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Vyrick versus Garr
Vyrick brings his hand to his neck as he undoes the clip holding his cape. As it falls to the ground, he brings the Soulcutter
to ready before him. The hellish weapon vibrates in his hands, giving off an eerie sound, similar to a shriek. Vyrick licks
his lips in a hunger for battle as he lowers his axe slowly, seeming to relax when without warning, his arms rise swiftly,
letting loose the weapon as it streaks into the air, soon fading from sight. A ripple emanates in the sky, leaving behind
nothing but pitch black in its wake as soon the entire area is cut off from all natural light from above. Within this dimmed
hue, Vyrick crosses his arms before him, his eyes seeming to glaze over with a silvery color while his lips widen into a sadistic
grin. Soon, from out of each shadow and dark area along the Kelay road, several tendrils thrust out, seeming to be composed
of nothing more than shadow. Each surrounds the massive giant, lashing out at him with a conscious ferocity as they begin
their task of grasping at Garrs limbs while some crack at him like the end of a slavers whip. Vyricks weapon reemerges from
above as the vampire king raises his hands, catching the hand holds with relative ease before using the force of its downfall
to augment his own dash towards his opponent, swinging the demonic axe at the calves of his intended prey…
Garr stands still before the Warlord King. The giant knows full well what rides on this duel and knows that he is risking
his life for what he believes in. He doesn’t have a choice. He must accept. He continues to stand still, keeping his
eyes locked on his opponent, watching every moment with fierce intensity and determination, not wanting to let a single movement
go unaccounted for. As the skies begin to darken, the monk keeps his stance held firm, right hand moving to grip his hammer
firmly. The shadows grow and shadow-like limbs shoot out towards the giant. However, Garr continues to stand his guard, keeping
his body firm and in place, making sure to keep steady his breathing. With a large crack, one of the shadows whips the giant
right across the face, tearing a slash straight through the mask on his face, leaving a crimson line. Another crack and a
red slash squirts from across the monk’s chest, leaving another blood-lined scar. The shadows squirm around him, gripping
his legs firmly. Garr takes a moment, letting go off his hammer, and crosses his wrists in front of him. Soon each of his
limbs has at least one tendril tightly wrapped around it, hoping to keep him immobile. As soon as the magical axe reappears,
the giant’s body begins to tighten. All of the muscles seem to bulge in place, making the monk seem stronger than normal.
With a ferocious yawp, his body begins to shake a little, seeming to break the chains that bind him. Soon the shaking becomes
more vibrant and you see the giant suddenly fling his arms outward, the shadows shattering into the darkness. Vyrick now almost
on him, his axe ready for the kill, Garr quickly reaches for the hammer, bringing it into both hands. With another spine-tingling
yell, the monk bears down all of his determination and fire, his hopes of a free Hollow, and his dreams of peace into the
hammer and swings. Both arms shoot forward as the hammer is propelled forth. Sparks shoot in all directions as the two mighty
weapons collide, sending a ripple through the air itself. The giant can only hope that his strength of heart and mind combined
with brute force is enough to knock back his opponent, preventing the deadly axe from tasting his blood.
Vyrick sends all force within him to meet the hammer of his opponent, knowing well the force of such a blow could easily
propel a man into the afterlife. At the single moment when the two weapons clash, the dragon that idly watched his master
in combat moves forward. Six legs stomp on the ground with a thunderous crash that sends the nearby animals of Sage Forest
fleeing in terror. In a speed that seems unnatural to such a massive beast, it runs head first into the side of the giant’s
weapon, giving further augmentation to the force of Vyricks attack. With the two combined strengths, the hammer is sent back
while the axe continues its arc, missing the flesh of its intended target. As the vampire regains his senses, the dragon rears
up on its hind legs, now matching Garr in height as well as weight. Its tail lashes back and forth, keeping the creatures
balance as it leans in to Garr, clutching at his wrists with two of its formidable claws. The higher of the two however aim
for the neck and throat area, seeking to rip any armor and flesh that stands before them. The gaping maw of the dragon opens
wide, bearing jagged, and misplaced teeth, each seeming to drip with a faint green ooze showing it to be obviously a toxin
of some form. The dragon lets out a horrendous roar as it snaps its jaws as Garrs damaged mask, paying no heed to the armored
form. All on its mind is the thought of prey, and a sizable one at that for it to feast on. Vyrick by now has regained himself
as he only looks on, smirking at the colossal battle between these two forms as if they were engaged for the sole purpose
of his entertainment alone…
Garr feels a great blur fly by, rushing into his hammer and sending the giant off balance. Shaking his head quickly, he regains
his senses and notices the large winged beast that stands before him. The monk takes a moment to size up the dragon as it
stands up full height, eyes glaring at him. Seeing the claws readied and the dragon’s mouth thirsty for flesh, it doesn’t
take him long to realize what is going to happen. Gripping his hammer firmly, he quickly drops to a knee and rolls to the
