Re: The Battle Royale S2 [Round 2: Prospect Creek]
08-14-2010, 06:07 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
"Wonderful."
The Composer's mouth quirked at the edges a little, her satisfaction only interrupted by Sereno's screams.
"Hm. I should be keeping better track of this..." she murmured, sweeping aside the assorted wards and raising her hands to begin the transition-
-for a split second, something caught the Composer's wrist. She turned sharply; a black, metalloid tendril coiled frantically away at the edges of her vision. Shaking with a gentle blend of affront and alarm, the Grandmaster dragged her contestants across sanity and space - and paused. The flow had whispered of echoing complexity; a new loop freshly completed while the Composer had huddled away in a safe, stagnant hollow. Things had been changing while she hid from madgods, and neither thought pleased her.
It would bear investigation, but only when the coast was clear. The dissolving factory was scattered on a gust of arid, desert air, the crystal grains tossed up and cast across an unearthly orange sky.
The contestants' gazes lowered from the dazzling suns, greeted by a dessicated sign welcoming them to the main street of some dilapidated ghost-town. A few larger buildings, some collapsed and filling with sparkling sand, comprised the main street, which was lorded over by a lone two-storey building - the saloon. Other than a few piecemeal huts and a shed or two, it was a pretty standard gold-rush sort of town.
"This is your second location, a recently abandoned settlement called Prospect Creek. The town was founded atop a vast mineral reserve... however, poor practices caused a gas leakage from the mines to swamp the town."
The Composer smirked barely audibly again, as at least one contestant stopped breathing rather sharply. "Not to worry, the effects are not... directly fatal... but may prove to be a distraction. To one extent or another, the locals dealt with it. I trust you'll do the same."
Another scratching load of sand was picked up and flung in the contestants' faces, the desolate howl cutting off the Composer.
Transition complete, the Grandmaster took one final paranoid glance around, then teased out one of the fibres until she could identify it. Meticulously, and with at least one pause to detect the Eccentric, she followed this fragmented eighth to its source.
The room wasn't quite the vaguely ominous dimensionlessness the Composer and her ilk were accustomed to, yet it had its own sense of self-assured grandeur. An armchair eclipsed the crackling fireplace, the deep shadows on its worn, in-places-threadbare back peppered with flickers of activity reflected on a million shards of mirror. This nebula drifted in a scintillating cloud round the chair and its occupant; the Composer thought she caught an eye in one, before it vanished.
"Greetings..."
"Prestidigitator. Yourself?"
"Composer."
"Indeed." The Prestidigitator's mood was hard to gauge."Please, take a seat."
Nothing in the room had moved, yet somehow in the blink of an eye there were two identical chairs, each angled toward the other as well as in the direction of the fireplace. The Grandmaster shrouded in glass motioned toward the empty armchair; the Composer wordlessly sat, but refused to make herself comfortable.
Safe behind his shadows and trickery, the Prestidigitator chanced himself a little smile as he studied his guest's demeanour - stiff, formal, and serious. Probably compensating for inexperience; he'd caught wind of some of the anarchy which had ensued when she'd let her agents loose in her own battle.
"Something to drink? No?"he gestured vaguely, spiriting a glass of wine for himself from nowhere when the Composer unsurprisingly declined. Swirling the contents of his own drink in a thoughtful fashion, he finally sighed and asked his silent companion.
"What do you want, Composer?"
"I... require a favour." If there was any distaste behind the words, the Composer made a formidable effort of concealing it. The Prestidigitator motioned for her to continue.
"The Observer... he has, through his own design or not, though I would suspect the latter, assumed the Director's role in a second arc of Battles." None of this was news to the Prestidigitator, who simply took a sip of his wine. "It was my intention to launch a second battle of my own, or find some other pretext to keep a watchful eye on him."
The other Grandmaster was only half-listening to the Composer, but considering his capacity that was more than enough. His shaded eyes flickered over the myriad sights reflected in the mirrors while formless voices muttered further context, too low for the Composer to hear. She failed to miss his hurriedly choked chuckle, though, and the temperature in the room dropped noticeably.
