Re: The Gradual Massacre (GBS2G4) [Round 4: Misty Swamp]
08-20-2011, 07:45 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by MrGuy.
Theta anxiously wandered through Kerosene. With his incredible hearing, he could already sense the familiar noise of Ouroborous in the distance; he was prepared to alert the townspeople at any moment. They had managed to fight off small packs of the bugs before, albeit with some casualties; besides, in all likelihood, the swarm would pass them by for some other settlement, as had happened before.
He raised a solid steel arm to his optical input visor. There was a different sound, this time-- the whistle of the wind, slowly increasing in pitch. The words "doppler effect" briefly flashed through his mind, and he recalled hearing bombs make similar sounds.
The screeching grew alongside the new sound, and Theta quickly realized trouble was coming. He activated his siren and began rushing through town to alert everyone he could find.
On the very edge of the boardwalk, a fire elemental stood. Ember had always felt useless before the bugs came-- being made entirely out of fire makes you unsuited for most work-- but the people of Kerosene had always treated him as one of their own. Lately, he'd had a chance to prove himself.
The tremendous mass of bug guts and juices grew ever closer; a huge and still-growing swarm of ouroborites followed shortly after. Ember raised a crackling arm against it.
As the ball smashed against the side of a shop, some of the coating spattered onto the elemental, who promptly flared up far more than he was accustomed to. He was unable to control the sudden spike of flame, and it quickly spread to the wooden buildings of the town.
Kerosene, true to its name, was now nothing but a huge pile of fuel for a quickly-rising inferno, and Ouroborous was now, amazingly, the least of their problems.
------------------------
The center of the swamp was ahead. Holm loomed ahead, a massive jumble of wood blighting the face of the environment.
The fog is displeased. All of the zombies present shared this thought at once, and all knew immediately must be done. They refuse to slaughter themselves. So you shall bring the slaughter to them.
As the twisted parodies of men and women slowly stormed forward through the muck, the fog contemplated its existence. How odd, to only gain thought from creatures who have none. But now I understand my purpose.
The zombies continued their inexorable march forward, their presence masked by the fog that swirled around them. Soon, they would extinguish the last bit of sentient life. And then, all remaining would be the fog and the plants.
Glorious.
------------------------
The Sage smiled at Acacia's supine form as she finally awoke. "Ah, about time. You've been out for days." She glanced around in a cold sweat, staring confusedly at the old man in the brown robes. She considered attacking him, but try as she might, she couldn't find her gun, much less get out of bed; her only attempt to do the latter led to quivering muscles and a quick collapse.
The Sage stroked his long white beard, keeping a good-natured smile. "Now, now. That's no way to show gratitude. You were nearly eaten alive."
Acacia managed to croak out a synthesized "Quad", and the old man slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid we don't have any of that. You're best off without it, regardless." He headed over to a small tin, and withdrew a few leaves, crumbling them up in his hand. "Open your mouth."
Reluctantly, she took the leaves. They were bitter, and scratched her throat as they went down. The Sage sighed. "Your aura is very harsh right now, moreso than the swamp could have done. Your mind isn't well."
Acacia, feeling slightly better, quickly responded. "I don't appreciate being kidnapped and insulted, old man. I don't need your garbage."
He shrugged, smiling. "Feel free to head back out into the swamp with no food or water, ready to be killed at any moment. I'm merely trying to help you." He headed over to a small cupboard, and withdrew a loaf of bread, placing it on the cot next to Acacia. "Eat this. You need to get your strength up."
------------------------
Inside Rolf Grellend's lab, the lone ouroborite finally reached the writhing black mass isolated in the tube. The dwarf who kept it was, regrettably, asleep in another room; thus, he had no way to prevent the half-starved bug, who had managed to subsist on small chunks of vine that had crawled through the isolation chamber's mechanical innards, from rushing forward to devour what appeared to be a motherlode of nutrients.
If ouroborites could register such an emotion, the pathetic prawn would have been shocked when one of the vines, with no apparent stimulus, lashed out and grabbed it. It easily crushed the creature, helpless on its own, and let the juices flow inside its twisting mass, thriving on the nutrients within.
But this ouroborite had consumed a particular meal just before the mass of bugs had descended on Fernwood. It had torn a bit of meat from one of the corpses animated by eldritch magic and fog; and when the vines engulfed it, the influence of both the fog and Thane came flowing back. Slowly, the vines began sculpting themselves into a peculiar form, that of a humanoid creature, albeit one stooped and misshapen. And within this creature's veins-- or where the veins would be-- was not blood, but merely more ouroborites.
It was hungry, and there was no food. So it began thrashing against the sides of the container, doing its best to smash through. And slowly-- with a gradual, horrible sound-- the glass began to crack.
