RE: Black Zenith [Adventure RPG / Chapter Four: Fires of Heaven]
01-01-2015, 05:28 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-03-2015, 12:13 AM by ICan'tGiveCredit.)
Watson is not at all offended by your diatribes, you meanie-face king-man
Watson brings his sword to bear across this man's strange, esoterically-inked chest, the red jewel buried in his pocket flashing, its . He cannot stand the mystical snake's slithering through the air, its flames licking all around him, slowly cooking him. Though he admits that it's better than being electrically fried to death by that jetpack-dressed gentleman from before.
And then, without even employing an ounce of his Wits (what do you expect from a drunk man?), Watson guesses the man's conflagrations, and even his accouterments to be of magical origin. Because really, a kilt? A KILT?!? He must have taken even his fashion sense from a fiery hell somewhere, Watson just isn't sure where! Watson, not being able to stand the presence of this man's poor taste in clothing (and lack thereof, with concern to the other man's torso) and his ridiculous, painfully flamboyant snake, raises his left hand, palm up, and looks to the sky.
A large shadow is cast on both of them. The other, more hot-blooded man seems to pay it no mind, and Watson looks serene, his eyes closed as he continues to keep his arm raised high.
Suddenly, a distinct rectangular shape can be made out in the sky. Is that a box? It looks grey. What has Watson gotten them into? Oh god a huge metal thing is going to slam onto both of them and flatten them like pancakes.
And with the advent of a large crashing sound, that is what many would think. Until they look up and see that Watson and Sa'ron are inside a cage. A purple field seems to surround it, the outside of the enclosure being a place where the magic is concentrated, trying to fill a space it's locked out from. Hopefully this will manage this marauder's flaring-intense assaults.
Watson brings his sword to bear across this man's strange, esoterically-inked chest, the red jewel buried in his pocket flashing, its . He cannot stand the mystical snake's slithering through the air, its flames licking all around him, slowly cooking him. Though he admits that it's better than being electrically fried to death by that jetpack-dressed gentleman from before.
And then, without even employing an ounce of his Wits (what do you expect from a drunk man?), Watson guesses the man's conflagrations, and even his accouterments to be of magical origin. Because really, a kilt? A KILT?!? He must have taken even his fashion sense from a fiery hell somewhere, Watson just isn't sure where! Watson, not being able to stand the presence of this man's poor taste in clothing (and lack thereof, with concern to the other man's torso) and his ridiculous, painfully flamboyant snake, raises his left hand, palm up, and looks to the sky.
A large shadow is cast on both of them. The other, more hot-blooded man seems to pay it no mind, and Watson looks serene, his eyes closed as he continues to keep his arm raised high.
Suddenly, a distinct rectangular shape can be made out in the sky. Is that a box? It looks grey. What has Watson gotten them into? Oh god a huge metal thing is going to slam onto both of them and flatten them like pancakes.
And with the advent of a large crashing sound, that is what many would think. Until they look up and see that Watson and Sa'ron are inside a cage. A purple field seems to surround it, the outside of the enclosure being a place where the magic is concentrated, trying to fill a space it's locked out from. Hopefully this will manage this marauder's flaring-intense assaults.