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Oct 29, 10 at 12:07pm ^re: The Chronicles
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Leaving the two unconscious thugs sprawled across the concrete Johno followed Christelle away from the boat docks and towards the midnight fun-park. It was amazing to Johno that after the latest incident Christelle could be skipping so cheerfully, but she was. The two were clearly after Christelle for perverted desires so how was it that after their flawed attack she was ever more enthusiastic about continuing the date. Johno couldn't get his head around it.
“Well, come on slow poke. The entrance is just up ahead!” Christelle stated, dancing around Johno as she did so.
As Christelle finished twirling around Johno like a ballerina she skipped forward, feeling a sudden lurch forward Johno was towed behind. Staggering behind the overly energised Christelle Johno felt immensely relieved when the reached the large booming gates fashioned in the shape of a moon with a sun behind. Non-surprisingly a massive neon sign arced around the entrance with the name of the night park, Eclipse Fun Park. A rather suitable name Johno evaluated. The man at the turn stall was clad in a white tux adorned with several fluoro rings and pads. Gazing past the clean shaven man several more members dressed in similar style could be noticed. Obviously all park staff dressed as such.
“Two tickets pretty please and thank you!” chirped Christelle at the man who smiled as he graciously accept the cash in her hand.
As soon as Christelle had tickets in hand she grabbed hold of Johno's wrist and resumed dragging him forward at what Johno would consider insane speed. Halting five feet away the reached another gate that opened out into the Park itself. Here two women in low cut Tuxedo’s stamped both their arms and taking away their tickets. A thought occurred to Johno as to how much this Park earned for the staff to be dressed so richly. As he looked around the surrounding over-populated area crowded with stalls, rides, buskers and other attractions it wasn't all that hard to believe if this place managed to pull in a million an hour.
Directly in front of where they stood was a giant court like area with a fountain sitting elegantly in the centre of the huge brick covered space. The fountain itself was in the shape of two women. One was standing with arms by her side glowing with changing colour. She seemed to be made of some sort of translucent material and had a very angelic poise to her. The other lady appeared much taller spiralling around the other like a cobra about to constrict it's prey. This one also appeared to made of the same semitransparent material as the other however rather than glowing with light water flowed through her leaking from her fingertips while pouring out the back of her head like a waterfall, pouring above the other. It was a rather breathtaking ornament that lit the entire area and the buskers that surrounded. The acts that worked hard for donations were varied from all sorts. A set of Fire breathers created a second flickering light source of to the side of the fountain while a woman ploughed swords down her throat in what Johno deemed a very erotic manner. Musicians were scattered around the court playing majority acoustic blues, Johno's favoured style of music. To Johno's surprise there was even an aborigine playing the didgeridoo alongside one of the park staff strumming away on a banjo. The mixture of the two instruments was amusingly harmonious. The busker's square didn't seem to hold much interest for Christelle however who was eager to leave for the rides. Passing past the Fountain that was titled 'The Moon and Sun Spirits' Christelle led the way to the far left towards what looked like an artificial jungle.
Towering above Johnathan and Christelle's heads were two large water slides, one twisted and turned the other looked like a a straight forward vertical drop.
“You Beaut, that looks fun!” referring to a large fake cliff and waterfall off to the side where guys and girls of all ages cliff dived into a pool one by one.
Christelle smiled suspiciously at Johno before pulling him off to the side for what seemed like the fifth time that night. This time their destination was a straw roofed hut that acted as a shop full of swimming gear for sale as well as a host for security lockers. There was a long line but it disappeared quick as the four raced back and forth to serve each new customer. As Christelle reached the front of the line she told one of the men in a white tux what she was after in a second she was whisked away. A moment later a lady appeared to assist Johno.
“Hello good sir how may I be of service today?”
Johno was growing intrigued as to where all these team members got their threads but decided not to delay the lady too much.
“I'm after some stubbies and possibly some thongs” Johno asked but quickly correcting himself as he remembered what had happened earlier that day, “Some shorts and flip flops I mean.”
The Lady seemed content with the new response and quickly beckoned for him to follow. Showing Johno to the stands of shorts and footwear for men Johno selected a pair of each before moving off to the counter where he paid for his purchase as well as took the liberty of hiring a locker. Christelle approached the counter as Johno finished paying with a hem bag full of goods. Johno couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he saw the contents. When both of them had paid they headed to the change rooms around the back.
Paralysed on the spot Johno's glasses slid down to the crest of his nose. His shades weren't the only thing that had dropped however, his jaw was creeping incredibly close to dislocating. Standing outside waiting at the locker was Christelle in what Johno could only describe as underwear. The two set swim suit was a fitting emerald green that sparkled with the lights all around. A blue towel was folded and wrapped partly around her waist, tied in a knot on one side while draped across the other. A smile spread across her face and Johno felt himself turn red in either cheek.
“You took your time, aren't girls meant to take longer to change?” The jab was directed straight at the neatly folded suit tucked underneath Johno's arm.
Looking up so his sunnies returned to their rightful position Johno let out a small laugh. Johno hated the saying stone a crow but at that precise moment it was all that was running through his head.
Johno wasn't eager to depart with his sun glasses as he placed them in the locker along with outback styled Zoot Suit. There were two reasons he was going to regret leaving them behind. One was the fact this night time fun-park was ridiculously bright, especially for Johno's light sensitive eyes. The other reason and the one of most concern was the fact he would be unable to hide the fact he was constantly staring at Christelle's very attractive tanned body. Deciding to take the lead so as to resist looking too much Johno headed for the stairs that lead to the top of the cliff. Christelle seemed to figure out his intention however and quickly grabbed his hand, swinging it lazily back and forth, so she could walk slowly beside him.
Johno was tempted to push his long brown hair over his face as the reached the top of the flat cliff top. He new his cheeks were burning as bright red as lava and now he was forced to stand stoically in a queue as one of the park staff called next for a new person to have their go at jumping from the fifteen meter height.
“You know your kind of cute when you blush” Christelle stating her observation “Johnny”
Johnathan had never really felt this sort of in-comfort before, in fact Johno had never actually been on a date before. Unfortunately the thought made him blush more and gave Christelle more reason to continue laughing at his expense. Johno usually quick to retort was left silent trying to hide his embarrassment without the aid of his fedora and shades.
Before long the last person that had been standing in front of them departed the queue and launched themselves from the cliff before screaming curses as they fell towards the water below. Whilst still chuckling Johno stepped forward to take his turn next. A sense of vertigo washed over him as he stepped towards the edge. Rather than feel faint from the height Johno felt exhilarated, the aussie sense of adventure taking over him. Johno was literally twitching with excitement as he waited for the attendant to give him the signal to go. Staring down toward the pool from the cliff reminded Johno of his childhood, the days when he still held his innocence, before he was submitted to the struggles of his fighting life and his time in prison. Johno remembered jumping over the top of the gushing waterfalls cannon balling into the rivers below. Johno had never really let himself divulge into the freedom of acting childish. As Johno received the signal of a loud “Next” and karate chop like action from the guy in the white get-up he took two steps back preparing to dive over the cliff side. Wolf Whistles and shouts stopped Johno dead in his tracks as Christelle soared past him and into the air, flipping elegantly before entering the water without a splash. This time Johno turned red with irritation.
“Bloody Show off!” Johno muttered not so quietly to himself.
Tapping his feet as he waited again he could still hear guys below whistling and calling there support for Christelle. This time as the assistant motioned for Johno to go he sprint to the edge throwing himself off to the left. Yelling loudly like a battle celebration Johno slammed into the water's surface like a demolition ball, creating a splash like explosion. Pushing off the bottom of the pool John resurfaced, allowing himself to breath in and laugh at the sight before him. At the waters edge a whole group of men, who had been showing their appreciation for Christelle's beautiful dive, now bit their tongues as they stood drenched head to toe.
The dry towel was welcoming as Johno and Christelle made their way from the water slides. The serpentine slide turned out to be a dark tunnel ride that had put both of them in a tube together. Johno unnecessary to state had enjoyed it a lot. Especially since he took the chance to scream boo after a period of falling silent. Even now as Johno dried himself on the run Christelle chased behind him trying to slap him in the back. What amused Johno the most was the fact Christelle was on his tail the entire race back to the change rooms. Darting left to right Johno just managed to avoid a strike to his lower back. Pulling his gut forward and leaving his chest behind Johno dodged it like an acrobatic comedian, even adding in a humorous remark “whoa, that time was close” as he held his hat in place. Slowing down to enter the change room door Johno felt the sting as Christelle nailed a wrap to his right shoulder. “Yeeeeoooooowwwww”
Following Johno's outburst of pain Christelle decided it was her turn to get a come back “Whoa, that time was real close”
Of course Johno had to have the last word and before entering the safe point Johno licked Christelle's up the length of her face. “A bit too close”
Savouring Christelle's reaction for all of a second Johno swiftly retreated inside.
“G'dayyyyy” Johno greeted Christelle nervously as he exited the change rooms.
Christelle was standing with her arm's crossed glaring at Johnathan evilly. Christelle had already received her revenge when Johno had realised his attire was still locked in the safe outside the change rooms. Johno could now feel a bruise forming on his butt cheek where Christelle had pelted him full force with what Johno would consider a slap stronger than the kick of a full grown boomer kangaroo. Both Johno were now dressed in their origional clothing, much to Johno's comfort, yet still Johno felt threatened. Not from the possibility of another slapping but the fact he had no clue what Christelle had planned next, if she even had a plan at all. After all she had seemed rather spontaneous so far. Johno's perception was responded to almost instantly after having the thought.
“Ohhhhhhh I know! Let's go on the roller coaster!”
As they both trekked across busker's square to get to the complete opposite side of the park Johno's stomach couldn't help but growl out in frustration.
“Wow, judging by the roar it must be hungry!” Christelle joked pausing from her constant gleeful skipping.
“You bet, like a drop bear around tourists” Johno returning the humour.
Unfortunately the joke was lost on Christelle as she raised her eyebrow in the same fashion Johno did. It would seem to Johno that she hadn't heard of the infamous drop bears of Australia. Johno was going to have to educate her sometime, over a scary camp fire of course. While Johno had the thought he was yet again tugged from the spot and wrenched in another direction. This time it appeared they where heading in the direction directly opposite the entrance.
“Come on, the food is this way!”
Passing beyond all the buskers and a lunger number of stalls and shops selling everything from jewellery (fake and real) to show bags they eventually got to the large food court. All the venues seemed to be predominantly selling burgers chips and other fat fried goods. A few places seemed to sell Nachos and everything bathed in chilli while a number of juice and drink stalls were situated in between those bearing the range of edible products. One van like shop that stuck out above the baked spuds, curries, kebabs and other food selling stalls was the simply titled Pie Place. It had been a while since Johno had had a good old meat pie. Pointing out the Pie Place to Christelle the two headed to join the queue.
The worst part about the park was the queues but thankfully this one evaporated just as quick as the last few they had been in that night. Behind the high-up counter stood a skinny teenager who's face was had been invaded by bulk amounts of acne. The kid also sported a come-over and a T-shirt that was beyond being way too big. Regardless of appearance he beamed with joy and pretty much sung when he asked them what they were like. Johno, who's stomach was yet again begging for food as the aroma filled his nose, ordered first. “Could I please have a steak and mushroom pie? Thanks mate!”
The kids expression went from joy to complete confusion.
“You want a steak and mushroom pie?” The teenager half stuttered.
“Yeah a steak and mushroom pie!” Johno repeated.
“You want a pie with meat in it?”
The boy seemed genuinely Gobsmacked at the thought of meat in a pie. Unfortunately this seemed to annoy Johno.
“Yeah a bloody pie with meat and vegetables in it. Do you have any sort of savoury pies?”
Johno regretted the outburst as he remembered Christelle's presence and saw the disappointed look on her face and the sad expression upon the guy's. “Sorry mate!”
The kid nodded and said it was ok before heading off to the back of the van to ask if the sold anything with meat and vegetables. Christelle on the other hand didn't look so forgiving as she glared at him. Feeling rather ashamed for the first time in his life Johno stared down at his feet and the cobblestone below.
“Ok we have a Shepard's pie which consists of beef and vegetables with a potato top.” The kid informed Johno nervously. “Oh and it has Mushrooms in it also.”
“That would be great thanks mate. Can I get the pan sized please”
Above the boy's head was a sign with the sizes available and a picture diagram for visual description.
“That's cool that will be thirty dollars thank you.”
Johno almost screamed out bloody hell what a rip but decided he'd already cost the poor kid enough embarrassment, not to mention Christelle still seemed rather irate. Instead Johno decided it best to ask Christelle what she wanted? “What would you like? My buy.”
Hopefully this would help settle her mood.
“Well I will just share with you since you got a pan size.” she suggested letting a small smile slip.
Johno was about to explain how he could eat the entire thing himself but decided sharing might help get Johno out of his current predicament. Instead Johno paid the bloke and thanked him as he went and waited off to the side.
Bellies full (or half full in Johno's case) both Johno and Christelle leaned back on the bench the sitting on. The sharing of the food seemed to have returned Christelle to her origional mood and she seemed eager to get back up and do something new. Johno on the other hand was rather happy just to relax for the time being.
“Ohhhh how about we go on the Roller Coaster now!”
Johno didn't think this a wise idea after just finishing off the pie. True it would probably take roughly twenty minutes to get from where they were to the ride itself and so the food would probably be digested before they got on the attraction itself. Still Johno really didn't like the possibility of having all the tasty pie escape out the wrong way.
“How 'bout we do something, a little less insane. At least until our guts settle.” suggested Johno in a soft tone.
“Oh.... ok” Christelle responded, the disappointment clear in her voice.
Maybe he should have just agreed thought Johno. After all Johno had already managed to upset her earlier.
In split second however Christelle's mood switched to complete optimism, “Oh.... actually, lets go on the Ferris Wheel! It will be so romantic”
Johno half expected to be pulled there.
|posts in thread|
Nov 13, 10 at 5:51am ^re: The Chronicles
World of Words
1: Just a Blot
Rain fell in a torrential downpour over Ambeval, the City of Endless Night, on summer's first day. The onyx walls gleamed black, despite the unnatural and complete absence of the sun in the skies around Ambeval. Tall, twisted spires stretched into the pitch black skies. The spires crowded Ambeval; nothing was simple, nothing was short and the architecture of the city was needlessly elaborate and grandiose. Were one to view it from a distance far enough to see Ambeval in its entirety, one might call it less a city and more a gigantic palace, an architectural disaster. Even in the eyes of the city's creator, the city was imperfect. It's gleaming walls did not hold the one thing that would be the city's crown jewel.
"Ambellina," the word left the Writer's mouth unbidden as he strode through the city that had been meant to hold the woman he loved. Without her, the world was barren. Without her, the city might as well have been a hovel in his eyes. And yet...this WAS to have been her city and its destruction unsettled the Writer. Blood ran through the streets where children had played and flooded the workplaces of the city's people. The rain washed it away, as C had commanded, but it could not erase the overwhelming scent.
C wrinkled his nose in distaste as he walked down the empty streets. Empty. All of that blood, but no corpses. The people of Ambeval, Ambellina's people, had been completely erased. The Writer tightened the grip on his Book and scowled at nothing. The perpetrator would pay dearly for what had been done to the City of Endless Night. There was nothing to be done for the city's people. From the looks of the place, there was not a single soul to be found. Yet he searched anyway. Why? He glanced at the tall man walking beside him. The Killer would hold no answers. He was merely a reflection of C himself. The Killer's raven hair was cut short where C's had grown to his shoulders. The Killer was wiry and muscular where C was thin and frail. Their coal black eyes met and in them, the Writer saw himself. A man maddened by grief. Did he care? Absolutely not.
