Disclaimer: I own nothing. Actually, that's not strictly true, but in terms of Legacy of Kain stuff, none of it is mine. Isca is, though (even though he's not in this fic. . .) : P
Author's Note:
This is just a short, silly one-off as a bizarre sort of thankyou to everyone who reviewed 'Nosgoth's Salvation'. Besides, I said we were going, and I don't go back on my word (with the notable exception of New Year's Resolutions regarding abstinence from chocolate…)
If you're not mentioned personally, I'm really sorry, but you are there if you think you are (that's quite enough pseudo-existentialism for now. . . )
In case anyone is wondering, the story is set sometime before Kain drop-kicked Raziel off the edge of the Abyss, with liberties taken on other temporal, spatial and technological facts . . .
Invasion!
Day 1:
Lilith: The scene is Meridian, capital city of the Sarafan Empire, jewel in the crown of the Sarafan Lord, proud town of progress and crux of civilization . . .
MikotoTribal: Are we there yet?
Lilith: Don't interrupt - I'm doing my evil dictation. Anyway, as I was saying, this is Meridian, epitome of . . .
Shadowrayne: We can all see that – look, there's the Red Raven tavern.
Deionarra: Yeah – duh!
Lilith: *taps foot on floor, wishing for a trapdoor lever*
Vladimir's Angel: So, what's the plan?
Lilith: We head for the pub.
Deionarra: What for?
Lilith: Because we need a base of operations – and all this world-hopping is thirsty work Besides, according to the 'Meridian Good Bar Guide', "You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. . ."
Vladimir's Angel: Heh, sounds like a place I used to work.
Later . . .
Nosgoth Newsreader: We're live at the scene of the invasion, where a large number of women in rather revealing, tight-fitting, black leather catsuits have just descended on the Red Raven Bar and Grill. Several Sarafan knights have already been ejected from the premises, and there are some very strange sounds coming from inside . . .
*strains of Evanescence's "Bring me to life" can be heard in the distance*
Arch Enemy/Ebony: *Comes pelting out of the bar and skids to a halt in front of the Newsreader*
Hey you! Which way to the Sanctuary of the Clans?
Nosgoth Newsreader: Er . . . that way. Hold on – I don't suppose you'd like to give a statement for the press?
Arch Enemy/Ebony: Yeah, *leers at the camera* Tell Kain I'm coming!
Day 2:
Nosgoth Newsreader: The Invaders have still not emerged from the bar, although we did manage to get a statement late last night when one of them came out to . . . 'water the flowers':
In a quote from 'Vladimir's Angel', nominated spokesperson, the Terran forces are armed with K.U.M.D.s* (both manual and automatic), and plan to bring Meridian to its knees with a combination of chopped dairy produce and offensive smoothies.
For the moment, the door to the bar is remaining shut, and no-one seems to be going in or coming out. The Sarafan Lord has been sent for, but official sources say it may be a while before he arrives, as he is holidaying in Dark Eden and is currently out of mobile range.
*KUMDs - Kitchen Utensils of Mass Destruction
*
Day 3
Nosgoth Newsreader: Three days into the conquest and the Terran army is not doing so well. According to official sources, the Invaders' automatic KUMDs are not compatible with Glyph power points, so the ladies are having to resort to their manual . . . ahem . . . weapons. Except for one, who has declared a personal vendetta on Meridian's aquatic bird population, and has taken to threatening the town guard with her collection of extracted duck tongues.
Meanwhile, inside the bar . . .
Deionarra: I told you the Moulinex was a bad idea. We should have stuck with the cheese graters – they worked alright on Moebius. *evil grin*
Lilith: Ok, clever-clogs. Any more of your cheek and I'm raising the minimum age limit on this army.
Deionarra: Aww . . . is someone in a bad mood 'cos they forgot their anti-wrinkle cream?
