So, It looks like my post was lost in the outpouring of love for Santo's excellent work. I'll just have to ask again, anyone interested in nitpicking the first half of the sequel to my previous snippet?
EDIT: The first part of which can be found here
If no one is interested, I may have to go MOAR DAKKA, to match Santo's Strategic bombs.
Last edited by Thanos; August 27th, 2012 at 11:36 PM.
what DAA mean could any one tell me
Dead Apostle Ancestor.Originally Posted by jgalue1
F/GO SUPPORT
Okay I've updated the threads index but some of the snippets didn't have titles. To all authors who have not named their snippets please do so and PM them to me.
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^( °Д°)<(Strategic Snippet Bomb!!!)>(°ロ° )^
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Priscilla stood, stretching herself to her full height as the tall undead stepped through the archway, her hands holding the black scythe with an easy familiarity, wondering if yet another foolish undead would test their might against her.
She studied the man. He walked with the heavy gait of a man carrying a heavy burden. He was covered from head to toe in what had once been the resplendent plate of an Elite Knight. The entirety of the armor, helm, chest, bracers and leggings. Was covered in scratches, dents, and burns. Testament to the furious fighting he had partaken in. Even so, one could see that the armor was kept in good repair.
In his left arm he carried a kite shield nearly as long as he was tall, the image of a snarling direwolf staring out of its surface with hate-filled eyes. His right hand grasped the hilt of an enormous sword, nearly as large as he himself was tall, the blunt edge of the cruel black blade was supported on his shoulder, its serrated tip covered in coagulated blood, a few drops of the life fluid absently dripped down its length. It had seen recent use. The enormous blade must have weighed no less than eighty pounds, yet the battered knight carried it with ease born of familiarity.
He stopped just out of the range of her long black scythe. Keeping his posture as unthreatening as possible, yet poised for explosive movement, the top of his head did not reach past her waist.
Priscilla looked down at the undead, her keen senses allowing her to look into his golden eyes through the slit of his helm. In them she could see resignation, trepidation, nervousness. Her analysis of his state of being backed by the man’s scent.
What surprised her was that she could not detect an ounce of fear or disgust, two things she was intimately familiar with.
The knight simply stood there waiting. Allowing her the first move.
Priscilla suppressed the urge to frown lest it be taken as a hostile action, perhaps, for once, she would not be forced to slay one who stepped into this cold world.
“Who art thou? One of us, thou art not. If thou hast misstepped into this world, plunge down from the plank, and hurry home.
“However, if thou seekest I, thine desires shall be requited not. And thus I implore of thee, plunge down the plank and hurry home.” Her proposal made, the half-dragon fell quiet and waited to see what the knight would do. A cold wind passed through the tower, ruffling her long silver hair and furred robes.
The knight stared at her for a long moment, before taking a step forward and lifting the large blade form his shoulder.
Priscilla suppressed a sigh. The blood of yet another foolish wanderer would be drunk by her scythe. Her hands tightened upon the haft of her weapon in preparation of the combat to come.
She was quite surprised when the blade of her enemy left his shoulder only to allow its tip to touch the floor, the knight then bent forward from the waist as far as his armor would allow, baring his head and shoulders to her in a show of reverence and submission.
He straightened, heaved his large weapon back unto his shoulder, took two steps back and circumvented her. Keeping out of reach of his own weapon yet staying within her own. Baring his unprotected right side to her were she to choose to attack, the angle of his walk ensuring that any attack he made would lack the weight that would make it damaging.
Priscilla followed his movement with her eyes, waiting for him to show his deceit, the inevitable attack that would come once her back was bared to him.
An attack which never came as he carefully stepped over her tail and exited the chamber, he then proceeded to walk down the plank. Once he reached the edge, he turned back to her, gave her one more bow, then jumped off the edge without the slightest hesitation.
The half-dragon stood in place, staring in amazement at the place the knight no longer inhabited. She blinked and turned back around, glad that the blood of the knight did not stain her hands.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Priscilla looked with surprise to the knight that stepped through the archway to her chamber. His scent confirming what her eyes told her. He was the same as the knight that had come but a week past.
He walked to her with the same burdened gait, his enormous blade supported on his right shoulder and his great-shield strapped to his back, in his left hand he held a heavy sack.
“What is thine desire knight? Why dost thou return? In this land, thou dost not belong.”
The knight paused at her quiet query, staring up at her face, his expression hidden by the visor of his helm. He then levered his sword off his shoulder, and set it slowly on the ground beside him. He then lowered the sack on his left hand to the floor and proceeded to remove his shield from its strap, setting it down beside his blade.
Once he was relieved of his armaments, he once more picked up the sack and walked to her slowly. Priscilla’s hand tightened on her weapon, expecting treachery.
Once he was in front of her, he lowered the sack to the ground in front of her feet. The knight then took two steps back before turning around, baring his unprotected back to her. Where she to choose to attack, his life would be forfeit.
The knight walked back to his armaments and picked them up off the floor. Levering his heavy sword back unto his shoulder, he turned to her, dipped his helm in a quick show of respect and once more walked around her, presenting his open right side to her as he circumvented her large form.
She waited, expecting the sack in front of her to explode in a tornado of flame, for him to give a signal and attack.
The knight walked down the plank, reached its edge, once more turned, gave her a bow, then jumped off.
Carefully, Priscilla opened the sack to see its contents. Within it she found a plethora of fruits. Foods she would never find within the frozen tundra of Ariamis.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Priscilla once more looked to the knight, his battered form wobbling to her. No longer bothering to keep track of the times he had come.
Once more he repeated the same motions, disarming himself before approaching her with a filled sack.
Sometimes he brought fruits, others times he brought meat. He had brought books, flowers, mirrors, pendants, trinkets, toys.
He had made her many a gift, never once speaking, never once asking anything in return. The knight simply walked in, disarmed himself, deposited a gift, retrieved his arms, and walked away. He came with the regularity of clockwork, every week, on the week, the battered knight would come to her. Sometimes in perfect condition, other times clearly battered and bleeding.
Yet no matter what, he always came to her every week on the week, gave her a gift, and walked away. Never explaining his actions, never demanding anything in return.
She had stopped searching for booby traps after the thirtieth visit.
She had stopped checking for poison after the fiftieth visit.
She had stopped questioning him after the seventieth visit.
Priscilla could not remember ever being more confused in her life.
Why would this man. A knight that from the looks of things constantly went to battle, take time off to come to this forlorn world and give her something? It was unnatural, every other wanderer that had found themselves upon this place attacked her, some claiming to do the work of a god, others with avarice and lust in their eyes.
Yet this man came time and time again. Always silent. Always doing the same.
He would come in, disarm himself, deposit a gift, pick up his weapons, and walk away.
The knight once more picked up his armaments after having deposited a gift, this time a large necklace made entirely of twinkling titanite. Many a man would kill for such a thing, the trinket cannibalized for its invaluable and rare resource. Yet here he was, giving up possession of a treasure of an age past.
As he once more circumvented her, keeping out of reach of his own weapon. Priscilla moved with a swiftness that would surprise any that saw her size. She touched the edge of her scythe to the gorget of his armor, its super-keen edge causing a deep scratch upon the thick metal. She could decapitate him with but a flick of her wrist.
The knight turned calmly and stared up at her face, his posture unchanging and unthreatening. Only his eyes, unhidden to her keen senses, allowing her to know of his confusion.
Priscilla audibly ground her teeth. “What dost thou seekest? What is thine desire? Why dost thou come time after time after time? What purpose wouldst thou serve by making gifts of me? I spoke to thee already, thine desires are requited not.”
