Sclaevinius
Mage
Sometimes it's difficult to tell the difference between courage and recklesness...
Posts: 15
Profession: Pyromancer, Bard
Affinity: Fire
Profile: Sclaevinius
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Post by Sclaevinius on Jan 21, 2015 11:30:46 GMT -6
He nodded. "I apologize for my long name, you see, Etrurians prefer people with names like mine, and I couldnt think of any other. Also, I like the nicnkname. He smiled. "Also, don't worry, I won't keep you from doing your job, in fact, I'll assist you as much as I have to, because it makes me feel better about myself" He nodded looking at Carmichal. "I will stay a bit behind so I dont cause you any trouble."
He walked over feeling a bit safer now. "And, I apologize for being nosy, but where are you going and why? If I'll assist you, I have to know what are you doing as well." He smiled as he offered a nice sum of coins to the brigand, hoping it will satisfy his needs. "And here is something for you" He smiled and noticed an archer. "Oh hello to you too, nice to meet you" He smiled waving at the green haired man.
"I can demonstrate you my capabilites." He took out a small book and summoned a small fireball, making it move in circles then fly around them, then causing it to cause a small explosion, creating small fireworks. "So what do you think? And thats not even real stuff, it is just entertainment, since I like performing shows for people" He chuckled putting the book back in his satchel. "Well, what are we waiting for?" He tilted his head curiously and confused, waiting for an answer while fixing his.
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Post by Duma on Jan 21, 2015 14:50:40 GMT -6
Duma put away his sword and relaxed a bit once he determined that the new comer was not a threat. He let out a small sigh or relief. So this guy's a mage. Good.He had a slight frown at his face at the young man's way of proving his innocence. A green horn. He assumed.
"Well then. Scla-eh-vin-us. Er... I'm Duma. And I apologize for that horrible pronunciation. Your name doesn't exactly roll well off the tongue." He commented, before going back to look at the tree he was supposed to climb. Carmichal had given the young man a nickname and Duma decided to use it too.
"Right then. You can just calm down a bit and put your things away for now Vin. We still need to figure out a destination before doing anything reckless." He cracked his knuckles for a bit. Preparing himself for the climb.
"Alright. I'll climb up and see what I can find. Pray I don't find bees." Ugh.. bees. A small shiver went down his spine at the thought.
He got a running start to the tree then jumped up and grabbed the thickest branch that would support the pull of his weight. He hugged the base of the tree and began crawling up until he was about in the thicker branches. Here he could stand on the branches with out the risk of them breaking. Great this will make the climb easier. He kept going up until he reached a large thick branch that seemed to be as wide as a man. He stood on it firmly with both feet, and kept a hand at the base for balance. He let out a sigh. And quietly took a moment to catch his breath.
The air up there felt nice and crisp. He dusted off any bits of bark, bugs, and leaves off of himself. Parts of his shirt now had some sap rubbed into it due to the climb. But that could be easily washed out. His hands were slightly raw from the bark and stung in the cold air. He looked around. The view was amazing from his point. He could see a bit over the tree line into the clear blue sky. He could see way off in the distance the town, with several wispy smoke trails coming from some chimney roofs. He smiled for a bit, happy he hadn't lost his touch for climbing. Right Focus on the task at hand. Lets see what else we could find.
He narrowed his eyes and placed a hand on his forehead to shade them from the sun. He could peer out into forest. To his west he spied a small camp. He used the "pinhole trick" with his fingers to see out into the camp. Judging from appearances they appeared to be bandits. He could see them counting over some loot. As well as a few villagers or travelers who were tied to a tree near them. He made a careful mental map of any familiar landmarks or odd marks in the trees to use as a guide he can use once he got back down.
He tore a piece of yellow cloth he had in his boots, and tied it down to the farthest branch in the direction of the camp. So he wouldn't get confused as to where then needed to go once he got down. Grudgingly Duma began the climb back down the tree. Eventually getting low enough to a point where he can jump safely down, and rejoined the others.
"Found one. Bandit camp. They've got village folk tied to a tree. Due.." He looked up at the tree looking for his marker.
"That way." He pointed, in the direction of his marker.
"Out towards the north west. Were kinda close to it. I didn't want to shout, might give us away." He casually began putting his robes back on, and checking his stuff. He shook out any debris that accumulated in his long hair. Oh good no squirrels or birds this time.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Jan 22, 2015 0:42:43 GMT -6
Well... this was a pretty predicament. How had this happened to him? Of all people? Ravvus, the master of dirty fighting? The man who's preferred fighting method began with targeting the throat and then going for the eyes. And to think he'd let a highwayman get the jump on him.
