pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ This time Arthur voices his disbelief, ] Don’t run? It’s trying to eat me!

[ Though, if nothing else, he stops running on of sheer incredulity at the order. So, that works out. However, it’s very difficult to hold one’s ground in the face of an angry dragon, and Arthur’s every instinct is screaming at him to run away as fast as his legs can carry him.

If he gets out of this alive, this man is going to owe him, big time.

Now that he’s stopped moving, the dragon’s head shoots in his direction, maw wide, ready to bite poor Arthur in two. Almost on instinct, he brings his gun to bear and fires.

Unlike its outsides, the inside of the dragon doesn’t have thick scales for protection, and Arthur’s bullet zips right inside the creature’s mouth. It must have struck something, because the dragon rears back with an ungodly screech, a burst of flame erupting from its mouth unbidden. Arthur feels the blast of heat and stumbles back with a curse as the dragon swings its head wildly, unsure of what to do with the sudden injury to its throat. ]

[Ornstein yells over the ruckus. This would be almost comical if not for the harrowing fact that they could potentially be killed with one wrong move.]

It does not wish to eat you, it merely wishes to kill you! [#helpfulencouragement

There's another loud noise coming from Arthur's weapon, and while Ornstein isn't quite sure what's happened, the dragon stops moving its legs enough for him to find solid ground on the creature. Digging in his body weight against gray scales, he pushes back with his feet, yanking out the spear as the creature roars loudly. Now that he has his weapon back, it would be a cardinal sin to not use it again, given the blessed opening right before him.]

Ha! [Ornstein pierces the dragon's hide again, this time in its flank. With injury to its throat and its side, a panicked sort of rage boils within the drake, and its long tail coils around to whip at the knight on its hindquarters. It works, and Ornstein is hit in the torso, the force knocking him off and to the ground with a grunt. At least this time he's kept a hold of his spear.

He lands with a clatter of armor, his helm coming loose and laughably rolling a few feet away. He nearly doesn't notice, too concerned about pulling himself back to his feet before the dragon's maw draws too close.]

[ Was that supposed to help him feel better? Because it super did not.

Whatever small sense of victory he feels when Ornstein manages to free his weapon and once again wound the beast is short-lived as the man is sent sprawling after a hit from the dragon’s tail. Arthur doesn’t have quite enough time to grab his book, what with the way the dragon is focused on repaying Ornstein for the wound it’s now sporting.

Fortune smiles on Arthur just a little in that as the dragon turns its attention to the other man, it exposes its wounded side to Arthur. He quickly loads another round of ammunition into his gun, and unloads it just as quickly into the wound on the dragon’s flank. The bullets strike the exposed flesh one after another, after another. Arthur would take a moment to admire just how good his aim has gotten lately if not for the fact that now the dragon whips back around and heads for him. ]

[The whole making people feel better thing? Totally not his forte.

He's beginning to think this stranger excels at creating distractions, because there's a sense of relief and very very vague gratitude as the dragon turns its attention away from him. It's bleeding even more now, thanks to those bullets. Dark-colored blood ekes from the wound, flowing down its hide, trickling through the grooves of its scales. Even as it moves with anger, it's obvious that it's favoring its injured flank, and Ornstein takes this opportunity to rush forward.

He skids to a halt in front of the dragon (a move some might call reckless, if they didn't know the knight well enough), swiping his spear up and at an angle, scraping along its snout. It's more annoyance than injury, but Ornstein knows that with enough time, it should become lethargic from blood loss alone. The drake growls at him, snapping its jaws and stopping, looking between Ornstein and Arthur as it decides which one it would like to tear apart first.

There's a surreal sort of... stare-down between the three. Ornstein looks unfazed, while in fact his entire body is coiled like a spring, ready to leap at the first sign of movement.]

How accurate are you with that... thing?

[It's a question directed at Arthur, his meaning being the gun. His voice remains low, not tearing his gaze away from the dragon.]

Edited (Damn you, shift key ) 2016-10-06 17:10 (UTC)

[ Arthur would very much like to question the wisdom of running in front of the face of an angry dragon, but then he’s no dragonslayer. They don’t really have the time for it, anyway, as the dragon looks between both men, weighing its options in a way that Arthur finds unsettling.

So focused is he on the wyrm, that he almost doesn’t hear the question directed at him. In spite of himself, he feels a slight twinge of disappointment that his earlier feat of sharpshooting went unnoticed. ]

Quite, I think. You have an idea?

[Ornstein will certainly notice it this time, if he can pull it off.]

The eyes. Blind the damnable creature, punish it for being so bold to draw so near.

[Calling the dragon bold for daring to face him, instead of the other way around? Typical Ornstein. But he's tactician enough to take hold of an opportunity when it presents itself.

And then the action threatens to start again; the knight can see it in the way the dragon's talons grip into the ground, the way its tail switches, the wave of harsh heat escaping from its exhale. He yells:] Now!

