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GBCE · 10-10-2009, 05:54 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by snoomanwaff.

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Cabaret was wandering along, letting his momentum push him along, and was pondering what maxwell's note had meant. Pulling the note out of his pocket Cabaret scrutinised it for the fifth time in as many minutes hoping for realisation to strike or for himself to notice some previously unknown detail, but he didn't again. He stopped and looked around, letting his mind rove back into the past, lingering on things like the mysterious persons speech and his encounter with Vyrm'n, and then he stopped, and looked around at the various booths one of which had a candyfloss machine with a large hole in it for some reason, and said to the sky.
"Maybe that's what he was writing about, with the exception of vyrm'n and probably that sunset guy, everyone participating is human, that's why he showed me the strongman's tent". He then continued on, wondering if anyone actually heard him voice his thoughts.

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**Schazer** · 10-11-2009, 05:49 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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Vyrm'n took in the landscape from its lofty vantage point; some super-subconscious memory of the Tleilaxu giving the Faceless the impression that the gentle breeze playing across its dark surface was something to be savoured.

Vyrm'n didn't like this place as much as the Labyrinth Field. The solids and gases were all crisscrossing and meshed together: rickety, skeletal towers weaving through the air to hold up the great snaky spines of rollercoasters; the spider-web lattice of the ferris wheel; the deceptive cavernous interiors concealed beneath the gaudy, bulging skins of tents. The resulting song was even more chaotic and confusing to the Faceless than the (relatively) elegant simplicity of the Field's.
The audible noises too: the creak and groan and clatter of the rides; that strange ghostly murmur that permeated the air, the sound of a crowd of humans shouting and calling and living, with no humans to produce it; and the monotonously repetitive, insistent baseline of the fairground organ that permeated the soundscape.

All in all, this place was intensely irritating to the Faceless, and it wanted out. It gazed sightlessly at the mockingly welcome void beyond the park boundary; it knew that route held no promise of escape.
So the Faceless got thinking. It knew one of the seven had to die to effect a change in setting from the Observer. Therefore a quick kill was all that was needed. Vyrm'n found the conclusion so surprisingly simple, it would have laughed if it was capable. The Faceless' sentient mind started to come to the fore as it sorted out the logistics of killing. The sentient part of it unknowingly relished the opportunity. All this musing and ruminating was a far cry from the simpler times the Faceless had been through; where it was simply a matter of kill, kill, kill.

The Sunset was certainly out of the question, and Vyrm'n concluded by extension Samuel, who had bested the Balancer. Maxwell... the Faceless decided not to think too hard about that; justifying the alliance would only work against this cold logic it currently employed. Best to keep it a simple no, for convenience's sake.
That left... Galus, Gestalt, and Cabaret. Galus was still an unknown for the Faceless; even in its murderlust it was able to account for the possibility that the space marine may be keeping his most powerful abilities hidden. Gestalt... was a tough foe; to take it down in a world full of unsecured objects would expend a lot of the Faceless' strength, leaving it vulnerable in later battles.

That left Cabaret. The shadow already had hit (of sorts) out on the conjurer, and although this time he would not be as naive when Vyrm'n struck, without the schrotgolem and the professor to rescue him the remaining six could be out of this deafening matterscape without too much delay.

Vyrm'n took a deep breath in its head; or at least approximated the calming effect on its consciousness. To kill Cabaret... it set its logical faculties back in order. First, Vyrm'n needed to eliminate that last unwitting line of Cabaret's defences; Gestalt.

Extending its consciousness out again like a blip of sonar (several times before it was successful; on account of the awful background din) Vyrm'n located the fuzzy definition of space which the schrotgolem predominantly occupied. It appeared to be slowly dismantling a "Test Your Strength" booth, removing the bell, hammer, screws, and the tripwire that would electrocute you through the hammer if the little marker reached the top.

Vyrm'n took off again, as if on cue, with the doom drop carriage reaching its peak beneath Vyrm'n's seat and plummetting with a ghostly scream (or five) of terrified delight. It glided down the main thoroughfare until it slid to a halt a fair distance from Gestalt, but hopefully showing it could've tried striking the golem by flying all the way.

Gestalt made no indication of having noticed, not having a head to turn in surprise or a voice to exclaim; but several knives and other cutlery implements emerged from the boxes, hovering in front of Gestalt as it continued to methodically take apart the stand. A breadknife lunged forward, Vyrm'n let it sink into the darkness before grabbing it with a suddenness that left the long blade oscillating violently. Vyrm'n opened the connection but to its surprise was immediately halted with a rebuke from the golem.

I do not appreciate you cluttering up my thoughts, Faceless. Begone. The breadknife trembled violently in protest at its capture; Vyrm'n considered swallowing it but instead released it to its owner. Vyrm'n shuffled forward a few more metres, until they were about the same distance apart as when the two entities had stood off in the Labyrinth Field. Gestalt repeated, less audibly but more menacingly, begone. The Faceless stabbed the earth with its finger, clumsily carving out words. The schrotgolem paused its work for a moment, before tossing a pencil at the Faceless. Picking up the abandoned implement, Vyrm'n re-equipped it in the same manner as the knife, and continued to etch the soil (although it at least thought to use the blunt end.)

<I NEED TO KNOW WHY DID YOU ATTACK ME IN THE FIELD I WAS NOT HARMING YOUR ALLY>

Gestalt finally halted, carrying a mess of circuitry which had previously been hidden under the pad you were supposed to pummel with the hammer.

Sruixan · 10-11-2009, 06:03 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.

A little earlier...

"...well, this one has the cleanest seat... but, ergh... that's..."

Maxwell wasn't exactly being picky. The toilets were proudly filthy, and he was starting to go off of the idea of relieving himself altoghether. He'd ruled out the urinal due to the presence of a dead snake in the bottom of the tray, and was battling life and death in choosing a cubicle. Samuel, The Sunset & Gestalt were peanuts compared to toilet #3...

Eventually a conclusion was reached, and soon Maxwell was scanning the miscellaneous posters adorning the walls of the pigpen. He always did his best thinking on the toilet. Granted, he was using a sink, but it wasn't that different...