He'd been walking through Lycia heading north on a road which would, hopefully, lead him through a series of towns until he entered Ilia. It was upon this road that Ravvus came across a rather pudgy brigand. The rotund man was 'largely' unimpressive in appearance, save for his eyes, which possessed a seriousness not found in most brigands. Ravvus had initially drawn his fire tome, planning for a brief brawl. He'd intended to overpower the man quickly as it had been too long since Ravvus had had a fight, even an easy one. All Ravvus had wanted to do was shove the bandit's face into the dirt a little bit and then continue on his merry way. But no. No, this bandit had had friends and Ravvus had lowered his guard at the most inopportune of times. Somehow, some of the bandit's friends had snuck up behind him and tackled him to the ground. Ravvus had no idea why they didn't just kill him and loot his body, but this was not something he was keen on complaining about.
Ravvus exhaled in utter frustration. Elimine's knows why he was here, captured, with a handful of villagers, and tied up in the center of the bandit camp. Wait... Ravvus was in Lycia right now. Roland knows why he was tied up in the center of this bandit camp. Ravvus knew that Lycians didn't view Roland in the same God-like manner that Etrurians viewed Elimine. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if some of the villagers he was tied up with were worshippers of Elimine, but he liked to keep his heroes/demigods/exemplars of humanity/etc straight. If he was in Bern, he'd swear by Brammimond or Hartmut. Western Isles? Durban. Ilia? Barigan. And so on. Ravvus was not a religious man, but he figured that if people were willing to swear by Elimine's name, then the rest of the Eight heroes deserved the same level of respect. Although, swearing by Elimine's was usually interpreted as a sign of disrespect. Well, whatever. Respectful or disrespectful, Ravvus did not like playing favorites with the eight heroes.
He surveyed his surroundings, trying to find something that could get him out of this situation. Over there, lying next to a barrel, one of the brigands had placed Ravvus' travel satchel. Ravvus kept all sorts of things in there, from expensive gems to a pair of raggedy worn magic books. Ravvus really hoped that none of the bandits had ransacked that bag. Scratch that. Ravvus prayed that they hadn't touched the bag. And no, Ravvus was not praying for his sake, he was praying for the bandit's sake. If they'd stolen any of his stuff, there wouldn't be a hell deep enough in the earth to prevent Ravvus from crawling back up and exacting his vengeance.
The aforementioned raggedy books would be invaluable if Ravvus could reach them. But, he couldn't reach them currently. He needed to find something to cut this rope. Maybe his teeth? No... no that wouldn't work. Think Ravvus, think!
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Harlow Rysche
Archer
[M:0]
Posts: 42
Profession: Painter
Affinity: Wind
OoC Alias: Empfindsam
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Post by Harlow Rysche on Jan 23, 2015 1:35:33 GMT -6
"Well met, indeed, Duma. Well met, indeed." Harlow grinned at the swordsman, nonplussed, as the man shed his robe and made towards a tree, clearly intending upon shimmying up it, probably to get a better view of the area. "Getting a bird's eye view, eh, Duma? Not a bad idea. In fact, if anyone ought to take an elevated position, maybe it should be the guy with the bow. Tell you what, you take a tree and I'll take a tree and I'll race you to the top!"
As fun as the idea sounded to Harlow, the shenanigans were interrupted by a rustle of some leaves and a flash of brown in the bushes. Before Harlow or Carmichal could react, Duma had already thrown a rock as a warning shot and commanded the the culprit to show himself.
What emerged from the bushes gave Harlow more than a little amusement - a fairly tall man with sideburns and a chinbeard, wearing a brown, almost mustard yellow robe, with what appeared to be a stringed instrument of some kind slung around his neck. The man did not carry a weapon, but instead had a book in his hand, and was wielding it in a must nonthreatening manner. In fact, everything about the man seemed quite unassuming, particularly his garrulous way of speaking - Harlow could barely follow the man's explanation for as to why he was hiding in a bush in the middle of a bandit forest. All that he managed to catch was that the man had a convoluted name - Slay... Sclay? Veenies? Or as Carmichal seemed to have decided upon, Vinny.
"Vinny, huh? Nice to meet ya, Vinny! Name's Harlow. I'd say you're welcome to join us in our mission here. But on one condition - you are to be my personal musician and follow me around wherever I go singing songs of my valor and beauty. Sound good?" Harlow didn't know if the kid had picked up on the facetious nature of his order, but he seemed like the kind of guy who might be fun to mess with just a little bit.
"That being said, the first place I'm going is up this tree. You can keep up, can't you? Oh, and Duma, last one to the top is a dirty cheesemonger!"
With that, Harlow slung his bow over his shoulder, setting his satchel down at the base of the tree, and grabbed hold of a low-hanging branch and begun hoisting himself up, not bothering to confirm that either of his companions were on board with his little game. Oof! This is harder than I remembered. Hope I don't embarrass myself, now...
