Frostfire

[Miranda Frost]

The weak Mayor Blue fled Scar's mountain fortress on the back of his flying meatshield of a dragon..... whose name escaped November. It didn't really matter in either case. The village militia was too either frightened or shocked from the dragon's appearance and how easily their "Fierce Leader" went down. It was sad really to see such a "Well Trained" group of fighting "Men" to have their morale crushed so easily. It meant November's fun would be less so. What a pity. What a pity.

It was a pity that November largely went un-noticed. Not a single set of eyes tracked him as he dragged his huge blade across the ground, walking calmly toward the center of the training field. Their negligence to pay attention would be their downfall. The only hard part about this... would be the infinite choices November could bring about their ultimate demise.

November was armed to the teeth on this mission, sporting two wakizashis, two revolvers he had taken off of his father's corpse, a broken spear taken off the corpse of his first victory at Coliseum, his Frostbite sword, and a couple of knives hidden in his boots just incase the others listed before couldn't do the trick. Should all else fail he was proficient in hand to had combat, although not as much as his sister was....

His primary weapon, Frostbite, was a six foot long double edged broadsword that had been passed down through the males of the Frost Family for generations. The tip was missing, housing a gap that traveled two feet down the blad to another sharp edge on the inside, making a great weapon for decapitations. It was strong. It was durable. It was incredibly sharp. With this weapon he had avenged her sister's death by slaughtering all of Coliseum. Not a single man, woman, or child left that place. Spectator or Competitor, it didn't matter to November. Because of those who competed and those who enjoyed their suffering, his sister was killed.

Now this village was about to suffer the same fate, although this time all eyes were not on him. It would be even easier than before. November slipped off his mask and lifted his black, wide brimmed hat up, letting him get a full view of the fortress's "Turrets" and ballistae. Each was unmanned. The "walls" seemed to be unoccupied as well, except for the gate-keepers. Many if not most of the village's militia had pulled around the training grounds, possibly to watch the fight their Mayor was going to commit to. Blue put and end to that rather quickly.

It was time to make things interesting. November slammed his blade into the ashy ground and cleared his throat.

"Greetings North Village! My job here is simple... to give you a chance to win your leader back!", November called out, crossing his arms and gazing out at the crowd of short sword and spear weilding militia, who only now started to return his gaze. They weren't happy, but at least now their were attemptive, giving their soon to be killer all the attention in the world. This determination would not last long if November's assumptions were correct. Once they fully witness the desolation of their ranks... they would attempt to flee.. or beg... or both. It was quite amusing. Would November toy with them? Perhaps he could make it seem as if they had a chance. The possibilities were endless!

November howled in menacing laughter. Oh great fun this was! Just thinking about what to do just made his blood boil.

"It is simple! Kill me and drag my body to East Village and you will have your 'mayor' back..... if you fail....", November licked his lips and took the hilt of his sword into his hand, lifting it free from the ground and resting it on his shoulder. "Then your lives are forfeit".

The mob of spear and sword armed men closed slowly, reluctantly around November. It was probably fifty.. maybe a hundred guards here. The fools were going to need more.

A few more moments and the crowd refused to make the first move. Fools... it was their only chance of victory. They were all smashed together in a tight circle around November. November raised his sword a and leaped foreward, thrusting his blade into the western wall of men. Two out of one hundred already down, their bellies torn and left to spill once November kicked them free of his blade. This... this was going to be fun.

Like kicking a hornets nest, the hornets swarmed in for the attack, spears raised and swords poised to strike. The black Marauder took his blade into both of his hands and spun quickly, cleaving the first and second rows of attackers. Already the bottom half of his blade was painted red to the point of blocking the black finish along the flat of the sword from being visible.

There was nothing like it. The sky was red. Frostbite was red. The ash around him was starting to form a crimson mud. The smell of iron took to the air with each slash into the mob of angry men. Their numbers in the first few moments of the battle had dropped from a formidable one hundred men to a... less than hopeful sixty. A few more after had to be cut down before they stopped charging in blindly into the meat cleaver's reach. Someone had taken charge of the group. They dispersed and loosened their formation, circling around him like hungry wolves.

November stood to a straightened posture, the hilt of his blade tight in his gloved hand. the ends of his coat were already torn and stained scarlet. A few spears did make it through November's defensive manuevers as he featured a few grazed cuts along his side and a stab wound in his left arm. the enemy didn't take his openings for granted. They waited... patiently.

"You should be attacking... you know... you are all pissing me off..", he said with a chuckle stuck in his throat. There was a power his bloodline wielded. It involved taking pure rage and pumping it from his soul into his bloodstream. The result increased his strength, speed, and pain tolerence for a short time, but that usually was enough to finish an enemy or group of weaklings like this. Mastering the ability had been difficult as he could only harness it through moments of immense rage, at first. Once he was used to "Flexing" that "Muscle", metaphorically speaking, he found it easier and easier to pull it off. As long as he was frustrated at least, he could tap into it. It did leave a massive strain on his body though, so he would have to make sure to finish ALL threats before being on his way. If even a single guardsmen managed to hold off until his rage diminished, then he would find November to be a much... easier adversary.

November tensed his body, opening the gates between his soul and bloodstream, flooding his core with the despair and frustration he had been feeling. Like a chain reaction the soul answered back in kind, infusing his bloodstream with the negative energy he had been keeping pent up. He couldn't feel his wounds and his body felt as if it was laying in a bed of euphoria. November grinned from ear to ear before taking up his blade in both hands, and charging into the group of remaining guardsmen