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It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was always dark, and tumultuous, and nighttime, here. Here, the void, that existed before anything, and which continued to exist, around and through everything that came after it. The void from which each creator god had drawn forth their reality. The void into which each punitive god had banished their most hated opponents. The void, which spawned strange nightmares and illusions as naturally as breathing, threatening the Inner Realms. The void, which drives lesser minds mad and offers greater minds the privilege of infinite self reflection.
Stoned evilish god lands in a mortal body in Harry Dresden’s Chicago
yooooooooooo
“I’m gonna level with you Michael. I don’t have to play this straight you know. I could lie through my teeth and still sleep like a baby. Even though babies don’t have teeth. But I’m gonna tell you the truth. And here it comes:”
Melkor tries to lean forward to match Michael’s intensity but this enormous gray cat has his legs stuck and all feeling full of pins and needles. So he lays back down, but in a solemn fashion.
”Aliens. Aliens in themed costumes with dimension-traveling technology and a morally absolutist thirst for extrajudicial rendition.”
stars-and-stones
“What… kind of aliens? We talking little green men? Echolocating dog packs? Lovably tenacious pygmy bears? Is an egg gonna hatch out of your stomach?”
yooooooooooo
He does ye olde artful shrug. “Eh, a face on a brain case, two arms, two legs, some genitals between ‘em, standard sylvanoid body plan. More magic than the local yokels around here, but not as flashy as your friendly neighborhood wizard.”
He essays a stroke on Señor Gray Cat.
”Geopolitically speaking, there’s this one elite faction of oligarchs who’ve got it in their heads that they’re the ones who should be calling the shots. And what do you know, their most outspoken opponent ends up on the top secret kill list.”
stars-and-stones
“There are aliens with magic?” Harry asks incredulously. He sits back down in his chair heavily (Meciel dodges him and relocates to the arm of Melkor’s couch). “And they’re assholes. That just figures.”
yooooooooooo
Melkor nods grimly. “The number of tropes they have at their disposal is practically immeasurable.”
he-is-mighty
Michael leans in seriously. “Melkor,” he asks, “are you bullshitting us right now? Because oligarchic sylvanoid aliens with magic is a lot.”
yooooooooooo
Melkor steeples his fingers, but before he can utter some truly droll philosophizing about the nature of bullshit, he’s interrupted by dry heaving. For like, easily 15 seconds. Once he recovers he considers steepling his fingers again, but then he rolls his eyes and sighs.
”Yeahhhh you got me. I’m on the run from some mad powerful badasses who aren’t from around here. And if they find me and bring me in, they will kill me, or worse. They can do some of the same kooky-ass magic that I can, so they’re about as dangerous as a hurricane full of hypodermic needles when they want to be. But I’m playing with a handicap because anytime I so much as conjure a koala, A) this shitty body I’m in starts falling apart at the seams, and B) the tracker they hooked into my skull calls them collect with my last known location.”
He clears his throat.
“I guess that was a lot of deets, but still pretty vague. Vague deeting. Hope that’s not a, uh, dealbreaker for you guys. There are some things I’ve done which could make me sound like a pretty bad guy, if you take them out of context. I’ve been more open than this in the past, and I got burned real bad by it. Hope you can forgive me my paranoia.”
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