Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → The Way of Moderation has ended (page 566)

Me eyes are melting...

I feel like a smarticle for not really reading it and instead skimming it so I don't really think of it.

Besides, I've been writing stropXcen's for years. I just have to taste not to announce it!

Wait...

Besides, I've been writing stropXcen's for years. I just have to taste not to announce it!

Right. I'm updating. I'm not going to tell you that I spent a long time writing an update only to realise that I was actually rewriting something I'd already written. I like this version better anyway <_< It's more in tune with... future plans.

TO AMALGAMATE THE RECENT EVENTS:

Mission Failed

"No! It's too soon!"

Strop looked up, aghast, as raindrops splashed on his nose. In the one second it took for his brain to process this development, the clouds stopped hesitating, and in the next moment he was soaked to the bone. So too was Devoidless, and Dragonmistress, who had frozen, seeds of salvation still in her hand, poised to throw into the great inferno below.

But the inferno of the Free Market was already changing. The billowing black clouds of smoke had turned white as great plumes of steam replaced ashes. Before their eyes the fires were dying, as were their hopes.

"ABORT THE MISSION," Strop screamed at DM and Devoidless.

"But the fire isn't out yet!" DM protested. "We still have time!"

"No, that's not it!" Gesticulating wildly, Strop struggled to rein his brain back in time with his mouth. "The fumes won't do anything. Only the rain from the clouds that carried those fumes!"

Even as the rain pounded down heavier and heavier, DM stared blankly at Strop, blinking droplets of water out of her eyes. "You mean to say... why would... but what was the point of all that?"

"I- I-..." Strop's mouth gave up. "I'll tell you later, if we live!"

"Excuse me," Devoidless grunted. "If you wouldn't mind telling me what we're doing now then?"

Strop took a deep breath. "The pills won't work properly in these conditions, they'd be wasted. Keep them for another time."

DM, understandably, still looked confused. "What time is that?"

"I don't know!" Strop shouted in exasperation, for the umpteenth time that afternoon. "I don't know."

As the rain beat down on them, the only sound left was the waves of rain striking the dragon's wings as they beat upwards. Everywhere below, confusion reigned. The cobblestones became slimy and slippery, and the debris and dust from ruins mixed with the running water and mired everything in layers of sludge that stuck to legs and sloshed around as everybody waded in to do battle, and soon, the sounds and cries of mortal mudfighting reigned. Fighting, Strop thought. But isn't everybody supposed to be at the Ar-

The three thought the same thing at once, and collectively their breaths caught. "The other mods!"

Devoidless didn't even need any telling. In an instant his wings were folded, and he rolled into a headlong dive.

---

Asherlee gnashed her teeth, "Will it ever end!?" With a roar, she threw her arms up, driving an entire line backwards.

Still panting heavily, Dank leaned on his hammer and watched the raiders pick themselves up and charge in again. "Guess it's just certain death then." Great splashes and trails of droplets arched through the air as shockwaves rippled outwards from his hammer. As his name suggested he was perhaps the only one left who might actually have been strengthened by the rain, but even he looked overwhelmed, his eyes staring vacantly even as he fought on.

"I'd rather not die, thank you!" But even as she said it, the cold of the wet chilled Zophia, stiffening her muscles, slowing her down even as she flailed with her brush. The paint was diluted and streaked, washing off and undoing her work, freeing her opponents to claw at her and try to rip her brush away. But since the handle itself was so slippery that she herself could barely grip it, her assailants all slid straight off, stumbling and falling over themselves on the pavement. "We need a plan!"

"There is no plan," Dank murmured. "Not anymore."

Zophia tried to shut his words off, scrabbling for her palette, only to find that she had run out of paint. A raider, who had snuck into the blindspot, reared up, club poised to strike, but was miraculously knocked back with a glassy thunk.

"Moe! You flew!" Zophia couldn't help but point out the obvious.

"I can't control it very-" Moe paused a bit, wobbled, then clattered to the ground. "Well. And it's as best as I can manage. But, at least this way, I could die not being a burden anymore."

"You're thinking about something like that at a time like this!?" Dank spluttered, but he was cuffed on the back of the helmet by Asherlee, who promptly spoke over him. "We'll get through this. We have to live."

"That's all very well and good," Dank piped up from under Asherlee's suppressive cover, "But how do you propose we survive this?"

Asherlee looked at the raiders, now close enough to see the features of their expressions, even as each one was another member of a faceless, restless mob of wanton rage. Their eyes burned with a hatred beyond all comprehension, multiplied by the thousands of disparate wills that bundled into one. In the face of all this, Asherlee shrugged. "I dunno."

