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Horror Discovered log, Sun Tzu, and ponies. [Backdated 2/12-2/13. Action, Open]
A black figure paced pensively along Everglade's river line. Like most nights, it was cold, foggy, and sinister. Ted was lost in his thoughts. "Again," he said to himself, "I've to kill the thing again. I thought for sure Arro and I had slain the last of them. But then, you know what they say about assuming..."
He'd nearly considered inviting Arro along for another battle. But he's not fond of the city, for one. And who can blame him? For another, Ted prefers working alone. Not because he's supremely confident, of course. He thinks he's weak as water. But he doesn't want people other than him getting hurt. That's the point of this work, isn't it? Besides, his uniform is very ugly. Better no one see it.
He'd prefer to see his target sometime soon, however. It didn't surprise to hear that the monster was sighted somewhere in the river itself: that watery lane dividing the (mostly) living from the dead. That is where the sewers emptied out. But it's a large river, difficult for his vision to pierce. So he walks on the bank, extending one black thread into the depths in the hopes his enemy might cross paths. It was pleasingly empty; Everglade was a fearful populace even when there weren't any foes about. Doubly so when the presence of a squid monster were widely known. Not a bad walk; he's left to his thoughts in solitude. A large tentacle, dashing from the depths, broke the silence, beginning the fight in earnest.
In a flash he's grappled, then dragged into the water. A gasp, then a dunk as he's plunged in surprise. It attacked all at once; a sharp beak, a crushing grasp, and bludgeoning tentacles. It was as though it were personal; like this brute beast remembered the one who had slain its children. Pure shock at losing the initiative rendered Ted vulnerable to its assault, struggling in an unfamiliar environment against the blows and bites. He could hardly see, left to strike erratically against something with keener instincts.
Nothing for it. Threads darted from below his form, piercing the squid monster's soft flesh at random. But it wasn't for that he loosed them; any opening, no matter how small, was enough for him to traverse out of its bindings and into a less compromised position. The squid was left grasping at nothing, while a black silhouette of a man drew a phase pistol, then fired bolts of searing green energy. Would it work in water?
Apparently, judging from the spray of blood from the accompanying wounds. It made to grab and constrict again; Ted hacked at the tentacles, ready for the second attempt. Lines of hoarfrost marked his cuts as two tentacles separated from the source. Still, it had him again, and squeezed all the harder for the more dangerous threat it now knew.
Ted grimaced under the pressure, then slipped out the exact same way. By now he's adapted to the rudimentary tactics of the creature, lancing its body with more threads. The squid was losing, and knew it, and so blew a blast of ink in Ted's direction before jetting away to fight another day. But however blinded Ted was by the ink spray, the thread held fast, ferrying him right along with his enemy, connected by a thin black tether. The life-fiber spread along the beast's hide, covering more and more of its surface. Now that it was in retreat, it's form compacted into something more streamlined.
Perfect. That meant that Ted could finally absorb and cover the creature utterly. Jet black consumed the thing, wrapping it in threads. Once the work complete, Ted leapt out of the water, creature in tow, and began to attack. It was like beating something in a sack. The 'sack' in question was a mass of life-fibers, wrapping the giant squid in an ebony cocoon. Ted had no need to be direct; the space between his suit and the covering was immediate. He went to work with his blade, piercing and slashing with freakish rapidity until the thing were nothing more than cloven, frozen chunks.
Almost poetic; the fight both began an ended in the exact same way as the one before. But did it feel the same?
No, not quite. The air was more open; brisk and wide and bracing. And now he had the feeling that this would be the last time he felled this particular foe. And how could he forget the lack of stench? The clear clean odor which clung to him in victory? Why not be happy? Why not, for once, be cheerful in the city of gloom?
"Take that, spawn of evil!" Ted cried into the night air. "Never again will your ranks befoul this city! Learn forever the darkness and death you crave; I give it to the wicked freely!"
But then, didn't he look a little black and tentacled himself? Ah, well, he still felt victorious. Time to call it a night.
***
A. The Art of War, what is it good for?
Ted didn't feel quite right from last night's ventures, so he's gone to the Genessia City Park for a reprieve. And what better way to soothe oneself from the stress of violence and death than a book about the best way to deliver mass violence and death?
So the madman sits comfortably on a bench overlooking the pond with Sun Tzu's The Art of War in his hands; a gift from the Moon fairy he's finally getting around to reading. A surprisingly short book; he'd finish in an afternoon easily. Every so often he gets to pondering, out loud, its contents.
"All war is deception? Every one? Goodness, even the war in heaven? The White Rider seemed straightforward enough. Then again, the same is said of swordplay: conceal your intention, and find victory thereby. At this rate, Gengar might make a better warlord than I. God knows he's deceptive enough..."
B. Pokemon playing ponies
Speaking of Gengar the ghost, he and Trevenant the tree were taking a rest of their own, settled on a blanket beside the pond. Even battle-hardened pokemon deserve a chance to goof off every now and then, right?
They were surrounded by five brightly-colored pony toys, with life-like horsehair for their manes and tails. Gengar had eagerly requested these toys once Ted won them off a newspaper contest. The grinning ghost liked them for less than wholesome reasons.
The first thing he'd done is rip one of the tails off, revealing a hole in the toy's rear. He dipped it in the pond, filled it to the brim, then began his demented drama. He held it high in the air, then splashed its contents about, making squeals of terror.
(Ahhh! My anus is leaking!) Drops flew on Trevenant who merrily played along, innocently ignorant to Gengar's toilet humor. He then shook the rest onto the heads of the other ponies.
