Johnathan Falcon - New CamelotThe bells...(Of Notre Dame)~Morning in N.C.,
The city awakes,
To the bells of Ciiitadeeel.~
~The weird folks do weird shit
The Serfs bow their heads
To the bells of Ciiitadeeel.~
~From the big bells as loud as their Missillles...
To the little bells soft as skin ceeeells~
~And some say the soul of the country's
the toll of the beeeells
The beeells ooof Ciiitaaadeeel~Were the city silent enough in the early mornings, the melodious voice could be heard echoing throughout the city streets, perhaps even just slightly reaching the Citadel itself. However, it was far from a mystery as to
who it was that was singing at this early an hour, walking down the city street with what appears to be a giant wooden caravan, the sound of the pounding hooves of the horses that were moving it along the street.
Standing, not sitting but
standing atop the moving caravan was a rather strange looking man; full-body black tights with pointy shoes and gloves un-symmetrically colored in solids of yellow and purple, and wearing a small cape in the shape of of yellow and purple diamonds one after the other, incidentally made of REAL yellow and purple diamonds. On his head was a jester's cap of the same colors, covering most of his head, and a white smiling mask to cover the last open area: His face. Nothing about his skin or body was shown with that kind of attire, there even appeared to be a black fabric behind the mask to ensure no one sees his mouth or eyes through the mask.
The caravan managed to stop itself at New Camelot's square, the horses trained to stop there after the many times they have done so now, and Johnathan himself stops for a moment, to take a glimpse of the morning sun as it rises from the east. He couldn't see that much due to the buildings in the way, but he could most definitely see the radiant skyline above those buildings.
Of course, for him, there was nothing to be felt from seeing this beauty, it was just color above him, nothing more. Yet it didn't stop him from looking at it anyways, if only to give the impression that he
could.
Staring forward, he tapped his foot on the roof of the caravan, and as if on cue, it immediately began to unfold itself. Johnathan jumped off as the roof opened up, the sides dropped off, and curtains extended outward from the caravan's front and back, transforming the caravan into an oddly magnificent stage. It was unusual for how extravagant the stage is in contrast to how it looked as a caravan, but for the country of Erubesco, this kind of stage was still to be expected, and the meaning of how it formed was simply part of the whole magic act.
Facing it from its side, the caravan was now a massive rectangular stage of a fine wood floor, a fancy golden arc extending upwards and connecting to the velvet red curtains let out from the front and back of the caravan, and two wooden weights coming out from the bottom to lock this caravan stage in place. Johnathan himself jumped behind the curtains, leaving the stage itself empty as he awaits for his audience to wake up and come forth.
After all, a magic show is useless without an audience to entertain.
A Few Hours LaterThe Lord of Jesters (Jesters of the Moon)In this one particular square of New Camelot, the area was crowded with serfs excited for the Lord of the Jesters to dazzle and entertain them.
In a world where gifts are now commonplace, magicians aren't normally fascinating with what they can do. After all, the whole point of magicians way back before the dawn of gifts were to dazzle the audience, make them look on in awe at these seemingly inhuman people performing feats that seem completely impossible for the normal man to do.
But now that gifts are a common place, everyone in the world can perform their own seemingly supernatural or magical feats that were once impossible to them. When everyone is "magical", nothing is considered "magical" anymore. This is the general philosophy makes magicians "obsolete" in the eyes of spectators, and most entertainers never bother with magic shows because of this.
Because of this, actual magicians like the Jest must do something far more than simply showing off the magical, or showing themselves off as inhuman. They must somehow show off that they're capable of feats normally
impossible by the standard of the many many gifts conceived in the world, a feat that, in itself, is normally seen as impossible. As such, what magicians are left in the world combines their own gifts with scientific knowledge and contraptions to perform acts that make it seem as if they can do far more than any normal gift.
The Jest, however, has been blessed with a very special gift, one that has given him the advantage in entertaining the masses. A gift that, combined with his actual talent for entertainment, has made him one of the greatest entertainers and magicians in Erubesco, if not the world.
The gift of
Chaos. ...And Comedy.
