Post by Joliette Thorne on Dec 27, 2006 11:43:02 GMT -5
The peace they’d found in the secret garden was only an interlude – trouble was afoot in the lands, in the shape of mad orc named Movdon, a vile entity with plans to gather all the Seals to himself and become a god.
_______Kelay Tavern________
Faythe said to Dragus, "I doubt I'm any of his concern anymore. Don't worry."
Ggrak continues his fight unabated and unceasing, all arcana fleeing his weaponry as he comes upon Movdon. Up and down the flurry of melee assaults entail, striking any flesh, bone or sinew within reach. His eyes they blaze a manic crimson, if only one, they other something close to the hue of his flesh, green. The rapid succession of blows are imparted with the expedience of one lifted, aided by some unseen hand; the steady stream of words that trickle from his lips surely the proverbial wing which he flies on. “For Cire!” the paladin cries.
Trakir stands at the front door, blocking the way out as he swiftly readies an arrow. The shaft has the carvings of totems interlaced with runes, and the tip is a dull greenish mineral that glints in the candlelight, as if dripping with venum. He keeps it leveled at the heart of the orc, but does not fire.
Hikoro starts to sing softly a soft melody of weeping souls.
Dragus can't believe his slash missed. He draws more dark power from the Dark Diamond. Raising Darkside into the air he rushes forward for another try. "For my friends." he cries.
Movdon 's feet begin a fretted scatter-dance as they attempt to carry their body away. Unfortunately for the shifter, the dampness of his garments weighing him down a considerable amount. Too late, he appears to dodge the swipe of Dragus' blade, though just enough to keep his internal organs in tact. A mid-sized gash traces its way onto his chest, allowing all the knowledge that Dragus' blade did connect. A mere flesh-wound, only though does not deter Movdon. He raises his hand to Dragus and a gale of cyclonic proportions overcomes him, no doubt a courtesy of the Seal of Air. Sweeping him off of his feet, the gusts carry him to collide with the orcish foe, Ggrak. Hopefully halting him in stride.
Mazera brandishes the broad sword that lays across his back, steel making a 'shinck' sound against the Metal mouth as the scabard relinquishes the blade from its confines," Tell me Movdon, which shall it be today? Wisdom? Fire? Or perhaps Wind?" With this said the Infernal places the hilt of his blade in both hands, dark tendrils flowing from his hands as Arcane words escape the pale lips of the Vampire, a trickle of Sanguine following as the Mana pools of the Damned one are tapped into. Whole blade covered in an unholy black shade, the Vampire bolts towards Movdon, lithe Vampire form lowering the wind resistance and giving an advantage of speed. Meeting the form of Movdon the Vampire contorts the position of his feet, placing one outstretched in front of the other, causing himself to skid. Sliding under Movdon, the Vampire swings his broad blade upward in an attempt to hit the Orc in his thigh or his groin, whichever. Taking this brief moment to his advantage, the Vampire turns as he finishes sliding to run towards the Orc once more, not stopping for a slide, but blade rose to air in a position for it to fall into the Orc's back, which is what Mazera plans to do.
Dragus said to Mazera, "Fire is mine."
Tenebrae let out a ragged sigh, as she pushes through the doors, wicked heels ticking on the rough planks of the flooring Shifting the weight of her over-stuffed pack slightly, thumb hooked to the strap biting deeply into her shoulder, she speaks a single, guttural word that has Maladroit launch itself from her shoulder, the dank-pinioned bird swooping unsteadily to the rafters to taking perch, glaring balefully at the patrons below. Without further ado, the vampiress makes quick and cool assessment of the situation, hand sliding to the hilt of her hex-cursed blade.
Ggrak barbarically swipes at the midst-air Dragus, connecting with the man and diverting him elsewhere, at the loss of the other’s life, limb or whatnot; the Orc does not care. He himself averted by the blow leaves only a moments breath before his strikes begin once more.
Dragus rushes at Movdon. He swings his blade Darkside with the full power of the Dark Diamond now coursing through him. "This one's for Faythe..."
Qengho said to Mazera, "Demonian had better survive all this Mazera or Red has insisted he will come out and * chuckles * " play ""
Dragus gets up. "That was a weak shot Ggrak."
