GUESS WHO GOT FE FATES
If you say Light, you'd be correct.
Light
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Please @ me, I'm Sunday bored
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If you say Light, you'd be correct.
A bow of the head was the warrior's response as he returned to the line of Royal Guards. He released his neck, exposing the wound for the magician to heal in the same fashion as the assassin. After a moment of incantations and a roll of the head, Mikhail's opponent looked as if the duel never happened. The same couldn't be said for him, with dirt coating his armor and bruises covering his skin. As he too made way back to Trignita, one other guardsman stepped forward, ready to take his turn.
The lancer scanned each of the recruits with intense scrutiny before tapping the butt his spear on the ground several times, and pointing the tip towards Azi.
"I don't see a weapon on you, that clearly isn't a mage's tome," he pointed out the music book that Azi carried. "Do you fight?" he asked the bard with genuine curiosity.
The lancer scanned each of the recruits with intense scrutiny before tapping the butt his spear on the ground several times, and pointing the tip towards Azi.
"I don't see a weapon on you, that clearly isn't a mage's tome," he pointed out the music book that Azi carried. "Do you fight?" he asked the bard with genuine curiosity.
Actually, I'm going to do Azi next. Aika and Scott can be done very quickly, and I'm not sure if the guy playing Fredrick is still around. @Sagittarius is otherwise the only one really waiting, so yeah.
The look on the warrior's face told Mikhail that he had some sort of response he'd very much like to express, but the blood tricking out from between his fingers expressed that he was unable to speak due to the neck injury. Instead of retaliating with a smug remark, he only began to march towards the still kneeling Mikhail as he lowered his axe to the ground with a thud, dragging it along the unfortunate earth. As he approached, Mikhail's lance rose into position, stopping the warrior at the tip of its outstretched range. Both knew it was a stalemate; whomever budged first would be stabbed or cleaved by the other. Seeing this as undeniable, the warrior dropped his axe to the ground and rose his free hand high above himself, so that all would see. After holding it there for several seconds, he lowered his arm towards Mikahil, offering him a handshake.
The next one will be Scott so my brother and I can write the whole thing at once and I'll just post it. Same with Aika but I was saving her for last. There's a joke in there somewhere.
It's hard to write for fast-paced combat and still keep it over a sentence or two. I don't want to write almost nothing but I also don't want to drag on one detail or force action of the other character.
Chunks of dirt and grass shot into the air as the axe blade buried itself into the earth, luckily without Mikhail in the way as he rolled to the side towards his lance. Not so much struggling as taking his sweet time, the warrior delayed on removing his weapon from the ground to instead observe his foe's next action. Unfortunately for him, his choice to wait was the wrong choice, as the tip of Mikhail's lance punctured the side of his throat. An attempt at a cry of war and pain came out silent.
What!? An attack from such a vulnerable position!? How could he have thought that would work!?
No matter the likelihood, it was undeniable that the warrior had in fact been struck. He clasped his right hand over the wound and doubled back. However, instead of calling the fight, he reached down and picked up the massive axe with his left hand and lifted it onto his shoulder, ready to retaliate against Mikhail's next move.
What!? An attack from such a vulnerable position!? How could he have thought that would work!?
No matter the likelihood, it was undeniable that the warrior had in fact been struck. He clasped his right hand over the wound and doubled back. However, instead of calling the fight, he reached down and picked up the massive axe with his left hand and lifted it onto his shoulder, ready to retaliate against Mikhail's next move.
So I'm gunna kill Mikhail maybe.
When Adamar awoke, he found himself standing almost upright instead of on his back. He was still enclosed in darkness, but it seemed that his coffin was propped up. He slowly rose his hand to his face, caressing the flat bronze plate that masked him, and his hands, the gauze that bound them away from the outside world. After confirming that his attire was still intact, he attempted to draw a deep breath of air, but his cold lungs remained inert.
Good.
The darkness would have proved bothersome for any normal man, but one on his way to undeath such as himself would find that he could pierce the void and understand the things around him. The lack of light was no hindrance to Adamar's darkvision, as he lined his fingertips against the crease between the lid and the coffin. Pushing the lid with one hand, and digging his fingers of his other hand between the gap that was forming, he was able to slowly drag the lid to the side, revealing the musky room around him. As he stepped outside, he looked up. The floor his coffin had been laid upon ages ago gave way to the undergrowth. His capsule fell with the collapse, landing in the upright position against the rubble along the same wall. Closer inspection deduced that his coffin actually landed on someone else's in this room below, crushing them. He paid no mind to the tragedy, instead noting the condition of the rest of the room. Moss, dust, cobwebs, rust. Through the break in the floor, some of the back wall was taken down as well, pouring daylight into small puddles of old rain water. Not large enough to crawl through, glaring outside only revealed dead wastelands for as far as the foggy vision would allow.
He stepped down from the rubble, and faced the doorway, which had long since had its wooden door rot away. It was then that he saw the one final piece that he was missing; a small leather pouch. He remembered in his final moments before the royal guards sealed his coffin, those who were departing with his staff and tome must have dropped this pouch without noticing. Realizing what it truly was, Adamar quickly strode to it and knelt down, frantically opening the bag. Peering inside, he saw the crumpled parchment, once drenched in blood now dried. He delicately unfolded the creases to see that his Phylactery was still intact. The fell contract that bound his undead soul to his rotting corpse was the key to keeping his spirit in this world. While he was certainly not pleased that his life's work was taken from him when they confiscated his tome, he would much rather have this. In time, he would rewrite the spells as he remembered them or learned more, and while time consuming, he had all the time in the world to create more items such as staves.
This? This tiny scrap of paper. Covered in the final drops of Adamar's blood. It was the one thing he could never replace.
Content with making it out lucky in this, he stowed the Phylactery away on his person before approaching the doorway itself. It was then that he heard the soft melody of a hum in the distance. Of course others would have awoken before him, and surely there will be more to awake afterwards. If he was to secure himself in this horrid place, he needed to act now.
He secured his mask around his face, and made his way down the corridor.
Good.
The darkness would have proved bothersome for any normal man, but one on his way to undeath such as himself would find that he could pierce the void and understand the things around him. The lack of light was no hindrance to Adamar's darkvision, as he lined his fingertips against the crease between the lid and the coffin. Pushing the lid with one hand, and digging his fingers of his other hand between the gap that was forming, he was able to slowly drag the lid to the side, revealing the musky room around him. As he stepped outside, he looked up. The floor his coffin had been laid upon ages ago gave way to the undergrowth. His capsule fell with the collapse, landing in the upright position against the rubble along the same wall. Closer inspection deduced that his coffin actually landed on someone else's in this room below, crushing them. He paid no mind to the tragedy, instead noting the condition of the rest of the room. Moss, dust, cobwebs, rust. Through the break in the floor, some of the back wall was taken down as well, pouring daylight into small puddles of old rain water. Not large enough to crawl through, glaring outside only revealed dead wastelands for as far as the foggy vision would allow.
He stepped down from the rubble, and faced the doorway, which had long since had its wooden door rot away. It was then that he saw the one final piece that he was missing; a small leather pouch. He remembered in his final moments before the royal guards sealed his coffin, those who were departing with his staff and tome must have dropped this pouch without noticing. Realizing what it truly was, Adamar quickly strode to it and knelt down, frantically opening the bag. Peering inside, he saw the crumpled parchment, once drenched in blood now dried. He delicately unfolded the creases to see that his Phylactery was still intact. The fell contract that bound his undead soul to his rotting corpse was the key to keeping his spirit in this world. While he was certainly not pleased that his life's work was taken from him when they confiscated his tome, he would much rather have this. In time, he would rewrite the spells as he remembered them or learned more, and while time consuming, he had all the time in the world to create more items such as staves.
This? This tiny scrap of paper. Covered in the final drops of Adamar's blood. It was the one thing he could never replace.
Content with making it out lucky in this, he stowed the Phylactery away on his person before approaching the doorway itself. It was then that he heard the soft melody of a hum in the distance. Of course others would have awoken before him, and surely there will be more to awake afterwards. If he was to secure himself in this horrid place, he needed to act now.
He secured his mask around his face, and made his way down the corridor.
For someone who uses an axe, the warrior did a fine job of breaking stereotypes. He came off as collected and disciplined, instead of loud and brash. He seemed like someone who was ready to most any situation, but right now proved itself to be the exception. Mikhail's grapple attempt to topple his foe would have worked because of this, but the warrior's raw strength was simply enough to remain standing as Mikhail effectively pulled himself off of his own steed as Rollo raced by the unmoved soldier. His body tumbled to the ground, landing face up just in time to see the warrior hold his axe over Mikhail.
"If it wasn't entirely clear, we are not sparring." He rose the weapon high above himself, ready to bring it down upon the green knight.
"If it wasn't entirely clear, we are not sparring." He rose the weapon high above himself, ready to bring it down upon the green knight.
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