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Post By Because two people in a chat room demanded it... the next chapter from... the Hooded Hood Sat Nov 05, 2005 at 10:00:00 pm EST |
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#238: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Pebbles Before the Avalanche | |
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| #238: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Pebbles Before the Avalanche Previous chapters at The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Character notes in the Who's Who in the Parodyverse Location descriptions in the Where's Where in the Parodyverse Three Months Ago: Amazing Guy was half way through his breakfast when he felt the punch shatter his ribs. He toppled back off his stool clutching his chest then sat up with some embarrassment as he realised he was entirely unharmed. “Daddy?” his youngest child asked him, looking down curiously as he curled on the floor. “Why are you being silly?” The pain was gone, and with it the vivid flash of cosmic awareness. Amazing Guy dragged himself to his feet. “I’ve got to go out,” he warned his family. “A problem at work.” Less than a minute later he was in his blue and red uniform powering through deep space, preparing to open up a ripple in space to propel him to the Shee-Yar Empire. That was where the flash of awareness had come from. That was where something was numbing his cosmic awareness now, hiding something from the Protector of the Parodyverse. That was where something had just shattered the ribs of Gladeater, the most powerful metahuman defender of the galaxy’s currently largest empire. One Month Ago: “How do you do, madam? A pleasure to see you again, what?” Jury allowed Sir Mumphrey Wilton to hold her chair for her as she sat in the office of the leader of the Lair Legion. “This isn’t a social call,” she warned him. Suddenly the congenial old man was all business. “What’s the matter?” he demanded. “I’m speaking to you now as Shaper of Worlds to the Keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity,” the blonde woman told him. Mumphrey unconsciously touched the pocketwatch that lay on his waistcoat. “Right ho.” “The conceptual plane has come under attack,” the Shaper warned him. “Sudden, devastating, overwhelming. My House of Ideas has been captured, the Fortress of Endings has been destroyed.” “What?” Sir Mumphrey sat forward urgently. “How? Who?” “The Parody Master is the aggressor,” Jury answered. “He and his endless legions attacked the conceptual plane. Somehow he carved the Chronicler and the Hall of Stories right out of existence.” “Big hole where the whole place used to be?” Mumph checked. “Yes, he’s done the same thing to Ausgard. It’s an old trick of his apparently, but he’s graduated from doin’ it to cities here on Earth to bigger game.” “I can’t see where he’s sent the Hall,” Jury admitted. “The thing is, this incarnation of the Parody Master is the most powerful we’ve ever seen. He’s created an Infinity Forge to melt down cosmic artefacts to add to his power.” She paused and then confessed, “He’s destroyed over half the minor office holders, Mumphrey. Their equipment has gone into his Forge. All the office holders who dwelled on the conceptual plane are dead, their offices shattered.” “By George…!” “It gets worse. Somehow he’s absorbed the Resolution Prophecy whole, added Celestian power to his own.” The eccentric Englishman’s frown deepened. “Does that mean he wants to do what the Prophecy was about, bringin’ on this wretched Resolution War that ends the Parodyverse, what?” “He wants to win it,” the Shaper explained. “The final battle of conquest, the ultimate challenge.” “Hmph,” Mumphrey scowled. “As if today wasn’t complicated enough.” Another thought struck him. “He’s captured your House, you say? Does that mean he’s got hold of…?” “The source of the offices’ powers has been shifted elsewhere,” Jury replied evasively. Best if nobody knew where the Storyheart had been hidden, deep beneath the very mansion where she now sat. With the Storyheart in his Furnace, the Parody Master would indeed by unstoppable, his victory assured. “And the Parody Master’s body was destroyed when I escaped the conceptual plane.” “Oh, jolly good show!” applauded Mumphrey. “Isn’t that usually end of play?” “His acolytes are building him a new body, using the Infinity Forge,” Jury warned. “I was so weakened that I couldn’t even try to stop them. In a few days he’ll be back, in what might perhaps be his true form.” “Still, well done for potting the blaggard,” the leader of the Lair Legion encouraged her. “That wasn’t me, it was Iol… it was the Hooded Hood,” Jury confessed. “He was the one who got me away from the Parody Master.” “The Hood.” Mumphrey’s scowl became even deeper. “What’s in this for him, I wonder?” The Shaper of Worlds tried not to blush. “I came to warn you about what’s happening. The Parody Master will be turning his attentions to this world soon. It’s likely that he’ll be coming after the minor office holders, to add their instruments of power to his Infinity Furnace and to… to find me.” “Don’t fret about that, m’dear. We’ll keep you safe here at the mansion and we’re already workin’ on a way to find where Ausgard went. If we find Donar’s missing realm presumably we’ll find the Chronicler too, and then we’ll start plannin’ how to pot this Parody Master blighter.” It wasn’t a good idea to draw attention to the Lair Mansion. “I… I’ll be staying at Herringcarp Asylum,” answered Jury. “I know you have every reason not to like the Hooded Hood, but he has given his word to protect me.” “Did you get the exact wordin’?” demanded the eccentric Englishman. Two Months Ago: Amazing Guy plummeted from the dark cloudy skies over the conceptual plane, his tattered star-filled cape fluttering behind him. The Singularity Riders followed him, their dark horses mere black smears on reality as they moved to flanking positions for their final attacks. AG had lost a lot of blood, but he knew that if he lost consciousness now he was dead. He forced himself to create a quantum construct, borrowing energies from the dimensional underplanes to form a large soft web to catch him. Even so the fall jarred his fractured collarbone and his broken leg. All seven of the Singularity Riders were present now, even T’Than the Lurid, although that Rider was in worse shape than Amazing Guy after their three-day battle. But the others were fresh and eager for the kill, living black holes that leached the cosmic energies from the protector of the Parodyverse before he could ever harness them. He could deal with one of the Riders, but never all seven; and they knew it. AG felt icy cold. He realised he was going into shock. He couldn’t stand to run so he crawled across the vast chequerboard plane. The Singularity Riders wheeled overhead, their vast black bat-winged horses keening their blood-thirst. AG knew that as soon as the Riders’ perceptions properly adjusted to the bizarre plane of ideas he had taken refuge in they would find him and devour him. He gritted his teeth and crawled on broken limbs towards the monochrome carvings that rose up from the eternal plain. “Just… get there…” he ordered himself. “Just… warn him…!” K’Soth the Cruel suddenly spotted him. He gave a screech of warning and triumph. The other riders wheeled about and oriented on their prey. What one of them knew all knew. Amazing Guy shivered as he felt their will upon him. More energy, life-force itself was dragged from him as they closed around him. He closed his eyes and crawled onwards, between the statues. The dark horsemen swooped down for the kill. And then the statues moved, unfolded. This part of the conceptual plane was guarded, and the Shibboleths tolerated no hostile power here. They rose up to confront the intruders, drawing on their masters power to oppose the Singularity Riders. Amazing Guy didn’t wait to watch the battle. He didn’t think even the Shibboleths would stop the Riders for long. But now the enemy’s attention was focussed elsewhere he was able to dredge up the last of his multiversal energy, burning his will to propel himself towards the castle over on the chequerboard horizon. The Hall of the Chronicler of Stories. Three Weeks Ago: At 9.02pm the President of the Unites States attended a White House dinner in honour of those who had been most prominent in the war on terror. At 9.03 the nation was denied his speech by a blackout across Washington caused by the impenetrable force field enclosing the city. Secret Service security deployed according to the action plan, but none of their conventional weaponry was effective against the red and black armoured avawarriors who cut them down without mercy as they entered and seized the White House. The secondary emergency protocols cut in. The detachment of first-generation A-Class FMRC metahuman security guards quartered nearby were called in. By the time the call was made at 9.05 all of these heroes were dead in their barracks. By 9.11 the President, most of the Cabinet, most of the Joint Chiefs, five of the Supreme Court, forty Senators and fifty of the most powerful men in the country were prisoners in their nation’s command centre and all local resistance was crushed. The Doomherald entered the dining room at 9.12pm and helped himself to a light sherry. “Hello,” he smiled at the hostages. “Sorry to bother you all like this, but there’s a rather delicate matter we need to discuss, regarding the future of your planet. Mister President, if you and your closest advisors would like to saunter along with me and have a little chat…?” Two Months Ago: “Be whole,” the Chronicler told Amazing Guy, and the pain went from the protector of the Parodyverse. “Thank you,” AG responded, sitting up in the place of ravens and destiny, the vast dark halls of the keeper of stories. “Ouch.” Even the Chronicler’s word was not sufficient to fully heal his wounds. A bad sign. “Who has awoken the Singularity Riders that assault my realm?” the Chronicler demanded. “Who empowers them?” “The Parody Master is back,” AG answered simply. “Full manifestation.” “How full?” The Chronicler knew that the cosmic force that called itself the Parody Master required a human host, and that the power and effectiveness of the manifestation was proportional to the potency and suitability of that vessel. “Full,” Amazing Guy warned. “I’ve never sensed power in him like this before. It’s 100% Parody Master and he’s insanely powerful.” The Chronicler of Stories winced, then raised his hand to his face. His nose was bleeding. “They have destroyed the Shibboleths,” he warned. “And…” He gestured peremptorily at the protector of the Parodyverse. “Come with me!” AG followed the Chronicler into the Hall of Mirrors, where infinite glasses reflected the narrative threads of the Parodyverse, monitoring the Chronicler’s charge. To Amazing Guy’s cosmic awareness the place seemed like a seething loom, a thing alive with potential and wonder. The Chronicler stared into a ring of pools that circled a central space cluttered with books and manuscripts. The reflections mirrored the local situation, the Hall’s own story, and it showed the cultists erecting dimensional arches under the watchful gaze of the Singularity Riders. “We’re under siege,” the Chronicler admitted, half amazed half amused. “They’re actually trying to block off the Hall of Stories.” “Don’t take this lightly,” Amazing Guy warned. “I know the Triumverate have used the Parody Master sometimes as your attack dog. This time I think he might be out of your league. He’s conquered the Shee-Yar Empire, and he’s moving his avawarriors on the Skree and the Skunks. He’s consolidating whole civilisations under his rule, adding them to his power base.” The Chronicler frowned as he checked his mirrors. There was the heart of the Shee-Yar empire, and where the imperial palace had been now rose a temple to the Parody Master. A thousand light years away, relentless armoured soldiers seethed over Skree defences, slaughtering the Accosters that stood against them. Further still, heralds brought terror and chaos to the Skunk outposts, fomenting rebellion and disorder to soften the way for the armies that were to come. “This manifestation is powerful,” the Chronicler admitted, “to conceal all that from me.” “He’s smart, ruthless, ambitious, and all-powerful,” Amazing Guy pointed out. “That’s a bad combination unless you want a Parodyverse under the total rule of the Parody Master.” “I don’t,” answered the keeper of tales. “We’ll have to stop this, right here, right now.” The Hall of Stories shuddered as the first of the massive war machines was brought to bear upon it. “The interlopers’ legions march with hate,” warned Pallas, the Chronicler’s senior raven, fluttering to her master’s shoulder, “through all defences set to halt their run. The avawarriors besiege the gate. The battle for our halls is now begun!” “They can’t breech here that easily, no matter how powerful they are,” the Chronicler assured the bird. “And with preparation I can raise powers that can crush that Parody Master and his annoying little army!” Amazing Guy felt a shudder run through him as he realised just how much beyond human the Chronicler of Stories had gone. Just how vast and deep did his narrative capacity go? The Chronicler twitched and the huge metal machines of war around his walls were kicked away like children’s toys. He frowned and a vast wind hurled soldiers far from the Halls. He snarled and a million nightmares slithered from the checkerboard plain to engage the scattered troops in gory battle. “Oh, very good,” the Parody Master applauded, standing there in the very Hall of Mirrors. “My forces can certainly use the practise.” Amazing Guy turned in disbelief as the Parody Master skewered the Chronicler of Stories on his black hissing sword. Three Weeks Ago: “It’s like this,” the Doomherald explained to his captive audience in the Oval Office. He swung his feet up onto the President’s desk and slouched back in the President’s chair. “I represent the Parody Master, an all-powerful all-conquering force who is sweeping the universe in his march of dominion. I know here in your little backwater you’re not that familiar with galactic events, but you must have heard of the Shee-Yar, the Skree, and the Skunks?” “We have files,” agreed General Shamus McTaggart sullenly. The Federal Metahuman Resource Centre man was seething at the murder of his soldiers, but he was too professional to show it. The Doomherald smiled as if at a slow but earnest schoolchild. “Well then, you need to update them. All of those races have now been absorbed into the Parody Master’s empire.” “And we just believe you, do we?” spat Aldrich Grey, venomous and ancient power broker, and nobody’s fool. “Yes. Because the forty thousand avawarriors now occupying your capital inside this impenetrable force field say so.” The Doomherald leaned forward. “But the point is this: the Parody Master is coming. All those PM cultists who have been watching for his day of glory on this tiny little world are going to have a terrible surprise when it actually happens.” “So this is a declaration of war?” General McTaggart asked grimly. “It might be,” the Doomherald answered. “Depending which side you want to be on. I mean, some races like the Naicluv have signed non-aggression pacts of neutrality and withdrawn behind their own defensive barriers and are just staying out of the way. Some factions like the Observers too. Other species, like the Broob and the Z’Sox, have seen the potential of willingly joining up with the Parody Master to share in the glory and the loot.” “So you’re coming to us to recruit us?” surmised Grey. “Better that than face on overwhelming martial force that could reduce the Earth to a cinder,” suggested Herbert Garrick, Presidential Advisor on Metahuman Affairs. “I’m coming with a choice,” the Doomherald advised them. “A very important choice. Either you elect to co-operate with the Parody Master, as his friends and allies, or you go to the top of his enemies list and what you’ve seen tonight in one lone city becomes a planetary assault that won’t end until every single human on your world is crucified and your species is nothing but a cautionary tale for others.” “This is America, boy,” Grey spat. “We don’t back down from bullies.” “But we don’t commit national suicide either,” argued Garrick. “What kind of co-operation is your, your master wanting from us?” “Disarmament,” the Doomherald replied. “Getting rid of our nuclear arsenal?” General McTaggart didn’t like that idea. “Getting rid of your metahumans. We don’t care about your ridiculous little bombs and bioweapons. But my Master absolutely demands that you control or destroy your metahuman resources.” Aldrich Grey caught a key word. “Control?” “Every metahuman on this planet must either be under government control, duly tagged and implanted with the sort of over-ride technology you’ve seen before with the Technopolis Science Heroes, or else destroyed,” the Doomherald clarified. “We can provide you with psycho-organic Obedience Brands that can’t be bypassed like the control chips the Technopolitians used. But to prevent your world being destroyed you must either take absolute control over your rogue super-beings or eliminate them. We don’t mind which.” “Control…” breathed Garrick. McTaggart understood the chain of command. “Mr President?” Two Months Ago: The souls of ten million slaughtered beings clawed at the Chronicler’s psyche, tearing chunks of him away and devouring them. The Chronicler screamed defiance and pressed them back. He lurched off the point of the Parody Master’s blade, staggering into Amazing Guy’s supporting arms. “How did you get in here?” AG demanded of the Parody Master. “This place is a fortress. In this place the Chronicler’s power is absolute.” “The power of the 309th Chronicler is