10th NLBFT 1st Round Battles

[M. Hercule Poirot]

Tenth Annual NLBFT


TIME FOR ROUND ONE! FANNNNFARRE!

1. This will be judged by three people and have sixteen combatants. All round battles are in ONE TOPIC, such as “First Round” will be for the first set, and “Second Round” for the second, etc. This matches the most recent and also the most classic form for the NLBFT, as it was the first form used and also the most recent, as reinstated by SML.

2. This is for serious battlers only. I won’t restrict who joins and who doesn’t, but if you cannot write, do not join this very important event, for either judge or battler. By saying “Cannot Type”, I mean no spaces, punctuation, capitalization, etc. I would prefer that only seniors and vets join, but newbies of high skill level and regular members are just as welcome. It is a free forum, after all. Remember, this is a tournament of high pedigree, and you will likely be facing tough opponents, so do not expect to be baby treated. High quality posts will probably be a must from the judges, and you would do best to remember that.

3. There is a strict time limit. 60 hours is the usual before a half point is taken from the final score of thirty, and 24 more is another deduction, another 24 is another, and 24 more is possible elimination. Remember this, as it is standard, and complaints will only be considered if not simply whining. Also, reasons to have been absent are to be discussed by the judges as acceptable or not. If your computer explodes and you had no access to another, fine, but if you simply were too bored to try, it is elimination. It sounds retarded, but it isn’t. Trust me.

4. The judges word is final. I want to see good sportsmanship from the loser, and likewise from winner. I will be honest and tell you that if I lose my battle, I will not complain. Simply put, it is un-sportsmanlike and very dishonorable.

5. The first to post has battlefield choice. Make it something past generic, and give it some specialty and pizzazz. Not to say having an interesting battlefield is a rule, it’s just kind of useful.

Battle Only Rules:

1: No transforming or character switching, this is permitted only between rounds and is not to be done mid-battle for risk of deduction from the ever-present final score out of thirty. In other words, judges will judge on a scale of 1-10 and will at the end combine the scores of each judge for a single person into a final mass of thirty, as most of you know, but I know that some of you battlers are new to this and may need a heads up.

2: No healing, and this means any healing. As is known, many of your characters regenerate, but you will have to make an exception for this tournament as not to infringe this rule.

3. No god-moding, as this isn’t a damage based tourney, it’s performance based. God-moding is wrong, and as Wyborn said in his rule set, “You can be brutal without being cheap.” Remember that. Oh, and unleash hell. It’s fun to watch. J

That’s about it, we pretty much have everything covered. If I forgot something, point it out, please.

THIS TOURNEY ENDS ON MONDAY, NOVEMBER 20th. AFTER A WHILE TO SEE THE VERDICT OF THE JUDGES, WE START ROUND TWO, AND ETC. ETC.

Matchups:

Alpha Division:

Bartman vs. Alex
Super Mario Guy vs. Galefore
Repster vs. Acradius
Pixelated Penguin vs. Inferno Dragon


Beta Division:

KirbyBoy2000 vs. Malik
Death (State of Affliction) vs. T3hDarkness
X-3 vs. Selene Starblade
Rarus vs. Vapor


Judges:
Seat 1: Tazy
Seat 2: Wyborn
Seat 3: HotD

[M. Hercule Poirot]

Separate post to show my first battle post separately.

Alright, here we go. The battlefield is: Deluge Swamplands
Constantly raining and damp, this swampland is used for execution fights between a king’s prisoners. This is only one of many of a fat king’s execution areas, but it is a heralded battlefield.

The swamp. Buzzing sounds were everywhere, accentuated by croaks and chirps, along with odd groans and roars from antediluvian beasts. The ramshackle home of the monsters was incredibly well forested, although the canopy was nonexistent, allowing for a torrential rainstorm to fall. This storm was silent, all except for the swiftly dropping raindrops, and the jet-black clouds left the air quite gray and musty, fearsome and filled with a remorseful feel from possibly hundreds of deaths within the area. Anger also punctuated the land, as the doleful ‘expressions’ upon the trees seemed to harbor the shouts flung from the mouths of the dying, and the furious cries from the berserkers who dropped them to the ground.

Appearing from behind a tree and stepping into a heavy, murky, and overall slimy little pool in the midst of the swamp, and leaving a trail of black, crystalline ice, not nearly as peaceful looking as it’s clearer cousin, came the ice-arch-mage Erasmus, a shock amid the viscous layers of muck upon the trees, a peaceful beacon amid the vehement noises. The inimical dragonflies, which were two feet in length and bore a tree-melting poison, were buzzing around, drooling in a bothersome manner on Erasmus’s coat. Such foolish creatures, they realized not that they were toying with a man whose hatred was fierce and well warranted, his heart now completely nonexistent in his frozen chest. Within a moment’s time, Erasmus had drawn a hidden knife and made a clean cut in one of the flying pest’s heads, leaving it deformed and crumpled upon the ground.

The humid air was quite the hamper on the cold-blooded philosopher. There were several-hundred raindrops falling all about him, the static noise as they hit the water resonating continuously until it became so common that it was not so painfully droning as it was at first. It actually served to placate the ice-sage, and caused him to stare at the firmament above with a small hint of affection.

As not to squander away his time in being within this haphazard swamp, he quickly set to work building a shack in which he meant to take shelter. He crisscrossed vines, froze water into floors, and used his prowess in using his own blood as razor-sharp weaponry to create fitting boards and building material (He had brought the knife to cut open his own arm and to make these powerful tools with the arterial matter that henceforth was released). There was no longer need for the wetness around him to bother him, as a roof was over his plotting head in a little under an hour. He did not admire his work, nor even actually pay attention to it enough to care. It was reflexive of him to avoid overages of moisture, which he hated so.

Beyond all reason, Erasmus was a very gentle looking man, despite his fickle mind and unmitigated desire to destroy the earth. At this time, the spikes he commonly wore on his robe were gone, leaving only the light-blue, serene, and overall fitting robe as the only visible garment. Under the wet end of the robe, upon which the black-water had been soaking and saturating for the past couple of hours, there were spiked shoes, and he wore a kindly beard upon his chin, which stretched no more than an inch off of his face. He wore an unnatural shade of blue hair on his head, which was short as old-men’s hair goes, the beard mimicking this color. And, of course, in his hand he held the blue sword he had used to cut the tree into pieces, which steamed a cold smoke into the air. He stepped into the shelter he had made, forming a chair of ice, and sat down, awaiting an opponent.

The ice underneath him melted slightly every minute he waited. As this happened, the mage would slowly refreeze it, the paltry act of cutting his own arm punctuating every cold mist unto the ground. The enemy wasn’t quite prepared to meet the frozen blood ice crafter, also subsequently known as the blood crafter, and Erasmus knew that his unique talent and race would be a good surprise to shock his foe.

How does Erasmus know an enemy is soon to come, one may ask himself as he reads this description. Erasmus knows this because he is to be featured in a gladiatorial match with a foe selected by an angry king. This foe is in the same rut that Erasmus is in: He doesn’t quite know why he has been selected, nor does he know this king. Also, for some reason, they have been transported to this odd land, and given a very cryptic and ancient battlefield to work with-this very swamp that now Erasmus had temporarily crafted an abode. Such a battle would lead to perhaps the most ability that Erasmus had ever shown, his scowl maybe for once turning into a cunning smile…

[BrandonTragedy]

posting now.
Battle Ground Maze of Beyond.
Large maze consisting of mostly dead ends, and only one way out, and only one way in. In order to be thrown into the great maze, you pretty much have to be caught off guard, and lost, in a large deserted area, and perched by a bird that, some one would never want to touch. The air reeks of flesh as what was once great fighters who failed to escape the grasps of the maze, but this would turn into the sight of a great battleground. This would end one life, and only stick a dent in the other.

Affliction was thrown from the sky at an extreme speed, by what seemed to be a large bird like mammal, he had been out looking for a fight in the desert of no name. A large black bird swept him up just when he thought he was lost, he passed out along the way. He awoke flying in the air. He landed in sand and nothing but sand, and started to sink. "No!" Screamed out Affliction but was swallowed whole by the sand before he could finish his sentence. Sand, sand every where, and it was no better for him as he sank more and more into the deep depths of sand. As soon as he was about to give up he found his feet hanging out of something, sooner his legs were in air, and then his head, he fell a story. he landed on more sand but just a little as rock was under him.

Afflicition looked around and saw no one. He did not know where he was or where he had been, He wondered how he had gotten there and had no clue what to think. There were several walk ways in which he could see that he had a chance to escape. But he looked around more. he saw what he feared most. Bugs.... A large worm like thing was climbing his leg. He tore out the sword of Sahiro and cuts it head off, blood squirt from the weird animals head.

Affliction looked at the two doorways closely, two doors he though to him self, could mean the difference of life and death. Sand leaked from the ceiling on to afflictions head. He put the sword back into it's case, not ablaze. A sudden ice cold feeling crept up his back. He realized he could not live any longer, it wasn't the death part that scared him. He looked up and saw sand leaking on his eyes. Affliction was blinded and wiped his eyes. It took a moment for him to get the sand out of his eyes. Affliction was for one of the first time in his life scared, well it's the first time since his father died, he thought to himself.

Affliction walked forward into the passageway on the right and saw long yellow stredy brick walls... Affliction thought to him self, "hey, maybe I can just bust through. HE ran forward and jumped at the wall while drawing the sword of Sahiro, He swung the the great sword at the wall, but hit the wall head on. The sword merely bounced back. Weak he thought to himself. "not even a crack" said Affliction annoyed.

"this could be hard" thought Affliction to himself. Affliction just had begun to get annoyed as he had no idea what was ahead of himself. Affliction stood up as he was reflected on the ground, obviously the walls were protected by some magic of some sort. Affliction hoped that it all wouldn't be this hard. After all, he was a great fighter. " I can get out of here alive just like that" said affliction to himself. "Hmgff" he said and puffed up his shoulders and stride back into the room that he had came from. "now, to find out what Path to take."

Afflicition looked into the the opposite path. It was darker, and was barely lit by the candle that had lit the rest of the rooms. Afflicition walked into this path not knowing what was ahead. Fear started to come back, as soon as he saw the walls that was very ragged, and torn. But he realized what the hell. he jumped forward and swung the blade, only to find himself thrown back. He was thrown further back than last time. even further ahead he walked, eventually there were no candles at all. "damn" he though to himself. He then set the sword of Sahiro ablaze. He walked through the hall that was lit by little more than his blade.

[t3hDarkness]

(I took too long to hit the submit button I suppose. The maze has it.)

Weeks ago Chase Alphonse had been sent to destroy a cabal of cultists to Zagan. The mission was simple enough, use his unique powers to ambush a cultist, steal his face, set traps along the way, and personally kill the prophet and his entourage. Again, a very simple mission, but just maybe the cult did have some inkling of true power.

He always knew that curiosity would be his downfall. Instead of a man in the Prophet’s chamber, he found a book, a worn manual written in an ancient script unfarmilliar to the sage. As he started flipping through the worn pages, the world around him began to fade, or at least his consciousness did.

He awoke in a dark hoom half buried in sand and felt as if he had been kicked in the ribs. He stood up brushed himself off and created a 3 inch array to emit light and found the book casually resting on top of a small pile of sand. Brass Knight flipped through it for a while, but the pages appeared blank. and search the nearby area. A solid stone wall was behind him and stone stone above, leaving him with only froward.

Forward, wires reaching forward to search forward for traps and creatures, “Books really can takle you anywhere, I think.”

[BrandonTragedy]

uh... Do you want to use mine or yours, I'll let you decide.

[M. Hercule Poirot]

You posted first, death, so your battlefield should be used. Any objections, TD?

[BrandonTragedy]

I'll let him choose, since it was close.

[M. Hercule Poirot]

You already have such a good intro, though...

[Irby]

More rain came down as a mysterious cloaked person came out of some bushes.What was his reason to be here today? He stopped and just looked off in the distance,then drew a sharp sword.The mysterious person kept moving forward.Then quickly stopped when he saw a man or so he thought.
The cloaked person who isnt even a person at all is named Irby.He is a Shade.His sword was more powerful then it looked.It had a strange power that Irby could use to his benefit.Irby seemed to have a hatred for this "man".
Would he attack or would he continue moving?

[M. Hercule Poirot]

^I'll have a reply to that tomorrow. Warning: It's long, and your character will only slightly retaliate, as I don't know much about him from your bio. Your next post can be as brutal as you like.

[BrandonTragedy]

Im going to edit my intro to make it longer, is that ok?

[Irby]

Just as long as the fighting starts Gale.

[M. Hercule Poirot]

Hmm, only a few of us have checked in to note our presense... *waits* I'm truly excited about this event.

Good luck to all, and Judges, have fun judging!

[KirbyBoy2000]

OOC: Here's my character, since I don't know how to link it as one word in the text or any of that fancy stuff. http://www.vgf.com/forums/342812-post250.html

Battlefield - Torath

An ancient city on a world known as Ossimur which is shrouded endlessly by sandstorms. It is sheltered from the outside world by large rock spires, which form a wall surrounding most of the city. The city is made of hundreds of buildings, built out of stone, and contains various passages along the walls throughout the city. The city is long since been deserted, however the city still holds strong. One can almost hear the spirits of its fallen citizens as the wind passes through its walls


The city lays silently. What once was a thriving town, is now reduced to a desolate ruin. No one has graced this land for countless years, it is just a dark shell of its former glory. However, beyond the colossal stone walls that surround the city, a wanderer walks.

He steps through an opening, leaving the harsh desert storm, into the sanctuary of the lost city. He throws aside a tattered cloak, and hastily begins to scale down the side of the city's walls, landing on the top of a building made of stone. He is in simple clothing, blue pants and a blue vest, however, in this dark domain where the sun can only reach so far into the city beyond the walls, it all appears black. Though in dark clothing, he is not completely invisible. On his right arm there is an odd shield, which seems to glimmer slightly, even when light does not touch it.

The man looks out from his perch atop the building. He can barely make it out, but he feels that he is not alone, that there is someone, or something else within these ruins.

[Josh123]

Battlefeild-A dark forest
A forest that has been said to hold many great battles.Some of the greatest warriors have died here.They say that The ghost of warriors still walk on the very ground of this forest.The tree's make a interesting fighting Envirment.

A fog set, and A chill hit the air.All of a sudden the forest was dark and I figure came out form the Darkness and fog.
The figure was dressed in black and he was dressed like a druid.
He was had a machette in his arm,He took off his Robe and showed his face.
The warriors name is killer.
"Rest In Peace" is what he said.
He put his hands in the air and lighting came down and struck a tree making the forest Come out of athe darkness.
Killer had a Machette that was so sharp at the end that it could cut through bones like butter.
He had a Long chain that is over 10 feet long.

[Lorem Ipsum]

OOC: Inferno, this is the penguin dude you're fighting against. Apologies for the brevity of this post; I'm pretty inexperienced gunjin-wise.

Edit: Okay... now that Bartman has just changed his battlefield into a forest, this would make three battlefields set in a forest. I don't this fight to be that generic. You may pick the battlefield.

[Bomby von FACEville]

OoC: Yay, I get to fight someone who registered around the same time I did. We've probably battled before and forgot about it. As is typical of me, I have changed my mind at the last minute. The character I am using is Lady Snowblood, the second battler in this post. I don't think I've ever fought as a female character before, so this should be... interesting to say the least.

The wind howled in the sandstorm outside the city of Torath like one would hear in a horror movie. Never one to be deterred, Yuki trudged through the sand, with her mind only on getting to her destination. Though she is lost, she finds a small fraction of hope when she sees the walls surrounding the city, hoping that maybe inside she would be able to find someone who could give her directions to the city she was looking for. However, this hope is dashed when she enters the ghostly interiors. Instead of finding people, she only senses the haunting desolation of a city that was once lively, now emptied by... something. Possibly famine. Maybe war. The possibilities are endless. She swears she can hear the screams of millions of restless souls. Being a child of the netherworlds herself, she is not at all scared or discomforted by the presence, simply disappointed that she has not found what she is looking for.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a man of medium height with hair almost as long as hers. Feeling unsafe all the sudden, she puts her hand on the end of her umbrella, which doubles as a sheath for her sword and approaches slowly. Her eyes show no emotion as she stares the stranger down and slowly begins to pace sideways, like a boxer in slow motion. The stare she gives the man is as haunting as the city itself, but the man seems undeterred. She gets a strange gut feeling that she should not trust this man, and slowly begins to unsheath her katana.

[Acradius]

((OOC: Heyas Rep. Battlefield will be... naval for a change. Also, let's put our other fight on hold until this one's finished, m'kay? I'll edit this into a proper post once the headache goes away. *Pops perscription IB Proufin*))

(OOC: <Brackets like these are translated from Japanese.>))


The fleet surged onwards, exploding through the pounding surf. All the soldiers, from the lowest, wrench-slinging mechanic to the most decorated Captain in this branch of the Japanese navy, were on edge. The campaign against China had already started, with them seizing former Manchuria, now named Manchuko. Their plan was to launch a feint at the Marco Polo Bridge using their land forces from the newly-conquered province. Nobody in the Chinese military would expect a surprise attack from the west, aimed primarily at Shanghai and Peking. Yes, the plan was flawless. They were running without much air support, owing to the fact that much of their fleet was still home, being prepared for the most bold move of the Empire's war, attacking the slumbering giant that was the United States of America.


The Captains knew their crews and pilots and soldiers were damn anxious. After all, it had been ages since any of them saw shore leave. No good food, no alcohol, and no women. The Chinese city of Nanjing was where they would fix that problem, but that was after their work was done. For now they had to concentrate on getting there. Which brought the head captain's eyes back to the map. He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow and turned to his navigation officer. “<How much longer until our planes are in range?>”


The younger man almost leaped out his chair, he was so startled at being directly addressed. Even though it was the tenth time in the last hour his Captain had asked him that same question. Things were just that tense. “<Approximately five minutes until they can make a one-way trip sir, twenty to thirty until round trips.>”


The Captain eyed his officer with an annoyed visage, and glared at his watch. What he would have given to speed up time.


At that exact moment, the usual shuddering hum of the warship's engines stopped dead. Power flickered out, though it was still bright enough to see by the light of day. The same couldn't be said for the lower decks. “<What the hell just happened?!>”


His engineering officer stated the obvious rather well. “<I don't know sir, the power just got cut somehow, not just the main, but the emergency power as well.>”


The lookout from the balcony in front of the bridge poked his head in. “<Sir, all ships in the fleet have reported a power outage!>”


The once-anxious Captain was now furious. “<Dammit, do something about it!>” Five minutes later, something was done about it. The efficiency of the Japanese crew was something to be marveled at. All ships reported that the primary fuel lines had been disconnected. Made for a mess and an inconvenience, but not much else. The emergency batteries were just unhooked as well. “<Signal the other ships, tell them to re-start their engines and commence full speed ahead.>” The most decorated member of the staff in the fleet reached down to his keys to fire up the great turbines that powered his ship, only to find them suddenly missing...


Ka-clink! The massive key ring was full to bursting. Ka-clink! They made a most satisfactory, and amusing sound when they landed in his metal-gloved palm. Ka-clink! But Acradius Journeyman had better things to do than sit around tossing keys about. With a sigh, he gave them one final toss. Ka-plop! Right into the drink. He spoke, knowing not a damn person on board the ship would understand him, save one. “So... shall we have some fun here?”

[Repster™]

Ooc: Heh... You to huh? Course... I usually only eat your average advils (regular, extra strength, liquid, doesn't matter.) like candy and tough out the damned pain, no prescriptions for me. S'annoying when it gets to the point on inducing vomit though... but meh. Only one more thing I've gotten used to...

"Tch, stopping a war? Now now, Acradius. That's not very nice. If men wish nothing more the to kill each other, so be it." The voice was what he would expect to hear from a man speaking out from the raging inferno of a burning house. What it came from was somewhat different. He stood there completely ignoring the heaving of the ship as easily as any vernerable sailor, but sailor he did not look like. No shirt, no shoes, no service should, but did not apply to this one. The Time warrior doubted anybody would refuse service to a man with a golden eye, an eye that belonged to a beast more then a human. A man with a long scar that cut him neatly in half from the top of his head, just abovehis left eye, and Acradius could tell that even as it went under his right ribs it kept going around to his back. His head was topped with messy, long but short, blood red hair was at the mercy of the sea breeze, or rebelled against it. It was hard to tell If the breeze went left, so did some of his hair, but some went left, and some did not even seem to be touched.

He wore a thick belt of leather, it seemed to be from a rather large reptilian creature just by the shear thickness and look of it. An ornate silver belt buckle in the shape of a dragon rested on it, not seeming to do anything but be there. Matching silver rings adorned the belt and all but one held a pouch attached. The last held a flask, again silver, this one above his right hip, nestled comfortably in the folds of his loose silk tousers. Those trousers where as white as freshly fallen snow.

His right arm held what was first looked like a tattoo, then was a marking of unknown origin. No ink could replicate a serpentine gold dragon spiraling around an arm in such life like detail. It almost looked like it was about to come off and fly around. Aside from that and the already mentioned, the eye patch with an unknown rune was down right mundane. Although good, his build was nothing to impressive. Until one considered just what this man was. How he stood. Why the motion of the sea did not bother him in the slightest. This man, even with the crazed look in his eye, he was a monk. He body was well toned, broad shouldered, and built for speed, agility, performance, and most of all efficiency. Those obvious muscles, yet nothing to brag about, might as well been the size of a body builders all things considered. Then there was the fact that he was there. Just that made him more dangerous that any of the war machine they stood on.

"So tell me, can you swim in that armor?" His fist smashed into the metal beneath they're feet, and it rippled away from him. The ripple sent Acradius up into the air, where a leaping monk's fist struck him square in the jaw and down he went.
"MAN OVERBOARD!"
The crazed monk cackled out. He lept over the side both hand between his extend legs ad they landed on Acradius that had just been about to fly back up ready to counter. His palms cradled the taller man's head.
"I am Aidan Dreiks child. When I say man overboard I MEAN IT!"
Journeyman had barely an instant before his head exploded. Or rather, there was an explosion of raw fire on the top of his head, but it felt rather like the same thing. This time, he had no controle on his fall.

SPLASH

Aidan landed back on the deck gracefully, putting swans and cats to shame. He took a swig of his flask and waited, the smirk already on his face in full force. This would be fun.

[Sarai and Samiel]

Momentum.

The inertial nature of an object.

Wherever the hell this was, there was plenty of it.... and seemingly, no gravity.

The 'area', for lack of a better word, was vaguely spherical, if hollow- a space of about seven thousand feet from the 'inner sphere' of strange, green clouds and the 'outer sphere' of equally odd, porridge-like gray clouds. In the space in between... a 360 degree asteroid belts. Rocks ranging in size from bits of sand up to things that would compose entire mesas on their own, were they to be found on Terra- which this was definitely not.

Of all of this, only one part could be considered to show any sign of the impact of life. And that was only based upon a relatively easy assumption.

After all, large flat rocks in the shape of a perfect pentagon aren't exactly commonly occurring natural phenomena, even in the layer of a gas giant where 'air' pressure and gravity equalize out. The slab of reddish-brown stone seemed to flip constantly, if very slowly, in a small round space with no smaller rocks or stones in it of any size. And-

It held a body. Not to say that there was a body within it, or that it was grabbing onto that body somehow. No, she seemed to be pressed into continuing flips with it by the simple fact of its presence against her back.

Hair trailing the circle of her motion, she remained spread-eagled against the stone. One limb each pointed at the points of the pentagon- hands... feet......tail.

It was almost a serene scene, indigo scales against ruddy rock, spinning eternally in silence. Locks of sky-blue hair trailing and fluffing slightly. Her thin lips were slightly parted, smallish eyes closed, thin, hawklike nose marking the center of a slightly squarish face. Two small horns marked her forehead over her eyes, and a third the spot between her brows. A heavy, thick torso bore a padded gray vest for covering, slightly curled hands covered by matching fingerless gloves. Closely-fit military-formal pants showed that her legs held more than enough power to move her heavy boots, shaped for feet that were obviously nonhuman, broader and shorter- or rather, toes, her legs clearly placing weight on the balls and digits of her feet. Her tail was likewise thick and heavy, unadorned.

Then, someone came.

One eye opened, large and orange, slit-pupiled. Her nostrils flared slightly, then she opened the other eye and sat up- or tried.

The slab was nearly ten feet across and she'd covered a good portion of that, stocky even in size. It shouldn't come as too much of a surprise that the slab, which would have weighed nearly a full ton in Terran gravity, started smoothly floating off the other way, its spin reversed and far slower.

For the huge woman- she couldn't have stood less than seven feet upright,- she spun slowly in the air, gradual, careful shifts of arms and legs resulting in her facing the slab she had inhabited- if one could call it that. A shift that revealed the bony protrusion hidden by her hair before, one ringing about her skull from jawline up to the highest part of the back, extended to nearly reach her shoulders. A good protection even if it did make looking 'up' a bit more difficult.

Booted feet impacted rock softly, knees and ankles flexing, and she crouched on a boulder, still drifting away from the slab she had been against... at the same speed she had been moments before touching rock. No featherweight this.

One hand reached behind her back, and pulled out a thing like a double-edged axe-blade, but without a handle, instead constructed so that she might grip the center and swing her own fist for a woodchopper. Her left hand went to the rock, thick fingers gripping at it lightly.

"...who comes?"