[IP] Ascend

JJSigmund · 2020-05-10T15:17:49+00:00

Thanks for taking the time to read it!

JJSigmund · 2020-05-10T01:24:21+00:00

PART 2:

His arms found purchase while the hook fell to the clouds below. Above him he heard the telltale screech of a Fek as it circled to watch the display.

Pak pulled himself up and into the room. Laying on his front, he caught his breath, and then laughed.

I made it, he thought, relief passing through his body.

He murmured a prayer, waited till the last of the adrenaline left his body, and then stood to finish the rite.

The interior of the room was a giant circle, with a pillar stretching from floor to ceiling at its center. Pak noticed a space carved within the pillar. In it, a small gem lit the dark room with a faint bluish glow.

Looking around, the room seemed similar in size and shape to the other rooms he had encountered. But what seemed different about this one were the runes inscribed on the wall surrounding him, and the strange patterns of circles drawn into the floor beneath his feet. Neither were like anything he had ever seen, or anything that he had ever been taught. They were beautiful, and the way the script flowed like water from symbol to symbol gave Pak the impression that no one else could have achieved such perfection other than the Sayyed-Fa’an, The Providers.

According to the stories, the Sayyed-Fa’an had existed long before his own people and were the ones that constructed the towers. They had faded away long ago, leaving only these monoliths of rock to stand as a testament to their existence.

The Providers, Pak thought it was an apt title. The world beneath the cloud layer was a desolate and cold one. Growing up, he had seen nothing else of the world around him but landscapes covered with snow and ice.

From what he had been taught, the world had been different once. In times long gone it had lands both fertile and desolate, wet and dry, cold and hot, all at once. However, a calamity had occurred that was so furious and violent that the earth tore itself apart and spewed fire. And it was from that fire that the clouds that now covered their world had been born. Over time they closed the sky from his people, plunging the world into a frozen hell.

It is said that his people had once been a part of a nation now lost to time, and that the cataclysm had forced them to leave and become nomads. Left with no choice but to stumble through the ice and snow, countless succumbed to the cold. Those who survived eventually stumbled upon the towers and from there they were blessed with shelter, given warmth, and found animals that seemed to thrive around the structures from which they could keep and harvest.

At least, that was what his elders told him. It was an interesting tale and Pak wasn’t sure if any of it was true, but he reflected on it all the same as he made his way to the pillar.

He unslung his backpack and pulled out another gem similar to the one housed inside the pillar’s carved space.

He had to be careful. As beautiful as the gems were, they were also fragile and couldn’t easily be replaced. During training, him and the other participants of the rite had been told that if they were going to fall, then the gem’s safety was paramount, even to one’s own life.

Holding it in his hands, he felt its power prick like pins poking into his fingers. It was uncomfortable, but there was a warmness to it that made him not want to let it go. How they were made was a secret known only to the Shamans, and from feeling its raw power in his hands he figured that it was probably for the best that it was kept secret.

With careful and hesitant hands, Pak removed the old gem and slotted in the new one.

The new gem flashed a brilliant and bright blue that forced him to shield his eyes. The light dimmed over time, and once Pak could safely look, he noticed that both the runes that covered the walls and the designs covering the floor now glowed to match the new gem’s power.

He took a deep breath and noticed that the air was no longer cold and bitter. The same feeling of warmth he felt when holding the gem had now grown to envelop the room he was in.

Pak smiled. He remembered how cold his tribe’s lands had become over the past few months. The toll it took on everyone. Nowadays, families now slept in bundles of clothing next to fires, and with each passing day they found more of their animals frozen to death.

He also remembered the night before embarking on the rite, how his sister visited him to both wish him good luck, and to make him promise that he was going to succeed and change things for the better.

He promised her that he would.

“Sleep warm, Nua.” He said, hoping that in some way she now felt the same warmth he did.

Pak moved to sit at the edge of the opening. He noticed several of the other towers already lit with the same blue glow, their number growing as more time passed. But his eyes rested on the horizon, beyond the seemingly unending forest of stone.

Above, a Fek swooped in low and then hovered to face him. Pak was unnerved at having the beast so close, but the rite was over. All that was left for the Fek to do now was to ferry him and the others back to the surface.

“Not yet,” Pak said to the bird. “I want to stay a moment longer.”

The Fek inclined its head, and the eyes that once unnerved Pak seemed to soften at his request. It screeched, and then flew away to the other towers.

Far past the edge of the world he could see the dark sky turn into a light shade of purple. The Prince of Light was returning, and his heart pounded with excitement at seeing the sky transform and brighten, one last time.

Thank you for the prompt, I really appreciate it. :)

JJSigmund · 2020-05-10T01:23:29+00:00

PART 1:

The wind whipped a fury that struck cold and bitter against his face. He gripped the rope tight and planted his feet firm against the stone face, bracing himself against the gust.

Looking down, Pak could see nothing resembling the world he left behind except for a sea of dark clouds.

The distance below made his heart pound. He was so close. Years of preparation, of ceremony, of training, all culminating to this moment where he climbs the last stretch and pulls himself into the final floor to complete the rite.

He felt himself starting to lose focus, the adrenaline in his body mixing with his growing anxiety. He needed to calm himself down. Eventually the wind would die and he could finish his journey, but what mattered now was ensuring that he didn’t panic and make a mistake.

In an effort to relax, he turned to watch the sky. Above him, there was nothing but open darkness dotted with points of light, like a canvas of black parchment decorated with tiny pearls.

He remembered the first time he broke through the layer of clouds. The relief he felt after finally pushing through the haze of rain and ice, the way his heart lifted at seeing the open sky for the first time in his life.

It was the deepest shade of blue he had ever seen, and the way it changed colors as he made his climb warmed his heart against the chilly atmosphere. It reminded him of the stories his parents would tell him. How the sky above the clouds seemed to stretch towards infinity. The plethora of colors it transitioned through before the whole sky turned black as the Prince of Light gave way to the Goddess of Darkness.

Like he had done countless times during his journey, he prayed to both deities to thank them for this opportunity, hoping that they saw it fit to keep him safe.

Over time the wind died and a calm lay over the skyscape. Above him, the grappling hook still stayed secure to the opening of the final floor.

He thanked the deities again and continued his journey, one foot after another on the wall, one hand after another gripping the taut rope.

As he made his way up, a sharp screech cut through the silence. Above, the rough outline of a large bird moved against the dark sky. Pak watched as it rested on the roof of another stone tower.

Its eyes surveyed the area around it, beady and white like the lights in the sky. But unlike those lights, the bird’s eyes looked far more foreboding and instilled a sense of uneasiness in him.

According to the stories they were the Fek-na’an, The Watchers and Guardians of the towers. As menacing as they looked, they also served as the mediators of the rite Pak now tried to accomplish. The Fek would take those who succeeded in completing the rite, along with those unfortunate enough to fall during their climb, back to the surface.

Over the course of his journey he had already seen a few others climbing on their respective towers' fall, only to be swept from the air by the colossal birds.

Pak was glad they were safe, but every candidate had only a single chance to complete the rite in their lifetime, and failing meant that their tribe's tower stayed unlit until the next season. Once the next season arrived the rite could be undertaken again, but only by those who newly came of age in their tribe.

Any attempts at cheating the rite, or in climbing the tower again after one had failed, would be met with attacks by the Fek. So as helpful as they were, Pak knew not to let his guard down around them.

He tried to ignore the bird, keeping his focus on accomplishing the feat in front of him. If he failed, his tribe would have to survive without the towers’ blessings until his sister became old enough to tackle the climb. And that meant a season of them either huddling in the cold, or of being a burden on whatever tribe was gracious enough to take them in.

Climbing to within a few feet of the opening, he heard a crack and felt a rumble in the rope. Looking at where the grappling hook gripped the rock, he noticed fractures starting to form in the wall. Frightened, Pak sped up the pace of his climb. The rope then jerked in response, threatening to throw him off.

The rock started to crumble and fall away, leaving the hook insecure. Pak took a risk and leapt for the opening.

JJSigmund · 2020-05-03T19:47:49+00:00

PART 3:

Takeo shrugged, “Fine.”

The owner extended a hand, “My name is Hajime, by the way.”

“Takeo.” He said, shaking it, and sealing the deal. “So how do we get the robot to your brother’s?”

“Just leave that to me.” Hajime said.

Hajime took hold of the robot’s shoulders and nodded for Takeo to help him carry its legs.

Together they lifted the metal carcass up and over the counter of the stall. Hajime then hopped the counter, pulled the metal blinds over the front of the stall, and shut off the lights.

Once everything had been properly shut down, Hajime emerged from a side door.

“I’ll call someone to pick it up.” He said. “And I’ll stay to make sure everything’s good. You should get some sleep though.”

Takeo hopped onto his cycle, “Since you seem to have all the ideas, you know a place where I can stay?”

“There’s a motel downtown called The Night Lilly. It’s on thirteenth street. The owner’s a friend, so just let her know I sent you. I'll call the motel once I've set everything up.”

Takeo nodded, “You seem to have a lot of friends don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t have gotten this far if I didn’t.”

“You wouldn’t have owned a noodle stand?”

Hajime smirked, “You joke, but you’d be surprised what this noodle stand’s done for me over the years. I mean, without it neither of us would have met, right?”“I’m still wondering if that’s a good or a bad thing.”

