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06-11-2011, 01:40 AM
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#23 | |
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An eagle with the head of a turtle-
Join Date: Feb 2005
Location: and the body of a turtle.
Posts: 1,371
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> Leraje: Be the dog.
You are now Quartz Terrier #3, a canine mold minion with mantis prototyping, and today is the day of your birth! It was only a few hours ago that were born into this world, completely blind and with a voracious craving for troll flesh. You, along with your tube brothers, were promptly charged the most important task a minion could undertake: the harassment and, if at all possible, destruction of the Hero of Waves. At the moment you and your compatriots are circling the hero's domicile, trying to pinpoint the little bastard's location. You have the little moron's scent with your twitchy antennae before your pick up his voice. It seems that he's standing in the first level of the hive, talking to his goofy sounding guide. Gog, your mouth is watering. You can practically taste his delicious, crunchy horns which you imagine must be like the sweetest candy. You and your brood can't wait to chow down. > QT3: Search for a sanctioned entry point. You smell around until you find a group of holes punched into the side of the shack. There's only a small amount of material keeping this from being one big gaping hole, you could break through it easily. >QT3: Let out a bone-chilling pre-murder intimidation bark Woof. > oh yesssssss > they released them bout fuckin time > Caoway: Realize just how boned you are. You are Caoway once again. It dawns on you just how ill-equipped you are and how many holes the strife with the imps have left in the walls of your hive. Invasion is imminent. You dual-wield the two weapons in your possession that you can stand using and also don't liken you to a trigger-happy douchebag. > only one thing that tastes like bacon > your fat useless limbs they gonna breakin > off in their teeth meat so sweet > hounds > uh > damn where was i going with that > ID: Where were you going with that? You. Don't. KNOW! Argh! Stupid stupid stupid dumb! This lack of music is just murdering your ability to lay dope beats!How could you mess up in front of your hated enemy? He's gonna be laughing his butt off at your e-rap-tile dysfunction while those hounds devour him. Okay, he probably won't be dying any time soon. The sage you knew would never be taken down by some measly x3 prototyped fuck-heads. Okay, just withdraw for now and come back stronger. > die a horrible death ill be back in few Yeah, that's good. Now what? > ID: type => HOME. Done and d-Oh god! Why is the station shaking? > QT3: Do the window thing. You are the dog and you have just taken a flying leap through the hive wall, creating a new window in the process. You sail through the air, on a direct course toward your tar- SMAAAASH! Your course has been reversed, by way of a home run oar/rod strike combo. It was a hell of a hit, but your health vial barely drops at all. You hit the ground on all fours with a skid and rush back into the fray, mouths agape and snarling. > Beechiesprite: Intervene. You cannot be Beechiesprite, only Beechiesprite can be Beechiesprite. He does however decide to put some space between his ward and the would-be assassin. A cruxite flounder materializes, filling up the hole. The hound hits it with a loud thump that shakes the whole hive but the fish holds. Cruxite sea life: 1 Halfwits: 0 > Caoway: Kick fish aside and go finish the job. No way. It would be foolhardy for even as hardy a fool as yourself to try and face such foes with just the meager armaments in your possession. You direct your lusus-sprite to the other holes and ask him to batten down the hatches. Your only hope right now is to somehow buy time to contact Leraje and get the crafting equipment installed. What's that noise coming from upstairs? > Caoway: Seek out the disturbance. You rush up the stairs and through the door of your respiteblock. You're met by the front half of a crystalline canine with some very Beechie like forelimbs sticking out of the hole left by the blunderbuss. It woofs at you. Menacingly. > Caoway: Get that Shih tzu out of here! ACCOST! You snare the thermal hull with your rod-and-reel and chuck it at the son of a bitch. The hull shatters into a explosion of harden protein, slime, and cadavers. The terrier is knocked back slightly and takes a small drop in it's health vial. It really didn't like that. However, before it has a