Re: Intense Struggle! (Round 1 - The Abandoned Base)
12-29-2009, 04:05 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by The Dr..
Ugh, damn...
Trickster slowly rose from the cold, hard concrete and studied his surroundings as his senses slowly trickled back to him. There was blood, and bodies were scattered around; around him stood 7 mysterious figures that he just then remembered the identities of... The memories of the Monitor and being trapped inside that bubble thing. He tried to remember something before it but couldn't muster... odd.
He realized that he had been standing there for a good twenty seconds thinking about his previous experiences over the past few conscious minutes. Nobody around him seemed hostile at the current moment, but he knew very true to himself that looks could be decieving, decieving in such a way to make someone old enough to be a great grandfather look as no more than a teenager. He tightened down his lucky hat, and protruded his gloves from the pockets in his flourescent orange jeans. For a split second he considered stripping his pants off; such a bright color was definately not unnoticable, and to get by in this helltrial free for all with his measley skill level, he would need to slip by near invisibly and let the others do the most work they could before coming after him. He slowly put on his gloves and started warming up a fireball... he had a bad feeling he was going to need it very soon.
Ugh, damn...
Trickster slowly rose from the cold, hard concrete and studied his surroundings as his senses slowly trickled back to him. There was blood, and bodies were scattered around; around him stood 7 mysterious figures that he just then remembered the identities of... The memories of the Monitor and being trapped inside that bubble thing. He tried to remember something before it but couldn't muster... odd.
He realized that he had been standing there for a good twenty seconds thinking about his previous experiences over the past few conscious minutes. Nobody around him seemed hostile at the current moment, but he knew very true to himself that looks could be decieving, decieving in such a way to make someone old enough to be a great grandfather look as no more than a teenager. He tightened down his lucky hat, and protruded his gloves from the pockets in his flourescent orange jeans. For a split second he considered stripping his pants off; such a bright color was definately not unnoticable, and to get by in this helltrial free for all with his measley skill level, he would need to slip by near invisibly and let the others do the most work they could before coming after him. He slowly put on his gloves and started warming up a fireball... he had a bad feeling he was going to need it very soon.