pullmeoutalive | Ramey

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject