Timeline X: War of the Edge Throne [Closed - Attn: Gholgoth]

[Automagfreek]

OOC: Content warning.
_______________________________

Entry #862

"This will be my final journal entry. I'm not sure if I can even finish this.

My experiments into miniature black hole simulation have been successful, much to my dismay. The equation revisions from entry #853 have proven to be effective, and a successful MBH was generated at 6:57 pm two days from now. Yes, two days from now. During the experiment, there was an unexpected energy surge that consumed the test chamber (and myself included), and I was transported to what I can only describe as a parallel universe in the future. It was much the same as the world we know, yet it was strange and many things seemed to defy all logic and physical laws we know of.

The following file contains audio transcripts of everything I witnessed during that time, as well as visual documentation I was able to bring back with me after the test chamber was repaired. I am still in a state of shock from this ordeal, and I will be abandoning this project indefinitely.

Recordings.rar

Dr. Nicholas Shaw

______________________________________________

In an alternate universe...

"More mead!" Lothar Bloodvomit belched as he threw an empty flagon clear across the room. It landed with a clang near the large pit fire that burned in the center of the dining room, which had begun to fill the entirety of the Great Hall with a fog of acrid smoke due to lack of proper ventilation. The walls were lined with chains, torture devices, and the skins of slain enemies. The dining hall thundered with the sounds of the latest Infant Annihilator album.

Two lowly servants briskly arrived and placed a fresh flagon and some bread on the table while the Warlord continued to feast on a meal of potatoes and raw chicken, which he ate out of a bowl made from a human skull. A grizzly bear sat chained to the floor next to the over seven-foot-tall Warlord, hungrily awaiting whatever table scraps it could get. The servants stood by nervously while Bloodvomit devoured his food with his bare hands, but the uncomfortable silence was broken as Ivar Firescourge Brainspatter intruded into the room.

"My Lord, a thousand apologies. I have urgent news for your consideration." Ivar said as he approached the table.

"Not until I have finished my meal!" Lothar snarled. "And I feel a draft coming on. Another log for the fire!"

One of the servants standing next to Lothar bowed respectfully and strode over to the pit fire, then flung himself into the flames. The screams were a symphony to Bloodvomit's ears, and he smiled as the fire roared into an inferno. The light danced brightly off of his freshly polished leather boots and glistened against his hairless and oiled chest as he sat on a throne made of baby skulls.

"Ah, much better. Now, what is this matter you speak of?" The Warlord said as he hamfistedly grabbed the last of his chicken and wolfed it down like a wild animal.

"We have word from the other Lords, my Lord." Ivar paused for a second to make sure he said that correctly. "In summation, they have announced that they have established a new regional capital on Edgeland, called Edge City. They have decreed that from this day forward, all regional affairs must take place there and under equal terms."

"WHAT?!?" Lothar Bloodvomit screamed loudly. His fists pounded the table until it splintered, then he picked up a nearby battle axe and cleaved the other servant's head in half. He continued chopping the body as if he were splitting wood, blood and bile flying everywhere.

"I'm afraid so, my Lord. They say that they are... hmm..... mmmmm....." Ivar squinted and peered closely at the communique. "They say they are, ahem... sick of your shit."

Lothar roared like an enraged beast, then drew a forty-five caliber pistol and emptied the magazine into the corpse of the mangled servant. Once it was empty, he threw the weapon across the room, balled his hands tightly into fists, and raised them towards the sky and screamed. Each scream was louder than the last, and this seemed to go on for minutes until Lothar felt his vocal cords rip and tear. He coughed and choked on fresh blood as his voice shredded, and with a scratchy whisper he called out for another servant.

"more.... mead..." He said as another nervous peasant arrived with yet another flagon of drink.

Lothar guzzled it down so quickly that he felt his stomach immediately turn. Perhaps in hindsight, it wasn't such a good idea to eat a raw chicken in its entirety. His cheeks ballooned out as he fought back to urge to retch, but it was to no avail. Bloodvomit hawked and choked as he vomited out blood and... vomit. The acidic spray doused the servant, and immediately reduced him to a quivering mass of goop.

Ivar swallowed hard and grew unsteady. "What shall I tell the Lords, my Lord?"

"tell them... I demand an audience... Lothar whispered while clawing at his burning throat.

"I'm sorry my Lord, but I didn't catch that..."

The words set Bloodvomit to rage once again, and he balled his fists once more and screamed, but nothing aside from a raspy squeak left him. He tore at his long hair and pulled handfuls of it free from his now bleeding scalp. Angrily Lothar punched his pet bear in the head, then choke slammed it through the table. As the beast snarled and thrashed about, the Warlord shoveled it up off the floor and launched it across the room and into the pit fire, snapping the chain with little resistance. The scent of burning animal hair added to the ever-expanding cloud of noxious smoke which was beginning to burn Ivar's eyes.

"tell them... I demand an AUDIENCE... Lothar Bloodvomit spat out.

"Oh yes, my apologies my Lord. I'll tell them you demand an ambulance right away." Ivar Firescourge Brainspatter bowed and took his leave.

Pissed off, Lothar Bloodvomit retired to his chambers as the dining hall became insufferable with smoke. Casually he beheaded the first man who impeded his path, then used his head to bludgeon yet another to death. Lothar's boots had become slick with blood, and he slipped and slid down the blackened stone corridor until he arrived at his quarters. When Lothar entered he noticed that his Warchiefs were there waiting, along with two more servants who quivered unsteadily.

First was Uther Hellfirespawn the Grim, a large and burly man who wore a fresh deer's head as a hat, so fresh that blood seeped down from his shoulders and onto the floor. The second was Bjorn the Decapitator, clad in antique plate armor from head to toe. Nobody actually knew what he looked like underneath it. And finally, there was Sven Gyllenstierna the Merciless, known more commonly as Plank. Plank had grown simple from repeated blows to the head in combat and was now reduced to little more than a fool. He wore a half-helm on his head for no apparent reason and stared vacuously into space.

"what are you doing here?" Lothar said in a raspy whisper.

"MY LORD!" Uther Hellfirespawn the Grim shouted and drew a two-handed claymore and dropped to one knee in a salute. "We heard the news, and we await your orders."

"did everyone know before me?!?" Bloodvomit shouted again, but his sour stomach betrayed him. He evacuated its bloody contents once more, and immediately it began to eat a hole into the stone floor. Angrily he grabbed a large two-handed maul near the door and hammered one of the servants until he was putty. The other peasant hurriedly began to scrub the filth off of Lothar's boots, for fear of his life.

Plank looked on blankly. Bjorn the Decapitator began to speak, but the plate helm muffled his words to the point where they were indistinguishable.

"No my Lord, I mean, yes my Lord. Maybe, my Lord." Hellfirespawn uttered as he flicked a piece of deer carcass off of his eyelid. Perhaps it would have been better to have a taxidermist handle the animal head first before wearing it, he thought.

"nevermind then. summon the rest of the war council." Bloodvomit struggled to say.

Plank disappeared from the room for several minutes while the others set to smashing the last servant with clubs and hammers until he expired. When Plank returned, he was accompanied by a troupe of scantily clad women. Lothar grew enraged once again.

"dammit, I said the war council... not the whore council!"

Plank looked on blankly, then disappeared once more but returned empty-handed. Lothar threw the corpse of the dead servant out of the window, and it splattered onto the courtyard and showered everyone nearby with blood. A spontaneous mosh pit broke out to the tunes of Circle of Dead Children. Ivar Firescourge Brainspatter suddenly appeared out of thin air, though nobody was surprised.

"My Lord, how should we respond to the other Lords... my... Lord?" He furrowed his brow in confusion. Clearly, he was saying Lord way too often.

"let me brood on the matter first...

Lothar Bloodvomit then wrapped a noose around his neck and jumped from the window. When the rope snapped tautly, other Warchiefs cheered and screamed savagely in approval, then drew weapons and began to murder as many peasants as they could find throughout the Great Hall. Plank looked on blankly.

"Well, I suppose he'll be needing that ambulance now. I might as well tell the other Lords that we demand an audience." Something clicked inside Ivar's head. "Ohhh... THAT'S what he said!"

[Lamehk]

Castle Grimdark,
Lamehk

Vlad ‘The Flayer’ Goredrinker was exhausted by the time he reached his masters chambers. On his first attempt, he passed by the guardhouse and some of the off-duty men invited him to play poker with them, and what poor excuse for a noble would pass up the opportunity to filch more gold from some peasants. On the second, going via the gallery, he found himself distracted by the art collection, stopping at his favourite piece, a masterful depiction painted in virgin blood of the eviscerating of three naked, lamenting witches, to just glory in its perfection for over an hour until he forgot his actual business and broke for lunch. During the third attempt, one of the slaves had looked at him ‘funny’ and he had been forced to personally punish them with a perfunctory beating, and then for injuring his hand during the beating, a flaying. Finally, some five hours later, he had arrived at his master’s door.

‘Master,’ called out Vlad, knocking on the timber frame, ‘Urgent message for you, sire.’

The response was swift and irritated, as always. ‘Stop knocking and enter damn you.’

Vlad opened the door and entered. The room stank of coppery blood and stagnation, but then so did the whole castle due to a complete lack of windows and the fact the inside had never seen a single ray of sunshine in its life. He looked around but could not see his master. ‘Sire?’

‘What message?’ demanded the voice, which seemingly came from above. Vlad looked up and started in surprise. Archon Drac Fangblood hung upside down from the ceiling, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed.

‘Whatever are you doing, sire?’ queried Vlad confusedly. From where he stood, he couldn’t see any means through which Fangblood could stay secured to the roof, and yet there he was, as if simply standing upon the ceiling.

‘Resting, fool, or at least trying before you started bashing on the door,’ said Fangblood harshly, finally opening his eyes to reveal his predatory, bright, ice blue eyes. Vlad did not meet their gaze, to look into those eyes too long risked a bout of uncontrollable self-flagellation.

‘Is that a comfortable position, sire?’

Fangblood growled faintly. ‘Now that you ask, not really actually. It’s been terrible for my back and my head started throbbing, even before you came baffooning in here.’ And then sighed. 'Alright, I'm coming down.'

A moment later Archon Fangblood ungracefully plummeted to the ground in a sprawl of arms and legs.

'Whenever you are ready, sire, of course,' offered Vlad considerately as he waited for Drac to pull himself up from the ground.

'Best keep that to yourself, eh, Vlad,' said Fangblood by way of a thinly veiled threat, as he dusted his knees off and then spotting a rat kicked it, for effect, clear across the room. The little rodent flew past Vlad's head, its tiny, terrified screech fading away until it abruptly stopped in a splattered burst of blood and gizzards on the far wall. 'Now, what's for breakfast?'

The pair traverse the castle until they reached the great hall. Fangblood's noble lackeys were, as ever, in a perpetual feast. They lazed around the hall in decadence, wearing the finest outfits, mostly in black of course and reclining on various lounges and cushioned chairs. Blood flowed freely into chalices, splashing out of the cups onto hands and the floor or dripping down chins as they were chugged down. Slaves in various states of undress tended the nobles or suffered under their cruel and petty whims, being lashed or forced into sexual service.

Vlad and Drac sat down at the great table that dominated the centre of the room after Vlad scattered the other nobles who had occupied it, physically throwing the nearest one out of his chair and into several of the others had been a very clear message to move on. A slave immediately presented herself across the table before Fangblood.

'Thrall again, Vlad? Thrall, thrall, thrall, it's always thrall. Can't you source some decent food for once?'

Vlad sighed inwardly. 'We've discussed this before, sire. Unless you plan to step out into the sunlight for once in your life, you need the vitamin D. Drink up.'

'Don't tell me what to do!' snarled Drac, glowering, but then after for a minute he bit down and began to feed.

'This one's a bit nutty,' he declared, pushing the quivering thrall off the table where it twitched and spasmed around on the ground, blood pooling around it at Drac's feet. Picking up a napkin, the Archon dabbed at the corners of his mouth to clean the blood, seemingly oblivious to the pint of it that had oozed down his chin and over his chest and arms.

Vlad, the ever faithful and patience servant, immediately present his lord a solution, despite having down so numerous time before. 'Perhaps, sire, I may suggest again that you don't simply bite down on whichever part of anatomy happens to be directly before you. You might try a little higher up next time, quite a lot maybe. I hear the neck is an ideal location, rather than...well...'. Vlad let the setence trail off but motioned the bleeding ass of the dying thrall.

'I thought I told you not to tell me what to do?' Fangblood tossed the ruined napkin over the thralls twitching form.

'Of course, sire, many apologies.'

'Now what's this about a message. Urgent was it?'

'Indeed. Very, sire.' Vlad removed the message from his tunic and check the contents again. 'It seems Lothar Bloodvomit has demanded an immediate audience, sire.'

Drac did not look please, immediately summoning a slave over. When the slave presented itself before him, he swiftly shoved his hand into the slaves surprised mouth and then ripped its spine back out through the opening, before throwing that away in disgust. 'You tell that over-ripe, heavy metal loving, baby-eater that I won't be summoned like a cheap whore.'

'Of course, sire, I expected as much.'