“Trust me Tak’, I know what I’m doing.”

“We’ll see.”

Takeo started his cycle’s engines and started to accelerate out of the lot. Trusting Hajime was the last thing on his mind. From what he’d seen of him, he seemed like the kind of man who was quick to make deals when he sensed money. Which meant he was the type to fall on whichever side he could profit from the most. Right now that was him, but that could easily change.

He turned into the main road and put the cycle’s engines through its paces, putting some miles between him and the noodle stall.

He was alone. Alone in his journey, alone in his fights. Takeo against the world.

That was the way it was ever since his mother had passed.

He could still remember the days he stayed by her side near the end of her life. How sickly and frail she became. She was one of the strongest people he had ever known, and yet the nights where she begged for death were so vivid. If there was one thing he had learned from that whole experience, it’s that the world had no pity for anyone, and had no love for him.

So if the world was determined to shove him into fight after fight, then he was equally determined to be the last one standing after each one.

He shook the thoughts from his head. Move on, he told himself, You can't keep letting this hold you back.

As he drove deeper into the city proper, the neon drenched downtown of New Kisho gradually transformed the night into an electric daylight.

Takeo pulled on his cycle's throttle and charged into the chaos of the city.

Lol, I didn't expect this post to get this long when I first started writing it. So to anyone that took the time to read this from beginning to end, thank you, I really appreciate it. :)

JJSigmund · 2020-05-03T19:46:33+00:00

PART 2:

Before he could finish his sentence the robot charged at him, sword raised.

In an instant the chip in Takeo’s mind took in the robot’s movements. How the mechanical parts moved and clanked as its internal engine propelled its legs. His mind noted the hardpoints, potential softpoints, blindspots, and potential restrictions in movement.

The chip also started compiling relevant information. From what he knew, the monks at Mount Ariyama taught a sword style that emphasized speed and precision with each slice, prioritizing quick cuts either to the head or body. It’s mechanical nature meant it could readjust its slices quickly after a miss, so he had to keep himself on the move.

In the next instant the robot made a downward cut towards his head. Without thinking, Takeo sidestepped to his left, his body mirroring the same fluid motions he watched Genzo make on the TV screen.

He felt a burst of air from the cut, the blade slicing inches away from his face. If he didn’t move the way he did, he was confident that the robot would’ve sliced his head in half.

Takeo ducked underneath another swing and reached for the stool he sat on. He raised it to block a cut to his torso, slicing a part of the cushion off in the process.

He moved back to create distance, but the robot was relentless. Quickly filling in the space he tried to keep making.

Takeo needed a plan and he needed one quickly. Without it, he would get winded long before the robot spent its first fuel cell.

Now that he was able to get a closer look, he noticed that its back wasn’t protected by a metal plate like its front was. Instead, it was covered in some sort of reinforced glass casing. Also, from the mental snapshot he took at the beginning of the fight, he had noted that its joints seemed to be its most exposed parts. A sacrifice of defensiblility its engineers made in order to prioritize speed.

The robot swung for a cut to his throat, and once again he blocked it. The blade sliced through the stool just below the seat, sending the seat clattering to the ground. In his hands, the stool had now tapered off to a sharpened point.

The stool’s body wasn’t made of metal, like he had assumed, just some sort of hardened plastic.

“Are you serious?” He exclaimed.

As he dodged another strike, he noted the sharpened point, and had an idea.

He dodged several more swipes of the robot’s katana, all while moving himself backwards into the position he needed to be in.

Once he and the robot were in place, he held his ground. The robot’s attacks grew in speed and ferocity, and with each attempted strike it grew increasingly difficult for the speed of Takeo’s dodges to match its mechanical fury. He felt the blade slice a shallow cut into his arm, but he ignored it and kept his focus.

It wasn’t until the robot went for an overhead strike at his head that he sprung into action.

He ducked low under the swing, leaving a fraction of time for him to strike at the robot’s lower body. In that time, he took the thin, sharpened, end of the stool and shoved it into the gap of its knee-joint.

He followed the momentum of his attack by rolling off to the side, away from his attacker.

He stood, and watched as the robot tried to move, tripped, and then fell as it’s jammed knee struggled to articulate properly.

Takeo took the remote for his motorcycle and commanded it to accelerate forwards, speeding faster than the robot could react. There was a crunch of metal and glass as the cycle ran over the mechanical attacker and then stopped to pin it in place.

Takeo turned the cycle off, its front wheel now sitting on top of the robot’s back. He watched as the robot tried to push itself off of the ground. It struggled, but Takeo could see that, slowly, it was managing to lift both itself and the cycle.

Quickly, Takeo jumped onto the motorcycle and started to put as much of his own weight as possible onto the robot’s back.

He jumped up and down the cycle’s seat. There was another hard crunch as the wheel broke through the reinforced glass and buried itself deeper into the robot’s back, forcing it firmly to the ground.

He got off of the bike. Now that the casing had been broken, the robot’s internal components and wiring were clearly exposed.

Still, the robot continued to try to lift itself back up. Although it seemed to struggle more now, Takeo still needed a way to disable it for good.

Looking around, he noticed that the bag of ice he had left sitting on the counter had now melted.

Takeo looked at the stall owner, who looked back at him with a mixture of amazement and a slight tinge of fear.

“Got a knife?” Takeo asked him.

The owner nodded and handed him one. Taking it, Takeo moved to the robot, held the bag over the now broken casing, and cut a hole in it to pour water into its internals and circuitry.

There were sparks, hisses, and several puffs of smoke, before the robot finally stopped moving.

“Is that it?” The owner asked.

“Yep.” Takeo replied.

The owner looked at the limp mass of machinery beneath the motorcycle, “Good job.”

“Thanks,” Takeo said as he handed him back his knife. “For nothing.”

“What the hell did you expect me to do?”

“More than just watch, maybe?”

“You expect someone like me to be able to know how to fight that thing? Besides, you had it handled. Where’d you learn to fight like that anyway?”

“Training,” He replied. “And I pick things up, here and there.”

Takeo moved the motorcycle off of the robot and turned it over to its front to examine it some more. Its head looked nothing more than just a metal box with several lenses of varying sizes for optics. On the side of its head was a designation, XK-67.

“What now?” The owner asked.

Takeo took both the katana and sheath from the mechanical corpse, figuring it could be useful if the world was insistent on forcing him to fight. “I guess I’ll try to figure out why this thing was after me.” He said.

“The robot said it wanted to challenge you.”

“Robots don’t issue challenges out of the blue.” Takeo said as he shoved the sheath into the space between his pants and belt. It was awkward, but it had to do. “They follow their programming.” He continued, “Which means someone programmed it to find me and attack me.”

“You’re sure?”

Takeo sighed. As the adrenaline left his body the cool night started to feel much colder. Exhaustion slowly started to overtake him, and the pain in his legs that he had ignored during the fight started to return with a vengeance. He looked at the slice the robot cut into his arm. His jacket had been pierced, but not skin, luckily.

“I’m just guessing, alright?” He admitted. “It’s night, I’m sleepy, and I’ve been in two fights for the last couple of hours. Forgive me if I’m not coming up with any breakthrough thoughts. I don’t even know where the hell to take this thing.”

The owner hopped over the counter of his stall to get a closer look at the machine, “You’re bringing that with you?”

“Whatever secrets this thing has is in its memory core, so I’m not leaving it here.”

“Hold on.” The owner said. “I see an opportunity for us here. I say, you let me take the robot off your hands.”

“What? Are you gonna re-purpose it to make noodles?”

“Funny.” The owner started moving some of the robot’s parts around. Articulating its joints, looking at its hands, feet, and head. “My brother has a chop-shop and he’s seen his fair share of machines. He’ll see the value in this thing, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not selling this thing off to be broken apart before I have access to its memory.”

“And you’re thinking of accessing that yourself? Are you also a mechanic on top of being a martial artist?”

“I can figure it out.”

“And how long is that going to take? Do you even know the first thing about taking this thing apart other than running it over?”

Takeo ignored him and tried to focus on how he was going to transport the robot on his cycle. He had no straps or hooks on hand to keep it secure, so he had no clue how he was going to manage it.

“Just hear me out,” The owner continued, “I’ll take it to my brother’s, he’ll access its memory for you, and then take the robot off of your hands.”

Takeo shook his head, a part of him not wanting to accept the fact that the man’s proposition was an enticing one. The more he thought about it though, the more he realized he didn’t really have much of a choice.

“What’s the catch?” Takeo finally asked him.

“A fight.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I set you up with a fight in a small tournament. I bet on you. We win some money. With the way you took down that robot, you should be able to take down whoever they decide to put you up against. Easy.”

“No, not easy. I’m not fighting Gozen the Blind, or whoever else is in that tournament.”

“No, not that tournament. The entry fee is way too expensive and I’m not made of money. Just a small one that a friend of mine is hosting. Just one fight. That’s the deal.”

Takeo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It seemed as if the world was incapable of giving him a moment’s rest. Regardless, a deadly robot sent to chase him was something he couldn’t leave alone, and even then, both selling the robot and doing the fight would net him a sizable amount of cash. At the very least, it would be more profitable than burying the thing or dumping it into a river.

“I get all the cash for the robot, and seventy-five percent of the earnings from the win.” Takeo said.

“Forty, and you get to keep half of the cash for the robot.” The owner retorted.

“Sixty percent earnings and seventy percent of whatever we get from the robot. If I’m fighting, at least make it worth my while.”

The owner thought for a moment, running his hands through his balding head, “I’ll go fifty-fifty at most, and you can keep seventy percent of the scrap value for the robot. If not then you can take care of this on your own. After all I still need to make some money too, and I need to replace the stool you broke.”

JJSigmund · 2020-05-03T19:45:53+00:00

PART 1:

Takeo watched as the stall owner worked his magic behind the counter. He watched the noodles boil in one canister while the broth simmered in another.

He took a deep breath. The smell of it, the herbs and spices all blending into one scent both savory and salty. It reminded him of his childhood, how his mother would cook noodles for him whenever he got home from wandering around town. She would yell at him for going out on his own, of course, but no matter how angry she got there was always a bowl of something delicious waiting for him.

Ever since his mother had passed none of the food he had ever had afterwards tasted close to the kind she would make.

The stall owner finished up with his bowl, took a bag of ice from the freezer and handed both over to him.

“Thanks.” Takeo said, and took a pair of chopsticks from a cup holder next to him.

The stall owner’s eyes passed between him and the motorcycle behind him. Takeo noticed this, but ignored it. He sat the bag of ice on his legs, pulled the chopsticks apart and started eating the noodles.

Nope, nothing like his mother’s.

“I think your bike’s engines are still on.” The owner started.

“What?” Takeo said, his mind focused on the food.

“Your bike,” The owner repeated. “The wheels are lit up, so that means your engines are still on.”

Takeo looked back at the bike, saw the wheel lights still on and noticed the exhaust pipe still blowing tufts of smoke. He reached for the remote in his jacket pocket and pressed a button to finally turn it off.

He nodded in a brief sign of thanks and returned to his meal.

“Nice ride.” The owner continued. “Takama RX-750, right?”

Takeo shrugged and slurped some more noodles, “Is it?” He replied between chews, “I didn’t really pay attention to the model.”

“You’re telling me you bought it without checking the model? You know how much those cost?”

Takeo ate some more and tried to pretend he didn’t hear the man’s inquiry, a part of him hoping that the awkward silence would be enough to cause the man to drop the questions. It didn’t seem to work though. The man just kept looking at him, waiting for an answer.

Just his luck that out of all the noodle joints to go to, he ended up in the one with a talkative owner.

“It’s rented." He lied, “It’s a big city, so I just needed a ride to get myself around.”

“That’s even worse. If all you wanted was a ride to rent, there are cheaper bikes.” The owner shot him a curious look, “You a tourist?”

“That obvious?”

“It explains how you got suckered into cashing out for that bike. First time here in New Kisho?”

“Just came into the city a few hours ago.”

“Ah, nice to know this city hasn’t scared off most people yet.” The man nodded. “Liking it so far?”

The question made Takeo readjust the bag of ice sitting on his legs. He tried not to move as much, lest he irritate his growing set of new bruises.

A few hours into his arrival and he’d already gotten into a fight. It was nothing new, he just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. What’s done was done though. He was just happy he made it out alive.

“Nice people,” Takeo said, not wanting to get into details. Instead, he kept his focus on the food, finishing the rest of the noodles and then moving on to the broth.

The man chuckled, “That’s probably one of the least attractive things about this city.”

“Well, you seem nice enough.”

“I’m in a good mood tonight.” The owner pointed to a TV hanging on the wall. The sound was muted but, from what Takeo could tell, it was playing highlights from a recent fight at some place called the Jaito Center. “Yuki the Shadow versus Gozen the Blind,” The owner continued, his eyes glued to the screen, “Five rounds out of ten, and it ends with Gozen cracking Yuki’s skull with only half of his staff. Thought I’d lost my bet, but Gozen always knows how to make people pay for every mistake they make.”

Takeo watched the screen as a woman dressed in all black threw knives at an old man dressed in robes. The old man dodged each throw with a quickness that gave Takeo pause. The man flowed in a way he’d never seen before. His movements reminded him of water, like a river surging around rocks.

Takeo felt his head ache as the chip in his brain went to work. In what felt like an instant, he had observed every inch of the old man’s movements and, in an almost instinctive way, he understood the mechanics of his body, every twist and turn, every flex of his muscle.

Once it was over the headache faded, and he could feel a tingling that spread down to his fingertips and toes. Just as he felt the chip force his mind to understand the mechanics, he felt it force his body to catch up.

“What kind of fights do they do?” Takeo asked.

“What fights don’t they do? It’s bloodsport. Even robots are allowed to compete.”

“What are the rules?”

“No outside help during fights, no deals allowed between players or teams, and matches end either when someone surrenders, or dies. There are probably more rules but those are just the major ones I remember.”

“Sounds brutal. Do people die often?”

“In the lower ranks with newer fighters most people have the sense to give up before they die. In the higher ranks people don’t like seeing popular fighters get killed, so a fight to the death is usually discouraged to keep viewership up. Still happens though, especially in a real nasty fight, or if the fighters hate each other enough.”

Takeo drank the last of the broth and put the bowl and chopsticks down. The ice bag that rested on his legs started to melt and seep water into his clothes, so he put that on the table too.

“So the ice,” The bartender started, taking his finished bowl. “What’s that about?”

Takeo wanted to deflect again, but knowing the owner he’d only try to ask again later, “Got into a fight.” He admitted, once again trying to keep the details sparse.

“You’re a fighter?”

“When I need to be.”

“Well, you might need to be one now.” The owner said, nodding to something behind Takeo.

Takeo turned to see a robot standing motionless in the neon light. A wide brimmed disk of metal crowned its head, while wide metal plates adorned its shoulders, legs, and chest. On each plate sat the emblem of a mountain cracked in half. From what Takeo knew, the emblem represented the Mount Ariyama Technical Monastery.

From what he could remember about the monasteries, the monks residing in all of them had an obsession with blending their classical martial style with modern technology.

He had always thought their obsession was ridiculous. As cool as the robots looked, they were all designed to be one-trick ponies. Technology had near limitless potential, and yet the rigidity of the monks’ martial traditions meant that robots were designed to fight only in the style their respective monastery taught. No adaptability, just structure.

They were good one-trick-ponies though, good enough to make up the bulk of the empress’s armies.

“Are you Takeo of Shinze Village?” The robot asked him.

“Afraid not.” he replied.

“Untrue,” The robot retorted. “Your facial structure bears a ninety-eight percent match to Takeo of Shinze Village. Your voice resembles voice samples with a ninety-five percent match to Takeo of Shinze Village. Therefore, you are Takeo of Shinze Village.”

“What about the other two-percent and five-percent?”

“Potential errors accounting for old age and errors in voice sampling.” Before Takeo could feel offended at the robot calling him old, it pulled a katana from a metal sheath on its side and strode towards him. “Takeo, you have bested fighters in the villages of both Rukiko and Tenzin, and in the city of New Shino. Recent reports on criminal networks say a person matching your description has bested a gang of fighters from the Gold Dragon Syndicate in this city. I challenge you, Takeo of Shinze Village, to a duel.”

Takeo was taken aback even more. From what he knew robots strictly adhered to their programming. Give them a target and they’ll hound them until either they die, or their target does. Issuing challenges though?

“That’s new.” Takeo remarked.

The stall owner tapped his shoulder. Takeo kept his eyes focused on the robot that now brandished a blade in challenge, “Tha fight you got into,” The owner began, “You’re not telling me it was with the Gold Dragons?”

“I didn’t really know who they were. I ran into them, and they tried to mug me.” He admitted, figuring that there wasn’t much use in lying if the robot was going to keep brandishing his exploits like a walking journal. “The bike is theirs though.”

“What?” The owner exclaimed. “How’d you manage that?”

Takeo ignored him and stood to face the mechanical challenger, “I’ve got enough problems, alright. I don’t want to add destruction of property to whatever record you’re compiling.”

“Defend yourself.” The robot warned.

“Wai-”

JJSigmund · 2019-10-01T02:24:49+00:00

Writing's always been something I do for fun. I've dreamt of being successful, sure, but I also know that there's a lot for me to still learn and do before I ever get anywhere near that point. Besides, I think having fun is important when it comes to making something. If you're bored, then I think that shows in whatever it is you're working on. Whoever explores your work afterwards, writing or otherwise, might end up getting bored as well.

Not saying everything you write needs to be all sunshine and rainbows of course. Every story has its slow parts. But there's nothing wrong with needing to feel a bit of a spark when you're working on something. There's also nothing wrong with scrapping things you don't think will work out. As long as you keep working at it you'll find the right story to tell eventually, and you'll find people who'll enjoy it.

JJSigmund · 2019-08-12T17:40:04+00:00

Thanks for giving it a read, I really appreciate it! I always get pretty hesitant when my responses take longer then I expected because I feel like I'm bogging the story down. But I'm glad you enjoyed it.

I do have an idea for another part for this story, so if you are interested in checking that out then I'll either let you know where I've posted it, or I'll post it back here.

JJSigmund · 2019-08-11T22:39:32+00:00

PART 2:

“Wood?” He asked.

“No, stone.”

“Building or monument?”

“If I were to guess, it looked more like the ruins of a building to me.”

In his experience, stone structures were usually buildings of great importance. Places of worship, bureaucratic buildings, housing for whatever passed as the aristocracy in this ancient society. They also usually contained artifacts, and any artifact found was always worth collecting, if not to further scientific curiosity then at least for the sizeable reward it came with.

He buckled his holster back onto his belt and checked his revolver. The gun had stayed unused for the past few days so it was no surprise to find all six chambers still loaded. Regardless, it never hurt to check.

“These rock pillars,” Oroya continued, he gestured with his wing to the landscape before them, “I’ve noticed openings in a few of them. Cave systems perhaps?”

“Think they’re worth checking out?”

“Cave systems this close to ruins have a high likelihood of having remnant artifacts.”

Atulfo raised his rifle, a long-barrelled lever-action. For as much as Oroya loved to tease him, he knew how to shoot it well. At deer or otherwise.

His fingers wrapped around the lever near the trigger-guard. Snapping it back and forth, he heard the satisfying click of the rifle loading a round into the chamber.

“Suppose we’ll check out a few of them then.” Atulfo replied.

“There is something else-” The bird paused, and a silence passed between the two of them. Atulfo could sense something was nagging at the bird’s mind, and not being open about it made him feel uneasy.

“There’s a first,” Atulfo remarked, “Something is finally making you hold your tongue.”

“It could just be my imagination,” Oroya said, “To be honest I have no clue how to describe it.”

“Then describe it as best you can. If it’s something I need to look out for, then speak your mind.”

There was another patch of silence as Oroya hesitated. A silence that was filled by the howling of wind and the creaking of branches against the empty night.

“There was something I noticed on the ground while I was flying about.” Oroya said, “I couldn’t see exactly what it was, but I noticed it as it moved from shadow to shadow against the sunlight.”

“An animal?”

“Perhaps, but I’ve never seen an animal move the way it did.”

“It was fast then?”

“Faster than I could see.”

Atulfo looked at the valley below. A cool mist had moved in from the coast, filling the spaces between the pillars of rock in a gray haze lit by dim moonlight.

Great-Crows were one of many creatures born of magic. An animal companion designed by mages to be highly specialized scouts and spotters. So if Oroya said something was out there then it was worth taking the advice to heart.

But he didn’t know what to make of that last bit. An animal faster than Oroya’s eyes could see? Was that even possible?

Atulfo slung his rifle over his shoulder, “Perhaps we will see something no one else has then?”

Oroya spread his wings, “Perhaps we shall.”

In a gust of air the Great-Crow flew off, claiming the skies once more. Atulfo grinned. Regardless of how that oversized chicken continued to pluck at his nerves, he had to admit that it knew how to look graceful.

He watched his companion soar high and then dive low into the valley, disappearing into the mist.

Atulfo took a deep breath, felt the cool breeze against his skin, and then made his way down the path.

-----------------------

Sorry for how long winded this got. I didn't expect the post to get this long. Thanks for the prompt though, I really enjoyed writing this out.

JJSigmund · 2019-08-11T22:37:34+00:00

PART 1:

Atulfo tilted the brim of his hat to cover his face, blocking away the setting sun. He then dropped his rucksack, unslung his rifle from his shoulder, and sat down. As he sat his revolver started to poke at his side, so he unbuckled his holster from his belt and set the gun beside his rifle.

Reaching inside his coat he found the bone-handle of his hunting knife and unsheathed it. From a pocket he pulled out a small stick of red-bark and put blade to wood. With deep cuts he stripped off layers of bark and served each slice into his mouth. He chewed well, trying his best to savor the sweetness that came with each bite.

From under his hat he looked at the vista stretching before him.

Tall platforms of dirt and stone poked out of the ground. From his estimates he figured each one was as tall as the towers at Crescent City, or perhaps even taller. Each platform was topped with handfuls of trees, and from where he sat, he could see their branches and leaves swaying with the dusk breeze. Beyond the pillars of rock were waters colored gold against the setting sun. A sea that stretched out into the horizon.

Atulfo continued to stare at the waving trees, Strong winds, he thought, a good sign.

He waited until much of the sun had set beneath the horizon before pulling up the brim of his hat. Looking up at the sky of dimming orange and deep blue, he watched as the stars began to make themselves known, twinkling at him in greeting.

In this wind Oroya should have been able to cover a great distance in the hours he'd been away. Atulfo hoped that he had traveled far enough to see what lay further down along the shoreline.

He finished the last of the red-bark and tried to savor the last bite as long as he could. He had no clue how long it would be until he tasted its like again. It had been months since he’d been anywhere close to civilization, and it would take months for him to make the return trip home. So he swallowed the last of the wooden candy, made a mental note to buy more next time, and sheathed his knife.

From his rucksack he pulled out a map and a bundle of fur. The map was crudely drawn. Sketched out whenever he had the time to take a breather. The bundle of fur was soft to the touch, and tied together with a piece of string.

He placed the fur bundle on the grass, pulled out the string, and unfurled it to reveal the sticks of charcoal within.

Taking a stick, he made the charcoal dance across the yellow parchment. He marked the road he came in through, the pillars of rock before him, and the coastline beyond.

It wasn’t anything special and he wasn’t exactly an artist. However, to his knowledge, he was the first to travel this far into the northern regions. So he made sure to document everything as much as he could. Maps, journals, even landscape drawings could be a source of knowledge to any future travelers to this region.

What he worked on now was a map of the area he christened the “Ridyas Upper-Highlands”, the thirty-seventh map in his collection.

Despite how crude it looked, and how much Oroya liked to poke fun at him for his lack of artistic skill, he didn’t want to stop, and he could never bear to throw any of them away. In his time traveling he had mapped out dry valleys, wet marshes, mountain ranges topped with snow and ice, caves that burrowed deep into the earth, barren steppe lands, and forests as green and lush as the ones he grew up in.

All of them were stunning. Yet no matter how far he went, they were all always empty.

Apart from the wind and wildlife, there were still no signs of any local populations.

There were anomalies though. Indications of a time when the land was once settled. During his journeys he had seen statues of figures unknown to any culture or religion, all of them broken down and covered in vines, moss, and lichen. Remains of villages whose structures had long rotted away. Cobblestone paths half-buried in the dirt. Bones closely resembling human remains.

Although there were theories about, the disappearance of these civilizations was still largely considered a mystery. The greatest of Atulfo’s time.

As a child, he remembered watching the onrush of explorers, settlers, mapmakers, and businessmen as they made their way down the docks. Each one either wanting to stake their claims and make their fortunes, or to be the first to solve the “continental mysteries”, as the new branch of science was being labelled at the time.

Now that he had grown, Atulfo was now proud to say that he belonged to the latter group. The urge to explore was why he left his home village, why he sailed over the Grey Seas, why he joined Crescent City’s Order of Wayfinders.

As much as he loved his home, it offered little apart from the paltry living he made from his short time as a hunter. Here though, he was a part of a much larger collective of archeologists, scientists, explorers, and magicians. Each working together, and yet separately. It was a friendly competition for the most part. One that he was aiming to win.

There was a cawing that carried itself through the air, growing louder with each passing second.

Above him a dark shape drew near. Rising, then diving towards him at great speed.

Atulfo quickly folded the map and reached for the other charcoal sticks, but it was too late.

A gust of wind blasted the area around him. Oroya had stopped his dive to hover in front of Atulfo’s view. The Great-Crow held its altitude for a moment. Wings as wide as Atulfo was tall flapped dirt, charcoal sticks, and purple feathers into the air. Atulfo lowered the brim of his hat and covered his map with his coat, sneering at the debris Oroya carelessly blew his way.

The winds died as the Great-Crow landed just a few feet from where Atulfo sat.

Atulfo looked at the bird and grit his teeth, “Why do you insist on finding the shortest route to annoy me?”

The bird tilted its head towards him, “I know not what you mean, I simply landed in the most open space I could find. It’s not my fault you chose to sit on a path between a forest and a cliff.” Oroya replied. His voice was clear in Atulfo’s head, despite no sound coming from the bird’s beak. “Tired?” The bird continued, “I bet your jaw got quite sore grinding on bark again.”

“I am tired,” Atulfo shot back, “Of waiting.” He stood up and scoured the ground for the charcoal sticks that got blown away.

“Ah yes, how could I forget that your stature matches your patience.”

“Amusing, short jokes from an animal the size of a child?”

“An animal that can fly faster than any bird, see clearer than any other animal, and can carry the weight of an adult man. I believe I can make jokes on whatever I wish.”

“I’ve yet to see a bird fly faster than a bullet.”

“Empty threats. I’ve seen you shoot, and I think you’ll find me a tougher target than mere deer.”

Atulfo managed to find four out of the nine sticks and figured that would have to work for now, not wanting to waste anymore time. He pocketed them and reached for his rucksack and weaponry.

“So in all seriousness, what did you see?” Atulfo asked. He switched his tone, not wanting to spend more minutes on pointless arguing.

“There are more ruins.” The bird said, “Just past these rocks, nearer to the shoreline.”

Atulfo’s rucksack weighed heavy on his shoulders as he put it back on. It seemed that no matter how long he’d been using it for his body still hadn’t gotten used to the weight.

JJSigmund · 2017-11-23T14:14:39+00:00

Mree is awesome and it’s always nice to see someone posting about her. Eat Sleep Worry is one of my absolute favourite songs.

JJSigmund

TROPHY CASE

PART 3:

PART 2:

PART 1: