Holy crap, I had to dig to the bottom of page two to find this. I should really do stuff more often!
Anyways, I got some groove going and I decided to write. I enjoy writing. I just think it sucks. But hey, I figure RPM has some good guys, maybe they can help me or at least tell me how awesome I am
The leaves rustled gently as the light breeze swept through the woods. The grass waved to and fro, almost as if dancing to an unheard rhythm. Clouds dotted the sky as the sun slowly made its way towards the horizon, signalling the end of the day and the coming of night. However, the calm of nature was soon to be broken.
Tristan tried to move as quickly as he could, pushing the brush aside as he searched for his party. Moments before he had been seperated from the group during the opening of their strike and he now hurried to meet back up with them before he could get caught alone. The horizon was ablaze as the sun began setting, giving Tristan a very limited timeframe to rejoin his group. Once night fell, he'd be as good as lost. Another soldier reported as M.I.A or even K.I.A. Another good man who died for the cause. The cause? What cause? He was just trying to make a living doing the only thing he knew how. He didn't need a reason as long as the money was good.
Dark ash blonde hair covered his head, a thin, unkempt, straggley mess that fell to his shoulders. The same color hair lined his jaw with several weeks growth, irritating as it was. His grey eyes darted to his left and right as he pushed through branches and bushes, trying to find a clearing to get his where abouts. He burst passed a thicket, when his eyes saw exactly what he didn't want to see.
"Oh crap.."
Just yards away stood a goliath of a man. Easily 6 and a half feet tall and outweighing Tristan by at least 100 pounds. He was clad in armor and carried the most ridiculously large battle axe Tristan had seen. The worst part? The goliath was staring right at him. Tristan fumbled quickly, reaching for the sachel on his right hip and.. And..
"..[parasitic bomb]!". The sachel that carried his spell shards was gone. Perhaps lost back in any number of bushes as he tore through them. Only one other thing to do. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Tristan saw the huge battle axe raised over his head. He jumped to the right, hitting the ground and rolling as the axe came down, tearing into the earth, scarring it with its edge. Tristan took the opportunity to get some distance between the two of them, backing away and reaching to his left hip. Gripping the handle, he drew the unorthodox blade from its sheath -- A long, sharp blade connected to what looked to be the end half of a double barreled shotgun. A gunblade.
The blades came in several styles, and unlike a large number of weapons that were mass produced, were only made by request from private builders. They came in several styles, ranging from revolvers to automatic pistols (or in this case, a double barreled firing mechanism). Each utilised ammunition known as "magic shells", bullets crafted from spell shards to be used in the gun of the blade. While the revolver or pistol offered more rounds, the shotgun offered more power.
Tristan raised the blade with both hands, aiming at the behemoth and pulling the first trigger. The blade burned with energy for only the briefest of moments before discharging a ball of fire that tore through the air. The behemoth acted quickly, showing he was prepared as he swung his massive axe to the side. The axe radiated energy just as Tristan's gunblade and a strong gust of wind was sent in his direction. Tristan planted his feet firmly in the ground, pushing his weight forward to keep himself from being blown back. He watched as his fireball was blown to nothing. He cursed again. The one thing he hated was going into a battlefield and not knowing what to expect. He hated surprises when his life was being bet against an opponent.
"Alright, lets try this..!" He exclaimed to no one but himself, raising his gunblade again. This time pulling the second trigger, the blade again burned brightly just before firing a power bolt of lightning that cracked as it charged forward. The behemoth was already acting, raising his axe in front of him and using it to catch the bolt. The energy danced across the axes surface before finally dissipating.
"Damn it, how did he..?!" Tristan wasn't able to finish the thought. The behemoth bared down on him, swinging the axe with all his might. Tristan was barely able to get his gunblade up, bracing it with his free hand as the blade took the brunt of the impact. The force behind the swing took him off his feet before he landed hard on his back, nearly forcing all the air out of his lungs. He laid there for a moment, the thoughts swirling in his head. "Like a.. Hammer.. Damn that.. [parasitic bomb]!"
Tristan rolled to the side, barely avoiding being cleaved in half by the large axe as it came down from the sky. He rolled backwards onto one knee and dug his hand deep into the ground. He waited only momentarily as the monster of a man stepped towards him before slinging dirt into his eyes. The behemoth cursed, grabbing his eyes and swinging his axe wildly. Tristan again narrowly avoided its edge, realising he needed to get out of the way. He took the opening to create distance between them, moving quick and ducking behind a tree. He caught his breath, listening to the behemoth curse, growl and yell for the cheap tactic. Tristan knew it was cheap but he wasn't about to let his life go so easily.
Cursing himself for losing his sachel and imagining how easy things would be if he were able to use a sloth shard, he at least had the magic shells in the ammo belt around his chest. He was losing time as the darkness was rapidly approaching and he needed to finish this. Ejecting the used shells from his gun, he reached to the belt around his chest to find two more to replace them with. He'd need to catch his opponent off guard before using them this time, he thought to himself as he removed another lightning shell from the belt.
CRAAAACK!!
Tristan froze. A lesser man would've soiled himself. The splintering sound was so close he could feel it. Barely turning his head, he could see the sharp edge of the battle axe dug into the tree, a mere inch from his face. It began to glow. Knowing what was coming next, Tristan moved as quick as he could, scurrying to get away from the tree when the explosion went off. The blast incinerated the tree and the force of it sent Tristan flying into the ground, rolling several times. His ears were ringing, his vision unfocused. He fumbled around with his hands, trying to find his gunblade, knowing that at any moment the behemoth would be on top of him. Within seconds, he felt the familiar grip. His vision starting to focus, he hurried quickly to place two shells into the shotgun mechanism. He snapped the gunblade back together, cocking it. His vision refocused, the ringing gone, he turned on one knee and held the blade up with both hands.
The force behind the behemoths charge again sent Tristan spiraling to the ground. He hadn't even a second to pull the trigger before he was run down by his monstrous opponent. Rolling several times, his back hit a tree causing him to stop abruptly. Shaking the cobwebs out, he was only able to get to his feet before the behemoth was on him, forcing the huge axes handle against his throat and pushing upwards. Tristan felt his feet leave the ground as he was shoved higher by his throat. He looked down at the snarling face that looked up at him, malice filling the behemoths eyes. He could barely gasp for air and he was quickly losing oxygen. He could feel he still had a grip on his gunblade, and with whatever leverage he could manage with his arm, stabbed as hard as he could into the behemoths side.
The stab seemed to merely irritate the beast, but he let up just enough for Tristan to take a gasp of much needed air. Suddenly, the pressure was back, his throat being crushed, the rage and malice in the behemoths eyes becoming more intense. Tristan moved his finger onto the trigger and squeezed..
And squeezed..
It was jammed! Quickly, he pulled the second trigger.. Jammed! Damn it, of all the luck! Tristan acted frantically, using both his trigger finger and middle finger and pulling on both triggers. One of them HAD to budge. He didn't have a chance if they didn't. The all too familiar warning suddenly flooded into his mind, "Whatever you do, NEVER pull both triggers at the same time..", the standard warning given to anyone who operated a double barrel shotgun. That was dangerous enough, but now he was using magic shells and worse yet he didn't know which two. All he could do was pull as hard as his remaining strength let him. He could feel the pressure building in his head, the lack of air in his lungs, the black slowly creeping into his vision from all sides as his attacker continued to snarl and growl. How stupid of himself to get seperated from the party. How stupid of himself to barrel through the woods without careful manuevering to avoid confrontation. How stupid of himself to..
Click.
The familiar glow of light, the sudden drop of pressure against his throat. The warning echoed through his pounding skull once more.
"Never pull both triggers.."
His body stung, his head ached, he could barely swallow. He could feel the skin on his arm sizzling, he could smell the burning flesh not only from himself but from what was left of the behemoth who had nearly squeezed the life out of him. The ground around him was scorched, his clothes burnt and charred and the weapon that had saved his life was mangled and twisted beyond recognition and use. The sun had set. Night was upon him. He'd be lucky if they bothered to find him and that was only if they were successful themselves. He'd go down as another name under "Killed In Action". Yet, despite all that, one thought stayed clear in his head.
"So that's what happens when you.."
Character name may not be permanent. I have no idea if I'll go somewhere with this or if its just this isolated tidbit. We'll see.
Show Posts
I hope I can get some more opinions
