Pages (3): « 1 2 [3]   Last Thread   Next Thread

Post New Thread Post A Reply
Baka Posted: 04-09-2003 , 09:10 PM

Heaven or Hell?

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

Kiske 0.3 - Feedback

Fallen comrades.

The ground around Ky..

Blood…

Images of destruction – lightning death – fire and lightning…

This was the last true stand of the Sacred Order.

From this day on, nothing was ever the same. The loss of Sol, and the loss of the city – the deaths of millions of innocents at the hands of the rampaging Gears – demoralised the Order. The resistance continued – but with Tesu and Sol both lost, and Kliff injured, Ky found it a hard struggle to lead them to victory against Justice’s army. And it all came back to this day…

This place…

Bodies lay strewn around on the rock – bloodstained robes and twisted gears alike. The gears numbered in the thousands… but the humans were close, if not more. And the Order was small.Justice’s army was limitless, and what could a small band of humans do against this?

Despair.

It was hard to fight back the feeling, a strange choking sensation, the knowledge that nothing you could do would change the future…

But together, if we work together…what was it Sol would say?

[I]”…Show must go on…”


Ky’s techniques had taken him years to learn. Ever single attack, pose, parry, defence, and even the proper use of the Fuuraiken had cost him years of his life to learn. Many were taught to him by Kliff Underson, his mentor and guide throughout most of his life, until Kliff’s death… but that was a time Ky really didn’t want to think of.

A strea of lightning shot towards Sol, missing by inches as the taller man leapt into the air,his Fuuenken beginning to glow a deep, full red. Sol landed again, touching down lightly as Ky’s blade flashed towards him…

Then again, it was precisely at times like these that the memories came bubbling up, fueling his hot river of anger, pumping the bellows that fired up the furnace lying deep within Ky’s heart. Times like these, indeed.

Flames licked around Ky as Sol’s Gunflame seared his body, but he shrugged them off – cartwheeling into his Crescent Slash technique, he leapt forward, flipping in midair and activating his blade – a bolt of lightning sparking to the ground infront of him, catching Sol off-guard – but Ky’s opponent caught himself on the base of the statue, flipping round to punch Ky directly in the gut with a hand of flames…

Mon dieu…

Lightning met fire as Thunderseal and Fireseal clashed – blade scraping on blade as Sol and Ky’s eyes met. In the eyes of the young frenchman burned a raging fire, one that consumed his everything. In the eyes of his opponent… a cold stare, a blind focus on the task at hand, and… a struggle? Blades parted, sending both men skidding back to right themselves. And a mouth opened, and words came out…

“Give it up, Sol. Give it up and come back to the order. The lord will forgive you your transgressions, and in time maybe I can, too!” Kiske’s voice was twisted, a mixture of pain and fury, indignant at the fates that brought them thus.Sweet Lord, why did this tear at his soul so? There was no reply from Sol other than a grunt of amusement that set Ky’s heart pounding more.

A blast of gunflame again, and Ky’s sword flared with stored energy as he lowered his blade. A switf attack was needed to beat this raging inferno, and Ky had never managed it yet. Stun Dipper.. yes, that might work… and with a cry, Kiske dashed, dropping into a slide that carried him through the fire to slash the sword into Sol’s legs – and again the flame was far away, too far for him to reach.

Will I always be too slow? The endless pursuit of an untouchable goal… is this my station in life? My.. fate?

Flames burning.. burning around Ky, as Sol’s gunflames licked around him.Ky flew back, his body enveloped in heat, and Sol’s fist rocketed towards him in an uppercut that sent him flying into the wall. His body slumped, falling to the floor in a heap. Sol grunted, then half turned again, muttering something… ‘weak’…and Ky looked up. His fate rested on this meeting…he would not let himself lose… in master Kliff’s name, he would not let himself fall!

“Where are you going, Sol? I’m not finished yet!


-----

(Shorter, but then I suck at fight scenes. Over to you, Ex)


Baka // Black Angel // Salva Nos

"I'm not good- looking enough to be party leader." - Robin Cook

IP: Logged

Baka is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Baka Click here to Send Baka a Private Message Visit Baka's homepage! Find more posts by Baka Add Baka to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Curley W Posted: 04-15-2003 , 02:20 AM

Basic Lurker

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

Blargh... this took forever to write. Mainly because I tried something new for this first part, plus I'm a licensed procrastinator. But anyway, I have to break this into two parts because it exceeds the character limit a bit. So, here's part One...
___________________________________________

Dark... Really dark...

Can't see anything...

Don't think I can feel anything either.

Wait a minute... That slow ache. I definately feel that.

I'm in pain.

Let's see, my face, left knee, all of my right leg, both arms, ribs, stomach....

It hurts more just talking about it.

Okay, so I've been beaten down all over, how did I get like this?...

.....How DID I get like this anyway?

Can't remember what happened last. It was a complete blur. What did this to me?

Am I safe?

Is it going to kill me?

Am I-...stop right there. Don't panic. Just think back as far as you can, and work from there.

Your name is Jason Guy Soe. You're born and raised from Podunk U.S.A., and when you were 8, your dad, a sci-fi fan, got you into his hobby by renting the Star Wars trilogy. After that, you were a complete Sci-fi fanatic, even quoting the cheesiest movies ever made including "Mars Needs Lumberjacks".

Then, when you were 11, you had just left the local theater. Then your dog Vader, who you named after one of your favorite Star Wars characters at the time, chased a cat into a mansion. You followed, and decided to look around. There, you found an old machine that was. Not just any machine, THE machine. The Main Evermore Generator. You didn't know it at the time, but it was generating an entire world through old computers, electricity it generated itself, and the thoughts of the four minds that spawned everything. And thank's to Vader chewing on some of it's wires, the both of you were pulled into it.

After fighting through things like Prehistoria's humanoid lizards, the Vipers, Antiquia's champion 'Vigor the Indestructible', Gothica's veritable maze of a forest, and Omnitopia, you discovered that in true mystery movie fashion, that the butler did it. Professor Ruffleberg's robotic servant, Carltron decided to become the ruler of Evermore. Carltron had fled to a sealed chamber and you followed. You took on his last line of robots in what was, back then, the biggest battle you ever fought. And thankfully, you won.

Then, after hauling ass to get the rest of your friends from the four corners of Evermore, you got home. A few day's later, Professor Ruffleberg and the others stopped by your house, telling you that no matter what, you couldn't tell a soul about Evermore. This machine was capable of pure creation, and while it could everything from solve world hunger to the fuel crisis, any form of weapon or explosive, right up to the atomic bomb could be made with a few presses of the button. It was just too easy to abuse.

An alibi was made as to his thirty year disappearance saying he had invented a cryogenic chamber that could preserve a living human being in perfect suspended animation for decades. He, his grandaughter, and two friends were only supposed to "sleep" for ten days, but a malfunction with the timer kept them frozen until the mid 90's, when you supposedly followed Vader into the mansion and started playing with the machines and deactivated them by mistake. Although this was partways true, he had designed this chamber during his time in Evermore. He used the patent rights to fund the refurbishing of his home, upgrade the Evermore Generator, and pay off the sharks at the IRS who wanted taxes from three decades ago multiplied by interest. He had to patent another invention to pay off his debts.

After everything calmed down, life went on as usual, you took up two new past times. Video games, especially RPGs, and alchemy, constantly testing out new ingredient proportions trying to find new formulas. Most of the time though, they either fizzled out or blew up on you. Your probably the only guy in Podunk who has their name on a reserved coffee mug at the hospital staff who ISN'T part of the staff. Despite that, things were fairly normal from then on.

Well... At least until you met a kid named Kyle. Then things changed.

You were introduced to the multiverse through strange gatherings in the form of tournaments. You met people straight out of the games that you played and thought were just fiction. And in some cases, you found out things you never knew about them. Like how at least one Rikku in the multiverse swung the other way. If only your friend Rich Brade knew, he'd go into a long fit of jibbering, daydreams, and locking himself in his bathroom. Heheheheh....

Yeah, you've had good times, but you've had bad times too. You've survived being assaulted by virtually everyone in Valhalla, getting roasted by a firebreathing dragon-woman, and a giant maniacal gold demon dead set on choking the life out of you. You fought the king of games, robot masters, and even Santa Claus. And you've only been in two tournaments so far.

Once you got home after the second tournament, the Professor had a field day. Toying with the new magic goodies you brought, reviewing the tape you made, upgrading the P.E.R.C., and... and...

And trying to improve your skills in combat... That's it. You agreed to fight some sort of training machine, and you lost. Bad...

That thing was fierce. What the hell was she thinking sending me up against that?! What was it? 12 seconds at the most? The fight didn't last long at all. I felt my ribs snap, my legs break, the Runesword that Amethyst gave me getting batted out my hands so fast, I just tried to block with my-wait.

I don't feel it. The pain's gone...

This is bad. How come I can't feel my injuries? My whole body is numb. I can't even feel the ground beneath me. Am I on the ground? Am I on my back or stomach? Does that matter?.....

...What happened to me?!

...Am I dying or something?

"..a...n.....ou.....up?"

Am I already.... dead...?

"Jason~? Are you okay? Can you get up?"

"You healed him, right?"

...Or maybe I'm out cold....Oi!

"Yeah. I used Revive and Super Heal as soon as I got to him. And the scanner here say's he doesn't have any injuries."

Or does this count as being semiconscious?

Either way, I feel tired. Maybe I'll just....

"Urgh..."

"Hey! He moved....and he's rolling onto his side."

"Grrr! Hey, get up Jason!"

No~! Wanna rest... Sleepy~!...

"C'mon! You can't just sleep here. Wake up!"

*knock knock knock*

Ow...Quit that...

Maybe they'll give up in a bit

"I'll wake him up."

*CHOMP!*
----
"Argh!" Jason screamed, shaking his leg to force off the teeth of Vader. "What was that for?!"

"'Cause your lazy ass needs to get up!" The canine shot back.

Last edited by Curley W on 04-15-2003 at 02:39 AM

IP: Logged

Curley W is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Curley W Click here to Send Curley W a Private Message Find more posts by Curley W Add Curley W to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Curley W Posted: 04-15-2003 , 02:38 AM

Basic Lurker

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

"You were out for almost two hours, and something's going on in the real world. Elizabeth said you were alright so there's no reason for us not to head out."

"Something outside?... Okay." The fanboy shrugged, shaking off the last bits of sleepiness. He was about to leave, when he stopped, remembering the third person in the room. "Hey wait."

He turned to the lady that had healed him. A young woman with glasses and blonde hair done in pig-tails. She wore simple blue jeans with a tan bouse coverd by a labcoat. This woman was the granddaughter of Professor Ruffleberg, Elizabeth. After spending thirty years as a child, she had finally grown up into a young woman. She was physically two years younger than Jason, but was three week's away from her fourty-eighth birthday. She still wore glasses, and her pig-tails went down past her shoulder now. Being one of the few people who knew of Evermore, she studied computer programming to help make the upgrades to the original Evermore's program and systems. The Main Evermore Generator was given a complete overhaul without eradicating the people or places originally made by the articial reality thank's to her. "Fire Eyes?"

But right now, Jason had a bone to pick with her.

"Yes?" Elizabeth responded.

"What the hell was with your training bot?! It almost killed me!"

"Uh! Um, well." The young lady stuttered, taken by surprise by Jason's outburst.

"I thought you made different difficulty settings for me."

"Well that's the thing, really." She started, nervous about admitting her screw-up. Jason was clearly mad about being nearly killed by her machine. "See, I was programming new settings for it last night, and when I went to bed, I left it on the last one I made."

"Which was?" Jason growled.

"Well I was working my way up on the difficulty levels, so-"

"Elizabeth." Jason cut in, his voice straining in an attempt to remain calm. He looked directly into her eyes, forcing a smile with his left eyebrow twitching. "What. Was. The setting?"

"Uh... I think it was 'Dear-God-It's-Coming-Toward-Us' mode?"

"GhhK!" Jason grunted, not at all pleased to hear what he was up against. His arms began to tremble as he gnashed his teeth tighter.

"N-now calm down Jason. It's alright." The Pig-tailed girl pleaded. "I healed you, so everythings okay okay, right?"

"Just.... forget it..." The alchemist groaned, regaining his composure. The woman known by some as Fire Eyes sighed, releived she didn't have to use her Heat Wave technique on the young man. "I should go see what the Professor wants. Do you know what's up, Liz?"

"Grampa wasn't clear on the subject, but I think it involves those tournaments things that pop up."

"Another invention?"

"I don't think so." Elizabeth replied. "He said something had entered the mansion and is just sitting outside the Generator room."

"Hmm." Jason mumbled. "I'll go see for myself."
----
The humming died down as the light faded from the room. Making sure transition had finished, Jason trodded down the steps of the Main Evermore Generator, followed shortly by Vader. Jason had grown rather accustomed to the transition between worlds, although the first time he was brought to Evermore, he was flailing about terrified. He was greeted by Sydney Ruffleberg, the man who built an entire living planet.

"Hello Jason." The Professor greeted. "It's just past the door. Space seems to be bending around it. This lead's me to believe it it ia a sort of portal."

"Doc, I can tell that much. I can feel it from here as well as you can." Jason remarked. Years of practicing with alchemy had hightened Jason senses for feeling energies. And with the new magic energies discovered from Jason's findings, his senses had sharpened to the point where he could see and feel various energies around him. "How long has it been here?"

"About thirty minutes. It first appeared in the middle of my lab, and has been moving very slowly towards this room since. Carltron got to close to it, and it threw him away like a rag doll."

"Yay for the portal!" Jason thought, smiling to himself. He still hadn't dropped his feud with the mechanical butler."Maybe it has a particular target in mi- Hold on." He stopped when he noticed the the 'portal' had begun to move through the doorway. It had no color or light, but everything around it, from air, to the door were slighty twisted and distorted.

"Has it been moving that fast?" The young man asked.

"No, it-Oh!" The old man's eyes widened. "I see now! It's here for you!"

"What?"

"I believe this is a type of interdimensional portal, which mean's it links two realities together. But since Evermore is a completely different type of reality, the portal couldn't travel into Evermore, nor could it find your location, since you've been in Omnitopia. It's been trying to follow your footsteps, but now that it's found you..."

"I get the picture!" Jason yelled. While the Professor was rambling about the portal, Jason had to do laps around the room to keep his distance from the dimensional menace. " Odd's are this is for another tournament, so give me my P.E.R.C. so I can get going!"

"Right!" Sydney replied. Since one artifical reality couldn't exist in another, Sydney had held onto the spacious bag while Jason had went for swordplay practice. He quickly tossed the duffel bag to Jason, who the called out to his canine ally.

"Vader! Here-"

"One step ahead of you." The dog barked, standing beside his master and friend.

"Heh. Alright..." Jason chuckled, staring at the fast approaching portal. "Let's do it!"

And the two jumped in.
_____________________________________________

And there's the second half. I swear my normal stuff during tournaments isn't this long, and it's funnier.


.......What? You were expecting something relevant? Nyuk nyuk nyuk nyuk!

IP: Logged

Curley W is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Curley W Click here to Send Curley W a Private Message Find more posts by Curley W Add Curley W to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
ShinkuuR Posted: 04-15-2003 , 03:08 PM

New College Grad! Whoo!

Registered: May 2001
Location: Savannah Ga

Rydia's Intro: Part 3 of 3...maybe 4.


“Vacation? What’s that?”

“Well, you know...vacation.” As Young Link released himself from being encased in Yoshi’s egg, It suddenly occurred to Ryo that Rydia probably has never had a vacation in her life. “You take a trip to somewhere and you spend a couple of weeks relaxing and not worrying about fighting.”

”Away from fighting...” The statement seemed like a dream to Rydia as the thought of a vacation danced around her head. In reality she would like nothing more than to get away from this place for a while, but with all the problems that were going on...

“I...I can’t do that. I have a... responsibility...” The sound of desperation was apparent in her voice, and Ryo thought she was trying to force herself to stay more than she should.

Suddenly, Rydia felt a small wind blow behind her, and when she turned around to check it out, she saw someone who she or anyone else hasn’t seen in about a year.

“You should go.”

“Kain! Where have you been? We were all worried about you.”

“I’ve been around.” The Dragoon Knight spoke in a commanding but smooth voice, reminding her of the massive strength he displayed in the battle against Zeromus. “Needed some time to reflect and become stronger. Just like you do now.”

“Yeah, but...”

“If it would make you feel any better, I’ll take your place and protect Mist in your absence. It would be as though you never left.”

“I...Thanks.” For the first time in a while, a smile appeared on Rydia’s face.

“Rydia? What’s going on?” Ryo’s voice could be heard through the phone, obviously missing the conversation between her and Kain.

“Well, I think that I’m on vacation Ryo...although I don’t know where to go.”

“That’s easy, you can stay with us!” Yuri and Robert turned towards the fellow Kyokugen fighter, shocked at the statement but agreed with it at the same time. Strangely King didn’t react to the statement at all, instead Samus released a unholy looking charge beam shot which flew directly into Young Link, knocking him clear out of the arena. Ryo’s headache started to pound some more.

“Really?” Rydia’s heart skipped a beat.

“Well sure...although we are in the U.S. right now, and I don’t know how you could....hello? Rydia?” He screamed into the phone, which was suddenly consumed with static.

“What happened, bro?”

“I don’t know Yuri. The phone just went dead...” He was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. ”There’s no way...” he wondered as he opened the door, but sure enough he saw Rydia on the porch.

“How...?” Ryo’s question was halted as Rydia put her finger on his lips. After he calmed down, she retracted her finger, quickly kissed him, and showed him the cell phone that she had.

“Take a guess.” she said as she winked at him while greeting Robert and Yuri. “Hello guys!” The three exchanged hugs and talked about random stuff for a moment until Rydia noticed that there was someone else in the room that she didn’t know. She approached King and held her hand out in a friendly gesture, not noticing that the Muay Thai fighter’s ki has steadily been increasing ever since she kissed Ryo. The Kyokugen fighters noticed, however, and Ryo was now fearing for his life.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you over there. I’m Rydia. It’s nice to meet you miss...” King stood up and smiled, trying hard to keep her anger in check.

“King.”

“King?” Rydia looked puzzled. “Why are you a king? Shouldn’t you be a queen instead?”

“Rydia! Why don’t you come and play Smash Brothers with us?” Ryo said as he pulled Rydia away from King, who was on the verge of making her ki visible with anger.

“What’s Smash Brothers??”



She never thought sleep could be so comfortable as she woke up in the guest bedroom the next morning. After spend all night with her friends playing games and enjoying the peace that she longed for, she was happier than she ever was in recent memory. She honestly did not want to leave this place, and she rolled around in the bed to reinforce this fact.

“Rydia! You up?” Yuri asked as she peeked through the room door. “It’s around 3 P.M.! Do you always sleep this late?”

“I’m sorry...I guess I just got carried away.”

“No prob. This is your vacation, remember?” Yuri said as she brought some of her clothes in and laid them on the bed beside Rydia. “It’s a rule that you have to sleep in late.”

“Oh. What’s all these clothes?”

“Well, Ryo wanted to take you out sight seeing today, so I decided that it might be good for you to dress in something...more modern.”

“...Okay. If you think that’s best...”



“What’s taking her so long? It’s 5:30 already!” Ryo moaned as he and Robert waited in the living room.

“You know women, Ryo. They can never decide on what the hell to wear, or anything else for that matter...even if they are from a different world women are always the same. Confusing.”

“Preach it, Robert!” The two laughed quite loudly then shut up quickly as Yuri walked into the room.

“What are you two so giggly about?”

“Nothin.” Her eyes scrutinized the two as she introduced Rydia to the room, wearing a tight white T-shirt and some green jeans that went quite well with her green hair.

“Um...wow.” The two said in unison.

“Do I look okay? I feel strange in these clothes. They feel too...restricting.”

“Don’t worry about that!”Ryo said as he walked up to her, still not believing how beautiful she looked. “You look great. Ready to go?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Good. Later you two.” The pair walked out of the house and onto Ryo’s motorcycle, headed towards the nearby city of Southtown.



“The pizza was very good. Thank you Ryo!” Rydia said while the two walked down the street, not taking her eyes off the cars and scenery of the city for a second. It reminded her of the Tower of Bab-li, but much more grand and full of life.

“No prob. It wasn’t as good as the pizza at the Battle Poll Tournament, but it was close enough.”

“That reminds me, I need to give Chris, Jill, and Claire a call. I’m hoping I can see them while I’m here.” She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Chris’ number.

“Hello, Claire here.”

“Hey Claire! It’s Rydia! How are you?”

“Hey girl? How are you...and WHERE are you?”

“I’m in Southtown with Ryo, and I’ll be here for a couple of weeks. I wanted to see you guys before I left though...”

“I...don’t know if that will happen I’m afraid.” Claire whispered softly to the receiver. We got a call last night that a bio-technical research plant was attacked last night by something weird. We think it’s the plant that Wesker was working in, so now we are here researching it.

“Oh...” Rydia said. “Keep us informed okay? If you need any help don’t hesitate to call.”

“Count on it. Have fun you two!” Rydia hung up the phone with a sigh as she turned to face Ryo, who was looking quite concerned.


“What’s going on Rydia?”

“Well, it seems like trouble has...HEY!” She was too busy talking to Ryo to notice the boy heading her direction, and she ran right into him. She fell on the ground quite quickly, but the boy grabbed her by the hand and picked her up.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Rydia asked the stranger.

“Never been better.” The boy said, still holding on to Rydia’s hand a couple of seconds longer before he let go and went about his way. Ryo could sense something strange about the boy, but just couldn’t place it, and he stared at the stranger for a while before tending to Rydia.

“You okay?”

“Growl.” was the response. Ryo would’ve jumped out of his seat...if he was sitting down.

“Um...what did you say?”

“I said I’m fine.” Rydia said in her normal, sweet voice. “Anyway, Claire said that Wesker’s been up to something again and they are going to investigate. They’ll be fine.”

”I must be dreaming things. I could have sworn she growled at me....”

“Hey! Let’s go there!” Rydia screamed as she pulled Ryo towards a nearby bar.

“Um...I don’t think that’s a good idea...” Ryo pleaded as he recognized the building, but it did no use as Rydia dragged the poor martial artist into the bar known as Illusion.


Sho, If you are still going to host King. Please finish this with your intro. If not, let me know.


SRK Battle Poll II:10th place - Edge
SRK Battle Poll II: 5th place - Link


One of the reasons why the '24' threads are too good...

quote:
Originally posted by Azrael-sama

Not to mention the Triple P's New Ho is going to get herself into all sorts of shit. We didn't need to see Spinless Weasel Guy stuffing a gun into his bag to know that's a trap. You have to hand it to Shin Sherri, not only would she have recognized this blatantly obvious set-up, she would have RC'ed it into about 7 different traps of her own. By the time she was done with that guy, he'd be on welfare and PREGNANT with HER kids.

IP: Logged

ShinkuuR is offline Click Here to See the Profile for ShinkuuR Click here to Send ShinkuuR a Private Message Find more posts by ShinkuuR Add ShinkuuR to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-15-2003 , 08:23 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

Just a heads-up- this is fairly long. Extremely. Er, uber-extremely! But I have it all done in NotePad, so no edits required. Here we go.

---

Prologue Secundus - His Is The Kingdom


Outside, Lesalia was blessed with solitude, if not with beauty. The afternoon was growing late, and the sun faded behind the hills that led off into Doguola Pass and what lay beyond. So it was that the majestic castle was half-lit up, and half-shrouded in the shadow. A cool night wind, slightly stronger than the usual evening breeze, washed over the plains to the south. The back wall of the castle was made of good brick, enough to stand as the invincible fortress of Zalbag Beoulve. It was lined with chrysanthemums, however, which were just now beginning to bud with the approach of spring. It was March 2nd now, and very cold, but they had already grown well.

Alma had planted them herself. When she'd returned from the convent, it was one of the first things she'd done to keep herself occupied- she missed Ovelia so sorely, and the beautiful flowers were placed in an alternating sequence of pink and white. Every day for the last two months she had walked by them, looking over their globe-shaped buds and stroking their petals. But today, she could spare no glance or touch. Where her feet had once been bare, they now clicked with her red shoes as she rushed along the aisle of flowers, the cool evening air coming out from her lips in puffs. She was at the back gate of Lesalia Castle, and in a hurry.

He...he's here, I can't believe it he's here!

No one else was there- all the Hokuten soldiers had been summoned to an assembly, and Zalbag with them. Today, her brother was the Destroyer again, for her dear Uncle Cid had broken the supposedly iron defense of Doguola Pass. Alma bit her cheek- if the stories she'd heard were all true, then he wasn't really Uncle Cid right now. The sloping Doguola Pass would be a hill of death, and "Uncle Cid" would be Sir Cidolfas Orlandu, the rancorous God of Thunder, and no one moved in Hell without hearing that name.

But even that wasn't on her mind. Though he was on the other side now, Cid would never raise a sword against the Beoulve family, and most likely, his Nanten and Zalbag's Hokuten wouldn't even clash- Alma knew enough of tactics to know a diversion when she saw one. No, right now, there was a more pressing matter she'd learned of. Even when he was cross, Zalbag couldn't hide a secret from her, and the one he'd spilled was enough to stop her heart.

She nearly tripped on her skirt, if not for the good fortune of her white holy-iron staff, and bit back a harmless but deserving curse. Tugging it up in one hand, she hurried further, and rounded the corner to the exit aisle of the castle. It was a thick wall that led to a broad staircase that in turn led out into the dark green Lesalia Fields. Already she could hear the wind rustling over them, and over that, footsteps- footsteps that could have belonged to anyone, but only truly belonged to one man.

At the little gate that would leave Lesalia behind, Alma saw a glimmer of white and blue- and a head of golden hair that only she and two other people in the entire world could have shared. It disappeared behind the opening door, but Alma pressed on. Her legs pumped more fiercely, and she clapped the pommel of her staff to the ground in a final rush that took her to the opening gate.

You stepped out of my life once- don't do it again! I won't let you!

"Wait...!" Alma's call was too quiet, and she sucked in her breath as she skidded to a halt at the doorway, her eyes darting forward instantly. "Ramza, wait!"

The young man standing there turned, and even in the shadow of the great wall, those haggard eyes shone with cherry light. Had Alma not already been breathless, he would have stolen the breath from her at a glance. He looked so grown, with a father-given frame crafted from combat. He looked so radiant, in the dark purple and blue-white Platina Armor around his body and the brilliant blue-white lance strapped to his back. He looked stronger like that- he must have chosen the path of the Lancer, the knight of the heavens. The armor he wore only added to that 'holy knight' look of his. Looking at his handsome and experienced features, Alma felt immensely proud.

And even then, with those haggard, dark eyes...he looked so tired.

Ramza's eyelids fluttered a moment, as though blinded by the sunlight that bathed his sister in. Slowly he smiled, and Alma's heart almost broke in two. "Alma..."

