Nitro Vordex
Jul 30, 2012, 06:04 AM
The country of Psoworl. There were many small city states in this prospering place. Many lands had their own rules, their factions, their politics, and their struggles. The country was largely ruled by it's government; usually fair, but had their bouts of uncertainty and distrust with their people. The Moderators were the panel of people who ruled the country, elected by the people, and endorsed by the Admin, the founder of the country. They were tasked with Judiciary, Legislative, and Executive, and as such, were often overworked and overstressed. The people appreciated them, but always demanded more. Always looking for rewards or punishment. The people who tried to go against the mods and create threads to put them under the spotlight for all the people to see, were eventually taken away by a shadowy figure, and sent to the Fresh Kills Landfill. Some people set up shop here, and make their livings...others are sent to rot away until their body decides to fail them, naturally or by the hands of another. But there is something more in this city, something important that will eventually change the Psoworl country, and the residents will have to make a decision that will affect them all...
You adjust the traveling bag upon your shoulder to match your weary footsteps. It feels like you've been walking half an eternity, but as that notion was ridiculous, you chuckle dryly and eventually go into dry coughing, which turns into dry heaving. The man who had offered you a handkerchief had been quite wise, and quite possibly loony...but you miss him already. At least you wouldn't be choking on this putrid powder they called dust. Might as well call it asbestos, since your lungs were burning from inhaling so much.
You stop for a moment to get your breath and bearings back. The desert is an unkind place, meant for only the hardy and the ones who dedicate every thread of their being to survival. The path to Fresh Kills Landfill is no different. You remember the transition from the yellow mellow dust to the Mars colored sand. The taste of it was awful, wretched, and terrible. You had just barely crossed the line when a strange looking yellow car suddenly appeared, out of nowhere. There were letters missing, but you could see a few letters left on the front: D___exus. The car didn't appear to be running, but then again, it didn't appear to be any kind of car you'd ever seen. A classy looking car, but it was yellow with strange looking symbols on the hood, like someone was winking with their mouth open. You couldn't imagine why anyone would actually make such a stupid looking face. While you were thinking about this, an old man came out of the car door. You didn't get a very good look inside, but you swear you saw a dining room inside...how did it fit in there? The car door slammed, and the old man regarded you with white eyes. You couldn't see any resemblance to pupils, but you were certain he was looking at you, maybe even into you.
"WTFux man, you crouch walkin' in the desert, what with this haboobloo goin' on, suffocate faster without that WAPAN spirit on you chest. Not cool dood. Handkerchiefs on penguins make sense, but you can't even talk to Mr. T about his bling?! Get those clocks for flavor, but not for flav...baby."
What.
The man seemed to recognize you confused face, like he'd seen it a trillion times before, and seemed to focus for a second.
"You need a handkerchief if you want to go through here, dude. It'll be crazy money trying to go through the storm, eye of the storm, but not the tiger. Suffocation is no way to go." He pulled out a bandana, with some strange smiles on them...strangely lopsided. "Those are rather charming," you say, "but I think I'll be alright on my own." You smile at him, and nod in thanks and begin to walk.
"Before you go, not so rude-dude," the old man asks you, "I need to ask you a question, it's a simple one, but it may help you in the long run."
"Can you throw a punch?" The old man looks at you with a strange grin, as if he's interested in your answer...but something about his eyes seem to throw you off...maybe it's because he has no pupils.
A. "Can I throw a punch?" You crack your knuckles and grin.
B. "I can, but I'd prefer not to." You smile and nod.
C. "No, I hardly know how to throw a ball." You shift your eyes, looking for an escape route...just in case.
D. Get ye flask.
You adjust the traveling bag upon your shoulder to match your weary footsteps. It feels like you've been walking half an eternity, but as that notion was ridiculous, you chuckle dryly and eventually go into dry coughing, which turns into dry heaving. The man who had offered you a handkerchief had been quite wise, and quite possibly loony...but you miss him already. At least you wouldn't be choking on this putrid powder they called dust. Might as well call it asbestos, since your lungs were burning from inhaling so much.
You stop for a moment to get your breath and bearings back. The desert is an unkind place, meant for only the hardy and the ones who dedicate every thread of their being to survival. The path to Fresh Kills Landfill is no different. You remember the transition from the yellow mellow dust to the Mars colored sand. The taste of it was awful, wretched, and terrible. You had just barely crossed the line when a strange looking yellow car suddenly appeared, out of nowhere. There were letters missing, but you could see a few letters left on the front: D___exus. The car didn't appear to be running, but then again, it didn't appear to be any kind of car you'd ever seen. A classy looking car, but it was yellow with strange looking symbols on the hood, like someone was winking with their mouth open. You couldn't imagine why anyone would actually make such a stupid looking face. While you were thinking about this, an old man came out of the car door. You didn't get a very good look inside, but you swear you saw a dining room inside...how did it fit in there? The car door slammed, and the old man regarded you with white eyes. You couldn't see any resemblance to pupils, but you were certain he was looking at you, maybe even into you.
"WTFux man, you crouch walkin' in the desert, what with this haboobloo goin' on, suffocate faster without that WAPAN spirit on you chest. Not cool dood. Handkerchiefs on penguins make sense, but you can't even talk to Mr. T about his bling?! Get those clocks for flavor, but not for flav...baby."
What.
The man seemed to recognize you confused face, like he'd seen it a trillion times before, and seemed to focus for a second.
"You need a handkerchief if you want to go through here, dude. It'll be crazy money trying to go through the storm, eye of the storm, but not the tiger. Suffocation is no way to go." He pulled out a bandana, with some strange smiles on them...strangely lopsided. "Those are rather charming," you say, "but I think I'll be alright on my own." You smile at him, and nod in thanks and begin to walk.
"Before you go, not so rude-dude," the old man asks you, "I need to ask you a question, it's a simple one, but it may help you in the long run."
"Can you throw a punch?" The old man looks at you with a strange grin, as if he's interested in your answer...but something about his eyes seem to throw you off...maybe it's because he has no pupils.
A. "Can I throw a punch?" You crack your knuckles and grin.
B. "I can, but I'd prefer not to." You smile and nod.
C. "No, I hardly know how to throw a ball." You shift your eyes, looking for an escape route...just in case.
D. Get ye flask.