Wasteland Legend: The Foul Feast

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Wasteland Legend: The Foul Feast

Postby Karak Norn Clansman » Wed May 30, 2018 10:30 am

The Foul Feast

Various wasteland legends tell of an event so heinous as to make weaklings throw up around camp fires. Manifold are the stories, and shifting are the names involved, but some common themes make out the hard core of the tales, spreading the infamy of the Khans at every retelling.

Legend has it, that once upon a time the nomadic Khans raided a populous settlement that thought itself more fortified than it proved to be. Clipping rusty barbed wire and climbing in over the thick ramshackle walls by grappling hooks, the ravenous Raiders struck like lightning in the dead of night. The settlement was large and well-armed, and the Khans wished to wreak havoc and make off with good booty before the militia had gathered and could launch a counter-attack. During some minutes of screaming terror in the dusty darkness, men, women and children were killed, knocked out cold, bound, gagged and hauled back over the settlement walls. Some of their belongings went into the loot sacks of the Khans, and the retreat was sounded by hooting, and executed flawlessly. The Khans brutalized their prisoners into horrified submission or unconsciousness, bound them to their vehicles and drove off with roaring engines, jubilant air shots and savage cheers in the dead of night. As suddenly as the raid had happened, it vanished into darkness.

Left behind was a confused settlement in tears over their lost tribesfolk. All night they searched, shouting and gulping, whining and tearing their hair as loved ones proved to have disappeared. By morning, the terrified town council reached a decision to recover their family members. They dared not stake the militia at the only ways that could possibly counter the more experienced and deadly Khan warriors (namely by risking an ambush, and picking off small Khan detachments by overwhelming force), for they knew not the wasteland the way these predatory nomads did. Womanly advice won out, and the council asked for a group of delegates to be sent out into the wastes, bearing the ensign of negotiators and hoping against hope for the Khans to be willing to listen, let alone talk or trade off their fresh victims. Only a handful of youthful braves volunteered for this mission, led by a grizzled councilwoman, with more than a dozen births under her belt and more horrors witnessed during her baleful life than was necessary to break most men into spineless wrecks.

Loaded with dried supplies and precious water, the emissaries set out, trekking the harsh rad wastes through blowing sand and crumbling ruins from bygone ages of forgotten glory. They searched through a desolation, and at last the devils of this hell on earth found them. Khan bandits descended from dunes and tumbling brick walls, and surrounded the group at gunpoint. It seemed as if the diplomats were to be beaten and enslaved like so many other weaklings in the merciless wastes, yet the bandit lieutenant suddenly relented with a crooked smile, told his goons to hold off, and sent one outrider driving back to the Khan basecamp in advance to prepare a suitable reception for the envoys. Then ensued a nervous long march to said camp, winding through mazes of ruins, dark tunnels and other disorienting features of the route. The envoys could not possibly backtrack and find their way home easily in such unknown environs, after such a jumble of a path travelled.

At last, the delegation arrived at the Khan basecamp. Some youths gasped, yet the councilwoman hissed at them to show spine, and so the brave souls gritted their teeth and tried not to look at the hanging remains of victims displayed on stakes, lampposts and other tall objects all around the Khan camp. Some of those remains were still alive, impossible though it seemed, and their maimed frames moaned pathetically in the blowing desert wind. In the camp, the Raiders had arrayed themselves in a wide circle around a sizzling campfire which had burnt down to embers, and the ambassadors were let into this ring. Curiously, the usually so coarse and cruel Khans behaved almost politely. It seemed set up for cordial negotiations, after all. Who would have thought it?

Yet when you looked into the glinting eyes of the still Khan faces, you could detect the devil in the details.

The Khan leader greeted the envoys and opened negotiations. He insisted on his duties as a host for as long as the envoys would themselves honour the code of hospitality, and had his underlings offer food and drink from the camp fire, while dealings for the ransom of captives ensued. At the shallow surface, it was business talk. Underneath, it was a staged humiliation. Each of the luxurious hot dogs which were offered to the settlement delegates were in fact the grilled phallus of a kidnapped tribesman. Each of the onion rings was likewise the deep fried genitalia of an abducted tribeswoman. The cups which they drank from was the freshly flayed skull of someone they knew. The snacks offered to the ambassadors were the gouged eyes of someone they loved. The drinks were the blood of near and dear ones, and they were poured out of newly sewn winesacks made from the breasts of kinswomen. And around the fireplace, garlands of freshly dripping intestines were raised by festive bandits. Small Khan offsprings ran around, marking the event by playing maracas made out of torn-out kneecaps.

No threats were spoken and no weapons were raised, and likewise no gestures indicated the menace. But it was all in the eyes. The faces smiled and the lips spoke congenially, yet the eyes shone with a predator's gleam, ready to pounce at any sign of flinching.

The councilwoman shot stern looks sideways at her youthful colleagues, hoping to save any soul - if only their own - from the jaws of death by enduring the abasement served to them by the Khans.

At this point, the various wasteland legends split their narratives. Some tell of a weak youth breaking down in tears, or the councilwoman herself vomiting up her husband's chewed manhood. Others tell of the envoys enduring the trial without twitching a muscle in their faces, sucking up the cocktail handed them and being allowed to barter away a few remaining molested captives to take back to their town. Yet other tales claim that the Khan leader, or someone in his entourage, suddenly snapped at the stoic conduct of the humiliated envoys, and mowed them down into the dying campfire in a fit of frothing rage. One bizarre ending of the tale has it that negotiations had run on for long, and the feast had been concluded with no food or drink left, whereupon the councilwoman (pale as Death himself after her cannibal experience) asked for the victims, whereupon the Khan leader, or an underling, shrugged theatrically and answered:

"My dear, we would gladly give you those whom you so warmly desire. We truly do. Alas, that is no longer possible. For you yourselves ended all that remained of them. I am so sorry for your loss."

And from those legends was born the wasteland slang term of "dick diplomacy."
Last edited by Karak Norn Clansman on Sun Jun 03, 2018 11:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Wasteland Legend: The Foul Feast

Postby Dr. Mengelito » Sat Jun 02, 2018 10:34 pm

This is a masterpiece! Hahaha love it :nuke: 8-)
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"The infiltration took a huge toll on my physical and mental health; I was haunted by nightmares of being exposed to the faction I was infiltrating, other nightmares being of Mengelito." -Lash 2016

"No faction in Reloaded history caused even 25% of problems caused by Khans." -Kilgore 2017

"Personally I think The Khans kind of ruined FOnline on their own." -Corosive 2017

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Wasteland Legend: The Foul Feast

Postby Ribbit989 » Sun Jun 03, 2018 5:46 pm

Hahaha deep and dark and who we are. Great job.

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Wasteland Legend: The Foul Feast

Postby Karak Norn Clansman » Mon Jun 04, 2018 8:45 pm

Thanks! :beer:
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Wasteland Legend: The Foul Feast

Postby OldSparky » Tue Jun 05, 2018 6:25 am

Dark, brutal and disturbing... I LOVE IT!
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