Re: The Phenomenal Fracas! (GBS2G6): [Round Two: Witch's Haunt]
12-29-2010, 03:14 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by MrGuy.
Blackmask thought very hard about what had just occurred, because it was starting to become overwhelming. Something about a Pastor Blackhood... man of the cloth. And now everyone’s gone insane. The pirate began sweating, rather worried about what was going to happen next, and as the rooms shifted their positions, the kitchen and the second-floor bathroom merging into some variety of five-dimensional pantry, there was only one apparent escape route.
The pirate vaulted out the window, perching briefly on the wooden chest before bounding off through the study and into the cave, wait, this wasn’t right at all. Turning around, Blackmask headed back into the pantry by way of the lake and proceeded into the mountains to reach the attic, no, that wasn’t it either. At this point, the raider had begun to manifest a rather vexatious headache, which—combined with the general fear and confusion at the goings-on, and an increasing worry that survival was becoming increasingly unlikely, and recovery of the Core even moreso—was enough to send Adrian O'Gearailt crashing to the floor, or more accurately through it since the process led into a closet.
Ripper sat down on the floor, breathing heavily. Escape was impossible, a direct confrontation unthinkable. There was clearly only one way for the pirate to succeed, and two gloved hands extended in a desperate call for aid. Please work please work please work.
“Pastor Blackhood! If you still haunt this place, I beg you, come forth and grant me your aid in bringing these tortured souls to their eternal rest!”
There was a brief pause before an apparition appeared before the pirate: A tall man in a black cloak and a white collar, with thinning brown hair, a pair of spectacles and a bible in his right hand. “Hello, my son.”
Ripper bowed. “Pastor, I have to... that is...” A cough. “I’m Catholic.” The ghost simply smiled back. “You are still a child of god, and such differences are irrelevant in such a situation. What matters is that the people still bound to this house are released. Come with me.” The pastor led Blackmask through the house, evidently unfazed by its warped state, and briefly passed through a bedroom, Ripper grabbing a couple things from an end table. “There is a grave threat looming, my son. You must take pains to prevent the worst from happening.” A door loomed before the pirate and the pastor, which opened into a large array of beehives. By squinting, the pirate could just manage to make out the forms of Muriegro and Lily in the midst of a whirlwind of insects.
Making sure the mask was tightly attached, Ripper approached the swarm; the vast swathes of bees harmlessly assaulted the more-or-less airtight pirate as both of the individuals amongst it turned to face the newcomer. Lily smiled and shouted in greeting, “Hi, Mister Pirate! Are you going to be my friend too?” Ripper responded by turning to Muriegro; the priest simply stared back, evidently unperturbed, focusing instead on the other personality’s words, inaudible to the pirate, and roughly along the lines of “The pirate wishes to sieze my power. You know what must be done.”
The priest sighed, though it was more likely than not that he was expressing the pincushion’s feelings about the situation. There was, of course, no particular reason to let the witch treat him as a servant; nonetheless, ingratiating himself with her couldn’t hurt in any way, and disabling the raider was hardly a disadvantage, so they might as well go ahead and do so. Ripper quickly doubled over in pain from the powerful psychic assault that followed, and it didn’t take long for Laguja to worm its way through the foreign mind and into a position where it could control the pirate.
Blackmask’s right hand quivered as the battle of wills took place, but before long it slammed into the pirate’s face. Again and again, the fist was forced against its former master, first smashing the mask so hard it could barely cling onto its owner, next clawing at the other hand furiously, and finally grabbing the pistol and shooting its owner in the side. Screaming in fury, Ripper finally wrenched back control of the unruly appendage from Laguja. Bullets fired at the dark priest proved meaningless—without fail, each and every one just barely missed the priest, being pushed slightly to the side by an imperceptible forcefield. Left with but one resource, the pirate used the technique which had proved successful hundreds of times before: a headlong charge.
Pain rang out in every section of the pirate, pain enough to bring an ordinary man to his knees, pain both physical and mental as every bad memory in a lifetime was brought to the top. Despite all this, the charge did not stop. Conditioned by years of fighting and vast heaps of fortune placed into the Core, the pirate barelled forward, stretching an arm out; keeping connected to reality by focusing like a laser on the knocked-out tooth, the dents in the mask, the claw marks in the hand, not allowing anything to distract from progressing ever forward; until a gloved hand closed around the pincushion’s pouch. There was a brief struggle between Ripper and Muriegro over the container, each desperately tugging at the pouch, Muriegro slashing at Ripper’s arms and Ripper kicking Muriegro in the side, but eventually the raider managed to wrest the pouch away and toss it into the distance. The pirate cackled loudly before turning to Lily. “So much for yer friend, lassie. Now’s your chance to dance with Jack Ketch!”
Lily scowled back at the pirate. “You aren’t a very good friend, mister.” The flesh slowly fell away from her face, and Ripper’s eyes widened from behind the mask as the placid girl was displaced by a skeleton with furiously glowing eyes. Her tone had also changed to that of someone far older and wiser than the little girl, the one Muriegro had managed to discern earlier. “Leave now, before you bring everything to ruin.”
The fear that Blackmask should have, by all rights, been practically paralyzed by, faded into meaninglessness. All that mattered now was the gleaming pyramid inside the skeleton’s ribcage, and how to get at it as quickly as possible. Another charge and the pirate was quickly flung backwards across the field by a magical blast fired mere milliseconds after the first move. Muriegro’s companionship, offered to the other side of Lily, had been continuously charging the Core to the point where the witch’s ghost was far more powerful than any other entity she could expect to face any time soon—all Ripper could do was charge, and charge again, occasionally firing the pistol to no visible effect, desperately attempting to get at the Core, but the only result of any of this was the raider lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, staring up at the skull peering back. “Do you see now why you should leave?” The witch prepared for one last blast, which would surely finish off the weakened pirate. “Pray, Blackmask. Pray that this pastor will shorten your stay in purgatory.”
Ripper, bloody mouth just barely visible through a cracked section of mask, responded with a genuine grin. “Yer right addled if ye think I’ll be giving up my prize so quickly, lassie.” With one final reserve of willpower, the pirate struggled upward, whipped out the gun, and thrust it into Lily’s ribcage. “Be ye live, or be ye dead... Old man Blackmask has yer head!” The raider was secretly quite proud of the line, planned since the first whisper of a haunting, but didn’t get too distracted by it.
Six point-blank shots to the ribcage, fired off just before the coup de grace could be performed; shots which, one after the other, slowly blasted the Core backwards until the last one knocked it right out of the ribcage, landing right where the priest would have been had he not long since left to retrieve the source of his power; six point-blank shots sending magical energy flowing out of the ghost, and six point-blank shots allowing Ripper just enough time to reluctantly cram some stolen baubles—probably cursed anyway, knowing this place—into the slot, causing the wounds to slowly mend themselves. Ripper Blackmask laughed uproariously, finally reunited with the treasure, when Lily simply groaned out a response as the pastor gazed in horror at the mansion.
“I told you that you would ruin everything.”
A pool of red was very gradually seeping out of the foundation of the mansion; the grass it touched turned to cracked brown, and a tree began withering. The bees desperately attempted to beat it back, but they only shrivelled and died as well. And Ripper Blackmask could only stare, paralyzed with fear, as the pool slowly but steadily spread further and further...
Blackmask thought very hard about what had just occurred, because it was starting to become overwhelming. Something about a Pastor Blackhood... man of the cloth. And now everyone’s gone insane. The pirate began sweating, rather worried about what was going to happen next, and as the rooms shifted their positions, the kitchen and the second-floor bathroom merging into some variety of five-dimensional pantry, there was only one apparent escape route.
The pirate vaulted out the window, perching briefly on the wooden chest before bounding off through the study and into the cave, wait, this wasn’t right at all. Turning around, Blackmask headed back into the pantry by way of the lake and proceeded into the mountains to reach the attic, no, that wasn’t it either. At this point, the raider had begun to manifest a rather vexatious headache, which—combined with the general fear and confusion at the goings-on, and an increasing worry that survival was becoming increasingly unlikely, and recovery of the Core even moreso—was enough to send Adrian O'Gearailt crashing to the floor, or more accurately through it since the process led into a closet.
Ripper sat down on the floor, breathing heavily. Escape was impossible, a direct confrontation unthinkable. There was clearly only one way for the pirate to succeed, and two gloved hands extended in a desperate call for aid. Please work please work please work.
“Pastor Blackhood! If you still haunt this place, I beg you, come forth and grant me your aid in bringing these tortured souls to their eternal rest!”
There was a brief pause before an apparition appeared before the pirate: A tall man in a black cloak and a white collar, with thinning brown hair, a pair of spectacles and a bible in his right hand. “Hello, my son.”
Ripper bowed. “Pastor, I have to... that is...” A cough. “I’m Catholic.” The ghost simply smiled back. “You are still a child of god, and such differences are irrelevant in such a situation. What matters is that the people still bound to this house are released. Come with me.” The pastor led Blackmask through the house, evidently unfazed by its warped state, and briefly passed through a bedroom, Ripper grabbing a couple things from an end table. “There is a grave threat looming, my son. You must take pains to prevent the worst from happening.” A door loomed before the pirate and the pastor, which opened into a large array of beehives. By squinting, the pirate could just manage to make out the forms of Muriegro and Lily in the midst of a whirlwind of insects.
Making sure the mask was tightly attached, Ripper approached the swarm; the vast swathes of bees harmlessly assaulted the more-or-less airtight pirate as both of the individuals amongst it turned to face the newcomer. Lily smiled and shouted in greeting, “Hi, Mister Pirate! Are you going to be my friend too?” Ripper responded by turning to Muriegro; the priest simply stared back, evidently unperturbed, focusing instead on the other personality’s words, inaudible to the pirate, and roughly along the lines of “The pirate wishes to sieze my power. You know what must be done.”
The priest sighed, though it was more likely than not that he was expressing the pincushion’s feelings about the situation. There was, of course, no particular reason to let the witch treat him as a servant; nonetheless, ingratiating himself with her couldn’t hurt in any way, and disabling the raider was hardly a disadvantage, so they might as well go ahead and do so. Ripper quickly doubled over in pain from the powerful psychic assault that followed, and it didn’t take long for Laguja to worm its way through the foreign mind and into a position where it could control the pirate.
Blackmask’s right hand quivered as the battle of wills took place, but before long it slammed into the pirate’s face. Again and again, the fist was forced against its former master, first smashing the mask so hard it could barely cling onto its owner, next clawing at the other hand furiously, and finally grabbing the pistol and shooting its owner in the side. Screaming in fury, Ripper finally wrenched back control of the unruly appendage from Laguja. Bullets fired at the dark priest proved meaningless—without fail, each and every one just barely missed the priest, being pushed slightly to the side by an imperceptible forcefield. Left with but one resource, the pirate used the technique which had proved successful hundreds of times before: a headlong charge.
Pain rang out in every section of the pirate, pain enough to bring an ordinary man to his knees, pain both physical and mental as every bad memory in a lifetime was brought to the top. Despite all this, the charge did not stop. Conditioned by years of fighting and vast heaps of fortune placed into the Core, the pirate barelled forward, stretching an arm out; keeping connected to reality by focusing like a laser on the knocked-out tooth, the dents in the mask, the claw marks in the hand, not allowing anything to distract from progressing ever forward; until a gloved hand closed around the pincushion’s pouch. There was a brief struggle between Ripper and Muriegro over the container, each desperately tugging at the pouch, Muriegro slashing at Ripper’s arms and Ripper kicking Muriegro in the side, but eventually the raider managed to wrest the pouch away and toss it into the distance. The pirate cackled loudly before turning to Lily. “So much for yer friend, lassie. Now’s your chance to dance with Jack Ketch!”
Lily scowled back at the pirate. “You aren’t a very good friend, mister.” The flesh slowly fell away from her face, and Ripper’s eyes widened from behind the mask as the placid girl was displaced by a skeleton with furiously glowing eyes. Her tone had also changed to that of someone far older and wiser than the little girl, the one Muriegro had managed to discern earlier. “Leave now, before you bring everything to ruin.”
The fear that Blackmask should have, by all rights, been practically paralyzed by, faded into meaninglessness. All that mattered now was the gleaming pyramid inside the skeleton’s ribcage, and how to get at it as quickly as possible. Another charge and the pirate was quickly flung backwards across the field by a magical blast fired mere milliseconds after the first move. Muriegro’s companionship, offered to the other side of Lily, had been continuously charging the Core to the point where the witch’s ghost was far more powerful than any other entity she could expect to face any time soon—all Ripper could do was charge, and charge again, occasionally firing the pistol to no visible effect, desperately attempting to get at the Core, but the only result of any of this was the raider lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, staring up at the skull peering back. “Do you see now why you should leave?” The witch prepared for one last blast, which would surely finish off the weakened pirate. “Pray, Blackmask. Pray that this pastor will shorten your stay in purgatory.”
Ripper, bloody mouth just barely visible through a cracked section of mask, responded with a genuine grin. “Yer right addled if ye think I’ll be giving up my prize so quickly, lassie.” With one final reserve of willpower, the pirate struggled upward, whipped out the gun, and thrust it into Lily’s ribcage. “Be ye live, or be ye dead... Old man Blackmask has yer head!” The raider was secretly quite proud of the line, planned since the first whisper of a haunting, but didn’t get too distracted by it.
Six point-blank shots to the ribcage, fired off just before the coup de grace could be performed; shots which, one after the other, slowly blasted the Core backwards until the last one knocked it right out of the ribcage, landing right where the priest would have been had he not long since left to retrieve the source of his power; six point-blank shots sending magical energy flowing out of the ghost, and six point-blank shots allowing Ripper just enough time to reluctantly cram some stolen baubles—probably cursed anyway, knowing this place—into the slot, causing the wounds to slowly mend themselves. Ripper Blackmask laughed uproariously, finally reunited with the treasure, when Lily simply groaned out a response as the pastor gazed in horror at the mansion.
“I told you that you would ruin everything.”
A pool of red was very gradually seeping out of the foundation of the mansion; the grass it touched turned to cracked brown, and a tree began withering. The bees desperately attempted to beat it back, but they only shrivelled and died as well. And Ripper Blackmask could only stare, paralyzed with fear, as the pool slowly but steadily spread further and further...