"
Come one, come all. I do welcome you to my humble little abode, live on the town square of our fine town of New Camelot, Erubesco, the only town where I have to play second fiddle to a bunch of brutes playing poking games with sticks and stones and...whatever the bloody hell an ax is suppose to be, and not care! ...It's alright, It's alright, ...I don't blame you for one second; the Arena is where it's AT! ...YEEES!"
"
...Oh yes...The heart-pounding action, the adrenaline of a bunch of gifted musclemen fighting for their lives, I especially like some of those special times where fans try to sneak their hover tigers into the audience, and then punching out the guard and running away when busted...Anyone remember that? Guy was insanely entertaining, I was putting my focus on him desperately running from a knight, more than the match at the time, and he must have REALLY loved that hover tiger cause I could have sworn I heard him say "Alright...You win, ...do what you want with me......just let me sleep with her one more time..." Those poor knights were so confused that they were looking at each other and then up towards me, and I was just like '...Don't look at me, I don't judge.'"
"
...But yes, the arena's always been that one glorious time of the day where it's considered moral to say 'Ok, Junior, get to bed now...Daddy's wants to watch his own games.' ...But I do appreciate those who do let their children get involved with their entertainment for the first time. It's such a magical experience, those first times a child sees an arena match, cause you can just look at their reactions to it, and you can just immediately predict their career without the need of any esper gifts. Disgusted and horrified of the beatings going on down there? Alchemist. A simple look of 'Eh, It was alright I guess...' Knight. If they're really into it, like 'Yes, Yes, YES! Bash his face in! Bathe in Red, Bathe in Red!' ...Knight Commander! And finally, if they're like '....................................So, when's halftime?' ...VIIIICEROOOOOOY!"
"
I actually thought of being a Viceroy myself at one point, figured it might be fun, like playing Chess, the REAL game. But after thinking about it, I've come to realize something I like to think none of the Viceroys ever figured out...not because I'm smarter than them or anything like that but simply because it's a funny thing to think about. Our military is very active, and very powerful, and they only really got this way because they have something to fight for, us and themselves, and something to fight, Liberty and whatever terrorist of the week happens to be found in the Ashlands. But when all of that is defeated, I wanna be at the after-party they'd probably have up in that citadel over there. I wanna be there to watch them yell out 'VICTORY! THE KING'S DOMINION IS NOW THE WORLD! THE WAR IS OVER!' ...And I wanna be there, to see those 5 seconds after saying that, when the viceroys realize what they just said. ...Because that will be the most glorious 5 seconds of comedy gold I guarantee you will ever see. ...'Wait a second...The War is over? ...NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I lived and breathed to fight the Enemies of my king! WHAT IS MY LIFE NOW!?' Aww, cheer up. There's still some rebel rats you might be able to flush out. ...It is at this moment you begin to realize that after the wars end, after Liberty has fallen, and the terrorists that wander the ashlands are gone, that Viceroys and Knights go from being our greatest soldiers and generals...to glorified pest control for the rest of their days."
"
For this reason, the Viceroys and Knight commanders, aren't a big fan of peace. Oh they're a fan of 'defending' the peace, but not actually 'of' peace. So when this one time came when a Peace conference was happening and most were invited, a Viceroy decided to send me in their place. I figured its because we Lords and Ladies are better at this, but I'm also betting that putting me on this trip instead of them was essentially their plan to ruin the conference by annoying everyone inside...A very clever tactical move on their part, now that I think on it."
"
But the joke was on them, because you would never guess where this conference was...I never would have guessed...It was being Held in Liberty...right in its capital city. ...I know right? Freaking bizarre, the last place I'd suspect a peace conference to be, it's like holding a botany garden party in the freaking ashlands! ...From what I understand it, once every...freaking green moon, apparently a conference is held where the cities converse and review terms of the ceasefire we currently have with them. ...This ceasefire being that one piece of paper that's the reason we take pot shots at each other, rather than just marching all of our forces to attack all of theirs, and getting a war over and done with."
