[color=E0D6C0] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/wFqApY1.png[/img][/center][color=E0D6C0][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/fXzi00H.gif[/img][h1][b][color=30A4D9]Bastion[/color][/b][/h1][/center][center][/center] [center] [color=30A4D9][b]Race:[/b][/color] Warforged [color=30A4D9][b]Class:[/b][/color] Warrior [color=30A4D9][b]Location:[/b][/color] Airship; Top Deck - Bar [color=30A4D9][b]Interactions/Mentions:[/b][/color] Wendel [@FunnyGuy], Arya [@Potter], Phia [@princess], Menzai [@samreaper] [color=30A4D9][b]Equipment:[/b][/color] [hider=equipment][color=F9D972]☼[/color] Tower Shield [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.) [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook. [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Aged Leather Satchel [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Worn but cherished scarf [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Maintenance Kit . [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself). [color=F9D972]☼[/color] A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake. [color=F9D972]☼[/color] A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown. [/hider] [color=30A4D9][b]Attire:[/b][/color] [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents. [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Fitted harness for carrying supplies. [color=F9D972]☼[/color] Worn scarf [color=30A4D9][b]Gold Balance:[/b][/color] 44 gold [color=30A4D9][b]Injuries:[/b][/color] [color=F9D972]☼[/color] None, but signs of past battle damage remain. [/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/wFqApY1.png[/img][/center][/color] [hr] The moment Bastion’s sword found its mark and the assassin fell, his sensors flared. A presence came from behind him, and he reacted too slow. The second attacker struck with cruel precision, a blade driving in beneath the plating between his left shoulder and neck. Sparks flared where metal met steel, and Bastion staggered, the blow digging in deep enough to compromise his balance. Pain, as he understood it, was not exactly like a wound to flesh. But still, it hurt like a bitch. The sword still lodged in his shoulder as he turned to face his would-be assailant. He looked at the assassin, who was already trying to dislodge his weapon for another strike. Bastion moved faster this time. His hand clamped around the assassin’s throat, vice-tight, unyielding. [color=30A4D9]“You are finished,”[/color] he said simply, and then brought his forehead crashing forward into the assassin’s mask with a sound like stone cracking bone. The mask split, and the face beneath it fared even worse. Bastion did not let him fall. He pulled the blade free from his own shoulder with a heavy grunt and plunged it through the assassin’s chest, twisting once before releasing the limp body to the deck. There was no anger in his movements… It wasn’t an act of vengeance or ferocity. Moreso it was just for the sake of certainty. He turned quickly then, scanning the deck for his allies. His optics shifted again, drawn by motion near the bar. Wendel had fallen, but he was rising now…blood on his face, sword in his grip, shame clinging to him like smoke. Bastion saw the hesitation in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched against failure, the weight of memory in his every breath. But still… he stood. Still… he fought. Bastion took that in with quiet recognition. No judgment, only understanding. He gave the dwarf a small, solemn no. It wasn’t meant for approval, nor for pity. It was a sign of respect to a man who, through his actions, had earned it. His attention was pulled downwards as he realized that just behind him, was Arya. There she was, bow in hand, brave yet trembling. She had stayed to fight. He felt pride looking at her. Stepping toward her, his arm was leaking fluid from the gash in his shoulder, but his eyes never wavered. [color=30A4D9]“Arya,”[/color] he said, voice low and sure, [color=30A4D9]“you have my word. I will protect you.”[/color] A flicker of something passed across his face as he spoke, something like worry, or guilt. He couldn’t help but also think of Phia in this moment, wishing that he was able to protect her too. Wherever she was, he hoped she was okay. Fittingly enough, he then noticed Menzai. The wolf was standing, but his shoulder was drenched in blood, much like the Warforged’s own. Bastion’s optics flickered again, concern pulsing beneath the blue light. [color=30A4D9]“Menzai is injured,”[/color] he noted quietly, mostly to himself. He took a step toward him, but then Gears moved. She had been quiet until now, crouched low behind the bar. But something in her had shifted. Her motions were sudden, sharp, unnatural. She stood with rigid clarity, her eyes wide and unfocused, her body trembling with old memories clawing to the surface. Parts of her were obviously malfunctioning, reacting [i]poorly[/i] to the situation. Almost like something inside of her was crawling at the surface to get out…and by the gods it was winning. Then she spoke. [color=gold]“You picked the wrong customers to fuck with today, [b]ass brains!!![/b]”[/color] She picked up a full bottle of liquor and hurled it with terrifying accuracy. It struck one of the remaining assassins square in the chest, shattering with a wet explosion of alcohol and glass. Before the assassin could react, Gears’ right arm shifted with the hiss of steam and the grinding of hidden metal. Her fingers folded inward. Her forearm split open. Inside: a nozzle, stained with soot and age. She raised it and fired. A bloom of blue and orange erupted from her palm, a plume of flame that washed over the soaked assassin like a wave of hell itself. The scream was not immediate. It took a second. But when it came, it was enough to silence the deck for half a heartbeat. The assassin burned in agony, viscerally…but it wasn’t long until he was nothing but ash and a leftover scorch mark for her to clean up later. The aroma was thick and sickening to those who interpreted smell that way. But Gears stood unmoving, her arm still leveled, her eyes still locked in something far away. She had returned to something older than memory. Something carved into her core. Bastion watched, but he did not stop her. His eyes then drifted back to the deck. Only two remained now. But his sensors were still ringing. His feet did not relax. The wound in his shoulder still leaked. [color=30A4D9]“Two remaining,”[/color] he said softly. [color=30A4D9]“For now.”[/color] He looked out toward the stairwell, his optics scanning the smoke. What if more were coming? What if they had allies? What if this was only the beginning? His hand found the hilt of his sword once more. He would not rest, not until they were safe. All of them. [/color]