ForumsArt, Music, and WritingThe Way of Moderation has ended (page 566)

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Cenere
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http://i428.photobucket.com/albums/qq1/Cerene_Cerine/hinthintnudgewinknudge.jpg

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Cenere
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Time for a good old **** move here.
So, how were those two weeks for you guys? Got any good writing done?
Perhaps not, seeing the deadline passed with four days (or, considering Strop did mention the weekend this week to me, it will be passing in 15 minutes to everyone on GMT+1)
That leaves the rest of you little time to run on, and show you are as psyched on getting this to the finishing line as us poor hosts.
Especially considering the fair warning Strop gave about speaking up, if you did not have the time, effort, motivation or energy to finish in time.

So, of course you are going to prove me wrong in my assumption that yet another deadline will fly over our heads, right?
Show that you want us to - finish on time, get the grand finale, and perhaps move on with life so something else can take the place of the WoM?
Or at least make sure we are done before the launch of AG3. It would be sad and pathetic otherwise.

Cenere
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No?
No updating and no posting of the entries that go to the go?

Okay, then.
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Xzeno
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Cenere, you're my best friend and I love you forever.

The Way of Moderation Part Eleven: A Portrait of the Swordsman as a Young Leon

Leon sent the last marsupial back to hell with a twang! of his longbow. The fishman squads secured various entry points as it fell to the ground, clutching its pouch. The frosty halo around chill subsided as the koala uttered its final heil. Leon's sword ran red, blood seeping into the steel. A little dip in the rain water washed it clean. Leon sheathed it with a grimace.
"I guess that's the-" he never got to finish his sentence. Predictably enough, the peace ended as suddenly as it began. A roflcopter crashed somewhere behind the wall as horde of bloodthirsty aliens poured through the alleys toward the rag-tag defenders. Manta was the first to grasp the situation:
"Leon!" He grabbed the gnoll's shoulder, breaking Leon's trance. "Your squad! Go now! Crimson, you're with me!" Manta, Crimson, and a few fishmen ran towards the frontline. Leon shimmied along the outskirts of the battle almost reluctantly, trying to remember what he had been thinking about. A bolt of fiery energy alerted him to his opponentâs ranged weaponry. Leon coolly slid behind a chest-high wall. He glanced up at the fishmen. It was no good: only Crimson could hold off the alien menace, and only for a short time. He and Manta were cowering behind a wall of reflective steel Crimson had conjured while the fishmen tried to flank them. He rifled through his memory for some precedent. Fishmen, he knew, had the greatest monopoly on energy weapons, so it seemed that, with luck, they would be able to devise a strategy against them. Further, he reasoned, both space aliens and fishmen were famed for their psychic powers. Thus a correlation between lasers and psionics. Cause and effect were harder to nail down.
Leon leaped to his feet, nocking an arrow. The bug-eyed space beasts formed a semi-circle around Crimson's shield. He fired. Every time they met any fishmen with lasers, they ran away. Leon barked an order to Marley, forming a double flank as his arrow struck down an alien. Leon realized he had exchanged a bow for a sword as he charged the disrupted aliens. This wasn't particularly worrying. Marley, and a rank of fishmen, formed a nice meatshield. Nevertheless, Leon maintained an air of contribution, lazily firing arrows into the mob of hostiles. He gesured sharply at Manta, who replied with a nod. Together, the two teams of fishmen easily flanked and pushed back the menacing hordes.
Their work was not over, however: No matter how many they defeated, they could not seem to stem the tide of trolls. Leon scampered around the outskirts of the battle field, Marley in tow, pestering the aggressors with blade and bow. Occasionally, he shouted key advice to Manta: Demons resist fire, flank armored cavalry, rock beats scissors, ect. A few flamers surrounded Leon, chucking political and religious statements alike, their searing ignorance missing him by inches. He gracefully disarmed the first with his sword, armor protecting him from counter attack. His sword dance chnged from graceful to desperate as the trolls mobbed him. His sword cut shallowly into their armor, steel flashing through the air. He whipped around to see a hulking monster before him, about eleven feet tall, garbed in black armor. Instantly, he struck at it with his quick sword, but each blow glanced off its towering black shield. Try as he might, he could not penetrate its defense. With a swing of its massive steely fist, Leon went flying. His sword slipped from his hands, clattering to the ground some fifteen feet away. Lip curled into a snarl, Leon began to crawl towards it. The black knight delivered a kick, sending Leon rolling the opposite direction.
He panted, looking around desperately for any weapon, sword far out of reach. Finally, his eyes fell on something: A length of dark wood, dripping with rain and blood, connected to a shining metal ball by a length of chain. A flail. His flail. Teeth bared, he lunged for it, slippery wet wood secure in his steely grip. He jumped to his feet, spinning 180 degrees. He smote the black knight across the helm with his sudden attack. It raised its shield, but Leon's assault was unrelenting, chain allowing the metal ball to strike its foe from any angle. Within moments, Leon dispatched the knight, howling with primal fury. He charged the flank of the bulk of the trolls, flail flying through the air. Leon struck down foe after foe, efficient and merciless as he fought. The flail came from all sides, breaking any defense, all the while held firm in his iron palm.
As the trolls became aware of Leon's reinvigorated efforts, they devoted more resources to attempting to halt his progress. These he greeted with a howl of bloodlust, drawing his knife with his free hand. Both weapons in hand, he eroded a path through the enemy force. He threw his dagger, catching a small lizard monster in the eye, taking up an Armor Games flag as an improvised polearm.
Leon soon cut through the flank, meeting up with the defenders. He stood, bloodied, tattered banner at his side, flail in hand.
"I think" he panted "we should reevaluate our strategy. We can't hold them off for long." Leon let the flag fall, turning buck to the advancing hordes.

