Acumin Under Attack [Private - Sa'brael, Deriond & Char]

[Lichen]

OOC: I'm quoting your last post, Sa'brael, so that I don't have to keep flipping back and forth. I'll post after school today.

Ephemeral slivers of time raced past them; engulfing the light and dark dualities of elvarin creation in a glass-like balance – suspending spirits in another place. Wind seeped beneath his deathly fluttering wings, catching Sa’brael in the unseen tempest. Deliverance was not so easily attained, but all that was inconsequential now. The wicked hour was upon him; braced on the precipice of oblivion, buffeted by a halo of smote ruin, and cradled by animated death. Bold azure eyes turned to mirrored pools of stone. Sa’brael was now suitably hardened.

He threw back his cloak, gritted pearl canines and danced a step toward retreat after her boot doubled him over. The recovery was a natural reaction, followed by a near inaudible groan as he disengaged from the blow and eased back into his stance.

In a pantheresque blur of midnight shrouds the elf straightened, standing august and proud, refusing to be emotionally disarmed by this foe. She conjured every image of hate and strife before him; provoked him with her wanton sadism. He could see her courting the tainted whore now, tasting the acrid winds of the defiled on his pursed lips. What goddess would ever demand such a sacrament as this! Those blood red eyes were blind, cursed with a fanaticism to Haya, and still doomed to an existence of spiritual deadness.

And now Sa’brael faced those hollowed crimson spheres, feeling only pity for her, as she looked upon him – her prey. Her warped diatribe stole her true sight, blinded her to choice, blinded her to dreaming, and denied her the richness of life. The very air about him vibrated that sadness from within; lamented to see a creature choose obliteration over liberation.

”What a waste,” was all he could muster. Her very gaze- the bloodlust within- told him a tale of redemption lost.

He rushed her in a fiery blaze, tore through the black haunts on ghostly winds, granting her all the rage and hate she so desired to infect in him. But as the epoch of their meeting climaxed he robbed her of it all. The desperate frontal charge; his long sword whipping like a horizontal windmill – it was all uncovered as the ruse it was meant to be when he suddenly dipped low and spun to the right. Just at that most beautiful moment his left leg snaked out to sweep the ground away from her, and as if on cue, the short sword – rested against his forearm- snapped back, embarking on a strategic stab for her stomach, creating a counter balance that is meant to usher her into his oncoming kick.

[Lichen]

OOC: Or... four days later... Sorry for the wait, I missed this one!

IC: She was arrogant, but far from stupid. His angery frontal charge didn't throw her off - she'd seen some of his tactics so far and knew very well that he was not the type to act quickly from anger and thus was anticipating a sneaky attack. She batted his long sword away almost irritably, waiting for the true attack she knew must be coming. And come it did, but Sa'brael made a tiny mistake. It wasn't a mistake in his planning, he simply overestimated his elven grace. Sa'brael's foot snaked out, attempting to catch the woman off guard, and at the same moment he stabbed forward with his sword. The vysstichi smiled sweetly as she reached out with her sword to parry the sword and began to step out of the way of his foot, then suddenly Sa'brael was off balance and falling forward.

His fancy footwork and his stab had discombobulated his body to such a degree that he stumbled... and this, unlike his hopefully clever manuver, caught the vysstichi female completely off guard. Sa'brael fell quickly forward, hitting the vysstichi and knocking both of them off their feet. The two went tumbling to the ground in a strange entanglement of legs and arms and weaponry that miraculously managed to hurt nothing but their pride. His oppenent lost her grip on her longsword with a cry, and he lost his short sword in the tumble. She reacted the instant she hit the ground, slamming her elbow into his face. She hit his nose and he felt it break beneath the force of the blow, both felt and heard the sudden snapping and cracking of the bone and cartilage with the hit. All at once his face was in sheer pure agony, and his hands went to grasp his broken and shattered nose reflexively, dropping his longsword. Blood and tears flooded down his face in a great uncontrollable river - he wasn't crying, but damn did that hurt! And hits to the noses were always so painful that the eyes watered whehter due to crying or not...

