I Swear if You Pull Out That Paper With â€å“i Can Do Whatever I Wantã¢â‚¬â Written on It Again

February xi, 2014 at xi:49 am #559767

If you lot enjoy reading spider web fiction, you should effort Pact. It's written past John McCrae AKA Wildbow, who was also the writer of the popular super-powered web serial Worm. His current serial is a gritty* urban fantasy story with wizards and witches, demon and faeries and goblins and sundry critters of the Magickal realms. (Thankfully, none of the characters actually spell the discussion 'magic' with an actress 'k', although who can tell what the future may bring?) :O

Information technology updates Tuesdays and Saturdays, sometimes more often, if plenty people toss a few dimes in Wildbow's donation box. Give information technology a try, although beware: this shizzle tin can be highly addictive.

Here'south a picture of one of the many interesting characters in the story: Maggie Holt, the self-proclaimed Goblin Queen. (Considering: reasons.)

http://mokkurkalfe.deviantart.com/art/Pact-Maggie-Holt-433332014

*'Gritty' in the sense of: "Aaah! You shanked me in the abdomen! And now you're cooking some grits in the stab wound, to proceed with my liver, ow ow ow!", although less silly.

EDIT: If yous'd rather avert having to trawl through a bunch of links, so yous tin observe a lot of the same drawings that are linked below, if yous visit my Wildbow folder on DeviantArt or my Wildbow section on Tumblr.

You should definitely too cheque out this fine blog dedicated to Pact illustrations and doodles, which updates frequently and has loads of stuff to marvel at.

Oh, and watch out for all the spoilers. 🙂

2nd EDIT: Cheque out the new Blakeguard group on DeviantArt, it will hopefully become a repository for all kinds of absurd Pact-related stuff that people upload to that site. 🙂

February 11, 2014 at 11:50 am #644005

Since there's a long-continuing tradition for posting featherbrained spin-off parody 'omake' versions of Wildbow's stories as comments on his chapters, Pact should exist no exception. (Gonna post copies of them here, in instance anyone wants to read them without having to trawl through the several hundred comments on old chapters.)

Caution: SPOILERS.

(Seriously, don't read them unless you've already read the chapters they were spawned from.)

Histories: Arc ii Omake:

The bloody-haired woman approached, placing her hand on the cheek of Maggie’south male parent. “You argue best. I believe yous, when you say you’d cede yourself for them. You dearest them that much.”

He shuddered, bowing his head, unable to maintain middle contact.

“You, I’ll let live, then. You’ll feel the lost almost.”

“No!” Maggie cried out. “No!”

And, somehow, it was that idea, her dad, solitary, that fed the emotion into her shouts, more than whatsoever self preservation.

“Take them to pieces, slowly.”

“No!” Maggie shrieked. “No! All of united states of america live! All of us!”

“Her outset. And so the adults can sentinel.”

Maggie had to enhance her phonation to exist heard over her fathers. Her vocalism was so loud and high it was ragged. “I’ll practice anything! Just permit us go!”

“Anything?”

“Just- simply let u.s.a. go.”

“Agree… Let me think.” The blood-caked woman stroked her mentum, affecting a thoughtful air.

“We want… a shrubbery!” She announced in a booming voice.

All of a sudden, the looming figures that were surrounding Maggie and her two dads leaned in closer to the small group, humming a dramatic “Dun-dun-DUNNN!” noise in perfect synch.

“…A w-what?” Maggie stammered. The knobbly-faced woman’southward face separate into a horrifying grinning.

“Nee! Nee! Nee!” She cried, the other creatures immediately joining the unearthly chorus.

Maggie and her ii parental figures stumbled to the ground, screaming in pain at these nerve-wracking utterances.

“We shall say ‘nee’ over again to you, if you lot practise non appease us.” The bumpy-lumpy-cheeked adult female chuckled, cheekily.

“Please, please! No more! Nosotros shall discover a shrubbery.” Maggie’south dad pleaded.

