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CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#226: Dec 5th 2010 at 4:05:25 AM

Okay, who loves Cygan? Here's the second part of the critique for AHR's script. Hopefully, it's of a higher quality than the last one, but no guarantees.

.

CAP: Aguate City

and then, immediately underneath it:

CAP: Aquate Fencing School.

I'm not sure if this was a typo or not, but if not... Aqaute Fencing School seems like a really awkward name for a school.

'Aquate' brings to mind the word 'adequate'. And that's... not really something you want associated with a school.

On the other hand- Aguate City was a nice choice. It brings to mind the semi-precious stone agate, which is good- or it could be good, anyway. I have no idea if that's the image you want associated with your city.

.

OFF PANEL (yelling): '

So, I'm assuming that here, you had the words 'lalala' written down? Becaue that would fit with the following line:

The "la" speech bubbles should overlap the panels.

However, I'm not making any assumptions. That's something that may need some clarification.

.

Panel 5. Libby has burst through the door, and has a yelling expression.

... What the hell is a yelling expression? Is it anything like an angry epression?

.

CAP (over boy with pillow):

Name: Timothy Goldstein

Age: 14

GPA: 3.49

I assume you have a reason for putting this in. Just a quick little note- does GPA still stand for Grade Point Average? If so, is the information really necessary?

.

Panel 1. The tenth silhouette is shown again, surrounded by swirls of water. It should appear as if the water is being controlled by the silhouette. A 16 point lotus is on the figure's lower part of the right side of the rib cage. It should be small-ish and a contrasting color.

How are we meant to see a tattoo on a silhouette?

.

Some notes on the setting:

The Twelve Sages does sound rather... cliche. Overdone. Is there perhaps another name you could give them?

.

CAP(over 6): Demon.

CAP(over 7): Seer.

CAP(over 8): Djinni.

CAP(over 9): Scarab.

Scarab? What the fuck?

.

Yeah. Still not a very good review- but hopefully useful to you.

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#227: Dec 5th 2010 at 5:46:45 AM

CAP: Aquate Fencing School.

GAH STUPID TYPOS T.T

OFF PANEL (yelling): '

So, I'm assuming that here, you had the words 'lalala' written down? Becaue that would fit with the following line:

...oh, that was...I think I was supposed to copy and past the lalalaness and forgot to. I fail a lot it seems.

... What the hell is a yelling expression? Is it anything like an angry epression?

Good point.

I assume you have a reason for putting this in. Just a quick little note- does GPA still stand for Grade Point Average? If so, is the information really necessary?

It's not ENTIRELY necessary, but the reason I put it in was a bit...erm...symbolicish. Because, the last character I use it to introduce has a bit of a special GPA, and it's my way of getting away with telling, not showing.

How are we meant to see a tattoo on a silhouette?

Contrasting color. White on black.

The Twelve Sages does sound rather... cliche. Overdone. Is there perhaps another name you could give them?

Ooosh...that's...that pretty much tore my heart out. Not saying you're wrong, or trying to justify it, but it's not something I can approach rationally. T.T

Scarab? What the fuck?

I couldn't think of a legendary bug, so I went with a sacred one.

Read my stories!
ch00beh ??? from Who Knows Where Since: Jul, 2010
???
#228: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:04:01 AM

Legendary bug sounds like one of those newfangled pokeymans.

Also, since this is a comic, maybe you could sketch out panels with basic shapes instead of just writing "he is doing such and such with a this face." More work, but a picture tells a thousand words that can't be as easily misconstrued.

"Never let the truth get in the way of a good story." Twitter
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#229: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:10:00 AM

I'm gonna have to describe it anyway when I send it out.

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CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#230: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:11:39 AM

Ooosh...that's...that pretty much tore my heart out.

D=

No, dont feel bad! D: I didnt mean to make you feel bad

PLEASE FORGIVE ME

~grovels~

:P

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#231: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:12:25 AM

Eh, I needed to hear it. Don't know if I'm gonna listen though. It's been like that for 3 years now, dunno if I can change it so easily.

edited 5th Dec '10 6:12:40 AM by MrAHR

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CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#232: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:15:28 AM

I could clobber you over the head, if thatll help at all

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#233: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:16:16 AM

XD. Prolly not. Although, to be honest, where HAVE you heard the title used before?

Also, I prolly should try and FIND someone to draw the comic series. Doubt I'd get anyone, but if I looked...

edited 5th Dec '10 6:19:01 AM by MrAHR

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ch00beh ??? from Who Knows Where Since: Jul, 2010
???
#234: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:27:46 AM

The title "Twelve Sages" probably hasn't been used explicitly, but it's a pretty formulaic title along the lines of:

[number (ideally 3, 4, 5, 7, or 12)] [mono/duosyllabic word with connotations of mysticism]

For example, Three Kings, Twelve Apostles, Seven Samurai, Four Elements, etc.

That said, you need to fall back on the those titles sometimes. Just be aware of why you're using them rather than why you're not using something else, and don't change something around just because it can be considered cliche. Maybe you want the trope because you're packing in symbolism to the number and the noun, and it's the best way to express it. I dunno.

"Never let the truth get in the way of a good story." Twitter
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#235: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:29:19 AM

All righty! Will keep in mind! They are supposed to be a legend, so that might give me some leverage in a purposeful clichéness. But I'll have to see how I can handle it. I do plan on including some parodies and satire in the thing, here and there, so it shouldn't be too hard to do.

edited 5th Dec '10 6:29:48 AM by MrAHR

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CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#236: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:32:36 AM

You shall not escape my wrath, for I am a Tsundere!

