You can sift through the racc list archive
https://lists.eyrie.org/pipermail/racc/
or you can try google groups racc for the whole issue of LNH vII #50.
And this is part two of the Big Mega Multi-Writer Issue of LNH vII #50.
There were Eight LNH Writers involved in the writing of this and they
are as follow: Jeanne Morningstar, Rob Rogers, Scott Eiler,
Dave Van Domelen, Arthur Spitzer (me), Drew Nilium, Martin Phipps, and
Saxon Brenton.
You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-Enough Lad has been revealed as a Dorf. But
what are the Dorfs exactly? Will we get Wikipedia Galactica entry to
enlighten us? And if so -- can we really trust the Wikipedia Galactica
-- I mean what kind of agenda do they have? A Galactic one?!
And while that's happening, a group of LNH'rs are going down in to the
sub-sub basements to unlock Irony Man's memories in the hopes that it
will explain all this -- but can they handle what these memories might
reveal about the LNH? And can you, dear reader, handle them? Can you?!!
I mean -- okay -- since you're not an LNH character -- it probably won't
be as impactful on you as it is on them -- but you never know...
And now...
_
| | Classic
| | =
| | ____ ____ _ ____ ___
| |__ | [] | | [] | | | | [] | | _ \
|____| \__] \__ | |_| \__/ |_|\_\
||
|_| OF NET.HEROES
ADVENTURES #222
=====================
LNH vII #50 Part Two
=====================
From: Andrew Perron pwerdna at gmail.com
Date: Sun Nov 2 16:20:29 PST 2014
--LNH-- --LNH-- --LNH--
According to the Wikipedia Galactica (which has kept the relevant
page locked for centuries, as Dorf-related pages tend to attract a fair
amount of vandalism), the Dorfs emerged from seemingly nowhere five
thousand years ago, around the same time as the beginning of recorded
history on the minor but persistently irritating planet known as Earth.
Fleets of Dorf ships flooded from outside the galaxy, bringing
devastation in their wake. They destroyed the original homeworld of the Inhilators, almost brought down the Christicantthinkofagoodname Empire,
wiped out six trillion Dvorakians, reduced the numbers of the Arcane to
no more than a few hundred (from which they never recovered), and caused
even more death indirectly by crashing the galactic communications
network with their constant troll-posts. Even the Ultimate Dullifier of Alt.lactus had failed to stop them in their tracks. After the Great
Flamewar, which lasted for 69 transgalactic megawhatzits (approximately
a century and a half), an order of gods and heroes known as the
Guardians of All That Is joined together to defeat them. The Dorf
finally agreed to a truce and stayed for a time within the area which
forms the core of their empire now.
No one knows the history of the Dorf before they came to our galaxy. According to their own legends, however, they were once a peaceful and
quiet people who dedicated themselves to the pursuits of philosophy.
Their world knew no crime, disease, or war. It was also incredibly
boring. But this world came to an end when a being they called the
Prophet, one of the ancient Net.Trolls, arrived in their galaxy. It was
this being who first brought the power of Senseless Violence to their
galaxy. It warped them in body and soul and began a war that rendered
their whole galaxy uninhabitable. The Prophet was never seen again,
though there were rumors that after the Great Collectible Trading Card
Crisis he had attacked the Earth and met his death at last. [In The
Flame Wars IV -- Footnote Girl]
But ever since then, the Dorf have been plotting to restore their
Prophet to life and regain their ancestral glory...
--LNH-- --LNH-- --LNH--
Somewhere in the depths of the endless void, countless light-aeons
beyond the known galactic cluster, there lies a world that orbits no
sun, coated by metal and shining with the reflected gleam of a billion
stars. This is the world known as Topphorti, home of the dark Net.Gods.
It resembles what the people of Earth know as a disco ball. There was
another world that stood opposite it once, a green and fruitful world of
song and rejoicing, but that world is no more.
Beneath the surface of the shining metal world is a warren of dark
and cramped caves where workers who have never seen the light of a sun
toil forever. Their only outlet for rest is dancing on an equally dark
and crowded dancefloor, desperate for empty hedonism, dancing to
thumping and insistent beats. Countless of them die every day on the dancefloor, crushed to death by their peers, just as they die in the
factories. Yet they still dance.
Imagine a boot stamping on the dancefloor forever.
A Dorf superawesomegrimdarkmegadreadnought emerged from hyperspace
above that world. It was an enormous techno-gothic nightmare, bristling
with flying buttresses covered in hideous gargoyles wielding chainsaws.
It was built more for form than function, but dangerous nonetheless. It
dropped seven massive bombs in the shape of screaming, distorted faces.
Each of these flamebombs had the power to destroy an entire planet. The
seven flamebombs exploded in a deafening crash and a giant conflagration
that covered the planet's surface, reflected up into space by the
mirrors that coated it. When the light faded, there was a tiny crack in
the planet's surface. Just large enough for the Dorfs to teleport
themselves through.
A party of twelve Dorf soldiers, a Dorf in a general's uniform, and another in leather armor covered in spikes and chains who looked like he
could have stepped out of a thirteen-year-old boy's math class notebook appeared in one of the dark tunnels. "It is time now," said the general.
"Soon the Heart of the Prophet will be ours once more. Are you ready,
you slime-sucking space-leeches?"
"Yes sir, General Jarrek!" said one of the Dorf soldiers. The others looked at him in horror.
"I don't think I heard you right. What did you say?"
"I vomit on the corpse of your mother, sir!" said the Dorf soldier nervously.
"Not good enough. Marshall LaRocque, take care of him."
The figure in spikes and chains grinned widely, revealing a mouth
full of spiky yellow teeth. Then he leaped at the soldier and proceeded
to savage him. The other Dorf turned away in disgust. He was an elite hero-killer, who had Descended and become one with the power of
Senseless Violence. Three times he was thought to die at the hands of
the LNH, but Death itself could no longer contain him. He could reach
depths of cruelty which horrified even his fellow Dorf.
"Your guts are too small!" he said to the decapitated head of his
former comrade, a look of horror frozen on its face. "Oh well." They
then heard the tramping of boots coming down the tunnel. It was squadron
of heavily armored figures carrying massive clubs engraved with
circuitry -- the Club Bangers, pitiless servants of Flipseid, Lord of Topphorti.
"Oh yeaaaaah, now we're talking!" said the Marshall. "Are you ready
to LaRocque?" He drew his two vorpal chainswords and lay into the Club
Bangers, the other Dorf shooting from behind him. "Oh yeah, the sweet
symphony of chaos and death! That's music to my ears, baby!"
"Enough!" said a voice from the shadows. The Dorf soldiers found
they were frozen in place. A being with skin like a grooved vinyl record
walked down the tunnel. "What do you want here?" His voice was low and
rumbling like an earthquake.
General Jarrek turned to the newcomer, and for a moment lost all his composure and and was overtaken by a look of sheer terror. "Flipseid. We
have come here to recover the heart of our Prophet."
He laughed. It was the most ghastly thing Jarrek had ever heard. "Do
you mean OMAR? The one you call the Prophet is the least of my
servants."
"Nevertheless, he almost destroyed the LNH once. With our help he
could truly succeed."
"And what makes you think you could succeed where so many others
have failed?"
"We have Marshall LaRocque on our side. And if you do not give us
the Heart, we will unleash him against you and yours."
"Hmm. Yes, he could be a nuisance."
"Hey, I'm not just a nuisance! I'm a nuisance and a half, disco
daddy, and don't you forget it!"
"Didn't the Legion kill you twice?"
"Yeah, but this time I'll be ready! I'm a mean lean Legion-killin' machine! I'm ready to rub the blood!"
"The last few times, he faced them unprepared. This time, I have a
plan. I have waited this day since before they were formally founded. I
was the only survivor of those who faced them on their first mission. I
have watched them from afar and studied their tactics, waiting for the
right moment to strike. That moment has come."
Then Flipseid laughed again. "So! I am curious what will come of
this plan. You have my support -- and the eyes of Flipseid be upon you."
And from a distance, cloaked from sight, the cosmic protector and
reserve LNHer known as Seyfert watched. He'd known the Dorfs were
planning something terrible but had no idea it would be anything like
this. If only he could make it to Earth and warn the Legion in time...
--LNH-- --LNH-- --LNH--
Kid Enthusiastic ran into the cafeteria, sneakers skidding on the
tile floor. "Dun dun dunnnnnnnn!"
"So... what did you do?" asked Cynical Lass, turning to Irony Man.
"...beats me," shrugged Irony Man. "Looks like we'll have to go
down to the sub-sub-basements to find out."
"Just a minute." The cafeteria doors slammed open. Standing there
was... another Irony Man! "Might I inquire into who it is that's
standing in front of me?"
"The real deal!" said Toony Stork, taking off his Irony Man helmet- head-thingee. "And you are?"
"I figured you knew that, seeing as you were the one that hired me
to replace you," said the mysterious Irony Man II.
"Oh. That was me? Well, I guess that info is down there too."
"Why are *you* even in the Irony Man suit?" asked Cynical Lass suspiciously.
"Because -- I'm Irony Man? Oh yeah, and Catalyst Lass invited me to
the big bash. What the hell is everyone's problem?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Ubiquitous Boy Lad Jr. "Just that you quit
being Irony Man years ago after what you did during Beige Midnight!"
"Did? What did I do?" said a puzzled Irony Man.
"Well, for starters, you teamed up with the HexFire Club and helped
them take over the LNH."
"That doesn't ring any bells. Guess I must have put that info down
in the sub-sub basements too. Well, guess we better go down there."
"Say, shouldn't we be putting You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-Enough Lad
into a cage or something?" asked Namer Boy.
"Hey!" said Pulls-Paper-out-of-Hats Lad. "He's our friend!"
"Yeah, I know. But he's also a crazed killing Dorf. I'm just
saying!"
As the heroes continued to argue, Dr. Stomper's face twisted into irritation. Those stupid LNH'rs -- why don't they all just shut up so I
can think about -- wait! Where did that burst of rage come from? Why was
he so angry at the LNH? And then Dr. Stomper looked at his hand. It was starting to change.
Could it be that he was wrong about You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-
Enough Lad -- that he hadn't always been a Dorf? Could it be that
whatever had caused You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-Enough Lad to change was
also starting to happen to him? But what was causing it? And then he
looked at his lab coat -- and at a small piece of Cheesecake Eater Lad's
Taco Salad Cheesecake that was on it. This was not good -- not good at
all. Could the cheesecake be changing the DNA of LNH'rs and turning them
into shapeshifting Dorfs? He needed to warn everyone. To stop those who
hadn't yet eaten the cheesecake -- and to quarantine anyone who had
already taken even the smallest bite. But something inside him prevented
him from doing this -- some ever growing rage within him that was
getting bigger and bigger.
Why should he warn these stupid LNH'rs, thought Dr. Stomper. They
all needed to die -- for their past sins. Yes, die! Kill them all! Dr.
Stomper looked at his hands, quickly changing into claws. His teeth
began to change into razor sharp fangs. Yes, time to kill them.
Kill them all!!!!
Snarling, Doctor Stomper leapt like a feral animal, grabbed Poignant
Death Lass as his first victim, and snapped her neck!
"No!" said Pulls-Paper-Out-of-Hats Lad. "Doctor Stomper is a Dorf as well!"
"Oh, very well spotted!" snarked Stomper with sarcasm so acidic that
it could have dissolved holes in the floor. "I guess you've got
functioning eyeballs. Here, let me RIP THEM OUT FOR YOU!"
Stomper lunged for Hats Lad, who dodged and fell backwards into a
rack of battle cheesecakes. Cheesecake-Eater Lad's special Knockout
Cheesecake landed on his head, and he was out for the count.
