Fork 25-26 Nov 25

On a day like today, in battle formation, the Misfits stood gleaming. With glossed silver eyes, they'd meet all who faced them. Proudly they stood: Prong, Blade and Concave, awaiting the call of the herald. A cold sun shone down from a windless space, through a permanent cloud from above. The Misfits watched on with single-thought madness, no doubt in mind, prepared for a win. Again, the approach was from beyond portal, where the fury of fire fought steel. The bubbles and steam were met with resistance by those who desired ascendence. Each tale has villains and heroes, of course, but the Misfits were neither. They would do what they do and achieve what they would, at the hands of they who decide. An eclipse was the signal of the battle commencing: a great shadow that blotted the sun. In accordance with plan, and a tightness of chest, Prong and Blade raised to the sky. Concave watched on, with eagerness building; the beast would not come for them yet. Armour gleaming and awaiting instruction, Prong and Blade leaned forward above, poised to attack and excited to strike. The signal was soon to come. With a thought from the beast, they both charged to conflict. Without mercy, the aggressors were beaten. With a hungering growl, the beast wasn't done; it gnashed and moistened its lips. The beast, overbearing, its maw open wide: skewering and cutting, a maelstrom of greed. The brazen chunks were repeatedly sliced. As elegance failed, brute force was required, and the mouth was opened wider, ripped skyward by Prong as Blade held them down. No emotion was felt as they clashed. A team without equal, they did as was ordered, and they found no guilt to be felt, as the lifeblood ejected from consecutive cuts. The screaming emitted was silent. In glorious tandem they worked, side by side, their armour now slick with juices. The sauce that oozed from their foes flowed freely; it was savoury, dark and meaty. As the combat continued, Concave stayed behind them, lingering, awaiting their moment. Their time was coming to reap the glory and to sup on tastes sweeter than gravy. Lethargic from toil, Prong and Blade took a breather. A chill wind blew past them; an awakening neared. The brethren called Concave to join them, so in haste their fellow did near. The mantle was passed, and they were joyfully spurred on. A fight was coming their way. From frigid lands a new foe did swell, with a light, fluffy look that entranced on its entry. So sweet was its scent it must have been poisonous. With the shape of a chalice and joyous appearance, it wobbled towards them, teetering, unstable, as it stretched out some ice-claws that looked perfect for goring. Though the smell was divine, its appearance was unsettling. Pale nectar dripped down from its crown to the floor. What Concave saw shocked and bewildered, beneath the coating it was writhing with eyes. The eyes they watched and crawled with small feet. With many fixed gazes, it stared out with hate. Concave of the Misfits struck first. Through clutches of ice, they dove. A solid hit, no fear did they feel as too fast for the creature they moved. With relish, they struck again in a flash, whittling away, diminishing the creature. The creature slumped and expired soon after. With no way to revive it, they knew it was done for. The beast, with its greed, eyed the remains, with drool on its lips. Concave was deployed. Soon after, nought but morsels were left. The beast entered hungrily to finish the rest. Releasing Concave from its grip, it stepped forward, protruding its tongue. Edging in closer desiring the spoils it lurched forward with menace. When it was done, there was nothing left, not even an ice claw or sweet, sticky mess. The battle was won, like those times before it. The Misfits went home, with no thanks to befall them. They washed till they gleamed, then retired and rested. Another day coming, knowing this one was ending, they'd wait to be drawn once again and be ready.