Re: Battle Royale! Round 4: Artistry
01-06-2010, 03:08 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Drakenforge.
A small section of the gate smashed open, leaving a tall gap large enough for Mike's torso to fit through. He looked upwards, from where the thing fell on him. Pretty high up. Mike quickly put two an dtwo together. Nobody could fly, except Itzal. But then Mike became worried. He feared Itzal was already practicing with an artist's tool of somekind.
He passed through the gap, and sure enough there was a portcullis. The overlapping lines of iron reminded Mike of pastry he'd never gotten the chance to taste, due to his lack of a family.
He only had himself to blame though. Afterall, he killed them in the first place.
Shrugging off his fun memories, Mike turned back to the task at hand.
"Right. Heavy lifting. Fun"
He grasped the bottom bars with both his hands and vectors, and hoisted the portcullis upwards. Getting it more than a few feet strained Mike physically and mentally. Just before he lost grip, he threw himself sideways through the gap. The sharp edges slammed down into the ground only inches from his body.
He allowed himself a breather as he looked around. He found himself to be in a small courtyard, with patches of grass, pathways, and a well. Further on was the doorway to what seemed to be some sort of hall, or chapel, or some other form of large indoor area. Mike picked himself off the floor and strolled down the pathway, stopping to peer into the well. He quickly recognised that he couldn't see the bottom, so he pulled on the bucket rope to bring it up to see if the pencil had managed to draw liquid itself, a task he thought would be doubtful.
As it neared the opening, he noticed a small wooden handle looming out of a black liquid.
Mike placed the bucket onto the edge of the well and picked up the object. It turned out to be a fountain pen, it's stub drenched in ink. Mike stared at it, turning it over in his hands. He wondered if he really should bend this reality. He wanted to win with his own power, not some random gifts he found lying in a well. He shrugged. If the others had an advantage over him due to these, then he'd seriously kick himself in the longrun.
He wondered what to draw, before a startling revalation occured to him, and he began doodling on the floor.
Spoiler
A small section of the gate smashed open, leaving a tall gap large enough for Mike's torso to fit through. He looked upwards, from where the thing fell on him. Pretty high up. Mike quickly put two an dtwo together. Nobody could fly, except Itzal. But then Mike became worried. He feared Itzal was already practicing with an artist's tool of somekind.
He passed through the gap, and sure enough there was a portcullis. The overlapping lines of iron reminded Mike of pastry he'd never gotten the chance to taste, due to his lack of a family.
He only had himself to blame though. Afterall, he killed them in the first place.
Shrugging off his fun memories, Mike turned back to the task at hand.
"Right. Heavy lifting. Fun"
He grasped the bottom bars with both his hands and vectors, and hoisted the portcullis upwards. Getting it more than a few feet strained Mike physically and mentally. Just before he lost grip, he threw himself sideways through the gap. The sharp edges slammed down into the ground only inches from his body.
He allowed himself a breather as he looked around. He found himself to be in a small courtyard, with patches of grass, pathways, and a well. Further on was the doorway to what seemed to be some sort of hall, or chapel, or some other form of large indoor area. Mike picked himself off the floor and strolled down the pathway, stopping to peer into the well. He quickly recognised that he couldn't see the bottom, so he pulled on the bucket rope to bring it up to see if the pencil had managed to draw liquid itself, a task he thought would be doubtful.
As it neared the opening, he noticed a small wooden handle looming out of a black liquid.
Mike placed the bucket onto the edge of the well and picked up the object. It turned out to be a fountain pen, it's stub drenched in ink. Mike stared at it, turning it over in his hands. He wondered if he really should bend this reality. He wanted to win with his own power, not some random gifts he found lying in a well. He shrugged. If the others had an advantage over him due to these, then he'd seriously kick himself in the longrun.
He wondered what to draw, before a startling revalation occured to him, and he began doodling on the floor.