The vysstichi was trapped beneath him and his now broken nose, however, and she couldn't quite reach her swords., though she was certainly trying. If Sa'brael could manage to control his pain and see through the haze of blood and tears he might be able to grab his sword before she reached hers, and slaughter the nose-smashing whore before she could inflict any more damage on him.

[Sa'brael Laernhoun]

That son of a... The pain smarted like no other. He couldn't help but swoon for a moment, gripped by watery vision, and a jarring sensation all throughout his skull. Thuds, like a heart beat resonated beneath the flesh of his nose, and where his hand cupped the appendage he felt warm blood. A dancer, a fighter, an acrobat - he tried not to let his surprise get the better of him, but he blamed her for some unseen trick. He couldn't imagine falling of his own accord - he'd performed that technique before, and it triumped. When the haze digressed to allow other emotions to enter him, it was seething anger that followed first. His head bowed down, shielding his face, while he brought armored bracers, and mailed guantlets down on her face in a flurry. He struggled to maintain his position of power, trying to use his driving, metal laced punches as a piston to elevate him; pin her down. He didn't see all of the sword, but her flailing arm was an obvious indicator.

The elflord would rather drill her into oblivion, smashing forged steel across her face to return the favor. Pinning her down, he hoped to keep that sword at bay, and simply rob her of defense. So long as she groped for that blade it was one less arm protecting her face, and freeing herself from him. Two or three well placed blows - it wouldn't be the first time it ended like this with a vysstichi. Her dark diatribe, and her dangerous presence wasn't ringing in his mind anymore. She'd fallen to the back - he'd been lost in that zone all warriors seek out. What he saw earlier, he knew Acumin was in grave danger. He heard explosions, and could smell the distorted winds of something burning. The people of the village were defenseless, and where were the dianite soldiers? Sa'brael was able to stare her in the eyes. Thoughts criss crossed cerebral lobes while he struck at her, wanting this to end more than anything else, wanting to be rid of an indescriminant feeling, the all-purveying sense that doom was closing in around them.

[Char Gil'dae]

Ash and burnt debris scattered the ruined town, only a tavern had survived the raging fire and the towns only remaining few inhabitants stayed within its walls. Char didn’t stay at the tavern for long, it was a place where people where drinking there sorrows and grievenesses away.

The smell of burnt wood was still fresh in the air; he only hoped that his home did not suffer the same fate as Acumin. Char drifted from the tavern, his silver eyes glanced about calculating the amount of damage but more importantly, the amount of lives.

Who would cause such destruction of life?

Chars stood silently over the remains of a building, his thoughts reached out those who had lost family and friends. After a few moment of silence he carried on slowly walking through Acumin, his boots leaving prints in the ash. As he carried on through the debris his mind could only think about the culprits killed many without any compassion for life. His mind came to rest on the vysstichi, the most hated race of the elves, they must have done this and only they would not care for any other form of life unless it serves their evil plight.

His ears twitched, something big was moving towards Acumin, many feet which was causing destruction where ever they touched. Char turned and quickly made his way back towards the tavern, his eyes quickly glancing about as he hurried back.

As he drew near the tavern, he could swarms of undead everywhere, they where going to try to kill those that where left in Acumin. Char knew he must do what he could to help those within the undeads death trap. He unsheathed his longsoword and ran forward but to the side of him he could see a fight between an elf and a dread vysstichi. From what he could see, there was blood dripping down the elf’s face however he was on top on the vysstichi. This elfs luck wouldn’t hold for long as the undead swarm would come down on him soon enough.

He stopped and turned to go the aid of his fellow elf, knowing he didn’t have much time before he would be over swarmed by the undead hordes.

