Pff you guys are crazy. -goes to duel people with an inflatable Donald Trump-
AtomicNut
Member
Abusive Contractor
STATUS: I can taste the rainbow! Wait no...it's just blood. 4 mos ago
- Last Seen: 7 hrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
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Recent Statuses
4 mos ago
Current
I can taste the rainbow! Wait no...it's just blood.
3
likes
2 yrs ago
Daylight Saving Times are a conspiracy to sell analgesics and coffee
3
likes
2 yrs ago
My milkshake brings all boys to the yard... good thing I planted mines.
8
likes
2 yrs ago
...Good lord, when was the las time I updated this?
4 yrs ago
BERSERK LIVES
5
likes
Bio
I run on GMT+1 Schedule.
And coffee.
And coffee.
Most Recent Posts
@Ammokkx
If I wanted to give Sigma J.O or even officer rank I would have done so from the beginning, so you have no need to worry about that.
One option would be to retcon the arrangement of the teams to be more suitable to the current situation, particularly the ones who only posted landing at colony X and not doing much interaction. Another would be to promote Roger regardless of his unreliability (because sometimes field promotions have to be done regardless of suitability, and there's been plenty of documented instances of this in history.) A third option would be to promote Ariin or Zim, and the new trio would be a squad with their own officer of their own who would integrate Serah's squad under higher orders.
Or we dont promote anyone and try to survive in the clustefuck.
Gonna have to quit even before starting. Shit happened again IRL and i've got to cut off the easiest branches.
<Snipped quote by VitaVitaAR>
Break their legs.
UH UH, SULT CAN DO THAT!
Personal appreciations aside, I fail to see the bloodthirsty warmonger part, and I fail to see where in the nine blazes we are allowed to lead squads of troops. Even if we were former mercenaries.
Hmmm, i feel like we might have bloated the numbers of bandits just to look good.
Name/Nicknames: Inspector Patrick Braden O'Malley, "Pate" by friends.
Race:Werewolf
Age: 28
Appearance:Patrick is a shorter-than-average, deceptively-wimpy-looking man. He has a rather round, childish face which seems unable to grow anything that is more than a ginger peach fuzz. His head is crowned with mops of curly, fiery ginger hair. He has a slightly flat nose, and his light skin is full of freckles underneath the eyes, which are green and possess a keen gaze. Clothes do not flatter him in the slightlest, as they all look a size too big, specially when wearing his police uniform. Beneath the clothes, however, Patrick's body tells a story of fighting and survival, with wiry but insanely toned muscles, and a mishmash of bullet wounds and scars.
Just like his human self, his werewolf appearance looks slightly smaller than the average, with auburn fur and green eyes.
Personality:An usually meek and submissive person, Patrick more than often wanders around listening to people's requests, and apologizing a lot. He really puts the needs of his peers before his own, and sometimes he can be considered too optimistic and naïve for the city that is Santa Somabra. O'Malley also takes blows and insults in stride, and mockery just makes him shake his head and mutter if there's any kind of truth in it. He's also positively flustered and awkward in presence of comely women aswell.
It all changes when he dons the uniform or has a duty to fulfill. His gaze sharpens, and his demeanor becomes much more assertive. He follows a strict moral compass, and rarely deviates from it. Utterly fearless and uncaring of trudging into dens of vice, he strives to bring the law to the city even in their bleakest crevices, and even though their superiors and peers might be corrupt. He's only really willing to bend the rules only when innocent or peer lives are at stake. Despite his uncompromising attitude, he would rather intimidate opponents rather than fight.
O'Malley has feelings of doubt and regret, though. He find increasingly baffled by the state of the city and the world at large, and at times wonders if the time of dutiful, honorable people is long past. Two wars and cemeteries full of them can attest. But even so, he refuses to give up. Because if he does, crooks will win. He longs for a peaceful world where he can have a family.
