Post by Mammon on Jul 23, 2017 14:49:29 GMT
| An Average Day In Hell |
Mammon's PL: 113,792 Mammon's current PL: 28,448
GAIN BONUSES: Heavy Weights + AL PL MULTIPLIERS: N/A
The grass grew in tussocks and flattened in waves with each gust of wind, only to spring up as fresh as strong as before. It was nothing like the uniform green meadows of earth or the vibrant grass of Namek, each tuft was wild and slightly wilted under the none existent sun of hell, it was dead plants or bare soil, baked and powdery.
Hell sure wasn't for tourists.
Fire, small gouts of smoke rose up and out of neighboring rock formation, a small fence of packed wooden staves made an opposing obstacle for any adventuring spirit, it had a few tents some situated under the rock formation others in the open air, it had taken him a long time to find the materials and arrange them to his satisfaction, but he had nothing but time. He had made this small shelter against the elements his home away from home.
He sat in a chair that might have been fine oak, but now it was stained and starting to fray around the edges, it had small gouges torn out of it and scratch marks coating its once fine surface, he lounged in it his legs kicked up on the other arms for maximum comfort. "My kingdom, my kingdom for a decent bottle of wine." he tossed an empty bottle over hand in one fluid motion sending it tumbling end over end to shatter against a neighboring rock wall, the slight tinkle of glass could be heard as he got to his feet, he adjusted his belt and touched the chipped pommel of his sword, it had been high time he had a bit of steel on his hip, the lack of weight has been a constant annoyance like a chip in his tooth that he couldn't help but play with, he had found this one in some kind of burial mound some forgotten shrine to some forgotten warrior, it was notched and a little bit rusty and its blade was dull as a bread knife, but it felt good to have it.
He drew it with a sweep of his hand and had the dull length of metal spinning in his hand, he worked it around him in wide arcs leaving the air humming with its passing, "one." and he made the first of several stances flowing into them with the natural grace of one who has been practicing them their whole life. "Two, three, four, five, six, seven." he had fallen into practice like a depressed house wife falls into wine with similar results, it was the only time his thought's ever stopped forced back by the sheer focus the training required, in that moment he hadn't died, in that moment he wasn't some horrible demon, in that moment he was nothing more than the blade, sharp and merciless. He started to build more and more ontop of the routine until it was a symposium of sword play, and as sweat raced down his forehead in thick beads there was the first sign of wear and tear, he slipped and caught himself with the sword a bright red pocket of blood welling up from where it had touched. "A-h."
And it all fell apart around him, gone was the inner peace he scrabbled for, now he had a cut and the thoughts came racing back. "Screw swords." he cursed throwing it point first into the ground as he walked back to his tent. "Over rated hunks of scrap."
I’ve been given permission by Somatrope to use his Gravity Chamber, and have flavored it during this thread to be Mammon getting used to his new body.