Re: Inexorable Altercation [Round III - Vorlon Complex]
03-31-2011, 08:24 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.
(*Author’s note: Interestingly enough, while the identities and nature of these cultists have suddenly become altogether clear to me, I find that the name and details of the one I originally dubbed “The Leader” remain obscured. Be it a block in imagination or foresight, I do not know, though I am certain these details will come to light as such things do. There is much to write, however, so until that time, the original name will have to suffice.)
Azgard Soo’teruth studied the leather-bound tome which lay in the grand hall of Nowhere. This same book The Leader had held moments before his unexpected departure. No one else knew its contents, only that the dance between the prophesy and history held within was a delicate one -- one which The Leader had wished to safeguard from those present. The sudden absence of The Leader had taken all of them by surprise, even the snide Xilphos required a moment of pause before proceeding to mock Azgard.
“Well, great,” Xilphos sneered. “Now what do we do? Well, Azgard?”
Azgard dragged his eyes away from the abandoned book to meet the serpentine glare.
“I...I’m not sure yet.”
“‘Not sure’?” Xilphos hissed the reply back through serrated teeth. “You just lectured me on the infallibility of [The Leader]’s decisions. I would assume you’d know why he’s so suddenly left.”
The jab was well placed. Azgard had depended on the guidance and structure The Leader offered. He had placed his trust with the abilities and discretion of the one who had proven himself the most suited for the task. All of his calculations and scenarios depended critically on the presence of that individual. Now, in an instant, those scenarios were meaningless.
Azgard ran his hand through the spikes of his pale blond hair. Each follicle stood at even lengths, meticulously cut and maintained with a precision only Azgard was capable of. As his palm brushed past the bristles, Azgard captured every detail. Each strand was in place, each at the proper height. This was real.
“Xilphos, give me a moment. I need to to consider--”
“Well while you’re considering,” Xilphos turned towards the sphere which housed the naval battle, “I have some contestants to murder.”
“No!” Azgard lunged in front of the wooden-faced reptile. “You can’t interfere like that, not without planning!”
“Whose plans!?”
“Mine! Ours! The book’s! Causality is a fragile thing and if not handled carefully, could fracture into infinite pieces! We have to choose the right path.”
“And you think you’re the one to choose it?”
Azgard huffed, “I was his confidant, his right hand. If anything, that alone should be enough for you to listen to me.”
“How convenient,” Xilphos replied, “that the only one capable of confirming that has disappeared forever.”
“Is he really gone forever?” a small voice questioned through broken sobs
“Don’t you dare!” Azgard snapped at Peth. The tiny cultist stayed hidden behind comforting arms and cloaked hood. “Don’t you dare say that, don’t you dare even think that! He is coming back. Do you understand?”
There was no reply.
“Do you understand!?”
“Azgard!” The voice this time came from the cultist whose arms held the now quivering Peth. It was soft, almost motherly. “Please, calm yourself. He’s frightened. We’re all frightened.”
“You’re all weak,” Xilphos muttered. “Do you plan to coddle him until the end, Iifa? He’s been nothing but worthless this whole time. Hey. Why don’t you let him go and take on those seven bastards. He could weep them to death.”
The others ignored Xilphos, turning instead to the gentleman called Barabbas. He had removed his hood, revealing a pale, bald, aged, yet human face covered in tattooed symbols which ran along the course of his neck and into the recesses of his cloak. Behind him stood the massive, unmoving figure of the one dubbed “Endo”.
“Azgard,” Barabbas asked, “will we be found?”
Even Xilphos waited for the answer to this question. Azgard rubbed his hand through his hair once more. Through his mind raced every possibility, every starting condition, each trailing and connecting with ever branching patterns of causality. He studied the sphere, the position and location of the contestants, who still lived and where they stood. After a moment, he responded.
“No,” he shook his head, “Not for now. Our battle is being watched and monitored by other grandmasters, but it is simply another battle in appearance. At the moment, they should have no reason to interfere. Even if they wanted to, our location is difficult to reach. There are very few ways to go Nowhere. However...our barrier is down. Bystanders have reappeared in the battle, as well as routes for escape. Normally this wouldn’t matter but...this is an historical location. They’re no longer isolated from that world’s timeline. If we continue the battle there...they’ll begin to split the timeline and THAT will attract a great deal of attention. Scattered timelines can disrupt the multiverse, displace other’s domains, give them a reason to come here.”
“So then we must end the round.” Atelia spoke softly. The youngest of the 8 cultists, her wide eyes reflected the azure glow sparkling from her dark ethereal hair.
“If we end the round directly,” Azgard continued, “it would be a deliberate violation of the rules of this contest. That would show we had some sort of trouble and may attract undue attention as well.”
“Gias, what do you see?” Barabbas’ directed his question towards the towering cultist. Gias had moved away from the group and was facing another one of the spheres in the grand hall. His hood remained on, but an orange glow beamed from the ends of the lengthy sleeves.
“I recognize this world,” was the reply. “It would be suitable for the next round...I could transport them there if--” he turned towards the group “--you approve, Azgard.”
“Oh you’re kidding me!” Xilphos rolled his eyes in frustration, “You’re backing up this nervous do-nothing?”
“If Gias supports him, then I do as well.” Atelia spoke, “Should you consult the book?”
All attention returned to the fallen tome. Azgard had never even touched the book, let alone explore its contents. Should he simply trust the causality foretold within to fulfill itself? Had The Leader’s departure caused something to go awry? There was only one answer. Azgard approached the text. He bent down. Running his fingers over the dark flame seared engraving - “Inexorable Altercation”. Their futures, their pasts, their hope, and their condemnation, all possibilities were contained within.
He opened it.
As if in a trance, his eyes locked on the page before him. Unmoving, unblinking, Azgard stood silently as the rest of the cultists waited for his report.
“What is it, Azgard?” Atelia asked calmly.
At her question Azgard blinked, shaking his head. He ran his hand through his hair.
“It’s just...” he paused, bringing down his hand, he started at his palm, confused.
“Is something wrong?” Atelia asked again.
Azgard repeated the motion once more, this time returning his gaze to the others.
“No...I mean...Yes. The book is written in some kind of code...it’s difficult to make out.”
“Surely you can decipher it?” Gias posed the question.
“I...don’t think it’s that simple, a normal code, yes but...”
“Come on!” Xilphos raised a jointed arm in frustration, “All you have to do is read a name! Who gets offed first? You pick at every little detail and never--”
“The robot.” Azgard interrupted, a furrowed brow facing the open text, “If these patterns represent names...his is the only one missing...”
“Finally.” A serrated cedar coated blade shot from Xilphos’ left arm. “Be back in a bit.”
“No.” Gias stopped his advance. “I shall complete the round. Your methods are too...unorthodox.”
“Is this alright Azgard?” A fourth question came from the youthful cultist. Her stature was that of a child, her face the shade of a rich darkness, pierced only by the twinkling sapphire flickers of her hair and widened eyes. In her shadowy hand, she held an orb, translucent and filled with other orbs each contained in the larger. She twisted the ball much like a toy, and the shapes and figures within shifted and spun in intricate designs. Azgard had often perceived Atelia as the most child-like of the group, far more so than the sorrowful Peth. Her eyes belied an innocence, a lack of understanding of the true nature of the multiverse.
“Do it.” Azgard consented. In that moment, Gias stepped forward, and passed through the realm of Nowhere into the battle below.
“Iifa,” Azgard spoke. “it would be best for Peth to avoid watching the proceedings. I have to...try and decipher this book. Atelia--”
“I’ll keep an eye on everything Azgard.” she responded.
With that, Azgard and the book left the grand hall for one of the many corridors sprawling through Nowhere. The other cultists as well went their own directions. Atelia remained, rotating her toy gingerly in her hands as Endo stood silently behind her.
--------------
Journal of Sir Francis Drake: March 17th
As with the other events I have described, the resolution to this skirmish was equally extraordinary, so much so that was it not for the testimony of my crew, and the unexplained damage to our vessels I would have disregarded the entirety of it all as a sudden fever dream.
