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    1. Divinity 9 yrs ago

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9 yrs ago
Current A warm fire place, milk tea, and reading old RP'S at five AM. Good Morning, RPG.~
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It seemed this one would dance away when met with the fortress-like armored man's brunt. That simply would not do! As joints met a spectacular amount of nothing where there should have been the satisfying snap of cracking bones, Corban smashed his foot down, depressing the earth further and regaining his stance instead of spinning under his momentum.

Where armored foot met carbon-rich asphalt and the several layers of raw material beneath, the section several feet afore it coiled and snaked forth in a tight, six foot high triangular wedge. Its edges sparkled with rainbow hues as the light of Jett's blast splashed against it as though they were made of diamond. Indeed they were diamond! The blast was split around the mass and Corban respectively, washing him with naught but a wave of heat and displaced wind.

"So, that's how it is? You think you're safe if you put some distance between us?"

The sheer volume of opponents whom circle strafed and tap danced around the man-fortress had forced him to become incredibly proficient at pinging enemies from a distance. He'd display that talent now.

"You're not!"

A tempered palm smashed into the base of the geometric shape, launching it like a diamond arrowhead from its crystalline bed with speed slightly under a bullets, and about the size of two minivans placed side-by-side. Though the size was only half of Jett's worries. When within the range of five feet, the wedge would violently discard its crystalline edges in a rainbow-refracting fragmentation molecular buckshot. Thousands of particulate shards of varying sizes exploded forth, each with the speed and energy enough to punch through steel.

Meanwhile, the guardian paced to his left and right, scoping his options and laying his schemes. The diamond blade was now replaced with his beam rifle, its long, carbon black barrel glowing with crackling spell circuitry. It was primed, and Corban was prepared to shoot anything out of the sky that would attempt to fly away from his crystal arrowhead.
And the horses were off! Just when it seemed Jett and the Guardian would sooner forfeit in favor of heading to a bar for a drink, no less. No matter, Corban would try his damnedest to not injure the man too severely. They still needed to get that drink, after all!

The Guardian held his ground and fortified his stance with a shallow inhale that would be held like a woman's hand as Jett closed the gap between them. He would not flinch. He would not flex. Not until the man was in striking distance anyway. Upon his chestward swing, Corban exhaled sharply and the short man's blade would be met with a vice grip of doom as it was caught between his overgrown sword-breaker with force enough to crack and buckle the asphalt beneath them. Within the disjunction, several things would occur with the impetus of a lightning strike, and with no less violence:

The abjurative edge would all but nullify any latent magical surprises hiding within the bladed ebon mass, and a slight twist of Corban's wrist would position either forked edge against the blade that could very well break the weapon in two. Should it be made of sterner stuff, there were still the laws of physics. Corban's twisting action would twist Jett's sword-arm to the outside, accompanied with a slight discomfort to his wrist that would disarm him. After all, he didn't want to break his -seemingly- dominant hand and make lifting his bottle awkward and painful.

With his stance and guard wide open, the earth mage dressed like a Spartan trooper would follow up with a left elbow to Jett's neck, and a simultaneous left knee to his right flank, aimed for his ribs. His own strength was nothing to scoff at, and the thick plating covering his joints would pack an extra layer of force behind his lightning strikes. If the man did not have the speed, strength, or foresight to block or dodge, he'd find himself skipping along the pavement like a rock on water, and then through the delapidated wall of an adjacent building.

Damage assessment?

◦ Two broken ribs, perhaps a third one that is only cracked.

◦ Cracked neck that would not paralyze, but certainly leave him unconcious for several hours.

◦ Possible concussion and superficial bruises from hitting the pavement like a ragdoll.

◦ Even lower property values.
@ShawdusPosted!
"Don't fret. Your chibi-plushy will be a masterpiece. I only need to see something once to perfectly recreate it." Corban said, flourishing his hand over the plushy's on his belt as though he had laid a hand of cards.

Then, the strangest thing happened as the new arrival replied to Ishatlle's greeting. She laughed. Well, as much as a living sword could emulate the action. Jett wouldn't be able to see it past the reflective amber visor, but Corban's jaw dropped. In all the time he'd been with her, he had seen the esteemed Guardian Edge emulate all kinds of emotions and gestures, but genuine laughter was not one of them. It would have been cute, had he not seen her make grown men cry -and crap themselves- like babies.

<Oh my, Jett truly suits you, young master.> she spoke between giggles muffled with her hand. < It isn't often that one catches my interest, and its a shame we all couldnt have met under more peaceful conditions. Though I'm sorry to say I have to jet, now.>

With another low bow, she reintegrated with the sword's hilt in a flash of purple digistruct panels, leaving only man and much shorter man to their own devices, followed shortly by Jett's followup question.

"Why yes, I am that Corban!" he pulled a 250 carat diamond from his utility belt, pinched between two fingers to show it. "See?"

"So now that we're properly acquainted and somewhat alone," Corban began, hefting his rifle upon the back of his waist, crystal nexus core charging its payload. "perhaps we can get down to business. After all, we are here to spill blood, are we not?"

The diamond shifted and molded in a way that would make one question whether the material was an incredibly dense solid, and not water or a gel. His right hand now wielded a eutactically smooth, diamond and graphene blade whom's edge came alive with a crackling abjurative disjunction. It was three feet long, featuring a forked design like a swordbreaker, but bore a distinctive ovular shape.

The two were slightly less than a rock's throw apart, and Corban slid his right foot forward, and his left back slightly for a wide stance, and held his blade vertically afront the mid section of his chest.

"Well? I'm ready."
"Quite a few, actually." He replied curtly to the newcomers question about his new fangled digs. "It's as uncomfortable as it looks. Really pinches the crotch, y'know?"

It probably took an hour to get the whole thing on, but it was well worth it. The backup artificial atmosphere allowed him to resist the toughest weather conditions, and the innate, but hidden arcane circuit-board lead into a central power conduit placed behind the thick back-plates. The circuitry transmitted free energy to the core, providing him with more than enough power to last a single excursion. It was the payoff for being such an eccentric tinkerer and inventor. The help of of a few theoretical physicists also didn't hurt, of course. But Jett didn't need to know that.

"You can call me Corban. Though Chibi Overlord is what friends know me as." It might have been then that Jett would notice a plush chibi Corban doll of himself. Closer inspection would reveal one of Faustus, one Julius, and perhaps all of those he'd come to know in his travels had pouches on his utility belt. He tugged at one before continuing. "I could make one for you, y'know? There's always space on the belt."

Rumble rumble. His sword rattled in its sheathe, which hung off his left side without sash or belt, and Corban began having an argument with some unseen force before he redirected his attention to the man.

"It would only be fair that you meet, Ishtalle. It would be rude of me to not introduce a lady, right?" He said with an almost sarcastic tone.

Just as the last syllable left his lips, in a digitized harmony of physiology and technology, a woman appeared beside Corban from a marquee of floating data and techno-jargain. She curtsied like a princess proper before rising again. She stood just slightly shorter than the 5'10 man.

<I am Ishtalle, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. So, what do we call you?>
I recommend MAW as well! Good stuff over there. Speaking of which, I'm super behind >_>.


The scene opens with an acute sense of claustrophobia. The back of the mobile personnel bunker bore quite small dimensions for its make(Patia AMV), and virtually no light was casted from within its pitch confines. The metal transport shook and teetered like a bomb shelter under fire as it veered across a non-descript sandy hemisphere. Yet, if one listened closely, the faint sound of steady breathing could be heard over the clangor.

"Thirty seconds to Drop Point. Get ready, chief."

The inner blackness was flushed away in short flashes of red light that reflected against an amber visor as the radio voice rung from behind the mask. In the short bursts of emergency light, a single man could be made out from within, forearms resting on his knees, back reclined to wall. He didn't respond. He didn't need to. He was lost in a world of silent concentration.

The man was a sitting fortress, and one could tell even with the lack of reliable light. It wasn't the array of strange items and materials holstered on his utility belt. It wasn't the large shield propped at an angle between seat and wall next to him. It wasn't the strange rifle whom's obtuse butt rested on the rattling floor at his feet. It wasn't even the thoroughly out of place black scabbard and protruding azure-sashed hilt that lay on the opposite side the shield.

It was his armor.

If the denizens of the Emerald City of Oz prided themselves on the color of the jewel, they would be green with envy at the deep, thick verdure plating that covered Corban's frame. It was thickest at the chest, knees, forearms, back, and forelegs. The joints, ribs, calves, and the spaces between interlocking finger plates were coated in a hyper-flexible and durable aphotic fibrous material.

A low pinging scratched at the back of his mind. Before his helm, Ishtalle appeared in hologram form, adorned in a skintight suit of royal purples and shining platinums. Her cyan locks flowed around her like smoke, and she levitated toward his visor, tapping it once with thoughtful reservation.

There was a short pause.

"Cortana, is that you?"

<Who?>

"Nothing. It must have just been a dream."

Her expression spelled worry. A deep mix of instinct and Corban's demeanor telling her something was off. She shrugged it aside.

<I think we've arrived. It's time.>

"Are you ready?"

<Im always ready, if I'm with you.>

She cupped his face with her hands lovingly, lavender eyes meeting naught but his maple-colored visor as she vanished into digital pixals that were siphoned into the blades jeweled pommel.

The bunker door collapsed like a drawbridge, flooding in light and air. From the small tunnel, one could point out several attributes of the landscape. Urban, abandoned, war-stricken. The buildings told a story of battle. Buildings were in disarray, marred with bullet holes, bleeding broken glass, and missing sections. Cars were left all about the streets and pavements, some charred carcasses while others still burned in the fading light of evening like a snapshot of rush-hour.

Equipping his various armaments, Corban stepped down from his door-made-walkway and onto tattered pavement, visor scanning everything from atmospheric to chemical information. The drawbridge was drawn up from behind him, and with a single thumbs up positioned to be caught in the drivers rear-view mirror, the transport vehicle zoomed off, becoming a black twinkle in the distance.

Corban drew a deep breath, head craned toward a sky that showed two giant moons over the horizon and glaring sun at once. He flexed and curled his digits(one of which were coiled around his rifle).

"So. How much longer?"

<Not long at all.>

I leave for one day and look at this! 11 people and clashes of words!? I always miss the fun.

In any case, @Shawdus, Engarde!
@Terror of LightBut what about glorious combat!? Dont you want to test your mettle against someone whom you've heard so much about!? Where is your warrior's pride!?
@Terror of Light Now I want to join evermore!
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