Assault on Darkshire [Staging]

[Deadpool]

* Hey, thanks for letting me borrow some of your Syntech employees to renovate my base. I don't know how else I would've gotten Retane's pungent scent of snail ass out of here. *

* Just don't make this a common occurrence, Wade. *

* Yeah, yeah. Anyways, I gotta go. Apparently, somethings going down in Darkshire, so I'm gonna see if there's any work. *

* Whoring yourself out again? I thought we were exclusive partners. *

* You're still my number 1 daddy, Karlito. But sugarbaby needs OM to get that power cap. Toodles. *

From atop his crimson mount, Deadpool swept a gaze over the skyline of Darkshire—it looked just as eerie as before. Late evening bruised the sky purple and blue, while a thick fog enveloped the city like smog gripping an industrial metropolis.  The orang hue of torches and oil lamps danced across the sides or buildings.

”That's our destination, Deadpony. Where there's unrest, there's mercenary work.”

“It's funny that I've existed for over a year and a half, but only now am I getting screen-time . . . without colored text, might I add.”

”I could have started my adventure already inside of Darkshire, instead of wasting words on giving you an entrance.”

“Good point.”

The mercenary tightened his hold on the reins, and sent his heel into the horse's side. ”Ya!” he roared.

His steed let out a squeal as it rose on its hind-legs, forefeet wildly jabbing the air; Deadpool imitated an over-the-top portrait of Napoleon he saw in a textbook once, striking a magnificent pose. Then pulled his horse in by the reins, and galloped towards Darkshire.

When the mercenary neared the city gates, a deep voice rolled down from the one of the guard towers on either side of the main gates: “HALT!”

Deadpool yanked the reins to his horse, coming to an abrupt stop. He peered towards guard tower, eyes running up each step before reaching the crow's nest. Two scruffy men locked sight with him. Their faces were only partially visible in the splashing light of a jittery lamp attached to the nest's ceiling.

“Who goes there?” the man to the right questioned.

”I'm here for the party,” the mercenary answered. ”I heard the festivities have brought out the finest Primes across the land—big, small, Portuguese—and I heard some of them can throw fireballs from their eyes, and shoot bolts of lightning from their asses.”

The roar of a confident crowd erupted from within Darkshire's walls.

”That must be one of the Portuguese Primes—lemme guess, Nurgle jargon?”

Neither guard responded.

”I know many Primes, and many Primes know me,” Deadpool said. ”If you question my accolades then I implore both of you to catch up on the popular Dante's Abyss competitions. I'm the guy that makes a lot of obscene jokes, and parades around nude . . . sometimes.”

The guards shared a glance, then turned back to the mercenary; the one on the right spoke: “Do you know of Okor, or the honorable Shang Tsung?”

Deadpony turned his head as far back as he could to speak to his owner without the guards hearing him. “Isn't Okor the guy that Gilgamesh manipulated into allegiance, then betrayed him?”

Yeah, with some 4th Wall help from me,” Deadpool replied. ”Did you ever hear the story about how basically I carried Sasuke and Gilgamesh into the Top10?”

“Don't care,” Deadpony retorted.

The mercenary looked back at the guards and nodded. ”Yes, he answered, ”I know the walking plague of Karposi's Sarcoma well—we fought together while escaping the last Dante's Abyss. He's a lumbering guy—about 7-foot-too-goddamn-big—and smells like spoiled milk mixed with Indian shit.”

The guards spoke amongst themselves, only audible enough for the mercenary to hear faint grumblings.  Then one of them looked over the backside of their nest and gave a thumbs-up.

The gate groaned open.