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Dorak versus Teladrin
Dorak stand calm, narrowing his crimson eyes as he watches his opponent carefully, a light but kind grin plays over his pale
lips. His eyes seems to shimmer in a ruby red colour as the sun softly shines upon the mage, giveing him the light for them
to do so. Dorak white mages robe twirls gently in cool brezze comeing from the cliffs not far from where the vampire stands.
Suddenly he raise his hands at half elf and the smile on his face is gone. Old words of a language unknown to this realm is
quickly being spoken through his mouth, chanting and focusing his powers to this spell of old. Building up his magic within
and speaking the last words the ground start to slowly move and the durt and the dust and even the bare rock under them begins
to shake violently and cracks open. Up from the deepth a strange creature claws itself to it’s..feet..or something the
can only be explaind as that..it’s eyes glow in blazeing fire red and a loud growl is jelled from it’s mouth..The
white mage has full controll of this creature of dark and with a wave of his hand he foreces the monster to attack ranger
with all it’s powers..It lashes out with it’s arms and with it’s long sharp claws is now trying to rip his
head from his shoulders and at the same time lets it’s jaws swiftly run towards him. The monster quickly turns around
to face the ranger again as his advances was made and lanches another claw towards his heart.
Teladrin looks upon the vampire with a casual smile. "Every candle must cast a shadow" he mutters as the dark creature
claws it's way from the earth. As the beast begins to make it's way towards him the half elf begins to mutter a spell of his
own. A green light begins to radiate from his swirling grey eyes as the chant continues. As the beast becomes dangerously
close to him the ranger shouts aloud a single word: "Serrith" and bring his shield forward to guard him from the blows of
the monster. The jagged claws smash into the barrier protecting him and he is knocked backwards, large gashes running through
the metal. The dark abomination moves lumberingly towardsd him as his own spell begins to form. From the crack the monster
had created begins to shine a brilliant green light, bathing the area in it's safferon glow. The shimmering ethereal form
of a great dragon forms for a second in the glow and then is gone. Then the light sunders, shooting a spindle of light towards
the beast. The creature cries out a sickening roar and is gone, along with the spirit. teladrin casts his shield aside and
the green fades from his eyes. Squinting he raises a dark arrow, crafted in mastery by the head blacksmith of Kladrien. he
lets the arrow fly to the vampire, intent on piercing his dark heart
Dorak’s crimson orbs widen as his crerature disappears in to thin air with a loud roar, a slightly angered expression
is visable on the mages face. Eyeing the ranger Dorak sees his intentions and takes a defensive position with his walking
stick in a frim grip in his slender ash pale hands. As the arrow flys towards him the vampire smirks, seems to laughs of the
mere arrow. The mage has long ago learned the spells of air and simply bends it so the arrow misses him and flys in to a tree.
He then advances with a foot and lashes out with his staff and yelling. “Harrash!” a beam of heat and lighting
shoots towards the little ranger and threatens to end the duel with hast
Teladrin watches in anger as his finely crafted arrow is sent amiss but slowly a grin begins to form on his face, although
his faceplate masks it. As the surge of magic flows towards him he holds out his arms, as if to embrace a loved one. The elemental
powers make their contact, but instead of causing damage, they begin to flow around him, spiralling across his body. The sight
is a beautiful one and the ranger stands motionless for a second, letting the magic pass around him. Then with a sharp click
the magic is gone, the only signal that it had existed being the static left in Teladrin's white hair. The half elf lowers
himslf to his knees, his eyes being consumed by deep pools of darkness as he begins to utter a deadly incantation. Reaching
his hands into the earth, although leaving no mark, he lifts a swirling black ball. His entire body shows strain as he gets
to his feet but the orb seems to float weightlessly between his hands. With a great shudder he sends the sallow oval to his
opponent.
Dorak’s watches in rage as his magic is being consumed by the ranger, almost wondering how a ranger can feed from it.
A bloodred glow seems to emerge in the white robed mage and he retreats to a defencive position again, his silverish hair
floats furiously in the wind. As the dark orb near it’s target Dorak lets his walking stick hit the ground. Suddenly
a auora of pure blue lights appear around the mage and as the orb hits him Dorak screams out in pain...the sheald being shatterd
and he through back towards the cliffs. The orb being neutralized but the hit and vanishs. Gaining strength the mage throws
several fire balls towards the ranger now. Hunderds of small fire balls now is lashed to his chest, heart and head..in speed
which is seenable for a mage but for a ranger?
Teladrin lets out a small chuckle as his weapon makes contact with the vampire. He quickly returns his full attention back
to the task at hand and sees the fire fly towards him. Insttinctively he raises the arm where the shield was lashed, only
realising his fatal mistake at the last moment. A ball of flame engulfs his arm and another catches his breastplate, knocking
him to the floor and leaving the sickening smell of burning flesh in the nostrils of the observers. Relentless the ranger
struggles to his feet, exhausted by the excursion. Casting his melting armguard to the floor, he begins to whisper. His words
seem to float upon the wind and are soon to the level of a roaring gale. Suddenly the noise stops and a great crashing can
be heard throughout the area as a great shadow approaches from the undergrowth. A gargantuan bear answers the call of the
ranger, and breaks into the clearin, taking the nearest tree with it. The magnificant creature raisees to it's hind legs a
lets out a great roar, as it looks upon the mage. Crashing back to the floor it begins to run at the vampire, it's intention
of tearing the vampire aparrt blatent upon it's fiercesome snarling face.
Dorak the mage stands frimly at his spot not far from the cliff, holding himself standing as he dose with his walking stick
in a very frim grip.Blood drips from his hands as the magic has left them there as a reminder not to take on more than one
can hold on to. As the roar of the beast is heard he looks up and sees it comeing running towards him..As it advances the
mage takes several steps back to the very eage of the cliffs..and as the beautiful creature of nature is close enough the
vampire lets go of his staff with a great grin upon his pale lips. Dorak then throws himself out from the cliff, face up.
No sign of fear is seenable on the elder vampires face..As the beast unable to stop from it’s speed it crashes down
the rocky walls..but the mage wave takes the flows of nature to his controll, the mere wind hold him high above the ground,
strings of air embraces Dorak and it seems he is floating..just meter away from the eage.
Teladrin versus VGFH
Teladrin glances forward at the spectral dragon ahead of him, eyes flaring with malignant resentment from under his hood,
the usual grey hue of the swirling orbs replaced with a deep shimmering blue. The cold stare pierces through shadows and light
alike, it’s very nature akin to the frozen hell he had endured over the passing weeks. Taking a step forwards, Teladrin
pulls back the dark hood encapsulating his face in shadow, his chiselled features extenuated by the feeble beams of light
shining aslant, puncturing the clouds above the battlefield. With a formal nod to each judge in turn, the dark ranger turns
to the druid, unclasping the billowing cloak that adorns his broad shoulders and casually throwing it aside. The removal of
the grand cape reveals the sheathe hanging at his side, yet now the ornate prison is joined by another, wholly more dark and
ominous merely in its presence. The dark ranger lowers his hand to the lighter case, housing the frozen brand Frosthorn, the
gauntlets clawed fingers clinking against the sturdy hilt, as light ivory locks are torn asunder by the billowing gale surrounding
him and his opponent. Looking directly at the ghostly dragon, he speaks, his tenor calm and impassive with a hint of exultant
anticipation. “This should be interesting, o voweless one” With nothing more, the dark ranger casts aside the
facade of formalities and makes his attack. With a swift fluid movement, he releases the blade of ice from it’s arcane
housing, the temperature plummeting as to cause the breath of those assembled to condense before them. As his arm lies extended,
the blade seems to also give off an aura of ecstatic prescience and pulses as it embraces the freedom offered to it. As the
dark ranger makes his run at the dragon, a swirling grey mist pours across the blade, snaking across the steel and encasing
it in a shimmering aura that tugs at the very fabrics of existence as he tears it towards him. Within melee striking distance,
Teladrin rears the blade behind him, before he swings it powerfully at Vgfh’s stomach.
Vgfh stares at the dark ranger, the first being to cross his path in combat since the dark mage who was directly responsable
for his current state of existance. The spectral dragon appears to stand in front of the ranger, his form that of his former
self, the ivory coloured boney spikes already extended from his form, and no less deadly in their ghost like state than they
were on the dragons former self. Vgfh closes his eyes for a second, gathering his form, awaiting the coming battle. His view
of the forest not obscured by his ghostly eyelids. The dark ranger makes his move, the blade hissing as it is released from
it's housing. Vgfh focuses, all his energies staring at the blade, but not obscuring his noting of the fact that the temperature
of the surroundings has dropped. The blade, of obvious magical origin could prove to be a threat to the ascended being. Vgfh
moves backwards and starts to dissapate into a fog like state as the ranger swings the blade at his stomach, the cold steel
passing through the dragon with some resistance. The dragon howls slightly in pain, as the blade leaves his form. Vgfh, nothing
more than a mist now floats swiftly upwards out of range of the blade for now, and starts to work a spell, using the dropping
temperature to his advantage, the dragon starts to conjure a hail storm, the balls of ice growing in speed and size as they
plummit to the ground around the ranger. The dragon watches in his mist like form, the hail merely passing through his form
as he does...
Teladrin finds himself at something of a loss. Not having faced one in such a state as his opponent now, he has little
way to know what may lie in store for him. As the clustered chunks of ice begin to fall towards him however, he grins. Backing
away from the dragon, he raises his blade high above his head, shouting aloud as he plunges it into the earth beneath him.
The weapon glows and throbs, as a large chunk of ice crashes into it’s master’s thigh, letting off a sickening
crunch. However, this is the only one that makes impact, the others drawn into the centre of an invisible vortex, harkening
to the powerful call of Frosthorn. The immediate danger has passed, but Teladrin now finds himself lost of one of his blades,
as it lies encased by a cocoon of ice. The dark ranger glowers at the spectre, as his eyes flash once more, the pupils becoming
enveloped by the pearlescent shade of blue, glowing through the darkness thrown by the over passing boughs. Although his right
arm lies encased by sturdy armour, the left is relatively unprotected. Instead, an decorated band wraps his wrist, ornate
runes lining the stitching. The dark tattoo upon his palm is visible to all, woven into the skin of the man, as he raises
his arm to a parallel with his shoulder, as if commanding the undead dragon to halt in his proceedings. As Teladrin begins
to utter dark words under the roar of the wind, the intricate weavings begin to glow a pallid blue, casting long shadows across
the dark ranger’s heavily armoured frame. As the chant continues, the brightness intensifies, until it is folly to cast
ones eyes upon it. The light begins to concentrate, surging through the weavings of the tattoo until it forms a consolidated
ball of energy. Instead of hurling the orb at his foe, Teladrin plunges his other hand into it’s very depths, the light
sundering as it’s ethereal casing is perforated. Drawing out his hand slowly, he seems to shape the energy, moulding
it into a double ended sickle, as if a circle with sections torn out and the ends sharpened into ominous points with a glittering
handle running the diameter. Holding it tightly, he draws his hand back before thrusting forwards, the boomerang like weapon
screaming as it cuts through the foliage that lines its path. The terrible energy of the arcane weapon seems to latch onto
all that it passes, tearing along assorted debris in its wake, as it flies directly at the great dragon’s throat.
Vgfh , the dragon, once again focuses his energies, his form returning to him as the hail gets drawn towards the sword of
his foe. He frowns for a second, not entirely sure what to do next, his concentration ebbing away from him as his mind wonders
onto possible stratergies. He does not notice the ranger forging a new weapon from seemingly thin air and neither does he
notice him drawing his arm back and releasing the new weapon, as the weapon screams through the air, the dragons attention
returns to him, he looks towards the sound in time to see the weapon coming towards him, instinctively he drops towards the
ground, the weapon, not hitting his throat as intended, but instead cutting through one of the boney spikes on the dragons
head. Again the creature howls. Vgfh closes his eyes once more and changes his form once again to that of his old humanoid
form, the lizard creature standing over six feet tall stares at the ranger once again. He smiles slightly, and as he does,
the edges of the creature blur, and a thick grey mist seems to extend from his form blanketing the area and masking everything
from view. The dragon closes his eyes again and as he does, two blades stretch out from his hands, the edges razor sharp.
The dragon runs at the ranger, the mist extending his view and awareness of the battlefield. As he reaches the hald elf, he
extends the blades and spins of to the side, both blades aimed at slashing at the elfs torso, his attention never waining
from his foe...
