@Gun Sounds like you've been Roleplaying with Khan.
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I published a book! jlbrightman.itch.io/ko-luhn…
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7 yrs ago
Discord crashed lads. Can't get back in.
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8 yrs ago
I've opened art commissions up, anyone who wants relatively cheap art PM me here or on Discord: LeeRoy#8459
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[quote=@Rilla] DID YOU JUST TRY AND CLOTHESLINE ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT [/quote]
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"If you kill a man, you scorn his wife. If you kill his wife, you scorn her child. If you kill her child, you scorn his village. If you kill his village, you scorn the kingdom. If you kill the kingdom you scorn an empire. If you kill an empire, then who is left?"
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Spying the ravens as well, something of who he once was tinged inside of him. The sight of a raven always filled him to the brim with dread. Sharing his name, ravens always gave the warrior a phantom feeling of who he once was. Feidlimid hated ravens.
Without some divine calling to tell him what to feel, Feidlimid too felt something pulling at him. Maybe there was some divine calling, something did tug frightfully at his heartstrings. Tugging at his very core, telling him there was something to the East. Perhaps some Great One called to him, pulling him along by his hand towards danger once again. Or maybe it was lunacy. Lunacy that told him that there were going to be plunder and bloodshed to the east. Was the sense of want ever wrong? Does the heart of a man ever tell him to do what he truly thinks is wrong?
Probably, but philosophy is lost on the Undying Raven.
This pull, this drive.
It called to him strongly, like a screaming in his ears. Banging on his head, the Raven clutched at his own forehead and grumbled. Feeling the furs of his strange garb rub between his fingers gave a scarce feeling of comfort, but the calling still drummed his skull. It compelled him to stand, it willed him to grasp the handle of his weapon. Sunken blade dragging from the dirt where it had fallen to rest.
With some strange staggering steps forward from his resting place, Feidlimid lurched forward. The axe dragging its blade deeply through the dirt, a line of torn earth behind his every unsettling step.
As he began walking, his mouth had begun speaking of its own accord. Drawing him forward as he hollered in a maddened tone. "The East! Must go East!" Saliva flecked from the edges of his mouth, every syllable clicking his filed teeth against one another. Repeating his cry with more intensity as he began walking faster and faster.
The other warriors watched him with sad or bemused eyes, the warrior had clearly lost his mind. Most ignored his shouting, others watched him walk off. Whatever he was shouting about was likely nonsense, those most strongly addicted to the Berserker Drug are never sane.
Without some divine calling to tell him what to feel, Feidlimid too felt something pulling at him. Maybe there was some divine calling, something did tug frightfully at his heartstrings. Tugging at his very core, telling him there was something to the East. Perhaps some Great One called to him, pulling him along by his hand towards danger once again. Or maybe it was lunacy. Lunacy that told him that there were going to be plunder and bloodshed to the east. Was the sense of want ever wrong? Does the heart of a man ever tell him to do what he truly thinks is wrong?
Probably, but philosophy is lost on the Undying Raven.
This pull, this drive.
It called to him strongly, like a screaming in his ears. Banging on his head, the Raven clutched at his own forehead and grumbled. Feeling the furs of his strange garb rub between his fingers gave a scarce feeling of comfort, but the calling still drummed his skull. It compelled him to stand, it willed him to grasp the handle of his weapon. Sunken blade dragging from the dirt where it had fallen to rest.
With some strange staggering steps forward from his resting place, Feidlimid lurched forward. The axe dragging its blade deeply through the dirt, a line of torn earth behind his every unsettling step.
As he began walking, his mouth had begun speaking of its own accord. Drawing him forward as he hollered in a maddened tone. "The East! Must go East!" Saliva flecked from the edges of his mouth, every syllable clicking his filed teeth against one another. Repeating his cry with more intensity as he began walking faster and faster.
The other warriors watched him with sad or bemused eyes, the warrior had clearly lost his mind. Most ignored his shouting, others watched him walk off. Whatever he was shouting about was likely nonsense, those most strongly addicted to the Berserker Drug are never sane.
Okie dokie, no problem.
It wasn't as though Mr. Sunshine was ignorant to the properties of electricity, he just didn't actually care whether or not it succeeded. The warrior burning in his heart wanted this fight to last as long as possible, it wasn't sporting if this didn't last at least two rounds. Perhaps a sandwich break between, that might be nice. Snapping himself out of his drift with haste, Brighton continued his movement out and away from Tanzo.
