The Temple of Lore, Works of the Schola Options

[Black Hand]

This thread is for the stories of the members of Order of the Schola, for any questions you may have please click on the following link.

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=3495

ANYTHING that is not a story or poem or whatever should be posted on the link that was just provided. Thank you, not trying to be mean, just trying to keep our sacred temple clean. Now then, an explanation.

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The Temple of Lore is a sacred sanctum of tomes, dreams, thoughts, abstracts, histories, stories, poems, and the written word.

It exists in the twilight, between reality and fantasy, it embraces all forms and images that attempt to define it. It is perception, and the perciever.

There exists an order of men, commonly known to the masses as the Writers Guild, more accurately called the Order of the Schola who have mastered this twilight abstract in the form of storytelling, they alone have the power to transcend to the Temple of Lore, and contibute and take from its threads of knowledge.

They exist amongst us as Journalists, Bards, Old Men sitting on a porch with a glass of lemonade recanting old experiences. If you ask nicely, and your lucky to find the chosen few, a Schola can breathe life into any illusion, any thought.

[Black Hand]

Okay, it sucks. I know, but I thought it would be funny as I desperately need to submit some work to the Temple.

Hopefully, you get a laugh.





The Ambitious Henchman, a short work by Black Hand

Pete had never been a nameless henchman like numbers one through twelve.

Pete had never been a horrible shot like numbers one through twelve.

And it got on the Bosses nerves that Pete kept killing off his Arch-Enemies, as he told him time and again.

“Pete. Look, I am an international drug dealer, an evil CEO of an evil international conglomerate which launders my evil income, I supply both rogue states and small countries with arms, and quietly cause wars between them, and cash in on the conflict. Do you know what all that means?” The Boss asked Pete.

“It sounds like you’re a busy guy.” Pete said nervously fingering his Assault Rifle, and adjusting his black beret, which matched his black trenchcoat, which matched his black boots, whick matched….oh you get the Idea, the Boss liked his Henchman dressed in Black.

“NO! It means I have a lot of subordinates like you who ARE very busy, while I am very bored, leaving me with plenty of time to come up with elaborate, albeit easily escapable, traps for all the Elite GI’s, Spies, Vigilante’s, Cops looking for revenge, and superheroes who come looking for me in my hideout of the week.” The Boss chided him.

“Okay.” Said Pete, not understanding where this was going.

“What I’m getting at is that I would appreciate it if you stopped aiming so accurately once they do infiltrate my supposedly secure network of elaborately designed, albeit easily foiled traps. I mean, look at number eight! You could put a Mattress in front of his muzzle and he’d still end up shooting numbers three through seven! Now that’s Henching at its finest!”

Suddenly red lights began flashing, and TV screens opened up from the walls. The screens showed a figure in a dark suit and blond hair, with a set of perfect teeth in a never-ending smile climbing up an oversized air-duct.

“BLOND! STOCK BLOND! The elite G.I. spy, part-time Vigilante, ex-superhero, formerly a Cop bent on Vengeance! This will be the most epic showdown of good versus evil ever!” The boss wringed his hands.

“Pete! Go out there and show me what you’re made of – ooooh! He used an EMP grenade to disable the Techno-Hounds!” the Boss admired as Pete ran off.

Two Minutes later, after all the Henchman were dead, mostly from their horrible shooting, and Stock Blond’s unerring accuracy with a .22 pistol, Pete walked into the Boss’s office, the Boss had his hand over his eyes.

“What did we just talk about?” the Boss sighed.

“Well, I was trying not to hit him, as you said, but he flipped himself right into the stream of bullets.”

“Yes, I saw, he was expecting you to shoot AWAY from him, and that’s when he got riddled full of bullets…..’

“Hey, Boss?”

“Yes, Pete?”

“I’m thinking I’D like to be bored, and you could miss Elite GI’s, Spies, Vigilante’s, Cops looking for revenge, and superheroes.”

The Boss looked up for a second. It was perfect. Henching was all the thrills he was seeking. Gunfughts that lasted forever, diving out of planes, biting through bars.

“Okay, gimme the Gun, Pete.”

”That’s Pete the Boss.”

“Okay, Pete the Boss.”

”Hey, Boss?”

”That’s Boss the Henchman.”

“Right, Boss the Henchman?”

“Yes Pete the Boss?”

”I’m bored.”

Boss the henchman sighed as he went off to find another Elite GI, Spy, Vigilante, Cop looking for revenge, or superhero to keep his new boss occupied.