chance to retaliate, a giant green cigar appears out of nowhere and rams its burning end into the terrier's face. The hound recoils backward and slips out of the hole completely. Beechiesprite promptly seals the hole with a cruxite grouper. > Caoway: High five Beechiespite and initiate victory interpretive dance. Too soon for that. Your enemies have only been momentarily halted in their campaign to utterly destroy you and you know it. You do, however, give a word of thanks to your ghost custodian and he responds in his usual dope-ish yet endearing manner, saying that that is what he is here for. Enough pleasantries, you need to get down to business. First order- > Caoway: Contact meddler. You need better equipment. Judging from the weird appearances of these latest aggressors, Leraje must have entered. Time to bust out the GrubPDA and troll your good-for-nothing server till he squawks like an imbecilic waddle fowl and drops some new artifacts in your hive. Show troll log. ========> In the heat of your furious screen jabbing, you accidentally click on your friend's position on the Trollian time-line. A new window pops. It's a viewport showing a distraught Leraje weeping over what you recognize to have once been Seymour. It looks like he's trying rip his horns out. ========> … ========> Show troll log. You close the Trollian window and slump down to the floor. > Caoway: Don't despair. Of course you won't. Despair is for people who aren't trapped in a crumbling structure on a spire in the middle of a vast uncharted ocean and also being circled by giant ravenous dogs made of rock who are out for blood. Still, you don't think you can bring yourself to ask Leraje to play unseen, omnipotent butler to you right now. You're left with only one other option: look around your hive and make use of the items on hand. [S]> Caoway: Inspect room. That wave really did a number on this place, it's an even bigger Methane Boar mud wallowing pit than it was before. Everything in here that's not a game construct is knocked over, partially broken, and soaking wet. Where do you begin your search? > Caoway: Search Troll Andy Griffith's pants. Against all better judgment and higher think-pan functions, you decide the best way to start your search is by digging around in some dead guy's sla- No way. You may not have a whole lot of schoolfeeding under your belt, but that doesn't make you a brain-dead sicko. Try again. > Caoway: Search through the bags of candy horns. You reach deep and come up with nothing more than a hand-full of some sickeningly sweet and incredibly ancient confectioneries. > Caoway: Imbibe several bags of candy horns. Yech, no. You don't even like eating good sweets. > Caoway: Hide two candy horns in hat. For some strange reason, you feel compelled to take the some of this awful candy that you hate with you. Rather than fiddle with the sylladex, you stow two irregularly shaped pieces in your hat. > Caoway: Search bookshelf. You approach the shelf. Only minutes ago, Leraje had presumably dumped the contents of it into the ocean and promptly replaced them. Although, upon closer inspection, there appear to be a few volumes missing. He probably didn't have enough time to retrieve all of them what with the entrance test and all. Eh, they were just some of your earliest journals. No big loss. Your handwriting was just plain awful back then anyway. Well, aside from your own contributions to the literary world, you spot a few books of interest: Mother Grub's Not-Fairy Tales, a photoskin album, TC Archives: AquaTroll vol.1, The Big Wet Thing That You Are Not Allowed To Even So Much As Touch, and Troll Harry Anderson's Wise Grub. > Caoway: Inspect Mother Grub's Not-Fairy Tales. You crack open the book written for wrigglers and look through. It's been sweeps since you read this one, but you still smile a little when you see the lovely illustration of a purple troll in spotted pants holding a bard's head in his hand. You fondly recall many a night trapped in the doldrums spent reading these tales by the moonlight. Wonderful classics like Pupa Pan, The Blind Prophets, An Old Kroy Blueblood in the Grand Highblood's Court, A Hopeless Prince, the Man on the Green Moon, and The Monarch and the Pawns. > Caoway: Read The Monarch and the Pawns. No, you really don't have the time to read the whole story, which is easily the longest in the book. This isn't really a problem since you, like ever other troll on this planet, already know it by heart anyways. The story goes like this: Centuries ago, the Empress was chosen by Gl'bgolyb after braving the trial caverns and used the power of