05-08-2023, 07:56 PM
Now this guy was different. Oh he was just as big a nerd as the rest of the blowholes out there, but Jaxen was starting to like the vibes of the group. They were really into it, and far be it from Jaxen to judge another guy for being really into his shit. Or her shit. The women were definitely hotter than the men. Even the chubby ones with the corsets that shoved up their chests clear to their chin? I mean, come on!
This guy was in street clothes, which did make Jaxen wonder if that meant he literally rolled in off the street or if it was part of a character. Maybe he was a time traveler from the 21st century that landed back in the mid-evil, medi-eval, me-devil…, shit, middle ages, and all he had was a sword for defense. Sounded plausible.
What was readily apparent was the fact that this time traveler was a hell of a lot better with a sword than Jaxen, but for his part, he was totally fine with getting the smack wacked out of him.
He took a blow to the leg, which was a new one for Jaxen. Usually the nerds ‘sliced’ off his arm or stabbed him in the chest. He hadn’t been decapitated yet, but surely that was coming? As he had before, the flows created a cocoon of illusion around a stump of a leg. The lower part of it was nearby. Both flowed rivers of blood, but what really sold it was the screaming.
He dropped to the ground, rolling on his back and clutching at the apparent stump for what felt like a long time before he suddenly felt something.
He looked up at the swordsman just as he figured out the ruse. The hand cupping his knee tickled. It made him chuckle.
Jaxen let the illusion drop, and he sprung up to his two perfectly good feet, attached legs nimble and wiry, with the help of an offered palm.
Nuada’s real sword still hung sheathed on his hip. The foam sword was still on the ground. The compliment made him beam. Of course it was brilliant. He was Jaxen Marveet!
“It’s just a flesh wound!” he pelted in a fake British accent, bent his leg and gave a majestic little hop like the Black Knight.
With a laugh he offered a hand to shake, “like that did you? The look on your face was fucking priceless.”
They had drawn a few watchers, whose faces were mixes of shock, horror and impressed by the theatrical commitment to character. True to form, Jaxen took a sweeping bow, his grin flying a mile high. "Thank you. Thank you!"
This guy was in street clothes, which did make Jaxen wonder if that meant he literally rolled in off the street or if it was part of a character. Maybe he was a time traveler from the 21st century that landed back in the mid-evil, medi-eval, me-devil…, shit, middle ages, and all he had was a sword for defense. Sounded plausible.
What was readily apparent was the fact that this time traveler was a hell of a lot better with a sword than Jaxen, but for his part, he was totally fine with getting the smack wacked out of him.
He took a blow to the leg, which was a new one for Jaxen. Usually the nerds ‘sliced’ off his arm or stabbed him in the chest. He hadn’t been decapitated yet, but surely that was coming? As he had before, the flows created a cocoon of illusion around a stump of a leg. The lower part of it was nearby. Both flowed rivers of blood, but what really sold it was the screaming.
He dropped to the ground, rolling on his back and clutching at the apparent stump for what felt like a long time before he suddenly felt something.
He looked up at the swordsman just as he figured out the ruse. The hand cupping his knee tickled. It made him chuckle.
Jaxen let the illusion drop, and he sprung up to his two perfectly good feet, attached legs nimble and wiry, with the help of an offered palm.
Nuada’s real sword still hung sheathed on his hip. The foam sword was still on the ground. The compliment made him beam. Of course it was brilliant. He was Jaxen Marveet!
“It’s just a flesh wound!” he pelted in a fake British accent, bent his leg and gave a majestic little hop like the Black Knight.
With a laugh he offered a hand to shake, “like that did you? The look on your face was fucking priceless.”
They had drawn a few watchers, whose faces were mixes of shock, horror and impressed by the theatrical commitment to character. True to form, Jaxen took a sweeping bow, his grin flying a mile high. "Thank you. Thank you!"