Vyrick vs Sefyre D'alassaire
Judged Duel
Vyrick
clenches his fists as the metal of his gauntlets scrapes together. His eyes focus themselves solely on his target as you see
a small drop of saliva seep from the side of his mouth, giving the impression that he hungers for the attack. He raises a
single fist to the air as you begin to hear the muffled moans and screams of the dying populace of Larket that have been strung
up into the walls of Castle Drakenheart. Slowly, these voices rise in volume, sounding almost as if the separate screams combine
into one shrill call of suffering. Without warning or telegraphed movement, two columns of blood issue from the sickening
moat, one to each side of Sefyre, seeking to crush her between the massive pressure of each. Vyrick draws forth his weapon
as it shrieks aloud in anticipation of a possible kill as Vyrick plunges it into the ground. The earth itself seems to creak
as it is broken by the Soulcutter as the ruler of this castle draws it forth once more, taking with it the appearance of a
large cloth. Barely visible, and giving off an almost blue tinge, the axe draws this emanation into the metallic blade as
the doomed of Larket scream even louder. The soulcutter feeds greedily on these hidden souls of those he captured as he makes
one single swipe in the air towards Sefyre, cutting the air between them as this rip shoots forth at the one who would defy
him…
Sefyre leans forward, placing a seraphic sole down hard upon the packed
earth, holding her weight upon one, perfectly composed leg. The other lifts up behind her, bending so that the tip of her
left boot brushes gently against lengthy strands of perfectly alabaster tresses. The pounding rush of a forceful gout hardly
phases the woman, as both her arms stretch out, one balancing the hefty weight of a sanctified longsword. Stretching with
her steady arms, the impalpable wings that stretch from her bare shoulder blades spread even further, reacting to the movement
of each respective limb. Then comes the silence from the flowing blood falls, each pillar of gore forcefully falling upon
a seperate wing, and each falling through the incorporal material in naught but a single rivulet. With a forceful flap of
thise mystical, powerful wings, given to her by birth through her mighty father, the raining fluids splash up and outward,
leaving the moat dry and parched, but leaving the surrounding area drenched in crimson. Working with haste, yet with a calm
that shows in her light countenance, the Paladin hops up using the ball of her foot, carrying and flipping her body lazily
over Vyrick's arcing swath, but the wake is more than Sefyre predicted, and it send the lithe girl tumbling away and rolling
across sluick, red earth. She is up again though, body glistening with red, and she rushes forward, bringing her sword arm
across angrily as boot slams before boot. The arc misses the Ancient Vampire by far, but the reverberations explode outward
in min-numbing echoes that aim directly for the King.
Vyrick
brings his hellish weapon before him, placing the edges to each side in a defensive posture as the explosion hits its mark.
The Soulcutter shakes heavily in the hands of its master as you see the forced energy of the blast curve and arc around the
oppressor of Larket in a half sphere before him, passing harmlessly over the vampire as wind would break against stone. At
the sound of battle, you hear several coherent voices call out from above the castle walls. A single order is heard past the
voices shouting out one single word… “ Loose! “ as the ping of several drawstrings sound. From above the
wall, dozens of arrows shoot forth, each with a trained precision and speed as each rain down upon the winged being. As the
last remnants of the explosion pass by, Vyrick slowly opens his hands, letting loose his weapon as you can plainly see the
gauntlets have all but hang in tatters and shredded metal. His fingers shake horribly from the pain and yet Vyrick seems to
have a pleasured look on his face despite the injury within. A dark, viscous fluid patter to the ground as instantly, the
ground rises up, almost fluidly in a single wave, aimed directly for his opponent. The direction this wave would press Sefyre
though comes dangerously close to the entrance of the castle gate where you hear the loosening of a chain, seeing now the
portcullis coming down in turn, bearing serrated tips down slowly towards her on the opposing side…
Sefyre pulls back her blade, eyes shifting over
the battle scene that unfolds before her. In seconds all things seem to turn against the woman, pressing upon the young paladin
to potentially devestating effects. Not a veteran by any means, and with a mind less keen than could be hoped for, the jejune
half-elf freezes up, simply awed by the wave of sanguine fluid, the volley of arrows, and the eerily falling poticullis. A
resigned sigh escapes the girl's thin, but full lips, pressing out in a small cloud of mist, formed from the heat of her breath
and the foreboding cold of the night air. All things seem hopeless for the snowy-haired beauty, the first arrow slamming hard
and tearing right into her left shoulder. A mist of blood shoots from the wound, and Sefyre drops to one knee, ready to accept
fate. But the inevitable never comes, as it is overcome with the improbable. The porticullis hangs inches above the shapely
female, and the wave of fluids parts fully around her. Hanging languidly in the air, the fired volley suddenly drops, useless
as they clatter down. Then Sefyre stands again, eyes popping open, revealing a glazed and puppeteered look. Raising her good
arm in a great arch, the holy avenger rises up, renting the porticullis in two, throwing metal forward as dangerous projectiles.