"What do you think, Killer?" he asked tonelessly, "What was done here?"
"I cannot say. There are no signs of struggle. Not anywhere in this entire city. There is only the scent of death and blood washing away," the man replied. Useless. Elsewhere, the Knowledge was also searching the city. Perhaps he would turn up a clue. Something that C could use. All he needed was a name and a description. With those two things, he could will the person to die with his Book. He was the Creator. He was God. There was no power greater than him!
A burst of white light spread in the distance. The Writer squinted at it. It was coming from the other side of the city. The Knowledge must have found something. The Writer started off in the direction of the flare, then stopped, frowning in irritation.
"There's no time," he muttered to himself, "No time, no time!" He opened his Book, a nondescript, black tome and turned it to the most recent entry. Even as he opened it, spindly black letters appeared fresh on the page. The story was writing itself. Every action. Every breath taken by every single creature in the world was recorded in C's Book. When the words stretched to the very last page of the tome, when there was no more room for words, the Writer would die. An unfortunate result of what he had done three years ago to bring his love back to life. A horrible, horrible mistake. Now he was speeding toward his own death. Delays would only bring him one step closer. Yet haste, too, would serve only to hasten his own demise.
He ground his teeth as he reached into the pocket of his ragged coat and produced a long, black pen. Like the Book, it was a mystical artifact, though much less fantastical. It would merely never run out of ink. A simple tool, yet crucial for the Writer. Words splashed across the page as C raced to beat the words that wrote themselves. The air in front of him twisted and warped. The rain fell around the gateway as it widened so that the Writer could see through it. He saw another street, another set of buildings and a wizened man in a black robe. He could very well have been the Writer twenty years in the future. The Knowledge.
"Come," he said to the Killer as he stepped through the gateway. He did not look to see if his creation followed or not. The gateway snapped shut behind him and he fixed the Knowledge under a cold stare. "What did you find?"
"See for yourself," the Knowledge said, "And don't take that tone with me after the service I've done you." C rolled his eyes. The Knowledge was always...contrary. It was a personality quirk that he tolerated. Barely. It wasn't worth fixing. Fixing it would mean another entire paragraph closer to death. Much better to deal with the Knowledge's berating. His irritation was forgotten, however, at the sight of a girl. Her clothes were in tatters and her long, dark brown hair was disheveled. It was her eyes that held the Writer's attention, though. Wide, blue, and empty. C shook himself and knelt in front of her. "Who did this?" He asked, "Who has destroyed Ambeval? How is it you survived?" The girl only stared at him. The Writer growled in frustration. No time! He grabbed the young girl's chin and lifted her face, "Who did this?" he asked again. There was danger in his voice. The Knowledge was frowning at him. What did the old man care? He knew that C had no time for this. He had to know right now. Still, the Writer grudgingly moderated his tone again. "I will not harm you. I must know, however, who did this." Still no response.
"I believe she may be mute," the Knowledge spoke up idly.
"And you felt the need to keep that information from me, why?" C demanded.
"You didn't ask," the Knowledge replied.
"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?" C asked, grinding his teeth.
"Nothing that I'd like to tell you, no," the Knowledge said, "But since I know you're going to just order me anyway, you should know that it was not her that did this."
C frowned. The thought had not crossed his mind. Still...he turned back to the girl. "Do you understand what I am saying? Yes or no?" The girl nodded her head. Well. That was a start at least.
"Did you see who did this?" She shook her head.
"Do you have any idea how this happened?" Another shake.
"Do you have any damn idea in that empty head of yours!? Do you do anything other than shake your head, you useless creation!?" C roared, over the rain. The Knowledge started, but the girl squeaked and prostrated herself before C. He stared at her, frowning.
"Were you a slave? Were you hit?" The girl looked up at him and nodded slowly. The girl's predicament and her current situation were beginning to form in the Writer's mind. And it did not please him. Not one bit.
"Were you allowed to speak?" She shook her head. As he had thought. His fists clenched. For this to have gone on in Ambellina's city...a city meant to be perfect. It was wrong. He straightened and stared around the city. Perhaps not a massacre...perhaps it had been a purging. His fists tightened. The city was a blemish. A failure. "Killer. Knowledge. We're leaving. Now!" he snapped. The Killer complied, but the Knowledge didn't move.
"Are you going to leave this girl here?" he asked quietly, "After all the trouble I went through to find her? You are going to abandon her and this city?"
"This city was nothing more than a failure! I can do whatever I want, Knowledge! This is MY world! I created it! If I want to destroy it, I can! I decide! Me! Now come or I'll destroy you, this girl, and this city!" Spittle flew from his mouth as the Writer raged at the old man, who took it calmly and fixed C with a glare that took him aback.
"It's your world? I thought it was Ambellina's world. You made it for her, did you not? Would she approve of your ruining it, Calis?"
"Never call me by that name. That man is dead," C said softly, his rage evaporating, "As for the girl, you take care of her, Knowledge. You want to save her so badly, she can be your problem."
"That is agreeable. Of course, you will have to look after her while I am resting and doing your bidding." C did not respond.
"Girl," he snapped, opening his Book once more to make another gateway to take him outside the city, "Do you have a name?" She shook her head. Her head-shaking irritated C to no end, "Fine. Not like it matters. Come. You're with me now." He gestured toward the gateway. The girl stood, finally. She was only a few inches shorter than C himself, and very thin. He would have to fix that. And the few stitches that remained of her clothing were falling away quickly in the rain, leaving bare scraps to cover her. He would have to fix that, too.
She approached the gateway timidly, staring at it with that same wide-eyed expression on her face. She reached out and touched it. It...rippled. The Writer frowned. That shouldn't happen. But the next moment, the girl stepped through it without any reaction. Frowning, the Writer waved the Knowledge and the Killer through and then he himself traveled outside the city.
They were in a clearing outside of Ambeval on a plain with tall, windswept grass. The rainy skies that had hung over Ambeval to wash away the blood were absent, revealing a sky dotted with twinkling stars. One or two here or there, but they by no means dominated the sky.
"Well. That wasn't so hard was it?" the Knowledge asked. C ignored him. He glared at Ambeval. The City of Endless Night mocked him. It was a giant blot on a page. Nothing could be salvaged from a blot. No story could be written. No characters could be saved and recycled. It was a blemish. And the only way to remove a blot was to rip out the page entirely.
The stormy clouds above Ambeval began to twist and convulse as they were forced apart. The sky itself split open, the clouds swirling around the hole in heaven. A bar of white light shot from the tear and engulfed the City of Endless Night. There was no explosion, no noise. The work was clean. The Writer stared at the wide crater with satisfaction. There would be no Ambeval any longer. There never had been in the first place now. Nobody would remember it. Except him. But he could make himself forget the blemish. It was gone forever and it would never exist ever again.
When he turned around, the Knowledge was staring at him, looking ready to berate him for what he had done. But the girl was looking past him at the ruin of Ambeval. The crater, really. There would be nothing left of that city. Not a single stone or pebble. Nothing. Yet she looked, and C could see remembrance in her eyes. Shock. Fear. But the remembrance was most important. How? Again, the Writer remembered the ripple on his gateway. Perhaps the Knowledge had been right to save the girl. Girl.
C frowned suddenly, "Knowledge, instead of scolding me, put your words to better use. Give her a name. I can't keep calling her 'girl'."
"Would Cele Ayemla be suitable?"
C scoffed, "What a stupid name." It meant heart of the stars, though the Writer doubted that anybody other than himself and his avatars would know that.
"You left the decision to me, deal with the consequences," the Knowledge replied simply.
C shrugged, "I said it was stupid, not that I did not approve. You!" he barked, causing the girl to jump a little, "When I say 'Cele', that means you. Do you understand?"
The girl nodded. The Writer felt his irritation spike again, "Say it. That head nodding and shaking is going to stop. You have permission to speak. Say your name!" He glanced at the Knowledge's disapproving stare before adding, "If you can."
The Writer scowled, "We'll have to work on that. Hopefully you'll prove to be better for conversation than the other words I keep around. But for now, we walk." There was no time. No time, no time! C could feel his death creeping up on him. There were only three more Writers. If he could kill them, he would live. All he had to do was find them and their creations. Find them, and he could live.
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|Tiger of Wu||
Nov 19, 10 at 9:10am ^re: The Chronicles
The Prankster's Triumph
Written by Fyrestorm
It was a sunny weekend day in the public park, couples and families out on walks or picnicking on the warm grass. Crysis and Zone sat on one of the many wooden benches scattered around, finishing the last of some food a bunch of kids had shared with them while stroking and petting their fur. "Mmm, that was yummy." The squirrel chirped after finishing his last piece of apple. He laughed as Zone took the final Malteser and shoved it into his mouth, his expandable cheek pouches bulging hugely around the chocolate as he chewed it with a daft grin.
"I'll say." The hamster sighed hedonistically after finally swallowing his muzzle-full. The free lunch and fawning over had been unexpected bonuses on top of an already promising day. The personal ad that he put out a little while back had been answered, and with any luck his date would arrive soon. Zone beamed dumbly as he fantasised about it.
His daydreaming was interrupted by an odd disturbance. The sounds of panicked screaming and people running away in fear could be heard in the distance. All of a sudden what looked like a robot strode around the curve of a bush-lined pathway, though the startled rodents could tell that its head wasn't covered in metal like the rest of it. They watched as it stalked across the scenic park, trampling on the grass and scattering weekending humans, walking straight up to their bench and casting them into shadow as its bulky frame blotted out the sun.
"Are you Zone?" The thing's head asked the hamster. He looked up at it, discerning it was female from the eloquent, lady-like voice it spoke with and finding its face oddly familiar. Come to think of it so was the robotic suit, he realised.
"That's me. Um... Amadeth?" Zone ventured after a moment, using the name the ad-responder gave. He had thought it was a pretty name when he saw it. Currently he wished he could say likewise about its owner.
"The one and only." Amadeth grinned toothily, revealing mostly metallic inserts, then paused. "Well, kind of." She amended and shrugged, moving on. "So, I heard you wanted to sit in a girl's chest." She said, abruptly opening her robo-suit.
The rodents averted their eyes hastily. After a moment Crysis blinked and turned to his companion. "How come you looked away too?" He asked.
"Dude, she's like, a zombie or something. Even I don't want to see what she's got going on under there." The hamster replied. Crysis' eyes widened as comprehension dawned on him. He went to say something back but an impatient cough from Amadeth made them look back at her.
"Took you long enough." She grumbled. They just stared silently and her irritation rose. "You wanted to spend time in a woman's chest, right?" She waited so as to let her words sink. "Sooooo I'm going to stick you in my suit as a living power source, just like that time in the base you met the other me in." She elaborated, shaking her head slowly in disapproval. Amadeth had came all this way and they didn't even get it.
"We do follow that, honest..." Crysis said in a shy conciliatory tone. Perhaps they did get it.
"But seriously... a hamster wheel?" Zone finished less diplomatically.
"What?" Amadeth looked down. A medium size, ribbed plastic wheel was suspended in the chest cavity of her robotic suit. It was green. She looked back up again. "Do not mock my science!" She said threateningly.
Zone scratched the side of his head to pretend he hadn't just been making the coo-coo gesture to Crysis. "Look, uh, I'm sure you're a wonderful girl if someone gets to know you but I just don't think we're compatible. Bye!" he stated, waved, and then bolted. Amadeth blinked, then swore and snatched after him, ripping out the wooden bench-seat. Her other hand went for Crysis but the nimble squirrel had already scurried after his buddy and while Amadeth made short work of the bench Zone leapt onto his back and they ran like hell.
The pursuit tore through the park, which was already mostly abandoned due to Amadeth's arrival, then spilled into the surrounding city area as Crysis and Zone slipped past the metal fence posts at the edge and Amadeth smashed them aside like a bead curtain moments later. People, pedestrians and motorists alike, dived or swerved for whatever safety they could find as she carved a wake of chaos through their home. The zombie Elf finally cornered her quarry by picking up a parked car and hurling it forwards, blocking off the road ahead of them. She grabbed them up before they could find a way around, holding one in each hand.
"Finally! God, that was annoying." She seethed at the frightened furballs. "Now I ca-" Amadeth began to say, only to be interrupted.
"Somebody call an ambulance, my husband's having a heart attack!" a distressed woman wailed loudly, too far gone to realise Amadeth was standing ten feet away. The zombie snapped her head around to glare, pulling off a rather well-done impression of the girl in The Exorcist.
"Keep the noise down or I'll rip your heart out of your anus." She demanded. The woman looked up at her and fainted. "Better." She muttered then looked back down at her captives. A goofy grin suddenly appeared on her face. "Hey, that reminds me, I was supposed to give you something about some lungs... or hearts... something. Hold on," She said and put Crysis down on top of the upturned car to free up her hand. The squirrel looked at her bemusedly as she tapped some buttons set into her forearm, then ducked as a CD shot out of somewhere on her suit and nearly cut his head off. In the distance a window shattered. "Damn it, bastard programmers." Amadeth said, punching her suit's controls, rattling the hamster in her other hand around. Was he not being shook like an unopened bottle of juice Zone would have probably giggled at how she had pronounced it bar-stud. Several more objects flew out and impacted against the scenery before a small chip was dispensed, non-violently, into her fingers. "Ah-ha," She breathed, and as Zone got a heavy dose of her breath, something suddenly clicked amidst the rot and decay.
"You're high, aren't you?" He asked, currently dangling upside down.
Amadeth held him up to her face to reply with a manic grin. "That depends, are you the feds?" She pressed the chip into his paws. "Here you go, that was the stuff my sister told me to give you. Alright, time to go into the wheel." She rambled without a pause, barely giving Zone time to even comprehend the gift before condemning him to life imprisonment.
As she began moving him towards the hamster wheel Zone rapidly tried to think of an argument that would change the mind of a stoned zombie Elf. He was beaten to the punch, however, as a violently loud rumbling issued from Amadeth's lower torso and she hunched forwards.
"Wow, was that me?" Amadeth asked rhetorically. "It's amazing how even with a hole in your misplaced stomach you can still get some pretty bad munchies." Straightening up, the undead Elf woman dropped Zone besides Crysis and looked around at the street they were in. She turned and walked into one of the buildings and up to the man behind the counter, chest still wide open. "Get me a perfectly cooked medium-rare filet mignon with vegetables boiled in the tears of children, if you value your life." She demanded grimly. The hairdresser started to cry hopelessly before the thing that just came through the front of his salon without using the door ordered her meal. Back outside, the squirrel and hamster quickly snuck away before she could come back for them.
[color=#666666]This message was edited by Tiger of Wu on Nov 19 2010.
|posts in thread|
Nov 24, 10 at 3:48am ^re: The Chronicles
The Story of Camo Man (man man man man man)
“Gather ‘round, gather ‘round, children.” Grandpa Rust said to the three little boys in the room. The children hurried, rushing to their usual place in front of ole’ Grand Papy Rust’s chair. “For today, I shall tell you the tale of a super hero. Not one of those ones you find in your comic books and newfangled television shows. No no, this is a real hero, a true man.”
“The story of Camo Man?” Yelled Coevalent, who was oldest of the bunch.
“The bestest stupor hero EVAR?” Yelled Tiger, who was the youngest.
“C’MON GRAMPS TELL THE STORY,” cried Wuff, who really, really wanted to hear the story.
Grandpa Rust just laughed and smiled, “Why are you always so impatient? Alright, alright, I’ll tell you the story of Camo Man. It all began in Florida…”
“Arthur, I can’t find anything in my size.”
Arthur Jayes listened to the whining voice of his little sister, who was a mere two years younger than his 24 years. He looked completely bored here, shopping for clothes with his little sister. Now, if it was a girlfriend, he would have been fine. But noooooo, it had to be his sister. He couldn’t even ask her to try things on for him, for cripe’s sake! “Then get something a little bigger, Brittney. It won’t hurt you if your clothes don’t show off your every curve.”
“Arthur, have you seen my figure? I need form fitting clothes.” She said, getting irritated with him. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I even hang out with you, ugh!”
Arthur smirked as she stormed off; this was a common occurrence on Brittney’s shopping trips. Once she was done, she’d come crawling back and beg for the credit card, and of course he’d give it to her because of all the blackmail material she had on him. But this was a victory! Besides, he HAD seen her figure before, his sister was a blond bombshell! Most of the people in his family were good looking, actually. Such a family is rarely seen, but there it was.
He himself was one of the more handsome men in their family, something he both revered and cursed. On one hand, he could have any woman he wanted (something he took advantage of often). On the other, he was always being stared at. He hated the feeling of someone staring at him. Gazing over his long, blond hair, fashionably set into a ponytail (a Mantail if you ask him). Trying to get a glimpse of his cool, ice blue eyes. Their eyes always traveled across his face; his prominent jaw, his high forehead, bushy eyebrows, and sharply angled nose. The gaze will always travel lower. Even when wearing the least revealing clothing, people were drawn to his figure; head held high, shoulders kept broad, chest out, and a walk that’s almost as though he’s strutting. His biceps and abs proved that he kept himself in shape, but not overly so. Muscles looked good, but too much muscle was not appealing.
The man sighed, running his fingers over his hair. He was ready to get out of here and his sister was starting to make him impatient. He glanced over at her, looking at skirts that were way too short, and sighed. He remembered when his sister was just a sweet young girl, a body full of innocent bones. Boy, did that change quickly. What he would do to relive the good ole’ days of his childhood! There were no days like kid days. Suddenly, a large bang from the front of the store caused Arthur to jump out of surprise. He glanced at his sister, who had screamed out of surprise, but she was fine. He glanced back towards the front of the store, wondering what had caused it.
“Lady you are trying my patience. I know that it is here. You cannot fool me.” A man stood at the counter, holding a red longsword at the cashier’s throat. Apparently, he had banged his fist on the counter when the woman told him they had no jackets left. Seeing as the seasons were changing to winter, he didn’t doubt it.
“S-sir,” the cashier stuttered out, making a valiant effort to not faint. “There a-are no jackets left! I-I have to ask you to l-leave.”
“Leave, or what?” Arthur shifted so he could see the speaking swordsmen clearer. A shocked expression crashed onto his face as he saw the man’s features. His skin tone was lilac, causing the watcher to think that, perhaps, he was a visitor from another world. His clothes looked medieval, though; he dressed like a prince in his red, frilly outfit and large, tuft hat with a purple feather sticking out from one side.
“Or I’ll call the cops,” the cashier’s tone was starting to become more steady, more confident.
“Ha! Hahaha!” The lilac man started laughing, but his sword held steady. “You humans! You make me laugh!” However, his face became deathly serious after that line and his sword moved forward, poking the cashier’s neck hard enough to draw a trickle of blood.
“Hey, why don’t you pick on someone your own size!”
’Oh god, no! Was the first thing Arthur thought. He whipped his head around to see Brittney holding a fan, trembling slightly. What the hell was she thinking!? She was about to take on an alien with a damned sword!? “Brittney, get the hell out of there!”
The lilac man looked at Brittney, but never let his sword leave the cashier. “You dare to stand up to The Great Voc Sevlar? What insolence! I shall strike you down once I have finished with this woma-“
Sevlar’s sentence was cut off as an old clock flew through the air, smashing into his head. The lilac man reeled from surprise as Arthur started shouting at him. “You will not touch my sister!”
Instead of retaliating, Sevlar simply watched his new opponent. He could feel his blood start to pump, it was another one of those situations. Was this the presence he felt? Surely not, it couldn’t be; this man wasn’t strong enough. “Are you after the artifact, too, Duelist?”
Arthur was taken aback; a duelist? What? “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He grabbed a nearby chair, holding it up as if it were his weapon. His gaze traveled to his sister, but he found that she was not there. Neither was the cashier, ’when did that happen?’
“Don’t fool around with me. I know what you’re here for and I WILL find it first!” The lilac man raised his hand, calling forth a ball of flames. The chair-wielder MUST be a duelist, there was no other way of explaining what was happening.
Arthur’s eyes widened; the alien could do magic now!? The man dodged to the right, barely avoiding getting singed by the flames. His heart was beating heavily now, his fighting instinct kicking in. For someone who had never gotten into a scrap before, he found his movements surprisingly fluid. Perhaps all the exercising had paid off? “You will not escape me, Duelist! The artifact belongs to Sevlar!”
The creature ran forward with surprising grace, jumping and landing on a table near Arthur’s position. He swung his sword in a downward slash, hoping to end this in one hit. Arthur dodged again, rolling under a nearby table, leaving his chair behind. He crawled out of his roll only to hear Sevlar jump onto the table he was just under. Arthur started running.
“What is this, a Duelist that will only run!? Where’s your fighting spirit? Show me what you can do, so I may beat you at your fullest!” Sevlar continued to chase the man he claimed was a duelist, swinging his sword wildly, destroying many of the clothes it came in contact with.
“I don’t know what the hell you mean! Get the hell away from me!” Arthur yelled back. He also glanced back, checking to see how close this purple creature was from him. He let out a yelp as his foot slipped on a pile of abandoned clothes. What kind of person in their right mind would leave clothes lying in the middle of an aisle!? One who was trying to escape a maniac with a sword, apparently.
“Aha! I’ve finally caught you! Die by my blade, cowardly human!” Arthur tried to crawl away from the maniac behind him, but he knew he had been caught. But, even as the maniac lifted his arm to deal a lethal blow, something caught Arthur’s eyes: a camouflage jacket. It mesmerized him, beckoning him forward. He didn’t know why he felt this irresistible urge to touch the jacket that was so haphazardly thrown onto the floor, but he succumbed to it. With speed that surprised both him and Sevlar, almost as if it wasn’t his own, he jumped from his prone position. The sword buried itself in the store’s tile and its master cursed. Arthur grabbed the jacket, clutching it to his chest. The moment he did that, his world went white.
Arthur was standing now, surveying the area. He stood on nothing, he saw nothing, he breathed nothing; this was strange, he didn’t know what was going on, he was confused. And thus, he yelled, “WHERE THE HELL AM I!?”
You are in my world, young man. I have brought you here, outside of time, so that we may converse.
Arthur spun quickly, trying to find the source of the voice, but he saw nothing. “Where are you!?”
I am everywhere, everywhere all the time. I am… Bi-omnipotent.
Now this just puzzled Arthur. “No no no, ok, so you’re some kind of deity, that explains this place, but Bi-omnipotent? You’re twice as omnipotent as any omnipotent being? That doesn’t even make sense! What the heck kind of line is that!?”
I see that you are not a believer. But do not worry, you shall see the light soon enough. Outside of this realm, you are being chased by the Swordsmage, Voc Sevlar, are you not? If you provide me adequate entertainment, I shall lend you my powers.
“Is that the only way I’ll survive this freak’s attack?” Arthur was weary to trust this… being. He didn’t know anything about it except that it was a liar and that it held great power.
Yes, the only way you can defeat this Duelist is if you accept my power. And, I do not lie.
Arthur groaned, there was that word ‘Duelist’ again. “What the heck is a duelist and why does he call me one?”
Because that is what you are. A Duelist is a person or creature with very special abilities and power. They have the aura of a fighter, and fighting another Duelist is instinct for them. You have the aura of a Duelist, yet you are not one. You are not one because you have not yet made the decision to fight. But I will help you unlock that power, that will to fight.
“What if I don’t want it?”
Then you will perish.
Arthur snapped back to reality with a gasp, finding himself back on that floor with Sevlar’s blade pointed at his chest. But both Duelists looked shocked, and then Sevlar yelled, “Where did you get that!? When did you get the artifact!?”
Arthur looked down to find himself clad in a long-sleeved camouflage jacket; that very same jacket he had clutched to his chest moments before. It had somehow found its way onto his torso, he was wearing it now. “I-I don’t know…” He responded in a hushed tone, not believing what he was seeing. But he figured he should start, the events of the day weren’t exactly ordinary. He admired the jacket; it was much like the US Army’s typical army jacket, but it… felt like so much more. Four pockets adorned the front, three of which unbuttoned, but the pocket over his heart being buttoned. He saw nothing within the pockets. It was… weird.
“Then I will have to force it off of you, now DIE!” Sevlar raised his sword and slashed downwards again. Arthur, not knowing what to do, covered his face with his arms. The sword struck the sleeves of the camouflage jacket and… did nothing? Despite the sleeves being less than an eighth of an inch thick, the material stopped the sharp instrument of death in its tracks. Arthur sat dumbfounded, but Sevlar only scowled. “It seems as though the Jacket has already bonded with someone as lowly as yourself. Rise, Duelist, and tell me your name.”
Arthur rose as Sevlar backed off and, feeling compelled to, spoke. “My name is Ar- Thugh.” He stopped, blinking; he couldn’t say his name. “My name is Ar-thughr.” He looked furious now, why the hell couldn’t he say his name? “My name is Ar- Camo Man!” He finally yelled out, his name followed by an echo of the word “man” as if they were inside of a vast cave full of singing angels. His furious look melted away to surprise. “Th-that’s not my name. My name is Camo Man.” Once again, that chorus of mountain angels sung out, “man man man man man…”
Sevlar scowled. “You obviously cannot control the artifact that you wear. I will find my way around it, but I must kill you first.” The lilac man lifted his sword again, swinging it at “Camo Man,” but it was blocked once again by the sleeve. Sevlar’s scowled deepened as he started to rage; no way this mere mortal will stop him, jacket or not!
Sevlar launched a flurry of slashes towards Camo Man, but they were blocked by the defender’s quickened reflexes. Arthur marveled at his actions; it was almost as if the jacket was doing all of the work, but it wasn’t that. This was HIM, he was doing all this blocking. The jacket was only boosting his speed to do so. The fight continued throughout the store, the only thing surviving the swordmage’s onslaught being the jacket and Arthur himself.
“Why won’t you just die!?” Sevlar screamed, his eyes full of hatred and rage. Arthur was just as surprised at this as Sevlar was. It was exhilarating, he had never felt so alive before! But, he was about to feel the downside of being a Duelist. After one particularly strong strike, Sevlar pushed his hand forward, conjuring up flames straight into Arthur’s chest. The force pushed the man backwards, a surprised look of pain on his face, and straight through the store’s entrance. Glass broke as he flew through the doors and tumbled over the ground, flying head over heel until he hit a Mustang parked in the lot. Arthur felt the back of his head only to feel blood coating his hair. His eyes widened, he wasn’t invincible like this?
“Shit,” he cursed to himself and stood shakily. He guessed that only the jacket was indestructible, he himself was still mortal. Suddenly, it all clicked into place. It wasn’t he who was controlling the jacket, they were supposed to be working together. He felt as though this was right; no, he KNEW it was right. The jacket then sent an image into his mind of him reaching into the two lower pockets. Arthur hesitated for just a moment before doing so. He winced as two heavy, gauntlet-like objects snapped onto his hands, but looked ahead at Sevlar stepping out of the building.
“You will not survive this, Camo Man! I will get that artifact!” The Swordsmage started running, sword raised, towards Arthur. The latter removed his hands from his pocket and glanced at the gloves he was now wearing. They were metal, pure iron it seemed by how heavy they were. They were featureless, completely conformed to his hands, except for one thing. Around each hand, circling like a moon, was a small object not unlike a yoyo. It, too, was made of metal and featureless. Information started pouring into his mind, startling him as the telepathic link with the jacket kicked into high gear. He screamed, falling to his knees and clutching his head. The orbiting yoyos hit his head uselessly, trying to continue traveling around the gloves, but they did no damage to him. As sudden as the information transfer started, it ended. He stopped screaming, opening his eyes as he realized he was fine. Slowly removing his hands from his head, he glanced at the gloves, and then to Sevlar. He knew how to work them, he knew how to make them; he knew everything about the gloves.
Raising a hand above his head, he swung it forward. The yoyo on his hand shot forward as if on a string, straight into Sevlar’s face. The lilac-colored man reeled from the blow, clutching his now bleeding nose. In his defense, he didn’t scream at all, out of pain or otherwise, he just kept advancing. The yoyo returned to Arthur, who caught it so it could start its orbit once more. “Toys will not help you now, Camo man!” Sevlar yelled, undeterred by the injury.
“Hey, they could help more than you think.” Once again, Arthur raised his arm and swung it forward, and once again, the yoyo flew forward. This time, Sevlar blocked it, knocking it to the side. It swung in an arch and returned to the glove quickly.
Arthur let loose a flurry of yoyo strikes, aiming to hamper his opponent’s advance, but now it did nothing. Now that Sevlar knew what the gloves were for, he was blocking all blows that could have struck him. Camo Man started throwing faster; where one yoyo would strike, the next would come only seconds behind it. Sevlar started running now, eager to reach his opponent. Even with his naturally enhanced reflexes, those damned toys were starting to get harder to block. Was this really the man who was so adamant about running away earlier? Now he was fighting back as though he had been dueling all his life!
Sevlar jumped over the last volley of metal and screamed, slashing downwards as he landed. Arthur stumbled backwards with a surprised scream; Sevlar had struck him in the jacket’s opening, slicing his shirt and leaving a long cut down his chest. The jacket-clad man stumbled backwards frantically. He couldn’t let his opponent get that close. However, one thing in the back of his mind screamed at him, the yoyos always returned. Despite all of his instincts, or maybe even because of them, Arthur moved forward and placed his hands on Sevlar’s chest. The lilac man’s eyes shot opened as he turned around, sword raised to defend. But it was too late; the yoyos struck him in his back and side hard, winding him before they went around him to get to meet with their respective gloves.
Sevlar fell to his knees, his back lighting up with pain, and Arthur stood over him, panting heavily. He didn’t know how much longer he could last in this fight, the simple truth was that Sevlar outclassed him physically many times over, and magically, too, not that he could do any magic. Camo Man let out a loose breath, but then that familiar urge filled his mind again. He slapped the glove on his left hand against the right, transferring the yoyo so that both of the objects were orbiting around his right hand. The left glove quickly disappeared and the man reached into his upper right pocket. He reached and searched, his hand going deep into the pocket, deeper than any could have expected, until he found what he was looking for. He clutched the shaft, wondering what it was, and pulled. As he removed the object from his pocket, he was slightly disappointed. There was a wand, and that’s all it was. A white wand, thin and stick-like. Again, the information exchange started, everything there was to know about this stick was transferred into his head. He didn’t fall this time, though, and his scream was choked in his throat.
