The Joys of New Friends

So, I was trying to get Atticus to join the dark blog, but he's being a jerk and won't. So, I had one of my little minions kidnap a decent kid who works for him and torture him until he wrote a brief biography. I'll get around to making him join eventually but this was more fun for the moment. Anyway, here's what he wrote. You know, I thought this blogging thing might be boring, but it's actually pretty fun.

So a friend of mine asked me to post on this blog...well...not really a friend...more like a crazy schizo who threatened to kill me if I didn't. He name is Finnias and I think he posts here. He knows my teacher, Carlos...he's a vampire, and now, uh, well here I am. I guess I should probably introduce myself.

Ok, so, my name is Ivan Arkanov, my grandparents were Russian...I'm not Russian, I grew up in New England, but my grandparents were Russian. My dad moved us down to Virgina when I was sixteen and I went to college at UVA, well...I started college at UVA...then I failed out and wound up at a community college. It's not that I'm not smart...more that I just didn't care. Anyway college never was gonna do me much good, I've picked a somewhat...non-traditional career path. I'm a necromancer.

Well, not really a necromancer, technically Carlos says I'm a Mors Sagire which translates to something like 'Seeker of Death' which is crap because I'm not seeking death at all, just the opposite, I want eternal life. My parents are baptists...we don't really talk anymore. Anyway, I'm a necromancer for the moment no matter what Carlos says, Carlos is a vampire who happens to know a good bit of magic, he's teaching me right now. I don't know how he knows Finnias but he does and apparently posting on this blog is part of the price for my lessons. That, some general grunt work, and regular blood donations. Don't worry, I don't let Carlos bite me, I'm not stupid, I draw the blood myself and bring it in mason jars.

Now I know what you all are thinking, why isn't this guy on the bad guy's blog, posting with all the villains and plotting to take over the world?

Well, I'm not on the bad guys blog because I'm not a bad guy, I just don't want to die. No plans for world conquest here, none whatsoever. Right now I pay for my life by hiring myself out as a necromancer, someone what's to say goodbye to poor uncle Dave, or talk to dear old daddy again and they come to me. I'll raise their spirits for a nominal fee...ok, a substantial fee, and give you time to say your whatevers. Most of my business is skeptical old ladies who want to see if I can really do what I say I can and grief stricken spouses.

Sometimes someone more interesting shoots me an email, I had this one guy who wanted me to raise his father's spirit so he could tell the guy off for being a drunk. Paid me three grand to do it...hey, don't ask me, it was good money for easy work. I had another lady who wanted to find out where her great aunt stashed her jewelry before she died. That was a pretty hilarious conversation...nothing quite like a ghost who's pretending to still be senile.

Anyway, I guess that's me in a nutshell, not-Russian Russian, grew up baptist and now firmly agnostic, college dropout, necromancer, and entrepreneur. I'm kinda-sorta dating this girl that works at Walmart, she's really cute and sweet as anything. She hired me to raise her mom so they could say goodbye and it kind of just...took off from there.

So, Patty, if you read this I mentioned you, you're great and I can't wait until we go out again.

Heh, heheh, this is Finnias again. I just read this, Carlos emailed it to me, I'm going to have to find out who this Patty is. Sounds like she could be a lot of fun.

How the Man Infuriates Me!

I am greatly displeased at present. Haden is being infuriating, and I cannot poison or otherwise dispose of the idiot king yet because he is still too useful to me. Oh, the frustration! I cannot recall ever having such trouble with a gwan. My plans are glorious, complex, and deliciously subtle, yet they are continually slowed owing to my necessary dependance on Haden for carrying out the essential formative details. I cannot use another gwan, as my need is for a Glemarian king. Haden seemed an ideal pawn for my requisite tasks at first, but now I am not so certain.

It is infuriating to have placed myself in such a ridiculous position, actually allowing such an essential part of my magnificent plan to depend upon a foolish gwan. Yet that in itself was the most ingenious part of the strategy, to let it be a gwan who ultimately enslaved their miserable race under me. I recall how I laughed aloud in delight when it occurred to me so many years ago. It took decades of skillful, cautious work to build the entire framework in which to enact my scheme, then even more time to place the necessary pawns in the proper places. So much effort, so many carefully thought out details . . . oh, how my blood boils within me when I look upon that pathetic, contemptible man's face, kiss his flaccid, clammy lips, allow his corpulent, sweating body to press against my own . . . I shudder at all that I endure for my plan, my glorious, resplendent lifelong aspiration!

