WorldNetDaily managed to fulfill the least of it’s journalistic duties today by re-posting someone else’s work. Luckily for all of you, this blog isn’t concerned with the myriad of WND’s failings (that was the purpose of my previous blog). Anyway, two separate but functionally identical DWP’s today from Freedom Lover and usafaith:
The war-empress relentlessly paced up and down the length of her throne room, enraged by any number of things not the least of which was how silent the silk slippers on her feet made her footfalls. By Ahna’kral’s gnarled, blood-speckled beard she was Chrissmane SanGuar, the desolator of heathen nations! She was the thresher of impudent kings! The tamer of the wilds people! The vanquisher of the Millennial Dominion who ripped the stones of the Onyx right from the castle’s foundation! When she paced angrily the halls should convulse and reverberate as though Thunderous Oligehre himself were screaming in agony. But the only sound she heard was a muffled wuf-wuf sound no matter how hard she stomped. How dare her advisors lock her up with only her night clothes. “Get a good night sleep,” they said. “You’ll think more clearly in the morning,” they said. “You’ll see that a march though the only-recently subdued lands of Tam’roha is ill-timed,” they said.
Those cowardly fools. Had her war machine not done what was said to be impossible? Had not the sages and prophesiers all said that no mortal could ever subjugate the Tam’rohi, a people whose blood was so thoroughly intermixed with that of the Nachtspawn’s that oftentimes their twin babies could be neatly divided between the infant who resembled the mother’s family and the infant who resembled the father’s thoroughly unhuman kin? And yet Chrissmane SanGuar, the wyrm-slayer, the last and greatest student of the vengeance-spirit called Ket, had not only stormed over Tam’roha like a surging wave from a broken dam, she had licked up tears from the cheeks of each of the land’s 11 starlit viceroys in full view of the populace. The salty acid had burned her throat and rendered her incapable of speech for three days but she had done it without flinching and in doing so not only conquered Tam’roha, but also humiliated it’s 11 aged and wicked rulers but had won the respect of its perverse people whose favored entertainments were violence and fear.
This was the land, these were the people, she was no supposed to stay well away from? Chrissmane, wielder of the spear which lanced the supposedly-immortal Sunwizard Ataul, wondered for a brief moment if her advisors would tell a groom to avoid his bride on their wedding night?
It didn’t matter. She sat on her throne, took off her left slipper and began to methodically unravel it into one long silken cord. Come sunup she would earn herself a new title. War-empress Chrissmane SanGuar, the strangler of seven craven toads.