Wednesday, August 13, 2014


"That guy's DEATHPROOF!"
Some dumb thug hollered. Two seconds later the "Woodland Casino", a backwater shack running Prohib liquor, cards, dice, and guns, with a little kidnapping on the side, exploded.  Flaming hunks of wood and steel hurricaned out some hundred feet, sticking a number of the dumb thugs with foot long splinters. Two got shards in the eyes, one lost a hand to a flying window, and another had their guts removed by a two foot pipe.  Those thugs who were either not so dumb or just plain lucky, stood up from the cover they had found.  Each one turned to see the smoking hulk of their former employer's business venture. Each one also saw the man that had been dragged in earlier, unconscious, now standing amidst the burning walls and blackened bodies.  The man, still masked and wearing the flight jacket emblazoned with a skull and crossed lightning bolts, stepped out of the flaming wreckage that was the dream of every hillbilly in a hundred mile radius.
"Your bosses are dead. You're all dead to, but if you stick around it'll by my hand."
The not so dumb thugs turned tail and ran through the underbrush as fast as they could manage.  The four remaining thugs, all armed with rifles and shotguns, didn't think they were so dumb and weighing their options decided to take their guns and unload them at the unarmed stranger who was clearly responsible for the deaths of their friends and family inside the still burning remains of the Woodland Casino. They fired for a full two minutes at the masked vigilante.  None of the DIMWITTED DULLARDS could see the results of their carnage, what with the fog of their gunfire mingling with that of the wreckage.  An unseasonal wind blew away the swath of smoke where the masked fighter had been standing. The four hillbilly lieutenants scratched heads, elbows, and asses trying to figure out where their target had disappeared to.
"We musta blowed him to pieces." One of the BACKWATER BUCKTOOTHS chuckled.  His cornfed crew chuckled with him. None of them heard the four shots that killed them. But they all saw the other's heads leaking what little brains they could lay claim to.  The Masked Marksman stepped out from behind one the remaining brick walls, holstering two Browning .45s.  He made his way intently north into the murky woodland of the Lower Appalachians and away from the former den of vice and vermin that he had sent back to the sulphuric pits of Hell.

Friday, August 8, 2014

Idea Seed #4578

In 1757, serving aboard the 'Terrible' under Cpt. Death, 20-year old Thomas Paine discovers the High Sinister Quadrant of the First Map.
Relative Anomalies in Temporal Space (RATS) were of an increasing problem once the First Map had been quartered by those living remnants of the Old One's entourage.  Three of the Quadrants fell in on themselves and were lost and found again in various TIMES and PLACES. The Low Sinister Quadrant is assumed destroyed after being dropped into a volcano by a clumsy Servant of Evil.

Monday, July 2, 2012

The Commander Breaks Out!


