The Fatal Conflict (GBS2G7) (Round 3: The Infinite Playground!)
Amongst a void of boundless black, there lies an infinite amount of cathedrals. Each one as beautiful as the last, each one a monument to the life and death of all things, they float in the ether, silently.
Except one. In the centre amongst these immaculate creations lies one cathedral most stunning of them all, a crowning symphony which governs the constant of all life; death. The silence of this sacred place has been sullied by the echo of cold steel clashing together.
Two silhouettes find themselves locked in combat. One of which is impossible to describe; a constant shifting of perspective and appearance made its profile unattainable, the only thing recognisable being its brilliant white robe and an old farmer’s scythe. The other shadow, curiously, belonged to a man, he wore dark leather clothing and a blood red cloak, wielding a sword stained scarlet with the blood of a thousand men. He emanated a feeling of hate, while a wide grin plastered his face.
Both beings clashed with the ferocity of exploding stars. Both being a seemingly even match for one another. “Insolent man.” Spoke the robed being, his voice fluctuating as much as his appearance was. “I am The Redeemer. The Grim Reaper. Death. There is nothing a mere man can do to harm me.” The man took a step back from the fight, he tilted his head back and simply laughed, his cackle cut through both The Redeemer and the cathedral, filling the void with his hateful voice.
“A Man I may be.” He slumped his head back facing The Redeemer, bearing his teeth in an over exaggerated manner. The Man moved with swiftness unlike anything seen, a single strike was all it took to knock Death back and launch is trademark scythe spinning through the air. The Redeemer’s features had finally settled on that of a wizened old man, a look of bemusement on his face. “But mere! No, no no! My good friend, I am quite the opposite.”
“You fool!” The Redeemer shouted as he backed into the stone throne of the cathedral. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?! Without me, there will be no organisation over death! The entire Cosmos would descend into Chaos!”
The man closed his eyes and raised his empty hand, seemingly gesturing him to stop his talking. This was not the case as pulsating crimson glyphs surrounded his palm he opened his eyes, showcasing glowing red eyes and a wild psychotic grin. “I don’t care!”
“N-no! Thi-This can’t be! This is impossi-“
The Redeemer never got to finish his panic ridden sentence, as he was enveloped by an aurora of pure energy and will power. When The Man was finished there was nothing but his ashen robe left.
“This proves it.” The Man says, sheathing his blood stained blade. “I am the greatest!” He threw his arms up in the air in victory and giggled madly. “I am the strongest! The most skilled! The epitome of Humanity! No, of ALL LIFE!” He threw the pale robe from the stone throne and placed himself there like some twisted king. “Not even Death himself could silence me.” He clicked his fingers, in its place a tome appeared in a poof of smoke, his other hand produced a quill, The Man’s smile broadened. “The rules of Death are at my whim! Ultimate power in my grasp! I couldn’t think of a better person than myself to rule all things!” He brought his quill down to the ancient book.
“Kindly halt.” The Man froze in position and twisted his head to the side. There he saw what looked like another man, adorning an almost shining white mask and a suit which showcased a universe. The man could only ask one question. “Why?”
“Many reasons.” The Prestidigitator began pacing slowly across the seated Man. “Reasons that I care not to enlighten to a nobody like you.” He paused to pull an elegant wine glass from nowhere, he swirled the burgundy contents within. “Nether the less, the previous Redeemer spoke truth. You cannot alter the rules of death. It will, at the very least, ruin plans for me and a few others.”
The Man cared not about this Grand Master’s rambling what he did care was of two words it said. “Nobody? Cannot?” He forced out a laugh. “Then allow this ‘nobody’ to show what he can do! Besides, rules are meant to be broken!” The man raised his quill as if to deal a final blow to an enemy. “Wait.” The Man gave an insane smile, “Do I look like a waiter!? Hah hah hah!” The Man brought the plume down to the book at an alarming speed.
“What if I told you there was a game?” The Prestidigitator’s voice lost its usual cool demeanour as an air of urgency crept into it. The Man paused mere millimetres away from the aged paper of the volume. “…Go on.” “Eight contestants, seven rounds, a fight to the death across the Multiverse.” The Man stared into the shaded voids of where The Prestidigitator’s eyes should be; he contemplated it for a little while, the tension made it seem a much longer period of time. Finally, The Man slammed the book shut and reapplied his psychotic grin. “Sure! That sounds like something I could do! Sounds fun!”
The Prestidigitator returned to a more relaxed performance. “Excellent. I’m sure a Man of your talents can find eight souls for such an occasion. You require a title.” The Man stood from his throne and gave lacklustre wave towards the Grand Master. “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll do that.” The Prestidigitator returned to his Phenomenal Fracas, content that he managed to avert catastrophe, for now. The Man walked to the middle of the hallowed hall of the cathedral.
He gave a small chortle as he stamped on the floor, a huge hole opened up, leading down to what seemed like an endless abyss. “Alright afterlife!” The man produced a fishing rod out of nowhere and threw the line down the hole. “Let’s see what souls you got for me! The Redeemer’s coming for you! We’re gonna have ourselves Fatal Conflict!”
Grand Battle, season two, round seven is a go go! I'll outline the basics for people who somehow don't know what this is. Eight players, eight characters, seven rounds, each round you'll all be thrown into a battle to the death with each over in a colourful environment. The person who has the most ineffective writing in the round will be the one who dies.
Reserves will last for 2-3 hours, no chain reserves allowed!
If you want some more in-depth rules then I suggest you mosey down to the original Grand Battle to get yourself a little more acquainted.
CHARACTER SUBMISSION FORM:
Fill in this form if you want in! I'm lenient with what characters you can have. However you must abide by this one rule
YOUR CHARACTER HAS TO BE DEAD.
The Redeemer is, after all picking his combatants from the multiverse's many afterlives. Other than that, simply fill this in!
Name: The name your character.
Gender: Male, Female, other, (although if it IS other than please provide an appropriate pronoun for it)
Font colour: To differentiate you from all other posts! Red (that is #FF0000) is taken but anything else is fair game. Background colours are acceptable too, just make sure the font is readable in the end of the day!
Race: The species of your character. This being a Grand Battle, very nearly anything goes.
Weapon: What is your character armed with, you can leave this blank if you want.
Abilities: Simply, what can they do? What skills do they have? What makes them special? I would advise on not making your character too overpowered though.
Description: How do they act? What do they look like? All that jazz. You're are welcome to provide a picture if you want aswell!
Biography: What's their history? How did they die?
1. Bellona Achillia - Eversist - #FF5500
2. Luron Timerius - Kaitostrike - #008000
3. Doctor Kaja Lorrden - Ixcalibur - #408080
4. Zachariah Shaw - Sruixan - #404072
5. Laura Scourge - Piester - #FF0000, Black background
6. Simphonia - MalkyTop - #000000, White background
7. Kargrek Strongarm - SleepingOrange - #000040
8. Scott Williams - Pinary - #004080
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Accepting participants!)
Worth noting - if your character concept involves being an undead creature of some kind, you can still use them. Just say that their new nature is how they ended up in their world's afterlife - it could be a result of sins committed in life, or it could be because their local god in charge of deciding that is a jerk.
If you don't think that works for your character for some reason, then any alternate explanations for why they were entered in the battle will have to be run past Lankie.
Also! The villain battle is next. If your character is villainous, or can be readily tweaked to be villainous, you might consider waiting for that.
Louisiana, aka a dumb place full of dumb people and dumb weather
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Accepting participants!)
Name: Luron Timerius
Font colour: Dark Green (#008000; Two down from the top left)
Weapon: He wields a broadsword, which he keeps unsheathed at most times.
