February 05, 2021
08/04/2022 09:41 AM
A massive thanks to Diana Lane, Hanzo Hayabusa,
and Lady Astrid for their efforts, providing constructive
feedback and setting aside a moment of their precious
time as third-party proofreaders. You are all divine. 💜
The march of the lone folk is bereft of haste. Leather soles are mingling with the dirt and grass. Horizon is lost in the sea the mist. Perhaps so too this wandering soul, corralled in this colossal crowd of clouds. However, those eyes, green as a spring meadow, show not a speck of worry in them.
Should peril make itself known, even daring to sink a claw or a fang, these onward limbs can leap well and away from it. If cruelty is required, through them, he will respond in kind. A blade or two along with learned sorcery conjured from sprightly fingers can bestow a great opposition upon a foe, introducing the stark notion that this loner poses a proper threat. But such a scene of savagery is to be enacted out of necessity, mainly for self-defense, not from misguided wrath.
The ground lifts upon the latest of steps. A small hill or an incline to a higher plain, perhaps. There is also an odd crunch beneath the boots once in a while. Those humble eyes of this wanderer in a gray cloak and hood glance down to see old bones. Whether they belong to men or beasts may require a closer look. How foreboding, this gruesome garnish of many fallen ones. On top of a hill or so one considers, the walk is paused. Although the air is rather foul, it is not a poison to the lungs, thus him drinking a cupful.
A silhouette of something big appears tens of yards ahead of the lone folk. It towers over him, tall as a watchtower. A thunder is roaming this misty plain with a brooding ill-favored croak akin to a dragon growling into awakening. The shape of a large bronze halberd comes into form and is being held by a pair of large scaly hands of something inhuman.
The head of this large creature is now for the fellow on the hill to behold. The head of it is a barbaric blend of three inhuman faces grafted together. The protruded nose like a snout, the wrinkles on its forehead from one temple to another further exude its monstrous mug. With all these malformations, it looks like a big ugly bat. That hideous noggin is adorned in a brass helm and its chest plate is forged from a similar make.
It is gritting its fangs, almost grinning at the man on the short bump of earth. Curved rock-like wings open up behind it, huge as huts they are. The clutch on its giant bronze tool also tightens. Thou who trespassed this land, return
from whence thou came or forever
rest on it as garnish thou shall.
Its voice rattled the air, brooding and fitting a capable guardian that has not failed its duty for centuries, if not beyond a millennium.
Unsightly as it may be, this monstrosity is worthy of a marvel for his gaze. Alas, he must defy its warning. A quest he promised to those he care for must be pursued to the desired end, for their sake. Failure can mean irreversible disaster. Already enough miseries have come and gone for the ancestors of those he promised to fulfill this quest for. Why must such a tormenting trend trouble them so for too long? Sever it with a triumphant return with the outcome divinely in their favor, moreso his.
“I would honor your word of caution with reverence aloft, great guardian,” he declared in turn towards the colossus. There was neither doubt nor fear in his bravado, only conviction with a touch of pride. Resume, man in gray, finish prattling one’s mind out through stern tongue.
“But I fear... I must proceed with what you would strongly reckon as a transgression and venture further into the sanctum you are protecting.”
He soon greets it by awakening the longsword sleeping on his back. The monster growls at this invitation to dance with each other. It raises its great halberd with one of its talons, taking a large step back and planting itself well on the ground to make better its next move. The ground rumbled quickly at this posture from the giant ready to deliver this bloke into an excruciating exile. Curious, thou art to me. Great peril
is before thee yet not a twitch of
fear on thee. So be it, trespasser.
May thou not regret this course.
Draw a hearty breath, dear man in gray. This is but a hurdle, though a huge one at that. No creature of old should simply cease his duty, not when there is much strength and steadfastness to spare.
Firm the hold on the hilt. Beneath the mask, squeak a smirk. The gargantuan guardian roars mightily! The fellow welcomes this playmate that is sure to bring untold pain to the unskilled. Stomp a foot ahead, man at the ready for the thrill of conflict. Leap forth with a fearless blade drawn to kiss its face with a powerful sweep. The creature hammers down its weapon, its ax-end aiming to split the trespasser in gray in half or the rest of it smashing him back to the ground. C l a s h !
A great flash of light and a sharp crack of thunder came from where halberd and sword met! The ground ahead of the creature shattered awake! The hill lost a chunk of its height, carved by the powerful strike from this winged beast. The trespasser cannot be found so soon. Its black eyes sweep left and right. A few more seconds to gaze around and gradually regaining its posture to stand well on its talons, it sees him many yards back. His limbs are in haste to recover from a broken stance after that came with the strenuous knockback.
His stance has the gripped hilt near the right side of his face. The swordpoint is aiming at the guardian and the blade itself glowing like a bright silver moon, howling a hymn of upcoming harm for the brute.
He stomps ahead! With his limbs working together to a vigorous forward stab, a large lance of stormwind gallops out of the glowing steel! Before it can act, this bright and loud phantasm hammers onto its face! Thunder cracks! Battering winds made many bits of bony garnish fly away and make scarce from what patch of green they were once resting on. The mist clears a bit more around them. A shriek of agony roars out of it before it stumbles back with two stomps. This trespasser has some fight in him.
Confident that he can endure and triumph through this huge hurdle, the man in gray marches with a sense of haste, closing the gap between him and the guardian of this mist-filled realm. It roars again and then meets him head-on, eager to resume their dance. Re-engage when posture is fair. Ahead with power and purpose, man and monster. Whose resolve to commit to their duty shall be declared victorious when one falls for good.
07/15/2022 09:56 PM
In Good Company. [ft. Lady Mika]
Guest Star: Lady Mika
Awaken beneath a ceiling of a sand-shaded canvas. For one lying down on a thick bedroll, it is beyond an outstretched arm’s reach. Light is spilling in from a tall slit between two walls of mildly-swaying cloth.
Take a deep breath. Curl the grisly fingers with palms veiled in gloves. Wiggle the toes tucked well in a pair of boots. Gray cloak of this prone folk shuffles about. Limbs are encouraged to work together with a desire for one to sit up. There is a stream of writhing in the nerves; it warrants a groan of discomfort, brief and whisper-like. What is causing the pain? And as the awareness of this reawakening settles further, another query for oneself: how much time has passed since the prior waking moment?
This corpse-looking man in gray is making sense of what is before and around him. Small crates with tufts of straw peeking up on the topmost wooden prism. Sacks poorly tied up inches below their openings are leaning on the bottom of the stack. Round splintered wooden shields, one of them being a bump away from being split into two, are also tilted upon the rest of the supplies. None of these things seem to be his.
Another pillow is next to his. A depression that can fit a head is on it. Give the crater a bit of stride of his wraithlike fingertips.
Minutes after the awakening, the man leaves the confinement of canvas through that opening between the pair of big loose curtains acting as doors. Green eyes, fair as a spring meadow, are soon greeted by a curious collage once out of the tent past a quenched campfire.
Discolored bones from once-living men and beasts make piles and clutter on unpaved earth, high and low, flat and curved, under a burning red sky. Distant flames are kindled by corpses with a small gathering of long weaponry either stabbed onto them or on the nearby ground. Smoke is rising on each blazing pile. Patches of bent grass brown as mud, petals, stamens and mushrooms too big and misshapen for their own good, and trees lacking even the tiniest leaf on any of their twisted branches and as ash-tinted as his cloak all in tandem suggest a considerable contradiction to an Eden.
On a wavy chest-high wall, a few black rats with wings fight among each on who gets a delectable meal: a plucked eye with scarlet strands behind the fleshly marble. A different kind of gathering is about a fifth of a mile from the lonesome fellow past the squawking scavengers in a squabble and the litter of remains. Hounds tall as the dead trees nearby standing on their hind legs, each of their heads as big as boulders, are nuzzling their snouts down on something he cannot see clearly from he is standing. The choir of crunching perhaps sung through their maw that can swallow a wild boar whole adds to the menacing presence they have. Their own eyes, bright as the flames but richer in their red than the scarlet sky, may not bode well for others. Only a fool waiting to be food or a chew toy would dare to disturb them.
Even one such as he whose visage and stature behind gray rags belongs in a crypt is rather displeased with this loathsome landscape, even if by the slightest. Apathy is his façade. A lesser mind and heart would be drowning in dread for being thrown into this gruesome garden. Unease may haunt him a bit, but it is more of a small ember of confusion, perhaps curiosity. A different query soon prods on him something fierce. What led him here?
While holding onto a shoulder with one of his hands, twisting the former gently to relieve it of strain, he musters what he can to recall what came to pass. It was in dead of night, the moon behind a crowd of thick clouds. Vague silhouettes of things moving, perhaps even people. Rumbles and gallops of boots and hooves. Crisp claps by blade or blunt upon flesh or iron. Grunts and yells of men before bestowing cruelty upon a foe. Growls and snarls freed by great beasts before a vigorous swat of claw-bearing limbs or a hearty bite of mouths with rows of flesh-tearing fangs in them.
The heart beats with a brisk pace, loud in its thump but only for the silent thinker. To swiftly fashion a moment of cruelty and chaos kindles the confusion further. He takes a series of slow deep breaths. The air in this place is rather foul but better than none to savor at all. Soon, his hands go about patting around his waists, rummaging through pouches, and soon on his chest beneath his cloak. Something in his person can perhaps be of aid to dull away the unrest in his mind.
Then comes a sweet sultry giggle of a woman.
“Looking for something, love?” a song-like disembodied voice asked. The inquisitive tone came with the allure of a maiden touting temptation.
The man in gray stops searching himself and slowly turns his head back before the rest of him follows. A conflict of disbelief and displeasure crashes onto his wraithlike face, brows all furrowed and those green eyes in a glare. Before he can spill anything, another deep breath is taken.
A woman in an olive-green cloak is sitting on a high rocky ledge behind the tent the man awakened from and left out of. Although her face has smears of dirt on it, her elegance is piercing through the mess. Porcelain skin befits a princess at the least. Her long flowing black hair is braided to her left side and the rest in a bun with strands tucked behind one of her ears. Sharp scarlet-red eyes are portraying unassailable confidence. Her ruby red lips are in a light smirk before they clamp on a held object of interest. If the thin cup-like end of the slender curved tool is provided with a tiny bit of flame down on the ground leaves tucked in it, a great moment of calm can be bestowed upon whoever is toking on it.
“You slept sweetly, my dear, like a baby. But I suppose it was necessary for what divine trait is coursing through you to let your wounds heal better. Not much can be done being cursed to look like a corpse though. What a weird condition you have, really.”
“Why are we here and why do you even have that with y—... hang about, did you...?”
He tilts his head, brows firmly furrowed. Those green eyes are eagles on that thing in her hand and partly on her lips.
“Did you steal that from me when I was asleep?”
“Weeeellllllll... no,” she dragged her response perhaps a bit too long for his liking.
“It may have fallen off of you while you were being moved about.”
“Fallen off, mhm,” he muttered right after a whispered scoff.
Slowly, the man stands up, raising his left hand with an open palm in a glove.
“If you would not mind,” he calls out to her.
“My pipe. Please, give it back.”
Bare corpse-like fingers curl in and out together.
She frees the peace-bringing thing off her lips. She wags up and down the tip with a hole on it upon the beckoning fellow.
“Your limbs seem to be working well enough,” her choice to contest his demand.
“Come, join me up here and sit next to me, Grey. Please.”
Her left hand is softly patting on the dirt to her side.
“Why do I—?”
Mika interrupts Grey.
“—Humor me, Grey. I will answer what other questions you may have. I will even give this back to you, ready for your toking pleasure. That fuss you were on about was in search of this, yes?”
Her hand holding the pipe waved it about for a moment.
“But first, please...”
Lips and cheeks squirm to exude enunciation. There is even a bit of snarl in her sultry voice. Even her ledge-patting hand matches a downward stomp for each word.
“Get... up... here.”
Grey frees a defeated sigh. Mika giggles. She then brushes off the grains of dirt on her patting hand on her cloak.
“Much appreciated,” Mika thanked Grey who is halfway through his hike.
By the time he gets up there and less than a yard to her left, unease stirs in him again, just as much as knowing that she is in possession of his smoking pipe. Two double-edge blades in their respective sheaths, one being a longsword and the other a dagger, are resting behind Mika. Oh, those brows of his furrow and his eyes narrow. Dispel away the sudden rise of frustration, lest be compelled to do something to the maiden too crude for his own good.
“Did those fall off me as well?”
He nearly growled when he spilled the query.
“No, I relieved you of them while you were dreaming of things,” she confessed without hesitation. One hand is holding the bottom of the pipe bowl while the other has her slim fingers kneading on each other’s tips inches above the chamber. She keeps the thing half a foot away from her precious visage. Eyes go back and forth in their gaze between those tiny limbs at work and the dwarfish cauldron inches directly below them.
“But only for safe-keeping and to spare your dear spine of further sorrow while you were sleeping soundly. You and I have our... differences, sure. But I have not the desire to cross you by means of petty theft. Come and reclaim them, please.”
She mumbles something, a foreign phrase of sorts. Tiny sparks trickle away from her kneading fingers and down into the bowl like tiny embers. The dry brown clump in the chamber is set ablaze brightly and orange. As soon as she swings back the tip of the tool with the bore on it, Mika indulges in a deep toke. The heat from the stream of searing mist invigorates her senses. A few seconds after puffing in, a slim wall of smoke is freed from the corner of her slightly open mouth, obscuring the horizon a bit.
“Well, how kind of you,” his sardonic way to thank her with a small wedge of sincerity tucked in it. Before honoring her request, he picks up both weapons. He straps them well on his person, the longsword on his back and the dagger behind him, mingling with the thick leather belt around his waist.
Another blade in a sheath, thinner than even the dagger is resting on the other side of the damsel. If given the chance, amazing and atrocious art can be performed through it by the cloaked vixen.
