[PASS] The Wrong Sort of Contract (Mort)

[medigel]

NAME OF CLASS: Make a legal document and...
PROFESSOR NAME Professor Q. B.

General information: Professor Q. B. is a renowned Halloween citizen that has traveled both Halloween and the Human World in their study of the Fear arts and has guest lectured in many established Halloween academies. Their specialty is of course, helping manifest Fear to a stronger form in desperate battle situations. Students will be learning how to make themselves stronger by invoking their hidden powers within!

Mechanics: The course itself is simply a classroom, with no chairs, or tables, or anything, in fact, it seems to be just one big white room. There is a large black swirling hole at the base of the room and upon jumping in-

- You suddenly feel very magical. You are wearing way more colour than you are used to, and good Jack, are those frills? Yes all boys yes, yes you are also wearing a skirt.

Before you can ponder this horrible and slightly traumatic change of events, you look around: you seem to be in a strange bizzare dimension where everything seems jaunty and disjointed. An eerie chanting echoes in the background along with what seems like thousands of ringing bells. Small equally disjointed creatures, some sporting entirely random limbs but no head, others with only a pair of eyes, a nose, even just a single eye scuttle by, brushing against your legs. As you take a step forward, the path in front of you begins to warp and spin, colours turning into shapes and into shadows, the cycle repeating spontaneously and endlessly.

At last, after what seems like forever, you reach the end. A creature awaits you: for each person it is different, at first it is simply a large butterfly unfurling its wings as it attempts to break out of its chrysalis until what emerges is what students themselves fear the most, from their relatives, to an Amityville professor, to even a Hunter. The outline however, of the shape, blurs and distorts, at times it is that figure, at other times, it is simply a blur of black shadows and uneven colours and textures.

And then, as you feel you are being consumed by the figure, everything blurring together at once into a mound of chaos, you can't even remember who you are, until a voice calls to you.

"Invoke your Fear, remember yourselves, and fight back!"

Intimidated, you take a step back, and then realize, in a circle around you is a ring of simple swords. If you are a reaper, you may choose to use your own weapon instead and summon it at this point. You hear the voice again, telling you to manifest your Fear into the sword to make it work, and you try to focus, focusing your powers, attempting to transfer your Fear ability onto the blade. Finally, some success, the blade of the sword flickers, weakly, with an aura corresponding to your own Fear. As you swing it experimentally, the sword unleashes an arc of your Fear, from a shadowy dark black to a flaming blaze of fire, or even just even a stronger blow that knocks everything back. You feel powerful, and the music in the background seems to have changed to something a little more upbeat.

ROUND 1

ROUND 1: VERSUS THE FAMILIARS

- You are fighting the strange things scuttling around your legs, the boss is still too far away! You use your sword to strike them around you, satisfied as some scuttle away.
- You must rp out each post
- You need to clear 5 waves of familiars. Roll 2d12 and subtract 6 from the result, you CANNOT use your Fear attack (as this is manifesting/combined with your sword at the moment). You cannot heal or do anything other than roll the 2d12 -6.
- If your rolled result is higher than a 6 you clear one wave.
- Every time you roll, you take 3 damage, even if you miss! Make sure at the bottom of each of your rolls to post your damage you do (success or miss) and then your total hp value.
- After five SUCCESSFUL clears you move on to round 2. BEFORE CLEARING YOU GET A FREE HEAL. Roll 2d20 to determine your heal.
- If you hit 0 HP you immediately warp out! You are back in the white room, and have to TRY EVERYTHING AGAIN.

ROUND 2

ROUND 2: VERSUS THE BOSS
- The boss seems to practically be waiting for you. Its one disjointed arm summons you forward, its figure suddenly focused. You feel as if you are fighting your greatest opponent, and that in this moment of desperation, every move you made mattered.
- You must rp out each post
- THE BOSS HAS 50 HP. Roll 2d12 and subtract 6 from the result, you CANNOT use your Fear attack (as this is manifesting/combined with your sword at the moment). You cannot heal or do anything other than roll the 2d12 -6. At the end of each roll post, make sure to post your current HP, and the HP of the boss.
- Every time you roll, you take 5 damage from the boss, even if you miss!
- If you hit 0 HP you immediately warp out! You are back in the white room, and have to TRY EVERYTHING AGAIN.
- If the boss HP hits 0, you have defeated it! If you AND the boss hit 0, there is a moment of silence, the boss takes one step back and... you are warped back before you see the result ): too bad you have to try again (fail).

YOU DEFEATED THE BOSS AND...

- The boss simple freezes up, the world around you stopping, the colours bleeding to black. Then, with a loud crackle and a whoosh, everything condenses together into one small object. As you go to examine it, the object itself splits in two, a small shadow escaping from it before dissipating into nothingness. On the bright side, the music has also stopped and you are at least dressed normally again.

You don't notice the pair of blinking red eyes staring at you from the corner, or do you?

Bonus Mechanics

Bonus Mechanics:
- If you are a REAPER or DEMON you do an additional +1 damage after damage calculations to everything.
- If you are an UNDEAD or MONSTER you do - 1 damage after damage calculations to everything
- If you are a GHOST you take -1 damage every time you roll

YOU COMPLETE THE CLASS WHEN

You defeat the boss, duh

 

[medigel]

Mort was in as black of a mood as he was for quite some time after the Trial of Death. Not even his newly acquired costume could cause him further harm to his psyche than was already done. All the zomboil knew was that he needed to work off his built up . . . whatever it was that was building up in him, and fast. He had entered the empty room knowing the disadvantage certain factious had, but he didn't care. A small challenge was nothing at this point.

The sword, however, was. It felt good to wield in his hands, and the swipes he took at the creatures surrounding him were swift and deadly.

HP: 37
Success Wave 1  

[medigel]

Hack and slash, like button mashing, was simple to do after he found a rhythm. The disjointed things hissed and writhed and nipped at his heels, but Mort managed to clear a swath of them as he moved forward. This dimension was too strange to have to stay in for too long, he decided. It did not follow logic or sanity, and if Insanity had anything to do with it . . . He might just blow a gasket.

HP: 34
Success Wave 2  

[medigel]

But then, he thought, even if Insanity was involved, would he have back away?

No.

A fight was a fight, even if he wasn't really a fighter. Getting out his emotions was terrible in a verbal manner anyway. Mort flinched in recollection of his stupidity during the tea invitation at Taryn's and took it out on a slew of creatures around him. Perhaps he should seek forgiveness on that front . . .

HP: 31
Success Wave 3  

[medigel]

But thinking about then almost costed him in the now, as an over-sized arm clawed as his leg mercilessly. Growling, he returned fire with a wide arc of the glowing green sword, shuffling back before they could move in much closer.

Head in the game, Mort. Head in the game. He was here to kill, not pity party.

HP: 28
Success Wave 4  

[medigel]

They were amassing now, a horrid swarm of black uneven creatures plowing directly at his magical ghoul self. Final wave, he thought with a tiny smile, just like in video games. And he raised his sword to meet them.

For a few dire seconds he couldn't see anything but their dark bodies pressing, clawing, gnawing away at his ill-fitted clothes. He could barely remember which way he directed his sword, only that it was with determination and hope that if he withstood the horde, he would beat the class. And eventually they did stop their mindless whispers, dissolving into nothingness.

But it didn't feel like the end.

HP: 25
Success Wave 5  

[medigel]

And it wasn't. He only then recalled the strange figure who had swallowed him up in the white room, one whose visage disturbed. That, he would have to face. Mort could sense its presence not far off and knew he had little tie to recover from the bites and scratches he'd incurred. Taking out his handy needle, the zomboil charged through stitching himself up with a set face, unwilling to give the thing attention until he was ready.

It waited patiently.

HP: 40/40 (+29 heal)  

[medigel]

With a snip of the thread in his teeth, he was ready. Mort stood and raised his weapon to the class's final opponent. For a moment he was unsure what it looked like save for strangely familiar details: patchy skin, tousled hair, loose clothes . . . And yet it looked unfamiliar at the same time, with its abnormally large right arm and alien sawtooth grin.

And it hit him with a pang: Mort was going to fight himself. His anger, desperation, guilt, and all things otherwise fitting similarly had coalesced into a literal shadow of himself, the one thing glinting beyond its teeth being the shiny metallic right arm as thick as his head.

It lunged without warning and struck at his abdomen with the metal fist just as he let his sword come up in defense, somehow leaving a good cut through the offending appendage.

HP: 35/40
Damage to Boss: 18 - 6 - 1 (undead) = 11
Boss HP: 39  

[medigel]

The second punch hurtled faster than expected, nearly sending Mort to his knees as he was pushed back. For sure he could have sworn his jaw cracked, but beyond congealed blood beginning to seep into his mouth, his head was still functioning in all capacities. The joy of being a determinator.

His next swipe was weak, and Mort's opponent knew it. The Shadow Mort smirked and brought up its fleshier, weaker arm to take the hit, taunting him with a bloodstained smile.

Was that all? Was rage the only thing that made him strong? Its eyes bore into him with madness, daring him to disagree.

HP: 30/40
Damage to Boss: 10 - 6 - 1 (undead) = 3
Boss HP: 36  

[medigel]

The Shadow Mort spoke without actually speaking, serrated teeth still clamped in an infernal grin. Why keep me hidden? This is the true you. All monster, feral and instinctive, mighty in its power and inability to comprehend how it impacts others - pleasure in its choices, revelry in its freedom from logic.

It was utterly frightening, like a man with nothing left to lose. This wasn't simply an otherworld opponent, Mort realized, but a force. There was no end or beginning to it, but simply existed.

Feed me, you worthless coward! Without me you live with a shell of yourself. It lunged again, the metal hand swiping at his side with a clang and sending him stumbling. More blood in his mouth to spit out.

Or are you too afraid to fight back without me?

Mort answered with a deep laceration to the thing's leg to try and slow it down, expressionless as it shrieked.

HP: 25/40
Damage to Boss: 20 - 6 - 1 (undead) = 13
Boss HP: 23  

[medigel]

He shouldn't have hesitated. The shrieking sound was nothing on his ears, but without warning Mort felt white hot with fear. Would destroying this entity really solve his problems? Would he be killing himself essentially? The sword was useless in his hand as the thing struck back with a vengeance.

You cannot ignore me now! the Shadow Mort hissed gleefully.

HP: 20/40
Damage to Boss: 0
Boss HP: 23  

[medigel]

No, he decided. No, he could not ignore this thing, this . . . embodiment of his darker thoughts. It was right in a sense: to deny it would be to deny half of himself. He could not always be the cheery zomboil most knew, nor could he simply let rage dictate his actions just to feel vindicated about something.

Balance, he realized He needed balance.

Gripping the sword's handle tight, Mort rushed at the shadow ad the same time it did, their metal weapons clashing against each other with sparks.

HP: 15/40
Damage to Boss: 20 - 6 - 1 (undead) = 13
Boss HP: 10  

[medigel]

You cannot defeat me! I AM YOU! the shadow raged, pushing against him with bared teeth that bit so hard against each other that one cracked and disintegrated.

Yes, Mort supposed, it was. Anxiety was in the foreground of his thoughts, but he was getting on his last legs now. Instinct told him to fight back, and he did so, managing a kick at the thing's knee.

HP: 10/40
Damage to Boss: 11 - 6 - 1 (undead) = 4
Boss HP: 6  

[medigel]

His kick unbalanced the creature, forcing it to one knee. Both of them were panting heavily at this point, the wounds from their fight bleeding freely (the shadow's were inky and almost smoke like, while Mort's blood seeped slowly), yet neither one of them could look away from the other.; green eyes into black holes, silently daring the other to so much as blink.

Without warning, Mort threw his sword away. He was done - the shadow couldn't stand, let alone fight. It would not be a proper ending to a proper battle. As far as the zomboil was concerned, he had conquered his anger and come out on top.

The Shadow Mort, however, was displeased by the action. With a howl it lurched forward with the disproportionate metal arm and grasped Mort's chest, squeezing as tight as it could while it cackled. FOOL! You think you have won? Something cracked under its grasp, and Mort gasped before he vomited out blood. Rage cannot be defeated with violence. You think you can keep me away forever, maggot?

Gghhhh. Trembling, Mort shakily lifted his head, one eye forced shut from the pain. Surrounded by iron, tasting iron, soon to be destroyed by iron . . . You could say it was almost ironic. And he began to laugh, choking on his own blood.

The Shadow Mort gave an outraged cry and squeezed him further, forcing another rib to crack under the pressure. Die as you laugh, WORTHLESS WORM!

But Mort kept laughing and coughing and spitting out blood like it was the funniest thing in the world. Just as the world was beginning to blur into black, the zomboil managed to dredge up the energy to touch the metal arm. The energy he had been saving since the tossing of the sword suddenly went through the easily conducted arm and throughout the shadow's body. Its screech was halted midway -

- everything was frozen, like freezesnap, or a still painting, or a photo -

And then it was blackness. Mort was sure he had died again, but he still felt the uncomfortable sensation of broken ribs. Had he lost? Before he could try to voice his question, the blackness was sucked in with a sudden crack as it condensed into a small item before him - and then it promptly cracked in half, a small shadow escaping and disappearing.

When Mort next came to, he was knelt on the ground in the white room again, his ribs healed and his clothes back to normal. He had the keenest sense he was being watched, but for now he couldn't be bother to check and see who it was.

Right now, he needed a breather.


HP: 5/40
Damage to Boss: 13 - 6 - 1 (undead) = 6 oh Christ Mort that was close
Boss HP: 0

CLASS PASSED