Gungnir looked as another navi descended on the field in a gust of wind and dust. It seemed oddly familiar to him, extremely familiar as Sieg shouted out loud,
"Hey! Thats the old mans navi!" in an exclamitory tone, some kind of mild mixture of surprise and happiness. This was uncommon for Sieg to behave happily, he thought; was this Sieg attaching to someone? He turned his armor clad head to the navi, and upon seing that Sieg was indeed right, walked over to the diminutive gunman.
'Well, I am surprised to run into you so soon after we had to run. I'm sorry that we left you in such a predicament in the last fight,' but as he spoke, he saw the unsure look that Triggerman always donned. He shook his head and removed the helmet metallically, revealing his face and limp hair,
'Hah, sorry, it's me in case you didn't realize,' he said as he put the helmet at his side and nodded, not making any facial expression other than a nod. But suddenly, he snapped to, the warning ringing in his head as he turned to the viruses that had come behind him and were nearing the group as they talked,
'Well, we get a chance to rectify past faults, eh?' he said, pulling the helm back on and fastening it solidly as he turned to them, 'Shall we see if you can still cover for my wrecklessness?' he said with a small lilt in his voice, drawing his blades as Sieg shouted down,
"Hah! Like we'll need it! You've got this thing in the bag!" pulling chips from his pocket and getting ready to slide them in. But he stopped, looking at the viruses and raising an eyebrow as he put his hands down a little,
"What're those?" he asked confusedly, even a slight note of fear in his voice. The viruses were unlike any others, and immensely powerful. They almost looked like some of the bugs around the area, but something was off. He shook his head and tried to not be concerned, that was weakness, and uneeded on a battlefield. He pulled up the chips again,
"Lets see what you can do with these! Icewave, Firehit!" he shouted, slotting the two in loudly as he continued, "Try and spread the damage, you have teammates here, and should mostly go out there to draw fire!" exposing some tactical thought in his medly of childishness. Gungnir nodded as he breathed sharply from the influx of data and gripped the swords tightly. He could feel the twin datas swirling inside, comingling, bouncing off of one another. Heat and Cold washed over his body as he focused the datas each into one of his hands, the left burning a bright red as the right glowed a cool blue. He looked at his hands, wrapped into fists around his swords, and slammed them together, causing the hasrhly varying metal to hiss and sputter on contact.
He put down his arm and pushed off, metallic boots clanking as he dove into a sprint at the enemies. Each of his footfalls cracked the ground as his heavy armor rattled and shook, rising and falling out of time with his own movements. He was less a man and more a tank charging at the powerful viruses. Or was he more a madman than a machine? The thought raced through his mind, but he could feel safer, knowing that Triggerman was in the ranks of his allies. He knew his crack shot to be a saving grace from the assaults around him, and he believed he could leave his well-being in the hands of the other members as well. His right hand's arctic enclave flowed from it onto his sword, the jagged blades slowly wrapped in a cool blue aura as he moved in towards the first of the viruses. The jagged shrub shifted and swooshed around as he closed in, seeming to appreciate his threat. He pulled the jagged blade up and spun it in his hand, holding it blade down as he came before it. He reeled the blade backwards, and with tremendous force slammed it into the earth. The blue light washed into a biting freeze, the ground solidifying in ice as he slid forwards some, coming to a halt. The Ice exploded forwards speedily in a shockwave of ice. Row after row of sharoened iceclaws shot forwards, each time increasing in height and girth. The blades of ice blocked the virus from view in no time flat, leaving only the sounds of blades to echo across the field. The blades of ice died down, coming to a halt as he pulled his blade from the icy sheath in the ground.
He turned to face the next one. If these viruses were anything like the ones they appeared similar to, then his next attack would certainly burn. He clenched his red-hot glove's fingers tightly, the blazing metal steaming as he looked at it. He tok a step forwards as the Iceberg he had made cracked loudly. Another ste and an enormous fissure appeared in the structure. The split seemed to grow as he pushed forwards, running at a clodding gait, as his target was not especially far. Each of his clanking footsteps rang in his ears, tearing the ground beneath his feet as he moved. He pulled up his glowing fist, the small offhanded blades in it, and faced the shifting shrub. As he landed his next step, he pulled back his glowing fist, the metal searing as he pushed it forwards in a great blast of fire. The blast took form of his fist, peeling the heat clean from his metal glove as the shot flew at the virus. He could see the shots brief flight as it exploded before the virus in a blast of fire and smoke. The virus was momentarily out of his sight, but quickly shifted around, the original as well, as he pulled up his blades, one still backwards in his hands as he looked about him,
'I believe first blood is drawn, how will my mates react...' he asked himself silently, almost sounding, intrigued by the plausible outcomes as he turned to face each of the viruses from a defensive position.
<TURN SPLICE>
ACTIONS
Icewave1, WeatherClusterA 80dmg
Firehit1, WeatherClusterB <2x?>60dmg
<--------------->
Yumland Research (EVENT!)
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"These things..." Gunner absently rubbed the bridge of his nose as he regarded the living shrubbery before them. A mischevious smile spread across his face. "At least they look flammable." A familiar flame danced into life above the palm of his left hand. "Let's see if we can't cut these guys down a bit..." Gunner pulled a large, lethal-looking flamethrower from the holster on his back. It was far too wide to fit inside. He transferred the flame to the flamethrower to serve as a pilot light and idly tossed it to his left hand, placing his right in the appropriate spot to steady his aim. A gout of flame swept out from the deadly weapon, arcing towards the three monstrocities that had dared venture too near.
He returned the flamethrower to his holster and had already produced the butt end of a solid-looking bazooka when Swift interrupted.
"It looks like Gungnir and the tall dark stranger are about to try something. Let's wait, for the twin sakes of curiosity and conservation... After all, we have no idea if we'll be able to refresh our chips before more vegetation decides to come alive."
_______________
1. Flameline to Weather Clusters A, B, and C (70x2(?), [A])
Not to copy, but...
Turn splice, for the twin sakes of curiosity and conservation.
After all, I have no idea if I'll be able to re -- <bricked>
He returned the flamethrower to his holster and had already produced the butt end of a solid-looking bazooka when Swift interrupted.
"It looks like Gungnir and the tall dark stranger are about to try something. Let's wait, for the twin sakes of curiosity and conservation... After all, we have no idea if we'll be able to refresh our chips before more vegetation decides to come alive."
_______________
1. Flameline to Weather Clusters A, B, and C (70x2(?), [A])
Not to copy, but...
Turn splice, for the twin sakes of curiosity and conservation.
After all, I have no idea if I'll be able to re -- <bricked>
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Edgar was paying attention to what Gungnir was saying, and figured Looks like they might know each other. However, when he saw Gungnir rush off behind him and gunner pulling out a flamethrower, he turned his head and see the strange viruses. If everything else was overgrow then of course the viruses.... ran though his mind after seeing them. Edgar gets up, blade in hand, and charges at bush that Gungnir has yet to attack. During his little charge, his arm begins to glow white, and soon his whole body is glowing. He takes a swing at the virus, and then attempts to stab it. Unforanetly, his form could use work, and he back steps of the bush. Alexander, still thinking he has seen Edgar before, was about to slot in a wideshot, but he hesitated, thinking that it was a bad idea using it this early in the fight, instead, he slots in a cannon, and goes to work setting up his shop. In response to the cannon being slotted in, Edgar points his sword at the same virus he has been attacking, and it morphs into a small cannon. Edgar takes aim, and fires what appears to be white light at his foe.
((0 holy strength
1 attack Weather Cluster D 9+10 damage
2 attack Weather Cluster D 9+10 damage
3 cannon Weather Cluster D 40+10 damage
))
((0 holy strength
1 attack Weather Cluster D 9+10 damage
2 attack Weather Cluster D 9+10 damage
3 cannon Weather Cluster D 40+10 damage
))
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...the net's a damn small place Triggerman mused dustily, as his attention was momentarily captivated by the familiar appearence of junior's giant, a nick which both operator and slinger had dubbed him.
"Looks like our toddler has more to prove this round, Tex," Marlowe grunted throatily, tone coloured with the breath of new tobacco and a half empty pint.
"...kid needs to get a life." The slinger spat out the piece of wheat that had clung between the corners of his lips, eyes now drawn to new targets beneath the shade of his hat.
The buzzards had joined the audience, but they didn't demand entertainment from this theatre of shambled sentiments and harsh customs. They were high aloft, the pitifully deceptive observers who at the last moment of brutality would swoop in to betray their shadow struck facades, picking at the remnants that the Scythe-man left in the wake of his work. They had no side; they yearned for the first of fools to fall. They were more than just the Watchers.
They were the ones that waited.
Triggerman grit his teeth, casting a squinted glare upwards at the harbingers. His focus was reset upon the trio of virii that were at hand, instincts incensed. The forty-five wasn't rusty, and neither was the trigger finger. The Count was primed for its ballade of lead.
Six.
Beneath his poncho, Triggerman's gun hand contented itself with the faithful touch of the peacemaker.
