|
|
 |
Shogo versus Xaandria
Shogo allows a confident smirk to ease along his pale countenance, azure orbs taking in the armor-clad vampire that stands
no less than about eight feet in front of him. The nauseating aroma of the smoldering landscape fills his nostrils as the
vampire raises his right hand and tucks his untamed, ebon tendrils behind his ears, so not to cause him a fatal error later.
A moment later, slender, calloused digits of both of his hands wrap firmly about the oaken base of his scythe, hoisting it
before his body with a slow motion. Plumes of dust and ash fusion abruptly begin to form in his wake, as Shogo breaks into
a full, frenzied dash at Xaandria. Quickly closing the rather small gap between the opponent and himself, he feints to the
right a single time as he nears the fellow vampire, before ascending in a small leap, the serrated edge of the wickedly curved
weapon hissing as it seeks out his opponent’s right shoulder…
Xaandria watches her opponent with lust-filled eyes. Lust for more bloodshed. The royal captain waits until the vampiric spell
blade brings his weapon for her shoulder and quickly draws her own weapon. The poison edged scimitar meets with the scythe
in a brilliant flash and the captain moves closer to Shogo. Within an inch of his face, she smiles wickedly, "Come now, surely
you can do better than that." The vampiress twist her wrist, causing the her weapon to push upwards against the spell blade's
while pushing her feet off the ground, throwing her body into a backflip. As she lands in front of the dragon, she kneels
looking as though she resigns from the duel. In the blink of an eye, the vampiric captain leaps before Shogo, bringing her
weapon up across his chest then down his back as she lands behind him. The poison from the blade will surely render him helpless
if it should make contact.
Shogo grows in frustration as a shower of sparks is emitted from the collision of the two weapons, scowling as the vampire
taunts him, causing his adrenaline to rise in a bellergent manner. Shogo willingly allows his opponent to separate the two
weapons, pleased to have some meager distance between them once again, observing as she performs a fluid, acrobatic movement
to do this. The vampiric spell blade lofts a brow as Xaandria kneels, obviously intent on reading her next movement, as surely
the ambitious royal captain is not bowing out just yet. Moving his scythe to the front of his slender form once again, Shogo
smirks contendtly, as if he anticipated the vampire’s sudden dash. The initial slice is met by the steel of his weapon,
causing a brief screech to ring out as it bears the brunt of the blow. The momentum of the scimitar however was too great,
as the blade slides off the weapon and moments later, the spell blade feels a faint, but noticeable, laceration forming against
his upper back. Wincing in temporary pain, the vampire turns on his heel to face Xaandria. Although the incision made by the
blade was small, the vampire begins to feel the effects of the poison wracking his body, causing his footing to sway in an
almost drunken manner. Shaking his head as if to shrug it off, Shogo shifts the grip on his scythe and sends the blunt end
of the blade barreling for his opponents ribs, in hopes of dealing a crippling blow…
Xaandria cackles loudly as the blade makes its mark on her foe. She knows the poison will take its time in working the delicate
magic of causing the vampire to fall. Within the mist of her thoughts, she catches sight of the scythe coming towards her
yet again. This time, it's too late to dodge it completely. Feeling the impact of the weapon on her side, she flips over to
the right, bringing her scimitar up before the spell blade has another chance at striking her. The royal captain peers up
at her opponent with a wide smile plastered across her blood-stained lips. Reaching behind her, she grabs the a small crossbow.
Electric currents can be seen flowing through the bolts which are loaded. She launches three bolts towards Shogo's chest while
sweeping his ankles with her blade before moving herself a few feet away from the spell blade.
Shogo’s body continues to feel the effects of the poison, a neauous feeling welling up within the confines of his
stomach as the small, but ample amount of poison courses through his body. Crimson parts from the fresh incision on his upper
back, descending down the length of his back before dripping upon the ground as the vampire takes a few slow, cautious steps
to gain ground from his opponent. His head dipped low, Shogo does not have time to consider evading the bolts, two of which
become etched in either shoulder, causing blood to pour from the fresh wounds, as well as violent vibrations that wrack his
body from the electric attributes of the bolts. Being that the vampire’s gaze is slanted downwards, he barely has enough
time to notice the blade singing towards his ankles. With a quick motion, Shogo allows the scythe to fall from his grasp,
where, by chance, the blade shields his ankles from the crudely bladed weapon. The spell blade staggers a few steps backwards,
his head snapping up to face his opponent, a sinister smirk adoring his features despite his condition. Heaving forward, a
fusion of bodily fluids erupts from his throat and onto the ground before him as the poison continues to weave a path through
his body. Glancing down at the collection of blood and other fluids that cover the ground from his wounds, Shogo waves a single
hand in front of him, seemingly casting something over them. Suddenly, the blood from his wounds and the regurgitation begin
to coalesce in a large, stagnant pool before him, and take on a blackish hue, surely no longer what they once were. Thrusting
his hand forward with a decisive motion, the growth of fluidic matter begins to glide towards his opponent, and all in its
wake seems to have decayed. Surely it plans to engulf Xaandria as well...
Xaandria watches almost helplessly as her scimitar falls to the ground from the impact with the vampire's scythe. A crude
smile forms across her lips while she watches the poison continue with it's efforts on stopping him completely. The captain
pats a small sack attached to her side which contains the only remedy for what now ails Shogo. Just as she thinks the spell
blade is finished, he hurls in front of her. As sickening as it seems, the vampiric captain stands firm. Her eyes widen slightly
as it begins to move in her direction, destroying the very ground it covers. Using her muscle-toned legs to leap backwards
again, she continues to flip backwards until she reaches the small river of blood. Stepping into the red fluid, another laugh
comes from the captain. Using the dark magic granted to her by the King himself, she slowly rises her arms before her. Almost
instantly, the blood begins to boil. Bubbles popping all around her feet and the smell alone is enough to make anyone near
her sick. As the black glob makes its way closer to her, she unleashes a battle cry that cracks all the remaining windows
in the burning buildings. The dragon which now stands behind Shogo lifts his head, joining in the fearful scream. The blood
raises around the woman, forming what seems to be a barrier just as the mass reaches her. All grows silent when the two globs
meet, both eating away at one another. When all is said and done, the vampiric captain stands where the river now continues
on it's normal path. Her left foot steps out of the liquid, landing right on a small portion of the blackish glob. It begins
to eat away at her boot and foot. The dragon, seeing it's master in trouble, takes control of the situation and turns towards
the spell blade. He inhales, filling his mighty lungs with the smoke-filled air and quickly releases it. Flames errupt from
the dragon's snort making their way towards Shogo. Xaandria sees what is now going on before bringing her crossbow up once
more, letting three more bolts fly towards her opponent's mid-section and legs.