“You must return here with a shrubbery, or else you lot will never pass through this woods live! Umm, city. Town. Hamlet?” The gnarly-foreheaded woman snarled. One of her cronies lumbered closer, whispering something in one of her Mr. Spock-esque ears.

“One that looks prissy.” She hissed.

“O-of course.” Chris and Maggie’south dad were feverishly nodding their heads in agreement. Another of the frightening figures hobbled over to their spiky-eyebrowed leader, and whispered in her unoccupied ear.

“And not as well expensive.” She growled.

Maggie’s ii father figures were practically bouncing up and down with their nodding.

“Now… go!”

***************

Ii MONTHS AGO

“Yes, I exercise actually know a matter most shrubberies,” Laird said.

Maggie frowned. Her ice cream was melting. She licked the biggest distill from her mitt. “Nee?”

Laird jerked dorsum in his seat, momentarily shocked.

“Are you lot maxim ‘nee’ to the chief of police?”

“Um, yes?” Maggie glanced around the shop, checking for an easy get out.

“Oh, what sad times are these when teenagers can say `nee’ at will to policemen. There is a pestilence upon this state, nothing is sacred. Even those who arrange and blueprint shrubberies are under considerable economical stress at this period in history.”

“Did you lot say `shrubberies’?”

“Yes, shrubberies are my merchandise â€" I am a shrubber. My proper noun is Laird Behaim the Shrubber. I adjust, design, and sell shrubberies.”

Maggie visibly perked up, sitting bolt upright in her seat.

“Really?”

Laird leveled a smug look at her.

“Nee! I hateful, no.”

Maggie stuck out her ice cream-coated tongue at him.

February 11, 2014 at 11:50 am #644006

Damages 2.7 Omake:

Blake grabbed his sandwich.

“…aren’t immortal,” Maggie was maxim. “They die like you or me. Just they breed. I’d exist actually interested in reading a book about goblins, to see how that’s linked to their personal power, or see what keeps that in check. I’ve become something of a goblin queen.”

“A what?” Blake asked.

“Someone works with spirits nigh exclusively? Shaman. Work with time, you’re a chronomancer. Burn down? Pyromancer. The future? Diviner, predictomancer, something similar that. Piece of work with demons, you’re a diabolist. Work with goblins? Goblin queen.”

“Johannes would exist a goblin male monarch, and so?” Rose asked.

Blake narrowed his eyes, squinting at Maggie.

“You remind me of the infant.”

She looked at him, clearly bewildered.

“W-what baby?” Maggie asked. Blake leaned in closer, poking her in the sternum with his index finger.

“The babe with the power.”

“What ability?” Rose chosen out, looking fifty-fifty more than confused than the teenage daughter.

“The power of… Voodoo!” Blake hissed. (An impressive feat, considering the total lack of sibilants in that judgement.)

“Who do?” Maggie said, her nonplussed expression growing more flustered by the second.

“You practice.”

“Do what?!” Maggie and Rose cried out in unison.

“Remind me of the baby!” Blake yelled, and leaped on top of the dining room table. He started dancing and kick his legs, singing loudly about “dance magic dance” and “jump magic jump”.

“If they put a spell on me, I’ll call demons, set ‘em complimentary!” Blake cackled and hurled a wheel mirror upward in the air â€" a mortified Rose staring out from the reflective surface â€" while Maggie scrambled to catch it, barely snagging it with the tips of her fingers before it shattered on the difficult-wood flooring.

Blake seemed to debunk, his shoulders sinking in on themselves.

“Ughh… Lamentable, I’m… Lamentable, I think I must be more than tired than-”

He was suddenly interrupted when Barbatorem went cart-wheeling through the living room, disguised as a flock of blueish-skinned bald eagle-men, deftly wielding shears and cut off each other’s heads, tossing the severed noggins around like political party favors.

“…Aye. DEFINITELY too tired.”

February xi, 2014 at 11:50 am #644007

Damages 2.5 Omake:

And and so Blake’due south ‘reading’ session was rudely interrupted, when Rose appeared in the bathroom mirror:

“Hey, are you done with the Liber Paginarum Fulvarum yet? There’s a actually interesting passage on… Erm, Blake? What are you reading?” Rose screwed up her face in a disgusted expression.

A furious blush was spreading on Blake’southward confront, as he scrambled to grab the glossy magazine that had fallen out from its hiding place, concealed behind a large cabalistic tome that he’d pretended to be engrossed with.

“Well, umm… I’ve been cooped upwards in this house for ages, there are certain… urges, that demand to be, umm… dealt with.” He excused himself lamely.

Rose didn’t stay for the rest of his caption, as she had already hurried out away to a different mirror.

“Hey! You’re non offended, are you? I couldn’t help it, I’thousand horny as-”

He cut off in mid-sentence, as the 2nd interruption in equally many minutes occurred; this time, however, the intruder wasn’t his incorporeal house mate. A malodorous blast of acrid brimstone filled the enclosed space in a heartbeat, every bit the bathroom tub exploded in a deject of porcelain shrapnel. Shrouded in sulfurous smoke, a towering effigy unfolded itself, its curved horns scraping the tiles on the ceiling.

Lo! Ornias, Flayer of the Empyrean, Sunderer of the Zodiac, had arrived.

Blake scrambled away from the horrifying entity in a blind panic.

“N-n-no fair! I didn’t say your name!” He screamed.

The demon screwed upwardly its horned visage in something that was no doubt meant to be a bladder-seizure-inducing scowl, but looked vaguely similar a childish pout.

“NUH-UH! NO BACKSIES. IT TOTALLY COUNTS!”

February 18, 2014 at 9:16 am #644008

February 24, 2014 at iv:24 pm #644009

Comic strip based on a scene from the spider web serial Pact: Bonds 1.v:

“We tin can, we can.  Simply first, I must insist…” Patrick hopped up onto the four-inch window sill, taking a knee, somehow without falling or touching the glass.  He reached through the glass and put a hand on the back of Rose’south cervix, then drew her forward, his head passing into the window to plant the lightest of kisses on her forehead.

He hopped down, giving me a obviously view of a very startled Rose.

https://www.rpgmp3.com/ipb/gallery/prototype/353-pact-move-information technology-or-lose-information technology/

March one, 2014 at 1:xvi am #644010

Damn y'all Monkey.  I have been reading the supers story for all this week.  It has taken upwards more of my time than almost anything else recently.

March 3, 2014 at 1:01 pm #644011

Blake Thorburn gets a visit from Lardo, AKA Laird Behaim.

In case you're wondering, the greenish severed mitt belongs to Padraic, who lost it in the previous totally non-canon comic strip. Considering, you know. This blazon of scene traditionally calls for a severed hand. 😉

Large version:

http://mokkurkalfe.deviantart.com/art/Pact-Sympathy-for-the-Devil-437942721

Damn you Monkey. I accept been reading the supers story for all this week. It has taken up more of my fourth dimension than about anything else recently.

Yous've been Wildbow'ed! 😛

March 5, 2014 at 9:28 am #644012

Huzzah! Other people have started to make Pact fan drawings, also:

http://loni-jay.deviantart.com/art/Pact-Blake-and-Rose-437686425

March 6, 2014 at eight:29 am #644013

Fan comic of how the battle betwixt Blake Thorburn and Letita the Faerie Familiar Swordmistress coulda panned out, in the excellent web series Pact: http://pactwebserial.wordpress.com/category/story/arc-two-damages/ii-04/

Larger version:

http://mokkurkalfe.deviantart.com/art/Pact-You-Fight-Like-A-Cow-438563532

She drew a sword slowly, with second after second of the clean sound of the weapon leaving the scabbard.  I wasn’t sure what kind of sword information technology was.

