RE: The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round Five: Round Six!]
05-26-2013, 06:37 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-26-2013, 06:43 AM by Dragon Fogel.)
Arkal had dealt with more than a few angry mobs in his time. It happened when you traveled a lot and weren't afraid to speak your mind.
And he knew that fighting the mob never solved the problem. Even if you were strong enough to win the fight, you wouldn't change any minds.
Unfortunately, at the moment he wasn't in much of a position to avoid a fight. The mob was already on him, and it would be hard to get a word in edgewise. At least the Stuff would keep them away.
A two-legged cabbage leapt for Arkal's face. He knocked it away with his club, and it fell to the ground, muttering something about how it had failed its mother.
The crowd was stunned. From their point of view, Arkal had only held up a hand and repelled the cabbage. It gave him time to take out his shield while he tried to figure out how to calm the mob.
It didn't give him much more time than that, though.
"He's got powers from the Amalgam!" the seven-foot penguin shouted. "We can't hold back!"
The mob charged forward as one. The charge was mostly ineffective, as anyone who even touched the club or shield soon gave up and declared the fight hopeless, but their sheer numbers meant that a few of the smaller villagers made it past his defenses.
Arkal swatted a squirrel off his leg and a toad off his head. He couldn't keep this up, he knew. The Stuff's effects probably wouldn't last forever, and when the others got up, he'd be in trouble unless he managed to talk the crowd down.
"They're pathetic," the stranger said suddenly. "An entire village can barely scratch a single human. Worthless filth, afraid to accept their inferiority. Afraid to accept the Amalgam."
Arkal glared at the stranger. If this crowd weren't in the way, he'd punch the damn bastard in the face.
Then he smiled. The damn bastard had given him an idea.
"Please! Don't hurt me!" he cried, cowering under his shield. The villagers paused; this wasn't how they'd expected it to go.
"This doesn't make sense," a sea cucumber said. "Doesn't Hoss have billions of human agents? Trillions? However many -illions it is, he ought to have plenty who aren't cowardly."
"Could be a trick," a three-toed sloth chimed in. "Maybe he wants us to back off."
"What if he's just a distraction?" the seven-foot penguin asked. "Maybe he's supposed to get us all riled up so we don't notice another agent slipping through."
"Moo?"
"I swear! I'm not with Hoss! I'm not with the Amalgam! Please spare me, I'll do anything!" Arkal tried his best to sound pathetic; it was his only chance.
"You disgust me, traitor. I never thought I'd see a human beg for mercy from filth."
Arkal wanted to rip the stranger apart, but he couldn't let it show. He needed to seem as terrified as he could.
Of course, one of his sons was an actor. Arkal thought back to their infrequent conversations, and tried to remember if Eselt had shared any advice.
"The trick to acting, to showing strong emotion, is to be the character. When I was on the stage tonight, I was no longer Eselt the actor; I was Lord Saeto, the nefarious and cynical ruler of Ralthagon. And when the Beast of Ralthagon appeared, the beast Saeto thought was a mere legend, I could convey Saeto's terror as I did because it was my terror."
Arkal hadn't really understood it at the time; his strongest memory of The Beast of Ralthagon was the Beast itself, or rather its craftmanship. He'd had a good conversation with the carpenter afterwards.
He wished he had talked to his own son as much - to both of his sons.
And then he realized how to look frightened. He thought about never seeing his sons again, never having another chance to connect to them, to understand their own crafts a little more.
Arkal showed the crowd that terror. He felt that terror. It was no act; it was real.
And it was so strong that he collapsed under the weight of the Stuff.
The stranger had no idea what had just happened, unaware of even the existence of Stuff, let alone its properties. All he knew was that he wouldn't get to enjoy either the spectacle of a traitor to the human cause being torn apart by would-be allies, or the spectacle of a polluted village being purified by a single human.
Not that he deserved enjoyment, of course; he only deserved destruction, so that the human race might thrive without his filthy existence.
Vincent Forsteri became aware that the other villagers were staring at him. Somewhere in the last few minutes, the seven-foot tall penguin had been silently declared the leader of the mob, and now it seemed everyone else wanted him to make a decision.
Forsteri looked at Arkal cowering on the ground, helpless. It was unbelievable that this weakling would be an agent of Hoss, and yet there were still doubts in Forsteri's mind. Who had he been talking to? Why was he carrying an enormous silver lump?
After a few moments of contemplation, Forsteri came to a decision, and it was to let someone else make the decision so he couldn't be blamed for it.
"Let's take him to the Congress of Bastard," Forsteri declared. "It's the best way to settle this."
***
Arkal soon recovered from his self-induced terror; enough that the Stuff no longer weighed him down. He still tried to seem nervous, of course; a show of confidence might turn the mob against him once more.
Only a few villagers bothered to help him up and carry him to the Congress of Bastards, as the sign outside the decrepit building helpfully indicated. Forsteri awkwardly gestured to the half-detached door.
"Just go in," he said. "The Bastard will handle the rest."
Arkal thanked him for his kindness - still trying to sound nervous - and walked in as cautiously as he could. When he was inside, he finally let himself regain his composure, and marched down the hall. A once-ornate door, now covered in dust, lead to the main chamber; Arkal opened it, and found himself in a massive room with hundreds of empty seats.
He didn't see any sign of the Bastard he was looking for; only a small table with a piece of paper and an inkwell on it. There was writing on the paper, and Arkal supposed there was nothing for him to do except read it.
Dear Arkal of the Silver Anvil,
I am already aware of who you are and that you are not an associate of the Amalgam. You need not bother explaining your actions.
However, this is not to say that you are free to go. The Congress of Bastard has standards to uphold, after all. I could not grant you a blanket pardon even if I were so inclined to; the rules of the Congress state that by coming before us - well, me - you must face a trial.
To clarify, I do not mean that in the sense of a courtroom. Rather, I will ask you to perform a service for the Congress, and if you succeed in this task, you will be free. Of course, failure in the task will mean your death. You may also refuse the task, in which case you will face a life sentence.
I am fairly confident of what your choice will be, but for the sake of formality I need to ask you first.
Sincerely,
The Bastard
P.S. Speak your answer, I will be able to hear you.
"I'm going with the trial," Arkal sighed. "So what do I have to do?"
Arkal was unsurprised by the ink moving around on the page; perhaps if he had seen it before being deposited in a strange world by the Observer, he might have thought it odd, but by now it was simply routine.
Dear Arkal,
Thank you for the prompt reply. I will now explain the task before you.
As I believe you may be aware, the King's men recently captured the members of a human supremacist cult that had almost no humans in it. However, one of their leaders evaded capture.
Your task is to deal with him. The matter of whether he is captured alive or simply killed is left to your discretion, though in all likelihood the former will not be feasible.
I will provide transportation, all other details are your concern and not mine.
Sincerely,
The Bastard
"So, what, I have to find this guy? I've got no idea where he is! Or who, for that matter!"
Dear Arkal,
The idea behind trials is that they are not easy. Your transportation will be waiting outside.
Best of luck,
The Bastard
P.S. I do not advise asking further follow-up questions. I have given you sufficient information already.
P.P.S. Please replace me on the table before you leave or I will hold you in contempt of Congress.
Arkal grudgingly put down the letter and headed outside. He didn't see anything except the cow who had been part of the mob.
"Moo," she said, turning her head to look behind her.
"You're my ride, then?"
"Moo." She nodded.
"Well, okay then." Arkal climbed on her back. "I guess that bastard wasn't interested in giving me a saddle."
"Moo."
"Well, I've got no idea where we're supposed to go, so just head wherever you please."
"Moo!"
She flew off, leaving the Isle of Fuck This Isle behind.
And he knew that fighting the mob never solved the problem. Even if you were strong enough to win the fight, you wouldn't change any minds.
