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06-11-2011, 01:40 AM
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#71 | |
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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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Some quote: Quote:
Last edited by Intern Nin; 09-06-2011 at 10:44 PM. |
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06-11-2011, 08:54 PM
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#72 |
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We'll have to do this the hard way.
Join Date: Feb 2005
Location: Behind it all.
Posts: 1,009
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> Other Troll: Enter.
You enter the lobby of the torn down skyscraper, after a few moments of reasonable hesitation. Even you and your messed up eyes can see that no individual who stills claims any semblance of sanity would ever attempt to live here. Regardless, you march on, knowing that it is your duty as a Delivery Hag that every package shall meet its-oops hit a wall. > Delivery Hag: Examine wall It's just your normal sort of brick and mortar wall full of normal sort of graffiti written with normal sort of troll blood. They tell you to leave, but you assure them that you are a tyrannically appointed muffin squacker. They aren't quite sure how to respond to that, represented by the lines of ellipses retreating down the far end of the room. You follow them until a shiny something catches your eye. Carved into the wall, much younger than the building, rests a wide silver box ordained with big, fancy letters. VS, it says. > What ho? A mailbox! Shall you feed it? The box thanks you heartily for the tasty package, and you skip home. Later, the young female troll who resides there will be delighted to find that her package had arrived after much delay. This particular item is a piece of paraphernalia from a bygone era, made to cash in on the popularity of a celebrity living at the time. She was never quite sure how a pan would be related to a lateral locoshuttle robber who made a fortune selling his story as a hokey tale of heroism to a film company, but she didn't care. All that matters is that it is old and it is hers. Look, it even comes with a little certificate of authenticity. > Ooooh. What's it say? Show Certificate Log > ==> The troll looks inquisitively at the pan-shaped piece of charred corpse in her hand. > BLUH!! She shrugs, then returns to her hive to make an omelette. ========> MEANWHILE IN THE PRESENT > Vintag: Enter. You do not know what it is you're supposed to be entering at the moment as you are rather preoccupied with falling to your death and making out with game constructs. Or you were, up until the weird dame disappeared. At least this whole dying business should be a lot more pleasant without having to hear her screaming and crying and what not. Actually, you can't hear anything. > Stop falling. *DOOF* You have landed and are now on top of a floating pile of hats. This surprises you a fair bit, and you turn around and see a fully hatched sprite, prototyped with your lusus and your "dead" washing machine. > Vintag: tearful reunion Show Lususlog > I'm sorry, what was that? You jump off the hat pile and head towards the entrance. If Vicki's right, there'll be more pissed off, ugly monstrosities coming to kill you than that time you tried to do the Aristocrats act and you forgot the toilet seat cover. In fact, if you were to turn around right now you would see two concrete imps ready to rip/claw you to shreds. But turning around is for losers, so forget it. The only important thing to you is getting back up to your hive and changing into something more befitting a lady. You mean... What? > Yes, you positively need to put on something decent. You look like a common street urchin wearing those rags. But... you like this hat. > And your grotesque shambling has got to go as well. Do you have a book handy? And by book, I don't mean your paperback penny Dersian Bible. A real book, with a hardcover to improve your posture or to beat you with until you start to approximate a proper gait. Yeah, you have a book. It's called Shut Your Stupid Trap You Bushwa Ethel!! The imp behind you takes offense to this. He thinks that you are talking to him. Your words make him feel like his opinions do not matter. A single cement tear rolls down his stony cheek. > Oh, look, it thinks it's clever! I can see your manners match your appearance. You scream and wave your fists around. This could be a while. > Be someone who's not having a psychotic breakdown.
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 You know who never sleeps? My gun. Last edited by The SSB Intern; 06-11-2011 at 08:58 PM. |
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06-11-2011, 11:25 PM
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#73 |
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Burn.
Join Date: Dec 2003
Location: *Classified*
Posts: 11,017
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> Be someone who's not having a psychotic breakdown.
