A Ragnarok On-Line Fan Fiction
"Falling for Hellish Eyes"
By Bloody Priestess
Summary: Assassin x Priestess. They couldn't be anymore different, yet that difference bonded them as childhood best friends but now the difference of their jobs and feuding guilds thwart the blooming fondness for one another.
Author's Notes: Hello there guys, thanks a bundle for the reviews!
Well… as always I've made some slight revision in the past chapter—nothing major, really. 'cept for a clarification c/o the priestess in the last chapter. I feel that a brief summary of it will do. (clears throat).She's now known as the 'Jewel of Prayer', no longer the 'Compromise to Freija, the Goddess of Beauty'. You see, with the change of Guild Masters—their nicknames changed. I'm sorry for the bother—that is, if it did bother you… once more, my apologizes!
May I remind you guys especially when you encounter words that are capitalized, italized or sometimes both—please be aware that these are persons, places, and objects found in the game, more often than not, anyways.
Ragnarok On-Line wouldn't be Ragnarok On-line without guild sieges or rather (what we gamers call in the game,) WAR OF THE EMPERIUM/ WoE. So naturally I've incorporated some 'action' into this fanfic.
I'll keep my fingers crossed and my endeavors offered up to Mighty Odin.
Chapter Four: Hellish Eyes?
Run. Her mind commanded.
Something's amiss with this strange, uncharacteristic stillness. She observed, brushing past a bush that clutched onto her priestess garb as she dashed past it.
Pant.
As my lungs scream out for the air denied to it.
Run faster.
In this present pace I'll never reach the castle gates before it'd be barricaded with "Storm Gust" against our opponents.
"Increase Agi!" the priestess chanted briskly. Just then her feet were given a new pace comparable to a speeding arrow drenched a receding helix of light.
Pant harder.
I'm afraid! I'm afraid to see the castle is in ruins by now!
Halt!
Hurrah! Cyfton Castle still stands!
Cyfton Castle was located amongst Prontera's Creamhilt castles. Very much like the splendid, solid-stoned castles around them, it was given from King Tristan III himself as a reward. Cyfton was a proud spectacle of beauty and was a formidable fortress with its high towers perfect for bow-welding Archers, Hunters, Snipers and dexterous Rogues to settle on and defend.
Adrienne whispered a quick word of praise and thanks to the favor bestowed by Gods while she dropped out of sight behind a darkened, narrow passage outside the castle.
She used the same instant to ascertain her gear and equipment and dutifully wore the brooch which bore her Guilds Coat of Arms (EMBLEM) onto to her dress's collar to identify herself to the brutish guardians during the clash that lay ahead.
The Militia of Sungren's emblem was noted with two evenly sized circles that were positioned side-by-side and a smaller loop in the middle of the two—linking them as it were. Militia's colors and banners were unmistakably gold and black—with a hint of fiery-red on the insignia's hems for the Order of Cerberus—ice-blue for the Order of Furies—and jade-green for the Order of Ixion.
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He stood tall, proud, and noble—like his father before him, this Knight they called, 'The Bringer of Tempests'. His raven black hair was left untrimmed for a fortnight now that strands of his long, dark bangs were easily tucked behind his ears. Giving his nobly high forehead an anew amplification of unwavering authority and relentless courage.
"Ready?" The same, handsome dark haired Lord Knight calmly prompted the rows and rows of armed Militia Guild members of every job and profession. "Steady now, ladies and gentlemen."
The responds of "Aye, Sir Damon," echoed strongly as the men and women that composed of the Militia of Sungren, Order of the Cerberus prepared their counter-attack.
Hasty thumping footsteps pulsed to and fro the castles south gates interior—the Seigers were all but pounding in the other side of these massive doors.
"A lot of them are equipped for battle, ensured to smite imminent fatality and bring forth demise." The Lord Knight's deep resounding voice boomed over the shuffling movements of his guild members.
The Knights were the ones closest to the still-closed gates, their row alternately spaced with a Wizard and / or a Sage for nuking, support and distraction.
Three Crusaders trail the sequence of fighters alongside a column of able-bodied Black and Whitesmiths, who just perfected their weapons; a handful of Bards ready to strum 'till the end; and Dancers fervent to allure then slay the enemy.
"They are here to take our stronghold—our home. They're trample upon our honor with the dread of failure and strive to pilfer the ultimate treasure of this keep—no, not the gold, ladies and gentlemen but the very lives of the people we love who are protected by these very walls, Cyfton Castles walls!"