Unfortunately, at the moment he wasn't in much of a position to avoid a fight. The mob was already on him, and it would be hard to get a word in edgewise. At least the Stuff would keep them away.
A two-legged cabbage leapt for Arkal's face. He knocked it away with his club, and it fell to the ground, muttering something about how it had failed its mother.
The crowd was stunned. From their point of view, Arkal had only held up a hand and repelled the cabbage. It gave him time to take out his shield while he tried to figure out how to calm the mob.
It didn't give him much more time than that, though.
"He's got powers from the Amalgam!" the seven-foot penguin shouted. "We can't hold back!"
The mob charged forward as one. The charge was mostly ineffective, as anyone who even touched the club or shield soon gave up and declared the fight hopeless, but their sheer numbers meant that a few of the smaller villagers made it past his defenses.
Arkal swatted a squirrel off his leg and a toad off his head. He couldn't keep this up, he knew. The Stuff's effects probably wouldn't last forever, and when the others got up, he'd be in trouble unless he managed to talk the crowd down.
"They're pathetic," the stranger said suddenly. "An entire village can barely scratch a single human. Worthless filth, afraid to accept their inferiority. Afraid to accept the Amalgam."
Arkal glared at the stranger. If this crowd weren't in the way, he'd punch the damn bastard in the face.
Then he smiled. The damn bastard had given him an idea.
"Please! Don't hurt me!" he cried, cowering under his shield. The villagers paused; this wasn't how they'd expected it to go.
"This doesn't make sense," a sea cucumber said. "Doesn't Hoss have billions of human agents? Trillions? However many -illions it is, he ought to have plenty who aren't cowardly."
"Could be a trick," a three-toed sloth chimed in. "Maybe he wants us to back off."
"What if he's just a distraction?" the seven-foot penguin asked. "Maybe he's supposed to get us all riled up so we don't notice another agent slipping through."
"Moo?"
"I swear! I'm not with Hoss! I'm not with the Amalgam! Please spare me, I'll do anything!" Arkal tried his best to sound pathetic; it was his only chance.
"You disgust me, traitor. I never thought I'd see a human beg for mercy from filth."
Arkal wanted to rip the stranger apart, but he couldn't let it show. He needed to seem as terrified as he could.
Of course, one of his sons was an actor. Arkal thought back to their infrequent conversations, and tried to remember if Eselt had shared any advice.
"The trick to acting, to showing strong emotion, is to be the character. When I was on the stage tonight, I was no longer Eselt the actor; I was Lord Saeto, the nefarious and cynical ruler of Ralthagon. And when the Beast of Ralthagon appeared, the beast Saeto thought was a mere legend, I could convey Saeto's terror as I did because it was my terror."
Arkal hadn't really understood it at the time; his strongest memory of The Beast of Ralthagon was the Beast itself, or rather its craftmanship. He'd had a good conversation with the carpenter afterwards.
He wished he had talked to his own son as much - to both of his sons.
And then he realized how to look frightened. He thought about never seeing his sons again, never having another chance to connect to them, to understand their own crafts a little more.
Arkal showed the crowd that terror. He felt that terror. It was no act; it was real.
And it was so strong that he collapsed under the weight of the Stuff.
The stranger had no idea what had just happened, unaware of even the existence of Stuff, let alone its properties. All he knew was that he wouldn't get to enjoy either the spectacle of a traitor to the human cause being torn apart by would-be allies, or the spectacle of a polluted village being purified by a single human.
Not that he deserved enjoyment, of course; he only deserved destruction, so that the human race might thrive without his filthy existence.
Vincent Forsteri became aware that the other villagers were staring at him. Somewhere in the last few minutes, the seven-foot tall penguin had been silently declared the leader of the mob, and now it seemed everyone else wanted him to make a decision.
Forsteri looked at Arkal cowering on the ground, helpless. It was unbelievable that this weakling would be an agent of Hoss, and yet there were still doubts in Forsteri's mind. Who had he been talking to? Why was he carrying an enormous silver lump?
