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February 11 - February 13, 2025
There’s double cross number four. And I didn’t even have to stab anybody to do it.
We’re not just a band anymore, we’re a small army, and that means actually keeping track of shit.
“This is going to be different too. It’s not a band, it’s a Dark Lord’s evil horde.” “I’m not sure what that means.” “Neither is anybody else, so I get to make things up as I go along.”
Fuck it, nobody here gets the joke anyway.
I also do not get the joke so at least I am not alone in that
“Droff does not fully understand, but Droff will comply.”
Me doing anything new
No hard feelings.” “Feelings cannot be said to have hardness,”
Yes, I do love these rock people and thier bluntness
“Because Droff has no knapsack.” “Because you don’t lie.”
I need a book of just Droff please and thank you
“We’re not doing ‘hail.’ Who is still trying to make ‘hail’ a thing?”
“Horde,” I interrupt. “We’re a horde now.”
Duh
This will be me to my students once I am fully teaching these holoigans
I am the Dark Lord, not Lord of the fucking Boy Scouts.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you can be intensely annoying?” “Absolutely. I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Iconic
“Doing the impossible is a Dark Lord’s stock-in-trade.
“You’re more than half-mad, you know.”
Sexy bald orc lady is adorable when she’s being a prude.
My mighty horde is drawn up in ranks and standing at attention. Kind of. Attention implies a degree of formal discipline that, frankly, is pretty foreign to orcs. And ranks implies a formation other than “mob.” But they’re there, and there’s a lot of them, and they’re all more or less quiet and waiting for me.
Ahhhh. This is more like it. Three or four dozen fox-wilders in white robes, all of them on one knee with their heads bowed.
When a large group of people attempts to move in a given direction, things will inevitably become fucked up, and unfucking them requires a willingness to scream and wave your arms and possibly prod some recalcitrant bugger in the buttock region.
I’ve grown so used to having my incoherent outbursts politely ignored that this unsettles me.
“His end should be extra swift.”
We love a good "They need thier ass kicked"
Looking more horde-like all the time!
Anyway, long story short, it’s time for another training montage. This time I’m ditching Survivor and going straight to Kenny motherfucking Loggins, because that’s how you get shit done. Welcome to the Area of Intermediate Peril, baby.
They’re even less happy when I tell them what I want them to do: learn to march side by side without running into one another, to keep formation while fighting, even—gasp—to listen to orders.
I am like 89% sure that the orcs are actually 10th graders asked to do any task of an educational standing
This may be a longer montage than I thought.
Next morning, ass-crack early, I head outside with my game face on.
Me going anywhere where I have to be social
Enough impressions. Time for drill.
It’s like I always tell people: Kenny Loggins will never lead you astray.
The man does make a good montage song
And, of course, the Booze Fairy has paid us another visit,
The best fairy
You read about the size of armies and think, oh, this one’s still pretty small, but having hundreds of people stare back at you is always unsettling. Especially when some of them are rock-monsters and some have antlers and one is a lizard who can’t get both his eyes pointing in the same direction.
The bottles are going round, too, of course, and as Dark Lord, I have to demonstrate I can throw back with the best of them. It’s a matter of honor!
Obviously
If the Dark Lord thing doesn’t work out, I could market you guys as fitness watches.”
See, some people can take hints.
This is the best part of being Dark Lord—taking credit for other people’s work.
I’m not supposed to be a human, not here. But needs must when the devil drives his Lambo right at you. And it’s time to move, because ugly has gotten tired of yelling and is leaning in to bite my head off.
Tserigern, may he rest in pieces, would criticize my technique. But sometimes brute force is what you need.
“Who dares intrude into the unending torment that is my life?”
I silently resolve to get some proper doctors at the first opportunity. My minions deserve the best, damn it.
This trip through the Firelands is getting too exciting, and it technically hasn’t even started yet.
“No offense taken. I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m winging it here.”
Can’t a Dark Lord get a night of fornication with a minion without him getting all clingy?
And not only am I here, but I’m here with a small but scrappy horde of minions! Davi: 1. Doubtful Readers: 0.
When you poke the lava with a stick, I’m happy to report, it makes a noise like gloop. Also your stick catches fire.
It’s a lot less fun to play General Patton when you don’t know what’s going to happen in advance.
“Droff thinks the horde is under attack,” he says. “Davi is inclined to agree,” I mutter.
We’re under attack by yetis and dwarves with shark teeth. Wonderful.
kind of an epic shot, honestly, pity no one is watching. They’re all kind of busy.
There’s a surprising amount to do in the immediate aftermath of a battle.
Having these bastards sneak up and slit our throats in the night for revenge would be a really shitty way to end my Dark Lord career,
I agree with this statement
I want to ask how exactly but it seems rude. Hey, man, sorry your friend was stabbed, but can you clarify if it was in the heart or the guts or what?
It may be my imagination, but her narrow-eyed glare is more acknowledgment than outright challenge now. Maybe we’re bonding!
It’s deadpan, but I think that’s sarcasm.
