08-13-2015, 10:32 AM
And just like that, things went to hell.
One moment they'd been having a very ahnimated sort of conversation among their very eclectic group gathered here with the, apparently, common goal of searching out their glorious, backward silhouette of an overlord. The reasons were definitely varied, even from just the definite answers he'd heard, but that didn't change the immediate goal: find Omni.
It was a beautiful thing.
And then, the next moment, the background hum and buzz of the jungle was torn apart by a very different sound indeed, a greenskinned horde bursting from the trees, swarming out at anything and everything, murderous intent clear from their aggressive posture and the infernal noises spewing from their maws.
He heard the lady general, Klaud, try to take charge of the situation again, and he let a predator's grin crack through his formerly cheery facade. "Aye, aye, ma'am!" he cackled, clapping both hands against his knees. In a flurry of movement, Crow was up on his feet, his captain's coat swishing about him like the wings of the bird whose name he had stolen, and a flash of steel heralded the drawing of his blade, glinting silver and red in the light filtering through the trees above. And as the first of the orces reached him, he was off and running at -- and through them.
Truth be told, the chaos of the situation almost made Crow feel at home again. It certainly made him feel alive. If only the ground were moving just a little...quaking, heaving and shattering unpredictably, it would be just like the good ol' days...back on the sea, raiding and boarding other hapless fools' ships, wreaking havoc, never knowing if you were going to catch a stray bullet in the back, or get your head blown off by cannonfire from your own mates!
The wicked, manic grin on Crow's face, and the gleam of joy and mirth in his eyes was a clear signal to all he was having the time of his life, even in the midst of this great danger.
He struck out with wide flourishing blows, snaking over, under, around and through the attempts of the greenskinned brutes to block or parry away his saber, striking quick and precisely. He didn't deal out many deathblows or mortal wounds, but he certainly removed a goodly number of hands, broke a few weapons, and left more than a few unable to fight. A trail of hamstringed, weaponless, broken -- if not perhaps truly beaten -- orcs was left in his wake. Still a threat to anyone who might take them lightly, but not a threat to anyone in this group, if what he was seeing from the others was any indication.
"AHAHAHAHAHA HARHARR!" He roared in delight, a swift punch to one orc's face sending it staggering dumbly before his blade flashed in, cleaving through its deadly, but shoddily-built axe and carved into its face. "Dear ol' Davy Jones'd be having a field day makin' room and bookin' you lot if we were out on the deeps, lads!"
The sudden sound of an echoing roar that rose above the chaos of the battlefield brought Crow momentarily back to his senses. The beast that exploded from out of the treeline, covered in dirt, and moss, and filth, and wielding a very large club took the breath from his lungs, and his sword arm dropped slightly, his eyes wide in a mixture of awe and faint traces of genuine fear. He'd seen and tangled with some big brutes in his life, but THAT thing...that thing looked like it'd eat the good captain for lunch. Literally.
The lady general reacted to it first, and with a crack and of her whip and a flick of her wrist had the giant beast's legs entangled and sent it staggering to its knees, catching itself on one hand before ending up completely prone. Not one to waste an opportunity to remove a threat of that size, Crow virtually disappeared, a flickering wraith as he darted back into the thick of things, carving his way through Orcs and snaking around and through the greenskinned throng, leaping up and over another, with the help of one green, large-eyed and tusked face as a springboard.
He struck at the beast's exposed sides, scoring several blows, but the troll's hide was so tough it was hard to get a good, solid strike in. He inflicted little more than superficial wounds, clearly painful but not exactly threatening to the beast's life. He hopped back as the creature struggled to rise again, managing to pull the lady general in close and loosen her whips hold on it. Leaping back into the fray to try and keep the troll occupied and prevent it from getting a solid whack in with that club, Crow instead caught a blindly-swung blow from that club
It caught him in the chest, and he let out a distinctive whoof of pain as the air was rapidly excused from his lungs, and he was knocked staggering and stumbling several paces back, ending up flat on his back. He was seeing stars and having the damnedest time catching his breath again, and he was fairly confident if he could see under his coat, his chest would very soon be one large bruise. He could only hope there weren't any...deeper injuries. LAst thing he needed was broken bones to worry about.
Hauling himself gamely to his feet, he could only flash Klaud a wolfish grin when she asked if he could still fight. "Aye, lass, I can still fight." He winced in pain at the effort of trying to speak, but pushed on. "Let's give this bastard a beatin' he won't soon forget!" The good captain spread his stance wide, ready to spring back into the fray, and stared down the massive troll, flinching at the noise from its slavering maw as it roared at them in fury.
