Simon (mysticjuicer) wrote in roleplayers,
Simon
mysticjuicer
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I Will Never Think A More Awesome Thing In My Life:

It was hot enough to make Pelor sweat, Thomad thought. He pulled his sweat soaked armor away from his chest and prayed that a breeze, or a shred of wind, would wind its way into the castle courtyard. Alas, it seemed the Granite Keep was as impregnable to assault from relief from the sticky summer weather as to an Orc warhost. Thomad looked with envy at his fellow guards, on break and determinedly drinking themselves into insensibility. He looked hopefully to the sundial's shadow, which hadn't crept more than a quarter of the way across his allotted time at the gate. He pulled his armor away from his chest again, and gave a silent prayer for whatever god was responsible for clouds as a shadow fell on his face.
He started in shock at the black robed stranger in who's shadow he realized he was standing, and was thankful that his flush of embarrassment was probably hidden by his sunburned face. "Uh, didn't see you there," he ventured. The stranger smiled condescendingly, his eyes hidden under the cowl of his heavy robes. That the man managed to look comfortable under that much black cloth, Thomad almost couldn't believe. He rested a sweaty palm on the pommel of his longsword, and shielding his eyes against the sun's punishing glare with his hand, made out another figure in black - a woman, maybe - slightly behind the man. "Peace be on our meeting," Thomad said. "Enter and be welcome, but for god's sake take off your coats. You must be made of ice to travel so. I'll take any weapons you carry, for we don't-"
Before he could finish, the man threw open the folds of his cloak. He wore a vicious pair of hand crossbows holstered at his sides, two braces of polished throwing daggers crossed his chest not quite concealing a pair of oddly curved axes somehow strung about his waist. A shortsword was sheathed at his side. "God's wounds!" Thomas whispered, and then his feet left the ground with the man's open handed strike. He gasped painfully for breath, but his lungs refused to work. Through quickly dimming vision he watched the black-clad woman's hands blur as she put a half-dozen crossbow quarrels into Kalen's chest at thirty feet. And then Thomad drowned on his own blood at the Granite Keep's gate.

The Matrix: a Paragon-level game of 4th Edition Dungeons and Dragons.
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