One Round Only: The

The didn't bother with an introduction. Or a name. The was too impatient for names, and 'The Impatient' took too long to say. Also The thought it was probably taken already, by someone less impatient and possibly more vain.

The took things from the infinity of creation, and eight of them appeared in front of them.

"I appreciate haste. Fight for me. I will choose a winner."

A question came sort of floating through the void that The had not bothered to fence off with any kind of reality.

"One round. Winner take all."

***************

Welcome to The, the only battle where the grandmaster hasn't even bothered to name the thing. This will be one round only, so eight people come in and only one will survive.

The enjoys profiles that are fast. Fuck long-term characterization. Fuck survivability. Fuck long posts. The wants this done as soon as possible.

Username: why are you wasting time even putting this in
Name: "hey you" will also suffice
Gender: usually irrelevant
Race/Species: the does not want a six-page treatise on how your species takes a shit
Color: pick one that is fast to type
Description: preferably too fast to describe ("did anyone get the plate on that car" is also acceptable)
Items/Abilities: 'speed' is a good one to put here
Biography: tweet this motherfucker

***************

speeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed

Username: the disembowller
Name: Magnus Pica
Gender: he
Race/Species: human-sized magpie with killer gams, robot arms attached at the hip. Takes your shit and sells it on the nearest black market
Color: #003333
Description: Stole some war medals, stole a police horse, stole your heart. Did not steal his hooded pullover that's a gift from his mad scientist dad
Items/Abilities: keen bird senses, flight, mimickry, Teenage Vim and Pluck, a stolen horse
Biography: who gives a rat's ass

Name: Princess Poptart Fancypants
Gender: She/Hers.
Race/Species: Unicorn.
Color: UUUUUUUUUUUH. Magenta.
Description: Goth.
Items/Abilities: Divine magic. Speed. Horn. Horse.
Biography: Once a human. Probably has a tragic past.

Name: Jeremia Dusk
Gender: She
Race/Species: Cowboy
Color: Blood red
Description: Fastest gun in The
Items/Abilities: Fastest gun in The, horse, short temper
Biography: Whoops too late she already shot you

Name: Heyyou Will Alsusuffice
Gender: M
Race/Species: Fairy
Color: italics
Description: A fully proportionate human but 2 foot tall.
Items/Abilities: Appears whenever someone forgets someone elses name.
Biography: Deathly afraid of shins. Has a knife.

Wait, hold on bigro, where's your horse?

Name: Heyyou Will Alsusuffice
Gender: M
Race/Species: Fairy
Color: italics
Description: A fully proportionate human but 2 foot tall.
Items/Abilities: Appears whenever someone forgets someone elses name.
Biography: Deathly afraid of shins. Has a knife.

Wait, hold on bigro, where's your horse?

Magnus stole it

I'm the horse.

Username: Rockb@be66
Name:Johnson
Gender: big boi
Species:rock
Colour: Grey
Desc: Is pretty, has googly eyes
Items/abilities: Can do taxes
Biography: Murdered his entire family with taxes

Username: GATR
Name: GROTHOK
Gender: MANLY
Color: GREEN
Race/Species: ORC
Description: MUSCLE
Items/Abilities: FOOTBALL
Biography: PLAYER

Show Content

Spoileramerican football

Username: Mirdini
Name: Wrigley
Gender: Bitch
Color: Coat Color
Race/Species: A Shib
Description: A very good lost doggo. Powerful and wise, possibly blessed. Large-sized, for a shib.
Items/Abilities: Bork, bite, waggles.
Biography: Wrigley was a very good dog for 4 years, until she wasn't there anymore. She hopes she can get back to being a very good dog soon.

The hated questions. They took up valuable time. The made up for it by making the transition to a reality especially jarring and spontaneous. Below them a small town raced on treads across a dusty swathe of desert, raising enormous clouds of dust. On the north and south horizons, ocean glittered in the desert sun.

"Convoy City. Around the equator. Deliveries. Urgency. Speed."

Exposition also took up valuable time, so The dropped their contestants in and left.

Princess Fancypants gallops in. She thinks deeply of her tragic past and briefly, as she find the local Urban Outfitters to fill the hole in her heart.

Wrigley was in a new place! It smelled like rocks and there was a warm fire nearby. Wrigley cocks her head at the sooty man by the fire.

"A dog? The heck? WHO LEFT THEIR DOG IN THE ENGINE CARRIAGE?"

So Magnus, this guy, this bird, he's on his high horse (the horse is perfectly sober, the horse was a policeman on active police duty at the time of the rustling/kidnapping/foalnapping/caught napping) and there was a car chase like it's nobody's business where Magnus and his horse now, motherfuckers, are going,

and then there's brevity,
the soul of who gives a shit.

And now we're here. Here's quite lacking in company in vein of unicorns or cowboys or lost dogs or the like, and even more lacking in a goddamn clue.

The city's on Magnus on-the-horse's left, churning and screaming at the ground and giving his horse, shut your long face and just roll with it ok Police Neighcademy?
It's costing Magnus a pretty buck as the horse panics around under him and it's taking all his fingery limbs to stay on the damn thing.

"There's gotta be a way up on that thing," says Magnus, and the horse is far from convinced and by god does Magnus want to take his shirt off.

Johnson sat in his place, googly eyes googling all over the place in panic. What is this place? Why is there a unicorn just fucking entering buildings without anybody paying any mind and a shouty birdman screeching on his horse? What is with these strange yellow rocks, speaking in different tongues, staring at him? Is it because of his silky smooth grey covering? Johnson didn't know. So he kept to himself, and did the only thing that he was good at to calm his rocky nerves; taxes.

"Oh this is horrible," say Princess Fancypants. "This cute dress costs, like, a million dollars! I have to go find a job!"

She gallops broodily to the cargo delivery service to get a job. Which she does.

FIGHT THE ROCK

The first thing Jeremia does upon arrival is to shoot the first pedestrian she sees. That'll teach 'm for standing on the sidewalk like that, all innocent-like. She knows better. Gotta establish dominance.

Now if Jeremia knows anythin' about these low-down coward city slickers (which she does, by the way), it's that what she just done is likely to cause a right pretty ruckus. But that don't matter. Ain't nothin' they can do afore the cops get here, and she's planning the be long gone by then. Tipping her hat at the astonished pedestrians, she turns and gallops off into the nearest alleyway. That is, until she bumps into somebody strikin'ly familyer...

*cue character meet up with somebody*

Lo and behold, by narrative convention, a goth unicorn appears in front of Jeremia. It was wearing a postal worker uniform for some reason.

"I have a job!" She says cheerfully, then broodingly. Because goth.

The city's up there, all freewheeling on its treads, the steering wheel's locked for Due East though so freedom's fixed on one straight line. Hope that's alright.

At least, y'know, after the first lap or two. you can rest easy knowing there's guaranteed something over the horizon. You know, if the biggest grandest market on wheels or otherwise on Planet Beltest Of Ways just ain't doing it for you.

So there's the city up there, and little old Magnus and an increasingly done-with-this-nonsense horse down here, sloughing their way through dust and dunes and trying their damnedest both to not suffer a mouthful. Magnus' eyes can't even widen like stolen heirloom saucers a the sight of a rolling city cuz it's just that damn dusty.

He's sure hard pressed to pick out one little gray man chilling out at the city's edge, but that's not Johnson's fault. Johnson's not all distracted trying to pilot a horse, which at least one other person here could inform you isn't a piece fo darn tootin cake.

Magnus gets in behind the convoy, where his steed gets its recommended annual dose of rare earth metals and aerosolised dirt. The poor critter is flagging hard, it's one horse's power against untold scores under that city's hood. Magnus gets a call on his cellphone, which is in his hoodie pocket. His robot-limbs are full of reins, and his dad never had the budget for cool claws on his wings.

"Frick," says Magnus.

Just as he's hit the point way behidn where he's only got the considerable trail of dust to follow, the city slows down. Smaller vehicles ramp off of sand dunes, and the crack of explosives and snapping metal fills the air. Vendors rush out of the malls, wielding their finest wares (or the most cost-effective wares off Sharp Street, if they themselves aren't in the business of killing implements.)

"Raiders! Raiders!" go the warning sirens, helpfully. A big red light atop Princes Fancypants' workplace starts flashing, and a fellow postal worker bursts out the backdoor and thrusts a weapon into her hoof.

"Let's see what you've got, newbie!" they says, then look to Jeremia all loitering in this alleyway. Looks her steed all up and down and trying to figure if they've seen something like that, before brandishing their Postman's Pike a little too close for comfort. "Hang on... you! Rider! State your guild and department, or be captured as a raider!!"

FIGHT THE ROCK

Johnson heard a sound that made him look up. Besides the screaming of a dying pedestrian, Johnson heard something far away, getting closer and closer. Is that...chanting? Johnson saw a green figure stomping his way towards him, voice loud and threatening, little eyes like black pebbles boring into his skull.

"FIGHT THE ROCK! he chanted, green fists clenched and on a trajectory right to his rocky face.

"Fuck." Johnson squeaked, as he clutched his taxes close, and prayed to any rocky god that could hear him.

CARRY THE ROCK

KNOCK DOWN ENEMIES

UNICORN AND GUN LADY NO MATCH FOR GROTHOK

SLAM ROCK ON GROUND

TOUCHDOOOOOOOOOOWN!

Raider? Jeremia ain't no raider. She's more of a... whaddayercallit... a freelancer. Get it? You do no harm to her, an' she won't do no harm to you. She twirls her revolver on finger to emphasize her point, and very nearly shoots herself in the foot. Her damn fool horse starts up at the shot and does its best to give her a concussion on the brick wall.

So anyway, she's no raider. Now y'all go off and do whatever it is yer s'pposed to be doin', please?

"Oh, okay, sorry. Have a nic--" Princess Fancypants is cut off by the gloved hand of her fellow Postman.

"What are you doing, you idiot, she could be dangerous!
"State your guild and department or I will be forced to apprehend you!"

Jeremia never heard of mailmen bein' law enforcement before. Anyway, she ain't from around here, so she don't belong to a guild, but...

Hold on, what in the Devil's own blistered asscrack is that thing? She politely suggests that instead of botherin' those who're mindin' there own business, the postman/policeman/whatever should maybe focus on the god damn ogre standin' right bally behind 'm?!

Princess Fancypants lets out an excessively dramatic scream as she realized there was a SMELLY OGRE behind her. "Go away!" She screeches broodily as she tosses a spear at the ogre.

"This ain't football."

WHAT?

...

NO LINES, NO GOALS, NO CHEERING FANS.

...

"SORRY."

HE WAS A BIT SLOW.