Special Brownsville Report : The Late Edition
By the all seeing EYE
Nera faced the Dark Lady with a determined scowl. Behind the assassin, Aren switched his whip out in favor of his full blade and flanked with Nera. The assassin had drawn twin serpentine daggers that oozed a foul liquid and was expertly wielding them in a defensive posture. Nera could only see the assassin's mouth under the folds of her cloak, and it was grinning. The cloak itself was obviously magical in nature. It was impossible to get a good fix on the assassin's true position as the cloak seemed to ebb and flow around her as if caught in a perpetual vortex. Although it appeared to be nothing more than a tattered rag, she was sure that it was much more than that. It swaddled the killer in its inky blackness; a blackness like a moonless night. Only a formidable foe would possess such an artifact. She could think of at least one member of her party that would love to own such an item, and the serpentine daggers as well. Nera bared her canines and grinned back at the assassin. Nera aimed to make it so.
From the other side of the assassin, Aren prepared to strike as soon as Nera had completed her appraisal of their foe. "Sure is taking long enough" he thought. He couldn't understand what the hold up was. Sure, they had crossed paths with the assassin before and knew that she was a more than competent adversary, but she was only human... as far as he could tell. For some reason she insisted on wearing a tattered rag that completely covered her figure and hung limply about her. It wasn't at all flattering and had absolutely no defensive value that he could see. So why did she insist on wearing it? Everything about this woman was an enigma. "Maybe it's magic" he considered, but then dismissed the notion. It didn't appear to be doing anything even REMOTELY magical. Come to think of it though, he had never actually seen anything magical that actually worked the way it was supposed to. Even Blossom complained that her magic didn't work right whenever Aren was around, and she hardly ever misfired a spell. The whole thing sounded pretty unreliable to him. "Why even bother when it only works part of the time?" he wondered. Then he remembered that 'even part of the time' was more efficient than he had been with his martial weapons since he had become a full time adventurer. "If only I could find a way to stay focused" he admonished himself.
Nera took an exploratory swipe at the assassin with her bastard sword. Aren grimmaced, it was all wrong. She was aiming WAY off target which was very unusual. Aren gripped his blade in both hands and took a swing. The fullblade arced through the air. Just as the blade was about to strike home, the assassin dodged to the side. When she came up from her tumble she was facing Aren. She glanced down at her upper arm where a line of blood had appeared, then back up at Aren. She cocked her head to one side as she began circling, as if appraising Aren anew. She raised one of her serpentine daggers to her forehead in mock-salute acknowledging Aren's strike, however superficial. Aren blanched. His first successful melee strike EVER and with it, he had completely pissed off the most dangerous woman he'd ever met. The assassin charged forward, blades flashing, and lunged at Aren. Aren felt pressure on his chest as he attempted to evade the attack and failed. All he could think was "I'm done for, her poison blades have pierced me!" He spun off and waited for the sensation of poison burning through his veins to begin, and when it didn't, he hazarded a look down then breathed a sigh of relief. His armor had done its job this time. There was a score across his chest near his left armpit and beneath the score mark the sickly, green poison ran down the front of his chest piece. A few more inches to the left and he would already have been dead.
Once again, Nera attacked the assassin from the flank, but to no avail. Nera seemed to be having a harder time targeting the assassin than Aren did, very unusual indeed! They couldn't keep this up for much longer. Eventually the killer's aim would be true and then either he or Nera would be poisoned and out of comission, if not dead altogether. Aren took another overhead swing at the woman and she gracefully tumbled past him finishing up with a somersault that landed her facing him, with her back to the smashed window. She dropped into an aggressive crouch, grinning again but never speaking a word. Nera moved to Aren's side and for a moment they glanced at each other while catching their breath.
"Blasted cape" breathed Nera angrily "it's cloaking her true position!" The assassin was watching the two of them intently, especially Aren .
"Huh?" was all that Aren could muster in response to Nera's comment. "Surely she can't be referring to that worthless garment again?" he mused.
"Perhaps it was magic that only affected Catfolk, or women, or...." The assassin's gaze was drawn up over their heads and suddenly she dove into a backflip as a huge war axe came crashing down where she had just been standing, followed directly by ten feet and a thousand pounds of Groth Nasty. Impossibly, they hadn't even heard the War Hulk's approach as he had launched himself from the center planter and flew over their heads to come crashing down almost on top of the assassin.
"Am I ever glad he's on our side!" Aren said, grinning at Nera.
Groth released the handle of the war axe that he had planted in the floor of the arboretum and turned to face Aren and Nera.
"Nera, Pas need help" he rumbled tersely. He then turned to address the assassin who was staring up in awe at his bulk and had moved to stand half-in and half-out of the shattered window. He smiled broadly then said, "Lady, you're gonna need help too." With that, he spat on his palms then rubbed his hands together. He gripped the handle of the wedged war axe and with a monstrous roar he wrenched it out of the floor and then hefted it. The grin had disappeared from the assassin's lips now.
"Go see if you can help Fox with Pas," Aren urged Nera. "Groth and I are going to have a few words with our friend here."
"Oh, do be gentle," laughed Nera as she started away, "wouldn't want to damage that magnificent cloak she wears."
"Again with the cloak? I just don't get it!" Aren shouted to her. "Maybe it's a fashion thing?" he thought again. He glanced over at the assassin and her bedraggled cloak. "I just don't get it" he repeated, shaking his head.
The Black Lady sharpened her daggers against each other and seemed to activate some device on the handles that caused the blades to drip poison freely. She was aware that a glancing blow probably would not be enough to drop the behemoth now stading before her and there was no sign of her Blackguard companion to save her this time. Aren almost felt sorry for her...almost.
"Groth, teach this thug a lesson in chopping, will ya'?" he shouted.
"My pleasure" the half-ogre growled, and his great axe flashed in the moonlight.
By the all seeing EYE
Nera faced the Dark Lady with a determined scowl. Behind the assassin, Aren switched his whip out in favor of his full blade and flanked with Nera. The assassin had drawn twin serpentine daggers that oozed a foul liquid and was expertly wielding them in a defensive posture. Nera could only see the assassin's mouth under the folds of her cloak, and it was grinning. The cloak itself was obviously magical in nature. It was impossible to get a good fix on the assassin's true position as the cloak seemed to ebb and flow around her as if caught in a perpetual vortex. Although it appeared to be nothing more than a tattered rag, she was sure that it was much more than that. It swaddled the killer in its inky blackness; a blackness like a moonless night. Only a formidable foe would possess such an artifact. She could think of at least one member of her party that would love to own such an item, and the serpentine daggers as well. Nera bared her canines and grinned back at the assassin. Nera aimed to make it so.
From the other side of the assassin, Aren prepared to strike as soon as Nera had completed her appraisal of their foe. "Sure is taking long enough" he thought. He couldn't understand what the hold up was. Sure, they had crossed paths with the assassin before and knew that she was a more than competent adversary, but she was only human... as far as he could tell. For some reason she insisted on wearing a tattered rag that completely covered her figure and hung limply about her. It wasn't at all flattering and had absolutely no defensive value that he could see. So why did she insist on wearing it? Everything about this woman was an enigma. "Maybe it's magic" he considered, but then dismissed the notion. It didn't appear to be doing anything even REMOTELY magical. Come to think of it though, he had never actually seen anything magical that actually worked the way it was supposed to. Even Blossom complained that her magic didn't work right whenever Aren was around, and she hardly ever misfired a spell. The whole thing sounded pretty unreliable to him. "Why even bother when it only works part of the time?" he wondered. Then he remembered that 'even part of the time' was more efficient than he had been with his martial weapons since he had become a full time adventurer. "If only I could find a way to stay focused" he admonished himself.
