Author's note: Has anyone looked at Specter's new playable sprite and teaser art and then felt both happiness and disappointment? I feel like the new look is FREAKING AWESOME, and at the same time I feel sad the entire front of his cloak disappeared.
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G is for German.
"Wow," Plague Knight marveled at the luxurious deck of the Flying Machine, filled with Hoverhafts and non-flying personnel moving around and chattering in French, "are you all French?"
"Ahh… not all of us." Propeller Knight shrugged. "We have one German. Albrecht!"
"You're not allowed to suddenly disturb my vork!" The German Hoverhaft immediately complained, his heavy accent rivaling the Spin Controller's.
"Say something in German, Albrecht." Propeller Knight ordered, pronouncing the minion's name correctly, but with great difficulty with the 'r'.
"Ich weiss nicht… ach! Du siehst nicht gut aus! Du bist so hässlich!"
"What did you say?"
The German only laughed mischievously and went back to work. Plague Knight tapped the dumbfounded Frenchman lightly.
"Why do you have a German?"
Propeller Knight spun around and laughed. "He's part of the French-German friendship exchange program! If my delegate is telling the truth, he is having a fun time! The Germans', though, seems to always be in the most negative of moods…"
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G is for German numbers.
"Sixty-ten!" Propeller Knight grinned innocently, his teeth pristine and gleaming. "French!"
Polar Knight groaned and put his massive hand firmly on his forehead. Albrecht hung his head, leaning on his dear halberd and sighing deeply.
"Sixty-eleven, sixty-twelve…"
"This is why I dropped French class…" Mole Knight whispered to himself, grumpily clacking his claws on the table.
"Sixty-ten-seven!"
"Please, someone, maketh him stop!" King Knight screeched.
Albrecht perked up. His face brightened, and then blurted out, "One and twenty!"
The Frenchman grinned widely, stood up, and grabbed one of the handles on his helmet. He was lifted off the floor with a great wind, and he landed just before his subordinate. "Four twenties! Quatre vingt dix! Four-twenty-ten!"
"Four twenties? Ridiculous! Expecting everyvon to know multiplication at birzh!" Albrecht bantered back.
"Ridiculous?" He gasped, mocking the German. "You say your numbers out of order!"
"At least zhey are systematic! Ones place first before the tens! Like fünfundfünfzig!"
"And you write them in one word! Pah!"
"Aha!" The Hoverhaft thrust his jaw out, stabbing his superior with his index finger. "Can you take zhis?"
"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing." Plague Knight admitted loudly, going behind Mole Knight, who patted his shoulder.
"Polar Knight is doing nothing." Mole Knight whispered, pointing to the facepalming Norse shoveler. "It's best we follow his example and bury our faces into our claws."
Albrecht smiled in confidence as he said his next word. "Siebenhundertsiebenundsiebzigtausendsiebenhundertsiebenundsiebzig!"
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G is for getting drunk.
"Servant."
The maiden gasped and looked wide-eyed at her master in surprise. "Y-yes?" And when did you change your cloak, she didn't add.
Specter Knight held out the large glass of liquor he had found earlier that day, miraculously still full despite the chaotic ten-man brawl (which he wasn't truly involved in until Treasure Knight had the wonderful idea of acquiring a silver spear and stabbing it through where his heart was) and the showdown with the Enchantress. "I want you to drink this."
She looked at the mysterious liquid, shimmering in the low light, and took the glass hesitantly. "It… doesn't smell nice-"
"Drink it." He sternly ordered. "And tell me how it feels over time."
The maiden looked at the glass with disbelief and just complied, sipping the liquor slowly and surely. The liquid burned her throat, scorching it so much she almost choked, but noted the delicious aftertaste.
"Master, it tastes like… blood, I think. It's blood with a liberal amount of ground chili pepper."
The apparition raised his brows. "Blood? Have you tasted true-"
She drank more of it. "Yes, definitely blood. And…" she stiffened, a wide smile on her face. He cautiously floated a bit backwards, "it tastes wonderful. Where did you get it?"
He quietly watched her gulp down the rest of the drink, with a wild expression. Her eyes were wide and began to turn red, and her smile was unsettlingly wide and crazed. He prepared himself. The liquor worked very fast and strong, so that meant everyone else was drunk by the time the first liquid archer dropped from the ceiling.
That left with being stuck to deal with his drunken personal helper. Experiment success. Ghosts doget drunk by the liquid. He sighed, relieved he didn't drink that chili-blood mix.
"Master… where'd you get it…?" She swayed towards him, languidly letting her hands up his helmet. "You should… drink that as well…"
"No." He answered immediately. He shoved her off of him and touched her forehead with a finger. At a touch she let out a small moan, and fell to the ground. He picked her up and floated towards her quarters. She was already on the verge of passing out. She stuck her index finger up and swirled it around in the air.
"Look… pretty butterflies…"
"There are no butterflies here." Specter Knight muttered.
"Flowers… one of them is smiling. It says 'howdy'!" She gasped. "I haven't seen talking flowers… do flowers have souls too and go to an afterlife? La… la la… la… la la la la…"
The apparition glared down at his singing assistant and grimaced. Specter Knight floated to the bedside and negligently plopped his humming aide down. She giggled and curled on the bed, hugging her pillow and burying her face in it, declaring all intentions of loving it to the end of time. He grimaced again and shook his head. He sat on the floor, waiting for her to pass out. He pulled his helmet's visor up to have the best hand-to-forehead contact possible, not knowing whether he would regret or congratulate himself on the success of his little experiment.
Prior to that, all of his 'experiments' ended up in victory highs. That day, the record was broken, and he was getting one hell of a headache and not a high, especially because of her drunken conversation with an imaginary talking flower.
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G is for guards.
The skeleton languidly turned its decaying head to its other fellow guards, grasping its sword clumsily. It let out a small grunt.
"What… are we… protecting again…?"It vocalized in its undecipherable language. The others shrugged.
"Protect… the chest… at all costs…"The second, whose left foot was clubbed, answered, pointing to the chest behind them.
"It's what… the master… had decreed before…"The third grumpily added, brandishing its rusty sword. "We cannot complain… or else… we do not want… what he can do… to us…"
"The chest… we must guard…"The second repeated.
"Guard… the chest… or be punished…"The third warned. "It's… important… to the master…"
"No complaints…"The first groaned, turning to the ladder leading to their room. "Hear… something…?"
Muffled booms echoed throughout the room, followed by a very quick flash of black and green. The object disappeared in a thick cloud of green and yellow, jumping up high above the three, bombs ready in its left hand. All three sentries raised their blades.
"Protect…"
"The chest…"
"At all costs…"
Woosh. The small bomb zoomed across the room and hit the second skeleton on the head. The gourd-shaped glass exploded into a beautiful pink and purple inferno, engulfing the poor skeleton in its extremely dangerous flames, not even letting it shout as it disintegrated. Bone and armor turned into ash, leaving only its immobile and dead head on the ground.
"Protect…"
"The chest…"
"At all costs…"
Slam.The enemy's staff hit the first guard on its shoulder, followed by a quick but not so powerful punch to the jaw. Its head detached from its body, and the thing pushed its still sapient body to the damned soul water below. The head screeched loudly as the body turned into bubbles. A pink bomb was thrown at it and it was soon turned to gray dust.
"Protect…"
Fwoom. Two bombs lobbed upwards to the third guard. Green fire burst out of it, seemingly homing on the skeleton. It let out an unholy screech as two flames sliced through its leg and chest, falling to the ground. It willed its body to fight back at the approaching living being. Its skeletal hand clutched its rusty sword as the thinglooked down at it with insane eyes. It just dropped a pink bomb and watched it crumble to ash and dust in the purple fire.
Plague Knight hopped away from the remains of the skeletons. He tried pushing the chest's lid up, to no avail. Snarling, he summoned a black-powder bomb and slammed it on the lock. The lock mechanism exploded into tiny pieces, along with part of the lid. He opened the chest with a shrug and peeped inside.
A small locket, blue and gold, rested on top of a very comfortable-looking red cushion and under a small but adorable cloth, twinkled. Plague Knight grabbed it carelessly and burst away, holding the locket by its chain and letting it dangle.
He didn't know that a certain knight would one day visit the chest, only to find the guards he had placed to defend it obliterated. The knight would then panic at the sight of ashes in place of the sentries and the lid of the chest damaged and opened. He would look at the inside of the chest and frantically look for the locket that had once rested comfortably with the red cushion he had made years before and a blanket he had crocheted just the last week. He would lift the cushion up and put it out, only to find no gold and blue locket in the chest. He would have the crocheted blanket in his clenched fist and bang it on the lid of the chest. He would slice the chest in half, and let out an anguished cry to the heavens.
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G is for garbage.
"What's going on in your dig?" King Knight asked the sleepy archaeologist. Mole Knight immediately perked up.
"We found another of the Lost City's garbage dumps!"
King Knight made a disgusted expression.
"We found out that previous inhabitants of the Lost City already had horse toys much like our generation's children's toys…" He rambled on.
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G is for gift.
The child wept, sobbing into his hand. His other hand had a small girl's doll, its head detached. Whenever he looked at the severed head, its red eyes and lips still smiling back at him, he would bawl out louder.
Tinker Knight happened to pass by, and approached the crying child. He put his rough hand on the kid's shoulder and gently smiled.
"What's wrong, little kid?" He kindly asked.
"My sister's doll…" He sniffed and showed him the separated doll. "A bad knight took it and tore the head off!"
"Who's the bad knight?"
"Someone in gold, with a crown on his head!"
Tinker Knight fumed. King Knight.
"My sister is crying back at home and I can't fix this!"
Tinker Knight took the doll and examined it closely. The tiny face smiled at him eerily, seemingly ignoring the fact that its head was ripped away from its body. He looked at the kid at the eye and spoke softly. "Don't worry. I'll fix this for you. Meanwhile… give this to you sister."
He fished out a small box from his pocket. It was a metal box, painted blue with a black button on the top. He nonchalantly tore away a piece of paper stuck to it, the words 'emergency child calming device' written on it.
"Have your sister press this button, alright? It's a surprise, so don't do anything yet!"
The child gasped and grinned. "Thank you, mister knight!"
He zoomed away, running down the cobblestone path as fast as he could, calling a girl's name. Tinker Knight pocketed the doll and took out his wrench.
/later/
"Sister! Look at this! Just press this button! Averynicemanonthecobbleroadwithaweirdmaskandawrenchgavethistomeandtoldmetogiveittoyou-"
The small girl smiled widely and carefully took the box. She happily jammed her tiny finger on the button and watched the box twitch and shake in her hands. The box quickly unfolded itself, showing gears and clockwork turning around and around inside. A smaller box, a very tiny ball in a maze-like structure emerged from the gears. The small girl frowned at it and shook the box.
The ball rolled around, passing through the paths. Music suddenly played from inside the box as she shook it, like a small music box. The girl smiled and listened to the cheery music box.
/that afternoon/
"You made two children cry under my watch." Tinker Knight tightened his grip on his wrench. He fished the torn doll out of his pocket and shoved it on the gilded goob's face.
"So?" King Knight carelessly replied.
Tinker Knight brandished his wrench and ran up to King Knight, hitting the latter square in the head. "You're not going to make the children cry anytime, or gods help you."
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G is for gorgeous.
The Frenchman cracked his hazel eyes open. His entire world spun and warped as he tried looking around. He groaned, recalling not why exactly his head pounded away at his brain with every beat of his heart. He couldn't remember anything after drinking a potion given to him by a Plague Minion that was apparently the wrong vial.
Plague Knight would have a blast of his time sternly reminding everyone why labels are crucial in alchemy. Propeller Knight groaned, vowing never to drink anything Plague Knight did not give. He would trust a deranged alchemist than a mislabeling champion.
Propeller Knight pushed himself up, moaning. The hammer striking his head was hitting him more powerfully, and he teared up. He plopped back on the bed, tears rolling down in pain. He welcomed the cold air soothing his naked torso, spreading his arms out.
"Don't move, monsieur." A voice called out to him. He opened his eyes with a sob and looked at his German subordinate. Albrecht was still scowling, but he seemed less negative in Propeller Knight's blurred vision. He was waving a long silver stick with a small flame in its thick end around him, its purple and green smoke kept in motion by the propeller attached to the Hoverhaft's back.
"Awake now?" A female voice joined in, followed shortly by a door being closed. Propeller Knight instantly turned his head to the woman and grinned.
"Ja, Mona."Albrecht replied, diligently waving the flaming stick around. "I haff been thinking, why not just collect ze smoke and blow it at his face?"
"Medicine doesn't work that way." Mona said, walking to the Frenchman's side and sitting by him. "I'd also be more comfortable if he wasn't…"
"Hnn?" The Hoverhaft raised his brow. Mona pointed to Propeller Knight's naked upper body with a very awkward look. "Oh."
Mona politely pushed Propeller Knight's arms back to his sides and pulled the blanket up to his neck. "How are you feeling?"
Propeller Knight's teeth gleamed audibly. "Lovely, mademoiselle."
Mona just chuckled. The door opened again, and was slammed shut angrily. Her eyes darted to the person by the door and back to Propeller Knight with a mischievous smile.
"You're very beautiful today, Mona." He rambled on. "Your hair shimmers like the night sky. Your eyes gleam like stars, and your smile brightens up my day."
"You're charming."
"And you're a gorgeous woman."
Mona giggled, and Propeller Knight couldn't help but score. Albrecht was frozen on his spot, his eyes twitching and reddening. He watched the newcomer march to the bedside angrily, unable to move in fear for his life and his superior's life.
In Propeller Knight's bleary world, the woman he was wooing was giggling and blushing, and a small bird appeared by him. He looked at the green and black bird and awwed.
"You are very cute and tiny, little bird… what's your name?" He reached up to pat the bird's head, smiling wide. Its hollow and lifeless eyes just stared at him as he ruffled the bird's fabric-like feathers. Mona was hooting and crying from loud laughter, clutching her stomach. Propeller Knight narrowed his eyes in doubt. The cackling from Mona split his world. Everything had felt like he was under water, with distorted sounds and vision, but her laugh was starting to become clearer and clearer. He squinted at the bird he was fondly ruffling and made out its appearance.
Green face and beak, black eyes. Black feathers that felt much like cloth at the back half of the head extending downwards.
Merde.
No wings. The feathers weren't actually feathers. The beak was a polished mask.
Putain de merde.
Suddenly, the fog cleared.
Plague Knight stood there, the fiery eyes under his mask barely visible.
Up next: H is for hangover.
Translations for the not so obvious ones (I see someone French is reading this so I beg you help me we'll be good friends)
Ich weiss nicht… ach! Du siehst nicht gut aus! Du bist so hässlich! - I don't know... ah! You don't look good! You're so ugly!
Siebenhundertsiebenundsiebzigtausendsiebenhundertsiebenundsiebzig - Seven hundred seventy-seven thousand seven hundred seventy-seven