Movdon now turns his gaze onto Tohru, "You have been pestering me for quite some time, my dear...I have decided to end you now..." Once more, the Seal of Fire and Air cast their vibrant hues of crimson and bronze upon the tavern witnesses. Unknown to them, though, the magic of their power goes to work internally on Tohru. Tiny cells of oxygen move about in her innards, the perfect meal for the tiny flames which begin to develop inside. Quite greedily the tiny sparks begin devouring her cells, jumping from one to the next before moving on to the precious organs. Finally they reach to figurative 'gas can' of the lungs. In a matter of seconds, the flames respond to the storehouse of air and quickly expand, setting her innards aflame and dousing the rest of her internal body in a conflagration, of which pain none could understand without experiencing.
Dragus said, "Maybe, but my butt did get knocked into the tavern ceiling by Vuryal."
Tenebrae shoved her palm forward, no finesse now but brutal determined to kill. "Now!", came the cry from those soft lips, drawn back in feral snarl. A coppery glow of runes emblazoned her palm, sigils dancing fiery toward the orcen adversary. "Fear me, Movdon! Wisdom is mine!"
Faeran taps his foot impatiently, seeing the inevitable occur as the brawl begins to envelop the tavern and all of the occupants within, just about. Without further ado, he stands from his seat, brandishing his staff in a swift, fluid motion. The elder mage doesn't begin to attack yet, but instead begins to weave a spell of the arcane, words of power and unknown origin falling freely from his lips.
Tenebrae said to Trakir, "Arrows! Pinion his eyes!"
Dragus said to you, "I don't think that will work."
Dragus nods to his imp Sora. "What you want a hit, go for it."
Tenebrae came with no fear against the would-be God, and onward her boots rang on the boards, life-sapping runed blade hissing in smooth arcs as she prepared to take the head of her foe. Eyes flitted as she dropped to fighter's stance, watching for her opportunity to strike. And all the while her lips moved, what blasphemous canta she muttered remaining to be seen.
Movdon growls as he feels his pride and will to fight being sucked out from his by Tenebrae. A weary hand reaches out, almost to grasp her. Instead, a small circle of flames encircles her, both quickly eating through the floorboards, perhaps sending her collapsing to the basement, and hoping to disrupt her concentration on the Seal's power.
Dragus joins his pet in the hit. With a swirl of his cloak, he appears behind Movdon. Muttering a incantation that Movdon should remember from a previous battle, watches as flames erupt and swirl around Movdon. The flames then close in on the orc enveloping his body in fire.
Ggrak ’s wolf, Durin, a creature of mismatched eye too, stalks within the shadows of the tavern; a natural home for a predatory beast such as himself. Distraction consumes Movdon and the dire creature strikes, serrated teeth snapping at hamstring and ligament at the back of the Orc’s legs, the way in which wolves prey cripple them and then for the neck. Should Movdon go down, the aforesaid nape surely is the target.
Movdon , once more parries Dragus' strike, his arms reverting to their usual attacking state. The twin blades easily contort themselves from his former arms. Instead, he uses Dragus' body just as he did before. Snatching him up by the shoulders and tossing him in Tenebrae's path. The Seal of Air giving proper lift to carry the projectile the rest of the way.
Faeran continues chanting - as his spell progresses, an azure aura melts into existence around his form. The elf becomes completely oblivious to any other happenings as such occurs, and strands of white begin to travel down the shaft of his obsidian staff. Still in arcane chant, he extends the harness of power forward, and the last word of the spell he weaves is marked by a bellowing shout. All the aura that was concentrating about his form and the staff abruptly swarms to the tip of the weapon, congregating there and growing as the mage urges it. For a second, all goes still - but then, a torrent of raw energy erupts forth, streaking toward the shifter with undeniable celerity. Being not of any element, and thus unaffected be seals, its only intent is to plough through Movdon and grind him into oblivion. The force of such, though, threw Faeran through the air like a rag doll - he is only stopped by the wall's uncaring grasp, a sickening sound emitted as he collides with it.
Movdon lets out a tiny grunt as the intial slash created by Mazera sends his proud frame crashing to one knee. This effect turning out in his favor, though as the follow-up strike glides overhead and pins itself into the floorboards. Now having the Infernal in front of him, back turned, the shifter stabs ahead, the bladed arms doing best they can to impale him and sever the spinal cord.
Dragus falls into Tenebrae. "I am sorry." He gets up and then stumbles again. "I must keep fighting..."
Tenebrae was struck full force by the heavy body, her rage, the pain of her last few day's injuries and this latest assault having her push the lumpish brute from herself, kicking him free, and leaping once more to the fray, sword drawn. "Fear me, Movdon! Tremble now, as I take your life, and Wisdom with it!" Hacking, slashing, she fought to maintain equilibrium against his elemental might, while about her darkness masses in a thick excrescence, tendrils lashing whip-like to ensnare the foe.
Dragus gets up swirls his cloak once more. Appearing behind Movdon, he stabs the orc in the back hoping to hit the Orc's heart.
Mazera Curls his upper lip as himself and his blade are sent overhead Movdon, first attack lowering the Orc to one knee just as yesterday. In an attempt to withdraw his blade from the floorboards it is settled in, he is not aware of the two bladed arms coming towards him to impale him. Trying again and again to release the blade, Mazera's attention is caught by the weapons charging through the air at him, a sharp sound being made as they metaphorically cut through the air towards the Infernal. Raising hands to block the weapon's strike by instinct, the invisible barrier around his form composed of spirits shifts to block the blades, locking with them in a power struggle. Reaching for his blade's hilt now, he grasps it and relinquishes it with one swift jerk of his right arm. Moving the avoid the blades now, the barrier gives in to Movdon's strength, allowing the blade to pierce Mazera's left side, tearing through the darksilver plating fit for his muscle structure. Falling to the ground from the blow, Mazera struggles to get up for a moment, but is back up on his feet as the blow is little more than a slash, already finished bleeding and beginning to regenerate. Drawing blade to air once more, the Vampire swings it in a circular path before charging towards Movdon once more. Reaching Movdon's form, the Vampire cleaves his massive sword towards Movdon, in an attempt to relinquish a seal buried within his skin.
Movdon sets the Seal of Wisdom into motion, it's target being Tenebrae, hoping to currupt her mind in time to defend the quickly seeping essence of courage. The battle looking bleak for the shifter once more as her shaded vines wrap themselves about his form. It seems that his salvation does come though, once more, from a foe. Faeran's spell does indeed hit it's mark, though perhaps not as he intends. The energy counteracts Tenebrae's tendrils, sending them to whither, destroyed by his light. The shifter, meanwhile, like Faeran, has been tossed assunder, his body colliding with the door, sending his now mishappen form flailing as he tumbles along the dirt road.
Dragus laughs. "He ran, I can't believe it, he ran."
Vuryal grins. "Well, a nice group of stubborn people, eh?" The chronomancer laughs.
Ggrak himself awaits akin to his wolfen brethren in the shadows, weaponry’s sheen refracted in his gaze; cerise and malachite conjuring forthwith into a iridescent sphere of sorts, held betwixt each axe by corporeal digitii. Once moment is chosen and momentary lull resides within battle the effervescent incantation departs, vanishing from existence to coalesce about the face of the other Orc, long lines of jade tone prying open mouth and crashing down throat to suffocate the creature. As if he were following the steady tendrils of malice, Ggrak breaks into expeditious sprint, eating the gap between him and target within seconds, the warrior little more than a blur of emerald. Pitching his weight forward strong knees snap with steeled resolve, casting the massive frame of the Orc into the air twin-tomahawks primed to slash before him vertically and sever cranium from nape.
Dragus groans. "Don't do what I think you are about to do."
Tenebrae screams in frustration as -once more- Movdon runs away. Her immediate problem is the light from Wisdom spiralling toward her, that eerie projectile spinning fast; the vampiress has scant seconds to act. Her darkness well, from ice-green eyes her tears of rage, mixed sanguine and ebony as her darkness exudes, and the droplets - arther than falling - wend up like tiny serpents to entrap the oncoming vortice. Merely a fraction of a hair from her head, it is suspended. She ducks, releases the hold of her tears, and the thing goes flying behind her. It had been close, she could feel herself having been touched somehow -- but exactly how, would yet to be seen.
