City of IF

[D-Lotus]

OK, here's the next chapter! I'm sorry if I didn't put as much effort as I could have, but I just wasn't inspired.


The listless night bothered Yahoo. His windowless room oppressed him as he stared at the ceiling, drawing imaginary pictures on it in his mind. The broken lock on the door impeded its closure and subsequently, caused constant creaking. As the badly greased hinges methodically became louder and even agressive to Yahoo’s hearing, his mind escalated in restlesness. The cold room and grey colorblind bricks that constituted it stared back incessantly at his widely opened eyes. Without warning, his hand shot out from under the covers, pointing down at himself.

“That’s enough!” He muttered at the same time he put a temporary sleeping spell on himself and slumped back on his hard bed.

__________________

The next morning bore little hope to his increasing headache. Light filtered through the open door into the other wise still dark room. Yahoo incorporated himself and hurredly got out of bed. He walked to the door, opened it wide, and watched as the light rushed in aggressively. He squinted, got adjusted to the clear light, and searched for the pile that made up his exquisite and comprehensive wardrobe: a big robe and a pair of sandals. His hat hung on the head of the stone like bed. On top of the pile of clothes, lay a paper, carefully folded. Yahoo unfolded it and checked the time of his preliminary battle. He had signed up conspiciously on the second day from his arrival, almost secretely. There were almost five hundred registered contestants, and only 32 would make it to the important battles; the preliminaries were a way of separating the better mages from the worse.

He quickly complied to the subliminal demand of his clothes, and put them on carefully (meaning he put his robe on before his hat). Finally, he slipped into his sandals. He suddenly realized that his human nature was calling for a human necessity and rushed outside. He returned, quite satisfied, his wrinkled face a picture of contentness. He picked up the carrot given to him by the bizarre men and a few pieces of silver, stuffing them into one of the pockets of his robe. Then, looking back carefully at his strangely anointed “home”, he walked out. Two minutes afterwards, he walked back in, tried to lock the door, gave up, realized he had nothing valuable anyway, and walked out again.

As he made his way through the busy and crowded streets, chariots, carrying the highly privileged, screamed by, blowing gusts of wind and dust into the unlucky few who dared to stray from the tightly knitted walking space of the cobbled streets. The absent minded old man, of course, became a victim to these attempts to his health. As he walked indifferently through the crowds, the provoking snickering, and the fingers pointing at the antiquated old man, he became conscious that his sophisticated and treasured dress might suffer in the tournament. And what a gentile coincidence when through the chubby faces of a group of school girls, became visible the magnificent store Yahoo had been looking for? He stepped in; dodging the group of school boy’s chasing the school girls with wands.

It was a magnanimous shop; it was a blissful town of dynamically different textiles. Yahoo smiled, wrinkles creasing all the way down and throughout his long crinkly white beard. A shopkeeper appeared from under the layers of colors and patches of unfinished work. The man was smiling, the pleasure of attending his thirtieth customer in the last three hours evident in his face. For a while the two men smiled at each other, a comical situation, until the shopkeeper decided to give the first step in what would be a very fulfilling conversation.

“May I help you, Sir?”

Yahoo stepped out of the shop, his robe was folded and he carried it on his side. The extravagant colors of his bright yellow shirt and bright red jeans sparkled in the sun. He proudly looked around like a newly made man as he rapidly made his way to the tournament grounds.

On his way there, his “bright” thoughts were interrupted by a disruption in the crowd that had formed around some sort of palanquin. Yahoo ignored it and walked proudly through the palanquin admiring crowd.

His rapid pace soon placed him to his amazement in the sight of the great tournament grounds. The high walls created an effect of awe on the old man. He stopped and remained contemplating the stadium that echoed the escalating voices and cheering into the chilly morning air. A sudden uncomfortable itch distracted him from his thoughts. He pondered on his decision to buy the “jeans” which the shopkeeper had promised was the “latest fashion”.

