Perun
Warrior
Words of praise will never perish, nor a noble name.
Posts: 141
Profession: Donnie's Muscle
Affiliation: LCO
Guild: What is Guild?
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Selibas
|
Post by Perun on Aug 13, 2015 14:22:31 GMT -6
With a savage kick to his gut from the Ilian Reaper, the wind was knocked out of Perun. The lumbering giant stumbled back, and tried to regulate his oxygen intake between his nose and mouth. The light of day suddenly flooded his eyes as the orange giant blinked, flecks of purple and white overtaking the true image in front of Perun. After groggily blinking and breathing for a moment, the large Ilian saw Donovan, alive and well, within the radius of the circle of attack on Michael.
Perun rushed over to him without giving a second look to his opponent. He grabbed his friend on the shoulder and said, "Duno-ven! You are being alright! Perun is thinking you were being killed in fire." Perun turned back and saw that Duma was being held in the grasp of the powerful Ilian. who now stood without a shield. Perun looked back at his friend and said, "Fohrked lightning Duno-ven?"
With the answer, Perun took off, running toward Michael from the man's left. His feet pumped into the earth beneath him. He was, among the party of defenders, the sturdiest. His position in this fight was that of a wall, and like a wall he needed to be firmly rooted to the ground, immovable once he was set. Perun set his left leg forward once he was in range of an axe swing on Michael, and let loose an earth shattering blow. Now there was nothing to do but hope it connected, and that Donovan would be in a good position. Luckily, Duma had managed to free himself.
|
|
|
Post by Donovan on Aug 15, 2015 15:45:32 GMT -6
When the Ilian Reaper had managed to avoid all of their strikes, the mercenary thought that it couldn’t have been possible. Then the shield came rocketing at him and the green clad man was just glad that he’d already prepared himself to avoid another fire attack. Sure it was a little more surprising to have a tower shield thrown your way, but ultimately far less worrisome. He kicked off his right leg and and rolled out of the shield’s path, narrowly avoiding the attack. When he landed, he noticed that his teacher had dropped a brave sword during the monster’s volley of attacks, so the green clad man picked it up in his place.
Perun came jovially up to him, having apparently thought the thinner man perished in the blaze of the demon sword, but before Don could do anything more than grab the Giant’s shoulder in return, they noticed the sword master’s plight. At the same moment, the two men looked at each other and said, “Forked lightning?” Before waiting for an answer from each other, they were off. A finely tuned machine of destruction. Don took his teacher’s brave sword in his right hand and the Sacaen’s iron sword in his left. In three quick steps, the scoundrel and the Giant were attacking from both the left and the right, hitting both high and low. Whilst Perun swung his axe, so immovable and rooted, Don swung both blades together from the right, before arcing the unnaturally light blade back at the Reaper for another attack. His iron sword dropped into a defensive position. Hopefully this would be enough to knock the savage back to the mountains he came from.
|
|
|
Post by Remus on Aug 19, 2015 20:54:37 GMT -6
He could feel his grip like an iron vice around the swordsmans throat. Even as the man struggled, and clawed at his grip Michael felt his fury venting into the throttle. Every muscle in his arm throbbed, veins bulging to emphasize the vascular tone of his limb even while his entire body shook with rage. There was a certain satisfaction to feeling ones fingers beginning to crush at anothers vital organs. He spoke in a loud booming tone as the others recovered from their respective blows. "I've gotta admit...takes stones to fight Sev. Takes even more to kill him. You must've been good. Bet it'll make him smile nice and wide if I crush your throat here and now, eh? " The Ilian Mercenaries snarling satisfaction did not last long however. As the man managed to grasp for a concealed blade and lash out at him, the Hero swore and leapt backwards, shaking his hand and barely managing to avoid a strike that would have likely crippled his hand.
A splash of crimson stained the ground beneath him while he snarled at the man. He hissed through his teeth while he lifted his blade. "Sly little bastard aren't you?" He'd been so focused on the swordsman, that he'd failed to notice the other two until it was too late. A rookie mistake, and one that would certainly cost him. Michael barely had time to lift Chernabog to block as a vicious Ax strike came crashing inwards towards him. The flames of the blade briefly hissed into nonexistance as Michael lifted his wounded hand to press against the flat of the blade to better attempt to halt the warrior's immense strength. However with Perun securing his footing first, the strike's raw force managed to slide the Hero back as he pressed forwards into it to block it better. Through peripheral vision he saw the other sword wielding snake dart forwards. Locked as he was in the struggle of strength with the orange haired brute, and barely able to hold him off at that individual moment, he was literally unable to move for a second. Pain split within him as if he had plunged into the frigid oceanic depths of northern Ilia's shores.
