Much like before, when Shepherd stepped on a certain piece of ground
it was like a switch was thrown, turning on the two psychotic suits of
armour down the hall. But these two were brand-new suits of armour with no
design flaws, no animation flaws and far more intelligence. They bounded
down the corridor swiftly towards him, practise-swinging their own bastard
swords through the air. It was plain that if he fought them, even if he
fought them one at a time, he would die. So he tried one of the doors. It
was a classroom, useless to him. He opened another door. It was another
classroom. So was the next. Shepherd got the idea that they were all
classrooms. He knew that neither him nor Madame Pomfrey could take these
two on, even with the acid, so he hollered, "Madame! Don't let them get
in!" and barricaded his own door; in one powerful motion he sliced the
support board of some mahogany bookshelves next to the door, causing all
the heavy wood and heavier books to tumble down in front of the door
instantly. To complete the barricade Shepherd shoved the oak teacher's desk
with all his might until it rammed into the door as well.
Shepherd was quick in the head. Before he'd sliced the book supports he already knew what he was now going to do. He just hoped the windowsill was wide enough.
Shepherd opened the window of the classroom. Outside was a picturesque landscape of a wide lake, a luscious forest and beautiful green grounds between everything, this image of perfection marred only by the combat. A long way out several giant spiders were taking turns ramming a wrecked tank. The occupants of said tank made it abundantly clear they weren't going to give up when they fired the 50mm turret directly into the eight- eyed face of one of the spiders. There was also a troop of centaurs riding at top speed around the lake, armed with spears and bows and arrows, and one or two blowing war trumpets. Several dozen harpies flew around a pitifully small band of troops, who had taken cover inside their vehicles, which had been wrecked by a few ogres who now lay dead with very large holes in their chests, clearly from M203 launch grenades. There was also a troll meandering past in the distance. Most importantly, none of them were paying any attention to the castle, so he shouldn't suffer any for climbing out the window. Shepherd wished he'd thought to steal the scabbard as well as the blade, because now he only had one hand to climb with. He stepped onto a chair, then onto the rightmost windowsill. He ducked under the window, hanging his sword loosely, and then gripped the side of the windowframe with his other hand very tightly. He looked down. Mistake. He was on the fifth floor, which spelt certain death from a fall unless with an extremely soft landing. There were repeated sharp cracking noises from inside the room. The suits of armour were attempting to hack apart the door. The windowsill on the outside was less than three inches wide and the window below was miles away, he wouldn't be able to climb down, but he should be able to climb left to the next classroom. He focused on the windowframe to his left. He reached across himself and shut the window with the hand holding the sword. He then let that arm fall loose again. He was leaning back, bracing the arches of his feet against the tiny stone ledge, holding on with five cramped fingers. He pulled himself up sharply, let go with his left hand and reached for the next windowframe. He caught it, just barely, and pulled once again to stop himself falling backwards. Then he transferred his feet to the next windowsill, opened the window with the sword hand, climbed in stealthily, shut the window, and Shepherd heard cheering in his head from the adoring fans.
Next door, the automatons had managed to hack apart the barricades and bounded into the room. Shepherd heard their footsteps as they scoured the room for him. He smiled and walked out of the room silently, holding up the bastard sword, and walked down the full length of the corridor past where the animations had been originally stationed.
Shepherd peeked around the corner with one eye only. It was another long corridor with animated tapestries and suits of armour. He sincerely hoped that these suits of armour weren't animated too, or else soon he'd be monkeying about outside again, climbing on windowsills. But there were also staircases coming off the corridor too now.
"I don't see why we have do another check." came a voice from the stairs, softened by distance. "Everyone up here is either dead or has holed up for good. We won't catch anybody else moving about, because anybody left alive is both too clever for us to find them without using every individual anti-stealth spell in the book, and is too chickenshit to stand and fight. We're wasting our time."
"Well, it's still worth keeping any remaining chickenshits scared and in the shadows, which periodic appearances would do for us, and since the original battle is over we aren't particularly needed anymore, so wasting our time is as good a way as any to spend it." was the response.
"Still, couldn't they have gotten some other fucksticks to do it?" the first one asked.
Shepherd broke cover and ran up to the nearest bronze statue. To his intense relief it was not animated, and no other traps were sprung either. This location was a far better place to spring on two assholes coming from the stairs. The two people (Shepherd surmised they were both evil and wizards from what they were saying) continued bickering and stamping up the stairs. Specifically, the staircase ten feet from his dark hiding place. Shepherd brought in his sword where it wouldn't reflect light, held his breath and raced through the appropriate tactics in his mind.
The two wizards came to the top of the stairs, seemed to ponder which path to take, and turned right. Towards Shepherd. His heart beat a tap- dance in his ribcage. The duo came level with Shepherd, didn't notice him, and walked on. They were wearing long black cloaks and silver masks. Shepherd stood up silently, walked a few steps and sprinted the last few steps. They both turned. He brought the bastard sword whistling down through the air, putting both hands on the hilt and pulling the blade towards himself to add slicing power. The keen, heavy blade sliced right through the neck of the wizard on the right, and his masked severed head bounced away as blood spurted to the ceiling. Because he'd pulled the sword towards himself, the sword was already in position for his next attack. He thrust forwards and slightly upwards at the second wizard's abdominal region, the sword digging in between his ribs. The wizard tried to draw breath for the incantation of an offensive spell, but for some reason it became a lot harder to draw breath after a bastard sword had punctured each of his lungs. Shepherd dropped the handle of the sword and the wizard immediately dropped to the floor, partially propped up by the sword which impaled him. He coughed up blood and gagged, then shuddered and lay still.
Breathing hard, Shepherd kicked away their wands and knelt down to search their pockets. He eventually came up with what he wanted; a Desert Eagle .50, in this case with attached laser sight. Probably a trophy he'd stolen off some soldier victim, this ex-wizard probably didn't even know how to use it. Shepherd kicked their corpses a few times to avenge the unnamed soldier, then checked the clip. It was full, but neither of the two men had any spare clips. That meant he could kill a maximum of seven people before he'd need to find more ammo.
He smiled wryly. In this hellhole, he'd be lucky to kill one more person.
Shepherd was quick in the head. Before he'd sliced the book supports he already knew what he was now going to do. He just hoped the windowsill was wide enough.
Shepherd opened the window of the classroom. Outside was a picturesque landscape of a wide lake, a luscious forest and beautiful green grounds between everything, this image of perfection marred only by the combat. A long way out several giant spiders were taking turns ramming a wrecked tank. The occupants of said tank made it abundantly clear they weren't going to give up when they fired the 50mm turret directly into the eight- eyed face of one of the spiders. There was also a troop of centaurs riding at top speed around the lake, armed with spears and bows and arrows, and one or two blowing war trumpets. Several dozen harpies flew around a pitifully small band of troops, who had taken cover inside their vehicles, which had been wrecked by a few ogres who now lay dead with very large holes in their chests, clearly from M203 launch grenades. There was also a troll meandering past in the distance. Most importantly, none of them were paying any attention to the castle, so he shouldn't suffer any for climbing out the window. Shepherd wished he'd thought to steal the scabbard as well as the blade, because now he only had one hand to climb with. He stepped onto a chair, then onto the rightmost windowsill. He ducked under the window, hanging his sword loosely, and then gripped the side of the windowframe with his other hand very tightly. He looked down. Mistake. He was on the fifth floor, which spelt certain death from a fall unless with an extremely soft landing. There were repeated sharp cracking noises from inside the room. The suits of armour were attempting to hack apart the door. The windowsill on the outside was less than three inches wide and the window below was miles away, he wouldn't be able to climb down, but he should be able to climb left to the next classroom. He focused on the windowframe to his left. He reached across himself and shut the window with the hand holding the sword. He then let that arm fall loose again. He was leaning back, bracing the arches of his feet against the tiny stone ledge, holding on with five cramped fingers. He pulled himself up sharply, let go with his left hand and reached for the next windowframe. He caught it, just barely, and pulled once again to stop himself falling backwards. Then he transferred his feet to the next windowsill, opened the window with the sword hand, climbed in stealthily, shut the window, and Shepherd heard cheering in his head from the adoring fans.
Next door, the automatons had managed to hack apart the barricades and bounded into the room. Shepherd heard their footsteps as they scoured the room for him. He smiled and walked out of the room silently, holding up the bastard sword, and walked down the full length of the corridor past where the animations had been originally stationed.
Shepherd peeked around the corner with one eye only. It was another long corridor with animated tapestries and suits of armour. He sincerely hoped that these suits of armour weren't animated too, or else soon he'd be monkeying about outside again, climbing on windowsills. But there were also staircases coming off the corridor too now.
"I don't see why we have do another check." came a voice from the stairs, softened by distance. "Everyone up here is either dead or has holed up for good. We won't catch anybody else moving about, because anybody left alive is both too clever for us to find them without using every individual anti-stealth spell in the book, and is too chickenshit to stand and fight. We're wasting our time."
"Well, it's still worth keeping any remaining chickenshits scared and in the shadows, which periodic appearances would do for us, and since the original battle is over we aren't particularly needed anymore, so wasting our time is as good a way as any to spend it." was the response.
"Still, couldn't they have gotten some other fucksticks to do it?" the first one asked.
Shepherd broke cover and ran up to the nearest bronze statue. To his intense relief it was not animated, and no other traps were sprung either. This location was a far better place to spring on two assholes coming from the stairs. The two people (Shepherd surmised they were both evil and wizards from what they were saying) continued bickering and stamping up the stairs. Specifically, the staircase ten feet from his dark hiding place. Shepherd brought in his sword where it wouldn't reflect light, held his breath and raced through the appropriate tactics in his mind.
The two wizards came to the top of the stairs, seemed to ponder which path to take, and turned right. Towards Shepherd. His heart beat a tap- dance in his ribcage. The duo came level with Shepherd, didn't notice him, and walked on. They were wearing long black cloaks and silver masks. Shepherd stood up silently, walked a few steps and sprinted the last few steps. They both turned. He brought the bastard sword whistling down through the air, putting both hands on the hilt and pulling the blade towards himself to add slicing power. The keen, heavy blade sliced right through the neck of the wizard on the right, and his masked severed head bounced away as blood spurted to the ceiling. Because he'd pulled the sword towards himself, the sword was already in position for his next attack. He thrust forwards and slightly upwards at the second wizard's abdominal region, the sword digging in between his ribs. The wizard tried to draw breath for the incantation of an offensive spell, but for some reason it became a lot harder to draw breath after a bastard sword had punctured each of his lungs. Shepherd dropped the handle of the sword and the wizard immediately dropped to the floor, partially propped up by the sword which impaled him. He coughed up blood and gagged, then shuddered and lay still.
Breathing hard, Shepherd kicked away their wands and knelt down to search their pockets. He eventually came up with what he wanted; a Desert Eagle .50, in this case with attached laser sight. Probably a trophy he'd stolen off some soldier victim, this ex-wizard probably didn't even know how to use it. Shepherd kicked their corpses a few times to avenge the unnamed soldier, then checked the clip. It was full, but neither of the two men had any spare clips. That meant he could kill a maximum of seven people before he'd need to find more ammo.
He smiled wryly. In this hellhole, he'd be lucky to kill one more person.