Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Mixed World Tournament - Reason (page 175)

Yes, Zophia I know that...
hmmph. That means that I'll have to bring out my minigun. heh heh hehahahehheahaha
Wait, we have to write a prologue???

I said:

If you have not, then submit a "Where is my character/s before they get to the tournament". Just a short something, so I can get the arrival to work, please?

Ohhh...
here goes...


Razar, Jecan and Demanc walked along the dirt path pondering what the city would be like. It wasn't a long way off, if there had been cars. There weren't cars here. This planet was strange. It would be at least 4 hours of a walk to the city and they were not looking forward to this.

*coughcough*
Uhmm, I am sorry to say this, Mentorso.... But I guess the contestants are unaware of them going to be in a Tournament at all.... Uhm... Sorry... I fail.....

"Prologue" should take place in the contestant's natural habitat.

Yeah, it's me writing a prologue because that's something I like to do!

I hope it's not too long.

---

A shadowy figure stood in the alley. A bandaged hand dragged over stone wall with a barely rasping noise, tracing a series of deep gouge marks. From behind the black hood, a pair of deep blue eyes, almost glowing in the twilight, narrowed slightly.

There had been much trouble in the township of AG lately, and Strop was tempted to put it off to seasonal variation, what with the various to-ing and fro-ing of the tides of people and their climactic moods, perhaps causing a temporary insurgency of spam-mongers or maybe trolls. Or maybe flamers. But the pricking between his ears told him not to let his suspicions rest.

Strop swished his tail once, trying to brush away a second sense of uneasiness. His ears swivelled around, straining, but he heard nothing. He looked down at his fingers, and noticed some rock had crumbled off into his hand, and, on a whim (or perhaps an instinct), he raised it to his nose and sniffed, nostrils flaring as he did so.

It smelt of...purple.

There was no other way to describe it. Surely there was something more than merely physical about the damage to this wall, but since he had no knowledge of the magicks, he could not place his finger, let alone his nose on it. Frustrated, he dusted his fingers on his ninja suit and started pacing along the narrow cobblestone alleyway once again.

Then he stopped and suddenly looked up. His eyesight was hardly as sharp as the rest of his senses but he swore he could see a vague silhouette, of what he couldn't tell, teetering on the slanted rooftops of the multi-storey stone houses that crowded this precinct. He wondered if there was somebody there, and if they could see him. Or if they were watching him.

A brief chill passed through Strop's marrow, but he quelled the notion. Surely there was only one way to find out. He coiled, taking a brief look, then sprang. His hooves clattered slightly as he ran up the wall, one, two steps, then launched off. He arched his back and grasped the window sill of the second storey and flipped through into the building. As soon as he landed, he shrank back against the wall, all but his eyes concealed by the shadow underneath the windowsill. Then he slowly lifted his head and peeked out.

There was no doubt about it, the silhouette was there, clearer now. He shrank back down and contemplated his next move, his other duties slipping away from his mind. He was due to preside over the various contests of artistic skill at nightfall, and the sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting a deep red hue over the sky as it retreated. But at this point in time, he felt this matter was urgent. The contestants would be able to amuse themselves, and waiting was half the fun.

Excuses aside, he still needed a plan. He reached behind him and unhooked his bow. The rappelling arrow would have to do, but he knew better than to take the frontal approach. He wove his way through the curiously deserted corridors of the building, finally emerging several windows down. He still had another two stories to climb, but the arrow would surely have the range. Leaning out the window, he notched his arrow and aimed, squinting as he tried to sight the overhanging gutter that lined the roof, then released. The arrow shot forward with a whisking noise, followed by a whippling as the thin fiber from its tail uncoiled, until with a dull thunk the arrow head found its mark, immediately spreading and sealing, forming a strong bond. Strop grasped the string and gave it a good tug. It didn't give.

Perfect! Replacing his bow, he grasped the string with both hands and launched himself out the window. There was a brief gut wrenching moment of free-fall, then he swung into the wall of the opposite building and started walking up the wall. When he reached the top, he swung himself over the gutter and crawled along the roof, body hugging the shingle until he reached the top of the roof. But he couldn't see the silhouette anymore! Any pretense at stealth abandoned, he sprang onto the nearest chimney and hawkishly squinted at the surroundings, but also to no avail. For all his efforts, the phantom had gone. If, that is, if it had been there in the first place.

High above the hapless ninja, a pair of wings beat. If the cruel beak of a raptor could smile, Orlestat would have been doing precisely that. This town was a curious place, for it was rustic yet expansive, yet for all he could tell there was a real spirit in this place absent in more modern, so-called 'freer' cities. He almost dared to call it heartwarming.

But there was a cold undercurrent that enveloped this town. He could feel it ruffling his feathers, dragging him down until he landed on the roof again. Not that he wanted to be too high in the air anyway, for there were dragons here, the big scaly affairs that probably breathed any range of feather-burning fumes, and while he was confident of being able to deal with such in any number of ways, he wanted most of all to watch his subject in peace. For it was not his way to ever engage the denizens of any town he might cross...no, he would certainly not do that. This black-clad pony, though, was possibly a different case. Not that Orlestat would consider approaching him either, but this time for an entirely different set of reasons.

Orlestat had indeed been observing the ninja, and figured that he might shed some insight into the sinister atmosphere. That was, until the ninja disappeared and masked his presence. Orlestat clicked his beak in annoyance at the thought. It had been a while since somebody had noticed, let alone approached him. And to do so and catch him unaware...that was unheard of.