Eyes darted between faded portraits, hunting for titbits that could explain life's mysteries. A health and safety report caused a chuckle, an advert for the death drop raised eyebrows, and then...

Two posters, side by side. Both were worryingly informative. First was a poster proclaiming that the Siamese twins were coming back to the carnival. This would have shoved his eyebrows over his hat, if this were a cartoon. Using "the" to describe something that's more than one... not only was there an obvious point here, there was also another occurance of this, outside of play... must write that down, Maxwell...

Secondly was the strongman; the poster was similar to what Maxwell would see in a minute as the sign for this very attraction. It was one of the pictures that got him flustered - Atlas holding up the globe. Or, well, actually... that was the problem...

Right, come on Maxwell. Vyrm'n is definitely out and so is Gestalt. The Sunset... is unlikely, to say the least. So, Samuel, Galus, Cabaret & you. Galus isn't purely human and was a space pilot, so he's ruled out. Samuel could be, but certainly from a different universe in order for his karma to work. Besides, going anywhere near him was likely to result in harm. So that leaves Cabaret... pity the professor had snuffed it before he could ask him...

Now, compared to the matter of getting out of this game alive, this was an amazingly trivial matter. But still... put your mind at rest, Maxwell. Now, where's the tent and where's Cabaret...?

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GBCE · 10-11-2009, 07:34 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by snoomanwaff.

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Cabaret, still mulling over the contents of the note, came across the ride maintenance warehouse, a surprisingly regular building amoung the theme-park with a sign warning against entry."Well the broken attractions would be more dangerous" He thought to himself and looking a large, stripey, tent which was apparently used as a locker room/storage area for small pieces of equipment and possessions. After staring for about a minute Cabaret had an idea and if it was possible for mask to get an evil grin Cabaret's would have. Scavenging some clothes and tools and placing them onto a hand-truck he proceeds back to the arcade to set some booby-traps.

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SleepingOrange · 10-11-2009, 10:59 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

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**Schazer** · 10-11-2009, 03:41 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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SleepingOrange · 10-11-2009, 06:35 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

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**Schazer** · 10-11-2009, 07:31 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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SleepingOrange · 10-12-2009, 02:54 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

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**Schazer** · 10-12-2009, 02:56 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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SleepingOrange · 10-12-2009, 04:01 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

The first time was at the behest of my companion. He had a plan that could theoretically have freed us from this competition, and he wanted as many people alive to see its completion as possible.

<I DO NOT MISS YOUR IMPLICATION GESTALT BUT I ASSURE YOU IT WAS NOT MY INTENTION TO KILL THE PROFESSOR>

And the carelessly discarded match did not intend to raze the forest.

Vyrm'n had no real concept of a metaphor in any case, and the golem's clumsy attempt at human rhetoric didn't help matters. The Faceless radiated confusion.

That is to say, intent is immaterial. What's done is done, regardless of why.

<THE SECOND TIME THEN DID YOU HAVE ANY FREE WILL AT ALL WHY DID YOU ATTACK>

Compulsion. Apprehension. Fear. I was not so much being controlled by Nu as being influenced.

<THEN THE DECISION TO ATTACK WAS YOUR OWN>

The hand paused for a moment, then wrote more slowly:

<YOU THINK WE WERE WRONG TO DESTROY THE SPHERES>

At this point, the schrotgolem returned to its work, apparently reasoning the Faceless was either not hostile or not enough of a threat to devote all its attention to.

Unequivocally. You killed and destroyed a whole world and its inhabitants; next to that, I would have much preferred to see any one or all of the contestants die.

An inflatable hammer, one of the prizes at the game, swung experimentally, bouncing off the ground and squeaking loudly; several other booths in the area seemed to be receiving attention as well, judging from the steady stream of darts, electronics, balloons, and various other detritus that was gradually filling the few visible boxes. Vyrm'n was silent for a few moments, watching the golem work; it was surprised to see how good the thing was at multitasking: even Vyrm'n's consciousness couldn't spread itself out as much, even though it seemed to have greater range. Eventually, the arm reached out again, ponderously penciling its message.

<WE WERE TRYING TO PREVENT THE KARMIST SAMUEL FROM OBTAINING THEIR POWER WHO KNOWS WHAT HE COULD HAVE DONE WITH IT>

There is no point justifying yourself to me. You obviously had your reasons; maybe you knew more. Maybe you were wrong. If I had enough of a grievance with you to warrant endless debate or second-guessing, I assure you you would have at least seven of the bricks I brought from the field lodged deep inside you already.

<YES BUT->

The pencil locked in place briefly, halting the Faceless mid-sentence.

Focusing on the past like this is pointless; the world we left is gone, and nothing can change that. What's done is done.

There was mental silence for some time as a marionette was thoroughly inspected and decoded. Vyrm'n watched it dance, clumsily at first; after only a few moments of experimentation, though, it was bowing and gesturing as though in the hands of a professional. The pencil trailed through the soil.

<TO MY PERCEPTION YOU SEEM TO HAVE AN AFFINITY FOR OBJECTS>

No response.

<I FIND THIS WORLD PARTICULARLY DISTRACTING AND TROUBLING BUT YOU SEEM QUITE AT HOME HERE>

Silence, followed by the crash of a collapsing Test Your Strength pillar as the last of its supporting structures were dismantled, catalogued, and secreted in crates.

<HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS ARENA>

Utility in frivolity. Temptations of, and hazards to, the flesh at every turn. So many new things. I am learning much, and much of what I learn is extremely confusing. A frustrating riddle to be savored, perhaps at a later date.

The golem had its puppet pose and gesticulate as its thoughts flowed into the Faceless. Vyrm'n could fathom why.

<NOT SOMEWHERE YOU ARE EAGER TO LINGER THEN>

At this point, I can only imagine each new place will afford more mysteries than the last.

Vyrm'n let the pencil roll back towards a box; the schrotgolem picked it up, and Vyrm'n let itself communicate directly.

Because I am most certainly not eager to stay here. The sooner we leave, the better, and I am more than happy to play the observer's game, even just for a while, to that end.

You mean to eliminate one of our fellow contestants, then? And you seek my blessing?

Yes. Not only because I want to ensure you don't stop me again, but because I suspect you are one of my worthier opponents, and a mutually beneficial agreement between the two of us could... Solve a number of problems.

Intriguing. I assume you already have a target in mind?

I do. The apparent weakest among us and the most certain among potential targets is the magician, Cabaret. All I ask is that you allow me to snuff his life without interference, and aid me should things proceed poorly.

A truce it is, then.

A helium balloon drifted against all logic to the ground, then affixed its cord to a box. A small party popper leapt out of the crate and snapped, spraying confetti towards the only dark object in this world of neon lights and neon colors, the bang echoing until it combined with the endless background calliope tune.

To teamwork.

Gestalt had quite a few ideas.

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**Schazer** · 10-12-2009, 04:18 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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And a definite chance of me posting in the next hour or so. That doesn't mean reserve, though, so if other people have stuff to write they should go for it.

**Schazer** · 10-12-2009, 05:54 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

Vyrm'n replied affirmation through the pair's link. Teamwork. The Faceless retreated into its own thoughts for a while, relieved a resolution had been reached. Vyrm'n still found Gestalt as unfathomable a being as ever, but wasted little extra thought on it.

How do you suggest we take down the conjurer? Gestalt had found some abandoned cardboard boxes behind a tent and was now testing them for durability. The schrotgolem did not even dignify it with an original answer, content to bounce the Faceless' own words back at it.

All I ask is that you allow me to snuff his life without interference, and aid me should things proceed poorly.

Vyrm'n moodily broke the connection at this show of one-upmanship, taking the hint. Gestalt had no real desire to stay here, nor was it in a hurry. If Vyrm'n wanted out quickly, Vyrm'n would have to hunt Cabaret down by itself.

The Faceless sent out another pulse of consciousness, trying to pick out the sparks of life tangled within the chaos. Though the replies were faint, it picked up on the songs of all six other contestants. All seemed present and accounted for. Vyrm'n abandoned Gestalt, and lurched off up the most convenient main thoroughfare to head in Cabaret's direction; towards the solidly constructed building which housed the arcade. The thick, concrete walls the low roof rested on stymied the Faceless' attempts to determine what was inside; though that it was cluttered and jam-packed with all sorts of contraptions was plain to Vyrm'n's senses.

The Faceless was unwilling to enter the mess of matter, and just imagining being in the midst of all that was almost enough to put the Faceless off entirely. Yet, it knew for certain that Cabaret had been in here recently. Shutting itself off to the inevitable onslaught, Vyrm'n entered through one of the entrances to the Arcade, stooping on account of its height and the low roof.

The interior was just as distasteful as Vyrm'n had predicted. Despite its training in the research laboratories, the extent of the Faceless' prowess with machinery and contraptions extended about as far as using one item as a clumsy limb, or making the connection that pressing buttons did things. In stark contrast to its new ally the schrotgolem, Vyrm'n truly struggled with extensions of itself. Heck, even its approximation of a limb was a clumsy mannequin, devoid of bone and muscle to give it true structure.

As it slowly took in each of the stalls, attempting to place their use with difficulty; Vyrm'n struggled between keeping its senses open to detect Cabaret and keeping them shut to block out the cacophony which assaulted it from all around.

As it walked alongside some pinball machines, Vyrm'n placed its considerable weight upon a length of string without thinking about it; one end was attached to a leg of the nearest pinball machine, the other leading into the back of some other stall which faced a different avenue.
As the string was dragged down, so was the pinball machine; it rattled and dug its feet in against the ground in shrill protest, setting Vyrm'n's metaphorical teeth on edge. With a solid crunch it rammed the pinball machine into the wall, towering over it as its circuits moaned disconsolately and the sound effects tailed off with a powering-down groan.

Behind the Faceless, the other end of the string yanked away the backing board on the mystery stand, letting it fall with a bang and rattle. Vyrm'n shifted its focus from the hiccoughing pinball game to "stare" at two sawn-off shotguns, each with their triggers tethered to pieces of string. Between the Faceless and the two guns were those targets which were cut-outs of rabbits and ducks, squeaking and grinding along their tracks.

Vyrm'n couldn't make the connection that the string tightened as the duck it was looped around completed a full circuit, nor did it understand how this made the shotguns go off.

It wasn't too hard for Vyrm'n, though, to realise it had two very unwelcome pieces of shot embedded in it moments after the dual BANG. Nothing burnt on the Faceless' soul more than unwelcome contact with matter. With a shudder of pain, something in it snapped and the void rose up in it like a swell; but instead of the calm, dull emptiness the void was alive with Vyrm'n's pain- and frustration-filled fury.

By a different entrance of the Arcade to the one Vyrm'n had entered, Cabaret tried his hardest to stifle a laugh at the startled Faceless as it barrelled into the pinball machine. He couldn't believe he'd managed to pull off the shotguns too; it was lucky he hadn't shot himself while trying to set them up...

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GBCE · 10-12-2009, 12:01 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by snoomanwaff.

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Vyrm'n sprang forward and inadverdently pulled a second tripwire, which caused another pinball machine to barrel forwards and knock it into a punching bag, which caused a bucket of acid and a paint tin filled with mousetraps to fall on it. The whole stand, faceless and all, was smashed into by more pinball machines and 2-d fighter, which really fought you, forceing the faceless to fall onto the driving simulator.
Cabaret had found out while exploring the arcade for the first time that hitting the simulators in the right place would cause the game to pause and hitting it again would unpause it, the faceless's impact caused the game to start again, the players car on all three units driving straight into another vehicle, the fronts of a truck, a bus and a minicab to crash through the wall and into the faceless launching it towards the next trap.

Cabaret stifled another giggle as he heard the tin of mousetraps fall "now to get to next stage of the plan" and jogged off towards the funhouse while leaving a trail, taking a route which led between two sets of booths (which made an alley of sorts) stopping to check a part of it which supposedly seemed clear, making note of a large sheet of clear and strong plexiglass propped up by the gaps between a pair of booths on each side which he hoped would stop atleast one or two lunges from Vyrm'n, and squeezed past making sure the trail led through the plexiglass. He then started to wonder if the bomb he'd planted would work properly.

In the 'apartment of zombies' booth thing a ticking stopped abruptly, the bomb failed.

Vyrm'n was deposited by the multitude of traps in front of the DDR machine, where a silhouette could be seen in the screens light, Vyrm'n had been shot, hit with a truck, covered in mousetraps and acid, attacked by a batting cage, pelted with skeeballs, had something stuck to it and generally thrown about and abused amoung other things, what patience it had possessed was gone. The faceless lunged and cleanly caught the figure as yet another string snapped taut and caused the door of the cage around the dance pad to swing shut.
"Get ready to dance!" an annoyingly chipper voice rang out as the music started up.
"Dance!" and the cage heated up and started to get smaller.

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Sruixan · 10-12-2009, 04:59 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.

Maxwell was starting to get ever so slightly freaked out by his current surroundings. For one, the absence of life in such an otherwise vibrant and excited a place was a little... curious. But of course, no civilians to intefer with the conflict, whether it was for their own safety (if they existed, thinking about it...) or so as not to spoil the game.

But another little thing that was unnerving him was the fact that everything and anything here could very well be a death trap, and there was currently a fair portion of Maxwell's brain devoted to tormenting him with bucketloads of unique and clever ways that humble attractions could lead to his demise. Add that to the fact he was worried sick about Vyrm'n, and you had one rather disconcerted Maxwell.

Right now, though, there was something he wanted to do. Finding Cabaret at the shooting range had sent a part of his imagination on overtime, and whilst doing so conjured up an interesting idea. Retracing his steps, he was soon face to face with the gallery, with its vivid yellow plastic ducks waiting, just waitingfor someone to pull the trigger, oblivious, totally oblivio-

Of course, he wasn't exactly here to murder some rubber ducks. That, that would be foolish. They weren't exactly the world's most threatening creatures, right? But it was to means as to their demise that he wished to harvest.

Making sure no-one was watching (and why would there be anyone?), Maxwell dug around in another pocket and pulled out a roll of cloth, unwrapped rather hastily to reveal a considerable toolkit. An observer might notice a lockpick or two, a minature screwdriver for which Maxwell was currently fumbling over, a small antenna for some forgotten purpose and a whole range of small metal things that had absolutely no use whatsoever except for fleshing out an amateur's kit to make it look a little more... full. Still, taking a shotgun off its stand? Simple. If the screwdriver doesn't work, then there's always the mallet...

Now, of course, Maxwell didn't want to kill anybody. But quite a lot of people very probably wanted to kill him. Self defense. Simpl-

*BANG*

Where there was once a duck, there was no longer a duck. Whether or not there was some kind of philosophical significance to this, Maxwell had no idea; all he knew was that he'd just blown it into lots of little pieces and alerted every contestant in the vicinity as to his deeds. The mallet had proven not to be such a good idea after all, then... still, it had proved his hunch that they were indeed dealing with proper guns here, and it was actually pretty loose now, so...

It's not too difficult to hide a shotgun under a greatcoat. Whistling sheepishly might give you away, but you'd probably never see the evidence until you were staring down the barrel of it.

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GBCE · 10-12-2009, 05:08 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by snoomanwaff.

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Sruixan Wrote:*BANG*

Cabaret looked up from rigging the fun-house door with a giant boxing glove on a spring and shrugged. "Maybe Vyrm'n set off the shotguns again" he thought.

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**Schazer** · 10-12-2009, 07:24 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

Reserved, will probably post in three hours or so.

GBCE · 10-12-2009, 07:49 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Archduke_Ferdinand.

The Sunset stood, overlooking the carnival. He had ascended to the very top of a tower in the center, a massive construct designed to bring those who rid it up and down at random interval. The Balancer failed to see the amusement in such a concept, although by climbing the tower he managed to find a good vantage point. He crouched quietly, only the occasional light passing its way over his deep purple form. The hunt was on, and it was quite possibly the most important battled he'd ever fight. And at this rate, it might just be the last.

Somewhere down there lurks a Karmist, and one with delusions of grandeur. A being seeking to rip from worlds their energy and bend it into himself. Someone who hasn't been subject to the natural process of checks and balances, someone who wants to grow to the perversely titanic level of the Observer. Such an entity is more dangerous than all that power itself, for there is nothing inherently violent about force. But were it bendable to the wills of an unstable man, it could very well end everything. Life could be snuffed out around the cosmos, in every possible multiverse. No. That could not happen. Samuel must not be allowed to persist, and from this perch, The Sunset would track him down and eliminate him. He closed his eyes, searched the fields of the carnival, and thought.

There was something that troubled The Sunset even more than Samuel, though, and that was that an Observer exists at all. It's simply wrong. It wasn't meant to be. There should've been something to prevent him from getting a twentieth as strong as he is, and there wasn't. The Observer exists on a level that transcends normal living. The Balancer knew he had to do everything in his power to put him to rest, but there was no way that it was possible under normal circumstances. There was just too much raw power in the Observer for one Balancer to put him out of commission. It'd need something more. Something better.

His thoughts turned to the other contestants. The professor with a staff that defied probability. The Balancer himself, a being capable of shifting through dimensions. The Karmist, capable of rending life itself his hammer. The schrotgolem, turning ordinary objects into mechanical prowess. And the Faceless.... That shifting, black mass that is so very, very like himself. So like him when he was free from this suit. Shifting and becoming what it desires at will. Just missing a few important details. Perhaps one of, or more of these beings, could join him. Perhaps together their power could be enough to dent the Observer.

Opening his eyes slowly, The Sunset left the speculation to rest for awhile and focused back on the task at hand.

Nobody would be able to join him while the Karmist walked the earth.

**Schazer** · 10-13-2009, 12:48 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

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Vyrm'n glanced about the shrinking cage, trying to block out the bleating machine as it cheerfully shouted "MISS! BAD! POOR! MISS!"
In a moment of uncharacteristic lucidity, it sent a black spike through the closing gaps between the bars and stabbed the DDR machine right through the monitor, knocking it over with a crackle and crash. Barreling into the cage with its full bulk, the battered Faceless slid out of the box of bars and trembled violently, a physical manifestation of a frustrated scream emanating through the shadow's entire being.

