Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-30700719-20170313134600/@comment-30700719-20170417032009

"ICARUS, cease the migration. Get me GPS and environmental readings on this entire area within a kilometre radius."  I stop and think, about the crew of the Trieste. They were my friends, my allies, my brothers. To this day, there's still no information on what happened to them. I don't know if they died, or if they got sucked into a Spirit Realm, or got caught by monsters. I wipe a silent tear from my eye. "ICARUS, mark this spot on the GPS. Erect a monument on the ocean floor. I don't care, just make a gravestone worthy of their memories." A large hunk of metal falls to the ocean floor, burying itself in the sand. The metal cools and hardens into a smaller replica of the Trieste, to mark the place where the mighty submarine made the jump.

ICARUS smirks.  He swings his scimitar across, glancing off an Energy Sword. He parried two more strikes with ease, then dove past Siri and viciously attacked, raining down blows.  He jabs sharply. <-and you're Swiss cheese.> His blade slides right past Siri's defenders and goes straight for the shoulder blades. The tip touches her skin...

...and crumples against her back.  He dodges one blade, parries the other, and goes for a decapitating hit. Again, it crumples against her like a paper bag against the ground.  He jumps back and lunges in for a jab to the stomach. The blade crumples once more.  He steps back.  He assumes a fighting stance.  He looks quite proud of himself, for dodging that easily misinterpreted phrase.