The Armor Games website will be down for maintenance on Monday 10/7/2024
starting at 10:00 AM Pacific time. We apologize for the inconvenience.
The Armor Games website will be down for maintenance on Monday 10/7/2024
starting at 10:00 AM Pacific time. We apologize for the inconvenience.
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You know, this is the internet, there are no diseases, just obstacles to performing perfectly.
Or it's considered quirks.
Or veteran unlocks.
You know, this is the internet, there are no diseases, just obstacles to performing perfectly.
Strop cut to the chase. "Look, I'mma cut to the chase.
like Rebel troopers on a Corellian frigate.
Yeah, but, didn't they all die?
ROCKET PROPELLED RAPTOR!
ftw
Yeah, but, didn't they all die
Especially not horrible, painful death
in order to avoid answering the question, I shall award you +1 internets.
Oh great, Strop's foreshadowing has killed us all. Although that probably wouldn't be the first time that that has happened...
It's kinda scary that this thing is actually getting nearer and nearer to the end...
Okay guys, check your email. There's a big one sitting in your inbox.
FOR GREAT JUSTICE
Time for a good old **** move here.
So, how were those two weeks for you guys? Got any good writing done?
Perhaps not, seeing the deadline passed with four days (or, considering Strop did mention the weekend this week to me, it will be passing in 15 minutes to everyone on GMT+1)
That leaves the rest of you little time to run on, and show you are as psyched on getting this to the finishing line as us poor hosts.
Especially considering the fair warning Strop gave about speaking up, if you did not have the time, effort, motivation or energy to finish in time.
So, of course you are going to prove me wrong in my assumption that yet another deadline will fly over our heads, right?
Show that you want us to - finish on time, get the grand finale, and perhaps move on with life so something else can take the place of the WoM?
Or at least make sure we are done before the launch of AG3. It would be sad and pathetic otherwise.
No?
No updating and no posting of the entries that go to the go?
Okay, then.
Cenere, you're my best friend and I love you forever.
The Way of Moderation Part Eleven: A Portrait of the Swordsman as a Young Leon
Leon sent the last marsupial back to hell with a twang! of his longbow. The fishman squads secured various entry points as it fell to the ground, clutching its pouch. The frosty halo around chill subsided as the koala uttered its final heil. Leon's sword ran red, blood seeping into the steel. A little dip in the rain water washed it clean. Leon sheathed it with a grimace.
"I guess that's the-" he never got to finish his sentence. Predictably enough, the peace ended as suddenly as it began. A roflcopter crashed somewhere behind the wall as horde of bloodthirsty aliens poured through the alleys toward the rag-tag defenders. Manta was the first to grasp the situation:
"Leon!" He grabbed the gnoll's shoulder, breaking Leon's trance. "Your squad! Go now! Crimson, you're with me!" Manta, Crimson, and a few fishmen ran towards the frontline. Leon shimmied along the outskirts of the battle almost reluctantly, trying to remember what he had been thinking about. A bolt of fiery energy alerted him to his opponentâs ranged weaponry. Leon coolly slid behind a chest-high wall. He glanced up at the fishmen. It was no good: only Crimson could hold off the alien menace, and only for a short time. He and Manta were cowering behind a wall of reflective steel Crimson had conjured while the fishmen tried to flank them. He rifled through his memory for some precedent. Fishmen, he knew, had the greatest monopoly on energy weapons, so it seemed that, with luck, they would be able to devise a strategy against them. Further, he reasoned, both space aliens and fishmen were famed for their psychic powers. Thus a correlation between lasers and psionics. Cause and effect were harder to nail down.
Leon leaped to his feet, nocking an arrow. The bug-eyed space beasts formed a semi-circle around Crimson's shield. He fired. Every time they met any fishmen with lasers, they ran away. Leon barked an order to Marley, forming a double flank as his arrow struck down an alien. Leon realized he had exchanged a bow for a sword as he charged the disrupted aliens. This wasn't particularly worrying. Marley, and a rank of fishmen, formed a nice meatshield. Nevertheless, Leon maintained an air of contribution, lazily firing arrows into the mob of hostiles. He gesured sharply at Manta, who replied with a nod. Together, the two teams of fishmen easily flanked and pushed back the menacing hordes.
Their work was not over, however: No matter how many they defeated, they could not seem to stem the tide of trolls. Leon scampered around the outskirts of the battle field, Marley in tow, pestering the aggressors with blade and bow. Occasionally, he shouted key advice to Manta: Demons resist fire, flank armored cavalry, rock beats scissors, ect. A few flamers surrounded Leon, chucking political and religious statements alike, their searing ignorance missing him by inches. He gracefully disarmed the first with his sword, armor protecting him from counter attack. His sword dance chnged from graceful to desperate as the trolls mobbed him. His sword cut shallowly into their armor, steel flashing through the air. He whipped around to see a hulking monster before him, about eleven feet tall, garbed in black armor. Instantly, he struck at it with his quick sword, but each blow glanced off its towering black shield. Try as he might, he could not penetrate its defense. With a swing of its massive steely fist, Leon went flying. His sword slipped from his hands, clattering to the ground some fifteen feet away. Lip curled into a snarl, Leon began to crawl towards it. The black knight delivered a kick, sending Leon rolling the opposite direction.
He panted, looking around desperately for any weapon, sword far out of reach. Finally, his eyes fell on something: A length of dark wood, dripping with rain and blood, connected to a shining metal ball by a length of chain. A flail. His flail. Teeth bared, he lunged for it, slippery wet wood secure in his steely grip. He jumped to his feet, spinning 180 degrees. He smote the black knight across the helm with his sudden attack. It raised its shield, but Leon's assault was unrelenting, chain allowing the metal ball to strike its foe from any angle. Within moments, Leon dispatched the knight, howling with primal fury. He charged the flank of the bulk of the trolls, flail flying through the air. Leon struck down foe after foe, efficient and merciless as he fought. The flail came from all sides, breaking any defense, all the while held firm in his iron palm.
As the trolls became aware of Leon's reinvigorated efforts, they devoted more resources to attempting to halt his progress. These he greeted with a howl of bloodlust, drawing his knife with his free hand. Both weapons in hand, he eroded a path through the enemy force. He threw his dagger, catching a small lizard monster in the eye, taking up an Armor Games flag as an improvised polearm.
Leon soon cut through the flank, meeting up with the defenders. He stood, bloodied, tattered banner at his side, flail in hand.
"I think" he panted "we should reevaluate our strategy. We can't hold them off for long." Leon let the flag fall, turning buck to the advancing hordes.
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Didn't make suggested changes like a boss.
Wow this has become SO hard to follow... time to read the whole thing over again...
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