Newcomer's Game: THE ORB OF PYRITUS

Discussion in 'Archive' started by losthawken, Feb 3, 2012.

  1. Fan7asticMrFox

    Fan7asticMrFox Contributor Contributor

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    Zaca'reb's Stars

    “You will only find death.”

    The air seemed colder somehow, an unnatural chill along Zaca’reb’s skin. The sensation was numbing, and no longer was he gripped by the simple pain of cuts and breakages. Even his legs had stopped moving, his body suspended in a strange state of paralysis. It was a coldness he had never felt before, and one he would never feel again as a shiver settled in and a droplet of blood ran from his mouth. It trickled playfully down to his chin and clung on for a while, before diving off into the ground. Even his blood felt cold, but Zaca’reb didn’t care.

    “These stars… these stars… so very bright.” And they were. The moonlight shifted in and out of the clouds and the tiny suns, millions of miles away, bore down on them all like a thousand candles in the night. The wizard fell to his knees; head tilted upwards; pale face absorbing the light. After a long silence Zaca’reb let out a broad, childlike smile that shone brightly back towards the stars.

    The blade slowly retracted from Zaca’reb’s back and Erif Angam watched the wizard gradually slump to the floor, the eyes never faltering from the sky.
     
  2. Koopman

    Koopman New Member

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    (Corp.) Steven Walken.

    "rrRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHhh"
    The bold scream echoes throughout the forest.

    aaAAAAAAAAAAHHHRAAAHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhh
    Red lights emerge through the darkness, crooked teeth appear midair, dark tarry muscle grows a jaw, hollow bleak eyes stare upwards into oblivion as the skull of a human being is build upon reality.
    This would be what decomposition would look like if you'd reverse it and accelerate it a thousand fold. From dust to bone, flakes to flesh.

    The baseline of death found it's origin.
    AAAAHHHhaaaahhhhHHAAAAAAAHHHHHhh
    Beautiful shiny black hair nearly dissipates into the nothingness of the night, the faint red glow reflecting fragments of it's existence. A plastered brick wall which has seen white-er days combusts
    from the neck in both directions smacking into the black dirt. Another face, similar to the first burns into being. The voices resonate in unison.
    AAhhhAaaahhhhhhhhh...
    Two arms manifest upward. Parts of muscle and bone are leaking through the skin, a construct in progress. The spontaneous expulsion of a chest-like form from the neck slams downward.
    The building blocks for a buttocks drive the being upward, tiny stumps of legs expand, sliding through the dirt reversing at knee point effectively putting the entity in the shapes of Atlas, holding the
    world. Two more arms are tormented into perception, hands holding pain. Tentacles of blood and skin are oozing toward each other. Flesh and blood Lego. Broken bones are paved upon the brick
    substance, painted red. The miscreant crashes out of balance, two feet thud onto the floor.
    Slowly the body rises, arms are stretched, briefly we witness the floating version of a twisted Leonardo Da Vinci's Vesuvian Man. High velocity shivers thrusts the air into circular motion, the rough tacky skin
    torments both men as it repels hydration. A sphere of bright blue light envelopes the spectacle. A crackling sound and tiny little blue blocks, about a square centimeter and a few millimeter thick,
    start to form around the two men, thin see-through plastic tubes arise from nowhere. The construct materializes in mere minutes, followed by a huge slush as all vapor is drawn into the tubes.
    A big cloud of steam masks the formation of the new life.

    Silence.

    Four bright lights flicker through the mask, each in their own direction, once, twice, and on they remain. A controlled 45 degree motion slowly scans the nearby area, three, two, clear, nothing but
    dirt and trees, and an army of spectators on the rocks above.

    PPPSSSCCCCHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....
    The release of pressure valves unsettles the air, steam is blown back.

    Steven Walken, has arrived.
     
  3. Texan Gandhi

    Texan Gandhi New Member

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    Tulbuk, the Mountain of the North

    Tulbuk was getting very annoyed. As far as he had heard, this 'shuttle' was supposed to be a ship, some kind of thing that floats on the sea, or at least that was what he was taught in school. These humans were most obviously the stupidest creations in existence. This was not a ship, this was most certainly a giant metal rectangle. Metal didn't float, it did quite the opposite.