Touched by the pious steel of that blade, they begin to burn with a furious silver conflagration. And on they go, marking
Vyrick's vital body parts, most at the throat. A faint voice echoes through the lands as the shards move closer, engulfed
in pure good, whispering, "Dante..."
Vyrick bends down and grasps the handle of his weapon as the pieces of his own castle become
weapons against him. Using the momentum of rising to his feet, he swings the axe upwards, clashing with one half of the portcullis
as it is sent flying above him. A downward strike sends the second into the ground at his feet, yet does nothing against the
force as Vyrick is sent forward, tripped by the very ground beneath him. He allows himself to be cast into the air as his
direction brings him closer to the child of Dante before him and when he hits the ground, a billowing black mist issues forth
from within the vampires own armor. His boots and gauntlets are cast aside at the impact, as if the armored form were now
composed of no physical matter. The mist skates along the ground, leaving only empty armor behind as it streaks towards Sefyre.
The mist seems to expand and contract as it snakes around her leg, spiraling up her body like a twined rope. When it has reached
her head however, the tip of this mist splits into five smaller ends, two entering each ear, two in each nostril and one seeps
along her lips to enter her mouth. Flowing like a branching out river, each begins attacking her from within her own body,
drawing out the very life energy within her with each moment as a resonating voice is heard from the misty tendrils in her
ears to whisper “ Not even your father can save you now child… “
Sefyre cries out in pain
as the tendrils of darkness form around her and begin to sap at her life force, weakening the woman quickly. That dazed and
clouded look disperses from the half-elf's emerald irises, leaving a desperate and frightened shine. Struggling with all her
will, Sefyre can do little but accept the fate of the darkness, and fall into shadow with it. Eyelids drooping, head lolling,
she nearly topples, but casts out one foot to catch her, and with much difficulty, lifts up her God-blessed sword. Hazardously,
she drags the keen edge of her blade along the tendrils, cutting one at the ear, and curving to finish the others, but moving
slower and less forcefulyl as more energy drains away. Suddenly, she simply laughs, a muffled and empty laugh, but one that
seems to defy all reality, especially with her very life fleeting. But the girl only laughs all the harder, and stops attempting
to cut the darkness, which returns despite the frantic try. Reaching back with all the strength left in her, Sefyre launches
her brand high into the night sky, the blade catching a bit of light as it crosses the path of the moon. Where they meet,
the moon glows brighter, pouring down a silvery glow upon just this area of the lands. It resembles an early equinox, beautiful,
but with so much power that only terrifying could describe the scene. Two motes of light drift down from above, moving with
unparalleled haste. One slams into Sefyre's body, throwing the woman back and ripping her away from the leeching darkness.
She lays still upon the ground, body wracked by convulsions. The other mote of light speeds towards Vyrivk himself, growing
as it bounds along. When it comes intoa better view, all can see the holy blade charging down madly, the rush og gravity pulling
behind it visibly in a terribly large, inescapable radius, crushing down at the Ancient Vampire.
Vyrick ’s misty form, now released forcibly from Sefyres
body retracts into one single mass as the blade thrusts itself directly into it. Slowly, the mist begins to contort into a
humanoid form once more as you begin to see the visage of Vyrick once more, the blade buried within his chest. His mouth open,
yet no sound comes forth as he merely stands there, looking upward at the moon. As the blade grows, its edges beckon out the
sides of his chest, cleaving him in two as both upper and lower halves fall to the earth. No movement comes from the vampire
warlord as his blood flows from both ends, collecting in a pool between them when oddly, you notice the dark liquid begin
to pulse. Several large balls of the ichor rise slightly from the ground, collecting and separating in several masses that
connect the cloven body of Vyrick. The naked lower half skids slightly along the ground, as if being pulled towards the other.
