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Sarakon vs Wolf
02.13.04, 06:38:06
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Post #1 (permalink) |
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“Kill them! LET NO MAN ESCAPE ALIVE!”
Wolf’s eyes were placid to an extreme; he wouldn’t let his emotions get in the way this time around.
(Oh here comes the king of Edar, all high and mighty)
No, that wasn’t what he felt at all. He was avenging his comrades.
He had surprised the damn Silophile kingdom by charging, full might, directly at the capital of Silophile, for everybody knew the fastest way to get anywhere in the world was by going in a straight line.
And now they would compensate. Pay for the deaths they had brought down on his men.
(Your men, Edgar? That’s all they are, if they weren’t yours, you wouldn’t care.)
He knew it to be true as he watched his knights unsheathe their swords, bring their blades down on their enemies, and then replace them within their scabbards; all in a union which made them seem like machines.
(“LET NO MAN ESCAPE ALIVE”)
With little grace, Edgar charged alone straight for the gates of the Silophile palace. He would take the king, oh yes he would. Down with the doors, and charge with the shoulders.
The wooden doors to the Silophile King’s last front broke down under the might of Wolf’s shoulders, and the two guards that had been standing behind it were brought flying backwards under the sheer force delivered by the charge.
(End their life Edgar. You know you want to. Remember…)
(“LET NO MAN ESCAPE ALIVE”)
Without thinking a single other thought, Wolf sent his blade soaring through the air, in one foul swoop, sending its tip right through the throats of the two unconscious soldiers that lied against the cement wall.
And into the sheath the blade went again.
The blood escaped the newly created small slits within the necks.
Blood trickled.
For a moment, Edgar swore he saw one of the fallen men open his eye, and let out a tear. But in a blink, the man’s eye was closed once more, and no trace of saline fluid remained on his face.
Was this even morally just? So they had killed a hundred of his men, so what? Wolf had wanted to conquer their country. They were just protecting themselves. Wolf would have done the same.
(Remember the guns? )
Damn, he did remember the guns. He remembered the rain of bullets; he remembered creating the magical field to protect his comrades as they marched to the capital. He had felt an echo of the pain that they created, as each one pelted off the magical barrier. It had felt terrible just as a repercussion, how did it feel to take one in the chest? How did it feel to take a dozen?
Wolf let out a growl, inhuman in nature, and brought his hands down on each of the dead man’s skulls, raising them into the air with a single hand to a man. With unrivalled gusto, he threw their limp bodies out of the palace door, letting them land in a satisfying thump motion on the ground. All heads, both Edarian and Silophalian turned.
First their eyes turned towards the corpses, then towards the man who stood emitting charisma and fear.
“Give up now, enemies of my reign! Put down your blades, and I promise I will not let my men lay a single hand on you! ”
A strange silence.
His enemies didn’t know whether to obey or not. If this was some deadly trick, or it was pure honesty, they didn’t know.
“You said to kill them all!”
A voice rung out from one of his soldiers. It was a knight in fact.
Wolf knew the face of this man. He knew the faces of all the knights, and the names attached to them.
“I did indeed, and I know you seek vengeance, but we must avoid more needless bloodshed. Heed your king, and do not harm them. ”
Warm malice boiled.
And the young knight bowed his head, and paid respects. All knights loved Wolf; they knew him to be a powerful warrior with a mind as sharp as the blade he held.
And his enemies now understood.
Their weapons dropped onto the ground, the metal clinging to the ground as they let their swords drop, the small firearms which seemed to belong to every unit in the Silophile Corp.
And a change of emotion passed over Wolf’s face.
“KILL THEM ALL! NOW! ”
The mood had just swung. Sweat broke from the faces of the men of Silophile, and doubt over the faces of the army of Edar.
Wolf needed the blood. He needed it to flow free…
(Like a river…)
Yes, like a river…
“KILL THEM NOW! BEFORE THEY RE-ARM! AVENGE YOUR FRIENDS! ”
And now everybody was fearful, Edgar could smell it.