Vlad made to stand but was immediately interrupted.

'No wait, let me think.' The Archon suddenly looked deep in though.

Vlad waited patiently. 'Sire?'

'Shush,' demanded Drac. 'It's ok for you, you just have to do what I tell you. I'm a great lord, I have to plan things, many things. My secret plans have secret plans, it's a lot to think about.'

'Of course, sire. I...'

'Shush.' Fangblood waved a hand dismissively. 'Bugger it all, I'll tell him myself. Lets go. Oh, but bring a sample of my new wine label Vlad, the Pinot Sanguinis, I've been dying to get a fellow connoisseur opinion on it.'

[The Peninsular]

Somewhere

EESF Lieutenant Spargel regained his vision after a few seconds of laying on his back. Around him, he already heard the groaning of the other members of his squad. The place they had landed in was dark, and according to his sensors, very very humid. He patted the ground he was laying on and found it to be strangely soft. Everything was in pitch darkness, and he activated his night vision.

Only to be almost blinded by a flash of yellow energy. "Ah! Stop that, Sergeant!", he yelled at Sergeant Rogen, who had channeled a small amount of S-energy into his hand, using it as a very bright torch. Rogen and another one of his group, Agent Kadelle, were S.E.N.F. users. The technique had been copied by the EESF from other organizations, as it was useful and at the same time one of the very few psionic abilities a Peninsularian was ever able to learn. Others referred to it as Ripple, or sometimes Hamon, but the Unit had gone about their usual business of renaming it into an - according to foreign agents - overly complex word: Stellarenergienahfokussieung. Spargel and most other agents cared little for the language habits of other organizations, and they liked the word as it expressed the exact nature of the ability; the focusing of stellar-like energy by the user through concentration and a number of mental exercises. Nonetheless, Peninsularian S.E.N.F. users on their own were only able to achieve below-average results even in their prime, so Rogen, Kadelle and others were equipped with amplification gloves, among other things.

The energy around Rogen's hand immediately dissipated and Spargel's vision returned to normal. By this point, the other members of the group had also propped themselves up. All of them wore APUGSA armor suits, power armor that was essentially an ASEP suit made for anomaly-hunting. Runes were printed all over the armor plates and onto the undersuit, and the suits carried an improved energy reactor and better servo assists. Their armament was quite different from that of normal Peninsularian soldiers. All of them carried primarily energy weapons - both high-energy 'HEL' rifles for combat and special laser pistols for personal defense. Only Rogen and Kadelle carried two normal pistols as backup, as they were able to charge the projectiles with S-energy. At the side of each agent, there were their melee weapons. The choice mostly came down to personal preference, but Spargel and most others carried power chainswords, a weapon powerful enough to brute force through most things an anomaly could throw at them, or alternatively an enemy melee weapon. Agents Öner, Emlich and Rach were armed with the more speed-focused powersword.

"Where by the night sky are we?", Rogen asked as they began to inspect their surroundings. The location they occupied seemed to be a large cavern... until Spargel looked down on where he stood. "Oh you've gotta be kidding me.", he said as he stepped down from the massive tongue. There was a rumbling coming from the back of the massive mouth. Spargel spotted the throat's opening. He thought for a moment. Emlich took a fusion charge from his belt pocket. "I say we blow our way out of this thing. Even an animal of this size will get blown clean in half." Spargel looked around, to the back of the throat, then at Emlich again. "No, we're not. We should try to see where that artifact-" He didn't finish the sentence.

The mouth of the thing opened and the group saw themselves facing a massive swarm of sealife. That, and all the water that said sealife resided in. The men jumped to find somewhere to hold on as the water came over them, along with an entire swarm's worth of fish and shrimp. Spargel attempted to get to the side of the mouth, but was buried under a metric ton of the little ocean dwellers. A large tuna, which had somehow found its way into the mess, slapped against Emlich, who dropped the charge he had been holding. After a few seconds, the stream of water stopped, and most of it was pumped out of the large animal's mouth. Another few seconds later, Spargel burst through the top of the massive heap of whale food, bloodied up from cutting his way out of it with his chainsword. A few seconds of silence followed.

A loud rumbling sound redirected their attention to the throat. Spargel removed the last pieces of salmon from his helmet. Suddenly, he spotted the small cylindrical fusion bomb. Before he could do anything, though, the back end of the throat began to rumble again - and the charge rolled over the edge. He looked at the throat, then at Emlich. “Tell me that wasn't armed.“

The explosion came before Emlich could answer.