Re: Mini-Grand 5106 [Round 2: The Graben]
09-25-2011, 12:28 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Protoman.
The river's roar drowned out all sound. As Ataya's bloodlust and rage bled over, so did the rapids, spilling out on to the banks.
The elder watched from afar, pulled his knees to his body like a frightened child. There was nothing he, the mage, even the spider could do. The end was neigh.
Legend amongst the Green Leaves foretold of the day the river's banks would grow angry and swallow the land. They claimed it would be the day when man's hubris outweighed his virtue.
They were fools to think they could fight the very river which brought them life. They were fools to think they could destroy an age-old spirit with wood and stone. There was no hope left.
And so the legend had come true. Morokh and the rest of the militia they had raised had fallen quickly to the spears of the mindless hordes that had once been the clan of the Green Leaves. Only Ransajan had escaped, as he had acted more as a general than a soldier, commanding from the back rather than fighting from the front. And so he watched as several hundred tribesmen fought together, put aside their differences, and charged to their deaths.
And now he watched as the spider and the mage fought. The man would not escape. He was mere flesh and bone, and no amount of otherworldly power could kill a spirit.
The spider was a goddess. She had hope to live.
But for him, for the weak, the young, the old who had stayed behind in the village of the red spider, there was no hope.
Their world was ending.
------
run run run
the queen rushes away, up trees away through trees in defeat
this mouse can defeat winter
not mouse, not cat, demon
the demon defeated the winter
poor poor winter
not much time, cannot save
soon the winter will be silent and the silence will have no winter
poor poor winter
----
Mattilus reached once more for his book, and once more he was interrupted by a kick to the abdomen. He was dragged away from it, dragged to Ataya. He felt the blood from his newly broken nose start to reach his cheek. Never before had the archmage felt so much pain. Oftentimes his opponents fell far before ever reaching him. But now he was helpless.
That accident. It had ruined him. He had the power of the very gods at his fingertips. They had all been locked away inside of that goddamn book, locked away from him. He could no longer feel the magic coursing through his veins, if he couldn't feel the scratch of its pages. It was an iron lung.
And now he paid for it.
Perhaps it was always meant to end this way, he thought. Perhaps if he had died that day, he wouldn't have ever had to confront his hubris. Perhaps the gods who had given him the world, the gods who had taken it away, perhaps they wanted to teach him some kind of lesson.
The mage thought of all of this as he was dragged along the ground, brought to the spirit of the river.
"Hello, little Matty. You aren't looking quite as sharp as usual. Quite a bit of mud on that suit of yours."
The spirit of the river stepped onto Mattilus's chest as she said this, wiping the mud of the river from her feet onto his once well-kept suit.
"And hello to you as well, Atasha. I see your politeness has only decayed since our last meeting, hm?"
Pain. Pain and pressure exploded in the mage's chest as Ataya stomped on it with full force.
"You will address me by my true name. I am no longer Atascha. I am Ataya. And you will show me the respect I deserve. I believe you once called me a little rat caught in a corner. How does it feel, Mattilus? Being the rat waiting for the cat to pounce?"
The mage smirked, still catching his breath from the stomp to his chest. "As far as I can tell, madame, there are two rats among us. And the only thing worse than a filthy rat is a filthy rat who believes itself to be the Empress of Zaulitz in its dignity and kindness."
Pain once more. It seemed colder this time. "You're lucky i like you, Matty. You're cute, really. You dress up in a fancy suit, wear some glasses you don't even need, and think it makes you smarter than the gods of the heavens and the spirits of the earth. You're like a child who wraps a towel around his throat and thinks it makes him a superhero."
"And you, dearie, are like an insignificant, mean spirited gnat given the powers of the almighty ones. Look at your accomplishments, O River spirit. You've killed some savages, wooed a sparkklechik, and brought down a single insignificant Archmage of Destruction. All very honorable for certain mortals, I suppose, but you claim to be a deity. Frankly, I'm underwhelmed."
The goddess shook her head and sighed. "You are a stubborn one, Matty dear. I like that. But I'm afraid that part of you has to die now. You have two options. The first involves me holding you down and forcing you to drink water. The second involves you walking over there and drinking it yourself. Which do you prefer, Matty dear?"
Mattilus was silent. Gazing through his broken glasses, he saw the world in an interesting manner. Things were broken, fragmented. Everything was incomplete. Like he was now, he supposed. But it still managed to somehow retain its shape and form. He walked to the side of the river and gazed into its depths. He knew what he had to do.
"Any last words, Archmage?" The Siren smiled. He was in her grasp. It was so much more fun catching a large, strong prey than it was tiny ones. There was no greater pleasure than to tear them down from their greatest heights, making them fall from a height most men never reach.
"Just a few. I have thought, lately, about my past. Things have been taken away from me. Great things. I thought that, perhaps, the gods wanted to show me the price of my arrogance. They wanted me to see that, though they had given me great power, I was not one of them. This entire journey has been about that.
I felt on top of the world. But now, in my darkest hour, I see that I am nothing without those gods. I see that my arrogance has been my downfall. I see that I am nothing. I see that my struggle was in vain, that my fight to be stronger than all others was naught but a pipe dream. I fought long and I fought hard. And it's ended with me worse off than ever before. And frankly,
I don't care."
The mage clenched a fist and gazed at it for a moment. He uttered several words under his breath with a smile.
A flash of light emerged from him. If one looked carefully enough, they would see the mage being torn apart from the inside out by pure mana.
The flash was brief, but strong. It woke Ransajan out of his melancholic stupor. It caused Naiima to turn back and gaze, even if just for a brief moment. It caused the river spirit to flinch.
Nothing was left but a faint echo of the crash. As it weakened and reverberated between the walls of the valley, it sounded almost like laughter.
The river's roar drowned out all sound. As Ataya's bloodlust and rage bled over, so did the rapids, spilling out on to the banks.
The elder watched from afar, pulled his knees to his body like a frightened child. There was nothing he, the mage, even the spider could do. The end was neigh.
Legend amongst the Green Leaves foretold of the day the river's banks would grow angry and swallow the land. They claimed it would be the day when man's hubris outweighed his virtue.
They were fools to think they could fight the very river which brought them life. They were fools to think they could destroy an age-old spirit with wood and stone. There was no hope left.
And so the legend had come true. Morokh and the rest of the militia they had raised had fallen quickly to the spears of the mindless hordes that had once been the clan of the Green Leaves. Only Ransajan had escaped, as he had acted more as a general than a soldier, commanding from the back rather than fighting from the front. And so he watched as several hundred tribesmen fought together, put aside their differences, and charged to their deaths.
And now he watched as the spider and the mage fought. The man would not escape. He was mere flesh and bone, and no amount of otherworldly power could kill a spirit.
The spider was a goddess. She had hope to live.
But for him, for the weak, the young, the old who had stayed behind in the village of the red spider, there was no hope.
Their world was ending.
------
run run run
the queen rushes away, up trees away through trees in defeat
this mouse can defeat winter
not mouse, not cat, demon
the demon defeated the winter
poor poor winter
not much time, cannot save
soon the winter will be silent and the silence will have no winter
poor poor winter
----
Mattilus reached once more for his book, and once more he was interrupted by a kick to the abdomen. He was dragged away from it, dragged to Ataya. He felt the blood from his newly broken nose start to reach his cheek. Never before had the archmage felt so much pain. Oftentimes his opponents fell far before ever reaching him. But now he was helpless.
That accident. It had ruined him. He had the power of the very gods at his fingertips. They had all been locked away inside of that goddamn book, locked away from him. He could no longer feel the magic coursing through his veins, if he couldn't feel the scratch of its pages. It was an iron lung.
And now he paid for it.
Perhaps it was always meant to end this way, he thought. Perhaps if he had died that day, he wouldn't have ever had to confront his hubris. Perhaps the gods who had given him the world, the gods who had taken it away, perhaps they wanted to teach him some kind of lesson.
The mage thought of all of this as he was dragged along the ground, brought to the spirit of the river.
"Hello, little Matty. You aren't looking quite as sharp as usual. Quite a bit of mud on that suit of yours."
The spirit of the river stepped onto Mattilus's chest as she said this, wiping the mud of the river from her feet onto his once well-kept suit.
"And hello to you as well, Atasha. I see your politeness has only decayed since our last meeting, hm?"
Pain. Pain and pressure exploded in the mage's chest as Ataya stomped on it with full force.
"You will address me by my true name. I am no longer Atascha. I am Ataya. And you will show me the respect I deserve. I believe you once called me a little rat caught in a corner. How does it feel, Mattilus? Being the rat waiting for the cat to pounce?"
The mage smirked, still catching his breath from the stomp to his chest. "As far as I can tell, madame, there are two rats among us. And the only thing worse than a filthy rat is a filthy rat who believes itself to be the Empress of Zaulitz in its dignity and kindness."
Pain once more. It seemed colder this time. "You're lucky i like you, Matty. You're cute, really. You dress up in a fancy suit, wear some glasses you don't even need, and think it makes you smarter than the gods of the heavens and the spirits of the earth. You're like a child who wraps a towel around his throat and thinks it makes him a superhero."
"And you, dearie, are like an insignificant, mean spirited gnat given the powers of the almighty ones. Look at your accomplishments, O River spirit. You've killed some savages, wooed a sparkklechik, and brought down a single insignificant Archmage of Destruction. All very honorable for certain mortals, I suppose, but you claim to be a deity. Frankly, I'm underwhelmed."
The goddess shook her head and sighed. "You are a stubborn one, Matty dear. I like that. But I'm afraid that part of you has to die now. You have two options. The first involves me holding you down and forcing you to drink water. The second involves you walking over there and drinking it yourself. Which do you prefer, Matty dear?"
Mattilus was silent. Gazing through his broken glasses, he saw the world in an interesting manner. Things were broken, fragmented. Everything was incomplete. Like he was now, he supposed. But it still managed to somehow retain its shape and form. He walked to the side of the river and gazed into its depths. He knew what he had to do.
"Any last words, Archmage?" The Siren smiled. He was in her grasp. It was so much more fun catching a large, strong prey than it was tiny ones. There was no greater pleasure than to tear them down from their greatest heights, making them fall from a height most men never reach.
"Just a few. I have thought, lately, about my past. Things have been taken away from me. Great things. I thought that, perhaps, the gods wanted to show me the price of my arrogance. They wanted me to see that, though they had given me great power, I was not one of them. This entire journey has been about that.
I felt on top of the world. But now, in my darkest hour, I see that I am nothing without those gods. I see that my arrogance has been my downfall. I see that I am nothing. I see that my struggle was in vain, that my fight to be stronger than all others was naught but a pipe dream. I fought long and I fought hard. And it's ended with me worse off than ever before. And frankly,
I don't care."
The mage clenched a fist and gazed at it for a moment. He uttered several words under his breath with a smile.
A flash of light emerged from him. If one looked carefully enough, they would see the mage being torn apart from the inside out by pure mana.
The flash was brief, but strong. It woke Ransajan out of his melancholic stupor. It caused Naiima to turn back and gaze, even if just for a brief moment. It caused the river spirit to flinch.
Nothing was left but a faint echo of the crash. As it weakened and reverberated between the walls of the valley, it sounded almost like laughter.