#and fcg doesn't take watch alone again <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[lunarrolls]

No. 8 quote for Whumptober with FCG?

heheheeeee had some fun incorporating some meta thoughts i had about fcg after 4sd 17 into this one! i sorta combined the quote ("it's all for nothing"), the lyric ("i've got a soul but i'm not a soldier"), and one of the words (outnumbered) for the full inspo. i love me some good put that robit in situations <3

F.C.G.’s no good in a fight, not a straight one.

It’s not like he doesn’t have weapons at his disposal—he has his buzzsaw, he has his bolt thrower, he has that one spell that can smack people with divine energy in various forms, and another spell that summoned those tiny F.R.I.D.A.s one time. He has weapons. He’s just really bad at using them. It’s almost laughable, how often he misses shots that should be so easy.

They’ve never had to rely on just themself, though, there’s always been others to fight with them. Always. So their lackluster combat skills that consist mostly of flailing wildly and trying to look intimidating weren’t a continuous issue, a fatal flaw, more than they were mostly a joke.

Nobody’s here, now. F.C.G.’s been dragged off to the side of this particular skirmish, far out of sight of their friends. It’s his own fault. He was supposed to be on watch while his soul-touched friends slept, since he didn’t need as much rest. They’re all probably still asleep right now, blissfully unaware of the danger he’s in.

Because F.C.G.’s no good in a straight fight, and there are so, so many more of them than there are of him.

He, of course, has been trying to fend off his attackers himself, which is why they currently have his bolt thrower captive. He'd tried to skewer one of them with it only to have them catch it and yank him in, severing the rope that tied it to his arm with a swing of a shortsword and throwing him off balance in one fell swoop. The second they get close enough, he's sure they're gonna take the buzzsaw he has strapped to his back; he hasn't had the chance to put it on, yet, and it wouldn't do much good anyway considering how he's avoiding getting close to them as much as possible.

There are four of them, best they can see, which wouldn't be a problem if the entire group was up, but with just F.C.G., they're completely helpless. All of them seem humanoid. They're not wearing the reds of the Ruby Vanguard or the pendants of the Paragon's Call, so F.C.G. guesses that they're just bandits completely unaware of the situation at hand who saw something shiny they could grab and sell. Probably didn't expect it to fight back, which might be why he's still alive at all.

They have a spiritual weapon up, but they can't see out here, and their attackers seem to be purposefully keeping it dark. All of them must be fighters like Orym or Ashton, without access to spells, because he's not been hit with a paralyzing spell yet, and they seem to be growing tired of the fighting.

"It's all for nothing," one of them growls, swiping out at F.C.G. so quickly their spiritual weapon goes completely wide. "You're coming with us, one way or another."

Their strike lands on the metal of F.C.G.'s jaw, denting the plate significantly. Before they can move, another one plants itself squarely in the center of their chassis, and another spins their head on its socket. They reel back, surprised at the effectiveness on mithral-reinforced metal, and reassess their options.

This is bad. This is really bad.

Sending's not working. He knows that. He knows that, he does, but oh, this is so bad, and he really wants to get back to his friends, and they can't hear him from where he is, and none of his spells are doing anything helpful here anyway, so--

"Imogen! Help--some bandits came while I was on watch and they dragged me away from camp and I think I'm in some real trouble--"

The spell cuts off. F.C.G. curses themself for not giving any further instructions. They're just gonna have to hope Imogen gets the message.

They wait. The spell didn't seem to unravel when they cast it, no static or strange feedback (that's good, they might still be in range, there's still hope), but there's still a decent beat of silence. In the meantime, the closest combatant has slipped closer, and though they manage to get a good strike in with their spiritual weapon this time, the bandit yanks one of the wires stored deep within F.C.G.'s chassis and tears it out, forcing their body to go limp.

"Letters? We're on our way. Just hang in there. Fearne thinks she knows where you are. We'll be there. Promise."

Imogen's message is nice, but F.C.G. doesn't really have a choice in the matter at the moment. The stunning strike vanished his spiritual weapon. He's only barely conscious, completely functionless without that damaged wire. His captors grumble something about having to carry him.

He hopes that his friends hurry. He's no soldier. He can't hold his own.