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Carmichal
Brigand
Booze is always an acceptable form of payment in my book.
Posts: 41
Profession: Mercenary
Affinity: Wind
Profile: Profile
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Carmichal on Jan 23, 2015 14:04:06 GMT -6
As Duma deftly climbed up into the tree, Carmichal waited patiently on the ground. He was glad that the swordsman was so good at this because, honestly, it had been years since he had needed to climb anything and his skills had long since become rubbish. Back in his pirate days, climbing had been an essential skill and Carmichal had been one of the fastest. When those days had ended though, there was a distinct lack of rigging to climb and the aging mercenary had put a much greater focus on hitting things really hard with his axe, which was what he was now anxiously looking forward to doing. Of course, they still needed to find the bandits. It wouldn't be long before Duma would return, expertly vaulting down from the tree. Apparently, he had found something. "That's what we're waitin' for," Carmichal said, looking over his shoulder. "And it seems we're in luck." As it would seem, there was a bandit camp not too far into the woods from where they were standing. Carmichal had been right. Bandits really were this predictable.
"Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together, "We've found us some bandits. Now we've got to get a bit closer so we can make ourselves a plan. If any of you are gettin' cold feet," he warned, "Now's the time to back out. Once we're in the woods, if any of you turns tail and runs, they'll know we're comin'." As he finished his warning, Harlow, apparently anxious to get started bounded up one of the trees rather awkwardly. "I'll take that as your confirmation that you're still with us," Carmichal called up after him. It'll do us some good if you stay up there and give us some coverin' fire. Just follow us from up there and start firin' when the fight breaks out. Duma, you're with me. Vinny, stay close, but not too close. You don't exactly blend in and we need to get the jump on them. Now c'mon. We don't got all day."
With that, Carmichal led the group into the forest, moving at a half crouch and trying to minimize noise. They moved quickly in the direction that Duma had indicated, winding around the many trees the encountered and slipping into and out of the shrubs that lined the ground. Eventually, they approached a small, indiscreet clearing, in which the bandits had made their camp. From where he was standing, Carmichal could make out about seven bandits, but there could certainly be more in the two hastily erected tents. On the far side, there were several people tied to a tree, assumedly inhabitants of the nearby village. One of them, however, stood out. He had the look of a man who had moved beyond simple village life. He looked like someone who traveled the roads. And most importantly, he looked like someone who would be of use in a fight.
Carmichal motioned for Sclaevinius to join him and when he was close he laid out the plan. "Alright, it looks like there's not too many of them, so we should be able to handle them easily, especially if Harlow's managed to keep up with us. I think the best way to do this would be for Vinny to start throwing some fire around and get them real nice and confused. Hit those tents if you can, kid. That's when Duma an' me will hit 'em from the sides in a pincer attack. If we can, we need to free those people tied to the tree, especially that guy," he added, pointing at the man who stood out the most. "Then, we just need to keep one of them alive. Try for a scrawny looking one. They're the most likely ones to spill the beans. You boys ready?"
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Sclaevinius
Mage
Sometimes it's difficult to tell the difference between courage and recklesness...
Posts: 15
Profession: Pyromancer, Bard
Affinity: Fire
Profile: Sclaevinius
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Post by Sclaevinius on Jan 23, 2015 14:47:05 GMT -6
Vinny... erm, I mean Sclaevinius followed them obediently and curiously. He heard what they were talking about and complied with Carmichal's orders without any hesitation. "I am always ready when it comes to teaching ruffians a lesson or two." He chuckled and took out his small book from his satchel, then started focusing. After about 3 seconds, his hands were set on fire. He threw few fireballs in direction where the bandit camp was, hoping he hits one of the tents, and if he does not, at least confuse and intimidate them. "As for your request, Harlow, I would be glad to play for you, you seem like an artsy person, and I do like art, even though I am quite bad at drawing... Perhaps you could give me few tips?"
He looked as fireballs flew towards the camp, few fireballs managed to hit some of the tents, causing them to set on fire. Bandits started running out of it, confused and in shock, wondering what the heck is going on. Other fireballs that did not struck tents landed on ground, making more bandits panicked as they tried taking out the fires. "Well, that should do the trick, but I really should not throw too many, as it may give out our location. Also, this seems entertaining. In fact, I am finding this quite interesting..." He smirked a bit satisfied with his capabilites. His hands were back to normal as he looked at the group, wondering what is going to happen next.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Jan 23, 2015 23:52:57 GMT -6
Maybe... maybe the ropes could be loosened? Ravvus tugged slightly on his restraints. Yes! He had some leeway. If Ravvus could loosen the knot on the rope, he might be able to escape and grab his satchel. His satchel. Ravvus looked in the direction of his satchel. What Ravvus saw abhored him. The pudgy brigand, the fat one who Ravvus had tried to beat up, had his fat, meaty fingers on Ravvus' satchel. The brigand clumsily undid the clasp on the bag and brought it up to eye-level. He pushed the flap over and started to peer into the bag. How. dare. he. That wasn't the brigand's stuff. THAT was Ravvus' stuff! Things he'd collected from his travels all over the globe, books he held deeply important, trinkets that brought Ravvus pleasure. They were all his. Not that lard-loving brigand's. Losing control of his temper, Ravvus barked at the bandit. "HEY!" He shouted, startling the villagers he was tied with. "Put that down!” The villagers looked at Ravvus as if he was a madman. His voice sounded like one's. It was commanding and full of hate, but was less-than prudent given the situation. “Now!" Ravvus was at a lose for words. He didn't usually get this flustered. Usually he kept a cool head and thought situations out before directly approaching them. But that brigand was looking through Ravvus' stuff. Everything which Ravvus kept in that bag was a representation of his accomplishments. Whether he'd acquired the satchel's contents through physical force, wit, determination, or some other talent, they were all earned and all important to him. He'd proved his worth in obtaining those things. For some nameless highwayman to be prying through the satchel... was demeaning. It served as proof of Ravvus' failure against an easy enemy. His possessions were being forfeit to his conquerer... But Ravvus would not be conquered. Even if this man killed Ravvus for his outburst, Ravvus would make him pay for doing such a belittling act. The pudgy brigand shot a glance at Ravvus. He'd been drawn to the source of the noise, but hadn't quite realized who Ravvus was talking to. It took the bandit a moment to realize that Ravvus was addressing him. The bandit looked at the satchel and then then back at Ravvus. He laughed a hearty, strained laugh. The audacity of this prisoner, of this fool, they'd so easily hoodwinked. The traveler was demanding that his better put down the robbed goods. Without saying a word, the bandit complied. He lowered the bag to the ground and, in turn, rose to his feet. He sauntered over to Ravvus, again without saying a word. He approached the mage until the two of them were looking right into each other's eyes. Ravvus' gaze faltered slightly, realizing the foolishness of his actions. The brigand, in turn, grew a smug smile. Balling his meaty hand into a fist, the brigand sent a right hook flying at Ravvus' cheek. *PAP Ravvus felt the pudgy fist collide with his face. His face swung in the same direction as the man's fist. Ouch. That stung. Ravvus felt a wave of pain washing over his face. The price of his defiance. While the blow hurt, Ravvus had had worse. Ravvus' father had a much nastier right hook. The pain was unpleasant, but bearable. Bearable enough for it to remain hidden. The only comfort Ravvus could take out of this situation was through defying this man. He would not show this upstart, this brigand, his pain. Ravvus turned his head to face the man. Again, he made eye contact, determined to conquer his conquerer. Ravvus' eyes were brimming with fire, a fire he was desperately trying to consume this bandit with. As Ravvus locked eyes with the pudgy brigand, the other bandits began to take notice. One of them stood up and began to move to intervene. And then something unexpected happened. A flurry of fireballs smashed into the campsite. The tied up villagers screamed in terror, while the bandits scrambled to understand what had just happened. It had all occurred so fast. One second, Ravvus was staring down a pudgy brigand, the next, hellfire was raining down on the campsite. The pudgy brigand broke eye contact from Ravvus and looked around feverishly, trying to get a grasp of the new situation. Ravvus too found himself shocked by this turn of events. For a moment, he was stunned by the chaotic cacophony. And then he realized that he could use this situation to his advantage. Mustering his strength, he pushed against the ropes he was tied to. Perhaps he could not break the rope, but even the strongest of knots can be loosened. The villagers he was tied with groaned as the rope tightened against their already strained bodies. Ravvus had half a mind to roll his eyes. Weaklings the lot of them. No wonder these brigands had been able to capture them all. Ravvus' muscles strained as he continued to press against the ropes... … There! One of his arms, the rope around it was loose enough for the arm to slip out. Struggling, Ravvus, wrested his arm from the grasp of the rope. There! One of them was free. And that one arm was clawing desperately for the pudgy bandit in front of Ravvus. Ravvus felt his fingers brush up against the highwayman's shirt. The pudgy bandit spun around reflexivly. For such a large man, he had some pretty decent reaction time. Aghast, the bandit took a step back, seeing that Ravvus was marginally free. What's more, he could now see the look of pure wrath on Ravvus' face. It seethed with anger, with a desire for vengeance. Acting on instinct, the brigand threw a jab at Ravvus and knocked the wind out of him. ((Pudgy Brigand: ))
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Post by Duma on Jan 24, 2015 13:02:27 GMT -6
Duma looked up and saw Harlow climbing up another tree. It seemed that he was trying to challenge Duma to a climbing race. But he was so focused on the climb and scouting he did not even notice Harlow's plays for competition.
