THE TARTAN TEMPLAR
THE DIRGE OF WEEDS
“Hey, you! What side are you on?” a Temple Heaven fighter growled in Chinese, towering over the sallow intruder.
His bronze buttons glanced up at the inquisitor, unfazed by its snotty-nosed attitude. He chewed his food methodically, hoarding it before his mouth. He neither understood, nor cared about what it was asking him – his biscuit managed much better personality and worth. A casual glance at the company it kept revealed the dependence on large numbers; 10 weeds total.
“Wait. Wait, let me handle this, my friend,” spoke a British man in Chinese, coming through the group.
It gently brushed its friend aside, thinking itself capable of handling the little gardener that had come for them. He nibbled his biscuit contemplatively.
“Hullo, mate. You've gotten lost, haven't you?” it asked him, “This really isn't the place for reenactments and theatrics, isn't it?
You silly git.”
They all laughed...
*CRACK* ... the Brit stumbled back onto its fanny, crying woefully as blood gushed out its nose, whetting the grass. The other 9 weeds blanched, shouting in unison;
none of them had seen the blow despite watching intently. He put the rest of his biscuit in his sporran and adjusted his bonnet -- a signal to the two taller, similarly robed Scotsmen a couple paces behind him, their bagpipes at the ready.
♪ Bawwweeawn ♪
“Argh! Gerr-em-off me, stupid prats!” the Brit wailed, its assailant mounting him.
*CRACK-CLACK* and its jaw broken, 1 weed wailed no more. The others clambered atop him, cussing in native tongue at their gardener.
♪ bwaweewa ♪ In five short seconds, the weeds were groaning, moaning, whimpering, now pulled up as they laid sprawled besides his first victim. Some clutched their broken kneecaps, others had nothing to clutch with, their limbs dislocated. One weed curled fetally, its hands at where its ears had been.
♪ bwedee ♪
“What, what are you doing? That's too extreme! This is a tournament,” another weed shouted, coming towards him with 12 other weeds in need of uprooting.
He vanished. They gasped.
♪ dededaw ♪ One weed pointed a nanosecond too late at the trail of footprints stamped into the ground...
*CRACK-ACK-ACK* Its fingers bent back by his gnarled fists. It tried to run, but to no avail; the tartan anchor wouldn't let go. It squirmed frantically, looking at its friends desperately.
“Shoot him, he's one of the Temple Earth champions-” “-no,
stop!”
♪ bawww ♪
12 weeds unleashed their filthy alchemy, as fireballs, lightning bolts, ultra-sharpened rock... it didn't matter to him. A dark green eldritch light surrounded him at the last moment. The smoke then cleared, interrupting their cheering as the tartan templar stood there, their fellow weed at his feet, betrayed.
♪ weeawn ♪
“No way!” “How!?” “That's impossible!” . . .
♪ bwaweewa ♪ He vanished again.
*SPLETCH-SPLITCH* and 7 weeds spoke no more, their ankles, knees, and thighs cut so as to collapse them into writhing agony. The remaining 5 weeds withdrew their weapons, their eyes on his – a dirk with its blade elongated and bloodied.
drip... drip... drip
They charged in, like a circle closing in on its center. That dark green eldritch light flashed, blinding them to the long rod that tripped them.
*WHACK-CRACK-ACK* The previous 7 weeds sat up, to sputter in horror as he stood over one of them, hitting its knees and ankles without mercy. A few weeds, brave as fools, rushed up to push him off.
*WHOOMMPP* They sailed up the valley side, skipping like rocks on the lake shore. Their bodies littered the grounds before the stone structure's open door.
The remaining able weeds fled, but he wouldn't allow it. Weeds shouldn't be allowed to prosper, they choke out the good plants.
♪ bwedee ♪ They fell to their knees, which were broken, and their wrists snapped. Defeated, bewildered, they whetted the grass with their bloody vomit, while he flossed his teeth calmly – his rod had vanished under dark green light.
7 white-clothed referees came running towards him, but stopped short to give him a wide berth -- some grimaced as he cleaned his teeth, staring at them with attentive bronze buttons. “You're outta he-AUGGG!” The rod returned, bashing the white weed's jowls violently aside. The other weeds, startled at the distance he had instantly traveled, reached out to grab him.
♪ dededaw ♪ *SPLOTCH* They crumpled before him, cussing, screaming, most of their fingers lost among the grass. He turned around, his dirk's blade returning to its normal size.
A large group of 20 Temple Earth fighters had been watching him, appalled by the trail of misery and blood following this man. He stared them down, his chin slightly up as though to challenge their resolve.
♪ bawwweeawn ♪ They unleashed a salvo of alchemical assaults upon him, his counter merely a flash of dark green light. The smoke cleared once more, none of them cheering, their eyes glued to where he had stood. An enlarged wooden shield, stuck into the ground, faced them tauntingly. A couple weeds cried out, pointing to a presence racing along the grass around them.
*CRACK-CRACK-SPLIOTCH*
2 weeds faltered, their eyes ripped out, while he wordlessly pounced upon 3 other weeds nearby.
♪ bwaweewa ♪ More fingers, and also a hand stained the ground, their former owners falling before the brutal yet thorough gardener. The other 15 weeds turned to him, their hard-earned discipline melting away. They fired recklessly, killing their five other comrades in a hail of bullets.
♪ bwedee ♪ But he had vanished. Frustrated, they turned to discover 2 of their number knocked-out, their skulls having been clobbered together.
♪ dededaw ♪ 3 more weeds fell, their ankles twisted and wrists snapped. The 10 other weeds retreated, but not before 5 more were uprooted, their shoulders busted and legs crushed.
“What is he!?” a weed shouted, running with its hands on its head.
It then tripped on a rock, spraining its ankle. It turned over, expecting death to be leering down at it; Instead, its eyes widened as 2 more weeds fell besides it, their arms missing below the elbow and feet horribly bent. It squirmed backwards, trying to get away, but then witnessed its last two friends putting up a good fight. Hope returned.
♪ bawwweeawn ♪ It realized that he was just playing with them, though seemed somewhat tired.
*CROCK-CRICK-KRAK* They fell down, the joints in their arms broken and knees inverted. They cried, begging for death as they realized that they couldn't get back up. The gardener merely tapped them both on their heads, pushing them over. It then saw him walking towards it, and realized that it was the last one yet uprooted.
♪ bawwweeawnbwaweewa ♪
It scrambled away, using its arms to move. It didn't dare look back. Its eyes were clouded over with sweat and blood, making it hard to see clearly. It grasped something – that wooden shield... if it could just . . .
♪ bwedee ♪ It looked to its right, seeing the low-heeled boots of the gardener.
*CRUNCH*
The weed howled, its spine broken. It was flipped over onto its back, compounding the agony. Muttering, pleading silently for clemency, it clutched the tartan templar's leg, looking up at him, into his
fearful bronze button eyes.
“W-why? ...why?” it croaked.
He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.
♪ dededaw ♪
“God's will be done,” he replied with a soft, dangerous musical accent,
“on earth as it is in heaven.”
The bleary eyes of the 50th victim rolled back into a faint.
♪ bawwweeawn bwaweewa bwedeede dedaw ♪♪ The 'battle' over, the pipers ceased piping their mournful, heartrending notes.
The tartan templar suspired with relief. He retrieved his targe, transforming it into a piece of floss, which he wrapped around his thumb. His gaze scoured the valley before him, admiring his work that consisted of scattered groups of bodies, blood pools here and there. All dying weeds . . . and yet he had let most of them live, the rest were
accidents.
He opened his sporran, pulling out the rest of his biscuit. Nibbling, he suddenly felt watched, and so turned his head towards the stony structure's entrance. A flash of purple hair caught his eye, renewing his interest and vigor as he walked towards what appeared to be 2 weeds -- one as
black as sin -- and a single dog. He stopped about 15-feet from them, his bronze buttons darting back and forth between Ethan and Vaiya. Swallowing what he had chewed, he glanced at his biscuit and then tossed it to the dog before wiping his hands off. His gaze returned to Ethan again, one bushy eyebrow rising.
“...Baine?” he growled, his visage thickening into a glower.
“MacGregor...” Ethan replied, gulping silently and taking a step back.
The tartan templar smirked . . .
♪ Bawwweeawn ♪ and vanished, one large-knuckled fist bashing Ethan in the chin, the other into Vaiya's diaphragm, so as to rob her breath. They both flew backwards deeper into the stony structure, crashing together in a crumpled heap. MacGregor landed softly next to Akrael. He peered at them as he wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead, totally unaware of the dog's true form:
a weed.
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Originally Posted by Mikael
