NytefallThe Archivist created a thick web between his lower hands and scuttled ever closer. His foe was strongly against such action, apparently, as the little wretch moved his bazooka into firing position. The Akarid launched his web like a spear, even as the rocket was loosed from the weapon with a berating cry.
“How droll.” The Archivist muttered watching his net-like web collide with the rocket in mid-air. It wrapped around the projectile and exploded, far closer to his demonic foe than the spider himself. However, when the dust cleared the little demon’s vision would be no more clear, as the Archivist had activated his cloaking and dashed forward, in the confusion becoming nigh on invisible as he closed the distance between he and his little foe far faster than the demon’s backpedalling could extend it. If a crater was left by the explosion the Akaraid would nimbly skirt around it, or jump over it, whichever was quicker and more efficient.
It would take less than five seconds for him to reach striking distance, running at top speed, and when he did both of his right hands would stretch outwards with lethal precision, aiming to stab the little demon child in the neck and upper chest respectively with poisonous claws. The cloaking would deactivate regardless after his attack was made, to save the energy of the data-pad. However, the Archivists great strength and momentum hoped to serve him in a head-on collision. Where once his claws were set he could lift his hand (for he struck palm upwards) and launch his foe skyward for additional harm.
MelonHead
Member
The Fighting Fruit
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
Mostly given up on this post by post business
Most Recent Posts
What is that fool shouting about? The Archivist wondered with faint amusement. He continued to scuttle around the lake until he was close enough to call it fighting distance between him and his foe. That brought him into another phase of observation, besides the water to his right and his foe straight ahead, the field was set. His foe himself was a small child-like opponent, with signs of great strength about him, with giant iron gauntlets and what looked like an explosive ordinance propulsion device, or bazooka as they were more casually referred to by those who he had encountered in the past. His memory of the weapon was such, a dangerous punch and a fiery inferno were like to be felt when the shot was fired. That had to be avoided, but space was too free around him, with little to hide behind or use for cover. He pondered this as his data-pad scanned both the foe and the field.
Slowly, his lower hands came together, his upper hands free of the weapons he pilfered in the previous battle. It would be of little consequence, he thought confidently. A familiar sticky secretion between his hands was enough to remind him that he had weapons he had yet to employ at his disposal. He scuttled within thirty feet of his foe and retained an eerie silence, seeking to unnerve his foe for the Archivist’s own amusement.
Slowly, his lower hands came together, his upper hands free of the weapons he pilfered in the previous battle. It would be of little consequence, he thought confidently. A familiar sticky secretion between his hands was enough to remind him that he had weapons he had yet to employ at his disposal. He scuttled within thirty feet of his foe and retained an eerie silence, seeking to unnerve his foe for the Archivist’s own amusement.
Skallagrim said
Yeah Old...uhhh wait, what? I thought he couldn't fight because he was you know...
I thought we decided to tell everyone it was just because he was old...
“Well, that was… simple.” The Archivist had not expected the sudden forfeiture of his foe, nor the instant teleportation and rejuvenation, followed by the immediate teleportation to the next field of battle. It was all rather baffling, and to a creature like the Archivist that was more worrying than a barrage of arrows.
The spider-like being took stock of his arena, his four unnatural eyes scouring the lake he had been deposited on the shore of. It was wide, to be sure, and he had no particular longing to enter its watery embrace. Rather, he began to scan the strange waters with his Data-pad, and slowly began to make his way across its shore, clockwise, assuming he would eventually have to run across his foe, or catch them floundering in the water.
He made a strange sight, the human torso attached to a spider’s body like some grotesque centaur. Few had met with the Archivist’s species, the Akarid, and lived to tell the tale. Perhaps this new foe would be one of the few? Or perhaps one of the many…
The spider-like being took stock of his arena, his four unnatural eyes scouring the lake he had been deposited on the shore of. It was wide, to be sure, and he had no particular longing to enter its watery embrace. Rather, he began to scan the strange waters with his Data-pad, and slowly began to make his way across its shore, clockwise, assuming he would eventually have to run across his foe, or catch them floundering in the water.
He made a strange sight, the human torso attached to a spider’s body like some grotesque centaur. Few had met with the Archivist’s species, the Akarid, and lived to tell the tale. Perhaps this new foe would be one of the few? Or perhaps one of the many…
Rilla said
0/10Skally's too nice.neither won.titlegoes2trilladuhkilla
Rilla, you can't fight anymore, you're old.
Yeah, sticking with it.
He was not much to look upon, as a god, though if one expected to be awed by the presence of a god of debauchery they were as mad as half his followers. Dressed in gaudy coloured nobleman’s attire, he was young with slightly untamed mid-length black hair and a relatively attractive face, though certainly not on par to the form most gods saw fit to assume. Leaning from the balcony of his large opulent room in Kronos, Morios the god of revelry and madness blearily observed the proceedings in the courtyard below. As a god, it was hardly necessary for him to be beside his fellow divinity to know exactly what was being said, or how it was being said which was often more important.
“So the prodigal son returns.” He muttered sardonically, sipping from the goblet which appeared just as he raised his hand. His great uncle had never been awake in his presence or such that he could remember, which was little considering his fondness for alcohol and its after-effects. Down below he was being questioned by Mysia, his beloved aunt, Lathunis lingered nearby as well as Eskellon, that boring old coot. They all looked so serious down below, which worried him more than it should have. Mysia especially was hardly playing her part, she needed more twitching and shaking, it would be difficult now for Morios to maintain her illusion of madness, but still he would try. He sighed, what he wouldn’t do for family. The thought brought him back, three weeks prior, to the death of his uncle Aroesus. It had been a tragedy, of that he was sure, and the subterfuge afterwards required his particular set of skills, Mysia had deemed it wise to hide her pregnancy, and she had enlisted the help of her nephew in such a task to ensure even the gods believed her incapacitated. Morios was not one to look at, but down below the mortals grew mad and debauched in the chaos, and his power swelled in result.
Dimly, Morios felt the pain of Aroesus' city as it was claimed by the night-fiends, servants of Mikazliqui. It was not part of his sphere to be so knowledgeable of far off events, usually, but the thirst of vampires was a very specific form of debauchery, and Morios was more than privy to the ongoing revelry of blood. His hand twitched involuntarily, so much satisfaction was hard to ignore, even if he privately found it unnerving to feast upon life blood. When he raised his goblet to his lips he spat in surprise, red liquid falling to the ground below, he emptied his cup along with it.
“Blood, bah.” He swore, and made his goblet refill with wine. His hand shook slightly as he sipped the liquid, this time the familiar taste of the alcoholic beverage settling his nerves.
“So the prodigal son returns.” He muttered sardonically, sipping from the goblet which appeared just as he raised his hand. His great uncle had never been awake in his presence or such that he could remember, which was little considering his fondness for alcohol and its after-effects. Down below he was being questioned by Mysia, his beloved aunt, Lathunis lingered nearby as well as Eskellon, that boring old coot. They all looked so serious down below, which worried him more than it should have. Mysia especially was hardly playing her part, she needed more twitching and shaking, it would be difficult now for Morios to maintain her illusion of madness, but still he would try. He sighed, what he wouldn’t do for family. The thought brought him back, three weeks prior, to the death of his uncle Aroesus. It had been a tragedy, of that he was sure, and the subterfuge afterwards required his particular set of skills, Mysia had deemed it wise to hide her pregnancy, and she had enlisted the help of her nephew in such a task to ensure even the gods believed her incapacitated. Morios was not one to look at, but down below the mortals grew mad and debauched in the chaos, and his power swelled in result.
Dimly, Morios felt the pain of Aroesus' city as it was claimed by the night-fiends, servants of Mikazliqui. It was not part of his sphere to be so knowledgeable of far off events, usually, but the thirst of vampires was a very specific form of debauchery, and Morios was more than privy to the ongoing revelry of blood. His hand twitched involuntarily, so much satisfaction was hard to ignore, even if he privately found it unnerving to feast upon life blood. When he raised his goblet to his lips he spat in surprise, red liquid falling to the ground below, he emptied his cup along with it.
“Blood, bah.” He swore, and made his goblet refill with wine. His hand shook slightly as he sipped the liquid, this time the familiar taste of the alcoholic beverage settling his nerves.
The Human had fallen into his trap, it seemed. Perhaps unforgotten at the side of the battlefield lay the seeing ward, for Jaldoa had resisted using its abilities to avoid the earlier attack and therefore his foe had no knowledge of his other-worldly perception.
When Chester attempted to speed over to Jaldoa’s tree, he would be shocked powerfully with Loa magic at the cost of the use of his limbs for a short period of time, complete paralysis, and a dangerous attack it was indeed. Meanwhile, Jaldoa was aware that Chester had moved to cut him off, and sped directly towards his foe who he knew would soon be paralysed and incapacitated.
Hoping to reach him in mere seconds after the ward of warning hit him, the troll would actually swipe downwards with his staff at his foe’s head, especially if he had fallen and was attempting to rise. However, he would expect the obvious roll to the side, which because of the obstruction of his tree could only be to the one direction. Therefore, if Jaldoa saw any indication that Chester knew he was about to be struck, he would immediately alter the trajectory of his swipe to deal an angled strike from left to right, less likely to kill but almost certain to actually hit.
When Chester attempted to speed over to Jaldoa’s tree, he would be shocked powerfully with Loa magic at the cost of the use of his limbs for a short period of time, complete paralysis, and a dangerous attack it was indeed. Meanwhile, Jaldoa was aware that Chester had moved to cut him off, and sped directly towards his foe who he knew would soon be paralysed and incapacitated.
Hoping to reach him in mere seconds after the ward of warning hit him, the troll would actually swipe downwards with his staff at his foe’s head, especially if he had fallen and was attempting to rise. However, he would expect the obvious roll to the side, which because of the obstruction of his tree could only be to the one direction. Therefore, if Jaldoa saw any indication that Chester knew he was about to be struck, he would immediately alter the trajectory of his swipe to deal an angled strike from left to right, less likely to kill but almost certain to actually hit.
So, anyone want to actually fight me this round?
Seems suspiciously familiar.
© 2007-2026