New World

((OOC topic!))

Chapter 1 - New World


"Midgard...a world suspended in time, set upon the mighty branches of Yggdrasil, the Eternal Tree. Welcome to the Ninth World, the domain of the mortals.

Our world is entering the 5th era of recorded history. The God Wars of the 4th age now little more than a Legend, we begin a time of peace in Midgard. Our contries grow in strength as our people prosper. Guilds of Knights and Wizards form throughout the kingdoms, soldiers and adventurers alike remaining ever vigilant of the evil forces that stir in the darkest corners of our world.

Where is our place in such a grand and rich history? Do you desire to protect the peace from all the evils in this world? Perhaps you wish to devote yourself to study and the betterment of our kingdoms?

I, King Beomir III, hereby issue this decree...a call to arms for all able-bodied explorers and adventurers. Journey out into the world, defend the innocent from the malevolent, bring your exploration to parts unknown and make fantastic discoveries...

The World of Midgard is just waiting to be discovered."

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Last edited by Wocky on Wed Mar 28, 2012 9:52 pm, edited 5 times in total.

Rizzo Rex Rotorblade (Or von Schnitzelmacher, as his name had been before he changed it), had finally managed to carve out a pretty normal life for himself; he had a job, money to pay for food, all that good stuff that comes with independence and a degree of fiscal responsibility. He had also managed to make a little home for himself in a snowy forest near to where he worked; he'd set up a hammock between two thick tree trunks, built some semblance of a roof over his head with twigs and branches, and had a little area to set up a campfire. He had never particularly liked living in apartment buildings or houses, not if it meant living by himself, anyhow.

It mightn't be much, he often thought to himself, but it certainly beat living in the cage his father had him use when he was younger and still living in his accursed research facility as an experiment. Sure, his human father had taught him plenty about science, but other than that, his parenting skills had not been the best, to say the least. The lanky, grey anthropomorphic weasel let out a sigh, as he thought it best not to dwell on it. He lay back in his hammock after brewing himself a cup of tea, and pondered about meeting his old friends again sometime soon; it had been a little while since he'd seen them.... He closed his eyes and rolled over, hoping something might happen to spice up his now slightly boring life; it almost made him wish he were his old, small self again, impulsive animalism or no. Indeed, he'd done a lot more science back then before he got into the "routine" of normal life, and his current job packing shelves didn't exactly make the best use of his skills. He knew he didn't fit in in "tall" society, but he tried his best. He always remembered an old friend's words when he made the decision to make himself taller: "Remember, Rizzo; if you're taller, women will find you 32% more attractive."

That night he dreamt of the time he feared that impulsive animalism might return. He was at a bazaar with his then-girlfriend, looking through some "wares". The shop owner had been a black-bearded, swarthy man dressed in gold-lined purple robes who had a propensity for appearing in clouds of magenta smoke. His name was Jazid, a bit of a lecherous old fellow, and Rizzo had never forgotten the warning he'd given him. "If you do not have it done by your 18th birthday..." Rizzo had never completed the task that Jazid had given him, but being the shady type that the man was, he presumed that he was just bluffing. After all, he was over a year late in his prediction, what was the likelihood it would happen any time soon?

He awoke the following morning blearily, forcing the vague fear that the dream had inspired out of his mind, instead chuckling slightly at how silly that threat had been. He groaned, not wanting to get up, and rolled over. Weirdly, something jagged stuck into his side; he didn't recall leaving anything pointy in his hammock. Confused, he opened his eyes to check what the obtrusive object was, but as he reluctantly did so, he saw only blackness. He knew that he wasn't blind; he could see the vague silhouettes of the ungainly shapes surrounding him. Panicking now, he began to claw his way around what he was finding to be an enclosed environment. It definitely wasn't his hammock; that was safe to say. The shapes around him were mostly soft, making a rustling sound as he crawled through them, but there were occasional sharp jagged edges poking at him from time to time. There was also a pungent odour wafting around the claustrophobic space, and on top of this, there was the irritating buzzing of flies... He began to get a feel for what kind of place this might be. How did he get here?! He shoved the question to the back of his mind, intent on getting out of the reeking pit that he found himself in; the odour had intensified as he woke up further.

There wasn't just the feeling of where he was that bugged him; his body felt a little different. He noticed that he took up very little space in what he now realised was a rubbish skip, compared to what he normally would. Was he smaller? Again, he pushed this question to the back of his mind, and as he finally reached a hard, metal lid. It took a lot more strength than it usually would have to lift it. The weakness gave him a strange.. Nostalgia, of sorts...

As the hefty lid creaked open, a watery morning sunlight leaked into the skip. He shielded his eyes as they adjusted to the light and scrambled out into an empty alleyway. He could hear the hustle and bustle of city life, things like horse-drawn carts moving up and down streets. Looking at either side of the alleyway, he noticed that the walls contained back-entrances to people's houses; this must've been a residential area, so, as the questions that he had pushed to the back of his mind while he focused on getting out of that skip flooded back, he wondered if there must be somewhere nearby where he could ask where the heck he was and more importantly how he got here; maybe a pub would be perfect!

Something was still nagging him at him, though. If he'd crawled out of a little skip like that, he'd be looking down at it, but he was looking up at it... It seemed disproportionately large. So maybe he was in a world where everything was bigger? Or maybe-- He looked down at himself and yelped. He confirmed his fear that it was actually the other way around! He now stood at about 2 feet tall; a skinny, scrawny specimen with scruffy grey fur, his claws were longer now, jagged, with the fur on his hands a little sparser, making some purplish skin visible. His tail too was now much shorter and thinner, sort of bushy, but in a tatty, unkempt sort of way. Slicking his hands through his ears as he often did, he also realised that they were proprtionately larger too, as they always had been. He looked at his wrist to check the time, but his watch had slipped off. He was also, he now realised, dragging his trousers along with him, as they were several sizes too big for him. Dragging himself over to a dirty puddle in the tarmac, he squinted through the glare of the sunlight to see his reflection, and could definitely confirm that he was his old self again, that is, a couple of years before he used the power of science to make himself taller. His muzzle was a little more pointed,he noted, and his eyes a bit bigger, making the despondant reflection staring back at him stand out all the more. It looked like Jazid's prediction had come late after all. Or maybe he was still dreaming? He slapped himself in face to wake himself up. It hurt! ...And he didn't wake up. Refusing to believe it, he scooped up some of the luke-warm water from the puddle and splashed it over his face. It only served to wake him up more. Nope, he thought, this was definitely reality.

He let out a dejected sigh and his ears flopped down to the sides of his head; he at least had to figure out how this had happened, so, dragging his monstrously oversized trousers along with him, he made his way to the nearest pub. It wasn't too far away, just a couple of streets away. From what he could tell, this wasn't the wealthiest area in town, but the pub (very originally called "The Black Bull") was pleasant enough. It seemed to be a nice country pub, with limestone walls and a thatched roof. Although he'd lost his watch, Rizzo could tell from the emptiness of the streets that it must be very early in the morning (he hadn't seen a single person on either of the streets he'd walked down), so, as he pushed the door open gently, he just hoped there'd be someone in the building...

Last edited by Rizzo on Fri Mar 30, 2012 12:52 am, edited 2 times in total.

As Rizzo poked his head through the door, he would find himself looking into a slightly cramped room. The lighting in here was a little gloomy, the inn choosing to rely on the light filtering in from the windows during the day. The interior of the building, as he'd expect, featured limestone walls, but also wooden floorboards, and a number of equally wooden chairs and tables on which half a dozen people were sitting, drinking frothy ales from glass mugs, and catching up on the local newspaper. Set upon the walls were the odd mounted deer antlers, paintings and other charming souvenirs.

Across the room was a somewhat more modern-looking bar, made of polished wood and gold-painted decorations. The counter held a few beer taps sporting various logos. The bartender was standing on the other side of the counter cleaning glass mugs with an old grey cloth. Behind him were various shelves lined with scores of liquer bottles and other alcoholic beverages.

Overall, it was pretty quiet.

