05-12-2018, 08:44 PM
Erik awoke to the rising sun on his face, a buzzing sound in his mind alerting him that he had a message. He flicked his wrist and a wisp of psi snaked from his sleeve, forming a small, flat screen tinged with purple. He had received instructions from Victor to go ahead without him. The psychic honestly wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, but was glad that he wasn't going to need to worry about being assaulted anymore.
“Southern accent?” Erik mused to himself. He was sure that his idea of a southern accent and Victor’s would be very different, but he had no idea what to look for. The psychic decided to simply advertise that he was looking for a southern accent and hope that everyone else knew what it was. The first thing he needed was somewhere to record. He stretched sleepily as he got out of his chair, loosening his stiff back and neck. Maybe sleeping at a table in the bazaar wasn't the greatest idea, but he didn't regret it. Despite the stiffness, this was the freshest he had felt in what felt like months.
“Where do you record radio?” Erik wondered as he got to his feet, calling up his psi screen again. A quick search revealed that radio was recorded in a recording studio.
“I could have guessed that.” Erik muttered as he brought up images of recording studios, nodding to himself as an image formed in his mind. Confident that he could summon one up, Erik left the bazaar and searched for a vacant building near the palace. It took a surprisingly long time to find one, most buildings having been claimed by loyal citizens wanting to be closer to their King. Despite the extra time it took him, Erik couldn't help but feel happy about the current state of the city. Finally, Erik spotted a building whose roof had caved in, rendering it uninhabitable. Unless one was a prime, of course. Erik summoned up his orb of omnillium and set to work, the rainbow substance enveloping the decrepit building like a huge, sparkling amoeba.
After a solid amount of time, the recording studio was finished. Erik released a heavy breath as he entered the new building. The summoning had taken more out of him than he had expected, the freshness he had felt earlier was nearly gone already. Pushing the glass double doors open, the psychic entered an immaculate foyer, although it was little more than a front desk and a few chairs and tables. Erik had intended to supply magazines for people to read while they waited, but doubted many people would want to read ‘Eldritch horror weekly’, sadly. He resolved to find something people would want to read as he pushed into the next room.
The next room was the actual studio, although it was split into two smaller rooms, divided by a soundproof glass window. Erik looked over the switchboard on his side of the window, slightly intimidated by the machine. The recording booth was mostly empty, barring the soundproof padding and microphone. Satisfied with his work, Erik summoned up his omnillium once more. Channeling the rainbow substance, the psychic formed a stack of flyers, a number of nails, and a hammer. The flyers read;
“New Babylon radio hiring.
We need loyal citizens to become the voice of the glorious King Gilgamesh and spread his word throughout Nippur. Come to the recording studio near the palace to apply. Southern accents preferable.”
Grabbing his flyers and tools, Erik left the studio and went around Nippur, nailing a flyer wherever he thought people would see it. He placed the most around the palace, although he didn't actually place any on the palace for fear of damaging the glorious building. Once he had placed the last flyer, the psychic made his way back to the recording studio. To his surprise, a number of people were already waiting for their auditions.
“Curses.” Erik muttered under his breath. “I didn't get to summon anything for them to read. Pushing his way into the studio, Erik called to the closest applicant. “Come with me.”
The man followed Erik, before entering the recording booth and putting on headphones. Erik quickly summoned up a piece of paper for the man to read from and handed it to him. The psychic followed suit and put on the headphones as the man started speaking.
“Good morning, New Babylon. The King has released an announcement that the bandit lord Baron Deathchew and his underlings have been slain. Looks like we can all sleep a little easier at night now that our chances of getting eaten alive have dropped at least 60%.”
Erik considered the man’s voice for a moment. It wasn't bad, by any means, but it lacked the strength Erik thought someone announcing the good word of the King should have. The psychic thanked the man for his time and called in the next applicant. After a few more ordinary performances, a man walked in with one of the strangest appearances, for a secondary, at least, that Erik had seen in a long time. The man was around 50 and on the fatter side, with a large, bushy moustache. He wore a spotless white polo-shirt and pants over his bulky form, with a matching white 10 gallon hat.
“How are ya’ doin’?” He asked in a thick southern twang, snapping Erik from his stupor. He obviously knew that Erik was staring at his outfit, but wore a wry smile on his face, rather than look upset.
“Uh, good, thank you.” The psychic replied as he showed the man into the recording booth. The cowboy-hatted man cleared his throat as he settled in, donned the headphones, without removing his hat, and started reading. His voice was deep and smooth, but had a powerful undertone to it that the last few applicants had been missing. Erik didn't even know what the old west was, yet he felt like he was there when he listened to the cowboy(?) before him.
“Well, how was I?” The man said as he stepped out of the recording booth.
“That was fantastic.” Erik said in awe. “What's your name?”
The man chuckled at the compliment. “Thank ye’, son. Name’s Bill, but most people call me Big Bill.”
“Why is that?”
“On account of my large cowboy hat. Why d’ya think?” Both men chuckled for a moment, before Erik caught something in the corner of his eye and turned around to see something strange. A large pile of sand, bigger than a person, was piled in the back corner of the studio.
“That wasn't there before.” Erik said, confused.
“So, you finally noticed!” A slightly muffled voice boomed from beneath the pile of sand. To Erik’s astonishment, a man rose up from beneath the sand, looking even stranger than Big Bill. Despite his powerful voice, commanding and tinged with a slight hard to place, but commanding, accent, the man was not the visage of a proud warrior that should bear such a voice. Instead, he was dressing entirely in sand coloured clothing, with a small cape of feathers hanging from his collar. He wore a similarly coloured bandana and, most bizarrely, a pair of glowing green goggles. The man laughed heartily at the shock of the pair, his ponytail bobbing with his exaggerated movements.
“Hello, Erik Vrell! And goodbye!” As he finished the last word, he produced a dagger from within his patchwork clothing and tossed it at Erik. The psychic prepared himself to pluck it out of the air with his telekinesis, but didn't have to. The dagger landed handle first on the table, more than a metre from where Erik was standing.
“A stunning dodge, clearly you are a worthy opponent!” The bandit said while crossing his arms and nodding sagely, as if he was a philosopher solving the meaning of life.
“Who are you?” Erik demanded as he drew Mageslayer.
“My name is Sand Hawk, bandit lord of the flying viper clan, and I have come to prevent you from spreading the word of Gilgamesh to the people of this city, in the memory of my fallen-”
“Stop it with the run on sentences!” Erik cried. The bandit was starting to give him a headache.
“Never!” Sand Hawk exclaimed, forming his hand into a fist as he did so. “Sand Hawk only runs on, he never runs off!”
Before the bandit could utter another word, Big Bill drew a revolver and shot him in the shoulder.
“Ah, shit! Sand Hawk will run off, just this once, but we will meet again, Erik Vrell!” The bandit lord announced before dashing out the door, gripping his shoulder. The psychic sighed as he rubbed his forehead.
“Thank you, Bill.” Erik said as he sat down. “You’ve basically got the job. I'll call you tomorrow, probably, but you won't have to work until all the preparation is done.”
“Thank ye’ kindly.” Big Bill said as he doffed his hat to Erik. “See ya’ around.”
Erik buried his face in his hands for a moment, wishing he could just take a nap to recover from the most exhausting five minutes of his life. After a few minutes of getting it together, Erik called out to those waiting in the foyer.
“Next!”
The door creaked open and a familiar sand-coloured bandit entered the room.
“We meet again, Erik Vrell!” Sand Hawk announced proudly as he strode in, sounding as if Erik had walked into his trap.
“LEAVE!” Erik roared, his eyes flaring up with psychic energy.
“Okay, but only because I've got place to be, not because you told me to!” Sand Hawk replied as he spun around and strode back out the door. Erik almost sobbed as he groaned to himself. Cleaning up that sand could take hours. At least it was better than Victor’s lewd remarks…
“Next!”
“Southern accent?” Erik mused to himself. He was sure that his idea of a southern accent and Victor’s would be very different, but he had no idea what to look for. The psychic decided to simply advertise that he was looking for a southern accent and hope that everyone else knew what it was. The first thing he needed was somewhere to record. He stretched sleepily as he got out of his chair, loosening his stiff back and neck. Maybe sleeping at a table in the bazaar wasn't the greatest idea, but he didn't regret it. Despite the stiffness, this was the freshest he had felt in what felt like months.
“Where do you record radio?” Erik wondered as he got to his feet, calling up his psi screen again. A quick search revealed that radio was recorded in a recording studio.
“I could have guessed that.” Erik muttered as he brought up images of recording studios, nodding to himself as an image formed in his mind. Confident that he could summon one up, Erik left the bazaar and searched for a vacant building near the palace. It took a surprisingly long time to find one, most buildings having been claimed by loyal citizens wanting to be closer to their King. Despite the extra time it took him, Erik couldn't help but feel happy about the current state of the city. Finally, Erik spotted a building whose roof had caved in, rendering it uninhabitable. Unless one was a prime, of course. Erik summoned up his orb of omnillium and set to work, the rainbow substance enveloping the decrepit building like a huge, sparkling amoeba.
After a solid amount of time, the recording studio was finished. Erik released a heavy breath as he entered the new building. The summoning had taken more out of him than he had expected, the freshness he had felt earlier was nearly gone already. Pushing the glass double doors open, the psychic entered an immaculate foyer, although it was little more than a front desk and a few chairs and tables. Erik had intended to supply magazines for people to read while they waited, but doubted many people would want to read ‘Eldritch horror weekly’, sadly. He resolved to find something people would want to read as he pushed into the next room.
The next room was the actual studio, although it was split into two smaller rooms, divided by a soundproof glass window. Erik looked over the switchboard on his side of the window, slightly intimidated by the machine. The recording booth was mostly empty, barring the soundproof padding and microphone. Satisfied with his work, Erik summoned up his omnillium once more. Channeling the rainbow substance, the psychic formed a stack of flyers, a number of nails, and a hammer. The flyers read;
“New Babylon radio hiring.
We need loyal citizens to become the voice of the glorious King Gilgamesh and spread his word throughout Nippur. Come to the recording studio near the palace to apply. Southern accents preferable.”
Grabbing his flyers and tools, Erik left the studio and went around Nippur, nailing a flyer wherever he thought people would see it. He placed the most around the palace, although he didn't actually place any on the palace for fear of damaging the glorious building. Once he had placed the last flyer, the psychic made his way back to the recording studio. To his surprise, a number of people were already waiting for their auditions.
“Curses.” Erik muttered under his breath. “I didn't get to summon anything for them to read. Pushing his way into the studio, Erik called to the closest applicant. “Come with me.”
The man followed Erik, before entering the recording booth and putting on headphones. Erik quickly summoned up a piece of paper for the man to read from and handed it to him. The psychic followed suit and put on the headphones as the man started speaking.
“Good morning, New Babylon. The King has released an announcement that the bandit lord Baron Deathchew and his underlings have been slain. Looks like we can all sleep a little easier at night now that our chances of getting eaten alive have dropped at least 60%.”
Erik considered the man’s voice for a moment. It wasn't bad, by any means, but it lacked the strength Erik thought someone announcing the good word of the King should have. The psychic thanked the man for his time and called in the next applicant. After a few more ordinary performances, a man walked in with one of the strangest appearances, for a secondary, at least, that Erik had seen in a long time. The man was around 50 and on the fatter side, with a large, bushy moustache. He wore a spotless white polo-shirt and pants over his bulky form, with a matching white 10 gallon hat.
“How are ya’ doin’?” He asked in a thick southern twang, snapping Erik from his stupor. He obviously knew that Erik was staring at his outfit, but wore a wry smile on his face, rather than look upset.
“Uh, good, thank you.” The psychic replied as he showed the man into the recording booth. The cowboy-hatted man cleared his throat as he settled in, donned the headphones, without removing his hat, and started reading. His voice was deep and smooth, but had a powerful undertone to it that the last few applicants had been missing. Erik didn't even know what the old west was, yet he felt like he was there when he listened to the cowboy(?) before him.
“Well, how was I?” The man said as he stepped out of the recording booth.
“That was fantastic.” Erik said in awe. “What's your name?”
The man chuckled at the compliment. “Thank ye’, son. Name’s Bill, but most people call me Big Bill.”
“Why is that?”
“On account of my large cowboy hat. Why d’ya think?” Both men chuckled for a moment, before Erik caught something in the corner of his eye and turned around to see something strange. A large pile of sand, bigger than a person, was piled in the back corner of the studio.
“That wasn't there before.” Erik said, confused.
“So, you finally noticed!” A slightly muffled voice boomed from beneath the pile of sand. To Erik’s astonishment, a man rose up from beneath the sand, looking even stranger than Big Bill. Despite his powerful voice, commanding and tinged with a slight hard to place, but commanding, accent, the man was not the visage of a proud warrior that should bear such a voice. Instead, he was dressing entirely in sand coloured clothing, with a small cape of feathers hanging from his collar. He wore a similarly coloured bandana and, most bizarrely, a pair of glowing green goggles. The man laughed heartily at the shock of the pair, his ponytail bobbing with his exaggerated movements.
“Hello, Erik Vrell! And goodbye!” As he finished the last word, he produced a dagger from within his patchwork clothing and tossed it at Erik. The psychic prepared himself to pluck it out of the air with his telekinesis, but didn't have to. The dagger landed handle first on the table, more than a metre from where Erik was standing.
“A stunning dodge, clearly you are a worthy opponent!” The bandit said while crossing his arms and nodding sagely, as if he was a philosopher solving the meaning of life.
“Who are you?” Erik demanded as he drew Mageslayer.
“My name is Sand Hawk, bandit lord of the flying viper clan, and I have come to prevent you from spreading the word of Gilgamesh to the people of this city, in the memory of my fallen-”
“Stop it with the run on sentences!” Erik cried. The bandit was starting to give him a headache.
“Never!” Sand Hawk exclaimed, forming his hand into a fist as he did so. “Sand Hawk only runs on, he never runs off!”
Before the bandit could utter another word, Big Bill drew a revolver and shot him in the shoulder.
“Ah, shit! Sand Hawk will run off, just this once, but we will meet again, Erik Vrell!” The bandit lord announced before dashing out the door, gripping his shoulder. The psychic sighed as he rubbed his forehead.
“Thank you, Bill.” Erik said as he sat down. “You’ve basically got the job. I'll call you tomorrow, probably, but you won't have to work until all the preparation is done.”
“Thank ye’ kindly.” Big Bill said as he doffed his hat to Erik. “See ya’ around.”
Erik buried his face in his hands for a moment, wishing he could just take a nap to recover from the most exhausting five minutes of his life. After a few minutes of getting it together, Erik called out to those waiting in the foyer.
“Next!”
The door creaked open and a familiar sand-coloured bandit entered the room.
“We meet again, Erik Vrell!” Sand Hawk announced proudly as he strode in, sounding as if Erik had walked into his trap.
“LEAVE!” Erik roared, his eyes flaring up with psychic energy.
“Okay, but only because I've got place to be, not because you told me to!” Sand Hawk replied as he spun around and strode back out the door. Erik almost sobbed as he groaned to himself. Cleaning up that sand could take hours. At least it was better than Victor’s lewd remarks…
“Next!”
*The emperor of mankind yeets erik into a sun*
[Today 08:03 pm] Erik Vrell : Bruh
[Today 08:03 pm] The emperor of mankind : don't worship gods
[Today 08:03 pm] Erik Vrell : Bruh
[Today 08:03 pm] The emperor of mankind : don't worship gods