By using his left hand on an opponent that was already moving to his right, Tanzo had made a terrible error. Okay, not that terrible, but a slight error is still an error. Your arm can only move so far around your body, so trying to track someone's movements and lead on them only works if they don't move closer to you while moving away from the arm.
Which is just what Brighton did, by shifting his footing slightly mid-step, he began to sidestep sharply to Tanzo's right. Which makes it his left. Moving away from Ryozan's gust of tearing winds and closer into Tanzo's guard, putting himself into a prime offensive position. As well as likely putting Tanzo into a frantic defensive position.
Now, the winds weren't a totally fruitless attack, they did have an effect on his right arm. Though he had managed to move away from the cutting blades of ice, the sudden temperature drop had left his arm painfully cold. With a temperature change as sharp as that, his arm was suddenly burning hot. Strange how the body works, isn't it? See, because your body adjusts to colder temperatures faster, his skin became incredibly cold. This made his nerve endings adapt to the cold, if only for a moment. This change made the shift to normal painful, because suddenly the heat from his own blood is too hot for his nerves. Making it feel as though he had just been branded by a cattle iron.
As to his own offensive, Brighton's left arm has remained behind his back this entire time. So that wouldn't be an optimal technique for landing a decent blow on Tanzo. Keep note that Mr. Sunshine is still advancing on Tanzo, who has by this point either stopped moving or is continuing forwards. With his right hand still extended, and his blade pointed nastily at Tanzo's face, a series of quick jabs was the smartest decision.
Taking the smart choice, instead of the kindly choice, Alexander brought his arm back a few inches and then suddenly unleashed hell. Lashing out with a rapid succession of thrusts with his blade, stepping forward with ever strike. Aiming to push back Tanzo or deal terrible wounds to his face and upper body, either was acceptable.
Though one more grizzly.
By using his left hand on an opponent that was already moving to his right, Tanzo had made a terrible error. Okay, not that terrible, but a slight error is still an error. Your arm can only move so far around your body, so trying to track someone's movements and lead on them only works if they don't move closer to you while moving away from the arm.
Which is just what Brighton did, by shifting his footing slightly mid-step, he began to sidestep sharply to Tanzo's right. Which makes it his left. Moving away from Ryozan's gust of tearing winds and closer into Tanzo's guard, putting himself into a prime offensive position. As well as likely putting Tanzo into a frantic defensive position.
Now, the winds weren't a totally fruitless attack, they did have an effect on his right arm. Though he had managed to move away from the cutting blades of ice, the sudden temperature drop had left his arm painfully cold. With a temperature change as sharp as that, his arm was suddenly burning hot. Strange how the body works, isn't it? See, because your body adjusts to colder temperatures faster, his skin became incredibly cold. This made his nerve endings adapt to the cold, if only for a moment. This change made the shift to normal painful, because suddenly the heat from his own blood is too hot for his nerves. Making it feel as though he had just been branded by a cattle iron.
As to his own offensive, Brighton's left arm has remained behind his back this entire time. So that wouldn't be an optimal technique for landing a decent blow on Tanzo. Keep note that Mr. Sunshine is still advancing on Tanzo, who has by this point either stopped moving or is continuing forwards. With his right hand still extended, and his blade pointed nastily at Tanzo's face, a series of quick jabs was the smartest decision.
Taking the smart choice, instead of the kindly choice, Alexander brought his arm back a few inches and then suddenly unleashed hell. Lashing out with a rapid succession of thrusts with his blade, stepping forward with ever strike. Aiming to push back Tanzo or deal terrible wounds to his face and upper body, either was acceptable.
Though one more grizzly.
I'm not sure what everyone's opinion is on making OCs from pre-established worlds or universes, but I've been having the feeling lately to make an OC Zealot from Starcraft just for fighting.
FCs.
Fan Characters.
I hate the term OC when referring to something from an established universe. It's fan-made, so it's a fan character.
Edit: Also, I'm like 90% certain that nobody minds characters from established shit, just so long as they don't try to force other characters to conform to the rules of that universe.
No matter how low Ryozan dipped, he wouldn't be low enough to avoid a downward swing. Rushing towards Alexander, or really anyone trained in Western swordplay, was suicidal. To end this too quickly would be shameful and it wouldn't be any fun. So there would have to be a compromise of defensive and non-lethal, while also serving as a deterrent for similar strategies that might lead to the early cessation of this session. While he was contemplating his next move, Brighton had begun moving. Tanzo certainly had the speed advantage, but it seemed very directional. Alexander moved himself backwards and to the right, never breaking his guard as he moved away. Evading the first strike was the simple part, returning an attack was a bit more difficult.