[Green flames flicker around sharp teeth, and Arthur can probably guess what they're about to get a face full of if he doesn't act quickly.]

[ This guy was a piece of work, wasn’t he? Arthur is pretty certain that the only thing that can punish a dragon is a bigger dragon, but once again, he’s left with little time to marvel at his impromptu ally’s eccentricities.

The dragon is rearing up for an attack, flames building in its maw, and Arthur can already feel the first waves of heat from where he stands. The only blessing is that as the dragon prepares to douse them all in flame, it gives Arthur a stationary target. He levels his gun, allows himself a fraction of a second to steady himself, and he fires.

The flames gutter out as the dragon roars in pain, head snapping back as a spurt of blood escapes its eye socket. It’s half-blinded, at least, but Arthur won’t get another shot until it stills again. He snaps open the now empty ammo chamber on his firearm and reloads, waiting for his next opportunity. ]

Stay close. It will likely try to keep us both on its good side, and I'd rather not waste my ammunition.

[Ornstein is usually the one giving commands, but he doesn't argue the point. Staying close might prove tricky, given that the dragon is now swiping at them half-blindly with its front talons, and he has to use his spear as an impromptu shield, angling it to deflect the claws away. The force is nearly enough to push him back, despite his cognizant attempts to keep his heels dug into the earth. He grits his teeth, shuffling a little to the side to remain in the dragon's newly-acquired blind spot.]

I've a spear, not a great shield. [Ornstein's fighting style was rarely focused on defense, and his choice of equipment reflected that much.] I suggest you move quickly.

[He's certainly impressed by Arthur's aim so far, but he'll not say as much until after the battle is fought. Compliments are nothing more than wasted breath if they do not survive the fight afterwards.]

I’m going!

[ Arthur can’t cast spells and shoot at the same time, so for the moment they’re both without a shield.

And really, that suggestion wasn’t necessary. They’ve done nothing but move quickly since the beast attacks- snap decision after snap decision. Arthur skirts around Ornstein, though as he does, a wild swipe of the dragon’s claws clips his side. Arthur lets out a pained noise, bringing his free hand to the wound.

The sound draws the dragon’s attention, and it fixes its good eye on Arthur. The two lock gazes for a brief moment, before Arthur brings his gun up, doing his best to ignore the way pain shoots up his side at the movement, and fires one last time. Blood erupts from the beast’s eye, and Arthur just turns and runs to get out of range of those claws. ]

[Ornstein frowns as the dragon manages to connect a swipe, injuring his companion. He can only hope it isn't too grievous a wound, that it isn't too deep. His ally doesn't appear awfully distraught, though he assumes that he may just be fighting through the pain, too focused to care. It was something the knight could relate to quite fervently.

There was no point in worrying about it now. Scratches and cuts and worse could be tended to after the fact. When the bullet connects with the dragon's other eye, blooding spewing from its injury, it rears up with anger and pain, claws sweeping in the air before him. Ornstein dodges through, seizing this opportunity to dash in even closer, confident that their opponent it too blind to stop him.

His spear begins to literally spark with energy; at first it's nothing more than a quiet surge of electricity, only to erupt into what appears to be literal arcs of lightning coiling around the weapon itself. The Captain was not a proficient magic wielder, unable to perform miracles with the adeptness of a master cleric -- short of one. Lighting was a dragon's weakness (in his world, in his experience), and it would be laughable for a dragonslayer to not become familiar with the art. His weapon pierces into the dragon's belly, and the creature releases an ear-shattering roar. Lightning arcs around its entire body, crackling, blindingly bright. It's only a few seconds, but the moment feels needlessly long from tension alone.

And then, finally, the lightning subsides. The dragon breathes out weakly -- injured by blood loss, blindness, and now magic itself -- and collapses on its side. Ornstein's spear still remains pierced between its scales, like a stuck pig, and the knight moves out of the way so he isn't crushed by the drake as it falls.]

[ The spectacle with the lightning actually distracts Arthur from his injury long enough to just... stare. That was magic, to be sure, but quite unlike anything Arthur has ever seen- though he supposes it could be a distant cousin to Thaumaturgy.

The dragon falls, one last breath escaping it in a pained rasp, but Arthur keeps his weapon drawn until it's certain that the thing is dead. ]

Could not have called down the lightning sooner, hm?

[ He means for it to sound lighthearted, but it comes out a little strained. The wound at his side hurts, throbbing with every movement, every breath. He glaces down to see red seeping into his clothes and through the fingers of the hand he still has clamped over the wound. Slowly, so as not to pull at it, he replaces his gun in its holster at his back. ]

[There's always a grand sense of accomplishment after felling such a creature; Ornstein feels it rise in his chest as he looks over the fallen drake, blood still eking from its multiple wounds. But this emotion is distracted, quelled even, when he hears the words of his companion. Strained with injury, as he's heard from many before in his time. He knows it for what it is.

He doesn't retrieve his spear just yet. It certainly isn't going anywhere, and instead he turns Arthur and walks over, his lips pressed into a visible frown. The question is completely ignored.]

You are bleeding. [The red is visible through his clothes, even more vivid on his fingers.] How bad is the wound?

[ Arthur somehow finds it in him to cast a look at the other man that seems to say "No, really?" He didn't think the fact that he's bleeding needed to be declared. ]

Not too deep, thankfully. At the very least my insides have remained where they belong.

[That look might as well have been water sliding off of his armor. Ornstein remains unfazed, frown plastered on his face. It did need to be declared, and loudly at that. A dragon's talons were not always so straightforward as to be only sharp. Sometimes they were poisonous, or tainted with infection.]

We should find you a healer as soon as we are able. Unless- [A glance at Arthur, the memory of protective magic enveloping them as the dragon tried to tear them apart.] -you are able to heal yourself?

I am.

[ Thankfully, the Nymians from which his healing magic came had no objections to keeping oneself alive. Really, what good was healing magic if it couldn't heal the healer?

With his free hand, he unclips the book from his belt and flips it open. Then, he offers it to Ornstein. ]

Hold this, would you? I would so hate to get blood on the pages.

[He never understood a cleric or a sorcerer's inclination to be so... fastidious. What was wrong with a little blood on the pages of a book? If anything, it was a mark of past victories, of hardships overcome.

Still, he doesn't question it. There is but a lift of his brow as he takes the book as told, feeling its weight in his hands with vague curiosity. His concern seems tempered now that he knows Arthur can heal himself.]

I've not witnessed magic quite like yours before. Where did you study?

[ Arthur flicks through the pages as the other man holds the book. ]

Nym, or rather, what's left of it. The city-state ad its people are all but gone, now, though the knowledge they left behind is quite fascinating.

[ Having found the page he was looking for, he lets his fingers drift over the test. Red sigils and blue-green light blossoms from the page, and a soft glow shines from beneath the hand he has clamped over his wound.

After a second, Arthur seems to visibly relax, his pained expression smoothing out as he draws his hand away. The smeared blood ad torn shirt are the only indications that there was ever a wound there at all. Before he takes his book back, he pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his bloodied hand off. ]

Now, then. What about you? Are you injured?

I've never heard of this... Nym. [It was surprising, if not true enough. Ornstein often kept himself within the walls of Anor Londo, unless tasked outside for differing reasons. Often this had to do with protecting the lands that were ruled by Lord Gwyn, unnamed territories directly neighboring the golden city. Even then, he had met his fair share of travelers. None from a now-vacant city called Nym.

He watches as Arthur heals himself, face illuminated slightly by the blue-green light. When all is said and done, and he's met with the question of his own health, he shakes his head.]

Nothing that requires the aid of magic to heal. [His side feels sore -- bruised, probably -- but that was nothing in the face of the scars he's obtained in the past. Negligible in his eyes.]

I suppose the name wouldn't mean much, unless you had a deep interest in history.

[ He takes his book back at last, placing it back on his belt. There is a brief moment of somewhat awkward silence that follows- Arthur isn't very well-versed in post-dragon slaying conversation. ]

I ah. I don't believe I ever got your name. I'm Arthur. Arthur Inkwell.

[The awkward silence is real, though Ornstein seems relatively unconcerned by it. Small talk isn't his forte, either, unless it's discussing ways to improve one's fighting prowess or the varying tactics on how to slay dragons.

Still, something proud permeates his words as he exchanges introductions with this man.]

You have my gratitude, Arthur Inkwell, for aiding me in battle. You fight well for a man of magic and miracles. [That's meant to be a compliment, it really is.]

My name is Ornstein, Captain of the Knights of Gwyn. I hail from Anor Londo.

[ Arthur quirks a brow. That didn't seem very... compliment-like, but even so-- ] I'll take that as a compliment.

It's a pleasure, though I could have done without the dragon, personally.

[He makes a noise in the back of his throat, something sounding like a "harumph". Turning his head, it's hard enough to miss the dead dragon behind him, having bled out into the earth. The sight prompts him to turn on his heel and grab his spear still stuck in the creature, yanking it out with a forceful pull. The sound of flesh tearing accompanies the gesture, but it more or less comes out as cleanly as it went in. He speaks as he does so.]

Dragons are oft a terrible nuisance, clinging to the shadows of the past. Are you very familiar with them?

I've only run into a few smaller ones. Until now, anything larger was relegated to books.

[ And of course there was the neighboring city-state of Ishgard, which had been at war with dragons or thousands of years. Rumor had it that was slowly drawing to a close, however.

He shrugs. ]

I do a lot of reading.

[Spear regained, he turns to face Arthur again, letting his weapon settle into earth as he holds it up beside him.]

As most who share your inclination of magic oft do. Holed up with their books and their scrolls.

Ramey > open rp

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