Theta anxiously wandered through Kerosene. With his incredible hearing, he could already sense the familiar noise of Ouroborous in the distance; he was prepared to alert the townspeople at any moment. They had managed to fight off small packs of the bugs before, albeit with some casualties; besides, in all likelihood, the swarm would pass them by for some other settlement, as had happened before.
He raised a solid steel arm to his optical input visor. There was a different sound, this time-- the whistle of the wind, slowly increasing in pitch. The words "doppler effect" briefly flashed through his mind, and he recalled hearing bombs make similar sounds.
The screeching grew alongside the new sound, and Theta quickly realized trouble was coming. He activated his siren and began rushing through town to alert everyone he could find.
On the very edge of the boardwalk, a fire elemental stood. Ember had always felt useless before the bugs came-- being made entirely out of fire makes you unsuited for most work-- but the people of Kerosene had always treated him as one of their own. Lately, he'd had a chance to prove himself.
The tremendous mass of bug guts and juices grew ever closer; a huge and still-growing swarm of ouroborites followed shortly after. Ember raised a crackling arm against it.
As the ball smashed against the side of a shop, some of the coating spattered onto the elemental, who promptly flared up far more than he was accustomed to. He was unable to control the sudden spike of flame, and it quickly spread to the wooden buildings of the town.
Kerosene, true to its name, was now nothing but a huge pile of fuel for a quickly-rising inferno, and Ouroborous was now, amazingly, the least of their problems.
------------------------
The center of the swamp was ahead. Holm loomed ahead, a massive jumble of wood blighting the face of the environment.
The fog is displeased. All of the zombies present shared this thought at once, and all knew immediately must be done. They refuse to slaughter themselves. So you shall bring the slaughter to them.
As the twisted parodies of men and women slowly stormed forward through the muck, the fog contemplated its existence. How odd, to only gain thought from creatures who have none. But now I understand my purpose.
The zombies continued their inexorable march forward, their presence masked by the fog that swirled around them. Soon, they would extinguish the last bit of sentient life. And then, all remaining would be the fog and the plants.
Glorious.
------------------------
The Sage smiled at Acacia's supine form as she finally awoke. "Ah, about time. You've been out for days." She glanced around in a cold sweat, staring confusedly at the old man in the brown robes. She considered attacking him, but try as she might, she couldn't find her gun, much less get out of bed; her only attempt to do the latter led to quivering muscles and a quick collapse.
The Sage stroked his long white beard, keeping a good-natured smile. "Now, now. That's no way to show gratitude. You were nearly eaten alive."
Acacia managed to croak out a synthesized "Quad", and the old man slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid we don't have any of that. You're best off without it, regardless." He headed over to a small tin, and withdrew a few leaves, crumbling them up in his hand. "Open your mouth."
Reluctantly, she took the leaves. They were bitter, and scratched her throat as they went down. The Sage sighed. "Your aura is very harsh right now, moreso than the swamp could have done. Your mind isn't well."
Acacia, feeling slightly better, quickly responded. "I don't appreciate being kidnapped and insulted, old man. I don't need your garbage."
He shrugged, smiling. "Feel free to head back out into the swamp with no food or water, ready to be killed at any moment. I'm merely trying to help you." He headed over to a small cupboard, and withdrew a loaf of bread, placing it on the cot next to Acacia. "Eat this. You need to get your strength up."
------------------------
Inside Rolf Grellend's lab, the lone ouroborite finally reached the writhing black mass isolated in the tube. The dwarf who kept it was, regrettably, asleep in another room; thus, he had no way to prevent the half-starved bug, who had managed to subsist on small chunks of vine that had crawled through the isolation chamber's mechanical innards, from rushing forward to devour what appeared to be a motherlode of nutrients.
If ouroborites could register such an emotion, the pathetic prawn would have been shocked when one of the vines, with no apparent stimulus, lashed out and grabbed it. It easily crushed the creature, helpless on its own, and let the juices flow inside its twisting mass, thriving on the nutrients within.
But this ouroborite had consumed a particular meal just before the mass of bugs had descended on Fernwood. It had torn a bit of meat from one of the corpses animated by eldritch magic and fog; and when the vines engulfed it, the influence of both the fog and Thane came flowing back. Slowly, the vines began sculpting themselves into a peculiar form, that of a humanoid creature, albeit one stooped and misshapen. And within this creature's veins-- or where the veins would be-- was not blood, but merely more ouroborites.
It was hungry, and there was no food. So it began thrashing against the sides of the container, doing its best to smash through. And slowly-- with a gradual, horrible sound-- the glass began to crack.