Judge: Handelolis
Contestants:
Andycles Langicus
Cynicus RevOmnius
Ashus
Hagbuttus Malicius
fiendius maximus
Amhorach
Spookulus
Handelolis
Gurgleis
Alikclyes
A figure goes screaming overhead before the event is due to begin. Although all present already have a practice shot at this free target, only one scores. Cursing in lower case, the form falls to the ground.
"Damn Tremere fliers." Spookulus says. "They should get out of Naivaklam air space. Heh. Heh."
Another figure comes running on to the field, looking over his shoulder frantically as he does so. Once again, weapons are brought around to draw a bead on this foolish target.
"Wait! It's the judge!" One observant and not _too_ stupid member of the group calls out.
Several shots are fired regardless... a tinkling of glass is heard and the figure falls to its knees as if sorely wounded. A low sobbing can just be heard.
The flier rises, having healed, and tells Handelolis to "get over it". Both of them move towards the group of gun happy Malkies, and Spookulus looks a little worried as it becomes obvious that he has shot down his semi-mentor, fiendius maximus. Spookulus rushes towards fiendius and is abjectly gross in his apologies.
Handelolis asks what skeet shooters taste like and is upset to be told that this is not another drinking contest. Eyeing up one of the clay, frisbee like items, he decides that there is little he could get out of such an object unless it had a liquor centre, and declines to participate.
"On with the event, " Handelolis cries.
[from the press booth]
"First up, it's Cynicus RevOmnius, who appears to have picked up a bad
skin condition somewhere along the line. Wouldn't you agree, Slightly?"
"Yes, you self-confident bastard, I would say that. In fact, ha ha ha, if I
didn't know any better, I'd say he was wearing a mask!"
[back to the field]
A nervous looking Cynicus walks out onto the field with a large
burly man in tow and a sawed off double-barreled shotgun. The man wears a
large name-tag which identifies him as Skeet. Cynicus RevOmnius sends the
man two paces off, aims the shotgun at his head, and pulls the trigger.
*BLAM!*
RevOmnius's grin fades as Skeet hops back to his feet.
"SMEG!" he roars, as the headless Skeet gallopsoff. He briefly considers
giving chase, then decides to just shoot Skeet's legs off instead.
*BLAM!*
*BLAM!*
Cynicus RevOmnius decides to gut Skeet and clean him just in case. Walking back, he wipes some of the bigger clumps of gore off of him and tosses them into the stunned audience while scratching his rubbery face.
The judge points out that the target was supposed to be air borne, and stares strangely at RevOmnius.
Amhorach sits crouched behind his trusty Vulcan cannon, obfuscated from the rest of the contestants, his Kevlar body armor feeling like a second skin, the riot helmet obscuring his features. Hell, there is live ammo flying about. Accidents *could* happen.
With no warning, the targets are sent screaming (they are after all, LIVE targets) out over the range.
Amhorach, using his Auspex, views the targets as if they were in slow motion.
With a few short bursts, he decimates all of the targets thrown up into the air.
With equal speed and dexterity, he aims a few well placed bursts at Andycles and fiendius, cutting Andycles in half, and severely maiming fiendius.
Andycles lays in a steaming pile of blood, until one of Am's ghouls throws his two sections into the air, whereupon Amhorach neatly blasts the lower half into obscurity (despite the fact that his head seems to be spinning about as he drawa a bead), and puts a few 7.62 rounds into the top half.
Not satisfied, Am then blasts a few bats flying by. The result: a perfect score (in his mind), plus 1200 bonus points for four dead Gangrel, shapechanged into bats, who were spying on the Games. They were of course, killed in honor of Rum drinkers everywhere, and three points for taking out another contestant.
Hagbuttus grins and walks to the specified firing place. Amhorach's head has only just slowed down from a most vicious amount of spinning, and the Celtic Malk falls down, muttering foul oaths. The malicious grin widens further.
Surprisingly, the targets for Hagbuttus' firing are actually skeets - the clay targets that most non-malks would expect for this event. There is an infrequent Changeling interspersed for flavour, however.
With some amazing trick shooting, Hagbuttus manages to get each and every target to explode in splinters (and occasionally a fireball). The judge is most impressed with the ricochet angles he manages off both fiendius maximus and Amhorach as they start to recover from their particular injuries - each goes down again, yet the skeet explodes bang on time.
"Fantastic," says the judge, but it is uncertain whether he refers to the bottle of Bundaberg he has found somewhere or to the miraculous marksmanship.
For a grand finale, Hagbuttus makes muffled choking sounds and megapukes a skeet into the pristine night air. He removes it from sight with a snapshot over his shoulder, while sneering at those who have been offput by this rather gross display.
Alikclyes is wearing a shiny suit and is loaded down with
the appropriate equipment required for his shoot:
1)Lots of Toreador, with silly feathers super-glued to their
heads and big bulls-eyes painted on both sides of their torsos.
2)Plasma rifle/arc welder combination (Etherite design; available
in aisle 37. Shop smart -- shop S-Mart!)
3)Small singularity based power plant (for the rifle)
4)Super-Duper Toreador Launcher (replica of a Middle Ages catapult)
Alikclyes puts a Toreador in the bowl of launcher. It appears quite quiescent for the moment. He then turns and asks for a catapult firer. Several flunkies rush to assist, but are beaten back by the suspiciously helpful Hagbuttus. Despite being worried at this, Alikclyes smiles gratefully through his visor and signals Hagbuttus to pull.
In the air, the first Toreador appears to wake from its somnambulent state. It screams.
Alikclyes fires.
The arc welder works very well, but the output volume of superheated gas plasma is a wee bit... excessive. Others on the field now figure out why Alikclyes is wearing an asbestos suit. Those close by are singed. Badly.
"Pull." Alikclyes yells again.
A slightly frazzled Hagbuttus releases another Toreador. Its path is quite peculiar, and leads to Alikclyes pointing his weapon as far away from Hagbuttus as possible. Gurgleis and Ashus are not as lucky, and run screaming towards the swimming stadium, their hair and garments aflame.
The third Toreador does loop the loops and all manner of aerial acrobatics in an amazing attempt to avoid the almost-failproof guidance system in Alikclyes' weapon, despite screaming and having its eyes closed. A beeping noise issues from the guidance system just as Alikclyes' head begins to rotate with increasing velocity. He swings around and points the rifle at... the judge's booth.
Handelolis dives....
A cataclymic explosion sounds, as several crates of high octane alcohol explode in a dazzling display.
When they can see again, no one is able to find Alikclyes..
fiendius maximus pulls bottle fragments out of his side and paces the ground looking at the marksmalkship of his fellow contestants.....
"hmmmmm. i'm gunna need a few good shots to do these guys in," he thinks.
he hands spookulus some of the old china plates he has and asks him to be his puller. and to launch his targets as well. spookulus wanders off with a straightface that has fiendus worried. but he is one step ahead of the young scallywag. when spookulus is in position fiend readies his skeet(a rare old weapon that shoots mosquitos from louisianna also known as skeeters).
"pull!" he shouts.
spookulus giggles for awhile before finding out about the rigging that fiendius had set up to launcher in order to lob the one operating the machine into the air. then he screams.
fiendius fires off two shots both perfectly in the middle. Handelolis looks at fiendius.
"hey i hit the target in flight........" fiendius states, "anybody else want to pull for my next shot?"
No one does, so fiendius scores maximum points.
Handelolis looks sadly at the remains of his bribes and decides he'll have to judge this one on merit also. Alikclyes is still nowhere to be seen. Lucky for him.
"I declare fiendius maximus to gain the gold," Handelolis says. "He has been shot at or hurt by almost every competitor and yet still took part in the event as he was supposed to, scoring a perfect score too. Hagbuttus and Amhorach take equal honours and gain a silver medal each, as they also gained perfect scores, although with more shots. That makes for no bronze... oh hell, I didn't give a bronze for the sulking, did I? Damn. Maybe they didn't notice...."
Handelolis runs fleetly towards the Creative Tremere Destruction... just in case...