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    • KaizenNeko

      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.

nameless

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  1. to Sasuke for a great post! I've been waiting for a good intro for Dark Mebius and this is definitely it! Thanks for it, man. -- nameless out
  2. No problem dude. No offense taken. I just got the sense that my character has been rubbing you the wrong way and I wanted to make it clear that I have no specific intentions with him. I gave him limitations like The Plan (which we have been kind of moving away from lately), and the Unknown Garden's immunity to The Architect's power for a reason. Yes, he is God, but it doesn't mean that he is any more powerful or influential than any other character in this story. The whole 'creator' thing is more of just a background story, really. I have been getting the sense that you might be suspicious that I will just wipe everyone out, or kill the plot using my character's omnipotence, and I knew some would fear that when I posted his profile, but I assure you, I'm just playing this thing like everyone else. It's not even entirely impossible that The Architect would die (or rather his avatar). So don't worry about him. I'm not going in any particular direction. In fact, I think I've written less for him than some of the other characters. Hell, I don't even know what 'the key' really is nor do I have any idea how one would go about destroying the Garden. I'm just making this shit up as I go along. The plot is starting to turn in an interesting direction, so I look forward to seeing how it turns out. I really enjoyed your last post, Sasuke (hell even most of the previous one until you started getting all preachy! and I'm really excited to see CapCom starting to post again (even though he wrongfully interpreted that the lake was inside the ice-cave!) One thing I'm really thrilled about: we seem to be able to resolve our differences through our writing, weaving our opinions into the context of the story, which I think is a monumental feat. Great work all! Let's finish this thing with a BANG. -- nameless out
  3. As the stone landed on the far bank, The Architect pondered the artificial's comments. The ripples in the lake slowly spread across the water, the oldest one larger than the next, forming a cone-shaped trail of perfectly circular waves all the way to shore. These were the waves of causality, of a being's impact on the world. Just as a stone skips along the water, leaving its mark, so do all life-forms serve a purpose in the universe, their actions creating ripples through the fabric of space-time. That is why he had created life, they were stones in the lake of existence, each significant in some way. He was a bit disappointed at the artificial's misinterpretation of his intentions, though. As with the one called Kane, The Architect had once again underestimated a mortal being's ability to comprehend the true nature of things. With these two, however, it almost seemed as if there was someone authoring their actions and responses, some grand puppeteer, speaking through them as a way to relay a message or opinion about his actions, or possibly his very existence, and steer the plot with sheer decree rather than cause-and-effect. Perhaps the influence of the object was bending these organisms' speech and dialog, granting them a greater perception of current events than could be expected of a being who lacked omniscience. The artificial continuously accused him of being too "serious" and urged him to simply participate in this bizarre melee without questioning its unwelcome construct. But if this were some grand story authored by some twisted soul, no, many twisted souls, would The Architect himself not also serve some purpose in this harried plot? Would all participants in this bizzare, hypothetical universe, have to be the inexplicable goofy comic relief giving way to a one-sided reality? Did he not serve some balance to it all? Wasn't that the point of it all, being a creator god vs. say, a god-man hybrid or a god-turned-mortal? Was it not his purpose to bring balance to the universe once again? Becoming comfortable with this assessment, considering that he WAS the creator of the universe despite the robot's suggestion to the contrary, he gently scratched his liver spots, ran his fingers once more over his chinchilla satchel, and picked up another stone. Besides, he thought to himself as he chucked the unusually smooth piece of rock into the water, if this really WERE some grand story written by a mysterious panel of divine authors greater than even himself, then the one known as Sasuke had nothing to fear: one of the participants could simply use their own creativity and writing skills to sway the plot in whatever direction they pleased. If they wished not for the "garden" to be destroyed, then they could simply will it and it would not be so... Thankfully, however, there were no divine authors and he WAS the true architect of creation and his plan would not be obstructed... unless... No... how can this be? The Architect thought to himself as he patted the chinchilla hand-bag feeling for the object it contained only seconds before. "No!" he shouted out loud this time looking across the lake in the direction of his most recent "stone" toss as a small silver sphere skipped across the water for a few moments before sinking below the rippling surface. He was shocked and angered by his momentary lapse of focus. "Loose something?" Sasuke questioned, almost ironically. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! ...I mean, yes..." exclaimed the angry god as he focused on the water in the lake wrapping his very existence around each molecule, spinning them faster and faster, throwing them about. A light fog appeared over the surface of the water and grew heavier with each passing second. Fish began to float to the top of the water followed by large bubbles which erupted with violent splashing. Sasuke used some sensor or another to scan the water, reading its temperature as 211.988 degrees Fahrenheit (he never could get used to the metric system) and was actually surprised that the laws of physics still applied in this aberrant place. The bubbling increased in intensity until suddenly, all at once, the entire contents of the lake vaporized releasing a massive billowing cloud of steam. The Architect dashed into the now-empty lake in pursuit of the illusive sphere only to be submerged waist deep in mud within the first few strides. He made a note to make his next avatar lack the property of mass. "Now look what you went and did..." the teal-texted AI started... An awkward moment passed before The Architect turned around to see why Sasuke had not finished his sentence. "What," said the curious god. "Oh, I thought you knew being all divine and such. You just vaporized my pleasant little skipping pool and made me all sad. And you know what happens when Sasuke gets sad..." "No, not really," The Architect admitted, not having paid much attention to the robot's life. "He gets MAD, yo!" The comment was not just some nonsensical banter like most of his utterances, as he truly did have a faulty logic chip that fired the same signal to his emotional neural-net for both sadness and anger-inducing stimuli. And with that he randomly lobbed a Frost Bomb at The Architect who, taking a direct hit and not having fully recovered enough from his last battle to summon his warrior form at full strength, froze solid in the mud. "Now, don't be a stick in the mud, yo!" Sasuke shouted at the godsicle with girlish glee triggered by the cleverness of the cheesy one-liner. Having the short attention span that he did, he very quickly became bored again by the overwhelming lack of movement on his opponent's part and decided to draw a Mario mustache on The Architect while he planned what to do next... --------------------------------------------------- "Ya see that?" Kane nudged his companion's arm. They both stared at the giant cloud of steam rising above the tree-line at the foot of a distant mountain range. "What d'you suppose it is? A smoke signal?" "That's no smoke, but it sure is a signal of some happening or another..." Mebeus said. He glanced down from the ridge he and Kane were standing on at the flames that had enveloped the late Zookeeper's house. His headless body lay inside, the flesh cooking over the coals of the home he had built with his bare hands. Mebeus cared not to give the man a proper burial, but only to obscure the events that had recently transpired there. It was a funeral by fire. The two set off on foot over the plain, descending from the ridge into the waste-high grasslands that preceded the rocky forest beyond. The Oroboro had lodged within the Unknown Garden long enough to know that when clouds rise from the mountains, excitement is not too far off.
  4. Mebeus glanced at Kane for a moment, his lips momentarily poised to speak, when a frothy gurgling sound in the direction of the Zookeeper's remains became vaguely audible, interrupting the Oroboro's stillborn utterance. The two fighters turned to look, the slurping sounds leading their respective gazes to the porch siding where the remnants of the Zookeeper's head clung, small chunks of hair, tissue, and brain matter sliding off of the weathered, wind-blasted wood wall and plopping onto the creaky porch flooring below. A whole eyeball dangled from the bottom of one of the overhanging siding slats, detached veins and optical nerves suspending it as the wind caused it to bounce and roll gently on the sun-parched wall. Mebeus, drawn by, and slightly stimulated by the sight of unadulterated gore approached the surreal, bloody work of art. The warrior, Kane, truly was a Salvador Dali of carnage, Mebeus thought to himself, the gun his paintbrush, the whole twisted world his canvas. "Look's just like Grandma's lasagna," Kane uttered over Mebeus' shoulder, he too proud of the master work he had rendered. Kane's stare idled once more upon the eyeball when the dismembered optical apparatus appeared to move on its own accord. "Did you see that?!?" the confused space hunter queried his companion with panicked haste. "See what?" Mebeus replied, asking for clarification. "It just moved... it's looking at me!" "You're out of your mind..." The