Summary:The Wyvern is revealed! And a few others who try to take out the duo..! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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A month ago, it was a thriving community that sought to get away from the main parts of the country-lands to start their own communities without subjugation…
..now it was a barren wasteland with no minds present..
"Oh no! Oliver!" Jean cries out, the large fireball hurtling towards her at breakneck speeds.
Behind Oliver, there are three masked men, their bodies covered with black leather to avoid the sunlight or any of the environs of that area. The only sound that would be heard on Oliver's end was the slide of the blades from the sheath, which ring out like bells in the air.
Jean -already- had her hands busy, which immediately strike outwards to halt the path of the fireball, it a little too close for comfort which heats her skin considerably, but was tolerable.
Just where in the hell did they come from? And how did they only appear a second ago?!
"Phoe—oh, fuck me." The sound of swords and knives being drawn is distinctive, like the medieval version of a shotgun being chambered.
Ollie doesn't hesitate; he immediately takes up his bow and flips his body around, sending himself into an ass-down feet-first slide from the peak of the roof he's been hiding on toward the trio of incoming bad guys. He sends a volley of arrows at them during his descent, followed closely by a pile of shitty roofing tiles that have been knocked loose in the process.
He hits the ground in a shower of dust and stone, then rolls and comes to his feet with his sword in one hand and his bow in the other. He swivels around, grinning fiercely behind his hood. "You okay over there, Red?" he shouts inquiringly.
Jean holds true, the fireball slowly ebbing away from her as she plants her feet as if she were Sisyphus. One foot in front of the other. Knee bent. Clear strain upon her face. Some metaphysical force continued to push against her, but..
"..I'M FINE!" She cries out, but soon.. she wouldn't be.
The three figures surround Oliver like such, each preparing for their piece of the pie. There was a slight chittering about them, their dark eyes like smoke as they quickly lunch towards the hooded archer.
This is the kind of fight that the Arrow understands. Logical. Quantifiable reactions to actions. Parry, sidestep, riposte. He knocks aside a thrown knife with his bow and then lashes out, using it as a club to knock down an opponent.
Then someone jumps on Ollie's back and reaches over his shoulder to stab him between two armor plates. It's not a lethal wound or even a particularly dangerous one, but it's painful as hell. He roars, backpedals, and smashes his new friend against a tree to shake him loose. "Ow. You don't sound fine!"
Time to wrap it up. Ollie shakes his head to clear it, then thrusts downward with his sword and dispatches the back-clinger. Thusly stabbed, it spurts a fountain of black, steaming blood before evaporating into ash. The previously skewered specimen has already dissolved in the same manner, leaving only the one that had been knocked down.
Almost as an afterthought, Oliver fires an arrow through the last bad guy's foot and deep into the earth below, pinning it in place. Then, his work completed, he sheathes his sword and trots toward the sound of Phoenix's predicament.
While Oliver makes quick work of his opponents, Jean wasn't so lucky. Her opponent was unseen, save for the fireball that remained hovered in the air right in front of her.
Her fingers remain splayed, before she wisens up and begins to clench. With each curl of her fingers, the fireball itself flattens and warps. The flame intensifies before it slowly dies down, leaving Jean herself smoking.
For a moment, it looks as though she would topple over, but with a few quick inhales she rights herself, her brows lowering into a deep frown that casts off a hint of anger.
She was looking, scanning, even holding up a hand to halt Oliver from coming close. "Wait.." She says quietly, until her eyes immediately dart up towards the sky. "..what the heck is that?!"
Circling above, cracking out huffs and puffs of fire, was a wyvern. Not attacking nor threatening.. just circling until it flies away a moment after, due north-east. The direction they were heading.
Unsurprisingly, Ollie already has an arrow knocked and drawn, but he lowers his bow when the wyvern heads off. "Great. That's just great," he mutters.
Once he's certain they're safe, at least for the moment, he sighs out a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. "Whatever that is, it looks like it's going our way. Some… whatever-they-ares snuck up on me or I would've been here sooner. Sort of vaporized? I had one pinned to the ground the last time I saw him, though. You sure you're alright? That was all pretty dramatic."
Jean Grey says, "@emit
Headaches, perhaps Jean was picking up on Oliver's, but she had one as well. It was a strain and it nearly tapped out her reserves. "I'm fine.." Jean says, keeping her eyes in the direction of the wyvern, a frown drawing upon her face. "I could almost reach it. Almost. I'm not sure but it seemed like it didn't want to do this.." Or maybe it was her. The mind of the beast was odd, something she wasn't used to. It was intelligent though..
She does glance over towards Oliver, then frowns. "Sorry, I didn't mean to use your name. I'm Jean." But then again, she gestures towards that area. "Shall we go question our friend?""
Headaches, perhaps Jean was picking up on Oliver's, but she had one as well. It was a strain and it nearly tapped out her reserves. "I'm fine.." Jean says, keeping her eyes in the direction of the wyvern, a frown drawing upon her face. "I could almost reach it. Almost. I'm not sure but it seemed like it didn't want to do this.." Or maybe it was her. The mind of the beast was odd, something she wasn't used to. It was intelligent though..
She does glance over towards Oliver, then frowns. "Sorry, I didn't mean to use your name. I'm Jean." But then again, she gestures towards that area. "Shall we go question our friend?"
"I know who you are." There's a pause, then a chuckle from Ollie. "Okay, not true, but I could have made an educated guess. After this we can grab a drink, but let's wait until then to get on a first name basis."
Another pause, this one a little longer. "If you have a weak stomach, you might want to wait while I handle this one. Things could get a bit uncivilized." There's something very particular about his tone. Clearly, it's not the first time he's had to be uncivilized, whatever the creepy-ass hell that means. "Or, you know, come and watch. Whatever's clever."
There was a moment to where Jean would almost let this one slide. Though it wasn't as if the X-Men operated on being pacifists only. "I'll come along. Maybe we can try a lighter touch first to see if we can get results."
She gestures towards the area of where Oliver just came from, waiting to follow. "I don't drink." She comments off-handedly. At least as something to pass the silence.
"That's boring." Oliver's reply comes without judgement. "But understandable. I probably wouldn't drink either, if I could do what you can. Oh. Speaking of, I guess you can just sort of…" he waggles his fingers to indicate her powers. "That'll save time."
Around the corner of a rough cottage is the improvised captive. Whoever or whatever it is, it's not animal enough to chew its own leg off or desperate enough to rip its foot in half trying to dig out the arrow that's holding it in place. "Go ahead," Ollie says. "I'll keep an eye open while you're working. You get nothing, we do it my way. I want to know who the hell sent a wee lil' dragon to try and kill us."
"That's what I was thinking." Jean says with a grin, and finally coming up upon the creature, he looks.. hurt. Or does it? It was hard to tell with those many cloths around it's face, but Jean felt safe enough with Oliver at her back to kneel close to look the being in it's eye.
"Who .. what are you?" She asks quietly, her hand slowly reaching out to at least make physical contact. It'll make the psychic hold much stronger. But as soon as her fingers get close, a flash of a blade whips out, nearly cutting the middle of her palm.
Falling back and away, the creature cackles and sneers, chittering something in it's born tongue. And without much ado, or fanfaire.. the being draws the knife up towards his throat and begins to cut..
..and unleashes an unholy scream before he disintegrates.
-TBC-