John is an idiot. Why on earth did he think a bake sale would be a good idea? For a good
week they hung out in front of Wal-Mart trying to sell bacon cookies and bacon brownies to
the various customers. People had the most confused reactions to the selection of baked
goods. And even if someone did find the items appetizing, no one was going to pay towards a
fund intending to get a metal drummer out of jail. Not a single person bought from them, and
eventually Coy and the troll had eaten all the merchandise. They needed an alternate plan, and
decided maybe they could beg the warden to pardon him. If that didn’t work, they would try
to break him out, but they decided after Coy’s failed assassination attempt he would not take
an active role in that. The four of them ventured down the yellow brick road in order to free
Andrew, skipping and singing, “we’re off to the see the Warden, the Wonderful Warden of
Oz.”
They finally reached Oz, and entered the large gray compound. They were greeted by the
giant disembodied head of actor Ernie Hudson. “I am the Wizz- I mean, Warden of Oz.
Visitation hours are over. Go home.” “But we’ve come so far” whined the troll. The troll
and the floating head continued this exchange, where the Warden acted like he was in charge
and the troll just whined about how his feet hurt from all the skipping. John shook his head in
disgust, as whining, skipping, and singing are not true, grim, and necro, and Coy had just
wandered off. He found the real Ernie Hudson was hiding behind a curtain and his giant head
was merely a projection. Coy yanked the curtain open, exposing his chicanery, and the
embarrassed Ernie Hudson agreed to let Andrew escape if no one in the band repeated this
incident to anyone. He gave Coy the key to the hole, and told them where Andrew was locked
away. They opened the door, blinding him with the light. Andrew was confused to see his
band and some weirdo he’s never seen before standing before him when his eyes adjusted to
the light. The band explained that they had a show on later that night, and that the Warden
gave them these shoes that would magically transport them all to the faraway Norwegian Civic
Center where the tour would start.
At the Civic Center the band opened with their smash hit “Amidst Her Crimson Patterns”
(insert disgusting and tasteless maxipad joke here). Nothing much else happened at this show,
aside from some people holding up a banner that said “WE LOVE YOU JOHN YOU BIG
SEXY FROST GIANT.” The band played well, but their enemies as well as friends couldn’t
make to that part of Norway that evening. They did the dragon summoning ritual just to see if
Marilyn was up to it and he passed that test. No real disasters happened at the show. This
seemed strangely odd to everyone in the band. Perhaps since they haven’t done anything in
such a long time Creidhne forgot they existed. Or maybe it was because they were playing
with Desolute, and Creidhne didn’t feel up to tormenting two bands that night.
The final night of tour (which would be the following night... it was a pretty short tour), the
band was back in a more familiar environment, a bar. Unbeknownst to the band, Creidhne
was watching the previous night’s show. While Marilyn’s dead baby jokes captured the
stereotypical essence of death, they were old jokes that didn’t really fit with Clad’s music (and
for once the band members would have agreed with Creidhne). Marilyn told them again this
night (and the same tired jokes no less), much to Creidhne and the band’s dismay. Creidhne
would have killed Marilyn on the spot, but Clad’s been working hard getting a tour together
and he has been a bit harsh on them so he decided to spare them for now. Besides, Coy did a
good job pissing Fez, pretentious front man and whiny bitch for Satan’s Chauffeur. Once
again they summoned their dragon friend, who was becoming not so much of a friend.
Trogdor didn’t mind being summoned the first time when he had a purpose, but he was
enraged that he was summoned to Norway two nights in a row for no reason. He threatened
to burninate the band unless they agreed not to summon him again for a very long time. The
band agreed, but only time will tell if they keep their word. However, the band decided to pay
homage to a major influence in their sound, and this cover song angered Creidhne. He tried
being patient, but the band pushed him too far yet again. And even though Khurbin J.
Brodhur, a random kobold from the audience was providing vocals instead of Marilyn, it
would be Marilyn who will pay the price. Creidhne made his presence known, and
congratulated Clad in Darkness for almost becoming a respectable band. But since he used
the word almost, they would once again have to pay the sacrifice of their vocalist. Creidhne
prepared to dispose of Marilyn Filth, when suddenly someone commanded him to stop. It
was Hodur, the Norse god of darkness. “Creidhne, you have meddled in this band’s career
for far too long. As the self proclaimed ‘god of metal,’ you should be trying to help this band
not destroy them.” “Hodur you fool. You are not the god of metal, you are the god of
darkness. You have no business meddling in my affairs or the affairs of this band. You had
best leave now, lest you share a similar fate as Mr. Filth.” “Creidhne, this band you toy with
is named after the thing I am god of. And you are not a true god of metal. You are Celtic.
Why hasn’t anyone noticed that before now? I am a true Norwegian god.” With that last
comment, Creidhne charged Hodur, who merely stood there. He called up to Odin who thrust
Gungnir through Creidhne, stopping his advance. As soon as the Creidhne was pierced, Coy
collapsed into convulsions. He was undergoing the violent process of reverting back to his
human form (remember when he got turned into a goblin?). Creidhne faded out of the
physical material plane, as did Hodur and Odin’s spear. No one was quite sure what had
happened there, or if Creidhne really had been permanently removed from Clad in Darkness’
existence, or why there had been a gold star placed in Coy’s guitar case. They only thing
anyone knew is that Marilyn Filth was the first person to provide vocals for the band and had
somehow lived to tell about it.