Striker
06-12-06, 04:31 PM
(solo)
The bandit pair, with flashing swords and clinking chain mail crashed through the red mountain passes of northern Alerar. Coming to a cul de sac, they glared at each other. The trail had ended, and the smart-mouthed cat man they had been chasing wasn’t here. Who, exactly, had screwed up? It wasn’t long before they started arguing, the taller of the two pushing first, a fistfight breaking out, two grown men hurling each other against the rock. The arrowhead creeping out from behind a rock outcropping gave up on picking an individual target, and fired into the melee. A piercing cry surprised a flock of small birds to flight, as the fight ended as suddenly as it had begun. One of the two combatant bandits had acquired something of a tail, its long shaft ending in a plume of feathers. He was here, and he had shot at them. The two bandits weren’t stupid. They had been in this game long enough to realize when one is getting shot, he or she is best served by taking cover. But as long as they were distracted by finding the source of the arrowhead, Striker felt it was only fair to show them.
The second arrow planted itself squarely in the taller bandit’s solar plexus, and the impact and shock of its entrance staggered the human. His friend, however, had seen the flight path, and shuffled his way toward his foe as fast as he could with an arrow planted in his rear. Face screwed with pain, he and his sword were thirsty for blood and vengeance. A third arrow planting itself in his right shoulder did little to slow him down, so Striker leapt over the rock face, laughing. His opponent charged in awkward half-steps while the beast man readied his blade.
The fight was brief. Without the use of his shoulder, the cat had no difficulty blocking his slowed attacks and piercing his guard. Gracelessly, he slashed the man across the gut with the axe blade of his weapon, and left him to tumble down the slight incline to Striker’s hiding place. The taller bandit, however, was getting up. Yellow eyes watched him approach, coughing up lungs. Silently, he used the last reserves of his energy to raise his sword. The spear tip stopped him, briefly, but he kept moving forward – stopped by the axe and pick on either side of the weapon. Finally, the blade fell six feet short of its target. Striker retrieved his arrows.
That had gone well. When the trio of bandits attacked his caravan, it had been no trouble at all to distract two into chasing him. Acellya could surely handle the third, and with her Silas should have no trouble getting to the next city. The city where they were going to meet up. Ett-something-more? Silas had been talking about it for a while… he always got excited when they were going to a big city. It didn’t matter which one. Striker grinned at the purple mountains of the setting sun, enjoying the moment. They wouldn’t wait for him, and he would make faster time on his own than that nag Silas had pulling the cart. It would take them almost a week to make it to the city at the pace they were going. That gave Striker a weeklong vacation – he’d just need a hell of a story to explain why he hadn’t bothered to do his job while they made their way south.
Striker slung his bow back across his shoulders while he mused over lies. “One of those villains was a vampire!” he offered, returning his slightly gorier arrows. “I kept killing him, but he kept waking back up the next day. We fought for a week!” he checked his slain foes for valuables. Chain mail and swords – useless. “After two days, I had killed him so many times he offered to hire me as his teacher, but I told him he had to prove his worth by killing me first.” With the sun at his back, Striker made a slow return through the mountain passes.
“So this evil vampire, his name was uhh… Boris von Killermeister, he summons these wolves straight from hell! I was pretty scared, but, y’know, I just kept my focus, and it wasn’t long before I’d beaten the whole pack straight back down!” He was getting into the rhythm of it now. “This Von Killermeister fella, he was furious! He kept offering me, say, his daughter. His castle. At first he wanted me to teach him how to fight, but by day four he just wanted me to stop killin’ him!” Walking through skeleton brush, the creatures of the night came out of their shadows. “After six days, though, I couldn’t kill ‘im! He’d been fighting for a week straight, y’know, he’d finally learned a damn thing or two, and it took me all day to finally kill him dead. I waited for hours for him to wake up, so I could tell him he’d graduated, that he’d learned all he could from me, all that stuff, but he never did! I’d stabbed him with the wood part, through one of the… fifty holes that were already in him! I guess he could take it from steel, but he must have been allergic to wood, because that finally did him in!” The night continued to spread around Striker as the mountains ate the sun.
“The first person I ever taught how to fight, and I killed the poor bastard! I mean, I must’ve killed him five hundred times, but that last one sure did him in. I tell ya, I’m never going to teach anyone my fighting techniques again! They’re too dangerous!”
“How noble of you”. The coughing voice behind Striker brought his fur to it’s height. He fumbled for his weapon, pointing it at the shadows, the tip trembling with shock, fight, and adrenaline. “You really should be more careful with students, though. Most don’t even survive the first time you kill them.” A hacking laugh, as Striker’s pupils widened under the darkening sky.
His weapon raised, significantly. This shadow-man was tall – and not many were taller than Striker! He practically loomed over everything, gaunt as he was, and he was already hunched over. Gripping his stomach. From which blood was dripping. Striker’s fear suddenly died away, and his weapon dropped. Approaching without a second thought, he investigated the situation.
This monstrosity should be dead. He was thoroughly gutted. He was holding his entrails in! Striker leapt back with the realization. Maybe he was dead! He gripped his weapon tighter, as his fears became realized.
“...you aren’t a vampire, are you?”
The long silence which followed the query was terrible, but the mocking laugh that followed was even worse.
The bandit pair, with flashing swords and clinking chain mail crashed through the red mountain passes of northern Alerar. Coming to a cul de sac, they glared at each other. The trail had ended, and the smart-mouthed cat man they had been chasing wasn’t here. Who, exactly, had screwed up? It wasn’t long before they started arguing, the taller of the two pushing first, a fistfight breaking out, two grown men hurling each other against the rock. The arrowhead creeping out from behind a rock outcropping gave up on picking an individual target, and fired into the melee. A piercing cry surprised a flock of small birds to flight, as the fight ended as suddenly as it had begun. One of the two combatant bandits had acquired something of a tail, its long shaft ending in a plume of feathers. He was here, and he had shot at them. The two bandits weren’t stupid. They had been in this game long enough to realize when one is getting shot, he or she is best served by taking cover. But as long as they were distracted by finding the source of the arrowhead, Striker felt it was only fair to show them.
The second arrow planted itself squarely in the taller bandit’s solar plexus, and the impact and shock of its entrance staggered the human. His friend, however, had seen the flight path, and shuffled his way toward his foe as fast as he could with an arrow planted in his rear. Face screwed with pain, he and his sword were thirsty for blood and vengeance. A third arrow planting itself in his right shoulder did little to slow him down, so Striker leapt over the rock face, laughing. His opponent charged in awkward half-steps while the beast man readied his blade.
The fight was brief. Without the use of his shoulder, the cat had no difficulty blocking his slowed attacks and piercing his guard. Gracelessly, he slashed the man across the gut with the axe blade of his weapon, and left him to tumble down the slight incline to Striker’s hiding place. The taller bandit, however, was getting up. Yellow eyes watched him approach, coughing up lungs. Silently, he used the last reserves of his energy to raise his sword. The spear tip stopped him, briefly, but he kept moving forward – stopped by the axe and pick on either side of the weapon. Finally, the blade fell six feet short of its target. Striker retrieved his arrows.
That had gone well. When the trio of bandits attacked his caravan, it had been no trouble at all to distract two into chasing him. Acellya could surely handle the third, and with her Silas should have no trouble getting to the next city. The city where they were going to meet up. Ett-something-more? Silas had been talking about it for a while… he always got excited when they were going to a big city. It didn’t matter which one. Striker grinned at the purple mountains of the setting sun, enjoying the moment. They wouldn’t wait for him, and he would make faster time on his own than that nag Silas had pulling the cart. It would take them almost a week to make it to the city at the pace they were going. That gave Striker a weeklong vacation – he’d just need a hell of a story to explain why he hadn’t bothered to do his job while they made their way south.
Striker slung his bow back across his shoulders while he mused over lies. “One of those villains was a vampire!” he offered, returning his slightly gorier arrows. “I kept killing him, but he kept waking back up the next day. We fought for a week!” he checked his slain foes for valuables. Chain mail and swords – useless. “After two days, I had killed him so many times he offered to hire me as his teacher, but I told him he had to prove his worth by killing me first.” With the sun at his back, Striker made a slow return through the mountain passes.
“So this evil vampire, his name was uhh… Boris von Killermeister, he summons these wolves straight from hell! I was pretty scared, but, y’know, I just kept my focus, and it wasn’t long before I’d beaten the whole pack straight back down!” He was getting into the rhythm of it now. “This Von Killermeister fella, he was furious! He kept offering me, say, his daughter. His castle. At first he wanted me to teach him how to fight, but by day four he just wanted me to stop killin’ him!” Walking through skeleton brush, the creatures of the night came out of their shadows. “After six days, though, I couldn’t kill ‘im! He’d been fighting for a week straight, y’know, he’d finally learned a damn thing or two, and it took me all day to finally kill him dead. I waited for hours for him to wake up, so I could tell him he’d graduated, that he’d learned all he could from me, all that stuff, but he never did! I’d stabbed him with the wood part, through one of the… fifty holes that were already in him! I guess he could take it from steel, but he must have been allergic to wood, because that finally did him in!” The night continued to spread around Striker as the mountains ate the sun.
“The first person I ever taught how to fight, and I killed the poor bastard! I mean, I must’ve killed him five hundred times, but that last one sure did him in. I tell ya, I’m never going to teach anyone my fighting techniques again! They’re too dangerous!”
“How noble of you”. The coughing voice behind Striker brought his fur to it’s height. He fumbled for his weapon, pointing it at the shadows, the tip trembling with shock, fight, and adrenaline. “You really should be more careful with students, though. Most don’t even survive the first time you kill them.” A hacking laugh, as Striker’s pupils widened under the darkening sky.
His weapon raised, significantly. This shadow-man was tall – and not many were taller than Striker! He practically loomed over everything, gaunt as he was, and he was already hunched over. Gripping his stomach. From which blood was dripping. Striker’s fear suddenly died away, and his weapon dropped. Approaching without a second thought, he investigated the situation.
This monstrosity should be dead. He was thoroughly gutted. He was holding his entrails in! Striker leapt back with the realization. Maybe he was dead! He gripped his weapon tighter, as his fears became realized.
“...you aren’t a vampire, are you?”
The long silence which followed the query was terrible, but the mocking laugh that followed was even worse.