Epic Clash - COMPLETE!

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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SpoilerMinor correction: Your post seems to imply that Eric is in control, which he is not. "Walt started moving back the way they had come".

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SpoilerNoted and adjusted.

Also, :3 there's something really fun about seeing their reaction to Spender

Originally posted on MSPA by Babel.

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There is a certain feeling that is aroused when, in the throes of battle, one finds himself pulsing, breathing, shaking, and dancing in the wake of death – a euphoria gained from the act of war. Emilio, for his part, always associated this feeling with life. Take from him the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the kill, the glory of the battle – and he would be at a loss as to what to do. Never could he pave the paths of peace. Emilio was a man of action. Words were meaningless in the face of a sword. The greatest governments could crumble to pieces at the hands of an able bodied legend. The old, the wise, the just – all these concepts were mere illusions that shielded the world from the simple fact that what most considered life was but a quickly festering notion. There are only actions in the world. Actions of the strong against the weak. Actions of the capable against those less capable. These were all things Emilio believed in. As such the only things that interested him were the challenges issued to him by the world. Evil was one such challenge.

For what else is a horde but a devastating power? What else is an ogre but a thicker blooded man? How else can tyranny be defined but as the subjection of the poor, the weak, the helpless by the strong, the fit, the capable? Emilio's war against darkness was rooted in his deep-seated admiration of strength. Goodness became the unintended consequences of his actions. Honor became a gauge – a series of badges that numerated his accomplishments. Emilio the knight, Emilio the good – both took back seats to what had swiftly become Emilio the legend. The songs reflected this, reassured him. Made him breathe, move, act, live.

At this moment he was alive. He knew that well. He felt the familiar feeling flow through his very being – his palms were wrapped around the hilt of his sword but he felt not weight. In the icy corridors of this maze, he was feeling warm. Life boiled inside of him. He lived, for now, solely in the present – in the slight shifts of weight between his heels, at the deafening silence in the gaps of stolen conversation. Every ounce of his being was concentrated into the task at hand. He slid forward. Pebbles fled from his feet, but he paid them no heed. He waited until the voices came up again.

There were three of them. They talked in endless cycles, of camaraderie and despair, with no regard to discretion. One of them even had even announced himself to everyone in the nearby vicinity. Was it foolishness, or arrogance? Emilio could not judge by looks alone. His advantage was in the knowledge that every contestant was considered dangerous. Two of the men were plainly dressed, which reflected to Emilio the deceptive powers of the supernatural. The other one, a man of war, sat smirking in the darkness, enveloped by black plate metal. This was the one that the others seemed wary of. By all practical terms, this was the one that would be easiest to strike down first. Emilio pulled his shield from across his back, and stepped toward the three, revealing himself as he strode menacingly towards the black knight.

“Villain!” He shouted, “Wretch! I have seen your ways! Know the name of Emilio Nahaz, and stand to accept your fate!”

Shield ready, sword swiftly moving through the air, armor almost shining even in the dark, he kept his eyes locked on the black knight, and allowed the other two men to accustom themselves to his announced arrival. He would play the part of the knight for now. He would earn their trust. He would acknowledge their petty rules because he knew: While the strengths of his competitors might prove themselves admirable, it was the strength of his gracious host that he truly wished to know.

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SpoilerNote: I'm assuming he's still out of the range of Spender's rulespace.
Also, edits were for spacing and a minor punctuation issues and silly typos!

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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SpoilerNote: I'm assuming he's still out of the range of Spender's rulespace.

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SpoilerEveryone is out of it for the moment, yes. It's not a very large field, so unless you're within a couple feet of him, you won't feel its effects.

If you, or James, were to engage him in melee, you would certainly enter the field, but I believe we're in a tunnel junction at the moment, which gives us room for staging.

I don't like the idea of using it for two other players to understand each other's intent or something, because that tends to get complicated; you'd each have to describe yourself without assuming as far as the others' intents go. Or something. The way I did it with Spender and Thomas, I pointed out that there was info on Thomas, and then his reaction to Spender. What my reaction to Thomas is didn't need to be immediate, but in combat it would be.

If another player want to use it anyway, I'm not forbidding it or anything, it's just not really advised.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lighing.

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James easily dodged the attack and ran away. He seemed very un-satisfied. "Ergh, I do not need them I can protect myself. I mean I have darkness on my side..." He stopped to see a stalagmite on the roof that was cut and is now sideways on the roof. He looked left from that to see a brown stick. he looked back down to see an object, with a fishbowl for a head. It had a cape, and James looked at it like it wasn't there. "Who are you?! What are you? And would you like to be friends? It's obvious that we both are un-accepted in this world, or any world. So what do you say, pal?"