"In the hands of Militia of Sungren, Order of Cerberus—at our hands and with the assistance of our kin and brethren—the Order of Ixion. Well, ladies and gentlemen, it is they who will fail—they will fall'!" He aimed to be reassuring and motivating through there was this huge lump in his throat. "For honor!"
"For Honor!" they resounded with an equivalent fervor.
The Monk and Militia of Sungren, Order of Ixion's Guild Master—Preston Chantal glanced up to his nephew from the flank he assumed amongst the crowd of impassioned agit defenders. "You render your father his apt honor, Damon." He whispered. "Cerberus'll be invulnerable with you."
This pep talk was Damon father's task before every siege counter-offensive. The Crusader Derek is dead of old age. The task of seeing to the Order of Cerberus and doing the pep talk was his obligations now.
—at the age of only eight and twenty years, Damon Chantal was the Guild Master of one of the most powerful guilds in Rune-Midgard. And it was also his job to escort a number of these brave souls to a crossing into Valhalla's gates.
He pushed the notion into the back of his mind, his vibrant, electric blue eyes smothering with vehement determination to protect his home and his father's legacy. Damon roared. "Odin guides us!"
"Odin guides us!" They repeated as they flanked themselves through the south gates and into battle.
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Not far away, she heard the faint clash of battle cries and chants of spells and counter-spells. Aid guessed by judging the direction the noises, the attackers were upon their southern gates—their 'back door'.
And so it begins… yet again. Adrienne thought.
The priestess crossed herself once more for the brave souls already in the skirmish with her silver eyes drawn to a close in a heartfelt and meditative prayer. "O mighty gods and great warriors of Valhalla! Don't cease to guide my comrades. Allow them to have the strength, the speed, the dexterity, the vitality, the quickness of wit and the luck they need to see through this trial. Amen."
Her silver eyes gleamed like newly unsheathed daggers as she strides briskly into the castles constricted passageway which leads to the Cyfton's main/receiving foyer.
She knew that this path was the fastest into their stronghold—that no attacker would dare to pass for it is a given that it was the most closely guarded by the defenders of the castle.
She prayed she was right in assuming so.
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With Hunters, Snipers and bow-wielding Rogues on the brink of the Cyfton castle's towers—the path en route for the castle main entrance was impossible to trek without going unnoticed.
The dark-brown, side swept haired Sniper, Greig Oughtred shifted uneasily at the same time he tried to vigilantly monitor from his position on the limits of the towers' interconnecting wall down to the pathway below.
That motion of his didn't escape the keen eye of the Blitzer-Huntress, Maltese Quinn. "Take it easy, Greig." She soothed her companion, taking a Big Red Ribbon and fastening her lengthy cherry hair into a half-pony tail. "She'll be fine."
The male Sniper didn't look too reassured despite what she said. Judging the way his dark green colored eyes gaze out to the picturesque, dusk-lit landscape in the region 'round the castle.
"Oi, Miss Quinn! Mister Oughtred!" A sweet, sing-song voice called from down below the tower they were resting on.
The duo looked down to see the youngest Guild member, an Alchemist with her mint-green locks styled into a babyishly high pigtail.
"What is the matter now, Portia?" Maltese answered a tad bit too acidly as if the very young Alchemist ruined a wonderful moment or something…
"I was just going to ask if either of you could point out to me where you camouflaged your traps—your Ankle Snare traps, to be precise." The alchemist, Portia Faunt beseeched ever so sweetly, "You see, I don't want to spring any of them. Especially that they're oh so artfully hidden down here."
The huntress irately waved her hand, brushing away the bother imposed by Portia, "Whatever. Help yourself, will you? We're all busy here."
"But Miss Quinn," the alchemist persisted in a cute pleading tone that irked Maltese all the more, "I must plant my Marine Spheres where the traps won't be obstructed. Please, please, please guide me, 'tis my first siege-defense and I aspire this to go well for Militia, the King and above all for Odin's sake. "
Sensing that the carrot-top Hunter and honey-brown haired Rogue from the adjacent towers were now listened-in to their squabble, Maltese inhaled sharply before regaining her bearings. With her falcon perched on her shoulder, she coolly gestured the Alchemist to the different sites where the traps were hidden.
"Ugh, for crying out loud," she added edgily at the sight of Greig fidgeting for the nth time, "she's a priestess—she can take care of herself! Think—HEAL, think—SAFETY WALL, think—KYRIE ELEISON! How protected can a person be?!"
"'Tis about time you listen to your own advises, Huntress Quinn," a blasé voice said from the neighboring tower/elevated-wall, a comrade-Rogue spoke, "Calm down—don't let your jealousy of th—"
"JEALOUSY?!" Maltese repeated her face flushed a considerable hue of pink akin to her hair, "Stand off, Rogue! This doesn't concern you."
"Shush, the lot of you." Maltese's voice whispered tolerantly but the old thing was, the huntress didn't even stir when that was stated.
Eyes shifted to the other Maltese that advanced from the far corner of the elevated wall opposite to where the first was on. One would have sworn to be seeing double—but what kept one sane was the vista of their different job clothes—one was in the garb of a Huntress and the other a Dancer.
"Are we or are we not supposed to be defending our agit?" stated the Maltese who earlier spoke with tolerance at her look-alike, "Wouldn't that imply that we should work together and not against one other? What say you, my sister Maltese, Rogue Vynce?"
A carrot-top hunter tried his utmost best not to drool at the sight of the dancer-garbed Maltese-look-alike as she glided unperturbedly past him.
"I have to agree with you, Micelles." The honey-brown haired rogue, Vynce Harper articulated almost blubberingly, apparently flabbergasted at the sight of sexily bared skin. He turned to Maltese, "You should be more like your twin sister, Maltese."
"Like her in what way, Harper?!" Maltese demanded her fine nose flaring, "Sway my hips as I walk? Trot around the castle half-naked?!"
"Works for me," Vynce said despite himself and that death glare Maltese shot him.
While Maltese went on ranting about that evil in men's minds at the sight of half-naked women, Vynce jolted a little in attempt to shake off a reverie.
I take that back. I don't want you to change, Maltese, not for your sister, not for me, not for anybody.
"Maltese, everyone do we have an accord?" Micelles asked gently, unrolling her well-carded Whip to ensure it was in perfect condition.
Huntress Maltese rolled her pale blue eyes heavenwards, not pleased seeing herself—or rather seeing her identical twin—with the same body as she, parading it for all to see and practically drool after it. "Fine, fine… let us get back to work—that means the lot of you have to quit staring at my bod—ay," Maltese amended quickly, flushing slightly, "—at my sisters' body!"
"Very well then. Eyes downward, everyone—here comes a sieger now."
Micelles gracefully raised her arms, standing lofty yet delicately arched in all the sinfully right places—the dancer slowly began to sway. The swaying was performed over a sweet, gentle hum.
The Dancer Micelles conducts her body into what could pass as a gracefully flowing ballet dance. She danced away her supportive spell unto her comrades—Humming.
Her dance infused a spectacle that will increase the accuracy rate of the Hunters, Snipers and the Rogues around her.
Their aim will be true and sure.
Bows tighten as an arrow or two were set and ready.
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She halted abruptly. Her long midnight blue hair magnificently spilled off that shoulder of hers as she cast an anxious look in the wake of her. For what ever reason, unbeknownst to her, she cannot simply disregard the incessant feeling she was being followed.
Adrienne readily pulled out her +10 Triple Vital Staff. Taking another quick, fleeting look over her shoulder she recasts INCREASE AGI upon herself and made a sprint for the castles main doors that were just around that corner. She followed the corners curv—
"Hold your arrows!" Someone screeched desperately from the alcove above. "That's a comrade!"
But there were few who anticipated and fired a split-second beforehand the caution was cried out.
At the same time Adrienne looked up, it rained down with ruthlessly razor-sharp arrows.
Out of self-preservation, Adrienne dropped down unto her knees. Her arms stacked protectively over her head. Although most of the arrows missed her, there were persistent few who managed to pierce into her and battered some of the Summoned Marine Spheres around her.
"We're sorry, Aid!" the carrot-top hunter called from above. "Are you badly hurt?"
"Not a problem, really Skylark! I'm fine!" The priestess reassured the hunter, inconspicuously pulling out an arrow that pierced itself into her left shoulder.
"What in Valhalla's name are you doin—ugh!" Maltese groaned concurrently when Aid waved the removed arrow at her. "That's disgusting, Luex!"
"Brave woman—" Greig commented, an atypical smile tugging the corners of his mouth.
