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View character profile for: Ashley Ferrington-Blonde
Yakekeekekek swore loudly as he looked into the night sky and saw the ball return relay explode in a rather un-dramatic way. For years now, the Yolakak GELFs had been using the space station as an interdimensional 18th hole and ball return relay, returning all of the balls they used in their space golf to the start point. The resulting Karma field effect making for an extra hazard on the course. Now, it would be far too easy to score and Yakekeekekek would begin to lose money. His hard earned currency would slip away from him as he had to reimburse those who scored under par on the course. He bellowed into the darkness and several aids came rushing out of the piles of money, precious gems, metals and other odds and ends that had been traded in exchange for freedom.
“Find the ones responsible for that travesty.” He said, his fat lips and large tongue spraying the words over his assistants. None of them flinched, it was a blessing to be sprayed by the great Yakekeekekek. He licked his lips and continued. “Bring them to me. They will play for their crimes.” He grinned wickedly.
“Oh. Mighty one, Eagle of the 9th, Birdy of the 18th, He whom paisley always looks good on. That… That’s not possible” One of the aides said, visibly quivering with fear.
“What?!” Yakekeekekek screamed, the spray of spittle decorating the room.
“The course is still under renovation oh Commander of the putting green. As per your orders we are increasing the hazards on the space course. It wont be ready for a number of days yet.” The same one said. Yakekeekekek swore and frothed in rage for a clear fifteen minutes before calming down enough to speak. An aid rushed over to him with a sponge and bucket and began to mop the froth away.
“Fine. Bring them to me. We will play for time on the land course. I want a team putting together of our best Golfers. THE BEST! You hear me! I want those insolent whelps wiping out. Contact the other clans and invite them for some sport. This will be a game to remember, 18 holes, no handicaps, all hazards in play, all survivors will be entered into the space golf cup.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Whilst they are on their way, we will pick their teams. Get access to their personnel files. I want the worst pilot, the worst scientist, the worst their crew has to offer. We can’t risk them winning. Not after what they’ve done to me.”
The sponge flicked out and wiped away the monitor again, Ashley stomached the bile that she felt rising at how vile the creature was, it reminder her of Bruno in a way she couldn’t quite tell. Maybe it was the way his mental break has caused him to start practicing more unusual hygiene habits? She shuddered and forced away the thoughts. “We are sorry for the damage to your property… Ah…” She glanced down at the name that the comms officer had written down and hesitantly pronounced (incorrectly of course): “Yak ek eek ek ek? Master of the Driving Iron. Anything we can do to repay you for your loss we will of course oblige if it within our….”
“Silence!” The screen was wiped again. “Your lives are forfeit. You will play for freedom, as all who enter the course must do. You will play on my planet wide course. We will pick your player team. You have seen what will happen to all of you if you fail.” The camera panned around again to show the view in the private chamber: Various bodies lay in the room, some missing buttocks where razor sharp clubs had been used to tee off from the tee delicately placed in an anus. Others with a club wedged several feet into the body. It seemed irrelevant which end, there were examples of both. All manner of golfing related torture had been visited on the GELFs in the chamber. The monitor went blank as the communication was cut by Yakekeekekek.
Ashley put her head in her hands and resisted the urge to run them through her hair, it had taken an hour this morning to get it looking this Captainly. A few quick orders confirmed that they were still caught in the field emanating from the GELF home asteroid and were being drawn in, like a sci-fi tractor beam they were caught. Shortly thereafter a communication plinged up on the screen. Ashley read it, the list of players requested for the team, and swore.
“You have to be smegging kidding me?! All of our lives are in the hands of these morons?!”
I wonder which morons have been picked to play golf? The worst pilot on crew record (Jay Chrysler, obvs.)? The single least likely person to know about science (The verger, Cass)?... Who is picked, and why are you useless?
Have fun with this: Are we told by Ashley in person, or just shipped straight there? Are we told the full story or just that we have to play golf and win?
What do we see when we get there? What hazards await us? Glaciers? Desserts? deserts? Volcanoes? Jungles? Swamp? All of the above? Is there a sit down meal whilst we wait for the other clan teams? Given the sacredness of the spit are we expected to be blessed by Yakekeekekek? Is the blessing verbal or a drink? Would we accept it or risk offending our hosts?