The zombie moaned, pinned beneath Vyrm'n and the cage. With a careless punch, a bolt of darkness leapt out from the whole and crushed the beast's head into the ground, pummeling thick red across the concrete floor.

The creature then raised itself as high as it could considering the low roof; its form still shuddering like it was breathing heavily. The uninitiated sting of matter all over it was like fingernails running down the Faceless' chalkboard innards. Everything in this cluttered, tangled world sang stridently of its existence; Vyrm'n could deal with that. It may mean on occasion simply shutting itself off from the world, but that was possible. When bastards like Cabaret shot the Faceless with bullets or burned the dark countenance with hot cage bars, though; the song was no longer around Vyrm'n but within it, screaming so loudly the Faceless had no idea what song was its own anymore, with no way to shut it off short of shutting off its own mind.
It meant losing your mind to something as base as a single bullet. Though the acid which still dripped off the Faceless could never eat through the otherworldly matter, it burnt through the Faceless' mind as though Vyrm'n's sanity was the true mortal flesh.

Vyrm'n stood in about the centre of the arcade, its consciousness extending out the entrances. Getting a whisper of Cabaret, it darted after the trace; its atomic perception let the plexiglass barriers stand out as clearly as walls of steel it slid around with cold, malevolent fluidity before striking out for the funhouse. It studied the closed door for only a moment before ramming into it so forcibly it buckled on its hinges.

Cabaret jumped as the boxing-glove booby-trap triggered and smacked into the double doors, which were still hanging on (though looking extremely battered.) He'd been banking on the Faceless planning to exercise caution and open the door slowly, but the Faceless evidently had no time for niceties like doorknobs. Another building-quaking crunch; it looked like the door would only sustain one more hit.

Vyrm'n lurched up for the final strike, pain and fury mingling within into a mind-rending roar; and came crashing down upon the poor doors, tearing them off their hinges.

The Faceless took in the new location, listening for its quarry. Cabaret had made himself scarce, though Vyrm'n still sensed him in the building. The Funhouse took on an eerie calm compared to the Arcade, Vyrm'n motionles; waiting for a trap to be sprung. The tension was somewhat ruined by the grinding carnival music which still perpetuated outside, but the feeling was there.

Vyrm'n twitched as one of the double doors it had entered through finally succumbed to gravity and fell with a bang and clang, joining its partner on the floor. The standstill gave Vyrm'n a moment of clarity, brought into its mind with sharp relief by the fury which still seethed within. Tearing a backing board off a wall and dragging it to the entrance, Vyrm'n barricaded the entrance off along with the sad remains of the two original doors.

Cabaret simply sat, back to the wall in a dark room with squashy walls and nets hanging from the ceiling, listening to the unexpected scrapes and bumps and wondering what was happening. Next thing the conjurer heard was a swish and a thud, before similar dragging and scraping noises were heard at the exit doors on the opposite side of the Funhouse. Chancing an opportunity to see what the Faceless was up to, Cabaret realised with an unpleasant feeling in his stomach that Vyrm'n had barricaded the two main doors shut. Cabaret couldn't recall another exit off the top of his head out of this place, and if he wasn't careful he could just as easily succumb to one of the traps in this house that he hadn't set up for the Faceless.

Somewhere, Cabaret heard a crunch of creaky floorboards collapsing underneath the weight of the Faceless. He couldn't help but wince a bit at the thought of the foot-long steel spikes he'd noticed beneath the rotten boards when traversing it earlier.

**btp** · 10-13-2009, 03:03 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.

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At the start of the roundâ€¦

The world twisted and warped about him. The center of the garden in which he stood melted away only to be replaced by towering structures, bright lights, dissonant music, and a dark oppressive atmosphere. Samuel stood under a rusted welcome sign, the words â€œDeSTruCTO WOrLdâ€ spray-painted haphazardly on its front. All that potential power, the wondrous joy of destroying so much life, had been stripped from him, stolen. The taunting of The Sunset echoed in his mind. That chance was gone. The world was out of reach. He had been made a fool of and had be powerless, powerless, to stop it.

â€œGraaaahhhh!â€, the frustrated cry shot from Samuel's lips as he slammed his fist on the pole next to him. He buried his face in his hand for a moment, and thought.

â€œHehâ€¦heh hehâ€, a realization struck the Karmist, and a chuckle escaped him, â€œHeh heh heh, hah ha ha.â€ The laughter grew in intensity; it was just so funny, â€œHa! Ha ha Ha! GAH HA HA HA HA HA!â€ The Karmist, hand covering his face so that only his wide grin could be seen, reeled back laughing. How perfect! How excellent! He had been a fool before, concerning himself with the trivial matters of the garden when the real prize had been there all along. This match was far from over. No, the garden was merely a prelude. The real act begins now.

Suddenly, a weak presence caught Samuel's attention. He paused and glanced up at the rusted sign. The sign hung there, as still as when he first arrived, though it had jostled a bit when he had struck its supporting pole. The presence grew stronger. The Karmist recognized it immediately and casually took a step out from under the sign. In an instant, the heavy sign crashed down, the serrated edge sliced into the ground, cutting a discarded aluminum can clean in half. Samuel smiled. So that's the kind of place this is. With a quick turn of the heel, disregarding the guillotine entryway, Samuel set out to confirm his suspicions. The Karmist shut his eyes and extended his palms, searching for the location of the one he sought. A decrepit sign pointed toward his destination: â€œHALL OF MIRRORSâ€.

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Sruixan · 10-13-2009, 11:33 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.

It didn't take a genius to tell that Maxwell was now amazingly worried. But, since he was one, that just made life a lot more difficult.

Firstly, though Maxwell, Vyrm'n hasn't been trying to find me. Why? Is it because I am eluding it? Possibly. But it's proven to me that it has another side to it, one of violence and savagery. If it has falled foul of such instincts... what use would I be? You yourself, Maxwell, have The Faceless's name at number two. There's something buried in that ominous void, something almost primeval in nature, that can surely fend for itself?

"No, the reason why you're worried, Maxwell, is because you know that without Vyrm'n your life is going to be ridiculously short. You are going to die. No doubt about it."

