Creative excersize - "fight"
 

This is based off of an original thread that had it's home in Tilted Gaming. It ran its course and everyone had alot of fun writing in it. I proposed for the next one, we move it to creativity as even though it was played as a game it was more of a creative excersize..

When I was first learning to write, I was told to write every day, even if it had nothing to do with what I was working on at the time. This is alot like a group excersize that we used to do..

Here are the rules:

- The scene is a fight, but the exact nature of the setting is blurry right now until the "players" add to it.
- The generally accepted genre is fantasy (as with the last one.. Further works may change genre: WW2 era, SciFi, western etc.)
- participants can introduce a character, with as much or as little description, background, and personality as they want..
- Fight
- Control your own character and the setting, but don't make the other characters do anything, let them have control of thier own destiny.
- Anything you want to say as an author, put at the top of your post with (OOC) in front of it.
- Be nice, have fun, this can be a very good "flexing the creative muscle"

(If there are people interested in participating in other excersizes let me know, I have alot of them)

[OOC: If anyone wants to be other FF1 characters it would be fun. We could be a team!]

Fighter steps on the scene.

"Weeeeeee! Battle!"

He wore heavy armor and carried a large broadsword. In a pouch on his back he carried several potions for recovering from wounds. His hair was red, as was his armor. He was a large muscular man, but lacking in intelligence and speed. He was a master of sword fighting, especially the 12 styles of the zodiac. His true strength, however, comes from his close bonds with his friends.

Fighter began jumping up and down with impatience, sword drawn. "C'mon! I'm ready!"

He is reknowned throughout the land. His reputation, spread like a warm buttery substance, spills all over the battlefield. As his ursine cloak flutters in the biting wind, he raises his head to fix his gaze upon the oafish fighter opposing him.

'Behold!' he bellows!
'Tremble at my feet, for i am the MASTER OF BADLY REALISED SIMILIES!'

with these words, an electrical crackle of energy shoots forward towards the fighter like a majestic but slightly overweight seal...

The two fighters are suddenly distracted by a smell. A smell that carries the aura of pestilence and evil. Turning to the source of the stench, they see a third fighter step out of the shadows. His armour is heavy, his face hidden by thick beard and moustache, and he carries a large side of beef in his gauntlet-ridden hand.

He boasts his supreme meat handling skills as he swings his meal around his head and behind his back. Bits of gristle and sauce fly off with deadly accuracy into his opponents faces. The Meat Juggler seizes the opportunity and rushes beefily towards the Master of Badly Realised Similies (MoBRS) and makes his attack on the incapacitated adversary.

Stung by the pieces of persistently putrid pig, the MoBRS staggers back, half blind like a tramp with an alcohol problem, only to be comforted with 12lbs of flesh and the hard, sunbaked ground. Rolling quickly to avoid any further blows, he jumps up, like a jack in the box, but without the springs or the jack, and reaches deep into his inoffensive cream coloured robe. Savouring the thought of an imminent victory, he pulls out the fabled Tankard of Grog resplendently replete with the Rusty Spoon Of Damnatory Death Doom and Destruction. With prolixity as thick as congealed ye olde porridge, the MoBRS rushes forward towards the meat-juggler and raises his glass high, before brutally emptying the contents of the tankard in his adversary's direction...

... but the Meat Juggler is busy wrestling with an appetising chunk of his weapon. His teeth are firmly grasped into the beef and he is hard at work trying to pull it off so he can satisfy his meaty hunger. However he is highly panicked when he sees the entirity of the contents of the legendary Tankard of Grog heading at an alarming speed towards his face.

Attemting to roll out of the path of the oncoming hazard, the Meat-Juggler collapses clumsily onto the ground and tries to shift his beefy self in some direction. Easier said than done however, for trying to roll gracefully when you are 20 stone (without the armour) is comparable to the ability of a gymnast doing the parallel bars when the gymnast is a sponge.

With a manly yell, the Juggler is hit square in the face by the rank substance. It gets all in his eyes and over his beard and moUTH AND THE GLAVIN...!!! He squirms on his back like a turtle trying to get up.

