05-14-2018, 09:14 AM
Erik had wanted to ride to the bandit outpost, but Sand Hawk insisted on “Being one with the dunes!” which apparently involved long, haphazard treks through the desert, taking what could have been a half hour trip into a two hour wander through the scorching heat.
“We are almost there, I can sense the lamentations of my people from here!” Sand Hawk announced out of the blue, although this was quickly becoming a common occurrence.
“Just as you sensed their lamentations the last four times? If we don't get there soon the only thing that's going to be lamenting is your goggles when I smash them on the floor.” The irritated psychic replied, sick of nothing but sand dunes with the eccentric bandit as his only company.
“You wouldn't!” Sand Hawk gasped. “But you need not even consider it, look over there!” The bandit pointed to a speck on the horizon, steadily getting closer as the men marched forwards. Erik soon realised that it wasn't just one speck, but a small mass of them. The specks quickly became blobs, which quickly focused into buildings. Bandits flitted in and out of the cobbled together shacks, going about whatever a bandit does when they aren't raiding. The psychic could also spot cages dotted around the camp, holding what Erik presumed was Sand Hawk’s clan mates. The captives were occasionally prodded at by bored bandits, but were largely ignored.
“This is it!” Sand Hawk announced as the pair arrived at the camp, hiding from sight behind a shack. “Let's strike quickly, I don't see any of the generals around!”
Erik nodded in silent agreement as he summoned his psi bow and took aim at the nearest bandit. The violet arrow flew true, striking the clueless man in the temple, then dissipating before he hit the ground. The psychic and his bandit companion moved like a phantom through the camp, Erik’s arrows and Sand Hawk’s seemingly endless supply of throwing knives making quick work of the grunts patrolling the camp. Erik was more surprised at the fact that Sand Hawk hadn't spoken in the last five minutes than his sudden ability to land his knives.
Less than two dozen bandits later, and the pair were hurrying to break the cages open. Sand Hawk had some success jimmying the cages open with his daggers, while Erik had no such luck. Deciding to forego lock picking, Erik drew the crude troll axe he had strapped to his back, having sat neglected since he had left the frozen fields, and swung the heavy blade towards the basic lock, shattering it. The axe made quick work of the cage locks, and the duo had most of the captives freed in short order.
“Go, I'll meet you in Nippur, tell them you mean well!” Sand Hawk hissed to his clan mates as the small crowd quietly celebrated their freedom.
“Why don't you come with us?” A bandit inquired, followed by a chorus of agreements.
“We’ve gotta take care of the generals, or they’ll just recapture you, or kill us all!” Sand Hawk said, ushering his people away. The bandits reluctantly agreed, but not before whispering something to Sand Hawk. The bandit lord nodded vigorously as the clan quickly made their exit, leaving Erik and Sand Hawk alone. Erik opened his mouth to say something, but paused when he heard whispering nearby.
“It's too quiet out there. What’s happening?” A male voice said, just loud enough to make out.
“Go check if you're so concerned about it.” A female voice replied. The male voice grunted something in response before Erik heard the shifting of someone getting to their feet. A man in a full suit of scrap metal armour spray painted red emerged from the nearest shed, the bored look on his face vanishing as he saw the empty cages and bodies spread around the camp, with Erik and Sand Hawk in the middle. The bandit mouthed ‘holy shit’ silently before slowly backing into the building.
“Everyone’s dead!” He hissed, a little too loud to hide his panic.
“Huh?” The female voice replied, sounding just as shocked. “You're fucking with me, right?”
“No, I'm not, everyone's dead and Sand Hawk is out there with a New Babylonian.”
“You know what that means, right?”
“Of course.”
“Promotions!” Both voices cried in unison, before the roof of the shack seemed to blow off the building and three oddly dressed bandits exploded out.
“In the desert heat, through peace and strife!” The man in red cried, striking a heroic pose as he did so.
“We alone stand above all life!” The woman, dressed in what appeared to be a salvaged wetsuit, complete with snorkel, with wings crudely attached to it, shouted.
“We strike anywhere, in day and night.” The man announced, flexing his muscles, despite them being hidden beneath his cobbled together armour.
“Every challenge is just a test of our might!” The woman proclaimed, taking on a pose similar to a hamstring stretch.
“Roaring Salamander!” The man said, puffing out his chest and grinning.
“Killer Mosquito!” The woman almost screamed, adopting an airplane pose as if she was taking off.
“We are Crimson sandstorm, here to fight!” The pair announced together, adopting a back to back pose. “Hit it, Pig!”