"
So we went to Liberty, my first trip outside New Camelot actually, and...Well let's put it this way, I was born and raised here in New Camelot, I never even been outside into the Ashlands, let alone within enemy territory. I asked my father when I was little what Liberty was like, and you know the answer he gave? Hell. Now, I was a kid at the time, I didn't know what hell was even suppose to mean. I looked in our library, and I see both a literary and visual interpretation what hell looked like. As I rode towards Liberty, I was having a flashback of what my dad told me, and what I learned back then, and I thought to myself.......... 'Could be fun.'....As I remembered it, Hell looked bloody insane, Fire, brimstone, a bunch of monsters everywhere, stalactites that I could only assume at the time were being crapped out on Liberty from the heavens, ...Sounded like a masochist's dreamland. But then I looked at Liberty as we came towards its central city, and let me tell you, I don't think I ever factored in the possibility that when Dad said it was hell, he was referring to MY hell!"
"
...The entire city was this grey, metal, tribute to Boredom. The buildings were high but about as straight and uninteresting as their people. None of them had a sense of humor; I tried to irritate and they actually ignored me and went on like they were deaf, so I couldn't even have any fun with them...And don't even get me STARTED on the actual conference itself. Apparently its real name was the 'We'll-sit-you-down-and-make-you-listen-to-us-talk-for-six-hours-about-how-righteous-and-just-we-are-and-if-you-so-much-as-raise-your-eyebrow-the-wrong-way-we'll-kill-you-and-destroy-all-of-Erubesco.' Conference. ...It was very true to that name, really lived up to it. Apparently the Councilors or whatevers were too busy to even get involved with this, so they handed it off to some guy, I guess their assistant, I don't know."
"
So this guy sat us down, and right from the get go, I can tell that we came here to be Martyrs...Yes, that right, we mentally died inside to keep you safe...Oh, not from Liberty's attacks. It occurred to us that if the Viceroys ever joined this thing, they'd declare war on them so fast, and this massive war has been something they've been training, even living for, and if they had declared all-out war, we'd NEVER hear the end of it...The Citadel would be partying all day everyday...imagine how annoying that would have been for you all."
"
So there we were, practically glued to our seats listening to a slow talker who REALLY loved the sound of his own voice. To my right, A lady's eye and the side of her mouth was twitching, looking like she wanted to strangle this sap with his own intestines. To my left, a Lord was looking like he was on the verge of an Aneurysm, and welcoming the sweet release of death that may come with it. As for me, I was simply watching as the hours waste me away...slowly...painfully...feeling like this man's speech would never end and that maybe we'd die in this room at this rate. What time is it? I look at my watch, ...Only an HOUR has passed! ...NOOOOOOOOOO!"
"
I was just looking up towards the ceiling, the walls, the door, the table...underneath the table, see if anyone was doing anything fun under there while we endured this, maybe some sort of little trolls or something playing cards, anything really would have been nice, anything to save me from this boredom! ...Then it happened, all of a sudden, practically spontaneous. Some guy in a suit and tie just SLAMMED the door opened, it wasn't even a normal kind of opening, when somebody turns the knob and pushes it open, no, he PUNCHED that door open, I'm surprised that those double-doors didn't get unhinged and thrown at us...though I would have been really thankful if they did. He didn't even look like that much of a strongman, in fact he looked quite...scrawny, even compared to me, and that's saying a lot; I don't exactly have a lot of muscle myself. It was probably his gift, like maybe he has super strength but looks like a freaking stick figure...What an oddly specific gift to have, but I'd still buy it if I could."
"
The guy comes into the room and pardons himself, saying there was something he had to tell our host. ...Just as immediately, some kind of dagger drops out of the assistant's sleeve and into his hand and as soon as he touched it, wham! He threw it straight dead-center to this intruder's head. Guy stood there with eyes wide open and clearly on the verge of death from getting a good ol' knife to the head, and all of us Lords and Ladies, we were all just staring as this happened. As the guy dropped to the ground dead, we all tilted our heads at the same time, and the same motion, in perfect synchronization, and I could only imagine what everyone must have been thinking when nearly the very next minute, a group of security officers took our host away. Some of the Lords were looking at this scene with disgust as Libertarian barbarism, others were wandering if we were just tricked into a play or in some kind of prank...Me? I was just looking up at the ceiling with my hands clenched together and internally screaming "HALLELUJAH! ...THANK YOU GOD, I HAVE BEEN SAVED!""
