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Spurs for the Burro

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Sound Presence: OOC

 

 

 

As Dervish barked his commands like a good little big dog, the bark of the trees about here and there seemed to speak Yintor’s name and beg him to take shade under their luscious treetops. By the gods, I’m as sweaty as a gnoll in heat. His armor didn’t help much and the helmet was a tad too stifling. What made matters worse was that he didn’t really know what position he was supposed to take. The vanguard? The rearguard? Guarding the lady? He blinked at the lady and recalled her wonderful tales of beast-slaying and god-felling or whatever whatsuch. No, she can probably take care of herself.

 

“Imp!”

 

Yintor turned his head toward Dervish. Imp. Dwarf. Halfman. Half-Man. As long as I don’t get called a hobbit. Dervish had no splendor about him; his armor looked as scarred as his face and as dull as his jello pudding of a brain. Where Yintor stood in crimson-gold with a lion on pauldrons and coulters, Dervish showed neither sigil nor ornament, unless one could count what looked like a patch of questionable brown on his chest. He stood there pointing Half-Men into position with his blade while his free hand pointed at the only Halfman in the group.

 

“Take the left! Hold the hill, if you can!”

 

"I can and I shall! Anyone comes up it, I'll hack off their cocks and feed 'em to the goats!" Yintor saluted in what way he knew how before his harrumphing taskmaster lost interest and Yintor lost any excuse to hang back. He sighed into the breeze, gave the lady a “Right-o!” and took off in a brisk jog toward the hill that ran parallel to the road where the caravan had been heading. Time to see what this axe is made of.

 

The eleven or so other Half-Men had been sprinting for their part, but their smaller friend had the misfortune of possessing smaller legs. Surely neither Dervish nor Skullface could have expected him to keep pace, both in footwork and in combat capability? Yintor might not have been as skilled as others when it came to battle, certainly not when it came to beastly dragon-god battle, but he had some tricks up his sleeve that neither the attackers nor the defenders had yet seen. But you will soon enough. Mark my mismatched eyes.

 

The hill on the side of the road that bore Yintor’s coming seemed unoccupied enough. While the Half-Men assault force proper had split up to assail the caravan from multiple sides, it seemed that the Halfman’s role was to attain vantage on the hilltop and put his abilities to use. He had since informed his peers and superiors of what one such ability was, even if they had yet to witness it. “As hot as a fairy’s bottom on a stove and as fierce as a she-bear in bed”, he had told them back in the den while holding up a jar of liquid as green as an emerald. “Wildfire.”

 

Yintor was about fifty feet out from the hill at this point, his armor clinking with each footfall and his axe resting before his belly in both hands. His jog was retained, affording himself stable visuals though already afforded with a lonesome trek while his comrades busied themselves with the caravan’s defenders. The Half-Men were grouping together, but the Halfman was all on his own. Perhaps. Just some feet closer, and Yintor’s black-green gaze could attest to his brilliant brain that he saw a strange shape protruding from the hillside. Perhaps it’s a hobbit.

Edited by Die Shize

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Nodding as an obscure figure slipped away from the carriage some distance before the Half-Men, the carriage rider continued on whistling the tune he had sung moments earlier. It didn't take following Craxus to know the capable-looking beast could do his job. Sir, he's charging an attack, said a small crystal sticking to the side of the carriage rider's neck. It doesn't appear to be intended for us, but monitoring. The words never materialized as anything more than a discrete hum in the carriage rider's ear.

There were three men, one on either side and one in the back, riding horses. When the flashbang arched through the air, the white-haired carriage rider did nothing but lower his chin. When it went off, the three men framing him shielded their eyes and shouted in sudden blindness. In the seconds where they struggled to recover, however, the carriage driver acted.

He pinched the brim of his hat between thumb and forefinger, lowering it from his head and whispering wicked words into its crown. Then he frisbeed the hat, and like a laser it jetted toward the source of the magic that had just assaulted his men. The motion was so fluid, so unexpectedly powerful, that even in the waning light of the flashbang, the hat would burst against one of the men standing beside the women who attacked. It burst into a ball of white fire, engulfing him in an instant. 

"No, please." The carriage driver stood, hair awash in the fury of controlled white flame that radiated from his arms and shoulder and head. "Don't hurt me." The dauntless driver leaped over the horses from the carriage, landing stolidly in the sand, and ran downpath toward the Half-Men, shouting behind him to the others as they rallied around the carriage, "secure the hundred pounds of gold!"

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Craxus has his eyes closed to complete his camouflage; so it was not blinded by the flashbang of magic. When it came to but he definitely noticed it and and soon as it was over he quickly used his ring to re-equip his armor and sword.  He then shot the poison smoke in front of the caravan in the direction of the atracking halfmen; he hoped they were smart enough to not walk right into it he was about to charge in himself when something caught his attention, there was a rattling of armor and the light pitter-patter of footsteps. He turned around to find something that piqued his interest quite a lot. There was a rather small halfman there trying to sneak up on the hill to gain a vantage. He seemed almost perfectly bitesized no need to chew or slurp then down like a wet noodle. Craxus enjoyed the fear of his vict... err... prey in a way similar to a nightmare. He could have a fast snack before joining the rabble, after all he was still attacking the halfmen. He charged right up to the little being as if to trample them with his massive and sturdy frame, but instead stopped a few feet short right in front of the creature. He drew his blade and then ignited it, in an effort to intimidate the smaller being. 

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The poor half-man that burned was unfortunate, the woman however was unperturbed. Her eyes merely narrowed behind the skullmask. The cogs in her head seemed to spin as she processed the recent developments. 

Then realization hit her and her face contorted in a mischievous smirk. This battle is getting interesting. The skull-masked woman knew the futility of their situation. Such display of power by the queer bloke charging at her was something similat to what she had witnessed back at the failed invasion of Last Chance. She had her suspicions as there are only a limited amount of people with that level of strength.

She moved back then, pushing Dervish away from her. The half-man leader scrambled away to rally whatever meager force the halfmen have. The woman, on the other hand, went off on the separate direction, power surging within her. The blade's weight strapped to her side gave her the courage to face this monster in human form.

She lifted a closeed fist, then extended a finger mimicking a pistol. She pointed the finger at the man chaneling all her energy into that singular point. A small globule of light formed on her outstretched finger tip. The spell was ready. 

Homing Glitterbomb bullets. Six of these small pellet shot out of that globe of light. Each taking a different flight path to arc all heading for that queer assailant. These light pellets will explode like a flashbang but with the destructive power of a hand grenade once they reach the target. 

Meanwhile, the woman licked her lips as the first flash bang had done its work, almost invisible to unknown eye was the dozens of tiny motes of light which floated around the battlefield. Satisfied, she transferred the remaining energy left on her fingertip straight into her chest.

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@Neondragon7

Music

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The first flash, Yintor had seen coming. It was the catering service of the skull-faced Skullface. The second flash, however, had all but caught the Halfman by surprise. It had come from the wrong direction. He halted his charge to steal a look behind himself just in time to see a poor lad combust in blazing white light as though an angel had just been set on fire. The fool was far from an angel. I hope I don’t suffer his fate. Just then, he heard the rattling of armor and the heavy pound-pound of footsteps. He caught the giant wolf-man barreling toward him. The thing had to have scraped ten feet tall and, given Yintor’s own four and a half feet, “giant” was something of an understatement. Gods be good.

 

As Yintor stood there on his short legs, “stood” was something of an overstatement. He may as well have been a sitting duck. Would that it could, his throbbing heart might have leapt from his chest and danced around in the grass, if only for the wolf-man to squash it with his big hairy paw. Wolf-Man. Halfman. Half-Men. Where are all the plain and simple bloody men? Instinct swept over the little man as his hands tightened around the haft of his axe, the wolf-man stomping ever closer. Right when Yintor was about to spring into action, his would be opponent had halted its massive frame, towering over from a distance of about fifteen feet. Yintor blinked again, yet another flash of light popping before his gaze, this one consuming the beast’s blade in wild fire. If not quite wildfire. Well, Yintor... Against the butterflies swarming behind his ribs, he grinned. Looks like you’ve finally met your match.

 

“You’re a pretty big pup, aren’t you? A mountain to my mole hill. Though, I must warn you, I’m not afraid of heights. I once stood atop the tallest wall you can ever imagine. I could see a whole forest stretching beneath my feet, the clouds just above my head. Yet I was unafraid. Shall I tell you why?”

 

Yintor would let a moment pass just to gauge the wolf-man’s expression, or what of it could be made on his scowling snout of a face. Beside them, a battle was being waged, death taking tally, but the Halfman’s attention was squared on the oversized puppy before him.

 

“Because I had a belly full of wine and I felt like pissing off the edge of the world!”

 

With that, Yintor guffawed as merrily as a drunken madman. A hand went behind his back to brandish, not a weapon, but a wineskin. He unscrewed the cap, put the rim to his lips and tilted back with a swallow. Then he held the wineskin up toward the wolf-man.

 

“What do you say, friend? One more drink before the war?”

 

Yintor tossed the wineskin over to the wolf-man and waited for whatever was about to happen to happen.

 

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