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Adonijah versus Jarrysn
Adonijah enters the rune inscribed cave, gazing upon the characters written upon its walls. The knight seems almost out of
place, entering such a dark area wearing the holy armor that protects him from the evil’s of the world. His breastplate
reflects the soft, blue glow of the runes, showing the picturesque portrait of Michael, the archangel of the Lord. The crimson
cape of the knight flows behind him, swaying in the gentle breeze of the underground cavern wind, blowing random from the
darkness. The knight thinks to himself that he has indeed walked into a darker realm, something that causes a heightened sense
of anxiety to appear upon the knight’s face and posture, as his hands go towards the hilt of his broad sword. The sound
of footsteps echo in this place, as the human moves forward, into a small crowd of people. He then sees the drow assassin
in the midst of the crowd. The knight’s eyes glare at him, knowing that he is the one that the knight has waited for,
to even a score from long ago. The pious knight slowly starts moves his left hand to his side, and with the right hand, begins
to cautiously remove the sword from it’s slumber within it’s sheath. The blue light begins to shine upon the blade,
showing the remarkable fine, intricate details of a battle scene portrayed upon it. The scene depicts a battle from the ancient
days, from when only God and angels roamed these lands, and when good clashed against evil for the rights to this place. As
the knight removes the blade completely from it’s sheath, he begins to run towards his opponent, anxious and at the
same time pleased that he has now had the chance to encounter this assassin once again. As the knight draws near his rival,
he places the tip of the blade against the ground, but only enough to allow the tip to draw a small line in the dirt behind
him, showing his path from whence he came. The assassin is now only a few feet away, and the knight dashes forward with great
speed, bringing the sword up at the last moment to attack his enemy’s left leg, hoping to maim and end the fight quickly…
Jarrysn tilts his neck in a wide arc, cracking audibly as he does so. Stretching for a moment, he prepares his physical
body while his mind slowly comforts itself with the surrounding darkness, drinking it in like a warm embrace. Lifting a weather
worn ebon hand, the drow draws his hood over his silver tresses, concealing the only thing able to give him away in this dark
place. Checking his face plate, he secures it in place before giving heed to his opponent, amused at the human. With a few
hastily spoken words from the drow dialect, the runes on the wall begin to fade to an almost unseen light, knowing the words
well. Jarrysn, using one hand to hold his scabbard in place, throws the other into the air, the metallic ring announcing to
all the entrance of his blade into the battle. Grasping it tightly with one hand, he swings the blade with a nonchalant ease
down to meet the knights, rolling in the darkness while using the others sword as a pivot with his own, sending him off into
the darkness before any retaliation could be had by the knight. Holding his cloak against his form, Jarrysn moves through
the ethereal darkness with an uncanny fluidness given to his people. A soft screech breaks the silence as his sword escapes
once more into its sheath, no longer needing to be used. Moving to another area of the cave, Jarrysn allows the unnerving
silence to continue until finally he breaks the silence with a quick "twang". The sound of a taut string being released quickly
followed by the undeniable sound of an arrow breaking the air. Where though is it coming from, which direction? Jarrysn simply
smirks to himself, holding his bow at bay, waiting to hear the shriek of a dying man.
Adonijah turns back around, steadying himself after his blow that sliced nothing but the damp air of the cave left him slightly
off balance. He senses something is very odd about this place, and his thoughts are brought to life as the cave darkens. Knowing
that he has to act quickly to keep up with his dark opponent, the knight closes his eyes and relies on his other senses. Upon
hearing the sound of the string being released, his ears quickly begin to search for the direction of the sound. With the
cavern echoing, it makes it quite difficult to do so, and thus the knight begins to visibly sweat, felt only by him due to
the darkness of the cave. At the last moment, the knight takes his best course of action, knowing that he must do so to ensure
that he will be saving his life from an unwanted end. The pious knight drops to his knees and begins to pray, praising God
out loud so that the caverns begin to create an extreme noise from all the knight’s shouting and the echo effect in
this place. A soft thud is heard against the wall where he once stood. In an instant, as if God himself answered the knight’s
prayer, the runes themselves light up, not with a blue glow, but with an intense white glow, as if something more powerful
is controlling them. Adonijah stops praying and stands, gazing around the cavern, looking for his opponent. Knowing that he
now holds the advantage due to the drow’s extreme dislike for light, he begins to plot his next attack. The knight picks
up his sword from the ground, where he laid it down to pray, and begins to rush towards the drow yet again. This time, the
pious knight begins to chant another prayer as he closes in upon his opponent. The runes begin to increase in intensity, as
if creating a field of light to hide Adonijah behind. At the last moment, the human takes a rusty dagger from his belt and
throws it towards the assassin’s right arm using his left hand and brings the sword in his right hand into a high arc,
readying it to strike the drow’s left shoulder…
Jarrysn blinks behind his face plate, slightly amused that he gets to torture the human a little longer. All signs of joy,
however, slip from his facade as the runes begin to radiate light, tingling his flesh through his garments. He focuses his
mind upon the words as he begins to utter them, defying Adonijah and whatever god he may serve. The runes, though being controlled
by a supposedly more powerful god, cannot deny their maker, always is magic more powerful in the hands of its creator than
when overtaken by another. Struggling, for his knowledge of magic is brief, Jarrysn finally mutters the right words, the runes
quickly dispersing into nothingness; their light extinguished rather than put to some ill use. Only now is the drow able to
see what is coming at him, the hateful light gone, almost forgotten as the darkness sweeps over this deep place once more.
Caught at unawares, Jarrysn swings his longbow up to meet the sword. Though crushing into it, destroying the weapon's use,
it does manage to slow the blade to a stop as it pierces through the wood. Unable to stop the dagger, Jarrysn emits a deep
groan from the depths of his throat, lunging towards Adonijah with one step, lust controlling his movements. In his free hand
is another arrow, already in hand and waiting to be fired until the loss of Jarrysn's bow. Thrusting this forward, Jarrysn
attempts to stab the human in the neck while his sword is unable to offer any defense, as Jarrysn maintains his hold on his
bow, keeping the sword locked with it.
Adonijah struggles with the drow, trying to release it’s hold upon the knight’s sword. Sweat drips from the knight’s
forehead onto the drow’s clothing, leaving a small discoloration upon the clothing from the drips of perspiration. During
the struggle, the knight is not fully aware of the arrow in the assassin’s hand. At the very last moment, the arrow
is seen out of the corner of the human’s eyes, and he tries to react to dodge the blow. The assassin’s hand-eye
coordination is very accurate and would have struck its mark if it were not for the knight’s quick reflexes. The human
brings up his left arm just in time to try to deflect the blow, but the drow’s strength is more than what the human
expected. The knight’s left hand is struck by the arrow, driving the arrow straight into the human’s palm. Adonijah
screams in pain and blood falls to the ground, collecting in a pool around the knight’s feet. Adonijah steps back, releasing
his hold upon his sword, knowing that he would rather be unarmed in a better position to defend himself than to be struggling
in hand to hand combat with the skilled assassin. Adonijah stares at his left hand, gazing upon the severity of the wound
and the arrow that now is part of his anatomy. The knight then stops screaming, and turns his eyes directly to his opponent,
glaring with an intense hatred that he has never felt before. In one motion, he brings his right hand down upon the arrow,
ripping it completely out of his hand. The arrow falls to the ground, arrow tip and upper shaft completely covered in the
human’s crimson blood. The blood is now pouring from the knight’s hand, creating a much larger pool of blood upon
the ground. Adonijah then closes his eyes, beginning to chant once again. No thoughts of pain race through the knight’s
mind, rather the thoughts of revenge and hatred now flow freely, thoughts that the human has not experienced for a long time.
The cavern runes begin to pulse a deep red, the color of the human’s blood, in reaction to the chanting of the human.
Something has been unleashed in the knight, causing him to forget the peace and serenity of the world he was a part of just
a few brief moments ago. The cavern begins to shake, causing small tremors in the ground and rocks falling from the walls.
In a instant, a rift opens in the floor, beginning with Adonijah and slowly widening as it draws near to the drow, hoping
to devour the assassin and send him to the hell that awaits him…
Jarrysn allows his bow to drop from his grasp, taking the knight's sword with it, lost in the darkness enveloping the ground.
Clutching his shoulder, Jarrysn shrinks into the shadows, silently. Easing the dagger free from his form, Jarrysn cannot help
but howl with pain, his hand gripping the hilt of the weapon fiercely. His eyes easily pick the knight out in the dark, seemingly
amazed as he tears the barbed tip from his flesh with no thought, blood flowing freely from him. Jarrysn, on the other hand,
swoons slightly, the loss of blood affecting his performance. Staggering against the wall, Jarrysn searches silently until
he finds a place to grab hold, then hoists himself onto the wall with a spider like ability, years of living in caves making
its presence known in the ease in which he does this. With a deadly accuracy, the drow hurls the dagger back at the knight,
a smirk threatening to play upon his visage. As the projectile whirls through the air, Jarrysn can only hope that the weakened
knight is so focused upon his spell that he will not hear the attack coming, and if he does all is well, for his concentration
will be broken and the spell will cease.
Adonijah collapses to a knee from sheer exhaustion and from the great amount of blood loss. He holds his head up, searching
for his opponent, peering into the rift to watch for a free-falling body that never appears. Confused and exhausted, he looks
around the cavern for his rival. His ears begin to play a larger role again, due to the lack of light in this cave. The sound
of the dagger slicing the air is faint, but audible to the knight. Thinking about this impending danger causes Adonijah to
completely collapse to the ground, out of pure exhaustion, physically, mentally, and emotionally. As he lies there, the soft
sound of the dagger flies above him, and he gives out a sign of relief, knowing he just barely escaped the weapon. As he lies
there, he begins to collect his thoughts, and push away the intense hatred to which he is unaccustomed to. He picks himself
off the ground, using his right hand to push off the ground, thrusting his left hand to his chest to put as little pressure
as possible upon it. He then nods to the drow, knowing that this duel has been well met.
Teague said, "Jarrysn was voted the winner."
Jarrysn versus Ivellios
Jarrysn lays a hand upon the strap holding his satchel in place. Swinging it free, he tosses the bag out of the way, the
former disappearing into the darkness that lies heavily at this time of night. Tilting his head to the side, his neck makes
an audible crack, his free hand pulling his hood into place, needing its concealing features in this place to hide his snowy
white locks from view. Dark hued glass on his mask conceals the whites of his eyes, leaving him a shadow in this world of
darkness without a thing to betray him. Finally, his eyes linger to his opponent, his disgust for the man apparent in his
scowl as he eyes the coward. Taking a step backwards, his form fades from sight, using the lack of light to his advantage.
Putting his training to use, he pushes forward, silently easing his lithe frame forward, moving within melee range. Giving
no cry, no sound of approach, the drow silently makes his way forward, creeping with a silence gifted to his race. At the
last second, Jarrysn quickly draws his hand upwards, the sound of scraping metal revealing his position at last. Being now
so close to his opponent, the very act of drawing his blade is an attack, close enough so that the rising weapon threatens
to tear into the flesh of Ivellios, the shadows of the two men blending into one. Not idle, his other hand wields a short
dagger, knowing that in such close quarters he is more prone to attack., he thus wields the weapon defensively, ready to ward
off an attack on his person.
Ivellios sighs at the unfortunate events that were to take place if he were to lose this forced battle. As the gentle moonlight
fell upon his face a gentle smile is seen pursing his visage. The vampires normally emerald hues, now stained a deep orange,
glisten unnaturally as they dance along the surrounding area taking in every scene available. The ranger lifts his hand quickly
upwards till it reaches the long brim of his hat. He grabs the brim angrily and tosses it aside as the assassin had done seconds
before, the hat also sinking into the shadows. As the drow approaches, Ivellios jumps back into the darkness, narrowly avoiding
the deadly blade. A moment of silence clouds the minds of the watchers, and his opposition, with a slight feeling of terror
until a shrill cackle is heard emanating from darkness. The ranger steps quietly around the area, though no footsteps could
possibly be heard. Ivellios reaches up once more and over his head until it's clutched around the oaken bow resting upon his
back, the string around Ivellios' body. He pulls forward and up, the bow snapping into place as it's held out in front of
him. The string, stretched tightly from one end of the bow to the other, vibrates furiously radiating a strange, awkward sound
from it. The vampire reaches to his side where the case to his arrows lay. He flicks open the case's lid and removes 3 arrows,
loading them quickly into the string of his weapon. He pulls back with great strength and sends the arrows towards his opponent
at lightning speeds, the they could not be seen in the darkest seeming of all nights.
Jarrysn smirks, easing his scimitar back into its scabbard as the other wanders off. Sacrificing stealth for vision, he
grasps hold of his mask and slides it to the top of his head, disappearing underneath the drow's hood. Now, the whites of
his eyes drift about the area, the only shape given to the wandering darkness that is Jarrysn. Smirking to himself, he realizes
that his opponent must not know that drow can see ever more clearly at night then in the dreadful brightness that is day.
Seeing full in advance the bow that is being drawn, the shadowed frame of Jarrysn finds its way to his pack, nothing more
than a shape in the dark to the others. Snatching it up, he runs towards his opponent, using his thickly filled satchel as
a shield. Two of the arrows stick fast, hastening to a stop on the farther side of the sack, its intended purpose fulfilled.
The third arrow, being lower on the bow and thus angled downward, sinks into the drow's leg, the lack of armor apparent as
the arrow pierces deep. Stumbling, Jarrysn falls into a tumble, his frame writhing and tumbling towards Ivellios. One hand
letting go of the sack as it is no longer needed, he keeps a firm hold upon the hilt of his dagger, knowing it will be needed.
As he comes upon the form of his opponent, Jarrysn can only hope in the depths of his mind that his balde, lashing about in
this full out spin, will make contact with his foe. If nothing else, he is bound to collide with the other unless Ivellios
reacts appropriately.
Ivellios watches as his opponent is hit by the last arrow shot, his vampristic sense happily allowing him the same benefits
as the drow before him. As the enemy neared, tumbling viciously towards him, the ranger jumps straight up, while chanting
words of the ancient elves, words long forgotten, in a deep, booming voice. Instead of falling back towards the land beneath
him, the vampire hovers at least 20 feet up into the dark, blackened night sky, leaving under him little more than a slight
orange residue. The same cackle heard once before sounds yet again, ringing arrogantly through the heads of the men and women
standing there, threatening to break their feeble mind. Suddenly, as quick as the sound first rang out, it abruptly stopped
leaving the spectators ears and minds, a loud ring left in their heads. Holding his bow once more outward in his hand, Ivellios
reaches to his side, withdrawing 3 arrows more, each with the same potential for disaster as the last. Although, upon deeper
investigation, the truth is revealed. The arrows tips are very much different from the last, more dangerous. Their heads are
now barbed in many places and in a circular formation. They drip with perfuse smelling liquids with a greenish tint, speckles
of brown among them. The ranger loads them into his bow, pulling forcefully back, and fires them, with the agility where none
other could actually hit their target, but they all fly straight way toward the drow, poised to kill.
Jarrysn continues his rolling, slamming into a tree to come to a sudden stop. His eyes lift through the boughs of the tree
towards his opponent, then to his leg. Grasping hold of the arrow, he yelps, a loud groan echoing in the area as he rips through
flesh and muscle to free the arrow from his appendage. Looking up, he sees his opponent fire down upon him, and can do nothing
more than grab hold of the tree trunk behind him. Pushing the ground with his good leg, he rolls around the tree while using
his arms to keep him in close proximity. Now on the other side, he cannot see the poisoned arrows sink into limb and trunk,
the green acidic liquid burning away at the living plant. Standing, Jarrysn manages to limp forward, adrenaline keeping him
from feeling the affects of the wound yet. Retrieving something from a pouch, he hurls the objects into the air, darkness
consuming the silent flight of his next attack. He and the few others nearby with nocturnal vision can see the attack that
approaches the floating ranger. Spreading out across the plain sky, a handful of barbed spikes fly into the air, commonly
used to stop a horse from advancing. The spikes, or crow’s feet as they are called, spread out like a blanket in hopes
of catching Ivellios in their path.
Ivellios grins seeing the attack. His vampristic benefits of dark vision allow him to yet again see the attack set into the
darkness of the night. Well before the weapons get into damage range the ranger is gone. Landing softly down of the ground
he stands now fully straight up. He rolls his shoulders back behind him and around to the front of him once more as they are
naturally set. The vampire grins, a flash of light radiates from his pearly white fangs. He drops his bow next to him, a gentle
thud is all that could be heard until at long wait and expectation the vampires deep, gruff voice could be heard. "You confuse
me, Jarrysn. I thought you'd be more of a challenge that this, but from the strike of one oaken arrow you stand so feebly
before me?" His hand reaches across the slender body of the vampire, grasping the hilt of his rapier, and with one swift motion,
the blade of the weapon is revealed. As Ivellios raises the blade to eye level it erupts into black flames, although no heat
is felt. The flames are called hellfire, empowering the sword to no end. Chilling light engulfs the area, though not much
is revealed. Pointing the tip of the thin blade at his opponent, the weapon releases more energy about itself, lighting more
of the way. Ivellios heart can now strangely be heard... A muffled thump....thump...thump is the only sound able to be heard
in the area. The vampire grins an evil toothy grin once more, then is an instant it turns to an angry frown as he moves the
tip of the blade in an upside down star formation, leaving a glow in the place of each movement. His eyes darken as the star
burst into a thick black flame the size of a human and rush towards his opponent, burning all under and before it.
Jarrysn watches his opponent, his mind already off his failed attack. After frowning for the briefest of moments, his lips
curl into a smirk, seeing that the flames produce no light, and thus no pain to his being, yet. Not daring to stand against
magic in his condition, and indeed knowing very little magic himself, he turns and flees, running all out while the adrenaline
in his blood allows him to overcome the pain in his leg. At last, he stumbles and falls, plowing into the strangest of things,
a leopard. Knocking it from Atropos' form, the two become entangled until Jarrysn end's up on the further side, the leopard
now coming between the flame and its prey. Burning into the leopard, the flames whither and die, unable to bring harm to this...strange
animal that seems to defy all odds.
Jarrysn versus Sabine
Jarrysn clutches his cloak tightly about his form, his hood and mask concealing his head entirely from sight, shrouded
in shadow. His ebon hand twitches slightly, lingering near the hilt of his scimitar. His eyes loft to the sky for a fleeting
moment, dark hued glass covering the eyeholes of his mask hide them from the sun. Turning his gaze upon Sabine, he emits a
low growl from the depths of his throat. A shrill metalic ring fills the air, followed by silence. Jarrysn's lithe form slips
into a nearby shadow, his completely darkened form dances in and out of reality amongst the darkness, lost to all sight and
sound. Unfortunately, there is little shadow here and he is forced to eventually merge back out into the daylight, feeling
the burning sansation through his garments. With an angry cry, his passion furthered by the hateful light, he leaps at Sabine,
his slender, single-edged blade gleaming in both hands. At this sudden attack one might see nothing but the blade and react
accordingly at of instinct. Such is the hope of Jarrysn, as a small, six inch piece of wood potrudes from his mouth, a single
silent puff of air sending a poisoned dart across the short distance towards Sabine's neck.
Sabine stands watching the drow ready his attack, she slowly moves a fiery strand of hair out of her eyes as the gentle evening
breeze blows crossed the jetty. As the sun slowly sets in the west she momentarily looks to the sky sending a prayer to her
mother "memor , memor orbis of divum. astrum quod frons aquila. eximius rectus ventus. spiritus nox noctis quod dies. ex quattuor
procuratio. memor , memor valde vita of sol solis. spiritus in orbis terrarum. is lies super orbis terrarum. accerso sicco
vita super orbis terrarum. vita vestis orbis terrarum. memor , memor sanctimonia of res. cursor profusum quod moenia. tener
intus cubile. a pectus pectoris pro sanctus incendia. sanctus flamma of incendia."The bard lowers her head and smiles at the
drow as she draws her blade form its sheath. His sudden movement causes her to react faster than she was planning but with
her vampiric speed she eludes a nasty blow,,her sences tell her she is still in danger as she attempts to jump upon the jetty
to avoid it, his blade strikes her thigh asshe throws her self to the side. Sabine winces in pain as the dart grazes her neck.the
vampriss gets back to her feet only to glare at him and growl as she lunges off the jetty and straight at him wielding her
blade over her own head, she brings her arms down aiming at his neck
Jarrysn can feel no joy at striking a blow, too strong is the sun on his being. His gaze stays tied to his opponent, watching
her make the lunge. Using her own reaction against her, he takes a few long strides forward and drops to his knee in one fluid
movement, passing beneath her flying form while at the sime time ending up on the other side of her. As he slowly stands,
his cloak falls from his frame instead of rising with his form, a long, light gash running the length of his shoulder, severing
the cloak from his form. Still garbed in a black shirt, his hatred for the relentless light grows as he feels it stronger
upon his whole person, now one layer closer to the pain. Turning back to Sabine, and away from the sun, a slender, obisidian
hand lifts to his head, drawing his faceplate through snowy locks. Gazing without aid at Sabine, he rushes for her once more,
throwing his feet before him in his last few strides in order to kick up into her face a cloud of dust, putting it to such
an effect as to blind her momentarily. Instead of regaining his composure, he falls backwards, landing on his back he uses
his momentum to slide beneath Sabine's legs, both hands drawing his sword in a straight arch over his body, and directly towards
Sabine.
Sabine lands and spins around as he some how out maneuvers her. A loud growl escapes her full ruby red lips as she sneers
at him for a moment,The bard sees him charging at her kicking wet sand into her face, thankful to her keen senses she avoided
most of the sand as her eyes close in time.Seeing the drow again come at her she back flips away from him.Sabine hisses as
the drows blade again comes in contact with her soft flesh of her back.As Sabine gets to her feet she rubs her neck where
the dart grazed her neck she turns locking her emerald hues on him again growling at him. Sabine softly begins to chant as
she charge Jarrysn again this time swinging her blade in a X pattern in front of her, her eyes ablaze with anger as she intends
to carve his flesh in to bloody peices.
Jarrysn turns to follow Sabine's movements, his hand drawing his mask once again in place as she moves to put her back
to the sun. He thrusts his sword up, catching it against Sabine's own. Swinging as soon as the two blades conect, he rolls
around Sabine and out of the way of her sword, his spinning around his lithe form as he does so. Ending up near the edge of
the ocean, he takes a moment to dip his blade into the water, knowing that the salt will only add to the pain he is to inflict
upon her. Walking slowly, he lets his sword tip linger near the ground, almost as if it were too much of a burden for him
to lift. Only when he flicks his wrist does it become apparent as to what he was doing: waiting for the edge of his sword
to catch on to the tattered cloak on the ground. Flinging it upwards in order to act as a distraction. Jarrysn stabs forward,
piercing his own cloak at the last moment to add to the surprise, hoping his attack will come through unseen until the last
second.
Sabine hisses again in disgust as her blade is deflected.the vampirss's chant becomes louder as it takes effect.Standing unmoving
to face her foe, her blade emits a blinding sliver hue as it splits in two.She use her swords to catch his cloak covered blade
between them, than twists her wrist in hopes to make him lose his grasp upon the weapon.Sabine than lunges forward as she
does a full 360 degree spin as she aims her blades at his middle in the hope she cuts him in two
Jarrysn allows his blade to be pulled free, having no need to rely upon the weapon fully. He does, however, grab hold of the
cloak, pulling it free before the blade falls to the ground. He holds it up before him, completely blocking his frame from
sight. Just before Sabine's blade's connect with him, the cloak begins to drop, struck by the weapons before it can even make
it to the ground. No blood is spilt though, no drow is to be found. Jarrys, having slipped away at the last moment, using
the shadows to go in a wide circle about Sabine, steps forward once more, his dark form out of place in the bright sun. He
inclines his head once, silently, signifying that he is through with the fight. After retrieving his sword and replacing it
in it's scabbard, he retrieves a spare cloak from his sack and quickly bundles it around himself.
Jarrysn versus Aranna
Jarrysn throws back his hood, running a hand absent-mindedly through his silver locks, setting his focus upon Aranna as
he settles his form into position. Letting his black garbed body to slowly mold with the chilly night air about him, he takes
a moment to consider his course of action, not particularly devoted to this fight, as it is really little concern to him.
He tosses his hand to the side, the small, barely visible form beside him flutters away, the trail of dust following Lloyd
soon dispersing as the drow's best, even though mentally controlled, friend heads to the sidelines to watch. Being gifted
with the ability to strike first, Jarrysn remains motionless, his eyes silently scanning the area as he attempts to devise
some type of plan that will wrap his attack in surprise, hopefully shocking his opponent into a delayed reaction. Easing a
lone ebon hand beneath the folds of his outer garment, he pulls forth a coil of rope. Unraveling this, he reveals a small
grappling hook connected to the end, which he quickly spins for a fleeting moment, letting the heavy object sail off towards
the tavern wall. Keeping the slack rope in one hand, his other draws forth from his side a slender, single-edged sword, the
scimitar his weapon of choice. Quickly stepping into motion, he rushes towards Aranna, his gaze constantly shifting between
the tavern wall and his foe. Upon reaching an appropriate distance, he bellows a savage war cry, something dramatically different
from the stealthy attacks the drow is accustomed to. At the same instance, he gives the rope a sharp tug, dislodging a torch
from the outer tavern wall. A second sharp tug on the rope follows, pulling the object in midair, so that it is now no longer
just dropping, but hurling at rapid speed towards Aranna, providing a nice distraction while Jarrysn slips forward, his sword
jabbing silently through the air before him, attempting to drive his blade into the other's lower chest before she can perceive
all that has happened in such short notice.
Aranna stands alertly in front of her opponent, watching for big problems more than little ones. As eyes of blood fall upon
Jarrysn's scimitar, the humanoid dragon unfolds, from two small slats in the back of her tunic, scaled wings of a golden shade;
they seem to span a good ten feet or more! She wraps her body within those shining scales, though even a dragon's mighty wings
cannot protect them from all attacks... Though the scimitar was successfully blocked (at least for the first time), the grappling
hook came from the other side and slightly above, nailing the paladin squarely in the back of the head. Letting her wings
go back to her sides, she stumbles around awkwardly. After only a few seconds of this, she aims her holy sword at the drow,
mumbling but a few incoherent words. Her sword seems to become alight with an intense white flame as she charges him, emitting
some sort of dragonic hissing noise as a threat (in her own tongue).
Jarrysn regards the being with a new sense of realism, calculating what type of strength she must possess to continue fighting
so rapidly after having taken a flaming torch to the back of the head. Adjusting appropriately, he begins to back up, moving
quickly while still facing Aranna, watching her light her sword with a magical touch. Cursing the instant light, he quickly
lifts a hand to slide his faceplate into place, the dark hued glass over the eyeslits protecting them enough to allow the
drow to face his opponent head on. Unable to walk backwards at a pace faster than the approaching draconian, the drow instead
rushes forward, veering to the left so that he may dive into a roll past her, his attempt at avoiding close combat. As he
rolls beyond his opponent, it would appear that he has succeeded, but for the blood that soon begins to stain the dirt road
beneath him. Rising into a low crouch, the drow touches a hand to his lower thigh, growling softly as he touches a finger
to his tongue, the unmistakable taste of copper filling his mind. Expecting his opponent to whirl around in as much haste
as possible so as to not leave Jarrysn facing her back for an extended period of time, Jarrysn lifts a small crossbow from
a leather strap at his belt, a bolt already fit into place. Taking a moment to aim, he fires the projectile at what would
be the woman's upper torso, if she does in fact spin as he expects her to.
Aranna can't believe her eyes as Jarrysn avoids her attack so narrowly, wishing he hadn't been wise enough to block out the
light of her sword. Digging armored feet into the dirt, she tries desperately to stop mid-charge, but finding instantly that
being a dragon means not being able to stop on a dime. After finally losing enough momentum, the paladin whirls around, only
to be confronted by the fired ammunition of a crossbow! Not becoming aware of the situation until it's too late, the arrow
embeds itself near her right shoulder, slipping between the space where leather meets chainmail. Praising her luck, for it
did not land in her heart, she plucks the weapon from her chest. Wondering what options she has left, the paladin opts to
try her last attack again. Envoking the holy powers of her sword once more, she charges the assassin. Halfway through, she
becomes indecisive, deciding to throw the sword at him instead. Assuming he'll dodge in the right direction, she blocks herself
with her guardian shield, hoping to run him down with it.
Jarrysn hobbles slowly over to the tavern wall as Aranna deals with the bolt in her chest, propping himself against the
building so that he can take some of the strain off his leg. Lifting his gaze, he watches Aranna do the worst possible maneuver
he can think of, being that she has relieved herself of her own weapon. Simply deciding to take the self-inflicted pain, he
throws himself to the side, dropping like a stone to the ground, fighting the instinct to put up his hands as he smacks into
the dirt with a thud. Feeling the intense heat burn upon his neck, the drow quickly pushes himself up, gazing at the weapon
that has embedded itself into the wall of the building behind the assassin. Gripping the flaming weapon by its hilt, he jerks
it free, smirking slyly to himself as he turns, propping himself against the tavern. Wedging himself against it, he holds
the sword forward with his arms bent against his own frame, watching as Aranna drives forward blindly, her own momentum being
the very thing that will harm her, should she propel herself fast enough to drive her own weapon through the shield she thinks
will protect her.
Aranna peers over the shield's edge just in time to see Jarrysn taking her weapon from the side of the tavern. Oh, what an
idiot she had been to throw the sword and not the shield! Putting that thought aside, she tries to skid to a halt before met
by her own impending doom, failing to do so. heart skipping a beat, she moves to one side of the shield, terrified as the
once-friendly blade shatters through her shield, setting it aflame quickly. Knowing she'll quickly be engulfed by the fire
if she doesn't do something, the female dragon becomes filled with a strength that doesn't seem like her own, twisting the
still shield-bound arm and wrenching both sword and shield away from Jarrysn. As the last of her proud defense turns to smoldering
ash, Aranna pulls off the burning gauntlet, watching it sizzle on the ground. Though her arm is burnt rather nicely, this
warrior of the holy light still has a will left within her. As a last resort, she holds the sword above her head. The clouds
above darken considerably and begin to swirl, only adding to the effect of the actual attack; a fairly small-sized meteor
emerges from the swirling matter, hovering in the sky. As a smirk plays across the dragon's lips, she says, for all to hear,
"Light shall vanquish the unholy; the good shall endure... In the name of light itself, I smite thee!" She brings her sword
down, watching with grim satisfaction as the meteor is enveloped in a white light (lesser than that of her holy blade when
she attacked), hurtling down towards Jarrysn.
Jarrysn cowers slightly at the sight of the falling meteor, his own fears trying to burst through into his demeanor as
he tries to hide his fear of magic. Knowing he cannot defend from such attacks, the drow instead takes to what he knows best.
Stalking off into the night, his form quickly blends into the darkness, lost from even the most keen of eyes. A sudden squeak
fills the air, Lloyd's own slender frame quickly zipping out into the field of battle. Fearing for himself, as well as the
other innocents in the area, the little pixie quickly sticks both hands into a pouch at his side, drawing forth two tiny handfuls
of pixie dust. With his tongue sticking to the side out of his mouth, the tiny being hurls both handfuls of dust into the
air, his facade contorting with the pressure of the spells he is invoking with his own special magic. When the two objects
meet, the meteor and the pixie dust, a quick flash and bang fill the area, followed by a shower of daisy petals. Grinning
cheerily, the pixie dust bows to an audience of any that may have seen, proud of his work. Quickly though, he takes off into
the night in an attempt to find Jarrysn.
