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| Normal Thread Title; Was that really so hard? | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 1 2011, 04:19 AM (255 Views) | |
| Grey | Oct 1 2011, 04:19 AM Post #1 |
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“How hard could it be?” That’s what Orra thought when she set out on making a short bow armed only with experience amounting to having seen them made by one of her aunts a few times and a basic understanding of the principles. The broken and pathetic looking bow now providing fuel to the fire cooking some of the venison it so nobly helped her acquire was almost a sad sight. Sure, it took more effort than it should have to compensate for its piss poor quality while hunting and it almost harmed her when it broke while trying to stalk a second deer, ruining an arrow in the process, but it was a pretty good bow considering the circumstances. At the center of the forest clearing’s light mottled floor, at an area cleared of brush, sat the young Hawkborn. She was enjoying a rare moment of relaxation; the only sounds accompanying the crackling of the fire on the bare dirt before her were the rustling of leaves in the wind and the, thankfully, far off sounds of chirping birds. It had been about a month since she escaped the bird masked scientist and his lackeys and she was certain enough about having evaded their searches, for the time being at least, to hunt and smoke something. It was slow work and normally she would not risk giving away her location but there was a good wind in the area dispersing the smoke and she desperately needed to restore her food supplies. “At least it’s not hot.” “Them freaks and monsters have pushed me even further south, what I would give to see some snow again. This heat is downright exhausting, why do people even live around here? Not like bearing it is difficult or anything but still. At least there is a nice…breeze.” Orra immediately turned her attention away from the fire and to her left arm. It was emitting soft silver light that was accompanied by, she recognized, the subtle tug of fatigue. The leaves stopped rustling, the smoke from the fire continued its rise into the sky undisturbed, and the air became stagnant immediately once the light ceased. Orra tensed up, bit her lower lip, and clenched her fist in frustration as she looked up and down the device; pipes, metal, and other strange materials of a strange hue that were as sleek and distressing as any device in the Armory of the Masters. “That’s right, I’m a freak too. This…thing he forced onto me. I’ve been using this accursed device all day haven’t I? I can’t even turn it off all the way; I can feel that tree behind me as easily as I could feel how far away that deer was this morning. And to think that I couldn’t even make sense of those feelings at first, stumbling through a swamp feeling like my head was full of mud, now it’s performing acts straight out of a fairy tale. Ain’t seen nothin’ that could do these things during my rite, or anywhere else really.” Orra raises the device into the air so that it catches the light, moving it around to better view it in its entirety. Her face is caught somewhere between anger and laughter at the absurdity of the entire situation. “This is almost laughable, just what is this thing supposed to be? Shoot, what does this make me!? Some kind of half-machine witch? And just…just WHY?! ” With a look of disgust Orra struck the ground with her left fist, accompanied by a shimmer of silver light, causing an upward gust of wind that scattered the campfire and leaves in the area. Her frustration taken out satisfactorily by stamping out the embers and would-be fires in a frenzy, Orra rebuilt her fire and continued cooking with a drawn out sigh. “Maybe I can get some supplies for the buck’s antlers or somethin’.” For the rest of the day Orra sat tending the fire while sweating and shifting uncomfortably beneath the cloak she now stubbornly refused to remove; holding her rifle as close as she could. Eventually, the sound of the fire was joined by the sound of foliage rustling in the wind once again. ~-~-~ “Two carrots and a loaf of bread, that’s a low as I will go. I mean it this time.” “Come on! This pelt is not THAT dirty and what do ya mean “jagged edges”, gives it character it does! Huh? I didn’t leave the door open, I… SON OF A-” “I DO NOT need “my parents’ permission”; I am a… Ok ok fine, never mind the dagger, how about that fire striker you have over there in the back? Look I’ll throw in some venison, delicious if I do say so myself.” After another strangely good night’s sleep on rough uneven dirt Orra made her way to a town the residents called Hrunsdin to barter for what she could. Hours later she was a fire striker, a carrot, and a half loaf of bread richer. Getting into the village was no real hassle once she explained that she was there for trade, although the guards eyed her rifle like they had never seen a gun before. The town gave an air of constant toil as its citizens scurried around making sure the region’s industrial center kept running smoothly; thereby minimizing the double-takes that being a cloaked stranger with a gun would normally bring. Thankfully, the merchants did not ask many questions, not that she would answer them, and the bartering went more or less smooth, if one sided. She did not stay long after; hit with the realization that her haggling skills left much to be desired and generally sick of the townsfolk Orra left Hrunsdin to eat lunch while traveling. ~-~-~ “Swindlers and crooks the lot of ‘em. I don’t even know what was worse, having to barter with ‘em or having to look at ‘em. Do these people even bathe? That “woman” manning the food stall had an infected wound on her ear I swear. The last thing I needed was an eye full of that. At least the blacksmith turned out to be a glutton, his weight and the scraps in his beard gave that much away. Nice guy rea-” “CAW!” Orra’s thoughts were interrupted just as she finished half of her carrot, dropping it as her heart skipped a beat and letting out a light unintentional scream. A hand clasped the back of Orra’s neck and she felt the unmistakable sensation of a gun barrel pressing into her back. Any nearby travelers on the rough road scattered in a panic with the exception of two more assailants, one of which moved to tie her hands together. From behind her came a calm, ultimately creepy voice she did not recognize. “You’ve been a trouble to track down my little elemental, but that’s in the past now; no hard feelings. Now we can bring you back to where you belong, we don’t want to keep our good lord waiting. Move along now and don’t attempt any magics.” A quick shove got Orra moving and the terrible cries of a bird presumably perched on the man behind her kept her tense. The clothing they wore was all too familiar. “ Lord? Wh-who are you people? What do you want with me!? How did you find me? Dripping hawk shit, what did you do to me! ” “We are merely simple mortals given an important task. Namely, to recover you; a very special chosen who ran away after being possessed by the wind spirit summoned by our lord before he could bind you. Fortunately, as fate has dictated, you became sloppy and let your guard down; giving George here a column of thick smoke to report and parading around a populated town in the open.” “…what? Elemen.. look just look here: that monster put this abomination in my arm for no good reason and killed the rest of my hunting party. See? This right here: left arm genius.” Orra wriggled her arm in a mocking fashion. Something about these guys did not sit right. The one behind her with the gun that was talking had a voice with an almost ethereal quality to it; it was always level in tone and came across as too calm for the situation. The one in front of the group twitched regularly and seemed always on edge; worrying considering the axe he wielded. Finally, the one who had tied her arms together, who was apparently unarmed, looked dazed whenever she could see his face and hung on the gun wielding goon’s words like he would die otherwise. “Ah, yes. The focus of the elemental; our lord specified that bringing back just your arm would be a fully acceptable, if not optimal, end to this hunt. It would require a re-attunement and delivering your gift to another chosen but that WILL be our choice if you make me shoot you, so please do comply. We should ALL be rewarded greatly for bringing you in alive, and the last thing any of us would want is to disappoint our lord. Also: you would do well to refrain from referring to him as “monster” and begin using his full title; his eminence Raven Von Krogulon the Birdemic has great plans for you. As for your kin; they resisted the lord’s will and were put down like such scum deserves.” “”Scum”!? They were more than- Von what? What kind of stupid- and.. and “GIFT!?” you call this machine a “gift”!?” “Of course. Why are you so mad though? Our lord searched long for such a rare chosen and has, in his eternal kindness, forgiven you for attempting to escape your destiny. You will understand once you have been bound, elemental.” “Over my dead body you chicken livered knee scab. All y’all are cowards, untie me and fight me like real men! Where is your pride as hunters? Oh wait, who am I kidding? Having to ambush a girl ‘cause you knew you couldn’t take me in a shootout. I give you too much credit, yur nothin’ but rotten sour steaming piles of sickly female-in-heat DIRE. BEAR. SH-“ “CAW!” The rest of their journey that day was uneventful. Orra spent it shouting insults and obscenities as best she could at her capturers as they moved north along the road, interrupted by extended periods of silence whenever George got upset. The assailant with the gun spent it assuring the twitchy goon of the spiritual rewards they were “fated” to attain with his ever calm voice. Orra noted that all three of them would every so often eat a small rice grain-like thing from within a small bottle they all carried. She almost inquired, but a timely caw from the bird shut that idea down quickly. It was when they set up for camp that night that she saw the leader for the first time and confirmed her worry for exactly where he might have gotten that gun of his. ~-~-~ “Take her rifle, tie her to that tree, and get some rest; George has the first shift watching the elemental.” “CAW!” The man was dressed in the same strange robes as the other two and had a serene, tranquil, look on his face. On his shoulder was perched a raven, presumably “George”, with a metal beak and thin metal sticks coming out of his head; this feature did not help disperse Orra’s fears in the least. In his hands he held what, despite heavy modification, could not be mistaken for anything but a Hawkborn rifle: Ferrok’s rifle. Technically Orra’s cousin-in-law, Ferrok was the most boastful of the Hawkborn in the hunting party, despite the fact that he was an absolutely terrible shot. To compensate he had made his rifle into a short range beast that scattered bullets in a spray that, while distastefully wasteful of bullets, was undeniably effective. He would regularly give Orra nuggies during the trip. Orra was snapped out of her concentration on its ordinate carving of a dire bear when her own rifle was removed, putting all of her focus and intensity on staring down all three of the men and struggling against her bonds, even delivering a sort of pathetic kick to the minion tying her up . “Give me back my gun! It’s MY gun! You don’t deserve it anymore than you deserve the one you’re carrying! You coward! Riteless! Rifle thief! Sloth fornicato-” The device on her arm glowed with a silver light as an intense wind started ravishing the area. At least until a hard punch to the gut by the unarmed minion stole Orra’s breath and put her on the ground reeling. The leader with the Hawkborn rifle gave the unarmed minion a sharp glance uncharacteristic of how his face was the rest of the time before returning his gaze to a gasping and choking Orra. “That will be enough, need I remind you our purpose here my old friend. YOUR gun however will soon be unnecessary; our good lord can replace it with one of his magical artifacts or one of the better looking rifles we took from your kin if it is deemed necessary. His generosity is indeed endless; he delivered upon his most loyal officers, such as myself, three of your kin’s weapons for our discretion. Now please rest your turbulent mind, wind elemental, and look forward to your future service.” The men took turns watching her for signs of magic or witchcraft over the course of the night. Orra behaved herself for the most part and at least pretended to sleep; the rope binding her hands together was fortunately made too loose for her small wrists. Her assailants also seemed too inattentive to discern her modest attempts to loosen the rope further during the night. Now it was only a matter of time before she could give them the slip. Eventually it was the leaders shift; he brought over Orra’s rifle to inspect it in front of her in his free hand. “My good lord, in his wisdom, tells me that you can tell a lot about Hawkborn by their rifle, yours seems fairly basic; there aren’t even any engravings or etchings. I suppose it’s to be expected, I was not even aware that they gave rifles to children. Elemental, and I DO know that you are awake, how old is your vessel?” “Earned.” “Hmmmm?” “Hawkborn EARN their rifles. My age is meaningless as by that rifle I am afforded all the rights any other adult Hawkborn deserves. And one more thing…” Orra’s hatred for this man had reached a boiling point; his very existence desecrated the memory of Ferrok, even if she did not like him very much in life. She lowered her voice and the man leaned in a little closer in order to better hear Orra’s reply. The device on her left arm flashed a brilliant silver and just before the leader could properly aim Ferrok’s rifle he was forced back violently, trickles of blood running down his face. A stray shot from Ferrok’s rifle rang out through the night; along with the dying caws of George whom was by dumb chance caught in the blast. As the two other minions immediately jumped out of their bedrolls Orra took this opportunity to discard the rope from her hands, recover her own nearby rifle, and step on the wrist of the stunned leader that was holding Ferroks Rifle as hard as she could manage. “My NAME Is Orra!” Orra flipped her upright rifle around to point directly at the leader’s head, the red ribbon making a half circle, and pulled the lever forward and back in a single motion. One shot was all that was needed to render the leader’s serine face unrecognizable and silence his measured voice forever. With a face contorted with rage and hand clasped on a previously hidden dagger the “unarmed” goon moved to tackle Orra off of his superior’s corpse. Orra tried to hit him in the head with the butt of her rifle but was ultimately overpowered by sheer difference in body mass. The tussle ended up causing both to drop their weapons but ended up in the unarmed mans favor; he decided choking Orra to death was an appropriate response. “DEMON! We will deliver the focus to our lord in good time, but it will not be arriving with YOU.” Panicked, Orra hit the man’s arms ineffectually a few times before reaching out for anything that might make him stop: shortly after her left arm became engulfed in a cloak of silver light a gust of wind delivered to her the out of reach hilt of the man’s dagger. Being stabbed repeatedly predisposed him to let go of her throat. Orra rolled over to the nearby rifles and tried to catch her breath but the axe wielding minion would have none of that. Orra managed to dodge a diagonal slash from the man at the last second and quickly scurried to pick up the two rifles and run. The twitchy minion blocked her path and continued his assault which would have been easier to avoid in the dim lighted campsite had Orra not currently been a living night light. It shortly devolved into a circular and one sided chase around the campsite until she was finally able to make a desperate dive for the guns. It was successful but she was ultimately to slow to get out of the way before her assailant reached her. She managed to look back in time to see what would have normally been someone’s last sight, a madman about to chop her in twain, but was instead the sight of a burly madman being knocked off balance by a strong gale and missing by an embarrassing margin. Coughing and staggering from fatigue Orra ran back into the forest with the two rifles bundled beneath her right arm and dagger in hand. Orra ran clumsily for some time in the dark forest until she could no longer hear or feel anyone chasing her; promptly laying down and falling asleep on the spot, drained both in body and mind. ~-~-~ Her body aching, Orra brought herself to wake up and clean off in the late afternoon of the following day in order to begin working on what had to be done; it began with making sure Ferrok’s rifle was ready to fire. It was not very long at all before Orra found the large and hard rock that she used to begin the slow process of hammering Ferrok’s rifle’s barrel shut. She had never done this before and she had a hard time trying to think of something that felt anywhere near as wrong but this was something Orra was taught for a reason; something she had to do in times exactly like this. When she was done Orra drew a long length of string from the tattered bottom of her cloak and wrapped it around the trigger. After moving a distance away Orra pulled the string, firing Ferrok’s rifle one last time. She stood there for an extended period of time in respect of the dead before burying the remains of the weapon, where no one could ever pervert something so important again. She quickly left the area, lest the gunshot attract attention, while nibbling on a piece of dried out venison and giving the device on her arm another close look before putting it back beneath her cloak. “Some crazy freak with a name almost as long as it is dumb leading nonsense-speak’n mercs with a “thing” for birds eh? ‘guess if I want answers or peace of mind I’m going to have to play this twisted game of hawk and mouse for a while. How hard could it be? ” Edited by Grey, Oct 1 2011, 04:36 AM.
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| Dranz | Oct 1 2011, 05:48 AM Post #2 |
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YISSS
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For your horrible abomination of the English Language you are awarded the following sums of experience. PEXP - 54 MEXP - 44 To break the values down; +4 to each for not being as shitty as Jake +10 to PEXP for typan' +40 PEXP for wearing silly hats +5 to MEXP for CMC use +5 to MEXP for discussin' +30 to MEXP for animu dancin' |
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Rimbad
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Oct 1 2011, 05:50 AM Post #3 |
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LORD HIGH EXECUTIONER
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GRADU Mental exp + 70 Physical exp + 10 - Explanations are for sissies. +5 Mental exp + 1 handful of ashes : These ashes are all that remain of your broken bow, which saved your life both through use and destruction. They symbolize to you how survival sometimes requires a willingness to destroy your advantages. |
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| doopcat | Oct 1 2011, 05:50 AM Post #4 |
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Administrator
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Here's what I'm thinking: For Physical experience, 30 for the fight, 30 for the exertion, and an extra 5 for quality. For Mental experience, 5 for having made that shitty, awful bow and actually using it, 5 for testing your survival skills with some hunting and cooking, 30 for learning a little bit more about the converter, and an extra 5 for quality. In total, 65 Physical experience, and 45 Mental experience. Also the dagger from the weirdo, the stuff you picked up in town, and you're short the bullets you used. |
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| Rhaide | Oct 1 2011, 05:52 AM Post #5 |
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Mad Scientist
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58 Physical / 43 Mental Breakdown - +3 to each for quality 55 physical for exertion / combat 40 mental for converter use / hunting You lose the crappy starting bow, and gain a dagger. (Didn't do a detailed breakdown, but I suppose I could) |
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