The creature which had stood before me, some metal demon which had singlehandedly bested one of Her Majestys galleons, stayed his hand for but a moment before attempting his final charge. Had it not been for the intervention of some heavenly protector, I would surely not be writing this entry now. A robed creature with an unearthly orange glow appeared between myself and the aggressor. In a single motion he reached out his hand and stopped the demon in its tracks. I could not see much past the billowing robes of our savior, but the agony scream of the demon rocked the entire vessel. Its death cries were not of this world and pierced our gunblast deadened ears as the being banished the demon from our plane. Fragments of metal and sparking steel threads were all that remained of the creature when the robed figure left, its body and spirit having been ultimately destroyed.
Other crew from other ships, reported spotting a similar robed figure, interacting with other strange beings on their vessels. Though according to their reports, the strangers were not destroyed, but merely disappeared at the touch of the robed being. Some crew members even reported that Captain Maynard was among those taken, but he was later discovered deceased in his quarters. While mutiny is a possibility, I find it hard to believe my men capable of such deceit, and considering the circumstances, an far more otherworldly scenario is probable.
We continue our encounter against the Spanish aggressors, and while I believe victory is soon to come, these events must not go unrecorded.
--------------
The remaining contestants found themselves appearing one by one on a barren planet. A worn down and abandoned structure towered in front of them. When the last of them appeared, a cultist with orange glow emanating from his hood appeared at the top of the structure. Before they could speak, he removed his hood, revealing a stone-like face with bright pupilless orange eyes and pulsing bands running across his brow.
“I am Gias,” The cultist spoke. “The second round has ended. The machine OTTO and creature O’rylath are dead. You are on the world of Vorlon. Here a great battle was once waged against a queen who sought to disrupt the balance of this universe. Hers was the power of memory, and her armaments are testimony to this legacy. This planet is uninhabited, abandoned, save for what you shall find underground. Now fight. Kill one another and we shall move once more, one step closer to the ultimate goal. I shall be here. Watching you. If you attempt escape, you will suffer the fate of your former combatants.”
With that Gias appeared mere feet before the contestants. With a broad sweep of his hand he banished them into the depths of the complex below. The third round had begun.
(*Author’s note: Interestingly enough, while the identities and nature of these cultists have suddenly become altogether clear to me, I find that the name and details of the one I originally dubbed “The Leader” remain obscured. Be it a block in imagination or foresight, I do not know, though I am certain these details will come to light as such things do. There is much to write, however, so until that time, the original name will have to suffice.)
Azgard Soo’teruth studied the leather-bound tome which lay in the grand hall of Nowhere. This same book The Leader had held moments before his unexpected departure. No one else knew its contents, only that the dance between the prophesy and history held within was a delicate one -- one which The Leader had wished to safeguard from those present. The sudden absence of The Leader had taken all of them by surprise, even the snide Xilphos required a moment of pause before proceeding to mock Azgard.
“Well, great,” Xilphos sneered. “Now what do we do? Well, Azgard?”
Azgard dragged his eyes away from the abandoned book to meet the serpentine glare.
“I...I’m not sure yet.”
“‘Not sure’?” Xilphos hissed the reply back through serrated teeth. “You just lectured me on the infallibility of [The Leader]’s decisions. I would assume you’d know why he’s so suddenly left.”
The jab was well placed. Azgard had depended on the guidance and structure The Leader offered. He had placed his trust with the abilities and discretion of the one who had proven himself the most suited for the task. All of his calculations and scenarios depended critically on the presence of that individual. Now, in an instant, those scenarios were meaningless.
Azgard ran his hand through the spikes of his pale blond hair. Each follicle stood at even lengths, meticulously cut and maintained with a precision only Azgard was capable of. As his palm brushed past the bristles, Azgard captured every detail. Each strand was in place, each at the proper height. This was real.
“Xilphos, give me a moment. I need to to consider--”
“Well while you’re considering,” Xilphos turned towards the sphere which housed the naval battle, “I have some contestants to murder.”
“No!” Azgard lunged in front of the wooden-faced reptile. “You can’t interfere like that, not without planning!”
“Whose plans!?”