"
After that little stunt, some of the other guards told us that the conference was canceled and that we could return home now, and needless to say, we went back to our escorts without delay. ...Most of us anyways, I on the other hand, didn't immediately leave when I could. I wanted to enjoy this trip outside my home for a little while, but more importantly, I heard that they were going to be putting our host on trial for murder that very same day. That got me really curious; they're making the trial happen, but letting the witnesses go? No investigation beforehand? Not even a day to give the dead host a funeral arrangement? ...THAT sounded like entertainment if I ever heard it. So I decided to let my curiosity guide me towards their courthouse to see how this plays out."
"
I took a seat near the back, and began to watch the trial play out, and what I saw was...it was utter madness in there... I loved it! When my own courtroom renditions are making more sense than an actual trial in Liberty, even the Bailiffs are going "I'm out of here...you're on your own, your honor!" It was like watching a courtroom comedy play, Yet the whole of the audience, all of them, were taking it seriously, like this was a Lord here committing murder. I was about 3 seconds away from yelling out "HANG IN THERE GUYS! ...There's always one tough crowd in comedy, don't give up!" ...It was just so insane and ridiculous...That words alone could not even begin to describe it. So, I've taken the liberty to set up a reenactment of trial for you all to see. Now something to bear in mind...I was there, I know who killed who, where he was killed and how, because it happened live, right in front of me. I was a witness to the murder...But Liberty has shown me that, clearly, they didn't need a murder witness, they didn't need a witness period. They were masters of improvisations and ad-libs, and I was taking notes on their material all the while. Now, without further adeu..." The Jest finally stopped his story towards the audience, stepping back until entering the curtains behind him. A minute or so later, the curtains opened up, and revealed a courtroom behind it! ...Well, technically it's just a courtroom set. On the judge's pedestal was The Jest, now replacing his jester's cap with a traditional judge wig, and a black robe over his jester attire, wielding a small mallet and, of course, keeping on the mask. On the defendant's pedestal was some kind of hand puppet of a human, seemingly made of cotton.
"
Archibald Von Vention, you stand trial for the murder of our friendly tea-serving robot. How do you plead?"
"
Not gui-...Wait what? I thought this was for the murder of that one guy?"
"
Oh no, it was a robot, it just came by to serve you all tea for the meeting."
"
But he bled..."
"
It was a new generation model, it didn't need blood, but we gave the tech to have some anyways. Now! You are tried for killing this robot, the Prosecutors already conceived a cause of death as...let's see here...Overload by ear-bleedingly bad screaming."
"
That...That wasn't his cause of death..."
"
But you don't refuse the screaming part?"
"
The hell are you-" Before the puppet could say anything else, The Jest threw the hammer literally at the puppet, hitting his face before dropping to where his feet were, the sound of toes being smashed were then heard. The Puppet then pressed its little lips together in pain before letting out
a horrid scream.
"
Picture proof right there...You screamed so bad even cynical disembodied voices from out of nowhere have to comment on it! Prosecutor also made clear the evidence of your crime, an autopsy report clearly stating the cause of death: LASER FIRE! ...Death by Arm cannon laser."
"
A-Arm Cann-WHAT!? What are you even talking about? I don't have an Arm cannon!"
"
You have one hidden in your arm, hence the name ARM cannon!"
"
But the wound was clearly a small and thin."
"
It was a very precise laser."
"
What are you even talking about!?"
The show continued like this, as the crowd laughed with much joy.
-------------------------
Arron Falcon- The outskirts of a live ashland villageAvast, me hearties! (Gang-Plank Galleon)For anyone inside the cities of Liberty and Erubesco, they likely looked at the rising sun in their respective areas, the morning atmosphere of a scarlet and cerulean dawn as the sun crawls its way into the sky.
But for Arron, nothing quite beats the beauty of a morning view from these Wastelands of Ash. There may be very little in regards of things for the morning sun to reflect its light off of, but by whatever god is left in this world, if any, there is such purity in being able to watch the sun rises up from the ground without any buildings or obstacles of any kind in the way. Sure if one is at a high enough vantage point in both countries they'd have the same view, but even then there's something...different between watching from the tallest building of a city, and watching from the cliff side of the Ashlands, something feels more natural, more radiant in the eyes of this pirate, about the latter that the former could never bring.
But now was not the time for sight-seeing, he was up on this cliff for more than simply staring at a lovely view. From the pocket his red leather coat, he took out a rather olden-styled collapsible telescope, extended it outwards, and stared at what appeared to be a village just below the morning horizon. A live village, by the looks of it.
But how could this be, if the Wanderers are in an area surrounded by ruined villages and towns adjacent to the farmlands they established temporary shelter in? This much is true: Normally the Wanderer spend their time gathering supplies from the long abandoned ghost towns around them, scavenging the dead lands like a pack of vultures.
...But screw that. Arron is no Vulture, he is a Falcon, and Falcons only feast on live prey. More importantly he was a raider, a pirate in heart, and if being a raider has taught him anything, it is far more valuable, useful, even
honorable to steal from the living who could put up a fight, than robbing from the defenseless deceased.
It took him quite a long while to get to where they are. Out of all of them, he was one of the first to wake up, likely so that he may take this long trek across the wastelands. Since no live village was nearby, he had to ride around until he found one, and found one he did, right as the sun was coming up.
The village itself was clearly neither Erubescian nor Libertarian; both would have likely completely renovated the areas to suit their respective tastes. Instead, it appeared to be a few small and ruined buildings with some cloth and fabric over any holes to serve as roofs for them. Not a whole lot of them either, but there were also a bunch of actual tents and huts around said buildings, and what appeared to be a couple of guards patrolling the village outskirts.
Honestly, it was a bit of a disappointment for Arron. At least if it was a village belonging to one of the two countries they'd have plenty to steal. Stealing from fellow ashlanders were like stealing from those who already don't have much to give. They were just like the Wanderers in a way, simply scavenging and raiding around to grab whatever they could find. The only real difference is that there was more permanence in Ashlander villages, whereas the Wanderers were just that: Wanderers, Nomads, simply travelling from place to place without any real end-goal in sight. Since the beginning, they were always like that...
Under normal circumstances, this would be the part where he begins his invasion of this village with a motley crew of fellow raiders. However, Edward's clan of raiders are long since dead by now, and the fellow wanderers back at the farm weren't exactly approving of the idea of them being raiders as well, especially Dawn.
The Raiders of the ashlands, no matter who they are or where they were from, all share one common, unwritten rule, one engraved in their very instincts:
Never raid alone. Just as no pirate should ever sail alone, with the people that exist these days, the variety of gifts every single person on this planet is capable of, no raider worth their salt would ever attempt at raiding a village or city alone, lest they be on a suicide mission.
For Arron himself, this was a problem. Most of the Wanderers would have likely nagged him if he joined, even if they were up by the time he left, Dawn certainly wouldn't bother with this whatsoever either, so what else could he do, if not wait patiently and stalk them until someone comes out?
---
Few hours later...The irony is not lost on the Falcon, stalking for hours like a vulture waiting for their pray to die. Part of him wanted to just give up and try again later, but he didn't come this far away from the others just to come all the way back with empty hands. It is a captain's duty to support his crew as best as possible, and the only way for him to do this at the moment, is to gather actual, decent, and useful supplies from someone. Still, it's been a number of hours since he left, the morning sun has already risen at this point, and he was beginning to wonder how the other wanderers are doing.
"
...Ehh, I'm sure the lads are fine." He thought, convincing himself not to worry about them. The Wanderers were a dysfunctional bunch, but they had powerful gifts. He was confident they'd be able to deal with whatever comes their way.
Almost as if on cue, he spotted a speck in the distance separating from the village. Once again taking out his telescope, he zoomed in on the speck that was moving away from the village...A mercenary it seemed by the looks of that armor on him, riding with a cargo of supplies. He must have been hired to transport it somewhere else.
