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VENTURES INTO THE REMOTE (RP)

It was difficult but he could walk with some concentration. His senses were thrown off and a small child ran past him. He nearly collided with the little girl and someone ran up and hit his shoulder. He'd see a woman yelling at him. Yet he couldn't make out a single word she said.

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His scimitar did not penetrate beyond the skin. It could barely cut the armor. And on attempting to break through, the blade broke.

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He'd mumble his apologies and wave her off, continuing to stumble forward, but not to the citadel, back to the Healers. They'd be able to fix him, right? He would at least need to try to reach them.
 
"Share a bed my ass" Iver said, "Thoruk, i see you and Arandil brought the supplies. Lets just set our mats because sharing one bed is gay" Iver said.
 
Sigeric... Sigeric.... Sigeric... The name pounded again and again throughout his mind as the great bestial Warrior was closing the distance within seconds, and it was evident that he was not going to stop this rampage any time soon. For not only did he have the appearance of a wild, feral animal on the hunt, he also had a nigh impregnable mind that only had rage. Rage from a variety of experiences and people and feelings, and it was even now picking apart the character of Sigeric as he could only possibly see him now was prey. Shoved aside were his... noble qualities... his leadership... his tactical mind. All that was left was the petty grudges and dislikes that had been borne over time through experience with the Dalishman, more fuel for the fire. Sigeric's coldness, his looking down upon Ha'zi even after all this time that there group has been more or less together, which has felt like an eternity at this point. How, despite his intelligence, they were put in evil's way time and time again. And, of course, the highly arguable fact that he murdered the king of Dale. While all just little jabs and thoughts that had not been pondered over quite often- yet if dug through enough some could be surprisingly found in a vein of occasional jealousy- they existed and boosted him all the same for revenge towards the harsh noble. Here, now, would be his chance to give that bastard what was really on his mind, and he now started it giddily, jumping forward from his animalistic run to then dive at the legs of the Guardian, his swords thrusting forward. Meanwhile, his feelings toward Sigeric in this wild state fueled something quite different, something far more powerful at work: mimicry. So while he attacked devastatingly at the Giant, his empathic powers were starting up like a machine, chock full of energized emotional baggage to keep it running quite smoothly.
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Struggling against him, the Dwarf uselessly thrashed back and forth to try and fling off the demigod-like figure. His ultimate decision, though, was to now fall backwards with an obvious goal in mind of defeating Teli, as there wasn't much else he could do now in a
chokehold, and he certainly did not have enough energy for more fighting Giant-less.
 
"Well, its not like you are going to escape all of those fuckers tomorrow" Iver said in dalish and kicked the dwarf's leg.
 
"Aye, ya can rest in a bed for the next days while we have to travel, besides that, my last sleep was on some rocks." he'd say to the Dalishman.
 
"That's because you are a complete idiot and can take a nap in the middle of a battlefield" Iver replied in the common tongue and kicked the dwarf again. "Well fuck you, I'm going to get our stuff" Iver added after seeing that they didn't actually bring the bags.
 
"Well i could use all the help possible" Iver said and stared at the dwarf with anger before leaving to bring their stuff.
 
Thoruk would remain on the bed, for once doing nothing after the power he had used in the last days it was good for him to regain it through a long nap.
 
After much stumbling, Hering found his way back to the Houses of Healing. Upon entering though, he realized he was very confused. These weren't the Houses of Healing. But...they were supposedly meant to be here...? Someone came around the corner and Hering looked up to see a familiar figure.

Yet somewhat different...instead of the crew cut the man had a shaggy loaf of hair and a large beard covering his face. But the same facial boil scarred over his right cheek and it was unmissable. This was the man they had cornered. The one who was called the Armor Giant.

Berethor remained still in the doorway as the black ranger had walked in on him.

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"Oh, you'll see." The admiral smiled. "Your aid shall be needed in future endevours against the enemy. You take your orders from General Belzagar now, not Captain Vardamir. Understand, Lieutenant?"

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As Thoruk's lazy ass went to bed and Iver and Arandil departed the cabin, they found Lasser sitting outside on the rocking chair. He eyed them suspiciously.

"Where ya goin'?"

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THUUUD!!!!

Dimitri felt the arms around his neck slacken suddenly as he slammed into the ground. Telimekhtar groaned and fell off him but in one last act of strength he clawed at the Dwarf's throat cutting it slightly but not enough to cause substantial damage.

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The Guardian Giant's shoulders were pinned to the ground as the Warrior leaped onto him and stabbed him mercilessly. Over and over and over again and again. The Guardian's face was smashed through, the armor cracking and a sword breaking through its eye.

Ha'zi felt the emotions returning. Miriel's betrayal. Her lies. Mandos. The destiny forced upon him. Everyone who had lied to him, hurt him, fought him, been taken from him, that mattered to him. Eonwe, Dimitri, the Trickster, Lesier, Cardiloc, Iver, Celeste, Keldar, Lesier, Morgoth, Sigeric, Manwe, Grimnir and Osman, Ilmare, the Prototypes, the Gondorians, Daugo, Celeborn, Thoruk, Glorfindel, his Future Self, the Iron Hunter, his father and lastly, his mother...the rage was unleashed and continued to build until there was nothing left of the Guardian but a desecrated body. Noises from the other side of the battlefield drew him...

His wild eyes settled upon a dozen smaller giants chasing around a small speck. But it was beyond them that he saw the source of all his anger. No. Not the source. A receptor. The Armoured and Screaming Giants.

Rambo could very much attempt to break the skin with his hand. Of course, he had just witnessed his blade break upon heavy contact. So, obviously using his hands must somehow be a better option...right?

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What the hell? Herings face was a mixture of fear and confusion, he stumbled backwards. How was here already? What happened to Glorfindel? Most importantly why did he look.... Older? Impossible, it must be the light and his brain messing with him. He'd reach for his sword "You bastard! I'll kill you where you stand!" He threatened, knowing fully well he was in no position to fight let alone win.
 
Rambo sighed, if he was to take out Berethor, he’d need to wait. The man would look at his rope and decided to securely fasten himself to the hook.
 
"I understand the order, though not the reasoning behind it. Why shall I be placed under his command?" He hoped he would not step on the military man's toes by not following his whims blindly.
 
As the Guardian's eyes were gouged out by the enraged Warrior, Sigeric lost his view of the battlefield, seeing only the interior of the crystal. Damn you, Ha'zi. Almost a year of training, and the boy hadn't even learned to control his emotions. Sigeric contemplated his options. Transforming again would be a massive waste of energy, if he was even able to. Fortunately, he had another idea. Tendrils of biomass would burst from the desiccated body parts of the Guardian, attaching to each other. A series of uncomfortable cracks would be heard, as giant bones snapped into place and took new positions. Only, the Guardian would not seem to be repairing itself. Instead, its former body parts morphed, taking the shape of something new. Sigeric pictured the rotating ballista that he had learned how to create from the ancient architectural tomes of Gondor. It was time to put it to use. There was only one problem - he still had no eyes. Sigeric reached out with his telepathy, scanning the battlefield. Instead of simply reading the participants' thoughts, however, he tried something rather different. He would attempt to relate each mind that he found to a location in physical space, crossing the gap between the mental and physical planes. It could be considered a psychic radar, of sorts, were the concept of radar to even exist. Sigeric did not know whether he would succeed in this experiment, but if he did, he would have the perfect targeting system for his new weapon.
 
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