"...boy, your giant there has a ways to go," Triggerman spoke windily, addressing Gungnir's youth operator with a nigh laconic indifference. "...sharpen that blade because you havn't seen the broadside of hell just yet." His voice bore an edged intention that announced the violence at the end of every bullet to be. He intended to scare that damned Dame Fortune to half a hell where the whore couldn't touch the strings of battle.
Without any semblance of due warning, Triggerman had drawn his six-chambered redeemer and gifted skyward a single episode of lead duty. The buzzards fled in a ceremony of momentary disorder, their death smelling shadows streaking across the ground like the newly spilled crimson painting a recent disagreement with a shiv. In the ensuing silence, the raptors shaded their shadows a tone darker like cynical artisans.
An ensemble of forlorn tumbleweeds drew near the now bleak scene of combat, melancholy bards to relate a tail of future despair. The breeze cast them aside without thought, inviting a septet of Hell-residing actors to grace the empty stage in the wake of its silent fanfare.
The peace washed ground that lay still dared to break its bliss by the scolding demand of the Seven's rampage. Fickle silence's temperance was tested against a backdrop of wailing souls and outrage as their tremors upset the sanctity of the terra. At once, the septet of aflame riders bore their hell painted presence against the faint fabric of static reality. Their reappearence wrought an inferno, heat cast harsh in the smoking air amidst them.
Their ride began anew and they brought with them the unassuaged anger of the Western Wind. Their perpetual chase continued as it had never stopped; the Seven fled the anger of the beast behind, an amalgamation of arid elements that would callously punish those in its vicinity. The cacophony of Gungnir's shaking footfalls were almost forgot against the new found symphony of disarray. The silence that had preceded seemed but the material of myth in the unforgiving dissonance that murdered peace.
As Gungnir cast his icewave, the defaces of the Seven's fury sated their powers against the giants assault; from the single bolt of ice grew a cocytus brewed in the shallows of cold purgatory, wailing with the sound of those souls that were excluded from sinfonia.
Ruthless, the stampede of emissaries rode in succession past Gungnir's targetted shrub, and as they drew by, the blizzard which they had wrought followed in their crackling footfalls. With a deft pass, they engulfed the sentenced shrub to a iced damnation with lethal prejudice.
While the giant's dispatch of flame contended with its due target, the Seven's wrath again manifest itself in his assault; their essence warped the flaming strike, and as the Seven rode sharply, they encircled the next; the winds obeyed in like motion, and from it grew the product of hell's disagreement. A tornado of encircling flame was borne from the giant's attack, intent still harbored as it consumed its target.
But Triggerman wasn't content with the party tricks he had made of Gungnir's spearhead attack. Lead hadn't found its satisfaction in its blood bearing targets and there had been none from his chambers.
Five.
Poncho cast madly behind him in the sand tempest, Triggerman set his squint upon the central of targets, dedicating his next bullet to a duet of fallers. In a blitz of unseen action, the slinger's hand released another shot, accompanied by a gun scream that fell upon deaf ears. In the aftermath of his movement, Triggerman allowed himself no pause, recocking his hammer as his shadow sheathed eyes darted to the unpunished party that lay. The Seven's storm had lain the charges upon the accused, but Triggerman would dictate the sentence.
With marked resolve, the sentencer began to spin the six-shooter's chamber; the gun grew red with the effect of unquelled flame, heat staining every revolution that the chamber made until the next bullet's threshold was reached.
Opportune, Triggerman dispatched his apoplectic lead mercenary into the air like a dead gambler's last roll of crappes. With swift conviction the bullet shattered in flight immediately, casting flaming shards upon the air that lingered in the splices of a moment. But the shot was denied a burial; the actors were not to be forgot on their on stage, and they would dictate the execution of the sentence. The vortex they had made of Gungnir's assault still lurked amidst the desert hell, and it drew close as the riders did. The defaces of another moment entrenched the aflame shards, and another instance of time soon after saw to the rebirth of the tempest, a collaboration of violence and harsh elements.
In final judgement, the succession of rider's sprinted past the third condemned, their war sentence in tow roaring with the esteem of the scythe man's execution.
Triggerman lowered his hat.
Three.
i)The Magnificent Seven- 3 turn sandstorm on large area; 10 damage per turn, enemies massively blinded, deafened, disoriented, immobilized in proportion to RP quality
-Turn Gungnir's Icewave into [freezing] blizzard effect
-Turn Gungnir's Firehit into flame vortex
ii) Snipe + The Ugly: MarkCannon1 Weather B, Ricochet to Weather C (70 to both, may lock on, high accuracy)
iii-iv) Firehit1 and MarkCannon1 + TM7 to create flaming shrapnel tornado directed at Weather B (70+60x2=190)
"Looks like our toddler has more to prove this round, Tex," Marlowe grunted throatily, tone coloured with the breath of new tobacco and a half empty pint.
"...kid needs to get a life." The slinger spat out the piece of wheat that had clung between the corners of his lips, eyes now drawn to new targets beneath the shade of his hat.
The buzzards had joined the audience, but they didn't demand entertainment from this theatre of shambled sentiments and harsh customs. They were high aloft, the pitifully deceptive observers who at the last moment of brutality would swoop in to betray their shadow struck facades, picking at the remnants that the Scythe-man left in the wake of his work. They had no side; they yearned for the first of fools to fall. They were more than just the Watchers.
They were the ones that waited.
Triggerman grit his teeth, casting a squinted glare upwards at the harbingers. His focus was reset upon the trio of virii that were at hand, instincts incensed. The forty-five wasn't rusty, and neither was the trigger finger. The Count was primed for its ballade of lead.
Six.
Beneath his poncho, Triggerman's gun hand contented itself with the faithful touch of the peacemaker.
"...boy, your giant there has a ways to go," Triggerman spoke windily, addressing Gungnir's youth operator with a nigh laconic indifference. "...sharpen that blade because you havn't seen the broadside of hell just yet." His voice bore an edged intention that announced the violence at the end of every bullet to be. He intended to scare that damned Dame Fortune to half a hell where the whore couldn't touch the strings of battle.
Without any semblance of due warning, Triggerman had drawn his six-chambered redeemer and gifted skyward a single episode of lead duty. The buzzards fled in a ceremony of momentary disorder, their death smelling shadows streaking across the ground like the newly spilled crimson painting a recent disagreement with a shiv. In the ensuing silence, the raptors shaded their shadows a tone darker like cynical artisans.
An ensemble of forlorn tumbleweeds drew near the now bleak scene of combat, melancholy bards to relate a tail of future despair. The breeze cast them aside without thought, inviting a septet of Hell-residing actors to grace the empty stage in the wake of its silent fanfare.
The peace washed ground that lay still dared to break its bliss by the scolding demand of the Seven's rampage. Fickle silence's temperance was tested against a backdrop of wailing souls and outrage as their tremors upset the sanctity of the terra. At once, the septet of aflame riders bore their hell painted presence against the faint fabric of static reality. Their reappearence wrought an inferno, heat cast harsh in the smoking air amidst them.
Their ride began anew and they brought with them the unassuaged anger of the Western Wind. Their perpetual chase continued as it had never stopped; the Seven fled the anger of the beast behind, an amalgamation of arid elements that would callously punish those in its vicinity. The cacophony of Gungnir's shaking footfalls were almost forgot against the new found symphony of disarray. The silence that had preceded seemed but the material of myth in the unforgiving dissonance that murdered peace.
As Gungnir cast his icewave, the defaces of the Seven's fury sated their powers against the giants assault; from the single bolt of ice grew a cocytus brewed in the shallows of cold purgatory, wailing with the sound of those souls that were excluded from sinfonia.
Ruthless, the stampede of emissaries rode in succession past Gungnir's targetted shrub, and as they drew by, the blizzard which they had wrought followed in their crackling footfalls. With a deft pass, they engulfed the sentenced shrub to a iced damnation with lethal prejudice.
While the giant's dispatch of flame contended with its due target, the Seven's wrath again manifest itself in his assault; their essence warped the flaming strike, and as the Seven rode sharply, they encircled the next; the winds obeyed in like motion, and from it grew the product of hell's disagreement. A tornado of encircling flame was borne from the giant's attack, intent still harbored as it consumed its target.
But Triggerman wasn't content with the party tricks he had made of Gungnir's spearhead attack. Lead hadn't found its satisfaction in its blood bearing targets and there had been none from his chambers.
Five.
Poncho cast madly behind him in the sand tempest, Triggerman set his squint upon the central of targets, dedicating his next bullet to a duet of fallers. In a blitz of unseen action, the slinger's hand released another shot, accompanied by a gun scream that fell upon deaf ears. In the aftermath of his movement, Triggerman allowed himself no pause, recocking his hammer as his shadow sheathed eyes darted to the unpunished party that lay. The Seven's storm had lain the charges upon the accused, but Triggerman would dictate the sentence.
With marked resolve, the sentencer began to spin the six-shooter's chamber; the gun grew red with the effect of unquelled flame, heat staining every revolution that the chamber made until the next bullet's threshold was reached.
Opportune, Triggerman dispatched his apoplectic lead mercenary into the air like a dead gambler's last roll of crappes. With swift conviction the bullet shattered in flight immediately, casting flaming shards upon the air that lingered in the splices of a moment. But the shot was denied a burial; the actors were not to be forgot on their on stage, and they would dictate the execution of the sentence. The vortex they had made of Gungnir's assault still lurked amidst the desert hell, and it drew close as the riders did. The defaces of another moment entrenched the aflame shards, and another instance of time soon after saw to the rebirth of the tempest, a collaboration of violence and harsh elements.
In final judgement, the succession of rider's sprinted past the third condemned, their war sentence in tow roaring with the esteem of the scythe man's execution.
Triggerman lowered his hat.
Three.
i)The Magnificent Seven- 3 turn sandstorm on large area; 10 damage per turn, enemies massively blinded, deafened, disoriented, immobilized in proportion to RP quality
-Turn Gungnir's Icewave into [freezing] blizzard effect
-Turn Gungnir's Firehit into flame vortex
ii) Snipe + The Ugly: MarkCannon1 Weather B, Ricochet to Weather C (70 to both, may lock on, high accuracy)
iii-iv) Firehit1 and MarkCannon1 + TM7 to create flaming shrapnel tornado directed at Weather B (70+60x2=190)
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As Gungnir held his defensive stance, he heard the rest of his group loose hell on the field. He turned not to see their attacking, but could see the results. The enemies were cut through in swaths of flame and blasts as Gunner and the Count began and executed their assaults. But they were lacking professionalism, finesse that he was hoping for. He could bear with it, though. The two seemed to know their actions. But it was soon after, he heard the clamoring of hoofs, the whip of the wind, and the flecks of dirt and dust flowing about him. He watched as the field was encompassed by the swirling sandstorm of Triggermans Magnificent Seven, a whirl he was all to accustomed to. He twisted his face into a sneer behind his mask as he broke from his defense, ready for continued operation as he heard Triggerman and Sieg takign their next actions. Sieg was, of course, more apt to respond to the midget first,
"HEY! We took this mission before you did! You're one to talk about needing a life, you lecherous old coot!" he said, but before Gungnir could toss in something about needing chips, he went on,
"And we dun need to see hell, we bring it in EVERY FIGHT!" as he pulled out a nother pair of chips. He looked down to Gungnir and said, "Lets show him what we're made of! Firehit1 slot in, DOWNLOAD!" he hiollered into the PET, sending Gungnir two more of the chips to use. Gungnir could only sigh as he dropped his swords back into their sheaths at his sides and clenched his fists. He watched the fires and frost of his attacks and the others attacks dance in a cacophonous melody, fragments flying all about, char and frost adding to the chaos of the battle. As his gauntlets slowly glowed deeper and deeper red, he flexed his blazing fingers and pushed off.
He pressed through the terrifying storm, thunder, flame, ice; each adding to the chaos around him as his own footfalls shook the very earth. His feet cracked the ground beneath them as he moved, tearing dirt and adding to the storm as he gripped his now glowing-red hands into fists the size of bricks. He pressed on with his glowing mits leaving a red aftertrail as he ran through the storm. He was trying to place himself inbetween the two viruses he had done the least damage to himself as he heard the shot of a cannon, followed by another. A second later, the cannonshots tore past him, flying at the enemies in the blaze as he burst through the fire from Gunners attack. He planted his feet, sliding forwards and tearing the earth as he crossed his arms, a glowing and steaming X across his chest as the blazing surfaces touched. He looked straight back, unfurling his arms powerfully to the sides, and allowing the red to focus in his hands for a moment before erupting into a pair of funnels of fire. Each tornado withing the storm covered the viruses from his view as he held his arms there, torrents and blasts of flame blocking his view, and for a moment, almost splitting the sandstorm and revealing his blast. As the red finally split from his hands, the tunnels of fire died down, realotting the storm into their former locales. He knew that Triggerman had finished unloading his pistol for the turn, and he had reached his limit as well, findinghimself at the limit of Gleipnir for the phase. He reached at his sides, pulling the blades from their homes once more and drawing them across him, unsure what awaited him at the submission of the storm, but ready for anything.
'Lets see if they can topple this giant...'
ACTIONS
Firehit1, WeatherClusterB (2x?)60dmg
Firehit1, WeatherClusterB (2x?)60dmg
"HEY! We took this mission before you did! You're one to talk about needing a life, you lecherous old coot!" he said, but before Gungnir could toss in something about needing chips, he went on,
"And we dun need to see hell, we bring it in EVERY FIGHT!" as he pulled out a nother pair of chips. He looked down to Gungnir and said, "Lets show him what we're made of! Firehit1 slot in, DOWNLOAD!" he hiollered into the PET, sending Gungnir two more of the chips to use. Gungnir could only sigh as he dropped his swords back into their sheaths at his sides and clenched his fists. He watched the fires and frost of his attacks and the others attacks dance in a cacophonous melody, fragments flying all about, char and frost adding to the chaos of the battle. As his gauntlets slowly glowed deeper and deeper red, he flexed his blazing fingers and pushed off.
He pressed through the terrifying storm, thunder, flame, ice; each adding to the chaos around him as his own footfalls shook the very earth. His feet cracked the ground beneath them as he moved, tearing dirt and adding to the storm as he gripped his now glowing-red hands into fists the size of bricks. He pressed on with his glowing mits leaving a red aftertrail as he ran through the storm. He was trying to place himself inbetween the two viruses he had done the least damage to himself as he heard the shot of a cannon, followed by another. A second later, the cannonshots tore past him, flying at the enemies in the blaze as he burst through the fire from Gunners attack. He planted his feet, sliding forwards and tearing the earth as he crossed his arms, a glowing and steaming X across his chest as the blazing surfaces touched. He looked straight back, unfurling his arms powerfully to the sides, and allowing the red to focus in his hands for a moment before erupting into a pair of funnels of fire. Each tornado withing the storm covered the viruses from his view as he held his arms there, torrents and blasts of flame blocking his view, and for a moment, almost splitting the sandstorm and revealing his blast. As the red finally split from his hands, the tunnels of fire died down, realotting the storm into their former locales. He knew that Triggerman had finished unloading his pistol for the turn, and he had reached his limit as well, findinghimself at the limit of Gleipnir for the phase. He reached at his sides, pulling the blades from their homes once more and drawing them across him, unsure what awaited him at the submission of the storm, but ready for anything.
'Lets see if they can topple this giant...'
ACTIONS
Firehit1, WeatherClusterB (2x?)60dmg
Firehit1, WeatherClusterB (2x?)60dmg
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Just as he was pondering the significance of a passing tumbleweed, Gunner's world erupted in a torrent of dust, fire, and snow. Amid the pandemonium, he could just barely make out the infernal outlines of seven burning horseman, paying no more heed to their current state of combustion than a mountain would a moth. Gunner had to squint to avoid getting an eyeful of dry dust. However, it looked like the shambling mounds had it much worse. They were being swept and buffeted by the elements. First they were scorched to an unhealthy shade of jet, then flash-frozen before being thawed, reheated, and burnt. For good measure, a lonely, lethargic torando lazily spun towards the unfortunate greenery, bursting into flames moments later for the hell of it.
"Not bad..." From what Gunner could see, the ranks of viruses had been completely and utterly decimated by this act of a demented nature god. This wasn't saying much, however, as Gunner could see next to nothing. The sister storms of ice, flame, and sand would render most navis blind in seven different ways. However, Gunner still had something going for him; he had trained his hand and his eye for ages, now. One of the basic fundamentals of a gunslinger; you have to be able to aim, no matter what. It didn't matter if Fenrir himself had busted loose (Gunner secretly grinned to himself as the thought ran its course) and was tearing Thor's throat out. It didn't matter if poison arrows were raining from the sky. It didn't matter if you were staring the Reaper right in the face. Bite the bullet. Even if the Furies Three already had their talons dug into your flesh. He hoisted a molded steel bazooka onto his shoulder, gathered his wits, and waited...
He glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. He already knew the location of his comrades, and this was nowhere near them. He spun to get a clear shot, and let fly at the shambling figure. A crescent moon of water expanded from the long barrel of the lethal weapon, rushing eagerly to meet its unfortunate target.
_______________
1.5. Snipe: Added accuracy to Wideshot.
2. Wideshot to whatever the hell survives (80, [A])
3-4. Dodge
"Not bad..." From what Gunner could see, the ranks of viruses had been completely and utterly decimated by this act of a demented nature god. This wasn't saying much, however, as Gunner could see next to nothing. The sister storms of ice, flame, and sand would render most navis blind in seven different ways. However, Gunner still had something going for him; he had trained his hand and his eye for ages, now. One of the basic fundamentals of a gunslinger; you have to be able to aim, no matter what. It didn't matter if Fenrir himself had busted loose (Gunner secretly grinned to himself as the thought ran its course) and was tearing Thor's throat out. It didn't matter if poison arrows were raining from the sky. It didn't matter if you were staring the Reaper right in the face. Bite the bullet. Even if the Furies Three already had their talons dug into your flesh. He hoisted a molded steel bazooka onto his shoulder, gathered his wits, and waited...
He glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. He already knew the location of his comrades, and this was nowhere near them. He spun to get a clear shot, and let fly at the shambling figure. A crescent moon of water expanded from the long barrel of the lethal weapon, rushing eagerly to meet its unfortunate target.
_______________
1.5. Snipe: Added accuracy to Wideshot.
2. Wideshot to whatever the hell survives (80, [A])
3-4. Dodge
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Before any Navi can react, the trio of viruses fly into action! The first virus unleashes it's breath attack, pelting Triggerman with bits of wood. A second fires two similar blasts in quick succession, one hitting Gungir, the other was nimbly dodged by Gunner. The third Weather, however, let's out an unnatural screech, and sprayed forth a blast of wooden breath several times more intense than the others, Engulfing Gunner, Count Edgar, but, Gungir and Triggerman were just outside of range.
As Triggerman's storm began, Gungir's Icewave and Firehit, intensified by the storm, strike both of their intended targets.
Gunner's Flameline, similarly transformed, manages to strike two of it's intended targets, but the third dodges skillfully.
Count Edgar, slipping past the viruses, strikes the Weather silly, disorienting it.
After Triggerman's storm begins, he has no trouble sniping with his MarkCannon, deleting it. But, by what can only be described as total blind luck, the central Weather veers off, the shrapnel Tornado missing him entirely.
Gungir springs back into action, letting fly with two more fiery strikes, striking at the biggest virus, deleting it.
Gunner launches a final tide of water across the battlefield, deleting the final virus.
Before the Navis can get too excited, however, a roar off in the distance sends a column of green light high into the air, falling around the area, forming a jack out barrier! To make matters worse, a thick barrier of foliage and briars grows behind the Navis as well. It looks like no one can get in or out of the area!
Weather Cluster A: DELETED
Weather Cluster B: DELETED
Weather Cluster D: DELETED
Gungir.EXE: 100
Gunner.EXE: 90
Count_Edgar.EXE: 110
TriggerMan.EXE: 100
Rewards:
Gungir.EXE: 250 Zenny
Gunner.EXE: 250 Zenny
Count_Edgar: 150 Zenny
TriggerMan.EXE: 250 Zenny
As Triggerman's storm began, Gungir's Icewave and Firehit, intensified by the storm, strike both of their intended targets.
Gunner's Flameline, similarly transformed, manages to strike two of it's intended targets, but the third dodges skillfully.
Count Edgar, slipping past the viruses, strikes the Weather silly, disorienting it.
After Triggerman's storm begins, he has no trouble sniping with his MarkCannon, deleting it. But, by what can only be described as total blind luck, the central Weather veers off, the shrapnel Tornado missing him entirely.
Gungir springs back into action, letting fly with two more fiery strikes, striking at the biggest virus, deleting it.
Gunner launches a final tide of water across the battlefield, deleting the final virus.
Before the Navis can get too excited, however, a roar off in the distance sends a column of green light high into the air, falling around the area, forming a jack out barrier! To make matters worse, a thick barrier of foliage and briars grows behind the Navis as well. It looks like no one can get in or out of the area!
Weather Cluster A: DELETED
Weather Cluster B: DELETED
Weather Cluster D: DELETED
Gungir.EXE: 100
Gunner.EXE: 90
Count_Edgar.EXE: 110
TriggerMan.EXE: 100
Rewards:
Gungir.EXE: 250 Zenny
Gunner.EXE: 250 Zenny
Count_Edgar: 150 Zenny
TriggerMan.EXE: 250 Zenny
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Gungnir stood up, brushing the attacks leavings from his body and scoffing a little as he turned to Triggerman, the viruses having fallen in the first round. As he did, he said,
'So, you were saying something about my having a ways to go, care to eat those words whole, or should I cut them up for you little man?' But as he said this, he turned some, lookig internally and saying to himself,
What was that? That served me no good, I just insulted him....but it felt like the right thing to do for some weird reason... but before he could comment any further, for as the thought crossed his mind, he heard a roar echo across the field. The terrible roar rattled only his armor, and could have shaken a lesser man in his skin. He turned to the origin, not frightened, but concerned as to it's cause. Only seeing an enormous pillar of light and power explode from the ground! He was taken aback, but not about to show weakness. Sieg was looking at the light as he watched the brambles and light enclose the navis.
"I don;t like the looks of this Gungnir, lets get you outa here!" he said, running the PET in such a fashion to try pulling Gungnir, only to find that he could do no such thing!
"Gungnir! I-I can't get you out of the net!" he said as he looked at his navi. Gungnir was surprised and, worried? He was unsure why, but he was more concerned about the fates of himself and his fellow navis, pulling his swords from their resting spots as he shouted to the other navis,
'Well, comeon! We either stay here, trapped, or we make progress!' as he turned and pressed towards the lightray.
'So, you were saying something about my having a ways to go, care to eat those words whole, or should I cut them up for you little man?' But as he said this, he turned some, lookig internally and saying to himself,
What was that? That served me no good, I just insulted him....but it felt like the right thing to do for some weird reason... but before he could comment any further, for as the thought crossed his mind, he heard a roar echo across the field. The terrible roar rattled only his armor, and could have shaken a lesser man in his skin. He turned to the origin, not frightened, but concerned as to it's cause. Only seeing an enormous pillar of light and power explode from the ground! He was taken aback, but not about to show weakness. Sieg was looking at the light as he watched the brambles and light enclose the navis.
"I don;t like the looks of this Gungnir, lets get you outa here!" he said, running the PET in such a fashion to try pulling Gungnir, only to find that he could do no such thing!
"Gungnir! I-I can't get you out of the net!" he said as he looked at his navi. Gungnir was surprised and, worried? He was unsure why, but he was more concerned about the fates of himself and his fellow navis, pulling his swords from their resting spots as he shouted to the other navis,
'Well, comeon! We either stay here, trapped, or we make progress!' as he turned and pressed towards the lightray.
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"Ouch... Those things were fast." Gunner dug a sizeable splinter from his arm with his teeth, spitting it aside nonchalantly. "Swift, what's the word on the network?" Swift hastily navigated to the Yumland tourism site. The impetuous blue bar detailing progress stayed stubbornly close to the starting point for an agonizing amount of time.
"Still really slow. Whatever those were, they didn't have much to do with this."
"Hah... Damn. We're back to square one, and those two cowards still haven't --" Gunner's final sentiments were cut off by a deafening roar. Faster than one could so much as glance upwards, a net of emerald light coalesced around their small troupe. Oddly enough, Gunner smiled. "Now we're making progress."
"Hm... I've been looking forward to something like this. I'll make every effort not to get you killed, if you'll agree to the same terms."
"Of course." Gunner calmly strode deeper along the only path not blocked by overgrowth, easing his twin guns out of the holster as he passed.
"Still really slow. Whatever those were, they didn't have much to do with this."
"Hah... Damn. We're back to square one, and those two cowards still haven't --" Gunner's final sentiments were cut off by a deafening roar. Faster than one could so much as glance upwards, a net of emerald light coalesced around their small troupe. Oddly enough, Gunner smiled. "Now we're making progress."
"Hm... I've been looking forward to something like this. I'll make every effort not to get you killed, if you'll agree to the same terms."
"Of course." Gunner calmly strode deeper along the only path not blocked by overgrowth, easing his twin guns out of the holster as he passed.
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In the wake of the scytheman's condemnation, the Seven began their long goodbye, and with them the fading minuet of their hell brewed disarray. The Western Wind and it's sand-worn companions left like an inexperienced murderer ditching the stained scene, hustling to a darker theatre.
The tremors ceased to captivate their audience as the actors left their hell beaten stage. The bloody myth of peace returned like a poorly contrived ceremony; another forgotten tumbleweed cast itself across the barren field, relating the white stained mythos to those who gave a damn.
But it was just half a tale; the peace was another litre of lies, because the Lady had been bartending. And when she was serving the drinks, the customers dropped dead, not drunk.
Triggerman dispassionately twiddled with another piece of wheat in the corner of his lips. His gut had been twanging, and bastard intuition had made its point in proving itself right again.
"....I suppose you won't exactly be mystified when I tell you that jack-out functions have been cut off," Marlowe grunted shreddingly, his tone flavored with whiskey robust cynicism.
"...thanks for the update, Sherlock," the slinger retorted bitterly.
It wasn't no two cent surprise that the Dame had had a contingency plan. She'd shown half her hand, but the other half was shadow damned still.
Junior's giant had approached, and his words indicated he was just slightly incensed, like the drunkard who had exhausted his wallet after the first few rounds of the rye stuff.
Triggerman produced a detached grunt, leathered in texture and beaten in apathy. Gungnir had revealed he bore more than a touch of emotion, a license which the giant seemed to adamantly deny. "...I'm disappointed in you. You're not quite the cold, detached soldier the layman might make you out to be... more in common with junior then you might think." He lowered his hat like a comma to bring pause, casting his brim shadow knife-sharply over his worn visage. "You can use your oversized pair of scissors half a damn, I'll give you that... but a giant blade don't mean much next to a cool head."
The slinger turned away to allow the gravel-rendered words to sink. "...Wait till the Devil's bitten your ass a few times and you'll know."
The Count demanded attention, and Triggerman served it dutifully like a hawkeyed waiter without prospects; three bullets replaced like three more fallers to be at the end of every chamber filler.
...Four...Five...Six.
The lead would fly again soon; the Dame had guaranteed that.
The tremors ceased to captivate their audience as the actors left their hell beaten stage. The bloody myth of peace returned like a poorly contrived ceremony; another forgotten tumbleweed cast itself across the barren field, relating the white stained mythos to those who gave a damn.
But it was just half a tale; the peace was another litre of lies, because the Lady had been bartending. And when she was serving the drinks, the customers dropped dead, not drunk.
Triggerman dispassionately twiddled with another piece of wheat in the corner of his lips. His gut had been twanging, and bastard intuition had made its point in proving itself right again.
"....I suppose you won't exactly be mystified when I tell you that jack-out functions have been cut off," Marlowe grunted shreddingly, his tone flavored with whiskey robust cynicism.
"...thanks for the update, Sherlock," the slinger retorted bitterly.
It wasn't no two cent surprise that the Dame had had a contingency plan. She'd shown half her hand, but the other half was shadow damned still.
Junior's giant had approached, and his words indicated he was just slightly incensed, like the drunkard who had exhausted his wallet after the first few rounds of the rye stuff.
Triggerman produced a detached grunt, leathered in texture and beaten in apathy. Gungnir had revealed he bore more than a touch of emotion, a license which the giant seemed to adamantly deny. "...I'm disappointed in you. You're not quite the cold, detached soldier the layman might make you out to be... more in common with junior then you might think." He lowered his hat like a comma to bring pause, casting his brim shadow knife-sharply over his worn visage. "You can use your oversized pair of scissors half a damn, I'll give you that... but a giant blade don't mean much next to a cool head."
The slinger turned away to allow the gravel-rendered words to sink. "...Wait till the Devil's bitten your ass a few times and you'll know."
The Count demanded attention, and Triggerman served it dutifully like a hawkeyed waiter without prospects; three bullets replaced like three more fallers to be at the end of every chamber filler.
...Four...Five...Six.
The lead would fly again soon; the Dame had guaranteed that.
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The roar after the fight rings though Edgar's head, even though it does not compleatly shock him, the fact that he was more rusty then he tought he was did some. After seeing the light that accompaned the roar, along with the the forming brambel, Edgar sighs. "Looks like the work is not done" He said as he changes his cannon into a tall sheild, he then walks towards the direction that everyone else is walking.
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Making their way further into the disturbance, the quartet discovers a pack of more powerful viruses! A trio of Boomers, grown to monstrous proportions... a pair of Wallas, carved out of huge blocks of wood... and two Molokos, that don't have much wool, the space is taken up by rock-hard muscle.
BigBoomerEXA: 150
BigBoomerEXB: 150
BigBoomerEXC: 150
WoodenWallaA: 150
WoodenWallaB: 150
MightyMolokoA: 200
MightyMolokoB: 200
Gungir.EXE: 100
Gunner.EXE: 90
Count_Edgar.EXE: 110
TriggerMan.EXE: 100
Round 2, FIGHT!!!
BigBoomerEXA: 150
BigBoomerEXB: 150
BigBoomerEXC: 150
WoodenWallaA: 150
WoodenWallaB: 150
MightyMolokoA: 200
MightyMolokoB: 200
Gungir.EXE: 100
Gunner.EXE: 90
Count_Edgar.EXE: 110
TriggerMan.EXE: 100
Round 2, FIGHT!!!
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Edgar spots the new batch of viruses, and the only thing that went trough his mind was Hold on, most of those aren't even.... He looks at his allies, and sees that they still have the wounds from the last fight. If just the last three viruses did this much damage, then this batch can probably do more damage. It looks like I will need to do some healing. Edgar springs into action as he slams the bottom of his tall shield into the ground between him and the viruses. "Vladimir slot in the most powerful chips you have, now!" Edgar shouted, and Alexander because shocked at this. How does he know my real name? Just who is he? ran trough his mind, but he dismissed it and slotted in his two minibombs, even though they aren't the most powerful, they should do fine for now.
Edgar raises both of his arms outward and his hands start to glow white upon the arrival of the chip data. After about one second, Massive amounts of white energy streams out of both of his hands. One of the streams curves towards Gunner and hits him in the back. The other one does the same, but toward Gungir. Alexander is again shocked, but this time it is at how Edgar could attack his own allies. The white energy is then absorbed by the two navis, and their injuries start to heal at a fast rate. During this time, Edgar prays that his shield will hold off the virus' attacks
((1 Convert minibomb to heal, heal Gunner for 30
2 convert minibomb to heal, heal Gungir for 30
3 dodge/block))
Edgar raises both of his arms outward and his hands start to glow white upon the arrival of the chip data. After about one second, Massive amounts of white energy streams out of both of his hands. One of the streams curves towards Gunner and hits him in the back. The other one does the same, but toward Gungir. Alexander is again shocked, but this time it is at how Edgar could attack his own allies. The white energy is then absorbed by the two navis, and their injuries start to heal at a fast rate. During this time, Edgar prays that his shield will hold off the virus' attacks
((1 Convert minibomb to heal, heal Gunner for 30
2 convert minibomb to heal, heal Gungir for 30
3 dodge/block))
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Gungnir looked upon the arena before him, trying to keep his wits about him as he moved forwards alongside the group of four. He looked to his fore, but spoke to triggerman momentarily,
'I'm getting a godawful feeling from whatever lies ahead, no normal virus could make such a powerful wall inbetween navi and operator,' but his comment was cut short as he drew to a halt, the other navis stopping alongside or close to him, as the similar view met their eyes, virii that were way above what they should be. His eyes widened for a moment behind his mask as he said,
'What in the name of Hel is this...these viruses are on a plane high above that of normal viruses for this area...what could be making them all so strong?' he said as he pulled his swords. Sieg shouted down to him as he pulled some chips from his deep pocket,
"What does it matter?! You're gonna tear em all up no matter what they've become! Execute battleroutine, GUNGIR!" and chose which he would send. Gungnir knocked his helmet and took a deep breath, exhaling the long breath, and collecting his wits about him, preparing to down the viruses,
'Bah, you're right! No matter what they are, they will fall at my blades all the same!' he shouted back to Sieg, taking an offense stance and waiting for Input. Sieg pumped his fist in the air and shouted out to no one,
"Metal! Thats the way we do it! Use these things, they may be stronger, but it also looks like they're wood! We'll polish off two of those damned things now! Firehit1, Heatshot slot in, download!" as he slammed the three chips into the PET, staring intently at the PET screen as Gungnir was flooded by the data.
Gungnir put his hands upwards, feeling fire form into his hands and glow with a bright red sheen. The red auras glided over the metal gauntlets, steam slowly starting to rise from each glove as they heated up to an incandescent red. On his right arm, the red light began sputtering and coughing, small embers and sparks popping from the glove and slowly beginning to swirl around it. Gungnir looked at his hands, but realizing what he had going here, he changed the operation of the chips, the red aruas focusing into his swords, the auras slowly creeping up and over the serrated blades. The dancing embers wrapped around the larger sword, flowing as they moved upwards. However, as he did this, what looked like red scars were left behind on his gauntlets. The red lines wrapped around his forearms and slowly began pushing outwards from them. The lines finally forced themselves from his gauntlets and whirled about them for a moment. suddenly, they began changing shape, shifting and morphing into links of a chain. The ignean Gleipnir linked in place, the red links searing back onto his gloves as the blazing chains gripped his wrists. He held his arsenal before him, fire and smoke rising from the varied peices of his arms as he turned to his prey. Funny it should be sheep, even if they were wildly overgrown sheep.
He curled over a little, pushing from his feet and tearing the ground as dove at the twin sheep. He ran with tremorous step, each footfall tearing the ground a new one and sending rocks and debris around him. His swords swept with his arms swinging, leaving arcong red afterglow behind him. He metal armor clanked and shook as he neared the sheep, evil looks adorning their faces as the flames of his sword swirled and popped, hungry for their targets. He pulled up the blades, fires spinning around it and focusing between the openings of the twin blades into a small fireball at the tip. He ran past the viruses, moving to their sides and turning on the spot to face them. He pulled his hand holding the enormous blade up above his head as the fireball exploded downwards, encoating the entire red blade in fire as he swung it downwards, loosing the enormous blast of flame from the blade and sending it at the two Molokos. The firewave exploded in a blast of power, flames and smoke exploding and covering the twin sheep from view. But it was short lived, as both sheep barrelled out from the sides of the wall of flame, running to either side.
He glared at them, not ready to allow them their escape. He flexed his finger around the still shining swords, the chain of Gleipnir quivering around his arms in anticipation of his tactic. He dove into the air, spinning and loosing the red blades from his hands, both spinning around him for a moment, before he lifted them up, both blades raising above his head and bringing them down powerfully on either Moloko's location. The ignean blades came down on the locations, slamming into the earth and exploding upwards in torrents of fire and debris. The fountains of flame slowly die down, and he gives either Gleipnir a mighty tug, pulling the blades back to his hands with a snapping motion, and leaving the Gleipnir long and winding on the ground. He raised his head to them and pulled the chains about him, preparing to defend against any onslaguhts that would await him from moving in again.
ACTIONS
Heatshot, MightyMolokoA/B (2x)40dmg <weakness>
Firehit1, MightyMolokoA (2x)60dmg <weakness>
Firehit1, MightyMolokoB (2x)60dmg <weakness>
Dodge
'I'm getting a godawful feeling from whatever lies ahead, no normal virus could make such a powerful wall inbetween navi and operator,' but his comment was cut short as he drew to a halt, the other navis stopping alongside or close to him, as the similar view met their eyes, virii that were way above what they should be. His eyes widened for a moment behind his mask as he said,
'What in the name of Hel is this...these viruses are on a plane high above that of normal viruses for this area...what could be making them all so strong?' he said as he pulled his swords. Sieg shouted down to him as he pulled some chips from his deep pocket,
"What does it matter?! You're gonna tear em all up no matter what they've become! Execute battleroutine, GUNGIR!" and chose which he would send. Gungnir knocked his helmet and took a deep breath, exhaling the long breath, and collecting his wits about him, preparing to down the viruses,
'Bah, you're right! No matter what they are, they will fall at my blades all the same!' he shouted back to Sieg, taking an offense stance and waiting for Input. Sieg pumped his fist in the air and shouted out to no one,
"Metal! Thats the way we do it! Use these things, they may be stronger, but it also looks like they're wood! We'll polish off two of those damned things now! Firehit1, Heatshot slot in, download!" as he slammed the three chips into the PET, staring intently at the PET screen as Gungnir was flooded by the data.
Gungnir put his hands upwards, feeling fire form into his hands and glow with a bright red sheen. The red auras glided over the metal gauntlets, steam slowly starting to rise from each glove as they heated up to an incandescent red. On his right arm, the red light began sputtering and coughing, small embers and sparks popping from the glove and slowly beginning to swirl around it. Gungnir looked at his hands, but realizing what he had going here, he changed the operation of the chips, the red aruas focusing into his swords, the auras slowly creeping up and over the serrated blades. The dancing embers wrapped around the larger sword, flowing as they moved upwards. However, as he did this, what looked like red scars were left behind on his gauntlets. The red lines wrapped around his forearms and slowly began pushing outwards from them. The lines finally forced themselves from his gauntlets and whirled about them for a moment. suddenly, they began changing shape, shifting and morphing into links of a chain. The ignean Gleipnir linked in place, the red links searing back onto his gloves as the blazing chains gripped his wrists. He held his arsenal before him, fire and smoke rising from the varied peices of his arms as he turned to his prey. Funny it should be sheep, even if they were wildly overgrown sheep.
He curled over a little, pushing from his feet and tearing the ground as dove at the twin sheep. He ran with tremorous step, each footfall tearing the ground a new one and sending rocks and debris around him. His swords swept with his arms swinging, leaving arcong red afterglow behind him. He metal armor clanked and shook as he neared the sheep, evil looks adorning their faces as the flames of his sword swirled and popped, hungry for their targets. He pulled up the blades, fires spinning around it and focusing between the openings of the twin blades into a small fireball at the tip. He ran past the viruses, moving to their sides and turning on the spot to face them. He pulled his hand holding the enormous blade up above his head as the fireball exploded downwards, encoating the entire red blade in fire as he swung it downwards, loosing the enormous blast of flame from the blade and sending it at the two Molokos. The firewave exploded in a blast of power, flames and smoke exploding and covering the twin sheep from view. But it was short lived, as both sheep barrelled out from the sides of the wall of flame, running to either side.
He glared at them, not ready to allow them their escape. He flexed his finger around the still shining swords, the chain of Gleipnir quivering around his arms in anticipation of his tactic. He dove into the air, spinning and loosing the red blades from his hands, both spinning around him for a moment, before he lifted them up, both blades raising above his head and bringing them down powerfully on either Moloko's location. The ignean blades came down on the locations, slamming into the earth and exploding upwards in torrents of fire and debris. The fountains of flame slowly die down, and he gives either Gleipnir a mighty tug, pulling the blades back to his hands with a snapping motion, and leaving the Gleipnir long and winding on the ground. He raised his head to them and pulled the chains about him, preparing to defend against any onslaguhts that would await him from moving in again.
ACTIONS
Heatshot, MightyMolokoA/B (2x)40dmg <weakness>
Firehit1, MightyMolokoA (2x)60dmg <weakness>
Firehit1, MightyMolokoB (2x)60dmg <weakness>
Dodge
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"Hm, more of these ridiculous viruses." Gunner eyed the ranks before him, a spark of eagerness in his eye. "Whatever's messing up the network probably messed these things up, too." He turned to address his comrades, smiling broadly at the Count as some of his more mortal wounds closed with a pleasant tingle. "We ready?" He slid twin guns from his holster slowly, almost leisurely. One was a brilliant metal brighter than silver, while its companion bore the dull lustre and dark tone of some infernal metal rubbed down with brimstone. Twin wide-barreled, five-chambered revolvers with identical red leather grips. The grips held a raised emblem somewhat like a crown resting above a nest of blades, the kind of thing you run your thumb over before a draw, for that spark of reassurance, perhaps even courage. Of course, Gunner had no need for reassurance, courage, or a draw at the moment. There were few things he loved more than a good fight; all the better if it was in a tough situation. He leveled the two pistols at the group, waiting for the familiar brush of chip data against his consciousness.
"Gunner!" Swift called him to attention.
He caught an image out of the corner of his eye and acted without thinking. He leapt into the air, arms outstretched. He rolled as he hit the ground, coming to rest on one knee. Maybe he had just been jumping at shadows, but he didn't want the viruses to get the drop on him again. And when he stood, he stood with guns a-blazing. Literally. The shining revolver nicknamed Silver by its owner began to glow red-hot, an orange taint that spread from the chamber, reaching down the barrel. This fiery gout spread to the barrel's midpoint in a short moment, and Gunner pulled the trigger. The glow of orange sped down the barrel before exploding out its end and forming a grasping claw of hellfire. It spread further and eventually split into six separate fireballs that converged on the massive floating form of one of the boomerang-bearing monstrosities. Several fireballs missed their mark, flying past to torment instead whichever virus was obscured by the clothespin obelisk.
Next came the other gun, Sulphur, grasped in Gunner's dominant left hand. While many people would expect some kind of flourish to match the pyrotechnics display that Silver had exhibited, Gunner did not provide. A dull click heralded the trigger's arrival to its more dangerous position. This in itself was odd; such a click would surely be muted by the cacophony of a bullet's retort. Could the gunslinger have fired a blank? No, certainly not. But the silence stretched on for an agonizing second before it was broken by the strangest of companions: a faint drip.
Thin steams of inky blackness were leaking from the seams in the weapon and trickling down Gunner's fist and the handle it enclosed, falling in small globules to the tiles below. One could only guess at his intent, and the mind behind his devilish grin. He swept his hand forward in an arc then, spreading the dark substance of the gun across the tiles in a jet crescent that gleamed like obsidian. He idly eased the pistols back into the warm nothingness of their holster, and with a broad grin snapped his fingers.
All hell broke loose.
The dark crescent of pitch (or something similar) ignited with a mighty whoosh. The burning slick was around halfway between Gunner and the ranks of viruses, and for a brief moment it looked like it would not trouble either. However, the dancing flames, while engaged in what appeared to be quite merely a large and elegant peak, rose like a burning tsunami and rushed at the mutated hordes. It towered above them, taller than the ridiculous Boomers it shadowed, before breaking and scattering Armageddon across the field. Many viruses remained untouched, but the torrent of flame had left some nasty burns all the same. Gunner muttered to himself in the wake of the chaos, "I'm beginning to like this chip..."
_______________
1. Dodge
2. Dodge
2.5. Snipe: Raise accuracy and splash potential(?) of Heatshot
3. Heatshot (40, [A], Fire) to BigBoomerEXA, splash to MightyMolokoA
4. Flameline1 (70, [A], Fire) to BigBoomerEXA, MightyMolokos A and B (i no MightyMolokos survive, instead target BigBoomerEXs B and C)
"Gunner!" Swift called him to attention.
He caught an image out of the corner of his eye and acted without thinking. He leapt into the air, arms outstretched. He rolled as he hit the ground, coming to rest on one knee. Maybe he had just been jumping at shadows, but he didn't want the viruses to get the drop on him again. And when he stood, he stood with guns a-blazing. Literally. The shining revolver nicknamed Silver by its owner began to glow red-hot, an orange taint that spread from the chamber, reaching down the barrel. This fiery gout spread to the barrel's midpoint in a short moment, and Gunner pulled the trigger. The glow of orange sped down the barrel before exploding out its end and forming a grasping claw of hellfire. It spread further and eventually split into six separate fireballs that converged on the massive floating form of one of the boomerang-bearing monstrosities. Several fireballs missed their mark, flying past to torment instead whichever virus was obscured by the clothespin obelisk.
Next came the other gun, Sulphur, grasped in Gunner's dominant left hand. While many people would expect some kind of flourish to match the pyrotechnics display that Silver had exhibited, Gunner did not provide. A dull click heralded the trigger's arrival to its more dangerous position. This in itself was odd; such a click would surely be muted by the cacophony of a bullet's retort. Could the gunslinger have fired a blank? No, certainly not. But the silence stretched on for an agonizing second before it was broken by the strangest of companions: a faint drip.
Thin steams of inky blackness were leaking from the seams in the weapon and trickling down Gunner's fist and the handle it enclosed, falling in small globules to the tiles below. One could only guess at his intent, and the mind behind his devilish grin. He swept his hand forward in an arc then, spreading the dark substance of the gun across the tiles in a jet crescent that gleamed like obsidian. He idly eased the pistols back into the warm nothingness of their holster, and with a broad grin snapped his fingers.
All hell broke loose.
The dark crescent of pitch (or something similar) ignited with a mighty whoosh. The burning slick was around halfway between Gunner and the ranks of viruses, and for a brief moment it looked like it would not trouble either. However, the dancing flames, while engaged in what appeared to be quite merely a large and elegant peak, rose like a burning tsunami and rushed at the mutated hordes. It towered above them, taller than the ridiculous Boomers it shadowed, before breaking and scattering Armageddon across the field. Many viruses remained untouched, but the torrent of flame had left some nasty burns all the same. Gunner muttered to himself in the wake of the chaos, "I'm beginning to like this chip..."
_______________
1. Dodge
2. Dodge
2.5. Snipe: Raise accuracy and splash potential(?) of Heatshot
3. Heatshot (40, [A], Fire) to BigBoomerEXA, splash to MightyMolokoA
4. Flameline1 (70, [A], Fire) to BigBoomerEXA, MightyMolokos A and B (i no MightyMolokos survive, instead target BigBoomerEXs B and C)
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Triggerman lowered his hat as he gave notice to Gungnir comments of foreboding; maybe the giant had felt old man intuition's pang, the bastard's ever accurate report repeating like a machete against the defaces of better logic's defiance.
"...yeah, they're bigger. But when the lead's flown and it's said and done, they're just like any other." His grit stained words gave pause to the way of action; beneath the hell-worn sarape, the hammer was cocked like a hanging ellipsis that dared the succession of each coagulating moment.
"...and that's not saying much."
But the slinger wasn't an artisan with words. His need for vernacular had been abolished at the sight of the searchers on the horizon, souls condemned to wander like the lonely damned at the end of the barrel smoke's satisfaction.
Each faller had a different puppet strung story to relate, fabricated fallacies and tales penned by the damned Dame; they had chosen the wrong Lady to listen to. They'd picked the wrong place to set up camp, and there'd be lead repentance.e
Raptors circled on high without the pitiful eye; the smell of death was their perfume, and they were attracted to it in kind. Their bloody endeavors were held in black hearts, drowned by the dusty accompaniment of the Western Wind's brash presence.
The fickle Western Wind was the only half damned thing that was close to friend; the Lady, the Dice and her feathered Harbingers were shading shattered odds against the lead hitting hard. They were the cynical audience, booing the next act and every bloodied draw.
Triggerman threw aside his poncho ceremoniously, tattered intentions cast with tattered cloth to give way to a sextet of martrys. The Western Wind caught the garment in its violent clutch, casting it behind the slinger amidst a midnight's silhouette.
The Count had arrived to high time. The martyrs were primed again, never tired; Six.
"...Waiting for that pension, old man?" Triggerman grunted hoarsely to Marlowe. "...these bullets ain't going to make any introductions to the Grim Boy by themselves, Sherlock."
"You'd do well to watch yourself everytime you put me in those adult undergarments, Tex," Marlowe retorted, voice gravelled blackly with an edge bemusement. "...The next time you do, my slotting finger might just slip. Old age."
Gungnir'd spearheaded the colloboration of the damned like the last number, had made good on the role the Dame's Dice had scripted. And out of the corner of his shaded visage, the slinger caught the fleeting image of Gunner bringing up the ash eaten rear, scene smoking in effect of attack like the Dame's cigarette, bitter lipstick festering at the end of the scorching tobacco. In a moment he had dubbed this character The Kid. The boy had bullets plenty but not yet enough of the right head to make ten bullets worth a damn in the devil's currency... not just yet.
With the scytheman's approval echoing upon the gale's call, Triggerman had set his deliverance to him in hell convicted motion. His hawkeye had designated a pair of fallers at an instant, selected from those that the other combatants had left grazed or alive with half the semblance of chance they'd kept moments previous.
The hell slinger drew with a speed that outraced the Dame's dice, and with less than the defaces of the jester's lying repentance, he had discharged the first martyr to sentence the faller to sure purgatory. Forty-five smoking from the hip, he twirled the scytheman's servant around trigger finger in a show of condemnation to aide the finality. Further thoughts or the defaces of speech were a redundancy offered by the jester's play; Triggerman recocked the hammer with left hand, faller pre-designated as the death piece came down.
As index came closer to its fatal intimacy with the trigger, the buzzards that loomed had taken perch for there was death to be made of the fallers; one had drawn closer, still circling like the Dame's black eyed watcher.
The slinger committed to the pale pull of the trigger, and at the sound of the death noise, the buzzards dove at the scene in the hopes of another hell lurker made.
...Four.
i) Snipe + The Ugly: MarkCannon1 BigBoomerEXB, add ricochet to BigBoomberEXC (70, high accuracy, may lock on)
ii) Dodge
iii) MarkCannon1 BigBoomerEXC (70, may lock on)
iv) Dodge
"...yeah, they're bigger. But when the lead's flown and it's said and done, they're just like any other." His grit stained words gave pause to the way of action; beneath the hell-worn sarape, the hammer was cocked like a hanging ellipsis that dared the succession of each coagulating moment.
"...and that's not saying much."
But the slinger wasn't an artisan with words. His need for vernacular had been abolished at the sight of the searchers on the horizon, souls condemned to wander like the lonely damned at the end of the barrel smoke's satisfaction.
Each faller had a different puppet strung story to relate, fabricated fallacies and tales penned by the damned Dame; they had chosen the wrong Lady to listen to. They'd picked the wrong place to set up camp, and there'd be lead repentance.e
Raptors circled on high without the pitiful eye; the smell of death was their perfume, and they were attracted to it in kind. Their bloody endeavors were held in black hearts, drowned by the dusty accompaniment of the Western Wind's brash presence.
The fickle Western Wind was the only half damned thing that was close to friend; the Lady, the Dice and her feathered Harbingers were shading shattered odds against the lead hitting hard. They were the cynical audience, booing the next act and every bloodied draw.
Triggerman threw aside his poncho ceremoniously, tattered intentions cast with tattered cloth to give way to a sextet of martrys. The Western Wind caught the garment in its violent clutch, casting it behind the slinger amidst a midnight's silhouette.
The Count had arrived to high time. The martyrs were primed again, never tired; Six.
"...Waiting for that pension, old man?" Triggerman grunted hoarsely to Marlowe. "...these bullets ain't going to make any introductions to the Grim Boy by themselves, Sherlock."
"You'd do well to watch yourself everytime you put me in those adult undergarments, Tex," Marlowe retorted, voice gravelled blackly with an edge bemusement. "...The next time you do, my slotting finger might just slip. Old age."
Gungnir'd spearheaded the colloboration of the damned like the last number, had made good on the role the Dame's Dice had scripted. And out of the corner of his shaded visage, the slinger caught the fleeting image of Gunner bringing up the ash eaten rear, scene smoking in effect of attack like the Dame's cigarette, bitter lipstick festering at the end of the scorching tobacco. In a moment he had dubbed this character The Kid. The boy had bullets plenty but not yet enough of the right head to make ten bullets worth a damn in the devil's currency... not just yet.
With the scytheman's approval echoing upon the gale's call, Triggerman had set his deliverance to him in hell convicted motion. His hawkeye had designated a pair of fallers at an instant, selected from those that the other combatants had left grazed or alive with half the semblance of chance they'd kept moments previous.
The hell slinger drew with a speed that outraced the Dame's dice, and with less than the defaces of the jester's lying repentance, he had discharged the first martyr to sentence the faller to sure purgatory. Forty-five smoking from the hip, he twirled the scytheman's servant around trigger finger in a show of condemnation to aide the finality. Further thoughts or the defaces of speech were a redundancy offered by the jester's play; Triggerman recocked the hammer with left hand, faller pre-designated as the death piece came down.
As index came closer to its fatal intimacy with the trigger, the buzzards that loomed had taken perch for there was death to be made of the fallers; one had drawn closer, still circling like the Dame's black eyed watcher.
The slinger committed to the pale pull of the trigger, and at the sound of the death noise, the buzzards dove at the scene in the hopes of another hell lurker made.
...Four.
i) Snipe + The Ugly: MarkCannon1 BigBoomerEXB, add ricochet to BigBoomberEXC (70, high accuracy, may lock on)
ii) Dodge
iii) MarkCannon1 BigBoomerEXC (70, may lock on)
iv) Dodge
last edited by
BigBoomerEXA: DELETED
BigBoomerEXB: DELETED
BigBoomerEXC: 10
WoodenWallaA: 150
WoodenWallaB: 150
MightyMolokoA: DELETED
MightyMolokoB: DELETED
Gungir.EXE: 40
Gunner.EXE: 90
Count_Edgar.EXE: 35
TriggerMan.EXE: 50
Oddly, Edgar manages to heal Gunner and Gungir before the viruses attack again.
The viruses move out viciously. The Molokos rabidly stampede at Gunner and Gungir, so quickly that Gungir failed to get completely out of the way, and took a glancing blow. Gunner just barely scraped away from the second sheep. The Wallas, sitting side by side, launch several wooden fangs at each Navi, which Triggerman skillfully dodges. The other Navis are all struck directly, though. Two of the Boomer's launch boomerangs, one striking Edgar, the other Triggerman, who nimbly dodged it. The third Boomer unleashes a torrential breath of wood and leaves and stuff, right at the area Triggerman dodged to.
Gungir, having close proximity to the Molokos as they rush past, has no problem landing his shots onto the cute lil' viruses.
Gunner's Mega-Accurate Heatshot, coupled by the Flameline, decimate the Boomer ranks, as well as finished off the burning Molokos.
MarkCannons, in any Cursor Navi's hands, are powerful. Triggerman is no exeption, as he finishes off a Boomer, and forces the other to barely cling to life.
BigBoomerEXB: DELETED
BigBoomerEXC: 10
WoodenWallaA: 150
WoodenWallaB: 150
MightyMolokoA: DELETED
MightyMolokoB: DELETED
Gungir.EXE: 40
Gunner.EXE: 90
Count_Edgar.EXE: 35
TriggerMan.EXE: 50
Oddly, Edgar manages to heal Gunner and Gungir before the viruses attack again.
The viruses move out viciously. The Molokos rabidly stampede at Gunner and Gungir, so quickly that Gungir failed to get completely out of the way, and took a glancing blow. Gunner just barely scraped away from the second sheep. The Wallas, sitting side by side, launch several wooden fangs at each Navi, which Triggerman skillfully dodges. The other Navis are all struck directly, though. Two of the Boomer's launch boomerangs, one striking Edgar, the other Triggerman, who nimbly dodged it. The third Boomer unleashes a torrential breath of wood and leaves and stuff, right at the area Triggerman dodged to.
Gungir, having close proximity to the Molokos as they rush past, has no problem landing his shots onto the cute lil' viruses.
Gunner's Mega-Accurate Heatshot, coupled by the Flameline, decimate the Boomer ranks, as well as finished off the burning Molokos.
MarkCannons, in any Cursor Navi's hands, are powerful. Triggerman is no exeption, as he finishes off a Boomer, and forces the other to barely cling to life.
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Shortly after Edgar's little healing trick, his netop, Vladimir, looks trough the PET screen, and sees that Gunner and Gungnir wounds have lessened. Vladimir, puzzled and shocked, asks "Wha....wha.....what did you just do? Those were not the chips I sent." Unfortunately, the question ended with the start of the mutant viruses' assault. The intro of the woodenwallas' attack begins to pound against the navis and Edgar's shield. Edgar starts to respond while his shield was cracking from the assault, "Two minibombs, which I morphed into energy to heal. Are those really the most powerful chips you have?" Upon finishing, the shield finally breaks, and Edgar's left shoulder is suddenly impaled by one of the tusks. Half of the tusk went into the shoulder, but Edgar paid no attention to it. In fact he did not even notice that he was wounded. Then a massive boomerang slammed into his back with the arrival of a massive cracking noise. It somehow was powerful enough to decimate most of his spine, but somehow Edgar is still standing and is still calm while his allies are taking out over half of the enemies
Edgar eyes trailed to his left shoulder, raises his eyebrow in response to seeing the tusk. Edgar begins to twirl his left pointer finger and the tusk seems to start moving out of Edgar's shoulder, and falls onto the ground. The wound that the tusk created did not gush out blood, as might me expected, but is now a solid red mass. Shortly there after, small white balls start to appear near Edgar and are absorbed by the wound. The amount showing up incesses, and Edgar begins to glow white. Vladimir starts to think on what Edgar said... and slots in a wideshot, markcannon, and a shotgun. Upon the receiving of the data Edgar springs into action, his left arm from hand to elbow starts to bleed out rather fast. The blood then swirls around that same limb, and forms into a cannon barrel. Edgar aims the barrel at Gungir, and the inside begins to pulsate with different colored energy. Shortly after, it fires....and a burst of blue, white, and grey energy flies out right at Gungir. But before it could hit, the grey energy separates itself from the other two, and turns toward Gunner. The white and blue energy hits Gungnir in the back, healing up his wounds, and the grey hits Gunner in the front, also healing him.
((0 holy strength
1 convert wideshot to heal Gungir 45
2 convert markcannon 1 to heal Gungir 40
3 convert shotgun to heal Gunner 30))
Edgar eyes trailed to his left shoulder, raises his eyebrow in response to seeing the tusk. Edgar begins to twirl his left pointer finger and the tusk seems to start moving out of Edgar's shoulder, and falls onto the ground. The wound that the tusk created did not gush out blood, as might me expected, but is now a solid red mass. Shortly there after, small white balls start to appear near Edgar and are absorbed by the wound. The amount showing up incesses, and Edgar begins to glow white. Vladimir starts to think on what Edgar said... and slots in a wideshot, markcannon, and a shotgun. Upon the receiving of the data Edgar springs into action, his left arm from hand to elbow starts to bleed out rather fast. The blood then swirls around that same limb, and forms into a cannon barrel. Edgar aims the barrel at Gungir, and the inside begins to pulsate with different colored energy. Shortly after, it fires....and a burst of blue, white, and grey energy flies out right at Gungir. But before it could hit, the grey energy separates itself from the other two, and turns toward Gunner. The white and blue energy hits Gungnir in the back, healing up his wounds, and the grey hits Gunner in the front, also healing him.
((0 holy strength
1 convert wideshot to heal Gungir 45
2 convert markcannon 1 to heal Gungir 40
3 convert shotgun to heal Gunner 30))
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"These guys are a lot tougher..." Gunner held his hand steady, aligning Sulphur with the deathbed clothespin monster. A loud retort lanced through the sounds of battle, with a small wisp of inky black smoke making the bloodbath seem a little more innocent. "But we'll pull through alright." The gunslinger murmured these hopeful words, which were swept away instantly in the cacophony of gunpowder, metal, and magic which had settled around their little arena. Some of that magic spread through Gunner's body, leaving only a pleasant tingle behind. He took stock of the fighters around him and threw his head up. "Count Edgar!" His words, loud with necessity, not anger, were clear and audible. "I'm fine! But you're no use as a healer if you get yourself killed! Take care of yourself as much as you do us!" The Count was their one lifeline in this battle, their only means to recover. He had the unfortunate responsibility of carrying the lives of the team on his back, but he had to know how to handle it; if a man carrying a burden should fall, so does the burden. He only hoped the viruses would disregard the stranger and the Count for now, at least until they were dragged a bit further from Death's door.
For now, though, he had to uphold his duties. He dismissed the two pistols absently, the polished silver and dulled onyx blinking out of existence in twin flares of red light. He wouldn't need them; though he was far more skilled with weapons of powder and lead, he was no stranger to those of flesh and bone. He started at one of the woodwork animals before him, the red sash at his waist fluttering in his wake like the trail of death he would soon carve.
He leapt into the air a short distance, just far enough for his leg to ignite as he delivered to the walrus one fiery dropkick, free of charge. He used the leftover momentum to push off of the wooden beast and fly a good distance through the air before hitting the groung with Sulphur's dull lustre already in his outstretched fist. The trigger was depressed once more, and a rolling gout of flame eagerly rushed to meet its new combustible friend the Walla.
_______________
1. Shoot (11) BigBoomerEXA
2. Firehit1 (60, [A], Fire) WoodenWallaA
3. Heatshot (40, [A], Fire) WoodenWallaB
4. Dodge
For now, though, he had to uphold his duties. He dismissed the two pistols absently, the polished silver and dulled onyx blinking out of existence in twin flares of red light. He wouldn't need them; though he was far more skilled with weapons of powder and lead, he was no stranger to those of flesh and bone. He started at one of the woodwork animals before him, the red sash at his waist fluttering in his wake like the trail of death he would soon carve.
He leapt into the air a short distance, just far enough for his leg to ignite as he delivered to the walrus one fiery dropkick, free of charge. He used the leftover momentum to push off of the wooden beast and fly a good distance through the air before hitting the groung with Sulphur's dull lustre already in his outstretched fist. The trigger was depressed once more, and a rolling gout of flame eagerly rushed to meet its new combustible friend the Walla.
_______________
1. Shoot (11) BigBoomerEXA
2. Firehit1 (60, [A], Fire) WoodenWallaA
3. Heatshot (40, [A], Fire) WoodenWallaB
4. Dodge