Re: The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round Four: New Battleopolis!]
12-24-2011, 03:05 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
Jen’s connection to Yggdrasil was broken alongside her crown. She’d summoned it just last round, her and Fantha and the Ovoid and Kracht... ”World-tree,” the thing had said. An envoy of whom? She thought back to her mythology. The world-tree fed from two wells, one tended by the Norns, mistresses of destiny, another by Mimir, of wisdom. But one could never trust these myths—“Who sent you?” she asked.
”Sen!t!” It sounded like some sort of joke. Odin, according to some myths, gave his eye for a drink of Mimir’s well; infinite widsom would probably be useful about now, considering present circumstances. “Talk straight. Who put you in my dream?”
”Aquatic/terrestrial; carpel; sweet nectar, choking vine. Venus fly trap!” Jen was having difficulty paying attention. Her dream was empty now, but wasn’t functioning chronologically; she saw a red parasite crawl across her brain in the past, a green one in the future. ”Blue orchid,” riposted the envoy.
“Stop talking in album titles. How long is this going to take?”
”Spring.” It had been cool on the streets of Sk’Va, Jen had thought, but the water was warm... where was she? Had she dried off yet? ”Rain.”
”Out of my thoughts!”
”Concentric rings.” She was dreaming. Pain, but no sense of danger. She tried to open up the eyes inside her head, but the dream went on. Just as well. Clearly she had something to do here.
The envoy had stopped in the middle of the, um, expanse; or else, Jen supposed, had stopped in such a way as to define a center. Sen came to a halt in the middle of Battleopolis’ Central Park, waving away a distant sense of familiarity. As if dusting off its shoulder the (unicorn?) produced a spherical green... something. A crystal ball. Sen began to dig a nice plot for the World Tree, sensing, somehow, that there was no time to wait for sunlight. Jen, when prompted, looked inside the crystal ball and saw the World-Tree inside—or no, some sort of twisted reflection of Yggdrasil, a tree of anti-world, destruction, freefall. ”Natural process,” joked the envoy, tossing the seedpod up in the air. The seed, once buried, sprouted, helped along by some perfectly manicured green thumb from another world. Sen took watch, noting several potential threats approaching.
New Battleopolis’ first and greatest imposter of Konka Rar addressed his congregation. “My Awakened Ones,” he said, casting a hand over the park, “Behold. One of our fellows has planted a tree in the once-lush park of this city. Such a sweet, benevolent act from such a simple creature. A worthy alternative to the unfortunate pattern of conflict which has marked our time of awakening. Sadly, whereas this war may tear the city to shreds within a matter of days, a tree such as this may take centuries to reach its full height. If only there were some way we could help it along...?” The Master of Time gave his very smarmiest smile from within the depths of his cloak, where no one could see.
”Ooh! Ooh!” came the voice of Sir Arnold Scarlet. ”Lord Konka Rar! You can use your powers of time to accelerate its growth!”
”A capital idea, Sir Scarlet! Let us do so at once.” The Chrono-Conqueror marched across the park, thinking to himself that if it wasn’t springtime (who could keep track of these things) then it ought to be. A serene peace, bolstered by ocnfidence in the rightness of his purpose, washed over him only to be shattered when a lumbering mass of Tender blindsided him and pinned him to the ground.
Everything slowed down, thanks to a certain someone’s time powers. That bought him several seconds watching the thing’s concentric rows of teeth slowly approach him before Kerak tackled it and gave him a window to roll to his feet.
The imposter dusted off his cloak and approached the fledgling tree (which, oddly enough, had already sprouted). His hope was that when the plant’s protector saw the benefit that Time Itself was imposing upon the tree, it would give up its wrestling match against his pet dinosaur. It probably wouldn’t be very Konka Rar-like of him if he couldn’t so much as help out a tree without murdering a simpleminded gardener.
He held his hand out—
”Everybody stop what you’re doing!”
Quantos turned around to see the absolute last person he wanted to see right now. Konka Rar stood before him in all his resplendent glory, backed by a frumpy but snappily-dressed young man who the time traveler didn’t recognize. ”This man is an imposter,” said the newcomer. ”After I teach him some manners, the rest of you will come with me. We have important work to do.”
Quantos, somewhat at a loss for words, drew his staff. Hopefully Konka Rar wasn’t as tough as the legends said.