Originally posted on MSPA by Babel.

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For all his encounters that took him to the furthest extents of the world, Emilio had never encountered a being that was so quick to flee. Even squirrels, in their haste to return to the safety of their home tree's boughs, seemed sluggish in comparison with the dark knight that had so recently bounded deep into the surrounding caverns. It was a scampering the likes of which he could scarcely believe. He took a moment to regain his composure, then allowed a smile to don his features.
“Well met,” he said, turning to the two men remaining, and sheathing his sword complacently, “I fear I've overestimated the likes of our mutual acquaintance. I took from the make of his armor that he was a dread knight. I feared, for a moment, that you were both in a spot of danger. It seems that was not the case.”
His eyes moved easily from one man to the other, sizing them up, analyzing the way they stood and held themselves. Both seemed wary of his entrance, though one slightly more… inconsistently so. A simple explanation seemed far better than to appear to be scrambling for an excuse. So, he waited, analyzed, and retained his smile. Kept his hand at his side, but was ready to spring.

Originally posted on MSPA by MyifanW.

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The Chronicler put down his pen. He looks at his latest page, admiring his own penmenship. In the back of his mind, he knew that he didn't actually need to record it in a book, that he could simply conjure the information if he wanted to. However, he felt inclined to, maybe as result of being a young god, or a desire to do things himself, or even to kill the time. No matter what the reason, the Chronicler continued. Perhaps he'll have an entire library one day, of his own books. Actually, there was no reason to be indenfinite. He had all the time in the- everything. That library would exist.
Exiting his contemplative mood, he flipped back a few pages and skimmed over what he had done. He frowned a little. It was a bit weakly worded, and his handwriting slipped here and there. More direly, it seemed that Miles had added too many of his own opinions and quips. Overall, it was a imperfect job. Of course, it would have been easy to correct it... but, doing such didn't sit well with Miles. He needed to do it himself. He would probably use this as a rough draft and rerecord it when he had more time.



This is the Chronicle of Epic Clash, a Grand Battle ran by The Overseer and the Chronicler. In it, and all other Grand Battles (besides Battle Royale, but only because the Composer was strange), 8 beings are sent to fight to the death in a custom made arena. After one dies, The remaining beings are sent to a new stage, and will repeat the cycle until there is one left. The winner is granted a single boon...
...
...
...
...The contestants are mostly human this time, as is often the case. They are:

Glere, a man with a fishbowl for a head. He is certifiably insane, in case his appearance didn't give that obvious fact away. He has access to some sort of randomly sorted pocket dimension, which appears to be stable in the shape of a cape.

Mr. Nothing, a Soul Reaper in some sort of afterlife bureaucracy. He is winged and armed with a collapsible scythe, and is capable of interacting with souls. To interact with souls, he must change forms, which seems to be essentially shedding his flesh and becoming a skeleton.

James Raven, a hulking man who is apparently a dark knight. He swears revenge on his parents' murderers, and apparently has an obsessive desire for strength. His right arm is a magical composite, flexible and easily manipulated. Somehow, while he seems like the most enhanced...
...
...

Michelle Davis, a woman who hails from a partially ruined planet. She is simply human, it seems. However, she is well equipped, in skills and in equipment. Apparently she has an amiable nature, however much good that does.

Thomas Packston, a boy composed of 4 different people, who comes from a place where the world has been explained. (I wonder if they could explain us, though?) He is in control of wind, earth, fire and water, although each of his personalities can only use one.

Coy Spender, a man who's name looks like a pun. Obsessed with being theatrical, he appears to push himself to move as exaggerated as possible. He came with a strange ATM device and several coins, which are used to create one-time-use magic. What happens when he runs out, though? Is he able to...
...
...

Emilio Nahaz, a classic knight. Arrogant, but rightfully so, he is nearly a living legend. He brings with him an enchanted blade, a powerful orange tinted suit of armor, and a worn yet serviceable shield. It seems he thinks in epic verse...
...
...

Ashteira, a dead woman, brought back to some semblance of life to preserve some god's sense of karmic balance. She is armed with some sort of lance, but prefers lying, cheating, trickery, treachery, and overall vileness as weapons. Can fly for some reason.




Miles Fawman flipped the page, and saw his bookmark. It was a drawing he had intended to place in this book, but he had disregarded page size and had to leave it out. On it, he had pictured the eight contestants, listening to Bryce speak. Since it was unusable, he had scribbled some of his impressions over each contestant's head.

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Spoiler

He sighed, and made mental note to respect the page sizes better. He flipped on, to the latest page, with the stage notes.

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Miles would have liked to go into more detail, but this wasn't a place he had created or even seen. Apparently, it was a piece of a more popular universe, one of which Miles had never bothered to observe. He decided he would when he had the chance.

With a little resignation, Miles went back to observing the contest. Beside him, Bryce was acting like a commentator, as if he were in front of a crowd.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

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Another actor?, Walt suggested.

I'm not sure, Greg replied, he definitely-

He's no actor.

Bern? How can you tell?

Just look at him, look at his eyes. There is a fire there, a passion for battle. Can't you see it? He truly believes in himself, in everything he does. The moment he strode in here, he was ready to kill that bastard- and us too, given the chance. He is a fighter, a warrior- a believer. In his mind, he is unstoppable. There is nothing that can harm him, nothing that can phase him, nothing that can even cause him to bat an eye. In his mind, he is God. All-powerful, indestructible. And that, THAT is what makes him deadly. If we should fear anyone here, it is he. Nothing can match the power of one who truly believes.

...Well, Greg thought, in that case... Why would he not dispatch us?

Why should he bother? We are but a man, and he- he is a God. We are nothing to him, nothing. In his mind, we are ants, lowly insects not worthy of his time.

In that case, it would seem to be to our benefit to maintain this position. After all, why should he be concerned with us mere bugs?

Why indeed.


After staring warily for a moment, Eric sighed in relief. "You seem to have scared him off easily enough. Maybe he's just heard of you! If that 'Overseer' is to be believed, you're quite the legendary figure! Actually..." He trailed off, looking thoughtful. "Now that we think about it- Well, in our time, we have very few legends, but one of the few that has persevered is the story of Nahan Zemille, a great warrior. We wonder if, over the years, your legend, spread by word-of-mouth, survived, changing a bit, but ultimately intact? Hmm... Oh! Did you ever face three armies, a million-strong each, and survive unscathed? That is one of Zemille's most famous accomplishments, and if we're correct..." He trailed off, looking at Emilio half in disbelief, half in awe.

Originally posted on MSPA by McBatman.

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"Who are you?! What are you? And would you like to be friends? It's obvious we are both unaccepted in this world, or any world. So what do you say, pal?"


The words echoed down to Glere's ears, or, the area a sensible human's ears would be. Without so much as a twitch, his head spun around freely on his shoulders, turning around entirely, meeting the gaze of the one addressing him.

"Un...accepted? Please, don't bore me with such... pettiness. I am not here to be... accepted." His eyes narrowing on the glass surface. But his face immediately lit up as the rest of his body spun around, facing the one speaking to him.

"Though, you speak of friendship? What a strange thing to say, given the circumstances..." his words trailed off into deep thought as he began to pace back and forth in the corridor. James gave him an uneasy glance, surveying him.

Glere walked cordially to the wall, then, continued upward, then began to walk along the ceiling. He chuckled to himself, uncertain if that was going to work. Boy, that would have made him look silly indeed! Finally, he walked back down the opposing wall before stopping in his original spot.

"I'm not interested in making... friends here, but, if you do not wish to be enemies then, yes, I suppose we can... play nice for the time being. But tell me but one thing..." he said, his eyes suddenly narrowing slightly.

"Do you like... games?"

Originally posted on MSPA by Lighing.

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"Why yes, yes I do like games. I've actually played a few like, who can kill the rogue first, Knife throwing, and Hunter. They are really fun, I could play one with you?" James said sarcastically but it sounds unsarcastic. He pulled out his sword and threw it at the ceiling hitting a stalagmite, the stalagmite fell into his energy hand and disintigrated immediatly. "I wouldn't suggest trying anything funny in this 'friendship' we are 'having'." James looked back only to see some rocks that where following him. He dived forward and punched them all, they all disintigrated. James stood under the ceiling and his sword fell into his sheath. He carved some ice and made an ice chair. He sat on it and started sharpening his sword "You know my blade can never be to sharp. Care to sit down?"

Originally posted on MSPA by McBatman.

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Glere turned away from the Dark Knight, smiling mischievously for a moment. He quickly regained his composure and turned back to his new 'friend'. He reached into his cloak slowly, and produced the same stool from earlier.

"I assure you, I mean no cause for such displays of hostility. I'm merely... one who likes to be amused, and I must admit, you are very interesting." Glere said folding his hands in front of him, leaning forward slightly. James narrowed his eyes, continually sharpening his sword. Glere closed his eyes and chuckled slightly.

"You certainly know how to have your own brand of fun from the sounds of it. From the commotion going on around here, it seems others have started in on festivities of their own. How simply delightful." Glere said unhooking his cloak from his neck. With a swift motion, he swung it around in front of him, laying it flat on the cave floor between the two. With another flick of his wrist, it wrapped back around him, fastening itself to his neck. Now sitting between the two was a table with a game board and several Monopoly pieces, strangely, 8 total.

Glere picked up a thimble and a top hat, setting them on the boardwalk squares. He leaned forward, shuffling pieces around to various squares, then he began to whisper.

"See, this is us. Me, the thimble, you, the top hat. Classy, hm? As it stands, we are playing against 6 others, and if we wish to be victorious in these affairs, well, let's not mince words. Do we dirty our hands, or do we allow others to... get theirs dirty for us?" he said, leaning back on his stool. James surveyed the pieces, before looking back at Glere, silently.

"Simply put... everyone knows what we're here to do. And that is, be the last one standing. Now, I'm aware that creates certain... problems for two collaborators, but I'm sure we can think of something before then. But we'll cross that obstacle when it comes to us. If it's a test of strength, people will burn themselves out quickly, the strong diminishing several before burning out, only to be slain by opportunists. No one's stupid enough here to do that first thing into this contest. But, people will play nice, setting up alliances, then they themselves will be subject to brutal direct confrontations. It all depends on how you play the game..."

Suddenly, he began to start giggling, then chortling, then laughing uncontrollably. The insane cackling echoed through the caves quickly, increasing continually in volume. Soon, he was pounding the table in hysterics, James still staring at him silently, his sharpening of his blade having crawled to a stop, but soon resuming as the laughter subsided.

"I... apologize..." Glere said between forced gasps, murky water tears from the bowl pouring out of his eyes from laughing so hard. He took a deep breath, pulled a handkerchief from his cloak, and dried his eyes. He sighed almost whimsically, refocusing his attention to the game board. He rolled up the cloth square, placing it in a front vest pocket.

"Such discourse is hard for me to maintain for prolonged periods... not impossible, but... he he he hahaha!... difficult." He said before regaining his composure.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lighing.

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James starred at Glere with one eye, his white eye, it is said that the white eye can kill you or not. "To see if your worthy to actually do this." James just looked at Glere and it did nothing, the eye dissapeared. "Ohhh! seems your confidant that you will win? That means you are stronger than you look. Not saying your not strong or anything, just a walking fishbowl with a body, just sounds weak, but you aren't weak. Not at all." James becomes silent again and starts sharpening his claws with his sword.

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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Spender had watched the knight's arrival and knave's departure tensely, measuring the man and his armor. His instincts warned him very, very strongly about being glib with him. Thomas' guarded and fawning approach suggested he felt the same.

Finally, though, he let his persona click back into place, and he offered a bow--not a whimsical one, but neither formal; it was a slight one that made little secret of the fact that he did not take his eyes off the man. "Indeed sir, well met. Here in the land of nightmares, a legend is exactly the sort of man we would wish to see; a sword that could cut through darkness itself is always--is a sword I would gladly stand beside," he corrected himself. Arg. Stupid.[spr:1rywipkp]1[/spr:1rywipkp]

"Would that I had the time," he said quickly, before Emilio could respond, "to make light of our predicament, but I've this to say to you, ere I move on, and I think I must;" he paused a moment as a raucus laughter started further down the hallway. Thomas and Emilio braced themselves, but the laughter came no closer, and subsided quickly. Before they could question, he continued sharply. "There are three manners of men: Those who are not willing to sacrifice good men, those who are willing but not eager, and those who would do so given the chance." He glanced down the hallway from which the laughter had echoed. "I have some lenience for the second category, but none for the third."

He turned towards a side corridor as though to walk away, knowing that turning his back on the knight would not go unnoticed. He paused before walking away, though, his mind sorting through the local twisted gravity as he considered where to look for the mechanical generators he was beginning to be certain existed, while his ears very carefully measured the breath of Emilio Nahaz, waiting for any sign of action.

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Spoiler[spr]1[/spr]: Short for "Arg, stupid. You don't tell someone with that much pride that they can stand beside you. You tell them you would stand beside THEM." I would have expanded this thought in place, except I hate it when people do that.

Originally posted on MSPA by Alice.

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EDITED AGAIN...FOR THE LAST TIME I SWEAR
Running. Air. Cold. Sensation.

Hair stood on end, as feet slammed against rocks. Shaggy white hair fluttered in the wind as muscles tightened and released, breath went in and out sharply. So many new feelings, thoughts came in crashes—ebbing and flowing rapidly, wave upon wave. The thoughts bubbled out into a belly-laugh so deep, Michelle herself was surprised that she'd made it.

Freedom was this. This was freedom. No missions, no tasks, no errands. Just Michelle and the crystal air roughly brushing her smooth skin. The floor slid under her feet as wall became ceiling, and floor became side. She had her wish, why would she need another one?

But, losing this: losing this is not an option. Neither was getting her hands dirty. Blood-tinted hands make for blood-tainted fun. We'll just have to make do with what the other contestants have planned for now. No use in wearing me out yet, right?

No, for now, the Runner was on a mission. What started out as merely a vendetta against a lost beverage now meant something deeper. Michelle promised herself against forming silly alliances and petty feuds. For now, Betsy rested snug against Davis' back. Okay, status check time.

Michelle's foot slid from under her, and she landed in a crouch, left leg out safely to the side. Her knuckles were white against her fingers gripping the floor tightly. Excellent, not even the sound of ice crunching. I'm doing pretty well for a newbie, if I may say so myself. She made another silly face and replied to herself. Oh, Michelle, you're too kind!

Still in her landing crouch, she fiddled with the knobs on her goggles. With her goggles calibrated properly, Michelle could see a small girl in tattered garb leaned against the wall, facing the other direction. She knew immediately this wasn't the source of the giggling; in fact, she had to control every reflex she had to not pull Betsy's trigger. Every reflex not to spit. Every reflex not to charge. Not a gasp or even a wisp of air escaped her lips, as she watched the girl intently.

A crumpled wad of paper fell from the girl's limp hands and thudded neatly on the icy ground, which, in a nauseating instant was suddenly the right wall. Michelle quickly decided not to get involved, and stomped off as soon as she could, in pursuit of the elusive giggling scoundrel. Her goggles were picking up some thermal signal, but she couldn't place it. It was no matter, her quarry remained afoot, and Michelle Davis never gives up! Except when it's profitable, of course.

Taking a break to think, the Runner leaned against the nearest wall, bracing herself in case of another sudden gravity flop. True to its form, however, the cave did not perform as expected, which Michelle realized as she tumbled backwards through a solid wall and landed on her side. She grimaced as Betsy flew off and slid through a puddle of purple liquid.

Uncomfortable. Unexpected. Unusual. Doable, though. She grinned, wiping the violet goo off of Betsy's muzzle. The crouched girl fired a test shot into the darkness, and was thrown back by the rifle's kick. A sizzling, molten, amethyst aura surrounded the slug, but it still flew true. Surprised, she looked down at her rifle--what used to be her rifle. It felt the same, she could still shoot it, but in her hands rest an item she'd never seen before; a giant, dark machine lay cradled in her arms. Her eyes widened, pupils dilated. Betsy almost slipped from her sweating hands. Michelle's breath came in short bursts. Shorter. Shorter. Now breath was held, while a cold bead of sweat trickled down her neck. What. the. hell. is. This.

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SpoilerHey, sorry about the double editing on this post. I realized I had written her in a way unnatural to her character. So I fixed it!

Originally posted on MSPA by Odinod.

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Mr. Nothing breathed a sigh of relief. The girl had run past him. He wasn't sure if she has seen him or not, but either way, she ignored him for now. No need to start fighting just yet. These people aren't on my list, anyways...or at least, I don't think they are. The beauty of a Reaper's list is that it is always growing; Names are always being added, and only very rarely do names disappear. He pulled the paper out again; it was still soggy, and still to hard to make out.

"Useless," he muttered, standing up from behind the rock. He looked around to make sure no-one else was about. The girl seemed to be long gone, and other than the giggles that surrounded him, he was alone. If it wasn't so early in this...competition, he would think that the giggles were a figment of his imagination, that he was going mad. The moving rock formations also bugged him. However, he knew that these strange things had some sort of logical explanation. He just didn't know what that was, yet.

A strange, alien laughter suddenly echoed into the cavern, coming from one of the nearby tunnels. It bounced off the slowly melting walls and battered him with sound, the noise encasing him. He put his hands over his ears, but it was already past. He looked at the few tunnels where it could have come from. Not going down those, that's for sure.