-------------------------

Didn't make suggested changes like a boss.

Nurvana
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Wow this has become SO hard to follow... time to read the whole thing over again...

Strop
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Yeah I know. The action was taking place in about five places at once, and now it's all coming back together in a giant glorious mess.

The archive will be updated in the coming weeks to elucidate.

Also, KR, Chill, Mav, you guys can totally submit now! I can't submit my bit before you do!

Maverick4
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Monday Bloody Monday

Mav ignored the blood dripping into his left eye as he scanned the mist around his hide out. Tucked between the roots of a fallen tree, he gripped and ugripped his re curve bow in an attempt to get the blood flowing in his hands again. He crouched, motionless, and flicked his eyes through the shadows once more. It seemed clear, so he broke and sprinted for the next piece of cover.

As soon as he moved, a piercing banshee-shriek ripped through the air like a ragged knife through a cotton sheet. Mav pushed himself further, ignoring the sharp pain in his side as his lungs sucked in air. The cry sounded again, this time much closer. The pounding of his feet against the soft loam of the forest was soon joined by the deeper, harder sound of his pursuer's own feet.

As he ran through the mist, his goal finally came into sight. His house peaked out of the mist, and made itself clear to him. It was a rather run down affair, with a single sturdy door and a small window emerging from the hillside it was built into. Judging by the closeness of his attacker's footsteps, Mav made the quick decision to leap through the window, rather than risk being killed as he attempted to unlock the door.

With a final burst of speed, Mav ran the last bit and leaped at the window.

"Holy shi-"

The moment turned surreal, and Mav saw from the corner of his eye the mottled green flesh and dark eyes of his opponent burst from the left, and leap to intercept him in his momentary flight.

Time realized it's mistake, and sped things back up to normal. With a meaty slap, the beast rammed its shoulder into the midsection of Mav. His breath left him in a forcible 'WHOOOOSH!'. The arrows already embedded into the beast's throat and chest stuck into Mav's gut, and then snapped off from the pressure. With a thud, Mav fell to the the ground and was pressed into it a further six inches as the brute rolled off him and gallumped off a few feat.

Rib creaking in protest, Mav turned over and inhaled in an attempt to cease the spinning motion of his world. He sat up and drew an arrow on his bow, which was slightly splintered but otherwise none the worse for wear. He pulled back the string, and wheeled the deadly tip around to face the beast. It turned, and reared up onto it's hind legs, and screamed again. With his ear-drums thrumming, Mav got his first good look at the monster.

