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Duels
Jul 9, 2008 0:06:06 GMT -5
Post by Caedan on Jul 9, 2008 0:06:06 GMT -5
February, 2007 - Caedan, Ethan, Elysium; Informal Duel Elevated Lookout Over the Sea: Shortly After Midnight
Caedan beats a hasty retreat out of the tavern and onto the road, where she begins to slowly pick her way over the debris-strewn path. It's not long before she pricks the sole of her foot one too many times, and she abruptly halts, sitting down directly in the middle of the well-traversed road to examine the offended heel. Prying loose a small pebble, she deposits ever so carefully upon the side of the highway, she soon stands and continues on down the trail. She halts at the top of the cliff, bristling and tensing as she surveys the ship. "No, no. Not tonight ... home is ... away ... not our's. I won't go back ... they said never again. Jack ... Jack ... said I didn't have to go back." By this time, the angst-ridden teen is pacing, clearly distressed by something taking place on the ship, or tormented by the memories of such an event. One can never tell with her ... past and present blur and become indistinguishable far too easily.
Ethan comes to a slow halt a meter or so behind Caedan, hand briefly pinching the bridge of his nose prior to lowering so fingers can hook over his belt. He shoots her an unamused stare, his other hand that idly curls about his rum bottle lifting it for a swig before he responds, "I'll leave y'out here t'the wolves." Harsh words, as he steps up beside her and keeps that frown upon her own countenance, "Y'headed back 'ere in the first place. We're goin' back, alrigh'?"
Elysium had stood before the tavern's hearth, romancing the flames that danced before him in time to a melody none could hear; the sulphurous flickers refracting like sun ‘pon shard of glass within his gaze, as he lost himself to the crack of kindle and relief of the warmth provided. Cold now, the exit of Caedan and comrade stirred him from reverie and drove his attention in their wake. “What does she know?!†He called to the mantle before him, a balled fist placed against it thereafter, “Only way I'm goin' out of this god forsaken land is when I ruttin' well say so.†Bristled and hackles risen he spun about, hand on weaponry and mind set on murder, “We'll see who ruttin' dies…bastardizing bitch.†The chill of the night's air sang to him its own melancholic tune, as he exited the tavern, and as Gahn d'Xantai set off after the pair some small part of him called once more to listen to the song the fire had provided. Christ, it was cold.
Caedan eyes the man dispassionately, giving him a good onceover, though its hardly done in the fashion so many females seem to be assuming as of late. She takes a step back, skirting around the boulder used to clamor onto his back, before moving towards the edge of the cliff, the side with the more formidable of inclines. "You won't," she declares, quite convincingly, and rather unconcernedly, before sighing in frustration. "And ... we can't ... there is someone ... the water ... the fish have named him, not I. We shall be forced to eat each other, for lack of a name. I won't go." Aha, a definitive answer in the middle of her perfectly comprehensible discourse. It is only at that moment she seems to note the turn of the weather, the sudden chill that infuses the area with a melancholy sense of foreboding. It is not Elysium's presence she has predicted ... it is the bounty hunter's, and consequently, she adamantly refuses to descend the cliff to the safety of their cherished ship which currently harbors a man bent on dragging her back to the centre (yes, for it is a proper British torture facility). "I won't go," she repeats, jaw set at a stubborn angle, gaze challenging the rogue to try and make her.
Ethan sets his own jaw in an equally stubborn mold, often slouched shoulders squaring slightly as he listened to her psychobabble. "Then why'd y'drag me out here in the first place? Sven's sake, girl, make up your bloody mind." He takes another abrupt swig of his rum and purses his lips in a following motion, gaze shifting towards the ship down below, and then back to the girl and her abstract self. "There's no one there. An' if there was, 'e's got me to deal with." So, it's almost meant to sound reassuring - not for Caedan's sake, of course - Ethan just wants to sit down and clean his knives - but he's not the best at making reassurances anyway. The mercenary shifts his weight, and begins to take a few steps towards her; quite prepared to grab her arm, despite the consequences he suffered yesterday after performing the same act.
Elysium followed in the duo's wake, steps patterned and systematic, find the hard ground…avoid debris, keep within earshot but out of sight. He stalked them like wolf does stoat; ignorant of the threat they possessed, but not to be underestimated. The silhouettes cast by crescent moon and still night made clear their position clear, some form of squabble wearing Ethan's patience thin. Gahn wasn't the only one she aggravated apparently. With that dagger thin grin cutting his visage he waited some distance back from the shipmates, awaiting a better time to strike.
Caedan avoids Ethan by skirting the opposite way around the boulder, angst-ridden gaze leveled warily upon him. "I won't go ... there is someone there. Why can't you hear me? My words ... ruttin' mouth ... " She continues to maneuver about, positioning herself away from the jack-of-all-trades, and his grabby hands which seem to irk her so. A guttural growl escapes the thin-lipped frown she currently wears, and her gaze shifts about wildly. "You listen ... listen ... the fishes scream his name ... but we cannot hear it. Don't go ... don't make me ... go. Where is Quinton? Quinton!" She's thoroughly uneasy now, pacing back and forth in a random pattern, though she's careful to keep an acceptable distance between herself and the mercenary.
Ethan might just be a little inebriated - or perhaps it's that terribly uncontrollable temper again, because his frustration shorts out and he tosses his now empty bottle of rum at the boulder that usually becomes her springboard to her back. Of course the thick glass breaks; shatters in places and sprays fragments of glass out over the small space; but he's not one to worry about the safety of others and so he ignores it, instead moving a few swift steps to the left. Ethan's arm jerks out, aiming to hook around Caedan's middle and - should he not miss - he'll use this as leverage to drag her towards him and eventually over his shoulder; whether she goes without complaint is another matter entirely. "Quit you're whinin'."
Elysium explodes into action as soon as the glass strikes the rock, footsteps a whispered cadence in comparison to the high pitched shatter; the muscles of his legs cording through the thin leather of his armour. ‘Tching' the rasp of his fist weapons blazing into sight resounds, from their place of endless vigil upon his wrists, the brands a triumvirate of claws on each hand. “Time to join your ruttin', fishy friends…wretch.†Through the air he spirals, his flight initiated by a well timed kick off, idle motes and dust flaring up about the hem of his leggings. Right arm raised and primed, the wicked, serrated edges of his blades down turned, a furious volley of blows is unleashed to the, at the moment turned away, back, nape and head of the slightly insane female, his left hand delivering a barrage of merciless stabbing strikes to the lower back with the intent to wound and incapicitate.
Caedan doesn't duck as the bottle comes hurtling by her head, smashing into the boulder behind her, no, the deranged psychic doesn't even flinch. A second is spent to recover from whatever minimal shock may have been felt, before she launches herself forward. It's a thankful thing her nature is so vindictive, for as she explodes forward, so does Elysium, revealing himself behind her, weapons flailing, intending to decaptitate, mutiliate, annihilate, and we are beginning to get the point. Ethan's arm now hooked around her stomach doesn't help her any, for it hampers her flight, for where she once was on the offensive, she now finds herself on the receiving end of the most heinous of crimes, and consequently forced to take a more defensive of stances. This stance is severely voided by the way Ethan has her slung over his shoulder before she has another moment to react. Indignantly squealing in the ear of the latter aggressor, she automatically launches protest by beating at his shoulder with ineffective fists. Apparently, she's in no mood to effect any lasting damage to the crew member -- such as the knife wound to the shoulder, or the bruised knees -- or perhaps she's mercifully too tired to initiate any substantial harm for the time being, so accordingly, she stills, falling limp in his grasp. However, she is still being carried like a sack of potatoes, something she neither appreciates, nor will tolerate. As such, she rears back, extending her leg before snapping it back, calf meeting the back of her thigh, foot hopefully meeting the merc's visage and leaving him a bruise to match those upon his shins, and forcing him to set her down so she can face the more dangerous of the duo. Elysium. Perhaps his imminent death is going to take place sooner than she predicted; afterall, she'd have no qualms presenting him with his fate in a more physical venue then mere 'psychic babblings' can effect.
