RE: The Flash Battle [Signups and also Round One: Before The Flood]
07-18-2017, 08:38 AM
A couple of miles away from a certain fishing village, Jesús Cirrostratus looked on in confusion.
A few seconds ago, he waited in rapt attention for the sacrificial dagger to plunge into his chest, for his glorious lifeblood to spill over the altar he was laid upon. Of course, those seconds are long past – he let out a nervous laugh at that realization – and here he was now, stuck in the Rain Gods know where, near a settlement with a rapidly expanding ring of grass, and wearing these sacrificial robes – these ridiculous sacrificial robes no less, he realized.
He laughed again.
- And stopped, silently admonishing himself for nearly slipping. The Rain Gods work in mysterious ways, he thought to himself. Even if the particular Rain God in question looks like the very avatar of evil. Everything has a purpose. It was not a sound train of logic, but everything was so cold and new and he could not think straight. The tenuous reasoning was adequate enough, like a morsel of bread between prayers. Perhaps, he thought upon this more, this was some sort of intermediate realm? A last battery of challenges before he could be proved worthy to live in the Celestial Realms? It would certainly explain the sheer humidity of the weather, the command bequeathed upon him and the others by the powers that may be.
Find the others.
Slay one another.
Jesús is – was – a holy man. The grisly task was unpleasant to his pious sensibilities, but he acknowledged it as a butcher acknowledges the necessity of slaughter. If the Rain Gods deemed it, so be it – he shall carry this divine task to the best of his abilities.
Jesús looked at the village, more verdant than ever. Initially, he thought to go to the heart of the matter and deal with it in person but he decided not. He did not know the strength of this mysterious target-to-be, let alone what sort of strength they wielded in their hands. Besides, there was others. It would be wise to scry but there is no time to gather information and to be frank, Jesús was impatient, but he justified it as efficiency. Efficiency is just impatience with a purpose, he mused.
Fortunately, there was another village, just a half-hour walk. He smiled, tasting the storm on his teeth, and took a soggy step towards his destination.
--
Bartender Buckwheat remembered the halcyon days, when everything was rosier and so much better in comparison. Although to be fair, everything was better in comparison to the dismal present. The tavern suffered more brawls than it could tolerate. The furniture was from piecemeal sets – only half could be judged as tolerably intact. The windows were shattered, a dangerous reminder that the hard-earned money disappeared just yesterday night. Buckwheat looked down at the tavern cup he was persistently polishing – more splinters than container – and sighed. The thieves even took every tankard of ale along as interest. By the love of all that is good and green on this wretched, wet place, it wasn’t even good ale! Buckwheat swore the entire world was going to the wolves, no holy shepherd or prophet in sight –
Suddenly, the last remains of the door splintered open.
- And in came a strange man. The intricacy of his strange robes and the resplendent jewelry on his person made Buckwheat suspect he was some noble from overseas. In a less dramatic setting, Buckwheat would had turned up his nose – he was not a big fan of the upper-class, let alone upper-class foreigners – but there was something mesmerizing about the new guest. It was definitely not normal, and in fact, if he thought of the following word in time, rather supernatural. Like he was chosen by some sort of awesome power, a power that demanded fear and respect, a power invested by a g-gh-gh-God.
Gods even.
“Hello there!” The stranger was suddenly close to his face, too close for comfort in fact. Buckwheat stared back, stared up, and stared back again.
“How…can I help you.”
“Storm’s a coming.”
“Yes.”
“It’s going to be a big one.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I think it might as well end the world,” the man nudged an elbow into him. “God told me.”
“…Oh,” Buckwheat deflated. “I see.”
Buckwheat knew the world was going to end one day. He often fantasized the terrible and creative ways the end might come in but the fact he heard that statement from another person was pretty devastating. A more rational person would had laughed it off, but honestly? Buckwheat was not in a good position right now. He saw the sins of common man, he just got robbed for the umpteenth time, and his door is destroyed yet again. Also, he can’t drink on the job. Buckwheat decided the most tactical decision at this moment was to stand there with a vacant stare. It was so depressing the strange man was getting a little concerned.
“You look like you need a drink.”
“I can’t drink. I’m on the job.”
“The world’s going to end.”
“Well, fair enough but I don’t drink alone. It’s kind of pathetic.”
“Want to drink with me?”
“I just met you. Also, no.”
“What if I invite others? The entire village? If you ask me, everyone needs a drink.”
