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      Forum Rules (Read Me)   01/10/2010

      When writing thread for stories in the Interactive Unrealities section please do so off-site using something like Word or Notepad before posting. This way should something happen when you submit, you will not lose any work.   Also when using Word, please preview your post before submitting. In the past there was an issue with Word's "Smart Quotes" being converted to garbage characters. Though this should no longer be a problem it's best to find out before hand rather than have to make a bunch of edits.

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  1. It is mesmerizing to watch this foul one fight. His dance is tinged with hatred, every move edged with poison that seethes from his reeking from. It is as if Death had been soaked in grime and offal, his pelt of scalps shivering in the damp and slapping sprays of muck with each whirling glance. If this Mebius is pestilent to behold, his moves have the rabid fury of a lycantrhope and his blade is blacker than the space between stars. These Bouncers have a feel of death about them, too, but it is an old death. They are skinny, alabaster albinos with hair of glass, eyes of emerald, teeth of crystal, and a height most uncanny. Their dance is scuttling, dark and grievous, hissing and gargling through double-jointed jaws as they go, pink tongues lolling. See how their gold tridents glint with each thrust, how the spokes disconnect and extend or are launched out with hornet barbs; watch how they release electrical shocks through the tips and whip silverspun netting to ensnare the foul one: they are a match for any gladiator. I would not relish a duel with one. And yet, they fall like wheat before the scythe, cut down with showers of milky gore that splatter and seep across the cave floor; the pool is now stained white as the liquid vaporizes on contact. A twirling thrust of the trident to shatter blades from the left with a simultaneous lightning-tipped hornet sting from the right, but Mebius is somehow both places at once, his blade wrapping around trident shafts and scything down the first with a swift, dark slice, cutting through the ivory ribcage of the second with the undulating waves of a living chainsaw; the head of still a third is ripped from the inside out, split across the skull in a dozen places by whipping tentacles that slice through mouth and nostrils to emerge through eyes and ears. It is as if he knows what each move will be, well before it happens, and so emerges unscathed. And the grin: that of a rat gnawing the marrow from the bones of an eviscerated maiden, the jaws of a shark tearing through flesh, the blood of a skull crushed under a hammer, all with the spidery black whispering sheen of a bucket of cockroaches and the chuckling of claws on slate. His one weakness is that he has allowed me to see his style. With that, he will be a corpse before this hour is done. So...hideous! Nothing can adequately describe this foul creature, one whose own mother would have forsaken in a heartbeat. No, a thing such as this could not have been from womb born. And the speed! I can barely keep up with his movements, even with my brain on overdrive. His blade is ever-changing, literally evolving into new creatures as the fight progresses. Now it is a thin strip of sheet metal that slings out and wraps around the head of a pale Bouncer, popping it off clean as a dandelion, now it is the claws of an eagle, raking through both stomach and face and switching both. The Bouncers shriek if they have voiceboxes left, but dissolve in white fog and clouds of ash as they hit the floor. Mebius takes sadistic pleasure, ripping off their scalps and slinging them to his teeth; does he really tie those to his cloak!? Can a sword really stop it? I wish I was home, back home with Gabe, where it was at least quiet and things like this did not exist. Vaughn! Can you fight such a thing!? Oh yes. We most certainly can. Blood. Blood and puke and excrement. Mix it in a blender and feed it to the babies through a straw of bone. Split the skulls and drink the brain. Boil them in the song of Death. Ah, Death! Would that I could be your Master rather than mere Agent! You were There before the first living being, and now when I slay them all, there will be nothing left for you to take - nothing to take except yourself! How I love the sound of ripping flesh, the crunch of bone, the shock it makes as it slices through marrow. It is a symphony, a cacophony of damned souls singing their wailing sorrows as they come to suck the souls down, down, down - down into Hell. Hell is where my heart is, and it is now where all you false ones will go, go, go! And especially HIM! The one who must be Found. Found and split into tiny pieces, and the marrow slurped from the bones and the eyes squished like olives. Take these wretched albinos with YOU, in all their lovely, bloody parts. Take. Them. Down there with the blood and puke and excrement. And a glass of cocoa. Warm with your own blood. But you! You pale ones! I Know where you will be! I know where you have always been! But HIM, HIM cannot be Seen! Not now, not yet! Too many voices, all which must be silenced; silenced into screams that will be the music of a thousand maggots nibbling at YOUR viscera. And the hair - so soft, so warm and wet. Love to tie it as a skin of man. Hair so white. White and wet. Wet with blood. And pus. And blood and puke and excrement...
  2. Yes, when, indeed, would the poor, hapless Gilgamesh, now in the clutches of some foul, toothless worm of hades, finally get, as he to righteously put it what karma so dearly owes him!? We shall return to this momentarily, but before then, there requires some explanation of the epic battle of sword-slashing slicery as the phallic annelid slid the quarter-god through its gummy jaws and down into his gooey interior, only to find its internal organs, once so happily arranged within their desired positions, now rearranged by both blade and fist into a structure resembling certain Assyrian sculptures in its depiction of barbarous battle with fell beasties. Said annelid, now completely dissatisfied with its last meal, thrashed and gurgled its way through the dark interiors of the Garden into realms quite beyond its usual habit and most people's ken. These death throes finally brought the beast to a final rest with a quite satisfying slapp from which emerged the glorious Gilgamesh, in ungloriously tarnished armor, black and green, and oozing, and smelling of foul sewage. Said appearance remained unilluminated to the warrior because the room he’d landed in was black as pitch. Ha-ha, thou annelid, unfit to taste of godly flesh! Thy corpse ‘tis not worth a sliver of spittle. Now if only I could gaze upon this wonderful slaughter! Gilgamesh thrust his arms out in all directions, feeling his way through the empty room. The place was somewhat cold, and its vast reaches were sounded from time to time by the distant drips of water. Eventually, the Sumerian demigod found his way to a wall most roughly, bruising and chafing his flesh, grown quite grapish in limbo, upon his armor. Smattering a few curses not worth repeating, but certain to teach Egyptian sailors a thing or two, he felt his way along the wall until his gloved hand came to rest upon what turned out to be a quite ordinary door knob, whose owner quite unordinarily managed to block all light from the adjoining room. Ah-hah! Some semblance of civilization within this blackened abode! Bringing his ear to the door, he heard within faint murmuring and clattering, as of a vastness of tools and cutlery in use. Methinks it is some grand feast befitting of a warrior of my stature! Without further ado, he opened the door, flooding the dark cave with a blinding beam of white light, which Gilgamesh promptly stepped through - which was a good thing, considering when he turned to look back at the room he’d just left, he realized there was no floor - and also apparently no walls to speak of! What witchery is this!? said Gilgamesh, poking his head back through the hole. So engrossed was he in this investigation that he did not notice the slight fellow with a fantastic haircut, immaculately white suit, and dress shoes step up behind him and tap him on the shoulder, interrupting with an interjection. “Um, excuse me, sir? Would you mind closing that door? Ah yes, thank you. I can’t understand why the night crew left that unlocked. In all honesty, that place should have been off limits. Now, mister...?