He shifted his body and leaned so that his armor could soak up some of the damage, but that did not alleviate the pain as blades slashed right to left along his shoulder and upper arm. The man snarled, feeling his wounded leg give out for a split second. As his knee dipped, the force he used to keep the rooted giant at bay crumbled and he was barely able to maintain a grip on his blade long enough to keep the Ax's blade from actually cracking into his chest. He was sent sprawling into the air, tucking and rolling slightly as he landed onto his back; briefly turning before managing to recover it in a single motion and skid backwards to a kneeling poise. Dust kicked up between him and the worthless worms that had managed to gain the upper-hand, at-least for that moment if nothing else. Michael found himself winded, and forced to utilize specific breathing methods to maximize each breath. Deep, somewhat ragged breaths, left him as he knelt with his wounded forearm over his knee.
The dust cleared in a moment. Michael stood up with a brief pause to steel himself. The pain within his leg was beginning to creep in from the arrow earlier. He lifted Chernabog and pointed it to the three, as the roaring flames ignited once more. He swept the blade once, a torrent of lashing flames blossming forth in a wide wild arc towards them all. Easy enough to dodge, but reliable to create a distance between them. Though much slower this time, the high pitched hiss of another powerful flame strike could be heard as the blade's flames started rushing together. Michael spit at the ground before him while he glared, venomous gaze fixated on none of the trio in particular."So which one of you gets roasted next? Any more Volunteers ? " In the back of his mind though a sense of caution slipped in. He'd been reckless this time when fighting them. He hadn't expected them to work together well enough as they were, and had spent more energy than he should have in his early strikes. Perhaps he'd grown too overconfident in his time away from combat. He wasn't used to fighting to survive like he had been. It was coming back to him sure, but too slowly for his taste.
|
|
|
Post by Duma on Aug 23, 2015 12:01:11 GMT -6
Duma was on his hands and knees. His his bloody hand clutched the small fruit knife that had saved him. The swordmaster was coughing, gasping for air. He pulled his free hand towards his chest steadily trying to calm himself. The splotchy blurs of green he could see slowly turned into blades of grass. He gritted his teeth and tried to bring himself up to his feet. Pain racked his body as he slowly brought himself up off the floor. He lost his balance for a moment and nearly fell back. He took a few paces back. His body was so tired. It wanted nothing more then to collapsed onto the ground and sleep. His eyes locked onto the man with the blazing sword.
"Ugh.. You.. bastard." He muttered. The swordsman neck was red from where the hero crushing his throat. You.. bastard.. You.. wouldn't know what made Sev happy. You.. didn't see.. the smile on his face in our match. Sev.. will be.. given a grave.. you.. will not. He coughed again. Duma went to go draw a blade only to realize he had none. He remembered now, he lost one when he was being choked, and the other when he was hit. Well now he was in a bit of a bind. But at least Donny and Perun were working together. No amount of drinks would repay them for their attacks. They had helped saved him. The quick hard breaths eventually shifted to that of his calm deep breaths. Duma watched as the Ilian Hero charged up his flame sword and asking who wanted to be roasted next. Duma certainly didn't want to become a charred corpse. He wanted to avenge Carter not to join him. But Duma could see it, the subtle differences in the Hero's stance. The Hero had jumped into the battle late and was a bit more refreshed then the battered trio. But now the hero had suffered some damage, his movements, and stance meant that he was starting to get tired. The three of them had a chance. But Duma wished that Remus would wake. His healing would be appreciated.
Duma surveyed the battle area. So far the closest sword he could grab was Carter's. But he would prefer it if he had his brave sword. Donny would have to find a way to toss it to him.
|
|
|
Post by Donovan on Aug 24, 2015 13:33:04 GMT -6
The green clad mercenary leapt back when their advertsary did, and narrowly avoiding the wall of flames that spread from the demon sword’s blade. Don heard a took count of the current injuries they’d inflicted on their enemy. Michael had 3 wounds; an arrow to his leg, the damaged wrist from Duma’s knife, and the pair of cuts to his back from Don’s swords. Whilst the back wounds might look the most damaging, they weren’t very deep, thanks to the faux Hero’s armor. The most debilitating would likely be his leg wound and his hand.