He looked back where he had come from, looked at the tunnels that led to the (most likely insane) source of that laughter, and to the tunnel where the girl had come from. That left him one tunnel. Hopefully the girl had gone down a separate one; he had a feeling he didn't want to meet her in a cramped-up space. Or at all, really. This whole situation was bad; people forced to kill other people. Now, Nothing was all for letting go when your time was up, but this "game" was breaking that rule. It was forcing a life to be ended too hastily.

If I have, to, though, I'll fight to the end. If nothing else, I stilll have my sense of self-preservation. He flapped his wings, gaining a slight bit of altitude, and glided down the new tunnel. He made sure to stay very close to the ground; he didn't want to do another flip-trick like before. Hopefully I'll meet someone sensible. And hopefully they won't try to kill me on sight.

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SpoilerLeaving this open; if Michelle wants to interact with Mr. Nothing, then he went down the same tunnel she did.

If she doesn't want to interact with him, he went down a tunnel leading to Emilio and Spender and Thomas.

Either way, he's headed toward someone.

Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.

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SpoilerExcuse me, my dear lad, it seems you have forgotten that Asteira was hiding somewhere between Michelle and Thomas' group, and that way he is BOUND to run into her.

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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SpoilerBy the way, my next update is waiting to see if there's a reaction from Thomas or Emilio, if that wasn't clear. I'm hoping to clear out before anyone else jumps in on the three of us, whether that means a singular encounter with him a little further down or just avoiding encounters for a bit.

Spender--like Asteira and Glere claim to--is forced to plan ahead by virtue of his power, so he likes to get the technical questions out of the way; that's why he wants to go after the gravity generators.

The rock genies hardly interest him at all, it seems. I guess he's got them pegged as NPCs or something [img]images/smilies/apple.gif[/img]

Originally posted on MSPA by MyifanW.

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Spoilerhaving a shit load of tunnels is a funny thing, you know.

Originally posted on MSPA by Alice.

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As soon as it was there, it was gone again. The woman sat limp on the floor, still panting in confusion. Betsy, her Betsy. Something was wrong with Betsy. Betsy, who she fought with, Betsy who she modified herself, Betsy her first gun. Betsy, with her first headshot.

Michelle allowed herself a few moments to regain her composure as she looked over her rifle, now back to normal. Could this have been one of the other contestants' doing? Could this have been that scraggly guy who brought me here? She looked over at the puddle of amethyst fluid. Was it that purple gunk? Well, better safe than sorry

Under a melting stalactite of ice, a pool of water had formed. Michelle ran Betsy through it, avoiding touching the liquid. Whatever the hell that was, I don't want any part of it.

After all the goo was washed off of her beloved rifle, Michelle took a cloth from her pocket and began to wipe Betsy down, quietly singing a classical song she heard on a equipment run once. "We're no strangers to loooove. You know the rules and so do Iiiiiiii. A full commitme--"

Her goggles blinked, a tall shape was in the darkness. She swung her entire body in an instant into a snipers position, her giant gun aimed. "Who are you?"

"Oh, um, terribly sorry to bother you ma'am."A man stepped from the hallway, holding his hands up in a non-threatening manner. He winced, obviously uncomfortable at having a giant rifle aimed at his chest."My name is Nothing."

"Then what do I call you?" Michelle eased up on the trigger, but kept a menacing face. He was harmless to her, a nice guy. But never one to pass up a good joke, she decided to have a bit of fun. "I don't have all day, you. I'm a very strong warrior. I'm valiant, and brave; who am I to think that you aren't some evil doer here to end my life!"

The man fidgeted with his tie, and looked around desperately for an exit. His hand tightened around the hilt of his weapon. "M-my name is Mr. Nothing."

Michelle took a hand, and pushed up her goggles on top of her head, messing up her short white locks. The corners of her mouth turned up in a silly grin. "Well hi! I'm Michelle, nice to meet you."

Mr. Nothing looked confused for a moment, but then relieved. His hand slipped from his scythe and he extended it to her for a handshake. She laughed, "You're not going to kill me, right?"

He used his other hand to pull up his sleeve. "No guns, no knives, no poisonous snakes. I think we're good."

Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.

