Adi
Crew of the Wayward Son
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Post by Adi on Jul 9, 2013 16:09:48 GMT -8
The opponents find themselves on opposite sides of the Eternal Pyre, a monument that has seen the consumption of hundreds of Dark Lords and thousands of lesser Sith in a a fiery blaze upon its altar. Shaped as a ziggarat with stairs on all four faces leading up to the flat platform at the top, with sharp stone spears raising at the corners and an altar in the center. Fight well, for the loser's corpse is next to be fed to the flames.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 12, 2013 17:18:36 GMT -8
Kneeling at the edge of the pyre, Darian was as close to Chaos itself as he would ever be. Both hands on the roof of the sand blasted, dark colored altar, he listened to the ethereal, disjointed wails of spirits from a world he would never see. And he knew in his heart, this was certainly how Arasuum collected his warriors to face the Champions of Kad. "I will tear this blasphemous relic to pieces," he hissed through gritting teeth, "as tribute. Now, give me sight, Lord. Show me what purpose you have for me in this place."
He rose silently, the rattle of chains speaking above the wind, above the crackle of flames, and Darian's eyes were ablaze with their own hell. He felt nothing but wrong from this place- not the battle zeal Kad gave his chosen, but the creeping feeling of death. No. It would not take him.
Sand filtered down through his fingers as he walked forward, around the flame, looking into it, defying it to take him. "You cannot have me, Arasuum- you will take nothing from Kad. Come, send your greatest. I will make them all bleed."
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The Holy Man
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Post by The Holy Man on Jul 13, 2013 14:31:42 GMT -8
Gah. I fucking hate sand. Always gets stuck in every little crevice that you never want it to.
I swear, I don't know what makes me take walks in such strange places. Just last week I was minding my own business in a pleasant walk through the plains of Naboo, and out of nowhere, I get attacked. Some fanatical mandalorian who was ranting and raving about 'Kal' or 'Thad' or something came right at me! Can you believe that?
Oh well. Maybe this was for the best. What person in their right mind would would attack an innocent bystander here, on Korriban of all places? A Sith, maybe, but I've dealt with many of them before. I just hope I can take my evening walk in peace.
It has been many, many years since I've been here to Korriban, and it is much darker than I remember. I draw the Force around me, comforting me and insulating me from the burning darkness in this place. With my trusty walking stick in hand, I shuffle my way through the sand.
After some wandering, it appears that I had a destination. I can tell that this is a sacred place, I have seen it before. The fire burns bright on the pyre, giving an orange glow to the evening sky. I lift my left hand to my forehead, shielding my eyes from the blaze. In the brightness, I see a dark shape at the altar. A tall shape... A figure of some sort...
A mandalorian.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 13, 2013 16:11:31 GMT -8
Footsteps came clambering up the ziggurat, and apparently the wanderer saw someone tall. Upon further investigation, the writer must assume he meant Darian, who was actually unimpressive in height- about 5'7", give or take an inch. Darian, however, took stock of the man as soon as his footfalls came within earshot, taking his ratty clothes and stick to mean he was either some sort of damned fool hermit or a forcie. Neither of which truly mattered at this point.
A prayer in a place of power was not said idly; when he dared Arasuum to summon forth his minions, this man alone was revealed to Darian. And- innocent or not- that alone was enough cause to condemn him to death. His shoulders eased back and his neck cracked as he stared steadily at the man opposite him through the hellfire, and Darian's muscles all tensed for what would come next.
Muted, he armed the more subtle weapons without a hint that he meant to use them- he didn't yet, in truth. Victory, it is said, lies in preperation. The low hiss of energy priming was muted beneath the sound of his chains rattling- light armor, for beskar'gam, folded into links that weighed considerably little, rather than the more durable yet cumbersome plate that most Mando'ade employed. And not terribly much of it, either- covered his shoulders and upper arms, and hung down his back and his chest. Protected the major vitals while allowing freedom of motion. Beneath that, his robes were shell spider silk and armorweave. For a Mando, he traveled light.
His right arm moved quick- exceptionally so, for someone without the aid of the force, his natural speed enhanced by some outside source that lacked any hint of the supernatural. His blood was thick and mired with stimulants, and his mind was honed through their touch, through years of training and bloodshed. He whipped the Ripper from his waist, and without hesitation or waiting for a dead aim, he fired for the general direction of the man's center mass, the weapon's recoil absorbed by the quick motion into his momentum, largely abating it.
While he fired, his feet shifted angle and his knees bent slightly, preparing for his next move.