The biggest problem Donovan saw was that Duma was unarmed and that they were all next to each other now. They needed to spread out. “Eye of the storm?” Don called out to Perun and Duma. He hoped his sword master remembered the names that Don and Perun had given some of their tactics; this one being to surround the opponent. So far that seemed to be the only way to catch Michael off guard. Don tossed the brave sword back to Duma’s hand and began to walk steadily away from his comrades, toward a better position.
Then that faint hissing sound pierced the air, and Donovan felt a terrified chill rush down his spine. He was preparing another attack. One like the one that had killed Carter and left him as no more than a charred corpse. The mercenary knew that he would probably not be able to survive a hit like that, but was not as worried about getting attacked again. With his position as it was now, Michael would expose his back to the two real threats if he chose to go after the mercenary. Duma would likely struggle to dodge such an attack after so recently getting his throat crushed, but Donovan was certain he’d still manage, even if he got burnt a little around the edges. He looked at Perun, who was closest to the Ilian Reaper’s discarded shield, and hoped that the Giant would be quick enough to grab it and block the strike it the ball of fire was sent his way. They need the Big Guy as unharmed as possible with Remus out of commission.
|
|
Perun
Warrior
Words of praise will never perish, nor a noble name.
Posts: 141
Profession: Donnie's Muscle
Affiliation: LCO
Guild: What is Guild?
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Selibas
|
Post by Perun on Aug 27, 2015 15:05:12 GMT -6
Perun pushed down with the utter strength of his triceps as soon as his axe clashed with the Reaper's blade. He continued to push, gritting his teeth as he leaned down towards the man. Happy as he was that Donovan was alive, his anger was still flared. The orange giant's breath came out heavily, blowing his beard and mustache away from his mouth. His eyes were thrown as open as they could be, so that as much white could be seen as possible. Were the reaper human enough to know fear, he would surely know it in the face of Perun Volsungg. It was not at present, though not really at any time, a pretty face.
The reaper then rolled away from the giant, and took up position again to shoot a ball of flame. Quickly, in response, Donovan shouted out another of the duo's techniques. "Eye og the storm!" Though Perun gave no indication, he understood, and shifted his position to be opposite Donovan and Duma. His foot brushed against the massive shield of Michael. The man's sword whizzed with the sound it had made just before the wave of flame had killed Carter. Perun's mind rushed through the various courses of action he could take.
Duma was the fastest, Donovan was slippery, and Perun... Perun was big. He was a big target, an easy target. However, he wasn't a rock that stood still as a massive flame engulfed all around it. If the flame whizzed at him, the northerner would prove that lightning brought the fire, and couldn't be crushed by it. He reached his axe and fist out to his sides, and let out a long vicious roar.
|
|
|
Post by Remus on Sept 2, 2015 16:07:27 GMT -6
Michael hadn't been in a situation like this in years. Literal years . He shifted his weight to his good leg and let his wounded one lighten to the point where the heel of his foot was more propped than resting on the ground. His nostrils flared as he maximized each breath. Inhaling slowly, his chest expanded fully. The slight burning as his skin expanded and stretched the faint lacerations along his sides and back was almost a relief. He felt the burning within his wrist from where the green haired swordmaster had managed to wound him with a knife. Like hot iron constantly pressing to his skin. He lightly tested the limits of the wound, fingers twisting and swiftly curling or uncurling in alternating patterns. It hurt a bit, but he had full control of his fingers. No damage to hinder the control. Good. Pain he could fight through and work with. The wound to his leg however was likely the biggest one. He'd have to keep it in mind. The Ilian Reaper shifted his blade as the three began to circle around him.
He needed to draw out more time. Sure he ran the danager of blood loss, but the three were also tired from their fights. If he could kill another one. Possibly the big orange haired brute, he would have enough of an advantage. Until then...he had to make it count. The rushing within his blade generated a louder screech like hiss of air, and Michael lifted his blade slowly as he began to pace his breathing. Steady breaths, and closed eyes. Unbridled rage swarmed his thoughts, giving precision to his actions. He could focus more, let his fury give him motivation. Though he took in heavy breaths, it was more to prevent further fatigue than to serve as a sign to it. Conserve his energy. Centering Chernabog infront of him, he clasped at the blades hilt with both hands while he allowed them to take their formation. The flames of the blade generated enough heat that the Ilian had a steady trail of droplets cascading down his jawline. Snapping his eyes open, he held his poise, uninjured leg perfectly straight with muscles tense and injured one slightly slack to keep him light on his feet. When he spoke, his tone had lost the taunting edge. A lethality in the seriousness that he took on, almost perfectly contrasting his nature; unmistakably filled with rage however.