There was no point trying to find out which player had uttered those words. Maxwell could tell perfectly easily. He could also do a pretty decent job of pretending he hadn't heard.

Which, considering he was the one who had spoken, was actually quite an achievement.

GBCE · 10-13-2009, 04:15 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by snoomanwaff.

Cabaret wondered if Vyrm'n would listen if he wanted to talk, probably not which would be understandable considering the amount of traps he'd set in the arcade although Cabaret hoped he would have enough time to explain he only set the boxing glove because he was to busy avoiding the traps that were already in funhouse to set any...Jeez that sounded foolish even to himself. He needed to find a way out.
"Gah!" He thought, putting his 'face' into his hand "If I had the tools with me I'd!" he'd left the hand truck in the control room, if he could get there he may be able to make his own exit, there was a cutting torch there if he remembered correctly.

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**btp** · 10-13-2009, 06:49 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.

Within the human mind swirls an ocean of memories. Fresh experiences and new ideas constantly trickle down to join this depthless mass. Happier times and joyous occasions rise to the surface, sparkling, giving the onlooker a vision of hope and frivolity. Darker memories, painful, unpleasant shocks from a worrisome existence sink to the bottom of the sea, obscured from the light of recognition, laid to rest in the darkness of fear and regret. In such a turbulent sea, however, few things can prevent the resurgence of memories one would have preferred to forget. Such it was with Maxwell Deakin when he recalled the words spoken to him by the Karmist, Samuel Therion.

Somewhere inside that creature is a song that sings the joy of killing.

-------

Earlierâ€¦

Now where's that tent and where's Cabaretâ€¦?

Maxwell darted out of the restroom, the unpleasant deed finished, and began to head towards where he believed his one human compatriot could be found. He approached a large wooden post, at the top of which stood a beaten up horn speaker, one of many in the park. The speaker blasted a cacophonous noise. At one time, it may have resembled a jovial song, lifting the spirits of happy visitors and chasing away the worries of the outside world. Now, like the rest of the park, its tune was harsh, unwelcoming. Paired with the cacophony from rest of the park, it formed the kind of noise that would make a man grind his teeth down to the gums. However, in the seclusion of Maxwell's mind the notes of the harsh song were rearranged. The genius' mind twisted, turned and rewrote the song to form a soft pleasing medley which soothed Maxwell as he continued his search.

Off to the right Maxwell spotted a large tent, a likely spot for the strong man event. He turned a quick corner past a well lit hotdog stand and suddenly a new sound interrupted his chorus. It was a gasp from Maxwell, a quick inhalation brought on by a sudden shock. Before the genius stood Samuel Therion. The Karmist's white grin gleamed at Maxwell, his dark suit as deep and penetrating as the black pillar of the Faceless.

A new, more primitive form of logic took over the genius' mind. Fight or Flight. Maxwell raced through the possible outcomes of both choices.

He was waiting, perhaps, not but, his posture, that grin, He wants something from me. He'll follow.

To the left , no, walls, back againâ€¦I'd lose my chance. Into a buildingâ€¦deathtrap.

This man, the garden. The golemâ€¦he was defeated, bruised beaten battered. Simple objects, no real skill. He lost. He can lose. Could I win?

My skill, his skill. What is his skill? Unknowns dangerous but the knownâ€¦he lostâ€¦he can lose again.

Yes. This is my best chance.

Maxwell, determined, reached into his greatcoat and withdrew the elegant rapier. He poised himself perfectly, an offensive position. When the Faceless had projected him into the garden, Maxwell had seen this man lose to a simple pile of household objects, flying about, beating him senseless. The Karmist was forced to use The Sunset to escape. Something terrible had happened to the Sunset after that, Vyrm'n had told him that much. Perhaps though such a outcome was not guaranteed if a mere man fought against him.

â€œSo you wish to fight me, boy?â€ The Karmist sneered.

The taunt was lost on Maxwell. He had retreated back into his mind. The music changed to a waltz, and Maxwell approached the man with the wicked grin.

Maxwell started with a quick jab at the Karmist's chest. Samuel casually stepped to the side. The sword then swung to the right. Samuel stepped back. Next, a short slice from above. Samuel turned sideways. In rapid succession, right, left, down. Samuel dodged, back, under, right. Maxwell feinted a quick slice, but switched midswing to a rightward blow to where the Karmist would dodge. Samuel stood still, and the blade cut nothing but air.

This is wrong. He sees my moves. How? I should confirm.

Maxwell followed with two feints and a jab. Samuel remained motionless for the first two, grinning unceasingly at Maxwell. At the jab Samuel stepped to the right and then ran right past Maxwell.

â€œYou seem confused, boy.â€ The Karmist said, standing back to back with the frustrated genius, â€œI suggest you put that weapon away. It will not do you any good, besides, I did not come here to fight.â€

Maxwell tightened the grip on his sword, despite a small feeling of relief at the Karmist's words he was not about to trust this man.

â€œWhat is it you want?â€

â€œAn exchange of information, that is all. I will ask you a question, and you may answer truthfully if you wish. Then you may ask me a question, and I will answer truthfully if I am inclined to do so.â€

Maxwell was surprised by how much the offer intrigued him. Here lied an opportunity to both acquire information from a foe and potentially lead them on the wrong track. However, the information garnered could be completely fallacious, and the whole experience a useless waste of time. Yet, if he was wasting his time, he wastes the Karmist's time as well. Perhaps such an exchange would be useful.

â€œFine,â€ Maxwell finally stated, â€œwhat question do you have?â€

â€œA simple one, tell me boy, what was it like, bonding with that beast known as The Faceless?â€

Maxwell hesitated. A myriad of questions flooded his mind, Vyrm'n? What does he want with Vyrm'n? He saw me in the gardenâ€¦how did he know it was The Faceless? Lieâ€¦I doubt...Harm? I suppose if I could Iâ€¦

â€œWell?â€ The Karmist interrupted the torrent of thoughts.