Faeran attempts to struggle to his knees, though the vicious collision took quite the toll on the fragile elf. Eventually, he does make it to his kneels, but nothing more. His staff lies by him, though he makes no motion to grab it just yet.
Vuryal swings his hands about one another, a mystical object now forming within the grip of his right hand as a smirk plays its part upon the dark visage of the beast.
Vuryal smirks. "Now, who wants some?"
Dragus shouted, "Run"
Faeran said to Vuryal, "Oh, do shut up..go away, damnable pest.."
Dragus wearily gets up. Turning to everyone else in the room he says "Run, I will hold him off as long as I can."
Tenebrae, her forehead scorched in a pickprick from the merest touch of Wisdom's light, nevertheless bolts through the door, keen to keep up the attack, 'til Wisdom was hers, and she might relinquish Courage to another. To whom, would depend …
Mazera snarls somewhat in anger as his attack does not reach the proper opponent. Blade cleaving Hikoro apparently, the Vampire retrieves it and leaps back somewhat, arcane energies flowing from the Vampire's lips as his shadow expands and grows darker. Finger extending towards Hikoro, the shadow leaps towards the Girl and ensnares her in its darkness, causing her to fall towards the ground tied up. Raising blade to air once more as another trickle of Sanguine falls from the Vampires mouth as he chants more in the Arcane arts, blackened blade erupting as it decends into the ground, Unholy blast sending itself from the blade on a collsion course with Movdon. Releasing the blade from the ground, the Infernal charges Movdon once more, raising blade to retrieve a Seal from the form of Movdon once more, and further weaken the would-be god.
Tenebrae said to Movdon, "That little taste only made me crave it more, pet. Give me Wisdom, and peace is yours."
Ggrak simply pushes Hikoro from his way, before him now the weakening Orc stands. “Ggrak end pathetic Orc.” Lofted into the air upon arcanic wing the body of the berserking twists and feints with undue dexterity, a gift from Cire for all intents and purposes. A light shimmers into existence, covering the Orc from head to toe then blinks back out, some ambiguous display of strength perhaps? Unrelenting and savage by mien, the double axe strikes of Ggrak continue, one wicked head falling to tear at knee whilst the other sears toward foe’s nape.
Movdon has not to worry about suffocation, the Seal of Air giving a steady supply to his lungs regardless of no passageway into them. It is the Seal of Fire that comes into action, though, setting the invading vine into flames, scorching it until it finally has been destroyed.
Vuryal grins as he emerges from the tavern riding the breeze with wings of pure ebony outstretched, aiding his path. "Well now, not playing nice again, are we?"
Dragus grins as he spies Movdon. Drawing his blade Darkside once more, he delivers a powerful blow to the Orc's chest.
Movdon said to you, "Peace first."
Faeran exits from the tavern and onto the road, a noticeable limp marking his movements. Eventually, though, he settles upon a spot and halts, using his staff as leverage as he glares at the shifter.
Tenebrae had leapt, as her spell rose the feline to deal with the orc's minion, Courage thrumming in her palm, feeding her the fearlessness and strength that now drives her slight body upward, a projectile leap, cursed brand swinging hard toward the head of Movdon, heels lashing toward his forehead. She'd kick the Seal out of him, if she had to.
Vuryal blows a monstrous whipping rasp of air towards Dragus, the force unknown aided by the archaic language driving this spell. In an instant, it is upon the man, flailing him to the side, off his delivered blow's path.
Dragus decides he will extract the Seal of Fire himself.
Tenebrae said to Movdon, "I meant .. the peace of having me never bother you again, pet"
Dragus said to Movdon, "Hand over the Seal of Fire, and I too shall leave you to your business."
Mazera said to Dragus, "He could cause you to explode at the moment with a combination of Fire and Air, like he did Tohru, unless you are willing to die, I suggest you give up."
Vuryal turns to Movdon, a flurry of words now rapturing from the lips of the vampiric time master. In a moment's notice, the orc begins to phase away, teleportation to another realm Vuryal's specialty as laughter fills the stagnant air of battle. "Not today, folks."
Dragus said to Mazera, "I am a dragon. Fire is my ally not enemy."
Mazera said to Dragus, "Not in your lungs its not."
_______Kelay Tavern________
Faythe said to Dragus, "I doubt I'm any of his concern anymore. Don't worry."
Ggrak continues his fight unabated and unceasing, all arcana fleeing his weaponry as he comes upon Movdon. Up and down the flurry of melee assaults entail, striking any flesh, bone or sinew within reach. His eyes they blaze a manic crimson, if only one, they other something close to the hue of his flesh, green. The rapid succession of blows are imparted with the expedience of one lifted, aided by some unseen hand; the steady stream of words that trickle from his lips surely the proverbial wing which he flies on. “For Cire!” the paladin cries.
Trakir stands at the front door, blocking the way out as he swiftly readies an arrow. The shaft has the carvings of totems interlaced with runes, and the tip is a dull greenish mineral that glints in the candlelight, as if dripping with venum. He keeps it leveled at the heart of the orc, but does not fire.
Hikoro starts to sing softly a soft melody of weeping souls.
Dragus can't believe his slash missed. He draws more dark power from the Dark Diamond. Raising Darkside into the air he rushes forward for another try. "For my friends." he cries.
Movdon 's feet begin a fretted scatter-dance as they attempt to carry their body away. Unfortunately for the shifter, the dampness of his garments weighing him down a considerable amount. Too late, he appears to dodge the swipe of Dragus' blade, though just enough to keep his internal organs in tact. A mid-sized gash traces its way onto his chest, allowing all the knowledge that Dragus' blade did connect. A mere flesh-wound, only though does not deter Movdon. He raises his hand to Dragus and a gale of cyclonic proportions overcomes him, no doubt a courtesy of the Seal of Air. Sweeping him off of his feet, the gusts carry him to collide with the orcish foe, Ggrak. Hopefully halting him in stride.
Mazera brandishes the broad sword that lays across his back, steel making a 'shinck' sound against the Metal mouth as the scabard relinquishes the blade from its confines," Tell me Movdon, which shall it be today? Wisdom? Fire? Or perhaps Wind?" With this said the Infernal places the hilt of his blade in both hands, dark tendrils flowing from his hands as Arcane words escape the pale lips of the Vampire, a trickle of Sanguine following as the Mana pools of the Damned one are tapped into. Whole blade covered in an unholy black shade, the Vampire bolts towards Movdon, lithe Vampire form lowering the wind resistance and giving an advantage of speed. Meeting the form of Movdon the Vampire contorts the position of his feet, placing one outstretched in front of the other, causing himself to skid. Sliding under Movdon, the Vampire swings his broad blade upward in an attempt to hit the Orc in his thigh or his groin, whichever. Taking this brief moment to his advantage, the Vampire turns as he finishes sliding to run towards the Orc once more, not stopping for a slide, but blade rose to air in a position for it to fall into the Orc's back, which is what Mazera plans to do.
Dragus said to Mazera, "Fire is mine."
Tenebrae let out a ragged sigh, as she pushes through the doors, wicked heels ticking on the rough planks of the flooring Shifting the weight of her over-stuffed pack slightly, thumb hooked to the strap biting deeply into her shoulder, she speaks a single, guttural word that has Maladroit launch itself from her shoulder, the dank-pinioned bird swooping unsteadily to the rafters to taking perch, glaring balefully at the patrons below. Without further ado, the vampiress makes quick and cool assessment of the situation, hand sliding to the hilt of her hex-cursed blade.
Ggrak barbarically swipes at the midst-air Dragus, connecting with the man and diverting him elsewhere, at the loss of the other’s life, limb or whatnot; the Orc does not care. He himself averted by the blow leaves only a moments breath before his strikes begin once more.
Dragus rushes at Movdon. He swings his blade Darkside with the full power of the Dark Diamond now coursing through him. "This one's for Faythe..."
Qengho said to Mazera, "Demonian had better survive all this Mazera or Red has insisted he will come out and * chuckles * " play ""
Dragus gets up. "That was a weak shot Ggrak."
Movdon now turns his gaze onto Tohru, "You have been pestering me for quite some time, my dear...I have decided to end you now..." Once more, the Seal of Fire and Air cast their vibrant hues of crimson and bronze upon the tavern witnesses. Unknown to them, though, the magic of their power goes to work internally on Tohru. Tiny cells of oxygen move about in her innards, the perfect meal for the tiny flames which begin to develop inside. Quite greedily the tiny sparks begin devouring her cells, jumping from one to the next before moving on to the precious organs. Finally they reach to figurative 'gas can' of the lungs. In a matter of seconds, the flames respond to the storehouse of air and quickly expand, setting her innards aflame and dousing the rest of her internal body in a conflagration, of which pain none could understand without experiencing.
Dragus said, "Maybe, but my butt did get knocked into the tavern ceiling by Vuryal."
Tenebrae shoved her palm forward, no finesse now but brutal determined to kill. "Now!", came the cry from those soft lips, drawn back in feral snarl. A coppery glow of runes emblazoned her palm, sigils dancing fiery toward the orcen adversary. "Fear me, Movdon! Wisdom is mine!"
Faeran taps his foot impatiently, seeing the inevitable occur as the brawl begins to envelop the tavern and all of the occupants within, just about. Without further ado, he stands from his seat, brandishing his staff in a swift, fluid motion. The elder mage doesn't begin to attack yet, but instead begins to weave a spell of the arcane, words of power and unknown origin falling freely from his lips.
Tenebrae said to Trakir, "Arrows! Pinion his eyes!"
Dragus said to you, "I don't think that will work."
Dragus nods to his imp Sora. "What you want a hit, go for it."
Tenebrae came with no fear against the would-be God, and onward her boots rang on the boards, life-sapping runed blade hissing in smooth arcs as she prepared to take the head of her foe. Eyes flitted as she dropped to fighter's stance, watching for her opportunity to strike. And all the while her lips moved, what blasphemous canta she muttered remaining to be seen.
Movdon growls as he feels his pride and will to fight being sucked out from his by Tenebrae. A weary hand reaches out, almost to grasp her. Instead, a small circle of flames encircles her, both quickly eating through the floorboards, perhaps sending her collapsing to the basement, and hoping to disrupt her concentration on the Seal's power.
Dragus joins his pet in the hit. With a swirl of his cloak, he appears behind Movdon. Muttering a incantation that Movdon should remember from a previous battle, watches as flames erupt and swirl around Movdon. The flames then close in on the orc enveloping his body in fire.
Ggrak ’s wolf, Durin, a creature of mismatched eye too, stalks within the shadows of the tavern; a natural home for a predatory beast such as himself. Distraction consumes Movdon and the dire creature strikes, serrated teeth snapping at hamstring and ligament at the back of the Orc’s legs, the way in which wolves prey cripple them and then for the neck. Should Movdon go down, the aforesaid nape surely is the target.
Movdon , once more parries Dragus' strike, his arms reverting to their usual attacking state. The twin blades easily contort themselves from his former arms. Instead, he uses Dragus' body just as he did before. Snatching him up by the shoulders and tossing him in Tenebrae's path. The Seal of Air giving proper lift to carry the projectile the rest of the way.
Faeran continues chanting - as his spell progresses, an azure aura melts into existence around his form. The elf becomes completely oblivious to any other happenings as such occurs, and strands of white begin to travel down the shaft of his obsidian staff. Still in arcane chant, he extends the harness of power forward, and the last word of the spell he weaves is marked by a bellowing shout. All the aura that was concentrating about his form and the staff abruptly swarms to the tip of the weapon, congregating there and growing as the mage urges it. For a second, all goes still - but then, a torrent of raw energy erupts forth, streaking toward the shifter with undeniable celerity. Being not of any element, and thus unaffected be seals, its only intent is to plough through Movdon and grind him into oblivion. The force of such, though, threw Faeran through the air like a rag doll - he is only stopped by the wall's uncaring grasp, a sickening sound emitted as he collides with it.
Movdon lets out a tiny grunt as the intial slash created by Mazera sends his proud frame crashing to one knee. This effect turning out in his favor, though as the follow-up strike glides overhead and pins itself into the floorboards. Now having the Infernal in front of him, back turned, the shifter stabs ahead, the bladed arms doing best they can to impale him and sever the spinal cord.
