05-10-2015, 02:04 PM
Mickey was back home.
Or so he thought, upon entering Camelot. Birds greeted his large ears with their songs, the sky glistened blue above him, and picturesque green hills rolled out in front of him, just the way they did when he looked out on his own kingdom. Way off in the distance, a white castle sat triumphantly on a hill, not unlike his own castle back home. He had half a mind to start humming ‘Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.’
It seemed too good to be true, and Mickey could not help but gape at the gorgeous, familiar countryside. “This… this is amazing,” he squeaked, his awe and nostalgia overwhelming him. He tried his best to not sound too much like a tourist. He completely failed, of course.
“Yeah, isn’t she fine?” Conan smiled, swelling with pride about his homeland. “This, little lad, is Came—HOLY FUCKING SHIT, LOOK OUT!”
Conan dove and tackled the King to the ground, barely dodging the fiery blast meant to take him out. Mickey looked up to see a gigantic, green-skinned man standing atop a nearby plateau. He wielded a long, oaken staff with spikes jutting out the end of it; undoubtedly, this had been the source of his magic.
Looked like it was too good to be true, after all. Ah, well—a mouse could dream.
“Oh boy, the nerve,” Mickey pushed Conan off of him and stood up, placing a hand on his keyblade and eyeing the shaman above him. He scowled deeply—this was no way to greet a guest—and waited for the green man to make his next move.
The shaman flashed Mickey his best attempt at a toothy smile—to say he needed some dental work would be a gross understatement—and lowered his staff. Mickey had no time to feel triumphant, however, before two more of the hulking green men emerged from the shadows of the forest where they lurked. Even larger than the shaman, they appeared to be warriors rather than magic-users; one held an oversized, two-handed axe, and the other held a large war-hammer at his side. They flanked their leader, and Mickey’s grip on his keyblade tightened.
“I really, really don’t wanna fight you,” the mouse frowned, “and I bet you don’t wanna fight me either.”
The shaman laughed—well, it sounded more like a grunt, but still—and his ugly grin just widened. He motioned ever-so-slightly with his head, and the two other fighters charged, leaping off the plateau and sprinting toward Mickey, waving their big, scary weapons wildly.
Alright, Mickey shrugged, unsheathing his keyblade and bending at the knees, you asked for it.
The first grunt swung his battle-axe, but Mickey’s feet had already left the ground. The mouse flipped over him, landing on the ground just in time to duck underneath the second guy’s hammer. The pair of grunts stumbled past him as their blows missed, and Mickey turned around, aiming his keyblade at the hammer guy’s back and shooting a blast of Light energy from its tip.
The spell hit the monster; with his balance already shaken, it easily sent him sliding in the dirt. He slid across the ground and into the portal, disappearing from sight as he left Camelot and entered the Nexus. One down, one to go.
While Mickey had been dealing with Hammer Time, the axe-man had regained his composure, and stared the mouse down. The King squatted into his battle stance, ready to do combat with the giant, but as soon as the monster looked poised to strike, a sword blade emerged from his abdomen, and his eyes went cold. Mickey stiffened at the sight of the green man’s blood emerging from the wound, and stepped back slightly, his mouth dropping open. Conan removed his sword from the creature’s body, and it fell to the ground with a loud thump. Mickey swallowed nervously.
He had landed in a violent world.
“Watch yer back, lad!” Conan shouted, pointing to the shaman above, and Mickey spun around just in time to see another blast of flame hurtling his way. He rolled to the side and quickly fired off another Pearl at the shaman, but the magician turned and slipped back into the shadows of the forest before he could get a good shot. Instead, the white blast collided with the cliff face, and Mickey slumped onto the ground.
If the mouse’s face could look pale, it surely would right now. He tried and tried, but he could not shake the feeling of shock that had crept over him when Conan had killed that man. The Camelot scout must have seen something wrong in him, too, because he moved toward the King much more cautiously than before.
“Tha’—” he stammered nervously, “—uh, tha’ was very impressive, little lad. Ye handled that orc like a pro.” Mickey scoffed a little bit. Conan stepped away, but he did not take his eyes off the mouse. Mickey surmised that the soldier had not expected him to be such an adept swordsman.
“Why’d ya have to kill him?” Mickey asked, looking up at the human man.
“Because… ‘cause he was tryin’ to kill us, Mick!” Conan shouted, incredulous. Mickey had never been comfortable with death. He believed—or he liked to believe, anyhow—that there was always another way. He only ever killed the Heartless, or irredeemable creatures like that. These… ‘orcs’ seemed different. They seemed more civilized. They seemed worth saving.
Gosh, he needed a hug right now.
He would not get one, though—instead, he picked himself up off the ground, and brushed the dirt off of his shorts. “Alrighty then,” he smiled as warmly as he could, trying his best to put on a positive demeanor. “Let’s keep goin’, then.”
Or so he thought, upon entering Camelot. Birds greeted his large ears with their songs, the sky glistened blue above him, and picturesque green hills rolled out in front of him, just the way they did when he looked out on his own kingdom. Way off in the distance, a white castle sat triumphantly on a hill, not unlike his own castle back home. He had half a mind to start humming ‘Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.’
It seemed too good to be true, and Mickey could not help but gape at the gorgeous, familiar countryside. “This… this is amazing,” he squeaked, his awe and nostalgia overwhelming him. He tried his best to not sound too much like a tourist. He completely failed, of course.
“Yeah, isn’t she fine?” Conan smiled, swelling with pride about his homeland. “This, little lad, is Came—HOLY FUCKING SHIT, LOOK OUT!”
Conan dove and tackled the King to the ground, barely dodging the fiery blast meant to take him out. Mickey looked up to see a gigantic, green-skinned man standing atop a nearby plateau. He wielded a long, oaken staff with spikes jutting out the end of it; undoubtedly, this had been the source of his magic.
Looked like it was too good to be true, after all. Ah, well—a mouse could dream.
“Oh boy, the nerve,” Mickey pushed Conan off of him and stood up, placing a hand on his keyblade and eyeing the shaman above him. He scowled deeply—this was no way to greet a guest—and waited for the green man to make his next move.
The shaman flashed Mickey his best attempt at a toothy smile—to say he needed some dental work would be a gross understatement—and lowered his staff. Mickey had no time to feel triumphant, however, before two more of the hulking green men emerged from the shadows of the forest where they lurked. Even larger than the shaman, they appeared to be warriors rather than magic-users; one held an oversized, two-handed axe, and the other held a large war-hammer at his side. They flanked their leader, and Mickey’s grip on his keyblade tightened.
“I really, really don’t wanna fight you,” the mouse frowned, “and I bet you don’t wanna fight me either.”
The shaman laughed—well, it sounded more like a grunt, but still—and his ugly grin just widened. He motioned ever-so-slightly with his head, and the two other fighters charged, leaping off the plateau and sprinting toward Mickey, waving their big, scary weapons wildly.
Alright, Mickey shrugged, unsheathing his keyblade and bending at the knees, you asked for it.
The first grunt swung his battle-axe, but Mickey’s feet had already left the ground. The mouse flipped over him, landing on the ground just in time to duck underneath the second guy’s hammer. The pair of grunts stumbled past him as their blows missed, and Mickey turned around, aiming his keyblade at the hammer guy’s back and shooting a blast of Light energy from its tip.
The spell hit the monster; with his balance already shaken, it easily sent him sliding in the dirt. He slid across the ground and into the portal, disappearing from sight as he left Camelot and entered the Nexus. One down, one to go.
While Mickey had been dealing with Hammer Time, the axe-man had regained his composure, and stared the mouse down. The King squatted into his battle stance, ready to do combat with the giant, but as soon as the monster looked poised to strike, a sword blade emerged from his abdomen, and his eyes went cold. Mickey stiffened at the sight of the green man’s blood emerging from the wound, and stepped back slightly, his mouth dropping open. Conan removed his sword from the creature’s body, and it fell to the ground with a loud thump. Mickey swallowed nervously.
He had landed in a violent world.
“Watch yer back, lad!” Conan shouted, pointing to the shaman above, and Mickey spun around just in time to see another blast of flame hurtling his way. He rolled to the side and quickly fired off another Pearl at the shaman, but the magician turned and slipped back into the shadows of the forest before he could get a good shot. Instead, the white blast collided with the cliff face, and Mickey slumped onto the ground.
If the mouse’s face could look pale, it surely would right now. He tried and tried, but he could not shake the feeling of shock that had crept over him when Conan had killed that man. The Camelot scout must have seen something wrong in him, too, because he moved toward the King much more cautiously than before.
“Tha’—” he stammered nervously, “—uh, tha’ was very impressive, little lad. Ye handled that orc like a pro.” Mickey scoffed a little bit. Conan stepped away, but he did not take his eyes off the mouse. Mickey surmised that the soldier had not expected him to be such an adept swordsman.
“Why’d ya have to kill him?” Mickey asked, looking up at the human man.
“Because… ‘cause he was tryin’ to kill us, Mick!” Conan shouted, incredulous. Mickey had never been comfortable with death. He believed—or he liked to believe, anyhow—that there was always another way. He only ever killed the Heartless, or irredeemable creatures like that. These… ‘orcs’ seemed different. They seemed more civilized. They seemed worth saving.
Gosh, he needed a hug right now.
He would not get one, though—instead, he picked himself up off the ground, and brushed the dirt off of his shorts. “Alrighty then,” he smiled as warmly as he could, trying his best to put on a positive demeanor. “Let’s keep goin’, then.”
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)