[Combat Helper] Reaper

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Now this was something she believed in. Jaw set in a grim line, Reaper was more than happy to start kicking away at the practice dummy. She was far too annoyed with everybody else right now to fight fair, and she was aware enough to read the situation- killing or maiming another kin here would be a bad idea, even if they deserved it. Besides, her father had turned on the charm, and she didn't want to make him look bad. She squared up to the dummy, eyeing it, and began to attack.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Her first round of blows were aimed at the dummy's torso. Reaper kept her grouping tight and clustered; she thought about where this thing's weak points would be if it was alive. Facial blows were never a good idea; the head was a small target, and armored on most kin. Even Acha, for all their frippery and finery, had horns. Zikwa, not so much, but it almost felt bad thinking of fighting one of those spindly beasts. Body blows were smarter, sharper. Dull thuds against the ribs would wear an opponent down, but the chest- under the neck, between the front legs- was a fantastic place to strike. It was one of the fastest ways to subdue an opponent, to drive them to their knees, to knock the air out of them and have them gasping up at you for mercy.

And then you got to decide what form that mercy took, if it took a form at all. That was her favorite moment: judgment. Pre-judgment, really, most of the time. Chosen One of course got to make final judgments, but some kin weren't even worthy of that, of being judged by him. She served her father zealously, but her devotion wasn't just that of a faithful follower; it was that of a devoted daughter. She didn't want to see her father's time wasted- he did so much, for so many, and the least she could do was unburden him when she could.

[keeping the 5, 5, and 1]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

With a grunt of satisfaction, she watched the dummy sway, then collapse. Letting herself smile, her teeth a thin strip of shining white in the darkness, she smoothly transferred into her next favorite thing after judgement: Overkill.

[Trading in those 5s, keeping 6, 6, 1]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

The wooden dummy splintered between her hooves with a satisfying series of crunches. It would have been more satisfying to do this to a kin, to someone who truly deserved it- someone whose impurities were so glaring, so wretched that they were beyond salvation. And oh, there were so many beyond salvation. A quick release at her hooves was a relief, really, far more than they deserved. She wondered what her father thought about the kin at the gathering. Was he recruiting? He'd been talking to that Totoma- perhaps he was going to allow her in. Or perhaps he was simply taking pleasure in being smooth. She herself was less socially graceful, but that wasn't her job, wasn't her duty. She had her place, and it wasn't recruiting. (Although stealing sacs to be raised by the family could be something like recruitment, maybe. What was that buck up to now? She should look in on him again. Maybe this time, she'd let him know she was watching.)

She stared into the eyes of the kin who had built the dummy. "Good for practice," she said. "But it's broken now. If you want to burn it, I will help gather more wood to replace what I've broken." She would happily step into the darkness once more; staying close to all of these kin was grating on her. And even though he wasn't part of Chosen One's chosen ones, it might still be worth it to be polite.

Final score: 18
(619 words)