Date: 2/12/1999 6:50 PM Central Daylight Time
From: SpifyMcBng
His footsteps echoed throughout the huge laboratory, clicking slowly along in a circle around the centered table. Sin-filled eyes watched the unmoving figure, an odd blend of emotion swirling around in them. The proper, neat business suit contrasted harshly with the worn, workman's hands, squeezed into large, tough fists, the kind prize-fighters would gladly avoid contact with. One of them took a moment to squeeze
the unusual addition at his side, a dragon's head protruding from a midnight leather sheath. Prone to fits of unbearable anger, the leader of those who created the being who lay now on the metal sheet in the middle of the room, covered fully but for his head and exceptionally broad shoulders, sat without incident by his side.
"You... Goon, you are certainly an achievement. Look at you. A product of my money and foresight. How fearsome of a warrior might one of your power be. None could stand before you in battle. An army of normal men would not stand a chance against you, alone, such is your strength. Mighty enough to break the foundation of this town, were you to desire it. Your destiny lies in your power, the potential to be the finest, the best of the best. So
did we sponsor your precious duels, that you might find your niche, your path to greatest glory.
"And look at you. Failure has washed over you like a plague. The finest minds in this world could find nothing wrong with the original designs, no anomalies whatsoever. Bah. Scientists. Logic is not what will fix you, my boy. For you lack not in any of that which we could have instilled. You cannot know how disturbing it was to find that it was necessary to wipe your mind of those actions we required. Yet, I did agree to the alteration, in
the hopes that your problems could be cured.
"I see now that I was wrong. You were to be the best. Do you remember when you protected that young lady at Lord Tynsdale's wedding? I suppose you would not, even if you could hear my words. How you made me proud, performing up to par! It saddens me to say that such occurances were far more the exception than the rule. Goon, you are guilty. Guilty of lacking the killer instinct necessary to make a good warrior great. Thus, I wash my hands of
you now."
Rising up, an almost-sad sigh escaping his dirty lips, the businessman watched the motionless behemoth for a moment more. Yet the Fates stepped in once more. Once the brilliant katana was drawn, the land shook and groaned, disrupting the electricity to the room. Vision removed, the sword was lowered, his free hand searching for the wall and door. Once he escaped the complete darkness, the leader in him took over, forcing out orders to those
nearby aides the daylight would show to him.
"What's going on? There are no earthquakes in this town! I want answers!"
The stunned advisors could do little but stare at each other in wonder. Not until faint screams of "Lunatic!" echoed in from the outside did anyone start for the stairs; even then, only the swordsman dared to find out what had occured.
Spiffy
...the somewhat inspired
Creator
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Re: Creator
Date: 2/13/1999 5:27 PM Central Daylight Time
From: SpifyMcBng
Little more than a low rumble escaped the aged wizard's throat. The fools. Treating one of his mastery in the arcane with such blatant disrespect. Daring to put such power within his reach, yet expecting it be returned. Expecting that he, Khorien, be no more than a pawn in their games! All parts of the mage's tainted soul sat in unanimous uncaring towards the Duel of Fists, the Outback, its patrons.. they would be
dealt with later. Now, it was time for mistakes to be repaid, lessons harshly taught in full view of the public eye.
My brothers, our time of show is at hand. These "Titans" will fall before our might, leaving no one in our path to our destiny.
Indeed. What is the phrase that unwitting boy would use? "It's on", I believe.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"No, stupid, you play the red on the black. How many times do I have to teach you this stuff?" The aggravated words came from beneath a few shocks of scraggly black hair, draped over the man's face and shoulders, obscuring the crimson color of his uniform. Stiff cotton kept movement slightly restricted, a fact he hated, but could not deny it helped in keeping steady on the shooting range. The freshly washed cloth sat brightly on his body, the
Python at his hip signifying his rank of lieutenant within the corporate army.
"This is the second time I've played the game. Calm down. I'm used to having someone besides the deck to work against." Similarly dressed, the redheaded soldier sitting before the solitaire game shifted to let his own sidearm dangle beside the chair. Equal in rank to the advice-giver hovering over his shoulder, the air of calm confidence and neater, clean cut appearance gave him an informal aura of superiority. "It's not my fault I actually
have friends to do things with."
A reply waiting, the agitated card player let it drop after a deep-throated chuckle turned the tables against him. The commander's darker skin contrasted well with the bloody infantry colors, not clashing oddly as was the case with his pasty-faced counterparts. "Why are you so damn stuck up, Stevie," he began. "I wish you weren't the best sniper we had. Then maybe someone would stick your skinny rear in its place for real." From the powerful
hands gripping rifle and rag, nearly cleaning the color from the gun along with the dirt, to the obvious excess of muscle and lack of fat residing beneath the uniform on the couch, it was clear who "someone" referred to.
Angrily, the bruised egomaniac stormed out of the officer's lounge, nearly shattering the glass in the door with his force in slamming it closed. A quick minute passed before the sounds of shattering glass came from outside. Nearly in unison, the pair still seated smirked. Their expressions became labeled with confusion after the sounds of breakage continued outside.
"Hey.." started the lieutenant, "shouldn't security have gotten him out of here by now?"
"Yeah. I'm going to go see what the deal is."
No sooner had the beefy commander risen from his comfortable seat, hand gripping the rifle's middle over its etched name of "Suzy", than the soldier they were just speaking of made his violent, airborne reemergence into the room. Frozen they stood at the sight; both had witnessed death, even of friends, but none so hideous. The sniper's face sat facing them, turned 180 degrees in relation to his torso; its expression spoke rightfully of death,
what could be seen through the melted, scorched flesh. All his limbs were present; only those on his left side, pressed against the floor, remained attached.
The crash of windowpanes behind the pair snapped them out of their reverie, just in time to see the raging pyrotechnics consume all as the emergency alarm began to cry out in warning.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The fuel of adrenaline came from tortured screams that surrounded him. Nearly a hundred, two, had made their ways out into the crisp RhyDin night, never to expect the sight of such extreme malevolence played out before their eyes. Fire and ice raged from behind a shield of thick vegetation, mutilating the brick and concrete of the unassuming corner building. Windows shattered and crashed around the ground below as individuals of all shapes and
sizes ran, waddled, and flew away from the danger. Warning bells blared out into the dark skies, calling the gunners of Titan to arms. Two score of infantry poured from the multitude of entrances surrounding the building, a stream of bloody movement flowing behind any kind of cover available.
Rings of fire sprayed widely, surrounding all, yet never singing even a hair, save those moving to penetrate the defense of growth protecting the bringer of destruction. Skin heated from the power, the wizard's attacks balanced him back to relative normality, freezing soldier after soldier as their M-16 bullets bounced harmlessly off the thick walls of green. Constantly in movement and regrowth, the shielding began to render the top-floor
magnification and laser scopes useless. Panic swept through the sniping ranks, sending their ammuntion harmlessly into the pile growing around the wizard's feet before the scream forced a pause.
"Yaaaaaaii!"
Even Khorien stood still, listening to the echoing battle cry bouncing off the nearby structures. Never did he see the flash of metal turn the left side of his defenses to mush, until the tip sliced across the blue arm of his robe. Furiously retreating to give himself room, small fires sparked from the tips of withered fingers forced the business suit-wearing swordsman into a more defensive style. The shimmering blade easily turned aside element
after element, continuing its chase.
Cease, brothers.
What? Without our aid, the mage will surely fall! You cannot be serious! Surely you sense the instability in this bladesmith. To land in his hands will set us back months!
Nay, Pathfinder. Look before us. Blood fills the streets. The mage's target rises still, but as a mere husk. Our power is shown. The advantage is twofold. Should the mage not have the wisdom to decide when retreat is the wisest course, he does not deserve to have our power either. And certainly you see that should this battle continue, it will end in the minimum of one more death. This human is
our tool, but it would be wise to allow the other to live as well, so we might learn more of his power. It is.. unnatural.
Slowly, the fires of offense waned with each attack. Blind with frustration, the old man continued to throw icy streams at the swordsman; soon, they followed the same path of weakness. Only the continual renewal of protection kept the battle raging.
You... are correct, brothers.
A horrific splatter resounded through the town, vines, leaves, stems, all falling into a pile of decay. Bloodlust tore through the samurai's spirit, slicing apart the final obstacles between he and the final target.
"What.. what have you done to my precious Opals... heathen!"
Through the rage of the moment, a power beyond skill took hold; some would later call it luck, some fate, others still, destiny. Had the mage hesitated, he surely would have been lost. Instead, robes torn, a merciless attack falling upon him, a flash of light gave brilliance to the dark, and signal to the one and only use of his own power during the night. The sheen of gleaming metal flashed through the position of his neck, where half a second
prior he stood; now, his whereabouts unknown, the robbed swordsmith fell to his knees. The final glimmer of hope, that something, anything, remained that could be saved, crumbled with the building's foundation.
Three stories of reinforced steel, bent and frozen, shattered beneath the weight of concrete. In one swift movement, Death's scythe had wreaked its havoc across the area, leaving one solitary figure alone in the night to contemplate the cost of power.
Spiffy
...the somewhat inspired
From: SpifyMcBng
Little more than a low rumble escaped the aged wizard's throat. The fools. Treating one of his mastery in the arcane with such blatant disrespect. Daring to put such power within his reach, yet expecting it be returned. Expecting that he, Khorien, be no more than a pawn in their games! All parts of the mage's tainted soul sat in unanimous uncaring towards the Duel of Fists, the Outback, its patrons.. they would be
dealt with later. Now, it was time for mistakes to be repaid, lessons harshly taught in full view of the public eye.
My brothers, our time of show is at hand. These "Titans" will fall before our might, leaving no one in our path to our destiny.
Indeed. What is the phrase that unwitting boy would use? "It's on", I believe.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"No, stupid, you play the red on the black. How many times do I have to teach you this stuff?" The aggravated words came from beneath a few shocks of scraggly black hair, draped over the man's face and shoulders, obscuring the crimson color of his uniform. Stiff cotton kept movement slightly restricted, a fact he hated, but could not deny it helped in keeping steady on the shooting range. The freshly washed cloth sat brightly on his body, the
Python at his hip signifying his rank of lieutenant within the corporate army.
"This is the second time I've played the game. Calm down. I'm used to having someone besides the deck to work against." Similarly dressed, the redheaded soldier sitting before the solitaire game shifted to let his own sidearm dangle beside the chair. Equal in rank to the advice-giver hovering over his shoulder, the air of calm confidence and neater, clean cut appearance gave him an informal aura of superiority. "It's not my fault I actually
have friends to do things with."
A reply waiting, the agitated card player let it drop after a deep-throated chuckle turned the tables against him. The commander's darker skin contrasted well with the bloody infantry colors, not clashing oddly as was the case with his pasty-faced counterparts. "Why are you so damn stuck up, Stevie," he began. "I wish you weren't the best sniper we had. Then maybe someone would stick your skinny rear in its place for real." From the powerful
hands gripping rifle and rag, nearly cleaning the color from the gun along with the dirt, to the obvious excess of muscle and lack of fat residing beneath the uniform on the couch, it was clear who "someone" referred to.
Angrily, the bruised egomaniac stormed out of the officer's lounge, nearly shattering the glass in the door with his force in slamming it closed. A quick minute passed before the sounds of shattering glass came from outside. Nearly in unison, the pair still seated smirked. Their expressions became labeled with confusion after the sounds of breakage continued outside.
"Hey.." started the lieutenant, "shouldn't security have gotten him out of here by now?"
"Yeah. I'm going to go see what the deal is."
No sooner had the beefy commander risen from his comfortable seat, hand gripping the rifle's middle over its etched name of "Suzy", than the soldier they were just speaking of made his violent, airborne reemergence into the room. Frozen they stood at the sight; both had witnessed death, even of friends, but none so hideous. The sniper's face sat facing them, turned 180 degrees in relation to his torso; its expression spoke rightfully of death,
what could be seen through the melted, scorched flesh. All his limbs were present; only those on his left side, pressed against the floor, remained attached.
The crash of windowpanes behind the pair snapped them out of their reverie, just in time to see the raging pyrotechnics consume all as the emergency alarm began to cry out in warning.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The fuel of adrenaline came from tortured screams that surrounded him. Nearly a hundred, two, had made their ways out into the crisp RhyDin night, never to expect the sight of such extreme malevolence played out before their eyes. Fire and ice raged from behind a shield of thick vegetation, mutilating the brick and concrete of the unassuming corner building. Windows shattered and crashed around the ground below as individuals of all shapes and
sizes ran, waddled, and flew away from the danger. Warning bells blared out into the dark skies, calling the gunners of Titan to arms. Two score of infantry poured from the multitude of entrances surrounding the building, a stream of bloody movement flowing behind any kind of cover available.
Rings of fire sprayed widely, surrounding all, yet never singing even a hair, save those moving to penetrate the defense of growth protecting the bringer of destruction. Skin heated from the power, the wizard's attacks balanced him back to relative normality, freezing soldier after soldier as their M-16 bullets bounced harmlessly off the thick walls of green. Constantly in movement and regrowth, the shielding began to render the top-floor
magnification and laser scopes useless. Panic swept through the sniping ranks, sending their ammuntion harmlessly into the pile growing around the wizard's feet before the scream forced a pause.
"Yaaaaaaii!"
Even Khorien stood still, listening to the echoing battle cry bouncing off the nearby structures. Never did he see the flash of metal turn the left side of his defenses to mush, until the tip sliced across the blue arm of his robe. Furiously retreating to give himself room, small fires sparked from the tips of withered fingers forced the business suit-wearing swordsman into a more defensive style. The shimmering blade easily turned aside element
after element, continuing its chase.
Cease, brothers.