Bio: O'Malley was born in the Narrows, to a couple of down-their luck Irish migrants. Even though they were caring people, they could do little to shield the kid from the horrors of the underbelly of Santa Somabra. It was perhaps that due to this fact, O'Malley grew to appreciate gentleness and good behaviour like water on a desert, and dreamed that one day, he would make the place safe. His distinctive "take no crap" attitude earned him a few beatdowns, but also a few friends, specially at the ill-fitted school that was run by the poor in the districto. Two also became his best friends, Alma, an orphaned girl, and Donnie, or Donovan, son of a gambling addict. Life was harsh, but they weren't alone in this. They had eachother, and they could rely on eachother. Of course there was also this epic fight as teenagers, on who would eventually marry Alma. Donovan won that time.
However, things would change soon. The war had erupted around them, and both joined as recruits. Despite the risk of dying, they saw serving in the army as the golden chance to get out of the Narrows and the crime that permeated everything.
The beaches of Normandy woke them up from their hubris, with the blood of friends staining the sands red. But it couldn't be helped. They gritted their teeth, and braved through the hell on earth that was war. Each night, they'd tell eachother to hold on. Alma was waiting back there at Santa Somabra.
Until the day the germans struck at The Ardennes. With the ferocity of a wounded beast, they encircled everyone. They pulled all of their stops. Even the things that had been kept in the dark until now. Forbidden rituals, Black magic. Half his company became engulfed in a portal straight to Hell, or whatever it seemed to. An otherwordly place.
Donovan was one of them. Or rather, half of Donovan went through the portal.
O'Malley snapped. Grabbing all the ammunition and grenades he had at hand, he sprinted like a madman and jumped inside the portal, in act that defied all terror and sanity. Inside, he wasted no time in firing at everything that wasn't sporting his uniform colors and that moved. He was positively screaming like a madman all the time, until all his grenades were spent and his rifle clicked after reloading it several times. It was then when he grabbed the upper part of a moribund Donovan, and exited the portal dragging the remains of his bisected friend.
For leaping inside a portal and holding off the demonic forces for several minutes in order to rescue 22 people, O'Malley was hailed as a hero. But that would not bring his best friend back from the grave. Wracked by guilt upon his return, he avoided going into Santa Somabra. How could he face Alma after seeing their best friend die? He deluded himself in making a career in the army, in order to get enough rank and importance to yank the Narrows out of their poverty. It took the Korean War to see it all fruitless and pointless, seeing the boys who were entrusted under his care keep dying, only to be replaced. All for a tug-of-war between unrelated countries. He was sick of both the callousness of it all and his own self.
And, thus, after the war ended, decided to stop being roundabout about it and joined the dilapidated force, returning to the Narrows as he always wished to. But Alma was nowhere to be found. He had paid his price for his hesitation, as he grimly reminded. His duty never faltered. He refused to be bribed, he refused to be cowed. And for a while, it seemed that crooks were losing ground against his one-man-effort. Until an ambush from a corrupt cop and hired muscle from the Hanged Men left him broken and battered in the outskirts, for the Hunters to devour him.
It was then when she found Alma. She was one of them, a werewolf. He couldn't take it anymore. He laughed until he coughed blood, as the wolves circled him. This was the punishment for his sin of inaction, he felt it. But that didn't mean he would stay still and take it. With the last of his strength, as his neck was ravaged by a wolf, he, in a last act of defiance... bit back, ripping a chunk of his ear.
The werewolf was positively STUNNED. And Alma, who was now a pack leader, found the little event amusing. She spared O'Malley, in order for him to become a werewolf. As she gauged right, a war hero would make a powerful beast. But she did not take in account one thing.
O'Malley takes no shit from crooks. Even as a werewolf, he refused to join the Hunters, and devoted himself to rein and control his new condition... and do what he always had done. Clean the trash and fight bad guys.
Other: He has still mixed feelings for Alma.
Race:Werewolf
Age: 28
Appearance:Patrick is a shorter-than-average, deceptively-wimpy-looking man. He has a rather round, childish face which seems unable to grow anything that is more than a ginger peach fuzz. His head is crowned with mops of curly, fiery ginger hair. He has a slightly flat nose, and his light skin is full of freckles underneath the eyes, which are green and possess a keen gaze. Clothes do not flatter him in the slightlest, as they all look a size too big, specially when wearing his police uniform. Beneath the clothes, however, Patrick's body tells a story of fighting and survival, with wiry but insanely toned muscles, and a mishmash of bullet wounds and scars.
Just like his human self, his werewolf appearance looks slightly smaller than the average, with auburn fur and green eyes.
Personality:An usually meek and submissive person, Patrick more than often wanders around listening to people's requests, and apologizing a lot. He really puts the needs of his peers before his own, and sometimes he can be considered too optimistic and naïve for the city that is Santa Somabra. O'Malley also takes blows and insults in stride, and mockery just makes him shake his head and mutter if there's any kind of truth in it. He's also positively flustered and awkward in presence of comely women aswell.
It all changes when he dons the uniform or has a duty to fulfill. His gaze sharpens, and his demeanor becomes much more assertive. He follows a strict moral compass, and rarely deviates from it. Utterly fearless and uncaring of trudging into dens of vice, he strives to bring the law to the city even in their bleakest crevices, and even though their superiors and peers might be corrupt. He's only really willing to bend the rules only when innocent or peer lives are at stake. Despite his uncompromising attitude, he would rather intimidate opponents rather than fight.
O'Malley has feelings of doubt and regret, though. He find increasingly baffled by the state of the city and the world at large, and at times wonders if the time of dutiful, honorable people is long past. Two wars and cemeteries full of them can attest. But even so, he refuses to give up. Because if he does, crooks will win. He longs for a peaceful world where he can have a family.
Bio: O'Malley was born in the Narrows, to a couple of down-their luck Irish migrants. Even though they were caring people, they could do little to shield the kid from the horrors of the underbelly of Santa Somabra. It was perhaps that due to this fact, O'Malley grew to appreciate gentleness and good behaviour like water on a desert, and dreamed that one day, he would make the place safe. His distinctive "take no crap" attitude earned him a few beatdowns, but also a few friends, specially at the ill-fitted school that was run by the poor in the districto. Two also became his best friends, Alma, an orphaned girl, and Donnie, or Donovan, son of a gambling addict. Life was harsh, but they weren't alone in this. They had eachother, and they could rely on eachother. Of course there was also this epic fight as teenagers, on who would eventually marry Alma. Donovan won that time.
However, things would change soon. The war had erupted around them, and both joined as recruits. Despite the risk of dying, they saw serving in the army as the golden chance to get out of the Narrows and the crime that permeated everything.
The beaches of Normandy woke them up from their hubris, with the blood of friends staining the sands red. But it couldn't be helped. They gritted their teeth, and braved through the hell on earth that was war. Each night, they'd tell eachother to hold on. Alma was waiting back there at Santa Somabra.
Until the day the germans struck at The Ardennes. With the ferocity of a wounded beast, they encircled everyone. They pulled all of their stops. Even the things that had been kept in the dark until now. Forbidden rituals, Black magic. Half his company became engulfed in a portal straight to Hell, or whatever it seemed to. An otherwordly place.
Donovan was one of them. Or rather, half of Donovan went through the portal.
O'Malley snapped. Grabbing all the ammunition and grenades he had at hand, he sprinted like a madman and jumped inside the portal, in act that defied all terror and sanity. Inside, he wasted no time in firing at everything that wasn't sporting his uniform colors and that moved. He was positively screaming like a madman all the time, until all his grenades were spent and his rifle clicked after reloading it several times. It was then when he grabbed the upper part of a moribund Donovan, and exited the portal dragging the remains of his bisected friend.
For leaping inside a portal and holding off the demonic forces for several minutes in order to rescue 22 people, O'Malley was hailed as a hero. But that would not bring his best friend back from the grave. Wracked by guilt upon his return, he avoided going into Santa Somabra. How could he face Alma after seeing their best friend die? He deluded himself in making a career in the army, in order to get enough rank and importance to yank the Narrows out of their poverty. It took the Korean War to see it all fruitless and pointless, seeing the boys who were entrusted under his care keep dying, only to be replaced. All for a tug-of-war between unrelated countries. He was sick of both the callousness of it all and his own self.