Jen woke up with a pounding headache. The hospital bed was empty. She’d had a dream that Kath was back and something bad was taking root in her brain... Lying next to the bed was a typewriter. Written on the typewriter was the following:
Jen:
Hi. I’m Etiyr. I’m a typewriter. I’ve been informed you’re used to some weird shit, so hopefully we don’t have to go through the same “HOLY SHIT AN ALIVE FUCKING TYPEWRITER” rigamarole I had to go through with Nancy. Now. I’m on nurse duty today while the big girls go on magic cannibalism adventures or whatever-the-fuck. So if you wake up and feel like bothering me with anything—well, first off, be warned that if you come crying to me for a glass of water, I don’t fucking care how concussed you are, you’re the one with limbs, you can get your own fucking water. Okay, that being settled—if for some fucking reason you are motivated to communicate with me, YOU DO NOT NEED TO TYPE ON ME and in fact if you do, I will delete you. With my magic delete key! Which is a thing I have. To rephrase: IF YOU TALK TO ME WITH YOUR MOUTH I CAN HEAR YOU. That is all. In fact, I won’t even guarantee that I’ll respond. I’ll just finish off this message and then sit there and if you want to drag both of our lives into the gutter by initiating some form of contact, that’s on you, bitch. Understand?
Sincerely having a bad day,
Etiyr
Jen laboriously propped her head up on one elbow and read with one eyed open. Cautiously, she said in the general direction of the typewriter: “You know, if someone had just put a non-magic typewriter there with this message, that would be, like, the perfect April Fool’s Day prank.” April? She had an idea that it was the springtime.
The typewriter remained immobile for five seconds or so. Then there was a short period of rapid clacking noises:
Dammit.
Alright, I’m going to play at optimism for a bit here and hypothesize that you aren’t all that bad. Do me a favor.
Jen sat up. “Hang on, I—yeah, sure. Anything for you, Etiyr.”
If we’re gonna talk, could you put on some different clothes? Purple makes me uncomfortable, and you look like a Miley Cyrus video.
Jen looked down at herself and was forced to agree. “I...” The thought of actually getting up out of bed and doing anything triggered some sort of countermeasure in her weary, beaten body, and she fell back unconscious.
Jen’s connection to Yggdrasil was broken alongside her crown. She’d summoned it just last round, her and Fantha and the Ovoid and Kracht... ”World-tree,” the thing had said. An envoy of whom? She thought back to her mythology. The world-tree fed from two wells, one tended by the Norns, mistresses of destiny, another by Mimir, of wisdom. But one could never trust these myths—“Who sent you?” she asked.
”Sen!t!” It sounded like some sort of joke. Odin, according to some myths, gave his eye for a drink of Mimir’s well; infinite widsom would probably be useful about now, considering present circumstances. “Talk straight. Who put you in my dream?”
”Aquatic/terrestrial; carpel; sweet nectar, choking vine. Venus fly trap!” Jen was having difficulty paying attention. Her dream was empty now, but wasn’t functioning chronologically; she saw a red parasite crawl across her brain in the past, a green one in the future. ”Blue orchid,” riposted the envoy.
“Stop talking in album titles. How long is this going to take?”
”Spring.” It had been cool on the streets of Sk’Va, Jen had thought, but the water was warm... where was she? Had she dried off yet? ”Rain.”
”Out of my thoughts!”
”Concentric rings.” She was dreaming. Pain, but no sense of danger. She tried to open up the eyes inside her head, but the dream went on. Just as well. Clearly she had something to do here.
The envoy had stopped in the middle of the, um, expanse; or else, Jen supposed, had stopped in such a way as to define a center. Sen came to a halt in the middle of Battleopolis’ Central Park, waving away a distant sense of familiarity. As if dusting off its shoulder the (unicorn?) produced a spherical green... something. A crystal ball. Sen began to dig a nice plot for the World Tree, sensing, somehow, that there was no time to wait for sunlight. Jen, when prompted, looked inside the crystal ball and saw the World-Tree inside—or no, some sort of twisted reflection of Yggdrasil, a tree of anti-world, destruction, freefall. ”Natural process,” joked the envoy, tossing the seedpod up in the air. The seed, once buried, sprouted, helped along by some perfectly manicured green thumb from another world. Sen took watch, noting several potential threats approaching.