The formerly silent third bandit, a skinny ginger dressed in cobbled together clothing, raised a flute to his lips and played a few notes. Erik had to admit that this was one of the deadliest bandit teams he had ever seen, because he felt like he was about to have an aneurysm.
“Killer Mosquito, you and Stalwart Rhino take on Sand Hawk, while Pig and I take on the New Babylonian.” Roaring Salamander said as he quickly scanned the camp. “Oh, shit, Stalwart Rhino is dead. Okay, uh, you can take Sand Hawk alone, we’ll handle this guy.”
Sand Hawk gave Erik a thumbs up as he dashed off to another part of the camp, Killer Mosquito in hot pursuit, her taped-on wings fluttering behind her. The psychic drew Mageslayer as he faced off against the two bandits, although Pig seemed far less interested than Roading Salamander.
“So, New Babylonian, do you want to surrender now? We’ll just cut your head off and our boss gives us a big bonus, and you won't even suffer! It's win-win!” Roaring Salamander said, a massive grin on his face as if he had just won the lottery.
“No!” Erik roared. “I've had to spend two gods-forsaken hours around the most inane bandits in the dunes, and I'm ready to tear this whole camp apart!” The psychic moved to advance on the bandit before a firecracker came whizzing towards his head, detonating inches from his face. The psychic grunted in mild pain as his face was slightly singed, before blocking another firecracker coming towards him.
“Your attack is throwing firecrackers?” Erik cried incredulously.
“No, fool, this is my technique, Salamander’s Roar!” The bandit said as he lit another firecracker and tossed it towards the frustrated psychic. “We stole these from an Omnizon shipment that we ordered, just for the rush!”
The bandit tossed another firecracker at Erik, who batted it back at the man. To both of their surprise, the firecracker dropped down the collar of Roaring Salamander’s scrapyard armour. Both men looked at each other for a moment, before the firecracker detonated, setting of a chain reaction with the rest of the stash.
“Aaaaaah! I burn, I burn!” The bandit cried as pops sounded out from his armour like a bag of extra loud popcorn. He slowly dropped to his knees and clutched at his heart dramatically as the last firecracker went off.
“I am… Defeated…” He groaned as he dropped onto his face. “Can you get me some burn cream after this whole thing is over?”
Erik was sorely tempted to finish the bandit off, but decided against it, instead turning to Pig. The man was barely paying attention to the fight, instead focusing on tuning his flute.
“I'm just gonna leave.” He said as he pocketed the instrument. “I've got a recital coming up in a few hours and I should really get going.”
“Before you go, I need to ask you a question.” Erik said, the bandit nodding for him to go on. “Why do they have titles in front of their animal but you’re just pig?”
“Oh, I haven't earned my title yet. Pig is just my name.” He said as if it were the most obvious this in the world, before walking off into the desert. Erik stared at the man incredulously as he left, before being tapped on the shoulder. The psychic turned to see Sand Hawk standing beside him, with Killer Mosquito halfway through one of the flimsy walls of the shacks.
“How are you suddenly so capable of fighting?” Erik asked, still in disbelief of the sudden skyrocket in skill.
“Fighting a prime made me nervous!” Sand Hawk said, not quite able to meet Erik’s gaze. “So I tried to just play it cool, and hope that I could intimidate you as well!”
“Right… So, can we leave now?” Erik inquired, the eerie silence of the camp pressing down on him.
“No, we still need to kill the guy running this camp!” Sand Hawk replied, his eyes darting around nervously.
“I've got no reason to be worried.” Erik thought to himself. “If the generals are any indication of the leader’s personality, he’ll probably be the most incompetent o-” Before he could finish his thought, chains bound to cruel, jagged blades erupted from the sands, digging into Erik’s flesh and holding him tight. The psychic opened his mouth to reflexively cry for help, but was yanked under the dunes, choking his words in sand. The chains ripped Erik along, cutting messy gashes into his skin as he was hauled up to the surface. Just as the psychic emerged and gasped down a breath of air, he was slammed to the floor, knocking the wind out of him. A heavy boot crushed into his back as the chains pulled up, digging deeper into his body. Erik’s captor leaned down until the psychic could see a pair of cruel grey eyes boring into his soul, and another jagged knife poised to slash his throat.
“My name is Emperor Scorpion.” The man hissed, his voice low and gravelly as if he hadn't used it in years. “And you, Erik Vrell, are in my domain.”
“We are almost there, I can sense the lamentations of my people from here!” Sand Hawk announced out of the blue, although this was quickly becoming a common occurrence.
“Just as you sensed their lamentations the last four times? If we don't get there soon the only thing that's going to be lamenting is your goggles when I smash them on the floor.” The irritated psychic replied, sick of nothing but sand dunes with the eccentric bandit as his only company.
“You wouldn't!” Sand Hawk gasped. “But you need not even consider it, look over there!” The bandit pointed to a speck on the horizon, steadily getting closer as the men marched forwards. Erik soon realised that it wasn't just one speck, but a small mass of them. The specks quickly became blobs, which quickly focused into buildings. Bandits flitted in and out of the cobbled together shacks, going about whatever a bandit does when they aren't raiding. The psychic could also spot cages dotted around the camp, holding what Erik presumed was Sand Hawk’s clan mates. The captives were occasionally prodded at by bored bandits, but were largely ignored.
“This is it!” Sand Hawk announced as the pair arrived at the camp, hiding from sight behind a shack. “Let's strike quickly, I don't see any of the generals around!”
Erik nodded in silent agreement as he summoned his psi bow and took aim at the nearest bandit. The violet arrow flew true, striking the clueless man in the temple, then dissipating before he hit the ground. The psychic and his bandit companion moved like a phantom through the camp, Erik’s arrows and Sand Hawk’s seemingly endless supply of throwing knives making quick work of the grunts patrolling the camp. Erik was more surprised at the fact that Sand Hawk hadn't spoken in the last five minutes than his sudden ability to land his knives.
Less than two dozen bandits later, and the pair were hurrying to break the cages open. Sand Hawk had some success jimmying the cages open with his daggers, while Erik had no such luck. Deciding to forego lock picking, Erik drew the crude troll axe he had strapped to his back, having sat neglected since he had left the frozen fields, and swung the heavy blade towards the basic lock, shattering it. The axe made quick work of the cage locks, and the duo had most of the captives freed in short order.
“Go, I'll meet you in Nippur, tell them you mean well!” Sand Hawk hissed to his clan mates as the small crowd quietly celebrated their freedom.
“Why don't you come with us?” A bandit inquired, followed by a chorus of agreements.
“We’ve gotta take care of the generals, or they’ll just recapture you, or kill us all!” Sand Hawk said, ushering his people away. The bandits reluctantly agreed, but not before whispering something to Sand Hawk. The bandit lord nodded vigorously as the clan quickly made their exit, leaving Erik and Sand Hawk alone. Erik opened his mouth to say something, but paused when he heard whispering nearby.
“It's too quiet out there. What’s happening?” A male voice said, just loud enough to make out.
“Go check if you're so concerned about it.” A female voice replied. The male voice grunted something in response before Erik heard the shifting of someone getting to their feet. A man in a full suit of scrap metal armour spray painted red emerged from the nearest shed, the bored look on his face vanishing as he saw the empty cages and bodies spread around the camp, with Erik and Sand Hawk in the middle. The bandit mouthed ‘holy shit’ silently before slowly backing into the building.
“Everyone’s dead!” He hissed, a little too loud to hide his panic.
“Huh?” The female voice replied, sounding just as shocked. “You're fucking with me, right?”
“No, I'm not, everyone's dead and Sand Hawk is out there with a New Babylonian.”
“You know what that means, right?”
“Of course.”
“Promotions!” Both voices cried in unison, before the roof of the shack seemed to blow off the building and three oddly dressed bandits exploded out.
“In the desert heat, through peace and strife!” The man in red cried, striking a heroic pose as he did so.
“We alone stand above all life!” The woman, dressed in what appeared to be a salvaged wetsuit, complete with snorkel, with wings crudely attached to it, shouted.
“We strike anywhere, in day and night.” The man announced, flexing his muscles, despite them being hidden beneath his cobbled together armour.
“Every challenge is just a test of our might!” The woman proclaimed, taking on a pose similar to a hamstring stretch.
“Roaring Salamander!” The man said, puffing out his chest and grinning.
“Killer Mosquito!” The woman almost screamed, adopting an airplane pose as if she was taking off.
“We are Crimson sandstorm, here to fight!” The pair announced together, adopting a back to back pose. “Hit it, Pig!”
The formerly silent third bandit, a skinny ginger dressed in cobbled together clothing, raised a flute to his lips and played a few notes. Erik had to admit that this was one of the deadliest bandit teams he had ever seen, because he felt like he was about to have an aneurysm.
