Charisma Pass (Basic Acrobatics Training)

[Mikhail Vashael]

Late Midday. Overcast. The Twelfth of Imperos in the Season of Fall, Era XIV Post Fractum

Standing shoulder to shoulder with a tall Sylrosian female, the man known as the Butcher twitched his cheek muscle idly. He was relaxing against the cool flat surface of a stone face, both feet lodged into swarthy cracks in the rock. The human's hands were above him though, placed in a white knuckle grip as he slowly scaled one breadth higher. Looking over at the elf, Mikhail could see her long strawberry colored hair collected into a ponytail blow softly against the wind's stray thoughts.
Without further inspection, he leveled his left shin straight into the woman's lower back. You could say they weren't quite friends...

Dislodging a single arm, the female easily rotated her body while losing height advantage for a solid foothold like some lithe feline. So much for kicking her.. Vashael steadied his breath and willpower while slowly mounting his vertical placement. There was the outcropping of a ledge only twelve feet above, but that length stretched to meet twelve miles in the consideration. The severe male had to reach that plateau before anything worse could happen, like being pulled down to a graveless and quick death. The mental image of his body open mouthed and vacant, bleeding out it's final breath on some cutting board slab of granite was not the most appealing way to go out. Fire or Drowning, now those were superior ways to cease and desist.. Clawing one crack higher, the outlaw gritted his teeth while fighting against a gale wind that searched to throw him off just one might quicker then even the Hunter below.

Such was the path of the Oathbreaker. Under an alias long removed there had been a bounty placed on his head.. something about escape during transport. A snapped imperial kneck and a fresh warrant for arrest. Fresh.. Ten Era Old, nothing fresh about it. This was personal.

Looking down, he could make out the flinch of resolve surrounding the jawbone of the girl's supple mouth. The baked clay features smooth and collected, difficult to read but determined all the same.. and she was gaining swiftly. Mikhail's visual sense of perception and focus suddenly eased in and out, following the fracture lines in stone to meet the coniferous treeline far below.

Just one step, two step more.

[Mikhail Vashael]

Reaching the top of the stone summit, the deep bone and gravity lines scarring the man's face matched the cascading mountain held behind. Mikhail's hard cheeks, taunt and loose skin clove under a strong jawbone and nose bridge as his lungs receded then rose in the passing. Dropping a heavy boulder to match the anticipation of his opponent, the Vagaran could see the elf deftly avoid the weight that would have surely crushed her scapula into a sleek ribcage. Expected.

With a running start, Mikhail then kicked off the wall and lifted his body onto a slab of raised granite. His boots tread quickly but with care as the tension sprung from his left calve muscle projected the man over a small ledge. The Pass was not quite vertical now, but edged up at a sloping incline while heavy sharp stones rested in coves and pocketed gullies. The canyon Vashael suddenly tread in was littered with the remains of fallen shards while mountain spring and runoff water slipped beneath his passing toeholds. With a light splash he could hear the Hunter behind him, as she too had cleared the initial impasse. Cocking his gray crossbow over a short leer on the pathway, the Butcher threw a pebble utilizing his offhand before syncronizing the projectile with both steady arms; a wooden bolt aimed where her misdirection would slip to next. Crackling and splintering off slate canyon walls, Vashael's quarrel had targeted the appropriate spot, only the sudden speed of his opponent's movements left little room for anticipation. This threat seemed to slow the Sylrosian, but the Butcher wasn't taking any chances. He laid several caltrops beneath the streambed and took off running. Leaping above the broken stony remains of last Era's avalanche, Mikhail vaulted over his right arm onto the edge of the chasm as it refortified into a vertical fortress. Reaching inch by inch, the man pressed up above the ridgeline but could find no where else to turn. He had to jump. He had to shift his body a full two man distance beyond his reach just to find the next foothold. This would be risky, yet as the human pushed off and sailed vicariously through the air into free fall, he felt the singe of an arrow brush and burn against his left pant leg. Not close enough Elf. Mikhail cascaded out of reach, and well beyond his original intention.

The outer edge of the summit flickered before his eyes as the chasm fell from view. Above these canyon walls, the full incline of the Pass was brought to bear, rolling into certain and distant death. Laboriously flinging his body into this blue void, the now leather clad Thief felt the wind whip hard over his frame as the full force of his mass hit the adjacent shale cliffside wall sunken into the precipice's left side. The Butcher's limbs slipped and fell, tearing away darkly stitched fabric as the entirety of his weight shanked hard under the duress of a single socket. Resting on one saving grace, he now pulled himself up to a four limb grip all the while eyeing the distance of his rapid descent. The Butcher breathed out hard. He was alive... Vashael was outside the canyon now, over the tip of the pass and tucked under a crevice that would put him below his would be assassin. Only difference was, from the canyon floor there would be no way to see exactly where he had dropped beyond. Rising slow, Mikhail blended quietly into the background as he kept to the shadows of the cracks intent on surprising his hunter now perhaps turned prey.

[Mikhail Vashael]

Hunching low the blonde Vagaran inched upwards, returning along the spine of the ridge set high above the canyon floor that offset the crisp summit like an open wound. The bounty hunter was nowhere to be found. Stepping from one low knee to another, the hotblooded murderer readied his resolve. This stalker wouldn't back down that easily.. She was preparing for him, he could feel her hate's gaze draw over his form like a spider crossing silk strings of webbing in order to build an enraptured net. He could feel it. Scrambling across a sleek stone face, Vashael saw a forgotten slide of rocks open into the canyon maw below.. If he was to set a trap.. no it couldn't be that easy. Yet.. seemingly it would be; the Elven maiden known as the Skeltāri stood just below the cliff's edge. The name suiting the face...

Scratching his palm, the runes tattooed onto his left fingers began to itch. Something wasn't right. Runic magic ignited easily in the presence of sympathetic wards. Slipping one of his quarrels poisoned with Abrose Tar into the walnut crossbow's bridle groove, Mikhail pulled the cord back while drawing the stave tight with the faintest of clicks. Too Late, the superior senses of the child of Phedos had detected his presence. Doubling back was the obvious following course of action so Vashael drove forward headlong. He clambered over the slide and slipped behind an encroaching boulder. Waiting would be simple as long as his nerves held out.

Like a dried leaf falling against the trunk of it's maker, the outline of Sylrosian was nare-undetectable but he saw it.. crawling up the adjacent stone towards his position. It looked as though she had the same idea, instead of doubling back the Elf moved forward. Several runes covering his body lit up once more.. someone had taught this female a great deal since last they met. To pay a Vagaran Runemaster for such protection would cost more chests of silver then a whole guild of bounty hunters commonly possessed. This wouldn't be easy.. not at all. A great time had passed since the human now known as Mikhail Vashael had meditated upon the language of his fore-fathers. With a simple slit of the knife, the man cut a straightforward nullification symbol into the stave that now bore his leverage. With magic like this, shooting wide was an understatement.. it was a near certainty. Fletch IT.

Raising the wooden projectile over his left arm braced against the corresponding knee to force it steady, Mikhail squinted and fired at the woman's feet. Most runes that strong could only be afforded over the torso, lets see how the ancient pureblood would fair being struck where only kings would ink that much raw energy. Breathing out, the impending fate embraced the static and chaos of distortion that would seek to remove his focused attack. The quarrel lept from it's hold penetrating straight through the calve of his stalking victim.. which from the look breaching the Hunter's features surprised even her senses. It was a defining moment, and one that Vashael would now capitalize on. Leaving nothing to chance, he lept from beneath his hiding spot and slid down the ridge behind the Skeltāri, giving time to let the poison go about it's business before sifting between slate then inching back towards his new found prey.
Staggering, it was obvious the shot was simply a graze as the woman did better then limp up towards his initial hideaway. Vaulting across stone, Mikhail leaped from beyond the shadows below, digging his dagger into the rear right thigh of the impassioned huntress. Now this was the kicker, snake venom entered the woman's bloodstream as the Northman reversed his grip, plummiting the steel dagger between two astonished shoulderblades. Spinning her body round in mid strike, the blade cut sideways through superficial back tissue yet hooked under the bone that numbed the wound with the blood of vipers. As she turned, an elven shortsword slid into Mikhail's outer abdominal muscles pressing both parties to their knees momentarily. Looking up with the forged spirit of pure revulsion the Skeltāri spoke at last with a voice as crystal clear as her intention.

"So I have finally caught you Útlaginn. Your blood debt will be cleansed after all these many Pattern... "

They spoke in the language of the ancients, the old ones.. the Vagaran Sea Lords.

"The ravens will feast upon your carcass as I offer it in sacrifice to the All-Father."

The Maiden sneered up at Vashael as even now the poison was working it's way through her primary organs.

"Come take it then Oathbreaker..."

Vashael raised his dagger's edge.

"Ready thyself Orphan."

The Skeltāri closed her eyes.

[Mikhail Vashael]

Stripping open her chest, Vashael plunged the dagger through the girl's smooth exposed sternum. His wicked blade sunk hilt deep through a myriad of spiralling runes tattooed round the Elf's breasts and long her ribs to meet the belly. Had he any passing grace, the wealth of such a sight on a variety of levels would have been enough to stay his weapon.. not so this bright day. Not in the least or even for a flicker.
As the body dropped limp before him, the seething male found no comfort in the kill. For as he watched the Skeltāri's head whiplash against the rocks there was but a sliver of happiness grafted to the woman's lips.. As if even in death there was something he could not take from her. Gritting his teeth, Mikhail drove the same dagger through the underside of his victim's jawline to skewer the brain and ease his unease. Blood collected over the naked skin but still Vashael found no reprieve. While the man stood absorbing the decay, he finally noticed what should have been seen all along.. The pattern of runes were no mere protection spell, but rather meant to bind, convert and release. The bitch had been holding something in opposed to warding his dark hands away.

"Fletch." Was all his lips could utter..

Along the blood trail coating the Sylrosian's torso slithered a sickly tentacle protruding from beneath the cavity wound. He'd heard of such bindings, but never in all his seemingly short existence did he expect to truely find out for himself the hot iron in the fire of legend..

Striking a torch, the human quickly drove the object into the puncture wound, hoping to buy himself some very precious time. Moaning with the chorus of ten wyrms, the remains of the girl vibrated the entire cliffside, sending a spray of tiny rocks down upon them both. The Bounty Hunter's torso peeled back slowly like a hatching egg, another tentacle prying wide the jawbone as it tasted Aelyrian air for the first time in many, many cycles. The entire chest cavity broke away with the sickly noise of crushed bone and tearing cartilage.
Vashael was running. Hard.

Behind the Vagaran was a creature of myth and fable. A hunter.. a death wish of gory sinewy arms, legs, heavy tentacles and syncronistic wet blades. He had unleashed the Idhaegg it's self.. the Striker in the Dark.

[Mikhail Vashael]

The wind was a gorgeous thing. Sharp, sudden and temperamental. Looking down any recent traveler could weather a completely difference of opinion. The Thief stood stranded along a length of taunt cord; conjuring either a mountaineer's rope wantonly forgotten or a transport tether used by the brigands hibernating in these hills. It didn't matter. What did was the weight suspended here that faltered forth, attempting to clear a chasm far too deep for even experienced practice. Mikhail Vashael's leathers wore him well, even the soles of both boots were pliable and adapted to the course cushioning each step.
Problem was the clarity of his mind and other such levity. Forcing deep even breaths started him along the path of adjustment but this tunnel of air redirected every countermeasure, pressing the man to compensate for factors best done at slower paces over a low fall. He balanced with both arms extended, hearing only the echo of his restricted panic.

Bouncing up and down with a light gust the Vagaran sought nothing more then the end, trying to find peace here in the middle only clouded his vision in complications. Walk. One foot slipped over the next, twisting his spine but easily led.. the volume of muscle snapping taunt to either side swinging back supple. Then he heard it. That sound.
A deep vibrating noise did breach the back of his saving ground, a risk not quite paying dividend as his feet suddenly thought themselves solid. Vashael rushed hard over the thin line, one boot bounding to the next awash between the sight of reaching peaks and daunting faults. Single minded as a doe his ears pricked in perception, to focus on the branch that snapped behind. It's fiber unfurling to the freefall. The drop opened empty and forgiving.. but as Mikhail tumbled both hands clawed for recess, instinctively wishing for safety and the priority of swift success.
Here came your reward.
Grasping the severed rope by it's short hairs Vashael swung.. leading his body towards a severe half mask of stone. Clenching hand over fist he rose inch by meter before striking the surface hard; hard enough to suck the air straight from his lungs. Both arms burned now, their tendons fixed in a vice grip round the remaining shred. Dangling above a distant streambed forgotten to a blur of red leaves and crystal the Hunted turned too and fro, free from all support but the end of the line. Muscle and sinew plucked his bones like a bowstring.. face taunt with teeth caught in perseverance. The Ravager reigned the heights of this far reaching precipice.. it's shadow filtering down as if that darkness alone be enough to cause the man's spirit to falter and sway.

No such Luck.

[Mikhail Vashael]

Vashael was a man cool under fire. Provocation came easy, but this was simple. His left arm burgeoned over the opposite right; which was so curt that it seemed to freeze at the strain of things. A wicked shadow gained across the gap.. skirting over sleet and sheer surface that would leave an eagle perchless. This man continued to swing, reaching about halfway up his lifeline before the snap of dark gelatinous limbs ached to mark his belly from above. Finding nothing but sleek vapid space they settled for the rope. First his guard now his hope both unravelled to leave Mikhail with less then a naked satyr.. not even a good sense of humor.

The fighting Vagaran used the last of his momentum to arch the loss towards something creative enough to have substance. Both legs hit the downward slope with hard upward momentum, wall running in insanity because logos would find him easily dead. This madman actually screamed at the purge of his own last stand, admiring the expanse of horizon matching every pulling strain of light. He was the very prism to reflect all of it through desperation and pure balls out Bravado. No man lived doing this .. no man. Vashael did.

He jumped from the crust, sailing head to heels over the void to touch the gods. The speck of dust that was a mortal life breached the opposite striking bluff, falling through a tear in stone that ricocheted towards a gripping and sudden halt.. His leather armor was in tatters, both arms weltered bruises as one good knee, but the Rogue had stopped. The inertia ended here, amidst the crushed pebbles basking ringside to the vendetta inspired by blood debt. The beaten man smiled irregardless to his predisposition, squinting up at the monster that sought to devour his defiance far beyond the rising cliffs... Laying back Mikhail was simply flabbergasted at the audacity of such tumultuous events. No one.. no one would believe this. .. Yet, he did say that a lot. Laughing from the gut Vashael stared up to wink at the sky.