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- 93
- Character Biography
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(Phone post, ignore ugly)
The mercenary’s mouth fell agape as the beast launched itself into the air with the ease of a bird taking flight. His head craned back as he watched it soar, brow furrowing with incredulity when it reached its apex. It fell as quickly as it flew, crashing back down into the earth with the sound of a thunder clap and a shockwave of debris exploding outward to announce its arrival.
The makeshift shrapnel exploded outward as if fired from the mouth of a volcano. Charlemagne reacted near-instantly, the tightness of his jaw painful now as he angled his arms to place the flat face of his greatsword directly in front of his face. Bits of gravel and other detritus pinged loudly off the surface of the metal, a few shards slicing through the lower portions of his neck where the flesh was exposed, and so too did several cascade over the scale-metal that covered his arms and midriff. The pain from the cuts was instant and sharp, but not all that demanding in comparison to what he’d suffered earlier today. The unpleasant warmth was almost welcome as it sent another tidal wave of adrenaline awash through his veins. The heat and humidity of the swamp gave way to an icy-cold sensation as all the exhaustion and malaise that had poisoned his body vanished.
He only half-paid attention to Phallendarr’s efforts. Black ichor poured freely from the abomination’s wounds where the magic-spirit-thing struck it, yet it seemed entirely unbothered. It’s expression had remained that of stone during this brief contest, and yet Charlemagne could almost imagine the thing to be smiling as he stared down its bulbous back. Kallach shouted something about buying time; Charlemagne only grunted in response. He and Phallendarr had worked synchronously before, they could well enough deal with this thing together.
Chills crawled across his flesh as his mind emptied itself of all its pointlessness. Another life or death struggle, another preeminent contest. He preferred them that way: life was far simpler and perhaps a bit purer when the only question worth asking was whether one might live or not.
It centered its attentions on Phallendarr, and it would pay for that mistake. Charlemagne marched toward the beast, his blade held lazily to his side as he adjusted the his stance. Just hammering the thing probably wasn’t going to work. He might be able to tear through its flesh after enough wailing, but it would probably kill him in the time that took. He needed something more forceful. Something with some height.
While the beast focused on Phallendarr, Charlemagne eased his way toward the tree line. He quickly bolted his sword back in its place across his back, and undid the clasps that kept his gauntlets in place. The steel pieces were stuffed in his belt-pack and his attentions returned to the swamp, or more specifically, a great tree that stretched toward the highest canopies overlooking the road. He tested the wood for a moment, found it dry enough to be confident in his palm, and then with a great heave he began to drag himself up into the branches. The climb was particularly difficult with the sword hanging from his back, but he’d surmounted far more difficult physical challenge.
He paid little heed to what was going on down below as he climbed higher and higher toward the apex of the tree, the evening winds shaking it in the breeze and only adding to his troubles as he continued upward.
The mercenary’s mouth fell agape as the beast launched itself into the air with the ease of a bird taking flight. His head craned back as he watched it soar, brow furrowing with incredulity when it reached its apex. It fell as quickly as it flew, crashing back down into the earth with the sound of a thunder clap and a shockwave of debris exploding outward to announce its arrival.
The makeshift shrapnel exploded outward as if fired from the mouth of a volcano. Charlemagne reacted near-instantly, the tightness of his jaw painful now as he angled his arms to place the flat face of his greatsword directly in front of his face. Bits of gravel and other detritus pinged loudly off the surface of the metal, a few shards slicing through the lower portions of his neck where the flesh was exposed, and so too did several cascade over the scale-metal that covered his arms and midriff. The pain from the cuts was instant and sharp, but not all that demanding in comparison to what he’d suffered earlier today. The unpleasant warmth was almost welcome as it sent another tidal wave of adrenaline awash through his veins. The heat and humidity of the swamp gave way to an icy-cold sensation as all the exhaustion and malaise that had poisoned his body vanished.
He only half-paid attention to Phallendarr’s efforts. Black ichor poured freely from the abomination’s wounds where the magic-spirit-thing struck it, yet it seemed entirely unbothered. It’s expression had remained that of stone during this brief contest, and yet Charlemagne could almost imagine the thing to be smiling as he stared down its bulbous back. Kallach shouted something about buying time; Charlemagne only grunted in response. He and Phallendarr had worked synchronously before, they could well enough deal with this thing together.
Chills crawled across his flesh as his mind emptied itself of all its pointlessness. Another life or death struggle, another preeminent contest. He preferred them that way: life was far simpler and perhaps a bit purer when the only question worth asking was whether one might live or not.
It centered its attentions on Phallendarr, and it would pay for that mistake. Charlemagne marched toward the beast, his blade held lazily to his side as he adjusted the his stance. Just hammering the thing probably wasn’t going to work. He might be able to tear through its flesh after enough wailing, but it would probably kill him in the time that took. He needed something more forceful. Something with some height.
While the beast focused on Phallendarr, Charlemagne eased his way toward the tree line. He quickly bolted his sword back in its place across his back, and undid the clasps that kept his gauntlets in place. The steel pieces were stuffed in his belt-pack and his attentions returned to the swamp, or more specifically, a great tree that stretched toward the highest canopies overlooking the road. He tested the wood for a moment, found it dry enough to be confident in his palm, and then with a great heave he began to drag himself up into the branches. The climb was particularly difficult with the sword hanging from his back, but he’d surmounted far more difficult physical challenge.
He paid little heed to what was going on down below as he climbed higher and higher toward the apex of the tree, the evening winds shaking it in the breeze and only adding to his troubles as he continued upward.