Abilities: As par to the world he comes from, Luron has a small array of magic. These include basic offensive spells, as well as projectile deflection (this explains his usage of a sword). However, what sets him apart are his, as he calls them, 'epiphanies'. Temporary sights into the future. Although these are rare, and generally only happen when his life is in danger.
Description: A tall, young man, in his lower 20's. He has medium-length rust-colored hair. Luron wears leather armor covering most of his body. Due to his death-wound, there is a large wound on his chest. Picture coming later.
Today was the day. Everything he had worked for would finally pay off. All the roads taken, all the days exhausted...
Luron had started his quest in the company of four other people; four other heroes, each with their own abilities. Luron's own were 'epiphanies'; looks into the near future. The quest in question was to stop an evil villain. Same old same old. Or at least, so it seemed. As their quest continued, they realized that this villain would stop at nothing to achieve his goal. The first to die was the archer. They never even got to learn his name.
Day after day, they fought legions of minions, traversed hundreds of miles of land from frozen tundra to the barren wastelands. They had sold everything for funds to continue their quest. Lien was the next to die.
A close friend of Luron since childhood, Lien's death shook the would be hero. But they went on. The three heroes, ascending tower after tower, only to find their efforts in vain. But they would never stop. No matter how many evil mooks they had to slaughter. Hue was next to fall.
The two heroes had managed to foil the villains plans again and again. But he was always a step ahead when the time to fight had come. He always managed to get away. But the two preservered. Bound by something stronger than justice, the two began to bond. Sylph, the witch, had become close to Luron, as they went on their quest. Soon, she fell.
Grasping her still warm body, Luron swore to continue fighting; and so he did. Years passed, but he continued...
Now, the base was in sight. The final fight was near! Everything would pay off. Luron burst through the wooden doors, slaughtering every soldier in his way. Their bullets could not phase him, for his longing for justice had dulled their pain. Floor after floor, he ascended. Finally, an end. The final chamber. The villain's abode. Luron entered.
He stood there, facing out the window. "So nice of you to join me. I'm sorry your friends couldn't stay, however.
Luron scowled; he charged the madman. The fight lasted for minutes, but felt like forever. His deft swordsmanship, coupled with the occasional 'epiphany', gave him the upper hand. But...
The sword, soaked in blood, sliced through flesh. The leather armor could not protect him. A surprise attack. Luron fell to the floor. No amount of will-power can overcome a gaping hole in your chest. He had lost. He had failed...
As a person, Luron is always cautious, almost never leaving his sword sheathed. Before his quest, he was easygoing, but death does things to you. He has hardened, and shuts himself away from anyone else. But maybe, just maybe, there is still some kindness left.
Lodged in a stone waiting for the true king of Ingland
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Accepting participants!)
Name: Doctor Kaja Lorrden
Font colour: Sickly Green
Race: Zombie (Kind of)
Biography: Kaja was a lonely child who just didn't seem to get on with the other kids. His father would be off for months at a time aiding in the never-ending war against the undead hordes. One day, on a particularly lousy birthday he went to his room to find his mirror broken, and a gift. It was an alchemy set, a series of complicated flasks and tubes that caught Kaja's imagination. Though he never found out who the present had been from he used it constantly, brewing up strange concoctions from the plants of his village. He was a natural ever since the start, seeming to instinctively know how to make the most effective use of his herbs and how to boost his potions potency. Even the village's official pharmacist was in envy of his natural ability.
As Kaja grew up he found himself increasingly frustrated by the alchemist's tools. He knew he could be better, produce more amazing tinctures and tonics and do so faster but the equipment was holding him back. To this end he commissioned something, a large contraption; a veritable maze of valves, flasks and tubes, specially designed to be worn on a person's back. With this new equipment Kaja was even more impressive. Able to brew basic potions or poisons within mere seconds, with even complicated tonics taking only a couple of minutes to create, whereas before they would have taken days of preparation. He became one of the most noted and influential doctors within the entire human kingdom. That was until he died. He tripped down the stairs of his elegant new mansion and landed impaled on a shard from a broken mirror.
When he awoke something was different. The alchemical kit which he had worn everywhere was now fitted differently with tubes going directly into his skin. A strange liquid pumped throughout the contraption, somehow keeping him alive and animate despite the bloody hole in his gut. His new condition was impossible to hide; his flesh had already discoloured to a certain extent before he came around. And the pumping of his contraption was tough to ignore. He was exiled from the human kingdom in fear that he had become an undead monster. So he left and lived on his own, in the wilderness; not really alive, and not really dead somehow perpetuated by his own creation. He spent most of his days searching for herbs and creating ever more complex potions just to amuse himself. This was until he was snatched up to participate in The Fatal Conflict.
Equipment: Aside from his contraption Kaja carries around pouches full of rare, or otherwise illicitly obtained herbs. He has a large stockpile of flasks, including some flasks designed to shatter on impact.
Abilities: Kaja has a bizarre proficiency in alchemy that others can only dream of. Thanks to his invention he is able to whip up basic potions and poisons in a matter of seconds provided he has the necessary ingredients, and when he does not he is pretty good at improvising. Kaja has a strange instinct that allows him to instinctively discern the potential uses of a new herb by taste alone.
Description: Kaja's skin is a pale green colour, his eyes are hazel and his hair is short and brown. He wears a long brown jacket, and a white undershirt. These both have holes cut in the back to allow his now irremovable contraption to be accessible at all times. The contraption itself is made of brass and glass. Full of valves and tubes and other complicated mechanisms the contraption is always active, pumping his body with what it needs to stay alive. Under his jacket, he wears a pair criss-crossing straps, attached to which is a number of flasks. Along his belt are a number of pouches containing rare and unusual herbs. He wears a pair of safety goggles at all times.
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Accepting participants!)
I got this character from an extremely random 20q in the Irc channel
Character: Laura Scourge
Font Colour: [background=#000000:3orscv34]Red on a black background[/background:3orscv34]
Weapon: An Electric Guitar that when played can control the elements themselves.
Abilities: She has a pair Of Giant blood red Demon wings growing out of her back.
Description: Laura wears what a punk rocker would wear, a t-shirt with ripped off sleeves and loose shorts, she has Albino skin, Blood red eyes and Long Brown Hair
Biography: Laura was a Huge Rockstar in the Distant future, she was Raised from the Depths of hell because she was a metal Demon, a Demon literally made to rock, She was meant to work for the evil Pop Industry that raised her from the dead, but she Killed them all with her bare hands and flew off with a Guitar that she got from them and hexed it so it was able to control the elements themselves,She then started a heavy metal band that went on to make over 50 successful albums and gain a literal cult status, until she decided all of that was getting boring, so she decided to leave in a spur of destruction and return to hell.
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Accepting participants!)
I will RESERVE! I WILL CONSUME ALL GRAND BATTLES EVERYWHERE EEHEHEHEHEHEHEAHAHAHAH
Gender: Female, definitely.
Font colour: [background=white:1hroqavq]Hmmm, does this work...?[/background:1hroqavq]
Race: Simphonia is...a music ghost...? A music sprite? In any case, she's dead and music-y.
Weapon: Simphonia is quite peaceful and doesn't really carry around weapons, if she can carry much around at all. Her own body, however, can be used to attack.
Abilities: Simphonia can phase through walls if she needs to, form simple shapes in the air, fly, use herself as sharp projectile weapons, typical music ghost stuff. She can travel through paper and the music she hums does have an affect on emotions around her (a mall one at least), but they tend to be the opposite of what you'd expect. Tranquil tunes breed anxiety and cheerful tunes beget irritation. Unfortunately, Simphonia is usually calm and happy.
