The Gift: Chapter Two

The Gift: Chapter Two Completed

[COMPLETE] With the gods dead and dragons slowly spreading their dominion over the land, will you fight for something? Or die with nothing?

View More »Important

Owner: Smith
Game Masters: Smith
Tags: , divine, dragons, espionage, high fantasy, magic, medieval, war (Add Tags »)

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Bundle »


Add Footnote »
Setting: Norr2011-03-26 03:29:46, as written by Shiva
Boulon Brother's, Laeral

Kisikoni's meal was slightly interrupted by the arrival of a deep human like himself- however, the boy seemed no older than 20, if he was anything to be compared to. He was also carrying a heavy shield, something a Deep Human never fought with. He wondered if he was a mixed descendant- he certainly looked like he had lived on the surface during his life. It would be no surprise if he was able to be more heavily armed. Kisikoni didn't really get a chance to examine his comrades, as he out of all the legionnaires suffered the most when marching due to his ill-prepared physical fitness.

"Little Brother." He commented as he sat down, finishing a bite of his food and downing it with a swallow of hot water. Though the boy was much larger in bulk, Kisikoni had a lot more age. At 31, he was certain he would beat the boy in any sort of underground contest- but on the earth where he was still fresh, he would certainly lose. "Hard day's march."

He continued to dig in eagerly. The boy had not excused himself, but during these dark times, politeness hardly mattered. Soon, he felt full and slightly drowsy. Finishing off his mug, he ordered it to be refilled with tea- as the bitterness helped keep the mind sharp. Coffee wasn't really for him- it may be bitter like tea, but there was something... off... about the caffeine effect. He calmed himself, the thrill of eating good food fading and began taking measured sips of the hot beverage when it arrived.

He wondered what the situation was. Would they arrive to a massacre? A victory? A heated battle? He didn't know. Even he, Kisikoni of the Deep Humans recognized the name Yan'vega, or "Arachne". However, because he lived under the ground and disconnected from the world, only the wildest rumors flew around the caves when regarding the mercenary spider. A mercenary! Fighting for the Paragon as a soldier! It was absurd, they said. Kisikoni sighed, because in fact, it was quite true. His mind wandered elsewhere- his father had left to fight for the Paragon long ago- and he had never heard from him since. Half of him thought he was dead- no father by status left his family ignorant of his happenings. However, war changes people- as he had noticed. He quietly settled before that he'd hunt around if he could, but until he received confirmation of his death he wouldn't believe it was so until then.

Blood intoxicated the air, a glorious symphony of desire and slaughter- feeding the weeds in the undergrowth as a black shadow and the remnants of her squad fled the Children. Cries of the damned and dying pitched tone as unnatural magic rained down on the escaping survivors.

"Fooey. Who would have thought these darlings would be so tough?" A black haired Nightmarian exclaimed, ducking her head as a gout of fire roared over her head. Looking up, A child had took the opportunity to cut her off and lunged at her with a wicked blade. Mercy Yan'vega's web of steel roped around the sword, twisting it out her his hands and launching it backward where it collided with an arrow aimed for her. The pointed tip of the whip came back around, raking the stunned Child across the neck. She got lucky, again. This one was very inexperienced compared to the rest of them. Hunching, she made her trademark lewd expression as webbing erupted from her abdomen and glued two pursuers to the ground. They hadn't learned their lesson, attempting to freeze it. They struggled and realized the web bonded immediately to whatever they wore- armor, clothes, flesh.

Mercy looked back as she ran again, and was taken back by their determination. They were ripping flesh off to free themselves from the webbing and continue to make chase- all without uttering a single cry of pain. She noticed the one she felled earlier had gotten up and started making chase as well. "Oh, just give up already- The gray horseman should have paid you a little visit awhile ago." She complained, strafing slightly to avoid corrosive spells. Of course, her natural armor rejected magic- even those of the highest caliber had their effects dulled. It was best to avoid damage however- these children didn't mess around. An arrow screamed past her head, and another bounced off her abdomen.

"Ouchie!" She squealed, grinning at them before swinging her whip around her elbow and launching the pointed tip into the face of a quick pursuer. It punched straight through his left eye, and he stumbled back- however the Child could live half-blinded and started making a slightly off-balance pursuit after her. This was understandable- He had no depth perception now- though resilient and agile as he was, he occasionally tripped and bumped into objects. She giggled, focusing her mind back to the chase. Laeral was only about two miles away- she knew this because she smelled the traps she had laid in case they were to ever fall back. She picked up her pace, slightly frustrated she had run out of large rocks to sling at her enemies- She could still pick out the one that she had nailed in the head with- his forehead was swelling up so large the hood threatened to burst.

"Please stop, I know you want my body but I just can't consent to ugly boys like you all." she cooed, watching as two actually fell for her pit-trap and hung suspended in a ditch by webbing. Of course, the usual flesh-ripping could be heard as they froze and tried to claw themselves out, but they would be busy for awhile. Another tripped a wire, and two sharpened logs with her squad's feces smeared all over the tip swung in and gored the child on both sides. Insult to injury, disease with trauma.

Mercy resisted the urge to make a shitty joke as she pressed onward, alone.