And with that utterance, the four lowered their weapons, not even thinking what might happen next, not even thinking to await death, but simply to wait, come the inevitable, or miracle.

The sea of raiders parted, blown violently apart by an unseen gust. The streaks of rain scattered, waves of droplets pattering against the facades on either side of the street. Then a black cloud swooped down, sending bodies scattering, before sliding to a stop directly in front of the four.

"Get on!" Dragonmistress shouted.

Wordlessly, the mods stared at each other, then made a break for it. Ungracefully they struggled atop the great dragon's spines, and promptly fell over as Devoidless launched himself into the air. Everybody sat back up, gripping whatever they could as he flapped, hovering menacingly over the street of people who glowered back.

"Since everybody is still awake, I take it the plan didn't work," Moe suggested. Strop hung his head.

"Yes. We've failed our mission."

"I never would have thought," Dank snorted. "We failed, but somehow we're still alive. So is there a plan B or are we all doomed?"

"Does it involve burninating everybody here while we still can?" Devoidless asked, blowing a few small licks of fire at the more daring punters among the largely cowed crowd who had seemingly never been so close to a live fire-breathing dragon.

Strop rubbed his head. "No, no, no. AG isn't doomed. Not yet. Not while our castle still stands. But that castle is in danger now, because the courts are gone, and as soon as people figure out that they can cross through there, then we'll have trouble."

"Defend the castle huh?" Asherlee stretched her broad shoulders, then tilted her head back to look at the endless black and the falling rain. "It sounds like another last stand in a series of last stands doesn't it."

"At least we can hope that we survive until the administration arrives," DM said, unconvincingly. "At least, assuming they saw the distress signal."

Even in the chaos that enveloped them, they shared a single moment of clarity, the reflection on the irony behind the whole tournament and its course, and the problem that they faced but no longer felt capable of containing. In that moment, the true nature of their problem was revealed, a nature beyond anything that the Way of Moderation could ever have hoped to address.

"It's simple, really," Strop concluded. "Either we survive, or we fall. Until we find out, we'll just do what we can."

"Agreed." DM reined Devoidless around, pointing him in the direction of the castle. Even as some of the raiders tried to follow, and others fled, they set off towards the courts, half-hoping to see the end of the day, and half-dreading what might otherwise happen.

---

I had my team set up.

14 fish men, all armed to the teeth with weapons, weapons as far as the eye could see, amazing, deadly...

well, truth be told, there are only about 27 fish-men total, and the weapons and armor were made of fish-bone and seashells and some limestone. honestly, we were a sorry looking bunch. Plus, we had been partying for about 4 months before we even tried to get this together. Squid ale s great stuff.

But if fish-people were anything, they were resilient! They could adapt to any situation, and my peeps here were gonna do the best with what they had.

I led the charge. "Charge!" I yelled to my charge.

Silently as possible, all my fishy comrades grouped together behind the raiders, weapons at the ready. Once we were in range (with the group of raiders taht was for some reason still in the forest after these four months), I yelled the signal.

"LET'S MAKE THEM WEEEEEEEEET!"

Now, what you may not know, is that fish-bone, when tempered in a certain way that only fish-people know about, is a ctually a very tough substance. Extremely, really. Which is one reason I can take such a beating, seeing how I have fish-bone.

And, ho boy, you should have seen us out there. Bone arrows piercing the chests of evn the biggest internet-tough guys, Fish-swords knocking cavalry off their horses and bleeding to death on the soft ground.

And then there was me. Because I'm awesome. I was at the front lines, no armor, no weapons, just me. I was raping out there, literally.

Because raping doesn't always mean what one thinks it means, it just means "to dominate," pretty much.

So I was dominating.

Like usual.

"Men! Hold your attack!"

The scene was grisly. Dozens of fallen raiders, all within a few hundred feet of the town gates.

"...we... we've done it!"

The cheers roared through the forest.

But... wait... "HEY!" GET BACK HERE!"

One scout managed to escape towards the gate. I chased, but the little bugger was fast. He climbed the gate and opened it up before I even got a chance to catch him.

And what I saw was horrifying.

"Chrissakes..." The whole of ArmorCity was under attack.

"Hey, uh, Manta, I don't think that did anything."

"Quiet."

I stood shocked, mouth agape. All I could think to do was ask the only person I could think of who knew what was happening what the hell was going on.

"STROOOOOOOPSICLLLLLLLLLLLLE!!"