"Pray to your gods...your about to meet them."
He held Chernabog further away from him, the flames violently roaring around the blades edges and fully encoating the metal in a wild tongue of fiery magic. He knew exactly what he'd do..speaking once again as the flames gathered and he patiently waited for the trio to strike.
"Your deaths shall be a mercy."
|
|
|
Post by Duma on Sept 8, 2015 15:31:21 GMT -6
Eye of the storm? Granted Duma didn't quite remember all of Donny's punny names in regards to tactics. Duma quickly took his brave sword back. But he did see that Perun was making his way closer to the Hero's shield. And Donny was making his way over towards the hero's side. Oh. Surround the opponent. At three points. Duma's throat hurt too much for him to make words. At most he was going to conserve what remained of his throat in case he needed to shout. He slowly grabbed Carter's sword that happened to be next to him. Slowly he drew both blades up towards his chest in a defensive position. The Hero with the flaming sword was preparing to launch a big attack. Duma suspected it was the same sort of attack that killed Carter in one go. He thought about charging forward and disrupting the attack all together. But he opted not to it was far to risky.
Duma considered his options. He knew Donny probably had the most energy between the three of them. He had the best chance of dodging the flames. Perun was big and tough. If he could grab the sheild and use it he might be able to deflect some of the damage of the spell. Duma himself he had enough energy to dodge. He could avoid the direct line of fire... possibly. But Remus.. whom was unconscious behind him could not. And if he dies then the job was over. Then the two children would either become orphans, corpses, or slaves. Duma did not wish for that fate upon the children. So he would be forced to stand his ground. His mind started to recall his encounter's with magic. He knew simple fire spells could be deflected. In his youth he would throw rocks at Mila's fire balls so the ball of fire would target the rocks rather then him. He wondered if throwing the sword at the spiraling stream of flame would have the same effect. If he did become a target of the long range attack, then he oped Perun or Donny could intercept and attack the hero. If the hero charged toward him and used the flaming sword in direct weapon to weapon combat Duma stood a chance. Maybe.
|
|
|
Post by Donovan on Sept 11, 2015 13:41:28 GMT -6
Don watched as the standoff continued. The high pitched whistle radiating off the heat of the flaming sword held the tension aloft. Everyone was waiting for the other shoe to fall. Duma didn’t look like he was going to rush forward. But that might be exactly what the deranged Hero wanted them to do. If they stayed still he maintained a massive range advantage over them. But maybe, just maybe if Perun and he could bum rush him and disrupt that attack before he could use it, they’d stand a better chance. “Pray to your gods...your about to meet them. Your deaths shall be a mercy.” That or, he could just distract the guy and give the others a chance to knock him off his high horse.
The Mercenary’s eyes caught Peruns and then shot down to the shield, before Don’s head tilted back towards him. Hopefully the Giant would get the message and toss the huge shield towards him. “I’m going to have to agree, death would definitely be a mercy if it meant we didn’t have to hear you drone on anymore. Honestly, if I actually did meet my gods, they’d probably just tell me to come back here and get you to stop being so ridiculously over dramatic.” The mercenary knew it was going to draw some fire, literally, but if it gave Perun and Duma the opening they desperately needed on this fighter, then it’d be worth it. He just hoped that it would be enough.
|
|
Perun
Warrior
Words of praise will never perish, nor a noble name.
Posts: 141
Profession: Donnie's Muscle
Affiliation: LCO
Guild: What is Guild?
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Selibas
|
Post by Perun on Sept 11, 2015 19:35:11 GMT -6
The orange giant watched as Duma took the third position for their technique. Perun was growing angry now, his chest heaved and his ears heated. He saw red. All red. Red like a flame that swept across the grass to kill a young swordsman. He saw Duma, Remus, and Donovan. He saw the hole his body had made in the wall of the inn. He saw the Ilian Reaper. He saw red. Perun let a long breath escape through gritted teeth. He needed to hold back. Donovan would need him to hold back for this to work. That was the point of all these moves Donovan had thought up. Holding back, out thinking your opponent. The orange giant didn't out think anyone. He overpowered them. Yet still, he had to wait.