"Oh Sorry about that Harlow. I tend to uh.. tune people and things out when I focused on something." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. I really wanted to climb the tree. For old time's sake. He approached Harlow's tree and looked up at the archer.
"I'll make it up to you with another competition. Your pick, once we get through this bloody bandit mess alright?" He spoke loud enough for the archer to hear, but not enough to warrant shouting.Please do not warrant a grudge and hit me with arrows. He thought to himself. Once Duma had all his stuff back in it's proper place he followed Carmichal and the others towards the direction of the camp. The small band approached the camp and used the trees and shrubbery as cover. He crouched low near a particularly leafy shrub. Carmichal explained the plan. Vin would cause a distraction with his fire, while he and Charmichal attack from the sides. A classic tactic, and an effective one.
Duma nodded in understanding, and slowly made his way out towards the other side, in a crouching motion. Until he reached a tree near the rear of the camp. We need a few of these louts alive. Don't murder them all. He reminded himself. A moment later Vin began the assault. Fire began raining down from above causing general panic and confusion. Perfect. He grinned slightly and the began his assault. He charged in quickly through the confusion.
He looked over and saw a large pudgy man with purple hair. Who had seemed to punch one of the hostages. A blonde young man from the looks of it. He rushed over and plunged his sword into the fat bandit's back so his blade would emerge out through the front. Specifically the man's stomach. He leaned in and spoke into the bandit's ear.
"Good bye swine." He then proceeded to cut through the man with a diagonal slash. The fat bandit slumped to the floor. Blood and other contents of his stomach seeping out of him like a butcher's pig. Duma turned his gaze to the young man.
"See if you can untie the knots for the other villagers and get to safety." He spoke then ran back to the tents. There was more work to be done.
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Harlow Rysche
Archer
[M:0]
Posts: 42
Profession: Painter
Affinity: Wind
OoC Alias: Empfindsam
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Post by Harlow Rysche on Jan 26, 2015 1:11:38 GMT -6
What the heck? It seemed like Harlow had barely even started up the tree before Duma was already back on the ground, retrieving his things. Is he really that fast? Or did he get as more of a head start than I thought? The swordsman said something about having another competition later before he and the others began to make off in the direction of the bandit camp.
"Sounds... great!" Harlow called after him, though in all honesty he didn't think he would stand a chance against the expert climber, unless maybe it was a "shoot the other guy out of a tree with an arrow" competition.
Whatever - he refocused his attention on climbing. He had to get a good vantage point before the others arrived at the camp and started their attack. The tree was a lot taller than he'd anticipated, and harder to climb, with thin, droopy branches spaced out more or less just out of easy reach. Hmm, my life has been looking up lately, but this certainly isn't what I had in mind by "up." His pace was being hindered by the need to be careful selecting a good branch to put all of his weight on. But it wasn't too long before he'd reached a point where getting any higher just wasn't feasible. He looked out in the direction of the camp Duma had spied. There it was, tucked in a little clearing in the woods - Harlow could make out a couple of tents, a fire pit, and what appeared to be a number of civilians tied to some logs or something in the middle of the camp. Oh, and the tents were on fire.
"Shoot! They already started the assault? I knew i was taking way too long!" Harlow hastily unhooked his bow from its harness and readied an arrow. As the nock snapped into position along the bowstring, Harlow scanned the campsite trying to get a better understanding of the situation. It looked like Vinny had lit up the tents as a distraction while Duma had rushed in to engage with the bandits. A fat brigand was laying on the ground, apparently already vanquished by Duma's blade. There were a number of other bandits in the area, most of whom were frantically running away from the fire, but it looked like at least a couple had taken notice of Duma and their fallen comrade and were closing in on the sworsdman. Duma didn't seem to notice them, for he immediately took off in the direction of the tents in a trajectory that would put him right in the middle of a pincer movement in a matter of seconds. Well, two to one doesn't seem like a fair fight. Maybe I can make it a little bit more even...
Harlow held his breath and steadied his arm and looked down the shaft of the arrow as he lined up his shot, mentally estimating the range of the shot as he tried to predict the trajectory of his target. Let's see. Maybe 200 yards, no wind to speak of... ok, it's a difficult shot, but I'm a difficult guy. Er, that's not right. Something like that. Exhaling along with the release of the nock, Harlow watched as it sailed in a graceful arc towards the bandit camp. Though the duration of its journey was only a matter of seconds, it felt like longer as Harlow waited anxiously to see if his aim would prove true. If he'd estimated things correctly, the arrow would reach its target just as the man closed to within a couple feet of Duma; it crossed the archer's mind that if he'd been off by just a few degrees to the left in his shot, he might actually hit his friend instead of his foe. Uh... that probably wouldn't go over well. Though it might give me a chance in that climbing competition...
