RE: Grand Battle (S?) (Round 1: Matmor Atoll)
07-15-2013, 03:29 AM
The first flyer exploded in a violet flash, leaving a mess of thick blue tissues and fibroid viscera pattering down into the water.
Volter St. Kepral executed a neat pirouette, landed on a low shoal, and kicked off into the air toward another with a blasting report of steam. Its skin was rubbery and thick. Pierce, do not slash. Recover. Evade. Adjust. Correct. Brace. Couch. Lock. Thrust. Kill.
With a quaggy squelch, Kepral pulled the gore-flecked hook of his halberd from the creature's bulbous, popping chest. “Marvilla! Gandeera!” he crowed, and kicked off from it, blasting it violently into the waters beneath and corkscrewing himself back into the sky.
“Witness our might!” He reached inside of his mind, to the coiled, martial serpent part of his brain that spat fire, and pulled its shackles away.
Another mercreature burst into brilliant flame. Its rider fell screaming into the chopping surf. Two more joined the conflagration before Volter touched down and kicked off once again. He laughed; a nerve-charged, shrill exclamation born of adrenaline and of force finally, triumphantly directed.
The sapphire tumor growing in Matmor Atoll's heart thrummed in vibratory empathy with the give and take of the tide, sending oscillating lengths of Blue into the deep.
The fissures were widening. The water surrounding the keen-edged prism was bending and shimmering, curling in and condensing and leaving physically impossible pockets of vacuum in its wake. The tiny particulates in the water were condensing with it. The weeping gravel of the Matmor foundations joined them, moving first in swirling eddies and then gradually in a sort of geometrically rigid lockstep, growing straighter and harder and Bluer.
The beacon was building something, and the something was moving.
The hurricane's eye had a name and its name was KRUGRUG and KRUGRUG was SMASHING AGAIN.
The leviathan writhed and bellowed as the berzerker's massive club carved out a swathe of destruction along the surface of its plated hide.
“YES!”
Krugrug smashed the brains of a merman guard out of its ear and stepped into the momentum of his swing with a feral grace that brought him up and over into a leap onto some unfortunate soul's chest and before he had the time to savor the crunch and give of the ribcage the club was pulling him beautifully forward again to crest the creature's glossy eye and blind the beast and hear its howl and ride its pained undulations down, down the bucking spine and into a crowd of them, the squishy crackable breathing things that flinched and fell and SMASHED.
“SMAA ghgkkkk ahem. Hoof.” Kyle tapped his throat a couple of times and coughed. “Bad take. Let me give another. Ahem. He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts. Okay: Three, two... SMMMMAAAAASHH”
Volter landed on the pale strand with practiced elegance and trotted to a halt, his heels kicking up sparks against the earth. There was the blue woman, tall and unfathomable, off the spear and on the shore. “You!” he called. He planted his halberd at the haft and pointed at his quarry. “Turn, creature.”
She did, more with curiosity than conviction, jangling harmonically.
“You know why we're here,” said Volter, “and you know the burden necessity has placed on our shoulders. I understand I'm to kill you, or you're to kill me. But if one's to die, one's to die with their wounds on the front, aye?”
"Reward!"
“What?”
"Reward."
“No reward yet, Tall and Blue.” Volter kicked his halberd up and into readiness. “The quickening first. The duel. I challenge you! Va Molta Gandeera!”
As the Great Leviathan arced and faltered in the air, the Three-fringed Destined Shell Rider rose into it atop the fastest, fleetest Water Spitter in the ranks. He was flanked by his handpicked stalwarts. He was orbited by thrillant spears of hardened coral. His eye was fixed on them. These knobbly, stilted creatures scuttling on the atoll. The brass-coated eyesore with the face like a squid's rear end and the gangly blue bugwoman with the staff. They were making a mockery of his dream and a ruin of his home. The one was making popping, burbling speech at the other and waving its stick around, but as the Shell Rider coursed his way across the chop toward it, it paused, gurgled, turned and backed away from shore, steeling itself for his coming. His fingers tightened around his bident. He would kill these quickly, and then to the lumpy barbarian, and he would make these intruders pay the price for their vandalism.
Volter St. Kepral executed a neat pirouette, landed on a low shoal, and kicked off into the air toward another with a blasting report of steam. Its skin was rubbery and thick. Pierce, do not slash. Recover. Evade. Adjust. Correct. Brace. Couch. Lock. Thrust. Kill.
With a quaggy squelch, Kepral pulled the gore-flecked hook of his halberd from the creature's bulbous, popping chest. “Marvilla! Gandeera!” he crowed, and kicked off from it, blasting it violently into the waters beneath and corkscrewing himself back into the sky.
“Witness our might!” He reached inside of his mind, to the coiled, martial serpent part of his brain that spat fire, and pulled its shackles away.
Another mercreature burst into brilliant flame. Its rider fell screaming into the chopping surf. Two more joined the conflagration before Volter touched down and kicked off once again. He laughed; a nerve-charged, shrill exclamation born of adrenaline and of force finally, triumphantly directed.
The sapphire tumor growing in Matmor Atoll's heart thrummed in vibratory empathy with the give and take of the tide, sending oscillating lengths of Blue into the deep.
The fissures were widening. The water surrounding the keen-edged prism was bending and shimmering, curling in and condensing and leaving physically impossible pockets of vacuum in its wake. The tiny particulates in the water were condensing with it. The weeping gravel of the Matmor foundations joined them, moving first in swirling eddies and then gradually in a sort of geometrically rigid lockstep, growing straighter and harder and Bluer.
The beacon was building something, and the something was moving.
The hurricane's eye had a name and its name was KRUGRUG and KRUGRUG was SMASHING AGAIN.
The leviathan writhed and bellowed as the berzerker's massive club carved out a swathe of destruction along the surface of its plated hide.
“YES!”
Krugrug smashed the brains of a merman guard out of its ear and stepped into the momentum of his swing with a feral grace that brought him up and over into a leap onto some unfortunate soul's chest and before he had the time to savor the crunch and give of the ribcage the club was pulling him beautifully forward again to crest the creature's glossy eye and blind the beast and hear its howl and ride its pained undulations down, down the bucking spine and into a crowd of them, the squishy crackable breathing things that flinched and fell and SMASHED.
“SMAA ghgkkkk ahem. Hoof.” Kyle tapped his throat a couple of times and coughed. “Bad take. Let me give another. Ahem. He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts. Okay: Three, two... SMMMMAAAAASHH”
Volter landed on the pale strand with practiced elegance and trotted to a halt, his heels kicking up sparks against the earth. There was the blue woman, tall and unfathomable, off the spear and on the shore. “You!” he called. He planted his halberd at the haft and pointed at his quarry. “Turn, creature.”
She did, more with curiosity than conviction, jangling harmonically.
“You know why we're here,” said Volter, “and you know the burden necessity has placed on our shoulders. I understand I'm to kill you, or you're to kill me. But if one's to die, one's to die with their wounds on the front, aye?”
"Reward!"
“What?”
"Reward."
“No reward yet, Tall and Blue.” Volter kicked his halberd up and into readiness. “The quickening first. The duel. I challenge you! Va Molta Gandeera!”
As the Great Leviathan arced and faltered in the air, the Three-fringed Destined Shell Rider rose into it atop the fastest, fleetest Water Spitter in the ranks. He was flanked by his handpicked stalwarts. He was orbited by thrillant spears of hardened coral. His eye was fixed on them. These knobbly, stilted creatures scuttling on the atoll. The brass-coated eyesore with the face like a squid's rear end and the gangly blue bugwoman with the staff. They were making a mockery of his dream and a ruin of his home. The one was making popping, burbling speech at the other and waving its stick around, but as the Shell Rider coursed his way across the chop toward it, it paused, gurgled, turned and backed away from shore, steeling itself for his coming. His fingers tightened around his bident. He would kill these quickly, and then to the lumpy barbarian, and he would make these intruders pay the price for their vandalism.
let's post righteously & having good times /// check out The Book of the Courtier /// ensure proper vegetable consumption /// also check out The Blade and the Cycle /// post it up!!