Ethan - as he did not possess psychic powers nor foresight did not expect Elysium's sudden appearance at all. He had previously been far too frustrated with Caedan to notice any noise the stranger made; and now, well, apparently it was a tad too late. The merc is caught quite obviously in between the two, as he's already swept Caedan up to his shoulder, but cursing sharply at the sudden onslaught of attack from Elysium he reacts accordingly; a knee jerks up and leg shoots out, the powerful kicked aimed for the other male's solar plexus. Of course, this is precisely the moment that Caedan decides she would rather not ask kindly to be put down, and while he kicks at the other he's kicked himself - painfully - in the face. He releases an abrupt grunt, arm immediately loosening around Caedan, though he shifts and as she's dropped she'll be aimed behind him instead - away from Elysium, so it would seem. Ethan's guard is down for a moment while he presses a set of fingers to his sore eye - that'll be sure to bruise - but he isn't idle for long and with another very irritated growl he ducks a hand just slightly behind his back to jerk forth a knife that has clearly been kept concealed in a sheath under his coat. Had Elysium not successfully taken the prior moment to do something, Ethan promptly aims a sharp slash for the other; defending Caedan, apparently - which is something of a shock itself, but perhaps he's just a little bit irritable, a little bit drunk, and itching for a little fight.
Elysium ‘s momentum carried him forward, from air to ground and none of the resistance the flesh and bone Caedan would have presented. So it is that he stumbles forward, inadvertently avoiding the strike of Ethan, somewhat ungracefully, the heel of his boot grinding deep into the ground as he attempts a rebalancing pivot. The following presents itself, a man with a knife before him and his target behind said man. No witty verbiage is gifted, no litany of their impending doom, only action, callous and cold like the waves that chopped at the shore below. Snaking forward to meet his opponent the twin armatura that he possesses ravage the oncoming blade, left hand smashing into the smaller, lighter weapon, knocking it off course, and his right hand sent searing toward the man's wrist. Ever moving, a boot snaps out viciously to meet the thigh of his, hopefully hampered, foe, the momentary resistance granted by the leg used as a springboard of sorts to send the dexterous male up and over Ethan in a superfluous rotation; the youth bursting open midst his descent to send a kick to the back of the mercenary before he touches ground...for but a moment. Onward he comes like the proverbial wave, legs pistoning against the rough terrain as he devours whatever gap remains between his end goal and he. Suddenly Gahn drops, falls, the power in his legs seeming to fail, but alas such is not the case, instead the fighter slides, boots raised to inflict a punishing blow to the midriff and lower stomach of the Physic.
Caedan is relieved, to say the least, when she is half-set, half-thrust from Ethan's shoulder. She rises instantly from the crouched position she had landed in, gaze soon lifting to level upon the two males. That eerie stare flashes dangerously before she executes a neat roll to bring herself abreast of Ethan, dagger recovered in one fluid movement from his boot before she straightens. She doesn't care much for the mercenary, and though he defends her, he receives none of the same kindness in return, for her sole focus is the vindictive Elysium who currently sails overhead. She is not one to lay down and await her fate to be delivered to her. Instead, she launches herself towards the familiar boulder, using the flat rock as her own springboard to meet the male mid-flight, and hamper any further designs he may possess in harming Ethan -- and more importantly, herself. Whatever collision or near-miss is effected for her brash action, there is no time to heed to any long-term outcome -- such as the proximity of the cliff's edge. She falls first -- somehow, and is on the receiving end of a rather brunt kick to the stomach, which steals her breath for the most minute of moments before she reacts, knee brought up to hopefully catch the male before he lands atop her with those three-pronged weapons, and force him over her head, and quite possibly off the side of the cliff altogether.
Ethan ; Though his weapon is small and light - compared to Elysium's, at least - in no way is it flung from the mercenary's firm grip and he certainly knows how to use it. Brute strength sends him forward at the instance his knife is knocked from making a satisfactory slash on the other male - but his own arm twists, and consequently he aims a short stab for Elysium's side, even as the opponent's blade leaves a fresh gash diagonally across his arm. Of course, Elysium's up-and-over trick follows but Ethan's not really that hard to push over - or step over, as it were, and though he's firmly kicked front and back he cuts his stumble short and jerks around to follow the stranger in a stalk. Should the offender not be tossed directly off the cliff, and while his attention is apparently on Caedan and his back to the hired help, Ethan clenches his jaw, flips the broad knife in his hand and aims a stab for Elysium's shoulder and a corresponding kick to the back of one knee.
Elysium 's vision blurs, breath coming hard and painfully, the collision with Caedan knocking the air from him; a dull sense of some other pain registering on the back of his leg, likely Ethan's dagger. Together they are taken from their respective leaps, falling to the floor in a dishevelled heap, his stomach landing none too gently upon her upheld knee, inevitably sending him sliding over her and the cliff. The wind assails his features and tears the hood from his head, the opalescence of his hair shimmering in the mocking light that the moon casts. Apprehension came to frame his facial contours like a veil and fear cover him like a cloak, the young warrior lashing out wildly with the feral weaponry he possesses at the cliff wall to find some form of purchase. Rock, rock, rock…soil. Through his arms a vicious jerk shot, the jarring effect of having his descent halted numbing his mind and clarity of thought as he clung to the edge for dear life. Perhaps, somewhat luckily for him, he is thought most likely dead by those above.
Caedan recovers immediately, pulling herself into first, a crouch, then straightening into a standing position. She faces Ethan now, and seems rather startled at his close proximity, and quite ready to toss him over the side as well, though that notion is soon laid to rest, thankfully. The teen turns, gracefully poised steps carrying her towards the hazardous side of the cliff, where she crouches once more, toes peeking over the edge of the perilous drop-off; she's been barefoot throughout the entire alteraction. There is a sanguine line painted upon her arm, a miniscule gash suffered in the fall and ensuing tussle. However, Elysium is the target of her attention, that disconcerting stare of hers leveled upon him in full. "You did not listen," she murmurs, canting her head inquisitively, finding the situation most puzzling indeed. She had clearly stated he was going to meet his imminent demise -- and soon -- so, why was he here speeding up the process? No arm is extended to offer aid, nor any spiteful, vindictive words exchanged. She poses one more simple inquiry before her fleeting attention shifts to Ethan behind her, "Do you believe me now?"
Ethan settles that heavy gaze of his on Caedan, prior to her disposing of Elysium over the cliff's edge. One brow is arched; he's almost shocked - or would be, was he not so irritated at her: there's signs of a black eye growing where she planted that kick on him. He remains silent, casting his own brief glance over the edge of the cliff, and had the male's problem been with him personally he'd probably tried some crazy stint to get down there and finish him of; however, he merely pulls an expression of distaste and languidly wipes the bloodied blade of his knife against his leg. Though Caedan's question is posed to Elysium, he answers in a grumble, "Do believe we ought to lock y'in your room more often." He inclines his head to the anchored ship now, insistant, "C'mon. 'Fore he crawls back up 'ere."
Elysium 's powerful arms tense and ache with the duress of staying latched to the cliff wall, his feet kicking out sporadically in search of some soft surface or foothold, only the former comes. Breathe in. He drops. Breathe out. The clawed weapons screech through rock and detriment in equal measure, Gahn bellowing a cry of pain filled rage as his exhausted body is shaken to the core once more. Breathe in. Breathe out. Another roar of defiance pierces the still night air, he'd reach the bottom, he'd be safe but it was going to take a damn long time, and a damn few days to recover. Bastardizing bitch.
Caedan straightens for the last time, the downward spiraling Elysium spared one last glance before she turns from the cliff and sidesteps around Ethan, giving him a wide berth so as not to risk being scooped up again. The troubled psychic marks her destination as the forlorn Tranquility, however, because in all honesty, she is by this point quite exhausted, and willing to fight the bounty hunter who awaits them for want of a few hour's sleep. She picks her way down the more shallow sides of the cliff, deliberately watching her footing so as not to sustain more tiny nicks and cuts from jagged rocks that make her trip that much more difficult, than absolutely necessary. Soon, the gangplank is reached with a certain degree of relief, and without hesitation, she boards the decrepid ship and instantly crosses to the stairwell, descending moments later to stalk into her room and ease onto her cot, feet brought onto her lap so she can pick out the bits of glass and rock that have managed to pierce the tough skin of her soles. Ethan is left to his own devices, as is Elysium.
Ethan idly taps the flat point of his knife against his chin, peering down again at the distant Elysium. Lips purse a moment, but in consequence the male is disregarded and the mercenary turns to stalk after Caedan; if with a small limp at first. Though the psychic returns to her room he remains on deck; taking a silent self-appointed sentry position near the stairs leading below deck; though he's got a good enough vantage point of a great deal of the ship. He touches his blackening eye slightly, pulls an expression of instant annoyance, and rests back against the crate behind him. Ethan vanished before your eyes, perhaps never to be seen again. Elysium said to you, "ooc: Hey you, you there in the sleep deprived glamour, I love you."
