@Lord ZeeSince the elvkiin are known to worship the Evertrees and are accustomed to nature, what sort of relationship do they have with the fae?
Slamurai
Member
- Last Seen: 5 mos ago
- Old Guild Username: Aristocrap
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 2239 (0.56 / day)
- VMs: 7
-
Username history
- Slamurai 4 yrs ago
- █████████ 5 yrs ago
- ██████ 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Plank Sinatra
Status
Recent Statuses
6 yrs ago
Not my own words, but: "Enjoy memes and have a good time online, but develop a solid sense of self-worth that is rooted in a reality that doesn't disappear when the battery charge is empty."
4
likes
6 yrs ago
The spam. It hurts.
1
like
6 yrs ago
Yeah, and you're under arrest, pal.
1
like
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Given the nature of the artifacts as symbols of status, and their sheer importance to the Empire itself, I wouldn't think the nobility would just let any old sword-for-hire carry them.
Will the social status/rank and experience of the player characters be a factor in how they're utilized?
Will the social status/rank and experience of the player characters be a factor in how they're utilized?
This was 90% @Goldeagle1221
It had been another few grueling weeks on the frontlines. Abigail’s army was finally managing to pressure William’s armies into striking where she wanted. The added presence of the Archon’s military spreading William thin. As days passed, more and more nobles defected from William’s ranks, and soon Abigail saw her opportunity. She sent the majority of hers and the Archon’s army northwards to intercept the last of William’s chevauchees, as well as to give William a resting breath of false hope.
Over the last few weeks she had been constructing a new force in secret, as well as building upon her own powers as a mist-talker. Her royal alchemist had gone missing in this time, but it was assumed his transit from the capital couldn’t keep up with the quick pacing of the frontlines. Whatever the future may hold, Abigail was ready to unleash her latest machination upon the treacherous William.
Her small encampment of elite and specialized soldiers and knights lay hidden under the shadow of the new moon, and the thickets of a forest that stretched from upper Kamwell. They lay not far from William’s personal camp, the bulk of his finest soldiers patrolling the area, but the rest evading her own army far from here.
“So that’s the plan,” Abigail reiterated, as she found herself prone to the last few days. She stood at the edge of her encampment, if one could call it that, as it was simply a gathering of soldiers, all armed and ready, with absolutely no distractions. Across from her was two knights as well as her husband, the latter being named Sir Acel and Sir Senthin, regional heroes of a sort, having proved themselves to be Abigail’s finest knights. Famous for their unique fighting style, they were very much a key player in this secretive blow.
The Queen turned to her husband, “and you follow right behind me the whole way.”
“I just wish we could have brought those new engines,” Senthin muttered, “would’ve made for quite an explosive end to this war.”
“Too noisy,” Acel reminded him, “but I admit the imagery would have been church tapestry worthy.”
Abigail shook a finger, “agreed, but shh.”
She turned back to the Archon, “ready?”
“Just say the word,” he replied. “Duke William will have nowhere to run this time.”
“William won’t,” Abigail agreed as she adjusted her sword buckle. The Queen and her three companions were all dressed in dark leathers and stiff plates in areas not prone to chafe or move, like the shins and forearms, and upper breast, but otherwise forgone full body protection. Acel and Senthin both had their knightly swords on their hips, but carried no shields. Other agents of Abigail stood scattered, each with tanned bladders of flax and liquid fats.
The word was given and the group disappeared deep into the forests, making their way to William’s camp. Abigail managed to learn of William’s encampment as he awaited fresh troops from Drouschester, his main forces off causing havoc in the north and giving battle to what William suspected was herself. After that, all the other pieces fell into place. No scouts picked up on her specialized warband, and no warnings were issued to William, this is where it ends.
The forests were silent as the group made their way through, the agents dispersing out of sight of the group of four. The walk through the woods had been one of anticipation and anxiety, with everyone’s hearts in their throats, but as far as Abigail’s own path through, it was smooth and without complications. In due time, she knew her own warband would be following the same path to deliver the final blow, she just needed to keep to her scheduled timing.
As the small group exited the forest and found themselves faced with the three meter slope of the encampment hill, Abigail once again thanked the Serene One for the new moon, the darkness hiding her approach from the sentries and their limited torches.
Acel, just close enough for Abigail to make out of the pitch dark gave a nod and silently he and Sethin slinked away, leaving Vorren and Abigail alone to do their part. Quietly the pair made their way to the short palisades, avoiding the range of the torch lights and the patrolling hillsmen.
As one turned on his route, Abigail took the opportunity to slip by, vaulting the palisade in near silence. Vorren landed to her side, following suit in what was more a glide than a drop. Abigail quickly scampered behind one of the many tents, taking her first look at the camp. It was a forest of tents, spaced out for optimum use, and accidentally maximizing potential hiding places. She felt her husband slink behind her and she began moving once more, sliding between tents.
In the reflection of some of the torches she noticed her other agents also snooping around, their tanned bladders open and soaking everything available. One even gave her a thumbs up before slinking away. Abigail forced a smile, even though the agent would not see it. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and every beat frightened her, thinking it loud enough for a sentry to hear.
Vorren placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she glanced behind to see a flash of fangs in the dark, a sight that might’ve been terrifying to anyone else, but knowing Vorren had her back only steeled her resolve. She returned his smile, picked herself up and continued her journey to the center of the camp, where she found the largest and most ostentatious tent, beside it a iron wrought cage, covered in a thick blanket, much like a large birdcage. She slid over to it, quickly lifting the blanket and going under it. Vorren remained nearby, eyes peeling the dark for unwanted attention.
Under the blanket she found a darkness even deeper than the new moon night sky, a soft breathing muffling the dense air. It wasn’t hers, her own breath was quick and full of adrenaline. Suddenly the breathing stopped with a shudder, turning to a regular and active rhythm.
“Who’s there?” Edith’s voice called out.
“Shhhh.” Abigail felt her blood freeze, “it’s Abigail, keep your voice down.”
“Abigail?” Edith sounded desperately relieved, her shaking voice almost at tears “Abigail?”
“Where is the key?” Abigail replied, her mind narrowed on her goal.
“William’s tent,” Edith answered, her voice returning to its usual cool manner, albeit still tinged with worry.
“Serene One guide me,” Abigail sucked in a breath and slipped out from under the blanket. In one fluid movement she turned the corner, crouched, and slipped behind the posted guard so fast and into the tent, no one would think anything of it. Her heart pounded as she hid in the corner of the tent, just in case someone heard her entrance. She took in the view, her chest heaving.
While it was too dark to see the details of the tent, she could briefly make out the breathing silhouette of William as he slept prone on his bed, the glint of a sword pommel, and the length of a key on his nightstand. Abigail slowly removed herself from her hiding spot, creeping up to the key, adrenaline racing through her veins. Her head turned to look at the sleeping William, and her thoughts began to race. What if he were to wake up right now, what if he was pretending, what if he knew? Then her mind slowly turned to darker thoughts as she reached for the key, what if she killed him there and now, this was the man who ruined her nation, killed her people, stole her friend, and murdered her father’s most trusted members of the court. She could end it now, right now. She shook her head as she tightened her grasp on the key, no, she wanted him to see his defeat.
As quickly as she snuck in, she snuck out and rounded the corner, but this time she could hear the guard turning. She slipped back under the blanket as she heard the guard enter the tent out of curiosity, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
“Abigail?” Edith whispered.
“Shh,” Abigail answered as she unlocked the cage. A hand reached out from the cage and grabbed her arm gently.
The grab turned into a tiny push, “let’s go.”
Abigail nodded, not that Edith could see and the two slinked out from under the blanket and back to the camp. Suddenly the far west of the camp exploded into flames, she took too long. The camp was engulfed in a bright orange light as half of it erupted into bright and angry flames. Hillmen were rushing out of their tents screaming and scrambling for their bows. Guards were running frantic, and on the tree line Abigail could see her archers, their arrows dipping in fire.
She grabbed Edith’s arm and began to run, but suddenly a large group of armed knights, hastily clad in their gambesons cut her off. Vorren’s sword was in his hand in a flash, and he positioned himself between the knights and the women. Before Abigail could even arm herself with the blade of Halwende, Acel and Senthin came charging out of nowhere.
Their charge distracted the guards and allowed Abigail and Edith to slip by, quickly making their way over the palisade and down the hill. Vorren lingered, blade shrieking as he both deflected a blow and sliced through his attacker’s underarm in a swift motion. Acel gave the vampire a nod, an unspoken understanding passed in the heat of the moment, and Vorren trailed after Abigail. As Edith entered the forest, Abigail turned. The entire camp was illuminated by fire, the battle of Acel and Senthin as clear as if it was midday, Abigail stood frozen at the inspiring sight.
An enemy knight swung his sword at Acel, an arrow darted towards him, and an axe reached for his legs. In a fluid motion Acel moved into the sword swing, his own sword hamstringing the knight and putting them in the way of the axe. The axe dug into the enemy knight, and in pain the knight shot his arms up, the arrow digging into his forearm. Acel spun, pushing the axeman over, snatching the enemy knight’s blade from the air, and threw it at Senthin.
Senthin sidestepped, the blade catching the face of a charging hillman. He yanked it out in a wide arc, the removed blade slapping away an incoming enemy stroke, and slitting the throat of a approaching enemy guard as Senthin spun to meet them. With his free hand he grabbed the dying enemy’s shield and continued his spin, catching a falchion in the shield, twisting the shield to yank the blade from it’s master's hand, and slapping the shield to his left, the pommel of the blade knocking into an approaching man’s teeth.
The man fell backwards, an arrow meant for Acel digging into his throat. Acel grabbed the body and threw it behind him, the dead man’s grip firm on his axe, the axe-head slapping a knight’s helmet, causing him to stumble backwards and into an overhead mace swing meant for Acel. Acel grabbed the maceman’s arm and twisted it, throwing the man into another, and disarming him with a wide flourish. The mace now in Acel’s possession continued it’s wide flourish and in one fluid movement, bashed into the head of another enemy.
The pair continued in this fluid and deadly way until the enemy was reluctant to give them further battle. The hillman’s arrows turned to Abigail’s archers, but as they darted across the night sky, a bloom of blue mist caught them. Rows of mist talkers appeared by the archer’s streams of mist shooting from their agape mouths. Abigail felt a welling confidence as her plan was falling together, and then, she saw him.
An angry William stood silhouetted by the flames, longsword in hand as he barked orders. He jerked to his left and to his right, yelling and screaming until he suddenly stopped, going still. Abigail began to walk forward from the line of archers, and William made his way down the hill towards her. Vorren took a step forward, but Abigail held up a hand, eyes still fixed on her nemesis. The Archon sighed, knowing full well this was her fight, and she’d be damned if anyone else stepped in.
She pulled the blade of Halwende from its scabbard and shouted over the roar of the flames, “It’s over William! You have lost! Surrender and you will be spared!”
“Spared and given what? Prison? Shame? I will not bow to you!” William’s voice was like a demon, angry and full of inhuman rage.
“We can end this William!”
“And we will!”
The Duke’s longsword burst into a large sweep, Abigail leaping back just in time, “So be it.” She hissed. She blew a cloud of mist, but William sidestepped and thrusted with his blade. Abigail slapped it away, the tip catching her leather momentarily.
“Fight me like a King,” William growled as he swung again.
Abigail pursed her lips and charged into the swing, deflecting it and sending one of her own. William parried and riposted. Abigail caught it on her crossguard and shoved him back, following it up with a counter. William let it slide on his blade, moving the strike to the side as he kicked horizontally with the pommel of his blade, using her strike as leverage. Abigail ducked and shot up with a stab. William jerked away from the tip and swung down. Abigail managed to slip out of its way, even slapping his blade with her pommel and then cutting at him. The blade slashed into his arm and William roared.
Suddenly his blows became frequent, trained, and brutal. Abigail felt herself being slowly pushed to the edge of her training. Parry. Riposte. Counter. Dodge. The two were a blur of masterworked attacks and defenses. The armies around them seemed to freeze, their eyes on the battle, and even the raging fire seemed to slow down to watch. The swords danced and shrieked. Blood flew in ribbons and sparks lit up area around their quick moving feet.
William slammed into Abigail, his crossguard cracking across her jaw, sending her backwards. Vorren looked on with white-knuckled fists as William launched a follow-up, but Abigail caught herself in time to parry his half-handed thrust. Blood trickled down her leg from a flurry of knicks and cuts of strokes just barely dodged, but she narrowed her eyes, William not completely untouched himself.
She took a few steps forward, bringing about her blade with expert precision, William keeping up by deflecting each blow with every part of his blade, and striking out with the full long sword. Cross, pommel and blade, Abigail found herself being pushed back once more by the onslaught of attacks. With confidence she leapt forward, bringing in her blade with exotic and unexpected direction. William seemed to be caught off guard but slowly molded to her attacks and the two fell back into a devastating dance of sparks, blood and roars of rage. Their blades flashed and screamed through the air, and their eyes never left each other as the fight quickly became too fast for the bystanders to keep up with.
Suddenly the blade of Halwende let out a muffled thunking sound as it bit into William’s wrist. The steel cut through the bone, lopping the Duke’s right hand off with a single stroke. William screamed in pain, and Abigail flicked her wrist and spun her shoulders, bringing her blade back for one final stroke. The blade caught the light and glimmered as if boasting to the world its final destination. And then with a sickening sound and a spray of blood, the sword glided across Williams shoulders, and into his neck, lobbing his head clean off in a sea of scarlet.
As the head hit the grassy hill, it shattered into dust, and the rage inside Abigail turned to horror, relief, and confusion. The body of the duke crumbled to dust. The armies were frozen, the battle over, the war over.
“SHE IS QUEEN!” a voice yelled out of the silence, suspiciously sounding like Acel. The Queen’s soldiers roared in response, and what was left of William’s band laid down their weapons. Abigail’s chest was inflated and she rose her blade over her head and let out a cry of victory.
Kamwell, Lynnfaire
It had been another few grueling weeks on the frontlines. Abigail’s army was finally managing to pressure William’s armies into striking where she wanted. The added presence of the Archon’s military spreading William thin. As days passed, more and more nobles defected from William’s ranks, and soon Abigail saw her opportunity. She sent the majority of hers and the Archon’s army northwards to intercept the last of William’s chevauchees, as well as to give William a resting breath of false hope.
Over the last few weeks she had been constructing a new force in secret, as well as building upon her own powers as a mist-talker. Her royal alchemist had gone missing in this time, but it was assumed his transit from the capital couldn’t keep up with the quick pacing of the frontlines. Whatever the future may hold, Abigail was ready to unleash her latest machination upon the treacherous William.
Her small encampment of elite and specialized soldiers and knights lay hidden under the shadow of the new moon, and the thickets of a forest that stretched from upper Kamwell. They lay not far from William’s personal camp, the bulk of his finest soldiers patrolling the area, but the rest evading her own army far from here.
“So that’s the plan,” Abigail reiterated, as she found herself prone to the last few days. She stood at the edge of her encampment, if one could call it that, as it was simply a gathering of soldiers, all armed and ready, with absolutely no distractions. Across from her was two knights as well as her husband, the latter being named Sir Acel and Sir Senthin, regional heroes of a sort, having proved themselves to be Abigail’s finest knights. Famous for their unique fighting style, they were very much a key player in this secretive blow.
The Queen turned to her husband, “and you follow right behind me the whole way.”
“I just wish we could have brought those new engines,” Senthin muttered, “would’ve made for quite an explosive end to this war.”
“Too noisy,” Acel reminded him, “but I admit the imagery would have been church tapestry worthy.”
Abigail shook a finger, “agreed, but shh.”
She turned back to the Archon, “ready?”
“Just say the word,” he replied. “Duke William will have nowhere to run this time.”
“William won’t,” Abigail agreed as she adjusted her sword buckle. The Queen and her three companions were all dressed in dark leathers and stiff plates in areas not prone to chafe or move, like the shins and forearms, and upper breast, but otherwise forgone full body protection. Acel and Senthin both had their knightly swords on their hips, but carried no shields. Other agents of Abigail stood scattered, each with tanned bladders of flax and liquid fats.
The word was given and the group disappeared deep into the forests, making their way to William’s camp. Abigail managed to learn of William’s encampment as he awaited fresh troops from Drouschester, his main forces off causing havoc in the north and giving battle to what William suspected was herself. After that, all the other pieces fell into place. No scouts picked up on her specialized warband, and no warnings were issued to William, this is where it ends.
The forests were silent as the group made their way through, the agents dispersing out of sight of the group of four. The walk through the woods had been one of anticipation and anxiety, with everyone’s hearts in their throats, but as far as Abigail’s own path through, it was smooth and without complications. In due time, she knew her own warband would be following the same path to deliver the final blow, she just needed to keep to her scheduled timing.
As the small group exited the forest and found themselves faced with the three meter slope of the encampment hill, Abigail once again thanked the Serene One for the new moon, the darkness hiding her approach from the sentries and their limited torches.
Acel, just close enough for Abigail to make out of the pitch dark gave a nod and silently he and Sethin slinked away, leaving Vorren and Abigail alone to do their part. Quietly the pair made their way to the short palisades, avoiding the range of the torch lights and the patrolling hillsmen.
As one turned on his route, Abigail took the opportunity to slip by, vaulting the palisade in near silence. Vorren landed to her side, following suit in what was more a glide than a drop. Abigail quickly scampered behind one of the many tents, taking her first look at the camp. It was a forest of tents, spaced out for optimum use, and accidentally maximizing potential hiding places. She felt her husband slink behind her and she began moving once more, sliding between tents.
In the reflection of some of the torches she noticed her other agents also snooping around, their tanned bladders open and soaking everything available. One even gave her a thumbs up before slinking away. Abigail forced a smile, even though the agent would not see it. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and every beat frightened her, thinking it loud enough for a sentry to hear.
Vorren placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she glanced behind to see a flash of fangs in the dark, a sight that might’ve been terrifying to anyone else, but knowing Vorren had her back only steeled her resolve. She returned his smile, picked herself up and continued her journey to the center of the camp, where she found the largest and most ostentatious tent, beside it a iron wrought cage, covered in a thick blanket, much like a large birdcage. She slid over to it, quickly lifting the blanket and going under it. Vorren remained nearby, eyes peeling the dark for unwanted attention.
Under the blanket she found a darkness even deeper than the new moon night sky, a soft breathing muffling the dense air. It wasn’t hers, her own breath was quick and full of adrenaline. Suddenly the breathing stopped with a shudder, turning to a regular and active rhythm.
“Who’s there?” Edith’s voice called out.
“Shhhh.” Abigail felt her blood freeze, “it’s Abigail, keep your voice down.”
“Abigail?” Edith sounded desperately relieved, her shaking voice almost at tears “Abigail?”
“Where is the key?” Abigail replied, her mind narrowed on her goal.
“William’s tent,” Edith answered, her voice returning to its usual cool manner, albeit still tinged with worry.
“Serene One guide me,” Abigail sucked in a breath and slipped out from under the blanket. In one fluid movement she turned the corner, crouched, and slipped behind the posted guard so fast and into the tent, no one would think anything of it. Her heart pounded as she hid in the corner of the tent, just in case someone heard her entrance. She took in the view, her chest heaving.
While it was too dark to see the details of the tent, she could briefly make out the breathing silhouette of William as he slept prone on his bed, the glint of a sword pommel, and the length of a key on his nightstand. Abigail slowly removed herself from her hiding spot, creeping up to the key, adrenaline racing through her veins. Her head turned to look at the sleeping William, and her thoughts began to race. What if he were to wake up right now, what if he was pretending, what if he knew? Then her mind slowly turned to darker thoughts as she reached for the key, what if she killed him there and now, this was the man who ruined her nation, killed her people, stole her friend, and murdered her father’s most trusted members of the court. She could end it now, right now. She shook her head as she tightened her grasp on the key, no, she wanted him to see his defeat.
As quickly as she snuck in, she snuck out and rounded the corner, but this time she could hear the guard turning. She slipped back under the blanket as she heard the guard enter the tent out of curiosity, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
“Abigail?” Edith whispered.
“Shh,” Abigail answered as she unlocked the cage. A hand reached out from the cage and grabbed her arm gently.
The grab turned into a tiny push, “let’s go.”
Abigail nodded, not that Edith could see and the two slinked out from under the blanket and back to the camp. Suddenly the far west of the camp exploded into flames, she took too long. The camp was engulfed in a bright orange light as half of it erupted into bright and angry flames. Hillmen were rushing out of their tents screaming and scrambling for their bows. Guards were running frantic, and on the tree line Abigail could see her archers, their arrows dipping in fire.
She grabbed Edith’s arm and began to run, but suddenly a large group of armed knights, hastily clad in their gambesons cut her off. Vorren’s sword was in his hand in a flash, and he positioned himself between the knights and the women. Before Abigail could even arm herself with the blade of Halwende, Acel and Senthin came charging out of nowhere.
Their charge distracted the guards and allowed Abigail and Edith to slip by, quickly making their way over the palisade and down the hill. Vorren lingered, blade shrieking as he both deflected a blow and sliced through his attacker’s underarm in a swift motion. Acel gave the vampire a nod, an unspoken understanding passed in the heat of the moment, and Vorren trailed after Abigail. As Edith entered the forest, Abigail turned. The entire camp was illuminated by fire, the battle of Acel and Senthin as clear as if it was midday, Abigail stood frozen at the inspiring sight.
An enemy knight swung his sword at Acel, an arrow darted towards him, and an axe reached for his legs. In a fluid motion Acel moved into the sword swing, his own sword hamstringing the knight and putting them in the way of the axe. The axe dug into the enemy knight, and in pain the knight shot his arms up, the arrow digging into his forearm. Acel spun, pushing the axeman over, snatching the enemy knight’s blade from the air, and threw it at Senthin.
Senthin sidestepped, the blade catching the face of a charging hillman. He yanked it out in a wide arc, the removed blade slapping away an incoming enemy stroke, and slitting the throat of a approaching enemy guard as Senthin spun to meet them. With his free hand he grabbed the dying enemy’s shield and continued his spin, catching a falchion in the shield, twisting the shield to yank the blade from it’s master's hand, and slapping the shield to his left, the pommel of the blade knocking into an approaching man’s teeth.
The man fell backwards, an arrow meant for Acel digging into his throat. Acel grabbed the body and threw it behind him, the dead man’s grip firm on his axe, the axe-head slapping a knight’s helmet, causing him to stumble backwards and into an overhead mace swing meant for Acel. Acel grabbed the maceman’s arm and twisted it, throwing the man into another, and disarming him with a wide flourish. The mace now in Acel’s possession continued it’s wide flourish and in one fluid movement, bashed into the head of another enemy.
The pair continued in this fluid and deadly way until the enemy was reluctant to give them further battle. The hillman’s arrows turned to Abigail’s archers, but as they darted across the night sky, a bloom of blue mist caught them. Rows of mist talkers appeared by the archer’s streams of mist shooting from their agape mouths. Abigail felt a welling confidence as her plan was falling together, and then, she saw him.
An angry William stood silhouetted by the flames, longsword in hand as he barked orders. He jerked to his left and to his right, yelling and screaming until he suddenly stopped, going still. Abigail began to walk forward from the line of archers, and William made his way down the hill towards her. Vorren took a step forward, but Abigail held up a hand, eyes still fixed on her nemesis. The Archon sighed, knowing full well this was her fight, and she’d be damned if anyone else stepped in.
She pulled the blade of Halwende from its scabbard and shouted over the roar of the flames, “It’s over William! You have lost! Surrender and you will be spared!”
“Spared and given what? Prison? Shame? I will not bow to you!” William’s voice was like a demon, angry and full of inhuman rage.
“We can end this William!”
“And we will!”
The Duke’s longsword burst into a large sweep, Abigail leaping back just in time, “So be it.” She hissed. She blew a cloud of mist, but William sidestepped and thrusted with his blade. Abigail slapped it away, the tip catching her leather momentarily.
“Fight me like a King,” William growled as he swung again.
Abigail pursed her lips and charged into the swing, deflecting it and sending one of her own. William parried and riposted. Abigail caught it on her crossguard and shoved him back, following it up with a counter. William let it slide on his blade, moving the strike to the side as he kicked horizontally with the pommel of his blade, using her strike as leverage. Abigail ducked and shot up with a stab. William jerked away from the tip and swung down. Abigail managed to slip out of its way, even slapping his blade with her pommel and then cutting at him. The blade slashed into his arm and William roared.
Suddenly his blows became frequent, trained, and brutal. Abigail felt herself being slowly pushed to the edge of her training. Parry. Riposte. Counter. Dodge. The two were a blur of masterworked attacks and defenses. The armies around them seemed to freeze, their eyes on the battle, and even the raging fire seemed to slow down to watch. The swords danced and shrieked. Blood flew in ribbons and sparks lit up area around their quick moving feet.
William slammed into Abigail, his crossguard cracking across her jaw, sending her backwards. Vorren looked on with white-knuckled fists as William launched a follow-up, but Abigail caught herself in time to parry his half-handed thrust. Blood trickled down her leg from a flurry of knicks and cuts of strokes just barely dodged, but she narrowed her eyes, William not completely untouched himself.
She took a few steps forward, bringing about her blade with expert precision, William keeping up by deflecting each blow with every part of his blade, and striking out with the full long sword. Cross, pommel and blade, Abigail found herself being pushed back once more by the onslaught of attacks. With confidence she leapt forward, bringing in her blade with exotic and unexpected direction. William seemed to be caught off guard but slowly molded to her attacks and the two fell back into a devastating dance of sparks, blood and roars of rage. Their blades flashed and screamed through the air, and their eyes never left each other as the fight quickly became too fast for the bystanders to keep up with.
Suddenly the blade of Halwende let out a muffled thunking sound as it bit into William’s wrist. The steel cut through the bone, lopping the Duke’s right hand off with a single stroke. William screamed in pain, and Abigail flicked her wrist and spun her shoulders, bringing her blade back for one final stroke. The blade caught the light and glimmered as if boasting to the world its final destination. And then with a sickening sound and a spray of blood, the sword glided across Williams shoulders, and into his neck, lobbing his head clean off in a sea of scarlet.
As the head hit the grassy hill, it shattered into dust, and the rage inside Abigail turned to horror, relief, and confusion. The body of the duke crumbled to dust. The armies were frozen, the battle over, the war over.
“SHE IS QUEEN!” a voice yelled out of the silence, suspiciously sounding like Acel. The Queen’s soldiers roared in response, and what was left of William’s band laid down their weapons. Abigail’s chest was inflated and she rose her blade over her head and let out a cry of victory.
It’s finally over.
For clarification - if we choose to design a mech for our characters, then we start the mission with something 'standard-issue' and then upgrade to our own design (canonically a Tethan mech) when we steal them afterwards?
Are we to assume that these mechs are functionally superior to whatever Zale can put out at this point in time?
Are we to assume that these mechs are functionally superior to whatever Zale can put out at this point in time?
Fuck.
Since Spleen's first OOC post is a little outdated, do you think it might be a good idea to edit this one ^ with new info & the latest map?
© 2007-2024