"Found anything yet?"

Orlestat whirled around. Staring at him were a pair of deep red eyes over a long broad beak, the rest of the figure almost one with the darkness. It was the raven again.

"What do you want?"

The eyes approached him and as they did so, shadows slipped away partially, revealing the feathered, humanoid form so similar to Orlestat's. "I'm just here to pass on a message."

Orlestat bristled, for as accustomed as he was to these riddles, they never failed to set him on edge. "And what would that be?"

"Get ready."

There was a long silence filled only by their reciprocal gazes. Finally, Orlestat spoke. "Is that it?"

Cryptically, the raven tilted his head, "As far as I can recall, yes. I'll take my leave now."

"Wait!" Orlestat started, but the shadows had already moved over the raven, consuming his body, his beak, then finally his eyes. He was gone.

Orlestat let out his breath, attempting to calm himself down, reciting some koans and aphorisms in his head. What does it mean to be ready? One needs to be ready for nothing before being ready for everything. Approach life and death as it is, in total equanimity. The state of uncertainty is subject to the bounds of consciousness...

None of them worked. Engendered in Orlestat's being was now a deeper sensation, one of agitation, that made his mouth feel dry and his breath quicken. A thrill and a chill passed through him simultaeneously as he realised his natural instincts were being reawakened, perhaps against his will, perhaps not.

Somehow, he would be ready for whatever it was, when it came.

Strop, however, was not. In fact he was now horrendously late to the cultural fair, and he worried that with each passing minute, the community members would grow more restless. Yet maybe he was worrying too much, for surely they could take care of themselves for just a few more minutes? There was something he knew he had to get to the bottom of, if only he could discover what.

Before he knew it, he was at the doors to the Community Hall. He slipped his hood off momentarily, combing his mane back, for the hood made it itch so...

He barely heard the click before his world was engulfed in blue flame. Blooming outwards from the door, an explosion roared through his ears, and were it not for his ninja training, his body would have been shredded as he was flung backwards, limbs flying chaotically, until he hit the opposite wall with a sickening crunch, and landed in a crumpled heap on the ground, unconscious.

Yes, he would have to get to the bottom of this later.

I will just look like this: Oo... For the next hour or so.

@Strop:
Wow, just wow. Longest thing I've read in a while, and it was most certainly worth it!
I hope you'll have time to do some written entries for this project~~~

Blooming ******ds from the door,

I will just look like this: Oo... For the next hour or so.

What word? (Zophia/strop)

Razar looked back at Jecan. "Seriously?" Jecan looked back "Yup." "Wow." Razar walked over to Jecan "Let me see it!". Jecan was holding a letter, an invitation to a tournament. The tournament was in the city of Armor Games, which was not close to them at all.
"There are a lot of problems here. I don't think that I'll go." Razar said. "I'll handle it! You should go." Razar looked at Jecan, considering the offer. "I'll need a lot of stuff, and the fight thing is pretty soon." "Go on, I'll get your back here." Demanc entered.

Later:
Rain pattered on the ground. Puddles were forming and water was running. Razar opened his umbrella and stepped out into the inferno of silent existence and gargantuan reality (in the form of water). He looked at the rocket launch far into the distance, then at the broken car next to him. "Frickkin broken wheel." Razar cursed his car. "Why the hell couldn't we have put the rocket launch in the city?" Razar shook his head and walked off along the road, looking down the road for cars. "God. ay, what the?" said Razar as he shook his hands. He took out his phone, and opened it. He looked around for some sort of tower. No towers. No signal.
A car was coming, but far down the road. The beams cut through the darkness like a scythe through a field of wheat. Clear cut, but short in range. Razar watched the car as it approached him. It was going too fast. It was going to go off of the road in the rain. Razar looked closer, and noticed something else. Something was partially covering the lights. Out of the seemingly empty space behind the two lights (that Razar assumed to be a car) there was a glare. It was a spotlight, somehow in the car, pointing at Razar. Aware that he must have been blatantly obvious to whomever was in the car, and that no normal person would have a spotlight in their car, Razar lay flat on the mud, and rolled away.
As the car came closer, the excessive light allowed Razar to see the outline of the car. He furthered his previous investigation with the observation that there was a strange shape on the front of the car.
Razar could feel his clothes stick to him, and the mud on his face. The rain was brutal, and relentless.
The car was slowing. The wheels screeching with exertion, the car stopped. Two men carrying guns got out of the car. Bullets flew to the left of Razar, who was now behind the car on the driver's side. As he climbed into the car, his foot brushed something protruding from the front of the car. Razar spun the car around and drove toward the rocket launch. He felt the car's pain as bullets riddled the fender.
As he neared the rocket launch site, he noticed the fence. "shoot." He came closer and revved the engine to smash the gate. He stopped. On the front of the car, he remembered, there was a strange substance. He wondered if it was a bomb. He walked around to the front, and saw it...

there, on the front of the car, was a human, not any human, but -----

to be continued?

I would love to see that continued, really~~

What word? (Zophia/strop)

Oh, shoot. they got censored! uggh.
Hmm... hmm...

Out war is a game site somewhere, I guess. Try googling it, since I cannot make a link anyway.

I hope it's not too long.

Here's the full Nergyl beserk version of Nergy! He uses as a last resort, because it kills him in the end. Never used before, if he does, it's almost guarantee'd that Nergy will kill hte target, but he'll die too.

WHOOPS! forgot to give the pic!