    Tulbuk rumbled. The humans had started up yelling and shouting and firing away on those loud lightning-thunderless guns they used. Tulbuk's hearing, while dull, still found the noise very aggrivating. If not that, the dragon which had left, presumably to its nest where its eggs (Tulbuk needed to think on how to get those) were, and came back, spitting fire. Tulbuk looked to his side and saw one of the humans, a smaller one in ratty clothing (the runt of the litter, obviously) was huddling close to him. Nurture the humans...

    Tulbuk reached down and patted the human on the head. Obviously it wanted comfort. Wait, human want comfort, crawled across Tulbuk's mind, why would human want comfort?

    Tulbuk turned around and finally saw the chaos. Humans were taking cover behind a fallen tree, firing over it at waves and waves of prettier humans, with gnarled limbs and bulky, mismatched bodies. They kept roaring about 'Ghouls'. These ghouls don't seem so bad to...

    Tulbuk's thought was interupted by a stinging at his side. One of the prettier humans, a Ghoul, was attaching its face to Tulbuk's side, firmly sealing the bond with its teeth. Tulbuk staired at the small, pretty human, and reached for it, no longer Tulbuk.

    The Mountain leered as his massive, grubby hand closed on the Ghoul's head and effortlessly lifted it. "Bite me do you, whelp?" The Mountain chuckled, looking out into the distance, "Oh, you brought me friends did you?" The Mountain raised his massive warhammer in one hand, and tossed the Ghoul into the air. Calmly, the Mountain settled the warhammer into a two-handed grip, pulled the hammer back over his shoulder, and waited for the Ghoul to come down.

    It's all in the timing, he thought, watching a wave of Ghoul's come from their flank. The Humans and Dragon could take the bulk of the Ghouls from the front, a nice trickled came from all the trees in the back. The Mountain, closest to the back, was attracting them.

    The Ghoul reached to top of its flight, and slowly fell.

    The timing, thought the manevolent troll, and swung its hammer. Any coherent shape or construction the Ghoul had had previous to the Mountain's strike took leave of existence, a losely connected mass of meat and shattered bone was what flew from the troll's hammer after its connection. The corpse-mass tumbled through the air for a split second before flying through a thin rank of Ghouls, overwhelming force not coming from the mass side of the equation, but from the speed side. The Mountain smiled, seeing all of the Ghouls from the back side trickle lock their gazes on his eyes.

    "Come to me, my pretties, come and DIE!!!" The Mountain roared as he charged forward, his hammer held above his head as his short legs carried his thousand pounds of angry troll forward to their ranks.
     
  4. Love to Write

    Love to Write I'm a lover of writing. What else is to be said? Contributor

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    Taliza

    Purple wings beat the air with more and more speed. She banked coming back around and opened her maw, letting out a torrent of flames. Half a dozen ghouls were roasted on the spot. She wasn't good at counting but she guess they had already slaughtered half of creatures that had originally attacked them. She let out a shrill whistle of delight and continued her barrage of fire.
     
  5. Texan Gandhi

    Texan Gandhi New Member

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    Tulbuk, the Mountain of the North

    The Mountain was very unhappy. When the Ghouls had been in front of him, it had been so simple. Swining his hammer in a wide arc and obliterating lines of Ghouls was simple. The Mountain had even thought,"That stupid Tulbuk could do this in his sleep, bring the challenge!

    The Mountain did not like how the battle changed. The Ghouls started going from the sides. The Mountain solved those problems with alternating the huge hammer and quick jabs that lay bodies broken in the dust. A few swings of his hammer later, and the Mountain found that they were coming around to hit him from behind. Oh damn, was the Mountains last coherrent thought before pure rage and panic came through. He didn't want to be swarmed by these creatures. He didn't react fast enough

    A small squad of Ghouls latched onto the Troll's back, and while he was armored, their teeth found their ways to the less protected areas, either his pelt or the straps of his armor. The Mountain reached a hand across his back and snatched a few legs, crushing and getting them into his hands as he pulled them free. Momentarily using them as a smaller hammer, he bashed away a charging line of Ghouls before coming around for the last on his back. He found more there. This is getting annoying, the Troll thought, as he suddenly felt his back armor go slack. Chewing through the straps, these dogs know how to fight in a pack.

