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Discussion GAME OF SCALES(part 1)

I'm still confused, but now I am hungry, too.

If the crossover doesn't go back into the next chapter again, you will need to post it in its own thread (leave a link here)
 
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3.

When the horde of sated Lustrians returned to the chamber they discovered that the ethereal stranger and Scalenex had formed some kind of cautious truce. The skink priest had the stack of mysteriously prophetic plaques in his claws.

“Our visitor has shown that he is worthy of a place in this council, for the time being. He has brought with him some astounding insights, which I believe are worth giving some serious contemplation to.” Scalenex coughed, and gestured at Priest N’dege with his burdened hands.

“Do you light incense as soon as you walk out of the room? Put that out!”

Priest N’dege said, “Oh, sorry.” He sheepishly pulled the smouldering incense stick out of his mouth and stubbed it out on the stack of plaques.

HEY! Xholanka thundered telepathically.

A shower of fine dust fell from the ceiling like a gentle dusting of snow. It came to rest on each of the protagonists with barely a caress on their tough scales or leathery hides. It would have had no consequence if not for the fact that the Lost One’s psionic outburst drew a gasp from Lord Da'rk-IV’s blubbery lips. A single dancing mote was drawn in with gulp of air, but it did not re-emerge with the subsequent, laboured exhalation. The mighty slann’s pudgy face crumpled and he turned it towards the unseen heavens and clenched his eyes tight as if caught in the rapture of prayer. He drew another long, shuddering breath, his torso swelled and then, at the moment that it seemed he would surely burst, he released both the air and the infinitesimal source of irritation with an explosive paroxysm.

Lord Bow’xa said, “Bless you.”

Da'rk-IV, being so overwhelmed by the effort, was unable to express himself in a fashion considered normal by most sentient life forms. Instead, he showed his gratitude for the blessing by giving a weak thumbs up to his benefactor.

Bo’b inspected the plaques. “Oh, dear. The incense has damaged them. This section of font is nigh unreadable, and there is an issue with some of the capitalisation: ‘old ones,’ for example. And do you really think the two following sentences belong side by side and in this order?

1. The prince at this point had stopped himself throwing up and stared in horror as one of the most prized creatures of the craftworld was torn asunder by these bipedal lizards or as they would later be known again as the lizardmen.

2. After a particularly uneventful walk, they arrived at the main city complex.”

Xholoanka was looking a bit pale, in a blobby ethereal way, and Old Blood Kcibrihp-Esurc leaned over and whispered in his ethereal ear (ear-thereal?). “Don’t worry about it because he does that to everyone and he will never ever ever be satisfied.”

Bo’b’s head snapped up so quickly that his eggshell bobbled. “There should have been at least 5 commas in that sentence, Esurc. You should probably break it into to two or three separate sentences. Just don’t have the subject of the first one as a pronoun.”

Fortunately Chief Hyperborean knew how to head him off. “Bo’b!” she quickly fashioned a mystic hyperlink that could not be followed and threw it into a dark corner. “I’ve done that tutorial on how to draw hands.”

After he had scuttled away she said, “that will keep him occupied until he remembers that he is trying to look like a serious author.”

“Despite my pleasure-happiness at having a council with no egg-squeak this, egg-squeak-random that, what makes Priest-Warlock Scalenex so sure that the not-matter thing belongs on the Council of Thirteen?”

“Ha ha, Y’ttar, old bean. Surely you mean the “Council of Eighteen’ “ For a mage priest who spent half of his time contemplating, and the most of the rest of the time wringing out his socks, Lord Tzlanputin was uncommonly good at maths.

“No fool-meat. Not eighteen.” Y’ttar nodded towards an empty chair. It looked uncomfortable, to say the least, being constructed froman array of hand weapons and spears and definitely not shields that had been beaten into rough chair shape. Then he peered around the room, his beady eyes resting briefly on each inhabitant. “But not thirteen yet.”

“Of course, Y’ttar.” Tzlanputin accepted the correction with a stiff upper lip and a jiggly belly. “Thank you for reminding us that we should remember our fallen spawn kin, Old Blood Th’saurik’acex. You were the last one of us to see him alive, weren’t you?”

