Shadows in the Dark [Private]

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Sprits swirled angrily in constant motion, soft moans and howls providing a cacophony of sorrow as they were forced to remain upon the world in torment. Trapped within the odd nexus known simply as the Spirit Well, the vast cavern had one simple opening in its roof, a shard of light illuminating its center whilst the rest was black. Faint torches could be seen flickering in the distance, showing its vastness. Littered throughout the Spirit Well were lifelike statues crafted by an old caretaker, once a powerful necromancer whom enjoyed solitude after having severed his connections in the outside world.

One lone figure sat at the edge of a large oasis set in the middle, ignoring the clear waters and the many fish as he meditated. Wearing robes of black and silver, Lord Avanthar was at one with the essences about him, the shadows were his to mould and temper. With his long white hair glistening under the warm glow of the sun, the necromancer bore the resemblance of a warrior more than a mage. At his side stood the mighty Nemesis, a pulsing blade of death that issued an aura as deadly as its master.

Opening his eyes as he stood, with one fluid motion he retrieved Nemesis with a gloved hand, holding the massive blade with ease and experience. Holding himself in a state of clara, the Flameblade was his equivalent of any staff of magic that others had. As a Shadow Knight there was no other weapon more befitting. Constant practice was an important part of maintaining his art, and as such the Dracolord was constantly seeking new ways to execute his art.

Beginning first with a spell he had used before, Dra’Aran raised his left hand, clenching it into a claw as he drew the raw essence of chaos to his call, a roaring entropic orb that pulsed with insane delight, held only by the strength of the caster’s will. Aiming it towards the distant earth, he sent it hurtling forward as he abjured it into the stone before evoking it… Quake was used once more…

In an instant a minor tremor erupted as it worked its art, the many statues shaking under the simple spell as the closest were scarred with small and minor cracks. Avanthar pondered and regarded its effects with mild interest, remembering the time he had unleashed a far greater version upon some hapless victims before in the Carmelya. Though it did not necessarily prove to the be most devastating of spells, it would sweep his enemies off their feet… and as such gift the Archmage time to work another spell to end them…

Deeper within the darkness where shadows were the strongest, Avanthar unleashed his second spell, Black Nova, a variant of Shard of Darkness that simply needed more control and power. Connecting with the shadows around him, he shaped and evoked their form as the surrounding area around the knight was filled with deadly blades that would skewer and kill. Great punctures were made to nearby statues as they endured Avanthar’s wrath silently…

Considering Avanthar’s powers now, he had little to fear or worry, though such a spell was useful in deterring and killing approaching enemies that sought to surround and engage. He would teach these spells later to those of Dar Havark when the chance arose, but for now he simply enjoyed the freedom of dabbling into the essences and conjuring his own creations here and there. Known to some as the Shadow Lord, Dra'Aran continued to hold the view that necromancers were not all old men and women seeking the solutions for eternal life... but terrible mages that could deal devastation as they saw fit.

OOC: Just a self modded practice thread~

[Desmodus]

Practice thread? Ummmm...check your inbox, please.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Holding out one hand towards the scarred wall, the other supporting his right as he bent down slowly in preparation of what was to come, a simple globe of acid formed almost instantly before it was propelled forward at astonishing speeds. Throbbing with energy as it flew and splashed upon the wall, the terrible acid began to eat away at the rock, sizzling and emitting forth a putrid stench. The most simply of spells, Dra’Aran conjured another and another, increasing the speed as a rapid series of orbs shot at the same sport, driving a deeper and deeper hole into the stone earth…

Carrying a deeper reservoir of Vis, the several blasts of acid did little but offer a small dent. Changing essences with ease, he turned to the shadows as he held out one hand, summoning the dark essence to his call as he shaped and warped it. A malleable thing like clay, it twisted it one huge dart of shadow that he sent hurtling at the invisible target…

For some time Avanthar practiced, tendrils of shadow erupting from the darkness that thrashed with unnatural strength. One blow could easily decimate the strongest of men as Avanthar stood in the centre in the writhing sea. Letting it die down, the Necromancer closed his eyes as he meditated once more… waiting… for some timeless moment his mind touched into the infernal planes… feeling the raging powers of both the world and the denizens… it called to him…

Movement woke him from his slumber as a pair of men walked into the well of spirits. Armored in black, he recognized them as part of the Brotherhood. Dragged along was a third figure, a prisoner of sorts. Wearing nothing but a loin clothe, he was dirty and abused, a prisoner… yet now a test subject. Without a word they threw him towards Avanthar, the man whimpering in terror at seeing just where he had been led to.

Opening startling blue eyes as they dug into the man’s very soul, Avanthar dismissed the two guards as he smirked. Encasing himself in a powerful shield of spirits, he acted without thought as he used the chaos of the realms to his call, abjuring it into the man and then evoking it into a valid manner, increasing the damage as the power raged within. Blood and other substances ran down his mouth as pain erupted from within. Irreparable damage continued before the man fell to his knees, dying… pain ripping him apart slowly… ever so slowly… Rupture…

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Long accustomed to death as he stripped the life of the man with one simple spell, Dra’Aran had turned cold. He found satisfaction in the killing, pleasure, that, and the knowledge that he would live another day from the killing. Jalat would eventually reward him after he had dealt sufficient death to right the balance, yet in his mind he knew that day was deep in the future. Saying nothing as blood continued to pool from the motionless corpse, he regarded it… sadistic thoughts plaguing the necromancer’s mind.

There were other ways to utilize it. Certainly he could animate it with the essence of death, but that would only create a low level undead that was useful for only one thing… swarming. He could use it though… there were other ways… ways that no one else would have dreamt of. A motionless corpse would be useful in the fact that most believed it would be harmless…

Gathering the summoned spirits as he reinforced his armor, by using the dead infused with his Vis he hovered away before he sought to test his creation… Corpse Explosion.

Inciting the blood of the dead and using varying degrees of poison and acid, he summoned his dark might. By abjuring the raw power of chaos mingled with death and evoking, he watched as the body suddenly began to contort and thrash violently, a growing momentum of power shaking it before the corpse exploded. Sharp bones, poisoned blood and gore splattered throughout the area, much of it hitting harmlessly against Avanthar’s spirit shield…

Bones would pierce flesh and armor… blood would taint and poison… the terror of seeing such an act… all could be used against his enemies. An added thought was using it… alongside the undead… exploding zombies… interesting indeed…

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

The fact that Dra’Aran could completely destroy the entire province if he so chose to spoke much on what his limits were. Restricting himself from such devastation was difficult to say the least, yet to act too soon would alert others of equal power against him. With power came responsibility, a fact that the Archmage knew very well. Even now as the Necromancer warped and twisted the shadows to his bidding, there was as part of him that wished to let loose. In some ways he envied the freedom he had in his youth… though he was often faced with difficult situations, back then he had survived through his cunning and street smarts.

Robes of silver and black fluttered silently as the silver haired Avanthar felt the energies around him contort to his will. With eyes closed as he shaped and altered their form, a spiral of spirits enshrouded him as chaotic energies let loose, screams of tortured souls echoed across the dark cavern, singing songs of black despair. Avanthar’s powers rose dramatically as the entire cavern trembled under his unearthly might, issuing forth his aura that was so terrible that those close enough would feel themselves being pushed back.

Silent… the storm died… and Avanthar hovered amidst the sea of statues as he calmed himself, letting his Vis slowly subside. As the cool sensation of clarity reached him, his thoughts turned to Dar Havark once more, pondering on what steps he should take next, how he was to properly govern the city. For the moment his forces were sufficient to properly maintain peace… but who knew how long that could last? Maintaining his spell as he was held up by the spirits, he sought to practice his stamina whilst his mind turned to other thoughts… other matters…

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Drawing his magnificent sword swiftly, its black edge glimmering under the pale moonlight as it slipped seamlessly from its jeweled sheath, wisps of thickening dread rising from its heated edge. Gripping it with weathered gloves, the dealer of death tightened his hold as he let the relative calm of the Spirit Well seep into his soul. The demon within his heart was well contained by the bars of his will, stirring in the edges of mind, waiting to escape… the growling… the desire… it was always there…

Absently he slipped into his fighting stance as he held his sword with unusual ease. Eyes of cold blue steel perceived the world in a different light, narrowing at the pale beings that stalked endlessly in the night, the wandering dead. Avanthar took deep breathes as he moved forward with a flurry of steps, his blade striking empty air as he performed his deadly dance, Nemesis weaving in and out as Avanthar leapt, side stepped and ducked. Using both of his hands as he swung mighty strokes, his attacks carried a different flavor, moving with fluidity very much like a slithering snake. They were swift… deadly… merciless… designed to deal the greatest damage in a short span of time…

Physical strength was only half of the equation. Speed and tactics was the other. Dashing through the statuesa, Nemesis slashed a swath as he moved, the blade bursting in flames of darkness. Avanthar felt the hard earth beneath his feet as he entered into a deeper section of the Well, odd formations of rock and stone gifting the area with an abundance of shade. The Dracolord continued his routine, striking left and right, performing his attacks with growing ferocity... growing savagery… his sword flashing with murderous delight

Needless to say the demon was feeling the drain from his mighty strokes… yet hardships had to be endured to gain greatness. Hundreds had died as one lowly dracon had carved his way to power… and thousands more would follow now that he had gained it. Avanthar had only just begun his retribution against the world... the true horror had yet to begin. Fighting alone within the darkness for hours, Avanthar challenged his very limits as he endured it… his arms growing heavy… his breath turning ragged… yet still he fought on.

Nemesis carried a powerful enchantment of Drain Life, in the field it would continually heal Avanthar as long as he dealt damage to his foes, thus he would fight with renewed vigor at each kill, turning the Lord into a terrible foe. What he lacked though was the mastery of the blade like Rincewin, yet then again his vaunted powers of Necromancy was a fair trade. Smirking as he stood sweating, his robes of black and silver moist with sweat, he’d deal with Rincewin eventually…

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Deep within the ancient caverns of the Spirit Well, where the darkness was so dark that no light would ever pierce, where only the dead lurked, one lone figure fought amidst the enveloping darkness like a demon. Moving with swift movement as he pushed himself to the extremes, there was no stopping the knight.

Avanthar was a warrior at heart and no mere scholar or petty mage. Adept at both the sword and unarmed combat, the Dracolord had long ago learnt to mould the two skills together, seeking to use the benefits of each skill when the opportunity arose. Unleashing swift kicks as he struck out at the rocks, often using them as leverage as he leapt off them to perform daring jump kicks, with a warrior’s ease and experience, the memories of what he had learnt, the battles he had fought, all flashed with growing clarity in his mind. The art he had learned in fighting tended towards the way of swiftness, to strike where the enemy could not see… to exploit weaknesses in sudden blows.

'I must exceed my limits... I must... remain strong... grow stronger...'

Shaasskah revolved around mobility and fluidity, and as such Avanthar’s own movements reflected it as his fists easily evolved into grabbles, sudden kicks could turn into blocks as he his robes flapped behind him, the knight continuing his harsh training.

Unleashing powerful turning back kicks which was followed by a savage slash from Nemesis, or using Nemesis as a pole and leaping up with a head high kick. Moving from one attack to another, he’d baffle his opponents with his wild assortment of moves.

A balance needed to be met for the shadow knight, for certainly he would not let all that he had gained and trained for to go to waste. To simply rely upon one skill could be dangerous indeed, Avanthar himself having concluded the combination of skills he knew of would put him in the best positions at all possible situations, it was why, even though he was a Necromancer of terrible power, that he still chose to retain his fighting prowess. Who knew if there would be another apocalyptic event like the Aetherfracture?

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

The pitter patter of heavy rain filtered through the opening of the Spirit Well, yet from where Avanthar was the sound was distant, a dull echo, though he could sense the drop in humidity as he meditated in the darkness. Days had past with Avanthar in relative solitude, though fresh food and water had been brought to him from the old necromancer that resided here. Avanthar held his great blade Nemesis firmly in his hand, his heart pulsing with malignant delight as he closed his eyes and meditated, seeking to find his inner self, molding his warrior heart and aligning it with his Necromancy. Eventually he would return stronger from his training… as long as had the will to grow… that was all that mattered.