The knight stared at her for a long time, his golden eyes holding her gaze unflinchingly. “You looked lonely.” Stated the knight succinctly.
For once, Priscilla’s iron self control failed her, allowing naked surprise to color her face. “What?”
“You looked lonely.” Repeated the knight.
Priscilla stared long and hard at the laconic knight with fascination. “Why wouldst thou care as to the state of an abomination such as I?”
For the first time, Priscilla saw anger radiate from those golden orbs. “I do not see an abomination. I see a lonely girl. The reason I keep bringing you gifts is as repayment for my debt to you.”
The half-dragon blinked, opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, blinked a second time, then closed her mouth with an audible click. “What debt couldst thou have possibly garnered from one such as I?”
“You did not force me to kill you.”
Priscilla was so shocked by this statement, she did not react as the knight sheathed his sword on a heavy chain at his back, took hold of the flat of her scythe with two fingers and made to remove it from his neck, in her shock, the half-dragon allowed it. Once he had enough room, the knight ducked under the blade and walked down the plank. Just has he had done countless times before, when he reached the end, he turned, bowed to her, then leapt down the edge.
It was many hours more before Priscilla snapped out of her frozen state.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Shirou raced down the halls of the castle, uncaring that he may trigger a trap, unmindful that the noise he was making could call down a plethora of enemies upon him.
He turned a corner, forcing his armored bulk to make a too-sharp turn, his metal-clad feet skidding on the stone as they sought purchase. It was only thanks to him using his towershield as a makeshift crutch that he did not fall to the floor.
He swung his black greatsword to the floor with enough strength to dig its wide tip into the ground, and used it as leverage to propel himself forward all the faster.
He had to reach it, he had to catch up to them. He had heard of the plan as his enemy lay dying, missing both legs from the knees down, chuckling as his lifeblood fled him.
“Your little whore will die.” The dying man cackled maniacally, “I am not here to kill you, you idiot! I am here to hold you!” He laughed all the harder as horrified realization blossomed upon Shirou’s face, hidden by his visor. He laughed harder still as his opponent’s enormous weapon descended, splitting his skull in twain.
Shirou did not know how the Darkwraiths had heard of his constant visits to the forlorn world of Ariamis, but it mattered not. His enemies were attacking Priscilla in force as retaliation to his constant interfering. He could not allow them to succeed.
He turned the corner and saw the familiar colossal painting, sprinting to it in a maddened rush. He jumped at the painting, anyone who saw him would assume he would simply cut through the canvas and strike the wall.
The surface of the painting rippled like the surface of a lake as the knight sunk seamlessly through it.
He landed on the snowy ground with a heavy roll, sprung back to his feet and sprinted off in the direction of the highest tower. The familiar frost covered road crunching beneath his boots.
He ran into the keep, unchallenged by the creatures that had become familiar with him over the course of the weeks. Sprinted up stairs, down corridors, around corners and familiar short-cuts.
As the knight ran, he came across a sight that confirmed his gnawing fear, the white clothed guardians lay dead in frozen pools of their own blood. Gritting his teeth behind his visor, he sprinted up the stairs to Priscilla’s chosen chamber.
He would not allow himself to fail yet again.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Priscilla grunted as she swung her black scythe, cutting another invader in half. Upwards of twenty men yet remained in the large chamber.
The dead man’s compatriots hurled fire, lightning and steel back at her in retaliation. With a twirl of her weapon she parried aside the numerous knives and arrows fired at her, quenching the fires by calling upon the blizzards of her home and prison. She dodged out of the way of the lightning and with a twirl disappeared from sight.
“Godsdamn it you whore!” Screamed one of the men as he struck the ground, causing numerous pillars of flame to explode in a chaotic pattern in front of him. Priscilla appeared a moment later, putting out a fire in her furred robes.
“Shablanaztak!” Screamed a man in sorcerer robes as he finished his long incantation. A moment after that space bent, and Priscilla was forced to her knees, her arms held out to the sides and her head tilted at a brutal angle.