And, thus, after the war ended, decided to stop being roundabout about it and joined the dilapidated force, returning to the Narrows as he always wished to. But Alma was nowhere to be found. He had paid his price for his hesitation, as he grimly reminded. His duty never faltered. He refused to be bribed, he refused to be cowed. And for a while, it seemed that crooks were losing ground against his one-man-effort. Until an ambush from a corrupt cop and hired muscle from the Hanged Men left him broken and battered in the outskirts, for the Hunters to devour him.
It was then when she found Alma. She was one of them, a werewolf. He couldn't take it anymore. He laughed until he coughed blood, as the wolves circled him. This was the punishment for his sin of inaction, he felt it. But that didn't mean he would stay still and take it. With the last of his strength, as his neck was ravaged by a wolf, he, in a last act of defiance... bit back, ripping a chunk of his ear.
The werewolf was positively STUNNED. And Alma, who was now a pack leader, found the little event amusing. She spared O'Malley, in order for him to become a werewolf. As she gauged right, a war hero would make a powerful beast. But she did not take in account one thing.
O'Malley takes no shit from crooks. Even as a werewolf, he refused to join the Hunters, and devoted himself to rein and control his new condition... and do what he always had done. Clean the trash and fight bad guys.
Other: He has still mixed feelings for Alma.
Edit: I'm not sure if I should keep the werewolf part. Thoughts?
Name/Nicknames: Inspector Patrick Braden O'Malley, "Pate" by friends.
Race:Werewolf
Age: 28
Appearance:Patrick is a shorter-than-average, deceptively-wimpy-looking man. He has a rather round, childish face which seems unable to grow anything that is more than a ginger peach fuzz. His head is crowned with mops of curly, fiery ginger hair. He has a slightly flat nose, and his light skin is full of freckles underneath the eyes, which are green and possess a keen gaze. Clothes do not flatter him in the slightlest, as they all look a size too big, specially when wearing his police uniform. Beneath the clothes, however, Patrick's body tells a story of fighting and survival, with wiry but insanely toned muscles, and a mishmash of bullet wounds and scars.
Just like his human self, his werewolf appearance looks slightly smaller than the average, with auburn fur and green eyes.
Personality:An usually meek and submissive person, Patrick more than often wanders around listening to people's requests, and apologizing a lot. He really puts the needs of his peers before his own, and sometimes he can be considered too optimistic and naïve for the city that is Santa Somabra. O'Malley also takes blows and insults in stride, and mockery just makes him shake his head and mutter if there's any kind of truth in it. He's also positively flustered and awkward in presence of comely women aswell.
It all changes when he dons the uniform or has a duty to fulfill. His gaze sharpens, and his demeanor becomes much more assertive. He follows a strict moral compass, and rarely deviates from it. Utterly fearless and uncaring of trudging into dens of vice, he strives to bring the law to the city even in their bleakest crevices, and even though their superiors and peers might be corrupt. He's only really willing to bend the rules only when innocent or peer lives are at stake. Despite his uncompromising attitude, he would rather intimidate opponents rather than fight.
O'Malley has feelings of doubt and regret, though. He find increasingly baffled by the state of the city and the world at large, and at times wonders if the time of dutiful, honorable people is long past. Two wars and cemeteries full of them can attest. But even so, he refuses to give up. Because if he does, crooks will win. He longs for a peaceful world where he can have a family.
Bio: O'Malley was born in the Narrows, to a couple of down-their luck Irish migrants. Even though they were caring people, they could do little to shield the kid from the horrors of the underbelly of Santa Somabra. It was perhaps that due to this fact, O'Malley grew to appreciate gentleness and good behaviour like water on a desert, and dreamed that one day, he would make the place safe. His distinctive "take no crap" attitude earned him a few beatdowns, but also a few friends, specially at the ill-fitted school that was run by the poor in the districto. Two also became his best friends, Alma, an orphaned girl, and Donnie, or Donovan, son of a gambling addict. Life was harsh, but they weren't alone in this. They had eachother, and they could rely on eachother. Of course there was also this epic fight as teenagers, on who would eventually marry Alma. Donovan won that time.
However, things would change soon. The war had erupted around them, and both joined as recruits. Despite the risk of dying, they saw serving in the army as the golden chance to get out of the Narrows and the crime that permeated everything.
