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Donovan versus Valaria
Donovan bows in respect to Valaria, blows her a kiss, and then begins assessing potential strike points on the vampire.
A tinge of trepidation comes over him at the prospect of possibly injuring his fiancee, so he will take great care to put
forth maximum effort yet inflict as little damage as possible. The human wipes the sweat from his brow, drying his hand on
the leather quiver strapped to his back. He then pulls two arrows out of the quiver and strings them snugly into his bow.
Lining up his target, he quickly determines the proper trajectory and strength needed to reach across the cavern to the druid,
then adjusts one of the arrows slightly. The assassin draws and fires, sending the two projectiles spiraling at breakneck
speed toward Valaria, one aimed at her right shoulder, the other at the crown of her powerful scepter
Valaria playfully eyes the human standing before her, soon to become her husband. The leggy vampires whips her long blonde
tendrils behind her, ready for the assassins attack. The druid stands her ground as the arrows race through the damp air,
heading for her small frame. She flips her scepter up in front of her, twirling it in a figure-eight motion in hopes of knocking
one, if not both arrows out of flight. She succeeds in intercepting a single arrow, however sadly doesn’t escape the
second and it grazes her arm. She winces and speeds up the spinning scepter and slams it to the ground sending lighting bolt
screaming from the diamond-clad head, heading straight for Donovan’s sword hoping to shock the assassin.
Donovan is caught off-guard by the sudden strike from the vampire. A jolt sends him reeling, paralyzing his right leg temporarily.
The assassin lets out a yowl of pain as he struggles to his feet. A half-smile crosses his face, and he compliments the druid
on her surprise attack. "Well done, love." As the feeling slowly begins to work its way back into his injured limb, he charges
Valaria, unsheathing his jagged longsword. Just before he reaches her, he somersaults onto the ground and jumps back upright.
He sends the blade of his sword whirling horizontally at the vampire, determined to slice the druid's staff in two.
Valaria gasps slightly at rendering her beloved paralyzed, then quickly emits a sigh of relief as he regains his stature.
Her relief is quickly replaced by her instinct to move swiftly as she sees the blade of his sword swooping at her. The druid
holds tightly to the hilt of her scepter, slamming it’s gleaming head against the metal of Donovan’s jagged longsword.
A loud clank is heard, thundering throughout. She uses the precious few seconds to flip herself backwards a few times, creating
distance between them. She closes her eyes and quickly chants, swaying her hands in front of her. Small pieces of pointed
bones laying about raise up in the lair, hovering. She pulls her hand back and thrust it forward, sending the shards airborne,
heading for the Assassin in hopes of searching out any unarmored body parts.
Donovan watches, half-astonished, as the bone fragments come hurtling at him. At the last moment he throws up his shield
with his right arm to absorb the brunt of the blow, but a few pieces get through his defense, slicing him on his left arm,
which remained exposed. He grimaces as the shards cut into his skin, the wounds beginning to bleed almost immediately. The
human quips, "So we want to play rough, do we?" then vaults himself on top of a nearby boulder pile. The assassin lets out
a guttural bellow at the top of his lungs, sending a piercing echo through the cavern, unsettling some loose rocks. Amid the
newly created chaos, Donovan launches himself toward the vampire, sword overhead, making a sweeping downward motion at the
druid
Valaria gives a fanged grin at her successful maneuver, not displaying any remorse at the blood flowing from Donovan’s
wounds as she knows she will cure her fiancé shortly. However, her cockiness is quickly slapped away as her attention is turned
upward at the oncoming sword about to slice at her. Quickly, she dodges, making a sweeping motion with her long, slender leg
in hopes of kicking the sword out of Donovan’s hands, instead, catching the razor sharp edge in her taute thigh. Wincing
and letting out a scream, she lays there on her back and summons, with her scepter, the unsteady stones that Donovan so graciously
loosened with his echo. Tons of rocks thunder, lumbering downwards in Donovan’s path, threatening to crush his body.
Donovan drops his head at the sound of his love's cries, but quickly regains his wits as he sees the rockslide bearing
down on them. He dashes toward Valaria and, in one deft motion, begins to roll his body over, grabs her, and tumbles them
both to safety behind another rock wall. He turns to the vampire, acknowledges her impressive display, and then ties his shirt
around her leg as a form of tourniquet. "Good show, my dear, but we must do a better job of getting out of the way," he teases.
Sabon versus Donovan
Sabon nods to himself as the duel begins determined to come out the victor of this battle. He pulls out an arrow looks it
over decides it is as good as any and puts it in his bow and shoots it up in the air as far as he can, then quickly pulls
another arrow out of almost no where notches it into his bow and shoots it quickly at his enemy. Almost as soon as the arrow
leaves his bow the darkness that makes up his shadow seems to come up and rap around him covering him, starting at his feet
then makeing its way up to his head, the last thing you see is the vampiric smirk of Sabon's face. Then as quickly as the
shadows cover Sabon they desappear along with Sabon. As the Blackness, hate, and rage seem to flow from the arrow as it streeks
towards the weak human enemy and right before it reaches its target the shadows behind Donovan make up the outline of another
form and Sabon emerges from them strikeing out with his clawed hand at the back of the humans neck.
Donovan gazes cautiously at his adversary through midnight blue eyes, uncertain as to what tricks the vampire Sabon may
attempt in his effort to win the duel. He pays little heed to the first arrow fired, quite obviously a diversion to take Donovan’s
attention away from the actual attack. Upon spotting the second arrow, the human easily shuffles to one side, the missile
rocketing harmlessly over his left shoulder. Donovan’s face takes a look of concern as he seemingly loses Sabon in the
aftermath, until he hears a faint rustling behind him. Wheeling around, he finds his opposite number Sabon swinging a clawed
hand at him. Donovan shrieks in pain as the paw rips into his left bicep, blood spurting forth from the wound. Scowling in
contempt at the vampire, he unsheathes his scimitar, the once shimmering blade dripping with some fashion of liquid one could
only assume to be a poison. Donovan’s eyes glow with intensity and rage, their shade changing from a deep midnight to
an almost gleaming cerulean hue. Taking one step toward Sabon, the human slashes his sword in a downward arc from right to
left, seemingly intent on paring open the vampire’s torso.
Sabon jumps backward many yards as the human’s scimitar comes slashing across his torso barely missing it, but catching
his armor and easily cutting it from one side of his torso to the other. The vampire growls as he will have to replace the
armor after to duel and kneels down on knee. He then looks back up at the human all the color gone from his eyes as black
is all the remains and the black seems to be seeping from his eyes and into his face because if you look closely you can see
the veins on his face start to turn black. The vampire then stands back up almost a new creature all together as the darkness
that the vampire loves so much seems to be flowing through and from him. Another arrow that seems to be made out of nothing
but darkness appears in his bow and he shoots it at his enemy’s chest and as the arrow sails through the air it splits
into at least 5 arrows each made up of nothing but darkness and shadows. The arrows also seem to increase in speed as they
split only a few feet from their human target.
Donovan stares perplexed at Sabon’s dexterity, his scimitar catching the better part of the vampire’s armor
but nothing more. Tossing the blade aside, the human watches carefully as Sabon counters, keeping a watchful gaze on the vampire
and his crossbow. Donovan’s caution turns to concern as the arrow speeding toward him breaks up into five distinct parts.
The human throws his cloak up in front of him, his black attire rendering him seemingly undetectable. Diving out of the way
at the last possible moment, he nearly escapes Sabon’s arrow storm, but two of the missiles lodge themselves in his
right thigh. An anguished scream permeates through the area as Donovan tumbles to the ground. Blood spurts forth from this
fresh wound as the man slowly and painfully rises to his feet. Sneering in an utter hatred toward Sabon, Donovan utters something
unintelligible to his foe and the spectators. Finishing his statement, Caithréim spring to his master’s defense. Aided
by the keen eyesight granted by the gods to cats of the night, the snow leopard easily spots Sabon and sprints toward the
vampire, intent on tearing him apart, while Donovan retreats, keeping his distance.
Sabon smirks as two of the arrows hit the human and he knows the shadow arrows will slowly merge with the humans blood and
if not kill him then cause him great pain, but the smirk quickly disappears when the snow leopard appears and charges him.
He grabs the big cat by the throat as it leaps at him trying to hold him in place but in doing so gets his arms slashed many
times a few of the spots all the way to the bone. As the Vampire holds the cat in place the arrow that was shot earlier in
the battle comes down on top of the cat and seems to blow apart into millions of small pieces of darkness, killing the cat
almost instantly. The pieces of the arrow that flew off and did not hit the cat and instead hit the ground start to grow in
size licking at the and trees burning them, almost as if the shadows were some kind of dark flame. The dark flames seem to
growing in size as the quickly start to make their way towards Donovan almost as if they have a mind of their own.
Donovan blinks in disbelief, wondering what kind of strength this vampire must have to manhandle the beast in such a fashion.
Retreating even further, albeit slowly, given the wounds the human has sustained, Donovan makes it to a safe distance from
Sabon. Fighting the pain creeping through his body, the man slowly strings two arrows with his right hand, before hoisting
it onto his right shoulder in one quick burst of energy. Donovan glares in pure spite at Sabon before firing the missiles
from the damned frame toward the vampire. Turning his attention to the oncoming shadow, he cringes as the pain seeps further
into his core, chanting a phrase foreign to any in Hollow, the assassin’s last-ditch effort to control the shadows an
assassin created. At once, the runes on his sleeves begin to glow, and absorb some of the shadow, the rest creeping into Donovan’s
body as he watches the two projectiles continue on their path to Sabon.
Sabon sees the arrows come from the weakened human and tries to move out of the way but is to slow because of the lose of
blood from his wounds on his arms and the arrows sink deeply into him. The first in his shoulder and the other in his leg,
the one in his shoulder coming all the way the back of his shoulder. The vampire grunts as he first pulls the arrow in his
leg out as it did not go nearly as deep into his body as the arrow in his shoulder. He then weakly reaches up and grabs the
arrow in his shoulder and break off the tip that is sticking out his back and then using all the rest of his strength pulls
the arrow out of him and then falls back and lays down just glad the duel is over.
Donovan is declared the winner and Sabon is out of the Wolf Pack clan, never to return to it again.
Donovan versus Demont
Donovan cants his head slightly to Demont, biting his lip as his sapphire-hued oculars linger over the winged vampire's
every feature in a quick assessment of exploitable weaknesses. Shrouding himself inside his hood and cloak, the man seemingly
disappears from view, the darkness of night and the forest canopy only amplifying his completely ebon attire. Slender fingers
grasp the unholy longsword sheathed upon Donovan's belt, the silence suddenly erupting into a hum as the man withdraws the
cursed blade from its casing. The assassin stealthily gains distance toward Demont, casually flinging a dagger in his general
direction, hoping to distract him as he makes his quiet charge. His boots seem to glide silently across the forest floor as
he creeps toward Demont and slashes across the avian's torso in a counterclockwise fashion, beckoning the cold steel to taste
the vampire's stolen blood.
Demont's azure occuls adjust quickly to the dim lit area as they follow Donovan and his every move. A sparkle and glint of
steel catches the avian's attention. Skillfully his right hand shoots upward, two digits grasping the tip of the projectile
firmly as the tip of the weapon presses to his neck. With his attention temporarily skewed a sharp pain runs from his chest
outward, a sickening coldness wrapping about Demont. His gaze turns to his chest where he eyes a rather deep cut and the cold
blade of Donovan's. With a violent snap Demont's wings unfold, their majestically white toned feathers adding a certain brightness
to the area. The assassins swings his right hand to his side, latching tightly to the hilt of Burning Dawn, exposing the black
blade with one pull. Bringing the weapon down, to his side he calmly holds his ground before silently throwing his arm upward,
along with the blade towards the abdomen of his ally..
Donovan grins sadistically as his damned sword finds a home within Demont's body. His eyes dart to Demont's right hand,
the man catching the slightest motion from his peripheral vision. Blinking slightly in a moment of uncertainty, he instinctively
whips himself to Demont's left as he spots the arm coming upward. Donovan cries out in pain as Burning Dawn essentially fillets
the skin off his left side, precious vitae dripping onto the earthen floor below. Stumbling backward and clutching his injured
area, the man speaks, his words clear but impossible to understand. Almost as if on command, Caithreim springs into the fray,
quietly observing his master's plight. Donovan retreats further, conserving motion as best he can to save his crimson lifesource,
whilst the leopard eyes Demont. Curiously, rather than attack the vampire head-on, the massive cat swoops around him before
rearing up, slashing violently at the avian's precious wings...
Demont smiles with glee, however the expression being quickly washed away at the new threat. Demont pulls his wings in close
to his back, eliminating the large surface area the created previously in an attempt to cut down on the amount of damage being
sustained from the feline's sharp claws. Macabre springs forth from a tuft of bushes, pulling his dark lips back to expose
a lower and upper set of hellishly sharp teeth, each designed for the side of the leopard’s neck while fathers and blood
fall about Demont's form slowly, almost as if it were snowing.
Donovan retreats even further from the fracas, Demont having elected to eliminate his attack rather than unleash one on
him. Wincing slightly as the wound on his side begins to have a larger effect, the man unloads his crossbow, the frame glowing
a distinct black aura as he touches it. As Macabre and Caithreim's tussle drifts off to the side, Donovan beckons the cat
back in his home tongue, his pet heeding the master's call. Fully focusing his azure glance on the wounded avian, the man
begins to speak again, this time in a chanting tone. His runed rings begin to glow as well as a solitary arrow, the objects
seemingly taken over by an unnatural force. Donovan fires the arrow as he continues his spellweaving, the missile rockets
toward Demont. A matter of yards from the mark, the arrow breaks up in five distinct shards, each razor sharp and hell-bent
on embedding their shadow-borne agony into the avian...
Demont realizing now the real threat, his gaze drifts quickly back to Donovan and his weapon. Lifting from the ground with
a heavy flap of his white wings, deciding the only way to avoid being struck by each arrow is to attempt some acrobatics.
Tucking his wings once more close to his back he spins clockwise, avoiding four of the arrows. Unfurling his wings once more
to halt his spin, the fifth arrow impales his right wing cleanly, sending a sharp pain through is back and sending him to
the ground. Burning Dawn clanks loudly to he ground as Demont releases it, his hands diving into the fold of his cloak. each
digit grasping a dagger. The assassin skillfully throws eight blades forward at Donovan, four aimed at his knees and elbows,
while the others head for areas upon his torso.
Donovan chuckles mercilessly as Demont's own pet creates the diversion he needs to complete his attack. Growing silent,
he frowns suddenly upon seeing Demont's trickery. "Slight of hand," he mutters to himself, and grunts in pain as he dives
instinctively to his left, and onto his left side. The four daggers aimed at his midsection miss the mark entirely, but Donovan
screams in agony as two of the four daggers bury themselves in his relatively slender frame, one into each knee. Lying in
a bloodied heap upon the forest floor, the man manages the slightest of movements in Demont's direction, thanking him for
the duel.
Donovan versus Cuki
Donovan bows slightly in respect to his adversary. The assassin stoops down to rub his hands in the dirt, catching any
excess sweat off his fingers as he prepares to mount an offensive. The man assesses his fellow mortal standing opposite him,
deciding the best way to attack the monk. Gripping his elemental bow, he backpedals a few steps, gaining distance between
he and Cuki. Reaching for his quiver, his piercing sapphire-hued eyes never leaving the mark, he slowly pulls out arrow after
arrow, stringing five of them up in his bow at once. Donovan lines all of them in a row, then painstakingly alters each missile
ever so slightly, so as to not send them in the same pattern. Chanting some fashion of exhortation to his weapon, the assassin
draws and fires the missiles. The five slender arrows explode toward the monk, each hoping to shred a different part of Cuki's
body.
Cuki swiftly unhooks a pair of long, wide knives from the back of his wine-colored sash, the back curve on the guard which
held the blades in place lift up. They measure a foot and half long and two and a half inches wide, with about a fifth of
a inch thick. A clinking sounds as they knock against each other. Holding the blades before him, Cuki deep blue hues lock
on the arrows. He flips them over against his forearm to act as sheilds. Parring the arrows the arrows aimed at his arms he
bearly notices the one headed towards his head. Luckly it grazes his ear, spliting it open and causing blood to flow down
his cheek. The lower left arrow pluges just above his ankle, the other rips through the monk's baggy pants, doing no harm.
Holding a scream back the human lunges forward, ignoring the pain in his left leg. Cuki attemps to path or pin Donovan bow
close to the assassin's body with the left blade. Cookie flips its sister over and it follows a heart-beat behind, the keen
edge seeking its master's opponent.
Donovan watches keenly as his missiles bear down on the monk. The assassin curses under his breath as he is only able to
graze the monk's ear. Slightly losing focus over his seeming failure, Cuki's scream draws him back to attention. The human
looks up only to see his counterpart charging at him with unsheathed twin blades. Donovan throws his bow at the initial strike,
the composite structure of the frame holding firm and sending the blade clanging harmlessly off to one side, but rendering
him defenseless against the monk's other blade. Cuki swings down at Donovan, plunging the blade into his left bicep. The assassin
howls with pain and rage as his lifesource begins to flow from the wound. Standing to his feet, the assassin's eyes glowing
with intensity, he unsheathes his longsword, and begins to utter an inaudible chant. A wind eerily begins to breeze itself
through the gorge as Donovan's chant grows louder. The shimmering metal blade begins to glow white hot, the light intensifying
as it crawls its way to the point. The assassin, retreating once again, points his sword at the monk, completes the chant,
and collapses to his knees as a bolt of fire erupts from the sword, surging toward Cuki, aiming to consume him then and there...
Cuki body twist into a low stance after striking Donovan. His back facing his opponet. The arrow lodged within his foot prevents
him from standing up quickly. The monk's eyes open wide as the flame hit him squarely in the back. He falls foward, but manages
a roll. The wooden shaft of the arrow breaks off, leaving the metal tip within his bone. Bearly keeping himself from rolling
off the cliff face, Cuki staggering back up, using the momentum as an assist. The embers of the flames die off, smoldered
by the dust of the trail. using want little strength he has, Cuki yanks two iron fans from the folds of his sash. Whiping
them out they make a very loud snaping sound. A phoenix and a heavenly woman are painted inbetween on the paper between the
iron ribs of both the fans. With his faces twisting in pain, the human moves again for his opponent and in a very femine move
movent, Cuki brings his left leg up to his chest. Cuki spins his hands around, each acting as a counter-weight for the other.
The right fan closes up and strikes down at Donovan head. The other is held open at the elbow of the other arm.
Donovan grins with satisfaction the monk never sees his attack coming, striking him full in the back. His smile broadens
as Cuki nearly tumbles over the edge into the abyss, coming to rest mere feet from the ledge. Donovan grins at this magic
the bystander has taught him, thinking he has finally harnessed the fire-bolt technique. Turning to nurture his wounds, he
hears a snapping sound behind him. Wheeling around to face the monk yet again, Donovan sees the iron fan barreling down at
his head, and sways to the left. The fan misses his head, but burrows itself into the top of his right shoulder. The assassin
grimaces but makes no other sound, crimson liquid flowing from a second wound now. Setting his jaw defiantly, he regains his
composure, his azure eyes flaming with rage and pain. His arms rendered limp, he spins himself around in a flash, dealing
out a precise roundhouse kick, his right boot rocketing toward Cuki's jaw.
Cuki lets the fan in Donovan go. Going into a another low stance, the monk slids his left foot in front of his right. This
crosses his legs so that his rear end is no more than a hands length from the ground. The firm stance grants him much need
stablity as the remaining fan rushes towards Donovan's leg. The force and speed creates a small force wave that sends itself
toward's the Assassin. Cuki's free right hand moves back, to were his opponent's foot was aiming for. In attempting to catch
Donovan's foot the monk falls backwards from the brute force of his kick. The fan clatters against the ground. He lands, his
rear end bouncing on the hard rock. "Ouch. That is enough. Please stop." Bearly able to summon the strength needed to stand,
Cuki staggers up. He pulls his feet together and bows to his sparing partner. The monk's fists are held before him in a traditional.
With the soft hand over the hard hand. A broken and strained voice comes from the monk's mouth, "It was an honor to duel you."
Donovan versus Garr
Donovan surveys the giant from a safe distance, deciding a distance strike is appropriate to start. The human focuses on
finding any points of weakness on Garr that may exist, knowing it will take immense skill to defeat the monk. His piercing
blue eyes narrow in on an exposed area of Garr's neck on either side of his his pendant. Wiping the sweat from his hands,
Donovan pulls three arrows out of his quiver. The assassin sets the arrows along the same path, altering the outer two ever
so slightly. He draws and fires, sending the storm of arrows hurtling toward the giant's unprotected throat
Garr eyes the assassin cautiously, wondering what dastardly things he may do. He watches as the human notches three arrows.
Not knowing where their true target lies, he understands very well that they are aimed at him. Taking a moment to clear his
head, the monk locks eyes with his target, and with a sudden rush of adrenaline, the giant rushes forward as fast as he can,
straight for Donovan. He continues to charge up until the split second that he sees the arrows fly, and then he quickly falls,
throwing his legs forward, as he starts to slide toward his assailant. Two of the arrows shoot clear over the sliding giant,
while one hits his right leg, getting lodged into his boot. Garr lets out a grunt, but continues racing towards the human,
feet at the ready, as he prepares to slide tackle the assassin.
Donovan stands frozen while the giant bears down on him with deadly momentum. He throws his bow aside at the last second
and jumps, hoping Garr will slide under while he is airborne. However, he mistimes his jump and ths monk's boots catch Donovan's
feet, flipping him like a rag-doll. The assassin lands on his feet, but severely twists his ankle due to the sheer force.
He curses under his breath, the unsheathes his longsword, charging the giant as he completes his slide. Donovan hurls himself
through the air, slinging his blade in a downward motion toward Garr's neck.
Garr finally stops sliding, ending up on his back. He takes a second to regain his bearings. He looks back, seeing the human
charging him, knowing full well what he hopes to accomplish, the assassin’s sword waiting to cut his flesh. The giant
leans forward, raising his chest and neck towards his feet, and quickly thrusts backward while he lifts both of his arms in
to the air and then throws them down, pushing against the ground. Garr throws his feet into the air as the moment begins to
send his legs up and over his head. Finally, the monk rolls completely through it, flipping his body as his feet come flying
once again towards his charging assailant. This time his boots are now chest level, hoping to connect with a powerful force.
Donovan stares in disbelief, seemingly unable to see how his last attack could have missed. Garr's rolling attack catches
him offguard somewhat, and by the time he sees the boots coming at him, it is too late to dodge them fully. He grabs at one
of the boots, shouting in pain as the spike runs through his left hand. As the force of the kick sends him soaring high above
the giant, Donovan's expression contorts from one of pain to one of satisfaction as he has defended as best as he could have
hoped for. The assassin draws his sword in his good hand and points it straight down at the earth, his form crashing toward
the giant below, hoping the velocity of the fall inflicts damage on the exposed neck, maybe even taking the monk's head.
Garr face down in the ground, feels his feet make contact with the human. He rolls over to see the assassin overhead, falling
down towards him, sword first. Knowing not much time lasts before the sword impales him or the ground, the giant quickly reaches
for his hammer and throws it upward with a hefty toss, sending the hammer hurtling toward the falling opponent. The second
the hammer leaves his hand, the monk quickly rolls to one side, trying to flee from the impact zone of the sword. After having
rolled some feet, the giant stands. He lifts up his right leg and pulls out the arrow shaft, grunting as it comes out with
a trickle of blood. Garr throws the shaft to the side.
Donovan grimaces and braces himself for impact with the giant's hammer, releasing his sword and letting it fall to earth.
The hammer strikes the assassin, momentarily sending him upward again. He hits the ground with a sickening thud, and lays
prone for a few moments. After what seems like and eternity, he struggles to his feet and wobbles his way over to the giant,
offering his right hand to thank him for the duel, and trying to wipe the blood away from the wound on his left hand.
Shogo versus Donovan
Shogo digs his sandaled feet into the damp, sand laden ground as he slowly tilts his head back, setting his azure gaze to
stare straight into Donovan’s. His right hand falls limply to his side and grasps along the length of an archaic staff,
the staff itself adorned with several arcane, runic designs. The vampire stands stoically, his countenance showing little
expression or emotion, though his lips are clearly moving, muttering an indistinct incantation that although raspy, carries
fluidly, almost calmly into the ears of any bystander. Abruptly, a wind dips into the area, causing his ebon cape to flow
behind his back, and suddenly his gaze is torn from his human adversary, now intently gazing at the jagged collaboration of
rocks that line the shore. An odd, almost eerie grin tugs at the pale lips of Shogo as his spell-weaving words fall silent,
and the staff to his side is gripped with both hands, and sent crashing into the sand. The jagged rocks to his right suddenly
burst into several smaller, but nonetheless lethal shards and carried into the winds, as if sent by an unseen force. The torrent
of jagged shards suddenly begins to whip through the air towards Donovan, falling towards him in a intricately synched formation…
Donovan gazes warily at Shogo as the vampire sets to work conjuring his initial attack. Noticing, quite obviously, that
Shogo is not wearing any armor, he deduces that this spell blade will use magic attacks almost exculsively. The human alertly
switches his attention to the rock formation seeming to levitate between himself and the vampire. The assassin draws up his
shield, bracing himself in anticipation of the shower of rock barreling his direction with unimaginable speed and force. Donovan
sets his feet in the sand, digging in as much as he can, hoping the storm will pass with little damage. He feels rock shards
burrowing into various parts of armor, and into his shield. A few pieces manage to seek their way through the man's defense,
finely slicing areas on his neck and embedding themselves in his boots. The human lowers his shield, sensing the rock storm
has passed, and narrows his icy stare on Shogo. Donovan withdraws four sleek arrows from his quiver and strings them up in
his trusty bow. The assassin utters something to the arrows, seemingly inaudible, almost blessing and encouraging them to
seek and destroy the target. The man alters each arrow's angle ever so slightly, preventing them from traveling the exact
same path. As Donovan releases the arrows, he exhorts the projectiles not to fail him as they surge toward the spell blade
standing opposite him...
Shogo observes intently as the shards descend towards their target, his posture nor expression telegraphs or shows any frustration
at the overall failure of his effort, taking heed as most of them fall harmlessly into the shield. However, a slight smirk
tugs at his lips, and he begins to emit derisive chuckles from the confines of his throat as Donovan readies his weapon, clearly
intended to throw off his concentration with his arrogant display of swagger. But alas, his laughter falls silent as he takes
notice of the string being pulled taut, his opponent obviously undeterred. Electing not to wait until the slits of wood are
in lethal range to begin his defense, the vampire crouches, a very slight change of posture as he suddenly turns away from
the arrows ripping towards him, the staff firm in hand. A wink is evident only for a slight moment, in the direction of a
certain female in the area as he swerves on his feet, and a few seconds later, his cape that matches the hue of the sky above
completely obscures his form, and with that, he is no longer present, the cape falling carelessly to the ground where he once
stood. An oppressive silence overtakes the beach as his location remains unseen. It takes you a moment to realize that Shogo
has suddenly reappeared to Donovan’s side, and one of the blunt ends of his staff has been sent careening towards the
human’s temple, fully intent on knocking him unconscious…
Donovan watches, sure of himself, as the slender arrows sizzle toward their intented target. The human snorts in indignation
as Shogo tosses his cape over his shoulder and seemingly disappears, the missiles not yielding a satisfactory result. The
assassin closes his eyes softly, using his years of training in the guild to amplify the alterior senses. A moment passes
without so much as a sound from anyone present. After a seemingly endless silence, Donovan hears a swooping sound to his left,
and wheels around just in time to catch the spell blade's staff flush in the forehead. The assassin staggers backward momentarily,
dazed but uninjured, with a sizable dent in his helmet. The human squints in the twilight, the loss of blood from his neck
making it more trying for him to focus, searching for the vampire. Donovan spots Shogo completing his follow-through and senses
an opening to strike. With a bravado atypical of assassins, the human unsheathes his long-sword and lurches at the spell blade,
bellowing at the top of his lungs as the blade plummets toward the vampire's exposed side.
Shogo smirks with satisfaction as the staff finds its’ mark, a sickening crack ringing out as the blunt edge connects
with the steel of the human’s helmet. With a shift of the grip, his staff is brought back to his side without hesitation,
sandal prints forming in his wake as the vampire takes a few steps backwards from his staggering adversary. As he waits for
Donovan to regain composure, he entrenches his feet firmly into the sand once more and brings his staff in front of him, holding
it with both pallid hands, ready to ward off any sudden movements from the assassin. Still in his defensive stance, faint
whispers pass from his lips, obviously seeking his staff. Slowly, the runes that once covered the weapon lighten in color,
dulling to a pale curuelan hue. Not being able to focus on exactly what his opponent is doing, the spell blade is nearly caught
off guard, the vicious shout of the assassin the only thing telegraphing the path of the blade as it hisses towards his side.
Quickly he brings the staff to guard against the weapon, but in vain, the serrated edge of the brand slicing cleanly through
the staff and breaking it into two pieces, where it falls limply from his grasp and to the sand below. Mere moments later
the blade connects with his side, although the staff seems to have born the brunt of the blow and lightened the velocity.
Nevertheless, it still digs into his flesh slightly, crimson fluid oozing from the fresh laceration, an anguished scowl audible
from Shogo almost at the same moment. Staggering backwards, the vampire glances to his side, the paleness of his skin highlighting
the crimson fluid that now stains it. Despite the circumstances, a rather smug look is plastered onto the spell blade’s
visage as he glances back towards the ruined staff. The material that the staff was composed of somehow condenses, seeping
into the sand and forming an ice-like effect onto it. The ice glides forth on the topsoil in a slender path, seeking to travel
up the humans’ armored body and freeze his body at best, his armor at worst…
Donovan grins menacingly as the swordblade destroys Shogo's staff and buries itself in his side. The assassin withdraws
the sword, blood now pouring from the open wound, and begins to clean the blade, an icy glare still locked on the spell blade.
The human's countenance falls, revealing a slight moment of panic as he backs away from the vampire, seeing a new substance
materialize out of nowhere and slowly lumber toward him. Donovan quickly regains his wits and assesses the situation. Seeing
the sand merely turning into ice, he scoffs at this attempt at a spell, and returns to cleaning his blade. As the ice reaches
his boots, the assassin realizes, too late, the power of the spell the vampire has presented. Piece by piece, the human's
armor crystallizes, each passing moment rendering him more immobile. Donovan sees the frozen death creeping from his leggings
to his breastplate and cease further motion. The ice may have slowed his blood flow, but is also sapping him of his energy.
With one last burst of arm strength and sheer will power, the assassin eyeballs Shogo standing a reasonable distance away,
draws his sword, and launches it, as a javelin, sending it hurtling toward the spell blade, in the faint hope that it will
lodge itself in the vampire yet again.
Shogo grips his side with his left palm, firmly pressing it to stop the flow. Sanguine fluid trickles through his fingers
and runs down the length of his leg, the vampire biting his lip, biting back the throbbing anguish. His face now clear of
the smugness that once covered it, he observes the humans’ armor crystallize, surely rendering him immobile. A faint
grin manages to find its’ way onto his lips despite the pain, clearly satisfied with the results of his magicks. Shogo
continues to gaze unwaveringly at Donovan as he draws forth steel once more and sends it airborne, clearly intent on finding
its’ home somewhere in his slender body. Pivoting to a single knee without hesitation, the vampire closes his eyes as
a faint wisp is evidence that the brand passed through the air above him by a good margin, missing the intended target. As
the blade digs into the sand behind him, Shogo remains crouched, offering the human a slight nod as he continues to nurture
his wound.
Donovan versus Torragin
Donovan bows slightly to Torragin standing opposite him, a cunning smile revealing itself across his pale visage as he
prepares to engage in yet another battle. The human slips into to the dank shadows of the heavily canopied forest, his dark
clothing allowing him to seemingly disappear altogether. Stealthily moving amongst the snarled trunks and branches of this
deep forest, the assassin attempts to draw the elf into a state of confusion before unleashing his attack. Donovan finally
ceases his movement behind a large trunk almost directly behind the spell blade, and ever-so quietly detaches his bow from
its mounted position on his back. The power of darkness and hell emanates from its frame, crafted by the guardians, casting
off what seems to be a black fire, yet cold to the assassin’s touch. Withdrawing three arrows from his quiver, the human
strings the sleek missiles into a proper launch position, each at a slightly different angle than the others. Donovan eyes
Torragin once again, firing the weapon without a sound, the slender projectiles sizzling toward the spell blade, ready to
unleash their scourge on the assassin’s hopefully unsuspecting prey.
Torragin sighs, allowing all weariness to slide from his lithe frame, dripping away like the wax of a lit candle. Both pale
lids droop heavily, half covering the emerald pools of knowledge that rest behind. Instantly he snaps taught, sword-arm quivering
in angry anticipation. Slender, snake-like, fingers constrict the pommel of the blade, which stands ominously still in such
an unsteady hand. Thin, red lips fold across Torragin's face, a bloody foreshadowing of the massacre that is soon to ensue.
Even without thought, based solely on the intuition and reflexes of a honed warrior, the tainted warrior springs into movement
following the assasin by sound alone. His body flits across the trees in great haste, his silver streaks shimmering in the
waning light under the dense canopy, which disperses suddenly as the angelic form takes flight from the floor. Darkness invades
the forest, wrapping it in a throw of silent numbness, pounding away inaudibly at the senses. Then, the whiz of a hellish
arrow hisses towards him. With the slice of an arcing blade he rebounds from tree to tree, a resounding death echoing as the
arrows strike the floor. The serpentine hiss grows to a deafening roar, the lights spark up again, glowing bright upon the
gliding elf, as he sweeps down upon Donovan, blade first. Even as he falls, an invisible, magical entity takes him into the
hardwood floor and deeper, cracking the earth beneath. Howling, the earth, behest by its better, Torragin, sends up a flurry
of granite spires to meet the human, hoping to impale, and render his body useless.
Donovan curses under his breath, watching his arrows miss their mark and fall harmlessly to the forest floor. Frowning
suddenly, having lost Torragin's movements while focusing intently on his attack, the human's azure orbs search wildly for
the spell blade, finally catching sight of him seconds before impact with the ground. As the elf disappears from view, Donovan
instinctively reaches for the blessed sword sheathed on his belt, an iron grip forming on the handle. Warily advancing from
his position to where Torragin fell, the assassin observes a foreign rumbling beneath him. Sensing some fashion of attack
from below, the human makes for the nearest tree, one spire gouging into his foot as he pulls himself up. Howling in pain,
Donovan manages to continue on adrenaline alone, his countenance contorted into an angry scowl as he readies himself for a
counter. Slowly tiptoeing onto a sturdy branch, the assassin throws his caution out the window, ignoring the pain in his foot
and leaps, not so much soaring as hurtling through the air toward his foe. His blade raised overhead, the human cuts in a
downward right-to-left motion as he approaches Torragin, hoping to slice the elf directly across his torso.
Torragin ducks suddenly underneath the blade’s unforgiving edge, drawing his own weapon from what appears to be thin
air. Black flames emerge from it licking and biting the polluted wind, as the blade swings rapidly through the air, clashing
against the power of Donovan’s sword. Torragin brings his foot around after another blurred movement towards Solaris,
hoping to land a spiked solid blow to the gut. Pure bloodlust eradicates his need for magic, using whatever means neseecary
to draw blood.
Donovan tumbles toward the merciless ground, the clashing of swords doing very little to break his fall. An instinctive
roll helps absorb the blow, but the human still crashes hard onto the forest floor. The assassin scrambles to his feet as
quickly as he can, still hampered by his earlier wound, and sways backward, in the faint hope of averting Torragin's melee
attack. Donovan manages to avoid the brunt of the attack, but one spike rips through his shirt, scraping his stomach from
side to side, drawing a faint crimson line across his torso. Retreating with an obvious limp, he unloads his bow once more,
this time stringing up one lone slender arrow. The human's cerulean eyes glow with an intense rage as he utters a phrase in
his native language, completely foreign to any in Hollow. As he releases the missile, it explodes into a rapidly expanding
shadow, its volume multiplying with every passing foot. Donovan lay still, watching his attack carry out, hoping Torrragin
will be enveloped in the shadow and finally vanquished.
Torragin grins cynically in pure ecstatic pleasure as his boot makes contact, the bloodlust in his emerald optics growing
and his mind racing as he sees the wound. Seeing Donovan limp away, causes the frenzied warrior to deepen his grin, curse
under his breath and race after him lest his prey escape. His grin soon looses itself as the multitudinous vortex of a shadow
erupts from the lone arrow. Automatically stopping, the ill prepared spell blade desperately grabs his amulet, pure shock
in his face and eyes. Slowly rushed and frenzied arcane spells spill forth from his mouth, long since drilled into his mind.
Furiously and brilliantly the amulet illuminates a hellish crimson depicting the anger of it's awakening. Acting like a magnet
it gather forth the shadows, pulling in the endless amount into it's fiery depths hoping to smother and submerge it into it's
owner's strength. Mere minutes past as the last of the shadows enter the amulet, it oddly glowing an unseen violet, and starts
to pulsate slowly at first but then rapidly as a rushed heart. Torragin grasps it once more, hoping to smother it, and it's
onslaught but to no avail. The violet stone combusts atop itself sending massive souls and the very burning fires of hell
outwards creating a solidified path to the heavens in a tumultuous vortex. Luckily, the strength of the broken amulet recedes,
leaving nothing but ashes and extreme weariness in Torragin's hands.
Donovan versus Renai
Donovan bows in respect to his counterpart standing down the path from him. He quickly assesses the ranger's armor, looking
for any weak spots that he can exploit. He feels a tinge of anxiety pulse through his core, knowing his foe is more skilled
than he. He notices the boots-of-speed Renai wears, allowing the half-elf to move nimbly and dodge any conventional human
attacks. With that in mind, the human leaps toward the tree roots shooting out of the cliffside, tears off four pieces into
his hand, and laces each root around an arrow. He strings them up, draws his bow, and utters a druidic chant his fiancee taught
him. The assassin's chant continues as he released the shafts, and a smile of satisfaction manifests itself across his face.
While in flight, the spell takes effect, and the root fragments stretch out into whip-like vines, slithering their way toward
Renai, hoping to slash the ranger with the razor-sharp arrowheads.
Renai nods slightly as her friend bows, her eyes still glowing and cheeks still flushed from the exercise she received earlier
that morning. Her nimble fingers quickly tie her hair up to help keep it out of her eyes, her sleeve dabbing at the perspiration
already forming on the back of her neck. She sees the human reach for the roots, wondering what he could possibly be doing,
and grins as he places the arrows on his bow. The cocky look never leaves her face, even as the arrows seem to come to life
in midair, reaching for her and thirsting for blood. Because he placed them in a vertical row, she will either dodge all of
them, or none. Of course she is ready for this, being a master of the bow herself, and knows she can move out of the way of
their similar paths without any major exertion. She easily twirls out of the way, one of the arrows barely managing to catch
her sleeve but not pricking her skin. Brushing the root from her clothes, she decides not to approach him, knowing his ability
with a blade must be greater than her own. Instead she reaches for her trusty bow, savoring the feel of it in her hands for
a moment before readying it to attack. Her right hand reaches to remove a slender arrow from her quiver, her emerald orbs
already seeking out the place it will do the most damage. She pulls the taut string back, and quickly releases the missile,
sending it screaming toward the exposed skin of his neck.
Donovan curses under his breath as he sees his arrows miss their mark. He smiles wryly, taking solace in the fact that
his spell casting worked. However, no sooner does his feeling of encouragement start to uplift than it is replaced by panic
as he sees a solitary arrow screaming toward his head. He rolls out of the way, but the arrow lodges itself in his foot as
he tumbles to safety. The human bellows in pain as he dislodges the arrow and blood spurts from the wound. Rather than attack
the half-elf hand-to-hand in retaliation, he grips his elemental long-sword and begins another chant, this one more fervent
than the one before, almost as if he is channeling all his rage and pain into this one spell. The blade of his sword begins
to glow with a brown-ish hue, humming as the assassin continues his chant, his twin blue orbs locked on the ranger, seemingly
attempting to pierce her very soul. He wields the radiant sword overhead and buries the blade into the ground with all his
might, continuing this mysterious chant. At once, the ground begins to shake, making this treacherous passage even more unsettled.
Donovan utters the final words of his spell, and rocks dislodge themselves above Renai, quickly forming a massive slide, bearing
on her at break-neck speed.
Renai 's smirk changes almost immediately as she hears the assassin begin to chant. Her mind races as she wonders where he
could have learned such magic as neither his race nor class would favor such spells. She has little time to ponder, however,
as the ground begins to split in front of her. Thankfully, she is wearing her boots and can plant her feet quite easily, her
lithe form staying balanced through the shaking. At the sound of the rocks overhead, a panicked look momentarily flashes on
her face, replaced the next instant by the cool demeanor her opponents are accustomed to seeing. The rocks begin to fall,
bringing up large clouds of dust, blocking the half-elf and everything else from sight for a few moments. The spectators watch
as a hush falls over the whole gorge, and the dust slowly begins to settle. For a moment they see nothing but a pile of rocks
where the ranger once stood, and the ledge looking threatening just beyond. Time itself seems to stop for a moment and the
silence becomes deafening. After what seem like several excruciating hours of waiting, though only mere seconds, all hear
a soft whispering in an ancient tongue...a spell so secret the young woman would be killed if any knew she could use it, taught
to her by her mother in the cover of darkness when no ears would hear the sacrilege of it. All watch as a dusty, bloody hand
reaches over the edge of the ledge, gripping a dagger that blazes like blue fire, which it plunges into the broken earth.
Seconds later ebony tresses powdered gray with dust become visible, and eyes flashing brighter than jade as the tenacious
half-elf drags herself back onto safe ground. Her entire figure is bruised and scratched, a million small spots of crimson
covering her completely battered form, some bleeding freely. A scream of rage mixed with pain claws its way from her throat
and she decides to take no more chances charging toward him, her dagger blinding them all as steel meets sunlight and she
attempts to plunge it straight across his jugular.
Donovan grins in triumph as the rocks cascade down on Renai. He sits on a nearby boulder and begins to tend to his own
wound when her hears a gutteral cry blare from the smallish half-elf. Caught unaware by her seemingly impossible escape, he
attempts to dodge the ranger's brazen charge upon him. Although hampered by his injured foot, he dodges the brunt of the intended
blow, but Renai's dagger still nicks him on the neck, opening a good-sized wound as he sidesteps her charging form and lets
her tumble by. The assassin's eyes grow cold and even more intense as he reaches for his bow, contemplating his next move.
The two magic attacks did not work, so he decides finally to resort to a more conventional approach. Wiping the sweat and
blood from his hand, he reaches for his quiver and begins to pull out an arrow. He utters something softly, inaudible to anyone
but him, and fires arrow after arrow, five of them in quick succession, each one at a different angle and trajectory, as if
to dare the half-elf to wriggle her way out of his arrow storm
Renai begins to laugh softly at first, then louder as she sees the human's blood on her dagger and pouring down his chest
from his neck. Her body aches and cries out against the agony she's putting it through, rife with exhaustion and the loss
of blood sending her mind spiraling into a sense of numb fuzziness. She shakes her head quickly, dust rising off her frame
as she does, her goal to keep herself conscious for the remainder of the fight. Seeing him pull his bow she waits for the
inevitable onslaught of projectiles, expecting such an attempt from an assassin. As he sends five bolts toward her she can't
help but smile at the irony. "A landslide won't stop me, yet you think mere arrows will?" she virtually hisses at him, her
voice raspy with dust and fatigue. Knowing she doesn't have the strength to take much more of this, she opts not to jump or
roll out of the way, instead seeming to simply fall back onto the ground, sitting. The simple yet daring tactic works, as
four of his arrows zing over her head or plant themselves in the dirt beside her. Only one pierces her flesh, sending another
cry from her mouth as she watches the shaft sink in almost to the feather tip through her left shoulder. An audible crack
is heard as the sharp point breaks through her collarbone before appearing out of her back again, sending a spray of blood
out behind her. Tears of pain fill her eyes as she wearily staggers to her feet, still clenching her glowing dagger in her
right hand, her left now hanging limply to her side as her lifesource flows down her arm, dripping off her fingertips and
staining the ground and mixing with the dirt to create a muddy paste at her side. She knows this is her last attempt, and
so she raises the dagger to her lips, almost as if whispering an encouragement to it as she rests it against her warm, pale
visage. Then in a sudden spurt of energy, the last she'll be able to make, she throws the dagger at him with blinding speed
and accuracy no one would have guessed she still contained, and her mind sinks into nothingness as she collapses, hoping with
her last clear thought that the dagger could bury to the hilt in his very heart...
Donovan smirks in satisfaction as his attack strikes the half-elf in the shoulder. Watching the ranger's tenacity, he can't
help but admire her somewhat. He sees her charging at him with all her remaining strength. He raises his shield to deflect
the sword. He catches Renai as she falls, taking care not to spike her on his armor. "You've fought bravely, Ren. It's time
to stop this."
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