The Ladies of the Fold are enjoying the amenities of the luxurious women’s locker room after a long weekend of triple glory rewards. Beyond the lacquered walk-in lockers made from Gunnr the Great Oak, custom goat leather lounge chairs and kitten fur-lined sinks, the heroes are gathered in the Jade Serenity Wing. Celeste is having a soak in the waterfall hot tub. Joule is getting a pedicure and Catherine a massage, courtesy of professional spa minions. Koshka is grazing the quarter-mile buffet table with giddy gusto.

Catherine: I heard Krul and Ardan are really at the Breaking Point.

Joule (reading a pamphlet entitled “Super Evil Mega Conspiracies: Skaarf 1.4 Was an Inside Job!”): Hah! I get it.

Catherine: What?

Joule: You know..(looks around for confirmation, no one responds)..um, nothing.

Catherine: He may be difficult to work with, but I wouldn’t mind peeling that Viking armor back.

Celeste: Cath!

Catherine: He never rests, blondie. (one minion wheelbarrows another down her back, getting those tight deltoids) Speaking of, sorry I didn’t have your back on that gank, Koshka.

Koshka turns around with a mouth full of deviled eggs and gives a thumbs up.

Catherine: Was that sarcastic?

Koshka smiles, peppered yolk leaking out the side, and gives two more thumbs up.

Catherine: If you have beef, say it. Don’t be snide.

Koshka fills a mug with foamy beer and raises it in a “cheers”.

Catherine:That’s it! (Catherine’s blue bubble materializes, sending minions careening off the walls and marbled floors. Several suffer mortal injuries, the lucky ones are just crippled or knocked unconscious.) When they check your pulse it’s going to say “Ask Again Later”.

Joule (laughs heartily, sees no one else is, throws the pamphlet down onto a minion masseur’s corpse): C’mon, these references are so obvious!

Catherine stalks over to Koshka, who is obliviously devouring an entire Turducken. The Stormguard picks up a folding table, spilling Leviathan caviar, and brandishes it like a shield. Koshka pounces on cupcakes with fervor. Catherine’s ill advised assault is moments from conception when Koshka turns around, smelling the air and wrinkling her nose.

Koshka (looking past Catherine): Hey Feeder!

Rona stops in the entrance of the Jade Serenity Wing, towels and copious amounts of antiperspirant bundled in her buff arms.

Celeste: Kosh!

Koshka: Ooh, a nickname for me, too!

Celeste: Hi, Rona.

Koshka: It’s Feeder! You know, because the other team eats her up and gets allllll the gold! (shoves a cupcake and porkchop in her mouth simultaneously) Ey Feeda, oim hnngwy! Oim gubba eet chu!

Catherine (finally lowering the table): Leave her alone, Koshka. Maybe then she’ll actually go away.

Joule: Yea, save us the trouble of having to instalock just to keep her out.

Rona: I-I got more kills this time.

Catherine: And how many deaths, sugar?

Koshka: Sugar is a good one, too! Because her many deaths are sweet to the enemy, right?

Joule: Now, now, she almost stayed alive that one time, anyone remember that? You know, when she had two Serpents Masks?

Koshka (laughter spitting chewed grapes, parfait and sausage all over Catherine): Two masks?! You only have one face!

Koshka rolls on the floor with laughter, her razor sharp claws chopping through table legs and cutting swaths out of the marble.

Joule (to Rona): Maybe you could go be in another game? Something more suitable to your skill set. Like, Sonic the Farm Hog.

Catherine: Or Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time to Respawn Again.

Koshka: Tetris! (not a burn)

Carlyle the Minion Masseur (lifting himself off the ground, grinding the broken bones of his lumbar region): How about, Grand Theft Automatically Dead Before the Team Fight Even Starts.

All the girls erupt in a chorus of OOOOOOOO! Big meaty tears start to roll down Rona’s cheeks, soaking into her Grangor fur towels. Amidst the bully celebration, the air gets thick with dark clouds. Rumbles of thunder echo in the cavernous recreation space, ricocheting off the tapestries depicting great battles of the Fold from as long ago as November. The hot tub begins to swirl and bubble, giving Celeste way more relaxation than she bargained for, and then explodes in a majestic geyser of near scalding chemically cleaned water. The water rains down over everyone like an early morning shower on a balmy summer day.

Smoky Voice: I assume everyone else here is perfect?

The air clears to show the Stormqueen sitting next to Celeste in the hot tub. She’s puffing on a long Lionne Menthol “now with crystal bits of flavor in every puff!” with cucumber slices lovingly placed over her sewn-up eye holes. Celeste looks in terror, stifles a yelp, and mouths “Do you think she knows I’m here?” to the other ladies. Koshka mouths back “Who?” Catherine mouths to Koshka “The Stormqueen, dummy.” Koshka mouths “Stork Week? Fun! When is it?”

Stormqueen (to Celeste): Yes, I know you’re here, darling, and in this feminine sanctuary I couldn’t care less. (to Koshka) Stork Week is in late April, you missed it. (to everyone) May I resume my perfectly timed entrance?

Everyone nods, then mumbles “Yes” thinking she can’t see the nod, then realizes she can and wonders how she can see.

Stormqueen: Rona, dear, everyone has their challenges. These girls have all been squished, buffed, nerfed, tweaked and patched so many times they’re hardly recognizable. Come, I wish to show you something.

The Stormqueen damn near floats out of the jacuzzi, dragging her cigarette down to the filter in one draw. She flicks the butt back into the hot tub and sashays past the girls towards the door of the sauna. She is completely nude, but the sight is something that should never be described with narration. With a flick of a finger the door opens and she turns to beckon Rona.

Joule: Hey boss, are we in trouble?

Stormqueen: If you were, darling, would I show you this?

She twinkles two fingers, bringing forth a small rain cloud in the corner of the room. As the rain begins to fall, it frames out a box shape hovering five feet above the ground.

Catherine (growling with an estrogen and testosterone cocktail): Celeste, light it up.

Celeste drops a star in the corner, revealing a figure standing under a cardboard box. Catherine closes the gap in less than a second and knocks the box clear, revealing a very sheepish Ringo.

Ringo: Taka, uh, left it in his locker. I wanted to make sure it still worked, after someone had shot the lock off.

Catherine (deep bow toward the Stormqueen): Thank you, gracious ruler.

Stormqueen and Rona enter the sauna. In a last glimpse of the room, Rona sees Ringo experience what she could only describe as a 5,000,000 ping lag spike right to the shattered glass. The heat of the sauna is overwhelming and she soon sees it’s because Skaarf and the Kraken are in there letting their pores really breathe.

Rona (quite surprised): Should they be here?

Stormqueen (pointing to Kraken): Danielle is most certainly a lady of the finest order, and a talented sommelier. The dragon we are honestly not sure of; history books claim male, but what do they know? They were eaten. Come.

Stormqueen passes her hand over a section of wall and it slides open. The ladies step through the door into plain office space.

Stormqueen: This (pauses for effect) is The Lair. A place of indescribable magic!

Rona: Seems painfully 9 to 5-ish.

Stormqueen: You are not looking close enough. Let’s go!

Stormqueen skips down the hall, super naked, and cartwheels into a side office. Rona hurries after to find Stormqueen crouching on a desk that a large man with a shaved head is sitting at. He seems unaware of her presence, instead focused on a drawing he is furiously scribbling on a piece of paper.

Stormqueen: Don’t worry, he can’t see us.

Rona: Who is that?

Stormqueen: I call this one Chainsaw. Passionate, creative, he chops through bad ideas and welcomes forth heroes worthy of entering the Fold. He’s responsible for bringing you into this world. He’s like a father to you.

Rona (revelation of wonder): I have a father?

Stormqueen: 25 at least, and 5 mothers. It’s a progressive family. There’s more!

Stormqueen backflips off the desk, jiggling out the door and down the hall to another office. Inside, Rona finds her lounging on the window sill while another man works on his computer. His head is also shaved, but with stubble on his chin.

Stormqueen: Captain Neato! A bit more technical but still just as artistic. He makes sure your kits and bits are all functioning at high capacity before you pop up in that old hero select screen. You get it?

Rona (holding up her axe): He makes it so I can chop.

Stormqueen: And chop, and chop, and spin, and chop. Yes. But there’s still one you need to see.

She does the worm across the berber carpet and heads down to a corner office. Here she is perched on the back of an office chair that yet another man with yet another shaved head is sitting at yet another desk working on yet another ambiguous project.



Rona: Are all the men here bald?

Stormqueen: No, some have great, luscious hair in this group. You should see Tommy. But you need to meet Bo. Bo here (Stormqueen rubs his shoulders and tickles his ears with her toes; she’s still crazy naked) is the grand pappy of it all. Not a single particle or ping noise would be out there in the mobileverse if it wasn’t for him. Bo, and all the rest, want you to succeed; they want players to love you and win using you. They want people to poke you with their grimy fingers on their dirty screens while they sit on the toilet doing unspeakable business.

Rona: That’s awful.

Stormqueen: It’s reality, baby. And it’s the way all those other girls got their start. The people here work non-stop to make sure you can be at your best, even when players have no idea how to be successful with you. I know you’re new and this is all confusing, but haven’t you at least had a few good games?

Rona: Sometimes. Especially with him.

Stormqueen: Perfect, grab onto that feeling and gank the others back down where they belong!

Rona: Thank you. This has been odd and frightening.

Stormqueen: You’re welcome, darling. And remember, even if things don’t exactly work out, trolls will still play with you out of lonely spite for the rest of the world. C’mon, let’s dance!

Rona: There’s no music.

Stormqueen snaps her fingers and the perfect song to dance to at the end of a story comes on. They gyrate and twist and flop and heave all over Bo’s office while he sits and works without any knowledge of the horrors that are inches from his face. Poor, poor Bo.