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Drachenhaut

"Meine Haut ist total trocken und schuppt." "Das ist bei Drachen so üblich." Read the full article

drachenhaut

Something about this just felt easier. Like he wasn’t even killing people. That may have been the only reason why he did not feel disgusted with every head his ‘arrows’ pierced through. This felt too much like his old ‘job’. But at the same time, he wasn’t engaging in the slaughter of people in the name of justice. Whatever this was, he knew it wasn’t that, at least. That allowed his mind to remain clear. His killing intent to go unabated.

“Hnn? So that’s..“

He held back his assault upon noticing another Servant nearby. As expected of someone holding that blade, he was as skilled a warrior as any heroic spirit here. In a battle such as this, there was strength in numbers. As such, fighting alongside another Servant would have been the logical thing to do. As long as he kept a watchful eye over his own master as well. The bow in his hands vanished, giving way to a peculiar pair of blades as he struck down one of the maddened knights that had rushed the swordsman from behind.

“You seem to be having a bit of trouble, swordsman. Mind if I lend a hand?“

#drachenhaut #fsl event

19h11

@drachenhaut

A storm of bullets and debris, punctuated only by yelling and screams of pain. The bar in utopia wasn’t devoid of action by its less than dignified clientele, but tonight was another matter entirely. Tonight, the bar and its customers were visited by a man dressed in all black, two revolvers in hand. The ensuing chaos left the establishment ruined and now completely darkened. Windows shattered, bodies strewn all over the place, and among it all, was the Archer.

Killing these people, ending these disgusting blights upon humanity, was his task above all other things. The world was better off without them, even if he himself wasn’t that much better. But that’s exactly why it had to be him. Someone as black-hearted as the monsters he needed to finish off. And so as he sat there, casually sipping from a drink upon the table - certainly wasn’t his - he quietly ruminated to himself.

It had to be done.

The sound of footsteps crossing over the threshold of the debris was obvious to him, and the figure in general was hard to miss. However, even with the barrels of his revolvers still smoking, he wasn’t in the mood to fight. This act wasn’t a battle, it was a slaughter. And this intruder was most certainly a servant. A quiet sigh as he cursed his own luck.