Maybe he is hiding underneath a table and will follow like 20 feet behind us on our entire journey Gollum style.
RyanTadashi Member
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I'm leaving on a cruise this Saturday for about a week, and I'm not sure if I will have cell phone reception to try to stay in OOC
If this was real life then that's the recipe for a pretty successful night
His faith in the damned horse seemed to have payed off, but at a bit of a cost. Though the team's ferrum, crossbow bolts, and knives had held the two guards at bay long enough for the deor to enact his magic, the two masterfully trained Arbiters were still able to fight through the pain and wound Lasrach – a sword in the side – and Cameron – a deep cut across the forearm when he tried to engage one of the judges close range.
“Christian, get your brother back to our ship. They shoulda cleared the boardin' ramp up by now. Jory and Latvanen, you two take the cargo directly to the wardroom for the meeting.” Through trusting the unknown thief with the entire purpose of the mission might seem foolhardy, Balder was actually setting up one final test. Jory could be pressured into wrongdoing fairly easily, but if he and Marko Latvanen did decide to do anything untoward, the old master gunner would get it out of Jory easily enough that night. The thief had gone a long way towards proving himself in this mission, and Balder was impressed so far.
“And you, ya damned eee-quine fool. I'm gonna need to be helpin' ya back to the ship. Get yer giant arse onto my back. Once we're back up there, Errol will drum up a few boys to bring ya to the doctor, get that good slice taken care of. That madman'll have somethin' special for ya.”
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Back in the warroom, Balder kicked back with his feet up on a table, dirtying up the map carefully placed there. In his left hand was a pitcher of beer – a midnight colored stout made from barley malt and roasted barley – and in his right, an empty glass, the bottom still dark with the sticky remnants of his last poured glass. The old man had given up on that right hand; however, and was drinking directly from the pitcher. That day was a rough one, and though he didn't lose anyone in his own team, the sight of Lasrach and Cameron's blood pooling up on those warped wooden planks had jarred him. He had seen a lot of death and experienced a lot of loss, but this one would be a drop too far.
Either way it didn't happen. Another day, another run in with death, another plunder. There would be another one tomorrow and every day after that until the old man came up short.
“Christian, get your brother back to our ship. They shoulda cleared the boardin' ramp up by now. Jory and Latvanen, you two take the cargo directly to the wardroom for the meeting.” Through trusting the unknown thief with the entire purpose of the mission might seem foolhardy, Balder was actually setting up one final test. Jory could be pressured into wrongdoing fairly easily, but if he and Marko Latvanen did decide to do anything untoward, the old master gunner would get it out of Jory easily enough that night. The thief had gone a long way towards proving himself in this mission, and Balder was impressed so far.
“And you, ya damned eee-quine fool. I'm gonna need to be helpin' ya back to the ship. Get yer giant arse onto my back. Once we're back up there, Errol will drum up a few boys to bring ya to the doctor, get that good slice taken care of. That madman'll have somethin' special for ya.”
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Back in the warroom, Balder kicked back with his feet up on a table, dirtying up the map carefully placed there. In his left hand was a pitcher of beer – a midnight colored stout made from barley malt and roasted barley – and in his right, an empty glass, the bottom still dark with the sticky remnants of his last poured glass. The old man had given up on that right hand; however, and was drinking directly from the pitcher. That day was a rough one, and though he didn't lose anyone in his own team, the sight of Lasrach and Cameron's blood pooling up on those warped wooden planks had jarred him. He had seen a lot of death and experienced a lot of loss, but this one would be a drop too far.
Either way it didn't happen. Another day, another run in with death, another plunder. There would be another one tomorrow and every day after that until the old man came up short.
I've broken my orbital floor and my jaw before and I was able to talk with both :)
Okay, so the guard isn't necessarily dead. My bloodlust has been satiated by the nose/face blood showers.
The pop might have been a collapsing orbital floor or it might have been a jaw. Either way he should be able to lead us to the pot of gold or the last unicorn or whatever we need.
The pop might have been a collapsing orbital floor or it might have been a jaw. Either way he should be able to lead us to the pot of gold or the last unicorn or whatever we need.
The Niratremi soldiers advanced, swords raised, a few rapidly closing the distance between them and the young pirate. Sabine waved to and fro, but the blade's dance was truly nothing more than a show – a distraction to mask Jericho's movement. Jericho had the layout of The Wise Trader burned into his mind, and one specific point drew his focus. Just on the opposite side of the table vacated by the group of soldiers moments ago was a fireplace with a brick bench extending from the surround and mantle. A young couple previously sitting and talking there – a bearded man and pretty, dark skinned girl – had fled the building at the first signs of violence. What was left was no longer a bench, but instead a tool, begging to be used by the raging combatants.
Standing well under 6 feet tall and only lightly armored, the young man knew that he couldn't overpower any of the guards, and he was even less likely to do so when facing multiple men simultaneously. By moving around and over obstacles, Jericho could not only avoid attacks, but also utilize any bits of scenery for leverage or even as makeshift weapons. The brick bench and fireplace were perfect for both of those objectives.
With adrenaline coursing through his entire body, the swashbuckling youth's instincts guided Jericho through each subsequent action. Leap over the bench, parry and spin left, continue the rotation with a backhand from Sabine, jump backwards to dodge, suffer a shallow cut in the thigh, fight through, drop to one knee and slice at a hamstring. The only things he could think about were his pounding heartbeat and the fact that he wasn't dead yet.
After moments, the bricks below them were spattered sporadically with blood, some from Jericho but more from the two soldiers trying to carve up the nimble fighter – one of them already laboring from a downward cut over the guard's cuirass. After parrying one guard's sword, the pirate lunged, putting all of his weight – in an elevated position from on top the bench – behind his rapier. The sword slid into soft flesh of the guard's hip just to the left of the groin, underneath the man's cuisse. A howl of pain rang through the tavern and the man crumpled to the ground, but Jericho's brash attack had left him vulnerable.
At that moment, the captain of the guards attacked, slashing sword looking to gut Jericho's prone torso. The man was huge and powerful, the exact caricature of a Niratremi brute. The muscles of his arm visibly tensed behind the slash, and his face was a sign of rage with eyes wide and upper lip curled into a fierce snarl. The pirate arched his back, trying to suck in as much of his defenseless stomach as possible. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to sufficiently avoid the blade, Jericho resorted to slamming his left arm down, heavy guard clattering against the sword. He followed through into the bench, trapping the sword and stopping the threat but nearly breaking his arm in two. Waves of nausea rose up into his blanching head, and his instinctive thrust – rapier grazing the captain's neck – nearly caused him to collapse. With his arm hanging limp at his side, the injured swashbuckler stumbled through the gap left by the first fallen guards towards an overturned table. The young man leapt the length of the table and agilely skidded to a stop and momentary safety.
Unable to grasp anything in his left hand, but not wanting to face this monster left handed, Jericho pulled a dagger out of his belt and slid the hilt into the strap of leather from his arm guard covering his palm. It wasn't the tightest of fits, but it would have to do. Before he could reenter the fray, the table exploded and a heavy object connected solidly with the young man's back. He spun with the impact, landing on his buttock to see the captain thrashing about with his foot cleanly through the table. If Jericho waited to think about what he was doing, he would surely decide better of his actions. As it was, the pirate launched himself at the captain before he could realize what this injured madman was doing. Swords clashed, knee connected with face, and both men were quickly sprawled across the ground. Sabine slid across the floor, but, luckily, so too did the captain's sword. Jericho stabbed down with the dagger in his left hand, but his arm was caught by the captain, meaty hand clutching a throbbing forearm. Pain renewed nearly caused Jericho's body to go completely limp.
With his last fleeting instances of consciousness, Jericho noticed that the guard's block had been entirely down to luck, for there was no way he could have actually seen the attack coming. The smaller man's knee had connected solidly on the guard's nose with blood freely running across his face obscuring his vision. In a last ditch effort to avoid letting this burly savage rip his arm off, Jericho slammed down with his head into the guard's face. The first headbutt sent a gruesome shower of blood – from both combatants – through the air. A second impact, a sickening pop, and the world went dark.
Standing well under 6 feet tall and only lightly armored, the young man knew that he couldn't overpower any of the guards, and he was even less likely to do so when facing multiple men simultaneously. By moving around and over obstacles, Jericho could not only avoid attacks, but also utilize any bits of scenery for leverage or even as makeshift weapons. The brick bench and fireplace were perfect for both of those objectives.
With adrenaline coursing through his entire body, the swashbuckling youth's instincts guided Jericho through each subsequent action. Leap over the bench, parry and spin left, continue the rotation with a backhand from Sabine, jump backwards to dodge, suffer a shallow cut in the thigh, fight through, drop to one knee and slice at a hamstring. The only things he could think about were his pounding heartbeat and the fact that he wasn't dead yet.
After moments, the bricks below them were spattered sporadically with blood, some from Jericho but more from the two soldiers trying to carve up the nimble fighter – one of them already laboring from a downward cut over the guard's cuirass. After parrying one guard's sword, the pirate lunged, putting all of his weight – in an elevated position from on top the bench – behind his rapier. The sword slid into soft flesh of the guard's hip just to the left of the groin, underneath the man's cuisse. A howl of pain rang through the tavern and the man crumpled to the ground, but Jericho's brash attack had left him vulnerable.
At that moment, the captain of the guards attacked, slashing sword looking to gut Jericho's prone torso. The man was huge and powerful, the exact caricature of a Niratremi brute. The muscles of his arm visibly tensed behind the slash, and his face was a sign of rage with eyes wide and upper lip curled into a fierce snarl. The pirate arched his back, trying to suck in as much of his defenseless stomach as possible. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to sufficiently avoid the blade, Jericho resorted to slamming his left arm down, heavy guard clattering against the sword. He followed through into the bench, trapping the sword and stopping the threat but nearly breaking his arm in two. Waves of nausea rose up into his blanching head, and his instinctive thrust – rapier grazing the captain's neck – nearly caused him to collapse. With his arm hanging limp at his side, the injured swashbuckler stumbled through the gap left by the first fallen guards towards an overturned table. The young man leapt the length of the table and agilely skidded to a stop and momentary safety.
Unable to grasp anything in his left hand, but not wanting to face this monster left handed, Jericho pulled a dagger out of his belt and slid the hilt into the strap of leather from his arm guard covering his palm. It wasn't the tightest of fits, but it would have to do. Before he could reenter the fray, the table exploded and a heavy object connected solidly with the young man's back. He spun with the impact, landing on his buttock to see the captain thrashing about with his foot cleanly through the table. If Jericho waited to think about what he was doing, he would surely decide better of his actions. As it was, the pirate launched himself at the captain before he could realize what this injured madman was doing. Swords clashed, knee connected with face, and both men were quickly sprawled across the ground. Sabine slid across the floor, but, luckily, so too did the captain's sword. Jericho stabbed down with the dagger in his left hand, but his arm was caught by the captain, meaty hand clutching a throbbing forearm. Pain renewed nearly caused Jericho's body to go completely limp.
With his last fleeting instances of consciousness, Jericho noticed that the guard's block had been entirely down to luck, for there was no way he could have actually seen the attack coming. The smaller man's knee had connected solidly on the guard's nose with blood freely running across his face obscuring his vision. In a last ditch effort to avoid letting this burly savage rip his arm off, Jericho slammed down with his head into the guard's face. The first headbutt sent a gruesome shower of blood – from both combatants – through the air. A second impact, a sickening pop, and the world went dark.
flagrant-self-serving-fanboy-marysue-badassery sounds cool to me
i think i'll kill the captain
I'll have one up tomorrow. Should I try to take on the leader to incapacitate him, or was somebody else going to tackle him?
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