As he walked the stone path that led him into the building from who’s side hung an ample sign reading “Contestants Here!”, a middle aged man in a strange coat came into his attention. What a eccentric old man, he thought.

The walls inside were lined with chairs and stools, as well as nervously laughing young and older mages. Yahoo walked confidently to the paper strewn desk. He gave his name, and the attendant searched wildly among the disordered files. Finally, the young man brought up two papers up to Yahoo’s face triumphantly, shaking them demonstratively until Yahoo’s serene face calmed his feverish mind. First name? Yahoo. Last name? None. The young man asked if the gentleman would like to take a small survey, to which the gentleman responded that indeed he would not like to; the young man sighed relieved, laying his pencil down.

“Your battle will begin in thirty minutes, sir. Your opponent today is Harold Farlee, sir. An usher will inform you when to step into the battle field, sir. Good luck, sir.”

“Thanks!”

Yahoo turned, walked to the nearest chair, and fell asleep.
__________

“Mr. Yahoo!” said a gruff face.

Yahoo blinked, surprised, and got up from the chair he had been sprawled on a moment before. The other mages looked at him curiously.

“Your opponent is waiting for you, Mr. Yahoo.”

“Ah! Yes, I’m going.”

He walked out of the room and crossed into an adjacent corridor. The usher alluded with a raised finger for Yahoo to cease whistling, an activity he had begun as soon as his feet had carried him into the said corridor. The door opened a crack, then swung wide, and light rushed into the dark corridor, causing Yahoo to squint for the second time that morning. He peeped outside, and gasped at the quantity of people sitting in the stands. A second later, he had composed himself and was back to normal.

“Well, it seems my name is being given its due credit.” he said amiably to the morose usher.

The stands were full, brimming with all social classes, although the poor tended to be in the most undesirable seats. At least it’s sunny. Two men were hurredly taking off the names of the competitors that had just battled from a big billboard. Gorin. What a dumb name. He watched proudly as his own name was erected, then the old man walked into the arena. Another man was already standing on one end of the big arena, which Yahoo calculated to be no bigger than 60 yards of length and 10 of width. As he walked through the arena, his “bright” complexion seemed to draw laughs from his opponent and the huge crowd gathered. He could see those using magical goggles to watch him closely through the shimmering protecting shield. The lyceum components were nowhere to be seen, or were missed by the old man’s tired vision. It seemed that the posterior battle had been tough; the crowd was excited. The reason for this could be that it was the first day that battles begun. After the second day, the crowd usually simmered down, until the final matches. The crowd began doing the wave and laughed. He again ignored them and observed his opponent out of the corner of his eye. He was dressed in a long tunic, which did not befit his bulging stomach. His face was dirty, but he had managed to shave to maintain in a good appearance throughout the competition. He had a rugged composition, but a certain imbalance of character. A pudgy, aggressive man, it seemed. Yahoo knew better than to trust his first assertion about an opponent, so he reserved his judgment. The pudgy man looked at Yahoo straight in the face and sneered contemptfully.

“Old man, you seem to have walked into a women’s shop.”

“You seem to have walked here from a bakery yourself. The dough must have rubbed off.”

He pointed his pudgy finger at Yahoo menacingly.

“Expect no mercy now, you sagging heap of bones”

As he said so, a voice exploded from somewhere unknown to Yahoo. It seemed to be mocking.

“OUR TWO NEXT CONTESTANTS MAY NOT BE KNOWN TO YOU YET, BUT BY THE LOOKS OF ONE OF THEM, YOU CAN TELL THEY’RE GOING FOR GREAT THINGS!”

The crowd roared.

“AND NOW, FOR OUR SECOND BATTLE OF THE DAY, WE BRING TO YOU: HAROLD FARLEE!”

A portion of the crowd seemed to identify the pudgy man, and cheered in a subjective and arrogant manner.

