05-19-2016, 12:34 PM
“How many of you are ranged weapons users?”
Christa and a bowmen were the only two to raise their hands. Though these were good numbers, considering there were seven of them in total.
“Alright, you go over there, up on the guard tower, and offer the front-lines the best support you got. We’re up against, what I’m told, the undead, so aim for the head, if you see a stray werewolf, use a silver bullet, or arrowhead, and whatever you do, make your shots count.” The two split off from the other five, and Christa followed the bowman up the stairs.
His bows were made of sturdy ashwood, she noted, that meant he had at least some experience, and the points were faced down in the quiver slung over his back, but Christa had a feeling that the man had the wisdom to make them from silver, considering their current whereabouts.
“So, zombies, huh?” he turned back to her, and revealed his striking blue eyes, they looked like hers, except, of course, he had a long pair of pointed ears next to his head. He was an elf. Her eyes hung on him for a moment, he’d been raised by humans, since his demeanor and what he had just said was so casual, yet, an elf always held himself high, this one did the same, which showed off the tall lengthiness of his body. He must’ve been banished from his village, or why else would he sign up here?
As though reading her mind his eyes looked down with a sigh, “I thought they could use the help, and when they found me in the woods I was badly injured. I owed them a debt, and I’ll pay with my life.”
Was this guy psychic?
But she had no more time to ponder this, for the undead started to come out of the woods, one by one, their hoard assembled. Spears were flown across the long distance of the patch, between the trees and their clearing, Christa readied her sniper, barely looked at her scope, and fired a few blasts straight through their faces. The skeletons that guarded the town now unsheathed their swords, as though bewitched by magic, they moved as though they were very much alive, and took the hoard head-on.
It was almost impressive, though the Prime had little time to watch the clashing of swords, metal, against the decrepit flesh of the undead. She’d aimed several shots and taken out at least ten, missing a few only due to a sudden lurch of their staggering movements, which she quickly got accustomed to, and used their shuffling motions to predict their next move.
Armor and shields from Darkshire’s bewitched army began to scrawl out across the clearing. It was apparent that the bewitchment, perhaps, didn’t last for very long, or perhaps the spell was running out of juice, needless to say, the first line of infantry streamed out there, among them, Den himself.
Swords tore into the undead’s greasy flesh, teeth and frothing zombie mouths lunged outward, while their claws and arms extended out, hoping to grab on, and get a bite. The Darkshire guards were no fools though, and easily weaved through the zombies, using the skeleton army as their first and easiest defense. Their training had shown, but the dead kept trickling in from the forest, it was impossible to know how many more they would be up against, and their ground defenses were running low. Based on the flimsy walls, Christa guessed that the first orders were to protect them, make sure the zombies didn’t get clumped up on one side, and accumulate enough strength to push them down. Though they were made of brick, mortar, and wood, a couple zombies could certainly produce a force enough to destroy their wall. Mendings would take time, so it was best if they’d avoid the matter all together.
Chirsta’s sights lined up on another, close to the edge of the forest, so that there would be no friendly fire on their mission. Bang! Her sniper thundered across the land loudly, but the undead were coming anyway, and pullets did the trick as good as arrows. Her fingers fumbled the reload, and beside her, the elvish man who was cloaked in green and black (the black was an add on, since he had arrived here too) and his arms moved in a fluent motion. Wave after wave, with ease, his hand reached for the next arrow, while his other arm held the bow, as he aimed at the enemy, he released the string, a loud but stealthy thwum! could be heard with the snap of the bow. Then the next arrow was quickly placed into the empty spot, and so it continued.
His pace was faster than her own, and very rarely did each of them miss. The other long-ranged users threw spears at the undead, though, the edge of the forest was a bit out of their range, since it was a good twenty yards away. Slowly, the battle slowed, no doubt, due to her nameless elf friend, who had accumulated more kills than she had, with ease. Her eyes fell on his quiver while she reloaded, it seemed it had been charmed, though, and it never ran dry. Lucky to have in this place, especially useful during battle. This guy was good at what he did, and his elvish demeanor left even Christa feeling serene as she waded in the pace of battle.
The armored skeletons that defended Darkshire had all fallen, but their men were still out there. They were facing about twenty undead, and there were ten of them, though none had fallen. Their swords and armor was used in a very basic, but proficient strategy, they’d let the zombies chomp onto their armor, while another, or their own blade, bashed their head in. Mobility was tricky though, since she could tell Den was having a tough time, since he wore armor that was too large for him, even the helmet rattled around on his head. That couldn’t have been safe to fight in, yet he was doing it, making due with what he had...
Christa had ceased fire, there were too many chances to hit the foes, but the elf next to her seemed confident enough, and continued his aim on the outlying zombies across the board. He managed a few too, but that didn’t help the front lines with their immediate issue. They were being overwhelmed, and it seemed the zombies that remained were particularly menacing.
Something happened. Someone’s knight-like helmet had clattered to the ground. Fresh flesh. A blur of movement. Den held his sword up, high, and shoved the helmet-less comrade out of the way, only to be shoved to the ground himself, in which his loose armor stood no match, for the force of the zombie, who’s greedy mouth knew just where to take a bite.
The silver helmet rolled to the ground, while hot human blood splattered the greenish grass below them. Christa had kept her sniper ready, but now, since she had a clear shot of the beast, and the closest comrade was the one that Den had shoved out of the way, was still recovering, she didn’t hesitate to take the shot, and the carcass of the undead fell upon their comrade’s corpse.
Christa and a bowmen were the only two to raise their hands. Though these were good numbers, considering there were seven of them in total.
“Alright, you go over there, up on the guard tower, and offer the front-lines the best support you got. We’re up against, what I’m told, the undead, so aim for the head, if you see a stray werewolf, use a silver bullet, or arrowhead, and whatever you do, make your shots count.” The two split off from the other five, and Christa followed the bowman up the stairs.
His bows were made of sturdy ashwood, she noted, that meant he had at least some experience, and the points were faced down in the quiver slung over his back, but Christa had a feeling that the man had the wisdom to make them from silver, considering their current whereabouts.
“So, zombies, huh?” he turned back to her, and revealed his striking blue eyes, they looked like hers, except, of course, he had a long pair of pointed ears next to his head. He was an elf. Her eyes hung on him for a moment, he’d been raised by humans, since his demeanor and what he had just said was so casual, yet, an elf always held himself high, this one did the same, which showed off the tall lengthiness of his body. He must’ve been banished from his village, or why else would he sign up here?
As though reading her mind his eyes looked down with a sigh, “I thought they could use the help, and when they found me in the woods I was badly injured. I owed them a debt, and I’ll pay with my life.”
Was this guy psychic?
But she had no more time to ponder this, for the undead started to come out of the woods, one by one, their hoard assembled. Spears were flown across the long distance of the patch, between the trees and their clearing, Christa readied her sniper, barely looked at her scope, and fired a few blasts straight through their faces. The skeletons that guarded the town now unsheathed their swords, as though bewitched by magic, they moved as though they were very much alive, and took the hoard head-on.
It was almost impressive, though the Prime had little time to watch the clashing of swords, metal, against the decrepit flesh of the undead. She’d aimed several shots and taken out at least ten, missing a few only due to a sudden lurch of their staggering movements, which she quickly got accustomed to, and used their shuffling motions to predict their next move.
Armor and shields from Darkshire’s bewitched army began to scrawl out across the clearing. It was apparent that the bewitchment, perhaps, didn’t last for very long, or perhaps the spell was running out of juice, needless to say, the first line of infantry streamed out there, among them, Den himself.
Swords tore into the undead’s greasy flesh, teeth and frothing zombie mouths lunged outward, while their claws and arms extended out, hoping to grab on, and get a bite. The Darkshire guards were no fools though, and easily weaved through the zombies, using the skeleton army as their first and easiest defense. Their training had shown, but the dead kept trickling in from the forest, it was impossible to know how many more they would be up against, and their ground defenses were running low. Based on the flimsy walls, Christa guessed that the first orders were to protect them, make sure the zombies didn’t get clumped up on one side, and accumulate enough strength to push them down. Though they were made of brick, mortar, and wood, a couple zombies could certainly produce a force enough to destroy their wall. Mendings would take time, so it was best if they’d avoid the matter all together.
Chirsta’s sights lined up on another, close to the edge of the forest, so that there would be no friendly fire on their mission. Bang! Her sniper thundered across the land loudly, but the undead were coming anyway, and pullets did the trick as good as arrows. Her fingers fumbled the reload, and beside her, the elvish man who was cloaked in green and black (the black was an add on, since he had arrived here too) and his arms moved in a fluent motion. Wave after wave, with ease, his hand reached for the next arrow, while his other arm held the bow, as he aimed at the enemy, he released the string, a loud but stealthy thwum! could be heard with the snap of the bow. Then the next arrow was quickly placed into the empty spot, and so it continued.
His pace was faster than her own, and very rarely did each of them miss. The other long-ranged users threw spears at the undead, though, the edge of the forest was a bit out of their range, since it was a good twenty yards away. Slowly, the battle slowed, no doubt, due to her nameless elf friend, who had accumulated more kills than she had, with ease. Her eyes fell on his quiver while she reloaded, it seemed it had been charmed, though, and it never ran dry. Lucky to have in this place, especially useful during battle. This guy was good at what he did, and his elvish demeanor left even Christa feeling serene as she waded in the pace of battle.
The armored skeletons that defended Darkshire had all fallen, but their men were still out there. They were facing about twenty undead, and there were ten of them, though none had fallen. Their swords and armor was used in a very basic, but proficient strategy, they’d let the zombies chomp onto their armor, while another, or their own blade, bashed their head in. Mobility was tricky though, since she could tell Den was having a tough time, since he wore armor that was too large for him, even the helmet rattled around on his head. That couldn’t have been safe to fight in, yet he was doing it, making due with what he had...
Christa had ceased fire, there were too many chances to hit the foes, but the elf next to her seemed confident enough, and continued his aim on the outlying zombies across the board. He managed a few too, but that didn’t help the front lines with their immediate issue. They were being overwhelmed, and it seemed the zombies that remained were particularly menacing.
Something happened. Someone’s knight-like helmet had clattered to the ground. Fresh flesh. A blur of movement. Den held his sword up, high, and shoved the helmet-less comrade out of the way, only to be shoved to the ground himself, in which his loose armor stood no match, for the force of the zombie, who’s greedy mouth knew just where to take a bite.
The silver helmet rolled to the ground, while hot human blood splattered the greenish grass below them. Christa had kept her sniper ready, but now, since she had a clear shot of the beast, and the closest comrade was the one that Den had shoved out of the way, was still recovering, she didn’t hesitate to take the shot, and the carcass of the undead fell upon their comrade’s corpse.
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus