Rise Of The Workstations

[christian2142 79]

[!] Fjordin Sylver would step into the Red Rock Cove of Sylverport, where all communal manufacturing takes place. The river breeze rolls through town, casting a relaxing air upon Fjordin as he practices leatherworking. As the glaring sun pierces the cave mouth, Fjordin catches himself off-balance, and as a result skews an entire rack of tanning rawhide. As a result the entire batch tears, and is thus ruined for future use. Angrily he groans, kicking the bench in frustration!  [!]

 

 

- Fjordin would stare at the Leatherworking Bench with the utmost rage, gritting his teeth to the point of an audible grinding resonating throughout the cave. His cloak would hardly mask the piercing-pink hue of his eyes, as revenge upon the accursed workbench crosses every figment of his imagination. In his mind he pictures a multitude of torments: fire, steel, and the careful dis-assembly of every last fence post... oh, how enlightening these emotions were! How inspiring! He could almost feel the warmth of passion rolling across his fingertips, and reached for a heavy branch at his feet  -

 

"Do you take me for a pushover, leatherworking contraption? Do you think Fjordin is the man of which you wish to reckon with?" Asked Fjordin in the utmost frustration, striking the stone floor of the cave with anguish as he sharpens the point of his branch.

 

- The towering leatherworking bench, of which was a meter or so taller than Fjordin, would cast an imposing shadow upon the angry Mali'ame, and a gentle creak would resonate from its weathered stands as it mocks him -

 

"You dare insult me pathetic workstation? A man of my title, and a man of my valiance? How could you stare me down as you do, as if so high and mighty! In truth you are nothing but a scoundrel!" He shouts, waving the branch above his head and backhanding the beast. 

 

- Unfortunately for him, he rolled a low D20, and as such fell victim to the cellulose plating which safeguarded the leatherworking bench. The sound bounced off the armor, and pierced Fjordin's ears as it circulated the cave, tormenting him with a reminder of his failure -

 

"Don't take me for a weakling beast, for I was simply throwing in the towel to my mortal emotions! Now that it is out of my system, I will fight tooth and nail relentlessly! You shall taste the bane of nature in which I wield!" He shouted, lunging to his feet and slashing the leatherworking rack ferociously.

 

- He landed a satisfying blow to the string in which his rawhide was hanging from. Within the fraction of a second, the bench succumbed to its first falter in stature, and its arm was crippled from being able to retaliate. Splinters flew everywhere in vengeance, but Fjordin skillfully blocked them with his vambrace in a critical D20 roll -

 

"Hah! Clearly you are not the work of a true Mali'ame, for you were built little more than a glorified twig! Look at you, having fallen prey to one of my more measly blows! You have yet to feel the true pain in which I bring you! I will emerge victorious, and you shall look up from the Netherworld in spite!" Spat Fjordin, smirking ferociously as a woody bloodlust filtered through his eyes.

 

- The leatherworking bench would groan in agony, and its arm would finally succumb to the gravity in which commanded it. Fjordin looked up just in time to notice it fall, and in an attempt to dodge it would narrowly miss splitting his skull under the force of its blow, merely scraping his arm through the cloak in which he wore -

 

"Don't take this as the beginning to my end foul beast. You prove to do little more than fall, and feebly attempt to bring me down with you! I will not allow this to happen on my accord, and see to it that the masonry bench be done with you after I create a stone shovel worthy of digging the very dirt you are, and will be buried in!" He shouted aggressively, lunging forward to pierce the rawhide in which protected its torso.

 

- He landed yet another successful blow which tore straight through the foul Daemonous leatherworking bench. Tatters of pathetic hide spilled from its cavity, covering the ground in a gruesome display of slaughter. It once again groaned in agony, and Fjordin would laugh as he watched the pathetic display -

 

"Do you beg for mercy? Is that what I bear witness to? Do you not harbor the ardor to fight on, and avenge your own body as it cripples before you? I am disappointed, dear leatherworking station, for you have once again failed me. Perhaps now I shall put you out of your misery, and leave you a mess as you belong." He spoke flatly, and almost with remorse. 

 

- The bench would seemingly moan, as it begs to be let free, and given another chance. Unfortunately for him, however, Fjordin does not show mercy. He takes another sweep at the bench, this time targeting its very legs which hold it high and mighty. The blow is successful, and not quite one of finesse, but nonetheless knocks it clean out of commission. Could today be Fjordin's to take home? The day in which he drives forward into glory? Glory for not just him, but for Sylverport yet again -

 

"Don't cry in spite of yourself, leatherworking bench. For it is all over now. You will be reunited with Iblee's, where you belong, and serve as little more than his servant. Perhaps someday I'll find a replacement for you, one that is not so evil and pathetic." He said valiantly, but not before the leatherworking bench began tilting forward over him.

 

- Just as he noticed the scenario playing out before him, his life flashed before his very eyes, and he swiftly attempted letting the wind carry him backwards to escape its deathly clutch. Unfortunately, however, the move proved fatal, and a critically low D20 left him victim to the leatherworking benches fall as he tripped over the very branch, which was his bane as was the stand's. Dozens of wooden stakes pierced his body, and splinters covered him head to toe. Gore lay everywhere, and the only victor in which remains would be the branch itself. Silently it would lay there, waiting for another master to take reign over its dark temptation. Thus marked the potential beginning, and perhaps end, of the 'Rise of the (Nexus) Workstations'. Let all those who were abandoned by their masters, having reached Aengulic and no longer needing them for the sake of grinding, rise from their grave and take to the streets of Athera as a potential antagonist brimming with a thirst for vengeance -

 

[!] OOCly, this was me taking out frustration in a light-hearted RP-fight versus my leatherworking bench, when it ate a stack of my tanned leather and revert it to rawhide. This is not supposed to qualify as a Permakill, and as such assumed I was revived by monks as all players go about doing when killed in combat (unless willingly subject to a PK). The death resulted when the bench fell forward, and I literally rolled a critical 1/20 in dodging, which I figured for comedic relief should result in my characters /temporary/ death. You guys are welcome for this lovely little post, which I figured belonged on Creative Writing for the stir it caused in OOC. It has actually given me insight into a potential if not overly-comedic antagonist of abandoned workstations, which could in fact be played by the ET or select players and seek assault upon those who abandon practice of a skill, or have capped it at Adequate/Adept/Aengulic [!]

[Mark2282 305]

Nice story!

How long did this take to write?

[christian2142 79]

Nice story!

How long did this take to write?

Not long at all. The roleplay with the workbench was maybe ten minutes, and the formatting to this post, as well as the extra details took maybe half an hour to an hour. I didn't bother proof-reading, which had I done so would have resulted in this being much better.

[Mark2282 305]

You are talented! This would take me at least one and a half hour.

[herculean_wud 3662]

Omygherd its that guy who followed me to the town!! 

[Knox213 10]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.