And so marched the boy, once seemingly the perfect coward, towards the maw of the great beast. Climbing up a tree, reaching the back of the bony monster, Storm spotted the boy’s legs settling atop the spine, feet locking in between ribs. It was perfect; he seemed to get a great grip on the awful thing, and it bucked and roared with an awful sound like metal grinding.
Nearby, the girl asked him to sing a song, as his small electric blasts had little to no effect. The wizard had shot small, delicate bursts, careful not to fry the poor brave bastard on top of the bone mammoth. From some range, with only small focused shots, the thick calcium of the beast’s skull effortlessly absorbed each shot, twitching simply to avoid a devastating bolt to the eye.
Son of a bitch, a song!? That ain’t my kinda magic, sugar…
A quick glance back at the girl, who had began to dance the bow to her violin. It was a sweet, high pitched sound, rhythmic and optimistic with an upbeat tonality. A grin spread across the face of the mage as he started whispering in tune.
“Hey big beast with your bone-flat teats…
“I’m here to bring you news!
“Come for the food, for were still fresh meats
“Just here to pay our dues!”
Disappointed with his pitiful effort, he looked to the girl, who continued fiddling on as little happened in the way of giant, terrible orbs of magic.
You suck at this. Be yourself.
Clapping a little in time with the lovely tune, Storm’s eyes pulled into a squint as his mouth paused momentarily. He needed to move quickly, as the lad atop the back of the monster had little time to wait on terrible rhymes.
“Hey bone bag, bring that orange eye.
“On us and our neat tricks!
“My magic now, it’s time to die…
“So you can suck our dicks!!”
Lyrically gifted he was not, however Storm Veritas was powerful and frustrated. A pulse beneath the metal heels of his shoes sent him flipping in an impossible leap upwards, tumbling out and forward for some forty feet. He knew not if he had generated any magic for the clever girl, but it was time to go off-script.
With white eyes of anger and rage, the electromancer sent a terrible blast of crackling white hate down at the face of the beast, some ten feet in front of its newly emboldened little jockey. The wizard had done his best to avoid the boy, but push had officially come to shove.