You're now Piron, who was just ambushed. >[S] Finally. STRIFE! You have 3 imps around you. IMP 1: Shelled back from Reztek's prototyping. Heart skull. Arms and claws like Beechie, Caoway's sealion. IMP 2: Large mean ol set of chompers from Sharksprite. Shark Fin going down the back, and Scythe arms from Strize. Spade Torso. Imp 3: Arms are sort of webbed, like a manta's fin. Goat horns. Buggy compound eyes. The fins look REALLY sharp. Skin does not look pleasant to the touch either. Weilds a stiff-looking fish. > Why do that? Can't ya make a picture or something? You lack the artistic talent to do that. Imp 1 came in with a clawing attack, to which you respond to with a stab of your own claws, catching the now-surprised Imp in his claw, and flung him into the other charging Imp, knocking them down. The Third Imp seems to be hanging back, letting the other two wear you out, perhaps he's the leader of this small band? You can make a break for the water now, where you'll be faster and more comfertable, or you can press your attack. > Head to the water. You head into the water, ready to face them if they come after you. There were two splashes, as the third and second imps came in after you. The second one proved to be a deft swimmer, but seems to be attempting to bite you. A clawed uppercut showed the futility of that... until it brought it's scythe-like claws down on you. You try to twist out of the way, and end up losing a bit of hair and the back of your clothes got ripped a bit. With it's limbs lowered, you give it a swift punch to the face, stabbing deep with your claws, and the Imp exploded into Grist. The final Imp smiled, and started to slowly circle around you in a lazy arc. After a moment, you got fed up with waiting for it, and you rush in. It swung it's fishy club in a mannor to allow it to block and parry your attack, and answers your clawing attack with a slash of his own fin. You give it a knee, but it's rough skin also scrapes you knee a bit. The smell of blood is starting to drift out into the water, and you nose catches it, which fuels up your blood. You take a few jabs, which the imp parries, except for the last one, where you grabbed the fish and pulled on it, tearing it out of the imp's grasp. The Imp had a look of dismay, as you started to stab into it's body while it tried to grab at the fish. Now impaled on your claws, you start to rip into it's body when suddonly it explodes into grist like the other... along with a green card-looking thing. Giving it a look over, you decide to file it away for later, along with the fishclub as well. > Do a victory dance. No, you got some clothing you need to replace, and need to find shelter so you can heal up some. Not to mention you got some questions to ask. > Fine. Let's spin the wheel and see who the next troll we'll be is.
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"Only the fool wishes to go into battle to beat someone for the satisfaction of beating someone." -A Thousand Sons Rules. Read them, know them, love them. |
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06-26-2011, 12:34 AM
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#74 |
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Feelin' Super!
Join Date: May 2009
Posts: 4,191
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>Leraje: STRIFE!
The waling beast left itself wide open in its hunt, and the MAGE did not let the opportunity pass by him. With a strong swing of his arm the metal-linked weapon snapped forward and coiled around the specter's neck. This did indeed seem to quiet the enemy. The scream suddenly became muffled, and smoke began to cease emanating from its large maw. A small portion of its HEALTH VIAL dropped immediately, and an even smaller fraction of that began to drain due to the cut off breathing activities. It flipped around in a 180, eyes livid with anger. Not even waiting for Leraje to pull the chain, It rushed straight at him and raked a claw down Leraje' torso. With the other talon it gripped him by the shoulder to keep him in place. The underling pushed its putrid face directly against Leraje's, but it only managed a few muffled puffs of smoke. The chains clearly had the intended effect. It pushed Leraje against the floor and buzzed off, its two bird-like hands put to work meddling with the chains around its face. Its screechy and smoky voice were quite possibly pivotal to his offensive. Or her offensive. No way to be sure. Reztek: STRIFE! The view suddenly shifts to Reztek who is being soundly beaten like a chump. Failing to react in time to the CHINA BASILISK, it got a strong bite on his leg and proceeded to pull him strongly pull him towards the ledge of the towering structure holding his HIVE. It was quite a spectacular drop, and Reztek had to use all his strength to grip onto the side. His fingers were dug tightly into the ground, and the tips were beginning to show a bit of blue. How much longer could he hold one? Fortunately for him, a miracle occurred, or at least what was questionably a miracle. Something came by that gave the BASILISK cold feet. It let go of its grip on the