*Benny Hill theme music plays as a comic pursuit ensues around the streets of Meridian, Deionarra in front, Lilith behind (brandishing a deluxe combination mixer-blender) and an assortment of terrified mallard waddling at the rear*
*
Nosgoth Newsreader: And this just in – it seems that the Invaders have one more weapon in their arsenal: they all appear to be carrying miniature effigies of Emperor Kain (with brushable hair). Although the purpose of these particular weapons is anyone's guess at the moment, they appear to need a lot of grooming . . .
*The air suddenly erupts with sounds of clashing weapons, grunts and battle-cries *
Nosgoth Newsreader: *running into the town square*
Follow me, viewers - it looks like some of the Vampire clans have begun an invasion of their own! Let's see if we can get an insider perspective on this. Excuse me, you there! Yeah you in the cloak!
Raziel: *turns, sees the camera and at once puts on a charming smile* Yes?
Nosgoth Newsreader: Is your choice of timing anything to do with the Terran Invasion?
Raziel: *turns side profile to the camera and winks* Eh?
Nosgoth Newsreader: Hello? I'm over here.
Raziel: Hmm? Oh, so you are. What invasion?
Nosgoth Newsreader: *indicates the Red Raven pub, which has in the last three days become home to the Terran Forces. The outside is covered with banners with slogans such as 'The Sarafan Stink', and 'Vampires Suck', and 'Free Beer to Anyone Who Can Point the Way to the Nearest Warp Gate'. Upstairs on the balcony, someone has made a makeshift drumkit from stolen Sarafan helmets, and the neighbours have already started to move out*
Nosgoth Newsreader: Haven't you been watching the news?
Raziel: Nah. Kain revoked all our TV-watching privileges until we conquer the Sarafan.
Nosgoth Newsreader: It's 'The Invasion of the Black Leather-Clad Women from Earth!' I coined that phrase, by the way.
Raziel: Really? Women? In black leather? *glances at the battle and decides not to tell the rest of his army*
Well, *straightens trousers and smooths hair* I think I'd better go and investigate.
*Saunters off towards the bar*
*
Day 3 ½
Nosgoth Newsreader: We're here in the Red Raven pub, where Lieutenant Raziel has just turned up to . . . er . . . negotiate a peace treaty? Actually, this reporter is not completely sure what he's doing – judge for yourselves, viewers. *camera pans around to show the interior of the pub, where Raziel is sitting in a comfy chair in the middle of a large circle of women with a cheesy grin on his face, halfway through suggesting something that sounds suspiciously like "custard wrestling"*
MikotoTribal: OK, show's over – out you go.
Nosgoth Newsreader: But . . . but we need to capture this for posterity.
*skids to a halt on his butt outside the pub, covered in duck feathers*
Meanwhile, back inside
Lilith: So, you agree to our terms?
Raziel: *trying very hard not to look like a used camel salesman who's just been offered $500 for a three-legged deadbeat one day away from the glue factory*
So let me get this straight: you all agree to the Custard Wrestling Tournament as long as I sign this?
*General murmurs of assent from all present*
Raziel: I s'pose I'd better read it first . . .*reads contract aloud* 'I, Raziel, Lord of . . . blah blah . . . bearer of . . . blah blah . . . possessor of -' hold on, what's a trouser bugle?
Shadowrayne: Dammit! Knew I should've used the spell-checker . . .
Raziel: *smug grin* '. . .hereby declare that if I ever grow wings, I will not under any circumstances show them to Kain . . .' *pauses as everyone in the room nods emphatically* '. . . Not even for the purposes of gloating, i.e. "Take a look at these you gherkin-skinned ponce, I evolved before you did . . . nerdy nerdy ner ner."'
*shrugs in bemusement and makes a writing motion with his claw*
Kittie: (who for some inexplicable reason has brought her college work to Nosgoth with her) *hands him a biro*
Raziel: *signs agreement with a flourish, sits back and rubs his claws together in anticipation.*
Bring on the custard!