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A rumor traveled the circles of the supernatural. Mutants heard a safe, underground railroad was being started, inquire at the Summit. The beyond sought the strange power said to rest at the Summit of New York City. The gossip flitted amongst the rest: valuable information was to come to light when dawn broke over the Summit.
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 It's kinda HOT out Here for A true Troll {TRAINING}

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Posts : 27
Join date : 2012-09-10

PostSubject: It's kinda HOT out Here for A true Troll {TRAINING}   Fri Sep 14, 2012 12:50 am

Why the fuck was it so damned hot out here in the middle of the texas desert? Like, what the fuck? It was one thing for it to be hot in the sunshine state of Florida because it was called the sunshine state, but oh fucking no, it had to be Texas that was hotter than hades' penis in the middle of a violent rape sequence. Wait, what in the olympians' names was he doing thinking about Hades or his dick. He had seen enough of that dick's dick while he was in the underworld and he hadn't a single plan to see it again. That was to say that he wasn't going back to hell for there was no way he was going to allow himself to be thrown back into that strange rutt. Given the fact that he had no reason to be in the lone star state he had no idea what to do and so he walked and thought. His thoughts weren't the penacle of pure or what most would consider morally correct, but that was an irrelevant fact since he was the only one besides the one narrating that could see or even imagine them, lest there was a mind reader about, but wouldn't the good Troll notice his mind being read? He sure did hope so, but with his luck he probably wouldn't just because life sucked and he had died once, but hey, how many creatures could say that not even the bowls of hell could hold them? It was right that he had come back because he, the good Sir Trollington the Third didn't deserve to be down there and they all knew it. Even the warden of that prison of souls knew the truth and that was probably why the male was here doing what he was doing, spinning his cane about his left index finger and sliding his right about the rim of his top hat. It was quite the regal thing to do whilst walking in the fucking arid plains of Texas, or Mexico or where ever he was at the moment. It was weird when he couldn't tell, but he had the sun on his side and working against him, luckily his sweat was nothing to swear to and he was fine with the way everything was going on so far. How could he be here in this situation so angrily saturated in he rays that he so loved to absorb and not just be vibrantly abusing his powers? Well, he was where he was headed and the sun was setting after walking for so very long and the first thing he did? Ignore the fucking jibba jabba of the native midgets and grab a nice, tall, bottle of vodka. Step one was to down the fucking thing like there was legitimately no tomorrow, step two was to repeat step one, step three repeat steps one and two whilst adding an extra step three to the mixture of it all. Long story short, the very good Troll was lost to the spirits and it was a very good feeling. Being lost to the liqour wasn't a bad way to live life, especially when coupled with two women of the night to whom he had no reverence as he couldn't understand a damned thing they were saying what so ever. The loss of words helped with the gaining of understanding between the two and it wasn't that he couldn't speak that taco dmv language known as mexican, it was just apparent that no matter what he did the foo's would keep talking. At one point one actually told him to go to hell and with a swing one of the bottles had met her mouth. Before his black out he began a rant of all rants describing from a third person point of view his first experience in hell.

"YOU DUMB WHORE LISTEN TO THE TALE THAT I AM ABOUT TO DELVE INTO AND UNDERSTAND WHAT HELL IS LIKE! Oh damn, Sir Trollington the Third had awoken and it was hotter than the seven sacks of satan. The feeling that over took him was not one of sadness or anguish, but one of sheer anger and disgust. He had no idea where he was but it was pretty toasty and dark, but not like ocularly dark, more like Marilyn Manson, I like to touch myself to the nsync, kinda dark. No, that specific comparison wasn't dark enough to get the point across about this place. While it was quite dry and hot, not very much unlike what the good Troll thought to compare it to now. Yes, Rosie O'Donelle's vagina was a great piece of symblance for this twisted place. The smells of burning flesh tried, to no avail, to act as a sort of inscent to deter the far gone feel of the place, but what was burning flesh to the screams of the damned? Not a damned thing! A thought crossed the mind of the good Trollington in that or this instance though. Wherever he was it was a place that held a time of homely warmth to it that he couldn't help but want to describe. What was this place that felt torn from reality, but real enough to cause the twisted thoughts that coarsed through the dimensional being. A light yellow flash brought him to his knees as pain flowed through his skull at the sight, but as flashes usually did it instantly disappeared and left the royal Sir stupefied, if only momentarily. A shrill screech brought the male back to reality and in reverance to his snap back he was calmed to see that he still had his cane in his hands, but where was it? Where was the one thing that meant more to him than life it's self? Rage overtook the good Troll who was now a bad Troll for when he couldn't see his beloved top hat in his possession an infernal and hell like rage overtook him.

It was like his soul was ripped from his very head and shoved into the ass of satan only to be shat back out at him like it meant nothing! How?! What could have possibily happened that he angered the fates so to rip from him his very own piece of the world. the one thing that he loved more than any human alive could ever understand? The one piece of him that was eternally replacable, yet not so at all? The God's played a game that he didn't want a single part of and ye tthey had eternally ensnared him in for now. But what if they weren't the workings and machinations of the Gods that brought this upon him? Fuckin' A, it had to be the Druids again that brought him to this unholy place without his top hat! HOW COULD THEY TAKE FROM HIM THE ONE SYMBOL THAT HE HELD CLOSER TO HIS HEART THAN ANY AND ALL OTHERS?! A deep scream elated with a rough growl found it's way from the deepest depths of where the Troll's soul should have been, right where his top hat was, and escaped his lips rocking the very foundation of where he was! It was vicious to see or hear, but then again anything involving something from a dimension past the six was something to refer to as unholy and fear bringing. Oh well, the Troll was now on a mission to find something that moved as he did to discern the location of this hell he seemed to be trapped in, the top hatless HELL. There was no sun to draw power from, but he had surplusses of it himself and a boost of his own momentum filled leap brought him from one ledge to another. Luckily his cane hadn't loosed it's self from his hand because in all of his frustration filled sprinting the good Sir, or bad Sir or whatever, hadn't noticed that the gap he had traversed was filled to the brim with lava. Yeah, fucking lava ran through this place like a fucking river through a canon, or again, like dust through that thing Rosie O'Donelle calls a vagina. The thought was more than sickening to the Trolltastic Troll that was Trollin' through this place.

What seemed to be fate was nothing more than immesurable bad luck for whomever he had encountered first, for in all honesty when the Troll was of a mood such as this he was there to stay and wouldn't be out of it for quite a while. In his mind his rambles and praddles were the only things keeping his sanity, but as he ran the first he saw was a man in a fucking robe! Why would he be in a robe lest he was a fucking druid? The way the fires from the ceiling of this specific cavernous walk was shone brightly from the head of the male, who seemed to have a couple of issues seeing, what with the fact that his eyes were naturally more squinted than a rats, yeah, he had those beady eyes. Well, now it was eye as he screamed out on a continuation of his war path, pulling free his Cane from the eye socket of the buddist monk that had to be a druid just because the Troll believed him to be. The only thing truly worse than a Druid was a pitiful fool who faked being a druid! Or rather something or some one that faked not being a druid when they really were, masking it with some other religion like it was all fine and dandy or some shit like that. Sad sad day when the druids even hated the druids enough to hide being a druid but wanting to be a druid for all of the bullshit druid powers. But if the fates had brought him here, why not bring the leader of the druid as well? It was a natural question that deserved a natural answer, right? Or was the good Sir Trollington the Third too UN natural for this place and these beings? The inner working s of his mind were something that the Troll truly needed to address, especailly since he had now oficially slaughtered ten different beings in this place from ten different races, all of which he falsely believed to be druids, but then he had come upon it yet again. That bright yellow flash that so bothered him earlier and now was meager and futile compared to the rage that he felt for all things of this realm and not. For the anger that he felt for every thing that was would and could be DRUID!

