Elfen High 2 (OOC 5, Closed)

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Tinjuku is probably the name I'll go with for this world.

Totally not because it's Old Japanese for "India".

Don't ask me why or how I know what the Old Japanese term for India is.

I assume curiosity.

No, actually, I learned it from a guy I met on the train today. He was also insane and a total anime freak who would give me the weirdest facts about Japan, because otakus have finally arrived in India.

No, I did not know nor care that Japan is the largest user of Amazon rain forest timber. Yet that guy did.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

My (mind's) ears:

My actual mind:

It's still one page on my word doc!

Yeah, I noticed it wasn't that long.

I assume you didn't space it or something though. I have some here, they're much smaller, and yet they're still worth one page of two columns. .

@Nightkill:

[Individuality-ness]

It's still one page on my word doc!

Yeah, I noticed it wasn't that long.

I assume you didn't space it or something though. I have some here, they're much smaller, and yet they're still worth one page of two columns. .

@Nightkill:

I don't use columns on mine. If I say it's one page, it's one page.

That being said, that doesn't mean I didn't make the margins .5 in x .5 in .

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Yeah, I noticed it wasn't that long.

I assume you didn't space it or something though. I have some here, they're much smaller, and yet they're still worth one page of two columns. .

@Nightkill:

I don't use columns on mine. If I say it's one page, it's one page.

That being said, that doesn't mean I didn't make the margins .5 in x .5 in .

I personally think it doesn't really matter. It's on word and it's just for convenience. .

[Individuality-ness]

I don't use columns on mine. If I say it's one page, it's one page.

That being said, that doesn't mean I didn't make the margins .5 in x .5 in .

I personally think it doesn't really matter. It's on word and it's just for convenience. .

Exactly!

[Zarkenis Ultima]

I personally think it doesn't really matter. It's on word and it's just for convenience. .

Exactly!

[Individuality-ness]

Exactly!

*clacks on keyboard are heard as the writer tries to find the best way to express agreement, eventually deciding to use a smiley*

[Zarkenis Ultima]

*clacks on keyboard are heard as the writer tries to find the best way to express agreement, eventually deciding to use a smiley*

Lol.

"Hm... How do I agree... -Hits 3 keys- there."

[Hardened Pyrokinetics]

Just throwing in my own contribution to the "comfort Ivy" scene.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Just throwing in my own contribution to the "comfort Ivy" scene.

That was nice. -Nod-

[Olthar]

Just throwing in my own contribution to the "comfort Ivy" scene.

And finally someone actually says something comforting.

[Ende]

So I think Azazel is boring.

So I think maybe I can fix that.

"Az," a demon whore called, sticking her horned head out of the tent, "come on. Come here, youngling. I need to tell you...tonight is time you became a demon."

Az stopped wrestling with his brother, arms mid-chokehold. He looked up for a moment, and then his eyes brightened, his face lighting up with excitement.

"Tonight is the time?" he said breathlessly, rubbing sweat off his brow, straightening as tall as he could be. He could hardly believe it - it was time? Time for the demonhood ritual? Time for him to rise to become his father's heir?

His thoughts were interrupted by an enthusiastic smack on the back from his younger brother, who grinned widely with a toothy grin.

"Yer nearly aeighty seasons old, Az. Eht's about time." grunted Marduk, ruffling through Azazel's hair. Azazel frowned slightly, pulling his brother's clingy hand out of his hair, and then he smiled slightly. Marduk was always a bit dull - thicker than most demons, to be honest, he'd probably end up as a minor heir - but he was a good friend. Half-brother, of course. His father was a minor demon lord - ruled over a small fiefdom in the northern edge of Hell. His harem was over fifty succubi, incubi, and other various whores - not exactly grand, but impressive nonetheless.

His mother nodded, and she continued. It was odd - she seemed rather grim, actually. Generally, his mother was amiable - well, no, honestly, she was mostly just flirtatious, dimwitted, and shallow, but for a whore, that was amiable enough. There was a sad look on her face, as if she knew something that he didn't. Az didn't like that.

"The ceremony is tonight, Az, but..."

She looked around somewhat nervously, staring up at Hell's red suns.

"You do know that your father has another heir, correct? Another demonling, born under the same moon?"

"Grumling?" asked Az, seeming slightly confused. "Grumling was born hours after I was. I am my father's heir. I do not see how Grumling has anything to do with my accession."

His mother turned away.

"When two heirs are born on the same day, under the light of the same moon...there can only be one chief. You know that."

Az shrugged.

"Grumling left the tribe years ago to fend for himself, along with his hump-backed bitch of a mother and his idiot brothers. His birth is of no concern to me."

"Grumling rode in today to claim his rightful inheritance." his mother said dejectedly, her shoulders slumping. "He has grown strong. Your father has decreed that you and he will duel to the death for the inheritance. I...I fear for your life, Az."

She tossed a pack of supplies out from the skin tent. It hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, contents spilling on the ground.

"I...I think you should run. Better to live an outcast than to die." she said sadly, looking down at the ground.

Azazel spat in her face, kicking her roughly in the stomach.

"You think I would run, you craven bitch? I am Azazel, son of Legion the Bloody. I run for no demon! I will meet Grumling tonight and split his pathetic mewling head from his body. Do not come to me with your pathetic plans."

His mother wiped the spit from her face, and then turned away, retreating back towards the tent.

"I do not wish to see one of my own die, but so be it."

Azazel shrugged. Marduk grinned his half-wit grin, but it fell from his face quickly.

"Grumlin' was a strongun." Mar muttered to himself, scratching himself with a stick. "Always was crackin' me over the head and stealin' my food. I hate him. Take his stupid 'ead off 'is neck for me, Az."

Azazel nodded.

"We're done wrestling today, Mar. Go and play with the other children."

Grunting in displeasure, Marduk turned and loped away. Az stretched, and then walked to his own tent. It was small - but the fact that he had his own tent and did not share it with the rest of his father's bastards and his half-brothers was something he held pride in. Closing his eyes, he laid on his back, waiting for night to fall. He needed to rest. To be honest, in the back of his mind, he was a bit worried. Grumlin had always been a strong bastard. But he was ugly and stupid. Sleep came quickly, and he rested.

Nightfall came quickly - the searing heat of the day vanished, the freezing cold of the night enveloping it in moments, darkness devouring the sun. Azazel opened his eyes to the sound of a thud - raucous cheering following it. Sticking his head out of his tent, he looked at what the clamour was about. In the middle of the village, there stood an enormous demon, standing nearly ten feet in height, a bloody cleaver in his hand, and a headless straw mannikin stood in front of him. Several other demons stood around him, laughing and pointing at the headless mannikin...and then at his tent. The giant looked over at his head, sticking out of the tent, and then the giant grinned a fanged smile.

Azazel's blood ran cold.

Grumlin.

He was a giant now. When he left, he wasn't a giant. He was just another demon. Suddenly, his father strode out of his tent, dust billowing in his wake. His father stood at nearly eight feet high, his stained longsword strapped to his side. He wore a fine cloak of flayed skin - the bodies of his enemies. Looking over at Azazel's tent, he barked at the boy.

"It is time for you to become a demon. Come forth from your tent." he spat harshly, words dripping with poison. Scrambling to his feet, Azazel burst from the tent, standing as tall as he could. He was...half the height of Grumkin, if he was lucky. His father looked over at Grumkin, and then back at him.

"Both of you know why you are here and what you must do this day. A kingdom cannot have two heirs. Both of you were born under the same moon and the same stars. One of you will provide a feast for the scavengers. The other will become my heir."

Grumkin smiled, clenching his meaty fists, and he pounded his chest and roared. Azazel attempted to do the same, but it was a pathetic facsimile of his half-brother's display. Legion shook his head, and sighed.

"The duel will be without weapons. You will fight with your own strength."

The blood drained from Azazel's heart. Weaponless? He was a master with a dagger, proficient with the sword, but his own body fell short...and Grumkin was a beast. Fear flooding his mind, he nodded weakly, and then stepped forward. Legion nodded in approval. A priest stepped forward and started chanting, sprinkling ashes and dust on the ground - the traditional rituals for a blood duel - and then Legion pushed past him.

"I believe we do not need to go through all these tedious procedures tonight." he said, interrupting the protesting priest. "The gods have heard them enough. Begin." he finished, pointing at Grumkin.

Grumkin charged, and Azazel braced himself for the oncoming clash. With an earth-shattering crash, Grumkin rammed into Azazel, their horns entangling. Grumkin swung a meaty arm at Az, and it smashed into him, sending Az sprawling to the ground. In the background, he could hear the rest of his father's warriors jeering at him. Rising quickly to his feet, he swung a fist at Grumkin. The giant caught it, and then with a horrific sound, he swung his other arm at Azazel's caught arm, hitting it and cracking the bone in two in a single stroke. Azazel howled, and Grumkin let the broken arm go, watching in amusement as Azazel stumbled around.

"Weak." he grunted, and then he swung another fist at Azazel. In an instant, Az deftly dodged away, spinning away from the stroke. Grunting again, Grumkin threw more punches. The one blessing which fate allowed Azazel was that Grumkin was slow and dull - his swings, despite having incredible force behind them, were predictable. Az stepped backwards, retreating, clutching his arm, hearing the laughter of his father's warriors. His eyes wide, his mind raced to find some sort of solution. He would never win this battle through strength. He would die here, his blood spilled on the ground of his father's lands, his life ended before he could even become a demon.

Suddenly, before he knew what was happening, he found himself pressed to the ground under Grumkin, his meaty hands around Az's throat. Az choked for air, but Grumkin was too strong. He could feel the air escaping from his lungs, the blood pounding in his ears, the red in the corners of his vision - he was going to die - the air - it was going - it was gone - there was no air - he was strangling

"No." he thought, and then, suddenly, he jammed the fingers of his broken arm into Grumkin's eye sockets. He had horribly ugly eyes - the eyes of a brute - red and unfeeling - and suddenly, they were blood-filled holes. Azazel felt his fingers sink deeply into his half-brother's skull, his fingers dripping with his brother's blood, and Grumkin let go of his throat.

In an instant, Azazel drove his fangs into Grumkin's exposed throat, shoving his broken fingers further into the demon's ruined eyes, ripping at the tender cords of his throat, with an unparalleled ferocity he had never felt before. He could hear warriors cheering in the background - Grumkin's mother screaming - Marduk's cry of glee - and then he drove his hand into the chest of his half-brother, directly where his heart was - and ripped it out, sinews snapping and veins popping and blood spurting everywhere - and then he stood, shoving Grumkin's limp body off him, leaving the bastard to convulse and drown in his own blood, his death rattle faintly audible in Azazel's ears.

Azazel lifted Grumkin's still beating heart over his head and roared, basking in the cheers of the other demon warriors and the harsh laughter of his father. He laughed, throwing back his head, catching droplets of blood in his mouth. He was a demon now. He was his father's heir. It was the best feeling in the world. He felt power surging through him - his ambitions rose like flames, searing through his heart. And in his mind, he knew two things.

He was Azazel, Son of Legion.

And one day, he would rule the world.

Yes, it's kind of shitty. No, I don't care. You try writing something at two in the morning.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

So I think Azazel is boring.

So I think maybe I can fix that.

"Az," a demon whore called, sticking her horned head out of the tent, "come on. Come here, youngling. I need to tell you...tonight is time you became a demon."

Az stopped wrestling with his brother, arms mid-chokehold. He looked up for a moment, and then his eyes brightened, his face lighting up with excitement.

"Tonight is the time?" he said breathlessly, rubbing sweat off his brow, straightening as tall as he could be. He could hardly believe it - it was time? Time for the demonhood ritual? Time for him to rise to become his father's heir?

His thoughts were interrupted by an enthusiastic smack on the back from his younger brother, who grinned widely with a toothy grin.

"Yer nearly aeighty seasons old, Az. Eht's about time." grunted Marduk, ruffling through Azazel's hair. Azazel frowned slightly, pulling his brother's clingy hand out of his hair, and then he smiled slightly. Marduk was always a bit dull - thicker than most demons, to be honest, he'd probably end up as a minor heir - but he was a good friend. Half-brother, of course. His father was a minor demon lord - ruled over a small fiefdom in the northern edge of Hell. His harem was over fifty succubi, incubi, and other various whores - not exactly grand, but impressive nonetheless.

His mother nodded, and she continued. It was odd - she seemed rather grim, actually. Generally, his mother was amiable - well, no, honestly, she was mostly just flirtatious, dimwitted, and shallow, but for a whore, that was amiable enough. There was a sad look on her face, as if she knew something that he didn't. Az didn't like that.

"The ceremony is tonight, Az, but..."

She looked around somewhat nervously, staring up at Hell's red suns.

"You do know that your father has another heir, correct? Another demonling, born under the same moon?"

"Grumling?" asked Az, seeming slightly confused. "Grumling was born hours after I was. I am my father's heir. I do not see how Grumling has anything to do with my accession."

His mother turned away.

"When two heirs are born on the same day, under the light of the same moon...there can only be one chief. You know that."

Az shrugged.

"Grumling left the tribe years ago to fend for himself, along with his hump-backed bitch of a mother and his idiot brothers. His birth is of no concern to me."

"Grumling rode in today to claim his rightful inheritance." his mother said dejectedly, her shoulders slumping. "He has grown strong. Your father has decreed that you and he will duel to the death for the inheritance. I...I fear for your life, Az."

She tossed a pack of supplies out from the skin tent. It hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, contents spilling on the ground.

"I...I think you should run. Better to live an outcast than to die." she said sadly, looking down at the ground.

Azazel spat in her face, kicking her roughly in the stomach.

"You think I would run, you craven bitch? I am Azazel, son of Legion the Bloody. I run for no demon! I will meet Grumling tonight and split his pathetic mewling head from his body. Do not come to me with your pathetic plans."

His mother wiped the spit from her face, and then turned away, retreating back towards the tent.

"I do not wish to see one of my own die, but so be it."

Azazel shrugged. Marduk grinned his half-wit grin, but it fell from his face quickly.

"Grumlin' was a strongun." Mar muttered to himself, scratching himself with a stick. "Always was crackin' me over the head and stealin' my food. I hate him. Take his stupid 'ead off 'is neck for me, Az."

Azazel nodded.

"We're done wrestling today, Mar. Go and play with the other children."

Grunting in displeasure, Marduk turned and loped away. Az stretched, and then walked to his own tent. It was small - but the fact that he had his own tent and did not share it with the rest of his father's bastards and his half-brothers was something he held pride in. Closing his eyes, he laid on his back, waiting for night to fall. He needed to rest. To be honest, in the back of his mind, he was a bit worried. Grumlin had always been a strong bastard. But he was ugly and stupid. Sleep came quickly, and he rested.

Nightfall came quickly - the searing heat of the day vanished, the freezing cold of the night enveloping it in moments, darkness devouring the sun. Azazel opened his eyes to the sound of a thud - raucous cheering following it. Sticking his head out of his tent, he looked at what the clamour was about. In the middle of the village, there stood an enormous demon, standing nearly ten feet in height, a bloody cleaver in his hand, and a headless straw mannikin stood in front of him. Several other demons stood around him, laughing and pointing at the headless mannikin...and then at his tent. The giant looked over at his head, sticking out of the tent, and then the giant grinned a fanged smile.

Azazel's blood ran cold.

Grumlin.

He was a giant now. When he left, he wasn't a giant. He was just another demon. Suddenly, his father strode out of his tent, dust billowing in his wake. His father stood at nearly eight feet high, his stained longsword strapped to his side. He wore a fine cloak of flayed skin - the bodies of his enemies. Looking over at Azazel's tent, he barked at the boy.

"It is time for you to become a demon. Come forth from your tent." he spat harshly, words dripping with poison. Scrambling to his feet, Azazel burst from the tent, standing as tall as he could. He was...half the height of Grumkin, if he was lucky. His father looked over at Grumkin, and then back at him.

"Both of you know why you are here and what you must do this day. A kingdom cannot have two heirs. Both of you were born under the same moon and the same stars. One of you will provide a feast for the scavengers. The other will become my heir."

Grumkin smiled, clenching his meaty fists, and he pounded his chest and roared. Azazel attempted to do the same, but it was a pathetic facsimile of his half-brother's display. Legion shook his head, and sighed.

"The duel will be without weapons. You will fight with your own strength."

The blood drained from Azazel's heart. Weaponless? He was a master with a dagger, proficient with the sword, but his own body fell short...and Grumkin was a beast. Fear flooding his mind, he nodded weakly, and then stepped forward. Legion nodded in approval. A priest stepped forward and started chanting, sprinkling ashes and dust on the ground - the traditional rituals for a blood duel - and then Legion pushed past him.