CONDUCTOR'S leg. All this served though was for him to hang onto the leg horizontally without anything but gravity trying to kill him. With his eyes looking directly upwards, Reztek managed to view the figure who had frightened off the Basilisk. A short figure in a black collared shirt hung over him. His skin was much like a black shell and a spade adorned his shirt. His slit like eyes were narrowed down at the troll, a distinct look of disgust and dissapointment. He opened his mouth and spoke between a sentence and a snarl. "Well kid, you gonna grab it or just hang there?" Caoway: STRIFE! The Sage's attempt to Auto-Parry was in all technicality a success, but a detrimental success. He was now caught in the most unreal spirals of air and was on a crash course to the ground. The course quickly ended when he met the ground with a resounding thud. We can only nothing was broken in the fall. Fortunately for the SAGE, it seems that the forces of nature have not chosen to gang up on him. Only one of the ferocious canines was at his heels, and the IMPS seemed to be all but gone. Sill seeing as how there was one dog to deal with, Caoway was quick to return to his feet. The angry pooch leaped forward with great speed and sunk one pair of its chompers directly into Caoway's right forearm in an attempt to cut off his use of a weapon. What is this though? It appears the thick fabric of the ANCHOR SWEATER helped to cushion to blow of the mutt's teeth. Truly the sweater is the best form of protection. The bite is painful, but damage is less so. Seeing as how he was bested by the power of thick Alternian troll wool, he let go and put a distance. From its two mouths and single set of vocal chords it let a howl loose into the skies, calling for help from the more awkward TEARRIER with Beechie's claws. They took positions on either side of the sailor and began to close in on him, Teeth and claws bared. >Tergum: RAGE!! The plot once again shifts perspective to the plot of the REAPER OF RAGE. His HIVE has been given quite an upgrade. Quite possibly capable of reaching its gate, who knows? The upward movement is almost as astound as the sheer mass of stairs that paves the skyward path. However, at the highest point of ascension, a SLATE OGRE blocks the way for further building and climbing. Its large fist and tusks are quite daunting, and it seems to be daring Tergum to battle, with a hand motion waving towards himself. On its back is a large turtle shell, and its skin seems to be particularly sharp. Its arms have odd, wavey ends that resemble fins, and its face is rather ape-like. In its crushing fist was a quite hapless OBSIDIAN IMP, the poor guy being used as a crude living club. He seemed visibly pained and disorientated as he flailed about for freedom, but it is to little/no avail. This is why the little guys run when the big dudes come out to play. >Vintag: RAGE! The voices in the Herald's head are making her quite angry for sure. In her fury she even offended the poor CONCRETE IMP. The little guy walked off into a corner to sob as she went about her rage at the heavens. That was startlingly effective, although its odd that the IMP could really hear the insults. His comrade stands over him and pats him on the shoulder, trying comfort him. Suddenly, the second Imps emotions turn to rage! How dare this alien she-witch hurt his friend's feelings! He barges into the door of her Hive and searches for something to hit her with. Among a plethora of props he locates an oddly proportioned TWO WHEELED DEVICE. With the strength of his indignation he lifts it with his two palms and drags it back up to the roof. With the mean lady in sight, the imp raises the odd vehicle up with his two cartoonishly long concrete arms, and rushes forward to smash her head in with the front of the contraption. >Aldurin: Suffer You cannot be Aldurin as he is too busy entering! >Drone: Punish You can however be the drone, as he has all the time in the world. After hours of precision explosions and just beating down the rocks with your bare hands, you have finally found something that could be construed as a room within the hive. You walk off to the BALCONY and see a large telescope, or is that a cannon? You're a bit disorientated. You take a glance at the Alternian night sky, to see it lit up with many a shooting star. You're gaze stays unbroken until a small explosion just feet away knocks you off your feet! As you get back up shaken, you see that the boom was cause by a small baseball sized meteor that collided directly with the cannon. The Balcony on the whole seems a bit unstable now. You egress back into the HIVE, buckets in hand. You see a door and smash it open with a single strike. You will break open every single door until you find that little brat. |
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07-09-2011, 02:01 AM
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#75 |
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Cinderella
Join Date: Mar 2005
Location: Trespassing in the graveyard
Posts: 3,076
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Lereaje: Stop getting your ass kicked.
You drag yourself up from the ground and opened up your strife deck pulling up your second card, shacklekind. Up came a pair of shackles that fell around your wrists and ankles. Chains binding your arms and legs together as you planted yourself on all fours and let out a massive hiss. Leraje: Initiate pounce de leon! You bounded across the ground and leapt horizontally, trying to ram your arm shackles around the thing's neck with all the strength you had and get riding.
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07-19-2011, 12:56 AM
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#76 |
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Feelin' Super!
Join Date: May 2009
Posts: 4,191
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>Glissa: Ready yourself for entry.
You wait outside your hive and begin to install SGRUB. You HIVE is in rather shallow water, but you still aren't seeing any meteor. That is probably good. You get on the memo, to find some distress. SHOW MEMO Fuck. He is sort of being difficult. What if he wastes the air in his cave! Where will that leave YOU at?! You're going to be more stern about it. SHOW MEMO That should do it! Now you'll wait for him to come to you. You can totally wait for him to come to his senses. Just need some patience. >Glissa: Lose your patience Is that a red dot in the sky oh God please let it be your imagination please. SHOW MEMO You spend the next minute pulling at your hair beneath your beret while waiting for a response. -- spectacularHellion [SH] began trolling bathorysIllustrator [BI] -- SH: ok Thank Jegus. SHOW LOG You are forced to make an abrupt ELEGANT DODGE as a large stage-platform deice drops next you. Actually, it was more clumsy than elegant. More like a shocked flop to the ground. The ALCHEMITER wouldn't have hit you anyways. It instead hit the sea floor and sent a cloud of dirt and sand pluming upwards into the water under its weight. You're just a bit jumpy what with Zebrek being your server. Maybe you should lighten up on him? You will think about that when your life is in less danger. Your leap of faith had left within close proximity to the damaged corpse of BIROST. You swiftly roll away both at disgust of the blood floating in the water, and the sharpness of his fins. When you are on your feet and away from the blood mist, you see that he has also placed a large block with a tube on your front porch. Right on the side of the HIVE you spot what you identify as some large sorta freak sewing machine. BI: Okay i'm definitely seeing them now. BI: Umm lets start with the pipe thingy. After seconds of strugggling with the valve, you aren't getting much progress. Painting hasn't done much for your muscle mass it seems. You attempt to climb up the round structure to remove it physically, but to no avail. The round surface just isn't climbable! SHOW LOG With a prompt swish of water, the ARMCHAIR is suddenly removed from the front door of your HIVE. The DOOR is also liberated from its HINGES. It is an acceptable loss. The top of the CRUXTRUDER is lopped right off, and from it emerges a ourple CYLINDER and a rather flashy purple sphere. That sphere could give many a larva a seizure. SHOW LOG You close your HUSKTOP and leave it behind you. As you examine the TOTEM LATHE, you fail to take note of some severe SHENANIGANS taking place behind you. SH: hmm... SH: poke SH: poke poke poke SH: i cant touch the pretty lights SH: maybe i can use something else to touch it? SH: something from your collection? SH: hey SH: get away from biroste SH: shoo! SH: oh crap Shiny Things + Zebrek = Unforeseen Consequences Zebrek attempted to move away the fallen custodian, but the KERNEL SPRITE refused to move. The sharp edged fish was consumed in a flash of light. The ensuing brightness lead to you spinning a swift 180 in alarm. Had something else exploded! You are greeted no longer with the corpse of Birost. Instead, you can see the outline and shape of the one finned lusus within the flashing lights of the KERNELSPRITE. Not moving your eyes away from him, you tap out a final message to your server. BI: uh BI: how aboute BI: we talke later You proceed to close and inventory the computer. He can do whatever now you suppose. You take another look at the KERNELSPRITE... it looks just like Birost! Is this what Caoway had spoken about? You were expecting a more literal revival. In any case, you are sorta creeped out and decide to ignore it for now. The clock on the CRUXTRUDER shows the time you have remaining. 00:11:20 A glance skyward confirms hat there is something ablaze directly above your hive. Even through the sheet of ice and soft currents, the speck of red can be seen in the distance. You can barely begin to think of the damage that a meteor in the polar caps will have. Hopefully the other water troll and shore trolls are safe. You glance over at the sprite that bear the likeness of your custodian, and you decide to walk around it as you get on with the situation. You decide to get to work now. Dieing would really be a damper on your day. ========> You are now Nasryl and you are having the worst day. You had already managed to connect to Vintag, and she seems to be alive. Now its your turn. Aldurin has done a remarkable job of not setting everything on fire. Really got to commend him on that much. You think something may have gone wrong with the pipes though, you can swear you heard some noise coming from the bathroom. Otherwise it went pretty well, you copied Vintag's steps until you reached the end. The last step was trickier. In your operating room, right on top of the pedestal of the ALCHEMITER came the shape of your LUSUS in a crumpled heap, a sight seen just mere hours ago. Being in your operating room, you of course moved the dying effigy onto your operating table, still stained with the lime blood of earlier. THe operation went the exact same way, with the bird's heart failing as its life twitched away. Only it wouldn't die. It was just prolonging itself. As you stand there, unsure what to do, you feel a familiar pecking on your shoulder. Its the KERNELSPRITE, now with the likeness of CATHARA in it. She is nudging you towards the needle you keep on the counter next to the table. The needle you never used a single time. It's use was when the patient had to die. You give her a look of apprehension, and she nods in an affirmative. Slowly, your hand shaking, you reach towards the small stand and grabbed the needle filled with murky green fluid. You slowly raise it up, but you hesitate. You dart your eye to the CRUXTRUDER. It shows 15 seconds left on the clock. When did that happen! You glance back down at the shivering figure on your operating table. With a sharp breath, you bring the needle down on it neck, injecting the fluid and ending its life. ========> We return to Glissa, who is also at the end of her journey into the Medium. Outside of her Hive, she waits impatiently as the Alchemiter scans the CRUXITE DOWEL to create something, you aren't even sure what. Fortunately, the wait isn't long. From the Alchemiter, a small scale MOTHER GRUB appears, and it lays a single purple egg before you and vanishes. An egg! What are you supposed to do with the fucking egg? Is a wriggler supposed to save you or some shit? You don't have much time left, and you don't know what you are supposed to do. You consider all sorts of things: breaking the egg, throwing the egg, or even eating the egg? Ok you doubt its that last one, but it isn't an unheard of concept. 00:00:22 Time is running out. You look around for some last sort of help, and you are met with Biroste approaching you. Will he save you? No, he instead motions towards the egg. Does he intend to protect it? He's all knives and blades, how can he guard it? You then remember the times he guarded you though. You were once a wriggler, and he never cut you to shreds. You take another look up to see the ice melting. The meteor is getting close. What if there isn't hope for you? Is there supposed to be some hope for this egg? You yield, and place the egg upon the ground in front of Birost. It is under his protection now. You take another look upwards as the meteor is only seconds away, only to see a swirl of white and blue swirl around your home. ========> The view pans away from the ocean floor of Glissa's hive, and we move across Alternia to the subterranean hive of Gorrma, and it is not in good shape. It has not been directly hit by any falling space rocks, but it has taken indirect damage from a bombardment of once off in the distance. The shaking of the impacts has collapsed a series of sections and areas of the Hive. There may be a fire or two as well. So much may be lost, and there are too many prices and values across the Hive to save! The trial that the alchemiter produces takes the form of an oven, and a series of other ingredients. Ingredients for a cake. Does Sgrub want a cake? The cruxtruder leaves the amount of time in question. There may be enough time to follow through on this bizarre trial, but it would sacrifice time that could be spent trying to save and salvage the other items and ingredients across the hive. What is one to do! |
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07-19-2011, 10:27 AM
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#77 |
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Lakitu
Join Date: Feb 2010
Posts: 4,648
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The pressure is really beginning to get to you.
So many things going wrong, so much last-minute reorganizing, and so many meteors to track. Well the meteor part was easy, and then radar and satellites began to go offline, leaving large blindspots where most of the other players used to be. You believe it must be the shockwave from the larger meteor impacts, which then became more disconcerting because right after Nasryl entered, the largest blind spot yet in global radar system formed around where his hive used to be. Speaking of him, he seems to be fine, though maybe shaken up by his entry test. You do a quick check of the hive and make some minor repairs and reinforce some of the more dubious areas of the structure to mitigate further damage. It's no big deal since he's got a liberal shitload of build grist. You'll put off setting up defenses until you can consult him on the issue, partially because you have your own priority of entering now. You haven't seen your lusus for a while, which is strange since he isn't the type to shiver in a corner out of fear of the meteors. You hope he's out surveying the damage caused by the smaller meteor impacts. You suddenly hear a loud crash from the balcony, where you last left that badass cannon, which makes you cringe and get a sick feeling in your gastric organ. There goes Plan A. >So then what is Plan B? |
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07-28-2011, 02:22 PM
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#78 |
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Strike the Earth!
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Canada
Posts: 3,185
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> So then what is Plan B? |
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08-01-2011, 01:49 AM
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#79 | |
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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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Exile Bullshit.
> Leraje: Ride monster like a mechanical bull.
 Let's get back to him in just a bit, okay? > ID: Observe latest developments. You are now the Intractable Drifter and... Well... ========> It looks like... ========> The station suddenly emerged from its sandy cocoon and has now taken off into the sky. Where exactly it's flying off to, you can't be sure. Also, the station's a butterfly for some reason. This is all very strange. > ID: Climb onto the insect station's head and stand atop it. Yes. > ID: Put on the shades. Hell yes. > ID: Cross your arms, like a BAWSS. Fuck yes. > ID: Keep this pose as you travel across the breath-taking desert scenery. HELL. FUCKING. YE-shitohmycrapyoualmostfelltoyourdeath! You decide to cut it out with the silly bullshit for today and cautiously crawl back into the innards of the station. You now stand at the bottom of the ladder. In front of you is the entryway leading back into the room with the large computer and monitors. On the wall to the left of the entryway is a diagram divided into three parts, each part emblazoned with it's own spirograph. It's very shiny and tantalizing, this diagram is. > ID: Ignore the thing on the wall and proceed into the computer room. Without giving the diagram so much as a second glance, you walk back to the control panel. It's still tuned onto the troll kid you dubbed “Sage” earlier. Looks like he's flying straight up into the air, pulling off some cerebrally unstable, aerial spinning maneuvers. Huh, this situation seems oddly familiar. > Years in the past, but not many(?) A lone figure stands in dimly lit room- Well, okay no, the room is quite adequately lit. It just seems dark because of the shadowy purple and black color scheme. Anyway, the lone figure stands between a narrow fenestrated screen and a desk with a turntable that has a knife stuck in it. The figure boggles vacantly at the horned figure on the screen as he viciously murders imp after imp with his pen. Why even bother sending imps, she wonders. > Be ID(?) You are now the IMPERIAL DESK-JOCKEY, A MID-LEVEL AGENT OF THE DARK KINGDOM who works directly under the ARCHAGENT himself, and today is your TUBE-VACATING DAY! It was exactly 20 of your planetary sweeps ago today when you reached the end of your 11 week gestation cycle and emerged from an artificial womb in strange science lab on an asteroid. You were immediately brought to the dark kingdom and began your training in the profession for which you were made and presently occupy. There were many others like you grown in that lab but the rest of them didn't have what it takes to survive in this job. For clarification, “what it takes” is the ability to continue living after being stabbed over and over again. ========> Your job, by the way, is PUSHING PAPERS. Checking figures, writing up reports, documenting and allocating acquisitions, sending off death notices to widows, doing anything your boss doesn't feel like doing; that sort of stuff. The kind of glamorous job that a lot of low-level agents envy and romanticize. You also have your own PARTIAL CUBICLE OF VIGILANCE, made up of TWO SMALL FENESTRATED SCREENS and ONE LARGE FENESTRATED SCREEN, to assist in overseeing the affairs of the empire. However, the large one disappeared while you were off taking an impromptu break earlier and you have no idea where it is now. This would present a problem, not just with keeping watch over the minions' assault of the foretold heroes, but with allowing you and your neighbor to have some privacy from one another. Fortunately, your neighbor is dead, stabbed to death during one of your boss's bouts of MURDEROUS RAGE, so that's no longer an issue. ========> Despite the prestige of your title and the numerous deceased co-workers, you're not happy with your career path. You outright hate job, as a matter of fact, and are constantly on the search for new ways to goof off. Your favorite way is by practicing the art of WORD-TECH coupled with MANIPULATING RECORD TURNS. It annoys your superior to no end, so you engage in the practice of making things bump in place of your normal office duties whenever you get a chance. Things really start to get biznasty with you at the helm of the rap-galleon. You be pulling out all sorts insane lyrical genius and scratchy masterpieces, and your co-workers can't do anything but stand agog and be amazed. They remain that way for whole minutes at a time, unresponsive to even the most enthusiastic of invitations to raise their arms up. Of course, the angry little man in charge always breaks up the party, knifing your turn-table and a few people as well. In fact it was only an hour or so ago when he had brought your latest jamfest to screeching, blood-splattering halt and then promptly ran off while muttering about some horned basket-case. The ankle fudger. What will you do now? > ID?: Ask to borrow a co-worker's turn-table and then get back to making sick beats. Not gonna happen. Aside from the fact that your co-workers never carry anything phonographic in nature, they're all dead. Every last one of them. He really lost it this time. It kind of a mystery why that bumfedora didn't kill you along with everyone else. Maybe he hates you so much that he doesn't want to deprive you of a long life full of monotonous tasks. Or maybe he just needed someone to write up reports of the untimely demises of everyone else. It will forever remain a mystery. > ID?: Go find your boss and avenge the your comrades' deaths. Nah, that sounds like it might take an ounce of effort that's not devoted to the act of turning this establishment on its side and verbally pulsing it into rap-vana. Seriously though, that would be suicidal and you really weren't too fond of those guys anyway. The only thing you miss about them is their audience. > ID?: Remember that you keep a few spare turntables in your desk. How could you forget?! You open the drawer and find several factory fresh turntables and records. You give your busted spinner a trash-bin burial and set up the successor atop of your workspace. Are you sure you're ready for this? Well come on, get ready, get set, cuz here we go! The RhymePro's here and she's got the game, all you other dead-brainers betta feel the shame! She can bend rules, make the dudes all drool, and she's got just a few choice beats for you! You then proceed to have one of the shittiest one person rap-offs in the history of paradox space. ========> After about three minutes of this nonsense, you finally finish and look around as if expecting some applause. You remember that your audience was gutted and there is no one admire your rap-tacular feats nor challenge you to a test of skill. ========> The walkways are littered with bodies. Nothing stirs. Somewhere liquid drips to the floor, perhaps water from a leaky pipe or maybe blood dripping off a carcass. It echoes throughout the room and down through the seemingly endless halls of the tower, underscoring the vast stillness of it all. A familiar beat is produced. It's the timing to which all life adheres to, a pace that all beings keep as they continue moving forward until they meet their end. It is the sound of fate and the inevitable loneliness that awaits. This is you 20th Tube Vacating Day and as with all the ones proceeding it you find yourself gripped with a sense of emptiness, maybe greater now than ev-THIS IS STUPID. There must be something better for you to do than wax philosophical poetry. > ID?: Big Boss is watching. Look busy. Well, no she's not at the moment but that is a good point. If the Glorious Sovereign pops up on the monitor and finds that ol' Smile Slayer is taking a sabbatical, everyone else is dead, and you're goofing off, she'll be beyond rancorous. And who will punish for this? Probably the Archagent, but she'll take it out on you first since you are within mauling range and he isn't! Better do a little work to keep up an appearance of productivity. ========> Let's see here... Got quite a pile built up. What spoils have the imps come back with now? Hmm, seems some of them snatched up a few desecrated books from the various heroes that have entered so far. What's the point of that? You read over the report they filed and discover that they received orders from an unnamed higher-up to specifically grab these books for them. Seems odd, but who are you to care about such uninteresting details? You give the okay to transfer these tomes to whoever it is that wants them and shove them and the papers into the pneumatic tube system you use to send paperwork and packages throughout the kingdom. There, that's one boring task down. ========> Next up is... Holee Jegus! What is wrong with these imps? What are are they thinking bringing contraband back into the kingdom? And just what the hay is holding it? Well, according to the report they encountered this illicit idol when raiding the Hero of Waves domicile. They didn't destroy this one on sight because the carcass holding it resemblances the fabled devilbeast and they didn't want to be cursed for harming its image. Ugh, idiots. > ID?: Remove craven from the jaws of doom. Popped right out. That was stupidly easy. You wish you had the power to have those imps flogged. Oh wait, you do. You fill out the forms and send them in 23 seconds flat, fastest you have ever done any paperwork. Well, right about now is where you would do what any loyal citizen to the crown would do, smash the croaker. ...Although, it would be neat little symbol of defiance to keep around. You