gods around each shin. Given the proliferation of tentacles and spikes amongst their pantheon it was a fair bet they'd been invented by whatever alien cobbler had synthesized the leather.
He looked utterly, utterly ridiculous.
"And now," Gumption said, beaming, "are there any questions?"
A forest of limbs and tentacles shot into the sky, awestruck fans positively aching to speak with their hero.
"Gosh..." Gumption blushed.
Wulf bashed his pointy head against the glass, reasoning that even if the wretched stuff wouldn't break he'd be too concussed to listen.
"I have a question," a voice shouted, its owner apparently unphased by the chorus of irritated snorts from the rest of the audience.
"Um," Gumption faltered. "Yes...?"
"Yes. I wanted to ask when you were planning on admitting that everything you've said today is a complete fabrication?"
Silence dropped like a ton weight. Wulf leapt to the front of his cage, scanning the audience for the speaker.
"Yes!" he shouted, uselessly. "He is speaking of der truth! All is being lies und made up!" Naturally, nobody heard him.
A solitary man with a clipped white beard and a grey cassock walked slowly along the aisle of the lecture hall, hands clasped. Heads (and eyestalks) craned to regard him.
"Uh... Y-you, ahaha. What do you m... uh." Gumption had turned a pleasing red hue. "Y-you can't prove anything!"
"I don't need to," the man said, drawing a blaster from within the folds of his robes and racking its arming bolt with a clatter.
The audience, as if well rehearsed in spontaneous pandemonium, shrieked. Gumption whimpered, the white-bearded man raised his gun and a five-strong squad of figures, all dressed equally as plainly, shuffled into auditorium's rear with a medley of arming guns and charging lasers. Wulf punched the air, anticipating imminent release.
The man with the beard dented his enthusiasm proficiently:
"We know you're a fake," he hissed, "because in His eternal wisdom the Great God Boddah teaches us that history is a lie conceived by Ogmishlen, the reality devil!"
Members of the audience exchanged uncertain glances. In his box, Wulf groaned. If there was one thing more depressing about the twenty-third-century than the prodigious number of cheats, liars and criminals, it was the abundance of lunatics.
"W-what?" Gumption squealed, staring down a barrel.
"The universe was created one hundred and eighty six years ago!" the bearded man chanted, froth catching on his lip. "Everything before then is an illusion, seeded in the minds of the impure by the rumour-wasps of iniquity! So sayeth the Book of Boddah. Hail!"
"Hail!" the other cassock-wearers chanted, slightly out of time.
Someone in the audience coughed.
Gumption appeared to be recovering his composure. "S-so. What you're saying," he said, "is that every person in this room, myself included, is... ah... contributing to some universal falsehood?"
The bearded man nodded. "Exactly! You are agents of Ogmishlen and shall be purged!"
"All eight hundred of us?"
"Yes!"
"All of us shall be purged by you and your, ah... five men?"
"Yes."
"In a hotel that has fifty armed security guards in the reception?"
"Y-yes. Um." the voice suddenly didn't sound quite so certain.
"Using the guns that you're carrying?"
"Yes. Look, th-"
"Which, I can't help noticing, you don't appear particularly comfortable with."
This, it would seem, was one smuggism too far.
"Comfortable enough to blow your snecking brains across the stage!"
Gumption's increasingly confidence ego resumed its "gibbering terror" status. Wulf went back to beating his head against the glass.
"L-l-let's, ahaha, let's not be hasty, shall we?" Gumption prattled. "I mean, we, ahaha, we of the historical community have always been v-very prepared to listen to... uh... opposing point of views."
"The Illuminated Children of the One True Boddah do not discuss matters of faith with devils. Hail!"
"W-well I just wondered what you m-made of, uh... of
He looked utterly, utterly ridiculous.
"And now," Gumption said, beaming, "are there any questions?"
A forest of limbs and tentacles shot into the sky, awestruck fans positively aching to speak with their hero.
"Gosh..." Gumption blushed.
Wulf bashed his pointy head against the glass, reasoning that even if the wretched stuff wouldn't break he'd be too concussed to listen.
"I have a question," a voice shouted, its owner apparently unphased by the chorus of irritated snorts from the rest of the audience.
"Um," Gumption faltered. "Yes...?"
"Yes. I wanted to ask when you were planning on admitting that everything you've said today is a complete fabrication?"
Silence dropped like a ton weight. Wulf leapt to the front of his cage, scanning the audience for the speaker.
"Yes!" he shouted, uselessly. "He is speaking of der truth! All is being lies und made up!" Naturally, nobody heard him.
A solitary man with a clipped white beard and a grey cassock walked slowly along the aisle of the lecture hall, hands clasped. Heads (and eyestalks) craned to regard him.
"Uh... Y-you, ahaha. What do you m... uh." Gumption had turned a pleasing red hue. "Y-you can't prove anything!"
"I don't need to," the man said, drawing a blaster from within the folds of his robes and racking its arming bolt with a clatter.
The audience, as if well rehearsed in spontaneous pandemonium, shrieked. Gumption whimpered, the white-bearded man raised his gun and a five-strong squad of figures, all dressed equally as plainly, shuffled into auditorium's rear with a medley of arming guns and charging lasers. Wulf punched the air, anticipating imminent release.
The man with the beard dented his enthusiasm proficiently:
"We know you're a fake," he hissed, "because in His eternal wisdom the Great God Boddah teaches us that history is a lie conceived by Ogmishlen, the reality devil!"
Members of the audience exchanged uncertain glances. In his box, Wulf groaned. If there was one thing more depressing about the twenty-third-century than the prodigious number of cheats, liars and criminals, it was the abundance of lunatics.
"W-what?" Gumption squealed, staring down a barrel.
"The universe was created one hundred and eighty six years ago!" the bearded man chanted, froth catching on his lip. "Everything before then is an illusion, seeded in the minds of the impure by the rumour-wasps of iniquity! So sayeth the Book of Boddah. Hail!"
"Hail!" the other cassock-wearers chanted, slightly out of time.
Someone in the audience coughed.
Gumption appeared to be recovering his composure. "S-so. What you're saying," he said, "is that every person in this room, myself included, is... ah... contributing to some universal falsehood?"
The bearded man nodded. "Exactly! You are agents of Ogmishlen and shall be purged!"
"All eight hundred of us?"
"Yes!"
"All of us shall be purged by you and your, ah... five men?"
"Yes."
"In a hotel that has fifty armed security guards in the reception?"
"Y-yes. Um." the voice suddenly didn't sound quite so certain.
"Using the guns that you're carrying?"
"Yes. Look, th-"
"Which, I can't help noticing, you don't appear particularly comfortable with."
This, it would seem, was one smuggism too far.
"Comfortable enough to blow your snecking brains across the stage!"
Gumption's increasingly confidence ego resumed its "gibbering terror" status. Wulf went back to beating his head against the glass.
"L-l-let's, ahaha, let's not be hasty, shall we?" Gumption prattled. "I mean, we, ahaha, we of the historical community have always been v-very prepared to listen to... uh... opposing point of views."
"The Illuminated Children of the One True Boddah do not discuss matters of faith with devils. Hail!"
"W-well I just wondered what you m-made of, uh... of
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