User blog:SoothSaiyaman!/Wikieval Teaser - Soy Futures

I'mma headings this so y'all can skip the intro if you want.

The Intro:
This is a story, which I could in some ways compare to a range of other stories, but it is all inspired primarily by history and whatever drugs my brain is on. Prepare for a bunch of dead users and hopefully some you actually know :D

This is the prologue of a few different stories set in the same broader world. I hope you enjoy it! (Also, thanks to Joe for proofreading and to Trip for making the ending art.)

Every character whose identity has been established will be linked. If they have not been linked, then what user they are has not been revealed yet.

The Story:
It was a dreary evening as Lord Gordon of Futures stared over his eery demesne. He had won it after the bloody battle of the jagged hour was captained by his son, the minister of Skype. The Count of Nails was still in chains in his dungeon. That morning he would discuss with his executioner Francois, the Killer Face, the fates of the Count and her Waves. Heavy breaths fell from between the chapped lips on his haggard face, forming hazy crystals in the cold air. The still air ached his bones, and he thought of the future, the goal he held high above all. He strode to his office, and called his chief scribe. A mousy man of light frame and diminutive capacities but an overwhelming intellect, Imin hurried to his master's quarters despite the late hour.

“I wish to add a fee tail as a codicil to my will.” The Lord's voice boomed.

Imin was shocked. “A fee tail, my lord?”

There was a nod near imperceptible as the scribe drew out the will and testament and his royal seal. As he drew his quill, the Lord of Futures spoke of the past.

An hour later, the scribe, dread on his ashen face and his hand clutching his side, stained red, burst into the chambers of the Minister of Skype.

“M… m… minister… I… am…… so……….” The diminutive man collapsed on the floor, dead.

Deep below, a woman with piercing eyes cackled. A man and a woman looked at each other with knowing eyes.

The Minister raced to the quarters of his father. He saw a light trail of blood leading up the stairs from his father's study.

“My Lord!” The Minister could hear a faint whimpering through the door, and thrust it open, dodging past the corpses of two of the royal guard… his mother's eunuchs.

The Minister looked grim as he sprinted to the bathroom of the quarters. There, splain out as what looked as a ragdoll, in a dead pool of blood, lay the Firebrand… his mother, dying. His father, a bear of a man, with grim determination set hard on his tired brow, tore out the throat of her handmaiden Kari, leaving the cool night in silence, as the Minister collapsed to his knees.

“WHY! LORD, WHY!”

The Minister could do naught but look on through tearing eyes as his father threw the shell of the woman who had nursed him across the room to fall into a shattered pile in a corner.

“I must go back.” With that cryptic message, the Lord of Futures leapt through the window and out into the cold night.

The Minister curled into the fetal position, and lay on the blood slick floor, near comatose.