“Killer Mosquito, you and Stalwart Rhino take on Sand Hawk, while Pig and I take on the New Babylonian.” Roaring Salamander said as he quickly scanned the camp. “Oh, shit, Stalwart Rhino is dead. Okay, uh, you can take Sand Hawk alone, we’ll handle this guy.”
Sand Hawk gave Erik a thumbs up as he dashed off to another part of the camp, Killer Mosquito in hot pursuit, her taped-on wings fluttering behind her. The psychic drew Mageslayer as he faced off against the two bandits, although Pig seemed far less interested than Roading Salamander.
“So, New Babylonian, do you want to surrender now? We’ll just cut your head off and our boss gives us a big bonus, and you won't even suffer! It's win-win!” Roaring Salamander said, a massive grin on his face as if he had just won the lottery.
“No!” Erik roared. “I've had to spend two gods-forsaken hours around the most inane bandits in the dunes, and I'm ready to tear this whole camp apart!” The psychic moved to advance on the bandit before a firecracker came whizzing towards his head, detonating inches from his face. The psychic grunted in mild pain as his face was slightly singed, before blocking another firecracker coming towards him.
“Your attack is throwing firecrackers?” Erik cried incredulously.
“No, fool, this is my technique, Salamander’s Roar!” The bandit said as he lit another firecracker and tossed it towards the frustrated psychic. “We stole these from an Omnizon shipment that we ordered, just for the rush!”
The bandit tossed another firecracker at Erik, who batted it back at the man. To both of their surprise, the firecracker dropped down the collar of Roaring Salamander’s scrapyard armour. Both men looked at each other for a moment, before the firecracker detonated, setting of a chain reaction with the rest of the stash.
“Aaaaaah! I burn, I burn!” The bandit cried as pops sounded out from his armour like a bag of extra loud popcorn. He slowly dropped to his knees and clutched at his heart dramatically as the last firecracker went off.
“I am… Defeated…” He groaned as he dropped onto his face. “Can you get me some burn cream after this whole thing is over?”
Erik was sorely tempted to finish the bandit off, but decided against it, instead turning to Pig. The man was barely paying attention to the fight, instead focusing on tuning his flute.
“I'm just gonna leave.” He said as he pocketed the instrument. “I've got a recital coming up in a few hours and I should really get going.”
“Before you go, I need to ask you a question.” Erik said, the bandit nodding for him to go on. “Why do they have titles in front of their animal but you’re just pig?”
“Oh, I haven't earned my title yet. Pig is just my name.” He said as if it were the most obvious this in the world, before walking off into the desert. Erik stared at the man incredulously as he left, before being tapped on the shoulder. The psychic turned to see Sand Hawk standing beside him, with Killer Mosquito halfway through one of the flimsy walls of the shacks.
“How are you suddenly so capable of fighting?” Erik asked, still in disbelief of the sudden skyrocket in skill.
“Fighting a prime made me nervous!” Sand Hawk said, not quite able to meet Erik’s gaze. “So I tried to just play it cool, and hope that I could intimidate you as well!”
“Right… So, can we leave now?” Erik inquired, the eerie silence of the camp pressing down on him.
“No, we still need to kill the guy running this camp!” Sand Hawk replied, his eyes darting around nervously.
“I've got no reason to be worried.” Erik thought to himself. “If the generals are any indication of the leader’s personality, he’ll probably be the most incompetent o-” Before he could finish his thought, chains bound to cruel, jagged blades erupted from the sands, digging into Erik’s flesh and holding him tight. The psychic opened his mouth to reflexively cry for help, but was yanked under the dunes, choking his words in sand. The chains ripped Erik along, cutting messy gashes into his skin as he was hauled up to the surface. Just as the psychic emerged and gasped down a breath of air, he was slammed to the floor, knocking the wind out of him. A heavy boot crushed into his back as the chains pulled up, digging deeper into his body. Erik’s captor leaned down until the psychic could see a pair of cruel grey eyes boring into his soul, and another jagged knife poised to slash his throat.
“My name is Emperor Scorpion.” The man hissed, his voice low and gravelly as if he hadn't used it in years. “And you, Erik Vrell, are in my domain.”
*The emperor of mankind yeets erik into a sun*
[Today 08:03 pm] Erik Vrell : Bruh
[Today 08:03 pm] The emperor of mankind : don't worship gods
[Today 08:03 pm] Erik Vrell : Bruh
[Today 08:03 pm] The emperor of mankind : don't worship gods