“AND WHO OTHER TO BATTLE HAROLD THAN…MR. YAHOO?!!”

Yahoo shook his fist above his head at the mention of his name, but only to elicit jeers and laughter from the spectators.

"CONTESTANTS…*snicker*, IT'S LAST ONE STANDING, BE INVENTIVE...AND FIGHT"

The crowd suddenly grew quiet, as if a wave, roaring, had crashed on to the cliffs and had sputtered and foamed irately as it returned to the sea.

Silence reigned. The two inverse men sought the weak point in each other. Then Yahoo reached back and scratched his neck.

A murmur arose among the spectators.

The fat man reacted, attempting neither a defense shield nor anything close to it. Instead, he simply attacked, a smile playing on his face.

Yahoo’s assumption rate seemed to have reached the 100% marker.

Two knives appeared out of thin air and immediately began an unwavering course towards Yahoo.

Yahoo frowned. As his mouth made that downward movement, two loafs of bread made their appearance in the path of the two knives. The two knives slammed into the comestibles audibly. Yahoo smiled and the knives turner into cucumbers. The fat man suddenly stopped, the smile gone, replaced by incredulity.

“Are you trying to make a fool of me?” he cried.

The crowd was silent as the hot rays of sun beat down on the two men in the arena, listening precautiously through magical equipment.

Yahoo shrugged.

Three words appeared in red neon in the sky, right above the cluster of people who were now glued to their seats. Heads turned skyward as the strange letters began to form among the clouds in bright red colors.

YES

The spectators burst into laughter. The joke did not seem to have the same effect on Harold, and he steamed internally (somewhat externally as well). He raised his hands high and mighty, preparing something troublesome.

“Now you’ll see, old man!”

The crowd jumped out of their seats, resuming their jeering tone; this time who it was intended for remained an enigma.

A beaker of acid appeared above Yahoo’s head. It suddenly released its content above Yahoo’s head. With a jerk of the arm, a marble umbrella appeared over his head, protecting him from the deadly liquid. He held the umbrella in his hand patiently as the liquid deceased in it’s trajectory from the sky.

The pudgy man grew red like a tomato. He gathered his arms high again, and this time a woman fainted in the crowd. Yahoo watched reflexively. Suddenly Harold brought his arms down, and a bolt of lightning shot out at the speed of light.

The spectators, acting as a single organism, gasped.

The pudgy man called Harold, who had being fighting the mage Yahoo, found himself being attended by the mage doctors as they quickly worked to distill the electric bolts that were running through his body as he convulsed horribly. Yahoo watched from a spot thirty feet away.

The crowd had sat back down, awestruck.

The fight was over.

And still the only sound was that of the rustling and shouting of the medical crew. Suddenly the voice whose destination and original location were undiscernable boomed into the arena, this time carefully respectful.

“CONTESTANT YAHOO WINS!”

He had anticipated the move, and the moment after the bolt had been released, he had skillfully switched places with Harold through a mobilization spell. As Harold, defenseless, watched his own lightning hit him on the chest and send him sprawling backwards, Yahoo observed from the position through which the lightning had been released.

“CONTESTANT HAROLD FARLEE ELIMINATED!”

Yahoo began walking towards the exit door.

“ CONTESTANT YAHOO WILL GO ON TO THE NEXT BATTLE, SCHEDULED FOR THURSDAY IN THE EVENING!”

The old man reached the door, bowed, and exited.

“TICKETS ARE AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE AT THE FRONT DESK.”

The door creaked as it swung in its hinges, slamming shut on the last minute, aided by a gust of wind.

“THIRD BATTLE COMING UP SHORLY, PLEASE WAIT PATIENTLY.”

The crowd roared, headwear of all kinds flying up into the sky, then landing neatly in the center of the arena.

Yahoo had won only by conjuring a marble umbrella and two loafs of bread. He had used strategy, not force, to win the battle.