The damned weapon was easily twelve feet long.  Her arms outstretched in front and behind her, she bent the metal until it bowed in a ‘u’.  When it came costless, it did so in a shower of sparks, the blade practically dancing every bit it recoiled, returning to its straight length.  The sound of metal singing filled the air.

She held information technology pointing straight upwardly until information technology stilled, and then lowered information technology so the point was aimed straight at my center, her position very much like a fencer’due south.  If I looked by the movement of the wind that made the length of thin metal sway, the blade didn’t milk shake or waver in the slightest.

Now, this scene is starting to sound like something straight out of an over-the-height anime*. All the same, information technology's likewise reminiscent of a scene in the graphic novel Poison Elves, where the outrageous graphic symbol known as the Purple Marauder would spring out and terrorize people with his needle-abrupt sword and simultaneously homoerotic and -phobic overtones. At ane point, some other character tries to confront the Purple Fruitcake by engaging him in conversation, even going so far as to behave out Freudian psychoanalysis of the implications of the swords they similar to poke people with.

It does not end well. 😉

PS: Of class, Letita's dress in the drawing is nowhere near as elaborate or gorgeous as information technology's described in the story. That'll have to be remedied, at some indicate; in another cartoon, perhaps.

*And no, that's not an oxymoron – at that place are, in fact, anime serial that aren't over-the-top, believe it or not. 😉

March vi, 2014 at iv:11 pm #644014

Omake for Collateral 4.ane:

Typing “Leonard-in-a-bottle” tin can be a bit annoying on mobile, so I at present dub him, the Liab

Now it makes even more sense for Blake to make the wish that Quite Perchance A True cat suggested! (Run across the comments thread.)

SCENE: Jacob’s Bell, early morning.

Laird Behaim opened his front door, and noticed something odd. Somebody had left a parcel on his door step, only hadn’t rung the door bell. His Practitioner’south survival instincts were well-honed from a lifetime of fucking other people over mercile- …err, serving his community, and he prepared his Anti-Demon Countermeasure Technique, and shook his arms and sleeves to free up his wrists*, before he picked upward the package.

At that place was a annotation.

Dear Lardo Behasshole,
Here’southward a gift for you.
XOXO
BT

Laird turned the annotation over with his gloved hand, checking for any eldritch booby traps. There weren’t any. There was, notwithstanding, an annex.

PS: A dead drunkard’due south ghost tea-bagged the present. You should totally not eat information technology.
PPS: No, seriously. You should DEFINITELY Non EAT IT. I am going to emphasize that so much, it’ll totally atone me from any Karmic debt that would otherwise be incurred if yous ate it and promptly dropped dead, that’south how much I’m warning you lot NOT TO Consume IT.

Laird sneered at the scribbled ‘warning’, expertly repressing his urge to burst into a clichéd villainous guffaw. ‘Mwa ha ha’ was such a hackneyed phrase, and the Thorburn youth’southward amateurishly blatant attempts at subterfuge were equally laughable. Did he really expect that Laird wouldn’t exist able to run into through such a flimsy ruse? These and sundry cheeky thoughts bobbed through Laird’southward big, fatty fat fat-head, while he casually tore the wrapping paper off the packet. His 2d Sight had already revealed that the package itself was harmless, and there was no way that Thorburn’s so-called ‘gift’, whatever it was, would pose whatsoever believable threat to La-

The packet was open up.

Inside it, still wafting with the faint, yet succulent scent of having been freshly baked scant few hours ago, was a unmarried doughnut.

It had sprinkles on it.

(Although some of the sprinkles looked vaguely like wrinkly old ghost pubes.)

For a long moment, Laird Behaim only stared at the lethal pastry.

“…DAAAAAAAMN YOOOOUUUUUU, BLAAAAKE THOOOORBUUUUUmmph!” he bellowed, as his trembling manus reached into the box, unbidden, and automatically scooped up the savory morsel and crammed it into his pie hole.

“Mmmph. Chmff. Gniam. MYYYYY OOONLYYYYY slurp WEAKNEEESS!” screamed the corrupt Principal of Police, and promptly dropped dead.