Shogo doesn’t waste time as the mass glides for his opponent, moving his left hand to his shoulder and tearing the
bolt free, causing a bit more blood to spurt from the freshly made wound, doing likewise to the bolt embedded in his other
shoulder. Grunting, the vampire stands, despite the effects of the poison continuing within his body, trying to regain composure.
Briefly, he casts a glance to his scythe which lays dormant on the ground, heaving a relieved sigh as it was not caught in
the decaying swath of the matter which by now, is draping over Xaandria. A confident smirk forms upon his visage as he watches
the matter go to work on his opponent, as he was not attentive enough to notice the barrier of blood that formed around her
beforehand. The vampire’s expression suddenly turns grim, noticing that his magicks were nullified by Xaandria’s
in the struggle. Shogo barely has time to notice the column of flames ascending towards him, weakly leaping on both of his
sandaled feet as the hellish column just misses him. The vampire lands with a dull thud seconds later, barely able to feel
the heat the flames are emitting just a few feet away from him. Thrusting his palms to the ground, the vampire slowly begins
to rise, but taking heed of the bolts tearing through the now heated, fuming air, he simply allows himself to drop, the bolts
just missing the edge of his scalp. There, the spell blade lies idly, barely able to tilt his head up in a disdainful glance
towards Xaandria.
Shogo versus Dimitrious
Shogo doesn’t move for several moments, his expression blank and largely unreadable, showing no hints of emotion.
Moving a single pallid, gauntleted hand to the oaken base of his scythe, he begins to stare directly at the fellow vampire,
his dimly lit orbs seeming to bore into his very soul. Tightening the grip of his left hand onto the base of his ancient scythe,
his lips begin to move, but no sound seems to emerge from his parted lips. Instead, the immediate effect of his incarnation
seem to be taking place, as a gale begins to stir on the frozen terrain, bits of snow beginning to kick up into the already
frigid air, quickly growing in speed and ferocity as the howl of the wind fills the area and only seems to be growing louder
with every mere second. With a quick motion, Shogo thrusts his right palm forward, the frosty gale evidently moving only in
Dimitrious’s direction. The force of the winds is now far beyond any normal blizzard, and the gale force winds seek
to combine with the bits of frozen terrain beginning to mix with the winds. There is little doubt that if it should reach
the ranger, it would severely blister and scar the flesh of the fellow vampire.
Dimitrious kneels quietly at the edge of the crack in the ground. His cold pale skin blending in perfectly with the snow covered
land. Snowflakes fall gently onto him and cover him in a thin layer of cold whiteness to further help conceal himself against
the backdrop of this frozen plane. His seemingly lifeless eyes turn their empty gaze upward and peer deep into the darkness
of the clouded sky above. The cold steel of his shinny claws rests heavily in the snowy ground as he keeps himself balanced
at the edge of the crack. His long black hair draped back behind his head with a few strands matted down against the pale
cold skin of his cheek and slightly obstruct his view of the dark clouds high above his head. A gentle sigh escape from between
his pale lips as he slowly raises to his feet. His empty gaze lowering its self to the icy ground as he pivots about on the
heels of his now white boots. His gaze drifts slowly upward to take in the features of the human standing close by. No other
movement is noticeable as the vampire slowly raises a single brow in curiosity as to what the human standing before him is
doing. His empty gaze studying the man before him with undivided attention untill he notices the winds begining to pick up.
Paying no mind to the bone chilling cold, this already cold blooded undead creature thrives on the cold and is otherwise unaffected
by it. The heels of his now white boots dig into the solid frozen ground beneath the layers of ice that have compacted from
the snow that has fallen from the sky as he be braces himself for the intensity of the oncoming over grown breeze. Slowly,
step by step, the undead creature makes his way forward pushing against the force of the wind and drawing himself closer and
closer to the human. A single frail looking arm reaches out and wraps the cold steel of a set of claws around the scythe as
the other pale frail looking arm thrusts forward toward the mans chest in hopes of ripping his heart clean out of his chest.
Shogo raises a slender brow in obvious disbelief, observing Dimitrious bear the full brunt of the gale. Gritting his teeth
in frustration, the vampire doesn’t seem to notice the deathly hand grasping his wickedly curved weapon, thus he also
does not have time to prepare as he only has a moment to take heed of the gauntleted hand reaching for his chest. Instinctively,
Shogo shifts the grip of his left hand that holds the scythe, only to be taken aback as he notices a hand equally pale in
color to his grasping the oaken base. Meanwhilst, the clawed hand punctures Shogo’s chest, causing him to cry out in
a fit of agony, his visage contorting in tune with the pain he must be feeling. Crimson vitae begins to seep from a few of
the newly made holes in his chest, and with a grunt of pain, the vampire swiftly changes his footing, backing away, and out
of the grasp the clawed hand had on his chest, as well as tearing the scythe from the grip of Dimitrious and Shogo, the ancient
weapon bending to the physics of the situation and landing in the snow shortly after with a brief thud. Plumes of chilled
air pour from Shogo’s mouth as he gasps heavily, trying to regain composure from the shockingly powerful grip that was
on his chest just moments ago. Paying little to no heed of the sanguine fluid dripping from his chest, the vampire’s
expression suddenly changes to that of a sinister smirk, as he reaches a left hand to his back. With a fluid motion and a
barely audible sound of tearing material, a crossbow is brought before the vampire, his left hand already reaching for a cylinder
container on his waist. Hastily, Shogo loads a fresh bolt from this container into the bow and pulls the trigger, repeating
this process several times until six bolts are ripping through the air in Dimitrious’s general direction. Suddenly however,
it becomes apparent that these bolts are not normal, as they now seem to be whips of arcane energy tearing through the void
between them, and they all seek to find their own niche in the fellow vampire’s upper body.