Again this ensues, but at a slightly longer interval than before. With one last pull the two halves connect, a small explosion
of blood shooting forth from the line between them and then… nothing. Suddenly, a single cough of blood issues forth
from Vyricks mouth as he draws in a single breath. Covered in dirt, covered in blood the vampire slowly begins to move once
more, his body shaking uncontrollably as a laugh of bliss begins to echo forth between each sputtered cough, showing his body
to become whole once more with each passing moment.
Atropos
glances around the small crowd gathered before making her way towards Vyrick and Sefyre. She folds her arms in front of her
stomach and nods to both duelist, "Excellent battle on both parts. The judges have submitted their votes and the winner is
Sefyre."
Lionel nods to both duelists silently.
Sefyre groans aloud, still unconscious, her body shifting
slightly.
Razulik brings his hood up over his head to mask his face in shadow. Hidden in the veil of darkness, a smile
plays upon his lips.
Sefyre somehow smiles and raises up one arm towards the sky, eyes still tightly shut. "For you,
father..." she whispers, before her armor and wings melt away into a frilled, tight dress.
Vyrick vs Garr
Judged Duel
Vyrick
brings his hand to his neck as he undoes the clip holding his cape. As it falls to the ground, he brings the Soulcutter to
ready before him. The hellish weapon vibrates in his hands, giving off an eerie sound, similar to a shriek. Vyrick licks his
lips in a hunger for battle as he lowers his axe slowly, seeming to relax when without warning, his arms rise swiftly, letting
loose the weapon as it streaks into the air, soon fading from sight. A ripple emanates in the sky, leaving behind nothing
but pitch black in its wake as soon the entire area is cut off from all natural light from above. Within this dimmed hue,
Vyrick crosses his arms before him, his eyes seeming to glaze over with a silvery color while his lips widen into a sadistic
grin. Soon, from out of each shadow and dark area along the Kelay road, several tendrils thrust out, seeming to be composed
of nothing more than shadow. Each surrounds the massive giant, lashing out at him with a conscious ferocity as they begin
their task of grasping at Garrs limbs while some crack at him like the end of a slavers whip. Vyricks weapon reemerges from
above as the vampire king raises his hands, catching the hand holds with relative ease before using the force of its downfall
to augment his own dash towards his opponent, swinging the demonic axe at the calves of his intended prey…
Garr stands still before the Warlord King. The giant knows full well
what rides on this duel and knows that he is risking his life for what he believes in. He doesn’t have a choice. He
must accept. He continues to stand still, keeping his eyes locked on his opponent, watching every moment with fierce intensity
and determination, not wanting to let a single movement go unaccounted for. As the skies begin to darken, the monk keeps his
stance held firm, right hand moving to grip his hammer firmly. The shadows grow and shadow-like limbs shoot out towards the
giant. However, Garr continues to stand his guard, keeping his body firm and in place, making sure to keep steady his breathing.
With a large crack, one of the shadows whips the giant right across the face, tearing a slash straight through the mask on
his face, leaving a crimson line. Another crack and a red slash squirts from across the monk’s chest, leaving another
blood-lined scar. The shadows squirm around him, gripping his legs firmly. Garr takes a moment, letting go off his hammer,
and crosses his wrists in front of him. Soon each of his limbs has at least one tendril tightly wrapped around it, hoping
to keep him immobile. As soon as the magical axe reappears, the giant’s body begins to tighten. All of the muscles seem
to bulge in place, making the monk seem stronger than normal. With a ferocious yawp, his body begins to shake a little, seeming
to break the chains that bind him. Soon the shaking becomes more vibrant and you see the giant suddenly fling his arms outward,
the shadows shattering into the darkness. Vyrick now almost on him, his axe ready for the kill, Garr quickly reaches for the
hammer, bringing it into both hands. With another spine-tingling yell, the monk bears down all of his determination and fire,
his hopes of a free Hollow, and his dreams of peace into the hammer and swings. Both arms shoot forward as the hammer is propelled
forth. Sparks shoot in all directions as the two mighty weapons collide, sending a ripple through the air itself. The giant
can only hope that his strength of heart and mind combined with brute force is enough to knock back his opponent, preventing
the deadly axe from tasting his blood.
Vyrick
sends all force within him to meet the hammer of his opponent, knowing well the force of such a blow could easily propel a
man into the afterlife. At the single moment when the two weapons clash, the dragon that idly watched his master in combat
moves forward. Six legs stomp on the ground with a thunderous crash that sends the nearby animals of Sage Forest fleeing in
terror. In a speed that seems unnatural to such a massive beast, it runs head first into the side of the giant’s weapon,
giving further augmentation to the force of Vyricks attack. With the two combined strengths, the hammer is sent back while
the axe continues its arc, missing the flesh of its intended target. As the vampire regains his senses, the dragon rears up
on its hind legs, now matching Garr in height as well as weight. Its tail lashes back and forth, keeping the creatures balance
as it leans in to Garr, clutching at his wrists with two of its formidable claws. The higher of the two however aim for the
neck and throat area, seeking to rip any armor and flesh that stands before them. The gaping maw of the dragon opens wide,
bearing jagged, and misplaced teeth, each seeming to drip with a faint green ooze showing it to be obviously a toxin of some
form. The dragon lets out a horrendous roar as it snaps its jaws as Garrs damaged mask, paying no heed to the armored form.
All on its mind is the thought of prey, and a sizable one at that for it to feast on. Vyrick by now has regained himself as
he only looks on, smirking at the colossal battle between these two forms as if they were engaged for the sole purpose of
his entertainment alone…
Garr feels a great blur fly by, rushing into his
hammer and sending the giant off balance. Shaking his head quickly, he regains his senses and notices the large winged beast
that stands before him. The monk takes a moment to size up the dragon as it stands up full height, eyes glaring at him. Seeing
the claws readied and the dragon’s mouth thirsty for flesh, it doesn’t take him long to realize what is going
to happen. Gripping his hammer firmly, he quickly drops to a knee and rolls to the right, narrowly avoiding the first swipe
from the sharp claw combo. Coming to a stop, he stands up just in time to feel several sharp talons rip across his chest,
shredding the black-spiked armor. With a large grunt of anguish, Garr watches as the claw leaves a trail of blood, flowing
down his armor and dripping to the ground beneath. Taking only a second to feel the pain and witness the attack, the giant
quickly charges to the right and then jumps forward, sending himself flying straight towards the creature’s maw. His
hammer, once again wielded in both hands, flies towards the enemy, pulling back the hammer as he approaches the skull. The
dragon, seeing the dodging prey jump towards him, quickly turns to snap at the giant, opening his jaw mid turn. The side of
the head collides with the hammer, the monk having caught the dragon only be a second’s notice. With a yelp, the fowl
beast falls back to all fours, its jaw slightly unhinged. It growls towards him, showing his distaste for the wound inflicted.
Seeing his chance, Garr rushes towards the dragon again, this time wielding his hammer towards the scaled neck. A claw shoots
forward, scratching the side of the charging monk, sending more crimson liquid to the ground. The attack does not seem to
faze the giant as he continues on, sending his hammer to smash into the beast’s neck. Another yelp and the dragon’s
eyes roll back in its skull, showing its temporary unconsciousness. Seeing that his enemy is sedated, Garr turns his attention
to Vyrick. Looking down at his own body, surveying his wounds. He quickly raises his eyes to Vyrick again, beginning another
charge. The giant speeds towards him, his hammer cutting through the air with more force than before. He hopes that strength
of heart will carry him through this battle as his wounds begin to fatigue him more. The monk approaches and brings his hammer
down, aiming to smite his opponent across the chest.
Vyrick pays little heed to the dragon mount of his as he instead concentrates on the wounds
inflicted to Garr. A single drop of saliva falls from the side of his mouth at the mere sight of his blood falling from each
wound. As the giant now bears forward, swinging his mighty weapon, Vyrick only raises one hand slightly as the discarded cape
behind him leaps forth from the ground, carried by an unseen force. The cape wraps itself around the ancient vampire and as
the hammer hits, the area within the cape dissipates in a waft of black mist. The cape itself now wraps around the head of
Garrs hammer as you hear a wrenching sound from within while several areas of the cape begin to bump outwards. A single tear
in the fabric lets small, fragmented bits of the weapon fall to the ground as it continues its inward attack on the weapon.