Beaming like a poppinjay at the prospect of a new fancy sleeved tunic, the Master walks slowly and purposefully over to his floored nemesis. Surveying his surroundings, he allows himself a brief chuckle at the sight of the fighter in the distance jumping up and down like a deranged baboon, completely oblivious to the conflict around him.
'Deary me, such uneducated ruffians these fighters' The master expostulates, before sitting down to gnaw hungrily at the ostentatious stick of succulent animal. Shock covers his face as his snack is snatched away from him, denied by its protector.
'Well, if THATS the way you want it, especially after i offered you a refreshing beverage...'
Retrieving his spoon, and getting once more to his feet, he peers into the slit like eyes of the floored meat mangler. Raising his weapon to strike, the master catches a wiff of beard, the nauseating combo of beef and grog, and a thousand other unmentionable atrocities invades his facilities, with somewhat grizzly results for the already sodden beef master...

(OOC: Time for me to join the fray, though the style and feel are way different then before, I love the direction, uber creative guys)

Another figure strode purposely upon the field, then hesitating for a moment, continued. He knew the battle would be here, he knew when it would be, and he knew who would arrive. He knew, pretty much everything.. He was just a little unsure of what it was he knew..

He was the master seer of the infinte possibilities, and he already knew who would win of course.. His showing up was as pre-ordained as the sun and the stars.. Maybe.. The sun and stars may go away, and the battle may not have happened, but that was the trouble with knowing an infinite amount of things.. Well that and the headaches.

His name today was Burt.. And he was dressed in his favorite blue robe, the kind that covered your feet but you didnt trip on when you weren't looking. Burt would trip today on something, he just wasn't sure what. He had decided to wear his favorite robe anyway.

Bending down he decided to strike the first, or last blow in this battle. He retrieved from his robe a silver fork, and stuck it pointy end up in the hard soil. Someone would fall on the fork and it would hurt them very badly.. Burt just didnt know who..

He waited, and hoped the headache would go away soon.

Zingsing had been watching from the clouds, floating through the air like so many notes sung.
Her voice- her weapon- and her flight- her protection- were what made her sure of success in such a bizarre but brutal battle.
Her mission was to obtain the voiceboxes of ...well, anyone. They were her energy! Just think what a powerful fighter's voicebox might do for Zingsing.
She swooped from the sky to make men mute.

Burt looked around. There was the crazy man in red armor bouncing around, a large man swinging what looked like a side of unfortunate beef, another swinging an empty tankard and now empty stomach.. Now a flying woman..

Certainly the fates were having fun with Burt. This was one of the odder possibilities, and he had discounted it earlier when he learned all about it.. Who won this time?

He looked up in time to see the large bird that was going to cross the path of the flying woman and wondered if it would hit her like an earlier vision had dictated..

[OOC: I hadn't checked in a while, but I'll check more frequently now. However, for this post I'll need to go back a moment.]

Fighter was hit with the full force of the greasy meat. However, instead of try to clean himself, he merely licked his lips.

"Mmmmmmmmm."

After the taste, fighter began using his fingers to shovel the grease into his mouth. He forgot however, to drop the sword first. The broad side of his broadsword hit him square in the noggin.

"OW! OW! OW!"

He began leaping about, screaming at the top of his mightly lungs, his hands clasped around the back of his head. After several minutes of this, he looked up and saw a woman warrior flying straight for him, and then a bird flying along too. But wait... what was that last part? A WOMAN WARRIOR FLYING STRAIGHT FOR HIM!

"AHHHHHHH!! The godesses of doom come to wreak havoc upon my life! There's no escaping them! There's no salvation! Run or be tempted! AHHHHHH!"

With that fighter began running in circles with blazing speed, screaming like a looney.

Surveying the now cluttered battlefield like a hawk with an eyepatch, the MoBRS staggered backwards in sheer bewilderment. To his left, a bird-woman, swooping majestically like a brick with wings, a greasy looney running around ducking frantically and gibbering more than a giblet. To his right was a very urbanely dressed man, cradling his head in his hands, and to his below a very distressed looking juggler. Stepping back in the hope that it would all make slightly more sense if everything was a bit smaller, it suddenly hit him! No, not a projectile, but a moment of clarity. With a broad smile of enlightenment slapped across his face like a 4-fingered glove, he stumbled upon another epiphany. Unfortunately, this time it presented itself as a fork in his foot.
His face turned red.
Then blue
then he cried out...
'Oh....FORKing hell!'

As he hit the the face floor first (again) his own utensil was sent carelessly careening high into the air above...

Meat Juggler groans, his face in the dusty ground. He hears commotion and noises around him. He stands up and composes himself, then surveys his surroundings. There are many fighters now, many powerful and wonderous warriors with powers that far exceed his own beef-swinging abilities.

He comes to realise the hopelessness of his position. He faces omnipotent, all-knowing beings that can fly and curse stupid puns and run around like loonies. The Meat-Juggler, inherently stupid and cursed with the tactical reasoning to rival the slaughtered animal in his hand, falls back on his last hope. A hope that, with any luck, will slightly reduce the balance in his enemies' favour. If he couldn't win, he could at least make a damn good job of making everyone nauseous.

The Juggler focuses on his stomach. His acids start to react with the meaty contents of his belly and produce a gas that builds up and rumbles in his gut. With a swift, peristalic effluvium, the Juggler unleashes an almighty belch with power enough to shake the very depths of souls; it sends shockwaves in all directions - the dirt on the ground is blown away like a sandstorm with a force to cripple the mightiest of foes. The effects of this onslaught, he hopes, will not be trivial on his adversaries...

The MoBRS, squirming on the ground with a fork in his foot, manages to rid himself of the under-pain. Standing triumphantly, having defeated the mightist of table implements, he is most chargrinned to instantly be viciously blown high into the air by a gas so nauseous as to once again tempt him to regurgitate his previous vittles. Fighting the urge within as well as the turgid air without, he catches sight of the spoon, still soaring through the air parallel to his present course. Reaching out, he manages to finger the edge and bring it within his grasp. This is his last hope. Making arcane patters in the air whilst flying through it, he begins the sacred ritual. It is not before long he has begun to shovel the very fabric of reality into his gaping maw with the mystical sphere of metal...the Spoon's true power is revealed...

Zingsing was making a dive for the dirty-looking man lying flat on his face on the ground (an easy target to start with) but quickly changed her course when what appeared to be a blast of wind began flattening the dirty man's surroundings. She waited a bit before venturing forward again, her eyes watering as she drew nearer to the earth.
Now that she knew what sort of smell the Meat Juggler could emit, she decidedly picked her new victim- the Fighter. His constant screaming convinced her she couldn't go wrong with such a voice, and she knew just the way to get it.

She landed a ways away from the flailing, yelling Fighter and prepared herself. Lipgloss, tight black catsuit, hair put in place. Yes, this would be a quick seduction.
She put on a sweet smile as she walked sexy-style to the Fighter, held him by the shoulders, and said, "Kiss me please- I need you."

Burt looked around him with an air of someone who knew everything, mostly because he did, and he was wearing his favorite robe to boot..

Now time to get involved..

Picking up a large branch from the ground, he hefted it high above his head and screaming a war cry he knew everyone would know.. He spun around and smacked someone.. (although who he smacked he couldnt be sure, because it was always different)

[AS ELDAIRE]

Fighter felt a strange feeling he didn't entirely understand at the sight of the beautiful woman. All he knew was that she was casting some kind of spell that was making his armor attack him just below his waist.

"Away sorceress! Be gone! I should hate to use my blade against such a fair and beautiful and raidient maiden... *sigh* but to expunge the world of your evil magic, I will if I must!"

With that, Fighter stood in a slightly akward fighting stance, trying to compensate for her armor shrinking spell.

[OOC: Fighter is too stupid to be tempted... unless you like swords.]

Unannounced to the warriors a new individual had strolled on to the scene. The warrior sported a loose fitting gi and a simple pair of loose fitting black cotton pants. The individual's auburn touseled hair whipped wildly in the breeze, covering his face from view.

In the warrior's hand was 5 ft staff, that was nearly as tall as him.
The warrior seemed fairly frale, but his physique and emeanor were quite decieveing.

Blade? Blade?? Zingsing could not believe this. She was drop-dead gorgeous, and she wished Fighter would see that- and drop dead.
But fine. Apparently her charms weren't so reliable.
She wasted no time in highkicking Fighter's red helmet right off his face, putting her mouth to his, and then- she started to stick her 12 inch toungue down his throat....but then he realized and started to struggle.

Fighter scrambled wildly. Her armor shrinking spell seemed to grow stronger with physical contact. He hated to strike the maiden, but he found himself without any other choices. He dealt her a punch and she quickly doubled over. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His face filled with shock and he began running around with his hands in the air. Zinsing rose from the ground and watched the spectical for a moment. She had to admit, he was cute. Not necessarily handsome, but cute in the way a small child is cute. Fighter's voice began rasping and he eventually regained his voice completely, which he used to scream and run around in circles till he passed out.

Ooc: oops/

OOC - wait.. how many 'fighters' do we have here? Who has a character and who are they? (I havea feeling alot of people are controlling the same fighter)

[OOC: Amarth, Dixie (when headed by eldaire), and Eldaire are the same person. My character's name is fighter and I am the one controlling him.]

Fighter woke up a moment later with a terrible headache. He screamed out loud, "Do I still have my voice?" Then answered, "Yes now stop shouting, I have a headache." "Sorry." Fighter stood and drew a second sword from out of nowhere. "Alright, who wants some!?" OUCH! Shouting bad. Gotta remember that.

The auburn haired boy stood looking at the scene with a look of shock on his face.

'What on earth are these warriors doing?' he thought 'This isn't fighting in a coventional sense. At least not what I'm used to.'

Shaking off his look of shock, the yuong boy took a step forward saying ."My name is Canti, of the Oboro clan. Would anyone like to challenge me in a battle?"

The MoBRS simply lies down in defeat. He knows that one with a big stick is simply undefeatable...especially since all he has is a spoon.

Zingsing watched Fighter pass out, regain consciousness, and get up on his feet again. She sighed. He really was strangely endearing. Perhaps he liked his voicebox where it was. Perhaps becoming his ally would help her more than stealing his now ragged voice....
Fighter was standing a few feet away with another sword drawn, blinking stupidly in the sunlight. Zingsing kneeled and said, "Forgive me, strange knight. I didn't realize how strong you are. I see my tounge is no match to your..... er, strength. Let me join you in battle so that I may say I helped the great.... What did you say your name was?"

[AS FIGHTER]

"My name is Fighter fair maiden, and I would welcome your alliance. Let us battle together!"

Yay! I made a new friend!

He didnt see this coming, maybe it was a vision he had when he was asleep.. Damn dreams, always getting in the way of good visions. The master of fate stepped forward and kicked Canti hard in the knee

Hey. You're supposed to be fighting him! pointing to Fighter and Im sure he pointing to MoBRS isnt supposed to be napping.

He then sighed and throwing an equally large stick (with a handy space at the end to insert, say.. a spoon) down by MoBRS, backed up to see what would happen

Seeing that the all-knowing seer was busy with the other warriors, Canti drew his sword and struck him with the hilt hard in the low back.

"Strike me?" Canti asked with an enraged look on his face "You GIT!"

Git? Git? GIT?

No one calls me a git and gets away with it!

The seer turns around and grasps Canti's shoulder in a suprisingly strong grip and concentrates, then, with a sly smile he gives Canti all the knowledge he has.. about cheese. Every peice, wedge, slice, and chunk of cheese that ever existed, or would exist, flashed through Canti's unprepared mind

Take that!

[OOC: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Ohh! Sorry to break character, but that was hilarious! What an awesome attack!]

;)

waiting in the shadows of the trees, Akrami-Noti crouched and waited patiently...
.oO("how could the elvish elder expect me to steal the sacred yard o beef, while this battle ensues?")

done with his thought, his two daggers glistening in the light he hops down from his perch and rushes the field...

The field is aghast, and falls over in surprise.

Klinkflock strolls up to the crowd, and says something he stole from one of his future visits. Can't we all just get along? He pulls out his Woxabur Exaim he carries that he bought in the land of A.D. 2753, and points it at the sky. He squeezes the handle and a burst of fireworks light up the sky. He smiles and walks toward the hill.

the flash of light stops akrami-noti in his tracks.

.oO0(what means of sorcery is this)
he wonders quietly.

his mind now distracted by the brilliance of the colors he rushes towards the wizard, letting out an elvish war cry.

The volatile chemicals and magical forces lighting up the sky set off an unexpected chain reaction high up in the planet's atmosphere, gently mangling the reality everyone knew and loved.

Meanwhile Nefir Nefarious was sitting in his warm, cozy abode down in the 9th level of the underworld, in front of a 17" oracle mirror, and happily enjoying a meal of tea and fruitcake, when suddenly, with a lurch, his surroundings changed.

The comfy chair made from the hides of human infants was no longer supporting his posterior, and the law of gravity beckoned said posterior towards a hard, dirty earth. With an ornate cup of tea in one hand, and a half-eaten piece of fruitcake on a fork in the other, the demon of laziness and procrastination blinked several times before realizing it was a good idea to start moving around lest something hard and/or pointy decides to occupy his current location.

Hastily crawling up to his feet (but not before finishing the last piece of fruitcake and last drop of tea), Nefir held his fork and empty tea cup in a threatening fashion, and assumed a look upon his begoateed face that said "Mess with me and I'll throw something in your general direction".

The grass and flowers upon whose space he has previously infringed did not bother to reassume their upright positions, and decided it was much nicer to take a nap instead.

Burt sighed heavily

Didn't see that one coming

Merely gazing upon the demon of procrastination made fighter begin to feel the effects of his power. "Y'know, I did want to fight a noble battle and stuff, but now I'm thinking that it may be easier to just look at my shiney sword instead. OOHHH shiney!"

[OOC: Is anyone posting or what!? I feel like I'm all alone here...]

"CHEESE!" Canti yelled. "What kind of man attacks with knowledge of cheese!"

Trying to focus his thoughts on something else than the temperatures at which Swiss and Limbergher cheese melt, Canti took a fighting stance.

'This is one strange battle' he thought

[OOC: They are all procrastinating. Its my character's doing, I tell you :D]

Nefir could feel his blood-red skin being prickled by the out-of-control magic spilling down from the sky, wreaking havoc on reality around him. He knew he had to put a stop this, before he sprouted a second head or turned into a barrel of spoiled cottage cheese... eventually. Spying the battle field, he finds the one likely responsible for all that magical pollution - a strange fellow wearing strange clothes and holding a strange.. thing.

He has faced foes bigger, and more dangerous - workaholic accountants, nuns with obsessive-compusive disorder, attourneys so wicked, they need their own attourneys - but returned victorious every time. With a mighty battle-squeal and the sound of hoofs crushing helpess pebbles, the demon charged at Klinkflock, fork extended (a damn fine fork, too).

Klinkflock laughed as the ugly little man with the big fork charged him. He stepped to the side, and asked the man if he would like to join him for lunch. Klinkflock loved cheese. He threw his Woxabur Exaim into the sky, and instantly it dissapered, as well as the fireworks. The little man with the fork would not go away, so he pulled out his Bomcarn Twabir from beneath his coat. He had spent three years whittiling it himself, from the tree of Edeti, that he had traded his two middle toes for. It was a stout and strong weapon, and the Ulerirt's say that anyone that whittles their own weapon from this tree, that it will never be broken. He held it up just as the fork jabbed at him again. The weapons slammed together and gave off a mighty sound. Nefir laughed at Klinkflock, as he had never seen a man as ugly as himself until he. This tall spindly man's face was so long and droopy it looked like a left over green bean from thanksgiving in June. His nostrils were oval and full of hair. His teeth were perfectly straight and long, and looked somewhat like piano keys. Then he looked into his eyes. The eyes were black, and as Klinkflock looked back, he could see a bit of kindness in them. They stopped for a moment and just stared at each other.

Burt smiled and picked up a sword he knew would be there

So. You survived that. Thats impressive Canti. The last person I did that to lost most of thier life's blood through thier nose and are to this day chained up in a sanitorium talking about chedder balls. So why dont you hit me, I'll give you the first shot..

Nefir and Klinkflock circled each other, teeth bared and weapons quivering, staring each other down, waiting for the other to make a move. A bead of sweat was crawling down the demon's face, despite the dreadful cold in this place. He could almost hear the gears of thought turning in his opponent's brain, calculating strengths, summing up weaknesses, then dividing, and taking square roots just because it is fun. Nefir did not know why, but his psycho-procrastinatic powers seemed to have no effect on the man whatsoever, and that was just not fun!

Pausing their dance of death, Nefir broke the silence.

"Do you have any idea how long a walk it is back down to Level 9?!" demanded the demon, "I mean, I know it doesn't sound like a long way considering this is Level 8, but its still enough to grind my hooves to powder!"

Realizing the man was obviously not familiar with the lingo, Nefir attempted an alternate strategy.

"So, uhh... I don't suppose that thing of yours can send me a few hundred leagues underground?"

"Wait, I've got it! I'll procrastinate later!"

Fighter drew both swords again and charged the battle between nefir and Klinkflock, swinging at both of them simultaneously. They both deflected the blows and jumped back. Fighter stood in between them.

"I could use your help sorceress."

[OCC: Forgive my lack of participation lately. This type of battle is definitely new to me, and I'm having trouble following.]

"You'll regret those words seer. For my first hit shall be the last you will ever feel!" Canti spoke in a rage.

