Crouching and grabbing her springheels before slipping them on her feet, she straightened and brushed herself down.
"There seems to be a plot being developed by the puppet being..." Sehnsucht noted, lacing the shoes.
"You want I should take the puppet and throw it into the goatse of the universe?" He chuckled before making a very solemn face."Because that exists, and can be done. I've seen it happen." He said absolutely serious.
Sehnsucht's face fell in confusion,
"The what...?" HeeeeeeeeHeeeeeeeeee~ A goatse is-
She shook her head and gave a small smile.
"I-I'm sure it's terrible..." She managed, giving a nervous cough and looking out of the window.
"Soooo...." He said leaning against the wall."Who do you want to to intrude upon, harass, or otherwise size up?" He said grinning and playing with the chain around his waist.
She thought for a moment before turning,
"I want to assess the situation before we go in. I'd like you to visit upon said puppet master and see what he's planning. You can go at your leisure." Sehnsucht explained, seemingly deep in thought, pressing her fingers against the window sill. I want to go wiiiiiiiiith~ I want to grab the puppet...~ Heeeeeee~
"And one and two and one and two, keep up boy, the pulse won't change until we reach the bridge and even then it just speeds up!"
These were the words of the greatest musician left in the universe. He was a good man, a gentleman, with a refined, high posture, a fine style, and dashing in all the right ways. His voice was polite, soothing even, and complimentary even in the face of ignorance. He wanted to help this poor young man who seemed so set on something so obviously wrong, and just couldn't understand why he wouldn't pay attention and fix his form.
He was the Maestro, the extrodinaire, the magnifique and the mysterious. A dancer, a performer, an overall charming fellow. And the colour around here was ruining his mood of joviality.
A dirty yellow covered everything, and the sky-shatter did nothing to alleviate the banal monotony of the world in which he was fighting for.
I can't possibly imagine why Our Lord and Master would wish to gain access to this place. he thought, ducking back and parrying a strike at his midriff. Everything here is just so plain, even my garments realise that this place needs brightening up!
And bright they were. His flapping coattails were a vivid purple, with a pale blue lining. His shoes were black as pitch and shiny like a carapace. His top hat sung merrily about something called a bloody sunday and his waist coat and shirt were alternating between vivid green and vibrant red, while his trousers, (being the one conservative part of his body), decided to stick with same old boring monochromatic grey that usually went so well with the coattail style.
Maestro thought it was rather funny. But he hadn't time to laugh. The battle had barely begun, and he was eager for it to crescendo.
Of course, even a genius's vision could be wrong, or at least, delayed. A blade, an injury. Red-blood stained the sleeve of his jacket.
And it was just beginning as well. He thought to himself, twirling the card and the last words of his foe around in his head. Random intervention. Well, I have this place now, and so does Our Lord. And it'd know that by now as well.
It wasn't much of any satisfaction for him, honestly. While the performance had been short it had also been violent exciting. A minuet in the waltz of this ever-life. But still, really, it could have been better. Music of the soul is all about change. Stagnation would throttle him.
Having no reason to rush back to His Lord, Maestro meandered around the broken-yellow domain, searching through ruins of what might have been settlements or were perhaps just outcroppings and broken things of ages long, long past.
Sorry about taking so long to get a post up. My timezone seems to be rather ill-placed to affect anything with ease. And I haven't been on the laptop all day. Anyway, excuses aside, there will be more frequent posts through the weekend, but don't expect great numbers across the working week. Mhmmm
Following the creator with his gaze while it pranced and floated through the room, The Mordred crawled closer to his sword, until he was able to reach for the cold hilt. When he had it firmly in his grasp he pointed at the creator.
"Yeah, I'm as mad as a bull in front of a red lap. Now get down here, ya daft clown, so I can prove whatever ya wanted me to prove!" He called out, eyes flaring like embers.
"Ooo, hot tempered. Just the way I like them!" The Mad Angel floated down to the floor again, standing in front of the Mordred. "And I'm not telling you how you should prove yourself. If you can't figure that out, I may have chosen wrong. For your own sake, you should hope I did not." It snapped its fingers and a few Clown Creepers entered the room, some of the more deformed ones which shrieked with each step, chuckling to themselves as they faced the Mordred.
"Why don't we start with something a bit more simple. Though if I were you I wouldn't take them too lightly. Then again, I'm not you and I take them quite lightly!" It chuckled and took a few steps backwards as the Clown Creepers charged towards the Mordred from all angles with loud crying shrieks.
"I have not earned the eternal embrace of death's repose until my business upon this land is done. Until the wounds of my soul have been filled with the blood of they who have carved their names upon my heart, peace is a thing that shall always elude me. Alas, it is not the man who chooses his end, but the end who chooses it's man..." The Endless sat luxuriously upon his throne, idly reciting something old and forgotten. His deep voice resonated in the room, and he paused very briefly between every few words as he spoke. His eyes were closed in contemplation and he casually stroked his flowing beard.
He was alone, finally and at last, having sent Crest off on some fool's errand to distract him. The Endless shook his head; Crest was always too eager to fight. Sometimes things required patience, diplomacy, and finesse, not simple brute force. Still, it was an easy method of distraction for the curt beast, and it never hurt to be constantly ready for battle.
Alone with his thoughts, The Endless' mind began to wander as it was so wont to do. Eventually, he came back to the same, singular question he always pondered, Are we taught to fear the Dreamer, or the Dream? The Endless asked himself. And which would it be rightfully prudent to fear? The Man, or the Mind? The End, or the Cataclysm? The King, or his Country? Which is which? Can they be separate, or are they always whole? Is there some distinction between them or... The Endless broke off from his thoughts. "I really need a different hobby," he sighed, exasperated, kneading his temples with his pale hands.
The Gambler began explain the meaning behind the phrase that had confused it.
"Very well then, I shall... elaborate. 'Scientia potentia est' is a philosophical phrase of the Latin language, it translates to 'Knowledge is Power'. One of the interpretations of the phrase, is that:
'With knowledge or education one's potential or abilities in life will certainly increase. Having and sharing knowledge is widely recognised as the basis for improving one's reputation and influence, thus power.' The phrase seemed appropriate to you Voyager, after all, your mission is the understanding of life, and with its understanding, comes knowledge, and therefore, power."
After he had finished explaining, he responded to its judgement about the equipment.
"I understand your reasoning and judgement, after all, you are a Creator, master of all that you see fit to rule, whilst I am but a humble servant of yours. It is expected for the master to have the final say, but it is not forced upon."
"Now then, my report, suffice to say it isn't good. I had killed the Creator of that land, and was about to claim it for you, when some brightly coloured, and over dressed fool attacked me. If you had not intervened, then I may have still been able to claim victory."
"Anyway, that domain was only a minor one, operated by a second rate Creator. There are far more valuable treasures, metaphorically speaking, on the horizon. Speaking of which, what is your next assignment?"
"Assess the situation, and spy on it's plans? Using a clever mix of stealth, Espionage and intrigue?" Vermilion gave a sly grin."Very well... My master. I will return in due time. You may view my progress with the seals by seeing with your mind's eye." The Yellow eyed reaper then disappeared in a puff of dark fog.
LATER...
Vermilion rended to just outside the large castle, taking advantage of his ability to ignore and offset large distances in very short periods of time. He then lined the wall with souls and detonated them to make a hole before leaping in and quickly using the element of surprise to reap the minions in the room with the harvester."Let's do this..."
Asmodeus was viewing the landscape Priscilla was quickly leaping across, amused at her mode of transport, yet it was suitable for quick travel, she quickly decided. She was enjoying just being able to view her new elite warrior traveling quickly.
She was interrupted though by the sound of a large explosion on the walls of her castle. Immediately, her mood and personality fluxuated to a different persona. "And intruder... I won't stand for ingrates and fleas in my domain, even less for my castle..." One of her arms had already spotted the intruder before he even detonated his explosives. "It's a champion... a new one come to be lost in this maze until they wither away from hunger or die of exhaustion." Asmodeus's hands shifted rapidly, sending commands outward. "Come wind and high water. Come Hellfire or the Intervention of Nemesis herself. Come torrents of rain and seas of bone. I will eliminate those who would dare attempt to invade my very being." In an instant, a horde of Marionettes began moving as quickly as they could from the long end of the corridor Vermillion had found himself in, moving as quickly as their loud and cumbersome bodies allowed them to. They would not be broken with just one slash. "We'll see if he manages to find me..."
Asmodeus contacted Priscilla through the golden eye and spoke directly into her mind. "AR-12-82. We have an intruder at base. Continue your mission and do not worry about me. He'll not get far..."
Vermilion grinned a mad grin as he saw the encroaching horde of dolls."Well, well... So, my presence has been noted. This'll certainly be more fun than embarrassing that Dear, Dear master of mine." He quickly began shooting souls out in large clumps and maneuvering them towards the swarm. "No matter how many come, death waits for none." Preparing his Scythe he detonated the clumps and used the ephemeral pink smoke like a smoke screen he leapt on through taking on or two down by largely just wanting to play keep away.
As Sehnsucht sat in what was aptly named the dining room, listening to the strange chatter from the town now alive in the darkness mixed with the ticking clock on the table, gently running a finger over the rim of her teacup.
Changed from her war-torn fatigues, wearing gloves and a long ruffled choker to hide her newly acquired markings. Puuuuuppet~ I want to play with the puuuuuuppet~ String it up and make it scream~ Make it play with the Lucy Leeches~
Visibly irritated at the crooning in her mind, distracting her from considering her plans. She had thought about them over and over, but without the proper means to put them in action. Sehnsucht could handle herself. Until Schadenfreude hijacked her again that is and put them both in danger. She grit her teeth in irritating remembrance. Crossing her legs and finishing her beverage, she looked towards the open window and considered what the champion had told her.
Focusing and blocking out the incessant chattering in her head, she focused in her minds eye to watch her newly acquired partner in action.
As Priscilla continued her travel, in such a reckless disregard of gravity that would make Sir Newton choke on his apple, her sensors beeped as they informed her that ahead was a dangerous concentration of toxins and dangerous wastes, knowing that to be her destination she set to slowing down her travel speed.
Instead of kicking away from the ground again, Priscilla dug all four legs into the ground, her now sizable inertia carrying her ahead quite a distance, luckily she was able to slow herself to a crawl, though also a sizable gouge in the terrain behind her. Please Hold, Equalizing Artificial Gravity Field With External Gravity, her computer chimed. Not giving it a second thought she looked ahead where the flat land seemed to turn gray, and a miasma floated close to the ground. Further ahead still the miasma turned to a massive billowing cloud.
This must be it... certainly can't be anything else. Sensors are going off the scale, place must be disgusting inside She sighed as she began to walk forward, one of her arms going to her holstered gun. She better fucking appreciate this, is all I'm saying now... she thought as she entered the disgusting cloud of eternal stench.
"Honestly, mate?" The Mordred said, looking disdainfully at the Creepers. The shrieks resonating through the chamber made the tufts of smoke dancing around his head dissapate. "I've bopped heads these already!"
Once again relinquishing his hold on the blade, The Mordred whipped his blade through the air and lobbed it at one of the Clownish Creepers. Sadly the spin on it wasn't enough, and the hilt hit the creature in the face, making the disfigured visage even more disfigured, fragile as it was.
Sniffing disdainfully, The Mordred repeated his routine of before, launching himself forward. This time sans weapon, he tackled the Creeper, putting his hand over its face and using his own corruption to sear away the flesh. It was a gamble, not knowing of the thing felt pain. Obviously, as the shrieking raised in intensity and in frequecy.
Retrieving his sword, the Creeper that had been stalking up to him faced cold steel to the neck. The final one actually was kind of a fighter. Able to catch a lazy swing, its claws dug through the material of The Mordreds sleeve and into his skin. Though no blood was spilt, only more smoke. The lights in his eyes flared, and he dropped the sword in his right hand, only to turn and catch it in his left. The Creeper stumbled forward and was pierced before it could react further. The Mordred hissed, the cracks deepening and his mouth ripping further until it nearly split the head. For a moment, he was naught but a shadowy form before apparently catching himself. His appearance returned to what it had been before.
Looking defiant up at his creator, he didn't speak. Only sheathed his blade and folded his arms.
Asmodeus watched her minions get very slowly whittled down by the invader and her unchanging face shifted a little. The Marionettes were doing a fine job of absorbing the damage Vermillion was inflicting, as they were being cut, the individual parts of their bodies continued to crawl towards him until reduced to small enough parts or were mere appendages. Two Stalker Maidens crawled up from behind, both armed with neurotoxic needles, silently approaching from the best angle to deliver their poison. They moved meticulously, Asmodeus able to get an excellent view of his intruder fighting from their one eye. One of them made for a strike at an angle that would be a blind side for normal people.
A cloud of fresh air formed around Priscilla. As she was curious as to why this happened, a green cloud of smoke formed into a human-like appearance in front of her. Inside her mind, a dark treacherous voice boomed, "Why helloooooo....".
Something decided to enter its domain. Willingly, and it was not The Metal Man. This was strange to the Poison God. He decided to act friendly, if that was possible. "You come to my domain willingly...I wish to know exactly...whyyy?
The Mad Angel clapped for the Mordred's victory. "Bravo, encore! And by encore I mean I have more in store for you. Those were just the basic ones." Light chuckles echoed through the room as the Jester Mages showed up. They only had one command. Kill anyone that wasn't the Mad Angel.
"No hints. Figure out their weakness on your own!" The group of Jester Mages seemingly disappeared, only their light chuckles to be heard before they started to chant. Each with their own spell, they used ones that would be the best against the Mordred in their opinion without knowing him further.
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