04-29-2023, 01:19 AM
“Ah hah!” he swept back from an attacker, gloating to escape the would-be evisceration. Luckily, the weapon currently waving back and forth between the two combatants was made of foam. Hard foam. It hurt when it smacked him for the first time but wasn’t going to do any real damage.
The attacker was about seventeen or so Jaxen guessed. He was tall and his knightly outfit hung from his shoulders just a size or two too big. Despite his gangly appearance, he was actually pretty good. Other than a few videos, Jaxen had no idea how to fight off foam swords.
He lifted his own weapon and swat aside the kid’s. His role-play name was Sir Verith. When pressed, Jaxen introduced himself as “Sir Sly McStabby” - it was the best he could do on the spur of the moment.
He switched the foam hilt from one hand to the other long enough to wipe his palm on his shirt. Of course, Verith didn’t believe in time-outs and next thing Jaxen knew, he’d been swat in the shoulder.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing the place.
Verith was quite serious. “I chopped off your arm. You’re dead.” Then he waited expectantly.
Jaxen caught on after a moment. “Oh right!” he summoned the Ancient Power and about ten seconds later, the image of a bloody arm dropped off his shoulder like a broken limb.
He yelled and fell to the ground dramatically calling on the gods to take him to Valhalla.
Verith screamed and ran away.
Jaxen sat up as the illusion faded to nothing.
“Come back! You killed me!”
With a shrug, he swiped himself off as he climbed to his feet.
Admittedly, it was pretty fun. What other dramatic ways could he get killed? He scratched the back of his neck and gave a little survey of the surrounding players. Real sword still swinging at his hip, he hefted the fake one along his shoulders and stalked off in search of the next player.
The attacker was about seventeen or so Jaxen guessed. He was tall and his knightly outfit hung from his shoulders just a size or two too big. Despite his gangly appearance, he was actually pretty good. Other than a few videos, Jaxen had no idea how to fight off foam swords.
He lifted his own weapon and swat aside the kid’s. His role-play name was Sir Verith. When pressed, Jaxen introduced himself as “Sir Sly McStabby” - it was the best he could do on the spur of the moment.
He switched the foam hilt from one hand to the other long enough to wipe his palm on his shirt. Of course, Verith didn’t believe in time-outs and next thing Jaxen knew, he’d been swat in the shoulder.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing the place.
Verith was quite serious. “I chopped off your arm. You’re dead.” Then he waited expectantly.
Jaxen caught on after a moment. “Oh right!” he summoned the Ancient Power and about ten seconds later, the image of a bloody arm dropped off his shoulder like a broken limb.
He yelled and fell to the ground dramatically calling on the gods to take him to Valhalla.
Verith screamed and ran away.
Jaxen sat up as the illusion faded to nothing.
“Come back! You killed me!”
With a shrug, he swiped himself off as he climbed to his feet.
Admittedly, it was pretty fun. What other dramatic ways could he get killed? He scratched the back of his neck and gave a little survey of the surrounding players. Real sword still swinging at his hip, he hefted the fake one along his shoulders and stalked off in search of the next player.