02-06-2016, 11:24 PM
The bottom of the fountain disappeared, replaced with a black hole. It gulped the swordsman as if nothing more than a grain of rice, immediately regaining the limit of its depth afterwards like nothing ever happened.
Trunks grunted as he plummeted. His face throbbed incredibly. He may have only been hit by water, but it felt like a vicious tsunami compacted into a small wrecking ball of a fist—any harder and his nose would have taken the form of an 'S'.
With a sound similar to an electronic bass, the swordsman came to a stop when his body slammed against hard ground; a faint yelp escaped him (if days could get any worse Trunks didn't want to experience them).
“Greetings, champion.” a weathered voice said.
Trunks winced as he cocked his head and set his gaze upon an old man in a hoodless robe, his entity saturated in blue. Wrinkles carved themselves deep into his face, exaggerating his age a few decades beyond senior citizenship. His white—or the whitest form of blue possible—hair was parted down the middle, and braided on both ends reminding the swordsman of the indian people that lived under Kami's Tower.
Who the hell are—
As if the old man extracted the question from Trunks' brain, he responded:
Trunks picked himself up from the marble floor. He took notice of the megalithic columns lined up in three rows within the building, all a handful of meters apart, adjacently and diagonally; all made out of the same material as the floor; most importantly, each of the columns were made from single blocks.
Behind the blue-tinted senior, stood a statue of some ancient female deity. She stood with her hands resting in front of her naval, and her head looking to the heavens. A bow and a sheathe for arrows crisscrossed her back.
The old man turned away from Trunks, and walked over to a small pool, to the left of the statue. In the middle of the pool a small table with a slanted top faced towards him. The swordsman was too far away to make out the table in great detail, but he could see the indentations on the surface of it. Probably to hold the aforementioned relics, he inferred.
Because of my valiance and honor as a fighter, yet you know nothing about me? Trunks wondered. If the old man had witnessed any the asskicking earlier he may not have said those words.
Trunks grunted as he plummeted. His face throbbed incredibly. He may have only been hit by water, but it felt like a vicious tsunami compacted into a small wrecking ball of a fist—any harder and his nose would have taken the form of an 'S'.
With a sound similar to an electronic bass, the swordsman came to a stop when his body slammed against hard ground; a faint yelp escaped him (if days could get any worse Trunks didn't want to experience them).
“Greetings, champion.” a weathered voice said.
Trunks winced as he cocked his head and set his gaze upon an old man in a hoodless robe, his entity saturated in blue. Wrinkles carved themselves deep into his face, exaggerating his age a few decades beyond senior citizenship. His white—or the whitest form of blue possible—hair was parted down the middle, and braided on both ends reminding the swordsman of the indian people that lived under Kami's Tower.
Who the hell are—
As if the old man extracted the question from Trunks' brain, he responded:
Quote:“I'm the mighty Hero, Teucer, and I have chosen you to help me on this quest to release me, and let my spirit rest in peace.”
Trunks picked himself up from the marble floor. He took notice of the megalithic columns lined up in three rows within the building, all a handful of meters apart, adjacently and diagonally; all made out of the same material as the floor; most importantly, each of the columns were made from single blocks.
Behind the blue-tinted senior, stood a statue of some ancient female deity. She stood with her hands resting in front of her naval, and her head looking to the heavens. A bow and a sheathe for arrows crisscrossed her back.
Quote:“I was slain in this land, in a war, a long long time ago. I should be resting in the Elysian Fields, but that evil warlock cursed my soul onto six relics . . . that you must retrieve for me.”
The old man turned away from Trunks, and walked over to a small pool, to the left of the statue. In the middle of the pool a small table with a slanted top faced towards him. The swordsman was too far away to make out the table in great detail, but he could see the indentations on the surface of it. Probably to hold the aforementioned relics, he inferred.
Quote:“The relics are scattered throughout the island and are protected by powerful guardians who have been set forth by the Warlock.” He turned back and looked at the swordsman. “Please...help release my spirit by bringing all six relics here to the temple. Once I am released I will give whoever brings me all six one of the relics and will imbue it with great power. I chose you because of your valiance and honor as a fighter and I believe that you will be the one to free me. If you have any questions I will be here as long as I’m recruiting others. Please save me.”
Because of my valiance and honor as a fighter, yet you know nothing about me? Trunks wondered. If the old man had witnessed any the asskicking earlier he may not have said those words.