"That's a hell of a way to talk to someome who would have been your superior." He said, stepping back to give him the advatage of distance. He didn't expect Faustite to start getting a lip at him and to prod at his behavior as somehow juvenile was irksome to say the least.
"I don't need your training. Why waste so much time with that? Maybe you want a excuse for that smoke tantrum you just threw." He summoned his weapon. A golden chain formed in his gloved hands and at the end a gnarling wolf head with emerald eyes hung.
He startef to spin the weapon quickly at his side as he sized Faustitr and his odd magiv squid up. Fire. He hated fire. It made his insides turn and his sweat go cold. He also knee Faustite had that smoke shield but that wouldn't matter if he forced him to keep moving. He didn't need to be close to hit him so he could stay out if range of his smog cloud.
He tested the water in hopes of baiting Faustite's weapon, hurling the wolf's head in a sweeping arch about mid-level to his body.
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Hungry Like the Wolf: When the weapon is thrown, the chompper bites the air as it turns into a wide circle. This doesn't cause physical damage as the dog curls into a sweeping arch to grab what he can. When caught in the circle, a black collar appears around his enemy's neck, chaining them to the spot for 55 seconds.
When chained, those leashed feel an overwhelming lust for something they cannot reach. The chain keeps them in place, preventing them from attaining what they desire. No matter how hard they pulled or struggled; they can't escape and could range from frustrated to hysterical that they cannot reach what they are lusting/craving/desiring until the chain releases them.
Posted: Wed Sep 26, 2018 10:08 am
What leadership skills have you, Gevaudan, when no army stands at your beck? The Negaverse lost a shock troop, not a general. Black eyes lit on him, awareness ablaze under his skin for a first move. He faced knights before; their effectiveness in causing harm was obscured by nonlethal weapons. But in his opponent's hands was a weighted chain, decorated with dogs to point to his heritage as a Mirror Court b***h.
Faustite's youma jettisoned to his left, creating distance between its captain and itself while maintaining range with the enemy. As Faustite shifted to move, the chain whipped out in a fateful arc and curled snarling chain about his thin frame, rounding once around his pipes while the rest caught taut around bone and black. Black fingers tightened about his neck, never choking yet ever reminding of their place.
Heat boiled and blistered in the youma captain, boiling out in staccato billows of smoke between teeth. Thicker it became as it left pipes, smogging the air with caustic intent. And while that chain bound his elbows to his sides, he anchored feet and seized the chain connecting his body to Gevaudan's.
Scars are the paler pain of survival received unwillingly and displayed in the language of injury. Scars are our small merits for endurance. But there are no scars for violating my consent — I haven't survived it.
You would stall me from that rapist, Knight.
With grip tightened, he wrenched toward himself on the chain. Harder he pulled to slacken its crushing tightness on pipes and flesh, on his ease of violability and defeat.
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Posted: Wed Sep 26, 2018 10:27 am
He knew something that Faustite told him. It was originally asked in concern but that was placed aside for the moment. The smoke about him he could endure and the chain would allow him to find his mark.
He had a timer but he knew where to hit now. As much as Faustite might thrash and lunge, the chains would not give. Gev moved fast to where he felt the chains go tight and moved in a circle to his side where the smoke was at its strongest. Another tug on the chain went to tighten the chains.
Fire. Ash. Logic would tell him gripping the pipes would hurt him for the rest of the battle and we'll beyond. Even his gloves couldn't prevent 3rd degree burns. He had felt Faustite's heat radiating from him by just walking side by side in tbe cool night. No doubt the exhaust would be worse to vent the heat out.
Moving his jacket up, he let himself be pulled and moved to his back before he spun and kicked the pipes at his back with his heel. If they were burrowed into his bones then hitting them would rattle his entire being. It would strain his body and with enough kicks weaken him before the weapon's timer was up. He had to make the best use of this time for the fight that would come after.
He really didn't want to deal with fire as much as he could avoid it. He didn't want to expose that fear to the youma who's lifeblood was brimstone and ash. He held his breath as he went to hit at the pipes again.
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Posted: Fri Oct 05, 2018 9:34 am
More and more he wrenched on the chain, drawing it inward. Something struck his back — a boot or a fist, he couldn't tell — and bent metal inward to crush bone. Bolts banding bone to industry dug deeper and spread fractures through ribs. Faustite coughed a wordless reply.
Faustite drew a pained breath and burst smoke into the warm air. It simmered and spun, spreading to catch Gevaudan when he drew close. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Panic urged arms to move against their restraints, shoulders to roll despite the steady pain in his back. Further the chains crushed in on ribs and industry. His breathing throttled.
Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Heat rippled and blazed in the youma captain's body, searing muscle and drowning intent in a baseless ire. Gritting his teeth, he rasped hoarsely against the collar over his throat. Nothing moved. Nothing budged. The chain wrenched against him with every desperate step, every last attempt to free himself. That fire parched him for vengeance — for his last grasps at justice that Gevaudan now withheld from him.
Faustite clenched his teeth against his resentment. "You'll burn for this."
The squid youma slowly circled about, keeping Faustite between itself and its target. Arms spread and waited at the ready.
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Dispersion ;; Range: 3 foot radius with Faustite at the epicenter. Duration: 30 seconds Use Count: 3x (second use) Miss Chance: Circumventing magic, stepping out of range. Effect: Faustite draws his hands together, and a sound like an opening lighter may be heard. Smoke pours from Faustite in a deafening blast. Those caught in the initial blast endure a ringing in the ears and mild disorientation. Breathing smoke causes burning lungs, stinging eyes, and frequent coughing. Ringing ears and coughing symptoms linger after leaving the smoke for 5 seconds. Any lasting damage is defending player's choice.
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Posted: Tue Oct 09, 2018 7:22 am
It popped off like a grenade. Soot and ash with the loud thunderclap that left a deafening ringing in his ears. Already knowing about the smoke, he didn't instinctively inhale in surprise but instead grabbed his chain and jumped back, releasing Faustite from his hold.
The youma didn't seem like a fighter. More in his own mind then the instincts and experience that fueled Gevaudan's movements. That wasn't to say he was stupid either. Youma were their own breed of unpredictable.
Weapon in hand, he let it swing and with momentum to keep himself protected as he breathed fresh air outside of the smog cloud and waited for any movement. His hearing was still shot.
However, if the man thought he could stay there, then Gev could flush him out with his weapon.
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Posted: Thu Nov 22, 2018 8:02 pm
Faustite dropped, skin seething with sensation as the chain fell away. Deep ruts wormed their way into his skin. They bit through his uniform at chokepoints, they welted his back near the stomas wrapping his pipes. Vigor sloughed off him like rotten skin with Gevaudan's magic no longer plaguing him.
Move, he told himself, yet leaden limb only slumped under orders. The youth melted to the ground in a panting, agonized form. From his back leaked all evidence of his panting, leaked into the helices of smoke hovering staunchly above him. The whole seen stilled, tauntingly, and he felt his mind wrench feebly with all his storied devotion, all his fear and hate and regret and stoked rage as every reminder to leave that space. His body responded with groaning bones and reticence.
The youma tilted, and from its beak spouted a jet of clear, viscous ink. Passing through the black cloud left by the creature's owner, the ink ignited into licking flame and iniquitous heat, searching and scorching and seething for the knight that so defied its sooty captain.
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Ability ;; The youma squirts a clear 'ink' substance up to 6 feet away that clings to the target. It does not penetrate clothing unless the fabric is thin or the person gets thoroughly soaked. If the substance reaches the skin, it produces a mild itching and chemical burning sensation (like getting a diluted bleach mixture on one's skin). Lasting damage is defender's choice. If the ink comes in contact with Faustite's Dispersion attack, the ink will combust. This fire burns itself out after 20 seconds unless more ink is applied. Once started, only magic may ameliorate its effects. The youma can squirt ink twice per battle.
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Posted: Fri Nov 30, 2018 10:50 am
He had never seen Faustite ignite before and because if this felt his flames were contained within him much like a life sorce needing cages ad and protected. Without it, he assumed the man would be in jeapordy of whatever affects the loss of flame might have. He didn't expect the oily black liquid to come jetousing out at him and in a moment ignited like tar and gasoline
It sprayed across his uniform and stung his neck, speckling his face. While his uniform shielded him, it was the fire that terrified him. The licking flames brought horrid memories of heat and melting singed skin at the hands of the senshi of Hot Peppers and he stumbled back frantically patting the flames out.
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Posted: Thu Jan 10, 2019 12:30 pm
From where he lay, Faustite watched the knight's panicked dancing. That he so quickly abandoned attacking the youma captain was a relief, yet that relief was poorly timed; any attempts to rise met with pain passing through him like a razor wind. Gone were the days of his boyish flexibility, with pipes mounted through his back, and now they thrummed with hollow heartbeat. Blood gouts painted the floor in mute ink pools.
"Congratulations," he rasped from where he lay. "You won." Shallow breaths kept him conscious while his back throbbed louder and louder, incessant, screaming over the crowd of his thoughts like a soapbox hero, shouting until he could think of nothing else. Shouting until a weary hand called his youma to his back with arms poised over the form.
Strange that he could survive these things — that he could term a fight with his opposition as a spar. Stranger still was the exhilaration afterward. He laughed, then — a sallow, tinny sound as muted as the winter trees.
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Posted: Fri Jan 11, 2019 8:46 am
He took deep breathes, using the back of his arm to wipe his face from the sweat and smoke. Moving over, he knelt down in front of Faustite to be at his viewing level. The man said he won. He'd see if he was a dirty enough fighter to attack him after.
"You told me your weakness before. I know you're smart so why did you challenge me when I knew that?"
He looked at the pools of blood and concern pinched his brow.