(Oh no my butt juice is getting all over your faces! Oops! Talk about horse-$#!%!)
What a blessing it is to be Ted, absorbed and oblivious to all the awful ways they're playing...
He'd nearly considered inviting Arro along for another battle. But he's not fond of the city, for one. And who can blame him? For another, Ted prefers working alone. Not because he's supremely confident, of course. He thinks he's weak as water. But he doesn't want people other than him getting hurt. That's the point of this work, isn't it? Besides, his uniform is very ugly. Better no one see it.
He'd prefer to see his target sometime soon, however. It didn't surprise to hear that the monster was sighted somewhere in the river itself: that watery lane dividing the (mostly) living from the dead. That is where the sewers emptied out. But it's a large river, difficult for his vision to pierce. So he walks on the bank, extending one black thread into the depths in the hopes his enemy might cross paths. It was pleasingly empty; Everglade was a fearful populace even when there weren't any foes about. Doubly so when the presence of a squid monster were widely known. Not a bad walk; he's left to his thoughts in solitude. A large tentacle, dashing from the depths, broke the silence, beginning the fight in earnest.
In a flash he's grappled, then dragged into the water. A gasp, then a dunk as he's plunged in surprise. It attacked all at once; a sharp beak, a crushing grasp, and bludgeoning tentacles. It was as though it were personal; like this brute beast remembered the one who had slain its children. Pure shock at losing the initiative rendered Ted vulnerable to its assault, struggling in an unfamiliar environment against the blows and bites. He could hardly see, left to strike erratically against something with keener instincts.
Nothing for it. Threads darted from below his form, piercing the squid monster's soft flesh at random. But it wasn't for that he loosed them; any opening, no matter how small, was enough for him to traverse out of its bindings and into a less compromised position. The squid was left grasping at nothing, while a black silhouette of a man drew a phase pistol, then fired bolts of searing green energy. Would it work in water?
Apparently, judging from the spray of blood from the accompanying wounds. It made to grab and constrict again; Ted hacked at the tentacles, ready for the second attempt. Lines of hoarfrost marked his cuts as two tentacles separated from the source. Still, it had him again, and squeezed all the harder for the more dangerous threat it now knew.
Ted grimaced under the pressure, then slipped out the exact same way. By now he's adapted to the rudimentary tactics of the creature, lancing its body with more threads. The squid was losing, and knew it, and so blew a blast of ink in Ted's direction before jetting away to fight another day. But however blinded Ted was by the ink spray, the thread held fast, ferrying him right along with his enemy, connected by a thin black tether. The life-fiber spread along the beast's hide, covering more and more of its surface. Now that it was in retreat, it's form compacted into something more streamlined.
Perfect. That meant that Ted could finally absorb and cover the creature utterly. Jet black consumed the thing, wrapping it in threads. Once the work complete, Ted leapt out of the water, creature in tow, and began to attack. It was like beating something in a sack. The 'sack' in question was a mass of life-fibers, wrapping the giant squid in an ebony cocoon. Ted had no need to be direct; the space between his suit and the covering was immediate. He went to work with his blade, piercing and slashing with freakish rapidity until the thing were nothing more than cloven, frozen chunks.
Almost poetic; the fight both began an ended in the exact same way as the one before. But did it feel the same?
No, not quite. The air was more open; brisk and wide and bracing. And now he had the feeling that this would be the last time he felled this particular foe. And how could he forget the lack of stench? The clear clean odor which clung to him in victory? Why not be happy? Why not, for once, be cheerful in the city of gloom?
"Take that, spawn of evil!" Ted cried into the night air. "Never again will your ranks befoul this city! Learn forever the darkness and death you crave; I give it to the wicked freely!"
But then, didn't he look a little black and tentacled himself? Ah, well, he still felt victorious. Time to call it a night.
***
A. The Art of War, what is it good for?
Ted didn't feel quite right from last night's ventures, so he's gone to the Genessia City Park for a reprieve. And what better way to soothe oneself from the stress of violence and death than a book about the best way to deliver mass violence and death?
So the madman sits comfortably on a bench overlooking the pond with Sun Tzu's The Art of War in his hands; a gift from the Moon fairy he's finally getting around to reading. A surprisingly short book; he'd finish in an afternoon easily. Every so often he gets to pondering, out loud, its contents.
"All war is deception? Every one? Goodness, even the war in heaven? The White Rider seemed straightforward enough. Then again, the same is said of swordplay: conceal your intention, and find victory thereby. At this rate, Gengar might make a better warlord than I. God knows he's deceptive enough..."
B. Pokemon playing ponies
Speaking of Gengar the ghost, he and Trevenant the tree were taking a rest of their own, settled on a blanket beside the pond. Even battle-hardened pokemon deserve a chance to goof off every now and then, right?
They were surrounded by five brightly-colored pony toys, with life-like horsehair for their manes and tails. Gengar had eagerly requested these toys once Ted won them off a newspaper contest. The grinning ghost liked them for less than wholesome reasons.
The first thing he'd done is rip one of the tails off, revealing a hole in the toy's rear. He dipped it in the pond, filled it to the brim, then began his demented drama. He held it high in the air, then splashed its contents about, making squeals of terror.
(Ahhh! My anus is leaking!) Drops flew on Trevenant who merrily played along, innocently ignorant to Gengar's toilet humor. He then shook the rest onto the heads of the other ponies.
(Oh no my butt juice is getting all over your faces! Oops! Talk about horse-$#!%!)
What a blessing it is to be Ted, absorbed and oblivious to all the awful ways they're playing...