The Village of the Boyagers

[Nyerp]

Is there a way you could make these less like walls of text?

[Placebo Headwound]

I've always wanted to do that to Kono.

I should probably read this sometime.

[Garahe]

this story is epic

especially the rat-king part

[YPrrrr]

Ringo, you've seriously got to start writing books

[Ringo]

They'd been here for two days, and the most they got out of Carello was a diplomatic "maybe later". And why should he stick his neck out for another forum looking to take a cut of his profits? Wasn't that what Boyah was? Just another forum? Socks glowered down at the makeshift bar counter. From the side it looked like an ironing board welded to the wall. Thin iron steel cables fixed upon the wall held the rusted frame up. It wasn't pretty to look at but it was effective. Clair would continue to try and convince Carello that their forum was worth saving. No doubt the others would be right behind her. Sock's wasn't a politician, he was a scrapper.  Nursing his glass wearily Sock's let out a sigh. He was aching for a smoke. Alcohol was enough to get him by at first, but it did little to satisfy his need. Lifting the glass to his lips Socks was caught off guard by a skeletal hand darting from beneath a black cloak, seizing his glass with alarming alacrity. Ringo's eyes had lost all of that playful mischievousness he was so proficient at, instead bearing world weary eyes nestled firmly behind sunken sockets.
"I wouldn't drink that if I were you. It's a terrible brand."
Meticulously examining the glass of ale from beneath, Ringo ran two fingers across the rim of the glass before presenting them to Sock's. It took Sock's a few seconds to see it but when he had, he felt his heart begin to race. A wispy white powder shimmered against the sunlight that had crept in from the open doors. Wiping his fingers on his cloak Ringo hunched forward, his elbows supporting the majority of his weight.
"Lift the glass to your lips but make sure they don't touch. Whoever's trying to kill us is probably still watching." Sock's lifted the glass up and tilted back, simultaneously making note of his surroundings as he set the glass down. Ringo's eyes were vacuous, his gaze betraying no hint of suspicion as he spoke.
"Behind you, three tables back and in the corner." he gestured toward the bar's mirror, letting Sock's gaze fall upon the stranger through the reflection "He's been watching you for the past hour."
Sock's felt his pulse quicken as the stranger unseated himself and began weaving past the clientele. It had taken a bit for him to remember him but once he'd gotten past the beard and faux scar, Starware was instantly recognizable. Starware had been blacklisted,  which indicated the Outsiders weren't aware of him either. Someone else was at work here. Sock's felt his stomach tighten as Starware began to uncover a silver six shooter holstered beneath a pale brown poncho. It was Raven's gun, he recognized the piece from Boyah. Ringo's body jolted as Snoober gripped tightly onto his shoulder, revealing a switchblade riding deftly in his palm. To his right Snoober's face had been obscured through facial reconstruction, aging him accordingly to fit the description of a burnt out Nsider passing through the forums. 
"Oh look, the illusionist is here too. Why don't you show us a magic trick?' giving a squeeze to drive the last point home "Maybe a final performance for our great magician." he whispered. Starware was a mere table away and had just began to turn heads as he darted forward. Surprisingly, Ringo obliged Snoober's request. With a resigned shrug he waved his hand in front of Snoobers face and swung one high into the air...
"Presto-"
Before swinging it back across, taking Snoober's nose midswing in a flash of red and metal.
"Got your nose!" he laughed, tauntingly holding the soft flesh and cartillage mere inches from the gaping hole that had housed the amputated piece. Snoobers panicked screams gave Sock's a distraction. Diving headlong into Starware's abdomen Sock's felt his ears ringing, resounding in his head like a chorus of bells. Starware's shot had missed it's mark and planted itself squarely into the bar's rack. Gripping Starware's hand Sock's used the assassins weight against him as he flung him backwards across the table. Starware planted a boot squarely into Ringo's chin as he flung the weapon from Starware's grip. Ringo fell reeling back giving Socks ample opportunity. By now the bar's clientele had backed into the corners or had fled the scene in search of help. Starware drove an elbow into Sock's shoulder sending jolts of agony stinging through the sterilized wound. Swinging around, Starware snatched a knife from a nearby table and plunged it down. The boyager struggled valiantly, gripping the arm of his would-be assassin and straining back with wild desperation. Starware had come prepared, ample training as well as psychological conditioning had changed the Nsider into a professional coldblooded murder. Socks could hear something at the back of his head, behind the struggle over life-and-death came a quiet click, followed by a not so quiet booming. A steal ball-bearing ripped through the base of Starware's skull. Sock's felt the resistance give way instantaneously as palettes of red and grey splattered across the table. Starware's eyes rolled back in their sockets while his corpse collapsed limply upon the dirt flooring with a soft thud.
"Sic Semper Tyrannis" Ringo chuckled, amused at his own private joke. His cloak was covered with blood, black shimmered a deep red against the sunlight. And snoober, Sock's turned towards Snoober and felt himself gag. Ringo had killed him, and signed him with the blade. Like you would a painting or a piece of art. The last "O" in Ringo's name etching past his abdomen, spilling his intestines with it. Adopting a more serious tone Ringo straightened up and spoke once again in an indifferent formal manner he was so accustomed to.
"We should probably report this to Carello."

