Re: The Fatal Conflict! (GBS2G7) (Round 1: Everybody's Dead!)
08-03-2010, 07:26 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Eversist.
Bellona’s continual silence was from another bout of intense thought. Strongarm’s halting, round-about way of wording things was slightly amusing, almost cute. Teamwork, he seemed to be proposing. Bellona wasn’t going to turn him down, she wasn't daft. A barbarian would have presented a formidable obstacle on the field of battle, and Bellona would rather put off their currently inevitable confrontation. But the man was proposing taking down the very character that she feared more than this hulking warrior. She glanced over at the conflict taking place not far from them, which seemed to be reaching a sort of climax. With a sigh, she returned her gaze to Strongarm’s wounds, troubled.
“Do you really think challenging a man so ridiculously over-powered, directly, is a wise endeavor?” She made a failed attempt at keeping the condescending tone from her voice. Bellona tore her golden-brown eyes away from his massive chest, and directed them up towards his face. His already stormy facial expression had erupted into a contortion of rage once more.
“This… man has us like cocks in the ring! I will not be his entertainment!” He balled his hand into a fist, and pounded the brick wall behind Bellona’s head, punctuating certain words with the heel of his hand. She felt the vibrations traveling up the legs of her chair.
The irony was not lost on the gladiatrix. The barbarian was (perhaps) unwittingly describing her career for the past three years. She was the product of skirmish for the sport of others. And she did not enjoy this over-simplification of her passion. Bristling, she stood. The proximity of the barbarian made her uncomfortable, and his scent, heightened by his distress, threatened to engulf her. “I am well aware of the situation. But magic is a talent I assume neither of us possesses. How can we hope to overcome the sorcerer without the means of confronting him proper?”
Strongarm waved a huge hand at Bellona’s chest, more specifically at the amber chunk resting there. “Thought you had something useful there,” he grunted.
Bellona bronze skin colored. “I have yet to figure out a use for this… thing,” she replied vehemently, trying to cover her embarrassment at her incompetent knowledge of her own belongings. The barbarian saw this as his opportune turn to grin, not kindly, at the gladiatrix’ obvious discomfort. Looking elsewhere for the magical power they desired, he though of the demoness, who had earlier conjured a formidable ball of flames. His smirk quickly dissipated into a scowl, as he considered the lush as a potential ally at a distance.
Bellona turned, and following his gaze, winced slightly as Luron bashed the demoness in the chin. Gesturing at the swordsman with a jut of his chin, Strongarm glanced at Bellona. “Promising.” And seemingly without magic, if had to resort to fists, Bellona mused, leaning her javelin on her left shoulder. Regardless, she nodded in agreement, and watched as he walked away from the floored demoness. She started after him, the barbarian staying in stride wordlessly.
As she strode forward purposefully, her face finally cooling of embarrassment, she felt her chest warming in an opposite manner. She stopped, and Strongarm looked back at her questioningly, stopping yards ahead. Her hand reached for her throat, closing around the amber piece, which was almost hot to the touch. Strongarm’s eyes brightened as he returned to her side, appraising the amulet with a keen stare. “Look,” he instructed, and Bellona bowed her head, the pulsating shine of the trinket hardly visible in the light of midday. A faint line had formed on the ground in front of her, and she knelt, passing a palm over it. It appeared as if the blackened path had a light source behind it, and the light was straining through cracks in its surface, running perpendicular to the road. Was her amulet causing that?
“Strongarm, have you noticed something… off about our surroundings?” She quickly divulged what little information she had gleaned from her lap around the block.
Strongarm kicked at the meandering line, displacing chunks of loose asphalt. This revealed more rays of light, shining upwards. “A seam,” the barbarian growled, nodding conclusively. “His way of keeping us here.” But he clearly had other things on his mind, and looked again in Luron’s direction. He began walking again towards the starting point with long strides, already subconsciously skirting or stepping over the discarded bodies that littered the street. Bellona had to trot to keep up, spear held aloft, vastly annoyed at his disinterest in the illusion they had partially cracked. She cast a glance back at the seam, which had now faded to nothing.
Spoiler
Bellona’s continual silence was from another bout of intense thought. Strongarm’s halting, round-about way of wording things was slightly amusing, almost cute. Teamwork, he seemed to be proposing. Bellona wasn’t going to turn him down, she wasn't daft. A barbarian would have presented a formidable obstacle on the field of battle, and Bellona would rather put off their currently inevitable confrontation. But the man was proposing taking down the very character that she feared more than this hulking warrior. She glanced over at the conflict taking place not far from them, which seemed to be reaching a sort of climax. With a sigh, she returned her gaze to Strongarm’s wounds, troubled.
“Do you really think challenging a man so ridiculously over-powered, directly, is a wise endeavor?” She made a failed attempt at keeping the condescending tone from her voice. Bellona tore her golden-brown eyes away from his massive chest, and directed them up towards his face. His already stormy facial expression had erupted into a contortion of rage once more.
“This… man has us like cocks in the ring! I will not be his entertainment!” He balled his hand into a fist, and pounded the brick wall behind Bellona’s head, punctuating certain words with the heel of his hand. She felt the vibrations traveling up the legs of her chair.
The irony was not lost on the gladiatrix. The barbarian was (perhaps) unwittingly describing her career for the past three years. She was the product of skirmish for the sport of others. And she did not enjoy this over-simplification of her passion. Bristling, she stood. The proximity of the barbarian made her uncomfortable, and his scent, heightened by his distress, threatened to engulf her. “I am well aware of the situation. But magic is a talent I assume neither of us possesses. How can we hope to overcome the sorcerer without the means of confronting him proper?”
Strongarm waved a huge hand at Bellona’s chest, more specifically at the amber chunk resting there. “Thought you had something useful there,” he grunted.
Bellona bronze skin colored. “I have yet to figure out a use for this… thing,” she replied vehemently, trying to cover her embarrassment at her incompetent knowledge of her own belongings. The barbarian saw this as his opportune turn to grin, not kindly, at the gladiatrix’ obvious discomfort. Looking elsewhere for the magical power they desired, he though of the demoness, who had earlier conjured a formidable ball of flames. His smirk quickly dissipated into a scowl, as he considered the lush as a potential ally at a distance.
Bellona turned, and following his gaze, winced slightly as Luron bashed the demoness in the chin. Gesturing at the swordsman with a jut of his chin, Strongarm glanced at Bellona. “Promising.” And seemingly without magic, if had to resort to fists, Bellona mused, leaning her javelin on her left shoulder. Regardless, she nodded in agreement, and watched as he walked away from the floored demoness. She started after him, the barbarian staying in stride wordlessly.
As she strode forward purposefully, her face finally cooling of embarrassment, she felt her chest warming in an opposite manner. She stopped, and Strongarm looked back at her questioningly, stopping yards ahead. Her hand reached for her throat, closing around the amber piece, which was almost hot to the touch. Strongarm’s eyes brightened as he returned to her side, appraising the amulet with a keen stare. “Look,” he instructed, and Bellona bowed her head, the pulsating shine of the trinket hardly visible in the light of midday. A faint line had formed on the ground in front of her, and she knelt, passing a palm over it. It appeared as if the blackened path had a light source behind it, and the light was straining through cracks in its surface, running perpendicular to the road. Was her amulet causing that?
“Strongarm, have you noticed something… off about our surroundings?” She quickly divulged what little information she had gleaned from her lap around the block.
Strongarm kicked at the meandering line, displacing chunks of loose asphalt. This revealed more rays of light, shining upwards. “A seam,” the barbarian growled, nodding conclusively. “His way of keeping us here.” But he clearly had other things on his mind, and looked again in Luron’s direction. He began walking again towards the starting point with long strides, already subconsciously skirting or stepping over the discarded bodies that littered the street. Bellona had to trot to keep up, spear held aloft, vastly annoyed at his disinterest in the illusion they had partially cracked. She cast a glance back at the seam, which had now faded to nothing.