“Pack.” he commanded.
“—The Bag! The Bag!” chorused the choir of minions, awaiting their task, with the ungodly harmony one only achieves with true mindlessness—though this still did not drown out the last deep notes of his command, ever floating throughout the cavern to remind them of their duty.
“In goes the twisted horn of Gildimore.” his voice sounded throughout the cave-like hall, echoing off the various spikes, gilded with fine strands of silver that shimmered with an eerie awareness in the firelight.
“In it goes; down into the depths;—in it goes; down under!” they replied.
Never ceasing chanting, waves of it. Every time the sounds started to echo away, into the distances of the hall—if you could even call it that—a new tidal wave of high-pitched voices would cry out; such desperate yearning and agony would fill every crevice of what really did seem to be more a cave than anything else, that it was nearly impossible not to mistake the sound for the cries of forlorn ghosts trapped in unforgiving hosts. This was, at least to the average misbegotten slave trapped in the place, inconceivable.
The small, thievish-looking hoods that cloaked the minions started to gather around what looked suspiciously like a cornucopia, lifted it off its stand (this required quite a number of them), and started to slowly trot—albeit rather unevenly, which is understandable for such a large group—towards the bag. This was quite a bag. Compared to the minions, it was a towering monstrosity, harvested from the leather one can only gain from a fallen world, struck down by its own populace. Compared to him, however, it almost seemed a meek and polite piece, serving a purely functional purpose. He was a bit of a special case, though.
Finally, with one heaving effort, the minions succeeded in toppling the “horn” into the leathery folds the bag seemed to claim where its entrance, and a few minions along with it. Casualties were clearly unavoidable.
“It has been done!” Another wave.
“Is it gone?” Several minions fell over because of the boom his voice created, the vibrations crashing them to the ground.
“It shall not return!” those still standing managed to shriek.
“Pack.” he commanded.
“—The Bag! The Bag!” this time there was a little less energy in the reply.
“In goes the long lance of the Doomsday Dance.” with the violent shock of energy accompanying this statement several of the previously rather elegant, even a little aloof seeming, spikes lining the walls cracked at their base. One could almost see them trying to decide what to do, but it was not in their hands, or rather tips, any longer. Slowly, with the desperate effort of a dying creature, they fell from their homes, into strange, unknown land. At least they were able to take a few minions with them.
“In it goes; down into the depths;—in it goes; down under!”
The lance was quite a bit trickier: every time one of the minions tried to touch it, they would be propelled quite a few meters away, in an arc similar to that of a soaring kite cut loose, finally free. They had a tendency not to get up after this.
After a few minutes of panicked problem-solving, the minions managed to wrap the lance, which seemed to be entirely made of blood-red bone-fragments, with a large tapestry and carry it that way towards the bag. It was really kind of sad—one could see the tapestry smoking at the edges, naturally a dark-red smoke, swirling in fascinating patterns, presumably forming every minion’s nightmare. The tapestry was actually quite beautiful, intricate scenes of battling animals with breath-taking detail, unfathomable colors that can only be reproduced with ingredients long gone to this world. It did its job though, and managed to last right until it was above the bag, were the combined heat of that and the lance burned it up in seconds (again along with a few minions).
This time I had to write a descriptive writing piece for the test, with the prompt “Describe preparations you make for an important journey.” I got minus points for using too many semicolons. Note that the story is unedited; I had around 1:30h time for the whole ordeal, and was writing until the last second. I would edit it down now, but I’m a) too lazy, and b) feel it would ruin the spirit of it.