Twelve Wise Men: An early Christmas legend. Sorta.

edited 5th Dec '10 6:33:01 AM by CyganAngel

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#237: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:35:33 AM

I see. I see. Gr. This is a tough spot. Hm. This requires pondering.

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CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#238: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:39:02 AM

~clobbers you over the head~

Try losing the word before 'Sage' and look for a word to place after it. That hasn't been done as often.

The Sage... Peoples? No, too stupid

Meh, something like that

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
ch00beh ??? from Who Knows Where Since: Jul, 2010
???
#239: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:40:37 AM

One of the best (or at least easiest) ways to address cliches/purposeful mistakes, I think, is to show in story that you are aware of them. Like maybe someone's like

"What the hell's the Twelve Sages? They sound like some shitty band."

"Hold your tongue, asshole."

At the very least you'll end up trolling your detractors. Man i get way too much from Andrew Hussie.

"Never let the truth get in the way of a good story." Twitter
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#240: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:40:42 AM

[up][up]The Sages Twelve? tongue

[up]Shouldn't be too hard to do. The problem is, my story is really long. The time I can address it (as in, when there are characters who are skeptical about that sort of thing and get screen time to espouse it) are about seven "episodes" away.

edited 5th Dec '10 6:43:28 AM by MrAHR

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CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#241: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:42:27 AM

The Sage's Dozen!

Wait, I'm thinking of the Baker's dozen

Never mind

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
ch00beh ??? from Who Knows Where Since: Jul, 2010
???
#242: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:43:47 AM

The Sage's Scrota.

There. No need to give me any credit for that sick alliteration, either.

"Never let the truth get in the way of a good story." Twitter
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#243: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:44:49 AM

Of course, if it's not obvious from the title of the story, that'd be affected as well.

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CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#244: Dec 5th 2010 at 6:53:08 AM

As long as you're using the word 'Sage', I fail to see the problem.

S/Hell still be a sage, and s/he will still be the thirteenth one, right?

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
ch00beh ??? from Who Knows Where Since: Jul, 2010
???
#245: Dec 5th 2010 at 7:06:07 AM

Just change the title to "The Castrated Sage"

Man I'm so good at this.

"Never let the truth get in the way of a good story." Twitter
CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#246: Dec 5th 2010 at 7:11:02 AM

~wallops ch00beh over the head~

No Tsundere for you, just punishment for being an idiot.

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#247: Dec 5th 2010 at 7:59:45 AM

I think that FPress messed with my formatting, or something. Because my original script has the insertions of "LALALALALAICANTHEARYOU" and what else have you.

edited 5th Dec '10 7:59:54 AM by MrAHR

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CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#248: Dec 5th 2010 at 8:08:39 AM

Fictionpress does that a lot. It's one of the reasons I took down the story I had posted there.

Well, that, and the story sucked.

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#249: Dec 5th 2010 at 8:13:33 AM

Be afraid. Be very afraid. I am about to quoteblock 13 pages. Have fun. I will post it first, unedited, and then I will edit it to tv tropes formatting.

13th Sage

By AHR

Prologue

The town of Greggerston was as sleepy and quiet as its name would imply. The streets were still cobblestone and anyone over thirty thought floppy disks were new and impressive technology. The children, however, were proud to carry the tradition of being nothing like their parents, and they stubbornly crusaded to stay as technologically advanced as possible, thus leading to a severe disdain of most old world methods of entertainment.

Between the town hall and the sorry excuse for an education building, a rather androgynous man took it upon himself to stroll into town. He had light brown hair and wore black horn-rimmed glasses, putting a tint on his brilliant mauve eyes. His nose had a bit of a hook to it, and his hair stuck out in ever which way, with only a striped headband across his forehead to tame it. He walked with a rather arrogant strut, and took every turn to smirk and chuckle at the passerbys.

“Well put me in a dress and call me Aunt Mona! Mr. Seeger!” One of the towns people called out, waving franticly at the man with the headband.

The man in the headband, whom had been dubbed ‘Seeger’ gave an acknowledging nod and continued to walk off to his destination.

The so-called ‘Mr. Seeger’ stopped at the town bar, which was a rather unfitting name, since it served more fizzy drinks than actual alcoholic beverages. He knocked to some unknown tune and stepped into the bright and airy room.

“Allooo!” the supposed Mr. Seeger projected.

Out from behind the counter a frizzled and graying couple emerged, hardly believing their ears. What followed were handshakes and hugs, as they greeted an old friend and sat him down to a free drink.

“You haven’t aged a day Mr. Seeger.” The woman chirped. “Over twenty years and still not a gray hair on you.”

“Can’t say the same about you Shelly.” The man known as Seeger quipped back. “Last time I saw you, you were still in school and had a mess of frizzy hair all over the place. And Elijah! Told you that all those malts would get you in the end didn’t I?” he mused cheerfully.

Sheepishly, Elijah patted his belly and shrugged. “What bring you to ol’ Greggerston, Mr. Seeger?”

“Same goal from thirty years ago really. Tell my story all over again.” Mr. Seeger said, staring into his root beer, as if to find some deeper meaning to it.

“Well, good luck getting our kids to sit down and listen. It’s all eee-boxes and uss’es or whatever they’re called. Blasted technology. Ruins the whole family I say.” Shelly muttered under her breath.

Mr. Seeger snickered. “Aw, it ain’t all that bad. It’s just new and unfamiliar. It’s just like Elvis, only instead of hip shaking, it’s Japanese companies practically printing money. Lucky Asians. Wahahaha.” He laughed at his own private joke.

Elijah shrugged. “You always were a live and let live type of guy Mr. Seeger. I’d be willing to tie our kids to a chair if you try and tell ‘em one of your stories.”

Mr. Seeger grinned in triumph. “Excellent, it’ll take a while though, so I’ll stay a week or so. Just get the whole town together. I’m sure most of them will be interested in hearing thirteenth sage again.”

“You’re telling the same story?” Shelly asked puzzled, tilting her head in confusion. “S’not like you ever told ‘em it.” Mr. Seeger pointed out, as he hesitantly sipped his root beer, swishing it around in his mouth a bit before reluctantly swallowing. “’Sides,” He continued, “You might pick up on the more adult orientated parts this time ‘round now that you’re older.” He winked at them, and said no more.

The news of a man who claimed to be- and looked, talked, and acted exactly like- Mr. Seeger spread like the bubonic plague among self flagellators. The young adults and children were less than amused. It seemed an awfully like the dreaded ‘fishing trip’ their parents occasionally attempted to set up in a transparent attempt at ‘bonding’. There were plans ranging from bombs to faking the rapture to avoid such a horrible occasion, but none were very fruitful due to a series of coincidences and rather hilarious misfortunes.

That night, most of the town crowded into a seemingly large bar, which had miraculously shrunk for some reason. Once it became clear it was not going to hold the grand total of eight hundred people, the citizens had the bright idea to head to the town hall, where the majority was slightly less uncomfortable.

The man who everyone called Mr. Seeger stood on stage and waved cheerfully. He gave a thumbs up to the parents and a wink at the juveniles. After a moment of testing the acoustics of the room, he spoke directly to the audience.

“Hi everyone. I’m Mr. Seeger, as half of you know. I’m also the devil incarnate, for the other half of you. I’m also an incredibly good looking man whom is regrettably taken for a select percentage of those two halves.” Here he pauses at the scattered titters and chuckles. “Now, for the half of you that think I am the devil incarnate, may I take this time to refute such a point. I am not the devil incarnate. I am married to one, and I have many who would love to paint a mural with my blood, but I am not one myself. I am just a poor simple story teller.

“Devil incarnate or not, you half clearly would rather not be here. To this, I say, stay for tonight. Only tonight, and if you truly cannot stomach the sound of my voice, you don’t have to come back tomorrow or ever again, and you can blog about the horrible man with the voice of nails on a chalkboard. But, give me a chance, please?

“Ah. Yes. Good. I see you nodding. That either means you will give me a chance or you are giving the signal to unleash the stink bombs. I really hope it’s the former, as I disabled all those fancy contraptions and I really would prefer if such an awkward moment didn’t have to occur. Thank you. Yes. Now, where was I? Oh right, my story. Now, I should probably give you some background information on the world we will be entering this evening.

“The time period is largely an anachronistic stew, with a large amount of ‘pick and choose’. The justification comes from the fact that with an introduction to magic, some technology progressed at light speed while others remained pathetically stagnant. Any and all slang, puns, and jokes have been translated into the modern English for your convenience. The world at the moment is largely ‘broken’ (Think of the Roman Empire and what happened to Europe). Countries are loosely joined together and the only real reason there is no war is that most if not all of warriors past are dead, and such. Fighting has only recently started to becoming taught again. The literacy rate is surprisingly high up in the north. No guns or cannons are used. Swords and arrows are plentiful, and magic is also used through a technology called talismans. The geography is…reminiscent of the Mediterranean Sea.

That’s about all the background information I can give without getting into a detailed history. So, let’s jump in, shall we?”

Chapter 1

There once was a king who created the ultimate super weapon. Twelve humans were given god like powers. Known as the Twelve Sages, their infamy spread to the farthest reaches of the globe. There was the Demon, controller of shadows.

The Phoenix, master of fire// The Warrior, renowned for invincibility and sheer talent for any type of weapon// The Djinni, whom could control magic itself// The Sprite, with power over all plants and fungi// The Seer, looker into the future, past, and present// The Dragon, controller of wind// The Unicorn, whom had power over all mammals and avians// The Scarab, with power over all bug like creatures from arachnids to insects// The Mermaid, water manipulator and with power over fish and amphibians// The Diplomat, known for his empathic abilities such as mind reading// And the Puppeteer, with all the power of a puppet and a puppeteer//

Their reputation spread quickly, and the terrifying power of the Twelve Sages were proven time and time again as those who opposed the king’s rule were quickly vanquished, along with their entire village, if not entire region. Unfortunately, the long and prosperous rule was cut short, as the king was assassinated, and the sages themselves disappeared. Some were found to be dead, and others were found alive, and then killed.

Despite this happening only a decade ago, many believe the sages never existed in the first place, and were merely propaganda created by an ambitious ruler. They became popular among the nonbelievers as a pop culture legend, while the believers used the twelve sages as a threat for their misbehaving children. The surviving sages either became outcasts in the out reaches of the globe where the land became notorious for its mysterious deaths, or they blended in with a town or culture, as if they had merely been travelers or orphans.

However, this is not their story.

This is the story of the Thirteenth Sage.

