Eve of Battle

Altright / ELOE Fanfiction (because it’s just damn funny. That’s why.)


The Primeval Black Forest Full of BadNasty Things was not a happy place but you could probably guess that by the name. However the Enemy clearly had not gotten that message for a Great Progressive Enlightenment had been launched in order to bring Tolerance and Diversity to the poor “uneducated” trolls and barbarians who dwelt in and around the Primeval Black Forest Full of BadNasty Things. After all BadNasty things had to be deposed of in the name of The Great Narrative. The Army of SOCJUS had been expected. A barbarian army rising up to oppose them had also been expected. What had not been expected was the size of the army that had gathered just outside of the Primeval Black Forest Full of BadNasty Things.

The tribes had gathered. Not all of the tribes but enough of them and a great deal more of them than anyone would have expected even just a few years earlier. A vast host stood arrayed in loose companies of two hundred, mostly poorly trained and undisciplined but hidden among the masses were carefully picked elite squads of Oathbrothers. Tribal and clan chiefs could be picked out by their better weapons and gear but even then the difference was subtle enough that only someone who was intimately familiar with this particular part of the Alt-Right could identify any leaders. What made these tribesmen so dangerous was that an enemy could never be sure whether he was facing a malnourished farmboy or a hardened champion.

Above the assembled ranks of barbarians flew many colorful banners with picture of cartoon catgirls, portraits of Charlemagne and inspiring slogans including.”What would Odin do? “Do it for your waifu!” “Integrity not Diversity” #Froglivesmatter and most popular of all “Dicks out for Harambe.”

In carefully spaced stashes were supplies of memes and quivers of hatefacts. Some of the memes were fresh, dank and newly forged from the meme-smiths of Harambeland and smuggled across the deserts and mountains by only the bravest of meme-smugglers and at no small cost in blood and treasure. Others were old proven memes, well tested and reliable, a few were even still salt-strained from the tears of previous enemies.

The old warriors stood stoic. A calming influence on the younger men they maintained the ranks and pushed away despair simply by their silent presence. Most were veterans of previous anti-establishment movements. All were grim, determined and each had given his very last fuck a long, long time ago. They knew the Enemy well and would choke the life out of at least one more SJW before they let the darkness take them.

In contrast the young men were in a word vibrant buzzing with energy and excitement. Each proudly wore his freshly painted “anime avatar” battle-mask and most were practically giddy at the prospect of finally, finally fighting back against those who had tormented them all their lives; For these were the young boys who had grown up in the pink hued shadow of The Great Narrative. They had never known freedom, only the whispered rumors that it had once existed. This war was their first (and likely last) chance to be free, to laugh in the face of lies and speak the honest words that they had suppressed for so long. The young men would bare the brunt of this war. They didn’t care. It was better to die fighting as a free man than to live one more day as a thoughtslave.

Just outside the command tent two mighty warlords stood having an intense conversation. One was the Barbarian War Chief, the largest, meanest and most Alpha of a race of large, mean men. The other was the Supreme Dark Lord Himself, flanked by as pair of sinister looking Vile Faceless Minions. The VFMs were doing their best not to look bored, while still being on guard against any sudden threat. Vile Faceless Minions got bored easily so the common soldiers were wisely keeping their distance, besides the War Chief could handle himself.

“If you lose this battle and your men all run away screaming like little bitches, it still draws the Enemy into the Troll Forest.” The Dark Lord declared with a many fanged smile. “You do understand the importance of this?”

The War Chief snorted, ”and you understand that I cannot order my men to retreat or abandon them mid-battle.”

“Yes of course but that’s not what I’m saying,” The Supreme Dark Lord shrugged.

“Then listen to what I’m saying.” The Barbarian warlord said. “Right now I am in command of a very pissed off, very bloodthirsty army that can’t wait to get stuck in. If I tell them to just go prance around in the forest like a bunch of elves, I will lose command and the army will scatter.”