*Which, as anyone who’due south ever cracked open a Terry Pratchett novel knows, is the wizarding equivalent of reloading a pump-action shotgun.

“The carpenter resurrects, merely information technology takes him a calendar week,” Joseph said.

“Says ‘Joseph’?” Goosh asked.

“I’m more a handyman than a carpenter,” I said.  “And I’chiliad not middle-eastern.  But I’m damn glad to be back, whatever I am.”

OMG! Blake was compared to JC?! This fits totally with the calculations! Look! [Pulls out huge wad of crumpled paper with endless scribbled notes]

See here? If you accept Blake Thorburn’southward initials, BT, and shift each letter of the alphabet 8 places ahead in the alphabet (remembering to loop dorsum to A one time yous pass Z, and skip West, which definitely wasn’t used in Biblical times), look what you get! B become J, and T becomes C.

JC! It all fits! IT ALL FITS! ÏA! ÏA!

[Curls up in the fetal position and gibbers quietly in a corner:]

“But Blake turned, and said unto Barbatorem: Get thee behind me, Satan! Thou art going to have to push the car, for chiliad savourest non the things that be of service stations, and hath neglected to refill the gas tank. Blr blr blr…”

“Tiffany?” I asked.

She looked up at me.

“How much for 1 of your paintings?”

“Two hundred?” she asked.

I thought of the allowance the lawyers had given me.  “I’ll pay y'all five hundred for your best i, simply I need one now.”

“Y-yes,” she said.

I looked at Conquest’s messenger, “We tin can pick that up on the fashion?”

He nodded.

Tiffany at my side, oblivious to the man with the gun, we strode from the apartment.

“Hello, Mr. Toronto Lord Conquest, Sir! I’ve brought yous this present, which is a painting of, err… Well, it’s abstruse, very mod, and so, umm… It looks a bit like someone’s kidney exploded onto the canvass, which is kinda conquest-y? Right?”

[Crickets chirping]

“…Hoo-kay, and then. Moving on. It’southward a very exceptional slice, hope you’ll savour it. It was painted past a friend â€" well, friend-with-potential-benefits, really, she’southward currently having an open relationship with a girl that I’ve had a massive-nonetheless-semi-hole-and-corner crush on, ever since she saved my ass. So, y’know, it’s a peace offer, considering I just realized that holeee crap I just presented you with an particular that holds a potentially huge connection, every bit in: magical Connection, between me and a person that I care deeply almost, which means that information technology could be used as leverage in casting spells on me. I mean, this could turn out to be a major vulnerability for me, big time. Good thing it’s in your hands, eh, Lord?”

[Lardo and Duchamps leap in through the window, dressed as Team Rocket, and snatch the painting]

“Yoink! We’ll just go and, err, get the painting evaluated for you, Lord!”

[Blake goes:]

March 6, 2014 at iv:22 pm #644015

Omake for Breach 3.3:

“You know what, Rose? I tin even change size. I tin be huge! Ooh! Fill the whole house.” Blake stretched himself, swelling in size until he’d completely filled the bath.

“I can be teeny, small-scale equally a mouse.” He braced himself against the wall and compressed himself into the size and shape of a pocket-sized boy.

“Diablerie is my dish of tea. Ooh, information technology comes piece of cake to me.” Blake crooned and twirled similar a ballerina.

“Is this really a proficient time to be singing to yourself in the bath?” Rose said, glaring plaintively at the obviously insane Blake-turned-blackness-man-turned-mustache-dude-turned-small-boy in forepart of her.

“‘Cause I’k the magnificent, marvellous, mad Blake Thorburn! Marvellous, Rose! Marvellous, I’m marvellous!”

Blake turned and whispered to Rose out of the corner of his mouth.

“The Glamour is powered by belief, recall? If I’m going to be able to infiltrate the undercover part of this coming together, I demand every ounce of conviction that I can scrape together.”

Rose looked somewhat mollified by this, until Blake proceeded to plough himself into a Gamorrean guard.

*******

And so Blake foils their wicked plan past turning himself into a tiny germ, a rare disease called malagolintomontorosis, and infecting all the Behaims and Duchamps.

Lardo Behaim slammed his beer bottle into the table and half-wailed, half-burped his despair.

“Waagh! That Thorburn is a menace! He’south come into boondocks and started spreading his diabolical influence! He’southward already started seducing our innocent children, our precious trivial babies, into the Nighttime Lord’s/Lords’/Lady’south/Ladies’/Whatever’s sway!”

Cruella DuChamps, matronly dame of the clan of Enchantresses, sneered scornfully. Or maybe she was grin, information technology was difficult to tell, with her.

“Indeed! They’ve started listening to this dreadful “Roc and Troll” music, which is clearly corrupting their immature minds even further. Not to mention the ghastly satanical habiliment.”

Lardo opened a bleary middle and looked at her, swaying in his chair.

“You mean the t-shirts? Horrible! Simply horrible. Tin can you lot believe that my son â€" my son â€" said that he wanted a ‘life of his own’, and that I was ‘totally oppressing him, man’? Well, of course I’1000 a man! What kind of man wouldn’t arrange who his ain children were to marry, years in advance?”

The DuChamps matriarch swirled the blood in her long-stemmed wine glass â€" widdershins, of grade â€" and glared into the eye distance. Her jaws worked, as though she’d just eaten Blake Thorburn alive and was trying to dislodge a especially loathsome and vexing morsel of Blake-flesh from the infinite betwixt her molars and bicuspids.

“Pfah! That’s nothing. Yous should see the state of my grand-daughters. They’ve collectively started wearing…” she said, shuddering earlier uttering the next word.

“…Pants. And they’re reading books about something called the Suffragette motion.”

Lardo fell off his chair in sheer shock, leaving a pocket-sized ass-shaped dent in the linoleum flooring and knocking the wine bottle into the plate of leftover vol-au-vents.

March 6, 2014 at four:l pm #644016

Omake for Collateral iv.2:

I continued frontwards, leaving ruined walls behind me as the hallway connected, unsupported by anything below. A span of broken stone and tile, slow going when I had to pick my way effectually skeletal remains.

“Hello, lilliputian morsel,” a vocalisation murmured, just to my right. I very nearly jumped out of my skin.

She was big. Peradventure, if she’d been human-proportioned, she would have been two or three times my height, going by the size of her head and upper body. Simply her torso from the waist down was that of a great cat, the ascent and fall of the muscles beneath the curt fur very distinct. Great feathered wings were folded against her trunk, the snowfall piling on them.

“Hello,” I said, my attending now caught past this new figure. She might well accept been the biggest living thing I’d seen in person.

“Stop. Who would cross the Bridge of Death must reply me these questions three, ere the other side he meet. What… is your name?”

“Can I tell that to a sphinx without putting myself at risk?” I asked.

“You can,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, “Let me rephrase. Volition I open myself upwardly to whatsoever gamble by sharing it?”

“We only want to get to know you lot better, but we can ask more innocuous questions.” Isadora said. “Answer me this, who are yous?”

What was going on?

A question?

No.

I had to remember what I was dealing with.

A sphinx and… a riddle.

Did that even count as a riddle?

I seemed to call back that the Greek or Roman myth of the Sphinx involved the murder of those who gave the wrong answer.

Who was I?

How shut had I come up to giving a simple, casual answer? Had they collectively maneuvered me into this, or was information technology Isadora doing what her kind naturally did, timing the question so I might skid up and give the wrong respond?

Equally for answers, I deliberated for a moment.

“I’one thousand the Fool bill of fare, drawn with the right hand, the Loftier Priestess fatigued with the left,” I said.

“What… is your quest?”

“To seek redemption from my bad karma.”

“What… is the lower intestinal capacity of a goblin on an empty tum?”

“What do you mean, and African or an European goblin?”

