|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chapter Two!
Wombie stepped out into the ring. Suddenly, he realized that he was wearing a silly tricorn pirate's hat. He stared meaningfully at Kit, but the pirate made some show of not meeting his eyes as he moved quietly through the crowd taking bets. Wombie angrily tossed the hat aside.
Yoda stood in the Green corner, flexing and posing. Arcilte worked over his Master's shoulders with a towel.
"Be careful, Master Yoda. He's wearing that 'Iron Paw' thing. And we've all heard about the dirty tricks the SF troopers use when they're in a fight."
Yoda snorted. "Young one, when 900 years old YOU reach, understand dirty fighting, you will!"
Meanwhile, in the Black corner, Killa was adjusting Wombie's rubber mouthpiece. Wombie turned to his old comrade-in-arms. "Say, I haven't seen Ben, and this was his idea. Where did he run off to now?"
Killa shrugged. "I think he bumped into Sherbert and Kryo. They ran off to a tavern for some of that cheap swill they call 'beer' around here."
Wombie shook his furry head. "Killa, I dunno about that boy. You'd think after spending a few months with us he'd know good booze when he saw it..."
Killa coughed. "He's never even TOUCHED wines. Rotgut schnapps, ales, whiskeys...Iron Paw, I know Ben's good in a fight, but he's so UNCULTURED. I mean, how can we talk about enjoying the heavenly aroma of a nice Chianti if he's falling over the bar reaching for a bottle of Jack Daniels?"
Quack, working the crowd for bets, turned and narrowed his eyes at Killa. "Hey. He's a teammate. He has SOME taste. And DON'T insult Jack Daniels."
Because of the ongoing battles between the Special Forces and the Fellowship, Theoden had declined the honor of acting as a referee. In desperation, the only "unbiased" applicant that could show up on short notice was Sirian. He strutted to the center of the arena, proudly swirling his cape to show off his kryptonite-green mattress-spring emblem. He reached up and pulled down the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" he intoned. "You're in for a special treat tonight. Two of the most famous emperors in the Metaverse have temporarily set aside their point-grabbing, unwarranted assumptions and substandard tactics to bring you some REAL entertainment! It's time for a grudge match - the Jedi versus the Special Forces!
"These two empires have some history, so you're not just watching a battle, ladies and gentlement - you're watching some old scores being settled, and maybe a few new ones as well. All for charity, of course, so you don't need to feel guilty about cheering for a butt-kicking.
"So, enjoy the show. LET'S GET READY TO RUMMMMBLEEEE!!!!"
The crowd's cheering was deafening; the stomping of twenty thousand feet in unison threatened to bring down the stadium.
Slowly, the two adversaries moved forward to the center of the ring. Wombie flicked his head from side to side; even over the roar of the crowd, the sound of his bones settling and cracking was clearly audible. Yoda, in contrast, stepped calmly forward, narrowing his eyes as he sized up his opponent.
Yoda drew back his cloak with one hand, flexing the fingers of the other as he prepared to summon his lightsaber. Wombie loosened his paw, placed it lightly on the handle of his dull black, monofilament-edged, carbon-fiber military saber.
Sirian glanced quickly at the opponents, and realized that they were paying only the slightest attention to him. And he was standing between them. Hurriedly, he scooped up the folds of his cape and backed up.
The bell rang. Yoda's green saber flared to life. Wombie's sword whistled out of its sheath as if a living predator, eager to slice into its prey.
With a muted crash of sparks, the blades crashed together. The battle was joined.
       
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| it looks like it is in my power to decree Spellforce a Honorary Member. |
|
Hurray to Prime Minister Spellforce! 
       
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