The only thought that carries me through my horrid nights of Haden's vapid bedroom performances is that of his demise. How I shall torment and agonize that man when at last I require him no longer! It will not be a quick end, devoid of the satisfaction I so richly deserve. It shall be miserable, seemingly unending . . . how succulent and exquisite the very thought is to me! It is as a rich chocolate that I savor against my tongue, a dream that I clutch to my bosom. I shall enjoy Haden's death more than any other I have brought about; I know that it shall become my most cherished of memories.

My anger has abated somewhat now, as I turn over in my mind the delightful images of Haden's amply proportioned form writhing in depths of untold agony. I shall sleep well tonight.

New Friends...Sort Of

Heh, well, maybe I can't get Atticus to post but I got someone to post. He's a little &$^# named Ivan, I had to post for him actually, he's over in the other blog though. I'm not sure what Carlos sees in that kid, no backbone at all, but then Carlos is an idiot so I guess I can't expect too much more. I read the punk's post on the good guy's blog. It's not like I care what Carlos does with his time, but seriously, I can't believe he took this kid on as an apprentice. I think I need to have a talk with him about the wisdom of his decisions. This kid sounds like a little too much of a straight arrow, trying to use magic to help people. Magic isn't for helping people, it's for making them obey you. Carlos says the kids pretty good, but I'm not seeing much with any kind of value here.
Maybe there's a way to find out...

Subtlety With the Ones You Loathe

Hello all,

I was working on a new inscription design for an Automated Life Extraction Centrifuge (for convenience, you see- battlefields can be hectic, and I'd like a simple solution for my energy needs) and it occurred to me to address the nature of my realm- that of the 9 worlds of Midgard. I myself once dwelt in the land of the Aesir, the gods of these worlds. My brother, Odin (the All-Father, Wise One, etc. etc.- he likes titles) rules the place, having set up a huge hall for himself and the other gods there to drink and argue and whatnot. They all hate me by now (not that they were ever very fond of me, mind you), and that doesn't bother me much. I never really fit in with that bunch. There wasn't much for me to live for there- I can thank dear brother Odin for that I suppose, and for my current lucidity of purpose. Perhaps I should tell you what happened, exactly...

Odin had a son, hansom and powerful Balder. His mother, Frigg, procured and oath from all things (not sure how she did it, but I believe it involved conference with all of the most powerful elementals of the 9 worlds). The host of the Aesir were gathered one day, throwing anything they could find at the kid- a good time was had by all (except me), and I was sick of it. I tricked blind Hod (lovably stupid and gullible as he is) to throw a spear at Balder, which just so happened to be made of mistletoe, which apparently was his only weakness (honestly, what a stupid thing to overlook, Frigg-), which stuck him right in the gut, ending the obnoxious little dandy right before everyone's eyes. So, understandably I admit, Odin was upset. I went to far on that one- and it cost me everything... my wife, my home, and hundreds of years to pain, but I gained clarity and insight. Surely, I consider myself better off in most regards, but this is a great example of a career-defining mistake- anyone else out there have one of those?

My Humdinger of a Day

Today was such a humdinger, red-letter day! Heehee, oh the things I did! The fun I had! Haven't had a day this rackinslappy swell since back in the Great War, when I tricked that whole English town into thinking the Germans had invaded. But today, oh today was a triumph of jimjangery brilliance. I worked like gangbusters to get all my plans done, and the results were worth it.

What did I do that was so spectacular? Well sir, I used my little grey cells! I invented a wonderful new adhesive last week, and today I decided to test it a bit. I made a whole batch of it disguised as lipsticks, then just sorta magically replaced the lipsticks in all the local drugstores with my new product. Heeheehee, oh it was marvelous! You should have seen all those happy couples spooning in the park, then finding out that they couldn't come apart after a bit. One fella that I was watching had to take his girl home in that condition, glued to him (quite literally). Her old man got out his hatchet to get them apart, which gave the fella strength enough to pull free. Golly could that fella run! Made it all the way from thirty-first street into the eighties before he stopped for breath, then being the neighborhood that that area is, the fella wound up in even worse trouble.

I also used some of my new adhesive at the big secretarial school just down the street (required a bit of magic to do it, and was well worth the effort). Should have seen all those pretty young things running about with typewriters stuck to their fingers. Heavens to betsy, did they squack! Could hear the commotion clear inside Mr. Windon's office, and believe me, the old man did not appreciate the ruckus. He's a bit crankier than usual, what with his daughter disappearing and all. Had me scratching my head for hours pretending to think up ways to get her back, when the whole time I was really plotting some fun for the cleaning ladies.

Oh yes, I got the cleaning ladies, too. Added some of my adhesive to their mop water. Didn't that make a himshingle of a mess! All those old broads fighting with their mops and cursing left and right -- a sailor would've felt right at home, believe you me. And then of course, since I happened to have some extra sneezing ointment left from a bit of fun last month, I figured that that chaotic scene was the perfect place to use it. I had earlier had the presence of mind to rub a heaping helping of it onto all the broom and mop handles. Heeheehee, it was better than when I stir up pollen during allergy season. One really fat old broad sneezed so hard she burst out of her girdle with a nice loud bang.

Of course, that's not all I did today. I bewitched a couple dozen radios to lecture their owners about messy houses, played around with all of the train timetables so they were off by anywhere from three to forty minutes, and put a curse on a factory that makes children's toys so that all of their quacking toy ducks will not stop quacking once wound up. Ever.

I'll be having some sweet dreams of this day for many nights to come!

Obsession With Evil

I have noted, as I believe I have stated before, a disturbing obsession with evil, wickedness, and villainy on this blog. This ranges from the inane and sometimes unintelligible posts by this Finnias Ghall to the thought out and articulate posts of Alicia Fenn and Korluus. However, no matter whom the poster (with the single exception of the mysterious Lantern Hollow) the obsession with evil remains the same.

I am posting today in an attempt to stem this tide of salivatory excitement over such ignoble deeds. Though Korluus seems the best of you, at least his desire is perfection and he sees the legality of his means, even he seems to see himself as wicked and glory in it. This is foolishness, if a thing is evil then there is no point in pursuing it, rather make what you do into that which is good.

These are merely terms which we use to describe action after all, if something that must be done is deemed as evil then change the peoples perception of it, make it good in their eyes and good it will be. There is no need to revel in wickedness when all that we desire may be seen as a positive influence. Among the people who became my children, the Longminjong, I was once considered a wicked spirit of the mountains. An evil god who only came down from his high peaks to torment and persecute them.

This was, of course, before I took them under my wings and showed the power and gifts I could bless them with. Now my priests lead the people in worship, collecting offerings and leading rituals. They work magics which I have given them and use them to bless my people, to drive away wicked spirits, avert disasters, and encourage healthy crops, and healthy children. My people are greatly blessed because of me and they are happy to pay the taxes and offerings which I demand. Why you ask?

Because I do not laud myself with notions of evil or comfort myself with hopes of power to come. Because I bless them and guide them to a better life under my authority. Because I have given them a purpose and a peace, I have destroyed those that would threaten them and ruled them with my own harsh word. So they serve gladly.

It is my hope that I will be able to convert all of you to my understanding, that you may see the light and seek after that which is good and right, and that you may obtain the blessings of your gods.

I Admit It.... I Really Don't Understand Women

Well. The reason all of us “evil” beings are on here is to give each other advice, right? Up until this point, I haven’t really felt that I needed any. I know how to kill, how to work sorcery, and how to blow things up for the heck of it. And I’m not really interested in you manipulative, and/or delusional god types.

But now I’ve found something that I really don’t know how to do. As much as it pains me to say it. I need advice on giving a woman a gift.

Now, I just want to be clear that this is a very difficult woman we’re talking about. If she weren’t, I’d have no problem. But for some reason she isn’t interested in C-4, or custom hexes, or a demon familiar. I even offered her my best automatic grenade launcher, and she just laughed and patted me on the head! Me!

She really is a fascinating creature, with a startling and very attractive aptitude for violence, and I want to give her something that she’ll really like. But I’m kind of at a loss here.

Any suggestions?

The Pursuit of Perfection

I am Korluus, the Emerging, the Keeper of Relois.

I spoke recently of how power is useless without something to focus it upon. I have found that there is but one goal worthy of my own attention, and that is self-perfection.

I am from the greatest generation of Relois, the generation that discovered the highest truth and the ultimate end to existence—the evolution of humanity to perfection, to godhood itself. We learned of the great, progressive forces of the universe and how they drive us onward, ever onward to higher achievement.

I was foremost of that generation, because it was I who understood that if this force existed, it must mean that it was we who defined our gods—our gods did not define us. More importantly, if all of Relois could be brought to focus on the improvement of one of us, that one might in fact become deity itself. He could then raise the rest, the whole of Relois, and make of them a race of gods: creatures whose power and domination knew no bounds. More importantly, I knew that it must be myself who would bear this burden.

