[center][color=c0c0c0][b][u]Slayer[/u][/b][/color]
Level 1
Day 1
Locations: Gentlemen’s Fight Club  /  Tetris Castle Reception Hall
[@Holy Soldier] [@Aether Spawn] [@Dracolunaris] [@Argetlam350] [@Bright_Ops] [@Hylozoist] [@Loki Odinson] [@Lmpkio] [@Simple Unicycle][/center]

Over the entire establishment, a sort of smoky haze hung without cease.  Though not particularly obnoxious by itself, it lent itself completely to the place’s atmosphere.  Its air was a unique cocktail mixed from vintage class, impeccable style, a dose of stuffiness, a hint of grandeur, and an ever-so-slight note of delirium.  Breathing it in might remind one of a boozy pool-hall, but there the similarities ended.  Instead of broken dreams, this hall reeked of old-world pomp.  It swirled propriety and manliness into a concoction found nowhere else but its founder’s distant memories.  Rather than drunks, ne’er-do-wells, vagabonds, curs, and other such swill, it catered to gentlemen.  Throughout the uncrowded rooms they could be found, clad in suit jackets, suspenders, ascots, cummerbunds, clogs, top hats, bowlers, flat caps, and even a kilt or two.  Canes, pocketwatches, monocles, and mustaches were in abundance.  They played cards, swapped old stories, smoked, sipped aged liquor, and -of course- fought.

One such fight raged now.  A burly, mustachioed mountain of a man sparred a stick-thin, slick-haired speedster.  The former’s boxing style hadn’t yet managed to land a hit on his younger, goatee-wearing contender.  In any other establishment, such a bout would have been an unruly brawl worthy of contempt, but here, things were very different.  With every punch, a miniature cyclone of wind spun around the boxer’s arms, and to dodge each knockout blow the speedster moved so quickly he turned into a pinstriped blur.  After all, the duels fought at this Gentlemen’s Club embodied skill and refinement a step above the level of ordinary humans.  With fingers folded into a tent, the club’s owner watched the fight from a luxurious red-cushioned seat on the fringe of the main room.  Contrary to what most might think given his reputation, he did enjoy observing these friendly duels greatly.  New styles of fighting never failed to interest him.  In the bigger picture, however, they weren’t the reason why a smile of contentment adorned his face whilst he puffed his pipe.  Here, in his little corner of the world lost to time, Slayer felt truly comfortable.

A white shape caught his eye.  Last time he checked, the smoke in his club wasn’t nearly thick enough to form a cloud—particularly one with eyes.  On second glance, Slayer spotted a bizarre animal perched atop it.  His wife Sharon, seated by his side, noticed as well.  With one eyebrow wordlessly raised, he watched the [i]thing[/i] approach him.  When it floated only about a foot away, the yellow turtle-create handed him a letter.  He scanned it.  [color=c0c0c0]”A hero, am I?”[/color] he murmured at length.  Glancing at Sharon, he passed it to her so that she could also read.  [color=c0c0c0]”A most interesting proposition.  I’m not anxious to go and deal with someone else’s trouble when there are so many young things chomping at the bit to be heroes, but perhaps this would be an opportunity to observe something truly amazing.  Besides, I could use some air.  May I go, dear?”[/color]

Sharon smiled.  [color=black][b]”You may, darling.  Enjoy yourself!”[/b][/color]

Slayer leaned over and the two shared a kiss.  Then he stood, adjusted his tie, and selected the ‘yes’ option.  A moment later he was gone, and before the dust had a chance to settle, there came a loud [i]thud[/i] as the speedster hit the floor.

[center]-=-=-[/center]

A castle, completely empty, replaced the fight club in Slayer’s view.  [color=c0c0c0]”How uniquely…bland.  Oh?”[/color]  It did not take him long to notice the others, with more appearing every second in flashes of white.  He laid eyes upon several soldiers of various levels of technological advancement, a white wolf, a plumber, a female gremlin, an assassin in black, an assassin in white, and several creatures that defied classification.  Anthropomorphic animals, Slayer decided, was the best way to describe them.  Some looked downright silly, but none so much as the diminutive, oddball orange thing plodding his way.  The vampire couldn’t understand Q-bert, but he could recognize a summons when he heard one.  After taking a puff of his pipe, Slayer placed his hands in his jacket pockets and followed at a leisurely pace.

Soonafter, he found himself in a sort of banquet hall.  Some of the people who Slayer supposed must be fellow heroes set to eating, whilst others set to meeting and greeting.  Bereft of an appetite, he walked until he was decently far away from the others, then pulled out a chair that he angled away from the table before sitting.  Curiosity needled him, but he felt no rush to get answers.  Nobody else paid much attention to him, so he returned the favor, thinking about the letter’s contents while his fingers rested on the sides of his pipe.  Alas, this proved to be a mistake, for when the food fight started, he knew neither how nor why until a large globule of cake riddled with fragments of turkey sailed his way.  The incoming projectile perked him up, and as it bore down upon him he wondered why a perfectly fine piece of desert would be airborne.  Just before it splattered against his suit, he released his pipe with his teeth and exhaled sharply.  The resulting cloud of smoke completely blocked the confection, and it dribbled miserably onto the floor.  Now intrigued, if not amused, Slayer turned his attention back to the general assembly and discovered to his shock a full-blown food fight.  In response, he could only heave a heavy sigh.  [color=c0c0c0]”I hope I have not been invited as a chaperone,”[/color] he murmured.  [color=c0c0c0]That would be a feat of heroism too costly for my blood.”[/color]

Soon after, a pair of doors on the other end of the room opened.  Slayer immediately turned to see the new arrivals.  Much like the group of heroes, there didn’t appear to be a common theme.  Virtually all appeared to have different ‘styles’, to go by art terms.  From this consistency, Slayer felt as though he was beginning to intuit something important.  Those responsible for the mealtime catastrophe attempted to right themselves, but one of the soldiers got Slayer’s attention by accepting fault for the proceedings.  He couldn’t afford Buck much notice before one of the food-fighters made a spectacle of himself with a series of flips ending in a flop, then revealed himself to be someone named Mario who he clearly expected everyone else to be familiar with.  Once that was out of the way, however, a brawny fellow with excellent hair took charge of the situation, informing the heroes of their next destination, and to prepare themselves for it.  Being able to boast a faultless appearance, Slayer stepped forward to join the meeting.

Another table lay before them, and the vampire wasted no time sitting at it.  Of all the heroes present, he was one of the first to do so, though he wondered if the others might view him as unsociable.  He placed his pipe back in his mouth before producing a monocle that he then put into place.  The thought of getting answers, as well as mature conversation, after such a sorry scene gave him a pleasant countenance that he showed to all present before saying a simple, [color=c0c0c0]”Good morning.”[/color]