Quote:** Wrote:Ohia Forest
The Isle de Gambino is well known for it's sugar sanded coasts and expensive hotels, but there is a more tropical beauty waiting further inland. Up in the tropical mountains awaits Ohia Forest, an ancient land with tree dating centuries old. Many a legend have been from it's very soil.
Fallen giants, sharp rocks and water-rotted flora litter the floor of this forest, making it difficult for quick, unimpeded movements. The ground is a soft, moist mud, making even the lightest warrior sink an inch deep. The canopy above hinders most sunlight, but does nothing to shield from the frequent rains are so famous to the climate.
Be sure to bring bug spray.
General- A beautiful forest composed of slippery elements to challenge even the most graceful fighter.
Weapons- Tree limbs, twigs, ferns, mud and rocks.
Natural Element Resource- Earth, wood, water.
Bonus Effects- Five posts in a down-pour decides to grace the stage, lasting until the end of the fight.
Moonblade vs Ebris
HoH season 12. Source: valucre.net static Gaia dump.
Table of contents
In the depths of Ohia Forest, the homunculus and self-proclaimed 'magus extraordinaire' embarked on a remarkable journey. His quest: to find victory with a flourish of his blade and lack of stain on his boots. Preferably by never stepping foot on the forest floor in the first place. His name?
Ammiel "Silver" Moonblade, Captain of Team Ryugin.
"Of all the stages..."
Despite the terrain, the captain was completely decked out in an overly-elaborate black-and-silver suit of mithril armor. This suit came comple with a full chestplate, pauldrons, gauntlets, and armored boots, leaving his upper arms and upper legs free for mobility purposes. Elaborate elvish writing accompanied the trimmings of the armor pieces, drawing even more attention to the highly intricate coiling silver dragon embroidered on the center of the chestplate.
Carried between both hands was Dreadnaught, Moonblade's pitch-black, 7-foot polearm. The weapon came complete with a wicked sharp curved blade sprouting from the base of the original foot-long point. It would be clear from the slight accumulation of mud on the very bottom of the shaft that the man was using the weapon as a vault from time-to-time as necessary.
At Moonblade's side was an extremely elaborate silver sheath, clearly designed for a longsword of sorts. While the actual blade wasn't present inside the sheath itself, it still made a rather nice decorative piece.
Worn on Moonblade's left arm was the new and improved fighter, in all it's sleek high-techness. On right was a rather elaborate (yet somewhat old) armband containing the moonrunes of the Ryugin. To top it all off, Ammiel's excessively beautiful, brilliant silver flowing 'elf' hair matched his ceremonial armor in a suspiciously perfect fashion. Tournament fans who remembered Moonblade from his older matches would note the numerous parallels between his current uniform and his original 2006 captain's uniform.
The only stipulation: Moonblade's flourishing magical cloak and REALLY NICE HAT were left at home. He was willing to stake much in the art of looking good, but he wasn't about to let his cloak get caught on some wayward branch or his hat get completely ruined by some uncouth mud stain. His highly fashionable and not-at-all-gay emerald earrings were similarly left behind; he was afraid that they didn't quite add to the missing ensemble.
"I hardly deserve such treatment."
Fortunately, mithril armor itself was excessively easy to clean, so any mess caused by the terrain would be removed without much effort later. That being said, would be quite clear to all but the most casual of observers that Moonblade was intentionally moving in a manner that prevented him from sinking into the mud. Gingerly leaping from fallen logs to giant rocks to the tops of large tree branches, the magus was not to allow a simple precarious movement to land him unceremoniously into a messy situation; he STILL was not want to clean his armor unnecessarily.
Still, Moonblade could help but grin wryly to himself. While unamused at his current predicament, it shared an interesting parallel with his team's first match in 2006, where they faced off against their opponents in the Bamboo Forest. He fully intended to duplicate their original success, this time with far more personal involvement.
Ammiel Moonblade Wrote:"I hardly deserve such treat-"
Crack
It would be the first sign that the pretty boy wasn't alone.
The resounding snap filled the scant few spaces between the tropical forest. There was no mistaking the sound of heavy wood being broken by something, and it definitely wasn't someone - or something - stepping on a misplaced twig. No, the noise retorted like a damned gunshot, as though an industrial logging machine had just rumbled to life and began some very purposeful deforesting. It'd put anyone on alert - even the most lackadaisical of sumbitches. Yet, for all but the most trained and keen of ears, it'd be almost impossible to lock down the precise origin of that sudden noise. The reason would be readily apparent - the positioning and proximity of all the assorted deciduous and mangroves caused the reverberating sound to bounce around, filling the spaces between the tight trees. The acoustics were all sorts of wonky.
Beyond this, though, nothing else seemed to sound - just the constant droning of insects, the singing of tropical birds and other, assorted woodland audio.
Well, except a sudden, odd whistling noise.
When the dandy man would turn to investigate that new phenomena, he'd witness the opening move of this farce:
A fairly large and fairly unpleasant-looking tree branch, completely horizontal as it hurled through the air like a cruise missile from mother-rathin'-nature at about thirty klicks an hour.
Needless to say, it would be pretty smart to get oneself out of the way of that thing. Even if it meant throwing oneself right down into the mud and grime, heedless of prissy instincts and preserving a fabulous sense of fashion; as, well...it probably wouldn't impale the sumbitch, given the shiny woowoo cuirass surrounding his wee little body, but it'd likely send him airborne from the sheer momentum behind the object.
Regardless of the outcome of that opening gambit, the source of the purdy Jimbo's soon-to-be unending misery slowly stomped his way forward, filling the air now with the massive suctioning of mud being trampled through.
Everyone knew Ebris Dhifi was a big motherrather, even in the eyes of sapients beyond the human race. Yet, looking upon the giant bounty hunter for the first time was a whole different experience. The old b*****d melded out of the shadows between a semi-large space between some older, larger trees, and the first thing noticeable was that he was wider around than them. The scum's thighs alone were thicker than some of the specimens seen in the Ohia forest. Not only did this "Moonblade" chump - information derived from the pre-match information kiosk - have to deal with a brute, he had to deal with a brute armed and armored to the teeth.
Thick carapace battleplate strapped to his chest, forearms and shins? Check.
An assortment of painful weapons hanging from belt and bandoleer alike? Check.
A very dubious-looking gadget built into his left gauntlet? Check.
Oh, and of course, the sledgefists. Don't need a check there, heh heh.
This was Ebris as Heaven or Hell had never seen - a scum more in line with his bounty hunting origins than his still-present brawling nature. The physical appearance had also taken a turn - for the worse, well, the manhunter was already an ugly b*****d anyway. A vicious welt of scar tissue surrounded his left eye - glossy and pinkish, the signs of a powerful burn received in the beginnings of a previous tournament. Instead of the typical five o'clock shadow, a thick, pepperly and wiry beard had sprung up in place, framing the mean, craggy grin even more imposingly than it had been in the past.
Schlomp - schlomp - schlomp
The scum moved through the scum, his strength and weight making the one-inch layer of mud almost negligible. Ebris Dhifi had never been an agile mover, so the natural restrictions of this arena had little effect on his overall movement - at least at this speed and moment of time. Indeed, with those deceptive lopes - slow but wide and long - it wouldn't take much time at all for his mitts to get a hold of their intended target.
