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supernal

I have no eye and I must blink

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The tent-settlement rested just outside of Aspyn, hidden from the naked eye by distance but still within the scope of a day's march. Aspyn was the newest settlement in the Isle, chaperoned by the youngest PeaceKeeper in the history of Terrenus's present regime (admittedly, not very long). The settlement was outside of Aspyn for that very reason – Michael Commager was a vigilant guardian anxious to prove he was worth the honor bestowed him, so the shadier aspects of society made it a point to avoid his attention. The armistice between these two parties was strained but viable, for the time being.

The larger tents of the minor settlement were for the indulgence of vice. Gambling 'parlors'. Strip 'shows'. And, naturally, a 'bar', whose existence was the sum total of a secured row of metal lockers brimming over with hooch.

Evelyn was in the bar tent now, occupying the body of one of its favorite hosts, the female Kharn cleric. Her leather armor was muted and pragmatic, purposefully failing to accentuate her feminine grace and obscuring the presence of her weapons until one was too close for it to matter. Evelyn held in Talice's hand an untouched drink, this being a mere nod of patronage to the bar owner so it could occupy space without rousing ire.

The bar-tent had no tables, only cheap folding chairs. Talice was in one chair, and two empties in front of her formed a triangle of privacy. Evelyn had deliberately picked the point in space furthest from the bar, where the rowdy people were highest in number.

The others should be arriving soon. Past experienced had informed Evelyn's trust in Handyman subcontractors. It wasn't possible for it to do everything itself and so it was nothing short of a delight to find adequately competent concierges to associate with. The two sellswords would be nothing less than competent and amenable to a fair deal, the only kind of deals in which Evelyn partook.

OOC: https://www.valucre.com/topic/37817-are-you-a-mercenary-or-what/

 

Edited by supernal

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Starken had arrived to the isle with the promise of work and solid coin, such was the way he spent his days. He was an unmistakable presence, his body honed by harsher conditions than the one he had found himself in as his eyes scanned about from beneath his helm, skeptical of his surroundings. He wasn't alone, as those he passed couldn't help but stare at the mountain of steel and muscle as his boots clumped audibly on the ground as he made his way toward of the tents where the scent of alcohol, more prized than what he was used to drinking and the far more tantalizing scent of perfume pulled at his senses. 

He slipped his way into the largest of the tents, taking a deep breath before removing his helm, allowing his thick, pale blonde strands to fall over his broad plated shoulders. This felt very familiar for a change. He looked over the patrons, his eyes resting on what appeared as a gathering point away from the bar. Starken let his gaze linger on Talice before moved toward her, armored steps clomping on the ground. 

"Starken." The giant spoke only his name when he approached as an introduction. He looked almost sympathetically at the chair meant to hold his frame, deciding better to stand before her, helm with the broken horn tucked between his arm and midsection. The Stone Horn occasionally looked over his surroundings, the noise, exotic smells even coming through the tent, foreign to him. 

Edited by ButAHumbleBard

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Their eyes met across a tent, through a thick and transparent fog of sweat and alcohol. In response Evelyn raised up Talice's hand and waved the hulking man over to her table.

"Starken."
"I am Evelyn." The woman's eyes were blank and intent, her lips precise in their articulation of every vowel and consonant. Apropos of nothing, as if suddenly reminded of some ritual, the woman ran her fingers through her own hair, the white of her flowing locks contrasting in an aesthetically pleasing fashion against the dark skin that was the result of her Kharn heritage.

Evelyn was pleased with itself that it was more and more capable of the small motions which conveyed to another that they were speaking to a fellow humanoid; until recently it had a habit of simply having the host sit still, with a minimum of emoting, meanwhile Evelyn itself dealt with digesting and collating vast stores of information. But this had a tendency to unnerve company, and while Evelyn didn't care that it made someone uncomfortable per say, Evelyn did care that making someone uncomfortable tended to make them less amenable as well.

Talice stood up and remained standing when it became clear that Starken had no room to sit. The woman placed her untouched drink on the seat of her chair and wordlessly motioned for Starken to do the same for his helmet with his own chair.

"I am after an item of particular interest. The details I won't speak of here, or you may wind up with unwelcome company. I have a very approximate draft of a map that will get you into the general area but you will have to seek it out from there. Also there is an attached description of the item."

Talice passed along a small bundle of papers which had been folded into a single square, and which was now held together by a sky-blue ribbon.

"To your payment, I am able to provide you with a sum total of 8 ounces of Terran rhodium upon completion. Our mutual acquaintance should have already assured you that I am good for my money so long as you are good for the job, but nonetheless I will advance to you one ounce as a show of good faith."

Talice passed a small burlap satchel to Starken.

"If you are unfamiliar with the Isle, you will be heading into Bi'le'ah, which is notorious for the magically induced chaos which plagues it. If you are not vigilant, you will lose your life."

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Starken observed the gesture and did in kind, placing his helmet down on the vacant chair. He took hold of the papers in a swift though professional manner, undoing the wrapping and looking over the details, though not missing a word that was spoken to him.

"Understood. I don't doubt your ability to follow through with our deal. You have no need to doubt mine. The isle is unknown to me but I've heard enough of it to know caution is best served."

For a man of his stature and appearance he was well spoken. Appeared educated enough to conduct proper business. The satchel was taken, papers slipped inside as he clipped a hook meant for his pelt collection and latched the satchel to his side.

His helmet taken up once more, Starken stared down at the woman. "I will stay the night, make the necessary arrangements, and set out at the first break of light."

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The dark-skinned, platinum-haired Kharn woman allowed her lavender eyes to skip around the tent's insides, resting only briefly on the various countenances she could spy, finding in them not a single spark of recognition or familiarity. Then, turning back to Starken, the woman spoke in clear tones while mechanically brushing a hand through her hair.

"It was my understanding there would be another joining you, to ease the burden of the task at hand. I will await their arrival here and send them after you, either tonight while you sleep or tomorrow once you have begun your trek. The service through which I acquired your assistance is generally reliable but I cannot speak to the fidelity of this unnamed person. If they do not show and you complete the task alone, I will transfer their payment to you."

"I will stay the night . . ."

"Very well. My own experiences with the beast that is Bi'le'ah tells me that trespassing in the light of day is the best option available. I caution you against drinking throughout this night however, for you will need all of your wits available and them at their sharpest if you plan to emerge not only victorious, but intact."

Evelyn dismissed their discourse with a bow, collecting the untouched drink and reclaiming the seat.

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The mercenary business had proven itself a true relief next to military service. Lamistadt had taken issue following commands and ideals he didn't care for. Use of extravagant implements of destruction had been rewarding enough, but earning some of his own had been an aspiration that had haunted him since childhood. Settling in Last Chance as a base of operations had done him some good, but with that area of Terrenus being so rife with all manner of sellswords and quest-goers, his degree of success had hit a ceiling. He had hoped North-Western Terrenus would provide an environment where he might prove more prosperous. 

The Shield family name didn't bear much of any significance to most, but there were the few who had served with his elders who knew him as an inheritor of a certain kind of militaristic pride. Granted, his father was as many years dead as he was feet deep, and his uncle had long since retired to a farm somewhere in North-East Terrenus last he'd heard, so he had seen far less recognition of the name of late. If any had known the other Shields of his generation, they didn't often make a correlation, which he supposed was for the best. He was something of a black sheep, being one to decline servitude, honor, glory, and worst of all: heroism. He made his money and he had his fights, and that was all he really wanted in the end. 

His father had spoken of the pleasures that women offered men. His mother had spoken of love and flowers. They'd both talked about being good to people and fighting for what you believed in, which had all been very frustrating for one who bore little passion beyond animosity for others and the thrill of fighting, killing, and possibly dying. Finding what he believed in had been a quest throughout his military career, and it had been his fellow soldiers who'd helped guide him to the realization that his needs were simple. 

So simple, in fact, that not a part of the man stirred in front of the lady squeezed into her boiled leather armor. He didn't want to scoff at the armor, but only on the grounds that she was a client, and he had learned very well that people payed him less when he put them on the defensive. Which was all well enough anyway, since he hadn't the steel to support his criticisms. Not to say he wasn't bearing an uncanny array of weapons, but all he had for armor was a gambeson under his coat, which was long and brown, and paired well with his hat. Together, they gave him a rather rural-warrior look. The type that didn't seem to go without a lasso, or with boots of the type he was wearing, but then there were all the weapons.

He was wearing two swords on his left hip. A saber and a machete, and the machete's sheathe had an axe hanging from a loop. There was a six-gun strapped to the outside of his right hip, and some questionable bulges beneath his coat in places one might conveniently reach for a weapon, a number of better hidden daggers, and gloves with metallic knuckles all about his person. Not that he seemed immediately aggressive. Rather, he carried himself as though he was used to being laden with such a ridiculous regalia. 

Taking off the wide-brimmed hat had been a flashy ordeal. A matter of courtesy and style to fit his persona, which was really more of a loose nod at the cowboy thing, and his eyes betrayed the fact that it, as with each other gesture he'd made since entering the tent and finding his way to Evelyn, had brought him no joy. The "persona" was really just a convention to help him stand out to potential employers. It was always an unsure hope he clung to, like that small moment after releasing a skipping stone, that his attempts at appeasing people hit the mark and left an impression, and at the same time, it really didn't matter either, but that perplexing feeling was still somewhere in there. A stray, hueless color in a sea of grey. 

"I'll be Red today." He said with a nod and a dry, very dry smile. Whether it was taken for humor or a confession that he wasn't giving his real name didn't matter to him, as often, it didn't matter to the people he worked with. And if it turned out that it did matter, he wouldn't withhold the information. He just saw it as convenient and pragmatic to avoid sharing such information without something to gain from it.

As far as the actual exchange of words, he spoke about as much as the giant before him had. That is, before he stopped her with a raise of his hands. "It's a little late for warnings. We've a deal. Now, I'd like to rest before tomorrow." And finding agreement in that, he adjourned to his own arrangements for the night, which contained much less sleep than implied. Lamistadt rose early enough in the morning to get his exercises in and still have time to lean against things as he waited impatiently for the break of day, which Evelyn had mentioned would mark the beginning of his and the giant's assignment.

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First light had broken, but Starken still lay in bed. He had asked the women who shared his bed to wake him at the proper time, assuming they'd wake before himself. However the evening prior saw plenty ale and meed flow in and out of the tent. It would be another two hours before the giant stirred in bed, shoving one of the three women on the bed off, before the others woke and scattered away.

He grumbled some inaudible saying before he sat up, dumping the filled wash basin over his head and shoulders. Half his armor would gingerly snapped on as he gathered his bearings. It would be another half hour before Starken stepped from his tent, taking a deep breath of the brisk air. Chest plate held swinging over his back, helmet held loosely in the other hand. 

Starken waited for his partner near the pier which had been bustling with merchants, even though he was the party that was late. Passing the time trading with a merchant some pelts for exotic looking hard boiled eggs, his hand held half dozen, wolfing three at a time, he belched his pleasure of the meal before buckling and setting the rest of his armor. He was quite the specimen, impossible to miss.

Edited by ButAHumbleBard

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He huffed. Crates and tents didn't give Lamistadt many comfortable positions in which to posture behind a thin vise of calm, which, like the filmy sort of layer it resembled, peeled away with time. It revealed a level of impatience. They had had a time. Reportedly delivered by the man himself, and he hadn't shown up. Being impatient, Lamistadt didn't take long to decide his associate-to-be wasn't to-be, so he went to the tent where he'd spoken with Evelyn, but naturally, she wasn't there. Going to the market had been a fortunate happenstance. He figured it might be prudent to invest in expanding his collection of weapons in preparation for doing the thing on his own, and there was a giant matching the description he was given. An offense which prompted an exasperated gesture of the hands. But he was a professional, and his annoyance didn't shine through in his demeanor quite as bright as the rising sun through the morning clouds.

That, of course, was not to call his displeasure inconspicuous, and there was no hint of any reservations in showing this when he confronted the man. Even lacking about a third in width of body and a head of height that the other boasted. "You're late. And apparently lost. Hopefully that's not indicative of your performance. Let's go." He was demanding, and crossed his arms, bearing an aura of exasperation as the giant made him wait. He knew he would. He was in no rush, comparatively, to get to the violence that Lamistadt craved, and he insisted on finishing his transaction before letting the former soldier drag him out of town, toward the site of what was once Biazo City. A place he'd grown up hearing about for being as unique and amazing as any other Terran city. In its own way. And truth be told, the tragedy of the battle that had torn it apart had been a sad one to hear about. He'd always meant to visit. 

Now at least, he would finally end up there, and perhaps even find the time to admire some of the ruined structures of the city he'd once admired the idea of, and it wasn't long before they came upon it. Conversation had been minimal. It was hard to be much quieter than he usually was, but still bearing that frustration with the giant Starken, he made up for it by being short-worded and difficult to respond to. He responded with curt answers that shut down any attempt at a proper conversation. When they came close to the ruins, he checked the sky for an estimation of the time. The sun hadn't reached its height yet, so they were doing well enough on light at least. Bringing his gaze back down to the skeletal corpse that was Bi'le'ah, he took in a deep breath, sampling the air around them, which was an unsettling mix of decay and fresh greenery. And that wasn't to speak of that feeling enemy hideouts had. There would be eyes on them that they couldn't see, and of course, he was eager to get to the action it implied, which could appear at the fall of a foot.

It was then that he finally let go of his silent blame for an irksome start and spoke to Starken properly. Following a short huff of a sigh, he said, "Alright." He had his fists planted on his hips, just above his scabbard on one side, though the holster on the other side didn't hamper the posture so much. "So, do we have directions, or is it just a 'figure it out' kind of assignment?" He asked. He didn't look to the man for visual recognition as a response. He was still a bit too standoffish to concede his thick-headedness in that way. Instead, he surveyed the terrain ahead of them.

Edited by Wanderlost

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Starken simply looked to Lamistadt as he spoke to him in a firm manner. Bits of egg still stuck to his beard as he munched away, looking down at his new comrade with a grin at his tone toward the giant. He liked him already. He thought to offer Lamistadt some eggs, though the remaining were smashed against his palm, which he just held over his mouth and sprinkled in before slapping Lamistadt on the back before heading out toward their mission. It wasn't often Starken found someone who spoke less than him, though as they arrived at the fallen city, and Lamistadt had asked for a planned route of some sort, Starken scoffed. Crouching down, his hands scraped the dirt, bringing it to his nose as he inhaled the scent of the land. 

"Got this." Starken reached into his satchel to show the map that had been given to him, handing it to Lamistadt. Hunter's eyes scanned the area as he continued to take in the scent of the land held to his nose before letting it crumble back down as he stood. "Mind yourself, ain't nothing good coming from that..." He pointed towards bubbles, dancing almost hypnotically in the air, dazzling in design with a dizzying array of colors, but he was told to be vigilant and trust nothing this land shows you. While not the smartest in terms of books, Starken had stalked many lands through many elements to know how to survive beyond walls. 

"I say we head north. Straight through the heart of the ruins. This doesn't seem like a land for the curious. We take anything less than a direct path we die. Cut straight in through the ruins, get what we came for, and have a direct line back out. What say you?" He would ask, unlatching his sword from the strap over his back, the blade's tip clunking down to the earth with a thud before Starken took it up in his hands and swung it over his shoulder. 

Edited by ButAHumbleBard

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The mercenary, who might have otherwise been called the weapon collector, did what he could to mask the reactive sneer inspired by his partner's rough treatment of his sword. He thought it blended well with his frown and generally brooding demeanor as he played with the man's plan in his head. Surely it looked like variations on the same expression. When it came to working with partners, most of his experiences had left him with the impression that people liked to over complicate things. At some point, somebody had told him that the harder something was to understand, the less predictable it was, but that took the skill and the challenge out of it. He'd heard tavern lowlifes not unlike himself say that a fair fight was a poorly planned one, though again, he just thought of such things as a challenge. He didn't seek fostering an advantage in such situations because his ultimate desire was to fight through it and live or die according to his own level of skill, not just to win.

Starken's line of thinking--straightforward, and likely putting them in as much danger as possible, excited the man. Lamistadt didn't grin, or really even smile, but the look in his eyes which had seemed to belong to an experienced professional narrowed into the same piercing determination he had had in somewhat earlier days. "I like that." And he turned with a flourish of his long coat that redirected one of those colorful bubbles, which had been so uncomfortably close that it had brushed his hand, and for a moment everything shone with such beauty and color that, as the feeling faded, so too did color seem to drain from the world, and he was left feeling disappointed with how it all seemed relatively washed out. It startled the man in one of few ways he really could be startled, causing him to step back and quickly, stiffly surveying the area in front of him. His hand had gone to his gun as a matter of habit, but he discounted a bubble as a reasonable target. Still, the things had gotten closer, eerily, and now acted as an obstacle between them and the ruins. 

Once he assessed the situation properly, and decided that it would take little of them to circumvent them, he found as few words as possible to express himself once again. "Come on." Was all that preceded him stalking his way clear of and around the bubbles until they were in the ruins proper. 

