Epic Fail

With the discovery of a new uncharted land in the far north called the Fridge, comes the realisation that war is at hand. And an evil Puppet Master might be goading the known world into it. Can the Wizard of All, the Fridge Lord and the Grogfazjah, and other assorted characters band together to fight this evil? A RealityRetcon story.

The corridor was dark and squalid. And its squalor was only exceeded by its darkness. Minions bustled around, hastening to do the will of the Capo di Tutti Frutti. The Fridge Raider bared its hackles and shook its white fur, clearly uneasy in such warm climates. Its rider, aware of the beast’s distress, tried to soothe its furry hide.

“This shouldn’t take very long.” He said, before adding, “If all goes well.”

The beast let out a low howl in response. The rider whirled around in his great coat, shaking off some of the icicles and walked into the study.

“Welcome, Supreme Lord of the Realms of the Fridge Eternal, to my humble place of business. I’ve been expecting you.”

The voice from the shadows that greeted the rider was courteous, but by no means subservient.

“Well met then, Don Finebolli. Perhaps then, you would also know of the awful hurry I am in.”

“Indeed, running a kingdom you’ve recently conquered needs your constant attention. You seem surprised that I would know of this? Ah, but I have already heard of your remarkable victories in the Cold War. Do tell me then, Frigid One, what brings your much-needed attention here, to me?”

“I seek a weapon, such as would strike fear into the hearts of those who would yet oppose me in my icy realm. And I have been told that you are the person to go to for that kind of firepower.”

A joking tone entered the voice in the shadows.

“And who might have told you something like that?”

“The Wizard of All is a close friend of mine. I often steal his juice.”

“Really? Then why go consult with the Taskmaster first?”

“How do you…It is of no consequence. The Taskmaster is an old warhorse and I needed his advice on a matter of war. Besides, he is far too busy at Delphi to help me with what I need. I seek now to…”

The voice in the shadows interjected, almost politely.

“…strike fear into the cold heart. Well, you’ve come to the right place. I can make that which you seek. And a powerful force it shall be. Aye, fire against the denizens of the Fridge. It is madness, but one of which I approve.”

The voice paused as if to gloat inwardly, and then continued.

“I will build it for you. At a price of course. In my business, there is no such thing as a small favour.”

“Very well, let the cost be no matter. But I wish the weapon in my hands soon.”

“And so it shall be. My conditions are these: first, all expenses will of course be borne by you; second, I wish an audience with EnPsyClops. You say you are his friend. Surely you should be able to arrange it. Third, I want you to free one Barneldon Stincoop from the Cattle Prod slave labour camp. He will assist me in the construction of what you need. And last, I will need a look at your archives.”

“My archives?” The Frigid One asked with some incredulity. That the voice was milking the opportunity for all it was worth, was clear to him. But he could afford it now. He spoke again.

“Very well, your conditions are priced high. But acceptable.”

“Then, we can do business. I have a few arrangements to make, but rest assured, your task has already begun, Fridge Lord.”

“You may call me Frostwülfe.”


“A noble appellation indeed. A shade better than just being called the Trickster, Shogun.”


The owner of the voice stepped forward into the light. Recognition dawned on Frostwülfe’s cold, hard face.


“A long time ago, yes. I am become more than a member of the Ninjae Brotherhood. You may now call me the Grogfazjah.”

The End

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