Thankfully, his worries were proved unnecessary, as the arrow plunged deep into the brigand's knee, causing him to drop his axe and stumble to the ground clutching at his leg. It was a bit lower than he'd intended to hit, but hey, an arrow to the knee was hardly something you could just brush off. I bet he won't be bandit-ing anytime soon after that! Harlow grinned, pleased with himself for successfully hitting his mark. He drew another arrow from his quiver and lined it up with the shelf as he searched for another target.
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Carmichal
Brigand
Booze is always an acceptable form of payment in my book.
Posts: 41
Profession: Mercenary
Affinity: Wind
Profile: Profile
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Carmichal on Jan 26, 2015 12:06:16 GMT -6
The attack was working just as Carmichal had planned. Vinny’s initial volley of fireballs had done the trick in sowing all sorts of chaos among the bandits. Some were fleeing the camp in pure confusion, while others were still scrambling for their weapons. Only a couple had managed to arm themselves and respond to the threat, and all of them were now focused on Duma. Which of course meant it was the perfect time for Carmichal to strike. He picked a target from those bandits surrounding the swordmaster and readied himself to attack, removing his axe from where it hung on his side. However, before he could even leave his hiding place, an arrow struck the bandit just below the back of his knee. He crumbled to the ground, gripping the arrow’s shaft in a panicked pain. A broad smile crossed the mercenary’s face. So Harlow managed to keep up, he thought, pleased. Good. That’ll make this easier.
With his previous target taken care of, he scanned the camp for another mark. From what he saw, Duma was having no problem handling the men in front of him. However, he had failed to noticed the swordsman sneaking up behind him. That would do. Carmichal gripped the shaft of his axe tight, tensed up his body, and burst out into the clearing. He sprinted one of the burning tents, knocking over one of the fleeing bandits and trampling the man Harlow had felled. Only a few steps away from his target, he pushed off with his leading foot and lunged at his unaware opponent. Carmichal pulled the axe up past his face and brought it back down in wide arc, slicing through the back of the man’s thigh. He cried out in pain and fell to one knee. The aging merc raised his weapon up over his head, holding it in both hands and brought it back down with great force, the blade splitting the bandit’s head with a gratifying crunch. Carmichal kicked the bandit’s back, pulling his axe free, and he turned to face the rest of the camp. It seemed that several of the bandits had regained their courage, as well as their weapons. He took several steps backwards, placing himself back to back with Duma.
“Well,” he said over his shoulder, “This should be fun!”
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Sclaevinius
Mage
Sometimes it's difficult to tell the difference between courage and recklesness...
Posts: 15
Profession: Pyromancer, Bard
Affinity: Fire
Profile: Sclaevinius
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Post by Sclaevinius on Jan 26, 2015 13:15:06 GMT -6
Looking at his comrades who were already in the camp, Sclaevinius was quite impressed with his powers, smirking a bit. However, he did know that he is suffering from some sort of PTSD, since fighting causes him to behave... odd, to describe it in one word. He was also starting to love his new nickname (and hoped it wasn't related to Weenie...) As he headed towards the camp, he noticed some of the people were tied up around the pole. He felt glad that he did not accidentaly hit one of them with a fireball, as it would make him regret the fact he ever used anima.
"I see some hostages, I will try freeing them and escorting them out!" He said towards the 3 mercenaries as he ran towards them, making sure noone tries to attack him from behind. Suddenly, an arrow flew towards him to his right, causing him to quickly crouch. He phewed, glad his reflexes did not disappoint him right now. As he proceeded towards them, he heard someone screaming behind him, as he noticed a brigand running towards him with axe raised over his head. He quickly threw fireball in his face, causing him to fall on floor, shouting in pain.
As he finally reached the pole, he looked at the prisoners as he produced set the rope on fire, causing it to burn and loosen up, allowing prisoners to get up. He got up and made "Follow me" gesture with his hands at them.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Jan 26, 2015 13:36:33 GMT -6
Ravvus felt the air evacuate from his lungs as the brigand's fist made contact with his stomach. Ravvus' felt his feet fail him and his body slump against the tree. Ravvus' head shot downward and his mouth was left gaping wide open. Now that was a punch. That had caught Ravvus off guard. Wheezing, Ravvus reeled from the sudden shock to his body. He couldn't breath, not initially. His body was caught in a combination of air deprivation and shock. A few moments passed before Ravvus' senses returned to him.
