Birth of the Blinding Strike (Self-Mod)

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The winds of time had swirled and flowed through the countless centuries of existence. Each tendril of the summer breeze held a story to it unlike none other. If one was blessed with the art of interpretation then they might be able to discern these hidden tales. Stories would forever be whispered on these serene currents, and it was up to the mortals of the lands to decipher them. The very same air stream that contained these tales pervaded the forests of the Dolwoods this early brightening as well. However, they carried with them a very unique and rare message pertaining to the woodlands. Rumors of a newcomer in the forest reached the ears of the enchanted glade's inhabitants, and apparently he wasn't alone. Gossip proclaimed that it was a dark elf that had ventured deep into the magical area, and he had been accompanied by two others; a slightly larger Vysstichi and a young human woman. They were presumably headed towards one of the many entrances of Herozzal, which really wasn't uncommon as the arc was often tedious and cumbersome to locate. Not to mention, that often involved the monotonous journey through Acumin and its accursed protective curtain. Nonetheless, the winds would keep a vigilant eye upon the trio during these forthcoming brightenings. It always did.

"We're here." the Vysstichi Prince serenely bided Aspatia to a halt. The chestnut-colored mare's clattering hooves gradually ceased their clamber as she adhered to her master's command. Stroking the fatigued animal's muscled neck with a mythril-bedecked hand, the dark elf swung his leg over her rump and leaped from the saddle atop her back. His hazel-colored boots impacted along the earthen ground and forced it to sag beneath his slender weight. The Baron of House D'Rinishad remained poised in his stationary position for what seemed several moments as he gazed spectacularly at the enveloping woodlands; several pairs of yellow eyes met his own only to scatter upon being discovered, leaves billowed in the wind and swayed back and forth atop the grass-covered floor, and the songs of a multitude of birds harmonized through the air. Captivated by this marvelous scene, the dark elf couldn't help but reveal the pleasant smile that had flittered across his lips. "It's hard to believe that we've been away for so long. I just hope that the old girl's in one piece." the Vysstichi swordsman afforded himself a cursory glance about the vicinity once more before procuring the reins to Aspatia and guiding her as he trekked. He was quite meticulous not to lead her through a patch of jagged rocks or upturned branches.

"I'm more concerned about Aspatia, my anxious apprentice. She's not accustomed to this sort of travel, the prolonged type that is." From behind, the unmistakably rugged and sage-like voice of Jhael sang through the air. It contained a certain level of authority and command that very few possessed, and there was a distinctively tender but knowledgeable tone to it as well. The aged warrior followed suit after the young prince and swung himself from his powerful black steed, Lightning. Although baring the trademarks of his predominant bloodline, Jhael was slightly larger and more muscular than the typical Vysstichi, a trait undoubtedly inherited from his partially human mother. Nonetheless, he still delineated the traditional platinum hair, which flowed past his shoulders -today it was tied back in a ponytail. And then there were those notorious red eyes which contained several centuries of intelligence and wisdom. They were the same eyes that had seen so many patterns of turmoil and war, not only from the sidelines, but through firsthand experience too. "How this place reminds me of Iefferon." Jhael sighed and nostalgically began, "One brightening, Faust, I'll take both you and Adria there. You'll learn to love that island. Oh the many blessings that is has!" He smiled faintly before glancing over to his daughter who had been unusually quiet as of late. "Are you all right, my dear?"

Long and wavy blonde curls billowed behind the young woman as she journeyed atop her auburn horse. Shifting so that her eyes met those of her father, she wore a delicate and tender grin along her scarlet lips. "I'm fine, father, it's just that my rear is killing me." With an innocent chuckle teetering from her tongue, she snapped the reins down upon her mare and sent it dashing forward until she trotted alongside the walking Faust. Unlike her father, she radiated no attributes that might have given away the darker side of her ancestry. Her golden hair, which no Vysstichi could ever genuinely claim, had clearly been passed down from her human mother. Even her tanned skin, which wasn't as charcoaled as Jhael's, had been acquired more from her tomboyish activities in the outdoors as opposed to being hereditary. The only semblance that she had to a lineage not easily distinguishable was her pair of red eyes, which like her fathers, conveyed a rare energy and warrior's resolve. "How much longer, hot shot?" The vivacious woman chided in her typically joking manner. She and Faust had gone a long way back together, even since their childhood. Smiling blamelessly to herself, she hopped off her mount and walked next to the prince. "We should probably set up camp soon if we're not going to make it by nightfall."

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The Prince of Har'oloth proffered his childhood companion a coy smile but maintained his focus on the path ahead. Aspatia whined as he navigated her through a patch of wet grass and betwixt a pair of towering trees. Apparently the young mare wasn't too pleased with dirtying her fine coat of fur. "Were you not listening, my wax-eared friend? I said that we were already here. It'll only be matter of time." the Baron of House D'Rinishad chuckled to himself as Adria glared daggers at him. Back in their childhood their relationship might have been described as hostile and bitter. Adria had always looked down upon the young Vysstichi for his ignorance and lack of knowledge. Jhael had taken him in as a very adolescent student and taught him the finer points of strategy and whatnot. Adria, having already been edified in this particular field had scorned Faust for the attention that he had received from her father. Ironically, it had been many patterns later when the Prince had returned as a young adult that she had truly come to respect and adore him. The Vysstichi swordsman had managed to best her in a duel -something that no other male had ever succeeded in doing- and this had done wonders for him as he'd earned her admiration. They had been close ever since.

