Random Stories and Fragments

KillerClowns said:

Finally got a chance to return to this thread, having weathered an apocalyptic onslaught of Discrete Mathematics... post Euclid's method, and I might go into shellshock.
@Kol.7: Thread subscribed.
Anyways, where was I before reality's rude interruption?

Spoiler :

Ozziel looked at the remains of the Profane, contemplating what punishment awaited those found guilty of murdering one. "I hate to state the obvious, but we need to get out of town. Something tells me the next Balor won't be quite as easily distracted. Good news is, I've got a plan. All we have to do is reach the docks. I've got a boat waiting. Bad news is..." Vranton finished. "That means we have to go through the Port District."

The Port District was inarguably the worst part of Galveholm. Aside from a larger-than-usual number of smugglers, slavers, cutpurses, cutthroats, and other unsavory characters, Galveholm's Port District boasted a worrying number of soul-hungry succubi, typically posing as prostitutes but not above assaulting their victims, chaos marauders wandering the dark alleys, and mobius witches eager to test their magic on vagrants. To finish off the vile mixture, the most violent of Galveholm's cults made their home here. They'd yet to become part of the Ashen Veil, mostly because they had no fear of or respect for any law but that given by their demonic lords. Asha drew her sword. "There will be bloodshed before this is over," she said.

They had only walked a few blocks in before Asha's prediction came true. Dusk had settled, and the worst of Galveholm's unpleasant residents were starting to become more ambitious. They tried to stay in the Port District's main roads, but this was difficult, and often, what passed for a main road was merely a wider alley. It was not long before a small gang spotted them. A few appeared in front of them. “Gold, and bodies for Mr. Skull.. Get 'em.” Vranton turned, and, not to his surprise, another squad behind them. “Didn't think you'd be getting away that easily?” They were trapped, and Ozziel didn't seem like a warrior. Asha drew her sword, but it seemed unlikely she could protect both sides. One of the gang's more eager men charged... and fell apart. Some dark figure had, moving with inhuman speed, simply sliced him in half, neatly separating his upper and lower body. His brethren stared. “Dare you challenge the mighty Ozziel?” Ozziel bellowed, waving his hands dramatically. “The next man who steps forward will suffer an even more horrific fate!”

Quietly, Vranton asked, “you're bluffing, aren't you?” Ozziel nodded. “Of course. I have no idea what the hell did that.” The eldest of the gang, presumably its leader, laughed. “A mage. This'll be fun!” Fire hurled from the thug's fingers, charging straight at Ozziel... before suddenly hissing out. The mage then exploded violently, covering his brethren in hot blood.

Vranton looked around, trying to identify the true source of the mystical mayhem protecting them. For a brief moment, he spotted a vague figured wrapped in a cloak blacker than the night itself, peering down at him. He could make little out, other than that it was clearly not human. Try though he might, Vranton simply could not bring himself to look upon long without his eyes wandering away.

Ozziel was putting on his best show, and the gang was dispersing. “Get Mr. Skull!” one screamed. Several more were slain in various horrific ways; one's skeleton seemed to take on a life of its own and tore itself out of its owners body before turning on the rest of the gang. Another was frozen into a solid block of ice, lifted up, and then dashed onto the pavement. A third began to simply melt like a candle. But a few escaped. “Yikes,” Ozziel muttered. “Our guardian angel has a sick sense of humor...”

It was not long before they were again stopped. A thin old man, covered in skulls. “You're in Ratbone territory, mage” he said. His accent was Amurite, and suggested noble lineage, although in appearance he was nothing but a bone-obsessed beggar. “You have dared to challenge us, and you shall pay.” The mage pulled out a scroll and began chanting. A series of runes appeared below him. Ozziel stared. “With a name like that I'd assume necromancer... but that looks like... law magic?”

A squad of glowing figures appeared, ancient warriors from times past. “In the name of Law, and of the One, I challenge you to a duel. We may fight, as equals, or my servants will tear you limb from limb.” Ozziel ignored the offer, asking, “how in the Hells did a law mage end up here?” “That is not your concern,” Mr. Skull declared. “Do you accept my challenge?”

And from the rooftops, a voice said, “yes.”

Mr. Skull looked up, and then stared. “I... I... withdraw my request... I... submit.” “Not accepted.” The figure landed catlike in front of Mr. Skull. “ I grant you the first move,” it said politely. Mr. Skull staggered backwards, before attempting a particularly awesome bolt of flame. His opponent was unscathed. The stranger yawned and, with a wave of his hand, lifted Mr. Skull bodily, flipped him so his head pointed towards the ground, and smashed him down with absurd force.

“Who... are you?” “A friend. Fear not, none shall bother you on your way home.” The figure then added something in Balseraph, then vanished. Seeing questioning glances, Ozziel said, “It's hard to translate. A Balseraph saying, of sorts. 'You shall never fear boredom again.' Equally appropriate for earning a beautiful woman or being sent to a horrific dungeon... anything that will change your life, for better or for worse...”

“Really,” Vranton's savior thought to himself. “Do they think all this was an accident?” Of course, things were going perfectly. There was a saying, after all... if you want a Balseraph to open a box, you have to let them steal it first.

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