â€œSong.â€ Maxwell blurted out the stream of memory surging up in him. â€œThe world was song, each and every partâ€¦realityâ€¦uncertain, questionableâ€¦a voidâ€¦a dark void, keeping reality at bay. Pain is real, but not real, undistinguishable without help. Able to hear much but nothing was heard. So much noise, so many songs. Much likeâ€¦â€ Maxwell pointed to the loudspeaker strung atop the wooden pole. â€œUnbearable and beautiful at the same time.â€

Samuel chuckled, â€œSong, hm? I think I understand now. Yes, there are many songs in the world of that beast.â€ Samuel paused, then turned to face the genius swordsman. â€œI would not remain in the company of that creature for much longer, if I were you boy. I made a connection with it myself, twice in fact, once in the garden when it destroyed the last of the orbs, and once in this place, where I lead it to me and it sought to render me unconscious. I felt something familiar in The Faceless. Somewhere inside that creature is a song that sings the joy of killing. I suppose you have seen a glimpse of that already though.â€

Samuel stood staring at Maxwell, grinning. The swordsman was unsettled; he had given out more information than he had wished to. For someone such as him the line between what is said and what is thought often blurs. There was, however, one thing Maxwell had managed to keep hidden from the Karmist. In fact, it was something Maxwell had been trying to hide from himself. Deep, within the darkest corners of his being, in the more unreachable places, Maxwell still heard the song of Vyrm'n. During his time inside the Faceless some unseen bond had been formed between the two of them. Some unknown part of the Faceless now resided in Maxwell's being. This perhaps, was a large reason Maxwell had avoided Vyrm'n this round. He may continue to ignore it indefinitely.

The genius then snapped up and looked at the Karmist. His turn to inquire of his opponent had come, and the question he would ask was obvious. It would provide him with the most valuable information, and had the highest chance of yielding a truthful answer.

â€œNow, how exactly does your power work?â€

Samuel's grin faded for an instant, and then resurfaced once more. Maxwell was relying on the Karmist's ego to help him display his superiority in some way. It appeared to work.
â€œA wise question boy.â€ Samuel began. â€œAllow me to show you a bit. See that raven over there?â€ Samuel motioned to one of several large black birds perched on the edge of the hotdog stand. A few of the picked apart at a discarded bun, while the others stood there, staring off into the blackness of the night. â€œThey are marvelous birds really, I have taken quite a liking to them. They are not quite scavengers, yet not quite predators. In the lore of birds they are despised as harbingers of death yet they soar to higher heights than any human does.â€ Samuel walked towards the group of birds, arm outstretched towards one in particular. The fingers on his hand bent and turned as if he was a puppeteer playing with fresh strings. As he approached all but the one raven launched from their perch and fluttered away to other parts. Samuel walked directly before the bird, and gently placed one hand beneath it, lifting it up from underneath. With his other hand, Samuel stroked the birds head. â€œA marvelous bird,â€ said the Karmist, He closed his eyes and ran one hand from the top of the raven's head, down its back and off its tail.

â€œThis one, is a mother. Or rather, she will be. She will lay her eggs and feed her young and they will grow strong and have families of their own. One day, in a fight for food, a larger bird will strike her down, and her life will end. I can see the story of her death as clearly as you can see me before you. I can feel where death will be, has been, and would not have been. It allows me to sense life, for all life is but a step away from death, and it allows me to sense danger. This place is full of the latter. Even your blade, I could see exactly where the death your blade brings would land before you even knew you would place it thereâ€¦â€ the Karmist paused and a worried look crossed his face â€œthough that sort of perception does not seem to work when that Schrotgolem is involvedâ€¦â€ the grin returned, and he continued, â€œDo not think though, boy, that my power is limited to the perception of death. No, I am a Karmist. Karma is an energy that permeates all things. It is a force that on the universal scale seeks balance, but on a limited scale, can be manipulated quite easily.â€ The hand holding the bird tightened, and the hand that had been petting the creature wrapped about the raven's head. â€œKarmic transactions require two things, a channel, and a sacrifice. As my channel is death, It oftentimes goes hand in hand with the sacrifice. This bird is destined to live, to soar in the sky, as are the children she will have. Karma has given them the gift of flight for the course of their lives.â€

Maxwell cringed as a dull crack shot out from inside the Karmist's clenched hand. Samuel released his hand and the head of the raven hung limply to the side. Her dark glossy eyes were now nothing more than lifeless beads. The bird fell to the ground with a unceremonious thud.

Then, the Karmist began to lift off the ground. â€œNow that gift,â€ Samuel spoke, â€œis mine.â€ Maxwell stared agape at the man who now hovered several feet off the ground. It breaks all the rules. No forceâ€¦nothing can do thatâ€¦I..

â€œIt's not perfect though.â€ the Karmist continued, as he began to ease towards the ground, â€œI cannot harvest all of the power in a single life, and for such a small being, the effects are only temporary. Also, for the most part, I can only get one prize out of one death. â€ The Karmist landed on the ground. â€œDo not worry. I would need to kill a vast multitude of animals such as those if I wished to make flight a normal and effective part of my repertoire.â€ Samuel turned from Maxwell and began to walk away. Almost as a passing thought, the Karmist turned around and added a bit more, â€œIt is fascinating how different worlds combine with one another. In my wildest dreams I would have never imagined I would meet a machine that is fueled off of a dying being. There is so much potential there, it is a pity he wishes to kill me. Even the two fools, Galus and the magician, made a lovely pair in the first round. Nor would I have thought such a creature as the Faceless could exist, or that contemptible golem for that matter.â€ Samuel turned back around and continued to walk away. â€œI wonder what you will add to all this, boy.â€

With that, Maxwell was alone. The pathway to the tent was now opened and the unpleasant memory of the his encounter with the Karmist had already begun dissection. The valuable parts glistened on the surface of Maxwell's sea of memory, while the more ominous ones suck to the dark depths below.

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**Schazer** · 10-13-2009, 11:12 PM

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

Vyrm'n lifted itself from the spike pit, lunging to the next room. A flight of stairs up to the room where Cabaret hid would have retracted into a helter-skelter sending Vyrm'n sliding back into the spiked pit, if it had not preemptively punched a hole in the stairs, breaking some kind of mechanism beneath. It stood at the top of the stairs, its form quaking and quivering in an attempt to shake the stinging, unwelcome matter from its mind; so the Faceless could extend its consciousness out again and find Cabaret.