Seeing the tiny weasel standing there reading the room's description instead of actually doing something, the bartender frowned a bit and called over to him. "Well? What ye doin' just standin' there?"

The man was white-skinned human, middle-aged and already quite bald, wearing a dark brown shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of grey trousers that looked like they'd seen better days.

"Here fer a drink I s'pose? You look a lil young!" a toothy smile spread across his lips. "But don't wurry, we don't judge here."

A couple of the guests turned to look at Rizzo as well, but other than a vague interest in his small size, they didn't pay much attention.

Last edited by Wocky on Wed Mar 28, 2012 11:20 pm, edited 2 times in total.

The bar door swung open. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees as a very tall man entered, stepping over Rizzo as he went. His huge height was exaggerated further by a very slight frame. The man must have been underweight. He wore a simple gray suit, pants and waistcoat combination, black shoes, a white dress shirt, black tie, gray trench coat and gray fedora. Pale skin, black hair, gray eyes that would have been hidden by the rim of his hat if the man was of normal stature, there was possibly something familiar about this man.

Standing on his right shoulder was a small weasel-like creature. He had dark gray fur, and was wearing a dusty black ski cap, a black jacket, and black pants. He was about two feet tall, and had a rifle slung around his back. This one would definitely be a lot more familiar then the tall man.

The tall man approached the bar, with the weasel on his shoulder jumping off onto the bar itself. The tall man leaned down to look the bartender in the eyes.

“Guess what old timer?” the tall man sneered, “It’s that time of the month. Pay up.”

Rizzo gulped as he saw the other grey weasel. He recognised that vicious little animal as Flynt Incansia. He'd met him after he had ended up in the dimension of "The Lobby" but only after he was tall... Now that he was an equal size to him...

Rizzo sweated a little in his fur; at least, he consoled himself, he mightn't recognise him like this. Rizzo had considered simply scuttling under a table until Flynt left (he was unfamiliar with how weedy being small made him feel!), but decided instead to do a little differently.

Rizzo jumped up onto the bar (well, actually, he dragged his pants up onto the bar with him, which was a pretty awkward manoeuvre) next to Flynt and interjected loudly before the bartender could even reply to the weasel and fedora-wearing man: "Heey, there! I ahh.. Just woke up in a dumpster back there, and I was wondering if you could tell me where the Hell I am! Oh, don't worry; nono.. I haven't been like.. Sniffing anything.. I'd just appreciate some info! ...Also, do you have any pants I could use?"

Rizzo grinned cheesily, edging away from Flynt slightly as he figured he was a little too close for his liking.

The bartender looked visibly shocked to see these two people appearing, as if genuinely surprised by their appearance. His surprise soon turned into anxious annoyance, even as Rizzo leaped up on the table and made a spectacle of himself. "How much d'ye want this time...?"

He put on a brave face, but his eyes gave away his worry. He glanced at Rizzo, then at Flynt, who he felt more comfortable talking down to. "If ye don't mind, I'm busy serving customers as ye can see, so you'll have to come back later..."

"We want 150 gold coins this month," the fedora wearing man replied, "If we go and come back later the price will be 200 gold coins." The tall man smirked, shrugging. "If that works better for you, I'm sure we could work out a good time. It's only fair we charge you more, as we'll be defending you with no money to keep us confident you'll hold to your side."

The weasel, in the meantime, glanced at the one who interrupted them. He sized Rizzo up, determining him to be a non-threat. "Beat it, garbage rat."

The dark gray furred weasel reached down to the barrel of his weapon, currently facing the ground. It was slung in such a way to make blindfiring easy, simply swing it down to hip level and it would already be ready to point at what ever target needed pacifying.

"Funny you should say that..." Rizzo started, but after glancing at the gun strapped to Flynt's back, figured it would be best to back off. He dragged his trousers off the bench with him, a chore that was really beginning to get on his nerves, and slunk under a nearby table until the commotion was all over and done with.

Last edited by Rizzo on Fri Mar 30, 2012 11:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.

The bartender ran a hand over his bald head nervously. Every month it was the same routine. These thugs were starting to break the bank. He considered talking to the city guard about the problem, however they don't seem too concerned about the affairs of commoners these days.

"200?! Ye gotta be jokin', I can't afford that! Can' I just..." suddenly the bartender had a thought. An idea. "Erm..." he laughed nervously. "How about instead, I treat all o'ye to an all-ye-can-drink booze night. Whaddya say? It'll be on the house!"

He rubbed his hands together idly, wondering if this could actually work!

The tall man laughed. "It's a tempting offer, but the boss wants the money. 150 now or 200 later." The tall man turned away from the bar, and looked out the window. "You know how the streets are at night. It'd be such a shame if something happened to this wonderful pub because the owner just wouldn't pay to keep it safe." His voice had just a hint of malice in it.

The dark furred weasel, in the meantime, watched Rizzo go. Once he was under the table, he glanced back at the bartender. "If that's the sort of customer you serve, mangy runts that stink of trash, maybe you just aren't worth protecting."

Rizzo crept up from under the table and stood up to his full, menacing height of two feet or so, comically pulling his pants right up and having to stand there with one hand keeping them there at all times, to protest that statement; he'd been incensed enough by his past memories of Flynt's assholery in the other dimension without hearing this:

"I just stumbled in here, actually! So he doesn't normally serve garbage rats, except for you, by the looks of it."

Rizzo retacted and coiled a little, as if expecting some retaliation as he said this, his confidence waning. "But ahh.. Cut this guy some slack! If he can't pay today, maybe he could pay another day, yeah? What's the rush! Are you paying off an even bigger crime lord that -you're- afraid of?"

Rizzo winced a little; he could really do without getting involved in Mafia affairs the moment he stepped into a different world, but, maybe it was too late now.

Alexander smirked, this time actually looking amused. He looked at Rizzo, before glancing back at the bartender. "This one's after my own heart. Jumping to your defense like this, is he your pet? If you give it to us, I might be willing to drop the price to 125 gold. It's not often Flynt gets a playmate."

"Oh, shut up Alex," the dark gray weasel snapped.

The tall man, Alex, frowned, pretending to be hurt. "Aw, but Flynt, I'm just trying to get you some new friends. Why don't you go introduce yourself while I talk with our client?"

"I'll introduce his face to the ground," the weasel, Flynt, grumbled. He dropped off the counter and glared at Rizzo. "You got a problem with me, you little runt?"

"Err, now hold on there lil fella'!" the bartender stammered. "It's real nice o'ye to stick up fer me, but you better run along."

As he said this, one of the customers in the bar, who were obviously beginning to notice the rising tension, stood up from his chair and casually strode over past Rizzo and Flynt to the bar. This man was a fox, with jet black fur, white around his muzzle, and dark green eyes. As if matching his natural colours, the man was also wearing a black and white tailcoat tuxedo, complete with leather gloves and a top hat. He also held a light wooden cane, which he gently tapped against the floor as he moved. He looked rather classy.

Eventually, he made it to the counter and looked at the bartender, seeming to purposely ignore everyone else nearby. He held out a hefty palm-sized sack towards him. The insides jingled, clearly full of money. "Just paying off my tab. Have a nice day, sir."

And with that, he tipped his hat, and turned to stride out of the room. As he began to leave, the bartender blinked, dumbfounded, and looked at the money he'd just received. That man didn't have a tab, he'd never been here before. And this was way too much for a single pint of ale. He looked up at Alex, rubbing the back of his head with an awkward smile, unsure what to say.

Alex watched the black furred fox apparently pay off a rather large tab. Once the fox was gone again, he smirked. It didn't matter to him how the money came to him, as long as it came.

"Looks like business is booming," he said. He held out his hand, "150 gold coins, then?"

Rizzo had backed up, bumping into a chair-leg; what would he do if the darker weasel was looking for a fight? That guy had a gun, but, he couldn't just run, especially not in these pants.

He paused as the tall black fox entered the room; he knew this fellow too, at least he thought he did, he couldn't be completely sure, the attire seemed a little out of place for him. This was another dimension after all, so he could be somebody completely different. He watched him come and go tensely, turning his gaze back on Flynt after he had left.

So, Rizzo stared back at the beligerent weasel; he had been about to raise his voice at him before the fox had thankfully defused the situation a little, so he spoke a little more calmly. Whatever the case, if he were staying around here he might bump into these two quite often, and they didn't seem the friendliest duo; he'd be an easy target, he thought, and he needed something to keep them off his back.. So, hastily, he blurted out his idea: "I guess you've got your money now, but still, maybe I do have a problem with you. You're all toughness and ballsiness now, but I bet you wouldn't be sounding so tough without that rifle; in fact I'm fairly sure you'd cry your eyes out! Well, in fact, I know so, Flynt Incansia.

Rizzo grinned the grin of an egoist as his bluffing plan unfolded in his mind.

"You might be wondering how I know your name, Flynt! Oh yeah!" Rizzo jumped from side to side, pacily as he kept up his façade (Still keeping his pants up with one hand, of course), "Well, let's just say I know people! And they wouldn't be happy if I turned up dead!"

"AND YOU!" he exclaimed, pointing dramatically at the fedora-wearing man who he had seen in his other dimension before, and, amazingly, he thought to himself, still remembered his name: "Alexander Silver! Oh yes! We know you too! So.. So just think twice before you set your rabid little attack dog on me!"

Rizzo bit his lip: "Anyway, yeah! You wouldn't hit a guy who can't keep his pants up anyway..." he said as a last ammendment to his plan for not-being-beaten-up. He looked up at the bartender with a sort of watery-eyed, innocent look. He hoped they'd buy his bluff and that he hadn't dug himself an even deeper hole.

Flynt twitched a bit. Rizzo's bluff had hit a sore spot. "You want to prove that?" he snarled.

"Now now, Flynt, no need to make a scene," Alexander chuckled. The tall man glanced at the bartender, still with his arm outstretched. "He is correct, we do have our money. But perhaps we should bring him with us, he can talk to our boss about 'his people'."

The dark gray weasel nodded, calming down a bit. "Yeah. The Madam knows every crime boss in this town worth knowing."

"That she does," Alexander nodded. "So then little man, why don't you come with us?"

Rizzo twitched nervously: "Take me back with you? Aheh, that won't be necessary. Just putting it out there! They wouldn't be too happy if you kidnapped me, either! Nono! They'd be incredibly -un-happy in fact, so..So that's like, a bad idea." he said in a shaky tone, waving a finger at them warningly.

"Just.. Just leave with your money. And watch your back." Rizzo slipped back under the table a little; he could practically wring the sweat in his fur out of his ears, if he needed to.

The bartender, still a little bewildered, opened the bag and rifled through it for a moment. There was definitely well over 100 solid gold coins in there...no doubt about it, it couldn't be a coincidence. Grinning a bit, he handed the sack to Alexander.

However his face fell a little when the attention turned to Rizzo. He sighed, wondering what that idiot was doing. Now he'd attracted just the wrong type of attention. "Come on fellas, this guy's clearly drunk. Why dontcha cut'im some slack, eh? I'm sure 'e didn't mean t'offend ye."

Alexander pocketed the sack of gold, smiling. "My, my, for a Drunkard to know our names we must be getting very famous indeed." He took his hat off, and preformed a mock bow for Rizzo. "Well then, Mr. Drunkard, as second in command of the Silver Syndicate, I will bit you good night." He then returned his hat, and offered his arm to the dark gray weasel. "Come Flynt, it's time to go."

"I'll be back for you eventually," Flynt growled. He climbed up Alex's arm, stopping on his shoulder. With that done, the two left. The cold aura left along with them. In moments, it was as if it had never been there at all.

Rizzo looked up at Flynt apprehensively as he spoke; he didn't doubt him. Ironically, it would be him who'd have to watch his back now. Jeez, that certainly backfired.

As the fedora-wearing man and gray weasel left, the cold air gradually settled and was replaced with a sort of tension. Rizzo glanced up at the bartender guiltily, casting his eyes down to the ground again like a kid caught writing on the walls.

"So, do you have any pants I could use..?" he asked, still not making eye contact.