My fellow researchers did not understand this or see the issues with the same clarity. I tried to convince them that in the absence of an absolute moral standard, there could be no reason why we should not seize the creative power of the evolutionary process and use it to create new and better life. If there was no preset morality, then we can simply dictate our own form of virtue. If there were some sacrifices that must be made, so long as they came from the unenlightened rabble, why did it matter? What claim had they on life that we could not revoke?

My colleagues were not convinced with words. I had to resort to…other means…but they were convinced in the end.

And so my emergence began and continues. I am Korluus. I am becoming a god.

For an even more EVIL experience, download the podcast by clicking here!

My Life as the God of Chaos: A Success Story

Fellow villains and villaneses, conquerers and tyrants- how's it going?

I consider myself an expert of all things diabolical (after all, I have been at it for quite a while now), and so I'd like to take this time to offer some advice on a problem I'm sure is common to all here: meddlesome heros. Having a few good eggs here and there stirring up the pot is not always a terrible thing, of course- it can be quite fun to throw them into hopeless situations, just to see what they do- however, in my vast experience this is always a very delicate balancing act.

Be wary of the singular warrior of humble beginnings- many of the forces of good favor these, and so they may use them to orchestrate your downfall. Never underestimate your opponent, and always go for the kill. My brother's biggest mistake in his vengeance against me was allowing for the possibility that I might escape. Granted, the Norns foresaw that I would fight in the final battle, and so he could not have hoped to end me completely- but had Odin been even a little more clever about it, he might have eliminated me as a threat to his power until that fated day. This is a lesson to be learned, brothers and sisters: give not the vermin even an inkling of a chance.

Questions, comments, and snide remarks are welcome, as always. Please, let me know your process and methods, I'm sure we would all be grateful for the tips.

Pesky Piskie Fun

I may have mentioned it before, but what comes first with me is fun. Good, underhanded, dirty, rotten, sneaky fun.

You know what's really fun? Yanking the last few pages out of novels at the public library. Or sometimes, I yank a few from the beginning or middle. Hee hee, never gets old! Golly do they get angry! I remember one old man once got so peeved by the time he got to the third novel I'd "altered" a bit, he slammed the book down on a desk, broke the spine of it clean in half, then broke his own glasses in half too, for good measure. Next thing, he stormed out, looking like he'd just had the toilet shatter under him in the men's room -- oh wait, that did happen to him just before he left the library, come to think of it. That was another really good prank I thought up. Messy, but very effective.

Prohibition was loads of fun, too. Golly, I miss it. The folks would all buy from bootleggers or pour into the speakeasies, and I'd just randomly change the liqueur for my own special brews. Soap and vinegar in one bottle, fruit juice and turpentine in another, once in a while even some pickle juice mixed with rancid swamp water and grape juice. One little wave of the finger and my brews traded places with the bootleg brews. Oh, the folks got swaffled all right, but not the way they intended! Jeepers do I miss those days! Too bad ole Roosevelt had to get elected and spoil my fun.

Sometimes when I'm bored, I go to the supermarket and use my magic to change the labels on canned goods. You know, make the people think they're getting green beans, when really its sauerkraut or stewed prunes. Hee hee hee, makes me tear up from laughing just to remember the times I've seen a hefty housewife come storming back into the store, excess upper arm skin swinging away, and threaten the poor scrawny old grocer within an inch of his life . . . and all because of little ole me! Ah, that's the life!

Today I had a bit of fun at work. See, the old man's pretty little secretary, Anne Something-or-other (I'm lousy with names) has this fella she goes around with. Not nearly good enough for her, of course, but she's a working girl so she keeps her standards low. Well this fella sent her some flowers today, and it just set her off, smiling and constantly having to smell the things. It occurred to me that a bit of hay fever would liven things up, but then I got the real lightbulb. Conjured up a few bees, stuck 'em in a few of the flowers, and then made 'em a little cranky while Anne was in the powder room. Galloping gallbladders, you never saw a woman shriek the way she did when she took a few healthy sniffs and got two nostrils full of bumblebees! Turned the whole office upside down; I had to dig my thumbnails into my sides just to keep a straight face. Course the old man was put out, but I fixed him. Spiked his coffee with something a little more cheerful than milk, and pretty soon the old man was just as happy as the devil at a law school. Kept whistling as he worked; I swear I saw the old man skip on his way to the elevator at the end of the day.

Well sir, time for me to be hitting the hay. When I get too little sleep, I get sloppy. Didn't turn out too well for the dame what runs the bakery down the street. Ah well, at least the hair only grows in places where she can shave it off.

Trouble, Anyone?

Hi-ho everyone! So good to be among the darker folks. I get a mite weary with all the bowing and kowtowing and other fiddlefaddle of the day; swell to get a breath of dishonest, up-to-no-good air.