The black room had fake walls which fell on top of you, and real ones which moved around and left you disoriented. The sticky webs still hung from the ceiling. Vyrm'n extended its consciousness; though the insanity had cost the Faceless its acute sense of perspective it knew without a doubt the conjurer was in the room.

Compressing its shape and charging for the opposite door, Vyrm'n barrelled through several walls before running into the opposite side of the room. Several boards now jammed the exit, reducing the light in the black room to thin slivers that cast slender beams across the now slightly-clearer room. The only obvious way out was down the stairs and over the pit of spikes.

Vyrm'n stood, perfectly still, trying to pick up Cabaret's trace. Its attention was chiefly fixed on the door it had come through, waiting avidly for any motion there, such as Cabaret attempting to escape.

Cabaret stood, barely daring to move a muscle, pressed into a inner wall a very short dash from the entrance. If he could distract Vyrm'n for just a second, he might be able to make the dash out the door...
There was a muffled crash as Vyrm'n toppled a wall, making the puffy surface exude a pall of choking spores. Cabaret stifled a choking splutter, as the Faceless knocked over the next nearest wall. At this rate, Cabaret would have no choice but to expose himself; there were only so many more walls the Faceless could knock over before he was underneath one of them. And the spores were murder on his eyes and nose...

Another thump, and Cabaret sneezed. Vyrm'n paused its systematic destruction to listen hard, though by now Cabaret's breathing was a lot wheezier; his lungs and throat were prickling painfully, the conjurer felt faint. He was sure the Faceless would've heard him, yet it seemed oddly still like it was straining with all of its senses to seek him out.

Though Cabaret may not have realised it, to the Faceless the air was saturated with the song of life being shouted at double volume (compared to air) by all the spores, to find Cabaret within it would have been like trying to look through soup. The spores, not being sentient, did not succumb to the void and stayed suspended in the air, resting upon all the available surfaces such as the toppled walls, Vyrm'n, and in Cabaret's lungs.

Cabaret chanced pulling a handkerchief out from his sleeve to tie round his face, Vyrm'n did not spot the movement and the filter alleviated the sting of the spores in Cabaret's lungs somewhat. His vision starting to blur; Cabaret heard the last false wall fall to Vyrm'n's ministrations, except for the one he cowered behind.

Half consigning himself to his fate, half blacking out due to the toxic spores, Cabaret heard the whump and groan as the wall fell on top of him -

- and felt no unyielding darkness grabbing him, no scattering into an endless dark. Admittedly, he couldn't see anything, but that was mainly because he was sandwiched between two thick layers of squashy fungus which were still playing havoc with his lungs and eyes.

Vyrm'n glanced about the cleared room in confusion, wondering where its quarry had gone. Unable to locate Cabaret, its form started trembling again with a force which even the conjurer felt while wedged in his squashy hideaway. There was definitely enough time for a long string of cosmic expletives to pour from the Faceless.

Next thing the conjurer felt was a huge force from above, a sickening crack below, the groan of a floor holding on by its last few tenuous planks, before the patch of floor Cabaret and the wall were resting on fell through to the ground floor of the Funhouse.

The severely muffled sounds of Vyrm'n tearing open the barricade it had placed on the door reached Cabaret's semi-conscious ears, before he heard it crashing through the unexplored rooms of the Funhouse. As soon as he dared, Cabaret lifted the squashy wall off himself, still a little groggy from the effects of the spores. Despite the ample padding, his back still ached where the Faceless had impacted upon it.
The Faceless was evidently on a path of mindless destruction through the house of horrors; and Cabaret wasted no time in jumping out a window and getting as far away as possible. Tearing the handkerchief off his face, Cabaret thought as the sound of the rampaging Faceless faded behind him,

that was way too close.

GBCE · 10-14-2009, 02:36 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by Opirian.

Galus had been sitting on top of the coasters catwalk for quite a while observing all the movements of those he spotted. Cabaret and the faceless in the fun house, Samuel leaving the large tent with Maxwell still inside, getting to the funhouse would be faster as the big tent was quite a ways away from the coaster. Galus clipped his binoculars back onto his belt and looked around, heading back through the control room could be suicide if someone snuck in and placed traps, he needed an alternate way off the coaster. Grabbing his magnetic grapple off his belt he fastened it to the only non rusted patch of metal he could find, testing it he was satisfied that it wouldn't give till he pushed the button.

Rappelling down the side of the coaster was much faster if not a large descent he hoped no one saw him. Finally reaching the ground he noted Cabaret jumping out of a window breathing heavily and panicked as he walked towards safety in some shrubbery. Galus smirked and closed the visor to his helmet so that his breathing would be filtered again, sneaking his way towards Cabaret who had slumped onto the ground brushing spores off of himself. Galus drew his pistol as he managed to get behind his seeming enemy, he then placed the pistol to Cabarets head and spoke,

"Where is the faceless Cab?"

"Faceless? that nightmare of a monster?" he said still shaking out of fear, not even noting the gun to his head.

"Yes, that thing."

"Still in the funhouse, but I doubt you'll be able to even hurt it." suddenly a strange sense of relief came over Cabaret as he thought he had maybe found an ally, or someone to use as bait.

Suddenly several loud noises could be heard as the Faceless rampaged on, triggering some traps, causing some explosions, most likely these noises would attract the others. "Dammit, Galus muttered under his breath as he turned to run towards the fun house window that Cabaret had used. The magician than reached out with a hand and grabbed the pilots ankle causing him to fall onto the ground, "what the hell are you doing crazy?" Galus was slightly ticked off by this and he drew his knife ready to cut off the offenders hand

"I had a warning for you, but I forgot" an evil plan went through the magicians mind, sacrifice the pilot, kill the faceless, the pilot won't have to die because if he dies I can't kill the faceless here. Cabaret let go off Galus' ankle allowing Galus to stand up, after standing Galus vaulted himself through the fun house window.

The room he had entered was full of spores, thankfully his helmet filtered any air or supplemented it for his oxygen tank. The sign of the faceless and its destruction was apparent and quite obvious with boards strewn everywhere, and splintered, some even to barely recognizable scraps.