“Mine! Ours! The book’s! Causality is a fragile thing and if not handled carefully, could fracture into infinite pieces! We have to choose the right path.”
“And you think you’re the one to choose it?”
Azgard huffed, “I was his confidant, his right hand. If anything, that alone should be enough for you to listen to me.”
“How convenient,” Xilphos replied, “that the only one capable of confirming that has disappeared forever.”
“Is he really gone forever?” a small voice questioned through broken sobs
“Don’t you dare!” Azgard snapped at Peth. The tiny cultist stayed hidden behind comforting arms and cloaked hood. “Don’t you dare say that, don’t you dare even think that! He is coming back. Do you understand?”
There was no reply.
“Do you understand!?”
“Azgard!” The voice this time came from the cultist whose arms held the now quivering Peth. It was soft, almost motherly. “Please, calm yourself. He’s frightened. We’re all frightened.”
“You’re all weak,” Xilphos muttered. “Do you plan to coddle him until the end, Iifa? He’s been nothing but worthless this whole time. Hey. Why don’t you let him go and take on those seven bastards. He could weep them to death.”
The others ignored Xilphos, turning instead to the gentleman called Barabbas. He had removed his hood, revealing a pale, bald, aged, yet human face covered in tattooed symbols which ran along the course of his neck and into the recesses of his cloak. Behind him stood the massive, unmoving figure of the one dubbed “Endo”.
“Azgard,” Barabbas asked, “will we be found?”
Even Xilphos waited for the answer to this question. Azgard rubbed his hand through his hair once more. Through his mind raced every possibility, every starting condition, each trailing and connecting with ever branching patterns of causality. He studied the sphere, the position and location of the contestants, who still lived and where they stood. After a moment, he responded.
“No,” he shook his head, “Not for now. Our battle is being watched and monitored by other grandmasters, but it is simply another battle in appearance. At the moment, they should have no reason to interfere. Even if they wanted to, our location is difficult to reach. There are very few ways to go Nowhere. However...our barrier is down. Bystanders have reappeared in the battle, as well as routes for escape. Normally this wouldn’t matter but...this is an historical location. They’re no longer isolated from that world’s timeline. If we continue the battle there...they’ll begin to split the timeline and THAT will attract a great deal of attention. Scattered timelines can disrupt the multiverse, displace other’s domains, give them a reason to come here.”
“So then we must end the round.” Atelia spoke softly. The youngest of the 8 cultists, her wide eyes reflected the azure glow sparkling from her dark ethereal hair.
“If we end the round directly,” Azgard continued, “it would be a deliberate violation of the rules of this contest. That would show we had some sort of trouble and may attract undue attention as well.”
“Gias, what do you see?” Barabbas’ directed his question towards the towering cultist. Gias had moved away from the group and was facing another one of the spheres in the grand hall. His hood remained on, but an orange glow beamed from the ends of the lengthy sleeves.
“I recognize this world,” was the reply. “It would be suitable for the next round...I could transport them there if--” he turned towards the group “--you approve, Azgard.”
“Oh you’re kidding me!” Xilphos rolled his eyes in frustration, “You’re backing up this nervous do-nothing?”
“If Gias supports him, then I do as well.” Atelia spoke, “Should you consult the book?”
All attention returned to the fallen tome. Azgard had never even touched the book, let alone explore its contents. Should he simply trust the causality foretold within to fulfill itself? Had The Leader’s departure caused something to go awry? There was only one answer. Azgard approached the text. He bent down. Running his fingers over the dark flame seared engraving - “Inexorable Altercation”. Their futures, their pasts, their hope, and their condemnation, all possibilities were contained within.
He opened it.
As if in a trance, his eyes locked on the page before him. Unmoving, unblinking, Azgard stood silently as the rest of the cultists waited for his report.
“What is it, Azgard?” Atelia asked calmly.
At her question Azgard blinked, shaking his head. He ran his hand through his hair.
“It’s just...” he paused, bringing down his hand, he started at his palm, confused.
“Is something wrong?” Atelia asked again.
Azgard repeated the motion once more, this time returning his gaze to the others.
“No...I mean...Yes. The book is written in some kind of code...it’s difficult to make out.”
