Keeping entertained

[Fairlight Excalibur]

In order to keep amused while waiting my turn in the Oceansford war, a minor skirmish is in order. Please observe my rules; they differ slightly from the battles that usually occur.


Standard Gunjin rules, but with the following additions:

1. Two week time limit. After that, if there has not been an action taken, (or a request for extra time) the other player may conclude the battle however they prefer. Usually by fatality.

2. Post limit. I would usually suggest a limit of four or five posts, due to mine usually being fairly long, but if you tend to use shorter posts, a larger limit can be established.

3. Determining a winner

---A. When the post limit has been reached, either player has the option of admitting defeat.

---B. If neither player wishes to concede, a third party judge(s) will analyze the battle and select a winner based on writing (read: grammar, spelling, and ability to hold the reader's interest) and combat (read: brutality and creativity).

---C. When the judges have selected a winner, he may then write the final post and conclude the battle however he sees fit. Usually by fatality.

---D. A winner is determined by default if one player goes over the two week limit without at least requesting more time. The request for more time may also be declined anyway.



Anyone who will consent to these rules is welcome. Note that all these rules are simply to ensure that the battle ends sometime and a winner is decided - the rules of engagement have not been altered.

You may pick a battlefield or leave it me.

You may also pick which of my characters you wish to fight. I am going to treat this like a character select screen in a fighting game. Certain characters are available from the get-go, but the rest must be unlocked via story topic (as I make them up, that is... )

Current Roster:

Original Characters

Rafael Zorland - My mainstay character
Zanfei Lenko - Challenge him for details!
Lexar Hawthorne - Challenge him for details!
Klkstrd Kdfksrtlgmdnw - Challenge him for details!

New characters

Rikon Bladestorm
Matthew Velmuth
Wilson Harlock
James Uprain
Targus Fleming
Foglin
Tomagel
Fenton
Gonthor the Ogre

Please ensure that you are not choosing Matthew Velmuth as your opponent, then establishing yourself to be a 600 foot tall Mechwarrior or any other absurd match-ups. If I need to create a character just for you then say so.

[Vapor]

Man, I wish I could, but I've just tied myself up with Weegee. Eh, good luck though.

[Zaden]

May I have a pronunciation guide for Mr. Klkstrd K.?



"phonetically"

Gee, that helps
Seriously, that only works for the "Clicksterd" part. The last name is... I won't say "ridiculous", because that would be insulting to your creativity... it's... hard to say!

The best I can come up with is "Kidfiksertlegimdunwi"... Hey I just did it out loud!

[Fairlight Excalibur]

^^Sadly, Hiro, you were one of the combatants whom I was hoping would respond... maybe next time.

^His name is spelled phonetically.

About time you got on here Zaidon. Are you going to be my opponent?

EDIT

^NO. EPIC FAIL. You added vowels. His specie does not use them. You might want to make a new post instead of always editing existing ones; there is no way for us to tell when an edit is performed, as the topic does not return to the top of the page.

[Vapor]

:\. btw, Call me Vapor. I'm just following in the grand tradition of changing one's name to snarky references at times.

[Fairlight Excalibur]

Okay, you just clicked on the topic (yes, YOU, the one reading this), now accept the challenge if you please.

[Saria Dragon of the Rain Wilds]

Don't look at me, man. I was just following you around the forums to see what you're doing. All part of the job. Yep. <____<

I've kind of maxed out my "time for writing", so quit tempting me to avoid doing those other things I'm meant to be doing, aaaahhhhhhhh!

[Fairlight Excalibur]

Too late. You fell into my click-trap. Let's go.

Besides, you did mention that you have judged these before, so I know you have some experience.

Come on.

How about this:


Pretty please with a on top?

[Saria Dragon of the Rain Wilds]

Now, now, when you get into the realm of fighting to the death, it makes it awful hard for someone as attached to their characters as I am to go into battle. In fact, the only person I'd be willing to risk is... no! No, that's just all too close to agreeing to this. XD And then where will I be! Not writing articles, not writing books, not even writing query letters.

Damn.

...Damn.

That sounds all too fun. Meanie. XD

I'll need a little time to figure out some decent ideas. It's been a long, long, long time since I battled. *grumble*

Choose your own character. I'll be back in a while.

