Jul 8th 2023, 11:28:46
In a world where death isn't permanent, and the only lasting impacts are pain and embarrassment, the most important thing is reputation.
In this old world, with decades of history, and figures whose stories ring eternal, it was unlikely that a new tale of consequence would be written. And perhaps it wasn't, and these words will be lost, like a leaf in the wind. Nevertheless, a figure rose up in a time of great need. A time of great boredom, a boredom that threatened the existence of all the world, more than any war or warrior ever could. This man was known as Blackhole. Blackhole was a flawed man. His ego was rivaled by none. His skills were on par with those of a talented toddler. His charisma made the ladies gag. His rise to prominence was unexpected, and to this day, unexplainable. But he did rise to prominence. He saw a need for a Resistance to the established guard in this world, but saw no soldiers. Given the size of his ego, he decided to take the homeless population and train them for battle. And train them he did. The homeless, being as pathetic as they are, adored him for the opportunities they gave him. They now had food, clothing, and swords. And it was all due to this Blackhole figure.
The homeless were loyal. They fought hard. They died over and over for Blackhole and his cause. They were slowly turned into a foe that the world had to take notice of. They weren't a threat to the existing powers that were in any meaningful way, but they were certainly a thorn in their side. They couldn't be ignored, only smashed, over and over, to ensure Blackhole and his homeless didn't grow too powerful.
This dynamic existed for some time. Some homeless people eventually decided to go back to their trashcans, as the life of a warrior was too difficult. Others grew and developed, becoming leaders within their ranks. Two such individuals were known as Smokeypond and Milkman. Initially Smokey and Milk were invaluable to Blackhole and his homeless warriors. They helped recruit more homeless, obviously knowing which alleyways to look down. They helped with logistics, tried to provide input during battle planning (although most ideas were very flawed), and attempted to lead on the battlefield.
As time passed, the relationship between Milk/Smokey and Blackhole started to change. Smokey started drinking a lot, and Milk started to believe he knew better than Blackhole. Blackhole was constantly having his decisions questioned. Constantly having to explain himself to the homeless. He didn't mind explaining his rationale, but he did mind defending himself, on a nightly basis, when it was clear the homeless were attempting to lecture their teacher on a topic they had a rudimentary understanding of.
Blackhole grew tired. It was an onerous task to lead a group of homeless individuals with a modicum success against the titans of the world. The job was made harder by the constant second-guessing by his favored homeless individuals. On one fateful night, Smokey had a little too much ale to drink, and began running his mouth. He said some extremely cruel things to and about Blackhole, things that seemed to come out of nowhere. On this night, Blackhole had decided it'd be better for him to leave this world. His work here was done. He said his goodbyes that night, and disappeared into the Darkness.
Over the next few months Milkman and some others sent correspondence to Blackhole via carrier pigeon. Blackhole was invited back into other armies, but he declined. He was not interested in that world anymore. The communications between Milk and Blackhole remained cordial. And Blackhole publicly vouched for Milk as the new leader of the homeless, although the name of their warriors had been changed to 'Those with Homes'. Milk had some success. His ranks grew further. The reputation Blackhole had built for the homeless was a solid foundation for Milkman to grow from, and without bombastic Blackhole at the helm, the world did not feel a need to destroy the homeless over and over. This gave Milk and Those with Homes the ability to grow and flourish further. Things were going well.
Blackhole decided to travel back to his old town, to take a stroll through the market, and engage in some light people watching. He didn't want to make a big deal of it, as he had no intention to ever join another military. He simply wanted to exist and be left alone. So he went back to the city, dressed modestly, carried no weapons or armor, and began to build himself a simple life. He watched as Those with Homes marched through the city in their high end armor, utilizing fancy formations. He smiled, seeing that they were in a good place, and they all seemed happy.
A few weeks later, as the sun set on another day, Blackhole happened upon one such soldier in the fields. Keeping his head down, Blackhole had hoped to simply walk past with a head nod and a hand wave. Fate had other plans for Blackhole, however. This unknown individual of Milk's crew viciously attacked Blackhole. Striking him over and over, leaving him inches from dead, before galloping back toward town. Blackhole arose, bloodied and furious. Not understanding what had happened, he flew into a rage. He stood up and began sprinting after the assailant. As he caught him he began flailing his body in any way that seemed harmful. He clawed and hit and bit every part of this assailant that he could, until he was finally exhausted. The assailant had taken some damage, but was able to get away from Blackhole's counter attack.
Blackhole began to travel back to his hut he'd built, hoping to nurse his wounds and understand what had happened. Shortly after arriving back at his hut, the assailant and a friend showed up. This time with an aquatic animal in their hand. A Jellyfish. They busted through the door and yelled 'FVCK JELLYFISH', and as they did, they threw this helpless animal on the ground and stomped the life out of it. Jelly guts flung everywhere, and Blackhole stood there, watching in horror. Then the two men attacked Blackhole again. He was able to put up a defense, but he took more damage. The men left, and Blackhole was stunned.
What was happening? Why had these men, former friends of Blackhole, decided to attack him unprovoked? And to kill that Jellyfish in such a brutal manner? What was happening? He did not understand, but Blackhole rarely cared for understanding. He was a man of passion and action. And a fire had been lit under him, one that hadn't burned in many months. He grabbed the only weapon he could find, a pitchform from his farm, and he rushed toward Milkman and Those with Home's castle. He did not know who was who, as they all wore armor. But he attacked anyone he could find. He screamed about the murder of that innocent Jellyfish. As he smashed people with his pitchfork, he bellowed questions of why. He attacked anyone he could find over the next few hours.
With night falling, Blackhole knew a retaliation was coming. He went back to his hut, and prepared himself for a certain death. Death was an old friend of Blackhole's, a friend that he would not have to wait long to greet. A large portion of Milkmans army arrived, and violently murdered Blackhole.
As Blackhole respawned, he had a chance to collect himself. He did not understand what had happened, but he knew he must be strong in the face of such an attack. Publicly he denounced Those with Homes. He exchanged communication with leaders from Those with Homes, and they assured him that this attack was a mistaken identity attack, and that they felt sorry for what had occurred.
Blackhole accepted their apologies, but remained steadfast in his ever-present defiance of others. He would not be intimidated by Those with Homes. He had stared down the face of evil many times, this was not the face of evil, only a wannabe villain. Privately, Blackhole had hoped things would just go back to normal, however. He was still tired of the life of war. He wanted to farm his land, and sell his corn at the local market, watching the sun rise and set, day after day. So he went back to his hut, and started working on rebuilding that farm. It wasn't long before men from Those with Homes showed up at his door again.
You can imagine what happened during this visit, and Blackhole once again found himself in the familiar place of respawning.
The death wasn't what shocked him, however. He understood that his reputation was one of vengeance and bloodlust. Those with Homes were surely terrified of Blackhole becoming reignited by the flames of war, and rebuilding a war machine. What shocked Blackhole was the propaganda in the town-news the next day. Stories of how Blackhole had gone mad as a leader, justifications for the brutal and unprovoked attacks of a weapon-less man seeking to live his days in peace. Terrible, terrible writing, clearly intended to be an imitation of the war propaganda that Blackhole himself was so well known for.
So Blackhole did what Blackhole does. He pen'd a response, and sent it out to the world, so that they may know the truth.
What the world decides to do with said response is yet to be seen, but it seems unlikely that this is the end of the story of Blackhole.
In this old world, with decades of history, and figures whose stories ring eternal, it was unlikely that a new tale of consequence would be written. And perhaps it wasn't, and these words will be lost, like a leaf in the wind. Nevertheless, a figure rose up in a time of great need. A time of great boredom, a boredom that threatened the existence of all the world, more than any war or warrior ever could. This man was known as Blackhole. Blackhole was a flawed man. His ego was rivaled by none. His skills were on par with those of a talented toddler. His charisma made the ladies gag. His rise to prominence was unexpected, and to this day, unexplainable. But he did rise to prominence. He saw a need for a Resistance to the established guard in this world, but saw no soldiers. Given the size of his ego, he decided to take the homeless population and train them for battle. And train them he did. The homeless, being as pathetic as they are, adored him for the opportunities they gave him. They now had food, clothing, and swords. And it was all due to this Blackhole figure.
The homeless were loyal. They fought hard. They died over and over for Blackhole and his cause. They were slowly turned into a foe that the world had to take notice of. They weren't a threat to the existing powers that were in any meaningful way, but they were certainly a thorn in their side. They couldn't be ignored, only smashed, over and over, to ensure Blackhole and his homeless didn't grow too powerful.
This dynamic existed for some time. Some homeless people eventually decided to go back to their trashcans, as the life of a warrior was too difficult. Others grew and developed, becoming leaders within their ranks. Two such individuals were known as Smokeypond and Milkman. Initially Smokey and Milk were invaluable to Blackhole and his homeless warriors. They helped recruit more homeless, obviously knowing which alleyways to look down. They helped with logistics, tried to provide input during battle planning (although most ideas were very flawed), and attempted to lead on the battlefield.
As time passed, the relationship between Milk/Smokey and Blackhole started to change. Smokey started drinking a lot, and Milk started to believe he knew better than Blackhole. Blackhole was constantly having his decisions questioned. Constantly having to explain himself to the homeless. He didn't mind explaining his rationale, but he did mind defending himself, on a nightly basis, when it was clear the homeless were attempting to lecture their teacher on a topic they had a rudimentary understanding of.
Blackhole grew tired. It was an onerous task to lead a group of homeless individuals with a modicum success against the titans of the world. The job was made harder by the constant second-guessing by his favored homeless individuals. On one fateful night, Smokey had a little too much ale to drink, and began running his mouth. He said some extremely cruel things to and about Blackhole, things that seemed to come out of nowhere. On this night, Blackhole had decided it'd be better for him to leave this world. His work here was done. He said his goodbyes that night, and disappeared into the Darkness.
Over the next few months Milkman and some others sent correspondence to Blackhole via carrier pigeon. Blackhole was invited back into other armies, but he declined. He was not interested in that world anymore. The communications between Milk and Blackhole remained cordial. And Blackhole publicly vouched for Milk as the new leader of the homeless, although the name of their warriors had been changed to 'Those with Homes'. Milk had some success. His ranks grew further. The reputation Blackhole had built for the homeless was a solid foundation for Milkman to grow from, and without bombastic Blackhole at the helm, the world did not feel a need to destroy the homeless over and over. This gave Milk and Those with Homes the ability to grow and flourish further. Things were going well.
Blackhole decided to travel back to his old town, to take a stroll through the market, and engage in some light people watching. He didn't want to make a big deal of it, as he had no intention to ever join another military. He simply wanted to exist and be left alone. So he went back to the city, dressed modestly, carried no weapons or armor, and began to build himself a simple life. He watched as Those with Homes marched through the city in their high end armor, utilizing fancy formations. He smiled, seeing that they were in a good place, and they all seemed happy.
A few weeks later, as the sun set on another day, Blackhole happened upon one such soldier in the fields. Keeping his head down, Blackhole had hoped to simply walk past with a head nod and a hand wave. Fate had other plans for Blackhole, however. This unknown individual of Milk's crew viciously attacked Blackhole. Striking him over and over, leaving him inches from dead, before galloping back toward town. Blackhole arose, bloodied and furious. Not understanding what had happened, he flew into a rage. He stood up and began sprinting after the assailant. As he caught him he began flailing his body in any way that seemed harmful. He clawed and hit and bit every part of this assailant that he could, until he was finally exhausted. The assailant had taken some damage, but was able to get away from Blackhole's counter attack.
Blackhole began to travel back to his hut he'd built, hoping to nurse his wounds and understand what had happened. Shortly after arriving back at his hut, the assailant and a friend showed up. This time with an aquatic animal in their hand. A Jellyfish. They busted through the door and yelled 'FVCK JELLYFISH', and as they did, they threw this helpless animal on the ground and stomped the life out of it. Jelly guts flung everywhere, and Blackhole stood there, watching in horror. Then the two men attacked Blackhole again. He was able to put up a defense, but he took more damage. The men left, and Blackhole was stunned.
What was happening? Why had these men, former friends of Blackhole, decided to attack him unprovoked? And to kill that Jellyfish in such a brutal manner? What was happening? He did not understand, but Blackhole rarely cared for understanding. He was a man of passion and action. And a fire had been lit under him, one that hadn't burned in many months. He grabbed the only weapon he could find, a pitchform from his farm, and he rushed toward Milkman and Those with Home's castle. He did not know who was who, as they all wore armor. But he attacked anyone he could find. He screamed about the murder of that innocent Jellyfish. As he smashed people with his pitchfork, he bellowed questions of why. He attacked anyone he could find over the next few hours.
With night falling, Blackhole knew a retaliation was coming. He went back to his hut, and prepared himself for a certain death. Death was an old friend of Blackhole's, a friend that he would not have to wait long to greet. A large portion of Milkmans army arrived, and violently murdered Blackhole.
As Blackhole respawned, he had a chance to collect himself. He did not understand what had happened, but he knew he must be strong in the face of such an attack. Publicly he denounced Those with Homes. He exchanged communication with leaders from Those with Homes, and they assured him that this attack was a mistaken identity attack, and that they felt sorry for what had occurred.
Blackhole accepted their apologies, but remained steadfast in his ever-present defiance of others. He would not be intimidated by Those with Homes. He had stared down the face of evil many times, this was not the face of evil, only a wannabe villain. Privately, Blackhole had hoped things would just go back to normal, however. He was still tired of the life of war. He wanted to farm his land, and sell his corn at the local market, watching the sun rise and set, day after day. So he went back to his hut, and started working on rebuilding that farm. It wasn't long before men from Those with Homes showed up at his door again.
You can imagine what happened during this visit, and Blackhole once again found himself in the familiar place of respawning.
The death wasn't what shocked him, however. He understood that his reputation was one of vengeance and bloodlust. Those with Homes were surely terrified of Blackhole becoming reignited by the flames of war, and rebuilding a war machine. What shocked Blackhole was the propaganda in the town-news the next day. Stories of how Blackhole had gone mad as a leader, justifications for the brutal and unprovoked attacks of a weapon-less man seeking to live his days in peace. Terrible, terrible writing, clearly intended to be an imitation of the war propaganda that Blackhole himself was so well known for.
So Blackhole did what Blackhole does. He pen'd a response, and sent it out to the world, so that they may know the truth.
What the world decides to do with said response is yet to be seen, but it seems unlikely that this is the end of the story of Blackhole.