Deja Vu (Open)

[noodleguy]

NOW OPEN!

As he walked through the hallways, Lice reflected on his last battle here. Things hadn’t gone so well then. Lice had ended up hanging upside down from a plank with a knife nailing his foot down, unconscious. His opponent had gotten lucky, Lice thought grimly, even though Lice had the circumstantial advantage that time. That wouldn’t happen again. It was only a few days after that battle. He had awoken to find himself in the infirmary, resurrected by the monks from near death. Apparently they wanted him to fight again. Shockingly, Lice found himself accepting their offer.

Perhaps that was a mistake, Lice wondered, as he walked down the hallway for the second time that week. Something about the monk's expressions had lended Lice to the opinion that his continued battling was not optional. At least this time things might be different. The setting seemed like it was going to be, anyway. Either the monks had done some very hasty remodeling, or Lice was in a different part of the Citadel, because this looked very different. He had gone from stone corridors to a long, narrow wooden hallway. Early in the walk from the infirmary there had been monks hustling about, doing…whatever it was that the monks did around here. Lice wondered about that.

“Hey buddy, what is it that you guys do anyway? What’s a monk but a guy lucky enough to find a job without much heavy lifting, eh?”

The monk that was escorting Lice did not respond in any way shape or form. The hallway they were walking through turned from simple wood boards to construction entirely from…twigs? It looked like a crudely made child’s fort, loosely formed into the shape of an arch. Then the hallway suddenly ended, and Lice looked into the sunlight. It wasn’t very much sunlight, was the first thing Lice noticed. Just dimly lighting the arena.

And what a strange arena it was. It was a grove of aspen trees, extending as far as Lice could see. Finding the enemy might be just as much a challenge as defeating them, in this arena.

“Hey buddy, who’d you say my opponent was today? You gotta be kidding me, I’m fighting in the woods, these look just like those from right by my village!” Lice exclaimed, but when he turned to the monk, his silent guide was gone. How typical.
Well, there was nothing for it now. Lice would just have to make the best of what he had. For a moment, Lice considered climbing one of the trees and trying to jump down on his opponent from above.

Oh, yeah, because that worked so well last time, did it?

Never mind that plan. Lice had at least learned a few things from his last battle. One, don’t expect ambushes to work out properly. Two, use the environment to your own advantage.

How could Lice possibly use a forest to his advantage when fighting? Well, it wasn’t as if elves were the only ones to know everything there was to know about forests, anyway. Lice had lived right near Concordia forest his whole life, so his experience there must count for something. So what was it about a forest that Lice could use? Well, this was a wintertime forest. That meant no leaves. Looking down at the ground, Lice confirmed this fact. The ground was entirely dirt, and that meant it would be easy to be stealthy.

Lice grabbed some of the dirt and snow from the ground and rubbed it in his skin. The result was that he looked like a muddy goblin. Well, maybe that wasn’t such good camouflage.

Despite his utter lack of "A Plan" Lice walked into the forest. The best thing to do would be to find out his opponent’s location before they found is. And the best way to do that would be from a high place. Sighing, and disliking the fact that he was doing the same thing again and again, Lice latched himself onto one of the nearby trees. Aspen trees are not particularly easy to climb, but Lice managed to wriggle his body up halfway up the trunk. There he turned his head down to the forest floor. He could barely see more than before from here, really. At least this way he would be able to see the opponent before he or she saw him. Maybe. A drop from this height would probably not be a good idea though. Lice hadn’t even considered how he was going to get down. Cursing himself for nearly getting stuck like a cat chased to a high place by a dog, Lice scooted down to the bottom.

Instead of trying that again, Lice started to walk towards the center of the arena, thinking as hard as he could. It certainly seemed like he had lost this battle before it even began.

The arena is just forest, extending for miles in all directions. The trees have all lost their leaves, there is only half an inch of snow on the ground. PM me if you have any questions about it.

[noodleguy]

The person who was going to be my partner for this thread can't participate due to medical reasons. So it is now OPEN!

[Garwocket]

“BLOODY HELL, STOP HIM!”

Oh how common a phrase that was in the wake of the little imp that it was directed towards. He slowed his rush through the crowd of people, who were conveniently parted so his pursuers could see him clearly. The arrogant prick was huffing along, his walking cane being swung in anger more often than used to support his frail frame. The snickering, ugly little imp shook his head at his slow pursuer. Was it just him, or was he getting faster? Maybe it was all the people calling after him and chasing him so much, or maybe Althanas, the actual world, was slowing down. “Mmmm…” he hummed as he pondered the philosophy of the world slowing around him. After all, it was a new world, who knew what happened from time to time?

“Ohh!” Garwocket said with a sly grin as the cane fell through the air at his thirteen inch, five pound frame. A blow with that and the little bugger would be left with a nasty lump on his forehead for sure. He ducked it, albeit in a way befitting only the clumsiest of creatures that could possibly walk on two feet, and spun on his over sized boots and was instantly running again. “Thas’sa clos’n, f’ncy ponc’ ‘lmoss gots me.”

Without stopping again to think about the ramifications of the world slowing, the fleet of foot thief (though you dare not call him that to his face) raced up a flight of stairs with his trophy in hand. At the top he lifted the shiny titanium chain with monocle attached over head and began to bounce up and down. His wide, thick lips were pushed out almost like a monkey’s face, his eyebrows were lowered to what looked like a determined scowl, and he winced his eyes. Of course, Rocky Balboa was way better at the little victory dance, but that didn’t stop the imp from mocking him anyway.

“Nasty little twit, where did you scamper off to?” The elderly gentleman with the rosy cheeks and the wheezing words was obviously very close to not caring anymore. Though his voice carried through the crowd, it was filled with the lowest of threatening tones. “When the guard get here you’ll be sorry.”

The guard? Those were the ‘biggun’ guys with the metal on ‘em and the angry beatin’ clubs’, as Garwocket knew them. He wanted nothing to do with those people again, and turned and charged through the double doors that lead him into the most glorious building he had ever seen… The Citadel.

******************

A man who was easily about four times as tall as the imp approached the little creature with a curious smile on his face. His robes were a boring poop brown color, and within seconds Garwocket knew that the smirking man had no shiny baubles of interest on his person. However, he did have the look as if he was going to take the monocle, and or attempt to capture the little imp. With a look of alarm the imp quickly shifted his new trophy behind his back and shook his head while whistling a merry tune. “Heya, I’s gots n’thin’ bu’whas min’, ‘ow’r ya doin’?”

“Have you come to fight Sir Imp?” The man knew what he was, but was not calling for the guards or even trying to take the trophy from Garwocket. Perhaps it was a ploy, a clever tactic that the biggun’s were starting to use. The imp was nearly convinced they had telepathetic abilities. When one was angry and yelling after him, around the corner would be some of those guard guys, every time, like they knew he was coming. “We have a room available for you if you wish to start right now.”

“Ya, less’go!” The imp said as he wound the chain around his small frame and latched the end to the part that attached to the wide lens. What trouble he was in for he had no clue, for the mysteries of the Citadel had never been imparted to him… either that or he was busy removing shiny baubles from the speakers pocketses. Either way, when he walked through the door and into the arena that he was to fight in he was speechless.

“Umm…” he muttered as he walked through the forest, crunching auburn and golden leaves underfoot as he walked. “’Ow’n, pers’y, didja ge’ ta trees’n ‘ere?”

No answer came because the monk was no longer there. But the imp did not realize it and turned and picked up his gait without really watching where he was going, expecting instead that the door he had entered through would still be where he had left it. Instead he found a rather thin, ash colored tree waiting for his oversized nose, the collision of which brought about a rather loud “OY!” as the imp fell to his backside and frantically searched for the way out.

((Haven’t written anything with this character in a while, hopefully it’s cool. He’s not much of a fighter, but is somewhat entertaining at the very least… ))

[noodleguy]

This is going to be hilarious. Lice is also pretty terrible at fighting, but I am definitely predicting hilarity.

Lice seriously hoped that this time he wouldn’t be so overpowered. His opponent in the last match had been a brawny bounty hunter, complete with dagger throwing skills and a maniacal grin. Lice could only imagine what his next opponent would look like. Perhaps a massive orc champion that would crush Lice in his fists. Maybe an elf sharpshooter, using poor Lice the goblin for target practice. Possibly even some powerful arcane wizard, shooting lightning at Lice and frying his poor little brain. Lice did not know, any of them seemed likely given the absurdity of the monk’s choices of matches. Always picking on the little guy, stacking things against him, that’s what they were doing. Nasty bunch those baldies were, for certain. It was practically, practically cruel what they did, that’s what it practically was.

Wandering through the ash trees aimlessly, Lice wondered just how large this arena was. He tried to go in the general direction of his opponent, but after a while the endless sameness of the forest got to him. He wasn’t at all sure any more where he was relative to his starting position. Holding his sword uneasily, Lice started to hum under his breath. The tune was terrible, but Lice got engrossed in it and pretty soon he was actually singing, rather loudly. His voice was unpleasant, and he was far off the tune, but Lice didn’t particularly notice. The song was an old goblin folk tune he had learned years ago, when he was just a child.

Oh, I once was walkin down the line,
And then there came the Yellow Man.
Oh, de doo dah day.
I ran away in fear from him,
But after me came the Yellow Man.
Oh, de doo dah day.
Pinned me down upon the ground he did,
And smiling sat the Yellow Man.
Oh, de doo dah day.
He got his knives and screws and things,
And told me the past of the Yellow Man.
Oh, de doo dah day
He told me not with words, not him,
More direct than that is the Yellow Man.
Oh, de doo dah day.
And that’s how I lost me mind my friend,
talkin' there with the Yellow Man.
Oh, dee doo dah day.

As the song wrapped up Lice realized that he had been singing at the top of his lungs. Well, there probably wasn’t a better way to attract his opponent right to him, he guessed. Cursing his own stupidity, Lice’s eyes swiveled around the forest, looking for some possible sign of life. He might as well have just been shouting “HEY! HERE I AM! COME KILL ME!” Idiot, idiot, idiot. No wonder they threw you out of the village, Lice. The monks are probably sitting somewhere laughing their stupid looking robes off watching you, singing in the middle of the battle.

Lice’s musical escapade had succeeded in one thing: it had calmed his nerves. His hand was no longer shaking as much, and his sword was steady in his grip. Unconsciously he assumed his "fighting stance" the village guards had taught him. Legs spread out, knees bent, elbows at right angles. His fear of whatever dastardly, massive, deadly creature might be had subsided into anger. Anger at himself, mostly, but also a good bit of rage at the world in general. And anger could be a useful thing indeed.

[Garwocket]

What a pretty pickle the imp had found himself in, stuck in a forest inside a room inside a massive building controlled by maniac men in crazy big robes. He would have been frantic, but as soon as he realized he was stuck in the room with all the trees around him for company he simply shrugged and picked himself up. It was not the first time he had been tossed into the unknown, and certainly would not be the last. As a transdimensional time and plane traveling consciousness imp (yes that’s an actual race) there was nothing that he knew better than being tossed into some random place. The god that created him, Mr. Ultimate Neutrality himself, moved him around a lot, most recently to Althanas for a bit of fun. Without an instruction manual or anything, Garwocket had done little more on the planet so far than cause troubles.

On oversized shoes, complete with pointy ends, he stood up and looked around. All around him the forest seemed dead, the ashy trunks holding only empty branches. The ground was covered with leaves, as if nature didn’t care if it littered at all. Garwocket puffed out a few quick spurts of air and watched as the thin fog from his warm breath formed. With a shake of his head he straightened his long pointy hat and started to walk.

The boring man that had dumped him here had said something about battling, but what the imp was supposed to fight was unknown. Would it be a fae, like the little twats he had bothered when he had first arrived on Althanas? Or maybe a horde of frogs with teeth, big pointy teeth… Garwocket made the motion for big pointy teeth without realizing it, and continued on with his thoughts as he haphazardly wandered the woods.

Then he heard it, some poor animal screaming bloody murder at the top of its lungs. The very racket that tore through the silent forest made his skin crawl. He could only hope that the creature that made the bloody racket, which sounded faintly as if it was screaming about ‘the yellow man’, was not rabid. Instead of shying away from the noise, which was on par with nails on a chalkboard, he ventured towards it in search of what terrible thing could create such a noise.

“Oy!” He bellowed, well, as close to a bellow as a thing as small as the imp could come to a bellow at least. At his feet he found a fallen stick and in lieu of not knowing what terrible, dying, angry, ravenous thing was wandering the forest with him he did the first thing that came to mind... He picked it up, ready to poke whatever came within a foot distance. “’ooh’s dy’n ou’ere?!”

[noodleguy]

Lice waited for his enemy to come. His singing, beautiful as it surely was, must have drawn the deadly opponent near, and there was little to do now but wait. It wasn’t long before he heard a response come from somewhere in the woods.

“Oy!” the voice shouted, a barely audible sound but still noticeable in the silence. Lice made his way towards the voice, when it sounded out again.

“’ooh’s dy’n ou’ere?!” it rang out. Lice couldn’t exactly understand what it was saying. It did sound a bit like his grandfather actually. Lice’s grandfather had been a nasty, ancient creature that had died when Lice was no more than two years old. He was from some far away goblin tribe that Lice had never been to, and he spoke with a horrible accent. The fact that the goblin had no teeth left at the time only made him more difficult to understand. Lice’s only memories of the guy were of some sort of great, wrinkled, angry lump. He wondered if perhaps his opponent was the ghost of his grandfather, come back to haunt him for leaving his family in disgrace. Well…a good bit more disgrace than it had already been in. At least a bit more. A lot more, actually. Well, sort of. And not the perfectly good, normal kind of disgrace that came from good, wholesome deeds like theft and assault of humans.

Now the voice was pretty loud. Lice could tell that it emanated from just behind the next little clump of trees. Lice peeked his head around, searching for a sign of his surely formidable opponent.

Clearly, however, his opponent was not there. At first Lice saw nothing at all, and he sighed with disappointment. Then he saw the creature. It was tiny, far smaller than Lice, and it held a little twig shaking like a weapon. For a moment Lice was vaguely reminded of the fairies that he and his friends had once gone to catch in the few patches of flowers near the forests. They had gone out with butterfly nets and empty stomachs and come back full and satisfied, oftentimes with treats for their brothers and sisters. Lice particularly liked the snapping sound their legs made…delicious little animals.

Drooling a bit on his chin, Lice realized that this was sadly not a fairy. It was something else, equally small but still different. It had a mischievous, slightly malicious grin and it jumped from foot to foot with anger and impatience. Its voice had been quiet but deceptively loud still. Lice wondered if it would taste as good as the fairies. He doubted it, it looked pretty spicy.

Lice guessed that this was a trap. His opponent was probably sending out the little bugger or fairy or whatever it was to trick Lice, and then the master would jump in for the kill. Ah-ha! That must be it. It was a familiar thing, Lice had seen them before. Usually they were squirrels, or ravens, or hawks or whatever, but who was Lice to judge. Maybe most familiars were these little nasty fairy things. Odds were that the ancient elfin druid was sending it out to scout out and then trick Lice. Envisioning his opponent in his head, Lice imagined a tall, burly elf with a greatbow and a staff. Probably he would have some sort of birthmark on his face…or a scar. Yes, he definitely had a scar. Probably in the shape of some sort of symbolically significant object too, if Lice was one to judge. Lice guessed that he, the druid man, would use powerful and ancient nature magics to summon huge bears and eagles to attack poor, little, pathetic Lice. Those monks were even more devious than Lice had thought! Sending such a powerful and terrible opponent against him! This was absurd.