statement was laughably ironic as neither Mebeus nor "Kane" could be described as remotely sane, the first being a multi-dimensional, mentally-fractured shell of a man, the latter being a self-proclaimed space hunter of insane disposition posing as his psychopathic, blood-letting sibling. "Maybe... replied Kane, but my senses rarely fool me... except when I have consumed too much krog, and let me tell you my friend, there ain't no krog in these here parts, I can guarantee that!" The eyeball moved again, this time the spectacle being clearly witnessed by both parties who watched in horror as the morbid sphere rolled about, the blood-shot iris darting back and forth as it seemingly surveyed its surroundings. "Ahhh!" the two hardened warriors shrieked in unison as the reanimated eye broke free from its sinewy tether, plopped to the ground, and began to roll towards the two shocked spectators. They backed away as the eyeball picked up speed only to stop on its own accord. "What should we do? Shoot it??" Kane asked mere seconds before the eyeball began to change color. It became glassy at first, artificial in appearance as if a prosthetic eye, and then smokey white, the iris and veins completely vanishing, before morphing into a perfect silver sphere. "That's it!" Mebeus shouted, "grab it!" He lunged toward the object as it began to roll away from him, increasing in velocity so as to disallow the cursed paradox of a man to behold that which he sought. The sphere was just about to roll off of the far end of the porch when a great rumbling manifested itself from beneath the floor-boards. Before one could ponder about its source, the unasked question was answered as a massive, diamond-scaled worm emerged through the wooden planks, splinters and nails showering the stunned Orobo as the slobbering beast swallowed his prize, reversed its ascent, and retreated back into the hole from which it had emerged. "Noooo!" Mebeus shouted as the past and the future seemed to collide within his mind, causality ripping through his consciousness as the key to his shattered existence vanished before his eyes. "What's wrong, what was that?" Kane questioned the Oroboro who now kneeled at the edge of the gaping crater left by the retreating worm. "The key," Mebeus answered, "it was the key..." he repeated, his forehead resting in his hands, his fingers woven into his thick black hair. "The key to what?" Kane asked. "Everything..." answered the broken man as he scanned the sea of fractured thoughts for answers to questions too bizarre to utter. -------------- "That's a good girl," The Architect said as the great worm belched a slurry of acidic goo onto his gauntlet, the hissing acid decomposing the starsteel at a rate equivalent to the Architect's regeneration of the nearly impenetrable metal. "I knew you would come through for me," he said as the green, fizzling gel slid off of his hand revealing a shiny silver sphere of mysterious origin. He reached behind him and slung a large beast which he had gored into Sally's throat. The hideous worm sucked down the beast as if it were a doggy treat, acids squirting from glands in her mouth to dissolve the tissue and bone of the animal and deliver it in liquid form into her alien digestive system. The worm uttered a bizarre guttural cry of thanks before slinking back into the shadows, perhaps returning home one last time to mourn the loss of her late keeper, or maybe finding her way into a new biohabitat where she could live wild, free, and masterless. The Architect was now in his human form who, starting off as a 30-something in his character profile and quickly aging by way of careless authoring, must surely be in his 70's by now. He clasped the silver sphere between four fingers and gazed at his reflection. This shocked him: the surreal vista of his avatar's reflection being perceived through a life-form's eyes. The sense of individuality was overwhelming and for a moment he felt microscopic - the difference in scale between the infinite universe and this insubstantial, singular vessel was ominous. Was this the curse that he had placed on all forms of life? For a time between moments, he pulled away from his avatar and the object itself and gazed back over the universe, its vastness empowering him, giving him perspective once more. At the edge of galactic space, quasars boiled with energy, their plasma radiating the light of a million suns, fog lights of the universe. Asteroids collided with dead worlds, tailless comets drifted in deep space, giant storms churned the clouds of gas giants. He loved it and he would stop at nothing to preserve it. Squatting on the floor of the ice cave he had found himself in, he rolled the sphere between his fingers once more, its unassuming form masking the true scope of its capability. All this time, it was here. That is why he couldn't find it. It was here, within the object... "I've found you," he whispered to it before placing it into his masterfully-crafted, designer chinchilla satchel. He stood up and gazed out of the mouth of the cave at the lands below. A strange place, the object was, and his plans to undo it were now slowly coming into focus.
  5. I vow to post something by the end of the weekend. Been busy at work last few weeks so haven't gotten around to posting. nameless out
  6. Actually, I think you did say it... kind of... In Kane's profile you said: "Incidentally, since Kane's BFG is DNA-keyed, that means that only Kane (or perhaps his exact identical twin) can use it. :P" So, I suppose you implied it... But I figured it could be interpreted in a few different ways and since I didn't know they were EXACT genetic replicas I figured Insaney's DNA had to be slightly different (hell maybe he has some mutations from all of the inter-dimensional travel). So I took a risk and threw that in there, which I think worked out quite nicely . So I'm glad I have your approval!! It's kinda funny because he kind of just lugs this, well, big fucking gun around for no apparent reason. Someone should have him throw it at someone or use it as a blunt object or something. Hehehehe. ... On that. Would've liked to have seen Kane actually get eaten by the worm, and then heroically kill it from the inside, but that is the nature of collaborative fiction! And Sasuke's direction worked out for the best anyway... -- nameless out
  7. Sasuke, I hope you don't decide to back off too much. Yes, your posts were getting a little excessive, but you are a terrific writer and I think you shine the most when you really pour your heart into a post instead of trying to hurry the story along. Some of your best work (Gilgamesh scenes, et al) happened when you really tried to feed off of what others were writing and further the style along. I know I work my best that way and I think that's what collaborative writing is all about. I'm thrilled to be able to do this again as I haven't done anything since MIFF. In fact, this is the FIRST time I've written creatively, aside from poetry, since my last post in "After the Ragnarock". That was, what, 8 years ago?!? So, I am really thankful to CapCom for forcing me to get back into it and to you (Sasuke) for moderating the board and adding structure to the whole thing (tasks that make this whole thing possible), along with providing some great material. With that all said, I think quality over quantity is definitely key here. Afterall, you *DO* have a provision to extend the story for another month if it looks like the plot is developing nicely. Thanks, and keep up the excellent work. -- nameless out
  8. A brief jet of flame followed Max down the vent tube for a short distance, the force from its thermal expansion adding marginally to his downward momentum. The vent’s surface was unusually smooth and Max quickly discovered that he could not find purchase within the narrow tube that he was now sliding down at a rather alarming velocity. The angle of the tube turned sharply downward, forcing Max into free-fall for a brief moment before shallowing once more, a pattern that, if continued, would do Max’s weak stomach no favors. The segments of the tunnel zipped past Max’s face and, upon staring at his reflection in their polished surfaces, the bounty hunter noticed that the nanites had already repaired most of his face shield and a good bit of his acid-etched armor. Growing accustomed to the fact that he may very well be sliding through this tunnel for eternity, Max pondered the recent events allowing his mind to dwell on the battle with ‘Sally’ and his companions who had so valiantly fought by his side. He shuddered at the thought of the worm’s stinking, acrid breath and marveled at his last-minute save by his shape-shifting traveling companion and the man's overtly sophisticated taste in fine furs. But, there was one thing that he could not get out of his mind. It was the way that the solider, Kane, had called him ‘Maxie’. Almost as if he had known him. There was only one person Max had ever known who called him that, the way that Kane had, but he had disappeared from this universe long ago… Another hard angle down, and free-fall, but this time was different. The lighted tunnel gave way to darkness that seemed to envelope his very soul. Max reached out to touch the sides of the tunnel only to find that he was no longer in the safety of a tunnel at all! He fell through the abyss for a brief moment before slamming face down onto a strange, squishy surface that gave slightly beneath the weight of his Grabeth armor. Though the consistency of the ground he had landed upon had surely cushioned his fall, it was doubtless that the impact would have crushed every bone in his body if it had not been for the tensile strength of the Grabeth that encased his fragile frame. "Ouch!" Max said as he picked himself up off of the gooey ground and trekked a few paces into the unsettling blackness, his metallic boots leaving sticky foot prints on the ground as he went. Just then, the still somewhat dazed bounty hunter spotted a ray of light cascading down from a point so high above that he could not locate the source. In the center of the beam of ominous light stood a magnificent sword, sparkling in the brilliance in which it was shrouded, erect with point down protruding firmly from the floor beneath. Max approached it, his eyes glittering as they gazed upon the luminous sword. "Excalibur?" he thought aloud, wondering if the Unknown Garden had pulled him here to behold such a powerful weapon. He reached out to grab the handle and pull the blade from the steel beneath when another armored hand mirrored his action, and reached out from the darkness opposite the sword, grasping the blade near its entry point into the floor. "No," a voice said. Not Excalibur. Zantetsuken! "Who’s there?" Max shouted aloud, wondering who was there. He stepped back a few paces, readying the Shriek. "Great pity strikes this chivalric heart for every soul who knows not the voice of the great Gilgamesh!" said the figure, who could now safely be referred to, once more, as Gilgamesh. Max fumbled for his helmet light, briefly determining that the reason he had not used it before was either due to his fall-induced disorientation or some logic-defying plot mechanism. The dim light cast by the helmet lantern revealed the front half of a large, armored man protruding from a hard, sticky, dark-brown surface. “Now cut me from this cursed confection!†Gilgamesh demanded referring to the chocolate which had partially submerged his body before hardening into a thick bark and entrapping the now rather alert yet immobile demigod. “LOL!†Max said in text-speek. “'LOL?' What strange, misbegotten tongue do you speak in, knavish simpleton?†Gilgamesh demanded, unable to turn his head as he struggled to maintain his decency. “It means, ‘laugh out loud’,†said Max, attempting to explain text culture to the encased hero, a task which proved to be rather difficult in the context of his lingering insult. “Then why did you not simply laugh out loud, you girlish waif! I should fell you for your audacious discourtesy!†Gilgamesh exclaimed, his dishonorable condition contributing to his growing frustration which was further augmented by the misguided slurs of this pompous ne’er-do-well and his lack of haste in cleaving him from the sugary quagmire. “Relax, subdued hero. I’ll have you out of this before you can toss another empty threat my way,†said Max, yanking Zantetsuken from the chocolaty goodness and skillfully carving Gilgamesh from the yummy bark. Max looked around for a way out, while Gilgamesh righted himself, picking chunks of milk-chocolate from his garments. He spotted a massive stalactite of chocolate which had formed as the ooze dripped from the opening above and hardened as it cascaded into the chamber below. “That looks like our way out!†Max shouted over his shoulder just before receiving a massive boot in his back which sent him face forward into the chocolate. He quickly righted himself by somersaulting forward and spinning around to face his attacker. “What kind of valiant hero kicks another man in the back?†Max queried, rather off-put by the fact that the man who he had freed only moments ago had turned on him. “The kind who faces no man at all, but a quivering charlatan capable only of acronymic insults! Now stand there like the coward you most surely are as I gut you like a felled beast!†raged Gilgamesh who, in his anger and haste had forgotten that he had yielded his sword to his now estranged emancipator. “Not while I have THIS!†cried Max as he swung Zantetsuken towards Gilgamesh who briefly pondered the irony of having his own weapon turned against him by the man who had facilitated his freedom.
  9. The Architect was uncertain if the man who called himself The Insane Space Hunter who called himself Kane had somehow become privy to his attempts to boil his flesh or perhaps had even resolved that he was indeed some sort of shape-shifting god, but he was all too certain that the life-form need not worry as it was The Plan that guided his actions. The Plan was the only thing that mattered… it was the only thing that had ever mattered. He forgave the organism’s misinterpretation of his intentions as, like all other creatures, his mind - however twisted - worked in linear order and was thus incapable of comprehending the grand design of the universe. The Architect’s attention quickly returned to the battle at hand, a battle which he would fight as a warrior in the company of warriors. "YYYAAAAAAHHHH!" Max shouted as he side-armed the Shriek at the drooling sky-scraping beast, the rotary blades hissing as they cleaved the very air molecules as they spun through the ether. The yoyo-boomerang hybrid caught the beast under one of its diamond scales (which actually WERE made out of diamond, the trio would find out later) and lodged there as one might get a small bit of sand lodged underneath a toenail. "Oh crap…" the bounty hunter said as he realized the radical difference in scale between the beast and his size-deprived party. "Stand aside, humble hero, this may require something that packs a bit more punch," The Architect explained as he readied the Lightning Gauntlet, pointing his fist directly at the head of the snarling lumbricus terrestris as sparks of energy fanned out from the metal glove, electrons coalescing from the ether as the gauntlet built electric potential. Max could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as the static built until an assault-tank-sized ball of fire and energy erupted from the glove, impacting the segmented abomination mere milliseconds later. The creature writhed and howled as electric arcs crawled up the length of its hideous exterior working their way into its gaping maw and down into its toothed gullet. The worm spasmed with seizure, its miserable carapace shuddering violently and causing the very earth to quake beneath the armored trio’s boots. The searing screams were so unsettling that they caused a small tear of pity to fall from the Hunter’s cheek, his suit’s internal moisture recovery system quickly wisping it away for recycling. After a few more moments of sun-shuddering cries, the massive beast threw its head high into the air and belched a slurry of gelatinous acidic vomit into the artificial atmosphere above, the blob of caustic goo quickly forming into droplets of deadly acid rain which showered the armored fighters with a storm of searing slime. “Ahhh! It burns! Ohh, how it burns!!†the distracted hunter cried before realizing that he was grossly out of character. “Er, ehm, I mean, that was your last mistake, you lumbering earthworm! No one, not even an extraterrestrial sky-scraper-sized acid-spewing subterranean carnivore, messes up Kane’s armor and gets away with it,†he said as he jumped into a near-by pool to cleanse the acid from his exoskeleton. Meanwhile, Max was rolling around in the dirt trying to keep the acidic goo from burning through his Grabeth Armor. The Architect focused on Max as the acid worked its way through the plating on his face shield, plumes of green smoke billowing from its surface as it penetrated deeper into the armor. Max panicked as he realized mere seconds remained before the burning gel would soon consume him, turning his suit into a coffin. Just as his face shield was breached, a sticky droplet of goo dripped onto his face but it was not the torrent of searing pain Max had imagined. Licking his lips, he detected a familiar flavor. “Strawberry pudding!†he exclaimed, simultaneously relieved and confused by the obvious transmutation that had occurred in his midst. As this transpired, the goliath worm reared high into the air and then dove deep into the ground, tunneling beneath the three warrior’s feet as tremors from the worm’s seemingly effortless subterranean ingress shuddered the ground they stood on - except for “Kane†who was still wading in the pool, taking the opportunity to add a few more weaves to his oddly-shaped basket. Moments later, the worm erupted from the soil, mere feet in front of The Architect knocking him to the ground and burying him in mounds of dirt and soil, which are actually the same thing but were added here for extra redundancy. The worm arched high into the air before reversing its ascent, diving straight for Kane, its chasmal aperture of a mouth fit to consume the valiant fighter. “Kane!†Max shouted as the pony-tailed administer of death finished off one last weave on his basket before springing from the pool and brandishing the BFG. “Don’t worry about me, Maxie,†said Kane in a cool, collected, and astonishingly badass tone that even the Psychopath himself would be pleased with, “I got this…†He spotted the weapon directly into the descending cave of the monster’s gullet, his thumb trained on the push-button trigger in anticipation of the exact right moment to release the weapon’s fury. “Now!" Kane exclaimed as he allowed his thumb to close the last millimeter of space between the trigger button and the contact point. A second passed. Nothing. Kane pressed the trigger thrice more, this time in panicked haste. Nothing. And then, a computerized voice announced, “Fire sequence denied. DNA unknown.†“Oh, shit…†The Insane Space Hunter said as the falling cavern of fangs blotted out the light above.
  10. Okay, now that we have some great fight scenes (especially the Gilgamesh battle!), I'm collecting great quotes. Here are a few of my favorites so far: "I have the floor, you floundering fool! I mean to say that you generally suppose to speak from your ass, thus you emit suppository banter! A verbal dart I have slung your way, and your feeble imagination has unnecessarily blunted my lingual assault! How am I supposed to continue taunting you when you completely miss the points of my vocal barbs? Hah! Pointed barbs! I slay me..." LOL, I love that one! Best quote in BOTP9 so far, IMHO. "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." "He gave a sorrowful mutter as he sent it [Excalipoor] back to his cache, his last thoughts before drifting back into dreamland regarding what he would use now to unclog his toilet."
  11. Prepare yourself, puppet! Gilgamesh bellowed, prodding Mebeus with the useless fencing foil of a sword known as Excalipoor. Your cowardice renders you a countenance more in sorrow than in anger! It plagues me to have known the likes of you, you hollow-boned hookster! Gilgamesh proclaimed in increasingly Elizabethan prose. I’m getting really tired of this… said Mebius in a slightly elevated version of his normally calm, monotone voice while channeling his thoughts onto the Mutastone. The God’s matter multi-tool morphed into a thin shield that blocked the next unbearably annoying “poke†from the void-hopping buffoon at his flank. Gilgamesh attempted to withdraw the Pariser only to find that the strange dark substance that had previously composed the rather disheartening roadblock to his endless taunting of the witless vagabond had wrapped itself around the blade of Excalipoor and while he was still postulating on its unwelcomed nature, had wrapped around his hand as well. Unhand me, you paunchy weather-bitten bugbear! Gilgamesh screamed, not quite sure if he was speaking to the suspected master of the unnatural object, or the amorphous semi-metallic blob itself. Are you really sure that’s what you want? said Mebius, causing the Mutastone to tighten around his captive’s hand to the point of agony for the 3/4 man whose constant gaming had perhaps unnecessarily gotten him into aforementioned pickle. I fear not your petty bluffs as the probability that your stunted mind could muster the mettle to crush but an indiscreet thought seems as low as your vocabulary is limited! the self-proclaimed wordsmith said, himself bluffing as he imagined the troublesome weapon crushing his sword hand, rendering his beloved collection as unusable trophies of a lamenting has-been hero. Very well, said Mebius in but a third bluff as he flexed the Mutastone with his polluted thoughts, forming it into a perfect fist-sized sphere that crushed Excalipoor into a ball of twisted pot-metal but leaving the bothersome rift-diver’s hand unscathed. A brief, high-pitched scream echoed throughout the pipe-filled chamber before the man who the author of this post has run out of clever alternate descriptions for realized that his beloved sword-slinger was still in-tact. The scream, which Mebius at first wasn’t sure was actually emitted from the large, most-likely-hairy, man in front of him quickly turned into a rage-filled growl as the Mutastone retracted releasing the crumpled, likened-to-a-waffle-ball-bat sword, allowing it to clamor to the ground in front of its horror-stricken master. Nave! Urchin!! Beslubbering ill-breeding fustilarian!!! How dare you crease my rather useless and poorly crafted replica of the great Excalibur! I will have your genitals for a hammock! cried Gilgamesh, who had not been referred to by his real name in at least five paragraphs. Before the partial god could extract yet another comical costume-store weapon from his inter-dimensional arsenal, Mebius expanded the Mutastone knocking Gilgamesh against some wall that had not been previously described due to the fact that it was easier just to write a bunch of random dialogue. The stone continued to expand, filling the entire room, pressing the now quarter-panicked quarter god tightly against said wall. Mumph, fum, fump, muff!! said Gilgamesh becoming the first being to ever taste dark matter. The dimensional drifter could swear it carried a hint of endive and perhaps a mild dash of freshly aged liverwurst. Mebius chuckled to himself as he had finally silenced the slick-tongued, man-deity hybrid. A few moments of glorious, liberating silence passed before a metallic hiss could be heard as Gilgamesh had somehow managed to fumble through his arsenal, drawing Zantetsuken as the laws of chaos bowed in his favor. The prize of Odin sliced through the god’s matter like that healthier canola oil-butter mixture now available in supermarkets, flares of exotic particles spiraling away from the razor edge of the mystical sword as it ripped through the Mutastone. Mebius quickly retracted the Mutastone, not knowing what devastation might be released by a piece being completely severed, as this was the first time he had encountered anything capable of cutting it. Face me you dull and muddy-mettled rascal! Gilgamesh commanded Mebeus who had never actually turned around since his pernicious pursuer had caught up to him. The man-god (mostly man, it seemed) raced towards him, swinging a seven-foot long, ornately cut piece of godsteel above his head so dangerously close to the overhead pipes as to surely violate some provision of OSHA regulations. Mebius, back still to Gilgamesh, simply waited for what he had already seen a million times before in that twisted, confused mind of an Oroboro.
  12. Good, got it! Thanks. -- nameless out
  13. Sword Bearer just posted a reply to "Diving Right In" featuring Kane / ISH encountering Heather at the banks of a river, however previously Sasuke's reply to "The Shape of Madness", "The Shape of... Boogers" features Kane encountering Mebeus and Stick Man Bravo in a metallic room. I am assuming the story is thus far linear and we are not jumping between past and present or between timestreams. The inconsistency can most-likely be written out, however I just wanted to point out that it exists. -- nameless out
  14. A long, disconcerting moment elapsed as the two armor-clad warriors faced each other. Searing beams of light emitted from the eye-holes in The Architect's mask like rays from twin stars. The bounty hunter grinned behind his protective Grabeth face shield, waiting for the crusader in front of him to make the first move. Max scanned The Architect, reading his soon-to-be opponent as a speed reader extracts vital information from a detailed manuscript, filtering out useless details and distilling only crucial facts. His eyes darted over The Architect’s form for a few more imperceptible moments before fixing on a rather exquisite fur satchel slung over the warrior’s shoulder. Is that chinchilla? Max asked, motioning to The Architect's satchel with the Shriek as he gripped it by the hub with a clawed glove, blades extended and protruding between his spidered fingers. …Actually, yeah! said the Architect in a booming voice that reverberated through the chamber as if emitted through a heavenly megaphone, impressed by the bounty hunter’s taste in fine hand-bags. …because, it definitely looks like chinchilla… at least from here. Well, you definitely know your furs because it's 100% chinchilla! No one has ever noticed before… Not that I collect man-purses or anything… I mean, um, if I DID have a hand-bag collection of my own, I’d definitely like to have that one in it… speaking purely hypothetically that is… because, um, I definitely DON’T have one from every continent on every planet in every star-system I’ve ever visited… It’s not a man-purse, it’s a satchel… The two stood staring at each other for another awkward series of moments before Max’s eyes made their way back to The Architect’s face. Cool mask. Thanks. Really intimidating. It sort of looks like one of those old gladiator masks. I am totally almost crapping myself right now, ha! Really? Because that’s totally what I was going for! Well, you nailed it dude. It’s totally Lindsay Lohan, ha! Lindsay Lohan? Yeah, it’s earth slang for “scary.†Oh. Hah, hah, hah, The Architect boomed. He had always appreciated Max’s sense of humor. Scanning the depths of his knowledge of all things, he recalled a time when Max was 10 and he had replaced the plasma cells in his father’s SZX-100D pulse-stun blaster with purple paint-ball magazines. The irritated patriarch still brought back the bounty but not before having to explain to the local law-enforcement authority why his subdued captives looked like they had just returned from a mud wrestling competition in the Zookle sludge pits. So, you wanna go see what’s through that door over there? Max gestured to a large circular-shaped door surrounded by inlaid gold glyphs and unfamiliar markings. The Architect examined the glyphs but they were not in any language he possessed knowledge of. The eerie feeling of isolation he had felt as a canine once more washed over him, dark incomprehensible whispers penetrating their way into his consciousness. He pondered for a moment whether he should simply boil the life-form's blood with his will and leave him in a liquefied pool on the floor, as the association might prove to impede his investigation of "the object," however after evaluating its effect on The Plan, he determined that the union would fit. Sure, said the creator of the known universe. Simultaneously, the two de-armored. Max’s Grabeth retracted into its chest-plate, the metallic segments retreating neatly and almost magically from the protective shell they had previously formed. He looked over to where the demonic figure last stood only to see the same pale, middle-aged gentleman he had encountered only minutes ago, the sourceless artificial lights from above shining dully on his forehead. The satchel remained over his arm. It was you! said Max, I thought I smelled strawberry pudding! The two approached the door where a small console with a green, illuminated button in the middle of it was mounted atop a support post. To the side of the door on the sheer wall, a hastily scrawled handwritten message was inscribed: “Bio-Habitat 9 – Door #3, 06-13-2012, 22:00†Max pushed the button and, with a rushing hiss of hydraulic pressure, the door snapped open revealing a vast wilderness of forest, savanna, mountain, and valley. Two suns hung low in a pale blue sky. The screeches of birds and the howls of varmint filled their ears. Hesitating only briefly, the two stepped through in unison. You still gotta tell me where you got that man-purse, said Max. It’s not a man-purse! protested The Architect as the two became engulfed by the blinding light that penetrated into the cool-steel chamber from the mysterious portal. The door slid shut with a metallic growl, leaving no evidence that a god and a man had stood there together only moments before.
  15. But the Moo Cow, in its innocence, its benevolence, its passivity, has a dark, troublesome, and sinister secret. There is another spawned from the Moo Cow's very flesh, a fusion of tissue, rot, and bile. It is a multi-gastric deamon, a bovine abomination: It is... The Evil Cow Clone...