“Heh! Nice one boss!” Exclaimed one of the remaining warriors, stepping over the bodies of the nearly two score dead.
The half-dragon did what she could to stand, to escape the magical bonds, yet she was unable to.
The man in sorcerer robes strode forward. “Do not even bother abomination. That spell was made to hold demons many times your size. You cannot break it.”
Priscilla met the eyes of the man. “Why wouldst thou do this? What is thine purpose?”
The man merely grunted. “To punish a Godsdamned interloper. Yet even if I were not under orders I would kill you still, if only to rid the world of an abomination such as you.” His statement made he drew a wicked knife. “In the name of the Gods I will rid this world of the plague of your existence.”
“Dibs on the tail!” Called one of the men happily as he began to jog to the half-dragon’s tail. Rumors had it that you could make incredible weapons out of dragon bones.
The sorcerer sighed. “Make it quick Valmont.” His order given, he began to chant, his dagger covering itself in a sullen crimson light. The man that had decided to cut off the half-dragon’s tail reached his destination and raised his weapon with a manic glee. Causing Priscilla to redouble her efforts at seeking escape.
His sword descended, warm blood splattering Priscilla’s robes as a meaty sound of impact was drowned out by the ring of steel striking stone.
The man gave a wet gurgle before death took him, his entire thoracic cage having collapsed under the weight of impact of an enormous black sword.
“What the-?” Exclaimed the companion next to him before the image of a snarling direwolf smashed into his head, pulping his nose. He fell back with an agonized howl, clutching at his face.
The sorcerer on the other side of Priscilla had but one second to stare in amazement, before the cruel tip of the black sword that had so easily cut down Valmont imbedded itself into his chest and propelled him a full six feet back before it impaled him to the floor. He pulled at the weapon with weak fingers, before blood gurgled out of his throat and chest. He fell still a moment later.
Everyone in the room froze and stared. The man clad in the armor of a knight straightened to his full height, rising from the crouch he had ended up in as he threw his massive weapon.
“Shirou!” Said one of the warriors as if the name were a curse. “Guess Vladmir was not good enough to hold you.” The remaining men drew their weapons and surrounded the chained woman.
They looked to the one remaining man leaning against the wall, he looked back and said two words. “Kill him.”
The score of men screamed as they charged, converging upon the helpless crossbreed and impassive knight.
The first fell as a long bladed knife flew from the knight’s hand, imbedding itself into his neck.
The second fell with his neck twisted at an unnatural angle from the thrown greatshield.
The third died with a gurgle as he was pushed into the blade of his comrade.
The fourth fell to the floor, clutching a leg which bent the wrong direction before a boot descended and crushed his neck.
The fifth and sixth fell to the floor clutching their faces in agony, a pair of arrows driven into their eyes before steel clad fists drove a pair of long bladed knives through their skulls with a meaty ‘thunk’.
The remaining men backed away with fear clutching their hearts. Never had they seen such a controlled slaughter, much less from a nearly weaponless man.
One of them grit his teeth, and with a hurried exclamation his hand was covered in coursing lines of electricity. Electricity which was fired at the helpless half-breed.
He was quite surprised when the knight jumped into the path of his attack, receiving its full power on his chest, the arcs of the unnatural electricity coursing through his being.
The men smirked and readied whatever ranged weapons they could, were they magic, flame, bolt or steel.
Once his trembles subsided, the knight grasped the hilt of Priscilla’s enormous scythe, the cold touch of the weapon numbing his arm to the elbow, only his eyes confirming that he held the haft at all.
Priscilla gave a sharp hiss. “Thou mustn’t! If thou art to use my weapon-!” Before the half-dragon could finish her statement, the knight heaved, throwing his weight forward with a twist of his hip, and brought the too-large weapon around in an enormous horizontal arc, cutting two men apart at the waist.
Arresting the movement of the heavy scythe with great effort, the knight took another step forward and with a grunt of effort swung the scythe in a reverse motion, decapitating three more men.
The ten remaining men scrambled back, attempting to get out of reach of the enormous weapon. Yet they were much too slow, seven more fell to the scythe’s deadly blade before the remaining three managed to back themselves against the wall.
The knight turned to look at them, took one step forward, and collapsed to a knee.
From the groves of his armor, a crimson liquid began to drip. From his chest, gorget, arms and legs. Blood flowed in a veritable stream. Were one to remove his armor, they would see his body riddled with lacerations. One for every cut he had inflicted upon his enemies.
He put power into his limbs and raised himself on trembling legs.
The three remaining men did not waste the golden opportunity presented to them. Two of them charged forward while the last caused a large flame to blossom on his hand.
The two warriors brandished their weapons, quickly coming inside the knight’s guard, too close for the large scythe to be effective. Their weapons descended, the knight raised his left arm and took the first blade on his armored forearm, the second striking against the pauldron on his shoulder. The impact driving him to his knees once more. The two men raised their weapons one more time.
The knight’s left hand darted forward between the legs of one of his assailants. He then took hold of the warrior’s privates, and crushed them in a steel grip. Causing the man’s eyes to bulge nearly out of his skull and emit an agonized high-pitched squeal.
The knight then pulled on his hand hold, causing the man he had taken a hold of to follow the direction of the pull not to suffer any more agony than he already was. Putting him directly into the path of his compatriot’s descending weapon. The edge of the sword impacting into his back with the wet sound of cut meat.
“Bastard!” Screamed the man as he threw his dying compatriot out of the way and raised his weapon once more.
He was not expecting the knight to push forward and tackle him, the greater weight of the armored man nearly toppling him. He began to struggle to push the bloodied knight off of himself, when a searing hot agony blossomed on his back, eliciting an agonized wail to free itself from his throat.
The pyromancer straightened from his throw as his last compatriot died covered in flames, a smirk adorning his face at his triumph.
When the flame covered knight walked forward through the superheated air as if he walked through a warm breeze, fire merrily dancing on his uncaring form, the pyromancer knew fear.
The great scythe moved forward with the intention of claiming his head. He quickly ducked down and brought up his left arm in hopes of deflection the weapon with his buckler.
The blade of the scythe cut through his arm almost as if it were not actually present, a tremor running up the haft as it caught momentarily on his bone, deflecting the weapon up a fraction, allowing him to duck under the blade, suffering a small scratch on his scalp.
The knight’s left arm hanged bonelessly, blood dripping from the gantlet in copious amounts.
The pyromancer swallowed his agonized scream, he summoned the toxins of his body into his lungs, using the primordial fire that he called his tool to craft them into a deadly weapon.
He called upon the perversion of the art of fire he learned from Eingyi before he was driven from the Great Swamp, and breathed out a large black fog. Where the mist not so thick, one would be able to see smoke rising from the stone floor as the mist corroded it.
Anyone that walked into it would be afflicted by powerful poisons, all but the hardiest men would die in minutes if they did not possess an anti-toxin powerful enough to contra rest its effects. Nobody would be foolish enough to walk through the fog, thus allowing him to prepare his strongest spell.
Which is why he froze in sheer shock as the battered, bleeding, burning, and now poisoned knight walked out of the black fog, as uncaring of it as he was of the flames merrily dancing on his form. He heaved the heavy scythe forward, its tip giving off a terrifying whistle as it cut the air and imbedded itself into the pyromancer’s skull.
The knight wobbled on his feet, before turning slowly to stare at the last remaining man, who proceeded to push himself from the wall with a disgusted sigh. “If you want something done well eh? My my my. You are looking quite the worse for wear Shirou, maybe you should lie down for a moment.”
The knight left the scythe imbedded on the dead pyromancer and staggered to the dead sorcerer, he planted a foot on the dead man’s stomach and wrenched his enormous weapon out of the corpse. Settling it heavily on his shoulder.
“Still as talkative as ever I see.” Continued the last remaining Darkwraith, unsheathing the signature weapon of his covenant. The Darksword causing the air around it to ripple, as if the blade were white hot.
The knight stumbled forward, he had to end the fight as soon as possible, otherwise he would collapse and Priscilla would be left helpless. With a heave of his entire body and a twist of his hips, he brought the enormous black greatsword in a slanted arc, his enemy simply stepped back, allowing the heavy tip of the blade to scratch his clothing, the weight of the weapon driving it into the ground.
The knight grit his teeth, took another step which caused the world to tip precariously and swung his weapon one more time, throwing all the power his weakening form could muster into the strike.
A strike that was dodged with contemptuous ease by his enemy. Who planted his foot on the blunt edge of the knight’s weapon, locking it in place, stepped forward and drove the tip of his sword into the knight’s hip through the ridges of the armor.
The knight grit his teeth and released an agonized grunt, he heaved and raised his weapon, causing his enemy to stumble back. Then once more twisted his hips and brought the sword that was too large to be called a sword forward.
The Darkwraith smashed his shield into the flat of the ascending blade, driving it from the knight’s numb fingers with a grunt of effort. The sword skidded down the length of the floor, out the door that led to the wooden plank from which the knight had made his frequent exists, and fell out of view.
He then drove his blade point first into the knight’s stomach, driving it forward almost to the hilt. “Aaaand good bye~” Whispered the man with glee coloring his voice. He then planted his foot upon the knight’s abdomen and kicked him off the blade, throwing him to the ground where he fell on his back in an expanding pool of his own blood.
The Darkwraith turned back to the struggling half-dragon, where he spotted a few tears making their way down her cheeks.
His face-splitting grin was a thing of beauty indeed.
“Waitwaitwaitthischairwaitwait!” Said the Darwraith with glee in his voice. “The abomination is crying for the broken hollow? By the Gods this is priceless!” He then bent forward and giggled, the force of his merriment nearly driving him to his knees.
“Thou art an appalling creature.” Stated the half-dragon, her tail swishing sullenly behind her in a reflexive show of hostility. “Thou deserves nothing less than a thousand deaths.”
The Darkwraith’s smirk grew. “Name’s Shinji, pleased to meet you, now die.” His blade fell toward her neck.
Priscilla’s face was covered in warm blood at the same time as the meaty thump of steel striking flesh resounded in the open room. Shinji’s form fell to the floor, dazed by the heavy impact.
Shinji was driven out of his shock when the knight drove the edge of the kite shield into his forearm. Causing him to drop the Darksword from now-nerveless fingers.
“Why won’t you just die already!?” Demanded Shinji as he kicked at the knight’s stomach, driving him back with the pain rather than the force of his kick.
Shinji shot to his feet and dove for his weapon, only to feel the heavy metal of the shield smash against his side, sending him tumbling. He stood again with fury painted across his face, only for the snarling direwolf to crush his nose, sending him reeling.
The knight relentlessly pursued him, striking him with the shield again and again and again. The knight broke his nose, cheeckbones, jaw, arms, legs, ribs, spine. When Shinji could move no more, the knight stood over him and drove the edge of the shield into his chest again and again. The meaty sounds of impact and agonized requests for quarter the only sounds in the chamber.
Eventually, only the sound of meat being pulped remained.
A long time later, the knight straightened, wobbling on his feet. He took the blood stained scabbard from the corpse’s belt, strapped the great shield to his back, then picked up the dropped blade, and made his way to the chained half-dragon, the tip of the weapon drawing a carbonized line on the stones of the floor.