---

There's one more scene I have to write, then after that... uh, guys. When's that collab coming?

is it too late to submit my part on how the hermit survives?

Definitely not, submit to the email as usual!

Oh my gosh.

It got updated!

Oh my gosh.

It got updated!

In Zahz's defense, this update was basically something we already chose not to read because it was too long, so it hardly counts as a full update. I mean, it's more upgrade than update.

Then I'll start on Thoad/Crimson.

And if it doesn't update again within a week Round (Sixty)Nine and a half: Playing Doctor will update instead. Then I'll start on Thoad/Crimson.

plus I still need to get back with Thoad to finish the first part still.

Alright, so a week has elapsed. And I've got one more scene for you guys. But after that there's nothing left to save you from slashfic, so really. I hope you're prepared.

---

Call to Arms

Even through the driving rain and oppressive grey that seemingly obscured anything and everything, Strop's ears pricked. "Did I just hear my name?"

This was met with general sounds of apathy and non-commitment. "I dunno, my hearing isn't that good." "You can't possibly hear that through all the rain." "Maybe you ought to see a psychiatrist."

Strop gave Devoidless a dirty glare in return for that last jibe. "Look, just keep flying, we gotta get to the Main Street and set up a perimeter."

"Is that even going to work?" Ever the skeptic (for good reason, it seemed), Dank clung to his security hammer. "There's, what, seven of us and what, a million of them? And even if the courts are the main entry point, Ubertuna's gone so his 'magic-shield-we-never-really-tested-but-probably-didn't-work-anyway' is definitely not there anymore, meaning if they find their way through the forests... or worse yet, those giant mutant trolls..."

"Okay, shut up now," Strop rubbed his head. "If we just had a little time, we could figure something out, right?"

The sound of rain was the only reply.

"I know I heard my name," Strop said to himself, folding his arms. Just then, his ears pricked again. "And there it was again. Except louder this time, and HEY WHAT THE!?"

Devoidless' passengers were almost thrown off as the dragon suddenly banked and dropped, and not a moment too soon. Just where they had been earlier, several missiles and cannonballs streaked through the air, and exploded somewhere in the distance. Below them, the street was full of people. Wet, slipping over each other in a squalid tangle, smashing everything in their path indiscriminately. And behind them, a writhing mass pushing relentlessly forward, until it engulfed the people in front like a wave, no, a tsunami of stampede. And that was when the mods realised that this was already the Main Street, and time was not on their side.

Instinctively, Devoidless let forth a mighty fireball that engulfed the front of the wave of rioters, causing some of them to panic and curl up, but they were merely buried under another wave of scrambling rioters. Dragonmistress yanked back on his top horns, yelling "It's no use in this much rain!"

"This isn't a good place!" Strop shouted as the rising tide of people threatened to swallow them, "Voidy, get us up and back to the castle stat!"

Devoidless hissed, itching against his better judgement to get stuck into the rioters, "Here's as good as anywhere else!"

"It's different! They're running from something, and at this rate they'll be at the castle in just over minute!"

Gnashing his teeth, Devoidless blasted off again, and as they rose, Strop peered towards the gates, muttering to himself. "What could they be running from though..." but being a horse, he couldn't see. Asherlee, with her soldier's eyes, however, could. "Are those fishmen? Huh. Bet they'd be handy in these conditions."

Strop froze, and inside, the penny finally dropped. "MANTAAAAAAAAAAAA!?!?!?!?"

---

From the other end of Main Street, Manta heard the voice reply to him, and his heart immediately pumped harder, stirring his blood up. "Hear that men?" he called. "That's the sound of a certain ninja pony in need of help! We'll meet them in the middle and crush the lot, and then it's glory and fame for all of us!"

It sounded like such a great idea, that nobody could think of any other way to respond. "TO ARMS!" the cry went, and with a great roar, they all shook their bones and took off in pursuit of the rioters.

---

"Uh, I think the fishmen are coming this way too," Asherlee stated, looking back over her shoulder.

"Ugh, and this is why we wanted to users to stay put," Strop facepalmed. "We- we, uh..." for some reason he couldn't finish the sentence.

"We were doing fine by ourselves?" Moe finished it for him, and for a little twist, added "How ironic that the one thing that might save us now is the same thing that exacerbated our situation."

"I'd say you were joking, Moe, but I know you better than that. In which case, you must have gone crazy."

"Maybe that's why the tournament hasn't gone over so well for you."

Strop was about to reply, but then decided against it. Defeated, he looked the other way. "Devoidless, could you put us down at the courts?"

"You mean this crater that used to be the courts? Right here. Now everybody off." With that, everybody tumbled off, landing in the giant, shallow crater. Now that the rock had been cooled off, it had ossified, morphing into a strange trabecular honeycomb that made stepping on it a hazard. Strop prodded it with his hoof, and found it as sturdy as it was hazardous to run across.

"That'll slow them down a bit, at least. Now, if we could set up some kind of defence..."

"Uhm," the others asked him. "What kind of defence are you talking about?"

They all looked around them. They had no equipment, no supplies, and the bricks that lay scattered about were only useful for throwing. All they had was themselves, their banhammers, their flagging powers, and one minute before the end of the world descended upon them.

Strop glanced down at the unobtrusive pouch tucked away into his ninja suit, and considered. "Well, guys, I think this really might be our last stand."

"Oi!"

The mods whirled around.

"You didn't think we'd let you go down by yourselves, would you?"

Emerging from the curtain of rain was a young man with an odd bald patch on his head, a rifle casually slung over his shoulder. With his head bowed, his face was but a shadow, until a bolt of lightning arced across the sky overhead, ending with a thunderous crash. In a single, illuminating moment, Strop realised who it was and why he didn't recognise him.

"Thoad! Where's your helmet? And what are you doing here?"

"We're defending our city. And saving your sorry *****." Thoad smirked. The lightning struck once more, and behind him, in front of the walls of Armor Castle, complete with barbed wire, caltrops, mounted sniper posts... it was a veritable defence wall, and even as the moderators looked at it, heads popped over the edge, cheering and waving banners and the flag of Armor Games. Amongst them, Strop could see several familiar figures, including the ever forgetful KingRyan, and the ever reticent Crimson.

Strop was rendered almost speechless. "But... how?"

---

People Power- a flashback

"Wha?" Thoad said, surprised that somebody (other than Rose) was actually addressing him. He could have sworn that he recognised the wolfskin, but something wasn't quite right. "Nemo? No wait, last I remember, Nemo didn't have boobs. Speaking of which, nic-"
"That doesn't matter," Nill said, cutting him off. "What matters is that I know you. You're one of those final eight guys from that Way of Moderation tournament, right?"
"Semi-finalists," Thoad specified. "I made it to the last four-"
"Yeah whatever," Nill said, again cutting in. "I remember you also have a big mouth."
Thoad bristled, unfamiliar with speaking to somebody even more blatantly offensive than he tried to be sometimes: "Hey, what are you saying? It's not like Leon, Crimson or Frank-"
"Which is why I need that big mouth of yours."
"Huh?" Thoad could have sworn that missing part of his scalp also deprived him of part of his brainpower, until things clicked. "Oh! Right. You won't find a bigger mouth than mine!" he proudly proclaimed.
Ten seconds later, several familiar users had gathered, including the few veterans who had hung around from the days of old, and some of the other notable candidates from the tournament.
"What's the noise about?" Chill asked, nonchalantly sipping his coffee and watching the crowd gradually grow around them.
"What noise?" Kingryan croaked, "I didn't hear anything."
"If you didn't hear anything, then how come you came over so quickly?" Chill interrogated Kingryan, but the old man had already fallen asleep on his feet again.
"Right," Nill said. "I have stuff to do. You have fun, okay?"
Thoad whirled around, "What, aren't you going to stick around and help out? Weren't you a moderator before?"
Nill shrugged. "I'm not one now, and frankly, I'm more useful elsewhere." She turned and started threading her way through the gathering throng. "Leadership, problem solving, courage, charisma. A moderator needs these things, but these things aren't reserved to moderators alone. You've always been waiting for a chance to prove yourself, so why not now? Realise the meaning of people power, instead of entrusting your fate against your will to some ditzy ninja pony."
"It did seem like he had a plan," Chill offered, still remembering that strange favour said pony had asked of him.
"But not one for us," Thoad muttered, Nill's words sinking in.
"Well, I trust you'll take the matters into your own hands, then, instead of waiting for your demise," were Nill's final words before she vanished into the flow of the congregation.

---

Okay Thoad, you're free to post the part you wrote! As for the rest, we really need to get to sorting it out.

You know, I was just about to post Crimson/Thoad when I saw this. Strop bought you another week. Just gives me more time to enhance the story. Maybe I'll sandwich Chill in there somewhere. It'd be a... tight fit... but it could be done.

Maybe I'll sandwich Chill in there somewhere. It'd be a... tight fit... but it could be done.