Grey finally sits down next to her. Mika soon passes him the pipe. Her face portrays endearment through a comforting smile. Grey obliges her willful parting of his possession with a nod of his head, the pipe soon in his grasp. Lips so dreadfully different from the damsel compliments his mummified mug. What storm of sorrows he had to brave to end up being such a living blasphemy to beauty, perhaps he can share those tragic tales when privy to a better time.
Grey delights himself with a hearty toke of his pipe. Mika leans the side of her head on his nearest cloaked-veiled arm. The man in gray does not mind her intimate deed. While they are at odds from time to time, maybe even margins more than sometimes, their alliance when honored has proven to bear the sweet fruit of duties fulfilled with high praises. Grey conjures his own small tower of freed smoke, soothing his writhing nerves and ailing mind. There are still things to consider, and questions that need answers.
“Why are we here, Mika? What business do we have in this province?”
Grey shares his pipe again.
“Were we not in somewhere less... red? I recall visions of a battle. I presume that I was a part of it. Did we forsake it? Did I forsake it? Or did I muse over madness which did not occur?”
Mika does not deny his charity, relieving him of his peace-bringing tool.
“It did occur, love. Forsaken it, well... it is less so a ‘yes’ and more so a ‘no.’ It is quite a twisted tale. A few things happened along the way leading to our refuge here.”
Mika reenacts the soothing deed from half a minute ago with the pipe in hand.
“Well, I relish a tale. So, do regale me of what I may have forgotten or missed.”
“Very well, Grey darling.”
Both man and woman are perusing the peculiar land. The small pack of giant beasts at the distance are feasting well on a cluster of bloody corpses. Drag marks of the feast can be seen from further down to the back of one of them. The red sky can make one with sensitive eyes squint or reject a hearty gaze above, this hellscape with its hazy hellish hue. Until thoughts are well-sorted and writhing nerves are no longer a bother, Sir Grey and Lady Mika enjoy each other’s company in an Eden for the wicked.
03/28/2022 10:48 PM
A Titan of a Task.
Believe it or not, the epic melody you would hear there (if the music player code is working properly) is the seed of inspiration this writing entry was born from. Yes, it is indeed from Shadow of the Colossus. 😎 Enjoy.
The thick canvas of twisting skies yields to no blessing of the sun. Sing merrily, rain. Shine brightly, lightning. Roar proudly, thunder. They, in tandem, set well the mood of mayhem for this campaign between man and god.
Atop a great long wall of earth peaking beyond a mile high, a daring dance is enacted by an odd pair. One is a cloaked corpse in gray brandishing a pair of steel, one short and the other long. The other is a gargantuan stone serpent with the gift of flight, the ungodly strength to flatten towns and castles with ease. Rumor has it that it can toss constructs of wind and light as well, exacting obliteration.
The giant coils while hovering high and a tenth of a mile away from the rather jagged peak. It pulls its large sharp oval head of hard rock bathing in heavy rain. Keep its distance, perhaps ready a deathly strike. The blade-wielding gent who dared to challenge it is peculiar to the beast. His nerves lessen in their egregious writhing after a recent guzzling of a bitter potion from a vial. Hiss away the weariness built up from all the leaping and flailing he performed.
It has been more than half an hour since the first blow was struck. This man has either deflected or stayed clear of its earth-shattering strikes, even retort with just enough fury to chip away some of its thick stony hide. Wisdom applied by training and triumphant over treacherous trials of old is serving him well. This monster is no petty foe, that is certain. If he has been less prepared, less vigilant, less ferocious, such soiree of savagery they have been engaging would cease much sooner.
It is thrilling for the lofty leviathan that one would come so far and not make an early grave of himself on top of the mountain. The uneven floor and ledges are riddled with countless bones of those who perished from this behemoth; some even tossed away from the soil springing alive whenever the creature goes to attack him. They never stood a chance. Silver tongue and ineptitude in combat proved useless.
The thrill is shared by the challenger now waiting for the sky serpent to close the gap again between them. Behind the cloth-mask, the labored gray-garbed fellow hatches a smirk. The strain of staving off or evading the perilous pounces reshaping the earthen peak does gnaw on his vitality. The pain makes him take into account that further mistakes can be lethal. But it reminds him that he still lives. That there is a fight to finish.
Put away the short blade. Tease a nearing kiss on his right temple by his curled knuckles now holding his longer blade close. Aim its sharp point ahead towards the fortress of a foe. Whisper a language that is nonsense to the modern world but holds power in the old one. In seconds, slim ribbons of sharp air gleaming like glass gather upon the length of the blade. The rain-kissed steel is shining as bright as the lightning that greets them every now and then.
The serpent produces a deafening guttural rumbling from its ship bow of a big snout, joining with the savage symphony of endless rain, howling winds and crackling clouds. Its glowing blue eyes are piercing through the torrent. It anticipates something delightful or devastating from this cloaked one.
Enough pause has been warranted. The floating giant retracts its head a bit more. Soon, it quickly lunges towards the fellow like an oversized battering ram. The furrowed brow above the meadow-tinted pearls of he who is peering back into those serpent eyes tighten. Bring up the steel, soon guiding it in a downward chop before him when issuing a single forward stomp. Puff a split-second roar himself! The glowing light on the blade blinks away! Conjure swiftly a colossal bright-white arc following the path of that chop stretching forth and shy a fifth of a mile, more than enough to reach the approaching leviathan.
Bark a crisp thunderous thud to go with winds seeming to split in half upon the forehead and snout of the giant! That stretched arc of light came with as much traumatic punch as this creature whenever it brushes and grinds onto the earth with so much power to go with it. It wails in an ear-splitting song of agony while tossing its head away and slithering back into the heavens. More of its rock-like shell crumbles away, revealing its thick moss-like fur. Long glowing turquoise nerves are also revealed, throbbing slowly and repeatedly from bright to dim.
All of that melodrama just to keep bruising it while he is depleted more of his own resources. The cloaked corpse growls as he brings his sword close to him. Stiffen up the feet-parted posture. Take a few deep breaths. Ignore the discomfort binding him. The flying giant swirls around, an eye fixed upon the challenger. He is seen pacing to sprint closer to the edge of the mountain.
The great beast roars with the passion of hundreds of mad trumpets. It dives back to meet with the raggedy man again. The fellow shatters a bit of earth beneath his feet as he launches himself up and ahead. His fellow dancer of disaster longs for another kiss, much of the steel glowing again eager to be buried on its forehead. Thunder claps!
On the plains far below the towering wall, perhaps for miles around, the guttural song of the flying giant can be heard even with the ongoing concerto of the stormy sky still going strong. Did the man finally perish or is the colossus having much trouble with its guest? Muse with silence or bated breath, the denizens of the lower domains can only, many aware through that awesome aria that someone or something is clashing with a titan.
03/27/2022 07:53 PM
Overture of a Contest.
Vague, a long-note roar. In the darkness of a chamber, behind a shut gate of thick lumber and iron, a soul in tattered rags awaits proclamation. The breath beneath a cloth-mask is steady. Left wrist is faintly snuggling with a slender black scabbard housing a vicious tool to kill. Posture while remaining aloft on both feet in caligae is impeccable.
Muffled as it may be, a proud disembodied voice of a fellow is clear in declaring something grand. “And now, Your Majesty, esteemed guests and dearest audience,
I present to you the challenger of the coming conflict. One who
had overcome the maddening odds that made it seem the gods
themselves favored him as the victor of battles past. Do not let
his horrid visage fool you. Unsightly as a corpse he may be, he
is as fearsome as the finest warriors ever to grace our nation.
Behold, the Man in Gray!”
The pair of great doors several yards before the quiet soul creak open, slowly and loudly, each with a man pushing them away. The flood of light and noise crashes in. Harken on this moment heavily imbued with cheer. The thrill of the crowd is a galloping thunder, a great choir of excited yells and applause. Drink in the vociferous welcome.
He, the Man in Gray, marches out of the chamber and into a massive round plain with nary a bump for toes to foolishly stumble upon. There are obstructions, mind one. Dressed corpses skewered with a spear are cooking in the stinging noon sun. Some of them have at least a limb several feet away from them with a trail of blood between what lump of languished life there was and the parted arm, leg, or head. Flies gather around them, buzzing about.
There is one other blight to flatness, too difficult to ignore. An armored giant towering beyond twice the raggedy man is standing near the center of the plain. The growl behind its iron lion mask is crisp, guttural and sure to bode ill for what helpless whelp dares to cross it. A steel axe is being held in those big hands, taller than the marching man; its twin sharp curves may have been recently wiped out of an oily red stain. The large slabs of lumber and iron behind the man are soon shut.
Once the man has reached enough distance from the center, he stops. His posture, still impeccable. He and the giant turn to face a side of this grand realm where the high stone walls around them deny an easy climb. Green eyes are upon the row of lordship, one being the highest of them all in authority. The man and the giant provide a hearty bow. Their lord in red raises a hand and offers a humble smile and a nod.
Upon facing each other, the giant stomps the pommel of its axe down on the sandy floor. The note of the thud was crisp! A crackling comes from its mask, rather cheerful like an amused chuckle. The raggedy challenger raises a brow but only until that merry mumbling ends. His huge foe speaks with the brooding bravado of an ancient demon. “Blessed is he, my latest prey.
Fight well, not flee, dear Man in Gray.”
The corpse scoffs softly, drowned by the vigorous cheer of the crowd several thousands strong. But soon, the crowd goes still as the gent who gave that rousing announcement more than a minute prior raises both hands to request silence from them. He issues a command that both man and beast must follow. “Combatants, ready yourselves!”
Awaken the strong steel on his left hip, recently resharpened to ensure his prowess with it is properly pronounced. A favored stance of his is taken. Left foot forward, much of his person facing his right side, hilt firmly gripped inches near his wrinkled face, and the swordpoint aiming at the foe ahead. The lion-masked giant raises back his axe to be clutched with both hands again, hunching its upper body and keeping its big feet parted. Spill away a thrilled growl, for prey is about to be pounced. A deep breath from the gray-garbed challenger, springing in the calm to awaken the storm within him. “B e g i n !”
The flood of the cheering crowd comes crashing back in, nearly obscuring the roar of the armored giant while it takes wide stomp-like steps forward. The Man in Gray twists his left foot, grinding the sole of his caligae on the sandy floor. Even if little by little, those tiny twists and knots of his limbs are brewing in them the passion of well-flaunted barbarism leading to his prior victories.
The giant tramples ahead, axe raised past a shoulder. A lung-spent snarl is freed as it stops less than a yard before the man and hammers one of those curved sharp bulks down on his neck! His wrists fling about in tandem. The sword follows the path with the air howling from this feisty flaunt—a powerful upward sweep! The axe-end is swatted back as if the blade itself carries the same vicious punch as it does.
The ringing note of such ferocious intervention can be heard across the arena drowned in loud excitement from its audience. The steel-clad brute stumbles back, growling either from sudden panic or frustration that this prey is not an easy mark. The corpse in gray takes two steps back to retreat and regain his posture while the armored one struggles to get back theirs. Commit to the same sound sword stance. Chuckle away that lovely rejection of harm his way. Wandering eyes grasp upon what parts of the creature are free of anything that may impede his blade. “A fine swing. Care to try again?”
The taunt does not anger the beast. It frees a gleeful growl while finally regaining fair footing, taking a few steps back itself. A portion of the axe handle hops up and down of its big curved left palm to last a few seconds. For what odd coincidence there is to see, both rotate their shoulders and tilt their heads to crack their necks. How bewildering it must be for a boulder to be bullied so soon by a pesky pebble, one as unpleasant to the eyes as this raggedy corpse-fellow.
The crowd is inconsolable, many with their eyes widened or merely eagles upon the two opponents, their cheeks hurting from open lips as with hundreds having to pump a fist up that strains the shoulder or the palms in repeating unison. The Man in Gray and the steel-plated giant free a thick growling puff. They sprint ahead, weapons well-gripped, close the gap once again and make their steels sing some more. Let the contest resume until victory
embraces one and loss consumes the other.
03/12/2022 10:08 PM
Warriors Will Waltz, Pt. 1
Sir Alonne Vs. Sir Grey
[ P a r t O n e ]
Rise on both feet, lone lord in solitude. The roar of a door fashioned in thick fog comes with the latest guest. Bring aloft a deathly tool from the Far-East. Not the slightest shudder of hesitation is instilled upon the grip of the silk-wrapped handle. The lacerating length can skewer a row of five huddled men with a mighty thrust, maybe even a sixth one. The iron mask with four pairs of sharp oval holes will bring terror to any whose fighting spirit is anything but strong.
The unsightly guest garbed in gray tatters fitting a vagabond beholds the tall host whose audience he must seek. Reveal his own tool sleeping near the left hip, a blade more than twice shorter than that of the host but of the same Far-Eastern make. While he often favors the longsword, perhaps in this endeavor, he may honor other masters with prowess in combat refined through such kind of fang. This single edge as his ally will be his most prominent means flaunt his fury. The cloaked folk has been spending some time learning ways of other warriors such as he, the different paths their walk down to the nuance to cut down those who cross them.
“How many times, Grey?” inquired the host with a bravado fitting a general.
“How many times must you endure the shame of being cast back to what bonfire you spawned from? I admire your courage to push on, you curse-bearing lot. But it is folly if you sorely lack the skill beyond drawing a mere drop of blood, a feeble cut that I can easily recover from.”
Both host and guest raise their blade before them. The fatal tips are gazing upon the cathedral of a ceiling that requires the gift of flight or uncanny agility to reach. A careful march is taken, one foot before the other. Above the cloth-mask, the pair of pearls with the lovely hue of a spring meadow is mindful of the onward host whose reach with the blade exceeds his, demonstrably so.
“Until there is not a speck in me yearning the slightest to pursue this quest anymore, Sir Alonne.”
A brief hum of humor comes from behind the mask of the towering host. Follow it with a sigh.
“So be it, you brave fool.”
In this grand hall worthy as a palace piece where an eternal sunset sky illuminates the marble floor past three great balcony archways, warriors will waltz. Again. This is but another attempt from the guest in the noble pursuit to best a legend.
Sir Alonne puts his long blade to his right once only four yards from Grey. Soon, he glides forth to end with a stomp and swift sweep of his steel to cleave the guest from below the left hip up to the right shoulder. Grey slides a foot back and swats his fang in a forward arc before him. The blade was led slightly down from such a quick course. Its aim is fairest upon the sharp thing that could have easily made two pieces out of his ugly slab of flesh in rags if it connected. First note rings with a bright flash!
Alonne feels the mild sting of such competent deflection on his padded wrists and elbows. No matter, this is just the overture. Perhaps, instill confidence upon Grey, keeping it alit to ensure he was not pathetically cut down in a single stroke... this time.
The host twists his left foot, twirling his person to take a desired single-step retreat with his one. This spin made the blade sweep widely in a nigh-full circle, its lowest clearance aimed at the side of Grey’s hood-veiled neck. The cloaked fellow retreats another step and sprints his fang the other way. The host is not finished! Another twirl comes with another sweep fro as the prior to. Grey answers and succeeds to keep his neck safe again! Ring out, notes of intervention! His nerves writhe a bit from and his heart skips a few beats from the prowess of Alonne pronounced through that spun steel of his.
Grey advances to close the gap. His fang flies to take a bite out of the right elbow of his tall foe. There is much less padding in and having to deal with one less arm would be a cosmic boon. Alas, Alonne is an eagle upon this mad dash to cut him down. Pull back to let a good inch or two of his tool bite back at the incoming steel! The padded forearm of the left arm catches the back of the retreating blade to soften recoil.
Clash! Grey grumbles as he is left unsuccessful to give himself the immediate upper hand in this deathly dance. In a short curved path, he strafes a few paces to his right to avoid the loss of space behind him, should his retreat put him closer to the fog door. Past losses had him corralled in a corner and skewered if not ruthlessly dismembered.
“How long this time, Grey?” teased Alonne, facing his foe with his blade lifted to his left side.
“Beyond or under a minute? Perhaps two. O, do entertain me much past two, I beg of you.”
Furrow a bit those brows above the pearls. Grey is not fond of this snide, reminding him of all the past battles where Alonne treated him as a lump of meat to be cleaved with fair ease.
Grey gallops ahead to reengage. Fang leaps to thrust forward and aimed at the clothed neck of the old lord. Alonne steps forward with a left-foot stomp. His long blade sweeps an arch before him, nearly a third of the length from the tip hammering down onto the blade of the incoming fang. Grey stumbles! Right foot twists with a quick stomp back, forcing the rest of him to commit to a sudden halt, maybe raise his distance from his foe again, and not lose his posture. Alonne twirls his blade around the girth of the other to impede the feat to regain balance. Grey challenges it with a mirrored feat. Steels kiss the marble floor!
“Good, Grey, good,” Alonne growled in an amused tone.
Alonne jolts his arms and backs up two steps to break away from this blade lock. Grey does the same. Hilt in fine grip held ever so close to his right temple. The tip pointed at Alonne who is quite distant again. So far, the cloaked folk is without a wound to endure, actually keeping up against this masked legend who reminds him that victory is earned, not handed. Doubt is being drowned with focus, maybe confidence. Perhaps, this time, he will indeed last more than two minutes. Perhaps, commit to more than just drawing a mere drop of blood. Unabashed, roar, host and guest!
Stride and clash, resume this quest.
Curse-bearer, triumph this test.
None fairer than a legend to best!
[ Part Two in the Works. ]
02/25/2022 12:48 AM
War-Mates. [Writing Entry.]
W a r - M a t e s . Guest Star:
R e c r e a t i o n .
Mika / Megumi Sinclair [RP 1682492]
Eagle emeralds meet raptor rubies with a blend of glare and focus. The dazzling dance of dynamic danger is near a full-hour mark. The waltz between lusty limbs and spirited steel may have granted the gift of bruise or even a wound every once in a while. Warm blood within unholy flesh simmers to a nigh-boiling point.
The thrill of ongoing conflict is seared in the nerves of these rivals who had also been allies and bedfellows from time to time. Before this latest grand garden of stars, darkness, life, and death came to be, they have paved their shared long winding road with highs and lows. Some were regretful but plenty of exploits were still fruitful.
Clash, sword of the East and of the West! Clap a sharp sweet note of unison between well-tempered blades to spread into the forest air. The seductive damsel with those vivid rubies nearly moans a sigh of something delightful while eagerly staring at the face of the Herculean corpse in gray cloak before her. That glamorous gaze is bewitching, almost aiming to disarm this bloke with his steel locked onto hers, gnashing on to avoid recklessly losing a limb.
How admirable that he has been keeping up with her. If he were a lesser man and his celibacy is forsaken, she would have won within seven minutes since she began to play with him. His resistance to her allure is impressive to this black-haired war-lady in Centurion leather. Attractive, even.
“Care for a stroll after our playtime?” sweetly spilled from her luscious red lips. Lovely leering gems from the pits of Hell are the upon nigh-glaring shamrock pearls he has. The cloaked corpse lightly scoffs.
“If you would stay your sharp tongue and your frequent treachery, yes, I will gladly oblige.”
Not a change is seen on her healthy cheeks and alluring lips. The damsel takes a step back while giving the long sharp edge of her sword facing towards her a single flick of her fingers. While it will harm many who does the same gesture, not her, not easily. The flick comes with the trauma of a warhammer jab on a weak shield. The man is repelled and forced to take three wide steps back. He keeps his knees a bit low to avert losing balance. She leaps back and away to land more than fifteen yards from where she recently held well her ground. Swing down the blade in hand.
She tilts her blade before her. A fingertip from her free hand playfully strides up near the edge of the sharp tool. Her eyes lovingly gaze upon it. This accord brings relief to the man in gray, ratifying it with a deep breath.
“However, if you would not mind, Grey darling....”
Gawk again at her foe. Her soon posture changes. Her Oriental blade is retracted back with much of the length placed on her right side, inches close to her fair bosom. Left hand with her lovely fingers in a playful strum is hovering over the polished black steel. Left foot is before the rest of her, lightly gnashing on the soil. The point of her blade is not directed at the fellow many yards ahead, irrelevant its orientation, really.
“Let us up the ante. Mortal combat can only provide us so much enjoyment. How about we awaken a bit of what separates us from the the denizens of this world and many others?”
Grey, as she called him, puffs a moment of humor, a nervous one at that.
“Oh, good heavens.”
He commits to his own stance. The hilt in both hands is inches before the right side of his face hidden much by a hood and a cloth mask. The business end of his longsword is upon her beautiful visage. Grey lets out another deep breath to shake off and away his anxiety of the coming madness.
“I would wager that you have in mind will hurt, Mika, greatly so.”
Silence conquers them. There is a steady rise in focus, simmering just as much as their warm blood. Ten seconds since the last word was spoken, the air trembles around the duo. Black smoke is manifesting around Mika, swirling counterclockwise as it is covering her from head to toe. As for Grey, slim glass-like ribbons of air gather to convene around his blade as if called forth by the enchanted steel. Their blood boils.