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The Holy Man
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Post by The Holy Man on Jul 14, 2013 15:10:30 GMT -8
Now that my eyes were adjusting to the fire, it was easier to see. The mandalorian I saw before me wasn't as tall as I had thought. Nonetheless, it was the second one that I had come across in a matter of days. I really hope this one isn't like the last.
As I stand at the bottom of the ziggurat after walking towards the pyre, the mandalorian stands at the top, right beside the altar. I would go talk to him, but he looks busy. That, and I'm old, and there are alot of fucking stairs between the two of us.
The man moves quickly, and I wasn't expecting it. His right hand raises, and as soon as I hear the gunshot, I startle, jumping slightly. I freeze for a moment, and I realize that this mandalorian is exactly like the last one. This would be my luck.
After a moment, I look down at my body and see where the bullet went. I lift my left arm out, and see the clean hole that is now in the loose cloth of my robe. It must have been the quick movement of his arm that made him miss. But I'm sure that he won't make the same mistake twice.
I raise my walking stick in the air and wave it about, being the crochety old man that I am. My hands are tingling, probably from the adrenaline of being shot at, but I'm not entirely sure.
Hey! I'm going to need to patch these now! This is my only set of robes!
Just great. Last week, someone tries to kill me, and this week, someone ruins my only set of robes. Now I'm going to have to fix that bullet hole in these. And now that I think of it, I should probably wash them. They smell like Ice Matango's underwear drawer.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 14, 2013 16:32:03 GMT -8
Adjusting immediately, the old man seeming to only be startled but not harmed, Darian fired this time at the man's chest, licking his chops as he waited for the man to make his own move. There was only one way to be certain whether luck or magic had saved the wanderer, and that was to keep slamming against whatever defenses he could muster.
Hopefully, he wouldn't have to push too much harder- the seconds that followed would tell a tale about the old man to Darian. Would he die? Would he persist? But it wasn't so much the shot hitting home that the Priest was waiting for. It was... something else entirely. His thumb slid along the grip of the Ripper as he fired, his body angled so that only his right side faced the old man as he stood and delivered.
The man's words seemed to die beneath the crackle of the flames and the thunder of the shot. And Darian had no answer for him if he had heard.
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The Holy Man
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Post by The Holy Man on Jul 15, 2013 9:25:17 GMT -8
Well, now I know for sure that this guy isn't playing around. He wouldn't even let me finish my sentence. In the middle of my talking, I felt the ever-so-familiar precognitive tingling on the back of my neck that had forever ingrained in my head the notion that it was time to move. And fast.
In mid-sentence, I bolted to the left as fast as my old legs could carry me, and it was just in time, too. A second shot rang out and the projectile flew to the space I had just occupied not a full moment before.
As I continued to run to my left as fast as I could, the tingling sensation in my hands grew. I reached out through the Force, and channeled the energy at the man's gun barrel, seeing the end of it closing together in my mind, and relying on the force to hopefully make it so.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 15, 2013 9:49:24 GMT -8
There. Thats what he had been waiting for. Even a Mandalorian would have lacked the reaction time to know another shot was coming. The cues may have been there, but they were highly distorted by distance and the glare of the ever-burning pyre. No- it would have to have been the shabla magic that only a forcie could tap, warning the man. With a sigh, as the man burst into motion and the bullet screamed in his wake, Darian lowered the weapon back into it's resting place. No use letting the forcie have his way with it- because that always came next. The man would look for a foothold and try to grab at it with his mental tentacles and somehow disfigure it into uselessness.
And that was unacceptable. A Mando had to learn to appreciate his arsenal, after all. It was a part of who he was, amassed over the entirety of his life, culminated up to this very point. The man surged forward, probably looking to cover the distance between them, and that suited the Priest just fine. His left hand slowly reached down and gripped Gorehound purposely, his right leg stepping back and gave way to the left side of his body.
Now, the man would be coming at him fast- that was certain. Darian's jade eyes watched him, unwavering, and he let out a slow, measured breath through his nostrils. The war- the ever raging, never ending war had burst into prominence, and Darian had arrived to consecrate it's new front in blood.
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The Holy Man
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Post by The Holy Man on Jul 15, 2013 19:13:24 GMT -8
Well, that was one more bullet dodged due to my ruggedly debonair quick thinking.
"Ruggedly debonair"? Yep. Old age must be making me lose my mind.
I continued moving to the left, watching as the mandalorian tucked his pistol away unharmed. It was confusing... I had eye contact, yet the barrel of the gun did not bend as I had seen it. Maybe I was just imagining my Force sensitivity. Or maybe I was just tired and delusional from all of this damn walking.
Either way, I stopped moving, and just looked at the man as he pulled a tomahawk in anticipation of an attack.
But I was still at the bottom of the ziggurat, and I had moved no closer to him. Curious, I think to myself, but then I just shrug and yell out to him.
Why are you trying to shoot me? Have I wronged you somehow?
As I wait for his answer, I feel the darkness of this place. It sends a shiver up my spine, how unnerving this energy is. I ignore the sensation, and wait to see what the mandalorian had to say for himself.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 15, 2013 22:26:34 GMT -8
Walking now, down the steps as the man slowed his pace at the bottom, Gorehound hanging loosely in his left hand, Darian watched the man with an icy, silent glare. He asked now, why he was attacking, and the Priest said nothing. He was a quarter of the way down by the time the man finished, and Darian raised his right hand, firing off a rapid burst from his wrist laser. Not elegant, and probably- more than likely- it wouldn't hit the fellow, but who knows? The man liked to run, so Darian would let him keep running. A man that old, even with his supernatural prowess, wasn't going to keep running forever.
Darian had just kept walking. Almost halfway, now. He just wanted the bastard to fight. His eyes were filled with contempt as he continued to move to confront the man- slowly, purposed, keeping his pace almost leisurely. Kad, that was droll. Boring. Agonizing, in fact, but if this man wouldn't fight, then what was the point of wasting effort to kill him?
Force user or not, few were quite the waste of time this one had decided to be. Maybe he'd catch the message this time? Darian wasn't interested in idle chit chat. The chains about his frame rattled in the wind, and with each step. The hidden wrist laser gave a low thrum as it reenergized for another shot was almost inaudible at a distance, but the man would certainly be aware of it now. Fortunately, compact as it was and with a composition of high grade beskar, it was a much more durable target than the Ripper.
All-in-all, Darian wasn't too worried.
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The Holy Man
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Post by The Holy Man on Jul 16, 2013 9:43:45 GMT -8
I just stand and wait as the man descends the stairs. I already said it before, I'm not going climbing all those damn steps. Too old for that, and whatnot.
I see him raise his right hand, and before he even acts, I know that it could only be a number of things he is trying to do. I draw the Force in towards myself, making a mental note that the darkness around me is trying to work its way in. That is another battle I will have to fight, but not the most pressing one right now.
As the energy bolts flew at me, I was prepared. My hand moved quickly, intercepting each bolt in turn, Absorbing the energy. I could feel the tickling sensation of the energy building around me, but with a deep breath, I drew it in, calming it, and harnessing it for later.
I looked up at the man as he continued down the steps, and I called out to him again.
Are all mandalorians so mindless that they kill everything with no regard? What is the phrase... Oh ree booey see kee koh veed? Or is it mee ross ick?
Holy crap, it had been a long time since I spoke in Mando'a. If there was ever a butchered phrase, it was the one I just tried to say. But the point I was trying to make would still come across.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 16, 2013 10:32:34 GMT -8
Darian watched passively, his arm lowering as the man's body simply devoured the concussive outburst of volatile energy, one bolt after the other. He nodded sagely, an ageless litany of warning against gluttony playing itself over in his mind. His steps were still measured, uninhibited, and by now he was a quarter of the way from the bottom. Not so far from the target, at this point. Defend, run, talk, defend. Sure- that was some kind of forcie battle plan, but in war, battles weren't won with meager words and half-hearted effort.
And Darian had come here purposed, tasked with inciting war. This man proved an annoying temptation, to give himself over to mindlessness, to attack in a rage without abandon, to lose himself completely in a way anathema to Kad's teachings. The ever present threat that the forcies embodied. A complacency that came from having power and seeing no need to exercise it. To overwhelm a single opponent and exert the will of dominance over others, in order that no fight need ever come again. Stagnation.
This man, perhaps more than the others, was certainly a champion of Arasuum- willing or not.
Darian was ignorant of any greater power at work in this place, in terms of darkness or light. Those trivialities were nothing. Men were not good or evil in thought or action alone. The progression of time shaped all beings, and in that progression, the experiences that a man or woman knew forged their heart. Peace made for brittle armor, whereas war strengthened a man unto the brink of beskar. There was no darkness, nor was there light. There was either the absence of war, or, there was all-out war.
As the aruteii spat his offensive attempt at Mando'a at Darian, the Priest sneered in disgust at the words and spat at the sand between them. His stride halted at the base of the ziggurat, calculating the distance it would take to reach the man as he decided the best way to deal with the haggard old bastard. "Gar jorhaa'ir sa'meh gar ganar mir'shupur."
As he spoke, Darian flexed each of the fingers of his left hand in turn, strengthening his grip on Gorehound. Running though sand was little more than an exercise in futility- really, if you've ever done it when the sand isn't packed, it'll wear you down before you can get more than a few feet. The resistance (or lack thereof, as the case may be) absorbs the impact differently from a wholly solid surface. That is, with each step, your feet sink a little, and you are forced to work a bit harder to do something that generally is second nature to you. That's why normal people just walk. The sand doesn't suck you down that way. Its far more convenient. So, Darian took a step out, and then another.
And stopped. "Atiinir sa'verd, ra'kyr'amur sa'hut'uun." That ought to be pretty clear. The man wanted words. He had them now. Whether or not he understood them- 'fight like a warrior or die like a coward'- meant little to Darian, who was now watching the man, his body loose and ready to move at a moments notice, Gorehound eager to drink deep of the grizzled man's blood.
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The Holy Man
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Post by The Holy Man on Jul 16, 2013 18:39:16 GMT -8
The mandalorian descended the steps, and now he and I were approximately fifteen feet apart in the sand. I stood there, balancing my weight lightly, still holding my walking stick as he spoke to me. I was trying to figure out what he was saying, but the words weren't coming to me. I scratched my head in confusion.
Suh hoot uhn? What is that... Bocce? Can you say it one more time in Basic so someone who doesn't speak your freaky-deaky primitive language can understand?
I shrugged and gave the man a confused and innocent smile. As I did, I could feel the darkness of this place creeping across my skin, trying to be drawn into me. My body was tingling all over, and I tried my best to suppress the darkness as I tried to listen to the mandalorian.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 16, 2013 20:41:16 GMT -8
Darian kept walking forward without much enthusiasm. There was something to be said for persistence, even among fools. There were fifteen feet, then thirteen, and a moment later, ten. If the man had any plans to spring a trap from a distance, he was losing his chance rapidly. Darian's interest was not in shooting this man to death- in fact, he was loathe to continue with the use of his ranged weaponry if he could avoid it, but the way this man kept running, he saw few alternatives. Of course, he could be wrong. A few more moments would tell.
"Fight." Darian said with a slight drawl about his voice, the sound of some sort of psychotropic affliction heavy on his tongue- but that was the stim. His voice just weighed more than most men's now, the way it dripped from his mouth like venom. "Or die. No more words." He continued to walk, and there were eight feet between them now. The other man was a head taller, and in robes. Darian made no motion for his weapons- no detectable motion, at least, save Gorehound ready in his left hand.
"Witness." His even breath was a challenge, his body language offering the man knowledge that he had no intention of backing down, and if the hermit were to accept, it would be an honorable fight. Well... as honorable as any force wizard could be trusted to be. Darian was no fool. The time had finally come.
Witness.
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The Holy Man
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Post by The Holy Man on Jul 17, 2013 4:57:26 GMT -8
As the mandalorian came closer, I took a step back. And another. And another, keeping the distance between them. The mandalorian was eager to fight, but the timing just wasn't right yet.
The darkness is so strong in this place, that I don't know if I can hold it back any longer. With an inhale, I feel the Dark Side flooding into my body, channeling itself through me, fueling me. It wasn't the first time that the call of the Dark Side was answered by me. And it wouldn't be the last.
The mandalorian was very close now, about twelve feet away. Now my old eyes could see him clearly. And that was the moment I had been waiting for.
Fight... Or die... So be it.
He wanted a fight, and now he would have it. So I did exactly what I had planned to do when he started getting closer.
Absolutely nothing.
Well, it was nothing that he could see, anyway. While my hands remained still at my side and holding my walking stick, his hands remained the same, away from his weapons save the tomahawk in his hands. My open hand twitched ever so slightly, the fingers closing mere millimeters.
But just because it couldn't be seen didn't mean something wasn't happening. The Dark Side that was channeling through me erupted from me in an unrelenting wave. I looked at the man's face, eye to eye, which I definitely could not miss from here. Directed at each side of the man's head, the Force energy that I had been building was sent forward to pummel the man in his temples with every ounce of force and strength that I could send at him in a sudden onslaught.
The Force was my sledgehammer, and I was swinging one of them on either side of his head very hard right now.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 17, 2013 6:56:18 GMT -8
In that perfect instant, everything Darian had ever learned came to life. It went from being the training his father gave him, to the Verd'goten, into utter and indomitable practice. His eyes flared up like two green, unholy orbs, and as his opponent spoke, Darian knew what would follow. Magic. The man had seemed off his kilter from the moment the Priest had laid eyes proper on him. It was that, along with the knowledge that the man had kept running and running and running that provided him with a means of ending this.
Have you ever seen an old western? The way a man draws his weapon and fires from the hip with no pretense at all? Well, Darian had waited to close the distance and saved his Ripper from destruction for just this occaison. His hand barely moved. It didn't have to, hanging as close as it was to the weapon. Like Han Solo and Greedo, when the first sound of words came from the forcie's mouth, the trigger was depressed.
Dodge that, forcie, Darian thought, the weapon aimed for the body, not really requiring direction from this distance. It would clear that in less than a second. Darian was ignorant of any amassing of energy from the other man, though he seemed changed, somehow. Not that Darian cared. The man seemed to move his hand subtly, though Darian was unsure what would happen, if the man were still alive to make good on the promise of pain...
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The Holy Man
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Post by The Holy Man on Jul 17, 2013 9:58:03 GMT -8
The mandalorian thought he had distracted me, but that was far from the truth. As I was about to begin to speak, I had my eyes locked on him. My peripheral vision and the prickling on my neck were enough to warn me, and the fact that the Force was already drawn around me made my counter-attack quite simple.
My hand twitched, releasing a lightning-quick Force Push aimed at the man's arm, intended to do one of two things: make his hand miss his gun, or push his gun away before he could even raise it high enough to point it at me. At the same time, I instinctively moved to my right and back, keeping the distance between us while moving away from his gun.
His attempted interruption did not deter me from my original plan. Despite the Force Push that was of limited power, I was still prepared, and my attack came less than a second after the push. My hand closed as I focused on him, channeling the Force energy inside of and around me into a devastating Force Crush aimed at his temples, using all of the strength I could muster.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 17, 2013 11:15:31 GMT -8
The first shot fired off, albeit not as directly as Darian had hoped. It had been enough. The push was only nominally annoying at best, Darian's arm having whipped up at an angle over the mysterious dispersion of momentum, and so it was of little consequence. The bullet hit sand somewhere off to the right of the forcie, and as Darian felt a squeezing sensation begin- hard- on his forehead, the second shot fired. A shot that, with dead aim at Hiro's head, wouldn't miss unless the man somehow created another magical attack to waylay his aim.
With all that attention being split between pushing and crushing, Darian had come to learn, forcies spread themselves pretty thin. Silently, he prayed a fervent prayer to Kad to stifle thoughts of pain. He was beginning to think he might not make it through, but then, the bullet would be the difference between life and death. He'd gotten the forcie into the killbox. There was no way out- for either of them.
The pressure of invisible hands on his scalp was growing by the second, sweat now beading all over his body...
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The Holy Man
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Post by The Holy Man on Jul 19, 2013 10:18:40 GMT -8
The Push was enough to throw off his first shot, but I knew he wasn't going to stop at one. I kept moving to my right as he drew his gun around at me, moving quicker now as my feet shuffled across the sand. I began moving in closer to him, while still moving as quick as I could sideways to keep in front of his pistol. As it got close to me, I ducked my head to the side as the second bullet rang out.
At the same time, I squeezed my hand even tighter to put as much energy into the Force Crush that I could. I had expended a fraction of my Force strength on the Push, but it wasn't enough to jeopardize my plan. I still had plenty of energy to channel into the Force Crush on his head. A normal crush only took seconds to work, so I held my focus.
When I was just close enough to my opponent, my left hand lashed out, the walking stick moving from my right to left in a strike directed at his neck as I continued to move sideways and away from his right side.
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Darian Beviin
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Post by Darian Beviin on Jul 19, 2013 16:16:54 GMT -8
As the bullet narrowly missed it's intended target, Darian felt the nagging pain in his head become a more raging headache- bloody hell, that hurt! The pressure on his temples wasn't enough to cause him to fade out of consciousness, but it was more than enough to blur out the focus it took to fire a gun. The Ripper flopped into a weaker grip, spinning on his index finger into a reversed grip, the butt of the grip ready to pistol whip at a moment's notice.
He wasn't sure why his skull hadn't given way- the pressure was lessened from what he'd expected. But the man was running at him, and he didn't really need to think to react to that. Gorehound came up in a jerking motion, and as the stick came at his neck, his right hand came up- Ripper and all- and the weapon impacted his gauntlet to little effect. Hard as beskar is, the stick might have splintered upon impact, but Darian couldn't be sure.
Left leg stepping through as the man went to pass by, Darian stepped directly into his path as Gorehound surged in to attempt lodging itself in the man's jugular vein, over his arm. No more running around. No more games.
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