Tired of Death – Overlord. Excerpt:
The screams died down, and a shadowy shape stepped back, the pincers he was holding in one hand dripped with blood.
“Please, I can give you wealth, fame! Anything!” pleaded his victim.
“I already have those things,” replied the large man. “Besides, an example must be made. You were given a solemn duty to oversee this dungeon. You failed. A Dungeon Master cannot be seen to fail.” He tested the bonds that tied the former ruler down to his own table.
“Well, I’ve never heard of you,” said the blood splattered form, somewhat blurrily. “What’s your name?”
The dark figure drew himself up to his full, impressive, height and spoke in deep, rich, tones.
“I am known by many names across the land. If evil lurks, I am there. Whenever Dark acts are performed, my presence is felt. If cruel and unnecessary violence is required, I’m the one they summon. Should Deeds need to be done, sometimes dirt cheap, look no further. Commoners cower in my presence. Heroes quail before me. I am the bringer of the Dark. The harbinger of Horror! Blood, death and fear follow in my wake. I am… Veronica the Violator!”
There was a short pause.
“Veronica??” sneered the DM, spitting out a tooth. “What kind of name is that for an Anti-Paladin?” he asked. “It’s… it’s a girls’ name!”
The Violator growled. “That kind of remark is exactly why I became the evil that I am today. My school chums also made fun of me.” He crossed his arms. “They do so no more.”
“Because you killed them all horribly? Hunting them down one by one, killing each in ways too horrible to mention? Each death feeding your lust for blood and revenge until your very soul was steeped in it?” The Master would have rubbed his hands together if they weren’t tied, or in one case nailed, down.
“Oh, good one, but no. I just lost touch.” The Violator waved the pincers about casually. “You know how it goes, you move on, drift away.” He leaned forward and smiled. “But just wait until next year’s reunion.” He threw his head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls.
The Dungeon Master groaned. “Is this part of the torture?” he asked.
“Oh no, I’m just keeping in practice. You need a good evil laugh to be an anti-paladin you know.” He stepped back and looked at his reflection in a nearby full length mirror. “Do you think this cloak makes me look fat?” He swirled said garment around.
“Maybe a little,” answered the Master. “It’s a little hard to see with one of my eyes hanging out.”
“Ah, yes. Sorry, I get distracted sometimes,” said Veronica, still looking in the mirror.
“No problem at all,” replied the Master. “Torture is hard work. You should get up and stretch every twenty minutes you know. RTS* is a real problem.”
“It’s so true. Not many people appreciate the art nowadays. It’s all… break this bone here, flail the skin off there. No skill any more.”
The Master rolled his eye. “Tell me about it. You just can’t get the staff. Do you know I have to give my advanced level guardians a pension plan? I mean come on! What’s evil coming to?”
“I agree.” Veronica sighed and shook his head. “Still, enough of this banter. Where was I?”
“Working on the fingernails,” said the Master helpfully. “Good job by the way, I appreciate professionalism.” He paused a moment, then added: “Though in this case, not as much as usual.”
“Right, let’s get back to work then.” The Violator stepped forward and raised his pliers.
Screams once more echoed through the castle.
*Repetitive Torturing Syndrome
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