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Fierach

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Fierach last won the day on June 29

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About Fierach

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    ACE SUNSET

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    New York City
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    Gaming, Roleplay, Weapons, Reading, Writing
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    Angry New Yorker

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  1. Fierach

    Faejarhe AMA

    First question. Why are you so awesome. Second question. What sort of natural/magical barriers will there be to getting there?
  2. If its worth doing its worth crusading!
  3. Addison made a good save. The withering look that James was giving Hawk from within the helm was just short of being capable of killing lesser men. The arrogance of the Marshal, to imply that the Valucrian artifact called the Cornerstone of Space picked their dimension so they could get help with their inter-dimensional woes. And after coming to the Daemonslayer and all but begging him for help with a plan that barely existed. It was well that James wasn't really a petty man, because he could've cut them off right there and then and they'd be shit out of luck. He already turned away when Addison turned to look at him, thoroughly annoyed by the knightess's underlings.
  4. "Don't know anything about your brother" At Bishop's offer though, James looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he nodded. "You can have one of them as your reward then... but you call me Jimbo again and you'll have to reassemble it from what parts you can pull back out of your ass" he finished, smiling slightly. Bishop might've had a good showing in the Feast of Blades, but it was doubtful the fresh-out-of-retirement brawler would be able to stand against the present Master Knight. "Infact" the Daemonslayer slid back the token. "if OXY's involved, you get it free, along with most other help I can render. They need to be put down in full. If you're not interested in the whole base, that's fine. I would be. We'll call this... a professional courtesy."
  5. Fierach