While many fictional thirteenth Sages were created by down on their luck bards, in a desperate attempt to create another great epic, most if not all were blatant wish fulfillment on the part of the bard and not only usually completely trash, but also completely false.

The Thirteenth Sage, also known as the Kyklopes, never took part in a war campaign or a raid. In fact, the Kyklopes wasn’t even born when the Sages were conducting assassinations and infiltrations.

He came along much later. It is similar to when parents have another child after their other children have already graduated from college. And, like most children, the creation of the Kyklopes was a complete and utter accident, in all senses of the word.

The swishing noises of the fencing swords had become a familiar noise to Libby Tremaine. He had been going to the Aguate Fencing School for half a decade. Since he was nine, Libby had put on the gear every summer and engaged in lengthy exercises and practices, all for the small percentage of time that was actually spent parrying with an opponent.

Libby was the top of his class and easily won most matches. The ease at which he won and the ease at which he passed his classes caused him to focus his nerves on other sources. While most hated the upcoming test, Libby hated the ones who engaged in tomfoolery and the ones that thought they were above the rules.

Nothing made his blood boil more than a punk who scoffed at the rules and assumed he had more authority than a teacher.

This was why Libby’s number one enemy was Nicholas Cuantine.

They were different in every way. Libby was tall and gawky, Cuantine was short and stoutish. Libby had short black hair and was relatively clean shaven. Cuantine had a mess of blond hair that reached his shoulders. One couldn’t even see Cuantine’s eyes, as they were blocked by the matted blond hair.

Oh. Did he mention that long hair was against the dress code?

That was what infuriated him the most. Baggy jeans, sweater, and hair that made Cuantine look like a girl- all against the dress code, but the teachers wouldn’t do anything about it! They just let him be. Apparently Cuantine lived up in some northern redneck town, and his grandmother had paid the school a healthy sum- or so the rumor mill said.

It didn’t help that Cuantine positively sucked at fencing. He was a fumbler. He could never hold the sword right. And he was always falling. You could blow on that boy and he would be shot twenty feet back!

He hated Nicholas Cuantine.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!!!” came a screech from down the hallway. Libby shuddered. Cuantine. For curiosities sake, Libby headed into the room where the ruckus had taken place.

“Nick, they are scissors, not poison.” Said a teacher Libby knew as Miss Daraver. She had him cornered in his dorm room, his roommate Timothy watching idly as he sat on his bed. “Nick, you need to conform to the dress code. You need to cut your hair.”

“I CAN SEE JUST FINE.” The blond oaf shouted back.

“This isn’t about you seeing Nick. This is about respect.” Miss Daraver retorted exasperatedly. “We’ve had just about enough of your troublemaking. You are an absolute insult to this school.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t CARE.”

“VOLUME Mr. Cuantine!”

“I’LL SPEAK AS LOUD AS I WANNNNNNNTTTTTTTT!”

Miss Daraver turned a violent shade of red, and left, undoubtedly to file a report on him.

Cuantine smirked in victory, and collapsed on his bed cackling to himself at his perceived cleverness. Libby Tremaine couldn’t take it anymore. Every nerve in his brain was telling him to gut this arrogant brat.

“You’re a real jerk you know that?” He finally said rather loudly.

Cuantine shot up in confusion, staring at the intruder. “What the heck are you doing in my-” “our” Timothy cut in “- room?”

“Why do you have to give everyone such a hard time? Maybe you don’t care about fencing, but the rest of us do.” Libby continued, releasing the rage he had had bottled up for the better half of the summer. “No one likes you, and you absolutely suck at fencing. Why don’t you just go away and put us all out of our misery?”

The fourteen year old’s face contorted with fury and annoyance. “I CAN’T leave! So go away loser.”

“No.” Libby hissed, sick of the headaches caused by this adolescent. “Not until you start pulling your weight.” Out of the corner of his eye, Libby saw Timothy nod with agreement. At least he wasn’t alone in this respect.

“Go away you moron.” Cuantine snarled.

“Or what? You’ll fall on me?” Libby mocked. Timothy stifled a snicker.

“I could whip you any time!” Cuantine cried out. He grabbed Libby’s shirt and pressed his nose against Tremaine’s nose. “Any time.” He hissed for emphasis, before taking a step back.

“Don’t make me laugh Cuantine. You could be beaten by a training dummy. I’m one of the top scorers in this school.”

“Fine. FINE! You. Me. Sword fight. Real sword fight. No namby pamby rules. Just the last guy standing wins.”

Libby snorted. “What? You wanna use actual long swords and we can try and kill each other? Yeah, that has ‘stupid’ written all over it.”

“NO!” Cuantine cried out rolling his eyes. “We can use the lame fencing rapiers and all that stupid padding. Just no rules or all that score stopping.”

Libby pondered this for a moment. However, his mind was already made up. After all, how could he turn down the chance to beat the ever living snot out of someone he had a vendetta against? The moment was too perfect to turn down. He ‘pondered’ the notion for a few more moments.

“You’re on girly-hair.” Libby replied with a smirk

“Says you girly-name.”

“What? Libby is a boy’s name!”

“Not where I come from.” Cuantine grinned cheekily in triumph, his tongue just barely sticking out of his mouth, his teeth clenching together lightly. The sheer arrogance he seemed to be emitting made Libby want to smack him.

“Tomorrow.” Libby said through clenched teeth. “After classes, in the training room with the green walls.”

“Awesome.” Cuantine said with a shrug and collapsed onto his bed again.

