Re: The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round Five: Round Six!]
12-15-2012, 12:46 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-20-2013, 10:52 PM by Dragon Fogel.)
Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.
The door led to a dark spiral stairwell. The air was damp, and thick with Stuff. It was no obstacle to Arkal now, though he wondered just what sort of prison he'd find at the bottom that needed such protection.
The stairwell seemed to continue forever, and more than once Arkal wondered if it did, if he had simply stepped into an endless prison of stairs and this prophet was simply walking deeper for eternity. Would he even be able to catch up?
But as the thought crossed his mind the third time, Arkal realized that it was getting harder to proceed through the Stuff that filled the stairwell. This was a security measure, he realized. The more you doubted you would reach the bottom, the longer it would take.
And perhaps that would work in reverse. Arkal marched down with conviction, certain that he would reach the bottom as soon as he turned the next bend in the stairway.
And as he rushed down, a doorway greeted him, a light shining through its frame. It was just as he thought.
Of course, he was on guard now. The nature of the prison was becoming clearer; and though he was better-suited to it than most of the prisoners, he still had no idea how exactly this dungeon would try to trap him. He stepped through the door, expecting the worst.
He hadn't been expecting a bright sunny day.
***
Emma Broderburg had been expecting a bright sunny day. Every day had been like that for her, after all. The fact that the sun was a drastically different color didn't change anything; she had only experienced sunny days even in worlds that had no sun.
"Are you certain you wish to see the Silver City?" the unicorn asked. "I know nothing of its nature, of course, but I can tell it is a wicked place."
"It's all right," Emma assured him. "Cedric won't harm me unless he has to."
The unicorn trotted on, carrying Emma up a hill. It didn't have to avoid any ant-castles, because there were none in its path. At the top, an old man in a chair waved at them.
"Hello, little girl!" the Chairman declared happily.
"I'm twenty-five," Emma explained.
"Don't mind him," whispered the unicorn. "I've been this way before. He calls everyone 'little girl', I heard he even called the King that once."
"I'm the Chairman," he continued, unperturbed. "For a mere penny, or similar token of insignificant value, I'll tell you what sort of chair your soul is."
Emma reached into her pocket and pulled out a penny.
"Let me down," she said.
The unicorn did, of course, but not without doubts.
"I don't think you should take him up on his offer," he said.
"It's just a penny," she replied. "And it's not as if I'll have anywhere else to spend it."
She dropped the penny in the Chairman's open palm. His smile grew wide.
"At last! Oh, how I've waited for this day! At last, a chance to see the chair in someone's soul!"
He stared at Emma for nearly a minute.
He gasped.
"Can't accept this, I'm afraid," he said, tossing the penny back to her. "Terribly sorry, it doesn't seem to be working right now. Come back tomorrow."
Emma put the penny back in her pocket, and climbed onto the unicorn's back once more.
"That's a shame," she said sadly. "I was really hoping to find out."
"So he's just a fraud," the unicorn muttered as it trotted towards the Silver City. "Guess he couldn't bear to keep up the act in front of you."
As the unicorn marched away, the old man was left muttering to himself.
"A chair so wondrous cannot possibly exist," he said, dumbfoundedly. "To lay eyes on such a soul is worth at least a thousand pennies!"
***
Arkal found himself in some sort of village. The doorway had, unsurprisingly, vanished behind him; he was standing outside the wall of a candy shop.
A few of the villagers stared at him as he walked down the road; but mostly they kept to themselves. Humans were a rarity in the Place, but far from nonexistent, and Arkal looked more or less like the sort of human the Place tended to produce. And so he generated little attention as he made his way to the town square.
Here, he noticed two odd things. The first was the man behind the podium in the center of the square, who was babbling about the inevitable victory of the Amalgam and the Hand of Silver. The other was that the villagers seemed to be ignoring him; an ankylosaur walked past the podium and knocked it over with a stray swing of his tail and nobody save the speaker seemed to notice.
