Re: Vendetta [S!2 Round 1 ~ Presidentialgon]
01-11-2012, 01:52 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Digital Hellhound.
The Khagan had never been kidnapped before.
He supposed it had only been a matter of time. In the days before his reign, abduction had been a deeply grounded part of Pankhaganate politics. Maybe one of the lesser khans had decided to bring it back with a bang – it wouldn't have been the first time.
But no - the more he thought on what had happened, the more he became convinced something much more powerful than a pompous border-lord was behind this. He'd missed almost every single word of their host's speech, his neural implants going crazy from the unknown language coming out of his mouth. The few words he'd caught had been perfectly understandable, but the machinery embedded in his head had disagreed, spouting off error after error and blacking out his senses. Curiously enough, they had now decided on one of the many lost tongues of the Franks, called Italian. He wasn't the only abductee, by far. The Frank had given eight names and eight descriptions, though to his dismay the Khagan had missed most of his own. It was fair to assume their enigmatic captor knew who he was in any case.
The reason was clear, at least. They'd been brought here for some kind of game show or competition. He wasn't sure if he'd heard the Italian right, but it appeared they were expected to, strangely enough, kill eachother. He wondered if one could get extra points from a particularly exotic method.
But first things first. His belly was growling like a wild beast and he had no intention of letting it stay that way.
Toghun surveyed the long hall he'd stumbled into, admiring the golden-framed paintings lining the walls and the lavish red carpet beneath his feet. It was nothing compared to his palace, of course, but he'd been to enough courts to recognize a place of power when he saw one. The lights were off, though his ocular grafts made sure he only barely noticed. The air smelled of wet wood and polish, accompanied by the immense stench of Ariq from behind him. It didn't seem too worried about the change in scenery, but the Khagan tugged at its reins slightly to comfort it regardless. Sadly, nothing there smelled in any way edible in the least.
There was a security camera, as well, hanging from a tangled mess of cables in the corner. It was pointed straight at him. He'd expected nothing less. They had to keep an eye on this competition somehow.
"Greetings, captor! Might I receive a recap of the rules of your contest? There was a bit of problem earlier!" he called out to the machine, in what his brain told him was grammatically perfect Italian, though it also claimed his accent was in some way 'utterly atrocious'. He suspected the machine had been programmed by one of these mysterious Italians.
There was no response. Toghun shrugged and with one swift movement, put his hand on Ariq's barrel-like neck and hoisted himself upon onto its back. The great beast let out a long hiss at its master's touch, foul-smelling vapors escaping from its mouth.
The Khagan paused, taking time to process whatever his audio-feed augments had picked up while he was distracted. There had been a gunshot and running steps fourteen seconds ago from somewhere to his right. It seemed a destination as good as any for the time being.
He patted Ariq on its steel-like hide and it began moving with a slow gait. The floorboards groaned under its weight and bent, leaving a fairly obvious trail for anyone to follow. But then, he had no intention of ever bothering with hiding in any case.
---
((No, I'm totally not regretting my choice of color now, why do you ask?))
The Khagan had never been kidnapped before.
He supposed it had only been a matter of time. In the days before his reign, abduction had been a deeply grounded part of Pankhaganate politics. Maybe one of the lesser khans had decided to bring it back with a bang – it wouldn't have been the first time.
But no - the more he thought on what had happened, the more he became convinced something much more powerful than a pompous border-lord was behind this. He'd missed almost every single word of their host's speech, his neural implants going crazy from the unknown language coming out of his mouth. The few words he'd caught had been perfectly understandable, but the machinery embedded in his head had disagreed, spouting off error after error and blacking out his senses. Curiously enough, they had now decided on one of the many lost tongues of the Franks, called Italian. He wasn't the only abductee, by far. The Frank had given eight names and eight descriptions, though to his dismay the Khagan had missed most of his own. It was fair to assume their enigmatic captor knew who he was in any case.
The reason was clear, at least. They'd been brought here for some kind of game show or competition. He wasn't sure if he'd heard the Italian right, but it appeared they were expected to, strangely enough, kill eachother. He wondered if one could get extra points from a particularly exotic method.
But first things first. His belly was growling like a wild beast and he had no intention of letting it stay that way.
Toghun surveyed the long hall he'd stumbled into, admiring the golden-framed paintings lining the walls and the lavish red carpet beneath his feet. It was nothing compared to his palace, of course, but he'd been to enough courts to recognize a place of power when he saw one. The lights were off, though his ocular grafts made sure he only barely noticed. The air smelled of wet wood and polish, accompanied by the immense stench of Ariq from behind him. It didn't seem too worried about the change in scenery, but the Khagan tugged at its reins slightly to comfort it regardless. Sadly, nothing there smelled in any way edible in the least.
There was a security camera, as well, hanging from a tangled mess of cables in the corner. It was pointed straight at him. He'd expected nothing less. They had to keep an eye on this competition somehow.
"Greetings, captor! Might I receive a recap of the rules of your contest? There was a bit of problem earlier!" he called out to the machine, in what his brain told him was grammatically perfect Italian, though it also claimed his accent was in some way 'utterly atrocious'. He suspected the machine had been programmed by one of these mysterious Italians.
There was no response. Toghun shrugged and with one swift movement, put his hand on Ariq's barrel-like neck and hoisted himself upon onto its back. The great beast let out a long hiss at its master's touch, foul-smelling vapors escaping from its mouth.
The Khagan paused, taking time to process whatever his audio-feed augments had picked up while he was distracted. There had been a gunshot and running steps fourteen seconds ago from somewhere to his right. It seemed a destination as good as any for the time being.
He patted Ariq on its steel-like hide and it began moving with a slow gait. The floorboards groaned under its weight and bent, leaving a fairly obvious trail for anyone to follow. But then, he had no intention of ever bothering with hiding in any case.
---
((No, I'm totally not regretting my choice of color now, why do you ask?))