The mist left behind however moves in a sinewy dance around the giant. Not touching his flesh, only spiraling around his fractured
armor like a massive serpent. It intertwines around the spikes of each armor component with an almost beautiful flow when
you soon begin to realize that those same spikes begin to crumple, as if made of not more than parchment paper. Contrary to
what some may believe at this moment, the spikes do not dissolve, nor do they fade. Instead, their manipulated form is turned
to the opposite, beginning to bear those same spikes not on the exterior of the metallic shielding, but forming on their insides.
The tip of the mist flows past Garrs ear as a faint laugh can be heard from it, now showing where indeed the vampire is. As
the very armor of the giant begins to betray him, the mist falls, collecting at his feet and contorting into the form of a
man. When the form is complete, a faint breeze sends but a layer of this mist away, showing now the form of Vyrick within.
He stands now between the legs of his opponent as he drops his axe and leaps to the air, lashing out at the inside area of
the giants thighs. Like some maddened animal, he rips and tears at anything he can reach at, seeking only to further injure
and bleed out his opponent to his wicked delight…
Garr observes the cape
flying up around Vyrick, shielding him from the blow. Slightly confused, the giant watches as the cape slowly encompasses
his hammer only to shatter and fragment it, leaving nothing but broken bits and pieces. Suddenly, the monk feels small points
of pressure begin to poke against his skin, only to become stronger and sharper as they soon pierce through his flesh. With
a sharp earth-trembling cry, the giant steps back, dropping the shaft of his hammer as he realizes what is happening. More
blood seems to flow from the old slashes in his armor, showing the inner wounds that are forming throughout his body. Garr
looks down as the mist slowly fades away, revealing the form of his enemy between his legs. Quickly taking another step back,
the giant winces in pain due as the spikes continue to imbed themselves in his flesh. The ancient vampire leaps up, managing
to ravage the monks legs with many more scratches and cuts, drops of blood spraying into the air, creating a small rain around
the frenzying Warlord King. Seeing his last moment to take a stand for all that be believes in, he quickly drops to both knees
while pulling back his right fist. The giant lets out a heavy grunt as he hits the ground, the spikes inside wedging farther
into his body. He lets the fist fly, muscles tightening and propelling the gauntlet forward. The monk focuses his heart, soul,
body, and mind into this last attack, hoping to deliver a fateful blow to the face of Vyrick, King of Larket. The clenched
fist flies towards the vampires jaw, the air around it almost visibly moving away as the punch cuts through. Garr watches,
eyes locked with his enemy, knowing his life rides on this last effort.
Vyrick ’s mouth erupts in a viscous ichor as the massive
fist hits firm against him, He is pummeled literally into the ground as all sign of him disappears between the earth and the
fist of Garr. The ground itself seems to cry out in pain from the force of the blow as dust is cast into the air. The resonating
sound of this one hit is enough to cause the ceilings of the dwarven city to crack far to the west and to send a huge wave
away from the Cenril coastlines to the east. The entire realm seems to freeze at this single instant in time as the dust begins
to settle once more. After the sounds of battle have cleared the area, you hear a coughing sound. Very faint and emanating
from the direction of Garr yet you know by looking upon him that it is not him making that sound. The giants’ fist rises
slightly as the coughing becomes more audible. Garrs knuckles are covered in the blood of his opponent but as he raises his
hand further, a sputtering fountain erupts from beneath in one heaving sputter. As the blood falls once more, you hear a muffled
sound, almost like a faint chuckle coming from the ground itself where you now see the body of Vyrick, almost seeming as if
he were melded to the ground itself. His face is disfigured beyond his former features, showing only a mass of crumpled flesh
and hair, drenched in blood. His head begins to crack from side to side slowly, as you hear the sound of bones beginning to
crunch. The fleshy mass ripples in several areas as if it were molding itself to a sculptors design. The rest of his body
does not move as you see the inherent property of the vampiric beginning to slowly regenerate the warlords horrifically crushed
head and face.