Kalid versus Jarrysn
Kalid‘s upper lip curls into a somewhat unpleasant smirk as she spies Jarrysn. As his ebon-clad form moves further into
her sight, this wry grin only seems to widen. Her left hand drops, almost instantaneously, to her side and slender digits
begin to coil themselves tightly around the hilt of one of the twin daggers that hang at her waist. Bringing the blade from
its scabbard, she holds it horizontally across her stomach. Two pallid digits fix themselves on the tip of blade and, somewhat
apprehensively, she pushes down and almost drives the blade into her skin. Her vision skips from her almost-impaled fingers,
to Jarrysn and her expression changes to one of utmost concentration. Muttering inaudible syllables under her breath, her
fingers seem to glow with an eerie light. A grimace slips itself across her countenance as she feels the metal pierce her
ashen skin. As soon as the tip of her blade is wet with the crimson of her own blood, Kalid thrusts the blade up, pointing
it skywards. Slipping gracefully down the dagger, the blood begins to boil, fizzing and spitting as it descends towards the
hilt. The elf’s expression, though, is now one of slight satisfaction. A low growl seems to emanate from the depths
of her throat and she pushes forward off her left heel. Her pace quickens as she heads towards Jarrysn. Thrusting, with one
swift, purposeful movement she looks to drive the boiling blade through the drow’s stomach, should he not react in time…
Jarrysn considers reaching for his blade, until he realizes that he no longer owns one. No longer holding the smirk of
a sure victory on his visage, the drow quickly concentrates, trying to recall to mind one of the numerous, yet simple, spells
that he has been memorizing. Opening his lips, a spell begins to slip free of them, though his voice is rather monotone and
you wonder if perhaps the entire purpose of this speech is to, in fact, draw you into a somewhat delirious state. Only when
the last word leaves his lips do you snap back to attention, leaving the thoughts that you had been preoccupying yourself
with to see what the drow has done. Upon laying your sight on the man, you see both arms held forward, ebon fingertips pointing
to the skies above as Jarrysn seemingly holds something in place. Though the air before him does not change hues, what could
be called a ripple forms before him, though it does not move or change. Only when a small bug happens to pass through it do
you see its purpose. Not even half way through, the insect explodes, having been instantly heated up to the point where its
internal organs combusted almost spontaneously. Keeping his arms tense, he expects his auntie-in-law to move right into the
force while she attempts to reach him with a dagger. Should she not withdraw her attack in time, she might find herself soiling
the ground in itsy bitsy chunks.
Kalid falls forwards for what seems to be an eternity, clearly under the influence of Jarrysn’s spell. As his lips part
for the final time, her ears flick back in confusion, utterly perplexed by the enchantment that has just befallen her. Cerulean-hued
orbs flick to the bug and, upon seeing its combustion, they widen in sheer horror. Gripping her weapon’s hilt as tight
as she can, Kalid tries desperately to retract her arm from its attacking stance. Fortunately, for her at least, her attempt
is successful at the very last second. Only her dagger is sent into the boiling air. As quick as her reflexes allow, she drop
her blade, watching the linen-clad hilt fizzle into nothingness as it’s boiled beyond return. Blisters, caused by split-second
in which Kalid held the blade in the force, begin to line the elf’s entire hand, and an involuntary moan escapes her
slightly-parted lips. Falling to her knees, Kalid looks back up at her nephew-in-law, and shoots him an utterly irate scowl.
Now it’s the turn of her right blade. Drawing this one from its scabbard, she grips the hilt with both hands, grimacing,
though, as she feels the blisters burn under her palm. Getting to her feet, yet more inaudible syllables are uttered, this
time looking to freeze the weapon she holds. Again, a look of sheer concentration adorns her somewhat weary features, and
she lunges forward. Hoping with her every fibre that her spell’s strong enough to neutralise the intense heat of her
nephew’s force, she hurls the blade towards him with no real aim, just hoping that the blade connects with some part
of his body…
Jarrysn is a weak mage. No doubt about it, he can't even keep this simple spell into effect for long. Shortly after turning
Kalid's first dagger into nothingness, the field slowly evaporates, leaving Jarrysn with no form of defense. Knowing he won't
have enough time to work up another spell, he simply concentrates on Kalid, hoping his assassin skills will be enough to aid
him in his defense. Upon seeing the dagger hurled in his direction, Jarrysn takes a running leap, backwards! The crazy drow
runs backwards before leaping, tilting his body in the air so as to be parallel to the ground, his head guiding him, while
tilted forward to see between his legs. Having misjudged the throw though, the drow lands on his back with a thud and bounces
slightly into the air, where the dagger catches him, tearing across his chest before Jarrysn falls once more to the ground,
the dagger disappearing into the forest as it passes him. Growling, he stands up, while quickly laying his hand across the
blood threatening to soak his robe. Speaking into his fist, he begins his next attack, one of his personal favorites. When
he is finally done uttering the incantation, he opens his palm. From this, an invisible line of steam pours forward, wafting
off the blood and towards Kalid. Unbeknown to her, as it takes no solid form, the smell is the very act of attack from Jarrysn.
It is said that vultures and flies can smell the scent of fresh carrion for miles, which is exactly the smell Jarrysn has
evoked in this attack of his. Waiting for a few minutes, the area quickly fills with birds and flies alike, all quickly swarming
towards Kalid to feast on her flesh.
Kalid‘s expression is somewhere between one of satisfaction, and one of remorse. Having just sliced open her nephew’s
chest, she seems to just stand, not really sure of what to do next. Shifting her gaze between Jarrysn and her blade, now residing
on the floor next to him, she cants her head to one side. “Sorry,” she begins. However, her sentence is never
finished as her nose curls in disgust, like she has a foul smell under it. Retreating further backwards, she looks somewhat
taken aback by the sight of all the birds and flies. Utter confusion taints her countenance, and she darts west, arms flailing
about everywhere, trying to swat the creatures that harass her so!
Jarrysn versus Khiene
Jarrysn lofts a slender hand to his brow, shading his eyes from what sunlight may stream down to this dark place. Scanning
the area, his eyes now long adjusted to the dark places of the world allow him to see clearly everything that lay beneath.
Trotting lightly across the scum that is the river, he turns and views his opponent from the other side. Releasing the clutches
of his cloak once again, his ebon hands lift to his head, slowly drawing back his dark hood. Feeling at ease here, no traces
of the bright shining light to bring pain to his being he allows a small smile to grace his lips, for just a moment. His digits
drop, lingering near the hilt of his blade as he observes his opponent. Moving forward, he blends into the shadows with the
skill of his people, the only ting betraying his stealth is the sound of a shrill metallic ring on the air. Several things
happen as Jarrysn comes once again into view. A wide spray of water jettisons forth, his foot launching the filth into the
air in an attempt to heavy down the pixie's wings, thus robbing it of the ability to fly. At the same time, he swings his
arm in a straight arch, bringing it crashing down towards the top of the pixie. Clutched in his dark digits are the remnants
of a human's rib cage, stink flowing from the decaying muscle and tissue still clinging to it. Should he manage to slam the
makeshift cage upon the pixie, things will prove ill for the tiny being.
Khiene hovers around slightly, looking around at the corpses and the waste floating on the river. Slowly watching the drow,
as darkness surrounds the drow, the pixie slowly raises his hand to his baw and pulls the weapon off his back while quickly
grabbing an arrow and notching it with the other hand, the ranger the turns to somewhere where he thought he saw the shadows
move, quickly realising that it wasn't the drow, the pixie turns, just in time to be shot into the wall by the filthy water,
as the bow and arrow are thrown from the rangers small form, he quickly thrusts his hands up and mumbles many words, letting
an aura flow from his hands, making a false sun in the cave. Eat that drow, The pixie then rolls as fast as he can, before
quickly getting up and running like a frightend mouse. Just in time to escape the clutches of the sword and the make shift
cage. Unable to fly, the creature runs and grabs his Bow and launches three arrows and the hopefully blinded drow.
Jarrysn allows a low pitched growl to emit from his throat, the sun catching him momentarily by surprise. As the ribcage
shatters upon impact, he lifts his free hand to his head and slides an obsidian mask into place that had previously been slid
to the back of his head. The narrow eye holes covered in a dark hued glass over him some sight, the blinding sun already fading
into his memory like a bad dream. Grasping his sword with both hands he looks about for the pixie, three tiny pricks in his
leg turning him in the right direction. He wonders what the pixie would do after poking him full of holes, but does not wish
to give him the chance to try anything else. Rushing at his disabled foe, he swings his slightly curved scimitar type blade
in a low flat arc, quickly covering the ground in a wide span around the pixie, giving him once again little chance of escape.
Khiene growls as his small arrows have little impact on the blinded drow, then upon seeing the scimatar, the pixie lies flat
on the ground before wincing painfully as the scimitar makes a shallow slit down his whole back, Then pushing himself up,
the now enraged pixie closes his eyes and starts to mumble as he sticks out his hands, aimed at Jarrysn. The ranger's hands,
not glowing a bright white slowly start to tremble as the blood loss take its effect, the pixie then stops his mumbling and
lets loose the aura building up in his hands. Two white flaming magic arrows then shoot towards the drow. The pixie then quickly
darts off in another direstion, hoping to confuse the large foe.
Jarrysn twitches slightly as the refreshing smell of newly freed blood reaches his nose. Glancing about, he instinctively
avoids facing the way his opponent must be, the blinding light giving him away. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulls
his eyes back to his foe, only to gaze at the sight of two blinding masses moving directly towards him. His body naturally
reacts, moving on instinct more than anything he twists and drops to a knee at the same time, just nearly avoiding one of
the two projectiles. Unfortunately, not one but two enchanted arrows were sent his way. The second arrow sinks into his shoulder,
the light blinding and burning his flesh. After crying aloud, he gasps and grabs at the arrow, wrenching it free and quickly
thrusts his hand downward into the water. Blood drops from his clothes, unseen on the dark material. Releasing his sword from
his grip, he leans down and grabs a handful of the sludge that many deem worthy enough to dispose in this location. Taking
another fistful, he stalks after the pixie, waiting for it to stop its blind flight before hurling a fistful. Waiting a moment,
he hurls the other fistful to the side, intending to cut of the pixie's chance of moving to the side, while at the same time
doubling the chances that he will be drowned in a pile of foul waste.
Khiene stops suddenly, quickly turning to see the drow by the waters edge. suddenly the pixies notices two fist fulls of waste
flying his way, reacting quickly, the pixie jumps to the side away from the sludge, but is suddenly thrown into the wall as
a stray pile of sludge slams into his body. Now as blood flows from his skull, the pixie mumbles another spell, sending an
aura around himself. quickly closing the wounds, leaving many hard to see scars. The creature then stares at the drow, his
cold blue eyes, etching their way into Jarrysn's soul as the pixie quickly wipes the sludge off his body and darts after the
the drow., mumbling somthing under his breath, the pixie lets another aura surrond his frame as it grows his body, making
him the size of a small boy. Yet more cordanated. The ranger then draws a sword and slices up towards the drow's nec, hoping
to finish the duel at last,
Jarrysn stands slowly, pulling his sword up with him. His eyes flicker faintly, his mind growing light at the loss of blood
already upon him. Stepping back into the shadow, his body fades into darkness, a glimmer here and there of his sword the only
thing betraying his position. As Khiene attacks him once again, his moves lithely through the shadows, the sound of the rangers
blade slicing through air signifying that he has indeed made contact with nothing. Stepping from a dark corner, Jarrysn slides
his blade into its scabbard, nodding curtly to Khiene before he tends to his wound.
Jarrysn versus Renai
Jarrysn unslings his satchel, tossing it aside. Warily, he takes in the form of his opponent before slipping into the shadows
that seem to devour this room. The feeling of evil, the darkness, they only feed his security, nothing more. If one could
follow his lithe from moving silently through the area, they would lose it now as he dodges behind a book shelf, giving himself
the advantage of surprise. Without warning, without any signifying call mulitple things happen at once. A heave his heard,
as if the great tugging of a rope was taking place. This, however, is drown out by the noise created by a falling bookshelf,
the massive wooden structure turning on it's side, books falling before it's wake. Apparently chosen for its position, this
book case tumbles over and down towards Renai, leaving her but only the other direction to turn, lest she be squashed like
a bug. Standing there, a grin upon his face, is the drow, quickly drawing forth his scimitar with a shrill ring annoucing
its entrence into battle. Jarryn lifts his hand, ebon fingers bending at the joints in unison, beckoning her to come at him,
or remain where she is and face the catasrophy
Renai watches expressionless as the drow disappears into the shadows of the room, a smug smile curving across her lips. Her
emerald glance scans the area for a moment, tainted with amusement before her eyes close and she tilts her head upward slightly.
Relying on her other senses is her strong point, belied by the calm façade she maintains as his scent fills her nostrils and
the creak of the bookcase reaches her ears. Her lids snap open as she crouches, one hand dropping to the dagger in her boot,
bringing the blade from its hiding place with a practiced ease. Her brow furrows as the wall of tomes begins its descent toward
her, and she looks warily at her opponent waiting for her at the end of that tunnel of injury. One word drips from her tongue,
seeming to hang in the air between them for a moment, its power almost a tangible presence in the room. She raises her knife
slowly, revealing its brilliant azure glow as she speedily dodges the falling objects in her charge toward him. As the word
finishes its ringing in the chamber, and their ears, the steel catches a flicker of flame and bursts into a dazzling brilliance.
The half-elf continues her assault, hoping that the temporarily blinding light will allow her to blade to bite into the flesh
of his neck.
Jarrysn growls, a hand lifting to throw back his hood, running his obsidian tinted fingers through his silver locks as
he does so. Making sure that his face plate is in place, he grasps hold of the hilt of his blade with both hands, a deathly
grip enough to choke the life from the weapon's handle, if life it possessed. Unlearned in magic, the word, and even the presence
in the room is unnoticeable to him, the sole focus of his attention being the weapon coming on towards him in its bright radiance.
Tolerating the light through the dark hued glass composing the eye slits of his face plate, he swings his weapon outwards
to meet Renai's torso, attempting to attack her first having the further reaching blade. Halfway through the swing he cries
out, the bright light burning his flesh through his garments, tormenting his eyes in all its magnificent glory. Throwing his
gaze to the side and away from that which he so loathes, his feels the contact of the blade to his shoulder, tearing through
flesh and muscle. He jumps back, pulling his sword with him in a blind rage. The light, quickly vanishing, returns the strength
to his limbs every second with every second of its absence. Rushing towards the elf, he hurls his left shoulder towards her
while jabbing his weapon straight forward, hoping to catch her with one or the other.
Renai displays a wicked grin as she feels the resistance of her dagger slicing into his flesh. Taking no time to savor this
small victory, however, she pirouettes to face him directly, just soon enough to see him barreling toward her, sword outstretched
and seeking blood. She quickly tries to roll out of the way, his shoulder jarring her a bit and a small cry of pain escaping
her lips as the scimitar intent on goring her bites into her side instead. A furious scowl becomes a grimace as she touches
the wound, her fingertips stained with crimson as they reach for the bow strapped on her back. Seeing him continue toward
the space where she once stood with his forward momentum, she pulls a slim arrow from her quiver without hesitation, slender
fingers smoothing its feather tip and placing it expertly. She raises the weapon and releases the string in one fluid, graceful
motion, her lips moving silently in another spell. Midflight the arrow glows a dull orange, beginning to shriek almost as
if echoing the words her mouth speaks softer than a whisper. Before his eyes the small projectile rips itself asunder into
countless sharp and deadly fragments, all speeding toward his lightly protected legs in an attempt to immobilize him.
Jarrysn comes to a hasty stop, sliding slightly along the cold, stone floor. Turning to face Renai, his glaring eyes come
to rest upon a bow being drawn, arrow almost set in place. With little left to do, he leans to the ground, hands grabbing
at whatever object they may find. Laying hold of one of the fallen books, the drow hurls it forward in a desperate attempt
to stop the arrow, unable to react in any other way, time slipping away from him. What might have once protected him becomes
useless as the arrow splits, multiple projectiles moving at him. A few find their mark, signified by the groans of pain that
emit from Jarrysn's throat. His attention, however, is focused upon the open book. Upon the shards making contact with the
pages flung open in the air, the tome seemingly has come to a stop, absorbing the magic held within the projectiles. Radiating
out once, a faint dip in reality, like rings in a pond, the air ripples out from the book before exploding, the two forces
of magic, one in the arrow, the other trapped within the ancient magic book, erupt out, flowing like a beam in the opposite
direction of the open pages. Facing only the back of the book, Jarrysn slips to his knees in pain, unable to see the attack
unknowingly caused by himself. If he could witness it he would see the translucent beam barreling towards the elf, turning
everything in its wake to death, the air to stagnant poisons, chairs into ash, books into dust.
Renai laughter bubbles up from her throat as she hears his cries of pain, but is cut short when she sees the result of magicks
mixed in the center of the room. Her own feeble spell combines with that of the tome now floating menacingly between them.
As the spine of the book blasts the fatal beam in her direction, a look of panic flits over her delicate features. The feeling
in her stomach is forcefully quelled as her visage slips back into its usual stoic expression. She leaps out of the way of
the beam, wincing as it burns through half of her cloak and the very tip of her sleeve, the searing pain of the absence of
life licking at her now exposed skin. Her left arm now numbed by the very closeness of such terrible power, she tosses her
bow aside, now useless. Taking another arrow from her quiver, she lets it rest on the calloused palm of her right hand, perspiration
glistening on her upper lip as she concentrates her energy into another incantation. The bolt begins to levitate slowly, and
with one harsh word speeds toward him, the tip bursting into a sapphire flame. The target is blocked by the heavy volume still
suspended before him, and as the arrow approaches its flame reacts with the dark magic in the air, its trail erupting into
flames that consume the book entirely. The ranger keeps her flashing jade gaze on the arrow, coughing slightly as the choking
stench of the beam's wake drifts toward her. She sinks to the floor in a struggle to remain conscious despite the noxious
air, her eyes widening slightly in satisfaction as she sees her arrow still speeding toward him, emerging from the devastation
that was the spellbook in an even more determined course to pierce his heart.
Jarrysn pushes himself forward, adrenaline commanding his actions, nothing more. His sword held in a position so as to
trail behind him, Jarrysn quickly swings it forward, his last futile attempt before his energy drains free of his body. Screeching
through the air, his timing is off and the tip of the arrow ledges into the flesh of his ebon hand just as the end of his
blade catches the feathered end of the projectile, slashing the tail free, the massive flaming magic following the arrow is
thrown off course, following the severed end. Still, a shriek bursts from the drow's throat, the burning metal piercing entirely
through the flesh of his palm. With a last effort, Jarrysn reaches to the wooden shaft and wrenches it free, blood gushing
out in its wake.
Shogo versus Jarrysn
Shogo stands idly for a few moments, his head dipped low, gaze meeting the ground. Abruptly he begins to shift his weight
from one leg to the other, bending to left, then right respectively as he tilts his head back, cerulean hued orbs locking
onto the ebon façade of Jarrysn. The vampire’s hand slides down his side to the hilt of his chosen brand in waiting,
and with a bit of stylish flair, a metallic hiss breaks the oppressive silence as the crudely crafted steel of the scimitar
meets the stagnant air of the scarcely lit cave. Without telegraphing his movements, the spell blade leaps forward towards
the drow, landing a mere set of feet before him. Without a sense of hesitation, Shogo bends his footing slightly, a sleek
motion of his right hand following to send the lethal edge of the scimitar singing for the drow’s open chest. Seconds
before the blade begins closing in, the runes upon the wall seem to glow a brighter shade of blue and the poison that once
covered his blade seems to have condensed, a dozen or so droplets of acidic fluid being flung from the blade, accompanying
its seek for the flesh of the drow.
Jarrysn shifts his eyes from the half elf to his opponent, saving his display of hatred for another day. Here in the deep
darks of his homeland he needs no cover from the dreary sunlight. Tossing aside his cloak, his clothes, made not of black
material, but of extremely dark grey, shimmer and fade, dissolving into the backdrop of the caves. Not even the whites of
his eyes are to be seen, hidden behind the dark hued glass that compose the eyeholes of his mask. His hand, ever located near
the hilt of his blade, twitches now, ready for battle. Yet, he halts himself, his mind pulled to the bright blue glowing runes,
made by his people. Knowing their intentions, their every action, he eyes Shogo as he approaches, fully aware of his even
more deadly sword. Drawing a dagger silently, he remains steadfast, a forgotten statue in the dark, forbidding any to travel
through this parts. At long last he swings the dagger up to meet the sword, drops of acid eating through his clothing and
flesh, a foul smell of burning flesh on the air. As the acid eats through the metal of his dagger he slips off, passing into
the shadows like a wraith. The remnants of his knife clang against the floor, forgotten. Remaining a few moments lost to all
sight, the blue runes seem to fade, passing out of sight from the naked eye. With their disappearance comes a darkness that
gnaws the bones. Indeed, the air falls heavy, all noise is stifles at the lips from whence it came. Strangely, though not
for a drow, a deep comfort settles upon Jarrysn at his new surroundings. His lithe form appears behind his foe, meticulous
eyes easily picking him out. Two slender, ebon hands reach over the other's neck, a black cord passing between. Finally, a
quick snap is heard breaking the silence as the cord is drawn taut, Jarryn's worn hands pulling the black cord towards his
opponent’s throat, intending on killing him before he can draw enough breath to scream.
Shogo grins broadly, a hint of sadistic glee overtaking his usual calm countenance as the acidic matter goes to work on Jarrysn,
burrowing miniature pits of agony into the drows flesh. The momentum of his blade having been halted by the dagger, the spell
blade pulls the hand hosting the blade close to his side as he intently watches the assassin’s temporary retreat into
the abyssal darkness. As the runes dim and lighting ebbs from the cave, Shogo’s eyes shift nervously, desperately searching
for a gleam of a blade, the sound of a footfall, anything that will signal to him the assassin’s presence. A soft sigh
escapes his crimson lips as his search is for naught, keeping the scimitar trained and ready to react to any sudden appearance
by Jarrysn. Without a sense of warning, the spell blade barely has time to notice the ebon hands that blend in with the surroundings
and the cord they hold. A sense of urgency flares within his nerves and the vampire instinctively moves the tip of the blade
dangerously close to his chin, where the cord catches cleanly against the serrated edge of the scimitar and snaps with barely
audible sound. Hastily, Shogo turns on his heel and leaps a few steps backward, sheathing his blade with a snap whilst muttering
an incantation that is likely to have gone unnoticed to his drow adversary. The runes upon the wall suddenly begin to emerge
once again, but this time, in different locations, and a lighten shade of azure. With a single glance to the ceiling of the
cavern, a slight tremble disturbs several stalactites in waiting, and suddenly they begin a rapid descent towards Jarrysn,
seeking to sink into whatever flesh they may meet.
Jarrysn continues backwards, as soon as he realizes that he has stepped beyond the length of his cord he realizes what
has happened and continues back, pressing against a wall, silent as the dead. As jagged rocks begin to crash around him, Jarryn
pushes from the wall, breaking into a sprint. After reaching the narrow mouth of the cave back east, he turns and rushes at
Shogo, a single unseen hand pulling forth his long, thin, slightly curved blade. Throwing his legs forward, his momentum along
with the steep inclination of the cave pulls him downward at an incredible speed, hastily pulling him through the falling
stone. Grasping the hilt of his sword with both hands he swings his blade at his opponent’s legs as he slides past,
hoping that all of the movement hidden by the darkness of the deep earth will conceal his attack.
Shogo snickers, hands crossing over his body in a show of arrogance as he observes his the assassin scrambling for his life
from the shower of jagged stalactites. Lost within his sense of arrogant swagger, the vampire barely pays any heed to Jarrysn’s
athletic evasion of the projectiles, his expression maintaining a calm, collected state. Before the spell blade notices exactly
what has transpired, the assassin is upon him, blade brandished, seeking to spill his blood. Lifting his left foot in a belated
attempt to avoid the jagged edge of the blade proves to be in vain, a laceration quickly forming across his upper left leg,
his pasty complexion highlighting the crimson seeping from the fresh wound, nearly cut to the bone. Growling in frustration
at having lost his concentration, the vampire staggers backwards, keeping his narrow slits trained on the drow as he continues
his slide upon the ground. Taking a mere moment to regain proper posture and composure, Shogo slips both pallid hands into
his pockets, extracting two large rubies from them. A single arcane word is uttered like a curse as the vampire flicks both
wrists, the crimson gems passing through the air towards Jarrysn. Suddenly, the rubies burst into multiple shards, and with
each second, they grow smaller, yet no less lethal, and seem to only be multiplying as they fall in a trancelike formation
for the assassin.
Jarrysn releases his hold on his blade with one hand, using the other to catch hold of a boulder in order to stop his decent.
Pulling himself to his feet, his nose tells him what his eyes have yet to behold; blood. Seeing his cloak nearby, he lifts
it and slowly runs it along his blade, cleaning the vampiric blood from his beautiful, dark sword. Looking up, what light
manages to radiate from the runes reflects from the ruby shards, paining Jarrysn's eyes, no matter how faint the light. Throwing
his cloak forward, he runs directly at the oncoming attack, favoring one side of his body as he runs. His cloak catches many
of the shards, some passing through, others stopped, harmlessly entangled in the confines of the drow's garment. As he passes
through the remainder of the attack, hundreds of tiny slivers find their mark, small stinging sensations pounding all over
his body. Luckily, having his head tilted and his body leaning to the right he manages to avoid injuring any major arteries,
the wounds only flesh deep. Trusting that his form as gone unseen, the cloak thrown to the air before him concealing his movements,
he bursts past just as it loses wind and drops to the ground. With the lingering moment of surprise, he swings his blade in
a wide side arc, slashing at Shogo's upper arm. At the same time, a deft hand shoots forward, cloaked and shadowed, Jarrysn
tries to pass off this last attack unseen, hoping that his sword will distract his enemy's focus. A tiny pin dripping with
poison lurches ever closer towards Shogo's neck.
Shogo, not having the luxury to observe the effect of his latest attempt, moves his left hand quickly to just below his knee,
where the blade from the assassin’s previous swipe struck. Applying pressure to the wound that continually seeps sanguine
fluids, the vampire tilts his head up to keep track of the stealthy movements of the drow. Shogo’s teeth clamp slightly
on his lower lip as the pain from the deep incision flows through his body, trying to force back the pain in order to muster
enough agility to evade Jarrysn’s impending onslaught. Glints of small crimson glares from the splinters embedded in
the drow’s slender frame and upon his cloak betrays the advantage of stealth he possessed, and without a moment to spare,
the spell blade staggers back, unfortunately favoring his weak foot, grunting as the blade hisses ominously, a slight gleam
emitted from the blade evidence of how close he was to having his right arm hued from his body. His gaze remains unfaltering
upon the drow however and he takes notice of the pin fluidly passing through the void between them. Closing his eyes in anticipation
and hope, Shogo lifts his palm and seizes the pin from midair, feeling no prick within his grasp that would signal success
from the attempt. Heaving a deep sigh, the vampire carelessly drops the pin, where it hits the ground with a small clink,
however seeming much louder to the winded spell blade as he kneels to tend his wound further…
Yinepu versus Jarrysn
Yinepu’s feet clank upon the wooden planks of the wharf as he enters the area. The black cloak of the knight flows in
the gentle breeze coming off the sea, and the ebon face of the undead one seems to not mind the salt hitting him. Dark hands
appear from underneath the cloak, with the right one going to push back the hood of the black cloth revealing the raven hair
of the knight. The dark hair freely blows in the wind, and the red orbs in the skull of the knight shine with a deep crimson
tone. The left hand goes to carefully push back the cloak of the knight, revealing metallic, silver gleaming armor of the
finest quality covering the breast and legs. The ageless one slowly turns to face his opponent, the drow assassin that stands
on the opposite side of the wharf. A sneer comes across the bony face of the undead one, and his black digits cautiously wrap
around the hilt of his blade. Final Absolution, as it has been called for many eons, sits within the sheath upon the hip of
the knight. With one fluid motion, the weapon unhurriedly comes into sight, revealing its fine, intricate details upon the
cold, dull steel of the blade. Writing adorns the steel, of only which Yinepu knows since it is in a language long forgotten
in these lands. The weapon glows a slight crimson tint as it is brought up to the face of the knight, blocking the gaze between
the two combatants’ eyes. In one furious dash, the knight speeds towards his foe at an unimaginable velocity. Nearing
the assassin, Final Absolution glows brighter in intensity in hopes of blinding the foe as the weapon slashes from right to
left, aimed squarely for the drow’s waist.
Jarrysn strolls into the center of the pier, throwing back his hood as he does so. Taking a deep breath, the drow embraces
the darkness engulfing the area, unclasping his cloak as he feels no need to bear its burden after dusk. Reaching over his
back, his slender ebon hand pulls forth an obsidian face plate, sweeping aside snowy white locks as he sets it in place, glaring
with renewed vigor through the dark hued glass eyeslits towards his opponent. Bending at both knees, the drow lowers himself
into a crouched position, both hands laying flat upon his thighs. Waiting for the undead to make the first move, the drow
springs into motion upon seeing the intended being make his move. Before Yinepu makes his way into melee range, the assassin
leaps forward, his left hand tearing his blade from its scabbard in one fluid motion as the right hand finds the hilt for
support, the drow knowing that many usually take the defense, and perhaps in rushing to such an attack he might catch his
opponent off guard, however briefly. Noticing the massive weapon sweeping in from the side, Jarrysn throws his arm out to
meet it, a sickening crunch meeting the ears of the local fisherman as the bracer adorning the drow's appendage cracks and
bends, metal digging into his flesh from the man's own armor. Willing to grant his opponent a blow for the sake of setting
himself up with such an advantage, Jarrysn thrusts his own sword directly towards the man's chest, faltering only slightly
as the blinding light reaches his eyes, still disturbing the nocturnal being regardless of how much the dark hued glass of
his faceplate dampen the lights affect.
Yinepu smiles as the blade strikes upon the bracer, knowing that the assassin escaped this time, but will feel Final Absolution’s
wrath again this melee. The red orbs catch a quick glimpse of the weapon in Jarrysn’s hand and the undead one quickly
reacts to the counter-attack taking place. With one fluid motion, the knight spins, bringing the weapon in hand straight up
and preparing it for the next attack. Unfortunately for the undead one, the spin only partial parries the blow from the sword.
The blade digs into the left arm and causes a gash along the bicep. The undead knight does not react to the gash, but merely
smirks as the steel of his weapon begins to glow a dark, navy tint in preparation for Yinepu’s next strike. The knight
suddenly stops spinning, and now cries out a screech that would pierce the souls of even the most devout priest. The waves
upon the sea start to increase in intensity, the pier begins to rock back and forth from the strength of the sea, lightning
begins to flash ferociously over head, and thunder claps ring out almost drowning out the cry of Yinepu. Both iron-clad arms
of the undead judge rise to the sky, and he gives out one last cry. Then, an eerie calm comes over the sea, causing the seagulls
nearby to seek refuge elsewhere. The knight slowly turns to face Jarrysn, and an evil smile now plays upon the bony, ebon
face of the undead one. His left arm drops to his side, and the right one, containing Final Absolution, points directly towards
the drow. At once, undead warriors begin to rise from the sea, up from their watery graves from long ago. Each one is heavily
clad in armor, carrying deadly swords, spears, tridents, even a fish net or two. They all stare upon the judge of souls, knowing
that they are now here for one purpose. Their eyeless skulls turn towards the assassin, and they begin to advance, each one
hoping to serve their master in hopes of earning a rebirth to this land. The army begins to encircle the assassin as the left
hand of the knight silently grabs a crude, deadly dagger from his hip. With a quick flick of his wrist, the blade flies at
an enormous rate, aimed squarely for the mask of the drow.
Jarrysn turns to face these new foes, a harsh cackle escaping his lips upon seeing them. Turning away from Yinepu to face
these new demons, he is caught completely at unawares by the dagger. One would think this were the end for Jarrysn, but it
not so. As the dagger reaches about midway between the two combatants, something altogether strange occurs. A lithe shape
appears, having slipped into the area, cloaked in a twilight grey robe, his movements keeping him held in the shadows for
none to see. This robed being throws foreward one hand, an magnificant aura of gold mist flowing with it, striking the dagger
like a brick. This small wave throws the object off course, enough so to be of no harm to Jarrysn. The latter, turning to
check upon Yinepu, offers a gracious nod to Elladan, his counterpart. As Jarrysn rushes the beings coming from the sea, he
cannot help but think of what years of salt water has done to their armor, and begins to clash through them with ease. Knowing
that he is no match for magic, Jarrysn, the brute force of the pair, tears into those that he can manage, while Elladan lifts
his hand, pointing to Yinepu, "Your time has come." he utters, the elven mage trying to produce more terror with his voice
than perhaps his magic can accomplish. Stepping foreward again, a cryptic series of words erupt from the elf's throat, terror
dripping from them like wax from a candle. The moonlight, offering a better vision of the mage, reveals an empty sleeve on
the left side, revealing the one-armed man's disadvantage. Still, as the elf Lifts his one good arm, countless shadows tear
from the undead surrounding the pier, forming into one massive shadow engulfing the man's entire arm. Hurling this forward,
the shadow takes on the shape of a ghastly being, one that happens to be flying with all its speed and might directly towards
Yinepu, its arms outstretched as if his desire to devour the undead cannot be greater.
Yinepu laughs as the new elfish being has taken a stance against him, knowing that his combatant can not defeat him alone.
Final Absolution glows a brighter hue of yellow now as the undead warriors suddenly turn to ash and vanish upon the slight
breeze. Yinepu begins to chant an archaic rhyme, one that no one else can understand. The reddish orbs begin to swirl, like
that of a thunderstorm upon the sunset horizon. The raven hair begins to fly at a greater passion behind the knight, almost
as if the wind suddenly was growing stronger but unfelt by anyone else present. The knight then raises his left hand, palm
out, to the strange magic being hurled at him. The chanting grows louder, and suddenly the right hand of Yinepu, holding the
blade, strikes forward in a massive thrust. A yellow beam shoots out of the tip, enveloping the magical being the elf has
called and obliterating it into nothing. The energy flow bears down upon the foolish elf, and then suddenly a majority of
the ray breaks off and soars towards the assassin. As it closes in upon the assassin, the energy increases, creating a sunlight
effect in the process to blind the night-loving drow. Both of the foes now are in the path of this massive display of brilliance
and mystery. The undead judge now begins to sprint towards the assassin, trailing behind the beam as it creates a diversion
for him. Final Absolution glows even brighter as it nears its intended target, and with one sweeping motion, the knight prepares
to slice his foe. The undead knight smirks, and then prepares to rip open the assassin from shoulder to foot, creating two
assassins, though each only half of the other.
Jarrysn heaves a sigh upon lossing so many foes, having rather enjoyed the momentary massacre. Turning to face Elladan
and Yinepu, he sees what is about to befall him and drops to his knees, the brillance of the light overwhelming the drow,
creating within him a hatred and passion rarely brought forth to the surface of his being. Elladan, as fit as all elves are,
sprints towards Jarrysn, calling out not words of defense, but archaic words of hatred, preparing his attack in hopes to stop
the man before he reaches Jarrysn, knowing his friend in unable to wield magic himself. As each word leaves the elf's lips,
you cannot help but feel the hair rise upon your neck, or feel the hatred bubbling in your own hearts. Blazing runes errupt
around Elladan, consuming him within their ethreal darkness. Flowing from within this misty aura goes an river unseen, a transcluent
beam intent upon reaching Yinepu. Diving into the man's body, it attacks him not phyiscally, but mentally. Most in this situation
woul deliever to their opponent a taste of good in hopes of turning him to their side, but such is not so here. Elladan, in
all of his hatred and anger, delievers something that even he himself cannot bear. A taste of pure hatred, unfiltered and
unaltered, pounding into Yinepu's mind images beyond the sights of normal men, all things that should never be witnessed in
this world. Women being raped, children being hacked maliciously in two. As Elladan's frame drops to the ground, unable to
handle his own dose of this vile sight, Jarrysn drops flat to the ground, unable to take the dazzling light. Yinepu's sword
connects with his shoulder, instead of the intended vertical slash. The drow can only hope that the taste of pure evil in
all its ugly clearity will shock Yinepu into enough of a disoriented state to allow himself a chance to recompose himself.
Yinepu laughs out loud as Final Absolution digs deep into the shoulder of his foe. The ebon right arm slowly and tactfully
removes the jagged edge, dripping with the blood of the drow, and places it back into the holding sheath upon his hip. The
images race into the mind of Yinepu, and he begins to wickedly smirk at all the symbols and pictures playing the movie within
his brain. Over the eons of his existence, he has seen all of these things happening during the wars in which he took part
in. Unimpressed by the images, another loud cry leaves the throat of Yinepu, not of anger or mystical power, but of laughter
knowing that his foe lies beneath him, and all he can do is try to play tricks on him that have no effect. “I am the
death bringer, did you think that something like that would even work on me?” the knight states to the assassin lying
on the ground near him. The knight begins to walk away, looking upon the gash in his arm, knowing that he will need to get
his sewing kit to reseal that wound. He smirks at the thought of the healing taking place.
Jarrysn versus Vexar
Jarrysn casts his gaze towards Vexar, singling out him alone amidst this dreary setting. Releasing his clutch on the folds
of his cloak, the drow eases his mask down through his sallow locks of hair, settling it over his face. Following it with
the hood of his cloak, his form turns hazy, beneath the shadows cast by the building there is little to be seen of the dark
cloaked drow. Now seeing the world through dark hued glass eye-slits, Jarrysn considers what way to best disembowel his opponent.
Not having the cover of darkness to aid him in his attack, he throws his arm into the air, wrenching with it his blade, announced
by the shrill ring of metal upon metal. Advancing upon the form of the man he despises so, he swings his blade rashly, slashing
at one of the staves supporting the entrance arch, as if out of tactless fury. Only after his lithe from slides fluidly to
the side of the area does his plan become apparent. The other stave, straining under the newly added weight given to it by
the loss of the second support, cracks and splits, sending the entire upper arch towards the ground, Vexar inadvertently in
its way. Not trusting solely to this distraction, Jarrysn sends forth a second attack, planned on going unseen by the mayhem
caused thus far. Lifting his blowpipe to his lips, he sends forth the silent projectile towards Vexar. Only Jarrysn can know
that the poison soaked dart will leave its victim numb for a matter of moments…
Vexar situates himself erect, staunch legs angled slightly at the knees, one booted foot finding itself established slightly
in front of its fellow. The vampire’s features, distorted and chafed, are set in stone. From the statuesque façade glow
reciprocal hues, exalted with a jade pyre wrought by lust and torment. His head offers no stigma of motion as he traces the
assassin’s unheralded attack on the stave. Vexar’s head finally gives heed to the ominous situation, tilting awkwardly
to look upon the cascading arc. Instinctively the vampire escapes his position, avoiding the avalanche by mere inches. In
doing so, the illusionist unknowingly dodges the tainted dart, which was prematurely aimed at his previous location. Once
again, Vexar turns to study his opponent. Vagrant winds toss alabaster tresses over the vampire’s staunch shoulders,
fibrous drapery lashing out towards Jarrysn as if they were hounds, possessed to beget the man dead, yet bound steadfast by
an ethereal leash. Emerald orbs throw their gaze to the assassin’s, unperturbed by the sudden mutiny of the tame breeze
as it erupts into an unheralded frenzy. A foreign whistle dances through the surrounding forest of chocolate and jade, its
screaming voice rapidly rising to a mind-numbing forte. The very realm itself shows disapproval of the chorus in the form
of violent quakes. Several trees find themselves stripped of their aged foundations, the mahogany structures nearly buckling
as they accumulate into a coiled, serpentine formation. Tenacious boulders and rubble, strewn from their newfound rest, rumble
into the fray, tumbling around the carnal cyclone. Escorted by all but a spoken warning, the tornado barrels forth, charging
at Jarrysn with alarming haste.
Jarrysn eases the thin wooden tube back inside his shirt, hooking it into some unknown chamber within the folds of his
garments. Pressing himself back against the wall of the temple, his form dissipates into nothing, his dark figure molding
with the very shadows. Moving silently, he attempts to skulk into melee range of his foe, but is thwarted by the sudden change
in the weather. Unable to control magic to his will, he can only attempt to stop the being that is wielding it. He rushes
at Vexar with a haste uncanny to his kind, driven by need. With only the whipping of air in his ears to warn him, he is caught
off guard by a fallen log, swept into his path by the unnatural gusts. Thrown across the area, his slender form comes to a
stop, aided by the walls of the building. A milk curling crunch resonates through the area as his body slumps down to the
ground, leaving it to the imagination to wonder what body parts were making those noises. Sword long since gone, the drow
picks himself up, not allowing his mind to give any thought to pain, but only to the task at hand while he still has the choice
in the matter. Reaching to his back, he pulls free from its throng a long, black bow. The assassin has only the time to draw
a single arrow and fit it into place before the gusts begin to pick up even stronger than previously. Drawing his weapon taut,
he releases the string, sending the arrow the short distance to Vexar, hoping that either the strike of a blow or the need
to avoid one will break the vampire's concentration. Not waiting to find out, Jarrysn slips into the shadows of the wall,
his silent form easing back into the darkness and its concealing features.
Vexar smirks devilishly as Jarrysn falls victim to the forestry. An opposing force, obviously opposed to the vampire’s
taunting grin, curtly replaces it. The illusionist’s head whips sideward, and an impressive laceration, wrought by Jarrysn’s
projectile, decorates his cheek and displaces his balance. With an often misconstrued lack of vitality and fervor, Vexar tumbles
back, regaining his footing with oafish detail. The vampire’s undistorted demeanor is ever set with that familiar, yet
unheralded lack of concern, as often found plastered onto the visage of a drunken and crestfallen lad. The off balance illusionist
binds his readjustment of stance to a more fluent, distant dance. The ambrosial movements are executed with a lackadaisical
luster, somehow managing to allure every onlooker into an unforeseen and impetuous bewilderment. The very atmosphere about
Vexar seems to react with the promenade, flickering in and out of its accustomed state. The twisted air begins to ripple outwards,
expanding to plague the entire vicinity with its accursed imprecation. Vexar, nearly masked by the wavy disruptions, springs
to action, adhering to his standard and ductile posture. Perturbed dust marks the vampire’s wake as he dashes hence.
