Baka
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Posted: 04-09-2003 , 09:10
PM |
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Heaven or Hell?
 Registered: Feb 2003 Location:
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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 |
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Curley
W |
Posted: 04-15-2003 , 02:20
AM |
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Basic Lurker
Registered: Feb 2003 Location:
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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 |
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Curley
W |
Posted: 04-15-2003 , 02:38
AM |
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Basic Lurker
Registered: Feb 2003 Location:
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"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 |
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ShinkuuR |
Posted: 04-15-2003 , 03:08
PM |
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New College Grad! Whoo!
 Registered: May 2001 Location: Savannah Ga
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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 |
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Renmazuo |
Posted: 04-15-2003 , 08:23
PM |
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Cute Widdle Cleric Girl
 Registered: Feb 2003 Location: Graveyard of
Airships
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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 |
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 |
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 |
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 |
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 |
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 |
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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 |
|
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 |
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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 |
|
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 |
|
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 |
|
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 |
|
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 |
|
The
Damned |
Posted: 04-18-2003 , 02:29
AM |
|
Hyperion's servant
 Registered: Oct 2002 Location: Where you are
not.
|
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 |
|
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 |
|
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 |
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 |
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 |
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 |
|
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 |
|
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 |
|
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
|
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
|
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
|
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
|
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 |
|
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 |
| |