“Every SJW you can sucker into following you into that death trap of a forest is one less serving the Narrative elsewhere.” The Dark Lord said not quite growling but clearly displeased with his ally.

“So does every SJW I kill today,” The Barbarian countered with a grin. “Listen I just need to smash a few legions in order to unify the army under my command and get everybody thinking of themselves as a one big team instead of a bunch of clans feuding over a few stray cows. After that we can put on the girly pants and go play elves in the mist.”

“This is the key theatre for the entire war right now. Don’t go ruining the entire grand strategy for the sake of a personal grudge.” The Dark Lord declared. “If you get killed the army scatters, if you lose too many elite troops the Enemy overwhelms you and burns your homelands to the ground. You’re risking too much for too little gain.”

“Strange to see you being the one calling for caution,” The War Chief grinned. “As for the grudge, yeah I’ll admit there’s a bit of that…”

“Don’t go walking into an obvious trap, damn it! You’re better than this.” The Dark Lord thundered. “They WANT you to fight a set piece battle, where they can use their the full weight of their numbers against you.”

“One battle and I’ll cut and run if I have to,” The War Chief countered. “My men simply don’t have the discipline to feint a retreat. I need to play to their strengths. What they do have right now is a whole lot of righteous anger and I want to use that for one smashing blow… then we go play elf.”

“I still say you’re walking into a trap, ”The Dark Lord said shaking his head. “and ruining our trap in the process.”

“Besides if you’re too worried about losses there’s other tribes I can rally to the cause and plenty of freebooting mercenary trolls who’ll be glad to join in on the looting and plundering.”

“It just seems inefficient,” The Dark Lord said throwing his hands up sarcastically,” You know we had a plan.”

The War Chief gestured at the army, “I will be happy to stick to plan after I’ve smashed the vanguard. Right now my men need to get blood on their swords and hear the Enemy squeal for mercy which we shall not give them. If this Pink Crusade is as large as your sources say it is there should be plenty of enemy soldiers to be hopelessly thrown into the Forest.”

“I’m not worried you’ll lose, I’m worried you’ll win too quickly,” The Dark Lord replied with enough anger in his voice that the VFMs jumped beside him. “The entire plan is based on you drawing out this campaign for as long as possible. Draw the core of the Enemy’s forces into the Troll Forest. Grind them down, scatter their forces and humiliate them in the eyes of the Normies; and the whole time let them think that their great gambit is working.”

“I can smash their initial push and still draw them into that Peninsular War you wanted,” The War Chief answered. “The Enemy is that arrogant! I CAN DO IT! But my people NEED a battle! We have been oppressed and insulted for too long. The young men of our tribes need to look the Enemy straight in the eyes and then punch them in the goddamned face. Wars are fought by men not by boards and counters.”

The two warlords locked eyes for several tense seconds, almost coming to blows.

“You’re allowing your emotions to dictate your tactics,” The Supreme Dark Lord finally said. “That’s not a winning strategy.”

“And you are underestimating the importance morale in this campaign,” The War Chief replied. “Especially in the initial stages, when our troops are untested.”

“You are confident that you can still accomplish the strategic goals of this campaign?” The Dark Lord asked dispassionately. “Even if you take heavy losses while making your grand poetic gesture.”

“I swear it on all that is foul and villainous,” The War Chief said without a moment’s hesitation. “We have hidden refuges through the Forest, carefully concealed stockpiles of weaponry and our womenfolk have made many sandwiches. Whatever happens we will not be driven out of our homelands. On that you have my Oath before any God you wish to name.”

“Then I accept your judgement as you have accepted mine on other issues.” The Dark Lord replied with a flare of ritual.

“General! We’ve spotted the Enemy!” A scout bellowed from a distance and he ran towards the Warlords.

“How many and what kind?” The Supreme Dark Lord demanded out of habit of command. Briefly forgetting that this was his ally’s army not his own.