Of course, the scum was never silent in his commentary about his opponents, and this match was no exception.
"So this is th' grod they dun throw to th' spindle-maws," he said, voice unchanged from the gravelly avalanche it had always been in the past. "Quaint lil' shemen who ain't e'er known th' light of a real fight. Heh, ain't Noah th' sick sumbitch, puttin' on a real bloodshow fer th' return o' th' champ."
He thudded forward continuously. Never stopping. Unstoppable.
"Les get this here grod o'er with, Jimbo. I promise ya ta make it as painless as possible."
[01/10]
[ Cognitive Genome ] Wrote:Crack
The near-deafening sound of hard lumber snapping like a metaphorically appropriate twig caught Moonblade off-guard, almost causing him to misstep and land a foot in the mud he was so carefully trying to avoid. He paused, attempting to located the source of the sudden disruption, but to no avail. Moonblade, you see, possessed no supernatural senses.
However, what he did possess was a healthy sense of unease. While he couldn't pinpoint his opponent's location, he had a good clue that someone (or something) was narrowing in on his location. Ammiel managed to pick up the irritating whistling noise amidst the backdrop of nature.
Bending his knees slightly, Moonblade kicked off the ground with admirable force, swiftly bounding nearly twenty feet towards the nearest tree in front of him-- and the nearest stable tree branch he could possibly land on. Not a moment after his body cleared the vicinity, the gargantuan projectile whirred past, eventually colliding another object in the treeline with a thunderous CRASH!
As the man scanned the vicinity for his assailant, he touched the base of his sheath gently with his right hand, muttering under his breath.
"Megil En Celeb Ithil..."
Within the confides of the sheath, an elegant elven longsword rapidly materialized, bathing a small area around the weapon in a faint glow in silvery light momentarily. While this transpired, Captain Ammiel Moonblade met eye contact with his opponent. Moonblade's eyes narrowed instantly in disgust, immediately noting everything he disliked about the gentlemen before him.
~Speaks in a manner becoming of an uneducated invalid? Check!
~Stomps around needlessly like a lumbering ogre 24/7? Check!
~Made attacks from off-camera before being introduced to their opponent? Check!
~Had a face that looked like it took an adventure through a meat grinder and a personality to match? Check!
Enter Ebris, a man about as inconspicuous as a freight train.
Leaning his side against the tree, Moonblade crossed his arms. Lowering his eyes, he leered at his opponent, slowly breaking into an arrogant half-smile as he spoke.
"How eloquently put. Was that your plan? To impale me with a big, dumb stick? You've enough muscle to fill a stadium, yet lack the brains to fill a teaspoon."
What Ebris probably didn't realize was that Moonblade's armor didn't provide him with supernatural projection; mithril was comparable to titanium in both weight and strength. Taking a direct hit by the log would have very likely ended the Magus' grand re-entrance to the tournament scene right quick. While he didn't exhibit this fact (Moonblade was still sporting an excessively smug look on his face), he was very well aware of this fact.
To Ammiel, Ebris was the worst kind of opponent. Where the homunculus relied on his mobility, unusual gimmicks, and intellectual superiority to offset his physical deficiencies and win the day, Goliath over here held the lion's share in the category of brute strength. As far as fighters went, they were the complete antitheses of one another and were inherently incompatible.
Still, that wouldn't inhibit his s**t-talking for even an iota of the match. Pinching his right index finger and thumb together, the man leaned forward, mocking his opponent as he continued.
"I hardly doubt you possess the manual dexterity required to tie a pair of shoes, much less the skill necessary to challenge the Mystic Dragoon."
After all, Ebris was apparently so SCURR'D of Moonblade that he needed to attempt a surprise attack from the shadows. While the ploy spoke volumes about Ebris's physical capabilities, it also gave Moonblade a negative impression of the man's actual fighting ability.
With a sigh, Moonblade's tone took a more serious tone, losing much of the cynical malice it bore before. Looking Ebris dead in the eye, he pointed the tip of Dreadnaught towards the behemoth as he spoke.
"Regardless, I accept your challenge. You poor, pitiable fool."
Character Status Wrote:Mana: 25% (15% + 5% Natural + 5% No Cast Bonus)
Arcane Regression Stacks: 0/5
Moonblade Charges: 0/10
[1/10]
WH-KRRASHHH
The huge branch whiffed, missing the jumping Jimbo by a wide margin, and rocketed into the side of a big ol' mossy rock - the resulting collision snapping through the humid air like thunder. The wood buckled, almost snapping in two if not for the once-living strips of wood that managed to keep it in one piece...sorta. Splinters whizzed through the air, peppering mud and tree alike. The display was testament to the sheer ferocity and raw power the bounty scum possessed; yet, for all that the purdy boy think it dun revealed about Ebris, his reactions were even more of a revelation.
Everyone knew the bounty killer was strong - just taking one look at him, even if you played grabass with gretchin under a mountain and never saw the light of day - thus not knowing who the hell this big a** hobo was - you'd have to be pretty special to not think he could pick you up and throw you just as far as that branch.
On the other hand, watching the fairy hop around like an Eldar knocked up on Throne-damned 'slaught...well, that was a whole different matter.
A rolling, throaty chuckle broke past Ebris' bearded mug, sounding more like some sort of warning call of a jungle predator than something that came from a human mouth. The Jimbo was already beginning to make all sortsa hasty generalizations over the surprise attack - analyses that were probably filled to the brim with fanciful words such as "uncouth," "barbaric," "dull-witted," and "unfashionable." The manhunter was rathin' content to let the poor b*****d go through with that, as he in turn was content to gather up all relevant info needed to dismantle, rip and tear him apart. The dumb grod had let the scum know that he was good at jumping - to the supernatural point of being able to leap straight up and onto a branch. One thing to be mobile little chump - a whole different beast to suddenly make gravity your unfortunate shower-mate in WooWoo Grod Prison.
In essence, Ebris didn't give a rath that his attack was mitigated - it was a gauging move. Few better ways to get to know your opponent than by forcing their hand to defend themselves, after all.
"Boy," the giant chided, right paw brushing his tanned and torn duster aside at the waist to clutch at an odd device strapped to his belt, "ya really have no rathin' clue what kinda grod yer in right now, do ya?" While the scum's speech certainly seemed to meet the degrading expectations of the polearm-wielding warrior, the purdy fella would find the man's eyes wholly different. Cold - cold like the void above. They regarded the scrawny punk not with malice, or rage, or hate, or even open contempt - they were analytic and keen, like the gaze of a miser measuring an acquisition yet to be had. The behemoth was sizing him up, putting a worth (in more ways than one) to his scalp - not as another sapient being, but more akin to a slab of meat.
Fairy two-shoes would understand that many a feller had been under that gaze before, and had been found wanting.
SHI-SHAKT
Metal snapped and sliced through the air - in one moment, Ebris was palming the steel device at his right side and the next, it was suddenly out, two prongs extended up from their original collapsed position. The move would possibly register to Moonblade's eyes, and if it did or didn't, he'd get a glimpse of just how rathin' fast this brute could be in the areas that really mattered. The weapon - which it clearly was, giving how hurtful-lookin' the sharp and pointy ends of those prongs looked - was over two feet in length, clutched tight in Ebris' gloved paw, his arm slightly raised and bent at the elbow so that it was raised diagonally in front of him. It wouldn't take long to recognize just what it was: a mining pick, modified to some degree as to allow the blades to collapse up and down somehow.
The Prospector gleamed with an unwholesome light in the dull rays cast down from above. It seemed mighty keen on the prospect of doing some business this day.
Unheeded by the threat of the polearm, Ebris continued his advance - lope after lope. In seconds, he was within range of the polearm's natural range, his boots still slopping through mud. In another step, the Prospector would be in range, if allowed - reflecting this, muscles as thick as the branch hurled earlier tensed beneath the synthweave of the coat, clearly ready to lash out...
[02/10]
What his opponent probably didn't realize was that Moonblade had spent the last half of a decade dead. This, coupled with the fact that time really didn't seem to move much for him during this period, kept him out of touch with recent knowledge. It wasn't an exaggeration that the recently reanimated homunculus was probably the only combatant who didn't know any concrete facts about Ebris or his actual combat abilities. On the other hand, abilities of his own that were considered common knowledge when he was an active HoH participant and Leviathan Stadium combatant were no longer so.
Abilities like his acrobatic prowess, something he had never attempted to hide because it was still considered public knowledge in his mind. Besides, it wasn't in the dragoon's policy to completely restrain himself in the first place.
The Magus Extraordinaire noted, with mild surprise, the swiftness with which Ebris actually acted when he needed to. It was then Ammiel paid mind to the calculating expression and non-vocal mannerisms of his opponent. While it wasn't enough for him to completely reassess his opinion of Ebris, it was enough to get him in the fighting mood.
Perhaps Ebris considered him to be mere prey? Moonblade softly chuckled to himself at the thought.
"Hmmhmmhmmhmm. Interesting..."
Surprisingly, Ammiel discarded the Dreadnaught casually, tossing the polearm to the side with his left hand and allowing it to fall into the muck. In a simultaneous motion, the man's right reached for the hilt of the sword that now slept in its sheath.
"Neither do you."
The brilliant elven sword was drawn with a resounding SHEEN. The slender blade itself neared almost four feet in length, yet was clearly intended for use in a single hand-- hands more delicate than even the Magus'. Intricate elven runes ran down the flat of the blade, apparently focusing the lunar magics stored within the weapon. Cast out of a mithril-silver alloy, the Silver Moonblade was an impressive relic to behold.
As the Moonblade was drawn, Ammiel's artificial heart began refining the magical energy that it had currently collected, distributing it throughout his system as refined mana. While this motion would more than likely be unnoticed by one without some form of magical senses, the physical results were more readily apparent.
Arcane Regression Wrote:-Arcane Regression: Moonblade's original body was born completely devoid of magic, which makes him far more susceptible to magical effects and energy-based attacks. However, this also allows his new-found magical influence (namely that of draconic nature) to have a more profound effect on his body. As Ammiel is subjected to external magic and energy, the dragon portion of his body automatically attempts to respond to the threat, effectively making him 'more draconic' for a short period of time. Each time Moonblade is hit by a magical attack, his magic resistance is increased by 25% (from a base of around -50%) and overall physical statistics are improved by 10%. This lasts for two posts since the magic last attack made against him, then slowly reverts by the same amount per post. Can have a max of five stacks for a total of 75% Magic resistance and a 50% bonus to his base stats. However, this draconic defense isn't purely beneficial; having a massive physical response against magical influence blocks the casting of his more powerful mystic or anti-draconic spells (see the 'Limiter' tags below each ability).
Building up a large store of refined mana in his body also triggers a potential response from Arcane Regression, locking him into a minimal number of stacks. When those mana levels go down, he will begin to lose stacks at his regular rate.
As the refined mana entered his bloodstream it triggered a response from the draconic portion of his artificial homunculus body. While hidden underneath his armor and attire, small, glimmering silver dragon scales began to breach the surface of his skin along his forearms, back, and legs. Even though the afforded magical resistance was essentially useless against his opponent, the increased physical statistics were not.
The homunculus naturally fueled its magic using refined mana before it fell back on the unrefined mana stored in his heart, though Ammiel could control this in a process not unlike controlled breathing. In this manner, Moonblade was currently prioritizing on casting from his heart instead of his main body store to maintain the attribute increase afforded by his Arcane Regression. It was highly unlikely that Ammiel would utilize the higher-level magics blocked by this physical barrier in the current match anyways.
With that, the man took a deep breath, and continued to do so, drawing in an unusually high content of air. It was a subtle thing, but one that an observant combatant or hunter was likely to notice. Essentially holding one's breath while performing multiple complicated actions was an even more difficult feat than it sounded. Such a feat was likely to be interrupted by any sort of unplanned physical impact.
As Ebris entered what would be the Dreadnaught's maximum range, the Silver Moonblade was suddenly engulfed in a brilliant emerald flame, extending roughly two inches from the blade of the weapon. Kicking off hard against the branch, the mystic dragoon bounded roughly eight feet further from the ground, easily keeping well out of the natural reach of the man and his weapon. Twisting his body to the left in midair, Ammiel turned to face his opponent as he passed overhead, simultaneously bringing the weapon down in a diagonal slash against the air...
Silver Eclipse Wrote:-Silver Eclipse: A weapon encompassing spell only useable by the Silver Moonblade. While active, silver lunar energy surrounds the blade, adding two inches of effective range to both its width and length. When Moonblade swings his sword, he may activate the second part of the spell, causing the blade to launch a crescent-shaped silver bolt of energy at the opponent with width equal to the length of the Silver Moonblade. Silver Eclipse has enough force to break a human's skin and leave a nasty cut, but not enough to cleave through them or penetrate bone. It has no effect on materials like metal and is (at least partially) stopped by armor. Using the second portion of the spell removes the enchantment. Can be augmented with Emerald Fire/Frost, but not Wyvernfang.
Cost: 5% OR one stack off of Moonflair / Spellflair.
Limiter: As this ability is 'cast' by the Silver Moonblade itself, it is unaffected by Arcane Regression.
Emerald Fire Wrote:-Emerald Fire: One of Moonblade's specialties. Due to the unique arcanic makeup, he has the innate ability to manifest emerald flame in virtually any form around most of his techniques. Though this energy takes fire in form, its function is a bit different. While it produces a substantial amount of heat (up to 800 degrees Fahrenheit), the real damage comes from the corrosive properties of the attack, causing fire and heat resistance to be only half as effective against it. For characters with ultra high temperature tolerance (as opposed to percentage-based resistance), Emerald Fire ignores 600 degrees Fahrenheit of the victim's heat resistance. If the target can withstand temperatures above 1400 degrees Fahrenheit, they will still feel as though they have suffered a first degree burn in the affected area for up to a minute, but otherwise take no lasting damage. The burning sensation and wounds are caused by the corrosive energy slowly consuming the target's matter. Damage is caused in the form of 'burns' and charred/destroyed flesh. Emerald Fire does not normally affect materials like metal or stone and, unlike regular flames, will not spread over flammable surfaces. Emerald Fire will not 'ignite' the target, though it is possible for an object to catch fire (regularly) if their combustion threshold is under 800 degrees Fahrenheit. This ability CANNOT be used simultaneously with Emerald Frost.
As Moonblade's weapon came down, the energy surrounding the blade was stripped away, sailing towards Ebris in the form of a thin four-foot crescent-shaped projectile, a projectile that traveled at the rate of roughly 65 MPH. Assuming Ebris took no evasion action himself, the attack was poised to stripe across the man's left arm and upper right leg. While the burning green crescent wasn't likely to penetrate the hulking brute's armor anytime this century, it would do horrible, nasty things to any exposed flesh. Assuming there was any to be found. The spell was more than powerful enough to penetrate skin and cloth, so any robe or jacket without additional protection was likely to be ruined. This would prove as a nice gauge as to how well-armored Ebris was underneath.
As well as Moonblade did in combat against magic-reliant opponents or those with relatively little armor, he fared equally poorly against those fully decked out in armor; the vast majority of his offensive spells couldn't penetrate metal.
However, the emerald flames themselves around the Moonblade didn't fade away, the Magus opting to continue to empower the weapon. While the enchantment of Silver Eclipse was expended, the fact was well hidden from all but the most astute beneath the brilliant green blaze.
Unless interrupted, the man would land roughly twelve feet from his opponent, prepared to face off in melee. Even as light as the not-elf was, his armor and natural body weight caused him to sink almost an inch into the muck, limiting his mobility to a degree. It was clear that Moonblade acknowledged Ebris as a threat to be taken seriously; the Glass Cannon of a Magus would show the Bounty Hunter what he was made of in the limited time allotted. Running away the entire fight would never accomplish this.
All the while, Moonblade continued to inhale air...
Character Status Wrote:Unrefined Mana: 5% (25% + 5% Natural - 5% Silver Eclipse - 20% Refinement)
Refined Mana: 20% (0% + 20% Refinement)
Arcane Regression Stacks: 2/5
Moonblade Charges: 0/10
-Lunar Impact is forbidden.
-Moonblade is inhaling (1st post).
[2/10]
((tl;dr - Moonblade dropped his spear and drew his sword. He jumped over Ebris and shot a crescent-shaped projectile of wu-wu fire/lunar magic at what is currently his backside. He is currently attempting to land 12 feet away from his opponent and is inhaling an unusually high volume of air.
HELL YEAH retyping everything because my laptop overheated.))
To say that it was all comin' back to him woulda been a lie.
Ebris had been doing his thing for a long time - a really rathin' long time. From the countless bar brawls on Ithanan IX, to the fatal pit fighting on Thamon Primus, to the beginnings of his man-hunting career on the desert world of Chath, and now to the pseudo-bloodsports of Heaven or Hell...the scum had essentially seen and done it all. Violence followed his wake more surely and inexorably than the tide with the rising of an orbiting celestial body. Most men would have broke by now, long before Ebris' current age - yet, for reasons even he couldn't fully explain (or at least chose not to), the bounty scum continued down that chosen lifestyle. He continued to expose himself to the faces of death at a rate more prolific than probably half the Throne-damned fighters in this tournament combined, if not more. He lived this existence - overtly for profit and who-the-rath knows for anything else.
The bounty killer stepped into this grodshoot more ready than the first time he thudded in and conquered; still, even he could not deny the almost-supernatural pull the tournament had - that it could bring a terrible, feral grin to his craggy features over the thought of cracking some Jimbo's skull.
When the Moonblade-Jimbo dropped the polearm as Ebris neared, the scum couldn't help but give him some measure of approval, albeit that ugly mug of his betrayed no such thoughts. Fighting with a reach weapon was a sound tactic...when you had all the open space in the wide rathin' world to maneuver, retreat and control the distance between you and yer opponent. In this literal mud pit? Ain't gonna happen. So, when the sumbitch went and drew his sparkly woowoo sword, Ebris chuckled heartily and rolled his shoulders in anticipation of the close combat to come.
"Prepped fer a real melee, eh," the bounty hunter questioned, his right boot slapping down with another schlop as he drew nearer, "I rathin' like yer gumption, even if yer a half-Eldar fairy." Well, that's at least what the punk looked like - Ebris had dun seen pleasure gynoid servitors that looked uglier than this prim-and-pampered chump, and that was saying something, since the hedonist-savants of the Smeze Hives knew how to make one purdy 'bot! Sadly, Ebris wasn't given the time to internally muse over the controversial issue of Gaia Primus being primarily populated by fairy-lookin' rathers and if that meant it was in the grips of the Dark Prince of Chaos, as Moonblade started hopping around again like a downs child on recaf in zero-G.
Ebris made a mental note to kneecap the b*****d as soon as he got his hands around him.
As fairy prince Moonblade ascended into low orbit, glittering like a hallucinogenic party rocket, the manhunter was already responding with brutal alacrity, all the while analyzing the way the punk's body moved when he leaped like that. The right step he had just taken was reversed, immediately accounting for the sheer power and trajectory of the leap and putting him over three feet back. Even if Ebris couldn't sense a lick of the woowoo coming from the guy, the way he was lit up all green-like and was about to swing his sword in mid air kinda telegraphed his intentions pretty rathin' well. Over his years, the bounty hunter had encountered all kinds of mages and psykers and the like who used weapons as their focuses, allowing them to project their sparkly power through them. Looked like this Jimbo was gonna be none-too-different, so as he continued his momentum backward, he raised both arms above his head and behind, angled so that each bracer tried to cover as much area as possible.
SHHWOOOOOSH
Green flames and energy washed down over him in a crescent, striking him at a harsh, diagonal angle. Sharp pain immediately registered to Ebris' senses, flaring from the rear outer side of his right thigh and a bit above his left bicep. The attempt at blocking was only semi-successful - the wave of energy struck his left forearm, bicep, the majority of his back and some of the meat of his right leg. An awful stench filled the air above even the terrible smells of the forest-swamp, and it was one immediately recognized by the scum as melting synthweave. Apparently, the woowoo fire behaved like real fire - who'da thunk! - and was mitigated somewhat by the flame-retardant material of his duster. By the total lack of pain along his back and his left bracer, Ebris also knew that the guy's magic grod couldn't pierce armor, or at least composite carapace battleplate. Still, that left the actual wounds, which drew a heavy hiss from the bounty hunter. He couldn't see them, but he could feel that they were bleeding, as though sliced by a solid knife slice. Fortunately, whether due to his positioning, the thickness of his muscles, his movement or a combination thereof, he still registered movement in both limbs and didn't feel like an artery had been severed.
Sumbitch had drawn first blood! Pretty painful, too. Just oooooone glaring problem:
The move didn't cripple him.
THUSPLOOOOOOOSH
That sound right there would be met with an unpleasant sight to Moonblade as he landed down: the sight of Ebris continuing his movement, this time kicking down with his left boot so hard and at such an angle, it sent a deluge of brackish water, mud and detritus frothing out at the fairy prince like a scummy tidal wave. There would be almost no time to dodge, as apparently the bounty scum had gotten a good idea of just how far the b*****d was going to go based upon his earlier observations of him leaping - he timed it so that he'd be sending a blinding torrent of muck right at the purdy boy just as he landed.
And to make matters worse? That was just the precursor distraction.
Ebris' left boot pivoted through the mud, turning his rear-facing body clockwise as his right rose up and thrust forward, bringing his posture into something close to a lunge. This kind of maneuver was usually done with a rapier, a foil or some other sorta frilly weapon.
Instead, the manhunter was thrusting seven pounds of blunted durasteel right into the upper sternum/collar bone of Moonblade, in the form of the squared head of the Prospector.