Maltese hmmf. Before she stuck her nose in the air and fumingly looked the other way.
"Oi," that same sing-song voice called as its owner paced out of the shadows right beside Aid, "Miss Luex—catch!" The young alchemist threw a Slim White Potion to the arrow-injured priestess. "Wait, I have something else for you, Miss Luex—hmn, now where is it?" Portia couched over her cart and began fumbling its contents.
"Thank you, Portia." Adrienne began unsurely, "'Tis isn't necessary though. I can heal myself, you know…"
She trailed off as she caught sight of a fleeting movement in the shadows behind the alchemist. The Jewel of Prayer blinked a few times, making sure if her eyes were indeed playing a trick on her or there was indeed a silhouette of a man looming behind the alchemist with his Katar-class weapon poised over the young mint-green haired girls head.
The priestess instinctively jumped unto her feet, knowing the answer to her doubt; which caused the potion bottle to crash unto the stoned floor—this erratic movement of hers caught the attention of the Hunters, Snipers and Rogues above.
"Behind you, Portia!" Aid said as loudly as she could. She felt her body reel with the effect of adrenalin and huge dose of fear. "Move!"
Despite this she continued to tread towards the fear-immobilized girl. The realization struck her force of hurricane upon the waves of the sea, Even if she moves now, it's too late—he'll reach her—he'll kill her.
Adrienne's fists clenched as if to pinch herself out of an ocean of depthless stupor. Not while I stand! She thought fiercely.
The midnight-blue haired priestess elevated both her arms with her hands directed to the girl-alchemist. "SAFETY WALL!" She chanted with the same fervor that of a Baphomet defending his offspring—and caring naught for the searing pain that clamped unto her ankle after treading forward, in order for her spell to work as it is in range.
A magnificently pale-crimson cylinder surrounded the alchemist. It enclosed her in an untouchable isolation. It protected her from the swift collision of silhouetted-man's Infiltrator that materialized for a split-second then vanished as soon as he became aware of that his rapid blows on the girl were for naught.
"An assassin!" Micelles noted composedly, "Most likely an Assassin Cross! Eyes open, please! He's using the Cloak skill—he can move around the parameter concealed from our eyes. Shoot him down as he become visible, that's the only way!"
"Oh, Miss Luex…" the alchemist addressed fretfully, "You can still make a run for it—you can make it through the entrance. Leave me. Your SAFETY WALL will protect me."
Aid smiled oddly, probably because she tried to pay no attention to the clamping twinge on her ankle. "You know nothing lasts forever, Portia—it also applies to a mere Servant of Rune Midgards spells. I must stay—at least I can protect you."
"Shut that Luex, you speak as if today will be your last!" The Sniper Greig spluttered furiously, replacing two silver arrows he just released to a fleeting shadow down below. "Get up, for Odin's sake! GET UP!"
"Greig, Marielis—everyone," she began, her tone brimful with resignation of what was to be her fate as if she knew something they did not. "You give me too much credit for an ability I do not possess."
"Oh, cut the crap and move already!" the cherry-pick haired huntress snapped as she unfastened her falcon, Spearhead and sent the bird flying using the Hunter skill of Detect to seek out the cloaking Assassin Cross. While the others lined along the edge of the high walls and jointly released their arrows the shifting shadow that appeared and disappeared in a split-second.
Greig's dark brown eyebrows gathered in speculation. He was just about to inquire the priestess what she meant with that statement of hers when he saw the answer to his query, as it glimmered with all its steel jaggedness.
ANKLE SNARE. She was trapped in the trap he laid for the enemy!
"Shoot, Greig." Micelles prompted with a reassuring smile upon the sight of that face he made, "That's the least you can do to protect the woman you love."
"H-how did you know that I—you know," The sniper asked quietly and a tab bit bashfully, but his hasty movements belied his tone. "When I have not told a soul?"
Perceptively, the dancer smiled, "I am a dancer—I know life as rhythm. And," she deliberately paused for effect, "a heartbeat is nothing but a drumming rhythm to my ears."
"Remarkable."
That pleased smile that crept over Greig's features caused the Dancer Micelles to blush despite herself. She purposely cleared her throat so to as upset the mood, "Better? Will you shoot down the Assassin Cross?"
A dark brown head nods sternly, "For Adrienne."