After a few moments of contemplation, Forsteri came to a decision, and it was to let someone else make the decision so he couldn't be blamed for it.
"Let's take him to the Congress of Bastard," Forsteri declared. "It's the best way to settle this."
***
Arkal soon recovered from his self-induced terror; enough that the Stuff no longer weighed him down. He still tried to seem nervous, of course; a show of confidence might turn the mob against him once more.
Only a few villagers bothered to help him up and carry him to the Congress of Bastards, as the sign outside the decrepit building helpfully indicated. Forsteri awkwardly gestured to the half-detached door.
"Just go in," he said. "The Bastard will handle the rest."
Arkal thanked him for his kindness - still trying to sound nervous - and walked in as cautiously as he could. When he was inside, he finally let himself regain his composure, and marched down the hall. A once-ornate door, now covered in dust, lead to the main chamber; Arkal opened it, and found himself in a massive room with hundreds of empty seats.
He didn't see any sign of the Bastard he was looking for; only a small table with a piece of paper and an inkwell on it. There was writing on the paper, and Arkal supposed there was nothing for him to do except read it.
Dear Arkal of the Silver Anvil,
I am already aware of who you are and that you are not an associate of the Amalgam. You need not bother explaining your actions.
However, this is not to say that you are free to go. The Congress of Bastard has standards to uphold, after all. I could not grant you a blanket pardon even if I were so inclined to; the rules of the Congress state that by coming before us - well, me - you must face a trial.
To clarify, I do not mean that in the sense of a courtroom. Rather, I will ask you to perform a service for the Congress, and if you succeed in this task, you will be free. Of course, failure in the task will mean your death. You may also refuse the task, in which case you will face a life sentence.
I am fairly confident of what your choice will be, but for the sake of formality I need to ask you first.
Sincerely,
The Bastard
P.S. Speak your answer, I will be able to hear you.
"I'm going with the trial," Arkal sighed. "So what do I have to do?"
Arkal was unsurprised by the ink moving around on the page; perhaps if he had seen it before being deposited in a strange world by the Observer, he might have thought it odd, but by now it was simply routine.
Dear Arkal,
Thank you for the prompt reply. I will now explain the task before you.
As I believe you may be aware, the King's men recently captured the members of a human supremacist cult that had almost no humans in it. However, one of their leaders evaded capture.
Your task is to deal with him. The matter of whether he is captured alive or simply killed is left to your discretion, though in all likelihood the former will not be feasible.
I will provide transportation, all other details are your concern and not mine.
Sincerely,
The Bastard
"So, what, I have to find this guy? I've got no idea where he is! Or who, for that matter!"
Dear Arkal,
The idea behind trials is that they are not easy. Your transportation will be waiting outside.
Best of luck,
The Bastard
P.S. I do not advise asking further follow-up questions. I have given you sufficient information already.
P.P.S. Please replace me on the table before you leave or I will hold you in contempt of Congress.
Arkal grudgingly put down the letter and headed outside. He didn't see anything except the cow who had been part of the mob.
"Moo," she said, turning her head to look behind her.
"You're my ride, then?"
"Moo." She nodded.
"Well, okay then." Arkal climbed on her back. "I guess that bastard wasn't interested in giving me a saddle."
"Moo."
"Well, I've got no idea where we're supposed to go, so just head wherever you please."
"Moo!"
She flew off, leaving the Isle of Fuck This Isle behind.
There's no reason for this | Or this | Death is inevitable | You can't challenge fate | The smallest change | I'm overwhelmed
I'm serious | It makes perfect sense | Easy as ABC! | I can't even explain it | Cleaning up someone else's mess
I suck | I rule | I've got it made | Really, I'm serious | This bugs me | It's all lies | I want to believe | Beauty is a curse
I'm serious | It makes perfect sense | Easy as ABC! | I can't even explain it | Cleaning up someone else's mess
I suck | I rule | I've got it made | Really, I'm serious | This bugs me | It's all lies | I want to believe | Beauty is a curse