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.
THE RULES:
* 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!
WRITING GUIDELINES
* 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 waomod@yahoo.com
* 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!