“I… will not… fall to you… human.” Sevlar said with baited breath. He raised his hand, dropping his sword, and summoned lightning around his hand. Arthur’s eyes shot opened as he thrust the stick forward. All of the electricity his opponent was about to wield shot into the stick, traveling along its surface area, crackling with power. “W… what?” Sevlar looked confused, but Arthur smiled.
“Thunder Conductor.” He felt as though that was a stupid as hell name for the stick, even if it made sense, but decided not to tempt the jacket into changing his words again. Instead, he took the stick and tapped the two yoyos spinning around his hand. Both of them crackled with electricity, their orbits disrupted but they didn’t leave the glove’s magnetic field. Arthur, his grin widening, raised his hand. “I’d like to thank you for the chance to find this jacket, Sevlar. I owe you one.” And with that, Arthur lifted his hand and swung down hard. The two supercharged yoyos slammed into Sevlar’s face causing him to fly backwards with force. The lilac colored man flipped through the air, tumbled over the ground, and landed hard on the concrete. Arthur watched, seeing if the man would move, but the motionless body told him that he wouldn’t. He sighed, breathing a breath of relief, and closed his eyes; his fight was finally over.
When he opened them, he was back in that white place again. He didn’t bother looking around, he knew he wouldn’t see anything. He spoke first. “Do I get an explanation?”
I am… bored. Having as much power as I do, it is hard to make things become entertaining without destroying the fabric of the universe and remolding it to my every whim. But I have found entertainment in these Duelists, and I want to be closer to the action. You have tasted the glory of victory, even though I helped you more than I should, and I know you want more. While this Jacket, my form, is invincible, you are not. But you can get stronger, and I will help you defeat more like him.
“I have no choice?”
There is always a choice. You can choose how you see fit.
Arthur nodded. “Why did you make me say Camo Man (man man man man man) before? No offense, but the name is really stupid-“
Because that is now your name when you are with me. When we fight, you are no longer Arthur Douglas Jayes, you will be known as Camo Man. This, I yield no quarter. It will happen.
“Yeah, yeah, fine. What now?”
Now, you sleep. Until I am needed, I shall be but an ordinary jacket. Do not leave me behind, or you may find yourself in a Duel without me.
“Sleep? But it’s only three in the afternoon? Hey, are you listening to me?” Arthur found himself transported back to the parking lot instantly. He cursed what had happened, and why he didn’t get more answers. Out of curiosity, he glanced over at the place Sevlar had laid unconscious, but he wasn’t there. With a look of worry, Arthur scanned the surrounding area; his opponent was nowhere in sight. He took a hesitant step forward. That very simple act was all it took. Arthur lurched forward, falling as his brain shut down.
He was asleep from exhaustion before he even hit the ground.
“Grandpa Rust, wake up!” Yelled little Tiger.
“Oh, let the old man sleep, it wasn’t as if we hadn’t heard the story before, anyways.” Coevalent said calmly.
“Still wanna hear what happened next…” Wuff piped up, crossing his arms.
Grandpa Rust had fallen asleep in his chair. It was probably for the better, because he couldn’t remember what duel happened next for Camo Man…
|posts in thread|
|Tiger of Wu||
Dec 02, 10 at 1:14am ^re: The Chronicles
In a distant galaxy, many millenia ago, all that existed was a formless ball of energy. This energy had two parts, one light and the other dark. These two parts always tried to dominate each other but the energy itself required balance meaning neither prevailed. Eventually each part produced an avatar which mirrored their own side of the energy. They named themselves Eon and Myrmidon, the first two of a race called Deities, the males named gods and the females named goddesses. Like liquid hitting a surface small amounts of energy separated from these two and transformed into the lesser Deities, each one representing a part of life. These Deities, unlike Eon and Myrmidon, had no pre-determined traits. Whilst being born of the two and thus having unbalanced levels of light and dark they were still, overall, aligned to neither. They could choose their own path.
The Deities lived in a place called Sanctuary, a world which many would perceive as kin to Heaven, not existing in the normal realms of time or space as it resided in the center of what was left of the ball of energy. All of their needs were met effortlessly and none of them could be hurt while there. Eventually they grew bored of their monotonous existence, however, and they wanted something more. After many meetings they finally came to an agreement; they would create a world in which all aspects of themselves would exist. To live upon this world and provide them with company would be a race called Humans who would have various animals to aid their living. Then it was done. The world was created.
A hundred years of peace passed in Vianna but as it had always been the light and the dark were destined to fight once more. Eon had grew more and more powerful and was praised constantly, the people believing the light god was whom they should follow. Eventually the balance between dark and light was disturbed urging Myrmidon, the dark goddess, to start a war with Eon. Many years passed during the war as the Deities chose sides and fought for control, the balance between dark and light fluctuating chaotically as Eon's and Myrmidon's armies destroyed one and other. Eventually both Deities were destroyed, leaving neither light or darkness. This paradox caused Vianna itself to be destroyed, along with every Human and Deity who resided there.
One, however, avoided the calamity.
Emote, goddess of emotions, was a complicated Deity. She had six forms, each with their own appearance, powers and personality. The personalities would surface chaotically at random times, uncontrolled by anything other than chance. This made it complicated for her to build and keep relationships with other Deities as she would be expressing her happiness to be someone's friend during one moment then she'd be pointing out reasons why she wished they never existed another. One Goddess, however, suprisingly showed deep interest in Emote, often spending time with her when no other would.
Verin, goddess of wisdom, appeared as an old woman. Although usually having a cold heart and uninterest in others she seemed to somewhat care for Emote. She would accept her whatever form she was in, acting as both a friend and a teacher. No-one quite knew why this was... at least, no-one admitted to knowing why this was.
Once Vianna was made Emote found a small section of land, as every other Deity did, and lived there. Over time a group of Humans found her temple and expressed wishes to live with her, building a town around it. Reluctant at first, Emote allowed them, all the while fearing she would scare them away as she had done with the Deities. As time passed the Humans began to understand Emote and her forms. With more time the town and its people became her friends and family, comforting her when she was scared and laughing with her when she was happy. Calming her when she was angry and sharing her love. She came to rely upon them as much as they relied upon her.
With the dawning of Eon and Myrmidon's war Emote and her people refused to participate. Knowing the ball of energy in which she used to exist had always, and would always, balance itself out made her believe that Eon and Myrmidon would eventually do the same so she thought it pointless to become involved, much to Anger's dismay. As the war raged on many Deities tried to convince Emote to join their respective sides, even Verin herself who stayed neutral tried to convince her to join the fight. Each request was met with a firm denial from the goddess and her people.
Believing her to be more important to the war than anyone else knew, Myrmidon thought she had to become involved one way or another. She sent a small portion of her army to attack Emote's town. The goddess of emotions doesn't quite remember everything that happened due to her being in the form of Sorrow during the attack, a form which is notorious for not keeping memories. All she can remember is awakening in the half-destroyed town surrounded by the dead bodies of both her own townspeople and Myrmidon's soldiers. Three of her forms swore revenge, two others saying it was pointless and one not caring. Being outvoted they came to an agreement that they would join Eon and fight against Myrmidon.
Many years passed as the Deities fought on Vianna, using Humans as their tools. Due to a mix of deception, confusion, compassion and hatred Emote changed sides many times until eventually Verin appeared before her once again. She convinced her that nothing was left on Vianna for her; that all she held in that plane of existence were the painful memories of her dead people. Verin told Emote of her plans to return to Sanctuary for definite, knowing the created world was doomed. Emote reluctantly agreed, not wanting to leave the others behind but knowing she had no other choice.
They lived in Sanctuary for a long time, watching Vianna from a distance and chanelling their energy into it; enough to keep the natural balance regular. Verin spent a lot of her time writing, not allowing Emote to know what. After a hundred years in Sanctuary Verin told Emote that she had to return to Vianna as another of the Deities was ready to come back to their home. She told Emote of a letter that she should read when she felt the time was right, a statement which would have showed Verin's true intentions were the Goddess not in her naive form of Joy. While Verin was still in Vianna both Eon and Myrmidon were destroyed, taking away all light and darkness. The paradox caused Vianna to be destroyed along with all on it, including Verin. Sanctuary, however, resided in the center of the ball of energy which created the Deities, meaning it was unharmed, meaning Emote was unharmed. Knowing that Vianna's destruction was the 'right time' Verin spoke of, she read the letter.
It told Emote that the ball of energy had produced other Deities before them, who had also created worlds and eventually annhialated them. It spoke of the many times Deities of light and darkness had been made from the ball and of the many times they had been destroyed. It spoke of the previous Deities of wisdom who had kept journals in great detail, left behind in Sanctuary, telling of their attempts to prevent the destruction and, inevitably, cutting off to show their failures. It spoke of how Emote was the only one who could be saved as she was neither more light, coming mostly from Eon, or more dark, coming mostly from Myrmidon. It spoke of how she was their child, a creation who was missing in the set of Deities that they decided to create together, making her both perfect light and perfect dark, the only true balanced being. It spoke of how Verin convinced Myrmidon of Emote's importance so that her people would be killed and her connection to Vianna destroyed so she could convince her to return to the safety of Sanctuary. It told Emote that when the ball of energy grew too large more Deities of light and darkness, and subsequently other Deities, would be made. It told her that when they were she had to be long gone, reassured she would one day be found again and taken home.
At first unable to comprehend such a concept Emote decided to look through Verin's personal library. Usually it was impregnable but Verin left everything open for Emote to look through and for the next Deity of wisdom to consult. She read the journals of the previous Deities of wisdom, fourteen in total, and Verin's story matched up. She also found that the six predescessors of Verin had saved the Deities of peace, animals, language, earth, air and ice in the same way Emote had been saved, Verin even ordering her succesor to save the next Deity of fire and giving instructions on how to do so. This all was apparently a part of a plan which consisted of saving a Deity of each aspect and starting a new world without Deities of light and darkness, instead siphoning that aspect from the ball of energy meaning there would be no chance for them to destroy each other. Eventually more and more worlds would be made in the same way, the Deities of wisdom manipulating the other Deities until the ball of energy would no longer need to create new sets of Gods and Goddesses, the extra energy it produced being put into the many new worlds.
The Deities of wisdom each knew that there would only need to be one of them for each world so every time the created world was destroyed and another Deity was saved, they had to be destroyed with it until the last was saved, at which point that god or goddess would find and return each Deity and create the new world with them. After spending many years studying the journals in great detail Emote finally came to believe them as truth. Realising the ball was growing dangerously close to the size stated that it brought out new Deities she left Sanctuary, trusting she would one day be called home to help sustain the new and perfectly balanced world.
After wondering through the depths of space for many years Emote eventually came across a world riddled with Human life and even life of other beings like them. She entered the world and immediately was hit by the emotions of others, sensing their pain and joy as if she was still in Vianna or Sanctuary. Her powers were lessened in this world but it didn't change the fact that the people were amazed by her. Unfortunately a lot of other people feared her, believing her to be sent by a being they called Devil. After realising the people of this world weren't as accepting as those of Vianna she retreated to a secluded place, old feelings of not belonging raising once more. She would have left the world they called Earth entirely but she feared that if she wondered through space again she may have never come across another world with life in it, leaving her completely alone until she was called home.
Whilst travelling to find a fully isolated area she eventually came across a village in the Indian mountains which welcomed her and who, in spite of her reluctance, she agreed to spend time with. Soon after they realised she had special powers and they didn't fear her but instead worshipped and loved her, just like the people of Vianna. The village grew once others learnt of the presence of a Goddess and eventually it turned into a city, secretly residing on the top of the secluded mountain. Although her powers were lessened she could still bring the people prosperity: healing the sick, giving good harvest, protecting them and so forth.
In the long time she has spent on Earth she has faced many battles, realising that her new world is a dangerous and hostile one. She has grown attached to her people and would do anything to protect them, living on the planet of Earth and awaiting the time when she would be called home.
|posts in thread|
Jan 07, 11 at 12:47pm ^re: The Chronicles
Bizzaro-NDL World 1-1
Arthur Jayes found himself uncomfortably warm despite the cold that had crept into the room during the night. Sure, he was in bed with his beloved Linda, girlfriend of the past 2 years, and they were both sleeping soundly, but that chill in the air permeated even the blankets. He knew he should be cold. With a yawn, he rolled over away from the other warm body in the bed and made his move to pull his jacket off of his-
His eyes shot opened as he struggled out of the bed, hitting the floor hard with the blankets wrapped around him. This was his vacation, his VACATION, the Jacket had given it to him, he had deserved the rest! "What are you doing!?" Arthur snarled, tugging at the blankets until he was free from their diabolical grip.
"Arthur, who're you talking to? And give me back the blankets, it's cold," Linda complained. Arthur popped his head over the side of the bed and glanced at her, her silhouetted form shivering on the sheets.
"Sorry, love." Arthur didn't stand up, but tossed the blanket on top of her prone form. "I'll be right back."
"Alright, but hurry," she stated before yawning and wrapping herself up tightly. A little too tightly, Arthur noticed; he wouldn't have any blanket for himself when he returned.
'If I return, I should say...' The man sighed as he stood up, pulling on a pair of black pants that had been thrown carelessly when he and Linda had gotten into bed late last night.
You will survive, so long as you learn, and adapt.
Arthur hurried out of his bedroom and into the hallway. "Okay, now you listen to me," he said, pointing at his sleeve. "I don't have time for you and your games. You told me that you wouldn't have need of me for two weeks, and it's only been one. What are you trying to do to me!?"
There is no time. You leave immediately.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? There is always time, you can STOP time!" Arthur started pacing, stressing out over this latest development.
Return to your room.
With a sigh, Arthur put his palm against his face, standing still for a few moments before walking back into the darkness of his room. However, as he tried to make it to his bed to join his lovely Linda, he realized that he was not, in fact, in his room. He felt as though he were accelerating, even though he was standing still. Out of the corner of his eye he could see lights flying past him as though he were in the middle of an old Windows screen saver. Turning around, he noticed that the doorway was completely gone, and he was completely alone.
"Rise and shine, Mr. Man (man man man man man)," came a voice from behind. "Rise- and- shine."
Arthur spun on his heel to stare at the man who had snuck up on him. "Who the hell are you?" He asked, backing up a few feet. "And where the hell are we?"
The man wore a navy blue suit and tie and carried a black briefcase. Reaching up, he glanced down to adjust the tie. "Not that I wish to imply you have been sleeping on- the job. No-one is more deserving of a rest."
Arthur paused, as if not believing that this man who was obviously affiliated with the Jacket would admit that. He pointed at the man, "Damn straight I do, can I go back to my room now?"
"And all the effort in the world would have gone to waste until... well, let's just say your hour has come again."
"Hour, what hour? Dude, I have no idea what you're talking abou-" Arthur stopped talking, his mind working a mile a minute. "Wait, are you trying to emulate the intro to Half Life 2? Because that's kind of creepy, you know, as much as I enjoy the G-Man's few visits."
The man impersonating the G-Man sighed as he began rolling up his sleeves, revealing a cross on his right arm. "You've got me. I'm not here by my own free will, just as you are not. I never thought I'd ever have to admit this, but I have been bested, and I want to get this over with as quickly as possible so I can return home. I will not be coming with you, nor do I want to."
"So, what? You want to finish your monologue so we can pass through this little scene without you having to spend any more time under the powers of this Jacket?" Arthur sounded amused, and why shouldn't he be? This man seemed to hate being controlled and led just as much as he did.