'God damned cheese!' he thought.

Holding his sword at waist height, Canti prepared to attack. As he visualized his enemy and his next attack, a calm overtook the warrior and his focus began to fall back on the battle. Also, a light red glow started to show on the warriors katana.

This attack would be great

"You'll regret those words seer. For my first hit shall be the last you will ever feel!" Canti spoke in a rage.

'God damned cheese!' he thought.

Holding his sword at waist height, Canti prepared to attack. As he visualized his enemy and his next attack, a calm overtook the warrior and his focus began to fall back on the battle. Also, a light red glow started to show on the warriors katana.

This attack would be great

Things were definitely not going his way. First his hard-earned dessert is interrupted, followed by a strange confrontation with the man responsible, and now a thick-armed (and -headed) warrior was trying to take Nefir's various body parts as trophies.

This made him very angry.... Very angry indeed. Tapping upon the nearest source of considerable procrastinatic power - the local university - the demon channeled all the potential energy just waiting to get loose, into himself. For a split second, onlookers could see blue arcs crawling across his body, and then disappearing.

Almost immediately after this, Nefir seemed to grow a foot in height, and put on some much-needed muscle mass. The dinner fork in his hand shimmered with procrastinatic energy and the tea cup spit and crackled.

Taking aim at Fighter's head, the demon chucked the deadly cup with great strength. Narrowly dodging the projectile, Fighter could feel the stubble on his face curl up and melt as the thing passed, leaving a nasty smell of cooked barbarian in the air. Klinkflock was next in line for a showdown with the dea cup of doom, but somehow managed to deflect the object with his weapon, which bounced high up into the air. A moment later there was a sharp crack, the sound of glass breaking, and a mightly explosion.

Zingsing, after flying away for a few minutes to work on some end-of-term papers, came back to the playing field to see in what ways she could assist Fighter. The battle was now only a jumbled mess to her.... and someone would have to explain it.

[Entire post OOC]

Don't ask me, this is a little confusing for me too ;)

Klinkflock laughed and thought to himself, My mind powers are working. The bloody bloke that started this mess is now confused. Pretty soon no one will know what is going on and I will have control.... He ducked as a sword whisked by his head..

With the now-glowing katana in hand, Canti charged in towards the seer, who had raised his own sword in defense. Before he struck though, Canti halted his assault and grabbed his forehead with his free hand.

"God damn cheese!" he cursed, squeezing hard at his temples. "What in the hell is your problem seer? Why would you inflict such a torture on a man."

Canti was now on his knees, and as his thoughts again became focused on only cheese, the glow of the sword dimmed then faded.

The sword that Klinkflock dodged had not finished it's momentum. It careened through the air towards Nefir, stabby end facing the demon. He continued spinning and brought his other sword back at Klinkflock.

The seer lowered his sword and knelt quietly beside Canti. He knew that while his foe's mind was locked on the torture he had afflicted him with, that it would not be a fair fight. Instead he whispered quietly in his ear

Hurts doesnt it. Its not what you thought it would be, omnipitance.. what a fallacy.. We want to know everything, now you know what the price for even a fraction is.. Now stand up and finish this. Either way, if you kill me or I kill you.. then you'll know some measure of peace..

The seer then stood and raised his sword in a long lost (except to him of course) battle pose. He waited with a measure of calm, honor, and dignity that charged the air with purpose

Come Canti..

[OOC]

So, do we call it a draw? ;)

I wanted to say that everyone did a great job. I loved the humor in this fight.. Alot of good characterization.

Thanks everyone

[OOC]
I agree, this was loads of fun, but its time for me to exit, stage left :D

Good fight, J.R.V.A.!

[IC]
When the Nefir's tea cup of doom exploded overhead, the strong magical field in the area switched polarity to its usual mostly random position, sending the demon's atoms tumbling once again to a different place.

Fighter and Klinkflock glanced around, their faces still pink from the close encounter with projectile laziness, but saw no trace of the demon. Instead, in his place were only two hoofprint-shaped scorch marks in the grass.

....

Meanwhile, on the Legendary Island of Titassia, the beautiful scantily-clad (AKA mostly naked) priestesses were pleasantly surprized when a handsome red-skinned demon appeared in their bathhouse, several feet above the water, and splashed down next to them.

"This seems like as good time as any to retire from my post as procrastinator-in-chief!" exclaimed Nefir, as the women beamed seductively at him, approaching.

"So much to do, so little time!" :D