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The Way of Moderation has ended (page 566)

Posted Jun 11, '10 at 6:44am



5,439 posts

Thoad showed up at Strop's (OOC: Going out on a limb here...) dojo just outside the tavern. It was a small dojo, just enough for maybe 3 people to hang out, conversate, or, what thoad was anticipating, spar.
  Walking in, Thoad saw Strop standing rather stoically. "Hi Stroppy! I'm so happy that we get to SPAR." Thoad was probably being somewhat overenthusiastic due to him looking up to strop in several ways. "So, you mentioned about wanting to spar in the InsanoChamber, right?" Thoad was taking his Klaus-in-Training stance and acted like a pedobear with an adorable face for a second.
  Strop hesitated, but ultimately he sighed and said yes to the pedobear face. Thoad made a small squeal of idiocy and melted to the floor, his mind seeing himself in the 3rd person and laughing his *ss off. Popping back up, thoad put his finger in the air and explained the InsanoChamber.
  The bulk of it was made of metal, with soundproof material insulating it so that no one on the outside (or the soundproof plexi-glass viewing chambers). It was powered by 98 remnants of ghosts. The speakers were inside and thoad doesn't know how it managed to read minds. It was by complete accident!
  Strop put his hand on his equine chin. It was a fun sight to see. Thoad ended up giggling a little before Strop preposed that he and Thoad sparred inside the chamber. "Remember strop, the InsanoChamber is pretty unstable and may cause insanity. To be safe, we'll set a safeword, what would you like it to be...?" Thoad didn't wait for an answer and just set the safeword to "I am attracted to sheep."
  So then, Strop began to teach Thoad about kicking, and overall made the boy a better fighter. Thoad listened carefully, and took note of everything that he possibly could. Then, the InsanoChamber started to feel a little... heavy. A screech crossed both of their ears, and something new happened. Something Thoad didn't anticipate. The screech ended up switching a form of mindset between the two. It altered the personallity of the two.
  Suddenly, Strop was klaus-ish and childish while Thoad was stoic and serious. They switched minds, in a way. Then a nightmare happened. Thoad fell back (as did Strop) and they began their terrible dreams. Thoad dreamt himself as strop, having their minds switched (OOC: DO YA GET IT? THEY SWITCHED MINDS. THEY SWITCHED. WANT TO MAKE THIS CLEAR HERE). He had a box of things in front of him, and a hooded figure was walking away with thor, into the gates of ArmorGames.
  "You've done it now, Strop." said the figure, a deep sounding voice.
  "Done what?" Said the ninja horse, one of his ears going floppy (OOC: not sure if that happens, but w/e) in questioning. The hooded figure didn't show any signs, pure apathetic emotionless slate of nothing.
  "Done what?" Strop had a snap to his voice, the what making a clicking sound at T.
  "Why did you leave us, strop?" the voices of armorgames called to strop. It was a scary, harmonious noise. As if a hundred organs played the same notes at the same time. Strop suddenly realized just what had actually happened. He quit AG.
  "Goodbye, Strop" said the voice. Then it all stopped, the nightmare ended and the minds were set back in place. Strop didn't say the safe-phrase, so that means.... "Hey strop, I guess I'm attracted to sheep. That would've gotten out of hand. My nightmare was baaad. Not to mention, I think this thing is starting to make things happen that I didn't know could." Thoad went to the side of the chamber and turned it off. "I think I'll deactivate it later. For good"


Posted Jun 12, '10 at 10:40am



2,082 posts

Here's my short segment, as per the GM's request.

Judgment Day: Short Round

Strop found Leon sitting under a tree, absent-mindly patting his hyena.
"Leon McAcid?" He asked, as though there were other gnolls in Armor Games.
Leon nodded, still looking at a cloud rather than Strop.
"You beat the Bullman." Strop said. Leon was silent.
"Yeah, I did." He said at length.
"He must have been a difficult opponent in more ways than one." Strop added.
Leon looked at Strop. "That about sums it up." he concluded.
"Has your confrontation with the Bullman given you any new insights?" Strop asked finally.
"No." Leon answered after a moment's thought. Strop was inexplicably surprised: He hadn't expected a straight answer out of Leon.


You see what I did there, right AG?

Speaking of AG: I need a word. A word for when flawed logic is used to reach a correct conclusion. I'm sure it exists. Anybody know it? If not, it's our civic duty to make up such a word and put it into common usage, okay?


Posted Jun 12, '10 at 2:33pm



10,824 posts


Hey guys, I forgot something.

I haven't decided exactly who's going to go against whom in the next matchup.


That's the only reason I haven't posted yet. But as soon as I get that sorted, you'll see why I hesitated!


Posted Jun 12, '10 at 11:27pm



10,824 posts


Right, well, Cenny's kinda away, so I'm going to have to skip the consultative process in the interests of time.

Also, here's your chance to glimpse how I organise stuff (see, I'm actually very organised. Just not time-wise.)

* Following Leon's and The Bullman's match, Kirby stars in the exit cameo scene (I think I got Cenere to draw this.)
* Strop will visit ulimitedpanda again (I need to email ulimited again to finalise the details of this scene.)
* Strop starts going around giving feedback to the various characters (some of this has been posted, I will post the rest myself immediately after this post)
* Nill starts looking for a new shirt. Her old one could easily be mended but it's kinda boring...


Okay, next post: The entries from the short round!


Posted Jun 12, '10 at 11:47pm



10,824 posts


Manta (first part. The second part is yet to be written.)

"Alright! Who's next," Manta said with a dragging, slow slur in his voice.
   Manta was in the tavern, quite drunk himself, standing amongst many bruised and groaning villagers. "I-I know someone else wants to *hic* cha-allenge me!"
   A barfly who was hiding behind an overturned table called out right about then. "Hey, carp,obody challenged you in the first-"
   "Alright, newbie! Come *hic* c'mere!" Manta picked up a stool and tossed it at the poor, clueless drunkard.
   "Eep!" He pulled his neck back behind the table and dodged just as the stool crashed where his head was just a moment ago.     Manta approached him and threw aside the table, at which point he picked up the man by the collars of his shirt and threw him just like he had the table. The barfly grabbed his ribs and groaned in pain. " I am not a c- *hic* carp..."
   The fishman scanned the place once over. "That's right, evildo-ooers, I *hic* banned you all! You're all just b- *hic* banned," manta slurred. You could see the fire and disorientation in his eyes.
   One fool dared to try to reason with the fishman. "Dude, you lost the tourney, deal with it." A table launched at the man, just in time for him to get hit in the chest..
   "I don't need your pity! I don't need- you all need my pity! Do you know why you all ne-eed my pi- *hic* pity?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer. "Do you?!"
   " w-... why?"
   "Shut up!" Manta threw a bottle in the direction of the voice. "You all, you all need my pity because I-I'm not here to protect you from evildoers! Evildoers like... like yours-s, seeeelves! If I was a mod, you would all, all be safe and banned! But they turned me down! " Manta grabbed his temples and a pathetic groan emanated from deep in his throat. "Dad... I'm s... sorry..."
   Some of the broken men on the floor tried to belly crawl to the door of the tavern. Manta noticed through his drunken haze. "Oh, hell no! You'll stay, and you'll, er, you'll serve your ban!"
   They scrambled, on their stomachs, back to their hiding spots.
   Manta had no idea where he was or what was going on, obviously. Fortunately for him (and his convicts), Strop walked inside the tavern, clad in his ninja suit as always, after hearing complaints from other residents about a carp-like boy terrorizing the tavern.
   He spun around and looked at Strop. "Huhn? Horseman?"
  "Manta, you're too young for this!"
   "Hey, Strop, I... I turned 13, um, ffff... five years ago."
   "No, to be ruining yourself like this. You just turned 18. You'll have other chances to be a moderator."
   "Muh...  my dad would hate me..."
   "Is that what...? Well, I planned on asking if you were worried about following in your dad's footsteps. I can already see that's the issue." Strop set up two of the overturned barstools and motioned for manta to sit on one next to him.
   "Manta... I can tell you, your dad would be proud of you. Look how young you are, and how close you've already come to being a moderator."
   Manta looked up with sadness in his eyes, but said nothing.
   "This isn't your last chance, you know. If we ever need another moderator -and believe me, we do- you can try again then. And who knows, maybe you'll get the position that time."
   Manta looked down at his knees, and continued saying nothing.                                  "And besides... what would your mommy say if she knew you just gave up?" Strop said that with a smirk.
   At that, Manta straightened up and looked Strop in the eyes. "You're right... my mom would be disappointed. I... I know better than this..."
   "Okay. Feel better?"
   Manta flashed his signature half smile. "Yeah... I d- *hic* do!"
   "Good!" Strop stood up. "What do you say to a spar as soon as you're sobered up? We won't destroy anything, just a good old-fashioned fight."
   Manta stood up as well, shifting around on his balance. "Sounds a-a-alright... can I, um, uh, go home and *hic* sleep first?"
   "You're in no condition to drive home. Or for that matter, walk home. In fact, I don't trust you to be in public one more minute. I'll take you there. Get in the mod-mobile!" He put Manta's arm around his shoulder and carried him to the car.
   "S... Strop?"
   "Yeah buddy?"
   "I love you..."
   "I know."
   They drove towards the lake. " You know, I'm gonna have to punish you eventually for beating up all those people and destroying the tavern."
   But Manta was already fast asleep (and snoring very loudly.
   Strop sighed. "Eh, I'll do it later."