"Wax-eared?!" Adria growled and clenched her fists. Her golden hair swirled about her as she reached for a conveniently placed dagger attached to the belt around her waist. Elven steel flashed as the point drove directly behind the Vysstichi's back. He began to yell in protest but Adria's prodding quickly silenced him. "Whose wax-eared now?" The chiefly human woman grinned victoriously to herself as she trailed behind the dark elven prince with her weapon continuously correlated with her spine. Jhael, surprisingly, only laughed and shook his head at the blatant display of immaturity. Adria appeared not to care at all and tugged on the reins of her mount with her other hand. "Now, my black-skinned friend, I suggest that you apologize if you know what's good for you. I would hate to waste my energy on the likes of you, scum, as you are not worth tainting my blade in your blood." Ordinary friends may not have flirted like this, but for some unbeknownst reason this was the conduct in which both Adria and Faust typically associated themselves. It was as if they were reliving their childhood once more, though this time while carelessly wavering around precariously sharp blades. It was an odd relationship, but one that seemed to work quite well for them.

"Hey! Watch it!" the Vysstichi complained and glared at his assailant. A shorthand glance to the nonchalant Jhael confirmed to the dark elf that his former master didn't intend on getting himself involved. The strategist certainly knew well not to mingle in the affairs of his rambunctious daughter. "I'm serious, Adria. You could poke my spine out with that thing if you're not careful." Ultimately it was useless to plead with the girl when she had her mind set to a task. Faust D'Rinishad was not one to often be caught rationalizing like a foolish teenager, but something about being together with what had become his family brought out the youth in him. Although he had only stayed with Jhael and Adria for the duration of his studies of warfare, they had taken care and assimilated him into their family. Presents had often been exchanged between the trio and they had taken him on temporary vacations outside of Vortex. All of this had been a new experience for the aspiring warrior, and it had been the first time that he had been able to grasp what a genuine family may have been like. Obviously, Jhael had a substantial impact on the prince as a child and it was no wonder that his life had revolved greatly around many of the lessons that he had received from him.

The girl seemed not to bite at the Vysstichi's poor attempt to resolve things and applied a small amount of force into her poking. Faust cringed as the familiar point of Adria's dagger seemed to penetrate the outer layers of his cloak. He finally gave in. "Okay, I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect." the Vysstichi grumbled in humiliation. As if on cue, Adria cheerfully twirled the wavy knife back into its sheath and acted as if no 'argument' had ever transpired. The Baron of House D'Rinishad smirked and stared at his childhood friend, who refused to meet his gaze but kept her attention ahead. He would show her, Faust pleasantly reminded himself, but only when they arrived. There was no time for dilly-dallying now. Although they were not exactly 'inside' of the Dolwoods, the outskirts of the enchanted forest still contained several dangers of its own. The Vysstichi Prince sighed as he considered all that they had to accomplish within these next several cycles; First they had to return to their base of operations and be sure that everything was secure, second would be to venture into Acumin and learn of the occurrences there, rumors had whispered of a powerful newcomer that had entered the area, and finally there was the long and arduous sojourn to Herozzal to train the new recruits. Ka'ris and the others would meet them at the rendezvous point before making the long journey together.

Faust frowned and shook his head. There was so much to do and so little time to do it. This was the one certainty of life. This sour thought soon dissipated from the Vysstichi's mind as the trio eventually reached an immense clearing. His solemn expression was replaced by one of alleviation as he gazed upon the magnificent sight before him.

Castle Evernight...

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The expansive stronghold had been tailored in a gothic fashion. It radiated an ominous presence more than capable of stirring the fears of even the most courageous of men. Shadows danced on and off of the many dark walls that the fortress possessed, and they seemed to howl out in rage as they relocated from one position to the next. Albeit the skyline was only partially pervaded by a canopy of leaves overhead Castle Evernight, no light appeared to reflect off its immense granite and marble walls. Screams pierced the air as the wind continued to whirl and lash in a violent manner, only to be suppressed as they impacted harshly against the adamant structure. To one not accustomed to the blackness of dusk, Evernight would have proved to be a living Aeternia. The labyrinth of darkened corridors and extensive hallways would have been near impossible to navigate for an ordinary mortal. For without the darkvision pertained by the Vysstichi elves, Castle Evernight was as daunting as the steps to the lair of the malicious Jorel himself. Therefore it was no wonder that the fortress had acquired its ghastly name so worthily. Never once was the stronghold not embraced by the hands of darkness. It was as if the castle had descended into a period of lightlessness, of eternal night, evernight.

The four walls that outlined the castle towered above the highest of forest trees. Hordes of obsidian stones and granite had been amalgamated to forge each side of the fortress. Each corner of Castle Evernight consisted of cylinder-like towers and were elevated several floors above the walls. The turrets that sat atop each point of the adjoining parapets were designed for defensive purposes and contained numerous apertures in which bowmen could easily fire from behind thick, protective barriers. Atop these grandiose spires were flags baring the crest of House D'Rinishad for all onlookers to perceive. In the center of the front wall was a magnificently constructed tower in which the portcullis was situated; its jagged black steel gate was usually left open to unveil the mammoth pair of wooden doors that rested within. A crimson carpet was laid out betwixt these doors like a serpent’s tongue. It was spread across the entrance and out past the main gain for several meters beyond. The royal red hue delineated the noble ancestry from which the castle derived and the significance of its proprietor. Flanking both ends of the central tower and on each side of the carpet were several marble gargoyles. The sculptures were evenly dispersed on both edges of the carpet and faced each other as if paying tribute to whoever marched down the center aisle.

Castle Evernight’s parapets were lined by various battlements and a network of passageways and bridges that led from one tower to the next. Unlike most traditional fortresses, the facility did not have an open top as to prevent prying and was instead sealed off by a flat covering that was often utilized for its vast space. Silver-haired silhouettes could often be seen marching upon the top in neatly organized columns. Rumors in the Dolwoods spoke of ghosts inhabiting the castle and traveling around in methodical formations. However, if one bothered to take a meticulous gander then they would have known that this was not the case. Vysstichi Knights were typically placed above Castle Evernight to serve as watchmen and reminders that the fortress was indeed occupied by a dreadful force of deadly foes. Ironically, many of these dark elves were actually holy warriors that had escaped the clutches of Herozzal in search of freedom to practice their religion. Their presences were distinguishable by the billowing white capes that they wore over their black armor and the insignia of their deity which was often emblazoned on the back. Nonetheless, these Knights were equally as emblematic of the strength of their stronghold.

Unlike the exterior which was highly serrated and subject to its gothic theme, the inside of Castle Evernight was quite a splendid facility. If one were to follow the scarlet pathway through the portcullis and past the oaken doors then they would have trampled into the main hall, which was impressively supported by ornamental pillars that were fashionably stationed on both sides of the elegant carpet. The hallway was wide and stretched for a fairly reasonable distance until reaching the base of a golden plated stairway. Sprawled up each and every step was the same carpet from the initial point of the castle and it climbed several stories high until disappearing underneath the cracks of another pair of enormous doors. This was where the throne room was nestled and it was typically guarded by the most elite of individuals. Although there was no necessity for lights within a castle constructed by the dark elves, dozens and dozens of braziers were located throughout the walls in the event that a newcomer or guest was not inherently blessed with a Vysstichi’s darkvision. These braziers were customarily lit by whatever elementalist mage dwelled within, and in the event that he was out, candles and flint were used instead.

Several other long corridors and hallways could be seen branching off from the main stair case and weaving towards other portions of the building. Some of these tunnels accessed the kitchen, training halls, war room, stables, barracks, furnished bedrooms, library, and many other useful facilities.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The Baron of House D’Rinishad’s smile never waned as his eyes settled upon the soaring castle. It had once belonged to Serion’s most trusted emissary, Demant D’Rinishad, but following the elder’s departure it had been handed down to the young Faust. The master swordsman hadn’t quite known what to do with it as he was only one dark elf and Castle Evernight was far too much to handle, but as he’d gathered comrades along the burdensome road the palace had seemed less and less intimidating. It was presently the residence of several scores of holy warriors from Herozzal. They typically roomed in the barracks despite the Prince’s biddings that they occupy the guest rooms. After all, the fortress was fairly large and there was more than enough room to accommodate most of them. Regardless, they had denied his cordial request and designated themselves to the soldiers’ quarters as faithful servants would have. Of course, Eryndyl, the master thaumaturgist and commander of the Orthae Sargtlinen, had been more than willing to inhabit the furnished chambers on the south side of the castle. She had no semblance whatsoever to a typical Vysstichi woman as far as attitudes went, but as a woman she tended to prefer the more convenient comforts of life.

“Narra mustn’t be around these brightenings.” Faust absently commented as he glanced to the unlit candelabras hung on notches in the walls. He was of course referring to the journeyman elementalist that he had saved back in Har’oloth from the clutches of his sadistic aunt. Shrugging his slender shoulders in an apathetic gesticulation, the Vysstichi tugged languidly upon the reins of Aspatia and she willingly complied with his urging. “Don’t worry though, Adria, I’ll have the place illuminated in no time. Hopefully Eryndyl isn’t asleep yet. I’m sure that she could whip up some ideas on how to lighten the castle up.” Faust offered a genuine smile to his female comrade. As she wasn’t wholesomely blessed with dark elven blood, she didn’t wield all of its several benefits either. Darkvision, a universal trait in all Vysstichi, was not one of her characteristics. She saw better in the dark than most of the sun walkers on Telath, but not nearly as accurately or efficiently as those of her father’s bloodline might. This was easily detectable by the manner in which she intermittently squinted through the shadows of the night. Nonetheless, she had managed to adapt to the best of her abilities and contended with this downfall like any diligent warrior would.