And not nearly as much, it seemed, as the man's eyes narrowed. "I am being led on by a... Jacket? The very idea is absurd and I will not entertain it. With your permission, I will finish this monologue and be on my way."
"Wait, my permission? Not me, dude. Like I said, talk to the Jacket."
The false G-Man glanced down at the Jacket before giving a slight shake of his head. "The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world. So, wake up, Mr. Man (man man man man man). Wake up and smell the ashes." He didn't even bother trying to impersonate the voice, or the odd way of speaking, he just rushed through it.
You may go.
A panel of light appeared beside the faux G-Man, sliding as though a train door was opening, and he took his exit without another word. "Jeeze, and I thought I had it bad. That guy obviously had no idea what was going on." Arthur chortled in amusement, shaking his head at the whole scenario before throwing his arms wide. "So what now, Jacket? What no-" Before he finished the question, he collapsed in a crumpled heap onto the invisible ground, unconscious.
Bizzaro-NDL World 1-2
"I believe he's waking up." A female's voice, a lovely voice.
"Whadduya think happened to him?" A male's voice, a bit on the gruff side.
"W-what?" Arthur lifted his hand to his head, which had suddenly started pounding. He tried to sit up but the resulting dizziness that plagued him caused him to cease that effort immediately.
"Don't you worry about a thing, you're safe now." A small, soft hand started stroking his hair. His ponytail had been undone at one point after he had lost consciousness. Lost consciousness? Or... No, the G-Man. His eyes flashed open and immediately focused on the set of pink eyes belonging on the face above his. 'Pink?' Regardless, he found his heart racing at the sight of her. "My name is Love. My friend Leo found you outside of town and brought you here to recover." She leaned back, revealing a face behind her that would have caused him to recoil if he had been capable of moving.
"What, never seen a cat before?" Asked the gray-furred humanoid in the corner. To call himself an ordinary cat was not exactly the most accurate term, because he was shaped like a human.
"Why are you a furry?" Arthur blurted out before he could stop himself.
"Hey! That was uncalled for, pal. There's no need to toss around speciest remarks, especially after I saved you." The cat stated with a huff, obviously insulted.
"It's okay, Leo, he's not himself. I'm sure he has nothing against Anthromorphs." Love laid a soothing hand on the feline's arm. The two shared a look, but both turned to look at Arthur.
With a sigh, Arthur tried sitting up again. This time, he actually succeeded. "I'm... sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect, dude."
"Apology accepted." Leo claimed, his frown turning into that of a grin. "So where're you from, stranger? I've never seen clothes like those before." Arthur took the moment to notice their clothes. Leo seemed to be in a dusty farmer's outfit, complete with overalls and a torn olive work shirt. Love was sporting a white dress with pink frills, her pink hair up in an elegant bun. He wanted to stare at her all day, but then he remembered something important.
"Linda!" He exclaimed loudly, alarmed. "I have to get back home." He swung his feet over the edge of the table and got up. Not yet fully recovered, he stumbled forward in a daze, hitting the door hard with his shoulder.
"You're in no position to go anywhere, dear." Love delicately slipped her arm through his and, with more strength than he thought she was capable of, lead him back to the table. "Please, sit." She turned him and pushed him down, not giving him a choice. "Now, who's Linda and where are you from?"
It took Arthur a few moments to answer, but once his head cleared he finally managed to speak. "Linda is my girlfriend. We live in Battle Creek, at my parent's house. It's in Michigan." Well, to call it a house was a gross understatement, but he didn't care at the moment.
"Battle Creek? Sounds like a horrible place to live, if you ask me. Never heard of a country called Michigan, either." Leo reached into his overalls and pulled out a long piece of straw, placing it into his mouth to chew.
"I'm sure it's not as bad as it sounds, Leo." Love said delicately. She turned back to Arthur and placed her hand on his arm. "There's no place like that around here. You're at my bar, The Two Moons. We're in the town Eona, a small mountain city in the country of Myrm. Our doctor left when the Empire started advancing, so Leo brought you to me."
"Eona? Myrm? I've never heard of any of those places. Is this Earth?" Arthur wouldn't put it passed the Jacket to teleport him to some random universe for kicks and giggles. Hell, it had before.
"Earth? No, I can't say I've heard of any Earth, either." Love exchanged a glance with Leo. "Can you fetch us some ale, Leo? I believe he needs something to sooth his nerves."
"Right away, Love," Leo quietly exited the room.
Love sat down on the chair next to table he was laying on. "What is your name?"
Without bothering to fight it, Arthur stated the name the Jacket had given him. "My name is... Camo Man (man man man man man)."
"What an... Odd name, Camo Man." Love cleared her throat, delicately holding the back of her hand to her mouth as she did. "My sister wrote me recently, telling me of a man with a similar name. An odd name, where echos came from the very air around them."
"It wasn't my idea, lady, trust me." Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head lightly so as to not let the dizziness return.
"I think you should see her. I admit, she doesn't know much more than I do, but it's worth a try. Maybe this other man would have knowledge of your 'Battle Creek' that you could return to, and your Linda." Love smiled as she said that name, as if she could tell how much love was in their bond.
The door opened again as Leo returned with a small flask. "Here, Love does make the best drinks, and I just happened to find this one lying around."
"You're a... bartender?" Arthur glanced at Love as he took the flask. He wasn't much of a drinker, but he suddenly realized just how thirsty he was.
Don't drink it.
Arthur paused. "On second thought, I think I'll pass. Thanks anyways."
"A bartender? If you mean a bar maid, then yes, yes I am." Love turned to Leo. "Leo, can I ask a favor of you?"
"Of course, Love. Whatever you want." He said eagerly, grinning a lopsided grin.
"Can you take Camo Man here to see my sister, Hatred, in the Ra-"
"Hold on," Arthur held up his hand to apologize for interrupting. "Your sister's name is Hatred?"
"Is there something wrong with that?" Leo asked defensively. "Camo Man isn't exactly a common name, either."
"Hush, Leo, he didn't mean any harm by it." Love laid her hand on Leo's arm, and he stood a little straighter. "Can you do this for me?"
Leo hesitated for a moment. "I can, but can you at least write a letter so your sister doesn't bring the whole town down on us?" He spoke meekly at the very thought of having to meet Hatred, but it didn't stop him from wanting to help Love.
"Of course. You make sure Camo Man here is up and ready, and I'll go write that letter." With a dazzling smile, she gave Leo a hug before exiting the room.
Arthur couldn't help but watch her go, but he snapped his eyes back to Leo before the cat could catch him. He started standing up, stumbling less when he reached his feet than he had before. "Okay, we'll leave as soon as that's done."
Leo nodded, steadying Arthur with a hand, paw? To the shoulder as they entered the bar's main room.
[size=1][color=#666666]This message was edited by Rust on Jan 11 2011.
|posts in thread|
Jan 07, 11 at 6:31pm ^re: The Chronicles
Chapter three: Life Stories
“So why exactly did you choose to contact me?” Alexis asked, turning slightly to frown at Matt, who was in deep thought.
“Well,” he began, scratching the back of his neck. “I did a little digging and I found out that-” He paused, then looked strangely at her for a second. “Have you learnt any history?” He asked, motioning towards an empty table at the pavilion, which was a café, it turned out.
“History? What do you mean?” She replied, frowning even more at him. They sat, and Matt held up a finger to pause their conversation.
“Er… Waiter?” He asked, tapping a man dressed in a dark green apron.
He turned and readied his notepad, an eyebrow arching sarcastically. “Yes? May I take your order?”
“Me and my friend here would like a breakfast deal, as it’s,” he paused and glanced at an expensive looking watch, with the word ‘Rolex’ carved into the face. “Ten A.M,” he finished, then smiled brilliantly at the waiter, who jotted down the order.
“Anything else?” He asked, sweeping a brown lock of hair from his eyes, before looking at them.
Matt turned to Alexis and repeated the question. Alexis looked up and smiled warmly at the waiter, whose mouth tightened in dislike.
“I’ll have a glass of orange juice please, and some croissants wouldn’t be out of the question?”
The waiter scribbled and turned away, when Matt caught his arm. “Oh, uh, I’ll have a bottle of Coke, please,” he said, patting the guys arm and turning to Alexis.
“What a nice man,” he said warmly, and Alexis smiled. “Anyway,” he said, picking up a dropped quarter from the floor, and spinning it round on the table.
“I think we should start at the beginning… Time for a history lesson, class,” he announced to her, and his voice went lower, more secretive.
“Go on then,” replied Alexis, who sat forward in her chair, eager. She hadn’t really learnt about the history of the wizarding world, her uncle was too focussed on teaching her the spells.
“It was dark and stormy night, and all through the land of America, people were waiting with abated breath to find out just who would take leadership of the founding families,” he paused, and Alexis dived straight in with a question.
“I presume this is the ‘magical’ ruling families, then?” She asked, thinking back to the days when all the headlines and newspaper clipping from the ‘Weekly Wizard’ speculated on which family would take power.
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t bother you with all the human history, it’s so boring…” He cleared his throat, then continued.
“Well, it turns out there were more of them than we thought, and what happened next was the biggest event in all of wizard history.,” he stopped, and raised an eyebrow at Alexis.
“The Shades!” She blurted, causing a tourist to look over his newspaper at them. Matt frowned at him, then made a quiet motion to Alexis, who shrugged her shoulders apologetically.
“Yeah, the Shades. I was only little then, but I remember a few things…” he trailed off, then a shudder passed through his body.
Alexis frowned sympathetically at him. “So it was really as bad as they say?” She asked him, thinking of the ruins she had seen that were left behind after the Shades.
“Worse. Loads of people died, or got seriously harmed. Some went missing, some got shell shock, some even committed suicide. Now,” he said, the frown on his face straightening out. “Do you know what the cause of it was?” He asked her, and she shrugged in reply.
“I know it was something to do with one of the ruling families, but I don’t know much,” she told him.
“It was one of the ruling families, yes. The Malachites. They had made a decision that caused a civil war, which obviously escalated into the mass murdering. The leader of the family, or rather, house, Magnus Malachite, decided to set a ban on using magic on or against humans.”
“I can see why that caused a bit of a stir,” said Alexis.
Matt laughed once, then continued. “Of course it did. You see, the Malachites were considered royalty, a monarchy ruling over the other houses and ‘unimportant’ wizards. To disobey a law passed by them was considered treason. The world soon split into tow sides, the people obeying the law, and the people fighting it.”
“But,” interrupted Alexis. “Why did so many people want to harm a human?”
Matt scratched his neck again and sighed. “Surely you’ve heard of the Salem witch hunts?” He asked, and Alexis gasped and her eyes went round.
“Yeah, oh. Many wizards wanted pay back, revenge for their loved ones and relatives. Plus, because it was only women being burned, tortured, maimed, etc. It proved harder and harder for the population to…grow,” he finished awkwardly, then span the quarter around again.
“But it wasn’t just America involved, though,” Alexis added thoughtfully. “It was pretty big in London too, what with the superstitions and-”
She got cut off by a steaming plate of food being dumped in front of her. She looked up and saw the waiter was back, placing the food on the table with a look like a moody teenager. He probably was a moody teenager, thought Alexis.
“Thanks,” they both said, and the waiter looked to Matt.
“That’ll be $25, please,” he said, his hand outstretched for the money. Matt’s face twisted a little bit in panic. He reached for his wallet and opened it. From were Alexis was sitting, she could see that it was empty.
Matt quickly muttered something and precisely $25 appeared in the leather pouch. He handed it over with a charismatic smile.
“There you go, my good friend.”
The waiter scowled and stalked off pocketing the money as he walked.
“Isn’t that illegal?” Asked Alexis with a grin on her face.
Matt smiled and whispered, “Not if you don’t tell anyone.”
He opened the bottle of Coke with a nail, and flicked away the bottle cap. “Ah,” he said fondly. “That’s the stuff.”
“Fizzy pop with breakfast?” Said Alexis accusingly, sipping her own drink.
“It’s diet!” Replied Matt defensively, taking another large gulp before tucking into his breakfast. “About time, that waiter probably spat in it or something,” he joked, and Alexis picked at the food warily, she wasn’t sure if Matt was joking.
“Anyway,” he continued, still eating. “Yes, I see where you’re coming from, but America was sort of like the HQ for the Malachites, using Europe for holidays and publicity stunts.”
“Publicity stunts? Why would they need them?”
“Ah, you see, it all ties in. The Malachites were… disliked, to say the least. They ruled with an iron fist, and loads of people feared them. They had a whole castle converted into a prison, and whoever disobeyed them would be chucked in there.”
Alexis thought about that, and asked, “Then they announced that no magic should be used on humans, right?”
Matt nodded, then shoved a strip of bacon in his mouth. “Yesh, it caushed a shivil-” He stopped, then swallowed, clearing his throat before continuing. “Heh, sorry. Yeah, it caused a civil war, basically. And that’s how the Shades began.”
“Why is it called the ‘Shades’?” Asked Alexis, tiling her head in confusion.
Matt smirked slightly. “Well, it’s like the human Dark Ages, really. I don’t know who coined the name, but I think it’s because they wanted our Dark Ages to sound better.” He paused, then smiled. “I think it does, anyway.”
He sobered immediately as a thought crossed his mind. Alexis frowned at him, confused.
“Who did you lose?” He asked, looking at her with regretful eyes.
Alexis drew back, her hair swinging across her eyes. Suddenly, tears started to spring up in her eyes, and she blinked them away angrily. She clenched her teeth and looked away for a moment, and Matt sighed.
“I’m sorry,” he started, then paused again. “I lost my sister, if you must know. She decided to help the rebellious and she got- she got-” He cleared his throat and continued, his voice sounding weaker. “She got caught in the crossfire between a rebel wizard and Magnus, and well, you can guess the rest.”
Alexis looked back, her eyes slightly red. “Magnus died right? That rebel wizard killed him.” A strange tone had entered her voice, and her expression was indifferent.
Matt nodded sadly. “Yeah, they all died. Magnus, my sister Penelope, and the other wizard. I suppose I should thank him, actually. He did end the war, after all.”
Alexis’ head shot up, and she looked at Matt, her eyes earnest. “Who was he?” She asked, a sliver of excitement entering her tone.
“What-?” Began Matt, but Alexis cut him off. She slammed the tabletop with both her hands, and stood up slightly.
“No, Matt! Tell me! What was his name?”
Matt looked at her then said slowly, “I don’t know his last name, but I think his first was… Firenze?”
Alexis stopped, then stood up fully, leaning over Matt. Her expression was a violent mixture of joy, relief, pain and shock.
“You mean to say, that my father, Firenze Merryweather, managed to stop a civil war and kill Magnus Malachite?”
|posts in thread|
Jan 09, 11 at 4:46pm ^re: The Chronicles
How Many Squirrels...
... Does it take to change a light bulb?
The answer could be one, and Crysis was determined to be the one, the squirrel to do it. He was going to change this light bulb!
The light was off, he had already made sure, so the first thing to do was... Get up there! Crysis set down the big, round replacement bulb, carefully (it was made of glass after all)... And scurried off.
He came back minutes later, pushing a box. Push-push, hindpaws scrabbling a little, shoulder and forepaws pressed against the side; Crysis was glad it was empty! He stopped to grab the spare bulb and move it, then kept pushhh... Pushing until the box was in place...
There! But it was a long way up to the top, now. Crysis rubbed his muzzle in thought... And then scampered away to fetch another box.