His voice was the same as always, but Alma trembled with pain all the same. God, why must he look like that...? She looked at him from across the threshold for a moment, as though unsure of approaching his worn and exhausted vesture- but as the wind blew again in that cold shadow, she already found she had stepped over into it- into the world he had known for over two years. Alma's hand dropped her skirt, and she thought about bringing it up, to wrap around his armored back and pull him into the embrace she'd been aching to give him for so long. Yet a glance at those eyes told her she could not do so- that it was a cold he'd known too long to give up.

"Ramza..." Her voice was a whisper, but she put as much strength into it as she could. She placed her hands together in front of her stomach, letting the holy-iron stave rest against her shoulder, and smiled weakly at him. "You were going to leave without telling me?"

Ramza bowed his head, turning- but only halfway. She saw a bright Crystal helm hanging on a thread from the back of his neck. Light, but it seemed to press down on his shoulders all the more. He wouldn't face her, but his eyelid wavered some. "I hate goodbyes..." he said, simply.

Goodbyes...no, Ramza, no...

Alma bowed her own head, her eyes squinting, then shutting, as though the greatest weariness had come over her. "You...won't be back, will you?"

Ramza shifted, and this time his back turned to her- oh, that he would show her his face for even a minute. "...Delita is alive."

That brought her head up, and fast. Alma's eyelids sprang open, only to blink twice in rapid confusion. "What?"

"Delita helped kidnap the Princess."

Ovelia! Alma suddenly grasped her staff, leaning on its sturdy frame for support. She'd known Ovelia in Orbonne, and she'd lived in fear for the other girl ever since hearing of her capture. Her joy in knowing Ovelia was alive and well was now chaff in the wind at this news. Having a loved one stolen before was bad enough, but one loved one stolen by another...?

"What...what does all this mean?" she asked, helplessly.

Ramza was silent for a second. Alma opened her mouth to speak, but his head had already turned again, facing further away, this time off into the southeast. She noticed the lance this time, and was surprised- it was a brilliant Holy Lance, long and sharp, its head forged from the horns of a Sacred Minotaur. Such a rare weapon, now her brother's. He really had grown. Small wonder he cannot face me...he must think me a child.

"I thought he joined Goltana to get back at us," Ramza said, "but...he seems to be involved more with someone else. Someone other than Delita saved the Princess from being killed for some scheme..."

"He accused his own flesh and blood! Not suitable for a Beoulve, Alma- not suitable. Follow him if you like, but meet him with these words- that he'd better trust us, or join Goltana and die like the rest!"

Zalbag's harsh words had echoed in her ears, when he'd passed her. Ramza had met with him first today, and it was enough to turn her brother into the man she did not desire to see. Alma couldn't blame him, she supposed- Dycedarg and Zalbag had always been close, being 'pure' Beoulve. Legitimate Beoulve. No surprise that Zalbag scorned Ramza for even daring to accuse Dycedarg of anything, but...

But on that bed so long ago, he promised me she'd come back. He promised us all- he promised Delita to his face- that he would get Teta back. And I have to know...it's been too long.

Alma bit her lip for the upteenth time that day, her voice trembling as she spoke again. "Is it true that Dycedarg was involved in the kidnapping?"

Ramza turned at last, his face again to her, but again her joy turned to disquiet. He straightened up, and met her eye-to-eye. "Yes. I'm sure he had his reasons," he said, trying to comfort her without the use of a smile, "but I don't know them."

Alma crushed her gloved palms together in front of her chest, a cold pang stabbing into her belly. "So, Teta...is Teta...?"

Alive...?

Ramza's head cocked a little, as though from a jolt. Alma knew even before his face turned haggard again, and his head bowed, his lips managing to open again. "Yes..."

For a moment, it was hard to feel anything. She stared at Ramza and felt the weight suddenly disappear, felt the weight of ignorance turn to the same chaff as her joy. Slowly, some peace crept into her- the same peace that seemed to gather around her vagrant brother's worn presence. Alma felt like she could look at him for all eternity and just be happy to be there with him, to be happy that Ovelia and Delita were alive- to be happy that Teta was at peace, in the light of Heaven. That one day they would all meet again, and everything would be well.

Then her face plunged into her palms, and a sharp, pained squeal signaled the most violent sobs to ever wrack her young body.

No. Teta, dead? Teta...? No...no! My God, my God...how could you do this? How could you take her from me!? Didn't you love her? Didn't you know how much she loved YOU!? Didn't you know how...how much I loved her? I loved her...Teta had all my love- I loved her more than even Heaven could offer her! I...my...why Teta? Why did you let us fail, Father? Why couldn't...I loved her...

"I...I loved her so much," Alma rasped, her voice muffled forever by her damp gloves. "My beloved friend. My beautiful friend...amica mea pretiosa, pulcherrima, cara..."

Ah...do you see, Ramza? I hate goodbyes, too.

Alma pulled her face out of her palms, the hot tears carving down her cheeks. She gasped, her chest pulsing with pain, and turned her gaze from Ramza's bent head. He stood there as he had for their entire meeting, his palms limp at his sides and his eyes sad and tired. She wondered why he wouldn't come to her, wouldn't embrace her- they could both use that right now. She felt hurt, and she felt awful that he was trying to shoulder the pain by himself. Even if it didn't hurt as much anymore...

Last edited by Renmazuo on 04-15-2003 at 08:47 PM

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-15-2003 , 08:28 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

...he's being strong. For both of us. Hah...my tears will hurt him. She sniffed, and with great difficulty wiped away the tears, wishing she had some inanimate object to strike. The tears came again, but she choked them down, rubbing her stomach as the nausea set in. I must be strong, too.

"I'm...I'm sorry," Alma managed, wiping her face. "I just...I've known for two years, I always knew it, but..."

Ramza looked up at her again, and gave her a smile. "I know. It's all right...tonight, shed your tears. It'll be better tomorrow. It will." He touched his right finger to the left corner of his mouth- something he'd always done with her when they were kids. Alma chuckled feebly, and did the same with her own. Their eyes locked briefly, and it was a world without war and death for just that one moment.

He sucked in a slow breath, standing straight again. "Alma, listen carefully. I don't know who's behind Delita, but he's dangerous- taking advantage of the war to achieve something..." Ramza paused, his eyes distant again as he searched for the word. "Something...vicious."

Alma swallowed the choking lump enough to speak. "Is Delita party to the plot?"

Ramza shook his head. "I don't know. He seemed to have his own ideas about things, though..."

Ramza changed, Delita changed, Ovelia distant, and Teta dead- it seemed as though Alma's entire life was moving away. Alma gazed at the cold brick floor, suddenly furious at this world that had betrayed her...that had hurt her brother so. "You're fighting against them? Against the conspirators...against Delita?"

He made no reply.

Not alone, you won't. Alma looked at him sharply. "I'll go with you."

Ramza's head cocked back even further this time. "Are you out of your mind? Of course not!"

Stop looking at me like that, please! I'm not a child!

"I want to prove what you're saying is true!" Alma shot back.

Ramza couldn't meet her gaze anymore. He turned and walked towards the steps, but paused before he reached them- it was just enough so that he'd be out of her reach. "No, no..."

Alma clenched her teeth, and stepped up behind him. She dropped her staff, not caring as it clattered on the ground. Whether he liked it or not, he would see this- he would know this! She grabbed a shoulder that had grown hard and strong, and tugged it repeatedly. Her voice grew hoarse at the touch, the sudden fear that it might be their last running through her.

No- Teta was taken from me. Not you, too. Please look at me...

Alma felt the heat welling up in her eyes again, and she cried at him, "I don't want to see another Teta!"

Her voice echoed through the area, and the wind blew over both of them, in a moment Alma was suddenly very embarrassed of. Her hand slid little by little from Ramza's shoulder, which had gone rigid. His arm suddenly rose, however, and Alma drew a breath in, wondering if he was going to take her hand. His fingers slipped by hers, however, and she bent her head again- still too much a little girl, she supposed.

Ramza's hand, however, came to rest on the head of his lance, and he tucked it in, turning towards her ever so slowly. She felt his gloved hand brush over her cheek as he did, and was only then aware of what he'd done. She winced only a little at the touch of his cold fingers on her hot cheek, but it faded when he placed his eyes on her again. There was a tenderness in them she'd missed seeing- or perhaps that she'd never seen before. Always she'd thought of Ramza as being so close- so very, very close- but he'd never gazed at her the way he was doing now.

Let me help you, she wanted her eyes to say. You're hurt, brother...you're weary. Let me help carry that burden.

His eyes softened a little, his fingers releasing the long aquamarine lanceblade. Ever so gently, Ramza's hand began to fall, unwavering but slow. Alma's were trembling, shaking as she clasped them in front of her chest, her honey-blonde locks breezing over her eyes. She brushed them out of the way, and glove met glove as her fingers grazed his. Again their eyes met, and again the pain intensified and vanished.

Ramza's expression was warm, regretful. "Alma..."

Alma...what? Alma, I can't take you? Alma, you'd just get in my way? Alma, look at me, look how much pain I'm in, would I ever wish that pain on you? Ramza, don't do this to me...

Alma tried a smile, and gave him a reassuring shake of her head- but it was too weak to last. Her face fell into a gentle vesture of her own, and the distance between them was both too short and too far. What could she say to a face like that? He was in pain, and if she allowed him to leave again, there was no telling if he would ever heal...

"Ramza Beoulve, aren't you?"

That voice, over a wind so cold...

Brother and sister turned their heads out to the fields before them, to the small trees that hung over the plains. Alma's eyes locked onto the source of a voice- a man. An old, wrinkled man in the flowing white robe of a priest- with a green tabard over it that was dreadfully familiar to Alma- was standing only some thirty feet from them, on the ground. He trudged on a white rod, looking exhausted and sweaty.

But the three red-caped knights and the blue-armored monks beside him did not look in the least bit fatigued.

Ramza at once stiffened, and turned to face them full-on. Alma turned as well, her hand immediately going to her staff, starting to tremble even as the old man uttered the words she had hoped not to hear.

"I'm Zalmo Lusnada, Heresy Examiner!" he said coolly, but the contempt on his face was something he couldn't polish. "I order you to appear at a hearing on suspicion of murder and heresy! You will follow us." Zalmo Lusnada pointed his rod towards them, his eyes growing dark and the lips of the knights blossoming into grins. "Any resistance will force us to...execute you immediately."

...what in the name of God? Zalmo Lusnada, after Ramza...?

Alma swallowed tightly, stories of the pitiless examiner who damned 'heathens' in this life and the next flooding into her. She saw that the two female monks had stepped forward, their fists coming up; the knights had done the same, sliding their huge coral-bladed swords out of their scabbards enough for a menacing glint to show. The looks on their young but hardened faces told Alma they had no intention of letting those blades go unused, and she at once thought to call for Zalbag- and stopped, horror starting to set in. Zalbag was in the assembly. As were all of the knights. She and Ramza were alone...

"Heresy examiner?" Ramza repeated, looking at Zalmo as though he were juggling chickens. "What are you ta-"

Alma grabbed his shoulders, suddenly pushing him back. "No! Run! Brother, run! Please! Don't let him take you!"

Ramza braced himself, and would not move. "Alma, stop! Who is this man? What's the meaning of thi-"

"Run!" Alma shouted, still pushing against him. No matter how strong Ramza had become, he wouldn't escape such incredible odds. Not Zalmo Lusnada, the Holy Priest- chosen among the Glabados Council for his incredible powers of White Magic, of "White-Aid", the skill that used the very powers of the spirits of heaven by a contract with God Himself. But Alma knew that contract was with no benevolent deity, and the knights and monks of his order valued him as their God. Against such men, a single lancer couldn't hope to win...

"My powers as a Cleric and my white magic- I can stay their hands long enough for you to escape," Alma said, her voice hushed. "Please, run! Don't let him take you! Don't let him take you from me-"

"I won't let you!" Zalmo's voice snapped from below. "Get him! Kill the 'heretic'!"

Alma shot the holy priest- her 'superior'- a shocked look. "NO! Don't, please-"

A hand of iron gently clasped her own, and Alma looked back. Ramza moved her hand from his chest, his gaze focused and his purpose clear. "Stand aside, Alma. You run- I'll deal with this."

"Oh, you deluded fool! No matter how great your skill, one lance won't fell those blessed by Ajora!" Zalmo was approaching rapidly, his sweat-stained brow now raised dubiously. He smiled at them, and signaled with his staff. "Sir Alberto, Sir Valentine- remove the young master Beoulve of his weapons. The rest of you make sure the girl doesn't escape, either! God has no forgiveness for those who aid sinners-"

"Wiznaibus!"

A shape fluttered before Alma, upon the banister of the stone platform they stood on. Her eyes could barely follow what was happening, but she felt something like ghostly fingers brushing over her face, and her eyelids fluttered. In that moment, as movement around the entire gate stopped, Alma entered a sense of tunnel vision, and she clasped her hand to her temple to hold back her fluttering locks. A living storm, dancing before her-

Dancing...a Dancer?

There was a pounding her ears, like the beating of a drum. As Alma watched the blur that was the dancer before her, catching glimpses of creamy flesh and vibrant veils, she remained entranced, so much that she didn't even notice Ramza step in front of her again. As the thudding in her ears matched the fast, winding motions of the dancer's body, Alma heard another sound rise above it- whistling. She gasped, seeing two knives suddenly pop into the dancer's hands-

-and then heard the shouts of pain from Zalmo and his fighters.

"Agh! D-damn...Mage Mashers!" Zalmo cried, raising his staff. "Gnngh! Per usum meum, dira te rectis volutare!"

Alma gasped again as Zalmo's incantation echoed through the field, domes of light popping over him and his men. A protection spell, like mine! But the priest was not fast enough- the knives whipped forward past the barriers, and Alma heard one of the knights scream in pain. She looked down, and saw a small bronze dagger pinned to his left side. The other two knights sported cuts on their shoulder armor, close to the armpit, and the two female monks had taken point before Zalmo, absorbing the brunt of the assault. Yet she saw that a knife had stricken even him, and he clasped his collar with a bleeding hand. "Bl...bloody hell!"

The wind stopped, and a veil settled across her cheek. Alma looked up in awe- and had her breath taken away again. Before her and Ramza, there stood a beautiful, beautiful young woman garbed in the leather gown of a dancer. Her back was to them, but Alma saw the educated curves of her bare hips and the toned muscles of her arms- arms attached to hands that clutched two curved air knives. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, sleek, a vibrant red. The veils that wrapped around her figure wisped as she turned, her exotic, striking face settling on both of them.

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-15-2003 , 08:32 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

She stepped down, smiling shyly to Alma before turning her attention to Ramza. "Are you hurt?"

Ramza half-smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. "Took you long enough, Charene."

Charene pointed the dagger at him and winked over it. "A heroine always shows up at the last minute, mm?"

"And Lesalia has good bread- couldn't very well pass it up."

The muffled voice brought Alma's already stunned eyes to look behind her, and then her panic faded. Two men stood there by the gate, one clad in a miner's overalls and a shirt the color of his own ponytailed blond hair. He tapped a strange-looking weapon, like a shaft combined with a crossbow trigger, against his forehead, wearing a determined but reassuring smile. The other, an older man (he looked like he was in his late twenties) with short and wild black hair and a scar running the length of his forehead, chewed a piece of flaky Lesalian honey-crust, his own vesture clad in figure-fitting gray diamond armor- and dual katana that hung at his side.

"Mustadio, Deruta!" Ramza turned halfway to them, his eyes alight as he drew his lance. "Oh, am I glad to see you guys..."

The samurai, Deruta, sucked his fingers as he finished off the rest of his bread. "Huh! Someone was a little anxious to leave the, ah, palatial dwellings, eh? Took a while to find ya. Here you go." He reached over his back, and slid out something- a brilliant blue-white Diamond Shield. He winked and tossed it to Ramza, who caught it, and then turned his gaze onto the field. "Sheeeyat, you up and pissed off another fat old guy, Ramza?" He glanced down to the shocked Zalmo, and flashed a grin that made Alma cold. "What's the matter, pops? He didn't bend over and play the Choirboy for you?"

No one ever spoke that way to Zalmo Lusnada, and coming from a samurai- a foreigner- Alma could only imagine the magnitude of the insult. He flustered and gripped his staff, waving again at his men. "Go, it doesn't matter! There's only five- kill them all! Kill the heretics!"

"Heh, it's like Goug all over again, eh?" Mustadio said to Ramza. The two of them shared a grin that Alma didn't quite get, and then Mustadio gave his weapon a quick cock. "All right! Charene, I'll cover you!"

"Right." The elegant dancer plucked her knives again, and rushed off to the right in a blur that rustled Alma's small green mantle. She watched the dancer hop onto the banister again and onto the brick mound in the corner of the wall and staircase, and then Mustadio rushed to the same banister and took aim over its rim.

Deruta chuckled behind her, his footsteps rushing to the opposing staircase, where one of the knights was starting to come around. Down on the field, a female monk followed him, and her counterpart rushed over to Zalmo, taking a defensive stance to guard the Holy Priest. And that left the two knights, who were advancing on the mysterious Charene and Mustadio.

Ramza stepped up beside Alma. She turned, and saw him reach over his neck to grasp the cord around it. He looked to her with a grim nod, his face there for all of a moment- and then disappearing inside the light blue, horned crystal helm of the Dragoons. His eyes stared down at Zalmo as he drew the Holy Lance up, and moved forward, stepping up to the banister of the staircase in a ready combat position.

They're...they're going to fight?

"Zalmo Lusnada!" Ramza said, his voice reverberating behind the holy armor he wore. "Mark my words! Your life was in danger when you threatened me, but for threatening my sister, I have no forgiveness for you! None at all!! Prepare for death, you coward!"

Zalmo glared back at him. "Opposing us is the same as blasphemy! It's not too late! Repent! And your life will be saved!"

"Why am I a heretic? I haven't done anything!" Ramza said.

"Don't be coy! You killed Draclau and took the Holy Stone to give it to a demon!"

"That's a false charge!" Ramza's lance quivered in his grip, his anger like a balefire before Alma. "It was an evil stone, with 'vicious' power, not like the legend- further, the Cardinal became the legendary Lucavi with its evil power!"

The day had been full of shocks, but none of them had that cold of an edge to them. Alma felt the cold in the pit of her stomach grow, and grow, until it encompassed all of her vital organs in an icy field. Lucavi- the Devils. She had read of them in her scriptures, in her magic books, and remembered flipping the pages in trembling little hands. Paintings of demons that still haunted her nightmares, of saints doing battle with them with fingers pressed to their own lips- to 'speak no evil' as they combated the grand marquises of Hell. There was the Warlock, and the Tainted King- the Ghost of Fury, the Regulator, the Serpentarius, and the Angel of Death. An Unholy Six, an antithesis to the Apostles of Saint Ajora.

And above them all, the Bloody Angel.

King of Kings, the true darkness of Lucavi, He that is set free by truth...Altima...

Lucavi existed. That was who her brother faced.

Alma felt her fingers tighten around her staff at those words. As the sounds of combat rang over the field, she fixed her eyes on Zalmo, sucking in a sharp breath. Ramza was no disgrace, to do what he couldn't. To combat the Lucavi themselves, and walk away- to burden himself when all others were too weak to carry it- to raise a weapon when all the world was too mad to care- to cherish when almost everyone else had forgotten how to...

"Brother! Run! Hurry!" she shouted at him, feeling a cold rush in her stomach. "Those he takes never return! Don't fight him! Run, please! Hurry!"

Ramza did not show even the slightest distraction, but he cast a quick glance over his shoulder at her. "You should run, Alma! Or you, too, will be branded a 'heretic'! You hurry- you run!"

"I...I can't leave you alone here..." Alma muttered back, her voice going from a shout to a pitiful murmur. What can I do? What can I do...?

Zalmo was utterly agape from Ramza's words. "You dare to hurt him too? Oh, for shame!" he cried. "You are a disgrace to the Beoulve name!"

"Go see him if you choose. But know this- I've never been more ashamed to be his brother! Bad blood...how could he ever be a Beoulve?"

The words were so like Zalbag's so as to infuriate her. Ramza had done so much- so much- so that fools like Zalmo could live their daily lives. Alma felt prouder every time someone called her brother a disgrace, because if he was a disgrace, then so was she. Dycedarg and Zalbag could only half-understand her, and no one else was in her life long enough to remain unscathed by the real world, but Ramza...

Ramza and I are of one flesh, one blood. And...and, even if it costs me my life, I won't let anyone slander his name!

"And you're a disgrace to the clergy!" Alma shouted at the priest. "You, who've permitted the Lucavi to go around for this long...you, who deceived the world with the LIE about the Zodiac Braves! You knew all along, didn't you?! You knew! You knew!"

"Become a fine knight, Ramza." Father's last words, my brother...I bear testament to them. You are a fine knight, Ramza. The finest of all. I'm so sorry...I had no idea.

Alma turned to Ramza, and raised her staff as a hot blush of fury swelled in her cheeks. "Brother Ramza! Per animam meam, adsumate signo tuto uto care, fratrem pretiosum! Magic Barrier!"

Her muscles tightened and she let loose the holiest skill in her arsenal. Power went out of Alma, and with all her concentration she channeled it upon the one that deserved it. Bubbles of light formed in the air, and wreathed around the aquamarine armor Ramza wore. They sank into his body, and he went rigid as the knowledge of five different spells was placed upon him. A shell from magic and a protective physical barrier pressed over his body, his body's healing upped, his speed increased, and the very soul within him was granted the power of self-revival.

Ramza's muscles flexed beneath the armor as he brought up his Holy Lance, gathering power, and he looked to Alma sharply. "Stay behind us! Mustadio, make sure no one touches her!"

"They'll have to take my ponytail before they touch her!" Mustadio said, and squeezed the trigger of his weapon. A sudden cough of fire rang out, the cry of a wounded knight following it, and Mustadio started reloading his weapon. Alma took in her healing staff, moving about to regain the magic power she'd lost- she had to be ready to heal. This would not be a fight Ramza and his friends would fight alone...

Her eyes wandered the battlefield. To the right, Charene had reached one of the knights. He charged her, his blade raised in one hand and his shield in the other. "Armor Break!" he shouted, and pressed his shield forward to shove before striking- and missed by a mile as the dancer's elegant figure turned it aside. Bracelets jingled as her hands simply slapped the blade aside, her look a coy one as she stepped in. Her hip brushed the knight's, and he paused, a flash of red crossing his face-

-and then he fell back, crying out in pain as Mustadio shot him in the shoulder. Alma winced as the knight toppled down from the steps, and the one behind him, incensed at the attack on his fellow knight. He came at Charene with a much faster dash than the first opponent, and he brought his sword down to clash against her suddenly crossed knives. Charene smiled charmingly, at first seeming to match the man's strength, but one of her knees started to buckle. She bit her lip, and gave a hard shove against the knight, causing him to stumble back. He grunted, and only came at her again, once more meeting the crossed knives- and then moving his shield in to roughly club Charene's belly.

"Unnh!" Charene went back a pace, but swept in her leg for a kick at the knight's knee. There was a wet crack there, and the knight gasped in pain, going down on one leg. He glared into the dancer's face, and drew back his sword for another hammering cut that Charene came up to block-

"Weapon Break!"

Alma gaped as the sword shattered the much stronger air knife in two, and blunted the rest of the edge. Charene gasped, immediately dropping her broken dagger and swaying back, the tip of the knight's sword grazing her flat stomach. Again she kicked him, this time in the side, and brought her other knife up and stabbed it into the elbow of his sword arm. His eyes went wide with pain again, but she shut his jaw with her free fist before he could scream, and he toppled back onto his rising comrade.

Batting them both away, even after one knife has broken- Ramza keeps talented company...

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-15-2003 , 08:37 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

Alma heard the clang of steel on steel at the other end. Turning to the staircase, she saw Deruta had drawn one of his katana, and clashed it against the shield of the oncoming knight. The deadly single-edged foreign blade seemed to perturb the knight, whose golden shield wavered against it. He seemed to shake it off, and brought his sword up in his other arm for an overhead cut. Deruta's head twitched in an odd movement, and his body swayed to one side, the Coral sword cutting the air only inches from his shoulder. The samurai rocked back on his feet, then pushed the knight's shield and pivoted. Deruta's sword flashed as he faced the knight again, and both men charged each other-

"Zaiten Kenki Ryu, Kokoro Kiri Ken!"

-and in one glittering movement, Deruta lunged low and forward, brought his katana down, and cleaved through shield, flesh, and bone.

"Aah! AAH!" the knight screamed, looking in horror at his half-hewn forearm. Alma felt a cold nausea settle over her as the dark blood ran over his arm, and briefly she considered running over, touching the imbued amethyst of her staff to the wound. But Deruta...there was something about the way he was moving, something about the way he grinned as ebony locks hid his eyes under shadow, that kept her from moving at all.

So this is what it's like, to see war...?

Deruta came back up to an erect stance, flicking blood from his blade. "Hmm...the Nagasone Koutetsu cuts well. I must thank the good Marquis!"

Marquis? Marquis Elmdor?

The knight gaped at him in horrible recognition. "Y...you! The War Dog of Limberry!"

Deruta laughed. "Is that what they call me now? This from the country that once called me Deruta Idaten. You know what that means? 'Swift heavenly warrior.'" His slightly crazed look fastened itself into a grin, and he slowly drew his other katana from its midnight blue sheath- Alma noticed the handguard was made with relief depicting wisps of wind. Deruta sheathed his Koutetsu into its black sheath, and gave his more brilliant katana a swipe in the air. "And this is the blade that earned me that name. Come on, baby boy, it's been a long time since I had single combat on the battlefield- hit me with your strongest attack!"

"Hngh, heh...gladly!" The knight bit back the pain, masking it with a nervous smile. He tucked in his wounded arm and positioned his blade at eye level, sniping down it for a brief moment. Then his figure seemed to move forward a step without lifting a leg, his motion a light blur, and he stabbed his sword forward at Deruta's chest-

-and it came to a quivering halt inches from the samurai's face, the blade's edge held firmly in his free fingers.

He grasped the blade? Incredible...

The knight was equally amazed. "What th-"

"Clever. A stab at the face- good for distraction. And your charge was short but strong." Deruta's hand didn't even waver, and Alma wondered if he'd so much as blinked when the sword headed his way. "You're skilled, for a knight of the cross...but hey, I was a monk once, you know."

In less time than it took Alma to blink, he stomped his right leg in, still grasping the sword- then turned, his eyes murderous as he hooked his sword arm in, but not in a slash. Rather, his knuckles turned white as they gripped his blade, and he punched it in. His middle knuckles slammed into the knight's armpit, under his wounded left arm, and the knight stiffened- and suddenly Deruta's fist was there entirely, a good "hmm!" sound accompanying the tremor that went through the air. The knight's eyes widened, staring straight at Alma with shock and pain.

Then he vomited blood, stumbling until he slumped against the wall beside the top step. "Uu...uungh...what'd you...?"

"Don't ask; you'll shit yourself if you find out how bad I just messed up your insides," Deruta said, kissing the blade of Heaven's Cloud. "Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you've got five minutes to live before that untimely instant where your heart suddenly explodes." He laughed. "Nah, I'm kiddin'- it'll just stop. Won't even hurt. So, try me again- I dare ya! Drag me to hell with you!"

Is this...is this the power of a knight of Limberry? The power of an Aegis Knight?

A flutter behind him, on the banister. Alma recognized it, and screamed, "Deruta, behind!"

He went rigid, and turned- just in time to catch the rock thrown at his head in his free hand. He growled, squeezing it until it cracked, and whirled to face the blue-suited monk behind him. Her glare was just as fierce, and she powered her hands together, forming an odd stance similar to boxing. "Try those fists on someone who knows how to use them, you Nipan bastard!"

Deruta snorted. "Sheez, a knight saved by a catfighter," he said, looking to the knight out of the corner of his eye. "They'll make you into a eunuch long after you're wormfood, buddy!" He looked back to the woman and smirked, throwing down the rock. "I'll kill your ass dead-"

The knight rose up again, hate boiling into his eyes. Before Alma could scream a warning, he lunged in with his sword for another one-handed stab at the back. "Die, you dog!"

Katana swooped back to meet knight sword, Deruta's block bringing the dying opponent to his knees again. The scarred samurai growled, but the monk was upon him again from the other side, stepping down and sending her fist forward in the exact same blow Deruta had given the knight. Immediately his free hand went to the Koutetsu, but with its position, he would never be able to block in time. Deruta growled, pushing his shoulder forward even as the woman screamed his death-

doom of a planet

-and then a cone of red light burst from the ground below her, and sent her a whole eight feet into the air.

Alma gaped at the spectacle, watching the monk's broken body flail in the air as red energy crushed the outside of her armor. Her eyes were wide but already blank, blood streaming from her red lips even as she crashed back to the brick banister. Her head struck it hard and the rest of her body came to a limp stop below her, those blank eyes becoming bloodshot. Alma clasped a palm over her mouth, her stomach feeling ill. She'd died before she hit the ground...

The knight watched the monk's still form, utterly agape. "Daisy...oh, God, the Crush Punch!"

Deruta spun and angrily shut the knight's jaw with a mean right hook, sending his body back against the wall. He glared over at something behind Alma, and chuckled. "Now where the hell were you, slowpoke?"

Alma turned quickly, her eyes going wide to find a beautiful diamond sword hovering mere inches from her cheek. She gasped and stepped back, but realized she needed not fear; it was totally unwavering. It was clutched in a well-armored but delicate hand attached to an equally delicate arm, and that too to a hard, thin body in silver-plated armor and blue tunic around a waist. Almost epicene in appearance, but the golden hair and pink lips gave away a female gender. And it was a beautiful face that stared past Alma- great and terrible...

"Oh, God!"

A knight's cry rang out over the battlefield. All motion stopped, and Alma saw one of the knights battling Charene staring at them- at the swordswoman that had just appeared. "A-Agrias Oaks! It's...it's the Hokuten Morningstar!"

Hokuten...Morningstar?

"I suppose that's what to expect from peacetime knights," Agrias said, cutting into Alma's thoughts. Her eyes glittered in the polished steel of her sword, still crackling with ghostly lightning. She clutched it in both hands, and quickly ran down the stairs. "I go to Ramza! Guard Alma well, Deruta!"

"Tch!" Deruta shook his head, casting a dubious glance in Alma's direction. Alma felt embarrassed then- to have been standing there, doing nothing while everyone else put their lives on the line- to be standing still in the middle of a battle! As the awe-inspiring Holy Knight charged into the field, Alma brought in her staff, trying direly to charge up the rest of her power. She had to do something to help Ramza...

"I need some help!"

Someone seemed to want to test her. Alma's head shot to the side over the crack of another bullet from Mustadio- and there, she saw Charene cornered by both knights. With only one dagger to defend herself, she was doing rather poorly, and Alma was alarmed to see a ragged cut running over one of her finely sculpted legs. Charene clutched her dagger now, her teeth gritting as she locked it against one of the knight's blades. The other knight still lay on the ground, and had backed against one of the far birch trees, agape as Agrias Oaks pointed her dread sword at him.

Charene had been the one to cry, and Alma would answer. She pushed herself to move, and rushed over to the far balustrade, not even bothering to pick up her skirt. She hopped up onto it, wobbling a little. "Whoa! Ahh...Charene!" Alma lifted up her staff and tentatively lined it up with the knight's face, and taking a deep breath, she leaned forward, and quickly rammed the butt of it at his head. It caught him just under the rim of his helmet, bashing him in the eye with just enough force to make him yelp. That was all Charene needed, and she threw forward her free palm to slam roughly against the man's neck. He coughed, and again stumbled back, rolling down the boxes.

Alma panted, already feeling adrenaline racing through her. She'd experienced some fights before, but not against armed opponents...and she'd never actually hit someone before. She was glad for her staff's security, in that its holy aura guaranteed it would never kill.

But is there such a thing as a weapon that can't hurt?

"Aah..." Charene gasped, going down on her right leg. The dancer was sweating and flushed with pain, blood streaming down her shin. Alma winced sympathetically- they were fighting for her brother and for her, and getting hurt...

"Don't move, stay there!" Alma said, stepping down from the banister and onto one of the stone slopes by Charene. She braced herself with her staff, and then pointed it to Charene's leg, the holy amethyst set within beginning to sparkle. Alma sucked up all her strength, and pushed it forward. "Ventus benignus vitae, desuper sanas!" she said, her voice resounding throughout the plains. "Come prayer! Cure!"

Wisps of light, blue and moist, wrapped around Charene's leg. The iridescent strands wove together over her wound, and the torn flesh closed up in mere nanoseconds. Charene gasped in relief, leaning back against the wall to stand herself up. Alma smiled in satisfaction, quickly walking over to her. "Close call! Are you all ri-"

O...oh, no...

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-15-2003 , 08:42 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

Alma didn't notice it at first. The shock from realizing it had actually happened froze any of her body's reactions- all, except for the process it most feared. Fleetingly, she turned her eyes down, and saw the tip of a seashell-textured blade poking just above her left hip. She swallowed, tasting something funny in her mouth- she'd never had a nosebleed in her life, but she imagined this was what it would feel like. A look at Charene's wide-eyed face confirmed her growing horror, and Alma opened her lips slightly, managing a small, choking "oh..."

Did you...feel this, Teta? Is this what it was like? Is this...

The cold blade slid out of her, and Alma dropped her stave, falling to her knees. "Ra..." she rasped, her fingers finding the source of the growing pain. "Ra...Ramza..." have to help him have to help

The pain caused her to fall at last, and she fell forward and then to her back upon the steps, clutching the pain. Alma's quivering eyelids tried to stay open, her pupils turning down. The knight she'd stricken was there, his eye swollen and blue, and the tip of his sword dripping blood. Her blood. Yet his youthful face was locked there in a quiet daze, unknowing and uncertain. Alma weakly fumbled for her stave, but half the world was dark under her blond hair, askew about her face. And the other half was growing dim as well, even though that eye was uncovered, bright...

"Al-Alma!" Charene was there in the next instant. Alma realized how light, how small she felt when the dancer's arms pulled her in, and up the slope. It hurt, it hurt more than all the cat scratches and scraped knees she'd had in her entire life, more than the sprained wrist from when the thieves had tried to kidnap her- hurt almost as much as the sobs that had choked her when Teta's death had become apparent. But, strangely, it wasn't enough to make her cry out in pain. Not even a whimper escaped her lips.

have to help him magic barrier wish deathspell cure anything

"Valentine! What in God's name are you waiting for! Finish her off!"

The knight's comrade was rushing at them again, shouting at his comrade. The knight before her- Valentine, that was his name- regained himself, snapping out of his trance. He took a breath, stepping forward with his sword raised. "C-come on! Surrender, please! I-if you resist further, I'll have to kill you!"

Alma saw Charene's arm hook around her, and held in it was the air knife- it looked much more lethal at close range. "Unless you're stronger than Agrias Oaks," the dancer said, "it's you who's going to die."

Valentine hesitated. The other knight shouted at him again- and then the ground gave way beneath him. He gave a shout as a bristling, white effigy of a sword, surging with lightning, erupted from the grass, spearing into his stomach. He doubled over and writhed on the ground, yelling curses to the sky as the white lightning washed over him.

Sword Magic...Agrias?

Valentine cast a look behind him, utterly agape. "D-damn! Alberto!" He turned back to the fallen knight-

-and then raised his shield, a bullet ricocheting off its polished surface.

"Damn it!" Mustadio shouted, already reloading his weapon. Valentine, however, looked incensed enough to appear red. He whirled again on Alma and Charene, hefting up his Coral Sword quickly and bringing it down with a scream. "You'll not trick me again! God have mercy!"

Metal plunged into flesh, and blood spattered her cheeks.

"Oh...oh, Lord, no," she croaked.

The knight's eyes had gone wide again, but this time, they were components to anguish instead of anger. His arm had stopped short in mid-swing, the sword quivering in his slackening grip. In a grisly mirror to her own injury, Alma saw a bright blue lance jutting out of the knight's right breast. The base was now coated in blood, yet the spearhead itself dispelled the scarlet dew, glowing and beautiful. Valentine jerked as the huge lance twisted around in his punctured armor, and blood began to rain from his cracked lips. His body jostled as the weapon was finally pulled out, and he slumped onto his knees.

Ramza stood behind him, his legs bent as though descending from a jump. In looking at him, Alma knew what hatred looked like.

"No one," Ramza said lowly, "not even a pawn, lays a hand on my sister. Now I'm going to kill you, you bloody bastard!"

He grabbed the dying knight by the back of his armor and threw him down the slopes, his eyes coursing with angry light. He kicked the knight, the sharp tip of his boot connecting with the eye Alma had stricken. Valentine fell upon the grass, and Ramza swept in the butt of his lance and rammed it into Valentine's jaw. Alma heard a crack. The knight rolled back, and further still as Ramza stomped and kicked him, each blow landing with wet crunches. At last, Valentine stopped rolling, slumping against a birch tree as his swollen lips parted in wordless pleas.

"N...no," Alma croaked, the sharp pains starting to set in. "Ple-please don't...do this..."

to yourself...

Ramza set down his shield, then violently reached down and wrenched off the knight's helmet. Valentine's blonde hair spilled out, his bangs falling over a face of dirt, sweat, and blood. Ramza lifted the helmet and brought it down on the crown of Valentine's head, and the gold seemed to dent when it crunched against the knight's skull. Valentine gave a hoarse, inaudible scream- almost like Alma's own breathless pleas. Ramza did not hear either, and he grabbed the knight by his hair, wrenching him up to his wobbly knees. Steadying Valentine's back to the trunk of the birch, he slammed the knight's head against the wood. Alma could hear him seething inside his glittering blue helmet.

A cerulean avenger and the judged- an angel and the devil he was going to cast out of heaven. A brother about to shed blood in his sister’s name...

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-15-2003 , 08:46 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

A tender hand cupped her cheek. Alma winced at the touch, but her body eased as it pulled her against something warm and soft. Her eyes glanced up, and found the heavy, dark gaze of Charene staring down at her. The dancer's eyes were moist, her smile weak and wavering. Gently she pressed her hand over Alma's wound. The cleric jerked in her grip, but Charene's touch was gentle, tentative.

"It's okay, it's okay," Charene whispered. "Your life is not in danger..."

Alma clutched her staff weakly, struggling to rise. "Please...please, don't let my bro...brother..."

"I know...I know, Alma." Charene shut her eyes over the sound of another sharp kick. "But he...he does it only because he loves you..."

That was what Alma dreaded hearing. She sucked in a deep breath, and reached up, urgently grabbing Charene's arm. The dancer went still, her eyes shocked at the strength behind Alma's little fingers. The youngest Beoulve pulled herself up somewhat, her lips parting again. "...Char...Charene?"

Charene nodded, quickly. "Yes, Alma?"

"If you...love someone," Alma gasped, "enough to protect them...you should love them enough...to find...to find a wa..." She could hold on to consciousness no more, her eyelids feeling heavy. Off to the side she could hear the shout of "Zaiten Kenki Ryu, Usuyuki!" and the scream of a dying knight. Then she heard Agrias give a great yell to Ramza, over the sound of her sword plunging into Alberto's body. Zalmo cursed Ramza over and over again, but went quiet after a shot from Mustadio.

And then, at last, there was the sound of a lance being driven through a skull.

Alma knew all of these things, yet could not rise to meet them. She fell back against Charene, gripping her staff in loose fingers. As Charene rubbed the wound and focused some sort of healing energy into it, Alma grew drowsier, sleepier. The dancer hummed, her body vibrating with power. It felt like that warm August day, just a few years ago.

Her wound healing, Alma thought she muttered things back and forth. It was a blur now, time passing by as though she were locked in a dream. She saw Charene talking above her to Mustadio's worried face at one point, then saw Deruta and Agrias there, standing off to the side, and holding one of the female monks, bound and gagged. All of them looked so worried...and then Ramza, his face streaked with tears and sweat- and blood. Blood that was not his.

"Alma," he said, cutting into her blurry vision with a strained voice, "I'm glad you're all right. I'm sorry I didn't get there in time..."

Alma smiled at him hazily, feeling a little better as the blur passed. "You will next time...and I won't get hurt again. You'll never have to kill again, brother..."

But in Ramza's feeble chuckle, Alma knew she had already failed.


---


"It's only because he loves you so much."

Charene told me that, on that dreary afternoon. Ramza told me what happened afterwards; they chased off Zalmo and killed all but one of his soldiers. Her name was Scarlet- she joined them afterwards. Ramza and I talked when I was feeling better, and I told him about the Virgo stone Simon had shown me while I was at Orbonne. It was a little funny, how I had to bait Ramza to take me along, and when he finally accepted, he looked so mad. Hee, it was just like when we were kids- he always came up with the best ideas for what we should play, and I dreamed of making those adventures come true.

That day, the dream came to life...and I saw people whom I wanted to live, die, and I was hurt. Ramza lost himself for that night because of me. Charene asked me not to look at Valentine, the knight he'd killed- I guess that was the right thing to do. She is a good woman, a brave fighter; knowing that she is out there now, with Ramza, makes me content.

But even she couldn't protect me from what I saw in Riovanes.

The first person who ever died in front of me was Father. He spoiled me to the very end- he died in a fine way, surrounded by his family, loved on all sides...all except one side, anyway. But he died old, and happy, and loved, and at peace, and full of memories. Balbanes Beoulve is in Heaven now. Of that I have no doubt. Seeing him die that way...I guess I wanted everyone to die like that. I didn't want them to die like...like Teta. No one should be killed. No one should die violently. No one should die before their time has come. No one should die alone.

Maybe...maybe I kind of drove Ramza to that? I don't know. I can't help but feel a little responsible for the man he killed- for the extra weight of a life that now hangs on his great shoulders. For the lives that now hang on the shoulders of the Holy Knight, Agrias Oaks, and the Limberry Dog of War, Deruta Idaten. For the blood that seeped on Charene's well-knit skirt, and the concern that gripped Mustadio's face.

This should be the least of my worries right now, but it is the greatest. Have they forgiven me? Hah, if I asked them that, they'd all just laugh and pat my shoulders and tell me there's nothing to forgive. Maybe even Agrias would crack a smile at that. While I traveled with them, I was always confused as to how trained killers like them could be so...so much better than the church I grew up believing in. But they were, and it made me happy to know they lived in my world.

I love the era I was born in. I love Ivalice. That my brother is a guardian of it warms my heart. I could think of no better protector...no better hero. No better brother.

Ramza, I swear to you...I'll make sure no one has to experience the death you're so used to fleeing, so used to giving. I'll make sure the violence stops, someday. It may take me all my life, but I'll find a way. It can't be impossible...I'll use my magic, or my words, or my heart. There will be a day when the blade is put down, or at least driven out of Ivalice. Our land can be at peace again.

Then yours will be the kingdom, brother. You've earned it.


+ End Prologue Secundus +

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Dry31 Posted: 04-16-2003 , 03:31 AM

Judge/Jury/Executioner

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

Requiem of Shadows - Opening Movement

An ominous sky looks down upon the Grove...it's overcast, seeming to threaten a storm of massive proportions. There is a heaviness to the air, an odd unsettled feeling, that comes only before rain...before a violent storm. A lone man, clad in robes of black cut in the Egyptian style, looks out over his domain, standing in the shadows of one of the more complete ruins. The man in question - known to the world as Tesu Underson, a long time ago - stood silently, taking in the circumstances. A slight smile was etched on his face, but...somehow, it never seemed to touch his eyes. As he looks out over the Grove, a voice speaks, seemingly from the shadows behind and above him.

"A beautiful scene...but something's missing. Wouldn't you agree, Testament-sama?"

After a moment of silence, the man now known as Testament turns and addresses the owner of the voice, his own containing its usual unsettling metallic aftertone.

"Indeed, Zio...something is missing from this place, and has been since she* left. The Grove is her place...with her gone, it seems dead, silent."

The one who spoke earlier, Zio, drifts forward, revealing her form. She appears as a shapely young girl, with short hair, large eyes, and seemingly clad only in a layer of body paint. Her face is set in an admonishing look...despite this, though, she's still incredibly sexy.

"Testament-sama...you're rotting away. If you're so worried about her, then go see her!"

Testament laughs bitterly.

"Zio...you don't understand. She made her choice; she asked me to watch the Grove for her. That is what I will do."

"But Testament-sama! You also swore to protect her. Remember what happened LAST time you left her to the humans? Who's to say that that...BITCH**...won't try something again?!"

Testament seems to hesitate for a minute; he looks torn. For a moment, he simply stands there, lost in thought. Zio, knowing Testament well, says nothing. His attention is soon distracted, though, as an eerie sound rises up from below. His head snaps downwards, as he locates the source of the sound...and laughs, a genuine smile covering his face for a moment.

"So...you felt the storm coming too?"

One of the denizens of the Grove, a small furry mongoose-like creature sits at Testament's feet. Most of the rest were asleep, curled up in their various favorite places. But this one seemed to have taken a liking to Testament, and tended to follow him around, almost like it was watching over him...as he had watched over Dizzy. Though Testament knew it was entirely irrational, the notion had stuck in his mind...and it always made him smile to see this one. Testament reaches down to give the animal a brief pat, which it seems to greatly enjoy. Then, he points over to a small pile of brush that he had earlier stacked there...and, summoning magical energy, casts a spell. The brushpile bursts into flames, soon settling into a warm, low blaze.

"There, my friend...stay here and keep warm. It shall fall to you to watch the Grove while I am gone..."

The creature cocks its head, as though it understands...then, it scurries off, curling up in a corner near the warm flames. Its eyes remain open for a bit, watching Testament; then, they close as it drifts off to sleep.

"Zio."

"Yes, Testament-sama?"

"Come with me. I have some business to attend to...on the Mayship."

Zio doesn't even bother to disguise her glee at Testament's decision. She flickers, shapeshifting into her other form, that or a large raven, and perches on Testament's shoulder. Testament smiles faintly, and walks out of the ruins, heading out of the Grove. As he walks, he seems to fade into the shadows...and it begins to rain.

* Refers to Dizzy, whom Testament has sworn to protect. Dizzy is currently residing with the Jellyfish pirates, aboard the Mayship.
** Refers to I-No, who attacked Dizzy and tortured her. Testament, needless to say, did not take this well.

Last edited by Dry31 on 04-16-2003 at 09:02 PM

IP: Logged

Dry31 is online now Click Here to See the Profile for Dry31 Click here to Send Dry31 a Private Message Find more posts by Dry31 Add Dry31 to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Soujiro Seta Posted: 04-16-2003 , 12:32 PM

The Silver Ogre

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Beyond Death


The world which once you knew has changed
and passed you by, a soul estranged;
whose melody has ceased to play,
who nevermore shall see the day.

Your epitaph is writ in flame
while those you slaughtered chant your name
and time won’t wash away the blood,
the way perhaps you think it should.

Asleep, in dreams, the time has passed
the promised hour has come at last.
Toll once, toll twice, then thrice, O bells
and wake the soul to living hell!

Descend with angels of the night
Through fathoms not of human sight
For at the end no prize you’ll win,
O heart that beats forever sin.


Prologue – Evanescence and Death – I

As it is written, “There shall be the loud call of the trump, and the dead in Galbados shall rise first,” so in a way, I allow him a head start…

It was difficult to describe the indescribable; the ceasing of all thought, knowledge, and life beyond the grave. A grave that was the sincerest wish of the man who lay in it; a respite from the toils of mortal life, and a place where, finally, he was beyond the grasp of evil. There he would peacefully slumber forever, memories of life forgotten. His soul did not transmigrate to heaven or hell, if even such things existed. He had merely fallen asleep forever, his work finally finished. He had given his last he had to give, he had fought his final battle, learned his final truth…

…and he had taught his last wisdom to a girl who needed something to guide her.

The last things he had remembered in life were a sense of a burden suddenly lightened, but a regrettable sadness about giving up the last of the limited life in him. But even as he faded away into the mists of morning on that day, he felt his solitude to be justified enough. What truly mattered was that he could at last know a warrior’s rest. He relished it so much it brought tears to his eyes. He had finally wrought the ending of the dark cycle that had eroded and destroyed his heart, and the lives of everyone around him.

As surely as the body is but a vessel for the soul, this man was the ship upon which I sailed the realm of mortal men. How fitting, then, that I hold him fast to his duty once more. Though he lays pallid and still, I linger yet, immortal as the depths of the sea. One may kill, and one may know death, but it is in my name they butcher and murder, and to the deceased, I their true patron saint. As their flesh withers and rots, I welcome them into my world; my kingdom.

Living by the sword was his creed, and it was fitting that his final sentence came in the form of a sword. Its shattered fragment lay within him, negative heartbeat slowly draining away his life from the moment the shard entered his body. His spirit had sought the Chirijiraden – a sword of blue flame that could supposedly purify any evil…perhaps even that shard. But even his spirit faded. In a lonesome world, there would be no one to mourn him anew. People went on with their lives, the way they always did, and let the dead bury the dead, so to speak. Time flowed past, as though he were a solitary rock in a bubbling stream.

And so, really, his story had ended. The long, sordid tale of his life was finally over, and his soul was extinguished. He had no more purpose in anything that was done under the sun, for life and knowledge had departed from him. That was his wish; his will.

But there was not just his will.

O puppet of mine…is death your escape? Would you so escape a fear of water by fleeing to the seaside? You do not know, child of flesh… When I play upon my silver trump, your puppet-strings will become taut once more, and you will dance for me again. This is the pact of the Zodiac. You and I are linked by a thread stronger than any mere fate or destiny; we are ‘married’ upon the blood of the saints and the damnation of martyrs. So you see…Silver Noble…my strength has returned. The sleeping King grows restless, though I know not how. Nor do I care; I will find Him, the wellspring of my life.

And you…you shall help me do so.

Wake up, wretched puppet! Writhe once more in scorn, shame, and ignominy! Be jarred from the peaceful slumber of death once again and dance the tired elegy that drives men even beyond the grave!


A pair of phantom hands gestured sharply in the darkness, as if jolting a small marionette. A dried body, laying in darkness, writhed in spasms, contorting and jittering as if in the last throes of a great seizure. After a moment, it lay still, splayed haphazardly across the floor like a doll that had been thrown away. A figure emerged from the darkness, a dimly-shining phantom appearing behind those phantom hands – his hands. A tall man with steel-colored hair and an ageless face, robed likewise in grey. Silvery tresses spilled over his brow, covering one side of his face. The one eye that could be perceived glared intently at the naked body covered with scars. In that eye was no pupil, only an iris’s ring of rainbowed greys. He lifted his right hand, contracting and extending each of his slender fingers one by one, watching the laborious and unnatural movement of the body as it responded on the floor. Arms and legs moved slowly, bending as he purposefully pulled each finger inward in turn.

In his other hand, a long silver trumpet seemed to form, as blurred as the beholding of the one who held it, even in its resplendent glory. Slowly, he grasped the long neck with his right hand as well, and lifted it to his lips. With a soft sound that echoed like rushing wind, he began to play. The body, sunken eyes closed, began to move on its own. The chant-like melody crescendoed, a wave of pure tone and pitch, and the body slowly rose from where it lay, coming slowly to stand on its two feet. Stiff flesh bent like parts of a leathery machine, and the long silver hair of that man’s body flowed down over his neck, though it was matted and had lost much of its luster. The trumpet’s call echoed an inverted requiem, seeming to slowly bring a bit of color back to the dead flesh. As the movement subsided, so did the mysterious being’s song, and the trumpet began to waft away, as if it had suddenly become smoke in a gentle breeze.

His gaze wandered to a place just below the sternum, where an odd patch of flesh discolored extremely white caught his attention. Holding his hand over that place, he smiled. His grin, independent of the rest of his face, bared a fearsome set of teeth as the lips curled back over them.

“The body is a temple, and your body is not your temple alone, but also mine. The way to the seat of the heart and humour is narrow, and few find it. But to your door, I have the key, and to thy dismay, I know the corridors of the hall.”

He pursed his lips gently, then leaned forward. The body opened its gaping mouth, and the phantom being began to inhale. A wind almost visible seemed to flow from the mouth of the body in between the pursed lips of the strange being, almost as if it were water being siphoned from a well. At once the body loosened up; the look of unnatural stiffness disappeared. Muscle seemed to retake its life-size, pumped by some divine bellows, and fleshy sinews snaked around the muscles and bones, finally filling out the figure as a strong, middle-aged man. The dullness of the hair faded away to reveal a newly-radiant silver, as if crowned by starlight. Slowly, as slowly as one would wake up from an eternal sleep, awareness returned. Red irises flickered to life behind the opening eyelids, and then went wide with shock.

At the very same moment, the strange being touched the longest two fingers of his right hand to the area of white flesh, that area so full of contamination that its mere presence condemned mortal flesh to die. As he did so, his phantasmic body dispersed into what seemed to be an ashen cloud of luminescent pyre-smoke, a cloud that was absorbed into the discolored skin below the chest.

“In the Fifty-Year War and the Lion War alike, your swordsmanship was among the most feared in Ivalice; merciless, perfect, and absolute. I want to hear your soul say those words; say that you’ll make those swords sing for me again. Hew down every foe with impunity; reave those who stand before us with the breath of my scythe. As I am above the earth, so you shall be above all who are mortal. There will be no one to stop you…no one to stop me.”

A loud, mellow tenor laugh, both frightful and foreboding, echoed through the corridors of the mind of a man who by all rights should have been long dead. The laugh was that of Zalera, the Angel of Death. The unfortunate fate was that of Mesdoram Elmdor, the man who could not know a true and final rest no matter how hard he tried.

IP: Logged

Soujiro Seta is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Soujiro Seta Click here to Send Soujiro Seta a Private Message Find more posts by Soujiro Seta Add Soujiro Seta to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Dry31 Posted: 04-17-2003 , 04:52 AM

Judge/Jury/Executioner

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

Requiem of Shadows - Second Movement

Several thousand feet in the air, in the midst of the very dark stormclouds that are even now pouring rain down onto the earth, a fleet of airships hovers, battered about in the stormy sky just as ships of old were tossed on stormy seas. Only a fool would be in the midst of this storm; either that, or someone who is in dire need...someone who is hiding from some very powerful enemies. In the midst of the black chaos floats the fleet's flagship, the word "Mayship" barely visible on the side of the ship's orangeish hull. The Mayship's deck is deserted in the face of the storm raging all around; no one in their right mind would want to be out in this weather. Through the windows of the brightly lit bridge, two silhouettes are visible. The first is that of a petite, girlish figure, crowned by a gaudy pirate hat; the second, that of a tall, lanky man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a sword at his side.

"Johnny~! We can't stay in this storm!"

The chivalrous pirate, Johnny, gives a confident grin in reply.

"Don't worry so much, May. It'll ruin your cute complexion."

May looks like she's about to swoon momentarily at the compliment, but is able to pull herself together.

"Oh Johnny~...but, we can't stay here! This storm...I think it's going to get really bad soon, and I'm worried about the Mayship. I've got a reeeaaalllyy bad feeling..."

"Relax, May. This ship is plenty tough. I'm sure it can withstand a storm...but those nasty little wind up toys* working for the Shuusen Kanrikyoku** might be a different matter. That's why we're hiding here, remember?"

"AIEE! You don't think they've given up yet?!"

Johnny's face seems to darken a bit as he speaks again, a grim tone in his voice.

"I don't think so. Our safest bet is to try to lay low, at least for a little while. And that's why we're here."

May looks a bit doubtful, but nods reluctantly, starting to open her mouth to speak. But whatever she was about to say is lost, as the door suddenly flies open with a loud crash! The icy gale instantly blasts into the bridge, sending anything loose flying into the air in a miniature cyclone. May's hat goes flying; Johnny is barely able to snag his with a lightning quick grab. Beyond the reach of the bridge's light, an ominous, shadowy form is barely visible in the wrath of the storm outside. Johnny and May both look shocked at the sudden turn of events, as they wonder who in their right mind could be out there. They don't have long to wonder, though. A particularly close bolt of lightning flashes down from the clouds, shaking the Mayship with the thunder from its passage...and also illuminating an ominous form standing in the shadows of the doorway. Johnny's face settles into a grimace, as the features of the man in the doorway are revealed in the eerie backlight. The pale skin, the long black hair, the creepy robes, the burning eyes, pits of black and crimson, the raven perched on his shoulder, seemingly barely touched by the wind...it all adds up to only one thing. Johnny speaks, a touch of sarcasm and a great deal of wariness in his voice as he yells over the wind.

"Testament! ...please, come in. And shut the door behind you!"

Testament seems to hesitate a moment, before stooping a bit and entering the bridge, pushing the door shut behind him with little apparent effort, even against the furious wind howling outside. As the door closes, the small scale cyclone raging in the room dies away, letting the various papers and other light objects settle to the ground. May, looking anxious, darts over to the location where her hat has descended and swiftly grabs it, setting it back on her head, her eyes never leaving Testament's face. For a moment, a tense silence reigns...Johnny is the first to break it.

"So, Testament. I presume you came here for a reason."

Testament says nothing for a moment, only narrowing his eyes in response. Zio ruffles her wings and glares at Johnny with a piercing gaze. Finally, Testament speaks, his words slow and a bit arrogant.

"I came to check on Dizzy. How is she?"

Johnny nods slowly; when he speaks his voice is more courteous and understanding.

"I see. Dizzy is doing well...would you like to see her?"

"Yes. I wish to make sure of her health with my own eyes."

Johnny lets the implied insult pass without comment; after all, it IS justified, considering what happened last time Testament entrusted Dizzy to the pirates' care.***

"Very well. May...could you show our guest to Dizzy's quarters?"

May jumps.

"M-me?! B-but...can't he find her himself? Why do I have to do it?!"

Johnny turns his head a fraction of a turn, regarding May with a mildly dissapproving frown. May's protests wilt.

"May...this man is a guest on our ship. We must treat him accordingly."

"...a-alright. Come with me."

May leads the way, looking creeped out. Testament follows, expressionless. A few corridors later, May and Testament have arrived at their destination...Dizzy's quarters. May speaks, her voice almost trembling with nervousness.

"This is Dizzy's room. I-I'll just leave you alone to talk to her."

May turns and begins to walk away, her pace a rigidly controlled rythym of steady footfalls. As soon as she is out of sight, though, that rythym speeds up sharply, breaking into a run. Testament smiles a bit and speaks softly to himself, voicing his thoughts aloud.

"Yes, run away. Were I in your shoes, I too would run...from a monster such as I..."

Almost absently, he raises his hand and knocks lightly on Dizzy's door. He waits for a moment, but there is no response. Just as he is about to turn away, though, the door opens. Dizzy, standing in the door, looks shocked for a moment...then her expression changes to one of pure happiness. Zio squawks and swiftly flutters away, just in time to evade the crushing hug that catches Testament. For his part, Testament stands there, too stunned to react...and before he gets a chance to recover, Dizzy steps back, her face beaming with joy. Testament's face breaks into a smile at the sight of Dizzy's joy; for a moment, the bitterness in his eyes seems to fade away, replaced by genuine happiness.

"Testament! I'm so glad to see you!"

"Dizzy...it's good to see you, as well. I was worried about you. I wanted to come by and see how you were. So...how have you been?"

"I'm doing well! I like it here...I have so many nice friends to play with!"

"...I am glad that you're happy, Dizzy. It's been good to see you again."

"Are you leaving so soon?!"

"Yes. I just wanted to see if you alright. The Grove is doing well; I am watching over it as you wanted. Farewell, Dizzy."

When Dizzy next speaks, her voice is filled with sadness.

"Oh...well then...goodbye, Testament. Please, come again soon...I miss you."

Testament's smile grows a bit wider as he speaks again.

"I'll come again, Dizzy. Farewell..."

Testament turns and walks away slowly, the smile remaining on his face until he finally hears Dizzy's door click shut. Then his smile dies, fading into an expression of comprised of equal parts bitterness and bemusement.

"Dizzy...I'll never understand why you put up with a monster like me, one whose hands are so stained with blood that not all the oceans in the world could wash them clean. For that - for showing kindness to one who deserves only damnation - I have sworn to do as best I can to ensure your well-being and happiness, no matter what it may cost me. Farewell, Dizzy-sama."

Testament walks away, fading into the shadows. Within a few moments, he reappears on the deck of the Mayship, once more in the midst of the raging storm. Zio has resumed her perche on Testament's shoulder, her claws digging in as she clings on against the wind. Testament, ignoring any pain that the raven's sharp claws might cause, looks down, over the edge of the Mayship's deck. Below and a distance away, some ruins are faintly visible through the storm's shroud. For some reason, Testament suddenly feels a...strangeness there in the ruins below. It's as though there is something impending is about to break down there...something bigger by far than this storm could hope to be. And there's something else...a sense of deja vu, as though he's been to that place before. He stares down for a long minute, looking intrigued, and seeming to be impervious to the violence of the storm around him.

"...it's a lovely night for a stroll, wouldn't you say, Zio?"

Zio squawks indignantly, clearly conveying her opinion that it most definitely is NOT a lovely night for much of anything outside. But before she gets a chance to say much more, Testament has already started walking...straight towards the edge of the Mayship. Testament fades away into the shadows, heading to the strange ruins below.

* The "windup toys" Johnny refers to are Robo Kys...robotic imitations of Ky Kiske. They are gifted with variants of Ky's techniques, and a few powerful ones of their own. The group chasing Johnny's pirate fleet numbered from 20 to 30, it's believed.
** The Shuusen Kanrikyoku, aka the Postwar Admnistration Bureau, is the group responsible for the creation of the numerous Robo Kys running around, and possibly other events, such as Testament's transformation into a Gear.
*** In Guilty Gear XX, I-No threw Dizzy off the Mayship. Testament blamed Johnny, since he was the leader of the pirates and was supposed to be watching over Dizzy.

Last edited by Dry31 on 04-17-2003 at 05:18 AM

IP: Logged

Dry31 is online now Click Here to See the Profile for Dry31 Click here to Send Dry31 a Private Message Find more posts by Dry31 Add Dry31 to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
eyesaw Posted: 04-17-2003 , 11:52 AM

s p i r i t e d . . .

Registered: Apr 2003
Location: Limbo

Storm: Fear, Itself

The air was filled with the sound of the ocean waves, washing up against the warf. That, and the smell of fish. Storm stood, silently. Waiting. Readying herself mentally and physically for the unavoidable battle ahead. She took several deep breaths, until she was interupted by a rumbling sound in the distance. She opened her eyes and looked out to see, and saw four large silouettes, flying over the horizon. Sentinels.

Winds began to swirl ferociously around Storm, and she lept up into the air. The winds propelled her, as she swiftly and elegantly rose upwards. Her cape floated around her, and her hair whipped around her face.

The Sentinels drew closer and closer. The rumbling and crackling of the Sentinels machinery grew louder and louder in Storms ears. She looked upwards, commanding the clouds to darken and rumble. A lightning bolt struck in the distance. Storm was ready.

Wait for it..... wait.... now!

Several lightning bolts struck one of the first Sentinels, sending it crashing towards the ocean. The remaining three Sentinels picked up speed. Storm flew towards them, charging the skies with electrical power. The Sentinels outstreched their arms as Storm circled and swept in and out between them. Beneath them all, the sea's began to swirl and rise. Storm took a defensive position, and watched as the three sentinels flew towards her. Storm smiled as the swirling sea beneath her rose up quickly, creating a tornado of water. It crashed upwards and hit two of the Sentinels, sending them flying upwards, uncontrollably, and then pushing and pulling them around the tornado, before pulling them back down into the ocean. Storm laughed, victory filled the air. The skies died down until the became the normal bluey, morning sky.

Storm flew back towards the dock, then landed near some crates of fish. She sniffed and then raised an eyebrow at the crates, then carried on walking. A rumbling filled the air again, as Storm looked back over her shoulder. Suddenly one of the Sentinels rose from the ocean, followed by another, and another, were approaching Storm again, unphased by her previous attacks.

Hmmm, this is more than a challenge than I thought.

Storm powered the skies up once more, but this time, sending a hail of ice and snow towards the Sentinels, while simultaneously freezing the air, sucking it dry of all heat. The Sentinels began to slow in their approach, their outer shells freezing, until the were practically blocks of ice. They began to fall from the sky, back towards the ocean. But before the could fall in, Storm charged the skies with electrical power, and assaulted the group of Sentinels with a barrage of lightning strikes, destroying one of them, and breaking the other two in halves. The Sentinels broken bodies fell lifeless to the sea, and sank below the waves. Storm smiled again. But this time, before she could taste the victory once more, one remaining Sentinel rose from the sea, right in front of her, and grabbed a hold of her. Storm screamed in pain as she struggled to break free from it's grasp, but she couldn't.

The Sentinel squeezed tighter the more Storm struggled, but she couldn't help it. It was a natural reaction. The Sentinel landed on the dock, and then threw Storm hard inside one of the fish crates. Storm's fall was broken by the fish, but her body ached from the tight grasp of the Sentinel. Storm tried to climb out of the crate, but the Sentinel covered the opening with it's hand. Storm began to panic and sweat almost instantly. She struggled to kick through the crate, but she couldn't move, the space was too tight. She looked around frantically for another way out, but there wasn't one.

No... no.. no... no no no no no "Nooooooooo!!!"

Storm screamed as loud as she could, the fear had taken over her completely. She unleashed as much energy as she could. Lightning bolts struck the surrounding buildings continuously, destroying them, gale force winds began to swirl around them, a hurricane brewed.

"Aaaaaarrrgggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!"

Suddenly, Storm opened her eyes, and eveything was gone. The sentinels, the boats, the buildings.... nothing. She was back in the Danger Room. The swirling winds died down, and the lighting strikes stopped. Storm held her head in her hands and panted heavily, tears running down her face.

"Storm, are you okay?"

A voice echoed around the room. Storm looked up towards the big glass window, where Professor X was gazing down on her. Storm stood up and wiped the tears from her face.

"Storm, I'm coming down" Informed Professor X, as he moved away from the window.

Storm breathed heavily again and tried to regain her composure. Suddenly a strong wind blew behind her, followed by a crackling noise.

What is that?

Storm was suddenly pulled forward by an unknown force and dissapeered into nothing. The Danger Room doors opened and Professor X entered. he looked around and raised an eyebrow.

"Ororo?"


Where can I run to? Where can I hide? Who will I turn to? Now I'm in, a virgin state of mind.

Last edited by eyesaw on 04-18-2003 at 07:01 AM

IP: Logged

eyesaw is offline Click Here to See the Profile for eyesaw Click here to Send eyesaw a Private Message Visit eyesaw's homepage! Find more posts by eyesaw Add eyesaw to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Soujiro Seta Posted: 04-17-2003 , 04:18 PM

The Silver Ogre

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Beyond Death

Prologue – Evanescence and Death – II

He remembered the first steps of that journey; he walked forth from the courtyard of Limberry’s St. Matthias Cathedral as hale and hearty as if he was still ruler there, as if his might and power still held sway. His first thoughts were of his brother, Leonid – now the 18th Marquis of Limberry. Was he in good health? How old was he now? It was very possible that in terms of physical years, Leonid was now the ‘elder’. He had thought briefly of paying a visit, but thought the better against an action that might irrevocably tie his brother’s good name to the whisperings of those who probe the darkness. No…he was not a part of that world anymore. Even then, he felt outside the world, as if he were a visitor in a foreign land. But where would he go? No direction seemed appropriate.

And he wanted a sword. One of his precious masterpiece swords. The only things to which he might still lay claim.

Surely, you could go without it…but would it not be better to go with it? You have nothing to fear.

He turned toward Limberry Castle. There was judgment, better judgment, and then a still, small voice that powered through them both like a surging river. He had nothing to fear.

---

“Stop right there.” The soldier’s voice resounded authoratively as he and his partner lowered their long spears, barring the path into Limberry Castle’s large gate. The figure approaching them looked strangely shadowed, even in the light of early afternoon, as he strode alongside the castles colonnades.

Go, Mesdoram. Walk without fear.

Elmdor continued to walk forward, his steps not failing him. Quickly, he gestured, waving his hand lightly in front of his face. He smiled, in spite of it all, as he made himself known to them.

“Forgive us, Marquis, we did not know it was you!” The soldiers quickly raised their long weapons and saluted him. The red-cloth neck and shoulders over the black cloth uniform covering their mail identified them as Knights of Limberry. “All is well in the castle, milord.”

Elmdor nodded, hoping the slight shock on his face wouldn’t show through. “Ah…excellent.” He gathered his thoughts for a moment. “I have need of a key to the castle’s armory; please see that one is brought with haste.” He nodded, passing between them, calm smile still affixed on his face. That entrance, those strong, hewn stones…still the same, even with the ages.

“We shall send a squire with a key immediately,” they shouted back after him. He was already gone, however. The soldiers turned back to face forward, glad for the shade the cool, mossy walls provided in the heat of the day. They remained silent a while, then the soldier on the left spoke.

“I thought that Leonid doesn’t fight, on account of his frail constitution.” The other soldier, slightly shorter than his companion, nodded. “More of a scholarly sort, as far as my knowledge goes.”

“’Tis true. Anyone who works in the castle would know that.”

“Then…why would he ask for the key to the armory?” Beneath the visor of his helmet, the soldier maintained a puzzled look.

“They say he keeps his brother’s old swords in there. Every so often, so the maids tell me, he’ll pull one out to oil and clean in his study. Guess it’s kind of a memorial or some sentimental practice.” He leaned back against the wall, his breastplate making a dull ‘clump’ against the flat rock.

“I guess the young master misses his brother, huh?”

“I’d imagine so - I know the soldiers do. Why, way back, I was in the Aegis Knights under his command. Did I ever tell you about the battle at Fovoham Plains?” The other soldier shifted his weight to the other leg, causing the chainmail vest he wore to clink a muffled chime.

“Yeah…like…three times, I think.”

“Oh.” The older soldier was silent for a moment, scratching his grizzled chin and looking off into the distance. “So, did you ever hear the one about the moogle and the tavern dancer?”

---

“Forgive my tardiness, Marquis.” A soldier bowed before him, then handed him a ring of keys, one in particular outstretched. “This key will open the armory.” Nodding his head in the direction of the heavily barricaded double doors, he continued. “When you’re done, just give it to any maid; she’ll return it to us.” With that and a nod, he turned and departed.

“Excellent.” Mesdoram Elmdor was pleased to know that his old staff was as punctual now as they had ever been, though he did notice their hairs a bit more grey than he remembered. Sliding the steel key into the large lock, he took a sense of satisfaction in hearing the pins tumble into place; relished the heavy feel of the key in his hand. It was the first real material object he had grasped since…since that sword

The armory was lit only by small windows high on the eastern wall that admitted only enough light to see what one was picking up. Elmdor surveyed the room; still neatly laid out, with everything in its proper place, as he had kept it during the Lion War. Armors lay stacked, illuminated by arched slits of light; swords in their sheaths were propped up against the dusty racks with the lances and spears that silently pointed upward like a bamboo grove. Bows unstrung hung by wall-pegs, waiting only for the day when they would once again be of service to a master.

And against the farthest well, raised up on a rack of polished Yuguyo wood, a collection of katanas; each a masterwork in itself, of great value. His swords. He approached them with a reverent air in the quiet of the armory; they were things solely his, to be used only by him – they transcended a weapon of battle. Now that he was gone, what would become of them? Were they all there? He counted up, Asura and Kotetsu, Bizen Osafune and Heaven’s Cloud, upward and upward through Kikuichimonji. Alas, the Masamune was not among their number…perhaps it had indeed been plucked from his very grasp, by someone more worthy to wield it than himself. It was a lament…would he even be able to use it, were it sitting among the rest? He picked one at random from the rack, sliding the blade from its protective sheath.

Still oiled; in perfect condition. Still well cared for.

It was a thing that might have moved him. He sat down with the blade, drawing it fully and holding it gently in his hands. Verily, there was something in it that caught his eye, made his mind to focus on the simplicity of the many-folded steel. There; there was the honest purity, the truth that bore no lie. Swords, be they for salvation or damnation, accomplished such purpose through killing. Numerous paths from a single road – and he walked such a road once, in life.

“The world can be changed with the swing of a sword.” That was the precept he had clung to when all other vigors faded, the faith that had seen his lordship above the carnage of the battlefield. He repeated it to himself softly, in the dim light, the prayer prayed only by a sword-saint. His voice a whisper, calling to only the dry, stale air, “Once again I live, and to live is only to fight…”

And so do you live, and so shall you fight, for that is what has been ordained.

“There is no meaning in a battle now. I have fought the last I should, and have laid this burden down that it might be lightened in time, not to feel the hoary breath of a nightmare wisping down my neck while I lie awake in a sleep that escapes me!” His masked voice grew more earnest, almost a hiss.

Your lack of forethought pains me not, Mesdoram Elmdor; our contract which holds fast I will see through ‘till heaven and earth fade away! Whether you believe you have fought your last, perhaps for yourself it is so, but by my leave your hand has earned no such stillness. Elmdor could not see, but rather felt a smile pierce him, chilling his soul.

“You would cut me to the quick, creature of darkness! I say only to grant me sleep eternal, if indeed you are the Angel of Death. There is nothing for me left in life, not honor, nor family, nor love even. All that once may have been good has left behind only a certain malice that holds this sword without purpose.” His gaze was far away, the crimson in it melding in and out of a raincloud’s grey.

When my work I have seen through, perhaps then I’ll have no more need of you. But until Altima-King has risen, it is your sword and my word, and our ‘fear’ together that blaze the unseen way. Fill your chalice with a bitter draught, Elmdor, for the path we take will be the most harrowing road you have ever chanced to walk – this my solemn promise. And I make you no other promises save one – that as long as we are one, I will not allow you to die.

“What’s a promise from the devil?”

Nothing and everything.

As the smile faded, he felt his body grow weak, his mind become clouded. In the dim light of the armory, a light outline surrounded his body, irises of grey commanding his bearing. In the quiet air, his gloved finger artfully traced the words of a dead language, long forgotten by time. Glowing in the wake, the symbols seemed to come alive in blood, an all-engulfing presence that surrounded him in a perfect circle. As the words spun round, so the room seemed to fade away beyond consciousness as once more, the man known as both the Silver Noble and Silver Ogre was set on a course that even fate could not profess to know; the shadowed road beyond even death and the grave.

---

IP: Logged

Soujiro Seta is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Soujiro Seta Click here to Send Soujiro Seta a Private Message Find more posts by Soujiro Seta Add Soujiro Seta to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Adam*Warlock Posted: 04-17-2003 , 06:06 PM

Monkey Come For Joo!!!

Registered: Aug 2001
Location: Orlando, FL

Rogue: The Lone One

'It's been a while since I've had a good smoke' she thought, and she was right. The slender maiden leaned against the mammoth structure that she called home and let her lungs take their fill of nicotine; it was in that moment of burning rejection that she realized the painful truth: she doesn't smoke.

DAMMIT! Her eyes clenched tightly, wincing in concert wth her face, as she expelled the poison on the wind. She glanced at the death stick; still burning, the packed tobacco fibers fulflled their sole purpose as their waste wafted away on the air. She tossed the cigarette in disgust.

With her head held down, her body relaxed and effortlessy slumped to the ground. Even through the tangled locks of auburn hair, one could see the tears that welled slowly in her eyes. Remy Ah miss ya she thought. Lord knows Ah do, but Ah'm not you... ya cain't haunt me like this...

It had been weeks since she and the one who held her heart in his hands had parted ways. She had fought him every step of the way, but strongest arguments proved fruitless. How DO you stop a master thief from stealing himself? She would never know, for as quickly as he decided that their lives would be separate ones, he was gone without so much as disturbing the dust he stepped on in his silent exodus.

As much as she wanted to hate him for it, she couldn't. He was right. Her powers had returned, once again bestowing upon her the gift of homo superior while he remained as normal as the state she longed to be in. She had to return to the X-men. She had to uphold the word, the bond between her and her family. He would merely be in the way. He was a liability now, one that she could not afford.

At least that's what he said. She had her own theory.

She had tried to hide the miscarriage from him. She had been able to keep him at bay for a few days, dodging his intrusive questions in futile attempts to spare his feelings, but it was really just a matter of time. She never discovered how he knew. Maybe it was the fact that she began covering herself again and hadn't had physical contact with him. Maybe he caught on. She simply believed him when he told her. She had been relieved to discover that no more was it necessary to weave her tangled web of words... until he asked her that is. "How, chere?" Those had been the only words to pass his lips, spoken so softly and desperately, yet they had commanded her as if Charles Xavier himself issued them directly through her cerebellum. So she had answered. She described how it felt when she woke before him one morning and noticed that she was floating an inch above the bed. How she had bolted to the restroom and nearly broke the door before she realized how effortlessly she moved it. She had felt a queasy, uneasiness, as if her stomach were inverting and she attributed it to morning sickness. She had gripped the porcelain pedestal and braced for upheaval to come... except it didn't.

Her eyes had nearly lost contact with the environment before her as her vision was overwhelmed. She had seen the bathroom in less frequent spurts as images flashed in her head. It had been a full 5 minutes before she realized that what she was seeing... was her womb. Horror struck her and her hands crushed their mighty porcelain support. She fell to the floor involuntarily in the fetal position. If she could have voiced words, she would have cried to the lord in exchange, but her quiet grunts and coos had been far too soft to reach any divine beings ears.

She had clawed at her midsection. She would have performed a cesarian on herself if need be, but even her vaunted strength was no match for the tension and durability of her stubborn epidermis. She had clawed, and raked, and attempted to tear until the visions were no more. In a moment of despair and pity she laid cursing herself. The life which she had given to another, she effortlessly stole all because of her cursed birthright. And then the lies had begun.



'Ah cain't go on like this ' she thought. She was weak now. Her fragile psyche had been stretched and wrapped inside itself. It would have been more of an inconvience than a problem if it weren't for one thing: she had multiple people inside her head. There was a war being fought for dominance of her physical form and she was slowly losing. She was able to keep them restrained most of the time by drowning out their voices with the strength of her spirit, but that spirit was tested and broken. One of the voices rose to the forefront and battered her safeguards out of the way like it was nothing.

'Rogue, come to the Danger Room immediately'

And then it ws done. It was as if a switch had been toggled inside her head for a mere second. She didn't appreciate Professor X's intrusion but she could sense the urgency. She gathered the pieces of her psyche and pulled them together like a makeshift puzzle. In a puff of smoke and an odor of brimstone, she was gone and in the vaunted danger room.

She stood before an astonished professor X, whose eyes revealed his awe.

"Mein freund--" she paused and slapped herself against the temple. "Nightcrawler... hugged me when I returned."

The bald man before her nodded and continued with his mental intrusion. The others should be here momentarily. I speak to you mentally because there is another here'

Rogue quickly cased the training facility.

You will not see him because he does not stand to be perceived by the eye. I can FEEL his consciousness.

Mentally, professor X recounted all the details to Rogue about storms disappearance.

As you can see, there is quite a bit of reason for concern.

That's when it happened. A soul can only take so much, and if Rogue's were a camel's back at capacity, then this was a bail of hay being thrust down upon it. Her eyes narrowed slightly and her hair became more stiff. She began sniffing the air like bloodhounds on the trail of a wounded fox.

"Ya come into my home, bub." The words spilled out as snarls, nearly completely incoherent. "Uninvited..." She began pacing toward the door, her back hunched and her form crouching. "And then ya got the friggin' nerve to attack 'ro?" Her movements were swifter than they had ever been as she lunged at thin air. She wrapped her hands around an invisible mass and hit the floor hard, rolling. She mounted her hidden adversary and raised her left fist before extending three bone juts from her hand. "Say g'night.. bub"

"Rogue! That's not you! Don't DO this!" Professor X's words fell on his ears alone.

With a speed that defies human ability she brought her hand down. Then, in a flash all too familiar to Charles Xavier in far too short a time, she too was gone...


"The power infinite is now Adam Warlock's to command. Let none dispute that claim."


DON'T FALL FOR HIS GIMMICKS!!!

IP: Logged

Adam*Warlock is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Adam*Warlock Click here to Send Adam*Warlock a Private Message Visit Adam*Warlock's homepage! Find more posts by Adam*Warlock Add Adam*Warlock to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Nif Posted: 04-17-2003 , 10:53 PM

Junior Member

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

Intro Part 1

Sorry, this was last minute and it's crappier than usual. ^^

Oh well.

---

It must be getting late. The delta server count dropped to 70, 000 players. I have to stay a little longer. I’m too close to go to bed.

“Calamity Cut!” Blackrose shouted, signaling the her favorite skill. In "The World", a player could use their own voice as a shortcut to using the skills. Say its name, and the skill goes into effect. In this case, Blackrose gained a temporary boost of strength for one cut at the cost of a few mp. In the Heavy Blade job class, skills like this were vital to take down larger enemies with high defense.

Her strike landed successfully and cut the giant crab monster’s side. Kite took this opportunity to use the Twin Blade’s high speed to rush it from behind. Slinging his daggers like a cowboy slings his guns, he cut at the monster’s back three times.

“Vak Dooon!”

That word coming from Mistral’s player character was warning enough for Kite to retreat a few steps. As powerful and perky the wave master was, she was never completely accurate with her spells. Especially with the bigger spells, she sometimes hit her party members. Normally a character gains new spells over time and has that time to gain practice using them. Being in the dot hacker’s party, however sped up the leveling process quite a bit. The bracelet, given to him by the mysterious player character Aura, enabled them to access forbidden areas and defeat infected monsters.

Kite was lucky. As soon as the spell hit its target, the monster burst into pixilated flames. He quickly selected a healing drink, and gained some of his lost HP. “Careful, Mistral,” he said, “that was a little too close. :-\”

Mistral laughed and hopped up and down. “Sorryyyy. :D”

“Kite! It’s still moving.” Blackrose shouted from behind the flames. “It has infinite HP.”

Kite lifted his arm and pointed his hand at the monster. “I got it.” Closing his eyes, he balled his fist. “Data drain!” he shouted. The dungeon’s textures and coding became distorted for a second from the bracelet’s effect. Kite and the viral infected monster hung in a sort of snowy area, like a television channel with too much interference. Swirling data and code erupted from the bracelet like bands and pierced the monster in several places as well as each of the three party members. Rings of coding surrounded it, showing the data rewrite. The default sound effect for the creature played distortedly as it’s shape began to change and skills began to weaken. As the bracelet finally finished reducing the monster’s appearance, strength and skill, it used the leftover data to create an item. The dungeon’s appearance returned to normal and the monster was reduced to 1/10 its normal size. Kite waved his daggers and sliced it in two with ease.

“Phew. Finally.” Kite looked at his stats and smiled. “Looks like the bracelet’s side effect this time was an HP restore. :-D What about you guys?” One of the bracelet’s curses was that it caused random effects on everyone in the area it’s used. The side effects couldn’t be controlled and could vary from HP restore to confusion. As Kite looked at his teammates, it was apparent they weren’t as lucky as he. Mistral stood still looking light headed, and Blackrose was having trouble lifting her sword.

“Ugh. Kite, heal me!” Blackrose insisted.

“Eh…sure!” Kite said nervously. He grabbed a restorative from his pack and took a step forward when he felt two arms wrap around his waist. Kite stopped dead in his tracks and shivers ran down his spine as he turned his head slowly. “M-Mistral? O_o”

Mistral‘s eyes looked strange as she began hugging the twin blade user. “Oooh, Kite. I love you so much! <3”

Kite’s jaw dropped and he immediately began to try to get away from the girl’s grip. “What are you doing, Mistral? Let go!” Kite stepped forward, but Mistral’s grip was too tight. He fell over and began flailing his arms helplessly.

The speech bubble appeared over Mistral‘s head as she squeezed even tighter. “<3 <3 <3 <3”

Blackrose lifted her eyebrow and sat on the ground. “She must have gotten the charm effect from the bracelet. She’ll be fine with a restorative. I have one left, but you better pay me back later.”

Arms still flailing, Kite’s voice was muffled under Mistral’s hugs. “But you were about to make me give you a restorative.”

“<3 <3 <3 <3”

Kite‘s arms dropped as he submitted to the hugging. With every “<3“, Mistral was lifting him up and smashing him to the ground in a blind glee. “Fine, *bang* fine. *bang* I’ll pay you back. *bang* Just use it quick. :_(“

Blackrose smiled and lifted the scroll into the air. It began to glow simultaneously with Mistral until finally vanishing. Mistral’s head popped up and she looked around. “Hm? Where am I? :(“ Her focus then turned to Kite. “Whaaa? Kite! What are you doing?! >:|” The wave master grabbed her staff and proceeded to hit Kite hard in the head.

“Hey, Mistral, you have a healing spell, don’t you?” Blackrose asked, exhausted.

Mistral stopped hitting Kite and began to think. “Hm. Yes I do! =)” Leaving Kite beaten, she raised her staff and used her healing magic. “Rip Synk!” The magic surrounded Blackrose and removed her weaken status effect.

“Ah, thanks. So what do we do now?”

Mistral looked at Kite, who was now blinking red from low HP. “I think we should go back now. Kite doesn’t look too good. XD”

Blackrose yawned. “Sounds good to me. I need sleep.” Reaching into a dazed Kite’s backpack, she pulled out a Sprite Ocarina and blew into it. Rings rose around the three and they were transferred to delta’s root town.

With his HP restored by entering root town, Kite stood up and rubbed his head. “So…See you guys tomorrow morning? :-) I think we were on to something today in that area.”

Mistral sighed. “Kite, it’s already 2am. I’m going to be sleeping all morning. :(“

Blackrose stretched. “I have a tennis match tomorrow morning, too. I shouldn’t have stayed up this late as it is.”

Kite frowned. “Oh, well…I guess I’ll see you guys later then. ^_^”

Mistral waved as she began to log off. “Yep Byeeee~”

“Bye, Kite! Call for me tomorrow afternoon and I’ll be here for sure.” Blackrose said as she signed off.

I don’t have time to waste. Yasuhiko fell into a coma while playing, and I know it has something to do with that girl. I’ll find a way to save him. Even if it means playing 24/7.

Ignoring the difficulty level, Kite entered the area again.

IP: Logged

Nif is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Nif Click here to Send Nif a Private Message Find more posts by Nif Add Nif to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
The Damned Posted: 04-18-2003 , 02:29 AM

Hyperion's servant

Registered: Oct 2002
Location: Where you are not.

Arrow King Prolouge: Read or Die!

Sorry this took so long ShinkuuR:

King
Prologue: Or Queen?



Illusion.

It was the name that she had given to her bar, which she had set up in the middle of one of the most corrupt cities in America, or at the very least California. She doesn’t quite remember why she picked the name, whether it was to be ironic or sardonic or perhaps just nostalgic. Ah yes, it was the nostalgia, the ironic nostalgia of that name that had had her set on the name Illusion. After all, what better to remind her all of follies, whether they be preventable, such being exposed during her last bout in Thailand, or whether they be outside her own jurisdiction, such as being born a woman, than that one perfect word that summarizes one’s pathetic existence?

King had felt this way ever since she was sent to Thailand. She had to put on the illusion of feeling little to no pain during her Muay Thai training even when she kicked until her shins practically bled. She had to maintain the façade of not wanting to cry when the Muay Thai tournament council thrice in succession rejected her. She had to manage her apathetic resolve when her brother Jan became anemic. She had to put up with the emotive delusions of her feelings of being with Ryo, or rather, at this point, not being with him thanks to Rydia. Or perhaps herself.

Oh well. Yet another reason to hate myself. King thought as she absent-mindedly cleaned the dirty glasses from the day before, a task that her twin helpers, Sally and Elizabeth, usually performed. However, King had given them the week off on the day before yesterday, and King herself did not wish to undergo having to sit needlessly still after what happened yesterday. King could barely restrain herself as she left Ryo’s residence last night, and she ran straight home in an attempt to blow off the steam that she had accumulated from what she perceived as a somewhat unorthodox adultery from Rydia’s groping. It half worked, and she ended up spending the rest of her pent-up ki practicing Venom Strikes, Double Strikes, Tornado Kicks, Silent Flashes, and a brand new move she had been working on. She only collapsed after what she would later find out to be, thanks to her brother Jan, four hours or so; she still felt groggy, like she was stuck in some pseudo-hangover.

How do I even know what a hangover feels like? King pondered as she continued cleaning the glass she was holding, failing to recognize in her preoccupied state that she had been washing that same glass for about an hour. King, though a lover of alcohol, whether it be beer, champagne, or her favorite, wine, was never a heavy drinker. Hell, she was even an advocate of MADD; though she herself was not a mother, she did have a somewhat matriarchal role in taking care of her younger brother.

Perhaps it would have been a better analogy to say that I feel like Terry’s Power Geyser hit me. No. King mentally mused. I don’t feel like I’m going to die.

King’s concentration, or lack there of, was broken by the somewhat loud sound of the metal doors of the Illusion swinging open and someone’s idiotic blaring…

“Rydia! Rydia! No! We shouldn’t…”

“But why not! I want to see!”

King dropped the glass she holding, and gravity now had its chance to hold the glass, causing it to shatter, rather harmlessly, on the floor at the precise moment she heard that oh so familiar voice. Normally, King would have been extremely mad at dropping one of her wine glasses, but at the moment, something managed to make her much angrier. Her eyes narrowed like a hawk sizing up its prey, even though her prey hadn’t stepped through the door yet. But I know someone who’s going to.

Ryo stopped yelling as he finally came through the doors, followed by the ever-present Rydia (though in temporal reality, which was now seemingly separate from King’s irate state, the childish summoner had only been there for about a day). Ryo had his hand over Rydia’s mouth in an attempt to quiet her, but for King, this… touching was just as bad as if they had been frolicking down the street, holding hands while singing “Off to See the Wizard.”

“Hi, King,” Ryo said amicably. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing Rydia with. I just wanted her to see some sites.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Ryo,” King stated. “You’re always welcome here.” And only you, her eyes said.

“Greetings, King!” Rydia blared happily, smiling with those annoying perfectly white teeth of her.

“Hello, Ridha,” King responded, intently mispronouncing Rydia’s name with such icy animus that it would make Iceman proud. “How are you?” A question that translated to Why are you still here, you annoying pest? in the language that King’s egregious death stare spoke.

“Just fine!” Rydia beamed yet again quite loudly, especially for some her size. Rydia, being still somewhat of a child, at least mentally, missed the deathly gaze in all of its lethal glory.

“Rydia. Please, quiet down.” Ryo pleaded, not so much about disturbing anyone, since the Illusion was desolate, but more about the lethal stare that he noticed King give Rydia the whole time.

“Sorry,” Rydia replied, infinitely more quiet than she had just previously been. “It’s just… it’s just that’s this is most fun I have ever remember having.”

“It’s okay. I mean you’re new in town and all, so I don—” Ryo was interrupted by Rydia as she gave him a huge hug.

“Thank you, Ryo.”

Ryo trembled, both with fear, as once again he felt King’s ki spiking, and awkwardness, as Rydia once again showed the open affection that King wouldn’t.

“No, it’s quite alright. Can you just… um… let go now? You’re hurting my ribs.”

“Oh sorry,” Rydia backed off, releasing her death hold.

“If you two lovebirds would mind actually, you know, drinking in a bar,” King’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Then would you mind sitting down, buying something, and drinking with me?”

Ryo simply nodded, not wanting any more trouble from his speech than that which had already been generated between them. He took Rydia gently by her left arm, tugging her along as smoothly as if they were standing side-by-side, holding hands (a fatal mistake that Ryo would not make in front of King).

“However,” Ryo started after he and Rydia had sat down at two of the stools in front of the bar, where King was just across from them, separated by the common wooden and metal table-like structures that grace every bar. “I don’t think that Rydia should be drinking.”

“Hey! I am not a kid!” Rydia whined, though even she did not believe that statement herself.

“It’s alright, Ryo,” King said, surprisingly soothing at this point. However, this seeming calm was disrupted by the most painfully forced smile that Ryo had ever, and probably will have ever, seen. With that smile, Ryo thought, King might as well be giving her poison. “I’ll just give her some wine. I don’t see the harm in it, especially since wine doesn’t intoxicate children as easily as beer.”

Hook. King thought.

“That’s just fine.”

“Hey!” Rydia exclaimed, yet again blaring, able to complain now that she had temporarily dropped her usual mousy attitude. “Why don’t I have a say in this?! Afraid that I’ll get sick from one of these things you call a beer! I am physically an adult you know?!”

“That’s all very nice, but you mind yourself. As your host, I would only be interested in your own well being,” King stated, this time her voice drowning in sarcasm.

“Is that so?” Rydia questioned finally. “If you can drink beer, I can drink beer.”

“I’m sure. We all know what a big girl you are.”

“I can drink beer! And I will!”

Line.

“Do you really want beer?” King asked, though it was a rhetorical question.

“Yes!”

“Um…” Ryo began to interject.

“I shall drink with you then.”

“I’ll…” Rydia paused, her eyes scrolling upwards, as if trying to impossibly look at her own physical brain for the phrase that she overheard Yuri say to Robert last night. “… drink you under the table!”

Ryo remained quiet at this intensely awkward exchange.

And sinker.

“So be it.”

****

One hour later…

“… I was saying that it looked like the world was going to end with Orochi being unleashed n’ all. We were so doomaaed,” King slightly slurred. “I mean, what would you do if you thought it was the end of the world?”

“ Pfft. End of the world?” Rydia countered, slightly drunken. “Been there. Done that.”

****

Two hours later…

“… And then I asked Mai if her breasts were implants.”

“No way.”

“Guess what she said?”

“Wha?”

“No. I mean, ‘No!’ But she’s not fooling everyone. I mean she’s Asian, for Chrissakes! We all know that they are about as shapely as a goddamn ironing board!”

Rydia giggled, even though she had no idea who Mai even was.

“Hey wait… Aren’t I Asian?”

****

Three hours later…

“… Stupid… Man Show… sexist bastards… and their ‘OH, Big Breasted One!’ routines…”

“Smash Brothers… Smash! Smash!… Where’s my staff!?… Why do summoners never pay attention!?”

“Hello operator… please give me… number… sixty-nine… and if you… disinfect me… I’ll kiss your ass’s behind…”

“Ryd… rydrydia… rydia… dia…”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Ryo finally authoritatively screamed after he had gotten sick of listening to King and Rydia’s drunken stupor.

“We go home! Now!” Ryo was beginning to sound like his father, but all the powerful authority that was similar to his father’s had no effect whatsoever on the two drunks.

Ryo sighed. He bent over, and picked them up, slinging the women over of a shoulder each, having no resistance as the two had finally passed out after at least half a dozen drinks each. He figured this was the easiest way.

I bring them both home, and then come back to close up shop for King. He thought as walked to towards the door with the two women in tow. However, his plans were marred as he suddenly was blinded by a bright light and felt a great pressure on his arms, followed a great lightness.

“What the hell?!” Ryo exclaimed aloud. When the light faded, Ryo realized what the hell was.

King and Rydia had vanished.


If the good die young, then I'm effectively immortal.

Hyperion: "Stop the asteriod, Magneto. Stop the asteriod, or I'll implode your head."

Hyperion: "Give up this garbage and face the inevitable, Magneto. You cannot defeat me."
Magneto: "Everyone has an Achilles heel!"
Hyperion: "Only Achilles had an Achilles heel. I cannot be stopped."

Opposite attract only because men are sluts and women are whores. Thus the equation balances out.

IP: Logged

The Damned is offline Click Here to See the Profile for The Damned Click here to Send The Damned a Private Message Find more posts by The Damned Add The Damned to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
ShinkuuR Posted: 04-18-2003 , 12:00 PM

New College Grad! Whoo!

Registered: May 2001
Location: Savannah Ga

^


SRK Battle Poll II:10th place - Edge
SRK Battle Poll II: 5th place - Link


One of the reasons why the '24' threads are too good...

quote:
Originally posted by Azrael-sama

Not to mention the Triple P's New Ho is going to get herself into all sorts of shit. We didn't need to see Spinless Weasel Guy stuffing a gun into his bag to know that's a trap. You have to hand it to Shin Sherri, not only would she have recognized this blatantly obvious set-up, she would have RC'ed it into about 7 different traps of her own. By the time she was done with that guy, he'd be on welfare and PREGNANT with HER kids.

IP: Logged

ShinkuuR is offline Click Here to See the Profile for ShinkuuR Click here to Send ShinkuuR a Private Message Find more posts by ShinkuuR Add ShinkuuR to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-18-2003 , 05:15 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

Last bit of intro. This one's shorter, never fear. ^_^ Enjoy!


Prologue Tertius - Queen of the Eclipse


Teta and I in Igros. Ramza and his soldiers facing Zalmo at Lesalia. These twin memories...why do they come to my mind now? Why are thoughts of Teta's death still on my mind, even to this day? Why have I only found the memories that make my heart ache so? I wish I could touch the gleipnir now...it really does feel like Teta's flesh. I wish I could touch the scar on my hip, where Ramza and Charene and Agrias and everyone touched to inspect and heal.

Is it because I'm about to die?


Alma felt that way. She was on her knees, her head hanging low and her hands tied behind a huge mast that pressed against her back. It was painful to sit and her legs were numb in sleep, her throat raw with thirst. She was exhausted, and fleetingly she stared at her holy staff, laid before her alongside strange little trinkets, into which were etched symbols that Alma had only seen in books where the Glabados Church banned them. Lucavi's symbols, she wagered. There was the Fleece of Velius and the Crown of Queklain, the Coil of Serpentarius and the Horns of Adramelk, and the Skull of Zalera. Horrible insignias- ones she would not be sorry to see damned again.

Before them all, though, was the Holy Stone, Virgo.

Virgo, the Lucavi- oh, Dycedarg, Zalbag...Ramza...I saw you all...

She had. Alma's head grew even heavier, the memories of pain flooding back into her. For long nights she had been bound like this, beset with dreams, with trances...with visions. Through them, she saw many things. Many dark, awful things.

The murders of Goltana and Larg- one at the hands of a beloved brother, the other at the hands of a dear friend. The Lion War's deepest, darkest atrocities at Bethla Garrison. The imprisonment of Olan Durai and the exile of Uncle Cid. The killings of Marge Funeral, by the swords of the Shrine Knights, and Zalmo Lusnada, by the sword of Deruta. The discovery...Zalbag's discovery; our dear father's death by poison from his eldest son. The Awakenings, as well- the corruption of brave Marquis Elmdor, turning to the Angel of Death. The despair of Wiegraf, becoming the Warlock Velius. The seduction of legendary Elidibs, reborn as Serpentarius.

The...the death of Dycedarg, dying as Adramelk, and the death of Zalbag...


"Did I ever tell you that your brother has the devil's own luck?"

Alma turned her head up a little- as best as she could, given the weight of her thoughts- and stared at the man before her. Vormav Tingel was a tall, dark Shrine Knight, over six feet tall and owning a face worn with years of battle experience. He was solidly built and handsome for a man who'd had a grown son, topped with gray hair and with piercing eyes. He wore the robed uniform of his order- his was a purple cloth around golden armor and a sturdy silver belt, into which was sheathed a broad sword. A man of great notoriety, he was, of great fame- hard to believe he would have given into Lucavi so easily.

He stood before her, flipping pages through a book she could not identify- the possessed and maddened captor who'd brought her here. He was smiling a very grim smile. She didn't know how- smiles couldn't exist in this place.

In this Graveyard of Airships. Alma felt like closing her eyes- every time she looked at the place, it got worse and worse. There they were, hovering on a small, wrecked ship (that floated in the air!) which was set with planks that reeked of blood and char. They floated through thick purple fog, and off in the distance there could always be seen the rest of the dead fleet- the fleet of hell. The ships moved silently through the endless fog with no wind to guide them. Far below them, upon whatever ground existed in the dark mist, Alma had heard hushed whispers and cackles, and muttering that made her ears pound endlessly. Screams. Curses. Wailing, weeping, and the gnashing of teeth.

That Vormav was smiling here, in Hell, was the greatest madness of all.

"...you did, actually," Alma said. "Right before you punched me in the stomach."

Vormav chuckled. "I did, didn't I? Well, it seems he's getting closer to us. He even made it here, to Murond Death City of all places. He must really love you. Too bad he's never getting out."

Alma forced steel into her eyes. "He loves me, as I love him, and he will get out of here. Please, Sir Tingel...I beg of you, put down the book. This is a futile attempt...don't do it."

"Don't be absurd, girl," Vormav said, looking at her over the book in pure disdain. "Your brother just buried his sword in Kletian's heart, but that same sword will shatter. My last line of defense is...well." He chuckled. "Balk keeps good company."

Alma shook her head violently, straining against her binds for the uphundredth time. "That's not what I meant! Sir Tingel, this isn't right! Ajora was a fraud, a fake- why would you want to res-"

He was there in an instant, stepping over the trinkets with such grace that Alma was reminded, again, that Vormav had surpassed the limits of the human race. The strength behind his slap proved that as well, as Alma rocked over the edge of consciousness. She sagged again, her cheek swelling, and she tasted blood.

"Say that again and I'll cut your tongue," Vormav said icily. "I won't have you slander the name of the Body."

But she was right, Alma knew. Ajora...the saintly Ajora Glabados, the Son of God who saved the world- he was a sham. The savior she had grown up believing in was no more than a spy who had given himself to the devil. He had sinned more than Dycedarg, who'd murdered their own father! The entire church was nothing but lies...and the apostles of Ajora? They, too, were the Lucavi. The thirteen apostles, their souls twisted into the thirteen Zodiac Braves. Only the Traitor, Germonik had been able to escape.

The worst was yet to come.

"Besides," Vormav was saying, "I doubt a cut tongue is nothing my Lord won't be able to heal."

Alma wiped her lip on her sleeve, wincing at the touch. "...you're so miserable. You really think he'll save you?"

Vormav turned back to his reading, stepping over the trinkets with that ghostly grace. "It's not me that needs saving. It's your world. Take a gander at your brave new Ivalice, with all the liars and hypocrites running it. Look at your friend, Delita- see what he's grown into?" Vormav shook his head. "You can't possibly think the world's fine as it is."

"I don't," Alma said. "Any world where a man can give himself up to the devil, and murder his only son...is far beyond 'fine.'"

Vormav did not answer that. Alma turned her head down again, swallowing tightly. The memory of that dark night in Riovanes...she could not recall much of it. She'd shunned the horror away, buried it deep down inside of her. Yet she could not escape the images of those awful wounds, etched into Izlude's flesh; he had died in so much pain, in so much blood and surrounded by death, his sword broken and his eyes...

Blind. Vormav Tingel blinded and tortured his own son.

"How could you?" Alma asked, desperately. "He was your child..."

"He was a failure. He failed as a soldier, and he fought with nothing but despair- that was why he was only a Knight Blade. He had no hope. I gave him the purpose he so desired." Vormav turned a page, his back still to her. "Martyrdom. Even if it was for a cause that meant nothing, he died for something. I see no problem in that."

Alma sighed, feeling like she'd taken a thousand of those vicious slaps. There was no point in arguing with him- he wasn't himself anymore. His mind didn't belong to just him; he'd given away the one thing that sanctified his humanity. Izlude and all those at Riovanes had been his sacrifice. Just for despair...? Is that what you said, Vormav? Even when a man despairs, he is yet able to hope...

Abruptly, Vormav swore, gripping the book fiercely. "Damn it. I can't find the incantation, and Kletian was the only other who might have known. Your brother's caused us a lot of grief, little girl- I truly hope Balk drags out his death." He slapped the book shut, pacing across the deck. "Angelus cruentus...where might the name be? The name, damn it!"

Alma blinked. "You don't know the name of your own King?"

"Yes, of course I know his name," Vormav said, rolling his eyes. "By Altima-King, you vex me to no end, Beoulve. I need to know the name of the Soul."

Alma frowned. "The Soul?"

"Just as there is a Body, there must be a Soul behind it, true and fast, for the rites to succeed." Vormav tapped the book, his brow furrowing. "I suppose it could mean the Soul in your staff."

That brought her head back up. Alma stared at him, shocked. "There's...wait, what did you say?"

"The Soul in your staff," Vormav said, then nodded his head down at the rod of holy iron before her. "There's a soul within it. What the soul's name is I don't know, but Ajora prophesied it. I must know the name, or the rites will end in calamity."

Alma frowned. "Calamity?"

"That's what Ajora calls it." Vormav smiled darkly. "You could call it a gateway, though. If the rites fail, it carves a hole in Hell...thus, we all might escape back to your Ivalice, but, of course, you'd have a pretty hefty infestation problem."

"Infestation?"

"Legions upon legions of demons."

Alma sucked in. "I suppose I'm in a lose-lose spot, then?"

"Definitely." Vormav opened the book again, seething. "It would be so easy if Lord Altima-King could but take this body...this one's far more able than your scrawny frame. At least I know how to use a blade."

Alma turned her gaze away, sucking the inside of her cheek- it was still hot from the slap. "I'd never want to use something that could kill. I'd rather use my words...use my heart. That's what changes the world, not a sword."


"Virtus in cordibus tranquillibus floret. Iustitia est mecum. Per animam meam, cave. Cave."

-- Sponsoring Alma Beoulve, Survivor X.

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-18-2003 , 05:19 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

"Yes, see how many kings kneel to that," Vormav said idly. "Anyway, as to the Soul, I suppose you knowing will make it easier. Your staff contains a soul, though, again, I have no idea who lies in it. I'm sure you were wondering why I made the effort of dragging that stupid thing along with you." He looked at her and smirked. "Perhaps it's your fool brother, Zalbag. Better yet, that old coward Balbanes, or that precious friend of yours...Teta, was it?"

That stung. That felt very cold. She swallowed again, turning her shocked vesture back to him. "How...how do you know that?"

Vormav stared at her with a cold smirk. "Forget not who you speak to, girl. Altima-King's powers transcend even mine...yet I know even the smallest details about you. I am sure he knows many more," he said. "Perhaps you can ask him, in those futile few moments before your soul is bound in darkness forever."

"What are you talking about? What do you mean?" Alma asked, straightening up. "Bind my soul in darkness...?"

"A Soul for a Soul," Vormav said calmly. "I'll use the Soul within your staff to bind yours. Heh-heh...using the Holy to make room for the Unholy! Tell me that's not ingenious." He reached down and picked up her staff by the top, lifting it from amidst the demonic trinkets. He gave it a good swing through the air, its light but durable frame making a dull 'whoosh' sound. Vormav then walked over to her- and slammed the staff down behind her back, against the mast.

"I'm going to obliterate the soul within this staff," he said, "to bind yours down in the very depths of your essence. That essence will become Ajora's- it will become Altima-King's- and thus you will be bound in his forgiving shade forever." Vormav sounded like he was preaching, but he looked as though he had just finished reading a very dull book. "That is your fate. You, like Izlude, will be martyred. However, yours will actually signify something."

Alma wished for that moment that she could have slapped him. The rage building in her outweighed any sense of despair she felt, and she actually thought she was going to do it. Her fist tightened behind her back, her body tensing as she struggled to break the iron chains. "You poor, confused devil...who are you? This is no knight that speaks to me..."

Vormav simply snorted. "In your inferior tongue, you'd never be able to pronounce i-"

"Tacite, diabole!" Alma shouted, glaring as she focused all her energies and pushed forward. "Accipe precem candidam, quam perferas immaculatam ante tribunal Domini nostri Deus, ut habeas vitam aeterna! Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde-"

Vormav's howling laughter cut her off. He waved his hand and Alma felt her power drain away, the numbness spreading from her legs all through her body. She gasped, her back arching as the shock slammed into her from behind, and pitched forward, her spell breezing by with the dead wind that ran over her face. "Gngh...tu autem effugare, diabole, appropinquabit enim iudicium Dei..."

Nothing came.

"The spells of your church are nothing against mine, little girl," Vormav said. Alma noticed his voice had grown deeper, and reverberated throughout the entire area. "An Exsorcer incantation upon a Regulator like myself? Huh! I suppose your 'heart' and your 'words' aren't as strong as your pipe dreams would allow."

Alma turned her head up again, wincing at the great weight that had suddenly grown upon her. "I swear...'Regulator', devil..." she said, gulping down air, "by all that is still holy in this world...I will drive you back to Hell!"

"The rabbit would face the fox." Vormav waved his hand as though brushing off lint, turning again. "You surprise me, girl. Anyone else in your shoes probably would have given into the misery of Hell's fogs. Still, that's what I'd expect from the Body." He paced over to the trinkets, turning in his book once more. "If it pleases you, you may try as many spells as you like. I've drained you of all but one inkling of your power- besides, I read better when there's noise."

Alma tested her shackles again, but she was too weak- even the lightweight staff felt like an anvil on her shoulders, and that was without the suddenly burdensome elven mantle upon her shoulders. She shook her head, her ponytail caught between her back and the staff. She wished she'd been born a man.

"Don't be silly. You're the only one I trust."

She straightened a bit at that- something Ramza had told her, when she'd voiced her desire to help him. Rarely had she ever heard something like that from anyone. Never from Zalbag or Delita- especially not from Dycedarg. Not even Uncle Cid or her dear old teacher Simon had told her that. It seemed like only Ramza, and Teta, and Ovelia, and a select few had ever given her such weight. To be the sole recipient of one's trust...

Trust was not meant to be betrayed. Alma bowed her head, forcing a little smile. They all trusted her, in their own ways- Ramza, Agrias, Ovelia, Mustadio, Deruta, Charene, Zalbag...and Teta. Whether they were gone or not, their trust lived on in her.

So I...I have to try.

Alma twisted and turned in her chains, trying to move- she'd learned a technique during her years at Orbonne, which allowed her to regain power with even the slightest movement. Maybe if she jostled around enough...

She stopped, then, as a low hum seemed to spread around the area, and far below her, the whispers began again. Alma went rigid, looking around in surprise- then noticed Vormav was standing in front of her again. The relics on the ground were all that separated him from her, but his gaze was wild now, fierce. The way he was looking at her made her extremely uncomfortable, and momentarily glad that Ajora apparently needed the body of a virgin.

But the open book in his hand, and the gloved hand that traced forbidden designs over it, was far more upsetting than that.

He found it. He found the spell.

"Go lagaí an diabhal do cheann," Vormav said, in some language that only furthered her discomfort. "E go mbrise Dia do chroí."

She recognized some of it, strangely, as she'd never heard the language before. It was a twin curse- a curse of Hell, and a curse of Heaven, to weaken the head, and to weaken the heart, through devil and god alike. She narrowed her eyes, unable to look away as Vormav continued to stare at her, chanting in that dead language. He clenched his fist together, his eyes going great and still with absolute focus-

-and then a noose squeezed around Alma's neck. She coughed, her head snapping back against her staff. It felt like the invisible hand of a Minotaurus had slammed against her throat, strangling her for a kill while yet keeping life within her chest. She gasped for air, wheezing and writhing, struggling to find the power. Dare I...dare I use the Black Arts? Black Magic is my only chance, I don't have enough for Holy or Sleep-

Pain shot through her, suddenly, as the fog gathered around her. The whispering and the chanting would not end. Vormav stretched out his hand- through the deathly vapor, Alma could see his eyes, sallow and bloodshot. "In the name of Altima-King, and Ajora-Prince, and the Angelus Cruentus, I bind thee, Alma Beoulve! When the blood of six is spilled, then shall Ajora resurrect, and then there will be twin Hells! Rest forever in the deep crimson! Sleep evermore!"

It was as if a blow struck her on the head. Alma's back arched once, a great cry of pain running from her lips and into the fog. By the time it had finished echoing, she had already slumped forward, her eyes closing as if for the last time. Then the whispers were upon her.

---

"Ajora, decus angelicum,
in aure dulce canticum,
in ore mel mirificium,
in corde nectar caelicum...
"

A beautiful voice...why must it be singing such a lie?

Alma opened her eyes, and found herself kneeling. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision, but it was her nose that alerted her first. The sharp aroma of books and perfumed candles could belong to no graveyard in Hell. She was not with Vormav anymore, and the smooth, polished oak floor beneath her fingers could attest to that. There was no weight on her back from the holy staff- for it now lay before her, upon the purple-carpeted rise of what could only be an altar step.

She looked up. It was just as she'd thought- this was a church. Alma blinked widely, very surprised; going from a sunken city in Hell to a church was not exactly a stone's throw. It was a magnificent church, at that. A memory stirred within her, and she identified it a moment later as the Cathedral of Basivalen- a great cathedral in Bervenia, birthplace of Ajora. From border to border, the whole city was under control of the Glabados Church, and so many hundreds of churches had been built...but the Cathedral of Basivalen was different. Simplistic, honest- it had been Alma's favorite church in all of Ivalice. She went there once every year, and those were happy times for her, seeing the church over and over again. Though nowhere near the majesty of Limberry's St. Matthias Cathedral or Igros's Cathedral of the Holy Angels, it, too, had a belltower and a solid build of marble. The winged cross was erected high upon its sloping peak, and the stain-glass windows depicted the most glorious moments in Ajora's life. There was a great courtyard blooming with wild roses and tiger lilies, lined with purple chrysanthemums and blueberry groves. Color- that was what Basivalen had.


"Virtus in cordibus tranquillibus floret. Iustitia est mecum. Per animam meam, cave. Cave."

-- Sponsoring Alma Beoulve, Survivor X.

Last edited by Renmazuo on 04-18-2003 at 05:22 PM

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-18-2003 , 05:23 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

Alma was inside, however, which was still very simple, but there was one thing about it she didn't understand. Whereas outside the church was full of color, within...it grew dark. It always had to be filled with candles and lamps, and they were only placed at the front- at the altar to Ajora. The flickering golden light cast over the purple carpet and the polished but dark oak wood made the place seem all the more hallowed. Combined with the relaxing chants of the monks that attended the cathedral, it always made Alma drowsy whenever she came. She liked that- it made her feel as though she could rest her soul here.

But she was not tired in the slightest, as panic surged through her. How did I get here? Did Vormav's spell fail? Did he send me back to Ivalice by mistake...and are there demons out of hell that followed me?

"Qui te gustant, esuriant,
qui bibunt, adhuc sitiunt...
desiderare nesciunt,
nisi Ajoram, quem diligunt...

O Ajora mi dulcissime,
spes suspirantis animae...
Te quaerunt piae lacrimae,
Te clamor mentis intimae...
"

Alma was entranced by the voice- the same voice as she'd heard when she awoke. She looked around, the words calling her to rise. Taking her staff, she pulled herself up, noting the slight ache in her head that seemed to fade with each note. The chant was without music, and used only the echo of the church as its notes. Alma had loved hearing that chant from the deep tones of the monks, but this light, definitely female voice- or perhaps a countertenor?- was far beyond it...

"...wh-who sings?" Alma asked, her own words echoing off the walls. "Is anyone there?"

There was, but no answer came yet. At the altar, Alma's eyes found a figure. It was not kneeling- it stood, facing the great winged cross that was a symbol of Ajora. Alma froze there, studying it as she gripped her staff. It was a woman, a little taller than her, and garbed in a crimson dress- much like her own, Alma noticed, but everything was red. Her hair was beautiful, a chilling white-silver with a texture befitting feathers- the locks that billowed up atop her head and coursed down over the back of her neck looked like wings. She was slender and curved, toned and powerful, and even without looking at her face Alma could tell this was a strikingly beautiful woman. Even Charene would not compare. Her skin was creamy, like the colors of milk and peach blended in some hue too perfect for this world. Her shoulders rocked as she sang, each word so familiar to Alma and yet so distant.

"Mane nobiscum, Domine,
et nos illustra lumine,
pulsa mentis caligine,
mundum reple dulcedine.

Ajora, flos Matris Virginis,
amor nostrae dulcedinis,
Tibi laus, honor nominis,
regnum beatitudinis.
A-men...
"

The chant finished, the tones rolling off the walls of the darkened church. She turned. Alma's breath caught, her heartbeat suddenly picking up. The face that greeted her dispelled all previous thoughts, all words she'd been ready to say. Below the beautiful hair and behind the hymn of praise, there was a face that glowed- white enough to make even that hair look coarse by nature, and reveal eyes the color of her dress. Her lips were pink, her brow was still and smooth, her nose sharp and her chin delicate.

It was like Alma's face.

Their faces locked in a classic stare- the woman's dreamy, calm almost-smile to Alma's slightly parted, panicked cupid-bow lips. The woman took a step down, and only then did Alma notice she had wings. Yes, they were wings- attached to her back like white blades that fluttered in the air. Not the glorious and full wings of an seraph, but the smaller, sharp wings that Alma had often seen in angelic sculpture. And the red dress was no red dress- it was a singlet of crimson leather, the color of blood against her radiant flesh. Its sleeves coursed down her toned arms and was high in the front against her full breasts, a diamond cut in the middle to reveal her flat stomach. Her thighs were bare and she wore boots with winged reliefs that reached up to her knees, and Alma saw two blades stuck in either side of them.

An unfelt breeze passed over the angel, her wings fluttering with it. She stepped down from the altar in that slow stride, the smile still fixed on Alma. "You're...Alma, aren't you?"

Alma was not aware of her own trembling nod, too busy looking at the heavenly version of her own face. Phrases of Simon's sermons came back to her- archtempter holy angel truth liberation above good evil bladed wings perfect body body body Angelus Cruentus

"Your eyes deceive you not," the angel said, her eyes closing and opening in a slow, dizzying blink. "I cherish them for it...do you know who I am?"

"...you," Alma breathed. "You're...oh, God, you're..."

The angel half-turned her gaze, bringing up a refined hand to touch her cheek. "It's been so long since I was able to sing for anyone," she whispered. "I'm sorry...I don't think my voice can match those of the Basivalen monks."

King of Kings it's standing right in front of me the DEVIL

"Mm...?" The angel's eyes fixed on Alma again. Alma felt like a vicious slap had stricken her, and she leaned on her staff as the other spoke. "Surely you've guessed my name by now?"

...devil or not, I have their trust. I will not waver. Alma clutched her staff, her breath heavy and painful. She narrowed her eyes, and put as much challenge into them as possible. "...yes. I know who you are..." she said, bracing her voice. "I know you. Angelus Cruentus...the Bloody Angel, the Holy Angel set free by a tainted truth. You are the King of Kings, the Archtempter, the False Shepherd. I know you...Altima."

Altima gave her that slow blink again. "My. Someone's quite taken with me, I see..."

In that moment, Alma knew. This was not the Basivalen she knew, and Vormav's spell had not failed. They were deep inside her consciousness now- deep inside the realm of her soul- and Altima was going to drive her out. The staff she held grew more and more hollow by the second. Her soul was going to be bound forever...

"All you need is blood," Alma said, the truth dawning on her. "You need the blood of six to be spilled...then you'll bind my soul away, you'll kill me and destroy the world. You and your Apostles..."

Altima's foot placed itself upon the purple carpet, and the angel raised a brow. "Bind your soul away? Is that what Hashmalum told you?" she asked. "Alma, my Body, my Soul...I would never do that to you. You've given me so much. I will not kill you. I will not bind you." She raised a hand, and took a step towards Alma. "Come, let me explain-"

"Keep your bloody fingers to yourself, demon king!" Alma shouted, raising her staff. "I may not have much power, but I tell you this- I won't be an easy prey!"

"Nor I a relentless predator," Altima said, her smile turning bashful, "but, I admire your resolve..." She let her hand fall back to her side, her eyes almost closing as she watched Alma. "You're so out of place in Ivalice. Everyone else thinks of killing each other, yet you neither join them nor oppose them. You only worry about the fruition of such thoughts..." She took another step closer, her eyes downcast. "Mm. Only a girl like you could have braved Velius and Hashmalum, that night..."

Riovanes. Alma squeezed her eyes shut. "...why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Make them kill Izlude. Make them kill so many people..." Alma looked at Altima again, and this time it was she who took a step forward. "Why did you do this!? Why did you lead the world to this, why did you lead it astray? Why did you corrupt Ajora, why did you corrupt Vormav and Elmdor and Wiegraf and Draclau? Why...why have you done this to my brothers?!"

Her shouts echoed longer than the earlier hymn. Altima stared at her all the while, and finally spoke. "Because the world wants to believe."

"Because...what?" Alma frowned, panting a little. "Wants to believe?"

"The world wants to believe that its saviors are invincible," Altima said. "That no matter how great the chain, the saviors will break them. Even if it is the chain of death." She clasped her hands together, in front of her chest. "I wanted to be that savior. The man named Ajora Glabados wanted that, too. He gave his life to me, and we became one. Then...it was stolen from us. I was young then- young, for an angel. I knew the mortal body was a fragile thing..." She touched her chest, over her heart. "I did not know those dwelling within those bodies had so little value for them. I did not know they...'murdered.' I was naive."


"Virtus in cordibus tranquillibus floret. Iustitia est mecum. Per animam meam, cave. Cave."

-- Sponsoring Alma Beoulve, Survivor X.

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-18-2003 , 05:28 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

Altima walked forward again. Alma's back was already at the choir platform, but she wouldn't have taken a step back anyway- she would not run from this devil. She steadied her grip on the staff and took a slow, measured breath, matching gazes with the Bloody Angel. Altima either did not take it as a threat or did not care. She brushed her fingers over her heart again, her white face blooming into another smile. "So I've waited for a few centuries...waiting for you. My dear Hashmalum found you for me- you, the Body. The Perfect Body. You and Ajora...so alike, yet so different. Wanting to save the world, loving it so dearly- and yet you do not seek power. You are powerless, and he was not."

Her smile turned darker, more alluring. "I think if I reached out to touch you, you would welcome it."

Stay your resolve! Alma ground her staff against the ground, not allowing herself to tremble. "You're beyond mad," Alma said. "Are you telling me I'm...'made' for you? That all I am is a vessel for you?"

Altima raised both eyebrows. "Maybe. Hashmalum certainly thought so...but he is such a brazen old devil. My view is different from my servant's." She brought up both palms, close to her own face, and stretched out her fingers. "Marvel with me, Alma. Light, darkness, a candle in the dark. Life, death, a rebirth through hell. Angels, devils, a pure-hearted girl tainted with impurity. This is the way you and I are bound- not by light and darkness, not by heaven and hell, but by purification. Our existences filtered, thus united. We are bound, and the rust on the shackles are all that make us different."

Alma blinked in confusion, echoing the words. "Rust on the shackles?"

"What was that old saying?" Altima asked, touching a finger to one soft lip. "'Nothing's truly good or evil, but thinking makes it so.'"

"...so you and I are bound because we rise above good and evil?" Alma asked.

Altima smiled. "You understand. Truly you are the Body. That's why we belong together, you and I. That's why only we can change the world. We were created to be this way..."

Alma turned her head down. "...Altima, your words have much meaning..."

Altima nodded, her hands falling towards Alma's shoulders. "I know you are confu-"

She stopped, suddenly, as the amethyst tip of Alma's staff touched her chin.

"...but you say you were not aware of murder, of sin?" Alma asked, glaring into her eyes. "You tell me, Altima- what kind of angel with that sort of naivete names himself 'Bloody Angel'?"

Altima's perfect white face straightened into quiet surprise. Steadily, though, she put her hands on Alma's staff. She tried to turn it away, but Alma kept it there, her face still stern. Altima smiled again, taking her hands from the staff-

-and then her wings snapped closed around Alma like a vise.

Alma cried out in alarm, finding herself pressed against Altima's body- against her body. The wings drove into her back in a crushing embrace, and Alma felt one of the angel's arms encircle her waist. Her hands were pinned against Altima's chest in a mocking display of weakness, her staff all that separated her from the skin of the Bloody Angel. She began to push, but the incredible strength of Altima's wings told her it would be a futile effort. She was...

Powerless...

"At last you see," Altima whispered, her free hand cupping Alma's quivering chin. "You are without power...without the necessary strength. And now only six lives are all that prevent us from being one. You will...complete our trinity. Altima...Ajora...Alma."

Altima's cold breath fell over Alma's cheeks, the embrace tightening painfully. Alma's mouth opened, screaming a silent "o" as the pain intensified. Every muscle in her body felt like it was being stabbed with hot needles. Again she tried to reach her staff, but the pain was too great for her body to do anything- anything except stare back into Altima's luminescent, white face.

"This is the way, Alma," Altima said, like a mother assuring a petulant child. "Others have trusted you. Now trust me...please, trust me. I will show you the way, my Body...let me create you anew! You will be mine...you will become my Queen of the Eclipse!"

"Aaah!" Alma screamed again, her legs hovering an inch off the ground. She writhed with pain- the pain of being in a devil's embrace. Still she shook her head, sharp tears starting to flow. "No- no, I won't! Th...they tru- aaaaaahhhh!"

"Trust me, Alma!" Altima said again, louder, more desperate- as though she were on the verge of tears. "Please, Alma! Say you trust me! Believe in me as I believe in you!"

"Aaah! Aaaaah!"

"Trust me!"

"Aaah!"

"Trust me!"

"Aaaaaahhhhh!"

"TRUST ME!"

Alma threw back her head and screamed as loudly as she could, her eyes going wide in the agony of hellfire-

-white all over i'm going to heaven-

"what the hashmalum whats happening"

"spell out of control my king i can't control it"

"whats happening tell me whats happening save us save us dont let us die"

"trying my lord im trying damn it no"

"white so white no dont let this happen resurrection so cloooosssseee"

-and then Alma was gone, vanishing in light before the darkness of unconsciousness claimed her.

---

+ End Prologue Tertius +


the young must grow old,
whilst old ones grow older,
and cowards will shrink,
as the bold grow bolder.
courage may blossom in quiet hearts,
for who can tell where bravery starts?
truth is a song oft lying unsung,
some mother bird, protecting her young,
those who lay down their lives for their friends,
the echo rolls onward, it seldom ends.
who never turned and ran, but stayed?
this is a warrior born, not made!
living in peace, aye many a season,
calm in life and sound in reason,
'til evil arrives, a wicked horde,
driving a warrior to pick up the sword,
the challenger rings then, straight and fair
justice is with us, beware. beware!


-- Brian Jacques


"Virtus in cordibus tranquillibus floret. Iustitia est mecum. Per animam meam, cave. Cave."

-- Sponsoring Alma Beoulve, Survivor X.

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Exeter Posted: 04-18-2003 , 06:44 PM

Rock You

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

~Death On Two Legs~
Sol Badguy--Greatest Hits, Track 3

Made in heaven, made in heaven
It's for all to see
Made in heaven, made in heaven
That's what everybody says everybody says to me
It was really meant to be
Oh can't you see
Yeah, everybody, everybody says
Yes it was meant to be


"I’m not finished yet!”

Yeah, yeah

But for the fading echo of Ky Kiske's defiant cry, the world fell silent once more. The rain seemed to fade, and lightning flashed in the night sky, an ominous indication of the Lord's unease as he watched the battle unfold below.

When stormy weather comes around
It was made in heaven


He was obviously unimpressed.

Yeah, you're right, Sol thought sarcastically. Not much of a show.

When sunny skies break through behind the clouds
I wish it could last forever, yeah
Wish it could last forever, forever


But since when do I anything to impress the likes of you?

The low rumble of thunder was a fitting response.

I'm playing my roll in history
Looking to find my goal
Taking all this misery
But giving it all my...


"Sol!"

The boy had conviction, Sol'd give him that. But without the strength to fight for what he believed in, he was worthless; just another pitiful human being fated to die.

Geh...screw this. You may not be finished, kid...

"But I am," Sol said simply as he took a step toward the open street, away from his injured opponent. He shrugged as if to say that he'd tried his best, then lowered his head slightly and closed his eyes as he felt the boy rise up from the ground.

...here we go again. When will you see sense?

"Face me, Sol!"

Again, thunder.

Thunder, but not from the sky, as Sol well knew.

Is that all you've got?

He sidestepped the crackling bolt casually, a smirk on his face as he spun on his heel to face the blonde swordsman once more.

Ky stood tall and proud, the end of the Fuuraiken aimed to pierce Sol's heart.

--made in heaven--

"This ends here, traitor!"

Can't you even hear yourself, boy?

"I was afraid you'd gone soft, Kiske," Sol said aloud, brushing the wet hair from his face with one hand. "Good to see the ex-leader of the Knights can still take a beating.

Of course, it was all you ever did during the war."

Enraged, the boy charged forward, and Sol rushed up to meet him.

You want to finish this? Fine.

A bolt of lightning flashed overhead, and the rain began again. Unbeknownst to the two combatants, a ragtag-assortment of airships were just now passing by to the south, desperately trying to survive nature's wrath. Meanwhile, an ominous figure was quickly making his way to the center of the ruined city, a physical manifestation of the night itself, in a place where day seemed a distant memory.

And yet, just then, there were but two people in the entire world.

The thunder crackled angrily, and another flash illuminated the two silhouettes for a moment as their blades met, lightning and flame erupting together as one.

Again and again, the clash of metal resounded with the fury of the storm.

But this time, Sol didn't feel like toying with the idiot Frenchman.

Ky pushed forward, forcing Sol to go on the defensive for a moment as the furious blows of the Fuuraiken clanged against its fiery counterpart, one after another.

Sol's eyes narrowed slightly. Time to kick it up a notch.

With frightening speed, the bounty hunter pivoted on his heel, parried Kiske's overhead slash with enough force to knock the boy off balance, and rushed forward. Ky's eyes widened as the Fireseal flared to life, the broad edge singing his robes as the blade flashed from right hip to left shoulder, leaving a charred streak across his chest. At the end of the swing, which had obviously been intended to miss, Sol bent low, then exploded upward, his elbow burying itself in Kiske's cheek and sending the boy reeling.

Sol's right hand shot forward like a piston, cutting off Ky's breath instantly as it snapped shut around his throat. The blonde-haired swordsman gasped as Sol raised him into the air, his feet dangling a good foot and a half off the scorched ground, the Thunderseal beginning to slip from his hand as his strength faded.

"You want to know why I took off?" Sol said, his voice barely audible through the chaotic weather. "I'll tell you."

Because there was no hope. Because I am a Gear. Because you always thought you'd be better off without me, and I was starting to agree. Because...

Sol brought Ky's face close to his own, and the knight stared back as emotionlessly as his adversary.

"I left because I didn't give a damn about any of you."

Silence took hold of the city once more.

Frederick--no, Sol Badguy, knelt beside the fatally injured knight as the man whispered his final words.

"Sol...Sol, it was...Justice."

...Justice.

Harold and his unit had been maintaining control over an escape route some distance to the south, should bad go to worse and the knights be forced to flee...

...and Justice had come with his army.

All hope was lost, or would be soon.

Unless....

Glancing down once more at the still form beside him, and the trail of blood left in his wake, Sol ran a finger along the edge of the Fireseal. He smiled slightly as a drop of blood formed on the tip of his finger.

Still as sharp as ever.

"...and still human."

As he left the darkened cathedral, there was but one name on Sol's mind.


Sol's words seemed to hurt Ky more than any mere sword, but the knight didn't let it show for long. His eyes gleamed suddenly with the reflection of the lightning above as he glared at his adversary with nothing but the purest hate.

"Not a single one of you was worth keeping alive. I can't believe you survived...the hell?"

His strength restored, Ky wasted not a moment more listening to the man's insults. He grabbed Sol's wrist like a vise and freed himself from the traitor's grip, then, as his feet hit the ground, the Thunderseal flashed.

Sol grunted as flesh was torn, but the boy wasn't done yet. A second slash cut deeply into his side, and the following thrust pierced cleanly through his right shoulder.

A final kick to the stomach sent him to the ground.

Not bad.

"Repent, heathen!"

Sol frowned as the tip of the Fuuraiken came to rest on his eyebrow.

...not that shit again.

"For your crimes, Sol Badguy, you are sentenced to death. Beg for his forgiveness and the Lord may yet be merciful."

"You have no fucking idea what you're talking about," Sol replied angrily as he rose to his feet once more.

Ky stared as he realized that the man had already stopped bleeding. "You...how?"

"No, right now I'd be more concerned with yourself, boy."

A instant of tension, and then...

"Immoral Flame...my fellow warrior...I suggest you cease your attack."

The voice took both the combatants by surprise. Ky spun around instantly, the Thunderseal ready, and Sol folded his arms as the figure stepped out from the shadows.

Testament.

The long-haired, scythe-wielding apparition who had once been Tesu Underson lowered his head gravely. "Forgive me for interrupting your battle, but I felt obligated to warn you both of a force of which you may not yet have become aware."

Ky merely stared, but Sol walked forward casually until he stood side-by-side with the Frenchman. He grinned mirthlessly. "If you're scared of some goddamn weather, you freak, I'll..."

The raven on Testament's shoulder squawked indignantly, and Testament himself frowned.

"No, it seems that the storm is but a side effect of..." He paused for a moment, cocking his head slightly as though listening to something. "...there, don't you feel it?"

Sol did, this time. A presence, but not human. Not even alive, really, save for the way it seemed to...pulse?

Ky gasped and took a step back. "What on earth...?"

A single, radiant point of white light drifted down from the sky, then halted right in the center of the three former Knights. Before anyone could act, it began to expand, rotating in on itself until it had opened into a shimmering, disc-shaped portal.

"What the hell is this?" Sol managed just as he was taken.

Yes it was plain to see, yes it was meant to be
Written in the stars...
Written in the stars...

Last edited by Exeter on 04-18-2003 at 07:13 PM

IP: Logged

Exeter is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Exeter Click here to Send Exeter a Private Message Find more posts by Exeter Add Exeter to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
MageusBlack Posted: 04-18-2003 , 08:52 PM

Grab your asses and run!

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

Gah… 15 minutes until SX starts. XD;;; Sorry this is so crappy, I’m just running out of time. XD

---

Maya Amano: Introduction

It was Friday 18th, and a cold one at that. The spring greeted the people walking pass with a strong breeze and sunny sky. Cherry blossoms blew in the breeze in an articulate manner. Maya Amano giggled happily as she stared into the sky, her eyes followed every one of the pretty blossoms until they were out of her sight.

The thin Japanese woman took a fast pace towards the walk home. Dressed in a brown skirt only reaching her knees, it made sense that she felt the cold. Her matching long boots hit the ground hard with every step she took. Her black hair blew back artistically in the breeze, and from a certain angle, it would look like a perfect picture.

Reaching the road, Maya stopped and jogged in a spot. Deep blue eyes, almost a violet in colour, watched every car pass by with every sound of every engine. She hugged herself, and hid her hands in the sleeves of her shirt, which was also brown, but with an added cream colour and patterned hearts on the front. She wished that she had brought that scarf she had bought just a few days ago. She also wished she brought gloves.

She also wished she could take the bus, but she couldn’t, as all of her stuff was left in her office at Kismat. She worried for a second that she had missed some important calls, but shrugged it off, because it wasn’t too important. The lights changed and she ran across the streets, the ringing of the green-walk light still echoing in her ears.

Kismat was a large building, even though there were only two floors to it. It was the place where the teen magazine ‘Coolest’ was made, and Maya was one of the editors of it. In the building, people chattered, work was done, photocopiers were abused and yelling and ranting of Maya’s boss could be heard in her private office.

She pushed the rotating door of the building and felt the pure and utter sweetness of the warmth.

--

She was late from her lunch break, and she knew it. She also knew that Minzuno would give her hell because of it. She tapped her foot impatiently as the elevator hummed it way up to the next floor. It binged and the door slid open, right in front of Yukki.

“Hey, Maya, forget your bag again?” she asked. Her hair was long, curly and black. She wore a grey hat, a matching grey top and long yellow pants. Her camera was slung around her neck, and she played with the lens cap as she spoke.

Maya nodded, “It’s so cold outside…!” she complained, and laughed.

Yukki joined in, “You’re a strange one, Maya. We’d better get back to work now, Minzuno’s gonna crack it at you if she sees you slacking and being late.” She handed Maya a large cream bag, presuming hers.

“Thanks, Yukki… now to see the chief…” she waved as she walked into Minzuno’s office and closed the door.

“Amano… you know why you were called in?” A plump woman with short red hair said. Her cat like eyes squinted behind the thick frames of glasses. She wore a pink shirt and a matching black business suit with symmetrical white lines all over them.

“Yes.” Maya said simply.

“Yes, your most recent story, 'Wang Long: Her readings false?' was boring. It had no impact. It’s trash. Who’d want to read something like that?” Minzuno snapped when she spoke.

“Huh?” Maya questioned. She’d thought this would have been about her late lunch.

“Doesn’t matter anyway, look, go edit it and I’ll see how well it is. If it’s still crap, it gets taken out. If it’s not, it’s not.” She stopped talking and looked back to her work. Maya exited.

She took the lift down grumbling. But when the doors open on the ground floor, there was no one there.


"My name is Maia, of Subaru sparkling in the heavenly dome. I support the holy moon, and pray on your behalf..."

IP: Logged

MageusBlack is offline Click Here to See the Profile for MageusBlack Click here to Send MageusBlack a Private Message Find more posts by MageusBlack Add MageusBlack to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Wayne Posted: 04-18-2003 , 09:37 PM

The Night Beckons...

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

Better late than never, eh? Five or so parts, heh. Not quite 9,000 words, which isn't really that long. Feel free to read as you have time; I put explanations of what happens in each segment so you can pick-and-choose. I'll be doing that in tournament posts as well.

In this first entry....
-Mal'Ganis returns to life. More or less.
-There's a lot to find in the abandoned base.
-Like a potential ally, with some of the same interests as a renegade Dreadlord.



Not everything in life-- or death, or undeath, as the case may be-- goes as planned. Mal'Ganis, Third Initiate in the Circle of Desecration, and ranked fifth-- sixth, he always forgot to remember Anetheron, Archimonde's chief henchman-- among all the Nathrezim.

And then he died. And that should've been the end of it. Death is like that.

Death works in mysterious ways.

Mal'Ganis groaned as his eyes slowly opened, taking in an endless white sheet in front of him; and he realized with a start he was buried alive in snow. He slowly brought up his knee and
tried to stand, but as he shrugged his right shoulder out to use that arm to steady himself, grimacing as ice crystals poured off of him on both sides, he realized his right arm wasn't there.

Peculiar.

He slowly managed to stand, groaning again as his body started to regain feeling from the cold; falling to his knees again as another fresh wave of pain washed over him. The slash that severed his arm, and hadn't healed; had continued into his torso, and a stain of black blood was frozen over the gash, which had torn into what passed for an outsider's heart. But the rest of him was accounted for.

The Scourge's base he had 'borrowed'-- anew he felt rage against Ner'Zhul, who'd betrayed him in favor of that human-- was in ruins. A graveyard-- it took Mal'Ganis a time to recognize it; as it seemed merely an ominous cottage without its familiar reek of decay-- lay half-buried in snow, and as the Dreadlord took a stop toward it his hooves struck something hard, and he looked down.

Stone. Stone steps, and a dais behind me... I see. The Nether's energies are still crackling... some lost soul must've seen fit to take what was left of me here, for my spirit to rehabit... but couldn't provide a body to corrupt, so my wounded old one had to do....

It was typical of macabre Necromancers' humor to actually charge a fee for the 'spare parts' they peddled to aid restoring the dead to... unlife. And whatever being had dragged Mal'Ganis's mauled carcass to the Altar couldn't provide another sacrifice.

And only my Nathrezim energies could do even this much. Well... shouldn't be too hard to remedy....

He looked around, trying to remember where he fell; but Northrend all more or less looked the same. If one had seen a single ice-capped glacier with snow covering all the land around; one had seen them all; and the Lich-King Ner'Zhul had risen mostly unhindered to power since no tourists were ever lost in the frozen North. None were foolish enough to go.

Until that human showed up. Why... why did Ner'Zhul choose him as his champion? The boy was hardly a suitable vessel, whether he's infused with the Unholy Strength or not.
Any of the other Death Knights from the first raid would've been fine... ah. The Prince. Ner'Zhul didn't want his body, he wanted his kingdom... so much death in bringing all of Lordaeron to heel. I do so wonder how the campaign went....


He slowly turned around, sharp eyes looking over the ruined encampment. The massive obsidian citadel he'd used as his fortress still stood, but even from forty yards away he could tell their were no tortured spirits within to feed upon; nor to use the spectral cannon, assuming he'd need it. Then his keen ears picked up something that made his lipless mouth twitch into a smile.

A sudden gust of arctic wind sliced into the ruined base, and above Mal'Ganis came the rattling of dozens of chains, hooks, and other implements of carnage left outside the abandoned slaughterhouse. The building, bone at the base and ironwood above, had stocked hundreds of corpses for use in constructing the infamous "abominations."

"Spare parts." And just as there were a remnant of souls in the Citadel, so too will there be flesh to mend this wound....

It didn't take him long to find another arm to attach to the stump at his shoulder, and within moments the Nether energies he summoned transformed the frozen appendage into a good-as-new limb. He curled his renewed fingers, silently flicking his wrist and grinning as razor-sharp claws appeared. The magic inherent in a Nathrezim made their claws as hard and dangerous as any metal weapon; with all the speed and power of a feral animal... it was no surprise that the Dreadlords preferred melee combat with their enemies.

With his mind slowly reattuning itself to reality, Mal'Ganis felt a different sort of ache... hunger. His body was weak and unable to heal while he had gone so long without absorbing the life essence of another being.

Fortunately, the Black Citadel had batteries of souls used for powering its spirit cannon; and while Mal'Ganis didn't sense any energy from it he was certain, as the Citadel was still standing; that the underground levels were untouched.

And Ner'zhul, even in undeath, had never lost his knack for always having a contingency. There were enough soul cells in the basement of each fortress to animate multiple ghouls or even Nerubians and still power the main defensive gun.

A feast. A feast fit for a leader of "demons."

He felt a faint tugging against his body; a queasiness, the same kind he felt when he opened a dark portal to the Twisting Nether. He quickly glanced around; but there was nothing. In a moment the feeling was gone; and he tried to forget it.

---

Hoofbeats echoed throughout the massive citadel. Mal'Ganis found he could still warp short distances by creating portals through the Twisting Nether-- he felt an odd force pulling on him as he planeshifted, but dismissed it attempts by other demons to trap him-- and willed himself into the ground level of the ominous building.

The interior of the Black Citadel seemed almost untouched. Smears of green liquid-- ectoplasm, of course-- dotted the hallways here and there, and the massive green cords of Nerubian spiderwebs still hung in a few distant nooks; but the black-stained stone and marble was remarkably undamaged. Mal'Ganis found a spiral staircase and carefully walked down it to the distant levels below, where no mortal foot had ever trod; and, quickly tiring of the endless flight of stairs, jumped off. He quickly landed at the lowest level, hooves shattering age-old rock on the ground; shadows almost tangible gathered around him. He closed his eyes, relying on his spectral sight; and gradually the imprint of the ethereal plane imposed itself over the material, and he saw the dull blue shimmer of the soul batteries in the center of the subterranean level; and turned north to reach it.

The cells seemed a scene from a nightmare; and even Mal'Ganis shuddered. Massive black-- there was no other color, really; aside from the blue of the tortured souls still there-- spires reached toward the ceiling dozens of meters above; the statues of two horrid gargoyles stretched up to match them. On Mal'Ganis's level he could see row after row of ziggurats, each only a few feet tall; radiating with unused life. The Dreadlord slowly smiled and strode over to one, hooves still carving a path in the rock surface; and placed his hands above the hemispherical indentation in the ziggurat. Life... wonderful, sustaining souls... slowly flowed out, and Mal'Ganis began absorbing them.

"Eat your fill, Master Dreadlord." came a chilling voice from the shadows behind him. "...you will need your strength."

Mal'Ganis whirled around to face whoever had spoken to him, but even his eyes could see nothing. "Who are you?"

A sudden flash of fire appeared in the shadows, and as Mal'Ganis's eyes adjusted he could see-- vaguely-- a Lich, the skull and decaying body, still wrapped in the robes of a mage, being an easy sign-- mounted atop a horse... which is either badly malnourished or as skeletal as its owner. Then Mal'Ganis saw the fire came from the head of a gold-and-black iron truncheon, and the skull grinned.

"Din Frostfire is what I am called now, Mal'Ganis." it replied.

His eyes narrowed. "What are you, Frostfire? No Lich in the Scourge ever carried a staff or rode a... horse."

Din quietly laughed; but if anything the sudden chill in the air grew worse. "It is habit, Master Dreadlord. I was one of Ner'zhul's 'Death Knights' in Dreanor, serving the Grim One, Gorefiend. When he vanished during the end of my old world... I was captured with Ner'zhul by the Legion, and lost my powers over death." For an instant the cold grew so near freezing that the twin ziggurats closest to him started to crack; but the Lich relented. "I will recover what the Legion took from me. And I will help you kill Ner'zhul, for what he did to us.
" He paused. "That is your wish, is it not? Revenge?"

Mal'Ganis smirked. "All who wrong a Nathrezim shall die. After all... it sets an unacceptable precedent for those who think they can cross us."

The Lich's skull grinned again; and Mal'Ganis thought, smirking, that the skull might not have much of a choice of its expression. "So we understand each other. Excellent. ...I trust we also work to the same purpose in another matter. You know Ner'zhul's 'champion,' the Death Knight--" it nearly spat the title; so great was its disgust, "Arthas?"

"Unto death." Mal'Ganis replied dryly, and Din's humorless smile widened.

"I see. Then you have no objection to my asking you to kill him in return for your life?"

"Is that the payment you demand?"

The Lich shrugged. "No. I expect you to act out of generosity, in gratitude to the one who saved you from death."

Mal'Ganis lipless mouth twitched. "I see. Then it is good I wish to rend Arthas to pieces myself, otherwise I would hate to have to be so... impolite... as to refuse you."

The light in the Lich's eyes brightened. "Then again we understand each other. Finish your meal, Master Dreadlord. Then I will give you some... trinkets... to assist you. I only demand that no one knows it Din Frostfire who revived you."

The Dreadlord nodded. "No one shall. ...the deal is made, Lich. It is good to be alive again."

The points of light flickered again. "You are welcome, Mal'Ganis."

He suddenly twitched as some invisible portal yanked at him; but again, there was nothing that could conceivably be responsible aside from the grinning skull just meters away; and Frostfire had cast no spell.

---


"As you can see, your people are now mine. I will now turn this city, household by household, until the flame of Life has been snuffed out... forever." - Mal'Ganis

IP: Logged

Wayne is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Wayne Click here to Send Wayne a Private Message Find more posts by Wayne Add Wayne to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Wayne Posted: 04-18-2003 , 09:44 PM

The Night Beckons...

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

Anime quote in this one. As in old times, first person to catch it (it's from an anime theme song) gets an R-vote.

In this second segment....

-Mal'Ganis finds the old Human camp near Daggercap Bay, now a mercenary post.
-He meets some interesting people at the tavern. Like a Pit Lord.



Frostfire was an expert artificer; which Mal'Ganis found extremely unusual, since if his story was true he was an Orc by birth, and the savages were generally not known for their talent in forging items of power. Nevertheless, the Lich had been generous, and Mal'Ganis found himself heavier by a pair of magic-resisting bracers, two rings, and a mantle that magically boosted his already-formidable mental powers and agility.

"There is a new encampment near Daggercap Bay, to the South," the Lich had told him, "...set up by the Alliance forces when Arthas first arrived. Now it's a gathering-place for mercenaries, vagabonds... and goblins. You could find a dirigible or ship there back to the Mainland... assuming you would rather not planeshift to the Nether and simply portal there...."

Mal'Ganis refused to say more than he had to; but explained to Frostfire that he would rather the Legion not know he yet lived; and any creation of portals would undoubtedly draw their attention to him. The Lich had accepted this explanation, thereafter informing the Dreadlord that Archimonde had been killed in Kalimdor, and the invasion had ended in failure... although the Undead were still in power in Lordaeron, and Arthas-- his enemy-- reigned there as King.

Who would have guessed the Sentinels capable of defeating Archimonde? ...and Tichondrius, of course... Mal'Ganis mused. Yet this works out in my favor. The Legion will be in disarray; and the deaths of Tichondrius-- and, presumably, Anetheron-- there will be very few left who can challenge me now. They will be in for quite a surprise....

His mind kept busy, spinning plot after counterplot when he was able to return to the mainland. Such distraction was enough to keep his thoughts away from the endless miles of tundra behind and before him; and three days passed before the Dreadlord, who had never rested, needing only the occasional sip from the spirit energy batteries he'd taken; saw something manmade on the horizon. He grinned mirthlessly and continued trudging through the snow, nearly running; hooves splattering slush and icy water around as he neared the cluster of buildings.

Sounds... voices, song, from there... a tavern. He turned his eyes away from the large, red-roofed building; to the others.... One of distinctly Goblin make; short, poorly painted in a dingy white-grey, and covered with graffiti and garish caricatures and "art." A half-dozen ships were docked; four were simple transports with three-point tacking sails and a huge hold; the others were unknown to him, but shorter, and with rows upon rows of oars and cannon.

He laughed quietly and started for the Goblin lab, but suddenly stopped, frozen; as he recognized a presence nearby. What? ...Azgalor? Here?! Best to... no. If I flee, he can destroy the ship... he must've sensed me too, by now.... Well, Pit Lord, if you wish to battle....

Mal'Ganis, as nonchalantly as a tall, winged, demon radiating an aura of vampiric energy could; walked around the tavern to the front, and swung open the door.

....

What?!


He could only stare, dumbfounded, at the scene. The tavern, which had seemed so big outside; was nearly full. At the bar, which was made of stout ironwood with an obvious snowy motif, painted white on top; and which stretched in a horseshoe shape around the right side of the tavern, ending with two swinging gates on both sides, leaving about three meters of space of floor beyond them; gathered nearly a zoo of different intelligent-- at least somewhat-- creatures. A hulking Pandaren, two empty gourds with odd Panderian characters on them; and a score of glasses and bowls around him, was attempting to serenade a female Elf who had clearly seen better days. ...such as, perhaps; when she was alive. The pale woman was covering her ears with her hands; a soft red glow was visible around her half-closed eyelids. A trio of trolls, tall, blue skin rippling with muscle, were cheering their drunk comrade on; on the opposite side of the tavern, in a corner, sat a tall, muscular human, with an enormous bear resting on the floor beside him. Near Mal'Ganis, in a corner table on the bar's side of the room, was reclining an attractive, exotic woman-- from the waist up. The Naga winked at Mal'Ganis, who shuddered, as a quartet of snakes that made up her 'hair,' like some legendary medusa grinned in unison at him; and took an uneasy step toward the bar.

And a step back, as the Pandaren suddenly 'sang,' loud, energetic, and horribly off-key, "I... put my ear against your back and held you. My body is... kind of like a borderline! It's as if you're going to go somewhere!"

What the--

The Pandaren bellowed out the next verse in his love song to the Dark Ranger; who put her head in her hands, and tried desperately to pretend she wasn't there. "But if I keep them in, such feelings will tear me apart. I want to get closer... and closer... to youuuuuu! Livin' in a world that's no more than... uh... ten feet away from you!"

"Please... by all the ghosts of Quel'Thalas... make him stop!" the Ranger moaned.

But nothing on heaven or earth stops a drunken Pandaren. "Taking turns, pumping the pedals-- passing over bowing sunflowers-- taking in the steady wind, yeah, as if we could fly... For the first time, I felt your warmth. I wanna to be stronger than anyone else! With warm rhythm, two hearts... beating... as onnnnnnneee!"

"Yeah! Yeah!" crowed the Beastmaster, deep in his cups himself, and clearly enjoying the horrid concert.

It wasn't as though the Brewmaster needed any encouragement. "Lip to lip... eye to eye... hand in hand... the Light doesn't forbid anything at all! I love you! I love you! I--" there was a sudden thump as the furry bearlike head hit the wooden top of the bar, and the drunken singer was now sound asleep.

Mal'Ganis lowered his hand. "I would apologize, but now the sweet music of the Abasi Sirens is forever ruined for me. My ears are still complaining."

All eyes in the bar-- from the feral trolls to the gleaming amber eyes of the Sea-Witch-- turned to Mal'Ganis. The barkeep, the only human in the tavern besides the Beastmaster, spoke first.

"You, uh... with that big demon? Azga-somethin'? He'll be back in an hour or two; went off to swat some spiders to keep his edge." He nodded at Mal'Ganis's neutral expression; the Dreadlord visibly tensed at the mention of Azgalor; let alone that he was hunting down renegade Nerubians, which meant that he likely was still working for the Scourge. "So... yeah. ...want a drink?"

"Elfwine. What she had," he commanded, jerking his head; horns pointing to the Dark Ranger; and he took a seat beside her.

"Anya Eversong." she said conversationally, smiling slightly. "...I appreciate that. I'm not very good at casting Silence yet. And you're...?"

"Anetheron." Mal-Ganis lied. "...Anetheron the Destroyer."

She nodded. "A pleasure, Anetheron. What brings a Nathrezim like you to Northrend? Oh... and don't worry. No hard feelings for Quel'Thalas. I work for the Scourge now, more or less. I don't really think of myself as an Elf... I'm a Ranger. A Dark Ranger."

Mal'Ganis shrugged. "No concern of mine. That was mostly the work of Arthas of Lordaeron, as I understand it. And I... have parted ways with the Lich-King."

Anya chuckled quietly; nodding to the Pandaren, who was just now waking back up. "Well, I'm a mercenary now. I was never really under the Lich's control... it was either be this or, like, some mindless Banshee. You take what you can get."

"I suppose. ...tell me, Anya. What brings you to Northrend?"

She frowned. "Well... I went on a job interview the other day, and they were like, 'Oooh, what's that smell?' And I was like, 'Oh... sorry, it's... me.' And then they said they didn't think I'd be able to fit in with the other employees 'cause they're living and, you know, I'm dead so I wouldn't be a 'team player.' But then I said, 'I could work 24 hours,' and they said, 'All right, you can work the graveyard shift!' So they sent me to work with the goblins. But that didn't work out, so I quit. And I'm, like, here now."

The Dreadlord simply stared. "...ah... fascinating. I--"

He stopped in mid-sentence. He could feel it... feel the presence of another demon. One not quite as powerful as he overall, but one better suited for battle. Mal'Ganis was not a warrior; not like Anetheron or Tichondrius had been. His talents were better suited for subterfuge and cunning, not for open hostility. And Azgalor was one of the best....

The door swung open, and the massive Pit Lord slowly squeezed through; even with the door far wider than most. He started to the bar, then suddenly stopped as his eyes met Mal'Ganis's.
Rows of jagged yellow teeth curled into a grin as the purple-scaled behemoth took an earth-shaking step forward. The layers of armor he wore rattled as he moved; his head nearly brushed the ceiling ten feet above the floor. Then he laughed.

"Why... if it isn't the little lost Dreadlord, Mal'Ganis. ...you should be dead."

Anya quickly turned to him. "Mal'Ganis? The 'Desecrater?'" Her eyes narrowed. "...he said he was Anetheron."

The Pit Lord laughed again. "Ho ho! Anetheron? Now he's truly dead. Along with Winterchill and Archimonde... want to know how I survived, when the Night Elves slew all the rest?
Ha, ha... fortunately I can reincarnate, as you know. So I escaped. Ho, ho... little Mal'Ganis. How did you come back?"

His eyes narrowed. "That is none of your concern, Azgalor. Now... I know the Legion needs me gone, since you still have plans for Ner'zhul, and I plan to kill him. So what will you do, 'mighty' Pit Lord?"

Azgalor smirked. "Kill you, of course. Not as though I really wanted a reason. ...you understand." His thick, scaly tail lashed eagerly, knocking over the Naga's table, and spilling her drink.
She glared furiously as the Pit Lord's back, and quickly eyed Mal'Ganis, putting a hand on her bow.

The Dreadlord caught the gesture, and gave a faintest nod. "...very well, Azgalor. When you're ready."

The nearly palpable tension in the room had not gone unnoticed. The Brewmaster, still scowling; buttoned up the last of his martial-arts suit and gripped his bamboo pole, gourd resting comfortably on it. The trolls and Beastmaster had all taken their axes and were looking around, ready to jump in; as yet unsure of just whose side to take. Anya had already drawn her bow and stood; the Naga had made no other movement.
---


"As you can see, your people are now mine. I will now turn this city, household by household, until the flame of Life has been snuffed out... forever." - Mal'Ganis

IP: Logged

Wayne is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Wayne Click here to Send Wayne a Private Message Find more posts by Wayne Add Wayne to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Wayne Posted: 04-18-2003 , 09:49 PM

The Night Beckons...

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

In this third segment....

-All heck breaks loose when Mal'Ganis and Azgalor begin fighting.
-As with any good bar fight, just about everyone else ends up joining in.

Seconds passed as Azgalor and Mal'Ganis stared, each gauging the other's ability and mentally deciding the best course of action to take. The Dreadlord leaned forward, spreading his claws; Azgalor matched the motion by buckling down on his hind legs, slicing the air back-and-forth with his deadly twinblade. Magical energy crackled; drinks went sour as Mal'Ganis's vampiric aura grew more potent; the smell of brimstone gathered around Azgalor as fire appeared on the blades of his weapon.

"Grraaah!" cried the Beastmaster from behind. Azgalor's eyes widened; Mal'Ganis spun around to see the human warrior. He stood his fall height, twin axes in hand; glaring fiercely and vacantly at the pair of demons in front of him.

In the next second he fell straight forward, knees barely buckling. He struck the wooden floor; and both axes dropped with a clatter.

Uneasy seconds passed as the others in the tavern eyed the unconscious human, gazes mirroring pity, surprise, and absolute revulsion.

Azgalor coughed politely. "Mal'Ganis?"

"Oh... right." Both struck at once. Mal'Ganis shot forward, jumping at the last second as Azgalor slashed low; raking into the Pit Lord's chest as he flew by. Azgalor spun around with surprising speed; his tail smashing through the legs of Anya's stool; she fell hard to the ground with a yelp. The Pit Lord's violet hands clenched the grip of his twinblade, which appeared magically in his hands; as though from some other dimension; as he smashed sideways at Mal'Ganis; the surprise blow caught the Dreadlord at his side and flung him headlong across the room; but he managed to stop his flight with a quick flap of his wings; and landed.

...only to be greeted with the war cry of a trio of trolls bearing down on him-- the Ice Troll berserkers had seen the first exchange, and made their choice accordingly. Mal'Ganis snarled and fought back-- the first two axes struck, but were mostly deflected by the invisible barrier formed by his magical armor and Ring of Protection-- he sliced into the first with his claws, but the brute barely felt it; Mal'Ganis launched into a flurry of slashes and rakes while trying his best to evade the hatchets and throwing-axes of his enemies. After a few seconds of the exchange he saw an opening; the Troll to his right attempted an overhead, brutal slash; and Mal'Ganis ripped into his gut with his adamantine talons. Blood flew, energizing the Dreadlord; he jumped back and, seeing Azgalor in line behind the blue-skinned hunters, smirked.

"Aszg garbutulak," he whispered, and pointed, mentally choosing a spot between the trolls and Azgalor, to ensure all four were hit.

In an instant a flash of green light erupted in front of Mal'Ganis, and a barrage of hundreds of magical vermin-- bats, stinging insects, rats, spiders-- flew at the quartet. The trolls hissed and cried in agony as dozens of tiny bites and gashes crossed their toughened skin in moments; Azgalor slashed furiously at them, and took by far the least damage. Mal'Ganis gave another lipless smirk and shot forward at the berserkers again... but stopped at the sudden sound of thunder. The Sea Witch had stood up and slithered a few feet forward, and was now in a perfect spot to hit Azgalor and the furious trolls. Static electricity crackled around her; Azgalor's eyes widened in realization as he turned his bulk to face her--

"Forked Lightning, strike!" she hissed, loud and high; and suddenly four bolts of magic lightning erupted from her outstretched hand. One Ice Troll was blasted into oblivion outright; leaving only gore and ashes. The other two staggered forward, badly wounded; again, Azgalor's heightened resistance to magic served him well; though he still bellowed in pain.

Mal'Ganis nodded a quick thanks and shredded one troll with his claws; it was too weak to resist. The other struck at Mal'Ganis, but he chopped downward with the side of his hand, slicing the axehandle in half; and spun around, backhanding him with his left hand. It staggered backward, unable to resist as Mal'Ganis leapt forward, kicking him in the face with his incredibly hard hooves. The troll, covered in wounds and bleeding badly; collapsed, and Mal'Ganis sighed quietly as he drained yet more life from the foe's lost blood.

He barely reacted in time as the Pandaren lunged forward, swishing his bamboo pole at the Dreadlord. Mal'Ganis's eyes widened in surprise; in way of explanation, the Brewmaster roared,
"My fee!" and struck again-- Mal'Ganis frowned, realizing that the trolls must've hired him, and now were going to be unable to pay. Well, I'm sure once the Pandaren is dead that won't matter much....

He tried to evade again, but this time the Brewmaster aimed the stick down, and it smacked Mal'Ganis across the face. He was amazed at how much it hurt... the weapon was weak, but the Pandaren had tremendous strength behind it... Mal'Ganis had heard that the greatest Pandaren were capable of matching demons for strength; now he knew it was true. He kicked at the Brewmaster to counter, but the Pandaren was surprisingly agile and spun out of the way.

That wasn't agility... that was...

....

...alcohol.


He struck again, and sure enough the Brewmaster's drunken weaving carried him easily, and rapidly; out of the way. Azgalor, spotting his chance; darted forward with surprising speed and shoulderblocked Mal'Ganis, knocking him down. The Pit Lord yelled in triumph and stabbed the twinblade down, attempting to skewer his enemy; Mal'Ganis rolled aside, narrowly dodging it; Azgalor tried again, with the same result. The Dreadlord dodged a third strike by sliding underneath the massive demon, kicking upward at Azgalor's underbelly. He howled in pain and backpedaled; Mal'Ganis snarled as he stood, but couldn't dodge in time as Azgalor suddenly stomped down with both of his feet. The sudden thunderclap of sound and force stunned the Dreadlord; and Azgalor had a second to draw back his arm, and he shot the blade forward, intent on the impale; Mal'Ganis staggered, clearing his eyes; and suddenly gasped as the magical steel was pushed through the top-right of his chest, near his shoulder.

Azgalor grinned and drew back the blade, now smeared with black, hot blood. He licked it off with his serpentine tongue; to audible sounds of disgust from the Dark Ranger. Mal'Ganis, still stunned; was unable to dodge as the Pandaren took his chance, cracking his bamboo pole on the back of Mal'Ganis's head, and the Dreadlord stumbled forward, falling to his knees.

...Azgalor alone was a challenge, but now both he and the Pandaren....

He dodged as Azgalor struck again; but Mal'Ganis knew he was getting worn down. The Naga hissed something in her racial tongue and fired another blast of lightning; this one intelligently jumping around Mal'Ganis to electrocute both the Pit Lord and the Brewmaster; and before the sparks had faded had drawn her bow and fitted an arrow in it; whispering but a word to transform them into bolts of ice.

Anya finally decided to join in as well; and with a shout of, "Lost energy, raise the heartrate!" a tendril of life-draining magic shot toward the Pandaren, and he began to wheeze, breathing heavier; in desperation he took a swig from his sake barrel and spun to face her, and she screamed as the Pandaren, igniting a fire stick on his fur, spat the alcohol into the flame, which erupted in a gout of fire that roasted the top of the counter and knocked the Ranger to the ground.

Her scream seemed to jar the Pandaren to his senses, for his suddenly cried "Anya!" and ran over to her, attempting to jump the bar to save time, smacking his head on the wooden ceiling; and fell. Undeterred he got back up and ran to her, patting the side of her head with his paws. "Anya, my dear, sweet, undead goddess! Speak to me!"

She gasped, coughing. "Mojo... I... really... hate... that song...." She closed her eyes.

Mojo shook his head. "No, Anya... you can't die! Hmm... I know! Clear the way!" he yelled at the Naga. "I need to give her mouth-to-mouth!"

Anya's eyes flew open. "No, no! By the gods, no! I'm OK! See, look... like, a miracle cure! See?"

The Pandaren was still pinning her down. "No, Anya. You don't look well... er, well, you know. You need a little sake... to make you feel better, and help put some color in your cheeks. Now open wide--" he ordered as he stood up to retrieve his staff and gourd.

Mal'Ganis, no longer watching them, glanced at Azgalor; and noticed that his rival was still focused on the Naga. He gathered another sphere of magic and projected the same carrion swarm at the Pit Lord; who snarled and spun back around to face Mal'Ganis. He gave a sudden howl; and instantly Mal'Ganis felt weaker... afraid, almost. He quivered as the Pit Lord stomped forward, and suddenly raised his twinblade toward the ceiling, and twirled it.

At first it sounded as though hail or rain was bombarding the tavern roof; but within seconds the wooden beams above suddenly caught fire and gave way, some striking Mal'Ganis as they fell; and as he tried to fend them off he realized the cause of the sudden blaze-- Azgalor's Rain of Fire spell. Blazing chunks of rock bombarded again, and Mal'Ganis couldn't dodge them all, and he fell to the ground, burning and in agony. Azgalor boomed another laugh and took a step toward Mal'Ganis... but the Dreadlord had had enough.

Mal'Ganis slowly stood back up, and turned away, so he could see Azgalor out his right eye. "...I was not planning on wasting so much time here. I am bound for Lordaeron, to deal with Ner'Zhul's chosen."

Azgalor lowered his giant weapon. "And I didn't expect you to last this long, little Dreadlord. You know I can't let you go after the Scourge right now. We're still... waiting to see what happens. It may yet serve its purpose."

The Nathrezim scowled. "I think you know better, 'Lord of the Pit.' The greatest of the Nathrezim are dead, fighting its battles. Revenge and destruction... are more than warranted now."

The Pit Lord chuckled. "Ho, ho... well said. Feel free to take your revenge... if you can get past me. You're my enemy now, Mal'Ganis."

The Dreadlord mentally finished the statement. And a demon has no allies... merely enemies it hasn't killed yet.

Mal'Ganis's eyes narrowed. "...very well. Die, Azgalor." He waved his hand in the air, and mentally projected a magical target under the feet of Azgalor.

The Pit Lord's eyes widened. "No! Your connection with the Pit should've ended when you died!"

Mal'Ganis laughed as the sound of screaming rock and magic grew closer. "I've made arrangements to get all my powers back, Azgalor."
---


"As you can see, your people are now mine. I will now turn this city, household by household, until the flame of Life has been snuffed out... forever." - Mal'Ganis

IP: Logged

Wayne is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Wayne Click here to Send Wayne a Private Message Find more posts by Wayne Add Wayne to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Wayne Posted: 04-18-2003 , 09:56 PM

The Night Beckons...

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

In this fourth segment....

-Mal'Ganis and friend clear the bar.
-He travels to Lordaeron by ship.
-And meets his match in Noctithicus the Destroyer.

He tried to reply; but his voice was drowned out by the sound of rock smashing through the ceiling and then the Pit Lord. Blazing rooftop tiles and planks fell atop the Pit Lord; and with an otherworldly scream the giant stone broke apart upon impacting the Pit Lord, instantly forming a thirteen-foot tall titan of green, unnaturally hot fire and animated stone. An Infernal, greatest of the Legion's automatons, had answered a Dreadlord's call once again.

Azgalor would have been an even match for Mal'Ganis; making up with strength and resilience what the Dreadlord had in magical power and cunning. But no one man, mortal or demon, save perhaps a legendary warrior like Aegywn or Tichondrius or Archimonde himself; could defeat a skilled Nathrezim and his pet Infernal.

The Pit Lord roared a challenge and struck, but the Infernal barely felt the blow. It pounded downward with a huge, blazing fist; smashing Azgalor's head down. It then backhanded him, flinging the Pit Lord, who weighed well over a ton; through the tavern wall. The Infernal relentlessly followed, tearing apart the ceiling; which was perhaps level with its shoulders.
Azgalor, now outside in the snow; slowly stood back up; and desperately hacked at the granite legs with his twinblade. The Infernal actually slowed, but only for an instant; as it punched into Azgalor, fist smashing through his body armor, and driving him backward. The Pit Lord roared and swung again, this time slicing into the Infernal's head, scattering some white-hot pebbles; but it didn't seem to bother the automaton. It hissed suddenly and gripped Azgalor's head with both its burning hands. He roared, then howled; as it burned; then suddenly fell quiet. There was a sickening snap as the Infernal twisted, and then let go. The dead Pit Lord fell forward, almost as a horse; knees buckling first, then the rest following. He slowly faded away from sight, and Mal'Ganis, who had watched; snatched up the twinblade.

He then turned back to the tavern. He hadn't been capable of taking the Pit Lord's soul, Azgalor being a demon; but the others would not be able to resist.

Infernal. he mentally commanded.

There was no reply, beyond the simple silence that indicated the golem was "listening."

Kill them. All of them.

It obeyed.

---

The Brewmaster had fallen last, slain at Mal'Ganis's own hands. He and the two women had united instantly upon realizing Mal'Ganis's intentions; but they couldn't stop him. Anya was unskilled in battle, at least in her undead form; Venna Seastorm, who had begged for her life; had little skill beyond her magic, which had little effect on Mal'Ganis and none upon the Infernal. But they, with Mojo Darkale; had been able to destroy the Infernal and, he alone surviving that; wound Mal'Ganis. But it was merely prolonging the inevitable; and as he attempted to run, no doubt to return even stronger; the Dreadlord had cut him down with a final Carrion Swarm.

Their souls had given him remarkable knowledge. He learned from Venna of the Nagas' plot to find Illidan Stormrage, a Night Elf with some demonic power. Anya had revealed some details of the Scourge since the war, especially confirming that Arthas was in Lordaeron, and was unlikely to leave; he fancied himself the rightful king, although with no living subjects. And Mojo... despite his useless drinking habits, had been a skilled fighter. Mal'Ganis was still no expert in Pandarien martial arts; but it was an easy start for a creature with no formal training.

The trolls' souls he saved for later; he was sure they would have no special knowledge for him. And Azgalor's blade... a fine, fine weapon; and just the right length to be a two-handed weapon for Mal'Ganis. He knew the basics in using it; perhaps by taking the soul of an expert he could perform even better. Why train, he reasoned; When it is far easier to simply learn from those better? Having to kill them first is trifling for a Nathrezim... mortals are born to die and feed the stronger. Such is the way of life.

Mal'Ganis left the ruined tavern. He walked to the goblin laboratory and, without bothering to ask the terrified creature; took a destroyer and mentally commanded the troll crew to obey.

It would take perhaps three days to reach the northern coast of Lordaeron from Northrend. Several times each day the mysterious otherworldly tugging continued; and Mal'Ganis found it harder and harder each time to resist.

It must be the Legion, attempting to Unbind me from this plane. But without their leaders... both the Nathrezim and the Eredar will be disorganized. No wonder they can't even organize a good dismissal portal right.

He laughed to himself and commanded one of the mind-controlled Trolls to organize one of their crew pit fights; it was the accepted way to work on their combat skill and provide some entertainment at the same time.

And souls. I must feast... on souls.

---

"Thank you." Mal'Ganis said, offering a slight bow.

"S'all right." replied the Ice Troll captain, adding, "We give ya wha'chu wan', tha's all."

The Dreadlord tried to ignore the troll's accent. "Of course. And your fee was...?"

The troll visibly relaxed; slouching slightly. "Ya, ya. Five hun'red gold, two hun'red plus t'ree days."

Mal'Ganis resisted his original impulse to destroy the ship with one well-placed Inferno. "Very well." He waved his hand and conjured up the required amount of gold... it would return to ether in about six hours, but of course the troll didn't need to know that. "...five hundred gold, in fifty-gold coins. It is appreciated."

He grinned, showing his tusks; and jumped back onto the deck of the ship; a remarkable feat of strength. "Been a real pleasure, mon. Keep i' real."

The demon frowned. "Yes. 'Real.' Mon."

He turned and began walking south. The ship had landed some hundred miles from Lordaeron itself; the capital where Arthas had set up his throne.

He put one hoof in front of the other, bound for the forests where the legendary Tirisfal magi had once lived. The glades would be a place to rest and gather his energy before facing his rival once again.

Another magical beacon wrenched at him; and Mal'Ganis actually felt himself being pulled back. He closed his eyes, focusing his mana; it took longer, perhaps four seconds this time; to dismiss the offending portal.

What... what is this? Nnh... I had best hurry to the forests, before this gets too difficult to resist.

---

Mal'Ganis.

The Dreadlord's eyes flew open; and he stopped. Who's there?! he demanded, telepathically.

Mal'Ganis.

He glanced about him; but saw only saw grassland and rolling hills; with some trees about two miles distant. Nothing for anyone to hide behind. Where are you?

On the other side, Mal'Ganis.

Violet glowing eyes widened even more in realization. ...no!

"Yes."

At first Mal'Ganis could only see a dim halo of blood-red light, about his size; and certainly a Nathrezim-- the shadow of twin horns and a pair of massive bat-wings clearly visible. Slowly it gathered substance; from long, sharp claws, hooves, and the white skin and blazing eyes of his head; and gradually all the way to his torso. When seconds later the teleportation was complete the Dreadlord lowered, inch by inch, to the ground, then smiled.

"Mal'Ganis the Desecrater. Surprised to see me?"

It was the same mocking, arrogant; but unspeakably confident tone that Anetheron had always used. This was no mage or even a Darkener... this was a Destroyer. A warrior nearly unmatched in skill and power among all demons. More than a match for a Desecrater like Mal'Ganis....

...who slowly backed away; but refused to show fear. "I am indeed Mal'Ganis. Now, I ask again, who are you? And why has the Legion sent a Destroyer after me?"

The other Nathrezim smiled. "Forgive me. I had completely forgotten my manners. I am Noctithicus, and yes, I am a Destroyer. And you have stolen Legion property, Mal'Ganis the Desecrater. An Infernal, to be precise. Please tell me you haven't forgotten."

"I have not forgotten." replied Mal'Ganis evenly; tensing. "An ally helped me to siphon energies from the Twisting Nether. The Legion cannot hide from me--"

"Which is precisely why I have come." interrupted Noctithicus, giving an almost imperceptible nod. "You see... the Legion is in disarray right now. This is to be expected when high-ranking demons die without clearly making arrangements for the continued smooth operation of the war machine. And my... superior... would rather not have a parasite like you with Infernals and, of course, succubi, at your beck and call."

"I see."

The taller Dreadlord smiled again. "No hard feelings, Mal'Ganis." He flicked both his wrists at the same time; extending the deadly claws from his fingertips. "I will do my best to make this as expedient as possible."

"You're too kind." replied Mal'Ganis, dryly; who crouched into a defensive fighting stance, his own claws extended-- he didn't want to summon the fellsteel twinblade unless he had too; best to keep that knowledge from a superior combatant like Noctithicus for as long as possible.

The Destroyer used a high, almost lazy aggressive stance; with his right hand outstretched and the left held back for defense; and his legs and wings both spread somewhat. "...ah, yes.
Did you have any last requests? I must apologize again... the procedure of these assassinations is so difficult to remember at times."

"I suppose you'll try to kill me no matter what I say, correct?"

He nodded; mock-sadly. "I am afraid so. Rules, you understand."

He had relaxed for just a second; and Mal'Ganis saw his chance. He shot forward, sprinting at Noctithicus; claws outstretched and wings streamlined behind him. The Destroyer blinked as Mal'Ganis bore down on him, and lazily dodged aside as he struck. The older, but weaker; Dreadlord snarled and spun around, but Noctithicus had already reacted and kicked Mal'Ganis in the face, flinging him backward. Mal'Ganis struck the grass beneath and catapulted off the ground, rolling over and over before finally coming to a rest nearly twenty feet away.

He staggered back up to his feet; already reeling from the first hit. Noctithicus grinned and flew forward, raking at Mal'Ganis's face; who blocked the strike with his left arm, and punched at the Destroyer's gut with his right. Noctithicus ignored the blow, letting it connect; as Mal'Ganis's hand neared to strike he kicked at the smaller Dreadlord's knee, and Mal'Ganis growled in sudden pain. The punch connected, but if the fighter could feel it he made no sign.
---


"As you can see, your people are now mine. I will now turn this city, household by household, until the flame of Life has been snuffed out... forever." - Mal'Ganis

IP: Logged

Wayne is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Wayne Click here to Send Wayne a Private Message Find more posts by Wayne Add Wayne to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Wayne Posted: 04-18-2003 , 10:01 PM

The Night Beckons...

Registered: Feb 2003
Location:

In this final segment....

-Fight scene! Dreadlord vs. Dreadlord, only on PPV.
-Saved by the portal-- the hosts' "bloodhound portals" finally snag their quarry.

Mal'Ganis spun around, claws outstretched; but Noctithicus blocked his slash in turn, suddenly dropping low to the ground to sweep Mal'Ganis's legs out from underneath him. The Dreadlord gasped as he fell; but flipped over in the air, landing roughly on his feet. Noctithicus nodded in approval, then struck again; this time with a quartet of punches, all from his right hand. Mal'Ganis deflected them easily; but as he parried the fourth in the same motion Noctithicus swung his left hand, talons out; and rent into Mal'Ganis's shoulder.

The older Dreadlord flew backward as he willed the wound to start healing; and projected a sudden cone of carrion vermin at Noctithicus. The younger Dreadlord snarled and jumped up, twirling the air to deflect the worst of the parasites with his powerful wings. Mal'Ganis grinned and shot forward as his enemy, back still turned; neared the ground; and ripped into his back with his claws. Noctithicus howled; but before Mal'Ganis could even savor his successful attack the Destroyer swung a surprise spin kick around, catching Mal'Ganis on the side of his jaw. The stunned Dreadlord flew up into the air; but before he could hit the ground Noctithicus darted forward, standing on their shadows; and grabbed Mal'Ganis as he fell; one hand gripping the side of the older demon's neck and the other his ankle. The Destroyer suddenly breathed, focusing; then slammed Mal'Ganis hard into the ground. He sank instantly an inch into the dirt; Mal'Ganis winced as he felt the strain on his wings from the fall. He spat as he stood back up; and found blood in his mouth from the impact.

"You're," Mal'Ganis whispered, "...not bad."

"You're too kind." breathed Noctithicus; impressed himself; and mocking his enemy's earlier line. "...you're better than I expected. Especially for a Desecrater. But it won't be enough."

Yes... I know. Mal'Ganis stood back up; weighing his options. He could try Inferno, but Noctithicus could mirror it with his own, or something about as strong. Sleep might be him some time, but a few seconds wouldn't save him; and he couldn't afford to drain his mana reserves like that. There was no chance his other mental powers would work on another Dreadlord that strong.

...so be it. Mal'Ganis narrowed his eyes, raising his left hand. He could see in his mind a phantasmal skull underneath Noctithicus; there was no way he could dodge the Infernal's landing strike.

"Inferno sur'thulah!"

Once more the blazing green meteor appeared in the heavens, streaking down toward another of Mal'Ganis's enemies in the Burning Legion. Noctithicus's face showed no surprise; even as the rock exploded into him, coalescing in moments to the immolating titan of destruction the Nathrezim used to such great effect. The Infernal smacked Noctithicus with a massive right hand, and the Dreadlord staggered back; it swung with its left in a deadly cadence, but Noctithicus, amazingly, slapped the attack aside.

"Not a bad trick, Mal'Ganis." But you have now forced me to play my hand. And I do not like that.

He jumped backward nearly twenty feet; and the Infernal quickly pounded forward after him. It had taken perhaps three steps before Noctithicus had landed and pointed a white-skinned finger at the golem. "There is no escape. Doom comes to all... even an Infernal."

An explosion of amethyst light swirled around the Infernal. Mal'Ganis watched in horror as its flames died down and its movements slowed; the Infernal struck twice more at Noctithicus; wounding him; but that was all. There was the familiar high-pitched shriek as the vengeful spirit animating an Infernal returned to the Nether; but this time, the golem hadn't faded.

Rock slowly turned to dark red flesh. The Infernal shrank, but not by much; and its left hand slowly turned into a massive fiery scimitar; the stone of its torso and legs turned into layers of muscle and armor. A pair of horns completed the transformation-- somehow, Noctithicus had turned the Infernal into a Doomguard. A mighty demon, not quite as powerful physically as an Infernal; but possessing remarkable powers and intelligence.

"Tremble mortals, and despair!" the Doomguard bellowed. "For doom has come to this world!" It turned its soulless gaze on Mal'Ganis. "Enemy of the Legion... judgment has come!"

It roared and lunged at Mal'Ganis, swinging its flame blade in a wide arc, aiming to decapitate the Dreadlord. Mal'Ganis barely managed to jump in time; snapping a perfect wingover and landed nearly where he had taken off from; the surprised Doomguard slashed down, and Mal'Ganis, leading off with his right leg, jumped straight to the side, flipping over in midair; and landed easily on his feet. Noctithicus had stopped watching the fight, however; and made his presence known once more with a sudden standing side kick to Mal'Ganis's chest; launching him backward; but again Mal'Ganis was able to land on his hooves, despite the pain.

Noctithicus chuckled. "I'm going to enjoy watching you die, Mal'Ganis the Desecrater." He held his left hand out, palm open; and Mal'Ganis could only block as a jagged blast of red, vampiric lightning shot out and into him. Mal'Ganis shuddered involuntarily as the negative energy washed through him; it wasn't nearly as dangerous as it was to mortals, but was still agonizing. He jumped forward to strike at Noctithicus but the Doomguard ran ponderously forward, bringing down a hail of flame, the same as Azgalor's; on Mal'Ganis's head; and the older Dreadlord was knocked out of the air. He growled and quickly stood back up; but only to find himself now dramatically weaker... the Doomguard sneered as his Cripple spell took effect. Mal'Ganis's muscles refused to obey as he tried to back off from the fight; he could barely move, as though he was having to fight himself to merely stand. Noctithicus smiled darkly and sprang forward, kicking Mal'Ganis in the stomach with both his hooves, balancing with his wings on the ground. As Mal'Ganis staggered back the Destroyer swung forward to land on the ground, scoring a pair of jabs in his enemy's chin and another claw rake.

Cripple wore off, and just in time; the Doomguard slashed at Mal'Ganis with a furious backhand; but the Nathrezim jumped straight up, and balanced himself on the mystical fire sword; relying on the hardness of his hooves to protect him. The demon spat a line of acid at him; but Mal'Ganis flipped over to the right, dodging; and projecting another spread of carrion insects at the other Dreadlord and his summoned demon. Noctithicus replied with another Finger of Death spell, and the two spells intersected; the weakened red beam lanced into Mal'Ganis, knocking him down; but the lessened swarm still tore into the hunter, and Noctithicus dropped to one knee. His mental control over the Doomguard weakened; and the monster's existence on the material plane was suddenly cut short as it vanished in a cloud of sulfur and brimstone.

Both Dreadlords, wounded now; but Mal'Ganis far worse; stood. Noctithicus, breathing heavily; wiped a trace of ichor that was trickling down his jaw; spoke first. "You're not fighting like a Nathrezim, Mal'Ganis. Tell me, now... what souls did you use?"

The older Dreadlord, panting himself; shook his head. "None... of your... concern, Destroyer."

"Heh... yes... I... figured as... much." He laughed quietly. "It's time to end this farce, Mal'Ganis. You will be dead for good this time."

Before Mal'Ganis could reply Noctithicus, seemingly energized; attacked. He was even faster; his damaged black armor and pale skin blurring as he flew forward. Mal'Ganis jumped back, again twisting about in the air; Noctithicus flew by, scoring a rake on Mal'Ganis's leg as the two crossed. Both landed; the Destroyer charged along the ground this time, and Mal'Ganis, favoring his left leg, chose not to jump. He mentally wove a Sleeping spell around Noctithicus; the Dreadlord's charge broke and he tumbled to the ground, and Mal'Ganis took the few seconds he had to back away. In about six seconds the other Dreadlord rose angrily; without wasting a word he fired a third Finger of Death at Mal'Ganis; who beat his wings once for lift and shot up in the air, flipping while airborne to dodge all but the burning fringes of the beam. In the middle of his arc he shot a final Carrion Swarm at Noctithicus; who, having just expended so much energy in his spell, could do nothing but block; but the spell still failed to inflict enough harm to even out the damage already done.

Mal'Ganis landed and prepared to attack while he could; but Noctithicus had once again recovered first, and struck. Mal'Ganis evaded, grabbing the other Dreadlord's wrist; but
Noctithicus yanked Mal'Ganis forward, starting to lower his shoulder; as he pulled him closer he threw Mal'Ganis over his shoulder, who landed hard on the ground. The Destroyer jumped, aiming to crush his foe with his hooves; but Mal'Ganis rolled aside. With incredible agility Noctithicus landed normally, bending down easily to grab Mal'Ganis by the collar and lift him off the ground, smashing him back down.

Noctithicus, no longer smiling, stood over his battered enemy; Mal'Ganis started to rise, but found himself pinned to the ground under a diamond-hard hoof and muscular leg. Noctithicus raised his hand, palm open, lined perfectly with the older Dreadlord's face. "...good-bye, Mal'Ganis."

Before he could react or even think, one tiny seam appeared in the air about a yard from Noctithicus's glowing hand. The pulling at his body was even stronger; and Mal'Ganis had no energy with which to resist. The inexorable force pulled him free from the other Dreadlord's pinning leg; Noctithicus, amazed, relaxed the spell and took a step back, trying to understand what was going on.

His eyes widened. "A portal? Mal'Ganis, I'm disappointed in you. Portals to the Nether this small could-- ah!" he cried. As he'd reached out toward the portal, a backlash of energy drove him back; and Noctithicus frowned. "What magic is this, Mal'Ganis? All portals cross through the Twisting Nether...."

"Not... this one, apparently...." he wheezed, hands scrabbling in a desperate but vain attempt to keep himself away from the ever-widening hole. He could distinctly see it now... crackling gold energy representing power unknown within. Strangely it was only calling for him, not for Noctithicus....

Noctithicus the Destroyer crossed his arms, watching, dumfounded, as Mal'Ganis was slowly pulled through the bizarre portal. As soon as the Dreadlord was all the way through, he sighed. "Bloody fool. Now I have to fill out a report."


"As you can see, your people are now mine. I will now turn this city, household by household, until the flame of Life has been snuffed out... forever." - Mal'Ganis

IP: Logged

Wayne is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Wayne Click here to Send Wayne a Private Message Find more posts by Wayne Add Wayne to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
Renmazuo Posted: 04-18-2003 , 10:20 PM

Cute Widdle Cleric Girl

Registered: Feb 2003
Location: Graveyard of Airships

Wayne- the Pandaren is singing a lyric from Rurouni Kenshin: 1/2, possibly the weirdest anime opening I've ever heard. XD

And damn, Mal'Ganis is going to own me. o_o;

IP: Logged

Renmazuo is offline Click Here to See the Profile for Renmazuo Click here to Send Renmazuo a Private Message Find more posts by Renmazuo Add Renmazuo to your buddy list Edit/Delete Message Reply w/Quote
All times are GMT -6 hours. The time now is 04:06 PM. Post New Thread    Post A Reply
Pages (3): « 1 2 [3]   Last Thread   Next Thread
Show Printable Version | Email this Page | Subscribe to this Thread

Forum Jump:
Rate This Thread:

Forum Rules:
You may post new threads
You may post replies
You may post attachments
You may edit your posts
HTML code is OFF
vB code is ON
Smilies are ON
[IMG] code is OFF
Admin Options:

Powered by: vBulletin Version 2.2.9
Copyright ©2000, 2001, Jelsoft Enterprises Limited.
.