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year 5, quarter 3
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It makes noises. The only sounds to leave the green creature are pointless, insipid noises; tones forming words that meant nothing. Hollow xanthous eyes lifted up to stare at the sword-bearing attacker, himself as still as the grave, even while their weapon of choice remained pressed firmly to the Tonberry’s throat. More noises are all that escape it, outlining platitudes about how their assailant showcased an absence of moral character for seeking to end their lives without offering context.
True enough. What does context matter, when death is all that awaits them in the end?
A spark, almost microscopic to the naked eye, rolls visibly over the surface of the robed monster’s ancient lantern, only to erupt viciously and violently into a burst of voltaic lightning that rapidly enveloped the would-be assassin’s entire body as if forming a galvanic cocoon, intent on achieving terminal electrocution as punishment for creating a current through which the plasmic energy could channel itself; at point-blank range, evasion was impossible. Truly, against ordinary foes, this would have resulted in their immediate and agonizing death.
But it should have dawned on the Tonberry, then and there, that this was no ordinary foe.
Even as the power of heaven’s wrath crackled and sparked all over with vengeful prejudice, the surprise attack yielded no visible reaction from the towering swordsman, who simply continued to glare down at the Tonberry with baleful carmine lights where eyes ought to be. A creature that could cast magic was one thing, but a creature that could use this power to exploit the conductivity of metals indicated a deeper intellect that initially went underestimated until now, and the ability to use a spell of this magnitude certainly deserved to be rewarded with more than just a simple, painless death.
The menacing stranger tenses the muscles in his sword-wielding arm, tightening his grip on the weapon in sequence. With a display of power that could only be terrifying to behold, the cloak of lightning that once surrounded his whole figure found itself suddenly discharged as a short-lived burst of harmless audible static, vanishing impotently into the atmosphere without so much as a fizzling pop.
The sword’s sharpened edge moves away from the viridian monster’s neck. Instead of moving down and closer to its wielder’s side, however, it rose even higher into the air, radiating with a perilous gleam underneath the sun-dappled treetops of the Wanderwood.
He coldly declares, “Then I deliver you to the hands of fate.”
—————
Parallel to all that was occurring, a sputtering groan creeps out from beneath several fragments of numerous species of tree and bush, all piled together and on the threshold of physically smoldering as a result of one large mass propelling itself through the woods mere moments ago. Following this, an armored hand protrudes weakly from an opening in the mess of plant matter, fingers twitching in uneven increments as searing, aching pain consumes the rest of the body they were attached to.
“…Damn it,” wheezed Gilgamesh, his voice muffled by all the wood and leaves pushing up against his face. “…I think I s-swallowed a sp-plinter…” A cough followed. Even with a body as large as his, the overbearing weight on top of it still presented a struggle he had to exert effort to overcome, and while his armor had mitigated the full brunt of the numerous impacts he suffered, it still managed to hurt like a mean-ass son-of-a-bitch. Nonetheless, a mix of panic, desperation, and a generous heap of vindictive contempt for whoever struck him gave Gilgamesh the impetus he needed to tense every muscle in his body and grit his teeth through the pain. He wasn’t about to let the promise he made earlier be rendered moot, especially after all that fluster and bluster that came with making it!
Flexing an arm, Gilgamesh shoves it through the detritus with a resounding series of cracks and snaps, bringing his other arm forward in the same fashion to equal effect, sending pieces of plant material scattering everywhere. “Ugh! Ow!” He thrusts a knee up as if to strike a foe, bursting out of the pile far enough so that he could stagger the rest of the way to freedom, tumbling to the forest floor afterward on account of the sheer disorienting strength that sent him crashing through the woods earlier. “Hrngh!!”
Panting loudly, the idiot of the East cranked his neck up so that he could look toward the direction where he last had been, clenching his teeth into an open snarl. He beats a fist into the dirt, then assumes the stance of a sprinter preparing to run for the hills. “By the bulging biceps of Bahamut, bring me blistering briskness in both body and blade!” Gilgamesh announced aloud with an additional alliterative atmosphere. A translucent spiked ring of pale orange light gradually materializes around the warrior’s figure as two radiant beams erupt from the center of his being, revolving clockwise around him faster and faster until they disappear alongside the greater halo in a brilliant flicker.
Digging his toes into the ground, Gilgamesh springs into an explosively fast running dash, unconcerned with how he might come to be harmed, yet hellbent on rescuing the Tonberry from being sliced up sashimi-style. His gigantic frame races across the forest floor like a scarlet meteor, streaking between the trees at speeds that could only be achieved under the influence of time magic, a feat made possible by his knowledge of the Haste spell.
Rushing further and further towards the scene of the fight, Gilgamesh spots the character responsible for striking his resplendent self, fully poised to bring down a katana of intimidating quality over the viridian monster’s head. His eyes widened with horror. That posture…those colorful clothes…that circular hat…the sheer enormity of his latent impulse to kill…that singular weapon…
It can’t be—?!
There is no time to ruminate on a plan, no space to prepare a course of action. The only window of opportunity available to him was there, and it was closing swiftly. His next move needs to be decisive and committed in earnest. He would not obtain another chance again.
—————
At the threshold between where he had been sent flying backwards and where the other two figures stood, Gilgamesh crouches low, then uses every ounce of his bodily strength to suddenly jump forward into view, leaning back as far as he could go until the soles of both his feet were aimed squarely for their intended target, now fully exposed and unprepared for the gargantuan red mass that had seemingly manifested from his blind spot. The only information he had time to process had been a phrase yelled at the top of Gilgamesh’s lungs, in a pointlessly thick accent: “HASTE-A LA VISTA, BABY!!”
KA-CRUNCH. With all the bone-shattering power of a one-man stampede, his feet collide perfectly against the masked attacker’s face in a devastating flying dropkick, instantly transferring all of the momentum Gilgamesh had built up from his sprinting into kinetic energy, resulting in the assailant practically flying in the opposite direction until he slammed into the trunk of a large oak tree with a resonant thud, leaving a sizable indentation upon immediate impact, after which his head, and the rest of his body, went limp like a straw ragdoll.
Obviously, Gilgamesh would topple to the ground after landing his surprise attack, but he would roll back to his knees as a matter of trained reflex, holding his arm out to add a barrier between the Tonberry and the other swordsman. There was no telling how long he would remain stunned, and he was in no hurry to wait around and find out any time soon; the daze would not last forever, regardless.
“This is going to sound incredibly out of character coming from me,” Gilgamesh said with a hushed tone, “but the sensible thing to do right now would be to run away from this fight.” His glare remained fixed on the other strangely-dressed warrior, searching for even the tiniest hint of movement, and fully determined to unleash the strongest attacks he could muster if his foe so much as tried to fart without his permission. “I vowed to bring you to safety outside the forest, and if your freedom should cost me my life, I will gladly give it to fulfill that promise and see that you leave, without exception.” Painted lips curl into a sharp frown; merely thinking it felt like a great wound to his pride as a warrior. Alas, the truth hurts, and it must be acknowledged before his ponderous green ward saw it fit to assert themselves in a way that would make the situation objectively worse for the both of them. “If you choose to stand your ground, I cannot guarantee that either of us will survive.”
Please, please, please, make the smart decision here…
Hearing the Tonberry speak to no one in particular, Gilgamesh took a page from the handbook of thieves and stole a brief glimpse of the creature from above his mountainous shoulder, but seeing the worrisome rivulets of blood streaking down the green monster’s face caused his eyes to widen with shock. “Blast it all! You’ve been hurt…” he crowed, stooping to his knees so as to have a better look at the wound as he tried to keep his emotions reined in. He had promised to escort them out of the forest, and though he had not verbally guaranteed the creature’s protection, Gilgamesh was also under the impression that nothing dangerous lurked here, either, thus the promise of safety had been largely implied. To be wrong not once, but twice, left the swordsman feeling personally bitter about his ability to sense threats. Had it truly been this long since he’d gone without a fight? Had his instincts dulled this terribly?
A sonorous rising glissando of strings flows through the breeze, echoing from all around the two travelers. Sucking in air through gritted teeth, Gilgamesh twisted his waist, hoping to spot the source of the sound, but found nothing except open space profiled in luscious hues of green. He would have called the scenery beautiful, were it not for more pressing matters that needed tending to first.
Then, a descending glissando emanates, again, from every direction. Gilgamesh slowly growled. “…Playing coy, are we?” He scanned the forest floors, intent on finding the source, only to curl his hands into impotent fists. Only a coward of the highest order, or an incredibly top-notch assassin, would resort to skulking around in the shadows playing nebulous string instrument arrangements instead of confronting their enemies in glorious single combat.
The Wanderwood stirs ominously as the distinctive plucked notes of a koto reverberate in a haunting melancholic tone, without any discernible origin. The breeze grows cold. The trees shudder. The grass shivers. Flowers begin to lean away from the sun, rather than towards it. The forest animals flee in clusters, burrowing into hiding spots or taking to the skies. Gilgamesh steadied himself, prepared to use his own body as a shield in case more of those knives came barreling at them, yet secretly hoping for this to never be the case. Even though his armor had mitigated the damage the other three had caused on him, the sheer force at which they dug into his side had almost paralyzed him for a split second. Certainly, this was no ordinary enemy they were dealing with.
A pink shape, small and light, appears from nowhere to drift gently past Gilgamesh’s field of view. He blinked rapidly, unsure if what he saw had been real or merely illusory. Before he could lift his gaze to see what had flown by, two more shapes in the same hue floated by. Then, three. More continue to hang and glide gently through the air, sailing and hovering in tandem to the sounds of the instrument until the swordsman in scarlet, able to see them in full now, recognized precisely what these mysterious objects were . “Are these…blossom petals?” That should have been impossible; the Wanderwood lacked such trees. Or did it?
A sharp, stinging note blares out. In that moment, Gilgamesh feels every muscle in his body stiffen with anticipation. “Fighter senses tingling…!” he mutters, looking in every direction he can to spot whoever, or whatever, was threatening them from beyond the visible realm.
Amidst the falling petals, nothing but trees and shadows could be seen. But as Gilgamesh turned his head, his expression turned into visible surprise the moment a magenta smudge barreled forward without any warning whatsoever, too fast for the naked eye to perceive. Lifting his body up, he raised his arms up in a last-minute defense, feeling a long metallic object collide into his gauntlets with nothing short of superhuman strength.
CLANG!! Gilgamesh could do nothing but grunt from the sheer force of the impact as both of his feet left the ground against his will, which caused the entirety of his monstrous form to go rocketing backwards and into the Wanderwood. Needless to say, the mass of his own body combined with the unprecedented velocity at which it was sent hurtling through space had caused Gilgamesh to crash violently, and painfully, through several trees in the process. As for whether anybody heard these trees falling, that’s largely a matter of observation and perception.
But that also meant the Tonberry was now exposed to this new threat; not entirely defenseless, but vulnerable all the same.
The same metallic object that had sent Gilgamesh packing then lowered itself close to the Tonberry’s neck, poised in such a way that a keen razor’s edge could be felt, even as it let off a silver shimmer beyond their peripheral view. This could only mean one thing: that the object in question was a blade, and that whoever was wielding it possessed considerable power. Enough to blow away a paper tiger like Gilgamesh, anyway.
“Make no sudden movements,” a layered male voice belonging to neither Gilgamesh nor the Tonberry growls, “and I can at least promise your death will be a painless one.” It was less of a threat and more of a vow. But even with their ability to move restricted, there was still enough space in the Tonberry's peripheral view to get a better look at the one who had now stood beside them, looming overhead like a menacing arbiter of judgment. Their entire form seemed a blend between man and monolith, dressed in clothes more foreign than any that could be found in a marketplace, while a thin circular hat cast a dark shadow over his masked visage as two red eyes glared down with killer intent.
Post by Gilgamesh! on Jul 11, 2024 10:41:03 GMT -6
As he scanned the geography on the surrounding horizons, Gilgamesh listened as the self-proclaimed “grudge of the world” offered their own insights, claiming that the Wanderwood had not been this expansive when they made the decision to breach its boundaries and explore the interior. Against all common sense, the viridescent creature had all but convinced themselves that the thickets were sapiently conspiring to keep them imprisoned here, yet the sincerity of their distress easily betrayed the abject nonsensicality of their predicament. Had it ever occurred to the Tonberry that they might just be a little too short to see the whole forest for the trees?
The relic hunter in scarlet could feel his own face morphing into an expression of humorless annoyance. From a Tonberry’s point of view, sure, the Wanderwood practically stretched out to forever, but Gilgamesh was as large as his list of exploits; no challenge, however gargantuan or minuscule, was insurmountable! Besides, a forest cannot be considered inescapable, or else the entire planet would be covered in trees. That’s just common sense.
Still, the baritone beastie in burlap was right about one thing: if there had been an entrance when they stepped foot into the Wanderwood, then it also stands to reason that there must be an exit, as well. And now, it had fallen upon the giant shoulders of Gilgamesh himself—peerless warrior supreme, with extra ham and pepperonis—to seek out their path to freedom! Which was probably going to require a lot of tree-hopping to get there.
Cutting another pose from atop the tree that moonlit as his balancing pole, Gilgamesh pushed his lumbering form northward, virtually gliding his way through the air as the verdant canopies whizzed beneath him like a sea of emerald, until his foot made contact with the point of another tree, prompting the immense warrior to sharply inhale; the moment he breathed out, he used the the tree’s highest point as a springboard to launch forward a second time, repeating this process about every dozen meters or so as though he had invoked the essence of a majestic springing gazelle.
It barely took less than a minute of this before the Tonberry, still perturbed by the Wanderwood’s supposedly anomalous nature, asked Gilgamesh about how the forest appeared to him when he had entered, as well as his own reasons for braving its depths.
“Narrative convenience, unfortunately…” Gilgamesh deadpanned, then mumbled inaudibly to himself, as if disappointed by his own lack of understanding. Kind of hard to invent a reason for being here when he couldn’t even remember why he was here to begin with… “But, now that I think about it, I do seem to recall having lost my cherished spear in these woods some time ago.” Oh, yeah, that was a thing, wasn’t it? “I suppose I must have felt it would be easy to find among all this greenery…” Of all the alibis and excuses he’d ever fabricated for the sake of covering his own ass, this one probably had the most amount of truth behind it. Probably. “Alas, it would appear that my endeavors to recover it have fallen by the wayside, for now.” He cast a few wayward glances at every gap between the trees as they rushed by, hoping to spot even the smallest hint of apple red among the sylvan floors, only to let off a despondent sigh when he could find nothing out of the ordinary.
Metaphorically speaking, the act of turning on a light bulb represents the sudden acquisition of what is colloquially referred to as “a bright idea”. In Gilgamesh’s case, it was much closer to being a wax candle that had long since burned itself free of available fuel, but all it took was a single spark for the proverbial light to start flickering inside. The last time one of these occurred was when a stroke of ingenuity had motivated him to seek out the fabled recipe for one-hundred percent milk.
“Hmm, maybe I could use the G.P.S.™ to triangulate its last known location?” Gilgamesh hypothesized aloud, using words he thought sounded relevant to the workings of the device yet lacking any functional awareness of their intended meaning, before he used a free hand to withdraw the circular gizmo from earlier, pushing buttons in the hopes that it would produce an effect he could remotely pretend was positive.
As soon as the suspicious device began emitting a series of warbling chirps, the briefest glint of light emanated just outside of Gilgamesh’s peripheral view. Before he could even do so much as turn his head in its direction, a thin silver shape speeds almost imperceptibly through the air, striking the gadget in his hand with such intensity that it had all but virtually exploded into a hundred little pieces, to the warrior’s immediately transparent shock. “What the devil—!?” Unable to change momentum as he moved through the air, a cluster of identical silvery shapes flash through the air until they collide with Gilgamesh’s left side, sending three sharp spikes of pain rolling through his body. “—MNGH!!”
Instinctive reflex is all he can rely on to keep himself from losing balance. He twists his body around as it prepares to descend through the treetops, making sure to keep the Tonberry protected from whatever had just struck him. Robbed of his ability to land gracefully, Gilgamesh does his best to use the incoming branches as steps to move lower and lower until he is close enough to the ground to skid against the forest floor on both knees, only so that he could reach for his side to attend to his injuries. No blood, thank goodness; it had truly been a gift of serendipity for him to wear all that armor. But did the G.P.S.™ have to get destroyed, as well? He paid top gil for that thing!
One by one, Gilgamesh pulled each of the objects from his lower left side, bringing them around to look at them in greater detail. In his hand were three small knives, boasting razor sharp edges, fanciful swirling patterns all over their respective blades, and fitted with furniture that appeared to indicate these weapons were meant to be part of something more complete. “Tch. These are kozuka…” Gilgamesh muttered to himself, slowly lifting back to his feet with a strained grunt while he let the painted knives fall uselessly to the forest floor.
A knowing sneer forms on his painted face; boundless confidence impels him to fold both arms into his barrel-shaped chest, as though he were inviting his attacker to step forward and reveal themselves. No animal ruled by baser instincts could throw knives with such precision and power, Gilgamesh reasoned, which could only mean that someone had marked one of them for death beforehand. The question was: who was being targeted?
“I know you’re hiding out there, craven cur!” Gilgamesh shouted aloud, “Introduce yourself, so that we may have a proper duel to the death—that you be cut down before the ruthless strength and skill of the undefeatable Gilgamesh!!”
Tension rising, he waits for his opponent to show themselves. All in due time. Gilgamesh could afford to wait.
Being the sort of person who never gets told he's correct about anything, much less when it comes to stating the obvious, Gilgamesh simply folded his arms and nodded his head with great relish as the Tonberry affirms the lack of extant dangers nearby. Of course he was correct! Just look at this place: the level median had to be close to around ten or twelve, fifteen at the most, and that's not to mention the visible absence of any lootable treasure chests. Or that one time he got scrambled by an errant Great Malboro...but let's not talk about that, right now.
But, while the subject of being attacked by monsters is still on the table here, the possibility of such inspired the Tonberry to ask that they be given their knife back—the same one they so foolishly surrendered in exchange for a way out of these woods—so that they could dispatch any hypothetical attackers in the process.
What a hilariously preposterous suggestion! Why, if he neglected to act as the voice of reason and speak out about this now, Gilgamesh could imagine the little green ripper just gleefully waddling their way over to a target like an overly enthusiastic penguin, clocking at an astonishingly eye-popping speed of one foot per minute, waiting to make julienne fries out of them – along with everybody else, including the people who have to sit here and write about this stuff. Some folks had lives to carry out, adventures to experience, strong warriors to harass and fight and steal weapons from – all important matters!
Restraining his urge to simply laugh at the Tonberry, Gilgamesh settled on little more than a healthy chortle. “I'm afraid I'm disinclined to acquiesce to such a request,” he refused, more fancifully than what was required of him if he were to just simply tell them 'no'. Except nothing can ever be simple with Gilgamesh, can it? “I have been charged with finding an exit for you, my pea-colored companion, which means that the responsibility of ensuring both our safeties must fall on my shoulders, as well,” he explained, taking a moment to assume a boisterous pose as he thrust his barrel-like chest forward and pushed two clenched fists into his sides, almost like he were trying to emulate a heroic figure of some nature. If only the Tonberry could see the person Gilgamesh had been thinking of when he struck it.
From the weight of the Tonberry to the burden of seeing them carried safely out of the forest, there was nothing Gilgamesh could not do here that was too difficult or too vexing, except maybe having to put up with the viridescent critter's inability to understand a good turn of phrase every now and then; with that, Gilgamesh had more work cut out for him than a one-legged donkey in an ass-kicking contest.
Smirking with wide painted lips, Gilgamesh stooped low, and placed both hands underneath the Tonberry's arms, being mindful of the lantern they still carried. “Observe.” With the gentleness of a parent holding their child, the towering warrior lifts the little green creature up until he could position them squarely atop his broad, muscular shoulders. “I suggest you get comfortable. This next part might get a little squirrely.” He refused to elaborate, even if he were to be prompted for an explanation.
Suddenly, without warning, Gilgamesh's gigantic form cuts another pose, striking a dynamic contrast between the Tonberry who sat close to Heaven and himself standing directly on the earth as he vocalized his emotions in a single lionesque growl. “Forest of evil! Your bark is worse than your bite! We shall take our leaves!” he calls out, forming a rather inventive and appropriate haiku in the process, before crouching low.
The wind beneath him begins to swirl and revolve, kicking up dust and grass all around. He breathes in.
Then, with an exhale, he jumps, one leg bent, the other stretched fully out.
Whoosh. There is no turbulence as his mountainous form ascends, no resistance as he effortlessly glides upward as though all the density in his body ceased to exist, even if for the briefest of moments. An observer that didn't know any better would have thought Gilgamesh had suddenly gained the power of flight, and that he had just demonstrated nothing short of a true miracle. Like any good magician, he was unlikely to reveal his secrets any time soon, but it was actually closer to an esoteric breathing technique, learned only by the greatest sages of martial arts, that permitted those who could fully master it the wondrous ability to move through the air at incredible distances, and across surfaces that would otherwise be impossible to navigate by conventional means, which Gilgamesh would quickly demonstrate as he reached the apex of his leap and allowed his toes to gently touch down against the highest point of the closest tree that he could use as a foothold, barely even so much as causing it to slightly sway as the rest of his form did the rest of the work by maintaining impeccable balance.
For this, the Tonberry, and Gilgamesh, would be rewarded with a striking panorama of the Wanderwood's topmost canopies, and a sweeping view of the landscape that surrounded the forest in all directions. Unfortunately, after realizing the exact scope of the woods they had been stuck roaming around aimlessly inside of, the multi-colored swordsman frowned, humming in self-reflection. “Well, this might require more legwork than I imagined it would...” he muttered to himself.
One thing was ostensibly true, however: there were much more dangerous things to worry about than monsters.
Post by Gilgamesh! on Apr 24, 2024 13:36:26 GMT -6
The ambient sounds of the forest are all that fills the space between Gilgamesh and the Tonberry in need of his aid, who had just been issued a choice so monumental it undoubtedly qualified as both cruel and unusual, even by the swordsman's own boisterous standards; in order to be liberated from the Wanderwood's arboreal clutches, they would have to voluntarily surrender the very knife that served as their anchor and badge of purpose.
A strong warrior can disarm an opponent with a sufficient amount of brute force, but it takes a clever and resourceful warrior to understand that there are other ways to achieve the same result, especially if such a method reduces the odds of having to spill blood needlessly. Intelligent thoughts have always followed Gilgamesh, but most of the time he was also significantly much faster than them, and so it was, in this moment, that it took him a handful of seconds to allow the subtle genius of his bargain to fully sink in, to which a sly smirk formed on closed, painted lips.
The critter in burlap's thought process was as ponderous as their distinctive means of ambulation, yet the shivering of their arm served as a tell. From an emotional perspective, this was less of a choice and more of an ultimatum. Was the price of freedom truly worth giving away that which symbolized their entire existence? Not even Gilgamesh seemed aware of the deeper ramifications that such a trade would bring about for the Tonberry, but he didn't seem too perturbed by this, seeing as there was no use in worrying about a future that had yet to be realized.
The Tonberry's answer would swiftly speak for itself. Slowly, the yellow-eyed monster lifted their arm up in presentation, aiming the blade's point at the towering warrior in motley colors, and announces that the knife is his to take on the grounds that it would be reclaimed if he should fail to complete his appointed task. Bold words, even for an unarmed Tonberry.
At first, Gilgamesh blinked in moderate surprise. That actually worked? He didn't even have to mention the knife at all! Usually, he'd have to fight someone in order to stake a claim on their weapons afterward, but to have somebody just give him one? And, as payment for doing some light hiking through the woods? Talk about literally trailblazing his way into a potential career! With the small quantity of functioning brain cells still available to him, Gilgamesh made a cognitive note to explore this prospect at a later point in time, once they were finally clear of this accursed forest.
“That all depends on whether we get ambushed by monsters,” said Gilgamesh as he gingerly removed the knife from the Tonberry's featureless hand, “But, from the look of things, this place doesn't exactly insinuate 'end-game content', so I genuinely doubt we have anything worth fretting over right now.” Blank white eyes drink in its details. The lack thereof. With meaty fingertips, Gilgamesh carefully manipulates the knife to inspect its properties more closely.
For a piece of ordinary kitchenware, there was nothing amateur about its material composition; not a single loose part anywhere. The blade practically sparkled underneath the sun-dappled treetops as he examined the cutting edge, recognizing a prominent double bevel grind which made it suitable for ambidextrous use. The handle's grain felt smooth yet porous to the touch, meaning he wouldn't lose his grip on it, even if his palms turned sweaty, and appeared to be made of chestnut wood. Using the fingers on his free hand, Gilgamesh flicked the knife twice in rapid succession. Tink tink. His eyes widen with visible shock. He could even hear the quality of the steel!
Determined to obtain a proper feel for its weight and balance, Gilgamesh gently tossed the implement up, let it fall back into his hand, then proceeds to make use of every part of it to spin and twirl the knife around and around as though it were devoid of mass altogether, carving delicate circles and beautiful arcs through the air with more grace and dexterity than even the most well-trained knife jugglers and hibachi chefs. He would even make use of his other hand to perform the same series of nimble flourishes to identical effect. What had potentially appeared like a dynamic performance of whirling sharp steel was actually much closer to a lukewarm training exercise for the sake of becoming accustomed to the knife's idiosyncrasies.
Once he had attained a sense of comfort with it, Gilgamesh brandished the weapon one last time until it rested in a back-handed grip, allowing him to subsequently tuck it inside the girdle that covered his waist. “Color me pleased! You Tonberries really know your way around some excellent cutlery,” he said in a genuine effort to compliment the creature's apparent sensibilities regarding weapon management. Maybe that's why they had a reputation for being such vicious little murder machines?
“It is decided, then!” Gilgamesh loudly annnounced, pumping a clenched fist eagerly. “On my solemn vow as a warrior, I will escort you from this wretched copse, and I will not cease in this effort until you savor the taste of freedom once more.” As he said this, a single glance down at the Tonberry gave him cause to propose a more efficient vehicle for realizing their shared objectives. “But, if I'm being truthful here, it'll probably go much faster if I just carried you the whole way.” Not only had he taken their only means of self-defense, but Tonberries were just as infamous for their sluggish locomotion, and though he would rather meet his end in glorious battle, Gilgamesh would much rather use his own Time Slip spell and turn himself geriatric than allow it to happen naturally while they searched for an exit. At the very least, dying of old age was a much better alternative than dying strictly out of boredom.
According to most printed versions of the common dictionary, an impasse is typically described as a situation in which no progress becomes possible, especially if it is the result of a disagreement.
Such as the one currently unfolding, for instance. In no less than nine posts—which is a unit of measurement employed only by gods from the unknowable outer realms, also called "Internet hobby writers" in the eldritch tongues—neither Gilgamesh nor the Tonberry were able to secure anything that even remotely resembled some kind of a mutual arrangement which would permit them to do what literally everyone else in Zephon could, this being to simply pick a random direction and walk until they reached the Wanderwood's outermost threshold.
Based on the Tonberry's own admission, threatening a person with violence usually carried some likelihood of success with regards to influencing the behavior of less cooperative individuals; as a physical manifestation of lingering resentment, they were the closest thing to being your very own personalized stalker, minus the phone calls coming from inside the house, and refusing to comply with a Tonberry's demands seemed about as suicidal as trying to swan dive into a pool of hardened concrete from the top of a suspension bridge; a foregone conclusion, really.
Unfortunately for the robed green creature, Gilgamesh has direct experience with taking blatantly suicidal courses of action, and his last attempt to go down in a roaring blaze of glory sent him careening through the Rift until it spat him out here, in this world, which also conveniently reminded the multicolored swordsman that he still needed to figure out a means to open it back up so that he can escape this accursed dimension and return back home. If only he knew how...
Alas, he wasn't exactly keen to see if a second scrape with Death would do the trick, and so Gilgamesh stood his ground and tensed every muscle in his body, preparing for the worst scenario he could think of—
—only for nothing to happen.
Hearing no creepy violins and feeling no relentless agony being inflicted upon his form, Gilgamesh peeked around timidly, then straightened his posture out once the Tonberry had all but expressed a lack of desire to carry through with his invitation to end his life, as well as the shared misery of literally everyone else in the universe by extension. Hmph! You wouldn't have lasted more than five seconds against the likes of me, anyway! he thought, quietly this time, so as to avoid needlessly poking the proverbial badger more than he already has so far.
Seriously, Gilgamesh, just... don't.
But now that he had rescinded his offer to assist the Tonberry, Gilgamesh was doomed to remain lost in this forest with them until they could either agree on a course of action, or try to go about it separately and run the risk of getting further isolated.
That is, until the knife-holding monster proposed an exchange.
Instantly sensing an opportunity before him, Gilgamesh lit up like a string of freshly unpacked Christmas lights, even as he openly winced at the Tonberry's ruthless butchering of an otherwise common expression. Was it supposed to be an expression? In fact, was it even the correct one? “I think you meant to say 'titty frittata'?” he corrected, rhetorically, before shaking his head. “No matter! I shall gladly accept payment as exchange for my assistance in chartering an exit from this infernally beguiling grove! Consider thyself fortunate that I am feeling most merciful today.” Whatever floats his boat...
But what exactly could a Tonberry offer him in the first place? Lanterns were hardly suitable for use as weapons unless one takes the liberty of throwing it really hard, and taking the creature's burlap robes seemed needlessly cruel and wholly unnecessary, not to mention the abject embarrassment that such a request would create in both of them.
Only one option was left now, and Gilgamesh needn't say anything more about it. If the Tonberry sincerely craved the taste of freedom so deeply, they would have to make the choice to part ways with the object that served as their hallmark signature.
Tit-for-tat. You know, like how it's actually supposed to be said.
Final Fantasy V
Unknown
YEARS
Male
LOL, AS IF
BATTLESEXUAL®
12 POSTS
Ensō
You fell for it! This wasn't a status at all! It was ME! GILGAMESH!
It is often claimed that patience is a virtue. Well, it tends to be considered one among religious communities, anyway. But Gilgamesh was no monk—he lasted barely a week before they fired him for reasons better left to the imagination—so this well-established axiom has little to do with his own character and more to do with that of the Tonberry growing increasingly frustrated with the swordsman's offhand prattling and obvious confusion over how to operate his own electronics.
If they wanted to, they could do it. Right now, even. Slice his leg tendons, then bleed his throat dry. No one would ever hear him scream for help, either, or find the body.
But that would be too simple, wouldn't it? Too easy.
If only it really were. One does not simply "get rid of Gilgamesh." He was like a cockroach in nuclear winter, or a planarian worm, unable to be exterminated, unwilling to simply just "go away". He could withstand even against the most inhospitable conditions and/or people. Even if the little green critter decided to act on the spontaneous impulse to repeatedly plunge their knife into his face until it resembled the science fair project he just got done throwing away, Gilgamesh would still find some way to haunt him from beyond the grave like the world's worst poltergeist. Despite the current perception of events, or until the duo were somehow able to find their way out of the woods, he wasn't stuck with the Tonberry; the Tonberry was stuck with him.
Even so, the creature sees it necessary to begin exercising threats against the warrior in motley rags, demanding he get to the point and start being useful to their search for an exit out of the Wanderwood. Gilgamesh merely squints in contempt at the Tonberry after hearing them spout some nonsense about being the "World's Grudge" or whatever, stuff about "following no way but forward", and just being an outright menace to society in a forest that's totally abundant with an absence of society. Plumes of dark smoke seemed to coil their way around the monster's knife for the briefest of moments before subsiding entirely, their demeanor also adopting a more shameful tone.
It would have worked, had Gilgamesh not taken offense to their displays instead of folding under the pressure, like most other humans would have. "Guide you?" he repeated, holding back the urge to mock their audacity. "You want me to guide you?? What do I look like, a life counselor?!" He can no longer restraint his rising anger, nor keep his voice from elevating in volume. "I'm trying to help you to the best of my ability with what little I have to work with, and you're basically telling me it isn't enough." Both arms fold into one another as he starts pacing furiously around the forest floor. "Then you go out of your way to point a goddamned knife at me, like that's supposed to make me want to help you more?!?" He turned his nose up, away from the presumptuous Tonberry. "Well, you can just forget it, buster! Go ahead and kill me if you want, but I don't make a habit out of lending aid to people who don't appreciate it being offered to them!"
And, just like that, everything falls apart at the seams; the Tonberry was famously a creature of spite, but so was Gilgamesh, and he had just proven himself willing and ready to accept fates far worse than death as petty revenge. If they still wanted help at this point, it would require more than mere contrition or apologies to sway Gilgamesh.
Final Fantasy V
Unknown
YEARS
Male
LOL, AS IF
BATTLESEXUAL®
12 POSTS
Ensō
You fell for it! This wasn't a status at all! It was ME! GILGAMESH!
Post by Gilgamesh! on Jan 25, 2024 14:47:48 GMT -6
They often say that genius and insanity, much like alcohol and bad life choices, go hand in hand with one another, existing as two sides of the same spinning coin. But, since Gilgamesh is liable to steal the coin being used in this figure of speech here, it must regrettably be replaced with a significantly less valuable alternative. Imagine the coin is made of chocolate and wrapped in gold-leafed tinfoil, instead. The metaphor still works, and nobody loses any money; it's a win-win for everyone, except Gilgamesh, obviously.
Of course, the Tonberry simply couldn't allow him to just bask beneath the flickering light of inspiration, which probably looked more like a dingy streetlamp on the verge of burning out. No, not only are they going around killing all the plants and trees, but they're also a born natural at killing the mood, too, which caused Gilgamesh to gradually scowl as his earlier torrent of masterfully penned quips were dismantled with meticulous surgical precision. Haven't they ever heard of hyperbole before?
Still, it felt pretty good being told his motivations were unfathomable, although anyone with common sense might wonder if that's really worth being proud of, but Gilgamesh would smile proudly all the same. "You have the luck of speaking to a genuine force of nature, my fishy-tailed friend! I aspire to break past the limits of imagination and make the impossible possible! That's the way I roll!" The Tonberry might as well have called him a lunatic, and he'd have still taken it as a compliment. Unrelated note, he was almost sure he had a pair of cool sunglasses tucked away somewhere.
Feeling a prodding sensation in the back of his mind to keep the story rolling forward, Gilgamesh held out the strange gadget for the Tonberry to observe in better detail, showing that it had a number of buttons protruding from the metal frame, its liquid crystal screen flickering with lines and symbols and digits that formed even greater patterns. "I got this little doohickey from a guy in orange karate clothes," Gilgamesh said, using a thumb to push one of the buttons down to change the inputs on the screen. "Said it was used to find these things called 'dragon orbs' or something? I'll admit, the way it was phrased made it sound like a double entendre, so I took the liberty of disinfecting this thing after I gave up all of my savings to buy it, but apparently it uses 'electrico-magnetronicular' waves to locate stuff." The crimson warrior simply shrugged, unable to elaborate any further on either the device's inner workings or his rather stunning mutilation of the word 'electromagnetic'. "Perhaps it can also find us a way out of these woods?"
Since Gilgamesh neglected to read the enclosed instruction book, navigating the various menus and interfaces had proven about as difficult as trying rescue a princess from an evil turtle monster while trying to have a nice spaghetti picnic, but at least that guy had like, decades of plumbing experience when it happened the first time around. It took almost a full minute of hemming and hawing until the master swordsman had finally found the setting he wanted, and with a few more clumsy button presses, which took about another minute, he had successfully calibrated the gadget to begin sending out its high-frequency signal all over and around. Two additional markers blinked into view shortly afterward, one demarcating magnetic north, the other representing geographic north.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Every three seconds or so, another ping would chime out from the device as a small circular band of luminous pixels spread out from the center of the screen until it reached the display's edge before vanishing entirely, only to repeat ad infinitum.
Gilgamesh frowned halfway. "Doesn't look like it's giving us any feedback here," he said, turning his gaze toward the only direction the device had indicated on the screen. "Means we ought to probably start moving around some. I think if it makes the noise twice, it means there's something close by." He had no way of verifying any of this, because he seriously didn't know how most of the gadget's features worked in the first place. If nothing else, giving Gilgamesh a common objective to work towards had the unforeseen benefit of momentarily nullifying, or at least suppressing, whatever sense of terror he felt by being in the Tonberry's presence.
Final Fantasy V
Unknown
YEARS
Male
LOL, AS IF
BATTLESEXUAL®
12 POSTS
Ensō
You fell for it! This wasn't a status at all! It was ME! GILGAMESH!
Post by Gilgamesh! on Jan 15, 2024 17:21:19 GMT -6
Honestly expecting to be stabbed without ceremony at this point, Gilgamesh nearly launched into a double-take the moment he heard another voice answer his questions in a tone so resoundingly low and rich in its timbre, he could have sworn the writing department had tried to hire a second narrator while he wasn't looking. A few paranoid glances would remind him this wasn't the case, but that still leaves the question as to how a critter with no mouth (or, none that he could visibly observe on the Tonberry's face, anyway) produced a voice worthy of an Academy Award for Best Performance.
Aside from feeling a rather mild hint of jealousy for the much smaller monster's clearly superior vocal character, Gilgamesh shifted his stance the moment he heard the Tonberry verbally acknowledge his presence, then scowled when he was basically told how much he sucked at being invisible, ergo remained an easy enough target for the Knifening™ he was certain would follow afterward. "Tch. Shows what I get for trying to copy stuff I see in movies..." Gilgamesh grumbled aloud.
Before the Tonberry resolved to pull an Alfred Hitchcock and leave his body in the bathtub, however, they would address Gilgamesh with a question, or, rather, a series of questions, which really ought to be a foreign concept to something so innately murderous and begrudging as a Tonberry. It would take some additional concentration on his behalf to retrieve what few brain cells he had inside the vacuous black hole that is his skull, or "The Second Void" as Exdeath liked to refer it as, until a wave of illuminating comprehension washed over the swordsman.
"Wait, you think I'm the reason you're lost?" he threw the question back at the Tonberry, then lets out a bellowing laugh. "If I were the master of this labyrinth, I'd have held your baby ransom and forced it to do musical numbers with talking goblin puppets while you raced around on a time limit." Gilgamesh looked around, folding both arms into his meaty armored chest. "Unfortunately, I don't have the budget, hourglasses, or the hair dressers for that right now, and last I checked, there's a shortage of infant children, so I'm as far up this creek as you are, O paddle-less one." He could only hope that knife couldn't also moonlight as one. "As for why I'm here, your guess is as good as mine. I'm still trying to figure that one out."
In his endeavors to conjure an explanation for his presence in the Wanderwood, Gilgamesh had barely noticed the glimmer of tears rolling down the Tonberry's cheek, something that would normally elicit a sense of concern, were it not for the fact that such a sight seemed jarring on its own, given the creature's legendary reputation for violence. But, being the curious and empathetic sort of fellow he was, Gilgamesh could only wonder if he had something on his person that might help them out of this predicament.
"Hm. Actually, give me a moment." Gilgamesh implored, turning around so that the Tonberry could not personally witness him using one hand to pull at the waistline of his trousers before nearly thrusting the other hand straight down inside. Moving it around with hectic urgency had produced an inexplicably audible cacophony of tinkling, clattering, banging and clanging as the idiot swordsman hummed and hawed through his entire inventory of acquired odds and ends. With every item he seemed to grab, his face would turn and twist and bend in all manner of different expressions, not only suggesting that he had probably forgotten about having acquired a majority of these knickknacks throughout his lengthy and glamorous adventures, but also indicating the sort of character that seemed like his house would be considered, at the very least, a stage-two hoarding hazard.
Suppose we ought to get ourselves comfortable. This could take a while...
"Let's see here... Devil's triangle? No," Gilgamesh said, tossing aside a rather nondescript three-sided musical instrument, along with its accompanying metal striking rod, as it landed against the triangle with its signature ting.
"Pandora's lunchbox? Nope." Following the triangle went what looked like an ordinary plastic bento container stamped with a cute cartoon moogle.
"Huh. That's where my Double Dice Monsters set went..." Gilgamesh said to himself in a tone of mild amusement before tossing aside a small cardboard box that had been sealed shut with copious quantities of tape, accompanied by the sound of rattling miniatures and ivory dice.
"A wand of magic missile? Pfft. And without any charges left, of course..." he grumbled, tossing aside a stick that had been further accessorized by the intelligent act of using superglue to fix a large glass marble to it.
"...'Crusty, Stale Jokes for Bakers and Breadwives'...?" Without thinking twice about it, Gilgamesh nearly chucks aside a large, dusty book containing all the worst bread-based puns and pithy one-liners penned by first-rate comedians and third-rate hacks the world over.
One can only guess why he had that on him.
Gilgamesh suddenly gasped, then grimaced. "Yikes! My old science fair project?! Should've thrown you out a long time ago..." he said, very carefully lifting a small glass cube containing the remnants of a thing no language, living or dead, has ever penned a name for, long since decomposed, or perhaps transmogrified, maybe evolved, into an amorphous mass of flesh and gelatin, wiggling inside the container with vague menace; etched into one side, in a script since rendered ancient and forgotten, is the phrase: "Gil-Nye the Science Fly". Recalling simpler times with a wistful sigh, the swordsman casually throws it aside after about five seconds.
"Okay, seriously now. Where the heck is it?! I know I kept it, for pity's—" Gilgamesh growls as he resorts to tossing out everything including the Barney Bag, from gizmos to gadgets, odds to ends, and even some old string. Before he could fall victim to the jaws of madness and sing a song about the experience, a resounding beep! erupts from his pantaloons, and his face lights up with a mixture of elation and relief, because he was not about to do any of that. "Ha-ha! There you are, you little devil!"
With hallmark bravado, Gilgamesh hoists his hand up to the charred forest canopies, his sausage-like fingers wrapped around a metallic circular contraption that very clearly seemed electronic in its composition and alleged function.
"Tonberries, one and all! Bear witness!" cried the swordsman. "I give you: 'The G.P.S™'!!"
Oh, what is he doing now—?
Final Fantasy V
Unknown
YEARS
Male
LOL, AS IF
BATTLESEXUAL®
12 POSTS
Ensō
You fell for it! This wasn't a status at all! It was ME! GILGAMESH!
Smooth seas never made skilled mariners, as the old proverb goes. Adversity and hardship brings about personal growth; an individual can either choose to fold and collapse under the pressure, or be tempered by these challenges and emerge stronger, more resilient, and wiser than before. To become a master of anything, a person must be willing to endure the pain of making mistakes so that they might learn to better hone their craft. Tinsmiths and bodkins increase the quality of their repairs with finer materials and cleaner techniques, infantrymen sharpen their skills with training and exercise, seafarers become acquainted with their vessels to better navigate uncharted waters, and so forth. From tinkers and tailors to soldiers and sailors, nothing is gained if nothing is ventured.
But Gilgamesh is none of these professions, so for him to get completely lost in the thick of the Wanderwood, the very place where his bogus journey first started, only makes sense in context, and certainly not because there was a minor struggle to find some measure of rationale for having him get lost in the forest to begin with.
"Oh, for pity's sake, really?!" Gilgamesh scoffed aloud as the absence of immediate narrative justification grates on his nerves, "You're inactive for, like, several months, and now that you're conveniently back, you can't even be bothered to come up with an adequate reason for me getting lost here?!" Expecting a response but receiving none—rather, none that would actually matter in the long haul—he groaned in dejection. "Everyone else gets a skilled narrator, and I'm stuck with this crap..." Starved for an explanation behind this admittedly lazy attempt at storytelling, Gilgamesh huffed, puffed, and fluffed his way aimlessly through the Wanderwood, peering through the sun-dappled canopies and scanning the forest floor in search of anything that could provide him with some semblance of an actual plot structure.
Thankfully, no outside influences or superfluous interventions were needed here, as Gilgamesh began to notice an ever-growing abundance of burned plant matter, scorched and singed in various degrees of severity. Further examination of his surroundings would reveal the presence of small nicks and cuts against certain tree specimens, although their intended purpose remained unknown to him.
"Either someone doesn't know how logging works, or they really hate forests," Gilgamesh speculated to himself, trying to understand why the culprit would attempt to incinerate the Wanderwood from within its borders. It could be likely that the party responsible for all this arboreal destruction was just as lost as he was. Or, he might be on the trail of some wroth menace intent on spreading bedlam to the world at large. Whatever the reason was here, Gilgamesh could feel his instincts pushing him further along the burned path, preparing him for the worst case scenario. If all of this truly was the work of some rogue devil, then he would have to be the one to vanquish it.
If only he knew where his favorite spear was...
"Gee. If only I knew where my favorite spear was. What a mystery. Better get the gang here to solve this one. Split up. Find clues. It's Old Man Jenkins.Quelle surprise." Gilgamesh spoke monotonously, sarcasm bleeding from every word that left his mouth. "I better find Excalibur later on, or I'm gonna start filing lawsuits for emotional damages..." Sure. Good luck with that. This guy is sitting behind seven proxies over here.
As he ventured deeper into the Wanderwood, irritated by the direction his own story was headed and the apparent lack of cooperation from the powers that be, Gilgamesh barely managed to spot a diminutive presence standing out among the charred thickets and brush. Beady yellow eyes over smooth skin in eau de Nil, rounded physical features, and a little burlap cloak draped over an equally tiny body, with a fish-like tail protruding from beneath. In one of its hands (if it could be called that, given the lack of opposable digits) rested an antique oil lamp, a tongue of incandescent flame dancing behind the glass.
It is the other object in its grasp that makes Gilgamesh freeze with visible concern. Glistening parallel to the flickering lamp was a cleaver, not unlike the kind that professional chefs use to prepare their dishes. Banal and mundane as it looked, however, Gilgamesh could feel every muscle in his body tense as a wave of dread consumed him entirely. It was as if the mere act of seeing the knife had awakened his most basic primitive instincts and dragged them to the foreground against his better judgement, urging him to flee while his life still remained intact, even as he stood immobilized with expectant fear. The more he pondered these facts, the closer he came to an understanding of what this creature actually was, and when the identity of this creature finally dawned on him, his heart sank so deeply it nearly felt like it had lodged itself inside his lower intestine.
This was a Tonberry, a living curse given flesh and purpose, spawned from the blackest pits of Hell to carry out unspeakable acts of terrible vengeance against the sinners of the world. Attempting to confront one would be tantamount to suicide, as their waddling gait and non-threatening appearance gleefully betrays the sort of twisted horrors they have the potential of unleashing; not only can a Tonberry weaponize the resentments of the dead, their hallmark weapon is capable of ending lives with a single, well-placed strike. Truly, the stuff of nightmares.
Gilgamesh scowled nervously, not at the Tonberry before him, but at his own rotten misfortune. The one time it doesn't pay to be an expert in combat... "Well, at the very least, it'll probably be quick and painless. Might as well get this over with..." he mumbled before cautiously edging his way out into the open space, the smell of burnt leaves lingering below his nostrils, a prelude to his own inevitable demise. Without his spear, the weapons collector is forced to curl the fingers on his hands into tightly balled fists. There would be no fanfare this time, no proud declarations of valor, no reason to issue such bold challenges.
As he prepared to face an ignominious end, however, Gilgamesh took notice of the Tonberry's apparent demeanor, and furrowed his brow when his instincts for battle failed to detect any sort of hostility from the knife-wielding critter. In fact, the Tonberry almost seemed more preoccupied with their immediate surroundings than with the prospect of enacting horrific revenge against anybody in general, much less a particular individual. Had they caused all this environmental damage? So much for preventing forest fires...
"Maybe if I move slow enough, I'll be perceived as invisible," Gilgamesh hypothesized without any trace of irony whatsoever. "Or does that only work on dinosaurs? Wait, do dinosaurs exist on this planet? Are Tonberries dinosaurs? Can dinosaurs be invisible, also?" He immediately abandons his half-baked combat stance to straighten himself out, thumbing his chin contemplatively as more questions continued to pour into his immediate headspace.
Honestly, if Gilgamesh gets stabbed here, it's entirely his fault.
"Well, they can't stab me if they can't see me!" reiterated Gilgamesh, waving an open hand in front of his face for added emphasis.