He walked out into the sunlight, knowing that the indulgent crowd had already forgotten him and were cheering now for another, and yet satisfied with his actuation.
____________

A few hours later found him resting leisuredly in the tavern. He watched Jakeen make his way through the tables and made him a signal. Jakeen reminded him of the boy he had traveled with. His meager few coins had not allowed him to keep the boy with him anymore, so he had set him off back in the caravan to his family. It had been a sad departure, but he hadn’t expected to lose money so fast. The latest addition to his wardrobe would put him on a tight edge until the tournament was over. Jakeen finally caught on and sat down with Yahoo. There was an uncomfortable smile sketched on his face. Yahoo let him talk.

“Well?”

Jakeen thought about the best way to respond, then finally gave Yahoo a clear honest answer.

“I joined the tournament.”

The boy waited for symptoms of distress on his teachers face. Yahoo hailed the tavern keeper and asked for another glass of fermented drink. Then he turned his attention upon his student.

“Then you know our lessons cannot continue anymore; how could I be teaching my possible opponent?”

The tavern keeper brought the drink, and Yahoo passed it over to Jakeen.

“Drink, and our ways will be parted.” said the aged wizard with a smile.

Jakeen drew the mug to his lips and drank.
__________________

It was truly a beautiful evening, beautiful only in comparison to the sunny morning. The hues in the sky had receded to a gentle pink. The crowds and busy bustle had dissipated, although people still lounged or strolled like Yahoo on the streets, pleasantly observing the attractions and market stalls.

Suddenly something behind him caught his eye. He turned around but saw no one, only a few young men walking together.

He kept walking, this time alert. Something caught the corner of his eye again, and this time he turned to see a flicker.

An invisibility spell!

Someone was following him. He kept his normal pace, acting unaware. He turned into another street and watched behind him. The flicker appeared again. Now he was sure he was being followed. What should he do? He could lose him, or he could play with him and find out who it is…

Ok, so what do you want to do with this guy who's following Yahoo and how? Please, I'm asking all team members to respond. Thank you!

[Key]

Nicely done, D. I really liked the description of the battle.

I think we should try to get the drop on whoever's following us. Use strategy: whoever it is doesn't know we know about them, so use that to our advantage. Get into a position where we can capture and question them.

[kenshin himura]

Yes we should play with this poor unimaginetive fool and gets us some info!

[Chainfire]

oooooooo my yes, playing with peoples minds is always fun. keep the poor bloke thinking that you don't know he's there and then pounce. nice battle also, the bread was really funny.

[D-Lotus]

Thanks!

Well, so how are we going to capture him?

Turn a corner, and wait till he comes? Or something more imaginative? He might use a heat spell to detect us waiting behind the corner though...

[Key]

We could go into a crowded area so that he has to try hard to avoid being bumped into. That might get him distracted and off-balance, and then we might be able to slip away and then circle back and surprise him.

Or we could create some sand or smoke so that we could detect him more easily. Or maybe create a trap around a corner, like a bunch of giant sticky spider webs to wrap him up.

[D-Lotus]

OK, good ideas, but just remember, this guy might (and it seems so) be a proffesional spy...so he might have some tricks up his sleeve. ;)

[D-Lotus]

C'mon! No more suggestions?

[kingcappie]

I'm sorry I took so long to respond. Good chapter. I was thinking if you speed up and round a corner, then maybe magically create a stumbling block and mud puddle for the person to fall into, or something similar to that. Then you have the advantage of having caught him shadowing you, and maybe you can make demands. Find out why he's following you.

[D-Lotus]

Thanks Kingcappie. Alright, polls up. :D

[kenshin himura]

good! the spider web thingie was a great choice! guess you know what i voted for!!! WAY TO GO YAHOO!!!!! YEAY!!!!!

[D-Lotus]

Well, it seems flagrant that that option is winning.

[kenshin himura]

wow where is every one? its been a while scince this has been responded to