Job Points in the Archer Class;
Characters: Trigger; Open
Date/Time: 1/19; All Day
Location: The Wilderness--different vantage points. He's pretty much anywhere high and difficult to access
Rating: R! V for Violence
Summary: Trigger's a bit too antsy about the wilderness, doing unnecessary exploration. Exploration and sniping beasties. Mostly the latter.
There's a small group of Orcs trudging out of a large black gate. It takes a long while for the gates to open, but once they're out, they begin running on foot. There's one smaller Orc out in front wearing an emblem on front that differs from the others. The emblem suddenly turns red, though, as an arrow is suddenly sticking out from his chest. Looking stupidly to the sky as if wondering what happened to him, the Orc keeps over into the dirt--leaving the others to watch in mute shock. One howls--and is just as shocked as an arrow stabs through the opening of his mouth, out of the back of his head. They begin to realize that scattering is ideal and run in different directions--many of them falling to fatal blows from arrows one by one. The group of a dozen is slowly set to the ground by individual arrows until there's one left who falls to the ground. The ground is silent. He picks himself up slowly, wondering if everything is done and if the enemy has thought to leave--until one arrow shot clean through his head, from between the eyes.
Trigger left the string of his bow quietly, running his right hand up to his left arm. He felt little blades, beginning to push out from the skin. A dozen monsters. There was a small percent chance that with each arrow traced, he'd do damage to his body. Higher functions had a higher chance of failure but, if he limited the tracing to that arm, he could survive the damage. Trigger had no idea why that left arm could take so much damage, but it was beneficial. Putting all his mistakes into the arm that could survive the percentage of failure was his tactic to survive. At least the thing could slowly mend itself without a need to put focus on it--though, he couldn't rely on it doing that constantly.
He huffed, waiting and waiting for more. If there were scouts out to survey the land, there would be Trigger to put them off the path. He couldn't handle an army, no, but he could handle people at a distinct disadvantage. He moved from his spot, picking up his food and his cloak quietly, moving to find the next vantage point. If one watched Trigger move and then looked to see where the dead Orcs were, they would be out of luck. He was roughly a half mile away from his deceased targets.
Date/Time: 1/19; All Day
Location: The Wilderness--different vantage points. He's pretty much anywhere high and difficult to access
Rating: R! V for Violence
Summary: Trigger's a bit too antsy about the wilderness, doing unnecessary exploration. Exploration and sniping beasties. Mostly the latter.
There's a small group of Orcs trudging out of a large black gate. It takes a long while for the gates to open, but once they're out, they begin running on foot. There's one smaller Orc out in front wearing an emblem on front that differs from the others. The emblem suddenly turns red, though, as an arrow is suddenly sticking out from his chest. Looking stupidly to the sky as if wondering what happened to him, the Orc keeps over into the dirt--leaving the others to watch in mute shock. One howls--and is just as shocked as an arrow stabs through the opening of his mouth, out of the back of his head. They begin to realize that scattering is ideal and run in different directions--many of them falling to fatal blows from arrows one by one. The group of a dozen is slowly set to the ground by individual arrows until there's one left who falls to the ground. The ground is silent. He picks himself up slowly, wondering if everything is done and if the enemy has thought to leave--until one arrow shot clean through his head, from between the eyes.
Trigger left the string of his bow quietly, running his right hand up to his left arm. He felt little blades, beginning to push out from the skin. A dozen monsters. There was a small percent chance that with each arrow traced, he'd do damage to his body. Higher functions had a higher chance of failure but, if he limited the tracing to that arm, he could survive the damage. Trigger had no idea why that left arm could take so much damage, but it was beneficial. Putting all his mistakes into the arm that could survive the percentage of failure was his tactic to survive. At least the thing could slowly mend itself without a need to put focus on it--though, he couldn't rely on it doing that constantly.
He huffed, waiting and waiting for more. If there were scouts out to survey the land, there would be Trigger to put them off the path. He couldn't handle an army, no, but he could handle people at a distinct disadvantage. He moved from his spot, picking up his food and his cloak quietly, moving to find the next vantage point. If one watched Trigger move and then looked to see where the dead Orcs were, they would be out of luck. He was roughly a half mile away from his deceased targets.