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SpoilerI'm kind of getting a little confused as to the pacing of the whole thing, and this doesn't help, but we'll roll with it

The sound of a gunshot--a big one, by the sound of it--echoed from not too far away, drawing the attention of the other two. Spender, silently thanking himself for having stepped half-into the shadow, slipped his hand up into one sleeve, touching a coin hidden in the sleeve and instinctively casting it. When the two looked back, Spender had vanished, too quickly and too silently to have left by normal means.

Virtually unnoticed, one of the smiling, moving rocks slid quietly deeper into the shadows. As it approached another of the moving, living walls, the rest made a place for him in the wall, but he slid by them instead, his frozen face failing to distinguish him significantly from even their gaze, even as they wondered what he was doing.

A few feet further down the hallway, the rock genie faded, and Spender tumbled quietly from nothingness again.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Shit, he thought. Friggin' figures. Until I do something about the interference, that's going to hurt like hell.

For a little relief, he released his analysis rulespace, and hurried down the hall a little, pausing to listen, but there was no sound, nor presence, for the moment, so he sat down, his face frozen with a fake smile, his hands trying hard not to tremble.

That Emilio... he's one of the kinds who would sacrifice his friends for his own pride. He shook his head. How many people do those type have to let die before they figure out how goddamn wrong that is?

Hundreds of memories surged through his veins, but he gripped one hand with the other in an iron grip, willing them to subside.

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SpoilerSpellcoin Details: Avatar
Technically speaking, this is (Pocket Dimension) + (Rulespace) + (Holographic Manifestation).

When this is cast, the caster is taken to a pocket dimension / rulespace from which he controls a hologram as though he were playing a fighting game. He is free to select one of several premade characters (drawn on Spender's library), or they may imagine an appearance, then select or invent a moveset. The moves are fixed once the character is made, and they follow fighting game rules--every move looks exactly the same every time, stronger attacks take time to build up, etc. Avatars are slightly polygonal and are never quite accurate to the source material, as they are not meant for impersonation per se, although in low light, this may not matter very much. Avatars can speak, but it will be in the caster's voice, with something of an affectation.

These avatars were invented to allow for proper duels, so if the hologram is defeated, it is replaced by the caster, who is not allowed to move from the spot, cast magic, or speak for at least 60 seconds or until their opponent speaks their name. They can still move their arms and torso if they wish, including equipment, but any magic equipment will not function. There is no indication to the enemy that speaking their name will free them, even if the enemy is also using an avatar.

In this place, right now, Spender's pocket dimensions are a little unstable, and so currently using avatar is painful and potentially hazardous.

Originally posted on MSPA by Babel.

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Emilio watched with small wonder as the man disappeared before him. This action, although confirming his suspicions of sorcery, reflected, to Emilio, a subtler kind of cowardice – one he had encountered before. It was one that, in turn, revealed a deep-rooted intelligence. Too often, those crafty enough to weasel their way out of direct confrontation would be those left standing, when the rest of the world ripped itself apart. Well, if it came to the shattering of worlds, Emilio was confident enough in his own ability to know where he would stand. He would match them, blow for blow – strike for strike – and prove his prowess in battle. He would rise, in the end. That much he knew.
He shifted his attention to the young man in front of him – guarded, cautious, so difficult to read. It was nothing Emilio had seen before. The boy was clearly nervous, and although Emilio suspected that all was not as it seemed with the boy, by all indications he was currently harmless. Emilio smiled again at him, recalling the question he had previously raised.
“I have little regard for that which has already come to pass,” he said, simply, allowing his hand to travel back to the hilt of his sword. He felt the familiarity of the grip, mentally reconstructing the countless times he had held it before, “My chief concern are those events that are, unknown to us, already almost upon us.”
The sword was out in a blur. It vibrated, for a second, in the stillness of the moment, hanging tensely in the direction of the boy. Emilio never let his eyes down. Let the song fill him. Felt the rush of fear, anger, and surprise well up in his opponent. Analyzed the reaction time, the mental pulling for the supernatural. He let his smile fall. Heard the song rise again.

"Sing of penance and of glory, of fire, snow, and ice,
See two forces meet in battle, one valor and one vice.
Mark in his expression, lad, the flame that burns too bright.
Note the beast's eternal cold, its never-ending spite.
See the caverns wrought and wrecked, it's jagged halls now spent,
see the dragon now unleashed, and know where Emilio went."

“I suspect,” he said, with some excitement, “that there are things within this cavern that are bigger than us both.”

The blade snapped down, he felt himself move back. The song called him, and he would follow.

“I intend to know them all,” he finished, and was soon running through the darkness.