This statement confused Libby. How in the world did the date of a sword fight inspire awe? It made absolutely no sense whatsoever! Did the fact that he, Libby, was agreeing to break the rules what inspired such awe from Cuantine? Was he in awe that he was going to fight one of the highest ranking students in the school? No, that didn’t sound right, besides, it was too arrogant of a thought for Libby to entertain.

He glanced helplessly at Timothy who merely shrugged at him. Timothy didn’t know either. Guess living with Cuantine didn’t help his northern redneck to city translating at all.

For the rest of the afternoon and the next day, all Libby Tremaine could think of was the fight after his classes. He had only told his two friends- Gyver and Mclaine, but predictably, they told their other friends who told their other friends and naturally, the whole school knew.

Except the teachers. How that happened, Libby never knew. There had to be some sort of hidden art to it. Or maybe the teachers really didn’t care all that much, the same way they didn’t care enough about Cuantine’s laziness.

Despite the conspiracies made by the space time continuum to move as dreadfully slow as humanly possible, the classes at Aguate Fencing School ended for the day. Libby awkwardly headed to the room with the green walls. Libby felt incredibly odd being in the class rooms after hours. Luckily, the space time continuum decided they had been cruel enough to the poor boy, and Cuantine burst through the doors a couple of moments later.

There were no words exchanged as the two delinquents forced open the closet to retrieve the fencing swords. Libby started to put on the fencing gear, but he saw that Cuantine was making no effort at all to put on the padding. Reluctantly, Libby discarded the gear as well.

“O.k. I’m ready.” Libby said in a stilted tone, not entirely sure of himself in such a different atmosphere. “If I win this, will you leave? Or at least- cut your hair and wear the uniform?”

“When I win this will you shut the heck up and never talk to me again?” Cuantine shot back, twanging the swords almost nonexistent blade back and forth.

“Gladly.”

“Awesome.”

…once again, Libby could only wave the severe misuse of such a word as some sort of mutilated northern redneck slang, or Cuantine honestly didn’t have a proper grasp of language.

Libby stretched his legs apart and placed his left arm behind his back, with his right arm stretched out with the fencing sword in its grasp. He faced over his shoulder, as he was standing sideways. He had been taught this stance when he was nine years old and he wasn’t about to stop using it merely because Cuantine jumped up and declared no rules.

Nicholas Cuantine had other ideas. He slouched over and his feet were diagonally positioned, but his entire body was facing Tremaine. An extremely faulty stance, not sturdy at all. What was oddest though, was how Cuantine held his sword: His thumb covered the very bottom of the handle, and his pinky finger was just under the hilt. The sword pointed downwards at a diagonal angle. He also held it in his left hand.

Left handed students were rare, but not unheard of, but at Aguate Fencing School, they were taught just the same as the right handed students, and that was to fight with their right hand.

For a split second, Libby did get worried. It was quite possible that Cuantine was much more proficient with his left hand, which could give him some sort of advantage. Quickly, Libby shook off this notion, reminding himself that even if Cuantine’s left hand was his dominant hand, it still lacked the endless repetitions and conditionings Cuantine half heartedly practiced with his right hand. If anything, Cuantine should be worse with his left hand!

His stance was incredibly shoddy- if it had been easier to push him down before, it would be child’s play now.

As for Cuantine’s holding of the sword—

Libby’s musings and ponderings were cut off by a forceful swipe from Cuantine. He was able to block, and his mind went blank. The two teenagers were quickly lost in the battle. Libby had lost count of how many times he had been ‘stabbed’ and how many times he had ‘stabbed’ Cuantine back.

Cuantine was surprisingly…not bad. The odd jerky movements he made in class became clean painful jabs in his new position. The awkward back handed holding of the sword became an absolute pain as the fight dragged on.

Libby had begun to lose track of time. In real life, a sword fight would usually only last up to a couple of seconds. But in a fight with swords that were harmless as long as you avoided the eyes, it became a test of endurance.

After who knows how long, Libby felt his muscles start to ache and his breathing became painful, but he refused to show it. Showing weakness would only pave the road to his defeat.

If Cuantine was feeling any pain, he wasn’t showing it either. He just plowed onwards, swiping, jabbing and blocking.

All of a sudden, Cuantine ducked- and drop kicked Libby’s legs. Libby blinked, and his back hit the ground. Cuantine wrested Libby’s sword out of his hand, sat down on his stomach, and placed the two swords in an ‘x’ shape so the crossing point was millimeters above Libby’s neck.

“I win.” Nick Cuantine snarled.

Breathing ragged breaths, Libby stared at the two swords, hardly daring to believe it. He had lost. He had lost to Cuantine.

Cuantine stood up and dropped the swords onto the ground. “Now…” he said, offering his hand to Libby, helping him up, “NEVER TALK TO ME AGAIN!” he shouted once they were both eye level.

Libby was dumbstruck. The fact that he had been defeated by one of the lowest scoring students was beginning to sink in. “How in the world did you get so goo-”

“LALALALA I’M NOT LISTENING! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK TO ME NEVER AGAIN REMEMBER?” Cuantine screeched, cutting the question off.

“That’s ‘ever’ again not ‘nev-”

Cuantine lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. “I WON!” He screeched as he shook poor Libby’s shoulders. “THAT MEANS YOU STOP TALKING TO ME!!!”

“Cuantine! Tremaine!”

Libby’s insides went cold. He knew that voice. Looking upwards, he saw an upside down view of the head of the school, Master Narm. This was not good. Not good at all.

“What in the world are you two doing after hours?!?!?” He cried out in anger. “Do you want to besmirch our good name? Do you? Do you??”

Master Narm was an incredibly short, bald, dramatic man. He had a great fondness for snow globes and other such tacky souvenirs. One of his most prized possessions was a word calendar. He would go to great lengths to drop words such as ‘chagrin’, ‘superlative’, or ‘metonymy’ into every day conversations. He also was the one with all of the money to have such a school in the first place, so everyone else just accepted his annoying quirks in knowing the nice fat pay check that waited for them at the end of the two months.

He couldn’t of been annoying to everyone however, as he had a wife whom he had been with for the past thirty five years. Apparently she was some sort of bibliophile or some other sort of nonsense.

And now, Master Narm was staring angrily at the two juvenile delinquents. The juvenile delinquents did not know whether to be terrified or be somewhat amused by the man of small stature.

“Well, do you two hoodlums care to explain yourselves? Or should I just prosecute you duo now?”

Libby stuttered over his words, unsure of what to say. They had no excuse, really. They had broken into the sword closet, and were fighting on school grounds. They had desecrated the rules. They could be expelled! Gah! Why had he been so stupid as to not think such things through?

Cuantine immediately started to babble out the entire story, starting with Miss Daraver and the scissors.

Master Narm listened quietly, his face an odd shade of puce. As Cuantine concluded how Tremaine had failed to uphold his side of the bargain, and therefore Cuantine had no choice but to take drastic measures involving more brute force, thus resulting in the compromising position he had seen before him.

“Oh. Yes, well.” Master Narm replied to the tale, “I guess you two will be sentenced to fifty hours of city sanitation services!” He gave a huff of satisfaction at his punishment, and after writing down their names as a reminder, he escorted them to the school dorms.

Chapter 2

City sanitation services, as Cuantine rather accurately phrased anachronistically, would have been better named ‘immigrant work’ with the jobs they had to endure. There really was no better way to phrase having to take care of raw sewage and animal feces. Libby found the work to be dreadfully tedious, but he knew he deserved it, seeing as how he broke several school rules for the sake of revenge.

“So. Cuantine and Tremaine right?” Asked one of the other boys who had accompanied them. Hunder, his name was, had gotten in trouble for entirely unrelated reasons involving starting a fire and attempting to get a physiological reaction from the fumes. “Name’s Shicklegrüber. Hunder Shicklegrüber.”

Hunder Shicklegrüber was tall and stout, fair and tan, and all around completely generic in appearance, with an utterly forgettable face involving mussed black hair and the occasional dark strand poorly patterned on his upper lip. He seemed to be one of those types of people who could star in their own story, if it weren’t for the fact they were so darn ugly.

Cuantine snorted hysterically at the delinquents name.

“Yeah yeah you laugh. I’ll have you know my surname comes from Germanic royalty.” Hunder said, sniffing derisively. “One day I might inherit a vast fortune and you all will be licking my shoes clean.”

“Why? Can’t afford shoe polish?” Libby retorted under his breath.

“Anywho, Whatcha upcrusted tightlips in for?” Hunder asked curiously. “The dish is going you guys beat the snot out of each other. But you two don’t seem the type.”

“Nah, it’s true.” Cuantine said conversationally, delighted to talk to someone who was not Libby or somehow associated with Libby. “It’s cuz he wouldn’t shut up.” Jerking his head towards Libby as he said it.

“Nice. I was tryin’ to impress this bar girl. Her name is Eva see, she likes ahh…she likes burning flowers or some crud like that, so I wanted to impress her an’ all with burning something of my own, but I had to try it out first, and my rat-faced-big-nosed roommate went and blabbed to the tyrants.” Hunder prattled as he put bits of paper into his bag, clearly more interested in his makeshift autobiography than his work.

“Oh. I was just trying to get Tremaine to shut up. He kept ragging on about how I needed to start applying myself or leave. If I could leave, I would. But I can’t, so I won’t.” Cuantine replied thoughtfully.

“Why not? This ain’t mandatory or nutin. Why even come here if all you’re gonna do his whine about it?”

“It was my grandma’s idea. She got it into her head that I needed to become a gentleman. So she came up with the awesome plan to send me here. Last I checked, she was gonna send my sister to sewing school- but knowing Jamie, she wormed her way out of it.”

“Oh. I just went to this school so I could beat people up with a giant stick. It was either this or art school.”

“But I can beat people up with a giant stick at home! I don’t need to go to a school to do it! Specially one that uses stupid rules.”

“Yeah. If I had known they’d be all sticklery bout the rules I’d of just gone and taken that art class. Or…I dunno…heard there was an orator program goin’ on, could do that, or maybe just kick back for the summer and work on growin’ a mustache and joinin’ the army once everything went flipflop.”

“There’s a war coming?”

“Naw. Not yet. But one day there will be. It’ll be all anarchy and it’ll be up to us to take control.”

“That’s a load.” Libby said suddenly after a long period of complete silence.

“I’M NOT LISTENING TO YOU NYEH NYEH NYEH NYEHHHH.” Cuantine screeched in a high pitched voice that was not healthy for a post-pubescent juvenile.

“Oiiii!” Came a voice from one of the other sorry delinquents. “Quit your yapping and get back to cleaning. The sooner we finish the sooner we get to stop. Notta mention if you guys cause a ruckus, the overseer’s will be all over us.”

Cuantine shouted back expletives as he informed the other delinquent they were in fact working very hard. He reluctantly turned his attention back to taking care of filth and remained deadly silent for all of three seconds, when he shouted in surprise and disgust yet again. As the other students turned to learn what caused the clatter this time, Cuantine held up a rat that was missing every part of its body, except for the parts that weren’t the head.

“Ewwwww.” He hissed, as the oddly yellowish blood trickled down, something that blood had no business doing, especially when it was a color that was biologically impossible for a rat. Libby had to agree with Cuantine in this case. The rat was rather mangled and he swore he saw teeth marks around its neck.

Hunder wrinkled his noise in disgust. “Times like these make me wanna go vegetarian.” The fascination of the disgusting state of the rat was rudely and prematurely interrupted by what can only be called the plot whisking by it at fifty five miles per hour in a rather nice Volvo.

Or, more accurately, a young girl dressed entirely in purple with two pigtails running past them at slightly less formidable speeds, followed shortly after by a disheveled looking shop keeper screeching ‘Thief. Thief. That yips stole my merchandise.’ Only he was yelling in the way that would require all capital letters, and many exclamation points at the end, with maybe even some underlining to go with it.

The delinquents of Aguate Fencing School leaped into action, if only to provide an excuse to escape the rancid garbage. Not to mention, being a town hero might count as the ‘volunteer work’ they needed to fulfill, which might even cause the punishment charges to be dropped.

Libby prided himself on having stamina, and being one of the top students was beginning to pay off as he caught sight of the purple clad girl, whom was still running quite frantically.

The hustle and bustle of Aguate did no good, as carts and other various such obstacles blocked his path, which did not seem to affect the purple clad girl at all, as she just leaped over them as if they were only two feet tall.

Heaving his breath, he managed to artfully dodge several pedestrians by taking advantage of the tenth of the second between acquiring the target and impact to dramatically twist his body, be it by ducking or side stepping.

He wasn’t the only fencing student in the chase. Some had fallen behind, most he could hear hollering a bit too far away to actually do any good, but three or four were on different parts of the road, practically parallel to him, if not almost ahead of him.

Soon the purple girl began to get farther and farther ahead. Some of the other city folk realized she was trying to run, but she dodged them way too neatly for them to do anything about it.

The purple girl became a distant speck as the tenth of the seconds began to add up. Then suddenly- she skidded to a stop, the shopkeeper she had stolen from must have taken a different route, because he came out in front of her, blocking her path.

He lunged at her, but she quickly turned to a different route, into the alley way. Libby reached the point she had turned at, and saw he had come to a fork, out of the corner of his eye; he saw a purple figure disappear behind the corner of the right passage.

As he ran down the right alley way, he heard footsteps behind him, but they faded, indicating whoever had followed him had turned left, most likely being one of the other students hoping to get lucky.

He saw the purple girl in the distance and she appeared to be slowing down. Libby sped up, and once he was close enough he lunged at her and tackled her into the ground.

“Gotcha!” He crowed in victory, before feeling his cry die in his throat.

Libby Tremaine had tackled a girl, and she was wearing purple all right, but her hair was not in pigtails, and much more importantly, the culprit had been much smaller and younger than the lady he had just tackled.

“Can I help you?” She asked rather coldly, raising an agitated eyebrow. She kicked Libby off and folded her hands across her purple jacket. “Clearly I picked a bad day for a jog.”

Libby had completely and utterly, without a doubt, failed.

That is because he is not the main character of this story.

I wish I could tell you I was only kidding, and Libby did indeed catch our thief, but that would be a lie. I wish I could tell you Hunder Shicklegrüber caught the thief, because he is a rather amusing child, not to mention he has a dog, which is practically required in any story now a days. He also seems like the sort to go on a coming of age story on a raft all culminating in deciding the only way to go about life is by going to hell and saving animals that were going to be shot because they had rabies.

Alas, I would be lying then too. Our protagonist, ladies and gentleman, is the one and only Nicholas Cuantine. He was an absolutely horrid boy, with every trait you would associate in a hero: naïve, foolish, brave, and a never ending cache of hyperactive stamina, but for some reason the wires in his brain got miscrossed and all of those seemingly quirky and enjoyable qualities became annoying and predictable traits.

Quite the tragedy, really.

Of course, the sad part is, the story would have never happened if it hadn’t been Nick Cuantine that had been the one to take down the thief girl. It simply wouldn’t have worked, due to the immensely complicated and rather contrived back-story required for the immensely complicated and rather contrived string of incidents to cause the immensely complicated and rather contrived trigger that will lead him to become the Kyklopes.

In fact, there was only one person in the world who could have fulfilled the same duties as Nicky Cuantine and have the entire set up go successfully, and that would be Nicky’s sister, Jennifer Cuantine.

Unfortunately, Jennifer is a girl, and thus would never be allowed to go to the fencing school, let alone be allowed to become the protagonist of a story, especially like this one. It simply wasn’t done, isn’t done, and won’t be done.

After all, everyone knows every protagonist must be a white heterosexual male of roughly teen age, and have an unbridled enthusiasm and purity about him so he can go about changing the world with his unrivaled pure view of the world.

Nicky is about one third of those, and is the closest one can get on such short notice, so let us digress from the digression and get back to that story.

The so-called main character of our story was experiencing different matters.

Nicky had taken the left path and darted after the gypsy. Libby was not far behind him; he absolutely refused to be beaten by that no good dork, not to mention his lack of understanding social cues allowed him to jump over carriages and wheelbarrows in order to keep up with the purple thief.

Nicky smirked as he turned the corner. Dead end. Lucky him. The young girl looked around desperately, as if trying to awaken the ability to plane shift, or discover some loose brick that could miraculously crumble the entire wall. As Nicky got closer, he noticed she was probably only slightly younger than him, which made him feel rather uncomfortable.

“Alright, listen you!” Nicky began, a bit unsure of how to pull off a proper intimidation.

The girl panicked for a moment, gritted her teeth, and quickly reached for her bag. Now that Nicky could see her up close, he noted she was wearing pants, which was kind of odd. What was she taking out of that back anyway? It was too small to hold a sword, and no one would be stupid enough to throw a knife at him…right?

What was in her hands were small flat hexagonal rocks. About three of them. They had weird squiggly lines on them. A jolt of déjà vu went through Nicky, as it occurred to him those were talismans.

Talismans were the most common form of magic, but were a rarity up north. Even the more southern location of the Aguate Fencing School was quite sufficiently up north. At the same time, the farther north one went, the more likely one would find a completely self sufficient, well developed and economically prosperous town. Of course, to imply the correlation was the causation would be simply ridiculous, and you are quite a stupid person for thinking that.

Nicky was a bit more lucky than most of his schoolmates in terms of magic. He lived in the same town as Mortimer Walthers, a rather insane individual with a hunched back and a lazy eye. He had a rather nasty habit of seeing things that were not really there, and not seeing things that were. He also would make it a habit of drawing arcane symbols anywhere he felt to ward off bad spirits, as well as selling random plants as healing herbs. Mortimer was also one of the strongest and most talented magic users ever lived; not that such a silly title like that stopped him from being an incredible loser with bad breath. Not to mention he hadn’t left his house in five years, only briefly coming out to curse the house of a recently deceased Tarana Verrs. Really. The nerve of some people.

The young girl with the talismans was not put down by the narrator ignoring her in favor of needless exposition, and immediately put her plan into action. The small runes began to glow faintly in activation, but quite suddenly, one of them unexpectedly began to shine to the point it was not even practical. The girl clearly was not expecting a sudden lack of practicality, and dropped the talismans from sheer shock. The other talismans dropped to the ground and sputtered. The non practical talisman stayed in midair.

Nicky, quite stupidly awed by this sight, did nothing. He took a couple of steps closer, tilted his head in curiosity and kept his eyes on the floating hexagonal rock. The girl with the purple pants had other, wiser, ideas. Eyes widening, she hit the ground, covering her head with her hands.

About two minutes later, when someone else finally came to the scene of the explosion, they found a large crater, with Cuantine in the middle of it. The young girl, identified to be a gypsy, was later found to be hiding amongst some old boxes, conked out.

All that was left was Cuantine, collapsed in the dirt. Clothes almost completely shredded, hair fringed, frazzled, burnt, and an arm bending the wrong way. The surrounding buildings had suffered as well, with many of the bricks receiving cracks, or even, strangely enough, dents.

Ladies and Gentleman, our protagonist. The Kyklopes; the thirteenth sage.

Chapter 3

In the two days it took for Nicky to wake up, much had already happened. During this time, the gypsy thief had enough time to be captured, interrogated, sentenced, and be able to firmly disappear without a trace, leaving only a completely awake yet unable to move guard.

Tired, groggy, and with an annoyed frown on his face, Nicky wrested open his crusty eyelids. Bwuhhhhh…what happened? Nicky attempted to sit up, and only imagined to accomplish his goal half way, before feeling far too heavy to make it the rest of the way, and collapsing back onto the bed. Well, this sucked.

Where was he anyway? Bed. Walls. White walls. One of those table things by the bed. Must be that sick place in the fencing school. Why was he even there? He wasn’t sick. Nope. Completely healthy. Especially compared to the rest of the lot. Like that lousy Libby Tremaine. He was missing a canine tooth! Nicky wasn’t missing any of his teeth, and he never had any nasty bed bugs that they always tried to eviscerate here.

…why did his arm hur-OHHOLYCRAPTHEREWASACASTONITOHMOTHEROFCHRISTWHATWASGOINGONHERE!?!?!

Trying to not hyperventilate caught the attention of the teachers and students present. They hurried over to Nicky, to see if he was healthy enough to be kicked to the curb.

“Nicky!” Timothy squealed excitedly, “You’re okay!!”. Despite not liking the northern redneck very much, Timothy realized his life was quite boring without the blond, and Cuantine helped him from picking fights with that Hunter (what was his name? Heckler? Huffer?) kid, over whether or not having a hooked nose was a quality worth being demonized over. Timothy, having a rather largish, hookish nose, tended to violently disagree.

The teachers were more relieved they would be able to send Cuantine home, and never have to see him ever again for as long as their lives might be. They explained hastily the string of events that lead to Nicky lying in the hospital.

“Sooo…” Nicky asked, “All that happened to me was my arm broke, right?”

“Uhm…” Miss Daraver said, looking around for support and not getting any, “Not exactly…” She finally said. Miss Daraver

edited 5th Dec '10 8:21:40 AM by MrAHR

Read my stories!
CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#250: Dec 5th 2010 at 8:22:34 AM

Master Narm

~snicker~

edited 5th Dec '10 8:22:47 AM by CyganAngel

There are too many toasters in my chimney!

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