insane? LOL I thought that was the way everyone acted
F5!!! Go Finn go!!
insane? LOL I thought that was the way everyone acted
F5!!! Go Finn go!!
Awesome chapter J, boomerang assassins ftw!
Btw, would you suggest To Victory or The Hot Gates for background music off the 300 ost?
hot gates is always hot, my friend. start around the 1 minute mark! yes, i'm listening to it now and am looking for the somewhat faster parts.
at around 1:35, it suddenly stops, so that would be the time Akira's foot connects with the necro boss' face and the camera slows down.
yes, i have mental storyboards of the action scenes lol.
happy birthday, Denji! horay for scientific mondays! \o/
Ciaran Black was not a man of science. His keen mind was all for the tactics and strategies on the field. His immense strength had been a blessing to his family’s farm and most of the scholarly types mistook him to be as smart as the oxen he herded. Even during the Academy, he was labeled as one of those less gifted in the brains department, only passing his coursework thanks to smart ladies he tricked into helping him or professors he could bully with his size. But no one could fault him for his courage and people quickly changed their impressions once he took to the mock battlefield and successfully handed arrogant air elementalists, necromancers and mesmers mouthfuls of dirt as they kissed the ground mere inches from his chosen weapon of the moment.
His friendship with Shaddow Firestorm taught him the mental discipline of the sciences, which mirrored his physical and martial discipline. So for this current situation he and his friends faced, Ciaran Black, right after he roared his challenge against these undead villagers, decided to execute a simple plan.
Identify the problem: undead mobs that threatened to eat their brains. Formulate hypothesis: kick their faces in their heads.
The Hand of War proceeded to execute his methodology in a very grisly yet orderly fashion. First, he fell into an easy stance taught to him by Old Man Bonetti. Then, he build up his momentum an established a rhythm in his swings that afforded him the perfect balance between offense and defense. Satisfied that his opponents, mindless as the seemed at first glance, became predictable, he suddenly turned to his right.
Ciaran made three quick chops with his axe on the three nearest undead in front of him to fuel his aggression. As they fell, more replaced them, and he made a full turn with his weapon to the fore, hitting everything in a circular arc. The warrior grinned behind his helm as he hit one of them with an eviscerating chop and sent it flying to the back. The other one he faced was met with a penetrating blow that started on the chest and ended up splitting it down diagonally. The third one’s head flew away from its body with a perfectly-timed executioner’s strike. By this time, the Hand of War was laughing at the thrill of the battle.
“Hail to the king, baby,” Ciaran muttered as he wretched his battleaxe free from another corpse that won’t be getting up again.
While versed in brute force, the warrior also noticed that the numbers were not dwindling as he hoped. Someone or something kept them up and battling. He was at the foot of a small rise, so he was not the best one to spot whoever caused the renewal, whatever it was. But he knew his friends, and they would handle it for him.
Finn Ferral, legendary as the songs and stories say, notched three arrows and let them fly. Straight through the eye socket, past the thin skin found at the base of the neck or through an open mouth, where the arrows found themselves mattered little to him, as long as they did what they had to do. The ranger took a step back and uncorked a small bottle as he laid out his arrows behind the safety of the ritualist’s bound spirits. He smeared the inky substance from the bottle to the arrowheads and spit on them. It made crackling sounds that ended once Finn dusted the heads with some coarse dirt. He placed the shortbow on the ground and unfastened his massive longbow. Patiently, the ranger, whom many stories were attributed to, pulled back the arrow and took aim.
“Bang bang incoming!” the ranger shouted as he released the string.
The arrow flew its course and the moment it landed on some unfortunate villager’s shoulder, exploded. In a tightly packed formation of undead, the blast effect was maximized to deadly efficiency.
As he continued his bombardment, the ranger’s sharp eyes also scanned for potentially exploitable targets the others might have missed, anything to give them the upper hand. He found what he was looking for about the same time Akira did.
His friend was going to fly.
Finn nocked an arrow and took careful aim. He waited a few heartbeats and let it loose. The arrow found its target just below the assassin as it zipped past the crowd of undead. It lodged itself in the middle of an outstretched arm, intent on grabbing the assassin as he flew past and drag him down. It was a good thing the arrow took care of that as it took the arm along its flight.
The ranger dropped the longbow and picked up the shortbow once again. He notched three arrows and ran towards the mob. The Mighty Hunter took his place a few steps behind the Hand of War, the Avatar of Balthazar and the Shadow’s Fang as they released a single cry of triumph.
“You are all insane! Crazy! Off your rockers! I thought the incident at Marga with the plants and insects was a practical joke on me, but this is just out there!”
“Careful, Vincan. You’re pulling your hair out already. If you don’t calm down, you might end up balder than ‘Pop,” Shaddow snickered.
“My hair is not my point! Flying assassins? Manic laughter? And you! I thought you were the sanest one here!” Vincan whirled to face Ryl’ard.
“I can’t see what your face looks like, but I must imagine it to be contorted into several shades of amusing,” Ryl grinned.
The monk fumed as he stomped off to Jahai Bluffs, followed by good-natured laughter. Behind them, two shadows watched the journey of the Eight Winds to the Hidden City.
“I knew they were going to triumph over this, sister.”
“I had no doubt. This was just… a test. See how the new monk would fit into their party.”
“He doesn’t seem to get along with them. Their tactics do not align well with his beliefs.”
“That may be the case, but the Hidden City is still a long way from here. Maybe our other siblings have something planned for them.”
“So, Mara. Was your test successful?”
“Yes, Clara. It seems like they have a weak link. This new monk will be their downfall.”
“You seem to be so interested in the monk. The obvious aside, why?”
“I like him. Doubtless you know by now. Just as how much you like the paragon, Clara.”
“The paragon is so perfect. I would love to know how broken he really is.”
“I was hoping you’d go for the ranger. Or the assassin.”
“They have their specific talents. I bet the dervish would hold out the longest, though.”
“My bet is on the warrior. Such a nice… physique. I bet he will bleed a long time before he dies.”
“No need to single out someone. We can find out when we have our time alone with them, Mara.”
“Oh yes, that would be very nice indeed, Clara. I do look forward having some fun with them first. It’s been so long since the last time.”
Two pairs of lips curled into smiles. As the sun slowly descended to give way to dusk, two silhouettes seemed to fade away at the same time.
*sad* Now I want Dev to be in your story. hehe I guess I should have finished my own faster!
Awesome J, keep up the great work!
Very nice! Thank you!
Silly monk, tricks are for melee
Nice stuff J!
*looks around suspiciously*
Who's this Clara character, with her ominous designs on my poor paragon???
Awesome as always J. I am trying really hard to keep up current on this one, but still seem to have two or three chapters slip by at a time. Oh well. Makes for nice reading when I do finally get here!