The Rat Conspiracy

[Lebeau]

The 'Rat-Conspiracy' Version of History (aka The Truth?):

Long ago, after the time of the Light Elves (who constructed the great portals & the wondrous gems & so many other long-lost beautiful things), during the rise of the Igneosian Empire (1st wielders of darkest magic), there lived a rather large & smart rat. As he grew in age & wisdom, he clearly saw that direct confrontation as a way-of-life was & had always been a losing proposition for himself & his people, time after time, except with insects (well, most insects anyway ... the flying ones & the damnably small ones like fleas could not effectively be fought).

He lost his father in a hopeless battle with a marauding short-hair terrier, his favorite brother to the red squirrel gang, his mother to a mite peckish goblinish child who came along quietly, stopped, picked her up in his mit & popped her without another thought into his mouth like a bon-bon while she was storytelling to the rat-brats. Upon seeing how profoundly traumatized the children were over this loss, our smart rat had an epiphany.

It just wasn't fair to be small & weak & have others kill or eat you or your people whenever they liked. The proper rat-order of things was that his mother should have lived another few seasons at least, passing along all she could & then being old & less useful, eaten by the pack as the need took them. Fighting & conquest assuredly wasn't an option for his people, so he shrewdly concluded that since rats would only become bug-prey if they got any smaller, rats must therefore become more like those big-folk who ruled worldly matters ... & he wisely decided also ... if we can't beat them, we must join them.

He told his people this resonating truth & swore to them he would go & find the solution, a way to accomplish his dream & would return to them. As he left, many offered advice & gifts by screaming & throwing their feces at him until many clumps of it were encrusted in his fur or between his toes. Others wept silently & looked quite forlorn ... he was leaving them, yet he was a aging fat rat & had so much meat upon him.

Our intrepid rodent made his way into the world, long bearing the loamy, homey smell of his people to strengthen him. For many moons, he had adventures (magical mushrooms & wacky weeds he found aided this) & he also had close shaves with death, yet eventually he advantageously positioned himself & settled into the role of pet: the familiar of a sorcerer's apprentice. He had learned to mostly comprehend the 2-legs' communications & regularly performed the various stunts & tricks that got him attention & delicious tidbits from the pleased apprentice's pockets. He had his own gilded home on the apprentice's bedside nightstand, replete with food & drink, & even his own hollow revolving metal wheel to run off all those excess calories upon or to run for the simple joy of it. He knew, life is good.

Despite his middle's girth, easy living had not dulled his wits, nor blunted his life's purpose. He long bided his time & observed from the apprentice's pockets as the youngling's Master taught him all his craft. The Master was no ordinary Igneos, nor even an ordinary wizard, but was in fact the greatest living wizard of his people at that time. The rat watched, waited & learned much....

Feeling his old age encroaching, the rat knew his life was short & so he soon enacted the plans he had been making for years. He knew how to open the door to his gilded home & often did so, to sneak about the laboratories (& the pantries). Going to the labs, he uncorked the various transmuting brews he knew the effects of well & then drank a bit of each potion he felt sure to be the most promising to his aims. Later, after a purely gluttonous trip to the kitchens, he raided the Master's personal stocks as well, including his elixirs of longevity. The changes were dramatic....

He 'became'. He had been a rat, maybe even a very special rat, but now he was ... something smarter ... something bigger & better ... something ... no, a towering someONE ... the very first bipedal ratling god! He gathered his wits, & all the food & needful potions he could carry, gratefully chewed out the throats of the Master & his apprentice, drinking their blood & nibble-feasting on all their finger, toe, nose & ear treat-meats. Over-sated, dyspeptic & belching profusely, the new being cloaked himself in a small bath towel and set the wizard's tower aflame to negate any chance whatsoever that what he had willfully done that fateful night could ever knowingly be undone.

Homeward bound & nearly there, he was set upon by an adolescent gol-tar (ironically, the very same one who ate his mother) who boldly strode up ... but the 2' tall rat god was ready this time ... "if we can't beat them, we must join them" ... so, he feigned friendship with the larger gol-tar & adroitly turned what could have been his rape & murder into comradely submissive compliance. He beat the Gol-tar, among other techniques, then when the gol-tar lazily dozed, he chewed out his throat (his last word was "fucktard!") ... and once more he ate various parts of him ... but this time he swallowed.

He was rather famished when he arrived to the home of his birth days later. The rats there all fled in abject terror upon seeing a giant 2' tall Rat-zilla stroll up. He tried calling to those he once knew well, but alas, the colony was 'expanding' & the very last of such had become rat droppings weeks ago. None now lived who remembered him or his mission. He went apoplectic. Peevishly, he placed a vermin-ward around the warren with a potion, then he dug them out. The ones that ran into the ward, died ... the ones that bit or scratched, died ... the ones that kept trying to hide, died ... he stepped on them & then hungrily ate. Those rats that meandered around his feet however (feasting on the crushed bloody remains of their brethren who fell from between his toes), bowing & scrapping, hooping & hollering in shark-like frenzied celebration ... they obviously were the worthy ones, as they worshiped him & gave praises.