“I was robbed,” Buckwheat snapped. “Fuckers stole my beer.”
“Look again.”
“Can you not – ”
Buckwheat met with a strange yet wondrous sight. Barrels upon barrels haphazardly stacked upon each other. Not typical barrels either, but made from planks of rich blue stone and banded in pearlescent metal that screamed luxury. From the distance, Buckwheat could practically smell the contents. It was strange – an earthy, watery scent after rainfall, intoxicating and pleasant. He took his cup to the barrel and indulged himself a sample.
“It’s…delicious.”
“Rainwater,” the man winked impishly. “Straight from the Rain Gods.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth,” he shrugs. “More where it came from.”
“More?”
“Yes, but this isn’t free.”
“I suppose so,” Buckwheat sighed as he filled the cup to the brim and mulled on it. “What do you want me to do?”
--
Jesús Cirrostratus took a dainty sip out of his tavern cup.
He asked the bartender to host a festival to cheer the spirits of men, although the Chosen of the Rain Gods greatly insisted upon the choosing the decorations. Jesús wondered why no one question his choice of party favors – the geometric iconography, the black-on-blue ceramic sculptures, and other most definitely out-of-place ornaments – that his gifts may not be truly given freely out of his heart.
The atmosphere must be absolutely disheartening if they could accept this kindness without questions. Jesús felt a little guilty about utilizing the festival as a ritual-circle to call in his Gods, but that feeling soon passed. They acquired much needed levity and the raucous din and tumultuous emotions contributed much needed power into his divine quest. Their lives would be brief and joyous, and in time, they too will earn a place in the Celestial Realms.
Jesús saw the surface of his drink rippling, ring upon rings. The rain had come early. Some say prematurely, but if you asked Jesús, he would argue it came right on time. For now, the rainfall was extremely weak – he could barely feel it on his face – and extremely localized but he knew it soon be stronger, stronger than even he could imagine. And it will spread.
How…how many other outsiders did the Rain Gods send? Six? Seven? Did it matter? The world was going to get washed away, absolve of its wretchedness. Every plant and creature will drown and only those who will be chosen will survive. Chosen by the Rain Gods to live in a clear and beautiful world to come. Jesús let out a nervous laugh, but it was less fear of the unknown and more excitement at the things to come.
Everything has a purpose and he just completed his own.
A few seconds ago, he waited in rapt attention for the sacrificial dagger to plunge into his chest, for his glorious lifeblood to spill over the altar he was laid upon. Of course, those seconds are long past – he let out a nervous laugh at that realization – and here he was now, stuck in the Rain Gods know where, near a settlement with a rapidly expanding ring of grass, and wearing these sacrificial robes – these ridiculous sacrificial robes no less, he realized.
He laughed again.
- And stopped, silently admonishing himself for nearly slipping. The Rain Gods work in mysterious ways, he thought to himself. Even if the particular Rain God in question looks like the very avatar of evil. Everything has a purpose. It was not a sound train of logic, but everything was so cold and new and he could not think straight. The tenuous reasoning was adequate enough, like a morsel of bread between prayers. Perhaps, he thought upon this more, this was some sort of intermediate realm? A last battery of challenges before he could be proved worthy to live in the Celestial Realms? It would certainly explain the sheer humidity of the weather, the command bequeathed upon him and the others by the powers that may be.
Find the others.
Slay one another.
Jesús is – was – a holy man. The grisly task was unpleasant to his pious sensibilities, but he acknowledged it as a butcher acknowledges the necessity of slaughter. If the Rain Gods deemed it, so be it – he shall carry this divine task to the best of his abilities.
Jesús looked at the village, more verdant than ever. Initially, he thought to go to the heart of the matter and deal with it in person but he decided not. He did not know the strength of this mysterious target-to-be, let alone what sort of strength they wielded in their hands. Besides, there was others. It would be wise to scry but there is no time to gather information and to be frank, Jesús was impatient, but he justified it as efficiency. Efficiency is just impatience with a purpose, he mused.
Fortunately, there was another village, just a half-hour walk. He smiled, tasting the storm on his teeth, and took a soggy step towards his destination.
--
Bartender Buckwheat remembered the halcyon days, when everything was rosier and so much better in comparison. Although to be fair, everything was better in comparison to the dismal present. The tavern suffered more brawls than it could tolerate. The furniture was from piecemeal sets – only half could be judged as tolerably intact. The windows were shattered, a dangerous reminder that the hard-earned money disappeared just yesterday night. Buckwheat looked down at the tavern cup he was persistently polishing – more splinters than container – and sighed. The thieves even took every tankard of ale along as interest. By the love of all that is good and green on this wretched, wet place, it wasn’t even good ale! Buckwheat swore the entire world was going to the wolves, no holy shepherd or prophet in sight –
Suddenly, the last remains of the door splintered open.
- And in came a strange man. The intricacy of his strange robes and the resplendent jewelry on his person made Buckwheat suspect he was some noble from overseas. In a less dramatic setting, Buckwheat would had turned up his nose – he was not a big fan of the upper-class, let alone upper-class foreigners – but there was something mesmerizing about the new guest. It was definitely not normal, and in fact, if he thought of the following word in time, rather supernatural. Like he was chosen by some sort of awesome power, a power that demanded fear and respect, a power invested by a g-gh-gh-God.
Gods even.
“Hello there!” The stranger was suddenly close to his face, too close for comfort in fact. Buckwheat stared back, stared up, and stared back again.
“How…can I help you.”
“Storm’s a coming.”
“Yes.”
“It’s going to be a big one.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I think it might as well end the world,” the man nudged an elbow into him. “God told me.”
“…Oh,” Buckwheat deflated. “I see.”
Buckwheat knew the world was going to end one day. He often fantasized the terrible and creative ways the end might come in but the fact he heard that statement from another person was pretty devastating. A more rational person would had laughed it off, but honestly? Buckwheat was not in a good position right now. He saw the sins of common man, he just got robbed for the umpteenth time, and his door is destroyed yet again. Also, he can’t drink on the job. Buckwheat decided the most tactical decision at this moment was to stand there with a vacant stare. It was so depressing the strange man was getting a little concerned.
“You look like you need a drink.”
“I can’t drink. I’m on the job.”
“The world’s going to end.”
“Well, fair enough but I don’t drink alone. It’s kind of pathetic.”
“Want to drink with me?”
“I just met you. Also, no.”
“What if I invite others? The entire village? If you ask me, everyone needs a drink.”
“I was robbed,” Buckwheat snapped. “Fuckers stole my beer.”
“Look again.”
“Can you not – ”
Buckwheat met with a strange yet wondrous sight. Barrels upon barrels haphazardly stacked upon each other. Not typical barrels either, but made from planks of rich blue stone and banded in pearlescent metal that screamed luxury. From the distance, Buckwheat could practically smell the contents. It was strange – an earthy, watery scent after rainfall, intoxicating and pleasant. He took his cup to the barrel and indulged himself a sample.
“It’s…delicious.”
“Rainwater,” the man winked impishly. “Straight from the Rain Gods.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s the truth,” he shrugs. “More where it came from.”
“More?”
“Yes, but this isn’t free.”
“I suppose so,” Buckwheat sighed as he filled the cup to the brim and mulled on it. “What do you want me to do?”
--
Jesús Cirrostratus took a dainty sip out of his tavern cup.
He asked the bartender to host a festival to cheer the spirits of men, although the Chosen of the Rain Gods greatly insisted upon the choosing the decorations. Jesús wondered why no one question his choice of party favors – the geometric iconography, the black-on-blue ceramic sculptures, and other most definitely out-of-place ornaments – that his gifts may not be truly given freely out of his heart.
The atmosphere must be absolutely disheartening if they could accept this kindness without questions. Jesús felt a little guilty about utilizing the festival as a ritual-circle to call in his Gods, but that feeling soon passed. They acquired much needed levity and the raucous din and tumultuous emotions contributed much needed power into his divine quest. Their lives would be brief and joyous, and in time, they too will earn a place in the Celestial Realms.
Jesús saw the surface of his drink rippling, ring upon rings. The rain had come early. Some say prematurely, but if you asked Jesús, he would argue it came right on time. For now, the rainfall was extremely weak – he could barely feel it on his face – and extremely localized but he knew it soon be stronger, stronger than even he could imagine. And it will spread.
How…how many other outsiders did the Rain Gods send? Six? Seven? Did it matter? The world was going to get washed away, absolve of its wretchedness. Every plant and creature will drown and only those who will be chosen will survive. Chosen by the Rain Gods to live in a clear and beautiful world to come. Jesús let out a nervous laugh, but it was less fear of the unknown and more excitement at the things to come.
Everything has a purpose and he just completed his own.