Dimitrious stares blankly at the crimson liquid the flows from the fresh wounds in the humans chest and quickly solidifies
as it freezes over before it even hits the ground and thoughts of how cold it really is here begin to cross his mind for a
moment. His attention quickly goes back to the scythe that now lies in the snow not far from where they stand. His gaze remains
locked on the wound in the mans chest and pays little mind to the missiles that cut threw the air toward his chest. His cold
steel clawed pale hands reach up in front of him and he deflects four of the six arcane energy bolts toward the ground and
one strays upward into the dark clouded sky. Lightning immediately beings to strike at random objects around the man threatening
to fry him. The remaining two arcane energy bolts rip threw his chest, just missing the vital organ most vampires like to
protect that is known as a heart. He pays no mind to the two wounds that go all the way threw his chest and out his back as
he begins to rush forward at the speed of any normal human. His feet tread lightly in the snow covered ground as he closes
the gap between the two men. At the last possible minute, the vampire leaps forward with his clawed hands extending out infront
of him. The cold steel shines in the dim light that illuminates the area from the palace to the north. His unblinking eyes
keep their empty gaze locked onto the man. Drawing closer and closer to man, it is clear where his claws are headed as one
is slightly higher than the other. One aimed for his stomach and one to rid him of his manhood.
Shogo watches intently, unwaveringly as his bolts prove a partial success, grinning smugly as a pair of them dart through
Dimitrious’s chest. However, his smug expression becomes uneven, almost fading as lightning whisps from the sky to the
ground around the two men, but he remains motionless. The vampire is more focused on Dimitrious, taking in his movements as
the vampire storms towards him, seeming to be forming an attack similar to the previous one. Shogo waits until Dimitrious
is within dire range, then quickly dropping the crossbow carelessly into the snow as he shifts the location of his gauntleted
hands, locking both of them against the fellow vampire’s clawed gloves. In no mood for a struggle of strength, Shogo
hastily ends the standstill and releases his grip from Dimitrious’s, spinning slightly to the left, retaking his hold
on the iron crossbow as he makes his way to behind the man. Taking a mere moment to shift the untamed, raven tendrils that
obscure his view, the vampire then reaches a single right hand to the indention in the snow where his ancient weapon lies.
Grasping it quickly and seizing it from the earth, he notices he now has no free hands to maneuver swing the curved blade
with, as the iron crossbow still lies in his left hand. With a quick flick of the wrist, the discarded weapon is sent sailing
into the air, heading for the back of Dimitrous’s head, where it will either leave quite a knot on his head, or bloody
his nose, pending on if he turns around or not. Wasting no time, the vampire also clutches both hands on the base of his scythe
and darts forward, swinging the ancient weapon in a small arc, hoping to close the arc at Dimitrious’s ankles, and hew
off a pallid foot or two.
Dimitrious falls slightly forward as Shogos grip on his own clawed hands is released. Straightening himself upright, he glances
upward into the darkness of the sky above and pays little mind to the crossbow as it hits him in the back of the head and
falls in a broken heap of wood and metal on the ground at his feet. Lowering his left hand at this side, the clawed gauntlet
slips free of his hand and falls with a loud thud of metal against metal on the snowy ground. His right hand then shoots straight
up and grips the weapon by the blade and, with a simple quick tug, pulls the weapon free from the humans grasp and tosses
to one side like piece of garbage before lowering to his side and slipping free from his slender hand. Turning around with
his gaze still locked onto the darkness of the sky above, he spreads his arms out to his sides before swinging them slowly
out infront of him and cupping his hands together. Slowly, his hands spread apart and reveal a small pitch black orb that
is easily seen against the snowy background. As his hands spread further and further apart, the black orb grows bigger and
bigger. Swiftly, the orb moves over the humans head and drops down and engulfs the man within its dark depths. Soon it become
clear that black sphere is a giant ball of gravity, though it has no affect on the world outside of it, as it begins to gain
more mass and the pressure within it starts to build, threatening to crush the man inside as the black ball begins to slowly
shrink in side as it starts to implode in on itself.
Shogo allows a slight gasp to escape his lips as his ancient weapon is torn from his grip and tossed aside as if it were
a child’s plaything. Shogo’s hands tremble slightly as he observes Dimitrious weave his ball of strange energy
within his palms, his trembling a result of both the intense cold and apprehension. The vampire does not move as the void
closes over his form slowly, and he closes his eyes in anticipation of intense pain. However, he feels no pain at first, as
the orb was not pure arcane energy as he had thought. But alas, seconds later, Shogo begins to feel pressure closing in on
him from all sides, intensifying with every dying moment as the orb begins to close in, sure enough intent on crushing his
body within it’s vastness. Shogo would then break out in a cold sweat, on the verge of panicking as the pressure grows
and begins to cause very slight cracking sounds to emit from his body. Doing the only thing he knows to do, he begins to mutter
in a guttural language rather sloppily, the orb continuing to press in on him for a few moments before his counter incarnation
slowly weaves into place, the orb now expanding and dissipating, the pressure slowly easing off his body. Nevertheless, Shogo
is barely conscious and falls backwards onto the snow, landing with a resounding thud. Crimson fluid slowly flows from his
lips, staining the powdery ground that he lies on as he remains motionless…
Shogo versus Terran
Shogo bows slightly to his Terran, his vampiric opponent, returning to an upright position rather hastily. The vampire
then takes entwines the fingers of both of his hands in front of him, extending them outward, the joints in his fingers emitting
an expected, gentle cracking sound, easing out his nerves for the duel yet to start, as well as tucking stray, untamed raven
tendrils that flood his visage behind his ears. Keeping his ancient scythe trained in his left hand, he quickly moves his
right, pallid hand to his waist, where a leather pouch inscribed with several arcane symbols rests. The former assassin quickly
undoes the leather strap and pinches together his thumb and forefinger, removing just a bit of the odd, off white power that
rests within it. Slowly, his right hand extends to over the crimson filled fountain, where he eases his grip, allowing the
power to drop into the fountain carelessly. The vampire then begins to speak in a guttural language, and as the indistinct
words spill from his mouth, the sanguine fluid within the fountain begin to boil, and a dozen orbs begin to rise from the
fluid, and seem to take on a life of their own, dancing in positions around Terran. Slowly, the crimson orbs begin to circle
him, quickly growing from a gentle pace to a mind numbing one in mere seconds. Shogo then would suddenly drops his guttural
speech, and the orbs stop abruptly, forming into needle-like shards. Without so much as another moment, the shards begin to
close in around Terran, each one seeking to dig deeply into his pallid flesh.
Terran nods in return, smiling with respect. His ebonic hair flutters about his head, and the crimson eyed man simply grins.
The deep words of anger and power utter of Afrogo’s mouth, making it more and more difficult to think. That damned enchantment
was getting into his head, clouding his mind. All he could do was force thought. ~Dammit! My head is on fire…~ Opening
his eyes, he quickly blinked. Ity bity orbs? Flying about him. That was more than odd, though totally irrelevant. As the spheres
speed up and encircle him, All he could think about was his head, and the intense burning therein. Growling loudly, Terran
jumped upward, which was horrid timing on his part as a plasmic needle went across the long of his leg. A yelp of slight pain
rang out as he lost his glide. Terran than, with lack of better terminology, smacked into the ground. Hard. The world kinda
spun for a second, but it didn’t last long. His fist slap the ground, sending him vaulting up. He spun about four times
before landing on his heels. There he stood. He looked annoyed, to say the least. He slowly started to just talk. Incoherent
babble, apparently. It made not a lick of sense. Not until, of course, his fists burst into flames. He then spoke briefly
and clearly. “Level one attack. Basic maneuver. Lighting my fists on fire so I can do this.” Vault. Swish. Best
way to describe it. Terran ran forward, his fists on fire. Kinda looks painful. But that didn’t matter, simply because
Terran didn’t care. About seven feet from Shogo, Terran jumps upward and grabs his feet with either hand, causing them
to burst into fire. Spending his last possible second in the air, he makes himself positioned so that his left foot and right
fist were coming down at Shogo, the bright flames almost murderous.
Shogo allows a dark, brash chuckle to form and resound from his throat, pleased with the fruits of his labor for his first
move, observing the fellow vampire stumble to the ground with a dull thud. However, the smug look that adorns his face begins
to fade, and an unsure, studying look quickly overruns his pale visage as he watches Terran enchant his limbs with hellish
flames. With a quick shift of the grip to move his scythe along with him, Shogo shifts his feet to the right as Terran is
at the apex of his leap, narrowly avoiding the assassin’s enchanted fist. So narrowly infact, that the flames lick at
his left arm as he shifts position, singeing an arm hair or two. A malicious, content grin then slowly begins to tug at Shogo’s
lips, as his opponent is now openly vulnerable, as Terran’s back is now facing him. Gripping the oaken handle of the
wickedly curved weapon with both hands, the vampire then makes a quick, fluid motion, sending the serrated side of the blade
singing for Terran’s very neck from behind, hoping to hew his head from his shoulders and send it ricocheting against
the fountains base in a grotesque display.
Terran’s knees bend, his head faces shogo, and he bounds ahead. Another weird sound. “SQUWEE!!!” Terran
was now doing a superman. His fists went forward, his body perfectly erect. He passes by Shogo, but fails to figure out if
he hit. Landing hard on the ground, the vampire spun, his thoughts scrambled. He stood up quickly and shoot his hands forward,
causing his flaming arms to go out, the fires themselves shooting at the spell blade. After a second of thought, Terran made
his way to his feet, already beginning his chant, which would prove to be the hardest he’ll ever do. At least for this
battle. As his mana centers, purple begins to encircle him. Not any form of matter, just purple.
Shogo curses faintly, almost inaudibly as the vampire clasps onto the scythe. But alas, somehow, even with what should
have been Terran’s hands stopping power, he watches curiously as the vampire is slung from the blade and goes on a collision
course with the tree. Shogo cannot help but chuckle slightly in amusement, observing Terran bumble about the scenery, and
then, to his surprise, come flying with untold velocity in his direction! The vampire drops to a single knee, cleanly and
totally avoiding the charade of a fellow vampire that just swooped overhead. Careful not to make the same foolish mistake
his opponent made last time, Shogo stands slowly and spins on his heel to face his opponent. His azure hued orbs would then
widen in total shock, taking much heed of the two columns of flames that approach him. Doing what comes to mind first, dodging,
the vampire leaps horizontally to the left. However, not quick enough, as the columns of flames lick out at his right shoulder,
searing his flesh and making a sickening sizzle as they quickly die out. Cringing, Shogo regains his composure with a brief
shift of posture, scowling and sneering at Terran as he devises his next move within his all too complex train of thoughts.
His sneer would turn into a devious smile however, as he quickly forms a suitable idea. Shogo moves his scythe to his lips,
the ancient weapon beginning to glow a putrid, orange hue as he opens his gaping mouth. Slowly, a drip of the orange hue seems
to have formed into a small, vile drop of fluid. It slowly drops within Shogo’s mouth, and he begins to swirl together
saliva and the odd fluid, seemingly for no apparent reason. Without so much as another mere second, the vampire opens his
mouth and abruptly sends flames cascading out of his maw, seeming to form into a lance-like shape and barrel their way straight
for Terran’s barely defended midriff..
