ITT: ''WE ARE THE SOVIET TECHNOCRATS VS NAZI OCCULT EMPIRE''

And they wonder why theirs is a dying race... You sign your own death proclamations in doing so. Slay them all, Koschei!!

-Koschei spurs Sleipnir onwards-

-A spine-tingling laugh fills the air; Two Beefeater-like figures materialize on each side of Koschei, halberds at the ready, their faces shadowed-

-Sleipnir's eyes turn blood red as he glares at the Beefeaters. Electricity crackles around his mane-

While I Hold No Real Concern For The Oaf Attempting To Ride Me, Know That you Are, In Threatening The Undying One, Threatening Me, And By Extension, Threatening The All-Father. I Will Use Force If I Must, And Your Your Blood Will Stain This Battlefield If It Comes To That.

-Koschei looks contemptuously at the figures, then spits at their feet.-

edited 11th Jun '10 12:06:16 PM by Chabal2

see that? That doubles his badass level, at least.

(Who, the horse?)

Yes, the horse. But I digress...

-the sky blackens momentarily, and a single bolt of lightning plummets from the heavens, arresting itself an instant before it would have struck Sleipnir and its rider. The bolt twists and contorts, forming itself into a replica of Gungnir before floating to the horse's side, within Koschei's reach-

The Truce Continues, It Would Seem...

edited 11th Jun '10 1:17:11 PM by SullenFrog

-Koschei grasps the lance and examines it, as Czernobog's voice is heard once again.-

Koschei!! Have you no faith in your motherland's steel? Must you rely on charity and handouts to defend yourself?!!

-Koschei looks at the lance again, shrugs, and clips it to his back. He then puts each hand on one of his swords, ready to draw at a moment's notice.-

Inform your master that I... thank him for his generous gift, but will not need his help to crush these upstart imps.

-The grounded landship Marx redirects her main cannon to focus on the mountain; a slightly singed and bandaged Brigadier Aleksandr stares out at the wasteland.-

B.A.: These British are not welcome here. Ready special rounds!

Medic: Special... rounds?

-Sleipnir flicks its tail negligently-

Very Well, Czernobog. Inform Your Champion That He Is To Remove Himself From My Person If This Situation Ends In Violence. In That Eventuality, I Will Direct This Personally.

- Glares at the mountain, not turning round- B.A.: Iron tips. Can't be too careful.

Medic: I see. (Wait, wasn't Aleksandr a colonel last time?)

.

Agreed.

(now to wait for some inevitable violence. Also, 'night.)

edited 12th Jun '10 12:12:53 AM by Chabal2

maybe he received a battlefield promotion? Anyway, playing Mass Effect now. Later.

edited 11th Jun '10 4:36:16 PM by SullenFrog

[{Battlefield promotion confirmed.}]

-Koschei is still waiting for the Beefeaters to make a move...-

-as is Sleipnir-

-The figures tense up, then swing their weapons, one for Sleipnir, one for Koschei.-

-Sleipnir rears up and flails all four of its front hooves at the figure attacking it-

Has Freyr Forgotten His Place, Alf?

edited 12th Jun '10 9:36:59 AM by SullenFrog

-Koschei grabs the oncoming halberd in one hand, unsheating a shortsword and ramming it through the Beefeater's head-

So it begins. Son of Svaðilfari, while my champion will of course respect our terms and dismount you, would it trouble you to carry him to the elve's contraption before he does so?

Since You Deigned To Ask, It Would Be My Pleasure.

-heads for the elves' airship, taking care to trample the other "beefeater" on the way-

edited 12th Jun '10 9:47:59 AM by SullenFrog

-Panels slide up along the sides; glowing balls of light form, then discharge with explosive force-

-if Sleipnir's lips could form the necessary shape, it would have smiled-

An Obstacle Course, Is It? Bring It On, Then, Alves; I Could Use A Good Workout!

-begins to weave evasively between the blasts-

-Koschei swings his newly-acquired halberd, deflecting the projectile back towards the sender.-

edited 12th Jun '10 9:56:36 AM by Chabal2

-The blasts are redirected to impact the mountain; the center hole glows a bright yellow, the vortex siphoning power down to it; A mile away, the Marxs cannon steams and hisses-