Both can feel the excited grinding of chaos being held back by sturdy walls of godly wills. Perhaps, even the forces of this world who may not be fond of just letting in foreign powers that can lay waste on a teeming land in a blink of an eye are at work as well to ensure they do not just spill out carelessly and wreak havoc. Take in another deep breath, both of them this time. As freedom of old brew leaves the lungs, a thunderous guttural song rattles the forest air. This foreboding spill is akin to two ferocious dragons growling at each other, ready for a passionate discourse through fire and fury.
Grey grunts and stomps his right forward and thrusts his sword towards the nothingness before him! A pale misty cyclonic mass gallops ahead from half an inch before the swordpoint towards. It longs to give Mika a heavenly cataclysmic kiss that can shatter a fortress wall, let alone the devastation it may bring upon flesh and bone.
She raises a brow as his gesture changes from that fair stance. Slide forward and fast, her own right foot! The rest of her seductress form follows! A thrust of her own is jabbed upon the clear forest air ahead! A glaring black mass the girth of her own blade flies away nigh-tenfold the speed of the cyclonic madness Grey unleashed! No, it is her black blade, extending away to such an extreme degree! The forest ground beneath both target-bound disasters is effortlessly carved and plowed out!
An expanding dome of air and a high wall of soil run away from the heart of the dramatic clash! Trees and shrubs madly sway their branches! Much of the nearby lumber have their wooden arms broken and get hopelessly hurled tens of yards away! Volcanic notes banish silence for miles! Grey has been violently tossed more than a mile away from where he once stood, smashing through what trees his ragdoll of a body hits from this ungodly flight!
Twenty seconds have passed since that cosmic clap of cataclysm. Through the sea of dirt still unable to find their way back on the forest soil, a sweet cough-like giggle of someone womanly joins the gradually-settling hysteria. Somewhere in the distance, her corpse companion is perhaps assuming what he is or so her mischievous musing would like to believe.
“My, my, what thrill!”
02/25/2022 09:53 AM
Heavenly Waltz Pt I.
S e n s h i t o M e g a m i . Guest Star:
S e n s e i t o S e i t o.
P a r t O n e
Kimiko Ikusawa [ 1684688 ] The Old Domains.
Time before The Fall: Unknown.
Paint this present as a moving mural above the great plain of clouds. Countless pink petals are sway up and down, carried away by the cool current of endless heavenly breath. The hymn-like howling of highwinds is rich. The moon hanging up high on the milky purple ceiling is full, its glow fairest. Silhouettes of distant mountain peaks with tall trees on them are garnishing the horizon on several directions.
On this sky-blessed realm where mortals cannot simply take a foothold on, old friends now rise on their feet. The desire to test their glorious fellowship spanning eons since they first met blaze forth like the first light of sunrise. Although they have many times battled before, they were not performed in the matter it will be so, right here, right now. Cast aside their mortal limits. Indulge well in their ascension to their respective godhoods.
Forward each foot, nary a haste on each flight, not just yet. Meadow green eyes conceal the inner struggle to stay the vice-grip of one’s celibacy. The foe more than a mile away, albeit a small blurry strip of mirage at the moment, is bearing with her a bewitching beauty. Once a sniveling child often conquered by doubt and cowardice, she has grown into an exceptionally fine lady. She has been bred for war but elevated her elegance throughout the years. Her smooth stride towards the distant celibate man is perfect in its posture, lightly swaying her hips beneath a radiant-white ritual gown.
Belay the sudden musing of decadence, man in gray. F o c u s . The lady with steel in both hands is no trifling damsel. She is a star pupile of his, ready to show his beloved teacher what she has learned, along with this mighty divinity she brings with her. A katana on her right hand and a black-blade jian on her left are hers to harbor with the gift of pronounced power. The mentor has with him a longsword on the right and a dagger on the left. Both are twin-edged with light streaks of wear and tear through their sturdy gleamming girth.
Through a transmitted thought, he drinks in a short-lived phrase from her, sweet, soothing and sultry in such delightful delivery. “H a j i m e m a s h o u , s e n s e i .”
( Let us begin, teacher. )
His pace comes with a mild hurry; the cloudy floor puffs up a little thick misty bush from his steady jogging. Hers is undisturbed, advancing without urgency. Her arms are slightly raised, extending her blades to their respective sides. His blood is warming up from the spicy thrill of a beautiful blessed battle. This gap between them requires to be severed fairly soon.
Once he has committed to more than a hundred footsteps, Raido the Grey One, leaves the cloudy field by powerfully leaping forward, steep and swift his sudden arched airborne road. The longsword is ready above and behind his head to bestow a devastating downward strike upon his still-strolling student. Mind the coming blade, dearest, for it will easily cleave through a high hill as it would do much worse through flesh and bone.
Halt that peacful track, Lady Kimiko. Her dark blue eyes have been hidden all this time. Bless her lungs with a cupful of the heavenly breath around them. Her form goes from a lovely stand to a fierce stab with an elegant twirl of her fingers to redirect the left-hand jian from the side to where the blade shall violently visit her: forward and high. Her bare right foot slid back to stay her ground. The eyes of the man widen a bit at this reaction that required no revelation of her gaze to respond and deny his harm.
Clap a rich note, thunder! The cloud forms into a round two-yard-high wall around them, quickly running away. Raido is left in mid-air and recoils from Kimiko’s perfectly-aimed inclined stab of her swordpoint on the hammering edge of his blade. The man jolts his limbs to regain a sense of balance. The maiden is inclined to toy with him.
Her katana is twirled into a vertical sweep before her. Its blessed steel harbors bits of little storms that if unleashed shall grace a mark with devastation, slicing and smashing away all in slim paths for precision and power. Worse for him, the pace of her strike is divine; a single laceration is thrice, even four times, in its true strike. Deflect them well, she dares him.
Raido swings his dagger forward as he winds back his longsword to follow up. Flashes of curved lines meet the smaller steel, the agony hammers into the inhuman nerves in his wrist and, so soon, the rest of him. The last strike knocks him back, feet looking desparate to regain footing on the cloudy field. His blades are away from her, making him quite exposed for a daring deed on her part.
Kimiko leaps to pounce on Raido. The man is surprised by his beautiful student being airborne he is. He can hear a faint giggle as his face is soon clamped between the inner thighs of her back-bent legs, drowning him in disbelief. She spreads her raised blades like a pair of wings. Strong winds gather around each steel and let out a crisp roar. Kimiko spins both of them into a swift hearty barrel roll. Her sensei feels as light as a pillow with this celestial strength she has. Free him from her lovely legs to harshly crash back onto the misty field beneath them.
B o o m ! Raido’s grunt of agony was overshadowed by his loud descent, accompanied with a greater risen bush of cloud. Kimiko lands shy of twenty yards where her once lofty self flirted with him. Her eyes remain closed. A gentle smile is ever present on her rosy red lips. The tied bun of her flowing black hair is not ruined. That was delightful, to say the least. Being merciful, Kimiko waits for him to regain footing and posture.
Raido slowly rises with a knuckle down on the cloudy floor. That was painful but in some way pleasant too. With a chuckle, he brushes off his mistake, also appreciating the savagery his student just committed him to taste or, better yet, feel. His cheeks could feel the warmth of her flawless skin as it constricted him into helplessness before such a harrowing hurl rendered him into a short-lived meteor.
“Impressive,” he spilled but right after clearing his throat.
The symphony of high winds do nothing to really obscure their remarks. After all, divinity permits transmitted thought. But old habits die hard, being mortals as well with lips to flap or purse.
Kimiko shrugs her shoulders, her smile intact. A brow is raised even with her eyes still closed.
“I don’t know. It felt as if you handed me that first blood, sensei.”
“Oh, no, Kimi-chan,” he immediately retorted.
“That was well-earned of you as I paid for my failure to pay attention.”
Raido stands tall again, facing towards his student whose goddess-like presence is just enthralling for him to not stare. Kimiko does not mind. His silence on the matter is amusing. They will not admit it, but there had been sparks through the ages. They are adults, after all, relics to the many others across the cosmos who have just reached past half a century of their respective lives. Strong as his celibacy may be, deep inside, he is still a man with desires. But she can be bolder with her attempt to court him some other time.
Kimiko raises her jian before her, its point eager to poke his nose from yards ahead. She swings down the katana to her side with a crisp swoop of the air to go with it. Kimiko begins to walk towards Raido again. He sweeps his longsword before him, left to right. Raise the dagger to his left side. Etch away a light smirk. The pain from that quick drop is weakening. Jog again towards the maiden and soon turn it into a sprint. Muster a deep breath, free it sharply and let their steel meet and greet in a ferocious forward flurry. Sensei-sama and Seito-chan had just begun their divine waltz above clouds. To Be Continued.
Part Two in the Works.
11/23/2021 02:11 PM
Ashen Accursed. [Halloween 2021 Entry.]
S u f f e r S o r e l y .
F e a r H i m .
Enter a grand dank hall from a brick passage and gate, Three Hunters. The floor is a lake of blood as high as their heels. Shallow plains and hills of emaciated pale corpses garnish the corners of the massive middle of this unholy place. On the other end of this gruesome sanctum, a doorless passage can be seen on the far-left corner. There lies the next destination. Mosey on further, folks with trick weapons and firearms.
Soon, Nightmare Fog emerges on the entryway from when they came and where they need to go. Stronger than fortress walls, they act as phantasmic blockades, impossible to breach with any kind of sheer force in the known world. They also signify an important task the three must commit to advance. A great prey looms.
They must slay it
and succeed in doing so to unmake the doors of mist.
“Help us,” called out a slow raspy voice of a man; he is blessed with the same lack of health and complexion as the corpses around him. He drags himself from the blood-coated ground, eager to alarm the visitors, perhaps beg for their aid.
“P-Please, help... us. An unsightly beast.
The red waters are disturbed, rippling from the thud of beastly hooves, each the size of a grown boar. Long bent arms have their hands crawling forward. Hunched forward, this slow-crawling monolith towering beyond thrice the stature of the tallest Hunter out of the three. The pale muddy skin is all wrinkled, hairy and slimy. The creature is concealed in a thick tattered grey cloak and a torn hood; they are bathed well by what the floor is filled with. The mouth with horribly-chapped lips is split open from one hidden ear to another. Teeth are filed to fangs, chipped like a wavy top of a long old crumbled wall that is cannot a ceiling from its ruined state.
From an arduous pilgrimage with all kinds of twisted sights, troublesome sounds, and terrorizing savagery—men, beasts, and cosmic kins alike, this small brave band will soon face an adversary the likes they have never had before. But, it is not
the Accursed Beast
that should have greeted them. No, this is something new
. Something that even the Old Hero of the Healing Church himself personally feared, even respected. An astral outlander from a realm beyond the known existence. It is human in form but not in spirit and limit. A legend in his own right, this different ‘he
,’ but was never given the proper prominence. Let dear Ludwig rest. This beastly bloke will entertain each guest.
Now, he stands as a huge hindrance for what progress the Hunters must proceed. He is their prey.
Or will they
The hunched giant still in the middle of the other side of the room hums the humble growl of tens of lions if their throats are made out of big brass. The Hunters raise their arms as they approach the prey. He should be no different than the plenty that they have slaughtered before. Be mindful of the cruetly he brings them and evade each of his attacks. Strike fiercely when privy an opening. Be at a safe distance to heal when wounded. Repeat. But, oh, if only
he would make it that
Quick as a storm wind, the beast in gray gallops forth two wide inhuman steps! He closes the gap too soon for them to react well enough. Before they can move their feet to dodge, his thunderous halt comes with a powerful swipe of his outstretched left hand with the same ferocity as Vicar Amelia did as a belligerent beast. It greets the right sides of their torsos something brutal. They are all knocked back now with a searing pain to endure on their ribs.
No quarter to give, the swipe came with winding up the power of the Old Blood
, coating his limb with a swirling red ink. The bones in his unholy body crackle and crunch loudly!
The Hunters regain better footing and back away in a hurry; they ready themselves in stabbing a blood vial onto each of their thighs. Too late! The backhand of the same lashing limb greets them again with equal savagery as before, aimed just above their ankles! The cloaked fiend bends forward from this devastating deed that his knees are nearly kissing the putrid pool beneath them all. This time, the arm with a clawing hand is blessed with the power of blood, intensifying the trauma that will be felt at least twice-fold, maybe more. How unfortunate for these Hunters. S w i p e !
They are knocked off their feet! Blood splashes up! But no, it is far from over. Or even more so, more terribly so, it is
over. For them.
The prey in gray swings up his blood-powered hand. The pointers that could grip well a hilt of a mighty blade coil together into an infuriated fist. He quickly wallops it down on their bodies one by one with the speed of an angered serpent committed to striking without mercy. Worse, he repeats this madness! Their eyes widen as their life is being violently taken away from them. There is nothing they can do. The repeating hammering stomps of the bloody fist are as swift as a few blinks of the eye and as merciless as if the three Hunters demolish together a pathetic lone huntsman with all of their weapons at their strongest forms.
For ten seconds, the monster in gray plays a ghastly game of whack-a-mole on the visitors. Little fruits beneath the merciless mallet of a mad god. Thuds from his relentless strikes and splashes from the disturbed pool of blood are filling the foul air of these woeful walls. And then he stops. Muddy emeralds are upon the lifeless bags of flesh in clothing before him. Not a twitch from their limbs. Their weapons are left partly dipped on the red flood. The slim corpse who hailed on the Hunters watches helplessly as help is no more. Deep croaking breaths from the cloaked monstrosity. He stands before the Hunters, or, one could consider as prey. Lifeless prey, soon turning into pale mist and then removed from these horrid halls. T H E Y D I E D . - - -
🎃 H a p p y H a l l o w e e n . 🎃
R P / 1 6 8 1 4 0 5
11/23/2021 11:50 AM
C l a s h . [Entry.]
O n w a r d t o f a c e e v i l !
[ Play for epic mood. This music track was actually
what inspired this entry in the first place. ]
Stride on, lusty limbs! Soles are stomping the ground whilst on a smooth gallop—dirt left to spring alive! Wide leaps and great haste are made. Nerves twitch with strain. Lungs burn for breath to exchange the old with the new. Now is not the time to be a statue. Instead, be a comet on its way to a mighty impact! Frayed ends of a tattered grey cloak are at the mercy of the stinging winds brought upon by this spirited promenade.
Pernicious purpose is not simply out of the unyielding need for slaughter. To ward off the wicked wave, even if it may later seem hopeless should it all goes quite ill, is a damn noble goal. So few bears the steel heart to brave this mass of malice, all armed to the teeth and ready to conquer a banquet of civilization behind the lone hasty voyager.
In hand, the grip is tight upon the trusted sharpest prophet whose gospels are enunciated, extravagant, elegant, and epic in execution. Its girth gleams a bit even at the muddy malady of the heavens. The sun does at its best to shine through the miserable murky cloud-roaming canvas. Several long lean ribbons of hissing mist gather around the now luminous lacerating length; their choir song, only the coming of a twister can perhaps produce it.
Yards become inches and—darkest tidings upon the wicked!
Upon a pronounced pause of foot-flight, the ferocious fang danced in a wide vigorous sweep, right to left. F l a s h !
It brought with it the cruel crackling of thunder and divine fury disguised as a moment of blinding radiance and the air looking quite like a slender beam of glass so soon for eyes to catch as a hummingbird flapped its swings only a few times. The twelve nearest armored atrocities are knocked back and off their feet! Tossed like boulders to then fumbling away, they were! The ranks behind them and the ones after are left to unconditionally commit to a horrible pile-on. Evil eyes widened in shock from this surprise of inconvenience that would surely bring them searing pain and great disadvantage.
Rage is but a few vices boiling within the man in grey whose latest act was quite the sight to see. The valiant fellow with a corpse-like visage, he was once decent-looking. But belay even the faintest consideration of vanity. Duty is alive and antagonistic upon who this lone swordsman is up against, so damn many of them ahead.
But alone, oh heavens, no, he is not. Seconds after the sword concluded drawing first blood, allies with their own steel, stone, and skill follow as a long row of riveting ruthlessness. Dirt and scars on their faces, young and old, either barely bathed in battle before this momentous present or perhaps too many. They were behind him, brewing many musings not limited to just concern for the good folks who this terrible tide they must hold back from. They ache to sink their wrath upon the horde. Give them a thrashing of a lifetime that if some do survive this drastic debacle, a twitch of thought from this savage skirmish will make their nerves cuddle with the bitter bite of a sudden winter.
Slash, slam, stab, even stray forth several arrows, the rest soon do! Crisp the thuds are of battering limbs, whether flesh or steel or stone. Give kindness no quarter! Snarls of the mad are met with bold roars of voices who can fathom and even wield reason. Iron and steel, even rock and bone-craft, all bring together a rich symphony in deathly duets and barbaric bands!
Swords sing and scorn! Daggers dash, dive and dig! Warhammers wail and wallop! Halberds hurl and hack! Spears sweep and skewer! Arrows advance, airborne and agile! Shields shun short-tempered showmanships! Snatch a limb away from a blundering bulk of the next available cretinous foul-folk but the latter does rebut in terrible kind! Aim for where the armor is thin or none at all. Heads may roll, some already do! Give grief to what poor footing is brought the misfortune of being caught by each lifeless tumbling. Pluck out those pearls for peering ahead and around.
The man in grey waltzes with his gospel-bringing friend against the island of sprightly evil around him and his comrades. Take heavy heed upon an ally in a moment of great bother, so close for their lovely eyes in being gouged by something ill and perhaps fatal. Swing up with some discipline! Release another glass-like wind to fly forth towards the foe who has the friend near the brink of being escorted away by the Reaper.S l a m !
Its helmet rings with a harsh thud. The assault was swiftly interrupted. Eyes swing left and right like a pair of little pendulum balls. Even cretins behind it got hurled away from leftover trauma of divine aggression. The friend is free and soon delivers a lethal stab to the neck with her sharp steel shorter than what the man in grey is carrying with him. Nod quickly a gratitude. Celebrations can wait. Duty must be satiated.
Rage on, great battle. Rage far past birth. Fill these foul fields with fury, out of wrath or mirth. Each pernicious party must prove its worth. Clash proudly like two storms, predators
and protectors of the earth!
11/23/2021 11:47 AM
Warriors Waltz. [Oct. 27, 2021 Drabble]
W a r r i o r s W a l t z .
A c c o r d o f A r m s .
Guest star: Mika
/ Megumi Sinclair
Savor the silence before the storm. The storm is a compromised clash. Readiness and excitement become of all parties involved. Soon, this calm will conclude. Eagle emeralds of one quite stoic meet the raptor rubies of another quite contented.
B r e a t h e .
B e g i n .
Onward, close the gap and waltz together, man and woman! Pounce well or pull back a limb or two. Let tempered steel sing swiftly and sternly in this dance. Sword of the East and of the West, each is paired with a dagger or a pole with a lacerating end. One tool leads with a sweep or a stab. The other follows to quickly bite and make the partner think on their feet and fast. Speak clearly and cruelly to each other upon crisp deflection, sharp edges!
Before a forest temple under the early morning sun, a man in gray and a lady in Centurion leather delight themselves in old exploits. Hardship for many who barely bathed in conflicts, mere recreation for the two of them, this sort of rumba. Footworks are steady and stylish as do their arms to exact calculated harm. Half and full swings of his sword or her halberd, they tease each other with these playful deeds. But if each connects and the other fails to deflect, o, the pain will be so thorough in its kiss and embrace.
She leaps so elegantly to evade his savage swipes. Her pirouettes to make the storm-strong swings of her halberd cover much space and make the fellow rethink his distance are quite glamorous. The way she bends her goddess form that stirs lust within many is also exquisite, from arms to legs and mild twists of her torso. But her bodily flair is not just meant to enthrall but also done to deny the agony the man she is dancing with can deliver. O, he is no slouch himself, this unsightly bloke before her, battle-bred just as much as she is. And they are holding back out of respect for this fine realm they are having this barbaric ballroom on.
Celibate as he may be, the corpse-looking man will not deny that his foe on this skirmish is alluring. But this halberd-hurling black-haired beauty houses a competent beast who, on her own, can wage a harrowing war with an army-blessed nation if she so desired. That being thought of, think fast!
He takes a wide step back upon the sight of her naginata
eager to kiss the side of his neck with more fury than earlier; her limbs worked together on this latest strike to remind him not to slack off. He sweeps upward and left his longsword along with his dagger behind it. Push away the peril of that large blade on the end of the pole! He grunts upon the callous contact! Back another two steps to maintain balance.
The woman giggles as she retracts her long arm, resting a bit of it on her shoulder. ‘Not bad, but he could have rebutted more confidently,’ mused in silence this Centurion señorita with a tilted head. Smirk, recover a deep breath, change stance. The cloaked Adonis raises a brow, nearly smirking himself. He too changes his form with his longsword ahead and his dagger hovering on his respective left. ‘Foolish am I to keep going easy on her,’ he pondered while regaining a deep breath as well.
Stride ahead swiftly, steel at the ready.
Waltz well and wild, warrior of two!
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