In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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There aren't enough praises in the world I'd like to give to wonderful coders for the Proboards community. The following have contributed to World Destiny in some way: W3 Schools for countless how-tos and countless of other souls who have helped get WD up to where it is.
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((Changed the title to fit the thread, OBVIOUSLY.))
Wredolfus Shertinski scowled at his glass of rum. While a bar was not the last place he’d rather be—quite the latter, it was the first—it was the fact that he was in a completely different world that really dragged his anchor, or whatever nautical expression meant “made him unhappy”. He still had no idea how he had let that bilgerat convince him to stow away on that vessel of witchery. Flying through the air, it was devil’s work, he’d stake his life on it, until the Caribbean was nothing more than specks in a sea of blue, then a sea of black.
At least the ride had been exhilarating.
And the rum was finally easing his nerves.
He didn’t like this place. People walked around in queer outfits, and some of them weren’t even human! They looked like oversized ducks that spoke as though they were no different than the man in front of them. Wred wondered the magic behind their movements and the witches what gave them life. Ducks weren’t supposed to talk English. They were supposed to quack!
An argument was creeping up behind the pirate but Wred wasn’t paying attention, too busy he was trying to figure out how to escape this wretched world, but the voices were growing louder, and more obnoxious.
“Ahoy, there!” Wred shouted, spinning in his seat. The argument quelled as the group at the table turned in his direction. “Belay that quarrelin’, I’m tryin’ t’drink, ‘ere!”
He turned back around, grumbling a bit about courtesy and how it was becoming a lost art and returned to his drink. Unfortunately, he had only taken a deep quaff before the volume had risen past its original level, amplified by the sudden scraping of chair legs on the floor.
Wred frowned. He’d have to get another drink soon. Trying to flag the barwench’s attention, he felt a rather large object slam against his backside, and Wred snapped. Standing to his full height—which wasn’t that tall, though it did help that his grizzled appearance gave him an extra foot or two in looming powers—Wred turned and socked the man who had bumped into him across the face.
“Arr, matey, don’t be pickin’ a fight wot ye can’t win, aye?” Wred said as the man fell like a sack of potatoes, then turned his attention to the rest of the group, his knuckles cracking as he formed his Fightin’ Fists. If it was a brawl they wanted Wred was happy to oblige; a good bar fight did just as much soothing as a bottle of grog. He hoped they all wouldn’t go down so easily, otherwise the grizzled pirate would be sorely disappointed.
Apr 17, 2010 16:54:09 GMT -4
Last Edit: May 1, 2010 16:28:19 GMT -4 by Bluebird
He had been initially lured to the building by the scent of things edible, though the decision was clearly becoming something more than he had bargained for. The moment the words vanished and someone threw a chair, Rhask's feathered head shot up, watching the unfolding chaos. Scuffles over territory he was familiar enough with; he could understand nothing that was said, but a fight was a fight. If it was over territory or items, he would have to get out of the way or get included. Since there was food here, or what smelled like food, it severely narrowed down what the source could be in his mind. His species was known for food aggression.
He gave a series of chirped barks in return, crouching lower to indicate to the fighters that he was not here to take their food. Naturally, other translations of the dinosaur's actions could exist - giving a warcry and crouching low to prepare to attack, for instance.
Throwing himself into the mounting turmoil, Wred allowed his fists to act as his negotiators as he sought to bring peace to this fine establishment. He fancied himself standing on top of a pile of unconscious men while the barwench clung to him, begging him to take her. Of course, that had nothing to do with the alcohol he had consumed. Nothing at all.
A few of the fighters noticed that the drunken pirate was making quite an impression in their quarreling, and so decided to join forces to quell his persuasive argumentation. Wred could handle one man, two on a good day—three or four gave him a bit more trouble.
He found himself stumbling backwards, then falling as he tripped over someone else who had fallen. He stood in a daze, looking to kick the man who had tripped him up, but hesitated at the sight of what could only be described as a frightening monster. Oversized ducks he could handle, but this blasphemy of nature was something else entirely. This was not something that could be dealt with by fists alone.
Withdrawing his flintlock, Wred aimed the gun at the creature’s head and pulled the trigger. The mainspring was activated, the hammer was released, the flint ignited, and pfft!
No flame.
“Sink me!” Wred shouted, and did the first thing that came to his mind: he ran.
Apr 17, 2010 17:39:36 GMT -4
Last Edit: Apr 17, 2010 17:40:10 GMT -4 by Bluebird
While Rhask may not have weapons himself, his people had come up with some, and he had been around humans long enough to know what guns looked like well enough. It had been aimed directly at him.
Clearly, he was already involved.
Rhask screeched belatedly; flinching down. Had the gun fired, it would have dealt grievous damage, or killed him instantly; luckily for the Hwess, it did not. The intent was clear, however. This man had tried to attack him, and failed.
Instantly the dinosaur chirped once, then took off after, without thinking twice about it. All he knew was that he had been attacked by something that was running off. Humans ran relatively slow; even though Troodons had, over evolution, sacrificed some speed, they still could run for long distances at a humans' maximum brief sprint speed; and any burst of speed over that would quickly overtake any human runner.