quickly stow it away behind some turntables and lock the drawer. Hee hee, so exciting. Really sticking to authority now. Now that just leaves the matter of what to do with the devilbeast. > ID?: Send it to the moon. Great idea, let the monarchy over there deal with it. Papers are in order, so into the tubes you go. Whew, that was two whole tasks done within the span of ten minutes. You're really on fire today. ...Okay, you're beginning to despise your job to a degree which outweighs your concern with being mauled. > ID?: Look at screen. Hmm, if a higher-up pops in and catches you doing nothing while staring at the screen, you could still argue that you were doing your job of monitoring the minions. Hmm, the kid in this screen doesn't seem to really be doing much. This is pretty boring. Almost as boring as your job. > ID?: Change view. The view switches to another troll, as he spins through the air in a most unreal manner. Not really worthy of being immortalized in song but interesting nonetheless. Hmm, deja vu. > ID: Send in more imps. You are now the Intractable Drifter and cannot send any imps because there are no imps. You're in the middle of a wasteland numbnuts! > ID: Boggle vacantly at these shenanigans. This is really familiar. So very, very very familiar. Hey, wait. What's up with the Sage's house? You are very certain that that sorry pile of shit was a million feet high last time you saw it. And what's up with the Sage. He's actually having trouble with those hounds? How could this be? Unless... > hey sage > im talking to you asshole > tell me > is this the beginning of your stupid ass journey or what Caoway is much too busy dealing with the terrier biting his arm to deal with you right now. > Other Troll: Do something.
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Some quote: Quote:
Last edited by Intern Nin; 08-01-2011 at 02:15 AM. Reason: Bluh |
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08-01-2011, 02:42 AM
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#80 | ||
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So Dreamy
Join Date: Apr 2005
Location: Someplace magical
Posts: 6,863
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> Other Troll: Do something.
Do something? Well, you suppose you COULD do a little dance, but you can't really figure out how that would help you in any way. So maybe you should should THINK about doing something before you actually DO it. Yeah. That might help. You are now GORRMA and you are once again in a bit of a PICKLE! A giant meteor is headed for your hive and your surroundings are currently being roasted to a delicious golden brown! You'd better figure out how to get into the medium soon, or your proverbial oversized water-fowl is cooked! > ...if you're going to start with the food puns again, I'm going to leave. What? There's no time to think about FOOD right now! You're going to die! > ....what? I didn't tell you to-- Command invalid! > Examine trial. You look at the floating objects that magically appeared before you. Quote:
Hm. Well, on the one hand, you definitely needed a new one. But on the other... it really wasn't exactly what you wanted to be looking at right now. Nommington's death was too fresh in your mind. If it wasn't for that oven--- No. No, it wasn't the oven. It was you. If you hadn't been so careless with your appliances, Nommington would still be here. Maybe that's all it was. Maybe there was no curse, no hardwired doom-code in the game that killed your lusus. Maybe you were just using that as an excuse to feel better about it--finding something else to blame for your own negligence. Maybe it wasn't anyone's fault but your own. Not Aldurin's, not fate's, not SGRUB's... Just yours. Well then, in that case, it was your duty to make things better. A real Gourmancer wouldn't give up just because something went wrong. A real Gourmancer would accept her mistakes and work to make things better. Okay so basically that only applied to failed recipes, but hey, you can still use it as a metaphor, you guess. Somehow. Right! You would solve this puzzle and save Nommington and save the world and become the best Gourmancer the universe has ever known! Let's do this! Fueled with new determination, you look over the rest of the glowy green items that sprung from the alchemiter. Flour... eggs... vanilla... You appraise the items with a professional's eye and give a curt nod. These were ingredients for a cake. But wait! There were some missing! You can't just bake a cake with these things-- it'd turn out... gasp! sub-par!! A glowing timer counts down to what you assume is doom time. It's a lot sooner than you would like. You cast a quick glance at the door. You have plenty of other items that would make the cake more delicious... You could do so much! But the flames are blocking your path and that clock is ticking! > Gorrma: Vent at server player Quote:
> Be other troll.
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