"I will distract him, you seem pretty quick on your feet. When you see an opening, go for his eyes, throat, heart. Whatever vital point you can find."
Crow grinned wickedly, a mischevious glint in his eyes. "Aye aye...ya can count on that, lass. Good luck to ye."
He watched as the lady general sprang into action, darting in close to the troll, taking up its attention with the greatest of ease. It was almost laughable, seeing the big, stupid beast flailing at the air, trying to catch Klaud's whip. What was less laughable was the sight of a group of orcs trying to take advantage of the scene, closing on on the general, lining up with spears ready to let fly.
Not on his watch.
He was on them in a flash, coming out of their proverbial blind spot. A quick snicker-snack and two of the rocs fell in a crumpled heap, sporting two grisly new piercings letting blood flow everywhere. He was forced to fend off strikes from the remaining two's spears, not having an immediate chance to end things, but in a flash, the winged horse swooped down, a kick between the eyes of each orc distracting them and leaving them howling in pain, swinging wildly with their weapons.
They were soon relieved of their pain in the most immediate of ways.
He arrived back at the scene of the troll melee just in time for the beast to make a fatal mistake, smashing its club into the ground, leaving itself wide open. He darted in, leaping up and over a band of orcs and their goblin allies, catching more than a few arrows and blades in his cloak and coat, but suffering only the barest of scrapes in his mad vault, he came up behind the troll, leaping up to land on its back as it was bowed over to rip its club free of the earth. Unfortunately, at the sound of the captain's descent, it turned around, grasping at him with one massive mitt.
Feeling the rough fingers close over one leg, Crow let out a most undignified yelp of discomfort, but was soon freed as a hail of gunfire pelted the creture, and it released Crow, turning back to instinctively shield its face from the hail of pain assaulting it.
Landing in a rough roll, Crow sprang back to his feet with a laugh and a quick call of "Much obliged, mate!" to the one who introduced himself as Roger Krugman. He snagged a business card as it was tossed, and shoved it in a pocket, offering a mock-salute with his blade as he turned back to the troll...just in time to see a hail of lightning batter its mossy hide, earning roars of pain and indignation from the moss-clad beast even as it erupted into flames, which only sent it into a renewed fit of flailing and rage. Recoiling from the heat of the flames, Crow scowls intensely at the burning monstrosity, just as the crazy fool who'd lit the beasty up in the frist place literally crashes down at Crow's feet.
Staring down at the scientist judgementally, Crow only sighs at the simple "Sorry?" the man offers.
"Look, lad, keep yer wits about ya. No time for any o' that goin' crazy with battle. And maybe a little less showin' off with the lightning, yeah? Might hit someone tryin' to save yer sorry ass."
A swift flick of his own wrist, and the bloody design on Crow's saber comes to life, writhing like a serpent, spinning off the blade and rearing up over his arm, flashing wickedly with its sharp, cutting edges. A swift series of steps carried the captain around the troll, putting him in clear view of it as it extricated its weapon fro mthe ground, ready to resume smashing the little pests bothering it. "Ahoy, ye great stupid scallywag!" he taunted, the bloody-hued whip attached to his saber waving about tauntingly. "The music is playin', bucko, and Jack Ketch is a'waitin' fer his dance!"
Though the words probably sailed past the brute's tiny little brain without finding purchase, Crow's gestures and tone struck home. Roaring indignantly, the troll lurched forward, bringing its club around in a devastating blow that would have surely left Crow broken on the ground with a direct hit. But it only struck empty air, Crow leaping up and over it, his cape and coat swishing in the whistling gust of wind from the club's passage.
And then the bloody whip of Crow's saber danced its own dance, finding purchase in the troll's throat as it lifted its head to gaze dumbly at the airborne pirate. A sick, wet squelch and the bloody whip tore free, along with a spray of very real blood, and wound itself back around the captain's saber.
Falling on the brute, Crow took his sword in both hands, hacking and slashing away with a blurred frenzy of motion. "AVAST YER LIFE, YE SCURVY DOG! DAVY JONES IS WAITIN' ON YEH, DON'T BE LATE!" A final blow, a piercing thrust to strike at the troll's heart and it finally gave up the chase, staggering drunkenly back, swinging listlessly with its club before crashing down and shaking the earth. "Ya-harr.....finally done...."
Turning back to the lady general and the other one -- Jan Templar, was it? Good lad -- the captain offered a wicked grin. "Right then, lad and lass, what say we haul wind, and smartly? Think this place has been measured fer its chains for a little while now."