[Paul]

It was good, but i should be in one.

[Hiro]

Jesus Christ, this is getting fucking hardcore! I mean seriously! Well, very interesting, i guess NS2 has found them, eh? That was a somewhat good chapter, but you need to work out those grammar and spelling issues. Other than that, keep up the outstanding work!

[Ringo]

Jesus Christ, this is getting fucking hardcore! I mean seriously! Well, very interesting, i guess NS2 has found them, eh? That was a somewhat good chapter, but you need to work out those grammar and spelling issues. Other than that, keep up the outstanding work!

I wouldn't say the entire story's shifting that direction. It has more to do with who it centers on. Whenever Socks or Meta are present the story may shift in that direction to give emphasis to their personalities. Sock's being the valiant fighter and Meta being the honor bound bloodthirsty war-dog kept at Raven's feet. With Sam it's the inspiration and eventual overcoming of her fears as these visions reveal themselves. Clair's is the voice of reason and reflects that in her speech and decision making. Steal's chapters tend to be more focused on himself, Ringo and Sam.  Etcetera. So really, each chapter's amount of violence or speech will be determined by who's being focused on.

Just wanted to clarify that so nobody thought I was making a snuff novel.

[Hiro]

No yeah i knew it wasn't all going that way. What is mine focused on? And what is with Computers? This story's getting complex, where is it all headed?!

[Ringo]

No yeah i knew it wasn't all going that way. What is mine focused on? And what is with Computers? This story's getting complex, where is it all headed?!

Your's...


Is a secret. 

[Hiro]

Oh yes, a "secret" epic  Unless you lied to me, or something.... bah!

[Ringo]

Meta-knight knelt before the bowl of mottled water. He was alone, at last he was alone. In his tent he could think and reason away from the watchfull eyes of his pupils. The ceramic bowl lay accusingly silent at his knees. Meta examined his blade remorsefull as he lifted it from the cleansing water. He could see his distorted refelection simmering back at him from the oily sheen of the blade. He'd killed men before, when duty demanded he was a butcher. But the children, he hadn't had time to think until they lay strewn in pieces across the field of battle. The first greeting he'd received from the forum was a toddler, he could still feel it passing effortlessly beneath his cycles wheelslike a tissue through a fan. It was like a high pitched giggling, then a squealing. He couldn't get the image out of his head, why couldn't he get it out? Cold tears trickled into the bowl of water His briefing from Raven told him the forum was heavily fortified. Had Raven been so blind as to completely ignore the obvious? There were no fighters, no warriors to speak of until push came to shove. It was then that the heartbroken fought vainly in hopes of avenging their loved ones. He knew better than to feel remorse, no warrior who doubted himself could really be called a servant of his master. A warrior fought to better serve his employers wishes. When guilt crept in it would eat at him, crippling him to be no more fit to fight than a child.
Maybe then it would even the odds.
Meta cast the thought from his mind, and yet like a cockroach it crept back up from the dark recesses of his mind.
You killed children, Meta.
Meta's fist tightened into balls, his eye squeezed shut in concentration.
You're a monster.
He'd done all that EJ had asked, he'd fulfilled his task to the letter.
EJRaven knew there were none to defend to forum. That was why he'd picked it first.
Mistakes happened, no doubt it was a grievous error in intelligence.
You're his terrier, Meta. When he's done with you he'll toss you like a used napkin.
He realizes my value and had wisely chosen me to undertake the tasks others would find too difficult.
He realizes that you'll do anything he sends you to do. Don't be a tool, Meta.
"I'm not!" Meta growled back, suprising himself when he realized he'd responded vocally to the voices and had broken the calm serenity of both the tent and his mind. How could this have happened? Meta desperately tried to shut out his doubts, they surrounded him enveloping him like a smothering cloud of smoke. His body felt compressed, every muscle tensed as he desperately fought to regain control.
"I'm losing myself!" he thought.
About him the whispers had increased in numbers, taunting, jeering and instilling fear with each addition. Meta stumbled forward with katana in hand, unable to utter more than an audible groan.
You killed them, Meta.
"Get..."
And when you're done he'll kill you.
"OUT!" he roared, arching his katana at the midsection of a visiting Hellrider as he peered into the tent.
"Sir, we heard some commo-" he never got to finish the sentence. The razor like blade cut effortlessly through his midsection, slowing slightly as it severed his spine. In a flash of doubt he'd killed his own. Two chunks of deadened meat fell to the floor lifelessly. He could hear several more of them coming from around the camp. He felt his heart pounding, beating rapidly in both exhilaration and fear as to what he had just done. The rider's face was frozen in a mask of shock and terror. Meta could feel the others closing in around him with their accusing silence. Meta brushed a stray lock from his face and stood up.
"What did I tell you about entering my tent while I was meditating?"
The riders gawked in stunned silence at their former compatriot.
"You!" Meta pointed towards the foremost Rider "Has the prisoner been shipped out yet?"
The rider blinked back disbelief
"Y-yes sir " he stammered back. Meta needed nothing more. His head was still throbbing .Giving a dismissing gesture he stumbled back into his tent. He was no longer safe to be around others, for the time being. He needed to lie down and think this over.
How many more Meta?
"Just shut up."

[Hiro]

O_____________________O

[Ringo]

The heat was sweltering, beads of sweat ran down Clair's face like droplets of rain off of a rooftop. The office had been hand furnished and crafted, every bit of painstaking detail was obvious from a casual observation. It was magnificent, as old as the forum itself and furnished for a king. Clair sat patiently across from Carello while he took a puff from a clean cigar. Behind him stood the imposing presence of his second-in-command, Phydeaux.
"So let me get this straight. You want us to help you out of some misplaced sense of..." Carello paused and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke with a widened grin "Charity?"
Clair fidgeted in her seat, "Well, yes."
"And I'm supposed to risk the lives of my members in an all out defensive push against Raven..." he paused again to take another puff 
"...somewhere in the middle of the desert? Help me out here Clair, you come to my forums, you bring these hired killers with you and you expect us to help you out?"
Clair could see negotions were going less than ideally. They might have had a chance of changing Carello's mind four hours ago, but now that Ringo and Sock's had been found out by Raven's assassins Carello had shown no desire to get involved. Ringo and Sock's sat silently behind her, speckled with what little blood they had been unable to wipe off before being rushed in. Somewhere in the back of her mind Clair registered the tense breathing of Steal emanating from the far corner. Steal leaned into the wall with his arms crossed in an expression of extreme irritation. Carello had made a point to confiscate their weaponry before admitting them in. Overall not an unwise choice, there were those within and without who hadn't approved of Carello's methods or decisions. While most had voiced their disagreement in lengthy complaints, a rare few had attempted to take more "direct" action in the past.
Sam sat quietly in a fold up chair a few feet from where Clair sat. Her mind in deep contemplation reflected in her vaccous gaze. Tension pulsed from the two like a throbbing wound, emenating in waves of livid emotion. Sam could feel Clair's frustration bubbling up as she spoke.
"If EJ takes Boyah it's only a matter of time until he sets his sights on Outsider. You need to-"
"Pah!" Carello cut her off with a brisque gesture "Boyah's problems are Boyah's problems. I look out for my own."
Clair clenched her fist into a tight ball, desperately fighting to stem her anger. When the conversation was resumed it wasn't Clair, but a darkened form propped loosely against the corner wall that spoke.
"We hear you've got a bit of a rat problem." Added Steal, a smirk creeping in from the corner of his mouth. Carello eyed the young Boyager warily, weighing his options as he spoke.
"We do. What of it?"
"Perhaps we could help each other out. You take care of our rat, we'll take care of yours."
The realization of just what the Boyager was implying deftly crept into his mind like a thief in the night. Leaning back in the swivel chair, Carello held the cigar loosely between his forefingers and stroked the sparse facial hair adorning his face. After considering his options carefully he spoke with gravity, ensuring the Boyagers understood full well what they were getting into
"I've had six patrols killed." he extinguished the stub while he spoke in a hushed tone "Six. What makes you think you can take this thing out on your own?"
"We've got a knack for these sorts of things"
"I'm not risking it, not on your own. I'm sending to squads in with you. If you still get butchered it's your own fault."
Turning his attention the blood stained Ringo, Carello gestured towards Phydeaux who was now carrying something draped in an elegant red velvet. The worn edges had been tasseled with a now off colored gold fabric. 
"Ringo. This is yours I assume, you left it after your last 'visit'" Carello finished with an audible note of disdain focused on the last word. Ringo's first reaction upon recognizing the object was to snatch his beloved possession from Phydeaux's grip. Leaning stiffly from the waist Ringo gripped the blade cordially and admired the craftmanship. It was old. Older than most any blade you'd find nowadays. Carvings from centuries gone by bore witness to each of the blade's keepers. The Rapier had been wielded by an ancient Knight of Hyrule. Legend had it that Cat had defended against an onslaught of agressors. For three days the Knight fought alone, cleaving flesh from artery effortlessly as the blade sustained her. When the dust had settled, the Knight collapsed and died of exhaustion, leaving with her last breath instructions to keep the sword safe. It was foretold that if Nsider was ever in need of defense, the blade would come to her aid. But when the administrators are the ones destroying the forums, not even a mythical blade can help.
Nodding politely Ringo muttered an expression of gratitude and was instantly absorbed with the piece. Sam looked about her with anticipation and dread, the others had accepted this proposal without hesitation. But at what cost would the secure this alliance? The Rat-King knew they would be coming, and she feared for those who would fall prey to his wiles.

[Hiro]

I loved Legendary Cat :'(