This flash turned into a being of pure red with flowing black hair and a sense of fashion that was much like Sir Trollington the Third's own. If the situations were reversed though, the Troll would have rather worn a tie than keep the shirt open, but to each being his own. The Troll's first rage enduced instinct was to attack, and that was a move that he was surely about to make before a yellow flash again ensued and he felt himself lifted from the ground again! Wait, it was the first time that was actually physical, but it was whatever to the dear Troll, something held him by the next and it felt long. He didn't quite give a shit as long as it was NOT a penis and it wasn't! It was a tail, the tail of the thing that dressed rather well to be from this hot and mundane place. The being spoke oddly with an accent that seemed to be romanian, but then again, thE Troll was never good with placing accents. "You are a new comer to my domain of Hell. On this plane I reign supreme and while i care not if you attack the lesser beings of this land I must say for your sake as some one with moderate power, you mustn't destroy your self by making a feeble attempt to destroy me you, understand?" Through a husky attempt to gain breath and speak simultaneously it could kinda be heart that Sir Trollington was Speaking his great language of Trolltastic proportions. " I will destroy whatever I wish even if it is myself to get to the fucking druids that placed me in this fucking Dimen - - wait, I am in Hell? Really?" The creature not known to ST3 as Azazel laughed a bit before throwing the good Troll a ways off to a wall. it wouldn't have been bad had he not wished to not be thrown but he did and it was, but it was apparent that he wasn't meant to be caused too much harm by the move. The only matter that mattered was that it fell, it fell from atop his magnificent cranium from the throw and it was about to hit the ground. Unable to allow that to happen, Sir Trollington the Third dove and slowed the momentum of the hat a great deal, catching it, rolling, and placing it back at it's rightful place atop his head. A new feeling washed over him, a thankfulness to Azazel for the miracle that he had preformed in reuniting the two that were ironically never parted. Taking a moment to bow to the demon or whatever he was he disappeared in a yellow light yet again and this time the flash brought with it a jackhammer to break the flood gates to Akisame's memories.

In an instant the last hours prior to his death flashed before the Troll's eyes all at once. It was hard to tell what was what as what that which was what was what had happened and what wasn't happenening and that he was dead, but oh well it didn't too hot matter either way. All he really needed to do was analyze what was going on in his own twisted brain. On this very bright and sunny Chicago morning the temporal traveler was called upon by his 'leader' to do a mission that involved him sitting atop a sky scraper two blocks from a diner with a sniper trained on some person that wouldn't be there for hours until he was meant to leave or even move. The whole situation seemed situationally odd for a site such as this was something that seemed socially screwed. The great Troll knew not why he was rhyming so much, but as the sun rose at a quaint six a.m. that day and from that moment he was forced to be stationed and meditation, taking in the power of the sun, and it all lasted for what? A measly six hours? That was only enough juice to make him something like the hulk in terms of raw physical power, yeah, the good sir was a trump card, but there was something about his being here that would have or rather should have been disturbing to the sniper next to him with the rubber rifle and the rubber fifty caliber round loaded into it. He should have been able to been informed that any disruption of the meditation of the other dimensional being there with him would result in an immediate canning for the male and probably a whippy come back.

Oh, how the troll was good with the whippy come backs, but as he thought to himself a moment of disdain drew upon him. The sniper rat had opened his mouth to inform the man of another man's arrival, the target. The first words the spotter spoke were "Cloak sir!" or rather that's all that the man in the top hat took from it. THAT drew the D, or the first one for despicable. The R that the leader of the agency drew was in reverance to his actions causing a report of him bringing fear to a hapless trollette of a waitress. SIMPLY REPUGNANT! The U came with the usurping of the weapons that were controlled by the patrons of the diner because theivery was just not nice or acceptable unless prefromed by those knighted in the court of Trolltastity. There was something the good Sir did not like about this man and besides his shitty decorum and infallible failure in the art of fashion his I came from I CAN'T STAND THE WAY YOU FUCKING HOLD YOURSELF! The last D was a damn, you gonna start all this shit and run? It was a simple process of elimination really, the man was what the dimensional troll hated most, a Druid, or at least in his eyes he was, but that didn't matter. He had no order cause or clamor to attack the man known as the leader of one of the worlds greatest organization formulated in the name of peace, no sir he did not. Rapping his cane lightly against the head of the sniper he had propelled himself high into the air before the small man could even look away from his scope. His last words were, "Sir the man is making an attempt at leaving!," but they were registered to Sir Trollington the Third as, "The druid is trying to run away from the power of the sun!"

Akisame Sakake was armed with surplusses of energy and with that he had no reason to attack the leader of whatever loser group was trying to make ammends with his, but there was a druid about and he could not at all let that go un checked. He did what a skyscraper always wanted to and scraped the sky, jumping high enough to equal two and a half of the modern sky scraper heights(much like the one he was on) and used both his powers in unison to accomplish a few things. Number one was to use some of his solar energy to augment his momentum power and double his own descent speed. Two was to increase his body's own strength so that the fall wouldn't harm him. And even though the second would take the focus of much of his reserve of stored solar energy the third was the best of all. It was aiming himself to land right upon the thing that he believed to be a druid, one of the whelps that landed him into this plane of existance to stay for a short while, that time being a millenia or two. It was hard to tell how fast he was going from his point of veiw, but the speed had to be pretty fast given the power of his jump and of course that all mighty gravity that effected all things as it normally did. A fourth thing came to the mind of the troll mid fall, his bloody wooden cane was still in his right hand as it usually was and that wasn't good. He couldn't leave it on the sky scraper as the ceiling caved from his jump, and now there was that moment where the weight of the world was upon him as he had a decision to make. Placing his cane in his mouth he used his power once more to augment his other power to slow down his target's momentum by half as it left the diner's main entrance/exit. Either way it went there was a good bit of noise making, and screaming, and praddle about police and the impact of blah blah blah crushing blah blah blah. Standing up, the great Sir Trollington the Third being the great troll that he was brushed himself off a bit and moved to playfully kick(attempt to punt the fucking thing to the sun) the head of the SHEILD leader as his first "legitimate" attack against SHEILD and all of it's cohorts. But twas the way of the troll and as such he removed his cane from it's horizontal position clenched between his teeth and placed it upon the ground walking towards the less obliterated sides of the diner smiling quaintly at the waitress, "May I have a slice of apple pie with the works ma'am? I just killed me a druid!" Walking to his boss' table which were one of the few that didn't become one with the destruction he raised his brow slightly, "Do you really think this 'Sunny D' allows you to taste the power of the sun?" Turning his head a bit he saw a piece of purple garment that looked to once be attatched to a cape and simply asked his symbiotic friend, "Da fuq is Prince doing in Chicago?" WHY WAS PRINCE IN CHICAGO AND WHY DID I NOT SURVIVE THAT FALL?! POWER COULD HAVE KEPT ME FROM HELL, MY OWN FAILURE IN HAVING THE ABILITY TO SAVE MY LIFE IS WHAT GOT ME HERE! Well, I suppose it is of my own accord that I went, but hey, it is what it is. I have to do it for I have to return home..."
Home, that was it, home was that key to the puzzle and with that he had it. His memory clicked and he sprinted into the sun catching more speed than he had yet to on earth, going faster, and faster, before a jump propelled him high into the air. He came back to the ground and tried to run faster, acheive more speed and again he jumped and with a wave of his arms he leveled out and caught wind under him speeding off towards where ever he was going that wasn't in fucking MexiTexi ignoring the fact that he probably killed a whore.

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It's kinda HOT out Here for A true Troll {TRAINING}
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