Fantasy The Guardians of Gerhard RP

[TobiornotTobi]

Cnut Svartrson​

Abandoned Village Stronghold AKA 'The Corn Hub'​

"Am I seeing double right now?"​

---

When his throwing knife was stopped by a large, metal object, Cnut's first reaction was to turn around to find out what exactly interrupted his bluffing. It was this action alone that averted a broken nose from Wolf's lunging strike. Instead, the arching punch connected with the side of the Bandit's face. He spun backwards and came to a stop on the ground, both hands and a knee cushioning his fall. Damn. He hadn't been hit that hard since, well, the last time he had fought Wolf. Pain not unlike a branding iron became Cnut's reality. A tentative hand reached out to touch his cheek, but it quickly recoiled when the slightest touch hurt like hell. Before he could turn around to face his opponent once more, shouting and cries of pain stole his attention. Tilting his head to look behind at his men, Cnut's blood began to boil at the sight of his bandit comrades not packing up once more. But worse yet, they were now in a state of calamity as they now engaged with who Cnut instantly recognized as those accursed Guardians. He couldn't tell one person from another in the sea of bodies, but there was lightning being cast and arrows being planted, so that was Dillweed and Lizard Lips accounted for. And moments later, Pretty Boy was also brawling his way through the mix towards him, which made for three in total. Escape was looking farther and farther away, but the rhythmic sound of metal clanking together improved Cnut's disposition.

From the rear exit of the warehouse, a towering behemoth of a humanoid stepped into the frame of the warehouse door, his obese 13' body clad head to toe in make-shift armor. It looked like random pieces of metal were melted together and attached to his body, rather than a complete suit. From what little skin was visible on the behemoth, one would be able to see a distinct paleness, along with a variety of black scars. Kragnat, the largest of the Gondar Bandits, had just arrived. Kragnat the ogre was well known in the clan for his size, ferocity, and lack of proper hygiene. He boasted the strength of five bulls and smelled just as good. He played a pivotal role four days prior in the ransacking of the castle, helping Cnut with stealing the royal couch before said castle burned down. Last night, he had retreated into the forest to take a dump, a long and strenuous task for a creature Kragnat's size. And now, he had returned in the nick of time to squash some do-gooders!

"ROOOAAAAAAAA!" Kragnat bellowed, making his presence known with a mighty roar that gave even his dwindling allies pause. The ogre then raised his weapon and trudged with purpose towards the red-headed man with glasses who was unleashing spells upon his fellow bandits.

​

 

[Brutal]

Lyra’s hand shook uncontrollably as she clutched the water bucket, her wide eyes locked onto the horrifying scene before her. The air was thick with the pungent, suffocating scent of blood. It clung to everything, seeping into her very lungs, making her heart race in panic. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, it felt like the world had frozen, her feet rooted to the ground in a paralyzing mix of fear and disbelief.

She was no warrior. Lyra had never been brave enough for that. She was just a fragile human girl with the dubious gift of beast taming—a skill that had amounted to nothing more than a tame, unremarkable cleaning slime as her only companion. She had heard stories of tamers who controlled mighty dragons, griffons, creatures of power and majesty. But Lyra? She was a disappointment, a stain on the name of her once-proud family. She had no strength, no courage, no means of standing against the violence of the world around her. At least, thats what she was raised to believe.

After the king’s death, everything had fallen apart. Her family had been forgotten, and she had been cast aside like a useless trinket. Alone and adrift, she had ended up in a small town, where she was taken as a slave, forced into a life of backbreaking labor. She had learned to keep her head down, to avoid trouble, to never raise her voice. Every day, she worked silently, filtered refuse with the help of her slime, and did whatever she could to remain invisible.

Now, standing at the edge of a blood-soaked scene, Lyra’s mind screamed at her to run, to turn and flee. But her legs felt like lead. She was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by a deep, all-consuming terror. She could hear the distant echoes of screams, of chaos, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She wasn’t like the others, those who fought and stood their ground. She was too timid, too afraid to ever confront anything head-on.

Instead, she hid. She always hid. Behind trees, behind walls, in the corners of rooms, always keeping herself at a distance from the ugliness around her. Even now, with the stench of blood thick in the air, she only wanted to retreat, to escape back into the shadows where she felt safe—if only she could find the courage to move. But all she could do was watch, trembling, too frightened to even step away.

The stench of Kragnat's breath hit her like a physical blow, a rancid, overpowering wave that nearly made her gag. It wasn’t just the blood—no, this was something far worse. The foul, acrid scent of an ogre filled her nostrils, thick and putrid, like rotting flesh mixed with the sour tang of unwashed skin. It was the smell of something unnatural, something ancient and decaying. Lyra's stomach twisted violently at the thought of the creature that could produce such an odor. The ogre’s heavy, musk-laden breath seemed to linger in the air, thick with the taste of grime and sweat, of years of neglect and violence. She felt the bile rise in her throat, her limbs growing weaker as the stench burned its way into her senses. Even at a distance, she could feel its presence, like an oppressive weight pressing down on her chest. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to hide, to escape this nightmare—but her feet remained rooted to the spot, her body too paralyzed by terror to obey.

(New to platform, if i did something wrong please tell me)

 

[Noivian]

Blasting an approaching bandit with a ball of fire, Caelum shuffled on his stack of barrels, feeling the wagon below the stack wobble with him. This was a very precarious perch, and he'd need to move soon, or risk falling. The covering fire Karkiv had provided proved helpful, but Caelum knew he couldn't always depend on his teammates to make sure he was safe. Then came the clanking of metal, the rumbling of big, heavy footsteps shaking the ground and causing Caelum's barrels to rattle again.

"ROOOAAAAAAAA!"

The sound of a deep, bellowing war cry caught Caelum's attention over the din of battle, causing even the bandits around him to pause briefly. The mage turned to see a massive ogre stomping its way towards him, and a mild panic began to set in. Kragnat was moving faster than Caelum thought he could, but Caelum knew just the spell to put the monster in his place - flipping through the book, he held out a hand, palm towards Kragnat, and uttered an incantation under his breath.

For a moment, it was as if nothing had happened. Then a sizzling sound began, and the stench of burning flesh began to fill the air, mingling with the awful smell of Kragnat's unwashed body odor, as the metal armor donning the ogre's body began to turn bright red, heating up until the armor was starting to cook Kragnat alive.

"GRRRRAAAAAAAH!"

Another baleful cry sounded from Kragnat, the heat and burn seeming to hasten its steps towards the mage. With two hands gripping a massive wooden club, it took a step and swung at Caelum, who had been scrambling to get down from the pile upon seeing the ogre's approach. Catching the mage squarely in the chest, Caelum was sent flying in an instant, smashing through a box and slamming into the warehouse wall, before crumpling to the floor.

For a moment, the world was black, nothing but pain anchoring him to reality. Struggling to catch his breath, Caelum rolled from his side to his back, vision swimming and foggy, ears ringing, as he took inventory. His chest burned from the impact of the club, and as he lay there, managed to cough and take a gasping breath. His back radiated a less painful burn, he could feel a mass of splinters poking through his sleeves. Turning his head, he found his spell book had landed not too far to the side, but as he moved his left arm to pick it up, sharp pain radiated up to his shoulder, his forearm bent at an unnatural angle.

"Fuck," Caelum huffed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he grit his teeth and pushed himself to an upright sitting position, ignoring the shooting pains from all over as he did so. A small pile of crates created something of a barrier between him and the battle, obscuring his condition to both friend and foe, except maybe Karkiv, depending on where the archer might be positioned. Caelum had to get to his feet. At the very least, he needed to get somewhere more safe than this. It would be better if he could return to battle, but with one less arm, it would be harder than before.

Summoning a spectral hand, Caelum sent it to pick up his discarded spell book, and did his best to stand while cradling his broken left arm close, gasping and hissing as he did so. There was little he could do about his arm at the moment - healing magic wasn't his forte, so it'd have to wait until after the battle. With book in one spectral hand, and broken arm in the other physical hand, Caelum hid behind a box, observing the battle for now, relying on his teammates to pull through and defeat the bandits, or at least drive them out.