@LugubriousAlright
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- Roughdragon1 8 yrs ago
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Just wondering, when it comes to meeting certain factions in the city, do we write those encounters in ourselves, or do we wait for you to introduce us to them?@Lugubrious
Sylvia deftly dodged the ogre’s crushing blows, thankful for the backup now present. Still, she couldn’t let her guard down. There it was again, that feeling of uselessness she had. Really, what could she do with a knife and a sword that might as well have been a largish dagger? That orc was battling the ogre head-on, swinging his axe like a savage while the ogre either took the hits or staggered out of the way. Did he have to worry about fragility? Hell no.
She pushed away the distracting thoughts and decided that she should use her skills to target something truly vital. The scattered bits of armor the rat ogre wore protected most of the vital areas, except a precious few. Namely, the eyes. Mentally, she planned out her attack. She would run up to it while it was distracted; climb its fur, then jab it in the eyes with her swords.
Easier said than done.
She took a deep breath, then sprinted towards the ogre, making sure to avoid the sudden swarm of bees manifesting behind her, and jumped as high as she could, grabbing onto the ogre’s coarse wires of hair. A few of the cords broke off, but luckily, the rest were sturdy enough to support her weight. Hoping the beast was distracted, she continued to climb up inch by inch, hand after hand. The stench of rot and excrement didn't make the climbing any easier.
Eventually, she scrabbled her way up to the thing’s neck, thanking her lightly armored self for making the climb so much easier than it would have been had she been wearing restrictive armor and clothing. Now came the hard part. The bees were all over the thing’s neck, making it difficult for her to concentrate, but eventually she had her legs securely around its scruff, and in both hands she carried her knife and shortsword.
“Alright then, beast. Let’s see what happens when I blindside you.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, but the threat it carried was real. Gripping the two blades, she thrusted both of them down towards the ogre’s eyes.
She pushed away the distracting thoughts and decided that she should use her skills to target something truly vital. The scattered bits of armor the rat ogre wore protected most of the vital areas, except a precious few. Namely, the eyes. Mentally, she planned out her attack. She would run up to it while it was distracted; climb its fur, then jab it in the eyes with her swords.
Easier said than done.
She took a deep breath, then sprinted towards the ogre, making sure to avoid the sudden swarm of bees manifesting behind her, and jumped as high as she could, grabbing onto the ogre’s coarse wires of hair. A few of the cords broke off, but luckily, the rest were sturdy enough to support her weight. Hoping the beast was distracted, she continued to climb up inch by inch, hand after hand. The stench of rot and excrement didn't make the climbing any easier.
Eventually, she scrabbled her way up to the thing’s neck, thanking her lightly armored self for making the climb so much easier than it would have been had she been wearing restrictive armor and clothing. Now came the hard part. The bees were all over the thing’s neck, making it difficult for her to concentrate, but eventually she had her legs securely around its scruff, and in both hands she carried her knife and shortsword.
“Alright then, beast. Let’s see what happens when I blindside you.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, but the threat it carried was real. Gripping the two blades, she thrusted both of them down towards the ogre’s eyes.
@ProPro
...Were we supposed to do that?
...Were we supposed to do that?
Saria sat on the sandy shore, the details of her last fight coming back to her. She felt the familiar insanity, the alien architecture surrounding her, seemingly closing in on her as the brawl went on, and the little girl who transformed herself into a towering, bulbous mass of wretchedly terrible flesh and sinew.
Who knew that transforming into an even bigger, slower monster was a bad idea? Saria could practically read Cythla’s attacks like a book, and could attack the monster with ease. The only downside was that killing her took upwards of half an hour, slicing at the flesh and dodging attacks, eventually making so many cuts to the thing’s head and eyes that it simply died.
After killing her, Saria recalled stumbling out of the massive room and back into the alien city, tripping and falling on the non-euclidean stones. She didn’t recall how long she was there, but she remembered her mind starting to turn on her, wanting her to turn the red blade on herself. She resisted these urges, and persevered until she miraculously ended up back at her boat.
She had never rowed so fast in her life.
By the time she’d gotten back to shore, her mind was still scrambled; the only thing carrying her along was the drive to get away from that… place. The puzzling part was, however, the fact that once she had gotten back to shore, she turned to look at the city, but it simply wasn’t there. Not even a shimmer.
Expectedly, this whole ordeal only heightened Saria’s fear of the water.
Now, with the phylactery buzzing to life, Saira heard the familiar voice yapping through its microphone, talking about such things as “explosions”, “echoes”, and “factions”. The voice also mentioned artifacts the other warriors received, but Saria never received any such artifact.
Most likely landed somewhere in the water, or maybe even the strange city. Oh well, I’ll have to make do without one, I suppose.
She also noticed that the beach was now positively flooded, the docks only about a foot above water. She turned towards the city, its massive buildings higher than anything Saria had ever seen back in her time. The roads were flat, not a speck of dust present. Bright colors flashed out at her, various signs and posts advertising pointless things.
She heard the announcer say something about “linking” phylacteries so that the warriors could talk to each other preemptively. Saria couldn’t pass up on such a tempting opportunity.
To know an opponent was to take control of them, and using the information gained, the warrior may commence building their battle plan.
Saria recited the quote from the Silverlocke War Manual, a book ingrained into the fibers of her very being. It was, in essence, the Silverlocke Bible because they had studied it so much to the point of it being their entire belief system, unable to be shaken from her soul.
She clicked the Phylactery, hearing another buzz.
“Link my phylactery to my opponent’s.”
The word “phylactery” seemed to dance on her tongue, but at the same time twisted it. She waited for an answer, but at this point, there was only one thing to do, and that was to go deeper into the city and explore. Most likely, her opponent walked the streets, the same as her.
Who knew that transforming into an even bigger, slower monster was a bad idea? Saria could practically read Cythla’s attacks like a book, and could attack the monster with ease. The only downside was that killing her took upwards of half an hour, slicing at the flesh and dodging attacks, eventually making so many cuts to the thing’s head and eyes that it simply died.
After killing her, Saria recalled stumbling out of the massive room and back into the alien city, tripping and falling on the non-euclidean stones. She didn’t recall how long she was there, but she remembered her mind starting to turn on her, wanting her to turn the red blade on herself. She resisted these urges, and persevered until she miraculously ended up back at her boat.
She had never rowed so fast in her life.
By the time she’d gotten back to shore, her mind was still scrambled; the only thing carrying her along was the drive to get away from that… place. The puzzling part was, however, the fact that once she had gotten back to shore, she turned to look at the city, but it simply wasn’t there. Not even a shimmer.
Expectedly, this whole ordeal only heightened Saria’s fear of the water.
Now, with the phylactery buzzing to life, Saira heard the familiar voice yapping through its microphone, talking about such things as “explosions”, “echoes”, and “factions”. The voice also mentioned artifacts the other warriors received, but Saria never received any such artifact.
Most likely landed somewhere in the water, or maybe even the strange city. Oh well, I’ll have to make do without one, I suppose.
She also noticed that the beach was now positively flooded, the docks only about a foot above water. She turned towards the city, its massive buildings higher than anything Saria had ever seen back in her time. The roads were flat, not a speck of dust present. Bright colors flashed out at her, various signs and posts advertising pointless things.
She heard the announcer say something about “linking” phylacteries so that the warriors could talk to each other preemptively. Saria couldn’t pass up on such a tempting opportunity.
To know an opponent was to take control of them, and using the information gained, the warrior may commence building their battle plan.
Saria recited the quote from the Silverlocke War Manual, a book ingrained into the fibers of her very being. It was, in essence, the Silverlocke Bible because they had studied it so much to the point of it being their entire belief system, unable to be shaken from her soul.
She clicked the Phylactery, hearing another buzz.
“Link my phylactery to my opponent’s.”
The word “phylactery” seemed to dance on her tongue, but at the same time twisted it. She waited for an answer, but at this point, there was only one thing to do, and that was to go deeper into the city and explore. Most likely, her opponent walked the streets, the same as her.
@Lugubrious Damn, I apologize for my far-too-long hiatus. To be completely honest, I had lost interest in writing the fight for Rose Cythla, mainly because there were only so many attack patterns I could write without either getting confusing or just outright repetitive (Dodge tentacle, slice. Dodge beam, slice. Dodge limb, slice). Also, not having much at stake (an NPC battle) didn't help much as well. But yeah, since I will actually be writing against another person this time around, I am certain that I'll finish it this time. But when I do write a post, do you want me to include the Cythla fight as a flashback, then continue on with the current events?
Even when he had disposed of his torch, Sylvia had still followed Sif through the tunnels for a long while, using her natural intuition and perception as a guide until the narrow mining shaft gradually branched out in all directions into a long, wide hallway. It also helped that she only really needed to follow the tunnel one way.
Coming out into the mines, she saw what she initially thought to be a wall, but realized that it was moving, and had arms and legs. It was the back of the rat ogre, another hulking mass of fur and flesh.
She recalled her encounter with the first rat ogre, how she failed to pierce the beast’s spine, and almost paid for it with her life. Well, now she had two blades, and a bloodlust to fill, thanks to that earlier stormvermin retreating from the fight. Despite her wound, she was aching for another fight.
The ogre seemed to be transfixed by something flickering on the ground; Siph’s torch. And the beast, oblivious to the small human who had just entered the hall, had its back turned to her.
Perfect.
Sylvia recited her transparency spell, and stalked towards the ogre, both blades in her hands. Unlike the last ogre, which had been thrashing and swinging at nearly everything nearby, this one was docile, at least for the moment. It was a strange thing, getting so close to an opponent who could crush her in a single blow. But then again, it had to catch her first.
Silently, like a shadow in the dark, she snuck up behind the ogre and searched for any weak spots. Of course, on such a massive beast, it was difficult to find any among its mass. Still, everything always had a weakness. Everything.
Won’t risk the spine again, it’s too damn strong.
Even though the dwarven shortsword probably could have pierced the bone, she wouldn’t risk getting grabbed by that thing, since she wasn’t certain she would have any backup. So, she looked lower. Its waist was covered by a ragged loincloth, but she wasn’t going to go there.
There are some things even I wouldn’t do, and that’s one of them. The ogre’s probably castrated anyway.
So, she looked even lower, towards the legs, more specifically, the tendons and ligaments which held them together. Easy pickings. She aimed for its right leg, slicing towards its achilles and hamstring areas, hoping to cut deep.
Coming out into the mines, she saw what she initially thought to be a wall, but realized that it was moving, and had arms and legs. It was the back of the rat ogre, another hulking mass of fur and flesh.
She recalled her encounter with the first rat ogre, how she failed to pierce the beast’s spine, and almost paid for it with her life. Well, now she had two blades, and a bloodlust to fill, thanks to that earlier stormvermin retreating from the fight. Despite her wound, she was aching for another fight.
The ogre seemed to be transfixed by something flickering on the ground; Siph’s torch. And the beast, oblivious to the small human who had just entered the hall, had its back turned to her.
Perfect.
Sylvia recited her transparency spell, and stalked towards the ogre, both blades in her hands. Unlike the last ogre, which had been thrashing and swinging at nearly everything nearby, this one was docile, at least for the moment. It was a strange thing, getting so close to an opponent who could crush her in a single blow. But then again, it had to catch her first.
Silently, like a shadow in the dark, she snuck up behind the ogre and searched for any weak spots. Of course, on such a massive beast, it was difficult to find any among its mass. Still, everything always had a weakness. Everything.
Won’t risk the spine again, it’s too damn strong.
Even though the dwarven shortsword probably could have pierced the bone, she wouldn’t risk getting grabbed by that thing, since she wasn’t certain she would have any backup. So, she looked lower. Its waist was covered by a ragged loincloth, but she wasn’t going to go there.
There are some things even I wouldn’t do, and that’s one of them. The ogre’s probably castrated anyway.
So, she looked even lower, towards the legs, more specifically, the tendons and ligaments which held them together. Easy pickings. She aimed for its right leg, slicing towards its achilles and hamstring areas, hoping to cut deep.
“What use is a shield if I no longer have anything to protect? I would rather focus on killing with both hands."
Saga Berenike
Age: 41
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Personality: Disgruntled, paranoid, distant. These words, and many more similar terms, describe Saga in a fairly accurate way. After deserting his former kingdom, he developed an intense distaste for people who abided by codes of honor, etiquette, and other such rules because he believes that people use these codes to mask their true feelings and manipulate others. Because of his mannerisms, or lack thereof, he usually is not looked upon favorably by others because of his brashness and blunt honesty.
Backstory: Saga hails from a faraway kingdom, in fact, so far away, that whether one goes north, south, east, or west, it makes no difference in the duration of the unhindered journey. This particular kingdom was known for its Knights; their honor, their chivalric values, and their loyal devotion to the cause. He was one of them: Diligent in his service, unyielding, and a stalwart soldier. However, Saga was betrayed by the very values he had treasured so much. He casted away his shield, no longer content with protecting himself. Instead, he now wields his sword with both hands. Fleeing to Silvershire to escape his former kingdom, he took his newfound safety to be a rare blessing. But then again, maybe it wasn't.
Equipment
His old plate armor, once shining with a proud gleam and polish, an armor once thought to be impenetrable by his old enemies, is now dirty, rusted, and worn with age. It holds well against most attacks, but it is still very far from what it used to be.
His sword, a sturdy blade as tall as himself, is the only piece of his equipment he still keeps in relatively good shape. Useful for beating back the opposition, it is just as you would expect from a sword, and often, the ordinary blade is all a soldier needs.
Saga Berenike
Age: 41
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Personality: Disgruntled, paranoid, distant. These words, and many more similar terms, describe Saga in a fairly accurate way. After deserting his former kingdom, he developed an intense distaste for people who abided by codes of honor, etiquette, and other such rules because he believes that people use these codes to mask their true feelings and manipulate others. Because of his mannerisms, or lack thereof, he usually is not looked upon favorably by others because of his brashness and blunt honesty.
Backstory: Saga hails from a faraway kingdom, in fact, so far away, that whether one goes north, south, east, or west, it makes no difference in the duration of the unhindered journey. This particular kingdom was known for its Knights; their honor, their chivalric values, and their loyal devotion to the cause. He was one of them: Diligent in his service, unyielding, and a stalwart soldier. However, Saga was betrayed by the very values he had treasured so much. He casted away his shield, no longer content with protecting himself. Instead, he now wields his sword with both hands. Fleeing to Silvershire to escape his former kingdom, he took his newfound safety to be a rare blessing. But then again, maybe it wasn't.
Equipment
His old plate armor, once shining with a proud gleam and polish, an armor once thought to be impenetrable by his old enemies, is now dirty, rusted, and worn with age. It holds well against most attacks, but it is still very far from what it used to be.
His sword, a sturdy blade as tall as himself, is the only piece of his equipment he still keeps in relatively good shape. Useful for beating back the opposition, it is just as you would expect from a sword, and often, the ordinary blade is all a soldier needs.
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