And now, behold: That which was Mine is Mine again, and my Armies have decimated the forces of Man, Elf, and those small furry things with the overlarge and distressingly unshod feet, and now shall a plague of Darkness sweep over the land and make it way, way more tasteful.
I mean, significant aspects of the landscape were glowing before this. And I don’t mean the gentle glow of candlelight or something; I mean the weird, tacky hives of Elf-kind, and the somewhat radioactive look emitted by various enchanted weapons. That one blade that you seem to think is extra ouchy to Orcs? You’re right; that furshlugginer outpouring of luminescence puts the “AIEEEEE” in “Eyesore”.
Long ages ago, there were those on this disc who acknowledged not the sovereignty of the Lord of Darkness, preferring an odd mishmash of pastels and, while this seems technologically implausible under the pseudo-medieval state of our general civilization, sincerely appeared to be, disturbingly enough, neon.
Then waxed wroth did the Master of Shadows, who continued to point out that bright, perky colors were fine for tourism, but many of us locals felt we were stuck in a nauseatingly life-sized game of “Candyland”.
And thus did unite (under the tastefully obsidian-jet banner of my aesthetically-reasonable fashion sense) all of the races of beings who shun that which is overexposed, washed out, or insipidly represented by the sorts of objects which might look good at Ye Olde Renaissance Faire, but which are a sheer misery for those of us who have to live with them year ’round.
And likewise thus it was that the Things of Reasonably Good Taste did gather unto my leadership (and my tailor; honestly; everyone knows that villains have the best outfits, yet they haven’t connected this with the fanatical devotion of our warriors. This is because their own priorities are skewed and perverse. They haven’t the faintest idea how to enhance the natural beauty of eyes which smolder with unholy power by wearing a dark leather cowl, and they wouldn’t understand good taste if one gave it physical form and it went about biting them in the kneecaps, and I did and it did and, indeed, they didn’t.)
(I mean, never. not even if a horde of the wicked boiled forth into the hut of the Seamstress and said, in a single voice like the tortured movement of poisoned streams flowing slowly over protesting granite riverbeds, many miles below Midgard:
“YO! Master! This would look GREAT on you!”)
But now, despite all of their pride and their arrogant courage, the Light has fallen. And comes now the Darkness.
Shadows? They are IN this year. Garish Shire signs? Out, out, OUT, and any Hobbit who doesn’t like it is going to be dinner. Or elevenses, if they insist.
The Elves have, of course, always maintained a sensible second wardrobe entirely of little black dresses and sharp pointy leather; they were ready. We don’t want to know why, to be perfectly honest. We’re all gathering at the foot of Mount Kaboom, with every Orc and Kobold and Tiefling, and when the chronicles record this day, they shall tell all of History that we look FABULOUS!
Here’s my novel, “There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN“.
