Page 2 of 4

Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2005 4:17 am
by Cry'Havoc
- This might be a good time to add that, in this rp, if you do something that should get you killed, unless you can come up with a pretty damn good explanation, your character will die. If the Cainians were to capture the caravan, for instance, and bring it back to one of their village-states, a single man fighting his way out does not stand a chance. -

Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2005 3:48 pm
by capt_tightpants
-There are 19 Cainians not including The Brown Man and his brother the Chameleon-

The Brown Man smiled manically as he tore in to the first wagon of the caravan, smashing one of it's front wheels even as he climbed up it to get at the two men on the drivers bench. For now only he and Whitetail had made it to the wagons, but from further up the mountain Goldeye was letting loose with his powerful bow and his father Longtooth, the oldest and most experienced man in the pack, was fast approaching at a dead run, his long white mane trailing behind him.

Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2005 5:46 pm
by Cry'Havoc
He had been jailed for two weeks on a crime he did not commit. He had been gouged out of the last of his money.
And now, he was going to be killed by a pack of mongrels?

Not today.

With a sneer, the man slipped his hand down to his belt, a silvery blade fixing in the joint between each finger. Then, in one fluid motion, he reached his free arm up to the handrail in the ceiling, and jerked his body up and forward, pushing off in a flying kick.

His feet extended, he flew through the closed metal door of the carriage, the rusted hinges giving way with a quick snap. The one called Whitetail fell beneath the solid door, the steel handle impaling his chest. A knife-bearing fist slammed into the surprised Cainian's face through the curtained window of the door, silencing his shocked scream.

His head snapped up, his pose that of a cougar who had just downed his prey. He took a quick inventory of the situation - a small pack. One leader, probably a Chieftain's son by the look of him, assailing the front of the caravan. Arrows peppered the ground, suggesting at least a single archer. A dozen or more most likely in the surrounding area, and their attack would be lightning fast.

And amidst the confused, milling, slow-to-arm caravans, no less than twenty supply-loaded horses.

His decision was instantaneous. With military precision, he bounded alongside a wild-looking stallion who was already making a break for the hills behind them, slicing at the rope holding the animal to the wagon. He slipped the knives into his belt before pulling himself atop the trained beast, kicking it into a gallop and holding tight to the chestnut mane. He thanked the Gods above that the horse didn't try to throw him, instead bolting for the exit.

All the while, his eyes scanned the gorse and sagebrush, ready at a moment's notice to unleash a volley of blades.

Posted: Wed Sep 21, 2005 1:41 pm
by capt_tightpants
The Brown Man saw one of the prey kill Whitetail, he snarled in fury but knew that he could do nothing, two more of his brethren were close enough to stop the fleeing man both of them were hulkiing brutes, not very fast but imensely strong. The two angled towards the man.
In the meantime The Brown Man Hopped to another wagon, disabling it with a blow to the tounge before overwhelming the passengers. And all around the perimeter his family was assaulting the wagons.

Since no one stepped up to play the order...

Posted: Thu Sep 22, 2005 9:40 pm
by Cry'Havoc
Izaea saw the brutes moving to cut him off, his fists gripping the course hair of his stallion as if to will it to greater speeds.

Then, he saw something that actually sent a bolt of fear through him.

In the sage and gorse littering the hill, he caught a glimpse of black cloth...

... and the dull sheen of a wasteland blade, catching the moonlight with almost too much darkness.

The Order.

He cursed his luck, jerking back, trying to slow the horse's breakneck pace. He barely held on as the Stallion bucked, rearing back, Its panic-widened eyes rolling in it's head. One hand darted to first his jacket, then to his face, deftly tying the dark metal dust shield about his mouth and nose. The hexagonal panel, designed to protect the face from whirling sands, concealed his features from the cheekbones down, leaving just a one-inch thick strip of skin visible about the eyes.

The horse pranced in uneasy circles, its hooves striking the ground with sharp blows, raising a small dust cloud about its ankles. The man sat atop it, his posture rigid and his arms ready.

Be it Pent or Cainian,

Someone wasn't going to leave him be without a fight.

Posted: Fri Sep 23, 2005 6:51 am
by Talon Sinnah
One of the brown men torre into his stage coach. Drake was able to block the massive club the man held but took the second blow in the opposite shoulder. He was able to deflect it mostly taking minimal damage. When he unsheathed his katana he was able to make a decent sized gash in the weapon, and deliver a smallinjury to the man.

Posted: Sat Sep 24, 2005 5:42 pm
by capt_tightpants
The Brown Man looked down to his arm, shocked, then looked back to the man standing before him and grinned his trademark grin. He raised his club and grabbed for his opponents sword with his free hand.

All around the pair fighting atop the coach, the caravan had erupted in chaos, the guards were trying to put together some semblance of a defense against the attack but the traders all tried to flee, many of them found thier wagons disabled in some way, the only sign that the chameleon had been among them.

The two large Cainians threw themselves with reckless abandon at the man in the mask who sat on the wild stallion.

Posted: Sat Sep 24, 2005 10:45 pm
by Ranryu
After watching with apparent fascination Cravish laid still as one of the attackers came to finish him off.

The attacker raised his club over his head looking to kill the Shotgunner with a good skull crushing smiling he brought his club straight down.

Cravish opened his eyes in time to see the club begin it's descent raising the pistol up he pulled off one shot, and watched in aw as the club exploded into splinters and the attackers head split wide before he fell to the side.

With Wide eyes Cravish stared at the gun and then kissed it as he placed it into his holster.

Posted: Sun Sep 25, 2005 4:33 pm
by Ranryu
Standing Cravish decides to save the ammo he has and use the sword he is carrying instead.

Turning he has just enough time to block a second club with his blade. The force of the blow caused him to stumble backwards and fall over the corpse occupying that area. As he fell his leg impacts the corpse sending his foot up between the attackers legs. Before Cravish could make out what happened the attack drops his club in preferable to grab his injured anatomy with a simple swish of his sword the attacker's throat opened up and soon his eyes remained unfocused.
Regaining his footing Cravish almost fell again as he laughed at the irony that had just played out.

Posted: Tue Sep 27, 2005 1:43 pm
by Talon Sinnah
Drake jumped back dodging the man's grab for his sword then got into a defensive stance as he waited for the man to make the next move.

Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 4:29 pm
by Ranryu
Stopping in his well deserved laugh he sniffed the air with a scowl as he looked about after a minute or two he finally lifts his cloak and takes another sniff. just as he inhales his face hits the ground leaving him planted.

Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 7:26 pm
by Cry'Havoc
With the order in the Hills, he couldn't afford to use military moves... and with the brutes bearing down on him, he couldn't afford not to.


He looked back over his shoulder, judging the distance between the charging men. With a quick kick, he spun his body off of the side of the horse, letting it run of it's own will, now. His arms tucked in, one hand rising to hold his hat on his head. He controlled his fall, coming to a stop in a crouch off to the left; The momentum the men had attained would make them have to pause considerably to turn, buying him precious seconds which he used to draw his own wasteland blade, sliding from it's sheath at his leg.