Master Blaster hefted another nuke. "Well, it worked last time..."
he said to the world in general with an almost philosophical air.
However, Cynical Lass stepped forward before anyone else could act.
"Oh, there are some wankers whose presence is obvious," she said coolly
to Doctor Stomper.
"Oh, to someone like you?" asked Stomper in a sneering sing-song
voice as he rounded on her.
"Yes indeed," said Cynical Lass calmly. She stepped forward again,
making an offhand jabbing motion with her cigarette. She hadn't had a
cigarette in her hand a second ago during the exposition, and she
certainly hadn't had time to light it. But she had a lit cigarette now
-- maybe thanks to her powers -- and wielded it with an almost
absentminded motion. Doctor Stomper was forced to step back a pace, lest
he get stabbed in the eye. "Don't think the rest of us hadn't noticed
the way you manipulated the story direction. But you know, you're
*clumsy*."
Doctor Stomper growled again and made to lunge forward, but another dismissive flick with the cigarette kept him from carrying through with
an attack.
Meanwhile both Irony Men had their arms out, aiming their repulsor
beam at Doctor Stomper. "Stand back, Cynical Lass," announced one of
them, clearly enough to be heard over the electronic whine of their
armaments cycling towards full power.
Cynical Lass ignored them. "Oh yes, very clumsy. Your explanations
were geared towards covering up what was going rather than actually
fixing the problem." She rolled her eyes, and tsked. "How could we not
notice."
Masterplan Lad wandered over to WikiBoy and said, "You know, she has
a very good point."
WikiBoy looked at him, a touch startled because he'd been distracted
by the confrontation happening in the middle of the room.
Masterplan Lad said, "Much as I dislike engaging in strings of yes- it-is/no-it-isn't/yes-it-is retcons, I think it's time we dispensed with
this silliness and got on with dealing with the main threat. WikiBoy,
you have the power to revert anyone who's been turned into a Dorf back
to normal."
WikiBoy blinked and said, "Okay," and held up a hypo-spray style vaccination needle.thingy.
Masterplan Lad looked at the needle.thingy. "Hmm. I was hoping for
the use of a generic snap-your-fingers-and-it's-done ability, but it
would seem that miss Cynical Lass's supposition about the story being
kept complicated and therefore interesting is on the money."
"Actually, it shouldn't take too much to bring things to a climax,"
said Anal-Retentive Archive Kid II to Masterplan Lad. "If I may?" he
said, taking the needle.thingy from WikiBoy.
Almost everybody else had missed this exchange, being focused
instead on the deadlock as Doctor Stomper continued to half circle
around Cyncical Lass, while she kept him at bay with biting comments
about his motivations. ARAK stepped into their confrontation space
(which is like personal space, only for a far more specialised purpose),
and said, "Now, now Cynical Lass, there's no need to be jabbing at him
with your cigarette. You'll do him more damage WITH THIS!" At which
point Anal-Retentive Archive Kid whirled and jabbed Doctor Stomper in
the neck with the needle.thingy.
Immediately Doctor Stomper staggered to his knees as the vaccination
took effect. "Fast-acting," observed ARAK. "Well done, WikiBoy."
Masterplan Lad ahemed, and pointed at the figure of You're-Not- Hitting-Me-Hard-Enough Lad, who was still recumbent on the floor.
"Just getting to that," said ARAK, before wandering over and
injecting him as well.
"Well that's all well and good," observed Pulls-Paper-Out-Of-Hats
Lad, "but Poignant Death Lass was killed."
"No, she wasn't," said Doctor Stomper weakly, from where he was
resting after his ordeal. "That wasn't a poignant death, merely a shock
tactic to ramp up dramatic tension. If you check, you'll see that she's
merely unconscious from shock and has severe whiplash. Nothing that the
use of the Urple Healing Ray won't fix as good as new."
"That was quick thinking, Anal-Retentive Archive Kid," Namer Boy
said. "Another second or two, and we would have been in real trouble."
"And I suppose Doctor Stomper nearly getting his eyes gouged out
with a lit cigarette doesn't count as real trouble?" Ubiquitous Boy Lad
Jr. asked.
"And I'm going to be living at my chiropractor's for the next six
months or so," Poignant Death Lass said, rubbing her aching neck.
"And I'm back on cigarettes again, after six months without a smoke.
A sweet, sweet, delicious smoke," sighed Cynical Lass, placing a
cigarette in her mouth and inhaling deeply.
"We're not out of the woods yet," said Doctor Stomper, who -- with
Kid Enthusiastic's help -- was applying a salve of aloe cheesecake to
his injured face.
"Hell no," muttered Master Blaster. "If I know these authors, we're
barely out of the first act."
"I only had a chance to study You're-Not-Hitting Me-Hard-Enough-
Lad's blood sample briefly before... well, before..." Doctor Stomper
hesitated.
"Before you turned into a raging engine of death and I tried to
stick my ciggy in your eye," Cynical Lass finished.
"Well, yes," Doctor Stomper said. "But what I saw indicated a transformation of You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-Enough Lad's genetic
material that was much more extensive than one would suppose would be
possible if it were triggered by a mutagen in the cheesecake he ate this morning."
"Then the Dorfs might have found some other way to get to us," Kid Enthusiastic said. "Everyone... the whole LNH... the entire world...
might be infected."
The room was silent for a moment -- but for the steady drip, drip,
drip of one of the Legion's several coffee makers -- as everyone
absorbed the impact of Kid Enthusiastic's words.
"On the bright side," the spiky-haired preteen continued, "it's
probably safe to eat the taco salad cheesecake."
"Or as safe as it ever was," Cynical Lass said.
Doctor Stomper cleared his throat. "As near as I can tell," he said,
"the Dorf compound remains dormant in the victim's system until the
victim experiences a period of great anger, frustration, or stress. Then
the compound begins forcing the victim's body to manufacture a kind of artificial adrenaline, an..."
"En-Dorf-in?" Painful Pun Person asked.
"Precisely," Doctor Stomper finished.
"So all we have to do is to tell the LNH -- and the people of Earth
-- to keep calm and carry on in the face of a pending alien invasion,"
said Cynical Lass, staring at her cigarette. "I'm going to need a lot
more of these."
There was a loud, metallic clang as the original Irony Man clapped
his hands together.
"Here's the plan," he said. "Master Blaster, you take Anal-
Retentive Archive Kid II, Horrible Name Lad, You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-
Enough Lad, the other me and Ubiquitous Boy Lad, Jr. and bring this
sample of the antidote to Kid Kirby's lab. Have him manufacture as much
as possible. Try to avoid triggering any Dorf transformations along the
way -- but if you do..."
"No problem," said Master Blaster, cocking his BIGGUN in a manner
that was as satisfying as it was unnecessary.
"Stomper," Irony Man continued, "get to the Central Command Center.
If we really are looking at an invasion, every nation on Earth will need
to know about it. Take Namer Boy and Ubiquitous Boy Lad, Jr. with you.
"Masterplan Lad," Irony Man said, "I need you to..."
"Find a way to keep everyone in Legion headquarters cool, calm and collected?" Masterplan Lad finished. "Already on it."
"Great," Irony Man said. "And could you..."
"Work with Kid Enthusiastic, WikiBoy and Ubiquitous Boy Lad, Jr. on
the solution? I'd be honored," Masterplan Lad said.
"Uh, okay," Irony Man said, turning to Cynical Lass, Poignant Death
Lass, Painful Pun Person and Ubiquitous Boy Lad, Jr. "The rest of you,
come with me. We're going to head downstairs and find out what I know
about all this. Or used to."
"And finally, I'll need you, Ubiquitous Boy Lad, Jr., to stay here
and coordinate our actions," Irony Man said.
"I never get to do anything," UBLJr. grumbled.