Dragus falls into Tenebrae. "I am sorry." He gets up and then stumbles again. "I must keep fighting..."
Tenebrae was struck full force by the heavy body, her rage, the pain of her last few day's injuries and this latest assault having her push the lumpish brute from herself, kicking him free, and leaping once more to the fray, sword drawn. "Fear me, Movdon! Tremble now, as I take your life, and Wisdom with it!" Hacking, slashing, she fought to maintain equilibrium against his elemental might, while about her darkness masses in a thick excrescence, tendrils lashing whip-like to ensnare the foe.
Dragus gets up swirls his cloak once more. Appearing behind Movdon, he stabs the orc in the back hoping to hit the Orc's heart.
Mazera Curls his upper lip as himself and his blade are sent overhead Movdon, first attack lowering the Orc to one knee just as yesterday. In an attempt to withdraw his blade from the floorboards it is settled in, he is not aware of the two bladed arms coming towards him to impale him. Trying again and again to release the blade, Mazera's attention is caught by the weapons charging through the air at him, a sharp sound being made as they metaphorically cut through the air towards the Infernal. Raising hands to block the weapon's strike by instinct, the invisible barrier around his form composed of spirits shifts to block the blades, locking with them in a power struggle. Reaching for his blade's hilt now, he grasps it and relinquishes it with one swift jerk of his right arm. Moving the avoid the blades now, the barrier gives in to Movdon's strength, allowing the blade to pierce Mazera's left side, tearing through the darksilver plating fit for his muscle structure. Falling to the ground from the blow, Mazera struggles to get up for a moment, but is back up on his feet as the blow is little more than a slash, already finished bleeding and beginning to regenerate. Drawing blade to air once more, the Vampire swings it in a circular path before charging towards Movdon once more. Reaching Movdon's form, the Vampire cleaves his massive sword towards Movdon, in an attempt to relinquish a seal buried within his skin.
Movdon sets the Seal of Wisdom into motion, it's target being Tenebrae, hoping to currupt her mind in time to defend the quickly seeping essence of courage. The battle looking bleak for the shifter once more as her shaded vines wrap themselves about his form. It seems that his salvation does come though, once more, from a foe. Faeran's spell does indeed hit it's mark, though perhaps not as he intends. The energy counteracts Tenebrae's tendrils, sending them to whither, destroyed by his light. The shifter, meanwhile, like Faeran, has been tossed assunder, his body colliding with the door, sending his now mishappen form flailing as he tumbles along the dirt road.
Dragus laughs. "He ran, I can't believe it, he ran."
Vuryal grins. "Well, a nice group of stubborn people, eh?" The chronomancer laughs.
Ggrak himself awaits akin to his wolfen brethren in the shadows, weaponry’s sheen refracted in his gaze; cerise and malachite conjuring forthwith into a iridescent sphere of sorts, held betwixt each axe by corporeal digitii. Once moment is chosen and momentary lull resides within battle the effervescent incantation departs, vanishing from existence to coalesce about the face of the other Orc, long lines of jade tone prying open mouth and crashing down throat to suffocate the creature. As if he were following the steady tendrils of malice, Ggrak breaks into expeditious sprint, eating the gap between him and target within seconds, the warrior little more than a blur of emerald. Pitching his weight forward strong knees snap with steeled resolve, casting the massive frame of the Orc into the air twin-tomahawks primed to slash before him vertically and sever cranium from nape.
Dragus groans. "Don't do what I think you are about to do."
Tenebrae screams in frustration as -once more- Movdon runs away. Her immediate problem is the light from Wisdom spiralling toward her, that eerie projectile spinning fast; the vampiress has scant seconds to act. Her darkness well, from ice-green eyes her tears of rage, mixed sanguine and ebony as her darkness exudes, and the droplets - arther than falling - wend up like tiny serpents to entrap the oncoming vortice. Merely a fraction of a hair from her head, it is suspended. She ducks, releases the hold of her tears, and the thing goes flying behind her. It had been close, she could feel herself having been touched somehow -- but exactly how, would yet to be seen.
Faeran attempts to struggle to his knees, though the vicious collision took quite the toll on the fragile elf. Eventually, he does make it to his kneels, but nothing more. His staff lies by him, though he makes no motion to grab it just yet.
Vuryal swings his hands about one another, a mystical object now forming within the grip of his right hand as a smirk plays its part upon the dark visage of the beast.
Vuryal smirks. "Now, who wants some?"
Dragus shouted, "Run"
Faeran said to Vuryal, "Oh, do shut up..go away, damnable pest.."
Dragus wearily gets up. Turning to everyone else in the room he says "Run, I will hold him off as long as I can."
Tenebrae, her forehead scorched in a pickprick from the merest touch of Wisdom's light, nevertheless bolts through the door, keen to keep up the attack, 'til Wisdom was hers, and she might relinquish Courage to another. To whom, would depend …
Mazera snarls somewhat in anger as his attack does not reach the proper opponent. Blade cleaving Hikoro apparently, the Vampire retrieves it and leaps back somewhat, arcane energies flowing from the Vampire's lips as his shadow expands and grows darker. Finger extending towards Hikoro, the shadow leaps towards the Girl and ensnares her in its darkness, causing her to fall towards the ground tied up. Raising blade to air once more as another trickle of Sanguine falls from the Vampires mouth as he chants more in the Arcane arts, blackened blade erupting as it decends into the ground, Unholy blast sending itself from the blade on a collsion course with Movdon. Releasing the blade from the ground, the Infernal charges Movdon once more, raising blade to retrieve a Seal from the form of Movdon once more, and further weaken the would-be god.
Tenebrae said to Movdon, "That little taste only made me crave it more, pet. Give me Wisdom, and peace is yours."
Ggrak simply pushes Hikoro from his way, before him now the weakening Orc stands. “Ggrak end pathetic Orc.” Lofted into the air upon arcanic wing the body of the berserking twists and feints with undue dexterity, a gift from Cire for all intents and purposes. A light shimmers into existence, covering the Orc from head to toe then blinks back out, some ambiguous display of strength perhaps? Unrelenting and savage by mien, the double axe strikes of Ggrak continue, one wicked head falling to tear at knee whilst the other sears toward foe’s nape.
Movdon has not to worry about suffocation, the Seal of Air giving a steady supply to his lungs regardless of no passageway into them. It is the Seal of Fire that comes into action, though, setting the invading vine into flames, scorching it until it finally has been destroyed.
Vuryal grins as he emerges from the tavern riding the breeze with wings of pure ebony outstretched, aiding his path. "Well now, not playing nice again, are we?"
Dragus grins as he spies Movdon. Drawing his blade Darkside once more, he delivers a powerful blow to the Orc's chest.
Movdon said to you, "Peace first."
Faeran exits from the tavern and onto the road, a noticeable limp marking his movements. Eventually, though, he settles upon a spot and halts, using his staff as leverage as he glares at the shifter.
Tenebrae had leapt, as her spell rose the feline to deal with the orc's minion, Courage thrumming in her palm, feeding her the fearlessness and strength that now drives her slight body upward, a projectile leap, cursed brand swinging hard toward the head of Movdon, heels lashing toward his forehead. She'd kick the Seal out of him, if she had to.
Vuryal blows a monstrous whipping rasp of air towards Dragus, the force unknown aided by the archaic language driving this spell. In an instant, it is upon the man, flailing him to the side, off his delivered blow's path.
Dragus decides he will extract the Seal of Fire himself.
Tenebrae said to Movdon, "I meant .. the peace of having me never bother you again, pet"
Dragus said to Movdon, "Hand over the Seal of Fire, and I too shall leave you to your business."
Mazera said to Dragus, "He could cause you to explode at the moment with a combination of Fire and Air, like he did Tohru, unless you are willing to die, I suggest you give up."
Vuryal turns to Movdon, a flurry of words now rapturing from the lips of the vampiric time master. In a moment's notice, the orc begins to phase away, teleportation to another realm Vuryal's specialty as laughter fills the stagnant air of battle. "Not today, folks."
Dragus said to Mazera, "I am a dragon. Fire is my ally not enemy."
Mazera said to Dragus, "Not in your lungs its not."