right, narrowly avoiding the first swipe from the sharp claw combo. Coming to a stop, he stands up just in time to feel several
sharp talons rip across his chest, shredding the black-spiked armor. With a large grunt of anguish, Garr watches as the claw
leaves a trail of blood, flowing down his armor and dripping to the ground beneath. Taking only a second to feel the pain
and witness the attack, the giant quickly charges to the right and then jumps forward, sending himself flying straight towards
the creature’s maw. His hammer, once again wielded in both hands, flies towards the enemy, pulling back the hammer as
he approaches the skull. The dragon, seeing the dodging prey jump towards him, quickly turns to snap at the giant, opening
his jaw mid turn. The side of the head collides with the hammer, the monk having caught the dragon only be a second’s
notice. With a yelp, the fowl beast falls back to all fours, its jaw slightly unhinged. It growls towards him, showing his
distaste for the wound inflicted. Seeing his chance, Garr rushes towards the dragon again, this time wielding his hammer towards
the scaled neck. A claw shoots forward, scratching the side of the charging monk, sending more crimson liquid to the ground.
The attack does not seem to faze the giant as he continues on, sending his hammer to smash into the beast’s neck. Another
yelp and the dragon’s eyes roll back in its skull, showing its temporary unconsciousness. Seeing that his enemy is sedated,
Garr turns his attention to Vyrick. Looking down at his own body, surveying his wounds. He quickly raises his eyes to Vyrick
again, beginning another charge. The giant speeds towards him, his hammer cutting through the air with more force than before.
He hopes that strength of heart will carry him through this battle as his wounds begin to fatigue him more. The monk approaches
and brings his hammer down, aiming to smite his opponent across the chest.
Vyrick pays little heed to the dragon mount of his as he instead concentrates on the wounds inflicted to Garr. A single
drop of saliva falls from the side of his mouth at the mere sight of his blood falling from each wound. As the giant now bears
forward, swinging his mighty weapon, Vyrick only raises one hand slightly as the discarded cape behind him leaps forth from
the ground, carried by an unseen force. The cape wraps itself around the ancient vampire and as the hammer hits, the area
within the cape dissipates in a waft of black mist. The cape itself now wraps around the head of Garrs hammer as you hear
a wrenching sound from within while several areas of the cape begin to bump outwards. A single tear in the fabric lets small,
fragmented bits of the weapon fall to the ground as it continues its inward attack on the weapon. The mist left behind however
moves in a sinewy dance around the giant. Not touching his flesh, only spiraling around his fractured armor like a massive
serpent. It intertwines around the spikes of each armor component with an almost beautiful flow when you soon begin to realize
that those same spikes begin to crumple, as if made of not more than parchment paper. Contrary to what some may believe at
this moment, the spikes do not dissolve, nor do they fade. Instead, their manipulated form is turned to the opposite, beginning
to bear those same spikes not on the exterior of the metallic shielding, but forming on their insides. The tip of the mist
flows past Garrs ear as a faint laugh can be heard from it, now showing where indeed the vampire is. As the very armor of
the giant begins to betray him, the mist falls, collecting at his feet and contorting into the form of a man. When the form
is complete, a faint breeze sends but a layer of this mist away, showing now the form of Vyrick within. He stands now between
the legs of his opponent as he drops his axe and leaps to the air, lashing out at the inside area of the giants thighs. Like
some maddened animal, he rips and tears at anything he can reach at, seeking only to further injure and bleed out his opponent
to his wicked delight…
Garr observes the cape flying up around Vyrick, shielding him from the blow. Slightly confused, the giant watches as the cape
slowly encompasses his hammer only to shatter and fragment it, leaving nothing but broken bits and pieces. Suddenly, the monk
feels small points of pressure begin to poke against his skin, only to become stronger and sharper as they soon pierce through
his flesh. With a sharp earth-trembling cry, the giant steps back, dropping the shaft of his hammer as he realizes what is
happening. More blood seems to flow from the old slashes in his armor, showing the inner wounds that are forming throughout
his body. Garr looks down as the mist slowly fades away, revealing the form of his enemy between his legs. Quickly taking
another step back, the giant winces in pain due as the spikes continue to imbed themselves in his flesh. The ancient vampire
leaps up, managing to ravage the monks legs with many more scratches and cuts, drops of blood spraying into the air, creating
a small rain around the frenzying Warlord King. Seeing his last moment to take a stand for all that be believes in, he quickly
drops to both knees while pulling back his right fist. The giant lets out a heavy grunt as he hits the ground, the spikes
inside wedging farther into his body. He lets the fist fly, muscles tightening and propelling the gauntlet forward. The monk
focuses his heart, soul, body, and mind into this last attack, hoping to deliver a fateful blow to the face of Vyrick, King
of Larket. The clenched fist flies towards the vampires jaw, the air around it almost visibly moving away as the punch cuts
through. Garr watches, eyes locked with his enemy, knowing his life rides on this last effort.
Vyrick’s mouth erupts in a viscous ichor as the massive fist hits firm against him, He is pummeled literally into
the ground as all sign of him disappears between the earth and the fist of Garr. The ground itself seems to cry out in pain
from the force of the blow as dust is cast into the air. The resonating sound of this one hit is enough to cause the ceilings
of the dwarven city to crack far to the west and to send a huge wave away from the Cenril coastlines to the east. The entire
realm seems to freeze at this single instant in time as the dust begins to settle once more. After the sounds of battle have
cleared the area, you hear a coughing sound. Very faint and emanating from the direction of Garr yet you know by looking upon
him that it is not him making that sound. The giants’ fist rises slightly as the coughing becomes more audible. Garrs
knuckles are covered in the blood of his opponent but as he raises his hand further, a sputtering fountain erupts from beneath
in one heaving sputter. As the blood falls once more, you hear a muffled sound, almost like a faint chuckle coming from the
ground itself where you now see the body of Vyrick, almost seeming as if he were melded to the ground itself. His face is
disfigured beyond his former features, showing only a mass of crumpled flesh and hair, drenched in blood. His head begins
to crack from side to side slowly, as you hear the sound of bones beginning to crunch. The fleshy mass ripples in several
areas as if it were molding itself to a sculptors design. The rest of his body does not move as you see the inherent property
of the vampiric beginning to slowly regenerate the warlords horrifically crushed head and face.
Xzar versus Vyrick
Death Duel
Xzar remains unseen, hushed whispers echo and sound from the dead walls. A faint glow reveals very little of the library,
the candles illuminating the room flicker, casting obscure shadows across the faces of those gathered. Light foot steps are
heard and a small being approaches Vyrick. The figure appears to be that of a child, a female around the age of seven, long
trusses of blanched sunflower hair fall upon her shoulders and curl around her elegant face. The child looks cheerful, a radiant
glow seems to gather about her. Big glossy eyes, enchanting in a way that only a child’s can be, gaze up at the death
knight. A gay laugh exits the child’s lips and her sweet voice fills the halls, “Ring around the rosy…”
The poem begins and a flood of souls, ghastly and moon struck in color, sweep toward the man. Dropping from the shadows and
followed by a looming and mysterious shadow a beautiful masque, perfectly white in color, wraps itself in the horde of the
apparitions. Framed in the twisted faces of the damned, the crimson tears pouring from its eyes seem to shriek in utter agony.
A metallic streak, catching the candlelight, shatters the darkness momentarily as the vampire’s long katana edges toward
the enemy’s chest… As quick as they came the spirits disappear, forming bodies of vapor in the room… the
mask is nowhere in sight… Once again in the safety of the shadows Xzar waits to see if his attack was indeed successful
yet his purple tinted orbs wander toward the child below…
Vyrick looks on as the apparitions appear, a wide grin forming on his face as the Soulcutter axe begins to shriek out,
wishing a blow to come in that it may claim yet more of that it seeks. Vyrick pays little heed to the child dancing around
him until a pinnacle moment where the katana bears upon him. With the reflexes inherent to his vampiric heritage, he grasps
the child by the throat, making one simple step to the side as he raises the Childs form to take the place of where he once
stood. The Katana pierces through the child as Vyrick releases his hold and waves his hand out towards the decorative skulls
that line the library. Each begins to shiver slightly as their jaws open, almost as if to give out a howl from beyond the
grave yet in the place of sound comes a lightly gray mist. They each waft out over the library giving no quarter to any breeze
that may pass by as they snake out along the room, seeking their intended prey. Suddenly, a single line of mist is broken,
touching the unseen form of Xzar as the skull it is connected to shrieks out horribly, alerting the others. Responding to
this call, the other lines of mist coalesce upon that spot, wrapping around Xzar and hoisting him into view from the shadows.
Vyrick bears his fangs as a slight hiss escapes his lips as he points his open hand towards the assassin, closing it slowly.
As he does this, you begin to notice several areas of his skin beginning to open. Soon you can plainly see each pore of his
skin expanding well beyond its physical nature as sweat and oils leak from them. The more they open, the closer they come
to breaking the vessels of blood that hide underneath them as Xzars own body becomes the tool of his own supposed demise.
The tendrils of mist coil around tighter and tighter, lifting any weaponry tucked away and casting them aside as they continue
their own pursuits upon him. Yet all this time, one thing has not changed… The grin that first appeared on the face
of Vyrick.
Xzar feels his lengthy blade slide through… air? Indeed as the child, as real as she appears, is merely an apparition.
The little fiend disappears as the weapon passes through her imaginary flesh. Grinning mischievously as she materializes once
more, the little girl skips merrily about, her poem continues, “Pocket full of posy…” Above the assassin
has twists and tumbles, his weapons slide from hidden compartments in his shadow like robes and two charred twin daggers fall
to the ground, closely followed by a jeweled ritual blade… Footfalls are heard from the northern reading room, the sounds
hasty and clumsy. Shadowing the reverberations, a charcoal skinned figure approaches, his speed uncanny for the awkward size
of giant crucifix shaped sword he carries. Speckled golden hues match the aura that surrounds the approaching figure and the
unknown man swings the cross toward the vampire king. If contact is made the elder could likely be halved by the brilliant
emanation gathered by the seemingly holy, archaic torture device. Above Xzar’s azure orbs widen in fright… the
man below, the drow… That being is he who haunts the vampire’s dreams…
Vyrick raises his axe to meet the sword as suddenly a thudding sound echoes from above. The area where the ladder would
meet the open air crumbles as the scaled snout of a black dragon is seen coming down towards the ancient vampire, opening
its maw to bear elongated teeth and a forked tongue. Vyrick lowers his axe and allows himself to be taken into the maw as
the sword collides with the dragons lower lip, bouncing off harmlessly as you hear a faint chuckling from within the dragons
mouth. The nostrils of the giant beast inhale hard, setting the figure off balance before issuing two twin jets of a thickened
air, sending the figure into a nearby bookshelf hard. The air permeates the area in a nearly invisible hue that stinks of
eggs left in the sun for an extended amount of time. Above the figure, books begin to fall from the shelves, burying it deeply
when one specific book you notice falls free from the others, It clangs upon the floor, giving off the knowledge that it is
bound in a metallic casing. The dragons lips close shut, encasing its master in a protective area as the book clashes the
floor, giving off one faint spark. The spark immediately erupts the air that was billowed forth as the entire library is encased
in a massive inferno, leaving none free from its wake save the one encased in his own dragons mouth.
Xzar eyes the holy figure fearfully, its cross, striking the dragon’s maw explodes in a metallic shimmer and disappears,
taking with it the drow. The dark figure no absent Xzar begins to laugh maliciously, his purple orbs sparkling as a wicked
smile spreads across ashen lips. Perhaps he expected this? The flames race toward the assassin and gentle words fall from
his lips, the whispers, similar to those earlier, trace the walls, echoing throughout the bookcases. Runes begin to encircle
the vampire, and with a gentle snap of thumb and forefinger the symbols turn into tiny lights. Intermingling with the fire
and tinting the tongues blue. The lights disappear, leaving the fire now in Xzar’s control… Azure flames waltz
among the shelves and caress the spines of each dust ridden spellbook. The holocaust elevates, the purple hues, matching those
of the assassin’s eyes sheen and blaze. A twisted chasm of unknown intent shows upon the ashen face of the dark robed
figure… Why would anyone allow their beloved books and studies to burn? For Cielle, for a love matching nothing but
a vast and hidden void, unknown to mortals and the living… Yes, perhaps this is it, as his face shows not a single remorse.
The flames spread throughout the room with a single ambition, to encase Vyrick’s dragon, his shell, for this fire burns
cold you see, something the creature may not like… Still standing in the same spot as before, the little girl continues
her chant in a cheerful singsong voice, “Ashes, Ashes…”
Vyrick’s dragon makes little movement as its snout is encased in the cold flame. Resisting the urge to raise itself
up by the will of its master, it holds true as its mouth opens once more, allowing Vyrick to merely walk out into view. The
flames lash out at the vampire yet not one strikes his body, each clashing against the spirit energy that surrounds him. He
looks back to the child, still making her chant as he walks over to her, bringing out his axe once more as he stands before
her. He raises it above his head as he looks down at her and speaks the words “ We all fall down… “ As he
brings the soulcutter upon the child. It passes through her and yet it seems to tug at her form, pulling at it tightly as
the blade begins to draw the visage into it. As the metal clangs upon the floor, you see Xzars pores finally rip open at his
flesh, spilling several streams of blood from each. As the form of the child leaves view, being pulled fully into the hellish
weapon, a single spire shoots forth from the floor between Xzars legs, As it rises, the tip bears ever closer to the lower
tip of his spine, seeking to impale the assassin fully as the full barrage upon his body continues. The snout of the dragon
leaves from the gaping hole it had made in the ceiling, whipping about slightly to shake off the numbing cold it feels as
Vyrick looks on at what he has wrought upon his opponent, his features plainly showing enjoyment in his work…
Xzar smirks slightly to see Vyrick once more, his brow matted with sweat and his raven hair platted upon his death like forehead.
His azure eyes shimmer softly as the axe engulfs the little girl and knowing full well that it cannot touch her the vampire
snickers… In fact the child has very likely been awoken from her slumber and will forget this event like a horrid and
suppressed nightmare. Laughing softly, the assassin stands erect, a bit of discomfort shown by a large gasp leaving his blanched
lips, his magics seeming to have taken quite a toll upon his fragile body. Purple hues, tiny slits of malice, never waver
in their gaze upon the elder… Thinking the battle is over proves to be foolish as Xzar’s lifeforce suddenly pours
from his skin, gaping holes in his slender flesh. Footing slightly wavering the vampire glances down as a tendril bursts from
the flooring catching the man’s bleeding side and pulling him from the ground. The spike wavers and evaporates and the
assassin plummets to the floor, his glass mask shattering, the shards digging into his flesh… And indeed… We all
fall down…
Nyterath stands up to address both of the fighters, his cold blue eyes fall upon them casually. “The duel was well
fought, and the vote is unanimous. Vyrick is the champion of this duel.”
Vyrick raises the Soulcutter to the air and lets out a roar in victory as the axe reverberates in his hand.
Vyrick walks to stand near Xzar as he begins to chuckle wickedly. Without a word said, he pulls his weapon arm back and thrusts
the Soulcutter directly into the chest of the Assassin, pulling his soul out of his own back. As it spirals to be locked within
the weapon, it calls out in satisfaction as Vyrick pulls it free once more. As the last remnants of his soul disappears into
the forged metal, His body collapses in a mass to lie upon the floor, devoid of any life.
Immanuel versus Vyrick
Death Duel
Immanuel stands proudly before the King. The robe of retirement he wears begins to shimmer and change. Black laces down the
sleeves and seems to burn upwards from the bottom. Within moments cloth has changed into a black robe without insignia. The
vampire raises his tainted eyes and at the same time he snaps both hands down. Loud ‘cracks’ resound throughout
the area, as he moves his body around; clearing the rust that has formed in his injured joints. Once again tainted eyes are
allowed to fall onto the form of the king. An almost sad sigh escapes Immy’s lips before he speaks to Vyrick, “King,
I gave thee warning: I said that if you harassed my former wife I would kill you. The time has now come for me to make true
my words. Be ready.” The sad look does not leave the mage’s face as he begins to mumble something. Flames that
were once so familiar burst into life around the vampire. They flare brightly, as if resenting their time of stagnation, forced
upon them by their master’s laziness. The sad look melts off Immanuel’s face as the strength returns to his wary
body, the power of his ancestors once more flows cleanly through his tainted blood, and once more his face twists into a mask
of hatred. Two pallid hands are lifted from their place at his side before the vampire screams four words of power. From the
very tips of his pale fingers, power spews out. It holds no real form, just a tsunami of death aimed solely at Vyrick... The
flames around the vampire once more flare as the power is released; this time they flare into the figure of a giant dragon…
Vyrick laughs loudly at Immanuels words yet gives no reply. As the wave of energy comes upon him, he raises the Soulcutter
before him like a shield. The energy envelops the Vampire king as it passes, leaving no trace within as you begin to smell
the scent of charred flesh and burned clothing. As the last of the energy passes, you see Vyrick, now horrendously burned
to the point where his features are hardly recognizable to the man who had been standing there not a few moments ago. Although
his lips have now been turned to little but ash, he still opens his mouth enough to give out a hissing laugh. His knees begin
to buckle and finally give way as Vyrick in turn plunges his axe to the ground. The very earth itself seems to scream out
in pain as the winds suddenly pick up. Trees creak and eventually break around the area as many different objects are strewn
into the air. Whirling about them, this torrential onslaught bears a funneled form around them as heavy object after heavy
object is cast about in a drained manner, swirling each around and soon coming upon the firey form of Immanuel…
Immanuel eyes the trees and rubble the flies at him rapidly. An almost disappointed look forms on his pale features before
he raises his hand and begins to chant. The flames in front of his flare more brightly than the rest, forming quickly the
face of a dragon. The mouth is opened and the trees thrown by Vyrick enter this void. Smoke issues ironicly from where the
dragons is and within seconds the trees have gone, leaving Immanuel unhurt. A dark grin forms on his pale lips before he snaps
his hand to the left and lets forth a dark, sadistic scream, which quickly forms the words, “Soulbrother!” The
air inches before the mage’s out stretched hand begins to wave, as if a great heat was suddenly burning there. Within
seconds the outline of a staff is formed. More moments pass and the weapon Immanuel used to destroy Lyra forms more solidly
until it is floating quite comfortably next to its master. Pallid digits wrap around the crimson staff, and with a scream
of pure ecstasy the staff is bought in front of his face. Tainted, sanguine-hued orbs lock onto the skull that decorates the
weapon and mad laughter spews out of his stained lips. The flames, as if recognizing this vile weapon, dance and weave with
more power than before. The ground beneath the maddened vampire begins to crystallize, the air cracks and spits with the heat
and in the middle of all this Immanuel stands tall and proud, once more bloodlust has blinded reason, burnt away love and
most of all, doomed this warrior to once more kill. The mage turns the staff so the skull is facing the already injured king.
Once more words of power escape stained lips and once more their effect is instant! From the tip of the weapon a small beam
of dark light shoots forth. It cleaves cleanly through the raging fires and flies straight for the King. Its intentions are
unknown to all, including Immanuel, this power is not his to control. It is the weapon. For a moment you wonder who is really
in control, the weapon or the vampire, but these thoughts melt away as curiousity over Vyrick’s fate burns it away.
Vyrick hisses at the display of power from the staff of Immanuel. As his anger builds, Vyrick rises quickly and swings
the Soulcutter directly at the beam of energy. The two collide and begin their own battle as Vyrick shouts out to no specific
being “ There is only one master of souls ONE! “ as without warning given, the area erupts in a explosion of dark
energy around the Ancient. As you continue to look on, you see several emanations of discontented faces and bodies fly out
from this ensuing maw and disappear into the air. Once more the darkened area explodes as all the area is covered in a moment
of complete pitch. When sunlight has begun to finally return, you see Vyrick leaning backwards, as if a fall was stopped by
an unseen force. His mouth is open as if to shout or curse in anger, yet you cannot detect any sound from him. Yet as you
look on, you see one sight that shuns each of the previous ones. Vyricks hands are still held before him, grasping the handle
to the Soulcutter… but the handle is now all that remains. The beam of dark energy that is cast from Immanuels staff
now impales the king of Modova through the chest, holding him in place after completely obliterating the hellish weapon that
was cast in its way…
Immanuel glares wickedly at what is left of the king. His old arrogance has been once more burned into his tortured face.
The flames that dance around his pallid form flare for a final time before they vanish from wherever they came. The master
of souls walks over to the still form of the king and without hesitating he slams his hand through the kings already wounded
chest and with a vile sound, that causes the hair to stand up on your neck, the mage rips out the heart of the king. Without
waiting another moment, the mage swings his weapon with his free hand; it slams full force into the skull of the king. This
instantly explodes sending blood and brains splashing in all directions. A dark, powerful light begins to emit from the dead
king, it is his soul. As soon as this appears, Immanuel screams three words of power. The staff in his hand shoots out once
more and impales the dark, unearthly light. Tortured screams are heard from everywhere and nowhere. These die as a violent
flash explodes from where the king was. When this too has died down all that is left is a panting Immanuel. His crimson weapon
has once again changed. As when Shylah’s soul ran through it, white lines have cut through the red, they swirl and climb
the shaft. With this done Immanuel turns to Alexia and lowers his eyes, “This is who I really am. I am sorry you had
to see this.”