Nera took an exploratory swipe at the assassin with her bastard sword. Aren grimmaced, it was all wrong. She was aiming WAY off target which was very unusual. Aren gripped his blade in both hands and took a swing. The fullblade arced through the air. Just as the blade was about to strike home, the assassin dodged to the side. When she came up from her tumble she was facing Aren. She glanced down at her upper arm where a line of blood had appeared, then back up at Aren. She cocked her head to one side as she began circling, as if appraising Aren anew. She raised one of her serpentine daggers to her forehead in mock-salute acknowledging Aren's strike, however superficial. Aren blanched. His first successful melee strike EVER and with it, he had completely pissed off the most dangerous woman he'd ever met. The assassin charged forward, blades flashing, and lunged at Aren. Aren felt pressure on his chest as he attempted to evade the attack and failed. All he could think was "I'm done for, her poison blades have pierced me!" He spun off and waited for the sensation of poison burning through his veins to begin, and when it didn't, he hazarded a look down then breathed a sigh of relief. His armor had done its job this time. There was a score across his chest near his left armpit and beneath the score mark the sickly, green poison ran down the front of his chest piece. A few more inches to the left and he would already have been dead.
Once again, Nera attacked the assassin from the flank, but to no avail. Nera seemed to be having a harder time targeting the assassin than Aren did, very unusual indeed! They couldn't keep this up for much longer. Eventually the killer's aim would be true and then either he or Nera would be poisoned and out of comission, if not dead altogether. Aren took another overhead swing at the woman and she gracefully tumbled past him finishing up with a somersault that landed her facing him, with her back to the smashed window. She dropped into an aggressive crouch, grinning again but never speaking a word. Nera moved to Aren's side and for a moment they glanced at each other while catching their breath.
"Blasted cape" breathed Nera angrily "it's cloaking her true position!" The assassin was watching the two of them intently, especially Aren .
"Huh?" was all that Aren could muster in response to Nera's comment. "Surely she can't be referring to that worthless garment again?" he mused.
"Perhaps it was magic that only affected Catfolk, or women, or...." The assassin's gaze was drawn up over their heads and suddenly she dove into a backflip as a huge war axe came crashing down where she had just been standing, followed directly by ten feet and a thousand pounds of Groth Nasty. Impossibly, they hadn't even heard the War Hulk's approach as he had launched himself from the center planter and flew over their heads to come crashing down almost on top of the assassin.
"Am I ever glad he's on our side!" Aren said, grinning at Nera.
Groth released the handle of the war axe that he had planted in the floor of the arboretum and turned to face Aren and Nera.
"Nera, Pas need help" he rumbled tersely. He then turned to address the assassin who was staring up in awe at his bulk and had moved to stand half-in and half-out of the shattered window. He smiled broadly then said, "Lady, you're gonna need help too." With that, he spat on his palms then rubbed his hands together. He gripped the handle of the wedged war axe and with a monstrous roar he wrenched it out of the floor and then hefted it. The grin had disappeared from the assassin's lips now.
"Go see if you can help Fox with Pas," Aren urged Nera. "Groth and I are going to have a few words with our friend here."
"Oh, do be gentle," laughed Nera as she started away, "wouldn't want to damage that magnificent cloak she wears."
"Again with the cloak? I just don't get it!" Aren shouted to her. "Maybe it's a fashion thing?" he thought again. He glanced over at the assassin and her bedraggled cloak. "I just don't get it" he repeated, shaking his head.
The Black Lady sharpened her daggers against each other and seemed to activate some device on the handles that caused the blades to drip poison freely. She was aware that a glancing blow probably would not be enough to drop the behemoth now stading before her and there was no sign of her Blackguard companion to save her this time. Aren almost felt sorry for her...almost.
"Groth, teach this thug a lesson in chopping, will ya'?" he shouted.
"My pleasure" the half-ogre growled, and his great axe flashed in the moonlight.
No comments:
Post a Comment