In A Round About Way

by **Floh** on February 5th, 2013, 3:22 pm

6th Of Winter

Floh did not stand out like your typical cut throat mercenary, her yellow gi and black belt pressed firmly but gently across her form. There were many on this day, every man with a sword that fancied himself a man of unsurpassed skill droved to the horse and wagon. They thought highly of there talentless prowess, believed so firmly in the belief they would slay over thousand men and be coming back heros. Poor sons of bitches just didnt get it, they were to be heading to the stomach of this lawless monster. Where only the very best of the worst waited in the darkness, people so despicable and heinous they would have been lynched mobbed in a city that thrived upon inhumanity and anarchy.

Her head was hung low as the carriage if it could be called that, was jerking to the left and right by the weight of the passengers climbing up and settling in. Just more meat for the grinder, she predicted less then 25% would make it back but then she was sceptical of even that.

Swords and Armor dont make a man.

The sweet promise of gold, a glorious pipe dream of grandure that made ordinary people ready to flush there lives away at but a moments notice.

She had reasons of her own, her only sole purpose in life to simply take it away.

by **Floh** on February 5th, 2013, 10:27 pm

Fully loaded the wheels of fate began to creekily turn as horse and carriage began there descent from anarchy to madness.

It sounded like a bar, chests puffed filled with blusterous bloister about how badass they were. With roaring applause they would leave this world at least self gratified. Her eyes and ears told truths of green and yellow, the only colors she saw in the tangled confusion of gleaming armor and swords. The inexperienced leading the cowardly astray.

She could smell alcohal soaked in beards and hear the shear ignorance of each and over exaggerated claim each more idiotic then the other.

A manly mans world.

Gods if she knew better she would say that she was heading towards certain death led by a motley crew of drunken oafs.

Her hands tightened into balled fists and relaxed.

The serpents mind flooded about possible outcomes as light faded to blackness and they were admist the catacombs. The ancient ruins of the liberated forfathers.

Crackin of a bit ol flint and tinder and the crackalin o flame and those with an inkling of intelligence were now in possession of torches. That dimly lit the blackness to which they had all willingly walked into.

by **Floh** on February 5th, 2013, 11:06 pm

It had come like a flash of greased lightning, just so fast they found themselves in the middle of a blitz.

The horse reared side to the side in terror, as these freakshows thrust themselves upon it with blades of stone and sharpened sticks. The carriage itself was catapaulted upwards to when it returned to the ground the wheel hit a ditch and the shaft that held it in place busted crumpling to nay more then splinters beneath the tremendous weight.

The collison and impact sent unfortunate souls including herself almost realing overboard.

These cannibles now covered the horse like ants, bitting, and flaying off what morsels they could in a frantic feeding frenzy.

Amidst flashes of flame and darkness she witnessed the carnage.

The carriage was now upright grounded, and a mercenary with a crossbow unleashed a bolt into one of the pething bastards head. Sure it died, but there was a pause between the cannibles and the mercenary who was upon the carriage looking down upon those that were eating the horse.

Without warning they clamoured towards him, the merc pulled out his knife and sunk it deep into the first ones chest. To which it got caught between the ribs, attempting the pull his knife free he had been over run. Knocked over and dragged off his pedastle, he fought kicking and yelling his haunting hand outstretched towards her as if he expected Floh to answer the call and save him.

The other mercenaries were drawing there swords, as a few fled into the blackness in panic.

Only there screams echoed in the caverns.

The torch light hit them for the briefest of moments, just the most horrid of sights. They were being eaten alive, there sick and tormented features shoveling freshly torn flesh into there mouths as there victims cried out relentlessly in unimaginable agony as they were being eaten alive.

by **Floh** on February 6th, 2013, 5:18 am

If the gods did truly exist they did not exist here at this place in this moment of time. Pandemonium and chaos went hand in hand in this medly of gore and confusion.

Blades motioned forward and the war machine began to crank and churn, as mercenaries began to fight the waves of cannibles. The glimmer of polished steel flashed and clanged, as the gutteral growels of the cannibles flooded the cavern.

Floh found herself in a real hairy situation, as a cannible charged her. He thrusted his bone dagger with the intention to carve her like a turkey. In the chaos, her hand caught his wrist. And with superior strength and her ability to wrestle she fought the joints in his arm. It was slow and inevitable, the cannible fought back with every ounce of feeble malnourished power it could muster but all for not as his own weapon crept towards his throat. It was methodical and slower still, amidst the calamity the fire the screaming and wailing and the clattering of steel. Time itself stood still as the knife pressed his flesh, and sunk in little by little. It was over, but Floh wished to savor this moment. By now the sharpened bone found itself imbedded in his throat, gasping and gurgling drowning as blood spewed from his mouth with every breath.

The Dhani had awoken, her eyes fixated on the turmoil the despair.

Picking up a torch, she smiled something wicked or perhaps menacing as she tossed the torch into what was left of the wreckage. So it would ignite, soon the fire roared and the black veil of the shadow had been lifted.

Enemy in hand not quiet dead, not quiet alive.

Just tinder for the flames as her powerful arm single handedly tossed his slumped body into the match box. The fire was wild, monstrous tendrils wavering like the constrictors of Zinra consumed his form. Enveloped by the light he was purged of impurity and charbroiled alive.

The smell alone sent her back to a time she had to flee the jungles.

by **Floh** on February 13th, 2013, 9:57 pm

The fighting unraveled a loosely knit team of vagabonds, her brown eyes swept across the scene.

A few guys in armor were thrashing like madmen into the cannibles, blow after menacing blow. High on carnage, they seemed to stay close and not drift apart or else they would be overwhelemed by shear numbers.

A little bit to the left she saw this guy, clad in the pitch blackest armor. A typical tacti-cool badass if she ever did see one. She saw him try to pick up and wield his collosus sword to no avail. Needless to say his expertise was probably picking up gullible women in taverns. A warrior of this caliber couldnt be bothered to fight for his gold so he exited stage right, and fled like the dog he was with his tail between his legs.

No point using her fisticuffs in this situation she walked towards the fallen weapon and picked up.

Her right hand outreached towards the executioners sword, and her grip squeezed the handle. Something about cold steel in her palm was foreign, but she felt its power. Shear weight, shear size, this was a sword fit for her monstrous strength.

by **Floh** on February 14th, 2013, 3:49 pm

Twisting and swinging with all her physical power, the sword sailed through flesh and bone like cleaving air. Just the weight of the blade made it more akin to a sledgehammer but leaning towards a battleaxe. Length and weight alone was unwieldly to those without the muscle to manuever it. But when it came down it was like a guillotine blowing past anything that dared to get into into its kill zone through shear force and momentum.

She made no claims to skill with this daunting beast of a blade.

But she had the capacity to wield it.

Nothing fancy, a swing here and a swing there.

Floh was getting used to weight of the behemouth and as she did the sword did as its master instructed.

One ferocious swing to the side like akin to bat, had enough force to blow past a blocked attack with such unbelievable ferver as to shatter through the steel of the blade and propel itself through the one blocking as it ripped them from there feat and split there chest open.

Even for Floh the weapon was a work out, but like with her physical training excersises she would percivere. It was about moving forward and getting out of this mess, every blow delivered was a step out of this mess.

Her and the armored mercenaries were steadily crawling there way out of the catastrophe.

by **Floh** on February 15th, 2013, 3:34 pm

The rate of her swings increased, the shear size swept to and fro mowing down cannibles like a scythe to fields of wheat. Blood spewed from everywhich direction like erupting gysers but even as blood flowed freely like the wild waterfalls of riverfall it was still not enough to sate the serpents lust for it. It was brutal and horrible, once her weapon was in motion it stayed in motion it stopped for nothing and no one. The Dhani focused on her objective as she was clearing through these half starved canniblistic abominations. They had numbers but they were disorderly droves acting out of desperation.

The sword was a work out no doubt, her body ached.

So she had to revert to her arcanic reserves to help fuel her forward, she had what some might describe as a level of talent in Flux. More then most that studied but despite her progress she was still no master.

It took time, time would not have had if the others around her were not fighting so rigourosuly.

But when it came it came like rejuvination, Floh for all her knowledge in the pursuit of bodybuilding knew a few things. Pushing beyond your limits with Flux was asking for problems, using it in moderation to progress was another.

With a certain level of Zeal refound from flux, the refreshed Constrictor went back to the rigorous routine of hacking and slashing her rampaging warpath to gory glory.

Some good mercs died along the way, but the savage hordes numbers had thined. The tide turned in there favor sloshing away through blood soaked soaked ground, they need but push just a little harder to get out.

The prize lay just ahead, a crevice of beaming light just beyond the bend of the tunnels.

by **Floh** on February 15th, 2013, 3:45 pm

The only words left to describe what was left of the group was, beat up.

Dirt, soil, blood, staines, bruises, cuts, scrapes you name it they probably had it.

It was funny how it worked, they came to fix a problem, they got beat up and left, and the problem was still there. It was kind of some sort of twisted round about game.

Begrudged she looked off to the corner of her eye to see another wagon well on its way to the depths of madness.

How many would it take to legitimately solve the problem? 1 wagon, 2 wagons? 3 wagons?

She guessed thats just how fighting goes, round and round in a round about way it will always continue with or without you.

by **Twister** on March 7th, 2013, 8:17 pm

.

Experience Award

Floh

Grade :

If you've any questions or concerns about your grade, drop me a PM!
.