Crimson, upon Strop asking him whether he knew Dank.

"Yes I have met him once or twice in the Armor Academy. but outside of that it is rare to see him. I believe we had a discussion about the best way to learn programming magic during one of those meetings. I have had more experience with some of the other mages in the Armor Lands including Krin, and Dan McNeely himself, as well as Con Artist a few times, but Dank has been a bit illusive. Some even believe that he has a secret hideout where he stashes all of his penicorns out in the wilderness, and to be honest I wouldn't doubt such rumors to be true."

And so Crimson left, leaving Strop scratching his head in thought.

Frank, eating noodles in a noodle shop.

"I'll just have the noodles, thanks." Frank sat at a counter, ordering dinner from a local oriental shop. He had just gotten here from the amusement park, where his match with Pixel had been held. And Frank had won, so he had deemed this little hole in his wallet an appropriate reward. As he was waiting for his meal, he heard a bell ring behind him, and turned back to see Strop ducking into the shop; the frame of the door was a tad lower here than at other places.
After waving to one of the customers seated in a booth to the left, he walked over to the bar and took a seat next to Frank.
"I'll have what he's having," the ninja pony said, pointing towards Frank. The cook nodded and left, probably taking care of business elsewhere in the kitchen.
"So, Strop," Frank said, "What brings you to this fine establishment?"
"Oh, just feeling a bit hungry is all. Congrats on the win, by the way. Though it's rather unfortunate that your portacopter was damaged... Sorry about that first time, also." Frank looked over to Strop, who, if it hadn't been for the mask, would have been sporting a sheepish grin.
"No worries. I can fix it. And thanks."
"I had a few other questons to ask as well, Frank."
"Fire away."
"Well, I was wondering... Why are you still in this tournament?" Strop looked at Frank expectantly, and the pirate returned the look with his own dull stare.
"I guess... I guess I just needed to get away from it all."
"From what exactly?" Again with the expectant look. Frank cast his eyes downward, searching the wood grains for an answer. Strop waited for a good five minutes, watching Frank observe the counter, until he decided to shake the pirate out of whatever he had gotten into.
"What?" Frank said. He looked weary, and his eyes were still rather distant, but there was something else in them. Something Strop knew he wasn't being told.
"You were telling me why you needed to get away from it all, Frank."
"Right... Well, I guess... It's lost it's appeal. Sailing around the seas, well, in my case skys... It's alright, but sometimes... Sometimes it isn't."
"Well... It's wet work, even in the sky."
"Mm. And your motives? They're still quite unclear, and I'd like to know." Frank lowered his gaze, and Strop was prepared to shake him again, when he looked up at the ninja pony.
"I guess this is a way to... Liven up my life again. And so far, it's working." Strop waited for more, but Frank seemed content with his answer.
The cook brought two bowls of noodles to the counter. Frank picked up a fork, and began to eat, when he noticed the cook giving him a funny look.
"Oh, yeah... The fork. Can't use chopsticks all that well." The cook muttered something in Chinese*, and walked back into the kitchen. Strop stood and began to leave, after pushing his bowl towards Frank.
"I think you deserve it," The ninja pony called back, before the door swung closed behing him.

* I'm betting the chef called Frank a gwei lo.

I notice that only the round winners, with the notable exception of Manta, got back to me D: Then again Strop isn't allowed to speak to Chill until the day in court.


* Gametesta resolves to put an end to his slavery once and for all.

...and lots more, but I'll have to get back to everybody on that.

Next post: The opening of the next round itself!


Posted Jun 13, '10 at 12:31am



5,439 posts



Posted Jun 13, '10 at 2:37am



10,824 posts


Not so black-and-white

Strop visits Ulimitedpanda for the second time. Strop wants his starsigns read. Ulimitedpanda wants an autograph from Strop.

Round 9: The Biggest Ball Of Them All

COVER PAGE (featuring Nill singing to a familiar AC/DC tune...)

And so eight became four. Or rather, nearly four hundred, for everybody who had made it through to the elimination rounds had been invited to a very special occasion. It was a ball, being held in honour of those brave souls who had endured the harsh (and erratic) tests of the Way of Moderation, to be held in none other than the most restricted of locations: Armor Castle itself.

"But have you gained the proper authorisation?" was the protest, voiced individually, by just about everybody to whom Strop had revealed the plan. Strop had invariably replied, "No, but Carlie's out-of-town, so there's nobody to get authorisation from!" After all, it was well known that when the cat was away, the mice did play, but who was to watch over horses?

The thing about house parties, or rather, balls, was that a handful of invites turns into several dozen which turns into about four hundred gatecrashers crashing over the drawbridge and through the wrought iron gate that was ordinarily the castle's final protection against rampagers and pillagers, the predicted result being something now infamously known as a Corey Worthington.

"Yeah no, seriously guys," Strop had replied to each moderator, "It'll be fun. And the more of us there are here, the less likely the place will get wrecked."

As the sun set, everybody had arrived in their Sunday best (or their usual bedraggled bits of rags and armour since most of them were heathens and most of the rest didn't know that you can wear your Sunday best on a day other than Sunday despite the fact that it was, in fact, a Sunday), and now had ascended the winding staircase to the middle floors, where the most gigantic ballroom, resplendent in all its chandeliered and heralded glory, lay before them. It seemed nearly the size of a football field, and with a ceiling a good four or five stories above the floor, the stone arches subtly built into the corners of the room seemed to bear the weight of the heavens (which wasn't too bad a guess, seeing as Strop's tower was situated somewhere directly above.)

In true medieval style, the tables were set out along the perimeter of the hall, and were rapidly filled. An eager anticipation buzzed through the hall and echoed all around. It was obvious, from all the empty space in the middle of this giant hall, that something great was going to happen. Well, at least they assumed so, because it would have been mighty strange to go to a medieval ball and expect nothing at all. But what was to come first? Some were hungry. Some were not. Others were merely heading to the Tavern when they got sidetracked. Was there to be food? Drink? Dancing and merriment and all that?

"Welcome, everybody!" A horsey voice rang through the hall with ear-shattering volume. It was Strop, holding the 'fone. "To the penultimate stage of the Way of Moderation Tournament Ball!" He cast his eyes around the various randoms, looking for at least the presence of those who ought to be there. "We have quite the thrilling program lined up tonight, which I shall reveal to you later, but first, without further ado, let us eat, drink and be merry!"

Strop clapped his hands and amidst a roar of approval, an army of chefs and waiters rushed onto the floor in formation. Within minutes, everybody was either tucking in, yelling at each other over the noise, or starting the fight they were supposed to be having in the Tavern.

"And now we wait," Strop said to nobody in particular (it was addressed to the mods, who were sitting beside him, and the four victestant guests of honour at the head of the hall, but Strop might as well have been mute for all the hubbub), before slipping Cen's earmuffs over his head and nibbling on a carrot.

The evening passed and soon the users took it upon themselves to migrate to the middle of the hall, start singing rowdily and dancing in various manners: around eggs, around swords, and of course, simply flailing about because they didn't know how to dance. Pretty soon, the recently polished floor of Klaus' refurbishment became chipped and littered with swords, poleaxes, upturned tables and even one of the giant chandeliers. In short, the hall started more to resemble Moe's obstacle course from The Steeplechase.

"STOP!" Strop bellowed. Everybody stopped, fearing that they had gone too far and were about to get evicted, all and one, via the business end of Strop's banhammer. Or Flipski's laser. Or Moe's mysterious brainwaves. Or erased by Zophia's paintbrush. But that was not what Strop had in mind.