Once he reached Priscilla, he swung the sword with as much strength as he could muster, striking the mystic bonds that chained the half-dragon until they collapsed. With that done, he sheathed the sword, pulled a green flask from his belt, and drank deeply of its contents. He then bowed to her, gave a quick apology for the mess and his lack of a gift, turned, and began to walk down the wooden plank.
Priscilla stood, rubbing her wrists where the cruel chains had held her. Amazed that someone, anyone, would suffer such injury to protect another. “I ask of thee once more.” Said Priscilla, causing the bleeding knight to stop halfway down the wooden plank from which he had made many an exit. “What dost thou seekest? What is thine desire? Why wouldst thou withstand such injury for one such as I?”
The knight turned back to her, his citrine orbs hard yet not cold. “Because a girl was in danger. That is all the reason I need.” His statement made he turned back around and resumed his walk down the wooden plank.
As he reached its edge and bowed once more, Priscilla made one more query. “Knight, I would ask of thee thine name.”
The knight straightened and met her gaze once more. “Name’s not important. I’m just a knight.”
His succinct declaration made he turned and wobbled off the plank, exiting Priscilla’s home and prison.
Priscilla proceeded to quickly clean up the mess, calling forth some of the inhabitants of the world to aid her in her enterprise. All the while thinking about the selfless knight, recalling the name the last enemy had spat like a curse.
Four days later the knight returned, bearing yet another gift. He was surprised to see a woman a little taller than he himself.
He was driven speechless at her request to stay for dinner.
Santo, you are a thrice-be-damned GOD.
No questions asked, and I'll slaughter anyone who dares claim otherwise and make a throne for him out of your bones.
*Dies from overdose of GAR and moe.* THANK YOU SANTO, FINALLY SOMEONE WRITES (the start of) A DS!SHIROUxPRISCILLA SNIP!! What offerings would you like for me to make at your altar oh glorious Santo?
Spoiler:
Very nice, Santo!
No idea, of the DS verse but it has been entertaining indeed.
Teasing the Penguin God!
Seconded. Nicely done.
As has been said, very well written, and I just loved how nonplussed Pricilla was over Shirou at the begining
Any chance that we could see a snip or two for some of the other Templates as well?
Glad you liked so much (^,^)Santo, you are a thrice-be-damned GOD.
No questions asked, and I'll slaughter anyone who dares claim otherwise and make a throne for him out of your bones.
GAR in my left hand.
MOE in my right. <(￣,￣)>
Danke danke.
Glad you enjoyed.
*bows*
....mmmeeeebe? :3cAs has been said, very well written, and I just loved how nonplussed Pricilla was over Shirou at the begining
Any chance that we could see a snip or two for some of the other Templates as well?
^What they said. I don't know anything about Dark Souls, but that was entertaining nonetheless.
Therefore,
That wouldn't happen to be a GaoGaiGar reference would it?
Last edited by Carpe_Noctem; August 30th, 2012 at 12:03 AM.
So when's the next part of the snippet coming Santo?
Spoiler:
Grim in my right hand. Fluff in my left. <(￣,￣)>
Geepers! This one is barely out of the oven and you already demand more?
Give a guy a chance >,> Secretly happy it was so well received.
*Hand YOLF a BFG-3000* Here, you'll need this.Santo, you are a thrice-be-damned GOD.
No questions asked, and I'll slaughter anyone who dares claim otherwise and make a throne for him out of your bones.
Underneath the Stars
Spoiler:
Spoiler:
Amateur.
*Hands faith the Easy Button*
Now to activate it you only need to say a punny one liner and press the button, I will now demonstrate.
"We can do this the EASY way or the hard way."
*click*
B-But it would be more fun to hear you enemies's scream in despair and agony. To hear the bullets strike through their corpse. To watch as their comrades try to avenge them, only to fall to the same weapon.
... *cough cough* Nothing to see here folks.
Underneath the Stars
Spoiler:
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The amount of win in this snippet is not enough to satisfy my cravings. THE BEAST DEMANDS MORE!!
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