Caedan sits in her room, legs curled under her as she reclines upon her cot, stormy gaze cast upon the food labels that decorate the spartan walls of her closet-esque cabin. She's nursing hurt feelings, more than anything at the moment, the deluded teen having come away from the altercation not with any sense of fear or foreboding, but melancholy in that Ethan's parting words echoed a sentiment she'd heard whispered time after time in the secluded hallways of the oddly-shaped ship. The dangerous psychic can do less harm when locked in her room, and Quinton was the only thing that stood between her and certain imprisonment all over again. The deranged girl curls more tightly into herself, legs tugged against her chest, chin resting soulfully upon her knees in the most forlorn of fashions. These mood shifts were nothing new to her, easily recognizable in any other, but where once stood a defiant, heartless creature moments before, the broken, tragic girl has deftly taken her place, collecting the pieces of the night's scuffle to file away in that tormented memory that plagues her without fail.
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Duels
Jul 9, 2008 0:08:16 GMT -5
Post by Caedan on Jul 9, 2008 0:08:16 GMT -5
February, 2007. Caedan vs. Serena
Caedan arrives on the scene, a falchion loosely clutched in one hand, the blade dragging in the ground she treads upon, the pointed end scarring the land as it marks her former direction of travel. The demented teen is agitated, stormy gaze perusing the scene listlessly. A lukewarm breeze sends clouds of dust billowing upward, plaguing eyes and nostrils of any passerby that happens upon the main thoroughfare of the sleepy town known as Kelay. They hurry along, pulling cloaks and garments more tightly about themselves, seeking the dust-less solace of the tavern no doubt, though Caedan's step slows. Digits encircle the hilt of her stolen brand more tightly, disconcerting stare soon levelled upon Serena in full. Almost as if the very gods were holding their breaths, the wind stills, and the dust settles, revealing her morbid fixation in her entirety -- the darkness elf. Instantly, the deranged teen explodes into action, closing the distance between the two without hesitation. That trusty falchion is angled towards the ground as she runs, and once within striking distance, she sweeps it forward. The blade lifts, catching the light of the sun as it filters through the trees, before being driven home, seeking to impale the undead elfess with a quick thrust to her middle, the teen's intent to run the woman through.
Serena's brownie brown hued eyes scan the surroundings of Kelay Way, admiring the Willow Tree's branches swaying with the cool mountain breeze traveling along. Her hair is blown behind her to lay against the flesh of her back. The glistening dust swirling up around everyone from the trampling of drunkards passing by. The loud noise of the Tavern is perfectly heard from patrons enjoying there drinks with friends and or family. Shouts heard from nemesis to nemesis. The sweet scent of Sunflowers, Daffodils, as well Daisies sweep through; blessing everyone with their heavenly auroras. Finally, Serena's orbs lay upon Caedan. Quickly lightning begins to flicker out from them, as the brown dissipates into the lightest of green. Her hair beginning to braid itself as Lightning Braids appear mystically. Lifting upwards into the air as the sky above becomes filled with dark clouds. Illuminating into perfect darkness. Lightning is seen flashing within them, soon striking down around Serena's form. Thunder is heard not to far off, being so loud one would think there ear drum's would bust at any second. The lightning flickering seducing green hued eyes glare upon the Human's body, watching her every move. Serena's hair still sways up in the air as the dust and breeze settles down. Smirking, her tanned lips turn to one of blood's color. Perfect crimson. Appeased to seen such youth charging at her, reaching behind her quickly ripping her bladed hoops from there ties against her back. Revealing the newly burned insignia of the Delavian's. Gripping the bladed hoops so tightly her blood flows along them, causing a purple like hazy glow to appear soon forming into Rune Symbols. Serena stands there silently amidst the area now turned into an Arena; awaiting on the Human Bard to get close enough. But her timing seems to be off nowadays, lacking the training and reflects. The Blade's tip makes its entrance into the flesh right above the ribcage as it passed inside one of the hoops. The Darkness Elf clenches down on her teeth releasing a grunt, but none the less swings the other blade At Caedan's throat, as it sparks up in mid-night black flames with oddly enough white tips. Serena does her best with the Blade of Caedan's that went into her hopped blade to jerk it away, not caring if it cuts her open more.
Caedan spins immediately, twirling with an ethreal grace she uncharacteristically seems to possess. The chakram-like weapon is deftly avoided -- though not before leaving a rather gaping ribbon of crimson across her throat in the process. However, the flames have seared her neck and lower jaw, though they serve to seal the wound in part as well. The teen spares no time for composure; instead, she sidesteps, shifting her blade so that is angles oddly enough, away from the woman's ribcage entirely. Instantly, a harsh tug is effected, tearing the sword free from the entrapment created by that circular piece of weaponry. Crouching instantly, the deranged psychic lashes out, intent on knocking the woman from her feet instantly by a single leg sweeping across her own at an outward angle. Irregardless of whether the woman is forced to lose her balance or not, Caedan stands, positioning herself before the undead to strike once more. Her newly-freed blade is gripped in both hands, a clean, diagonal blow utilized in attempt to cleave the woman's arm from her shoulder, and leave her one weapon less.
Serena‘s face becomes emotionless as she watches Caedan spin, and admires her wondrous grace. Upon seeing the crimson fluid come from the slice to her neck, thunder roars as if it was Serena's laughter. The flesh that got rubbed by the flames healing the wound rages the Lady. Feeling the sword remove itself from her body allows pleasure to course throughout her veins. Upon noticing the crouch position Serena's darkened Shadow is seen walking behind Caedan, holding its own Shadowy Weapon versions of its Master's. Swinging one blade to be thrust into the back, breaking through the spine. The other weapon of the shadow is trying to be as sly as sly can be. Slowly attempting to place the Bard's head inside the hoop, to jerk her head back; in order to create more of a wound on the fleshy neck. Serena is knocked onto her back from the single leg sweeping outwards. Throwing one of the weapons towards her torso, aiming to send it straight throughout her covered in her crimson like fluids. The newly freehand is thrown towards the oncoming blade. The palm being ripped from inside as diamond like shards a count of at least ten swirling through the air towards the blade as she rolls over trying to dodge the blade. If the shards and dodging did not work, then a large amount of flesh wound be cleanly cut off; from along her shoulder to forearm.
Caedan bristles, intrinsically feeling that something may not be as it appears, though she brushes it off as a faulty instinct. The teen continues to level that disconcerting stare upon Serena, a smug smile gracing only the corners of her lips when she falls. Her weapon is recovered, held loosely at her side, betraying the gravity of the situation. Suddenly, she blanches, the whoosh of air at her back signaling an imminent attack. The teen turns instantly, and isawarded a sword ripping through her torso for her trouble. However, there is no time to dwell upon her probable lack of a kidney, for a dual attack is forthcoming. While Serena is down, Caedan can concentrate fully upon the chakram thrown so brutally at her middle, and deflects the serrated edge so that it skims her opposite bicep, instead of cleaving her in two pieces, as wished. Crimson vitae now soaks both arm and side, and she turns to observe the shadowed effigy of Serena herself, growling in unbridled irritation, mixed with an excruciating pain. The creature is left to its own devices -- as it were -- as Caedan advances, not even batting an eye when that second chakram traces a sanguine ribbon on her upper thigh. Instead, she stalks, her intent malicious as she hovers above the now weaponless Serena. Slowly, and with calculated action, she draws that now-bloodied blade up, then allows it to fly downward with an increasing celerity, until it would meet the woman's throat, and behead her, unless evasive action should be effected, and quickly.
Serena refuses to let out a scream at the feeling erupting inside of her. She was trained better then to show the challenger any sign of winning. She grimaces at the scene happening before her, and coughs up blood. Still, newly awakened this duel is tiring her down. Serena still hadn't been able to unleash the magiks she once had yet, but she slowly was regaining them. Just not fast enough like she desired, always putting to much forth into the fights. That she forgets to level them without so much power behind them. The youth herself, Serena does admire quiet well. Glancing to the arms and side, causes her to cringe up her nose. Her eyes allow the lightning within them to dash outwards towards the hovering lady. Skin quickly emitting steam while it turns to a red tint. Something obviously not being right, or something very horrid about to appear. The ground throughout Kelay violently tremble and quakes. Ground Serena lays on is quickly flooded with Magma, swirling straight up between the two. Surrounding them as if they were poles trapping them within a cage. Serena once attempted to behead herself back in her own youthful days, but the blade before impact would hopefully melt from such extreme temperature that the Darkness Elf's body has reached. Enough to make the onlookers break into a sweat, not a single clue how bad this could be affecting Caedan unless studied upon her closely. Even the lightning from within the clouds aim to strike down into Caedan. Hopefully before the strike the bloodied blade would be melted enough the just merely cause like a cat-scratch. The magma comes to its height limit, turning and falling downwards on top of the two.
Caedan remains where she is currently stationed, clutching her bloodied bicep. Sweat lines her brow, causing those tangled curls she sports to stick to her forehead, a foreshadowing of the events to come. When the ground begins to quake, the teen immediately seperates herself from her close proximity with the woman, though the lightning pouring forth from the darkness elf's eyes startles her into freezing. Dodging as best she can, the current of electricity strikes her hard, causing those damp strands of auburn to stand on end in the process. Helplessly quivering from the jolt of current, the disturbed teen continues to backpedal away from the woman, eyes going wide at the sight of the magma erupting from underneath her. The lightning crackling around her is cause for alarm, though Caedan is banking on the fact that lightning never strikes the same spot twice, and continues to seperate herself from the woman. A tree nearby is spotted, and hastily she clamors towards it, scrambling up before the magma can engulf her. Of course, lightning is attracted to that lofty refuge, and when it strikes, she is thrown clear from the oak, her body smoking and convulsing, though the gravity of the situation forces her to rise and skirt the magma now coursing along the ground.
Win.
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Duels
Jul 9, 2008 0:13:02 GMT -5
Post by Caedan on Jul 9, 2008 0:13:02 GMT -5
Caedan vs. Bloodwind. March 2007
Caedan stretches as she crests the threshold of the tavern, stepping out into the crisp morning air the quaint town of Kelay currently favors. The troubled psychic's night has not been peaceful, as evidenced by a stormy gaze, underlined by dark shadows, that fixes itself upon Bloodwind as soon as those first steps are taken into the dusty streets. A falchion is held loosely in one hand, though that nervous grasp soon tightens as she examines her would-be victim. A white-knuckled fist flips her brand in a wide arc at her side as she stalks in a predatory fashion around the vampire, studying, calculating, measuring every visible nuance and weakness he may possess. An ominous wind causes tangled auburn curls to obscure her vision momentarily before she frees one hand from the confines of her coat to secure them behind one ear. Soon, the teen is shifting and fidgeting in irritation, plagued by the ghosts that haunt a troubled mind, somehow triggered by this man's presence. She comes to a halt, examining the vampire with a critical eye for one last, fleeting instant, before she becomes a flurry of movement. There is large stone, angled just in front of her, and she uses this as a spring-board as she hastily launches herself at Bloodwind, intent on shaking him loose from this mortal coil as the voices in her head suggest she do. In mid-air, that sword is rotated so it is held perpendicular to her body, acting as both a shield and a weapon, and as she descends upon the hopefully unsuspecting, momentarily docile night creature the sword is swept in a horizontal cut, aiming to sever his spine with the added force of her leap behind it.
Bloodwind seems rather nonpulsed upon his entryway, yards from the tavern's door, he had only thougts of entering. Caedan's odd movements take his focus shortly after her exit however, the distant way in which she stare and even her hold upon the blade bring him to a curious pondering. The rush, although unexpected as she is allowed to pass behind him is certainly an aggrivating expirience for the vampire, he has little want for a fight with something so mortal, so very unpredictably weak. Turning upon his heal as Caedan reaches the climax of her flight, blade coming accross he hissesrearing the staff in hand up and into the swing, not his back but the weapon is unsuprisingly to him lost from the blow. The staff still spinning off in another direction from his body entirely Wind focuses upon the oncoming girl, no time to free his tome and use the ancient book he curses allowed, face contorting as he places his primary focus upon that of the earth. " Vaehilom!" It shudders to his call, hands, rotted, rotting, some mere bones tear from the earthen chamber where they once laid to rest,bodies following all of the wriggling masses stretching out and grasping for the young 'bard's slender frame, their first chance at what would hopefully bring back their souls to this earth.
Caedan swivels, drawing that deflected brand along with her in her spinning maneuver to avoid any repercussions that may be immediately forthcoming. Automatically, she crouches, low to the ground, that unnerving slate-blue gaze fixed upon the vampire that irks her so. When the ground begins to shake and tremor, she is instantly alert, slowly drawing herself into a stand, eyeing the earth underfoot suspiciously. A few unintelligible words are muttered, and when those grotesque appendages spring forth from their dirt-laden prisons, she instantly recoils, attempting to spin and weave to avoid them; but alas, they are everywhere, dragging and clutching at her ankles, attempting to pull her from this realm as she surely as she seeks to wrest her opponent from his. The sword is put quickly to use, swiping and chopping with a ferocious tenacity at those offending arms and hands, and the mental anguish this scene produces in the teen's fragile psyche is almost enough to defeat her. Now, as she speeds across that unsteady ground composed of churning human flesh, her calves are scraped, progress slowed by the macabre display of the vampire's prowess. She twists her ankle and nearly falls before finally seeking that rock as refuge. Easily does Caedan find her balance, and when she does, she immediately crouches, feral, violent. The sword is immediately thrown with deadly accuracy towards Wind's chest, to serve as a distraction while she tugs two daggers from their concealed location within her boots. Gripping the wrought-iron hilted duo, they follow their predecessor in that marked line for the vampire, aimed to pierce the joint where arm meets shoulder and render both appendages useless.
Bloodwind watches the girl, her terrified expressions and movements showing him enough to know that perhaps he should be more gentle in his reactions, thew thought seems a good one, fatherly emotions having nearly killed off the truth in his killer instinct long ago. The falchion is gauged, when thrown towards him it is that movemnt that shatters the little shreds of kindness he holds for the young woman. Twisting he surveys the blade, watching it hum by like some angry hornet, he catches the smaller dager in the upper shoulder of his right arm the third missing him entirely. Blood difuses the beauty of his white robes and his green eyes focus upon the protruding object which he removes with a grunt. " Good eye..." The mumbled words are reminiscent of a much younger and more annoyed necromancer, he looks over the masees that he called in haste, a mere twenty dead bodies, heald up by only his magic, and now his blood as it dribbles to the earth from a quickly staining robe. The tome is wrough into view and he shakes his head at the ease in which he finds his next words and movements. Crouching low as he mumbles, the vampire is left to mumble into the blood-soiled earth a chant he only once before placed into use. The ground rumbles, bodies of his minions are dragged into a small, widening gap in the pathway, as the last one slips away in a noiseless scream it seems he finds his voce. Screeching does a new beast tear from the earthen chamber, followed by many of it's smaller brethren, one hound, easily head height for the six foot vampire is crowded by his much more dog-like associates. The pointing of Connor's finger , directed to the stone slab holding his adversary is met with the eerie screech of a howl followed by the vicious onslaught that is the hell hound's attack, runnning with brethren following to feast, in Caedan's blood and bones.
Caedan cautiously eyes the surrounding area for any space of the highly traversed thoroughfare not covered in that macabre display of both fleshy and skeletal hands. She is aware she is weaponless, first and foremost; accordingly, her main objective is to recover that familiar brand she wields with such dexterity. It's only short moments later that the tell-tale rumbling of the ground beneath her chosen refuge begins to rumble and seperate, and unconsciously, her breath catches. The bodies disappearing into that vaunted spelchure leave the teen perhaps even more puzzled than when they had been summoned. She warily shifts, eyeing her sword that had passed so neatly over the male's shoulder and currently resides in the side of poor Mesthak's pub. A short growl is issued, soon drowned out by a more ominous rumble, one possessed by the newest creation sent to free her soul from its fleshy prison. Blue eyes widen in fear as a dog double her own height charges her way, followed by those of lesser size, but gifted with the same intent -- her life. Instantly, she forsakes that boulder respite in favor of springing forward; Daisy is her new objective, bless that spottled beast. She can practically feel the dogs' breath on her heels, and nearly loses her footing when the larger of the beasts rips a chunk out of her side. The shriek of pain is muffled, and when another tears at her already swollen ankle, she nearly concedes. But there, there is that cow who will prove savior to the teen. Diving underneath the animal, she sacrifices poor Daisy to save herself, for surely when the dogs abruptly collide with the bovine, they'll find her a distraction, if not a feast in and of herself. Painfully, Caedan eases out from under the cow and manages to hobble towards her sword, which is jerked free of the tavern wall. Another uneasy growl escapes the confines of her throat as she eyes the necromancer, slowly circling towards him so as not to attract the attention of his hell-hounds. His bleeding shoulder is her target when she comes near enough to strike, and what the teen lacks in arcane abilities, she makes up for in sheer tenacity, and quickness. Swinging that sword with such a celerity as to cause the wind to whistle, she strikes hard, and fast, dipping low at the last second while dragging her brand only a mere two feet above the ground so as to sever the male at the knees. Another dagger is loosed from her boot at the last minute and she attempts to plunge it into his foot, as if to nail him in place, as well as keep him from jumping to avoid her side-sweeping weapon.
Bloodwind shakes his head, watchingas his destructive minions reap the flesh from Caedan's body and even moreso as they steal the life of the cow with little thought and more enthusiasm than any living creature could muster. Caedan's progress is warranted however as the dogs become distracted with the dying, creature and it's cries. His green eyes focus moreso as she wrenches her blade free, distressed with the redeemed freedom for the deadly weapon. Her swing is granted a growl and the wrenching of his smaller, rapier from it's sheathe, exertion obvious as he sinks it unceremoniously into the earth the dagger having stapled his foot to the dirt his reserved gesture granted with the sharp clang as both weapons meet and the shrill screech as his own snaps in half from the stressing weight of the opposing weapon and his own wielding. The falchion sinks into his knee with barely the strength it once came, brining blood and Bloodwind to a growling, gasping revelation, his foot and knee now hurt, alot... Looking to the young woman again he shakes his head. " Nicely played... young one..." He rips the dagger from the flesh of his foot and twists off of the Falchion's blade. Standing weakly he hobbles back, movements seeming odd until the call of the hounds one again calls attention. The massive dog positions it's self before the woman The smaller, quicker ones spanning out to enclose her to the wall. It seems all of them will wait, at least until the massive front line surges forwards, a howling mass of dark bodies hunting for the blood of the young woman. Bloodwind watches, tome brought into his hands defensively. Bloodwind oocly figured he needed to get the whole post out lol...
Caedan recovers her own stance, slowly drawing herself to her full height and freeing her sword from its fleshy prison as the vampire twists away. The knife is left where he discards it, and when he makes no immediate retaliatory action, her attention is drawn to those hell-spawned mutts again, who've finished poor Daisy off by now, and are quite clearly looking to sate their undiminished hunger. "Nicely played, young one," the demented teen echoes, prone to mimicing those around her when she is distressed. And distressed she is, for as the hounds close in, she is forced back, nearing the stalwart wall she'll soon be trapped against. Instantly, the teen turns and throws her long-bladed sword into the yielding wooden surface of the outside of the establishment, and she is soon hot on it's heels. As that metal blade quiver and tremors within its wooden encasement, she takes a giant leap upward after it, one foot bracing against the wall, the other searching for placement atop that thick blade. Dexterous hands seek the rotted gutter above her for balance, and she precariously finds a position atop that protesting sword, though it remains -- thankfully, mercifully -- plunged into the wall, though it now supports her entire weight as she perches atop that bobbing weapon, just out of the reach of the dogs which can taste her blood as it drips down to them, teasing each gaping maw with the sweet taste of the wounds she has sustained.
Win.
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Duels
Jul 9, 2008 0:15:55 GMT -5
Post by Caedan on Jul 9, 2008 0:15:55 GMT -5
Caedan vs. Kasyr (Round One) March 2007.
Caedan is stationed atop that small boulder bearing the crimes of the fallen deities who have infiltrated the relatively peaceful countryside, wreaking their own havoc and chaos, before contenting themselves in their petty squabbles and leaving the majority of the denizens of Hollow to their own devices. And today, Caedan's device is bringing violence and mayhem upon whomever she encounters. The normally placid teen is highly strung, and incredibly volatile at any given moment in time, and lately, she's been lashing out at complete strangers, malicious intent evident in her steely gaze before her sword is ever brandished. Perched atop that rock, her head is hanging down over the ledge, auburn curls dusting the earth underneath as she peruses that engraved list; however, movement soon catches her attention. A human, minding his own business, no doubt, proves to be the focus of an ever-fleeting attention, and she observes Kasyr in eerie silence, disconcerting stare leveled upon him in full. Quietly, two daggers are loosed from her tall boots as she studies the hopefully unsuspecting knight. A nimble flick of the wrist sends the first streaking towards the male's left kneecap, hoping to pierce that fragile joint and render it useless, while the second follows quickly in succession, aimed true for the mortal's heart. This dual attack would hopefully prevent him from jumping to avoid the first dagger, and ducking to avoid the latter, and as an accessory offense, the teen seeks to add insult to injury by loosening a third dagger from that hidden encasement in her footwear, and throw it hard, it's intention meant to lodge itself in the her would-be victim's entrails.
Kasyr was lost in one of his habitual dazes, his mind having wandered off to thoughts involving the lady whom he now missed. The guardian's mind was so enthralled with the various reveries he entertained, that he was in fact barely cognisant of his surroundings, perception acknowledging the bar, but no real substance given to the area he slowly trekked through. Eyes of a jade hue simply glanced about blankly, drifting to either side of the path he slowly stepped across, even as the girl took to motion, and it was not until the pair of projectiles were loosed and the barely perceptible whistle that accompanied him, that he was brought out of his reverie. His sight would dully take in the slight flicker of steel that was the dagger just before it embedded into his leg, edge severing through the weak fabric of the cotton pants he wore, the sensation enough to bring his senses suddenly flaring into an alertness and fortelling of the blades partner. Lacking grace and a fair bit of mobility, he would simply allow his knee to buckle, bringing his own weight upon that limb in what proved to be a painful maneuvering, to hasten his fall to the earth below. Having lacked the time to move himself out of the way, he could only twist his torso to the side, left side drawing forth as the right drew back, causing the dagger to take rest rather awkwardly within that which was drawn back and put in its path. Mind now working within the full of its constraints, he would swiftly bring his left hand up to the hilt of his bastard sword, less gracefully than normal given he was not blessed with ambidexterity, but with enough haste that he's able to interpose it betwixt himself and the last daggers flight. "...Bloody Hells et mon dieu." Quietly spoken, the man brought forth his expression towards the girl, eyes glaring at her fixedly, rather curious as to how he attracted her rather lethal intentions, his right hand moving towards his knee to rather forcefully remove the dagger, albeit the pained expression which "graced" his visage, if only for a few moments. Once removed, the dagger would be dropped before him, to take its place near the third.
Caedan beams quite insanely when he frees his own brand, and instantly, she springs forward, using the rock as a spring-board to launch herself towards him. A growl is loosed from the confines of her throat as she hits the ground at a steady jog, rapidly approaching the injured human who had brokered no offense, nor retaliation for her more heinous of crimes. The familiar sword is swept in a wide arc at her side, balancing, testing it's mettle as it cuts cleanly through the stagnant atmosphere. She doesn't slow when she reaches Kasyr; instead, she opts for an abrupt melee attack, swinging that jagged blade high over her head and bringing it down with such a forceful celerity, it could quite possible cleave the man's shoulder from it's socket should he not take preventative action. Meanwhile, using the momentum incurred from both her leap and speed, she drops into a crouch, swinging her left leg out to upset the man's balance in an attempt to knock him to the ground. Hopefully this proves enough of a distraction for her to recover her three daggers and secure them to her person in case they prove to be of necessity as the altercation progresses.
