Prosaic
StarBoi
SkaiNo Bite and All Bark said
Now, if chariot was a pegasus....
Since he's not, you've been drafted by the ground team. Welcome to the winning side soldier, here's your uniform.
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Since he's not, you've been drafted by the ground team. Welcome to the winning side soldier, here's your uniform.
"I'm a friend!" Ulysses almost cried out when he saw the gun aimed at him. Guns, to a certain extent, scared the ever loving hell out of him and his new friend was not earning any points aiming one at him. A strange sound caught Ulysses attention, part of the boat suddenly shifting, moving towards his new strange friend. "Look out!" He sharply said, moments before the device cracked the man across the head, knocking him onto his ass. When the gun was dropped out of his hand, Ulysses found some relief and took the moment to climb aboard, thanking the boat for stopping his new friend from doing something that would've made this a very short friendship. The moment he was aboard, he dropped down and took a seat on the boat that seemed to be able to attack people on command. Ulysses made a mental note to be very nice to the boat, lest he receive a blow to the head to match the strange man who was now yelling gibberish.
"And I thought I didn't talk good." Ulysses almost laughed, removing his bow and rucksack to lay them down next to him. He had no intention of using them and wanted to make sure that the other survivor understood that. "Are you okay?" He called out to the man who had still yet to rise, "I'm gonna come over now, don't do nothing silly, alright?" Ulysses stood slowly, leaving all of his stuff where he placed it, not wanting to agitate the man any further. He walked slowly, both cautious of the man and the potentially abusive boat. When he reached the man, he rose his hands in the air, opening them. "I ain't got nothin on me." He said, crouching slowly a few feet from the man, "You're bleedin' a lot. For a fella with such a strange mutation, I figured you'd be a bit more... tough like."
"And I thought I didn't talk good." Ulysses almost laughed, removing his bow and rucksack to lay them down next to him. He had no intention of using them and wanted to make sure that the other survivor understood that. "Are you okay?" He called out to the man who had still yet to rise, "I'm gonna come over now, don't do nothing silly, alright?" Ulysses stood slowly, leaving all of his stuff where he placed it, not wanting to agitate the man any further. He walked slowly, both cautious of the man and the potentially abusive boat. When he reached the man, he rose his hands in the air, opening them. "I ain't got nothin on me." He said, crouching slowly a few feet from the man, "You're bleedin' a lot. For a fella with such a strange mutation, I figured you'd be a bit more... tough like."
No Bite and All Bark said
Yes, Chariot is quite fast but has trouble navigating small space or areas with lots of obstacles, like say, a FORESTBut we do have speed and Eagle eye advantage
Oh yeah, well.... Ground team ruuuuules!
Fell said
And then there is Fell who was AFK for a day or two :( Sory for being away for so long!
All's forgiven if you join ground team!
Well, flying mounts are only so useful in a wooded area, so we have that going for us groundies.
I'll slap together a post once Vicier's gotten one up. Cyril's got some hunting to do!
Aristo said
What's the difference between 'combat' and 'weaponry?' I'd assume a combat class would cover certain kinds of weaponry by default. After all, you don't take a class for sculpting and then another for hammers and chisels.
Learning to smith a sword is quite different from learning to use it.
At least that's my interpretation of it.
I have points now? I feel so special!
Vicier said
Bonus points for using a community gif of abed and troy
Seconded.
Cyril's mind was fixated on the upcoming hunt, whatever it was that he was to hunt wasn't of much concern to him. It was more that this was the first hunt of the semester, one that would set a precedent for the rest of the year. Not to mention that he hadn't hunted in nearly three weeks thanks to his little trip back home. Every daemon bound to Thane's tome added to his arsenal and he would need a truly massive force if he were to ever encounter an S class. Cyril was brought back down to Earth when a clawed hand clamped down onto his shoulder, the ashen hand belonging to Set. "Níl duine i ndiaidh dúinn," Set spoke in almost a whisper, drawing a long sigh from Cyril. "Your lose lips will be the death of us," Cyril sighed, looking back over his shoulder. By now they had made a decent distance from the main school buildings, though there were still plenty of places for someone to hide.
Cyril could only assume that his followed spoke either English or Swedish and after waiting a few moments, he decided to just call out to his stalker, "If you're going to follow me, pick up the pace. Om du ska följa mig, plocka upp takten." Cyril wasted no more time, continuing North, toward the forest that bordered the academy. "Thane, had you released the demon from earlier yet?" Cyril spoke quickly, Thane answering with a shake of his head, "Good, how many competitors do we have?" Thane looked toward the sky momentarily, the whirling ethereal vortex that filled its hood staring up into the sky, "Ramdenime shenishvna." "Then tell me who I should worry about," Cyril answered with a hint of impatience, not bothering to humor Thane by responding in the appropriate language. Cyril hated Georgian almost as much as he hated Hungarian. The words sat in his mouth like tar. Thane's gaze shifted to its master, "The girl with the harpy, the native from this country, the one that rides on horseback, the phoenix rider, and the oriental with a Dokkaebi."
"I see," Cyril muttered, quite familiar with several of the hunters. Thane's access to the libraries of hell allowed him unrestricted access to the histories of his competition's daemons and to many of their family lines. Cyril's largest concern was the Rosiere girl. Her family was exceptionally gifted with hunting daemons. Cyril knew his father competed with her's long ago and had no doubt that further generations competed with her family as well. This generation would be no different. Cyril's pace slowed once he reached the forest, checking the skies to ensure they weren't being followed by any other hunters and stepped under the canopy of trees. He would prepare here and then make his way deeper into the wood to find this daemon, hopefully before it found him.
Cyril took a knee, going through his usual ritual to prepare himself. His head dropped and he dug out the two wooden rosaries from his pockets, bringing them to his lips as he prayed, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." He breathed slowly, wrapping the rosaries around his hands tightly, the small wooden crosses pressed against the back of his hands, held tightly by the beads that he had woven between his fingers. When he stood, he began to dig through his jacket, removing a small flask of water and a sealed glass jar of white salt. He was rather unprepared for today, most of his gear within his room, so what little water and salt he had would have to make do. The water had been blessed earlier that morning by Cyril's own two lips, as had the salt, both of which were corrosive to the flesh of daemons unbound to him. Before he would make his way deeper into the wood though, he would wait for the girl from earlier. If she were to attempt to hunt with him, he'd have to ensure that she was more of an asset than a liability.
Cyril could only assume that his followed spoke either English or Swedish and after waiting a few moments, he decided to just call out to his stalker, "If you're going to follow me, pick up the pace. Om du ska följa mig, plocka upp takten." Cyril wasted no more time, continuing North, toward the forest that bordered the academy. "Thane, had you released the demon from earlier yet?" Cyril spoke quickly, Thane answering with a shake of his head, "Good, how many competitors do we have?" Thane looked toward the sky momentarily, the whirling ethereal vortex that filled its hood staring up into the sky, "Ramdenime shenishvna." "Then tell me who I should worry about," Cyril answered with a hint of impatience, not bothering to humor Thane by responding in the appropriate language. Cyril hated Georgian almost as much as he hated Hungarian. The words sat in his mouth like tar. Thane's gaze shifted to its master, "The girl with the harpy, the native from this country, the one that rides on horseback, the phoenix rider, and the oriental with a Dokkaebi."
"I see," Cyril muttered, quite familiar with several of the hunters. Thane's access to the libraries of hell allowed him unrestricted access to the histories of his competition's daemons and to many of their family lines. Cyril's largest concern was the Rosiere girl. Her family was exceptionally gifted with hunting daemons. Cyril knew his father competed with her's long ago and had no doubt that further generations competed with her family as well. This generation would be no different. Cyril's pace slowed once he reached the forest, checking the skies to ensure they weren't being followed by any other hunters and stepped under the canopy of trees. He would prepare here and then make his way deeper into the wood to find this daemon, hopefully before it found him.
Cyril took a knee, going through his usual ritual to prepare himself. His head dropped and he dug out the two wooden rosaries from his pockets, bringing them to his lips as he prayed, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." He breathed slowly, wrapping the rosaries around his hands tightly, the small wooden crosses pressed against the back of his hands, held tightly by the beads that he had woven between his fingers. When he stood, he began to dig through his jacket, removing a small flask of water and a sealed glass jar of white salt. He was rather unprepared for today, most of his gear within his room, so what little water and salt he had would have to make do. The water had been blessed earlier that morning by Cyril's own two lips, as had the salt, both of which were corrosive to the flesh of daemons unbound to him. Before he would make his way deeper into the wood though, he would wait for the girl from earlier. If she were to attempt to hunt with him, he'd have to ensure that she was more of an asset than a liability.
Kush said
Slow down there, Askeladd. Let's not be greedy, leave some for the rest of us.
A viking seizes all that is before him! And points to you for knowing Vinland Saga.
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