons run. Saw a glimpse of a blue obelisk with a white light on top once.... heard a screeching that was like Time itself was weeping and just kept running. Never did see Rathgop after that. Pretty sure he stayed to check it out.

BUT, the point is, you DO NOT look out from around cover when the battleground gets quiet unexpectedly.

You get someone else to do it for you.

A few seconds with a stick, my claws, and one of the torture-fruits that littered the plantation's grounds and I had my decoy.

Applespaz, the fetid treefruit on a stick, volunteered to sacrifice himself for the good of the Master's favorite minion.

Okay. I shoved an apple on a stick, alright? I HATE APPLES.

It was cathartic.

Don't judge me.

That aside, I took a few deep breaths, noticing that the sun had suddenly dropped below the horizon, and tentatively stuck the fruit on a stick out from behind the tree trunk I had been hiding behind.

Nothing happened.

I mean, seriously? After all that? NOTHING?

In frustration, I shook the decoy just, you know, because that's what you do when you've had a harrowing experience fleeing from a mutant horsebeast/succubus hybrid that's multiple times your body size.

And then... the stick jolted in my hand.

The apple looked like a snake had teleported onto it.

A long, thin, very RED snake.

I let go of the stick and glanced out around the other side of the tree to see the succubus, hanging upside down from a nearby tree.... about 15 feet away.

The sudden sound, kind of like a rubber band, made me blink.

She had a stick in her mouth. A stick with an apple on it.

Applespaz, you have served the Master well. Your sacrifice will not be missed or cared about.

But hot damn.... when she spit the stick out it took me a second to realize she wasn't chasing me anymore.

A moment later explained why: she opened her mouth and her TONGUE shot out like a whip, snagged an apple from another tree, wrapped around it, and then pulled the whole thing into her jaws where she spun it around, turned those red, red, eyes towards me, and then sunk her fangs into its flesh and sucked it dry.

I swallowed.

It was almost kinky until the biting part. I mean, hells... that is one FLEXIBLE appendage.

If the Master wanted this one, she could have it.

I hid again and waited for backup. The Master would notice I was gone soon enough.


-~oOo~-


The Master didn't notice I was gone.

Or, more likely, if she had, she decided I wasn't foolish enough to come back without her prize.

Whatever the case, I spent the rest of the night curled up as small as could be, tucked into the exposed roots of one of Applejack's torture trees.

Listening to the TWIP-Sssssssssssssssllllck sound of the unveiled Fluttershy as she cut a leisurely path through the orchard around me, draining the fruits of their life and dropping their withered husks like so many twisted carcasses, well... that was disconcerting.

I do not like apples (or Apples with a capital 'A' for that matter) but never have I seen or heard such casual slaughter with such a mundane and innocuous class of victim.

That sentence needs to be shot. It is long and cruel but still nowhere near as traumatizing as listening to that creature systematically killing. I mean, by the Fel, she was just dropping their shriveled remains as casually as a Blood Elf Magister would brush a mote of dust from their pauldrons or mantle or whatever those big fancy shoulder pads are called.

It was both terrifying and fascinating in its own way.

Also, before you think I had any kind of attraction to Fluttershy, let me remind you of this one, simple, fact: she's a succubus FEKKING HORSEBEAST you sick pervs.

I mean, yheah, if your master asks for you to join in, you do your demonic duty and all, but come on... she's a horsething.

Last time I heard of some demon doing that kind of thing, there were mind altering magics, perversions of the natural order, and a whole slew of succubi waiting in the wings... literal ladies of the night... not to mention dinner and a show. I mean, when in Karazhan, you do as Medivh, but still — horsebeast... simply: no.

"Kara-zan" and "Med-div": they're a fancy human place and person respectively. They like making their words look funny. Also, crazy trans-dimensional magic from both of those. Twisting hallways, battle-ready chess games, attack trained sky eels, and giant floating carnivorous eyeballs aside, just a messed up place. And Medivh still hasn't decided if he's evil or good yet.

Wishy-washy bastard.

So, yheah, getting back to my night.

It sucked! Double entendre actually unintentional.

But, just before dawn, she flew off. Not sure where, but I was more than happy to run the hells home.

...

And no, I didn't just stick my head out to check. She flew over the tree I was hiding under and streaked off into the night just before the sun fekking erupted from the horizon.

I swear, this world is messed up something fierce. As if warlock horsebeasts and draconic butlers weren't enough, the SUN and MOON don't seem to care one fekking bit about maintaining a set schedule or even being in the sky until they feel like it. Lazy-ass celestial bodies and their indignant dismissal of one of the basic concepts of interstellar movement.

So, when I jumped out of hiding to go home, I was actually almost expecting the Master to be waiting for me with a rolled up newspaper or something for taking so long. She wasn't there, by the way, but that didn't mean I wasn't more than willing to book it back to the lair.

Only problem was, the moment I jumped out of hiding, I froze.

All around me, numbering in the hundreds, if not more, were the paper-dry remains of that succubus' gorging. That is a LOT of life she drained. I mean, to suck a victim dry is a feat unto itself, succubus or not, but even if you ignore the fact that she was draining tree fruit and not some guy or kinky chick, that is still a metric fek-ton of life...um.... juice I guess?

Hot damn. And she's afraid of the Master? Also, how the blazing hells could she still fly with that much juice in her? She should have looked like some kind of bloated, yellow furred, bat winged, soul raping tick with a penchant for pink hair dye.

Field of death and anatomical mysteries aside — recon obtained! The Master will be pleased! Newspapers will remain un-rolled and un-furnished!  The Apocalypse in scales will remain a tentative ally! All things will remain at the status quo!

And, as the sun continued its voyage over the horizon, until coming to a very abrupt halt, I realized one, very important, thing: I had very little time to get back to the lair and start up tea and breakfast.

What? The Master enjoys regularity... and I enjoy my skin.

-~oOo~-


The lair was a shambles. Seriously. No one had bothered to pick up the dishes from last night and the cutlery was just sitting there, stabbed into the floor as if the Master hadn't decided to torture anyone in my absence.

...

Well... I can dream, can't I? I mean, sure, I've yet to find any evidence of her hidden torture chambers, but still, she's a warlock with a dragon as a butler. How can she ~NOT~ have some kind of dungeon.

Then again, she did send me out to find out about the succubus so — maybe its a sexy dungeon?

I asked her and she explained that 'no' she didn't have a sexy dungeon hidden away somewhere.

I nodded and affirmed that it was okay if she didn't want to let people know about her sexy dungeon.... you know, I'm her trusted imp, I can offer assurances once in a while.

She turned bright red before telling me, VERY quickly, that she didn't have a sexy dungeon again.

I nodded and picked up the cutlery, as I assured her I wouldn't tell anyone about her secret sexy dungeon.

Again, she said she didn't have a sexy dungeon... even redder than before.

Now, what you have to understand is that, somehow, they can blush with their fur but, it's like.... subdued. So, when I saw her get even redder, it took me a moment to figure out if she was about to catch fire or just blushing harder. It's kind of a a toss up, really.

Massive magical reserves funneling through the emotional fury of a demon summoning serial killer vs incredible embarrassment not befitting a warlock. I mean, really... you can't blame me for being just a little bit unsure.

So, you know, I shrugged and said it was ok. She didn't have to tell me about her sexy dungeon.

Then she grabbed me by my ear (which hurt like hell somehow since she doesn't even have FINGERS) and drug me into the kitchen, away from Spike. Then she sat me down and said she didn't have a dungeon, sexy or otherwise, and that I couldn't go around saying things like that because it would make other ponies ask the wrong kinds of questions.

Ah, THAT I could understand. She couldn't have anyone knowing that she had a dungeon or they're start to look for it and eventually figure out how to spring her captives. I nodded, explained, and said that I understood.

She blinked at me. I could almost hear the gears grinding as she tried to piece together a curse appropriate enough to say, so I just patted her leg and turned to go saying that maybe dungeons were just different where I come from and that I wouldn't tell anyone.

I was almost out of the kitchen when she nearly yelled that 'dungeons are bad places with chains and whips and hot oil and other things that good ponies didn't do to other ponies' and that she most certainly did NOT have one of those somewhere.

I nodded and smiled and assured her that her whips and chains and hot oil dungeon, which was most certainly not a sexy dungeon, would remain our secret, and left her in the kitchen sputtering.

Then, when I was outside the door, I just laughed and whispered "the Master's got a sexy dungeon" and scampered off to clean up.

Oh, and I might've forgotten to mention the succubus, what with having to clean up. Eh... she probably already knows.


-~oOo~-


Well...
What a busy day.

First with the revelation that my Master is a kinky little closet sex-jocky and then with the Applejack ringing that blasted bell again.

Not even half an hour after breakfast and we were all running off to the torture plantation again. And, GASP, guess what! The fruits were still little piles of mush and dead plants like how I left them all of an hour ago.

Surprising, right?

Oh...

That's right. I had forgotten to tell the Master exactly what happened after she 'accidentally' left me for recon.

Whoops. My fault entirely.

Not that I'm dumb enough to tell her. Oh hells no. I've seen her when she's playing nice and I have no desire to see her upset with me.

So, you know, I just kinda... slunk off to stay out from under hoof.

What? I was absolutely NOT hiding from her merry little bloodlust tantrum. Imps do NOT hide from their Masters. Especially ones like my Master. Oh hells no.

I rather like my skin, thank you very much!

So, there they were, all gathered up and muttering about how the vampire fruit bats were still doing their whole not-starving to death thing, when the Traitor just up and shoves an apple at one of them to prove they'd done it.

Little monster had the brass balls to actually slap the sass right out of her.... knocked the apple out of her hooves and went back to reading its tiny newspaper.

I may just have to find that little tree rat and give it some kind of reward. It's so nice to see something slapping that blue menace around a bit, even if it only really smacked her ego around. Still...

But, that meant the obvious answer wasn't going to fly with them. BIG SURPRISE THERE. Horsebeasts unable to leave well enough alone? Never.

So, they agreed that they'd have to stake out the place and find what kind of thing was causing all the trouble.

Because, you know, mind-raping the local animal population didn't work, so now they should try to investigate the potential other options.

My Master's work with them is starting to pay off. They didn't even fix the bats before running off to try something new.

Suffer you hideous little tree rats! Suffer and starve and watch as my Master's will be done!

All except you, feisty old newspaper-reading tree rat. I'll make sure you get to smack the Traitor again. Don't worry, you've got a demon on your side!

But, all that aside, it looks like we've got a night of terror planned, far from prying eyes and with a decided lack of witnesses!

This is gonna be GREAT!

Oh, and the Sweatstain apparently has some kind of super apple... thing's huge... like, larger than a cart huge. Probably weights a few hundred pounds. She was all glossy eyed about it.

With how much she loves the things, I wouldn't doubt she pushed the thing out herself. Oh, don't give me that look. This place is strange as hell, horses birthing fruit fits right in with the level of crazy I've had to live with here.

Freaks, the whole lot of 'em!

Well... except for that old bat thing. At least he has some bitterness to him. Good on you little fount of vitriol. Good on you.


-~oOo~-


So!

The Master gathered all her little minions up at the torture farm just a few minutes after the sun sank below the horizon.

Still creepy as hell to see that happen. It's not like it takes hours or anything either. Just... bright and shiny day and then in the course of a few minutes, the thing just sinks. It's like, it has a mind of its own or something. I mean, don't get me wrong, sometimes things get you distracted and the next thing you know, you're looking up and the moon is hanging high in the sky while the wails of your victims add a playful accompaniment to your art project, but... I'm serious. The sun ACTUALLY starts moving faster just before night.

But that was a few minutes ago... on the walk over actually.

So, there we were, the whole merry lot of the Master's pet projects, standing around while we waited for the sweatstain to discover that her precious treefruits were being devoured by one of the Master's other minions.

Oh... I love how the Master thinks. "What's that, hapless minion? You think your life outside of my will matters in the least? Well then, I'll just gather all of us up, waste our collective time, and then crush your sense of worth when I reveal that one of my own pets was slowly destroying your livelihood the whole time!"

Hah... oh, I knew she was powerful, but this is almost drunk with power. She's literally wasting everyone's time, making them all aware of it, and then going to shove it down that orange peasant's throat just as the rest of them realize that their time and rest were only interrupted because of Applejack's self-important complaining.

They'll tear her to pieces.

That's why I stayed out of the way — not because I was hiding (though angering the Master would be a bad idea), but because she was TEACHING Applejack her place.

It was lovely. So, of course, I stayed out of the way and just watched.

The Master gathered them all up, passed out little rods that would light up on one end, and explained how they were going to go in pairs and that if anyone found anything, they'd just signal with their lights.

It was brilliant. Separate them all. Whittle down their resolve, and then gather them all up to witness her judgement!

They all wandered off, stumbling through the darkness and the countless trees of the farm. One by one, getting more and more lost as they wandered, jumping at every noise.

Oh yes, I was tempted to mess with them, but seeing just how pathetic they were? I... I didn't have the heart.

I mean, yes, they were useless. And yes, they were helpless. But come on! They're still the Master's minions. I don't expect them to all go to the local orphanage and slaughter the little drains on society together, but how can the Master function if her slaves are afraid of every little thing?

Well, as it turns out, I didn't even have to wait long enough to find out.

Fluttershy, the succubus assassin, revealed herself and showed why you do not piss off assassins in general.

She terrified Rarity, dive bombed the Traitor, nearly gave the pink one a heart attack, and shocked the Applejack into stunned silence.

I'll admit, the Master's look of confused surprise would have convinced even me, iiiiiiif I weren't her imp. I've been around her long enough to know she's a masterful actor. Still can't tell where she gets it from. The rest of these idiots are like open books, but she keeps up that facade of innocent naivete without any effort at all.

And when she 'revealed' that Fluttershy must have been 'accidentally' affected by her magic, the whole lot of them got quiet.

She made a giant glowing image, showing how when she told Fluttershy to 'STARE' at the bats, her spell must have 'accidentally' taken the bats desire to consume the flesh of the living away and given it to Fluttershy.

The implications were weighty.

The Master didn't care who you were, what you were doing, or where you thought you could hide. NO ONE, not even her favored minions, were beyond her reach.

I may have giggled when she laid out the plan to 'save' Fluttershy.

The rest of them looked like their blood had all turned to ice.


-~oOo~-


Well, never let it be said that the Master's not criminally insane.

After 'revealing' that Fluttershy, the assassin succubus, was 'accidentally' given the collective hunger of hundreds (if not thousands) of vampire bats, the Master laid out our plan to 'save' her.

It went something like this:

Cover the behemoth mutant apple of the Sweatstain's darkest fantasies with a bed sheet, piss the assassin off, then throw a mirror in front of her to make her stop moving.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

The Master actually got them all to agree to this.

I mean, yheah, I know the Traitor isn't all that bright (what with repeatedly using her face as a plow against the cobblestone roads here), but this 'plan'.... it's a new level of idiotic.And yet, they all agreed to it.

I'm actually kind of wondering if she's testing to see how many brain cells there are left between the lot of them.

Seriously, how could ANYONE think this makes even the tiniest bit of sense.

Fluttershy is a fekking ASSASSIN. She's a SUCCUBUS. She thrives on seduction, torture, and murder! She attempted blatant slaughter in broad daylight, surrounded by witnesses, and managed to get them all to SIDE WITH HER. She's been given the claws and fangs of vampire bats, scaled up to match her size, and the collective hunger of the entire flock of that pestilent air-born plague against life.

And their plan was to piss her off and slap a mirror in front of her?

Okay, in all fairness, the Master did use the giant apple as a sacrifice to lure her out... utterly destroying any hope that Applejack can salvage her arboreal love child in the process... but that's about the only part that made sense!

So, of course, it worked.

Well, when I say worked, I really mean that she came careening out of the night, dodged their attacks, and nearly escaped until she attempted to mind rape them and the Master signaled the mirror to be revealed.

So, ultimately, they did catch her. The Master 'cured' her and they all apologized for not listening to her.

Then, to keep her from slaughtering them all, the Master had her other minions follow Fluttershy's orders to condemn a full portion of Applejack's farm to paying the vermin a lifetime tithe in return for not utterly mutilating the farm.

That's right. Fluttershy sold Applejack on 'protection' fees to flying rats. To Clarify, Fluttershy just extorted a portion of Applejack's gross products in return for giving away a portion of her farm to feed wild animals that were already destroying her livelihood.

And through it all, the Master just nodded her head approvingly and smiled at the 'progress' they were making.

In the end, they all gave each other a hug, with Fluttershy within striking distance of all of them... probably so that the Master could remind them all that she has the assassin in her pocket now.

And they all went home happy and friendly.

Sounds like a great result right? The bats are safe and not dying of starvation! Applejack gets to keep the majority of her farm, just rotating out a few fields now and then while she gets free fertilizer! The Traitor gets her cider at the end of the season. Pinkie Pie got to play with her toys at night without any witnesses. And the Master got to remind them all that they only live to serve her will!

Don't believe me?

Well, here's the part that puts it all into perspective.

Fluttershy was pressured into 'helping' brainwash the bats and then brain raped not once, but TWICE while her 'friends' watched. The Rarity was  denied almost half a week's sleep when her livelihood revolves around careful social interaction and technical skill with sharp implements. The Traitor was show that she might be fast, but that the assassin can not only out maneuver her, but that her own natural skills mean that she could come for her at any time... and Rainbow would be helpless to stop her. Applejack was reminded that she's literally only allowed to live as long as she does what the Master wants... and that the Master can at any time, simply mind-rape her if she misbehaves. And Pinkie Pie? I'm not actually sure... she kind of did what the Master wanted.... and she keeps explosive ordinance in her hair, so I doubt the Master can really scare her.

Might be a few screws short of a detonator with that one.

But the REAL kicker? The thing that makes all of that pale in comparison?

It's the slow realization that I'm sure they all came to once they laid down for bed that night... the realization that the Master can literally carry and manipulate a library's worth of books, carry all of them, teleport, and mind-rape things on a whim.... and that she chose to pit them all against a demonic assassin instead of just grabbing her in her magic and fixing things in less than five seconds.

Because, you know, once that sinks in; once that really REALLY sinks in, you gotta wonder why she bothers with us at all.

I can not tell you how refreshing it is to see her with that particular smile on her face.

Especially since I caught the glint of Fluttershy's fang while they were all hugging it out. The Master 'cured' her... in front of her friends, but kept the actual cure just out of Fluttershy's reach. Remind her of her place... with a bit of the eternal hunger of the damned.

Well played, Master.... well played indeed.


-~oOo~-

> Endless Corruption
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whatever the case, today, the Rarity came over to discuss 'fashion' ideas and mentioned drawing inspiration from the 'castle of the two sisters'... whatever that is.

I mean, don't get me wrong, this place NEEDS a castle. It's practically a backwater hobo town with the livestock running things... so there's GOT to be a castle somewhere.

And the huge thing hanging off the mountain in the distance doesn't count. I don't care how safe anyone says it is, that thing is just a stiff wind away from a mass grave at the foot of a mile-long fall and a VERY funny stop.

But yheah, not everyone can have a magic floaty mountain house made of stone. Someone had to have been sensible in the past and just wiped out everyone who remembered otherwise.

Come to think of it, the Master DID say that the royals she visited lived in a castle. Hmmm... wonder if they're the ones on the mountain... and if they are, they're doing a much better job of slaughtering the unwitting than I gave them credit for. I mean, COME ON! NO ONE sees ANYTHING wrong with a massive lump of stone hanging off the side of a mountain in a VERY hazardous fashion... and then encouraging the little servant peasants to live there so you can dispose of them with minimal effort when they anger you?

I might have to send them a fruit basket to thank them for cutting down on the local pest population.

Anyway!

So, The Rarity came over, borrowed Spike, and left the Master and I all alone.

I figured this would be the moment she'd throw me into a vice, start cackling madly, and demand payment for her stepping in the other day, so I was justifiably worried for my continued well being.

What I wasn't prepared for was being asked if there was anything I'd like to do.

I mean.... what the hells?

Sure! Let's go stab the traitor! Or how about we go sacrifice a few orphans to bolster your growing reserves of power? We could taint the water supply with fel magic, tempting the populace into a self-serving cycle of madness and suffering the likes of which only warlocks and their demons can truly appreciate. Or, you know, we could simply cut to the quick and go full bore: chasing a megalomaniacal quest for power that leads to the corrupting influence of the Legion taking hold of her soul.

Buuuuut, I'm pretty sure it was a test to see if I'd been reading the etiquette grimoire as she'd suggested a few days ago.

So, despite my desires to engage in a bit of incendiary frivolity, I suggested we have some tea and 'study time' in the basement.

She'd seemed pleased by that, and before long, we were both downstairs with a teakettle and cups between us.

Now, my experiences in the basement have been ... varied, let's say. On the one hand, it's been a place of indescribable pain. Acids and flames and sharp bits of glass becoming embedded in my flesh will tend to make for some unpleasant memories. But on the other hand, it's where the little Apocalypse-In-Waiting, Spike, and I forged our little truce. It's the place where the Master seems to have become most comfortable when trying out new spells or experimenting upon mysterious things.

It's also the place where the table we fixed resides.

The table, I remind, that I engraved with the spellform for FelFire bolts.

A table, we decided to have tea on, and read books on, and COMPLETELY IGNORE THE PULSING RUNES OF LEGION MAGIC.

I... was less than satisfied, but... then again... I hadn't asked for rampant destruction, so ... maybe the Master is just seeing how well I behave.


-~oOo~-




It's been two weeks since the Master got her minions in line.
Two weeks of surprise inspections, unscheduled trips, and a brief bit of discipline involving the Rarity coming into possession of an ancient tome which, apparently, granted her the ability to manifest her will upon reality on a whim.

HAH! I KNEW she was a crazy powerful mage. Not like the Master, of course, but still.... crazy powerful.

During her little power trip, the enchantress did everything from building the perfect puppet show (yheah.... not sure what kind of mental damage that caused), to turning the streets into literal gold and a few trees and buildings into precious gems. Aaaaand, just to clarify: I don't mean she turned them into gemstones, I mean she quite literally transmuted the existing structures into new material of a precious, crystalline, nature.

I know some gemcutters that would saw off their right leg for a chunk of crystal the size of a skull.... and the Rarity just started cackling and transforming parts of the town on a whim... talking about making things 'Fabulous!'

Oh, but the best part of her little rampage? The abosolute BEST part? That has to be our four 'new' residents.

It seems that while the Rarity was trying to make the Master's little hamlet more.... upscale... she actually managed to transform four of the residents at some miscreant's birthday party (a clown and three mariachi players, no less) into four entirely different horsebeasts. Oh... the madness THAT brought about.

Turns out, in addition to actually changing a heavy-set, mustachioed, guitarist into a svelte female cellist, each one of the four is actually now a duplicate of an existing resident....which has led to no small confusion. That, and the existing female Cellist is apparently in a monogamous relationship with a local entertainer... another female mind you... which makes the whole 'unexpected twin' thing even more funny.

Preeeeetty sure the Master hasn't noticed that particular bit yet, but she did come back a few hours after the incident complaining about having to clean up so much 'dark magic'... oh, THAT clever little offhanded comment had me rolling.

Cleaning up 'Dark Magic'? Coming from a warlock? Hah!

Oh, and it so happens that Spike ATE the spellbook.... simply ate the artifact. Yheah.... I'm once again reminded how insanely overpowered that little dragon is.

Anyway, the Rarity has been properly chastised, the Orange Sweatstink has left us alone. The Rainbow Traitor seems ill-at-ease but hasn't attacked again. The butter colored assassin has been hiding. And the Pinkie Pie? That one's been over multiple times just to say 'hi' or leave baked goods to apologize for the party being ended unexpectedly.

And then, the whole lot of them ran off to a foreign empire for some kind of culturally relevant ritualized gladiatorial combat.
I'd tell ya more about them but the Master, apparently, thought I might be naughty so she bound me in a little glass ball, told me to be good, and left me at the lair.

Let me tell you, running around like a little infernal gerbil in a heavily warded library-esque lair is pretty boring once you fall down a flight of stairs.

All in all, a fairly boring two weeks.

But then, this morning, the Master received a letter from the local royalty.

Apparently, the Master has been given a position of some authority in the empire!

I knew it. I frakking knew it! All this time, all this secrecy! She's been maintaining the guise of some hapless idiot, slowly building power and a legion of willing subjects all bent to her will, and now it's finally paying off!

I had just started packing the various torture implements (still can't figure out how a hollow handled butter spreader is used in torture, but eh... what the hell), when the Master smirked and explained that the 'silverware' could stay at 'home.'

I must have looked confused since she started laughing softly before calling for Spike to help me pack.

And in the manner of about twenty minutes, Spike, the Master, and I were all ready for the Master's first public steps towards tyrannical domination.

I actually wished I had a small fuzzy animal to clutch while I sniffled in pride.
I was so proud of her! So much power! So much deception! So much planning and misdirection. All those bizarre 'etiquette' sessions and 'tea parties' and 'friendship lessons'... all that nonsense — and it was finally paying dividends!

And those royal idiots had no clue what kind of nightmare they were unleashing.

...
Oh... you caught that bit about me clutching a fuzzy animal? Let me clarify: when I said 'clutch', I meant 'rend and light on fire.'
Don't look at me like that! I'm not going soft! I love the squeals of agony just as much as I always have! High score on crippled orphan multiplier, RIGHT HERE, BABY! Little snot nosed bastards never saw me coming.

But, all things considered, maybe there is a better way to play this off.
...
hmmmmm.... something to think about, maybe.
...
And besides, the Master ~is~ about to unleash hell.


-~oOo~-

> Unstable Affliction
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something is wrong. The Master returned from her stint at unleashing hell and she seems... unwell.

I won't say she seems angry, far from it. There are no flaming spheres of death, lightning bolts, gouts of blistering ice or even a rolled up newspaper in sight, but where the outward signs of anger are missing, she seems, somehow... smaller.

Well, not physically, of course! She's still taller than Spike and I, but she's moving slower and her ears are down.

I wonder if they cursed her and she is recovering. Something to worry about later; the Master is far too powerful to succumb to some piddly little hex.

No, whatever this is, it has clearly sapped her energy.

I, honestly didn't know what to do. Normally, a good maniacal cackling will cheer up a warlock. She just sighed. Maybe a few orphan sacrifices? We are SORELY lacking both orphans and sacrifices in this little backwater-flower-shop.

Stitchface used to love watching the flickering of firelight on a quiet night when she was feeling low, but somehow I doubt the Master will approve of setting her own little hamlet on fire just to boost her spirits.

No... No! Something must be done! I shall convene with that little herald of the apocalypse and see if he has anything to suggest. Between Spike and I, I'm sure we can come up with something.

---

It was a long afternoon, and one I'm not terribly happy with, but we've come to a conclusion, Spike and I. Well... two actually.

I believe the Master has been afflicted with a lingering synecdoche based curse. That's pronounced 'sin-nekt-duh-kee., It means a spell that targets a part of something to mess with the rest of it.

Voodoo. Okay? It's freaking voodoo. Pretty much means that as long as it's out there, the Master is vulnerable.

I bet its those 'princesses' she keeps talking about. I bet they invited her to tea the other day to steal a tail hair or something so they could keep her in line. I BET they think they've got her under their thumb!

Oh, but they are so very wrong. The Master can't be controlled with such a simple trick. Oh no. She'll figure it out and then the gloves will come off. It'll start with a little spying, something to wet the appetite as it were. She'll have Spike and I go out and infiltrate the castle. We'll start small, checking guard rotations, locating access for the peasants, tracking food shipments and that sort of thing. Then, she'll have us sneak through, finding the commissary, barracks and kitchens. She'll muster her little minions and have them on standby, hiding in the rocky terrain nearby as Spike dismembers the guard, destroys their armor, and I poison the UTENSILS in the kitchen.

What? You think they wouldn't check the food? No... the Master is too clever for that. She'll want the food to be fine so when they grow ill and start investigating it'll be hopeless. Before long, they'll assume the food stores are tainted, but when they check, they'll find nothing and continue on eating more, all the while chasing ghosts. Eventually, the deaths will start piling up, but by then the guard will have been overrun, the peasants routed from their fortified city, and the royals will have to face the full might of a scorned warlock with the power to leash the little death-wyrm and summon demons as a hobby.

I shall start the preparations myself. If I can't find the Master's stash of spell components, I'm sure I can make some. There are plenty of children in the town; blood of the innocent can't be that difficult to find. The Rarity can supply us with enchantments and I'm sure the Assassin will be of help, what with her own dark secrets being used as blackmail. Even the Sweatstain and Traitor can be capitalized upon for their brute force approach in culling any Guard that missed breakfast.

Pinkie Pie can bring her artillery for any war machines these royals may be hiding.

And once they surrender the accursed focus of the Master's affliction, I'll strip it of her essence and peel off a bit of flesh from the royals themselves before having Spike nibble on it while I broil the blasted thing until their screams echo from the four corners of the realm!

Spike, however, thinks she's just depressed about having no 'royal duties' of her own.

Silly Spike, no self respecting warlock desires 'duties' that would detract from their pursuit of knowledge and power.

Well, I suppose I can forgive his naivete; he is only a baby dragon, after all. 

Regardless, I will NOT simply stand by and let my Master be forced to serve their will. Absolutely not. She is MY Master and I will NOT allow such a thing to pass.

Er... she is needed. For the Legion.

...

...

I feel, somehow, less comfortable with that than I should. I will have to think on this some more.


-~oOo~-




I can't really express my confusion enough to convey just how much I dislike magic bubbles.

The Master had been puttering around the lair, looking upset, and patently denying my suggestions to simply usurp the uppity royals when she received yet ANOTHER summons to this pair of overly needy royalty.

So, without preamble, she ran off to the train station again.... after just arriving back at the lair the day before.

Honestly, if I wasn't certain that they were incompetent, I might find the sleep deprivation and psychological stress to be funny. As it is, she sealed me up in a little magenta bubble of magic and told me to be good while she was gone.

Then, she left.

Spike came in a few minutes later and asked if I wanted to do something, but I'm fairly certain he didn't take my suggestion to rouse the minions into a preemptive strike seriously. Regardless, we ended up lounging around the lair for the better part of the day before the Master returned, looking even more upset than when she left.

My bubble popped, and I scampered over to offer my support when she said she just wanted to go for a walk.

This, apparently, warranted my inclusion via magical magenta bubble... AGAIN.

Have I mentioned how much I hate that thing?

Well, a minute or two outside and her minions had somehow known to assemble. They caught up with us just at the edge of her hamlet and proceeded to invite themselves in her walk.

I should point out that when the Master decided to go for a walk, her chosen destination was apparently deep within a region of primordial forest... a place so foreboding that it creates its own predators out of whatever is left laying around.

That's right. When a tree falls in this forest, not only does it make a sound, but it might very well get back up, howl, and start systematically dissecting whatever caused it to fall in the first place. I'm not even making this up... the Master said we just needed to be on the lookout for timberwolves, and when I expressed my confusion, she described them as wolves composed of the jagged, broken, and dead remains of trees infused with a malevolence borne of the primal will of an eldrich forest.

I laughed at her joke until the Sweatstain barked to keep it down... apparently they are unkillable and can fuse together to become an even more dangerous beast.

The Master confirmed this.

Anyway, the Master's 'relaxing walk' destinations aside, we ended up at a cliff overlooking a rocky gully. Oddly enough, rough hewn steps seemed to descend into the darkness, and even more surprisingly, that was the path the Master took.

We descended down into the cold, stony heart of the forest, only to come upon a cave with a tree entirely made of some kind of manacrystal. The thing was huge, at least as big as one of those steam-tanks the dwarves seem so fond of.

And there, they stood, discussing how they had 'returned the elements' to the 'tree of harmony' or something. In all honesty, I was trying not to be creeped out by the sheer size of that thing.

See, what you have to understand is that a mana gem is composed of the crysatalized will of a mage, compressed and infused with the life force of countless victims. A warlock can make something pretty close called a 'soul stone', or the less powerful 'soul shard'. Where a shard is literally a fractured chip of the spiritual essence of a victim, a soul stone is the entirety of a victim's soul, used as fuel for a warlock's more powerful magics. Where a warlock will summarily execute a victim to fuel their goals, a mage steals bits and pieces... like mosquitoes siphoning blood... from everything nearby.

A respectable mana gem is about the size of an egg.

This 'tree' was either older than dirt, and still stealing life, or evidence of one of the greatest magical thefts I can imagine. And while I was going over the implications of the Master not only knowing about, but having such a creation in her possession, one of the olde gods just decided to show up unannounced.

...

And other than saying the mismatched ancient maddness' name outloud, a dangerous feat in an of itself, the Master and her minions didn't even flinch.

I, meanwhile, phased, pulled up as much magic as I could and prepared the hottest, most vicious. ball of fel fire I've ever created in my long long life. The thing was beautiful, roiling with the suffering of the damned, hissing as the air around it flickered and burned with little gouts of smoke. This fel bolt, it... it was a piece of art.

So I threw it at the abomination hoping to distract it long enough for the Master to flee. She had enough minions along with her to stall it once the threat was distracted.

And that elder god? It plucked my glorious fel bolt out of the air, twisted it around a mismatched claw, and manifested a PAPER CONE to stick the fel fire to.... and proceeded to nibble on it like cotton candy.

At which point, I may have fainted... I'm not sure. I mean... I'm still here, telling you this story, but.... FEL FIRE IS NOT COTTON CANDY!


-~oOo~-




Well, what can I say? Elder gods just prancing about and the Master only looking a bit annoyed? Yheah, pretty much told me my assumptions have been right all along.

The Master is some kinda top tier uber-warlock.

Heh... I mean, yes, it was kinda obvious the way she's always going on about 'behaving' and 'etiquette' and 'playing nice' with others, but to just roll her eyes when a FREAKING ELDER GOD POPS INTO EXISTANCE? That's hardcore.

That's Eredar level power there buddy.

To put things in perspective, Stitchface was an undead warlock capable of poisoning the mind, crippling the body, and forcing the very tissues of her victim's bodies to wither and die. She also liked to eat their faces occasionally.... you know... for self image or something. She would throw around balls of fel-tainted shadow magic on a whim, taint stockpiles of food with corrosive chemicals and had a habit of dropping boxes of scorpions into orphanages to 'toughen them up'... you know, pretty standard stuff really.

She liked to kill things, often hundreds or even thousands of things, in an afternoon, because she could.

And she died almost as frequently as she recovered from dying.... you know... a few times a day at least.

But the Master? The Master hasn't died a single time since I've been here.

She's been crushed, lit on fire, poisoned, blugeoned, zapped with lightning, hit with spellfire, been exposed to dangerous chemicals, and even exposed to fel-magics on many occasions! I've checked... she hasn't died.

I don't even know if she keeps a soulstone around... and frankly? I can't blame her with how tough she is.

I don't care how hardcore someone thinks they are, taking anvils and pianos to the head while unarmored is NOT healthy.

She put a few bandaids on and used a wheelchair for a few minutes.... which I'm pretty sure was mostly to keep prying eyes from asking the wrong kinds of questions.

Oh... and she didn't flinch when the eldrich abomination that is an ELDER FREAKING GOD just showed up unnanounced to her little walk through the primordial forest of doom.

...

They're apparently on a first name basis, by the way. Her and all her little minions.

So, anyway, after he shows up, this 'Discord' just kind of puttered around, mocking the Master a bit and randomly altering reality before manifesting one of the Master's books and flipping through it. Said something about how they should really just take a look at some of the better parts and then tossed it aside like an orphan's hopes and dreams.

Granted, those aren't really worth anything to begin with, but I've seen the Master get rather upset when her possessions are tampered with.

From what I could see, he'd stuck little colorful bits of paper all throughout its pages.

So, despite the vile thing's appearance, he didn't really stay long, opting instead to hop on a purple vehicle of some sort and drive through a door that simply popped into existence as he used it.

The Master, despite everything, did not seem overly upset... once more affirming my belief that she simply didn't loathe him enough to waste her precious time in eradicating his being from time and eternity.

Which might actually explain why he didn't cause more trouble. I mean, if you know someone can destroy you, but chooses not to, I guess there's a bit of a professional respect going on or something.

Still don't like that thing.... makes my head hurt just trying to imagine how all those claws and wings and scales and fur and horns and teeth and colors and....and...an....a...................

That way lies madness.

I don't like elder gods. Some things just aren't meant to be around after time started.

But the Master? She went right on back to work, like nothing had happened at all.


-~oOo~-

> Empty Instance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Ahhhhhhhh.... finally something that makes sense.

Well, more sense than being on speaking terms with an elder god of chaos at least.

After the Master's little visit to the tree of congealed suffering, she and her little minions examined a hexagonal box the manacrystal had apparently grown for them.

Apparently, the Master had been working on a particularly difficult spell for a number of months, something that required the use of not only the Tree, but also some unknown reagent that she had yet to even determine the qualities of. This had left her frustrated, something that does not bode well for those around warlocks in general.

However, her..... unique relationship with this 'Discord' may have provided her with the key to solving her little dilemma. When he tossed the Master's book aside, it seemed to remind her of something, and before long we were all struggling up the many many steps to the top of the ravine and crossing a rickety bridge towards the ruins of an ancient castle.

Now, for an imp, ancient is a relative term. We're pretty much immortal, indestructible, and immune to things like showers of cherry blossoms and musical numbers, but when you're talking about mundane things, we get the idea. Ancient means 'old enough that pretty much everyone who first saw it is long dead'... and these ruins were ancient.

Also, despite how old they were, despite being in a forest of primordial evil, despite sitting almost directly above a manacrystal that's large enough to have accidentally swallowed a titan, the WOODEN DOORS were still intact.

Talk about magic.

So... after passing by all of those warning signs, the Master just strolled into the ruined castle, walked right past all the priceless artifacts, ignored the loot scattered all over the place, and plops herself down in the....

Library?

This derelict old pile of rubble has a functioning library?!?!?

Well, ancient magical buildings sitting atop soul siphoning magic trees frequented by elder gods.... I suppose whoever manages to get by all that deserves a break.

But a LIBRARY?!?!? Who the hells wants to stumble away from constant threat of bodily mutilation and curl up with some thousands year old tome that's likely to turn into dust and melt your lungs with some long forgotten curse?

Well, the Master ~IS~ a warlock after all.

So they all just flopped over whatever was nearby as the Master told them to look for 'something' or 'anything' to help out.

No clue what they needed to look for, not like the Master was all too specific, but they all got to it.

And me? What did I get to do? Well, I scampered around and started fetching books!

...

You didn't really believe that did you? I mean, with MY History? Oh no. The first thing the Master did was pop my little magic bubble, command me NOT to burn anything, and told me to go searching for any hidden compartments, doorways, halls, or rooms which might contain secret books.

If you could only FEEEEL the deadpan stare I'm giving you right now, you'd probably decide to build a teacup out of sponges. I swear... REALLY? It's a freaking broken down castle in the middle of the local EVIL woods, from like... a thousand years ago! There's not going to be any freaking hidden anythings!

And then I fell down a hole, slid passed a hall of floating severed legs, and out onto the lip of a stonework wall over the moat.

Alright. There may be some hidden things here after all.

But who the hells keeps severed legs in a hallway?!?


-~oOo~-




Alright!

The Master must have planned this after all. I mean, no one, let alone the Master, could possibly ask a more appropriate request than to look for hidden rooms and secrets in a place ~THIS~ full of them.

In addition to the trap door, the inclined hallways with no traction, the hidden pits, the rooms with murder holes, the spinning walls and floors, the hidden chutes that lead to narrow ledges over multi-story drops into the moat or WORSE, this castle has integrated communication tubes and even escape tunnels linking nearly EVERY FREAKING ROOM!

Deep breath there...

And she sent me away to go 'look' for them while she was 'studying' with her 'friends' in the 'library.'

I know the Master isn't ~exactly~ like my previous warlocks, but EVERY part of that situation just screams "It's time to discipline the minions."

So, it was that after nearly an hour of making my way through the castle, 'discovering' well over two dozen death traps, pitfalls, intentionally confusing hallways WITH MOVING WALLS, and similar obstacles, I was pulled rather suddenly with the Master's magic.

Now, I know that doesn't seem very impressive at this point, but as an imp, I've been given a pretty long leash as it were. Imps are still demons, you see, and as we're not really supposed to exist in worlds without a fairly decent source of fel power, we kind of .... discorporate if we stray too far.

It's a fancy word for "go poof"... get over it.

So, yheah. Immortal. Dang near invulnerable in the long run. Capable of magic and feats of raw strength. Yep... demon's got all of that.

But, we tend to be on a rather short leash to whatever's giving us the little bubble of freedom where we're summoned from.

And, yes, before you ask, that tends to be whoever or whatever summoned us in the first place. Kind of like a vine of ivy. We get a few little roots going and we can spread, but unless there's enough soil, or in our case, fel magic or the corruption that comes from it, we're tethered to our summoner.

But that's all beside the point because I had just gotten to the main throne hall again when I felt myself being yanked along by the Master's magic at a VERY high rate of speed.

I managed to phase JUUUUUUUUST before being crushed through a series of walls. Heh... the Master must be trying to remind me who's in charge. Normally, she'd have warned me before trying to maim or kill me.

Wait.

The Master's never TRIED to maim or kill me before.

But... but she couldn't have just forgotten about me. I'm her FREAKING IMP! You don't just forget about summoning corrupting beings of absolute malice and destruction. It's.... it's... well, you just don't forget about things like that!

People forget things that are inconsequential. Summoning demons is not inconsequential.

...

Either way, she must be trying to remind me that she's in charge, which I'm fine with, by the way. Can't have her getting upset with me after all.... it's creepy when she smiles.


So, hurtling through the sky, being drug along by the tether of magic that the Master probably doesn't even notice, and I see the forest blurring along below me. Well, mostly below. I hit a few trees and other things along the way, but ~phasing~ heh... phasing is awesome.

Especially when my 'flight' took me at an unhealthy speed THROUGH a five story tall, nine headed, bright orange and red hydra.

And no, the Master didn't even seem to notice.

This continued on for a few minutes before the forest abruptly ended and we started to ascend towards a set of mountains with a very familiar castle hanging off the upper slopes.

A castle which, I recall, is home to none other than the 'princesses' that have so agitated the Master over the last few weeks.

The 'princesses' who lord over this region. The 'princesses' who the Master seems entirely too intent to go and 'visit' at high speed.

Whatever she found in that library certainly got her excited. And, to tell you the truth, I'm a little excited to see her use it on them too.

It's about damn time to take over this little country! And, more importantly, there's no better time than the present to start.

Now, if only she would dodge more and rely less on my phasing to account for things. Think I still have some hydra scales in my teeth.


-~oOo~-

> iLVL(+)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

So!

There I was, finally getting to see the architectural fever dream that was that enormous stone and lumber city, clinging to the side of a mountain with a couple thousand foot drop right below.

The place was pretty darn big. I mean, not like some star-faring Eredar invasion ship, but still pretty darn huge.

Flying, well, being dragged along while the Master flew up to it, was enough to put its scale into sharp perspective. I mean, from the Master's lair, you could see it over there in the distance like some bulbous glittering wart on the side of an incredibly steep mountain. Teasingly suspended over a drop that looks more like the fall from a table than a naturally occurring geological formation. I mean, don't get me wrong, a mountain's a mountain, but even among mountains, some are more impressive than others.

These mountains, the ones around the Master's lair? They look like someone just stuck a fork in the ground and yanked them up like molten stone and let them freeze. I'm not kidding either!

The town sits in this little flat spot between them... surrounded by a little ring of hills that goes from there directly to mountains that should give anything without wings the constant fear of unexpected and random death by avalanche or rockslide.

Hells, even the Sweatstain's "orchard" is partially in the hilly portion. And you know how demented she is? She apparently thought to herself, "You know? I might be a horrible blight upon all things decent, reaking with the stench of months without bathing and the sour stale scent of sweat that has dried and killed off anything that might approach me, but there's a hill in the way of my apples... I think I'm going to plant some more GOING STRAIGHT UP THE FREAKING SIDE BECAUSE I HATE MYSELF!"

Well... probably not worded quite like that, but the fact remains that she didn't even care that some of the hills are 5 or 6 stories high and almost vertical climbs... she just went right on planting.

But THIS mountain? There's no apple trees. It's just perilous drops and jagged cliffs.

Oh... and apparently a rail line so the peasants don't have to scramble over the corpses of the hundreds of laborers that likely fell to their deaths constructing it.

You know... appearances and all.

Anyway, so, yheah. This place is huge. The city starts a little further down the mountain, but apparently someone thought that cities shouldn't just fall off the face of the planet at some point and decided to terraform a part of it. The end result? There's a giant section of the mountain face that's been cut away, leaving an exposed plateau of bedrock upon which the majority of the city has been built.

Everything was white marble and colored banners. Fancy ponies wandering around with their noses so high in the air you'd think they were trying to escape the rank odor of the dredges below them. Shops and displays were EVERYWHERE, and while the place looked pretty clean, I knew there had to be some slime in a place like this.

I mean, if the rulers of the place were calling for a warlock, you know there's got to be someone who needs killing.

But anyway, that was the city. The Master wasn't going to the city.

The Master was going to the palace... which was most certainly not a castle by any stretch of even my imagination.

Hells no. That thing was too big and too fancy.

Gleaming white marble and polished metals made up every inch of the palace's outer wall. Armed ponies in golden armor patrolled the avenues around it. Pegassi flew through the skies, looking like golden streaks as they watched for intruders. There were even some of the horny ones glaring daggers of patently disinterested neglect across any who dared to look upon their faces.

In short, it was like a version of home... you know... without the fire and screaming victims burning alive for ambience.

Excess.

Utter excess.

And the ones who lord over this bloated turd of a palace are the ones that summoned the Master.

No wonder she's been biding her time.

Even if she killed them outright, she'd need more minions to move all this stuff to the Lair.

...

What? A Warlock's lair is important. That's why they tend to destroy things wherever they go... to keep anyone from thinking about taking anything they left behind.

Pestilent scavengers, peasants, but they do need to live if we want to have sacrifices on hand.

Sigh.... the things we demons put up with to make make our masters happy.


-~oOo~-




By the time we got to the palace throne room, I think I'd been drug trough a few miles of glossy, stone hallways. Paintings, tapestries, stained glass windows, promenades, galleries, dining halls, and countless other grand proofs of the senseless opulence of the royalty that had been, tactlessly, scattered along our route. I'm not even joking when I say that the drains in the floor were worked metals with gold filigree and probably required hand.... hoof... polishing on a daily basis.

The amount of wealth these idiots maintained should have sent their country into an age of misery and starvation, the masses clamoring for bread crusts or resorting to cannibalism to sate their endless hunger.

You know... or summoning demons to get what they need. Supply and demand and all that.

Instead, every one of the animals that wandered those halls was done up in little suits or dresses... skirting around us like trained pets or maybe even professional wallflowers.

Regardless, we finally came to a set of double doors the size of most castle gates.

Each must have weighed several tons, the glimmering gold of their faces depicting scenes of worship and servility. Flanking the doors were more of the armored horse beasts, likewise in spotless gold armor that must have weighed several hundred pounds.

They bore their burden with stoic faces and professionalism.

Aaaand, I might have just the tiniest bit of respect for the rulers if they take out their displeasure upon the guard by forcing them to wear armor better suited as ship anchors.

But that's besides the point.

And then, the doors opened and the Master ran in like some kind of screaming peasant. It was... not one of her more glorious moments.

The room was huge. Pillars climbing stories into the air with hanging plants and chandeliers. Stained glass windows depicting dancing horses and taxpayers groveling. Kind of a mish-mash really... but horses everywhere.

Seriously, this place really loves their horses.

And there, coming down from a raised section at the back, with three fekking SOLID GOLD THRONES, each almost a story tall, were three of the largest horsebeasts I've ever seen.

The smallest, a pink thing with mane and tail candy striped and heavy mascara, wore a helm that looked like a spearhead with a great purple jewel impaled on its end.

The second, a cobalt blue pony with a wedge of the living night sky sprouting from her head and buttocks, strode regally down the steps, eyes  a deep turquoise that seemed to suck the light from the room. Upon her head, a crown of purest midnight, glinting with obsidian nightmares, and upon her chest, a peytral of silver, lacquered to a nearly ebon shine.

The last, a massive mare of cream, towered over the others, her mane and tail writhing with the colors of sherbert and eyes like pools of liquid ruby, bore a three pointed crown of gold almost as tall as the Master, and a peytral that set a soulstone plain as day for any that could see it.

In short, the 'princesses' were fekking giants with more armor than any of the Master's minions... oh... and the big one is apparently a warlock as well.

Sonova—! RIVAL WARLOCK!

I was about to start up the fireworks when the Master shrank my bubble until I was just barely able to pull my face off one side if I crushed my ears on the back.

She hissed back at me to "behave" and immediately asked them what was wrong.

The Master should not be acting like this. It's... unnatural. She should be yelling and slinging spells or grovelling in the guise of a faceless peasant while scheming to slide a dagger between their ribs. I mean, the third option of quiet dignity is there, but that was kinda blown when she ran in and started sucking up.

Then again, the white one ~is~ rather large... larger even than the Sweatstain's 'brother'... perhaps she simply means to provoke a reaction that doesn't involve violence?

I mean... warlock... yheah... but, it ~could~ happen I suppose.

I was roused from my musings when the Master gasped.

Whirling around, I stabbed through the bubble and leapt at their throats!

..

Fine... I kind of struggled to turn in the little pink bubble, smooshed my face up against it in vain, and tried to draw enough breath to hiss threateningly but only managed a croaking cough as the Master said she'd do her part and give up her magic.

No warlock would EVER give up their magic. Magic is power and warlocks are more power hungry than anything alive... and most things that are not.

The dark one stated that the Master misunderstood and continued to explain that magic couldn't just go away... that it had to go somewhere... that somepony must keep it safe.

The pink one stepped forward and said that somepony... that particular somepony... was the Master.

SCORE! Free magic!

Of course, the Master was messing with me... she decided to follow that little nugget up by asking 'why'.

And the huge one, the giant horse with the sorbet colored tentacle rape mane and tail? She just kind of walked up and said that they didn't think Tea wreck knew a forth alicorn princess existed.

Who the fek is Tea wreck? No clue... I was trying to breathe while they were talking and the Master apparently got distracted enough that she didn't  think to put little air holes in the bubble this time.

But, as I was starting to pass out, I saw the three horses get in a circle around the Master, light up their head mounted pikes and make a fekking SUN in the middle of that throne room.

Then they squished it, crushed it down, and poured it directly into the Master's horn.

And as I blacked out, I finally figured out what was happening.

The Master had been subtly using the dark powers of Ettiquette until she had convinced them to give her all their magic on their own.

Brilliant. Bloody fekking brilliant. Now she's got their power and they can take the blame for letting this Tea wreck guy piss people off!

Maybe I should have studied harder. I mean, she just took over a country by convincing the arcane royalty to give her their stuff... how amazingly wicked is that? It's like asking the hangman to show you how the gallows work and getting the guy to climb up there with a noose around his neck and jump off for a personal demonstration!

Oh... and yheah... I blacked out. Happens when you don't get any fresh air for half an hour.

Details.

-~oOo~-

> Rez Sickness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Well.... Waking up to the Master's pacing was nothing new. Waking up to the miniature apocalypse asking ~why~ she was pacing... also nothing new. The Master assuring Spike that nothing was wrong, also pretty much a day to day event.

Having said whelpling note that if nothing was wrong, and the sun wasn't even up, neither was he, before flopping back into his little basket-bed? — Par for the course.

Watching as little arcs of magic coursed through the Master's fur and occasionally causing her eyes to flicker a blinding white while she paced.... not so much.

In fact, only a few seconds later, she seemed to come to the same conclusion as she glanced at the window in a panic, noting that, indeed, the sun was not up yet.

Then she raced over to the window and started muttering to herself.

I kind of shrugged... I mean, you know... early morning and whatnot. Probably not even enough peasants awake to go and commit acts of random violence upon. Not really worth it unless the Master was looking to engage in clandestine operations.

Which, as memory served, was pretty much a pointless thing now.

I mean, she OWNS the country and managed to get all the arcane powerhouses to simply GIVE her their magic.

Still brings a cackle to my soul, that revelation.

Ah... good times.

But no... the Master was apparently upset that it was still the wee hours of the morning. I mean, I get it. I really do. There's just not much to do when everyone is asleep.

Books only get you so far and torture's really only fun when there's an audience and all that.

But she was seriously freaking out.

Within moments, she had her face plastered to the window, staring up at the moon with little tufts of her mane and tail starting to spring out of place with the sound of cut piano wires.

I'd learned from past experience that those sounds only lead to bad things... so I grabbed a nearby pillow, tore a hole in the cover, and dove in.

Okay... point of note. When you tend to have little fel flames scorching things wherever you walk, it's a poor choice to hide within flammable objects. I mean, it's not like fire is painful or anything... far from it! Fire's GREAT! But... in terms of camouflage and maintaining your source of protection from flying objects.... not so great.

Point is that in very short order, I found myself without my pillow-based armor and lying on the floor wreathed in flames.

Huh... guess she missed fireproofing that pillow after all. Must be new.

WHY AM I ONLY FINDING THIS OUT NOW!?!?!?

I may have jumped around and given the little pile of smoldering pillow a few rude gestures, but when a shadow darkened my immediate surroundings, I looked up to see a very confused Master watching me.

And then she gave a strained little giggle and disappeared in a flash of pink light.

...

I didn't even get a 'stern' talking to for destroying her pillow?

I looked around. No torture implements? Spike was still curled up in his little bed? The Lair wasn't on fire (well.. except for the remains of the obviously inferior pillow)? There weren't even any screams of the damned leaking up from whatever hidden dungeon the Master so covetously kept secreted away for her sick pleasures.

For all intents and purposes, it was just another bright sunny day in the Master's little hamlet.

I blinked a few times... And where exactly did the Master go that didn't immediately send me careening through the world on my little magic tether?

And then, like clockwork, there was the buildup of magic that signaled what should be my immediate departure.

Oddly, the only thing that happened was that the smoldering remains of the pillow vanished as the Master returned and scampered nervously to the kitchen where the sounds of breakfast starting up carried clearly with the Master's high-stress mutterings.

I blinked.

What the Fel just happened? The  Master vanished, then she was back. I never got drug along by my magic tether. The pillow vanished (YAY! No evidence!) and the next thing I know, she's making breakfast? That's the butler-slash-slave-slash-pet apocalypse's job!

And that's when it hit me.

It ~WAS~ a bright sunny day.

When the Hells did it become Day?


-~oOo~-

Breakfast!

Yes... breakfast. Not something I'm used to the Master creating. Not really used to being offered breakfast really. Most warlocks only take care of themselves, leaving their demons to prey upon their victims in the heat of battle. I'm thinking it has something to do with the extra bit of fear that seeing an abomination of fire and death actually eating the chunks of flesh they seem so intent on tearing off. Must be some kind of emotional high for them or something.

But, a warlock actually offering a summoned demon a sandwich? That's... I'm not sure actually. I mean, it's food. Yay. No one enjoys starvation, especially the immortal. Do you have any idea how sucky it is to starve when you can't die?

And then there's the fact that the Master actually seems to care about us to a degree. She's not really letting any of us run rampant; might upset the peasants or something, but so far, she ~has~ kept even the Traitor from continuing with her little personal war to kill me.

Then again, I'm pretty sure this is the first time she's actually given me something to eat. I mean, it's been weeks now, with no food. Weeeeeeeeell, not 'no' food. I still took stuff, but she's never taken me to battle and there's been a decided lack of bloody massacres within walking distance.

Of course, the Master is a little distractable, so she might have just forgotten. She seems to do that from time to time.

But a sandwich?

Well, whatever the case, I ate it. Good too. Even had a little tang of super-saturated arcane conjuration in it. Spicy. Kind of funny when I think about it since it was a sandwich made out of bread with the day old bouquet of flowers from the kitchen table wedged between the slices. Should have been bland as water and twice as unpleasant.

And yet, spicy and saturated with magic.

Well, whatever the case, Spike was up in a few minutes, probably woken by the Master's dark mutterings, and pushed her from the kitchen as he started to make real food.

I say started, because no sooner had he kicked her out then she started pacing and sparking again.

Like a mana serpent in a room full of Blood Elves. Nervous as hell.

At which point, she promptly detonated the front door to the lair, declared she needed practice, and scampered out, leaving a small trail of smoldering hoofprints.

Wait a second! THAT'S MY SHTICK!

...

Gotta admit though, it was kind of fun to look out and see all the little peasants scurrying away like rats. I'm so proud.

So I hopped out after her, following the path of random fires and exploded country decor.

Oh, and Spike chased after us. I guess he realized that if the Master is starting her rampage, he would be feasting upon corpses soon enough. Gotta admit, fresh kills or a flower sandwich.... not really much competition in my book either.

So, imagine my surprise when I see the Master just open her wings and EXPLODE off the ground, leaving this dark purple blur through the sky. For a moment, I was confused until I saw what she was aiming at.

HAH! Apparently she DID still harbor some anger against the Traitor because, less than a second later, she had devastated the cloud Rainbow Dash had been napping on. Not only did she destroy it, but she was going so fast that the shock wave actually caused the Traitor to almost fall to her death.

Oh well, I suppose this was the first time the Master had used herself as a projectile, perfect aim is not to be expected.

But before the Traitor could even process what had happened, the Master brushed the whole thing off as an accident, instead choosing to plow into the ground with her face.

Oh, don't give me that look. Of course she planned it. She's survived much worse. Remember the piano falling on her head? Yheah... faking a crash is no problem for her.

Even so, her other minions apparently saw her though, so while she was busy peeling herself out of the shoulder-deep trough she'd plowed through the cobblestone road, they came running up to see if she was alright.

Suckups.

Next thing I know, the Traitor is asking what the deal is... stirring up trouble, that one... no surprise there.

But the Master just brushed it off, saying she must have caught a strong breeze.

... and then there are times I'm almost positive that the Master is an idiot.


I mean, seriously? A strong breeze? HER FACE JUST CUT A RUT THROUGH COBBLESTONES.

But, you know, brain damage and all, her little minions just kind of bought it.

About that time was when Spike caught up and started pretty much drooling over the Rarity. Probably just wanted to take a bite out of her, but hey, what's one fewer minion when you have a dragon as a butler, right?

Anyway, the Master just brushes them all off, tells them that Tea-wreck might still be out there and to keep the peons in their houses. Can't really blame her for that one either. You can't expect to make blood sacrifices with corpses... gotta keep them alive so you can kill them later yourself.

And then we just wandered off out of town while her little clutch of minions gave nervous smiles and watched us go.

...

The hells was that about? When the Master gives you an order, you follow it.

I guess this is why warlocks summon help. Idiots do not make capable minions.


huh...

I wonder if that's why necromancers do their thing... you know? Mom tells them to go out and make some friends and raising the dead is just the most efficient way.

Something to think about.

> Cheap Shot
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sooooooo.

Watching the Master 'practice' is kind of like watching a mix of paint drying and the guy who pulled the short stick trying to juggle flaming chainsaws while balancing on a tightrope suspended over a pit full of broken bottle glass... while a witch doctor keeps throwing bottles of poison in to keep things interesting.

No, I'm not exaggerating.
Yes, that sentence was too long.
I'm evil, get over it.

But really, when the Master (someone who just casually dismisses the accepted laws of magic to do things like make a sandwich) decides to practice, it's kind of a game.

First, you pick a spot.
I chose a log.

Then you listen to her mutter.
It sounded like a mix of excited nonsense and desperate denial.

Follow that up with the simplest spells ever and viola! Accidents happen. Repeat as necessary to achieve complete mental breakdown and ensure the absolute destruction of whomever pulls the shortest straw and is sent to interrupt her.

Kind of like science! You know? Put a bunch of dangerous things in a small space, fill that space with chemicals and confused bystanders, put the lid on, shake vigorously, and then toss in a few lit matches before sealing it up for a minute just to see what happens.

You know... ~SCIENCE~!

So, there I was, sitting on a log, listening to the Master muttering darkly about 'being able to do this' when she started to float things around.

Yay... I'd offer her a cookie or something, but that would be far too insulting.

...

Also, I don't have any cookies.

ANYway — next came the light spells.

Then the spinning things.

Then the color changing.

Then the... well you get the jist of it. Boring stuff.

REALLY boring stuff.

I think I may have fallen asleep or something at some point, because when I blinked again, I was sitting in a little pile of ash and the log was clearly missing.

Meh, whatever. The Master was still going through her spells which, admittedly, is pretty darn impressive considering the amount of time I must have been asleep.

I mean, most warlocks only know a dozen or so spells off the top of their heads. Some (like the really powerful ones) might know 25 or even 30... mostly combat related with a few utility things in there like seeing the invisible, not needing to breathe, or raising the dead to become your invincible undead army of the damned — you know... simple stuff.

But there she was, still mumbling away like she was some kind of walking, extremely lethal, grimoire.

Honestly, I was getting bored.... more bored. I mean, where were the flames? Where were the screaming masses? Without a steady string of riots and terror, it's kind of pointless to know accurately how MANY ways you have to instill panic and all that.

So, I was just about to go and suggest we return to burn down the village when, all of a sudden there's a flash of pink light and she was gone.

What a riveting display of magic. Actually... pretty boring since she'd already done the same trick before making breakfast.

In all honesty, I was more excited by her flawless detonation of the lair's front door. Beautiful work, that. Smoking hinges and 4 inch thick, magically resistant, fire-proofed shrapnel flying all over the place.

But no, she just teleported.

And then, as if to add insult to injury, I hear her congratulating herself on a perfectly controlled teleport.

...

I mean, seriously? That's what she's getting all excited about? I successfully ~DON'T~ light things on fire ALL THE TIME and you don't see me patting myself on the back when I leave a room NOT an inferno!

Granted, most of the rooms I leave ~have~ been fireproofed by the Master, but that's not the point!

I was just about to hop up to follow her when I suddenly felt a build up of magic and found myself rapidly flashing between various places as the Master teleported without apparent control.

Repeatedly.

As in, I have NO IDEA where we went, how many times we jumped, why we ended up riding buffalo for a moment, or what the hells was going on when we finally ended up INSIDE a giant boulder.

Don't worry... it cracked nicely down the middle to allow us to rematerialize before we died from being reduced to a few atoms width.

And her mane was starting to spring out with her stress again. Great... trapped in a cracked boulder with a highly agitated, uber powerful warlock who has a nervous tick you can detect by noting the number of inanimate objects that start to register her frustrations as motion.

Actually, kind of reminds me of poltergeists. Wonder if they're related.

And then, my ears started to ache as someone bellowed loud enough to shake the ground.

At that point, I knew something was up.

-~oOo~-


So, imagine some dramatic music or something because, BAM, there we were, squished inside a boulder the size of a large house when, out of nowhere, the ground starts shaking! This scratchy, bassy, voice bellows out "Princess Twilight, You have something that belongs to me!"

Of course, the Master was prepared.

She, somehow, knew who was yelling and responded in kind with a battlecry fit for the ages!

...

Well, actually... her battlecry was kind of like the normal one.

...

but less battlecry-y and more "oh crap"-y.

...

Okay... fine. The Master kind of sounded like she was panicking. Like, badly.

Like, very badly.

In fact, she didn't even really make a battle cry so much as she just kind of gasped out "Tea-wreck"... which, in retrospect, is probably spelled differently since it's apparently a name. Aaaaaand she kind of freaked out when she heard him yelling. Double Aaaaaaaand, she apparently forgot that I was there with her in the boulder because, in true warlock fashion, the next thing she did was BLOW THE FREAKING BOULDER INTO RAZOR EDGED SHRAPNEL as she EXPLODED out into the sky with a trail of lazer beam purple death blur trail!

Okay, look. I get it. I'm not the best at explaining what the hells the Master is doing when it's not something I'm familiar with.

If she was, you know, shooting gouts of corrupted fel-fire out of her head-pike, stomping on the skulls of her enemies, cackling over the smoldering remains of villages or just feasting upon the souls of the innocent, I'd be all over this.

But, the Master kind of does things in her own... not-quite-so-firey way.

So, yheah. She exploded the boulder, while we were still in it. Then blew up the ground to give herself a flying start. Then launched herself with her weird purple feathery wings at near mach speeds into this giant loop through the sky before COMPLETELY missing the guy who was bellowing at her and coming around for another pass, all while leaving a dark purple trail of magic.

Oh.... and she still kind of sucks at the landings.

Like... seriously.
Hit the ground and didn't even move her legs. Just.... kind of dug another trench with her hooves until she ran her face into this big gray wall that came out of nowhe-RE-AND-OH-HELLS-THAT'S-NOT-A-WALL!

Yheah.

Turns out that not-a-wall thing? Yheah... That was Tea-wreck's hoof.

Nope, no joke. The guy who spooked the Master? Giant f-ing Centaur.

No... that's not really doing him justice. He was fekking MASSIVE. The Master is about 3 times my height. The Big Mac makes her look small. The White lard-ball Princess makes the Big Mac look like a toddler and this Tea-wreck guy? He made those multi-story doors at the palace look like a tight fit.

Seriously, he had to be at least a good few stories tall. As in, the Master? She was only about half as tall as his face.

And so, you know... when she crash-landed into a single one of his hooves, she could be forgiven for looking like someone just opened up a bottle of facemelt and added it to her morning coffee.

And then, be bellowed again, saying "You're going to give me what I want," as he manifested a miniature sun between a pair of horns that would make a dreadlord quiver.

Honestly, when I saw the Master powering up her little purple head-spear, I was expecting some catchy one-liner or a bone-chilling retort... at least the threat of some kind of comically under-powered punishment for disrupting her practice session. You know "Go to your room" or something like that. You know, something that would make this titan-sized pile of mutated horsemeat piss himself with doubt over the apparent dismissal.

Instead, there was a bright flash of light and the Master and I found ourselves back at the lair.

I blinked.

Hells. If the Master's running away, I'll have to do something to give her the time she needs.

The BASEMENT!

I left the table in the BASEMENT!

The Table that Spike and I repaired.

The Table that has a corrupted arcane spellform for FEL FIRE BOLTS etched into the LIVING WOOD of a WARLOCK'S LAIR, steeped in the magics of UNTOLD and UNCOUNTED horrors and positively SOAKED in chemicals both mundane and obscure.

A Table crafted by DEMONS, the Master's MINIONS, and a member of the freaking INFINITE DRAGONFLIGHT, destined to END CREATION.

A table that could give her the edge she needs!

So I ran down the stairs, threw open a door, fell down some more stairs, crashed into a box of broken glass bottles (because they were already broken and in no way met their untimely end by having my face hit them at speed), and through the various acids and reactive substances that they at one point contained...

... over to the table.

And then, I felt my little magic tether starting to tug at me. So I grabbed it right before being teleported back to the Master.

... Just in time to see Tea-Wreck, in the far far distance, lob that miniature sun right at the Master's lair.

I might have shrieked and covered my eyes.

There was a flash of pink light and then we were flying through flames and smoke and skidding across cobblestones.

Crap... Tea-Wreck set off the table with his little fireball of doom.

The Master released her secret doomsday weapon that looked suspiciously like a mundane owl, into the sky where, I assume, it went to prepare an ungodly horde for battle.

Feels like I should have known about that for some reason... eh, whatever.

...

Oh! 
And when I looked up, the lair was a burning waste. That too.

Priorities.
> When Diplomancy Fails
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Remember a loooooong time ago when I said that warlocks are  greedy, selfish, power hungry psychopaths with an almost comical level  of deluded confidence in their own superiority? Remember how I said that  warlocks are vindictive, vengeful, spiteful creatures who hold grudges  for decades or even centuries? Remember how I said that seeing a warlock  smile should be something that triggers survival instincts?

Well,  seeing a warlock, like the Master, looking hurt is worse. It means that  something they've taken as a given, is suddenly, and often violently,  being put in question. This is an uncomfortable revelation, things not being as they so desire. And a warlock of the Master's caliber? Well, she can be a bit protective of the things she likes.

~~The Master loves her books... 

As I was brushing the splintered remains of cobblestones off myself,  listening to the fading wingbeats of the Master's secret weapon mix with  the soothingly familiar sound of an inferno coming from the Master's  Lair, I chanced a glance at the Master to see if she was ready to  unleash hell.

~~The Master loves her tea... 

And it kind of made me almost piss myself.

~~The Master loves her pillows...

She  was still on the ground, looking mournfully up and reaching for her owl  as flaming lumps of books and smoldering page scraps rained down around  us.

~~The Master loves her lab...

No warlock should look like they're on the verge of tears. It's in the manual.

Don't give me that look! I lived with the Master for a number of weeks, I KNOW how to read manuals and I checked. I have a list!

Warlocks aren't supposed to cry.

So  when I saw her looking like she was about the break the rules, I  remembered all those times she'd done so in the past. Summoning  sandwiches, a mage spell. Surviving lethal blunt force trauma, enough  times to warrant record keeping. Blowing things up that are not IN ANY  WAY explosive. Lighting fire-poofed things on.... well, fire. Dueling in  the nude. Hugging rivals. Enslaving the infinite dragonflight.

... Protecting her demon.

And I knew the end was near.

I mean, if the sky suddenly changing from a prissy baby-blue into a post apocalyptic smog didn't give it away first.

I  watched as her pain morphed into anger (something I am MUCH more  familiar with) and dove for cover as she stood up, flared her wings and  lit her horn with a snarl on her lips and a death glare in her eyes.

The  explosion of pink light blinded me for a moment but the tiny  thunderclap of teleportation drew my eyes skyward and away from the  village; back towards the centaur who was even then stomping towards the  remains of the lair.

There was a whistling as she sped out  of her teleport, lifted her head and formed a brilliant point of light  upon the tip of her horn. I couldn't really see details at the range,  but the telltale tug of my tether told me I was about to be seeing  things up close and personal, and for the first time since meeting her, I  really REALLY didn't want to.

As my tether started to tug,  I saw her whip her head back down, the point of light leaving a blazing  scar in the sky, before unleashing a blast of magic the likes of which I  have never seen before.

It was white, eye-scaldingly  white, with little bubbles of golden yellow blistering up from its  surface. A thin coruscating skin of blue slid along the white, while a  nauseating flicker of pink and purple burned around the whole thing.  From as far away as they were, it was silent for the first few seconds  before a shrieking roar hit the town and drowned out all other sounds.

The minions who had come to find out about the Master's lair quickly fled, as minions do, and for once, I couldn't blame them.

That  blast, even from the mile or two away, didn't stop. The Master, still  in the sky, was feeding magic into it in a constant stream that just  made it grow larger and larger.

And when it struck Tea-wreck, he only managed to cross his arms in front of himself to weather the blow.

The  magic splashed around, a roiling sphere of destruction growing by the  second, as the centaur was pressed back. The beam doubled, then tripled  in size, dwarfing the Master as she fed her fury into it.

It was truly a beautiful thing to watch the Master actually fight.

And  then, my tether finally drew tight and I felt myself being yanked  towards that combat and I suddenly wanted VERY much not to be the  Master's imp.

I arrived not a second later, phased, and leapt for a nearby outcropping of rock to watch.

No  felfire bolts would be adding anything to the Master's assault, and I  find myself rather attached to my own limbs, so there really wasn't any  reason to interfere.

Tea-wreck was still engulfed in that  blazing ball of death, but he must have got caught on something because  the blaze's backward movement abruptly halted as the land itself began  to burn.

I sized up the situation, conjured some fel fire,  and lit a tree up because, as I JUST stated, I WAS NOT GETTING INTO THAT  FIGHT. Oh HELLS NO.

And because I miss lighting things on fire. Which I could totally do since I wasn't in the lair anymore.

But  the Master, apparently, wasn't satisfied with unleashing a blast of  magic that would turn most armies into a memory. No. Remember how I said  that warlocks are spiteful?

Well, when Tea-wreck stopped being pushed back, the Master, apparently, found that to be an insult. So, she upped the magic.

The  sphere of doom that Tea-wreck was in? Completely engulfed by the beam  that the Master conjured. The flare of magic from her horn blossomed to  such a size that it sank into the ground from where she was flying  several stories in the sky, and THEN, the beam the Master was  unleashing, bloated to such a size that it out-matched even the previous  attack. Tea-wreck, already several stories tall, weathering the  onslaught in a searing ball of arcane fire, had that same beam lurch  into a veritable mountain of exploding light as it blasted over, around,  and passed him, tearing a molten path to the horizon as the Master  unloaded.

Whatever had caught the centaur, finally gave  way, and he was driven back, the furrow of his passage lost instantly to  the fury of the Master's assault.

Finally, the spell  concluded, the last of the energy soaking into the Master's target, and  the beam cut out, releasing an explosion from several hundred feet away,  as a ripple of pink light erupted and fled the red-golds of the blast  itself, leaving an ever expanding cloud of fire and ash. This was  followed by the excessive heat causing the stones that had been caught  in the path to spontaneously explode, themselves, the ground to burn,  the air-itself to ignite, and a column of yellow hot matter to atomize,  and burst into a mushroom cloud of burning death.

And then, Tea-wreck pulled himself to his hooves and the Master landed, still sporting rage in her glare.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, all that happened in about.... oh.... fifteen seconds.

Ain't adrenaline fun?


-~oOo~-


Now,  any war veteran will tell you that war is hell, and any demon will tell  you that war is an average weekday, but what few every tell you is that  war is a single moment in which individuals of power come to the  conclusion that what's been happening needs to change, by any means  necessary.

This is normally followed by speeches and  drumming up support, gathering resources, mounting a respective offense  or defense, and engaging the supposed foe in mortal combat with a  veritable carpet of minions. This inevitably fails to address whatever  was originally determined to be the source of the problem but adds fuel  to the fire as one side or the other cuts corners to stay competitive.  It becomes a sport, of sorts, where one side points fingers and demands  the ref to penalize the other, while trying their best to distract the  other side from seeing their own cheating.

Normally.

But,  like I said, war is normally fought with droves of minions on the front  lines while the leaders sit back and bicker about something or other  while sipping tea or drinking copious amounts of Brandy. No... not  alcohol... Brandy. Okay... and sometimes Scotch or Vodka or wine,  depending upon the culture, but Brandy is the big one.

Jeeze... picky aren't you buggers?

Anyway,  the point is that it's pretty much ALWAYS armies clashing until one  side gives up, because the big guys don't tend to get their hands dirty.

And then there are Warlocks.

Warlocks  aren't like those idiots. They like to mess things up in a very  personal way. They like wading through all that the world slings at  them. They like being pushed at and pushing back with shoves orders of  magnitude larger than what came their way. They like driving a point  home in the most visceral way possible.