But his army obeyed, regardless of this order seeming so wrong.
Cries of men dying helplessly filled the capital, and Wolf felt as if he was consuming the pain for the better of himself.
(You should feel good. Your men were helpless against those damn guns weren’t they? This is just evening the score… But don’t forget their bastard leader)
How could he?
Wolf laughed as he slowly turned around and headed back into the palace.
He laughed as he passed through the seemingly endless corridors.
He laughed as he passed through the hall of mirrors.
He laughed as he swung the doors open towards the throne room.
He…
Gun shot…
Wolf clutched at his throat; he felt the hole underneath his fingertips. The saccharine liquid was soiling his hands. He caught a glimpse of his enemy, the person who held the same position as him. Edgar couldn’t help but feel angry.
He had survived battle after battle, smashed with hammers, stabbed with swords, and he was to end like this? At the hands of a frail old man, whose hair was whitened by age? The irony.
Then it all went blank.
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Images of Laura smiling at him.
Images of her playing the violin.
Images of her with her arms around him, her hazel hair running over her shoulders, like waves over a beach.
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Slowly his body began waking.
His nose started up, and inhaled a smell as foul as spilled urine not cleaned for millennia.
His ears started up, and the sounds of wails as horrid as those he had made when he had seen Laura’s bloodied body, and lifeless eyes.
(Those open blue eyes)
His tongue started working, and he licked the area around his lips, which were cracked and dry.
And his eyes opened up, leaving him looking at a ceiling that was a tint of peach.
His neck was stiff; he couldn’t move his head to look around.
All he could see was peach.
(“Do you like peaches, Edgar?”)
“I’ve never tried them…” The words were mouthed.
Laura, she had loved peaches. She had gasped when she had found out Edgar had never even tried them.
(So common of her, always wanting everybody to love life and every aspect of it. )
He felt life returning to his fingers, and as he flexed them, they cracked.
Slowly life returned to his body, giving him a feeling of elated joy.
Then a memory hit him hard on, sending his upright neck back down, hitting his head hard against the floor.
He had been killed.
Where was here then?
Hadn’t the priest said Hell was ghastly? Edgar had always prepared himself for it, since he had figured that’s where he would be going.
But where was this? Not Heaven, that was for sure.
Slowly, he collected himself, and commanded himself to stand upright.
The room was square shaped, all sides exactly equal. A door was placed upon each wall, all undoubtedly leading to different places.
(Where do you think you’re going? )
“I DON’T KNOW! ”
Echoes.
He couldn’t loose his cool now. With the strength of mind he had needed as a king, he led himself without doubt towards the door that was coloured an azure blue. His armoured hand clasped around the handle, and the door opened up.
An entity awaited him, not of physical form, but of a smoky quality. It hovered at least two feet above the ground, and would have been invisible to the naked eye had the walls of this room been white. But they weren’t, they were black.
“Edgar Crowe, welcome.”
The voice had come from the being, surely. But how?
“You have questions… Stupid questions… We will leave them be… You have an important matter to deal with… Your death was… Lets say… Not meant to be…”
(Not meant to be? )
“We… Can’t figure out exactly why this is… And we can’t re-insert you into your world again… But you are not dead… Understand… You died, yes… your physical carcass is right on the field where it was brought down, but you seem to possess such a strong will, for you haven’t broken down like I have, like all of us have. You maintain your outline, something very rare indeed.”
What was the point? He was dead to Edar, dead to his home…
“We would like to take advantage of this, indeed we would.”
Edgar couldn’t take it any longer…
“ADVANTAGE?! YOU WANT TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF A MAN WHO HAS JUST DIED AND UNDERSTANDS NOTHING?! ” The words uttered were raspy, croaky.
“You have no choice… And it seems we will have to teach you a lesson. I, more precisely we, will see you later…”
Edgar was about to unsheathe his blade when suddenly the room whirled around his being, as if he was the centre of the universe. He didn’t change for the world, it changed for him.
