Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 5: Value City Mall!]
06-29-2010, 09:55 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Vyrm'n slipped along the ground, flattening to avoid the incoming screech of the chainsaw as its momentum nearly dragged the bloodied, necrotic humanoid wielding it off his feet; before it continued in its wide arc and cleaved off an encroaching zombie's head. Knocking the feet out from under more shambling corpses, their skulls cracked open upon impact with the slippery, innard-stained tiles, the Faceless danced around its prize.
Glere, resplendent in a suit with the remnants of his vocal chords trailing all down the front, had cleaved a considerable space around him. The chainsaw rattled away, caked in ichor and congealed blood, pitch rising as the Fishbowlkin raised it against the orbiting shadow.
The Faceless snaked behind him, and struck. It eschewed its usual strategies of impalement or crushing the skull, the void dulling Vyrm'n's ability to determine where accursed undead ended and matter-granting saviour began. Darting forward and wrapping round Glere's ankles, Vyrm'n launched up the startled zombie, immobilising his arms before the chainsaw could get its teeth in.
As the smooth black crawled alongside Glere's cape, Vyrm'n savoured the aurally cool sensation of the cavernously empty hammerspace. Even the discordant warble of warped space couldn't stop that from looking inviting to the beleaguered Faceless. With only a moments hesitation, more of the shadow dragged itself up and into the folds of the cape.
For a moment, nothing happened as Vyrm'n swiftly acquainted herself with the mess of objects which filled a fair chunk of the null space. A comfortingly finite mess, though, thought the Faceless as it sent out a questing black tendril back out into the screaming world, neatly and traditionally punching a sizeable hole through the Fishbowlkin's chest. Vyrm'n wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the pocket dimension did not snap shut with the gurgling expiration of its host. Undeterred, another pseudopod snaked round the corpse's midriff, splitting off and raising Glere's body up on star-speckled stilts. With several shambling steps to get the movement right, the aberration lurched its way to the swimming complex, striding over the heads of the horde.
From the shelter of a Dance Dance Revolution game stationed outside Wondercade, an unlikely duo observed this strange sight. The one who still had a lip to bite was presently doing so, tightly clutching her heavy tome. As Vyrm'n vanished out of sight, her cloaked companion motioned with his staff the direction they had to get going.
Earlier...
Clara had little trouble tuning out the moans of the undead as she busied herself with her predicament. It was a little distracting, certainly, but she had the calm professionalism to treat it as background noise, alert for the sound of anyone, contestant or more intelligently dangerous denizen of this locale, approaching her.
Hence, when the purposeful, rhythmical footfalls tapped out an order above the groaning, the nun triggered a few precautionary abjurations she'd set up before turning to greet whoever else was alive in this microcosmic hell. Stopping a safe, respectful distance from Clara, the lich spoke. It was hard to gauge using his skeletal features, but Konka Rar didn't sound all that pleased.
"Would you care to explain what is going on here?"
Cautiously confident with her wards, Clara had the luxury of not looking too startled as she studied the lich. If it weren't for his response, she would've blamed him for all the undead shambling around the place.
"But of course," replied the necropolitan, gripping her cane a little tighter. "If only I had a clue."
Konka glared at Clara, mind working feverishly. "Tell me... what do you know about... the Cultivator? The Savage Brawl? If you've seen-" the look on Clara's face halted the necromancer, such was her thunderstruck expression.
"Eight contestants, drawn together from all the forsaken corners of the world, to fight to the death." The comprehension on the lich's face made Clara's crumple a little. "Oh lord, it's not just one battle, is it?"
The necromancer nodded, relieved to finally be able to shed some light on the situation. "Assuming you were never introduced to a vacuum cleaner, then yes, that makes at least three." Reasoning Clara could tell him little else useful about this place, the sorcer turned to leave with a turn of his cloak.
"Wait. Please... what can you tell me about these undead?" Konka looked nonplussed. "It's... not my kind of magic. That's all I know."
"Your kind?"
"Ah. Sister Clara Jungfrau, in the Church of Schleier. Necropolitan," she added, after considering the varied races found in her own battle. Tucking the tome under one arm, she proffered the other to the lich. He took it.
"Konka Rar, necromancer and roboticist. So, next question. Where is this, and is there any opportunity to escape?"
"I... I don't know. At first, I was under the impression someone had been killed and we'd moved on, but I haven't seen any other contestants - I'm rather certain."
The crash that followed wasn't resounding, but it dragged the undead pair's attention back in the direction of the rest of the mall - just in time to see a broken human form journey gracelessly from ceiling to floor, pursued by a malevolent black streak which crushed it (its impact audibly). Konka and Clara looked at each other.
"Not one of your contestants?"
"Absolutely not."
Vyrm'n slipped along the ground, flattening to avoid the incoming screech of the chainsaw as its momentum nearly dragged the bloodied, necrotic humanoid wielding it off his feet; before it continued in its wide arc and cleaved off an encroaching zombie's head. Knocking the feet out from under more shambling corpses, their skulls cracked open upon impact with the slippery, innard-stained tiles, the Faceless danced around its prize.
Glere, resplendent in a suit with the remnants of his vocal chords trailing all down the front, had cleaved a considerable space around him. The chainsaw rattled away, caked in ichor and congealed blood, pitch rising as the Fishbowlkin raised it against the orbiting shadow.
The Faceless snaked behind him, and struck. It eschewed its usual strategies of impalement or crushing the skull, the void dulling Vyrm'n's ability to determine where accursed undead ended and matter-granting saviour began. Darting forward and wrapping round Glere's ankles, Vyrm'n launched up the startled zombie, immobilising his arms before the chainsaw could get its teeth in.
As the smooth black crawled alongside Glere's cape, Vyrm'n savoured the aurally cool sensation of the cavernously empty hammerspace. Even the discordant warble of warped space couldn't stop that from looking inviting to the beleaguered Faceless. With only a moments hesitation, more of the shadow dragged itself up and into the folds of the cape.
For a moment, nothing happened as Vyrm'n swiftly acquainted herself with the mess of objects which filled a fair chunk of the null space. A comfortingly finite mess, though, thought the Faceless as it sent out a questing black tendril back out into the screaming world, neatly and traditionally punching a sizeable hole through the Fishbowlkin's chest. Vyrm'n wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the pocket dimension did not snap shut with the gurgling expiration of its host. Undeterred, another pseudopod snaked round the corpse's midriff, splitting off and raising Glere's body up on star-speckled stilts. With several shambling steps to get the movement right, the aberration lurched its way to the swimming complex, striding over the heads of the horde.
From the shelter of a Dance Dance Revolution game stationed outside Wondercade, an unlikely duo observed this strange sight. The one who still had a lip to bite was presently doing so, tightly clutching her heavy tome. As Vyrm'n vanished out of sight, her cloaked companion motioned with his staff the direction they had to get going.
Earlier...
Clara had little trouble tuning out the moans of the undead as she busied herself with her predicament. It was a little distracting, certainly, but she had the calm professionalism to treat it as background noise, alert for the sound of anyone, contestant or more intelligently dangerous denizen of this locale, approaching her.
Hence, when the purposeful, rhythmical footfalls tapped out an order above the groaning, the nun triggered a few precautionary abjurations she'd set up before turning to greet whoever else was alive in this microcosmic hell. Stopping a safe, respectful distance from Clara, the lich spoke. It was hard to gauge using his skeletal features, but Konka Rar didn't sound all that pleased.
"Would you care to explain what is going on here?"
Cautiously confident with her wards, Clara had the luxury of not looking too startled as she studied the lich. If it weren't for his response, she would've blamed him for all the undead shambling around the place.
"But of course," replied the necropolitan, gripping her cane a little tighter. "If only I had a clue."
Konka glared at Clara, mind working feverishly. "Tell me... what do you know about... the Cultivator? The Savage Brawl? If you've seen-" the look on Clara's face halted the necromancer, such was her thunderstruck expression.
"Eight contestants, drawn together from all the forsaken corners of the world, to fight to the death." The comprehension on the lich's face made Clara's crumple a little. "Oh lord, it's not just one battle, is it?"
The necromancer nodded, relieved to finally be able to shed some light on the situation. "Assuming you were never introduced to a vacuum cleaner, then yes, that makes at least three." Reasoning Clara could tell him little else useful about this place, the sorcer turned to leave with a turn of his cloak.
"Wait. Please... what can you tell me about these undead?" Konka looked nonplussed. "It's... not my kind of magic. That's all I know."
"Your kind?"
"Ah. Sister Clara Jungfrau, in the Church of Schleier. Necropolitan," she added, after considering the varied races found in her own battle. Tucking the tome under one arm, she proffered the other to the lich. He took it.
"Konka Rar, necromancer and roboticist. So, next question. Where is this, and is there any opportunity to escape?"
"I... I don't know. At first, I was under the impression someone had been killed and we'd moved on, but I haven't seen any other contestants - I'm rather certain."
The crash that followed wasn't resounding, but it dragged the undead pair's attention back in the direction of the rest of the mall - just in time to see a broken human form journey gracelessly from ceiling to floor, pursued by a malevolent black streak which crushed it (its impact audibly). Konka and Clara looked at each other.
"Not one of your contestants?"
"Absolutely not."
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow