Hi Magtok diary! This Dippy, official imp scribe-servant of Magtok, Hero War Man of the Lusty Plane! The Harpoony One busy, he say. Canít be bothered to write own diary entry. He say ďYou there, ugly imp, your name is Dippy now! Go scribe stuffs for me, I too busy being important and Xabrieal whore lady fangirl was hiding under writing desk and wearing strange panties last time I try to write things myself!Ē
Alright Dippy, got your little foreword thing out of the way? Good, from here on out youíre to write down every last word that comes out of my mouth until I give you the codeword to stop that we mentioned. Yes, good, I see youíre doing a fine job of keeping up with everything Iím saying. Youíre a much
better Dippy than the Nexus one, thatís for sure. Now let me see what weíve got so far; I stopped for a moment to imagine some goblin youíve never met getting sideswiped by the Skyline, and just completely lost my train of thought in doing so.
Okay, right. Yeah, Xabrieal. Not the first succubus or incubus or erinyes or whatever to try to get with the big superstar hero guy, but definitely one of the more creative ones. I made the mistake of listening to advice one of the other clones got once, of agreeing to meet the pest and then standing her up, but it didnít work out so well. Tried to take that time I was supposedly going to spend at some silly gala, and instead use it to work on my next MagJournal entry. Was getting to a good start too, when suddenly I feel hands on my hips, followed by a certain someone wiggling right out from under my desk and into my lap, dressed in an outfit even a Slaaneshi nudist colony would probably find a little distasteful. Two Aís in Slaaneshi, Dippy. Oh wait, nevermind, you already had it right.
"Hey Shiny, weíre going to be late for the gala," she said, scooting across my lap and neatly limboing her way under the harpoon. "Címon, letís get you out of those nasty old robes and into that sexy uniform with all the tassels and medals and badges."
I opened my mouth to protest, only for a big, fat, ugly pair of fingers to shut me right up before I could utter a word of dissent against her unseemly intentions. Equally large, fat, ugly lips whispered right in my ear, a weird mix of brimstone and strawberries scents pattering against the side of my head. "Oooor, if youíre really not in the mood for all those stuffy diplomats and cranky generals and stupid dignitaries, we can just take those robes off, and save that gala and uniform for another day?"
Anyways, to make a long story short, my quarters arenít quite secure enough for my tastes, and I canít afford to spend any time in a place where people might expect me, so all my writing has to be done on the go, someone elseís hand on the quill while I keep an eye out for trouble, wandering from one part of the Clockwork Fortress to the next with about as much predictability and consistency as Kirkís love life. I know, I know, right now it seems a lot of trouble and aggravation, just to keep a log of all the nonsense I go through here, but trust me, history will vindicate me. Deep down, I know this will all be worth it someday. Gods willing, my journal will escape to the surface, even if I donít, and future MagClones will know my name. ďHarpoontok,Ē theyíll say, ďnow there was a guy who could kick some devil ass. Man, if only I was half as sexy and talented as that genius
, that supervillain
, that god amongst men
.Ē I canít ruin that now by being caught up in curtain with some spray-tanned teenagers with goat horns sticking out of their head. I simply wonít let them drown out my better judgment in a fog of lust auras, bondage gear, and cheap cologne. No hero of mine ever traded his dignity away for a warm bed, and after that near-accident with Libby (followed by a completely different
kind of accident with Libby), I just canít take any sort of chances, no matter how many weird looks and glares I get from the local floozies. Someone will die
if I give in, and with karma the way it is, itíll probably be me next time who does.
My imaginary future fans arenít reading this to hear about me beating away women with a stick though, right? So letís move on, Dippy. Letís get back to the Second Circle as a whole, instead of fiddling around with all that fine detail stuff. Remember that new swarm enemy I mentioned in the last entry? Itís getting closer. The clock is ticking, they only get bigger and bigger with each kill, and if my suspicions are correct, itís got everyone who isnít working on the solution going into a crazy breeding frenzy, in a dimwitted effort to enjoy what little time we have. Weíre looking at something like a zombie apocalypse, from what Iíve gotten off the intel reports, but admittedly, thatís not much, and our only advantage is that they havenít seemed to figure out flying yet, bar one or two rare exceptions. Not much info, I know. Being a Hero Champion of Lust can only get you so far, as most of that junk is on a strict need-to-know basis. Lady Morgana and her generals assure us that everything is being done to forestall that enemy, but we all know what theyíre really
up to. With all that newfound power, Her Kinkiness is having the time of her life, stomping all over Malach and Bielaís forces for daring to oppose her rule.
I donít particularly blame her, really. I mean, if I won the divine lottery and was still in the Nexus, Iíd probably suffer a little tunnel-vision, too. It probably wouldnít be as bad, of course, since thereís only so many Reinholdts and Julies and ponies in the world, but Iíd definitely be wide open for a sneak attack in those first few days of celebrating, just as she is now. Man, kinda wish I could tell her all of this, maybe smack some sentence into her yes-men generals and arrogant lackeys, but I canít. Yíknow, what with the lust auras complicating things. Hers especially, what with it being turned way past eleven and all. I probably shouldnít be telling you all of this, Dippy, it being borderline treason and all, but I know you wonít rat me out. I mean, youíre an imp
. Iím a war hero, and since itíd be your word against mineÖI think even your namesake could figure out why that wouldnít work out for you in the end. Speaking of the real Dipsnig, have you ever wondered why goblins are so dumb and ugly? I think itís because they-
AAAAAUGH OH GODS EARTHQUAKE AIEEEEE! WEíRE FLYING IN A GIANT FORTRESS AND SOMEHOW THEREíS AN EARTHQUAKE GOING ON WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?! OH GODS, NOOOO! NO GODS, TAKE DIPPY INSTEAD, NOBODY WOULD EVER MISS HIM AND-
Hrm? What, itís over? Wow, well that
was weird. The alarmís still going off, though. Something about battle stations, and getting into them, but Iíll be damned if I can remember what mine was. Think weíre finally being invaded? Yeah, thatís probably whatís going on, isnít it? Can you keep writing and following me while I go do heroic battle stuffs, Dippy? You sure? I mean, I donít want to risk it if youíve got a gun or something you could be shooting instead, but if you're sure...
Oh, and move on to a fresh new MagJournal entry, would you? I think weíve covered just about enough with this one. Also, if you get shot or stabbed or exploded or eaten alive, try to shut the journal closed as fast as you can, alright? I donít want gross imp viscera ruining my-