Day 2 - Recovering

[Corporal Light]

Continued from <!-- l --><a class="postlink-local" href="http://omniverse-rpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=4180">viewtopic.php?f=17&t=4180</a><!-- l -->

Two Hours after the battle

Darkness again. Do I really need to be in darkness a second time in a fucking row? It wasn't even the normal kind of blackness either. It was the worst kind; the sort you can never wake up from and cannot see through no matter how hard you tried. It was the kind that you saw when you've been hurt so badly you can't move more then a few feet without getting dizzy. It was a realm of enduring shadows, and only time would tell if he could pass through without getting lost within it.

Just when he thought he would be wandering the world full of shadows for infinite amount of time, he saw a light off in the distance. It was barely noticeable, but Ballad wasn't one to give up on something like this. Squinting his eyes, he locks his view on the luminescence, taking a confident step forward. Before he could really think about his decision, he surged forward, entering the light.

It took a little while, but eventually Ballad was able to part his eyelids a tiny bit, letting out a small groan as his senses came back to him. What the hell happened to me? Raising his head a few inches above the.... ground, he sees that he wasn't actually on the ground. In fact, he was laying down on a brown table with a length similar to his own in terms of height, and he was in some kind of room. The room he was located had a thin amount of mist floating around the place, which thankfully didn't plague Ballad's vision. He also saw that the area had several other tables just like his own, and he was the only occupant at the moment. A thick stream of sweat slides down the side of his face as he leans upward into a sitting position, bending his knees before wrapping his arms around them... and suffering the consequences.

A sharp throb in his chest causes him to fall back down onto his back, moaning. Peering in discomfort, he slowly lifts up his head once more, rolling his eyes towards the center of his body. Around his torso was a tightly wrapped white bandage, which also appeared to have red blood stains coating the inside of it. Huh? Looking down towards his right hand, he sees a similar looking gauze was on his hand. What the hell did I do to get here?

Closing his eyes, he sets all of his injured body parts down on the table, trying to probe his own mind for more information. Let's see, the last thing I can remember is that I yelled at some kid, met a guy with white-hair, then I signed up for the... tournament. That was it! He participated in the tournament! And he had.... lost. In the first round. Against the... mother-fucking RUNT!

Gritting his teeth, he raises his left hand, clenching it into a fist as he slams it down onto the wooden table, only to let out a few obscenities as he earns a grand amount of aching in his fist. "How... how the hell did I lose?!" he shouted, rage overcoming his sagacity, "I had him! I FUCKING HAD HIM! AND I LOST TO HIM?! A FUCKING KID?!"

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The male doctor had just got done flirting with his female assistant when he heard a gigantic shout coming from the infirmary. Shit, he's awake again. Turning around, he quickly rushes towards the door to the infirmary, his female assistant close behind him. Moving to the right of the doorway, he takes a moment to gaze at his beauty, who was also currently pinching the collar of her shirt and biting her lip. He friggin loved it when she acted like that. It was... attractive, to be honest. The way her long, brown hair curled against her nice, broad shoulders. The look in her sea-colored eyes whenever she was being taught something new by him. The way her admittedly lean figure suavely walked away from him after lectures. The way her-

"Uh, sir? Sir?!"

Snapping out of his fantasies, he sputters "Oh! Uh.. sorry.. sorry.." in an embarrassed tone of voice, regaining his focus. Oh right, Executioner Ballad. He could still remember rushing out there to recover the body as the crowd went silent, and never really became much louder when he left the field. Shame too. He had become a dataverse sensation within a single day, which wasn't much of an accomplishment, but it was something. Anyways, down to business.

Turning his head towards his female friend, he asks "Alright.. you have the board ready?" She nods back to him, which calms him down a bit. Then, gripping the handle of the door, he twists the handle downwards, pushing the door forwards and stepping inside.
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Even considering the fact he was in a world of pain, it was astonishing how hardy Ballad was. He had been able to stand up, left hand covering his torso wound, and slowly walk into the center of the room by the time the two medics got into the room. He was still sweating from his eyebrows and other parts of his face, with the mist not exactly helping him from feeling uncomfortable in his winter clothes; it almost made him want to remove his attire, something he had never considered up until right now. His eyes were now wide open, enabling him to see in perfect clarity. Scanning the room, he stops as he hears the sound of footsteps approaches to his rear. Whirling around, grimacing as he clasps his right hand, he notices the two new individuals. They were both wearing perfectly snow-white outfits, with one of them having a bag of some sorts strapped to their hip. The other had a wood, two foot board in her hands, grasping it tightly and raised above her head.

Immediately, the board triggered the rest of his memories to come back. This wasn't the first time he had awoken from his slumber, and these assholes had to put him back to sleep each time he tried to break free of the painful chains that forced him to stay in this poor excuse of a hospital. What was worse was the fact that he didn't even need them to help him. They were a nuisance, and a nuisance only.

Snarling behind his red-scarf, he growls "So, you're going to try to hit me with a fucking stick again, are you whore?" Those words caused the female to flinch, bringing the board down and close to her breasts. The man next to her glared at him, holding out his right arm in front of the woman. Pausing between his words every few seconds, he replies "I know you're angry. You've been angry several times for a while already. But you aren't in proper shape to be moving around. You need to rest."

Ballad wasn't accepting that answer. He bellows "Fat chance I need 'rest,' you idiotic quack! All I need is an hour or so of concentrating, and all of my problems will go away!"

"Then concentrate," the doctor retorted, as if daring him as a a look of dead seriousness formed on his face, "and heal your wounds with the Omnillium you posses, Prime."

"Just you watch, moron. I can easily-"

A shooting sensation blazed through Ballad's chest, causing him to howl in agony as he leans to his left, almost falling down onto his knees. The doctors rushed forward, holding him up by his bend arms before lying him back down onto the cot.

[Corporal Light]

Thirty minutes later

"Listen, for the fiftieth time already, you AREN'T going anywhere until your wounds have healed!"

"You do fucking realize wounds like this take DAYS to heal, right? Guess what, bozo, I DON'T HAVE DAYS!"

Ballad let out an exasperated sigh, bringing his gloved hands up to his face, covering what was still visible completely. He had been arguing incessantly with the male doctor for well over thirty minutes, trying to get the doctor to allow him to leave. However, no matter what excuse he used or whatever argument he brought up, the doctor stubbornly refused each time. Gripping the very top of his green trapper hat, his fingers digging into the leather that encompassed the hat, he yells into his hand, the sound partially muffled by both the palms of his hands and the red-scarf that surrounded his mouth.

The male doctor, meanwhile, was standing a short foot away from the table that Ballad was sitting on. He had got himself to sit down on the table a few short minutes ago, and it thankfully didn't look like it hurt him. It was the constant arguing that was, in some regards, painful. To both the ears and his patience. He was no psychological doctor, so he didn't have the full knowledge of these things, but if he had to guess, he would go so far as to say 'Executioner Ballad' was a pure fucking loony. The fractious way he stared at people who so much as looked at him wrong (which was what had been going on for the past half-hour) was only the tip of the iceberg. He didn't even need to go into detail on the way he presented himself: sometimes trying to get up into his face as they talked, and the way his cheek-lines started to perk up whenever he talked about himself, as if suppressing a smile. Not counting the downright accusatory tone of voice he used whenever he was questioned, and he kept a cocksure aura around him no matter what. However, it wasn't that that frightened the poor doctor. In contrast, it was the feeling that the green man could confirm his feelings that he was practically insane. The way he talked to him whenever he questioned him sent chills down his spine far more than piercing, almost murderous glare that he gave him... or was currently giving him.

"Hey fuckface, are you deaf? Your bitch wants to speak to you," said Ballad in a fatigued tone of voice, hand-waving his right hand towards the door to the infirmary as he removes eye contact from the doctor. As the male doctor looks towards the door, his eyes occasionally darting back to Ballad, he sees his assistant standing in the middle of the twin doors, holding them open for him. Wasting no time at all, he rushes towards the doors, closing them behind him before turning around, keeping his weight against the door as he looks to his partner.
-----------------------------------------

"He's not even fully healed yet!"

"I know that sir, but he must see the letter! I was even told it had to be delivered to him 'effective immediately.' It can only mean one thing..."

"Don't even tell me.." replied the male doctor, rubbing his left hand against his sweating forehead. It had gotten unusually hotter since he had closed the door. Probably the steam seeping through the infirmary. He didn't have a damn clue how that stuff formed in there all the time, only that it thankfully didn't effect his patients at all. Would've sucked if they did, because then he would have to go through a lot more work relocating the infirmary to a more acceptable location somewhere else in the Colosseum, which would easily take up a little more than a few weeks. The Colosseum was huge, but not that huge.

"Uh, sir? You okay?"

Doing a double-take, the male doctor looks back towards his assistant. He seriously needed to stop doing that whenever she was around.

"Oh, umm.. yes, I'm fine. So let me get this straight. Someone from Minas Tiritih sent a letter to this.. Executioner Ballad that he has to read immediately?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, write back and say that Ballad simply isn't available at the time. He is recovering from his wounds and-"

His sentence was cut off completely with the sound of a loud bang against the twin doors.
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Ballad lets out another pained grunt as he moves his left fist forward, smashing it against the wooden doors, creating another loud smack against the door that the two doctors could easily hear. The infirmary had gotten much more humid since their argument, and he didn't know if it was because of his clothing, or because his actions were literally affecting the weather. If the latter was true, then good. Another reason to prove he was simply amazing in every imaginable way.

"I'm not a dumbass! I know you two are talking about something behind there! You planning to euthanize me? You so much as cross these doors with any kind of drug like that, and I'll rip your fucking guts out of your stomachs!" roared Ballad, briefly moving his left hand towards the handles for the doors, twisting them in vain before slamming against the door some more. The force increased each time he slammed against the door, gritting his teeth with each one. At this point, he hardly cared if he was hurting himself. He wanted to get the fuck out of this musty room with no one but him and the two idiotic doctors to remind him he wasn't in a literal asylum. He wasn't crazy. Not by a long shot. He simply couldn't be. And if the doctors think he is, then fuck them.

Just when he was about to slam into the door again, it opened up, revealing the doctors once again. It took a considerable amount of self-control on Ballad's part to keep him from just barreling into the doctors and proceed to start savagely beating them. His senses sort of returning, he glowers at the two, his fingernails underneath his gloves nearly digging into his own skin as he growls "About fucking time. What were you two talking about behind my back?"

The doctors looked at each other, unsure of which path to take. Do they hand him the note and expect him to walk all the way there in his current state? Or do they pretend that is just important medical stuff and risk invoking his wrath? It wasn't that hard of a decision, when one thought about it for a few seconds. It was stunning how shouting and threatening to break random objects can convince lesser minds of their own lack of importance when compared to a greater man.

Gulping hopefully, the male doctor cautiously steps forward, nearly tripping on the first step as his partner grabs onto his left arm. The warmth of her touch reassured him, finding himself face to face with Ballad.

Forcing himself to make eye contact, he lifted his right hand upwards, containing a single piece of parchment. Ballad adjusts his eyes to stare at it, remaining silent for a few moments before swiping the note out of his hand. Unfolding it, (which takes a little while, seeing as his right hand still hurt to move,) he slowly scans the words on the paper, not saying a word. Meanwhile, the male doctor was still staring at him, his heart thumping beneath his chest. As Ballad looked up to him, he hissed, closing his eyes and bracing himself for whatever was to come.

Nothing came. He felt nothing. Slowly parting one eye, he finds that Ballad had simply left. Without a word. And he wasn't dead, which was even better.

"He, umm.. left, sir. You know, down the corridor," said his assistant, pointing to her left down the hallway.

Sighing in relief, the male doctor replies "Good... let's just.. prepare for the next wounded. I hope we never, ever, ever, get a man like him here again, my sweet."

[Corporal Light]

Two hours later

Dear "Executioner Ballad,"
We request an audience with you as soon as you are able at the city of Minas Tirith. It is the mountain city, and the one you probably passed by on the way to the Colosseum. Find the Barley-Shoppe within Minas Tirith. Order a drink there under the tab "Percival La'Seer" and follow the directions given by the bartender.
Signed,
A friend.

Ballad tossed that note aside a long while ago. He grimaced at the thought of reading those words written down so exquisitely again. Now that he thought about it a bit more, he remembered that the blackened words 'A friend' were running down the parchment and onto his green coat by the time he tossed it into a mud puddle that he stepped in a few moments beforehand. He smirked behind his red-scarf as he continued trudging through the countryside of Camelot.

The weather got a lot worse since he was outside. Giant, dark clouds had formed within the normally clear blue sky from the direction of the Colosseum. Rain pummeled the flat-lands, which turned the dusty roads into complete mud pits. A loud pattering cacophony of noise rocked the grasslands, only silenced by the deafening sound of thunder and the spectacle of bright lightning. The constant rainwater flooded most of the areas with grass in it, though not enough to restrict travel completely. It DID do enough damage to make carriage travel damn near impossible, and travel by foot really hard as well.

Too bad Ballad didn't know about this horrid weather earlier, else he wouldn't have even tried to take a long walking trip to Minas Tirith. As it stands, though, he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Or, in his case, between continuing through this shit or giving up and going back.

Ballad continued forward as he relayed his thoughts through his own mouth, albeit slower thanks to his injuries. His attire was absolutely drenched, the bottom of his coat dripping water onto the sludge he was plodding through. His black winter boots grew caked with crap each time he took a step, combining with the pure white part of his shoes that Ballad suspected was now a permanent part of his snow shoes. Thank fucking god the rain wasn't touching his revolver. He didn't want to know what rain could do to a gun that worked on sensitive, highly flammable wick. He got his revolver back from a nice young lady who was holding them for him. He was still reeling from his encounter with the stupid ass doctors at the time, so the lady must've been trying to not piss him off any further. She did a damn good job, as he didn't strangle her for what he went through in that infirmary.

"Can't fucking believe it's raining out here," grumbled Ballad, his head lowered to face the ground in a brooding fashion, "it's going to take fucking hours to get to Minas Tirith if this shit doesn't let up. Maybe I should turn back. This shit is just going to leave me covered in mud by the time it ends."

He was about to turn around and head back to the Colosseum when another thought entered his head. True, this is going to take forever, but what choice do I really have? If I go back to the Colosseum, chances are I'll have to go back to those retarded doctors.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he rotated back to where he was facing prior, only to bellow in surprise and anger as a gust of wind blows into him, nearly causing him to fall down onto his back. Looking up towards the thunder clouds, he angrily shouts "Can you fucking stop doing that already?! It's hard enough to travel through this mud-slop without you trying to make me land in it! NOW FUCK OFF!"

Ballad tightened the grip on his torso as he kept moving forward, occasionally stomping into a mud puddle, which only served to provide further blemishes to his attire, with a curse following it up. "Why the fuck can't this weather just end so I don't HAVE to keep moving forward," he snarled, "It's like the infirmary all over again! Me having to do something because someone else is forcing me to do it. This is such bullshit..."

Meanwhile...

News of "Executioner Ballad's" defeat by Adam Gaite spread rather quickly throughout Camelot. Most civilians were heavily disappointed, with several comments on OmniTwitter expressing their adversity while others requested a rematch. Only a select few were satisfied with the results, and they were labeled as "trolls" or "idiots" among the general public.

[Corporal Light]

Two more hours later

Minas Tirith.... holy shit..

Ballad stood in front of the large gate that allowed passage into the city of Minas Tirith, a stupefied gleam radiating from his yellow, semi-emotionless eyes. He had seen the capital from a fair distance away, but he hadn't paid too much attention to it. Too focused on getting to the Colosseum. But now that he got a good look, he was simply taken aback from what was placed in front of his eye sockets. The entire thing was made almost exclusively of white, shiny walls that stood brilliantly among the dry plains that surround it (which weren't so dry, considering the rain storm that had occurred over a few hours ago.) The city was composed of circular... walls, from what Ballad could tell, with the bulwarks getting narrower and narrower as one drew their eyes to the summit of Minas Tirith, finishing with a giant cathedral-like structure on the very top of the mountain. Oh, how I regret not taking the time to stare at this... wonderful thing.. just.. fucking beautiful..

To a normal person, this fortress city would be a god-send after braving the thunderstorm that had ravaged the grasslands just a short while ago. But Ballad wasn't normal, that much was pretty damn obvious. The wooden portcullis that stood in front of him was an unnatural object of particularly wealthy men, and it gave off an unwelcoming vibe. Or maybe that vibe was coming from the several chain-mail clad guards with crossbows shouting down at him from the ramparts above the portcullis, safe from any retaliation. It could also be because of the oddly blackened walls encircling Ballad as he took several steps towards the heavily protected entrance, stopping on command of the guards above. Rolling his eyes, he uneasily slid himself backwards a few feet, seeing the portcullis slink up into some random carved out crevice within the walls before a gigantic hunk of wood began to fall towards him, landing with an ear-splitting crack against the dusty road.

Looking back up to the guards, he cautiously places his left foot down on the timber platform, grimacing as it gives off a nice sounding creak. Averting his eyes from the judging eyes shaking their heads from the heavens, he slowly walks forward, heading into the city.
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Fucking A, this place is jam-packed. I guess the storm really did keep most of the civilians from going anywhere.

The first terrace he was in (which he believed didn't actually have a name, or if it did it dodged his sight completely,) looked to Ballad like the place where the majority of the city lived. You know, how some cities are so fucking huge they can fit entire states, yet turns into a literal ghost town past the slums and all the other areas far away from the wealthy? It felt like one of those places. Hundreds of thousands of people floundered the cobblestone streets, with Ballad desperately trying to push through. Most of them were wearing rather colorful clothes, usually a combination of purple and yellow. Weren't those the same colors most of the people at the Carnival were wearing?

Brushing the thought out of his mind for a few moments, Ballad continued forcing himself through the humongous herds, his head hanging high up as he searched for a sign or a door or fucking anything that could tell him where the "Barley-Shoppe" was. Instead, all he was finding were buildings of rock, plenty of pristine, unpigmented stores, and hordes of people. Fucking lord, how are there so many people here?! Can't they just go outside this place so it'd be fucking easier on me to FIND this place?!! The Carnival didn't have THIS many people! Or maybe it did, but I at least could move around a bunch and get some fresh air, for fuck's sake!

Ballad's eyes opened as wide as they conceivably could as he continued his hunt, his breath growing irregular with each passing moment, to the point where he was loudly panting and an uncomfortable compression forming underneath his chest. And he STILL couldn't find the place he needed to find! Sweat flowed down his forehead, his scarf absorbing the water before his gloved hand wiped it dry. His eyes, to a general onlooker, were forming a glassy-eyed texture, and didn't appear to blink. The general onlooker, unfortunately, was either too polite or too stupid to say anything about it, leaving Ballad to wander the cramped streets.

Eventually, just when Ballad felt like passing out for the millionth time that day, he found it. Just a few feet away hung a grey, pentagonal sign with brown wood along the edges that was connected to a pole against a cobblestone wall. On the sign read "The Barley-Shoppe" along with a hand-crafted image of a mug and wheat. Ballad leaned forward towards the sign, his disoriented state slowly forming into one of confusion as he gazed at the wheat. Shaking his head, he turned to his left, pushing his left hand forward towards the slightly open door.
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Ballad swallowed in a deep breath as he scanned the "Barley-Shoppe." It was another bar, just like the one back in that village, just a hell of a lot more people in it. There were tables organized along the middle of the floor, most of them occupied by customers. These customers appeared to have three different states to them: One, be drunk and sleep on, or near a table. Two, play some weird card game on one of these tables. Three, stand next to or sit on the bar stools provided by the bartender at the very back of the "Barley-Shoppe." That's where he was told to go.

Staying near the edges of the bar, he slowly slithered his way towards the bartender. He was fairly busy serving mugs of alcohol to his consumers, not that Ballad could fully recognize what they were anyway. This man also looked way more different from the other bartender. Unlike the first one, this bartender was tall and lean, and his entire body looked as smooth as silk. His torso was covered in a white apron (what is with this city and white, seriously), which coated a brown shirt underneath.

Ballad slipped into the line of patrons encircling the bar table, placing his hands on top of it. Knocking his right hand against the wood loudly, he finally gets the bartenders attention after purposefully knocking over a nearby mug full of beer, which he passed off nonchalantly as an accident.

"Now, with that out of the way, can I have a drink?" said Ballad, meeting eye contact with the man.

"Right... what drink? And under who's name?" replied the barkeep, slipping a notepad into his hands.

"Uh... the apple cider, I guess... Percival La'Seer."

The barkeeper stops as soon as Ballad finishes his sentence, his writing utensil snapping thanks to the sudden break of movement. Frowning, he peers back up to Ballad, seeing the bored expression on his face. Setting the notepad down, he cocks forward, close enough so that Ballad could hear, and whispers "Table B3," before inclining back to his original position, turning to a few guys to Ballad's right who were screwing around with a mug.

Table B3... thought Ballad, drifting away from the bar table. It wasn't too hard to find, considering it was one of the middle tables. Signalling itself to Ballad was a grey card with bold, black letters saying "B3" on it. Sitting on the table was another man. This man easily stood out among his others just from the attire he wore. He wore metal armor, specifically around his torso, and his back was covered in what appeared to be a red cape, with the edges having golden colored small stringy appendages connected to them. His feet, which were covered in steel boots, were kicked up against the desk in front of him, and he let off a smile whenever he sipped from his drink. His face had a finely trimmed brown goatee, as well as a showy scar across his left eye.

Ballad stood a distance away from the table, his mind going into a long debate on whether this was a good idea. This debate became a battle, and a long, bloody one where only one side could really stand as the other disintegrated into bone powder. Should I really be doing this? I have better things to be doing then following messages sent by people I don't know at fucking all. Then again, I could be trying to hunt down that fucker, and I'm not sure I'm fully prepare for that.

Closing his eyes, his self decides on a decision. Strutting forward in his most confident display possible (which wasn't even that hard), he plops himself on the desk, waiting for the man to acknowledge his presence.

[Corporal Light]

"You know, when I sat down right here to finally meet you after four hours of walking, I wasn't exactly thinking about waiting a little longer for you to fucking look at me," Ballad finally said after about five minutes of waiting for this asshat to fucking look at him.

That got his attention. The man's eyes adjusted to look at Ballad from behind his silver mug, his eyes running down his green attire, his bumpy green skin, and his eyebrows froze in a frowning expression. The man had eyes you would swear fit perfectly on a judge in a court of law; always cold and unforgiving. Ballad could tell emotions from people from how their eyes looked most of the time, though this is admittedly because he rarely saw an eyebrow move back at home. A rather odd thing, too. How the people here had the ability to move their eyebrows the way they did was a mystery to Ballad. He didn't care though. Figuring out how people moved their eyebrows to represent their emotions were the least of his problems, no matter how petty they appeared to be.

The man moves his mug away from his mouth, the bubbly brown elixir wetting his goatee and mouth area. He holds his flagon in the air with his ornately gloved left hand, a smug smile on his face. His feet remained on top of the wooden table, not even attempting to hide his head from Ballad's glare. He knew who the green goblin thing was. Who wouldn't considering he was a felon wanted for the deaths of an entire Empire squad of stormtroopers. It wasn't too much to brag about, but he had to admit that he was impressed. He'd make a rather fine addition...

"I was wondering when you'd show up, Executioner Ballad." said the man, keeping his smirk in plain sight for Ballad to cringe at. His teeth were white as snow, and provided an unusual contrast with his dusty brown goatee.

"Don't even try to act smart." Ballad warned, his gloved left hand underneath the table gripping his left leg, the knuckles underneath tightening. He pierced the man's smug looking face with his yellow eyes, with every bit of emotion being visible from it. The man appeared to understand, as his smile slowly disappears from his face.

"Of course. Where are my manners?" the man says in a sarcastic tone of voice. He was about to continue the act when he looked back at Ballad's face, seeing them wide open, the black pupils of his eyes keeping him in place. Ballad was breathing quietly, though his chest rose and fell like that of a wild predator taking in a few deep breaths as it waited for its prey to pop out in the open field, with only its mental prowess preventing it from just springing out into the field to chase whatever happened to be in front of it at the time.

The man slid his feet off of the table, with a few patrons nearly getting brained as the steel boots clanged against the stone floor. Twisting himself to face Ballad, he straightened himself out in his sitting position, slamming the silver mug on the wooden table. The beverage within sloshed, with some of it spilling out onto the table. The man looked down at the table, his black, expertly groomed hair being the only thing visible to Ballad before he looked back up at him, his smile returning.

"I'm sure you've guessed it already, but my name is Percival Mc'Seer. And I already know who you are." Percival suavely spoke, reaching out towards Ballad with his left hand. Ballad simply sat in front of him, not even bothering to look at the hand so courteously and politely raised out to him. His smile fading once more, Percival drew his hand back, placing it on the table.

"Now.. I contacted you today because.. well, you're well known for a reason. Everyone in Camelot knows who you are, and you and I both should know why...." Percival stopped talking for a few seconds, as if waiting for Ballad to answer a question he didn't even ask. After receiving no reply, he continued "Remember back at the Nexus? The place with the fountain? You also remember those white armored troopers? Those were soldiers for a faction called the Empire. They reside on Coruscant, led by their wretched Lord Emperor. We've been at war with them for who knows how long, and right now, we are in the need of-"

"No."

Percival held his mouth agape, not expecting to be interrupted in such a manner. He squinted his eyes somewhat, his face contorting in confusion.

"I...I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me perfectly fine."

"I.. what?"

"Are you a literal child who has to be reminded of every single stupid detail?! I said no!" Ballad says, raising his voice to the point where some nearby patrons were looking at the group in a perplexed manner.

Ballad stopped talking, allowing what he said to sink in. Ballad's words finally striking something within his brain, Percival's face twitched slightly, his eyes fluttering before moving his hands up to his head. I don't understand.... he didn't even.. but... why?

"Quit crying into your gloves. You look like a kid doing that." Ballad relayed, his tone devoid of any caution. Did this guy seriously think I'd join their military? Hell fucking no I wouldn't! Only impressionables would do something like that.

Judging from Mc'Seers reaction to what Ballad had said, him being impressionable might not have been very far from the truth. By now, the bar had gotten even more packed than before, with the sounds of whoops and hiccups and cups clinking against each other filling the air with a lively atmosphere. Percival couldn't have picked a less out-of-place location to meet than The Barley-Shoppe.

Rubbing his hands down his face, Percival meekly replies "But... why?"

Ballad's eyeballs appeared to transform somehow. Instead of just ovalish shaped eyes with black dots in them, they became something... different. Not physically, but psychologically. To repeat, Ballad could easily tell an emotion just from looking at someone's eyes. This works both ways. What his eyebrows could conceal, his eyes could not. His eyes revealed a lot of things. They uncovered a deep memory in his mind, one that had been lost to the blizzards for a very long time. With this memory came the reasons, and with the reasons... came the pain.

A supernatural force hurling from within, Ballad raises his clenched right fist, knocking the silver mug off of the table. It flies across the bar, knocking against a nearby table before spilling its contents onto the hardened floor. At this time, Percival's look of confusion was replaced by one of complete fear as Ballad slams his fist against the table, standing back up. Whatever ability he had before to keep his emotions locked up was gone. The keys to the cage had been found... and the animal released.

"Listen to me, you goddamn worthless piece of shit!" Ballad snarled, jabbing his left index finger in Percival's face, "If you even so much as THINK I do things without a reason for doing it, I will rip off your jaw with my pickaxe, you understand me?!" By now, almost the entire bar was witnessing the episode going on between Percival and Ballad, and everyone was completely surprised by the words being spewed from his mouth.

"But just so you asked, I will tell. I do not give a flying shit about your 'war.' You fuckers probably did something to get you INTO this war, so its not the 'Empire' fully, is it?" Before Mc'Seer could get a word in, he stabbed his finger into his forehead, continuing his angry rant, "I refuse to help you continue a war you fuckers might've started for your own selfish desires. I don't care about you, I don't care about the war, and I don't care about Camelot."

Percival looked back up towards Ballad, having been staring at the ground like a crying child stared at the ground as he waited for his punishment like a good boy. Ballad's eyes punched him hard. A look of insanity displayed on his eyes, and a bunch of sweat rolled down his cheeks. At least.. it looked like sweat. It was rather hot in here.

Before he could say anything else, however, Ballad turned around, pushing some random schmoe out of the way before passing through the stunned crow, exiting the bar and going back out into the streets of Minas Tirith.

[Corporal Light]

One hour later

The grasslands were back to their normal selves. The black clouds surrounding the skies had cleared away, and travel had resumed. The roads were still muddy, but they were no longer the giant puddles of filth that Ballad fought through on his way to Minas Tirith. Despite this, however, the air held a swampy odor, only further increasing the humidity around the plains. If that wasn't enough, the sky itself had gotten darker as the afternoon passed by. Ballad couldn't really tell what time it was, though his best assumption was close to six o'clock. You've gotta be fucking kidding me...

Ballad continued walking through the slimy road, his boots finding themselves repainted by the brown cack that made up the road. There was a constant sucking noise each time his feet planted itself on the ground, which only elicited an annoyed grimace along Ballad's cheek lines. His hands were deep inside his green coat pockets, and he was looking down towards the earth below him, deep in thought. And by deep in thought, he was really talking to himself, with every thought in his brain shooting out of his mouth.

"Can't believe that asshole made me waste three hours of my time to tell me he wanted me in the goddamn military. Who did he think I was? Some random jackass on the street who hated the 'Empire?' I swear, next time I see him and he talks to me with that goddamn grin on his face, I'll punch his fucking teeth out." Ballad grumbled, a bitter tone ringing through his voice, "And now what? I'm walking through the middle of nowhere, it's almost dark out, and I'm probably a wanted man to some faction I didn't even know existed up until RIGHT NOW. Forget this 'Omnillium'. I'd rather be home over this bullshit."

Ballad let out a loud sigh, his eyes gaining a soft texture to them. "Stupid, stupid Ballad... went and became a criminal to some dictatorship, and just flipped off the only people who would want to help him. Look what he's done... and in a place where there are verses everywhere, whatever the hell they are... that he can't die in..." was all he could say, his tone growing depressed. He stops moving, shutting his mouth. It's a relatively natural thing to feel at least some sense of homesickness, but Ballad never felt that. He had been away from his own home in Frozen Over for well over two years since.... well, he had left it a long time ago.

Alright... enough of this. I need some sleep. Clear my mind of things.. Ballad took a look around his surroundings, seeing there weren't any nearby forests or anything that could be used to keep the sun from beating down on him. Shaking his head, he mutters "Guess I gotta do this the much longer way.."

Stepping off of the road and into the grass to his left, he lifts up his left hand, trying to envision what he wanted to form out in front of him. It wasn't exactly much, so it shouldn't take quite that long. Though it did bring some... unpleasant memories. These reasons alone were going to make this take some time...

-------------------------------------------------
About fifteen minutes later, Ballad had sat down within a shack, literally four walls and a roof. The walls and roof were composed of greyish metal that had a fair amount of rust on it. It honestly sucked. It wasn't very big, and there was very little room. But in such short notice, Ballad couldn't have really created anything else. Or at least anything better.

Shifting on his rump, Ballad let out a disapproving grunt, his clothes getting covered in muck thanks to him sitting on the slightly wet ground. Oh, well. He might as well make the best of it.

Ballad raised his right hand out of his pocket, seeing the bandage still wrapped around it, with red blood staining it from the inside. The pain from his wounds had gone away a few hours ago, though that didn't mean they still required healing. Suppose I'll deal with these wounds now, before anything else happens. Closing his eyes, he holds out his left hand, spending another hour or so to treat his wounds.

By now, it was almost pitch black outside the shack. Thanks to no lighting, it was almost impossible to see anywhere past the palm of your hands when you held them up to your face. It was uncomfortably quiet, with only the crickets and their incessant chirping breaking the ice. Ballad moved his hands to his side, sighing once more. Might as well just go to sleep... I'll figure out what to do tomorrow.. being a wanted man is good for something, at least... now I have options..

Resting his head against the cold metal sheets acting as the walls, he slowly closed his eyes, beginning his slumber.

[Corporal Light]

Fire. Fire, fire, everywhere. Consuming all, all consuming. Nothing safe. Safe from the fire. Not even the cold. Bitter, harsh, unruly cold. City on fire, city on fire. Church ablaze, church consumed. No one is safe. None safe.

Ballad knelt onto the blood covered snow, a look of shock covering his green face. All around him were the remains of the Church of Candlelight, burned down to the ground. The metal walls were completely alight, the yellow and orange colors sparking, lighting up the afternoon air as the smell of brimstone filled it up completely. It was a repugnant smell. The smell of death and destruction encapsulating the area.

Ballad slowly looked around, seeing the charred remains of the Church's inhabitants. He knew most of these people. Maybe not as friends, but as acquaintances. Not that he cared too much... or did he? He wasn't sure, but yet he was. He had an answer. But what was it? Fire, fire. Consuming all, all consuming.

The scene shifted. He found himself standing over several of his own kind. They were in a metal room, with medical equipment strewn around it as well as a body bag nearby. His fellow people were leaning over the corpse of another. The sounds of crying filled the room, but Ballad remained silent. This was normal. No one looked at him, all too focused on the tragedy in front of them. Besides, they knew about him. The others attempted to calm the wailing one down. They failed. They made it worse. Much worse. Tears. Tears are pure. Pure like snow. He could only remember tears, but not from whom. Was it she who was crying? Was it? Or was it the devil inside, who's laughs were told to resemble the din of suffering. Who was the devil? Was it them? Or was it him? But was it his fault? Were they to blame for what happened, or was it him? Using it involves yourself, but no one would've used it if the creator didn't create it. It wasn't his fault, or was it? Was he guilty? Was he? WAS HE?!
-------------------------------------------------------

Ballad woke with a scream. A banshee scream, but a banshee isn't scared. So that means his banshee scream was no more a banshee than it was a child who had been stabbed in the gut. The shriek rang across the grasslands from Ballad's abode, though thankfully there was no one around to hear it. Ballad suddenly shut his mouth, his senses returning. He gazed around his shack, his eyes almost completely bloodshot.

"Fucking... not again.." Ballad uttered to himself, raising his left gloved hand to the brim of his nose, closing his eyes as he squeezed it. Regaining his bearings, he moved his left hand down to his left knee as he bent it, standing back up as he pushed downwards onto his knee. Looking down to his torso, he cracked a small smile. No throbbing anywhere. Not even in his chest, which he last remembered took a crossbow. Glad I got that armor when I could... who knows what would've happened if I didn't have it on underneath.

Ballad slowly walked out of the shack, taking a few moments to soak in the details of the land. It was still more or less the same as it was before. The ground beneath him was covered in grass that got about halfway up his calf. The mud within the earth had dried up, though the smell of early morning dew still hang in the air like piss-covered slush. The sun had reappeared up in the blue sky, with not a cloud in sight. It beat down on Ballad's stuffy body like a gang member against a weakling. Sweat had returned to plague his forehead, though it wasn't nearly as prevalent. He could probably use a removal of clothing, though right now he had bigger problems.

Ballad sighed, crossing his arms across his chest as he turned back towards the shack. "Well... great. It's been three days since I've gotten here, and I'm a wanted man, possibly made an enemy of the only faction that would want to help me, and participated in a tournament and lost to a... fucking kid."

Ballad looked down to the ground, his eyes beginning to obtain a scowling expression. "Can't fucking believe it. Got beaten by a goddamn kid. What does that say about you, Ballad?" he grumbled to himself, his hands almost tearing into his green coat as he talked to himself. Eventually, his tone grew angrier and angrier, and he began to pace to and fro, something building up inside.

"How could I have fucking lost?! The guy who invented a gun that started a war, who can kill seven out of ten guys all by himself, and is overall a giant badass lost to some stupid red teenager out on the streets?! What kind of fucking stupid lucky BS is that??"

Gnashing his teeth together, Ballad swiftly brought his hands up to his head, almost letting out another shrill howl into his gloved hands. This shouldn't have happened. If that fucker didn't get lucky, I wouldn't have lost. And I most certainly wouldn't be here at this very moment. I don't know of any other way to end this shit. This is the only way. I'm... going to..

"Kill him," Ballad finally said, his tone stone dead "no.. not just kill. I'm going to make his life hell. Make his death the most painful death imaginable. When I get my hands on that sack of shit...." Ballad dropped his hands down to his chest, the palms facing up to his face as he ended the sentence. He then chuckled in anticipation, as if he could see the kid coming up to him right now, while he crushed his hands together, turning them into fists. His yellow eyes gave off a feral expression, with little hint of sanity.

It was decided. Ballad was going to kill the kid. The question now was how. Let me think... what's the most painful death imaginable? Snow? No... no snow here. Gun? Painful, but I need something worse. No.. I need..

A metaphorical lightbulb shot out of Ballad's head as he came up with his idea. His eyes gleamed with delight, a smile forming behind his red scarf as he held his right hand outwards, concentrating on something.
-------------------------------------------------------

Roughly ten minutes later, Ballad aimed his new device towards the target, which was around six feet away. The target itself was composed of sticks, with a red robe completely surrounding them. The robe itself was stuffed with a lot of straw, resembling a standard target. But this was no standard target. At least not for Ballad. He now knew what he was going to do next, and it was going to involve the red-hooded kid who's name he didn't know. But at that point it didn't matter.

An insane smile cruising across his face, he pulls the trigger of his new toy. Immediately, the revolver shaped gun started spewing out blazing wick towards the target. He kept it aimed at the straw man, eventually lowering it once the flamethrower stopped spewing its deadly colors.

Reloading the flamethrower, Ballad silently observed the damage he had caused. The hay man was completely covered in flames, with some of said flames on the ground, still burning. Ballad snickered to himself, imagining the sounds the kid would make when he blasted him with his new gun.

"Let's hope you survived that tournament, kid" Ballad discoursed, an animalistic inferno enveloping his eyes, "because I'm not finished with you yet."
-----------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile...

News of Ballad's outburst at The Barley-Shoppe has dramatically decreased his popularity among the civilians of Camelot. Most were particularly critical of his implications that Camelot was somehow responsible for the war between it and the Empire. OmniTwitter posts have since called for action to be taken against him in some manner, though the majority of Camelot law enforcement has refused to comment on the matter.

[Corporal Light]

Ballad brought his right boot onto the smoldering hay limbs of the straw man, a loud and sickening crunch biting the air as he extinguished whatever flames remained of the target. Some of the straw kicked up into the air like snow against the wind, only to fade into nonexistence as the flames caught up to them. What remained of the fake victim was thrown around the grassy area, with several charred 'body' parts a good distance from each other. Almost like how pack animals would tear its prey apart limb from limb, eventually scattering all the bits to feast off of them by themselves, with the eaten corpse no longer even resembling what it once was.

Ballad closed his eyes, taking a few long and deep breaths. His gloves and coat was covered in the remnants of the red-hooded thing he had constructed and murdered. Opening his eyes one more time, he stomped down onto the limb, another bone-crunching snap escaping from the appendage. Smirking behind his blood-red scarf, he takes a few steps back, turning around to keep his eyes away from the carnage he had inflicted, and quickly walked away from the scene with his chest raised and without a single blink.

Roughly thirty minutes later, Ballad found himself walking down the same dirt road he had been traversing for who knows how long in his time within Camelot. This time, however, his steps seemed hollow, almost like he was sleep-walking. He kept inhaling heavily to himself, catching his breath from what he had done. In the mean time, his mind was spinning with ideas.

Let's see... the tournament is most likely over. Whether or not the kid lives is completely up to chance at this point. I will just have to hope he is spared or he wins entirely. If he does win... should I confront him immediately? Seems like a good plan, but I don't know where he is. He could be anywhere by now. Besides, he's a fucking lucky scumbag. He doesn't deserve an immediate battle. No... he deserves torture. And there is one kind that is always the best, I know.

Cackling softly to himself, he lowers himself onto his left knee, his right hand facing upwards with his palm outstretched. Closing his eyes again, he begins to concentrate on something. Something that had only just occurred to him that existed. Something he occasionally glanced towards to see if it was repeating the same trick the first one did. He intended to conjure THEM up. But this time, they'll help, not hinder.
------------------------------------------------
Eventually, after about eight minutes of concentrating, he opened his eyes back up. In front of him was a long piece of parchment and a snow white quill with a black ink bottle next to it. Two pictures, one of a building and one of a red-hooded teenager, were placed on both sides of the paper. Hopping across the parchment was a large crow, which had taken a sudden interest in his ink bottle. Moving the bird away from the bottle, he swivels around as he feels a second crow pecking at his pants. Biting his lip underneath his scarf, he shoos the bird away from him, slowly moving them to his front.

Sighing, he says "Alright, listen you two. I don't know how to make you two pay attention for long, so I'll make this quick. I have two messages I'd like you two deliver. Now stand still and let me write.." Grabbing the quill with his left hand, he dabs the non-feathery end of the plume into the ink bottle, bringing it up once it was covered in the blackish liquid. Tearing the parchment in half, he slowly proceeded to write down a message onto the paper. As he wrote, the speed increased and a wicked smile enveloped his facial features. Wrapping the piece into a cylinder, he slowly gestured one of the crows to come forward.

When the first crow stepped forward, its feet slightly dusty from skipping across the paper, he held the message out to the bird. As the bird took it into its beak, he moved his left hand towards the building picture. It was a white building with cobblestone as its base. At the door, a sign reading 'The Barley-Shoppe' hang out for all to see.

"Bring that message to here. Find a table labeled B3. Hide the message within the wooden boards. Once you do that, stay there until a kid with a red hood walks into the door. Got it?"

Ballad's commands must've ringed true through the idle mind of the crow. It twitched a bit, listening to what he was saying before dashing into the sky, heading towards the city of Minas Tirith. It held the message firmly in its beak, with little possibility of it flying off.

Writing another message down, this time without the seemingly crazy snickers and stares launching off his face and onto the page, he hands the message to the second bird. Grabbing the picture of the red hooded kid, he ordered "And you. See this kid? Find him, and hand him that letter. Make sure he gets it."

With the last bird having received its directive, Ballad stood back up, reaching his right hand into his coat, pulling out his flamethrower pistol. Staring at it for a few moments, he lifts his head up, squinting towards the direction of the forest, which was a fairly good distance away. A look of confidence on his face, he stuffs the flamethrower back into his coat before marching towards the forest.

[Corporal Light]

Roughly Two hours and Thirty minutes later

Ballad continued his methodical march through the vast forest, swinging his arms forwards and backwards. By now, he was deep enough into the forest that the trees covered up most of the sunlight, resulting in dead grass all around Ballad. His feet stomped down onto the dry dirt path, crunching the torrid brown grass like bones. A cacophony of bird calls and pecking noises rang throughout the woods as Ballad swerved his head around, eyes searching the overgrowth. Come on... I know it's here somewhere.

Eventually, his eyes caught sight of what he was looking for. To his right, about fifteen feet, was the field he had used as a campsite a day earlier. It was still surrounded by the overgrowing grass like a Colosseum enveloped its gladiators. Jogging towards the field, he quickly pushed aside the the leafy barricade, scrunching up as his hands grasp the sides of it. Stepping into the field, Ballad draws his head up towards the tree in the center. It hadn't appeared to have gotten any bigger, as it was about the same size as it was previously. It also appeared to be the only area where the sky was at least somewhat visible, as bright rays of sunshine shone through the cracks between the green leaves of the tree. Ballad squinted as he raised his right hand up to his face to block the sunlight, groaning in an annoyed manner. He remembered the red-hooded kid floating across the field of the Colosseum. If he could do that, then surely he could fly right out of here if he needed too.

Whatever...I'll find a way to stop that once I have time. For now... I need to prepare, reasoned Ballad as he turned back around, staring at the slight hole that served as an entrance to his enclosure. Looking down towards his waist, he parts his coat open, seeing the bags connected to his belt. Unzipping the one furthest from his revolver, he takes out a pile of solid wick, about six pieces in his left hand. Darting his eyes back and forth from the wick to the patch around him as if Connie ting the dots, he proceeds to clamp his fist shut, turning the wick inside to dust.

"This'll take a while..."

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

Roughly One hour later

Carefully, Ballad kneels down onto his left knee, inching closer towards the edge of the beige, arid grass. Stopping for a short moment, he cautiously pours a trail of the wick right along the front of the grass barrier, connecting it to another trial placed beforehand. He had been placing a line of this stuff all around the place, leaving no segment free from his makeshift fuel. He didn't plant any within the grass itself, but its purpose was clear. The grass rarely got too much rainwater thanks to the trees hogging it, which made then more dead then anything. If the red-hooded kid strolled through the entrance Ballad had used, then one spark is all he would need to trap him.

"Alright... it's done" Ballad softly said to himself, pushing down on his left knee and standing back up, "the kid probably got the messages by now. Now... I'll just have to wait."

Whirling around, careful not to place his boots anywhere near the flammable dust near the soon to be ring of fire, he swiftly heads towards the tree in the center of the field. There were still plenty of branches all over the tree, and it looked climbable. Time to find out...

Ballad reaches his left hand towards a small branch, gripping it with all of his might. He then reaches up towards another branch a little ways above the one he was already holding, gradually climbing his way up the tree.

After roughly five minutes, Ballad languidly traversed to the right of the tree, moving towards a long bough extending out towards the end of the big field. Standing on the long timberwood, he slithered forward as if he was performing a balancing act or was tightroping across two separate buildings. Reaching the tip of the wooden arm, which was thankfully covered more or less of green leaves, he painstakingly places his knees onto the branch, making sure his balance was correct before peering through the leaves. He was roughly fifteen feet high. He'll probably feel some pain in his knees if he fell down, but no real possibility of broken bones.

Good... my plan won't go wrong then.

Ballad knew everything he needed to about the kid. He had a red hood obviously, but his looks held no weight to his skills.. or his luck. His crutch was a weapon, and he had a sword made of rosy red blood. Or at least had the color of it. He had the ability to fly, and was fast. But that wouldn't stop him. Nothing would. And if he truly knew all there was to know about the insufferable fuckstick, then his messages will lead him right here.

And when he comes... he'll know what it feels to burn.

[Corporal Light]

Well, this is taking a little while...

Ballad let out a quiet sigh from his lips underneath his red scarf, his head resting against the bark of the tree. His legs were stretched forward along the branch he was sitting on, his hands sprawled up against his sides. He didn't originally anticipate for the hooded teenager to take as long as he was taking, though with additional thought he understood why. Either he won and is recovering from his injuries, or was lucky enough to have someone to spare him if he lost.

Ballad looked back down towards the empty field below him, letting out another deep breath as he sees nothing new occurring below him. He started tapping his fingers against the brown wood, rocking his feet back and forth as time went on. The tree and the forest itself seemed to be completely silent; not even a single chirp from a passing crow or the speech from a fellow being. It was like everything lifeform in the woods had decided to go to sleep at the exact same time, with the only thing breaking the ice being the occasional rustling of the leaves as the wind blew past. Normally, Ballad enjoyed the silence, as it had a peaceful element to it. However, the silence was an opponent. It was against Ballad, battling him for control over his patience. After a while, Ballad gazed back down towards the bottom of the tree, a look of longing washing over his face before shaking his head and reverting to his normal sitting position.

To keep his mind off things, as well as to forget the possibility that the red-hooded man would never come, he began to plot within the depths of his brain. Thankfully, none of his thoughts ever escaped through his mouth, as all it would really do was give away his position.

I bet that kid, if he won or is perfectly fine, got the messages by now. If so, it'll take a little while for him to get here. Took me a few hours just to get OUT of this place, so getting into it won't be a quick process. So... I have time to think about how to deal with the kid faster and easier...

Searching his mind for clues for his little investigation, he remembered his speed. The kid had dodged the vast majority of his shots, and only when he was focusing did he manage to hit. And he was dodging most of his strikes at close range. He wanted... no, NEEDED a way to attack at a speed that topped the teen's.

But what would work?

Ballad brought his left hand up to his blood-cloth covered chin, stroking it thoughtfully. As he did this, his eyes rolled gently down to his hand, then down towards the inside of his coat sleeve. The coat sleeve was rather large... large enough to fit a pistol.

Another idea popping into his mind, Ballad smiled maniacally behind his scarf. His mind was already working out the details of what he was going to make, making concentration the easiest thing in the world as he held his left palm outwards, a rainbow orb forming in front of him.
-------------

Roughly three minutes later, he had his new weapon. It looked slightly similar to his revolver, though the barrel was a lot larger, and instead of a rotating cylinder, he reloaded it through popping open the barrel and sticking the bullets inside. It was fairly small, which was what Ballad had been hoping for. Now.. he needed to see if it worked.

Ballad slid the single shot pistol into his left coat sleeve, lowering his left arm as he glanced down towards the ground. A weird little conversation played around in his mind. It went something like this:

You talkin' to me?

You talkin' to ME?

There ain't noone else around to talk to..

So you gotta be talkin' to me.

As if to end his spectacular bit of dialogue with a flourish of superiority, he flashed his left arm forward, snapping his single shot pistol into his hand. He glanced down towards his pistol, nodding appreciatively. Sliding the pistol back into his coat sleeve, he suddenly jerked it forward again, recreating his own surprising attack.

"This will work..." he utters, chuckling in a slightly demonic fashion.

[Corporal Light]

Three hour later

Knock

Knock

Knock

Knock

Ballad's left hand, clasped around his revolver, continued smacking the handle of his gun against the limb of the tree he was conveniently laying his stomach on. His head rested against the cool bark; his arms hanging out like a pair of vines. His winter clothes bristled as a soft breeze floated through the tree, causing ripples of leaves to fall down onto him as they knocked against each other, creating an orchestra of sound that filled the air with its music. Some of the green leaves settled down onto Ballad's back, scarcely camouflaging him thanks to his rather uncaring laying position. Thankfully, he wasn't as easy to spot thanks to the sun slowly coming down, providing a violet-orange contrast to the leafy green surrounding him.

This guy is taking an ass load amount of time. I mean, seriously... Ballad thought to himself, letting out a long sigh that was covered up by nature's melody. He had been spending the last three hours passing the time as much as he could like a security guard operating as a human scarecrow who is forced to slap himself in the face several times an hour just to remain awake, because he also apparently works the night shift. One of these ways was looking around the tree. He had figured that, if the kid was even coming, that it would take a long while, so might as well make the best of it right? He DID manage to find a rather interesting object within a hole in the tree. It had been covered with a bunch of sticks and leaves, which Ballad removed. After taking it out of its hiding place, he climbed back up to his perch, taking a good long look at it.

It was metallic, yet not rusty. It had a white see-through screen, and dozens of buttons along a small, rectangular plat thing, most of which also had letters of some kind on it. Ballad easily recognized most of the letters, though some of the buttons were odd. For example, there was a single, lean rectangle with nothing on it. There were also plenty of buttons that had words like shift and caps lock. He had decided to ignore the no-word button and just focus on toying with the thing.

Long story short, it was a device that could access... something. He was able to talk to other, living people by just tapping a few buttons. He met some.... interesting folk, but what was more interesting was what they had to say.

The vast majority of them didn't really say anything worth mentioning, but one of them did. His or her words had been bouncing around in his brain for an unusually long time, no matter what he did to rid himself of them. It wasn't persistent; it was more like a stalker following its victim rather than a nagging maid. But it was there... and he had been acknowledging it for quite some time.

"Dammit... is this kid even coming? I hope he is... I want to fucking strangle the bastard." he growled to himself, only to go silent, his glowing eyes mollifying as the words spit out of his mouth, "Though.... would it even matter?"

"I mean... surely it would, but... I'm getting this feeling that all I'm doing won't make a difference to him. If the kid has any brains, he'll ignore all of my messages. Besides, it's simply easier to actively search for him, instead of sitting here WAITING to fight him. None of all this effort will do anything if the kid doesn't even come."

"Then again.... maybe killing him isn't the best idea. I mean, all he did was beat me... oh what am I saying. That's a PERFECTLY valid reason to kill him. But... maybe they have a point. Going through all this, just to kill one stupid kid?"

Ballad closed his eyes, parting his coat before sliding his revolver into his holster. "Alright.... I won't stay here. Er... I'll sleep here, but as soon as morning comes, I'm leaving this place. Just not worth it."

"But I will mark my words here. If I ever meet him again... he will die."