Xzar vs Vyrick
Death Duel
Xzar remains
unseen, hushed whispers echo and sound from the dead walls. A faint glow reveals very little of the library, the candles illuminating
the room flicker, casting obscure shadows across the faces of those gathered. Light foot steps are heard and a small being
approaches Vyrick. The figure appears to be that of a child, a female around the age of seven, long trusses of blanched sunflower
hair fall upon her shoulders and curl around her elegant face. The child looks cheerful, a radiant glow seems to gather about
her. Big glossy eyes, enchanting in a way that only a child’s can be, gaze up at the death knight. A gay laugh exits
the child’s lips and her sweet voice fills the halls, “Ring around the rosy…” The poem begins and
a flood of souls, ghastly and moon struck in color, sweep toward the man. Dropping from the shadows and followed by a looming
and mysterious shadow a beautiful masque, perfectly white in color, wraps itself in the horde of the apparitions. Framed in
the twisted faces of the damned, the crimson tears pouring from its eyes seem to shriek in utter agony. A metallic streak,
catching the candlelight, shatters the darkness momentarily as the vampire’s long katana edges toward the enemy’s
chest… As quick as they came the spirits disappear, forming bodies of vapor in the room… the mask is nowhere in
sight… Once again in the safety of the shadows Xzar waits to see if his attack was indeed successful yet his purple
tinted orbs wander toward the child below…
Vyrick looks on as the apparitions appear, a wide grin forming
on his face as the Soulcutter axe begins to shriek out, wishing a blow to come in that it may claim yet more of that it seeks.
Vyrick pays little heed to the child dancing around him until a pinnacle moment where the katana bears upon him. With the
reflexes inherent to his vampiric heritage, he grasps the child by the throat, making one simple step to the side as he raises
the Childs form to take the place of where he once stood. The Katana pierces through the child as Vyrick releases his hold
and waves his hand out towards the decorative skulls that line the library. Each begins to shiver slightly as their jaws open,
almost as if to give out a howl from beyond the grave yet in the place of sound comes a lightly gray mist. They each waft
out over the library giving no quarter to any breeze that may pass by as they snake out along the room, seeking their intended
prey. Suddenly, a single line of mist is broken, touching the unseen form of Xzar as the skull it is connected to shrieks
out horribly, alerting the others. Responding to this call, the other lines of mist coalesce upon that spot, wrapping around
Xzar and hoisting him into view from the shadows. Vyrick bears his fangs as a slight hiss escapes his lips as he points his
open hand towards the assassin, closing it slowly. As he does this, you begin to notice several areas of his skin beginning
to open. Soon you can plainly see each pore of his skin expanding well beyond its physical nature as sweat and oils leak from
them. The more they open, the closer they come to breaking the vessels of blood that hide underneath them as Xzars own body
becomes the tool of his own supposed demise. The tendrils of mist coil around tighter and tighter, lifting any weaponry tucked
away and casting them aside as they continue their own pursuits upon him. Yet all this time, one thing has not changed…
The grin that first appeared on the face of Vyrick
Xzar
feels his lengthy blade slide through… air? Indeed as the child, as real as she appears, is merely an apparition. The
little fiend disappears as the weapon passes through her imaginary flesh. Grinning mischievously as she materializes once
more, the little girl skips merrily about, her poem continues, “Pocket full of posy…” Above the assassin
has twists and tumbles, his weapons slide from hidden compartments in his shadow like robes and two charred twin daggers fall
to the ground, closely followed by a jeweled ritual blade… Footfalls are heard from the northern reading room, the sounds
hasty and clumsy. Shadowing the reverberations, a charcoal skinned figure approaches, his speed uncanny for the awkward size
of giant crucifix shaped sword he carries. Speckled golden hues match the aura that surrounds the approaching figure and the
unknown man swings the cross toward the vampire king. If contact is made the elder could likely be halved by the brilliant
emanation gathered by the seemingly holy, archaic torture device. Above Xzar’s azure orbs widen in fright… the
man below, the drow… That being is he who haunts the vampire’s dreams…
Vyrick raises his axe to meet the sword
as suddenly a thudding sound echoes from above. The area where the ladder would meet the open air crumbles as the scaled snout
of a black dragon is seen coming down towards the ancient vampire, opening its maw to bear elongated teeth and a forked tongue.
Vyrick lowers his axe and allows himself to be taken into the maw as the sword collides with the dragons lower lip, bouncing
off harmlessly as you hear a faint chuckling from within the dragons mouth. The nostrils of the giant beast inhale hard, setting
the figure off balance before issuing two twin jets of a thickened air, sending the figure into a nearby bookshelf hard. The
air permeates the area in a nearly invisible hue that stinks of eggs left in the sun for an extended amount of time. Above
the figure, books begin to fall from the shelves, burying it deeply when one specific book you notice falls free from the
others, It clangs upon the floor, giving off the knowledge that it is bound in a metallic casing. The dragons lips close shut,
encasing its master in a protective area as the book clashes the floor, giving off one faint spark. The spark immediately
erupts the air that was billowed forth as the entire library is encased in a massive inferno, leaving none free from its wake
save the one encased in his own dragons mouth.
Xzar eyes the holy figure fearfully, its cross, striking the dragon’s maw explodes in a metallic
shimmer and disappears, taking with it the drow. The dark figure no absent Xzar begins to laugh maliciously, his purple orbs
sparkling as a wicked smile spreads across ashen lips. Perhaps he expected this? The flames race toward the assassin and gentle
words fall from his lips, the whispers, similar to those earlier, trace the walls, echoing throughout the bookcases. Runes
begin to encircle the vampire, and with a gentle snap of thumb and forefinger the symbols turn into tiny lights. Intermingling
with the fire and tinting the tongues blue. The lights disappear, leaving the fire now in Xzar’s control… Azure
flames waltz among the shelves and caress the spines of each dust ridden spellbook. The holocaust elevates, the purple hues,
matching those of the assassin’s eyes sheen and blaze. A twisted chasm of unknown intent shows upon the ashen face of
the dark robed figure… Why would anyone allow their beloved books and studies to burn? For Cielle, for a love matching
nothing but a vast and hidden void, unknown to mortals and the living… Yes, perhaps this is it, as his face shows not
a single remorse. The flames spread throughout the room with a single ambition, to encase Vyrick’s dragon, his shell,
for this fire burns cold you see, something the creature may not like… Still standing in the same spot as before, the
little girl continues her chant in a cheerful singsong voice, “Ashes, Ashes…”
Vyrick ’s dragon
makes little movement as its snout is encased in the cold flame. Resisting the urge to raise itself up by the will of its
master, it holds true as its mouth opens once more, allowing Vyrick to merely walk out into view. The flames lash out at the
vampire yet not one strikes his body, each clashing against the spirit energy that surrounds him. He looks back to the child,
still making her chant as he walks over to her, bringing out his axe once more as he stands before her. He raises it above
his head as he looks down at her and speaks the words “ We all fall down… “ As he brings the soulcutter
upon the child. It passes through her and yet it seems to tug at her form, pulling at it tightly as the blade begins to draw
the visage into it. As the metal clangs upon the floor, you see Xzars pores finally rip open at his flesh, spilling several
streams of blood from each. As the form of the child leaves view, being pulled fully into the hellish weapon, a single spire
shoots forth from the floor between Xzars legs, As it rises, the tip bears ever closer to the lower tip of his spine, seeking
to impale the assassin fully as the full barrage upon his body continues. The snout of the dragon leaves from the gaping hole
it had made in the ceiling, whipping about slightly to shake off the numbing cold it feels as Vyrick looks on at what he has
wrought upon his opponent, his features plainly showing enjoyment in his work…
Xzar smirks slightly
to see Vyrick once more, his brow matted with sweat and his raven hair platted upon his death like forehead. His azure eyes
shimmer softly as the axe engulfs the little girl and knowing full well that it cannot touch her the vampire snickers…
In fact the child has very likely been awoken from her slumber and will forget this event like a horrid and suppressed nightmare.
Laughing softly, the assassin stands erect, a bit of discomfort shown by a large gasp leaving his blanched lips, his magics
seeming to have taken quite a toll upon his fragile body. Purple hues, tiny slits of malice, never waver in their gaze upon
the elder… Thinking the battle is over proves to be foolish as Xzar’s lifeforce suddenly pours from his skin,
gaping holes in his slender flesh. Footing slightly wavering the vampire glances down as a tendril bursts from the flooring
catching the man’s bleeding side and pulling him from the ground. The spike wavers and evaporates and the assassin plummets
to the floor, his glass mask shattering, the shards digging into his flesh… And indeed… We all fall down…
Vyrick
walks to stand near Xzar as he begins to chuckle wickedly. Without a word said, he pulls his weapon arm back and thrusts the
Soulcutter directly into the chest of the Assassin, pulling his soul out of his own back. As it spirals to be locked within
the weapon, it calls out in satisfaction as Vyrick pulls it free once more. As the last remnants of his soul disappears into
the forged metal, His body collapses in a mass to lie upon the floor, devoid of any life.
|
 |
|
