So does Rose Cythia have mobs to fight through?
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I don't know why, but I think my character will get along strangely well with the warhammer characters
This… college, as the two called it, seemed to be one of the strangest places Saria had ever laid her eyes on. As far as she knew, a college was a place of learning and study. However, this “college” was built like a castle, but still didn’t exactly seem like one.
“Follow us, please.” The man motioned towards the building. Saria did, however reluctantly. She was wary of these magic-using individuals, who seemed to carry technology that surpassed anything she had ever seen before. She saw that others, accompanied by their own pairs of guides, were making their way towards the entrance of the college.
“Oh, and I almost forgot. My name is Doctor Jace Merkenheimer. The gun-lady is Ms. Emil Jackson.” Saria realized that Ms. Jackson was still pointing that strange device at her, what Doctor Merkenheimer referred to as a “gun.”
Maybe it’s some sort of projectile device? Like a sort of hand-sized crossbow?
Her interest wandered elsewhere, however, as they finally entered the college itself. The interior of the college was, well, clean, to say the least. No rats crawled about, no piles of refuse and trash littered the floors, and there seemed to be no discernible smell. Merkenheimer was in front, leading them through what seemed like miles upon miles of twists, turns, ups, downs, and circles. It was truly disorienting. All the while, Ms. Jackson followed from behind, and Saria could almost feel the barrel of the gun brushing against her armored back. It gave her an uneasy feeling, like she was being herded as cattle was.
No matter. If this is a trap, they’re trapped in here with me, not the other way around.
Finally, after rounding another corner, they came to a peculiar door. Merkenheimer stepped aside, and motioned towards it. Saria realized that this was her cue to proceed. She pushed open the door and stepped into a massive, circular room which seemed to be the place the other participants had filed into. Each contestant stood on top of their own podium, and Saria noticed two empty ones, each next to the nearly sixteen-foot tall brute, who could barely fit onto the thing. She took her spot on one of the podiums next to him, intending to show that she wasn’t intimidated by his bulk.
Worst come to worst, I could just cut the tendons in his leg; good luck catching me then.
It seemed that all of these contestants, in some way at least, were all warriors. The first combatant who caught her attention was the knight who wielded a halberd. She’d fought and killed her fair share of knights, and for some reason, knights in general seemed to annoy her. They possessed their faux code of “honor”, which they hid behind in order to perform deplorable acts of cruelty. However, this knight seemed different somehow. He seemed… tired, exhausted, distant from such tales of heroism.
Interesting, a knight who does not behave as a knight. I wonder if he still fights like one.
The next contestant who had peaked her interest was the lady who seemed to surround herself with a permanent aura of ice and frost. Or maybe that was just her personality. What had interested Saria, however, was that this lady seemed to be the complete opposite of herself. Her flowing white clothes contrasted Saria’s black armor, and she seemed to be the cold, analytical type, which clashed with Saria’s fiery temper.
Ah, she must be quite the fighter, refusing to wear armor. Either that, or she’s just foolish.
Another contestant who had caught her attention was a strange, armored figure across the room. He looked like a knight, especially the helmet, but not quite. For one, he seemed to carry almost no melee weapons, as far as she could see. Instead, he seemed to carry larger versions of the “gun” Ms. Jackson had threatened her with earlier. Another peculiarity was that his armor was not that of a knight. It seemed to be made of some other material unknown to her. He was most certainly not from her time, and as Saria continued to look around, she wondered if any of these combatants were from her own world, and how many had heard of the Blood Devil.
She tightened her grip on the Red Blade, feeling its strange energy flow through her. It gave her a sense of power. Maybe that was the blade itself, its fabled Jogun construction working its magic on her.
An old woman had begun talking, and Saria had only picked up little tidbits of words and phrases, at least the ones that caught her attention.
“There may be dragons, demons, gods, or giants, treasure or torture, but I do know there will be fighting.”
Good, that is all I need.
She was directed to pick up a strange heart-shaped object, which was bound to a wire to act as a necklace. She cautiously picked it up, and slipped it on beneath her armor. Apparently, their souls were connected to the things, so they had better protect them. A thick mist began to fill the room, and Saria struggled to see through the dense fog, which even obscured the massive brute who still stood next to her on his podium.
Saria took a deep breath, as she usually did before an important task. Even with a raging personality such as hers, it did help to calm down and clear her head once in a while. As her visibility decreased even more, she hung onto her blade, and exhaled.
It’s time to begin.
“Follow us, please.” The man motioned towards the building. Saria did, however reluctantly. She was wary of these magic-using individuals, who seemed to carry technology that surpassed anything she had ever seen before. She saw that others, accompanied by their own pairs of guides, were making their way towards the entrance of the college.
“Oh, and I almost forgot. My name is Doctor Jace Merkenheimer. The gun-lady is Ms. Emil Jackson.” Saria realized that Ms. Jackson was still pointing that strange device at her, what Doctor Merkenheimer referred to as a “gun.”
Maybe it’s some sort of projectile device? Like a sort of hand-sized crossbow?
Her interest wandered elsewhere, however, as they finally entered the college itself. The interior of the college was, well, clean, to say the least. No rats crawled about, no piles of refuse and trash littered the floors, and there seemed to be no discernible smell. Merkenheimer was in front, leading them through what seemed like miles upon miles of twists, turns, ups, downs, and circles. It was truly disorienting. All the while, Ms. Jackson followed from behind, and Saria could almost feel the barrel of the gun brushing against her armored back. It gave her an uneasy feeling, like she was being herded as cattle was.
No matter. If this is a trap, they’re trapped in here with me, not the other way around.
Finally, after rounding another corner, they came to a peculiar door. Merkenheimer stepped aside, and motioned towards it. Saria realized that this was her cue to proceed. She pushed open the door and stepped into a massive, circular room which seemed to be the place the other participants had filed into. Each contestant stood on top of their own podium, and Saria noticed two empty ones, each next to the nearly sixteen-foot tall brute, who could barely fit onto the thing. She took her spot on one of the podiums next to him, intending to show that she wasn’t intimidated by his bulk.
Worst come to worst, I could just cut the tendons in his leg; good luck catching me then.
It seemed that all of these contestants, in some way at least, were all warriors. The first combatant who caught her attention was the knight who wielded a halberd. She’d fought and killed her fair share of knights, and for some reason, knights in general seemed to annoy her. They possessed their faux code of “honor”, which they hid behind in order to perform deplorable acts of cruelty. However, this knight seemed different somehow. He seemed… tired, exhausted, distant from such tales of heroism.
Interesting, a knight who does not behave as a knight. I wonder if he still fights like one.
The next contestant who had peaked her interest was the lady who seemed to surround herself with a permanent aura of ice and frost. Or maybe that was just her personality. What had interested Saria, however, was that this lady seemed to be the complete opposite of herself. Her flowing white clothes contrasted Saria’s black armor, and she seemed to be the cold, analytical type, which clashed with Saria’s fiery temper.
Ah, she must be quite the fighter, refusing to wear armor. Either that, or she’s just foolish.
Another contestant who had caught her attention was a strange, armored figure across the room. He looked like a knight, especially the helmet, but not quite. For one, he seemed to carry almost no melee weapons, as far as she could see. Instead, he seemed to carry larger versions of the “gun” Ms. Jackson had threatened her with earlier. Another peculiarity was that his armor was not that of a knight. It seemed to be made of some other material unknown to her. He was most certainly not from her time, and as Saria continued to look around, she wondered if any of these combatants were from her own world, and how many had heard of the Blood Devil.
She tightened her grip on the Red Blade, feeling its strange energy flow through her. It gave her a sense of power. Maybe that was the blade itself, its fabled Jogun construction working its magic on her.
An old woman had begun talking, and Saria had only picked up little tidbits of words and phrases, at least the ones that caught her attention.
“There may be dragons, demons, gods, or giants, treasure or torture, but I do know there will be fighting.”
Good, that is all I need.
She was directed to pick up a strange heart-shaped object, which was bound to a wire to act as a necklace. She cautiously picked it up, and slipped it on beneath her armor. Apparently, their souls were connected to the things, so they had better protect them. A thick mist began to fill the room, and Saria struggled to see through the dense fog, which even obscured the massive brute who still stood next to her on his podium.
Saria took a deep breath, as she usually did before an important task. Even with a raging personality such as hers, it did help to calm down and clear her head once in a while. As her visibility decreased even more, she hung onto her blade, and exhaled.
It’s time to begin.
Sylvia was in a bind, to put it lightly. She was surrounded by three stormvermin. The one to her left held a long halberd in its armored hands, the one to her right wielded a spiked flail, already red with blood, paired with a kite shield, and the one behind her twirled two nasty-looking axes in its hands.
She was on edge, knowing that at any moment, the stormvermin could strike, and with her unarmored self, a direct hit would most likely prove fatal. At first, she couldn’t see any way out. They had her too backed up, too cornered. If she tried to dodge away from the flail-wielding stormvermin, she’d be skewered by the one with the halberd. If she tried to back away from both of them, the axe-wielding skaven behind would make short work of her.
She had to decide quickly, however. The skaven on her right exaggerated an attack, and Sylvia knew that it was going for a feint. The real threat came from the halberd-wielding stormvermin on her left side. As it stepped in to thrust its weapon towards Sylvia, it seemed that her choice had already been made for her. Considering all the present factors, she had one foreseeable option. So, instead of dodging away from the rat’s halberd, she instead dodged towards it. Or more accurately, slightly to the left of it. Considering the pole arm's length, if Sylvia could dodge the head of the halberd, she could get close.
In a quick movement, Sylvia launched herself towards the attacking rat, and felt a sharp pain below her ribs. She knew she had been cut, but couldn’t risk looking down to see how bad it was. Instead, once she bypassed the dangerous part of the rat’s weapon, her hand shot up, dagger drawn, and then embedded it into the rat’s neck. Sylvia twisted the blade, quickly ending the vermin’s life.
She spun around and immediately ducked, narrowly avoiding a deadly flail to the skull. The rat raised its shield, and with that barrier blocking her way, she couldn’t get past and attack the skaven. Instead, she turned towards the dual-axe rat, who was preparing to swing both instruments in a powerful attack. The two skaven made the mistake of being too close, however, and Sylvia took advantage of this. She deftly stepped out of the way of the attack, and instead of hitting her, the rat’s axes collided with the other stormvermin’s shield, knocking it out of the way and providing Sylvia an opening which she immediately took advantage of, jamming her dagger into the side of the vermin’s neck, killing it.
She yanked the dagger out, spurting crimson streams through the air. She could tell the wound below her ribs was bleeding badly. She felt blood run down the right side of her body, damping her clothes. She had to carry on, though.
One more, just one more.
The rat clanged both axes together, squeaking out a war cry. Sylvia took a deep breath, focusing herself, tuning out the other battles, tuning out the other sounds, tuning out all other distractions. It was truly a sight to behold. In the midst of battle, in the midst of chaos, the two combatants faced each other, preparing to deliver their final strike. And seemingly, at the drop of a hat, they charged.
The stormvermin lunged towards her, both axes swinging wildly, aiming to hit something, anything. Sylvia waited, and saw the perfect moment arise: The rat came into a wide stance, and had both its arms extended out to the sides of its body, like it was going to give a bladed hug. Sylvia dodged to the right, and quickly sliced the rat’s wrist between the joint gap of armor plating. The rat screeched in pain, cancelling its attack and holding its wounded wrist, and at the same time Sylvia grabbed the Skaven’s axe as it fell. She felt the weight pull down her arm, but with strained effort, she raised it over her read, and brought it down upon the skaven’s torso, in the unarmored area between the pauldron and the helmet. It fell to its knees, gravely wounded, and Sylvia finished it off by slitting its throat.
There was a period of respite, but then she too fell to her knees, gasping and coughing from the effort. Her wound was still bleeding due to her exertions through combat, and her every limb burned and ached with a dredging pain. Her heart sank as she looked around her, realizing that the assassins were still present and wreaking havoc among the dwarves, and many, many skaven and stormvermin were still up and fighting.
How… How many will we have to kill? How many until one gets a lucky hit in?
She wanted to give up, resign to her grisly fate. No matter how many they killed, it seemed like with every one that fell, five more took its place. She knew the guild could bring her back should she die, but the pain of death was not a happy prospect to her. In fact, she wanted to avoid it at all costs. Even so, should she fall in battle, there was a risk that she could be captured and taken away. If anything, she planned to avoid that fate.
And so, despite her almost unbearable state, Sylvia slowly got up on sore legs, and with shaking hands drew her bloodied dagger, ready to enter the fight once more.
She was on edge, knowing that at any moment, the stormvermin could strike, and with her unarmored self, a direct hit would most likely prove fatal. At first, she couldn’t see any way out. They had her too backed up, too cornered. If she tried to dodge away from the flail-wielding stormvermin, she’d be skewered by the one with the halberd. If she tried to back away from both of them, the axe-wielding skaven behind would make short work of her.
She had to decide quickly, however. The skaven on her right exaggerated an attack, and Sylvia knew that it was going for a feint. The real threat came from the halberd-wielding stormvermin on her left side. As it stepped in to thrust its weapon towards Sylvia, it seemed that her choice had already been made for her. Considering all the present factors, she had one foreseeable option. So, instead of dodging away from the rat’s halberd, she instead dodged towards it. Or more accurately, slightly to the left of it. Considering the pole arm's length, if Sylvia could dodge the head of the halberd, she could get close.
In a quick movement, Sylvia launched herself towards the attacking rat, and felt a sharp pain below her ribs. She knew she had been cut, but couldn’t risk looking down to see how bad it was. Instead, once she bypassed the dangerous part of the rat’s weapon, her hand shot up, dagger drawn, and then embedded it into the rat’s neck. Sylvia twisted the blade, quickly ending the vermin’s life.
She spun around and immediately ducked, narrowly avoiding a deadly flail to the skull. The rat raised its shield, and with that barrier blocking her way, she couldn’t get past and attack the skaven. Instead, she turned towards the dual-axe rat, who was preparing to swing both instruments in a powerful attack. The two skaven made the mistake of being too close, however, and Sylvia took advantage of this. She deftly stepped out of the way of the attack, and instead of hitting her, the rat’s axes collided with the other stormvermin’s shield, knocking it out of the way and providing Sylvia an opening which she immediately took advantage of, jamming her dagger into the side of the vermin’s neck, killing it.
She yanked the dagger out, spurting crimson streams through the air. She could tell the wound below her ribs was bleeding badly. She felt blood run down the right side of her body, damping her clothes. She had to carry on, though.
One more, just one more.
The rat clanged both axes together, squeaking out a war cry. Sylvia took a deep breath, focusing herself, tuning out the other battles, tuning out the other sounds, tuning out all other distractions. It was truly a sight to behold. In the midst of battle, in the midst of chaos, the two combatants faced each other, preparing to deliver their final strike. And seemingly, at the drop of a hat, they charged.
The stormvermin lunged towards her, both axes swinging wildly, aiming to hit something, anything. Sylvia waited, and saw the perfect moment arise: The rat came into a wide stance, and had both its arms extended out to the sides of its body, like it was going to give a bladed hug. Sylvia dodged to the right, and quickly sliced the rat’s wrist between the joint gap of armor plating. The rat screeched in pain, cancelling its attack and holding its wounded wrist, and at the same time Sylvia grabbed the Skaven’s axe as it fell. She felt the weight pull down her arm, but with strained effort, she raised it over her read, and brought it down upon the skaven’s torso, in the unarmored area between the pauldron and the helmet. It fell to its knees, gravely wounded, and Sylvia finished it off by slitting its throat.
There was a period of respite, but then she too fell to her knees, gasping and coughing from the effort. Her wound was still bleeding due to her exertions through combat, and her every limb burned and ached with a dredging pain. Her heart sank as she looked around her, realizing that the assassins were still present and wreaking havoc among the dwarves, and many, many skaven and stormvermin were still up and fighting.
How… How many will we have to kill? How many until one gets a lucky hit in?
She wanted to give up, resign to her grisly fate. No matter how many they killed, it seemed like with every one that fell, five more took its place. She knew the guild could bring her back should she die, but the pain of death was not a happy prospect to her. In fact, she wanted to avoid it at all costs. Even so, should she fall in battle, there was a risk that she could be captured and taken away. If anything, she planned to avoid that fate.
And so, despite her almost unbearable state, Sylvia slowly got up on sore legs, and with shaking hands drew her bloodied dagger, ready to enter the fight once more.
Saria faced her opponent, or in this case, her opponents: A large man, clad head-to-toe in bulky, rusted iron armor, and also wielded a warhammer. He was a full head taller than Saria was, and from the looks of him, he was quite the brute. His companion seemed the complete opposite.
She was a girl, who seemed much more quick and fleet than he was. Instead of armor, she wore a set of silky, flowing robes that danced in the wind with every step she took. She carried in her hands a bow, and along her waist a pair of knives hung lazily.
“Ah, the Blood Devil herself. Allow me to introduce my partner and I. Sir Gerrick is my name, and she is Nil.” The man’s voice, through his domed helmet, was muffled and sounded quite silly. It was as if he was trying to speak while gagged.
“My, you have been causing quite the trouble lately. Responsible for over fifty murders across the countryside, I couldn’t believe it when I saw the flier. But as I look at you now, I can see why. I see a deranged, savage animal. And such animals can only be exterminated. Now, before we kill you and take your head back to the guards, care to explain why you would do such a thing? I am quite curious, really.”
Saria unsheathed her sword, its reddish blade glinting an angry crimson. She didn’t care what this fool of a man thought of her duels. They chose to fight her, and she won. Simple as that. Inwardly, she sighed. She had made a mistake coming here. The warriors of these lands were too soft, too fragile and fearful. One scratch, and they ran away. Shameful. The same went with these two. One cut, and they’d likely be off, pissing themselves as they went.
“I dueled them as I duel you now. That is all you need to know.” Gerrick laughed. Nil merely smirked.
“Oh, you think this is a duel? That is where you are wrong, lady. This is a--” Like lightning, Saria lunged forward, swinging her blade. Gerrick raised his warhammer to block, but Saria met it with full force, hitting the wooden grip of the hammer and shattering it through the middle, knocking Gerrick off balance.
“What? You--” Saria followed up with a punch, her armored gauntlet colliding with his helmet, denting it and sending him sprawling to the ground.
Saria went over to finish the job, but a sudden, burning pain in her side stopped her. She looked down, and saw a dagger jutting out of her side. She looked around, and saw Nil a few paces away, a smirk on her face, preparing to fire an arrow. Saria quickly yanked out the dagger, sending more flashes of pain up her side, and threw it towards Nil.
She ducked out of the dagger’s way, but the momentary distraction gave her enough time to get close. Saria charged into Nil, throwing her to the ground. Before she could recover, she raised an armored boot, over her head. Saria saw fear in her eyes. Good.
Without hesitation, she brought her boot down, hearing a satisfying crunch as the woman’s head caved in.
Vermin.
She sauntered over to Gerrick, who was just starting to stand up. Before he could, she kicked him in the face, sending him back to the dirt. She flipped her sword over, ready to stab him while he was on the ground. He tried to reach over for his warhammer, or what was left of it, but her foot pinned his arm, restricting movement.
“To be honest, you and your companion fought… horribly. A word of advice, concentrate less on your vocabulary and more on your strikes.”
“Wh-What happened to Nil? What did you do?” Saria shrugged, and raised her other boot to show him what happened.
“Gah-- you-- you monster!” He struggled more, but it was of no use. Saria had defeated him, and now he was going to die. But as she raised her sword, she heard something strange. A series of gasps, or choking noises coming from Gerrick.
Is he… is he crying? Saria stayed her blade, listening closely. Yes, indeed, he was crying.
“No… Nil… please… no....” Saria sighed, and jammed the blade through the helmet, into the eye-slit. She felt a spasm, a twitch, then nothing.
You’ll join her in the afterlife, I suppose.
She wiped her blade and sheathed it. However, as she began to make her way down the road, she heard footsteps behind her.
Oh, you cannot be serious.
Again, she unsheathed her sword and spun around, ready to face her opponent.
“Whoa, Whoa, wait!” Two people, dressed in strange, greenish cloaks stood in front of her. They looked to be a bit older than her, one man, one woman. The man was the one who spoke, and the woman held out a strange metal device in her hand, pointing it at Saria.
“What do you want?” Saria demanded.
“You are Saria Silverlocke, yes?” The man continued, regaining his composure. Saria nodded, though she had no clue of how these strange people knew this.
“What do you want?” Saria demanded, again.
“We are here to propose to you a tournament.”
A tournament? Interesting.
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“To keep it simple, if you win, you will be granted a single wish. It may be anything you desire.”
“I desire to fight and die in battle. Can your people accommodate?”
“An… unusual wish, but it can be granted.”
“Alright, so where do I go?”
“Follow us, please.” The two crossed the road, where the two former bounty hunters lay dead. They ignored the bodies, and stepped into the thick trees. Saria followed them through, keeping her hands on her sword. She still had the sneaking suspicion that this was a trap.
After a moment, however, the trees cleared, and she was shocked to see a massive, paved courtyard in front of her, which sat in front of a massive, unusual looking building.
What the…
Saria turned back around, to see the forest, but it wasn’t there anymore. All she saw was stone.
She was a girl, who seemed much more quick and fleet than he was. Instead of armor, she wore a set of silky, flowing robes that danced in the wind with every step she took. She carried in her hands a bow, and along her waist a pair of knives hung lazily.
“Ah, the Blood Devil herself. Allow me to introduce my partner and I. Sir Gerrick is my name, and she is Nil.” The man’s voice, through his domed helmet, was muffled and sounded quite silly. It was as if he was trying to speak while gagged.
“My, you have been causing quite the trouble lately. Responsible for over fifty murders across the countryside, I couldn’t believe it when I saw the flier. But as I look at you now, I can see why. I see a deranged, savage animal. And such animals can only be exterminated. Now, before we kill you and take your head back to the guards, care to explain why you would do such a thing? I am quite curious, really.”
Saria unsheathed her sword, its reddish blade glinting an angry crimson. She didn’t care what this fool of a man thought of her duels. They chose to fight her, and she won. Simple as that. Inwardly, she sighed. She had made a mistake coming here. The warriors of these lands were too soft, too fragile and fearful. One scratch, and they ran away. Shameful. The same went with these two. One cut, and they’d likely be off, pissing themselves as they went.
“I dueled them as I duel you now. That is all you need to know.” Gerrick laughed. Nil merely smirked.
“Oh, you think this is a duel? That is where you are wrong, lady. This is a--” Like lightning, Saria lunged forward, swinging her blade. Gerrick raised his warhammer to block, but Saria met it with full force, hitting the wooden grip of the hammer and shattering it through the middle, knocking Gerrick off balance.
“What? You--” Saria followed up with a punch, her armored gauntlet colliding with his helmet, denting it and sending him sprawling to the ground.
Saria went over to finish the job, but a sudden, burning pain in her side stopped her. She looked down, and saw a dagger jutting out of her side. She looked around, and saw Nil a few paces away, a smirk on her face, preparing to fire an arrow. Saria quickly yanked out the dagger, sending more flashes of pain up her side, and threw it towards Nil.
She ducked out of the dagger’s way, but the momentary distraction gave her enough time to get close. Saria charged into Nil, throwing her to the ground. Before she could recover, she raised an armored boot, over her head. Saria saw fear in her eyes. Good.
Without hesitation, she brought her boot down, hearing a satisfying crunch as the woman’s head caved in.
Vermin.
She sauntered over to Gerrick, who was just starting to stand up. Before he could, she kicked him in the face, sending him back to the dirt. She flipped her sword over, ready to stab him while he was on the ground. He tried to reach over for his warhammer, or what was left of it, but her foot pinned his arm, restricting movement.
“To be honest, you and your companion fought… horribly. A word of advice, concentrate less on your vocabulary and more on your strikes.”
“Wh-What happened to Nil? What did you do?” Saria shrugged, and raised her other boot to show him what happened.
“Gah-- you-- you monster!” He struggled more, but it was of no use. Saria had defeated him, and now he was going to die. But as she raised her sword, she heard something strange. A series of gasps, or choking noises coming from Gerrick.
Is he… is he crying? Saria stayed her blade, listening closely. Yes, indeed, he was crying.
“No… Nil… please… no....” Saria sighed, and jammed the blade through the helmet, into the eye-slit. She felt a spasm, a twitch, then nothing.
You’ll join her in the afterlife, I suppose.
She wiped her blade and sheathed it. However, as she began to make her way down the road, she heard footsteps behind her.
Oh, you cannot be serious.
Again, she unsheathed her sword and spun around, ready to face her opponent.
“Whoa, Whoa, wait!” Two people, dressed in strange, greenish cloaks stood in front of her. They looked to be a bit older than her, one man, one woman. The man was the one who spoke, and the woman held out a strange metal device in her hand, pointing it at Saria.
“What do you want?” Saria demanded.
“You are Saria Silverlocke, yes?” The man continued, regaining his composure. Saria nodded, though she had no clue of how these strange people knew this.
“What do you want?” Saria demanded, again.
“We are here to propose to you a tournament.”
A tournament? Interesting.
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“To keep it simple, if you win, you will be granted a single wish. It may be anything you desire.”
“I desire to fight and die in battle. Can your people accommodate?”
“An… unusual wish, but it can be granted.”
“Alright, so where do I go?”
“Follow us, please.” The two crossed the road, where the two former bounty hunters lay dead. They ignored the bodies, and stepped into the thick trees. Saria followed them through, keeping her hands on her sword. She still had the sneaking suspicion that this was a trap.
After a moment, however, the trees cleared, and she was shocked to see a massive, paved courtyard in front of her, which sat in front of a massive, unusual looking building.
What the…
Saria turned back around, to see the forest, but it wasn’t there anymore. All she saw was stone.
Ok, changed my character post so that it doesn't take up so much space
The first two seem more preferable
Oops, nvm, I got it now
Just wondering, how would fights play out between rpers? Do we write out the entire fight, including a possible kill, or do we write it out section by section?
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