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Slaver's Mistake FIN
Topic Started: Sat Jul 9, 2011 7:52 pm (348 Views)
Ezekial Smith
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Ezekial looked to his side to see a bolt of water slam into the glass golem, causing spider-like cracks ripple through its body. He sheathed his wakizashi and moved towards the small group of mages, his sword gleaming in the light and he raised it to strike. He swung it down in a wide arc, severing the head of one mage from his neck, causing both to fall to the ground, the incantation he was whispering frozen mid-sentence. He moved back from a fireball that rushed in, and slammed into the ground to the side of the dead body. The other two mages were stepping back, and a trio of bandits wielding heavy iron maces stepped in. They should have known better than to think that they would have been able to defeat this man when he went to war. His sword flashed up, and he raised it, maneuvering the blade behind his head, and brought it down in a sharp slash diagonally downwards. The blow cut easily through the hardened leather cuirass of one bandit, cutting through bone and into his lungs, just barely missing cutting the point of the heart that held the muscles of the heart together.

As that bandit fell back, the old priest could see the two mages, their faces filled with fear to see this man, his face emotionless and stony as he cut down their companions so easily. The other two bandits swung their maces towards Ezekial, an attack he dodged rather easily, jumping back to avoid the downswing of the heavy iron heads. He cut quickly with his sword, severing one bandit's right arm at the elbow, the forearm falling the the ground, the hand still clutching the handle of the mace. The old man kicked the now disarmed bandit back, and caught a near blow by the other man, catching the mace's head in one hand before it could complete a full swing. The impact shook his body, and he remained firm, his grip on the mace vise-like. Even so, the bandit would eventually wrench his mace free, for Ezekial was an old man, and did not have the strength to tear it out of his grasp. Just then, an arrow streamed to Ezekial, but was deflected off of his sword, piercing the leg of the bandit, causing him to drop to one knee, allowing the old priest to kick him harshly in the neck, snapping the spine and killing him.

He turned to see the archer who had made the opening for him to kill the bandit, and saw a young boy, his face fierce, but it still betrayed fear. He was paralyzed as Ezekial stood, and began walking towards him, stepping into the camp proper. The boy came out of it with a start, and picked up an arrow from the quiver at his side and moved to nock it to his shortbow, to try and fire an arrow at the old man, but the old man moved too quickly. He got into the guard of the boy and balled a fist, his knuckles slamming against the side of his head, knocking him out cold. Ezekial did not wish to kill the young boy, but he would if he was forced to. This way was better for the both of them, and perhaps the boy may learn the mistakes of his way. The fierceness that he saw in his eyes made that hope seem implausible, though. He waved the young boy into the camp with two fingers, and noticed that the other soldiers began to form up into ranks, each with a round shield and a big curved sword. It would not stop him.
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Castor
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Everto made sure to charge from the other side, sweeping in low he attacked the lower torso of his foes. He used his fast jabs to keep their defenses up, he ducked low, a slash going right over his head, he rushed into the gap the man had just opened. He delivered a stronger upper cut into his chest, backing off and dancing around his foes, keeping his feet moving.

He felt the sting of blades as he fought, several wounds opening up on his arms and chest. There was only two left, the others were out cold on the ground from his constant stomach blows followed by a rapid uppercut to the groin, the pain would at least stop them from getting up. He looked at his two opponents, breathing heavier then he was, good, it was time to finish this fight. He rushed in, dodging to the side as one thrust at him, ducking low as the other slashed at him. He brought his body up into a twist, pivoting from one foot to the other to force a spin, punching into the stomach of man who had thrust his blade. Everto smirked as the enemy fell to the ground, he picked up a stone and threw it at the final foe, watching him bring up his shield to let it harmlessly bounce off it, he charged in, bringing both fists up into his groin, audible cracking sounds came from his hips. He smirked, to easy, he turned to the few foes left, guarding their boss. He walked slowly towards him, breathing slowly and deeply, he would need to get his breath back, he and Zeke needed only to kill a few more... just a few more.
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Ezekial Smith
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The old priest rushed at the three shielded bandits left, feinting to the neck of one, waiting until he raised his shield to block the blow that would never come. He slashed down low at the man's ankles, cutting them almost to the bone. The man let out a scream, letting his shield dip down. It was a mistake that Ezekial was not about to let go past. He drew his sword back, leaning backwards, and placed both hands on the handle, the guard near the side of his head, the edge pointing outwards. He released his right hand and thrust with the left, stepping forward as he did so to give the strike extra strength and reach. The point of the blade, the blade to the side, slid easily through the man's ribs, piercing through his right lung. In a smooth motion from the end of the thrust, he cut through the man's side, going along his rib cage and moving the blade in one long slash, as one would do to a fish to be gutted. The man fell back, placing his hand on his wound to stem the blood, an act in vain. He was aspirating blood from his wound, and would soon die. The old priest would end his suffering, but the other two slashed at him, catching his shoulder before he could jump back.

He placed a hand on his wounded shoulder, grimacing at the sudden bolt of pain. It was by no means a deep cut, but it pained him all the same. He moved his sword to his left hand, the action paining him. Despite that, he knew that to fight with his right hand would pain his newly gotten wound much more than to switch to fighting with his left. He noticed the man coming to strike with a overhead cleave, and brought up his sword to deflect the blow to the elf's right. With the man's blade now near the ground from the inertia behind his chop, the old priest kicked up at the man's groin, doubling him over. With the man on the ground, the priest placed his foot on the man's wrist, the one that held the sword, and stomped hard. The man gasped from the pain and released the sword, giving the old priest a chance to place his foot over it and kick it away. The old man stepped over the figure on the ground and stepped up to the leader, who nocked an arrow to his bow while Ezekial spoke an incantation. Come to me now, King of the East; bring up your claws, Azure Dragon's scales. A wall of thorns came up in front of him just as the man released an arrow, stopping it from hitting the old priest. He stepped around it, and saw that the man had dropped his bow in favor of a pair of Chinese falchions, called dao. He passed his hand over his shoulder, whispering the healing incantation. For this match, he would definitely need the use of both hands.
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Castor
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The last few were fighting Zeke... good, he looked up at the man wearing a large iron key on his belt, fear had taken his face, they had killed or disabled the entire gang. Though Everto was tired, he had taken some hits and his magical arsenal was exhausted, to many spells to quickly. He raised his fists in response to Everto, "I'll at least fight a child with my bare hands, you don't seem all that skilled." He laughed as Everto slowly made his way closer to him, measuring the distance, he'd first need to gauge the man's reach and hand speed, then formulate a plan himself.

Just as he entered the man's range, his fist shot out, Everto barely dodged to the side, he could feel the whoosh of the air as the fist breezed by his head, to close for comfort. He back stepped, he was fast, almost to fast, he stepped in again, he saw the man's fist raise for a strong punch, the fool had made his punch to slow, all that extra muscle behind it would slow it down even though it would be a strong punch, it couldn't catch him. He dodged to the side and sprang forward, leaping the short distance and smashing his metal knuckles into the man's stomach. He heard the man gasp for breath, it was time for something his father had shown him about fist fighting, he started to rapidly weave his upper body into a figure eight, slamming it up into his stomach, using the momentum of his movement combined with powerful uppercuts into the man's stomach. The man started to walk backwards, from the blows, coughing blood after a few to many punches, his eyes were flicking closed until the next punch connected, springing them open in pain.

Everto shot both of his fists forward into a double uppercut in the man's groin, he heard nothing but an odd 'squish' sound as the man fell over, to winded to scream. He leaped onto the man's chest, punching the man's face until blood covered his metal knuckles, he stepped off the man's chest, grabbing the key from his belt and a small dagger, probably for cutting his meat... good enough. He took the knife and thrust it into his chest, making sure he was dead, he turned his back to him and looked to see how Zeke had done.
Edited by Castor, Sat Jul 30, 2011 4:52 am.
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Ezekial Smith
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Ezekial held out his blade, the tip prodding forward, and the leader held up his dao in front of him so that the arcs of the blades formed arcs of a great circle before him. Ezekial thought immediately that this was a weak stance, and stepped forward for a thrust. The man brought up his left sword so that the spine deflected the blow, stepping to one side as he did so. He brought around his right sword in a large arc at the old priest's center of mass. The priest managed to parry this blow by stepping back and quickly bringing his blade to block the oncoming dao. The blow was certainly an awkward one to block, and opened his head to attack. The man, seeing this, raised his left blade to strike. Ezekial, seeing that this would be a bad thing to have happen, released his gloved right hand from his sword, shifting his stance to grip the sword in the left-handed way, and raised his hand to block. "Go go gadget gloves!" The surface of the glove rippled, and the leather was drawn back almost impossibly fast to show a surface of iron that overlapped to conceal the leather. He caught the sword in one armored palm and gripped it tightly. The other man was certainly surprised, and this hesitation allowed Ezekial to wrench away his dao, pulling the man to him.

Ezekial lifted one knee to his side and slammed it into the leader, hitting near his kidney and knocking the wind from his chest. The man took an reflexive step back, and Ezekial took that opportunity to step into the slaver's guard, his sword forcing the man's remaining dao into the ground, and his armored fist arcing up. The metal of his now gauntlets slammed into the man's face with a great deal of force, and send him into the ground, and Ezekial was pushed back slightly by the inertia of the blow. He stepped forward, pushing the man's dao away from him with one foot, and stepped onto his chest with the other, pushing the breath from him. He moved his sword to both hands, wincing from a sudden bolt of pain that he had been able to ignore during the fight, and placed the tip near the man's throat. "Do you yield?" The man sneered, a vast difference from his previous emotionless expression, and replied,

"Kill me, see if that make's a difference. This occasion has not done much to enamor Red Rover to you." Hearing that name, Ezekial grew angry with the man, and leaned forward onto the man's chest.

"How do you know that name? Are you in his employ?" The man simply adopted a rakish grin, and replied that he would say nothing more. The priest sighed. He held out a finger, and spoke a phrase, Naurcoron, his finger outstretched. Unlike his longer incantation, this would not produce the fully-powered spell, but it would do for his circumstances. A small dart of fire, about the size of a man's thumb, formed and shot forward into the man's face. The man made no move to put himself out, and the fire quickly spread. The old priest stepped away from the man, and was treated to an eery sight. The man, wreathed in flames, grinned at the priest, and mouthed the words, "Red Rover's coming." The slaver turned back to the air, and shut his eyes, dead while his body was consumed by the flames.
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Castor
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Everto looked at the flaming corpse, he smirked, fire magic even on a small scale was still strong enough to burn a man alive. Everto jingled the keys in his hand, "Hey, Ezekial, I need to keep on moving, I don't have time to sit around and make sure all of these men, women, and children get to the nearest town okay, I'm leaving that to you." He threw the ring of keys to the old man, it had been a fun fight and they had saved dozens of people from becoming slaves, a good day's work.

Everto turned to walk away, only looking back to shout out, "Good luck with your goals and ideals Ezekial, you're a bit to kind in my opinion but a good man all the same. Next time we meet let it be in a town with plenty of food and easy company. I just have one passing piece of advice, if a paladin with a sign of a black sword crossing a shield approaches you and asks about me, tell him nothing." He hurried along, his short legs letting him walk slowly away, he would need to walk a few hours before allowing himself to fall to the ground and sleep, he just needed to make sure he didn't seem weak, his wounds would heal in time... but for now he must keep walking.
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Ezekial Smith
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The old priest caught the ring of keys with an adept hand. He listened to the young boy almost absentmindedly, and turned to the cage, filled with people. They crowded to the bars, pleading for the old man to open the lock and to liberate them. A black sword... Could it be, the Crusader of Saint Nino? He turned back to ask, but the young boy had already departed. It was no great loss to him. The old priest strode up to the big iron cage and put the big key into the lock. With a single turn the big padlock opened and he removed it, and the people before the door opened it and rushed out. Soon people began spilling out, running back home in all directions. A few stayed behind to thanks the old elf, but they were a minority. Once the last rag-clothed slave had run off into the distance, Ezekial turned around to see a young child sitting in the corner of the cage. Quietly, Ezekial entered the cage, and approached the child. "Are you alright, child?" The child had his face tucked into his knees, and his arms wrapped around his shins. He was sobbing lightly, and did not respond. Ezekial moved closer to him, and bent down, smiling at the young boy.

The boy stopped crying, and looked up at the man, frightened. "Where do you need to go, child?" The boy gasped down the remnants of his tears, and replied,

"N-nowhere, Mister. Mama and Papa are gone now." Ezekial's eyes softened when he saw the boy move to bury his face into his knees.

"If you'd like, I have some friends who would appreciate the company. Do you think you can stay with them until your family comes to get you?" The little boy looked up and nodded, and moved to stand up. Ezekial patted the young boy's head, and pointed off into the distance. That was where they were going. It would be a long ways away, but it was better than remaining here. Walking side by side, the pair walked off into the sunset, onto new and better horizons. One thing bothered him, though. Who was this "Red Rover", and why was he interested in this priest? He had heard the name once before, and he doubted that it would be his last.

He did not know that this "Red Rover" would be the cause of his fall.

- FIN -
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