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I'm Feeling Lucky

Searching for: Posts from Interna_Chaotica.
Posted: Tue, 12/07/2022 00:58 (2 Years ago)
I'd love to join the GC, thank you!

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Posted: Mon, 11/07/2022 22:08 (2 Years ago)
``-Please, just trust me! Come on, it won't be dangerous unless we get caught!-``




Name: Chervil "Cherri" Bartholomew

Gender: Cisgender Male - He/Him

Age: 16

Species: Human

Allegiance + Religion: Chervil is extremely rebellious, and often finds his allegiance to be to himself... As for religion, the deviant isn't highly inclined to many of the official religions, mostly idolizing Phillipa Jenmar or his very own ideas of deities, such as a mysterious "Charlib," who Chervil claims to be a thief god. This is, however, just his own teenage excitement and arrogance. When asked, though, Chervil will almost always answer with, "I follow the Cloudian Church." Despite that, he's almost never seen worshipping Cloudian.




Personality: Chervil is a rather tactical boy, always devising a plan of action (or two, depending on the situation).

Personality Type: ISTJ-A; The Assertive Logistician
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Logisticians pride themselves on their integrity. People with this personality type mean what they say, and when they commit to doing something, they make sure to follow through. While Logisticians may not be particularly flashy or attention-seeking, Logisticians often earn respect for their reliability, their practicality, and their ability to stay grounded and logical, even in the most stressful situations.

The core of Logisticians’ self-respect comes from a sense of personal integrity. People with this personality type believe that there is a right way to proceed in any situation – and that anyone who pretends otherwise is probably trying to bend the rules to suit their own purposes. Logisticians have a deep respect for structure and tradition





Description:
[]Height: Five feet, Nine inches... 175.25 Centimeters
[]Weight: 136 Pounds... 61.6 Kilograms
[]Skin Tone: FFCC99 (This may require a quick browser search)
[]Hair Style: Chervil wears his hair however it might settle when he first wakes up... His hair is about two inches long, or about five centimeters.
[]Hair Colour: Color tag #76412a
[]Eye Colour: Color tag #285e6b
[]Clothes: Chervil wears a simple outfit, no more than a cloth sash over his chest and a soft pair of shorts, supposedly silk.
[]Accessories: Chervil always carries a small metal blade with him, as well as a metal lockpick. Supposedly, it's either enchanted or lucky, since it hasn't broken in all his years of using it. Other than that, Chervil has a single ear piercing in his left ear, which usually bears a simple black feather.
[]Other: N/A




History: Chervil grew up in a home of peace and tranquility, and that just didn't sit right with him. At seven years, the boy learned how to properly pick a lock, and less than a month later, how to pick pockets and purses. Due to learning it at such a young age, Chervil developed the skills quickly, eventually becoming a master at picking locks. Despite his immense skill, he only ever used the ability for a bit of entertainment, usually picking a lock and never looking at what it was protecting. That is, until age twelve, when Chervil discovered an abandoned fishery. The child found the locks quite easy to pick, and soon made the run-down building his own private lounge, decorating it with old scraps of tapestries, interesting trinkets dug from the earth, and an ancient great-sword he pulled from the shoreline. Though he knows he cannot wield it, Chervil often fantasizes about being a great master of the blade, or even a master of magic itself.
Sexuality: Aro/Ace
Voice Claim: Ulfric Stormcloak (Yes, the one from Skyrim)

Message from the author
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I hope this isn't too crude or too much of a deviation from everything else.
Thanks~
Silvertongue


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Posted: Mon, 11/07/2022 04:44 (2 Years ago)
Reserve a spot, bitte?

I plan to fill out a form in der Morgen..

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Posted: Fri, 01/07/2022 00:03 (2 Years ago)
"We don't have anything to use against the cloud, aside from luck with Zephyr and my own endurance in runecraft. While I would love to say I've plenty of both, I don't. If we have any chance, we need to take it and run. Evan, you said that the cloud was changing people, yes? In that case, we need to move quickly and quietly. I have a rune that I could use to get us at least away from the library, but if it's too far away from other people, it fails. From there, I could only use a Blink rune, to move us from shadow to shadow. Other than that, I can't do much." The mage patted himself down, then drew forth a small leather satchel from within his cloak. It clattered with small stones, lesser runes that he didn't deem as vital or precious to have in reach constantly. He shook his head, then continued. "I wouldn't care all too much if we had to do something drastic to find out how to stop this. If the bird is of Nordic origin, it has a weakness. If it's not, it was still summoned, which means we can find the spell tome it was cast from and recite a counter-curse." The mage had been digging around in the rune pouch as he was talking, not even glancing at the stone. Now, he drew out two different runes. They glowed with a soft purple tint, possibly referring to shade or darkness.

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Posted: Mon, 27/06/2022 02:59 (2 Years ago)
"I didn't get a great look at the creature, but if it is witchcraft and not the average use of magicka, then my information draws short." The mage offered a shrug. "Any lead is worth looking in to, as long as we can find a way to keep safe from the 'issue' up top. If we can find where Elena was banished to, or her old room where she was caught with the accusation, then we can start an investigation on how to counter this."

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Posted: Sat, 25/06/2022 22:59 (2 Years ago)
"Aye, I might." The mage did his best to make himself comfortable, shifting a little every few seconds. "I saw a skeletal vulture back at the inn. It was spreading the clouds, the fog. In the older myths of the Nords, there was a bird similar to that, a raven. A bird with pieces of flesh and feather missing around the skull, wings, and tail. It was said that if you looked through the holes in the wings or tail, you were infected with an ailment, and to look into the bird's empty eyes was to simply die. If the bird I saw is anything like that, anything old, then it's something brought forth with the mind of something sentient, something smart. If it's not old and no sentient mind summoned it, then there's a disaster impending. Either way, it's a beast of magic. I could feel the magic around it, something between necromancy, conjuration, and death." The mage shrugged. "It's a guess, but if it's even close to correct, then we've at least got a lead."

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Posted: Sat, 25/06/2022 16:53 (2 Years ago)
Time seemed to stretch out, each minute, each second taking far too long. Anxious whispers, shuffling feet, and the sounds of panic all filled the bunker. Slowly, the mage began to stir. He shifted, let out a quiet groan.. Then, without warning, he gasped, his eyes flying open. For a few moments, he was still, simply trying to take in the scene. He blinked, then fumbled with his coat, tucking the rune he'd used back into the folds of the cloak. He stood rather shakily, brushing himself off and rolling his shoulders. Once he was happy with the aches and pains in his body, he turned to Alacra and Evan. He donned his cloak once more, his eyes bright and energetic. The gilded tint seemed to sparkle, as if his mind were suddenly made of gold. "You have questions, I can tell. I have answers, but... They might not be the best to tell, where so many ears can listen." He looked at Evan expectantly, glancing over his shoulder at the amount of people behind them. "The public may not be so... Welcoming to these potential truths."

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Posted: Tue, 21/06/2022 14:45 (2 Years ago)
The mage quickly closed his hand around the rune, muttering a word quietly. Time, or Ahead. Almost instantly, he went limp, his breathing even and calm. His entire form seemed to shimmer green, but the signs of his fatigue were fading rapidly. He was still asleep, oblivious to the rune's effects on him, but he was resting. That's what was important. If Evan were to return soon, he might be able to answer the question of what exactly the rune was doing, but it had an obvious effect: for the mage, time was flowing rapidly, rather than at the average pace it usually held.

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Posted: Mon, 20/06/2022 16:22 (2 Years ago)
The mage nodded his head in thanks, sinking slowly down tot he floor. "Need to.. Rest.." The words were so quiet that they were nearly missed, but his message was easily realized; his eyes were barely staying open, the bronze irises vanishing from view for several seconds at a time. If there were any questions, now wouldn't be the right time for them. The mage pawed for a moment at his cloak, his hand closing around a stone trapped within the folds of it. "Th'one I need.. Right here.. Give me it please.." He leaned his back back, struggling to keep awake, his hands fumbling at the cloak, trying desperately to free the stone from the folds. Despite his fatigue, he seemed intent on casting one more rune.

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Posted: Fri, 17/06/2022 22:35 (2 Years ago)
The mage glanced to the side, his eyes landing upon Alacra's extended hand. He reached out slowly, then stumbled towards the keeper, his exhaustion finally winning over his determination. The runestone quickly returned to his bracelet, attaching to the chain with a loud crack. The mage grabbed ahold of Alacra's hand, his grip weak but stiff. His mind was slowly slipping into sleep, the fatigue starting to win influence within the mage. He stumbled once more, already trying to get to the door. Recognition flashed in his eyes as well, glancing back at the plume of pestilence. He knew something, but he was too exhausted to truly speak what was so fresh in his mind. His breaths came is gasps, his footsteps uneven and stumbling. Every ounce of energy in the man was going towards escaping from the inn, desperate to rest, but more so to be away from the cloud of hatred behind him.

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Posted: Fri, 17/06/2022 16:06 (2 Years ago)
The shriek from the ghastly avian didn't go unnoticed by the victorious runemaster, though. Almost as soon as his triumph was gained, he whipped around, eyes frantic, searching for the source of such an inhuman cry. His vision was blocked shortly by the clouds of smoke slowly expanding, filling the room. For a moment, he fumbled, desperately snatching at a rune on his wrist, before successfully removing it and holding the stone up, crying out a single, unrecognizable word. To a common man or woman, the word meant nothing, but to the rune the mage held, it meant "Wind" or "Force." Several seconds passed, the smoke slowly drifting forwards, skeletal tendrils reaching greedily towards the mage and the barkeeper behind him. Then, as if from the walls themselves, a soft wind started to blow, quickly gaining power.

The mage trembled slightly, clinging to his consciousness desperately, his eyes glaring at the fog, the winds slowly battling with the particulate, trying fruitfully to push the smoke out of the building. Though, the mage's power was waning, that was clear. The winds were dying down, and his body began to shake more and more, his free hand slowly reaching out, gasping the edge of a table for support.

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Posted: Thu, 16/06/2022 16:26 (2 Years ago)
The mage muttered something, his free hand clenching once more. One of his tattoos slowly came to life, the rune glowing a dark, maroon red. To an experienced scholar or another mage, the rune was easy to identify, and one of the easiest to master; "Resist." Still, he gritted his teeth, bracing himself more steadily. While the rune might have helped, he was still in for a difficult competition; he was in no shape to be casting his runes, nor to be battling for a simple drink. When he used the rune, though, a slight sparkle came o his bronze-cast eyes, as if the rune not only allowed him to push back some, but resisted his fatigue as well. The hand he'd used to cast the rune was pale from his grip, squeezing the small runestone with a fury. His breaths were measured and even, careful and slow, as if any quick breath or any moment of holding his breath might result in an instant loss. He still offered his grin, though; that wide, toothy grin, intent on proving himself.

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Posted: Thu, 16/06/2022 15:29 (2 Years ago)
The mage flashed a grin, stepping up to the table and shedding his cloak, setting it aside. His arms were decorated with more runes, tattooed on with a careful hand, and his idle hand bore a small chain, runes hanging from it and jingling quietly against one another. Answering the challenge, he resting his elbow on the table, joining hands with Alacra, carefully composing himself, bracing his legs. He recognized her strength easily, and he knew just how he might lose, if all went poorly. He might stumble and trip, or he might resist too much and instead lose the table to the strength opposite of him. The possibilities were near endless, especially with his current weary state. The mage had been traveling on foot for some time, and though he had his magicka to aid him, it still tolled his body and mind.

"I'm ready when you are, keeper. Say the word, and we'll be on." The mage clenched his free hand, a silent pop heard, as though his joints had just crackled.

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Posted: Thu, 16/06/2022 04:07 (2 Years ago)
While noise and chaos were a common event in the life of a practicing master of the arts of magicka, the discord in the doorway of the inn drew attention almost immediately. Simply noise was one thing, but enraged shouting was another, and it was far more interesting than the roar of a blaze or the hiss of harnessed winds. Due to that, a pair of eyes quickly found themselves affixed on the source of the noise, the commotion.

Hidden as they were, the eyes were easily recognizable, for their irises were gilded, and the hood that hid them seemed to shine with a foreign magicka. While the robes could easily be passed off as any mage's common wear, it was truly the eyes that gave away the true form of magicka hidden among the folds of the cloak; the color within them was stained, tainted to a reflective bronze, shining in the low light. The true mark of a runic master, for the use of the runes carried in the robes would always leech their light into the user, no matter their material. Lowering their hood, the mage finally revealed themselves, stepping easily towards the doorway of the inn, hearing a challenge shouted within.

While not an exceptionally large or well-built fellow, the rune mage was clearly a master of the art that they so willingly claimed; several small stones could be seen just inside the left sleeve of the cloak he wore, small sets of characters gleaming within the rock. His apparel was simple, a simple set of trousers and leather boots, covered by the previously mentioned cloak, a long jacket of the deepest umber, sporting a hood and light material, something from a very foreign land; this was no native fellow, no man who naturally pondered these lands. Under the jacket, his torso bore only the barest minimum of cloth, a wrap covering the shoulders and upper chest. His midsection was adorned with the lower half of a large rune, or maybe a brand, the flesh slightly twisted from the earning of the symbol. His hair was long, tied back in a tight knot at the back of his head, pulled out of the way of his vision. The hair in question was a certain shade of grey, though the face of the mage was young, too young for there to be any severe discoloration of his hair.

His eyes held a whisper of steely determination, though it was nearly wholly covered by an entirely separate kindness, brought from years of study under silence and obedience, taught carefully in the arts of the runes. Those eyes carefully scanned the room, his hood resting against his shoulders. He called out towards the keeper, answering the challenge.

"Aye, a free drink to a winner? I'll need to try and take up that offer, I'm in desperate need of a drink."

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Posted: Thu, 24/03/2022 01:26 (3 Years ago)
The life of a woodsman was nothing to laugh at. The physical demand of carrying your supplies and using them was enormous, though dwarfed in comparison to bringing the goods of the trade back to where they could be further processed and sold. Hides were stretched and tanned, turned into fur to heat jackets and pad cradles. Or they were shaved and turned to leather for lace, or even further processed into treats for animals. The meat of a hunt was, of course, either cooked and consumed, or salted and hung to dry, to be saved as jerky for later. Or it was chopped into the slices of the animal and sold at market, salted there to keep the flies off.

And, aside from a hunt, there were other materials. Wood and stone, cut to size and sold at market. Fine marble could even be sold for steep prices in other cities and kingdoms. The great pine and ironwood trees made beautiful planks and furniture, and other woods were highly scented, a fragrant slice of woods often set in chests or boxes to keep the mold at bay. The other flora of the forests were also valuable; spring flowers made wonderful nosegays, little bundles of fragrant, sweet scents. The larger flowers found within the fields could make bouquets or be dug up and replanted within a garden. Some flowers could be consumed as well, as well as other bushes and flora. Berries could be used in both dyes and meals, a flavorful topping or seasoning or a volatile, deep-staining color.

Though the woods harbor so much for pure, clean money, there were also those few who sought the darker corners of those woods. Yes, the woodsmen sold to them as well, whether it be a flower that put a human to sleep, or a plant made purely of toxins. Some looked for the biting and stinging variety of insects, whereas others sniffed around for venomous and poisonous varieties. Many believed the woodsmen were blessed by the forests, and called upon them for more exotic reasons; where practical herbs and medicine failed, the right set of bones might heal an ailment. Or a bowl of blood from some wild beats, and a length of flesh or tendon.

The last of the woodsman's services, and possibly the most expensive, was guide work. A human might pay with pure gold for a guide over a mountain or through the thick woodlands. However, the rarest of prizes was to guide a Saakri-Lumen somewhere. Among the woodsmen, that proved to be the zenith of guiding a living creature anywhere. The Saakri-Lumen were known to have powers of the supernatural, and often envied by the woodsmen. For one to commission a human guide was to show not only equality between the Saakri-Lumen and human, but to show trust. Trust would lead not to money, but to perhaps a favor, a single use of the mysterious power of the inhuman species. Some woodsmen became fast friends with the more adventurous Saakri-Lumen, others simply became used to their presence.

