Post by Antenora on Dec 23, 2004 22:10:26 GMT -5
The following story turne up on my doorstep, labeled "From your secret santa". Simply put, I didn't write it.
It was a fine day. Tragedy sat on a couch, chatting to swans about strawberry yogurt when suddenly a newb-messenger burst through the large double doors. Tragedy stood and growled “This is a private message. You have no right to be here.”
The newb seemed frightened for a moment then said “General Dupin sends important news, milord.” Tragedy sighed and grabbed the telegram paper from the newb’s shaking hands. “You may go.” He said and the newb scurried off as fast as he could. The telegram read:
Dear Tragedy STOP
Harry Potter Fans at the gate STOP
They are declaring war STOP
HELP! STOP
Swans saw the look on his face and she stood. “What is it?” She asked worried. Trag said not a word, but strode out of the room, the telegram fluttering in his wake.
A few moments later, a huge bell could be heard all through 667 Dark Avenue. It was a signal. A signal for war. All conversations instantly stopped. There was silence for a moment, after which everyone panicked. General Dupin, who stood by the gate, gazed down upon the vast army of Harry Potter fans. They surrounded the Asoue castle completely. They where going to conquer 667.
It seemed as though the Potter’s had gone on a crusade. Join us, or die. It was a literate war. The worst kind. A war of the forums, as it where. It was only a mere hour after the bell had rung that the armies of 667 had assembled. Rows upon rows of Lucafont wanna-bees stood, their hooks shining. The Olafs carried rusty daggers, whilst their female counterparts, the Esmés, carried harpoon-guns. Random troupe members stood amongst them, alongside the occasional Dr Orwell, with their pointy cane-swords. Sunnys stalked about, their four pointy teeth showing. Meanwhile, outside the castle walls, Rons, Harrys, Hermiones, Siriuses and others stood, their wands brandished, and ready to fire.
Tragedy informed the troops of the current situation and held a sparkling motivational speech. It barely worked. Every single one of them knew, deep down, that they where seriously outnumbered. It would only be a matter of days. Yet some hope remained. The Klauses and the Violets had joined together in order to invent engines of war. If they managed to create some kind of machine to stop the invaders, the castle might be saved. Might.
On the next day, they came. Although the defender’s wall was bristling with Lucafonts, Orwells and Sunnys, as well as snakes, hawks, crows and lions, they where vastly outnumbered. Even the allied fans from The Basic Eight and Watch Your Mouth (they had arrived last night) helped little. Tragedy’s fortress held slightly more than 3000 people (including the animals and allies), yet the Potter’s had way over 10000. It was hopeless. The 667ers might lose this war, but they sure as hell wouldn’t go down without a fight.
The Esmés rained harpoons down upon the Potter’s, felling many. The hawks and crows took to the skies, occasionally dive-bombing the surprised Harrys. The Serpents slithered along the wall, biting any who tried to climb it with magical ladders. The Lucafonts, Sunnys, Orwells, and the rest all patrolled the walls, avoiding spell-blasts, knocking down ladders, and fighting anyone who came over the wall. Huge catapults that fired burning bales of hay where the product of the Klaus/Violet combo. Tragedy and Swans patrolled the walls, motivating the warriors, firing the catapults and occasionally eating sandwiches.
By the end of the day, dozens of wizards where dead, yet their vast force had hardly been dented. Yet every death on the 667 side was felt, and at least a 100 of the defenders where dead. This battle continued every day, and every day the 667ers lost more and more troops. Then their head seer, Lunafantum, declared that unless the 667ers came up with some kind of plan, they would be doomed.
And so we meet the hero-ess of our story, a certain lieutenant called Tocuna. She stood before the doors of Tragedy, waiting to be called within. She was rather nervous. She could hear people talking in the chamber. She wondered why she had been called. Then, all of a sudden, the doors where ripped open, and she stepped in, the light hurting her eyes. Within the room where four people (not including our hero-ess). All stared at her. Tragedy said “Ah, lieutenant Tocuna, come in, come in. We have much to speak of.” Tocuna came into the room and the doors closed behind her, mysteriously. There must be some kind of closing/opening device attached to it.
“Our top-weapons manufacturer has just had an idea. Tragedy motioned to a young man who sat on a couch. “This is Fight Fire with Fire. He has thought of a weapon that could change the course of this war.” The young man stood, and began to explain his plan. “I have created a bomb, which, if dropped in the middle of the enemy camp, will scatter a disease amongst the enemy, causing their entire army to fall sick, which will, in turn, save our hides. We will, in effect, fight fire with fire.” Tocuna raised an eyebrow. “How are we going to get it into the middle of their camp? What disease will be released? And what have I got to do with this whole thing?” Tocuna already had a nagging suspicion what she would have to do.
Another young man stood. “My name is Ennui. I am the head Hector of this fine castle. I have managed to construct a machine that will transport you to the middle of their base. I call it a Self Sustaining Hot Air Mobile Home. Or Sshamh. It will fly you over the battlefield, out of harms way, so you will be able to drop the bomb onto our foe’s heads. I will, of course, be the captain of the ship, as no one else would be able to fly it.” He then sat down again. Then a tall girl in the corner said “I’m Pandora, the head Fiona. I am the one who has created the disease for this venture.” Tocuna dreaded her next question. “So, what is this disease called?” Pandora looked uncomfortable and said “It is a mushroom known as the Medusoid Mycelium.” Tocuna sighed. Then she turned to Tragedy, an angry look on her face. “And I suppose you want me to drop the bomb, huh?” She shouted. Tragedy’s face was like a mask. “Yes, that is precisely what I want. You are the only one available for this task.” Tocuna glared at the admin for a moment and then said “I won’t do it. It is HIGHLY immoral.”
Tragedy scowled and said “I don’t care if you want to do it or not, you will do as I say. Either that, or you will be thrown off the wall to the Potters. I’m sure they will welcome you with open arms. You have no choice. Remember, those people out there would not hesitate to do the same to us.” Tocuna shouted “Well, if they would do the same, we would be lowering ourselves to their level!” “These two gentlemen and lady will accompany you on your mission. Good luck.” Was all the admin said before he turned and stalked out of the room (possibly to go the bathroom). Tocuna stood there for a moment, her face red with rage. Then she too turned and stomped out of the room, leaving the remaining three occupants behind.
Hardly had she exited the room when Tragedy’s voice came from behind her. “He’s doing what he is because he has no other choice.” Tocuna whirled around, furious, and saw that there was no one behind her. “Where are you?” She asked. A figure stepped forwards from the shadows. “My name is Disaster. I am Tragedy’s twin brother. We had a feud ages ago, and he has exiled me from this forum. But I still reside, hiding in the shadows, watching.” Tocuna raised an eyebrow. Was this some kind of cheap trick she wondered. “What did you mean before?” Disaster paused, then said “Do not be angry with him. He has made his choice because there is nothing else he can do. He dislikes the need, but he has to anyways. That is all I wanted to say.” Then he drifted back into the shadows, and left Tocuna to her own thoughts.
It was a fine day. Tragedy sat on a couch, chatting to swans about strawberry yogurt when suddenly a newb-messenger burst through the large double doors. Tragedy stood and growled “This is a private message. You have no right to be here.”
The newb seemed frightened for a moment then said “General Dupin sends important news, milord.” Tragedy sighed and grabbed the telegram paper from the newb’s shaking hands. “You may go.” He said and the newb scurried off as fast as he could. The telegram read:
Dear Tragedy STOP
Harry Potter Fans at the gate STOP
They are declaring war STOP
HELP! STOP
Swans saw the look on his face and she stood. “What is it?” She asked worried. Trag said not a word, but strode out of the room, the telegram fluttering in his wake.
A few moments later, a huge bell could be heard all through 667 Dark Avenue. It was a signal. A signal for war. All conversations instantly stopped. There was silence for a moment, after which everyone panicked. General Dupin, who stood by the gate, gazed down upon the vast army of Harry Potter fans. They surrounded the Asoue castle completely. They where going to conquer 667.
It seemed as though the Potter’s had gone on a crusade. Join us, or die. It was a literate war. The worst kind. A war of the forums, as it where. It was only a mere hour after the bell had rung that the armies of 667 had assembled. Rows upon rows of Lucafont wanna-bees stood, their hooks shining. The Olafs carried rusty daggers, whilst their female counterparts, the Esmés, carried harpoon-guns. Random troupe members stood amongst them, alongside the occasional Dr Orwell, with their pointy cane-swords. Sunnys stalked about, their four pointy teeth showing. Meanwhile, outside the castle walls, Rons, Harrys, Hermiones, Siriuses and others stood, their wands brandished, and ready to fire.
Tragedy informed the troops of the current situation and held a sparkling motivational speech. It barely worked. Every single one of them knew, deep down, that they where seriously outnumbered. It would only be a matter of days. Yet some hope remained. The Klauses and the Violets had joined together in order to invent engines of war. If they managed to create some kind of machine to stop the invaders, the castle might be saved. Might.
