With her free hand still holding her blade, Cheshie attempted to strike the side of Makuta’s stomach with the pommel of her blade.
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Makuta took the hit. Stung like a knife wound, that was for certain. This Cheshie would make an excellent sparring partner when all of this was over. But he took the hit with satisfaction knowing the hammer she had failed to notice would hurt at least a little bit more.
The top of Makuta’s hammer slammed into Cheshie’s side with enough force to throw her off its wielder. “If I were trying…” Makuta said, using a spin from the hammer to scoop himself off the ground and into standing position, clutching the handle with a ready stance and staring daggers into Katau.
“You’d already have graves.”
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Cheshie turned in time to see the hammer coming, but not in time to do anything about it. There was a crunch, followed by a crash as Cheshie fell to the ground. Winded was an understatement as she clutched her side, gasping for air and struggling to lift her body off the ground, finding little success with either.
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Jaawu was still next to his favorite wall, but he could still hear Makuta.
“I wasn’t being literal!” He shouted from across the room. “It was meant as an exaggeration!”
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“Of course we would.” Katau mumbled as it was made abundantly clear that his weapon skills weren’t up to par. He stopped his sword swing and attempted a thrust at the mask maker.
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"I didn’t sign up for this job."Henan muttered to himself."So why,in all of okoto’s masks,am I in this room,in this situation,fighting a bally mask maker,with people,i barely even know?"He rubbed sand off his mask."If you were going to tell us something,you should just tell everyone to stop,and explained exactlly why you brought us here.I was well on my way to carve my finest statue yet! I swear,i always told myself,if i’m going to fight someone,i better know the whole story."He said while fiddling around with some very small chisels from his pack."so how 'bout we all stop fighting,and you tell us exactly why we’re.To the finest cleaveage.
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@Winger @Rukah @MakutaOisli @TheMOCingbird @GoodGuy2006 @N01InParticular
Makuta allowed the flat of the blade to run directly alongside the head of his hammer and then shoved the sword away.
“This is enough.” The handle of the hammer tapped the floor, and Makuta’s voice carried a clear tone of irritation, if his body language failed to convey that message. His purple eyes shot towards Ilya on the opposite side of the room, and he made two threatening steps in that direction when-
There was a knock at the door.
Not taking his eyes of Ilya, the mask maker gestured with his hand towards the door and it flew open. Standing outside was a small fire Okotan, visibly unnerved by the doors opening on their own, his eyes darting from person to person in an attempt to find some answer.
“Tussul.” Makuta sighed, having turned about to see who was present. He motioned with his hand, and the hammer flew off down the hall someplace, making an awful ruckus while doing so. “Get acquainted, everyone.”
He resumed his march towards ilya, hands folded behind his back, eyes as menacing as ever - although the slightest hint of being really darn tired lurking around his pupils.
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Katau stumbled as he attempted to keep hold of his blade, though the fire Okotan managed to do so without falling over.
Now thoroughly irritated, Katau breathed out heavily and replied under his breath,
“You think so?”
Just then, he noticed
a new arrival to the Mask Maker’s Forge and he looked Tullus over.
“Welcome.” Katau grumbled sarcastically.
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Henans neck creaked as he turned to Tullus,and Grumbled something about masks and firespitters.
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Ilya, upon hearing the signal to cease fire, lowered his hands, putting his last potion back into his pouch. He had already begun to move back towards the group and away from the forge when the Makuta turned to face him. Ilya stopped moving.
He would have stiffened, if he weren’t already. This whole ordeal barely seemed real.
Barely.
He remembered the cup, his mouth curling down at the edges. You’ve done idiotic things. This has to be the worst of them. The Makuta knew. He must know. And there was no easy way to explain it, no lie he could concoct - dared to concoct - that would fool the Makuta. Not on such short a notice.
Ilya was tired. He’d run before, fought before, even, but nothing like the adrenaline-suffused blitz of fighting the Mask Maker.
But so was the Makuta, it seemed. Ilya kept his posture respectful - though maybe too much defiance and too little subservience - but it was a hard-fought battle not to let a sardonically victorious sneer pass across his face.
Remember your fear. What was he thinking? He wasn’t. Makuta could kill him like nothing.
And yet … He wanted nothing more than to left his chin and stare down his nose at the Mask Maker, at the tiredness in his eyes.
He didn’t dare, though.
Not yet, anyways.
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Cheshie, still gasping for breath, managed to roll onto her back, her eyes still struggling to focus on the ceiling.
Well, I suppose that could have gone worse. Cheshie thought, satisfied that she at least got a few good hits in.
Cheshie turned her head to the open door and, still lying flat on her back, shot her hand into the air, giving a casual wave to the newcomer.
Well, this guy sure picked the right time to arrive. A weary “Hey.” was all she could manage in way of a greeting at the moment.
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What an agonizing walk! Was Makuta purposefully taking the smallest possible steps to draw out the tension of the moment, making his approach all the more… Menacing? Annoying?
Whatever the intent or the resulting emotion, the mask maker had approached to an uncomfortably close point, allowing him to look down on Ilya from the bottom of his eyes with nearly zero effort. It was then his eyes broke from Ilya’s for a moment, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips.