Vyrick versus Sefyre
Vyrick clenches his fists as the metal of his gauntlets scrapes together. His eyes focus themselves solely on his target
as you see a small drop of saliva seep from the side of his mouth, giving the impression that he hungers for the attack. He
raises a single fist to the air as you begin to hear the muffled moans and screams of the dying populace of Larket that have
been strung up into the walls of Castle Drakenheart. Slowly, these voices rise in volume, sounding almost as if the separate
screams combine into one shrill call of suffering. Without warning or telegraphed movement, two columns of blood issue from
the sickening moat, one to each side of Sefyre, seeking to crush her between the massive pressure of each. Vyrick draws forth
his weapon as it shrieks aloud in anticipation of a possible kill as Vyrick plunges it into the ground. The earth itself seems
to creak as it is broken by the Soulcutter as the ruler of this castle draws it forth once more, taking with it the appearance
of a large cloth. Barely visible, and giving off an almost blue tinge, the axe draws this emanation into the metallic blade
as the doomed of Larket scream even louder. The soulcutter feeds greedily on these hidden souls of those he captured as he
makes one single swipe in the air towards Sefyre, cutting the air between them as this rip shoots forth at the one who would
defy him…
Sefyre leans forward, placing a seraphic sole down hard upon the packed earth, holding her weight upon one, perfectly composed
leg. The other lifts up behind her, bending so that the tip of her left boot brushes gently against lengthy strands of perfectly
alabaster tresses. The pounding rush of a forceful gout hardly phases the woman, as both her arms stretch out, one balancing
the hefty weight of a sanctified longsword. Stretching with her steady arms, the impalpable wings that stretch from her bare
shoulder blades spread even further, reacting to the movement of each respective limb. Then comes the silence from the flowing
blood falls, each pillar of gore forcefully falling upon a seperate wing, and each falling through the incorporal material
in naught but a single rivulet. With a forceful flap of thise mystical, powerful wings, given to her by birth through her
mighty father, the raining fluids splash up and outward, leaving the moat dry and parched, but leaving the surrounding area
drenched in crimson. Working with haste, yet with a calm that shows in her light countenance, the Paladin hops up using the
ball of her foot, carrying and flipping her body lazily over Vyrick's arcing swath, but the wake is more than Sefyre predicted,
and it send the lithe girl tumbling away and rolling across sluick, red earth. She is up again though, body glistening with
red, and she rushes forward, bringing her sword arm across angrily as boot slams before boot. The arc misses the Ancient Vampire
by far, but the reverberations explode outward in min-numbing echoes that aim directly for the King.
Vyrick brings his hellish weapon before him, placing the edges to each side in a defensive posture as the explosion hits
its mark. The Soulcutter shakes heavily in the hands of its master as you see the forced energy of the blast curve and arc
around the oppressor of Larket in a half sphere before him, passing harmlessly over the vampire as wind would break against
stone. At the sound of battle, you hear several coherent voices call out from above the castle walls. A single order is heard
past the voices shouting out one single word… “ Loose! “ as the ping of several drawstrings sound. From
above the wall, dozens of arrows shoot forth, each with a trained precision and speed as each rain down upon the winged being.
As the last remnants of the explosion pass by, Vyrick slowly opens his hands, letting loose his weapon as you can plainly
see the gauntlets have all but hang in tatters and shredded metal. His fingers shake horribly from the pain and yet Vyrick
seems to have a pleasured look on his face despite the injury within. A dark, viscous fluid patter to the ground as instantly,
the ground rises up, almost fluidly in a single wave, aimed directly for his opponent. The direction this wave would press
Sefyre though comes dangerously close to the entrance of the castle gate where you hear the loosening of a chain, seeing now
the portcullis coming down in turn, bearing serrated tips down slowly towards her on the opposing side…
Sefyre pulls back her blade, eyes shifting over the battle scene that unfolds before her. In seconds all things seem to turn
against the woman, pressing upon the young paladin to potentially devestating effects. Not a veteran by any means, and with
a mind less keen than could be hoped for, the jejune half-elf freezes up, simply awed by the wave of sanguine fluid, the volley
of arrows, and the eerily falling poticullis. A resigned sigh escapes the girl's thin, but full lips, pressing out in a small
cloud of mist, formed from the heat of her breath and the foreboding cold of the night air. All things seem hopeless for the
snowy-haired beauty, the first arrow slamming hard and tearing right into her left shoulder. A mist of blood shoots from the
wound, and Sefyre drops to one knee, ready to accept fate. But the inevitable never comes, as it is overcome with the improbable.
The porticullis hangs inches above the shapely female, and the wave of fluids parts fully around her. Hanging languidly in
the air, the fired volley suddenly drops, useless as they clatter down. Then Sefyre stands again, eyes popping open, revealing
a glazed and puppeteered look. Raising her good arm in a great arch, the holy avenger rises up, renting the porticullis in
two, throwing metal forward as dangerous projectiles. Touched by the pious steel of that blade, they begin to burn with a
furious silver conflagration. And on they go, marking Vyrick's vital body parts, most at the throat. A faint voice echoes
through the lands as the shards move closer, engulfed in pure good, whispering, "Dante..."
Vyrick bends down and grasps the handle of his weapon as the pieces of his own castle become weapons against him. Using
the momentum of rising to his feet, he swings the axe upwards, clashing with one half of the portcullis as it is sent flying
above him. A downward strike sends the second into the ground at his feet, yet does nothing against the force as Vyrick is
sent forward, tripped by the very ground beneath him. He allows himself to be cast into the air as his direction brings him
closer to the child of Dante before him and when he hits the ground, a billowing black mist issues forth from within the vampires
own armor. His boots and gauntlets are cast aside at the impact, as if the armored form were now composed of no physical matter.
The mist skates along the ground, leaving only empty armor behind as it streaks towards Sefyre. The mist seems to expand and
contract as it snakes around her leg, spiraling up her body like a twined rope. When it has reached her head however, the
tip of this mist splits into five smaller ends, two entering each ear, two in each nostril and one seeps along her lips to
enter her mouth. Flowing like a branching out river, each begins attacking her from within her own body, drawing out the very
life energy within her with each moment as a resonating voice is heard from the misty tendrils in her ears to whisper “
Not even your father can save you now child… “
Sefyre cries out in pain as the tendrils of darkness form around her and begin to sap at her life force, weakening the woman
quickly. That dazed and clouded look disperses from the half-elf's emerald irises, leaving a desperate and frightened shine.
Struggling with all her will, Sefyre can do little but accept the fate of the darkness, and fall into shadow with it. Eyelids
drooping, head lolling, she nearly topples, but casts out one foot to catch her, and with much difficulty, lifts up her God-blessed
sword. Hazardously, she drags the keen edge of her blade along the tendrils, cutting one at the ear, and curving to finish
the others, but moving slower and less forcefulyl as more energy drains away. Suddenly, she simply laughs, a muffled and empty
laugh, but one that seems to defy all reality, especially with her very life fleeting. But the girl only laughs all the harder,
and stops attempting to cut the darkness, which returns despite the frantic try. Reaching back with all the strength left
in her, Sefyre launches her brand high into the night sky, the blade catching a bit of light as it crosses the path of the
moon. Where they meet, the moon glows brighter, pouring down a silvery glow upon just this area of the lands. It resembles
an early equinox, beautiful, but with so much power that only terrifying could describe the scene. Two motes of light drift
down from above, moving with unparalleled haste. One slams into Sefyre's body, throwing the woman back and ripping her away
from the leeching darkness. She lays still upon the ground, body wracked by convulsions. The other mote of light speeds towards
Vyrivk himself, growing as it bounds along. When it comes intoa better view, all can see the holy blade charging down madly,
the rush og gravity pulling behind it visibly in a terribly large, inescapable radius, crushing down at the Ancient Vampire.
Vyrick’s misty form, now released forcibly from Sefyres body retracts into one single mass as the blade thrusts itself
directly into it. Slowly, the mist begins to contort into a humanoid form once more as you begin to see the visage of Vyrick
once more, the blade buried within his chest. His mouth open, yet no sound comes forth as he merely stands there, looking
upward at the moon. As the blade grows, its edges beckon out the sides of his chest, cleaving him in two as both upper and
lower halves fall to the earth. No movement comes from the vampire warlord as his blood flows from both ends, collecting in
a pool between them when oddly, you notice the dark liquid begin to pulse. Several large balls of the ichor rise slightly
from the ground, collecting and separating in several masses that connect the cloven body of Vyrick. The naked lower half
skids slightly along the ground, as if being pulled towards the other. Again this ensues, but at a slightly longer interval
than before. With one last pull the two halves connect, a small explosion of blood shooting forth from the line between them
and then… nothing. Suddenly, a single cough of blood issues forth from Vyricks mouth as he draws in a single breath.
Covered in dirt, covered in blood the vampire slowly begins to move once more, his body shaking uncontrollably as a laugh
of bliss begins to echo forth between each sputtered cough, showing his body to become whole once more with each passing moment.
Atropos glances around the small crowd gathered before making her way towards Vyrick and Sefyre. She folds her arms in
front of her stomach and nods to both duelist, "Excellent battle on both parts. The judges have submitted their votes and
the winner is Sefyre."
Lionel nods to both duelists silently.
Sefyre groans aloud, still unconscious, her body shifting slightly.
Razulik brings his hood up over his head to mask his face in shadow. Hidden in the veil of darkness, a smile plays upon his
lips.
Sefyre somehow smiles and raises up one arm towards the sky, eyes still tightly shut. "For you, father..." she whispers, before
her armor and wings melt away into a frilled, tight dress.
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