A lone wanderer walks into a town

[Teenr0cker]

You are waaaaaaaaaay far back in my history book. I have low standards, unlike Jera, who is too fucking cool to care to introduce me to The Wrong Way plotline cause of some reason I don't know. I might get up to date and add you in if there is some major happening on the forums/ MIRC

[Glenn47]

Easy! Just go back in time to when Teen first joined these forums, and I found him stoopy. Those were indeed good times.

[EmperorJeramyu]

If you'll notice, I'm not adding anyone from here to Wrong Way. Only keeping the original cast.

[Teenr0cker]

If you'll notice, I'm not adding anyone from here to Wrong Way. Only keeping the original cast.

Jera, I know you aren't. I don't know why not, but I have read your post that says that you wont and accepted it as a given.

[Takarious]

Don't worry Teen, me and you will write our own... Hmmm, naw actually screw you. You're on your own. I'll "collaborate" with Reaper instead.

[iamtheverb]

If you'll notice, I'm not adding anyone from here to Wrong Way. Only keeping the original cast.

yeah, I consider myself lucky to have made the cut, even if I never do anything.

[Greatchickenman]

Darn

[Teenr0cker]

If you'll notice, I'm not adding anyone from here to Wrong Way. Only keeping the original cast.

yeah, I consider myself lucky to have made the cut, even if I never do anything.

I think it is your status as "?" that makes you a valuable asset to this community

[EmperorJeramyu]

Well, he is _the_ Verb, after all.

[Teenr0cker]

Another Update!!!

Right now, I don't care about structure and stuff as much as Bill would. Just read and stuff.

The grenade made a dull clacking noise as it hit the ground. It rolled towards Impossible a bit before coming to a halt. Several quiet moments passed with nothing happening at all. A few tumbleweeds would have rolled through the scene by now had the Tumbleweed Shack not been obliterated by the Fluorine explosion a minute ago. Somebody in the crowd exclaimed “Hey, a penny!” and the shots of Mac10’s rang through the air as a few “donation enforcers” from the society of Gummy Bears confiscated the money in the name of the “mystery clear” flavor clan.

Impossible returned to his assumed neutral form, his hair still aflame as always, and picked the grenade up. He examined it, muttering, “a Jam Bomb, eh?” with a grin. “WHAT’S THAT YOU SAID, BITCH?!? WERE YOU TALKING TO ME?!?” the adversary yelled in a hoarse voice to Impossible. “Nothing, you stupid, GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKER!!!!” Impossible yelled as he activated the timing mechanism and hurled the topicbook towards the figure. He then set into a throwing stance and shifted into some sort of Cannon. The badass kind that looks all-technical and has all sorts of wiring, pistons, levers, pipes, and gauges that look really unnecessary and shiny.

With a large “Clack”, the Impossible cannon loaded the grenade and the shock absorption support legs on the side shot out and fastened into the ground. The powerful hum of a fine-tuned weapon charging up swiftly increased in frequency as the mechanism reached full capacity. And if one were able to get close enough to the Impossible cannon, they would find a small display panel and it would read “Target Locked. Time Remaining Until Firing: Three seconds.” Further examination would show that time was still decreasing. And a moment before the counter went down to zero, the target, still standing in the same place, hissed a “Yessss!!!” as he caught the book without sustaining any injury. It was at the very next instant that the panel changed to “Have A Nice Day!” and the Impossible cannon fired. A loud, sound-barrier-breaking crack, followed by an impressive explosion that would be described as the equivalent of a Mexican fireworks stand going off: bright, flashy, loud, people would see spots for years to come, seizures would be had, and somebody most likely lost an ear or something.

The figure’s cloak had disintegrated, exposing the true identity of Impossible’s assailant. He seemed like any other wanderer: average build, random assortments of body armor, no actual facial features. Teen blinked and rubbed his eyes, hoping the sun was just playing tricks on his eyes. But he really didn’t have a face! “Glenn. What the fuck is wrong with his face???” Teen desperately asked, voice uncertain and wavering. “Oh yeah, you haven’t met him, have you? That’s Excel. Him and Impossible have ever-changing in appearance. Only with him, it’s varies upon how people think about him.” Teen stroked his chin for a moment, wondering why Excel wasn’t in any particular form when he realized that perhaps there were too many opinions to display.

It was at this time that a blare of trumpets sounded and a heavenly cloud approached the airspace swiftly. Teen could only guess that it was somebody of extreme importance or great wealth as the cloud descended towards the ground. The puffy cloud was a mere foot above the ground before the upper portion disintegrated, revealing none other than a very ticked off Jeramyu. The crowd gasped in shock as they recognized that the newcomer, whose face was black, clothes tattered, and head was deprived of any adornments, including his circlet and his hair. Based on the mouth expressions Teen saw (the eyebrows were gone completely), Jera was far from pleased.

