Post by ¤Deva Darkbroode¤ on Feb 5, 2008 23:48:21 GMT -5
Devlen The Second was one for the violent track. He would take a man and rip them apart just to see how far he could push it until they would fight back. On most occasions he just struck the killing blow to get the fight over with, but when his foe was strong enough, he'd have some fun with them, just to enjoy the battle.
"Swords and Guns? Out dated don't you think?"
"Sure, but they get the job done." ~Cyris to Devlen the First
His sword reigned supreme. In front of him was a platoon of Sand people, and like the legend of the Darkbroode warriors, his skill was unrivaled. The sword he held in his hand worked as if it was mechanical, precise, deadly, and faster then most could see, or wanted to see for this instance.
Light glared off of the metallic surface as if it was water. The air particles separated in halves sending out a screaming whistle from the velocity of the Dematri weapon. The doomnium steel slit through the fabric like butter, blood sputtered from the wound that formed from shoulder to hip and the Tusken fell under the pressure of a boot to his chest.
The Wicked One swung the gore off his sword and rushed forward executing several more of the sand people before they could get their rifles into place and fire at him. He spun around and sent his sword flying through the air, it hit its mark and was withdrawn as he rushed past the falling warrior to place it into another meaty target.
He ended the combination attack on his left knee, five tuskens behind him raised their rifles. The red pupils suddenly flashed orange and all five slammed into each other and suddenly they crushed one another. He stood up and began to wipe gore off his blade before he said, "I guess I can thank her for that much."
The Dune Sea had been raped of its pure white sand...
"Swords and Guns? Out dated don't you think?"
"Sure, but they get the job done." ~Cyris to Devlen the First
His sword reigned supreme. In front of him was a platoon of Sand people, and like the legend of the Darkbroode warriors, his skill was unrivaled. The sword he held in his hand worked as if it was mechanical, precise, deadly, and faster then most could see, or wanted to see for this instance.
Light glared off of the metallic surface as if it was water. The air particles separated in halves sending out a screaming whistle from the velocity of the Dematri weapon. The doomnium steel slit through the fabric like butter, blood sputtered from the wound that formed from shoulder to hip and the Tusken fell under the pressure of a boot to his chest.
The Wicked One swung the gore off his sword and rushed forward executing several more of the sand people before they could get their rifles into place and fire at him. He spun around and sent his sword flying through the air, it hit its mark and was withdrawn as he rushed past the falling warrior to place it into another meaty target.
He ended the combination attack on his left knee, five tuskens behind him raised their rifles. The red pupils suddenly flashed orange and all five slammed into each other and suddenly they crushed one another. He stood up and began to wipe gore off his blade before he said, "I guess I can thank her for that much."
The Dune Sea had been raped of its pure white sand...