The Master is just very good at hiding this.

Was very good at hiding this.

Because  holy HELLS did she just mess up the view from her little villa. I mean,  the fields are on fire. The open spaces are littered with craters.  Shrapnel makes the flat spots look like beds of needles and even the  sky, the fekking SKY is burnt a lovely brown-ish orange.

So,  seeing Tea-wreck standing up while the emberglow of the Master's last  attack casts even the fitful sun into shadow, well — she wasn't having  it.

Of course, when the big guys fight, the little ones  tend to get turned to mush, so I just kept watching. And to my luck, one  of those fields that was on fire happened to be corn... so, snacktime.

...

Don't give me that look, popcorn is popcorn, no matter where you're from.

But  anyway, opening salvos delivered, the Master and Tea-wreck stared each  other down while the fires of destruction burned behind them both.

Honestly?  I was a little upset about things though, too. As much as I hated it,  the Master's lair ~was~ a bit.... um.... calm? Quiet? Comfortable? I  don't really know. It wasn't what I'm used to, that's for sure, but it  was different in a way that wasn't completely horrible, I guess?

I  would have thought about it a bit more, I'm sure, but Tea-wreck's voice  shook me from my musings when he said "Now I understand what your  fellow princesses have done."

And then they began to fight.
> Enrage Timer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the Fel, do I love popcorn. I mean, seriously, as much as I love killing things and lighting things on fire, there's just something special about a plant, something that burns SOOOOOOO well, actually becoming even BETTER when it gets lit up! I mean, it burns, then it EXPLODES, and THEN you get to eat it, where it makes a delightful crunchy sound as you effectively maul it's unborn children and then go for another HANDFUL. It's just about perfect.

And then, like I said, they stopped just joking around and I dropped my popcorn and the world became a very scary place, because then they began to fight.

The Master launched herself into the sky, the scorched ground she had been standing on cratering from the force of her leap, and left a trail of pinkish magic burning in her wake as she lit her horn for some kind of attack. Tea-wreck's face split into a grin as a ball of magic sprung into being between his horns and unleashed a searing beam at the Master.

The impact drug her flight to a halt, Tea-wreck's spell boiling over her fur as her momentum bled away. But before it could so much as touch her skin, there was a pair of purple flashes and the Master appeared at his hooves, only to unleash a stream of purple lighting bolts directly into his surprised face.

His roar of pain morphed into one of anger as he physically grabbed the spell with one hand and pulled it aside, only to glare down at the Master with his black eyes as a new spell blossomed between his horns.

With a shriek of surprise, the Master was engulfed in a golden aura before black arcs of magic sparked over her form. Startled, her spell faltered, only to find herself floating before Tea-wreck's malevolent grin. With a quick step, he spun himself around, massive arms bulging as he swung a fist the size of a house and the golden glow surrounding the Master followed his motions perfectly.

With a roar of triumph, he completed his spin and the Master's scream echoed into the distance as she was thrown like a huge, flaming, fastball directly at a mountain.

Almost three seconds passed before an eruption of smoke and debris exploded from the distant mountainside, the Master's body impacting like a meteor. I felt the tug of my tether and prepared to phase again.

Unfortunately, that meant I lost my popcorn. I hope he dies a slow and painful death.

Even as I felt the magic binding me to the Master draw tight, a streak of dark red and black blasted past me towards the mountain with a roar that caused pebbles to rocket away, but before I could figure out what was going on, I was standing on the broken side of a mountain face, the Master, in a glowing magenta bubble, glaring out of the smoke and dust, just as the first hints of that roar reached our ears.

I phased. Oh hells did I phase so damn quick.

And then I saw the Master's eyes do that thing where they shrink down to pinpricks? That thing where I'm pretty sure her unconscious biological response to stress is to threaten anything foolish enough to attack an apparent weak spot LIKE HER FEKKING EYES with a terrible crushing death. Yheah... they shrunk down to these little dots as her mouth fell open in a "seriously, what the fekking hell?" expression.

So, I glanced behind me.

And Tea-wreck was flying at the mountain while roaring, faster than any ballista or fel cannon had ever fired living ammunition.

Oh, and remember those giant horns of his? Well, apparently, to add insult to injury, he felt the need to lower his head like some demonic goat, and try to impale us while simultaneously crushing us WITH A FEKKING MOUNTAIN!

I felt the Master's magic sluice over us a split second before the impact, and then everything was a riot of rumbles, explosions, cracks and that unending roar of fury from the multistory centaur that was ramming us into thousands of tons of raw, unbroken, stone, before the blinding wash of light heralded our departure from the other side of the mountain.

He just headbutted us through a mountain. THROUGH A MOUNTAIN!

Apparently, she liked that mountain or something, because the Master was having none of it.

There was a flash of purple and then I was extremely glad I had phased because I'm certain, reasonably sure, almost positive that the Master knew direct magic attacks pass through phased creatures. Namely because, while still flying through the sky, after punching a hole through a mountain with the brute force of a multi-story, titan level centaur wielding the amassed magic of an entire nation, the Master's horn lit up with three colors of magic and she fekking planted that explosive doom grenade directly on top of Tea-wreck's head with enough force to rocket him straight down into the ground.

The resulting shock wave from her initial hit sent a flaming ring of pink fire rippling across the sky with a second, amber colored blast, ionizing the air in its wake. Tea-wreck's impact with the ground cratered an area the size of a football field, burying him up to his shoulders before the Master had even launched the last part of her attack.

Still flying, she jerked her wings into a earthward dive and left another trail of arcane fire in the air as she powered up and unleashed a column of magic into his prone form.

Landing on the pulverized ground, she flicked her wings as she cleared the air, only to watch in shock as a blazing red and yellow beam cut a circular path the size of a small city block clear of the surroundings, from below, before rising into the air and being physically hurled at another mountain.

Narrowly avoiding the collision, the Master was streaking back as Tea-wreck's rage got the better of him. Roaring in fury, he slammed both of his fists into the tortured earth and sent a ripple of destruction out into the area. Boulders shattered while jagged spikes and ragged pillars of stone erupted from the earth to block her path, only for the seemingly endless magic of the Master to reduce them to shrapnel as she drew ever nearer to returning.

Both seemed to realize that a kill shot was appropriate at the same time. Neither had been really moving, standing their ground or closing as the case may be, and the twin beams of their magics lit at almost the exact same time.

Tea-wreck unleashed an infernal blast of stolen magic, burning with the heat of the core of the world, a terrifying ray of molten fire that cast the world around it into hellish tones and reduced stone to rivers of lava.

The Master, not to be outdone, summoned up a beam of white hot plasma, its searing volume rippling with eruptions of purple and blue as matter warped and vaporized by its mere proximity.

And as the two collided, an explosion of smoke and heat was instantly blown away by the secondary shock wave of magic, which itself, was destroyed by the result of the two spells fusing; creating a roiling sphere of weakly formed destruction that continued to grow and burn, consuming the remnants of spell and matter alike while blowing out a flare of golden light where it ate the surrounding landscape.

In less than three seconds, the magic had been consumed, and the wasteland outside the Master's little village looked more like the shattered remains of an asteroid impact than what had been pastoral lands less than a minute ago.

And no, I'm not exaggerating. The clock tower was still visible.

And from the clouds of drifting ash to the slumped forms that had once been bedrock, a great grunt of effort heralded the return of Tea-wreck. Slabs of stone, several tons each, shifted as he rose once more to his hooves, a frustrated snarl upon his lips. And the Master stepped forward, determination clearly etched on her face.

And I? I didn't have anything left to burn. So I kind of just scuttled behind the nearest rock and peeked out to watch.

And as they stood there, glaring daggers at each other, Tea-wreck gestured slowly with an unclenched hand. "It appears we are at an impasse," before blooming into a grin.

"How about a trade, Princess Twilight?"

And with a snap of his fingers, seven glass-like bubbles appeared around him, the forms of the Master's minions, and that elder god, clearly visible — trapped within.

And, I'm pretty sure that's when the Master realized that things could always get worse.

On the other hand, from the decided lack of barren wastes around the little villa, I'm guessing the Master secretly liked the workout.

"Their release, for all the magic in Equestria," he crowed, a triumphant grin nearly splitting his face. "What's it going to be, Princess?"

Oh hells, he must know Etiquette as well.

... and I'm out of popcorn.
> Wipe
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What's it going to be, Princess?"

I mean, WHAT— A — Jerk!

And yes, I do know how ironic that sounds coming from me, but let's be real here. This guy comes outta nowhere, sucks up the magic from, apparently, an entire continent, wages a one centaur war against EVERYONE, and has the prairie-oysters to make demands when the Master's fought him to a stalemate?

I mean, I didn't even get to help! And I'm her imp!

The only thing I even got to light on fire was that dumb tree and I'm pretty sure that got stomped into dust during one of those flybys.

Oh, and I suppose using hostages is little bit of a low blow.... but we are talking about an Imp's standards, so that's kind of par for the course.

...

Hell, I'd punch him in the balls if they weren't the size of a pair of wagons and several stories in the air.

Not to mention, you know, the whole centaur balls thing. Not really my cup of fel, but I mean, you know, if someone else likes it?

Whatever. He's a fekking jerk.

And the Master took it like a BOSS.

Yheah, after standing there for a few seconds, she just kind of lit herself on fire and leapt at him, and before you know it we had the largest fekking barbecue this side of Draenor.

Except, that didn't really happen. Like, at all.

The Master just kind of stood there, looking all shocked, as her minions cried out not to do it. And props to them for being such capable actors... the traitor was shouting "Don't do it Twilight!" and the assassin, that butter yellow black widow, even sounded like she meant it when she said she wasn't worth it.

And the elder god? He actually sounded sad, which, I mean.... ELDER GOD so you can't really trust anything they say... but he sounded sad when he mentioned that the assassin ~was~ worth it... that she had taught him that "friendship is magic," that he had friendship and magic, and that now... well now, he didn't have either.

That's... actually kind of deep. Cheesey, corny as hell, but deep.

And, in a way, he was kind of right.

The Master didn't need to slaughter everything she saw, didn't need to invoke terror and undying loyalty in her victims, didn't need to surround herself with legions of mindless thralls just to do day to day things. She didn't need to yell. She didn't need to summon avatars of chaos and death to get her way.

She had minions who WANTED to help her. And...

...

... and who she was willing to protect.

Those she was willing to help.

And, I guess, if that didn't work, she could always just burn their skin off, torture their families, and blow the world if half if she got really upset. But she didn't NEED to.

But before she could even start to summon a world shattering dimensional rift, which is completely understandable given the circumstances, Tea-wreck just had to open his mouth and preempt her total victory with a sucker punch of etiquette.

Seriously, that stuff's grade-A overpowered. If the Legion knew of the tome the Master's been teaching me with, there wouldn't BE a resistance anymore.

He just interrupted the Master's planet destroying dimensional rift spell by invoking etiquette... he just shouted out "ENOUGH! I want an answer, and I want it now!"

Boom.... the Master never saw it coming.

But she must have planned for it because, no sooner had her spell died, then she started looking at her minions and her eyes flashed this little hint of light.

...

And she surrendered.

Just like the fat white one and the loud blackberry one and the cotton candy mind-screw had in the castle. Just.... up and gave it away.

Because the Master said, "I will give you my magic, in exchange for my friends."

Tea-wreck smiled, snapped his fingers, and her minions dropped to the ground, leaving the elder god stuck in a bubble.

And then she went and screwed us all over when she followed it up with "All of my friends."

Tea-wreck was even surprised. He gestured back, "After the way he has betrayed you, you still call him a friend?"

And the Master just growled out "release him."


-~oOo~-


Now, don't get me wrong, I know I don't understand this ~etiquette~ thing, but I'm not sure that trading away all your magic in a bid to save six minions and an ELDER GOD from a nigh-unstoppable being capable of insane amounts of destruction is the wisest of things for someone to do.

On the other hand, I'm just an imp and sowing chaos and destruction ~is~ kind of my thing.

But still! The MASTER shouldn't even be considering something like that! Well... unless it's all a ploy to get him to release her allies before unleashing immense amounts of destruction upon him, thus eliminating the threat and reducing the overall difficulty of finding new and capable minions.

That must be it. The Master is simply playing the fool to take advantage of the giant, bloodthirsty, centaur who is approaching deity-level power.

Any second now she'll unleash Hell and we can all dance in the flaming remains of his entrails, feast upon ill-gotten goods, and revel in the absolute superiority of the Master's diabolical plan!

Any second now...

...

Aaaaaand, Tea-wreck just snapped his fingers, released the Elder God, and sucked the Master's magic right out of her horn.

Yep. We're screwed.

WHAT THE HELLS?!?!?

So, of course, because the universe loves to mock us, that titanic red abomination just lights up like the village orphanage on free-flamethrowers-for-pyromaniacs night, and starts howling like he's in pain.

And gets bigger.

Way bigger.

Like, hells, one of the Dreadnaught Fel Cruisers big.

He ends up towering above the remaining trees, dwarfing all around him like some sick parody of an abusive high schooler in a kindergarten full of mentally arrested kittens with a predilection for being used as kickballs.

Don't give me that look. He's enormous. MORE enormous. Like, the tallest trees from that evil forest nearby, the ones that have been around for hundreds, if not thousands of years? Those come up to his hips.

And while he's roaring and flashing all the things that will need to apply large amounts of bleach to erase the image of his naked ass, the Master just collapsed to the ground and lay there for a few moments.

Her minions all ran over, checking on her, while Tea-wreck continued howling.

And then, the Eldrich abomination wandered over, and fingered a small golden triangle while murmuring "Tea-wreck tricked me into believing he could offer me something more valuable than friendship, but there is nothing worth more. I see that now." He bowed his deformed head while his snake-like body twisted and coiled idly. Finally, his blood tinted pupils shifted to stare at the Master as his sickly yellow eyes sucked at my sanity. "He lied when he said that this medallion was given as a sign of gratitude and loyalty... but when I say that it is a sign of our true friendship, I am telling the truth."

And with that, he hung the golden artifact around the Master's neck.

I wanted to run and scream. I wanted to rip that tainted relic from her neck and hurl it into the blossoming heart of a natal star. I wanted to drown in a swimming pool of pie filling while gargling rhinoceros tears... of course, that last one was probably the result of my mind shattering under the influence of a mad god of chaos, but the point still stands.

Elder gods do NOT give favors, and they are NOT to be trusted.

And then, the Master looked up as the orange sweatstain asked if she thought that was the last one they needed.

...

Honestly, I have no fekking clue what they're talking about, but when I find the fractal remains of my damaged psyche, I'll be sure to light her on fire for looking at the Master.

And then, the bauble shimmered, just like the Master's eyes had. The Master gasped and spun, ordering us all to follow her to 'the chest', before running off.

Oh... don't mind me. I'm just going to be dragged along behind while the world is unmade. You know... since Tea-Wreck just slurped down ALL OF HER MAGIC!

Well... I certainly hope the Master has a plan, because otherwise I'm going to be unemployed in very short order. Hey! Don't give me that look! The Legion has job placement. This place has flowers and teddy bears and probably has unemployment checks and civil servants. This is some kind of candy-coated hell and I am NOT cut out to be any kind of productive member of society.

Well... maybe if they have an opening at the DMV, that's kind of like torture.
> Respawn
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Remember when I said that warlocks are power hungry, selfish, devious, monsters with the drive to do just about anything to accomplish their goals? Remember when I said that demons get summoned up to aid inexperienced warlocks and slowly corrupt them until they become irredeemable slaves to the Legion? Remember when I said that demons are used to being used and abused, that it's all part of the bargain that lets us draw them in until it's too late?

Okay. Maybe I didn't use those exact words, but COME ON! It's implied!

We're here to tempt them, to make their lives easier, to give them the simple pleasures and instant gratification that comes with following base instinct and a life free of most forms of consequence. We let them get away with stuff so that they let their guard down — so they slide, little by little, until we can remake them into powerful, though disposable, conscripts of the Legion.

Deep down, past all the "yes sirs" and "you got it ma'am"s, we're enablers.

We COULD do it ourselves, but it's just easier and, frankly, more fun to get these little idiots to do it for us.

Which kind of puts me in a bad position.

I mean, on the one hand, Hooooooo boy.... the Master's got some serious power. She's pretty much untouchable. She's crazy smart, and she's just about as devious as you can get. She's pretty much the perfect recruit for the Legion.

But, on the other hand, she just gave that all away to a giant, angry, naked, centaur guy who pretty much pimp-slapped her with fancy words. Way too gullible to be of use.... well... unless that really WAS etiquette.... still can't figure that stuff out.

But, dangit, when she gave an order, all of us went running. No questions. No doubt.... just.... went.

Well, I got dragged along in a magic field, but that's beside the point!

The point ~IS~, I'm pretty sure no demon's ever just been window dressing for a warlock that simply outclasses them.

...

I'm.... not sure how to feel about that.

I'm an immortal demon, capable of phasing through most matter, hurling tainted balls of fel fire and armed with an appetite for destruction and abuse that should make any religious zealot either get wet or wet themselves, and she's got me nervous when things are GOING HER WAY.

And today, they are most certainly NOT going her way.

I mean, today is the FIRST day I've even seen her angry.

Do you have ANY idea how strange that is to say?

About a Warlock?

About MY MASTER?

The first day that Stitchface summoned me, we went on a killing spree.... well... a series of killing sprees. Villages. Towns. A few orphanages and pet shops for good measure, had lunch, and then... THEN we went after actual combatants. Got together with a bunch of idiots in red and went after a bunch of chumps in blue. Fought all over this little valley place with some dead plants, a stable, a hole in the ground, someone's lumber shack, and a glorified cookstove. And then some fat little midget and a guy wearing a panda rug banished me.

And I ended up here... with the Master, and her newspapers and her 'uh uh's and enormous, deadly, soul-crushing eyes and that NightmareInducingSmile and.....

...

...and she defended me.

And her lair blew up.

And.... a-and she forgave an elder god.

...

She's not like any master I've ever heard about.

... and it makes me actually kind of mad that she's upset. The Master shouldn't BE upset. It's on the list.

... So, whatever she's planning to do, I hope it blows that bastard's balls clean off and gives him the time to realize it before she tears his lungs out.

Because, when she does, I'm going to love Every. Fekking. Moment.

-~oOo~-


Being dragged through the blasted remains of the Master's domain was an experience.

I mean, it's one thing to see it first hand... that's always the best, but it's another entirely to see it as a passenger being yanked along while the burning remains of peon livelihoods smolder around you.

There's just something.... kinda nostalgic about it.

Maybe it's the scent of smoke... the plumes that trail off into the sky, whispering of lost dreams and the crumbling wishes of the young. Maybe it's the acrid stench of wildlife that didn't get out of the way. Maybe it's even just the fleeting memories of being effective at my job.... not really sure on that one.

But mostly? Mostly it's the charred remains of what made the Master happy that turns it to ash in my mouth.

Heh.... ash, in my mouth.... because things are on fire... and for some reason that's not nearly as satisfying as it was a few minutes ago.

But whatever the case, being dragged along while the Master and her minions keep racing through the fields only made me more curious as to where we were going. I mean, sure, the Master probably has some kind of secret base somewhere, and yes, she probably keeps it stocked with soul shattering artifacts of indiscriminate evil, but I really kind of thought I would have seen those kind of things by now.

Especially after THAT battle.

And that's another thing. I'm pretty sure I'm actually kind of mad at that guy. Tea-wreck or whatever.

Normally, I'm pretty sure I'd be cackling along and throwing fireballs as he played a distraction, but something just felt... off.... about the whole thing.

And the Master was clearly upset, so, there's that.

But when, against all odds, we didn't meet up with the Master's secret legion of mutated avian warriors.... which I'm still betting she has, by the way... but instead started veering off towards that ancient forest again, I got a little worried.

I mean, I'm all for woton violence and unleashing hell upon the unsuspecting masses, but now seemed hardly the time.

Besides, there's only so many things in that forest.

There's the monsters, the immortal wooden wolves that the sweatstain was complaining about, the flowers which were somehow 'dangerous', and the ruins of that old castle.

...

And then it hit me.

We weren't going for the monsters of the decorations, or even the wolves. The Master was going to kill us all just to spite that giant dick of a centaur.

It couldn't be.... really, it couldn't. The Master was too practiced at her 'happy and friendly' image... there was simply no way she was about to do what I thought she was about to do.

And then, right as our little party was about to cross that death-trap of a rickety old bridge to the ruins, she took a sharp right and started racing down the little broken stairs down into the ravine.

Into the dark, abused, forgotten well in the world... that little crevice that led to a cave.

A cave, with the single largest Soul stone I had ever seen.

And when we skidded to a stop in front of it, I couldn't be more proud, and terrified, of her if I tried.

Because she waltzed right on up to a little crystal device she must have installed years ago... a device with six sides, six holes, and 5 golden handles.... and shoved that golden relic the Elder God had given her right on into the sixth hole.

And with a flash of light, a horrible wailing of magic, that necklace transformed into a key, slid in, and joined the others.

I was sweating bullets when the ground began to shake and crashes began to echo from above.

I could feel the hoof-falls of that titan-sized god-like centaur as he stormed around above us. Blazes of angry yellow and red light flared in from the entrance to the cave as gouts of fire and death rained down upon the world outside.

And then I saw it, that flash of determination in the Master's eyes, that horrible, terrifying, beautiful flash of absolute certainty that lesser creatures would call madness but that was the spark of life to a warlock.

And she she leveled a glare at her minions as she said, "Together, I think we have to do this together."

And, as one, they reached out, and played directly into the Master's scheme, as they turned their keys and were sacrificed in a violent release of of the Master's magic.

...

No. Really. She actually blew them up. Seriously, it's like you people don't believe a word I've said.

Warlocks are EVIL. And.... well... the Master's apparently an even better warlock than I gave her credit for.
> Nuke
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


She did it. The Master actually did it.

I started laughing instantly. I mean, can you blame me?

For weeks I've been stuck here, being told time and again that we just don't do those kinds of thing, that no one's out to get me and that ponies simply ~don't~ hurt other ponies, and the Master covered everything up so well that I was actually starting to believe her.

Can you believe THAT? Me, an imp, an actual DEMON, starting to believe that a warlock capable of yanking me out of a contract with another warlock, was actually just some novice with a book and a weekend with a blood sacrifice?

Well, without a blood sacrifice if I understand it correctly, but still!

All those mornings with the tea and the breakfasts. All those evenings with the butler and the board games... don't look at me like that, when you can't light things on fire and murder is off-limits, you make sacrifices to stay sane. And all those newspapers rolled up in non-threatening tubes with their painless reminders to not be naughty.... and it was all a sham!

HAH! I knew it.

No warlock gets to be a warlock by NOT killing people. It's kind of in the job description.

"Want power? Glory? The terrified respect of the masses and the screaming pleas for mercy from those who have wronged you? Become a warlock and exact your revenge upon the world that foolishly refused to bend to your whim and defy you!"

It's pretty much a recruitment point to get the whack jobs with more brains than sense.

But she pulled it off... got herself a legion of hapless fools, collected a few willing minions, TOOK OVER A COUNTRY, and even fought a crazed magic sucking centaur to a standstill, then GAVE HIM HER MAGIC just so she could get willing sacrifices to activate that ancient terror of a soulstone to use as a battery for increasing her own power.

You know what? I think this might be the first time she's been more wicked than Stitchface.

What...a.... moment. I mean it... I kind of just wanted to savor it for a few minutes and stab a gnome or something.Stabbing gnomes is a legitimate stress reflex. It's proven effective time and again.

Unless you're a gnome... but the point stands.

I.... I'm actually a little scared though. I mean, yheah, willing sacrifices kind of go hand in hand with cult leaders, which I guess she kind of is, but she's using it to activate a soulstone the size of a small building. A soulstone that's been draining the life force of untold millions for hundreds, if not thousands of years. A soulstone that's apparently ROOTED to the life force that conjured that primal forest of nightmares that we're currently in the dark heart of.

You know... kind of one of those "we've dug too deep and awoke that which should have remained sleeping" kind of moments?

I mean, sure... it's just a big glowy rock if you break it down, but it's kind of a ~BIG~ glowy rock full of the combined souls of EVERY DEATH FOR THE KNOWN HISTORY OF THE LAND.

Which, admittedly, makes it perfect for the current situation, but still... kind of like using a fel cannon to put a stamp on a letter. Yes... it will exert enough force to press a small square of sticky paper to an envelope, but it will also destroy said small sticky paper, the envelope, the letter, the table, the seating arrangements, the floor, the room, the building, the company waiting at the door, and probably the surrounding architecture.

But it will certainly have enough force to stick the stamp on the letter, so it should be fine.

Overkill much?

Oh.... OH! I get it now.

It makes so much more sense!

She's a DESTRUCTION warlock. Oh.... that's a relief. For a moment, I thought she might be some kind of secret lost order of warlocks... but the rampant and callous use of violently overpowered magic to achieve insane levels of overkill for mundane things cinches it.

Phew.