Some time later... The squirrel had assembled a series of ascending boxes. Now he could take the bulb up to the top with him! He grabbed the spare and pushed it up, up... Onto the lowest box, then hopped up after it, pushed it up onto the next, and so on, lifting and climbing.
More than halfway up the rodent reached a bigger rise, where he had been unable to find any boxes the right size to go between this one and the next. He was too little to push the light bulb up that far.
Crysis put down the bulb and turned it upside-down. Or was that the right way up, since that was how it plugged in? The squirrel circled around the light, looking for any writing on it that could give him a clue, but didn't find any. He bottled up his curiosity, getting back to work, and leaned the bulb up against the side of the bigger box.
Hopping up by himself, Crysis turned around and leaned down to try to pull the bulb up by the end. The squirrel reeeaaached with his two paws, just brushing the metal bit, and it wobbled, and started to roll towards the edge. If it fell, the glass would break. Eek!
He leapt down and chased after the runaway light. Crysis caught up to it a second before it tumbled over the side. Phew. Spinning it round, he rolled it back and leaned it on the taller box's side, nice and steadily. Then the squirrel jumped up again, and lay on his tummy.
Dangling his tail down, he wrapped it around the bulb's neck and carefully pulled it up... Success! He grabbed it and carried on.
It was only a few more boxes to go, then he was at the top. Crysis reached up and unscrewed the burnt out bulb. There was a precarious moment as he tried to juggle the two lights to swap them, so he held the newer one in his paws and the older one behind him with his tail.
The rodent twisted the fresh bulb in tight and secure, then started back down with the used-up one. He made his way to the bottom of the tower... and ran to the light switch excitedly. The squirrel set down the spent bulb and took a breath. He pressed the switch. Click.
Nothing happened. "Awww..." Crysis exhaled, crestfallen. It was a dud.
[color=#666666]This message was edited on 2011-09-16T13:00:11-07:00.
|posts in thread|
Jan 16, 11 at 11:35pm ^re: The Chronicles
Part 1 - The Shadow Duels - Part 2 - Part 3
The Investigation, Part One: The Web is Spun
19th February, 2250. 150 years after the War of Fire.
One year ago.
The designated burial ground for the city of Coronas was empty. It was common enough, especially in the early hours of the morning such as it was now. The lightening of the sky indicated the sun threatening to rise in an hour or so, but it was still dark enough to make walking down the poorly-lit walkways somewhat dangerous. That, the fact that the area was fairly far outside the city and the way people shied away from death in the current age only added up to emptiness.
At the very edge of the graveyard, a dark-haired man sat looking out to sea. He clearly cared little for the sanctity of death – he was currently perched on a suitably high gravestone. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular; didn’t seem to be there to visit the resting site of anyone specific. He was just watching. Waiting.
The angel-lights shivered.
“You’re a cold, unfeeling bastard, you know that?” an irritated male voice informed him, its owner sitting cross-legged on the grass next to the first man. “Alright, Ion. You’ve got me here, against my better judgement. What the hell do you want?” Ion glanced at him briefly, then his gaze returned to the sea. One corner of his mouth tugged slightly upwards.
“Do you believe in angels?” he asked. Ion’s guest groaned.
“You have got to be-”
“Teleportation,” Ion continued, as though it were related. “Non-psychic teleportation, powered by the Web. What do you think?” His companion sighed wearily.
“I think you’re insane.” Ion raised an eyebrow. “No, I know you’re insane. I think it’ll never work.” Ion chuckled, steepling his fingers thoughtfully.
“But you want to try,” he surmised. His guest made an irritated noise.
“I’ll think about it,” he replied, getting to his feet. “And for the record, no, I don’t believe in angels.”
2nd October, 2250.
Four months ago.
Ion sat at his desk with his head resting in one hand, pausing only from drumming his fingers on the desktop to flick the page his computer screen was displaying to the next news item. Nothing interesting, nothing exciting. A team of lawyers had argued with a team of scientists about psychics. Apparently the argument had gone south, which either meant they’d taken a trip to the Amazon desert or nasty words had been exchanged. Boring. All of it boring. Hardly any of the people in the city were interesting, and those that were never graced the news pages. It wasn’t that he missed the days when the city had been under the control of evil people, and he especially didn’t miss St. Leon’s, but his life had become… dull. Monotonous. Boring. he wanted something interesting to do, something better than fixing the mistakes of the incompetent.
Speaking of which…
The clock on the wall read 0745, the display flashing as it counted up through the milliseconds to the advent of the next minute. Ion rose from his chair, turned the monitor off with a lazy wave of his hand and a spark of lights, and left the room.
The morning rush hour was in full effect, with the Lower Walkpath a throng of people apparently eager to reach their place of work. Ion, who had never been one for crowds, walked just above them on the crash netting, unconcerned by the cars passing by barely a metre above his head. It amused him to see one or two among the throng wearing what looked like tinfoil hats. It seemed conspiracy theories were still going strong. Presumably they were also the sort of person who believed the War of Fire was actually caused by aliens and the death of the last Head of State had been a governmental conspiracy, and were only half right.
His destination, the Institute for Parapsychic Research, rose up from the pavement like a gleaming white shrine. It was a rarity in the city, taking up every floor from top to bottom of the area it occupied. The cleanliness, too, was rare. It made Ion shudder to think of how much money they must waste paying people to clean it.
He hopped down from the crash netting to the path and walked past the sign, also white and shining, gold-painted letters proclaiming to all the business conducted in the building. Underneath it sat a star of similar gold, signifying that its main benefactor was the Academy. After almost a year working at the IPR, Ion had managed to quell the flicker of anger that rose up every time he saw that symbol.
Security waved him in with barely a glance at his credentials, knowing full well who he was. He scanned the chip in his wrist to get in the main doors and was greeted with more sterile, white walls and floor. There was a bored-looking receptionist in an empty entrance hall. She glanced up at him, bit her lip and looked back down again, apparently concerned by his presence like most normal people but not remarking on it. He smiled slightly, although there was no warmth in it.
“You know, the man I was working with yesterday said he gets a good morning from you when he walks in,” he remarked, resting his elbows on the desk and his chin on his hands. She looked up at him, somewhat uncertainly.
“Ah… good… morning, sir Ion?” she replied, almost asking if that was the correct response. Ion’s smile widened.
“I think it might be,” he agreed amiably.
He paused on his way to Assigned Lab Of The Day as he passed the stairs down to the basement. Whichever imbecile who was barely qualified to wield a screwdriver he was supposed to be ‘assisting’ that day, he was already very much convinced that they would, in fact, be boring. Downstairs in Laboratory 15 – so named despite technically being the first lab in the building, the other fourteen being on the ground floor – there was a small chance he could find something… interesting.
He reached Laboratory 15 after a short trip down a flight of stairs and putting up with some tedious biometric scanning. He tried to ignore the fact that it was underground, but it was rendered impossible by the slight shaking of the Web, taunting him. Mocking him. He wondered idly if the head researcher had decided to do the research underground just to spite him. He knew how much Ion hated it. it wouldn’t exactly have surprised Ion to learn that he’d arranged his work with vengeance in mind, after what Ion had done. That kind of small, quiet vengeance; not obviously apparent but nevertheless gradually damaging… it would be like him.
There were only three men in the lab when he walked in, two of whom instantly froze. He offered them pleasant smiles in return, but they didn’t seem convinced. The third man didn’t even turn around.
“Busy, I see,” Ion remarked, glancing around. As usual, the good doctor and his team seemed to have three or four projects on the go simultaneously, which Ion presumed they must occasionally put down to sleep. The third man glanced around.
“Somewhat,” he allowed, causing the other two to relax, if only slightly. The tension between Ion and this man – Dr. Connor, Head Researcher of the IPR – was so legendary that even people who didn’t work in the building knew about it. Connor amused Ion, intrigued him. Connor never called him ‘Sir’ like the pathetic little peons everywhere else who were too terrified of him to speak to him without stammering. Connor didn’t offer to him the utmost respect with a side-order of brown-nosing. Connor treated him like he was something unpleasant he’d found on his shoe and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. Ion returned the disrespect in kind, of course, although sometimes when he was feeling particularly generous he called him “doctor”. “Did you just come down here to irritate me, or do you have an actual, legitimate reason to be here?” he continued as Ion walked toward the centre of the room.
“A little of both,” he responded, kneeling by the half-constructed mass of wires that was this lab’s main project. Connor rolled his eyes and turned back to the computer.
“There’s a first time for everything, I suppose,” he muttered. “Don’t touch that.” Ion, who hadn’t intended to touch, continued to examine the half-finished machine. The inside of the tube was a sparkling array of Web-lights, as if the ones that entered it were somehow prevented from leaving. That was interesting, and potentially dangerous.
“You know, it occurred to me the other evening that you don’t actually need me for this research,” he remarked idly, standing up. He saw the flinch that Connor tried so valiantly to hide. Score one for him.
“Nobody else should need to do any more teleporting,” he muttered. “We should have the basic mechanism complete by next month, then we’ll move on to object testing with the machine itself.” His expression darkened slightly. “We had some correspondence from the other test centre, which I suppose you deserve to read. I won’t need you back until next month, so don’t come down here.” Ion grabbed the sheet from the nervous lab aide without even looking in her direction. Briefly, he scanned it, and couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the source location. He glanced up at Connor, who was still ignoring him masterfully.
“Every time I look at you, I see him dying,” he remarked, far too idly, too casually. Connor tensed, fingers raising from the keys to clench into shaking fists. It was cruel.
“And I try not to look at you,” he returned, his voice surprisingly level, “but when I do, I wonder how you manage to live with yourself.” He turned, his Web shivering around him in barely-suppressed anger, and walked over to Ion, who smiled at him faintly. “Now stop bothering me. Unlike you, I’m trying to work.” Ion held back the laughter.
“When do you not?” he replied frankly. “Enjoy your day… doctor.” Connor’s mind was as closed to him as always, but the hatred and disgust written into his features was impossible to miss.
25th December, 2250.
Two months ago.
New message from Dr. Connor (firstname.lastname@example.org).
RE: (no subject)
You’re a stuck-up, prying son of a bitch, you know that? Thought I’d let you know that we’ve solved the teleportation problems I’m certain nobody actually told you about, we’re back-and-forthing objects no issue now. Give it two months for us to iron out the Web kinks and test a few live creatures and we should be ready for a test run. I nominated you. I’m sure you’ll oblige, paragon of virtue and self-sacrifice that you are.
19th February, 2251, 0830 hours
Ion smirked as he walked past the receptionist, who gave him a big, nervous and entirely fake smile, and a quick, shaky and entirely insincere ‘good morning’. He made it down to Laboratory 15 with barely a pause at the stairs. This time, there were no aides in the lab.
“Doctor Connor,” he greeted with a vague smile, entering the room. The man in question returned his greeting with an icy glare.
“You’re late,” he replied, turning back to the computer he was sat at as if Ion didn’t matter. Ion consulted his watch.
“On time, I think you’ll find,” he corrected. “Perhaps your clock is fast?” The dark-haired man simply grunted in reply, so Ion shut the door with a casual button press and walked towards the middle of the room. The machine which, last time he’d laid eyes on it, had been a gutted mass of wires and metal was now neatly assembled and incredibly shiny. Most of the mechanism was attached to the ceiling above the central pad, leaving a cylinder outlined by nothing but the Web itself. As expected, the lab sported several rather unfinished machines of unknown function. Ion would have to locate an aide and ‘ask’ him what they did. Perhaps the good doctor would call him a son of a bitch again. That always amused him.
“Space Ops have fixed the connection to Station 9,” Connor remarked, tapping at the computer as Ion appraised from a distance a machine with stark similarities to a Resonator. “Managed to get the instant comms working using the Web. I borrowed some of the basic theory when designing the ‘porter.” Ion nodded slowly, outwardly not caring but inwardly interested. He was not a fool and he was well aware that Connor was his intellectual superior. He didn’t need to tell him, though. Connor knew where he stood in relation to everyone else. “I was speaking to Captain Roshea earlier; there shouldn’t be any problems. They’ve been back-and-forthing objects from the Station to space to warm the machine up.”
“I’m ever so reassured,” Ion responded drily. Connor shrugged, turned to the computer and hit a button, making the wall in front of the teleporter turn into a large display. The view was one of a large room, likely designed for this very purpose, with seating and a table in the background. Five people were around the camera, although one was monitoring a second screen.
“Ah, you made it!” the man in the middle of the group – Captain Roshea, Ion assumed – greeted enthusiastically. “We were half-expecting another fault, knowing IPR’s SO team.” Connor just shrugged again. “How’s the transmission, then?” Connor glanced down at the screen.
“Running smooth, no jumps. We’ve a slight delay, but only 0.5 seconds. It’s still a marked improvement on the old system,” he reported. “It should have no consequence on the test.” Ion regarded the screen with a neutral expression, sizing up the people visible. They seemed nervy under his stare.
“You asked… him?” the speaker asked hesitantly, looking to Connor.
“Oh, am I famous in space?” Ion asked, sounding amused. Connor made an irritated noise.
“Hopefully not,” he muttered. “Stand in the circle and I’ll set up the stabilisers.” Ion toed the circle, painted in red on the floor, then stepped inside its bounds carefully. He watched Connor carefully as he calibrated the various systems. “Ok. Turning on in three… two… one…” Above his head, the machinery whirred into life, making the Web-lights spark. Ion held out his hand.
“And here was me thinking you were above sabotage,” he remarked. Connor made an indecipherable noise and passed over a wristband with a monitor attached to it, which Ion fastened around his right wrist, over the edge of the cross. Connor watched him for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before turning back to the computer.
“All systems running green. How are things over your end?” he asked. The man looking away from the camera gave a thumbs up in the approximate direction of the screen. Ion, bored, waved a hand through the air, watching the lights of the Web quiver under the effects of the stabiliser. “And you?” Connor asked, glancing to Ion. He was surprised the doctor had even asked him, but he nodded, once. A thin smile, clearly for the smoothness of the experiment and not for Ion himself, presented itself on Connor’s face. It was clearly a face unaccustomed to smiling. “Alright. You know the idea behind this. No pain and hopefully no discorporation. Should be smooth and simple. No bruising, no loss of consciousness, no coughing up blood.” Ion raised his eyebrows.
“Should,” he echoed, not accusing, simply stating. “You hope.” He tilted his hand to the side, considering. “Or… do you?” Connor twitched, smile vanishing.
“I’d like this research to succeed, after all the time and funding we put into it,” he responded. “My opinion of you is entirely secondary.” He swiftly tapped a few keys. “Initiating teleport in three… two… one… go.” He hit a button on the keyboard and the lights around Ion blazed brightly enough for him to need to squint. He smelled, for the briefest second, burning. The Web shivered. Then the lights disappeared instantly, plunging him into blackness.
Ion threw up.
19th February, 2251, 0945 hours
When his head had stopped pounding and he could breathe without feeling like he was setting his lungs on fire, a disorientated Ion attempted to get his bearings. He was still in complete darkness, the size of whatever he was in a mystery to him currently. The wristband was still working, to a point, but across the screen, it read Error. Unable to establish connection – searching for signal. Ion found himself at a loss.
What went wrong, I wonder?
Something still felt wrong, something he couldn’t place. There was something about this area was in that just didn’t fit…
There were no lights. He couldn’t even see his own Web. But he could see the light of the wristwatch, so he hadn’t gone blind… Which in a way was the worse of the two options.