“There’s no need to wake her, Faust, really.” the proud girl laughed heartily to herself and craned her neck so that she was eye level with her childhood companion, “Eryndyl’s undoubtedly been busy with all of the fuss and whatnot happening as of late. With the war in Zerdargia having passed, there’s no telling how many stragglers have come across Castle Evernight in their retreat. Surely she’s had much to deal with. I would hate to wake her. And don’t forget that I’m not helpless. I can light a candle myself for the night.” Adria nodded stubbornly and argued, an action that signified that she was not intending on changing her mind anytime soon. This only succeeded in drawing a bemused glance from Faust, who snickered and canted his head agreeably. He knew better than to argue with the woman’s logic. She was as obstinate in her ways as he was tenacious about disagreeing with her. It was somewhat of a strange logic, but it was one that they both knew quite well. Faust had often wondered how his former blade instructor had dealt with his daughter. She wasn’t one that many could control with ease and it was a miracle that she had become such an obedient child. The Vysstichi snickered as he considered that Jhael might be a mind-controlling mystic.

“Enough bickering you two!” Jhael scolded his daughter and rolled his eyes. Although his patience was legendary in his household –and perhaps even in Vortex as well- he did have certain limits. There hadn’t been that many instances in which he had yelled at his only child, but it had usually been in the presence of the Vysstichi Prince. This was likely because when around Faust the immature side of Adria truly came to surface. He hadn’t yet discerned why this had come to be, but he mused that perhaps it was the attraction that she had felt for his former student. Faust and Adria had never been intimate together, nothing of the sort, but they claimed a comfort in one another more recognizable in best friends. The blade master sighed as his daughter wore a glum expression on her face and he merely shook his head, all the while wearing a coy grin. Adria returned the sly smile, understanding it for what it was before moving on ahead. Jhael couldn’t ever find it in himself to stay mad at her for long. He never did. She had too much of her mother in her. Sighing at the memory of his deceased wife, the bladesman’s red eyes honed in upon a solitary figure standing in the center of the red carpet. The dark elven greeter was curled over in an obeisant bow as the three individuals approached.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Faust frowned at Jhael's reprimanding and immediately pursed his lips together. Though the seasoned warrior was no longer his teacher anymore, the Vysstichi Prince had come to respect and adhere to him. Perhaps it was because of Jhael's wisdom and age that the dark elf did so, nonetheless, this father-like figure demanded respect and the Baron was more than willing to give it to him. He owed the quarter-Vysstichi his life after all. Faust's silence was short lived, however, as the sight of the dark elf at the gates welcomed them. A smile played along the dark elf's lips and he hurriedly urged Aspatia along until they reached the crimson carpet that separated their boots from the grass floor. "Ardanon!" Faust laughed and greeted, patting the mage on the back and playfully forcing him to strand straight. "Why do you pretend as if you are a servant? You know that are not." the Prince of Har'oloth cackled and embraced the older dark elf in a warm hug. Ardanon, too, like Jhael, had been the dark elf's overseer in the earlier stages of his life. Back when House Kitrye-veresi had fallen, the former house mage had mustered all of his resources and energy together to watch over his grandson and the young prince. He had done a fine job of protecting too.

"I pretend nothing, Master Faust." the dark elf's faced contorted into a warm expression. It was evident that Ardanon Kitrye-veresi had seen several centuries of existence, and the years had truly taken a toll on him. What had once been a clear-cut and sharply defined visage was now replaced by several wrinkles where there hadn't been any before, and there was a tiredness in his eyes, unusual in any Vysstichi elf. In his weathered hand he clutched a walking quarterstaff that served as more of a weapon than anything else, but Ardanon often liked to convey that he was weaker than he seemed. This afforded him the advantage of cocky opponents who often realized to their misfortunes that he was still more than capable of wielding the forces of energy at quite an adept level. He was nowhere near the proficiency that he'd once claimed in his youth, but he was powerful nonetheless. "And welcome back. We had received word that you intended on heading back to Herozzal. I don't quite understand why we did not return to Vortex to seek help from our good friend, Markener Gaveth, but then I am but a humble servant and not one to question your orders." Ardanon shrugged and looked beyond the unresponsive prince to his comrades. "Ah, beautiful Adria and Master Jhael. I pray that this trip was not too burdensome on either of you. Welcome back."

"Not at all, Ardanon." the woman dipped into a cordial bow and thrust her arms around the old wizard's neck. He smiled and returned the hug before she slipped past both him and the young prince. Ardanon's weary eyes trailed after her as she departed through the portcullis and into the main hall. To this very brightening, the sorcerer had to admit that he'd never seen that girl lacking in energy. She reminded him of his grandson, Banatarion, who was currently working in Vortex at the D'Rinishad Academy of Arcana. Ardanon had to admit that he had missed his daughter's son, but it was time for the young one to grow up and learn some responsibility. Not to mention, the outskirts of the Dolwoods were far too precarious for the likes of the little one. "Master Jhael, it is good to see you again as well." the wizard extended a hand which was soon clasped by the strategist's callused and rough one. "Please allow me to take your steeds, I can handle them. They'll be well cared for in our stables and you'll be free of their stench." Unlike the subterranean lizards that were traditionally used in Har'oloth and Herozzal, the surface made handy these four-legged beasts of burden. While Ardanon did not mind them and could see the logic in keeping them, he found that they reeked with a particular odor that he couldn't quite digest.