Y’ttar sidled towards the door, “lies, lies. My paws are clean.”

“A dreadful accident, of course.”

Y’ttar suspended his flight. “Accident? Yes-yes. His deathwas a tragic waste. He was allergic to feathers.”

“Tragic waste? Allergic to feathers?” Old Blood Qupakoco seemed almost half awake. “Didn’t a piano fall on him?”

“A tragic waste, yes-yes. A gentle pillow would have been adequate. Oops… Have any of you sniff-readWatching Things Burn in the story comp plundered from the invincible Under Empire?”

“I have,” declared N’dege.

“I liked it,” said Bow’xa.

"You like everything," noted Qupakoco.

“Oh. You have sniffed it then? Don’t read too much into it - the old skink-thing’s time had come. Yes-yes. Everyone’s time will come. Almost everyone’s.”

Skink Chief Pendra'iq had been last to the buffet and was already thinking about afternoon tea. “Please, brothers, as Y’ttar has pointed out, we have wasted enough time. We are here to progress the Great Consensus.”

Scalenex discovered his headache hadn’t really gone away. “Guys,” he shouted. “It isn’t really a consensus. There are no shades of grey here, the Great Plan is black and white. The lesser races are here by the Old One’s design as weapons for us to hone and use against the chaos that encroaches Lustria.”

“Aren’t there at least 50 shades of gray?” Bo’b was back, at an unwelcome time.

“Chief Hyperborean?” Scalenex pleaded.

“Ah yes. No problem.” Hyperborean cast another unfollowable link into the corner. “Bo’b! I’ve started a WIP of a roughly lined fly-ey thing fly-eying out of a roughly lined rectangle-ey thing! I will do the inking after I finish college!”

Bo’b actually produced more drool than Discomute as he scuttled away, and that is saying something.

“Will that hold him long?”

“Hmm. Attention span.”

“Mahrlect. We haven’t got long then before-“


There was a furtive tap at the door. The interrupter was a somewhat dull looking kroxigor.

“What is it, Jamjar?” Scalenex was not in the mood for interruptions.

“Its a big knife.”

“No. What is your message?”

“Oh. A big army of orcs and goblins is just north of the Panaa-manaa Canal.”

“The more appropriate term is ‘greenskins’,” noted Bo'b.

“Hyperborean?”

“Sorry.”

“Which canal,” asked Xholanka obligingly, without question at exactly the time indicated to him.

“Panaa-manaa.”

“Do do d do do……. you think they are going to invade,” stammered Lord Che’khov in a previously un-foreshadowed nervous stutter.

Scalenex suddenly developed a stomach ulcer. “I have been faithful to the Great Plan. Why is this happening to me?”

Bo’b explained. “Didn’t you yourself say

SCALENEX SAID:
I see it as being relatively close to the exit to the underground sea tunnel the Dark Elves use in lieu of the Panama Canal.
”

“I have never hated anyone more than I hate you now, Bo’b.”

“Business as usual, then?”

“Yes. Business as usual.”
 
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I for one would like to clarify that falling pianos are a very serious and yet terrifyingly common weather occurance. I at the time had recently purchased the dearly lamented "Th’saurik’acex" a specially soft pillow that true to form contained no feathers, well aware I was about his allergy. I had just handed him said gift when the skies opened up and it began to rain pianos (or was it one piano?). Alas, the dearly departed was too busy hugging his new pillow to notice the rapidly approaching rich mahogany edged musical instrument, whilst I was too fixated on just how nice the finish was on the beautiful varnish. Such a tragic waste...that pillow cost many Warptok...er...plaques?
 
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when i come back after a day of work and post the story part which bob has written and wait for replies.
Yes this is me irl, it does not need an explination, it is so fluffy it voids explination.
World domination is 98% complete.
soo fluffy
so fluffy
fluffy....
FEAR MA FUREH, SO FLUFF MUCH SCARED
 
MY THUMBS UP ARE NOT WEAK. THEY ARE MIGHTY. WITH THEM I EXPRESS THE FULL FORCE OF MY APPRECIATION.

Also how did you know exactly how I sneeze?

I'm still unable to express how perfect this story is. It's thrilling being the subject of such uncanny satire :D
 
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