Heroes, Great and Mighty (Exalted x World of Darkness)
- Thread starter JayTee
- Start date
- Crossover
Story Post 13
[x] Accept the Favor Trade
"Alright, I'll help you out, but no bullsh-" Malcom stopped and glanced at Maggie. "No funny business, alright?"
Abigail rolled her eyes. "I said it wouldn't be anything crazy." She said. "Give me your number. I'll call you tonight when I need you."
They exchanged contact information and Abigail left soon after. When she had faded from sight, Malcom took a deep breath to calm himself down. His fight or flight response had kicked in to high gear when Abigail had confronted him. It had been a bad flashback to living with mom.
Maggie's reaction had been far more extreme. She was still clinging to him, trembling and refusing to let go. Whatever abuses mom had been willing to throw at him, it had always been worse for Maggie because of how much younger and smaller she had been. It wasn't for the first time that Malcom felt a pit of guilt in his stomach for moving out as soon as he could. It had only been a few months, but living with mom by herself must have been hell.
Malcom carefully pulled away from Maggie, lowering himself to her eye level and holding her hand. "Are you going to be okay?" He asked, giving it another comforting squeeze. "Did she scare you?"
Maggie nodded mutely.
"I'm sorry Maggie, this is my fault. I'll make sure to keep her away from you, alright?"
"Okay." Maggie said in a small voice. Malcom moved to give her a hug, and was relieved when she let it happen. They stayed like that for a few moments before Malcom stood back up and lead her back to his car, her hand still in his.
Later that evening, Malcom made sure that Maggie knew his cell number before heading out to meet with Abigail. He gave her explicit instructions that she was to call him if there was any trouble at all, and that he would come home as soon as he could.
"How's your sister?"
It was the first thing out of Abigail's mouth when he met her in the shipping port. Large warehouses loomed over them, casting shadows in an already dark evening. It was a full moon tonight, but the cloud cover was so dense that the sky may as well have been pitch black.
"She's fine. Shaken, but she'll recover." Malcom said as he locked his car door. "So what are we doing here, then?"
Abigail looked like she wanted to inquire more about Maggie, but picked up the hint Malcom was dropping and changed the topic.
"We're meeting with some Changelings who managed to escape the Fae recently and are looking for a safe place to hide in Boston." She said as they began to walk towards one of the larger buildings. "Some people think having too many of us in one place is bad luck, so having the Harpy Killer around will put those concerns to rest."
"Harpy Killer?" Malcom asked. "Won't me being there cause even more worried about vampire retaliation?"
Abigail shook her head. "Word is that they're playing wait and see with you, so don't worry about it." She turned to him when they reached the entryway. "Just stand there and look like you're about to punch anyone who gets uppity. Alright?"
"I didn't intend to be your muscle tonight." Malcom said. He didn't object to it, but she had promised him 'nothing crazy', and this was edging in to territory that could be considered crazy.
"Well that's what you're going to be if you want that information from me." Abigail said.
"Fine, fine. I'l play ball for now." Malcom said, holding up his hands in surrender.
The two of them went inside after that, and Malcom was greeted by the sight of half a dozen people milling about. He recognized some of them, the large man and the girl who had been with Abigail when he had first met her were there, but there were others who he didn't recognize, which he assumed were the other people who were seeking refuge.
Abigail motioned for him to follow, and he did at a distance, letting her take the lead. She went to speak with her two associates first, before moving to speak with the people he didn't know. Apparently these weren't the people she was offering sanctuary too, because there were some sharp looks in his directions and a whispered argument between Abigail and one of them. Whatever was said, it looked like Abigail managed to browbeat them in to compliance.
Malcom standing there and looking at them menacingly might have helped. Probably.
"So what was that about?" Malcom asked as Abigail returned.
"Nothing. Just some idiots who think that offering refuge to people who need it is dangerous."
"Because of the vampires?" Malcom asked.
"No, they don't care about us anymore, not after the courts declared Boston a lost cause." There was a bitterness in her voice that spoke of broken promises and betrayed expectations.
"Sounds like there's a story there." Prompted Malcom.
Abigail rolled her eyes at the obvious attempt at fishing for information. "Not really." She said finally. The Courts were supposed to protect us, give us strength in numbers against the Fae and anything else that wanted to fuck with us. Then the vampires decided they didn't like us and moved against us." The bitterness was stronger now, along with a mix of anger and regret. "We hit back, but they hit harder, and eventually the courts said 'fuck it' and pulled out, leaving the rest of us to rot."
That more or less killed the conversation, as any attempt to inquire further were shut down. Things descended in to silence while they waited for the refugees to show up. As the minutes stretched on, people became more and more agitated, forcing Abigail to alternately reassure or coerce people in to making sure they waited.
Malcom admired her commitment to her chosen task, but judging how people reacted to her attempts at management, he could see that what Naomi had said had been accurate. People were staying because they were being ordered to, rather than because they wanted to be here.
"This doesn't make any sense." Abigail said to him after she had made another round convincing the others in to staying. She and her two friends (Who's names Malcom had learned were Tom and Lindsey) were standing with him and speaking in low tones. It had been almost an hour now, and people were becoming more and more unruly. "They should have been here by now. Something's gone wrong."
"Should we leave?" Malcom asked, suddenly mindful of the fact that there was only one exit and that the windows of the warehouse were barred.
"I don't-" Abigail started, only for her words to cut off as her mouth opened in shock. Malcom followed her line of sight to the doorway, where a figure was standing in the entryway, having appeared there without anyone noticing.
He was not a normal person. That much was obvious. He looked as though he were made of nothing but sticks and dead leaves. He wore a cloak made of more leaves that flowed and billowed in a nonexistent wind, and in one hand he clutched a sword that looked like it was made of amber or crystal. His face was a nothing more than a rough cut, featureless wooden mask with glowing yellow eyes, with brown moss for hair sticking out behind it.
"Huntsmen!"
Malcom had seen Abigail go through a lot of emotions in the short time he had known her. Angry, guilty, domineering, reassuring. But not once had he seen the look of pure terror on her face, a look that was now shared with everyone else in the building.
At the first sign that he had been noticed, the Huntsmen slapped his hand against the wall, sending a cascade of dried leaves and broken twigs spreading across the surface from the point of contact, until the entire interior of the building was covered with them. Even Malcom could tell that the leaves were for more than show. The thing had trapped them in there them.
One of the Changelings Malcom didn't know let out a bellow of rage and charged the Huntsmen, only for him to casually evade the attack and strike out in a whirl of leaves, pricing the Changeling through the chest with his sword.
There was no wound, not even blood. Instead amber began to seep from the Changelings chest, slowly encasing him in a shell of crystal. When the Changeling was fully encased, the shell shattered in to dust, leaving no sign of the Changeling behind.
"They got him." Lindsey whispered, her hands over her mouth in horror. "Oh god, they got him."
"Abigail, get Lindsey and the others out of here. I'll-" Tom began, only for the Huntsmen to rush their group. He was blink fast and brutally strong, battering aside Tom's defenses with contemptuous ease as he pulled his blade back, ready to run him through.
Thought had left Malcom, with only instinct to guide him, Malcom…
[] Grabbed Lindsey and Abigail and tried to run.
[] Attempted to intercept the attack meant for Tom.
"Alright, I'll help you out, but no bullsh-" Malcom stopped and glanced at Maggie. "No funny business, alright?"
Abigail rolled her eyes. "I said it wouldn't be anything crazy." She said. "Give me your number. I'll call you tonight when I need you."
They exchanged contact information and Abigail left soon after. When she had faded from sight, Malcom took a deep breath to calm himself down. His fight or flight response had kicked in to high gear when Abigail had confronted him. It had been a bad flashback to living with mom.
Maggie's reaction had been far more extreme. She was still clinging to him, trembling and refusing to let go. Whatever abuses mom had been willing to throw at him, it had always been worse for Maggie because of how much younger and smaller she had been. It wasn't for the first time that Malcom felt a pit of guilt in his stomach for moving out as soon as he could. It had only been a few months, but living with mom by herself must have been hell.
Malcom carefully pulled away from Maggie, lowering himself to her eye level and holding her hand. "Are you going to be okay?" He asked, giving it another comforting squeeze. "Did she scare you?"
Maggie nodded mutely.
"I'm sorry Maggie, this is my fault. I'll make sure to keep her away from you, alright?"
"Okay." Maggie said in a small voice. Malcom moved to give her a hug, and was relieved when she let it happen. They stayed like that for a few moments before Malcom stood back up and lead her back to his car, her hand still in his.
Later that evening, Malcom made sure that Maggie knew his cell number before heading out to meet with Abigail. He gave her explicit instructions that she was to call him if there was any trouble at all, and that he would come home as soon as he could.
"How's your sister?"
It was the first thing out of Abigail's mouth when he met her in the shipping port. Large warehouses loomed over them, casting shadows in an already dark evening. It was a full moon tonight, but the cloud cover was so dense that the sky may as well have been pitch black.
"She's fine. Shaken, but she'll recover." Malcom said as he locked his car door. "So what are we doing here, then?"
Abigail looked like she wanted to inquire more about Maggie, but picked up the hint Malcom was dropping and changed the topic.
"We're meeting with some Changelings who managed to escape the Fae recently and are looking for a safe place to hide in Boston." She said as they began to walk towards one of the larger buildings. "Some people think having too many of us in one place is bad luck, so having the Harpy Killer around will put those concerns to rest."
"Harpy Killer?" Malcom asked. "Won't me being there cause even more worried about vampire retaliation?"
Abigail shook her head. "Word is that they're playing wait and see with you, so don't worry about it." She turned to him when they reached the entryway. "Just stand there and look like you're about to punch anyone who gets uppity. Alright?"
"I didn't intend to be your muscle tonight." Malcom said. He didn't object to it, but she had promised him 'nothing crazy', and this was edging in to territory that could be considered crazy.
"Well that's what you're going to be if you want that information from me." Abigail said.
"Fine, fine. I'l play ball for now." Malcom said, holding up his hands in surrender.
The two of them went inside after that, and Malcom was greeted by the sight of half a dozen people milling about. He recognized some of them, the large man and the girl who had been with Abigail when he had first met her were there, but there were others who he didn't recognize, which he assumed were the other people who were seeking refuge.
Abigail motioned for him to follow, and he did at a distance, letting her take the lead. She went to speak with her two associates first, before moving to speak with the people he didn't know. Apparently these weren't the people she was offering sanctuary too, because there were some sharp looks in his directions and a whispered argument between Abigail and one of them. Whatever was said, it looked like Abigail managed to browbeat them in to compliance.
Malcom standing there and looking at them menacingly might have helped. Probably.
"So what was that about?" Malcom asked as Abigail returned.
"Nothing. Just some idiots who think that offering refuge to people who need it is dangerous."
"Because of the vampires?" Malcom asked.
"No, they don't care about us anymore, not after the courts declared Boston a lost cause." There was a bitterness in her voice that spoke of broken promises and betrayed expectations.
"Sounds like there's a story there." Prompted Malcom.
Abigail rolled her eyes at the obvious attempt at fishing for information. "Not really." She said finally. The Courts were supposed to protect us, give us strength in numbers against the Fae and anything else that wanted to fuck with us. Then the vampires decided they didn't like us and moved against us." The bitterness was stronger now, along with a mix of anger and regret. "We hit back, but they hit harder, and eventually the courts said 'fuck it' and pulled out, leaving the rest of us to rot."
That more or less killed the conversation, as any attempt to inquire further were shut down. Things descended in to silence while they waited for the refugees to show up. As the minutes stretched on, people became more and more agitated, forcing Abigail to alternately reassure or coerce people in to making sure they waited.
Malcom admired her commitment to her chosen task, but judging how people reacted to her attempts at management, he could see that what Naomi had said had been accurate. People were staying because they were being ordered to, rather than because they wanted to be here.
"This doesn't make any sense." Abigail said to him after she had made another round convincing the others in to staying. She and her two friends (Who's names Malcom had learned were Tom and Lindsey) were standing with him and speaking in low tones. It had been almost an hour now, and people were becoming more and more unruly. "They should have been here by now. Something's gone wrong."
"Should we leave?" Malcom asked, suddenly mindful of the fact that there was only one exit and that the windows of the warehouse were barred.
"I don't-" Abigail started, only for her words to cut off as her mouth opened in shock. Malcom followed her line of sight to the doorway, where a figure was standing in the entryway, having appeared there without anyone noticing.
He was not a normal person. That much was obvious. He looked as though he were made of nothing but sticks and dead leaves. He wore a cloak made of more leaves that flowed and billowed in a nonexistent wind, and in one hand he clutched a sword that looked like it was made of amber or crystal. His face was a nothing more than a rough cut, featureless wooden mask with glowing yellow eyes, with brown moss for hair sticking out behind it.
"Huntsmen!"
Malcom had seen Abigail go through a lot of emotions in the short time he had known her. Angry, guilty, domineering, reassuring. But not once had he seen the look of pure terror on her face, a look that was now shared with everyone else in the building.
At the first sign that he had been noticed, the Huntsmen slapped his hand against the wall, sending a cascade of dried leaves and broken twigs spreading across the surface from the point of contact, until the entire interior of the building was covered with them. Even Malcom could tell that the leaves were for more than show. The thing had trapped them in there them.
One of the Changelings Malcom didn't know let out a bellow of rage and charged the Huntsmen, only for him to casually evade the attack and strike out in a whirl of leaves, pricing the Changeling through the chest with his sword.
There was no wound, not even blood. Instead amber began to seep from the Changelings chest, slowly encasing him in a shell of crystal. When the Changeling was fully encased, the shell shattered in to dust, leaving no sign of the Changeling behind.
"They got him." Lindsey whispered, her hands over her mouth in horror. "Oh god, they got him."
"Abigail, get Lindsey and the others out of here. I'll-" Tom began, only for the Huntsmen to rush their group. He was blink fast and brutally strong, battering aside Tom's defenses with contemptuous ease as he pulled his blade back, ready to run him through.
Thought had left Malcom, with only instinct to guide him, Malcom…
[] Grabbed Lindsey and Abigail and tried to run.
[] Attempted to intercept the attack meant for Tom.
- Location
- In my Lair, on my Hoard
[X] Attempted to intercept the attack meant for Tom.
