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Author Topic: May 2015- Erutin Pic  (Read 5842 times)
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Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin
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Gender: Male
Posts: 7034

Human, Remusian

« on: May 18, 2015, 02:27:04 AM »

Let us start this one off by posting an action scene.  Come up with a story that describes this scene.  Who is he?  Why is he there?  What happened to him?

Favorite Cartoon Quotes
"It was a dark and stormy night."  - Snoopy
"Ack!" - Bill the Cat
"I did not have sex with that woman, Monica Lewinski." - President Bill Clinton

My Character can be viewed @Angelina Jolie's house.  But knock first, in case I'm in my underwear.
Mallorix Volinkov
Adventurous Peasant
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Posts: 516

Human, Centoraurian

« Reply #1 on: June 09, 2015, 08:35:43 AM »

It's not May anymore, but since a new pic hasn't gone up yet, I thought I might try my hand.

It was a long and tiring hunt, for the beast was canny and the swamps treacherous. Many men had died trying to find it, and yet they still sent ranging parties after it, for when they stopped hunting, it would appear again, snatching a child swimming in a creek or a thirsty sheep before disappearing back into the waters.

Everyone knew the task was hopeless, which is probably why they agreed so readily to let him go. He was a murderer, true, but he would be less trouble than the beast, if he managed to kill it. A full pardon, as well as a sack of gold on release. Many wouldn't even consider it, preferring to rot in their jail cells until they could be punished, but his execution was slated for the next week. He might as well die fighting than at the gibbet.

They offered to equip him, but he refused all armor. It would only slow him down, he said. The knights shook their heads in silence, but they were used to fighting on the field. What did they know of swamps? He was born in a place much like this, after all. And he knew where to step and where not to, which plants to eat and which to avoid, and even how to keep the swarms of mosquitos away. In short, he could disappear here if he wanted to. But something in him kept him at the hunt, and he continued searching for the monster.

On the third day, he found its trail - an unmistakable gash in a tree, and a partially-dismembered deer. From then on, it was easy; it was as if the serpent wanted to be found. As he got closer and closer to its lair, the trees seemed to close in, the water looked darker and more treacherous, and the quivering of many small animals gave way to an unsettling stillness. It was then that he saw the first body. The man nearly tripped over a grinning skull, sitting next to a shredded blue-and-gold banner. What a fool, he thought, kicking the bony head into the water. The bones became more common after that, dead men and women, some in armor, some not, arranged as if the beast were taunting him, telling him that he would only be the next victim of its cruel jaws.

Then, at last, he found its lair. He crept forward slowly, and watched it until it left, presumably to find a meal. He then readied his axe, and planned how to kill it. He would need to take it by surprise, for its tail would be wrapped around him in an instant. The man did not pray, for he knew that no god could help him. He only sharpened his axe, and waited. He stood there many hours, but finally, the beast returned, clutching a bloodhound in its jaws. No doubt the knights had decided that he had run, and were looking for him. The monster finished the dog in two snaps of its jaw, and then relaxed its body, lying down to rest. This would be his chance to strike.

He leapt upon it, swinging his axe towards the serpent's neck. It screeched in surprise, and lifted its tail to block, earning a nasty gash. The man rushed forward to strike again, but only managed to nick the scales as the creature drew back. It was angry now, and lashed out with its tail. He barely avoided it, taking a step closed to the monster. Only then did he realize that he was trapped, as the tail started to wind around him. Seizing upon his momentary distraction, the serpent reared to strike at him with its jaws. The man acted instinctively, reaching out and grabbing its mouth with one hand, and then swinging at its head with the other. With a sickening crunch, the axe buried itself deep into the monster's skull. It lashed out with its tail, knocking the man off his feet, but the damage was done. The beast's blood filled the water as it writhed, desperately trying to remove the steel blade from its head. Panting, the man pulled himself ashore, and watched the serpent die. When it stopped moving, he groaned and checked himself. Nothing broken, but he'd have some nasty bruises. After lying there for a few minutes, he stood, pulled his axe from the monster's skull, and then hacked off its head. He then set off through the swamp back the way he came. It was a long way to that pardon and the sack of gold, after all.

"I despise merchants. All of them are fat, rich men who yell about things and take your money."
Mallorix's CD
Ryldor Gadriel
Miscreant Mage
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Gender: Male
Posts: 616

« Reply #2 on: July 17, 2015, 12:20:46 PM »

Yes, I know it's July, but there's still no new pic, so...

“This is wrong,” Dagem thought. The murky water, the desolate swamp, the axe in his hand. All of it seemed familiar, but he knew he shouldn't be here. Not in this place. Not at this time. He'd never seen such a swamp, he was sure of that. But he had been here before. Of that too, he was sure.

His eyes watched the branches and vines, and scanned the water, alert for every ripple, readying himself for anything. There were surely threats in any swamp, but here was especially dangerous. He didn't know how he knew, any more than he knew why he was here, but he suspected he would die here. He kept walking despite the growing feeling of dread. He fought with every step, each a struggle as his feet kept getting stuck in the mud. It took great effort to keep moving, but his legs were strong and he kept up an impressive pace. But that was wrong too. He hadn't walked like this since the accident. Since the fire.