Wade was one of the woodsmen who grew accustomed to the Saakri-Lumen, usually waving at any if he saw them. Few waved back. Most became agitated, and tried to run him back to the human kingdom. At this particular point in time, however, Wade was returning to the human kingdom on his own. On his back, there sat his tree cutting axe, as well as bundles of plants, lashed tight around his waist and beneath his arms. He also drug a skidding sled behind him, the wooden construct laden with fragrant lumber and ironwood, cut to ragged lengths and stacked with caution. Several rabbits hung from the boy's belt, caught in snares throughout the day. All of it would be sold, and likely very soon. Wade had left two days ago, gathering and hunting. He'd slept in the woods, and woken up before the crack of dawn to set up his snares and find the best trees to chop down. He'd snared five rabbits, then went about chopping down the trees he'd decided to mark for sale. Now, he was returning to the city he called home to sell his goods.

However, something else drew his attention first. A gathering was happening, right before his eyes. Dragging his sled within earshot of the speaker, he crawled upon the pines and firs and sat, mindful of the tree sap and pitch that would gladly cling to his clothes.

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Posted: Sun, 13/03/2022 17:33 (3 Years ago)
Quote from Harrison Ford"I wanted to live the life, a different life. I didn’t want to go to the same place every day and see the same people and do the same job. I wanted interesting challenges."


Wade Marvulf
ISTP-A ~ Virtuoso
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Virtuosos love to explore with their hands and their eyes, touching and examining the world around them with cool rationalism and spirited curiosity. People with this personality type are natural Makers, moving from project to project, building the useful and the superfluous for the fun of it, and learning from their environment as they go. Often mechanics and engineers, Virtuosos find no greater joy than in getting their hands dirty pulling things apart and putting them back together, just a little bit better than they were before.

Virtuosos explore ideas through creating, troubleshooting, trial and error and first-hand experience. They enjoy having other people take an interest in their projects and sometimes don’t even mind them getting into their space. Of course, that’s on the condition that those people don’t interfere with Virtuosos’ principles and freedom, and they’ll need to be open to Virtuosos returning the interest in kind.

While their mechanical tendencies can make them appear simple at a glance, Virtuosos are actually quite enigmatic. Friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, Virtuoso personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. Virtuosos can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but they tend to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking their interests in bold new directions.

Virtuosos’ decisions stem from a sense of practical realism, and at their heart is a strong sense of direct fairness, a “do unto others” attitude, which really helps to explain many of Virtuosos’ puzzling traits. Instead of being overly cautious though, avoiding stepping on toes in order to avoid having their toes stepped on, Virtuosos are likely to go too far, accepting likewise retaliation, good or bad, as fair play.

The biggest issue Virtuosos are likely to face is that they often act too soon, taking for granted their permissive nature and assuming that others are the same. They’ll be the first to tell an insensitive joke, get overly involved in someone else’s project, roughhouse and play around, or suddenly change their plans because something more interesting came up.


Palpad?: Yes please!

Gender: Cis Male - He/Him

Age: 17

Appearance: Wade is a more average fellow, sporting the classic German traits of his heritage; Standing at roughly five-foot eight (1.7272 meters), Wade wears blond hair in a swept style, as if he woke up, ran his fingers through it to one direction, and set out (which he did, in fact, do). His eyes are the subtly color-shifting type, with a ring of lighter green around the pupils and a darker blue surrounding that. In different lights, those eyes seem to change color, ranging from a dark, forest green to a bright, oceanic teal. His nose fits his face nicely, and his lips seem meek in comparison to his otherwise stern appearance. His brow is his most expressive point; one will know if something's wrong by looking at how his dark eyebrows sit above his eyes. A scruff of facial hair is present across his jaw, unshaved and slightly dirty from muddy hands scratching an itch. His shoulders bear no special trait, simply falling in line to appear correct on his sleek, lean-muscled body. He's got a runner's build and legs, which can carry him enormous distances without showing any signs of fatigue or pain.

Saakri-Lumens or Human: Human

Weapon/Abilities: Wade is strangely the one loose gear, for his personality; Instead of traveling obviously armed, he travels with a set of crude, hand-made tools, wrapped in a canvas square. Within this set is a hammer, chisel, prybar, some nails, a string for measuring, and an intentionally dulled knife. On his back, he wears a simple leather harness, which carries a double axe - the staple tool of a lumberjack. While he's not exceptionally skilled in any one thing, Wade makes up for his lack in an understanding of nearly everything - a jack of all trades, but a master of none.

Additional Notes: Wade's metabolism is higher than most would expect - much higher. His body processes everything faster than he expects, too, leading to him either not realize that he's hungry, or complaining that he never gains much weight; He's been sitting happily at 134 pounds (60.7814 kilograms) since he was fourteen.

(Oven)


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Posted: Wed, 02/02/2022 04:23 (3 Years ago)
"Bree." Jaxon sat up slowly, still catching his breath from the strain of breaking the bonds. He reached a hand out into the dark, towards her voice, fishing silently for a response. He puffed out a heavy sigh, drawing himself closer to their known borders, leaning against the wall. A quiet thud echoed through the chamber as his skull met it, a soft impact but an impact nonetheless. He listened for her voice again, answering her questions after a moment. No other voice mattered, his healer-... No, his friend, was nearby, asking for him. "I'm here, I'm fine. Nothing's broken, that I can tell, but everything's numb. Some loaf's laying on my legs." He nudged the weight away from his body, drawing his legs up manually and patting his thighs to beat the blood back into them. "If we had some light, I could probably find a way into the cockpit. We're in a helicopter, judging by the sound of the engine and the way it's moving. We're tilted some, it's not too noticeable. Wherever we're going, we're not going there too quickly." He punctuated his statement with a simple stamp of his foot, his right leg waking up slowly, pins and needles sprinkling over it ass the blood rushed back into the drunken tissue.

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Posted: Wed, 02/02/2022 02:16 (3 Years ago)
Jaxon was second to last for the jump, his commanding general having already gone ahead. However, as he was readying to leap from the helicopter one again, he felt hands settle on him, jerking him backwards. An arm went around his neck, a cloth over his mouth and nose. Jaxon held his breath as best he could, but the scent of the chloroform slowly, creeping and odd, made its way into his nostrils, even as the helicopter turned to fly away again. The fingers pinched over his nose quickly, the arm around his neck quickly vanishing, instead jabbing two fingers into his side. He gasped quickly, an instant, uncontrollable reaction. After that, there was no resistance.

Waking up, he was greeted by hellish noise, and pure darkness. There was weight on top of him, another body. He couldn't tell who it was, only that there was movement around him. He went perfectly still, allowing himself to simply be carried along. He couldn't move yet, his body numb and unmoving because of the weight atop him. He heard shouting, suddenly, screaming, kicking, crying. It was Bree. It was Bree. Suddenly, the man fought against his bound wrists, gritting his teeth and working his wrists viciously, his breath coming out in strained pulses, sending saliva out in a spray before him. It sounded as though he were trying to pry open a steel case, his arms popping once, twice, three times each. After a few hard minutes of straining, Jaxon started to hear the satisfying sound of popping strings, the rope around his wrists slowly coming undone. His strength was waning though, slowly draining through the silent battle. Bracing himself as best he could, Jaxon flexed his shoulders and bent his arms as far as he could, twisting the rope violently. With a wrathful cry, he felt the ropes snap. His enraged roar echoed in the small space only a moment, leaving Jaxon panting quietly.

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Posted: Tue, 01/02/2022 03:37 (3 Years ago)
Jaxon brought up a knee, hoping that, even if he were stuck again, he would be able to put the other soldier on the ground for a larger advantage. If that succeeded, he would- No, this wasn't a time to think ahead. In a duel, everything happened twenty-at-a-time. If you tried to plan, you got confused. Jaxon let the next attack come at him, his knee driving skyward and one hand lashing out to try and catch the other soldier. He still had strength over this metal-bending opponent. He could use that in any way he could think of. If he had to guess, he also weighed more than his enemy, giving him the chance to rest atop him with ease, no opposition able to lift him from the other. If he got a good choke hold, he could take the Red soldier in as a prisoner of war, to be interrogated... He couldn't help but wonder at what Grey had meant, by a memory...

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Posted: Tue, 01/02/2022 03:21 (3 Years ago)
Jaxon's eyes narrowed further, waiting for something else. "What's the punchline?" His hands were still up, ready to grapple, to catch a fist and return it. He wasn't going to put his guard down, no matter what he was told. He was suspicious of this soldier, his supposed enemy. "I'm still waiting to laugh, or to be shot from behind. Stabbed, even..." His voice slowly lowered into a growl, readying to fight again.

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