No Respect

A Story by SGCool

A group of adventurers are taken captive by an indomitable evil, but they're in for a big surprise.

High in the abysmally cold Golgorth mountains, nestled deep in a dark, shadow-haunted crevasse, lay the frozen castle of the dread Lord Gilgamous. Gilgamous the slayer of good King Marchwind, beloved monarch, benevolent ruler, and friend to the people. Gilagmous the black, whose deeds were matched in cruelty only by the darkness in his heart. Gilgamous the fell, summoner of spirits, conjurer of cockatrices, and lord of litches. Gilgamous was unmerciful, he was foul, he was evil.

In the throne room of his castle, with its drafty halls and twisted peaks and stone that glowed with an eerie purple aura, Gilgamous laughed a hearty, unsettling guffaw. The three adventurers who stood before him shivered. One, an older man in a moth eaten robe and extravagant pointed hat, clutched his staff until his knuckles turned white. The second, a large, stout woman dressed in furs with a battleaxe slung across her back, clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. The last, a young man wearing chainmail, stood as tall as he was able, terrified despite the magnificent longsword sheathed at his side. There was a large ruby set in the pommel, and the blade let off a radiant golden glow.

Gilgamous’s laughter echoed around the enormous chamber, bouncing off of the cobwebbed corners and into the impassive skulls of the contingent of skeleton warriors who surrounded the companions. The three took in Gilgamous’s sight and despaired. He was huge, seven feet tall when he stood, and clad in a suit of spiked armor that was dark as the blackest night. He wore a crown of silver metal, encrusted with diamonds, sapphires, and all manner of precious gems and metals. A grim-looking claymore leaned against the arm of his throne, the blade surrounded with a purple aura that matched the very stone of his castle. His laughter died down and he gripped the arms of the throne and leaned forward, daring someone to speak. Finally, one of the companions did.

“W-we’re here to put an end to you and your e-evil rule,” said the young man. He had curly blonde locks and a baby face that one could only describe as ‘charming and charismatic’. A natural born leader, it seemed, despite his obvious fear.

“Yes!” intoned the older man, apparently a wizard of some sort. “You have blighted this land with your tainted magic for far too long!”

Gilgamous leaned back in his seat and grinned, his razor sharp teeth showing between his pale lips. He looked at the woman in the furs expectantly.

“I come from the clan of the Dire Bear, in the Razor Plains. You have used my people for your dark deeds since before time was time,” she snarled. “No longer shall we be beholden to your wicked rule!”

Gilgamous grinned wider. His tongue lashed out and licked his bloodless lips, and he sat up straight. The three before him drew together, fearing his response.

“Well,” he chuckled. “I can see I am faced with a mighty band. A washed out old man, a woman who fancies that she is an animal, and a child with a magic blade.” He cocked his head to the side, a snake about to devour his prey. “It seems my kingdom is to end tonight. I am so dismayed." He gnashed his fangs together. "I have you in my clutches, and with my apologies, I must confess you will not make it to the end of the night. So, skeletons, while I decide the most fun way to do away with my guests,” he leaned forward again, tightening his fists so that his knuckles popped menacingly. “Bwing them to the dungeons.”

“You’ll never hold us!” shouted the barbarian woman.

“We shall be your undoing!” agreed the yellow haired youth.

“What did you say?” queried the wizard, puzzlement written on his face.

“I said ‘bwing them to the dungeons’,” replied lord Gilgamous. “A simple task, even fow the bwaindead like these skeletons. I shall muwdew you in the mowning.”

The throne room fell silent, save for the scuttling of many legged beasts, the clicking of undead bones, and a chuckle from the wizard that started off soft and grew in volume.

Gilgamous cocked his head. “Is thewe something that amuses you?”

The wizard’s shoulders bobbed up and down with mirth. “You...you have a…” He bent double as his laughter overcame him and clutched onto the barbarian for support. The barbarian, realizing the source of the wizard’s laughter, let a slow grin spread over her face as hearty chuckles began to well up from her chest.

“I am going to kill you, yet you laugh?!” Gilgamous slammed his brobdingnagian fist onto the throne’s armrest. “Does the idea of dying bwing you such miwth?”

The boy, who had joined in the laughing as the situation dawned on him, held onto the other two. “There’s something wrong with...something wrong with how you…” he was unable to finish before letting out another peal of laughter.

The skeletons looked at each other nervously. This had not been covered in employee orientation.

Gilgamous’s eyes, black voids in his eye sockets that seemed to suck at the soul of anyone who beheld them, closed. “Take them away,” he said softly. After the rattling of heel bones and the roar of laughter had faded away, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Shyyrganoth, black mage superior of the eighteenth circle of the underworld, dreaded demon who fed on the blood of the weak and innocent, laid his hand on Gilgamous’s shoulder.

“There, there,” he said.

“I twy, Shyywganoth,” Gilgamous said. “I always twy so hawd.”

“You do, my lord,” Shyyrganoth said graciously.

“I mean,” Gilgamous continued. “I’ve got the black awmow, and the height, and the castle...I’ve even got a giant swowd that has a stwange and eldwitch auwa, and that didn’t come cheap, you know.”

“There are none who work harder than you do, lord.”

“I twy, and I twy. I waised an awmy of goblins and owcs, I waid villages and buwn cwops and tewowize with hellfiwe and demons and dwagons, and whewe does it get me? Nowhewe, that’s whewe.”

“Come now, lord, don’t say that,” Shyyrganoth patted Gilgamous’s back. “The foul legions and I have nothing but admiration for you.”

“People today have no wespect!” Gilgamous said. “Time was when all you needed was a big swowd and an awmy and, and, and a pointy helmet, and the mewe sight of you would send people running fow the hills! And now it’s all ‘oh, why does he talk funny’ and ‘what’s wong with his voice’ and ‘he’s not a pwopew dwead lowd’. They don’t cawe if you can liquify theiw insides with a glance, or cleave them in twain without a second thought. It’s all about pee-aww now.”

“Pee-aww?” Shyyrganoth asked.

“Pee-aww!” said Gilgamous, visibly upset. “Pee-aww!”

“Oh, PR,” Shyyrganoth murmured.

“Exactly,” Gilgamous muttered in a defeated tone.

“How about this, lord: we’ll get the lads together and go raid a couple hamlets, burn some cities, and raze a few villages for good measure. Then, when we get back, the skeletons will have allowed the three nitwits to escape, we’ll have a big battle that we’ll invariably lose because of nobility and righteousness and whatnot, and then we’ll wake up in a few centuries and have a fresh start of it. Does that sound good?”

Gilgamous nodded, his chin on his fist.

“But first, let me get you some nice tea and warm socks so your feet don’t get cold while we’re out terrorizing. And I’ll fetch your best demonic helmet, the one with the horns and the visor that looks like a snake’s head.” And with that, Shyyrganoth scuttled away.

Gilgamous, feeling a little better, sat up straight and sighed. Kids today. No respect.