Post by Alexandros Skouriá on Aug 18, 2019 4:04:21 GMT -5
An alarm, every two hours.
It sounded, Alexandros clawed the otherwise useless Scroll from his pocket, and then it was silenced. 10 in the morning already? he mused. The exploration had thus far been extremely uneventful, and a far cry from the expectation built up in his head when the assessment was first explained; after the initial excitement of the launch and landing, Rank Eight had truly hoped to begin his Grimm extermination right then and there, but it did not happen.
Thrash was loaded with four regular shots, the remaining allocated charges of Dust safely stored away with the rest of the ammo in his bag. They would be put to good use later in the event -- he was certain of it -- but were well and truly out of the way for the early hours of it all; there would be no point in using either of the two with a whole day left to play out, and Alexandros knew it. So, the bag would be their home, staying their home until much later on. Part of him was regretting packing so much for a single day's travel and survival, but another part knew that it would all prove itself useful at one point or another. He trudged through the underbrush of the untamed forest floor, every sudden sight and sound making him pause and check the surroundings, with nary a beast of evil to be found. On one hand it was a relief to know that he was safe, and on the other a crushing disappointment that time was rolling on with no worthwhile progress toward his goal being made. Maybe all his luck had been summoned up and stolen away from him at the very beginning, with his landing back in the clearing hours before...
There was nothing to gain in focusing on that, though, so the boy continued to trudge. Alex was scarcely sure he had been making any sort of forward progress, but could do no more than cling to the chance he wasn't just wandering aimlessly in circles. Doubt would only slow him down, and slowing down would only further reduce the chances of finding other participating students to work with or Grimm to kill. The prospect consisted very firmly of two losses, which only made the alternative of his haphazard roaming more enticing.
And then, he heard it.
Another sound from somewhere nearby, behind the trees, yet distinct and different from all he had before. It was something much more primal, something laced with hate. Grimm -- never before had he encountered one of the creatures, but it was still somehow supremely clear. What else could it have been, really? Alexandros held Thrash tightly in both hands, poised and ready, half-crouching to the ground to try and make himself hidden from whatever was lurking out there. As quietly yet quickly as he could, he pressed on toward the origin of the sound with keen focus. You're going down, he thought, to psyche himself up. Let's see if I can't make honeycombs out of you.
Alexandros leapt to action, darting forward and pressing against a tree for cover to assess the situation. One beowolf, and one other student doing battle with it. There was a sort of effortlessness to the way the two of them were moving, swipes from one being slipped and dodged by the other. The weapon of choice, on show for the black-haired boy's prying eyes, were two long and ornate swords, something far greater than a dinky little pistol could ever be. Once more the beast made a move, and in a quick passing cut a rhythm built around the two combatants. It didn't last. In a crescendo of dramatic violence, the other student's dance of swords came to an end in a combined whirlwind-like turning slash; the motion was slick and calculated, and before Alexandros had even processed it all, the stranger's two large blades had come together at their pommels to form a frightening and almighty war bow. An arrow was nocked, drawn, and loosed, tearing through the beowolf and leaving a decaying cloud of wickedness behind to scatter on the forest floor. It was an intense display, one which had been executed perfectly against the far, far outmatched target. Only one, Alex thought, that can't be right. Beowolves were pack hunters, he had been told, even if the younger Grimm possessed no tactical forethought to direct their bloodlust. The other gentleman, reawakening his senses to the greater world, must have thought the same. Standing straight, he turned to scan in all directions, where he would surely see the shorter boy half-hidden in the trees. He was tall -- well, taller than Alex at least -- with silvery hair and golden eyes. His gaze was one unimpressed and almost uncaring, yet carried no traces of ill intent. The large combined weapon was deftly held in a single hand, suggesting a great degree of strength and control.
The young gunslinger unglued himself from the trunk of the tree he clung to, and lowered Thrash as he went.
"Hey," Alexandros called out with a slight wave, "are there any more? We can work together, if there are."
--
WC 869/869
It sounded, Alexandros clawed the otherwise useless Scroll from his pocket, and then it was silenced. 10 in the morning already? he mused. The exploration had thus far been extremely uneventful, and a far cry from the expectation built up in his head when the assessment was first explained; after the initial excitement of the launch and landing, Rank Eight had truly hoped to begin his Grimm extermination right then and there, but it did not happen.
Thrash was loaded with four regular shots, the remaining allocated charges of Dust safely stored away with the rest of the ammo in his bag. They would be put to good use later in the event -- he was certain of it -- but were well and truly out of the way for the early hours of it all; there would be no point in using either of the two with a whole day left to play out, and Alexandros knew it. So, the bag would be their home, staying their home until much later on. Part of him was regretting packing so much for a single day's travel and survival, but another part knew that it would all prove itself useful at one point or another. He trudged through the underbrush of the untamed forest floor, every sudden sight and sound making him pause and check the surroundings, with nary a beast of evil to be found. On one hand it was a relief to know that he was safe, and on the other a crushing disappointment that time was rolling on with no worthwhile progress toward his goal being made. Maybe all his luck had been summoned up and stolen away from him at the very beginning, with his landing back in the clearing hours before...
There was nothing to gain in focusing on that, though, so the boy continued to trudge. Alex was scarcely sure he had been making any sort of forward progress, but could do no more than cling to the chance he wasn't just wandering aimlessly in circles. Doubt would only slow him down, and slowing down would only further reduce the chances of finding other participating students to work with or Grimm to kill. The prospect consisted very firmly of two losses, which only made the alternative of his haphazard roaming more enticing.
And then, he heard it.
Another sound from somewhere nearby, behind the trees, yet distinct and different from all he had before. It was something much more primal, something laced with hate. Grimm -- never before had he encountered one of the creatures, but it was still somehow supremely clear. What else could it have been, really? Alexandros held Thrash tightly in both hands, poised and ready, half-crouching to the ground to try and make himself hidden from whatever was lurking out there. As quietly yet quickly as he could, he pressed on toward the origin of the sound with keen focus. You're going down, he thought, to psyche himself up. Let's see if I can't make honeycombs out of you.
Alexandros leapt to action, darting forward and pressing against a tree for cover to assess the situation. One beowolf, and one other student doing battle with it. There was a sort of effortlessness to the way the two of them were moving, swipes from one being slipped and dodged by the other. The weapon of choice, on show for the black-haired boy's prying eyes, were two long and ornate swords, something far greater than a dinky little pistol could ever be. Once more the beast made a move, and in a quick passing cut a rhythm built around the two combatants. It didn't last. In a crescendo of dramatic violence, the other student's dance of swords came to an end in a combined whirlwind-like turning slash; the motion was slick and calculated, and before Alexandros had even processed it all, the stranger's two large blades had come together at their pommels to form a frightening and almighty war bow. An arrow was nocked, drawn, and loosed, tearing through the beowolf and leaving a decaying cloud of wickedness behind to scatter on the forest floor. It was an intense display, one which had been executed perfectly against the far, far outmatched target. Only one, Alex thought, that can't be right. Beowolves were pack hunters, he had been told, even if the younger Grimm possessed no tactical forethought to direct their bloodlust. The other gentleman, reawakening his senses to the greater world, must have thought the same. Standing straight, he turned to scan in all directions, where he would surely see the shorter boy half-hidden in the trees. He was tall -- well, taller than Alex at least -- with silvery hair and golden eyes. His gaze was one unimpressed and almost uncaring, yet carried no traces of ill intent. The large combined weapon was deftly held in a single hand, suggesting a great degree of strength and control.
The young gunslinger unglued himself from the trunk of the tree he clung to, and lowered Thrash as he went.
"Hey," Alexandros called out with a slight wave, "are there any more? We can work together, if there are."
--
WC 869/869