One moment they'd been having a very ahnimated sort of conversation among their very eclectic group gathered here with the, apparently, common goal of searching out their glorious, backward silhouette of an overlord. The reasons were definitely varied, even from just the definite answers he'd heard, but that didn't change the immediate goal: find Omni.
It was a beautiful thing.
And then, the next moment, the background hum and buzz of the jungle was torn apart by a very different sound indeed, a greenskinned horde bursting from the trees, swarming out at anything and everything, murderous intent clear from their aggressive posture and the infernal noises spewing from their maws.
He heard the lady general, Klaud, try to take charge of the situation again, and he let a predator's grin crack through his formerly cheery facade. "Aye, aye, ma'am!" he cackled, clapping both hands against his knees. In a flurry of movement, Crow was up on his feet, his captain's coat swishing about him like the wings of the bird whose name he had stolen, and a flash of steel heralded the drawing of his blade, glinting silver and red in the light filtering through the trees above. And as the first of the orces reached him, he was off and running at -- and through them.
Truth be told, the chaos of the situation almost made Crow feel at home again. It certainly made him feel alive. If only the ground were moving just a little...quaking, heaving and shattering unpredictably, it would be just like the good ol' days...back on the sea, raiding and boarding other hapless fools' ships, wreaking havoc, never knowing if you were going to catch a stray bullet in the back, or get your head blown off by cannonfire from your own mates!
The wicked, manic grin on Crow's face, and the gleam of joy and mirth in his eyes was a clear signal to all he was having the time of his life, even in the midst of this great danger.
He struck out with wide flourishing blows, snaking over, under, around and through the attempts of the greenskinned brutes to block or parry away his saber, striking quick and precisely. He didn't deal out many deathblows or mortal wounds, but he certainly removed a goodly number of hands, broke a few weapons, and left more than a few unable to fight. A trail of hamstringed, weaponless, broken -- if not perhaps truly beaten -- orcs was left in his wake. Still a threat to anyone who might take them lightly, but not a threat to anyone in this group, if what he was seeing from the others was any indication.
"AHAHAHAHAHA HARHARR!" He roared in delight, a swift punch to one orc's face sending it staggering dumbly before his blade flashed in, cleaving through its deadly, but shoddily-built axe and carved into its face. "Dear ol' Davy Jones'd be having a field day makin' room and bookin' you lot if we were out on the deeps, lads!"
The sudden sound of an echoing roar that rose above the chaos of the battlefield brought Crow momentarily back to his senses. The beast that exploded from out of the treeline, covered in dirt, and moss, and filth, and wielding a very large club took the breath from his lungs, and his sword arm dropped slightly, his eyes wide in a mixture of awe and faint traces of genuine fear. He'd seen and tangled with some big brutes in his life, but THAT thing...that thing looked like it'd eat the good captain for lunch. Literally.
The lady general reacted to it first, and with a crack and of her whip and a flick of her wrist had the giant beast's legs entangled and sent it staggering to its knees, catching itself on one hand before ending up completely prone. Not one to waste an opportunity to remove a threat of that size, Crow virtually disappeared, a flickering wraith as he darted back into the thick of things, carving his way through Orcs and snaking around and through the greenskinned throng, leaping up and over another, with the help of one green, large-eyed and tusked face as a springboard.
He struck at the beast's exposed sides, scoring several blows, but the troll's hide was so tough it was hard to get a good, solid strike in. He inflicted little more than superficial wounds, clearly painful but not exactly threatening to the beast's life. He hopped back as the creature struggled to rise again, managing to pull the lady general in close and loosen her whips hold on it. Leaping back into the fray to try and keep the troll occupied and prevent it from getting a solid whack in with that club, Crow instead caught a blindly-swung blow from that club
It caught him in the chest, and he let out a distinctive whoof of pain as the air was rapidly excused from his lungs, and he was knocked staggering and stumbling several paces back, ending up flat on his back. He was seeing stars and having the damnedest time catching his breath again, and he was fairly confident if he could see under his coat, his chest would very soon be one large bruise. He could only hope there weren't any...deeper injuries. LAst thing he needed was broken bones to worry about.
Hauling himself gamely to his feet, he could only flash Klaud a wolfish grin when she asked if he could still fight. "Aye, lass, I can still fight." He winced in pain at the effort of trying to speak, but pushed on. "Let's give this bastard a beatin' he won't soon forget!" The good captain spread his stance wide, ready to spring back into the fray, and stared down the massive troll, flinching at the noise from its slavering maw as it roared at them in fury.
"I will distract him, you seem pretty quick on your feet. When you see an opening, go for his eyes, throat, heart. Whatever vital point you can find."
Crow grinned wickedly, a mischevious glint in his eyes. "Aye aye...ya can count on that, lass. Good luck to ye."
He watched as the lady general sprang into action, darting in close to the troll, taking up its attention with the greatest of ease. It was almost laughable, seeing the big, stupid beast flailing at the air, trying to catch Klaud's whip. What was less laughable was the sight of a group of orcs trying to take advantage of the scene, closing on on the general, lining up with spears ready to let fly.
Not on his watch.
He was on them in a flash, coming out of their proverbial blind spot. A quick snicker-snack and two of the rocs fell in a crumpled heap, sporting two grisly new piercings letting blood flow everywhere. He was forced to fend off strikes from the remaining two's spears, not having an immediate chance to end things, but in a flash, the winged horse swooped down, a kick between the eyes of each orc distracting them and leaving them howling in pain, swinging wildly with their weapons.
They were soon relieved of their pain in the most immediate of ways.
He arrived back at the scene of the troll melee just in time for the beast to make a fatal mistake, smashing its club into the ground, leaving itself wide open. He darted in, leaping up and over a band of orcs and their goblin allies, catching more than a few arrows and blades in his cloak and coat, but suffering only the barest of scrapes in his mad vault, he came up behind the troll, leaping up to land on its back as it was bowed over to rip its club free of the earth. Unfortunately, at the sound of the captain's descent, it turned around, grasping at him with one massive mitt.
Feeling the rough fingers close over one leg, Crow let out a most undignified yelp of discomfort, but was soon freed as a hail of gunfire pelted the creture, and it released Crow, turning back to instinctively shield its face from the hail of pain assaulting it.
Landing in a rough roll, Crow sprang back to his feet with a laugh and a quick call of "Much obliged, mate!" to the one who introduced himself as Roger Krugman. He snagged a business card as it was tossed, and shoved it in a pocket, offering a mock-salute with his blade as he turned back to the troll...just in time to see a hail of lightning batter its mossy hide, earning roars of pain and indignation from the moss-clad beast even as it erupted into flames, which only sent it into a renewed fit of flailing and rage. Recoiling from the heat of the flames, Crow scowls intensely at the burning monstrosity, just as the crazy fool who'd lit the beasty up in the frist place literally crashes down at Crow's feet.
Staring down at the scientist judgementally, Crow only sighs at the simple "Sorry?" the man offers.
"Look, lad, keep yer wits about ya. No time for any o' that goin' crazy with battle. And maybe a little less showin' off with the lightning, yeah? Might hit someone tryin' to save yer sorry ass."
A swift flick of his own wrist, and the bloody design on Crow's saber comes to life, writhing like a serpent, spinning off the blade and rearing up over his arm, flashing wickedly with its sharp, cutting edges. A swift series of steps carried the captain around the troll, putting him in clear view of it as it extricated its weapon fro mthe ground, ready to resume smashing the little pests bothering it. "Ahoy, ye great stupid scallywag!" he taunted, the bloody-hued whip attached to his saber waving about tauntingly. "The music is playin', bucko, and Jack Ketch is a'waitin' fer his dance!"
Though the words probably sailed past the brute's tiny little brain without finding purchase, Crow's gestures and tone struck home. Roaring indignantly, the troll lurched forward, bringing its club around in a devastating blow that would have surely left Crow broken on the ground with a direct hit. But it only struck empty air, Crow leaping up and over it, his cape and coat swishing in the whistling gust of wind from the club's passage.
And then the bloody whip of Crow's saber danced its own dance, finding purchase in the troll's throat as it lifted its head to gaze dumbly at the airborne pirate. A sick, wet squelch and the bloody whip tore free, along with a spray of very real blood, and wound itself back around the captain's saber.
Falling on the brute, Crow took his sword in both hands, hacking and slashing away with a blurred frenzy of motion. "AVAST YER LIFE, YE SCURVY DOG! DAVY JONES IS WAITIN' ON YEH, DON'T BE LATE!" A final blow, a piercing thrust to strike at the troll's heart and it finally gave up the chase, staggering drunkenly back, swinging listlessly with its club before crashing down and shaking the earth. "Ya-harr.....finally done...."
Turning back to the lady general and the other one -- Jan Templar, was it? Good lad -- the captain offered a wicked grin. "Right then, lad and lass, what say we haul wind, and smartly? Think this place has been measured fer its chains for a little while now."
![[Image: kUpgBYg.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/kUpgBYg.gif)