What? Without our aid, the mage will surely fall! You cannot be serious! Surely you sense the instability in this bladesmith. To land in his hands will set us back months!
Nay, Pathfinder. Look before us. Blood fills the streets. The mage's target rises still, but as a mere husk. Our power is shown. The advantage is twofold. Should the mage not have the wisdom to decide when retreat is the wisest course, he does not deserve to have our power either. And certainly you see that should this battle continue, it will end in the minimum of one more death. This human is
our tool, but it would be wise to allow the other to live as well, so we might learn more of his power. It is.. unnatural.
Slowly, the fires of offense waned with each attack. Blind with frustration, the old man continued to throw icy streams at the swordsman; soon, they followed the same path of weakness. Only the continual renewal of protection kept the battle raging.
You... are correct, brothers.
A horrific splatter resounded through the town, vines, leaves, stems, all falling into a pile of decay. Bloodlust tore through the samurai's spirit, slicing apart the final obstacles between he and the final target.
"What.. what have you done to my precious Opals... heathen!"
Through the rage of the moment, a power beyond skill took hold; some would later call it luck, some fate, others still, destiny. Had the mage hesitated, he surely would have been lost. Instead, robes torn, a merciless attack falling upon him, a flash of light gave brilliance to the dark, and signal to the one and only use of his own power during the night. The sheen of gleaming metal flashed through the position of his neck, where half a second
prior he stood; now, his whereabouts unknown, the robbed swordsmith fell to his knees. The final glimmer of hope, that something, anything, remained that could be saved, crumbled with the building's foundation.
Three stories of reinforced steel, bent and frozen, shattered beneath the weight of concrete. In one swift movement, Death's scythe had wreaked its havoc across the area, leaving one solitary figure alone in the night to contemplate the cost of power.
Spiffy
...the somewhat inspired
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- Archivist
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Lost
Date: 2/13/1999 7:17 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Deuce Mack
Word spread like wildfire, quickly reaching Deuce's ears to assault him with the grave news. He had dropped off the Opals in his possession, at Matt's behest, in secret to the Titan company. They were to be picked up on the day of the tournament; most likely, it was a safer place to keep them locked up. How could he have known that the very night before, someone would attack the building and, even more surprisingly,
utterly destroy it?
He could only sit on the bed, soft mattress offering no comfort as his bald head rested in his hands, eyes covered to the dim light. Reports were sketchy, but they all seemed to include fire, ice, plants, and an old man. It seemed too unbelievable, too disastrous to be true, yet it couldn't be denied. It had to be Khorien, which meant Matt was right. Pathfinder was a fake. He had no idea if the other two were also false, with Khorien holding
the real ones, or if he had somehow managed to infiltrate the Titan labs and steal them before turning the gems against everyone in sight.
Worse still, there was a tournament to be held with a prize that no longer was held by the staff up for grabs. If he didn't come up with something, and soon, there would be questions upon questions to be answered. Matt was on the level, and would likely be the next target of Khorien. If not him, then Tarl. But if no one believed what he said about the circumstances surrounding the disappearances, how could he be sure they would take the right
precautions to stay alive?
Donning hat and sneakers, and a nice, big wad of cash, young Deuce made his way out into the day. He needed something, and he needed it fast. All he could hope was for it to pass as the title long enough for him to find the real thing.
From: Deuce Mack
Word spread like wildfire, quickly reaching Deuce's ears to assault him with the grave news. He had dropped off the Opals in his possession, at Matt's behest, in secret to the Titan company. They were to be picked up on the day of the tournament; most likely, it was a safer place to keep them locked up. How could he have known that the very night before, someone would attack the building and, even more surprisingly,
utterly destroy it?
He could only sit on the bed, soft mattress offering no comfort as his bald head rested in his hands, eyes covered to the dim light. Reports were sketchy, but they all seemed to include fire, ice, plants, and an old man. It seemed too unbelievable, too disastrous to be true, yet it couldn't be denied. It had to be Khorien, which meant Matt was right. Pathfinder was a fake. He had no idea if the other two were also false, with Khorien holding
the real ones, or if he had somehow managed to infiltrate the Titan labs and steal them before turning the gems against everyone in sight.
Worse still, there was a tournament to be held with a prize that no longer was held by the staff up for grabs. If he didn't come up with something, and soon, there would be questions upon questions to be answered. Matt was on the level, and would likely be the next target of Khorien. If not him, then Tarl. But if no one believed what he said about the circumstances surrounding the disappearances, how could he be sure they would take the right
precautions to stay alive?
Donning hat and sneakers, and a nice, big wad of cash, young Deuce made his way out into the day. He needed something, and he needed it fast. All he could hope was for it to pass as the title long enough for him to find the real thing.