    Tearing and clawing at his body, the Mountain tore the Ghouls off his back, and threw them straight forward. An unfortunate yank from his back also told him he threw something else. The back plate of his armor, and several snapped straps, flew among the corpses of the Ghouls as they plowed into a line of their own. The Mountain felt the rest of his armor sag, the straps from his back needed for securing the rest.

    The Mountain thought, a small lull in the onrushing Ghouls allowing just a second, about how his sagging armor would effect him. Slower movement, reaction time, ungainly weight and less protection. Without it...

    The troll reached and pulled off his chest plate. His throw was followed by a line of crushed bodies, like the throws for his arms, legs, helmet, and lower back. All that was left were his gauntlets, loincloth, and his bare feet. The Mountain's back bled from a few bites, nicks and scrapes along his arms and one long cut across his chest trickled blood all across his body.

    Somewhere from the back of the Mountain's mind, Tulbuk rumbled. He had better not come out, thought the Mountain frantically, oh god help me if Tulbuk is actually...angry.

    The Mountain paused for a moment, looking at the Ghouls charging en masse against the unarmored Troll, and suddenly he felt something a little foreign. He wasn't sure if it was the Ghouls or the idea of Tulbuk being mad, but The Mountain's face took a small expression of fear.
     
  6. Warp Zone

    Warp Zone New Member

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    Ekard

    Looks like I chose my guard wisely. This troll fellow was proving to be a very competent fighter. As long as Ekard avoided being smashed by its hammer, he should survive just fine. Still, it seemed they were starting to get overwhelmed; even the dragon's attack barely dented the ghoul forces, and the troll was starting to get this funny look on his face.

    Ekard glanced at the contraption and noticed it had some sort of door on it. "HEY! Whoever that thing belongs to, get to opening it already!"
     
  7. CheddarCheese

    CheddarCheese New Member

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    Corporal James Farmer (Atlas)

    "Corporal, do you have any frags?" asked the captain between the bursts of fire from his futuristic looking weapon. He didn’t wait to get the point across, and instead turned to access the shuttle.

    Atlas reloaded his rifle, and fired at a row of infected that had breached the fallen tree. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see that the troll was sending the infected flying around like ragdolls, and the dragon was mowing them down with great bursts of flame. In fact, they were probably the only reason that the group hadn’t been overrun yet.

    But it wasn’t enough.

    Now the infected were joined by multiple groups of ghouls who seemed to resemble the ones they encountered before; except they looked stronger, and faster. And like the infected, there were a lot of them. These ones took more than one or two bullets to take down. Some of them even ran right through Taliza’s fearsome fire attacks.

    “Frags it is,” said Atlas, dropping his rifle to the ground, and pulling two of his grenades off of his belt. It wouldn’t kill them all, but it would add a new level of firepower which could rival that of the troll and the dragon, and certainly set the waves of ghouls back a few notches.

    “Stay back, all of you! I’m arming explosives!” Atlas quickly warned the group which were fighting in front of him. He hoped that they had heard him. The pins were flicked off of the grenades in unison, and three long seconds passed before he finally lobbed the explosives into the dense crowd of ghouls.

    “Frag out!”

    Atlas crouched back down, using one hand to pick his M-4 back up, and the other to keep his helmet on his head when the skull rattling explosions went off. Two large holes of dead ghouls had been carved out of the horde; their bodies unrecognisable from the shrapnel which had shredded through their armor. In his world, enemy armies never gathered in giant clumps like these ghouls, and it was only now that Atlas could truly appreciate the destructive power of his M67s.

    Once the initial explosion cleared up, the surviving infected and ghouls scrambled chaotically in different directions, disoriented by the shockwave of the explosives. But victory was still not anywhere near close at hand. More ghouls, fresh to fight, had already started marching out of the forest. There seemed to be no end; it was a small strike-team against an army. They had to get out.