Name's Renard Breen. Haven't heard of me, eh? Well, I'm not too surprised. I don't run a country, I'm not planning to take over the world, I'm not famous for anything, and I've never actually killed anyone. Well, I almost did once, but, well, it really was the girl's fault, not mine.

You see, I work for Mr. Windon as a sort of assistant. Well, not sort of, actually, I am his assistant. His right hand man, in fact -- except that I'm not a man. I'm actually a piskie, though I've got the old man tricked into thinking I'm a brownie with some extra powers. There's a big difference, you know. Brownies, well, they're fools, really. Work, work, work for the master, and never a bit of fun for the one doing the work. Piskies, though, we look a lot like them, but we like trickery to liven up the workday a mite.

Well, getting back to the old man, Mr. Windon that is, he's got a daughter what went astray a few years back. Married a fella the old man didn't approve of -- some self-made bloke what didn't come from old money. Not a drop of blue blood in him. The old man cut her off, figuring she'd give in and leave the fella, but she married him and seemed perfectly happy to leave things as they were. The old man didn't take to that well; he tried paying off the guy several times, tried to trick him into a tight squeeze with a blonde, you get the idea. Nothing worked -- the bloke was tied tight to the girl, and liked it that way.

So one day, the old man finds out about my powers. I tell him I'm a brownie to cover things up, and not knowing a bit about faerie lore, the old man swallows it whole. Figures since I work for him already, maybe I ought to do an extra job. I pretend I can't, and finally the old man pays me a good generous sum to get the girl away from her husband. Next Mr. Windon pays off a courthouse clerk and a judge, and they forge divorce papers. Now we get to my part.

I'm supposed to wipe clean the girl's memory from the past few years, sos they can tell her she's got amnesia and then convince her she divorced her husband, and that he was a lout, and abusive, and all sorts of other malarky. Now I got paid to do the job, but I'm a piskie first and greedy second. So, I decide to do the job in my own way. I wipe her memory even more than I'm supposed to -- almost all of it, in fact! Course, I had no way of knowing she would hop into a car just before my memory charm took effect . . .

Yup, you guessed it, the girl started driving, then forgot how. Down a steep road she goes, over the side, flips into a ravine. Lucky to be alive. There's an awful lot of deer where she was driving, so they figure she must have swerved to keep from hitting one. I tell the old man I never got the chance to do the charm until she was already in the hospital, and he buys it. Thinks she really has got amnesia, on top of having her memory wiped a bit. He gets her safely tucked away in that big mansion of his, puts some nurses in charge of her, and the plan gets off to a flying start. Easy as pie, right?

Well sir, that's where things got whinnyzonked. The husband isn't keen on losing the girl and figures somethings up. He breaks in to the mansion looking for the girl, but she's convinced he's a cad and won't go with him. She gets him thrown out, but he comes back later. I happened to be there right then, doing work for the old man, and it seemed like it might be funny to let the fella take his wife -- especially since she doesn't know him from Adam. And that's the whole mess, all spelled out. The fella's got the girl stashed away, she thinks he kidnapped her, the old man is fit to be tied, and I'm having a grand old time. I love trouble; that is, other people's trouble.

Well, time to be off again. I'm going to go mess with the traffic lights for awhile -- it's one of my favorite evening sports. Toodle-oo and abyssinia!

P.S. If anyone needs a bit of trouble caused for a good low price, give me a call on the ole ameche.

Sudden Change of #%&$*@^ Plans

Well, Atticus was supposed to post today, yeah...he was #&*@^&@ supposed to the &*#@&!* rat @&!$*@^. I don't know who this Abin-Thul is but after he posted I went to talk with my $^&$#&*@ King of the Unseen World. He said, and I quote, “I read it. I don't want anything to do with you idiots.” Seriously, me, he called me an idiot. Little #^@&*#@&$!

I would have laid into him for that, but then I'd probably be dead, so I didn't.
I can't believe he just blew us off like that. We'll see what I have to say when he comes to me for help with the Council. Oh, oh, heh...
So, the High Council of the Church of Atticus, pretty much ten of the most powerful undead creatures in the world, I'm not on it, someday, they asked once about fifty years ago.
Anyway, last year the council pretty much decided they'd had enough of Atticus, he's not the easiest guy to get along with and he sets a pretty hardline on what his followers can and can't do. The council decided they'd be better off if their God weren't quite so; active.

Anyway, he'll come to me about it, he might be able to take the whole council all by his lonesome but my help will make it alot easier. He'll come and then we'll have another talk about this posting thing.

Kingdoms of Men

I am the God-King Abin-Thul. My people love me, worship me, follow me for I provide for all they need. Among the Longminjong none question the rule of Abin-Thul for I am their God. I have read those who speak here and this is what I see.
Those proud of their own wickedness
Those who bask in their own vainglory
Those who selfishly grasp at greatness, failing to understand what greatness truly is.
I see children, obsessed with their own power, their own wickedness, their own ability to manipulate those weaker than themselves.
I am disgusted.
I am not so vain as to lift up myself as an example, nor am I so foolish as to attempt to reform you. For those so lost there is no hope and so I will grieve for you.

Easily Led, Easily Controlled

Those of my race have a special word for humans. We call them "gwan," the original meaning of which was "weak". And it is particularly apt to think of them as weak, for the gwan are more easily manipulated than any other race. They thirst for power, knowledge, love, and distinction, and a minuscule taste of any of the above ignites within them a powerful craving that eventually overtakes them. This is the principal charm of gwan — they are easily enticed, easily kept, easily led. Best of all, after they have outlived their usefulness, they are even more easily disposed of and replaced.

When I was younger, perhaps twenty, I attracted numerous suiters. Obviously, such bondage as marriage was never a consideration for me. Why deliberately limit my own realms of possibility? However, the dozen or so virile, red-blooded gwan men who pursued me were an asset that should not be shaken aside carelessly (or brutally slaughtered for sport, as I am certain Finnias would advocate). I bestowed little attentions upon the suiters; a coy wink here, a girlish blush there, perhaps even a moonlit tryst where necessary. It was a delicate matter, stringing along so many men whilst keeping each unaware of the others, but I skillfully led my besotted cattle along.

After a time, my gwan suiters were completely within my power, without even the slightest drop of a love potion (I find such means lazy in general, though there is an appropriate time and place for them). It took very little cajoling on my part to inspire any sort of behavior I liked from my suiters; eventually they were my twelve dumbly driven minions. When I tired of them, it took only a few strategically employed tears to convince each of some grievous insult toward me from another, and the fools began challenging one another to duels. When only three remained, I grew bored and poisoned them.

Love and poison. The two are so inextricably intertwined amongst the feeble gwan. When they learn of one who has powers beyond their own, the total of their requests can be summarized as one of two desires: the elixir of love or the draught of poison. They either long for the consummation of their romantic longings or they seek to eliminate a rival, often a rival in love, interestingly. Through the promise of either of these potions, I have incited gwan to mindlessly perform acts which their race would deem horrific. And mind you, this is only in exchange for a promise.

In the end, the poor simpletons never realize that the potion I give them is always the latter, the drought of poison. After all, of what use are they to me after they have served their purpose?

Click Here to download the podcast version of this post.

Addiction and Power

I am Korluus, the Emerging, the Keeper of Relois

I find, upon reading some of the posts from the other contributors to this board, that many of you, except, perhaps, Alicia Fenn, misunderstand the proper application of force in order to achieve dominance. Power is only useful when it is properly wielded, in the proper proportions and at the proper times.

Fools, like my dear little Finnias, who feel themselves invincible are much less dangerous than the wise who understand their vulnerabilities. And we are all vulnerable in some form or another, either to each other or to our enemies. If I myself acquired this much power, then someone else can as well. They might even acquire more than I have, if I let them.

Therefore, you must give the people something they desire more than your own destruction, something they will pursue rather than you. You must give them an addiction, and enough hope that they will live to see that addiction fulfilled at least one more time. They will yearn, they will strive, they will kill, bleed, and die for it, and if you control what they “need”, you will in turn control them. The best puppets are the ones who never realize they are puppets at all.

There is no god but Relois.
There is no truth but Relois.
The Keeper is Relois and Relois is the Keeper.
To serve the Keeper is to serve Relois is the end of existence.
The gift of the Keeper to the Faithful will be Sufficient Moderation.
Sufficient Moderation will be achieved.

Feh! Nonsense! All of it! But with the proper application of fear and my chemical encouragement, they believe it!

Of course, there are times when “blatancy” is called for, but all too often for every one you kill, you awaken three others. Look carefully before you take such a risk. If you do not, rest assured that someone—possibly myself—will make you pay for your folly.

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A Support Group, Just for You

From reading your posts, I have become increasingly concerned.  There is obvious, deep need within each of you.  Some part of your soul is being suppressed, or is not being fed.  Alicia, I see in you a tender young girl, crying out to be loved.  Haden, Finnias, the deep regret and ceaseless pain of lost sons is burdening you, making you react in hostility, when really, all you want is to embrace your sons and tell them how much they mean to you.  Korluus, clearly you have unresolved issues with your father.  Loki, you think that you want to cause chaos, but it is only a reaction against your secret longing for order and a place to belong.  Isaac, I see through your bravado, which masks the sweet soul of a little boy who never received enough attention.  I look at all of you and see, not evil societal outcasts, but deeply hurting individuals, speaking out of hurt, loss, and suppression.  You have needs that have for too long been ignored, but this shall no longer be the case.

Because I care so much about each of you, I am starting a support group for you.  Tell me your troubles, tell me of your emotional wounds that you have courageously suppressed for so long, and I will help you.  I will counsel you.  I will help you reintegrate into society.  Please trust me.  Please speak to me.  I want only to help you.

And so the story of time soon ends with the fires of rebirth, and glorious chaos burns away the world

Hello... you people. I am Loki, god of chaos and darkness, brother of Odin the All-Father, and general celestial misanthrope. I suppose I should expound on that, although I wouldn't doubt my reputation precedes me, if not by many names. I have single-handedly conquered nations and then vanished, leaving only death and fire, and the confusion and mystery of a culture exterminated without cause- I have slain the very beloved son of Lord Odin (mostly because the little bugger got on my nerves) and now wander the lands of men until Ragnarok comes and I finally meet my sweet fate, and my Lord the Burner from the South, great Surt finally comes to end the world of the gods. But until then, I'm not against having some fun here and there. I get the feeling I am in good company in that regard.

The host of gods didn't take it well after I knocked off the All-Boring’s pretty-boy son. I managed an escape, but they eventually tracked me down. I spent a thousand years, bound by the magicked entrails of my own son, watching my beloved Sygn wither away as she endeavored to spare me the venom of the wrathful serpent, and when she was gone, deprived of her light, I found new strength in the chaos of pain that struck me in the darkness, showing me the light of Surt, and giving me a hunger for the end. As the decades passed, the power of the gaes waned, and I managed to sever the bonds that held me in that deep place, and came forth out of the ground into the light as if for the first time. The power still clings, however, drowning the power that is my birthright, and so I walk and scheme and build, learning the mortal magics and sciences. I wield them as my own, as none has ever before me, and construct great armies to kick the living Hel out of my brother's best efforts to maintain peace in the World of Men until the end.

That all seems rather dark and brooding, reading back on it, but that's not really me. I live for this pain now, this lust for knowledge and power, this great hunger for the end- for great Surt, who spoke to me through his Burners from the south, in the darkness where I lay in ruins next to the dust of my Sygn, to bring about what the Norns foretold, the Great War of gods and men, and the final sweet rest of oblivion.

I meet you, Heimdall, that we may slay one another- I meet you, Brother Odin, that my sons and daughters may devour the heavens and slay your kin. I meet you, death, with all the love of my broken soul. Come, Surt, I wait for you.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with some fun along the way- keep’s a god sane, you know.

Subtlety Is Far More Artful than Blatancy

I am pleased to accept the formal invitation to join this community of higher-minded individuals. I am, for those unfortunate beings who have yet to make my acquaintance, currently known by the name Alicia Fenn. For the time being, that name shall continue to do nicely. I had originally intended to follow the example set by other colleagues and offer an abbreviated autobiography here, but I have since changed my mind. I would rather use this forum to voice a particular concern that has been troubling my mind.

I have noticed a most distressing trend in recent years. Apparently, those enlightened individuals who seek after evil have now completely lost the fine art of subtlety. It is really quite deplorable to see how clumsy individuals have gotten in this present age. Consider Haden, for instance. Over and again I have striven to hold that man's baser instincts in check, and yet still he persists in blatant mass executions and other such tomfoolery. I cannot count the times I have reminded him of the important, simple lesson, "One can accomplish far more with a single well-placed poisoning than one can by massacring an entire city." And yet, still my lessons have had little impact on him.

Allow me to illustrate my point:

When I was a small child, perhaps three or four years of age, I very much desired a unicorn for my birthday. When the day came, however, my parents gave me a kitten instead. She was a fluffy yellow creature, selflessly devoted to me from the very beginning. Now, I did indeed cherish this creature, as any child might. Nevertheless, it was not a kitten that I had specifically asked for. Now, I might have followed the example of other artless children and wept and wailed in the hope of securing the desired present. I was not like those other children, though. I was not foolish, weak, and unmethodical. I was above such things, even at that tender age.

I named the kitten Muffin and took her with me everywhere, demonstrating a most emphatic fondness for the little creature. My parents actually grew to believe that they had skillfully deceived me into accepting an inferior gift. After two weeks of constant, tender affection bestowed upon the kitten, I took her outside one night and strangled her. I left the body on our front steps. The next morning, I "discovered" the body and was inconsolable until the loss was made up for with the long-desired unicorn. Later, when I had grown into an academically-minded adolescent, I used the blood and organs from the unicorn in some of my first experimental potions. Ah, yes, I really was an endearingly practical child.

From that simple and charming childhood lesson, I learned significant truths about life and the pursuit of one's desires. These lessons, as one might surmise, have served me immensely well. And so, in this forum, I take it upon myself today to remind all others who have chosen to forsake "good" and other such nonsense of this most essential truth: Subtlety, always subtlety.

Wanted: One Illegitimate Son To Mock As He Burns In Hell For Eternity

So, we're supposed to be introducing ourselves here, I had a few choice words about that but Atticus told me I have to. He'll be here soon enough so I'll let him introduce himself. I'm currently living near Amherst, Va, up in the mountains and I'm looking for two things.

Number One is my traitorous, hell-bound, little, mongrel, wretch of a son Ithiel, may eternal pain fill his days and untold horrors haunt his nights until I kill him after which he can burn in the fires of hell for eternity while I laugh. His name is Ithiel Ghall, mine is Finnias by the way, and if you know anything about him then post a comment, I'll come take him off your hands faster than you can blink.

Number Two is a little amulet, it's old, shaped like the head of the Egyptian god Set, and has an inscription written in hieroglyphics. I've been able to track it to somewhere in Southwestern Virginia or Northern North Carolina in about 1710, after that I'm not sure where it went. It might still be here, it's called, surprisingly enough, The Ankh of Set. Although it's not actually an Ankh so, I'm not sure why.

That being said, if any of you can give me information about either of these there will be a reward, I promise, it will be amazing.

...

...

Ok, I lied about that. I'm just not gonna kill you, which really should be a reward in and of itself, I mean, you get to live.

So, a little bit about me, I like power and I kill people that get in my way, I died a really long time ago and a year later wiped the floor with most of Spain. I don't sound like a man out of my time even though I am, why? Because I love change, I live for change, hell I've got an I-Touch. I do my best to keep up with the times, though I do like to hold on to some older words, like wicked, wicked was an awesome expletive. I don't know why it disappeared, especially since you people replaced it with phat. Someone please explain to me how phat is better than wicked in any conceivable way.

No, scratch that, I don't fell like wading through a thousand emails filled with horse crap. Don't try to explain it to me, it is inexplicable.

Now most people will tell you that evil people always see themselves as being 'good' or 'doing what's necessary' but that's a load of bull. I'm evil and I know it, I love being evil, by Wodan's blackened bier of skulls I'll give the devil himself a run for his money. You see, being evil is just more fun, and I love fun. Power is fun, killing is fun, doing whatever I want, whenever I want is fun. So yeah, you can call me childish if you want, but I get to enjoy to rest of eternity doing what I love to do and you, you get to die, alone, in a nursing home because none of your children love you.
Which of us do you think is better off?

Is that enough or do you want to know more?

Seriously, frikkin people always wasting my time, I have better things to do.

If I Said I Was Pleased To Meet You, I'd Be Lying

I don't think I've ever bothered to introduce myself to anyone before. I mean, introductions aren't usually necessary before sacrificing someone to a pit demon, or planting a car bomb under their vehicle. But I suppose there's a first time for everything. So.

I'm Isaac. Isaac Angel Grays. I used to hate my name, but now I find that most people are caught off guard by someone named "angel grace." This is frequently useful. I spend most of my time acting as a human representative to the Unseelie court of the faeries. They don't like the modern world much- too much iron, pollution, and stupid reality television. So I act in their stead, when I'm not doing freelance magical work of my own. I'm a sorcerer. Not the best sorcerer in the world, but I'm working on it. I even have my own familiar, a dopey and nearly useless vampire named Mort. I say "nearly" because I have on occasion used him as a door stop or a coat rack, and out of fairness I feel I should acknowledge that.

My purpose in life is simple. Other than becoming the most powerful sorcerer in the world, I am here mostly to cause chaos, panic, and random violence. I don't usually have much trouble with this, but recently I've been plagued with a powerful shapeshifter- who also happens to be the leader of a bizarre cult and wants to skin me. My normal conflict resolution methods (frag grenades and high-caliber bullets) have been ineffective, but I'm sure I'll come up with something. I enjoy a challenge every once in a while.