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SpoilerSorry for the lackluster post. I've got a pressing appointment.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

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Suddenly alone in the chamber, Eric sighed with relief. I'm glad that's over, he thought.

I hate to say it, Greg said, but we can hardly afford to wait around. That sounded like an old-style firearm, and those are pretty dangerous things, especially given the circumstances.

What, then?, Bern asked, Are we just going to go look for another psychopathic murderer and say "how's it going?"

No. We need to evaluate our opponents and gather data. Eric, what is there to hear down these tunnels?

One sec, he replied, reaching out to the air. He felt it, amplified its slightest vibrations, and suddenly, they could hear, among the amplified background noise, two voices.

"...meet you." A woman's voice came from one of the tunnels. A laugh. "You're not going to kill me, right?"

"No guns, no knives, no poisonous snakes." A man's voice this time. "I think we're good."

They sound peaceful enough, Eric said, dropping the amplification.

Then that's where we should go. Ingratiating ourselves with as many people as possible would probably be a good idea, and there's no better way to obtain information than to gather it yourself.

Thomas blinked, and Walt set off down the corridor toward the voices.

Originally posted on MSPA by McBatman.

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Glere sat silently for a few moments as the white eye faded. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to do much. He sat there motionless before finally recollecting the game pieces and tossing them into his cloak. With another swift swish with his cape, the table was once again taken back to the mysterious depths of its folds. He quickly picked up the stool, tossing it behind his back under the cloak, making a loud crash as though hitting something fragile.

"You would do well to guard yourself. Things are beginning to move around in here." He looked over his shoulder as a loud gunshot echoed through the caverns, followed by whispering. He smiled slightly then bowed his head. "If you can find me again, then I'll know you were serious about an alliance, just consider this the invitational."

With a quick jump and another flick of his wrist he grabbed onto a stalactite, then another next to it, before swinging back and forth and flipping back up through the hole in the ceiling. He reached into a fold, producing what looked like a red candle, then with the other hand a box of matches.

"Nothing personal my friend, I just like to cover my tracks!" he said cheerfully striking a match, then backing down the tunnel as he lit the wick. The fire emitted from it sprang to life, making it very obvious he had just in fact lit a stick of dynamite. He jammed it into a soft muddy wall, then sprinted the opposite direction, vanishing into the darkness. He smiled as he closed his eyes and covered the sides of his head, where his ears would be if he had any, as he rounded a bend.

These games are so very fun. he thought dashing along the corridor, sighing whimsically as a deafening explosion rocked the cavern.

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SpoilerJust editing to fix a few things that seemed inconsistent

Originally posted on MSPA by Lighing.

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"What the hell is he trying to do?!?" James said while running out of the cavern, he was trapped by an explosion. He jumped out of the smoke and ran out of the cavern. "Ugh, my sword was scratched." He started sharpening it again. After doing so he walked down a random tunnel to find another switch, he flicked it and a rock fell from the ceiling. It was hollow. "This'll be a good disguise!" He hides in it and waits for someone to come nearby.

Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.

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A loud booming noise echoed down the tunnels, followed by a deeper, more powerful rumbling.

Walt looked around, and he barely got off a "What-" before the ground shifted under his feet, knocking him flat on his face.

This is bad, Greg said, the melting ice must have-

Walt practically shoved Greg in control. Shut up and keep us alive! You can work out why this happened once this is over!

Greg stifled a response and reached out with his mind, grabbing loose rocks and forming a protective dome.

Suddenly, though, there was a loud electric discharge, and they tumbled towards the wall. "The gravity generators must be damaged!", Greg shouted, forming the dome more tightly around him. Now that there was a definite down, rubble began falling from the ceiling, pelting his impromptu shield with detritus.

Now that we're out of immediate danger, Eric said, rocks raining down on the shield harmlessly, what were you saying, Greg?

Oh, I was just theorizing that the ice served an important structural purpose, and when it began to melt, the tunnels became unstable enough that a concussion of sufficient power could cause parts of them to collapse.

Any idea how widespread it would be?

No way to tell. This could shake the whole cave, or it could be just a few tunnels. We would have to look around to see the full extent of the damage.

Well let's stay here for now, at least until this place stops shaking. Hopefully this shouldn't last too much longer.

Originally posted on MSPA by Alice.

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SpoilerEvery time I see Wojjan's character, Asteria, I get this image of the "witch" zombie from Left 4 Dead in my mind. And it creeps me the heck out. Maybe part of my character's ZOMBIE HUNTING background is rubbing off on me.