Re: Epic Clash Final Round - Mnemonocyst Bearers
01-17-2011, 07:02 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Glere flailed his arms wildly as he got back to his feet, the action doing little to clear the swathes of rank fog. As it slowly scattered, spurred on by a few firecrackers scattered about for good measure, the amount of energy needed to maintain such an extensive illusion became clear.
He stood in the centre of an enormous crater, fleshy, crusted walls rising cliff-like in the middle distance. The impact as the pustule had torn open beneath him had tossed him into the air, but its contents had been the more startling. The pickle jar Glere had absent-mindedly jammed on as a replacement when his head had been sent flying wasn’t quite cutting it, so he tossed it aside and fossicked around for another glass bowl. A second, smaller pustule that had been steadily swelling behind him burst.
Glere screwed his fresh head on, heard the whoomph, and gave it an extra half turn before the usual connecting snap and pop to see what the noise was about. A grizzled-looking man, fingers aglint with all manner of enchanted rings, stared frantically around as the mist dissipated. He gripped his scimitar, the blade shimmering with a halo of emerald flames, as he pulled out a handful of powder from a pouch. Glere was more adjusted to the all-pervading fog and studied the man, rubbing his chin or doing the most equivalent action as he frowned, trying to remember why he seemed familiar.
“Aha!”
The adventurer tossed the powder at the ground, which made a most-likely magical bang and cleared the entire area of mnemonocyst-dust. Glere was too busy navigating the interior of his cape to appreciate this quick thinking, but emerged triumphantly with a scimitar. Its pommel held a sizeable emerald, and some spirited shaking elicited green flames to shoot from the sword’s tip. The fishbowlkin jabbed it triumphantly in the swordsman’s direction, who just stared at it.
“Hah! I remember you! You’re… oh, no wait. I don’t. Speak your name, adventurer! Who is it brave or foolish enough to seek the treasure hoards of Lord Scarmiglione? A second time too, no less, I guess!?”
It would’ve been nice for the man to actually give a name, but the fact this fishbowl-headed monster was brandishing his supposedly legendary, one-of-a-kind blade was a little off-putting. There was a good minute or so of gawping, before he fished under his shirt for another garish piece of jewelry that would probably detect something ultimately useless for the adventurer's benefit. Glere sighed with exasperation, hurled the scimitar under his shoulder into his cape, and waved his arms about to get the man’s attention.
“Hellooooo? Can you hear me? Do. You. Speak. Th-?”
The treasure-hunter irritably slapped the traffic cone, which Glere had used as an impromptu megaphone, away from his ear. He stared non-comprehendingly at the offending orange loudhailer, then at Glere as he tossed it back into his cape, and then just kind of stared in confusion about the fleshy crater he was standing slightly off-centre in.
“I’m… Bar’tel Beynous. A treasure-seeker. One of the finest in the la-“
“Booring.” Glere waved a dismissive hand. “So you were going on a bear-hunt-”
“I was embarking,” the adventurer testily replied, “On a quest. To seek the ancient sorcerer Scarmiglione’s untold riches.”
“Yeah, yeah. I figured as much.” Glere, already bored with this unmemorable idiot, stared up at the writhing ball in the sky, wondering if its pustules were releasing anything more interesting. “Out of curiosity, did you find the treasure?”
Bar’tel hissed through gritted teeth. “I just said I was a day’s travel from his crypt-“
“Ooooooh. Riiiiight. I'm terribly sorry to hurry things along, but may we play a different game now, Mr. Beynous? You’re not very good at twenty questions – your answers are far too long!” Bar’tel only saw fit to glare at the Fishbowlkin, before he ducked a baseball-mitted pat on the back. “Don’t be offended or anything, Barty my pal, but I’ve dispatched a lot of adventurers. Like, a lot. No lie, sweetie pie, but I just can’t for the life of me remember-“
A pillar of flame engulfed the two figures, an infernal cylinder spiraling up into whatever atmosphere these grotesque stars possessed. Keegan, feet dangling over the lip of the crater, watched it dispassionately for a minute or so, before letting it all rush into the sky with an adventurer-conflagrating roar. He frowned as a sumptuous purple cape fluttered down, a little singed around the edges but nowhere near as eviscerated as the Ender would’ve expected. Granted, a firestorm like that was far showier than destructive, but if it had reduced the human, protective enchantments and all, to ash, why not that silly cloth? Keegan frowned, and intercepted its swooping cruise with a midair explosion. The cape dodged smartly, before gliding off into the distance. The Ender thought he heard it hooting with excited delight as he scowled, leapt aboard his materialising mount, and gave chase across the crater.