"
THERE SHE BLOWS! It took me a longer time than me thought, but I've finally caught me a live one!" Arron yells out in a clearly pretentious British accent. He was too far away for anyone in the village to hear a thing, hell, he was too far away for anyone in the village to see a thing either, a generally basic tactic for Raiders. The cargo itself wasn't much of a jackpot in his eyes; seemed off if it was a large amount of supplies carried by one merc as oppose to a group of them. But beggars can't be choosers, and with only himself there, he had to make due. With this in mind, He pushed in his telescope, put it back in his pocket, and went back onto the motorcycle he rode here, and rode it along the cliff, following his target as he rode.
Eventually however, the merc was at a fork in the road, and Arron wouldn't be able to follow if he chose a particular path; this was the only chance left. With this in mind, he then hardens his grip on the handles of his bike as he and it began to be covered in a blue aura. Almost immediately afterwards, the tail pipe of the motorcycle bursts out flames like the thrusters of a rocket, and the motorcycle itself blasted off at speeds normally impossible for them to enter. Arron immediately takes a normally suicidal turn off the cliff towards the mercenary and its caravan, shooting towards the path's fork ahead of the mercenary.
"
Ha-HA! Drink up yer last drink, Yo-" Arron yells out before he then lands...just a bit off track as Arron is unable to actually stop the motorcycle's momentum. He swerves the motorcycle to the side, knocking himself off of it as it continues its clumsy momentum and eventually stopping in the sand. Arron himself rolled in the sand a little due to his bike's momentum as he comes off, before skidding across the sand on his face, slowing to a halt, and laying there for a few seconds.
"
....Hoooooooo..." Arron painfully finished as he laid face first in the sand. The merc stopped his caravan on instinct the moment he saw the motorcycle ahead of him, and watched the foolish boy's failed stunt, waiting for a few seconds to see if he's still alive before then continuing his drive, heading for the path away from the fallen boy.
"
Wait, wait you scalleywag! If you think I'm letting you...get away with me booty, you are sorely mistaken." Arron yelled out to him. But the mercenary ignored his words and continued his journey.
Grabbing the motorcycle and getting it working again, he drove off, once again at speeds unusual for a motorcycle to make, passing the mercenary and stopping in front of his caravan. The mercenary was now getting irritated at this boy's annoying persistence as Arron got off the bike.
"
...Do you have a death wish, boy?" The mercenary asked him.
"
Nay, but a simple request: Leave the caravan and return to that village there for safety, I'll even trade ya this here steed to help ya on yer way!" Arron said with a confident smirk on his face. Without a word, the Mercenary dropped off the side of the caravan, and began walking towards him, his arms lighting up in a blaze of red flames.
"
I just went through hell to get these supplies. This was my reward and I earned it at that village. I'm in no mood to play around with childish dauntless fools like yourself." The mercenary said in response, fire beginning to culminate at his palms as he readied to incinerate this pirate boy to the same ashes that stain the land. Arron responded in kind, a smirk on his face as he drew out Drake and Teach from their sheathes.
Walk the Plank! (Eternal Struggle)"
So the plank then..." He simply said. The Ashlander wasted no more energy on words, deciding instead concentrating the flames on one of his hand into an orb floating above his palm and throwing at the pirate boy. Who jumped to his left side swinging Drake with his left hand at the ball of flames with its flat side. Normally the intensity of the flames would either make the ball explode after smashing the sword, or go straight through the blade, breaking it in two as it did. Instead however, the metal on the blade was sturdy,
unusually so, as ball of flames reversed its momentum, and headed straight back at the ashlander mercenary. He absorbed the flames back into himself, but was so focused on doing so, that he didn't notice Arron running straight at him with both swords in hand. As the boy tried slashing at the merc, the merc was quick to grab both blades with his hands, still engulfed in flames. Curiously, despite the raw flames of his hand, the blades weren't changing color, not even showing an inkling of heating up in fact as Arron continued pushing towards him. What were these blades made of? ...No, the metal material of the blade was not the problem at all. Upon a closer, keener look, he noticed a faint blue distortion rippling in the air around the blades of Arron's swords, the kind of visual distortion one sees with intense heat in the air. These swords were energized, a keen and experienced eye could see it if they look hard enough, and it wasn't hard to include how its possible:
It must have been this boy's gift.