No. Focus. Think rationally. Nothing could have stripped me of my Web without me realising, Ion chastised himself mentally. The rational explanation is that I simply cannot see it for the moment.
Somehow, he didn’t feel too reassured by that.
You’re going to die.
Ion was tentatively exploring in the darkness. He was wary of moving too far from his original location for a number of reasons, and the fact that he couldn’t find a wall in the near vicinity was only reinforcing that opinion. The floor was made of something smooth, and it didn’t reflect the light from his wristband very well. He wasn’t even sure if he was still on earth.
I’m going to kill you.
Ion frowned. He was certain he’d heard something that time. A faint whisper, hooking its talons into his head. He cast his senses around in an attempt to find any life, disorientating though it was to do so without being able to see the angel-lights. There was nothing concrete there, just hints of consciousness.
Frowning in irritation, Ion sat down and concentrated on keeping his mind closed.
I love playing games.
Ion cut his losses and decided to walk. He’d still found no walls, which struck him as odd to say the least. He had no way of getting his bearings and no apparent way out. He was beginning to grow concerned. He wouldn’t have minded the surprise excursion as much if he’d been even a little prepared for it…
It’s more amusing when they run.
This place… Is like St. Leon’s. Voices with no substance. Memories with no physical form. I just need to ignore them, Ion told himself sternly, glancing down at the wristband. It now read System Control regained. Searching for signal. It was an improvement, but not a solution.
Didn’t I tell you to run?
Ignore it, Ion told himself sternly, taking a few uncertain steps forward. Pain burned into his arm with the briefest flash of the Web-lights, and Ion gasped in shock and grabbed the offending area. His hand came away wet. Warily, he licked it. Coppery. Blood.
Now will you run?
The voice in the Web was sneering, but still Ion ignored the threats. He’d seen the lights spark, which meant they were definitely there. He just needed to find them. He didn’t know where he was or what was going on, but if he could latch back on to the Web he’d be fine. He closed his eyes, blocking out the dull throbbing in his arm, and spread out his psychic senses.
Signal found. Connection re-established. Commencing teleport.
The lights burned into his vision once more as he opened his eyes, and he smiled slightly.
For a second, he thought he heard a howl of rage.
He could hear the sound of concerned voices talking in low whispered before his vision cleared enough for him to see. Blinking away retinal flashbacks of lights that didn’t exist, he focussed on a distressed-looking man fiddling with the machine above his head.
“Morning,” he greeted, the distressed man nearly falling from the ladder in shock.
“S-sir,” he greeted, his voice tremulous.
“We lost contact with all systems for a few minutes there,” one of the whisperers remarked. It looked like the man who’d been on the monitor previously. “We were afraid something had gone… Wrong.” Ion smiled slightly.
“I am more than capable of taking care of myself,” he remarked, noting with a slightly raised eyebrow the amount of blood that had stained his left sleeve.
“We should get you to the infirmary-” one woman started.
“How did you get injured?” a curious crew member cut in.
“Nasty bruises,” another crew member, definitely an unpaired psychic from their Web, sympathised. Ion frowned in annoyance at the sudden hubbub.
“You will not take me to the infirmary,” he disagreed bluntly. “I will be fine, for the moment. Yes, I will submit to your inane demands eventually, stop complaining.” The woman shut her mouth with a noise of distaste. “I would like to meet the captain.”
“We can do that, Sir,” the stressed mechanic remarked. “Just go with Ensign Johnson to the bridge.” The unpaired psychic looked surprised, and Ion’s mouth twitched into a smile at the irony few of them probably realised.
“Uh… yes, sir. Um, follow me, please, sir,” he stammered, Ion carefully picking his way around the wire-strewn ladder to follow the young man.
“Are you aware that you’re a psychic?” Ion inquired as the Ensign pushed the button for floor ‘B’. The man jumped as the doors slid closed.
“I-I’m a what?” he stammered. Ion sighed wearily. He did not have much patience for idiots. He never had done.
“A psychic. Unpaired. I assume you are young, quite possibly lying about your age?” Ensign Johnson cringed, confirming Ion’s suspicions.
“I didn’t believe it when people said you could read minds,” he mumbled. Ion rolled his eyes.
“I don’t need to read your mind,” he dismissed. “I can see your Web around you. The latest anyone has ever been recorded coming into psychic powers is sixteen years old. The Tower relocated all known psychics within two weeks of detection, and since you didn’t know that meant you couldn’t be more than a year and a half with your powers. Since the official legal age for working a station such as this is eighteen, the logical conclusion is that you are lying.” He saw the fear in the boy’s eyes and sighed wearily. “I’m not going to report you. I suggest you go for testing when you turn eighteen. You will have some rather interesting new abilities to get used to.” The boy nodded quickly, glancing around to check that there were no cameras that might have overheard Ion’s revelation about his age. Ion knew there weren’t any. The Web would have told him if there were.
“Captain Roshea, Sir Ion wishes to see you,” Ensign Johnson reported faithfully, stepping into the Bridge and saluting. Captain Roshea turned smiling, but it quickly faded when he saw the state Ion had managed to get himself into.
“Captain Charlie Roshea, at your service, sir,” he greeted, holding out his hand. Ion shook it, noting the way both Roshea and Ensign Johnson’s eyes went to the cross.
“I apologise for the late arrival,” he returned, scanning the Bridge swiftly. A number of crew members were sat at monitors, mostly just watching. One or two were in active conversation over some sort of personal intercom, but the station seemed to be running smoothly.
“We have no idea what happened,” Roshea admitted ruefully. “Dr Connor couldn’t explain it either. You just… vanished. Right off the grid. Then you reappeared from nowhere, and, well…”
“I’m sure Dr Connor was most upset at my safe return,” Ion remarked off-handedly. Roshea notably didn’t protest. “I shall leave you to your work. Your staff have been insisting I visit your infirmary.” Roshea nodded slowly.
“If you’d like to give us an account of what happened, we’ll send it on to Dr Connor,” he promised. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Both we and the IPR want this technology to work properly. It could save us a good deal of money.”
“Credits make the world go around, as the uneducated often say,” Ion agreed absently. “Until later, Captain.”
File: Test Report – Prototype Teleporter
Attached Files: 5 (See Files)
So, Dr Connor, we’re back to this, are we? I write this assuming you have no knowledge of why this test went down interesting routes. But we need to talk.
I have given my account to a number of technicians. Predictably, not a single one believed me, but I have recorded them all and offer them as attachments for you to peruse at your leisure. I would like to highlight my concern at the apparent, if untested, manifestation of a Web shadow into something more concrete, and would humbly suggest you investigate it.
Until next time, hm?
|posts in thread|
Feb 02, 11 at 10:59pm ^re: The Chronicles
You kill me
Even when you are gone, I cannot live
Even when you are near, I cannot breath
Your life is the death of me
And so I must end that which
Can bring one so much joy
By killing the joyous
One before you can
Kill me first
[size=1][color=#666666]This message was edited by Rust on Feb 03 2011.
|posts in thread|
Feb 09, 11 at 2:37pm ^re: The Chronicles
The Coil: Ion (By Tseng_Eclipse)
Welcome. How would you introduce yourself in your own words?
Ion (with a vague smile): I am Ion. Just Ion. I have very little else to offer by way of introduction, I'm afraid. I am not like a number of my associates, who have all manner of alternative names or code names.
What reason or reasons lead you to become involved in duels?
Ion (grimacing): Necessity. I dislike being too active a piece in the game, but I have no choice at the present time. Once I have the answers I seek, I fully intend to return to Coronas.
Ion (absently): Not that I've not been in my fair share of battles in my home city, but I was rather more removed from the front lines on all but the most decisive of those.
Do you have any favourite people/places/events from your past?
Ion (sighing softly): That depends, I suppose, upon one's definition of "favourite". While I do not particularly enjoy fighting for my life, it was most... Ah, enlightening to come face to face with a living impossibility of physics in the dragon Duegan.
Ion (smiling slightly): It was also quite fun outwitting him, in hindsight.
What are you currently up to?
Ion (looking more cheerful): I am conducting an investigation on this backwards little rock the inhabitants refer to as "Earth". I find it rather fascinating, despite the low level of technology they have. It bears the same name as my home planet, too.
What are your hopes/plans/expectations for the future?
Ion (frowning): If my activities on Earth turn up nothing, I will have to leave. Assuming I can re-establish contact with Station 9, of course, which I dearly hope to be able to do.
Ion (tapping the device on his wrist): While I wouldn't put it past my dear associate Dr Connor to deliberately sabotage me, they do need my help. Unfortunately I do not have quite the technical aptitude to fix whatever the problem with this is just yet.
If you could brainwash one other character of the League into being your slave, which one would it be?
Ion (raising an eyebrow): An interesting question, certainly. I would hope that, were I taking part in something that would require the aid of such strong people, I would not need to brainwash them for them to be on my side, but if we are talking hypothetically... Hm. I do find the man who goes simply by "C" to be quite fascinating, and I am certain he would be a valuable, ah... Ally.
Ion (drumming his fingers on his leg): Although I would imagine he would be hard to manipulate, being insane.
If you could go back in time and change part of your life, would you?
Ion (sighing heavily): As much as I'd like to pick apart the technical difficulties and paradoxes associated with time travel, that isn't the question here.
Ion (looking thoughtful): I think the main issue is that all of the important events in my life were beyond my control, and in a way I think my life would have been worse had they not happened.
Ion (drumming his fingers on his leg): I couldn't have stopped someone from using that broken machine. And had my partner not been killed I would never have ended up in a position to discover what was truly going on in my... Place of employ.
Ion (with a shrug): So I suppose my answer is no.
Ion's a type of size measurement, I think. Or is it to do with energy beams? Was it a breed of Koala Bear? No, that can't be right, Koala's the breed, hence Koala Cats and Coca-Koala. So, like, where did you get the name?
Ion (sighing): An ion is a charged particle. However, the name is my birth name. It is a Basque name; I believe the English parallel is John? It has some strange religious meaning that I do not care for, but presumably my parents, whoever they were, did.
Ion (smiling): You'd be surprised how many people are of the opinion that the name is a taken one. I suppose it is the exotic flavour.
Does having that cross on your arm ever get in the way?
Ion (glancing at the cross): Not as much as you might think. It makes wearing shirts with tight sleeves impossible, but in all truth I was never a fan of them anyway.
Ion (tapping the cross and making it spark): And its useful properties far outweigh any negatives it might impose upon me. A number of people have suggested trying to remove the arms of the cross to make it more, ah, wieldy, but I politely declined.
Do you fear anything with the ability to essentially control everything or are you simply a 100% fearless man?
Ion (surprised): I do not think any normal man is fearless. Fearlessness invites foolishness, and foolishness invites mistakes. Even one mistake can be fatal.
Ion (tapping his fingers on his arm): One thing I do know is my own limits. You are mistaken in part with your question – I cannot control everything, not by any means.
Ion (smiling slightly): Although it would be most advantageous if I could.
Ion (shaking his head): I have been in many situations where I have been afraid. Because of that I am now rather capable of hiding fear so that others cannot tell what I feel. That, in some ways, is more valuable than fearlessness.
How many more psychics like you are there?
Ion (with a slight frown): Currently? One. There have been four people recorded surviving the breaking process. Two have since perished due to mostly unrelated circumstances.
Ion (breaking into a knowing smile): And to answer the question I'm sure you'll want to ask next, no, I was not responsible for that.
Ion (grimacing): Technically.
EastEnders or Coronation Street?
Ion (looking dubious): Pre-war television programs are not something I have ever considered to be a good use of time viewing. Especially programs such as those, which claim to be mirroring reality but in fact do the exact opposite.
Ion (making a weary noise): Not that post-war efforts are much better, mind.
If you could have the powers of one other duelist, whose would you pick?
Ion (considering): That depends on if you mean a swap or a simple gain. If the former, I would rather stay the way I am, thank you.
Ion (smiling slightly): If the latter, I would very much like to come into possession of Mortis Blackwraith's symbiote. It seems... Intriguing.
Being able to see everybody's thoughts surely you'd have come across some rather perverted and disturbing images, what's the most bizarre or disturbing thing you have ever come across?
Ion (smirking): While I choose whose minds I look into, you are still correct. Once, I looked into the mind of a man who had systematically locked people into a machine he had built and watched it strip away everything of them until they perished, all with the aim of creating an emotionless warrior, one he thought would be superior to the "normal" people he hired. Ah, and this connects to your earlier question, does it not? The emotionless warrior is fatally flawed because they are emotionless.
Ion (thoughtfully): Even so, I think the worst things I have ever seen are those I have experienced myself. Or, unfortunately, had to be the cause of. But sacrifice is necessary when one fights a great evil, is it not?
What's your favourite method of killing someone? I bet there are some amusing ones.
Ion (looking thoughtful): You assume that I enjoy murder, I see. That is not entirely correct. I resort to murder only when it is the only option I can take to succeed.
Ion (chuckling): That said, I have employed some rather 'amusing' mechanisms of revenge in the past. Once, I managed to, ah, persuade someone that they were on fire. It was most interesting to watch his body slowly shut down as he became convinced he'd burned to death.
Tell us about your home.
Ion (clapping his hands together): Ah, you wish to know of Coronas? Very well.
Ion (steepling his fingers): Coronas is a mega-city built after the one that originally stood there was levelled by Type I nuclear arms in the War of Fire one hundred and fifty years ago. It sits on the East coast of the United Far West lands and, last time I checked, it was the second-largest city on the continent.
Ion (smiling faintly): I consider it to be a rather beautiful city, especially at night. Above ground level where pedestrians walk you have storey upon storey of the Skyway, lit up brightly with the guidance system lights, and the tracks of the Skytrain in the sky above the buildings.
Ion (smile fading): Although the majority of its residents detract from that beauty with their evil, and those that remain often fail to appreciate its artistic value.
Do you like animals?
Ion (with a smile): Somewhat. Animals tend to be far less hassling to deal with than humans. And, of course, you never know what they're thinking.
Ion (looking distracted): I was considering getting a bird for a while, but I fear I find myself too busy.
Ion, how would you respond if this were a really clever question?
Ion (smiling slightly): Likely with a witty yet vague response which was nonetheless factually correct. Why? Do you have a clever question?
You're quite clearly insane. Would you be open to therapy, perhaps before you snap and massacre your entire crew?
Ion (laughing softly): Insane? Ah, that word... It has defined a lot of my life. You imply more than you know, I feel, by using it.
Ion (sighing): Perhaps now I am different to the person I once was. But I was not insane...
Ion (shaking his head): I doubt you care to hear of my past, nor do I have much of a desire to tell you of it. If it appeases you, I do not see myself massacring those on Station 9 because of changes in my mental state. You are free to try and... Fix me if you so wish. I will humour you.
Do you consider those that you manipulate to be at fault for being weak/quick to turn from the morality they claim to believe in/something else, or do you yourself take all of the responsibility for the acts they perform under your influence?
Ion (musing): Since the "discovery" of psychics by the wider world there has been a number of legal teams debating that very point. I will admit that I paid their progress little attention; I care not for the defined laws of the city.
Ion (smiling faintly): It is fiction that a strong mind cannot be broken. What would be closer to the truth is that a weak mind can be broken faster. A strong mind could persist for months, even years resisting the voices in their head, but eventually they have no choice but to break. So, it is the fault of the psychic who breaks them, by that logic.
Ion (frowning): But I will take responsibility only if I directly incite a person to perform an action. Picking a memory out of someone's head and then telling someone directly affected does not make me responsible if the second then punches the first in the face.
Ion (smirking): Purely hypothetically speaking, of course.
How do you spend your free time?
Ion (laughing softly): You assume I have free time.
If someone does evil for the sake of good, do you think that make the action good?
Ion (making an amused noise): Of course not. Murder will always be murder, for example. It doesn't matter if the person you kill is evil, it doesn't matter if they have killed themselves. You are still taking a life.
Ion (raising an eyebrow): I suppose you think that makes me a hypocrite, no?
You don't seem to care about any of the people you've met; is there anyone you actually respect/admire?
Ion (looking thoughtful): My respect is difficult to earn. I've met far too many stupid people in my lifetime, or people quick to turn from their supposed morality, or people so pathetically predictable...
Ion (grudgingly): I suppose I must respect Dr Connor, for having a position and sticking to it, even if I dislike the man.
Ion (more amicably): As for admire, a number of pre-war books were recently turned up in a town that escaped the worst damage, and I had the fortune to read a few of them, albeit in electronic form. I have always admired good authors; those who can create an entire world with nothing but words.
Ion (looking unhappy): Although such a profession is unlikely to get you anywhere in the current climate of the world, and I certainly don't aspire to be one.
It takes a coward to make other people fight for him. You're clearly not a warrior... Yet there's certainly something there. Would you say you do have the core soul of a warrior, or are you just a ruthless prick?
Ion (laughing in clear amusement): Interesting choices. I fear I must go with the second. It was once the intention of people to make me a warrior, but I find it much more palatable to be the one directing the fighters.
Ion (with a searching look): And, of course, in war one must always be ruthless. Isn't that right?
If you could legitimately rule the world, would you want to?
Ion (smirking): I suppose this is one of those question to which you expect my immediate answer to be yes, isn't it?
Ion (shaking his head): On the contrary. Being in the limelight, in view, is not something I am fond of. I am not the most remarkable in appearance so those who meet me tend to forget me, but when you do something important, memorable? People know who you are. They remember you.
Ion (circling one hand as he continues): And of course, there will always be those who disagree with what you propose. People who refuse to follow like sheep. While normally I would approve of thinking for yourself, such things can become... Problematic when they try to let you know how much they disagree with violent actions.
Ion (folding his arms): That's not to say I wouldn't like to be involved in such an endeavour, mind you. I would just rather be in the background.
Are you a virgin?
Ion (looking amused): No. It does amuse me, though, how often the human mind returns to base actions. You have in front of you the strongest psychic in the known universe and you choose to interrogate him on his sexual preferences!
Ion (shaking his head sadly): People.
Fredrick: Being able to push people's thought to your advantage you must have a lot of luck with the ladies... Or the guys if you're that way inclined, can you teach me how to do that?
Ion (mouth quirking into a smirk): That depends. If you are willing to bind your very soul to someone else, then have that connection torn apart, by all means. But I think you will find once that has happened, you are not so keen for romance as you once were. I still hear the voice of my partner inside my head; no amount of wishing her away will get rid of that insistent, parasitic echo.
Ion (frankly): That aside, if you still wish to, it is simply a matter of... Convincing people that they agree with you. Rather unfulfilling, where a relationship is concerned, I would think.
You say you used to be sane; that implies you acknowledge your current insanity. So, what caused it?
Ion (rolling his eyes): Back to the tiresome question of mental health, I see.
Ion (folding his hands): Shortly after my partner died, I was removed from the city by the Tower, my employers, and placed in a secure institution to keep me out of their hair and out of the public eye. That was not an issue per se, although naturally I was somewhat... Annoyed by this curtailment of my freedom.
Ion (sighing): I was young. Stupid. I caused trouble, I demanded to be let go. My reasoning, which I considered to be somewhat sound, was that holding someone with no history of mental problems in an establishment designed to treat them was foolish at best and illegal at worst.
Ion (eyes narrowing in memory): They were not allowed to free me, so they attempted to deal with me another way. They moved me to a room underneath the ground floor. I'm sure it was a perfectly good space to be, and yet...
Ion (closing his eyes): Suffering, if it is of a great magnitude, imprints itself on the Web. Leaves... Echoes behind. The entire building had been a hospital during the War of Fire, but that room...
Ion (shaking his head slightly): They never stopped screaming. Never. Constantly, over and over, whimpering, wailing, whispering things inside my head.
Ion (smiling slightly): As I said earlier, eventually even the strongest minds will snap, even if it takes years.
If you really are the most powerful practitioner of psychokinesis and telepathy in the world, why can't you read my memory card? And just why do I have to lay my controller flat on the floor?
Ion (frown deepening): I'm not entirely certain I understand your question. On my home planet, though, we refer to it as telekinesis, so perhaps that is where you became confused. It has also been ascertained, after several hours of testing, that technopathy is impossible for all documented forms of psychics, so if you are powered by a machine I imagine it would offer you some immunity.
Ion (smirking): Although, from reading your mind, I see you enjoy playing Castlevania.
Do you have any last words you'd like to add?
Ion (with a brief smirk): How morbidly worded. Still, it is my hope that you gained something from this pleasant little distraction.
Ion (expression not wavering): I certainly did.
[color=#666666]This message was edited on 2014-06-01T09:12:34-07:00.
|posts in thread|
|Al The Killer||
Feb 12, 11 at 7:17am ^re: The Chronicles
Movement I: Alliance
Silence awoke, groggily recalling the events of what had just happened. He sat up, but felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He clutched his abdomen, wincing in pain.
"That wouldn't be wise.." said a disembodied voice. Silence looked up, finding nobody else in the room. Instead, all he saw was an intercom, set against white walls.
White sheets, on a white bed.
White tiles, too, and a clean white ceiling.
"You were in Audio City, hunting down the a girl named Niminda. You failed, but it wasn't your fault, a car bomb did explode, after all. You're lucky that somebody's watching over you." the voice continued, "My name is West, and we have similar interests, you want revenge, I want to destroy the Breach."
Silence attempted to open his mouth, but was quickly interrupted by West. "The Breach, in case you were wondering, are a society of high ranking daemons, whose only real interest is the destruction of the Mortal Plane."
Silence interjected before he could. "They're are nine planes of existence, the lowest basically being a storage bin, and the highest containing all of the big-wig daemon. Like Mephalam."
"I guess you're smarter than I accounted for, kid." West replied, a bit of apathy in his voice. "At least you know the difference between daemons and demons, I've met some bio-chemists who didn't know."
Silence rolled his eyes. Looking around the room, he got up, ignoring the pain in his chest. As he saw the blood leak out of the bandages, he gasped.
"Vigoratus mihi take absentis meus poena!"
He cried, a blessing of healing in Latin. He felt the oozing stop, and ripped off the bandages that were constricting him. He looked around, putting his clothes on, but, somethings were missing. Namely, Fall, Angel, and Sin & Punishment.
"I've taken the liberty of confiscating your weapons." Said West, this time, sounding closer. As Silence turned around, he saw his pale red eyes staring into his. West laid a hand on Silence's shoulder, and Silence felt a wave on relief flow into him.
"Okay...I'll listen. What do you need me for?" silence said, closing his eyes.
"I just need you to help me hunt down and kill Daemon Lords and Ladies, it's not that hard." West said, turning his back to Silence. "A certain daemon named Malicka might be of interest to you, after all, she did take everything from you. Also, if we find the Codex Mephalamus, you can get Mephalam to solve your past."
Silence looked at him, dumbfounded. "I-I need some to think.." Silence said.
"Very well then."
Several hours later, after a negotiation between Silence and West, an alliance was made, and The Huntsmen Guild was formed.
|posts in thread|
|Tiger of Wu||
Feb 14, 11 at 9:51am ^re: The Chronicles
Saint Valentine Wept
"I've been watching you." Ion stated as Amadeth's eyes opened. "I didn't imagine you slept."
"Yes, well, cocaine is a hell of a drug. With the right strength it can knock even me out." Amadeth replied, sitting up. Her blanket dropped from her chest to reveal a single, rotting breast and an unseemly absence of a second to make up the usual pair. Her nipple fell from the breast and she picked it up, reaching into her open chest and pulling out a small tube of glue. "My inquiry for you," She began, applying some of the glue to the back of the nipple. "Is why have you been watching me sleep?" Ion stepped from where he stood to the bed upon which Amadeth lay and sat on the edge of it. He took the decayed nipple from her.
"No reason in particular," He replied, pressing the nipple back onto the breast. "Just... wanted to watch." As they sat Ion held the nipple to the breast and then began pressing it with more force. Then he started rubbing it until eventually Amadeth coughed. His face turned red and he stood, quickly walking over to the door. "Well, I'll leave you to your... yeah."
A few days passed. This time it was Ion who slept and when he awoke the smell of death was in the air. He kept his eyes closed and breathed in its scent with a warm smile as he felt another person atop him. "Our encounter was... most enjoyable." Amadeth stated in her posh accent. Ion opened his eyes to see that whilst he slept she had taken the liberty of undressing him. "I'm here to return the favour."
After another few days, Ion and Amadeth agreed to a date. There was a carnival being held nearby and they visited, smiling at all the worthless peons as they tried to instil some sort of meaning into their purposeless lives. Ion made sure Amadeth's appearance and odour were masked in the minds of the people as they walked through the crowds and shared a large stick of candy floss, Ion tentatively picking at it whilst Amadeth took out large bites. They approached a small roller-coaster and the man in the booth asked them for five pounds if they both wished to ride; Amadeth felt around her open chest cavity and found nothing of the sort, causing Ion to laugh merrily.
"Why good sir," He stated, winking at his date. "I've already paid you." As expected, the man agreed and allowed them entry. At the front of the small ride they held hands and waved their free hands in the air, although in Amadeth's case this led to her arm coming off completely. It struck a small boy in the face before falling to the ground and Ion quickly convinced him, and those around him, that there was no flying arm, no blood and no pain. They exited the roller-coaster behind the bleeding boy who happily proclaimed his wishes to ride again. After touching ground they ran over to Amadeth's dismembered arm and bumped heads reaching down to pick it up, giggling about it shortly after.
They next went to the Ferris wheel which, with a little psychic persuasion, stalled when the two of them were at the top. They looked out across the city and Ion yawned, placing his arm behind Amadeth's back. She turned away, her purple and green skin blushing a light blue, before she turned back. As a maggot fell from the zombie's cheek Ion leaned in towards her and they kissed.
"I didn't imagine you slept." Ion stated as Amadeth jerked up from the bed upon which she was sleeping and dreaming. Her blanket dropped from her chest to reveal a single, rotting breast. Ion recoiled and turned away. "I've found an intruder. They're bringing her here, so dress and come to my office." He exited the room. Amadeth looked confusedly towards the space Ion had previously been inhabiting then she looked down at her bedside cabinet, covered in white powder and porn DVDs. She fell back onto the bed with a sigh.
[color=#666666]This message was edited on 2011-06-23T03:49:46-07:00.
|posts in thread|
Feb 15, 11 at 8:57pm ^re: The Chronicles
Ion had always hated… sleeping. It was an unfortunate thing to hate, considering its necessity to life. Ion’s days were long, and he despised the end of them, faced with no other option than the bed in his quarters. He tried not sleeping, but it had only been a matter of time before someone noticed and he was told in no uncertain terms to get some rest. Practically dragged to his room and as good as locked within it. They would have, if they’d dared.
Ion was faced with a bed and a heavy weariness.
Do you miss me?
Of course you do.
Leave me be.
Do you remember when we broke?
It was… an ordinary day.
You were excited. Anticipating.
We could begin to make ourselves.
Become real Operatives!
Do you remember what you said to me?
I’ll be with you, no matter what…
“I’ll be with you, no matter what,” you said.
You lied to me.
You abandoned me!
I had no-
You promised and you left me!
I had no choice!
I heard you. When we were sat in that machine and it screamed in our heads.
As the light between us burned.
As we broke.
From everything to nothing at all, we went.
You screamed like the machine did, didn’t you?
I was fading, but I heard you.
I felt you put yourself back together.
I thought that you-
Nobody survives breaking.
You were defying laws.
So like you. Difficult. Dangerous.
They wanted me to rein you in.
I couldn’t. And you abandoned me.
Left me to die. Alone.
Scattered and alone.
You were a terrible Second.
You were a terrible person.
You’re no better now.
You know it’s true.
People died because of you. Good people.
You found the pain of the living amusing.
You wanted it.
I’m glad you left me.
I don’t want to be with you.
You should suffer.
Even dying is too good for you.
I hate you.
I never loved you.
Ion woke with a gasp, lashing out and sending the table by the bed toppling with his powers. It was instinctive. He groaned, letting himself as good as fall from the bed and pace heavily over to where it had fallen, righting it and dragging it back over. He pulled the drawer open with a little too much force and took out the packet of pills, all silver foil and stark, medical white. He stared at it as the minutes ticked by.
Almost in a trance, he gently pushed two of the pills from the foil and swallowed them without water, lying back on the bed and waiting for the drug to take hold.
Ion hated sleeping because he hated what happened when he wasn’t in control of his own mind.
Ion hated sleeping because he was terrified of the nightmares.
I l o v e y o u
|posts in thread|
|Al The Killer||
Feb 16, 11 at 2:57am ^re: The Chronicles
Interlude I: Love
"Silence, can you come to the main complex for a second? I have someone that wants to meet you." West said over the intercom, which Silence was growing to despise.
Walking through the clean white hallways, Silence wondered who they could possibly be;A civilian from Reed? A professor? Maybe a hunter? He would have to wait and see.
He looked at the sign above the next door, vacantly staring at the sign, which was marked with the word "Main" above it. He pressed a small button on the edge of he door, which made it slide vertically open.
As he walked in, he was greeted by West, who was in a clean white suit, as usual.
"Ah, hello, Mr.Templesmith." greeted West. The room was dark, except for a set of lights lighting the center of the table. At the end was a person, Silence could sense their strong aura. "I would like you to meet a friend of mine. Silence, meet Ezra Frost."
The silhouette moved from the chair, heels clacking on the floor. As she moved underneath the light Silence was under, her features became a bit defined.
She wore a light blue blouse that had a hood of the same color attached, complimenting her electric blue eyes and dark hair. She smiled a little bit, her features softening, revealing a bit of Spanish descent.
"A pleasure to meet you." she said, staring him in the eyes. There was something about her that didn't seem right, something dangerous.
"She will be accompanying you on all of your missions." West said quietly.
"Why would she do that?" Silence said, his pulse rushing a bit.
"Isn't it obvious? She's a huntress, of course. And every hunter needs a partner."
Silence stared at West for a second, taking in what he just said. He looked at Ezra, taking her in. She certainly had a strong aura, and their was something special about her, but what was it?
"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly can you do?"
She smiled. "I'll show you right now." She reached into her blouse pocket, pulling out a small, silver box with lines engraved into it. She stared at it for a bit, concentrating.
Her eyes started glowing an unusual shade of blue, and the box split into parts, floating around in the air. She let them swirl around for a few seconds, before neatly collapsing them back into a box.
"Technopath." West said, a smirk on his face.
Silence extended his hand towards her. "Welcome to the guild, Ezra." He said with a smile.
Кто - то он может положить, или кое-что, что будет взят из него? Время покажет.
Agh! I can never seem to stretch these things longer! Comments and criticism greatly needed.
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