“You have failed.” Makuta’s voice was soft and quiet, just audible enough for Ilya to be their only recipient, as the mask maker’s violet eyes returned to his. “I set a test of your skill before you and you failed in every possible capacity. You did not lead your team, you did not approach the enemy, you did not exhibit the slightest hint of bravery. By every possible account, you have failed.”
“So perhaps the notion has crossed your mind that I would revoke your position and hand it off to someone far more capable, more competent at fighting, like Cheshie has proved herself to be.” He continued, slowly circling the Okotan while looking casually at the ceiling, before his eyes whipped back around with a menacing air. “Wrong. There is one truth in this universe, Ilya, and that is every Okotan fulfills his Destiny. You try to weasel out of yours at your own risk.”
“In spite of your secondary title, you will be doing the majority of the commanding on the field.” Makuta broke eye contact once more, having his back mostly to Ilya. “I know Tussul, and he is a skilled marksman, but he is not destined to lead. You will fill the void, or your team will abandon you for someone stronger.”
“What say you?”
Tussul threw both hands to his mouth in shock and bolted towards her, sliding on his knees over to her position. “Are you hurt? Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Do you need help? A-Are you going to be okay? Can you walk? C-Can you feel everything? Is any part of you cold or- or too hot? Do you feel anything broken? Is there a source of pain? Are you infected? Do we have to-”
The puppy dog eyes made it infinitely worse. This would, in theory, keep going until he ran out of breath.
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With a sigh, Cheshie clasped her already raised hand over Tullus’s mouth, her eye locking with his in an emotionless glare.
“I’m fine, just need a minute.” She replied, cracking an unexpected smile.
“Name’s Cheshie. Chesh for short. Okotan guardswoman.” She said as she took her hand away from Tullus’s mouth, instead extending it for a hand shake.
“And you all are…?” She said, glancing around the room at the various Okotans gathered there. (@GoodGuy2006 @MakutaOisli @Rukah )
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“I’m, uh, Katau.” Katau said nervously. Then he glanced at Makuta and added,
“Dueling a Mask Maker wasn’t quite what I was expecting.”
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“Yeah,” Cheshie said with a grunt, propping herself up with one hand behind her. “me neither. Coulda gone worse.” She shrugged.
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“You think so?” Katau replied derisively.
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“I mean, we’re still standing, right?” She then seemed to notice her own position on the floor. “Well, most of us.” Her attention then flicked to Makuta, who was menacing the jungle Okotan in the corner. “For now.”
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“I suppose introductions are in order. I am Henan, a carver.” He then proceeded to take off his mask and cough into his arm, his dry coughs followed by wheezes. When he was done, He said, “And as you can see,its not very good for my health. I don’t now why, but Makuta has wanted me here.”
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Palios crept closer to the door, Very soon his ingenious plan to end Makuta’s rampage would begin. as Palios lifted his hand to deliver the oh so crucial knock it hit him… The door that is; The force of it suddenly flying open was not only enough to send him backpedaling into the nearest wall and subsequently knock over various items in the process, but it also really hurt.
“Cool, cool, I’m just gonna continue to lay here… Catch my breath.” In truth, Palios wasn’t too winded. He was, In fact, too afraid of the possible embarrassment that would come in admitting the fact that he still couldn’t see- In fact why hadn’t his vision cleared yet that entire kerfuffle felt like it had taken hours yet here he was…still lying on the ground… Still covered in junk… still unable to see.
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Ilya …
Didn’t flinch.
For the barest second, other thoughts flashed through Ilya’s mind. First, thoughts of defense. He wasn’t suicidal, and the Makuta was clearly more dangerous up close. It had been tactical, not cowardly. Ilya had few real weapons. He had only just been appointed leader, he-
He no longer cared. He stared almost straight up, doing his best to meet Makuta’s towering gaze. What had once been awe-tinted disdain had shifted to weakly masked loathing.
He regretted it immediately. Of course he cared. He didn’t want to become disgrace, to be branded a pariah by a Mask Maker. Maybe he had never asked for - let alone wanted - leadership. But that didn’t mean that subservience was a desirable or viable alternative.
Failure. That word stung like memories, but with the sting came a morbid humor. Makuta called him a failure, in this. But Makuta was wrong. Ilya knew what it was to fail. It was nothing like this.
He looked down again.
That didn’t matter anymore. Failure was failure. He would be replaced. He didn’t know what would happen then. He wouldn’t desert. But being forced to trail along as a disgrace would be even worse. Maybe he’d be discharged.
Ilya looked up again. Makuta didn’t seem to be one for second chances.
Ilya hadn’t-
That wasn’t-
Was it? It was.
Of course. Because you’re a coward. A failure. A coward.
Ilya knew, then. He understand. This wasn’t a second chance. It was nothing like that.
It was like being an insect pinned on a card.
Ilya really did flinch at that thought. He met the Makuta’s eyes again. Less blatant hate, more bitter resolve.
“I …” His voice seemed too thin and too taciturn for addressing a Mask Maker. “I don’t …” Say something. Not something weak, not something disrespectful. He spoke in a lowered tone, to the Makuta, not the others. “I don’t know I believe in destiny’s predictability.”
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