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Snippet #2397120

located in Palace of Iracot, a part of Althaea, one of the many universes on RPG.

Palace of Iracot

At the heart of the city is the Iracot Palace, home of the God-Queen Sarene Iracot.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: The God-Queen's Knights Character Portrait: Ariadne and Endaria Character Portrait: Nyvereth Drak-Sen
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Grinding to a halt, the former-Knight twisted and turned around as if he was made of liquid, in one swift motion. Charging back down the passage, he unclips the guards on the two holsters on his belt; Nyvereth's pleading in his mind scared him, but filled him with a fervor that he'd seldom felt among the Knights. The last time he felt it, in fact, was on the long, brutal ride from the Borders to the Capital to deliver news of the wards...

Just as quickly as he had arrived, he was back. He still had the one flintlock in his hand, and he could see Nyvereth was in danger. One of the Succubi lie dead, while the other had her by the neck. It was a nearly impossible shot, with Nyvereth being held in front of the Succubus.

It was a matter of fact that Shein was a young, inexperienced man. Terrible with women, terrible with politics, never picked up a skilled trade. He wasn't even particularly handsome, nor did he have the most engaging personality.

But his skill with his pistols were practically unmatched, for he put all of his effort into training himself to fire them; while on the move, running, on horseback, standing still- long range, close range, repeated fire... it was his one true skill, and he was damned proud of it.

As soon as he had his target marked, he raises the first pistol and fires. Its two shots spent, he tosses it in the air, grabs his second, and fires that as well; then, he slings the flame he held at both of the women. If Nyvereth's words of flame were true, she would be unharmed. The Succubus he didn't know about, but it freed his hands, and he could perform his next trick even in complete darkness.

Grabbing the first flintlock out of the air, he slams it into one holster in time to grab the second as it fell; with the skill of an expert marksman, he reloads the weapon, filling it with the perfect amount of powder, loading the rounds, and giving each barrel a quick three-strike ram. In less than fifteen seconds from first firing, his gun was reloaded.

And he had not been idle. Even as he fired, he was advancing on the Succubus. If she wasn't down or dead from his first barrage, a near point-blank blast to the head usually killed most anything.