[Fairlight Excalibur]

Hehehe hehehehe ahahahahah hehe

Heehee.

I apologize for so very ruthlessly entertaining you.

[Saria Dragon of the Rain Wilds]

Two fires crackled. Heavy metal bowls, both as large as men, cupped the dancing flames, keeping the living things from burning across the floor, up the shadowed pillars, through the far-distant roof. With each flicker of orange, the wood it consumed creaked a little more, emitting another burst of heat and few thin wisps of smoke.

Dust rained down from the unseen roof, a small waterfall of debris. The size of the fires did nothing to light the hall. As the unpredictable light reached through the darkness, it brushed over the richly decorated stone pillars, supporting an enormous weight at their apex. Disuse left a layer of filth clinging to the surface of the columns, muting the carved images, muffling the mastery of the work. The floors, too, were thick with the inevitable decay of the building.

Was that a wind, easing through the forgotten hall? The fires took turns rising and flailing in the unexpected breeze, whipping in a frenzy of light to scorch the air. It illuminated a scant few extra feet of the hall. Lines of pillars, immovable giants, ran in every direction. The ceiling was still a mystery behind incredible draperies of cobweb. Dry and brittle, some of the web broke free and floated to the ground in the sudden extra heat, resting in the ancient dust at last.

Another touch of wind? Where does it come from? Stronger this time, it drags at the powdery grime, sending billows across the floor, racing between the fires once more. The gust clears the uniform square stones set into the ground of their age of dirt.

As the dust settles, the fires recede, the silence becomes cloying. Exposed for the first time in memory, a glint of gold reflects the low firelight from the floor. Between the two metal braziers a circle is seen. A ring of gold, only a hand-span wide, but seven feet across, and within it lays an image made of black marble against grey. The sprawling limbs of a grandfather tree, reaching to embrace the twin swords crossed above its leafed canopy. Each majestic blade seemed too real to be a simple inlay of stone, details of the worn hilts and deadly edges vividly exposed.

At the heart of the tree, in the centre of its broad trunk lay another shape of gold. The symbol reacted, shifted shapes, becoming first one image and then another. It leapt through memories, locations, people, a lifetime. It reflected the mind of a man, a dancing symbol of his existence. The gold, held beloved at the heart of the tree, swirled in a rapid procession of pictures then became still.

The death of a man.

Flames leapt in their containment, straining against the magic that bound them. The gold symbol, no longer moving, seemed to fade and dull against the black tree. Together, the fires raged and snarled, tearing at the braziers. Their terrible movement reached a point, a singularity, a moment where you hold your breath and feel the universe remake itself, then the wind smashed through the hall once more.

Two fires rejoiced. Heavy metal bowls that sought to retain them were flung high into the air by the unstoppable force of the wind that bore through the abandoned room. Coals and charred wood were scattered across the floor, but the flames themselves, they collided together, high above the ground, above the symbol of a man's existence. The sound of their connection smashed against the columns and walls, and even the roof. The entire hall shuddered under the sudden, wicked burst of magic that swirled together and became one.

Light stretched through the room, faintly. Cobweb and dust and handfuls of stone cascaded to the floor, but the large gold circle remained clear of the wreckage, protected by the churning flames.

It was time.

The flames dropped to the ground. The very speed of its movement seemed to extinguish the fire, but the strange symbol flared to life upon its touch. Molten metal boiled in the floor, spewing bubbles and flecks of gold in a wide arc. A light shone from somewhere within that gold, a flower blooming, becoming too white, too unbearable to watch. The entire hall was illuminated. A wave of energy pulsed, expanding through the room, crashing over every stone, every carving, burning away the dust and dirt of centuries.

The burning, magic light dimmed from around the symbol, but the room remained lit by an undefined source. Every surface was gleaming grey marble. Cracks ran through the pillars, and the floor, all leading back to the centre of the tree. From that centre, the floor seemed to bow, bending upwards in a small curve. It grew taller, a knee-high hill, before the top peeled away.

A man rose from the ground. Spun gold hair wrapped into a complicated braid that fell over his shoulder. Hard features and a pale goatee beard framing his frowning mouth. Wide shoulders that strained as he leant against an upraised knee, tense and unmoving, the kneeling of a man unused to such submission.

Garbed in a heavy cream coloured coat pooling around him, the russet of his pants and a sheen of black chain mail draped across expansive chest were all simple fare, but certainly not plain. By wearing them, the clothes and mail became something exquisite.

"Where am I?" His pale eyes surveyed the room from under thick eyebrows. His body remained still and rigid, waiting for understanding to come.

the forgotten hall
the forgotten hall

"I have not forgotten it."

your hall
the forgotten hall

"My kingdom."

your hall
your kingdom
you're forgotten

"Why have I returned?"

you're forgotten

"Someone's here."

He lurched forward, reaching for the black swords laying in the floor. When his large hand rested over the hilt, a flash of light poured from the outline of the blades. They both came free instantly, dark, shining with a promise of death. Their length clattered against the marble before he grasped them with both hands. Turning as he rose, the thick fabric of his coat fanned out behind him, framing him with light before the dark stone.

With muscles taut throughout his body, and the polished black of mail and sword, the man waited, proud, arrogant.

"Show yourself. I am King Jonathon, and you are uninvited in my hall."




[OoC: Fun! May I introduce King Jonathon Siander, of the kingdom of Eladon. He is literally the king in my novel, but this is set several centuries later, long after everything in my story. Exciting! Yay! ]

[Fairlight Excalibur]

OoC: Sweeeeeeeet.... now I just need to decide if I am going to bend one of my sci-fi musclemen to fit this scenario (a la Rafael's presence in Oceansford) or invent someone entirely new to accomodate this. Expect reply within next two days.

Any way I can get my hands on your novel somewhere?


EDIT: Ummm.... four days. Sorry. Lots of hours this week.

[Saria Dragon of the Rain Wilds]

[OoC: *thumbsup* It's still a work in progress; we'll call it "2nd draft" at this point in time. XD If I reach my goal of having a good completed version later this year, I might let you be a pre-reader.

Looking forward to your reply!]

[Joker]

Among the many battles now presented before him, only one seduced his attention. It was a battle between two very promising gunjin warriors. One was a veteran who did not show their strength upon the field but rather let their legacy speak volumes to their name. The other was a new comer, a promising new shadow upon the field of darkened souls. The lord of vampires puffed heavily upon his pipe of mixed herb and blood as he commanded the orb of light to show him the battle at hand


OOC: I commend you traveler for drawing out the dragon lady from her cave…..

[Fairlight Excalibur]

OoC: When I began writing this section, I wanted to lay enough of a framework that my leading man could be better understood, yet my own habit of chasing literary rabbit trails was causing me to write a monstrously huge intro that is not truly needed in a simple duel topic. Furthermore, I realized that you had not bothered to do so, simply presenting your character and getting ready to clash steel together. However, since I had already written a prologue to the encounter, and also because a simple duel story can evolve into something else, I have posted it here for you to read if you desire; bear in mind that it has been shortened slightly, and also that I did not include a tremendous amount of detail in the later sections. I was growing tired of expending such effort on details that are not truly necessary. To get to the actual encounter, you may skip to the next post.

OoC 2: You are on my list, vampire.





For Sandra Lofgren, it was just another day at the office. She sat at her desk, little more than a cold metallic frame with a sheet of aluminum across the top and rollout drawers on the bottom. The barren, lifeless design of her desk matched the mechanical feel of all the other furniture in her cramped little workspace, including the bookcase in the corner and the coffee table in the center of the room. The two chairs next to the table looked cold and rigid, possibly the least comfortable objects to sit on ever invented. Everything about the room, from its bland white tile flooring and undecorated walls to its boring furniture and metallic gray ceiling helped to make a professional, yet incredibly dreary atmosphere for her to slave away in.

The only sound breaking the monotony of this lifeless chamber was her own fingers striking the keyboard in front of her. She typed the last few lines of an email transmission and tapped 'SEND' before taking a break, releasing a deep sigh as she leaned back in the soft leather chair she had brought from home. She ran her fingers down the length of her dark brown hair before rubbing her temples, trying to fend off the headache that was growing stronger by the minute.

She gazed absentmindedly out the window front of her. Sprawled out before her for as far as she could see was the rest of the military complex where she worked, a labyrinth of identical offices and endless cubicles, with interns and secretaries running everywhere and the occasional officer dashing to some meeting he had just remembered that he was already late for. This was Federation High Command, the central meeting place for the military and police forces of the United Federation of Free Planets. This was, by far, the largest military installation ever assembled, floating in a steady orbit just over Earth.

None of the noisy hustle and bustle from that frantic expanse reached her, however; she had the distinct honor, privilege, and responsibility of being General Cantelrig's personal secretary. Here, in her private, soundproof office, she could work in peace and not be disturbed by the commotion. Yet, sometimes she wished she could work out there with everyone else just to escape the sensation that she worked in a graveyard.

She rubbed her knuckles into her light blue eyes to fend off the sleepiness that was overtaking her, then looked at her brightly lit screen to see what else was on today's project list. As she scanned for the next uncompleted item, she was interrupted.

“Sandra! In my office!” the general's voice boomed. It was coming from the door on her right, the only other entrance to her office space. She rose quickly from her desk and scurried to the door, cranking down on the handle and throwing the lightweight door open. There, behind an equally boring albeit much larger desk was General Cantelrig, holding a manila envelope in his hand. He extended the package toward her as she walked in.

“This's for you,” he said without looking up, “and it could turn into a real mess if something isn't done quickly.”

He finally lifted his gray-haired head up from the computer screen where it had previously been occupied and focused his dark brown eyes on her. The swelling bags under his eyes indicated that he had not slept much, overworked as usual, and once again was neglecting his own well-being. The workaholic looked surprised at her appearance; she was wearing a vivid red dress with a black shawl draped over her shoulders, and high heeled shoes that clopped on the tile as she walked. The General lost his train of thought for a moment.

“Why are you dressed like that? There's no office party today.”

“Luis Cantelrig!” she scolded, ignoring his question, “did you ever go home last night?”

“That doesn't matter. I need you to look over this file. We could have a major problem on our hands,” he started as he motioned for her to take an uncomfortable metal seat in front of his desk, “and we need to act fast.”

Her disapproving look turned to curiosity as she took the envelope from him.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Kralatoes being idiots again,” he answered, “and this time they're right on our border. They've gathered around Kelma IV, a small, primitive world just outside Federation territory, and are insisting that they visited it three thousand years ago and have a rightful claim to it.”

“So what's the big deal?” Sandra wondered aloud.

“The big deal is that it's already inhabited. There's a primitive culture currently developing on the planet, and its fully settled already. The Kralatoes are claiming that they were there first and left a beacon behind so they could come back later and settle the planet. Now they're ticked cause there's humans there.”

“They're full of crap!” she exclaimed angrily, “they barely even had space travel three thousand years ago! There's no possible way they came all the way to Kelma in that time period.”

“Funny, isn't it? But it gets better. They're threatening to take the planet by force if the people there don't vacate.”

Sandra was flipping through the files in her hands, taking in bits of information while the General talked. That last bit on information struck a nerve.

“The people can't vacate! They don't even have airplanes yet, let alone space travel. That's like telling cavemen to get off their planet.

“They're not cavemen,” the general corrected, “they've advanced to a late medieval technology level at the very least and have modern forms of monarchist government. But you're right – they have no means of leaving their own planet.”

“Do the natives of this planet even know what's going on?” she asked.

“Not yet. Luckily, one of our ships got there first and prevented them from landing. Since the neutral zone is a no-fire zone, he stopped them by literally flying in their way. The captain of that ship is the one who asked the Kralatoes what they were doing so close to Federation territory, and then he sent us that report in your hand.”

“It's a neutral zone, so if they claim that they have sovereignty on the planet, it's between them and the current natives to sort it out; or blow everything up, if the Kralatoes handle it their way. Why do they even want the planet? It's awful far from their nearest planet.”

“Being between Federation and Convention territories, as well as being neutral and resource-rich, the planet could be made into a very lucrative trading post. The only reason no one has done so is the primitives that live there now.”

“So what are we gonna do about it?”