    [GS] Taurus

    Wrestling with the giant ice snake in his arms meant Taurus had a shield, if an unwilling one. This shield was the one he thrust into the path of many of the incoming attacks, Shishi's divine spears, Tozwad's relentess assault with his magic and axe, and lastly but not least, pathing it between the path of him and the ridiculius jump of another titan of ice, what looked like an ice giant. The result would be that the snake would bear the brunt of two of the divine spears cast by the young Order Knightess, and any other damage stacked onto it would be all but eclipsed by the crushing might of the frozen giant's landing, breaking it outright. Had the attackers been more organized, the battle might have ended right there, but it did not. Instead it would be a slow drawn out affair. Taurus was used to his size. He rolled over upon the ice giant, to bear it to the ground with him, and it appeared as if the demigod would choke this new attacker to death. In reality, he heated his hands with the last of his powers to try and melt through, to grab and crush the squishy mortal at its core. Using the last of his power however, renderes Taurus completely vulnerable to Hinoka's machinations. At last those cosmic threads of light broke though, and the demigod's body began to slow and still as his soul was pulled from it upon glowing tendrils of light, displayed to the world as a bright gold beacon.
  6. "Ow" he remarked in dull faux reaction towards her slap. Well, she was a djinn of her word, after all, she did say she would wallop him. Still, it was the least painful thing he had to endure all day, and even the rest of her "punishment" was a great deal more pleasing. If all such chastisements included the sight ofa voluptuous woman sauntering away, James suspected the the world would have a great deal more troublemakers. He was silent upon her other reply though, turning his thoughts inwards as she went to enjoy her bath. He had heard something like it before, from his friend and colleague Tenkai Matsumoto, who once accused him of being a deathseeker. A man with no regard for his own life, very little, if any self-worth, always ready to sacrifice of himself. Other confidants had sometimes implored him to risk himself less. He was a leader of men, and he could ill afford to risk himself, for what would they do without him? What would the Force Majeure do without one of its Founders? He sighed. He always shrugged off such concerns. He had designed the leadership of the Force Majeure to be flexible, emphasizing free thinking and initiative for its members. Knights were trained to be well-rounded individuals, and Custodes leaned on experienced corps of officers promoted directly from highly motivated ranks of soldiery. He turned a hand over, looking at himself as if in a new light. Myrriah was right... and wrong. To James, people still were tools. But tools were not to be discarded or abused. Tools were to be familiarized, and understood, to be well-maintained and cared for. James would not discard a person as he did not discard a sword. A person needed to be spoken to, to be understood, as surely as a sword needed to be studied, its balance appreciated, its role in warfare managed. As a person learned and grew, so was a sword's blade sharpened, its handle oiled. A knight might have a wealth of experience, knowledge on how to handle a dozen important matters of state or battle, and a sword might have its own enchantments in kind, to better resist the test of time, to better slay a certain hated foe. And if a sword broke... ... well, flesh could not always be reforged, and never as easily as steel. Still, it happened sometimes. Such convictions did not change easily, if they ever would. However, James would keep them to himself for now, Myrriah did not seem to be in a receptive mood for such discussion. His self-reflection ended as the djinn reappeared. She took her time, as she promised, but James made good use of the time as well. He had strength enough to get back onto his feet, giving himself a pat over to make sure nothing was lost and left behind. "I feel reborn! Your turn! I am not traveling with you reeking of rotting flesh and sweat; I have standards after all." "Yes, I figured and wha-" his voice cut off as the light enveloped him, and then dropped him quite some distance away into the river. A minute after that, Myrriah would be assailed by the sounds of wet squishing and the sight of the soaked Daemonslayer walking over to her, deliberate in his bedraggled pace until he stood a couple of meters away. He held her gaze as he slowly slipped off one boot, and turned it upside down to drain out the water in it. "... please let me know before you do that", he growled, at last breaking the awkward silence (if there was one), before turning on his heels and marching away to begin his bath. Taking off his armor took a while, and when he finally did so, he let it soak in the river in a less turbulent spot so it wouldn't be washed away. If the temptation to peek over whelmed Myrriah however, she would see that he was quite the average warrior, muscled like the statue of some ancient god or hero, and adorned with healed scars both old and new. His right arm was even more scarred then the rest however, appearing almost as if it had once been reduced to ground meat before being reconstituted into something like a limb, nevertheless a fully functional limb. It must have taken a healer of extraordinary power and skill to have addressed it, considering he seemed to move it now with no ill effects or hitches whatsoever. Eventually after 30 minutes, James would be done with his bath, scrubbing himself as cleanly as he could within the rushing stream. One final dip and then he'd be off to haul his gear out of the water. Drying it was a simple task with his powers, he simply put on as much of it as he could, grimacing as the unpleasant squish of dampness, and summoned his fire. Within a minute he would be pleasantly dry, the moisture from his armor and war-gear evaporated into the air.
  7. A gentle breeze blew through the the room. From whence it came was unknown, as the glare in the eyes of Sheryl Wainwright was that of a gale, a terrible force of nature. The aeromancer easily broke out of her would be tomb of wiggling larvae, flying into the air upon a gust of wind. Centering herself, she conjured up a small tornado around her while she spun in the opposite direction, ripping apart the larvae that had begun to chew through her clothes, leaving her uniform somewhat immodest. If she noticed however, the blonde knightess made no indication of it. Instead the air around them seemed to turn... stormy. It was an impossibility, but thats what the impression many would get was, as Sheryl Wainwright put her hands together and started injecting winds into a small spherical space before her, the size of her chest. The winds in the sphere quickly grew dark and turbulent. The Queen would taste her wrath. Sheryl was very much done with the tricks and wiles of Yh'mi. Now was a time for action.
  8. Alrighty. Time for Sheryl to fight again. -sweeps up the bones of her two soldiers and bags them though-
  9. James kept his eyes closed as the djinn worked her magic, the last thing he wanted to add to his condition was a bout of vertigo and nausea brought about by teleportation. He knew it was done when he felt the sun again, bearing down radiantly on his dirtied form, and the touch of her soft hands. His left hand shot up to grasp hers firmly at first, but then it relaxed, giving her a friendly squeeze before letting go. "It was pleasing. Wouldn't mind going again, maybe twice more?" he chuckled, before coughing, and turning on his side. A short refractory period would be in order first of course. He cast an eye about, and then dragged himself to the nearest tree to prop himself up against, whereupon he then rummaged and held out the spell bombs for Myrriah to take with a tired nod. "Save your strength." He patted the dusty soil next to him. "Perhaps you should lay out a carpet instead and rest for a while yourself? Or do you dislike pillow talk?" If she accepted his invitation and recharged herself, after launching into her explanation of the contract, James would interrupt at choice intervals with additional questions of his own while he gathered his strength back. "So I can't simply free you, or even make ordinary wishes to hasten the process? Not even if to free you is the wish?" was his first question. He really should have asked it before making the wish but there wasn't enough time for that in the dark underworld that they had been trapped in earlier. He reached up and removed the half-mask, muttering a word of power under his breathe in doing so, a word in a language dead to most ("discoperio"), before raising an eyebrow in tired jest at Myrriah "What if the sandwich itself was the best ever? I once heard of a legendary foodstuff that entranced those who ate it." Replacing the mask back at his waist, the Daemonslayer waved airily with his other hand. "Of course, they became addicted and eventually perished because all other tastes and senses became bland and they wouldn't eat anything else, but that's besides the point." He was joking, but she might still wallop him for that. Still, if it happened, he figured he probably deserved it. No fury like a woman scorned, and yet both parties enjoyed teasing all the same. His last reply however, would be the most serious. "I don't think you really buy that. You are a leader, same as I. To a leader, everything, everybody, everyone is a tool." he emphasized the last word, but then he gave her that mysterious smile again, the same he did when he first rejected her advances, a slight Mona Lisa smile. "But rest assured. I swear I will not malign your power, nor earn your scorn. Even my own life is a tool. Although I might poke at that pride of yours." Just then, a thought came to him. "Then, you can't go back home until the contract is broken and you are freed?"
  10. Eshara tore up the earth with the fervor of a thirsting man in a desert. Had he managed to find the object of her quest? Was he going to be able to get out of this rank pit and continue with his mission? Finally! Hauling away great chunks of mud with his hands and makeshift tools, he finally uncovered something hard and white. Intrigued, he redoubled his efforts. . . . And revealed a giant rib bone, not unlike that of the skeleton of the fast-decaying carcass of the eel from earlier, but larger. "... thats not what you're looking for is it" he deadpanned, not even asking the question. No the inquisitor didn't strike him as a paleontologist. It was all his fault really, Eshara had to jinx himself by saying more eel. And so he found more eel. The exasperated man cast an eye over at Capria's efforts.
  11. James Eredas started with a form of Chinese Kenpo at the tender age of 6 years old, combined with philosophy and spiritual teachings to hone his mental fortitude. By 18 he was familiar with a small assortment of Asian martial arts forming the core of his style, judo for wrestling, bajiquan and kenpo for striking. As he traveled the world he picked up on various martial arts and incorporated aspects of them into his styles, primarily muay thai. The focus of his powers paralleled his physical development, powerful and overwhelming short ranged attacks, gap closing maneuvers, ki infusion to amplify his physical form, along with a few more esoteric clan techniques used for debuffing an enemy. His physical training takes a jack of all trades approach, a balance of strength, agility, and endurance. His original training included basic swordsmanship, but the rest is all picked up, or self learned, from observing and studying many other fighters. He's made efforts to become proficient in a few schools of swordsmenship, and spearmenship. If he really wants something dead though, he gets his combat knife.
  12. So if she granted a wish, she would be bound to him? That was interesting. Tempting in a way, to have a powerful, intelligent and gorgeous djinn in his service... but service wasn't the right word was it? It would be servitude. Practically slavery, nomatter how it was sugar-coated. And he was not that type of man. But... if he released her immediately... That would work. He found he could not recall much about djinns. He had read about them, encountered very few before, but their abilities and character varied greatly, and this one was clearly different from the rest. He knew that there were people who attempted loopholes to permanently bind a djinn to their will (with often karmic results), but he had heard so few rumors or tales of more altruistic interactions. Although he swore he could've been imagining it, but the voice of the djinn carried a hint of wanting him to do it. So be it. Besides throbbing pain in his skull (doubtless from a concussion) was not helping further concentration. Nor was the way she played his lips as though they were a harp. He focused his efforts on making sure the wish was proper. "Djinn Myrriah... I wish for us both to be transported above ground, to safety..."
  13. "Why didn't you leave me? James, I don't want to be the cause of your death, why do men always have to be so stubborn? Let me thinkā€¦" He would interrupt her here with a throaty chuckle in the dark "... around my waist. Third pouch. You'll know it when you feel it". When she found it, she would understand. While James possessed devices like the mana bomb, weapons against mages and supernatural beings, capable of draining and burning their powers in a feedback effect, he also had devices that did the opposite. He called it the spell bomb. A small ball of crystallized arcane energy, sheathed in a thin magitech shell and chemical solution. Fuel for a djinn like Myrriah, fitting perfectly into the palm of her delicate hands. It would act perfectly as the mana battery she requested. There was a button on it that would activate it. "... well..." the Daemonslayer sighed, his voice strained. He must have been wounded heavily in the attempted escape, having shielded her for much of the way. Now he exposed himself to one more threat, trusting in his armor and inherent resilience to withstand the close blast of pure arcana. Air was the primary concern after all. "Well... " James repeated again. "not my real third question... but it'll do. You're a djinn right?" she would be able to hear the smile in his voice. "Do you... grant wishes?" "Because, I have one in mind..." he began to laugh again. James Eredas, Daemonslayer, Master Knight of the Order of Force Majeure, Keeper of the Space Stone, the Butcher of Odessa and the Demon Phoenix Fist, always made his own fate.
  14. Truth be told, James expected the worst. He was ready for the eye to suddenly open up into a vast, toothed maw, or for a thousand tendrils to come flying out at him. He would have gladly sacrificed every pound of flesh on his body to ensure his blade dug deep and banished the creature back to the abyss. He could expect no less then to die performing the duty to which he tasked himself. But he didn't. Fate intervened in the form of Myrriah, reappearing at the cavern entrance. Her attacks, her distraction granted him the moment he needed, and he did not waste it, burying the deathly weapon deeply into the eye, twisting it, working it. With a victorious roar, he ripped it out, dragging with it lengths of severed sinew, and other less identifiable organic matter as the djinn recalled him with her strange magicks back to her side and he felt himself ripped through the air, borne upon her arcane powers right before the heart of darkness beat its last and detonated with a display of gore that would have been fit for the most depraved of blood-letting flesh cults. Landing upon his back, with his ears ringing, James immediately sheathed his weapons before wiping away the foul gunk that had begun to collect on his mask with the back of his arm. A temporary fix, he also struck himself in the temple with his palm, in an attempt to dull the ringing with pain of another sort. The bodily sewage that had filled the chamber began draining away towards the giant hole where the heart had been. So Myrriah saved his life in more ways then just one. But their ordeals would not be over. Tremors began to shake the chamber. James cursed under his breath. He wished for once in his life that these lairs not self-destruct upon the death of their leader. As he went to Myrriah, he shielded himself from the first of many falling rocks. "I-It is done. Go...Leave me. Make it out while you can. I will only slow you down. I can die knowing We succeeded." "No" came the reply, like quiet thunder, clear even in the din of chaos around them. He would not leave her here. That thought was never entertained, not even for the briefest moment. Even the thought that he wouldn't be able to make it out anyway even if he abandoned her, never came to pass. "Never" he pulled her to her feet. If she could not stand, he hoisted her inelegantly under his arm, shielding her as best as he could with using his own body. Thus James carried the djinn, protecting her, If only fate would prove to be so kind. The rockfall intensified. As much as he dodged or weaved, or pushed through, James could not evade them all. They took their toll on him, until he realized that they would not be able to make it. But James Eredas made his own fate. He had one last card to play. He looked for the largest boulders falling. Whole sections of the ruins, still-intact columns or pieces of foundation. He found one. Holding Myrriah tight in his arms, he tackled it with his back, setting it upright at a slant against other pieces of fallen stone as leverage. The last burst of strength from his barbarian's belt granted him that much, enough to pull off one final feat to create a small pocket of air, a temporary shelter underneath hundreds of tons of rubble. And the world went dark. . . . . . . "Myrriah?" he gasped, calling out for her. He knew she was still there. He could feel her body next to his, pressing against him. He dared not use his powers for light, in such close proximity for they would harm her.
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