Familiar territory again. Time to mess stuff up!

...

And then the soulstone activated, started dumping its magic into her, and she blew up too.

...

Well FEK!

Can't break a planet without killing a few warlocks.

-~oOo~-


I blame magic for this, just to be clear here, I completely blame magic, and not the Master.

Blowing yourself up, while pretty intimidating, serves little purpose when you're not holding your intended victim in a deathgrip.

But on the other hand, it is VERY hard core.

So much so that I was just a little stunned that I was actually out of my contract.

Sure, the Master was powerful, insane, and just a little evil, but at the same time, her going and blowing herself up WAS SIMPLY NOT IN MY CONTRACT!

What the heck was I supposed to do now? There's a giant centaur burning things to dust out there, and he's not really looking for an imp to run errands!

Of all the inconsiderate, single minded, selfish, myopic, self-centered....

... Oh, right. Warlock.

How the hells could I have forgotten that? And more importantly, why do I care?

I was just about to start in with an existential crisis when *BOOM* the soulstone thing sucked in the dust of the Master and her other minions with a whirling cloud of multi-colored magic.

Crisis averted!

And then it spat out six bubbles that ruptured with a burst of colored light, and I got to witness a horror the world need never see again: a warlock abusing ancient magical artifacts to defy death and resurrecting incompetent idiots for fun and profit.

And what a botched resurrection it was. Each one of them was farted back into existence by the consumption of an untold number of souls, consumed in the process of manifesting flesh from pure magic. Each of them boiled out of the air, erupting into the physical plane with a snap of air that sounded oddly like string instruments, glowing with vestigial ethers and sporting bizarre arcane glyphs all over their mutated horseflesh.

They seemed pleased by this as the Master opened her newly reformed eyes and gazed upwards to the riotous noise of unseen instruments and the group being surrounded by a spinning ball of multicolored light. They began floating upwards, out of the fissure and back into the light of day.

And I got drug along behind them as my tether... actually didn't pull me. Hmm.... maybe I just kind of followed along out of habit? Whatever, I really wish I hadn't.

The moment we were all topside, the giant red argument for planned parenthood howled out a roar and blasted the Master with a beam of angry red magic, which splashed harmlessly across the globe of light that held them airborne.

Instead of laughing or blowing more things up, the Master just watched, a smirk on her face.

Wait... a smirk? Was she actually smirking? When fighting?

The Master, even when she was angry, never seemed the type to condescend, even when I suggested she should. I mean, she had to deal with inferior idiots on a daily basis and it always confused me how she could hold back, but.... still, it seemed unsettling to see her doing so now.

And Tea-wreck just roared again and bitched about how it was impossible, how he'd taken all her magic.

And then the Master decided enough was enough because she smirked all the harder before yelling down to him "You're wrong, Tea-wreck. I may have given you my alicorn magic, but I carry within me the most powerful magic of all!"

And the look on her face, that self assured, confident, HUNGRY look that spoke of consuming the immortal souls of the thrice damned, that look of insidious conquest, of unmetered  loathing for what stood before her... it was the look of a warlock that was done playing with its food and intended to punish the fork for touching what was her dinner.

And then she leaned back and an arc of searing purple light burst forth, splashing across his head. The centaur flinched back but stood his ground before a second arc, this one of blinding pink, lanced out and struck from another direction. A third and forth of blinding blue and amber slammed into him in rapid succession, drawing yowls of shocked pain from his titanic form before two more of shimmering white and a scintillating yellow speared him from yet two more directions.

His howls became shrieks as the Master tightened her attack, drawing the six arcs together into a blazing array of mind scarring magic before she added insult to injury and yanking his extra mass from the physical plane and banishing it to the twisting nether.

But no... she was not merciful, my Master, she wanted him to know she did not approve, that she was displeased. She wanted him to ~feel~ each and every slight against what she considered hers... and in that moment, there was no doubt in my mind that she considered the entire planet to be her sole possession... because as I watched, clouds of ash burned from his body not once, but four times, his flesh sloughing away into a gray aura of boiling matter, burning him down until he was merely the size of an average pony.

And then she unleashed her fury and drew the arcs of her wrath into a pale rainbow of terror — and Tea-wreck was no more.

...

Imps, I feel I should mention, have an instinctual fear of rainbows.

After watching one used as a weapon, I do not believe it to be unjustified.

...

Oh... and I suppose it should be said that when she was done killing Tea-wreck, she took her revenants and flew up into the sky to remind everyone why it was ~her~ world.

Remember how I said she was probably planning a spell to break the planet in half? I was wrong, she just wanted to blow up the sky.

Silly mistake on my part. Can't rule a world if you blow it up. Really should have thought of that.

Oh well... time to check the list of things to ensure the Master's happy.

...But with everything blown up, where am I going to find a library to steal some books from? DANGIT!
> Cinematic
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


So, the Master scammed the magical superpowers, took over a nation, befriended an elder god, abandoned the lair, fought a nigh invincible centaur to a standstill, was betrayed by said elder god (no surprise there), empowered said nigh invincible centaur, abandoned her sanity, empowered an ancient artifact of unknowable power by sacrificing her minions, committed suicide, and then killed that self-same nigh invincible centaur in a fit of spite.... then blew up the sky for good measure to cement her tyrannical rule of the planet.

Did I forget anything?

Oh yheah. She also apparently knows necromancy since she resurrected herself and then raised all of her minions after using them in a blood sacrifice.

That ~was~ kind of awesome, to be honest. I mean... why don't more warlocks practice necromancy? It would make sacrifices so much more convenient.

But, anyway. Yheah.

I mean... I get that my contract kind of says I'm supposed to serve her and all, but what the hell am I supposed to do, exactly?

She already owns the fekking planet. She has more magic than the Kirin Tor's bastard offspring with the eredar. She's more ruthless than a monastery full of nuns who manufacture rulers. And she's already a mutated, seemingly immortal, horsebeast with a head mounted stabbing implement and the wings to let her catch up to anyone who would dare to flee her imminent slaughter of all they hold dear in life.

I mean, I can dust the shelves or whatever, but she doesn't even have a Lair anymore.

So, it was during this particular stream of panic that there was a flash of light and the Master reappeared with her swarm of minions, still branded with the arcane signs of their recent necromantic reanimation.

Really can't say I ever expected I'd be thinking a sentence like that but.... eh.... par for the course.

And that massive crystal tree thing? The one she's been feeding the souls of all that would die within the confines of her terror-forest? Apparently, the Master wasn't done because a moment later, it lit up and that little relic she'd used as a sacrificial alter? It lit up, shot ANOTHER DEATH-RAINBOW through the ceiling of the cavern, and launched itself.

Oh...

OOOOOOH!

She's VINDICTIVE too!

Must have been upset that her secret mutant owl legion didn't arrive in time and now she's making sure they never will.

Did NOT see that one coming. Most warlocks stick with shear malice... but she's going all the way to spiteful retribution and teaching loyalty through terror.

I'd never have thought she'd just overload a necromantic alter and use it as ranged artillery.

I.... should be taking notes or something. I'm certain this will be on a test later.

But, anyway, one moment it was there and the next the alter had been fired through the stone of the cavern and off to destroy whatever pitiable wretch had dared to waste the Master's time.

An then there was a lurch and we were all standing in the bright sun again, the Master's minions looking around before she snatched back the power she had lent them.

I honestly expected them to all fall to dust, the last remnants of failure having their animating magics stripped from them, but nooooooo, the Master wanted them to suffer with their inadequacy.

And then I looked up.

There was a castle. An enormous, blue and purple castle made of slabs of what looked like mana crystals. It's front door was a massive golden slab with ruby inserts shaped to look like hearts which parted down the middle, obviously to remind all who entered that the Master would just as easily separate them from their own.

It rose from the ground, a towering reminder of her superiority, perfect and unassailable to any but the most vicious and determined. A pillar of reflective, magic, doom, just waiting for a victim. before spreading branch-like growths to support the purple keep it held aloft.

Balconies of gold extended from various places, threatening lethal drops for any uninvited guests while blue crystals grew from it's imposing base like some sick mockery of life, spreading tendrils across its face like the veins of a parasitic infection.

And atop the keep, taller than even Tea-wreck at his largest, shown the largest single spellstone I have ever seen. It's face, a glimmering blue, shown with a vibrant sheen of magic. Ten crystal arms extended from it, tapering to lethal points while its center glowed a brilliant blue-white.

I truly doubted anything could possibly be so foolish as to challenge the Master with THAT creation looming above.

And the Master, truly in her element, feigned surprise at the whole thing and asked "But.... whose is it?"

And then I nearly screamed in surprise as a voice spoke up from behind us all, "I believe it is yours, Princess Twilight."

That massive white one from the mountain castle had somehow snuck up on us, flanked by the dark one and the candy colored one that had given the Master their magic, and behind them all, the elder god loomed with a devious smirk upon his ever shifting maw of chaos.

I was about to attack  when I noticed that Spike was keeping them all herded together so the Master could dispose of them.

Smart dragon.

But the Master, ever the one to impress upon others her absolute power, simply smiled and acted innocent, before leading us all into her new Lair.

...

Well, at least I know what I'll be doing.

With that much crystal, I'll either need the world's largest squeegee or a spiked whip to encourage the peons that will be cleaning the windows.



-~oOo~-



So, there I was, hopping around the Master's new lair.... pardon.... fortress, when, all of a sudden, I hear this commotion from outside.

And not the commotion I've gotten used to here.

There were no "AiiEEEEE!"s or "Bunny STAMPEDE!"s or "The Horror! The Horror!"s about gardens wilting... oh no. This was  a full blown scream-because-you've-just-witnessed-previously-unimagined-horrors-involving-the-loss-of-life-and-limb kind of scream.

You know... the real deal. Not the prissy little 'just one calorie' diet screams that the peons seem to like here.

Sorry... The Master informed me that I should try to use shorter sentences because, apparently, only Pinkie has lungs that can functionally contain enough oxygen to reliably generate multiple paragraphs of communication without risking harm to oneself and others as a side effect of continued deprivation of said oxygen.

Then she told me I should try to break up my thoughts a bit since that's apparently where those sentences come from.

Which, I guess, means she can read minds too. Shocker, there... that's supposed to be a priest thing.

Multiclass indeed.

Anyway, so the screaming's just started and before I can even get to the kitchen to make some popcorn to watch the show, the Master and Spike go charging by with a clatter of hooves and claws.

And that's another thing. This place is entirely made of crystal... hooves on crystal are NOT quiet.

On the upside, most of her would-be assassins are hooved so I suppose that kind of makes it an alarm system of sorts.

But anyway, before I can even get to the kitchen, my tether ended up yanking me along for the ride, bouncing my head against a few turns in the hallways and down the stairs for good measure.

I don't even think the Master realized it.... but that's the Master for you, so powerful she doesn't even have to think about causing harm to succeed at it.

I mean, once I got to sit down after my nice, relaxing, 59 and a half hour shift of polishing the windows, it just kind of came to me . . .

She probably didn't even feel threatened by Tea-Wreck the whole time.

I mean, yheah, there was some yelling, and sure, the widespread destruction and won ton violence was a bit more upbeat than her usual antics, but at the end, I got to thinking about it.

I mean, really thinking about it...

And it was a kind of horrifying realization that the whole time, even in the midst of destruction the likes of which this place has probably never seen, I don't think I saw the Master even bleed.

Not one drop.

It's like even her blood knows that disappointing her would result in terrible retribution and simply decided that "no" it simply wasn't going to leak out of any gaping flesh wounds.

Not that there were any of those either.... her skin's probably just as terrified.

But still.... that means that she was so absolutely certain of her victory that the only thing that gave her pause was the moment she realized that her minions, ahem.... her 'friends'.... were being held captive, and just decided to give Tea-Wreck the fleeting glimpse of victory to make his inevitable defeat all the sweeter.

So.... yheah. But, getting back to the screaming...

So, there we were, clamoring down the stairs, and this place has a LOT of them, when all of a sudden, the screams go silent all at once.

The Master nearly tripped over her own hooves when that happened, novice mistake really. I mean, I didn't miss a beat tumbling head over hooves as my face repeatedly found each step as I caught up.

And then, the front doors burst open and a pile of pony bodies just kind of slumped in.

And behind them, wreathed in orange and green magic, a thin figure rose to easily twice the Master's height...

... and began to cackle.

...

Wait a second! I know that laugh! I KNOW that laugh! This is amazing!

...

No. No! Wait, this is NOT amazing. This is Terrible! Well, still kind of amazing, but definitely still very very bad.

...

And I'm out of fel-enscorcelled tables to use as munitions.

Note to self: work with the scaly-harbinger-of-the-end-times to make another table for the Master... in case of munition emergencies.

...

Oh right... the laughter.

Stitchface had apparently decided to visit.

Yay?
> /cast Command Demon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Yheah! I mean we all ~love~ family reunions, right? And meeting your old master at your current Master's new fortress as they climb over the pile of the Master's local dirt lickers is what I just ~looooove~ to do on my time off. That's pretty close to a family reunion as far as I can tell.

Best feeling ever. Just fills you up with the warm fuzzies, it does.... riiiiiiiight before you realize exactly what a demonic contract is for.

Yep, you guessed it.

Stitchface was NOT happy about my ignoring her summons.

While she was in battle.

For weeks.

Okay.... fine. For over a month..... closing on four.

I can't exactly blame her, really. I mean, I am preeeeeetty amazing.

But yheah.... seeing Stitchface standing on a pile of motionless ponies she apparently pushed up to the Master's door, wreathed in fire and fel magic.... yheah. Those are the kind of warm fuzzies I could do without.

Wait.... something's tickling at the back of my brain here... I ... I know there's something wrong with that last sentence. Hmmmm... figure it out later.

Oh! And it looks like someone used an old leather battle harness to strap her head back together. Good for her! Looks like she had it riveted in place too. Fancy. Probably cuts down on accidents while fighting. Nothing quite kills the mood more than your head splitting in two at an inconvenient moment. Can't exactly just say "Oh! Terribly sorry about this, but could you wait just a moment and not run off screaming while I strap my face back together? K-Thanks!"

Also completely beside the point since she spotted me almost instantly and jumped down from the pile of horsemeat to stalk right on over to me.

Which was about the time The Master seemed to come to her senses.

Have I mentioned that Warlocks are a whee bit possessive?

Yheah. Pile of ponies plus invading hostile warlock plus godlike mutant flying unicorn warlock with a pet Armageddon equals a very quickly aborted trip across the Master's front hall.

It also tends to incite retaliation... you know... warlocks being warlocks.

What I don't think the Master counted on was that Stitchface is not a pony or a fat equine tyrant, or an egotistical centaur or mind-raping elder god.

Stitchface is a warlock... a very angry and very happy warlock.

Happy and angry tend to be closely related in most warlocks. I'm pretty sure it's something to do with their tendency to take things literally. Not mentally, mind you, but physically literally. If they want something, they literally take it, and woe be unto any who would try to stop them.

So, yheah. One moment, Stitchface is stalking across the hall and the next? Well, the next, she's in a cratered wall, two rooms over, with the Master very much freaking out about the pile of villagers.

But, like I said, warlocks are kind of possessive, and they don't really give things up easily. Packrats with murderous tendencies and the magical capabilities of a small demented army, really.

So, while the Master was fretting over a good portion of her property's population, Stitchface was peeling herself from the wall, not being deterred in the least. And then, suddenly the Master is hacking and coughing, her legs shaking and the putrid scent of illness wafting from her general direction. Angry muttering and flickers of light drew my attention to Stitchface as the familiar taste of curses filled the air.

It was honestly a bit nostalgic. So much so that, for a moment, I just kind of reveled in it... you know? Memories? The right kind of warm fuzzies. Brought a little smile to my face... 

probably...

no way to prove it...

Don't look at me like that!

And, about that time, Spike yelled out in surprise and I suddenly remembered that the Master was, well, THE MASTER.

So.... yheah.

Fire.

I lit the Master on fire.

And while she was on fire, I counted off how much trouble I was going to be in for not thinking to light her up sooner.

Oh, there was hell to pay. There was SOOOO much hell to pay. Spike, instantly, jumped on me and started biting and clawing. So I phased. The Master let out a startled roar (warlocks DO NOT squeak), and shook off the curses like I knew she would. Stitchface glared at me before throwing off more curses. Spike slipped off of me and began running towards Stitchface with a murderous growl and the flicker of fel flames licking behind the sawblades of his maw. The pile of horsemeat by the door began to groan. 

Stitchface spun on her feet and pulled out some long staff with a floating ring of spikes and whacked Spike across the room right as he was about to incinerate her. The Master yelled and spun to check on him. I started up a nice big ol ball of fire and let loose. Stitchface took it like a boss and glared at me. Spike groaned and got up. The Master checked him over and spun around with her teeth bared. Stitchface started conjuring a roiling ball of green and black flame as an ethereal skull flickered into existence at its core. I jumped in the way as the demon-bolt tore across the hallway and watched the magic burn out.

By the way, Demon-bolts hurt like hell. Reminds me of Mama's loving touch. I miss her sometimes... you know... that bloated heap of bile and vitreol that puked me into existence before sending me off into the bitter tides of an endless war? I miss Mama Grakkafraff something fierce. No one pukes up brothers and sisters like Mama does.

Oh... that would be the head injury talking.

Yheah. Demon-bolts hurt.

But the Master didn't seem to appreciate her possessions being damaged and when I looked up, all I saw were purple legs and a fierce white glow coming from her head somewhere.

Oh... so, she's standing over me? That's.... kind of like when the traitor attacked that one time.

Oh.

Oh crap. Stitchface is gunna get it something fierce.

And before I knew what was happening, there was a sudden jolt as I was yanked from beneath the Master, floating for the briefest of seconds between them, and a VERY unexpected flash of pain as I found myself the victim of a spell I hadn't felt in several months.

I...

Was I just sacrificed by Stitchface? That shouldn't be possible. Only a demon's master can force those kinds of spells on a demon. It's in the contract. We have to AGREE to let that kind of magic take advantage of our immortal nature. That shouldn't be possible unless...

Oh.

Oh my.

So, if the Master didn't break my contract when she made hers, that means she's simply powerful enough to override an existing contract... which means I'm still, technically, Stitchface's imp.... um....too.

Which means she just sacrificed me to protect her from the incoming damage that the Master is about to unleash.

And, well, perhaps that would normally be a good idea. I mean, sacrificing demons ~is~ kind of something warlocks are known for.

But, I'm also kind of the Master's imp. And the Master is a warlock. A powerful warlock. A VERY powerful warlock who doesn't seem to really 'get' the whole 'immortal-corrupting-evil-expendable-demon' ... thing.

A warlock who cares about her imp.

A warlock who just watched her imp apparently 'die' from a spell right in front of her.

This...... is not going to end well.
> Slash Camp
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Right!

So, the spell "Sacrifice" is a pretty simple cast for a warlock. It's fast. It's efficient. It's direct. And it's unstoppable. A warlock can just as easily sacrifice a minion as they can choose not to kill someone who accidentally sipped their drink at a feast.

Okay, bad example since a warlock miiiiiight actually have to debate a few moments about whether it's worth the effort to kill someone or not, but the ~idea~ is still there.

You can even paralyze a warlock and have a poison dissolving their skin while archers launch pointy flying sticks into their brains at high speeds and they can STILL sacrifice their demons to shield themselves for a few moments.

I mean, pointy sticks are great and all, but we're fekking DEMONS.... so, yheah. But the point is that warlocks can pretty much say 'no' to death for a few seconds and try to pull something off.

They're kind of known for it, actually.

So, yheah... sacrifice is not really unexpected, but it's been so long that I kind of just didn't.... you know? You get used to ~not~ dying a few dozen times a day and it's a little bracing? Kind of like having your insides poked with a sword after a long while... it's more startling than traumatizing... but still a shock.

Immortal. Don't give me that look. Demons are immortal. Death is kind of like a hobby that we all have. Some are better at it and some just kind of watch from the sidelines. Some even have dramatic catchphrases to spout as they go down and little diva couches they keep back home for when they're off the clock.

Because nothing says "Demon lord of pain and destruction" like seeing "Bregnor, the Unyeilding, Arch Duke of the 15 realms and Enslaver of the Everlasting Host", crying into a tub of rocky road while wrapped up in a fluffy pink bathrobe.

Drama queens.

But... I mean, it's been months.

...

Oh... hmmm... that's odd.

When a demon's killed, we tend to flop over and the physical parts of us kind of boil away into nothing while the rest gets yanked back to the Twisting Nether. We normally get a few minutes to chill with the guys, grab a drink or kick a few peons in the head... you know... a little R&R? But unless our warlock is taking a nap or calling up another contract, we're normally summoned right back up in no time flat.

And we generally don't have warlocks taking naps in the middle of combat. Well... I mean, the Master could probably swing it, but generally, no.

But what was strange was that, even though I'd just been sacrificed, I didn't boil away. I just kind of hung there in the air as my little fel flames flickered out.

Oh... I could still see and hear, even smell a little, but I couldn't move and I certainly wasn't throwing any magic around.

Was I broken? Did Stitchface learn some new, horrible, spell to bind me to my corpse? Was the Master really just THAT powerful that she simply REFUSED to let me die?

And then Stitchface got hit with one of those room sized walls of angry light that the Master seems to have become fond of using since her lair was destroyed, and I got dropped to the ground as the magic from the sacrifice was used up.

"Loud" doesn't begin to describe the ringing in my ears, nor "broken" the wall behind Stitchface. The town was clearly visible through the blown out section of mana crystal, as were the shimmering heatwaves coming off of a few smoldering roofs from the nearby homes. Gotta give credit where it's due, the Master aimed high enough to avoid cooking the town, though I think there might have been a few apple trees on that far hill that went up in flames.

Serves 'em right, being apples.

But, there, standing dead center, with a patch of ground radiating out behind her with a decided lack of scorch marks, stood Stitchface with a shocked, and possibly frightened, look on her face.

The Master seemed just as shocked.

And me? I kind of, would have, maybe, ~possibly~, looked shocked too.... but, you know... STILL DEAD HERE!!!!

Bugger all.

-~oOo~-



Well, doing nothing wasn't getting us anywhere, so I did the only thing I could think of.

Which was absolutely nothing since, you know, I didn't just spontaneously start living again.

Seriously, what were you all expecting? I'm an imp, an immortal demon in the service to others, but dead is still dead. Well, unless you're undead, which I'm not.

So, yheah! Fun times! Sprawled on the floor and NOT kicking back with the guys and having a good cackle over recent events. Nope. Not this guy. This guy's just laying there while the Master and Stitchface kind of traded glares.

Hmmm.... wonder how long it takes before I start to smell rancid. I mean, this is kind of unexpected, what with a demon's material body being mostly just magic used to give it solid form. I mean, does that mean I'm made of ACTUAL meat? Can magic rot? Is the Master's summoning spell different enough that I'm actually stuck in this meatsack?

And then there was a pink glow and I figured that my existential crisis could be put on hold.

The Master was standing over me again, and everything had taken on a pinkish glow.

Stitchface hadn't moved, but was looking equal parts confused and curious. You can always tell with her since her face is kind of stapled on and pulls a little to the left when she squints. Still not sure WHY she squints though... not like she has any eyes in those empty black sockets, but I mean I guess the yellow glow from the curse gets a little dimmer?

But there we were, the Master standing guard over me with Spike behind us and Stitchface halfway across the room with a pink bubble of the Master's magic as a shield between us.

Fun times.

The Master was panting a little, and she kept risking little glances down at me every so often, but for the most part, everyone just kind of stayed where we were.

Until Stitchface nodded slightly, raised her hands into the air and started wiggling her fingers.

Which the Master watched with curiosity.

I swear, sometimes her act is REALLY good. I mean, if I didn't know how insanely powerful she is, I could definitely mistake that look of measured fury as legitimate confusion. She just wiped out some ancient titan after conquering the known world and invoking forces that made an elder god apologize, and she was managing to pull off a 'clueless stupor' with class.

And then I felt something change inside me. A little 'pop' that didn't really hurt so much as just.... shift. Hmmm... wonder what the hells that was.

I heard the little gasp of my Master selling her 'surprised idiot' act right as a twist of pitch black smoke curled into existence next to Stitchface. An indistinct murmur seemed to thrum from that swirling void as a pair of smoldering blue wisps flickered into existence before six claw-like fingers heaved a hulking black form from the smoke. Tinges of blue rippled across it's body, a twisting, boneless, torso with a lump for a head. Legless, it floated just above the floor while a shifting blue and black miasma seemed to continuously boil away in the light of day. Two heavy gold shackle-bound limbs that ended in six clawlike fingers which clenched and flexed as its form solidified.

Its echoing bass voice seemed to leak into the room, changing position and volume at seemingly random times as it said "What.... do you want from me?"

Stitchface smirked before pointing to the Master, and the demon, a Voidwalker, turned to look where she pointed.

After a moment, it's response was something that I would have laughed at but I'd noticed something rather important: I was finally starting to boil away!

YAY! Not gonna be dead much longer. Let me tell you, being dead sucks.