Cmdr. Brixton Millennium Turgid lounged in leisure, swallowing synth-wine in big flourishing gulps; unaware of the destruction of his prized Special Fighting Group at the hands, or rather scythes, of the diabolical Corpse Corps.  He drained his glass with the gusto of a practiced drinker and held it out for more.  His intricately blown glass was promptly filled to the brim.  The hand that held the bottle had long and supple fingers that at a glance one could tell were skilled in the art of manipulation. The owner of the hand, and thusly the fingers, was also well versed in the manipulative arts, more mental than physical.  Due primarily to necessity, since on Crystos the ugly had to strive much harder to achieve their desires than the normally beautiful indigenous population.  
And indeed the owner of that hand was ugly.  The body was, thankfully, of an average aesthetic.  The face however, a twisted malignant mask that caused revulsion in most who had the misfortune to catch a glimpse of it.  Ironically the owner of the face wore another mask all together, a plain white featureless covering, in order to distinguish itself as one whose features deserved veiling.  At this particular moment though the plain white mask lay on the table between its owner and our intrepid Commander.
"Tell me again Wistok, why is it that you stay on Crystos if you are so reviled?  Surely with your brain you could find...ahem...better employment?" The Commander gulped down the synth-wine in nearly one swallow.
"Well sir, a simple soldier is all I be knowing how to do.  And Quarter-mastering itself being among the best of my talents, it stands to reason that here on my home I am serving better than I would able be any other place." The soldier's face muscles writhed and twitched nauseatingly while he spoke and his fingers, the ones not clasped to the synth-wine bottle, occupied themselves fidgeting with the mask.  The nervousness he displayed however was merely an act, an attempt to lure Cmdr. Turgid into a false sense of security.  Cmdr. Turgid, having adventuresome instincts honed by years of application, was not fooled in the least, but he played along...for now.
Wistok stopped toying with his mask and scratched to bulbous appendage, resembling a tomato but in actuality his nose, which drooped unattractively from his face.  Wistok eyed the Commander, trying to take stock of how inebriated he actually was.  A normal man would have never been able to make it through the first drink, what with all the narco-drops Wistok had dissolved into the wine, but Cmdr. Brick Turgid was no ordinary man.  Wistok felt perspiration bead on his cragged and poke-marked brow.  He only had a few short minutes left to render the Commander unconscious.  His orders were to do this with out the Commander being aware, but that was proving more difficult than he had originally surmised.
It was in the midst of these thoughts that Cmdr. Turgid finally received the telepathic vox communique from Angel Wing's chief.  The wavelength had had to fight its way through some pretty severe shielding, this accounted for the delay between transmission.  
"Vox J to Vox T. Vox J to Vox T...." The Commander listened to the transmission with out betraying its reception.  He smiled languidly at the hideous Quartermaster.
"Another of that fine vintage, if you please?"
"Rightly ever so." Wistok replied and began to pour more of the narco=enhanced liquid into the Commander's glass.  Cmdr. Turgid leaned forward, swaying slightly in order to give the impression of extreme drunkenness and as he reached for the luted glass he let his head fall to the table and pretended to pass into unconsciousness.
Wistok immediately stood and keyed the hidden communicator in his lapel.
"Zeta Five One Twelve.  Alpha is neutral. Repeat Alpha is neutral." Wistok slid over to the seemingly unaware Commander, replacing the white mask to once again hide his deformity.  Wistok's spidery fingers skittered across Cmdr. Turgid's tunic; seeking, probing.  They twitched over the clasp of the Commander customized combat belt, searching for a way to remove it from around Turgid's waist.  It was then that the Commander gave way the ruse.  His strong, beefy hands gripped Wistok's with crushing pressure.
Wistok attempted to free his hands from the vices in which they were ensnared to no avail.  Cmdr. Turgid, all pretense of cordiality and civility gone, spoke, his tone like ice.
"You've made another mistake Wistok.  The first was thinking you could trick me."
The masked Quartermaster shook and convulsed in terror.  
"I...I...I never meant for you be to coming harm sir. I was only ordered be to making you  sleep!" This an amplified and mechanical stammer via the mask's vox speaker.    Turgid stood, gracefully never yielding the pressure he was inflicting on the ugly soldiers wrists.  At his full height he towered over the cringing, simpering alien betrayer.
"Whether it was your plan or your master's its come to no good, thankfully.  I only hope there is still time to stop the damage you've already incurred from getting worse.  Now sing to me little canary.  Tell me what that plan was."
The imprisoned military domo sputtered and stammered at first, an attempt to stall most likely, but with a little more pressure from Cmdr. Turgid's steely hands he soon revealed all.
"A two pronged attack, sir.  One on you and your Angel Wing, another on the Royal House.  Once you were properly sedated and your fighting group dispatched you were to be brought before the Opal Vizier along with the Princess and made to submit to his will."  This brought another tight squeeze of the wrists and the mangled faced Quartermaster shrieked in agony.
"I know by now there's probably a small squad of troopers coming to cart me off, yes?" The masked soldier nodded affirmatively.
"Major Ajex is probably seeing the worst of it by know also.  But the Princess is unattended and her staff no match for even the weakest contingent of the Corpse Corps.  You will help me Wistok or you wont be getting these back!"  to press home the point Turgid shook the limp hands at the ends of the wrists his vice like grip still clenched.  The subdued Quartermaster only whimpered but it was a whimper of acquiescence.  
With only seconds to spare Turgid gave his orders to the twice-turned turncoat and then stood nonchalantly awaiting the arrival of his 'captors'.  
The hover transport swung languidly into view outside the glass window.  Carrying only a handful of troopers to escort a supposedly unconscious and unresisting captive.  They were lax and unalert, two things never to be when dealing with Commander Brixton Millennium Turgid!  Cmdr. Turgid sprang into action, running at full bore toward the glass wall between.  
At the last moment he hurled himself at the wall with a terrific jump.  The wall shattered in a cascade of twinkling mineral rain and the explosive release of vacuum pressure from the destabilized room atmosphere helped propel him the twenty feet distance over the gap to the hover transport.  He landed with the grace of a Prancian lion in the midst of the unexpecting troopers.  Before they could even bring their weapons to bare Cmdr. Turgid had thrown them all over the side of the open backed hover platform to the unending drop below.  He quickly turned and made for the hover transports pilot cab.  
The pilot, having only a few scant seconds more awareness than his unfortunate cohorts, desperately attempted to shake the Commander from the floating vehicle.  He juked the controls left and right viciously trying to shake the legendary combatant free.  To no avail.  The Commander had had the opportunity to grab hold of the cab door handle and nothing could escape the Commander's grasp once he had it fixed.  The pilot only managed two more shimmies before Cmdr. Turgid forced his way into the cab and unceremoniously tossed the pilot to the dark aerial fathoms below.
Cmdr. Turgid, with expert hands, stabilized the slanting hover transport and brought it around closer to the shattered window he had exited only half a minute before.  Standing on legs of jelly Quartermaster Wistok clutched one of the remaining frameworks by the opening, this was how he had avoided being sucked out of the unpressurized viewing chamber when the window had exploded.  Cmdr. Turgid's voice boomed the distance.  Wistok had no trouble hearing him over the gusty wind that buffeted the heights of this crystal spire.
"Now make way to the Princess and do as I told you!  And remember what consequences you face if you betray me again!"  With that Cmdr. Turgid pivoted the hover vehicle with expert ease and jetted downward into the misty clouds 100 stories below.  Wistok stood only a moment more at the window gaping open mouthed behind his blank white mask, then he bolted out the chamber door and down the corridor to the transport hall where he leaped into his personal hover-car and darted off in the direction of the Royal House.  He did not stop shaking the entire ride, images of the feral brutality Cmdr. Turgid had exhibited burned into his mind.  There was no room for thoughts of betrayal only terror at not following the legendary warrior's commands.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Cmdr. Brick Turgid and the Corpse Corps! (continues)