[Lichen]

OOC: Deriond will join this thread as well, just not at the moment Char, you'll want to be a bit more specific as to how you intend to help him next time.

IC: Sa'brael landed blow after blow on the vysstichi womans relatively unprotected face. Her one free hand stretched towards the sword while her other thwarted his attempts to beat her into oblivion. He still hit her, despite her attempts at self devense, but she did managed to deflect his blows so that while painful and definately mutilating, they weren't deadly. Her cries were muted by the steady, almost rythmic pounding of his fists into her face, smashing her nose, then her teeth, then her cheek... the long furrows on his gloves left grooves in her face, giving her scars that would never fade. He managed to land three very solid blows into her face with his metal gauntlet before she even managed to give out a howl of inarticulate rage. However, this vysstichi wench was not finished yet. Her nose was a broken ruin, much like his own, her cheek was a pulpy bloody mess from which most of the soft tissue was missing and her cheekbone seemed to be broken. She spat out some blood and two teeth to the side out of a half-distended and mutilated jaw, but she was not finished yet. Despite her pain, the vysstichi managed to gather enough strength and anger to grasp the sword and suddenly, the tables were turned.

Sa'brael barely saw the flash of steel as it soared towards his face - only the flickering torchlight allowed him the few precious moments it took to duck. It was lucky he had, as well - her arms were long enough that she struck with the hilt and not the blade. Had he not reflectively moved, she would have hit him dirctly in the temples. Instead, it slammed into the side of his head with a strength that he would not and could not have possible anticipated. He was knocked slightly off balance and no doubt had a serious image by the way his head was spinning, and then she hit him again, knocking him off her and rolling him to the side. The instant she was freed from his burden she jumped to her feet, her sword extended as she glared at him angrily, her chest heaving not with exhaustion but with adrenaline from pain and rage. He's much more resourceful than I thought. She admitted to herself through the haze of blood and pain her face had become. She couldn't feel much... there was too much adrenaline now. After the attack, however... then she could mourn the destruction of her face and good looks.

Char approached as the vysstichi slammed her hilt into Sa'brael's chest and knocked him off of her. He watched as she danced lightly to her feet, so quickly that he barely had time to even think about drawing his sword. Her crimson eyes shone in the dark, and he could see that her right cheek was swelling up swiftly and was missing half of it's flesh from where Sa'brael had hit her. As a result, the right eye was now slightly smaller than the left... the swelling was slowly forcing it shut. In another hour or so, she wouldn't be able to see out of it... if she lived that long. For the moment, however, she could see well enough to see him approach, and her sword flicked towards him in warning. Despite her strong outward appearence and the miraculous swiftness that the adrenaline had granted her, she was visibly shaken, and her sword quivered slightly before she steadied it. "Whats this, surfacer... an accomplice? Not much of a sidekick."

As the vysstichi hopped to her feet, another one emerged from the brush, dressed in a black tunic with a black chainmail coif, dark leather pants, and blackened out greaves. She moved quickly and smoothly, drawing not a sword but a small dagger. "Vendui, Illha." She said, her voice low and unafraid. "Would you be in need of some aid?" Her tone was, surprisingly, not mocking - this vysstichi, unlike the injured Illha, did not seem to mock and taunt like most vysstichi women. Closing her crimson eyes as if unaware of the presence of other people, the vysstichi woman cut open her left hand, the blood too dark to distinguish as red in the low light as it spilled to the ground. When her eyes reopened, she smiled and looked at Sa'brael, then gestured with the bleeding hand that something in the bushes should attack the fallen elf. "Go, D'zariond. Clean up Illha's mess."

OOC: Sorry for the edit, want to be able to weave Deriond in too.

[Char Gil'dae]

She had gotten to her feet quickly; Char hadn’t even drawn his sword. Her face had taken a tremendous beating; blood had spewed down her front from her face. The vysstichi nose was horribly smashed across her face and he could see bone on her right cheek. It was also swelling up fast and her left eye looked swollen but the vysstichi eyes still gleamed in the dark.

His silver eyes quickly darted from her blade to the elf that laid on the floor then back to her. She seemed to be shaking but had steadied her sword and he had to buy his fellow elf time or this vysstichi would be on top of him to give the killing blow. Char would and could not allow this to happen even if he was out match in skill; he had to keep her attention.

‘Why don’t you come over here and see who the side kick is?’

Char snarled the comments at her, his mind remained focus on the vysstichi knowing it would take to long for him to unsheathe his sword but he could be swifter with his dagger. The dagger he processed was big enough to parry her sword but to fight her for long without his longsword within his hand was unwise.

His hand crept down towards his dagger while he had snarled his challenge at the vysstichi. If she came towards him it would be swift so Char would withdraw his dagger as quickly as possible to parry her first attack. He would then try and shift some of his weight to his right leg hopefully allowing his left leg to kick out quickly at the vysstichi right knee. If this had succeeded he would jump back and unsheathe his longsword in an upward slashing movement hoping to at least clip the vysstichi.

[Sa'brael Laernhoun]

The blow sent ripples sprawling across his face. Sa'brael lost his pounding momentum, stunted by the solid blast up the side of his head, and the disengaging punch to his chest. Pushed over, he knew right away that the vysstichi had made her escape, and without granting her further advantage continued rolling--. Rolling over his blade, and grabbing the longsword as he passed it, then out of reflex came up on one knee, longsword brandished, and performed an easy backflip to cover more distance.

He landed with a feral grace, dismounting maybe several yards from where his shortsword lay, somewhere up the incline they had rolled down near the edge of the village clearing. His eyes scanned the cool darkness, fixed back into the low-light state where details behind shadows could be discerned, and color was still visible in the pitch. How he was now green with envy for the dark elf, and her ability to read heat emmisions. When he rose and straightened the ringing in his head began to digress, leaving a dull and numbed sensation beneath the flesh of his face. She had done her worst to his nose, and thankfully vanity wasn't a priority; he knew it would leave a mark. What did capture his attention was the dark elf maids curse. He followed her words, searching left then right until his eyes widened at the sight of Char. Another elf?! He smiled inwardly, but said nothing, veiling his elation beneath a stone visage partly concealed by corded dreadlocks of silver and gold. When he regarded the dark elf his eyes were menancing, even moreso as she was joined by another. He was distancing himself now, watching this newly arrived dark elf perform some ritual on the spot. His brow furrowed, then he stole a brief second to glance back toward the village. The carnage was escalating, and no doubt he guessed the undead had finally breeched the village, and broken through whatever defenses had been laid by the Dianites. He couldn't escape the nagging evidence that something was burning in the forest, and the matter of this attack was growing dire for those who represented the good. This elf was the first sign of allies since he'd gotten here; a notion that didn't bode well.

Though the ancients demanded he fight for blood, and for vindication, he couldn't abandon his greater oath to preserve and secure. He wasn't here on a personal vendetta, he was here to protect the denizens of the village. He had to get back to them, fortify, and regroup. Staying here might well claim him a victory, though he was growing in doubt, and knew he now fought behind the enemy line.

"Rhiohaban, tolm'anon lle gurtha, toror'amin! (Carry the battle back, brother!) He shouted to Char, already back-peddling but still staying a safe enough distance to lend aid, and buy the other elf time. "Fall back! Retreat to the village!" He gave a shrill whistle that Yavie would recognize, then turned, demonstrating to the other elf that he intended to leave, snatch up his short blade, and rendevous with the huge gryphon about thirty or so yards away. He never marked himself as a coward, but he had enough compassion for the lives of others to contemplate, and enact the fine line between bravery and stupidity.

[Deriond]

The sounds of screams and clashing blades rung in his ears, as Deriond followed his mistress through the battlefield. The town of Acumin lay in rubble beneath his feet, and the smell of blood filled his nostrils... and he was enjoying it. When Deriond walked into a battle, something strange came over him, he felt a deep hatred for all light-born and the only thing stopping him from tearing them apart with his bare hands, was his strong will to survive. His hand rested on the hilt of his elven dagger, which was tied loosely around waist. He knew his blade had come from the accursed light-born but he did not care, for it would an honor to kill them with their own blade. Unsure of what his orders where he stayed close to his mistress, knowing that she would issue them in due time. Deriond smiled deviously as he followed his mistress through the rubble of former Acumin... First Acumin... then the world.

After a short while of traveling, they halted. Deriond was unsure why until he saw, Illha and an unknown light-born battling eachother. They both appeared to be giving it all they had, and both were wounded, and they appeared to stuck in a deadlock. However then the tides turned, and another accursed surface dwelling light-born made his way into the battle. He was unsure what was going to happen now, but then his mistress stepped out from the bushes. His mistress moved quickly and elegantly, drawing a small dagger. “Vendue, Illha” She said, her voice showing no signs of fear. “Would you be in need of some aid?” Her tone was, surprisingly sincere. She closed her crimson eyes as if unaware of the presence of other people, and his mistress cut open her left hand, the blood too dark to distinguish as red in the low light as it spilled to the ground. When her eyes reopened, she smiled and looked at the unknown elf, then gestured with the bleeding hand that Deriond should attack the light-born elf. "Go, D’zariond Clean up Illha's mess."

Deriond nodded and drew his elven dagger. His eyes burned with determination and hatred as he made his way through the bushes and onto the battlefield. His deadly dagger shimmered in the moon light as he stood, awaiting the elves to make their move. He would be ready for them, no matter what they chose to do…

OOC: Hello everyone

[Lichen]

Illha's face sneered with disdain at Char. "You challenge, yet stand and wait for the woman to attack, oh brave paleskin?" She said tauntingly, ignoring Ulioze and concentrating on the elf. He would be an easy kill, no doubt, even if her vision was swollen and her face aching with pain. Trying to ignore the blood running down her face and into her mouth as she opened it, Illha's mouth spread into a digusted expression, made even more potent by her ruined face. "Very well then, sun-kisser. If you will not come to meet your doom, it will come to meet you. Maybe you will die with more honor than you challenge." With that, she extended her sword, the edge steadying as the adrenaline pumped into her veins. With one final sneer, she danced agiley forward, her feet soft and soundless, the only noise being that of her blade as it whistled through the air faster than he could see. Despite the longsword in his hand and the dagger in his other, he could no more parry it than he could attack back, for despite her injuries, Illha was still exceptionally dangerous.

The steel blade licked his cheek, scoring a line across it that would no doubt be with him to the end of his days. The cut was not serious, and only began to sting once the blade was long withdrawn. The injury was meant as an insult, as well as a warning... Char was no more match for this vysstichi than a fly was to him. She could crush him with a flick of her wrist, and he'd be dead before he knew what was happening. Best retreat, as Sa'brael was doing, while he still had the chance.

Sa'brael, in the meantime, attempted to make his escape. He found his progress inexplicably slow... like his legs were stuck in butter, and he was too exhausted to move. His mind was sharp, however, and he strugged against this unnatural tiredness, moving his legs despite the incredible urge to not do so. Still, his progress was barely more than a stumble, his legs so slowed by the spell that gripped his body. No doubt the full effect would have stopped him in his tracks.

OOC: Deriond, you'll have to actually attack one of them before I can mod your actions... there must be actions for me to mod, after all Sorry for the wait, all!

[Sa'brael Laernhoun]

Invalid rhythm thudded against the leaf and hummus of terra, betraying his grace to the functions of twisted magic. He could feel unearthly exhaustion cripple his muscles and draw him down. The forest warder fell, crumbled to both knees, and wrenched around, barely supported by his bent elbows. Blights of the elvarkind, they fight with curse and wretch! He grimaced, but wasted no time in the face of evaporating odds. Gloved digits scored a round sphere from his travel pouch, a token of Barts good will and payment for service. The small sphere was a fragile, glasslike world of swirling chemicals; pale, and animate before the eyes. Dry ice, sulphur, and calcium created a cold fusion compound of concealment. He knew well enough from one era of slavery to gauge the vysstichi prowess. Masters of darkness, they read heat like psalms, and sing a cocaphony of death through midnight hollows.

He twisted around, gave one hard look toward Char, affirming his first ardent suggestion to retreat, then without delay hurled the smoke bomb at the foot of the blood handed witch. The icy compounds colliding into earth would break free a torrent of cold rich clouds, a potential mask for retreat against their infra gaze, a veil for breaking the witches focus on her target, and a brief, but potentially effective distraction in distorting her concentration from maintaining the spell, moreso a hope to disrupt the confidence of the dark blademaiden who wrought all this havoc about.

Heightened by the fray, he could feel his spirit cry out to the forest in admonishment. He couldn't believe the eldrich Dolwood had fallen so far. With another attempt he sang the elvish name, harkening his mount. 'Yavie! Yavie`naur!"

[Char Gil'dae]

There was smell of burning wooding in the far distance and the forest seemed to be a life. His elfs ears could hear panicking animals and undead crushing through the Dolwood forest however his attention remained fixed on the situation at hand. He was easily outmatched in skill but he would not give up, his spirt still burning brightly inside of him.

In both his hands he had his weapons ready to defend himself but they where no use when he felt the sting of Illha's blade across his cheek. Char gritted his teeth knowing the vysstichi could have killed him in her first strike and that her second attack would bring his death. A flame flicked in his silver eyes as his elf instincts urged him to carry on fighting but he had no option but to retreat. Char began to move away from Illha as he began to fall back towards the village hoping his situation and luck would improve.

As Char began his retreat, he allowed himself to have a glance over to his elven companion. It seemed as if he was struggling against some great strain preventing him to move leaving him valuable. Char could not leave him without aid but what use would he be against the vysstichi’s? No, he would not leave his companion alone without even trying to help him.

Char glanced over again and noticed another two vysstichi, one seemed to be concentrating on Sa'brael, her hand dripping with blood while the other, a male seemed ready to strike. The female must be the culprit, and he had to distract her for enough time to allow his friend to escape. Char came to a quick stop in which he would turn lifting his hand that held his dagger, which with all his strength and skill he had, threw it at her. He only hoped that the gods where watching over him and his companion to allow them another day to fight the dreaded vysstichi.

After throwing the dagger, Char made his retreat back towards the village though hatred for the vysstichi flowed through his veins. One day Illha would pay for the scar with her life.

[Lichen]

OOC: Deriond has decided to leave Alleria for a bit, so I'm going to NPC him out of the thread. That and Sa'brael is retired... if you want to join in with the fighters, Char, you're welcome to do so.

IC: The throw was perhaps the most accurate strike that Char had made this darkening... his agility made the throw easier than anticipated, and the dagger flew straight and true, it's point sinking deep into the flesh of the already-bleeding vysstichi's arm. Ulioze cried out with pain and rage, and suddenly Sa'brael found his steps freed and he, along with Char, was able to make his escape.

Ulioze clasped her arm and pulled the dagger from it, causing blood to flow forth in a gush, then looked up to cast another spell on the two elves. Unfortunately she was too slow - the elves were out of her sight by the time she'd looked up and cursing at her impotence she turned to fixing her arm. After procuring a few strips of cloth and loosly tying them on her arm to stop the bleeding she snapped at Deriond, deliberately ignoring her moronic House member. "Let us go, D'zariond - we have other towns to burn this darkening." With that, the duo bled into the darkness that had beqeathed them, making their way back to the depths from which they had come.