†Gilgamesh, He Who Saw the Deep, Master of the Blades, Slayer of Phunbaba, Surpassing All Other - “Ah yes, Mr. Gilgamesh - I’m terribly sorry, we’ve got so many names to keep track of here. Please?†The slight and very polite man motioned for the demigod to follow him. Gilgamesh was quite impressed that this fellow knew how to deal with a warrior of his stature and followed, smiling smugly. They perambulated down the long many-doored corridor from which could be heard diverse clanging, rapid scratching, and clacking noises. “As you can see, we are quite busy here at the moment.†The slight man opened a door, gesturing for Gilgamesh to perceive a man roasted by a sudden burst of flames disgorged from a mechanoid. The man screamed and flailed about before diving off a platform into a bowl of jello below. Several judges raised a series of scorecards - all quite generous, save for the Russian. “Now then, moving forward, I think we have just the person who you’d like to see.†Another door was opened, this time with a solid wall of water that remained in place. Reptilian spearfishermen were battling giant man-eating beasts of the Megalodon and Mososaur variety. One particularly nasty brute, with teeth the size of short swords, spotted them and began to swim for the door. Before the startled demigod could say Sashimi, the slight man nonchalantly closed it without the slightest loss of composure, apologizing profusely. “No, sorry, Mr. Gilgamesh. That was the wrong door.†He opened the next one, and the clattering grew louder. Inside was what appeared to be a vast printing press with dozens of 1920s-era newsboys and journalists jumping about among futuristic display machines, computer keyboards, vintage typewriters, pens both expensive and common, monks stooped over vellum tomes, bards reciting poetry, and even a few scribes with clay tablets. The scribes in particular caught Gilgamesh’s attention. Learned Sin-liqe! The demigod proudly strode over to a short, balding Akkadian fellow, befitted with a set of considerably modern reading glasses. I thought it was you! He warmly squeezed the frail old man with his considerable forearms. “Ah-!†coughed Sin-liqe. “Oh my, but if it isn’t Gilgamesh! Look, Ash-marnak!†“May the Goddess be praised!†said Ash-marnak. Your deeds with pen and song have made my glory live forever! For this, you have my eternal thanks! Have you continued to keep up on my adventures of late? “Oh, King Gilgamesh,†said Sin-liqe, “Every deed we shall immortalize for the love of the Goddess and your everlasting glory!†As it shall be! Do not you forget to give me glorious speeches befitting of my highborn blood and rousing battles mastered by my shining blades! The scribes bowed. “Glory be to Gilgamesh!†they said in unison. The slight man, smiling at the honored guest, motioned for Gilgamesh to follow. Can you believe it!? I haven’t seen those fine fellows in over seven millennia! How did they happen to make this place their humble abode? “Well, Mr. Gilgamesh, this happens to be a hole in time, if you will, by which we are able to maintain the existence of storytellers the multiverse over. The hall you saw outside is but a fraction of the infinite mazes we store here. Why, there is even a room full of an infinite number of monkeys with typewriters - but I’m afraid we’ve disproven that old adage at this point. Now then...†The slight man looked at the sign on the wall, which listed dozens of room numbers and names in a script illegible to Gilgamesh. “Ah, that would be this way.†They came to a room in which several writers sat at their desks with computers and laptops. Off to the side was a tall blond fellow in a flight suit who gestured wildly towards a man in a leather kilt and Indiana Jones. “No, no, no! Simon, we need to know how you’d fight a man with a bullwhip!†The gothic warrior shrugged, and the two resumed cracking away, at one point managing to get Indy’s bullwhip tangled with the Belmont’s Vampire Killer. Such fine warriorship wasted on a tallow rope! Why do they not use the mighty blade! “Ah, Mr. Gilgamesh. I see you have an interest in our idea generation room. This is where we can pit together characters both fictional and historical to gain raw material for our stories. In this instance, the author is trying to determine how one would fight different adversaries using a whip for an upcoming adventure. No bother! Ah - Mrs. Veronica, will you please fetch our honored guest something to drink!†Your finest ale! Fit for He Who Surpasses All Kings! “Now then... I think this would be the fellow you wish to talk to!†The slight man motioned Gilgamesh to a room off to the side where a man sat in front of a bright monitor, typing away, his features blurred by the glow. “Badger, you have a guest!â€
  3. Mebius hefted his Mutastone, judging the distance between the Zookeeper’s burning hut and the rising steam. I ain’t walking that... He started to raise his hand, but quickly got a glimpse of two alternate futures, and instead turned to Kane. You coming? Why wouldn’t I? Then hold on. Mebius grabbed Kane’s arm in his steely grip, then raised his left hand with the Mutastone, flashing out a long, narrow tendril of god’s matter that whipped around a great tree in the distance. With equally surprising speed, Mebius snapped his wrist and the Mutastone began to shrink back to its original width, whipping Kane and Mebius across the forest. In the rocks and trees below, sixteen-limbed apes and three-billed, razor-tipped toucans chattered and screeched. Amongst the din, a man in a torn gold suit and black pants fired a lazer as he leapt over a rock before being lost in the foliage; an ape exploded in a shower of limbs and giblets. Tasty. Can’t help but think I’ve seen that guy before. It’s like some 1960s TV show! I wonder if we can get those TV signals out here... Anyway, brace yourself! The Mutastone suddenly slowed its retraction, stopping just short of slamming the two into a massive oak. A giant foot of god’s matter then reached out below them, lowering them safely to the ground. Glad you’re a robot. Slingshots can tear apart normal people. Kane’s teeth chattered just the same. Can you go a little slower next time? No. Mebius pointed to the sky. The steam had suddenly stopped rising, leaving the two below a white umbrella of water vapor. There’s no water here. It must have come from the ground. Kane activated his spectrometer, quickly discerning the narrow cracks in the rock from which minute traces of water vapor still remained. His sensors could probe no further, but he guessed there had to be an entrance somewhere. Meanwhile, Mebius was tapping tree trunks with his Mutastone, listening carefully. Kane turned to him. You know, there’s a MUCH easier way of doing this. DUCK. The Hunter opened fire with his assault rifle, vaporizing tree trunks and giant boulders, anything that might hide a hidden passage. All around them, large branches and rock shards hurtled to the ground. ARE YOU INSANE!? Mebius was cowering beneath a mutastone umbrella. Rocks shattered against it. Kane laughed maniacally in an ambiguous color, blasting away like the madman he was. Suddenly, the firing stopped and Kane strode forward amongst the rain of debris, raising his rifle without looking and vaporizing a particularly large branch that was about to fall on his head. Before him was a nice hole in the earth in front of the smoking remains of a tree trunk. Without hesitating, the Hunter leapt inside. Mebius followed quickly behind. At the bottom of the hole lay a large ice cave, the petrified roots of the fake tree curling around its roof like gothic ribs. In the center was an underground lake that had been flash-boiled, the mud now frozen solid. On one bank of the dried lake bed lay an old man, frozen stiff and with a thick mustache crudely drawn on his face. Kane knelt before him. Hey, it’s our old friend, the Architect. Older than usual... And colder. He’s frozen solid, twice as cold as the ice around. Looks like it was a fight. Recently, too. I don’t have to tell you the winner drew that. Kane pointed to the mustache, then straightened, dusting himself off. Guess he wasn’t much of a God after all. Did you believe any of that crap? God? Mebius tapped the old man with his boot, spat. There is no God. There’s nothing in the sack. Where’d the winner go? They looked out into the lake. A set of footprints led into the center, abruptly vanishing. That’s unusual. The Oroboro tossed a dead fish, which disappeared into the center with an abrupt sucking sound. That’s not quicksand. Kane scanned it further. The material’s temperature was no different than the surrounding material, but it was spectrographically different than anything else in the cave. Come to think of it, it looked atomically different from anything else in the Universe. Whoever went in there, he’s got to have what I need. Time to pull a Beowulf. Mebius shook his mutastone. It formed a half-dome above his head which then extended until it covered all his body but his feet in an egg. He ran into the mud, then leapt, the sphere covering his feet in a total shell. His muffled yell came through right before he hit: See you at the bottom! Kane shrugged. Air breathers. He strode to the center, just before the footsteps ended. Kane tentatively stuck his foot in. It was answered by a sucking sound and the hunter quickly pulled his foot back. Or tried to at least - his toe was stuck in the ooze. Trying to wrench free, he saw to his amazement the goop slowly rise up his leg, pulling him in further. He violently pulled back, but was slingshot forward with even greater strength, falling head-over-heels into the goop. The goop was here, the goop was there, the goop was all around. It glooped and blooped and popped and pooped like some ancient, drunken rime. After some struggling against the ooze, Kane eventually realized that there was nothing he could do but continue falling. Deciding that this was going to be the case for awhile, and wondering why he’d decided to follow Mebius inside in the first place, he realized the next best thing to do would be to pull out his basket. And start weaving. He was pretty sure that his underwater basketweaving skills would also prove useful in a bottomless pit of goop.
  4. [This is actually a dialogue that is happening concurrently with the battle between Mebius and The Architect. It's so incredibly awesome it requires its own set of posts. Too bad we haven't told you what happens yet. In this post, more dialogue and 'plot development' occurs. Or maybe this is putting a little bit too much 'de' in the development ] "Well, they'll be at that nonsense for awhile." "Hmm?" Kane looked at the Zookeeper like he was mad, then back at the two fighters. "The battle?" "Oh, I hadn't noticed." "You know, you really are a rude son of a bitch." The Zookeeper kept on rocking. Kane spat and walked inside the hut. It was small, full of meaningless objects, the kind one would expect to find in a farmhouse: tools, drying herbs and vegetables, glass bottles for canning, a fireplace and old wood table. None of it caught his interest. "So you made this place?" "This place was never made," came the chuckling response and the squeak of the rocker. This was getting nowhere. He needed some information on what he - or rather, his brother - had been hired to find. "Tell me about the Object." "Object? You'd have to be more definite." "Not what that clown with the white hair was talking about. Something bigger, more important." "There's nothing like that here. Only monsters, man-eaters, and Eaters." "And the Zookeepers." "Hmm?" croaked the old man. "You said you were a Zookeeper. I want to know how many there are. One of you has to know what it is I'm looking for." "Huh? You young 'uns sure ask some meaningless questions. How can there be many of something that never existed?" "Don't delude me, Old Man. You are clearly here. And so is the Object. And it sure as hell isn't canned strawberries." "Young folk sure get some strange ideas. It's a pity you don't live long enough to learn." He yawned and scratched his white beard and yawned, continuing to rock. "None of you." "And if you're here, and you fail to answer my questions, or give a damn, then you'll react to this." Kane raised his sidearm and leveled it at the old man. "And if you're not, then you certainly won't have any objections." The Zookeeper went on rocking as Kane pulled the trigger with a click.
  5. Without stopping to think, Kane pulled his rifle from his belt and began firing from the hip in such a rapid seccession that it sounded like one continuous laser blast, each shot hitting the worm in exactly the same place: right below the chin. The Architect smiled and seeing what Kane was doing, charged up his Lightning Gauntlet and pitched out a dozen bolts of ball lightning, the eerie balls dancing over the savannah, glancing arcs of weird light over the tall grasses. The bolts struck the beast at just the right time and just the right angle, shattering the diamond carapace around the worm’s weakest point, revealing pale white flesh beneath. Seeing an opening, Max threw his shriek with all his might and at just the right angle, sending the razor-sharp yo-yo out at an almost impossible angle where it struck the worm cleanly in the hole. He tugged the shriek like a kite string, and the blades danced about in the wound, carving great chunks of flesh from its body. The worm howled and, unable to maintain its onward-rushing charge, wavered and fell into the dirt, its momentum carrying it towards their feet as it gnawed a long furrow across the grassland with the roar of some insane subway train. When the dust and roar finally settled, three stoic silhouettes stood in a perfect row, their boots at the noze of the behemoth. â€YAHOO! Scratch one snake!†â€Never had worm this big.†Kane drew his wicked Tachi, savoring the sound it made as it withdrew from the scabbard. “Bet you taste like chicken.†The worm let out a long ear-piercing shriek that sent cracks through the ceiling of the room, bright multi-colored tiles crashing to the floor. “Wait!†Cried The Architect, his voice booming over the savannah. â€Old man, the Universe will be a better place without this monstrosity.†“I said HOLD IT. She’s trying to tell us something!†â€Whaddya mean, SHE?†It was surprisingly easy for Kane to feel annoyed at The Architect. â€No, wait, wait, wait. Whadday mean, YOU CAN TALK TO IT!?†“Not it. She.†Actually, The Architect could talk the language of all kinds of animals, by virtue of having created them all. â€Oooh boy.†Max flicked his shriek nervously. â€Now we’ve got a loony tree hugger on our team.†Fire flared through The Architect’s eyeholes. “SKUR-REEEEEAAACH!!†â€Okay, okay...†He turned away from the metal warrior and back to his weapon. â€But if this thing moves only a liiitle...†“She says she’s sorry.†â€Oh yeah, tell that to swiss cheese over here.†Kane gestured to Max, whose Grabeth armor was still steaming in places. Kane wondered if it was the kind that regenerated over time. “Mistook us for something called ‘The Triad’.†His companions frowned skeptically. â€That’s a lot of bull if I ever I heard it.†“Skur-squawk!†“She’s actually a pet. Named... Sally.†The Architect’s voice was visibly disappointed through his stoic mask. â€Why that dumbass- Hey! Hey! Listen to ME, you stupid annelidic cretin! You almost turned us to paste!†“Skur-reeek!†Sally squawked sheepishly, if multi-fathom-long worms could look like a sheep, this one kind of did. “She says she’s really sorry,†The Architect boomed. “She’s been a bad girl and left her keeper.†Her WHAT!? You mean this thing’s a PET?? “Well, not exactly. More like a zoo animal.†â€I say we kill it anyway.†Because that’s what Kane would have done, after all. “SKREE!†â€She could feed the starving children of Africa!†“SKREE-SKREE!†“Now you listen to me, Sally. You beat up these nice bounty hunters here pretty bad. ‘Thou shalt not harm thy neighbor,’ and all that. Even I know that ‘sorry’ won’t make up for that. How will you help them in return?†“Skree skWAAAK!†“She says she knows of a secret. It lies through many a maze of twisty passages, all alike, that not even Will Crowther could find his way through.†â€You want us to trust a worm?†â€I say, worm juice...†“SKREEEE!†The Architect laid his hand on Kane’s hand, lowering his blaster. “Now Sally, listen to me veeery carefully. Good. Now,†and he leaned in front of the worm’s giant eyeball, a white and red orb the size of a very large pumpkin. “LOOK AT ME.†Max and Kane could see nothing as The Architect’s back was turned to them, but they would always remember what they did see. Lights brighter than the fire of a white dwarf reflecting off Sally’s diamond scales, the light refracting off the gems to light the chamber in a glimmering kaleidoscope of lights, like seeing into the heart of creation. And the worm - Sally’s face went rigid, her eye transfixed on The Architect in deep fear, then her tail began to lash about wildly, shattering the shore of the lake and almost knocking Max and Kane off their feet. “ENOUGH!†Sally fell silent and the room went dark. “...Sally will take us where we wish to go.†The Architect strode atop the worm’s back, his boots clinking on the diamonds. Sally lowered her head obediently. “We cannot kill her so easily because it cannot be allowed. She is Our servant now and will do us no harm. And besides - we must find out who this ‘zookeeper’ of hers is.†What The Architect didn’t tell them was that Sally actually had a part to play in The Plan. That so? Well, if it’s all the same with you...†Kane pulled something from his suit. It was a spool of thread, shiny and so thin you almost couldn’t see it. He grabbed one end and thrust his metal hand into the worm’s neck. Sally shrieked for a few seconds, then abruptly halted as Kane returned his hand, flicking off flecks of gore. Sally glared at him, but did nothing to stop him. Without looking at her, Kane leapt onto the worm’s back. â€What was that all about?†“Insurance. I don’t exactly trust this tin can.†Max shook his head, then landed on Sally’s back after a running leap. He turned to face The Architect, who looked nonchalantly across the savannah. He turned and Max was startled to see a small spot of rust on the back of his armor. Before he could say anything, The Architect gave Sally’s neck a whack with the flat end of his sword and with a screach, she flew off into the sky.
  6. The would-be Kane grasped the scaled back of the bright orange alien dolphin tightly, turning his eyes away from the cyborg and into the river ahead. Well, except the trouble was, it wasn’t really a dolphin but a giant Cheep Cheep who hated the touch of land-crawlers (but loved the taste of them very much so). And thus, with a quick twist of its body in a particularly leafy part of the river, the unsuspecting bounty hunter found himself visor-to-eyeball with a rather large - and angry - goldfish. “Um...?†said the space hunter. “Glomp†said the Cheep Cheep. Because it was dark inside the Cheep Cheep (not to mention quite opaque), Kane couldn’t see where the Cheep Cheep was going, so he didn’t know the Cheep Cheep had dived several hundred fathoms into the deceptively narrow river. Because there wasn’t enough water in its belly to totally submerse him underwater while standing, Kane had to crouch in order to try his hand at underwater basketweaving in this new venue, a cramped position that made it more difficult to tackle those particularly tricky weaves - you know, the ones near the handles - a task made particularly more difficult by the Cheep Cheep’s constant twisting. “Hey, will you quit that! I’m trying to do something very important here!†“Glomp†said the Cheep Cheep, and it dived still further, through an underwater tunnel. Being a cyborg, Kane didn’t have fluid in his ears with which to tell what was up and down and when he was accelerated or slowing (a task that would have been made even more difficult for the submersed organ of his fleshy counterparts), but he did have a precision-tooled gyroscope, so he could sense where the Cheep Cheep was moving as it Glomped through the ocean depths. As he deftly wove his basket, he could feel the Cheep Cheep gliding over pale, scuttling crab-like thingies that brutally fought all things armored and fleshy in the murky bottom - including themselves - cutting through chitin and tearing off jagged bits of gory sweetmeats which disappeared into their chattering maws throughout the turquoise depths (a sight which Kane was obviously not privy to, but which this audience has the benefit of seeing through the magic of descriptive writing and the prompting of the imagination). Unfortunately, because Kane has not been blessed with the gift of omniscience ((*Sure as shootin’!*) and neither was the Cheep Cheep, for that matter, dumb fish that it was (*Glomp!*)), no one but this narrator; You, our Dear Reader; and a certain heavily armored fish of the Dunkleostes variety could see that the Cheep Cheep was being stalked by said Dunkleostes, which quickly GLOMPED the Cheep Cheep whole, pitiful goby eyes and all. Unfortunately, the Dunkleostes itself was not omniscient and so it in turn was consumed by a rather large cephalopod whose adamantine beak cut through the fish’s considerable armor to better ease its passage down the leviathan’s gullet. And all the while Kane struggled with his basket, which had been very difficult to weave in the pitch darkness (Kane disdained using any kind of artificial lighting for this task), and so when his chamber became slightly misshapen and a poorly timed bounce knocked Kane out of the goop and into the ceiling of the Cheep Cheep’s stomach, ultimately clicking on his helmet’s flashlight to reveal a rather odd looking basket that certainly had not shown the least bit of shamelessness in its execution (meaning its ghastly shape would have been enough to give his ex-Underwater Basketweaving 2 instructor Miss Jane McPennywinkle III, etc. such a heart attack that would have sent her pushing up the daisies in no time flat), well...well, the sight of that poor basket was just far too much for the cold-hearted mercenary to handle. That does it! And he drew forth his Duranium Tachi, slicing the Cheep Cheep from dorsum to ventrum and stem to stern in one fell swoop, and the Dunkleostes likewise, only in reverse order, in two fell snicker-snacks, before radially carving himself some calamari, leaving them dead and with their heads to the surface a-glomping back. The crimson bounty hunter burst from the briny deep in a black and crimson pool, the severed tentacles of the leviathan swishing on the surface like pale electric worms and the two halves of the two fish bobbing about like some oddly shaped coconuts. â€Hmm,†Kane declared, approving of his bloody soup. “I guess I always did want a thing called ‘tuna sashimi!’†Glancing about, he quickly spied upon the bank a shiny-armored man with an odd-looking yo-yo and a balding man, tall and thin and with a liver complexion, swordless but with a rather striking man-purse of pure chinchilla strapped over his shoulder like some panzy bandolier. â€My God! Though I hide from the presence of such warriors in the ends of the earth, still YOU’VE found me! Now what are you two looking at!?†The liver-spotted man could not stifle a grin.
  7. One of these is the Moo Cow. Please do not harm the poor, defenseless moo cow.
  8. Whispers, murmurs, shrieks, groans - a thousand ten thousand voices in constant cacophony, each breath stretching to eternity and back in one long, endless howl looping back upon itself in an overlapping hall of broken mirrors. Somewhere, a man shits; elsewhere, another swallows slime from a dumpster. Dead men gurgle on bile, mad men howl and eat their own limbs, chew on entrails. An old gray man crouches naked in a mud puddle, masturbating while a child of four skewers him from behind, tears his torso in half, licks blood off the blade. A legless man claws out an eyeball, stuffing it in his ear. All this and more, somewhere, everywhere, nowhere, and in every which way but alone. In the mind of the Oroboros, in the mind of the Damned, these things happen all day, every day, from as far back as there was a past, and perhaps continuing after time itself ceases to tick. Perhaps. The world is a toroid without volume, the universe a thousand million worms, ravenous, self-cannibalistic, writhing and seething in black boiling mud, gnawing at the root of a rhizomatic Ygdrassil with iron trunks and rusted branches intertwining in bloom and decay. *** We begin in media res, staring into the maw of a two-jawed feral cat, our eyes following the long iron blade swallowed in its throat, its gurgling shrieks scraping our ears with ice-cold talons. The blade slicks back, and the severed head falls to the muck, a crimson, bubbling morass that steams throughout the low bowl of earth. Boots soaked in warm crimson splash through the flood, tall and slick. The man who wears them is pale, with eyes the color of yellow ghosts set in a chiseled face. He shakes the blade and it is dry again; his clothes flicker and he is dry too, though all about is a lake of blood, the corpses of a thousand cats the size of cars littering the lip of the bowl, torrents seeping from their wounds and feeding in veins large and small to where other masses of damp fur bob in the boiling pool. He sloshes up the slope: there - a claw whips out with amazing speed to a gnarled branch far from the bowl and the man flies to it in an instant, landing kneeling in a field of paper-dry grass while behind him lies a field of corpses, already beginning to stink under a blistering artificial sun blackened with insects. - But already he has disappeared in a mirage. Not good enough for you. A stick scratches the dirt, pounding it into the soil. Dull thuds echo through the haunted wasteland. THUNK. THUNK. The earth is pounded and scraped away until a panel emerges, dull gray. Another pound and the plate opens into a mouth of cool darkness. The man drops into the pit, a glowing white torch in the abyss. His boot prints in the soil are the only physical remains of his existence. Behind, the buzzing watering hole congeals until it is black as coal. *** We begin again in media res, (there are no true beginnings here), staring down the open, jawless throat of a soulless wretch, half a scalp flapped over its left year. A black snake of steel disgorges from his chest, wrenching with it a feebly beating heart in its jaws. It slithers back; the dying eyes falling back into crimson streams, sinking away into choking darkness. The snake flashes into a gauntlet of silver, turning the dead heart in its final beats, crushing the warm damp through blackened fingers. The gauntlet is attached to an arm; the arm to a face blood-soaked with two sunken orbs, feral and so pale and gold. Thin lips caress bulging cheeks slick with clumps of hair fat as slugs. Teeth, ghostly pale, flash in the black rain above a slicker black as the abyss, darkness impenetrable. The tall, pale figure kicks the bloated corpse floating in the blood pool. Thousands of corpses lie about in this massive pit, each in its own state of decomposition - each nearly identical in appearance to the man in black. You never were. He flexes his hand and now he holds a scythe, now swirling snakes, now talons of black iron that claw the rusting metal walls, scraping around the room to the thick iron door that opens into crimson light and booms again into darkness. *** But these things happen every day and on no day in particular; they are always happening in the mind of Mebius, and all who bear his name, though they may at times no longer know to pronounce it.
  9. Personal Note I'd like to attempt something new with this character. I want each post with him to try and explore themes related to identity, loss, and wholeness of the individual. Not a requirement for posters, just an experiment with theme! Personal Information Name: Mebius the Oroboro Age: Varies Sex: As much as I can get Race: Dyad Occupation: Thief Dialogue: [bgcolor=SLATEGRAY]||||||||[/bgcolor] SLATEGRAY Character Bio While tracking someone who took something dear from him, Mebius ventured into the Unknown Garden. Here he met with disaster: Mebius somehow found a way to screw up space-time and instead of the universe destroying itself, he was torn apart and scattered across time and space. As a result, he is now a creature of the Fifth Dimension, a person who exists in all time periods simultaneously - and, as it seems, concurrently... That is to say, he lives in both the past, the present, and the future concurrently as well as living simultaneously in multiple time streams. As a result, there are many Mebiuses to be found in the Unknown Garden; they are all of different ages, and they are all part of the same person. But for our purposes, we will only be following one particular instantiation of Mebius within his relative time stream. He is trying to put himself back together as well as escape the Unknown Garden and get revenge on the person who stole from him. Note that if this Mebius dies, it will not spell the end of all Mebiuses, but it will mean game over. Physical Appearance Because Mebius is 5th dimensional, he technically is a conglomerate of every single instantiation of himself. However, we are 3-dimensional beings, so must see him as such. He bears Joseph's Technicolor Spriggan Armor, which has the ability to change colors and blend in with its surroundings. He has dark features and a fairly pale complexion. There are many other incarnations of Mebius throughout the Garden. Some of them are older, younger, or insane. Unfortunately, there are also evil doppelgangers of Mebius wandering the Garden, one of whom even Mebius is afraid of... Notable Skills Multidimensional Thought Mebius lives in multiple dimensions, so he knows everything that happens to his character at all times - this includes not only the past, present, and future of his current incarnation, but also the thoughts of each other incarnation of himself in the Garden. As a result, he probably knows the outcome of every single battle he will be in - provided he can find it somewhere in the multitude of thoughts swarming through the thoughtstream. Madness Many of his instances were unable to cope with this. As a result, they fell into madness and death, which in turn caused other instances of Moebius to undergo madness and death until only a few instances were left. Thinking of Nothingness The smartest and best of the Mebiuses can block from their mind all thoughts and feelings to make their mind into a void. Mebius is one such incarnation who possesses this skill, but there are others in the Garden who do as well, or have equally interesting ways of coping with madness... Basic Battle Assessment Choice Weapon: The MutaStone Mebius possesses a device called a MutaStone. The MutaStone is 'God's matter,' an 'as you will' material discovered by his race. It holds the power to alter its physical state based on the will of its owner. Thus, the MutaStone can form into any physical object its owner desires. It can become the size of a needle if Mebius desires, or it can become larger than an oil tanker. However, it maintains a constant mass (125 pounds; originally 150...). The MutaStone's limitation is that it can only create objects whose every part is physically touching another part. Thus, the MutaStone cannot create something like a chain or split into two swords (but it can create a sword that bends). Its use is ultimately limited by the creativity of its bearer. The MutaStone is thus both a weapon and a tool. Defensive Measures: Joseph's Technicolor Spriggan Armor (JETSPA) Experimental technology from the future. Joseph's Technicolor Spriggan Armor (JETSPA) is actually a single piece of cloth-like newmatter that can tightly or loosely wrap itself around its wearer in a solid but flexible suit. JETSPA has cloaking abilities that extend some distance beyond the visible spectrum, but it can also project pre-programmed images stored in holocode, emit an extremely bright light to blind opponents, or be completely light-absorbent. Its shock-absorbent material grants the user protection against falls and rapid movement. JETSPA can conceal objects acting as a kind of velcro, and in case of injury, it can seep into the wound to help clot bloodflow. There were only three in existence - or rather would be only three, but, that was before the accident. Who knows how many suits there are now in the Garden... Miscellaneous Gear: Joseph's Technicolor Spriggan Armor (JETSPA) - See above. Flame-retardant Underpants - Never leave home without them. Fighting Style: Fluid Mebius uses the MutaStone as his primary weapon. However, he is skilled in martial arts as well, and so does not require a weapon to fight effectively. He is trained to adapt his fighting style as the situation develops, so is similar to Bruce Lee's style in that regard ('non-style', like water). Another good analogy is the Wizard's Duel, in which both combatants change their attack in reaction to their opponent. The combat can be mentally taxing as it requires each combatant to think rapidly from a wide range of possibilities while also thinking several moves ahead. Signature Techniques Normal Attack - MutaStrike: Uses the MutaStone to attack (usually in the shape of a hooked sword or staff, but varies). May combine with physical attacks. Normal Defense - MutaShield: Can morph his MutaStone into a defensive object if needed or dodge out of the way (has high evade due to his multidimensional thought). Regular Option - Thoughtstream Resolution: Concentrates on the thoughtstream to locate memories from the future and thus predict events that will occur next so he can react accordingly. Is mentally taxing, even for him. While it's not mind-reading, it does allow him to narrow his possible future timestreams and shifts his consciousness to the desired one. Technically, the story shifts to a different timestream every time he uses this ability, one which has a different future from the previous one we were reading but the exact same past (only proofread - It's all relative). Super Option - Consume Dark Matter: Destroys part of the MutaStone, reducing its mass. The more material of the MutaStone that is consumed, the greater the effect. The greater the mass consumed, the greater the concentration required. This ability is a last resort as it weakens the power of the MutaStone (and might also attract other instances of himself to his location). However, its effect is devastating, and varies from a directed stream of energy to a large, uncontrollable explosion. He has used this function several times in the past...
  10. *ahem* So I took SB's challenge to post something else here. It doesn't have to end with this 'epilogue'. Anyway, excellent battle, and I don't think it could be topped! These were a couple ideas I'd been hanging on to, but sometimes that's how it goes! I AM RRICKYR AND I WILL NARRATE THE FINAL POST. I CAN ONLY TYPE IN CAPS BECAUSE MY COMPUTER WORKS THIS WAY! ISH AND WARCHORD FACED THEMSELVES IN MORTAL COMBAT FOR THE FINAL TIME! WARCHORD CRIED OUT I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED YOU ISH AND NORM ABRAM PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR KILLING YOU! AND SHE CHARGED UP HER ULTRA TTACK! ISH SAYS I KNOW I LOVED YOU ALL THESE YEARS TOO EVEN THOUGH IT HAS ONLY BEEN FIVE WEEKS SINCE WE MET AND WE HAVE NOT HAD THE SEX BUT IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN SO. WHY MUST WE FIGHT!? THEY DID NOT WANT TO DO SO BUT THEY MUST BECAUSE IT IS FIGHTING THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE THAT THEYY MUST DO TO SAVE THE CHILDREN!!! THEIR FIGHTING STANCES WAS COMPLETELY PERFECT AND THERE WAS NO ROOM FOR ERRAR IN THIS THE FINAL FIGHT! TTHE EPIC BATTLE MUSIC COULD NOT BE DENIED. AND WAS TRULY INSPIRED BY HARRY GREGSON-WILLIAMS AND WAGNER. THE VINE WHIOPS OF THE WARCHORD WERE WHIPPING FASTER THAN NINJAS ON ECSTACY. AND THE ISH HIS HEAD ALMOST EXPLODED FROM THE SPEED. OF HIS PUNCHES! THEN THEY PREPARED FOR THE FINAL ASSAULT! THIS! AND HE SUMMONED HIS ULTRA ATTACK! THIS!!AND SHE CHARGED THE SAME! WARCHORD FIRED OUT HER SUPER ARMOR BOMB ATTACK WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY KANE THE PSYCHOPATHIC SPACE HUNTER SPEEDED IN FROM THE APOCALYPSE REALM HAHAHA WE ARE INVULNERABLE TO YOUR GAMES! BUT YOU WILL DIE JUST THE SAME!! AND I MUST HAVE A FINAL LINE TO END WITH! AND HE AND ISH THEY BOTH FLY OUT IN THE HEADBUT OF INSANITY JUST AS MAD MAX'S BEAT UP CRAP CAR FLIES OUT OF THE DESERT BECAUSE IT HAD STILL BEEN RUNNNING ALL THESE HOURS CHASED BY BATS AND IT AND THE BATS FLIES INTO THE FIERY EXPLOSION OF CERTAIN DEATH!!!! BUT NOT FIRST BEFORE RUNNING OVER THE BLOODSMITH WHO MYSTERIOUSLY APPEARIALIZED IN FRONT OF THE CAR AHH YOU SCURVY TRAITOR. I HAD SAVED MYSELF FROM DEATH THROUGH PARADOX ONLY TO MATERIALIZE IN AN ATOMIC BLAST! BUT SO THE NARRATOR WAS TRUE TO HIS WORD AND BLOODSMITH MUST TO SAVE HIMSELF THROUGH OTHER MEANS OF PARADOX! AH! SWEET PEACE AT LAST IN LIMBO! WHO WOULD SURVIVE THE MSASSACRE!! NO ONE BUT THE COCKROACHES AND LEMURS AND PRAIRIE DOGS WERE LEFT STANDING AFTER THIS MIGHT STRUGGLE BECAUSE ALL BOWED BEFORE THE FATE. AND THEN THE OCEANS RECEDED BACK AGAIN, FALLING FROM THE SKY LIKE A THUOUSANDS RAINS, AND IT RAINED FOR FORTY YEARS AND FORTY MONTHS AND FORTY SCORE OF SEVEN YEARS OBLITERATING THE BATTLEFIELD WITH ITS DARK WAVES. THAT COULD NOT BE FATHOMED. AND THE GREAT SHROUD OF THE SEA ROLLED ON AS IT ROLLED ON FIVE THOUSAND YEARS AGO. THEN STOOD THE MAN ANNOUNCER BEFORE THE CROWDS THAT HAD GATHERED TO CRY OVER THE CORPSES OF TH FALLEN AND SAID SO ENDETH AS IT BEGINNETH AND WE WILL SEE YOU NEXT TIME IN SOME FAR AWAY PLACE WHERE THE GRASSES GROW TALL AND STURDY LIKE THE MANLY MEN OF THE 1950SP/ BUT HOW CAN THIS BE! WILL WE EVER FIGHT AGAIN OR MUST WE LIVE IN THE POVERTY OF OUR MEMORIES! ONLY TIME WILL TELL SAID THEIR GHOSTS. AND SO IT IS DONE BUT WITH BIBLICAL FINALITY. AND THE CHILDREN PRAYED FOR THE SEQUEL.
  11. Yeah. Look at Rocky Balboa
  12. Hehe. Yeah, but if it's a BFG 9000, it works...ESPECIALLY since it was accompanied with a John Wayne quote He can't aim, otherwise! Actually, I just don't like killing off somebody else's character. Well, I didn't have any ideas for how they might die well, so that, too! Personally, I think Sasuke's post about the origins of the treasure was pretty good, probably one of the best ones in here. You know, this is also the first BotP I've stayed the whole way through! HMMM....! Well, I have a few ideas left. We'll see how the battle decides to go!
  13. Yeah. Personally, I thought Vasin had to win, as he was the only character who had an altruistic agenda
  14. Mega Man X is a 'boss character' or NPC I added. Anyone can add information to this bio here - I'm just going to add his basic information. Personal Information Name: X, aka Mega Man X Age: ??? Sex: Robot, Man-Type Race: Repliroid Occupation: Maverick Hunter Dialogue: [bgcolor=cyan][/bgcolor]CYAN (unless someone changes it) Character Bio Mega Man X is a character who appeared in BotP 1 and 3. He kinda got his ass kicked in all of them. Actually, he appears in BotP's 1, 3, and 8 because these are the same numbers that Vile appears in in the Mega Man X series (ooh!). Not quite sure what he's doing in the desert where the ocean used to be, but maybe that's where the planet got its name from?! Or did I just write that in! Physical Appearance Wears Mega Man X's armor. Is in a giant Ride Armor that appeared in BotP4 from the bottom of a pit, modified to look a bit like Vile's ride armor. The ride armor looks kinda worn, but X's armor is all cracked from many battles in the BotP universe. Notable Skills Aside from some abilities you can think of (he IS an NPC...), X has the dash ability AND a jetpack, just like Vile. When the Ride Armor gets destroyed, he MIGHT be able to jump out and fight normally. Unless he has no legs, in which case he just has to fly around in a jetpack. As it's kinda hard to walk around if you have no legs. He'll do anything else you think is interesting. Basic Battle Assessment Weapon o' Choice - Ride Armor: Yeah, he starts out using the Ride Armor. It's got some spike grinder-thingies and some laser guns. It's also got a dash ability. Everything else...You decide the rest! He IS an NPC, after all!
  15. Max felt good to be Max today. It felt as good as when Mel Gibson shot the entire Miller Gang in High Noon, when Mel Gibson got the girl in Indiana Jones, when Mel Gibson and Black Mel Gibson blew up the Mothership in Independence Day, and when Midget Mel Gibson threw the One Ring into the fire in Lord of the Rings, all combined into one big orgy of awesomeness. It was like Fantasy Island, where all your dreams come true and Mel Gibson could dance as well as Ricardo Montalban. Yes, it is good to be Max, thought Max to himself. Yes, he WAS the true Mel Gibson. That was because the REAL Mel Gibson must have eaten his heart out at my awesomeness and is now bleeding to death in the corner, just like one of those poor Mayan bastards in Apocalypto, wondering why he couldn't possibly be more awesome than I! AH HA HA HAAAA! This train car was pretty posh, too. It had all kinds of whiskey and ammo and blasted robots and giant mirrors behind all the whiskey bottles. Max shot a few out on his way down the train. He trundled his way down the cars as the train rattled pointlessly through the tunnel to whatever point in the plot it was heading to, the whiskey-drinker singing a happy song about how it was so great to be a winner. It was even better than opening a fortune cookie and reading 'CONFUCIUS SAY, 'A WINNAR IS YOU!' ---- ISH and Warchord left the lava fields behind, following the sensor readings Warchord had produced. They walked through forests. They walked through swamps. They walked through teeming, ruined castles full of teeming, gibbering jungle men who wouldn't give them the time of day, no less a Jamba Juice. And they sure did a hell of a lot of walking. Then they walked it to the ocean desert, where the smell of dead fish was horrendous. ISH made himself a squid taco sandwich out of a giant king calamari corpse they found in the sun (with a generous helping from a can of lemon curry), and was temporarily sated. Warchord provided some mango-flavored Jamba Juice to wash it all down (yum yum!), and they were out on their way again. With each step, Warchord's sensor scan got stronger, and the desert ocean got dryer. They passed some robot corpses that had tried to cross, but it was no luck for them. Such a waste in the horrible desert sun! If only this had been the Middle East, they could have stuck their heads in the sand to partake of the wondrous crude that so many men have fought and died over! Eventually, there rose from the distance a giant dome of dome-erifousness. It was gray and it was in ruins, and it was huge. It had statues of dancing robots in dungarees and wearing lampshades, surrounded by the copses of thousands of other robots of all shapes and sizes. It was as if the residue of a thousand robot battles had made its way here to Planet X. The giant robots seemed to be longing for Macho Dundee. The place was silent, silent like a dead city where dead people lived. Only even the dead had died, too. Their footsteps echoed far. They walked past deserted shops, now covered in coral that dried and cracked in the sun. Fish bones lying in the plaza crackled under their feet. Not even a sagebrush trundled past. They made it to the central square where a giant monolith had been raised, and behind that, a giant tower that reached for the heaves. In front of the monolith there was a mechanical array of machinery. ISH and Warchord stepped forward for a closer look. Suddenly, there came a rumbling from the desert on a horse with no name save GOD. I do believe the earth has an upset tummy! The rumbling grew louder, and bits of the ruins tumbled to the desert floor. A rectangular slab appeared in the dusty street, and the slab rose at an angle to leave a gaping rusty steel mouth that led deep into the underground, from whence a deathly clanging arose. Out from the metal hole there came a rushing and a glaring as a giant train with an engine like a skull emerged from the pit and ran around the square in a long snake, finally coming to a stop in front of ISH and Warchord. The mouth of the skull engine opened with a CLANG and there came singing echoing from the cold metal interior. Thish ish it! I'm in Whishkey Heaven! Max strode out of the skull-faced train and did a little dance in the hot desert sun while holding a giant flask of whiskey. I do believe we've seen this fellow before. Where might that have Ben's baby-been? The forest, I think. He ran over my arm with a car. And beat you up with some fish. Quite uncooth. The quiteness. But what's he doing here? Drinking whiskey in a desert like there's no tomorrow. Beyond that, buckaroo two-shoes. Beats me. Think we should fight him? I think it's more fun to watch. Maybe he'll defeat himself for us! Max began spinning around, gargling whiskey. Some of it went up the wrong pipe and he began coughing and sputtering, his eyes tearing up like the audience of a sappy film. H-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaAH! The whiskey drinker began punching his face, coughing, and sneezing, in an effort to expunge the whiskey from his respiratory system. With one great cough, he evicted a large greenish-yellowish mass form his bronchial tubes onto the dry desert sand. Wiping his eyes, looking at the bottle, and smiling at its punch, he suddenly noticed the two on-lookers. Hey! You guysh! How'd you guysh get here so fasht anyway? I wash on a bullet train going 3 million milesh an hour through the Whishkey Underground on the Whishkey Express to Whishkey Land! Magic. With a side of lemon-curry calamari tacos! And Jamba Juice. You're not here for the treashure, too, are ya? If ya are, then we'll all have to fight to the death until we're all dead and then you die! Thish ish the Beyond the Beyond Thunderdome! Three men enter, half a man leaves! Warchord's actually a shy-gal she-she. And a hubba-hubba mecha-hotnesh! - No man - er, people-thingiesh...er, let me shtart again. Please doo-bitty do! More than one of the shomethin' thingiesh entersh, No people-pershonsh leave! Deadly! Deathshome! Doubly-deadness with a side of dying dead guys! Deathly so! Deathjam ven-deth-detta! Death-defying ULTRA deadly duplex dynamo-dying MEGA double-dare DEAD DEAD DEAD - OH GOD MY SPLEEN! - doomed souls of dying dead dyers who die in their own deathly DOOMINATOR! Exshactly. *HIC!* Well, this is where the treasure is, isn't it? I mean, there's only like a week or so left in the battles, everyone else is dead. Doubly so! Plush, I've got thish map that provesh thish ish the plashe! Max pulled out a greasy slab of paper from his pocket and twirled it around in the sun, flipped it over backwards, then forwards, then upside-down and backwards again. Ah yesh! Right here! Max slapped his well-manicured hands onto the map. If this had been a toy commercial, those hands would have sold millions, even though the toy being sold was a greasy, stained, wet slab of carboard. There was a dotted line with some line-art palm trees, cartoony crabs, and a giant 'X' that marked the spot. Shee? The map shaysh we're right here! That says it's a Captain Crunch treasure map. B-But...! I got it from the old guy! The guy who knew thingsh! Sadly, my sad, sad, friendsome friend, that is not the casey-case. It came from a cereal box, like the Creature came from the Black Lagoon, and it came with a decoder ring. OH THE WAR WOUND!!! Charlies! In the trees! They...came...from...BEHIND! Max howled in pain, stamped his feet, drank some whiskey, fell on the ground, kicked himself around in a circle, stood on his head, spun around a few times, and fell flat on his face in a small cloud of dust. Warchord turned away from the crazy whiskey man and turned her attention to the mechanical structure in front of the monolith. There was a dome of some kind there that was all iced over. Inside, there was a bubbly mass of something. There was a green light on the front that was blinking. ISH, sensors indicate a great power stored inside this dome! Will it power a modded portable X-Box or Y-Boy? Sensors indicate it could power such a device without having to drain addition energy from the planet's magnetic field. It's off the scale! Shiny! Reacting to the Hunter's exclamation of valuable, desirable, covetous brightness, the dome seemed to react. It cracked open with a HISS, releasing super-cooled mists that WHOOSHED out into the parched desert air. Inside was a bubbling pool of cryo-goo, perfect for chip dip. Out from the cryo pool, in the biggest, bubbliest, coolest part, there came a-sudden a-gurgling, a gurgling like the sound of a thousand ninjas gargling listerine. Oh, it was horrible to hear. And that gargling, well, it centered around this formless blob that slowly rose from the misty fluid, the living abscess of the machinery, and it rose from that pool with a hissin' and a sputterin'. The cryo-goop steamed and dripped off this formless form until it slowly regained its shape. It was twenty feet tall and dark gunmetal gray like death itself. It had giant spikes arms ready to do some grindin' and plenty of laser guns to go a-blastin'. It was a modified version of the Ride Armor we'd seen once before in BotP 4 (and a little like Vile's armor in MMX3...) and it was back with a figure in the cockpit clad in dark blue, cracked, but all-too-familiar armor. Was it a boss to end all bosses? Or was it just one more minion in a long line of minions at the minion hiring line? Max, who had regained his feet at the sound of the bubble-trubblin, doubled over a-hobblin as he wobbled. Oh shit. It's Blaster's brother, Bigger Blaster! And that must be Grander Master! That guy's a whole two inches taller than Master! It's like the Blasterer Masterer! Well, familiar to almost everyone... Welcome to my domain! I am X. So you wish to find the Treasure of Planet X? [Ha ha ha!] Well, let me tell you a little more about it! Narrator, if you please! ****Anyway, that was a long post. I've got more information on this here: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=80 Feel free to add what you want.****