"I believe we do not need to go through all these tedious procedures tonight." he said, interrupting the protesting priest. "The gods have heard them enough. Begin." he finished, pointing at Grumkin.

Grumkin charged, and Azazel braced himself for the oncoming clash. With an earth-shattering crash, Grumkin rammed into Azazel, their horns entangling. Grumkin swung a meaty arm at Az, and it smashed into him, sending Az sprawling to the ground. In the background, he could hear the rest of his father's warriors jeering at him. Rising quickly to his feet, he swung a fist at Grumkin. The giant caught it, and then with a horrific sound, he swung his other arm at Azazel's caught arm, hitting it and cracking the bone in two in a single stroke. Azazel howled, and Grumkin let the broken arm go, watching in amusement as Azazel stumbled around.

"Weak." he grunted, and then he swung another fist at Azazel. In an instant, Az deftly dodged away, spinning away from the stroke. Grunting again, Grumkin threw more punches. The one blessing which fate allowed Azazel was that Grumkin was slow and dull - his swings, despite having incredible force behind them, were predictable. Az stepped backwards, retreating, clutching his arm, hearing the laughter of his father's warriors. His eyes wide, his mind raced to find some sort of solution. He would never win this battle through strength. He would die here, his blood spilled on the ground of his father's lands, his life ended before he could even become a demon.

Suddenly, before he knew what was happening, he found himself pressed to the ground under Grumkin, his meaty hands around Az's throat. Az choked for air, but Grumkin was too strong. He could feel the air escaping from his lungs, the blood pounding in his ears, the red in the corners of his vision - he was going to die - the air - it was going - it was gone - there was no air - he was strangling

"No." he thought, and then, suddenly, he jammed the fingers of his broken arm into Grumkin's eye sockets. He had horribly ugly eyes - the eyes of a brute - red and unfeeling - and suddenly, they were blood-filled holes. Azazel felt his fingers sink deeply into his half-brother's skull, his fingers dripping with his brother's blood, and Grumkin let go of his throat.

In an instant, Azazel drove his fangs into Grumkin's exposed throat, shoving his broken fingers further into the demon's ruined eyes, ripping at the tender cords of his throat, with an unparalleled ferocity he had never felt before. He could hear warriors cheering in the background - Grumkin's mother screaming - Marduk's cry of glee - and then he drove his hand into the chest of his half-brother, directly where his heart was - and ripped it out, sinews snapping and veins popping and blood spurting everywhere - and then he stood, shoving Grumkin's limp body off him, leaving the bastard to convulse and drown in his own blood, his death rattle faintly audible in Azazel's ears.

Azazel lifted Grumkin's still beating heart over his head and roared, basking in the cheers of the other demon warriors and the harsh laughter of his father. He laughed, throwing back his head, catching droplets of blood in his mouth. He was a demon now. He was his father's heir. It was the best feeling in the world. He felt power surging through him - his ambitions rose like flames, searing through his heart. And in his mind, he knew two things.

He was Azazel, Son of Legion.

And one day, he would rule the world.

Yes, it's kind of shitty. No, I don't care. You try writing something at two in the morning.

I did.

Result: Eldritch Luigi.

[Olthar]

So, I'm realizing that I'm probably creating a problem for myself with my new Dice RP because I'm making a bunch of maps for people to play around in with absolutely zero idea for how to tie them all together into a cohesive whole or give the player incentive to actually explore them. Thus, I'll have to bullshit up a half-assed story and somehow retroactively make all these maps important. This would be much easier if I actually thought of the story first.

I have no intention of changing my method.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

So, I'm realizing that I'm probably creating a problem for myself with my new Dice RP because I'm making a bunch of maps for people to play around in with absolutely zero idea for how to tie them all together into a cohesive whole or give the player incentive to actually explore them. Thus, I'll have to bullshit up a half-assed story and somehow retroactively make all these maps important. This would be much easier if I actually thought of the story first.

I have no intention of changing my method.

That's my own method.

But I make the story up on the fly.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

So, I'm realizing that I'm probably creating a problem for myself with my new Dice RP because I'm making a bunch of maps for people to play around in with absolutely zero idea for how to tie them all together into a cohesive whole or give the player incentive to actually explore them. Thus, I'll have to bullshit up a half-assed story and somehow retroactively make all these maps important. This would be much easier if I actually thought of the story first.

I have no intention of changing my method.

That's the spirit!

@Ende: So I actually read it. It's nice. I can't picture Azazel fearing death, though, but meh.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Show of hands if any of you give a fuck about the agricultural industry in a fictional world.

Fuck you, I'm writing about it.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Show of hands if any of you give a fuck about the agricultural industry in a fictional world.

Fuck you, I'm writing about it.

We get it, Nightkill. .

[Ende]

@Ende: So I actually read it. It's nice. I can't picture Azazel fearing death, though, but meh.

The thing is that Azazel isn't just a mindless walking Grim Reaper - at one point, he was probably just some minor son of some minor demon lord in a little fiefdom north of the equator.

At one point, Hitler was just a failed painter.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Show of hands if any of you give a fuck about the agricultural industry in a fictional world.

Fuck you, I'm writing about it.

We get it, Nightkill. .

I also fully expect and almost encourage you guys to shit all over this stuff.

You can follow the epic civil war plot line.

Or just get drunk and fuck bitches.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

So I think Azazel is boring.

So I think maybe I can fix that.

"Az," a demon whore called, sticking her horned head out of the tent, "come on. Come here, youngling. I need to tell you...tonight is time you became a demon."

Az stopped wrestling with his brother, arms mid-chokehold. He looked up for a moment, and then his eyes brightened, his face lighting up with excitement.

"Tonight is the time?" he said breathlessly, rubbing sweat off his brow, straightening as tall as he could be. He could hardly believe it - it was time? Time for the demonhood ritual? Time for him to rise to become his father's heir?

His thoughts were interrupted by an enthusiastic smack on the back from his younger brother, who grinned widely with a toothy grin.

"Yer nearly aeighty seasons old, Az. Eht's about time." grunted Marduk, ruffling through Azazel's hair. Azazel frowned slightly, pulling his brother's clingy hand out of his hair, and then he smiled slightly. Marduk was always a bit dull - thicker than most demons, to be honest, he'd probably end up as a minor heir - but he was a good friend. Half-brother, of course. His father was a minor demon lord - ruled over a small fiefdom in the northern edge of Hell. His harem was over fifty succubi, incubi, and other various whores - not exactly grand, but impressive nonetheless.

His mother nodded, and she continued. It was odd - she seemed rather grim, actually. Generally, his mother was amiable - well, no, honestly, she was mostly just flirtatious, dimwitted, and shallow, but for a whore, that was amiable enough. There was a sad look on her face, as if she knew something that he didn't. Az didn't like that.

"The ceremony is tonight, Az, but..."

She looked around somewhat nervously, staring up at Hell's red suns.

"You do know that your father has another heir, correct? Another demonling, born under the same moon?"

"Grumling?" asked Az, seeming slightly confused. "Grumling was born hours after I was. I am my father's heir. I do not see how Grumling has anything to do with my accession."

His mother turned away.

"When two heirs are born on the same day, under the light of the same moon...there can only be one chief. You know that."

Az shrugged.

"Grumling left the tribe years ago to fend for himself, along with his hump-backed bitch of a mother and his idiot brothers. His birth is of no concern to me."

"Grumling rode in today to claim his rightful inheritance." his mother said dejectedly, her shoulders slumping. "He has grown strong. Your father has decreed that you and he will duel to the death for the inheritance. I...I fear for your life, Az."

She tossed a pack of supplies out from the skin tent. It hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, contents spilling on the ground.

"I...I think you should run. Better to live an outcast than to die." she said sadly, looking down at the ground.

Azazel spat in her face, kicking her roughly in the stomach.

"You think I would run, you craven bitch? I am Azazel, son of Legion the Bloody. I run for no demon! I will meet Grumling tonight and split his pathetic mewling head from his body. Do not come to me with your pathetic plans."

His mother wiped the spit from her face, and then turned away, retreating back towards the tent.

"I do not wish to see one of my own die, but so be it."

Azazel shrugged. Marduk grinned his half-wit grin, but it fell from his face quickly.

"Grumlin' was a strongun." Mar muttered to himself, scratching himself with a stick. "Always was crackin' me over the head and stealin' my food. I hate him. Take his stupid 'ead off 'is neck for me, Az."

Azazel nodded.

"We're done wrestling today, Mar. Go and play with the other children."

Grunting in displeasure, Marduk turned and loped away. Az stretched, and then walked to his own tent. It was small - but the fact that he had his own tent and did not share it with the rest of his father's bastards and his half-brothers was something he held pride in. Closing his eyes, he laid on his back, waiting for night to fall. He needed to rest. To be honest, in the back of his mind, he was a bit worried. Grumlin had always been a strong bastard. But he was ugly and stupid. Sleep came quickly, and he rested.

Nightfall came quickly - the searing heat of the day vanished, the freezing cold of the night enveloping it in moments, darkness devouring the sun. Azazel opened his eyes to the sound of a thud - raucous cheering following it. Sticking his head out of his tent, he looked at what the clamour was about. In the middle of the village, there stood an enormous demon, standing nearly ten feet in height, a bloody cleaver in his hand, and a headless straw mannikin stood in front of him. Several other demons stood around him, laughing and pointing at the headless mannikin...and then at his tent. The giant looked over at his head, sticking out of the tent, and then the giant grinned a fanged smile.

Azazel's blood ran cold.

Grumlin.

He was a giant now. When he left, he wasn't a giant. He was just another demon. Suddenly, his father strode out of his tent, dust billowing in his wake. His father stood at nearly eight feet high, his stained longsword strapped to his side. He wore a fine cloak of flayed skin - the bodies of his enemies. Looking over at Azazel's tent, he barked at the boy.

"It is time for you to become a demon. Come forth from your tent." he spat harshly, words dripping with poison. Scrambling to his feet, Azazel burst from the tent, standing as tall as he could. He was...half the height of Grumkin, if he was lucky. His father looked over at Grumkin, and then back at him.

"Both of you know why you are here and what you must do this day. A kingdom cannot have two heirs. Both of you were born under the same moon and the same stars. One of you will provide a feast for the scavengers. The other will become my heir."

Grumkin smiled, clenching his meaty fists, and he pounded his chest and roared. Azazel attempted to do the same, but it was a pathetic facsimile of his half-brother's display. Legion shook his head, and sighed.

"The duel will be without weapons. You will fight with your own strength."

The blood drained from Azazel's heart. Weaponless? He was a master with a dagger, proficient with the sword, but his own body fell short...and Grumkin was a beast. Fear flooding his mind, he nodded weakly, and then stepped forward. Legion nodded in approval. A priest stepped forward and started chanting, sprinkling ashes and dust on the ground - the traditional rituals for a blood duel - and then Legion pushed past him.

"I believe we do not need to go through all these tedious procedures tonight." he said, interrupting the protesting priest. "The gods have heard them enough. Begin." he finished, pointing at Grumkin.

Grumkin charged, and Azazel braced himself for the oncoming clash. With an earth-shattering crash, Grumkin rammed into Azazel, their horns entangling. Grumkin swung a meaty arm at Az, and it smashed into him, sending Az sprawling to the ground. In the background, he could hear the rest of his father's warriors jeering at him. Rising quickly to his feet, he swung a fist at Grumkin. The giant caught it, and then with a horrific sound, he swung his other arm at Azazel's caught arm, hitting it and cracking the bone in two in a single stroke. Azazel howled, and Grumkin let the broken arm go, watching in amusement as Azazel stumbled around.

"Weak." he grunted, and then he swung another fist at Azazel. In an instant, Az deftly dodged away, spinning away from the stroke. Grunting again, Grumkin threw more punches. The one blessing which fate allowed Azazel was that Grumkin was slow and dull - his swings, despite having incredible force behind them, were predictable. Az stepped backwards, retreating, clutching his arm, hearing the laughter of his father's warriors. His eyes wide, his mind raced to find some sort of solution. He would never win this battle through strength. He would die here, his blood spilled on the ground of his father's lands, his life ended before he could even become a demon.

Suddenly, before he knew what was happening, he found himself pressed to the ground under Grumkin, his meaty hands around Az's throat. Az choked for air, but Grumkin was too strong. He could feel the air escaping from his lungs, the blood pounding in his ears, the red in the corners of his vision - he was going to die - the air - it was going - it was gone - there was no air - he was strangling

"No." he thought, and then, suddenly, he jammed the fingers of his broken arm into Grumkin's eye sockets. He had horribly ugly eyes - the eyes of a brute - red and unfeeling - and suddenly, they were blood-filled holes. Azazel felt his fingers sink deeply into his half-brother's skull, his fingers dripping with his brother's blood, and Grumkin let go of his throat.

In an instant, Azazel drove his fangs into Grumkin's exposed throat, shoving his broken fingers further into the demon's ruined eyes, ripping at the tender cords of his throat, with an unparalleled ferocity he had never felt before. He could hear warriors cheering in the background - Grumkin's mother screaming - Marduk's cry of glee - and then he drove his hand into the chest of his half-brother, directly where his heart was - and ripped it out, sinews snapping and veins popping and blood spurting everywhere - and then he stood, shoving Grumkin's limp body off him, leaving the bastard to convulse and drown in his own blood, his death rattle faintly audible in Azazel's ears.

Azazel lifted Grumkin's still beating heart over his head and roared, basking in the cheers of the other demon warriors and the harsh laughter of his father. He laughed, throwing back his head, catching droplets of blood in his mouth. He was a demon now. He was his father's heir. It was the best feeling in the world. He felt power surging through him - his ambitions rose like flames, searing through his heart. And in his mind, he knew two things.

He was Azazel, Son of Legion.

And one day, he would rule the world.

Yes, it's kind of shitty. No, I don't care. You try writing something at two in the morning.

I like.

[Olthar]

So, I'm realizing that I'm probably creating a problem for myself with my new Dice RP because I'm making a bunch of maps for people to play around in with absolutely zero idea for how to tie them all together into a cohesive whole or give the player incentive to actually explore them. Thus, I'll have to bullshit up a half-assed story and somehow retroactively make all these maps important. This would be much easier if I actually thought of the story first.

I have no intention of changing my method.

That's my own method.

But I make the story up on the fly.

Oh, I'm sure shit will mostly be made up. I'm thinking it'll just be a simple collect-a-thon where the players search around for eight different rainbow-colored MacGuffins spread throughout the various maps, and the players have to find them all for some ambiguous purpose. So, pretty much the same story as AToLaC.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

@Ende: So I actually read it. It's nice. I can't picture Azazel fearing death, though, but meh.

The thing is that Azazel isn't just a mindless walking Grim Reaper - at one point, he was probably just some minor son of some minor demon lord in a little fiefdom north of the equator.

At one point, Hitler was just a failed painter.

I know, I know, but it's still a bit hard to picture for me. Still, I think you did well, particularly for something written at 2 AM.

Unlike, you know, Eldritch Luigi.

We get it, Nightkill. .

I also fully expect and almost encourage you guys to shit all over this stuff.

You can follow the epic civil war plot line.

Or just get drunk and fuck bitches.

The latter sounds nice. -Nods-

[Ende]

The thing is that Azazel isn't just a mindless walking Grim Reaper - at one point, he was probably just some minor son of some minor demon lord in a little fiefdom north of the equator.

At one point, Hitler was just a failed painter.

I know, I know, but it's still a bit hard to picture for me. Still, I think you did well, particularly for something written at 2 AM.

Unlike, you know, Eldritch Luigi.

I actually thought Eldritch Luigi was cool.

<shrug>

[Nightkill the Emperor]

The thing is that Azazel isn't just a mindless walking Grim Reaper - at one point, he was probably just some minor son of some minor demon lord in a little fiefdom north of the equator.

At one point, Hitler was just a failed painter.

I know, I know, but it's still a bit hard to picture for me. Still, I think you did well, particularly for something written at 2 AM.

Unlike, you know, Eldritch Luigi.

I also fully expect and almost encourage you guys to shit all over this stuff.

You can follow the epic civil war plot line.

Or just get drunk and fuck bitches.

The latter sounds nice. -Nods-

The Civil War is just the backdrop for that heroic goal.

But seriously, this is going to be intensely detailed. In other words, it won't be done any time soon.

Now I run to my train, see you later.