Post by Omarion on May 26, 2010 18:40:17 GMT -5
The weight of sand colored stone hung around the angel within the room. It was male, his body marked with the signs of battle: ragged scars ran down certain sections of his body, some freshly acquired. Black hair dominated his head as crouched to the ground, carefully tightening greaves over his shins. Leather straps were pulled tightly before he finished them off and stood up, causing the scars to take new shapes. Viridian eyes glanced at the rack in front of him. The solid wood held the Cerys style armor. Markings of the clan rested on the chest of the plate as did the insignia of the angels rank on the shoulders of said armor. The winged warrior reached forward and lifted the battle worn protection off its resting place before he began to slip it on. The armor felt familiar to him, like his body was its true home. He couldn’t count the number of battles he’d been in with this very chest piece protecting him from the more lethal blows that he failed to parry or dodge. That said, the number of blows he failed to evade in some way were few and far in between. The sting of sharpened blades invading the surface of his skin was something that he remembered without fail.
Pain was something every angel was used to, it was a part of every angels life since childhood. Omarion was no different. Emotions were carefully repressed, it was the way of an angelic warrior, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t occasionally attempt to break to the surface. Outside, the angel commander was controlled, calm, calculative and deadly, everything a Cerys general should be. However, behind closed doors he allowed some semblance of emotion to come out, but not to any great degree. In truth, most emotion disgusted him at the way it affected his body. Even anger, as powerful as it potentially could be, was a double edged sword. True, some tended to ignore pain or even get stronger when under the effects of extreme anger or rage, but ignoring the fact your body was getting torn to pieces wasn’t exactly a good thing. You’d come out of the battle and soon die from bleeding out or from some deadly wound that you ignored, and that was only if you actually won with the amount of mistakes that came with angered fighting.
Omarion’s eyes reflected his thoughts lightly as he snapped the final strap to place and tightened it. His hand traveled across the smoothed leather just as he felt the presence of another coming towards the armory. The aura came to the door and like a machine, the angelic commander pacified his facial expression. The door cracked open, causing a beam of light invade that gradually expanded into a wall of the stuff. However, it was quickly blocked as an angel strode in already adorning his own armor. Bits of it glinted as the new arrival held his position near the door. The commander continued his preparations, slipping on an armored bracer. “Will you be needing a regiment commander?”
Omarion looked over his shoulder as the leather over his forearm was pulled taut. “That won’t be necessary Murskiel. I’ll only be departing with Elysia.” He finished with the last of his armor and began moving towards the weapon racks.
“As you wish.” With that said, the second angel peeled the door open once more and vanished into the corridor. The Cerys could feel his bold aura disappearing down the hall until eventually his grasp over it vanished completely. Armored footsteps bounced off the walls until the commander was in front of his own assortment of deadly tools. The scrape of metal against wood sounded as he pulled two hand axes from the wood and slipped them onto his belt. They were the perfect weapon for throwing or straight brawling, something the Cerys was especially good at. Next game the warhammer, which was carefully picked up and slipped onto his back. The last piece however, the cool viridian eyes simply stared at for a few moments. The armor pressed down on the angels body while he carefully examined the length of chain, the metal handle and finally, the obsidian ball. Almost as if touching a child, he reached out and let his hand pass over the rounded surface.
This weapon had been with him for countless years, always crushing, smashing, demolishing anything in his path. Bodies would crumbled beneath its massive blows like leaves in the wind. Bone literally shattered under its strikes. Even the slight of glancing blows caused bruises or even breaks. Many screams of death were tied to this weapon. They lingered on it like an obscuring mist, the cries of the dead that hung on the weapon like a blinding fog. He’d spent to many years fighting, spent too many decades on war campaigns to even begin to remember all he’d killed. The faces blurred together like a healers mixture being crushed underneath mortar and pestle.
As much as the weapon was tied to him, he couldn’t use it anymore, not with the danger this planet presented. The beasts of this world were ont like any of which he’d encountered before. They were fast, too fast for this weapon. With as much destructive power as this weapon entailed, it was as slow as an ox. Strategically it wasn’t effective and would possibly get him killed in the end. He had to switch up tactics, take up new tools of destruction to proceed.
With that thought resting on his mind, the angelic commander traveled to a new weapon just beside his wrecking ball. His calculative eyes looked over rounded blades, a spike top and a long handle with a deadly spear head at the bottom. It was a double bladed axe, similar to the kind his father had always used. This was a weapon that had been devastating all throughout the wars and at times, was favored by Cerys warriors. It had the cutting power of a sword mixed with the crushing ability of a warhammer. Omarion reached out and grasped the hilt firmly in hand. A bit of light bounced off his armor as he pulled it up, almost feeling nostalgic about the many times he’d sparred with his father using a prop axe.