Cmdr. Brick Turgid and the Corpse Corps
Chapter 10.

The fetid air of Boule City's Level 12 hangar bay was ablaze with laser fire.  Corpse Corp cultists were aiming powerful nega-beams at the pilots of the Angel Wing, Cmdr. Brick Turgid's special fighter group.  The pilot's were doing all they could to avoid being rezzed alived while also trying to save their precious assault craft.  But it was a losing battle, the crystal ships of the Angel Wing were a wreck on the flat track of landing glass.  All but one.  
Major Ajex's sleek and slender crystal fighter vibrated with a musical trill.  The twin light shards positioned in the nose cap glowed ominously as the ship began to hover and pivot.  Major Ajex sited a line of cultists and whistled a counter trill into his ships control vox.  The twin light shards burned with a holy glow and blazed pure omni-tron radiation at the devilish cultists.  A few seconds pause then a group of the armored skele-villains burst into sparkling flame.
Major Ajex positioned his 'wing' to face another group of the terrorists.  The main line of the Corpse Corp Assault squadron, about fifty strong, split itself in three and each part sought cover from Major Ajex's death bringing beams.  Two happened to make it before he could bring his beams to bare.  There was another musical trill signaling the beam activation, and the third group puffed and went aflame.  The thick armor of the skele-men bubbled and smoked.  The men inside, screams turing to watery gurgles, as they themselves, melted in the intense heat.
Though Major Ajex had managed to turn the tide of the battle it was far from won.  The Angel Wing pilots were still outnumbered three to one.  Many of them were wounded and running low on ammunition.  With no decent cover they made use of their shattered ships as best they could, praying a way could be found to save themselves.  Major Ajex knew that their window of opportunity to do that was rapidly closing.  He keyed his vox twice and hummed a low note to open an outbound channel.  He had to hope that Cmdr. Turgid was within range to receive it.  
"Vox J to Vox T. Vox J to Vox T.  Angel Wing under fire.  Time short. Level 12. Corpse Corps took us by surprise.  In need of rescue. Vox J to Vox T. Vox J to Vox T.!"
That was all he time for before the scattered squadron of skele-men retaliated.  Forming up into two cross-fire lines they swung their nega-beam rifles in Major Ajex's direction.  A concentrated group of beams smashed into his left wing causing him to lose balance in the air and tilt wildly to one side.  His thruster also received a jolt from a beam and the resulting explosion from his heat coil shoved the crystal fighter hard to the ground and skidding directly out onto the extended landing glass.  Major Ajex fought to gain control of the violently chiming instruments in his cockpit.  The edge of the landing glass approached far to quickly for his liking.  Unable to bring the cacophonous alarms back to a harmonious hum he gave a shrill whistle and leaped out of his ship as the canopy shattered into a million twinkling shards.
Major Ajex sprang to his feet with the grace of a Varkian leopard, somersaulting to a stop a mere yard from his skidding, sparking fighter wing. He watched as it slid ingloriously over the edge and down into the ether clouds below.  He had no time to mourn the loss of his trusty fighter as another group of armored skele-men attempted to fry him with radiation.  He dodged with all the skill his years of training as a warfighter had instilled in him and made it to cover with a contingent of his men with nary a burn nor scorch.
"We might have something to worry about if they ever learn to shoot straight, eh boys?" Major Ajex winked as he surveyed the pilots huddled near him.  Of the six only three had working laz-beams and one was seriously wounded; bleeding from a head trauma.  He pulled his own laz-beam from its holster and tossed his reserve ammunition to the three men who could use them.  
"I don't know about you, but I've sure got a bone to pick with them!  Let's say we get what's ours before this is over, eh?!" Major Ajex stood and let off three bursts of laz-heat before popping back into cover.  Though he didn't verify it, each one of his bursts had found a mark and scorched a bony face to black jelly.  His men rallied at his bravado and skill.  They dashed from cover to cover, linking up with others and forming a proper defensive grid.  In under a minute the Angel Wing was once again a deadly fighting force pushing the skele-men of the Corpse Corps back into cover.
The battle lines held as a momentary cease fire occurred then, both sides forming up and checking ammunition reserves.  The Angel Wing pilots knew they had one good push left, but if they failed to find some way to take out the remaining 40 beam toting terrorists they were sunk.  Sometimes in battle it happens that the overwhelmed but determined and righteous side of a fight finds some favor with deities who watch over such matters and rise up to win the day.  However this day those deities must have been presiding over some other combat for they offered the men of Cmdr. Brick Turgid's Special Fighting Group no such serendipitous intervention.  In fact, this particular battle must have had an audience of foul minded demons, for as the men of the Angel Wing prayed for deliverance a dark cloud began to materialize and from this cloud stepped a giant.  
The giant wore flowing purple robes that sparked with electricity.  A hood was drawn up over the giant's head, obscuring all but three rows of hideously gleaming teeth.  The skeletal smile seemed to hover in the black void of the hood, then maddeningly they began to chitter and chatter.  As the robed giant's teeth gnashed at the nerves of the downed pilots, the giant also raised its arms revealing not hands but insanely sharp scythes that glimmered in the dying light of Boule City's Illumi-grid.
The giant held the vicious blades at the end of his arms up for what seemed like eternity whilst his teeth clashed and skittered, driving the Angel Wing pilots near to madness.  Then in almost unbelievably slow motion the scythes dropped to the landing glass and sunk with a whisper deep to the hilt.  The robed Giant seemed to give the slightest of shrugs and suddenly the ground beneath the Angel Wing's feet began to heave and quake with demonic spasms.  The floor tilted to near 90 degrees causing the pilots to slide and slip.  The Giant flexed and the section of landing glass that the Angel Wing was desperately trying to gain balance on was suddenly shattered into millions of twinkling shards.  The dark ether clouds of Boule City's lower levels yawned hungrily beneath them.  And just as suddenly they fell, along with the remnants of their shattered ships, into the gaping abyss.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

The Universal tour continues...

...on the crystal shores of the Sea of Ferros

...atop the Peaks of Gelid

...Whitechapel, 1888.

...murder most foul.

...the 'real' culprits!

The Doctor entered the black chamber secured beneath the blasphemous library.  Tendrils of a green luminescent vapor curled and clutched at the cuffs of his pant legs.  An awful, indescribable stench assaulted his senses.  He could feel his twin heartbeats quicken with excitement.  He had seen a great many terrible and magnificent things in his long life, yet still the sense of the unexpected could get his pulse to racing.  He retrieved his screwdriver from the inner pocket of his coat hesitantly, not quite sure he wanted to see what the glow from its lumi-bulb would reveal in the ancient, dark chamber of horrors.  
"What rubbish." he whispered softly to himself, bolstering his faltering courage and flicked on the switch...   

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Time for some Upgrades!

Tardis  Mk. III

The Eleventh Doctor...Tardis base
...on the Ruins of Traglathium

...on Barbarus 9.