Posted Sep 22, '09 at 6:23am
Whoa, great animation! :O
Posted Sep 22, '09 at 6:24am
Sorry for double post (if this becomes one...)..
He's online all the time!
Posted Sep 23, '09 at 11:26am
Update from the big boss:
Posted Sep 23, '09 at 11:33am
Thanks, Cenere. But I'm not the big boss...
I'm The Man, hahahahaha. But actually yeah, this chapter is huge. The plot's getting more complicated and this is just the beginning.
Posted Sep 23, '09 at 1:56pm
Lol... I wasn't aware that strop had a penis hanging out off his butt. I shouldn't be surprised.
You are the tiny boss. :3 A so small!
Fixed that for you Cenere. :D
Posted Sep 23, '09 at 10:57pm
lololol Klaus you ****. I'm jumping through about a million administrative hoops just to bring you epic.
Yes, that comment makes no sense but I maintain it is entirely true.
Posted Sep 23, '09 at 11:59pm
Okay, this is a test post, and also a sample of how I'm stringing all the stories together. It will be posted in its entirety in the Archives.
Shortly after the Incident at the Armor Courts
'Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz' was the sound coming from KingRyan as he slumbered on the library desk. He lay on top of an open book, which was titled: The History of Every Brick of ArmorCastle...some light reading he had picked up for the day. The page that he was on contained this picture:
So, as you can imagine, KingRyan was fasssst asleep.
Suddenly, there was a creak from the other side of the room. And footsteps. Of course, who could it be but Moderator Strop and his side kick Cenere. The dubious pair tiptoed up to where KingRyan sat asleep, Strop giggling like a little girl.
After stealing right up to where the geriatric sat, Strop pulled out a piece of paper and stuck it to KingRyan's back.
'Is that necessary?,' remarked Cenere in a snide voice?
Strop just giggled more and pulled out a small and colourful ball, before replying:
'Meh, its KingBogan, he deserves his title....now, do you think we should wake him up first?'
This question was answered for him as KingRyan gave one last grunt and then abruptly sat up. Noticing this, Strop leant forward and tapped him on the shoulder.
'ARGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!! WHAT? WHO'S THERE? SHOW YOURSELF!!!!!!' screamed KingRyan.
'Calm down bogan, its only me!' replied Strop.
'HOW DARE YOU SCARE ME LIKE THAT! I COULD HAVE HAD A HEART ATTACK, YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT BEING A DOCTOR AND ALL!!!!!' ranted KingRyan.
'Meh, lets get this over and done with...' commented Strop calmly before jumping into the air and performed a manouver something like this:
The ball flew through the air and hit KingRyan deftly in the forehead with a resounding 'whumph.'
'What...did...you...do...that...for...?' said KingRyan with increasing rage, a red mark already forming on his forehead. Seeing Strop pull out another ball, KingRyan grabbed his quill and quickly drew a square shield in the air. As he finished it, he tapped the middle with his quill causing it to become solid, floating in mid air. The ball hit it and fell to the ground..
'That's not going to save you old man...' commented Strop, as he motioned to Cenere to throw some balls too. Well, ditch not throw.
KingRyan knew he was in trouble, his shields of ink would not be able to withstand the onslaught, so he turned to the desk and picked up the book he was reading earlier.
As he turned around he heard the whoosh as the balls flew through the air at him, so he began to swing the book around to hit the balls just like a cricketer.
*CRACK* The book fell out of his hands as KingRyan fell to the ground in agony. The crack had come from somewhere in his lower back, rendering him immobile. If there was one positive to come out of this situation, he dodged both balls perfectly.
Strop and Cen now advanced, wielding two colourful balls each.
'Come on guys...is this necessary?' whimpered KingRyan
'Of course it is!!' was Strop's reply, somewhat manically.
'Oh...ok...why though?' questioned KingRyan.
'Err...umm....err...well...you see...Cen will explain it.'
Once again, Cenere was put on the spot...and this time he had no cue cards.
'Well, as you can see...this is clearly a test for the Way of Moderation' gabbled Cenere, before adding, 'So shut up and lets get this over with.'
And then, quite meanly, Strop and Cenere proceeded to ditch balls over and over at KingRyan from about a metre away.
Waaaaiiiitttt!!!!!!!!!!! Oi, you, yes you...out there...Writing this stuff...It's KingRyan, your character. Remember me? You're not going to just have me lay there and get pelted with those balls are you? That isn't very nice! Write something better....
As Strop tapped KingRyan on the shoulder, KingRyan spun around screaming and punched Strop in the face. He then jumped into the air and fly kicked Strop in the face, knocking him into a bookshelf. The bookshelf teetered for a little bit, before falling down and crushing Strop all the way to Newgrounds.
Cenere stood by with a amused look on his face, until KingRyan did another fly kick and got him square in the gut. Happy at his efforts, KingRyan sto~
Ok, do you want to win this competition or not? I really think that being that strong against Strop isn't a good idea, and since when could I fly kick? I'm an old man for heavens sake! Just scrap that idea and finish the first one...*sigh*
As KingRyan lay on the ground groaning, Strop and Cenere left the library. Not much was out of place, except the heavy volume KingRyan had used to defend himself, which lay open on another page which held a curious illustration of several Admin staff making the bricks of ArmorCastle...
But that, is another story...
"Did you have to do that?" Cen's face was visibly twitching as the pair meandered through the back streets of the Art Music and Writing sector of Armor City.
"Do what?" Strop was being his usual oblivious self. Or maybe that was pretending to be oblivious. Cenere could never quite tell.
"Wreck the library. It's literary blasphemy," Cenere disapproved.
Strop gave a short laugh, "Let's just say that there comes a time when even archives need reformatting. I merely provided KingBogan with the incentive to do so!"
Cenere was about to retort when Strop suddenly stopped, causing Cenere to collide with him. Readjusting his glasses, Cenere glimpsed a familiar figure, ruminating over the great brass plaque affixed to the wall of the Imaginarium. "He's... big."
Strop held out a hand. "There's no telling what this guy will do... but don't worry. I have a plan. Stay right here!"
"But-" was all Cenere could manage before Strop whisked the bag off his shoulders and sprinted into the open.
"Hello, Stallion Man," the Bullman said when he saw the black-clad anthrohorse standing in front of the domed Imaginarium. He realized his mistake too late when he saw, through the hole in the mask, that the horse in front of him was bay and not black-and-white. This was the other horse from the Amphitheatre that did gymnastics, which was no different to the ballet that Stallion Man employed. Just because they're fast, they think they can show off with their fancy acrobatics. Perhaps he had made moderator already and "Strop" was here to inform him.
"This is the first trial. Your challenge, 'The Bullman', will be to dodge everything I throw at you."
"Easy enough," the Bullman replied confidently. Any challenge from a horse was going to be easy.
"Furthermore, the Imaginarium is chaotic, so the stuff I throw at you turns into random objects."
Without warning, a ball revamped ball shot through the Imaginarium wall and instantaneously exploded into a fine mist. This pathetic attempt amused the Bullman until the fog expanded and engulfed him so that he could see no further than a few feet in front of his nose ring. He reached for his rubber ducky. Showers of rubber duckies pummeled him and knocked out the one he was holding. He searched along the ground for his weapon but all her found were squeaks. It all seemed too organized to be random. Overhead, he could've sworn he heard a train pass, if his mother had not taught him that swearing was bad. The loud crunch that followed strengthened his belief.
A stapler struck him on the head and luckily it was pointing the other way. There was no conceivable way for the Bullman to complete the challenge. Not only was he twice as big as most of the contestants, he was also four times as slow. He was genetically predisposed to fail. His mother never let him take Pilates or whatever it was called. He recoiled in disgust as a horseshoe rounded his horn. If he hadn't, he would've been stricken with grief.
The Bullman took another hit to the head, this time a physics dissertation on d-branes, before giving up his search. He stumbled around trying to dodge the objects flying at him through the thick fog. A typewriter caught his left hoof and he slammed into a railroad car. It definitely was a train that flew overhead. The Bullman stood and twisted his body to barely scrape by a balloon.
In a blaze of confusion he managed to tackle himself or rather, a doppelganger tackled him. An explosion rocked the two and the doppelganger dissipated into a thought. A broach bounced off his chest, as did a calculator, a wooden spoon, a double-paned window, and bowling pin. He rolled to a sitting position before being knocked down again by a sewing machine. With a grunt, he heaved the sewing machine into the fog, hoping that it would hit Strop and maybe end the barrage. A lithograph of a rabid squirrel carrying a bowl of spicy chicken curry shot out from the fog, followed by a rabid squirrel carrying a spicy chorizo. The lithograph momentarily blocked his vision before he caught the squirrel by the chorizo and tossed it aside.
Determined to complete the first trial, the Bullman started off the ground with a burst of strength before being hit by failure. And then a ball revamped ball, and a ball revamped ball, and another ball revamped ball, and another ball revamped ball, and one final ball revamped ball. It was over. It had to be over. The Bullman rolled up once more to a sitting position.
When the fog cleared, the damage was more apparent. The train wreck had taken out a portion of the southwest corner of the library. Several buildings around the Imaginarium were on fire, one of which belonged to that rabbit guy who wrote of his grand exploits. The Bullman could only guess what happened to those buildings, but the blackened and burning objects (ten times more objects than he had seen) between him and the Imaginarium left little to the imagination. He was bruised, but not too badly. While equine acrobatics could've helped with the challenge, he thought that he could take on Strop in combat if he wanted to even in his current condition. A guttural groan escaped the Bullman's lips as he leaned against the side of the train.
"Don’t worry," Strop said. "I’m a healer... in training."
The Bullman's injuries were found to be more the product of a bruised ego than anything else, so Strop had him dispatched for admission to Armor Hospital for a mild case of shock and referred him to the psychological counselling services (or at least wrote it in the order- there were no psych services in ArmorGames). Then he surveyed the scene with a mixture of morbid fascination and glee.
"Well, we've gone off to a smashing start!"
"I see you managed to smash the library some more. And my studio, too", remarked a dry voice.
It was true. Along its way to the library, the passenger carriages of the train had plowed through several studios, including the modest shack that belonged to Cenere.
"Whoops," Strop said. Then after a little pause, "If it makes you feel any better, I also smashed mine."
That, too, was true. Strop's own studio, originally far less modest, had a giant hole carved right through its center, the probable victim of a ball that had transformed from revamped to cannon. "Meh, I'll fix it later, we must press on!"
"If you don't destroy the whole of ArmorCity before then..."
"Shhh, don't jinx it!"
Crimson was still waiting preparing to enter again into the ASC after Zophia said it was OK when he saw a colorful ball coming towards him. In the Community Hall this could mean anything, but he found out quickly that it was a threat when it him his arm that he used to guard his face from it. The ball ricocheted off of his arm and bounced on to the floor like an under-inflated basketball would. He had a small glimpse of it and realized it was one of Johns creations. He didn't quite understand what this was, but just assumed it had something to do with the WoM. He took a look at the ball to make sure it didn't have any type of special message on it like the way ninjas typically give out messages, but of course instead he got hit upside the head with another ball. It was at that point that he figured out this was actually a test. He took out his blade and prepared for another one to come after him. He saw it and swatted it like he was playing a deadly version of racket ball, but of course since it was created through a spell made by one of the administrators. It was destroyed, but simply respawned and and hit him in the face again.Destroying them was simply not going to work. So at this point he probably wouldn't be too surprised if he got a bloody nose from this.
"Time to change tactics". He looked around and saw the next one flying at him. He did a gears of war style roll out of the way, and saw it hit a stick figure entry off its pedestal....maybe for the better I suppose. He looked back in front of him to see two of these things headed towards him. He dodged the first to only put himself in front of the other. This one hit his foot somehow stubbing it in the process. After jumping around for a couple of second he saw OVER 9000!!!!! more of them coming at him. So he did what anyone else would do in the same situation. Thats right hide behind the art comp pedestal where the winning art is, and hope they can't hit him there. He ran towards the pedestal at first almost getting tailgated on his way there. He hid behind it when all the balls flew around him. Then came the one thing he forgot. The balls could change direction. The magical arrows appeared all around him, all pointed in his direction.
"I never liked that game anyways" he jumped out of the way as they all hit the back of the pedestal almost knocking it over. The art pieces including his champions exhibit got knocked over.
"Good thing that was a replica". He realized though that these projectiles could be manipulated, and he had basic knowledge on how to use Armor Magic 3.0 so he came to the quickly conclusion that he would have to try and create his own directional arrows to send them in the opposite direction. He grabbed two of his old art pieces and used them as shields.(somehow they are more effective then his sword against admin magic which is sad). He got into a corner of the community hall and put the pictures in front of him having them pelted instead of him, and he used this defense to give him time to created a spell to counter admin magic. He created a simple arrow not even knowing the class of spell that he was trying to counter. He threw it up towards the balls outside of his shields. The balls just went straight through the arrow like it didn't exist. He realized then that compulse balls ran on old magic, also known as Armor Magic 2.0 so he would have to make his spell using a form of magic he didn't know well enough. He had only one choice...Google Magic!!! He pulled out his Google scroll and asked it for an Armor Magic 2.0 directional arrow spell. It gave him what he wanted after first telling him that he should go buy 15 different products first. He grabbed the spell and threw it at the compulse balls. This time with success, but some were still getting through and he couldn't hide forever, so he had to make an escape. He brought out his map of tunnels in AG. He found one in the community hall that had yet to be patched up yet. It allowed him access to areas that were not opened up yet because they were under construction, and so all he had to do was get to this tunnel. He grabbed his "shields" and threw a few more instances of his directional arrow spell up into the hall. He looked around as he ran towards the tunnel that the whole hall had been totaled and people that he forgot were even there were all over the place either knocked out because a ball hit them accidentally or were freaking out because they thought a hacker was attacking the hall. A majority of the art was knocked over, had footprints on them, and for some reason some of them were even being set on fire.
"Nothing new here really from what I can tell" he finally got to the tunnel and jumped in at the back of the long hall. From this area he could crawl his way out of the hall back into the main area of the site. He had to think of the one place where he could escape and be safe from these things....
"To the Crimson Keep!!!"
Strop and Cenere searched for the mysterious Crimson but he had well and truly given them the slip. "That's actually quite impressive," Strop said. He knew full well that Crimson, being one of the original veterans of ArmorGames, alongside the likes of King "Since Beta" Ryan, knew the ins and outs of the city as well as the secrets buried by a city's constant evolution. Thus it would have been far too much trouble to scout him out for the sole purpose of pelting him with more balls.
The sun started to set on this day of the trials, and Cen and Strop retired to the tavern, for even a ninja horse with caffeinated blood had to eat.
"Weren't you a judge of the ASC once?" Cenere felt his insides twist at the recollection of the scene that had taken place earlier in the day.
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"You... just wrecked the ASC." Cenere could not explain himself. Nor did he feel he had to, surely the horror at the travesty was plenty apparent in that statement in itself.
"Not really. I mean, by the time Zophia gets to it, it won't matter!" Strop giggled. "Not that I was much better, I mean that's why I quit..."
Zophia had gained the reputation for her flexibility over deadlines, but in the face of such callousness, Cenere found himself compelled to speak out. Once again, he held his tongue.
They found themselves outside in the (thankfully) cooling air, staring at a high tower of ice. At least that's what it looked like, a scaffolding of ice encasing a tall spindly structure nearly as tall as Strop's tower. And hammered into the grass at the base: "DYSTOPIA".
"I'm pretty sure that's a violation of building codes," Strop muttered, probably more worried about such a structure blocking his view of ArmorCity, or, worse, somebody being able to actually see directly into his room.
Cenere was already flipping through his notes. "That belongs to Chill, Grandmaster of George."
"Oh really now?" Strop rubbed his hands together. "Then I guess we might as well pay him a visit now."
"Can't it wait?" Cenere had barely started on his meal.
"Better we do it now. I... have my reasons."
"And what might those be?" A hungry man was a grumpy man, after all, and this was about as querulous as Cenere was going to get.
"Well, see, he got banned in an infraction some months ago...while registered for the WoM. So as, er, punishment I laced his coffee with senna and LSD today. A lot of it. It should be kicking in about now."
Cen didn't bother asking why or how Strop got his hands on an illegal recreational drug, mainly because he didn't want to become an accessory to a crime he didn't commit. "Fine, let's go then," he sighed.
Coffee. He needed to finish his coffee.
Sip, sip, sip. He finished the cup quickly, before returning to work on Dystopia 2. He had to finish. With haste.
A knock came at Chill's door. He got up to answer it, before falling to the floor. His stomach tightened like a thousand microscopic boa constrictors were squeezing it. He got up, a soft 'urgh' escaping his lips, and he opened the door.
He did not like what happened after that.
The Compulse ball flew forward, smashing into his shoulder. A well-dressed, blond man caught it, and greeted him surprisingly cordially.
"Hello, Chill." The man said, sounding Scandinavian.
"You must be Cen . . . ."
"You're right about that."
Cen's arm went back as he was about to make another throw - but then, seemingly out of nowhere, Chill was hit again. An expert shot flew over Cen's shoulder, catching Chill square in the gut. This brought on yet another cramp. After he had recovered from the potshot, he noticed something. The wooden floors were ablaze. He jumped up, backing against the wall . . . before lurching forward at the site of the razor wire he was leaning up against.
A meteor exploded from Cen's hand. Chill ducked, dodging it, then he bolted. He was headed for the 98th page. For Mr. Gnome.
A ninja dropped in front of him, wearing A mardi Gras mask and an LGBT rights T-shirt. He was holding a rubber band ball, and appeared to be walking with pixie sticks for legs. He proceeded to toss the rubber band ball - a simple matter for some frozen air to stop. Chill grabbed Mr. Gnome, using his lazor to seal the fire escapes and other exits besides the one he was taking. After this surprise, Chill ran again, down tro the Heart of the dystopia - the final boss floor.
the staircase was a centipede - grabbing at Chill's legs, making him jump and tumble down the steps. He was almost there . . . pushing through the anthropomorphic door, he made it into an open room.
An army of hamsters. Barreling to him. They knocked hi m down and strated jumping on his stomach. "Stop! Ow!" His stomach cramped as they kept on pounding the center of his digestive system. To make matters worse, the lights were shining excruciatingly brightly . . . .
Chill froze a dome over his prostrate form to block the Compulse balls from Cen and Strop, before stopping to attempt thinking. He knew enough of the structure of the place to know that the main support was in the center . . . .
Suddenly, the ice dome was shattered by a hooved foot. Getting up, Chill continued to run, still being chased by ninjas and hamsters.
He was tripped up by yet another spherical object - he couldn't tell what it was - and he fell on the floor. He was so close . . . .
He stumbled to his feet, backing up, before looking down. The wood floor appeared to drop off into a slick, white nothingness - a linoleum chasm. With Cen and Strop closing in on him, he had nothing else to do . . . he folded his arms to his chest, closed his eyes, and fell backward into the chasm.
. . . KONK . . . .
Jolted from his induced serenity almost immediately, Chill sat up, only to be knocked down again by a ball to the face. He was now bleeding both from the back of his head and the depths of his nose, lesving a trail of lukewarm pain behind him as he continued to flee.
Chill was relieved and frightened - he was in the heart of the dystopia, but he coulkd barely see a thing. Everything was scrambled . . . except for one statue. The Alt statue, the pin holding all of Dystopia together - it stood firm to Chill, probably because the gold body, platinum pants, silver underwear, Taffeite eyes, and woven adamantium clothing all cost about 200,000 AP in donations and his own money.
And so, it was all he could do to escape. He had no choice.
He ran, even while the hamsters continued to pound on his stomach, to the Big Red Button of Eternal Woe.
He pressed it.
From there, the statue groaned, before collapsing into a fine powder, which materialized inside a freezer bag. Taking the bag, Chill ran for the fire escape. He had to get outside, and fast.
Stepping into the eerie stillness of the Armusement Park at night, Chill hoped for the best. He dodged Compulse ball after Compulse ball, biding his time. Then, it came.
"Just as I thought would happen . . . ." Chill said as the entire Dystopia structure veered to the right and snapped. It fell right where Chill thought it would . . . the biggest thread in Armorland history. The "Rate the Above 'User's Fame" complex. All 1370-some pages of it.
The RPG building speared through the main core of the building, smashing the key supports. Some flame Magik alighted the facade, burning it away quickly. (the fire burned at OOOOOOOVVVVERRRRR 9000!!! degrees Kelvin). The remaining supports of the building went molten, and then Strop, Cen, and Chill all saw the most chilling, fantastic sight in Armorland history.
Millions of AP, almost 1400 thread pages falling to the ground at freefall speed . . . the largest thread and the largest RPG lay ion ruins, expelling a wave of dust which knocked them all down to their backs, and into the realm of unconsciousness.
When he woke up, Chill could see clearly again. The sun was at its apogee, and he was covered in footprints. Sitting up, he woozily asked a passerby " . . . did I win?"
Posted Sep 24, '09 at 9:23pm
Chill looks a lot funnier high than I imagined XD
Posted Sep 24, '09 at 11:46pm
You know for some reason something in my brain told me to make this...
Posted Sep 25, '09 at 3:09am
Oh snap crimson, I think you just trolled me >:O
Working on WoM story some more, now.
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