Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → The Way of Moderation has ended (page 566)
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Dungeons & Dragons, Testa.
So round 2 starts about this time next week, yes?
Dungeons & Dragons, Testa.
So round 2 starts about this time next week, yes?
Yeah, one week exactly.
Lolz how do people not know about D&D >.< oh well diffrent intrests.
Well, it is a roleplay, or rather Story telling game (like whitewolf's World of Darkness), or as Thoad usually com... says: OCT (Original Character Tournament).
So technically it is a roleplay, but a bit more free than the usual ones in the forum games, and a lot more creative.
No no, its okay thanks Alt.
*is a crit whore* :P
*is a crit ******
What's in the asterisks?
What's in the asterisks?
hore + w.
I give too much constructive criticism to these people. >.>
I give too much constructive criticism to these people
no one appreciates it these days :P
More like these days it's rude to give any kind of crit without being asked.
In my case I'm going to give you crit on your submissions in order to maximise your chances of staying in the tournament, unless you don't want it, in which case, fine by me!
I am going to:
1) Submit my own little story.
2) Blitz through some administrative matters on the email.
3) Update everybody on what's going on.
4) Take a roll call.
From the next post onwards!
So here's my entry for my own tournament, because I wanted to have fun too
Fit to Wear Horse Shoes?
As predicted, Zophia's announcement had created quite the stir, as had the rain of flyers, courtesy of Devoidless- Strop had to thank him profusely for not setting fire to them before releasing them. Paradoxically, Nemo's discreet placement of the posters had also apparently yielded results, and Strop suspected that this was due to the high percentage of lurkers and skulkers, as was the case with any place, really. Perhaps it might be a good thing, to draw them out of the shadows into the community.
Not that he had much time to reflect upon this. Now that the tournament had a deadline, it was a matter of racing against the calendar to prepare everything to the best of their ability. The amphitheater, valuable as it was, was still rundown and antiquated (and generally not particularly full), but the administration did expect it to be filled to capacity on that fateful day August the 6th. So it needed a little fixing, and since moderation was srs biznis, the task of refurbishing it fell solely to the moderators. At least, to most of the moderators, with the exception of one to delegate all the real work- a role which Strop simultaeneously designated and volunteered for. The others protested briefly but some smooth talking about the requirements of public speaking and logistics-induced headaches dulled the outcry to mere mutterings.
And so it was, that Strop was now being woken up rather a few hours earlier than he had liked for the want of the morning tranquility. Lying in his bed in the abandoned clocktower high above Armor Castle, staring out the window at the dawning sun, he pondered whether he should regret his tactical scheduling, for his holidays were drawing to a close and the matter of the imminent resumption of his medical training program (which involved even more travel, so he was warned) encroached ever more on his mind. In fact in the bigger picture of things, he had to wonder.
Things had changed, they had to have changed a lot for them to even consider holding a tournament for people who wanted to become a moderator. It would have been a few less words to say "tournament for people to become" but he- well, more importantly, things had changed since he had arrived seemingly eons ago. As communities enlarge, their natures change, as do their demands and their dynamics: Strop's question here was whether there was some kind of critical mass that had been passed, where it ceased to be something one could call "close-knit" and rather referred to "sprawling". Well, perhaps there were more important questions at hand, such as "where is the administration these days?" and whatever happened to that legendary deity, McNeely and the other founding fathers and developers, the great mages all who kept the very fabric of the town together. Everybody was increasingly aware that the citizens of Armor Games were aware of the loose threads, readily unravelling and going unchecked, and maybe one might suspect that this tournament was-
Better not to be pessimistic about it all. If that were possible, after all Strop felt very much pulled in two directions. The only real option, therefore, was his usual approach: to put his all into whatever task lay ahead of him and see it through. Then he'd see what happens next.
Strop pulled himself out of bed and scratched himself absently. Butt naked and fancy free, he stretched in front of the empty clock face that was his window. Being so high up, he naturally assumed that nobody could see him... at least he hoped so, because otherwise they would probably end up mentally scarred for life, or a few other paraphrases of that which made him giggle but he couldn't possibly state for the record. There was also the remote possibility that somebody could break into his tower despite the purportedly well-guarded moat around the castle that the tower rose from. Such as Klaus (Strop was constantly surprised that a bear-of-large-bulk such as Klaus could climb the hundred yards of sheer stone wall, but as Klaus had asserted, "I'm a bear.") But Klaus was not around so much, though surely if news of the impending tournament had reached his keen ears, he would already be on his way. Then there was Kai, but Kai was probably already back being slave to the Governverse and doing his assassinations and whatever it was that the administrators there claimed to be justice over there. At least Kai had told Strop what had happened to the Lady, although he most undoubtedly took a few liberties with some of the other details- Strop figured Kai had perhaps a conflict of interest, but what closure he had been given was more than enough for him at that point.
Actually, the tower was maybe even a little too lonely without familiar faces breaking in. But it seemed inappropriate to be having these thoughts standing around in the buff, so he glanced once more at the rising dawn before turning to his closet.
Then he stopped, and did a double-take. A fuzzy pair of ears were peeking from the top of the arch of the window.
Without hesitation, Strop marched to the window and gave the ears a brisk tug. A bear of large bulk followed with a startled yelp, bouncing off the bed and crashing onto the floor in a muddled heap at Strop's hooves. Instantly he sprung back up as if nothing had happened. Strop and the bear spent a few seconds just looking at each other as if not quite believing the scene. Finally, something clicked for the bear.
"Ewww dude, you're naked, that's totally not appropriate you dirty ninja."
Strop simply put his hands on his hips. "You're not wearing anything either, Klaus."
Klaus the bear stared at Strop, his gaze lingering over Strop's crotch probably slightly too long to be considered not suspicious. Then he pouted. "Dude, we haven't seen each other for six months, and this is how you greet me?"
"I'm naked. And what are you doing in my room. Again. Is this about the Way of Moderation?"
Instantly as he said it, Strop figured there was a good chance that might have been a bad idea. Klaus instantly perked up and went into hyper mode: "Hell yes! My dream is coming true! After so many years of hard work for this place! When I become mod I'll fix everything and everybody will be so happy! It'll totally be the new Auschw-"
"For God's sake Klaus, I've told you before, AG is a dictatorship. Not a concentration camp!" Strop's sharp interjection barely held-off the imminent opening for a Godwin's law joke. He muttered, "And how did you hear about it anyway?"
"You see this scar?"
Klaus ran his left paw up his right arm, revealing a furrow in the fur of the upper arm. Strop glanced, but knew he didn't have to- he'd seen it quite possibly a million times. So instead he ducked into the closet while Klaus started rambling.
"I was in Vietnam, see, and my commanding officer told me to go back in time..."
Strop wriggled into the familiar black one-piece ninja suit. As he was taping up, he felt the usual vibration and so summoned his modphone and looked at the display.
"My task was to assassinate baby Hitler. So I went back in time and found baby Hitler, and knifed him in the arm."
It was from one of the regular citizens of AG, so Strop thumbed the IGNORE button and poofed the phone in a puff of smoke.
"Then I threw the baby off a cliff. The baby survived. I was that baby."
Strop, now fully dressed, boggled at Klaus. "What the f- dude, you need to stay away from 4chan district."
Klaus pouted and looked at Strop with wide eyes. "You know I love you."
"I need to go. Business awaits." And with that, Strop firmly put the hoof into Klaus, sending him sailing through the window of the tower.
"NO HOMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" Klaus screamed as he fell, his voice fading until there was a distant splash.
Strop sighed. Now that his self-fulfilling prophecy had been fulfilled, Strop wasn't sure how he felt about it. Klaus was sure to enter the Way of Moderation, and while he secretly enjoyed the shenanigans, it was also his duty to maintain some semblance of law and order, and with Klaus around, that was never an easy task.
Having sent Klaus through that window already, Strop elected to scale the stairless tower from the inside, meaning that for once he would make his morning exit through Armor Castle itself. As his hooves clopped over the polished (albeit rather dusty) floors of the grand halls, he was once again reminded of how empty the castle lay presently. Emerging from the halls of the Courts of Great Justice, however, he was bathed in the dazzling light and sounds of AG already in full flight. It seemed just the same as any other day, but as a veteran, Strop knew the preoccupations of potential moderator-hood underpinned the machinations of a significant proportion of the people he saw, fuelled by the speculations that the announcement of the tournament inspired.
However he wasn't here to gawk, except maybe briefly at people writing their names on the posters that Nemo had left on the alley walls. He didn't recall anywhere that people had to leave a signature, though he wasn't about to stop any of them from doing so- after all, it could serve well in future. As sample handwriting. For evidence.
Meanwhile though, Strop dove into the crowds, weaving through the blindspots of the people so as to emulate invisibility via assimilation- a strange feat for a horse but nothing unusual for a ninja. If he weren't drowsy, he would have gone via the rooftops, but as it was, he simply wanted to avoid being accosted for now, at least until he had finished at his next port of call.
After a meandering path that took him outwards from Index Road to Profile Lane, he found himself in the residental district of dingy apartment blocks. There was a certain somebody he knew here, a certain somebody he needed to speak to. For all the delegation that he had achieved, there was one set of shoes he knew he could not fill with a Moderator's feet, not least because the shoes to be filled were rather stiff and uncomfortable...
TO BE CONTINUED
Cen moved to the open window. Looking out, he saw the streets being filled with curious townspeople, shouting at each other for this wonder of things happening.
He looked at them for a while, observed their curiously excited behavior, how they acted like they just won the lottery. Then he slowly took a deep breath, held it for a second and...
"SHUT UP!" He yelled, before slamming the window shut.
4th of August
"Cenny Cen Cen!!"
The young man slowly opened his eyes, and glaring over his shoulder, just to find the ninja moderator getting ready to drag him out of bed. At some point in the mere seconds between lying in his bed and lying on the floor, he concluded two things. One: He had kinda missed morning runs, and two: He had not missed being dragged out of bed at seven in the morning by a hyperactive ninja-horse-slash-moderator.