"It is now time!" he announced dramatically. "Everybody back to your, er, what's left of the tables!" Everybody started shuffling to the perimeter- "Except you four," Strop motioned to the victestants, Frank, Crimson, Leon McAcid and Thoad. They froze.

"This is what everybody has been waiting for! The round of the final four! We'll hold it right here, and right now!" A gasp of shock rippled through the room, and then a mumbled consternation took over as everybody cast their eyes over the rather sorry state of the hall. They were going to hold it here, as it was now?"

"A moderator's work is often done in tough conditions, amidst the ruins of what once was ordered," Strop explained. "In the previous round we introduced the victestants to the notion of confrontation in varied environments, and so the them shall continue! The difference," he paused dramatically, "Is that there will only be a single fight!"

Another gasp went up. Was it to be a battle royale? Teams? A tag event?

"And a fight it will be! Unlike last time, here, we are faced with the harsh reality that when all else fails, we must defend ourselves however we must with might and will! There will be two teams of two, and you will all fight, on this floor, until both team members of one team are knocked down or surrender. And here's the kicker... only the two team members of the surviving team will advance to the finals! Unlike the previous round, loss of consciousness will be deemed a loss, but as usual, the way of moderation is not to kill! Is this understood?"

Strop waited for the speculation to cease before he filled in the final pieces of the puzzle.

"Indeed, I haven't nominated the teams yet. This is because it will be up to the four victestants to organise themselves into their teams! Teamwork begins with selecting your partner, after all! But not only this, a combat situation is an urgent one, so I will give you only ONE MINUTE to choose, after which the fight will begin!" Strop procured an hourglass and slammed it on the table. "Your time starts NOW!"

The plan was all so clear now. In one minute, the four semi-finalists would become two against two, and by the end of the evening, it would be just two left in the running in the tournament. In this hallowed Armor Castle, they would clash in this hall turned battlefield, bombarded by the shouts and the chants of the four hundred, just as a moderator in such a situation would have to fight to uphold great justice while facing, and ignoring, the judgements of observers. This was even truer a test of their moderation capacities than ever before.

But there was no more time for reflection. The last of the sand grains ran through the glass, and the fight was on.


* Two teams of two. You have to pick and agree on them yourselves, so get talking!
* No killing, as usual. Note that I said nothing about bashing, brawling, beating and general barbarism.
* The goal is to KO both members of the other team or get them to surrender. One KO and one surrender is fine too. The other team will be deemed the winner, even if one member has already surrendered or is KO.
* Note that the members of the winning team will be facing each other in the final round, so choose wisely!


* The scene begins in the hall. This is a fairly typical medieval banquet hall, albeit a really big one. Since the hall is in the middle of the castle it'll be pretty hard to go anywhere else, so I advise against trying. It might be pretty funny if you somehow find yourself in Strop's room though, since everybody seems to break into Strop's room... no, just ignore that part.
* There will be two entries. Each team will submit one, so it's a group assignment!
* The criteria lie in the immediate: paying attention to the setup, and the long-term: how well you know everybody's character. Everything up to this point rides on this one confrontation, so I will be almost solely considering the outcome of this battle as the decider on who goes on.
* As usual you submit to the email [email protected]
* The deadline I shall initially set is Sunday 20th June, however I appreciate that this round is bigger and one of you is currently on camp. Also I have exams, so... we'll see what happens.

Pictures etc. to come at the start of July. I expect the last round to be underway by then.

Okay, any questions? Post them either here on in email. HAVE AT IT!


Posted Jun 13, '10 at 3:09am



5,439 posts

IC:*springs up*

*points at crimson*

C'mon, you know you wanna.


Posted Jun 13, '10 at 10:38am



4,349 posts

*points at crimson*

IC:hmm sounds interesting, though its even more interesting that the one who criticized magic the most would want to team up with a magic user. Regardless I may take up the offer. I was considering Leon....but if we won that would know...*points at MWT*...just saying.


Posted Jun 13, '10 at 11:51am



10,824 posts


but if we won that would know...*points at MWT*...just saying.

Hang on, this part isn't IC is it? I mean it was Sasquatch versus Xzeno, not Crimsonblade versus Leon, though lol @ the parallel.

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