"Must be the prophet," Arkal concluded. He approached the podium just as the prophet picked it up, clearly frustrated.
He was dressed well for a prisoner; overdressed, in fact. He seemed to be wearing multiple coats and shirts, and appeared to have chosen them for how poorly they went together. A large hat covered his head, goggles obscured his eyes, and a pair of thick scarves covered what was left. Arkal wondered if there was an actual person under there or it was just a pile of clothes. Either option seemed possible in the Place.
"May I ask your name, prophet?" Arkal asked him.
"What does it matter?" he replied, his words muffled by his scarves. "I'm just a stranger to you."
"Not that strange compared to what I've seen already," Arkal said, undeterred. "So why are they 'keeping' you here?"
"They fear the truth," the stranger replied. "The truth I have seen."
"And what is this truth?"
The stranger laughed, or perhaps coughed; it was hard to distinguish one noise from another under those thick scarves.
"It is as I just said. The false Progenitor will be punished for his betrayal of humanity. The Silver City will rise, and the Place will join the rest of the multiverse. Humanity's ascension will be complete, and all else shall be destroyed."
"Sounds boring," Arkal mused. "I mean, what would I even make in a world like that? Humanity's a pretty mediocre material."
"It is not a world for you, traitor," the stranger said. "You turned your back on your race. You're even lower than we are."
"We? You mean your snail friend and the rest of your little cult?"
"All insignificant. But at least we have the wisdom to be aware of it, to acknowledge the necessity of our demise. And to work to hasten it."
Arkal puzzled over this for a bit.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because that is how it must be. You cannot comprehend it. If you could, you would have opened your mind to the Amalgam."
"I tried that once. Didn't care much for it. I mean, it was the most amazing experience for a few minutes, but then it just wasn't working out for me."
For the first time in the conversation, it was the stranger who seemed dumbstruck.
"Do you mean to tell me you left the Amalgam? How?"
Arkal shrugged.
"I don't know the technical details. One moment, I wanted nothing more than to be there forever, then the next moment there was something I wanted more than that. So I stepped out and went to work."
The stranger lost his composure completely, slamming his gloved fist down on the podium.
"No! The Amalgam cannot be rejected, it can only reject! You must have angered it!"
"Probably did, after I tried to kill it. That does tend to get most things pretty upset, even if they're beyond mortal comprehension."
"The Amalgam is perfection! It is the future of humanity, no, the future of everything! To deny it is to deny the Progenitor!"
"That's the second time you've mentioned a Progenitor," Arkal mused. "First you mentioned a false one, now I guess this is the 'true' one. So what is it, exactly?"
"The Progenitor is salvation! Only through the Progenitor can all achieve its purpose! Your pathetic traitorous mind cannot comprehend the Progenitor's grand design!"
Arkal was beginning to realize that the conversation was headed nowhere. The stranger was frantic, and nothing he said made any sense. He turned to leave.
"Then I guess I'll have to take my pathetic traitorous mind elsewhere," he said calmly.
"If they'll allow you to," the stranger sneered. "You've gained quite the audience."
It was true; dozens of villagers had wondered why this human had been talking to himself, and judging by the expressions on their faces, they had come to an unpleasant conclusion.
"He must have been communicating with Hoss!" a seven-foot tall penguin declared. "I knew he was a filthy spy!"
"Moo!" the cow next to him declared approvingly.
"No doubt. Look at that big hunk of silver on his back," a mole piped up. "I bet it's gonna make another of those cities!"
"Moo!" the cow agreed angrily.
Arkal sighed, and pulled out the club made of Stuff.
"I really don't want to hurt any of you," he began.
"Yeah, you just want us eradicated when the Amalgam assimilates the Place!"
"We're not afraid of some dumb human! Get him!"
"Moo!"
The door led to a dark spiral stairwell. The air was damp, and thick with Stuff. It was no obstacle to Arkal now, though he wondered just what sort of prison he'd find at the bottom that needed such protection.
The stairwell seemed to continue forever, and more than once Arkal wondered if it did, if he had simply stepped into an endless prison of stairs and this prophet was simply walking deeper for eternity. Would he even be able to catch up?
But as the thought crossed his mind the third time, Arkal realized that it was getting harder to proceed through the Stuff that filled the stairwell. This was a security measure, he realized. The more you doubted you would reach the bottom, the longer it would take.
And perhaps that would work in reverse. Arkal marched down with conviction, certain that he would reach the bottom as soon as he turned the next bend in the stairway.
And as he rushed down, a doorway greeted him, a light shining through its frame. It was just as he thought.
Of course, he was on guard now. The nature of the prison was becoming clearer; and though he was better-suited to it than most of the prisoners, he still had no idea how exactly this dungeon would try to trap him. He stepped through the door, expecting the worst.
He hadn't been expecting a bright sunny day.
***
Emma Broderburg had been expecting a bright sunny day. Every day had been like that for her, after all. The fact that the sun was a drastically different color didn't change anything; she had only experienced sunny days even in worlds that had no sun.
"Are you certain you wish to see the Silver City?" the unicorn asked. "I know nothing of its nature, of course, but I can tell it is a wicked place."
"It's all right," Emma assured him. "Cedric won't harm me unless he has to."
The unicorn trotted on, carrying Emma up a hill. It didn't have to avoid any ant-castles, because there were none in its path. At the top, an old man in a chair waved at them.
"Hello, little girl!" the Chairman declared happily.
"I'm twenty-five," Emma explained.
"Don't mind him," whispered the unicorn. "I've been this way before. He calls everyone 'little girl', I heard he even called the King that once."
"I'm the Chairman," he continued, unperturbed. "For a mere penny, or similar token of insignificant value, I'll tell you what sort of chair your soul is."
Emma reached into her pocket and pulled out a penny.
"Let me down," she said.
The unicorn did, of course, but not without doubts.
"I don't think you should take him up on his offer," he said.
"It's just a penny," she replied. "And it's not as if I'll have anywhere else to spend it."
She dropped the penny in the Chairman's open palm. His smile grew wide.
"At last! Oh, how I've waited for this day! At last, a chance to see the chair in someone's soul!"
He stared at Emma for nearly a minute.
He gasped.
"Can't accept this, I'm afraid," he said, tossing the penny back to her. "Terribly sorry, it doesn't seem to be working right now. Come back tomorrow."
Emma put the penny back in her pocket, and climbed onto the unicorn's back once more.
"That's a shame," she said sadly. "I was really hoping to find out."
"So he's just a fraud," the unicorn muttered as it trotted towards the Silver City. "Guess he couldn't bear to keep up the act in front of you."
As the unicorn marched away, the old man was left muttering to himself.
"A chair so wondrous cannot possibly exist," he said, dumbfoundedly. "To lay eyes on such a soul is worth at least a thousand pennies!"
***
Arkal found himself in some sort of village. The doorway had, unsurprisingly, vanished behind him; he was standing outside the wall of a candy shop.
A few of the villagers stared at him as he walked down the road; but mostly they kept to themselves. Humans were a rarity in the Place, but far from nonexistent, and Arkal looked more or less like the sort of human the Place tended to produce. And so he generated little attention as he made his way to the town square.
Here, he noticed two odd things. The first was the man behind the podium in the center of the square, who was babbling about the inevitable victory of the Amalgam and the Hand of Silver. The other was that the villagers seemed to be ignoring him; an ankylosaur walked past the podium and knocked it over with a stray swing of his tail and nobody save the speaker seemed to notice.
"Must be the prophet," Arkal concluded. He approached the podium just as the prophet picked it up, clearly frustrated.
He was dressed well for a prisoner; overdressed, in fact. He seemed to be wearing multiple coats and shirts, and appeared to have chosen them for how poorly they went together. A large hat covered his head, goggles obscured his eyes, and a pair of thick scarves covered what was left. Arkal wondered if there was an actual person under there or it was just a pile of clothes. Either option seemed possible in the Place.
"May I ask your name, prophet?" Arkal asked him.
"What does it matter?" he replied, his words muffled by his scarves. "I'm just a stranger to you."
"Not that strange compared to what I've seen already," Arkal said, undeterred. "So why are they 'keeping' you here?"
"They fear the truth," the stranger replied. "The truth I have seen."
"And what is this truth?"
The stranger laughed, or perhaps coughed; it was hard to distinguish one noise from another under those thick scarves.
"It is as I just said. The false Progenitor will be punished for his betrayal of humanity. The Silver City will rise, and the Place will join the rest of the multiverse. Humanity's ascension will be complete, and all else shall be destroyed."
"Sounds boring," Arkal mused. "I mean, what would I even make in a world like that? Humanity's a pretty mediocre material."
"It is not a world for you, traitor," the stranger said. "You turned your back on your race. You're even lower than we are."
"We? You mean your snail friend and the rest of your little cult?"
"All insignificant. But at least we have the wisdom to be aware of it, to acknowledge the necessity of our demise. And to work to hasten it."
Arkal puzzled over this for a bit.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because that is how it must be. You cannot comprehend it. If you could, you would have opened your mind to the Amalgam."
"I tried that once. Didn't care much for it. I mean, it was the most amazing experience for a few minutes, but then it just wasn't working out for me."
For the first time in the conversation, it was the stranger who seemed dumbstruck.
"Do you mean to tell me you left the Amalgam? How?"
Arkal shrugged.
"I don't know the technical details. One moment, I wanted nothing more than to be there forever, then the next moment there was something I wanted more than that. So I stepped out and went to work."
The stranger lost his composure completely, slamming his gloved fist down on the podium.
"No! The Amalgam cannot be rejected, it can only reject! You must have angered it!"
"Probably did, after I tried to kill it. That does tend to get most things pretty upset, even if they're beyond mortal comprehension."
"The Amalgam is perfection! It is the future of humanity, no, the future of everything! To deny it is to deny the Progenitor!"
"That's the second time you've mentioned a Progenitor," Arkal mused. "First you mentioned a false one, now I guess this is the 'true' one. So what is it, exactly?"
"The Progenitor is salvation! Only through the Progenitor can all achieve its purpose! Your pathetic traitorous mind cannot comprehend the Progenitor's grand design!"
Arkal was beginning to realize that the conversation was headed nowhere. The stranger was frantic, and nothing he said made any sense. He turned to leave.
"Then I guess I'll have to take my pathetic traitorous mind elsewhere," he said calmly.
"If they'll allow you to," the stranger sneered. "You've gained quite the audience."
It was true; dozens of villagers had wondered why this human had been talking to himself, and judging by the expressions on their faces, they had come to an unpleasant conclusion.
"He must have been communicating with Hoss!" a seven-foot tall penguin declared. "I knew he was a filthy spy!"
"Moo!" the cow next to him declared approvingly.
"No doubt. Look at that big hunk of silver on his back," a mole piped up. "I bet it's gonna make another of those cities!"
"Moo!" the cow agreed angrily.
Arkal sighed, and pulled out the club made of Stuff.
"I really don't want to hurt any of you," he began.
"Yeah, you just want us eradicated when the Amalgam assimilates the Place!"
"We're not afraid of some dumb human! Get him!"
"Moo!"
There's no reason for this | Or this | Death is inevitable | You can't challenge fate | The smallest change | I'm overwhelmed
I'm serious | It makes perfect sense | Easy as ABC! | I can't even explain it | Cleaning up someone else's mess
I suck | I rule | I've got it made | Really, I'm serious | This bugs me | It's all lies | I want to believe | Beauty is a curse
I'm serious | It makes perfect sense | Easy as ABC! | I can't even explain it | Cleaning up someone else's mess
I suck | I rule | I've got it made | Really, I'm serious | This bugs me | It's all lies | I want to believe | Beauty is a curse