“I don’t know that.” The sphinx was thrown over in the abyss.

“How did Maggie even know and then much well-nigh goblins?” asked Rose. “I don’t supposed she’s had the occasion to travel overseas since enkindling.”

“Well, you have to know these things when you’re a goblin queen, yous know”.

“Conquest’s Demesne!” Blake said, surreptitiously admiring the flick poster with Jenna Jameson, hanging on a wall.

“Conquest’s Demesne!” Rose said, peering excitedly out from the bike mirror effectually Blake’s neck.

“It’s only a model,” groused No-Name. The other ii gave him odd looks.

“I mean, a house. He just lives here, you know?” he said. Blake leaned in very shut, the tip of his nose almost touching No-Name’s ditto.

“Noooobody likes youuuu!” he hissed.

“First off: I don’t see this catastrophe well for Conquest. “I’ll simply add some conquest brought by demons directly into myself. G’yup. Its not like this could mayhap end poorly for me. G’yup.””

“Second: The lawyers are fucking bright. “Oh here take this piece of free super-demon power!” Then Conquest wants it. And Blake goes further down the road. Oh and more importantly Conquest gets roped direct in to demonology.”

“W-wait!” Rose cried. “Before y'all force us into servitude and brand us teach you all we know virtually diabolism, I… umm, I take a gift for you!”

“Well, don’t just dilly-dally,” Conquest grumbled. “Fork it over. Don’t have all mean solar day, y’know. Places to conquer, people to… Well, you lot become the drift.”

Rose fumbled in her pockets, eventually producing a minor, crumpled pamphlet.

“Tell me, Lord Conquest: Have yous permit Jesus into your centre?” she said, holding up the pamphlet. From where Blake was continuing, he could barely make out the letters ‘ATCHTOWER’ on the front.

Conquest narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to pull a fast one, missy?”

“N-no, not at all,” Rose said. She gulped nervously. “It’southward but that, umm… According to the Bible, God and Jesus, and the Holy Ghost-”

“Not you, Leonard,” Blake muttered, as he felt the canteen stir. Expect, how was that possible? He’d left the bottle in the flat, hadn’t he?

“-Well, they’re supposed to be stronger than Satan, aren’t they?” Rose said, unheeding of Blake’southward quandary. “Much, much stronger, in fact. So, rather than trying to add diabolism to your portfolio, I think it would exist much better to add some holy righteousness to your CV.” She stopped herself before she launched into her improvised spiel near the cost-benefit analysis involved in deciding whether or non Conquest should add Jehovah as a reference on his LinkedIn profile. Conquest’due south confront was screwed up in concentration, an even more vacant await in his eyes.

“Damn straight!” he bellowed. “Fuck those demons! I’yard gonna turn the other cheek â€" so I tin caput-butt people when their guard is downward!”

His enormous slab of a manus reached out to Rose with the grace and poise of a Roman legion trampling Europe, palm held upwardly in an imperious gesture.

“Render UNTO CONQUEST THAT WHICH IS CONQUEST’S,” he said. “THY PAMPHLET. RENDER Information technology, NOW.”

“Phew! I retrieve I managed to get us out of it,” Rose whispered to Blake, while Conquest was trying to fish his reading glasses out of a bird bath full of congealed blood.

Blake merely connected screaming and writhing on the flooring, suffering the nasty whammy of unmeant into a continuity error.

“Yesss,” Conquest hissed. “Strike me down and take my place. Give in to your conquestiness… Conquestination. Thing. Look, simply give in to… whatever it is you’re about to give in to, a’ight? Ahem.”

The Duchamps enchantresses looked at him blankly, while their dame stamped her dainty Pucci-Grada shoe on the bone-strewn floor.

“Never! We will never become like you,” she said. “Just look at yourself, all dishevelled and greasy. Completely undignified.”

“Aww, please?” Conquest said. His lower lip pouted. “It’d be so great if you merged with me, and became a part of the Southern Ontarian avatar of Conquest.” Despite the dead, seemingly-painted await of the Lord’s eyes, they of a sudden filled with a contemplative look, a hint of longing. “I’ve… ever wanted to accept proper sweater melons.”

The Duchamps all recoiled as one, revulsion every bit plain equally the Elven mage-scara on their faces, every bit Lord Conquest stared downwardly at his chest and started playing with his man-boobs.

“Jiggle, jiggle,” he said. “Look, if I squeeze them similar this, they kinda look like crushed enemies, driven earlier me, accompanied by the lamentation of their women, who’re totally jealous of my phat rack. Or possibly they look more like a pair of infant seals. What practise you think?”

Official shipping post, because information technology is never to early on to start aircraft.

I say Sphinx for familiar!

“Riddle me this. What is part adult female, function cat, role bird, and all going to kick your ass?”

"Ooh!" Rose said. "I love guessing games. Umm, is it bigger or smaller than a bread box?"

The Sphinx replied by property out a paw, and suddenly unsheathing all iv claws in a swift, smooth motility. A depression rumble emanated from her throat. Rose digged out a measuring tape and started measuring the perplexed lioness-chick'south flesh-etching appendages.

"What else have you got in your pockets?" Isadora said.

"Nuh-uh!" Rose said, wagging her index finger reprovingly. "Y'all only get to inquire i question at a fourth dimension. Otherwise, y'all've got to give me 3 guesses on the next one."

The Sphinx pondered for a moment, rubbing her chin with her other paw.

"Umm, umm… String! Or naught!" She frowned. "Expect, which one of us is doing the riddling, and which one is doing the guessing?"

"I dunno," Rose said, shrugging noncommittally. "But you're the one who'south naked in a cave, threatening to eat people if they get their answers incorrect."

The Sphinx' frown deepened.

"Gollum," she said. "I hateful, damn."

Well, at this signal Blake getting screwed is par for course. In fact I’m starting to get a bit disheartened by how impossible things are looking for poor Blake.

Truthful. You could say Wildbow is i of the finest provider of world-on-homo porn.

Stay tuned for the next heady chapter of Pact, where Blake tries to escape his enemies by driving non-stop to Cape Canaveral, Florida, sneaking aboard one of NASA'due south infinite shuttles, and hiding on the moon!

"Finally!" Blake said. "We did it, Rose! We managed to get away from Lardo, and Rob Fo- err, Conquest, and all the other people who were trying to murderize us. Ahh, gratuitous at last, free at last." He sighed, enjoying the sensation of floating in nil Chiliad, fifty-fifty if the space suit was starting to odor a flake musty.

"Umm… Blake?" Rose said. "I think you'll want to meet this."

Blake pushed against a bulk head and floated over to one of the portholes, where Rose was standing in the window, looking into space.

"What is it, Rose?" Blake said. She simply pointed. He looked, following the management of her finger.

Planet Earth was directly in front of them, like a majestic dark-green-and-blue marble tumbling through space. A verdant oasis in the desolation of the interstellar void. Deject formations spun and twirled across its surface like cotton candy spilled in a bathroom tub.

The clouds were coalescing, forming… letters? Blake tried to rub his optics, only to end upwardly lamely groping at the visor on his helmet. He looked once more.

"YOO'VE SHURE GOT A PURDY Oral fissure," the planet said. "BITE YER HELMET, AH'K GOIN' IN DRY."

March 10, 2014 at 10:49 am #644017

Maggie and Blake hanging out at the Thorburn mansion, until Blake decides to pop the big question: Why is Maggie unable to swear?

Larger version:

http://mokkurkalfe.deviantart.com/art/Pact-App-Yours-439460173

March 17, 2014 at nine:05 am #644018

Pact is up on webfictionguide, which means you now can vote for it on topwebfiction if you want.

http://topwebfiction.com/vote.php?for=pact

rhodestabled1945.blogspot.com

Source: https://rpgmp3.com/forums/topic/pact-outstanding-web-serial/

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