Quotes / The Igor

"Welcome to my secret lair on Skullcrusher Mountain
I hope that you've enjoyed your stay so far
I see you've met my assistant Scarface
His appearance is quite disturbing
But I assure you he's harmless enough
He's a sweetheart, calls me 'Master'
And he has a way of finding pretty things and bringing them to me"
Jonathan Coulton, "Skullcrusher Mountain"

Sinister Voice: Dr. Frankenstein?
[A crash of lightning - it is revealed that the source of the voice is a hunchback, dressed in black.]
Frederick: (beat) "Fronkensteen."
Igor: (voice suddenly normal) You're putting me on.
Frederick: No, it's pronounced "Fronkensteen."
Igor: Do you also say "Froaderick?"
Frederick: No... "Frederick."
Igor: Well, why isn't it "Froaderick Fronkensteen"?
Frederick: It isn't, it's "Frederick Fronkensteen."
Igor: I see.
Frederick: You must be Igor. (EE-gor)
Igor: No, it's pronounced "EYE-gor."
Frederick: But they told me it was "EE-gor."
Igor: Well, they were wrong, then, weren't they?
Frederick: You were sent by Herr Folkstein, weren't you?
Igor: Yes. My great-grandfather used to work for your great-grandfather.
Frederick: How nice.
Igor: Of course, the rates have gone up.
— Frederick meets Igor, Young Frankenstein

The sound comes from the far corner. Radu and Mikhail, Alexei's szlachta, shamble in tandem from the shadows. They are bipedal, for they must move to obey their master's commands, and they have arms and hands to assist their master in its tasks; but otherwise, Alexei has taken great liberties with their anatomy. Giger or Goya could hardly have rivaled Alexei's creativity.
"Down!" Alexei hisses. The pair flinch back into the shadows. "When I need your services, I shall tell you. When I decide to feed you, I shall. Until then, begone!"
"Ohkindmastergoodmasterlovemasteroyesnohurtmore..." The ghouls scuttle into their den, peering out at Alexei with bioluminescent eyes.
Vampire: The Masquerade - Clanbook: Tzimisce

As physical beauty has little value to the Necrarchs, they accept the services of those who others scorn: the diseased, the mad, the disfigured and the mutated. The Necrarchs show false pity to these outcasts, and in return their servants are fanatically faithful and are capable of performing tasks which the Vampires would find difficult. During daylight hours, these dregs rob graveyards and plaguepits in order to find raw materials for their masters' experiments. The most intelligent of these, the Necrarchs school in the arts of necromancy. Rarest of all are those who the Necrarchs decide to initiate into their own ranks...

"Yeah. My boss don't appreciate me either. To him I'm just a gofer. 'Igor! Go for brains!...Igor! Go for dead bodies...Igor! Go for sandwiches!' ...I dunno—give me another beer."