Oh, sure, it wasn't gonna cut the purdy boy - but, if it hit, it was gonna crumple armor and potentially the weak bones in that area beneath it. Ebris was a big sumbitch - the three back steps he took were more than enough to allow him to reach out and touch the fairy prince. With two feet of solid durasteel extending out from that, it was like he was figuratively punching through him.
Regardless of the outcome, the scum was gonna keep up the momentum. Upon drawing back from that lunge, he'd do two quick things - one, he'd quickly thud after Moonblade, wherever the sumbitch done flew off or dodged to, and two, he'd thumb a switch on the inner side of his left bracer. Suddenly, a mechanical whine began to fill the air - low and humming at first, but gradually building into a steely keen that sounded something like the windup of an industrial saw.
Whatever it was, Moonblade was sure to not like the prospects of it too much.
[0/1] - Bolas Launcher wind-up
[03/10]
The man smirked when Silver Eclipse found its mark, slicing through the behemoth's skin and revealing the metaphorical chinks in his armor. While the unpleasant stench of burning synthweave was something he didn't expect and hasn't experienced himself, it was still welcome. The ploy had worked marvelously, accomplishing everything he could have hoped for it to. There was just one problem.
Ebris closed the gap even faster than Moonblade had anticipated.
As he came down, so did Ebris's monster-sized boot. The Magus was caught off-guard. A deluge of grime and muck washed over him in a horrible tidal wave of sludge, instantly negating the amount of effort he put into maintaining his appearance on the way here. His eyes shut instinctively to protect themselves, his head tilting to the side somewhat in disgust.
Of course, this left him with little time to prepare with what was coming next.
Moonblade caught Ebris's movement at a time where it could be considered too late. Pushing off with his toes, the man made a small hop-- a reasonable, human-sized hop maybe a foot into the air at tops. In a simultaneous motion, his left arm re-actively moved to defend the attack that was now aimed at his mid-section...
Impact Ring / Impact Shield Wrote:Impact Ring - This ring takes the form of a coiling silver eastern-style dragon worn over Moonblade's left ring finger. Simply put, this ring allows Moonblade to cast Impact Shield (see below) as a free action without much actual thought on his part. However, since the ring requires time to recharge between each use, this ability can only be utilized once every six posts.
-Impact Shield: When cast, an invisible ward of mana surrounds one of his forearms. When struck with a weapon or a physical attack, the ward 'explodes' with sufficient force to repulse the attack, knocking it away. While the force is enough to stagger someone if they're caught off-guard, it doesn't have enough force to actually throw them. Since the magic is consumed with a single, instantaneous burst, it's almost immune to the magic absorbing effects of certain weapons. Each cast is good for a single use, though with the Impact Ring it doubles as a semi-permanent 'shield' on Moonblade's left forearm.
Cost: 5%
Limiter: This ability is unusable without the Impact Ring due to Arcane Regression.
There was the resounding sound of shattering glass, intermixed with what might be heard as a burst of wind or energy under intense pressure being released in an instant. This sound would accompany what might be visually mistaken as a highly localized pressure wave, capable of stopping even the mighty Hercules Ebris in his tracks. Alas, the repulsive effect wasn't entirely one-side; something had to give, and Moonblade was a hell of a lot easier to move than Ebris was. While caused more so by the sheer force behind the pickaxe than by the Impact Shield itself, Moonblade was pushed back even further off the ground, where he would stagger back a good four feet in the air.
As he was lifted back, however, so was his head. Raising his shoulders, he lurched his neck forward in an exaggerated manner not unlike that of a dragon attempting to rain fire on their opponent. Which, coincidentally...
Breath Weapon (Emerald Fire) Wrote:-Breath Weapon (Emerald Fire): Mixing his inborn ability to use the emerald fire and the Dragon Knight's skill to emulate a dragon's breath weapon, Moonblade can shoot off a gout of Emerald fire in either a cone form or a straight burst. The longer he brings in air, the more powerful the blast is. However, there is a maximum to how much air his lungs can hold before he's forced to release (must release on third turn). If Moonblade is somehow prevented from releasing his breath weapon, he takes internal damage as his lungs are stretched beyond their limits. Ten seconds passed the normal maximum and Moonblade risks bursting a hole in one of his lungs.
Cone - Increases range and maximum diameter by ten feet per round of charge, up to three rounds.
Burst - Blah blah not being used right now blah.
Cost: Charge time only.
Limiter: This ability is unaffected by Arcane Regression.
Familiar emerald flames rumbled out of Moonblade's gullet, washing over Ebris in a torrential wave. While the man was too close to get the maximum range by the equally expanding attack, there would be fair more than enough coverage of his upper body and face to do some significant damage. The flames themselves were not maintained for very long, the energy from the attack being exuded with a single burst of energy. At the very least, it didn't seem as though Moonblade was the sort to continuously roast someone with his abilities, preferring to deal the brunt of his damage up-front in a manner that was immediately apparent.
What was also obvious was that the brilliant emerald flames surrounding the edge of the Silver Moonblade had dissipated with the gout of flames. While the two abilities were not inherently related, the homunculus was not about to share that tidbit of information with his opponent.
Moonflair Wrote:-Moonflair: The Silver Moonblade can utilize the excess magical energy left over by Ammiel's spells, channeling it back through the blade. This energy can either be used to increase the strength of his next spell by roughly 10% or to power any of the weapon's specific abilities, such as Silver Eclipse or Lunatic Spellflair. This power cannot re-absorb any energy from weapon encompassing effects like Wyvern Fang, nor can he re-absorb energy from a spell empowered by this ability.
((*Note3: If Moonblade uses multiple abilities, this ability can proc multiple times. The damage increases will stack, but still must be used the turn after it is received. There are no additional limitations on this ability.))
A tidbit he couldn't help but reveal to his opponent was the subtle, yet visible, flow of mana into the Silver Moonblade. Depending on Ebris's experience with the arcane, he may or may not be able to discern that the sword was recycling excess energy left over from his own spells, clearly allowing them to be utilized in some capacity by the weapon. As the shine around the Moonblade grew ever so slightly brighter, it was clear that the mana was not transferred back into the Magus' own body.
That being said, it would take an astute combatant indeed to catch all of the Mystic Dragoon's inner gimmicks and tricks in the proverbial instant it took for him to employ them. Not a moment after his gout of flames ended, his feet found the damp earth once more, sloshing into a particularly soggy section of soil. Flecks of mud splattered in all directions as he fought to hold as steady position, his once fabulous boots being completely caked with the stuff and the bottom half of his outfit being further decorated by another interesting assortment of brown spots.
There was no time to truly follow up on this ploy. Momentum stopped as Moonblade was forced to take the time to maintain his balance, else he risked losing his footing completely.
The look in Silver's eye continued to change. Arrogant frivolity continued to disappear, being replaced by a certain level of seriousness and determination. If the 'frail' non-elf Silver took that blow directly, it would have crumpled through his mithril armor like tissue paper... and he knew it. A solid, direct hit form Ebris may very well end the match in one-fell blow.
It wasn't until this point that Moonblade noticed the thrumming of Ebris's device, it previously being overshadowed by the sound Moonblade's own abilities.
Character Status Wrote:Unrefined Mana: 5% (5% + 5% Natural - 5% Impact Shield)
Refined Mana: 20% (20%)
Arcane Regression Stacks: 2/5
Moonblade Charges: 2/10
-Lunar Impact is forbidden.
-Impact Shield is on cooldown (0/6)
[3/10]
WHU-KRRRSH
The collision of brutal physical might and well-crafted woowoo resounded throughout the forest like cascading thunder.
Ebris felt his arm go wild, eyes wide with shock, reverberating with the kind of force he'd have expected if he'd punched a solid wall of refined adamantium. Rath, he could even feel palpable waves of force radiating from the point of impact, causing his duster to whorl back behind him wildly. The bounty hunter barely had time to glimpse the formation of some sorta metaphyiscal shield on the fairy prince's left arm, just in time to stop the devastating blow from the Prospector. Apparently it was the kind that ignored overbleed force from the attack, as beyond causing Moonblade to go flyin' on back, there appeared to be no damage done to the sumbitch at first glance.
Well, that just ain't proper.
Fortunately, the waves of force from the shattered impact weren't concussive or some grod, which meant Ebris was keen and ready to react to his failed attack - namely, press the stud back on his left wrist gauntlet, causing that whine to fill the air, as well as begin rampaging forward. Moonblade, having leaped into the air a bit before getting hit, had the advantage of velocity right now, but in this muck, running around would be harder for someone as light as him. Ebris was more than capable of relentlessly pursuing the sumbitch down before finally getting close enough to pummel him into submission. Even from this distance, it was difficult to discern the small things - even something like the purdy chump inhaling deep.
Thus, the bounty killer was taken aback by the sudden appearance of a gout of woowoo flame shooting right towards his face.
A solid attack, no doubt. Even if Ebris' coat was flame-retardant, it was still a material that was held to the natural whims of science - it had a melting point that would eventually cause the material to bubble and goop and scald the living grod out of Ebris' flesh. Not to mention, his face wasn't covered in any of that lovely stuff, so there was no protection for the mug beyond his super-leathery skin. Which ain't saying a whole lot, really. A lesser fighter would be caught flush in such an attack, ducking and cowering down in place to try and avoid being caught on fire. A crazed man might try and throw himself into it, to try and get past it as a way of mitigating damage and getting closer to the source in order to deliver retribution.
Unfortunately for Moonblade, Ebris was far more experienced and cunning than he took the brute for. He did neither, and both.
Over a hundred years of the most grueling kind of experienced kicked in - an instinct that had almost literally rewired the way Ebris' brain dun thunk. Having been involved in countless firefights - from mundane firearms and metaphysical attacks alike - the manhunter was capable of immediately ascertaining the situation and reacting accordingly. The scum respected the level of bad news being gunned down his way, but at the same time, he was just too rathin' hardened to be pinned down by that grod.
Ain't no way for this to end but him being the Last Killer Standing.
As soon as the boy started puking up the LSD flamethrower, the bounty hunter immediately brought his right arm about his face - shielding him from the initial flames - and used his forward momentum to dive into a giant roll. Before Ebris hit the mud and water, he clamped his eyes shut and exhaled - as all the gunk washed up into his face, the prep ensured that he didn't get any of it in his various orifices about his mug. The old b*****d winced as he felt the flesh around his shoulders begin to welt from the initial exposure to the woowoo heat, but the bulk of the flames mainly struck at his back from his roll - melting synthweave there but only against the carapace battleplate strapped to his chest, resulting in no burns there.
The roll was brief, actually not carrying him so far as if in an attempt to get under all of the flame. No, he needed some range for this. Throughout all of these actions, the whine ripping through the air from that left bracer increased in pitch monumentally, sounding almost like a turbine. Ebris knew that noise like his momma's rathin' voice, and he knew it was time to put his quarry down. Coming to a kneeling position, left leg bent at the knee with his right braced against the muddy ground, Ebris rose his left arm up, stretched out like he was pointing some iron down range at Moonblade; with the burst of flame now gone, Ebris didn't even need to shield his face any longer, not even partially. Cold-as-rath gaze locked upon the fairy prince's lower half, he aimed his left arm to target the legs just as the sumbitch landed and the bolas launcher fired its package into the fray.
The machine whine that filled the humid air before died, only to be immediately replaced by the distinctive, howling scream of the three-pronged bullroarer bolas whirling towards Moonblade's legs at thirty five klicks an hour. The wedge shape of each of the three weights, instead of the typical round balls, gave the bolas increased aerodynamics, as well as the intimidating noise that ripped through the air. Now, getting your legs wrapped up in some bolas could be dangerous, but normally, they could be cut through with a knife or untied fairly quick - sadly, that wasn't the case with the kind belched out by the Omar-Kaldon G700 Grappling Projector. Instead of rope or simple cord, the tri-armed cord was made of carbon fiber, giving it a tensile strength of a half ton. Bursting or sawing through it was gonna take time. Oh, and as the bolas expanded out of the spent cartridge, dermal dentacles unsheathed all around the lengths of the cord, allowing it to not only catch upon itself, but clothing, flesh and armor alike.
Real good stuff, that. Made catchin' the marks a lot easier. Including ones like the Moonblade-Jimbo.
Not giving the b*****d any time to react to potentially getting caught (or countering in whatever manner), Ebris rose from his crouch and stormed forward. Mud and water parted before him almost as if it weren't there, though he made sure to correct his movements a bit to avoid getting entangled in a mass of mangrove roots. Still, it wouldn't take long to catch up to the elf faggert, and once he did, his right arm would snap down diagonally across Moonblade's left side, aiming to mine the Prospector into something meaty and painful.
Ability Used Wrote:Last Killer Standing: After being a veteran of countless different firefights, involving firearms and/or meta woo-woo abilities, Ebris has developed an unshakable nerve and has the natural instinct to get through even the worst situations. He is unable to be pinned down by small arms fire and minor to moderate metaphysical attacks (ie, magic missiles and fireballs), and is able to make use of almost any form of cover for anything too nasty for even him.
[01/01] - Bolas Launcher fired
[04/10]
10MagnusXL
Moonblade was impressed by Ebris' incredible reaction time and sudden, impromptu evasive maneuvers. He was further impressed when he was caught with his proverbial pants down by a rocket-powered bolas launcher. This horrible contraption found its mark, coiling tightly around the man's legs right as he was about to land.
Ammiel could multitask extremely well, but he wasn't a savant... nor was he the scion of evasive action.
There was no way he could keep his already precarious balance as his legs clumsily hit the earth, causing his body to slowly sway backwards. Throwing his left hand towards the advancing hunter, he exerted even more mana in an attempt to halt his advance.
Mystic Wings Wrote:-Mystic Wings: Ephemeral 'wings' of mystic magic are formed around Moonblade's frame. With a mighty flap, he emulates the force of a Great Wyrm's wing-beat, unleashing a wind-blast capable of tossing characters of medium to large size up to ten feet with relative ease. These 'wings' have no physical mass and cannot be used for flight in any form, as they are merely representation of the emulation.
Cost: 10%
Limiter: This ability is unaffected by Arcane Regression.
Gorgeous, yet intangible, draconic wings of ephemeral energy 'sprouted' from the back Moonblade's armor. While the large they appeared to have something around an 18 foot wingspan, they would effortlessly and harmlessly pass through any object they came into contact with, being merely a metaphysical representation for the desired effect.