On the next day, they came. Although the defender’s wall was bristling with Lucafonts, Orwells and Sunnys, as well as snakes, hawks, crows and lions, they where vastly outnumbered. Even the allied fans from The Basic Eight and Watch Your Mouth (they had arrived last night) helped little. Tragedy’s fortress held slightly more than 3000 people (including the animals and allies), yet the Potter’s had way over 10000. It was hopeless. The 667ers might lose this war, but they sure as hell wouldn’t go down without a fight.
The Esmés rained harpoons down upon the Potter’s, felling many. The hawks and crows took to the skies, occasionally dive-bombing the surprised Harrys. The Serpents slithered along the wall, biting any who tried to climb it with magical ladders. The Lucafonts, Sunnys, Orwells, and the rest all patrolled the walls, avoiding spell-blasts, knocking down ladders, and fighting anyone who came over the wall. Huge catapults that fired burning bales of hay where the product of the Klaus/Violet combo. Tragedy and Swans patrolled the walls, motivating the warriors, firing the catapults and occasionally eating sandwiches.
By the end of the day, dozens of wizards where dead, yet their vast force had hardly been dented. Yet every death on the 667 side was felt, and at least a 100 of the defenders where dead. This battle continued every day, and every day the 667ers lost more and more troops. Then their head seer, Lunafantum, declared that unless the 667ers came up with some kind of plan, they would be doomed.
And so we meet the hero-ess of our story, a certain lieutenant called Tocuna. She stood before the doors of Tragedy, waiting to be called within. She was rather nervous. She could hear people talking in the chamber. She wondered why she had been called. Then, all of a sudden, the doors where ripped open, and she stepped in, the light hurting her eyes. Within the room where four people (not including our hero-ess). All stared at her. Tragedy said “Ah, lieutenant Tocuna, come in, come in. We have much to speak of.” Tocuna came into the room and the doors closed behind her, mysteriously. There must be some kind of closing/opening device attached to it.
“Our top-weapons manufacturer has just had an idea. Tragedy motioned to a young man who sat on a couch. “This is Fight Fire with Fire. He has thought of a weapon that could change the course of this war.” The young man stood, and began to explain his plan. “I have created a bomb, which, if dropped in the middle of the enemy camp, will scatter a disease amongst the enemy, causing their entire army to fall sick, which will, in turn, save our hides. We will, in effect, fight fire with fire.” Tocuna raised an eyebrow. “How are we going to get it into the middle of their camp? What disease will be released? And what have I got to do with this whole thing?” Tocuna already had a nagging suspicion what she would have to do.
Another young man stood. “My name is Ennui. I am the head Hector of this fine castle. I have managed to construct a machine that will transport you to the middle of their base. I call it a Self Sustaining Hot Air Mobile Home. Or Sshamh. It will fly you over the battlefield, out of harms way, so you will be able to drop the bomb onto our foe’s heads. I will, of course, be the captain of the ship, as no one else would be able to fly it.” He then sat down again. Then a tall girl in the corner said “I’m Pandora, the head Fiona. I am the one who has created the disease for this venture.” Tocuna dreaded her next question. “So, what is this disease called?” Pandora looked uncomfortable and said “It is a mushroom known as the Medusoid Mycelium.” Tocuna sighed. Then she turned to Tragedy, an angry look on her face. “And I suppose you want me to drop the bomb, huh?” She shouted. Tragedy’s face was like a mask. “Yes, that is precisely what I want. You are the only one available for this task.” Tocuna glared at the admin for a moment and then said “I won’t do it. It is HIGHLY immoral.”
Tragedy scowled and said “I don’t care if you want to do it or not, you will do as I say. Either that, or you will be thrown off the wall to the Potters. I’m sure they will welcome you with open arms. You have no choice. Remember, those people out there would not hesitate to do the same to us.” Tocuna shouted “Well, if they would do the same, we would be lowering ourselves to their level!” “These two gentlemen and lady will accompany you on your mission. Good luck.” Was all the admin said before he turned and stalked out of the room (possibly to go the bathroom). Tocuna stood there for a moment, her face red with rage. Then she too turned and stomped out of the room, leaving the remaining three occupants behind.
Hardly had she exited the room when Tragedy’s voice came from behind her. “He’s doing what he is because he has no other choice.” Tocuna whirled around, furious, and saw that there was no one behind her. “Where are you?” She asked. A figure stepped forwards from the shadows. “My name is Disaster. I am Tragedy’s twin brother. We had a feud ages ago, and he has exiled me from this forum. But I still reside, hiding in the shadows, watching.” Tocuna raised an eyebrow. Was this some kind of cheap trick she wondered. “What did you mean before?” Disaster paused, then said “Do not be angry with him. He has made his choice because there is nothing else he can do. He dislikes the need, but he has to anyways. That is all I wanted to say.” Then he drifted back into the shadows, and left Tocuna to her own thoughts.