STAW Vol 1. pt. 7

If you’re going to try being an evil overlord, do it correctly.

First, I search for the kitchen. Those around me may be demons and devils, but I am still human. This means that I require food and good health, and good health starts in the kitchen.

Ironic, I know. I could hardly care if I die at any moment now, yet I am worried about my health. Why is that? Because if I am going to be doing something, and in this case – living, then I am going to do it correctly. No tobacco, no alcohol, no sweets, minimal gluten and low-carb, high-protein and high-fat foods with minimal additives. There is no need to drink anything other than water, and all a human truly needs is some meat and perhaps some greens and berries if they have no self-respect.

If it isn’t obvious, my respect for vegans is somewhere between my respect for fantasy clichés and idiotic bimbo devils.

When I finally find the kitchen, I am relieved to see that it is relatively normal. Everything is made of stone, there is what appears to be a working sink which means that these devils at least have some basic knowledge regarding engineering, and – wait, no.

I look closely at the sink.

It looks almost exactly like a modern sink. When I turn the knob on the left, hot water comes out. When I turn the knob on the right, cold water comes out.

Now, I am not an expert regarding the topic of sinks, but I would love to know how this world has working, modernized sinks. The more I learn of this world, the more it feels as if I have been placed in some sort of fantasy setting where its creator loves the idea of fantasy but has no idea how things such as this worked back before modern technology. So, rather than do the research necessary to make a convincing medieval-fantasy setting, they decide to just throw in fully modern sinks!

Let me guess, there is going to be a working hot tub and shower as well? Flushable toilets? If there is one thing I know about history, it is that human waste was generally just tossed out through the windows and left on streets or in rivers. I doubt that this setting will have anything as gross as that, though. Instead, everything will be clean and neatly taken care of via the wonders of modern plumbing.

Part of me wants to become the dark lord simply so that I can ban these nonsensical leaps in technology to make the masses struggle and advance properly rather than cheating their way to the end.

At least there isn’t a fridge. If there was somehow an operating fridge without electricity, I would just kill myself right here as a refusal to take part in this idiotic world.

Instead of a fridge, there are cabinets, barrels, and crates. The few vegetables – at least, I think they are vegetables. There is what appears to be a bundle of bananas, but instead of being yellow, they are blue with red spots and have… I do not know if those are maggots or tentacles wiggling out from the bottom of them. Regardless, what little produce there is all seems to be rotted or just not healthy for one’s body nor mind to consume.

One might think that the kitchen is barren from a quick look. However, once one opens the cabinets, they see the truth.

“DO NOT TOUCH” is written in a language that appears to be an alien child’s scribbles, but I can understand it because it would be too interesting for me to have to learn how to read this world’s language. I am assuming that something during the summoning process gave me the ability to read and understand this world’s written language. Moving on, it is written on a piece of parchment in front of several boxes of colorful, childish looking snacks. They look familiar, but at the same time, are clearly the demonic creations of a fantasy world. Demon-O’s, Lucky Curses, and Frosted Scales are just a few of the snacks in here.

Looking closer at the parchment, there is something masculine about the way it was written.

This was her brother’s cache of food.

Looking through the rest of the cabinets, I eventually find one that is not marked by her late brother.

There are a few mostly-empty bags of snacks, but that is all.

If she doesn’t have a secret stash of food somewhere, or if she didn’t just recently finish going through all of it, she must be living off of all the fat hanging from her chest.

It’s a miracle those things aren’t any smaller.

If I starve her until she loses a few cup sizes, will more of her body’s blood be sent to her brain rather than her chest? I might be on to something here.

At the end of the kitchen is a single door. When opened, it reveals downward stairs that descend into darkness.

Needless to say, I shut the door to go and find myself a goblin.

There are seven goblins that I have already given mental nicknames to.

The first goblin is One. One is the shortest of the bunch and has the bumpiest looking nose.

The rest are more or less the same but named Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and I just renamed Seven to Albert. Why “Albert?” Because I once knew a man I could not stand named Albert.

Naturally, Albert is the goblin I bring back with me to the kitchen and send downstairs into its cellar.

A vicious arm covered in black fur grabs Albert as soon as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. The sound of gnawing and horrified goblin screams can be heard from the kitchen until I close the door and decide to look for the bedroom.

Am I just going to leave that monster down there? Yes, I am. It is safe to assume it has been content down there this entire time, and it was just fed, so I am sure it will stay content until I can send somebody more talented down there to kill it. Or tame it. I don’t know what I’ll do with it yet since I have no idea just what it is yet. Actually, I do have a few ideas, but those will be for another time.

Then again, if I do leave it down there for something later on, it could be seen as a Chekhov’s Gun.

Three is cleaning the hallway in front of me.

“You. Show me where the bedrooms are,” I tell him – her, it. I don’t know what gender it is. As far as I can tell, it has no discernable sexual features. Its only holes are its mouth, ears, and nostrils, and the most phallic things it has is its nose.

Whatever its gender is, Three shrugs and leads the way.

“Three, do you know what a Chekov’s Gun is?” I ask.

Three shrugs again. I’m going to take that as a no.

“You see, Chekov’s Gun is a popular trope that essentially means ‘if it’s not important, don’t bring it up.’ For example, if this were a story, there would be no point in ever bringing up the monster in the basement if it will never be used later on in the story. But, what if it has no use? Just because I meet it once, it has to be brought up again later to be useful? What if I just want to leave it down there and let it eventually starve to death, assuming it can even starve? If I say ‘look, those blue curtains are pretty,’ does that mean there has to be meaning to my finding blue curtains pretty? While I can understand why some critics may support the rule of not including non-essential information, it has always struck me as incredibly archaic and asinine.”

I take a deep breath before continuing.

“I find it incredibly ironic. Creators and critics alike believe that all information should be vital to the story or else it deserves to be cut out sometime before the final draft, but by doing so, they employ one of the most common clichés there is in storytelling. Do you see the problem here? These people claim to hate clichés and say that clichés are horrible, disgusting things that should never be used, but then tell everybody to follow one of the most cliché rules there is: do not include non-essential content. Humans over-analyze everything and set their expectations too high for no reason other than to inevitably be disappointed. Of course, no matter how hated clichés may be, they will be used until the end of time. People are too unoriginal to not use clichés no matter how hard they may try. Even if one dedicates their entire life to coming up with an original idea, there will be a TV Tropes page for it.”

When I finally finish my rant and look at Three, I see it plugging its ears with its fingers.

I know who the monster-in-the-basement’s next meal is.

Three has led me to the top floor of the manor into a hallway that has several doors lining it.

“Thank you. Now, go back to cleaning the halls,” I tell it.

Three grumbles and walks back downstairs.

Now, let us see what I have to work with here for a bedroom.