Re: The Savage Brawl [Round 1: Afterlife]
02-26-2010, 05:56 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.
What am I doing?!
Gormand spang from his recumbent position only seconds after taking it. I should be out there, organizing my competitors against this... this Cultivator. Instead, I lie here, waiting for... what, exactly? I do not wait! I take! I am a conqueror, and should behave as su- Eh? As he thought over his current predicament, Gormand had made his way back to the stairs, when he was stopped cold by... giggling? As far as he was aware, there were only corpses about... And yet, he was being laughed at. Gormand spun around, enraged that someone would mock him! (And this time, able to retaliate.)
Hovering in the middle of the hall behind him was a grinning blue spirit. Gormand wasn't terribly surprised that there would be ghosts in the afterlife; part of him was curious that there hadn't been more. But that didn't matter, it was being rude, and that would not be tolerated. He took an angry step towards the phantom, which seemed only serve to amuse it more. Gormand stomped closer, then abruptly halted. This seemed to pique the ghost's curiosity, for it stopped chuckling for a moment and gazed curiously at the meatball, cheeky grin still covering it's face.
So Gormand punched it through the chest.
...Of course, it's hard not to punch a ghost through the chest, given their ephemeral state.
The spook grinned wider, waggled it's fingers, and took hold of the noodle lodged in it's chest. It yanked hard towards the trapped hall... but was clearly unaccustomed to anything of Gormand's considerable girth. This time it was the meatball's turn to chuckle, as the azure phantom struggled to pull him farther into the cavern. Gormand lifted his flagellum ever so slightly, ensuring the ghost gripped it securely. The unwelcome clinger looked up from it's struggle just in time to be slammed into the ground, dislodging it from Gormand's arm and flinging it through the floor. Feeling a bit better, Gormand turned back to the stairs.
He was confronted by a rather disgruntled and quite familiar phantom.
Gormand staggered backwards, shocked that the spirit had so quickly recovered. But the ghost merely sniggered again, streaking past him back into the foreboding cavern. Curious, he turned to face the ghost, but it had vanished. Gormand shrugged, but wasn't going to be caught off guard. He backed warily towards the stairs, watching for any sign of movement. The ghost had glowed, making it an easy target in the pitch black cave, but...
There was a sound of something shuffling across the stony ground. A laugh, deeper, more gutteral than before, decaying into a fit of raspy coughs. A lone figure stumbled towards Gormand, guarding itself with some sort of polearm. He readied himself for the unsteady attacker, whose cause for limping soon became apparent: the interloper was missing a foot. The spear in his chest couldn't have helped much, either. Well, obviously the ghost can posess corpses. It's a ghost. They can do that. Or perhaps Konka Rar is about? No matter; it's still hostile, and shall have to be taught a lesson.
By now, the shambling husk of a body was only a couple of meters away. Several arrows were stuck it the unfortunate man's skull, and one of his eyes seemed to have fallen out. Gormand chuckled again. In response, the corpse let out another gargley laugh, raising it's rotting oar overhead. The body's good humor was cut short, however, as its lungs were compressed by one of Gormand powerful limbs. The meatball was at once amused and insulted. "You would dare take up arms agains me?" Squeezing tighter, he heard the satisfying crunch of bone and sinew breaking within his grip.
The corpse ineffectively swung at Gormand's arm, embedding a few splinters in his thick, noodly flesh, but doing little real harm. Gormand brought his flagellum up, dangling the body upside-down in front of his eye. "You're pathetic. Get out of my sight!" At this, he flung the corpse irreverently through the air, listening for the dull thump of flesh against stone. satisfied, he turned once more towards the stairs.
The ghost had returned, sniggering as usual.
Gormand was incredulous. "But I just-!" He gave up, throwing most of his arms in the air. The laughter resumed.
From behind him.
Gormand realized that the volume of laughter couldn't be accounted for simply from the echoes, as he gradually became aware of a bluish glow in his peripheral vision. He didn't have to look to know what he would see. He would see a massive army of phantoms identical to the one in front of him, ready to tear him apart.
He turned around anyway. Nobody was there.
Well, there were plenty of bodies, but they didn't count. And yet they don't seem to care that they're dead, do they? Gormand backed cautiously away from the he motley swarm of cadavers. Unsurprisingly, they started cackling at his apparent fear. Slowly, clumsily, they advanced.
Had he a mouth, Gormand would have smiled. He took a step forward. Some of the zombies paused, unsure if anyone would really be as stupid as to take on so many of them at once. Gormand took another step, and those undecided bodies stopped trying to figure out what he was thinking, and resumed their slow advance. Gormand, undaunted, stepped forward once more.
*click*
The quiet, unassuming noise resounded through the suddenly quiet corridor. One of the zombies (missing his throat) gargled sadly.
Then his head was split in half by a massive axe.
The bodies started ambling a bit faster. Gormand was already at the stairs - but due to his snack, he no longer fit, even snugly, into the ascending spiral. He was struck by an idea then, one he wished he'd had sooner. Straining, his body slowly, imperceptibly, shunk. Little seemed to change about him, but for a pair of flat ridges protruding from his backside. Transformation complete, he was somewhat smaller than he'd been at the outset of the competition, making his escape up the stairwell that much less arduous.
He glanced back at his undead pursuers. A few of the closer ones had made it past the traps, worse for the wear but still ready to fight. Perhaps, thought Gormand, plodding up the stairs as quickly as he could, I can find them some others to battle.