Kasyr restrains the faint rumble that begins emanates from his throat in response to the sound she made upon the beginning of her charge, teeth instead clenching together firmly as he would focus upon the rapidly approaching figure. Concentrating upon his own being, he would focus upon shifting his weight upon his uninjured leg as the woman proceeded with her lunatic run. Shifting his head downwards, hair of a mixed dirty brown falling forth in a tumultous chaos that partially obscured his view, the attention became focused upon the turf, the steady beat of footprints upon soil, and the sound of the blade. The first sound of the blade passing through the air causes a twitch to run through his wounded form, something which finds itself given ample opportunity to unleash itself upon the attack brought forth. He would quite simply spring forth upon his uninjured leg, bastard sword brought up in a collision course not with the blade being brough down but rather towards the wrist, the flat of the long blade to be the offending party. Figuring this would both deflect the attack and offset his attacker, he would then simply move to take full advantage of the distance between the two, and bring himself down upon her, simply falling forth with every intention of landing his form atop hers, the blade to be quite simply pressed down across her throat if he can manage it "Yield damnit!". Whether or not he offset her, the fact that she'd end up bring him down with the kick, and his intention of falling forth, would only serve to bring the same results, albeit, in her advantage, he hadn't considered the possibility of having her gut his belly like a fish.
Caedan releases a prompt squeal of delight as her blow is so expertly parried. For once, she has come across a non-arcane user such as herself, and it pleases this malicious violent streak of her's like none other. Clutching her sword triumphantly as she crouches, the teen is soon startled to find the male has maneuvered himself to fall atop her, and to avoid skewering herself, she releases that jagged brand in favor of avoiding ... well, death. It's discarded within reach, and instantly two safely-stowed daggers recovered in each hand in that more lengthy weapon's place. As Kasyr pins her with his heavier weight, she shifts uncomfortable, uneasy growl yet again issued from a tight-lipped grimace as the pebbles and rocks strewn underneath her plague her shantily-clad backside. As he brings that blade up towards her throat, she reacts immediately, drawing up the two daggers to form an 'X' with the sword and prevent decapitation. Nonetheless, that weapon, and her own combine, paint her neck scarlett from the sharp blades pressing against yielding flesh, and it takes the majority of her strength to keep the sword from sinking in further. Both hands consequently occupied, she maneuvers subtly, before abruptly bringing up her leg between his own. The knight will either be forced over her head, or receive a rather painful blow to his groin with the force in which she uses in attempt to free herself from this unwelcome embrace of sorts. Those daggers remain where they are, deflecting his sword from imbedding itself into the silken prison of her sanguine-stained neck, and the teen is suprised to find that when she attempts another growl of displeasure, no such rumble is forthcoming.
Kasyr 's own intention was not to kill the teen, but to simply keep her from attacking, and ensure that she was not going to make good of her attempts at ending his life. That she seemed rabid and more than a few bits touched in the head, only encouraged his instinct of not slaying her, his attempts being to ensure that the flat of his blade would be kept to her neck, and that should her strength within her arms suddenly give out, she wouldn't suddenly gain a second smile of a more scarlet nature. This line of thinking and thought was abruptly broken when a sharp pain ran up from the tween of his legs, causing his eyes to shut tightly. The force hadn't been enough to send him over, and he now found himself in a position to be a bit less restrained as the woman seemed utterly fixated upon ensuring him an agonising evening. Legs bracing together albeit the pain coursing through the left and from his assaulted loins, he'd attempt to keep her leg from repeating the action, before simply placing more weight upon the sword and leaning forth, head rearing back once, before eyes would open, to look into the face of the woman he was to strike his forehead against, aiming to assault her repeatedly until she would succumb into a state of unconsciousness. "Salope!". He didn't even noticed the mess of crimson that had formed along his pant leg and about, something which was undoubtedly going to bring an unending stream of complaints and worrying from estbel as to what he had been up to
Caedan squirms in futility as the majority of his weight bears down upon her. The flat of the blade pressed against her neck serves to stem the flow of blood that had been previously issued forth from its more sharper of sides, though the teen is now heaving for breath as the weapon practically chokes her. Swallowing hard, she resists the urge to panic when she can't seem to dislodge him from atop her, and once more, the two daggers are taken up, clutched tightly in either hand. However, a resounding thud against her skull leaves her dizzy, and suprised, and the second is enough to cause her to release her tenacious hold upon that sharp duo. The third hit is enough to warrant a slightly glazed over look to rapidly dulling optics, and the volatile psychic's lust for violence, having been sated, fades, as does consciousness. She manages to cling to that tenuous thread of reality, intent on staying aware, cognizant, and in the presence as she weakens under Kasyr's weight. This time, she does not retaliate; it appears that his intention not to hurt her has finally reached the shadowed recesses of her mind which tend towards paranoia. And so, with a slight grunt, she shifts, but undertakes no offensive endeavor, even to push the mortal from atop her.
Win.
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Duels
Jul 9, 2008 0:17:34 GMT -5
Post by Caedan on Jul 9, 2008 0:17:34 GMT -5
Caedan vs. Azlue March 2007
Caedan is on the opposite side of the pillar when Azlue approaches to worship the fiendish god who holds her prisoner. The teen is served well by the shadows that caress the moonlight-illuminated temple, and has situated herself inside the slenderly-shaped shadow created by the light that filters in from above, splashing it's morbid illuminance over the effigy of Vakarash and his faithful follower. She dare not move, surely the chain that binds her to this place will be heard if she were to attempt to slink closer; however, she does silently withdraw her borrowed brand, the metal noiseless against her thigh upon which it is draped. She extends that tethered ankle silently, holding it above the stone flooring underfoot before maneuvering to face the praying male, slate-blue gaze examining him critically, judging, studying, reading answers to her questions. One of them. He is one of them. This is enough to warrant her bitterness, and in her fragmented thought process, it is more than enough to warrant retribution. A quiet breath is inhaled -- not exhaled, lest he see the puff of oxygen in the frigid atmosphere -- before she springs into motion. Launching off the foot that remains on the ground, her tethered ankle is supplied with free range of motion as she lunges towards Azlue, kneeling just a few paces away. The sword is swung at an arc at her side before descending upon the male with startling celerity, sweeping sideways as to hopefully cleave his head from his shoulders and wrest him from the mortal coil and his worship of a god that will surely do the same in time.
Azlue remains silent his head bowed with eyes closed, as he gives worship to the statue before him, the sound of air being drawn in causes him to open his eyes slightly then open fully as he spots the reflection of the moonlight in a swinging sword. Quickly rolling to the right almost out of instinct the vampire dodges the sweeping blade forcing it to cut into only air. Azlue stands and looks at her, his eyes wide. He drops his hands to his side, the flame that circles around his wrist, quickly turn to an engulfing flame. "So you wish to fight do you?" The illusionist looking the human up and down sizing her up preparing for an attack. Various spells running though his mind causing his eyes to change rapid color from blue to green to brown to black until landing all color is lost, and a orange flame can easily be seen by human. Azlue lifts his hands so that they are directly in front of his face. The small flame around his hands quickly growing into fire frenzy. Azlue begins to raise his left arm to its way above his head. He then sweeps his hand down quickly causing a stream of fire to remain, His right hand fallows the same effect remaining. Then with what appears to be a shove the two vertical lines of fire begin to quickly approach the enchained Bard
Caedan, at once, is cognizant of the fact she may have bitten off more than she can proverbially chew, as soon as Azlue enacts his arcanic attack. The building orbs of flame are observed within widened eyes that reflect the churning fire before she quickly realizes defensive action must ensue lest she be burned alive where she stands. The pillar to which she is chained much provide shield enough, for that is the only thing within reach to hide behind and avoid the brunt of the heated offensive. Quickly, she dodges behind that marble column, the onslaught consequently averted. However, she is not left without damage; the twin trails of flame streaking by her sear each bicep painfully, leaving the skin festering and bubbling under the gravity of the burns. The demented teen grimaces, sucking in two lengthy breaths, and waiting for the fire to subside before she ventures out once more. However, this time, her attack is not as silent, though it will hopefully prove to be doubly deadly in nature. A growl emanates from her vocal harbor as she lunges forward, at the last minute sidestepping around the male to complete a full circuit around his position. Undoubtedly, he has followed her movements, so a frontal attack is not instantly forthcoming. Instead, she crouches and takes hold of the chain, which now traces a path from the pillar, behind Azlue, then to her ankle. A harsh tug is effected, meant to send the male toppling backward and onto his back, while she springs forward to take advantage of his sure unbalance. The sword is flicked in a wide arc at her side before both hands grasp the hilt, and whether he has managed to keep his balance or not, the teen will still attempt to plunge that dark blade into the fleshy prison of the man's chest.