And for some reason, that avow stung. Odd…
"DON'T MOVE, Portia!" Adrienne counseled quite sharply whilst the alchemist attempted to breech the pale-crimson cylinder that protected her from harm. "Let him come after me. If there be causality in skirmish, let it be me."
"You're that eager to meet your maker, priestess?" an unruffled masculine voice whispered into her ear as he nonchalantly (at the same time, invisible) brushed past her with a mind-boggling momentum, impossible to realize unless—his boots were endowed with a Moonlight Flower Card.
"I am eager to take you down with me, Assassin Cross!" Adrienne had spoken this with indomitable tartness at the voice's Cloaked owner.
His voice quivered with amusement yet again as he brushed past her dodging the launched arrows, the circling falcons, the hidden traps and the SUMMON MARINE SPHEREs lying on the castles stone-grounds. "Feisty, I see. Is rudeness a new requirement into becoming a Messenger of God?"
"Those are 'Angels'. The Messenger of God are angels—NOT people of the cloth, which you unmistakably implied." Adrienne enlightened with all the spitefulness she could muster despite the dire, savage beating of her heart.
This was in faith that she could divert and somehow coax the hidden assailant out of his hiding—ample time for the bow-wielders to fire upon him. A strategy, she pray would be perceived by the bow-bearers above. She realized what she should do: distract him to keep from breaching the South Gates' entrance and provide the bow-wielders to get him.
Overhead, "What in the blazes is she trying to attest by flirting with the 'Sin?" the Hunter Skylark, supposed rhetorically at the same time reloading his +10 Double Bloody Gakkung with stun arrows.
"She's trying to distract him unto revealing himself." Greig answered as his attention very much vigilant at the task at hand. "She's quite good at that—distracting men." He added moodily.
"Mayhap, that's the raison d'être(reason) she's a priestess—to deter men from courting her."
"No," Greig bespoken softly that Skylark had to lean in a little to hear him at the same time discharging his devastating fire arrows, "There's more to that—more that I am in liberty to reveal."
"All right, all right… I'll let the subject drop. You know her better that any of us do, Greig. After all, 'twas the pair of you who ventured into Glast Heim together. She is your girl, right?"
Wrong again, Sky. Not yet.
"I know what you're trying to do, my fair lady." The 'Sin Cross's voice articulated as he dashed past her with the same implausible agility.
For a split-second, Adrienne managed a preview of him just as he stylishly side-tumbled, disappearing as the arrows pierced the ground he was on. He was attired in dark-brown colored Assassin Cross outfit, his entire head was obscured with a drape of cloth—only his eyes remain uncovered. But with his rapid pace, it was impossible to see what hue they were.
Indeed, they were facing an Assassin Cross—the skills, the weapon used, what else possibly can he be?
The Jewel of Prayer's head followed the barely audible trotting of his running-steps as its sound crescendoed behind her. "Know what exactly, Monsieur Assassin Cross?"
"Playing dim-witted doesn't suit you, priestess." His voice again, but this time he was right there in front of her, motionless and still undetected. "Your unusually hued eyes are too intelligent for such. They betray the lies you bespoken."
"I do not lie." The priestess had bespoken in a huff.
"Oh? But you do, luv. You do." The Assassin Cross stopped before her, still cloaked though. He insisted in a knowing tenor, his grip like iron restrains upon her.
Is he attempting to do what I suppose he's attempting to do? She felt an invisible hand whisk a stay strand of midnight blue hair off her face. Dear Freija, is he trying to kiss me? Suddenly, she found it very difficult to breathe with such a man, so near that she can practically feel his warm, steady breathe upon her face.
Adrienne inwardly kicked herself—she knew she must breakaway, she must stop the erratic pounding of her heart, she must fight the unseen firm grasp on either of side of her arms, she must compose herself as his unseen but keenly felt presence fitted itself against her, she must breakaway—now that she felt his unseen face approaching hers!! She must do it now!
Now, now, now! Her mind commanded to a point that it pulsated painfully almost akin to her hurting ankle. But wretchedly, her traitorous body won't act in response!
"DEMOSTRATION!"
Neither of the two—the Assassin Cross nor the Priestess had the chance to react once a hot, flaming bottle exploded unto the 'Sin Cross's shoulder.
Startled by the blast, he took slim tread back, shoving Adrienne away from the fire that engulfed his head. The fiery fabric made a nippy rustle as he wretched the cloth off his hair which revealed the gleaming mane rivaling to that silver hue on the moon's light.
And there he stood—tall, powerful and dreadfully intimidating for of their eyes to behold.
"DEMOSTRATION!"
Another flaming bottle was heaved by the mint green haired Alchemist to the 'Sin Cross but inopportunely missed. The bottle shattered into a million pieces of Inferno upon it's collision to the Cyfton's stone floor.
The flames licked close him and yet they did not seem trek to the direction of the 'Sin Cross as he reappeared mere steps away from the flaming bottles strewn pieces.
Could it be that hell's fire fear to advance to such a mere mortal?
"Caught me once, Alchemist." The Assassin Cross drawled coolly at the same time as he righted his composure by rising to his dauntingly full-height bearing his Infiltrator's blades to the fires red-and-orange glow. "Never aspire for it to ensue again—it'll prove disappointing."
Through the inferno and smoke, Adrienne eyed the man standing mere strode away from her, his face turned away from her. He was so close enough to touch and yet—he deemed the notion of possessing an enigma of untouchability.
An atmosphere of awe and dread hung over them like a lackluster cloud. No one seemed to know what to do next. He reappeared, just a mere step from where he stood an eye blink ago… He inched closer to Portia.
"Lex Divina!" Adrienne chanted with all heartiness she dare rally up against her guilds opponent. The heady, blissful feeling of his close proximity was gone without any regret. This man was treating Portia! Her eyes burned with vehemence and loathing.
He opened his mouth but the sound never came. He—the Assassin Cross—Hellish Eyes eyed Aid with eyes manifestly torn between amusement (most likely, at her vain endeavor to divert him) and sheer sorrow.
She didn't know how that nom de plume for him came to her. But it seemed quite timely as the fiery scenario gave his whatever-hued eyes a blistering fired-up look.
Hellish eyes were still on her. Through the stifling smoke and the darkness assembled by the fast approaching dusk, she could make-out of his mouth curling upwards into what people would dub a grin—a mocking one.
For a few perilous moments, he stood there… Then, like lightning, a second figure appeared behind him, swiftly wrapping a strip of red fabric over him—they disappeared just as a shower of arrows planted themselves to the site they were on.
In a distance, a call was made—reinforcements, it exclaimed.
The Militia of Sungren, Order of Cerberus recognized that melodic wailing—it was the sound their brethren and kin's trumpets and horns. It was the Furies' call. They had come to Cerberus' assistance. It did not take long. A second call was made—judging from the wave of disbelief and forced resignation, it was a retreat.
Cyfton Castle is out of harm's way—until the next siege that is.
Adrienne felt her body wilted in physical and emotional fatigue whilst she breathed a sigh of relief. She knew she would be fine, so she didn't really lie to Greig when he practically flew to her once it was assured the enemy had already withdrew and asked her so.
He busied himself at her Ankle Snared foot. She fought off the desire to scream out of pain as he removed the trap—acquaint me if a broken ankle indeedly so, does not hurt? Aid countered in her thoughts once Maltese shot her a searing glare while she removed the traps hidden on the castles floor.
But the cherry blossom pink haired huntress's intensely irked eyes were nil in contrast to that of the enemy Assassin Cross's, Aid thought and at the same time, permitting Greig to assist her unto her feet. The dark-brown haired Sniper supported her by taking her by the arm and have her limped all the way into the Guild House's interior.
Yet her thoughts were elsewhere. "Those eyes… they deemed hellish in nature—such hellish eyes."
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End of Chapter Four
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Author's Notes: How was it? I have to admit, it's kinda flimsy to me. Flimsy, given the fact that I've only been into a Castle Siege only twice (and the priestess-character I used wasn't even mine to begin with!). C'mon, let's face it… who would bring their base-level52 Archer to a WoE? It's darn appalling, that's what it is! Ü! Of course I'm being harsh on myself…lolz
I'd like to say "ROk on!" and my many thanks to the foxy lady who loaned me her on-line character with her supervision, of course! for, probably the only two WoE experiences I ever had.
My experience with her character during the siege and siege-defense was hilarious. I wasn't so sure I could have incorporated the actual events during that siege day—they were quite silly, actually. But nonetheless, the idea of what a WoE is like when actually there—defending/attacking—was what I really needed. And thanks to her and her silly, silly, silly, silly and loud guild mates (/Omg, /doridori and /shy), I got what I needed to compose this chapter. I pray that I've done them justice. /hmm
ROk on my dear readers!
"Blessing!"
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