“Pray to your gods...your about to meet them. Your deaths shall be a mercy.” Perun tried to spit an expletive in his direction, but it didn't come out in any way that could be broadly understood. Instead he shouted, "Pereyti yebat' sebya, vy nemoy kozelublyudok!" That was odd, he had meant to shout in the common tongue. It made no difference, he had no time to think of the implications for his linguistic choices, he noticed Donovan eyeing the reaper's grounded shield. Without a moment's hesitation, Perun scooped it up, and heaved it with all his might toward Donovan. It was a massive thing, and a bit awkward as far as a discus goes. It fell a slight bit closer to Donovan than to Michael, but it was still between them.
Perun was still angry. Donovan now had his shield. He had a way to defend himself, which was good, the three of them on the defense together made Michael's offence stretch itself thin. If he attacked Donovan, he exposed himself. However, of the three, Donovan stood the least chance of surviving the Reaper's scythe, metaphorically speaking. Perun brought his axe in front of his chest, and placed his left hand under his right. Perun was a man of odd body. Often times, he could appear to have a soft exterior around his frame, as he was not a man concerned with looking thin. However, he could shed any round look at a moment's notice. Twisting his grip around the haft of the axe, Perun let all of his muscles tighten, becoming a sea of edges as his muscles swelled with blood. Without his typical roar, he rushed forward, bringing his axe back. There were two Ilians left. It was time to see which would stand when there was only one.
|
|
|
Post by Remus on Sept 15, 2015 13:59:21 GMT -6
"I’m going to have to agree, death would definitely be a mercy if it meant we didn’t have to hear you drone on anymore. Honestly, if I actually did meet my gods, they’d probably just tell me to come back here and get you to stop being so ridiculously over dramatic."
He would kill this boy. This insufferable squirming rodent of a fool had singled himself out as the next victim. The burning rage that swirled within him was bad enough, and that bitter fury bled into his vision. He lifted his blade and gripped the hilt so tight his knuckles strained white around it, Chernabog's flames now a wailing siren as the flames danced wildly around the sharpened edge. Gritting his teeth and baring a snarl as every discernible feature painted his rage to its fullest; Michael looked to Donovan with everything else around him no longer registering. The Ilian Reaper's tower shield went hurling through the air, clashing with and landing on the ground around him as the larger man had evidently thrown it to him. Michael shook where he stood, so furious and now lingering on the side of almost a literal state of singular hatred. Luckily for him..an outlet presented itself. As Perun shouted and rushed towards Michael, the reaper moved into action. Every step brought the giant closer, and as he neared, Michael suddenly knelt downwards as he let out a vicious shout.
His wounds in his leg caused him to lose his balance at the last moment as he moved down, forcing him to act a fraction sooner than intended; but his blade sank into the ground as the orange haired giant made to strike at him. In that instant, a roaring inferno blazed upwards around Michael. Like a pillar it sent the roaring flames upwards to form a literal barrier around Michael while also letting out the explosive volcanic force stored within the blade. Michael felt the heat blast all around him as the intense burst of flames held the pillar and explosive force for a brief few seconds longer. Initially...he planned on catching the Ilian in an upwards blast as he lunged; however his injury forced him to prematurely use the attack, so while it was likely the orange haired man would get caught in it and knocked backwards; he would not receive full injury.
Oh well..it would buy him the time to crush a particularly loud cockroach beneath his boot. As the flames cleared, Michael rose to stare down the single target he now wished to destroy. His full gaze on Donovan, he rushed forwards with every ounce of strength he could muster. He pumped his arms and forced himself on-wards despite the fatigued state he was entering from over-exertion. It wasn't the first time he'd been pushed this far..but it infuriated him that these insects had managed to push him so far. As he moved closer to Donovan, every muscle within Michael's arm went rigid as he cocked the limb to the side. Planting his good foot downwards in full, he hooked his arm and with every ounce of strength surged in to hook the loud-mouthed fool in the abdominal muscles while swinging with all his might to launch the bastard towards the wall he'd punched the large orange haired man into earlier. Michael snarled with almost feral anger as he did so, unwilling to let himself be bested so easily; or near defeat like a second-rate thug. This wasn't over yet.
[Michael: Smite used]
|
|
|
Post by Donovan on Sept 15, 2015 18:20:21 GMT -6
Just because angering the Ilian reaper was a part of the plan, didn’t mean that the knowledge of just how painful the next few seconds were going to be weren’t present in the fool headed mercenary’s mind. He was equal parts satisfied with the results and terrified of the ramifications. But as he saw the huge shield flying through the air a little hope of survival managed to peek into his heart — that is, until it hit the ground about ten feet from him. It seemed, however, that luck was still on the mercenary’s side, as Michael turned around to unleash a wall of fire between himself and Perun. Don took the few precious moments to sprint forward as quickly as he could, grab the shield and heft the heavy thing into a defensive position.
He was met with the coldest stare he’d ever seen in his entire life. One he never hoped to see again. One that would haunt him just as much as George’s screams did from all those months ago. Michael wanted nothing more than to see Donovan dead. A simple desire really, and the Ilian Reaper moved to act on it. In a moment, he was in front of the silver tongued mercenary, his fist swung low and hooked toward where Donovan’s gut should have been. But thankfully, there was a nice, thick wooden wall of shield between them. A shield that should have been able to withstand a fist, like that. A shield that cracked under the force of the blow. Donovan felt his shield arm snap as the wood bent it in two different directions, he felt his shoulder pop straight out of its socket. And suddenly, he was soaring through the air. Like an eagle, only significantly less graceful.
Well, at least Duma has a clear shot of this bastard now, was his only thought. Until he crashed into the wall, broke through the already compromised wood, and felt something that he imagined could only be the pain caused by a few broken ribs — Then he had some other thoughts of a notably less selfless nature.
|
|
|
Post by Duma on Sept 17, 2015 12:21:09 GMT -6
Well Donny had done it. He had managed to piss off the hero to the point of becoming the next target. There was a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. No! Donny! Duma felt a bit recovered enough to do something. His throat was still a bit to hoarse so he couldn't shout. The swordsman opted to throw Carter's blade out towards the Hero's legs in an attempt to slow him down. Perun shouted something in his native language. To which Duma only understood about three words of it but it was more then enough. A goat screw-er indeed. Duma gritted his teeth and charged at the Hero. But the swordsman stopped just short as the towering wall of flame engulfed the Hero and protected him. There was nothing he could do help save Donny at this point. He couldn't see that the Hero with the flaming sword had knocked Donny away with his skill. He couldn't see that Donny had met with the wall of the Inn. To him Donny was lost in the fire. Although Duma was used to seeing loss along his travels. He knew full well that sometimes you can't save everyone. But Donny.. Donny was his student, his friend, his companion. Duma bit his lip and pushed back his rage. He wasn't going to fall into the same trap as the hero. He let his emotions, his fury, get the better of him. Focus.
Duma took a half step back and gripped his brave sword. Duma was quiet and still as he waited for his moment. The green haired swordsman took a familiar stance. Duma drew in a breath and braced himself. These next few moves are going to drain him of his stamina. But these sword strokes.. would fully express his quiet fury. It was entirely possible that the Hero's armor would block these hits or minimize the damage. But he wasn't going to waste this opportunity. Perun was still a few paces behind him. He hoped the orange haired Illian's follow up attack would be enough to end this man. He exhaled and began his assault.
He first strike slashed at the hero's side. Two hidden strikes traveled up the Hero's side. One hitting the underside of his arm and the other above the shoulder close to the neck. The lightness of the brave sword granted him a second proper swing. This time hitting the Hero's other side. Followed by two more hidden strikes again in the same pattern. These attacks were meant to cripple limbs and hit through the gaps in armor. Duma quickly pulled his sword away from the man's flesh before jumping back.
Duma collapsed onto his hands and knees. His heart was pounding so hard he swore it would burst out of his chest. The swordsman placed his hand over his chest as a precaution. He was panting as if he had never had air in his lungs before. A series of coughs would accompany the desperate gasps for air. He had nothing left in him to dodge or block. Duma couldn't even lift his head up to see the Hero. Ha.. pushed.. to the limit. Don't.. pass out now. At least.. stay awake..
-- OOC-
Adept: One channels their natural energy into their weapon arm, allowing enough speed to strike a second time in the span of one attack. An advanced user of this technique can strike a third.
1st Brave sword swing attack + 2x adept swings= 3 strikes 2nd brave sword swing attack + 2x adept swings = 3 strikes
6 strikes total. (If this needs to be changed due to rules please let me know via PM)
|
|
Perun
Warrior
Words of praise will never perish, nor a noble name.