New Battleopolis’ first and greatest imposter of Konka Rar addressed his congregation. “My Awakened Ones,” he said, casting a hand over the park, “Behold. One of our fellows has planted a tree in the once-lush park of this city. Such a sweet, benevolent act from such a simple creature. A worthy alternative to the unfortunate pattern of conflict which has marked our time of awakening. Sadly, whereas this war may tear the city to shreds within a matter of days, a tree such as this may take centuries to reach its full height. If only there were some way we could help it along...?” The Master of Time gave his very smarmiest smile from within the depths of his cloak, where no one could see.
”Ooh! Ooh!” came the voice of Sir Arnold Scarlet. ”Lord Konka Rar! You can use your powers of time to accelerate its growth!”
”A capital idea, Sir Scarlet! Let us do so at once.” The Chrono-Conqueror marched across the park, thinking to himself that if it wasn’t springtime (who could keep track of these things) then it ought to be. A serene peace, bolstered by ocnfidence in the rightness of his purpose, washed over him only to be shattered when a lumbering mass of Tender blindsided him and pinned him to the ground.
Everything slowed down, thanks to a certain someone’s time powers. That bought him several seconds watching the thing’s concentric rows of teeth slowly approach him before Kerak tackled it and gave him a window to roll to his feet.
The imposter dusted off his cloak and approached the fledgling tree (which, oddly enough, had already sprouted). His hope was that when the plant’s protector saw the benefit that Time Itself was imposing upon the tree, it would give up its wrestling match against his pet dinosaur. It probably wouldn’t be very Konka Rar-like of him if he couldn’t so much as help out a tree without murdering a simpleminded gardener.
He held his hand out—
”Everybody stop what you’re doing!”
Quantos turned around to see the absolute last person he wanted to see right now. Konka Rar stood before him in all his resplendent glory, backed by a frumpy but snappily-dressed young man who the time traveler didn’t recognize. ”This man is an imposter,” said the newcomer. ”After I teach him some manners, the rest of you will come with me. We have important work to do.”
Quantos, somewhat at a loss for words, drew his staff. Hopefully Konka Rar wasn’t as tough as the legends said.
Jen woke up with a pounding headache. The hospital bed was empty. She’d had a dream that Kath was back and something bad was taking root in her brain... Lying next to the bed was a typewriter. Written on the typewriter was the following:
Jen:
Hi. I’m Etiyr. I’m a typewriter. I’ve been informed you’re used to some weird shit, so hopefully we don’t have to go through the same “HOLY SHIT AN ALIVE FUCKING TYPEWRITER” rigamarole I had to go through with Nancy. Now. I’m on nurse duty today while the big girls go on magic cannibalism adventures or whatever-the-fuck. So if you wake up and feel like bothering me with anything—well, first off, be warned that if you come crying to me for a glass of water, I don’t fucking care how concussed you are, you’re the one with limbs, you can get your own fucking water. Okay, that being settled—if for some fucking reason you are motivated to communicate with me, YOU DO NOT NEED TO TYPE ON ME and in fact if you do, I will delete you. With my magic delete key! Which is a thing I have. To rephrase: IF YOU TALK TO ME WITH YOUR MOUTH I CAN HEAR YOU. That is all. In fact, I won’t even guarantee that I’ll respond. I’ll just finish off this message and then sit there and if you want to drag both of our lives into the gutter by initiating some form of contact, that’s on you, bitch. Understand?
Sincerely having a bad day,
Etiyr
Jen laboriously propped her head up on one elbow and read with one eyed open. Cautiously, she said in the general direction of the typewriter: “You know, if someone had just put a non-magic typewriter there with this message, that would be, like, the perfect April Fool’s Day prank.” April? She had an idea that it was the springtime.
The typewriter remained immobile for five seconds or so. Then there was a short period of rapid clacking noises:
Dammit.
Alright, I’m going to play at optimism for a bit here and hypothesize that you aren’t all that bad. Do me a favor.
Jen sat up. “Hang on, I—yeah, sure. Anything for you, Etiyr.”
If we’re gonna talk, could you put on some different clothes? Purple makes me uncomfortable, and you look like a Miley Cyrus video.
Jen looked down at herself and was forced to agree. “I...” The thought of actually getting up out of bed and doing anything triggered some sort of countermeasure in her weary, beaten body, and she fell back unconscious.