Duet of Death (Private)

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Early Aperitus in the Season of Spring, Era I of the Celestine Mandate

Beads of perspiration dripped from the slender elf’s forehead, dotting her perfectly arced eyebrows with enough moisture to indicate that she had indeed consumed more energy than intended upon that last bout. Quick-witted and wily, it was not often that Seri’al Thania, lieutenant of the Conclave of Shadows, was pitted against so formidable an opponent.

It had been a long time since she had last felt the rapture of a real challenge.

Seri’al’s dazzling violet eyes narrowed into a perfunctory glare as she raised her wavy-edged daggers defensively before her. Both blades, tainted obsidian, gleamed precariously in the dimly flickering light of the predominantly shadowy room. Although a few candelabras projected a dim radiance within the sacred training hall of Hillwillow Manor, it was not nearly enough to dispel the darkness that swathed the majority of the room’s interior.

Fortunately for the two duelists, though, they did not require much light to engage in their perilous activities.

The elfin woman’s gaze flickered in recognition of the impending danger as the acute tip of her opponent’s ninja-to sailed towards her with blazing speed. Reacting with similar swiftness, Seri’al instinctively connected her daggers into an X-formation, catching her adversary’s sword between the top of her crossed blades and driving it upwards to displace the cruelly designed sword.

She then felt a sharp pain pulse through her gut as her opponent’s foot slammed harshly into her from below.

Reeling backwards painfully but nevertheless maintaining her footing, Seri’al’s scarlet lips curled into a faint grin, one that masked her disappointment and partial fear at the knowledge that her enemy could have disposed of her with that last strike if he had sincerely wished to.

With growing admiration and respect for her adversary’s preternatural abilities, Seri’al returned to a conservative pose and rocked back on her heels momentarily, feigning defense when she intended precisely the opposite.

As her former mentor had once told her, lure the mouse into the cat’s mouth …

But who was the cat and who was the mouse in this case? Seri’al bemusedly wondered. Thania’s grin resurfaced as the elfin lord’s ninja-to gyrated craftily in a roundabout fashion from her right shoulder down to her leg.

A clever ploy…but not one that the dangerous Seri’al was unprepared for.

OOC: practice thread

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Raven hair billowed behind the elfin lord as he danced predatorily about, thrusting his long sword forward, slowing it momentarily, and then re-angling it against potentially exposed openings in the agile woman’s defense. The obsidian-hued blade severed nothing but air, of course, but had purposely worked to displace Seri’al’s wickedly curved daggers upward.

Nimavel Mynendil had intended for this reaction all along.

Raising his leg subtly through the air, the K’Tesh practitioner sent a clawed kick underneath Seri’als defenses and connected forcefully against her abdominal region. To the woman’s credit, however, she backpedaled accordingly and managed to evade any additional hits that might have felled her.

And then she was on the defensive again.

Nimavel’s lavender eyes locked steadily upon the constantly shifting Seri’al, assessing her dance of death and mentally pondering over her next course of action. He had retained the initiative throughout the most part of their duel, but he knew that Seri’al was merely biding her time until the opportune moment to strike.

All assassins acted alike.

Entertained by this prospect, the elfin lord lunged in again. His sword cut high over Seri’al’s shoulder in a feint before rotating downwards in a crafty sweep across the outside of her unprotected knee. As he exaggerated the motion, the assassin purposely maneuvered his arms across his body for protective purposes. Normally he might have committed all of his energy into the potentially devastating strike, but he withheld some momentum subsequent of his familiarity with Seri’al’s extraordinary fighting capabilities and supernatural reaction times.

And his decision would soon be rewarding indeed.

The Syl’rosyan’s gaze flickered in recognition as he discerned Seri’al’s ploy, that is, a pretense of defense when she had been intending offense the entire time. Sinuously twisting her daggers around and over Nimavel’s ninja-to, she locked the assassin’s sword in place at the hilts of her wavy-edged weapons.

A devious smile returned to her beautiful face as she batted the ninja-to aside, enough so that Nimavel’s equilibrium was temporarily dislodged, and then her free dagger aligned with his stomach for the quick victory.

Shrewd and cunning, there were few on par with the skills of the Thania assassin.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Nimavel was hard-pressed to disengage from Seri’al’s precariously nearing daggers, both of which hooked onto the blade of his ninja-to in a manner that disabled him from withdrawing the sword. Far from panicked but nevertheless alarmed, the Lord of the Conclave of Shadows reacted as professionally and tactically as possible.

He released the sword.

Many warriors would have succumbed to Seri’al’s trap, more so because their lives were contingent upon the weapons that they wielded within their grasps. For the Heru Mynendil, however, the very digits that had curled around the ninja-to’s handle were the most useful instruments of destruction that he wielded.

Seri’al seemed to recognize this, too, for within the fleeting second that it took for Nimavel to relinquish his grip upon the sword, she immediately followed with a series of brutally aimed attacks to press him onto the defensive.

Her left dagger, clenched in the reverse grip, cut horizontally across the elfin lord’s physique from left to right, entailing the potential to spill his innards if the wavy edges of the weapon connected against his tender flesh. Her other hand worked of its own accord as well, flipping upright and targeting her opponent’s solar plexus.

Both blades operated in dazzling harmony.

Nimavel might have admired the demonstration of coordination as presented by the virulently assaulting Thania, but he had enough concerns to contend with on his own. Luckily, though, the Heru Mynendil was not without a few tricks of his own.

A miniscule throwing knife subtly leaped into his hand.

Backpedaling to avoid being skewered by Seri’al’s wickedly cutting daggers, the elfin lord arched backwards, meanwhile kicking his feet over his head to perform several back-flips –the result of which created a reasonable distance between him and his oncoming enemy.

As he returned to equal footing, the elfin lord unexpectedly brought the throwing knife over his shoulder as taught (ironically from Seri’al) and pumped his arm forward in a violent motion.

He immediately rearmed his emptying hand, fitting another throwing knife into his grasp and setting it to flight across the room in the half-rotational throw. As Seri’al was a master of dagger fighting, it was not likely that his missile would even complete a single spin before being either deflected or intercepted from the air.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

The stream of throwing knives whizzed speedily through the air, threatening to sever all that obstructed their path. To some they would have spelled immediate death, to others they would have been indicative of the abilities of the thrower. For Seri’al Thania, however, the projectiles were mere inconveniences.

She charged fearlessly towards the Heru Mynendil.

Having caught the assassin’s ninja-to between her two wavy-fashioned blades, she masterfully rotated the sword upright and tossed it in line with the two oncoming missiles. The leading knife clattered loudly against the metal of the air-born ninja-to; the other, however, sailed harmlessly past as Seri’al step-sided to evade the weapon entirely.

She drew nearer.

To the woman’s surprise, however, her adversary had managed to procure another throwing knife within the span of time that it had required her to negate the threat of the two missiles. Nimavel brought the instrument of death over his shoulder once more, thrusting his arm ahead and releasing the throwing knife only when it aligned with Seri’al’s neck.

A dangerous throw indeed.

As she had lessened the distance between herself and the Heru Mynendil, it would be much more difficult to avoid the throwing knife at such a close range –at least not without inadvertently jeopardizing herself when her enemy succeeded his latest throw.

Nimavel Mynendil was no fool to the ways of combat, and he would certainly use every advantage presented to him.

Luckily for Thania, though, she had ways of equalizing the playing fields.

In one fluid motion, Seri’al flipped her left dagger upright so that the tip was clenched between her index finger and thumb. Flicking her fingers outwards, she sent the dagger veering right for Nimavel’s throwing knife.

The two weapons connected solidly against one another before tumbling to the padded floor.

Impressed by Nimavel’s throw but nevertheless unsusceptible to it, Seri’al retrieved another dagger from the confines of her cloak as she prepared to engage in close combat against her formidable foe.

K’Tesh verses daggers; not surprisingly, it was going to be a tense duel.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

The swishes of sharpened steel cut through the air as Seri’al’s pair of daggers intricately slashed and skewered, cutting high and low at her constantly turning, dodging, and shifting opponent. Severing nothing but the stillness of the room, Thania’s resplendent face nevertheless remained the epitome of calm and composure.

Meanwhile, the Heru Mynendil went expertly to work as anticipated; his footwork was flawless and nimble as he danced from side to side, every time clearing the tips of Seri’al’s daggers. His calculations were precise and perfect, too, enabling him to avoid the sting of those cruel weapons time and time again.

But Seri’al finally saw her opening –or so she believed.

Seri’al’s left arm punched forward, dagger leading the way towards the heart of the elfin lord. Meanwhile her other dagger dipped deceptively low within the shadow of her initial strike, tearing viciously across at the heru’s knee.

For a fleeting moment it seemed that she may have interrupted her enemy’s seemingly impenetrable defense.

But she would not score her mark on this round.

Nimavel’s right palm rose and instinctively slapped the side of the lady assassin’s wrist, advertently causing her hand to deflect to the side. Simultaneously recognizing the immediate danger to his leg, the elfin lord’s same parrying arm curled, flexed, and then he rammed his elbow downwards atop Seri’al’s thrusting arm.

His elbow smashed bitterly atop her hand, causing the woman to reel back painfully upon impact.

“Damn it.”

Seri’al cursed in frustration, growling between clenched teeth as she maneuvered back a few steps to recompose herself. She could already feel a bruise beginning to swell upon the top of her hand, a grim reminder that the Lord of House Mynendil was a master of the hands and feet.

Only he could have pulled off that double parry with a single arm.

Still, whether he had relented the offensive on purpose or not was irrelevant. The truth of the matter was that there was a very tangible distance between them now.

It would be a propitious reality for whoever was the better at fighting long distances.

Seri’al’s grin returned along with a gleam of newfound hope.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Lavender eyes flashed warily within the shadows of the Owl’s Nest, conveying an evident sense of alarm from the Lord of House Mynendil. He was well-aware that he could not compete as far as long distance fighting was concerned with his adept adversary, but he too wielded a reasonable amount of skills that would enable him to obtain a ghost of a chance at survival.

That was all he needed.

Another stream of throwing knives gyrated his way, spinning precariously through the air and threatening to sever the Heru Mynendil in multiple places at a time.

Narrowing his gaze, Nimavel dove acrobatically to the side in a well-executed cat roll, tucking his legs in as he revolved over the ground and then back to his feet –another throwing knife in hand.

His skills at throwing knives certainly paled in comparison to those wielded by Thania, but Nimavel had long ago learned to amalgamate his variety of skills and weave them into his tactically combative maneuvers. Subsequently, despite his limited knowledge and experience at range fighting, he understood how to exploit what he did possess to his advantage.

Clearing the spread of missiles, Nimavel brought his arm up and flicked the throwing knife across the room towards Seri’al’s chest. Instead of rearming, however, he dashed into line behind his leading projectile with the intentions of using it to screen his movements.

Acknowledging her opponent’s tactics with a faint nod, Seri’al once again procured a throwing knife and hurled it at the incoming projectile; her dagger intercepted Nimavel’s halfway before clamoring to the ground.

Ordinarily she might have continued her wave of throws, but the assassin of House Mynendil was gaining quickly upon her and there would be little time to regain the defensive if she missed her mark.

And unfortunately, she was discovering that she was missing quite frequently this spring brightening.

Four nekodes, each triggered from the knuckles of Nimavel’s glove, zoomed speedily towards her throat. Another set of the wickedly sharp blades, recently materialized from the air, then dipped low and drove towards her solar plexus.

Seri’al had milliseconds to act.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

As the claws of death rendered through the air, Seri’al instinctively recognized her immediate peril and dispelled any impulses of counterattacking the advancing assassin. He was far too quick and experienced to succumb to minor scratches and bruises, and that was all Seri’al could possibly hope to inflict given her dire circumstances.

Sometimes it was better to retreat.

Cognizant that her neck and heart were worth far more than exploiting a prospective opening in Nimavel’s defenses, Seri’al immediately backpedaled to avoid the thrusting hands of her dangerous enemy.

But that was not all that she needed to do if she hoped to stay alive.

Nimavel’s arms were long enough to follow through with each jab, covering greater distances with every punch and enhancing his chances of scoring a devastating hit upon the lady assassin.

They both understood this.

Whereas Nimavel’s expertise in K’Tesh would enable him to alter the spin of her throws marginally enough to render her daggers less harmless, Seri’al was not about to try absorbing one of Nimavel’s claw punches. The four blades on his gloves would have sliced through her like a knife through warm butter.

Spinning on her heels, Seri’al was momentarily imbalanced and thus vaulted to the side in an instinctive roll. Coming to her feet several meters away, she hurriedly turned in time to brandish her daggers and defensively position each as Nimavel continued his assault.

The elfin lord was a blur of motion; his hands jabbed in from impossible angles, withdrawing moments before Seri’al maneuvered her daggers to defend, and then altering the trajectory of his attacks so that they seemed to arrive from multiple sides all at once. It was an astonishing display of coordination and one that Seri’al could not possibly hope to match.

Frustrated and disheartened, Seri’al continued her retreat.

Her feet moved of their own accord, dancing evasively from side to side as she worked vigorously to keep out of range of those flesh-severing claws. She had seen the results of their work before, and frankly she wanted no part of them.

Worst of all, however, was the fact that there was little that she could do now.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Nimavel Mynendil attacked with the ferocity of a cornered owl, spreading his wings, gliding out of harm’s way, and then retaliating with a relentless series of overwhelming thrusts and jabs.

The assassin’s footwork, too, was impeccable as he positioned his leading leg between Seri’al’s own, angling appropriately to disable her from disengaging from the close encounter and forcing her to contend against him up close.

There were few who survived such scenarios.

Seri’al’s decision to roll had been wise in that she had momentarily relocated herself. Her daggers continued to shift furiously to parry the claws that drove towards her. She managed to bat way several of Nimavel’s attacks, though he merely angled his arms just enough so that the tips of her edges scraped against the bracers encompassing his wrists.

Understanding that the pressure was becoming great for her, Nimavel’s expression remained a mask of utter confidence and composure as he continued to hard press his adversary.

He had baited Seri’al well.

In leading Seri’al to falsely conceive that she had the advantage where distance was concerned, Nimavel had used her overconfidence to mask his own movements and elusive tactics.

Whereas Seri’al should have continued to maneuver about the room and exploit the emptiness of the space, she had unwisely remained in one position long enough for Nimavel to truncate it.

She had learned the hard way.

Nimavel’s left hand punctured through Seri’al’s steel-like defenses, though at the last moment he retracted the four blades from his glove, the Claw of the Great Horn. His fingers struck Seri’al in the shoulder instead, though still powerfully enough to elicit a short-lived but painful squeak from the retreating woman.

He could have killed her, they both knew that, but that was not the reason for their duel this brightening.

Growling in frustration, Seri’al executed a sequence of back-flips until many meters away from her advancing enemy. Having learned from her previous mistake, she unleashed a gruesome pair of violently spinning throwing knives the assassin lord’s way.

At the very least it would buy her some time.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Maneuvering agilely to the side, the elfin lord dipped into a low crouch as the stream of daggers sailed his way. Each of the spinning missiles presented a multitude of threats, the least of which, surprisingly, was their cruel bites.

As a veteran of countless battles, Nimavel Mynendil understood that oftentimes missiles were employed to lure an enemy into traps and whatnot, operating bilaterally as both potentially harmful weapons or merely instruments to goad an enemy into one’s real designs.

This was Seri’al’s objective.

Moments after Nimavel dodged the string of knives, his alabaster-hued visage locked grimly as he identified another wave of flying death.

Unlike the previous swarm, however, the knives began to curve supernaturally. One dagger arced from the left side, another from the right, and finally one approached in a linear fashion down the middle.

It was a dazzling display of throwing skills.

Though he might have admired Seri’al’s abilities on any other brightening, Nimavel did not have the luxury of time to commend his partner for her exceptionally refined abilities. He had few seconds to spare and thus he understood that he needed to use every moment wisely.

And then he abruptly remembered something.

During his training some cycles ago, he had built onto his already copious knowledge of the throwing stars and learned a technique that had served him well to this present brightening.

A shuriken appeared in his grasp.

Unleashing the speedily rotating projectile at the throwing knife in the middle, Nimavel sincerely hoped that his accuracy would not wane in this dire moment.

Luckily it had not.

The throwing star cleaved through the air directly in front of him, impressively in line with Seri’al’s throwing knife! Both missiles collided in a resounding clank, resulting in each projectile tumbling haphazardly to the floor.

This permitted Nimavel enough time to break into a headlong front roll, barely avoiding the two curving missiles that struck the location where he had been standing only milliseconds ago.

[Nimavel Mynendil]

Seri’al’s ebony brows rose in disbelief, one of the few indications that conveyed her mounting frustration. She had employed every tactic that she possessed against the evasive Lord of House Mynendil but ultimately to no avail. He was a shadow amidst shadows, constantly shifting and subject to change.

How could one combat against such an opponent?

As Nimavel cleared the overhead throwing knifes with his frontal roll, the assassin straightened gracefully to his feet and continued with a headlong run across the expanse of the Owl’s Nest.

It was only a few moments before he reached his opponent; his hands already began maneuvering in an intricate fashion, angling and turning complexly as he prepared to sow Seri’al’s inevitable defeat.

The assassin’s right fist opened as it shot towards his adversary’s face, momentarily adjusting to impede her vision long enough for him to side-step in that fleeting instance towards her blind side.

The Ghost Step.

His other hand, adopting the formation of the knife thrust, swerved precariously from the side and jabbed her powerfully in the soft tissue between her hip bone and outer rib cage. The force of his attack was controlled so that his fingers did not penetrate her flesh, but he nevertheless performed the devastating assault with enough speed and power that Seri’al still yelped painfully.

Stumbling to the floor and clenching her side, the lady assassin issued a grudging glare towards her adversary as he calmly loomed over her.

A hand was soon presented her way.

Shaking off the dizziness induced by the shocking collision, Seri’al reluctantly secured her palm to the Heru Mynendil’s and heaved herself to her feet.

She knew that he could have slain her if he had desired.

“A clever move.”

Seri’al admitted, shaking her head in disappointment as she meandered to retrieve the daggers that she had previously used.

“But I will never fall for it again.”