Posts: 141
Profession: Donnie's Muscle
Affiliation: LCO
Guild: What is Guild?
Affinity: Thunder
OoC Alias: Selibas
|
Post by Perun on Sept 20, 2015 15:14:08 GMT -6
A roaring fire flared up in front of Perun. The orange giant was blown back, onto his back again. For a moment, Perun lay there in the dirt, with his eyes closed, hearing the roaring flame. Then his eyes shot open, his teeth grated against each other, and the giant rolled back, then hurled himself up onto his feet. Everything in him swelled. His anger roared, blazing hotter and wilder than the wall that coward had thrown up to prevent Perun from tearing him asunder. With Perun on the other side, he had an easier time fighting Donovan. Duma could still reach him, but the swordsman was still winded from the crushing of his throat. At this point in the fight, the giant Ilian was the moderately sized Ilian's biggest threat, and he was cut off.
Only seconds passed once Perun was on his feet. Seconds on a battlefield could result in the death of hundreds of companions. Or one best friend. Yet there was this wall of fire, that could burn on for minutes instead of seconds. Perun could try to go around it. Too many seconds. It had been a fraction of time after Perun had jumped up, and he jumped through the fire.
By hell it was hot! Perun's vest was the first thing to catch fire, followed by his beard, arms, and chest. Perun tore his vest off and let it fall to the ground, stomping out the fire quickly. He patted his beard as he sprinted forward towards the reaper. His chest was only embers, but they stilled burned as the giant yelled, "YA sobirayus' zakhvatit' vashi kroshechnyye ruki , i ya sobirayus' razorvat' ikh iz chertovykh rozetok , vy ponimayete!"[/b] Perun lifted his axe as he came at the man. Duma lay on the ground, Donovan was nowhere to be seen, and Remus was in the same state as Duma. This battle fell on Perun's shoulders. They made a broad platform.
|
|
|
Post by Remus on Oct 6, 2015 7:26:07 GMT -6
Michael had just enough time to grin with satisfaction as the small mercenary flew into the wall before he felt the drain hit him. Oh how it hit him. He actually hunched his shoulders, and pressed his palm to the hilt of the blade as he gripped it firmly to reassert his grasp. Each breath was a ragged effort to gather enough air as he rasped. It was only a short moment, and he was able to recover his wind and stamina from this drain fast enough. However that didn't stop the swordsman that rushed him abruptly while the thin one flew and the large one struggled to pass the tower of flames. Michael tried to move, but wasn't fast enough to stop the initial slash. As the man's blade crossed into the hardened leather armor, it's tip swung past it and into the point where Michael had only the thin layer of mail beneath. Metal crinkled and crunched as he felt the searing heat that came with the laceration above his left shoulder. As he lifted his right hand upwards he felt another slash cut into his left arm on the other side. Michael snarled before lifting his blade to swing at the swordsman. He shifted his body backwards as he did so, focusing on protecting his dominant hand while using Chernabog to narrow the distance where he could and couldn't be hit.
This did not stop the two swift strike that came next. Though they did not entirely reach their mark, there was no mistaking the sudden trails of dark maroon stain upon the leather armor to accompany the pain in both his arms. Michael would've retaliate, but the man dropped to the ground before he could. It was a split second assessment. Flames swirled to engulf Chernabog's blade, and he realized he had to make a choice. He could've killed the swordsman. However the giant orange haired Ilian was roaring towards him with chest hairs ablaze and eyes wild. Instead, Michael shifted his weight to his good leg and waited. He lifted the magic sword and crouched slightly, knowing already that he would have to out maneuver the lumbering bear of a man if he was going to win. As Perun swung his Ax, Michael threw himself forwards to the left. His blade shifted and he moved it so he could block the ax strike while exposing the man to the flames of the blade.
At-least, that was the initial plan. Perun's monstrous strength was such that he was able to force Michael sliding backwards into a skid, and then a stumble from the attempted block. The magic blade slid to the side as his arm was forced; Perun's strength beating out Michael's even in a fleeting moment, especially with the Ilian Mercenary using a single handed stance.
Snarling, he instead switched it as he felt the Ax tear into his armors chest guard and the sting of the ax pressing to his skin. He swung his blade upwards and inwards; forcing the Ilian to chose between finishing his blow and possibly losing an arm or backing up. The crimson haired Mercenary had no intentions of dying on the ground like a mongrel.
|
|