He froze. The warrior in him knew trouble was near. Nothing obvious had changed, but it was there. He scanned his surroundings, trying to use his senses, but the bog rendered them useless. The foliage limited his view, the buzzing insects blocked his hearing and the pungent stench burned his nostrils. He searched anyway but found nothing. All was as it was before. The sights and sounds and smells were the same, but...

He screamed as his legs were crushed together, realizing too late that his focus should have been closer and deeper. Something was beneath the surface of the water, squeezing him, pinning him in place and threatening to bring him down. “If I go under, I die.” That simple thought gave him the strength to stay upright, even as he knew he was dead already.

The water would render any slashes useless, so he held his axe underwater and started sawing at whatever held him, even as it continued to loop around his waist. He sliced and sliced, until finally the head of the creature emerged, and he saw the face of his attacker. A serpent unlike anything he'd heard of. Its head was long and full of razor sharp teeth, more like a Kaimun, though it had the long, forked tongue of a snake. The body was long enough that Dagem never saw the end of the creature. It seemed to be one extended muscle intent on crushing the life from him.

But now part of the beast was out of the water and he could finally use his axe, and might, to its fullest. He attacked, moving his weapon around easily, with the skill and grace of an expert, though he knew he hadn't trained in decades. He brought the axe down again and again, each blow strong enough to nearly rend the creature in two, but the grip tightened and the snake refused to die. It continued to wrap around him, but he kept attacking, ineffective as each blow seemed to be.

He grabbed the serpent's jaw, hoping not to lose any fingers in doing so, and hacked again. Still no effect. “It's killing me.” Soon he felt a loop around his throat and he panicked. He dropped the axe and started trying to pull at the slimy creature, his hands finding no purchase. He knew he was taking his last breaths. “Breala forgive me.”

* * * * * * *

Dagem sat up with a start, his hands clawing at his neck to remove the imagined thing crushing his windpipe. He was gasping for air, both from fright and to reassure himself that the episode had been a dream. That dream. Again.

He spun, panting, swinging his good leg off of the bed with his stump following. He rubbed the end of his lost leg, trying to will the phantom pain away. It was always worse after these 'two-legged' dreams. He moved around slowly, his weary bones creaky and cracking at the sudden movement. His looked down at his wrinkled hands and gray skin, made grayer by the light of the moon. He silently lamented that dying in that dream was, in some ways, better than being back in his body of nearly 60 years, living with what he'd done. He'd been that warrior once, as deadly with an axe as any, but that had been decades earlier.   

He turned to look at Breala, lying on her side, facing away from him, pretending to sleep. That his thrashings didn't wake her was a lie they had silently agreed to. It was impossible to sleep through this, they both knew. On the few occasions that passers-by had been near enough to their farmstead on the occasion of a nightmare, they'd heard him scream a dash away. Breala hadn't stirred. She lay there now, ignoring him as he knew she would. She never spoke to him without the greatest of cause, and then she made no effort to hide the venom in her voice. Not that she had no reason. Not that she hated him any more than he hated himself for what had happened to their boy.  He thought back on that night nearing 30 years ago.

Triach bringing Cylian Poppy. Way too much poppy... The fire. They'd never know how it started, but there it suddenly was... The wall collapsing and pinning his leg under the burning boards... Triach saving him... The pain. His screams... Both of them being too affected by poppy to remember North sleeping and dying upstairs in a burning house, the child's screams probably being drowned out by his own... Waiting for Breala to return. Having to tell her her son was dead. Because of him.

She'd not spoken a kind word to him since, but Breala feared the gods more than anything and with their wedding vows, she'd sworn to stay with him forever, and that's what she'd do. Regardless of the monster he had become in her eyes. No matter how much she hated him. He'd lost count of how many times he'd wished he'd died that day. At first, it was in exchange of his son's life. He would gladly have traded his life for North's. But now he mostly wished he'd died too. If only not to face Breala's scorn for a second more.

His felt his breathing return to normal and his heart rate slowing, even as the tightness in his chest remained. The dreams were a punishment, he'd been told. The mind's way of dealing with things he couldn't. “Like killing your son.” They came less frequently now, but were never less intense. For a while he wondered whether he'd ever be free from them. Now he knew he never would be.

He glanced out the window, hoping to see a lightening sky, but it was still dark despite the moon. Regretfully, it was too early to try and start the day.  He got back under the covers, closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

It is not enough to conquer; one must learn to seduce.  ~  Voltaire
Oh dearest Ryldor, dust thou know thy charm?; The clever smile soft upon thy face; Seem like a promise for to do no harm; Whilst I, enjoying thy tender grace; Should gaze in admiration at thy eyes; As azure as where highest heaven lay; Reflections of the clearest, truest skies; They seem to melt my very heart away!; And if thy lovely words were not as true; As thine eyes blue, still I'd believe thy claim; Of magedom. Magic turned a rosy hue; My cheeks. A spell thou cast upon this dame!; Thou art a most capricious scoundrel, yet; The sweetest gentlemen I've ever met.; ~ Rayne Avalotus
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