Lamistadt had learned that people like himself and Starken were not totally uncommon on Valucre. He'd grown up exposed almost exclusively to hyper-social civilians and military-types, but the number of people, foreign and native alike, who were quiet and fascinated with the dealings of mercenaries were huge for a minority he hadn't been exposed to until he'd become one of them. Huge enough that without a thirst for the things that came with it, it just wasn't practical. So he felt a sort of kinship with the man on the basis of their shared interest, despite having shared little even as far as words in actuality, and that came with a disregard for his former rudeness. Such was the train of thought he was on when he decided to transition from his mind to his voice. "So what makes it fun for you?" He asked without providing context.

Edited by Wanderlost

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Starken followed closely behind, with his sheer size finesse wasn't a tact he used often but it was one he practiced with extreme care now. He followed closely behind Lamistadt, his sword lowered, carving a path on the ground, keeping from swaying and knocking into the troublesome things which appeared ready to burst at the slightest glance. As they cleared the area and made for the ruins Starken turned and regarded his partner's question, silent for a moment as he thought of the answer. Once they were taking their healthy strides again, his blade found its way back onto his shoulder. "Has nothing to do with fun." He replied as he continued to survey the land, taking the occasional swipe of a vine and branch that attempted to block their path. "Don't know anything else. Just the hunt. Be it beast, man, or treasure...a hunt is a hunt. A challenge, my people embraced this thought. As they have, as do I."

A few healthy chops cleared their path against the occasional road block. "Yourself?"

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They were still a distance away from the ruins proper. But even now, even through the thick screen of interleaving branches and foliage, the keen eye could catch a haphazard glimpse of Bi'le'ah's broken, hobbled infrastructure and the expansive sprawl on which it sat.

They were still a distance away, but someone in Bi'le'ah was looking their way, and finding himself intrigued by the sense of motion he could discern between trees.

That person's name was Serre. Serre used to be a tailor, but that was before Biazo City fell to the ground and couldn't get back up again. Because of the magical fallout, itself a result of the clash between two titanic forces of chaos and of order, Serre had mutated. He was hairless, his skin was one giant callous great for defending against blades but terrible for cuddling, and he had no lips; his teeth were bared in a permanent grimace.

Most notably, Serre had bulbous, multi-faceted eyes, and it was through those eyes and their resultant keen vision that Serre could track the movements of Starken and Red, or to Serre, 'entities unknown'.

He checked his ammunition, the integrity and tensile strength of his bowstring, then nimbly brought himself to the ground so he could scour the fallen buildings for a better angle, a better vantage. These unknown entities were still an hour away, maybe less depending on their path and pace, but fortune favored the prepared even more than it did the bold.  

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"Challenge too, I guess. But the challenge makes it fun... Or interesting at least."

The mercenary said nothing further, offering bodily indication that his attention then belonged to their surroundings. After the bubbles, it had seemed natural enough for the two of them to assume a direct approach. The larger man cut through the foliage easy enough that he had little to do but saunter behind. Being that nothing was jumping out at them begging to be vanquished, he just checked his weapons. The many smaller knives and daggers he kept didn't require inspection, but he checked the rounds in his revolver and his belt pouch and made sure it showed no signs of potential failure, then inspected his saber. The last fight he'd had with it, and the second it had seen, had been with a man almost as large as Starken, and Lamistadt had met the brute's lump of a two handed sword with a hanging parry that had left a rather nasty nick in the blade. He had done a decent job repairing it, but it was a rather unsightly mar for a weapon so new to his collection. 

The machete was a machete. The steel was soft enough that it had been bent out of shape and back a number of times and hardly ever rusted. The thing that mattered was that it was able to cut through the kind of foliage Starken was busying himself with and worse without any true compromise to its integrity, and it did that well enough. The axe was a matter of its own though. Really a strange buy for Lamistadt, but he'd liked it. With a haft that reached from shoulder to elbow, and it was double-bitted; one side had a smaller side profile, but had a wedge-like edge shape for wood cutting. The other was relatively flat and much wider with a more sinister curve to the edge. In the hand at least, it felt like both heads were about the same weight, and some testing had shown it performed surprisingly well at both tasks, though he did hope he wouldn't come to a point where the weapon was a necessary choice. 

He'd done all that and a bit more that morning, but he wanted to make sure he was prepared when they came to the ruins, and sure as if it had been his plan from the start, by the time he was done with that distraction, they were some way into Bi'le'ah actual, surrounded by the ruins he had been so excited to see. Sadly however, turning his attention to them brought on a level of disappointment, as he began to realize he lacked the knowledge of Biazo to truly appreciate its corpse. It was all just overgrown stonework. Anything other than stone and metal had been swept away by one means or another. Even after so short a time, everything was covered in grass and vines and other plants. So much so that he didn't really feel like they'd left the trees for the structures. He thought people--"people" as a royal we--would laugh if he said something like, "It seems like Valucre is trying to drink away the memory of Biazo." But Starken did not seem to match up with the sort he would think of, half-begrudgingly, as "people," so he didn't. 

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Starken had turned a moment, just as Lamistadt had checked his revolver. Thick brows furrowed under his helm. He would reach over and snatch the pistol from Red's person, inspecting it even eyeing the barrel. "What is this? Seems...fragile." Two thick fingers wrapped around the handle as he gave it a shake hearing a rattle of the ammunition from within. "Do you not savor the battle? Using cheap tricks as this puny thing." He scoffed, tossing the revolver back to Lamistadt and shaking his head. Starken continued to hack along a path...until something peculiar happened. A thick vine seemed to have slithered away from his blade's path. 

The thick dried vine cracked and slithered along the wall and ground, Starken curious of the source, followed suit forgetting his disgusted expression at the pistol he just held. Heavy boots thumped on the ground as he went into pursuit. He had disappeared a moment before suddenly his massive body went sailing in the air before it crashed down, emptying the contents of a rather deep puddle he had landed in. 

A creature, wrapped in dead crackling vines towered nearly double the height of Starken, lumbered into sight. It appeared as a fusion of vines and crumbled stone. A fused beast, forged by the magic which leveled the once prized city of Biazo. It made no roar or sound other than the earth shaking stomps, before it's vines wrapped around Starken's leg reeling him toward it.

Mythical Creature - Golems

(Vine/Stone Fused Creature)

His helm and sword flung off as he went sailing into the air, Starken buried his fingers into the earth. His muscles rippled with tension to the point they nearly ripped off the bone as he pulled against the creature's strength. "Might want to use that puny weapon...!" He called out to Lamistadt before his grip was broken and he accelerated toward the creature. Hands firmly clasping the vines as he attempted to tear himself free. He was a fool to believe it would be so easy. Despite the danger, one could hear almost crazed laughter coming from the giant. At last...a challenge.

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The man, huffing and fuming, kept a lid on the whistling pot that was his temper. That the man would have the gall to take one of his own possessions from his hands without so much as a courteous thought! But he returned it, and the man was his ally by contract, so there was nothing to fight over so long as he did not repeat the gesture. He gave no response to his antagonistic condemnation of his choice of weapons. Lamistadt lived for the fight, and had no qualms with the idea of his eventual death, but favoring ideals over practicality seemed senseless. Refusing to carry a firearm when one could simply made no sense. It could end fights before they started, and what was the point in competing if you didn't do your best to win?

Well, perhaps they could compare philosophies after they were put to the test. And indeed, the figure they came upon struck him--or rather Starken--as a decent benchmark. The giant called for the very weapon he'd been admonishing his possession of, and he felt obligated to show that that was objectively humorous, but the matter at hand took precedence. His gun wasn't the right choice, but his axe and his saber were preferential, and those came to hand as well as they came to mind. 

The mercenary's hat came off just as well as Starken's poorly secured helmet, though his method of travel was his own. It wasn't teleportation, or even too fast for the human eye, but he was certainly faster than a human should have been in that moment. The form of magic that came most easily to him was an ability that allowed him to augment his own actions. It allowed his "puny" weapon to fire with more force and velocity than normal, and him to rush forward so fast that it was a difficulty for him to make anything out. It was really only a glimpse that had let him leave his axe stuck not far from the smaller of the giants.

The thing had swatted at him and missed, and a chop of his sword was accompanied by a "thunk!" and a gust of wind. He wasn't laughing as he tore the blade free from the equivalent of a flesh wound. He was serious, and none too happy to face an opponent made of such materials. His saber would see more problems than a nick of the blade after the fight. He could have attacked further, but he knew he'd be too caught up in swinging to defend himself when the beast retaliated, so the mercenary watched the monster and readied his defense. 

Edited by Wanderlost

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