Re: The Great Belligerency [Round 3: Eternity Plateau]
08-02-2011, 02:29 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.
The Vulture had a brother. He was the Crow. The Crow was different from his brother in many ways, which had often irked his brother before he had to carry the razed world. The Crow looked sinister, but did nothing more than eat, sleep, and chat cordially. Everybody loved chatting with the Crow because he often made jokes. He loved laughing at himself, but if anybody else ventured to make their own jokes about his drab plumage, he would grow quiet and stern. When the Crow became quiet and stern, disaster soon followed. So nobody ever made jokes about the Crow.
There are people and there are the Children of the Tree. The Children of the Tree were not as plentiful as regular people, but they held great power and lorded over their respective domains as maturely as they could. But there’s a reason they are called the Children of the Tree. Once too often, their antics would get out of hand. With their quite significant power, they were able to do most anything they wanted without consideration for the consequences, making the people deal with the aftermath. It was not a fair system, but nobody saw any other way. The Children of the Tree were fickle and not likely to listen to any complaints made by the people.
The Children of the Tree were prone to loud and raunchy parties that usually ended in devastation and quite a number of pregnant women. One party was too close to the Crow’s abode and he found himself staring at the ceiling of his home, begging silently for the noise to stop. When it didn’t, he flew outside and followed the noise to where the Children of the Tree were.
He immediately stuck out. He was certainly not as colorful as the Children, of course, and immediately, a group of the Children crowded around in front of him. “Turn around,” they said. “You are not a Child of the Tree.”
“Forgive a humble Crow for crashing this party,” the Crow replied, “and without having dressed well enough for this fancy shindig, but may I ask you to just turn the noise down?”
The Children laughed. The Crow waited until they realized he was waiting for an actual answer. “You may ask us, but the answer is no,” they said. “We want to be this loud, little bird. If you have trouble sleeping, then move somewhere farther.”
The Crow ruffled his feathers, which just seemed to amuse the Children even more. “You Children are a menace!” he finally shouted. “Everybody thinks so! When will you learn to at least respect the needs of those weaker than you?”
“Do you really expect some respect looking like that?” they replied and then laughed some more.
The Crow got quiet and stern. He waited for them to stop laughing. He waited for them to stop partying. He waited for them to get weary and placid and he waited for them to finally turn their attentions back towards him.
“You Children are a menace,” he repeated.
“So?” they replied. “If we are so bad, then why doesn’t someone stop us?”
“I will,” said the Crow, and he flew away. For the rest of the night, the Children made jokes about his mental stability and the lack thereof.
But the Crow did have a plan. He did not have the sheer curiosity of his brother, but he did share the Vulture’s intelligence and drive. Not only that, he had access to his brother’s old workshop. As soon as he flew back home, he holed himself inside the workshop and worked.
Nobody saw him for days. But he finally emerged from the workshop, a weapon in his hands. It was a glorious weapon, simple but brilliant, one that could kill the Children of the Tree.
The Children, of course, had continued their excessively hedonistic way of life. When the Crow arrived again, they stopped to jeer. The Crow paid no heed, flew very close to a Child that held domain over rivers, and killed him.
There was a stunned silence.
The other Children angrily jumped towards the Crow. The sky began to darken and crackle and the world beneath quaked violently. But the Crow simply killed two more and the rest drew back. They had never knew fear of death until now. It was hard for them to even conceive of mortality, and being so suddenly confronted by the idea left them terrified and confused.
The Crow killed another one. And then, they fled. They knew they could never return.
The Children had been a nuisance and nobody was sad to see them go, but the Crow’s actions had its consequences. Trees withered and died, there was a long drought, and for many years, whatever nuts were left was rotten. The land would recover in time, but not for a while and the Crow saw the devastation he had caused and felt remorse. He gave the Children he had killed the proper burial rituals and set out to hide his magnificent weapon. It was not one to be used lightly, in anger and malice. Such a powerful weapon could be useful in the future, however, and so the Crow hid it away.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A powerful weapon that could kill gods. That would be useful. But, well, there were still rules to abide by. A hero needed to take the weapon, and really, only when the entire world was thrown in chaos. Also, which of the gods should die? Though it didn’t even have to be one of the gods. Anybody who would help move them away from here by dying. Though they had to deserve it, of course.
Hero…she should probably find Cole. Despite his refusal to be a proper protagonist when she wanted him to be, she couldn’t give up. His story hadn’t finished, after all. And really, he was the only one she was fairly certain she could at least bully into submission at some point. He was a, um, scientist thing, right? Some sort of scientist thing. Didn’t they like preserving culture a lot? Oral Tradition was very important; even he had to see that, right?
The book already knew of the place where the god-killing weapon was. There were already people there, not really anybody she met or remembered. Maybe they were possible candidates for heroes too? They were certainly closer to the prize.
Still, Soft was sure she oughta at least check up on Cole.
The Vulture had a brother. He was the Crow. The Crow was different from his brother in many ways, which had often irked his brother before he had to carry the razed world. The Crow looked sinister, but did nothing more than eat, sleep, and chat cordially. Everybody loved chatting with the Crow because he often made jokes. He loved laughing at himself, but if anybody else ventured to make their own jokes about his drab plumage, he would grow quiet and stern. When the Crow became quiet and stern, disaster soon followed. So nobody ever made jokes about the Crow.
There are people and there are the Children of the Tree. The Children of the Tree were not as plentiful as regular people, but they held great power and lorded over their respective domains as maturely as they could. But there’s a reason they are called the Children of the Tree. Once too often, their antics would get out of hand. With their quite significant power, they were able to do most anything they wanted without consideration for the consequences, making the people deal with the aftermath. It was not a fair system, but nobody saw any other way. The Children of the Tree were fickle and not likely to listen to any complaints made by the people.
The Children of the Tree were prone to loud and raunchy parties that usually ended in devastation and quite a number of pregnant women. One party was too close to the Crow’s abode and he found himself staring at the ceiling of his home, begging silently for the noise to stop. When it didn’t, he flew outside and followed the noise to where the Children of the Tree were.
He immediately stuck out. He was certainly not as colorful as the Children, of course, and immediately, a group of the Children crowded around in front of him. “Turn around,” they said. “You are not a Child of the Tree.”
“Forgive a humble Crow for crashing this party,” the Crow replied, “and without having dressed well enough for this fancy shindig, but may I ask you to just turn the noise down?”
The Children laughed. The Crow waited until they realized he was waiting for an actual answer. “You may ask us, but the answer is no,” they said. “We want to be this loud, little bird. If you have trouble sleeping, then move somewhere farther.”
The Crow ruffled his feathers, which just seemed to amuse the Children even more. “You Children are a menace!” he finally shouted. “Everybody thinks so! When will you learn to at least respect the needs of those weaker than you?”
“Do you really expect some respect looking like that?” they replied and then laughed some more.
The Crow got quiet and stern. He waited for them to stop laughing. He waited for them to stop partying. He waited for them to get weary and placid and he waited for them to finally turn their attentions back towards him.
“You Children are a menace,” he repeated.
“So?” they replied. “If we are so bad, then why doesn’t someone stop us?”
“I will,” said the Crow, and he flew away. For the rest of the night, the Children made jokes about his mental stability and the lack thereof.
But the Crow did have a plan. He did not have the sheer curiosity of his brother, but he did share the Vulture’s intelligence and drive. Not only that, he had access to his brother’s old workshop. As soon as he flew back home, he holed himself inside the workshop and worked.
Nobody saw him for days. But he finally emerged from the workshop, a weapon in his hands. It was a glorious weapon, simple but brilliant, one that could kill the Children of the Tree.
The Children, of course, had continued their excessively hedonistic way of life. When the Crow arrived again, they stopped to jeer. The Crow paid no heed, flew very close to a Child that held domain over rivers, and killed him.
There was a stunned silence.
The other Children angrily jumped towards the Crow. The sky began to darken and crackle and the world beneath quaked violently. But the Crow simply killed two more and the rest drew back. They had never knew fear of death until now. It was hard for them to even conceive of mortality, and being so suddenly confronted by the idea left them terrified and confused.
The Crow killed another one. And then, they fled. They knew they could never return.
The Children had been a nuisance and nobody was sad to see them go, but the Crow’s actions had its consequences. Trees withered and died, there was a long drought, and for many years, whatever nuts were left was rotten. The land would recover in time, but not for a while and the Crow saw the devastation he had caused and felt remorse. He gave the Children he had killed the proper burial rituals and set out to hide his magnificent weapon. It was not one to be used lightly, in anger and malice. Such a powerful weapon could be useful in the future, however, and so the Crow hid it away.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A powerful weapon that could kill gods. That would be useful. But, well, there were still rules to abide by. A hero needed to take the weapon, and really, only when the entire world was thrown in chaos. Also, which of the gods should die? Though it didn’t even have to be one of the gods. Anybody who would help move them away from here by dying. Though they had to deserve it, of course.
Hero…she should probably find Cole. Despite his refusal to be a proper protagonist when she wanted him to be, she couldn’t give up. His story hadn’t finished, after all. And really, he was the only one she was fairly certain she could at least bully into submission at some point. He was a, um, scientist thing, right? Some sort of scientist thing. Didn’t they like preserving culture a lot? Oral Tradition was very important; even he had to see that, right?
The book already knew of the place where the god-killing weapon was. There were already people there, not really anybody she met or remembered. Maybe they were possible candidates for heroes too? They were certainly closer to the prize.
Still, Soft was sure she oughta at least check up on Cole.