"Stroppy McHorseguy..." He mumbled, glaring up at the ninja with an annoyed expression.
"Stroppy Mc...?" Strop blinked, then shook his head and stepped back to let the guy get up.
Cen dragged himself to his feet, before simply sitting in the bed again. It was early in the morning, and still it was dead hot. Nothing. Not a wind was moving, and the open window seemed to simply increase the stuffy heat in his all too small room. He sighed, not because of all this, but because he really needed the air.
Strop observed him with his head tilted a bit to the right, possibly trying to figure out if the sigh had been because of him, or something else.
The young man took another deep breath. "Long time, no wakey.." he mumbled, rising from the bed.
"Aw, have you missed me?" The horse made a whiny laugh, but Cen simply moved past him and into the kitchen, before Strop could continue the already planned gay joke.
"So, what do you want?" Cen looked out from the kitchen, still with a slightly annoyed expression.
"Why do you think I want anything? Couldn't I just be missing 'me old pal'?" Strop sat on the bed. Cen disappeared into the kitchen once more.
"Well, first of all, you did not tackle me this morning, but only dragged me out of bed, you have not yet either commented or slapped my sun burns... And the entire city is in motion because of this 'We need a new moderator' thing..."
Strop sat for a moment, blinking, before moving to the doorway. "Well, I just came to say hi." He grumbled, looking rather hurt from the accusations.
"Well, sorry then." Cen barely looked at him. Instead he fought to get a t-shirt on. The t-shirt was winning.
"So, anything new under the sun?" The young man played a bit with the cap to a now empty bottle of water. Strop looked at him, while trying to take his mind off the carrots in front of him. He had decided to not eat while on duty, which Cen might have supernaturally sensed, and thus had bought carrots just for occasions like this one.
"You have heard about the trouble with the Wheel, I presume? Nothing is kept a secret long in AG anyway." He took one of the golden beauties, freshly picked just yesterday, it seemed, still wet with water from being wa... He interrupted the trail of thoughts, and put down the carrot.
"Yes, I have. And the tourney." "Trial." "... Trial. Hard not to notice when the entire city is either preparing, encouraging or betting on the outcome." Cenere's annoyed expression turned into exhaustion, then into a worried frown. "Do you really think any of those interested will stand a chance?"
Strop paused a second to either think or concentrate on the question and not the carrots. "We usually rely on a wheel of fortune, so what do I know?" He grinned sheepishly, well, as sheepishly a horse can grin.
Cen shifted a bit on his chair, staring emptily at a pile of paper he had shoved under his bed. There was something going on... "I am not going to try out for the mod-job, you know. It is not really my thing. Too much work, too little fun."
Strop looked at him with a curious expression. "Since when did you get concerned about fun, Cenny Cen Cen?" "Ever since I spend my summer vacation on working for my parents, Stroppy Mc.." "That really is a porn name." The man paused for a moment, then nodded slowly in agreement.
"Since you have nothing to do, I know the perfect way to spend your time!" The ninja horse rose into a heroic pose. "I could read up on all the stuff I neglected from las..." "You. YOU! shall help us in the search for a new mod! It won't require anything from you but being there! Recording! Collecting information! Keeping track of things! And doing what you do best: Yelling at pe... Telling people the rules! And of course we will make sure you don't suffer, we will even pay you!" Strop raised his arms into an almost divine pose (the backlight from the window helped a lot). "You will be... The Officiator!"
Cenere simply looked at him with a not-so-amused expression.
"And..." Strop paused, looking around the room. "You will be... able to buy books! Because of that pay... And... Food too! (which is more important, you are no goat, you can't eat books, ya know)."
"What do I have to do, anyway? Climb up houses, run on rooftops, dodge bullet storms..?" Cen was being a slightly more amused, but then again, it was probably an illusion.
"Noooooh, of course not! You will just watch the contestants, mark off the results and make sure we mods follow the rules, and the contestants does as well. No hard job for someone with your qualifications!"
"Tell me again, which qualifications are you talking about now?" The young man slowly raised an eyebrow, looking suspiciously at the horse.
"Uhm, you know, Uhm, you can... read! Yup, that is your qualification, Cenny Cen Cen!" Strop nodded, very pleased with himself, before noticing the major facepalm the other was currently engaging in. His only response to that was a whinny and a wave of his tail, though.
Cen rubbed the bridge of his nose a bit, not so much to think about the propose, but because his head was starting to hurt, and his brain had decided to quit for the day. "Fine... Whatever... Does not sound half bad, I guess..."
P.S. * Poofing- The act of dismissing a mod item, which, for Strop, is accompanied by a puff of smoke and a "poof" noise.
Also, the deadline has passed earlier today, as you know. There are a few entries left and I know when they're coming in- mostly. Some of you guys I'll have to chase up...
...but later. I have to go for now and I'm very very busy over the next day or so, but I'll be sure to keep you updated.
Can I post just a "LOL ^_________^" without spamming?
And the suit has arrived~~~
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Actually, that's all I want to say *withdraws to shadows*
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