Have some perturbatorShe rushes forward, Her talons strike the first one across the chest, splattering his blood in the mud. Again She strikes, Her claws striking in a frenzy as the cultists try to get around their comrade. When he finally falls, his chest reduced to torn meat, throws a successful punch, a wild haymaker. The strike, aided by the claws, causes a flash of pain as it rends The Queen’s cheek. But before the arm could retract, She bites down on the forearm, tearing off a bloody chunk. As the victim screams in pain, the predator tears at the throat. The poor cultist falls to the ground in a gurgling mess.
Three more attack, one assaults The Queen’s front while two others try to come at Her from the side. Before the one in front could even attack, he feels cold, wet claws against his sides. Screaming, he is twisted to The Queen’s side, and takes the attack meant for Her. The claw remains stuck in his shoulder, disabling both of them as the Queen takes the third attack to Her back. She sucks in some air from the blow, and then slams Her abdomen against the successful attacker in a sudden spin! Knocked back, the meatbag is then overrun by Her, and her stinger, elongated and twisted, stabs into him again and again. Others are trying to stop Her as the long needle makes mincemeat of of the fallen cultist, but in Her frenzied state She barely even registers the blows, even as blood begins to trickle through her armor. Her armor and carapace make the blunt claws mean nearly nothing, reducing them to the weak blunt strikes they are. It would wear a weaker creature down, but not Her.
Her claw swipes sideway, grabbing an arm from one of the many clumsy attacks. She pulls the figure forward, and brutally slams Her hand in his belly. Her hand bursts out of the man’s back, and with a sideways throw the corpse slams into more of the attacks, catching two of them and . Her frenzy over, the other cultists begin to retreat, but two prove too slow. Groaning in both effort and pleasure, The Queen slashes at their legs, and as they falls her fingers enter the nape of their neck. They twitch a final time. The cultists still murmur on, as they all take their distance. The Queen is completely surrounded, and this eye of the storm finally makes Her notice the pain.
She revels in it, Her heart thumps from the excitement! With another scream, She rushes forward, giving the first figure She dashes to no time to react before the two hollow needles in front begin to drain him. Feeling his blood drain, he screams and yells, still in that same dark language. His yelling stops when teeth rend his throat. The Queen looks back at the charging cultist, and walks backwards at an astonishing speed, Her legs a blur. She impales the charging cultist with Her stinger, and does the same with a leg when another tries to attack Her from the side. It does not kill the man, and in desperation he claws at the leg, breaking some of the carapace. Another leg impales him as The Queen’s claws rend at another fool who got too close.
At last, the cultists finally group up to perform a combined attack, and they all charge at Her back. One makes a daring jump, landing on the drider's back. The sudden weight is enough to stun even the Queen as the female cultist tries to crush her head. Reflexively, the drider’s head twists, reducing a lethal attack to a "mere" deep gash along the side of her head. An elbow lands into the side of the cultist, knocking her off. The other cultists try their own attacks in the meantime, one failing to even penetrate her thick carapace while others assaults Her legs. The first after a quick slash, but the other, causes another wound to appear in her carapace, and he is rewarded by a steady trickle of white fluid coming out of the wound. The drider screeches, finally feeling enough pain to outweigh the exhilaration of combat.
Then, Her jaw unhinges, stretching Her mouth to a horrifying degree as She breathes out a black, evil smoke. The wounded cultists that are caught in the black cloud scream in agony as their wounds grow deeper and the flesh blackens in an instant. Boils and pustules spread from the simplest scratch, pure agony spreading among them. Those dead or dying are reduced to piles of rotting meat, not even recognizable as human.
The first cowards begin to flee, and the remaining cultists don't dare attack Her.
Then the first one charges, and they all follow. In a frenzy only attainable by looking upon the void of death, they jump upon Her, not even regarding the casualties as She claws, bites and struggles under the ever increasing weight of cultists, and the claws enter more and more of Her flesh. The pain only invigorates Her efforts, She flails and laughs, even as Her wounds mount. Almost every part of Her body is being used to kill something or at least throw them off Her. Eventually, only a few cultists remain. The last five that did not run.
They were thrown off Her during the final scuffle, and now look upon Her, nearly completely covered in the blood of their comrades, who lay dead or wounded around Her. She forces a pedipalp in the chest of one, and drains him dry. Her own blood seeps through Her armor, and Her carapace is cracked and scratched. And She still stands. She still walks.
The final five throw off their masks, and their dark language is replaced by simple pleading in the common language. They beg for their lives, and promise to do anything for Her.
She smiles, Her blood-soaked hair covering Her eyes as She steps forward, Her gait troubled but stable.
Kneel. She growls softly.
They fling themselves to the floor, shaking and crying. This is... satisfactory.
Go. I grant you this.They thank Her, clasping their hands before sprinting away. Once they are all gone, She gives Herself the right to collapse. With the fervor of combat fading, She is now left with nothing but the sheer exhaustion. She collapses under Her own weight, and decides to lie back. A goddess of battle should be allowed this.
Probably...
Remain Still. healing powders stings. Her eyelids are still far too heavy to lift. She thinks She heard his voice before, but...
I Won't stay still, damn you!Who dares!?Let him work.No-one would dare. Let him heal me.OtherI Don't HAVE to listen to you...Stats
Level: 9
HP: 12/40
Mana: 40/50
Stress: XXXX
Thirst: Sated
Also, familiars are generally not changed in this type of situation.
Author
Topic: Web of Life: A Drider's Adventure (Ended) (Read 189940 times)