Avanthar’s hand to hand fighting style was Shaashkah, an art that revolved around swift and deadly attacks, using power and movement to their best advantage whilst exploiting openings of their opponents. His swordplay was akin, using the weight, momentum, and keen edge to savage effect. As droplets of rain continued to fall, the Shadow Lord maintained his concentration as Nemesis reacted, tendrils of black and purple crisscrossing along the long edge as the numerous rubies set upon the blade throbbed with malignant fury, tongues of dark flames licking wickedly, tasting the moist air of the Well.

Tensing his firm grip as he retained his crouching position, Avanthar maintained utmost concentration as the flames of Nemesis intensified, mirroring his growing inner powers as his Vis was brought to the fore. Primal energies lashed wildly as he suddenly unleashed a Serpent Strike, Nemesis a simple blur as it was performed, an upward diagonal slash that had taken seconds, a flash, enough to fell and surprise any man or beast. Leaving his sword up, he held it, before unleashing a downward diagonal slash with the same speed and ferocity…

Maintaining his focus, his second Serpent Strike however continued with one of his infamous attacks, Serpent Spin, an attack that turned him into a wild tornado as he rotated with expert footing, his blade a whirl of death and destruction as the pair spun. Lasting mere seconds yet enough to unleash several rotations, rather than being dizzy, the knight finished and returned once more to his fighting stance from his previous Strike, no hint of fatigue holding him back.

Avanthar closed his eyes… holding on to his focus… before concentration once more in unleashing a second series of attacks. All day and night the Lord would do this… perfecting his strikes as he saw fit… adding to the destruction with intense necromantic flames…

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Honing each and every attack in his repertoire, the Lord delivered his deadly attacks in his mage robes, its voluminous sleeves flapping with every movement as Avanthar moved with fluidity and purpose, his sword slicing through the air as it emitted a keen smooth sound. Literally dancing as he moved with grace, Nemesis flickered and lashed out at invisible foes, the Shadow Lord unleashing his Web of Death, as the sword followed the pattern in a hypnotic pattern. A powerful offensive technique used to put foes into the defensive and strike at the most unpredictable of places, the Lord’s upper body strength had been hardened over such intense practice.

Slipping into his devastating Serpent Spin, rotating in a furious spin, his blade whizzing into a terrible tempest, the Dracolord moved through the statues, slashing through them as if they were nothing as his sword continued to flare. Quickly evolving the attack into a combination, it ended with one accurate piercing attack as he used the moment to propel his blade forward, its keen edge sinking into the very heart of a statue depicting of a Minotaur. Plunging his sword deeper, his face focused as he exerted great force. Unleashing a wave of his black vis into his blade, it flames intensified as the statue was blasted back, Nemesis unscathed as wisps of acrid smoke rose from his sword.

A mask of determination was firmly set upon the human’s face, beads of sweat dripping off his shaven chin as the Lord narrowed his intense eyes and spun once more using his Serpent Spin, this time altering the flames of his sword to create a devastating hurricane of searing flames that burnt and charred all the statues surrounding him. Evil flames brought light to a cavern long use to darkness as Avanthar’s bellow of excitement and power echoed within the well.

Near the entrance, the silent necromancer observed the proceedings as he absently stroked his long white beard. Chuckling to himself as he felt the press of darkness push him back, the nameless hermit marveled at what Avanthar could accomplish, a great leap from when he first met the lad. Still, what he did in the outside world was not his business, his powers lost long ago, and any desire to return to the world outside lost with it. Still, perhaps there was a thing or two he could teach the Lord of Shadows…

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Some time...

After his vigorous training in the arts of stealth out in the woods of the Centripax, the Dracolord returned to the Spirit Well once more after having spent the day organizing and discussing matters for Dar Havark. Though Kyoko and the higher members of the Brotherhood were aiding, future planning was still required for the ongoing success. For the moment they were progressing rather slowly, a large portion of his city still deathly silent. Beneath were ample room as tunnels and caverns were still being mined, storage facilities that were heavily protected by the true force of Dar Havark. For the moment no true presence was needed on the surface…

As usual Nemesis stood inserted into the ground, red flaring rubies pulsing while its wielder sat and meditated. Maintaining his skills and ensuring that they did not degrade was important considering the effort Avanthar took in reaching to his current level. Tapping into the planes and the surround Ara, Dra’Aran toyed with the dead, sending his taint towards the sea of spirits swimming above as they were beckoned to follow his order. White and grey specters flew down, encircling the shadow knight as the cavern seemed to be filled with an ill aspect wind.

Power, immense power resonated through the ghastly cavern, the tortured cries of the damned filling the well with screams for vengeance. Inciting the dead, Lord Avanthar easily overwhelmed them as dozens more specters created a tempest. A cold chill filled the cavern, the very presence of heavy death overwhelming any other ‘weak’ creatures in the vicinity. Each second forced more of the hovering dead to follow suit, until hundreds, if not thousands, whizzed through the many statues madly… driven mad by the immense Vis of Lord Avanthar.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

It was perhaps odd that the Knight left these spirits here, yet whatever trapped them was not of his concern. He saw his purpose as simply to deal death and slaughter, feeding it to Jalat’s realm, and he’d do it in whatever way he saw fit. Without true constraints given or time frame, Avanthar simply knew that his task would take many years to truly accomplish. Righting the balance distorted by Jorel would take some time. Much of entropies lackies still existed strongly in the empire, and though Avanthar’s vaunted might could wipe them out in an instant, missing any would simply give them a chance to hide and grow.

Once Avanthar built a strong enough force, the quest to hunt the Jorelites and undo whatever plans were set by the Lord of Chaos would truly begin. He contemplated on forming an order of Shadow Knights designed to strike at such groups…

Holding out one hand as he began to shape an orb of acid, he held it before him, gathering his strength as he increased its potency, slowly channeling small amounts of his vis to accomplish the spell. Lacking the size or the complexity, an Acid Orb was the basis of a necromancer’s arsenal, utilizing the essence of death. Torturous minutes passed as Avanthar continued to increase its potency, swirling energies of chaos gathering as the spell began to shake violently with the added essence. Controlling the weave and the motion of the energy, the added chaos was making it volatile… to say the least. Smirking, in an instant it sped at staggering speeds, the many hundreds of spirits forced away as it pierced one section of the wall, drilling into the stone as acid ate away its core violently…

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Another powerful tunnel had been eaten away by one simple spell of Avanthar’s as thousands of spirits swarmed throughout the great cavern, swirling and weaving around the many statues as they continued to move in their endless journey. The absolute terror that radiated off the black knight was almost tangible, as if it had strength to sap the very will and fighting desire of any that behold the almost god like figure. The air itself was hard pressed as Dra’Aran summoned his powers and twisted what lurked around him to his cause without apparent effort. Here was truly a being to fear…

Hovering upwards as he used the spirits in an altered version of Grim Aura to lift himself up, Dra’Aran spiraled upwards towards the gaping opening nearly a hundred feet up, the many dead trailing behind as necromantic energies continued to taint the dead to his cause. Sensing air rush around him, the urge for the shadow knight to fly once more remained strong, a part of his dracon heritage that he yearned to gain once more.

Stopping in midair as he hovered, Avanthar closed his eyes and held his position, seeking to balance the constant release of Vis as he maintained his spell, seeking to work with his stamina. The fact that he could possibly plummet to his doom was an added plus as it brought a surge of familiar excitement. As his vis begin to dim (if ever), he’d slowly let himself float downwards… but knowing the raw might of an Archmage it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

The cavern trembled around him as a tangible aura of darkness enveloped the shadow knight, forcing the many thousands of spirits away as they screamed in fear and outrage. Letting himself drop slowly as he planted his feet upon solid earth, Avanthar held his eyes shut as he breathed in relief. Despite the essences he controlled and what his intentions were, the Necromancer needed to maintain concentration and peace in order to maximize the potential that still lay dormant within him. Yet one’s mind and spirit was not enough for the Arch-Knight. The body was important…

Entering into a warrior’s stance as his legs separated, the might Nemesis held with firm hands as its black edge shone in absolute delight, Avanthar was still an impressive and powerful figure in his black and silver robes. Absently his silver hair touched his shoulders and ran along his back as he refocused, seeking to claim and enter into a state of pure concentration. Letting his fluttering heart beats dull, letting all sound drift away, he delved into his reservoir and began weaving a gate of death with ease and efficiency.

A portal to the underworld took form, a hellish gateway that possessed darkness, hate and anger unlike any upon the mortal world. Perhaps the Lord would one day seek to delve into that world and plunge into its unfathomable depths and secrets, perhaps there were items of great power, things that could utterly destroy the world… perhaps…

‘Who summons thee?’

Yet that would come at another time as a figure stepped out and into the Spirit Well. Garbed in obsidian black armor, the spectral figure was masked with an intricate hell forged face mask, blue eyes aglow with unholy power as stood in full view to the shadow knight. An unholy knight of some rank, it held a great sword, a snake like sword, an odd design indeed.

Smiling, Avanthar had turned to the depths of Hell to find his worthy opponents… they were the ones who would further hone his skills in warfare…

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

The crashing sound of mighty blows resounded through the expansive cavern as wailing spirits howled in utmost delight. Blinding flashes lit the walls as two knights fought with brutal moves, the stench of searing metal and perspiration thickening the chilling air of the Spirit Well. Fighting for some time, Avanthar regarded his undead foe whom had been silent for the duration of the match. Somewhat cumbersome, his foe was stronger in strength, blessed by undeath, yet Avanthar was somewhat swifter in his movements. It would be a drawn out battle indeed…

Executing a mixture of blows and counter blows, the duel between the two almost appeared to go on forever. It was Dra’Aran’s desire to remain as fit as possible, to remember the sensation of a battle instead of delving too deep into the tomes and scrolls of magic.

Furious blows were once again unleashed as Avanthar was forced to defend himself with his mighty blade, a blur of motion before him as he used his senses, hardened skills and patience to deflect, parry and block the moves set against him. Towering above even the striking Avanthar, the Knight of Death glared upon the knight as blades locked, forcing the Arch-Knight into a contest of strength and endurance. Clenching his blade as Dra’Aran summoned his strength, enhancing it with his emotions while keeping a clear mind, it all came to focus…

[Avanthar Dra'Aran]

Facing against each other in strength was not the best situation for the knight considering his foe was the stronger. In truth, Dra’Aran was a formidable and hardened swordsman in his own right, honed through years of slaughter and experience, yet he lacked the true skill of a Master Swordsman. Still, there were other factors that needed to be taken into account in a battle. In a sudden motion he let himself slide, forcing his opponent to overbalance as Avanthar twisted and battered his foe down to the side, sending him crashing to the hard stone floor.

Gathering himself as quickly as he could, Dra’Aran drove Nemesis down to pierce its black armor, yet in that instant the knight rolled, narrowly avoiding the fatal wound and gaining a graze to the side. Avanthar’s blade whirled in motion as he re-entered into a battle stance, deciding not to push his advantage as he gathered his thoughts and conserved his stamina. Both were wounded in an assortment of ways, even the undead was feeling the burning pain of Nemesis’s spectral flames.

Letting his muscles relax and tense, he took deep and careful breaths as whispering winds brushed against him. The undead knight took turned and moved into a battle stance, its blade of serpents gleaming at the Archknight with gleaming eyes. It was an even battle considering the weapon the two used, the great sword, both requiring some distance to maneuver and strike, yet the Shadow Lord had overcome the disadvantage by excelling in close combat in the form of Shaasskah, utilizing nekodes to good effect. It was unfortunate he had lost his mithril nekodes… they would be of good use to him now… yet the finishing move would come now…