[GI] A Game of Improvising IC Introduction

[GWolf]

Now I know he's crazy....or wait...arnt I crazy, I'm just gonna kick his ass!

"You know what salior boy, think your so tough fighting out there on the oceans and stuff? You know what I bet I can kick your @ss two times over! If your up to it, lets go outside!" Grey says violenlty and quite physcoticaly while putting on his Elven chain.

 

[wings]

HAH!

Faileas gives a slight warning chuckle, the man looks up just in time to see Faileas finish crack his knuckes one handed with a stretch of the fingers. Then the fist strikes out, contacting with the nose. With that he hops backward, and runs to the door, opening it and shutting it behind him.

 

[GWolf]

Grey sees the hit. "Son of a bitch." He runs out and uncoils his whip on the way.

(9 sudual damage done, 50 hp, Init. Rolled 18+8 26,)

He jumps out the door, and will whip at the manonce quickly but non leathly.

(Sudual, Shock off,
To hit 7+16=23,
1d2+5
7 damage)

00C: No fear tim this is prearranged by me and wings)

 

[wings]

Parry!

Faileas sees the whip lash out, like a great iguanas toungue, flicking out to strke his next meal. He yells out a Hah! as he jumps skyward, doing an impressive flip over the attack, landing with the tip of his staffon the ground, followed by his feet.

He jumped backward, rolling out of range of the whip. He cracked a smile, and dropped his bag on the ground. He twirled the staff overhead and spun around to a sideways stance, he catched the weapon under his arm, and holds the hand closest the lasher out. "What say we duke it out like real men. Its mettle we test here, not the better swordsmanship!"


(AC is 25, full out defense

 

[GWolf]

Grey eyes the fellow up violently. Acrobatic saling bastard Grey lashes out with his whip trying to pull the large staff from the man, he almost has it but the man grips it tip and his whip flys off.


00C: to hit was messed up before anyway its really +12)

 

[wings]

Acrobatic Bastard your Ass. lol

He jumped forward, using his hand to cartwheel up the stairs. It seemed he was only standing a blink ago, he moved to quickly for you to keep out of your range. "So be it!"

He popped up from the tumble, up high, drawing his feet of the ground and arm around, and sent a painful blow to the lasher's shoulder, the magic iron shooting the pain far across to your other shoulder. He landed with his staff behind him, but its only a mere second before it is whipped in a blinding circle back into fighting position.

 

[GWolf]

(45 hp, 9 subdual)
Grey glows violently in the face loving the feel of pain. He Screams an arcane word out loudly and his whip glows with a blue eletricity.

"Now, the fun begins"

He lashs out twice.

(To hit 8+12=20)
(Damage 1d2+5+1d6 11 damage)
(To hit 12+7=19)
(Damage 1d2+5+1d6 12 damage)

 

[Wippit Guud]

Serith watches the two mean run out the door. Kids... wonder if I should put a stop to this...

 

[wings]

Argh!

The first whiplash bites into him, sending jolts aorund the wound, the second does the same, both turning into burns and Aerda yips in pain. He curses and throws his staff down. "Holy , man. You should be locked up. No sane person fights like that."

He picks up his staff and spits on the ground, turning away and goes back to his bag, then further, to the door of the tavern. The wounds carterized themselves due to the voltage, so it was more burns than bloody wounds.

(that didnt go as planned at all.)

 

[Guilt Puppy]

As Faileas heads out the door, the traveler stays in his seat, taking on last sip of water, carefully holding his face-cloth over the glass. A moment later he is up and out the door at terrific speed, readying his staff on the way.

As he sees the two stare each other down, he plants his blade on the ground, unthreatening. He stands balanced, weight on both feet, statuesque -- Pose as little distraction as possible, to be fair. Resist the urge to display your own abilities -- you are not a rooster.

When the brief dual reaches its conclusion, and the stranger relents, he follows Faileas back inside, paying a slow nod of respect to the victor. He goes immediately to his seat, inspects the water for any change, and then returns to surveying the room and trying -- fruitlessly -- to remain inconspicuous.

He whispers to Faileas: "The drink poisons your skill. You should not drink. Always, you should keep your skill." His tone is conciliatory, and he tries to avoid sounding like he is talking down to his ally -- he knows how much he hates that. But there is a reason for every failure, and a warrior must be free from burdens: It would be a waste if he did not learn that.