Unbalanced: Jack of all Blades' Oct 2010 Vignette

[Dr Archeville]

November 1st, 2010. 12:03am.

"Dios, I can’t believe how many of these guys there are," Jill O’Cure grimaced as a trio of magical blasts splashed off of a force field like inky tar, temporarily blocking the coltish teen’s view of the massive cavern in which she and her brother were battling alongside a collection of Freedom City’s most mystical and macabre heroes against two massive armies of competing cultists.

Nearby, the swordsman know as Jack of all Blades moved deftly along the cave’s uneven floor as he knocked a twisting dagger out of a hooded man’s thrashing hands and delivered a hearty blow with the hilt of his rapier, the blade glowing with borrowed arcane might. "Aw, this is nothing, hermanita. This one time, I was fighting a bunch of Broan soldiers in space, right? And--"

"That’s not what I mean," Jill interrupted him, tumbling acrobatically away from a pair of pike weilding fanatics to a more defensible position. "They’re death cultists. How does that even sort of seem like a good idea?"

The swashbuckler parried a sloppy strike and backflipped over a nasty beam of darklight necromancy. "I dunno, maybe the dental plan is good?" he suggested glibly, raising an eyebrow at her question and took a step back to place his back to Jill’s and holding their ground.

A shimmering blue block crashed against another cultist, prematurely halting his shouted chants. "Yeah, only it’s probably not," she insisted. "These guys worship death gods. Gods of Death! What’s the best case scenario there? Are these seriously deities you want paying attention to you specifically?"

"Uh..." Jack blinked, greatcoat continuing to sway about his feet as he paused. "Well, I mean... maybe they get to, y’know, not die? Hades and the Baron guy can probably swing that sort of thing, I guess." A hissing man in a tattered cloak attempted to take advantage of the hero’s momentary distraction and recieved a boot to the head for his efforts.

A similarly driven cultist on the other side sprinted past Jill’s shields to get within touch range, regretting it as a pair of fingers struck out at her forehead and she collapsed in a retching heap. "Maybe like one guy, but what’s the ratio of immortality to getting chained to an altar before Dave from accounting rips out your heard with a rusty razor?"

"Have you been spending time of those creepy poetry sites again?" her brother accused and he knocked a pair of skulls together, their undead owners continuing to shamble about blindly.

Before she could reply a resounding call went out from the center of the chamber, and a translucent figure in white stepped out of Dead Head to confront the feuding boogeymen. "Hold that thought..." The royal blue and crimson clad siblings redoubled their efforts as the battle was truly joined.