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Flailing Ribbons [ Job / Nero ]

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1 Flailing Ribbons [ Job / Nero ] on 20/11/17, 01:57 am

Rain Eveque
50 | 250
Job:
Job Name: The Bandit Brothers
Job Rank: B
Job Location: Reim
Job Rewards: 200 XP|15,000 Huang
Job Overview: Three brothers have taken up banditry, skulking around taverns and preying upon the drunks that stumble out of them. Bring them to justice and you shall be rewarded.

Enemies:
Enemy Name: Leo
Rank: D
Needed damage to take down: D
Abilities: Small and quick, Leo is the youngest of the brothers. He uses a blowgun as a weapon and is usually the first to strike, attempting to paralyze or disorient his target.

Stun– Leo launches a blow dart from his blowgun, paralyzing whatever limb he hits for 2 posts.
Pain Split– Leo launches two blow darts from his blowgun in rapid succession, each causing D-tier damage upon impact. These darts are tipped with a poison that causes immense pain to the limb in question, halving a target’s speed.

Enemy Name: Baleno
Rank: D
Needed damage to take down: D
Abilities: The opposite of his brother Leo, Baleno is a very rotund man with more fat than muscle. He carries a club he can do D-tier damage with.

Whack– Baleno whacks an opponent’s head with his club in an attempt to knock them out, imparting C-tier damage.
Boom Boom– Baleno swings his club in a wild arc twice, each hit he lands imparting D-tier damage.

Enemy Name: Marco
Rank: B
Needed damage to take down: A
Abilities: Marco uses a spiked ball and chain that does B-tier base damage.

Swish- Marco swings his ball and chain around him, deflecting up to B-tier damage.
Squeeze- Marco wraps the chain of his ball and chain around an opponent’s limb, immobilizing that limb and imparting C-tier damage.
Snap- Marco swings his ball and chain around rapidly, imparting B-tier damage and knocking an opponent back 5 meters.


Blood. You smell blood. Fresh, dark blood. You glance down at your hands where a cool sensation grows. Red glares back at you. It drips to the knife in your hand. The handle has streaks of blood while the blade is consumed in scarlet. Your sight falters. You force your head up toward the nearby body. It's a horrid sight that makes you almost barf. You sway, disgust climbing your throat. You want to throw up. Vaguely you suspect something is off - you're fairly certain you're usually rather insensitive to such sights. But you are too distracted by the overwhelming horror coursing through your mind to wonder about it for long. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to look at the twisted and deformed body any longer.

The next time he opened his eyes, his back groaned - the stone road's hard surface trampling any chance for sleeping comfortably outside. He grimaced, and - pulling himself up - smashed his fist into the wall. With a flick of his hand he drew his weapon near. His eyes fluttered open and close many times out of sleepiness. Drowsily he staggered forward, his face troubled. He placed his hand on his forehead as if nursing a painful headache. Red bangs fell chaotically into his vision as he staggered out into the street. With messy red hair swaying across his eyes, his hand to his forehead, and an unorderly gait, others clearly took it all as a sign of his (supposed) drunken state. Though not drunk in the least bit, he appeared to be.

Perhaps in one sense he truly was drunk. Drunk off the effects of a staggeringly vivid dream he dreaded to think about. It confused him, and he found it overall disturbing for reasons he could not explain. Something akin to dread pooled in his stomach as he mentally reviewed the details of the dream. The details troubled him, and they followed him all across the town. His reaction in the dream unsettled him, for gore never phased him. So why then he dreamed of such an incident. One other thing also bothered him about the dream. He squeezed his eyes in an attempt to visualize the scene. Blood. Red. Hands. Knife- wait, hands! A child's hands held the knife. So… he experienced the emotions of a child, not him? But why did he dream of a child?

He sighed, exhausted of remembering yet unable to forget his dream. He needed beer, he decided. He dragged his feet to a nearby tavern, tiredly walked up to the bartender, and ordered a beer. With a beer in hand he plopped down on a stool to dowse down the beer. He quickly finished the first one, and, finding his mind still wandering, ordered another beer. By the time he staggered out the bar, he had doused his system in many bottles of beer. As a result, he barely managed to dodge the two darts which suddenly flew at him. He turned to face the trio and grinned. Though laden with drunkenness he spun quickly.

"How kind of you to offer yourselves up. Hehe, I've been quite bored y'know."

He staggered forward, using his spear to keep himself from falling.

539 | 1500
@Nero | na



Last edited by Rain Eveque on 23/12/17, 08:44 am; edited 1 time in total


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2 Re: Flailing Ribbons [ Job / Nero ] on 24/11/17, 04:26 am

Nero

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β-Tier
β-Tier
neroregis
Earlier in the day, Nero had decided to take a break from his rigid schedule of training and exercising to put his skills into practice some place other than the arena; he decided, for the first time, in a long time, to take up some work. He had picked up a request detailing a trio of brothers who would travel around taverns nearby and burgle drunkards who were unable to defend themselves. The work in question did not specify where exactly these thugs could be found- Nero assumed that based on their crimes he'd probably find them near a bar. He'd spent most of his time since accepting the request bar-hopping, hoping to catch a glimpse of their skulduggery such that they would be apprehended, but he was unlucky, and found nothing. He'd been given details on their appearances; he knew what to look for, but not where to find it. What a drag- he'd save a lot of time if he was told where they were, or if they had a specific hangout location. But they didn't, which led to the hunt.

He walked down the street. The midday sun beat down on the Fanalis' neck; he ran a hand through his crimson hair, relocating his digits to his forehead to provide a makeshift visor, shielding his eyes from the harsh light. He knew that there were a couple taverns around this stretch of the city. He looked up and down the area, and saw nothing; however, it was when he turned a corner that he met his quarry.

Three men, one skinny, one fat, and one in between, stood. Their backs were to the Fanalis fighter; they faced another man, who also bore flaming red hair. This man had a spear, and he seemed to be leaning on it to keep himself from falling. Nero had a feeling he'd found his marks- they matched the description in both appearances and actions. They'd found a drunk with whom to mess around, but it seemed that this boozer could defend himself.

"How kind of you to offer yourselves up. Hehe, I've been quite bored y'know."

This would be an interesting bout, for sure. Nero stepped closer to the trio, assuming they kept their attention on their own long-haired target. He stopped about 5m away from them, and spoke up.

Yo. Turn around.

The three men did; Nero stared the man in the center dead in the eye; he seemed to be the leader. This man looked at his two compatriots; one was skinny, clutching a blowdart in sweating palms. The other was rotund, grasped a blunt club tightly in one hand, and wore a slow expression on his face. This is going to be too easy, thought Nero. He figured he would wait for them to attack him before running in- making the first move was often a mistake that less-experienced combatants would suffer for. The leader of the punks acknowledged Nero, before he barked a command to his flanks, calling for that first strike.

Yo, yo, yoooo, redhead. You're interfering in our business here. Baleno, Leo- get rid of this punk for me,
y'all dig?


The two cronies looked at their leader, then looked at each other, and then looked at Nero, before nodding. Cracking his knuckles, the warrior opposite them smiled. He was ready to collect some reward money. The round man, Baleno, ran towards Nero with a roar, brandishing his blunt weapon, before swinging downwards to Whack at Nero's head. The Fanalis moved his head to the side and turned his body such that he would intercept the strike with his shoulder. The attack hurt him some, and would leave a bruise, but Nero shrugged it off, sneering at the fat man. Come on. Is that all you've got?

He chuckled, before shoving the man away; Baleno traveled back about 2 meters. The skinnier figure, Leo, brought his blowgun to his lips; Baleno dashed towards Nero again, attempting another attack. Nero simply grabbed the larger man's figure, repositioning his opponent such that Baleno was directly in front of him with his back to Leo. While Nero redirected his opponent, Leo had launched a single blow dart towards Nero, which hit the fatter man Baleno instead of its intended target, as the Fanalis had moved his attacker into the direction of the incoming dart. The projectile stuck itself into the larger thug's back. At this point, Baleno went slack, as the dart had been laced with paralytic poison. Nero slugged Baleno with a punch to the gut, before he let his target fall to the ground. Marco, the leader, was still facing the other man with the long, red hair; Leo glared at Baleno and focused his gaze on Nero once more. Nero made a hand motion towards the other thug, signaling for him to come forward and fight.

@TAG: SHORT NOTE
magoi | wordcount | stamina




814 words

Summary:

Used Trait:
Trait Name: Tower of Strength
Trait Tier: C
Trait Requirement: -
Trait Description: By undergoing intensive combat and endurance training, the character’s muscles and bones have grown strong, and his body more tolerant to pain.
Trait Effect: This character resists pain caused by abilities of C-tier and below. (Character still takes damage but can shrug off the immediate painful sensation caused by attacks.)

Executed 1x Basic Attack, dealing A-tier basic damage to Baleno. Baleno is KO'd.


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3 Re: Flailing Ribbons [ Job / Nero ] on 26/12/17, 10:35 am

Rain Eveque
50 | 250
---more to come. ill dm/ping ya when im done~

He blinked as a hazy cloud covered his eyes. Normally bright teal eyes swirled like a touch of cream infecting a dark and rich cup of coffee. One could stare into his eyes and find themselves completely trapped in his seemingly never-ending yet never-beginning eyes. Like an invisible trap, his seemingly harmless and dull eyes snared those who investigated those round, teal, cylinders for eyes. It snatched and held onto the attention sacrificed to the dull eyes, gradually growing more demon-like eyes every moment spoken and deliberated upon them. Fitting for a monster's eyes to resemble a demon's. Yet this monster moved deliriously, alcohol hanging down upon his legs and arms, restricting him. He growled in frustration. Shaking his head he resembled a wild bull trying to knock off a persistent pest. He dragged his feet forward, though a sudden throb of his head caused him to halt suddenly. He stumbled forward, barely avoiding a disgraceful trip. Though never one to bother about honor and pride, he probably would regard the fall as merely an accident. In his almost naive and simple-minded manner of thought, he never attributed adjectives pertaining to the social situation to actions. Brazen beyond a doubt - his faults both freeing and staggeringly poor in development.

Suddenly, his eyes gained a determined spark, and he rushed forward - only to fall on his face. When he lifted his head up, the sting from the air revealed he scraped his face. He touched it delicately to confirm, and indeed, he felt small patches of skin scraped away. Not enough scratches and scrapes to mar his child-like face, he supposed. What a pity. He rubbed his fingers on his forehead, muttering a remark of pain. Fitting of his inclination toward such common discomfort, he expressed it almost passively, treating it more of an observation than a proclamation. It almost seemed out of character for such a dramatic character as he, Rain Eveque, until one remembered the persona he treated others hid a dull and lifeless doll - the person, monster behind the flashy mask which he exuded.

But just as suddenly as he fell, the strangely enlightening moment dissipated. His passive expression turned downward. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned into a pout. He turned toward the red-haired man, his eyes brimming with fury. "What the hell are ya doin', ya' fuckin'..." He paused his loud tirade, and he turned his head in a manner similar to a confused puppy. Fuckin... fuckin… He turned his gaze inquisitorial, observing the newcomer to form a nickname for the man. Tall...Red hair...Fanalis - The tall fanalis part reminded him of that flamingo-like fanalis. Amatus. He almost smiled at the thought of the beautiful, angelic man. He sounded obsessed calling him an angel, but Rain could hardly care. Not when the man's mere presence brought a wave of frustratingly familiar emotions, yet foreign emotions all the same. Gods, he wished he could pester that damningly gorgeous man right now if only to bask in Amatus's alluring appearance. Something about the sight of Amatus caused the wild fanalis to experience a sudden wash of emotions. Though not yet as strong as most experienced emotions, for the first time in - well - forever, he felt something more than a barely present hum.

Other than reminding him of his dearest Amatus, he found himself slightly disgruntled at the 'tall' part. For some odd reason, these fanalises towered over him. He swore he managed to pull the short end of the stick. For whatever reason the gods (or perhaps but a singular god? - such details rarely crossed his mind) had, they created him as a short, child-like fanalis. Although, at the same time his tiny physique bore him the title of 'cute boy' or 'cute girl' by many. Sometimes, young, married women pass by him, pat his head, and called him a cute little boy. Sometimes younger women - more like teenagers - passed by and whispered to their friends, pointing at the adorably cute boy (him, obviously). More often than not, the men spoke of the 'cutie' passing by while leering at him without any subtlety. Their attention did serve to satiate his boredom on occasion - although only when he truly found himself of no other options. Otherwise, he tuned it out, his indifference toward the catcalling strange for any other but rather fitting for Rain.

His eyes flickered over the man one more time. They moved across the ridges and lines of the man's figure before finally stopping at his hair. He blinked at the daunting and spiky hair. Oh! He snapped his finger at Nero, grinning brightly. "Red Porcupine! Tha's what yer' are," he said. He crossed his arms smugly as if he intended to not accept any further arguments delivered about the matter of nicknames at hand.

An angry shout brings Rain's attention to the man who acted as the boss of the other two. He wielded a large spiky ball - kind of like Red Porcupine's spiky hair~ Just by eyeballing it, he suspected the spiked ball could rip through his skin, but not fatally so. He hoped his assessment landed neatly on target. It would be rather unfortunate if he found himself at the end of those spikes dead. No, he suspected it would put quite a damper on his fun. He could easily imagine his reaction to dying. While amusing in thought, he found himself inclined to not die, especially now, when he finally found an interesting plaything. His… pretty little plaything, Amatus. He wondered if the Flamingo-like fanalis would miss him if he died. How excruciatingly sentimental of him to say but somehow he couldn't stop himself from its allure.
WC | 1500
@ | na

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