Starting with the biggest & smartest, he fed them one by one the exact combination of potions in the same order as when he had drank, ending with the longevity elixir. Sadly, he ran out of potions before he ran out of rat-kin (it had been a rather large nest). None went to waste tho, as those who 'became' ate all of those who remained. None went hungry that day. They said, "life is good".

He taught his new people ('the rat-godling people') his philosophy of greatness, survival and longevity: "the-path-of-least-resistance". Be practical, be sneaky, act friendly, be patient, adapt, conform, don't confront, learn the other 2-legs' ways, steal what you cannot learn, make yourself of use to others you want something from, win access & their confidence, & when the timing is perfect and it suits you as well, betray & destroy them at will, then take & eat your fill, make many younglings & pass it all on....

Long after, in his dotage (for he was allowed to live long beyond any real usefulness other than as an icon ... or maybe, he was still quite a very smart rat to have lived so long?), the first rat-godling fell somewhat ill. The god-of-god's ratpack was on the move again to visit any subordinate packs they could find (or track down) to take mates (any one they could catch) & to eat that pack's holy offerings (all the food in or near their nest). The leaders among them asked the great one after dusk, "Are you well?", "Think you can make it?", & lastly, "How are you, master?". He replied weakly, "Lame. I..." and before another word could pass his lips, his converts, his wives, children & other progeny, as well as all those nearest, fell on him, chewed out his throat & other exposed soft body areas, & fittingly ate him gratefully, & rather quickly, in the old & traditional way: uncooked & unwashed.

"Lame. I..." were his last words & LameI is what they still call the master of their secret philosophy. In honor of his way, they called themselves Lamai when it became apparent to them that names were very important things to 2-legs. They mastered his way & still follow it to this day. They ingratiated themselves with every 2-leg race that lived & breathed. They became the reliable, & relied upon, personal servants, assistants, meddling middle-men & sex-favor buddies of each & every one of the varied races of Regnum living there then: Aquantis, Goblins, Igneos, Orcs, (& to the desperate &/or very adventurous) even Cyclops, Trolls, Werewolfs & Yeti. Their control, affluence, & the cunning depth of their techniques grew & grew, as many generations passed....

Much later, a few Elves arrived, but it was soon the same with them .... & yet the elvenfolk made their own sort of trusting converts among the Lamai. Within 2 generations, there was open talk of workers' rights & improved working conditions & chanted slogans of 'power to the Lamai-peoples'. Labor and Trade Unions were formed. Demands were made, but not met. The Lamai then all officially went on strike to demonstrate their united resolve, but it had unintended and horrific consequences. They had unwisely broken their code, confronted and made themselves into targets. Due to a volatile combination of not enough work getting done (thus: less food, goods & services) & the pent-up sexual frustrations of 8 enraged races, wars & riots on every front broke out, with the Lamai initially caught in the middle of it all.

Too late, the Lamai people realized they had been expertly played by the sneaky Wood Elves supposedly sent as ambassadors to Regnum. These were the castoffs & criminals of the Light Elves, the irredeemably vilest dregs permanently sent away into exile in utter shame. These pointy-eared Gelflings were even better hucksters & manipulators than the Lamai had ever been however, & prettier too (tho Lamai height was considered by many as optimal for certain activities). Their plan all along: win trust & allies, then, when the time was right, send all the civilizations in Regnum into chaos by any means available, have them destroy one another, and then summon the Gelf-hordes thru a specially designed & transported enchanted gateway to finish off those few who survived & to begin settling their old homelands. If the Lamai had not figured it out in time, & had not had able allies, this conspiracy might well have achieved total Gelfling victory & domination.

Having their own well-placed & sexually-expert spies (& really big ears not just used for head handles), the Lamai discovered the location of the hidden transport artifact brought over from the Wood Elves' current homeland. The ratling-commando-brigade (yeah, there was one, but only one) struck the Gelf forces at this gateway within days, & with help from Gelf traitors & various allied individuals of the 8-races, they captured, completely routed or destroyed all the Gelf-scum there.

Even so, all civilization, trade, & bonds of fellowship were crumbling over the entire realm, even the biggest & most powerful of them all, The Empire of Igneos. A great curse of madness had been unleashed & was unstoppable. The Lamai decided nothing could salvage this situation & that it was madness to stay in a benighted land set to soon get much worse. Using captured & traitor elves, those of the 8-races capable in such matters, & their own limited expertise, this gateway was altered, activated, and used. They couldn't stay where they were & had no 'where' to go, so they instead chose a 'when' to go: into the future, long enough ahead for things to recover, for all the races to forget, to a distant time where 'business-as-usual' & the wily Lamai race could flourish again once more .... quietly ruling & running things, all from the inside .... & so it is indeed coming to pass. For Lamai now ... life is good (especially with ketchup ... tho some prefer mustard or barbecue sauce).