Gormand spang from his recumbent position only seconds after taking it. I should be out there, organizing my competitors against this... this Cultivator. Instead, I lie here, waiting for... what, exactly? I do not wait! I take! I am a conqueror, and should behave as su- Eh? As he thought over his current predicament, Gormand had made his way back to the stairs, when he was stopped cold by... giggling? As far as he was aware, there were only corpses about... And yet, he was being laughed at. Gormand spun around, enraged that someone would mock him! (And this time, able to retaliate.)
Hovering in the middle of the hall behind him was a grinning blue spirit. Gormand wasn't terribly surprised that there would be ghosts in the afterlife; part of him was curious that there hadn't been more. But that didn't matter, it was being rude, and that would not be tolerated. He took an angry step towards the phantom, which seemed only serve to amuse it more. Gormand stomped closer, then abruptly halted. This seemed to pique the ghost's curiosity, for it stopped chuckling for a moment and gazed curiously at the meatball, cheeky grin still covering it's face.
So Gormand punched it through the chest.
...Of course, it's hard not to punch a ghost through the chest, given their ephemeral state.
The spook grinned wider, waggled it's fingers, and took hold of the noodle lodged in it's chest. It yanked hard towards the trapped hall... but was clearly unaccustomed to anything of Gormand's considerable girth. This time it was the meatball's turn to chuckle, as the azure phantom struggled to pull him farther into the cavern. Gormand lifted his flagellum ever so slightly, ensuring the ghost gripped it securely. The unwelcome clinger looked up from it's struggle just in time to be slammed into the ground, dislodging it from Gormand's arm and flinging it through the floor. Feeling a bit better, Gormand turned back to the stairs.
He was confronted by a rather disgruntled and quite familiar phantom.
Gormand staggered backwards, shocked that the spirit had so quickly recovered. But the ghost merely sniggered again, streaking past him back into the foreboding cavern. Curious, he turned to face the ghost, but it had vanished. Gormand shrugged, but wasn't going to be caught off guard. He backed warily towards the stairs, watching for any sign of movement. The ghost had glowed, making it an easy target in the pitch black cave, but...
There was a sound of something shuffling across the stony ground. A laugh, deeper, more gutteral than before, decaying into a fit of raspy coughs. A lone figure stumbled towards Gormand, guarding itself with some sort of polearm. He readied himself for the unsteady attacker, whose cause for limping soon became apparent: the interloper was missing a foot. The spear in his chest couldn't have helped much, either. Well, obviously the ghost can posess corpses. It's a ghost. They can do that. Or perhaps Konka Rar is about? No matter; it's still hostile, and shall have to be taught a lesson.
By now, the shambling husk of a body was only a couple of meters away. Several arrows were stuck it the unfortunate man's skull, and one of his eyes seemed to have fallen out. Gormand chuckled again. In response, the corpse let out another gargley laugh, raising it's rotting oar overhead. The body's good humor was cut short, however, as its lungs were compressed by one of Gormand powerful limbs. The meatball was at once amused and insulted. "You would dare take up arms agains me?" Squeezing tighter, he heard the satisfying crunch of bone and sinew breaking within his grip.
The corpse ineffectively swung at Gormand's arm, embedding a few splinters in his thick, noodly flesh, but doing little real harm. Gormand brought his flagellum up, dangling the body upside-down in front of his eye. "You're pathetic. Get out of my sight!" At this, he flung the corpse irreverently through the air, listening for the dull thump of flesh against stone. satisfied, he turned once more towards the stairs.
The ghost had returned, sniggering as usual.
Gormand was incredulous. "But I just-!" He gave up, throwing most of his arms in the air. The laughter resumed.
From behind him.
Gormand realized that the volume of laughter couldn't be accounted for simply from the echoes, as he gradually became aware of a bluish glow in his peripheral vision. He didn't have to look to know what he would see. He would see a massive army of phantoms identical to the one in front of him, ready to tear him apart.
He turned around anyway. Nobody was there.
Well, there were plenty of bodies, but they didn't count. And yet they don't seem to care that they're dead, do they? Gormand backed cautiously away from the he motley swarm of cadavers. Unsurprisingly, they started cackling at his apparent fear. Slowly, clumsily, they advanced.
Had he a mouth, Gormand would have smiled. He took a step forward. Some of the zombies paused, unsure if anyone would really be as stupid as to take on so many of them at once. Gormand took another step, and those undecided bodies stopped trying to figure out what he was thinking, and resumed their slow advance. Gormand, undaunted, stepped forward once more.
*click*
The quiet, unassuming noise resounded through the suddenly quiet corridor. One of the zombies (missing his throat) gargled sadly.
Then his head was split in half by a massive axe.
The bodies started ambling a bit faster. Gormand was already at the stairs - but due to his snack, he no longer fit, even snugly, into the ascending spiral. He was struck by an idea then, one he wished he'd had sooner. Straining, his body slowly, imperceptibly, shunk. Little seemed to change about him, but for a pair of flat ridges protruding from his backside. Transformation complete, he was somewhat smaller than he'd been at the outset of the competition, making his escape up the stairwell that much less arduous.
He glanced back at his undead pursuers. A few of the closer ones had made it past the traps, worse for the wear but still ready to fight. Perhaps, thought Gormand, plodding up the stairs as quickly as he could, I can find them some others to battle.