awesome indeed,” agreed the conqueror, “but there are secrets even he does not know, things that were prepared, routes that were concealed by the very first Chronicler of Stories, the very King of Tales.” “Such as back doors into this Hall,” recognised the Chronicler. “I wondered what had happened to that sad echo after I arranged his downfall through the Hooded Hood. Now he’s working for you.” “Screaming for me, at least, on my torture racks,” agreed the Parody Master. “He’s an evil, twisted entity that seems to enjoy most of the pain we inflict on him, but he’s told enough to allow me access past your standard defences, Chronicler. And now…” “And now you’ve come to offer me a deal,” the keeper of tales interrupted impatiently. “If we only join you and swear allegiance to your cause we’ll be spared and a bright new future lies before us… great rewards… add in generic threat if we don’t… hint at vast cosmic conspiracies… I’ve heard this all before, and I’ve got to tell you purple prose is out this season.” The Parody Master seemed to glower behind his gleaming helm. “You may join me or you may be destroyed. The choice is yours.” “It’s my job to stop cosmic nutjobs,” Amazing Guy replied. “You’re right there in my job description.” “This has gone far enough,” seethed the Chronicler. “You’re a clever little manifestation this time, I admit, Parody Master, but you’ve overstepped the mark and made a rookie mistake coming into my Halls. Here my authority is supreme.” “Perhaps,” shrugged the conqueror. “I don’t really have the time to find out, although it would have been an interesting battle.” “Oh,” promised the Chronicler of Stories, narrative forces gathering around him as he twisted whole universes to serve his wrath, “I think you’re going to find out.” The Parody Master deflected the first assault with an energy so powerful it gave Amazing Guy a splitting headache just to perceive it. “The Cosmic Cube!” AG sensed, warning the Chronicler. “He’s using the power of the Cosmic Cube!” “There is no Cube any more,” the Parody Master boasted. “I dismantled it, melted it down in my Infinity Furnace to feed my energies. It and so many other items of power in this Parodyverse.” He glared at the Chronicler. “Now you understand why you must yield to me.” “I just understand why I must stop you,” the Chronicler replied, striking a second time; but this time small strands of power flared unnoticed through Amazing Guy and out into the worlds beyond. Being the Chronicler wasn’t about power; it was about plot. Amazing Guy knew it was time for him to go. The forces that were being unleashed in the Hall of Stories could shred any mortal, no matter how much multiversal energy they summoned to shield themselves. And he has other things to do. The Shaper of Worlds and the Destroyer of Tales must be warned. He barely avoided a lethal surge of power from the Parody Master. Even the near miss left him burned and wracked with pain, right through his shields. Then the Chronicler stepped in to divert the villain’s attention. AG instinctively found the mirror that showed Littlesmallville, his home, his house. He lunged through. “You can’t win,” the Chronicler warned the Parody Master. “The story won’t let you.” “Story?” hissed the Parody Master. “I spit on your stories!” Then he vanished. The Chronicler hasn’t expected that. It took him a fraction of a second to work out how the plot had changed. Then he perceived the dimensional mines laced around the building, placed so perfectly that only a former Chronicler could have calculated their positions; and he knew that the Parody Master had chosen to win the war not the battle. Before he could react further the Chronicler and his Hall vanished in a bright release of energy, carved from the Parodyverse altogether to join those other places and beings deemed too dangerous to be allowed to exist, locked in eternal stasis beyond the dimensional vortex. Two Weeks Ago: “Estimates vary,” Dan Drury, Director of SPUD, told the House Special Commission on Metahuman Affairs. “Hell, you know how many surveys you guys’ve put into the field over the years.” “Just a rough estimate,” Dr Vicki Farmer demanded. “How many metahumans on this planet?” “Well, not counting the sub-races like the Morshlocks an’ the Deviates an’ the Abhumans, maybe fifty thousand mutates and two or three thousand others? Those numbers are very soft.” “It’s doable,” Herbert Garrick assured the Commission. “We’ve contacted our partner nations and we’re bringing economic pressure to bear to force compliance. Most of them were willing to play ball when they understood the stakes.” “You mean they all had visits from that Doomherald bozo and wet their pants at the idea of the Parody Master squattin’ in their back-yard,” Drury sneered. “Maybe,” sulked Garrick. “But they agreed to the necessary measures. I’ve spun up Sentinoid production and we’re expecting the new generation to start rolling off the line within forty-eight hours. But it’s still going to be a major piece of work to bring sixty thousand or more metahumans into line so quickly.” “Assuming Special Resolution 1066 passes the House,” Dr Farmer pointed out. “It’ll pass,” Garrick assured her. “And then we’ll see the smirks wiped from the faces of the Lair Legion and those preening posing so-called superheroes.” “Yeah, about that,” Drury said. “I have a tactical amendment ta your plans to spit on the heroes who’ve risked their lives again and again for this country an’ the world. You can take your plans an’ shove ‘em up your ass.” Dr Farmer blinked at this defiance. “This is not your decision, Colonel Drury,” she warned him. “Your orders are quite clear.” “Yeah, well about that. I quit. You bozos want ta pander ta some alien conqueror then I’m not gonna be a collaborator. Find yourselves another patsy.” General “Thunderclap” Rott harrumphed, but whether in disapproval or tacit admiration for the SPUD Director’s stand was impossible to say. “Well then, Drury, I have no choice but to relieve you of your command and place you under military arrest for attempted desertion and failure to follow orders.” “And I got no choice but to say you’re a horse’s ass an’ kick the crap outta anybody who tries ta stop me getting’ away an’ warning the world that you’re sellin’ ‘em down the river!” Dan Drury made it more than halfway to the door before Exemplary beat him to unconsciousness. Two Months Ago: Amazing Guy tumbled onto his own lawn, tattered and scorched. Even before he rose he could sense that the Chronicler of Stories was gone. Fallen. “Say what you like about the Parody Master,” the Doomherald noted, sitting on AG’s lounger and sipping a coke. “He’s good at tactics. And predicting the enemy.” AG sprang to his feet, ready for battle. The Doomherald triggered the dimensional mines positioned around Littlesmallville, carving that plane-hopping town out of existence also. He finished his coke and left it drifting in intersticial space where AG’s home had once been and went about his business. Right Now: “So, are we to be having of a probleming?” Yo asked the first lady of the Lair Legion. “Very much of a probleming,” Lisa Waltz, the amorous advocatrix, answered gravely. “If this bill gets passed, along with similar legislation being enacted in most of the other nations across the world, it will make it illegal to possess super-powers, exotic technology, or mystic abilities or artefacts without being registered and fitted with an over-ride device. It’s kind of like the Mutate Powers Act hyped up on steroids.” “I told you guys!” CrazySugarFreakBoy! warned. “Mutate registration was just the start. Now it’s identification brands. Next it’ll be concentration camps and gas chambers.” “The infrastructure has already been built once,” Hatman shuddered. “They’re never going to pass this, Lisa.” “There’s something going on,” Yuki worried. “Something we’re missing. This all happened after that weird blackout in Washington a few weeks back. By the time we’d scrambled it was all over, but…” “There are a number of reasons the government would want to propagate this bill,” Mr Epitome admitted, “but I would expect it to be struck down in Supreme Court. The Constitution guarantees the right to bear arms, and super-powers could be considered…” “It’s a nasty, wicked piece of hate legislation,” Dancer interrupted. “We have to stop it. Simple as that.” “Not as simple as all that,” the Librarian warned. “It’s been well drafted, and there’s considerable political pressure being brought to bear to make it pass. And then…” “And then we have ta choose between bein Garrick’s government whippin’-boy puppets or rogue agents wanted by the law,” Trickshot pointed out. “An’ I kin tell you know which one Br’er Tricky’s gonna choose.” “We can’t allow this,” Visionary agreed. “I’m not letting them march the Juniors off and implant control technology into them.” “Verily. This best we smite the caitiffs and o’erthrow yon government,” Donar suggested. “And still people wonder why the government wants superheroes under control,” snorted Al B. Harper. “Well,” said Sir Mumphrey Wilton at last, “I for one don’t believe it’s in the world’s best interests to let this kind of thing happen unchallenged. Specially not when we’re expecting that blasted Parody Master to attack the planet in just under three months time. If this legislation’s passed we’ve got till 2006 to get it reversed before we’re supposed to surrender to control. That’ll give us time to investigate what’s really behind this, consider our options…” “And take over the planet if we have to,” concluded Lisa. She wasn’t joking. Follow Up Stories: Ripples in Badripoor by spiffy Breaking the Law, Breaking the Law ... by CSFB! Well Piss On This! by AG Driving Conditions by Visionary Reactions by L! Coming Next: Continuity catches up for another key player in the Parodyverse and the Lair Legion have to scramble to keep up. Another step closer to apocalypse with The Fall of the Dark Knight. Because really we haven’t tormented Greg’s characters enough recently. The Dark Footnote Returns The events in this chapter wrap around and amplify the events in UT#228: Bride of the Parody Master. The information offered in the footnotes to that chapter is not reproduced here. Gladeater is the most powerful member and leader of the Shee-Yar Imperium Guard, superhuman champions of the distant alien empire. His powers are roughly analogous to those of Superman. Cosmic Office Holders: A number of posts with responsibility for maintaining some aspect of the cosmology of the Parodyverse are given to humans, each of whom holds the office for a while. Many of these offices come with special insights, powers, or equipment. All come with duties. The three greater offices, the Triumverate, are usually the Shaper of Worlds, the Chronicler of Stories, and the Destroyer of Tales. A range of lesser offices have also been depicted, and the two most commonly encountered in our stories are the Keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity (Sir Mumphrey Wilton), and the Guardian of the Booke of the Law (Lisa Waltz). Presidential Guests: General Shamus McTaggart is the commander of the Federal Metahuman Resource Centre where Semi-Transparent Lad is currently being trained. The senior class casualties may eventually involve STL’s intake being placed on an accelerated programme and will certainly have consequences in our next main Untold Tales arc. Aldrich Grey, secretly the power-broker the Grey Eminence, is the power behind the Office of Paranormal Security. Herbert Garrick, Bad News Herb, is the Presidential Advisor on metahuman Affairs and the ultimate authority over the mutate-hunting Sentinoid Programme and FMRC. Dr Vicki Farmer appears for the first time in this story. She chairs the House Special Commission on Metahuman Affairs and once shared a sorority with Amber St Clare. General “Thunderclap” Rott is a career soldier of the old school, and has a particular dislike for egghead scientists and rampaging monsters. Exemplary is a super-powered covert agent, formerly an operative for the Shadow Cabinet uber-cabal, currently working for OPS. Colonel Dan Drury was the head of the Super-Menace Principal Undercover Division until this chapter. The King of Tales was the first Chronicler of Stories at the dawn of the Parodyverse. He appears as a blazing red skeleton, and may never have been human. He is now soured and insane and immensely powerful, with a bitter hatred of the current Chronicler of Stories that has manifested itself in many ways, including setting in motion the events of our next issue. The King of Tales is currently a captive of the Parody Master, but has co-operated only in those things which harm his own enemies. And what comes next? Well, I’m toying with the idea of pushing this all the way if I have some writing time for a really major intense storyline sometime in the new year, but this would require some consultation and consent from the PV Board regulars since it would have repercussions for an extended period. And it would eventually lead to a major shake-up of LL membership too. Alternatively, I might choose to go a different way and not rock the boat for lack of time or reader support for the concept. Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2005 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2005 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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