Oh right...

The voidwalker.

And as my body finally began to really pop and sizzle, the voidwalker's words echoed around the room with all the weight of the gallows: "Sssssssend... me-back."

-~oOo~-



I would have laughed! It was the most sensible thing I'd ever heard a voidwalker say! I mean, yheah, those guys are leagues above an imp, they've got health to spare and the ability to inflict horrible suffering upon their victims, tormenting and ripping into their minds to induce rage and agony in equal measure. They literally FEED on fear and suffering and can even create a magical bulwark of sorts from the congealed essence of terror. They're tough enough to stand up to things many times their own strength and can STILL hit hard enough to fight off small mobs of enemies or collapse buildings BY HAND. Not too bright, voidwalkers, but they have it in the meatshield department.

And that smoking gap in reality had the sense to talk back to Stitchface and tell her it didn't want to fight the Master.

I mean, it could have just been whining, but I think it's funnier if it realized how boned it was.

I would have laughed. I mean, that big blue idiot was actually wanting no part of this whole thing. Might actually have just broken the intellectual curve for voidwalkers by being not-stupid enough to even try to fight the Master.

And then, I was back home. On the floor. With my nose stuck in the crack between two slabs of brimstone.

...

Yheah. Anticlimactic!

The Master was about to breaka-some-face and I just got dumped back in Embershole? Stichface had the gall to summon a voidwalker against the Master and my nose was stuck in a crack, dimensions away? A Voidwalker might have just graduated from demon-kindergarten for the first time in theoretical history and I didn't have a front row seat to the wails of its teacher's mental anguish after having had to suffer through it's 35 word vocabulary?

I mean, I know I'm a demon and all, but that's just bull!

So, after yanking my nose free, I brushed myself off, lit my hands on fire, and waited.

...

It's a legitimate tactic! When you get sacrificed, you KNOW that your warlock is going to summon you back to help skin whatever moron jumped them as soon as the magic bleeds off. It's how things are done. It's the natural order of all things ~warlock-y~.

As sure as screams follow shoeless children running through broken glass, warlocks summon their demons back as soon as they can.

So, when about half an hour had passed and I was still hopping there, on fire, at home, I really didn't know what the hells was happening.

Maybe Stitchface was putting up more of a fight that I thought? Maybe Spike was busy belching fel flames all over the room? Maybe that voidwalker had just broken another record and proven it knew a 36th word?

Maybe I'd forgotten to place the hollow handled butter spreader on the LEFT of the chafing dish when Miss Rarity visited?!?!?!?

...

...

Maybe the Master didn't need me anymore?

A cold little stone of fear lodged itself somewhere in my chest. A demon that was unneeded was a demon that wasn't recruiting for the Legion. A demon that wasn't recruiting for the Legion was a demon that didn't have the benefit of any kind of backup.

An easy mark for anyone who wanted anything.

Because, sure, Imps are amazing and immortal and fireproof and pretty much indestructible, but we're also small, and weak, and not much of  threat on our own.

And, after seeing what the Master could do, I didn't like my odds if I wasn't HER demon anymore.

Because warlocks don't have many friends... 

...but they don't normally have ANY enemies.

-~oOo~-

> Demonology 101
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It happened so gently that I didn't even realize it for a few seconds, like a gentle breeze or the dull thud of your head hitting the ground after a cooking accident in the powder magazine of a pirate ship. Just.... pop and done.

It was such a gentle transition that what finally caught my attention was the glint of light from a set of small, pink, marbles nearby.

Marbles that I didn't own and hadn't stolen.

I blinked a few times and looked up from where I'd been sitting by my fireplace and saw two figures looking expectantly at me.

One, a tall, thin, undead lady with leather straps bolted to her head and the flickering yellow of magic where her eyes should be. The other, a twisted lilac abomination against all things horselike, sporting a pair of wings and a head mounted laser spear.

Stitchface and The Master.

And I was between them with a set of tiny, pink, glowing, marbles at my feet.

The hells is going on?

So, since nothing was exploding and no one was screaming death at anyone, I glanced around.

Floor: scorch marks, molten slag, broken wood and a number of unidentifiable lumps of 'stuff' scattered all over.
Walls: scorch marks, molten slag, broken decorations and a number of holes (mostly behind Stitchface), and the gaping new hallway that the Maser had made to view the village and that one burning apple tree.
Ceiling: scorch marks, pitted arches and missing sections that explained the lumps of stuff on the floor.

And a set of glowing, pink, marbles at my feet.

Oh, and Spike was watching us all from the top of a set of giant, crystal, steps that led to other parts of the castle.

The whole place was pretty quiet actually. The fires outside were mostly just background noise and the peons had apparently already fled, or, I guess maybe some of those lumps on the ground might be what was left of the pile? Those didn't really look like cooked meat, but you never can tell when an undead is the one 'cooking.' No sense of taste.

But no, wedged up near the open front gate, there was still a pile of softly shifting pony-meat shields doing meat shield-y things. So, not even dead.

Figures. Can't trust peons to get anything right. That's what demons are for.

And about that time, Stitchface gave a little cough and gestured towards The Master with a flick of her wrist.

What?

Oh.

OH.

Oh, I don't think so. Not a chance.

Stitchface, you are one fun little whackjob but I am NOT stupid enough to go after the Master after what I saw her do to that titan prick.

So, I did what any self-respecting imp would do in such a situation. I shrieked my displeasure, stomped up to her, and kicked her robes for good measure.

Which.... did absolutely nothing except draw a confused look from Stitchface since imps are not known for their immense physical prowess. Or long legs.

Pretty much just made one of the ratty edges of her robe flick for a second.

And then I found myself being picked up by the cold, sharpened, bone of Stitchface's fingers, dangling before her face as her look of confusion turned to one of anger.

And then she threw me at the Master.

Where I promptly bounced off a pinkish magical shield, and landed on the ground.

... right next to the remains of the little coat the Rarity had made for me a week or so before.

... right next to a charred scorch mark with two little golden bracers.

... bracers, identical to the pair I wore.

I heard a surprised "Sorry!" from the Master as the magic shield flickered out and her shadow fell over me before I felt myself being crushed in a grapple that would make adamantine feel soft. Little patches of my skin sizzled as rain started falling from somewhere, boiling away as it hit me.

I glanced up to see the Master was crying. Crying? Warlocks don't cry! It's in the manual!

But then I saw something that was much more familiar... the comfortable sight of anger overtaking, well, anything, as the Master's enormous eyes glanced over to Stitchface and a glare that was almost physical slapped her.

And, after a breath, a series of six little popping sounds, the smell of rotten eggs, and the maddened cackling of a half dozen high pitched voices filled the room.

I blinked.

Huh... wild imps. Guess the Master is a demonology warlock. Coulda sworn she was more destruction. Stitchface suddenly seemed very much less confident as she stared from across the room.

From one of the marbles, a tiny voice squeaked out, "Send me back!"

Smart marble. Wonder if it knows the voidwal....oh. Heh. I take it back, that's a GENIUS voidwalker.

-~oOo~-



See, the thing is that warlocks come in a few different flavors.

There's your everyday 'destruction' warlock: known for wonton violence, fire, snaking paths of destruction, fire, and immense firey orbs of destruction that leave smoldering paths of destruction through things that are on fire. They're the steamrollers of the magical community, deranged and unstable, but capable enough to dominate any single opponent with overwhelming force.

Then there's your 'affliction' warlocks: gaunt, vindictive, maddeningly efficient engines of suffering and torture. The bane of all things living and the gleeful purveyors of agony, sickness, and plague. They're well known for being decidedly durable and capable of handling large numbers of enemies at once, slowly bleeding the lot down while maintaining an almost comical level of spite.

And then there's the 'demonology' warlock. Don't get me wrong, there is no 'friendly' kind of warlock, only varying degrees of less-likely-to-stab-me-in-the-next-five-minutes, but when it comes to dangerous, demonology warlocks are the worst. They plan ahead — days, weeks, months, sometimes years in advance. They work out strategies and tactics, defenses and counters for everything from a centuries-long war to how to select the ripest fruit at a market. They're mental... and not just because they're sick in the head (which, admittedly, they probably are). Oh no, it's because they've decided to study demons and become good enough to out-think millenias old immortal sociopaths with murderous desires and the magic to follow through with those desires.

So... yheah. Your average demonology warlock isn't exactly well liked by the local populace, but they ~are~ respected for their power.

And once you get a sufficiently powerful demonology warlock, they almost invariably attract the attention of younger, unbonded, imps.

It's not uncommon to see a demonology warlock in combat with 3 or even 4 imps alongside their tethered demon, gleefully hurling bolts of fire and cackling madly, careening all over the place while sewing chaos and misery. They're drawn to it, the power and control, they crave it like a fire craves fuel, like babies crave stairwells and sharp objects.

And the Master just had half a dozen pop into existence next to her.

I started laughing.

How could I not? The look on Stitchface's face was priceless. A mix somewhere between "Oh Fuck" and "well shit on me" and just a weeeee touch of angst.

Then again, she is undead so maybe the angst is just a general setting... but whatever the case, It. Was. GLORIOUS.

Until I realized, with a terrible sinking feeling, that I had reappeared between Stitchface and the Master... and Stitchface had ordered me to attack.

The squealing cackles of the wild imps suddenly turned to pure joy as they all gleefully held flickering gobs of fire between their knife-like fingers.

And I shrieked as I started to dodge dozens of fire bolts while the Master looked on in stunned silence.

Stitchface just shook her her and started up a spell, completely missing as the Assassin and the Wreck peeked in the open wall behind her.

-~oOo~-



Dodging firebolts isn't too hard, really. All you have to do is not be where they are when they get close. With all of time and space to choose from, the short duration and very small overall size makes them trivially easy to avoid. Don't believe me? When was the last time you got hit with a firebolt?

That's right... never.

So, conveniently, it remains deliciously easy to avoid them.

Of course, all the statistics in the universe are meaningless when imps are throwing firebolts at you. See, imps are magical, evil, and just a little bit small, so we tend to overcompensate for that weakness. No, I'm not going to call it a 'shortcoming'... like we've ~NEVER~ heard that joke before.

See, imps don't miss throwing firebolts.

Ever.

We cheat. We're demons. It's what we do.

See, when someone normally casts a spell, they think it out, pour some magic in, aim, top off the spell, and throw that sucker out at whatever they were aiming at. Simple enough.

Only problem is that things don't often like being blown up, so they use this thing called MOVEMENT and just avoid getting hit if they can.

I'm sure that if flowerpots and wooden crates could think, they'd be screaming about the injustice of being left as targets by so many things that just moved out of the way of incoming spells.

But not imps.

We don't like to miss because if we miss, we're not useful... well, not as useful as an imp that doesn't miss, at least.

So we don't.

We cheat.

We set up the spell, dump some magic in, grab a little chunk of our target from the near future, and stick the spell on it. Then we just let the whole thing go and snap back into place.

Simple as that. Let the spell go here and now and let it pull itself back together there and then... that being wherever the target ends up and in a few moments.

So, we don't miss.

Which meant that I was running all over the place, screaming like a banshee, and phasing like a champ to avoid being hurt by several dozen firebolts while the Master acted as if surprised that a bunch of imps sprung into existence and started attacking me.

I don't know what she's doing, but she's possibly the best actor I have ever seen in all my years because I'm being serious when I say I have no freaking clue what her plan is.

-~oOo~-


Dodging firebolts is not a fun thing, especially when they're fired by imps,
Dodging firebolts hurled by wild imps summoned by The Master is an even less fun thing, primarily due to the sheer number.
And, as previously noted, 'dodging' firebolts hurled by imps, wild or otherwise, is a rather poor term for it.

Primarily because you can't dodge them.
They hit.
Every.
Single.
One.

But, I'm an imp! So, phasing.

Mitigates it a bit.

Anyway, there I was, bounding all over The Master's front hallway, leaping from door frames to banisters to potted plants in giant, fancy, crystal urns (because warlocks would NEVER own a 'vaaaaaaaze'). Phasing like mad and doing my best to shriek out my displeasure because imps do NOT squeal in panic.

And The Master was just watching with her mouth agape.

Well, she was until Stitchface managed to summon up a Chaos Bolt at her. Chaos Bolts are kind of a specialty of Destruction warlocks. Bright green and roiling black flames, the size of a large child, sent boiling through the air with a draconic face superimposed upon the front. Those things are like napalm and a battering ram had a bastard child... they hit like an avalanche and burn like... well... burning.

I don't have a baby joke for everything, alright?

But more importantly, they cause other spells to hit harder, faster, and more viciously.

So while The Master suddenly found herself sluffing off a rather nasty blob of magic on her shield, I finally got a break when her wild imps all turned towards Stitchface and screamed bloody murder.

Before promptly launching themselves at her and imploding.

Funny thing about wild imps. They're unstable... both mentally and physically, and they have a tendency to blow up.

Which, The Master either didn't know, or did a very good job of acting surprised about.

On the other hand, when Stitchface suddenly whipped off a spell that engulfed The Master in a cloud of embers, hurled two dark masses and a snaking trail of fire, and followed it up with an explosion of ash and death, The Master apparently had gotten over her shock.

Because another 6 imps popped into existence and stared hurling fire at Stitchface.

And then, then The Master apparently got angry when I dropped to the ground again when Stitchface sacrificed me.

Again.

I know this because the number of wild imps that suddenly started popping into existence is something I don't think I've ever seen. Pop - cackle. Pop - shriek. Pop - scream. Pop - hissing. One after another after another after another.

Time and time again.

And I got a corpse bound view as dozens of the little buggars swarmed, then leapt and started punching, kicking, biting, and lighting Stitchface on fire.

Before detonating in the most imp-dense implosion I have ever seen.

And when the bassy-thump of air being removed from existence had faded, a slew of other little demons had all materialized around The Master... who was floating... with glowing white eyes, and glaring down at a very haggard looking Stitchface.

"And now," The Master intoned, "You WILL stop!"

... Her voice was loud enough that the little pink marbles rolled halfway across the room.

I might have whimpered if I wasn't dead.
> Caltrops and a Rubber Ball
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seeing the Master floating in the air is nothing terribly new. I mean, she's crazy powerful and just beat down a giant, evil, titan centaur the other day... floating just doesn't seem quite as impressive by comparison,

Then again, the lantern eye thing? That's something that only happens when fighting giant titan centaurs.

Or lighting her books on fire accidentally.

But mostly the giant titan centaurs because I would NEVER set the Master's books on fire intentionally. That would be a death wish no sensible being would ever want.

No. But seeing Stitchface on the ground, surrounded by random demons and an ever increasing number of wild imps while the Master floated above her and was shouting that the battle was over... that was a new one.

I should point out that when I say the Master was saying the battle was over, she wasn't just saying it. She was making a simple statement of fact. You know the kind. It's when the world itself kind of just nods its head and shrugs, turns around and says "Alrighty, if you say so, I guess it's gotta be that way 'cus no one talks back to reality unless they're right."

The Master kind of just ~informed~ us all of the *FACT* that the battle was over. No questions asked. Just stated it like saying "Dirt is made of cupcakes."

Don't give me that look. If you heard the way she said it, you'd be out there eating mud pies and spreading frosting on potted plants.

The effect was rather lost on Stitchface.

Which is a shame, because when she flicked a spell off towards the Master, the Assassin took it as her cue to attack.

And attack she did.

A swarm of vermin poured in from the hole in the wall. Nuisances, like rats and bees, all the way up to actual threats like her pet bears and a manticore, attacked. They moved like a well oiled machine, darting in and taking their strikes before shifting out of the way for the next to bite, sting, or pummel. One after the next, time and again while the Master's imps and demons flinched and twitched with joy.

It was joy and definitely not sympathy. Demon's don't do sympathy. Well... the succubi do, but there's something wrong with them... love their whips and red-brands.

And, after a few moments, the swarm parted and Stitchface shuddered before howling out rage and sending a glare at the Assassin that made her cower.

Which was apparently the Traitor's sign to have a go.

At least I THINK it was the Traitor, I'm not really sure. I was dead and all, so my eyes and ears might have just been hallucinating due to brain death, but one second the Assassin was starting to hide behind a curtain of her pink mane, and the next, the room exploded with a literal RAINBOW that collided with Stitchface and slammed her into the far wall as the Traitor pummeled her.

And before Stitchface could even respond, the Traitor was replaced by the Sweatstain, who simply folded Stitchface in half with the force of her kick and gave her a home in an unoccupied bookshelf.

The Master continued to float there with a neutral expression.

Which, admittedly, I was just fine with, being dead and all.

And then Stitchface went and did something incredibly stupid. She groaned as she pulled herself out of the bookcase, tumbled to the floor, and a fist sized green and yellow rock burned to nothing in her hand.

And she stood up.

And she glared.

And she started to cast a spell.

And the Rarity apparently took offense at the entire proceeding as dozens of pairs of scissors suddenly appeared, cut Stitchface free of her armor, clothing, undergarments, and even the leather straps on her head.

Within moments, there was a flurry of fabric, the keening wail of blades scraping against one another, and the sound of leathery skin being stretched and bound, cut and stitched, and generally tortured under that dire sorceress' dark fancy. Nearly a minute passed before the storm of razor edged tools fell away, revealing an immaculate, gown-draped Stitchface with a delicately laced veil, done all in shimmering dark greens trimmed with silvery grays.

At which point, the Rarity nodded, then turned and said "Girls? Shall we?"

The Traitor gestured, wide eyed, as she replied "Really? All that for a dress?"

"~Gown~, darling. And, Yes. If we're going to blast her, she might as well look her best."

The Traitor replied, "Urg. FINE! Whatever."

At about that time, I popped back into existence again. Facing the Master, AGAIN. With Stitchface ordering me to attack AGAIN.

And the Master was apparently done with it because she simply looked at me, held her hoof up to the swarm of demons and her little minions, and intoned, "Gakham. COME."

And I ran over to her and grinned.

Never thought I'd live to see the day that "Enslave Demon" could be cast without magic, but DAMN am I glad she pulled that off because the moment her hoof fell, the minions started floating too and the death rainbow plowed into Stitchface like a pair of horny teenagers when the parents left the liquor cabinet unlocked for the weekend.

...

And when the demons tried to join in, glowing pink bubbles appeared around them and they shrank to join the marbles on the floor.

I'll say it again, that was one genius voidwalker, asking to go home a few minutes ago.

-~oOo~-



So, it turns out that the Master did not, in fact, use Enslave Demon... Instead, I apparently have a survival instinct after all and just came when called.

I'm... pretty sure that was not in my contract, but she did say not to be naughty, so that probably applies.

Either way, it was a good thing because when that rainbow colored death laser blasted the hells out of Stitchface, I was quite pleased not to have been caught in the line of fire.

Of course, when she fainted, and I had been summoned by her, it meant that I popped back out of the Master's world.

So, there I was. Back in my little home, waiting for a summon again.

And for once, I didn't have to wait all that long.

I popped back into the hall between them and felt my hopes fall when I noticed I was facing the Master again.

She was no longer floating, instead content to stand on all four hooves with her little swarm of minions behind her looking rather gruff about the whole thing. Well, except the Pink one... she was waving cheerfully, but the rest were looking upset.

And the Master? She was looking a bit upset, herself. She wasn't blasting me with instant doom, but she still looked less than pleased as she looked me over.

And, after a few moments, she nodded and I felt myself slip out of the world again.

Back home... brimstone and fire and that little crack that I still hadn't been able to fix since getting my nose stuck in it.

And before I could even let out a frustrated sigh, POP, I was back in the Master's lair, facing Stitchface this time.

Stitchface, in her gown and veil and still looking none too pleased, but not trying to kill the Master at least.

And, after a few more moments, I looked back and saw the Master nodding her approval. I really didn't know what was going on, but the sound of Stitchface's movement caused me to glance back just in time to see her casting a new spell.

I moved on instinct, leaping at her and latching on to her fingers as she attempted to summon another demon...

... only to be pried off with the dim glow of the Master's magic.

Aaaaaaaand I floated back to the Master, just to watch Stitchface try, and fail, to summon another demon.

Humorously enough, one of the little pink marbles clinked a few times before rolling over and stopping in front of her, only to have a faint voice call up from below "Void.... where prohibited."

I couldn't help it. I started laughing.

That little voidwalker was STILL stuck in the Master's magic bubble, still couldn't get out, and couldn't be properly summoned OR dismissed.

But, even while I was laughing, I noticed instantly when a shadow fell over me, and silence reigned as a newspaper loomed.

Stitchface watched, but finally nodded and started casting her spell again.

And again, the little marble rocked back and forth as the Voidwalker complained.

The whole place was quiet as this happened a few more times.

Honestly, it was kind of cruel of the Master to keep forcing Stitchface to futilely try to summon her voidwalker, but, given that the Master had let her live, I suppose worse punishments could have been devised. I mean, just hammering home how utterly powerless Stitchface was compared to the Master is pretty tame compared to that Tea-wreck guy.

But still...

Then again.... warlock. So, par for the course.

After the 4th try, a strange thought hit me. A strange, alien, impossible thought that made absolutely no sense at all. A thought so absurd that only an idiot or an utter genius would have ever thought to think it.

What if it wasn't a punishment? What if it was a lesson? What if the Master was trying to make a point? What if she was trying to teach her minions to summon demons too?

...

What if Stitchface was ~HER~ minion now?

And then? Then I felt a torrent of magic rising behind me and I turned to see the Master, horn ablaze, as a small army of wild imps popped into existence with confused looks on their faces, imps who were immediately swallowed by pink bubbles and reduced to more marbles on the floor.

Oh, and a bubbling blue-black rift starting to boil into existence before before the Master... probably shouldn't forget that part.

And then the impossible seemed to happen as the Master, warlock of god-like power and tyrant of the horsebeast lands, seemed to squeal in joy as she summoned a shadowy form from the nether.

A form, twisted to her desires and rippling with untold evil. A pony shaped wedge of night with a billowing mane and tail, with a body like a bleeding hole in reality.

Stitchface nodded silently before pointing a finger and whispering "Rysdyk" — which the Master completely ignored.

The Master had summoned her voidwalker... something that, once she saw it fully, she reverently named "Sleipnir" before grinning like mad and bouncing around in childlike joy. 

I wasn't fooled. She was clearly testing Stitchface's loyalty by appearing innocent and distractable. But, like the Master, Stitchface was no stranger to acts of foolishness, and seemed just as wary of the Master's antics as I did, instead choosing to remain frozen as the Master chanted "YES YES YES YES YES!" in her chirpy little voice.

Which she stopped a few moments later and proved to all it was simply a test since there was no transition AT ALL before she started examining her creation like a fresh piece of meat.

I knew that look... and I pity that demon something awful.

But, like most voidwalkers, Rysdyk took it like a champ. And by champ, I mean "braindead table leg" as it just stood there looking all looming and dark and edgy and impressive and intimidatingly stoic.

I mean, it's not like Rysdyk means 'man-killer' or anything... just some stupid demon horse name... and the Master NAMED it Sleipnir, so it doesn't matter. Sounds like a request to cuddle at night: Sleipnir.

...

I'm not jealous at all.

Friggin' smoke-horse.

-~oOo~-

> Home City Dungeon Crawl
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Well.

Well well well.

Weh-heh-he-hell well well.

Hell.

It looks like the Master and Stitchface are getting along swimmingly, much to the concern of her little minions. The Traitor is positively jittery, flitting around and glaring daggers at Stitchface as they roam the Master's castle. The Sorceress has been politely tagging along, offering up her 'insight' into the decor, though whenever she's not actively talking, she's glancing around as if expecting something to jump out and attack. The Sweatstain hasn't said a word unless spoken to, and even then, only in clipped little sentences like "a'yup," "e'nope," or "boy howdy." Might be evidence of a bit of brain damage... wouldn't surprise me in the least. The pink terror seems completely at ease, which of course, has been making Stitchface nervous. And the Assassin? She's tried to escape no less than 4 times, being drug back into the tour by the Traitor.

And Rysdyk? That haughty, swollen, cloud of the nether dark? That bastard's been strutting around like a king. Like he lives here! All big and strong and silent and imposing with his unshod hooves that strike faint sparks from the crystal floors and his billowing mane of the lost reaches of the abyss. Positively glowing with the Master's praise and only deigning ~look~ at things the Master points out, like the rest of us are so far beneath him that we're not even worth the effort of acknowledging.

It makes me sick.

I mean, sure, voidwalkers are about as intelligent as your average doorstop, but this guy's so dim I'm shocked that he knew HOW to answer a summons.

It's almost like he's being intentionally obtuse! It's Infuriating.

And, of course, the Master either doesn't see it or plain just doesn't care, and I can't imagine her not seeing it.

It's enough to make me want to light something on fire... well, more. I mean, I normally want to light things on fire, but now I REALLY want to light things on fire.

And I can't. I mean, not only am I not allowed to, but the entire place is CRYSTAL... and not the fun kind that explodes or starts super heating until the entire thing goes up in a billowing column of chemical death. Oh no... it's the boring, magic sucking, kind of crystal that makes you just want to burn it more because IT WON'T CATCH ON FIRE AND THAT'S PRETTY MUCH YOUR SCHTICK AND THE FEGGING VOIDWALKER'S STEALING YOUR THUNDER!