her lusus and its spawn to subjugate the land-dwellers. She is met with defiance in the form of lower-caste Maritime Lifeform Reapers slaughtering the horrorterrors and a fellow sea-dweller trying to usurp the throne. In the end though, she overpowers her adversaries and stomps them into the ground with the help of her loyal subjects; The dashing and mysterious Baron, and the monstrous and hornless Conquisterminator. The whole of trollkind is under her thumb and bluh bluh it gets kind of dull after that part. This isn't a work of fiction by the way, the stories in this book are 100% true. The way all good stories should be. > Caoway: Glance through album. It's an album with very few photoskins in it. This is because you prefer to write about where you have been rather than simply click a image capturing chamber. The only photos in here are of you and Beechie at Disembowel Land and a few of your friends at their hives. … You decide then and there that if you live through this you are going to get a group photoskin of Team Fortress for this album. > Caoway: Peruse Aquatroll vol.1. You peer into this collection of one of the oldest illustrated periodicals in history. It's loaded from cover to cover with Aquatroll's first incredibly hookey adventures of undersea heroics. Here's one about his origins: Aurthor Curry was a seatroll hatched with inexplicable yellow blood. Upon seeing this, his would-be lusus tossed him out into a strong current which carried the wriggler to a rocky shore where he was found by a chloraebear without a ward and raised as a land-dweller. Still he shows a great affinity for the water as he grows up and eventually learns of his heritage. He returns to the sea and takes his rightful place as a ruler. From then on, he uses his mutant abilities to make the sea safe for both low-bloods and high-bloods alike. Of course, this changed once purple-bloods took over TC and made it so Aquatroll was always a purple blood and a complete asshole to all land-dwellers. > Caoway: …The Big Wet Thing That You Are Not Allowed To Even So Much As Touch? It a big book about the ocean; how to tell the weather forecast at sea, a map of major currents, and the effect the moons' positions have on tides. The title is a warning to stay out of it since that's royal territory. You never heeded that warning. > Caoway: Pour over Troll Harry Anderson's Wise Grub. This is one you checked out from the librarchivery sweeps ago and have no intention of returning. Alternian late fees are collected in blood after all. You glance through the book, thinking that it may help you become a wiser troll. It turns out that this thing is just filled with a bunch of dumb tales of a guy gushing over another guy of much shorter stature who likes silly card tricks. Well, that was dumb. This book's title was totally misleading. You don't feel the least bit wiser having read it. What a complete waste of time. Actually, it begins to dawn on you that all the book reading you done just now has not helped you become better armed and has been a complete waste of time. Way to go numbglobes. > Caoway: Gather up bodies and make a bed. You gather up all the sopping wet bodies and make a pile that you could use to sleep on. This also a wastey waste of your precious time. > Caoway: Search chests. You make your way over to the toppled chest pile and pop them open. You find (1) ship in a bottle, (1) large turtle shell, (1) hotcomb, (1) jar of very old mind honey, (1) sweater with your old anchor letter on it, and (1) spare sailing canvas. You captchalogue these items causing the cup and clanger and taxidermy kit to be washed out of your sylladex. You allocated the blunderbuss to your strife specibus and retrieve the treasured momento. > Caoway: This is all you have to work with? It would appear so. > Caoway: Why is everything you own junk? This stuff isn't junk! All of these items are your treasures and mementos of past adventures. But yeah you can see how they wouldn't be much help in a situation like this. Actually, you used to have a lot of useful weapons and items but as you said before, you were pressed for space. So you decided to do what the ancient seafaring gamblignants did when they had too much shit and didn't know what to do with it: bury it in someplace where no one will find it and come back to dig it up later. So you stuffed the more useful artifacts in chests and buried them on your friends property without their knowledge. And a few random places too. In hindsight, you should have gone out and retrieved some of those things before you abandoned planet. > Caoway: Realize that CYMOPOLEIA'S TREASURARY was unlocked this whole time. Wouldn't that be convenient? But sadly, no. The chest remains locked and no amount brute force will ever open it. > Caoway: Go to desk. Not really much of a desk anymore. It's been broken to pieces, probably from the huge wave that hit your hive. > Caoway: Go to husktop. Much like the desk, this piece of equipment has seen better, more intact days. Judging from the powdery little fingerprints on the wreckage, you doubt the wave was responsible for the destruction of this particular piece of hardware. Gog, you hate imps. > Caoway: Make a fort out of the desk. You don't think that it would make a very good fort and also that that would be a monumentally stupid thing to do. > Caoway: Check desk drawer. You pull out the drawer and find several spools of razor sharp steel fishing line! You have never been so glad that you were tricked into buying a whole box of something from Sharl! You perform some simple sylladex alchemy with the regular Pole-and-Line and make a new Steel Line Fishing Pole! ========> With this, your offensive capabilities have been tremendously augmented! Now you stand a much a better chance of surviving a strife with those stone c-Hey, you're being messaged. > Caoway: Answer. Show troll log. What was that about? Eh, who cares what that OCD snob has to say? Right now you should- Another one? Oh no, not that royal pain in the sitting cleft again. > Caoway: Answer royal pain. Show troll log. Being part of that conversation physically hurt your sole. You mean soul. Why does this keep happening? > Caoway: Throw sweater down in disgust. DONE. Gog, you've had up to HERE with higher bloods and misconstrued romantic advances today. If you so much as see one more person of royal lineage/would be suitor, just sort of jutting out and being regal/trying to woo you, you're going to go cherry apeship apocalypse right up into the face of Skaia. It'll be goddman lift off into an insane flying corkscrew hay-maker the likes of which the medium has never seen before. The maneuver will from then on be written of in story and in song. The effects of this feat will ripple through the fabric of reality itself. An entire planet of ancient wisemen will up and die, and the Empress herself will call up and say she wants to fill up a bucket with you, setting you off once more. You'll be trapped in an endless cycle of stupidity and spastic gymnastics and there will be no hope of escape. This is your eternity. > Caoway: Get trolled. Here we go. You proceed to have this conversation here until she gets flustered and ends it. You feel like you should give her a hard time about this. > Caoway: Be the troller. You do just that and give her a taste of her own medicine, somewhat. Really, you're just glad that you could apologize properly and help her out. That is what the troll disease called bein' friends is about, you guess. Of course if what she said is true, she's not the only one whose lusus has died. > Caoway: Lurk on memos. You look on the memos of your team and the opposition and find that Glissa was correct. > Caoway: Create new memo. You start writing a new memo which goes as follows: Show memo. You pause for a second to rest your message-weary fingers and sigh a bit. Beechiesprite floats over and gives you a concerned look. Or at least what looks like a concerned look, hard to tell with those glasses and eyebrows. > Caoway: Consult Beechiesprite. Show Spritelog. > Caoway: Finish memo. Show memo. You finish typing that and send out the links to all of the players, as well as leaving a message on both of the current memos, just in time for you to hear something break outside the entryway of the RESPITEBLOCK. Show memo. > Caoway: Suit up. You put on your old anchor sweater, which was several sizes too large for you when you were younger, but fits you perfectly. Looks like you finally molted into it. > Caoway: Kick open the door and go give them hell! You bust open the door with a strong kick and are met with the gaping double-maw of Quartz Terrier #2 poking in from a newly created hole in the side of the hive, who promptly moves to sink his fangs into your outstretched leg. > Caoway: Auto-Parry. You're too slow. The hound bites your leg tightly and jerks its head back, yanking you off of your foot and out of the hive. It releases your leg, sending you into upward spiraling aerial maneuver the likes of which have never been seen in the medium before. > Other Troll: Enter.
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Last edited by Intern Nin; 09-06-2011 at 10:44 PM. |
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