Ravvus stared at the dirt beneath his feet. His thoughts raced as he coughed in pain. This wasn't him. Ravvus was better than this, smarter than this. Even if he was angry, he could curb the fury. Striking in a blind rage would get him nowhere. He would curb his anger, at least until he had the upper hand. Once he could turn the tables on this bandit, then he would let his rage flow freely. He would cripple this brigand. First he would punch the pudgy man in the throat. Then, while the bandit reeled from the pain, Ravvus would free one of his legs. After that, Ravvus would send a solid kick flying towards the man's genitals. The last part wasn't really Ravvus' style. If he had to cripple an opponent by targeting their must vulnerable organ he would. But it wasn't something he liked to do. Striking the family jewels was just mean. But Ravvus felt like being mean right now. He wanted avenge himself against this bandit. Once Ravvus debilitated the pudgy man, he would force the brigand to the ground and let his fists fly freely. He hoped that the brigand didn't value his 'good' looks because Ravvus was about to rearrange his face.
Having regained control of himself, Ravvus' head jerked up. The sight he saw before him was bewildering to say the least. The bandit he'd sworn to avenge himself upon had a sword jutting through his gut. When did that happen? Had the pain not elicited a scream from the brigand? Why hadn't any blood splashed on Ravvus' body. Ravvus looked back down. Oh, there it was. Blood. All over his chest. Strange, Ravvus must not have felt in whilst he was in shock. Ravvus' head shot back up and he locked eyes with the bandit. The large fellow had a perplexed look in his eyes. It was as if his body had yet to realize what had happened to it. Ravvus wondered if the brigand even knew what was going on.
In a sudden motion, the sword jerked diagonally, cutting the bandit's stomach clean open. Whether the pudgy brigand realized it or not, he was dead. The brigand's eyes rolled upwards, as if he was trying to stare at his own forehead. He fell to his knees first and then upon his face. Ravvus felt an immediate twinge of anger. When the bandit's body fell, Ravvus had locked eyes with the bandit's killer. He was a swordsman, a talented one by the looks of it. Ravvus could have figured that out even if the swordsman hadn't cut clean through a fat brigand. How dare he. He'd robbed him of his chance at vengeance. Ravvus had wanted to pummel that, now deceased, brigand into the dirt. That swordsman had stolen that from him. Ravvus' first inclination was to punch the swordsman right in his stupid x-shaped scar. But that was obviously not a prudent idea given his situation. The swordsman had just easily dispatched the pudgy brigand and, if Ravvus turned himself into the warrior's enemy, he could do the same to him. Instead of replying, the mage merely glared at the swordsman, a slight hint of anger seeping from his gaze.
He couldn't very well help the villagers, not that he intended to do so, whilst he was tied to the tree. Ravvus was about to speak up when the rest of the swordsman's company arrived. Among them was a mage who quickly freed them. Not bad. The mage had decent control over his magic. He'd been able to burn clean through the rope without harming any of the fragile villagers. The newcomer motioned for Ravvus to follow him. Fat chance of that. Ravvus still had a lot of anger built up and he intended to use it. Ignoring the chaos around him, Ravvus boldly strode in the direction of his travel sack. The bandits would not pay attention to him now that there were bigger threats to deal with. That is, not until his tome was back in his possession. Kneeling down, Ravvus lifted his sack and pulled an old fire tome from it. A sea of knowledge rolled before him as he flipped the tome open. Words of power were once again at his command. He muttered a select few of them. As they were sounded, a small ball of fire came into being above his right hand. Ravvus grinned. Time for payback.
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Post by Duma on Jan 26, 2015 21:23:47 GMT -6
Well now things are getting interesting. He thought as he began moving through the camp. The bandits were starting to organize themselves amongst the confusion. And with their leader dead by his own hand, Duma was target number one. Excellent. Rage. It will cloud their judgement. They will make mistakes, and it should generally reduce injuries all together. That was the theory at least.
He engaged another bandit who had just managed to get his weapon in order. He swung his sword effortlessly and now the poor bandit was missing a nice chunk of his arm. He kicked the man away, as he screamed in agony. That's it. Come at me. He thought. He wanted the enemy to focus on him. To be the main target, so the ally in the tree and the mage in the shrubs, won't become targets. Hopefully no one will notice the innocents escaping.
Another man had fallen due to Harlow's arrows. It was disturbingly close. A little more and that would have been my foot.[/s] He scowled a bit towards the direction of the archer. Well at least he managed to get up to the tree. He just noticed a swordsman coming up behind him. And then another person coming up to his side. Carmichal managed to knock a swordsman to the ground. Duma returned his focus to bandit coming up in front of him. Carmichal had his back pressed against his own. Commenting on how much fun this was going to be.
"Yep." He smirked. And adopted a fighting stance. If there was anything Duma liked more then killing honor-less bandits, was knowing that someone has got your back. A few bandits have managed to encroach upon the two veterans. He spied a scrawny looking bandit, who looked like he could barely hold the right side of his axe, let alone swing one.