Description: Simphonia doesn't exactly have one shape. She looks like she's made up of living music, mostly, sometimes a big black cloud made up of indiscernible notes, sometimes a loose shape of a woman, sometimes some other form or something I dunno. Colors often go along with the tune she hums as well as taste (not many people are willing to taste her though) so one could see clearly (or taste) if she goes out of tune. She usually appears soft and gentle, but when angered, she becomes rather sharp. (Hence the throwing herself around to cut people thing.) She seems rather dreamy and is constantly going around humming some sort of tune whether it is a solo or a whole orchestra piece or a quartet. Her hum, though always there, isn't really intrusive. It only really gets loud when she gets upset or furious or some other strong, negative emotion. As could probably be inferred, Simphonia's tune changes with her emotions. It can be hard to tell whether she can understand speech or not, but it seems like she listens at least some of the time. She likes making friends and feeling helpful and can be surprisingly sensitive. She doesn't seem to remember ever being anything else besides a music ghost and doesn't seem rather concerned about it either way. In life, she may have had synesthesia.
Biography: Simphonia was a musician when she died, but judging by her simple grave, she was not well-known and possibly not all that good either. Thus, her real name is unknown. She started to haunt a nearby forest after death and stayed there for a few years, just wandering around aimlessly. There wasn't really much for her to do, being a nameless ghost with an unknown past. Some sightings had gotten her into tabloids and at one point there were some forums that speculated about her, but nothing major. She was often left alone, as her chipper songs tended to give everybody around her a nagging feeling, and continued to sing and hum even after she was whisked away.
Hurm. Maybe this character isn't so great. I guess we'll find out...?
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Accepting participants!)
Name: Bellona Achillia
Font colour: #FF5500, a nice red-orange.
Race: As human as human gets.
Weapon: A lance, and a Gallic shield (a large, ovular shape), with Medusa's head as a relief on the front. Also armed with a small dirk, which she kept on her before enslaved.
Abilities: She can BRAWL, and pardon the cliche, is not afraid of death. Gladiators and gladiatrices are trained to fight, as well as trained to die, if not more so.
She was also trained in wrestling and swordplay, which were two other popular styles of combat.
Heck, I'm sure if you gave her any sort of traditional, handheld weapon, I'm sure she could do some damage with it.
Description: Lean and muscular, but not to the point where unnatural. Keeps her hair tied back to keep it out of the way. Wearing very little in way of armor; a simple tunic covers her torso, while bronze shin-pads cover her lower legs. Sandals, of course, garb her feet.
In addition to a thirst for blood, Bellona had a yearning for knowledge... before she let her obsession overtake her. Being born of a good, wealthy family, her father let peruse whatever subject took her fancy; he in fact, encouraged it. It never took any sort of linear, scholarly track, though, so her general knowledge is patchy.
Born of mid-class nobility, Bellona nurtured the fantasy of fighting in arena from an early age. As she matured, her body seemingly betrayed this fact. Unlike other girls of her class, Bellona became fairly husky for a woman... and a bit pugnacious. Her father, heavily involved in the organization of the gladiatorial games in their area (a colony of Rome in Western Asia), provided her with all the necessary tools to rear her fantasy into a full on obsession as an adolescent. Maybe a mother-figure would have reigned this in a tad, but as her father told her when she was old enough, she had passed on in childbirth.
It was expected of most noble women to be obsessed with gladiators, but Bellona took this to another level entirely. She began spending all of her free time at the pergamon ludum (gladiator school) and, of course, watching the training and fights. While her father was away serving royalty, she began secretly take lessons from a former gladiator. He taught her, among other things, to take advantage of her southpaw.
Being around men constantly, and having slightly abnormal interests for her social standings, Bellona garnered a fair amount of attention from the opposite sex. This caused rivalries to form between her and other women. And that lead to a crude, unarmed catfight between her, and a mistress of the current co-emperor, Lucius Verus, the very man her father had been doting on. In Bellona's defense, the whore started it.
Needless to say, that didn't end well for Bellona. While she won the catfight (finding herself ontop of the other, choking her to near-death), the battered woman whined to her royal lover. As punishment, he enslaved Bellona, and forced her to train and compete as a gladiatrix (female gladiator), a position lower than slavery.
Lucius Verus wanted her dead... or within touching-distance of it. He used his political status to make sure that Bellona was matched up with the most feared and experienced gladiatrix of that time. Anahita. She was such a fearless and belligerent fighter, that she went by "Amazonia" on the field. Training and wounds kept the two from fighting for almost three years, in which Bellona had about a dozen gladiatrix fights against other women, half ending in death.
When the day arrived, the Emperor's wife was overseeing the event. After a long, drawn out battle in which neither seemed to have the advantage, Bellona managed to make use of being left-handed, and landed a hit along her adversary's right side. Anahita, out of commission and her life leaking into the sand, raised a hand asking for missio (mercy). The crowd when prompted by the overseer, overwhelmingly granted it so, evidenced by the cheers that reverberated through the stadium. It had been a good match.
The overseer of a match such as this had the power to grant freedom to warriors that they felt had done a particularly grandiose job of the spectacle. The royal woman raised her hands, and announced to the stadium that from that day on, these women were to be regarded as citizens once more. The cheers broke out again, this time deafening. Bellona grinned, in spite of herself.
Those cheers quickly changed to outbursts of horror and outrage. Anahita, who had never lost a match in her life, had plunged her hasta (javelin) into Bellona's back. In this ultimate violation of a very short list of rules, Anahita had signed her death warrant, as well as Bellona's.
Bellona was standing in a coliseum. No. Wait. THE Coliseum. She had only seen etchings and wood relief carvings, but it was hard to mistake it for someplace else.
It was completely empty, except for a large-statured woman across the field, completely dressed in traditional armor, complete with helm, sword, shield and... torch?
"You will soon be thrust into the chaos of battle once again. It is your rightful place.
You are not bound to the Underworld yet."
Her voice rung clearly across the ampatheatre, echoing to a crescendo. Maybe as a result, Bellona didn't comprehend a word of what she said. She dug her feet into the sand.
"I am the Goddess of war, Bellona. Your people have forgotten me, in place of Mars, my younger brother.
I birthed you.
I am your namesake."
"So, I'm a god? G-goddess," she stuttered out. She mentally berated herself for showing weakness, but the most hardened of warriors would quail before their mothers, let alone a god.
"Alas, the lineage of a god does not pass through the gentler gender." Goddess Bellona's veiled eyes betrayed a hint of mirth. "Regardless, you were clearly destined for something more than that of a mere mortal... not unlike your brothers."
Bellona wasn't well versed in god and goddess lore, or their family trees, so she just mentally gaped some more. On the outside, she hoped to the goddess she appeared a semblance of composed.
"I am needed elsewhere... your country is on the brink of war. Are you aware?" Goddess Bellona took a step forward, and was instantaneously in front of the young adult. She considered the torch in her hand briefly. "You must take this."
As soon as Bellona reached out to receive the crude torch, the flame engulfed her. It hurt... but nothing she wasn't used to.
She looked down at her chest, where a slight weight had formed. Around her neck on a delicate gold chain, lay the crudest piece of amber.
And then she knew no more.
Last edited by Eversist; 07-27-2011 at 01:53 AM.
Reason: Spellin' Error!
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Accepting participants!)
Tidied this up a bit from when I posted it in PF. That version was done so late at night it wasn't even funny. This is much more concise, correct and longer.
Thanks to Wojj, Drakenforge, Ix and Malky for the help they gave me at various points in the making of the following. I forgot to say that last time, I'm sure...
Name: Zachariah Shaw
Font colour: #404072
Biography: WARNING! TEXT WALL AHEAD!
Barring his surprisingly continued sentience, Zachariah Shaw was reasonably certain he was dead. Not that he had much experience of what it was like to be dead, but he could at least take an educated guess. For a start, he'd just suffered the misfortune of having a couple of bullets tear their way through what he was reasonably certain was his stomach (he'd never been good with Biology at school). It didn't take a genius to postulate that, after a couple of excruciatingly agonising minutes twitching on the concrete, the sudden evaporation of every last needle of pain he'd been able to feel probably meant he'd passed on.
That and the fact he was standing up. Admittedly, he couldn't remember having instructed his legs to do so, but his present view, taking in the dumpster at the end of the alley, illumined under the suffusion of a faulty streetlight somewhere behind it, was not one he would have thought you could see in the night sky.
With the arguably naÃ¯ve idea that some miracle might have occurred, Zachariah looked down. There was his corpse, lying there silent and still, with something rather similar to a wisp of smoke flowing from the aperture where the bullets had struck him. With trepidation starting to tarnish his euphoria, he followed it up. It turned a corner about two feet above him (the dead him, that is), then came back towards him. The â€œlivingâ€ him. Which, it seemed, was indeed the vapour floating freely above his cadaver.
Down a rather unfrequented alleyway, slightly out of the main city centre, someone had traced an outline onto the floor in off-white chalk. It was the figure of a man. You could tell that, since at some point since the time of death a passer-by had added, in their own yellow chalk, the correct genitalia.
Meanwhile, fifteen yards away, in an equally secluded warehouse, Zachariah Shaw was squatting. It had taken some considerable time to drag his body out of the elements, but that hadn't exactly been bothersome. Counting the passing hours was by now a mere distraction, rather than a fundamental part in his existence. Time wasn't that noticeable, really; sure, the sun did set occasionally, but had that stopped mattering shortly after everything else did. Eating, for example. He'd had quite the panic after a day or so when he suddenly realised he'd been forgetting about sustenance altogether, but that, he'd concluded, was merely denial. About, well, being dead.
For a fair while now, huddled into a corner that seemed far too small to him, he'd been sulking. Not crying, mind; no tear ducts. The mental trauma of being noticeably undead was taking its toll. It turned out that it was a pretty expensive fare. Toying with explaining it all to the police, to his friends, to his family; all of those hare-brained schemes had been shot down after several â€œhoursâ€ of back-and-forth thinking. For a start, he had found himself tethered to his immobile cadaver and lugging the bugger around was surprisingly tiring. Attaining tangibility for any extended period was proving frustratingly difficult.
Outside, some patchy drizzle was pattering out soft rhythms onto any surface it could find â€“ he'd found, if you listened hard enough, and for long enough, the constant drumming became melodic and tuneful, all on its own. Then the radio guys switched to some new rap-heavy crap and it became more about trying not to listen at all.
At the moment, it was fine. The radio, perched on a girder that would soon make up the neighbouring construction, was playing something peaceful. It had a gentle beat, meandering between harmonies with graceful ease. Another rhythm faded in, more regimented, getting louder with every passing tap, ceasing abruptly, jogging Zachariah out of deep hypnosis.
Someone had crept up on him, it seemed. Well, actually, in retrospect, those footsteps should have easily identifiable, but still. It was a man, sporting a frivolously long ponytail in an impossibly shiny shade of blonde. A pair of old-fashioned pince-nez was perched precariously on the end of his nose, through which he was currently staring intently at Zachariah. Setting him back another couple of decades was the cane he held in his right hand, covered with a velvet glove as per the time-honoured fashion.
He had a smile on his face that made him look a little crazy, but an air about him that reeked of the rational, albeit impossible.
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œZachariah Vivian Ernest Douglas Shaw? Were your parents sadists or something?â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
Amazingly, all five names had been correctly recited, but after what he'd been through these past few days, nothing could really surprise Zachariah. Besides, he had a theory; it was a tad leftfield, but he drew on what remained of his courage to voice it:
â€œAreâ€¦ are you Death?â€
The smile quivered a little, then grew.
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œOh no, of course not! What a silly thing to sayâ€¦â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
Before a look of surprise could even find its way to Zach's face, the other man continued.
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œNo, I'm afraid he couldn't make it today. Too much paperwork. Honestly, you'd be amazed how quickly it piles up when you go off for a few dozen millennia, swinging an oversized farming tool around the place like it's nobody's business. It was I who noted he could do with filling some of it in, actually. â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
In that caseâ€¦
â€œUmâ€¦ are you God, then?â€
His response was another unfathomably enormous grin.
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œNot exactly, mate. If my memory serves me well, I'd say I fall short of the definitions you people have come up with over the years. What were they now? Omniscience? Bugger that, I have trouble knowing what day of the week it is sometimes... omnipotence? Well, for certain definitions, maybe, but if you want a miracle or an earthquake or a choir of angels, a week's notice would be appreciatedâ€¦ what was the other one? Oh, omnipresence; only every other Tuesday, when I remember it is actually my turn, that is... honestly, you guys have set the record awfully askew. It's been like that old game where you whisper your message to someone, then they pass it on and on and on until it ends up being about cheese-eating ducks or the likeâ€¦â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
Zachariah hadn't the faintest idea what his new acquaintance was rambling on about. He was pretty sure it was a â€œnoâ€.
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œAnd another thing; I'm a bachelor, dammit. I never got anyone pregnant, alright? I haven't had a son, courtesy to popular belief. You know, apparently, if I was God, according to your manifold religions, I should have one hundred and thirty different sons by now, not to mention seventy-two bleedin' daughters. I don't exactly appreciate being portrayed as a promiscuous lovemaking machine. I mean, I've been around, yeah, but not that around. It says a lot about the sex life of a species as a whole if they have to make their idol a slutâ€¦â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
The overwhelmingly bemused expression on the face of his unfortunate listener stopped him from getting any further.
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œAnyway, actually, I kind of am your god, for the moment at least. I suppose I'm more like a repairman, to be truthful. If you haven't already gathered, something's gone wrongâ€¦ Talis couldn't fix it remotely, Sirru almost ripped my hair out over it, Anton couldn't care lessâ€¦ um, long story short, I've gotten off my ass and come to see to this myselfâ€¦â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
Though he wasn't sure if he really had a head or not, Zach damn well knew he had a headache. It was the only possible result of this insurmountable monologueâ€¦
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œRight now, your fate is in my hands. Well, no, hang on; technically, it's in yours. You've got a decision to make. See, what power I have is currently all geared up to do one of two things. The first is to leave you be, as you are, right here, right now. I'll do away with the past couple of minutes, if you like, just for your peace of mind. Existence will continue. You'd make a pretty good ghost, to be frank; I expect you could find yourself a better building than this to hauntâ€¦ oh, but you'll still be attached to that corpse of yours. Sorry in advance, but unless I have to, I'm sure as hell not uncoupling that messâ€¦â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
The deity paused, absent-mindedly peering through a hole in the warehouse wall. Zach's patience was being tested; not that he could tell that was the case, of course.
â€œAnd the other choice?â€
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œWell, I reluctantly decouple you from that wretched body of yours and you'll be a free man, eventually. You'll still be a ghost; I can't fix that. But you won't have to lug yourself around and I guarantee you things will be an awful lot easier. â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
The smile turned into a sneer
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œOn one condition. â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
â€œWhat is it?â€
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œI'm not telling you. Partly because I'm not allowed to, because of some silly old clause, but mostly because I have a sadist streak about me. Yeah, sorry, can't be helpedâ€¦â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
The internal musings and reflections required to make a decision took about ten seconds. Zachariah didn't really see that he had a choice.
â€œPromise you won't do anything nasty?â€
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œI am a man of my word. I shan't do a thing to harm you. â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
â€œAlright. What've I gotta do to please you, huh?â€
The Gentleman known as Sruix smiled.
[background=indigo:1vyawuoc]â€œTry not to blink. â€[/background:1vyawuoc]
Everything suddenly went very, very dark indeed. For Zachariah, anyway. In the warehouse, everything was as it always had been, up to and including the distinct lack of any dead bodies cluttering up the place.
Abilities & Weapons: After the events described below, Zachariah Shaw is now a man of two halves. His ghost is still existent, but is now disconnected from his cadaver, as per the agreement. The twist is that, along with the detachment, his corpse has been reanimated as well. There are now two iterations of him about the place, each with half the life of a full soul. They are independent entities; one is not privy to the inner thoughts of another, nor to their other half's actions, but they share the same memories and basic personality.
The ghost half is a classic ghost â€“ totally intangible normally, he can, through some considerable exertion have an effect on the world around him. Small objects are easy enough, but anything too big and he'll have a problem afterwards. Slipping through objects, be they chairs or walls of bullets, takes no effort at all; all that's required is for him to forget that he's trying to be reasonably normal. His range is by rights unrestricted, but if he ends up going too far from his corpse, movement through the air becomes more like pushing through treacle. Presumably there is some kind of link still present between them.
The three-day dead Zachariah is a zombie, pretty much; he's still as sentient as a normal human being, having not been dead for too long, but has some difficulties with concentration, the sort that come from your brains starting to decay. Slower than before, both in movement and articulation, but with the superhuman strength that I seem to recall the undead sometimes have.
Description: Before death he had a reasonably dead-end job in an accountant's office, being a typical twenty-something graduate with bookish tendencies and a passion for a healthy debate, particularly science explaining the rational. Reasonably tall, his hair is almost a literal mop, black in colour, that was forever getting in his eyes. It still does, actually, but it's not much of a problem now, what with it being translucent and all. On the fated night, if it is at all important, he happened to be wearing a scarf and duffel coat. Both still adorn his corpse, though they are a little more ragged than before, and their spiritual versions still clothe his ghost that, for some reason, happens to be slightly tainted purple.
[12:39:21] Sruixan: But I'm not a person.
[12:39:23] Sruixan: I'm a cicada.
There was a young man who said "Though
it seems that I know that I know,
what I would like to see
is the 'I' that knows 'me'
when I know that I know that I know."
- Alan Watts
Originally Posted by slipsicle
Keep in mind that this is a game by Sruixan, so every beverage mentioned is going to be either tea or alcohol. Predominantly tea.
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Accepting participants!)
Name: Kargrek Strongarm
Font colour: Doubleoh doubleoh forty
Weapon: A greataxe called Strombald. The wizard who forged it had notoriously bad spelling, but it's still a flippin enormous ax that bursts into flame on command. He also wears the Bracers of Krog the Indomitable, which give him incredible strength and unbreakable bones.
Abilities: In case it's not already obvious, Kargrek is the epitome of barbarian. He can drink and fight and seduce and fight and survive in the wilderness and fight. All at the same time, and all with extreme proficiency. Especially the fighting. Because of the bracers, he can lift and carry things that should take fifteen men to shift and punch through walls if he feels like it; obviously, punching through sternums is a lot easier than walls, so there's that too.
Description: Physically, the afterlife version of Kargrek looks like he did in life: a 6'7" man with an musculature that goes beyond "impressive" in the the realms of "hard to believe", clad only in a loincloth and a pair of apparently-brass bracers. His hair is a mane of mid-back-length black, and his eyes are deepset in a face practically designed to scream manliness. He's scarred in places, but remarkably less so than the usual kind of person who makes it to Gorkella, the warriors' afterlife of this tribe's belief system.
Personality-wise, he's just about what you'd expect. Brash, loud, impulsive, violent, lecherous... He's certainly not going to be solving many essential conundrums of the universe, but he's not stupid. Stupid doesn't have a very long life expectancy.
Biography: Living to the ripe old age of 32, Kargrek was the greatest warrior in his tribe for nearly two decades; it was for his amazing feats of strength and his phenomenal skill in battle that he was granted the coveted Bracers of Krog the Indomitable by the high priest of Krog the Indomitable, and he still wears their spectral double in death. Ironically, for all that most of his life was spent in combat, he died not in battle, but in bed. A rival gunning for chieftain hired a prostitute to poison the barbarian, and Kargrek for all his iron-hard bones and incredible strength could do little to fight the toxin. Especially with his hands tied like that.
Since death, Kargrek has been living it up (so to speak) in Gorkella, palling around with Krog, eating endless feasts, enjoying endless maidens, and beating the shit out of demons for kicks. When The Redeemer plucked him out of the hallowed Halls of Combat, he had been about to enjoy a rousing post-feast game of orgy with Krog and a handful of equivalents of Valkyries I never made up a name for, and may be consequently a little miffed at the start of things.
The entry is a little goofy, I'll grant you, but I intend to keep this a serious character. I just felt like a little levity rather than my usual BLAH BLAH WORDS BLAH BLAH SERIOUS BLAH BLAH MAGIC.
I feel this may be worth noting also:
16:20 RobBobertson Bearded Axeman
16:20 RobBobertson Never seen one of those yet.
16:20 Blrglorange No beard
16:21 Blrglorange Kargek's chiseled chin rejects all facial hair beyond a stubble
16:21 Blrglorange He is much too manly for wussie facial hair
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Accepting participants!)
"We're live in 4... 3... 2..."
The theme music for Events of Import chimed briefly through the studio as the lights came back up.
The host, a charming woman in professional dress, beamed at the camera. "Welcome back to Events of Import, I'm Linda Stacey. Coming up later, I'll meet with Airlock! producer Ian Berkowicz to discuss the coming season of the hit show. But first, we've got an interview with Scott Williams, one of the 340 unfortunate patients to receive the Old Sol nervous system treatment. Welcome to the show, Scott."
The man sitting across the desk from her looked to be in his mid-twenties. He was somewhat tall and unusually thin, and his long-fingered hands twitched a bit on the desk. He was wearing a rather nice dress shirt and slacks, and he'd put on his good rimless glasses for the interview.
He was looking rather nervous- he'd been on a few shows before, but nothing as big as Events. Half the city got their news from here, and while not everyone stuck around for the human interest story, there were still going to be millions watching.
"Thanks for having me, Linda." He did his best to smile naturally at her, but it just looked forced. "It's great to be here."
"Before we begin, can you give us a bit of background here? Most of us have heard of the failure of the Old Sol treatment, but what actually happened?"
He knew this whole tale by heart, and the rote repetition calmed him down a bit. "For me, it started when I was five. A combination of a rare neurodegenerative disorder and an allergy to the normal medicine left me bedridden for weeks. There didn't seem to be any hope of a cure, so when the Old Sol Medical Corporation announced trials for their new nervous system treatment, my parents jumped at the opportunity."
"What did this treatment do, exactly?"
"Essentially, it was a process to replace the entire peripheral nervous system with a network of artificial nerves. Medically, it was quite impressive- something of the sort had been attempted before, but only on a limited scale. Old Sol managed to replace the entire peripheral nervous system over the course of just a few days and with an almost-nonexistent recovery period."
"So what went wrong, then?"
"Well, there wasn't anything wrong with the procedure itself- the issues arose once I was back up and moving around again. See, the system draws its power from a small generator in my heart, and while I was simply laying in bed, there wasn't any trouble. As soon as I got my pulse going at a higher rate, though, the generator started putting out more power than expected. Now, they didn't catch this when they were doing the exit exam, so I was free to go. I got out of the ho-" He was interrupted by a flash of light and a snapping sound in the back of the studio, which was instantly followed by a quiet beep. The camera crew looked around, a bit confused, but Scott just sighed and continued.
"I got out of the hospital two days before my sixth birthday, and my parents and I were walking home. We only lived a few decks up, so we decided to take the stairs. I was especially exited, having been cooped up in a hospital for weeks. I was running ahead, going back down, and generally being an exuberant child.
"Suddenly, there was a big flash of light, and people were panicking, rushing around the stairway. Someone shouted something, and then everyone started making a fuss over me. Turns out I'd vanished nearly three minutes before, and they'd spent that time looking for me."
Linda leaned forward a bit, her face a prize-winning mix of curiosity and concern. "So you moved forward in time?"
"That's it exactly. The-"
There was a bright flash of light and an electrical-sounding snap, and he vanished from his chair, leaving Linda without someone to interview. Smoothly, the ever-calm host turned to the cameras and started, "Well, we'll be right-"
Before she could finish, her guest stepped out from behind the cameras and took his seat again. "I've done some math, and I only jump forward about one in three times. It's actually more likely for me to jump back a bit, arriving a few minutes before I left."
The viewers at home were treated to the rare sight of a ruffled Linda Stacey. "So... that's what just happened? You jumped back?"
"Right. The actual distance varies, but it can be anywhere up to about ten minutes. Usually, it's somewhere around four or five. The actual stats show a bit of a skew towards shorter jumps, but-" He caught himself. He was rambling again. "But if they want to learn more, your viewers can check the datanet."
The director held up a finger. One minute left.
"Well, Scott, that is fascinating. One final question- is there nothing that can be done?"
"No, I'm afraid not. The failure of the Old Sol treatment kneecapped the field, so there isn't really an alternative available. They paid out a large bunch of money to each of us, but there isn't really any way to stop the jumps."
"That's a shame. Unfortunately, that's all the time we have. Scott Williams, thanks for coming on the show-"
There was another bright flash and crack, and Scott Williams stumbled back into the desk, staring wide-eyed around him. He was bleeding from cuts all over his body, and one leg collapsed under him, sending him sprawling to the floor. There was broken glass in his hair, and a few larger shards were sticking out of his body here and there.
Horrified, Scott looked on as his future self rolled over, coughed up some blood on the studio floor, shuddered, and died.
He stood up, knocking over his chair as he did. "No, no, no," he said, repeating it over and over. "No, I can't. No. No."
He backed away from his corpse, eyes locked on it. In the panic, no-one remembered to warn him about the six-inch platform the desk was on- all eyes were on the dead man.
He stumbled over the end of the ledge, losing his footing and tumbling back into the ornamental glass backdrop. It shattered as he fell into it, shards tumbling down towards him, sharp and deadly. His heart thudded loudly in his ears, and a moment later, he vanished in one final flash.
Name: Scott Williams Gender: Male Font Colour: #004080 Race: Human Items: With him, he has just his ID card, a pen, and some spare change. He also wears a customized watch with three main functions. Mainly, it tells time, as most watches do, but it also broadcasts that time on a set frequency. If it picks up another signal on that frequency, it will display that time as well, letting him know if there's another version of himself running around and how far ahead of him they are. Abilities: Scott randomly jumps through time. The maximum range is about 10 minutes either way, with a 2 in 3 chance he'll end up in his past. The distance is more likely to be in the 2-5 minute range, but as his heart rate increases, so do the likelihood of a jump and the distance of the effect. Description: Scott is a bit taller than average, but the appearance is exaggerated by his extreme thinness. Everything about him is lean and stretched, from his thin features to his long, nimble fingers. As a person, he is rather nervous, always overthinking things and getting caught up in the details. He has a particular affinity for numbers and a particular lack of affinity for people. Biography: Scott Williams, age 26, was born on October 17th, 2410 aboard Bertrand City, the second-largest city-ship in the Human Federation. At age five, he was diagnosed with a rare neurodegenerative disorder. An experimental treatment left him jumping a few minutes randomly forward and backward in time whenever his heartbeat rose.
The Redeemer sat patiently at the edge of the crater desecrating the once pristine cathedral. The float of the fishing rod bobbing up and down on nothing. While silence filled the whole building, it was not the same as the rest of void; instead an air of malice filled the room, like a predator stalking its prey. The silence was broken by the small buzz of the fishing line being tugged. The Redeemer snapped his eyes open and grinned.
“Got’cha!” The Redeemer swung the fishing rod wildly, with a splash of non existent water the lifeless body of Scott Williams swung out. A large hook was unceremoniously locked into his mouth. ”That makes eight!” He launched the corpse across the Cathedral, where it got stuck on some sort of spectral web. The other seven contestants were also trapped in the web, all in awkward positions and perfectly still. Except for the eyes, it would appear that upon contact of the web the contestants were jolted into semi-consciousness, the only things responsive being there eyes and ears.
”Once upon a time there was a man named Zaire.” The Redeemer said, as his fishing rod dissolved and the gaping hole filled back up. ”He was the greatest man that ever lived. No other could best him, his swordsmanship was that of legends.” The knight walked down the small steps leading to the throne, each step echoed loudly. “He wanted to rule the world, mould it into something beautiful, a world of chaos. But he could not do it in the state he was in, no, he needed something more.” The Redeemer looked up at the eight contestants as all they could do is stare back, he grinned wildly.
”But that’s neither here nor there. Besides, I’ve never been one to brag about my accomplishments.” Zaire lied, as he clicked his fingers, the eight contestants were released from the web, all of them landing in a wooden chair that wasn’t there before. ”Now then! I suppose you are all wondering what you are doing here!” He cracked his fingers and all eight chairs moved into a circle , facing outwards, The Redeemer paced round them all slowly. ”Well, first off, you all have one thing in common. You’re all dead!” He chuckled madly, and paused, expecting a response that he knew would never come. ”Of course some of you are more dead than others, I’ll admit some of you stretched the criteria a little but hey! I don’t choose what the ol’ rod gets!” Another pause, as if to expect a laughter from an unseen audience. ”Right then! I’ll explain the rules to you! Eight ‘players’, seven ‘rounds’. Each round one of you will be whisked away back to your respective afterlife that you no doubt belong in, which is a fancy way of saying, you will die! The winner of this Fatal Conflict will be brought back to the world of the living!” Zaire clicked his fingers once more, a massively long piece of paper unfurled from his hand.
”Simply sign this contract and we’ll be on our merry way!” The eight contestant didn’t even get to see the contract before there respective signatures simply appeared on the long parchment. The Redeemer beamed as he withdrew said contract back into his belonging.
~ ~ ~
”My my! You are all eager! You don’t even what to read the terms and conditions? Oh well! Who am I to judge!?” Zaire cackled as he swerved all of the chairs inwards, ”First some introductions! I am The Redeemer. But I couldn’t care less for that title; it was unceremoniously forced on me you see. So you can call me Zaire!” He gave a small bow, wearing his psychotic smile the whole way. The Redeemer jumped behind one of the chairs, poised to introduce everyone to this sick game.
”Unfortunately for you, you can’t speak! Not yet at least, so I’ll do these introductions for you! This rather plain gentleman you see here is Scott Williams! He got a sort of robo brain! But more importantly, he can jump forwards and backwards in time! The poor bugger doesn’t have much control on it though. Let’s hope he gets lucky then!”
The Redeemer then glided towards a man who wore armor and a huge broadsword. ”Speaking of the time, meet Luron Timerius! He’s your usual fair of knight; decent with a sword, a smattering of magic power, no different to the hundreds of knights I’ve killed. However! Our good friend Luron here can see into the future! Buuuut he doesn’t have much control on that either. Haha! Maybe you and Scotty boy can become friends!”
Zaire skipped to a ill looking man, with a strange apparatus strapped to his back. ”This monstrosity is called Dr. Kaja Lorrden! He’s an interesting one to say the least; this machine on his back has kept him in an unnatural state of life! Still, the fishing rod thought him dead enough to participate in my little game! He can create concoctions and potions in a matter of seconds thanks to that machine; hopefully his little chemistry set can save him in the upcoming battles!”
The caped man walked to the sight of a pale woman with huge demonic wings. ”Here we have the lovely Laura Scourge! Another oddity, she’s not technically dead, more so a denizen of the afterlife, still, variety is the spice of life, or death in your case. Laura is a demon literally made to rock! Not only can she kill people with her bare hands, but that guitar of hers can control the elements themselves! Rock on!”
He moved on to a giant of a man, the chair he sat on was buckling under his weight. Zaire flexed mockingly as he approached. ”Raaargh! This beast of man is Kargrek Strongarm! He’s a barbarian through and through! He’s naturally strong as it is but those bracers he wears gives him even more strength and nigh on indestructible bones! Oh and that axe he’s got? It can set. On. Fire. Wow! I wouldn’t want to cross with this man’s man!”
Next up was only non-humanoid of the group, a cloud of what seemed like musical notes. ”This bizarre spectre is called Simphonia! It would seem that in her afterlife she did not retain her previous appearance, instead becoming some sort of musical ghost. She does the usual ghostly things: change shape, go through walls etcetera. Her trick up her nonexistent sleeve however is the ability to change people’s emotions, depending on what tune she plays! Don’t worry, she’s normally pretty cheery. Oh wait, it works opposites doesn’t it? Oh well!”
The Redeemer walked to another chair, one man was sitting in it, another, what looked like his identical twin, lied crumpled on the floor. Zaire propped him up on his doppelgangers chair. ”Ah yes I should probably explain. This is Zachariah Shaw, both of them that is. Y’see, our good friend here made a deal, bisecting his soul. This purple hued one you see here is a ghost not very tangible, but I’m sure you’ll find a weakness for him! This other Zachariah is a zombie. Not the moaning, shambling kind though. He gotten considerably stronger since his days in the living so he should provide some challenge! Should be interesting how this pair play out!
He walked to the final contestant, a sturdy looking woman adorned in simple clothing. ”Finally, we have Bellona Achillia! She’s a classic gladiator! Or is that gladiatrix? I don’t know, either way she’s built to kill and that’s just what she’ll do! Interestingly, she got a little trinket from some war god or something, how quaint.”
~ ~ ~
The Redeemer walked out of the circle towards his throne, he twisted the chairs so that they may resemble an audience.
”Right then! Without further to do! Are you ready to play!?” He knew that there would be no reply, the silence made Zaire smile. ”Excellent.” With a click of the fingers the world began to melt around them. All eight of the contestants begun to fall under a powerful spell, one which willed then into a deep sleep, when the last contestant final succumbed to the enchantment, there was nothing but black, only The Redeemer’s smile remained.
The eight contenders awoke, lying on a cold tarmac floor. Unlike there previous episode in the cathedral, there paralysis had seemed to faded away. In further inspection there were still restrictions on hold of them, the first being they found it impossible to open there mouths, the second being invisible cages around them, limiting there movement to a square metre.
They found themselves in what looked like a standard main street, many shops flanking a large road. What once considerably different about this main street was that everyone was dead. Bodies were littered everywhere, as if they had simply dropped dead where they stood. There was no evidence of attack, except for modicum of crashed cars.
Before the competitors thought themselves free of The Redeemer’s meddling, he rudely teleported in front of then group, leaving a trail of blood red glyphs fading into nonentity. ”Welcome to round 1! Garforth Main Street! I figured it would be a fitting place to start for you, start with something you’re all familiar with!” Zaire gave a nonchalant chuckle, ”Not that theres anything really special about this place, its happened to this whole world. Total wipe out of the entire race!” He turned away from the group, hiding his chaotic grimace. ”Actually I tell a lie, not a complete wipe out, there is a smattering of survivors here and there, probably unlikely you’ll meet one. Oh and there’s an…entity, to say the least. Whether that contacts you or not, is not my choice.”
The Redeemer twisted round with a sort of enthusiasm unfitting for such a ghastly game. ”Right! I suppose I should explain some rules and guidelines here, I mean they are explained in your contract but you seemed like you were in quite a rush to start! I’ve taken the liberty of erecting a barrier round this quaint little street, keeps you from wandering too far from the fun! Oh and regarding rules for attacking me:” Zaire paused to turn back to the contestants, something about him becoming a lot more slower, his demeanour became a lot more serious than usual, like he just dropped his pantomime act. Well…you’re welcome to try. His now trademark smirk resurfaced as he slipped back into the cruel jester that he was. ”Though I don’t think that’ll do you any good! Now if you want me I’ll be in this delightful coffee shop down the street, can’t miss it, big red and black sign on the front!” He tipped a non-existent hat towards the group. ”Remember: next round doesn’t happen unless one of you dies! Have fun!” Zaire once again disappears in a flash of red, his cackle resonates through the air and disappears a little while latter.
The contestants were then freed of there temporary prisons and mute inflictions.
Welcome to round one! Which, as we all know, is the MSPAFA round! This takes place in the cheery locale of Everybody dies, luckily there’s not much to it: its planet earth, except everyone one day keeled over and died!
Well not everyone actually, there were clearly a few survivors, whether you want to introduce some survivors is your call.
ALSO ALSO, in the adventure there’s an entity which uses the corpses you converse with one of protagonist. Its aims and motives are uncertain though. Once again whether you want to introduce this element is up to you.
Finally you will notice that The Redeemer has not actually left the round.
Yeah. You have a psycho death knight /ultra powerful magician who killed Death itself wandering around. It’ll hopefully provide some interesting dilemmas having the Grandmaster walking among the contestants, just remember how absurdly powerful he is when incorporating in your posts. I don’t want him dying on the first round!
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Round 1: Everybody's Dead!)
She wasn't used to being restricted and thus, for the few minutes she was, she panicked, her usually tranquil hum crescendoing to an agitated whirl of speeding violins and violas, faster and faster until it seemed that surely the bows would have snapped or caught fire. Her various black components writhed around in confusion and clouds of various color formed and dissipated as she tried to move about. And then, quite suddenly, she could.
A blur of black slung itself through a nearby window quite by accident. As the glass shattered and embedded itself into her body (in a loose sense of the word), Simphonia attempted to slow down but ended up twisting around wildly and, disoriented, fell to the floor.
As the ghostly music lay on the floor, the orchestra decrescendoed once more until an apprehensive flutist solo could be heard above all else. Simphonia rose up again and shook the pieces of glass off until she was sure all shards had clinked on the floor.
It was hard to be sure whether Simphonia fully understood the situation she was in, but it was easy to see that she was frightened. Every part of her being vibrated nervously and she seemed to be trying to make herself hidden. Unfamiliar territory and people and dead people were all very, very disconcerting. But the key strayed away from minor and the spirit drew herself up again, apparently determined to go through un-life as usual. She instead started curiously going about the house, poking at fallen furniture and rotting corpses and the mildew that had started taking over parts of the place. She looked like she was looking for something, but even she did not know what.
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Round 1: Everybody's Dead!)
"I haven't seen this much dead people since I decided to go back to hell, my god, It's like they all just said fuck it and had a heart attack, what an unsuitable death for all these annoying little a-holes, a more suiting death would be for them all to have their legs cut off and then slowly and painfully bleed to death" Said Laura with disgust in her voice.
She looked around and saw nothing of interest, so she walked into a building nearby with a rusted out sign, only one word was visible on it, and even that word was barely visible, that word was simply "Shenanigans" she looked inside to find a bar. "Thank god;" She thought, "Booze, moldy, old and smelly booze, but still, at the very least, booze!" searching through the bar, she found that most of it had fallen to the ground and shattered because the wooden shelves holding them had rotten until the point of the pressure of all the bottles on them had made the shelves collapse, but
she still managed to find one that was still, barely intact, and had old smelly alcohol on it. she grabbed some, and questioned the safety of drinking some, before she realized that if she could murder people with her bare hands, she could probably stand some old alcohol, so she grabbed a bottle, and chugged, it felt really good after the whole getting kidnapped thing. In about 10 minutes, she had finished two bottles of vodka and was pretty drunk.
She wandered out of the building with a couple of Vodka bottles, she looked at Luron and threw one of the bottles on the ground.
"Do you... Do you want to fight, beca... Because I wanna kill you all, and maybe eat your throats, wait, not throats, why would I want to eat your throats? I don't know... I'm just going to kill you all and win this con... this this contest... Is that okay with you, Lurry?" She asked drunkingly, before tumbling towards him.
"You... You know hell is pretty good this time of the year, I might... Be able to book a trip for you. No catches... Just the whole getting killed by me painfully... pa-part. Nothing un-unusual" She said right before taking out her guitar and making a couple of horrible clangs of noise, making a fireball appear in front of it.
"You see I made a double entendre their... Oh wait, double entendres are sexual... oh well... You... Your still gonna die even if it wasn't a double entendre... Lu... Lurry." She Stuttered.
Sorry about how short that was, I guess we are just going to need to get into a writing mood or something!
I will give you a cookie if you find the reference in that post!!
Lodged in a stone waiting for the true king of Ingland
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Round 1: Everybody's Dead!)
Kaja pushed himself up from the tarmac, feeling around for his contraption. Thankfully it was unharmed by any of the less than delicate measures that Zaire had taken to bring them here. Kaja had quickly got used to the contraption after his accident, he now associated it's odd gurglings and the sick grey liquids that flowed through it with his own life the way that one would normally associate their heartbeat and the blood that ran through their veins. It was almost a part of him, and in a crisis it was always his first thought. Having reassured himself of his continued existence Kaja took a moment to examine the scene around him. It was a scene of devestation, unlike anything Kaja had ever seen. He searched for some reference point, a comparison that he could get his head around, but he found none. The closest he came was imagining a strain of undeath that did not recruit the afflicted into the undead hordes, but left them rotting on the streets instead, and even then it was not perfect. People had time to flee the undeath, or barricade themselves in their basements. None of the dead bodies looked as though they had been fleeing from whatever had done this. It looked as though they had died instantaneously, as though their bodies had just given up on them for some reason. People lay rotting on the pavements, surrounded by bags of shopping they had been carrying home. Motorised vehicles had careened off the roads into the shop frontages. At a shelter further down the street a large vehicle with two floors stood dormant. Kaja guessed that it had stopped to allow people to board when the disaster had claimed so many lives.
For a moment Kaja entertained the prospect that this was simply a vivid dream. He hoped against fact that a scene of his unbearable destruction simply could not exist, not in his world and not in any other either. But he was fooling nobody, not even his self. As his... competitors, he supposed, started to move he came to his senses. This was a battle to the death, and although unwanted, he had no intention of losing, at least not before he had had words with Zaire and clarified precisely what losing would entail. But first, in his quick scan of the street he had spotted a shop frontage with a sign that intrigued him; Cohens Chemist. If there was one place where he was at home it was at a chemist's. Hell he even smiled slightly, a chemist's in a world as bizarre and advanced at this might have all kinds of interesting herbs, and could lead to a whole new range of potions he could use. Sticking his hands deep into his pockets, he strolled nonchalantly down the street towards the pharmaceutical store, stepping over the decaying remains of the residents of this world as he did so.
Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Round 1: Everybody's Dead!)
Scott stumbled back when the invisible barrier vanished, nearly tripping on the curb. He found himself with his back to another solid surface, but his eyes were still locked on the corpse that had been lying not a meter away. Feeling around with his hands, he discovered the edge of the brick wall just to his left. Slowly, he shuffled sideways towards it, and he was soon backing into an alley. A few steps later, the side of the building obscured the body, but Scott just kept backing away, nearly falling over a cardboard box as he did.
He'd taken another dozen steps back when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and hauled him sideways, pulling him into a doorway. After a moment of disorientation, he found himself staring into his own eyes.
The other him slapped him, hissing, "Focus, dammit! Yes, there are bodies, but if we don't want to be one, you have to calm down!"
The original Scott blinked a few times, rubbing his cheek. Something in the depths of his mind said that, yes, that would be a good idea, but the rest of it was still busy screaming at him about the body oh god the body.
He just stared at himself a bit, eyes not really focused.
"Dammit... Alright, think. Assuming an even chance of victory for each of the eight contestants, what are our odds of survival?"
Numbers. He could do numbers. He liked numbers. "One in... One in eight," he eventually said.
"And what percentage is that?"
"Zero point one two five." His voice was gaining a bit of confidence. His heart was still racing, but he was at least able to think somewhat clearly.
"Are those good odds?"
"No, they're not."
"Is it going to take everything we've got just to survi-"
There was a flash of light and an electrical snap as Scott jumped. He was a bit further back in the alley, and, checking his watch, there weren't any others of himself around. His experience said he was probably in the past, soon to encounter his past self and calm him down. Of course, knowing how far back he was would be hard.
After a moment's contemplation, he decided to check the street and wait for himself to show up.
As he started down the alley, a thought occurred, and rather than just walk to the end, he tried the door that he had ambushed himself in. It was a bit sticky, but it opened, rusty hinges creaking a bit as it did. High shelves lined the walls of what was apparently a storage room, and by the dim light coming through the door, he could see the silhouettes of assorted bottles and boxes filling them. There was another door leading towards the front of the building, and Scott made his way over to it, stumbling over something on the way.
The front room of the pharmacy was divided up into rows by several sets of waist-high shelves, each shelf lined with neatly-arranged bottles and boxes. There was a counter along the whole of the back wall, behind which the pharmacist would usually be standing. Now, though, he was nowhere to be found. This was probably for the best- Scott didn't really want to run into more corpses just yet.
A thought occurred to him, grabbing him in that certain way that mathematical problems always did. There was a key in the till, and a few experimental button-presses later, the tray popped open. There were an assortment of notes and coins there, as well as some rolls of coins and a few keys.
He picked up a few of the notes. He examined them, but aside from determining that they were issued by the Bank of England, there wasn't much useful information. He put them carefully back in their slots before turning his attention to the coins, which yielded better results. There was a year stamped on the back of each one, and the most recent he could find was from 1994- just before the turn of the millennium.
He didn't have much longer to consider that, though- his watch beeped at him, indicating that there was now another him present. Looking up, he saw a few of the others stand up in the street outside, waking up from their paralysis. He crouched down behind the counter and returned to the back room, heading out to the alley.
He nearly tripped over the object again, and he cursed. What sort of pharmacist would leave something like that laying on the floor where someone could easily trip over it?
Feeling around, he found the light switch and flicked it on.
Presumably, the grey-haired old man on the floor was the pharmacist. He wore a clean, white apron over a flannel shirt and jeans, and his face was wrinkled with age and good humour.
Scott had managed to push the corpses out of his mind for a while, but it all came rushing back to him when he saw the old man's body. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. It's just a body, he told himself. It can't hurt you or anything. Just a body. He'd have to face them at one point or another, he knew, and now was as good a time as any. He took a few deep breaths and, slowly, he opened his eyes. The dead man was still there, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Steeling himself, Scott moved over and knelt down beside him. The was no blood on the man's apron, no gaping wounds to indicate how he'd died. He was just... gone.
Scott reached out, closed the man's eyes, and stood up. This guy was dead, and there was nothing Scott could do about it. He could only focus on not sharing the man's fate himself.
Something made a noise out in the alley, and Scott realized that the other him must be getting close. He went to the open door just in time, grabbing the other Scott's shoulders and pulling him in. He slapped the other him, distracted him with numbers, and did his best to calm him down before he vanished.
That done, he sighed and went back into the alley. That loop had closed, and now he had to focus on the matter at hand. There were seven other people around, all of whom probably wanted him dead, and he had no real means of fighting back. He walked slowly to the far end of the alley, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon.