Re: The Fearsome Encounter (GBS3G8) [Please hold...]
07-30-2012, 08:05 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Akumu.
The creatures whose drinks Redclaw had interrupted had come after him alone, but in the close quarters of the bar, thrown furniture and drunkenly misaimed punches had quickly led to an all-out brawl. Most of those fighting saw this as a form of entertainment and were looking only to keep their pride intact and have some stories to tell over the next round of drinks. There might be some broken noses, but that was the price of admission.
Unfortunately for them, Redclaw didn’t see things that way.
His fur was splattered now in a rainbow of ichors and vital fluids, and the bar around him was scattered with limbs, entrails, and the various alien bodies they had come from. Booze-addled challengers still came at him, thinking that they might take him down where the others had failed, securing bragging rights for the foreseeable future. Even those were beginning to thin out, leaving Redclaw in the eye of the storm as more civilized brawling raged around him. That was, until Augustus woke up.
“Are you worthy of His divine mercy, beast?”
Redclaw turned his attention from the bipedal armadillo he was holding in the air by its throat and saw a ridiculously clad man advancing on him, sword drawn. This was another one of the “competitors,” Augustus, he recalled.
“Mercy is a gift the strong bestow upon the weak; I have no need of it.”
“All are weak before Azungrada! Kneel or be Judged unworthy!”
Even as he was delivering this ultimatum, Augustus was moving forward, bringing his sword up into fighting position. Redclaw threw the weakly struggling alien shell-first at the Divine Arbiter, who danced deftly aside. As it flew by, Redclaw was already thundering forward to press his assault. Augustus’s robes of black and gold swirled voluminously, disguising the motions of his body underneath. Redclaw’s first strike caught only cloth, rending parallel gashes through the robes of office. Augustus was yanked off-balance by the tug of the werewolf’s claws, and his sword strike went wide, slicing cleanly through an overturned table.
Ion, working his way cautiously towards the rear exit of the bar, caught the silvery flash of the sword out of the corner of his eye. He turned to watch the ongoing struggle, nostrils flaring. Zanite! The human Errat had dosed was barely keeping ahead of the large furry one’s strikes. He was clearly a talented and agile swordsman, quick and light on his feet, but his lupine opponent was unbelievably fast given its size. Ion inched closer to the struggle, his eyes tracking the glimmering zanite blade. The fight could be ended with a single good strike of that sword, but it was all the human could do to stay ahead of the crushing blows aimed at him. Finally, he was a split-second too slow and caught a back-handed swipe to the chest. He tumbled backwards through the wooden debris and spilled ale, catching up against the bar with an impact that rattled the glasses still upon it. Ion sprang into action, chasing down the sword that was skittering across the floor. It came to rest in a pool of beer which Ion’s hand splashed into as he grasped the handle. A wave of color swept up his arm and across his body, changing his skin from a lime green to a lemon yellow. As he straightened up with the sword, his newly yellow face went ashen as the blood drained out of it. His greed had gotten the better of him, and he had just inserted himself between two insanely deadly fighters.
“Oh, shit.”
Augustus pushed himself into a sitting position against the bar, and raised an accusatory finger at the yellow alien that was making a beeline for the door with his sword.
“Lord Azungrada, smite the infidel!”
The creatures whose drinks Redclaw had interrupted had come after him alone, but in the close quarters of the bar, thrown furniture and drunkenly misaimed punches had quickly led to an all-out brawl. Most of those fighting saw this as a form of entertainment and were looking only to keep their pride intact and have some stories to tell over the next round of drinks. There might be some broken noses, but that was the price of admission.
Unfortunately for them, Redclaw didn’t see things that way.
His fur was splattered now in a rainbow of ichors and vital fluids, and the bar around him was scattered with limbs, entrails, and the various alien bodies they had come from. Booze-addled challengers still came at him, thinking that they might take him down where the others had failed, securing bragging rights for the foreseeable future. Even those were beginning to thin out, leaving Redclaw in the eye of the storm as more civilized brawling raged around him. That was, until Augustus woke up.
“Are you worthy of His divine mercy, beast?”
Redclaw turned his attention from the bipedal armadillo he was holding in the air by its throat and saw a ridiculously clad man advancing on him, sword drawn. This was another one of the “competitors,” Augustus, he recalled.
“Mercy is a gift the strong bestow upon the weak; I have no need of it.”
“All are weak before Azungrada! Kneel or be Judged unworthy!”
Even as he was delivering this ultimatum, Augustus was moving forward, bringing his sword up into fighting position. Redclaw threw the weakly struggling alien shell-first at the Divine Arbiter, who danced deftly aside. As it flew by, Redclaw was already thundering forward to press his assault. Augustus’s robes of black and gold swirled voluminously, disguising the motions of his body underneath. Redclaw’s first strike caught only cloth, rending parallel gashes through the robes of office. Augustus was yanked off-balance by the tug of the werewolf’s claws, and his sword strike went wide, slicing cleanly through an overturned table.
Ion, working his way cautiously towards the rear exit of the bar, caught the silvery flash of the sword out of the corner of his eye. He turned to watch the ongoing struggle, nostrils flaring. Zanite! The human Errat had dosed was barely keeping ahead of the large furry one’s strikes. He was clearly a talented and agile swordsman, quick and light on his feet, but his lupine opponent was unbelievably fast given its size. Ion inched closer to the struggle, his eyes tracking the glimmering zanite blade. The fight could be ended with a single good strike of that sword, but it was all the human could do to stay ahead of the crushing blows aimed at him. Finally, he was a split-second too slow and caught a back-handed swipe to the chest. He tumbled backwards through the wooden debris and spilled ale, catching up against the bar with an impact that rattled the glasses still upon it. Ion sprang into action, chasing down the sword that was skittering across the floor. It came to rest in a pool of beer which Ion’s hand splashed into as he grasped the handle. A wave of color swept up his arm and across his body, changing his skin from a lime green to a lemon yellow. As he straightened up with the sword, his newly yellow face went ashen as the blood drained out of it. His greed had gotten the better of him, and he had just inserted himself between two insanely deadly fighters.
“Oh, shit.”
Augustus pushed himself into a sitting position against the bar, and raised an accusatory finger at the yellow alien that was making a beeline for the door with his sword.
“Lord Azungrada, smite the infidel!”