“We've already got an idea. Our researchers started digging through the archives and discovered that a Melchronian vessel reported passing by the same planet. Furthermore, the Melchronians insist that they also left a beacon there, and that their beacon has been there for the last thirty-four hundred years. If what they claim is accurate, then all we have to do is find their beacon. This will prove that the Kralatoes were not the first visitors and don't have any claim to the planet.”

“That's great, but this planet is still outside our jurisdiction and we can't send a team to retrieve the Melchronian beacon...” she started, but she was beginning to understand what the general wanted already. Soon, she would hear the magic words.

The General leaned forward in his seat, staring intently at Sandra. “The captain of that vessel asked for permission to look for the beacon to verify their claims, but the Kralatoes said that if he didn't bring it back, they were going to attack the planet because their property had been stolen.”

“Garbage,” she spit out, “if the beacon is there, they attack, and if it's not there, they say we took it and attack anyway.”

“Exactly,” the general said, “but I told the captain to accept their conditions. If they grant us the time to search for their beacon, it will buy us enough time to hopefully uncover the Melchronian beacon instead and disprove their claims. But since this is a neutral zone, we can't send a Federation landing team to hunt for the beacon...”

His next few words were very deliberate.

“Sandra, this has to get done.”

There they were. The code words that Sandra knew she would soon be hearing. It was time to bring Echo Squadron in on this.

“I understand, sir,” she said as she got up, “now you need to go get some sleep. You look dead.”

“When this is all done,” he assured her, “I definitely will.”

[Fairlight Excalibur]

“There you are... prepare for death.”

Zanfei Lenko held the can of RAID Insect Killer level with the cockroach and gave it a little shake before depressing the lever, showering a white cloud of poison all over the insect. The roach panicked as the mist settled around it, but rather than shriveling up and dying, it skittered away and dove for cover under Zanfei's food storage cabinet.

“Cursed insectoid parasite...”

Whether he was actually trying to communicate with the insect or merely rambling for his own amusement was unclear. The cabinet was anchored to the floor, so removing it to pursue his quarry was impossible. Zanfei stood up and read the label of the can once more:

RAID – KILLS BUGS DEAD. GUARANTEED.

“Worthless earthling merchandise...” he muttered as he tossed the can away. He would have to resume his hunt later; there was no catching it now. He wiped his hands across his black cargo pants as he stood up and made his way out of his kitchenette back towards the cockpit. His ship was a small, one-man vessel, a cramped living quarter not much larger than a small apartment. In contrast to Rafael's ship, this one was immaculately clean. Every book was put away, in alphabetical order, with letters facing the same way and pushed back an equal distance into the shelf. Every food item, every article of toiletry, and anything and everything that had a label was set in its proper place, always an equal distance from the nearest object, and always with labels facing out. His clothes were washed, ironed, pressed, starched, and hung up in his closet. Furthermore, they were organized by color and by length.

His steps made dull taps on the bare steel floor as he sat down in the cockpit once again, returning to the studies that his unwanted guest had interrupted. As he sank into the giant leather seat in front of his instrument panel, he stared through his own dark-haired reflection and out the glass, into the space beyond. It was a sea of stars, stretching on forever in all directions, billions of pinpoints of lights for as far as he could see. He often gazed out the glass for hours on end in a meditative trance, pondering his own existence and the expanse of the universe, reflecting on how small and insignificant he really was. Each galaxy that he beheld through his glass represented thousands upon thousands of stars; each star meant numerous planets; and each inhabited planet included millions upon millions of living souls; each soul had existed for a different amount of time, usually thousands of hours; all those hours multiplied into billions upon billions of seconds....

His endless looping train of thought finally crashed when the ship passed too close to an asteroid belt; the turbulence jarred him out of his meditative trance. He looked down casually at his instrument panel to verify that there was no damage, and noticed for the first time that his comchannel indicator was on. The faint green hue reflected off his light green eyes as his reached over and flicked on the switch.

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

Immediately, the comchannel hummed to life, and four other separate channels were opened.

“Hey guys,” Sandra's voice said from the speaker, “listen up.”

She proceeded to repeat, almost word-for-word, her entire conversation. The green light over her name blinked constantly to indicate that it was she who was talking.