The scout sprinted the rest of the distance to the two generals, then stopped took a gasping breath and stood there looking confused as to which Warlord he should report to luckily he came to his senses before the Supreme Dark Lord tore out his throat. ”A large group of Self-Important Fuckwits, at least three thousand by our best count.”

“They’re trying a direct approach, testing your strength and trying to wear you down with numbers.” The Dark Lord said carefully controlling his bloodlust.

“Easily dealt with,” The War Chief grunted. “Memeslingers and hatearchers to the front!” He commanded. Almost instantly there was a ripple of movement as the barbarians shifted their formation.

“Meat,” One of the VFMs snorted in contempt.

“Not even good meat.” The second one replied. “Like convenience store burrito meat.”

A second scout ran up to the War Chief,” General, there’s a line of Screaming Manlets coming in behind that first wave of Self-Important Fuckwits and a pair of Butter Golems are moving in on the right flank. We think there’s also a second wave of Fuckwits behind them but the Enemy is using smoke and fog magic to cover that part of the battlefield.”

The War Chief didn’t hesitate for a second, “Still expendable troops but we’ll need to have Erik’s squad deal with those golems. Go warn him them they’re coming.”

The scout gave a brief salute and ran off to relay the message to the special weapons squad. The two VFMs snickered softly. Screaming Manlets were SJW skirmishers. Weak and annoying but they could be absolutely side splittingly entertaining to chase around a battlefield. Ordinary soldiers hated them but the VFMs enjoyed hunting them and would go out of their way to do so; often completely ignoring other SJW subtypes until they had chased the last Manlet down.

In the distance a hatearcher captain bellowed, “Don’t shoot until you see the blank soulless void in their eyes!”

One of the VFMs turned to the Dark Lord. “My Lord we should leave before the Enemy sees us. Your presence may alert the Enemy to the hilarious strategic blunder they’re making.”

“Strangely your thoughts completely parallel mine,” The Supreme Dark Lord cackled. “Prepare the chariot. No reason to ruin a really good punchline.”

The pair of Vile Faceless Minions left to prepare the Darklord’s magical flying chariot which was powered by the captured souls of his vanquished enemies. Normally this would have been a task for lesser minions but the Supreme Dark Lord preferred to travel lightly on these covert missions.

In the distance the sounds of the first opening skirmishes could be heard. Mostly the sounds of SJWs dying, it was almost musical.

The Dark Lord stopped before he boarded his chariot and turned to the War Chief, “Remember, the key thing is to convince the Enemy that they are winning the entire time you have them pinned down in the Troll Forest. That’s really the only thing I’m worried about. They might just catch on to how badly we’re playing them.”

“They’re social justice warriors,” The War Chief replied. “Even if they thought they were losing they would double down anyway.”

The Supreme Dark Lord looked unimpressed.

“I’ll leave a trail of SJW heads, pointing towards our closest war camp on the edge of the forest. That should piss off the Enemy enough to chase us so deep into the Primeval Black Forest Full of BadNasty Things that they’ll never see the light of the sun again.” The Barbarian added, cracking into first a predatory smile and then into a rumbling laugh.

“Gather up the hands as well and use them to point in the direction of the base camp. Most SJWs aren’t that bright and they may need really detailed directions. Work in the occasional rude gesture and that should do the trick.” The Dark Lord replied, warming slightly to the idea.

“Trust me on this,” This is our Forest. This is our home we know it well. If the Enemy are stupid enough to try and drive us out of it I assure you that we can keep them running in circles and jumping at shadows a great deal longer than anyone expects.”

“Do that, and we win this war.” The Dark Lord declared with a will of iron. “Keep them pinned down here and I assure you that the Evil Legion of Evil will be busy elsewhere.”

And with that the Supreme Dark Lord turned to board his great flying chariot. The War Chief had a battle to fight and a long campaign ahead and the Dark Lord had other fronts to organize secure in the knowledge that this one was in good hands.

Eve of Battle

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