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Prompt suggested by Ebivoulya.Quote:
The stakes are high, and your character is called upon, but they fail. Describe the repercussions, and how they handle that failure.
If you need a refresher on how vignettes work, please feel free to revisit the guide.
Remember, participating in the vignette earns you one AP, and winning will earn you an additional point.
This vignette will close on July 31st.
Good luck!
Pistons, blasted steam and glorious gears brought the engine and its carriages alongside the roughcast platform. The locomotive was streamlined with sheets of steel and made ornate with a verdant livery trimmed with gold. Radasanth's east side received a railway station prior to the neighbourhood's chronic decline. Urban decay was twice the eyesore pinned against the pristine grandeur of an immaculately kept machine. In a bonny blow of the whistle, the passenger train's engineer meant to mock the underclassed inhabitants of Radasanth's shameful ghetto. Mayor Goldberg was spearheading a council motion to have the whole thing shut down. Not just the train station, the whole area. While no judge in the city would convict the poverty stricken based alone on their place of birth, that wasn't going to stop the affluent from imprisoning them anyway. Life and death inside three square miles was a cruelty the mayor felt content to inflict.
Gum got off the train. Overhead, the night's storm was a meagre monotony. Underfoot, it was dog shit dampened with drizzle. His Dheathain footwear, traditional leather wraps, did little to protect his feet from the glass fragments mixed in with the tarmac floor. The moon daren't show its face on the east side. So the night was always bleak. Walking towards the exit, Gum flanked a plank fence with more boards missing than present. The ticket office he had to navigate on the way out to the street stank of state piss and cigarette smoke. The lamp to illuminate the dank hole flickered like a life rather not lived.
Eyes shifted to Gum's otherworldly get up. His face was painted yellow with black rosettes, a tribute to his altered form. The paint cracked down the weathered lines in his fossilised face. Gum was brown skinned, unusual for the area. Below the beady black of Gum's eyes was his most prominent facial feature, his nose. It was broad and hooked, ugly by conventional standards. For a mouth he wore a wide frown, its noteworthy width matched that of his aged jowls. From there his neck gave way into a wiry frame of muscle and bone. Said torso was barely dressed, he was naked but for straps of hide and fur tangled and draped over his body.
Leaving the goons behind, Gum rounded the corner and left before it got even uglier than it already was. It might not have looked like it to the delinquents eyeballing him, but Gum was more dangerous than that shower of shite combined. Another duck was needed to drop them, they were following him against their own best interests. A dive into an alley and the old shaman had shed their attention entirely.
It was in the black of anonymity that Gum set to his painful transformation. His leathery hide cracked open and a furry coat of gold with black rings burst out. His eyes glowed into a vibrant yellow. Each ear lost its fleshy oval shape to become a pert triangle atop his head. His mouth bulged into a stout muzzle and the teeth inside dropped into the grimy puddles below. In their place grew a predator's arsenal of skull piercing canines and marrow munching grinders. Inside his body, everything ached as organs transformed and bones sheared against each other. Akin to the ancient shamans of years gone by, Gum transformed into an animal. He became the Dheathain invader, a jaguar.
With newfound agility in abundance, Gum leapt against the crumbling red brick of a vertical wall and landed on the metal rungs of a suspended fire escape. Pattering silently along the steps, he was able to gain access to a cracked out apartment, the big cat left the city's rain outside. The stench of addiction was a new sensation to the Dheathain native, no such vice existed in the Xangu Basin. Dependence on ambush predation meant Gum was adept with closing in on his target in silence. Each paw was placed with precision, he stepped around the cracked floorboards, over the shattered dinnerware and between the broken glass. It was a primitive pleasure, but the shapeshifted shaman enjoyed stalking prey.
A hooded thug, bulked with fat and muscle in equal measure, thumbed through a girly magazine. His fingernails were dirty, tucked under the tip of each untrimmed nail was a thick line of black muck. He wore fingerless gloves. Where he touched the pages of the seedy publication, a grease stain was left behind. Thickets of curled back hair poked out of the neckline of his shirt. An overturned vegetable crate was all he had for a chair. Street food wrappers were strewn about his seat. He spluttered over his words, "so where's the old man's fucken messenger boy then? what the fuck?"
The gang had kidnapped Mayor Goldberg's oldest daughter. As a favour to Radasanth City Hall, Gum promised to rescue her.
"Supposed to be here soon," answered the first of his two companions. He was another hulky bulk bruiser. He was similarly dressed, face covered and outfitted in an overwhelmingly nondescript way. His shirt might have had pockets, it might not. When the police took down their notes, not a single witness could remember the colour of the man's trousers. It would have been impossible to remember. The second man differed in that his mitts weren't greasy and his hands weren't doing the devil's work. He had less body hair, too. Significantly less. That man was standing, not sitting.
Making up the trio was the silent partner. Nothing came from masked member number three. No movement, no voice, no hints of a personality whatsoever. That one was smaller, he was significantly smaller.
Gum stared at the trio from the shadowed doorway of the adjacent room, undetected. "The hostage must be locked in the bathroom," he thought to himself.
Powerful and precise, the jaguar pounced from the shadows and knocked the horny man from his crate seat. Gum sank his canines into the kidnapper's thigh. The man squealed like a tubby little pig. Gum pushed his victim's body into the ground and tore away a chunk of his leg as he pulled away. The clean man swung a barbed wire bat at Gum's back, but the quick cat sidestepped enough so that the spikes picked up nothing but fur and air. Gum loaded his hind legs in a crouch and released them in a second pounce. This time the clean man pounded the ground under the weight of the marauding jaguar. Gum sank his bone biting canines into the clean man's skull. He died instantly. Gum turned his yellow eyes on the horny man, he was on the floor groaning and bleeding. He was no threat. The third kidnapper, the little one, was standing back and ready to fend off Gum's assault.
The jaguar roared at his remaining opponent, but he stood his ground against the intimidation tactic. Gum felt frustrated that the smallest of the lot was the boldest and the smartest. Gum was aware that his final foe had realised his best chance of sinking a knife into the cat was to wait. The standoff was on. The jaguar shaman began to strafe around his victim, the remaining kidnapper strafed to match the movement of the predator. The slight man placed his foot on a broken floorboard and stumbled. Gum lunged mercilessly. Instead of biting at his prey, the jaguar shredded at the guts of the slight man. Each swipe of a furious paw diced fat and intestines into a bloody soup. The slight man fell to the ground and gurgled in his blood thickened vomit. Gum stepped soberly over each of the bleeding men and sank his teeth into their skulls, putting an end to the the suffering with good grace.
Gum collapsed, tired, onto the crack den's blood soaked floor. In a complete reversal of the previous process, the shapeshifting shaman became human again. Labouring with a weary sigh, the human version of Gum struggled to his feet. All the youth and spring of his other form had escaped him. Once again, he wore the demeanor of a holy man, wise with age. Gum left the three corpses behind and opened the door to the bathroom. No girl. He checked the kitchen, nothing. There were no more rooms left.
So he went back to the corpses to look for something, a clue maybe. Gum looked at each in turn. The horny man came first, it made sense to get the worst out of the way first. Bending his rigid knees, the Xangu shaman was able to rifle through the man's pockets. Nothing but dried out condoms and loose change, no wallet. Next came the clean man, he didn't even have pockets to loot. The slight man, he was the most interesting. Gum's eyes were naturally narrow, hidden in wrinkled folds of loose skin. But then they widened, the slight man's nails were painted in bright colours.
Gum pulled the slight man's mask off, it was the mayor's daughter.
"I should leave town," Gum thought to himself.
Artemis had spent days laying the foundation for this single moment. Hours of research and preparation had been poured into a thorough and intricate understanding of his task. Every step had been replayed over and over in his mind to eliminate all potential risk. There would be no room for errors, and the day had finally come to truly test himself.
He stood within the forge early in the morning, with crystals of dew frosting the windows as the sun rose to warm the land. The fire glowed gently as the flames licked the fresh firewood and kissed the remnant coals from the prior day’s work. While the forge warmed, he began his preparations. He had set aside all he would need and began to mentally recite the process.
'First, I need to break down the brown shavings from a solid to a liquid.' He set the bowl he’d filled with these shavings close enough to the forge for the heat to melt them down.
'Second, line the mold with sufficient lubricant to ensure final product releases easily.' He took a cylindrical metal frame he’d forged himself, coating it with a layer of grease. He then dusted a crystalized white powder along the inside of the metal, dumping out the excess on the floor.
'Third, prepare the concoction of avian spawn froth.' He took the clear amber fluid, added a dash of another crystal white powder, and began to vigorously bestir the substance until it began to froth and foam. Once it had more than doubled in volume, he added more of the first white crystal that he’d used to coat the vessel and continued the process of agitating the froth. Once satisfied, he went to retrieve the now melted brown shavings and began the delicate process of combining it with his foaming white froth.
'Gentle,' he thought to himself, delicately working the two together as though he were working with dangerous and toxic chemicals. Once satisfied, he transferred the brown mix into the vessel. He ran a thumb around the inside edge of the mold and then gently and lovingly slid it onto a platform he’d put into the forge.
“Now, we wait.” He set everything aside that he’d used in his project and let his focus fall upon the forge, staring into the mold as though willing his project to succeed. A marvelous scent began to fill the forge, overpowering the long-lingering scent of coal smoke and burnt honey. Instead, the forge began to smell like something completely unfamiliar. Nearly twenty minutes later, everything seemed to be going well. The brown froth had begun to rise and crust at the top, though it still didn’t seem entirely ready. The last bit seemed the most delicate. He had invited Jay to witness a marvelous creation of the forge, but he hadn’t given her the details. She would arrive soon, just in time for . . .
“Artemis!” she yelled as she burst into the forge. “I have to tell you something!” As the dark elf woman entered, making a remarkable raucous, the brown fluff collapsed in on itself, the crust sinking deep into the vessel along with Artemis’ hopes. The young man didn’t move from his spot. He did not react to the entrance of his beloved. Instead he simply stared into the heart of his forge and his failed project as his own heart cracked. “Wow, it smells delightful in here! What is that?” She looped her arm through Artemis’ and smiled brightly at him, but still he didn’t turn. “Artemis . . . ? What’s wrong?”
“I was making you a chocolate soufflé. For our anniversary. I wanted to surprise you.”
“Oh that’s so sweet of you! That sounds wonderful! Where is it?”
Artemis raised his arm at her question, pointing mutely at the vessel that sat within the forge with a collapsed dessert sitting in its base. “You were early,” he said quietly.
“Oh no . . .” she said, frowning. “It collapsed.”
'Yes, along with my hopes of impressing you with my baking prowess,' he thought but didn’t say. He continued to stare, dumbstruck. So much preparation, care, and time – all for naught. “Well, I hope you don’t mind egg and chocolate paste.” He grabbed a pair of tongs he used for smithing and pulled the mold out of the forge, setting it onto the anvil by his side. He looked down, a pained expression on his face.
“It’s my favorite!” she said with a wink. She grabbed Artemis’ face with both hands and kissed him, the smell of lavender crawling off her body and up into Artemis’ senses, lifting him out of the dark place he’d fallen into at his failure. Her long silver hair tickled his cheeks as she pressed against him, and he smiled.
“So what did you want to tell me?” he asked, staring into the flat soufflé.
She looked at him, her blue eyes staring into Artemis’ own. “I’m Pregant!”
The soufflé let out a quiet whistle; it too was surprised.
Vincent’s solemn sapphire eyes surveyed the horror before him numbly. An unnatural silence seemed to fill the air save for the occasional moan or shuffling of aimless feet below him. The stairs had served their secondary purpose wonderfully, planks falling away to trap the scholar on his elevated sanctuary. A soft sigh left his lips as her turned from the carnage back to his study.
The room seemed almost untouched by the chaos down below. Volumes upon volumes of leather-bound research notes sat neatly on mahogany shelves. Vials of fancy alcohol rested easily on the scholar’s desk, fancy crystal glasses polished to perfection sitting beside them. The scholar chewed his lip as he strode past his desk to the large ornate window that rested on the far wall. As he approached the majestic silken drapes, he hesitated. His hand shook as he raised it up and clasped the scarlet fabric and tossed it aside. Relief filled every fiber of his being as he was greeted with a wall of teal light.
The quarantine had worked.
In the courtyard below, several mangled corpses limped about absently, their once white lab coats stained a dark crimson. Eyes once alight with curiosity were dim and lifeless. The scholar shuddered and turned from the window and sat at his desk. He took a moment to muse over the tragedy that had befallen them. Some of the world’s greatest minds had been lost to one simple mistake, an oversight in the infection screening process. The symptoms should have been obvious, they should have caught it. Instead, thirty scientists were now consumed by the very plague they had sought to cure.
“I wonder if that’s ironic?” Vincent mused aloud. “I can never remember when it’s the proper time to bust out that word…” He chuckled nervously as he reached absently for one of the many bottles before him with one hand, and an empty glass with the other. He uncorked it with his teeth and began pouring, wondering about the chaos that must be going on outside the barrier, silently praying that the barrier had gone up fast enough to prevent an outbreak. The sloshing of amber liquid pulled the scholar back to reality as he realized he was overfilling his drink.
“Fuck me.” He spat raising the cup to his lips gingerly and tossing the whole thing back. His eyes watered as the strong spirit flooded down his throat like a river of fire, gulp after gulp, unceasing until the glass was empty. The scholar stewed for a moment, letting the brew do its work before raising his hand to the amulet at his neck and tapped it absently looking for the right mental channel.
“Please give me some good news on the other side of the barrier.”
His voice was met with silence, and for a moment the scholar dreaded the worst.
“MILORD.” The exclamation broke the mental silence, and soon a cacophony of voices followed suit.
“No infected confirmed outside of quarantine”
“All texts inside quarantine were copied in triplicate on creation, no information has been lost”
“Location number two has been prepped and work is scheduled to begin in three days.”
The scholar let out a sigh of relief, “Excellent work.” He paused for a moment and chewed his lips. “Im about to initiate the purge.” He muttered. “If any of the Arcana ask, I’m in Salvar doing research. Noone who is out of the loop of what we’re doing here is to be notified, are we clear?”
The collective replied, wishing the scholar well, and then there was silence as the scholar switched off his amulet. Grunting, the scholar rose from his seat and raised the crystalline bottle to his lips, swigging down the expensive liquor in gulps until the bottle was empty. Satisfied the scholar smashed the bottle on the ground and knelt down to pick up a sharp shard. Grunting he dug it into his tanned wrist until blood began to spurt out from the vein he’d just opened.
Dipping his finger in the crimson fluid, the scholar quickly traced an elaborate symbol into his desk. Soon, the blood began to glow a deep scarlet, and a faint humming filled the room. In an instant the desk ignited into green flame, spreading throughout the room in a matter of moments. The scholar turned and walked to the window, watching as the flames spread to everything, doing his best to ignore the searing heat trailing up his legs.
“Can’t make an omelet without breaking a few egss.”
Times were tough on these streets; crime was high, and pollution was higher. Everywhere grimy workers ground out their lives in gritty factories, and a cloud hung over the city. It was a depressing place, but not without value. Atop a tower of metal the prize lay, surveying the cobbled valleys of filth below, and the dashing rogue who daring now scaled sheer steel would have it. Ebony cloak adrift on the breeze, gloved fingers gripped tight yet another window casement, but soon the stealthy saboteur was quietly inside, and slipping into a nearby vent. The target was a vault on the top floor, and a few minutes of cramped crawling brought the dark-haired infiltrator to the dumbwaiter. After slipping down quietly onto the roof of the thing, sharp blue eyes drifted up the shaft, towards his goal. A heavy thump rocked his footing, and brought his eyes over to the triumphant-looking guard who had just dropped down from the other side.
"What the-" a fist answered the rogue's question.
Just outside the vault, a skinny guard white of hair chatted idly with his portly co-worker. "Where do you think Steve is, O'Malley?" the lanky one asked. "Probably crawlin' in the damn vents again;" his friend replied, "...and why'd you have to call me by name, Johnson?" The response was immediate. "So you'd know I was talking to you," the taller said simply. "We're the only two people here, you idiot," his shorter coworker replied, dark brow furrowed. "No need to be rude." the skinny guard retorted, and the other snorted. "I'm glad you'll be out of my hair soon; you can enjoy your retirement, and I can get paired with someone with a brain." O'Malley spoke with confidence, but his face changed quickly when his thin friend said "Is it Joe, or Carl? I've seen the way you-"
"Shut up, Johnson."
Back on the dumbwaiter, the daring saboteur duked it out with the diligent dog of industry. After a quick exchange, the two split apart for a moment, then the dark-elven guard snapped out a few jabs that were deflected, and received a heavy punch to the gut in return. He pulled a knife, and threw swipe after swipe at the nimble night-thief, but all of them missed. In his rage he grabbed onto the rope supporting the dumbwaiter, and cut the thing free. The dark-elf felt a hand latch onto the rope above his, and looked over to see the intruder swinging out just before soft boots landed on his chest. The knife clattered as the guard's back slammed into the wall, and he twisted to look up at his murderer as he fell. The dashing rogue watched the man's descent in silence as he sailed up, pulled by the counterweight. The dumbwaiter crumpled at the bottom of the shaft, and the ensuing explosion engulfed the guard's final words in a ball of flame.
That would draw some attention; he would need to move quickly to take advantage of the distraction. The dark-haired intruder was crawling through vents again in no time, carefully following his mental map through the convoluted twists and intersections. Soon the night-thief neared the vault, a fact confirmed when tiny metal shards snagged a dark sleeve. They were all over the place, but they weren't in the original blueprints. It was as if someone had meticulously stabbed the vent every quarter inch and bent the metal back upward. Strange, but the coiled rope at his hip provided a good cushion for his chest, and he slowly wiggled forward. It was pretty frayed on one side when he finally reached the vent looking down into the vault, but still seemed solid enough. The clamp he stuck to the roof of the vent a little further back, and hooked the rope to it. Without further ado, the dashing rogue descended into the steel vault.
The pressure plates on the floor were set up to trigger the alarm, so the saboteur stopped once he reached the safe, which needed two keys. He hooked the rope to his belt and hung horizontal just in front of the safe. Reaching into the pockets at the front of his black shirt, the thief produced a small case with several picks and assorted tools and placed it atop the safe. As he slowly worked on the first lock, he dimly heard the guards outside arguing about something. Once he finished the first lock, he wedged a small piece of metal between the two picks to keep them in position while he fiddled with the second lock. When he had all four picks in place, the thief turned them simultaneously and the safe slid open with a creak. Gold and silver sat gleaming, but the unassuming brown folder was stashed away in a pocket inside the saboteur's shirt. Now with his job complete, he began pulling himself up when the rope broke. His ass met the ground painfully, and all around him a wail rose from the alarm.
The intruder was on his feet and clenching his cheeks in pain when the first two guards burst into the vault, one thin and tall, the other fat and short. They stayed near the door while a line of very generic guards filed in and came at the rogue one at a time. He raised an arm to block the first one, then knocked him down with one punch. Then he raised the other arm to block the second one, and knocked him down with one punch. "Really, guys?" the rogue said, knocking yet another guard down with a single punch. "You can at least try." he quipped as he knocked down the final one, and eyed the taller of the two near the door. "What about you?" he asked, and the lithe dark elf strode forward and spoke with confidence. "I will stop your evil-" a fist silenced his speech, and sent him sprawling, nose bleeding. The guard's head flung back and slapped the floor with a crunch. He didn't move much after that; well, except for the twitching.
"Johnson, no!" the fat one yelled, rushing to the aid of his friend.
As the round man knelt on tiny knees, he tried to wake up his friend, but the spreading pool of blood disagreed. The solemn saboteur stood in silence for a moment before glancing at the open door to the vault. "You murdered him!" the portly guard blubbered, to which the rogue replied "I just punched him." O'Malley looked up in anger and screamed "He's dead now!" After a pause, the intruder said "I can see that." The rotund dark-elf's anger petered out as he said "He was two days away from retirement." As the grown man started crying, the other replied simply. "Tragic. I'm gonna go now," and started walking toward the door. He stopped in annoyance, and turned around when the guard said "You don't understand..." A few seconds passed filled with impatient gestures before the short dark-elf finally murmured softly " I loved him."
"Whatever," the dashing rogue said, walking out of the vault.
The roof access was easy to find, and the black-clad burglar was sliding across the zip line he had set up the day before onto the nearby apartments in no time. There was a man yelling at a rather attractive dark elven woman who must've been his wife. As the infiltrator walked toward them the husband started beating the woman savagely, so the stealthy saboteur sucker punched the man as he walked up. The wife-beater crumpled without a sound, and the woman looked teary-eyed at her savior. "What's your name?" the thief asked softly, to which she replied "Vashara. Oh, thank you..." She fell into his arms quietly sobbing, but looked up with hope when he said "I'm Nyadir. Let me take you away, Vashara." She nodded smiling, and her small son walked meekly up the stairs and out onto the room. "Are you gonna be my new daddy?" the adorable little tyke asked, her mother giving him a warm smile.
"Nope," the rogue said, and kicked the little shit back down the stairs.
He looked back at the mother and said "Come with me if you want to live," but she just turned back from the stairway eyes wide and brow furrowed. She couldn't find the words at first, but soon she said "Did you just-" "Awaaaayyy!" the burglar yelled as he picked her up and ran toward the rope ladder hanging just off the edge of the building. She screamed as he leaped off the edge, and he grabbed the ladder with one arm just as the building exploded. After swaying from the blast for a few moments as the airship above rose into the sky, the saboteur flipped the woman up onto his back and began climbing the ladder. At the top one of his henchman pulled her up, and greeted him as he stepped onto the deck. "Yarr, welcome aboard, cap'n." said the muscular blond man. "I told you to stop talking like that." his captain replied, but the man responded "Yarr, ah can't do that, cap'n. T'was in mah contract." The dark-haired rogue rolled his eyes.
"I'm going to murder my lawyer," he said as he walked further onto the deck.
Apparently, "ship-shape" was the wrong term to use when outlining employment contracts; damn smart-ass. The victorious infiltrator walked over to his bonus prize, who was staring at him with clear admiration. He held her close, and as she looked up into his eyes she said "I don't know why, but I feel like I can trust you." He grasped her hand, and they gazed off into the sunrise together. "When all this is over, we'll move to the beach." the captain said, eyes staring into the future they would have. A tall bald man in a purple robe who was watching them with confusion said "What the hell are you two-" "But what about Ricardo?" the slender woman asked as she turned to look at her newfound lover. "Don't worry. He exploded." he replied simply, and she paused for a moment. "Oh...right...Why did he-" "Think of it," he interjected, looking back into the distance. "It'll be just us, the beach, and a fucking missile!" She looked up confused as something flew past the airship.
"I think they spotted us," the purple-robed man said, to which the captain replied simply. "I can see that, Tonto." The bald one's eyebrow twitched before he replied. "I told you, it's Tommo." The dark-haired thief responded with "Just put up a damn barrier." The robed man sighed, and raised his arms. A semi-translucent bubble formed around the back of the airship, and the next few projectiles skewed off course. The enemy vessel was a few hundred paces back, but the dashing rogue had no canons on the back of his ship with which to retaliate. "Yarr, we should bring'er around." the stocky crewman shouted, but the purple-robed wizard responded with "No, we should not do that. I can't cover the entire side of the ship." The captain looked around the deck. "Well, what should we do?" he asked. The shine of dawn upon his dome, Tonto replied with worry in his voice. "I don't know, but soon would be nice."
Finally, the troubled thief settled his eyes on one of the canons, and knew what to do. Reaching into his black shirt he pulled out the documents, and stuffed them into the back of his belt. He pushed all the energy he could manage into an enhancement technique as he ripped open his shirt; his muscles expanded and started pouring sweat. With a grunt the swollen saboteur lifted one of the canons, and carried it to the back near a stack of cannonballs. The first mate ran over with enthusiasm, but after a few 'yarr's the captain silenced him with a glare. "Load!" the bare-shirted bad-ass shouted, and his stocky soldier stuffed powder and ball down the barrel as fast as he could. The first shot rang out, and the captain's muscles rippled as he absorbed the impact of the canon; the wooden deck cracked slightly beneath his feet. As the ball sailed through the air and struck a blow on the enemy ship, the burglar yelled a triumphant "Yeah, take that!" as his first mate loaded the next cannonball. Hopefully, they could take it down before Tonto got tired; there was too much cargo on this airship to lose.
As the second shot sent wood shrapnel flying all across the deck of the enemy ship, the blue-eyed smuggler shouted "Hope you like holes!" The bald wizard looked back in confusion before the bare-chested bad-ass finished with "...in your ship!" Tonto quietly shook his head as the pirate wannabe loaded another shot. "Taste my balls!" the daring rogue shouted as the next one hit, and the crew near him snickered. "What?" he asked, but the stocky first mate yelled "Yarr, she's loaded cap'n!" and the next shot was flying. "Avast, ye corpses!" he yelled that time, suddenly searching for good things to shout. "What a... shocking development!" he bellowed proudly. "That's not how puns work." Tonto said, but the next ball was flying yet again. The enemy ship was in tatters, but the straining saboteur couldn't quite get the balloon. "You surviving isn't very...canonical." he yelled as the next one hit. "Oh, come on." the mage muttered in annoyance.
"Keep up the good work, Tonto." the captain said proudly to his wizard. "It's Tommo, you asshole." he responded with spite, the shield he was maintaining beginning to flicker. Finally, a shot arced up and punctured the balloon of the enemy ship. Just as a cheer went up among the crew, the shield flickered long enough to let one missile in, and as it hit the rail it showered some kind of liquid fire all over the bald mage. He started running around flailing as he screamed, and the dashing rogue set down the cannon as he yelled "Tonto, nooo!" With a solemn sigh the captain looked away from his wizard. "Oh gods it hurts so bad!" Tonto screamed as he dropped to the deck. "Somebody help me!" The stunned saboteur spoke quietly "He was a good wizard. We will remember him fondly." "I'm right here, you asshole, put me out!" the bald mage yelled, the crew frozen in shock. "I'll always remember the good times." the bereaved burglar reminisced. "Seriously," Tonto continued, rolling around frantically,"...someone help me!"
The stocky first-mate took a step forward, but was stilled by the somber hand of his captain. "No, no; don't cling to the past." he said over the screams. "This is the worst pain!" Tonto yelled, finally breaking down into tears. "But cap'n, we could still-" the blond man started. "Now now, we need to let him go." the rogue rebutted with firm compassion. "I fucking hate yooouuu!" the wizard screamed, the final word stretching out louder and louder. "Now that we've accepted his death," the dark-haired captain began, voice raising to drown out the wailing, "...we need to do the respectful thing, the thing he would've wanted, and have a moment of godamn silence! Tonto! Shut the fuck up you big baby!" he finished with an angry yell. It must've worked, because the mage rolled towards the edge leaving a trail of melted robe, and finally fell off the side of the airship screaming "If's Tommo you diiiiiick!" His wail faded into a long moment of silence.
"Well, that was awkward." said the dashing rogue, turning his attention back to the falling enemy airship just in time to see their final missile collide with his balloon. Panic immediately leaped to the faces of the crew, but the infiltrator merely walked over to a folded backpack among some boxes. The first mate spoke up immediately. "Oh shit, we- I mean... yarrr, we've been hit mateys," and the bonus prize began asking if they could fix it. The bold burglar walked over to reassure her, placing one tender hand on her cheek. "Don't worry," he said softly, "In the end, despite all of this...I'll be just fine." Her brow furrowed for a moment. "Wait, what does-" she started, then the smuggling captain turned and sprinted for the edge of the deck. As he soared into the air he yelled "Later, bitches!" The bonus prize's scream of anger echoed through the trees as he fell.
The breeze felt nice after such a hectic morning, but the daring saboteur soon pulled the string on the strange back-pack he wore, and leather wings folded out on a wooden frame. As he caught the breeze and lifted back up into the sky, the enemy airship finally crashed and exploded just outside the city...and the other one exploded too. A shame, that; there was a good bit of cargo on that ship; enough to replace the crew twice over. Still, at least it wasn't a complete loss; the folder was safely tucked behind his belt. A small thump on the wing above him prompted the dashing rogue to reach up just as a slender dark-elf's severed middle finger rolled off into his hand. With a grin he put it between his teeth, and steered toward the northern mountains, laughing the whole way.
Ebi, this was funny as hell. I even got most of the tropes you used. The only real issue is, that despite his debatable considerable losses – the girl he really didn’t care about, the mage that could put up force fields, the crew that was somewhat useful, and an airship – he still won in the end; as he is floating away in his glider. Now, if he had almost gotten to his goal and then lost the documents, leading to a teaser of a revenge sequel, then you would have nailed it perfectly. As it is, I really can’t logically conclude that your main character lost anything that mattered to him.
SirArtemis, I liked how you tried to sort of work around exactly what it was Artemis was doing in the forge, but the use of “Avian spawn froth” does not make me think of eggs, but well, baby chickens. There are a few dishes that call for those. “I’m Pregant!” I think you want pregnant here. Otherwise, it was an entertaining listen to.
Gum, you used a few words that confused me a little: “The ticket office he had to navigate on the way out to the street stank of state piss and cigarette smoke”, I think stale would be a better word here, although other descriptive could work well also; and “The jaguar shaman began to strafe around his victim, the remaining kidnapper strafed to match the movement of the predator”, it sounds like they are circling one another, not even exchanging blows, and he’s not punishing the individual in this case, so strife isn’t, I think the word you want here. Having said that, you had some great descriptions here, particularly the description of the train and the station. The use of several alliterations adds a very pleasant quality to this, which made it quite enjoyable. I’ll also admit, I liked Gum’s last thought.
Cards, trying to cure the zombie plague, fantastic. Even more so with the use of the minor mishap. I personally would have used carafes or decanters over vials, but that’s just me. It was an entertaining listen to.
Cards of Fate, first place, Gum second place, SirArtemis, third place.
Congratulations!
The rewards are as follows:
Gum - 160 EXP, 150 GP, 1 AP.
SirArtemis - 550 EXP, 1 AP.
Cards of Fate - 900 EXP, 200 GP, 2 AP.
Ebivoulya - 250 EXP, 1 AP.
All rewards have been added!