Terran noticed. Terran saw the whole thing play out. Holy hell was Shogo insane. All he could do was jump up, keeping his
thought in one piece. He lucked out, as his legs were still on fire. Just as the fireball of saliva and goo passed under him,
Terran kicked down. The massive blast simply hit the ground, sending Terran screaming into the air. His body slowly began
to glow a deeper shade of purple. The higher we flew, the brighter he glowed. He began to spin, his head facing the placid
sky. Once he hit the peak of the jump, about twenty feet up, he laughed darkly. “There is a tale for those who know
it, the tale of the phoenix who took life, rather than gave. One day, that phoenix was captured, and then was used by his
new master, simply for the capture of life, making him an immortal. Once that master died, the phoenix became a demon. A few
can control it. You are looking at one.” With that last word, the light died instantly, large purple wings splashing
out of his back. With a single flap, fireballs tumbled down, hitting the ground around and possibly under Shogo. The winged
Vampire then came down. The speed was insane. It wasn’t so much of a scream. More like a tear across the sky, as if
it was a large piece of paper. Making himself close enough, Terran spun about, possibly and probably hitting Shogo. Swinging
back another foot, he shot his right arm forward. In an odd sight, a huge bird, violet in flame, broke out of it’s masters
back, spun about in the air and swooped down at Shogo, attempting to crash into him. Once it was in range, collision or not,
it would explode. Terran watched, his body now weak.
Shogo lets the last of the flames exit from his mouth, and then suddenly swore quite loudly as he remembered, of course,
Terran was apparently skilled in the pyromancer arts! The vampire watches intently, wide eyed as the flames drew nearer and
nearer. To his shock, Terran did not absorb them, but instead used them to vault himself into the stagnant midnight air. Gripping
his scythe and moving it to in front of his form quickly, Shogo’s glance immediately tore away from where Terran was
previously, to where he was at the moment, flying about somehow in the sky. As the vampire hears the fellow vampire’s
claim, he can only scoff in disbelief and obvious doubt. But mere seconds later, none of the latter really mattered, as large
orbs of fire were tearing through the night air, sure enough meant to engulf him. The vampire then does the only thing that
comes to mind at the spur of the moment and dives forward, the echo of the flames hitting the ground in his wake, making his
ears ring loudly as he skids roughly across the ground. With a snicker, Shogo hastily rises to his feet, clearly thinking
his opponent would surely try something more creative than a plain, frontal assault. Shogo’s laughter would stop abruptly
however, as he feels the form of Terran collide against his body and send him reeling, stumbling over the edge of the fountain
and landing in the shallow flood with a petite splash. Cursing and spitting, he rears his head from the fluid, only to see
that now a phenonix like form bearing down. Clutching to the center of the fountain and closing his eyes in brace of impact,
the chaotic bird burst into flames, the fountain catching the brunt of the blow, but never the less covering Shogo in flames.
Hastily, the vampire leaps out of the fountain and lands against the ground, rolling a few times to suffocate the flames that
covered his body. Silently, Shogo laid on his back, in a void somewhere between consciousness, and unconsciousness.
Atropos nods to Naoko and Valaria before turning her attention to the duelist, "Both of you fought well, but the votes
go to Shogo." With the last word out of her mouth, she scurries along to the tavern in search of goldfish.
Shogo versus Teladrin
Shogo tilts his head to the side a single time, casting his glance for only about the foreboding area lying in front of
the tavern, a slight shiver escalating up the length of his spine as the severed head of Suchevane catches his attention out
of the corner of his eyes. Shaking his head momentarily, he focuses his attention upon the half elf before him, shifting his
left foot slightly on the dusted street, causing a sandaled impression to form among it. With a brief toss off the head, he
firmly grips his gauntleted hands around the skull-adorned staff, testing the opposite, pointed end of the weapon with a few
taps against the cobblestone area of the road. Crimson lips part just after, giving way to an incantation that flows in a
somewhat raspy tone, carrying words of an unknown meaning or origin. Still in arcane words, he shifts the grip on the staff
to point the skulled end of it towards the half elf, his lips finally closing and concluding the channeling to the weapon.
Without warning, the skulls’ gaped rictus gives way to a pluming morass of thick, ebon smoke, which continues to lurch
in Teladrins’ direction. Sulfurous in nature, it continues to approach the ranger, obviously intent on clogging his
lungs and ceasing all breath…
Teladrin glances down to the floor, softened grey orbs losing their focus on the surrounding scape, as the dark ranger delves
within his own psyche, attempting to attain a higher state of equilibrium. After a few moments of this self calibration, he
raises his head, a blank impassive look encapsulating his features. As the dark smoke begins to pour from the mouth of the
skull, Teladrin lets a smile momentarily tug at the corners of his mouth, raising a hand before him. With a few simple and
monotonic chantings, the dark ranger attempts to reach the wind spirit Aourin from his home on the nether planes. With a sharp
click of his fingers, the half elf tears the passive soul fourth, it’s ethereal form shimmering between the men. Seemingly
reluctant, the wind spirit edges forwards, it’s transparat limbs extending to the smoke at the command of it’s
summoners delicate movements. The black mist passes through the chest of the ghostly apparition, an intense look of sorrow
and pain washing over it’s features. The toxic smoke begins to swirl within the creature, unable to escape from any
orifice through it’s, now clouded, visage. With another simple gesture, Teladrin casts the spirit back to the realm
it ordinarily would inhabit. With no words, no witty quib, he nods slowly to the spell blade stood before him. Suddenly, this
period of both respect and examination breaks, his hand flying to the small sheathe that lies upon the half elf’s shoulder.
Plucking gingerly at the edges of the hilt, Teladrin frees the petite blade from it’s delicate housing, the slight sound
of grinding steel heard as the dagger and sheathe lock in their inanimate embrace. He does not hold this small weapon within
his fingers however, more locked into the palm of his hand, digits running parallel as if to guide the weapon on it’s
course. With a powerful thrust, Teladrin flings the dagger forward, almost mocking in size yet deadly in it’s implementation.
It streaks through the air, beams of moonlight struggling through the clouds above as if only to glint off the razor sharp
edge, giving the weapon an aura of blinding, yet ominous, brilliance. As the dagger surges t’words the throat of Shogo,
Teladrin takes a few steps backwards, each hand gliding down to rest upon the hilts of the two deadly swords that hang at
his side. No more motion is seen from him though, he merely stands there, perfectly still. Barely breathing, his heart rate
slowing, he prepares himself for what may ensue. He watches his rival intently, stalwart in his silent observation as he awaits
his counter strike.
Shogo allows an amused smirk to curve his lips as the spirit devours the gaseous cloud, leaving as simply as it came. His
body tenses, knuckles whitening as he poises the staff to before him once more, preparing to deflect any sudden strikes from
the half elf, yet what he expects inevitable does not directly come. Instead, the vampire is a bit dumbfounded to see just
a simple dagger begin streaking in his direction, no flashy enhancement, just a glint of steel passing through the void between
them. With a shrug, Shogo waits until a precise moment to raise the staff upwards and send the edge of the staff connecting
with the dagger with a hasty motion, sending it off course with a clang, ricocheting off to the side. Electing not to wait
until the sound of the weapon hitting the ground emits to begin his next approach, the vampire bends his knees and sends the
pointed edge of the staff sliding across the stone, emitting iridescent sparks which leap out before him, and as if nurtured
by some unseen force, they begin to grow in size and ferocity, forming into large, roaring singes that descend from their
position in mid air towards Teladrin. A smug look finds its’ way onto the vampires expression once more and he bends
his neck to catch glimpse of something barely noticeable. It takes you a moment to realize that the sound of the dagger plummeting
to the ground never came; instead, to the rear of Teladrin it lies suspended in mid air. With a quick motion, it begins to
fall towards the half elf, planning to betray its former caster…
Teladrin looks on in a state of veneration for Shogo’s skill. As the man stands there, the sky breaches, the dark clouds
above releasing their burden upon the earth below. Streaks of lightning scintillate across the heavens, lighting up the area
where the two combatants inhabit. As the swollen droplets of water begin to pour unto the area, Teladrin breaks his persevering
transfixtion. He drags his foot through the dust around him, as the first drops of water near the ground, leaving an arc of
disturbed cobbling around him. As he does this, the dark ranger lowers to a slightly stooped position, and he looses the two
elegant swords from their respective sheaths. Both swords immediately lie extended at his arms width, each singing in exultant
pleasure at the liberty permitted of them by their master. The dark ranger continues his motion, spinning full circle in this
delicate ballet, until he is once more facing the vampire. The parasitic blade Couran lies extended towards Shogo’s
throat, whilst the frozen brand Frosthorn reaches out behind him. Each is equally as powerful as the other but most distinctive
in both aura and appearance. His eyes catch the multiple searing sparks flying at him in an ominous display of beauty, swirling
orbs gleaming, as he find some solace in their bright ommitance. He also notices how his dagger has been so skilfully turned
back against him, a slight chuckle escaping his lips as he prepares for the onslaught. In a quick moment of deliberation,
the dark ranger decides to focus his parry more on the dagger, his pride refusing to let his own blade cause him damage. With
a swift manoeuvre, he tears Couran in a vertical arc, the glittering edge taunting time as it facetiously plucks at the seams
of reality. A brilliant clash sounds through the area, in perfect unison with the booming of thunder far away, splinters of
metal flying off into the darknes, several embedding themselves in the wall of the tavern. Left with little time, Teladrin
can only give slight evasion to the other aspect of Shogo’s attack, diving quickly to the side of where he previosly
stood. the majority of the sparks remain on previos course, clashing with the wall of the tavern and leaving dark scorch marks
on it’s already blackened surface. One catches his arm however and Teladrin is left with a streaking burn, the smell
of burning flesh filling the nostrils of all present. regaining his composure, Teladrin neatly lunges forwards, with the dark
blade outstretched. A tiny droplet of rain meets with the very tip of the weapon, hissing and sizzling as it spills fourth
onto the accursed metal. Slowly, a dark mist begins to pour from the dark ranger’s hand, enveloping both arm and weapon,
locking them together in a symbiotic embrace. Instantly, his eyes fill with dark pools of obsidian, clearly reflecting all
that lies before him. He pushes into the ground forcefully, before propelling himself at the chest of the Vampire ahead of
him, his former clansman, Couran yearning for blood, while Frosthorn remains in reserve.
Shogo does not stand idly by and relish the only partial success of his dual-pronged attack, but instead, he loosens his
formerly tensed body to allow quicker movement as Teladrin begins his lunge, his feet falling into a predetermined path of
evasive footwork as the blade comes direly close to lacerating his chest. The vampire’s azure orbs widen as the blade
still remains within course to split his shoulder, and without thinking, raises the staff which lies ever in hand to intersect
between the offending blade and the area between his left shoulder. With a sickening snap, the half elfs’ chosen blade
splits the wood of his staff in two, severing it into two halves. Upon this occurring, the area where he once stood bears
the brunt of the tip, and the skull-topped side of the staff plummets to the ground. However, among the air where severed,
a pair of arcane strands of energy wisp about, almost giving the appearance of unguided souls. Frowning faintly at his misfortune,
but deciding the staff a lost cause, he raises a pallid hand to cleanse his sweat soaked brow in relief. Oddly, the stands
of energy that were once in the confines of his staff grasp his attention, his gaze falling on them curiously, watching their
every movement. Suddenly, the vampires pale lips part in a single word that does not go unheeded to the freed magicks, as
they are now ensnared to his very will. They pass calmly throughout the air before approaching Teladrin, tips of both teasing
at the area around his lips. Without warning, they flare, and begin to steadily approach his inner mouth, intent on entering
his body and devouring him from within…
Teladrin raises his gaze to the starry heavens, his eyes glinting slightly in the pallid moonlight that manages to rupture
the stormy air above. Feeble beams touch upon various spots on the ground between the two men, giving the rain that passes
through them a haunting glow. In a slight moment of reverence and retention, Teladrin think of his childhood days, his step
mother teaching him the simple chants and rituals of the moon god Torlune. A slight smile spreads across the man’s lips
as he recalls those days of ignorant contentment, but also as this period of reminiscence sparked off a thought within his
calculating mind. He quickly brings himself back to the present, only just in time to notice how things have unravelled. Wondering
what these ghostly wisps may intend, the dark ranger backs away from where his weapon severed the staff, dark orbs fixed upon
the spiritual fingers. Realising their will of intrusion into his body, the dark ranger quickly snaps into action, raising
the parasitic Couran afore him. Slowly, the ghostly form of the blade’s possessive soul makes it’s way fourth
from the relative housing of the steel. It seems to fold and twist, losing all sense of material and becoming solely encompassed
with the spiritual plane. In an almost seductive fashion, the spirit wavers at the two ghostly wisps, enticing them to join
it within the now cold steel is usually inhabits. With a slow shudder, they comply, snaking round the blade in a haunting
embrace until finally all three spiritual forms vanish within it, the sword pulsing in excitement at the new occupants. With
a grin, Teladrin throws his swords before him, each delving deep into the earth, soil engulfing them half the length of the
blades as the cobbles are shattered. Teladrin slowly raises his hand to the sky above, the ornate tattoo upon his hand glowing
through gauntlet and air alike. A diaphanous thread spindles from his palm, rapidly coursing it’s way through the drops
of rain as it surges t’words the clouds above. Thus he remains for a fleeting moment, hand stretched to the sky, arcane
thread seeking the moonlight as if to encapsulate it’s majestic beauty and tempt it down to the mortal planes. And it’s
mystical purpose is fulfilled, the dark clouds suddenly lighting up with a brilliant white, the streaks of lightning cast
into submission by this dominant force. A great swirling vortex of pure energy tears into the sky, as the god Torlune answers
the call of the dark ranger. A single beam of concentrated magic shoots don to the earth, it’s course predetermined
by the conscious command sent through the spilde like tether. The thread vanishes and Teladrin reclaims his weapons from the
aerth, each singing a differing song of exultation as the powerful shaft of light bears down upon Shogo.
Shogo growls momentarily as the stands of his own channeled magicks are sucked within the parasitic blade, but the vampire
falls silent as both of his opponents’ blades are firmly entrenched into the stone, curious of the very nature of whatever
calling Teladrin is weaving through the spindled thread. Narrowing the obsidian brows that roof his eyes in a vain attempt
to lessen the lights assault on his vision, a vile hiss escaping the confines of his throat as it grows far too intense, lids
shutting and denying entrance to the offending opalescent light. Bringing both gauntleted hands to before his chest in a laughable
attempt to thwart the column of light that bears upon him unknowingly to his vision, but clear to his other senses, the beam
of lunar energy slams with a violent force into his chest, sending him spiraling into the charred wall of the tavern, shattering
bits of rotted wood and similar fabric of oak alike as the wall hardly broke his forced path into the tavern. As the beam
finishes its’ assault on his body, the vampire lies limply on his back in the center of the tavern, his gauntlets alight
in an opal aura. The coiling aura pulsates from the gauntlets and soon passes entirely over his body, oddly replenishing his
very strength. With a strained grunt, Shogo rises to his feet, brushing away tendrils that flood his pale visage. As throughout
the entire duel, he still remains eerily silent as he steps through the wreckage and debris, calmly nodding to his formidable
foe.
Steve versus Shogo
Steve flitters up on to a branch of one of the closest trees, his tiny translucent wings beating rapidly. Looking down, the
tiny naked little pixie shoves his hand into a pouch hanging from his belt, the only thing he seems to be wearing. Slowly
unfurling tiny fingers, he reveals a small fistful of pixie dust. He tosses this out into the air before him, the tiny particles
of dust simply float before him, almost in a liquid state. His hands break off at an almost unremarkable speed, forming the
air before him as he concentrates intently. The dust begins to shift and mold, almost as if Steve was molding it like clay.
Finally, he blows an italian style kiss towards the creation, the only sign that he has finished, as the blob of dust still
looks rather bizarre. The cloud of dust falls to the ground, dispersing amongst the dirt of the road. Slowly and steadily
tiny monsters begin to grow out of the mud, every single particle of pixie dust forms its own mud monster, each hardening
over with a strange crystalline appearance, most likely the pixie dust. Like tiny tribesman, the miniature army of mud men
rush at Shogo, each brandishing spears of magically crystallized mud. Not only does this ground army attack, but a second
smaller battalion of men on flying horses take off, the cavalry swooping in from the left and right so as to trap Shogo from
trying any sort of dodging movements.
Shogo tilts his head to the left a single time, azure hued orbs squinting to take in the tiny form of the pixie. The vampire
watches intently as Steve flutters onto the branch of a small tree, unsure of the magicks the pixie is casting as he can barely
take heed of the dust descending to the ground before him, only able to notice due to a pasty glow the waxing moon is casting
over the buildings and surrounding landscape. Nervously, slender digits of his right hand wrap around the oaken handle of
the ancient scythe, his expression apprehensive as the tiny creatures form slowly from the mud-like matter and tear through
the void separating Shogo and his miniature adversary. As the band of creatures close in upon him, the vampire shifts his
sandaled feet to the right, only to be met by the newly formed wave of indescribable creatures, the crudely crafted weapons
they hold tear tiny incisions upon his chest and upper body indiscriminately, causing small bits of stolen, crimson vitae
to leak out of the newly etched wounds upon his chest. A low grunt escapes the confines of his throat, followed by an equally
low series of arcane words. With a brief motion of his free hand, a black matter forms into the space before him, creating
a vacuum effect that slowly inhales the miniature creatures within its vastness. A sly grin tugs at the edge of the vampire’s
lips as the pull of the void intensifies, hoping the void will also drag Steve into its depths…
Steve blinks and stares at the scythe, wondering if there are perhaps any fields nearby. His thoughts are soon interrupted
though and he frowns sadly as his tiny mud men are sucked away, never to return. Feeling the wind stir up a bit stronger,
Steve grasps the branch tightly, a single tiny arm holding him to the security of the tree as he uses his free hand to dig
into his pouch yet again. Not having much time to mold anything fancy, he barely manages to toss the mixture to the ground
before he is sucked away. Giving in rather than letting his arm be ripped from his socket, he tries in vain to fly against
the strength of the void. Luckily though, he does not have to try hard for long. The mixture he created grows vastly, stretching
until it covers most of the road. Crystallizing, the finished product offers up one single blast on his trunk before the elephant
is sucked into the void. Being extremely large, the elephant is sucked much quicker than Steve, and as it hits the portal
the wind ceases. Should a wanderer cross the road, the sight of a giant elephant stuck in a portal would surely perplex or
stir up laughter. Not for long does the elephant remain stuck, soon enough the suction pulling on the elephant and the void
implode! blowing blasts of darkness and elephant guts all around. Should Shogo not get away quickly, he may find himself in
the middle of a treacherous explosion....or, at least covered in elephant guts.
Shogo lofts a slender brow as the oddly attributed mixture the pixie has been molding suddenly forms a rather large creature,
obviously unknown to the vampire. Shogo stands idly, the grip on his scythe tightening as he observes the giant creature become
ensnared by the vacuum, somehow so absurdly large that it has become stuck, far too large to be thrown into the void. Shogo’s
expression changes not at all as a large explosion rings out, breaking the oppressive silence, as he had no previous thoughts
of such a reaction occurring. Much too close to the void, his body thrown asunder from the earthen ground where he once stood,
the grip on his wickedly curved blade failing, tearing from his grasp and thrown aimlessly from his possession. A sickening
crack emits from the result of his impact seconds later upon the ground, his upper arm bearing the brunt of his fall. As for
his scythe, it continues its swath through the stagnant air, the blade singing as its serrated edge approaches the pixie with
untold velocity…
Steve has been all the while flying around, any which way to avoid the blast. Now, being a pixie and all, he zips here and
there in the blink of an eye, moving at an uncanny speed. Needless to say, he notices the gardening tool coming at him and
ponders this. Thinking that just zipping out of the way would be no fun, he instead takes a different route. Pixie dust in
the air before him is quickly made into his next creation, not taking more than a second to send his thoughts into his creature.
A robe makes itself known as it stands tall, a hand composed of nothing more than a shadow reaches out and catches the scythe
just as it is flung into range of both itself and Steve. As sure as many of the locals might have guessed, standing here before
the masses is a visual representation of what most people around these here parts believe to be Death. The shadowed being
moves towards Shogo, walking in an almost sway like glide. Grasping the weapon tightly with fingers unseen, the being slashes
downward towards Shogo's torso with deadly speed. Who does know what will happen? Will this thing take Shogo's soul, or merely
sever his body in two?
Shogo groans in anguish as he slowly rises from the ground with the support of his uninjured hand, his slender form swaying
to and fro like a drunkard for a few moments, obviously disoriented from the fall. Slowly, but surely, he regains his posture,
just in time to see a wraith-like figure gliding towards him with his own scythe in hand. His pale visage contorts into a
grimace as the apparition draws closer, lowering his head and ducking as the blade’s arc begins, and ends yielding nothing
but a void where he once stood. Abruptly, his right, uninjured hand springs up from its position at his side, grabbing hold
of his weapon with a decisive motion and bringing it back into his possession hastily. A single motion of his left hand over
the blade casts a few magical attributes onto the blade, a hint of flames glazing the blade of the weapon. Rising quickly,
he takes a single handed, unskilled swing at the figure, hewing it in half at the middle, the wraith dissipating into two
halves shortly after, fading from existence. As expected, Shogo’s clumsy swing causes him to lose possession of his
scythe once more, bending to physics and flying from his hand, landing upon the ground with a dull thud. Standing upright
and regaining posture, the vampire ignores the lingering agony within his left arm, reaching his right hand towards his belt,
slender digits extracting a single, very small dagger from a holster. Carelessly, the vampire drops the dagger to the ground.
Arcane, guttural words spill forth from the vampire’s lips, and suddenly, the dagger rises into the air on its own will,
seemingly. Suddenly, the dagger seems to multiply, forming into a second, the two forming to four, four then forming to eight,
all of them bobbing in a synchronized manner within the air. Without warning, the blades dance forth at the pixie, trancelike
as they seek to rip his tiny body into a bloody heap...
Steve can do nothing but blink and frown as his second apparition is dispersed. Seeing the daggers multiply, Steve stares
in awe and quickly mutters something about having to learn that trick. He lowers his hands to his sides, fingers twitching
slightly. As soon as the first of the eight daggers reaches him, Steve turns in mid-air with the use of his wings and lands
quickly atop the flat of the blade. It seems his hands were not idle, holding his belt in his hands it seems that he lassoed
the end of the dagger. Riding it like a horse, he directs it and the seven following daggers on a zigzag course towards the
nearest building. Diving at the last second, Steve barely manages to escape as the daggers embed themselves into the shop's
wall. After retrieving his belt, he flutters on over to Shogo, landing atop the others nose. Nodding, he congratulates Shogo
on a duel well fought.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|