Spoiler
Glere flailed his arms wildly as he got back to his feet, the action doing little to clear the swathes of rank fog. As it slowly scattered, spurred on by a few firecrackers scattered about for good measure, the amount of energy needed to maintain such an extensive illusion became clear.
He stood in the centre of an enormous crater, fleshy, crusted walls rising cliff-like in the middle distance. The impact as the pustule had torn open beneath him had tossed him into the air, but its contents had been the more startling. The pickle jar Glere had absent-mindedly jammed on as a replacement when his head had been sent flying wasn’t quite cutting it, so he tossed it aside and fossicked around for another glass bowl. A second, smaller pustule that had been steadily swelling behind him burst.
Glere screwed his fresh head on, heard the whoomph, and gave it an extra half turn before the usual connecting snap and pop to see what the noise was about. A grizzled-looking man, fingers aglint with all manner of enchanted rings, stared frantically around as the mist dissipated. He gripped his scimitar, the blade shimmering with a halo of emerald flames, as he pulled out a handful of powder from a pouch. Glere was more adjusted to the all-pervading fog and studied the man, rubbing his chin or doing the most equivalent action as he frowned, trying to remember why he seemed familiar.
“Aha!”
The adventurer tossed the powder at the ground, which made a most-likely magical bang and cleared the entire area of mnemonocyst-dust. Glere was too busy navigating the interior of his cape to appreciate this quick thinking, but emerged triumphantly with a scimitar. Its pommel held a sizeable emerald, and some spirited shaking elicited green flames to shoot from the sword’s tip. The fishbowlkin jabbed it triumphantly in the swordsman’s direction, who just stared at it.
“Hah! I remember you! You’re… oh, no wait. I don’t. Speak your name, adventurer! Who is it brave or foolish enough to seek the treasure hoards of Lord Scarmiglione? A second time too, no less, I guess!?”
It would’ve been nice for the man to actually give a name, but the fact this fishbowl-headed monster was brandishing his supposedly legendary, one-of-a-kind blade was a little off-putting. There was a good minute or so of gawping, before he fished under his shirt for another garish piece of jewelry that would probably detect something ultimately useless for the adventurer's benefit. Glere sighed with exasperation, hurled the scimitar under his shoulder into his cape, and waved his arms about to get the man’s attention.
“Hellooooo? Can you hear me? Do. You. Speak. Th-?”
The treasure-hunter irritably slapped the traffic cone, which Glere had used as an impromptu megaphone, away from his ear. He stared non-comprehendingly at the offending orange loudhailer, then at Glere as he tossed it back into his cape, and then just kind of stared in confusion about the fleshy crater he was standing slightly off-centre in.
“I’m… Bar’tel Beynous. A treasure-seeker. One of the finest in the la-“
“Booring.” Glere waved a dismissive hand. “So you were going on a bear-hunt-”
“I was embarking,” the adventurer testily replied, “On a quest. To seek the ancient sorcerer Scarmiglione’s untold riches.”
“Yeah, yeah. I figured as much.” Glere, already bored with this unmemorable idiot, stared up at the writhing ball in the sky, wondering if its pustules were releasing anything more interesting. “Out of curiosity, did you find the treasure?”
Bar’tel hissed through gritted teeth. “I just said I was a day’s travel from his crypt-“
“Ooooooh. Riiiiight. I'm terribly sorry to hurry things along, but may we play a different game now, Mr. Beynous? You’re not very good at twenty questions – your answers are far too long!” Bar’tel only saw fit to glare at the Fishbowlkin, before he ducked a baseball-mitted pat on the back. “Don’t be offended or anything, Barty my pal, but I’ve dispatched a lot of adventurers. Like, a lot. No lie, sweetie pie, but I just can’t for the life of me remember-“
A pillar of flame engulfed the two figures, an infernal cylinder spiraling up into whatever atmosphere these grotesque stars possessed. Keegan, feet dangling over the lip of the crater, watched it dispassionately for a minute or so, before letting it all rush into the sky with an adventurer-conflagrating roar. He frowned as a sumptuous purple cape fluttered down, a little singed around the edges but nowhere near as eviscerated as the Ender would’ve expected. Granted, a firestorm like that was far showier than destructive, but if it had reduced the human, protective enchantments and all, to ash, why not that silly cloth? Keegan frowned, and intercepted its swooping cruise with a midair explosion. The cape dodged smartly, before gliding off into the distance. The Ender thought he heard it hooting with excited delight as he scowled, leapt aboard his materialising mount, and gave chase across the crater.
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