Scruffie
S
Guest
Oh Dear, more writing. :S
Whatever, I accept this challenge. Working your way through the FF writers, eh? FIne with me.
Whatever, I accept this challenge. Working your way through the FF writers, eh? FIne with me.
I will referee this match for the best of 3 rounds
The Venue will be a small aboned cottage in the mountains, with several rooms, and one upper level, use of weapons is permitted but is restricted to only stabbing weapons (swords, knives etc.)
The Venue will be a small aboned cottage in the mountains, with several rooms, and one upper level, use of weapons is permitted but is restricted to only stabbing weapons (swords, knives etc.)
Scruffie
S
Guest
I do, now go away, relentless spammer man... thing.
*insert default trash talk here*
I'm not good at this, I've already written my entry, now lets get it ON.
*insert default trash talk here*
I'm not good at this, I've already written my entry, now lets get it ON.
Scruffie
S
Guest
(Does that mean I post first? I choose to think it does!)
Scruffieâs car rolled to a halt outside of his small hideaway in the mountains. The cars dented door creaked open and Scruffie stepped out, devoid of his trademark shotgun and chainsaw. He had left them behind out of carelessness, as he had rather stupidly packed while hungover.
The reason he had left âESF Cityâ was that he had managed to piss off Arthos, a scenario which involved a large amount of beer and a certain arena known as Fight Club. Apparently, as soon as he had accepted the deal, and Dpredator had drunkenly agreed to ref, the match had begun. Luckily, both of them were too drunk to do anthing about it at the time, other than collapse menacingly. Although, the following morning, shortly after his hangover had faded, Scruffie dashed out to his car with a lightly packed suitcase.
He was certain Arthos wouldnât be able to follow him, because he had only told one other person of this hideaway. However, he was having some trouble matching faces to names, and couldnât remember who he had told. He trudged up to the front step in a daze as he struggled to remember.
Scruffie pulled himself out of his thoughts and opened the front door, setting his suitcase down. Sighing, he headed for the main room, looking forward to sitting down in front of the fire with The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy , one of his favourite books, and forgetting about all the nasty business with Arthos.
However, he couldnât stop thinking about the man he had told about this cottage. Who was it? Did Arthos know him? Was he likely to tell him?
âHello Scruffie.â The voice that greeted him as he entered the main room made Scruffie jump back into the doorway. A thought suddenly dawned on Scruffie.
âOh bugger, it was you wasnât it?â Groaned Scruffie, as Arthos leapt up from his chair, brandishing a small kitchen knife.
âWe have a small matter to attend to Scruffieâ¦â Arthos flipped the knife over and grabbed it expertly by the tip. âFight Club!â Arthos threw the knife just as Scruffie ran back through the corridor. It imbeded itself in the doorframe.
Scruffie ran down the corridor, and was just reaching for the front door handle, when Arthos came out of a sidedoor. âGah!â Screamed Scruffie, as he dodged to the left and fell back onto the stairs. Another blade was thrown, but luckily it landed in the step just above Scruffieâs head. He grabbed the knife and bolted up the stairs, as Arthos ran angrily after him.
âOh crapâ¦â Scruffie thought. â Thereâs only two ways down from here... and one of thems the express laneâ¦â
Just as Arthos made it up the stairs and on to the landing, Scruffie turned to face him. In such close quarters, Arthos would probably be the victor, due to his highly superior fighting skills, but not if Scruffie thought on his feet.
Sadly, thinking on his feet was not one of Scruffies strong points.
Arthos whipped the blade out of Scruffies hands, and brandished it menacingly, his face sporting a ****y grin. âWhat, no bright ideas, Scruff?â
âEr, Just oneâ¦â Scruffie kicked Arthosâ wrist, sending the knife soaring up into the wooden rafter just overhead, the blade so deep into the wood only the hilt was showing. As Arthos recovered, Scruffie grabbed the hilt, pulled himself up, and planted both feet onto Arthosâ chest and pushed off with all his might. This sent Arthos reeling back, and straight out of the window at the top of the stairs. The accompanying âthunkâ followed by a quiet tinkling of glass made Scruffie cringe.
âWell that worked rather wellâ¦â muttered Scruffie, as he cautiously approached the window. He peered over the edge to find Arthos was nowhwere to be seen. Apparently he had gotten up, but not before kindly leaving a large Arthos-shaped dent on his car. â Oh Buggeryâ¦â moaned Scruffie, as he slapped his forehead. âNot only is he still alive, but now my only form of transport is gone⦠Iâll be walking home tonightâ¦â Scruffie crept downstairs after prying the knife free from the ceiling. He heard the backdoor slam open. He slinked into the main room, hoping he could avoid another confrontation while he came up with a plan.
âSCRUFFIE!â
âOh boyâ¦â The scream came from just behind the kitchen door, which oddly enough, Scruffie was just in front of. The thought occurred to Scruffie that it was a swing door, but sadly this revelation was lost, because by the time it had popped into his head, said door was thrown open into Scruffies rather surprised face.
He stumbled back and fell into the weakened wood trapdoor that led down into the Wine Cellar. He made a quick mental check to fix that if and when he got out of this.
As the wine cellar spun beneath him, an Arthos shaped shadow fell upon him. He tried to clamber up, but couldnât find the strength, so he fell back and thgought to wait until the cellar stopped spinning and decided to obey the laws of physics.
Somewhere, deep inside his only partially consious mind, he thought the fight wasnât quite over yet.
Scruffieâs car rolled to a halt outside of his small hideaway in the mountains. The cars dented door creaked open and Scruffie stepped out, devoid of his trademark shotgun and chainsaw. He had left them behind out of carelessness, as he had rather stupidly packed while hungover.
The reason he had left âESF Cityâ was that he had managed to piss off Arthos, a scenario which involved a large amount of beer and a certain arena known as Fight Club. Apparently, as soon as he had accepted the deal, and Dpredator had drunkenly agreed to ref, the match had begun. Luckily, both of them were too drunk to do anthing about it at the time, other than collapse menacingly. Although, the following morning, shortly after his hangover had faded, Scruffie dashed out to his car with a lightly packed suitcase.
He was certain Arthos wouldnât be able to follow him, because he had only told one other person of this hideaway. However, he was having some trouble matching faces to names, and couldnât remember who he had told. He trudged up to the front step in a daze as he struggled to remember.
Scruffie pulled himself out of his thoughts and opened the front door, setting his suitcase down. Sighing, he headed for the main room, looking forward to sitting down in front of the fire with The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy , one of his favourite books, and forgetting about all the nasty business with Arthos.
However, he couldnât stop thinking about the man he had told about this cottage. Who was it? Did Arthos know him? Was he likely to tell him?
âHello Scruffie.â The voice that greeted him as he entered the main room made Scruffie jump back into the doorway. A thought suddenly dawned on Scruffie.
âOh bugger, it was you wasnât it?â Groaned Scruffie, as Arthos leapt up from his chair, brandishing a small kitchen knife.
âWe have a small matter to attend to Scruffieâ¦â Arthos flipped the knife over and grabbed it expertly by the tip. âFight Club!â Arthos threw the knife just as Scruffie ran back through the corridor. It imbeded itself in the doorframe.
Scruffie ran down the corridor, and was just reaching for the front door handle, when Arthos came out of a sidedoor. âGah!â Screamed Scruffie, as he dodged to the left and fell back onto the stairs. Another blade was thrown, but luckily it landed in the step just above Scruffieâs head. He grabbed the knife and bolted up the stairs, as Arthos ran angrily after him.
âOh crapâ¦â Scruffie thought. â Thereâs only two ways down from here... and one of thems the express laneâ¦â
Just as Arthos made it up the stairs and on to the landing, Scruffie turned to face him. In such close quarters, Arthos would probably be the victor, due to his highly superior fighting skills, but not if Scruffie thought on his feet.
Sadly, thinking on his feet was not one of Scruffies strong points.
Arthos whipped the blade out of Scruffies hands, and brandished it menacingly, his face sporting a ****y grin. âWhat, no bright ideas, Scruff?â
âEr, Just oneâ¦â Scruffie kicked Arthosâ wrist, sending the knife soaring up into the wooden rafter just overhead, the blade so deep into the wood only the hilt was showing. As Arthos recovered, Scruffie grabbed the hilt, pulled himself up, and planted both feet onto Arthosâ chest and pushed off with all his might. This sent Arthos reeling back, and straight out of the window at the top of the stairs. The accompanying âthunkâ followed by a quiet tinkling of glass made Scruffie cringe.
âWell that worked rather wellâ¦â muttered Scruffie, as he cautiously approached the window. He peered over the edge to find Arthos was nowhwere to be seen. Apparently he had gotten up, but not before kindly leaving a large Arthos-shaped dent on his car. â Oh Buggeryâ¦â moaned Scruffie, as he slapped his forehead. âNot only is he still alive, but now my only form of transport is gone⦠Iâll be walking home tonightâ¦â Scruffie crept downstairs after prying the knife free from the ceiling. He heard the backdoor slam open. He slinked into the main room, hoping he could avoid another confrontation while he came up with a plan.
âSCRUFFIE!â
âOh boyâ¦â The scream came from just behind the kitchen door, which oddly enough, Scruffie was just in front of. The thought occurred to Scruffie that it was a swing door, but sadly this revelation was lost, because by the time it had popped into his head, said door was thrown open into Scruffies rather surprised face.
He stumbled back and fell into the weakened wood trapdoor that led down into the Wine Cellar. He made a quick mental check to fix that if and when he got out of this.
As the wine cellar spun beneath him, an Arthos shaped shadow fell upon him. He tried to clamber up, but couldnât find the strength, so he fell back and thgought to wait until the cellar stopped spinning and decided to obey the laws of physics.
Somewhere, deep inside his only partially consious mind, he thought the fight wasnât quite over yet.
Scruffie
S
Guest
Oi! Bumped!
Scruffie
S
Guest
I suppose that means I've won. Oh well. 
What a dissappointment.
What a dissappointment.