    Atlas bolted back to Wilde, who was still speaking into some sort of control panel.


    “Alright Kirk, we need to get everyone in while we still have the chance. I hope you know how to get that damn thing open!”
     
  8. The Magnan

    The Magnan Active Member

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    Tom Wilde

    The raw ferocity of the explosions nearly sent him sprawling but he stood there, unmoved as if entranced. It's happening again. He suddenly looked back as Atlas came here.

    “Alright Kirk, we need to get everyone in while we still have the chance. I hope you know how to get that damn thing open!”

    "The name's Wilde" said Tom. "And I'm working on it." He turned around slowly, and pulled out the index, "Lower the ramp."

    "You forgot something," beeped the female voice.

    Tom sighed, "Please." He looked up and saw the shuttle ramp lower, "Right, everyone on board! No more sightseeing today." He raised his rifle, and began firing off a few short bursts in to the ghouls.
     
  9. Texan Gandhi

    Texan Gandhi New Member

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    Tulbuk, the Mountain of the North

    The Mountain, for one of the first times in his life, wished he had not come out for this fight. Small cuts and bites made up his entire hide, scratches that barely drew blood to a few long cuts that poured, namely the two on his chest, one on his left arm, and one across his brow. His huge hammer was painted a firm red, held up in one arm as he roared again, his hoarse gurgle sounding out weakly against the screaming Ghouls. His muscles burned, all energy expended yet he pushed on, forced his arm to hold the hammer up, swing, and bring it down. Bodies crunched under the blow, but Tulbuk had to forget his great hammer. His fists, those sledge-like fists like leaden balls. Lifting them to smash into the swarm of Ghouls took all his mind. I...am...the Mountain! Nothing will...shake me!" were the thoughts that roared through his mind, pausing to bring himself together to smash a fist into another foe.

    They did not stop. The Mountain found a lull to take a few shaky breathes, the smell of his sweat, blood, and a coppery tang (The Mountain looked at the Ghouls, and found that the coppery scent could be left unknown). His breathing through his big mouth was labored, his chest working an overdriven autopilot. The very thought of stopping his lungs hurt, which only made the rest of his body, from burning muscles to tired legs to the wounds he sustained. Picking his hammer up, and brushing off a few corpses off the handle, the Mountain looked back at the giant metal box. A part of it had opened, and some humans were already going inside of it.

    If they think it will save them...The Mountain picked up his hammer and started walking backwards to the giant thing, brushing away all oncoming Ghouls with a fatal swipe if they got close, which was all of them.
     
  10. Koopman

    Koopman New Member

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    (Corp.) Steven Walken.

    Hefty metal clunks ring throughout the forest. Headlights break the misty darkness. Rain started. The four wipers on Steven's set of goggles are working in tandem overdrive.
    In the distance a fire had arisen, it was barely visible at first but moving closer it's beginning to become more apparent. The army of spectators turn out to be shadowy forms of misshapen
    humans. The bushes that Steven finds himself surrounded by, start to shiver and rustle. Creatures of human decent are grunting forward. It is only a matter of minutes before Walken finds himself
    completely surrounded. It's a strange spectacle, the creatures are quite obviously herding towards the fire, they are not in the biggest of hurries and they are strangely stumbling over each other,
    exerting whispering growls and munches at random intervals, some are even colliding with Steven, making him feel like he's a part of the flow.

    The route seems endless. The group has been steadily climbing for at least half an hour, but the mist is shrinking. Reaching what seems to be the end of a long upward slope the faceless void
    gradually becomes recognized.

    "John?, Theo?, Mil?" Steven stutters.

    The sturdy, decaying faces of friends past present themselves. A spike of confusion resonates through the twin brains. Besides the nose, next to the glass that makes the goggles are two tiny
    tubes, dripping tragically.

    I,.. I,.. I don't understand! What IS happening here!? Steven stutters at a slightly elevated pitch. They are... just... LIKE ME!
    And he was right, whichever forces that are here at play what happened must be the same thing as that what happened to him. Death skin still living,
    only it seems that these beings had died,... and where then,.... reborn.

    "Focus..." he thinks. "Focus..."

    With renewed vigor the armor accelerates forward. Thump thump thump thump. About a 100 feet out is the ledge. Thump thump thump thump. The muttering of folk and noises of battle pollute the once
    ambient sky. Thump thump thump thump, schhhhhhhhh. Steven Walken slides into a stop.

    Underneath a spectacle unfolds.

    Steven finds himself at the ledge of a forest, about half a mile out an army of living dead is battling what seems to be a small convoy of soldiers protecting a space shuttle, like those that you've only seen in
    the movies, close by we find a Troll accompanying another human and soaring the skies was one of the most magnificent of beasts, a dragon like Steven had only seen in childhood stories.

    One of Stevens many arms slowly moves to a set of switches in between the two faces and flips the front one. A mechanical clunk switches two binoculars on top of the front pair of goggles. Slowly Steven
    scans the area.

    Stevens falls to his knees.
    "Je...Je...Joane?" he mumbles.

    Right in front of him, charging the convoy of soldiers, a childlike figure, a pathetic excuse for a ghoul really, but clearly distinct golden hairs floating in the wind, puffy cheeks that where once full of life, a pair
    lean arms and legs and red shoes. Red shoes. The pair that Steven gave her for her 12th birthday. It reminded Steven of momma Walken. The first time they met she was wearing a pair of red shoes just like that.
    Stevens vision freezes at the sight. Everything blurs out, the red becoming illuminatingly vibrant pulsing through the scope of his goggles.

    “Frag out!” The big robot like machine exclaimed.

    Two grenades where lobbed towards the crowd she was charging with, landing smack in the middle. One bounce, two bounce. An echo of death as shrapnel blazes, taking limb by limb. And red shoes.
    Two red shoes smack in the middle, two tiny legs pointing skyward.

    Atlas bolted back to Wilde, who was still speaking into some sort of control panel.

    “Alright Kirk, we need to get everyone in while we still have the chance. I hope you know how to get that damn thing open!”

    If they think it will save them... The Mountain picked up his hammer and started walking backwards to the giant thing, brushing away all oncoming Ghouls with a fatal swipe if they got close,
    which was all of them.

    A terrifying low growl steams over the battlefield.
    rrrRRRAAAAARRRGGGHHHhhhh
    rrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhh
    A bass of words vibrates through the air.
    YOU BETTER START PRAYING TO YOUR GODS, BECAUSE YOU ARE GOING TO NEED THEM.
     
  11. SocksFox

    SocksFox Contributor Contributor Contest Winner 2023

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    Bella: Song of Brimstone

    Fire bloomed in glorious devastation all around her. Strangers fell, fled, bled and died in the melee. Blood memories smashed against her defenses as the heat of the fire caressed her face. Bella's magnificent mercurial eyes shown with demon fire as the songs grew dark, decadent calling her to take to the skies. Talon bayed in the distance, following in Isel's pack as commanded.

    There was nothing now to hold her back, to shield her face. Her heart was torn and raw. Thrice, tides of fire and death had swept across the deep green glades of Talonstone leaving naught, but charred ruins in the wake. Demons had spun out of the night, slaughtering her parents and laying open her own flesh, baring the silver blood of her ancestors to stars. She was no longer that innocent, helpless child. Iron stain her tongue and talons.

    Skin, painted gold by the gathering flames, dissolved, pluming out into a starlit gossamer banner of war. She surrendered to the hypnotic lure of the songs, her fury building. Indigo, violet, and cobalt flickered, a rich, heady contrast to the brilliant pits of hellfire feeding all around. Her tail lashed out as her talons struck the ground. Wings arched out, high and proud. The runes pulsing in the virginal white of the folded membranes held a promise of violence.

    Naiki keened a warning to the stars and pitched herself high into the air. Firelight reflected off her bright underside as she breached the treeline. A living spear of wrath. Ghouls were everywhere. The dark malevolence that defiled the songs, snuffing them beneath a dense void. These creatures were unnatural, a dessication of all she held dear. She trumpeted, sounding a charge, she, this army of one.

    Her wings cut deeply into the oppressive air, riding the currents as she watched munitions explode in all directions. Chaos held sway as men screamed. Jets of dragon fire split the night. Taliza. Was that the weakness of these stygian creatures? Fire...

    Revered and feared. Giver of light, warmth. Taker of life. Fire. Her second element, the one she feared to wield because of its unpredictable destruction. But nothing carried more power. Numbers and time were no longer on her side. A choice was staring her in the face. Fight or die. And Naiki, knew she had come too far, seen too much to just lay down and die.

    Her wings stroked the wind as she immersed her senses, her ravaged soul in the shimmering red tide of the fire weaves. A great smoldering ember lay deep in the confines of her chest, beating in time with her heart. Dragon fire. The source that warmed the blood of her kin in the icy heights, fueled aching muscles, fed their passion and lighted the path through the darkness. It was an intrinsic part of her very being, of her nature. There was no way she could deny it.

    The enormous molten silver eyes opened as she zeroed in on a target, drawing the threads of her fire weaves tight. The songs were rippling, furious and dark. Faster and faster her wings beat. Smoke leaked from her slender nose. The frilled skin around her head and along her dorsal ridge, snapped and danced with savage vitality, and began to glow. This was no reflected firelight, but a lush inner radiance.

    She rolled hard, dipping between the trees, aiming for the heaviest concentration of ghouls. Her wings, underside, and frills illuminated like a rabid sunset as she cast forth her first true breath of dragon fire. Two dexterous snicks of her front talons separated the flaming brand into a dozen burning points. Naiki's aim was true. She hit the eyes. Ten ghouls fell, howling as they toppled, dragon fire feasting on their flesh. Riding the high, she looped upward again to regroup.

    A thought occurred to her. She had seen the power her ice points had. Would it be possible to do the same thing with fire? There was no knowing until she actually tried.

    Running on instinct and calling on innate skill, she cast out with her Spirit weaves locking on the life signatures of the living and those of the ghouls. Some she recognized, others strangers, but all at risk. The ends justified the means. If this threat wasn't eradicated it would destroy everything. This was a plague.

    She set tenet points within the songs, a boundary over which her weave could not pass. Echo would refract it back. Her targets were tricky, the weave dangerous and powerful. A master weaver, she set her loom, working around the areas were true spirit pulses shimmered in a flurry of action. The young darkkin didn't see the trees, the flames, the beasts and faces. She saw the threads of her songs, the twining tapestry of the elements, alight with fury and life.

    Tethering more Echo tenets, she lay the foundations of her tapestry. The sickly yellow glow of the ghouls covered the entirety. The pockets of life were overwhelmed and outnumbered. If she could take out the ghouls spreading from the middle, she might help turn the tide. The Summoner was gone, fled, but she was still her, knowing she could not give up, she would find a way back home.

    Shifting her wings, Naiki began to climb. The gravity here was lighter, making ascension shockingly easy. In less time than it took her to gather three deep breaths, she had reached the required height. The symphonies swelled and accelerated as she rose. The music the thunderous, wild, and heartbreaking, keeping time with each minute shift and flow the fledgling dragon made.

    The fires spread, swallowing everything in their path. Naiki used the existing flame paths to her advantage. The embered threads gave her added ammunition of the weave and formed natural bridges through the otherwise impossibly dense forest. The ghouls seemed to be following the path of least resistance, drifting in the wake of the tracks.

    Hovering on the brink of the world, she drew in a deep breath and spewed forth a molten ribbon of flame. The song threads kept the ball of living fire tightly bound. Suddenly the young darkkin nearly lost her hold on the weave as she drifted into a stream of dense gravity. It nearly sent her tumbling back to earth.

    A heavy, awkward shift and she quickly righted herself, but it close call. Naiki's vision planes shifted from the songs to the physical, studying the weighted pocket. It was almost like a slingshot. Inspiration dawned. The location of the down force was ideal. She crooned with sudden, almost manic glee as she gathered the threads of her fire weave and began climbing once more, her quicksilver gaze fixed on the weighted pocket.