“So,” she finished, “RAZOR, you are to go down to the planet's surface and locate the beacon, bring it back, and run it to the nearest Federation base to be used as evidence.”

There was only silence after her order.

“RAZOR?”

“I do not believe he can answer right now,” Zanfei told her, “as he has not answered any communications in the last three days.”

“What?!” she yelled through the intercom, “He's been gone for three days and you didn't report it?!”

“I have no orders to report such things,” he said simply.

“What about you, LEHAW? You should know better!”

“Don't gimme that, female,” Lexar's impossibly deep voice boomed through the comchannel, making his green indicator light go bonkers in the process. “I've been running mad with the last assignment you gave me for two days straight!”

“I suppose you have some fantastic excuse as well, CLICK?”

Klkstrd's green indicator light confirmed that he was listening, but he did not answer. An eerie silence hung in the air, almost as if he were daring her to question him.

“Alright,” she started, “new plan. One of you has to go down and retrieve the beacon instead. The other two, GO FIND YOUR MISSING SQUADMATE!”

“I wanna go down!” Lexar grunted, “I haven't had a planetfall in almost three weeks.”

“No,” she refused, “ZALEN will do it. Your appearance might frighten the inhabitants, and your personal dislike for the Kralatoes is a liability.”

“I can easi...” he started.

“BESIDES!” she interrupted, “this mission is strictly non-combat, political interests only. Zero body count.”

The very moment she said “zero body count,” the green indicator light over Klkstrd's channel turned to a deep red, indicating he had signed off. Both Zanfei and Lexar stared at their respective instrument panels as the red glow reflected off their eyes. The crimson hue had never bothered them before, but something about Klkstrd's obsession with killing was unnerving, and the blood-colored light that stared back up at them seemed to be an omen of his desires. The momentary silence hung thick in the air; the effect was bonechilling.

“Furthermore,” she continued, “I don't want any firearms on the planet surface. We can't take that risk.”

“WHAT?!” Lexar thundered, “No guns?! Forget it! I'm gonna go look for RAZOR.”

His light went red as well, leaving Zanfei and Sandra alone to discuss the matter at hand.

“Well that solves that problem,” she said smugly, “now go get that beacon. Avoid conflict, retrieve the item, and bring it back. Zero body count, if at all possible. The captain of the vessel that's already there said his scanners are picking up a signal inside an ancient ruin; that's gotta be our beacon. You shouldn't need firearms anyway.”

“I will retrieve the beacon intact,” Zanfei repeated, breaking the whole mission down to its simplest concept.

“Yeah... that sums it up. Also, I want you to go change into your old homeworld's clothing,” she ordered. “It may not match their current clothing trends exactly, but it's a heckuva lot closer to it than your uniform or standard casual wear.”

“Understood,” was all he said.

“Good luck, ZALEN,” she said with optimism.

“I will not need luck,” was his final pointed statement before he signed out.















A cold wind blew through the corridors of Jonathan Siandor's Kingdom Hall, carrying with it the chilling moisture that clung to the built up dust lining the hallways. The vaporous water hung from the cobwebs, dangling precariously from the worn ceilings and ancient carvings that decorated this former place of splendor. The mold and grime that had gathered during years of neglect spread slowly across the floor, threatening to eventually consume the palatial structure entirely underneath its surface.

The dirt and soil particles that lined the hallway showed evidence of the vacancy of the building, standing nearly half an inch above the floor and blanketing every possible surface with its dingy substance. The cooling breeze that blew freely throughout the corridor did nothing to dislodge the buildup, for the years of gathering and moistening the dirt had caused it to adhere to the floor, resisting the gentle tug of the planet's breath.

The soft brown leather of Zanfei Lenko's boots, however, dislodged the dirt easily as he carefully tread down the ancient corridor. The pile of gathered mineral debris swished into the air like a cloud as he passed, sticking to the baby blue fabric of his pants and tarnishing the extravagant outfit he had adorned for this escapade. His scarlet-colored tunic also served to spread the dirt through the air, hanging low enough to trail lightly along the ground both in front of and behind him. The occasional clanking of his spear-like weapon against the cement floor left a gouge in the blanket of dust as it occasionally connected with the ground.

