[It's cold, and the snow has turned into a deep red, a coagulated crimson, in the wake of a terrible fight.
A fight that has not ended, but one that is presumably going not so great for Maxim, for whatever reason that may be. Maybe the monster is too large, too overbearing. Maybe it's too fast. Maybe luck is on its side and it got a tricky hit in.
But either way, it's certainly not fortunate enough to avoid a silver bullet slamming into it from afar, right on the heels of a gunshot. It rears back, wailing in pain.]
You there! [Says Vincent, a hunter dressed in dark garb, who has sludged through snow like this more than once before, approaching swiftly from a distance.] Let me aid you!
[Winters in Crownfrost brings forth terrors new and old.
Hunting is not only for keeping the creatures out of the capital and surrounding provinces; it was imperative that useful parts were harvested; fur, skin, blood, and bone. Anything was fair game to be stripped down to the marrow as long as it wasn't poisonous or had negative long term effects.
Every other year, a new monster would manifest and the archivist of the hunting party would have to put it on record and share the knowledge throughout the Empire. Some only appeared once, others would increase in number and add to their never-ending labor.
It's just another day for Maxim Vasiliev; he grunts and dodge-rolls away from his current prey thinking cynically in that split second:]
I really hope we don't see another fucker like THIS the rest of the winter.
[A tall man and his three companions, clad in dark and warm clothing are currently struggling against a skeletal creature as tall as the pine trees surrounding them in the grove. Within its ribcage, four heads reside (a fox, a bear, two human heads). It's own head is a grey and bald with large blunt teeth.
And they're all screaming.
Maxim had lost his sniping spot when the beast swiped at him with its large paddle hands. The rest of his team are shouting to distract it while he gathers his bearings. But before he can think of his next move, the sound of a bullet rings through the air and the monster screeches in pain, falling to its knees.]
Let me aid you!
[There's no second guessing; though his companions are baffled, Maxim's one blue eye catches Vincent's and he nods.]
"Stagger it again!"
[Maxim speaks in the Empire's language but the meaning should come across loud and clear. He shouts directions at the others to back off and make room for Vincent. Meanwhile, he'll assess if he can fight up close; he changes positions with his rifle and it snaps into place to become a lance.]
[This would be a far more wretched and terrifying sight if Vincent had not been in this situation countless times in the past; and often on his own at that. He's seen awful creatures much like this one (though not exactly like this one), just as he's had to fight against the snow underfoot and the chill threatening to cut through his garb amid a fight. It means nothing to him. His instincts remain clear and focused. he's leveled up a lot since he turned into a slug
His own weapon is the saw cleaver, now extended to give him further reach, and he doesn't hesitate to close the space between him and the creature. Even if he doesn't understand the language, the intent is very clear. There is only one thing a true hunter would do in a situation like this, and it's to volleyball distractions to keep the beast on its toes.
Vincent's turn, then. He won't rely on his gun, now holstered. Instead, he leaps forward and swings his weapon in a sharp arch, to cut into the skin of the monster. Distantly, he notes the weapon that Maxim is wielding, but he's no time to really focus on it.]
[The cleaver's aim is true and the creature has no time to avoid Vincent's strike. Maxim would be impressed if they had the time to ponder it more but not now; the other hunters have taken out their rifles and are changing formation. They distance themselves from Max and the mysterious hunter as they circle the beast.
Maxim dashes at the monster with his lance and performs multiple strikes at its knees. The effort is rewarded; the monster cannot run anymore but it can still attempt a palm slam while rasping for breath. The scarred man keeps stabbing at its knees and then its thighs until a satisfactory amount of blood is spilling into the snow.
He creates some distance again close enough that Vincent should be able to see him. Maxim makes a gesture with his thumb, slashing it across his throat. And then he shouts:]
Behead!!
[He speaks in a familiar tongue this time, a singular word with an authoritative tone. It's all decisive action right now, nothing else, and instinctively he feels like he can trust this stranger to deal the final blow.]
[What a weapon that is, with reach and piercing ability enough to break a monster to pieces. Again, it's something he can appreciate later, after the fight has come to a close -- and this fight will come to a close.
Blood spills into the pristine white. Vincent only takes to the command with such an ease that he might not have required any command at all; he knows when to strike, to take advantage of vulnerabilities when they are presented to him.
He cleaves his weapon across hard and horizontally. The serrated edges of the blade slice through the monster's frame, sending its head detached from its body and landing harshly into the snow.]
Wretched thing.
[Of course, one must make sure such a monster will not be getting up a second time.]
[The screams die with the monster as its head lands on the snow and sweet silence fills the air with the exception of the harsh breathing of anticipation from Maxim and his other hunters.]
The tension starts to lessen in Maxim's body but after a minute he speaks up, commanding his unit to dismantle their prey. They move in closer to the body unsheathing machetes and another a pistol.