It was big. Very big. Bigger than big. Enormous. As if in direct compliment to its size, the beast wore a wicked grin plastered onto its face, as if to say 'I'm badder than you, and I know it. Ready to die?'. Its black eyes held a half insane glint, no doubt bought about by the numerous 'NG' brands on its hide and the broken chain still attached to the collar at its neck. Its green flesh was stretched taunt over its frame, and its rib cage was clearly visible. Short, black spines poked out at intervals from it's spine, and the remains of four heavy iron arrows were embedded in the soft area above the collar bone and below the throat. Overall, a very ferocious beast indeed.

At the conclusion of the cry, the beast fell back to its fore-legs, and charged. Firing quickly, Mav shot off another arrow, and it joined its friends inside the beast throat. It flinched slightly, and continued closing in the distance.

100 yards... 75 yards... 50 yards...

Aiming carefully, Mav fired again, and the arrow sped through the air. It struck its mark in the beast's shoulder, and the beast collapsed with a roar. It rolled once, twice, then regained its feet and continued charging.

40 yards... 30 yards... 20 yards...

Mav scrambled backwards until his back was up against the thick oak door to his house. He drew again, and waited.

15 yards... 10 yards... 5 yards...

With a yell, Mav unleashed his third arrow. With a hiss, it flew through the monster's lower jaw, and pinned the tounge down. Blood splattered onto his face to compliment that from the gash above his eye, and Mav tucked down and rolled away from the door.

With a crash, and a showering of mortar from the frame, the beast crashed through the door. Mav ran in behind it, and drew two arrows on his bow. The brute was momentarily stunned in the remains of a bookshelf, and Mav put his boot to the troll's head, and fired point-blank into its spine.

With a shuddering scream, the beast sank further to the floor, and spasms of death wracked the body. Mav ran quickly down into his cellar. Unlike the rest of his house, no brackets for torches were in this room; they had been removed shortly before the invasion so that its contents could be safely housed. Imported from a backstreet dealer from Kong, the barrels contained a coarse black powder which reacted violently when put to flame. Mav had been interested in flight for as long as anyone could remembered, and had been shown an ancient manuscript which showed flight powered by this same power, rather than that powered by man or by a complex system of gears and pulleys.

However, such a moment required the greatest of sacrifices. All four barrels would have to be set on fire, to ensure the death of the troll that had hunted him. Pulling a cord and matches from his satchel, he set one end on fire, and draped the other into the nearest barrel.

Climbing quickly up the ladder into the main room, Mav blew through the ruined room like a whirlwind, and sprinted ouot the door. The troll had managed somehow to crawl out of his house and left a trail of deep crimson blood as it slowly pulled itself back to the city. A milky film had settled over its eyes as death slowly set in, though Mav did not notice this as he sprinted towards the road, Seeing the ditch, he through himself into it and pressed his face into the muddy contents of its bottom. Thankfully he kept his mouth closed, though any prayer of thanks was drowned out by the suddeness of the explosion. The explosion was so bright that it seared through Mav's eyelids, though his face was pressed firmly into the ground.

After a moment of gaining back his sight and hearing, Mav spared a glance over the edge of the ditch and saw that his hill-side home had been entirely blown away by the force of the explosion. A smoking crater was all that remained, and the rain sizzled as it began to fall.

Mav checked his pack to ensure that its contents, so dearly won, were still there. Opening it, he saw that it was still there: The explosive homing arrows were still secure in their bundles, and the fist-sized gems still glowed in their pouch. Mav sighed thankfully, and began the long journey back to the City, or whatever remained.

----------Some Time Later----------

Mav looked ahead, and wiped blood and rain from his eyes. He re-adjusted the straps to his pack and satchel, and crested the final hill. He breathed in deeply, and smoke caught in the back of his throat. With a cough, he reached the top, and looked down into the city and the horrors that awaited there.

kingryan
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Watching from above...

A gentle wind ruffled KingRyan's hair as he stood at the top of the tower. He looked down upon the streets of his beloved ArmorCity and wondered how things could have come to this. Why, it seemed like just last week when he had strolled into the city during the private land sales after receiving an invitation from The Great DanMcNeely himself...surely that wasn't years ago!

Shouts from below woke him from his reverie. He quickly surveyed the placement of the enemy below and made accurate adjustments on the screen he had been given. By now he had managed to control the screen; earlier he was heard to be cursing at the 'newfangled piece of technology.'

While he worked, KR thought about the long scroll he could add to the archives. Ah, KR the archiver. Although...isn't it really archivist? His thoughts trailed off as he noticed larger enemy units arriving in the distance.

'That looks like trouble,' he murmured to himself. They weren't an immediate threat so he quickly sketched in the closer wave of light, ranged units. With a beep the information was sent down to the defensive wall.

Over the next few minutes KingRyan sent details of the next waves of attackers so that the defenders could be more prepared.

After some time he made a side note on one of the transmissions asking for a cup of tea. He was rather disappointed that none came. With a sigh he continued on in his work.

The waves of newf*gs kept on coming; flamers, griefers and trolls in the dozens. His arms began to tired as he moved his frail hand across the screen. Soon the work became monotonous and his mind really began to wander. His arms drooped to his sides as his eyes closed, and he soon let out a loud snore.

'WAKE UP YOU BOGAN!' shouted an automated recording of Strop's voice from the screen as the Sleep-Defence Mechanism picked up his change of heartbeat and breathing. KR jumped in alarm and looked around mumbling something like 'I wasn't sleeping, merely resting my eyes...' His words trailed off as he realised that no one was around. A few things flashed on the screen, so he checked them out and then looked out at the battlefield.

All looked normal - waves of enemies swarming in, pitiful attempts at defense and a lot of mud. At the back he noticed some of the biggest trolls he had ever seen, so he quickly transferred that down to the defenders. In the back of his mind he wished that he could help them out somehow other than this menial task. But the rest of his mind was relieved that he was away from the action.

Something else in KR's mind told him that he should be panicking about the defenders getting overthrown, but something within him was keeping him calm. He then reasoned that it was probably one of the tablets he had taken just before.

More and more giant trolls were starting to appear in the distance, so he once again transferred the data to the defenders. He then saw a single troll break off from the group and start to fly towards him in the tower. In epic style he pulled out his sword and leapt from the top of the tower. Using his robes he glided towards the troll with his sword held high, before bringing it down in a clean sweep. The sharp blade connected with the trolls head, and in a POOF of magic it turned into thick tome and began to plummet towards the ground. It was then that KR realised that he was also plummeting towards the ground, and he began to panic. The ground got nearer and nearer and-

'WAKE UP YOU BOGAN!' shouted pre-recorded Strop once more. KR jumped again and drew a sharp breath as he looked around. Glancing down at the battlefield, it seemed like the amount of trolls and other enemies had increased dramatically. KR rushed the enter the data in as more and more waves streamed in - now it seemed that the medication was wearing off; his heart pounded in his ears.

There was an explosion from down at the defensive wall, but KR did not even want to look there, and he didn't really have the time.

An intercom buzz rang from the screen (it was a crude buzzing; unlike in the lands of Facebook Skype had yet to be integrated) when KR answered it some part of Devoidless filled the screen as the dragon tried to fit himself into the range of the webcam; without being too far away. Eventually he settled for one of his nostrils. The sound of fighting could be heard in the background.

'Err KR, just letting you know that the giant mutant trolls have made a comeback and are probably going to attack the castle, you may want to ah- ah- ACHOO!'

The screen went black in response to the incineration of the webcam, and then disappeared behind the normal battlefield interface. KR sent the information from Voidy to the defenders before scanning the battlefield himself.

Everything had gotten a lot worse and the constant stream of internet scum could now not be differentiated - it was just a mass of moving bodies. KR thumped the screen and then cradled his face in his hands, it seemed like things were going to get a lot, lot worse.

Strop
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Thanks to those who have submitted. As you may have expected, we kinda got totally sidetracked due to NaNoWriMo.

Now I promised that we'd get back on track, and it's fallen to me to figure out where we are and to post my own segment. It's ready to go, but I have to get my bearings back and attack some bells and whistles. Unfortunately I didn't get time to do this because I was building a 60kg office desk for the purposes of making WoMing more efficient...

http://i1207.photobucket.com/albums/bb476/stropmd/officedesk006.jpg

Reopening soon!

Cenere
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Translation for non-ninja horses and non-doctors:
Soon is a relative term often contributed to something happening in the near future, but considering this was said by Strop, we'll see the end of the WoM around the 3rd year of the WoM.

Strop
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Screw you Cen :P

Okay, here's the next update! To recap:

The final stand has been pushed back all the way to the castle gates, in which there stands a hastily-constructed wall. Many of the final eight, supported by a motley crew of regular users, occupy the wall and try to fight off the hordes swarming the front of the wall. It's not doing so well. Maverick has also been 'volunteered' to run and get some "arrow of time", for some last-ditch plan Strop seems to have in mind, but time is fast running out... will he make it back?

Black Wall Down

Down below, the swarm continued to innundate the defenders down below, each fighter completely surrounded. It were the leftovers, who now numbered more than those fighting, who were throwing everything they had at the wall, be it fists, stones, or even the more explosive kind of projectiles. The traps had long been sprung, and the caltrops, while they served their purpose in slowing everybody down, had been trampled down and sidelined.

In the din of the brutal assault the wall had been sustaining, the subtle warning signs were not apparent. But soon, the spider cracks and the chips of mortar flying off became giant fault lines and massive chunks. Atop, the very floor started to lurch this way and that as the integrity of the wall progressively fail. The defenders were literally thrown into panic, some of them finding the nearest rope or ladder and shimmying down as fast as they could. But as traffic jams formed at the escape points, others simply resorted to jumping off.

"No!" Thoad yelled, commandering the 'fone. "This is our time of greatest need! Maintain a tight formation!"

It was not to be. Even Crimson and Zophia, each leading the disorganised remnants of their divisions, almost bowled him over in their haste to exit the now definitely unstable wall.

"I'm out of paint!" Zophia explained, as she jumped onto the nearest guy rope, holding her brush over her head as she slid down.

"The plan was to fall back!" Crimson cautioned, before he, too, vanished over the wall with a swirl of his cape.

Up above, the sounds of the battle mixed together into one neverending jumble of ear-grating noise, lain over with the static of the persistent showers. Trying to focus on the data, Kingryan pored over the figures on his virtual screen. A whole lot of red dots and numbers were cropping up, and he struggled to make sense of them, not least because he was red-green colourblind. Dank, however, was not.

"This is very bad," he stated sufficiently. "Very bad." This was punctuated by Thoad's tinny, panicked voice buzzing through Dank's (magical) uplink. "Kingryan! I need reinforcements!"

Kingryan threw his hands up. "What do I tell everyone! There ARE no reinforcements! And when everybody retreats to the castle, we won't have anything left to fight them off anyway, and the castle isn't invincible and it'll fall, and-"

Dank cut him off before he asphyxiated from the length of the run-on sentence. He then opened his mouth to say "We need a new plan," but was cut off in turn by a poof of black smoke, which coalesced into the form of a ninja horse.

"We need a new plan," said Strop.

"A fine time for you to say that!" Dank said. "But what?"

"Well," Strop poked his fingers together. "I was thinking that wall isn't gonna hold up much longer, and when it falls, the castle is next."

"We were just saying that!" Dank could barely contain his exasperation.

"But the bigger problem is, well, literally bigger. It's... well, those."

Through the haze of the pouring rain, the looming silhouettes of the approaching mutant giant trolls were growing by the minute. And it was becoming more and more obvious that each of them was at least the size of the castle, and then some.

"By the stubbly beard of McNeely," Dank cursed. "We knew about those too! No amount of wall or tower defense will stop those things!"

As if to make things worse, a huge X appeared on Kingryan's virtual map. The three of them peered over the battlements just in time to see the wall collapse into a million useless fragments of stone, and formerly brave (but now completely disheartened) defenders of AG scattering in every direction away from the circle of raiders, which basically meant towards the castle, but, of course, the castle gates were locked and therefore nobody could really go anywhere.

"Oh, great," Dank muttered. "Not only are we screwed big time, but all the small fry are gonna die too."

Strop grabbed Dank by the shoulder plates. "Don't be so negative! I mean we're in a bad situation but it's ... it's still not constructive!"

Dank threw Strop's hands off his stubby frame, "What do you want me to do? Magically save AG?"

"Yes!" Strop shouted. "Yes, well, if you could! That would be great! If you could!"

"Of course I could!" Dank shouted back. "I always have, but real powerful magic, it takes time to code and compile! I thought you would at least understand that!"

"You know very well that I don't understand any of this stuff!" Strop was by this point yelling and gesticulating wildly. For a single instant, Dank remembered the one time Strop attempted to enroll in one of his classes back at the Academy.

"If I may," Kingryan interjected. "I don't think now is the time to be reminiscing about how Strop sucks at magic."

"Shut up, Kingryan," Dank snapped. "Fine. I've got an idea. It won't save AG by itself, but it'll buy us some more time. But to get it going, YOU need to buy ME some time. Ten minutes. I need at least that much."

Strop was already standing on the wall. "I'm on it."

"And I also need every magic user we've got left."

Strop nodded, and prepared to jump.

"And Moe. Get Moe for me."

Strop jumped.

---

You Won't Get Me Alive

http://i438.photobucket.com/albums/qq105/strawpony/Way%20Of%20Moderation/11-8.png

Back on the ground, the riot had turned to a rout. Manta's men continued to fight bravely, but their skirmish was of increasingly paling significance as more and more raiders reached the remains of the wall. Strop arrived just in time to see Thoad standing defiantly atop the rubble, brandishing the 'fone.

"You think this is it?" He yelled at the approaching horde. "You think we're defeated? Well you don't understand a thing!"

Peeking out from a bush, all ninja-like, Strop shook his head. Surely this was suicide, after all, the raiders who could hear Thoad were now forming a circle around him. Four mods, even with their banning powers, had trouble holding them off. One kid with a big mouth and a bigger megaphone... Already the horde were preparing to strike him down.

"Like I said," Thoad said, a demonic smile forming on his face, "You don't understand a thing. You won't get me alive!"

Strop's blood ran cold. Surely he wasn't planning to-

There was a huge bang, a flash of light, and an explosion. The shockwave ripped outwards, blowing the raiders back, falling over each other like dominoes. Even in the bush, Strop had to brace his arms over his face, but as soon as it had passed, he ripped his way out.

"No!" he yelled, though he didn't even realise it. He pawed his way through the smoke, towards the epicenter of the blast, but there was no trace of Thoad to be found. Except lying, in the spot where he was last seen standing, was his ZSC helmet.

It was no time to grieve, but Strop still found himself standing still, hand pressed to his face. One by one people were falling, sacrificed to a pointless conflict. Yet for some reason Thoad's departure was more poignant, perhaps because he was younger, with his ambitions as unfocused and brazen as the shotgun he carried, his dreams unrequited, yet still formed. And now, in one single move, they had all been wiped out.

"Come on, time to haul ***!" A furry, spotted paw swiped at Strop's shoulder, yanking him out of his daze. It was Leon, albeit a sane-looking one, although that could quite easily have been the effect of the altogether insane day. "Manta's lot are done for, so we're making a tactical retreat!"

"Where are you retreating." It was a question, but Strop was feeling strangely numb, rending his affect flat and lifeless.

"The castle, of course! We'll all die if we stay out here."

"And we'll all die if we don't at least hold them off before they turn the castle to rubble. Dank has a plan and we need to buy him ten minutes."

Leon shrugged. "Look, I'm not sticking around to argue. You do what you have to do, and I'll do mine, which is getting all these blithering idiots to the safest place, and that happens to be the castle. Why? Because the only reason it's the main target is because it's the only thing in a mile radius that's still standing. And if your plan works, then we can back you up from the castle. Anyway, bye."

And he left, taking with him the few hundred demoralised, disoriented former fighters of AG, leaving the several thousand invaders eyeing the castle hungrily. And between them, stood Strop.

A ninja may have been powerful, but this particular ninja, along with his compatriots, had been fighting a losing battle all day. What he wanted to do was the sensible thing, paradoxically, which was to turn tail like Leon so he could eke out the bitter last for a few more minutes. But Leon had done that only because he was trusting the task of doing the actually, utterly, stupid to somebody else. Somebody whose nature it was to actively be the hero and save the day, even when it was impossible.

But in this darkest of moments, Strop honestly didn't feel like he was that hero anymore. If the events of the past day had taught him anything, it was that he had strayed from the Way of Moderation so much he was truly not worthy of being a moderator.

Well, nuts to all of that. As ten thousand pairs of feet marched towards his doom, he shrugged his shoulders. If it was just for a few more seconds, he'd go down brawling, since nothing mattered anymore.

Something heavy and hard smacked Strop in the back of the head, sending him sprawling. Rubbing his head, he dragged himself to his knees.

"You really are dense, aren't you," said a familiar voice. Strop blinked, then turned his head upwards, to stare at the figure dressed in a hoodie, inspecting his now visibly dented baseball bat.

http://i428.photobucket.com/albums/qq1/Cerene_Cerine/dense.jpg

"Cen!" Strop's shock was palpable, and a hundred conflicting emotions stifled his tongue. He finally settled on "What the hell was that for!?"

Cen pointed to his jaw. "See this bruise? You want to know how I got it?"

"Fine fine," Strop conceded. "I probably shouldn't have done that. I'm so-"

"Can it," Cen commanded. "You have things to do, right?"

Strop was lost. "...what?"

"There's no point in you dying here. I'll handle this." Cen squared his shoulders and turned his back to Strop.

Strop blinked, not sure whether to faint from shock, or cry tears of joy. Was Cenere turning into the hero he had so desperately tried to mold through countless hours of blood, sweat and character building? Or had he really gone crazy from the stress and he was talking to an imaginary version of Cen?

"Cen," Strop sniffed. "You... you are a real he-"

"Just go." Cen didn't even turn to look at Strop, he just said it in his deadpan voice, baseball bat slung over his shoulder.

Scrambling to his hooves, Strop took a few tentative steps, then burst into a run. "Cen, please... don't die!" he called back.

Cen didn't answer. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon the horde, who, having seen the exchange, had their eyes firmly fixed on him as their new target. He dragged the end of the baseball bat along the ground, drawing a semi-circle in the puddles, before tightening his grip on the handle.

"This is really stupid," he muttered to nobody in particular.

---

WELL LOOK WHO MAKES A HEROIC RETURN!

I'll have your updated briefs via email Saturday-ish.

Cenere
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WELL LOOK WHO MAKES A HEROIC RETURN!

When you say heroic, you mean suicidal, and by return you mean exit, don't you?
Maverick4
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It were the leftovers


It was the leftovers

integrity of the wall progressively fail


integrity of the wall progressively failed

I mean we're in a bad situation but it's ... it's still not constructive!"


I mean, we're in a bad situation, but it's ... it's still not constructive!"

I'm such a grammar nazi. -_-
Cenere
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Cenere
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And thus the only reaction to the new update was a grammar nazi responding to the congruence issue, a tense and commas (Commas suck in English, and I have yet to find and understand proper rules for them, but I would have gotten a lesser grade for putting any commas in a sentence like that), something he could have done when it was posted to the email, but decided against, because why waste a post pointing it out in public? It is much more satisfying!
YAY!

I really should have tidied up that picture properly before you posting it...
At least the next one is a lot cleaner, though that probably still need some work...

Maverick4
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Maverick4
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because why waste a post pointing it out in public? It is much more satisfying!


You could have just deleted my post...

Good choice of music at Thoad's sacrifice, by the way.
Cenere
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Cenere
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I'm behind on my assignment and my superviser for next year cancelled a meeting before trying to get that meeting to be held at a point where I will either have to cancel Christmas plans with my family (stuff that has been planned for a while now), or tell her I can't come then and somewhat ruin my chances of having anything good happen to me next year.
I like to snark. It makes me marginally more able to cope with crap. You were the victim, life sucks, the end. Sorry if I did offend you, though.
(Yes, it is doubtful anyone should take me serious for the next month or two.)

Good choice of music at Thoad's sacrifice, by the way.

Now Strop is going to go "Told you so"...
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