"My apologies, Composer. But you need help dealing with the Eccentric?"
"I- yes." The Composer's fists uncurled slowly, and her cold rage melted to something more akin to dejection, with a glare that did a decent job at hiding her embarrassment.
"Oh, don't get me wrong - I will concede it is quite the formidable beast. I'm merely curious how you attracted its unwelcome attention."
Now she definitely sounded embarrassed. Angry, too. The Prestidigitator hid his amusement as the Composer relayed what had happened.
When her story was complete, the Grandmaster said nothing for a moment, before finishing his glass and tossing it over his shoulder. The reflective nebula parted to a cavalcade of serpents as the Prestidigitator rose from his chair.
"I will gladly assist you, Composer. Consider that madgod the least of your problems, and yourself in my debt."
The Composer stood as well at this, tailing the conjurer to a door that hadn't been there. "You have my thanks." The host stood aside as the ornate, black detail on the door rippled, swirled, and shifted to something bluer. His guest had her hand on the delicate, now-silver handle, when he interrupted.
"Forgive me, though I am curious, Composer... why did you not seek the help of your more familiar colleagues? Surely the Observer would be concerned about an intruder to his campaign?"
The blank eyes turned to gaze levelly at the old Grandmaster, and for the first time, the Prestidigitator was met with that familiar, icy smirk. He had to concede, it suited her.
"If you recall, Prestidigitator, I mentioned that idiot saw fit to let the Eccentric run a battle for him until I stepped in. It would not be a source of much regret if a fool like that received his just rewards.
To that end, and considering I would rather be indebted to a sympathetic stranger over any scheming colleague I've had the misfortune of dealing with... well."
"I confess... I have a fondness for tradition. That may be, perhaps, the only place your sympathies lie for me. But perhaps, Prestidigitator, I'm mistaken.
Regardless, I will be certain to clear my debt, when a time comes that you seek me out."
The Composer slipped through the door, and closed it behind her.
"Wonderful."
The Composer's mouth quirked at the edges a little, her satisfaction only interrupted by Sereno's screams.
"Hm. I should be keeping better track of this..." she murmured, sweeping aside the assorted wards and raising her hands to begin the transition-
-for a split second, something caught the Composer's wrist. She turned sharply; a black, metalloid tendril coiled frantically away at the edges of her vision. Shaking with a gentle blend of affront and alarm, the Grandmaster dragged her contestants across sanity and space - and paused. The flow had whispered of echoing complexity; a new loop freshly completed while the Composer had huddled away in a safe, stagnant hollow. Things had been changing while she hid from madgods, and neither thought pleased her.
It would bear investigation, but only when the coast was clear. The dissolving factory was scattered on a gust of arid, desert air, the crystal grains tossed up and cast across an unearthly orange sky.
The contestants' gazes lowered from the dazzling suns, greeted by a dessicated sign welcoming them to the main street of some dilapidated ghost-town. A few larger buildings, some collapsed and filling with sparkling sand, comprised the main street, which was lorded over by a lone two-storey building - the saloon. Other than a few piecemeal huts and a shed or two, it was a pretty standard gold-rush sort of town.
"This is your second location, a recently abandoned settlement called Prospect Creek. The town was founded atop a vast mineral reserve... however, poor practices caused a gas leakage from the mines to swamp the town."
The Composer smirked barely audibly again, as at least one contestant stopped breathing rather sharply. "Not to worry, the effects are not... directly fatal... but may prove to be a distraction. To one extent or another, the locals dealt with it. I trust you'll do the same."
Another scratching load of sand was picked up and flung in the contestants' faces, the desolate howl cutting off the Composer.
Transition complete, the Grandmaster took one final paranoid glance around, then teased out one of the fibres until she could identify it. Meticulously, and with at least one pause to detect the Eccentric, she followed this fragmented eighth to its source.
