Re: Epic Clash Final Round - Mnemonocyst Bearers
01-31-2011, 09:02 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Boom.
"Oooh, d'you reckon that's one?"
Whoomph.
"Nah. Too big. Surok wasn't even that big when he got that robot thing."
Glere returned his attention to the angry, bruise-coloured semisolid churning beneath. Whoever or whatever was in that cyst would show themselves, sooner or later. They'd already dispatched a certain Mister Raven on this spot, with one magically augmented field of landmines. It left a nice crater, even if figuring out who got the point for that was a bit difficult. Still, teamwork!
Keegan didn't quite share the excitable sentiment. Sure, the fishbowl guy's game was a bit more interesting when he proved that yes, he could outrun a jet of fire on a pogo stick, and yes, he could proceed to impale the psychic pimple copy of Sir Strident with said pogo stick - but he'd already beaten these people! They were boring, and killing them a second time when they were somehow even more weak or cocky or too ludicrously powerful to make it a fair fight than the Ender remembered didn't make them any less boring.
He heard a throaty snarl behind him, and then remembered just how huge that possessed panther-dragon-squirrel-man thing whose name he couldn't remember because he'd been too big to flee down a narrow passageway from the path of a pursuing boulder in the first round had been. Eraldo growled at Keegan with mindless hatred hell-bent on revenge, the white-hot lines burnt into his fur glowing with a devastating holy attack.
Glere stepped smoothly between the two Exalted Exchangers, raising a battered oil lamp. The skeletal, glowing beast that leapt from Eraldo's hide was sucked in, face-first.
"I don't suppose I could interest you in an authentic replica genie lamp, could I, sir? Top quality Bavarian brass and enchantments, you won't find better this side of this mnemo-"
"You really can't give yourself a point for that on good conscience," grumbled Glere, over the panther's howls of pain.
"Shut up," retorted Keegan. "Anyway, where are the people from your battle? Mine were stupid or boring or both, and watching them die a second time isn't very interesting."
Glere shrugged. "I guess I don't dwell on my past for long enough, so this craaazy old fleshbag of a planet can't get its creepy psychic tendrils on me!"
To Spender and Asteira's current confusion, and Glere's later inscrutable mix of feelings on the matter, the Fishbowlkin was quite wrong. Spender - theatrical, controlled, commanding Spender - gazed up to the second mnemonocyst looming overhead, safe in the knowledge that the ghost girl couldn't approach his shared analysis without making any ulterior motives clear to the agent. Conniving as Glere remembered her, Asteira drifted sullenly around the field's edge, full awareness of her situation irksomely eluding her no matter how hard she tried to remember.
"Is this still the same round?"
The twitch of Coy's fingers as coins dispensed and were cashed at his fingertips was barely noticeable. Never mind that his ATM had exploded, never mind Spender feeling uneasily aware of this having happened. ATM or not, Spender had always had all manner of gadgetric change, and knew how to use it. "No," he finally concluded. He rubbed his chin, but it led to a tired hand running through his hair, and a kneading of the temples. "I died. I definitely died."
"It's not the underworld, either," added Asteira, curiosity getting the better of her figmented, devious self. Spender shook his head, running more scans, but his hands eventually fell to his side in dumbfoundment.
"It's a new round. It has to be."
Boom.
"Oooh, d'you reckon that's one?"
Whoomph.
"Nah. Too big. Surok wasn't even that big when he got that robot thing."
Glere returned his attention to the angry, bruise-coloured semisolid churning beneath. Whoever or whatever was in that cyst would show themselves, sooner or later. They'd already dispatched a certain Mister Raven on this spot, with one magically augmented field of landmines. It left a nice crater, even if figuring out who got the point for that was a bit difficult. Still, teamwork!
Keegan didn't quite share the excitable sentiment. Sure, the fishbowl guy's game was a bit more interesting when he proved that yes, he could outrun a jet of fire on a pogo stick, and yes, he could proceed to impale the psychic pimple copy of Sir Strident with said pogo stick - but he'd already beaten these people! They were boring, and killing them a second time when they were somehow even more weak or cocky or too ludicrously powerful to make it a fair fight than the Ender remembered didn't make them any less boring.
He heard a throaty snarl behind him, and then remembered just how huge that possessed panther-dragon-squirrel-man thing whose name he couldn't remember because he'd been too big to flee down a narrow passageway from the path of a pursuing boulder in the first round had been. Eraldo growled at Keegan with mindless hatred hell-bent on revenge, the white-hot lines burnt into his fur glowing with a devastating holy attack.
Glere stepped smoothly between the two Exalted Exchangers, raising a battered oil lamp. The skeletal, glowing beast that leapt from Eraldo's hide was sucked in, face-first.
"I don't suppose I could interest you in an authentic replica genie lamp, could I, sir? Top quality Bavarian brass and enchantments, you won't find better this side of this mnemo-"
"You really can't give yourself a point for that on good conscience," grumbled Glere, over the panther's howls of pain.
"Shut up," retorted Keegan. "Anyway, where are the people from your battle? Mine were stupid or boring or both, and watching them die a second time isn't very interesting."
Glere shrugged. "I guess I don't dwell on my past for long enough, so this craaazy old fleshbag of a planet can't get its creepy psychic tendrils on me!"
To Spender and Asteira's current confusion, and Glere's later inscrutable mix of feelings on the matter, the Fishbowlkin was quite wrong. Spender - theatrical, controlled, commanding Spender - gazed up to the second mnemonocyst looming overhead, safe in the knowledge that the ghost girl couldn't approach his shared analysis without making any ulterior motives clear to the agent. Conniving as Glere remembered her, Asteira drifted sullenly around the field's edge, full awareness of her situation irksomely eluding her no matter how hard she tried to remember.
"Is this still the same round?"
The twitch of Coy's fingers as coins dispensed and were cashed at his fingertips was barely noticeable. Never mind that his ATM had exploded, never mind Spender feeling uneasily aware of this having happened. ATM or not, Spender had always had all manner of gadgetric change, and knew how to use it. "No," he finally concluded. He rubbed his chin, but it led to a tired hand running through his hair, and a kneading of the temples. "I died. I definitely died."
"It's not the underworld, either," added Asteira, curiosity getting the better of her figmented, devious self. Spender shook his head, running more scans, but his hands eventually fell to his side in dumbfoundment.
"It's a new round. It has to be."
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