Swiftly the Cerys general spun the axe in hand before putting it on his back next to his warhammer. The pair of weapon formed an X on his back as he turned and rolled his shoulders. If the time ever came he’d be using both as the same time, a combat prospect he’d been saving for something exactly like this. Using two weapons would even the odds to a point against faster opponents. Omarion could already feel a small amount of adrenaline pumping into his system in anticipation of such battles.
Pain was something every angel was used to, it was a part of every angels life since childhood. Omarion was no different. Emotions were carefully repressed, it was the way of an angelic warrior, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t occasionally attempt to break to the surface. Outside, the angel commander was controlled, calm, calculative and deadly, everything a Cerys general should be. However, behind closed doors he allowed some semblance of emotion to come out, but not to any great degree. In truth, most emotion disgusted him at the way it affected his body. Even anger, as powerful as it potentially could be, was a double edged sword. True, some tended to ignore pain or even get stronger when under the effects of extreme anger or rage, but ignoring the fact your body was getting torn to pieces wasn’t exactly a good thing. You’d come out of the battle and soon die from bleeding out or from some deadly wound that you ignored, and that was only if you actually won with the amount of mistakes that came with angered fighting.
Omarion’s eyes reflected his thoughts lightly as he snapped the final strap to place and tightened it. His hand traveled across the smoothed leather just as he felt the presence of another coming towards the armory. The aura came to the door and like a machine, the angelic commander pacified his facial expression. The door cracked open, causing a beam of light invade that gradually expanded into a wall of the stuff. However, it was quickly blocked as an angel strode in already adorning his own armor. Bits of it glinted as the new arrival held his position near the door. The commander continued his preparations, slipping on an armored bracer. “Will you be needing a regiment commander?”
Omarion looked over his shoulder as the leather over his forearm was pulled taut. “That won’t be necessary Murskiel. I’ll only be departing with Elysia.” He finished with the last of his armor and began moving towards the weapon racks.
“As you wish.” With that said, the second angel peeled the door open once more and vanished into the corridor. The Cerys could feel his bold aura disappearing down the hall until eventually his grasp over it vanished completely. Armored footsteps bounced off the walls until the commander was in front of his own assortment of deadly tools. The scrape of metal against wood sounded as he pulled two hand axes from the wood and slipped them onto his belt. They were the perfect weapon for throwing or straight brawling, something the Cerys was especially good at. Next game the warhammer, which was carefully picked up and slipped onto his back. The last piece however, the cool viridian eyes simply stared at for a few moments. The armor pressed down on the angels body while he carefully examined the length of chain, the metal handle and finally, the obsidian ball. Almost as if touching a child, he reached out and let his hand pass over the rounded surface.
This weapon had been with him for countless years, always crushing, smashing, demolishing anything in his path. Bodies would crumbled beneath its massive blows like leaves in the wind. Bone literally shattered under its strikes. Even the slight of glancing blows caused bruises or even breaks. Many screams of death were tied to this weapon. They lingered on it like an obscuring mist, the cries of the dead that hung on the weapon like a blinding fog. He’d spent to many years fighting, spent too many decades on war campaigns to even begin to remember all he’d killed. The faces blurred together like a healers mixture being crushed underneath mortar and pestle.
As much as the weapon was tied to him, he couldn’t use it anymore, not with the danger this planet presented. The beasts of this world were ont like any of which he’d encountered before. They were fast, too fast for this weapon. With as much destructive power as this weapon entailed, it was as slow as an ox. Strategically it wasn’t effective and would possibly get him killed in the end. He had to switch up tactics, take up new tools of destruction to proceed.
With that thought resting on his mind, the angelic commander traveled to a new weapon just beside his wrecking ball. His calculative eyes looked over rounded blades, a spike top and a long handle with a deadly spear head at the bottom. It was a double bladed axe, similar to the kind his father had always used. This was a weapon that had been devastating all throughout the wars and at times, was favored by Cerys warriors. It had the cutting power of a sword mixed with the crushing ability of a warhammer. Omarion reached out and grasped the hilt firmly in hand. A bit of light bounced off his armor as he pulled it up, almost feeling nostalgic about the many times he’d sparred with his father using a prop axe.
Swiftly the Cerys general spun the axe in hand before putting it on his back next to his warhammer. The pair of weapon formed an X on his back as he turned and rolled his shoulders. If the time ever came he’d be using both as the same time, a combat prospect he’d been saving for something exactly like this. Using two weapons would even the odds to a point against faster opponents. Omarion could already feel a small amount of adrenaline pumping into his system in anticipation of such battles.