Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 5: Value City Mall!]
05-25-2010, 02:30 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
The strains of tea-centric conversation floated out of the quiet auditorium and into the main hall; the small irony of the subject would have been lost on Gestalt even were it not drowned out by the bubbling, keening noise the rotted meat that once called itself Gormand was emitting. Near-undirected coils lashed at the golem who could do little but fall back under the assault; blades buried themselves in the pulpy mass and were tugged away, bludgeons collided with its surface and bounced harmlessly off, and even with the vestiges of karmic power and the new knowledge of life and power that linking with Samuel had brought, Gestalt could exert no influence over the fetid creature. The harried schrotgolem was so occupied merely with avoiding the noodly onslaught that it was unable to fend off the lesser shamblers; seeing no other option, the crates barreled through an obese woman and her necrotic son, careening down a hall towards the apparently-peaceful "Grocer Delight".
Judging by the ransacked appearance of the store, the zombies had been here long enough to pick clean every shred of non-undead meat that might have been here. Nothing appeared to be moving, so Gestalt's marionette scurried up and released a sliding metal door that superficially reminded the schrotgolem of a portcullis, but solid. A number of exploratory objects emerged from the crates, including the now-very-tattered glove that had been present since before the first round. Presuming itself safe behind the security door, Gestalt began methodically examining the detritus and produce of the grocery, each smashed banana and stray wingnut a wonderful new experience.
By the broken iceboxes, there was a large cat. Its ears were tattered, its fur was missing in places, and its intestines were poking out through festering wounds; to describe it as sleeping would be inaccurate, as the living dead are incapable of slumber. Perhaps dormant was the word. In any case, it was unmoving and unaware, curled up on a pile of garbage and food; if it weren't for the obvious zombification, it might have made for quite the adorable image. Still, as Gestalt picked through its new treasures, the cat's ears twitched, and its eyelids snapped open, revealing a feral yellow glare in one socket and some sort of writhing larva in the other.
The strains of tea-centric conversation floated out of the quiet auditorium and into the main hall; the small irony of the subject would have been lost on Gestalt even were it not drowned out by the bubbling, keening noise the rotted meat that once called itself Gormand was emitting. Near-undirected coils lashed at the golem who could do little but fall back under the assault; blades buried themselves in the pulpy mass and were tugged away, bludgeons collided with its surface and bounced harmlessly off, and even with the vestiges of karmic power and the new knowledge of life and power that linking with Samuel had brought, Gestalt could exert no influence over the fetid creature. The harried schrotgolem was so occupied merely with avoiding the noodly onslaught that it was unable to fend off the lesser shamblers; seeing no other option, the crates barreled through an obese woman and her necrotic son, careening down a hall towards the apparently-peaceful "Grocer Delight".
Judging by the ransacked appearance of the store, the zombies had been here long enough to pick clean every shred of non-undead meat that might have been here. Nothing appeared to be moving, so Gestalt's marionette scurried up and released a sliding metal door that superficially reminded the schrotgolem of a portcullis, but solid. A number of exploratory objects emerged from the crates, including the now-very-tattered glove that had been present since before the first round. Presuming itself safe behind the security door, Gestalt began methodically examining the detritus and produce of the grocery, each smashed banana and stray wingnut a wonderful new experience.
By the broken iceboxes, there was a large cat. Its ears were tattered, its fur was missing in places, and its intestines were poking out through festering wounds; to describe it as sleeping would be inaccurate, as the living dead are incapable of slumber. Perhaps dormant was the word. In any case, it was unmoving and unaware, curled up on a pile of garbage and food; if it weren't for the obvious zombification, it might have made for quite the adorable image. Still, as Gestalt picked through its new treasures, the cat's ears twitched, and its eyelids snapped open, revealing a feral yellow glare in one socket and some sort of writhing larva in the other.