“I should have known it was you two again,” Jera said, eye twitching. “But I kept the nuclear explosives to a minimum this time! How did you know we were here?” a dumbfounded Excel asked. Jera stood there, an expression of forced and painful peacefulness, trying to stop the twitches for a moment more. “When somebody launches a grenade at supersonic speeds and proceeds to begin a chain reaction involving the various packets of C4 the targeted section has on him, you tend to hear something remotely close to loud,” Jera rapidly spoke, pouring the words out in a pained, but still respectable, manner. Teen didn’t think the noise was so great as to summon Jera from wherever he lived, but then he thought of why Jera was singed. But then Teen knew: Jera was on a cloud overhead, napping or something, and got caught in the blast. “If you two are going to fight, do it with Private Messages,” Jera said, snapping his thumb and index finger, making a man in a blue cap, blue pants, blue jacket, blue shirt, and blue tie with a brown delivery bag and two mailboxes appear on the ground. The blue man then picked up the two mailboxes, walked up to Impossible, jammed a mailbox into a post and then the ground, and proceeded to do the same with Excel.

With that, Jera jumped back on his cloud, now a thundercloud, and flew off to destroy some little village to vent his anger. “What are they doing now?” Teen asked, eyeing the two. They began taking turns writing on a scroll of parchment, sealing it, placing it in their mailbox, and raise the little red flag on the side. Then the blue person would lower the flag, take out the scroll, and walk over to the person for a few strides. A dozen feet before the blue person would get to the other person, he would always hurl the parchment towards it’s intended recipient and would then run the other way in a frenzied dash. Then the receiver would open the scroll, causing them to burst into flame for a moment. The receiver would then repeat this process after shaking the ashes off.

“They’ll be like this for awhile, you know,” Glenn said, putting his arm on Teen’s shoulder. “I like you,” Glenn started. “Uh…I don’t find your personality insulting either,” Teen replied cautiously, glancing at the katana Glenn still had at his side. “Well the, that’s a good enough excuse for me! Let’s go score! Or get hammered! Yeah…not any chicks around here,” Glenn exclaimed, grinning almost too much at Teen. Fearing for his health, and intent upon keeping his blood in his body for now, Teen agreed.

That evening was a whirlwind of events Teen found very disturbing. Between the several cloaked figures (who should have been shifty and quiet) who were often loud and drunk, the obvious lack of sanitation in the ale, male cocktail waitresses, the desecrated outhouse (and that’s pretty hard to desanctify), and the drinking contest, which Teen lost after one shot, the night could have been enjoyable if Teen had any clue what was going on.

Teen stumbled out of the bar and made his way towards the town, the twin lanterns guiding him from the bar that sat on the edge of a cliff. As he finally entered through the gates, he saw a shadow less inkier than the inky depths of the unlit common ground dart quickly from one area to another. Teen focused on the spot for a second, uncrossing his eyes. Shrugging, Teen continued staggering towards the Estrana building, busting into song, singing “Irish Blessing” at the top of his non-Irish lungs. As he stepped on the porch, the light from the room cast out upon the area in front of him. Teen noticed that a pair of tracks lay there. Whoever they were, they had been pacing in front of the building for quite some time. Teen guessed, assuming the worst, that he had become another target (was he wearing cursed armor or something???). Teen proceeded into the building and gathered his notes. It then hit him that sleeping in his very-combustible tent would pose a threat to his life, so Teen decided to hole up in a chair for the night.

The next morning Teen felt like shit. As he got up he felt woozy for just a moment before running to get a bag and expelling some of his foodstuffs into the bag. After Teen was done, he examined the bag and found that it belonged to Excel, reading the name on the front. Teen dropped the soggy bag and went back over to the chair to grab his belongings. It was then that he saw the scroll atop his bag that he wished he had a bomb squad to diffuse it before he read it. Teen winced in anticipation and broke the seal…nothing. With a sigh of relief, Teen read the letter. “ Porter has assigned me to follow you on your journey. Remember, always go East. Porter urges you to hurry. –Strayed Wanderer. P.S.: If you ever try to ditch me like last night, I’ll fucking cut you myself.” With an expression of panic, fear, dismay, confusion, and paranoia all mixed into one little ball of emotion, Teen quickly glanced all over the room, looking for anyone who might be this Strayed. Finding nobody, Teen grabbed his bag and began to stuff his belongings into it. He noticed that there was another note, a small sack of gold, and a small, thin box with a button on it. The note explained that the gold was to be considered a business expense, meaning money for food and such, and the button should be pushed three times if he was in his darkest of hours. And with that, Teen left the town, heading to the East.

It seemed very convenient that the day seemed to stretch on forever, allowing Teen a great time to keep moving by daylight. He traveled the vast grassy plains, passed through several caves and underground passages to finally pass the mountains and soon got to the desert. It was not before long that he reached the shore that the sun had set. He decided to set up camp in a nearby oasis and caught himself a dinner of two large fish. While he was roasting the fish on a stick, a loud “THWACK!” informed him that his travel buddy had set off the trap Teen put up a little before. Teen got up and found the limp body of Strayed, in a pair of baggy, black sweatpants and sweatshirt. Between him and Glenn, he looked more like a ninja than Glenn did, but what did Teen know about ninjas anyway?

Removing the cinderblock he had conveniently found lying right by, Teen dragged Strayed over to the fire and propped him up. After a while Strayed came to and looked up to see Teen sitting directly across from him, staring into his eyes. “Why are you following me? Why should I be going East? Who wrote ‘Giant Steps’? What quest am I doing?” Teen asked, not stopping in between questions. “I told you I’m here for protection, East is the direction of which the new crown can be found, John Coltrane, and you’re supposed to get said crown and return it to Jeramyu,” Strayed replied, matching Teen’s speed in his grainy voice. “Oh….want a fish?” Teen asked, disappointed that he didn’t get to use another rock to see how long it would take for him to talk.

As Teen and Strayed ate, Strayed explained that Teen had been a little too…unfriendly the previous night. This caused much distrust for the many residents who had so far learnt of Teen. Apparently Teen had hit on a girl…THE girl in a bar, while he was extremely drunk. This would normally mean being banished after the tar and feathering, but since the person was nice, and a friend of Jera’s, she settled for Teen doing a quest. Apparently both of the Captains had been given a symbol of some power. Jera’s was a crown. No crown meant Jera couldn’t exercise as much power as he normally could. That was bad. So Teen had drunkenly agreed to get a new crown. Then he proceeded to pass out on the floor in a puddle of his…..nobody was quite sure what it was…

Just as Teen was about to ask whom the other captain was, he turned to where Strayed was and saw that he was gone. He also saw that the fish bones were arranged to say “Fuck you, you suck! LOL.” With a confused and perplexed look on his face, Teen decided now was a good time to go to sleep.

(Really Now…..I gotta sleep)

[Impossible]

That was actually pretty good (and the desperate use of synonyms for "said" isn't disgustingly blatant), except for two things:

Bogan is one of the most retarded words ever. Edit that, you fucker.
And you forgot to mention that Excell is one of the least likeable people on earth, and an absolute asshole.

Really, I can't stand those people that take pleasure in being an asshole. There are people I know just like that at school, and they're also absolute morons - so it's probably safe to assume they're clones of Excell in a younger form, as the evil emperor of tables and graphs himself is cloned constantly to spread his wrath in TAKING OVER THE WORLD! And when that evil Excell is done, the entire planet will be suffering in his fuckholeness!

Wow, that was... strange...

[Teenr0cker]

That was actually pretty good (and the desperate use of synonyms for "said" isn't disgustingly blatant), except for two things:

Bogan is one of the most retarded words ever. Edit that, you fucker.
And you forgot to mention that Excell is one of the least likeable people on earth, and an absolute asshole.

Really, I can't stand those people that take pleasure in being an asshole. There are people I know just like that at school, and they're also absolute morons - so it's probably safe to assume they're clones of Excell in a younger form, as the evil emperor of tables and graphs himself is cloned constantly to spread his wrath in TAKING OVER THE WORLD! And when that evil Excell is done, the entire planet will be suffering in his fuckholeness!

Wow, that was... strange...

Im so pleased you saw that. I put that in just for you. And apparently Jam bombs are what WWI Australians called grenades. They were actually jars from jam with rocks and explodies stuff in them.

You see what you look like when you blatently spell out how they seem to you? You gotta do it so well, so grammatically correct, so punction-perfectly that no matter who they are, there's a good chance they won't leave this topic feeling smug. Hell, for all you know, I could be setting you all up to look like assholes to eachother, but I'll try not to. Remember, this is a subjective point of view; It will seem sort of biased.


And don't worry. A giant foot or something will smash him eventually.

[Impossible]

Remember, this is a subjective point of view; It will seem sort of biased.

Exactly. That's what I'm saying. It needs to be biased against Excell.

[Teenr0cker]

And if you have read the RpgMk2k topic on page 9, you'll see I am already pissed with Excel. So thank god for subjectivity!

[OverlordBill]

It's so entirely random. You need more line breaks. And cohesion.