RPG lounge

"Alright, Mr.Trying-to-be-badass. How about next time you listen to me when I tell you that maps are hard to read, so we can avoid crap like this. Now, OBVIOUSLY, we're at the wrong place. Why don't we--" Demosthenes scrutinized Tim carefully. "Oy, why'd you change color? We don't match 'nymore!''

"Child, you are only provoking me to do horrible things to you, I suggest you change back to whatever your form is lest I render you a helpless and bloodied stain on the wall like our gentleman over there," he pointed his clawed hand towards the cracked and redded wall.

* * *

Tim pinched his brow, "He's not making this very easy and I don't exactly want to lose an employee," he looked to Nergal, "take over."

Nergal smiled, "of course."

* * *

A sudden change took over Tim's body and his eyes changed green, his face turned into an interestingly twisted smile,

"Forgive Aziral my dear, he's not the most social aristrocrat. My name is Nergal and I'll be taking over as host of this party, now off to our party entrance, then we go foward even more, must not keep the guests waiting now."

He folded his arms behind his back and strided along at an eased pace.

 

"Nergal, eh? Y'know what? I like you. And you've got style. Green and black? Me gusta!''

They made their way to the other side of the room, dodging the passersby. Demosthenes chattered on about how Nergal should teach 'that Aziral guy' how to act. Once they arrived, they realized red, holographic letters read 'In Use' across the door.

"Hey, lookie there, an ability gauge. 'Cept there's a bit of a line... And by 'a bit', I mean something resembling a railroad. I mean, I've a bit of class and patience, so I wouldn't mind going to the back and waiting like a civilized, little bird. Buuuuuuut, I know you guys are impatient, or whatever. Budging is inevitable with daemons around." She rolled her eyes. "Let's just get this the hell over with."

They loitered near the door (out of line, I might add...) until the word 'next' appeared in green. A large, horse-shark seemingly made of wood walked out, wielding some sort of advanced gun. He was tired, wheezy, wobbly, and looked as if he was about to vomit.

He wobbled onto the next person in line. The group took this chance to enter the room.

 

"Perhaps this tournament's rules deviate from what I am used to, but I don't believe this sort of interaction is entirely consistent with the rules of Poker..."

 

Nergal took the opportunity to sneak his way and his newfound fellows into the ability gauge, what horrors they would face next, he couldn't wait for. He had seen nearly every damn horror that existed and everyone posed little opposition to him. It was still ammusing though.

He perked his head a little at the sight, it was... dull. It was a sphere, what kind of abilities would they learn in a sphere.

"Hmm... this place looks like it could use some interior design."

 

Meanwhile...​

Blekarv lounged on his fully-reclined pilot chair, reading a magazine which the casual human observer could only hope was a lizard's enthusiast's magazine.

Daaamn, He thought, Check out the claws on THAT chick... Oooo, she's feisty...

He glanced at the cockpit door. Closed and locked. Then he checked the computer monitor. It had been well over an hour since they had left, and they were barely half-way there.

I got plenty of time... He thought, as he began to work his hands downward.

Ooooo yeah, you know I like that baby-

THUMP! CRASH!

Oh, NOW what?! He thought as he slammed the magazine down on the dashboard. He began hastily unlocking the door and his eye wandered to the high-tech pulse rifle in the corner of the room.

I should probably bring that, just in case...

THUMP!

He walked briskly through the hallways filled with passengers, most of which looked to the source of the sound, looked up at him as he walked down their aisle, or both. When he reached the door to the cargo bay, he looked up at the monitor above it.

What the hell...

THUMP!

What looked like a giant furry head with a comically small body was ramming into the doorway, and... were those bunny ears?

THUMP!

Bah, I was hoping Gor'trek would give me a bonus for that thing... He thought as he raised the pulse rifle and aimed at the doorway. Then he remembered the bars on the cage it came in... they were diamond-reinforced Calcersteel, stuff usually used only on high-class military vessels. Though what he was really scared of was the fact that they were dented.

If that thing can tear bend something reserved for being of galactic importance... Why, it'll tear through that door like tissue paper if he can get a good grip...

THUMP!

He wasn't worried that the creature would break down the door. Although it was only nano-steel, it was designed to withstand a 25-ton furon accelerator in a direct hit. No, what he was worried about was that it was designed to withstand impacts to the front and back, not the sides or up or down, as would be the case if the bunny-thing sunk its teeth in.

THUMP!

he last thing he wanted to do was give it a hole...

Huh, seems he got bored... He thought as he saw it back up and start looking around. Maybe he'll give up and-

Suddenly, it noticed a red button to the side of the doorway. It approached the button.

No way.

The demon-bunny stood on its hind legs and rested its front ones on the wall.

No way!

Suddenly, a long, red tongue snaked out of its mouth and made contact with the button. The door opened with a hydraulic fshhhh.

FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-

Blekarv fired wildly at the doorway, hoping he would hit his target. When he stopped firing, he saw the bloody head of hell itself. Its eyes glowed with a roaring fire only glimpsed in a demon's heart, vicious red blood dripped slowly down horrid fangs thicker then tree trunks. A red tongue snaked slowly around the teeth, lapping up the blood and oozing with dripping saliva in anticipation of the slaughter about to commence. Ragged breaths carried a stinging miasma, which filled all who smelled it with impending and ominous doom...

And it was still breathing.

IT'S STILL ALIVE!?!

---

Blood...

The wonderful terror in their eyes, the sweet screams of the dying, the feeling of them going limp in your jaws...

Blood!

The sweet nectar gushing down your throat, the tender ambrosia brushing your tongue...

BLOOD!

The chaotic bliss of slaughter, the euphoria of death, the orgasmic pleasure of suffering...

BLOOOOOD!!!

Lagomorph ripped at the flesh before him, savoring the sweet taste, the smell, the feel of taking a life. Nothing made him feel more alive, nothing was worth losing this euphoria. When his prey was nothing more then a bloody pulp, he looked up and saw the entire room was filled with the blood and gore of many species, but nothing alive. He darted from room to room, checking behind every door, every cranny, every inch of the spacebus. Nothing, just mutilated corpses and blood.

More...

He grabbed a disembodied leg and threw it angrily across the room, cracking a window.

More!

He tore a near-by chair clean out of the floor and ripped it to shreds, metal and all.

MORE!!!

He let loose a horrifying roar from the depths of hell itself.

Must... have... MORE...

 

name: Demetrius
age: about a thousand. he lost count after 657
gender: male
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 150
Appearance: Bright red hair that sticks up no matter what he does to it, red eyes, sharp teeth, and a crazy smile. Usually wears an undone strait-jacket with various chains draped around himself.
Personality: Demetrius has been called sadistic, cruel, even crazy, and, well, he is indeed those things. He loves bloodshed and battle, and rarely cares if a person is friend or foe as long as he tastes blood.
Background: Cursed by the gods along with his five brothers to roam the universe for all eternity, Demetrius became a legend among men and other races. Called the Chained One by many, Demetrius has traveled extensively, searching for some way to relieve his curse. He doesn't know if he can be killed or not, but frankly doesn't care.
Gears/weaponsno limitations): Demetrius' only weapons are his hands. When he was cursed, he was also given an ability, one which has made him fearsome in battle. The instant he smells blood, Demetrius' hands become hard as steel and elongate into blades, one on each finger.
Magicks: (whatever you want, you've got it): He has no use for magic.

 

Demetrius was standing near the ability gauge, his trademark crazy grin in place. This had allowed him to gain a few feet of extra space to the front and back of him. He was waiting for the tournament to begin; unless he killed something soon, the time it took to travel here would have been wasted. As he yawned, he glanced up and noticed the small group sneaking into the ability gauge. Nearly all of them reeked of otherworldly things. His grin grew wider.

Perhaps he could have some fun here. He sidled over to them, the officials avoiding him studiously.

 

''HAH! Them suckers look so confused! Look at them! They're back there trying to juggle that big lumox! HAHAHAHAHA!'' Demosthenes found the image of the huge horseshark squishing the people at the front of the line hysterical. However, being in this state of hysterics, she hadn't noticed that she was alone.

"HAH. OH GOD, HAHAHAHAHHAA. HA-- NERGAL, NERGAL, BUDDY DID YOU S--Nergal?"
She looked around, confused. "Abby? King Clueless?"