While they work on that, Maxim rests his lance across his shoulders and moves towards Vincent, his voice gruff as he properly addresses him.]
Good work. Thanks, stranger.
[He doesn't flinch when four bullet shots ring through the air. One of his men is quadruple-checking the monster by shooting the heads that were in its ribcage.]
Your weapon. Never seen before. Not a local hunter?
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A fight that has not ended, but one that is presumably going not so great for Maxim, for whatever reason that may be. Maybe the monster is too large, too overbearing. Maybe it's too fast. Maybe luck is on its side and it got a tricky hit in.
But either way, it's certainly not fortunate enough to avoid a silver bullet slamming into it from afar, right on the heels of a gunshot. It rears back, wailing in pain.]
You there! [Says Vincent, a hunter dressed in dark garb, who has sludged through snow like this more than once before, approaching swiftly from a distance.] Let me aid you!
no subject
Hunting is not only for keeping the creatures out of the capital and surrounding provinces; it was imperative that useful parts were harvested; fur, skin, blood, and bone. Anything was fair game to be stripped down to the marrow as long as it wasn't poisonous or had negative long term effects.
Every other year, a new monster would manifest and the archivist of the hunting party would have to put it on record and share the knowledge throughout the Empire. Some only appeared once, others would increase in number and add to their never-ending labor.
It's just another day for Maxim Vasiliev; he grunts and dodge-rolls away from his current prey thinking cynically in that split second:]
I really hope we don't see another fucker like THIS the rest of the winter.
[A tall man and his three companions, clad in dark and warm clothing are currently struggling against a skeletal creature as tall as the pine trees surrounding them in the grove. Within its ribcage, four heads reside (a fox, a bear, two human heads). It's own head is a grey and bald with large blunt teeth.
And they're all screaming.
Maxim had lost his sniping spot when the beast swiped at him with its large paddle hands. The rest of his team are shouting to distract it while he gathers his bearings. But before he can think of his next move, the sound of a bullet rings through the air and the monster screeches in pain, falling to its knees.]
Let me aid you!
[There's no second guessing; though his companions are baffled, Maxim's one blue eye catches Vincent's and he nods.]
"Stagger it again!"
[Maxim speaks in the Empire's language but the meaning should come across loud and clear. He shouts directions at the others to back off and make room for Vincent. Meanwhile, he'll assess if he can fight up close; he changes positions with his rifle and it snaps into place to become a lance.]
gomen for not having my fighty icons available
he's leveled up a lot since he turned into a slugHis own weapon is the saw cleaver, now extended to give him further reach, and he doesn't hesitate to close the space between him and the creature. Even if he doesn't understand the language, the intent is very clear. There is only one thing a true hunter would do in a situation like this, and it's to volleyball distractions to keep the beast on its toes.
Vincent's turn, then. He won't rely on his gun, now holstered. Instead, he leaps forward and swings his weapon in a sharp arch, to cut into the skin of the monster. Distantly, he notes the weapon that Maxim is wielding, but he's no time to really focus on it.]
such is icon life
Maxim dashes at the monster with his lance and performs multiple strikes at its knees. The effort is rewarded; the monster cannot run anymore but it can still attempt a palm slam while rasping for breath. The scarred man keeps stabbing at its knees and then its thighs until a satisfactory amount of blood is spilling into the snow.
He creates some distance again close enough that Vincent should be able to see him. Maxim makes a gesture with his thumb, slashing it across his throat. And then he shouts:]
Behead!!
[He speaks in a familiar tongue this time, a singular word with an authoritative tone. It's all decisive action right now, nothing else, and instinctively he feels like he can trust this stranger to deal the final blow.]
the real eldritch horror is having 15 icons only
Blood spills into the pristine white. Vincent only takes to the command with such an ease that he might not have required any command at all; he knows when to strike, to take advantage of vulnerabilities when they are presented to him.
He cleaves his weapon across hard and horizontally. The serrated edges of the blade slice through the monster's frame, sending its head detached from its body and landing harshly into the snow.]
Wretched thing.
[Of course, one must make sure such a monster will not be getting up a second time.]
no subject
[The screams die with the monster as its head lands on the snow and sweet silence fills the air with the exception of the harsh breathing of anticipation from Maxim and his other hunters.]
The tension starts to lessen in Maxim's body but after a minute he speaks up, commanding his unit to dismantle their prey. They move in closer to the body unsheathing machetes and another a pistol.
While they work on that, Maxim rests his lance across his shoulders and moves towards Vincent, his voice gruff as he properly addresses him.]
Good work. Thanks, stranger.
[He doesn't flinch when four bullet shots ring through the air. One of his men is quadruple-checking the monster by shooting the heads that were in its ribcage.]
Your weapon. Never seen before. Not a local hunter?