Azlue visage remains emotionless, thus expressionless, as the attack had it a mark, although not the intedned mark. Azlue looks down to the chain that trails behind him feeling he can use this to detect should the human attempt to attack him from the back begins to fully focus upon the chain and on the tension between the links awaiting for them to go limp. Thus causing him to caught off gaurd when they tighten. Azlue falls to the ground a loud thud fallowd by a grunt echos though out this place of prayer as he hits the floor below him. Upon seeing the blade comming down upon him Azlue quickly brings his arms infront of him to form an "X" to act as somewhat of a shield. As the teeth of the sword come into contatct with his arms, Azlue lets a loud hiss of pain, which soon turns to a low growl as the vampire is now faceing the human. The vampires eyes change from the flame to a glowing white as the illusionist stares deeply into her eyes. Azlue only mouths a few words as the shadows around the shrine appear to be moaning as they stretch up from the ground below. Quick to take solid form they begin to approch the two dulest's and each draw various weapons from scyths to broad swords to daggers to battle axes, each glisting from the light above. soon they begin to circle around the duelsts and around the pillar to keep watch for any more sneak attacks. 5 step from the circle each branding a broad sword. Each raising there swords in unison as they approach. Upon ariving to the duelests they each begin to stab downward.
Caedan paces backward, returning to a position just a few feet abreast of the pillar which binds her in place. An uneasy growl escapes tightly pursed lips, and her sword, now stained with Azlue's sanguine vitae, is gripped in a white-knuckled fist. The teen has trouble distinguishing illusionary effect from the real thing, especially since this underword city is so full of shadows in and of itself, and those that collectively swarm upon her are indeed, great cause for worry. Shifting and positioning herself to defend as best she can against the multitude of shadowed attackers, she begins to twirl and spin, her breath quite literally stolen by the blade of a battleaxe that whizzes by her visage with barely an inch to spare. She parries as many as she can, weaving and dodging, sustaining a myriad of shallow cuts and slashes along her unprotected flesh. Backpedaling, she takes refuge behind the statue of Vakarash, though the chain soon grows taut, preventing further movement. The teen's disconcerting stare rests upon Azlue from the shadows, once more calculating, studying, measuring. She stoops, collecting bits of offerings left there. A piece of chicken becomes her newest offensive as she hurls it towards his head; a bottle of vodka speeds with startling celerity in the same trajectory. Two sharp bones, once sporting meat, no doubt, are sent sailing in his direction as well. Lastly, a small, antiqutated dagger is recovered from the base of the menacing effigy, and thrown with suprisingly true aim towards the vampire's chest, for Caedan hopes he will be two distracted warding off her literal food fight to notice the more deadly of instruments streaking a path for his sternum.
Azlue continues to watch his shadow warriors, waiting for them to disperce to show what he hopes to be the fallen victom to the shadow attackers thus her ecaspe is not news to him yet untill the chicken meat comes collideing with his head leaving a grease mark upon the hood that shadows over his visage. The vampire looks for the source of the on slaught of meat as other various food objects come rushing tward him. Raising his left hand up diagonaly right so that is just infront of his right shoulder, he swipes downard knocking the vodka bottle of course causing it to hit the ground and splatter upon compact. Thus fallows the same action with his right hand knocking the bones to the side. Again he raises his left hand to block what he assumes to be another meat bone, Upon down swiping for the 3rd and final time. The daggers blade finds a new rest stop, Stuck deeply into the palm of Azlue. The vampire lets out a small cry of pain before he reaches over with his right hand and unplugs the blade from his hand, crimsion liquid escapeing from the wound. Still uncerten of the females where abouts Azlue clinches his hands into a fist before letting out a second sigh of pain and re-opening his left fist. With a excerp of power the vampire kneels to one knee and plunges his hands into the ground below him. Various words of the vampric language escapeing his lips as the Ground below the shrine begins to shake. 12 massive pillars of flame shoot up from the ground in random places.
Caedan watches her vampiric opponent warily, still hidden within the shadowed recess the effigy of Vakarash proves. However, as columns of flames begin to erupt around her, she quickly abandons that reclusive location to step out into the open for room to dodge the searing pillars which scald already burned arms. One ignites the chain attached to her ankle, instantly heating the enchanted metal to a nearly unbearable temperature. Her ankle sizzles as the band wrapped around sore flesh practically adheres itself to her skin. The teen stumbles sideways, now limping, and miraculously avoids a column of fire that abruptly ignites where she had been standing seconds prior. Finally, she comes to a halt against the cool marble of the pillar to which she is bound, basking in the chilled surface that acts almost as a salve to burnt, mildly charred flesh. No further offensive if forthcoming. She is content to stare cautiously at the vampire, her grip upon her trusted brand loosening minutely, though she continues to wield that borrowed weapon lest he decide to pursue an attack.
Win.
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Duels
Jul 9, 2008 0:23:15 GMT -5
Post by Caedan on Jul 9, 2008 0:23:15 GMT -5
Caedan vs. Grailan April 2007
Caedan is made aware of her surroundings by a curious hint of smoke that lingers in the deathly quiet atmosphere, accentuated by her removal from the raucous tavern. Her nostrils flare, slate-blue optics flash to awareness, searching the perimeter for the source of the sudden sense of foreboding that has descended upon her. Little time passes until she observes first the mount, and then the rider. As if a moth to the flame does she draw closer, perilously closer, booted feet beating a light cadence on the earthen flooring underfoot. The troubled psychic pauses a mere few paces from the undead death-dealer, brow furrowed in the unrivaled intensity of her study. Her gaze traverses the length of man and mount, from the en flambeau hooves, to the helmeted head that now commands her utter fixation. She's half-tempted to circle the death knight, or even ask for a ride astride that fascinating steed, though something far more sinister lingers within a rapidly-forming agenda. Fallen Dream is removed from its scabbard upon her back with a clink of metal upon metal, and its release suceeded by a loud hiss, followed shortly by a piercing cry. The sword immediately begins to emanate a series of percussive bursts of noise, driven by its own will, moreso than any Caedan can control. Consequently, the deafening result effects even her, though perhaps it is made less by the shadows that seek to mute the reprecussions. As the brand continues on with its noisy arrival, she swings it in a wide, skilled arc at her side, as if to test her grip upon that shrouded hilt. Finding it satisfactory, she moves forward in a single unexpected leap. A feignt to the horse's left flank would serve as distraction so that her free hand, clutching a concealed dagger, might plunge the shorter, though no less ominous blade into the creature's neck, while she ducks to the opposite side and strikes horizontally with Fallen Dream. The swing is spot-on, seeking to tear the man's calf from his thigh as it would make impact at the hopefully unprotected knee joint. Hopefully, if the horse goes down, it will stay down; the offensive against the undead would secure the same result, in her malignant viewpoint of what should happen.
Grailan :: The chilling air is swept about the area like its own blade, slicing into the back with shiver shudder. Somehow, perhaps with the looming presence of forsaken rider, a fog has taken to the morning, shadowing the sun's mirthful rays of orange, with mirthless, forewarning plumes of ashen. It all seems to suite the creature, or his torturous state, akin to a radiation of despair and lethargy, like one mourning, like one lamenting; neither laughing in lich's terrible mock, nor wailing in the banshee's hell -but rather, a terrible sadness, oppressive to the near, seeming to echo from the very vessel of the fallen creature. Those clammy lips neither part, nor shift, his consistent enthrallment of sorrowful countenance giving a relentless sort of seriousness; stark gray hues following Caedan's every move with death-intent scrutiny. He watches her attacks rain slice, stab, shred, feign perfectly flawless. It is the first the fiery steed's neck that is punctured, but it yields not sweet sanguine; but bitter yellow puss -oozing out before igniting with a hellish fury, the horse without whinny or whine. Its opposite side is left open, and struck, splitting to pour more of the rancid ichors, more of the flammable infection. Next comes the pin-point strike at an unprotected calf, shredding it with duly tear and sickening rip; severing muscle from limb, to a fillet of lifeless flesh and bloodless veins. Without word, without utterance of curse, neither plummeting nor flinching, the Death Knight rears back tremendously with his shield-bearing hand, the kite-shaped metal hanging in ascension with a funereal pose; before the former swings down with ungodly power, bringing the latter to a skull-splitting shield-bash -if it land. He could see the sinuous blood and marrow splay across the well-beaten path, brains and teeth alike, projected into the foggy air- and in anticipation; he smiles a grim, sinister smile.
Caedan recovers from her attack as any fighter would, falling into a defensive stance almost as soon as the last offensive is completed. She is ready for a blade to be drawn, for retribution in the form of the sweet clang of metal upon metal. Grossly taken by surprise as the shield plummets towards her, the teen can merely lift her sword-bearing hand -- for she's attempting to protect an entirely-unprotected crown -- in the best defensive maneuver she can manage under such imminent diress. She is thrown to the ground when the large shield makes impact with her seemingly fragile frame. A sick crunching of bone would betray a dislocated shoulder in all probability, and a sharp cry of pain is elicited from the teen before she clamps her lips shut, only the twitching muscles in her jaw to belie the pain she currently endures. Vengeance helps block out the certain agony she suffers, and a graceful leap places the psychic on her feet in a single bound. The sword she veritably clings to is held at her side, hovering just above the ground, shadows churning and writhing from the blade and over the cobblestone path underfoot. They coalesce at Grailan's exposed flesh, the wound suffered at the wrath of the fickle sword the violent teen wields. A malicious sneer contorts normally serene features, for she knows the shadows collect there to infuse the man with the insanity she so commonly possesses, along with a lingering sense of paranoia. Meanwhile, though her grip upon the small dagger recovered earlier is not as firm, she regains her grasp, and seeks to plunge the blade into the rearing horse's vulnerable underbelly, mindless of the hooves that beat the air. Caedan needs the deathknight within reach to effect her retaliation. Afterall, the teen is no mere observer, for she has brought the sword to whistle and sing as she parts the very molecules which compose atmosphere in the celerity with which she strikes with the fabled brand. Two cuts are effected within the time period of mere seconds. First, a vertical slash, meant to be deflected, or otherwise parried as it lurches towards the non-dominant shoulder of the undead, and secondly, another horizontal blow, this one meant to cleave the man's neck from his shoulders with its unsuspected speed.
Grailan 's features, by now, are reverted back the original, the norm of his dreary frame, the sorrowful anguish that holds enthralled for but the rare occasions. He feels this life, the yeast of the living that is well and good; that allows him to know divine truth from forsaken falsities, which shows him gods, or creates a god when he cannot see one. It is this champagne of the blood, to be all acrawl with life and movement, to contrast his very analysis. But alas, it is lost once again, to know the looming frame of death overhead, of the wanton sickle and wretched wings, to know the spitefulness of life and its twists, to want to move; to need to move! And so he, to shake his unshakable fear, instead radiating it further, more oppressive, as if some sort of funereal compliment to the fittingly named 'Fallen Dream'. The world he sees, the earth in his eyes; it lacks the lush greenery, the shimmering glint of light upon water -it lacks the mirthful noises of children outdoors, of hearty laughter and giggling obscenities. He sees, in his indefinite lack of haste, dead trees rather than leafy boughs, wretched skies of dull ash like his eyes -it doesn't even dawn upon him that he is falling, his horse in its deathlike callousness felled with stab after stab of cruel steel. He feels as if continuously plummeting, but in terrible scrutiny of burning buildings, of terrible murders -his eyes, his perception, all being altered by that shattering blade, that 'Fallen Dream'. Yet still he stands, a slice splitting right down his front, opening his cold cadaver to splay inanimate organs and rotting bones. With this harshness, this calamity that has come upon him, he barely manages the evasion of another assailment -the one in seek of severing head from neck- the Death Knight bent backward to allow mere centimeters width between himself, and her edge. All the while, however, he cannot relent, twisting his long javelin to heft within his armpit; suitable for a charge. Yet, alas! He does not charge, but rather the javelin is released, loosed with unseen magic, unspoken incantations, to project at Caedan's gut with tremendous speed. And still, he continues brazen assault, quickly moving forward in rear of the lofted missile, lurching himself unnaturally into the air with deft skill and maneuver, arms outstretched at either side -his armored body spinning mid-flight. In another projectile attack, this one aimed at the ground in anticipation of a rolling evasion, his shield is flung -edge first in some sort of makeshift guillotine.
Caedan flinches; she can't help but shiver in disgust as the man's innards are displayed in such a gruesome show of rotting flesh and decaying bone. With jaw slightly agape, she remains perilously still, as if overcome by an inability to move, or defend herself. Like a deer in headlights, does she watch the javelin plunge towards her, seeking to cut through the flimsy fabric of her worn dress, and through the frail flesh just beginning to regain colour. Finally, she dodges, shaken to awareness by the whistling sound as the javelin cuts through the air. It slices cleanly through her side, narrowly missing a kidney, nearly impaling her pancreas, splitting the side of her dress clean apart. She gasps, the dagger she wields abandoned in favor of clutching of her side, and levelling upon the undead a spiteful, incredulous stare. As the shield comes hurtling towards her, she ducks instinctively, as if she knew of its trajectory before it was thrown like a macabre frisbee at her neck. Accordingly, it dings her forehead, glancing off as her controlled crouch proves a mere second too slow. Blood springs to the surface of the offended brow, which begins to bleed profusely, but the teen pushes herself into a stand nonetheless, plunging Fallen Dream into the ground to utilize the infamous blade as a crutch of sorts. The large claymore shrieks, rivaling a banshee's call in its intensity, before shadows churn towards the stallion's feet, and death knight astride him. Soon, the ground is lost from sight, and a terrible sense of foreboding hangs heavy in the atmosphere. Quite suddenly, the ground gives way, as if the stalwart terra firma can not support the veiled weight of Fallen Dream's shadows. Intent on bringing man and mount to their knees, Caedan watches in smug -- pained -- satisfaction, before pinpointing the location where Grailan should meet an abrupt halt should he meet the ground at last. It is in this trajectory is her brand released, streaking across the early morning sky like a spherical albatross, singing and shrieking through the air until it would pierce the death dealer, through and through, from sternum to spine.
Grailan lurches forward and back, his fire-crowned steed unable to retain any sense of control over the ground, thus rearing up in an unbalanced fore kick to the air. This bucks Grailan into the darkness, the Death Knight, on this rare occasion, panicking. He panics with a deathly wail, a mirthless cry that is more terrible than any sadness; as heartless as a goblin's torturous crack of whip; as cruel as the smile of damnation -and with this, the abomination that is the undead man is quite sure that he is falling into hell. Mid-plummet, he reaches skyward in vain, cold and clammy digits outstretched as if trying to grasp nothingness, his stark eyes searching the skies as his inside begin to spill out from the already inflicted wound. The shadows beneath him seem to reach upward with incredibly slowness, like tendrils waiting to catch their prey; as if some sort of feral animosity, before the thick 'thud' is heard. Grailan lies upon the ground, in an upset of shadow and dirt, rock and clod, his organs splayed around him, brand flung into his limp vessel. Seconds pass, seconds that pour away bittersweet –bitter as wormwood, sweet as mulled wine. Then, does this forsaken paladin rise, first to hands and knees, then only knees, before finally standing upright. His mount is quite dead, skull crushed unto the 'tragic' fall- effectively dismantling rider from his horse. With a gaping hole visible within his torso, he takes tentative steps toward the psychic; weaponless and lacking shield, yet deadly nonetheless. Awkwardly, both upper limbs are thrust forward, simultaneous to a thicket of blazing hearth, ethereal in a ghastly green hue -spectral pyre extending forth toward Caedan to consume here form in an immolation of hellish flame; intent on scorching her very soul.
Caedan shudders, quite violently, when the death dealer cries out. It pains her, perhaps more than the physical pain she suffers so cruelly. Her own muffled whimper joins his heart-wrenching wail, harmonious, disturbing, haunting. Fallen Dream is cast aside, forgotten after inflicting such a heinous wound upon the undead. However, her nearly inaudible cries fade to silence when she observes the fallen knight's ominous approach, and subsequent brandishing of decaying arms. The gruesomely-shaded cloud of flaming green fire is regarded with a start, followed by an imperceptible tremor. She is powerless against it, and her only defense is to drop, hoping to avoid the brunt of the assault. Half-burying herself in the up-turned soil her shadows have created, she is seared, and charred, and singed upon every exposed inch of pallid flesh. The cool kiss of the earth she lies within is welcome to skin which feels as if it crawls with the macabre flame of the deathknight's conjuration. A hand extends, and Fallen Dream is buoyed by rapidly calming shadows and carried back to the stricken teen, to rest complacently at her side. Meanwhile, she remains where she lies, effecting no further offensive, and for all intents and purposes, surrendering for the time being to the walking cadaver that has so captured her intrigue in a most morbid of fascinations.
Loss.
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