Another RP

The last RP got too big it became intimidating to post in.
So here we go again, same rules, except please try not to make too many characters, and meanwhiles, and yadda yadda yadda


I'll start this one off with a setting, a cameo, and a very abrupt cut off.


It was a very cloudy day. So cloudy, the sky appeared much larger with the excessive textures of the cloud shadows and shapes. It was also very windy, blowing the autumn leafs off the trees like nothing else. As our roleplay opens up, a neat little retro cobblestone path leads through a deciduous forest, branching off to a small log cabin. There aren't any birds in the air, and haven't been for a good long time. The cabin fits snugly against the large, mossy trees of the forest. Its roof is covered in moss, and smoke billows out of the chimney. A worn sign on the front creaks back and forth in the wind. It reads "Olivewood Arcade" in orange lettering.

Somewhere over the forest, a transuniversal vortex opens silently, and launches something large, black, and invincible straight down into the forest. Then the vortex vanished without a trace, leav

ing...

Ramona's ship flew helplessly into a deadly purple block, causing it to vaporize. The screen displayed the game over sequence, but its player had already left the arcade. She thought she had heard something outside, and upon poking her head out the mossy door, her suspicion was proven true. Birds, five of them in total, had suddenly appeared in the sky. Three flew off in a flock, while two others landed in a nearby tree of the forest. There hadn't been any birds around these parts for years; their sudden disappearance was as abrupt as this reappearance. It was almost as if an inconsistency had taken place between written content and illustration, but of course this made no sense to Ramona.

As she was far too busy looking up, the fairly young red head failed to notice the large black object laying in the forest grass on a low hill opposite the cobblestone road. She watched the three flocking birds for a while, wondering where they had come from, and why they chose now of all times (middle of autumn) to return. However, being a simple girl, her pondering didn't last long, and she soon concluded "Well, they were bound to show up eventually," and returned to the abandoned arcade without further investigation.

To her dismay, that last game happened to confiscate her final remaining quarter, leaving Ramona hopelessly broke, and with nothing to do.

"Beeble Blaster" didn't use electricity like the other arcade machines; it ran off the emissions generated by decompositional bacteria on a rotting human corpse inside the machine. Beeble Blaster's current corpse, however, had become little more than a skeleton and it was time for a new one. Ramona would do nicely.

A faint hum, an inaudible click, and the rusted, rarely used gears within the suspiciously large "Beeble Blaster" arcade machine began to turn. "She's out of quarters anyways," it thought.

Peeking under the arcades, Ramona hoped to find some lost change to play one more game of Gorilla Muncher, when the metallic clanks and whirs usually coming out of Beeble Blaster had become suspiciously louder. She turned around just in time to see a quarter drop out of the enormous arcade's coin slot. "Wow," she said to herself, "talk about luck. Someone didn't push their coin in far enough." She then walked over to Beeble Blaster, where the coin had rolled just under it. However, as soon as she reached for the twenty five cent piece, the fans beneath the arcade turned up considerably, blowing the quarter further underneath. "Oh no you don't," Ramona told the coin, "you're mine, fair and square!"

She got on her hands and knees, and reached under Beeble Blaster as far as her arm could reach. A meatless skeleton ejected from the back of the arcade box, landing in an overgrown pile of bones and confetti just outside the Olivewood Arcade.

Jugley was a dwarf. But from his mother's side he was a gnome. Which to him meant, between the two heritages, he got the worst of everything. Too big to live under stumps or slip away quietly when danger was near, too short and timid to work in the mines, too clumsy to tinker or grow a mushroom garden, too weak to fight. He didn't have the intuition of a gnome, nor the gut of a dwarf. He wasn't magical, clever, or tough. He couldn't even get along with normal people due to his awkward size and disconnectedness with both nature and society. In fact, any way you looked at him, Jugley was weak, inept, and pathetic.

Ramona was eaten by the Beeble Blaster machine.

One blood red morning GrunnTok the orcish crossbowman went searching in the highlands for the man responsible for destroying two orcish villages, ruining the eggplant fields, burning down the watermill, murdering ZukeJagga the elder, and even intentionally frightening off all the warcheiftain's quarry. When Grunn-Tok finally found Jugley, he'd barely gotten a word in before he was crushed to death under eight tons of grinding steel. Jugley had a tank. A very fast tank.

Hugar leaned down to pick one of his sunflowers, and brought it to his face in a graceful manner. It smelled like a sunflower. Smiling pleasantly, he carried it in his hand upright, and went into a skip as he crossed the dirt path. The village of Bouldermoss was looking very lively and cheerful, and a good many of Hugar's neighbors appeared to be busying themselves with beating rugs, tending to their gardens, casually speaking to one another, and taking a stroll after purchasing their week's worth of milk and eggs from the dairy market. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, and pausing a moment to watch one of the two clouds that sat in the sky, Hugar decided today would be the day he asked his significant other to be his wife. In a suave manner, he adjusted his favorite derby, and straightened his tie. He considered himself a rather hansom man on a good day, with a broad chin, and brilliant gray eyes. He was also the strongest of the village, and by far the tallest. His own mother, before killing herself, admitted he was fit for a queen.

Feeling more bold than he probably should have, Hugar stepped over the flowery gate, and bent down to knock lightly at the door. Eline answered cautiously at first, then widely upon recognizing Hugar's chin. "Oh, it's just you Hugar," she said, giving her long brown locks a careless toss. "Would you like to come in?"

"Err," Hugar said, his voice very deep and rough. "Hugar not know how say…" he took his hat off, and accidentally dropped his sunflower in a clumsy fashion. "Hugar… Hugar like Eline."

Eline's brow began to rise. "…do you mean that in a friend-sort of way, or…?"

"Hugar like Eline lots. Like like. Want– NO, Hugar not mean to sound rash. Eline, Hugar…"

Eline began to blush. "Hugar, you don't mean…?"

Hugar began to fumble in his coat pocket for a few seconds. To the both of them it felt like an eon. Finally, he produced a small velvet box, and opened it gingerly. "Will Eline marry Hugar?"

Eline swallowed, not taking her eyes off the contents of the velvet box. In it was a ceremonial neckless of beads, bones, and basalt pebbles. "Hugar, I… we're neighbors. And more so–"

"Eline no like neckless?"

"No, it's… it's pretty, but we… you…" she took a terse breath, and let it out slowly. She didn't want to offend him, so she did some quick yarn-spinning. "I promised my father, before the war, that I would marry a knight of the royal army. It's not that I don't like you… you're just not a knight."

Hugar closed the velvet box slowly, and she glanced at his face, expecting tears. There were none to see, as Hugar's face was set in a determined stare. "If Eline want knight, Hugar leave village. Not come back until knight." He then gave a faulty smile, and began to turn away. Eline made as if to stop him, but held herself back. Hugar looked up at her after closing the gate, his smile now beginning to fail. "Hugar promise!" he said, and quickly turned his shoulder to hide the water that fell from his gray eyes.

Feeling heavy, Eline watched him gradually make his way down the road, until he passed the village boundaries, leaving his flower fields completely unattended. Then she picked up his sunflower, shut the front door to her house, and leaned against it with the flower in her hands. It smelled like sunflowers. Feeling rotten about sending Hugar off on a fruitless quest, she began rerunning in her head the words her father had actually said before going to war. "I care not how you run your life in my absence, Eline my daughter," he had said from the back of a war horse, "just so long as you do NOT marry that ogre florist down the street."

"Well," she said to herself, placing the flower in a vase, "I never did intended to marry him, but neither did I want to hurt him. But anyways, I couldn't have expected–" A tank came crashing into her living room, and blew a hole in her kitchen cabinet set.

"Sir? Siiir. Sir? Sir!"

Mr. Dennison was awoken from his lazy nap by a geeky looking teenager sporting blue tinted spectacles, pinstriped shirt, and excessive dandruff.

"Sirrrrrrr?"

He also had a nasally voice. An annoying nasally voice. Reluctantly, Mr. Dennison sat upright in his uncomfortable wooden chair behind the desk in the office with the window that overlooked the interior of the Olivewood Arcade. He inhaled slow and lazily before breathing out "What d' y' want?"

"UMM," the geek spoke through his nose, "the new game isn't taking my quarters." Then he stood with his teeth sticking out, clutching a hardback copy of "How Come Metrics are Better."

After a lazy moment to gather his senses, Mr. Dennison arose from his chair, instinctively polished his "Best Weight Guesser" trophy, then said "Well, let's have a look, eh?"

The machine in question was one Mr. Dennison had never laid eyes on, let alone owned. The controls were on top, but the round view screen was on the side. It had no electrical plug, but was too small to house the necessary gears to use a decomposing corpse.

"Hmm," Mr. Dennison said with about as much energy as a discarded toothpick, "must be broke. I'll take it 'round t' th' shop." Then he positioned himself behind the odd machine and gave it a nudge to move it.

"Whuuaah? Woooah! This thing weighs just three pounds over one billion metric tons! I'd better get the handcart." And he returned to his office to sleep. Carl, realizing he only had nickels, gave two last nervous looks, one to the mysterious new machine and one to the infamous Beeble Blaster, before leaving the arcade in his clumsy trademark jog where his toes point at each other and his head nods left and right.

Meanwhile, a very cool stranger stood on the roof of the now centralizing Olivewood Arcade as if to express dominance over the heart of the story. He was very cool and wore a very cool black cape that covered his very cool face, all but his eyes, and it waved in the very cool breeze along with his long, very cool black hair, which when moved by the wind exposed two very super ultra omega cool katanas which he very cooly got from two long, very cool adventures in his very cool dark and mysterious past that he won't tell you about and you'll just have to go on guessing and wondering about how he got to be so very cool because he's just so very, very, very cool!

Carl turned to face the roof and yelled "I'm better than you!" at the dark man, who subsequently began to cry very loudly.

Just down the Olivewood road, a convenient store sat on the far brink of the forest. It was convenient in every way imaginable, except for how difficult it was to locate for one unfamiliar to the area. It was painted on the side to look exactly like a few deciduous trees, some moss, bits of grass, and sandy forest soil. The painting was done so well in fact, that it was almost invisible, save the neon sign out front that read "There is not a convenient store right here" placed vainly to fend off gypsies. Most travelers walked by without ever knowing the shop existed, but all forest's mature moose and deer held a sharp, painful memory of its sure location. Especially that one cougar.

Carl knew about the shop though, and went there every time he stopped by, just so he could say 'Oh yeah?' to the neon sign, whilst making this exact face:

Entering the convenient store, Carl first encountered the shopkeeper's first line of gypsy defense: the path forked into two aisles. One was almost too practical to be considered a path; a simple entrance to a convenient store. The other however, was off at an angle, wound around a bit, and offered no reason for anyone to go down it. At the front of the path was a short, mundane-yellow "Caution: Wet Floor" sign, and the floor tiles beyond it were constantly being resurfaced with ice by a miniature, completely automated and self-willed zamboni.

Immediately after stepping through the front door, Carl looked over at the wet floor sign, stopped dead in his tracks, pointed at it, and stated "Uh oh! Better be exceedingly circumspect." Yielding the sign more than he needed to, he entered the store otherwise like any normal person would. The elf at the counter sat drumming her painted fingernails in boredom, then glanced up to make sure Carl didn't try stealing anything other than the chips in the compostable bags. The geek/nerd (I suppose we'll figure that out eventually) made a beeline for the very back, two thirds to the right-hand side of the store, then walked back to the counter empty handed. Just before reaching the elf, he snatched up a bag of Fritos. "Hey, how much for these?"

"Fifty cents," the elf said in monotone. She had a boil on her thigh, but only she knew of it, and even then only when she wanted to sit down. Carl began to count his nickels very tediously, so the elf pulled a machine up with a slot in the top. "Just put all your coins it here," she told Carl, "It'll count it for you, give you change, 'n yeah."

Carl dumped his coins in, and got his penny back. "Wow that's pretty convenient."

"Thank you and have a good day."

"Hey," said Carl, pulling out a pencil he had put in his back pocket. It was now two small pencils. "Do you have a pencil sharpener?"

The elf pointed to the wall, where sat a pencil sharpener. "Wow that's pretty convenient." Carl sharpened all three ends, sparing only the long-emptied ferrule of the smaller half. "Hey, y'know what time it is?" he asked the elf, who half heartedly pointed at an enormous, spinning, double-sided clock that sat suspended from the ceiling. "Oh. Four. That's kind of convenient. You have a bottle opener? …oh, y'do huh? Pretty convenient. How about an automatic transfer machine? Yeah? Wow, that's convenient too. Do you know CPR? Y'don't? Well that's okay, I don't know how to restore concrete pavement either. Get it? Actually I was just kidding. Pretty sure I'd be a great diamond groover. My recent–" A long haired kid with chocolate stains on either side of his mouth came waddling into the store, looking for something to break, or eat and not pay for. He smelled like a crowded elevator, and without losing a newton of momentum he turned a hundred and twenty degrees to the "Caution: Wet Floor" sign and began to walk down the ice-coated path.

The kid's last words were "Whuh–"

The last things he heard were a robot zamboni playing victory music, and an annoying nasally voice saying "Ha ha loser!"

Then Carl pocketed his fritos and left in his usual gait.

His inventory thus far:
1 cent
1 mediumish bag of frito-lay fritos
3 units of pocket fuzz
1 wallet
––1 dollar bill
––1 ATM card
––6 Library cards
1 Pair of tan slacks (too short)
1 Light Jacket
1 Copy of "How Come Metrics are Better" by Pint C. Gallonquart
2 Pairs of the exact same glasses
1 Pencils (1/2 and 1/2 make 1)
1 Toothbrush, in case hippies.

As the short kid left, Laxon, the shopkeeper elf, made a deep sigh. Shechecked the clock above and began to read her book again. After a fewhours, Laxon stood up on her toes and stretching loudly to then spotthe clock's time again. "Seven... Huh. Interesting." She laughed at herjoke before packing up the store.

When she finished roping both halls closed and tieing up her Zamboni tothe Walnut tree out back, Laxon peered over at that two sided clockagain. It stated a solid time of 8:34.

FINALLY, Laxon [u]began[/u] to leave her 'little shop of convenient knick knacks', except that she forgot to turn off the lights.

The end.

Now certain it was unsupervised, the little Zamboni pulled out its flask and started drinking.


The sun had set and the bats were out. After tripping on a dozen rocks, falling in the ditch twice, and walking mistakenly into several trees, Hugar made an important analysis: "Dark." Then he yawned, stating "Hugar tired. Need sleep place." No sooner had he said this did he he spy a large, bright billboard with one big word on it and a few small ones underneath. Stooping to face it, Hugar spent the next three minutes deciphering its message.

"... ... ... ... ...ho... ...tel. Hotel! Oh! Hugar need hotel. Hotel has sleep place, hotel warm, has food, Hugar eat food, maybe even pay! Hugar become knight after night. Ho! Hugar make funny say!" and he laughed merrily, walking in the direction of the nearby Arcade. The rest of the billboard said "Coming Soon!"

When he reached the 'hotel,' Hugar was surprised to notice its lights were out. "Hmm. Hotel dark. Maybe not open." Then he tried the door which, although locked, was as easy to open for Hugar as if it weren't. "No locked, hotel open!" and he bumbled in, bellowing "Hugar need sleep place, food, not dark and- *thick gasp* -hotel have fun play boxes!" After rushing over to Beeble Blaster, Hugar banged on it yelling "Hugar want play!" until it fearfully gave in and let him play without paying.

But to spite him, it cheated a lot.


The gutters on the Olivewood Arcade are crudely assembled bent sheets of metal and have sharp, rusty edges.

In the time it took Laxon to close up the shop, Carl had other things to attend to. It was now twenty one hundred hours, and the autumn sun had left the Olive woods to grow cold and dark. The road blew up a gust of leaves, forming a whirl of reds and oranges, now black in the twilight's blanket of dusk.

One of the two clouds covered the rising crescent moon silently, and the crickets hushed. Then a low rumbling crescendoed from the faint glow of a distant fire, and a blaring headlight cut back the darkness in a harsh manner. It was a motorcycle, rapidly escaping what was left of Bouldermoss village. In its seat was a dorky looking kid wearing tacky tan slacks, a light but heavily pocketed jacket, and black rimmed glasses. Gripping the handle bars very tightly, he made a hurried calculation in his head, before swerving tersely to the other side of the road. He only just dodged Jugley's oncoming shell, but fell back a few feet in the process. It appeared that the two vehicles were an equal match in speed. 'And that spells trouble,' Carl thought. 'I'd better not get fragged by this egotistic bully, or the noncombatants of the village won't have sufficient time to evacuate uninjured.'

Another shell blew a hole in the asphalt just where Carl's bike had been riding seconds before. It was becoming increasingly risky to trust his ten second reload theory. Carl began to consider using his bike's emergency turbo booster, but decided against it for the villagers' sake. The motorcycle's installed GPS function informed him he was approaching the convenient shop by the woods. Pressing a button on his super special library card, he signaled the zamboni. "Come in robot zamboni guy!"

The zamboni awoke, sending a long list of drunken threes and emoticons.

"Look I know you don't know me," Carl stammered, when he was hit by Jugley's increasingly improving accuracy. The bike exploded, and he went flying into the woods with a nasally scream. The zamboni, its connection lost, went back to its flask, then fell into another nap.

The tank ran its treads back and forth over the bike's remains, fired once more into the woods where Jugley thought Carl landed, then turned around to finish the job at Bouldermoss.

Carl landed on the other side of the convenient store, which took the tank shell for him.



Enraged to find that the difficulty curve of Beeble Blaster made level two virtually impossible, Hugar stomped very violently, shaking the entire arcade building. Mr. Dennison, sleeping downstairs because he was too lazy to live any farther away from where he worked, rolled over in his sleep. He'd had a long day hauling the newest addition to the arcade to the shop, and upon attempting to fix it, found he couldn't find a single screw, or removable part. Rather than getting frustrated, he'd called it a day and went to bed.


The stranger got tetanus, a nasty concussion and, later, pneumonia for spending an entire night outdoors in October.

"Hey!" said the plot. "Someone give me some more material!"

"Hey!" someone whispered as loud as he could.

Tucker turned around, peering into the bushes. The night was still strong and he was sure they could make it back in time.

"HEY, YOU!!" His noises were getting inaudible. Finally, Al Caprice found his partner and stomped over to him. "We're lost!"

Tucker rolled his eyes and continued.

This made Al steamingly mad, which he then hit a tree with his fist. *Thunk* Only he heard this miniscule sound. Every step he took, Al tried to smash any dry leaves, but to no hearable avail. Poor Al. After that time he and Tucker met that sneaky witch…

Another log leap and Tucker smiled. From here, he could spot the castle, gleaming on the top with the first rays of sunlight. 'Uh oh,' he thought. They did not want to have to wait for a whole other day, when they were so close. He stood on a rock and tried to bellow back into the forest, for his friend to come. Nothing. Tucker looked down at his mouth, then remembered that horrid time he and Al had together…
Instead of shouting, Tucker threw some rocks at the trees, which made a loud chopping sound, as it should.

"All right, I'm coming. But these thorns are sticking me!"

Tucker waited past what time he dared to spare. Finally, Al came out of the green and trumped over to Tucker. "I kept telling you to slow down!" he started rambling all over again.

A questioned expression of confusion formed on Tucker's face. He grabbed Al's arm and sprinted faster than Al could ever go. Everything was getting bright, for the sun had risen above the Easter Mountains. Light swept the grass, like a tidal wave of poison. Al had began to turn back to the dark forest, but Tucker knew he had to make it. Another day later might not be good enough. So right then, they both split, taking their own lives in hand for themselves.

Bricks and bits of rubble lay in a heap at the base of the convenient store's recently remodeled wall. A breeze of midnight air blew in through the enormous gaping hole where once sat a shelf of mayonnaise. The jars had flown half across the store, landing in the kitty litter containers, creating a concoction of absolute horrible magnitude Laxon was sure to cry on her return.

Immediately adjacent to the mayonnaise was where the decorative lawn gnomes sat on display. Now they all lay on the ground, most being chipped, two being in pieces, and one with a nasty bruise getting up off the floor.

On the outside of the convenient store, roughly sixteen feet towards the main road, there sat a fragment of the tank shell. Standing over it was a man with a pigtail, wearing a bulky overcoat and looking quite portly. As he gazed his electric-brown eyes onto the charred shell, he couldn't help but feel envious. "You lucky scrap of metal," he told the shell fragment. "You weren't cursed with any free will. Just get to blow up on another's command, where as I, Deton A. Nate, must do it on my own accord." With a sigh, Deton crouched down beside the shell, and gazed up at the stars. "Given the right time, given the right place… the right reason, the right crowd, I'd…" Deton felt his neurons wrapping around the mental trigger to set himself off, and loosened it with a solemn shake of the head. "But that glorious moment may never come for me." He patted his artificial belly, imagining the potential energy it withheld in admiration, yearning, and eventually great sorrow.

Back to the stars, his gaze wandered. "How I wish to shine as the stars do, just once," he said, frowning. "Become a part of my own constellation…. But my accursed perfectionism won't allow it under my circumstances!" In a rage, he stood, facing the sky. "You gave me such potential!" he cried. "Such power! Why, master, why did you spoil me with such sentient free will!?"

"Snap out of it Deton," he told himself, changing his pitch slightly, and wrinkling his brow. "You can't go crying to master now. Not… not now–"

"I know, I know," he assured himself. "I must keep moving. Sooner or later, the perfect opportunity will become available, and I want to be there to receive it." Mustering the willpower he considered his bliss's bane, Deton continued down the path in search of the ideal location, favorable means, inimitable moment, and ultimate purpose.


Oktober rubbed his nose as he peered over the store rubble, and chuckled. "Geestelijk geval," he commented quietly to himself, then began to loot the store.

Sure, Oktober was a little sad that he lost his Gnome friend, Octavio, but at least those infamous Wonka SweetTart candy bars he loved to eat were still intact. Octavio was never a real Gnome.



Al Caprice tripped on an olive vine and was sent skidding into the roots of a large pine tree. “I don’t want to die!,” he muttered.

Then, the sun rose up. Because of the tall pines next to him, Al didn’t come in contact with the sun rays. Behind him lay a heap of Tucker skin and muscle, no bones though. The curse had gotten the better of him. Beyond his corpse was the castle of OctoErwin, where Al was supposed to deliver that valuable item he and Tucker risked their lives for. But Al didn’t care about that. He wandered back into the woods he came from.



Back in Olive forest, a loud, gray tank rumbled through the path. It was very loud. Alongside it, a figure watched it very intently. He didn’t move a muscle, but rather stayed hidden in the bushes, staring… Dwain doesn’t like clowns.

He climbed into a nearby tree, to survey the scene. The road the tank was on turned left, leading to a large field. ‘Where’s Jugley going now?,’ Dwain pondered. He leaped onto the next branch and continued following the tank at a measurable pace.

It was late at night when the cops found what was left of Laxon's body, disposed in a rain pipe under the road. There were no bruise marks, puncture wounds, or signs of a sudden heart attack or other sickness, until closer examination revealed that her entire intestinal tube was mysteriously cram packed with assorted lego blocks. Not knowing what to make of it, the inspectors figured she suffered severe insanity, and without bothering to look up her background they left it at that, and returned her body to its natural resting spot, after removing the legos to be cleaned.

Meanwhile, Jugley lead Dwain to The Zoo, where he shot once, and left. The one shot did not kill anyone, nor did it utterly destroy much zoo property. All it did was leave a relatively large hole in the top of the flying man-o-wars' steel-frame canopy.

Suddenly, light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation was an acronym! And everyone whoever the hell and this story wa