"Little guy on the right. Might make a good squealer. Try not to rustle him up too much." A bandit decided to rush towards the two fighters. The fool.
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Carmichal
Brigand
Booze is always an acceptable form of payment in my book.
Posts: 41
Profession: Mercenary
Affinity: Wind
Profile: Profile
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Carmichal on Feb 1, 2015 0:14:05 GMT -6
“I see him,” Carmichal affirmed as he spotted the bandit. Duma was right, he did seem like he’d be a squealer. The aging mercenary knew the type when he saw it. In his bandit days, there was always that one member who got into banditry for all the wrong reasons and was completely out of their element. They usually joined because they thought it would impress the ladies (it didn’t) or because they wanted to make a fortune. They would find out quickly there was little fortune to be made for grunt level bandits, which caused a very low level of loyalty towards the group as a whole. When pressed with pain and the possibility of death, they sang like birds at dawn. Carmichal would simply have to make sure that he didn’t kill him. First, though, he would have to deal with the bandits who were brave enough to attack.
Several of the criminals had formed a circle around Carmichal and Duma, and it had instilled enough bravery for one of them to charge in to the center towards the mercenaries, with a friend following closely behind. The bandit brought his sword down in a vertical slice directed at the aging mercenaries head, who swung his axe at the blade in an attempt to parry it. The axe collied with the sword, knocking it aside, and Carmichal followed through with the movement, feigning around his opponent. He pushed off the man’s back with his hand, shoving him toward Duma. Unfortunately, the second bandit had been a lot closer to the first than he had expected. Carmichal turned just in time to avoid getting a axe blade lodged in his face. The bandit didn’t quite account for the mercenary’s dodge, but was able to make a sloppy attempt at a second swing. The angle of the axe was off and the result was that the flat of the blade smacked Carnichal’s cheek and sent him reeling.
Stars filled his eyes and his cheek stung like hell, but Carmichal managed to stay on his feet as he wheeled away from the impact. He shook his head and refocused on his opponent, who had turned to face him. A smug grin crossed the bandit’s face as he gripped his axe with both hands and took a step forward. He hefted the axe behind his head and let it fly. The weapon sailed towards Carmichal, who, expecting the attack this time, deftly sidestepped it, the axe burying itself where the aging mercenary had stood a moment ago. Neat trick, he mused, Maybe I should try it myself. Sidestepping back, he retrieved the axe from the ground and weighed in his hand for a moment. The weapon’s weight was focused more towards the center, making it ideal for throwing. He looked up to notice the bandit was sprinting headlong at him, intent on retrieving his weapon. Carmichal reacted faster, spinning in a circle to aid in his throw. The axe left his hand and spun directly into his opponents chest, dropping him on the spot. Retrieving the axe yet again, he looked down at his felled opponent. “It’s mine now,” he said with a smirk.
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Post by Duma on Feb 7, 2015 14:24:42 GMT -6
OOC- hey where'd everyone else go? -- The fight was on. Duma paced himself for what was to come. Several bandits courageous, and foolish bandits had decided to try and rush at the two fighters head on. Carmichal seemed to have his hands busy with a pair of bandits. Meanwhile Duma found himself with two swords men. An average build mercenary who had bit of a broader, longer, sword then his comrade. Long sword! Long swords were swords that were effective against cavaliers and knights on horseback. Usually known by it's lay man's name of "horse cutter" for cutting and crippling horses. He parried the blow of the swordsman with the long blade with bit of a grimace. The long blade of his opponent just managed to touch the top part of his head. The two were locked in a bit of a stalemate. Duma had blocked the strike with his sword, and his opponent tried to muscle his way out of the deadlock.
The sword master, kicked the mercenary in the gut to drive him off momentarily. Duma just barely avoided the stabbing motion of his friend's iron sword. He assumed, a myrmidon judging by appearances. A quick slash of his sword took care of him. It was at this point he noticed a motion to his left, Carmichal had conveinetly shoved some poor fool his way. Duma saw off from the corner of his eye long sword man tried to charge at him with the same stabbing motion as his friend. He acted quickly grabbed poor smuck who was shoved by Carmichal and shoved him infront of his own body.
Long sword guy just ran through one of his own. Good. But the painful scratch now oozing out of Duma's side reminded him that long swords, are long. Taking advantage of the mercenary's momentary confusion Duma side stepped around the now impaled corpse, and slashed the mercenary. With a clean diagonal slice from his right hip, all the way up to his left shoulder, long sword guy was dead on the ground. A bloody spluttering mess.
Duma picked up the blade from the dead man's hand and found it to be a blade of poor condition. Cracked and chipped in certain places, he was surprised it was still able to slice through flesh.
"Useless." He muttered before dropping the sword back through he mercenary corpse's chest.
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