“Surely you can decipher it?” Gias posed the question.
“I...don’t think it’s that simple, a normal code, yes but...”
“Come on!” Xilphos raised a jointed arm in frustration, “All you have to do is read a name! Who gets offed first? You pick at every little detail and never--”
“The robot.” Azgard interrupted, a furrowed brow facing the open text, “If these patterns represent names...his is the only one missing...”
“Finally.” A serrated cedar coated blade shot from Xilphos’ left arm. “Be back in a bit.”
“No.” Gias stopped his advance. “I shall complete the round. Your methods are too...unorthodox.”
“Is this alright Azgard?” A fourth question came from the youthful cultist. Her stature was that of a child, her face the shade of a rich darkness, pierced only by the twinkling sapphire flickers of her hair and widened eyes. In her shadowy hand, she held an orb, translucent and filled with other orbs each contained in the larger. She twisted the ball much like a toy, and the shapes and figures within shifted and spun in intricate designs. Azgard had often perceived Atelia as the most child-like of the group, far more so than the sorrowful Peth. Her eyes belied an innocence, a lack of understanding of the true nature of the multiverse.
“Do it.” Azgard consented. In that moment, Gias stepped forward, and passed through the realm of Nowhere into the battle below.
“Iifa,” Azgard spoke. “it would be best for Peth to avoid watching the proceedings. I have to...try and decipher this book. Atelia--”
“I’ll keep an eye on everything Azgard.” she responded.
With that, Azgard and the book left the grand hall for one of the many corridors sprawling through Nowhere. The other cultists as well went their own directions. Atelia remained, rotating her toy gingerly in her hands as Endo stood silently behind her.
--------------
Journal of Sir Francis Drake: March 17th
As with the other events I have described, the resolution to this skirmish was equally extraordinary, so much so that was it not for the testimony of my crew, and the unexplained damage to our vessels I would have disregarded the entirety of it all as a sudden fever dream.
The creature which had stood before me, some metal demon which had singlehandedly bested one of Her Majestys galleons, stayed his hand for but a moment before attempting his final charge. Had it not been for the intervention of some heavenly protector, I would surely not be writing this entry now. A robed creature with an unearthly orange glow appeared between myself and the aggressor. In a single motion he reached out his hand and stopped the demon in its tracks. I could not see much past the billowing robes of our savior, but the agony scream of the demon rocked the entire vessel. Its death cries were not of this world and pierced our gunblast deadened ears as the being banished the demon from our plane. Fragments of metal and sparking steel threads were all that remained of the creature when the robed figure left, its body and spirit having been ultimately destroyed.
Other crew from other ships, reported spotting a similar robed figure, interacting with other strange beings on their vessels. Though according to their reports, the strangers were not destroyed, but merely disappeared at the touch of the robed being. Some crew members even reported that Captain Maynard was among those taken, but he was later discovered deceased in his quarters. While mutiny is a possibility, I find it hard to believe my men capable of such deceit, and considering the circumstances, an far more otherworldly scenario is probable.
We continue our encounter against the Spanish aggressors, and while I believe victory is soon to come, these events must not go unrecorded.
--------------
The remaining contestants found themselves appearing one by one on a barren planet. A worn down and abandoned structure towered in front of them. When the last of them appeared, a cultist with orange glow emanating from his hood appeared at the top of the structure. Before they could speak, he removed his hood, revealing a stone-like face with bright pupilless orange eyes and pulsing bands running across his brow.
“I am Gias,” The cultist spoke. “The second round has ended. The machine OTTO and creature O’rylath are dead. You are on the world of Vorlon. Here a great battle was once waged against a queen who sought to disrupt the balance of this universe. Hers was the power of memory, and her armaments are testimony to this legacy. This planet is uninhabited, abandoned, save for what you shall find underground. Now fight. Kill one another and we shall move once more, one step closer to the ultimate goal. I shall be here. Watching you. If you attempt escape, you will suffer the fate of your former combatants.”
With that Gias appeared mere feet before the contestants. With a broad sweep of his hand he banished them into the depths of the complex below. The third round had begun.