    Three powerful wing strokes brought her to the desired height. Banking hard, she came about arching into a dive. Her precious dragon fire weaved was cradled between her forefeet. Tucking her wings tight along her spine, she lengthened out like a bird of prey, closing on a target. Only this time, her target was the gravity pocket.

    Like Robin Hood's fabled arrow, she pierced the heart of the target and exploded toward the ground as if fired from a cannon. She revealed in the speed, the shear madness of the action. Mortal men would deem her mad, but she was no mere mortal, she was Darkkin.

    Riding the fall, she cast the final threads for this desperate weave, hoping she had the strength to control the fallout. The dense, breathing ball of dragon fire spread, shifting into a spearhead of livid rage. Just as she had done with her previous ice weaves, she drew the threads about her until they formed a cloak of sorts. Trees spiked up along the edges of her peripheral vision. Fifty feet...Forty...

    The heat was tangible, the smoke pungent as a coned spike of flame drew about her, passing her...Naiki threw her massive wings wide, yanking herself out of the dive, while lending impetuous to the huge dragon fire brand. She came down behind it, a hammer driving the nail home. Every last note of her symphonies, poured into the power of this weave as it coursed out in a tidal wave of flame, following the burning paths like blood through an artery. Ghouls howled as the tide washed over them, cutting them down in a fiery doom.

    A shower of smoldering wood and cinders streaked out from her target strike, piercing ghouls out of the direct path. All across the strike zone, her weaves lashed out, hard and deep. Flesh popped and burned. Munitions continued to explode in the distance like some twisted gala. The vile, infected yellow glow faded from the song planes leaving only the small, isolated pockets of the other fighters and the ghouls surrounding them.

    Dragon gave way to smoke and smoke gave way to girl. Bella dropped to ground, breathing hard, her skirts a waterfall over her knees. Only time would tell if she had done any good.
     
  12. Texan Gandhi

    Texan Gandhi New Member

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    Tulbuk, the Mountain of the North

    The Mountain's existense was little but his pounding heart, aching, bleeding body, and fire. Flames danced across the battlefield in wave of destruction, the Ghoulish hordes screaming as the menevolent energy of the flames found them, found them in droves, and cooked them in droves. For a brief instant, the Mountain believed it was his moment to finally meet his end, something he didn't entirely believe in, but in that instant, he faced his death in his own two beedy eyes as the inferno swept across the field towards him. It seems I will die as I will live in the afterlife. In hellish flames..how fitting, was the thought that crawled across his mind, and then the flames parted.

    As if they had a mind of their own, they curved around Tulbuk, in a nice, big pocket around him, as though saying, "The Troll shall live," and then curving in, making a field of fire of the Ghouls that apparently did not get to live. How nice, thought Tulbuk from the back of the Mountain's mind. The Mountain shook his head, it was not Tulbuk's time to come out.

    As if to punctuate that, the Ghouls, who were not nearly as facinated by the living fire as the Mountain was, proceeded to follow the precident set by their fellows: Jump on the troll, punch, scratch, claw, and, of course, bite. The Mountain roared, and tore off the Ghouls in his hands, crushing them and tossing them away into the living fire, the fire actually coming in a little, as if trying to eat the Ghouls. Ghouls good for eating, maybe?, thought Tulbuk from the back of the Mountain's mind. Tearing the last of the parasites off his body, the Mountain flung the creature back towards the forest, the fire having dyed out the moment before.

    The Mountain sagged and fell to his knees before his dropped war hammer, his his breathing labored, the smells of burned, cooked Ghoul filling his nose and the sounds of surprised humans. Smart enough to be surprised by the flames, I see, thought the Mountain, for a moment, just before Tulbuk took over.

    Tulbuk stood up, grabbing his hammer and laying it across his shoulders, looking around at the battle. Cooked Ghoul...

    Tulbuk grabbed a nice, long clawed forarm of a Ghoul and popped it into his moutn, the bloody claws and forearm sticking out of his mouth as he looked to the humans. Tangy, sour, but...would taste great with shrubs, he thought, as he stood, all his focus purely on the taste of Ghoul, not taking in his surroundings.

    It would taste REALLY good with shrubs!
     

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