An attack as specific as the one described is a bit difficult to execute without a hitch, well, for someone who isn't as spectacular of a specimen as Brighton. Physically, he couldn't do it, he'd put too much force into it and would wind up killing him. Mystically, oh yes, mystically he could scratch a solution.
By sidestepping Ryozan's strike and positioning himself in a non-exposed position, his arm was in the perfect spot for Rail Bolt. By narrowly reducing the angle of his arm to better point at Ryozan's torso as he passes, Brighton was ready to unleash his only real ranged offensive option. Please note that he's sidestepping away from Ryozan as he moves, so if Ryozan moves in a straight line in his charge, he'd be in perfect line of sight. However, if he moved out of his straight movements, he'd be well out of the line of fire.
If Ryozan continued forwards, Sunshine would unleash the Rail bolt. It would appear as a bright spark of blue and yellow light that charges down his arm and grows into an arrow as it leaves the tip of his blade. It would run clean through Tanzo's body and cause a tremendous shock to rock his body. It wouldn't be deadly, obviously, his shocks aren't that powerful. But it really would hurt like hell, nobody would want to be on the receiving end of it.
If Ryozan didn't continue in the same direction, Brighton would adjust for direction. Obviously he wouldn't move directly for him, Brighton's aim is trailed forwards, so he would wind up taking the bolt to the face. So moving back and away would be a better option, that way he would only risk being clipped in the leg. It would make his leg numb, but it wouldn't hurt as badly.
An attack as specific as the one described is a bit difficult to execute without a hitch, well, for someone who isn't as spectacular of a specimen as Brighton. Physically, he couldn't do it, he'd put too much force into it and would wind up killing him. Mystically, oh yes, mystically he could scratch a solution.
By sidestepping Ryozan's strike and positioning himself in a non-exposed position, his arm was in the perfect spot for Rail Bolt. By narrowly reducing the angle of his arm to better point at Ryozan's torso as he passes, Brighton was ready to unleash his only real ranged offensive option. Please note that he's sidestepping away from Ryozan as he moves, so if Ryozan moves in a straight line in his charge, he'd be in perfect line of sight. However, if he moved out of his straight movements, he'd be well out of the line of fire.
If Ryozan continued forwards, Sunshine would unleash the Rail bolt. It would appear as a bright spark of blue and yellow light that charges down his arm and grows into an arrow as it leaves the tip of his blade. It would run clean through Tanzo's body and cause a tremendous shock to rock his body. It wouldn't be deadly, obviously, his shocks aren't that powerful. But it really would hurt like hell, nobody would want to be on the receiving end of it.
If Ryozan didn't continue in the same direction, Brighton would adjust for direction. Obviously he wouldn't move directly for him, Brighton's aim is trailed forwards, so he would wind up taking the bolt to the face. So moving back and away would be a better option, that way he would only risk being clipped in the leg. It would make his leg numb, but it wouldn't hurt as badly.
Posting in a few hours, bout to get my flu shot.
Alright, done.
It had been a long campaign of destruction, Feidlimid's warband had set out almost a month ago to sea. They had left in search of plunder and women, standard viking fare. It wasn't till they had stumbled upon Castle Fortiner that they had met an impasse. Their previous raids to this location had come at little price, the people were meek and untrained. They hadn't a single proper warrior among their ranks, they were slaughtered like dogs three times over. Somehow, this fourth raid had unexpectedly been difficult. Someone had taught them to fight, as well as raise a wall strong enough to keep the warband out.
At least for a while.
It wasn't just the Berserkers, there were several other bands of Vikings along with them. A few of the more sane warriors told them to wait. They saw their garrison and waited until they had taken the drawbridge to take the drug. Slurping down the burning drink they burst through their ranks and slaughtered them in their streets. Burning their homes and dragging of their food and women, a few of the less violent sorts brought their plunder back to the ships while the Berserkers did most of the work.
It was actually impressive how well they had held back the Warbands, though ultimately fruitless. With that acidic poison pumping through their veins, the berserkers strength overwhelmed even the most skilled of fighters. None stronger than Feidlimid, with his tremendous axe he splintered the greatest of shields and crushed their strongest warrior with a single swing. They pleaded and begged, running and screaming. With no care for their well-being or his own, Feidlimid cut them down in swathes.
The raid lasted a day, and when the Berserkers had finally cooled down things started to settle in. Some of the raiders relaxed in the homes of those they had slaughtered, others celebrated in the streets. Drinking and holding revelry, laughing and dancing.
The Raven sat at the gates, unmoving, unblinking. Something compelled him to look eastward, there was something there. He felt it in his gut, it pained him, knowing that there was something out there that he had missed. Someone whose blood hadn't been shed.
His teeth grinding inside his head, a horrible scraping noise escaping his lips. "The East." He muttered. "The E-a-s-t." Dragging the word out, it left his mouth as slowly as sap drips down a tree. It obsessed him.
The thought consumed him.
Now the streets of the city were charred, the fires still crackling in some places. Bedding had been burned and most of the valuables had been looted. The city dead and only drunkards and revelers remained within, a few stragglers from the warband who were locked in thought or simply wanted to relax were still here and there.
The stone streets that once bore carts and children now adorned with the corpses of man and child, anything that wasn't of use was destroyed. It was a ruinous fortress, the walls broken and battered, the homes destroyed and pilfered. It was a shame too.
The land that surrounded the castle was so beautiful. Tall grasses swaying in the winds, slight golden fringes at the top of their stalks. Trees growing high into the air, beautifully adorned with glistening fruit. Smoke from the burning buildings now wafted over the grassland, giving a smokey tinge to all in sight.
It stood atop a seaside cliff, the waters below so crystal and blue. Ropes and ladders from the raiders were still hanging off the cliff, it was how they had gotten in. Waves gently lapping at the heel of the cliff, soft white foam built around its head.
If it weren't for the destruction that had destroyed the castle, it would have been a beautiful sight to behold. Now it was nothing more than another grave.
At least for a while.
It wasn't just the Berserkers, there were several other bands of Vikings along with them. A few of the more sane warriors told them to wait. They saw their garrison and waited until they had taken the drawbridge to take the drug. Slurping down the burning drink they burst through their ranks and slaughtered them in their streets. Burning their homes and dragging of their food and women, a few of the less violent sorts brought their plunder back to the ships while the Berserkers did most of the work.
It was actually impressive how well they had held back the Warbands, though ultimately fruitless. With that acidic poison pumping through their veins, the berserkers strength overwhelmed even the most skilled of fighters. None stronger than Feidlimid, with his tremendous axe he splintered the greatest of shields and crushed their strongest warrior with a single swing. They pleaded and begged, running and screaming. With no care for their well-being or his own, Feidlimid cut them down in swathes.
The raid lasted a day, and when the Berserkers had finally cooled down things started to settle in. Some of the raiders relaxed in the homes of those they had slaughtered, others celebrated in the streets. Drinking and holding revelry, laughing and dancing.
The Raven sat at the gates, unmoving, unblinking. Something compelled him to look eastward, there was something there. He felt it in his gut, it pained him, knowing that there was something out there that he had missed. Someone whose blood hadn't been shed.
His teeth grinding inside his head, a horrible scraping noise escaping his lips. "The East." He muttered. "The E-a-s-t." Dragging the word out, it left his mouth as slowly as sap drips down a tree. It obsessed him.
The thought consumed him.
Now the streets of the city were charred, the fires still crackling in some places. Bedding had been burned and most of the valuables had been looted. The city dead and only drunkards and revelers remained within, a few stragglers from the warband who were locked in thought or simply wanted to relax were still here and there.
The stone streets that once bore carts and children now adorned with the corpses of man and child, anything that wasn't of use was destroyed. It was a ruinous fortress, the walls broken and battered, the homes destroyed and pilfered. It was a shame too.
The land that surrounded the castle was so beautiful. Tall grasses swaying in the winds, slight golden fringes at the top of their stalks. Trees growing high into the air, beautifully adorned with glistening fruit. Smoke from the burning buildings now wafted over the grassland, giving a smokey tinge to all in sight.
It stood atop a seaside cliff, the waters below so crystal and blue. Ropes and ladders from the raiders were still hanging off the cliff, it was how they had gotten in. Waves gently lapping at the heel of the cliff, soft white foam built around its head.
If it weren't for the destruction that had destroyed the castle, it would have been a beautiful sight to behold. Now it was nothing more than another grave.
@Skallagrim@DJAtomika Alright, time to show you how I build a setting!
I'll have a post up in about an hour and a half.
I'll have a post up in about an hour and a half.
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