...

And, now they're going into the Master's bedchambers.

And Rysdyk just glanced at me and shut the door in my face.

...

I'm going to kill that voidwalker.

Wait... wait a fel-damned minute!

There is NO Fekking way I'm leaving that thing alone in a dark room with the Master!

So, I did what any Master-respecting imp would do: I phased and slipped through the crack in the door frame.

Don't look at me like that! The Master just invited Rysdyk into her bedroom and left me out in the hallway! Clearly, she's being influenced by some dark magic to which she is simply unaware. It's my job, no, it's my DUTY as her loyal imp to follow her and save her from whatever that voidwalker's sick mind has concocted! It's... it's what I SHOULD do because....

because?

Why do I even care?

"I obey." echoed from within, the voidwalker's bassy voice causing my skin to crawl.

Oh hells no.

I turned up my flames, enough to cast the entire room into a dim green glow. A massive four post bed, wrought of the same magical crystal as the rest of the castle, GREW from the floor. A wardrobe, towering above, its doors carved with the care only a master artisan could accomplish. A mirror, so clean and clear it almost seemed another room was beyond, complete with imp set ablaze.

But of the Master? No sign.

Until I heard a series of rhythmic thumps, a pounding that only increased in frequency and strength, and finally grew silent as the voidwalker's voice echoed from a dark doorway across from me, "Yesssssssss.....".

I didn't even care that I couldn't teleport, I hurled myself at that doorway, with every intent of saving the Master from being further despoiled with the touch of that.. that ... THING!

And, promptly fell down a flight of stairs, striking a good number of them as I tumbled and tumbled and rolled and WHY IS THERE A STAIRWAY THIS LONG IN THE MASTER'S BEDROOM? Until I crashed into a large, very firm, metal object.

A table, as it turned out, where Rysdyk was bound and connected to a multitude of wires.

And The Master was looking at me in confusion, dressed in a white lab coat.

Oh... and Stitchface was apparently resting in a chair, looking rather beaten up with an ice pack on her head.

...

Ah....

It's the lab.

Wait, no... it's ~another~ lab.

Heh..... oh... oh this is good.

I finally found the Master's kinky dungeon.

That's a shame. Now I'm going to have to destroy it to remove any evidence of Rysdyk. I'm sure the Master will understand.

-~oOo~-


Alright.... it's fine. Everything is fine. The Master and Stitchface are getting along. The Master is performing some kind of dark ritual involving Rysdyk. There is an ABSURDLY long stairwell hidden in the Master's bedchambers that leads to a secret, kinky dungeon-slash-lab that I was NEVER told about... which, given that the Crystal Fortress of Undisputed Power is only a new thing, isn't really that bad, but it's the principle of the matter!

But that's all fine.

All I have to do is distract the Master, avoid Stitchface, prevent unexpected battles, destroy the kinky dungeon slash lab, poison Rysdyk, and frame that cocky prick for the whole thing while making sure he's too injured to defend himself until the Master's wrath is upon him.

Should be easy.

Okay... deep breaths. Step one: Smile and wave before Stitchface and the Master know anything is wrong.

Riiiight.... they're looking at me... cough politely and scamper out of sight.

Check!

Step two: Take stock and outline plan.

K.... let's see. The Master, Stitchface, and Dashing-idiot are all occupied. Lots of wires and noisy science things. No bottles of facemelt.... shame that... but there are lots of things that can short out and make lightning. Hmmm... metal table, lightning, high voltage.... nah. They'd see that kind of thing a mile away.

Alright, no lightning. Well... there is glass and metal, lots of heavy sciencey things and a stairwell. Oh! If I can convince Rysdyk to show off, maybe I can trip him near the stairwell and things will fix themselves! No... no. The stairs go up and even if the Master changed gravity, the stairwell ceiling is smooth... nowhere near enough injury to take him out. Plus, he's a demon so... the whole immortal thing.

No. Okay, how about stabbing Rysdyk while the Master is doing her whole 'doomsday magic' thing? Massive disruption, possibly forcing her to lose concentration on a spell that could quite simply wipe out all life on the planet. Overkill? Maybe. But how to convince the Master to cast it, let alone reveal she even has one ready.... hmmm.... she has been remarkably secretive about it. If I wasn't her imp, I might not even think she had one ready. Clearly she does, even though all evidence points against it, but that's why she MUST have one ready. She's ALWAYS prepared.... I have the checklists to prove it. But... no..... then the Master will know I did it and not Riskydyke... RoyalDick...Dumbhorsedemon? whatever...  That would defeat the entire purpose of the plan. So, no.

Grrrr... why does this have to be so difficult?!? It's not like he's smart enough to actually do a damn thing about it. Stupid voidwalkers are so tough BECAUSE they don't waste energy on growing more than three brain cells. They're just like those big cows that run their heads into trees because the leaves insulted them... Freaking idiots with enough meat behind them that no one asks uncomfortable questions like "How do leaves insult a bull?"

Wait.... Wait a minute.... that's it! No one asks questions because they ARE so big, powerful, and stupid!

So....

Let's see.... table, wires, lightning, glass from the sciencey things, lots of magic, a hidden stairwell in the Master's bedchamber that goes DOWN, closed doors, loud noises, and a not-desperate-at-all imp who clearly has the Master's best interests at heart! PERFECT!

Alright.... let's do this!

Aaaand.... the Master and Stitchface are staring at me...

I really have got to get better at not zoning out when plotting mischief. I mean rescues! Definitely rescues... can't be naughty... it's in my contract.

Riiiight, wave and smile and scamper out of sight in the most innocent manner possible.

Aaaand, Check.

Right.... grab these wires and 'accidentally' remove some of the insulation. Don't tear it off, just use a little more fire than normal... that's right, don't burn it, just let the coating 'melt' off... heh... fireproof against an imp my sorry flaming butt.

Now, leave them right next to the table, but not touching... that would short things out and everything is clearly already working.

— Wait! That actually worked? I can't burn things but ~melting~ isn't stopped? Oh ho ho ho! This'll make things interesting!

Check the area... Master and Stitchface are talking shop... Stitchface is gesturing offhandedly and the Master is clearly upset about something. Probably meat or killing or killing meat... never did understand her aversion to that... they're clearly related. Riseduck is still strapped down.... and a little snip with a claw has that restraint barely holding on. "Must have been faulty" they'll think.... "No chance it was the loyal little imp. He's such a great imp."

Still need a better insult-slash-nickname for the voidwalker, "riseduck" was scraping the bottom of the barrel as it is.

While they're distracted, scamper over to the Sciencey things.... big ones are better. They've got more lightning inside and weigh more. Check around the corner... Master and Stitchface are still 'discussing' things and there's only a little magic floating around them like death about to descend. Perfect! Walock conversations are GO! Climb up to the top of the Sciencey thing and wedge another sciencey thing behind it near the top. Don't care what it is... as long as the bigger one is ~almost~ ready to topple. Hmmm... better make sure this looks faulty too.... add fire and let the outside melt a little. Blue smoke? Eh, whatever.

Check the Master.... yep, teeth are bared and Stitchface is nearly growling.

Perfect.

Now, let's see.... wires, check. Weak restraints, check. Sciencey thing ready to fall, check. Master and Stitchface fighting.... 

Huh.... 

Actually.... not... in the plan but...

Oh crap. the Master and Stitchface are fighting again!

Crap crap crap crap crap!

Rysdyk! He can get between them!

No! He's strapped down!

Um.... Crap times two! And now there's fire and death lasers again! CRAP SQUARED!

How do I stop them?

.... MINIONS!

Running up the stairs it is!

Gotta save the Master's Lab so I can destroy the Master's Lab and blame it on the interloper!

-~oOo~-


STAIRS!

Why are there so MANY FREAKING STAIRS?!?!?

It's like running up an avalanche while on fire and breathing liquid ice while raining broken glass covered in razor blades!

Stairs are proof of all things Evil and the Master has a LOT of stairs.

Door is just visible. Door door door door door.

Gotta warn the minions so they can save the Master from stupid-smoke-horse!

Still need a better nickname for that guy....fek it... I'll add it to the list once he's dead.

Door!

... Locked door. WHY IS THE DOOR LOCKED ON THE INSIDE?

Oh... inside! The lock is right there!

But why is it so high up!

FEK!

Wait, I'm an imp! Phasing phasing phasing phasing aaaaaaaaaand THROUGH THE DOOR! HAH! Take that door!

Aaaaaand.... the minions aren't here. WHY ARE THE MINIONS NOT HERE? The MASTER needs HELP!

Stupid discount backwater inbred smelly fekking barnyard mud guzzling useless MINIONS!

ARRRRG! FINE! I'll do it myself!

Bedchambers. Drapes. Dresser. Mirror. Carpet? hmmmm.... nice carpet. Yes, fine, carpet. Window. OH! Bathroom!

Let's see... crystal floor. Crystal tub. Crystal cabinet. Bottles of flower smelling goop. Crystal sink. Crystal toilet? eeeeeeew.... bad design choice. AH HAH! Crystal faucets and big fluffy Non-crystal towels.

Right right right right right.

Water ON: check! Towels blocking the drain: check! Towels blocking the sink: check! Towels in the toilet because I AM NOT SHOVING MY ARMS IN THERE: check! Bottles stacked up to stop the toilet from stopping: check! Sink turned on COLD: check! Realizing I should have said bottles stacked up to keep the toilet flushing.... well... sure, Check.

Right then... Bedroom! 

Window: open! Mirror in front of the stairs: check! Carpet bunched up by the door: check! Drapes pulled down and wadded up at the closed bathroom door: check! Covers yanked off and wedged under the door to the HALLWAY: check! Pillow cut to ribbons and scattered all over because this is stressfull: check! Mattress...

Mattress is a heavy pile of horsedung that needs to be burned the first chance I get...

Mattress... uh
dragged... over...grrrrr
to... door... rrrrrrr
to... HALLWAY... <gasp>... check.

Hernia? Not on the list! Get back where you're supposed to be, guts! I don't have time for you!

Good! Good... goodgoodgoodgoodgood.

Listen at stairwell? Master is still 'arguing' loudly with Stitchface. Magic is the normal progression of warlock arguments.

Great!

FIRE!

Fire on the sheets and drapes!

Oh COME ON! Fireproof too?

FINE! Fire turned down loooooooow and used to heat things up slowly.....so.... very.... slowly.

Smoke! Smoke is good! Candles in wall sconces still have fire in them! Sciency time with the Master says that adding fire to the origin of smoke, at close proximity will re-ignite smoking materials via thermal gas inductive combustion!

I listen to the Master. Sue me.

Candle from wall sconce, smoking drapes and bedsheets, aaaaaand FIRE! HAH! FIRE!

Right... save the Master. Spreading fire around room, carpet is catching... must have only been fireproofed against me.... I'm flattered.

Great! Fire burning out of control but the water leaking out of the closed bathroom door is keeping it away from the path to the mirror... and the stairwell behind it.

Alright! Time to get Minions! Turn to scream into hallway and.... NO! Mattress is STILL blocking the door!

Stupid stupid stupid!

Arrrrg! Heavy.... Freaking.... Mattress!

Great! Mattress is on fire now.... NOT in the plan... whatever.

... Door handle is too high. SACK OF...

IMP!

Phasing through the cracks aaaaand HALLWAY!

 "MINIONS! MASTER IS UNDER ATTACK! HELP MASTER!"

Note to self: consider acting lessons. I'd never believe that kind of.....

And there's the sound I needed to hear... the gentle thunder of idiots willing to throw their lives away.

Finally... something's going right. I'm a genius. Bad actor, but I'm still a genius.

Hmmm.... why does it smell like burning wood? The crystal here doesn't burn. Eh, whatever... Fire does that... I'm sure it'll be fine.

-~oOo~-


Finally!

Minions are showing up. The Sweatstain's looking frazzled, probably because she knows the Master needs help and I caught her sleeping on the job. Blackmail obtained! Then the Assassin and the Traitor showed up. The Sorceress was last, looking a bit flustered, but magic users aren't normally known for their skill at running. They're all looking around and chattering loudly but not getting anything done.

Idiots... fine, I'll have to do MORE to make sure this works.

So I shrieked and squealed and pointed at the door until the Sweatstain yowled out and got the rest of them to shut up. And in that brief moment, all their eyes fell on me.

So I screeched and jumped up and down and scrabbled for the door handle which is CLEARLY above where I can reach and made it abundantly clear that I needed to get through the door.

I swear, it's like teaching monkeys.

This continued for a few seconds until finally the Assassin cleared her throat and suggested that I might be trying to tell them that the Master was in trouble.

I.... I actually have no words to describe how utterly stupid these Minions are. I LITERALLY just yelled for help, in the the common tongue, and they understood it clearly enough to come running, and she's suggesting that I MIGHT be trying to get help?

What do they think I am? Some kind of burning collie barking that some glue-sniffing child fell down a well after eating salsa with a hearty helping of lead-based paint chips?

I'm going to need to talk to the Master about raising her standards for minion recruitment.

Whatever the case, the Sweatstain spun around and bucked the door hard enough that it blasted in, hurling the flaming mattress across the room and simultaneously letting out a billowing cloud of smoke.

The hallway immediately started to fill with the heady scent of burning even as they scrambled back in shock. Looking back at them in disgust, I raced in, glancing back to make sure their collective 15 brain cells communicated enough to get them to follow.

The plan was simple.

Get them to come racing in. See the place on fire, clearly under attack. They'd see me racing off to help and follow along to save the Master. They'd see the fire and the destruction of the bedding, notice the open window (which should also give them enough air not to choke and die before the rescue), but not have time to really look things over. They'd miss the cause of the not-on-fire path to the mirror, the closed bathroom door with the wadded up bedding to guide the flooding water. They'd miss the lack of collateral damage and lack of a struggle due to the FIRE which should prompt them to assume the worst. They'd miss the hidden stairwell, seeing only the muted and hazy reflections of themselves in the mirror and, like the idiots they are, hurl themselves bodily into a blind charge. They'd hit the mirror with far greater force than needed, tumble down the stairs, and slam into the table the Master's voidwalker is on. The impact should snap his weakened restraints, and cause him to rise while simultaneously shaking the sciencey things enough for them to topple. Melted insulation should be enough for a short to occur and lightning and fire will be loosed in the confines of the tiny kinky dungeon. The Master and Stitchface will likely be shaken from their 'heated discussion' at the noise and destruction just as the glass things fall and break, the lightning from the sciencey things falling discharges, the Minions continue to fall and pile up on one another as they all come tumbling down like the suicidal lemmings they are, and Tinydick the Horse-fekking-Voidwalker rises up to say some stupid one-liner that will get him blamed for the whole thing.

It's PERFECT!

The Minions will probably break their necks, keeping my involvement out of it. The Voidwalker's too stupid to figure out that standing up didn't cause mass destruction. The resulting fire and lightning should remove all evidence of my tampering from notice. And, most importantly, the Master and Stitchface will blame that duplicitous bastard offspring of the dark reaches of midnight and a mustang for everything, ensuring his eternal banishment and the salvation of the Master!

With such a perfectly designed plan, nothing could possibly go wrong.

So I was understandably startled when I tripped over the wadded up bedsheets and was launched face-first into the squishy pink backside of the Pink Terror, who had SOMEHOW gotten into the Master's Bedchambers before the door was open.

-~oOo~-


Ack! Yuck! Bleh! Why is it sweet?!?!?

WHY is the Pink Terror's pudgy, pink, plot sugary sweet?!? There is no conceivable reason for a butt, ANY butt, to taste sweet! How does that even work? Why is it sugary and — No! NO NO NO NO NO!

That way lies madness.

Ignore the Pink scourge of reality!

I scrape my tongue with my claws to get the sugary taste off, ignoring her giggles, and light my tongue on fire for good measure.

The burning, it soothes.

But enough of that! The Master needs help!

I scamper past her and dart into the room, doing my absolute best to look panicked and hyperactive... all the better to conceal my growing concern that they'll figure me out.

Jumping to the bed, I scurry around, ignoring the fire, as I make a show of searching before coming up empty. A quick hop to the dresser and a leap across the burning rug takes me to the window, which I perch upon and look outside.

Nothing out there to see, of course, but it's about the act. Oh! Look! The little burning apple tree in the distance. Hmmmm... guess there is one good thing to come out of this night after all.

Grrrr.... Can't stay here, gotta sell the act. I leap off and scamper around the room as the other minions begin to pile in and gape at the destruction.

The Sweatstain begins to call out while the Traitor's eyes get huge and she blasts out of the window. The Assassin 'meeps' and staggers back, only to be caught and held by the Sorceress' magic. The Pink one giggles a little and shakes her bottom before joining me in my manic racing around the room, leaping into drawers and popping out of places entirely too small to possibly contain her mass.

Volume? Mass? 

Volume..... I can almost see the Master squinting at me for using the wrong word.

Within seconds, the Traitor is back, a lump of .... CLOUD? She can move CLOUDS?!?... caught in her hooves and proceeds to squeeze and bounce on it to make rain.

I will have to reevaluate her worth at a later point in time. Weather magic should be far beyond such an imbecile.... and I didn't take her for a druid or shaman.

Pretty sure neither of those orders would want her anyway. As brightly colored as a poison frog and only half as intelligent.

And within moments, the fires are going out, the Assassin is timidly being coaxed back into the room, the Sorceress is squinting at the damaged drapery and rug, the Traitor is zipping in with another rain cloud, and the Sweatstain is still hollering for the Master.

And then there's the muffled thump of an explosion from the hidden stairwell and all eyes flick in its direction.

A cloud of smoke billows up around the mirror, the Minions cringing back as small flashes of green and orange light flicker through its growing mass. And just as I think they're going to take things slow, the muffled voice of the Master echoes up from below as she starts saying "No" in a rising panic.

And, before I can even think up something to trick them into racing off to help, the Sweatstain yanks down her helm with a glare and charges the mirror, followed by all the other minions!

Just

like

I

Wanted.

I'm about to engage in the requisite maniacal cackling when the Pink one giggles out a laugh right next to my head, drops a 'Good Job At Getting Help' cupcake at my feet, and bounces off after the others.

And I blink in abject confusion as the mass of them go charging through the mirror, leaving the room in silence...

... and the strange revelation that the reflection doesn't shatter as they disappear.

And I'm left staring at a perfectly smooth reflection of a dumbfounded imp with a cupcake as the Master resumes her panicked chant of "no" from below.

-~oOO~-


Destroying the minions was never my intent.

Destroying the Master-stealing smoke horse by leading the minions to mistake him as a threat, yes, but destroying the minions themselves? No, that had never been the intent.

Despite this, such losses must be expected in my line of work. Minions are not demons and are rarely immortal. I would doff my hat to them if I had one, but unfortunately, the tiny hat Rarity made for me went up in smoke a few minutes ago during the Master's battle with Stitchface.

It is a shame. Etiquette is quite clear that the doffing of hats is the appropriate response to the loss of life of a rival.

Regardless!

The Master is clearly distressed and the first line of plotting has resolved into failure.

Time for damage control.

Hopping around the miraculous-mirror-of-minion-mauling, I started racing down the hidden stairwell. Billowing clouds of acrid smoke and glowing wisps of arcane energy obscured the view, but the great thing about a stairwell is that they're pretty much an idiot's maze — they don't really take many turns or come to many crossroads.

I only missed my landing once, and that only helped to get me down the stairs faster.

Much faster, as it turns out, but faster none the less.

And when I had picked myself up from the wreckage of the table, it was to look up into the soulless eyes of the smoke-horse, staring vacantly into the void.

Well... okay. Nothing so dramatic, really. He was just standing there, looking in my general direction, but still... gave me a miniature heart attack.

So, after stepping aside, I got a chance to look the place over, and let me tell you, that place was a wreck!

There were pieces of broken equipment everywhere. Sciencey things were toppled or on fire. Little arcs of lightning would occasionally dance across the walls or floor, snaking little paths over surfaces and leaving light burn trails in their wake. The big metal table had been turned over and the various straps had all burned through. There were dimly glowing spots still visible where the metal surface had apparently gotten hot enough that the metal had begun to melt.

And there, prancing across a floor littered with broken glass and small flaming bits and bobs, was the Master... looking for all the world like a frightened child.

And then I saw Stitchface.

She..... was not a pretty thing to look at. Laying face down, the dress that Rarity had made for her showed signs that various things had either burned her or blown little holes through her on the way to becoming embedded in the walls.

Explains the mural of shrapnel I don't recall being here a minute or two ago.

But, perhaps the most obvious explanation of the Master's distress was the large, and apparently quite heavy, shelving unit that had fallen squarely upon Stitchface's head.

...

I... wasn't actually expecting that.

I mean, on the one hand, corrupting your master is kind of in the job description, but on the other hand, it's supposed to to be this long drawn out thing that starts with minor moral slips and progresses into horrifying lapses of conscience, eternally scarring the soul and sending them into a hate fueled rampage of indignant self-righteous fury in an attempt to assuage their wounded sensibilities. I mean... yheah, Stitchface was pretty messed up, but I'm also pretty sure it's in the book that you're not supposed to outright lead your master to their death.

Pretty sure.... I'll have to cross reference some stuff later tonight.

But, I mean, even so, the Master was taking it pretty hard.

Well... on the upside, the "oh so impressive" voidwalker managed to do absolutely nothing, so it shouldn't be too difficult to pin Stitchface's death on him.

HAH! The day is saved by imbecile void fart horse and I get to console the Master. No more stupid voidwalker to distract the Master from her plans.

It'll be back to tea parties and acquiring books and visiting her friends and destroying upstart titans in no time!

Perfect.

I just have this nagging feeling that I'm forgetting something.

Aaaaand, about that time, was when Stitchface's body dissolved down to bones and she rose from the grave once more with an upset look on her face.

Huh.... forgot that undead did that.

Hmmm.... still think I'm forgetting something.

Eh.... whatever. At least I can still pin this whole thing on the voidwalker.

-~oOo~-


Right, so the Master and Stitchface somehow came to the conclusion that this whole thing was my fault, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary.

I mean, yes, there was fire involved, and yes, there was wonton destruction, and yes the Master's bedchambers were pretty much torn to shreds and left to smolder, but I can honestly say that I was NOT in the lab when this all went down.

Aaaaand, since the Master knows I wouldn't lie to her... it breaks the no being naughty rule... she's still just squinting at me really hard instead of outright threatening me with a newspaper.

But Stitchface? No such luck. She's convinced that I, somehow, orchestrated this whole thing even though the retarded smog equine hasn't denied a dang thing. Even when I pointed to him and screeched! It's like he thinks that silence proves he's innocent.

HE'S A DEMON! OF COURSE HE'S NOT INNOCENT!

I'm innocent! Completely and totally didn't do a single thing that should have killed Stitchface or any of this nonsense!

But they're not buying it so, even when I grabbed the "Fabricated Ignition Reduction Expulsion System" and started spraying the smoldering bits with foam, they just seemed to glare harder.

I'm not used to the Master glaring... it's... I don't know... uncomfortable. She's not supposed to glare. It's like a rule or something.

Actually, I'm pretty sure it actually is a rule... at least an implied one... since 'Keep the Master Happy" is a rule.

Maybe I need to grab some tea?

But whatever, not even putting out the fires helped.

It's like they're blaming me for this whole thing... and that's clearly not right. I mean, even if they somehow knew that I had set up most of what happened, which they can't, but even if they could, it's like they've decided that no matter what I say, it's going to be a lie.

And.... I don't like it.

So I just kind of answered whatever questions the Master asked, like where I was when the fireball exploded (upstairs calling for he- What? There was a fireball?!?) and why didn't I look worried when I saw Stitchface dead (She's UNdead... these things happen) and just what did I think I was doing lighting things on fire (I CAN'T light things on fire! The Master fireproofs EVERYTHING).

In all honestly, I probably sulked more than I cleaned up while the Master was asking things.

But, ultimately, the Master just lit her horn up and the room started cleaning itself back up.

And I was told to 'think about what I had done'.

So, I went and sat in a corner, surrounded by a little barricade of broken glass and did what the Master told me to do: I thought about what I had done.

I had failed.

I'd failed to kill the voidwalker. I'd failed to pin the disaster on him. I'd failed to get the minions to do the dirty work. I'd failed to convince the Master that the voidwalker was useless. And I'd failed to get away with it.

Pretty much just failed all around.

And it wasn't just unpleasant to realize all that... it was... I don't know. It felt kinda... bad?

I mean, even when I was trying to kill the Master, she only ever really bopped me on the head and it was done. She'd frown for a second and scold me, but the next moment we were off doing whatever and it was like ... like...

.... like she'd forgiven me.

And I let her down.

Somehow, I let her down.

And I'm not going to do that again!

Oh no! I will be the BEST imp the Master has ever summoned! I will be the best, most polite-ess, most capable etiquette wielder she's ever known! I will put the spoons in the right order and shelve the tomes and grimoires and ancient relics of destruction in WHATEVER order she wants.

