View Full Version : Dominar Rasheth needs a sandwich

09-05-2010, 01:13 PM
"Dominar Rasheth needs a sandwich," they told me. So I groaned and climbed out of bed and decided to go get him one, because the fat slob is too darn lazy to make his own damn sandwich.

I went to the Refrigerator of Pain, which, like all true warriors' appliances, is covered in spikes and blades and jewels. The Paingiver Repairman was standing over it beating it with a scourge. "Foolish Maytag!" he roared. "You must be either brave or very stupid to allow your compressor to fail like this! The weak shall be sent to the Junkyard of the Ancestors to rust away forever, their souls forgotten and unmourned!"

"Can I get some roast beef?" I asked him. "Dominar Rasheth needs a sandwich."

"Roast Beef? Eating COWS is for the WEAK! Were you a warrior, you would devour RAW FRESH TITAN STEAKS, seasoned with AGONY and spiced with the PAPRIKA OF TORMENT!" the Paingiver screamed at me. Flecks of spit splattered all over my face.

"So I take it that's a no?" I asked.


I left him to his work. By the time I left the kitchen, he was picking up the blender and threatening the refrigerator with torturing the smaller appliance with ten thousand agonies if he dared to defy him further.

Figuring I could get what I needed at the corner store, I left the palace. There was screaming, and the sound of running feet, and the familiar shout of, "SIDESTEPSIDESTEPSIDESTEPSIDESTEPSIDESTEPSIDESTEP!"

"Oh, fuzzbuckets," I groaned, and ducked back into the house. Of course, just as expected, here came Makeda riding on the shoulder of Molik Karn, racing by at over a hundred miles per hour. The Cyclops was screaming as he pounded the hell out of hapless passers-by for an additional 2 scale inches of movement per unlucky bystander he pummeled into the ground with his twin swords.

Sitting in a harness on his back was some poor sap with a slingshot who was shooting marbles at the Bronzeback: the thing was howling like a hurricane and racing after the Cyclops at a full advance for every slingshot bullet that hit the hugely tusked beast right between the eyes. There was a lamp post stuck between the Titan's tusks, probably knocked over and stuck there when it tried to make a turn in close quarters.

I walked through the rubble in the wreck of the strange caravan and headed to the corner store. There was a Karax captain standing at the customer service counter, hitting a shield with his fist over and over, face red with fury. "Look, when I ordered these shields, you didn't tell me they were a hundred pounds each! We can't use these things!"

"Sorry," sighed the store owner. "These are the only shields we've got."

"They're absolutely useless! Not only are they slowing my men down with their weight, they're also weighing down their shield arms, and making it easier for the enemy to find the gaps in their armor! They'd dodge attacks and soak damage better if they DIDN'T use the darn things!"

"Why don't you have them just stand next to each other and cover each other with them? Then they'll work fine."

"Oh, screw you! That's it. Next time I'm ordering from the Menites." He hefted the huge steel shield over his back and stalked out, still fuming."

"Don't know what his problem is," the store owner told me, shrugging. "Need something?"

"Yeah, some sliced roast beef. Dominar Rasheth needs a sandwich."

"Sure, hang on." He pulled out the roast beef and his knife, and started sawing through it. It was hard going. "You know," he groaned, "I just wish that for once someone would make a decent knife without all these bits and pieces hanging off it. It keeps getting stuck in the meat and shredding it."

"It's better than the Immortal Brand kitchen knives. I still don't know what they were thinking, making blunt-edged knives out of stone."

It took him a while, but he managed to get me the five pounds of roast beef I needed. I picked up some bread and horseradish too. I headed back to the kitchen (where the Paingiver Repairman had resorted to slowly disassembling the refrigerator with a rusty knife while forcing the washing machine to watch as an example of the fate of those who defy the Empire) and assembled the sandwich.

Dominar Rasheth was sleeping when I walked in. I put the sandwich by his side and cleared my throat. He didn't wake up. I tried shouting. He still didn't wake up. I pulled out a crossbow and shot him in the face. It bounced off his greasy, fat skin, but it managed to finally rouse him.

"They told me you needed a sandwich," I said. "I brought you one."

He poked the sandwich with one fat finger, and sighed. "It's roast beef," he said. "I wanted turkey."

Such is life.

09-06-2010, 12:46 AM
Hilarious, nice one!

09-06-2010, 10:02 PM
Funny ... as ... hell!

Great read :)

09-16-2010, 10:41 AM
Can't believe I missed this one. Golden! I love Rasheth and all things Skorne, especially all the annoying things you pointed out.

Great job.

09-16-2010, 10:50 AM
That is completely awesome, but a little creepy in how it seems like the protagonist is sharing a bed with Rasheth. That takes courage.

09-16-2010, 02:26 PM
Nice going- a lot of fun to read.

10-15-2010, 10:14 AM
HAHAHAHAHA! Awesome story! Great writing, and excellent humor.