The beaches of Normandy woke them up from their hubris, with the blood of friends staining the sands red. But it couldn't be helped. They gritted their teeth, and braved through the hell on earth that was war. Each night, they'd tell eachother to hold on. Alma was waiting back there at Santa Somabra.
Until the day the germans struck at The Ardennes. With the ferocity of a wounded beast, they encircled everyone. They pulled all of their stops. Even the things that had been kept in the dark until now. Forbidden rituals, Black magic. Half his company became engulfed in a portal straight to Hell, or whatever it seemed to. An otherwordly place.
Donovan was one of them. Or rather, half of Donovan went through the portal.
O'Malley snapped. Grabbing all the ammunition and grenades he had at hand, he sprinted like a madman and jumped inside the portal, in act that defied all terror and sanity. Inside, he wasted no time in firing at everything that wasn't sporting his uniform colors and that moved. He was positively screaming like a madman all the time, until all his grenades were spent and his rifle clicked after reloading it several times. It was then when he grabbed the upper part of a moribund Donovan, and exited the portal dragging the remains of his bisected friend.
For leaping inside a portal and holding off the demonic forces for several minutes in order to rescue 22 people, O'Malley was hailed as a hero. But that would not bring his best friend back from the grave. Wracked by guilt upon his return, he avoided going into Santa Somabra. How could he face Alma after seeing their best friend die? He deluded himself in making a career in the army, in order to get enough rank and importance to yank the Narrows out of their poverty. It took the Korean War to see it all fruitless and pointless, seeing the boys who were entrusted under his care keep dying, only to be replaced. All for a tug-of-war between unrelated countries. He was sick of both the callousness of it all and his own self.
And, thus, after the war ended, decided to stop being roundabout about it and joined the dilapidated force, returning to the Narrows as he always wished to. But Alma was nowhere to be found. He had paid his price for his hesitation, as he grimly reminded. His duty never faltered. He refused to be bribed, he refused to be cowed. And for a while, it seemed that crooks were losing ground against his one-man-effort. Until an ambush from a corrupt cop and hired muscle from the Hanged Men left him broken and battered in the outskirts, for the Hunters to devour him.
It was then when she found Alma. She was one of them, a werewolf. He couldn't take it anymore. He laughed until he coughed blood, as the wolves circled him. This was the punishment for his sin of inaction, he felt it. But that didn't mean he would stay still and take it. With the last of his strength, as his neck was ravaged by a wolf, he, in a last act of defiance... bit back, ripping a chunk of his ear.
The werewolf was positively STUNNED. And Alma, who was now a pack leader, found the little event amusing. She spared O'Malley, in order for him to become a werewolf. As she gauged right, a war hero would make a powerful beast. But she did not take in account one thing.
O'Malley takes no shit from crooks. Even as a werewolf, he refused to join the Hunters, and devoted himself to rein and control his new condition... and do what he always had done. Clean the trash and fight bad guys.
Other: He has still mixed feelings for Alma.
Name/Nicknames: Inspector Patrick Braden O'Malley, "Pate" by friends.
Race:Werewolf
Age: 28
Appearance:Patrick is a shorter-than-average, deceptively-wimpy-looking man. He has a rather round, childish face which seems unable to grow anything that is more than a ginger peach fuzz. His head is crowned with mops of curly, fiery ginger hair. He has a slightly flat nose, and his light skin is full of freckles underneath the eyes, which are green and possess a keen gaze. Clothes do not flatter him in the slightlest, as they all look a size too big, specially when wearing his police uniform. Beneath the clothes, however, Patrick's body tells a story of fighting and survival, with wiry but insanely toned muscles, and a mishmash of bullet wounds and scars.
Just like his human self, his werewolf appearance looks slightly smaller than the average, with auburn fur and green eyes.
Personality:An usually meek and submissive person, Patrick more than often wanders around listening to people's requests, and apologizing a lot. He really puts the needs of his peers before his own, and sometimes he can be considered too optimistic and naïve for the city that is Santa Somabra. O'Malley also takes blows and insults in stride, and mockery just makes him shake his head and mutter if there's any kind of truth in it. He's also positively flustered and awkward in presence of comely women aswell.
It all changes when he dons the uniform or has a duty to fulfill. His gaze sharpens, and his demeanor becomes much more assertive. He follows a strict moral compass, and rarely deviates from it. Utterly fearless and uncaring of trudging into dens of vice, he strives to bring the law to the city even in their bleakest crevices, and even though their superiors and peers might be corrupt. He's only really willing to bend the rules only when innocent or peer lives are at stake. Despite his uncompromising attitude, he would rather intimidate opponents rather than fight.
O'Malley has feelings of doubt and regret, though. He find increasingly baffled by the state of the city and the world at large, and at times wonders if the time of dutiful, honorable people is long past. Two wars and cemeteries full of them can attest. But even so, he refuses to give up. Because if he does, crooks will win. He longs for a peaceful world where he can have a family.
Bio: O'Malley was born in the Narrows, to a couple of down-their luck Irish migrants. Even though they were caring people, they could do little to shield the kid from the horrors of the underbelly of Santa Somabra. It was perhaps that due to this fact, O'Malley grew to appreciate gentleness and good behaviour like water on a desert, and dreamed that one day, he would make the place safe. His distinctive "take no crap" attitude earned him a few beatdowns, but also a few friends, specially at the ill-fitted school that was run by the poor in the districto. Two also became his best friends, Alma, an orphaned girl, and Donnie, or Donovan, son of a gambling addict. Life was harsh, but they weren't alone in this. They had eachother, and they could rely on eachother. Of course there was also this epic fight as teenagers, on who would eventually marry Alma. Donovan won that time.
However, things would change soon. The war had erupted around them, and both joined as recruits. Despite the risk of dying, they saw serving in the army as the golden chance to get out of the Narrows and the crime that permeated everything.
The beaches of Normandy woke them up from their hubris, with the blood of friends staining the sands red. But it couldn't be helped. They gritted their teeth, and braved through the hell on earth that was war. Each night, they'd tell eachother to hold on. Alma was waiting back there at Santa Somabra.
Until the day the germans struck at The Ardennes. With the ferocity of a wounded beast, they encircled everyone. They pulled all of their stops. Even the things that had been kept in the dark until now. Forbidden rituals, Black magic. Half his company became engulfed in a portal straight to Hell, or whatever it seemed to. An otherwordly place.
Donovan was one of them. Or rather, half of Donovan went through the portal.
O'Malley snapped. Grabbing all the ammunition and grenades he had at hand, he sprinted like a madman and jumped inside the portal, in act that defied all terror and sanity. Inside, he wasted no time in firing at everything that wasn't sporting his uniform colors and that moved. He was positively screaming like a madman all the time, until all his grenades were spent and his rifle clicked after reloading it several times. It was then when he grabbed the upper part of a moribund Donovan, and exited the portal dragging the remains of his bisected friend.
For leaping inside a portal and holding off the demonic forces for several minutes in order to rescue 22 people, O'Malley was hailed as a hero. But that would not bring his best friend back from the grave. Wracked by guilt upon his return, he avoided going into Santa Somabra. How could he face Alma after seeing their best friend die? He deluded himself in making a career in the army, in order to get enough rank and importance to yank the Narrows out of their poverty. It took the Korean War to see it all fruitless and pointless, seeing the boys who were entrusted under his care keep dying, only to be replaced. All for a tug-of-war between unrelated countries. He was sick of both the callousness of it all and his own self.
And, thus, after the war ended, decided to stop being roundabout about it and joined the dilapidated force, returning to the Narrows as he always wished to. But Alma was nowhere to be found. He had paid his price for his hesitation, as he grimly reminded. His duty never faltered. He refused to be bribed, he refused to be cowed. And for a while, it seemed that crooks were losing ground against his one-man-effort. Until an ambush from a corrupt cop and hired muscle from the Hanged Men left him broken and battered in the outskirts, for the Hunters to devour him.
It was then when she found Alma. She was one of them, a werewolf. He couldn't take it anymore. He laughed until he coughed blood, as the wolves circled him. This was the punishment for his sin of inaction, he felt it. But that didn't mean he would stay still and take it. With the last of his strength, as his neck was ravaged by a wolf, he, in a last act of defiance... bit back, ripping a chunk of his ear.
The werewolf was positively STUNNED. And Alma, who was now a pack leader, found the little event amusing. She spared O'Malley, in order for him to become a werewolf. As she gauged right, a war hero would make a powerful beast. But she did not take in account one thing.
O'Malley takes no shit from crooks. Even as a werewolf, he refused to join the Hunters, and devoted himself to rein and control his new condition... and do what he always had done. Clean the trash and fight bad guys.
Other: He has still mixed feelings for Alma.
And so, Sult devoted herself to the slight mess she had to take part of, after having answered the call. The Ice mage could pull some interesting tricks, like extending ice blades and whatnot. She had to resign herself to stab bandits with the pointy end. While she had fared reasonably well in training, these weren't dummies (although their swings certainly were sloppy), and the terrain was uneven, so Sult staggered ever-so-slightly while trying to keep several opponents off the mage's neck.
Not very knightly. But then again, they were bandits... The female novice knight sighed, as she switched tactics. A clumsy feint...and then.
CRACK
One of the bandits yowled, tumbling down upon having his knee rightfully smashed with a clever kick on his side, courtesy of the blue-haired combatant. Before he could react in any other way besides pain, the blunt end of the knight's horrid green shield crushed the back of his neck like a vice, ending his life in a single blow. Sult knew where to aim. Setting all those bones, and sneaking out at night to study and cut corpses were finally paying. It wasn't pretty nor knightly, but it was effective.
"What the..." One of the remaining crooks yelped at Sult's side, startling her so slightly, and causing her to awkwardly backpedal, before her legs moved in a strange fashion, causing her to spin around herself.
And cut the poor man's head by mere fluke, her face and chestplate becoming splashed with blood. Before she could ever register the fluke that had just happened, the bandits were running, and were promptly caught by an impressive display of ice magic of her temporal teammate.
Ice Jerk knows his moves, doesn't he?
"Good Reon, I actually need to learn how to do that." Sult cheered so slightly. "That was great! Maybe I should ponder offering you assistance in...other ways." The knight teased, before rubbing her face, sploshing crimson on her gauntlet. Ah yes, bandit blood. She could probably try to coo someone. Like Sir Garret. That ...wonderful slab of muscle.
Or tease Sparky. But she was apparently praying?
Or tease the mini captain.
"Captaaaiiin... I got rat bandit blood all over my face... can I go change?" She added, putting some really pitiful expression.
Not very knightly. But then again, they were bandits... The female novice knight sighed, as she switched tactics. A clumsy feint...and then.
CRACK
One of the bandits yowled, tumbling down upon having his knee rightfully smashed with a clever kick on his side, courtesy of the blue-haired combatant. Before he could react in any other way besides pain, the blunt end of the knight's horrid green shield crushed the back of his neck like a vice, ending his life in a single blow. Sult knew where to aim. Setting all those bones, and sneaking out at night to study and cut corpses were finally paying. It wasn't pretty nor knightly, but it was effective.
"What the..." One of the remaining crooks yelped at Sult's side, startling her so slightly, and causing her to awkwardly backpedal, before her legs moved in a strange fashion, causing her to spin around herself.
And cut the poor man's head by mere fluke, her face and chestplate becoming splashed with blood. Before she could ever register the fluke that had just happened, the bandits were running, and were promptly caught by an impressive display of ice magic of her temporal teammate.
Ice Jerk knows his moves, doesn't he?
"Good Reon, I actually need to learn how to do that." Sult cheered so slightly. "That was great! Maybe I should ponder offering you assistance in...other ways." The knight teased, before rubbing her face, sploshing crimson on her gauntlet. Ah yes, bandit blood. She could probably try to coo someone. Like Sir Garret. That ...wonderful slab of muscle.
Or tease Sparky. But she was apparently praying?
Or tease the mini captain.
"Captaaaiiin... I got rat bandit blood all over my face... can I go change?" She added, putting some really pitiful expression.
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