[X] A revelation: Abigail and the other Changelings...they're like Maggie. Traumatized, battered, learning to live and trust again...wracked with terror at the thought of going back. This is why you received your power. THIS is what it was made to defy.
Fun fact: True Fae are essentially unshaped Fair Folk, and thus Creatures of Darkness. Thus, Edge of Morning Sunlight could actually cause a True Fae harm. The Arcadian Huntsman, on the other hand, is a fae who has taken on corporeal form as an Actor... so, not sure if Edge of Morning Sunlight would apply to the Huntsman as it's taken on a shape, and abides by the limitations of the corporeal world. So... probably no aggravated damage unless we've got cold-iron knuckles.
However, our Hungry Tiger Technique's passive effect makes our fists deal lethal damage, no mote investment required. And the instant it tries to affect us with its Fae magic, it'll trigger Chaos Repelling Pattern (which we don't know we have, so it'll probably activate instinctively in our defense).
So... we might be able to take it? The Huntsman's stats probably outclasses our own in melee, but we might be able to hold on long enough for the other Changelings to mount an actual defense and figure out how to escape its trap before making our own escape.
[X] A revelation: Abigail and the other Changelings...they're like Maggie. Traumatized, battered, learning to live and trust again...wracked with terror at the thought of going back. This is why you received your power. THIS is what it was made to defy.
Fun fact: True Fae are essentially unshaped Fair Folk, and thus Creatures of Darkness. Thus, Edge of Morning Sunlight could actually cause a True Fae harm. The Arcadian Huntsman, on the other hand, is a fae who has taken on corporeal form as an Actor... so, not sure if Edge of Morning Sunlight would apply to the Huntsman as it's taken on a shape, and abides by the limitations of the corporeal world. So... probably no aggravated damage unless we've got cold-iron knuckles.
However, our Hungry Tiger Technique's passive effect makes our fists deal lethal damage, no mote investment required. And the instant it tries to affect us with its Fae magic, it'll trigger Chaos Repelling Pattern (which we don't know we have, so it'll probably activate instinctively in our defense).
So... we might be able to take it? The Huntsman's stats probably outclasses our own in melee, but we might be able to hold on long enough for the other Changelings to mount an actual defense and figure out how to escape its trap before making our own escape.
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- Location
- florida
Its an abomination against reality and everything it means to be human or virtuous.
I'm thinking it probably is a creature of darkness.
Which also means Zenith caste ability I believe?
- Location
- In my Lair, on my Hoard
Well, in Exalted, it was only unshaped Fair Folk that were considered Creatures of Darkness by the mechanics - Fair Folk who had shaped themselves to walk within Creation weren't. The Huntsman is an Actor - a shaped True Fae who has crossed into the corporeal world.
However, the reason for that was because of how the laws of Creation were set up in Exalted, and the way the Bureaucracy defined things.
In World of Darkness... the Bureaucracy is defunct, and things work much, much differently. The way things worked in Creation of Exalted isn't quite how things work anymore - making fire by striking flint for sparks on kindling doesn't involve the interaction of Least Gods of Flint, of Sparks, of Kindling dealing with the God of Fire-making tools in filing the forms needed to requisition to creation of a temporary Least God of Fire made by such-and-such on a particular day using those tools...
So, maybe the Huntsman is a Creature of Darkness, maybe it's not.
Regardless, I don't think we'll need Edge of Morning Sunlight here since Lethal Damage should suit our purposes just as easily as Aggravated Damage would - the Huntsman can still suffer lethal wounds. So we don't really need to spend any motes on it. At best, we might need to spend motes to use Chaos Repelling Pattern once, and maybe to activate Excellency of the Sun and/or the double-damage attack of Hungry Tiger Technique should the Huntsman prove more formidable than we expected.
And the Zenith Caste Ability makes us a Priest of the Unconquered Sun, and allows us to cremate corpses with a touch, preventing them from rising as any form of Undead or Creature-of-Darkness and immediately sending their souls to the afterlife, guaranteeing that the soul makes it unmolested, IIRC.
Last edited:
- Location
- florida
Ah, I was thinking of 2nd/3rd edition exalted. My bad.
I also didnt know that about fey. Seems like a weird Dodge. But I guess the Unconquered Sun can't put everything on this list.
- Location
- Chicago
[X] Attempted to intercept the attack meant for Tom.
[X] A revelation: Abigail and the other Changelings...they're like Maggie. Traumatized, battered, learning to live and trust again...wracked with terror at the thought of going back. This is why you received your power. THIS is what it was made to defy.
[X] A revelation: Abigail and the other Changelings...they're like Maggie. Traumatized, battered, learning to live and trust again...wracked with terror at the thought of going back. This is why you received your power. THIS is what it was made to defy.
LinkOnScepter
The One who Strangles Concepts to death
- Location
- Interwebs
[X] Attempted to intercept the attack meant for Tom.
[X] A revelation: Abigail and the other Changelings...they're like Maggie. Traumatized, battered, learning to live and trust again...wracked with terror at the thought of going back. This is why you received your power. THIS is what it was made to defy.
[X] A revelation: Abigail and the other Changelings...they're like Maggie. Traumatized, battered, learning to live and trust again...wracked with terror at the thought of going back. This is why you received your power. THIS is what it was made to defy.
Last edited:
- Location
- Tarn-Vedra
[X] Attempted to intercept the attack meant for Tom.
Ave Anathema
Ave Imperator
- Location
- Jacksonville Illinois
[X] Attempted to intercept the attack meant for Tom.
[X] A revelation: Abigail and the other Changelings...they're like Maggie. Traumatized, battered, learning to live and trust again...wracked with terror at the thought of going back. This is why you received your power. THIS is what it was made to defy.
Personal conviction is a great thing to do here for HEROIC WILLPOWER
[X] A revelation: Abigail and the other Changelings...they're like Maggie. Traumatized, battered, learning to live and trust again...wracked with terror at the thought of going back. This is why you received your power. THIS is what it was made to defy.
Personal conviction is a great thing to do here for HEROIC WILLPOWER
Ave Anathema
Ave Imperator
- Location
- Jacksonville Illinois
can the add on be a thing for stunting which i exalted gives between + 1 and +3
Story Post 14
[x] Attempted to intercept the attack meant for Tom
Malcom moved on instinct, rushing forward to meet the attack aimed at Tom with one of his own, fist clenched and striking out with unerring might. There was a sound of wood splintering and a brilliant flash of gold-white fire, and the Huntsman stumbled back from the force of Malcom's blow, his attack interrupted and his his masked cracked.
There was a sound of twigs snapping and leaves rustling as the Huntsman straighten itself, and it's glowing yellow eyes narrowed as it and Malcom exchanged looks for a moment that seemed to stretch on.
There was something about this creature that rankled Malcom. It wasn't just the bone deep feeling of familiarity and recognition he felt towards it, despite having never seen anything like it before. It wasn't just the fact that it had appeared out of nowhere and started attacking people at random.
No, it was the looks of terror it inspired in the Changelings. The same look he had seen on Maggie's face whenever mom had been in one of her moods. When he knew he would have to hide her under his bed, or in his closet, and resolve himself to take the hits that were meant for her instead.
The Huntsman moved, rushing Malcom in a blur of leaves and foliage, swinging it's blade left and right, weaving a deadly pattern of entrapment.
Malcom moved in turn, ducking, dodging and stepping just out of reach of the amber blade. He wasn't entirely successful, as the weapons far greater reach gave the Huntsman an advantage over him. Slowly he began to accumulate a series of cuts and gashes from where he couldn't quite manage to avoid the blade.
Malcom's reach was far the Huntsman's inferior, giving it plenty of time to avoid any retaliatory strike he might make. Those attacks that did penetrate his guard were far more deadly, each one rocking the Huntsman with the force of the blow, cracking it's mask even further. It became a deadly game of attrition. The Huntsman couldn't land a solid enough hit to end the fight decisively, and Malcom was unable to penetrate it's guard frequently enough for each of his punches to take a proper toll.
Inspiration then stuck him, and Malcom moved in to the next blow and caught the attack by the flat of the blade between his forearms. With a twist of his wrists he seized the Huntsman by the arms and yanked him close in to vicious headbutt that cracked the Huntsman's mask even further and knocked him off balance
Taking advantage of the Huntsman's disorientation, Malcom stuck out with a one two punch to the body, followed by wild haymaker to the side of the Huntsman's head. The blow impacted with an almighty crack, splitting the Huntsman's mask in two and laying him out on the ground, where he remained.
Malcom was about to call the fight won, about to lower his guard and turn to the Changelings to see if they were okay, when a bright yellow light poured forth from the split in the Huntsman's mask, so bright that everyone was forced to turn away.
When the light faded, Malcom felt the relief he had been feeling from winning the fight fade, only to be replaced with a grim resolve. The Huntsman's mask had been split in two, and so in turn had the Huntsman. Each one fully formed, blade in hand, yellow eyes glaring, ready to continue the fight.
Malcom and the Huntsmen rushed each other simultaneously. The two Huntsmen synchronized their attacks perfectly, with one going high and the other going low. It was a perfect combination attack that could not be avoided.
A golden glow suffused Malcom as he leapt, diving between the blades and landing inside their guard. He struck the first Huntsmen with a stomach blow and an uppercut as he rose to his feet before turning to meet the second Huntsmen with a blow to the face that knocked it off balance. That punch then turned in to an elbow block as Malcom brought that arm back to intercept a retaliatory strike from the first Huntsmen.
A kick to the stomach from the second Huntsmen sent Malcom sprawling, and he rolled out of the way as the two Huntsmen brought their blades down on where he had been, driving their swords deep in to the concert ground. Taking advantage of their momentary immobility, Malcom rolled to his feet launched himself at them, only for it to have been a ruse, and he was forced to make a sloppy block as one Huntsmen ran his arm through with his amber blade.
As pain lanced through Malcom, the amber blade began to expand as before, quickly covering him in a shell of resin. As it did, the blazing golden fire that engulfed Malcom burned even bright, blackening the amber encasing him and melting it away.
Malcom then twisted the arm that the amber blade had pierced, breaking it in two. Seizing the broken blade, Malcom stabbed the second Huntsmen in the throat, causing dirty, muddy water to seep from the wound.
That water then congealed, forming a third Huntsmen that attempted to thrust it's sword through Malcom's abdomen. He twisted to the side, the golden fires blazing even higher and filling the room with sunlight. Grabbing the first Huntsmen by the throat, he let out a roar of rage as he threw it bodily in to the second, making that Huntsmen crash in to the third in kind.
From where Malcom had grabbed the first Huntsmen, golden fires continued to burn, slowly charring the wooden creature.
Malcom charged the Huntsmen once more, ducking three simultaneous attacks by twisting at impossible angles until he closed the distance and snaked his way inside the guard of the first Huntsmen. There he unleashed a flurry of blows, so fierce that he was driven back in to the nearby wall, which cracked as, with one final blow, Malcom put his fist through the Huntsmen's chest. The golden fires consuming him utterly.
The second and third Huntsmen hesitated briefly as their progenitor was destroyed, but they had all of a moment before Malcom was upon them. They attempted to strike, only for Malcom to seize the sword arm of the second Huntsmen and with a sound like stone cracking, snapped the elbow completely the wrong direction, causing it to drop it's sword. Malcom sized the lost weapon and rammed it through the stomach of the second Huntsmen. The golden fires blazed forth once more, consuming it from the inside out.
The third and final Huntsmen, in a desperate bid to survive, attacked Malcom with wild abandon. Every blow came faster and faster, more and more frenzied.
For all the difference it made, it might have well been a child swinging a toy.
Malcom systematically unmade the last Huntsmen. Every blow was avoided with minimal movement on Malcom's part, and every attack was answered with a punch that lit the warehouse with an explosion of sunlight. Within moments the last Huntsmen was kneeling on the ground, golden fires eating away at its leafy skin.
Malcom stomped its head in to the ground, splitting the concrete in to a spiderweb of cracks that reached a dozen feet away. It was ashes before the light even faded.
Malcom stared at the remains of the Huntsmen, breathing heavily. He was bleeding from a dozen small cuts all over his arms and body, and his left arm had a big hole in it from where he had been stabbed. He was tired, on fire, and felt like he could sleep for weeks on end.
But he had won. People were safe. That was what mattered.
He let relax now, and took several breath to regain his energy, the golden fires around him began to dim steadily as he did. In a few more minutes, they would vanish entirely.
"Everyone alright?" He asked, looking around at the other Changelings.
Having witnessed an unknown human singlehandedly beat a Huntsman to death with his bare hands, the reactions of the Changelings were mixed. Some, like Lindsey, were looking at him with awe bordering on reverence. Others, like Abigail, were carefully stone-faced. Most however matched Tom, gratitude and amazement at what they had just witnessed.
"We're alright." Abigail said, stepping closer to examine the ash pile that was one a Huntsman. "I told you bringing him was a good idea." She said, giving a pointed look to the Changeling whom she had argued with earlier, who looked chagrined.
Malcom felt a flicker of irritation towards Abigail. He could see what she was doing, using his success and the fact that she was the one who brought him as a way to bolster her own standing among the rest of the Changelings. Part of him wanted to call her out on it, but he had seen her throw her weight around for the purpose of helping people earlier, so he could let it go this time.
Speaking of helping people. "Should we assume that the other Changelings aren't coming?" Malcom asked, noting idly that he was no longer bleeding. The wounds were still there, but blood no longer flowed from them.
Abigail grimaced at the question. "Yeah, I doubt it. They probably got snatched by the Huntsman." She said, taking a step back from the ash pile as though it were radioactive. "If they even existed in the first place." She muttered under her breath before speaking up. "Alright everyone, clear out! We don't know if there might be more of them and I don't want to risk it." She said. "We're calling it a wash for tonight."
The Changelings began to file out at the order, some said words of thanks to Malcom for what he had done, and one Changeling girl came up to him and hugged him tight, thanking him profusely. Others simply acknowledged him with a nod, and soon it was just Abigail, Lindsey and Tom left in the warehouse.
"Tom, take care of Malcom's injuries." Abigail said, looking at the hole in his arm.
Tom complied, taking out a knife and cutting himself across the arm. "I"ll need to let my blood mingle with yours for the magic to work." He said as he approached. Malcom gave Abigail a look, and she nodded, indicating that this was normal. It didn't seem sanitary at all, but bullshit magic was becoming the norm for Malcom, so he held up his own arm for Tom.
The magic worked, and Malcom watched as his own wounds closed and reappeared on Tom, who looked unperturbed by the spontaneous injuries. When the healing was done, Abigail shooed him away, passing him on to Lindsey so she could take care of his injuries.
"Alright Malcom." Abigail said after Tom and Lindsey were sequestered away from them. "That's twice we owe you now. I hate owing people, but I did say that I'd answer your questions. What do you want to know?"
What do you want to know?
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Malcom moved on instinct, rushing forward to meet the attack aimed at Tom with one of his own, fist clenched and striking out with unerring might. There was a sound of wood splintering and a brilliant flash of gold-white fire, and the Huntsman stumbled back from the force of Malcom's blow, his attack interrupted and his his masked cracked.
There was a sound of twigs snapping and leaves rustling as the Huntsman straighten itself, and it's glowing yellow eyes narrowed as it and Malcom exchanged looks for a moment that seemed to stretch on.
There was something about this creature that rankled Malcom. It wasn't just the bone deep feeling of familiarity and recognition he felt towards it, despite having never seen anything like it before. It wasn't just the fact that it had appeared out of nowhere and started attacking people at random.
No, it was the looks of terror it inspired in the Changelings. The same look he had seen on Maggie's face whenever mom had been in one of her moods. When he knew he would have to hide her under his bed, or in his closet, and resolve himself to take the hits that were meant for her instead.
The Huntsman moved, rushing Malcom in a blur of leaves and foliage, swinging it's blade left and right, weaving a deadly pattern of entrapment.
Malcom moved in turn, ducking, dodging and stepping just out of reach of the amber blade. He wasn't entirely successful, as the weapons far greater reach gave the Huntsman an advantage over him. Slowly he began to accumulate a series of cuts and gashes from where he couldn't quite manage to avoid the blade.
Malcom's reach was far the Huntsman's inferior, giving it plenty of time to avoid any retaliatory strike he might make. Those attacks that did penetrate his guard were far more deadly, each one rocking the Huntsman with the force of the blow, cracking it's mask even further. It became a deadly game of attrition. The Huntsman couldn't land a solid enough hit to end the fight decisively, and Malcom was unable to penetrate it's guard frequently enough for each of his punches to take a proper toll.
Inspiration then stuck him, and Malcom moved in to the next blow and caught the attack by the flat of the blade between his forearms. With a twist of his wrists he seized the Huntsman by the arms and yanked him close in to vicious headbutt that cracked the Huntsman's mask even further and knocked him off balance
Taking advantage of the Huntsman's disorientation, Malcom stuck out with a one two punch to the body, followed by wild haymaker to the side of the Huntsman's head. The blow impacted with an almighty crack, splitting the Huntsman's mask in two and laying him out on the ground, where he remained.
Malcom was about to call the fight won, about to lower his guard and turn to the Changelings to see if they were okay, when a bright yellow light poured forth from the split in the Huntsman's mask, so bright that everyone was forced to turn away.
When the light faded, Malcom felt the relief he had been feeling from winning the fight fade, only to be replaced with a grim resolve. The Huntsman's mask had been split in two, and so in turn had the Huntsman. Each one fully formed, blade in hand, yellow eyes glaring, ready to continue the fight.
Malcom and the Huntsmen rushed each other simultaneously. The two Huntsmen synchronized their attacks perfectly, with one going high and the other going low. It was a perfect combination attack that could not be avoided.
A golden glow suffused Malcom as he leapt, diving between the blades and landing inside their guard. He struck the first Huntsmen with a stomach blow and an uppercut as he rose to his feet before turning to meet the second Huntsmen with a blow to the face that knocked it off balance. That punch then turned in to an elbow block as Malcom brought that arm back to intercept a retaliatory strike from the first Huntsmen.
A kick to the stomach from the second Huntsmen sent Malcom sprawling, and he rolled out of the way as the two Huntsmen brought their blades down on where he had been, driving their swords deep in to the concert ground. Taking advantage of their momentary immobility, Malcom rolled to his feet launched himself at them, only for it to have been a ruse, and he was forced to make a sloppy block as one Huntsmen ran his arm through with his amber blade.
As pain lanced through Malcom, the amber blade began to expand as before, quickly covering him in a shell of resin. As it did, the blazing golden fire that engulfed Malcom burned even bright, blackening the amber encasing him and melting it away.
Malcom then twisted the arm that the amber blade had pierced, breaking it in two. Seizing the broken blade, Malcom stabbed the second Huntsmen in the throat, causing dirty, muddy water to seep from the wound.
That water then congealed, forming a third Huntsmen that attempted to thrust it's sword through Malcom's abdomen. He twisted to the side, the golden fires blazing even higher and filling the room with sunlight. Grabbing the first Huntsmen by the throat, he let out a roar of rage as he threw it bodily in to the second, making that Huntsmen crash in to the third in kind.
From where Malcom had grabbed the first Huntsmen, golden fires continued to burn, slowly charring the wooden creature.
Malcom charged the Huntsmen once more, ducking three simultaneous attacks by twisting at impossible angles until he closed the distance and snaked his way inside the guard of the first Huntsmen. There he unleashed a flurry of blows, so fierce that he was driven back in to the nearby wall, which cracked as, with one final blow, Malcom put his fist through the Huntsmen's chest. The golden fires consuming him utterly.
The second and third Huntsmen hesitated briefly as their progenitor was destroyed, but they had all of a moment before Malcom was upon them. They attempted to strike, only for Malcom to seize the sword arm of the second Huntsmen and with a sound like stone cracking, snapped the elbow completely the wrong direction, causing it to drop it's sword. Malcom sized the lost weapon and rammed it through the stomach of the second Huntsmen. The golden fires blazed forth once more, consuming it from the inside out.
The third and final Huntsmen, in a desperate bid to survive, attacked Malcom with wild abandon. Every blow came faster and faster, more and more frenzied.
For all the difference it made, it might have well been a child swinging a toy.
Malcom systematically unmade the last Huntsmen. Every blow was avoided with minimal movement on Malcom's part, and every attack was answered with a punch that lit the warehouse with an explosion of sunlight. Within moments the last Huntsmen was kneeling on the ground, golden fires eating away at its leafy skin.
Malcom stomped its head in to the ground, splitting the concrete in to a spiderweb of cracks that reached a dozen feet away. It was ashes before the light even faded.
Malcom stared at the remains of the Huntsmen, breathing heavily. He was bleeding from a dozen small cuts all over his arms and body, and his left arm had a big hole in it from where he had been stabbed. He was tired, on fire, and felt like he could sleep for weeks on end.
But he had won. People were safe. That was what mattered.
He let relax now, and took several breath to regain his energy, the golden fires around him began to dim steadily as he did. In a few more minutes, they would vanish entirely.
"Everyone alright?" He asked, looking around at the other Changelings.
Having witnessed an unknown human singlehandedly beat a Huntsman to death with his bare hands, the reactions of the Changelings were mixed. Some, like Lindsey, were looking at him with awe bordering on reverence. Others, like Abigail, were carefully stone-faced. Most however matched Tom, gratitude and amazement at what they had just witnessed.
"We're alright." Abigail said, stepping closer to examine the ash pile that was one a Huntsman. "I told you bringing him was a good idea." She said, giving a pointed look to the Changeling whom she had argued with earlier, who looked chagrined.
Malcom felt a flicker of irritation towards Abigail. He could see what she was doing, using his success and the fact that she was the one who brought him as a way to bolster her own standing among the rest of the Changelings. Part of him wanted to call her out on it, but he had seen her throw her weight around for the purpose of helping people earlier, so he could let it go this time.
Speaking of helping people. "Should we assume that the other Changelings aren't coming?" Malcom asked, noting idly that he was no longer bleeding. The wounds were still there, but blood no longer flowed from them.
Abigail grimaced at the question. "Yeah, I doubt it. They probably got snatched by the Huntsman." She said, taking a step back from the ash pile as though it were radioactive. "If they even existed in the first place." She muttered under her breath before speaking up. "Alright everyone, clear out! We don't know if there might be more of them and I don't want to risk it." She said. "We're calling it a wash for tonight."
The Changelings began to file out at the order, some said words of thanks to Malcom for what he had done, and one Changeling girl came up to him and hugged him tight, thanking him profusely. Others simply acknowledged him with a nod, and soon it was just Abigail, Lindsey and Tom left in the warehouse.
"Tom, take care of Malcom's injuries." Abigail said, looking at the hole in his arm.
Tom complied, taking out a knife and cutting himself across the arm. "I"ll need to let my blood mingle with yours for the magic to work." He said as he approached. Malcom gave Abigail a look, and she nodded, indicating that this was normal. It didn't seem sanitary at all, but bullshit magic was becoming the norm for Malcom, so he held up his own arm for Tom.
The magic worked, and Malcom watched as his own wounds closed and reappeared on Tom, who looked unperturbed by the spontaneous injuries. When the healing was done, Abigail shooed him away, passing him on to Lindsey so she could take care of his injuries.
"Alright Malcom." Abigail said after Tom and Lindsey were sequestered away from them. "That's twice we owe you now. I hate owing people, but I did say that I'd answer your questions. What do you want to know?"
What do you want to know?
[] Write in
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Ave Anathema
Ave Imperator
- Location
- Jacksonville Illinois
Welp we likely Soulburned the Hunstman
LinkOnScepter
The One who Strangles Concepts to death
- Location
- Interwebs
Right....whatever that means.