Pax RP

Syllak blinked bright red eyes at her new surroundings, her expression plainly radiating surprise-or at least it would to any other draconian nearby. The sivak was certain she had been in the bar mere moments ago, keeping a close eye on a pair of rough looking individuals who had been glaring daggers at one another whenever they believed their counterpart wasn't looking at them.

And now she was here-wherever here was. As far as her eyes could see there was nothing but a flat grassy plain. Literally nothing. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, because there didn't appear to be a sky for the clouds to reside in. Nor was there a sun, moon, or stars in the non-existant sky, which begged the question as to how Syllak could see as though it was the middle of the day.

The sivak scratched her silver scaled head with a claw whilst she thought about this, then looked down at the floor in front of her as two metallic clangs resounded from that area. Her platemail armour lay on the right, whilst her twin katanas lay on the left in their sheathes. Both sets of items exactly the way she had left them in her room before she had gone downstairs to do the indoor shift-before she'd gotten taken away to this strange place.

The draconian saw only two options here-she could demand to know why she had just been kidnapped, but what was the point when there was noone around to make the demand of? Or she could wait and see what would happen next.

She didn't touch her armour or her weapons though. Who or whatever had done this hadn't harmed her or indicated they wanted to, so there was no need to. It wasn't smart, but it was honourable.

"An' anuver thing! I only smashed 'is 'ead in a lil'!" Graznik yelled into the empty air.
"Wa?"

Grass. Nothing but long, dull grass. In fact that was more true than the Orc realised, for there was no wind in the air, and no sun in the sky. There wasn't even a sky. Not that Graznik payed any heed to this little nugget of information, he was more concerned with the fact the little goblin he was squeezing suddenly ceased to exist.

"Dat gobbo git! Da lil' mage boy done summin'!"

Roaring into the air he stamped his feet and wildly swung his large, crude blade in frustration. Throwing it into the ground with a dull "thud", Graznik quickly patted himself down, and a wave of relief passed over him as he found his "fizz shoota". He never went anywhere without it.

"OI! Short arse! Put me back righ' now, or I'll gut ya good, ya got me?!" he yelled, the emptiness of the threat never occuring to his less than ample brain.

Syllak was alerted to the fact she shared this strange place with another by the Orcs crude yelling, but her nose wrinkled at the unfamiliar and strangely repulsive smell of the creature. She'd never encountered anything like it in her life before, and it almost appeared similar to the stories of goblins and hobgoblins she'd been told growing up. Yet this being was somehow similar yet different-he looked more menacing and far more dangerous than the flatfooted cannon fodder of her homeworld. If not exactly smarter, judging from his apparent lack of understanding that threats were pointless. The sivak examined the Orcs blade, currently buried in the ground before swiping up a single one of her own blades and making her way over to Graznik, donning the sheathed weapon as she went. The term 'short arse' pierced her mind painfully, as it appeared to her that the Orc had directed that last commeot at the draconian-as it was true that she was short for her species at only 5'8, as well as giving her attributes that she didn't possess

The sivak halted in front of Graznik with one clawed hand resting on the handle of her katana. "Excuse me" she snarled "but who do you think you are calling a short arse?"

"Wut?!"

Graznik stared at the Draconian. She was considerably smaller than the Orc, but most humanoids were. Graznik was large even by Orc standards, a fact he often reminded the clan in the most painful way he could think of at the time.

"Not you! Unless you'z a lil' gobbo! Youz a bit too lizardy though." Graznik replied, with all the elegance of a toddler. "You iz a bit short though."

A wicked smile stretched across his face as he leveled the "fizz shoota" up to Syllak's face. The device appeared to an energy weapon of some sort, if only a somewhat crude one. The remnants of a much more elegant weapon lay underneath the various "improvements" applied to the weapon. It lacked the satisfying thump of a normal gun, but Graznik adored the half melted craters this thing made. The muzzle of the gun began to glow a hot blue.

"You'z gonna be the easiest dragon to fizz ever!" Graznik laughed as a small ball of plasma, akin to a miniature sun, hurtled towards the Draconian.

((I don't suppose this guy calls hobgoblins hobs, does he? ))

Syllak opened her mouth to apologise for her earlier behaviour, then stopped and stared with a dumbfounded look of disbelief on her face at the word 'gobbo'. She quite vividly remembered that dialect from when she was nought but a hatchling. Her mouth closed, the apology swallowed before it had even had a chance to leave when Graznik decided that it was fine to tell her that he thought she was a bit short anyway. Not that it mattered much, since it was true and the insult hadn't been directed at her in the first place.

Then the sivak stared into the barrel of the Orcs ugly gun, less interested in the bizarre additions than in the fact that the end of the barrel had started glowing. There were many advantages to having once lived in Blackstar, one of them being that there advanced technology was mixed in with magic and what some called medieval weaponry in equal measure. Although it would always be impossible for her to recognise what particular type of gun someone was wielding-even more so in the Orcs case-she knew standing directly in front of a glowing barrel was bad. So she ducked down, letting the ball of plasma fly over the top of her hornless head so close she could feel the heat pass over her scales.

Syllak then rose from her crouched position, putting all of her considerable strength into the kinetic force that was driving her silver scaled skull upwards, towards the hand holding the offending weapon. Syllak might be short, but she had the stromgest muscular structure of any draconian species, as did all sivaks. "You have no honour!" she yelled on the way up. Attacking someone with neither warning nor threat was a big no no in Syllaks book.

Before the Orc could react his weapon was smashed from his hand and flying in the air.
"Oi!" Bellowed the beast "Dat's my fizz shoota!"

The stupid grin on his face had become a furious scowl, and without another word he stomped over to the blade embedded into the ground. Pulling on it, he began to bellow some more.
"You'z one o' them honour 'unterz ain't ya? Always whinin' 'bout honour an' pride an' a fair figh' You take all da fun outta smashin' skull you know that?"

After one last tug the blade came free. The sword, if you could call it that, was probably half the length of Syllak. It was partially rusted, but still looked wicked sharp, and plates of metal had been bolted or welded on where it had needed repairing. The most troublesome thing about the sharp hunk of metal was the strange shimmering it gave off, along with a gentle hum. The rest of the Orc looked just as threatening and cobbled together. The hulking creature was clad in very crude metal armour, and looked as if he was wearing a scrapyard. It was daubed in red paint, at least it was probably paint, and a black fist was painted on the largest plate of metal. Graznik's face was no less of mess, with a basic cybernetic eye bolted to the side of his head and matted hair in the form of a topknot. The most worrying thing, more so than the plasma weapon, the strange humming blade or the pure size of the Orc, was a large pole carrying several skulls and helmets of all shapes and sizes.

"Fightin'" Graznik continued, snarling "iz about the fun of it. And da blood, an' killin! Dat'z why I'm da boss! An' dat'z why I'm gonna killz ya. If you'z realy lucky, you'll get to be at da top o' me spiky stick!" He finished, laughing a cruel laugh before charging at Syllak, swinging his blade in a wide arc.


((OOC: PS; Remember kids, this is why you don't make up a character on the spot! This description should have happened earlier. ))

Syllaks upward momentum abruptly stopped when the top of her skull hit hand and gun, making a metallic clang resound in her head and the dangerous looking Orc furious simultaneously. The draconian stepped back, a snarl forming on her silver scaled muzzle that got uglier the more the Orc talked. Because the more he talked, the more sivak knew she really didn't like him. Of course, she wouldn't go up and stab him in the back whilst he tugged his sword out of the ground, because of the very honour that he was whining about. But when the blade came out of the ground, hers came out of it's sheathe. It was well looked, clean, gleaming and still in one piece-in sharp contrast to the frankenstein blade the Orc possessed. It was also long, relatively thin and only slghtly curved.

When the hulking creature finally stopped talking, apparently drunk on his own brute strength. "Where's the fun in fighting something that can't fight back?" The draconian managed to ask before she jumped backwards to try to avoid the 'sword', limbs held outwards to avoid being cut by the biohazard. It probably would have worked if she hadn't slightly underestimated the Orcs reach, so that the rusty tip horizontally shredded the clothing covering her torso, scraping uncomfortably across the organic silver scales that covered her entire body ((if something else happens on contact let me know and I'll edit)) and making her step backwards again due to the sheer force. "I am draconian, fighting flows through my very blood" she growled, taking one step forwards as she did "how do you gauge your true skill as a warrior if you never really test it?". A second step as she was speaking, and the katana was brought above the sivaks head gripped in both clawed hands in order to come down in a vertical slash aimed at the Orcs general body mass.

((OOC: Syllak will have felt a slightly tingly stinging sensation, but nothing worth editing the post about. The blade will also have left a small, but bizarrely clean cut across the scales, but again nothing worth editing the post over.))

Graznik swung a large metal clad arm at the Draconian, smashing her to the ground with the force of a speeding train.
"Da best warriors are da biggest an' strongest!" Retorted the Orc. "I squished many an 'umie to get where I am today!"

Graznik took another swing with the blade, the crude thing humming as it missed Syllak's head by mere millimetres. The air tingled with a sort of electrical power for a moment as it did so. The hilt sparked for a moment, and it became obvious that a small power generator was attached to the blade, with duct tape no less!
The Orc clanked as he spun around for another attack. What Graznik lacked in finesse he more than made up for with brute strength, and focusing that strength he swung the sword down in an executioners swing, intent on cleaving his opponent in two.

Syllak made an 'Oomph' sound, the wind knocked out of her when the Orc saw his opening and knocked her flying with a long arm, the sword barely making any downward progress before they collided, When she hit the ground on her back the impact forced her her arms apart, now only one was holding her blade It didn't hurt that much as organic silver scales absorbed much of the impact, it was mostly more the shock of it. Few creatures could take a sivak off her feet so easily.

The Orc swung again, blathering on about how much better he was than a 'umie, which she assumed meant 'human', becaure he was bigger than them. Big enough to knock them out.
Syllaks anger burned behind her eyes even as a blow swept harmlessly across the top of her head.
"Humans" she retorted, disgusted "you really think you're a better fighter because you can knock soft, lightly muscled weaklings about? i've slain dragons and wrestled stone gargoyles with my bare hands!"

Speaking of bare hands, Syllak had brought the katana down in front of her body by now and used her free hand to push herself underneath the beasts powerful but clumsy swing. Her own blade was placed to race up his flat to flat, if she was lucky it would travel up until it destroyed that generator. If not, well, she still had a metallic scaled fist ready to meet the Orcs stomach in all his forward momentum, armour be damned.