Teladrin, the half elf, again finds himself lost for a defence against this attack through the mist. Looking to , the now
humanoid, Vgfh, he nods slightly, in recognition of his skill. Not carrying a valid shield with him, the dark ranger instead
looses the second blade lying at his side. The darker sheathe seems to vibrate in foretaste of it’s ensuing freedom
and Teladrin tears it fourth as the mists consume him. Knowing that his injury will prevent him from matching the agility
of his rival, he used the acute sense of hearing inherited from his father. As the weapons of the lizard man approach, his
own blade gleams in the encasing fog, surrounding him in a black aura. The weapons of the opposing forces meet, sparks flying
as the powers clash. Teladrin is thrown backwards some distance from his opponent, a long jagged rock tearing up his left
arm, causing a dark trail of crimson fluid to snake down to his hand. As his hand begins to shake, the hue of his eyes seems
to burst aflame, deep shades of orange and gold replacing the dark blue. As he becomes consumed by this unholy bloodlust,
he opens his jaws agape,yet all that is issued from the gaping maw is a whisper, the word sharp and blunt yet somehow strangely
beautiful in it’s simplicity. At once, in ambient response to his summoning, the blade in his grasp twitches, the sheathe
pouring forward a viscous trail of black liquid that collects beneath him. As the formation takes place, Teladrin seems to
become distant, his eyes glazing over and his face loosing all emotion. The dark liquid begins to form, raising up into the
form of a shimmering blade, the true spiritual form of the imbued weapon know as Couran, leaving the physical form cold and
lifeless. The weapon hangs in the air, loose and free to the physical confines of gravity, as Teladrin casually raises a hand
to point at the dragon before him. Immediately, the weapon springs into life, it’s ethereal composure flitting as wisps
of it’s existence trail behind it, tearing straight through the fog towards Vgfh. As it reaches the transformed spectral
dragon, it halts momentarily, as if weighing up the prowess of the ascended being before it. This is only a brief second of
recognition however, as the spirit blade plunges forward, ghostly tip aimed directly for the heart of the druid.
Vgfh watches as the elf lands on the ground, the mists retarding and retreating back to the humanoid form as it becomes more
focused once again. The dragon starts to concentrate once more on his next attack, his mind focusing and moving in and out
of his existance and that of the ranger, as it does, time momentarily slows down and speeds up for him. The dragon focuses
harder, his mind pushing back into the higher realm once more, a place where time has no meaning. As his essence starts to
push back into his own realm he senses a disturbance. He focuses on the elf for a split second and notices something horrific
to him. The energy from the higher realm, the essence of everything he is, is being twisted and distorted around the elf.
The dragon watches as time and space start to merge together and the horrific weapon takes form. Vgfh starts to shift state
again back into a formless mist as he watches the blade. As the elf points the blade starts to move towards the dragon, and
as it does, the dragons realm starts to twist and tear. The dragon growls and loses focus of the realm, coming back to the
same plane as the elf as the weapon nears him. Unsure what to do, the dragon changes back into his origional form, and takes
flight, souring high into the air and away from the blade as it pauses and takes measure of him. He circles around and places
himself between the weapon and the elf, he starts his decent, the terrible blade following him as he plummits towards the
elf, his talons extended and aimed at the hapless, distracted creature. As the dragon hits the ground, a huge dust cloud is
released and neither what has happened to the dragon or the elf is known, however, a howl can be heard, the blade, sliced
through the dragons leg, and from the wound, a grey mist slowly seeps out...
Teladrin remains in his distracted state, his energies slowly leeched by the parasitc blade he has brought into the battle.
As the great form of the dragon falls upon him, the dark ranger is knocked to the floor, the pain surging through his broken
leg snapping him back into reality. A look of agony twists his features into a grimace, as he lies upon the floor between
the talons of the dragon. He finds little solace as the ghostly form of Couran returns to it’s housing, cutting neatly
through the leg of the great beast above him. Nor does the billowing cloud of dust cause him to falter in the task firmly
set within his mind. The dark ranger claws his way forwards, trying to escape the confines of the shadow cast upon him by
the dragon. Using the blade as a fulcrum, he levers himself to a standing position, his teeth clenched from the pain this
movement has caused him. Stumbling a few metres away from the dragon, he turns as the cloud of dust dissipates, carried away
on the wind. Offering a formal bow, he collapses back to a sitting position, the bones in his leg grinding away. Not able
to speak through his clenched jaw, he instead offers each assembled a formal nod, as he sheathes the dark blade once more.
Atropos is glad she really didn't have to judge this as Alexander gave her his vote before he went idle, "Teladrin is declared
the winner."
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.
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