The dueling blades lingering at his side clandestinely slide from their scabbards into Vexar’s agape and awaiting palms.
His frame slips in and out of perception as the billowing surroundings sporadically engulf and vomit forth his essence. A
lingering, terminal dive masks the illusionist entirely, his scimitars adjacent and outstretched in front, nearly twined together
as one. The infatuating silences following acts the soothsayer, foreshadowing the gaping hole that is looming ever closer
to Jarrysn’s chest.
Jarrysn cries out as the two blades dive into the front of his cloak, tearing through it with the utmost ferocity. Nay,
though, this is not a cry of pain, but a cry of battle. Jarrysn's ebon form rises amidst the waves cast out by his enemy,
both hands wielding daggers of similar length and make. Until now, the shadowy frame of his cloak, pinned to the wall of the
house of worship might have been taken as Jarrysn, for amidst the shadows of darkness throw by the massive building, little
can clearly be seen of him at all, and now with the intention of masking himself, Vexar provided even more cover with which
Jarrysn was able to put his deception into play. Trying to catch his opponent at unawares, Jarrysn does not cry out until
the last possible moment, one dagger jabbing out to close the gap between itself and Vexar with remarkable speed, the other
weapon held at bay in order to react to the scimitars, should they make an attempt at defending the vampire.
Vexar hastily removes his scimitars from the temporary sheathe that was intended to be Jarrysn’s chest. His shocked
state proves less than adequate to summon a parry, and the assassin’s daggers run several courses over the vampire’s
abdomen. He falls away from Jarrysn, becoming entangled with his own feet during the retreat and plummeting to the ground.
Vexar’s tattered form, wrought with lacerations and the like, clambers arrect and primed. With all the grace a limping
form can brandish, he staggers towards Jarrysn, his pallid and ensanguined hands suddenly forgetting the assurance that his
blades so willingly offer. Inaudible words flow from the vampire’s tainted lips, cascading into nefarious pools of emerald
luster within Vexar’s hands. Once the river of diction ceases to billow forth, all that remains impressive about the
illusionist’s form are two lakes of pyre filling his pallid grip. In a brilliant flash of luxurious dynamism, Vexar
flings his fists into the air, one following another. The two surging forms of energy tear from his grasp, raging violently
at Jarrysn in a fury matched only by the ember burning within Vexar’s tainted orbs.
Jarrysn staggers back away from Vexar, the pain of his wounds tormenting him to the extent that he cannot partake in the
joy of dealing his foe such blows. He eases both daggers back into their leather sheaths, silence embracing him as he simply
waits for what is to come, one hand clutching his arm, missing the comforting concealment his cloak bid him. Adrenaline running
dry, the pains within flash inside his skull, forcing itself to be felt. Unable to conceal it, amazement flickers in his
eyes, envying his opponents ability to switch so freely between magic and weapons, the ability to control so much power almost
with ease. Glancing about his person he finds himself standing amidst a pile of rubble, strewn about by the unnatural tornado
that wreaked its havoc upon the area but a few minutes ago. Expending the full of his energy, he lifts a large stone and hurls
it forward, connecting with the oncoming flow of energy. The two erupt into mingled explosions, the remnants of both energy
and stone blowing out in all directions, pelting Jarrysn, who had not the time to seek cover. He drops to his knees, blood
flowing from his form like a river running rampant.
Jarrysn versus Valarus
Jarrysn eyes his opponent, pleased that he finally gets the chance to feel the strength of one who the rumors have spoken
of. Retrieving his stave from the tavern wall, he pulls a cover from the top, revealing the staff to be a lance of sorts.
Lifting an ebon hand to his head, the drow throws back his hood, tossing his head lightly to remove any stray, silver hued
locks from his visage. Falling back into the familiar feel of battle, Jarrysn lowers himself to a crouch, his weapon held
behind his body, the tip gleaming in the air above him. As his breathing steadies, the assassin lowers his faceplate over
his facade, darkened eyeslits giving the drow a comfortable state, no longer allowing any but the brightest of lights to pain
his eyes. Without so much as a cry, the man rushes forward, moving into a light sprint towards his foe, his silent movements
only aiding the night sky in it's ability to hide the darkly clad warrior, his body never appearing solid, but only a shadow
moving through a world of darkness. Upon reaching an appropriate distance to Valarus, the drow steps back with his right foot,
twisting the lift side of his body forward while his torso leans back somewhat in order to aid his swing, the lance, held
within Jarrysn's left hand, swings forward, lashing out at Valarus' throat, the length of the weapon in itself allowing Jarrysn
to remain a comfortable distance from Valarus, with time to react to any attack that may follow, should the lance not find
it's mark.
Valarus watches the assassin run forwards with an impressed gleam in his silver-hued eyes. “Finally, someone worthy..”
A small smirk from on his thin lips as his arm lifts upwards, carrying his still flaming axe. His left foot takes a quick
step back, his right foot remains, so he stands now in a defensive position, one not seen on this vampire very often. As the
lance snakes out towards his throat, Valarus seems to explode into blurred movement. His front foot stays where it is again,
and from his back he pushes to the right, forcing his body to spin in the dirt. As this happens the axe is swung a little.
It connects with tip of the lance and an explosion of sparks is hurled into the night sky. The spell-blade’s movements
remain fluid, the moment the night is lightened he reacts; what was his front foot now bends and flexes, throwing the vampire
backwards towards his opponent. In the air he continues to spin around, flying forwards next to the long weapon of the drow,
and as he reaches him his swing is complete, his body now facing towards him again, and his white burning axe follows just
a moment behind, swung with vicious speed towards the neck of the much skilled assassin.
Jarrysn growls as his lance strikes the other's axe, and with such force driving the weapon as it is pushed away, Jarrysn
can do nothing but let it complete its course. Continuing on its swing, Jarrysn is forced to let go, his wrist unable to bend
in unison with the long weapon, which in turn strikes the ground with enough force to drive itself deeply into the earth composing
the road. Abandoning the weapon, the drow instead focuses upon his opponent. The assassin remains completely still, letting
his form mold with the shadows that writhe about the road, watching as the other performs his attack. Watching the being spin
in air, Jarrysn inevitably notices the axe spin with him, and so reaches down to his scimitar, one hand holding the scabbard
tightly as he draws the blade free, but before he can pull the weapon fully into battle, the axe meets the blade of his own
sword, instantly forcing Jarrysn to leave it in place, half drawn from it's sheath, and instead focus upon holding the other's
weapon at bay. However, the initial force and momentum built up by Valarus' swing gives the axe and added strength that cannot
be held back, and the axe pushes both itself and the flat of Jarrysn's blade back into the drow's chest. Groaning as the flaming
axe licks his chest, Jarrysn cannot help but feel his own sword being pressured into his flesh, the dull back of his single-edged
blade forced into his own torso by the strength of his opponent. Still holding his own weapon, Jarrysn takes a quick step
backwards, letting Valarus' axe slide down and free into the air that quickly separates the two. Knowing that his best chances
lay with speed, Jarrysn quickly moves into his next attack, rushing forward while veering to the left of his opponent. Stabbing
his blade quickly into the ground, Jarrysn drops both hands to his belt as he runs, the first whipping out a dagger into a
hastily thrown attack towards the man, aiming for his right shoulder. Expecting his opponent to assume his other hand will
do the same, Jarrysn lays hope in the fact that he will not suspect the miniature crossbow that rises with his second hand,
a fleeting moment all that is needed as Jarrysn fires the bolt towards Valarus' left side, expecting his foe to step away
from the dagger, and into his second projectile.
Valarus lets a sadistic smile appear on his thin, pale lips as his weapon finds the flesh of the drow. As his weapon is freed,
the spell-blade spins another quarter circle, before being able to right himself. As he turns on his heel to once again face
the assassin, a sickening thud is heard throughout the night, followed by a dark, archaic curse. The knife of Jarrysn has
found the shoulder of the vampire. Valarus, without being able to stop himself, drops his weapon. It falls quickly down, before
one of the two flaming blades sinks into the ground, causing the dirt around it to crystallize, and within moments it is incarcerated
in a block of crystal, such was the heat of the blade. Throughout this the bow fired from the small cross bow sails harmless
away, as it was shot not on target, but on where the spell-blade should have been. This shot is lost to Valarus as he lifts
his uninjured hand up and with another ancient curse, something to do with trees and life, the vampire tears free the knife
which was lodged into his shoulder. The moment it is freed he moves once more like a dancer, fluidly, quickly and always in
perfect balance. He leaps towards the drow once more, using only his wrist he throws the assassin’s own knife at him,
the moment it leaves his hand, the same pale limb snakes downwards, collects Jarrysn’s own blade which was stabbed in
the ground, and from left to right he swings the weapon, aiming to
Jarrysn does not smirk as his dagger finds the shoulder of Valarus, but instead readies himself for any attack that may
come, finding his ability to focus somewhat more difficult as the throbbing in his chest intensifies, the wound burnt shut
by the extremity of the fire born upon his opponent's axe. When finally the mind of the assassin has cleared enough for him
to analyze his opponent's movements, he is in time to see the other leap into the air, dagger quickly announcing his attack
before Valarus himself arrives. Twisting on his heel, the drow throws himself into a quick spin, his hands tugging something
from beneath the confines of his sleeve as he does so. Planned accordingly, his own dagger sinks into his back, first having
to penetrate the satchel always worn by the drow. The very tip of the dagger presses through his belongings, sinking into
his flesh with a burning throb, forcing its presence to be felt, taking almost all thoughts away from the savage slash that
marks Jarrysn's chest. Nevertheless, the drow completes his spin, lifting his hand to meet the oncoming sword. With a sickening
thud, the scimitar sinks into the crossbow held tightly within Jarrysn's grasp, slowly coming to a halt within the wooden
weapon, no longer fit to fire another bolt. Having Valarus at such close quarters, Jarrysn swings his free fist forward, the
spiked, brass knuckles slipped onto his hand during the spin his attempt at catching the other off guard, the punch not aimed
for Valarus' face, but instead for his torso. The gleam of the spikes quickly reveals the fact that there is a liquid coating
them, undoubtedly a poison of some sorts, which explains why Jarrysn does not aim to knock Valarus unconscious, but instead
attempts to only strike the man in any place that will deliver the poison.
Valarus drops his weapon as it carries now the added weight of the crossbow. Then a dull thud erupts from the two. The fist
of Jarrysn has indeed struck his torso, but no wound is seen. Two small holes in the shirt show the skin below is without
wound, instead it glows green as familiar runes shine brightly. Another smirk forms on the thin lips of the spell-blade, before
he takes a step back. Unarmed now, and in obvious pain from the shoulder wound, the vampire simply bows, “Well met,
drow.” He grins once, then spins on his heels, ignores his axe, and heads back into the tavern.
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