Kid Enthusiastic began racing for the doors of the cafeteria, while everyone else remained gathered in a circle around Irony Man.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Irony Man said. "These aliens
aren't just going to send themselves home -- no matter what kind of laws Arizona passes."
"Uh, no offense, Toony," said You're-Not-Hitting-Me-Hard-Enough-Lad hesitantly, "but, well..."
"You can't just betray the Legion, leave the team, hire a
replacement, and then walk right back in and start expecting everybody
to follow your orders as though nothing happened," Master Blaster
finished.
"Why not?" Irony Man said. "It worked for Steve Jobs. Look, I know
that wiping my own memory might seem like an... unusual way for me to
deal with what happened during Beige Midnight. Would it have been better
if I had done it the old-fashioned way, drowning my sorrows in a bottle?
Would that have made any of you respect me more?"
"It depends," Cynical Lass said. "What kind of bottle are we talking about?"
"I know... or at least, I think I know... that the decisions I made
during the recent crisis were... difficult for some of you to accept,"
Irony Man said. "But I also know something else."
"That you're rich as hell, so it doesn't matter?" Master Blaster
said.
"That we're all still here," Irony Man said. "That despite the
Bryttle Brothers... and Bart... and Hex Luthor... and that whole
business with the Norse god of trickery..."
"Uh, that was the Avengers movie," Namer Boy said.
"Damn. I've got to stop switching up those memory sticks," Irony Man
said. "But the point is... despite everything, we're all still here. And
I have to think that some of my decisions... whatever they were... had something to do with that."
The needle on the irony detector at the center of Irony Man's chest
plate wavered slightly.
"Irony Man's right," said Kid Enthusiastic, who had burst
breathlessly back into the room after realizing that no one was
following him. "This isn't the time for us to bicker! This isn't the
time for us to be questioning each other's motivations!"
"Actually," said Cynical Lass, "given that we're up against a shape- shifting nemesis who has already infiltrated our ranks, I'd say this was exactly the right time for us to be questioning each other's motives."
"This is the time for us to pull together! To save the world! And
then to come back here and celebrate -- with cheesecake!" Kid
Enthusiastic finished, and even Cynical Lass joined in the round of
cheers that followed.
Nevertheless, she asked Kid Enthusiastic to stay back for a moment
while the others left to carry out their missions.
"Why?" she said.
"Why what?" Kid Enthusiastic said, though he knew perfectly well
what she meant.
"Why the Dorfs? Why now?" Cynical Lass said. "If they're really as
savage as people say... why haven't they tried to conquer the Earth
before now? What makes this moment so special? Is it the global economic crisis? The collapse of the world's ecosystem? The fact that the
Avengers movie has made everyone want to read about super-heroes
fighting aliens?"
"Why are you asking me?" Kid Enthusiastic said.
"You see any other eleven-year-old genuises in the room?"
"...Von Clausewitz," Kid Enthusiastic said at last.
"Is he one of our enemies I'd know more about if I paid better
attention to the wiki?" Cynical Lass asked.
"He was a German philosopher. Prussian, really. He said... well, a
lot of things, but chief among them was the idea that war is an
extension of politics by other means."
"I'm not sure I follow you," Cynical Lass said.
"You should! I'm on Twitter, and Foursquare, and... oh. Well, it's
like you said," Kid Enthusiastic continued. "Invasions don't just come
out of nowhere. Pearl Harbor happened because relations between the
Usenetted States and Japan reached their breaking point."
"But... the Dorfs are aliens," Cynical Lass said. "Are you saying
that... there might have been some kind of back-room deal at the highest
levels that kept them from invading before? And that now... something's changed?"
Kid Enthusiastic shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I
wish I was going with you to the sub-sub-basement. I have a feeling
we'll all know a lot more once we've seen what was on Toony Stork's mind
twenty years ago."
--LNH-- --LNH-- --LNH--
==========
Next Week: LNH vII #50 Part THREE!!!!
==========
Arthur "Same Classic Channel. But Same Time? Probably not." Spitzer
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: fsxNet Usenet Gateway (21:1/5)