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| Viewing Single Post From: All for One and One for a Brawl | |
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| Orion de Lacey | Jun 9 2009, 11:09 AM |
Governor of Ashoka
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Orion was vaguely aware of the arrival of another, but that other did not seem to want to interfere. For that reason, and that reason only, he didn't pay them any heed. It was also likely that, after this particular killing spree, his bloodlust would be satiated. Then it would be time to run, as he'd have every available guard in Ashoka who wasn't involved in some petty war with a bunch of overgrown tribesmen and an equally overgrown king on his heels. Even now his penalty would likely be death if he were caught, and as much as he would have liked to have slaughtered a hundred or two hundred men and women, it was physically not within his means. Especially here, where the sun blotted out all darkness and there was very limited moving air. The first two guards moved forward, the more headstrong ones of the group. They launched themselves at him, wielding their spears with obvious proficiency. Not one to just stand around and defend, Orion met them halfway. If there was one thing that half the world seemed to do, it was underestimate not only what he was capable of, but also that having a second blade attached to an otherwise normal scythe meant twice the damage would be dealt. These men, clearly, had never dealt with a double-sided weapon wielded by a maniac who was a tad lighter on his feet than most. The black-headed blade bit into the first man, tearing through his chest like it was parchment, and, with a shift in direction, the white-headed blade, using its own momentum, carried itself into his groin. The air was bit by a piercing scream as it lodged into the guard's pelvis. Orion kicked out, using the man's abdomen as a means of re-obtaining his weapon. The scythen tore through the guard's body. He dropped to the ground, his pelvis shattered, his organs sliding through the hole that had been made through his abdomen. He didn't have very long to live. There was a flurry of movement. The remaining four guards who hadn't decided to jump into the frenzy did so now, along with the fallenn's companion, the one who had froze at the sight of his friend being maimed. The fighter could see the terror in their eyes. They weren't just dealing with a normal, crazed man. No, indeed. They were dealing with a beast. For Orion movements came in near-slow motion. Perhaps it was because he was used to the dizzying movements of the air currents and the feeling of it around his body, or perhaps because, to be successful with a heavy polearm, his mind was always working to keep one step ahead of others', and usually was. Fancy footwork went a long way. As the men rushed him in the hopes of overwhelming, Orion retreated a few steps, his breathing laboured but his eyes alight with the hunt. Once he had assessed the situation, he re-entered the fray. His lust was at its peak, and he'd be damned if he would be denied. The resolve of the men had withered since they had initially engaged him. Where they had once felt confident that they could subdue him, they now only bothered to fight because they knew that if they didn't and Moghul caught wind of it... well, they wouldn't live to see another sunrise anyway. Realy, there was no way to avoid death now. Several weapons gleamed in the hot sunlight, casting ugly glares. Sweat matted hair to faces, clothes to body, dripped off of bare and covered arms alike; it ran down the sides of faces, into eyes, mouths, ears. Sometime during the middle of the brawl Orion had managed to shift the chain around his waist to his right arm. He had wound it around it and each time a spear came down in a pitiful attempt to wound him, it was deflected with ease. The wind, too, had become an issue, for it seemed to have a mind of its own, blowing hair into the eyes of the guards, obscuring their sight. Eventually, the clang of a spear against chain or scythen began to diminish. Some were unarmed, some were hacked to pieces, others simply dropped their weapon; one fled. By the end of it, whether by severed tendons, massive lacerations, missing fingers or near-missing limbs, four living men were hunched on the ground, coated in blood, cowering in pools of their own life source. One was on the verge of dying; the first man to have fallen was already dead. Orion stood in the midst of them, the lust slowly leaving his eyes. He was gasping. Covered in blood both his own and theirs, he turned to stare at each man in turn. All of them were wounded and all of them were in a great deal of pain. Rather than finish them off, as was usually his wont, Orion left them to their own devices. What did he care if they lived or died, if they could stand to fight another day or perished upon their battlefield? Smiling devilishly, like a harmless, mischievous imp who had only played a minor prank, the fighter bolted. Bloody footprints followed him; the squelching sound slowly dissipated. Behind him, he was quite pleased with the carnage he had left. When someone stumbled upon that particular street, they would find nought but gore. He didn't feel at all sorry for the poor bastard who would have to wash the red street clean. The scythen made its way to his back. He brushed by the stranger who had stood to watch the scene. Orion's head tilted back to glance back at the other, watching him for a moment, before his eyes swung forward. Darting around a corner and then another, to an alley, the fighter, with ease, hauled himself up a long wall of hanging vines, to the rootop above. Gasping for air, he fell onto his bottom once at the top and ran his bloody fingers through his hair. Out of unconscious habit his weapon had been removed from his back and had been placed beside him. Orion unwound the chain from his arm, holding it in his hands. He had a few wounds, a few gashes here and there, but nothing serious. Nothing like what he had done to those men. Nothing at all. |
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