The room was an exact replica of the blue man room. God, who ARE these people? They decorate like Tim would. All the same.

The room began to shake and distort, contracting at a fast rate. She rose, morphing into her original skunk form. Felt good.

She figured whatever was doing this would not be able to withstand the smell.

The room turned into some form of a geodesic dome. The inside of one, at least. The metal walls turned black. The cracks in the metal that had been there, where the strips had been bolted together, slowly shaped into small triangles with thin, white outlines. She looked below her and realized there was no floor. She appeared to be floating, but there was a definite feeling of something solid beneath her feet. The door had disappeared.

Metres away, something was beginning to form. Help, perhaps? Some sort of guard that would guide her out?

A friend?

 

INSIDE TIM'S MIND

Tim pondered within himself for a moment, everything had disappeared. Nergal and Aziral were still with him in his mind.

"Hmm, it seems that the aliens are smarter than I anticipated," said Tim, "a virtual mind destabilizer chamber, I'm guessing," he looked about, "a mark VII."

Nergal jumped in, "just off the shelf too," he sniffed, "its got that new VR scent to it," he inhaled the savory smell, exhaling with a pleasant sigh.

"The only savoring scent that should be adored is the smell of burning flesh and still glistening gore! Not this VR room."

"Silence you two," they turned to Tim, "we have company," a material form began to shift about him along with a landscape that looked like a ruined city, he turned to Nergal, "my body is not accepting my mind yet, you know what to do."

Nergal gave a small bow, "as I always know dear boy."

* * *

OUTSIDE THE MIND

Tim's form began to change shape, a green orb surrounded him, black tentacles began sprouting from his back encasing his body, after mere seconds the tentacles began to meld into his skin. Turning from the light tan into a pitch and chaotic black, a hood encasid his head, his trench coat had shreds and holes at the bottom and sleeves. Dark Nergallian symbols encased the entire coat and his hood began to grow horns and bright green holes at the side. His face was completely black except for the sinister smile and the bright green eyes.

His blade materialised and he grabbed it more tentacles encasing it and melding into dark and archaic symbols the blade lightly glowing green. Blades of Dark Adamantium grew over his fingers, and finally when the transformation was complete he let out a sinister and maniacle laughter.

He pointed his blade towards the newcomer, "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you, I only want to hear your blood curdiling screams of pain, agony, and death!"

His smile only grew more sinicle as he imagined what he'd do with his prey.

 

He pointed his blade towards the newcomer, "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you, I only want to hear your blood curdiling screams of pain, agony, and death!"

Demetrius chuckled.

"That's funny," he replied, "that's all I want to hear from you. Shall we?"

Not waiting for an answer, he brought his teeth down hard on his lip. Red blood swelled from the cut, and he grinned just a little more savagely.

As the spine-tingling scent of blood encased him, his hands underwent the transformation that had made him so feared on other planets. The fingers hardened and sharpened, elongating into blades that had cut through steel. His hands turned red, in expectation of the battle, and he laughed, posing a question to the strange man.

"So what horrid crime did you commit, to have your essence so split by the gods? Never mind, don't answer that, I won't care when you're dead."

 

Suddenly, the black room disappeared and Demosthenes fell.

Plop

She hit ground and saw that she was now within a large clearing in an even larger forest. A clear blue sky and a bright yellow sun shone overhead. Then she noticed a horrible smell that was not coming from her. She looked around and saw, exactly where the thing that was materializing was, an exact replica of herself.

 

"That's funny," he replied, "that's all I want to hear from you. Shall we?"

His form grinned sadistically, this would be fun, and challenging. His opponent's power seemed to increase exponentially, his form also began to change. This would be fun for Nergal.

"So what horrid crime did you commit, to have your essence so split by the gods? Never mind, don't answer that, I won't care when you're dead."

"Now, now, no need to be so rude, I like to know who I'm goin gto kill, that way I can write your name over your tombstone other than," he counted his fingers, "victim 4,056,874,902. As for me, I took candy from a baby, then I ate that baby."

 

"Now, now, no need to be so rude, I like to know who I'm going to kill, that way I can write your name over your tombstone other than," he counted his fingers, "victim 4,056,874,902. As for me, I took candy from a baby, then I ate that baby."

Demetrius laughed, his hands loose at his side.

"I am Demetrius, my crime is something I cannot speak of, and that is all you need to know. Your victim count is impressive. All babies? Or things much stronger?" He cocked his head, looking at the demonic entity. "Perhaps you will give me a good fight, yes? Let us begin!"

 

She looked around and saw, exactly where the thing that was materializing was, an exact replica of herself.

What the... another skunk? Where the **** am I?

She surveyed the room and then had what she thought was a good idea.

The door was back there. I'll just turn around and leave this place. It's frighteningly nostalgic...

She turned around to find that the door was not there.

Figures. I'm in a forest. There's no doors. Alright.

She turned back to the other skunk.

"I guess it'd be useless to ask you where I am. I mean, you're a skunk."

 

The man laughed, "at least my jokes are still good," he thought.

"I am Demetrius, my crime is something I cannot speak of, and that is all you need to know. Your victim count is impressive. All babies? Or things much stronger?" He cocked his head, looking at the demonic entity. "Perhaps you will give me a good fight, yes? Let us begin!"

"A crime you cannot tell, hmm, maybe I'll pry it from your lifeless mind, and yes," he knife like hands extended slightly, "let us begin!"

A tremor of energy shook out from his body as he propelled himself towards the other daemon. He readied his blade and as he got close he began to strike towards his opponent.

 

Name: Lyndan Belleson
Age: 50 ( looks 25-ish)
Gender: Male
Height: 6' 5"
Weight: 200
Appearance: Straight, Bloodred, hair that is usually neatly combed backwards ( Think Albert Wesker) A slim but muscular body-build. Usually wears a brown jacket and athletic undershirt. Heterochromic, one eye's electric blue the others red.
Personality: Lyndan is a usually quiet,secretive man. When in dangerous situations he keeps calm. He doesn't really make many friends and is prone to go wandering on the "road less used".
Background: A vampire that doesn't remember his human life. He has been wandering the world for most of his vampirism feeding only when necessary. nobody knows much about himself, except... himself. He has no real goal right now, as it is hard to find one if you're near indestructable and have great stength and speed.
Weapons: A greatsword the he uses with one hand and a pistol that he rarely uses.
Magick: The ability to travel through shadows ( EX: he goes through a shadow and ends up in/near another one), Umbra ( ability to use shadows as a weapon)

 

As his opponent's bloodlust radiated out, Demetrius allowed his own killing intent to rise uncontrolled. This seemed like a strong opponent. Finally, after decades of boredom.

The daemon hurled himself towards Demetrius, who despite his limp stance whipped one arm up and lunged forward himself, catching the man on the arm as the daemon's blade nicked his side.

Demetrius whirled around. Now each man was in the other's place.

"You are strong," he smirked. "Maybe I won't be so bored here afterall. You will be worth killing!"

 

Battle Two

Abraxas was already very aware of what he was getting himself into. He walked in, and to no surprise, the metal room distorted itself into a black and white geodesic dome.

Though, to his surprise, it did not shape itself into any other room. It continued to be an empty, bottomless-seeming, geodesic dome.

He shrugged it off and waited for his opponent to materialize. Nothing happened.

Part of him was bored and wanted to fight, another part of him was glad no one had to get hurt.

Minutes passed and nothing happened. He came to the conclusion that they knew what he was, that he was too strong for any of their tests, and that he should just sit there and wait for his group to finish.

He let his guard down. Woops.

As the virtual reality room read the way his tension loosened, it struck. From behind him, a quick bolt shot from the wall and hit his back.

He felt his body stiffen. It stung enough to make him cringe a bit, and after a few minutes the pain wore off, but a slight tingle ran through his body.

A small metal box formulated in front of him, with holographic text reading, "Your opponent: The room. Good luck."

 

"You are strong," he smirked. "Maybe I won't be so bored here afterall. You will be worth killing!"

"I could say the same to you," his grin widened, "but then I would be lying."

he broke loose of the demon's grip and flung him into a building, a large hole now in the 5 story appartment. An energy orb gathered into his hand and he flung it towards the damaged building, causing the place to rupture, explode and collapse in a grand festival of fire, ash, and glowing ecto plasmic discharge.

Interestingly enough, it survived, and it was still strong, he wondered to himself,

"It seems, I've underestimated you, but you won't last long, that I guarantee."

He cracked his wrist and got into a defensive stance.

 

NAME: 1SAAC
AGE: Stardate 1138
GENDER: Don't go peeking.
HEIGHT: Seven-point-seven, babe.
WEIGHT: S'rude to ask these questions. If you must know, iunno, maybe two tons?
APPEARANCE: Skeletal, Giger-ish clockwork android. Lots of biomechanics, gears, engine fluid leaking all over the place. Could use a towel, or just a rag, he's not picky. Currently wearing a yellow raincoat and matching hat.
PERSONALITY: Positively glowing. Contains an uncanny knowledge on the nature of historical pop culture, philosophy. Maintains positive outlook despite Frankenstein-ish appearance. Give him a hug.
BACKGROUND: Something dramatic, like a desolate hellscape or whatever the Mona Lisa is in front of.
WEAPONS: He's a lover, not a fighter. Most of the time.
MAGIC: The power of love.


"Y'all know me. Know how I earn a livin'. I'll catch this bird for you, but it ain't gonna be easy. Bad fish! Not like going down to the pond and chasing bluegills and tommycod. This shark, swallow ya whole. Little shakin', little tenderizin', down you go. And we gotta do it quick, that'll bring back the tourists, that'll put all your businesses on a payin' basis. But it's not gonna be pleasant! I value my neck a lot more than three thousand bucks, chief. I'll find him for three, but I'll catch him, and kill him, for ten. But you've gotta make up your minds. If you want to stay alive, then ante up. If you want to play it cheap, be on welfare the whole winter. I don't want no volunteers, I don't want no mates, there's too many captains on this island. Ten thousand dollars for me by myself. For that you get the head, the tail, the whole damn thing!"

--bzzt--

"Fear does not exist in this dojo, does it?"

"No, Sensei!"

"Pain does not exist in this dojo, does it?"

"No, Sensei!"

"Defeat does not exist in this dojo, does it?"

"No, Sensei!"

--bzzt--

"I haven't seen this in years, this is wonderful. A banded, bulbous snarfblatt."

"Ooooooh."

"Now the snarfblatt dates back to prehysterical times when humans used to sit around and stare at each other all day. Got very boring. So they invented this snarfblatt to make fine music. Allow me."

--bzzt--

It blinked again. There was a small crackle of static as the interspace high-frequency broadcast changed channels for the umpteenth time. 'Seven billion channels!' they had said in the flyer, 'Always something on!' But there was not anything on, at least nothing that the Asimov-series binary loadlifter 1SAAC had not already seen at least one or two times. He shrugged his broad shoulders with melancholy, sending a rippling gear shift up and down his complex gunmetal chassis. 1SAAC's twin crimson photoreceptors rolled up to look around the drearily-lit lounge of Gor'Trek's Bloodbath.

Nothing had changed since the last time he had looked around. A gaseous miasma of fuchsia gas coughed and turned a page in its magazine; a paunchy gentleman dressed in a zippered tuxedo and striped stockings scratched himself shiftily; a nightmarish, space-black Freudian alien snapped its second set of jaws in fury and slapped down the set of cards it had been grasping, while its similarly 80's-era companion shook his dreadlocks and chortled in delight.

The technoid angel of death named 1SAAC adjusted his bright yellow raincoat and let out a long sigh of escaping pneumatics. He started watching TV in his head again.

"What is it with you, huh? What are you looking for? C'mon, Max, everybody's looking for something. You're happy out there, are you? Eh? Wandering? One day blurring into another? You're a scavenger, Max. You're a maggot. Did you know that? You're living off the corpse of the old world. Tell me your story, Max. C'mon. Tell me your story. What burned you out, huh? Kill one man too many? See too many people die? Lose some family? Oh, so that's it, you lost your family? That makes you something special, does it?"

1SAAC glanced at his watch. It was brightly coloured and decorated with the wildly smiling visages of assorted cartoon characters. Not time for the show yet. He clicked his jaws.

"So, the Labyrinth's a piece of cake, is it? Well, let's see how you deal with this little slice!"

 

Oh boy, I get to fight the room.

A smile flits across my features. They couldn't have picked a better enemy. This way I don't have to actually hurt anyone, and still get to fight to my fullest.

I reach across my shoulder and grip my robe. With a single tug I tear the robe off. It would only be a hindrance. I raise my arms to my sides in preparation of summoning one of my favorite weapons.

***

Not many people at the bar lately. I think as I wash the counter top. Suddenly I feel something I haven't felt in hundreds of years...

The summoning of the Sephiroth... And the Qliphoth... At the same time.

"It seems that Abraxas is getting busy," I say with a smile.

***

Solomon's magic circle appears in front of me, one of the single most powerful magic circles to be created. In front of my right hand appears the Sephiroth, the symbolic representation of the 10 attributes of God. In front of my left, the Qliphoth, the polar opposite of the Sephiroth.

Its ironic. The Sephiroth, the Tree of Life, appearing on my right and the Qliphoth on my left. My right side is like that of a Demon, dark, clawed, bat winged. My left side is like that of an Angel, bright, bird winged. That's what I get for being the spawn of a fallen angel and a risen demon.

A flash of light and darkness erupt from the point where I stand. As the flash fades The room fires another shot. A rush of light and darkness intercept the shot. The flash completely fades away. I stand in the middle of the room, My wings spread wide and my eyes aglow. I hold in my hands a weapon that not even Jesus of Nazareth could summon. A weapon un-summonable by both the holiest and most demonic alike. Neither has a perfect enough balance.

I hold a long two handed staff. On one side is the Sephiroth, twirled and conformed to create a white, glowing club head. The Qliphoth on the other side, likewise shaped and glowing with darkness.

I lower my body and set myself into a defensive stance. I don't know how this room works, or how to stop it. I'd have to be careful. "Let's see what you can do Room," I challenge as I swing the Qliphoth at the wall.

 

Things are not always as they appear... Demosthenes thought. Or... was that her thinking? Suddenly, the other skunk lunged forward and attempted to bite the back of her neck.

 

Quoten looked around. Odd, the others were nowhere to be seen. In fact, the entire room was nowhere to be seen. A grayish mist surrounded him, obscuring all vision. No sound was to be heard, save for a throbbing hum.

"Hullo? Is anyone there?" Only the hum answered him. "I say, where did those fellows get off to?"

As if in response, a voice echoed through the air; a pleasing voice, androgynous yet somewhat feminine, emotionless, with a slightly unearthly tone to it.

"Initial Mindscan complete. Prepare for battle."

The mist cleared and the hum ceased. The room was gone now. Instead, he found himself atop an enormous cliff. The wind whipped around him, and the loose soil threatened to crumble, sending him careening to the rocks where waves crashed hundreds of feet below.

A short distance away he noticed a vaguely human shape, roughly the height of two men. In its hand it grasped an enormous blade of strange design, the very scabbard of which weighed more than the king. The shape was clothed in brazen armor, which reflected the light of the sky brightly.

The very instant he saw the human shape the voice split the air again, delivering a single word, "Begin."

The King extended his hand towards the figure. "Tallyho and well met! I am King Quoten VII, Lord of Cumber! Who might you be?"

In reply the figure made an enormous leap, clearing the distance that separated the two and bringing his blade down with mighty force, cleanly splitting the king in two.

Quoten looked around. The figure was nowhere to be seen. The windswept cliff was nowhere to be seen. The mist and hum had returned.

"Recalculating difficulty, please wait."

"I say, what a rude person," the King mused to himself.

"Calculations complete. Prepare for battle."

The mist cleared again, this time revealing the crumbling courtyard of an abandoned castle. The flagstones beneath his feet were cloaked in moss, and a shattered fountain cowered beside him, a skeletal and empty memory of its once proud display. The only sound was the ravens which cried out from the walls around him.

The large figure was nowhere to be seen; in its place a fierce Viking now stood, wielding a battleaxe and a large wooden shield.

"Begin."

Again, he extended his hand. "Hullo there! I certainly hope you're friendlier than the last person I met. I am King Quoten VII, Lord of..."

His greeting was cut short by the axe embedded in his throat.

"Recalculating difficulty, please wait."

The king grimaced to himself. "I certainly hope there aren't many more people like this around. This tournament may prove harder to regulate then I first thought."

As the mist cleared a third time, a vast plain surrounding him. Barren waves of gravel stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see. The cloudless, sunless sky glowed strangely, lighting the field with a full yet soft light. The still air and dry ground were neither hot nor cold, each seeming to take a perfect median temperature. An eerie silence replaced the hum, not even wind was to be heard.

"Bloody strange weather in this place. When I get back to Cumber I ought to pass a law against it."

Across from him now stood a woman, dressed in the armor of a knight and wielding two thin swords. Quoten eyed her suspiciously. "I'd greet you properly, but you would simply attack me like the others."

The woman shook her head. "It is unsporting to attack an unready opponent. Names and titles are unimportant here. I am merely to judge your skill. Now, let us begin. Due to your past trends, I shall give you the honor of first blow."

Quoten shook his head. "I cannot attack a lady! Such is the most un-chivalrous thing one can do!"

"You must take the first strike!"

"I apologize, but I shall not."

For a minute they stood there, then the mist returned. Quoten shook his head. "She seemed such a wonderful young lady. Pity."

"Calculations complete. Prepare for battle."


Quoten now stood in an featureless white room, lit by light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, empty save for a goblin that hobbled over to him on a crutch.

"Yo!" It grinned at him through bloodstained teeth. "I just got finished killing and eating and entire village of widows and orphans, then was captured and tried by a proper judge-and-jury court and found guilty! You're my executioner, so let's get to it!"

"Oh, no. You are clearly outside my jurisdiction. Cumber is much too small for villages and for courts, so any action I make other than returning you to the province in which your crimes were committed would be overstepping my bounds."

The goblin sighed. "You're not making this easy, are you?"

"I apologize, but I do not understand what you are referring to. I am simply trying to understand what is going on, as I seem to be more confused than usual."

"Look, you wanna play cards?"

The king smiled. "Finally we come to the meat and bones of the tournament. What rules shall we use? Five-card-draw? Hold-'em? Perhaps fifty-two-card picku..."

The goblin whacked him with his crutch. Quoten cried out in shock and alarm.

"I say, what is the meaning of..." Again the goblin hit him. "There is no call for such behavi..." Again. "Now see here!"

"Look, what I'm doing is clearly against the rules, right? You fancy yourself as a tournament judge. DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!"

Quoten's eyes widened in understanding, and he drew his rapier. "Ah, now I understand! This is a test, is it not? Very well, cease this behavior or I shall be forced to enforce..." The goblin hit him again.

"Righto!" Quoten swung at the goblin. The fragile, rusted blade struck the crutch and sundered.

The goblin looked at the broken blade, looked at his crutch, at Quoten, the blade again, the crutch, the blade, Quoten...

"Yeah, let's just go with that." The room swirled with the gray mist again. "Analysis complete. Skill level: approaches zero. Defense level: zero. Chances of survival: approaches zero. Chances of victory: zero. Note: possibly preserve as clown or comedy fighter."

 

He cracked his wrist and got into a defensive stance.

Demetrius sighed and cracked his neck back into alignment. If this was all his opponent thought him worthy of, perhaps he had underestimated the daemon. Everyone tried the same thing, shake him off, and try to finish him off with some kind of magic/energy blast. Shaking off the debris and climbing out of the building, he began to approach his opponent slowly, like a cat stalking its prey. He had lost his smile.

"You know," he called to the other man, "I was hoping for something a little more original. And I'm rather disappointed that you didn't tell me your name. It's rather bad manners, y'know?"

 

The man lost his smile, "ohh, mister big shot can't take a joke I see."

"You know," he called to Nergal, "I was hoping for something a little more original. And I'm rather disappointed that you didn't tell me your name. It's rather bad manners, y'know?"

"You're right, how clumsy of me," he stood straight as the man walked towards him, however Nergal was on his guard, "currently I am Nergal, the daemon that lives in the center of the earth" he gave a small bow, "or to be more politically correct I am merely a reflection of the original nergal manifesting my host's form, my master's name, however, is Tim, currently incapacitated, the guards aren't exactly the nicest, you see. So for the meantime I am your playmate."

Tim looked about for a moment, "hmm strange, I sense something within you that I have not sensed in any simulation," he eyed the man carefully, "you're real aren't you?"