The Merc then focused the flames on his hands to burst, blowing back the boy's attack, but the boy was quick to focus momentum back towards the merc, to which the merc parried back the same way. The boy's quick change in momentum seemed to be inhuman, going against the laws of physics as this constant parrying continued. The Merc jumped a couple of feet so as to gain some distance, allowing the boy to charge at him again. This time, however, the merc was quick to go on the offensive, going to punch at Arron as he got closer. His reaction time was just as unnatural as everything else about his physique, but it should be noted that when he punched at the blades, Arron then used to defend himself from the punch, that it did
not reflect the punches like it did his fireball, and was strong enough to knock Arron a couple of feet back with literal feet dragging across the ash. The dust flew off around Arron as a result of the push-back, the merc seeing this as his chance to do some damage as he threw another ball of flames at the pirate, the fire com-busting the dust in the air which resulted in a small explosion as a result. The boy was pushed about a foot into the air, and couldn't properly land, hitting the ground on his back and rolling away before stopping on one knee, his coat slightly covered in dust and soot, parts of his skin brimming red from the heat of the attack.
"
He defended well, but he couldn't react as fast as he did before and couldn't direct his momentum or deflect my attack like before either..." The merc thought, calculating his opponent's abilities, and determining his gift by what he knows so far. Based on Arron's actions so far, it becomes simple enough to determine what his gift is, and how to counteract it. He charged up the flames on his arms, and waited for Arron to get back up and rush at him. The pirate did just that, only for the Merc to now be the one jumping to the side to dodge. Within the split second of him being in the air, he grabbed Arron by the back of the head, and let gravity do the rest, slamming Arron head to the ground face first as he himself falls to his knees.
"
I'll admit it: you got an impressive gift kid. You're manually redirecting your energy to specific physical traits, but you push it on one aspect of your abilities, and you leave the others out to dry. You might be able to change up the focus, but not fast enough for anyone smart enough to get you to focus on one thing while striking at another. ...We gift users are all the same like that: All it takes is knowing how a gift works, and it becomes easy to tell its drawbacks and exploit them. Can't say it feels good to kill some kid. But these are the ashlands; whatever happens here you bring on yourself. One of its golden rules." The Merc said as Arron tried to get up, but dropped to the ground, his flames now a blinding white in color as he gets back up, ready to smash his fist through Arron's head, quite literally.
All of a sudden, however, a loud booming thunder was heard, and the mercenary could feel pain in his chest. He looked down, and saw smoke coming from Arron, and blood coming from himself. Focusing hard enough, he noticed that Arron had what appeared to be a gun, a flintlock specifically, underneath his body, the hand carrying it being sandwiched between the ground and Arron's chest. It seems the boy grabbed the gun while on the ground without the merc noticing, then used his body to hide it, making it look like he was struggling to get up and failing on purpose.
"
...Aye, couldn't agree with ya more, matey. But ye missed out one other rule these here seas of ash...Only a fool fights fair here. ...I'll say this much before ye die, ye not far off, but there's more to me gift than simply focusin' me energy around. I can also distribute the energy into things...such as me bullets. Me energy's pure, so it can adapt and charge whatever I touch regardless of what kind of energy's needed...Such as...giving it to a cryo-bullet and cause it to explode and release nitrogen." Arron said as the bullet hole start to glow a light blue. The Merc was quick to understand what he was saying, but was determined to take this brat with him. He rushed at him, only for the bullet inside to explode and cause his body to discolor and freeze, the flames on his arms extinguished.
"
Heh...Luck of te' draw." Arron said twirling his gun. However, as he put it away, he began to fumble around as he walked towards the Merc's caravan, leaning all over as if drunk. Eventually though, he managed to get on the caravan.
"
Overdid it...Ride on...back to base...hi-ho silvers...to food, and lots of it." Arron said, his tone of voice changing constantly as he did pointing forward before dropping his upper body on the side of the diver's seat, sleeping as the horses began walking again with the caravan and him in tow. The merc standing there frozen as he did.
Member
Snowdrops
Danyel
CriticalHit
Knight 7
AwesomeZero5
MacabreMoth
Dimentio
