Re: Mini-Grand 5106 [Round 2: The Graben]
09-01-2011, 08:43 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Protoman.
Mattilus looked to the water, brought his lips to it, almost, till the last untouched part of his mind cried out loud enough, screaming to him "wake up."
He looked up. Atasha was still there. Still singing. But she wasn't some glorious goddess of beauty- no, she was just the same girl, except considerably more naked and wet. Mattilus dashed back, tripping and falling backwards. He looked once more at the girl's eyes. They were blue still, yes, but their pupils seemed frozen over.
Mattilus began speaking, at first to Atascha, then to nobody, as he fell into his habit of verbal note-taking. "A siren. Or some equivalent. I read enough mythology to know of your kind. Blind your victims, make them come with you, pull them in, pull them under. I don't know what's in that water, but I'm certainly not drinking it. You've also likely gained incredible strength, considering those handc----"
Immediately the chik was upon him, having switched almost instantaneously from a glorious siren to a feral harpy. Mattilus could barely roll to the side as she dived, her fist landing where his head had been. The mage struggled to get up, the muddy banks of the river providing little leverage. He slipped once more, falling deeper into the mud, the beast-chik grabbing at his ankle. Immediately he grasped at the ground beneath him, found some of the mud, threw it in her face, causing her to let out a monstrous roar. It was just enough to buy him some time to get up and run off into the woods.
--------
Far far away, the tribesman was killed in battle, his blood staining the sheets within the strange object he found. It was an ambush, and though the book had protected him from a single spear, it would not protect him from five.
The members of the tribe stole the strange object and brought it to their elder immediately, just as the man had planned to do.
"Great Old One," they say, "What does this mean?"
The elder's brow furrows. He is uncertain. "I have yet to consult the gods on this matter, my sons. Wait and the answer may be given to us yet."
"Great Old One, what if the blood spilled upon the object lays a curse upon our village? What if from just bringing this book to you, we have doomed all our people?"
"I believe the gods are with us, my sons. We shall see in due time. Now go back to your troops; This war is long, and we may only hope things soon change in our favor."
As the young warriors departed, the elder stroked his beard. Perhaps this was the answer to their prayers. Perhaps the gods had sent this alien object to end the war.
He went back into his chamber to meditate upon these thoughts, hoping only for answers.
-----
The Mage is more frightened than he's been in quite some time. No book, no protection, and a harpy-siren-she-devil on his tail.
Mattilus was used to controlling the tides of battle. He had acted not only as a valuable soldier, but as a general, leading his troops to victory. This situation had left him helpless, not only in strength but in wits. He had no clue what kind of creature Atascha had turned into, had no clue where anyone was, had no clue about how to go about saving himself.
"Should've finished her when I had the chance. Should've broken her skull in with that book."
He huddled in the cave he'd taken refuge in, listening to the echoes of the nearby river's trickling. He sighed at how low he had fallen: the great Brenite mage turned into little more than a helpless, lost, frightened soul.
Mattilus looked to the water, brought his lips to it, almost, till the last untouched part of his mind cried out loud enough, screaming to him "wake up."
He looked up. Atasha was still there. Still singing. But she wasn't some glorious goddess of beauty- no, she was just the same girl, except considerably more naked and wet. Mattilus dashed back, tripping and falling backwards. He looked once more at the girl's eyes. They were blue still, yes, but their pupils seemed frozen over.
Mattilus began speaking, at first to Atascha, then to nobody, as he fell into his habit of verbal note-taking. "A siren. Or some equivalent. I read enough mythology to know of your kind. Blind your victims, make them come with you, pull them in, pull them under. I don't know what's in that water, but I'm certainly not drinking it. You've also likely gained incredible strength, considering those handc----"
Immediately the chik was upon him, having switched almost instantaneously from a glorious siren to a feral harpy. Mattilus could barely roll to the side as she dived, her fist landing where his head had been. The mage struggled to get up, the muddy banks of the river providing little leverage. He slipped once more, falling deeper into the mud, the beast-chik grabbing at his ankle. Immediately he grasped at the ground beneath him, found some of the mud, threw it in her face, causing her to let out a monstrous roar. It was just enough to buy him some time to get up and run off into the woods.
--------
Far far away, the tribesman was killed in battle, his blood staining the sheets within the strange object he found. It was an ambush, and though the book had protected him from a single spear, it would not protect him from five.
The members of the tribe stole the strange object and brought it to their elder immediately, just as the man had planned to do.
"Great Old One," they say, "What does this mean?"
The elder's brow furrows. He is uncertain. "I have yet to consult the gods on this matter, my sons. Wait and the answer may be given to us yet."
"Great Old One, what if the blood spilled upon the object lays a curse upon our village? What if from just bringing this book to you, we have doomed all our people?"
"I believe the gods are with us, my sons. We shall see in due time. Now go back to your troops; This war is long, and we may only hope things soon change in our favor."
As the young warriors departed, the elder stroked his beard. Perhaps this was the answer to their prayers. Perhaps the gods had sent this alien object to end the war.
He went back into his chamber to meditate upon these thoughts, hoping only for answers.
-----
The Mage is more frightened than he's been in quite some time. No book, no protection, and a harpy-siren-she-devil on his tail.
Mattilus was used to controlling the tides of battle. He had acted not only as a valuable soldier, but as a general, leading his troops to victory. This situation had left him helpless, not only in strength but in wits. He had no clue what kind of creature Atascha had turned into, had no clue where anyone was, had no clue about how to go about saving himself.
"Should've finished her when I had the chance. Should've broken her skull in with that book."
He huddled in the cave he'd taken refuge in, listening to the echoes of the nearby river's trickling. He sighed at how low he had fallen: the great Brenite mage turned into little more than a helpless, lost, frightened soul.