(Hasn’t it always? )
But this was quite literal. Slowly, Wolf saw that piece by piece, like the puzzles Laura had so enjoyed, the world was morphing into something quite real. Fragments of colours bonded together, to form a chilling dark scene.
The sky overhead was a mix of purple and black, and the clouds overcast the sun, if such a star existed here. And Wolf realized, as he examined the crafted stones that drove themselves out of the ground, grassless as it was, were in fact tombstones.
(Graveyard…)
His hands firmed themselves around the hilt of his blade. His neck hair was standing on end, for there was something not so right about this scene, it was surreal.
(Maraz Di Silo… Believe In Your Sword… Come What May)
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Yes, I go all over the place Simon xD |
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100% Creamy Goodness
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The pub, any other realm and it would have been filled with nothing but unfriendly faces and the bitter scent of piss and vomit along with the intoxicating aroma of alcohol and choking smoke. But it was to be expected that the heaven realm would have got something wrong.
A bright interior full of happy people drinking responsibly, the drinkers of this realm had obviously lost their way, but they were nice enough people really. When they weren’t trying to kill you for being a damned soul anyway.
It was his dull white eyes that gave him away, the majority of the people cowered away from him as he had wandered through this land, they scowled at him from a distance but at the same time seemed strangely intrigued by the alien in their midst and visibly relieved to see no sign of Heretic.
Finally he had been confronted, a council of angels and archangels convened around him. They too were visibly relieved to see no sign of Heretic, and when Sarakon assured them he was not there on a mission of conquest they dispersed and left him to his business. Perhaps they believed him; perhaps they were reluctant to face the King of Tarronia in battle. From the fear in their eyes it was obvious they’d been told something of his power.
But their fear wasn’t warranted just yet, Sarakon spoke a half truth, he wasn’t here to conquer the realm. That would just be poor strategy on Sarakon’s part and would simply result in his own death and possibly an eternity of torment in the hell realm. But that didn’t stop him observing the number of souls present here, scrutinising their defences and making plans for when the time did come.
But those little acts of espionage weren’t Sarakon’s main reasons for coming to the land he despised. He had heard whispers of a man with a story much like his own, a man with an ever growing empire, information filtered throughout the realms of a surge of power in a Kingdom named Edar.
These rumours had caught Sarakon’s interest; such a man could make for a strong ally, or a powerful enemy. But to find one man in a sea of souls would be an impossible task, Sarakon needed information and the people of “heaven” were known to be full of it, and much more likely to divulge it freely without trying to tear your face off first.
So there he sat, sipping at his pint with a sly smile upon his face. A few pieces of gold was all it had taken to get the divine barkeep to open his mouth, for all their arrogance and so called righteousness, the beings of heaven seemed no different to the beings of hell. Although in hell they were honest about their nature.
The empty glass was set down upon the bar gently, and Sarakon’s form returned to its true ethereal nature and vanished from heaven, diving into the depths of the Spectral nexus. The barman blinked twice, wondering where the damned Knight had gone.
Sarakon’s soul gracefully tore through the sea of souls, with details of Edgar Crowe’s history set in his mind, and he focussed on searching out this enigmatic warrior’s soul. At the speed of thought the incandescent Dark Knight travelled through the plane of the living realm, pausing now and then to feel into the souls of the planets, until finally he found one that leapt out at him.
A world not too dissimilar to Tarronia, this planet’s people had seen much war lately, Kingdom’s rose and fell and at the heart of it all was a growing power, the Kingdom of Edar. Could it be the new Tarronia?
His astral form descended, in the midst of a marching army of living souls the sought to converge upon a city up ahead and at the forefront of the masses was the King of Edar himself, Edgar Crowe.
He was leading his troops into battle, swiftly they marched straight into the capital of an opposing Kingdom, but they weren’t taking this assault lightly. Bullets rained down on them, but the men did not fall, they marched onwards. Sarakon ****ed his head and eyed Edgar Crowe with curiosity and then he felt the shield of energy that he had enveloped his men in and his curiosity led to questions. Would this Edgar Crowe be dangerous? Would his Empire really lead him into conflict with Sarakon? But the one that made Sarakon wonder the most was would he make a good ally? Would he fight alongside Sarakon in rebuilding the Tarronian Empire?
