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Old January 9th, 2012 (07:40 PM).
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Garet Garet is offline
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Join Date: Dec 2010
Location: ...And I Dance
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It wasn't long at all before Hanso's grin disappeared as a Scrafty jumped out and attacked Vigil. His arm-blades sprung out as he stepped forward to fight. On his right leg, which promptly gave out underneath him. Hanso fell to one knee, grunting with pain. Reaction time: a couple seconds, maybe three. Not fast enough, Hanso thought, pushing himself back up onto both legs. It didn't matter much anyways; Vigil and the Scrafty were already fighting.

Hanso shook his head as the Scrafty, who identified himself as Lucian "Hoodhide" Tromp, realized his mistake. He's half-blind to ignore our emblems, the Gallade thought, sheathing his arm-blades. Hoodhide then briefly explained about a village he'd been protecting from the Ancients. During the time that the Scrafty was gone, Hanso found a dismembered branch, about four-and-a-half feet in length and some inches thick. Leaning on it, he nodded. It would work.

Soon after Hoodhide returned to the group, it began to rain. Hanso enjoyed the falling drops for a second before he sought the refuge of the large tree that Hoodhide pointed out to Vigil. Hanso eased himself down onto the ground, then started rubbing his right leg. "This better get better," he grumbled quietly. He'd be down and out if his leg gave out again during a fight. Of course, none of the Gold Tribe members had exactly had enough healing capability for tortured legs.
Hanso looked up as the Bisharp walked over to him and handed over a spare Berry. The Gallade nodded thanks as he took it, taking in Vigil's smile. Kind of a natural leader, Hanso thought.

"All right, everyone. The rain has subsided. We should move on."

Hanso stood up again, relying a little on the stick he'd picked up earlier. Looking at it, he shook his head. Either he would have to get rid of his limp or turn the stick into an actual staff.
A while later, Hanso was relying more on his staff. His leg was constantly aching from the thick humidity. He had noticed the oak tree that they'd passed by earlier; whatever significance that held was currently lost as Hanso griped, in his mind, about the humid air, his leg, and how the rain made it all worse. He later occupied himself with thinking through what he could do to the next group of Ancients they would come across, especially whoever had ordered up the torturehouse.

Hanso breathed a sigh of relief as the humidity lightened, then seemed to disappear...only to stare across the emptiness he recognized: the Wastes of Will, also known as the Final Exam of the Heroes Alliance School. Hanso shook his head. At least, it had been the Final Exam before all this trouble. Now it was a wasteland through which their group would have to travel. Hanso muffled a sneeze, also recognizing the reek of factories.

"Vigil," Hoodhide started. "This place is very dangerous for those who do not know of it. I know little about theplace, what I do know is that the heat will be intense after a strong while, and more importantly, we must steer clear of the factories we will encounter. They are under control of the Silvertribe."

"Too true," Hanso said, to no one in general. This would be interesting.
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