Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-06-04 18:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aspel cassul, magnolia paget |
We like our thrills dirt cheap, And our irony thick....
Who: Aspel & Mag.
What: Being Bamfs/Laying out Maspel's battle tactics!
Where: Bandit outpost, Ordalia.
When: Forever ago, bitches be old. (Roughly 6.5 years ago)
Rating: R (Graphic violence, murder)
Status: Complete!
“YOUR BACK!” Aspel barked at Mag as the hammer fell to be gripped in one hand, the shotgun instantly unholstered and aimed in the Dragoons direction. A squeeze of the trigger given only as Mag leapt out of the way, and the scattershot ripped through the man’s skull - shredding skin, and fracturing bone to send shards of white and grey matter splattering across the ground - that had been trying to come up behind the other woman just seconds before. To think, this had been labeled by the board as an easy mission. A short scoff slipped from the Fell Knight’s lips as she tried to sidestep the swing of sword that had come her way. The blade glanced off the side of jet black armor, and Aspel’s eyes lit up, a wild fire within them as the Hammer’s grip was choked up on. “Wrong move.” Was the only taunt she needed before swinging the side of the weapon into the man’s head, causing his skull to indent, and a gurgle to of some sort to well up in his throat as the man dropped forward onto his knees. With a disgusted growl, his body was kicked back by a firm metal boot to the sternum - a crunch of bone accompanying the action - so that he’d fall off to the side. With the clattering of armor, the stomp of shoes it would appear for them that backup was on the way. “Ready?” Aspel tossed a glance towards the Dragoon, a sleek shimmer of armor present as her hammer was holstered, and fingers worked more scatter shot into the barrels of her shotgun before the men arrived. Unfortunately for those coming, this was still unlikely to be a fair fight. Mag grinned, the devil-may-care smile of one who knows the odds are so stacked against her she can’t help but see the humor in it. “Oh, I’m ready. Ready to argue the reward when we get back, too.” Twenty minutes since she had discarded the amount of red on her armor as a reliable gauge of the severity of her injuries. She was covered in it head to foot, most of it contributed by the nameless benefactors whose corpses now littered the ground near the two women. Absent-mindedly, Mag twirled the spear to wipe the bits of gore clinging to it with the sole of her boot. With limited success—but the reinforcements were closing in on them, too late to help their friends but ready to bring trouble. She kept an eye on them as she settled back into stance while watching her surroundings. It would have been a wonderful tactic to send a numerous group in front to draw attention and have a small team sneak up from the flank. Fingers clutching the amulet against her chest, Mag said, “Grumpy’s on the way!” and dove into the fray, keeping her distance from her friend. “Think if we bring back their heads, we can make a better argument for it?” Aspel couldn’t help the gallows humor as it rolled from her lips, a brief glance tossed back to her partner in crime as she clicked the gun barrel back into place, reholstering it as the men came charging forth. There wasn’t time to pull her hammer out as the first man charged forward, thankfully, it wasn’t entirely needed. A step off to one side caused his sword to skitter across the forearm guard of her armor, and the Fell Knight used her armored fist to deck the man across his jaw with a growl. Metal meeting bone caused a crack to echo through the air. “Back down!” Came the sharply barked order, as the man stumbled back. While the punch wouldn’t actually be enough to take the man down, it was enough to give her the space needed to draw the hammer back out. Then the man swung again, the handle of the hammer was used to deflect the blow as the head of the weapon was brought through, smashing into the man’s body and knocking him back once again. “Count?” Came a yell across the field along with the sounds of the metallic creek and break of metal as Aspel’s hammer broke the man’s sword in two before slamming into his chest. Mag, with the air of her jumps, was perfect to gauge the field of battle for them both before Aspel pulled out the full depths of her destructive arsenal. However, in this moment the man in front of her was her immediate concern, and another merciless blow was delivered, devastating in its desire for gore as his bones crushed under the weight of the blow, collapsing his sternum and rib cage in on itself before her enemy - his chest now concave - would crumble to the ground with his desperate and hopeless attempts at sucking in air lost on Aspel, along with the fear in his eyes of his own immediate death. She was made to kill. Faram could sort out the dead in the afterlife. They certainly had no time for it, outnumbered as they were. A woman who had been sneaking up behind Aspel, dual daggers held aloft, found her approach interrupted by Mag's spear through her side. She looked down at the weapon with an air of confusion before crumbling to the ground. Then, as Aspel's hammer felled another, Mag Jumped to survey the remainder of the enemy force, and take down another dual-wielder with ambitions of subterfuge. "Less than ten!" she shouted to her friend--and the relief in her voice was indicative of the way their week had gone. "Do I get out of the way?" With a single Unholy Sacrifice, Aspel could probably take down the rest of the men and women, or leave them on the threshold of death. Mag kept her friend inside her field of vision, ready for a cue to Jump and remove herself from harm's way so Aspel could freely unleash her Fell abilities. It was then she heard the batting of wings, and the roar that made the ground beneath them tremble and their enemies quiver in their armor and look to the sky, where a black wyvern circled like an oversized vulture, watching for their corpses to fall to the ground. Warwick dove to breathe fire on the bandits, then regained altitude, and Mag grinned at the smug look in his big yellow eyes as the human torches screamed. "Or maybe we'll have a barbecue," she said to Aspel, then Jumped again. With hammer raised aloft, Aspel was ready to dart in, and deliver another set of devestating blows, to destroy those in her way, and really in the end a piece of herself with this fight. However, it would seem that would not be needed today with the beat of wings which was - oddly - beginning to become a bit more familiar than she’d ever thought to expect. “Could use a bite.” Aspel couldn’t help but jest, even if her tone had settled into something far too serious to be anything but threatening to those approaching. Her stance was held a moment longer to assure that her own armor wouldn’t be lit aflame - while Warwick didn’t seem to hate her yet, mistakes happened on a chaotic field like this - before shifting her grip on the hammer, and slamming another enemy to the ground with a bone cracking slam of cold steel. Blood gurgled in the woman’s throat, and Aspel couldn’t help but sneer. “Your luck is out.” A slam of one well kept metal boot snapped the woman’s knee cap in two and down the carcass went gasping desperately for a breath that she would never have again. “He coming down again?” The Fell called after the other woman, trying to figure out how to plan her next move. There were but a few remaining enemies left, most of them on fire; Mag knew the answer before she saw Warwick circle from above, like an oversized vulture waiting for the bandits to drop dead. "I think he's done with us," Mag said, driving her spear through a gap in a panicking bandit's armor. "Since we're big girls and we don't need help cleaning up." A more enterprising bandit lunged at her, seeing his flaming armor as a weapon rather than a handicap; she pushed his weight away with a kick and, as he stumbled back, stabbed him through the chest, turning his battle cries into a wet gurgle. She pulled her weapon free before the fire could catch around it. Only two bandits remained, and they seemed to have finally caught on to the fact that the odds were against them; they turned to run, and Mag shifted her grip on her spear to throw. "You can be a friend and take the other," she said, as she released the weapon. "Then we can go get paid." The answer now clear, a vicious growl was ripped from Aspel’s throat as a seeping opaque blackness surged up around her fingers and hand. With a sharp cut of her arm through the air, Darkaga was flung outwards, enveloping the bandit that had tried to run, and rending the hume limb from limb. Her chest heaved, a deep, and oddly satisfied sort of breath as magicks darkened eyes watched her work unfold, and the bandit’s body crash to the ground with a scream of pain. Shifting, the hammer was reholstered, and her eyes turned down. It would take a few moments for the effects of the Dark magicks to clear from her system, and if anything in her history had proven right, allowing the time for them to dissipate was generally well spent. “Plans for your pay?” Simple chatter, certainly, it would help to pass the time. Mag frowned down at the dirty blade of her spear and pushed her hair back and out of her eyes with one hand. Some distance away, Warwick had finally landed and, like his Rider, seemed to have succumbed to the urge to preen himself, one of his back paws scratching underneath the wing, like a giant cat. "We could probably find a spa to splurge on. With baths and bubbles." Mag wiped her weapon clean on the clothes of a nearby bandit. "I feel like I really need a bath, after this. And I wouldn't say no to a drink, either." A low huffed scoff was earned as it seemed like the Dragon Rider and Dragon worked in tandem. With a roll of her shoulders each wound, and cracked bone was felt with a chink noise as armor plates scrapped against one another with the simple movement. It was almost hilarious watching them both pick, and clean themselves at the same time. Eyes glanced down to her hammer, and skimmed down over the armor. Nothing amiss there, and the parts that needed to be cleaned, well… It wouldn’t be as simple as wiping it off on a dead man’s chest. “You did not wish for me to cast Water above your head once more?” The faint sense of humor had begun to creep up again, Aspel’s voice starting to break away from the harsh battle barks, and threatening growls of just moments before as her pulse slowed, and she came back to more of who she was. Mag burst out laughing. "Maybe later. If we're going to get our money from that rat, we need to look like imposing warriors, not wet puppies." Off to the side, Warwick let out a low growl that Mag knew to mean hurry up, hume, I don't have all day. Mag rolled her eyes. "Then again, we have Grumpy there to be imposing for our employer's benefit," she said. “A wet puppy, you say?” A curious edged her voice before a click of her tongue was given in opposition. “I fear I may be required to disagree.” A pause as Aspel gave the hammer a shake, trying to dislodge any remaining hunks of flesh, bone, or flicks of blood she could manage to shake loose before holstering the weapon once more. “I do believe we do not have the same factors of adorableness to be pups.” However, the whole thing was in jest as eyes roamed the bodies they had now dispatched. “Did we need to bring back proof of any sort?” A beat fell. “Other than our own mangled bodies of course.” Mag considered the question, then shrugged. “We don’t need proof. We have a dragon. Besides, if he thinks we’re lying he can just come here and see for himself; I don’t think anyone’s coming to get rid of these so soon.” The dragon in question roared again and opened his great black wings—the or else part of the implicit threat. Mag cast a quick Cure on herself and said, “Better go, he’s starting to wonder if he really likes me well enough to not fly away right this instant. Got everything?” A glance was given back to some of the non-scorched bodies. “It may be beneficial to assure we will not be followed.” A haunting reminder of a warning she’d obtained once rang through her head. “Even if tracking someone in flight would be that much more difficult.” Shifting, her hand fell back to the hammer once more, a turn taken as Aspel headed to assure the bandits had met their death. “I can catch up later if needed.” It may have been the more efficient course of action, considering Warwick’s mood, but Mag shook her head. The bandits looked dead to her, but one or two may be biding their time to attack Aspel when she thought they were dead. “It’ll go faster with two people,” Mag said, taking her recently-cleaned spear in her hand and walking toward the nearest body. Warwick wouldn’t be happy, but she supposed that, since he was inevitably going to try to roast her from behind at some point in the near future, she might as well give him a good reason to do it. |