HoRP Avatar Chapter 1: Land of Confusion

[:Inbred Chocobo]

The day was growing weary, its sun finally heading for rest. Its last beams caressing the town as its source sinks away. The sky burned red, casting everything in its fire. This small town known as HoRP glowed with this light.

At least, that is how IC would describe the site of the sunset as he sat upon the watchtower near the edge of town. He desperately needed to hire some more guards so he could stop having to take some of this duty. He was stuck in this place till midnight, and the fact was nothing was going on. His gaze crossed over the town, sheer boredom causing him to change his field of vision for a little bit.

The town had grown since they found it. Its ghost-town qualities have long since gone, and the fact remains that its a great spot to come now. Despite the name, its clear the gaming section in town is the clear reason people come. The town really hadn't grown that big, and quite a few people here came to get away from the city for a while rather than to find residence, but still activity was going and people still loved to be here.

So IC remained watched, listening in for those outside and those in, taking in the local activity. Becaused damn watch duty was boring.

((OOC: Okay, basically your in town doing whatever you normally do. Make up places and whatnot if you want, no one will stop ya.))

[Lord Nichael™, The Occasionally Present]

Khael leaned back against the old bricks of the HoRP casino, listening to Big Mac strum out Bryan Adams' "Heaven" on his guitar. A passerby dropped a couple quarters into the collection bag. Business had been slow. And it was already nearing twilight... Damn. they probably had only enough for one dinner tonight.

Taking out a green pencil and some thick textured paper, Khael began sketching quickly by what light there still was. Be damned if he was going to sleep hungry. An image of a loaf of bread quickly took shape and popped out of the paper. Too bad he couldn't get a proper sandwich to translate...

[:Big Mac]

Big Mac looked down and saw his bag was nearly empty. “Ach!” he cursed silently. “Why does this town go to a casino run by the g'damn mafia. Th' bloody lunkheads ought to fight. Back home, when one tyranny came along, we didn't sit on our arse's an' be trampled. We raised our guns and swords and fought back.”

Khael shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say. The Mafia has it's claws in everything. Even the girl guide cookie sales are under Mob Rule. And dammit, I like them cookies.”

Big Mac let out a sigh. “Lets go. I know a place where we can get some money. Its a block from home. Th' bartender wants me to play there.”

“Let's go then,” spoke Khael standing up and grabbing the satchel of coins.

[:Wizardcat]

Anyone who studied the habits of HoRP's furred moderator would know where to find him at this particular time. For without fail, he would stand in the same spot and do the same thing at this time of the day. The who, when, what, where were all evident, but nobody really knew why this behavior was so consistent. Some gossip suggested that it was a ritual of some kind. It didn't matter to the individual in question.

A figure stood atop the highest building, robes billowing in the wind, looking upon the flaming star. It fell, giving the moon and its darkness the opportunity to combat the bleeding light of the sun. An epic battle that was waged eternally, the figured reflected. Every day, in both nature and in humans, the two forces clashed. But now, was special. Now, as the two struggled, another power stood, cool and calculating, observing its cousins' battle. Twilight. The time, his time, was now. At this time, he felt the familiar power within him, both outside and inside his magic.

He raised a paw to eye level and shimmering sparkles danced above it, sometimes navy or purple, sometimes orange or grey, sometimes other hues in between the previous ones. They shone a sort of dark light, but being neither dark nor light. He clenched the paw and the magic sparked around it and through it. Suddenly, the figure jerked, whiskers visibly twitching. Violet eyes narrowed and tail twitched in surprise as their owners registered a moment of anxiety whose source remained veiled. The cat mage looked warily down upon the darkening town for any possible source.

Seeing none, but still certain that something wasn't quite right, the feline decided to watch for it. He edged over into a shadowy section upon the rooftop and drew an unusual purple stick from a hidden pocket. A paw was waved and a strange glowing hole in the air formed. Wizardcat reached into it and pulled out a crossbow. The portal faded as he glanced towards the watchtower near the edge of the town where the profile of Inbred Chocobo was located. The avian was head of the barely existent military force, he knew, and was a tornado in battle.

The furred and feathered beings were formidable, to be sure. They were surely capable of preventing anything that could happen, Wizzle assured himself as he settled down to wait. So why did he feel so certain something bad was going to happen?

[deathpigeon]

"Deathpigeon Motel!! 50% off for the dead!! Buy a room now for the coziest night ever!!"

Deathpigeon couldn't help but smile at the newest motel in the franchise. "Yellow fits, doesn't it?" he says aimlessly to no one in particular.

He walked into the building where he was greeted politely by some dead guy who had always loved to work at a motel in life. He dismissed him with a wave of his hand and retreated to his office. His Chief Marketing Officer of this division.

"Why is the sign yellow? I thought I told you to make it black! Yellow doesn't fit this town at all! This is..."

Deathpigeon cut him off with a short nod "You are dismissed, sir."

He sat in his chair and sighed. "Another long day of work and I think I'm going to need to pull another all nighter."

[:Demetrius]

Demetrius leaned back in his heavy leather chair, today had been a good day. Not a day of the mad activity of the city, but of the smooth flows he loved. That was the reason he had decided to come here in the first place.

Back then it had just been him and Khael, all the others had deserted this place, leaving it ripe for development and molding. In the beginning things had been hard, they had barely turned a profit and no one knew of the House. They had managed to get by though, and now they were free to do as they chose. Demetrius' eyes wandered to the empty office across from his, and he sighed sadly.

His friend had turned his back on the larger picture and now traveled with the rest down at street level. The choice had been his though, and Demetrius would respect it. Many others had clambered for rank, a few finding places. He had been glad to let others become invested in the place they now helped run. Still, something disturbed the even flow as twilight rose, giving a slight pause to his musing. Something would have to be done soon. Demetrius' jaw flexed in displeasure, nothing would harm this town if he could help it.

Demetrius rose slowly from his chair, the new moonlight washing in through the large plate windows of his office, and drew himself a beer from his personal bar. He had never seen the need to affect scotch as others had, at heart he still loved the simple pleasures. As full night rose he stood watching out over the town he had come to love.

[Fungrus]

Fungrus reclined on the best HoRP park had to offer, a park bench. He nursed his aching leg muscles, they still burnt from overstimulation. Still walking onto a pedestrian crossing and lying down, then waiting to see the reactions of drivers was pretty darn funny. Even if it meant running for your life when they gave up honking their horns and decided to get violent.

A chill settled into Fungrus' bones. If he didn't find somewhere warm to sleep tonight, he'd definatley have a cold in the morning. As he got up to search for a bed, the wind started to blow in his face. The wind must be changing, that's funny, but I doubt it'll be the kind of funny that I like.

[Loki™, The Occasionally Present]

On a rough side road on the outskirts of town existed a dump, a large fenced in property containing the junk and refuse of a fairly small town. For such a small town, there was a lot of junk, things that no longer functioned, or functioned correctly, or even functioned at one point. The damaged, the destroyed, the unwanted.

The perfect place for a wanderer to exist.

But this was not a temporary dealing. This man, of young appearance quickly grew fond of this location. His previous place of inhabitance being one he considered on par with The First Circle, a place where boredom would be considered an exciting alternative to the norm. This town was different by far, most of it's inhabitants being far more interesting then any Wisconsinite could ever be.

Rather then living a life of transience, one on the border of law and lawlessness, this man approached the then-leader of the town, and made his wish known; that his desire was to take residence within the confines of the 'Dump'. He made it known that he had no objection to the location continuing to be used for that purpose, and offered, at no cost, to maintain the location. The then-leader of the town , seeing an opportunity that was too good to be true, accepted.

Upon the land, the young man fabricated a large garage-like building, large enough for a multitude of vehicles and contraptions. Large enough to get the attention of some of the inhabitants of the town, even large enough to start rumors.

On this day we find the property well cared for. The once disorganize pile of refuse was sorted and stored. The pile remained the same size, regardless of what the town brought our young friend. In fact, some began to think that the pile grew smaller.

Within the building we find the young man toiling away on some sort of contraption, a group of concerned children standing near-by.

"It's broke, isn't it?" One of the youngsters inquired.

"Why, if it wasn't, what would we be doing here, eh?" the Young Man responded with a smirk, "Yes it's broke, but..." returning from a tool box with an odd looking box with wires attached to it, "...I don't think it's too broke to fix!"

"Hurry up! We have to have it ready for the tournament!" one rather impatient kid shouted.

The young man snorted while applying the leads. "Of course... thats why it broke you know. If you didn't use it for days on end, it wouldn't overheated and blown open this," he held up some blackened electronic bit, "...this...ah, no matter." He tossed the small burnt piece into a pile in the corner of the garage. "Luckily I have a replacement."

After a few minutes, the young man turned the the group holding the Video Game system.

"There you go, good as new and 6 weeks faster then the manufacturer!"

"Cool! Thanks Loki!"

Before he could respond, the group grabbed the game and bolted out the door, laughing and carrying on, and accidentally knocked over the sign near the garage door as they went.

*Loki, The Go-To Guy*

One wouldn't normally post such a sign, unless they were quite proud. This young man only kept it as it was a gift from some previous "Customer", who had a problem he needed the young man to solve. Leaning it back against the door,

Loki smiled to himself, then turned to yet another pile of junk.

"Well, back to work!"

[Zilla]

The man had apparently just sat down when Zilla enterred.

"Ah! Miss... Garcia?" he said tentatively, reading from his schedule. "You seem to be a little early..."

"Oh?" Zilla responded, a black gloved hand quickly but nonchalantly slipping toward her concealed .22 "I guess I AM a little early, but perhaps you are late?"

"I'm afraid I don..." was all he could manage before the silenced bullet silenced him.

"As in, 'the late Julian Antonio?'" Zilla explained to the dead man.

She exited the room with a brisk walk that carried her to the supply closet where the real Miss Garcia lay sleeping, dosed with chloroform. Zilla returned her articles and dusted her with gunshot residue, then put her a more incriminating pose, before leaving under her second favorite guise.

Nobody had even batted an eye as she walked out, and she headed to the alleyway to collect her BMX. They might not even discover the body until she got home.

[Jalathas]

Red light flashed off of metal as Jalathas, in a trace-like state, spun his sword once more through his newest forms. He'd picked them while sparring with an odd man in a color-shifting cloak who'd passed through town about a week ago. The River Undercuts the Bank flows into The Falling Leaf, shifts to The Creeper Embraces the Oak, snaps to The Kingfisher Takes a Silverback... He heard a noise behind him and a snaking stream of fire rushed from a suddenly outflung hand. He glanced at the figure, and stopped his attack just in time. The tip of the tendril of flames hung in the air only a few inches from the face of a rotund, balding man in an apron. A large bag of refuse fell from the stunned man's hands. The fire dissipated as Jalathas hurriedly sheathed his sword and fell into a deep bow.

"My sincerest apologies," he said, taking in his location as his mind refocused on reality. The alleyway behind the inn wasn't wide, but there had been room enough to move, so he'd taken to practicing there in the evenings. "I tend to be a bit... on edge when I'm practicing. It won't happen again."

"Oh, uh, no, it's quite all right. It's no problem at all, really..." The innkeeper babbled on for a few more seconds, then rushed back inside, leaving his trash forgotten on the pavement. Jalathas looked at it for a moment, then pointed his finger at the sack of garbage.

How did I do that again? A weave of fire here, with air to support it... yes, that seems right... The tendril of flame once more shot from his hand, incinerating the refuse into a small pile of ash. He smiled. The man with the cloak had been accompanying a woman with an oddly ageless-looking face. He'd learned this trick from her, though she'd been unable to show him the weaves. She'd explained how it was done, and he'd been able to figure it out from there. Now, let's see, where was I? he thought, unsheathing his blade. Oh, right, Low Wind Rising leads into Wind and Rain, followed by Tower of Morning, shifting to The Courtier Taps his Fan...

This post has been edited by Jalathas on Feb 25 2008, 06:24 AM