And when it's all said and done, I will bow respectfully, and slaughter all her enemies in the most devious of ways.

Because, if the Master is not happy... I have absolutely no doubt that she will destroy us all.

...

CRAP!

I just remembered what I was forgetting.

I got the minions killed.

Well.... fek. Not a great start. Buuuuut, but, we all stumble from time to time.

New plan! Get a pillow and make tea for the Master! That always works!
> Mistakes Were Made
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tea prepared: check
Teacups on a platter: check
Platter on a pillow: check
Three, lesser, pillows sacrificed to stuff the platter pillow so it meets standards: check
Evidence of the three lesser pillows removed: check
Sugar and cream in their proper containers: check
Improvised top hat made from a black measuring cup on head: check

Excellent! There's NO WAY the Master can still be angry with me now!

That being said, the Master is still the Master, so, fundamentally, there's no reason she can't be angry with me.

So, let's see. Tea prepared, Platter set. Flavor options obtained. Pillow stuffed. Hat on.

And the Master is still looking upset even though Stitchface is COMPLETELY fine.
Well, except for the whole "dead" thing. But that's hardly my fault. She started out dead... well, undead, but still!

Anyway, tea and polite-i-tude. Being 'nice' and 'helpful'. Not insulting the cancer-causing nightmare-fuel horse-beast made of smog. Making sure to not antagonize the wild imps that keep popping up... and they are popping up quite frequently — there's a literal room of them that I keep pointing out to the new arrivals. 

Pretty much doing my best to NOT be the focus of attention.

And they are STILL glaring at me.

Okay, so, maybe the Master had to clean up the lab. And maybe the Master had to replace and or repair a lot of the lab equipment. And maybe the Master's bedroom had a substantial amount of smoke damage. And maybe the bed, curtains, drapes, blankets, door, portions of the floor, walls, window, toilet, and a few stairs had to be replaced. But they can't really blame ~me~ for those.

I mean, smoke and fire is kind of an aesthetic ~choice~ after all.

But all the same, it's really rather frustrating.

You know, when you go out of your way to do something nice and all anyone wants to do is remind you of what they think you've done wrong. It's pretty unfair! Like REALLY unfair!

I mean, sure, I've tried to kill her a few dozen times, and of course I've tried to destroy her minions before, and there's been no loss of love between the Traitor and myself since she tried to smear me into a little infernal paste or the Assassin tried to smother me to keep me quiet, but COME ON! That was BEFORE this morning! That's like.... an entirely different DAY! It might as well be a different LIFE!

I mean, why can't they see that I didn't kill Stitchface? I didn't smash her science stuff! I didn't bite ANYONE! And I didn't even make any fires! And FIRES are kind of my thing!

It's like they've just got this idea of what ~is~ and they're so stuck on it that they can't even see when it's not the case.

Hmmmm.... funny taste in my mouth. Kinda bitter... reminds me of those dusk ravens in the Undercity. Big black birds, kinda remind me of crows if not for the burning embers for eyes and the dripping gore of the carcasses they eat.

Oh.

Oh my.

I.... I think I know why they're glaring at me.

And all this time, I've been such a fool! I thought they were blaming me for all this... what I did TODAY. But.... but what if they're blaming me for ALL the stuff I've done and.... and they're not angry with the stuff, but because I haven't fixed it?

What if they're not angry because, instead, they're disappointed?

Aaaaaand, they're staring at me.

But I couldn't help it! I didn't mean to drop the platter when I stopped, splashing them with boiling hot tea and soaking them with cream and sugar. I - I just.... I can't even...

Why do they put up with such a terrible imp?

And I didn't even realize what I'd said, or when I'd said it, but when my thoughts caught up with me, I was sticky and hot and smelling like wet horse-beast and cream and very, VERY uncomfortable.

Because the Master was hugging me.

And... for the first time, I considered that maybe that kind of uncomfortable wasn't actually the worse thing out there.

"I'm sorry"

-~oOo~-


Well, after a... good... hugging, The Master asked me to follow her as she and Stitchface worked their way through the lab, cleaning up whatever The Master's magic had left behind. That is to say, whatever The Master had decided to leave for whatever reason. It seemed like simple things, books and a few papers, some boxes and a chair of all things, but stuff that was easy enough to set right.

I tried to help once or twice but The Master just smiled and snatched whatever it was away in her magic. Well, maybe 'snatched' is the wrong word — more like, 'gently plucked with an unstoppable force, not even the Gods would dare to resist', but... still. And, the smiling didn't even seem like a threat, it was more like she was, I don't know, forcing it somehow.

I felt pretty useless, even though she'd pat me on the head or promise it wasn't because I had been bad.

And Stitchface kept glancing at me with an inscrutable squint, when she looked at me at all.

I mean, I don't exactly know what a 'scrutable' squint would look like on an undead, but it was even more difficult than normal. She would literally look at me and tighten her lips one time and another would be like seeing a sleeping person who wasn't on fire.... almost completely relaxed, before she'd turn away again at The Master's voice.

It was almost like they were trying to pretend I wasn't there.

And all the while, the voidwalker was just quietly following us around like some stupid, intimidating, cloud with hooves.

Didn't make a single sound. Not once.

But when we got to the stairs leading up to the Master's bedchambers, I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed The Maser's tail and didn't let go, which stopped her.

Probably because the only time I actually touched The Master before was while flailing or when she'd been examining me. Definitely not because I wouldn't look at her.

But, I had to tell her, before she found out what had happened.

So I told her. I told her that I'd killed her minions. That I hadn't meant to, but when they were coming to help her, after I'd called for them, that they'd been confused by the fire and heard her panicking and run off and got culled by her cleverly concealed  contrivance, the mysterious mirror of minion murder, and it was all my fault for calling them, that I should have known she'd be alright and that she had planned for the voidwalker to try to corrupt her and the fire and the explosions and titans and evil monsters and The Legion and Stitchface and broken glass and lamp oil and falling pianos and anvils and brick-rains and all the other indescribable horrors of her every day life...

And I would have gone on longer, but my lungs don't hold that much air and I was starting to see little flashes of white in my vision.

But it all boiled down to the fact that... I should have known better.

The Master didn't need help, she had never needed help, and by trying to help, I had only succeeded in killing her minions off — I had only succeeded in killing her friends.

Pretty much a low point for me.

And she hugged me again, and told me that she was pretty sure they were okay.

And then she lit up her head pike and I waited for the end.

And she shot the mirror.

And a few moments later, the minions stumbled back out, looking confused and unstable.

Except the Pink one, she bounced through with a "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" before slapping a little colorful cone on top of my head, right on top of my measuring cup hat.

And Stitchface just sat down and stared as the Master used a MAGE portal... because she doesn't care about class restrictions because she's The Master.

And she was fine. And they were fine. And the Master was fine. And everything was fine.

And I was..........fine... with that.

And the Voidwalker, he finally said something. Something I'd been wanting to hear from him since the first moment I'd seen him. He said, "Ssssssend me back."

And after a few moments, The Master nodded with a tiny little smile and said "Yes. I think that would be for the best."
> Embershole
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hmmm.... The Master says that the thing that comes after all the other things when telling about stuff is called an epilogue.

I will now invoke the grande and ancient arte of Epilogue! All those who would act against the Master: Quake, ye cowards, and despair, for thine end is nigh! Neigh? Nigh? No... definitely nigh!

Somehow, it just doesn't feel like grand magic and arcane forces being invoked, but I have little reason to question The Master.

So, after her friends were settled, The Master led us all back to her throne and sat us down. The minions kept glancing at me, sometimes with glares and other times with little bits of confusion.

Well, I think it was confusion. It could have been constipation — I'm no horsebeast physician, after all.

But whatever the case, before long The Master and Stitchface were talking quietly as the shadow-fart horse voidwalker was just standing there being all imposing.

And me? I had plopped down next to The Master's throne and was just waiting. I mean, I'm immortal, indestructible in the conventional sense, dangerous to just about any form of life, conniving and not a little bit violent. And, yet, compared to HER, I was insignificant to the point of mere whimsy.

Here, this entire time, she'd been playing me, playing everyone and everything, just to sate her curiosity. I'd come in, fresh from battle, ready and willing to cull the living and damn some souls to eternal, well, damnation, and she'd just plucked me out of that because she wanted help cleaning a library. A library which was utterly destroyed by a giant sized, red, 6 limbed, TITAN who ate magic and used a compressed sun between his horns to fire beams of magic that could engulf small cities.

And she defeated him. Without magic. Without an army. Without weapons. Without armor.

Without me.

She never needed me in the first place. It was all just a whim to her.

But that was over now.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the gentle nudge of a purple wing and, blinking back to awareness of my surroundings, I hopped to my feet and supplicated myself before The Master.

... Whiiiiich, she wasn't having a bit of. Within seconds, she was lifting me back up to standing and giving me this weird smile that didn't reach her face. I mean, it's a horribly mutated horsebeast face to begin with, so it's not exactly easy to read all the time, but I got the distinct impression that she was trying to smile but didn't really want to.

Behind her, Stitchface was rolling her head in the way that I remembered she used to when she wanted to express exasperation. I glanced around for any other clues, but only saw the other Minions watching quietly.

Eventually, I just kind of looked back at The Master and waited.

And that's when she dismissed the smoke-horse.

One moment he was there, and the next there was the echoing whisper of a sigh as he boiled out of existence.

I blinked as she lit up her horn and the doors flew open to a massive cloud of pink-ish purple light which shimmered and rippled in waves. Shapes and patterns seemed to swim in that cloud, half seen half felt as it continued to grow. I watched as the flow from the hallway finally began to taper off until, at last, the cloud filled nearly the entire room with a glimmering fog that hid everything from the arch of the door frame up into the unknowable recesses of The Master's crystal lair.

It was only after the doors softly shut that I was able to hear them, the countless whispers and murmurs that had blended together into a kind of disturbing white-noise. Listening, I was able to pick out one or two faint voices amongst the swarm... high pitched and confused, some even angry, but still unclear.

Until The Master looked at me and said, "I'm so proud of you, Gakham. I'm so very very proud of you for learning to be a better imp. And I want you to remember that I'll always be here for you and that I'm not angry with you for any of this. You just.... didn't know how to be better." She finally smiled, but not the scary kind that leads to missing limbs, the kind that is that kind of uncomfortable that I think might be alright. "And that's okay. We all make mistakes, but that's how we learn to be better. That's how we GET better. And sometimes, it takes a friend to remind us of that."

The Master smiled as something touched my head.

When I looked up, I screamed and threw a firebolt directly into the fang filled maw of the eldrich abomination that had coiled itself behind me. An infinite abyss of eyes, so many eyes, and all of them with teeth and fangs and freckles that screamed yogurt while gargling numbers and... and... and... then he just ate the firebolt and grinned at me with a smile that didn't break my mind.

And I was looking at an old.... thing. An old grey-faced, yellow eyed, mismatched behorned, snake with mismatched limbs and wings that didn't fit right. An old..... creature that seemed so very lonely.

And he was chewing on my firebolt like gum.

And The Master coughed quietly and I turned my back on the elder god, and listened, because she is The Master, and when The Master speaks, you listen.

"So, I'm going to send you home, because I shouldn't have kept you here. It's not right for you to be here. You weren't expecting it and you weren't ready for it and I'm the one who should be sorry. But, Gakham, I want you to know that I am so very proud of you, and well.... I'm going to miss you."  the Master actually looked like she was going to cry.  "But.... but Fluttershy reminded me that sometimes you need the right approach to make new friends. So, even though I'm going to send you home, I don't want you to be alone. So.... these are some other, potential, friends that I hope you can take the time to meet."

And with that, the cloud of floating pink marbles seemed to shudder and suddenly sorted itself into columns and rows, sorted by size. Dozens and dozens of columns and rows. THOUSANDS of little pink marbles, all whispering and muttering, and suddenly gone in a flash of light.

And then Stitchface whispered to The Master, and The Master nodded.

And I found myself slipping from the material world as The Master's words faded into the ether.

"Be Good, Gakham. And help them to become good too. I'm going to miss you."

And the shiny crystals were gone, replaced with a dark sky, towering pillars of basalt, the acrid stench of fel flames, and the whistling sound of the twisting nether.

And The Master was gone and I was standing knee deep in a carpet of pink marbles as far as the eye could see.

And I was certainly NOT home.

-~oOo~-


There is nothing like the warm fuzzy feeling of being home on a cold autumn evening, propping your feet up on a comfy cushion and laying back in an overstuffed lounger while leisurely thumbing through a well loved book while the soft popping of hardwoods plays accompaniment to the spicy sweetness of a smooth liquor.

Well, except maybe for finding that schmo, knocking him out, gluing him to the chair and setting his house on fire only to throw some smelling salts in once the floorboards ignite.

Yheah... good times.

But, my enjoyment isn't really what you're here for. Yheah, I know that. I'm smart like that. I can read minds!

It's part of the job you know. Figuring out what people want and making sure they get it at any cost. 'Cuz at the end of the day, I'm still going to jump on the tab and leave some other mark with the bill. But in the meantime, well, I'm everyone's best buddy.

I'm your pal!

Your partner!

Your very very best friend!

You know what they say... friends will stick up for you, best friends will lead a stickup for you, and very best friends will help hide the bodies?

Yheah... I'm at least two more 'very's.

I, after all, am an imp... and until very recently, I was one of a set of minions of one, very accommodating, mutated horsebeast who just happened to be tangentially involved with an ongoing conflict between good and evil.

I say 'was' because, while employed, she saw fit to dismiss me after teaching me some of the secrets of ultimate power.

But, even though she sent me away, she made it clear that just killing things was not enough for her... that ~just~ destroying an enemy was the absolute least of what she expected... that there was so much more that an imp could do.

And so, she tore me from my warlock, stole me from the Legion, took me from everything I knew and understood, and sent me to pick apples.

She is truly evil— and an evil that transcends time.

But she is powerful, and if she can do everything she's done and discard everything the Legion, demons, and I can offer, then who am I to try to comprehend her?

So, she may have sent me 'home' to a desolate chunk of burning rock, hurtling through the dark reaches of the twisting nether, spinning in a never ending night with nothing but her lessons to remind me of her power, but she made it abundantly clear that she wasn't done with me.

We're.... ~friends~. Not minion and master, but Master and ... something else.

After all, she said she wanted me to try and make some friends. And she's sent me all of the ones she keeps making.

Every day. hundreds of little pink marbles show up in a flash of light. And every day, a little scroll will pop into existence and tell me how her day has been.

And every day I will put on my little suit and go to welcome the new recruits as I read her letter aloud so that they know just why they're all here.

Because when The Master sent me away, she gave me an instruction. She wanted me to MAKE some FRIENDS. And Etiquette, that ancient, secret art of dark corruption and ultimate power? Etiquette DEMANDS that all shall serve The Master.

So, once her spell wears off and the little marbles pop, dozens, sometimes hundreds, of wild imps will spill out and start their screeching until the hordes of 'proper' little imps descend upon them and get them fitted for their new lives as minions of The Master.

Suits, overalls, smocks, aprons, monocles, mops and buckets, tool belts, musical instruments and countless other things are put to good use as the army grows. What we don't have, we make, and what we can't make, we train for.

We may be immortal. We may be demons. We may be mischievous, deadly, pyromaniacal engines of death awaiting an outlet, but one thing we will ~never~ be is unprepared.

For when The Master calls, I will make certain that all of my....Friends will be ready.

And woe be unto any who would so much as speak ill of The Master, for when she calls, we will be ready to sort the books, clean the bathrooms, cook the foods, and mop the floors. No tile will be left unscrubbed and no dust bunny un-slaughtered. ALL the books will be shelved. ALL the windows will be cleaned. ALL the plants will be watered. ALL the tables will be set! ALL the tea will be brewed! ALL the swashes will be buckled!

And all the newspapers will be rolled up in case anything is not to her standards.

Because that is what Etiquette demands, and that is what The Master will expect.

And we will serve The Master and her minions and make absolutely, deadly, certain, that there will be peace and harmony. Because I know things... I'm smart like that. I can read minds!

And what The Master wants... The Master ~WILL~ get. Because she's proud of me. She said it.

And I will absolutely NOT disappoint her. So, if she wants thousands upon thousands of smiling, polite, generous, friendly, helpful little Etiquette wielding demons at her beck and call, I will make certain she will never want for them.

If it takes me a thousand years... if it takes me millions years, I will ensure that every demon we meet WILL learn.

Because even if she never calls, even if she never sends the countless souls out to steal the hopes and dreams of the unwashed masses, even if she only ever sends more imps to me and we cover this little rock and are crushed by our own mass, even if we are forgotten...

...when the stars dim and the suns go out, and all of creation fades to dust, I will be there waiting. And I'll crush ANYTHING that gets in her way.

I don't want to disappoint her. She's proud of me, and.... I think... I'm a little bit proud of me too.


/cast dismiss demon

> A Heart Warming Tale - special edition
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



A Heart Warming Tale - 12-20-2020 							






Ahhhhhh, relaxing in a pool of molten gold is a ridiculously arrogant way of proving how much better you are than everyone else.

It  should also be noted that it is rarely even remotely comfortable unless  you also happen to be a four and a half thousand ton, fireproof,  black-scaled, adamantine plated dragon with a tendency to immolate old  growth forests and decimate the continental plates when you want to make  a dramatic entrance.

Or immortal. Which I am, but which  the arrogant little noble who is skittering across the molten surface as  his skin explodes with each contact, is not.

Hah... gold's dense, which means molten or not, Sizzle-skin over there is NOT sinking.

Ah... but, I digress. Good times.

Goooooood times.

And  then that niggling little feeling, the one I've been waiting for for so  long. The one that promises glorious destruction and unending tyranny  for all that might bare witness against it.

I almost shed a tear... but there was no time for that. I had a contract to fulfill my end of.

So  I bowed, politely. Smiled, politely. And mentioned the absinthe I'd set  out, along with the soothing aloe and seaweed wraps that were over on  the refreshment table, politely. And then I cackled like the minion I am  as I completed the summoning on my end, leaving the poor sod to  continue skimming across the surface of a lake of boiling gold.

Greed'll do that to yah if you aren't specific in your dealings with demons.... true story. Listen to your parents, kids.

Anywho.  One moment I'm enjoying some quality time in the dark reaches of the twisting nether, and the next I was popping in to my home to make sure all the essentials were taken care of before showing up.

Gotta make a good impression, you understand.

Suit: pressed.
Little top hat: brushed and with a fresh new ribbon.
Teeth: filed to needle sharpness and polished to a gleam that will give candles envy.
Fire. Oh... fire, how I love thee. Fire: on. On me. On the ground. On everything within reach.
Little napkin thingy: folded and pressed and just peeking out of the top pocket.
Tray:  present and shiny and made of real silver! Stol.....er... reclaimed  from unscrupulous individuals of questionable moral worth!
Aaaaand little cane.... can't forget the little cane.
Check check check check check check check!

That's seven checks, by the way. I know you weren't counting, but that's why I said it... because you AREN'T worthy.

And check.
Eight.

Everything's ready and time to do the thing!

A second to glance in the mirror.... shoo! Move aside screaming souls of worthless orphans! I have places to be!
Good.... Excellent. Perfect.

Now... back to the summoning.

A moment of concentration, a thrill of magic, a tingle of fel-tainted jubilation aaaaaand....

The  dim light of home... the fiery hint of brimstone and the sour vitriol  of corruption... the very smoldering feel of the air replaced with cool,  pastel, floral, mathematical precision.

It takes me a moment, perhaps even two, before I can properly respond.

I am in the Master's sanctum... it could be nowhere else... and yet, it is different.

The  wood. The accursed fire-proof wood... is gone! The bookshelves and  thinly veiled threats of absolute, overwhelming power.... are gone! Even  the subdued presence of a secret lair.... just.... gone.

And in their place.......... a colossal, crystal construct of arcane domination.

I  cackle a bit.... I couldn't help it. It had been so long since I had  been to the Master's castle... and my stay there, previously, so brief,  that I had forgotten.

But that is all behind me. How could it not be? Fore here I am, once more in the presence of the Master!

She  is looking down at me with her signature promise of 'discipline'... her  apocalyptic woe distilled again, thrust upon an unprepared world of  sniveling imbeciles, incapable of even comprehending the measure of  mercy that their meager existence is evidence of. Her 'smile', it sends a  shiver down my spine.... but I remember my lessons... I remember my  dark secrets and my knowledge of only the barest hint of her  unimaginable power.... her 'ettiquette'... and I open my lips and clench  my teeth and pull the corners of my mouth upwards in the manner that I  practice every eight hours.

I 'smile' at her in return,  and she intones ancient power that can crush the will of eldrich gods  with but its mere whisper... she 'giggles'... because 'invoking dread  magics' is so incalculably inferior to that which she does so  effortlessly.

And with our greetings exchanged, the  Master... my 'friend' turns and hails her other favored minions as I  continue to invoke my 'smile'.

There's the Orange  Sweatstain, a brawler with an unhealthy obsession with a cursed fruit.  The Sorceress, with her enchanted armor of mind-numbing wealth and  power. The Traitor: her mane a riot of warnings to any who would care to  live. The Yellow Assassin, with her horrifying skills of mind control  and absolute silence. The Pink Terror... who is not where she was a  moment ago and I'mgonnadiepleasedon'tkillme!

Cupcake.

The pink one gave me a cupcake. I.... know what to do with a cupcake. Etiquette demands it. I take a bite and....

Oh.

Oh, it's bitter, and sour, and painful and I can feel my tongue blistering and bleeding.

And I can't help it... I smile. I didn't even have to try. It just happened.

Something old... familiar in its own way. I... I've missed this, somehow.

I... scream.

And then I thank her.

And  the Master ... my 'friend'... smiles and nods, and I scuttle along  behind her as she walks her horrifyingly mutated horseflesh out into the  evidence of her authority.

Where there's a tree... severed from its source of nutrients, displayed with reckless disregard for safety or well being!

How cruel! How morbid! I smile again.

I  look around as the Master gestures. Everywhere there are colors. Lights  scattered across the expanse of crystal. Immense bowls of brass and  gold, flocked with frigid winter's chill, litter the place. Severed  limbs of conifers, twisted and strung together in a horrifying mishmash  of artistry... the scent of arboreal blood hangs thick in the smokeless  air. Here and there, cubes are hidden, their faces and contents obscured  from scrutiny by means of pressed and painted paper. Curls of fabric,  no doubt the Sorceress' work, hang, drape, or wrap various things and  emplacements. Tables line the edges of the room, their surfaces heavy  with the proof of decadence... enough to feed entire cities... hidden  away behind glistening crystal walls... reserved for the Master and her  chosen few.

And everywhere, positively everywhere, tiny flames lick at the frosty air from atop their white, fatted, waxen plinths.

I knew it.

She always had it right there... and she was just holding back out of whimsy.

"Well, Gakham. It's been a while! Happy Hearthswarming!"

The Master's words echo in my head for a moment.

Happy Hearrthswarming?

Hearthswarming?

Heart Swarming?

Oh! Perfect! A test! A time to prove I can react and respond to her demands without explicit instruction!

For a moment I panic... but just for a moment!

I'm  smart like that... and since meeting the Master, I've only gotten  better. She sends me new 'friends in training' every day, after all, and  I've been dutifully training them in the secret art of Etiquette.

I am a good imp. The Master said so. She said she was 'proud' of me... and I will NEVER do anything to lose that.

She  said Happy Heartswarming.... it.... must be a secret she is trying to  teach me.... something special. She didn't instruct me on it, didn't  even hint at it, so it must be something that I must discover on my  own......

Thinkthinkthinkthinkthink! Heartswarming?

Heart Swarming?

No. No no no nononononono!

HEARTS WARMING!

Brilliant! I know just what to do.

And  so, with a smile, I summon Sizzleskin's heart unto my silver platter.  Steaming and tastefully arranged with a bright orange chutney and bow as  I present it to her.

The Traitor spewed fluids across the floor. I must have outdone her offering. Heh.... still got it.

And  the Master, my 'friend' smiles that smile that promises dark things if  ever questioned, accepts my offering, and makes it vanish.... no doubt  so that she can consume it at her leisure.

The Master is truly magnificent.

And  her casting her realm into the frozen wasteland I can see through the  windows makes me smile as well... for she is a good Master, and when she  calls for them, I shall gleefully lead her army of 'friends' to  decimate any who would stand against her.

I nod as I sip  some 'eggnog'... heh.... a liquor made from the liquefied bodies of  flightless birds. How ironic that they celebrate this show of power by  drinking the literal next generation of the lessor beasts.

But my thoughts are interrupted as she presents me with a box... a small box.

"It's for you" she says.

And I know how to receive arms and armor from a warlock... but.... from the Master?

I can only open it and take the fluffy blue noose and smile.

She even helped me to put it on, tightening it just so.... to remind me where I stand.

"It looks good on you, Gakham."

And I can only reply... "Thank you."

This Hearts Warming... I... I think I like it.