The wings came together with apparent thunderous force, revealing that the 'desired effect' was to create a gust of wind strong enough to throw even the mighty Ebris far enough away from him so that he may potentially free himself. As a consolation prize to Ebris, he would be accompanied by a deluge of sludge similar in quantity to the amount the homunculus was bathed in earlier.
After all, sharing is caring.
However, this did nothing to save Moonblade's balance, causing him to unceremoniously rock back into the damp mud with a sickening SHPLUT! A massive quantity of mud and dirt, combined with small bits of twig and foliage, clung to his once beautiful elf hair like herpes to a prostitute. Ebris got Moonblade pretty good with that one, having successfully cut off the Mystic Dragoon's primary advantage in a single attack while simultaneously mitigating the majority of the damage from his suppressive fire attack. While he couldn't say much about the bounty hunter's brains, Ammiel was beginning to appreciate his opponent's brutally efficient skill.
That being said (and assuming the ploy worked to any significant degree at all), Moonblade wasted no time working on the coil he found himself tangled in. The dentracles within the carbon fiber cable dug into the leather pants he wore, causing them to cling to his body quite effectively. While they had a lower breaking point than steel, one such as Moonblade was better sawing the cable off or simply untangling oneself. Running one's hand along the surface of the coil was simply a bad idea, as the coil's surface would cut and stick into flesh.
Fortunately, the dentracles couldn't penetrate his mithril gauntlets.
Now prone, Ammiel let go of his sword, allowing it to rest on top of the mucky soil. Now with both hands free, the Magus worked with the single-minded focus of freeing himself. While he didn't need to break the Bolas or completely untie it, he still had to make the tangled mess manageable to escape from. Carefully shifting the weights, he deftly untangled only the most restrictive of knots, tearing any caught coil from his leather pants without hesitation.
Following this he clumped the coil together, using one hand on the side of each leg, and pulled the coil away from himself as hard as he could. While he obviously wouldn't break the carbon fiber, he WOULD shred holes into his pants, pulling the cable away from the material. Careful not to get the fiber caught on more material, the man bent his legs towards his chest as the cable passed his knees, allowing him to pull the bolas past his feet with a single swift motion.
Freedom!
Character Status Wrote:Unrefined Mana: 0% (5% + 5% Natural - 10% Mystic Wings)
Refined Mana: 20% (20%)
Arcane Regression Stacks: 2/5
Moonblade Charges: 3/10
-Lunar Impact is forbidden.
-Impact Shield is on cooldown (1/6)
[4/10]
Rathin' success.
The words that filled his mind were accompanied by one mean-a grin. They were the kind of words you could taste profit from. The howl of the bullroarer bolas came to a warbling halt as the individual cords struck the shins and thighs of the fairy princess, immediately wrapping around them like the tentacles of a starved cephalopod, clinging like an insane fangirl who had a thing for the disturbingly androgynous. Once caught in those restraints, it took ages to unhook them from not only the clothing, flesh and armor the victim wore, but the cords themselves. The dentacles were rathin' handy like that. Even if the sumbitch Jimbo had deft hands from years of...well, let's no go there, but it wouldn't be quick enough to stop the annoyed, inexorable bounty hunter from charging his pansy a down.
Which would have happened, all right and proper, if not for the fact that Moonblade was a Throne-damned demon, too.
"Oh," Ebris rumbled incredulously in mid-charge, eyes kind of glazing over at the sheer stupidity of the situation, "ya gotta be rathin' kiddin' me."
Despite being one of the biggest sumbitches in HoH history, not even the manhunter's mass and power could resist this grod. Ebris felt his momentum slow, halt and then reverse in almost the blink of an eye, before nearly being blinded by an even bigger tidal wave of swamp grod that surged up at him. The bounty killer was thrown backward from the hurricane force winds, feeling the wholly pleasant sensation of dirty water, algae and general mush flow into his mouth and nose. His senses went all over the rathin' place for a moment before he finally settled - in the form of the back of his carapace battleplate slamming into a sizable rock.
THUNK
"PTH-PAUGH-PISS!"
Even though his armor protected him from the brunt of that force, the bounty hunter still felt electric daggers strike holes up and down his back, causing tears to inadvertently stream down his water/gunk-strewn face. The open wounds on his left arm and right thigh were still bleeding, and now stinging and itching like no one's business due to all the grod that had splashed over it. Getting a flesh eating virus from all this grod or something was the last thing he really needed at this point. That smug grin of success from before was now replaced with something else.
Something far more dangerous.
Even though he was beginning to feel himself coming down off the adrenaline a bit - likely from the Throne-damned bleeding - the half-fairy, half-demon, half-eldar, half-human (and likely half-angel) sumbitch Jimbo faggert had mainly just pissed Ebris Dhifi right and well off. That wasn't a really good thing. Bones groaning, head slightly spinning, bleeding and looking like a Throne-damned swamp mutie, the bounty killer forced himself to his feet and into a brutal charge, almost all in one motion.
This rathin' game of cat and mouse had worn out its welcome some several epochs ago, and Ebris was going to show Moonblade why he didn't abide by this grod.
SPLOOSH
The Prospector, no longer needed for what the scum had planned, was discarded unceremoniously - thumping noisily into the mud.
Eyes now focused, the bounty hunter could see that the Jimbo was still desperately fussing at the wound bolas. He smirked internally at that - good luck untangling the dentacles from the dentacles, you rathin' pansy pack.
This was it - Ebris could feel it in his bones. The moment he'd been waiting for - the opening in every hunt, every brawl, every conflict, to be exploited with absolutely no remorse.
He just needed one lil' thing from Moonblade.
"STAND,"
The distance closed. Small rocks were pushed under from the stomps. Branches snapped. Water and mud waked around him like a Throne-damned speedboat. Yet, the Jimbo was almost done untangling himself...
"RATHIN',"
POPOPCRAKPOPCRAK
The clenching of his right fist was so tight that the specialized actuators within the artificial limb whined and popped from the stress, filling the air with retorts louder than any of the trampled wood.
Ebris' left thudded down. Moonblade was done and now standing up. It rotated, pivoting the right side of his body forward like a pile driver...
"STILL!"
The straight, a full haymaker, was like a fleshy comet, almost unseen to the naked eye. Ebris didn't care for any fancy aiming - just rathin' straight center mass, as if he was plugging a bolt down range. It left little room for fancy footwork, even if the Jimbo tried to fly-jump his way out - his reach and momentum was just that nuts. The bounty hunter had no idea just what other woowoo this pansy dun had, but something had to give at some point. He was reckonin' it was right now.
Jimbo dun thought he was all in the clear.
MagnusXL Wrote:Freedom!
Rathin' free to get turned concave, you fruity-a** chumpbucket.
[05/10]
12MagnusXL
Freeing himself from the bolas, Moonblade grabbed his sword with his right hand, kicking out with his feet from the prone position to stand in a single acrobatic motion. Unfortunately, this motion brought him straight into the rampaging Ebris. There was no way in this or any other lifetime Moonblade was going to be able to block a melee attack from Ebris purely on his physical merits.
With no real time to maneuver, Ammiel attempted to take swift backstep, to get out of the way of the attack, but to no avail. The charging Ebris had faaaaaaar too much momentum and range for this blow to be effective in any fashion. This was apparent as the cannonball-sized fist impacted the small elf-like man with the relative force of a storm giant.
Ammiel's eyes opened in shock as he was forced off the ground; saying that he was knocked back would be a gross understatement. The Magus was hit so hard that the Moonblade literally flew out of his hands, the man being unable to maintain a grip on the weapon as the wind was blown out of his system.
KRAASH!
Moonblade's body landed back first quite the distance away, completely demolishing a fallen and rotten log. The mid-section of the obstacle blew away wildly, shrapnel blasting the air with small bits of decaying wood. What remained of the once proud tree hardly resembled anything that had once been alive.
Like a stone skipping on water, however, Moonblade's journey didn't end just because the log's day was completely ruined. Rebounding hard, the man flew another five feet, his body doing complete flip of physic's own accord, before he landed unceremoniously face down.
As though on cue, a massive flash of light would fill the area, followed immediately by the resounding crash of nearby thunder.
KRCCHOOOOOM!
Making the difficult terrain even more arduous a task to navigate was the sudden torrential downpour of rain. As though it were bad enough to slog through the filth, they also had to deal with a drastic loss of visibility as well.
Struggling to bring himself to an upright position, Moonblade's arms momentarily quavered beneath his body's weight. The wind was taken away from him in an instant, leaving him with a momentary lapse of physical strength. Something welled up in his throat, something with the all-too-familiar copper taste he knew and loved.
With a loud cough, the homunculus coughed up a sizable portion of blood. The color of the homunculus' blood itself was unusual, as though someone had mixed it with a dark tinge of purple. From this distance, through the recent downpour, it would likely go unnoticed.
Bringing himself to his feet proper, he mentally assessed the damage. The mithril breastplate he wore had a noticeable gorilla fist sized impact square in the center of the once decorative piece. Were it not for the chain shirt worn underneath the armor and the slight physical durability granted by his draconic influence, the homunculus would have been in a far, far worse shape. The internal damage was still quite bad; without medical (read as: magical) assistance, it would take a couple weeks to heal. Fortunately, there were no breaks, but he could feel that his entire chest was horribly bruised and battered. He would be in quite a bit of pain for a while now.
The man placed a hand on the now empty sheath of the Moonblade and muttered aloud.
"Me... me-gil..."
Still out of breath, the Magus struggled with the elven phrase. While he wasn't an unskilled linguist, Elvish wasn't his native language and the incantation required clear and concise pronunciation to invoke.
"Megil En Celeb Ithil."
The Moonblade, lost to its owner in the chaos of combat, dematerialized in a glitter of silver light, simultaneously reappearing back within its sheath once more. Wasting no time, the man drew his weapon.
Normally, Moonblade would have taken such a blow in good stride, even giving credit where credit was due. However, his opponent's attitude and demeanor soured the moment. In effect, Ebris had challenged the Dragon Knight. By discarding his weapon and issuing a statement such as--
"Sir, if you would be so kind as to stand still so I could wail on you with my unnecessarily strong and obviously gargantuan sized fists, I'd be most appreciative."
--he had insulted Moonblade's honor as a dragoon and as a magus. While not directly stated, his actions had implied that Moonblade couldn't fight toe to toe with him in melee range. Whether or not this was the case was a moot point as the homunculus would hear none of it.
Ebris would get his wish.
"Make peace with your gods now, if you have them."
The look in his eye took on a malicious context, matching the gravelly unamused expression he wore. Moonblade did well with generic s**t-talking (particularly from those he viewed as intellectually inferior, which included almost everyone), but he was extremely easy to goad into a challenge... especially when he was forced into a compromising situation.
"I shall not suffer this affront from one such as yourself!"
One could mistake Moonblade's demeanor as murderous intent. They would be wrong; Ebris couldn't suffer anymore if Moonblade's attacks killed him. There was nothing against the rules stating that he couldn't want to inflict as much bodily harm onto his opponent as possible.
Character Status Wrote:Unrefined Mana: 10% (0% + 5% Natural + 5% No Cast Bonus)
Refined Mana: 20% (20%)
Arcane Regression Stacks: 2/5
Moonblade Charges: 3/10
-Lunar Impact is forbidden.
-Impact Shield is on cooldown (2/6)
[5/10]
THUD
Rathin' finally.
It was the noise Ebris had been waiting to hear all along. There were few noises like the momentous impact of one's fist slamming into something and forcing it to give away. Flesh, bone, wood, stone, steel - all caved before the sledgefists. The bounty hunter felt the reverberations cascade up his arm - barely noticed by the artificial senses in the false forearm and up and through to his very shoulder. The synthleather covering his knuckles twisted against solid woowoo alloys, tearing apart and ripping into the artificial flesh beneath.
Making someone go defensive was one of the best ways to know them, for sure, but punching the grodpackers was the next closest thing to rathin' them in terms of raw intimacy.
Ebris got his taste - the blood was now in the water. He had Moonblade's Throne-damned number.
KRAK-THOOOOOM
Lightning split the humid air like a surgical knife, catching a glimpse of the monster as he slowly, purposefully rose from his stance, before shadows welled and bathed everything once more. The bounty killer hadn't noticed the onset of incremental weather, but as the rain began to pour down on from above, he still didn't seem to give two raths about it. Water torrented down the many wrinkles that composed his flesh and his attire, creating heavy sluices that spattered to the mud he now thudded through once again with slow, purposeful strides.
Ebris took his time walking up to the fairy prince this time, because what had become of the sumbitch's prim and proper sensibilities had turned for the better. Turned into something more primal.
"Ya still dun rathin' understand, do ya?" Something rumbled that wasn't thunder. Whatever faint light cast down past the clouds seemed to reflect eerily in the eyes and teeth of the giant, which glinted with the promise of violence that the darkest nightmares Moonblade experienced could not compare to.
Paws unfurled and furled, ready to grab and crush. The movements seemed almost mechanical in nature - utterly precise, perfectly calibrated to that specific role. Ebris' boots crunched through the remains of the rotted log Moonblade was plowed through, pulverizing the remains into mushy pulp.
"There's a natural order of things, ya see. E'eryone plays a rathin' important role in it. You an' I...we got different roles. See, I'll dun spell it out fer ya, even: th' food chain, peckin' order, yakam poles," he drawled, his movements now bringing him within striking range of Moonblade. His hands were at his sides and it'd be clear to the Jimbo that they could not be any readier than they were then. At this range, the bounty hunter's damage could be seen: distressing amounts of slimy blood that coated his clothing but did not seem to be gushing forth any longer, as well as an odd hiss to his breathing patterns. Finally, he continued, another feral grin upon his visage.
"Natural selection."
Once again, the movement would be deceptively quick, even for the fastest of eyes. The scum's right moved to the ball, pivoting to force his body go clockwise. Ebris' left, now clenched into one mean rathin' fist, stormed up like the bolts crackling across the sky, aiming to drive it into Moonchump's dainty chin. Rain seem to explode from his form as it went from a passive stance to something unrestrained by moral handicaps. What the Jimbo faced held no concept of honor, no sense of fair play. What might have been fisticuffs for one, it was a whole different concept in the proverbial hands of the manhunter.
Moonblade was gonna find out why no one, ever, should willingly let themselves get close to Ebris Dhifi.
[06/10]