Such was the case that the pirate was about to learn, as the opponent he picked wasn't about to simply let the challenge slide.
If there were ever a time for Wred’s limp to act up, this would have to be the one. Of course, it couldn’t be a time when his limp came at no disadvantage, or perhaps at a benefit, such as allowing him disability privileges when on a job. No, it had to be when Wred’s life was on the line, and the only thing that mattered was speed and agility.
Even with the limp, however, the pirate tore through the bar as quick as he could, grabbing patrons involved in the brawl or not and pulling them behind him and into the path of that monstrosity. He had abandoned his flintlock the moment he had started running; the thing was useless, and if he survived this night, perhaps he could retrieve it later. It was no good to him as dead weight.
The pirate dared not chance a glance back, opting instead for blind hope that the creature had chosen one of the person-turned-obstacle Wred had shoved in his path in favor of himself. Such hope was fleeting, however, as he felt twin daggers plunge into his backside, tearing his flesh and ripping him open. Wred screamed as he fell to the ground, and through pain that threatened to render him incapacitated, rolled on his back to face his foe and fight back.
His sword came freely out of its scabbard—quite a feat considering the angle and paralyzing pain—and Wred stabbed upwards, hoping to catch the beast with a mortal blow.
Rhask was still used to how tough his own kind was; the flesh of these people was so delicate that it easily shredded. He overestimated the amount of force it would take to deliver a warning blow. That attack was returned in full, and the creature screamed in pain, leaping back and falling to the ground, struggling to his feet. He'd had worse injuries; even though this was a deep wound in his side, it hadn't hit anything vital. Pain blinded him for a moment.
The dinosaur bellowed defiance, that cry turning into a deep, angry hiss as he slowly rose to his feet, circling with a visible limp. That blow had hit home, and Rhask could not take another like it. He'd not be so careless to forget that fights among these people were not like fights among his own people again.
Three times Rhask cried in challenge, waiting for a reply, circling warily, ready to leap back or slash out at any point in time.
His sword connected, miraculously. Wred thanked the gods for his fortune.
He scrambled to his feet as blood and pain flowed from the gouges in his back, dampened only by his shirt and the alcohol he had consumed before the initial fight broke out.
The creature was stalking him, crying out in hideous noises that pained the ears and terrified the heart. Wred looked around himself—for aid, or an escape. There was neither. The bar was deathly quiet; everyone had frozen in their position to watch Wred in what he knew to be his final moments. No one offered assistance, but the pirate didn’t blame them; he wouldn’t have offered assistance either.
The pirate chuckled at fate, his laughs growing louder and louder until they echoed in the silent bar. Wred had survived his life this long—too long with the way his luck had run. The grizzled man had always figured he was on borrowed time, and today was a day to die just like any other.
“Haharr harr harr! Luck favors th’ sop what dies this day, aye? Yew cowardly cur, allow me th’courtesy o’ takin’ ye back t’Hell where you belong!” he yelled, and with his sword flashing, Wred closed the distance between himself and the Devil’s Blasphemy.
Apr 17, 2010 19:25:00 GMT -4
Last Edit: Apr 17, 2010 21:13:29 GMT -4 by Bluebird
It was about that time that Tifa came downstairs to the sound of a fight. Quickly, she took a running jump over the bar and landed right by......
The pirate and the dinosaur?
It took her about ten seconds to register that a feathered dinosaur was in an obvious fight with a pirate who looked straight from the Caribbean in her bar. It took about fifteen to sigh, walk over, and grab the pirate's weapon straight from his hand, throwing it behind the bar.
She smiled sweetly. "Please, if you're going to fight? Do so outside." She could take them both under each arm in a matter of seconds. Pirates were easy, and dinosaurs, while not the EASIEST of opponents to pin by any means, were not too uncommon on some worlds, so she had experience.
Initially, Rhask growled deeply, edging away from the person who interfered. Soon, though, some semblance of reason overtook pure adrenaline. He understood just enough - fight, outside, do, you - to back down, dipping his head low in acquiescence with a soft chirp. This was an Authority Figure; her scent matched that of the bar, and she had clearly placed herself as a ruling factor. Do your fight outside.
After he'd made it clear to the one in charge that he heard, he lifted his head and warbled to his opponent, pausing now and then to pant heavily, to reissue that challenge. He did not wait for a reply before limping painfully out of the bar, but he did glance back to see if the other followed. If he had any courage and pride, he would, and they could finish this. Fights that continued after first blood were often to the death, and they had both already sustained significant injuries. But Rhask was not afraid; he carried himself with dignity. This person's back was weak; Rhask's was not. He could still win.
“You treacherous swine!” Wred screeched as his sword flew out of his hands and across the bar. This wench was aiming to get him killed! Without a weapon or means of defense Wred took a step back, ready to dodge the inevitable strike at an anchor’s drop.