He had heard much of Edgar’s history, the man had been loyal until crossed, much as Sarakon had been loyal until his eyes had been opened, perhaps he would prove useful. But friend or foe, it would be best to deal with him now, if even the heavens were speaking of him then surely the fates had something big destined for him.
I can’t have anyone rising to overthrow me and ruin my perfect Empire, not again…
His astral form stayed with Edgar, moving effortlessly in time with his movements even as he charged ahead of his army and burst into palace ahead, as he slaughtered those within and gave the order to his men to slay the defenceless army of the Kingdom.
His behaviour filled Sarakon with disgust, war would never be a happy and delightful thing but there were lines that you just did not cross and Edgar had gone well beyond the line. Sarakon could see why he would do it, revenge was always satisfying, but it wasn’t always right. This slaughter was wrong, but it was also stupid, why take a kingdom and not take its forces too? Best to leave the men alive and allow them to serve you, than to simply slay them all like a coward.
But still, disturbing as his behaviour may be, he would still make for a good ally, better that than a ruthless enemy.
He continued to follow Edgar through the palace, through a hall of mirrors and into the throne room, and then he watched in surprise as Edgar was shot in the throat and fell to the ground dead.
He was surprised, not because the man had been shot by the frail King, but because he’d been foolish enough to walk carelessly into the throne room without expecting any kind of resistance, even though he’d just marched miles here under heavy gunfire.
idiot
But of course, Sarakon more than anyone knew this wasn’t the end and he continued to feel for Edgar’s soul becoming rather confused when it didn’t pass through the Nexus to heaven or hell as it should, but instead it drifted to some other place out in the nether of the realms.
It was unusual but not unheard of for souls to be drawn away from the usual path after death, but it was very rare for them to do of it of their own free will and Sarakon suspected this case was no different. For whatever reason some higher power was toying with the soul of Edgar Crowe, and it sickened Sarakon to the core.
Damn those bastards and their games
He resolved to continue tracking Edgar Crowe’s soul, to cross through the Nexus once more and go to this other, unnatural place where he now resided. And once again his physical form collapsed into an ethereal existence and he drifted through the sea of souls and when he found himself upon Edgar Crowe’s soul once more, with a mere thought and a burst of energy.
A world of infinite points of light, a sea of souls gave way to a dark wasteland and even the Dark Knight himself felt a chill run down his spine as he appeared in the middle of a desolate graveyard.
The leathers that hung about his form flapped around his back and at his side in the wind, dust blew across the dirt floor and over his boots.
All was quiet, all was still.
Sarakon and Edgar Crowe stood only a few feet apart and the Dark Knight remained silent for what seemed like quite a time, only eyeing Edgar with his dull white eyes, staring into his face. But he could see nothing in the man, not yet.
“Edgar Crowe?”
He asked nonchalantly, he didn’t know why he asked, he already knew the answer, but this confrontation had to begin somehow.
[OOC – Great, a ****ing wasteland setting, going to have to make this more interesting with some manipulation of ****, anyways, sorry about sthis ****e post and the amount of time it took to do it xD] |
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Bastard
Last edited by Lennon Legend : 02.21.04 at 08:22:13.
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OOC: Love the post, and no, a cemetary doesn't NEED to be desolate *grins*
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“Edgar Crowe”
Wolf kept his eyes on the gravestone, and his hands on the hilt. He smiled to himself, keeping his head bowed slightly.
“ Not content with putting me in this foul smelling graveyard? Now you want me to fight for my life?”
He felt his sword quake under his trembling hands, but they didn’t quiver in anxiety, but in aggravation. He hated being played like a toy; he needed to get back to Edar.
(You’re dead, I wonder how you’re going to do THAT. There’s a man in front of you who’s probably keen to hack off your skull, and you’re thinking about going back to Edar? What happened to regulation?)
Quite right, he would take care of this stepping stone in his course, and then shape out a way back to Edar. But how would he do this?
Without moving his head, his eyes gazed around his environs. Tombstone in front of him, challenger in front of him, what was it that was behind him? Images flew in a fury behind his eyes; recent memories of this barren place flew vehemently to the back of his head. No, nothing behind him he could use, blast it all. It looked like he would have to have a spar with this being if he wanted to get out.
Perfect, he was being played like an animal. He would educate those figureless bastards that a cornered Wolf was not a vulnerable one.
Without even thinking, the blade found itself drawn, and soon it was swinging in a horizontal arc towards the gravestone.
Carbon steel met stone, and no struggle was found on the part of the man-crafted rock. The top of the grave head was dismembered and it began its fall towards the ground, unhurriedly, as if not wanting to leave its other half. Without a hiatus between the swipe of the blade, Edgar brought the side of his foot towards the upper half of the tombstone, and hit the stone with the metal of his right sabaton.
The energy of this impact was solid, but not hard enough to crack the rock, and now the ex-grave was a projectile sent hurling at his challenger’s bulk.
This wasn’t meant to mar the opponent, it was just meant to make sure his enemy was of flesh and blood, and not some apparition.
Edgar quickly drew in his sword again, once again out of instinct and not thought.
(Know your enemy and know yourself, and the battle is as good as won.)
How would his enemy retort? If he knew this, Edgar could devise a scheme, and know he would, soon enough.
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OOC: Sorry mate, I didn't want to make it urnealistic and just attack the **** out of you straight away xD |
Last edited by Maldar the Incompetent : 02.21.04 at 02:28:21.
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While he wasn’t desperate to know where they were, Sarakon did find himself becoming increasingly annoyed as he probed the area around with his mind and learned nothing more of their location. The graveyard Edgar Crowe had been taken to felt real enough, the dirt beneath his leather boots seemed solid enough to Sarakon and that musty smell in the air could be no figment of the imagination, but they weren’t within any of the known realms. Sarakon reasoned that perhaps some higher power had taken Crowe to a place between realms, a transitional realm to bridge the gap between others. So many questions and speculations ran through Sarakon’s mind at that point, but he pushed them aside to deal with the more pressing matter at hand, the deceased King of Edar, for whom Sarakon had travelled the realms to meet.
Crowe was an impressive figure, despite being covered in tacky silver coloured armour he appeared a fine example of a man borne of war, a true spectre of death. From his steel gorget and helmet to his sturdy sabatons, it was obvious that each choice of armour had been handpicked by Crowe to meet high requirements in battle.
He’d seen a similar suit of armour as a child, before he was sent away to join the military when he still lived with his father and siblings. Armour fit for a King his father had said to him with pride, protection, maneuverability and elegance. Looking upon that armour with his empty eyes, he was taken back to his childhood for the briefest of moments, five years old again, with the smell of molten metal up his nostrils and the warmth of the furnace reaching out to his skin while he watched his father at work, crafting the finest of Tarronian weapons and armour.
Of course you could tell with a mere glance that Edgar Crowe’s armour was not of Tarronian origin, the culture of Tarronia led to dark creations rather than that sparkly steel he had cocooned himself in, creations like the broadsword the world had known as Heretic.
“ Not content with putting me in this foul smelling graveyard? Now you want me to fight for my life?”
While he may be a fine leader (and he would have to be for Edar’s growing empire to be talked of in the heavens and the pits of hell) and a brave soldier, Crowe didn’t appear to be the most intelligent of fellows, to instantly assume Sarakon was the one that had dragged him here and that his purpose was to simply fight.
Does this man not think at all? First he walks into his own death and now this.
It implied a certain amount of stupidity in Crowe, that or an emotional and naturally impulsive disposition, his sudden sick decision to execute the men back in Silophile would certainly back that idea up quite well.
Sarakon simply arched an eyebrow as Crowe flicked his bizarre and lengthy blade through the air, drawing it and slicing horizontally before stowing it in it’s sheathe again almost instantly having cut through a gravestone that stood proud of the ground between them.
Years of determined practice showed through as his graceful sword work was complimented with a swift kick to the upper, now disjointed, section of headstone and sending it flying straight towards Sarakon’s gut.
His weight shifted to his right, using the ball of his foot to pivot and swing his whole body round to the left while keeping his gaze in line with the oncoming rock and Crowe. With a slight grunt, more of dissatisfaction than out of any effort on his part, he snapped his right arm round, flicking the headstone away with his bracer effortlessly.
Sarakon broke the awkward silence that had resumed after the rock fell to the earth,
“No, I want none of those things. I am not like those beings that appease themselves by toying with the weak.”
He stopped for a second, seeming to be trying to compose himself, or think of what to say next. This act was purely for deception, Sarakon didn’t want Crowe to have any idea that even as he had been talking his telekinesis had taken hold of the blade affixed to his boot and had removed it with a painstaking slowness.
Minavrol now floated a few feet behind Sarakon close to the floor, even though it was out of sight he felt the connection between the blade and his mind like he could see it and feel it anyway.
It wouldn’t have taken much effort to send the blade shooting out towards Edgar’s obscured face, a single thought at most would suffice, but instead Sarakon opted to set it down where it was and let the dirt around swallow it. Grains of dirt and particles of rock moved at Sarakon’s command and shifted over his blade as he resumed his speech.
“But I have come to see you. I need to know, would you serve under me in Tarronia’s new empire, or will you continue with your own?”
He smiled briefly and let out a chuckle before resuming his dialogue again,
“It sounds like a stupid question I know, because you have no knowledge of Tarronia at all, nor of me. But that’s irrelevant, let me rephrase the question. You once served a master, could you do so again?”
Again he paused, but this time it was draw Krealakrion from his back, holding the sword of Tarronian Kingship loosely in his right hand he spoke once again, the casual tone of his voice from before gone, replaced with an ominous flatness.
“I cannot allow for anything to upset the rebirth of Tarronia”
[ooc – bah, same feelings as last time, apologies for length of time and the post xD] |
Last edited by Lennon Legend : 03.05.04 at 13:58:39.
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Without any difficulty, Wolf’s visitor simply pivoted to evade the headstone’s line of fire, and then brought a bracer not unlike Edgar’s own against it, sending it once more in an altered route.
A thump on the ground, trailed by a reign of silence, and as Wolf was about to grunt, the mysterious stranger made to answer.
“ No, I want none of those things. I am not like those beings that appease themselves by toying with the weak ”
Edgar’s eyes remained stern-focused on him, not giving him the benefit of the doubt just yet. Wolf wondered what he had meant by “toying with the weak”. Was the fool implying he lacked in potency? If so, he had another thing coming. In the corner of his eye he had seemed to sense movement, but not of the stranger, but of some object near the man’s body. If Edgar was any arbitrator of temperament, this man seemed like the kind of guy who could be trusted, assuming you had a weapon in your hand, even during your siesta. Wolf would listen to more of what this man had to see, but not for a moment would he let up his eyes shut.
“ But I have come to see you. I need to know, would you serve under me in Tarronia’s new empire, or will you continue with your own ?”
A small cringe of Edgar Crowe’s body, a sporadic reply of his eyebrows, something he couldn’t rule. It was almost mind reading, only moments before sending the stone at the man had Crowe been thinking of getting back home to maintain his kingdom. The proposition served by this man now, it was utter psychosis. The nerve, to appear out of nowhere and then ask him if he would like to serve some kingdom probably in utter ruins whilst it’s master ran around smelling daisies in graveyards.
“It sounds like a stupid question I know, because you have no knowledge of Tarronia at all, nor of me. But that’s irrelevant, let me rephrase the question. You once served a master, could you do so again?”
Why would he, a king of the highest class, serve another? No, the idea was preprostorous; he would not jeopardy being the chess piece of another man ever again.
Edgar would teach this man well, and the claret eyes of the Wolf seemed to burn up as plans of future movement were premeditated.
And now the colours of the man who had declared he did not toy with the weak began to shine. He had withdrawn a sword of attractive craft, perhaps a match for Wolf’s own weapon. It had strange words inscribed upon it’s blade that Edgar could not quite understand, not that it mattered really. The sword wrote on with a pen was not mightier than a sword; it in fact came down to how the sword was used and the forging of the swords.
“I cannot allow for anything to upset the rebirth of Tarronia”
Wolf didn’t smile, but rather kept his face a mask as to his true feelings.
“Surely you must think me some fool to go into such a position without better knowing the situation this Tarronia you speak of is in. And I do not serve masters any longer, not even men who’s name I know. If I better knew what this Tarronia was, I would still not enter under your service, but rather be treated as an equal”
Wolf kept his right hand firmly placed on the hilt of his weapon, ready to unsheathe at any moment, whilst his left stroked his goatee, giving a sense of sincere thought on the idea about his bearing, which did not currently exist. He paused for effect.
“And even then, my mysterious friend, I would not serve as an equal if I did not know you were equal to me in battle. Ha, for all I know that sword…”
Edgar moved his hand from his chin outwards, curling all fingers but one, leaving that lone finger to point towards the sword which was in the custody of his antagonist.
“…is for show, a weapon devised to startle people from attacking you rather than for the actual injuring of other souls. Surely this is comprehensible, is it not? If you are anything of a man you’ll prove to me why you would dare ask me, the Wolf of Edar, for my services. Or maybe I shall have to prove to you as to why I am called Wolf?”
He didn’t let the man say another word, for if he was of any skill, he would survive this attack and live to speak again. If he wasn’t, then there was no point in further conversation, for all prior talk would have been bull**** and unworthy of further talk.
Wolf began his chant, closing his eyes, speaking under his breath in a monotonous value, his head down.
“Ert-vat’art-silo”
He held out his left hand, and above it started forming a small orb of purple and grey, the two colours churning around each other, slowly intensifying as the chanting continued. After three seconds had passed, the sphere had grown to a modest size of one foot by one, and bolts of electricity seemed to crackle around its exterior.
In an abrupt move, Edgar’s eyes were fully open, and full of ominous eminence.
“TOWARDS HE WHO IS MY ENEMY!” the king of Edar bellowed.
The orb responded with a hiss, and then started a jumpy race at the man who stood only feet away.
It seemed extreme, and redundant, but the battlefield he stood on didn’t provide ample opportunities for his swordplay.
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[OOC: My creativity ran dry writing out the SoT post] |
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Edgar Crowe did not jump at the chance to serve under Sarakon’s rule but he hadn’t been expected to. Those of royal stature were of a proud nature, there was no way that Crowe would immediately submit to Sarakon’s will and enter a life of servitude; he would accept equality and nothing less. Perhaps even that was too little for the King of Edar, but Sarakon thought it to be reasonable, so long as the man truly were his equal and it seemed that Crowe was eager to find out as he hinted at a duel between the two to prove Sarakon as an equal to him
“And even then, my mysterious friend, I would not serve as an equal if I did not know you were equal to me in battle.”
The meaning was understood and while Sarakon made no effort to show any acknowledgement, he knew that actions would be their words now.
It seemed Edgar Crowe was certainly a man of action, immediately he began chanting inaudibly to himself, muttering words of some arcane origin to himself in mid speech.
Sarakon looked to that haunting overcast sky that enveloped the world, tumbling rolling swirls of purples and black and blues, but chaotic as the scene appeared there was no energy to the air. When a growing charge disturbed the dead stillness of the particles around it was clear that it was the work of Crowe and his mumbling even before an energetic sphere of electricity formed before him, hovering over Edgar’s left hand. The orb’s swirling colours were made from the same palette that painted the sky overhead and it looked almost as if Edgar Crowe held some fragment of the heavens above in his hand, perhaps such things were intimidating to mortal men.
But Sarakon found himself rather bemused, Crowe’s soul held strength to it, this orb did not.
Surely he doesn’t intend to fritter away our time with basic tests of strength, it could take an age to prove not only my prowess but his as well at such a pace.
Under the power of Sarakon’s mind the particles around his left arm danced with a newfound energy, that of Sarakon’s immortal soul, the essence of his being. In time with his thoughts the particles of the air waltzed away at his whims, and in their dance a charge grew to match that of Crowe’s purple hued sphere. Energy levels changed as electrons ejected themselves from atoms, changing partners in their dance.
“TOWARDS HE WHO IS MY ENEMY!”
Edgar Crowe glared and his eyes burned as his war cry filled the air between them. Sarakon barely heard it, his mind solely focussed on the swirling particles around his arm. Their dance reached its zenith, visibly now strands of blue light reached out to the air and frantically leapt around his arm.
Now Sarakon’s own eyes opened wide, pools of white focussing on the orb that now raced towards him erratically, up, down, left and right, it’s path wavered but always it travelled onwards, closing that short gap.
Hand eye coordination trained through years of battle proved a godsend as Sarakon’s hand quickly thrust forwards to meet this oncoming threat with his open palm. As his arm swung upwards and stretched outwards, the charged particles rolled up and through his arm, the skin, the flesh, the very marrow of his bones until reaching his palm.
And then palm met sphere.
A blinding flash and a clap of thunder that would do even the most intense of storms proud were borne of the meeting of the two and the sphere raced off away from Sarakon, having been repelled by the force his soul had mustered.
Sarakon too felt the power of this repulsive force, and it sought to send him flying back too, but his boots dug into the ground and for the most part he stood firm, sliding only a few feet, the rest of the force continuing on through, kicking up clouds of dirt behind the Dark Knight, tracing the path he would have gone had it not been for the strength in his legs and the grip of his boots.
As the residual charge left his arm and his thick, matted hair fell down and the tingling sensation that had overcome him under the force of the charge, he watched the purple orb racing upwards into the clouds, a point of light soaring upwards in a huge arc. Until finally it buried itself inside the overcast canopy, briefly illuminating a dark patch in the clouds.
Perhaps it was a mere coincidence, but immediately afterwards the world seemed to grow darker, while the colours in the sky grew more intense, more contrasting. Now, with a bizarre spontaneity the air held a familiar energy to it, and in the clouds overhead a storm brewed.
Single drops of rain fell softly, and single drops turned to light rain and a gentle pitter patter of rainfall filled the deadly silence of the graveyard, growing to a roar as the rain fell heavier and in greater frequency, puddles began to well up in the dirt ground.
All this happened and yet again Sarakon failed to notice it until the storm was upon them in all it’s ferocity and the ground beneath his feet were sodden in mud and swimming in water. Even from the moment he used to glance upwards and look upon the path of the orb that had just been sent his way, his mind had been at work yet again.
His spirit poured into the earth, donating the energy of his blackened soul to the land itself and under his power fault lines tore open and the earth roared in pain. Vast sheets of land shot upwards, while others fell downwards or crumbled away into dust.
Sarakon stood proud atop a growing pedestal of earth as the landscape around was mutilated by his power. Spires of rock thrust themselves out of the ground violently and jets of liquid fire erupted in the pits and trenches formed by the collapsing sections of earth.
And as Sarakon finally noticed the torrential rainfall that bore down in him atop his vantage point he looked down on his handiwork, a complex system of mountains and trenches, hazardous slippery surfaces slick with rainfall and pools of molten rock where once there had been a calm place of rest for the dead.
Now they would see if they were equal.
[ooc – bah, over the top attack I know but I felt like changing the landscape, and there was no specific attack actually done to you so feel free to react to this however you like mate xD At least I got this one done pretty quickly eh] |
Last edited by Lennon Legend : 03.06.04 at 11:13:55.
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