Faust patiently waited for Jhael and Adria to proceed ahead of them before turning to face the wizard. "It's not that I don't confide in Master Markener's skills, Ardanon, both he and his son Zackner are more than capable of teaching our people the skills necessary to survive. So too could Master Jhael instruct them on more than a thing or two. However, we don't have the liberty of returning home, my friend." the Vysstichi Prince sorrowfully sighed and lowered his head. Ardanon was clearly concerned, though he didn't immediately respond as he was unclear of the thoughts circulating within the young lord's mind. "There's too much at stake to leave unattended. We still don't even know if Rosencrantz is after us, me." the dark elven swordsman sighed and shook his head. He hated that his comrades had to see him like this, but his last encounter with the vampire had done more enough to frighten him. How many opponents had literally been able to catch his swords mid-flight? And to make things worse, bat them away like they were minor inconveniences. The recollection of the encounter brought a shiver to the dark elf's bones. As Rosencrantz had earlier mocked, he would definitely have to learn to 'think faster' if he desired a ghost of a chance in winning.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

"I'd love to get my hands on that damned vampire." the sorcerer resignedly sighed and shook his head. Everyone had known about Faust's endeavor with the undead lord, Rosencrantz de Milo, and the story of the Prince's defeat had circulated through every mind of his companions. Most of them pitied the young Baron of House D'Rinishad, particularly because he was far too adolescent and kind to be terrified. What sort of abomination was this Rosencrantz, that he could so easily inspire fear in the master swordsman? Ardanon personally hated to even fathom the power that the vampire contained. Faust had mentioned something about a fire elemental that had nearly charred him to cinders too. The elderly Vysstichi frowned at the thought. It was too bad that Narra, Ka'ris, or Ardanon hadn't accompanied him in the pits of the abyss. At least then Faust might have stood somewhat of a chance against the vampire. But then again, Rosencrantz had been able to catch both of his swords without a single drop of perspiration. "He won't be able to find you here, Master Faust, and even if he did, Eryndyl would be more than enough to handle him. Not to mention, we've nearly fifty strong at Castle Evernight and every one of them would lay their lives on the line for you."

"I know, my friend, I know." the Vysstichi Prince offered the wizard a reassuring smile to implicate that he was all right. In truth, Faust hadn't been the same since his return, but he was gradually wading back to his normalcy. "Still, I have much to work on yet. That short-lived fight with the vampire has truly opened my eyes. I'm weak, Ardanon, far too weak, and there's no chance that I would have been able to beat him then, and not now either." It had been for this very reason that the Prince had returned to Paxia to seek training in the arts of spell wielding. He needed to learn how to send these damned demons back to the elemental planes from whence they derived. Only then would he finally receive a fair fight against the vampire. "Would you mind preparing the training halls for me? I have much to work on yet." the Vysstichi Prince lolled his head to the side and glanced to one of the stone gargoyles that remained stagnant atop its mound. "Unless I adapt like my opponent has foolishly suggested, there's no way that I would ever be able to win." With that thought tucked into mind, the Vysstichi began to stroll ahead upon the red carpet and after his fleeting companions. He realized now that he wouldn't be seeing much of them after all.

"Of course, my lord." Ardanon replied, "That numbskull Da'nael was practicing in their earlier, but we had it cleaned it up nonetheless." the wizard humbly bowed and followed into step as the Prince passed him. Faust's stride was not hasty as he clambered through the expansive hall and between the neatly chiseled pillars. The silhouettes of Adria and her father could be seen climbing the stairs. After some time both seemed to veer off from the steps and towards the guest rooms. Ardanon smiled as he watched them depart. Adria and Jhael had certainly been a blessing to their lives, especially Faust's. The girl alone had enough energy and vibrancy to encourage and cheer up those within the desolate castle. And Jhael's rock-solid will was inspiring enough. The manner in which the former general composed himself did wonders in persuading the inhabitants to be on their best of attitudes. "Would you like anyone to accompany you? Your usually sparring partner, Anvael, is not in but I'm certain that I could summon one of the others to lend you an opposing hand." the mage uttered and considered the latter of his suggestions. There was always Resix, who'd proved to be more than capable of handling his own against the prince, but he believed that the second in command of the Orthae Sargtlinen was presently occupied.

"No, it's quite all right. I was hoping to get some alone time while I still have the chance. There's still several more brightenings left until I must depart to Herozzal. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, though." With that, Faust dismissed his loyal friend and began to the ascent up the elevated flight of steps. He had to admit that he was quite anxious to begin the refinement of his abilities. Many thoughts had surfaced into his mind as of late, and each of these had been methods of picking the vampire apart. As a master of the twin-sword style, the Vysstichi knew that there was always a way to counter an adversary. Despite their skill with a blade, and despite the magnificent powers that they possessed, there was always a way in which they could be defeated. What was Rosencrantz's weakness? Faust was certain that had the immortal been without his supernatural abilities then he would have been able to disassemble him. But the vampire was fast, way too fast for the dark elf to contend with. Soon enough the Vysstichi would be able to match him as far as arcana went, but not in physical might. Faust sighed and glanced to the bulging hilts of his two long swords from beneath his cloak. As long as he heaved both of these around, he wouldn't have any hopes of overcoming the immortal with speed. Or could he?