Lice stepped out from his hiding place and crossed his arms, looking at the tiny creature.

“Come on, little fairy or whatever the hell ya are. Your master’s too much of a coward to reveal himself, ain’t he? The monks were stupid enough to pair me against some druid-elf-man, that's what they did, and that’s practically, that’s practically not fair, that’s what it practically is.”

Lice held his sword out, pointing it at the little fellow.

“So, so you tell your elf-man-master-druid-man that if he loves the woods, an’, an’ all, like them stupid elves always do, he’d better come out here and resign right now, that’s what he practically better do, practically is, and if he don’t I’ll…I’ll…I’ll kill his little familiar friend! That’s what I’ll practically do, that’s what it is.”

Lice grinned at himself for coming up with such an impromptu little speech. Surely, the elf druid man person would never underestimate the sheer intelligence of goblins again!

Not once did it occur to Lice that the little imp might in fact be his opponent.

[Garwocket]

Garwocket restlessly shifted as the thing with the terrible voice appeared. Whatever it was, it was ugly, almost ugly as the little imp himself. It had no hair on its bulbous head, was some awful green color, and caked in what looked like mud and drying snow. Even an imp took a bath once a year (or so); this thing looked as if it had been a year and a day. The curious little bugger sniffed the air with his massive jew nose and attempted to smell the green thing in front of him. All he could smell was his own personal body odor though, a terrible smell even by imp standards.

“’e’s droolin’?” What could possibly be appetizing about the imp not even Garwocket could figure out? Those strange creatures and plants in Luthmor, where he appeared on Althanas, had tried to eat him but since then nothing on two legs had attempted. He was short, so maybe it was that he was easy to catch and cook? But there was no meat on him, he was skinny, and smelt bad. With grubby hands and fat fingers, far too large for a thing his size, he patted his long coat and the shiny baubles that were strewn across it. Under that was a pair of red and white striped stockings, perhaps he thought Garwocket had candy cane legs?! “Dam’ I shoooda g’essed, I amn’t no c’ndy c’ne!”

When the ugly, green thing came into full view the tiny imp was disgruntled. He was just as ugly as Garwocket, but way bigger, and had some animal skin on his chest. The rusty sword he held was menacingly pointed at Garwocket, but the poor imp had not even borrowed a shiny bauble from the green-skin in front of him. Why he had a sword pointed at him he was not sure. He couldn't even figure out where he was supposed to run away too, when he had been put inside a room without a door to get out! He knew one thing though, whatever the thing with the rust covered blade was, he was obviously stupid. All he could yell about was an elf, somethingorother…

“I amn’t a fa’ry, doos ya sees ‘ny w’ngs’n shite?” Garwocket crossed his own arms, mimicking the goblin before him as if that was what he was supposed to do. He had never visited the Citadel, and having never fought another creature on Althanas it was the best he could do. “An’ th’re issn’ s’me tall’n poin’y e’r thin’ awaitin’ ta figh’. Juss me. Tho’ iffin’ we’s c’n keep tha killin’ par’ta a min’mum, tha be grea’!”

Unsure if he really didn’t have an elf around him, the imp cautiously unfolded his arms and brandished his stick. His eyes searched the skeletal woods for a tall, pointy eared thing waiting to fight… perhaps they were both victims of this elf-druid-man that the ugly git in front of him was rambling about. So many tricks were being played it was right ridiculous.

[noodleguy]

With a little bit of anger, Lice tried to ignore the mocking the tiny imp gave him. It would be best not to freak out at the little creature…yet. The thing professed ignorance to any elfin involvement, although Lice wasn’t so sure. He peered around the forest as well. It seemed to him that any other explanation was practically impossible, practically was. Maybe the poor little creature didn’t even know it was in the service of an elf. That’d be just like those pointy-eared bastards, wouldn’t it? And if it wasn’t in the service of the elf…if his opponent was elsewhere…

Well, Lice was pretty hungry. Goblins aren’t known for their great taste in food, and Lice was no exception, but even to him the thing looked pretty disgusting. Still, he hadn’t eaten a single thing since…before his other battle, must have been. That was a long time now. Lice didn’t know how long he was out after that incident, but it had to be a day or so. At this point pretty much any food would be good enough. Besides, fairies tasted good, right? Only served to reason that this little bugger would be similar, didn’t it. That was practically logic, that’s what that practically was.

All thoughts of fighting or elves now entirely wiped from his head, Lice pondered what the best way to catch this little creature would be. He didn’t have a butterfly net, or any sort of box to put it in. He’d have to use his, his what was it called. His in Nate intelligence, that’s what. Surely he could trick such a small and insignificant little creature, right? He just had to get it into arms reach. Then, Lice pictured this in his head, then Lice would snap his arm out and shove it in his mouth before the thing could speak so much as a single word of broken Common.

“I dunno mate.” Lice said kindly. “We can keep the killing to a minimum, fer sure. But there may be some of them pointy eared bastards around, and we’d better find ‘em before they find us. So, why don’t we go…looking for ‘em, eh? Come on, little buddy.” Lice motioned towards the woods. “Not to mention those idiot monks, after all. We gotta break outta this place before they do any more of their strange magic and everything.”

He licked another bit of drool off his chin. Pretty soon…pretty soon. First he just had to get this little thing to trust him. Then it would be Imp a la snow, yes it would be. It would taste just like ice cream, that’s what it would practically taste just like.

[Garwocket]

Changing tactics was the most simplistic of ways to confuse an already confuzzled imp. It was a known fact that though Garwocket might have been a trandimensional time and plane traveling consciousness imp who sat on a biggun guy’s shoulder and gave them advice, it was never intelligent advice. In fact, taking the advice normally caused the unwilling and most likely unappreciative host to do things that were quite the opposite of logical. Even still, he may have not been smart, but he knew for certain anything looking at him drooling thought he had candy cane legs. If there was one thing the ugly bugger didn’t want, it was to be eaten by some ugly green thing.

“Str’ng maaaaaagics ‘re my d’partm’nt! Dam’em ta ‘ell, thos’ m’nks ‘re takin’ mah j’b.” Garwocket looked at the tactically intelligent goblin that stood before him and moved away a little, trying to put distance between himself and Lice. As soon as he felt safe he put his fat fingers to work on the end of his chin. Every stroke of pretend wisdom was finished with a ‘hmm’ noise as he attempted to work out the situation that was forced upon him.

Perhaps the elf that was waiting to kill them was in the trees. The goblin had said something about them liking nature right? Well what if he was a tree, inside a hollowed out tree? How would they ever find him then? The imp suddenly stopped stroking his non-existent beard and walked to the nearest tree. With a heavy knuckle he rapped on the trunk of the closest tree, not even looking at Lice while working out his tree-elf conundrum. “Oy! Ya sai’ tha’thos’ elf’sh whachamacallits ‘re goo’ w’th n’ture, righ’? ‘E’s g’tta be’n on’na tha tree’th’n righ’?”

The strange little imp rapped on another tree before lifting the monocle to the bark and staring at it intently. What the monocle was used for before he had borrowed it from the foppish old man, the imp was not sure. Its use was instantly known when he lifted it though, it made bark on trees very close. He could see the flaking white outer coat on the aspen. Picking at it he held the piece in his hand and examined it further. A careful, calculated strike with the pointy stick – which was still on standby in case the nasty thing did something Garwocket wasn’t too keen about – the imp tore off a large flake from the tree. “Loo’s li’ this’s ‘is weakn’ss, ‘is sk’n’s flaaaky. I’s kinna gr’sssss!”