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FADED GLORY: The Black Eyes of the Demon Scorpion (FINISHED!)
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<blockquote data-quote="Henry" data-source="post: 2767231" data-attributes="member: 158"><p><strong>“AAAAAAAHHH!”</strong> the Osirian priest screamed, his mace coming in high. He was blocked by the swift staff, and he knew this was not going to be easy.</p><p></p><p>Maxian hacked away. <strong>“MYRWYN!”</strong> The half-fey woman was writhing in pain, blood pouring, struggling uselessly as the pincer continued to bisect. Maxian slammed home another strike, thews bursting – and the scorpion reacted. SNAP! Catching Maxian unawares, it lifted him and he, too, was caught in a death-grip, sharing Myrwyn’s fate. The last Emorian guardsman dangled nearby, like a ragdoll hanging from the scorpion’s stinger in a parody of a dance before being flung free.</p><p></p><p>Vercinius was in for the fight of his life. It was not a superior combatant who threatened him; it was that if he could not finish this witch, he, his companions, and Emor’s hopes were dashed in this dark pit, far from the front. He would counter-strike, she would deflect; she would misdirect, he would guard; he tried to draw close, and she would not take the bait. <em>Damn you, witch, <strong>fall!</strong></em> She came close to cold-cocking him with a underhanded blow, and he realized he had to be more careful. </p><p></p><p>Then, he saw salvation, in the form of a shifty little Halfling, winking into existence at the witch’s flank. Brandis Tollheart jabbed at the witch with an evil glee that Vercinius had never seen before. <em>Never fight a Halfling when death is on the line</em>, the saying went, and Vercinius never understood it, until he saw Brandis probing the witch’s defenses like some crazed giant hornet. She caught sight of her new attacker, but his cuts were telling. She was trapped, and her dreams of Sythia were dying before her.</p><p></p><p>These three did not catch the snapping sound from the claw holding Myrwyn; nor did they hear the final grunt from her tortured body. They further did not see her limp body give up the struggle.</p><p></p><p>Boldric DID see. Boldric saw even more red; his glaive began to hammer away, piledriving a wicked elegant glaive like the crudest maul, opening welts in the chitin of the beast. He would hammer and hammer and HAMMER until he or this thing died.</p><p></p><p>The witch, too close to defeat, moved quickly to try and separate herself. All she needed was the breathing room for one incantation, one spell, and she could snatch victory. Vercinius would not let her get the chance. <em>Osirian</em>, he half-prayed, <em>I have been your servant. I have faced death repeatedly in your name, just as you once did, and here I stand. Give me one gift, that others may live.</em></p><p></p><p>He closed his eyes. And he struck. He trusted, and struck.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Henry, post: 2767231, member: 158"] [B]“AAAAAAAHHH!”[/b] the Osirian priest screamed, his mace coming in high. He was blocked by the swift staff, and he knew this was not going to be easy. Maxian hacked away. [b]“MYRWYN!”[/b] The half-fey woman was writhing in pain, blood pouring, struggling uselessly as the pincer continued to bisect. Maxian slammed home another strike, thews bursting – and the scorpion reacted. SNAP! Catching Maxian unawares, it lifted him and he, too, was caught in a death-grip, sharing Myrwyn’s fate. The last Emorian guardsman dangled nearby, like a ragdoll hanging from the scorpion’s stinger in a parody of a dance before being flung free. Vercinius was in for the fight of his life. It was not a superior combatant who threatened him; it was that if he could not finish this witch, he, his companions, and Emor’s hopes were dashed in this dark pit, far from the front. He would counter-strike, she would deflect; she would misdirect, he would guard; he tried to draw close, and she would not take the bait. [i]Damn you, witch, [b]fall![/b][/i] She came close to cold-cocking him with a underhanded blow, and he realized he had to be more careful. Then, he saw salvation, in the form of a shifty little Halfling, winking into existence at the witch’s flank. Brandis Tollheart jabbed at the witch with an evil glee that Vercinius had never seen before. [i]Never fight a Halfling when death is on the line[/i], the saying went, and Vercinius never understood it, until he saw Brandis probing the witch’s defenses like some crazed giant hornet. She caught sight of her new attacker, but his cuts were telling. She was trapped, and her dreams of Sythia were dying before her. These three did not catch the snapping sound from the claw holding Myrwyn; nor did they hear the final grunt from her tortured body. They further did not see her limp body give up the struggle. Boldric DID see. Boldric saw even more red; his glaive began to hammer away, piledriving a wicked elegant glaive like the crudest maul, opening welts in the chitin of the beast. He would hammer and hammer and HAMMER until he or this thing died. The witch, too close to defeat, moved quickly to try and separate herself. All she needed was the breathing room for one incantation, one spell, and she could snatch victory. Vercinius would not let her get the chance. [i]Osirian[/i], he half-prayed, [i]I have been your servant. I have faced death repeatedly in your name, just as you once did, and here I stand. Give me one gift, that others may live.[/i] He closed his eyes. And he struck. He trusted, and struck. [/QUOTE]
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