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The training hall was tucked into the western portion of Castle Evernight. As House D'Rinishad was notorious for its assortment of masterful fighters, the room was constructed in a rectangular shape and spread for nearly half the distance of the entire outer wall; the largest compound in all of the fortress. Wooden panels created the floorboards for the facility, and they were neatly polished on a brightening to brightening basis. The most extraordinary facet of the training center was the extensive stack of weapons available to the inhabitants. Spears, pikes, swords, shields, daggers, and other weapons of all calibers and sizes were tucked in the back of the room and displayed for all to see. This was the pride and elation of Castle Evernight, and it took great satisfaction in the instruments that it had to offer. There were also several mannequins neatly tucked against the sides of the room. Several of these steel and wooden dummies bore holes in them, either from the deadly points of sharpened blades or possibly through wear and tear over the many decades in which they were put to use. On the leftward side of the facility were many punching bags that dangled from the ceiling via chain links. These too were slightly weathered under the strain of constant beatings.

Faust entered the practice room with a clear and pure mind. His black cape flowed behind him as he sauntered to the center of the hall. Crimson eyes surveyed the room with a cursory glance before he closed them and focused upon the task at hand. Images of many duels past flooded through the gates of his mentality, reminding him over and over again of the many weaknesses that he truly possessed. He thought of his spar with the famed general Darkblade, and his failure to acquire victory. The recent memory of the gladiatorial fight with the demon, Xzak'hulaz'xia, crossed his mind as well. Where had his downfall been in each of these battles? What had caused him to nearly stumble into his demise? And the most important matter at hand, why hadn't he won decisive victories against each of these opponents? His duel with Hannas Darkblade had ended in a worthy draw, and he had barely been able to defeat Xzak'hulaz'xia. A glance to each of the two swords by his sides confirmed the Vysstichi's inherent fears. In both of these battles he had been robbed of one of these armaments, and his abilities had been placed in jeopardy subsequently. The Baron of House D'Rinishad now remembered why he had sojourned to Imperia to develop his own style of swordsmanship with a single blade. It was to counter this weakness that very much prevailed within him.

With two swords coupled together, the Vysstichi Prince was a very deadly and lethal foe. Far too many had succumbed to his blades amidst their swirling dance of death. However, the finer warriors in the land would likely have been able to put up a decent fight, and possibly disarm him as Hannas and the demon had done. And chances were that should he contend with the vampire Rosencrantz, then such a fate would ensue once more. The Vysstichi desired to be a complete warrior, wholesome and lacking in any flaws. However, this could not be accomplished without revitalizing himself and starting from square one again. He had taken the first step in his recitation back in Imperia, and it was now time to improvise and add onto all that he had learned already. To do this he knew that he would have to draw upon the memories of the past, both good and bad, to combat the kinks that hindered him. Closing his eyes and meditating on his experiences, Faust began to sink into a war-like trance to muster up all of the energy and strength that would be necessary for this brightening's work. He had time for the moment, a few cycles perhaps, and all of it would be spent and poured out into his efforts. Rosencrantz had once mentioned that the Vysstichi's attack on him had been futile, and that only through quick reactions and reflexes would he be able to win.

The dark elf's eyes flashed angrily at the acute admonishment. Yes, he would become stronger and faster as Rosencrantz had suggested, but his attacks would come with such blazing speed that the vampire would be helpless before him. Today would be the day, yes, the day when Faust’s blinding strikes were born. The Vysstichi was empowered by his bitterness and anger, two emotions that he’d acquired after being humiliated by the vampire. There would be no rest here in the training halls. There was no time for it.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Faust methodically stood up following his meditative exercise and walked towards the side of the room. Garbed entirely from head to toe in rare and unorthodox equipment, he certainly would have been a daunting sight to those foreign to him. The Vysstichi Prince didn't tend to have this effect, however, as his youthful demeanor gave the impression that he was harmless and equally as useless with the armaments he carried. Faust of course, had often used this tactic to his advantage. He initially removed the flowing black cloak from around his shoulders and folded it into a neat square before setting it upon the ground. Being the neat and tidy person that he was, he wiped away any dust particles that washed up onto the mantle. Afterwards he proceeded to scoop his trusted mythril chain shirt over his head and this too he habitually placed into mounting pile. Next that came off were his enchanted bracers and gloves, and even the magical talismans that he often wore around his neck. However, this wasn't the conclusion of his disarmament. He proceeded to slide off the wristbows from his arms, the elven long knives strapped to his thighs, and finally the twin long swords that had so conveniently dangled at the belt around his waist. There would be no need for these items here.

The Vysstichi Prince instead strayed beside the weapon's rack in the back of the room and ran his onyx fingers along the glistening pieces. It wasn't a polished blade that he sought this brightening, but one of the more rarer and unique instruments that the facility possessed. A smile fluttered about his lips as he came to the end of the extensive stand where the most mundane and unusual of weapons were situated. Laid out before him was an elvish long sword. The blade, however, was not constructed of any unorthodox material. Its hilt was a combination of heavy steel and other bases that had added quite the additional weight to it. The blade itself was constructed of a similar composition. While the sword marginally curved as was representational of the style of the elvish design, its weight had more of a semblance of a giant's weapon as opposed to one befitting a smaller creature. The Vysstichi ran his callused hand along the handle and finally gripped it around the pommel. House D'Rinishad's blacksmith, Durlyndyn -also the brother of Eryndyl- had brought this into the castle as one of his many creations during the exodus from Herozzal. It had been created from the scraps and extra materials leftover from his forging process. While it was quite useless as the edge was unsharpened, the weapon might prove handy yet.

"Grevious..." The name of the sword rolled off the Vysstichi's tongue -ironically- with ease. He initially attempted to heft the weapon with one hand while pulling vertically, but he discovered in a matter of seconds that it would take a little more to budge the stationary blade from its confines. Grunting as he wrapped both hands around the heavy sword, Faust successfully withdrew it after one grueling attempt. "A worthy name I suppose." the Vysstichi commented finally as he stole the opportunity to glance it over once more. Somehow the metal had turned a purplish hue throughout the patterns of its creation. Whether or not this had been because of the forging process or weathering, though, Faust wasn't certain. All that mattered at the present moment was that the sword was still in tact and that it would be helpful for him as well. He just hoped that it wouldn't break on him mid-swing. That would do more than throw off his momentum and strain his arm, but likely break his foot if the pieces fell too.

Faust didn't fancy the prospect of wounding himself prematurely. Henceforth, he strolled towards the center of the mat with Grievous in hand before dropping the blade onto the floor. Casually leaning over to touch his toes and stretch out his legs, the Vysstichi conducted a series of exercises that would pump the blood through his bones. He had already surmised a method in which to hone his skills with the sword, even if it nearly killed him through exhaustion. The most influential thought on his mind this night was his latest encounter with the Medonian sword master, Marik Bane. The half-orc had taught the Vysstichi several maneuvers that would coincide well with the technique that he was developing. Faust had the necessary pieces to construct a formidable style, and all he needed to do was put them together. However, that didn't mean that he was concluded. There were still many aspects of his unorthodox ways that had yet to be fleshed out. Thus far he had only covered the basics such as sword drawing and simple slashes. The far more unique and specialized skills would have to come much later, but only after his body was honed and prepared for the rigorous tasks ahead. Squeezing Grievous in his hand, the Vysstichi awkwardly smiled. The ugly blade would make sure that this happened.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Focusing was a fundamental task of any warrior. Initiates and apprentices alike were taught this very rudimentary practice in order to clear their minds of distractions and cast away all thoughts that may have hindered them. Even mages, wielders of the various arcane essences, were trained to accomplish this essential feat. While not too difficult an achievement to master, the art of concentration was paramount in all forms of combat. The Baron of House D’Rinishad had excelled in this field of expertise. Ever since he had initially picked up a sword in the run-down gymnasiums of Vortex, it had always been easy for him to remain focused. The sword was an extension of his body, and his body had been tempered into a utility by which the blade was merely directed. Many had fallen beneath this living sword, and so many more had joined Jalat’s ranks because of it too. Faust did not delight in the deaths that he had accumulated over the years. Contrary to traditional belief, he was not a Vysstichi that yearned for the blood of men and his swords did not dance for revenge. No, they fought for something more. They swung in harmony for the welfare of others. They fought for the dark elves that had courageously escaped to the surface and sought sanctuary away from the evils of their culture. They fought for House D’Rinishad.

Yet, for once it seemed as though these blades would finally be used for their master.

With Grievous embraced in his left hand, the Vysstichi drew up the scabbard with his right and sheathed the burdensome elvish longsword. He bent at the knees and broke a forty-five degree angle, though his left leg was further ahead than his right by about a foot and he was turned at the waist in a clockwise position. Grievous was clasped firmly and stationed almost perpendicular to his back. Breathing out in a cool and methodical manner, Faust closed his eyes and located his left hand by the hilt of the sword and hesitated for several seconds. He had developed this art of drawing his blade by using momentum summoned from his rotating torso and the advancement of his back leg to propel the sword at even higher velocities. Before he had done so using a lighter and much more convenient weapon at his disposal, and to his credit, he had been able to execute the attack with a significant amount of speed. Grievous would impair him considerably, but this had been his intention the whole time. While the heavy blade would indefinitely slow him down, it would train and harden his muscles so that when the time came to wield a typical long sword, he would be far more adjusted and capable of carrying out the maneuver with blinding speed.

As his eyes fluttered open, the Vysstichi Prince whirled into a blur of motion. His leftward hand shot towards the handle of Grievous while his torso exploded in a counter clockwise rotation. Meanwhile the hand that gripped the weighty sword spun with his upper body while he drew it. Grievous shot forth from the scabbard with a resonating screech as its dull edge grinded against the metal of the scabbard. The curve of the elvish longsword cut a fine arc through the air as the blade was finally unveiled. Faust had purposefully taken a step forward with his right leg –which had been in the back- to increase the range of motion that the draw-slash could encompass. As he had anticipated, his arm had slouched under the weight of the heavy sword and the attack wouldn’t likely have succeeded in scissoring an enemy in half as he would have hoped. It was now that the dark elf fully fathomed how inherently weak he truly was. While the draw-slash was only the very primitive stage of his newfound technique, the Vysstichi intended to master it fully before moving onto the more advanced phases. It created the solid foundation of the entire skill as it would harden his stance and tone his muscles into familiarity with the speed of his movements.

Faust released his intake of air and quickly sheathed Grievous. As if on cue, he systematically lowered himself back into position and readied to commit himself to the strike once more. Adopting the same angle of approach as he had done the previous attempt, he proceeded to implement the draw-slash once more. Yet again he was slowed by the gravitational pull of Grievous. Already he was beginning to feel his muscles buckle under its heavy weight. However, the Baron of House D’Rinishad was not about to relent just yet. Beads of sweat began to formulate at his brow throughout the duration of the candlemark. Never once did he pause or hesitate for more than a few minutes to assuage his sore arm. As he was ambidextrous, Faust made great use of his other hand and switched the side of his stance to train himself in this manner as well. However, he mirrored the position of both hands and feet. When he was committing the maneuver with his right hand, it was instead his right leg that was propped forward and his torso spun in a clockwise fashion while his left hand held Grievous. As Faust had thoroughly been trained through the many patterns of his existence, the opposite approach wasn’t too difficult to accomplish, though either way all of this practice had been quite strenuous on his legs especially.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Droplets of crystalline sweat dripped from his pointed nose as nearly two candlemarks elapsed. The Vysstichi’s once dry attire was now moist and clung disgustingly to his slender physique. Faust allowed Grievous a moments reprieve as he too departed from his duties at practice. His arms weighed heavily by his sides and his thighs were burning with pain. The purpose of keeping a low-balanced stance had been to develop the muscles in his legs, but also train him so that he could summon short bursts of energy that translated into powerful results. Unfortunately, it would take some time getting used too. Not only did Grievous sport an uncanny weight for an elvish longsword, but it was greatly exhausting on his reserves of energy. Nonetheless, Faust felt mightily confident that he had mastered the technique of the draw-slash, which he had later and more appropriately deemed as ‘Winter’s Bite’. Ironically, the opening attack was named after the demon, Blood Winter, who had coincidentally been a fire elemental. Faust was an avid devotee of quick and precise techniques. Unlike many of his counterparts and competing practitioners of the sword, the Vysstichi Prince was far more flamboyant and flashy in his style. While the superficiality did indeed tie into his technique, most did not seem to apprehend this until it was too late.

The Vysstichi eagerly slipped his arms through the sleeves of his black shirt and pulled it over his head. Its wet strands slapped him in the face and he reeled his head back in disgust. Chuckling slightly at the revelation of his workout, he tossed the tunic to the side in an equating splash as the apparel crumpled. Without realizing it, the Vysstichi found himself sprawled out upon the mats of the training floor. His eyes rolled back in his head as he closed them. Life appeared so serene and still to the exhausted warrior, and it was in times like these that he reveled in his freedom. Things had been so simple before the stroke of this present pattern, before he had met the vampire Rosencrantz, and before Master Serion had died. Both of these thoughts pained the Vysstichi’s heart, and it was as if two thorns were constantly torturing him within. The former haunted Faust because he knew that death was so close, and unless he was able to overcome his fears of the vampire and finally confront him, then he may as well fall prey to the dark lord’s commands. Yes, he had been ordered to slay the Duchess of the Primus Countryside, Dallandra ap’Tindomerel, who happened to be a friend of his. She had been the one to offer help to him in his time of distress, and to lend her services as an archmystic to convey to him the flaws in his style of swordsmanship.

And then there had been Serion…

Thoughts of his lord’s death flooded his mind, and the Vysstichi’s mind throbbed at these recollections. If only they had not pursued on that pointless voyage to the south. If only they had stayed in Telath and away from that dark world. Faust was immediately reminded of the creature that had single-handedly slay and possessed his lord. The Baron of House D’Rinishad and Duncan had been forced to cross paths with the animated Serion, a path that had mocked them as the Vysstichi Lord had clearly been dead already. The Prince’s hands clenched by his sides and his knuckles turned white from the pressure applied. He hadn’t been strong enough to save Serion back then, and he wasn’t strong enough to save himself now. Only in the company of his companionship with his servants and followers did the Vysstichi swordsman find solace. And quite a pathetic truth this was! He was Faust D’Rinishad, the newly appointed Lord of House D’Rinishad, and here he was groveling like a fool! How dare he delineate any facet of weakness! Serion had died and entrusted him to this position! The master would have been sick had he seen Faust like this!

“Master Faust?” A voice poked through the doorway half-an-hour later as Eryndyl stepped through. The holy priestess wore flowing robes of the finest white silk, and her parted silver hair outshined this radiant mantle as it trailed way past her shoulders and to her waist. Eryndyl’s face was marked by sharp but delicate features, and her beauty was enhanced by the serene demeanor that she maintained. Her entire body seemed to glow in an enchanted aura, and there could be no mistaking the master thaumaturgist. Normally the priestess could be seen with a longbow in hand and a shaft of arrows strung over her shoulders, but she did not choose to don that particular garb this brightening. Although her splendor was present even at this peak of the night, it was still obvious that she had recently woken up. The bags that so rarely graced her perfect visage were evident as she stepped closer. “I had heard that you had arrived a short while ago. Please forgive me for taking so long to attend to you.” the woman offered a cordial smile as she gestured to the contents grasped within her hands. She carried a small wooden tray; atop it was a glass cup of water and half a loaf of bread. “For energy of course.” Her smile widened.