But then something unexpected happened: the monster backed down and limped his egress outside. Devil burn him, but it was queer.
Wred stood dumbfounded, looking from the monster to the barwench to the patrons of the bar. Most were giving an expectant look.
“I ain’t be killin’ meself fer yer pleasure,” Wred said in defiance, his knuckles tightening in the event someone challenged him. As far as the pirate knew, his life had been spared—thank the gods—and the last thing he was going to do was put it back on the line.
“Fetch me a bottle o’ rum, if’n ye please,” Wred said to the barwench. “Me back aches somethin’ terrible.”
Tifa breathed an inward sigh of relief as the dinosaur exited. Not many were intelligent- she had been prepared to fight this one if it didn't understand her. "Quando!" She called to the Qu standing behind the bar. "Get the hospital on the line. Tell them there's a sentient injured outside the bar. They probably want to bring a telepath if one is available."
The crowd settled and slowly got back to their drinks as Tifa made her way back to the bar. She got a bottle of rum from a few years back (solid, but not the richest) and set it in front of the seafarer with a glass of ice.
"So. Would you like to tell me how this whole thing started?"
Rhask waited, standing as tall as he could, for a time. It did not seem that the human was following him; after a while, he turned his attention to his wound.
He had not brought anything with him, as he was not one to carry items along. No healing potion or mixture; he'd have to do his best without. While inspecting his side, craning his neck around, now and then he'd glance around warily. There was no telling what he'd encounter, and he was in no condition now to fight. It did not at all mean that he would not try if he needed to.
As time passed more, the boost of energy given by adrenaline began to subside, and he backed further out of sight, into some alley between buildings near the place he had just left. There was still a fairly visible trail left behind, but at least here he was more difficult to get to.
And here, he waited.
((Will be here, but until there's any interaction outside of the bar, please feel free to skip.))
"Aye, me fair dame," Wred said as he took a swig straight from the bottle. He didn't trust his hands to pour the glass, pained and shaking as they were from the prior events.
"That thar group o'er yonder got themselves inter a tiff," he said, motioning to the table he had yelled at earlier. The men there had settled down with their drinks and were quietly conversing. Wred scowled at them, forcing one or two of them looking his way to turn their heads. "Th' next thing I knows I'm defendin' me life against that queer beast, afore ye intervened."
Wred tried at this point to pour himself a glass but his hands were still shaking far too much. He took another swig from the bottle, letting the warm rum lay a blanket over his restless nerves. By Poseidon's beard, did that feel good.
His eyes roved the bar, curious at the way everyone had settled down, and ended on the wench. He gave her a good long look, though it was not one of promiscuity. She was too intriguing, and there would be time for lewdness later. What kind of damsel would intervene in such a brawl, settling the monster's ire and ordering him outside as though he were a mere lapdog, unless she were…
Witch.
Wred suppressed the light chuckle with a swig of rum. He would have to be wary of this one.
"I thankee fer savin' me life," he said, knowing that with these words he acknowledged that he owed this woman something. The pirate did not like making deals with the Devil when he could not help it, but this agent had trapped him into a right fair mess. Shiver me timbers.
"Although, may I ask ye wot kinda place 'ave I found meself in, wot houses monsters ready t'feast on poor unwittin' souls?"
Tifa had spent a fair amount of time in the Caribbean. She liked the fashions there, and there were many small corners in which a swordsman could hide. One thing she never really got accustomed to, though, was the gender inequality. To be fair, though- not many people treated her like a damsel in distress for long before she corrected them.
She took the bottle from where he'd put it and poured it into the glass for him. He was obviously the superstitious type, to assume that the dinosaur was a soul-eating monster. She smiled broadly. She loved doing the lingo.
"Feast on souls? By me affidavit, I'd expect that one to feast on naught but meat and fish! And ye've made it to the Frosted Flame! A safe port for anyone, be they man or beast. So long as ye don't cause harm here, yer under my protection."
It was true, too. If that dino decided to come back later with some munny, she'd feed it the same as anyone else. She'd hosted predators alongside prey, each toasting the other's health. This bar was her life, and she'd do anything in her power to protect it.
"Haharr harr harr! And a right fair port it be!" Wred guffawed. While this unexpected involvement with the Devil was something he was none too pleased by, he could not deny the fact that he liked this witch's spirit and the way she held herself.
"Ye've nought t' worry 'bout this old sea cow. I'll return yer affidavi wit' one o' me own that ye'll see no trouble from me in this 'ere fine establishment. To the Frosted Flame!" he said, raising his glass to drink and finishing it just as quick.
The alcohol was doing quite a job on his resolution, he was vaguely aware, just as he was with the flesh wounds on his back. His adrenaline was no longer keeping the pain at bay; he had almost forgotten them completely. As such, the pirate was feeling rather tired, and he folded his arms to lay his head on the bar. The blood from his wounds still flowed, though it had slowed considerably; his shirt was soaked, and the color blended in fantastically. He sighed. A few more drinks and he'd be able to shut off the pain.