Zanfei trailed his hand along the wall as he walked, causing the caked up dirt to well up on his fingertips as he felt the ornate carvings. He was trying to decipher any kind of meaning out of them, but so far his success had been quite limited. Indeed, he was beginning to think that these carvings may simply be for aesthetics and served no actual communication purpose.

However, he knew full well that there was an item for such a purpose. The beacon that had been placed here was giving a faint signal still, though its battery was certainly close to shutting down. Zanfei studied the handheld computer screen closely as he zeroed in on the location of the device. The dim light of his computer screen indicated that the beacon was still far, but he was definitely getting closer. Two or three more chambers to explore and obstacles to navigate around was all that kept him from the prize he sought.

He had thus far already traveled twelve minutes into the dilapidated facility, passing underneath the grand arches that lined its entrance and marching past the endless rows of stone coloumns that guarded its decaying walls. With the dim lighting afforded by the ambient sunrays and reflections, he had moved very slowly for the first few minutes until his eyes adjusted. Now that he was accustomed to the poorly illumined passages, he moved with more urgency. He was getting close.

His own endeavors kept him completely occupied, and the nearness of his target prevented him from noticing the grand reappearance of King Siandor occurring only fifty feet away. By the time he realized that he was in the vicinity of another living being, he had nearly walked right out into the open room. As the hallway reached an end and flared out into a massive chamber, Zanfei stopped short of entering it and instead darted behind a pillar as the majestically-dressed man in the center of the room collected his bearings.

Wonderful, Zanfei thought to himself, I was not expecting this.

He was also not expecting the other man to call out to him.

“Show yourself. I am King Jonathon, and you are uninvited in my hall.”

Zanfei immediately did so, confidently striding out from behind the column and towards the regal figure. His actions had nothing to do with King Jonathon's order. Having already been detected, Zanfei merely saw no point in remaining hidden. His swift steps remained unbroken, and if his course was not altered, he would plod directly past the displeased king and continue deeper into the building.

“I require no invitation,” he stated as he walked. He was no longer making eye contact with Jonathon, and seemed intent on passing him as though the king were insignificant. Zanfei's statement was a direct contradiction of said king's feelings on the matter.

“Who are you?” the king persisted, certainly not about to let a man dressed in foreign clothes simply blow past him in his own residence.

“A traveler,” was the only reply Zanfei offered. Unless the man actually attacked him, Zanfei really did have better things to do; he would not give King Jonathon the time of day unless absolutely necessary.

King Jonathon, on the other hand, was opposed to this concept of allowing anonymous intruders to traipse around in his private hall and do as they please. Though a battle of swords and spear had not yet erupted, the battle of personalities was about to rage full on.











OoC: I believe Zanfei's intentions and thought patterns are made perfectly clear, so you may take the dialogue (and inevitable conflict) from here. Points to note, in an easy to use Will & Will Not format:

Zanfei will keep progressing towards his target unless physically obstructed.
Zanfei will provide answers that are on topic and truthful, yet very vague.

Zanfei will not divulge the details of his mission unless he believes that to be the only means of accomplishing it.
Zanfei will not, under any circumstances except his own impending death, abort his mission.
Zanfei will not tolerate a delay for more than three minutes before he attempts to force his way past.



In the words of Ooga Booga, “Have a fun!”

[Galefore]

Aaaaand this is officially on my "things to watch" list.

I would try to make that statement in the badass way that ol' Joker typically does, but I think we'll leave the all-seeing vampire king vibe to him.

[Vapor]

ZOMG ITS ESSDEE

THIS IS GONNA BE AWESOME

^WHAT GALEFORE SAID

[Saria Dragon of the Rain Wilds]

OoC: YOU GUYS ARE GOING TO GIVE ME STAGE FRIGHT. Oh ho ho.



Very nice, Traveller. Very nice. I'll try and get something together ASAP. Wheeeee~

[Fairlight Excalibur]

I feel guilty now; did I drag an old lady out of retirement?

^Nice? HAHAHAHahahaha... yeah. No. The first three quarters were hastily thrown together to accomodate the plot; the only real writing was done after Z actually entered the hall.

Nonetheless I hope everyone finds it entertaining.