Post by Dima on Jan 24, 2018 4:59:51 GMT -5
Another calm day on the island. Along the beach, gentle waves lapped at the golden shore. The skies were clear, not a single cloud in sight. Birdsong and insect chitters were just about the only sounds of life across the island in the humid jungle heat.
A warm wind whistled through the trees and rustled the jungle canopy, sending spots of light dancing across the path of a Moon Clan hunting party. They had just finished a successful hunt, and each hunter hoisted a briar hen or wild hog over their shoulder, laughing and joking as they picked their way through the thick jungle.
What a nice day for a slaughter.
Dima signaled for his assassins to keep holding their breath. Their scouts had been right; the hunting party did indeed return along the same path they'd left the village through. His visage split into a silent grin; the hunters had no idea what was to befall them. Soon the Moon heretics would be directly under them. Then, the hunters would become the hunted.
Shortswords accompanied by small, sharp daggers were the ideal weapons for such an ambush, but Dima felt more confident wielding his Fiery Doom instead of his companions' machete-like blades, even in such an enclosed place. Sadly, while Fiery Doom was compact and nimble enough to at least be of some use here, Moon-Eater was completely out of the question. He'd left that back in the Ember Village, but Heartburn was strapped tightly to his back in case of an emergency.
Three steps, two steps, the fools walked towards their deaths.
"Blowdarts."
With light nods, the backliners of this small assassination squad fished out some crude blowpipes from the depths of their robes. With quick, sharp huffs, the deadly poisoned thorns hiding within quickly hurtled through the air and buried themselves into tree trunks, onto the ground, and in various places under the skin of several of the hunters. They simultaneously gasped in shock and pain for a second before falling to the ground, black tendrils already spiraling from the points of impact where the darts had done their dirty work.
The remaining hunters who still stood dropped their spoils and drew their weapons, looking around for a sign of their mysterious assailants. One of the hunters began fumbling for his horn to call for help but suddenly there was a sharp pain in his chest, and he collapsed to the jungle floor, one of Heartburn's shafts protruding from his ribs. The canopy above exploded into activity, and the fifteen camouflaged Sun Clan assassins showed themselves.
"Give 'em hell, warriors! TO ARMS!"
Dropping from above, the assassins plunged downwards onto their targets, swords and daggers glinting in the dancing sunlight. Dima himself crashed down from the heavens after his men, roaring like a wild beast and brandishing the dreaded edge of the Fiery Doom. Was this the end for the ill-fated hunters?
A warm wind whistled through the trees and rustled the jungle canopy, sending spots of light dancing across the path of a Moon Clan hunting party. They had just finished a successful hunt, and each hunter hoisted a briar hen or wild hog over their shoulder, laughing and joking as they picked their way through the thick jungle.
What a nice day for a slaughter.
Dima signaled for his assassins to keep holding their breath. Their scouts had been right; the hunting party did indeed return along the same path they'd left the village through. His visage split into a silent grin; the hunters had no idea what was to befall them. Soon the Moon heretics would be directly under them. Then, the hunters would become the hunted.
Shortswords accompanied by small, sharp daggers were the ideal weapons for such an ambush, but Dima felt more confident wielding his Fiery Doom instead of his companions' machete-like blades, even in such an enclosed place. Sadly, while Fiery Doom was compact and nimble enough to at least be of some use here, Moon-Eater was completely out of the question. He'd left that back in the Ember Village, but Heartburn was strapped tightly to his back in case of an emergency.
Three steps, two steps, the fools walked towards their deaths.
"Blowdarts."
With light nods, the backliners of this small assassination squad fished out some crude blowpipes from the depths of their robes. With quick, sharp huffs, the deadly poisoned thorns hiding within quickly hurtled through the air and buried themselves into tree trunks, onto the ground, and in various places under the skin of several of the hunters. They simultaneously gasped in shock and pain for a second before falling to the ground, black tendrils already spiraling from the points of impact where the darts had done their dirty work.
The remaining hunters who still stood dropped their spoils and drew their weapons, looking around for a sign of their mysterious assailants. One of the hunters began fumbling for his horn to call for help but suddenly there was a sharp pain in his chest, and he collapsed to the jungle floor, one of Heartburn's shafts protruding from his ribs. The canopy above exploded into activity, and the fifteen camouflaged Sun Clan assassins showed themselves.
"Give 'em hell, warriors! TO ARMS!"
Dropping from above, the assassins plunged downwards onto their targets, swords and daggers glinting in the dancing sunlight. Dima himself crashed down from the heavens after his men, roaring like a wild beast and brandishing the dreaded edge of the Fiery Doom. Was this the end for the ill-fated hunters?
