Degenerates vs Silver Dragons [Page 2]

Something in his very core spoke to him, probably delusional hallucination, but maybe divine intelligence with a sick sense of humor. It spoke of unbelief, of demons and devils. It chanted catholic hymns and filled his mind with images of heavenly splendor. When his heart began to soar and swell with happiness it was dashed away and he jerked awake once again. His vomit covered visor falling closed and speckling his face with gross chunks.

He could barely see a damn thing through the film of brown and green, only the vague outline of somebody climbing up the other side of the rooftop. He didn't want to expose his face, but he couldn't see. His nerves twitched and he shuddered, rising to his feet and grabbing the Painkiller from his left hip. The brutal modified monkey wrench scraped the rooftop and left a gouge before he drew it fully.

Stabilizing himself with one hand on the post he'd been leaning on, Yancy pointed his wrench at the silhouette of the woman. "Don't speak to me, whore. You've n-" He paused and coughed once or twice. "Nothing to say that I care about."

His eyes squinted and he clawed at the front of his helmet, pulling the visor up to try and get a better look as the figure fled. "Wait wh-" He watched her scramble off the rooftop and to a nearby one. "Where are you going?" Yancy had been given very few instructions, but running away was not one of them. Neither was leaving the battlefield.

Though he could feel the grimace of disdain in his chest, confusion was more predominant in his brain. The junkie leaned up against the post once again, pushing his visor all the way up to clear his vision. "If you want to run away, fine." He wiped at the vomit on his visor absent mindedly. "I won't follow you."

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• Post: 105430962_20 created on Wed Dec 12, 2018 4:18 pm

Posted: Wed Dec 12, 2018 4:18 pm

Two

A change came over Grakav’s crimson target; Something he could easily note as the seemingly unprepared fighter bristled, and Omi’s wrappings were loosed. The Reptilian could not hope to unravel the mystery of his foe’s thoughts, but he had opted to take the *Coiling Threat** Stance for a reason.

It was his most defensive one.

What the red-coated human could not know, and what Grakav had counted on, was that Servants of Vis’st were not simple primitives. Undoubtedly savage, yes; But trained to express their serpentine heritage in one of three schools: Coiling Threat, Slithering Shadow, and Striking Hunter. Unlike the rest of his kin, Grakav had mastered all three. That was why he carried the Vis’st’oks, and why he was blessed to speak destruction for the Infinite God. The Serpentine would not so much change his course of action, having already dedicated himself to it, but he would change something.

Instead of a sword, and unguarded hands, Omi’s eyes would behold something altogether different; a fact likely rendered moot by the bloom from within his mouth, but no doubt recognized all the same. Grakav’s right hand had flipped as he moved in to strike, moments before he had ever intended to swing; right thumb now braced against the left as the Vis’st’oks warped at his back. The blade fanned outward instantly, bulging near its new center as the weapon became a body-shrouding *Tower Shield**!

While certainly heavier, Grakav had already prepared himself for the heft; easily shifting the massive pavise out front a split-second sooner than he would have on the forgone attack. Because of that, the Reptilian did not actually -see- what his target had ejected; and would only have the sudden jolt of counter force, and the sound of shrill grinding, to indicate what it might be.

-tack-ta-tack!!-

WwwrrrrrchchCHRRRRRRRchrrRRCHCHRRrrrrrch!!!

But, whether by accident...or design...Omi’s counter-attack was not an especially weighty one; the manufactured creatures possessing no notable mass, or weight of their own. Thus, as shield met serpent Grakav would swing downward with his tail and kick off into his next few steps; literally aiming to power through with his over 300lbs of weight, and slam full-force into the armored man on the other side at a run.

As for Omi; He would be immediately met by a face-full of sparking steel, and thrashing blades. Quite literally at risk of being ground up by his own machinations, and further blinded by the light.

“Haelikor” Wrote:

Stance - Coiling Threat

Devotion - 3 // 2(Heresy)+1(Active Conflict)-1(Secondary Form)

Gullet - Intestines

• Appendix

show spoilerhide spoilerCoiling Threat :: A primarily defensive style that focuses on controlling the field with his massive blade, and taking cover behind it when necessary. While practicing Coiling Threat, successfully blocking/avoiding spell effects generates double (x2) devotion, but damage received provides none.

Secondary - A Tower Shield formed from the already massive blade of the Vis'st'oks, which widens outward as a sign of Grakav's Devotion. The swords height goes unchanged, while its width blooms out to 30" at its midpoint; with it's "pronged" top being wider still. While Grakav -can- carry this shield, by lifting it two handed, it is extremely heavy; functioning more like a Pavise, and thus designed to be stuck fast into the ground. The shield retains its bladed edges, and pommel spade; with straps and handles manifested on the inward-facing side nearest Grakav. This form is approximately 3" thick, and weighs nearly 30lbs.

====Addendum : In addition to the primary weapon forms (greatsword, dual falcata, and double-bladed sword) each stance has a secondary weapon form that can alter the sword's physical properties by utilizing (1)one point of Devotion. These secondary weapon forms will automatically take the place of the primary form, but adds an additional (3)seconds to the amount of time required to switch stances there-after. Grakav can choose to return his weapon to its primary form (within Stance) at any time, and without any additional cost; requiring that the Devotion be paid again should he wish to return to the secondary form. Switching from secondary, to primary, forms within stance occurs instantly.

The serial killer turned his head to catch about half a faceful of brass and broken glass, but the lantern stopped short on the ridges of the helmet and its hatch opened flinging shards of pain straight into his eyes. Yancy flung himself backwards and behind the post, clawing at his face to pull the glass out as fast as possible.

Of course he screamed, oh boy did he scream. Hot oil right into your eyes? Inexcusably painful experience, wouldn't recommend it. Among the vulgarities he spewed from his now burned face included such wonderful lines as: "Oh dear god, my face is on fire," and "Sweet Jesus I'm literally in Hell."

After a moment of expletives and scrambling to clean his face off, Yancy opened his eyes to find that his corneas had been filled with pieces of glass, his eyebrows powdered with it, and his top lip cut along the full length of his mouth. He couldn't see anything except the edges of his very narrow tunnel vision, like a ring of peripheral vision around his eyes surrounded by fading visuals.

He pulled the visor down and pulled his knife from his left sleeve, putting it into his right hand. "I'm going to murder you for this!" He shouted over his shoulder, and from behind the post, and kinda quiet for a shout.

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• Post: 105430962_24 created on Wed Dec 12, 2018 5:45 pm

Posted: Wed Dec 12, 2018 5:45 pm

!!!STRIKE HARD!!!

A screaming, yet terrifyingly silent tear in the very fabric of time itself tore open in the sky above the fight between a drugged out lunatic and a very terrifying woman. A confounding scene to anyone who might be unlucky enough to see it, as if some elder god who sought nothing but to break minds had made this hole in the sky. A prismatic blast of unseen light emitted from it, scenes of the past, present, and future jumbled together in it. Alternate timelines and terrifying what-if scenarios played in it.

Out of it came something though, something flying at 60 MPH, feet first. A tall man in a padded jacket and goggles. He flew silently, and before the hobo might be able to even tell what had happened, Ferris would dropkick him from the sky straight off the edge of the building he was cowering on.

Then just as quickly and oddly as the fleshy missile had arrived, he would disappear through another gaping maw in space in time.

!!!STRIKE FAST!!!

Instead of Yancy dodging in any capacity, remaining in the same spot, or otherwise being in the direct line of fire from the spear. He was completely incapable of evading the surprise dropkick and took the full force of the kick to his side, sending Yancy flying from the rooftop at almost highway speed into the rooftop of the other building. The spear thrown by the woman completely missing as Yancy was far beyond the starting point.

The wind was completely blasted from his body and he rolled over onto his belly, tiles and splinters falling off of his body in sheets. He pulled the visor down over his eyes and nose again as he stood up, gasping for air and so very glad that he had cable lines attached to his weapons. He reeled them up to himself, still gasping for air as he did so.

He stumbled further from the edge of the building and turned his head to try and peek around with his peripheral vision for some form of cover. The weapons clattered against the rooftops as they dragged behind his stumbling gait.

Scalar Warfare Wrote:

> She could see his outrageous hat crest the dividing roof peak for a brief moment, and she smiled, shaking her head at the music that began to beat through the streets around them. Though Moonblade couldn’t see it, she beckoned him with a wave of her hand, calling out to signal him to the other side of the solarium. “Over here, mon cheri~” > > > > When the homunculus eventually turned the corner of the solarium, or otherwise catapulted himself over it, he would find her already waiting, her hip cocked out saucily as she balanced precariously along the ridge of the slanted roof, on heel points so narrow a normal woman would have faceplanted on solid ground, let alone the curved crest of a fired clay roof. She blew him a kiss. > > > > "Commençons..."

And over the Solarium Ammiel went, landing along the top seam of the slanted roof rather gracefully roughly ten feet from the source of the voice. The magus found himself immediately impressed; not for the woman's physical assets, but for her apparent sense of balance. It appeared it would be a battle between magical acrobats.

Raising both hands to his sides, the noble greeted her with a genuinely cheery demeanor. "Ah! It's a delight to make your acquaintance, nín bein-wen." While being called 'my fair maiden' in Elvish on the surface may sound like a romantic compliment, it was a grave insult given the context. Not that most non-fluent speakers of elvish could tell the difference.

The woman before him, harlot that she was, possessed unmistakable beauty. Despite being outside what he would consider his type, he could admit that she would have a certain appeal to many individuals with lesser tastes. As Moonblade stole the moment to scrutinize her gravity-defying outfit, one would be forgiven for assuming he was admiring his opponent. The magus swore he saw the harlot's outfit writhing, using every ounce of resolve to suppress a disgusted shudder. Any sex appeal she may otherwise have had went right out the ******** window.

Still, the noble hid his discomfort well, offering the woman a flashy bow, one arm extended far to the side as though to intentionally flourish his cloak majestically."Ammiel Moonblade, Master Magus Extraordinaire, at your service."

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Truth be told, Ammiel loathed fighting women. It was a matter of personal opinion that most of the fairer sex were better suited for more homely pursuits. Even so, he had no qualms going all out to prove a point; indeed, the magus was more likely to take a seasoned female combatant seriously than a man if for no other reason than to prove a point.

Still, his noble station required a certain level of decorum. Offering his right open palm, he invited the lady forward. In a simultaneous fashion, a torrent of raw mana enveloped the magus, manifesting as a continuous burst of wind that accented his flowing cloak and attire flawlessly. "Care to take this dance, miss...?"

Despite his impressive regalia, the magus wore no apparent armor. At his side was a sheathed blade wrought in elven runes and worn on his back was an elaborate coiled double-bladed broad spear.

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Character Status Wrote:

> Mana: 45 (25 Initial + 5 Natural + 5 No Cast Bonus + 10 Mana Charge) > > Silmacil: 0; sheathed > > Lun-Dransil: 0 (New Moon); sheathed

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Bob drew his cans lightning quick at the same time Ferris armed himself, leaving them standing twenty feet from one another and Bob now armed and pointing two cans at a momentarily stationary opponent. Bob had no idea Ferris intended to wait until he fired to move, but the guy was putting an awful lot of stock in his own speed. The high pressure aerosol cans did not even fire their projectiles as fast as a lot of the other abilities present in the tournament, but the superstick string still flew at an easy fifty feet per second, which meant Ferris had less than half a second to move upon seeing Bob fire before it splattered into his body.

Bob had no idea what sort of reaction speeds Ferris had, but an ordinary human could react to an attack like that in about 250ms, the fastest humans alive at about 120ms, assuming Ferris was in between these two ballparks that gave him at a conservative estimate about 400ms to move his entire body around the long stream of string flying his way after clocking what was happening. Of course, as Bob’s projectiles were far from conventional, what actually happened was Bob fired the can in his right hand, the superstick, which would by his estimate splurge all over Ferris’ upper torso, shoulders and face before he’d even have chance to move, after which Bob would simply be tracking his movement and making by comparison much smaller adjustments to the can in his hand to keep it on target. Needless to stay, Ferris was about to be a rather sticky mess.

As Ferris closed on Bob, very quickly no doubt, he would conveniently bring himself into range of the Supersubstantial string which Bob began to fire, the whites and greens of the sticky and rather chemically abrasive string mixing in mid-air as he once again aimed at Ferris’ upper torso and head. Where-as the sticky string would do exactly as it said on the tin, the Supersubstantial string would adhere to its fellow and harden suddenly, growing denser and more weighty. The real threat to Ferris was the string aimed at his face, the chemicals of which would immediately cause eye watering and serious irritation to his throat. If much got into his eyes, it could blind him momentarily, and when the substantial string hardened over his face, pose far more problematic to remove. However, for its part the string aimed all over his torso and shoulders would stifle his arms, attempting to stretch to extension to thrust that dagger for example would become a lot more difficult. Overall, being covered in silly string would suck.

As his fingers pressed the triggers, Bob simply stepped back to match Ferris’ forward momentum, though not nearly as quick as Ferris seemed to be, it still helped maintain distance to give him the maximum time to cover his foe with string. Bob had walked from the edge of the roof closer to the centre, so he still had some space to maneuver behind him. Ferris was going to be all sorts of wonderful colours soon!

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