I guess she better figure that out!
Life in Stasis Member
pretentious jerk
- Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 487 (0.14 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Life in Stasis 10 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
Most Recent Posts
I'd like to keep the godmodding of Annara and Aust at a minimum. Let me worry about them. They'll make an appearance later.
Vicenna is crumbling. The mountains in the distance appear to be gone, which should be REALLY weird and scary. The Knights and King are closer to the river, and closer to Areta. Which as far as you know may not be as unstable as Vicenna.
It's hopeless to stay and fight and I was actually HOPING everyone would run. I can't stress enough that the earth is about to completely collapse. Staying to fight in spite of that is suicidal.
That, and regardless of what's happening, you'd think a knight who's fanatically obsessed with his King would, in this moment of utter chaos, cling to the one thing he knows: protect the King at all costs.
It's hopeless to stay and fight and I was actually HOPING everyone would run. I can't stress enough that the earth is about to completely collapse. Staying to fight in spite of that is suicidal.
That, and regardless of what's happening, you'd think a knight who's fanatically obsessed with his King would, in this moment of utter chaos, cling to the one thing he knows: protect the King at all costs.
Running would not be an unwise course of action. Aside from the elves/bugs trying to kill you, the land is falling apart. The odds are just not stacked in anyone's favor.
Wouldn't be too unreasonable if you found a spare horse and made a run for it. Or even if, as you made tracks between yourself and the caravan, you saw the distant image of a finely dressed young man on a white mare, the flash of an Aretan standard, or the metallic glimmer of your fellow knights.
Wouldn't be too unreasonable if you found a spare horse and made a run for it. Or even if, as you made tracks between yourself and the caravan, you saw the distant image of a finely dressed young man on a white mare, the flash of an Aretan standard, or the metallic glimmer of your fellow knights.
Alonso was shoved onto his mare before he could form a protest. As one of the monsters rushed forward at Serona, the Captain slapped the horse and sent it bolting. The King rocked in his saddle but held on, twisting to peer over his shoulder at the men he was leaving behind. God, what were those things? What was all of this?!
Yesterday he was wearing motley and singing rhymes.
Kolbe’s demonic red face flashed in his thoughts, and Alonso squeezed his eyes shut. Two knights dead, and two more about to be. Beneath their armor, and even beneath the scars, they were still men who needed to believe in their cause. It was their duty to preserve their King. Even if he felt like a coward, even if it sickened him to his very core, he had to run.
The caravan was still up ahead. Wiping at his eyes with the broad side of his arm, the King momentarily considered running to see to his friends, but a wicked silhouette appeared just over the ridge. A monster, a beast, just like the ones attacking him. Alonso pulled the mare in a wide semicircle, changing course so he could circle widely around the Knights at a distance, riding at a full gallop.
Serona had barely had the chance to draw his sword before he was knocked off his feet by the dull side of the creature’s scythe arm. As he slid across the ground on his back, his weapon knocked out of reach, he was able to contemplate the sensation of his ribs snapping as if they had been mere twigs. He stared at the dusty sky above him as he fought to breathe, his entire body feeling stiff and wooden.
The beast was above him then, cutting into his vision as its spear-like feet struck the ground on either side of him. It was all Amon could do to stare up into its unfeeling, luminescent eyes, and know that he was staring at a messenger of death.
He’d failed his men. He failed his king. To die here would be merciful deliverance from his shame.
The creature leaned down over him, pinning him in place with both of its thick, bladed arms. Its viscous, yellow saliva fell in strings from the chaos of moving parts that composed its mouth, falling upon his neck and cheek. It was cold, surprisingly, but reeked of rotten meat. It was a poorly timed moment for his lungs to finally fill again.
Some of its mouth parts receded, revealing two finger-like appendages that ended in tufts of coarse bristles. They extended and felt over the contours of his face. The spider beast was almost tender. Amon twisted his head away and gritted his teeth.
Then the beast straightened, standing tall once more, and then turned to walk away.
Freed, Serona painstakingly lifted himself up so he could cough and gag into the sand below him. The pain from his ribs winded him again, and he fell face first into the sand, closing his arms around his midsection.
Apparently more concerned with Koble and defending its leader, the creature scuttled off in the direction of the other Knight. It brushed passed a still panicked Mr. Hooves with a furious shove, but the animal retaliated with a swift kick of its hind legs. The creature hissed and lurched sideways, its carapace split open in two new places.
Before it could recover, its scythe arm was seized and pulled back further, enough for Serona to slide his sword to its hilt into the creature’s hulking thorax. Its legs failed and slid from underneath it, bringing the entire beast onto its side. Serona fell as well, pulling his sword free again and plunging it into the creature’s underbelly. Its four smaller arms grabbed at him, snagging his clothing and reaching for his limbs, but they were too weak to cause any damage.
He kept his weight on one scythe arm, which swiveled uselessly in the sand. The other swung around in a desperate attack, but Amon managed to grasp the limb with both hands. While the creature’s limbs felt air, refusing to die while a blade was thrust halfway into its undercarriage, it was caught in a stalemate with Amon, halfway onto his back, doing all he could to prevent the bladed limb from severing his head.
In time, the human’s strength would wane.
From his distant watch, Alonso witnessed the shape of Linus Kolbe emerge from the sand. His relieved laugh was coughed in astonishment.
“He’s alive!” the King cried.
The man’s shape was also noticed by Serona, who widened his eyes. Kolbe had been victorious?
“You’re alive,” he croaked. “Brother…” Amon choked and faltered, his grip on the beast’s limb slipping. “Help—me.”
In contrast to its previous wielder, the scepter was warm to the touch in Kolbe's hand. Large citrine gems, set into the black chitinous material, in no small way resembled the creatures' hollow eyes. Most peculiar, when held the scepter almost seemed to feel intrinsically precious. Like gold, perhaps, but closer to the suggestion of an innocent living thing, completely subject to the mercy of whomever was holding it.
Yesterday he was wearing motley and singing rhymes.
Kolbe’s demonic red face flashed in his thoughts, and Alonso squeezed his eyes shut. Two knights dead, and two more about to be. Beneath their armor, and even beneath the scars, they were still men who needed to believe in their cause. It was their duty to preserve their King. Even if he felt like a coward, even if it sickened him to his very core, he had to run.
The caravan was still up ahead. Wiping at his eyes with the broad side of his arm, the King momentarily considered running to see to his friends, but a wicked silhouette appeared just over the ridge. A monster, a beast, just like the ones attacking him. Alonso pulled the mare in a wide semicircle, changing course so he could circle widely around the Knights at a distance, riding at a full gallop.
Serona had barely had the chance to draw his sword before he was knocked off his feet by the dull side of the creature’s scythe arm. As he slid across the ground on his back, his weapon knocked out of reach, he was able to contemplate the sensation of his ribs snapping as if they had been mere twigs. He stared at the dusty sky above him as he fought to breathe, his entire body feeling stiff and wooden.
The beast was above him then, cutting into his vision as its spear-like feet struck the ground on either side of him. It was all Amon could do to stare up into its unfeeling, luminescent eyes, and know that he was staring at a messenger of death.
He’d failed his men. He failed his king. To die here would be merciful deliverance from his shame.
The creature leaned down over him, pinning him in place with both of its thick, bladed arms. Its viscous, yellow saliva fell in strings from the chaos of moving parts that composed its mouth, falling upon his neck and cheek. It was cold, surprisingly, but reeked of rotten meat. It was a poorly timed moment for his lungs to finally fill again.
Some of its mouth parts receded, revealing two finger-like appendages that ended in tufts of coarse bristles. They extended and felt over the contours of his face. The spider beast was almost tender. Amon twisted his head away and gritted his teeth.
Then the beast straightened, standing tall once more, and then turned to walk away.
Freed, Serona painstakingly lifted himself up so he could cough and gag into the sand below him. The pain from his ribs winded him again, and he fell face first into the sand, closing his arms around his midsection.
Apparently more concerned with Koble and defending its leader, the creature scuttled off in the direction of the other Knight. It brushed passed a still panicked Mr. Hooves with a furious shove, but the animal retaliated with a swift kick of its hind legs. The creature hissed and lurched sideways, its carapace split open in two new places.
Before it could recover, its scythe arm was seized and pulled back further, enough for Serona to slide his sword to its hilt into the creature’s hulking thorax. Its legs failed and slid from underneath it, bringing the entire beast onto its side. Serona fell as well, pulling his sword free again and plunging it into the creature’s underbelly. Its four smaller arms grabbed at him, snagging his clothing and reaching for his limbs, but they were too weak to cause any damage.
He kept his weight on one scythe arm, which swiveled uselessly in the sand. The other swung around in a desperate attack, but Amon managed to grasp the limb with both hands. While the creature’s limbs felt air, refusing to die while a blade was thrust halfway into its undercarriage, it was caught in a stalemate with Amon, halfway onto his back, doing all he could to prevent the bladed limb from severing his head.
In time, the human’s strength would wane.
From his distant watch, Alonso witnessed the shape of Linus Kolbe emerge from the sand. His relieved laugh was coughed in astonishment.
“He’s alive!” the King cried.
The man’s shape was also noticed by Serona, who widened his eyes. Kolbe had been victorious?
“You’re alive,” he croaked. “Brother…” Amon choked and faltered, his grip on the beast’s limb slipping. “Help—me.”
In contrast to its previous wielder, the scepter was warm to the touch in Kolbe's hand. Large citrine gems, set into the black chitinous material, in no small way resembled the creatures' hollow eyes. Most peculiar, when held the scepter almost seemed to feel intrinsically precious. Like gold, perhaps, but closer to the suggestion of an innocent living thing, completely subject to the mercy of whomever was holding it.
Oh I was just quoting Anakin Skywalker.
Having lived in a desert, and the cold north, I prefer sand to chipping ice off my windshield in a -25°F wind chill, or driving on icy murder roads.
The only real crime of arid climates is what they do to my hair.
Having lived in a desert, and the cold north, I prefer sand to chipping ice off my windshield in a -25°F wind chill, or driving on icy murder roads.
The only real crime of arid climates is what they do to my hair.
It's coarse and irritating and gets everywhere.
If you can manage to keep your footing and hold onto your weapons while on a bucking bronco, sure. Remember the thing is flailing around too.
@ZB1996 It's np, just stating ffr.
Amid the chaos churning around them, the tallest spider beast and Marcus, the Magus’ apprentice, gazed into each other. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to make the first move, having identified what appeared to be their most pressing threat, but both entities were still. Watching.
Stunned by a arcane assault of fire, one of its small minions had been unable to fend off an attack from a furious Aretan knight. A pass of steel tore open a greenish gash across one of its weight bearing legs, bringing the creature hurtling into the ground. The end of its limb had been cracked open enough to snap at what could be called its ‘ankle’.
A scythe-arm swung outward for the Knight, but missed in its panic. One of the Ytharien dashed forward to take advantage of this opening, driving a shortspear into a fleshy patch between chitin plates, but the shaking earth threw him off of his feet. Though a spear protruded from its thorax, the spider beast raised its bladed limb and ended its newest attacker.
The tallest creature slid away without a care as the Knight then accosted the mage, having no apparent interest in the conflict. Its bladed legs traversed the shaking earth easily, unbothered by the thunderous clamor as the very land around them seemed to fall apart.
Almost serene, it moved past the caravan, stepping over its crippled comrade and two elven corpses, and then unfolded all of its limbs to begin ascending the nearby cliff. Shafts of sunlight that pierced through the dustclouds illuminated portions of its carapace, revealing watery, jewel tones. Its aim seemed to be reaching the highest point in the area.
Defending itself against a spray of fire and glowing hot sand, one of the smaller beasts mustered little defense against the leaping elf. Feeling a weight upon its back, the creature reared up, bucked, and spun, its scythe arms swinging wildly in desperation. It was blind to whatever was happening on its back, and seemed unable to reach accurately to defend itself.
Annara had gone to Lothren in an attempt to pull him to safety, but an insectoid leg had knocked her into the cliff wall. She crumpled lifelessly on the ground. Having gotten back to his feet, Aust found himself forced to help either the wizened Ytharien leader or the younger, more fragile human. Cursing himself, he ducked the mayhem to retrieve Annara.
While the beasts decimated the elves and what remained of the elves focused on other threats, Aust found that all he could do with a human woman in his arms was to escape while he could.
The other creatures seemed to care little for their injured comrade, and continued to attack what elves had remained to face them. Most of the Ytharien had by now fled the caravan, including the poet dwarf. Only a handful bloodthirsty madmen remained, braving the collapsing earth and attacking either the beasts that had set upon them, or the prisoner they had once sought to preserve.
The leader of the monstrosities had reached the zenith of the cliff, separating itself from the violence. There it lifted the scepter high above its head, and then swing it downward and drove its pummel into the earth. A surge of power flowed into the ground, opening a series of new cracks in the cliff’s face. What had once been hard rock melted easily into sand. The cliff lost its form and turned soft, collapsing into itself. On its long, able legs, the beast moved on easily as the rockface fell away, opening the caravan to a greater view of plains.
All across the plains, the Viceni desert seemed to be tossing like the sea and sinking away. Through breaks in the sandy clouds, the mountainous horizon that should have been there could no longer be seen.
Stunned by a arcane assault of fire, one of its small minions had been unable to fend off an attack from a furious Aretan knight. A pass of steel tore open a greenish gash across one of its weight bearing legs, bringing the creature hurtling into the ground. The end of its limb had been cracked open enough to snap at what could be called its ‘ankle’.
A scythe-arm swung outward for the Knight, but missed in its panic. One of the Ytharien dashed forward to take advantage of this opening, driving a shortspear into a fleshy patch between chitin plates, but the shaking earth threw him off of his feet. Though a spear protruded from its thorax, the spider beast raised its bladed limb and ended its newest attacker.
The tallest creature slid away without a care as the Knight then accosted the mage, having no apparent interest in the conflict. Its bladed legs traversed the shaking earth easily, unbothered by the thunderous clamor as the very land around them seemed to fall apart.
Almost serene, it moved past the caravan, stepping over its crippled comrade and two elven corpses, and then unfolded all of its limbs to begin ascending the nearby cliff. Shafts of sunlight that pierced through the dustclouds illuminated portions of its carapace, revealing watery, jewel tones. Its aim seemed to be reaching the highest point in the area.
Defending itself against a spray of fire and glowing hot sand, one of the smaller beasts mustered little defense against the leaping elf. Feeling a weight upon its back, the creature reared up, bucked, and spun, its scythe arms swinging wildly in desperation. It was blind to whatever was happening on its back, and seemed unable to reach accurately to defend itself.
Annara had gone to Lothren in an attempt to pull him to safety, but an insectoid leg had knocked her into the cliff wall. She crumpled lifelessly on the ground. Having gotten back to his feet, Aust found himself forced to help either the wizened Ytharien leader or the younger, more fragile human. Cursing himself, he ducked the mayhem to retrieve Annara.
While the beasts decimated the elves and what remained of the elves focused on other threats, Aust found that all he could do with a human woman in his arms was to escape while he could.
The other creatures seemed to care little for their injured comrade, and continued to attack what elves had remained to face them. Most of the Ytharien had by now fled the caravan, including the poet dwarf. Only a handful bloodthirsty madmen remained, braving the collapsing earth and attacking either the beasts that had set upon them, or the prisoner they had once sought to preserve.
The leader of the monstrosities had reached the zenith of the cliff, separating itself from the violence. There it lifted the scepter high above its head, and then swing it downward and drove its pummel into the earth. A surge of power flowed into the ground, opening a series of new cracks in the cliff’s face. What had once been hard rock melted easily into sand. The cliff lost its form and turned soft, collapsing into itself. On its long, able legs, the beast moved on easily as the rockface fell away, opening the caravan to a greater view of plains.
All across the plains, the Viceni desert seemed to be tossing like the sea and sinking away. Through breaks in the sandy clouds, the mountainous horizon that should have been there could no longer be seen.
© 2007-2025