The room wasn't quite the vaguely ominous dimensionlessness the Composer and her ilk were accustomed to, yet it had its own sense of self-assured grandeur. An armchair eclipsed the crackling fireplace, the deep shadows on its worn, in-places-threadbare back peppered with flickers of activity reflected on a million shards of mirror. This nebula drifted in a scintillating cloud round the chair and its occupant; the Composer thought she caught an eye in one, before it vanished.
"Greetings..."
"Prestidigitator. Yourself?"
"Composer."
"Indeed." The Prestidigitator's mood was hard to gauge."Please, take a seat."
Nothing in the room had moved, yet somehow in the blink of an eye there were two identical chairs, each angled toward the other as well as in the direction of the fireplace. The Grandmaster shrouded in glass motioned toward the empty armchair; the Composer wordlessly sat, but refused to make herself comfortable.
Safe behind his shadows and trickery, the Prestidigitator chanced himself a little smile as he studied his guest's demeanour - stiff, formal, and serious. Probably compensating for inexperience; he'd caught wind of some of the anarchy which had ensued when she'd let her agents loose in her own battle.
"Something to drink? No?"he gestured vaguely, spiriting a glass of wine for himself from nowhere when the Composer unsurprisingly declined. Swirling the contents of his own drink in a thoughtful fashion, he finally sighed and asked his silent companion.
"What do you want, Composer?"
"I... require a favour." If there was any distaste behind the words, the Composer made a formidable effort of concealing it. The Prestidigitator motioned for her to continue.
"The Observer... he has, through his own design or not, though I would suspect the latter, assumed the Director's role in a second arc of Battles." None of this was news to the Prestidigitator, who simply took a sip of his wine. "It was my intention to launch a second battle of my own, or find some other pretext to keep a watchful eye on him."
The other Grandmaster was only half-listening to the Composer, but considering his capacity that was more than enough. His shaded eyes flickered over the myriad sights reflected in the mirrors while formless voices muttered further context, too low for the Composer to hear. She failed to miss his hurriedly choked chuckle, though, and the temperature in the room dropped noticeably.
"My apologies, Composer. But you need help dealing with the Eccentric?"
"I- yes." The Composer's fists uncurled slowly, and her cold rage melted to something more akin to dejection, with a glare that did a decent job at hiding her embarrassment.
"Oh, don't get me wrong - I will concede it is quite the formidable beast. I'm merely curious how you attracted its unwelcome attention."
Now she definitely sounded embarrassed. Angry, too. The Prestidigitator hid his amusement as the Composer relayed what had happened.
When her story was complete, the Grandmaster said nothing for a moment, before finishing his glass and tossing it over his shoulder. The reflective nebula parted to a cavalcade of serpents as the Prestidigitator rose from his chair.
"I will gladly assist you, Composer. Consider that madgod the least of your problems, and yourself in my debt."
The Composer stood as well at this, tailing the conjurer to a door that hadn't been there. "You have my thanks." The host stood aside as the ornate, black detail on the door rippled, swirled, and shifted to something bluer. His guest had her hand on the delicate, now-silver handle, when he interrupted.
"Forgive me, though I am curious, Composer... why did you not seek the help of your more familiar colleagues? Surely the Observer would be concerned about an intruder to his campaign?"
The blank eyes turned to gaze levelly at the old Grandmaster, and for the first time, the Prestidigitator was met with that familiar, icy smirk. He had to concede, it suited her.
"If you recall, Prestidigitator, I mentioned that idiot saw fit to let the Eccentric run a battle for him until I stepped in. It would not be a source of much regret if a fool like that received his just rewards.
To that end, and considering I would rather be indebted to a sympathetic stranger over any scheming colleague I've had the misfortune of dealing with... well."
"I confess... I have a fondness for tradition. That may be, perhaps, the only place your sympathies lie for me. But perhaps, Prestidigitator, I'm mistaken.
Regardless, I will be certain to clear my debt, when a time comes that you seek me out."
The Composer slipped through the door, and closed it behind her.
![[Image: 2itfq4i.png]](https://i46.tinypic.com/2itfq4i.png)
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow