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 Posted: Fri Jun 04, 2010 5:31 pm
Tactical Combat
Defending Aura Mastered
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Posted: Tue Jun 08, 2010 3:35 am
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Posted: Tue Sep 14, 2010 2:20 am
[Training Start: Rage]
((Might as well.))
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Posted: Tue Sep 21, 2010 9:30 am
[Training End: Rage]
[Training Start: Berserk]
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Posted: Fri Nov 26, 2010 5:41 pm
POST BY STORMDAWN MOVED HERE[[[Okay. I know this is way off the topic of The ball. But Storm is not at the ball. I am not introducing any inapropo content, and beings that the Training grounds thread is now locked away, this is being posed here instead. Character development is Key... and I am not objecting to anyone coming in on this. IN FACT, I WOULD LIKE TO EXTEND AN INVITATION FOR ANYONE WILLING TO OBSERVE. AND OR PARTICIPATE (Albeit Passively) I WILL be going back to the mainstream event after this fluff is over with, so no worries in that department. and if you're concerned, Sarevok will most likely not be in any way coming back after this is over, and that loose end/cannon will be tied up.]]] 
Removed from the Ball, and now alone, storm did what he always did. the only thing he could.
He donned his leathers and grabbed his spear... one he hadn't picked up since being relieved of his instructional duties. It was a good weight, well balanced, and, with some added work, razor sharp.
The wind had picked up slightly, yet again, and when he finally found himself in the training grounds, it was almost cold enough to merit an extra layer or two.
He started slowly, Limbering up. Basic forms, the simplest of techniques.
Storm Was a master combatant, a warrior through and through. the spear picked up speed, and more and more finesse was required to perform the intricateness of the moves. His concerns were only to defeat the enemy. no matter the cost, No matter the enemy. It was what he had been born and trained to do.
the people of this simply couldn't see that no matter what happened, there would always be war. always be strife. Without that simple concept in mind, one simply cannot be prepared for it.
If anything... his interest was simply to save lives. To train them to save themselves when it came time for them to prove they could. He had learned a lot, he had followed the teachings of the Overseer, even if others didn't believe him to.
His infrequent showings at mass, and apparent non-conformism to the tenants of the order allowed him to keep this camouflage.
His methods, even as drastic and seemingly excessive as they were, would not meet the disapproval of the Overseer.
Even if Storm himself had, his efforts would not.
The racing, long winded Dance Storm had performed came to a stop, his spear falling to rest behind him, the point in the sand of the sparring ring.
Like the masters of Martial art in his homeland, the sand told a tale. It was in itself, a grand painting, a scripture of lore. I sign.
One that horrified and at the same time, relieved Storm. Inlaid in the sand, like a zen garden, lay a symbol of who he was.
Beneath him was the symbol of Bhaal, The lord of Murder.
Sweat, dripping from his brow despite the cold, Storm fell to one knee, swiping across the sand with the spear.
A flash of light passed through his vision. The world turned to a haze, and he stood, reeling slightly from the sensation.
He opened his eyes, and the world before him was turned to summer, seemingly a long hot day. But in his vision the light shone too intensely, it blurred and burned about his vision.
A man, One he remembered from his childhood, approached.
Golden armor Shone, the reflected light searing into Storms eyes. A tall, Dark skinned man, with jet black hair, muddied by a few grey streaks, strode dominantly towards him from across the Sparring sand. A well groomed beard, black, yet grayed slightly like hi9s hair adorned his face, and the single eye shone violet.
Could this really be a vision of his father?
"Storm..." the man started, stopping in the center of the sand pit.
"You are above the taint in your veins. I taught you this long ago." A heavy sigh followed his words. "Could you have so easily forgotten? Just as you seem to have forgotten your oath to Lorika?" The single purple eye burned into Storm more intensely than the glaring light.
The deep, resonating voice continued. "You have the power to stand against, and defeat the darkness in your soul. The Code is all you need."
Storm looked into the face that was his father's. He had forgotten the Code. It was what had in the past saved him... And not remembering it, he had been sleeping into the darkness, loosing control to the madness and tainted soul.
He began to recite. The words of the code flowed from him, a part of him, a part he had so long forgotten...
"Miles Virtus est iuramentum...
Tantum scire pectus Virtus...
Ferrum tuetur inopem...
Viribus sustentat infirmum...
Loquitur tantum verbo veritatis...
Ferrum sceleratum corrumpitur ."
When his eyes opened again, it was night. A cold night. The night of the ball, and he was standing on the sand of the sparring ring.
The moon overhead was glowing faintly through the clouds, it's shedding light barely illuminating the training grounds.
"So it would seem that we are once again, separate beings."
The voice ran chills through his spine. Slowly turning to face the owner of the voice, his gaze fell upon his brother, again unleashed upon the world.
"you know, that abyssal plain of yours got boring after a while... the only company I had was our fathers... "butler". At least, that's what he called himself."
Storm's head lowered, and he raised the trident of the Overseer against his brother. His Stance shifted, and he was at the ready.
"Oh, Come now... You are being such a poor sport," Sarevok played, a mad grin falling across his face. his eyes burst into two pools of liquid, yellow fire, and he leaped At the Bhaalspawn, Sword above his head.
[[[Long post is long, at least, for me. And it's a two parter. expect the second piece within the next few days, if not tonight.
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Posted: Fri Nov 26, 2010 5:42 pm
POST BY STORMDAWN MOVED HERE
If this is what it really has to come to, so be it.
The words rang clear in his head as he lifted his gods weapon in both hands, set his feet, and threw himself into the air at his brother. If it was the only way to remove the taint, he'd finish it. He would have to remove every single piece of Bhaal's essence with his own hands from this world, wherever it lay.
Be it within his siblings, or within himself.
The safety of the order was his only concern.
Steel crashed against steel, sparks flying from the impact as the two warriors collided in midair. "I Am more than the blood within me Hellspawn!" He called at his opponent. "I am above the taint, I am above My father, I am, above you!"
Sand fled their footfalls, their speed unmatched by the churning winds.
"You cannot deny what is within you. You will kill me, you will kill others. It is inevitable brother! Embrace the monster inside you, and let the blood run" The enormous sword sliced through the night's chill, the air surrounding the flying blade screaming and howling nin pain as the sword of Chaos was unleashed upon it. twice more, Sarevok's attacks battered down Storm's defenses, breaking away at the strength of the islander. A third strike, and the spear was flung from his hands, falling to the ground and piercing the earth several meters away.
Unlike some, I understand why unarmed combat training is practical...
The elder prince of Darkness did not expect what came next.
A string of savage blows connected to the fire eyed Bhaalspawn's face, Splitting his lip, cracking teeth, and shattering the enormous man's nose.
Storm was on top of the giant, pinning him in the sand, pelting him across his unprotected face with the brutality that can only be spawned from the most blackest pits of the monsters heart.
Dazed and wounded, He rose against the weight of the younger and more agile bhaalspawn, bringing his forehead up and against the side of the opposing horror's face, throwing him away. Still reeling, he stood, staggering to where his sword lay.
As he bent to retrieve the weapon, the spear of the overseer pieced into is flesh. split the flesh from the bone, just as you did to me once, brother... Narrowly missing the bone yet still impaling his leg, Sarevok fell to his knees, howling. His calf had near separated from his leg on both sides, the wideness of the spearhead wedged into his obsidian armor and unmovable.
Reaching for and grasping the thrown trident, Storm, before giving a hard yank removing the intrusive weapon, twisted sharply, pulling the ruined meat of his brother's leg further from the support of his shinbone. Rejoice knowing that contentment is spawned from your pain, you monster...
He turned, and walked two paces away, a mistake. he pulled the headband off, tossing it to the sand, and turned back, expecting the helpless form of his brother to still be near prone near the edge of the pit.
Not sooner than he turned around, but he whipped the spear out in front of him to meet his brother's blade, catching it nearly too late.
The impact shattered the shaft of the spear, shards flying outwards. They cut into Storm's exposed skin as thrown knives, and the edge of Sarevok's sword cut deeply down the side of his arm. A flesh wound, but one that needed attention. His sword arm now half lame, and his weapon useless, he was left no time to ponder the beneficial healing effects of his brother's enchanted armor.
Yet another vision flashed into his mind's eye, again, so convincing he couldn't tell it apart from the hulking monster facing off against him. Half of his vision blurred in the intense sunlight bathing the training grounds, the other half tracking Sarevok's movements with infravision in what little moonlight flitted through the ever deepening clouds.
Adrian's voice, clear and deep like a tolling bell, spoke to him.
"He's right. The monster you'll never escape, and more death is inevitable. But those deaths will be for a reason, Storm." His father's gilded form flashed across his vision, and time slowed. Not a good time to stop and chat... "You are not a slave to the dark passenger in your blood. You are more than capable of dealing with it." A single, violet eye stared him down from somewhere beyond death. "You are not like him... You are a different kind of monster. One who can live. That can save others from those such as him. All you need is to believe it, believe in the Code."
Time seemed to slip, water from a sieve, faster and flowing with focus as the light dimmed and his focus returned, trowing himself out of the path of the maniacal warrior's sword.
The spear may have been shattered, but it was not his only weapon. His father's sword. But.. I left this in my quarters... The sword he carried for most of his life, was in his hand, somehow appearing there as his father's voice slipped into his mind again. "You've rose this sword against your brother time and time again. This will be the last time."
The familiar leather of it's handle was warm in his hand, the weight of the blade unnoticeable. It was a part of him, not just a weapon. His blade sang through the air, not destroying it in its wake, but moving through it. I will see your blood one last time, and this sword will drink it. Steel again rang against steel, the light and the dark fighting against one another.
Sarevok was unaware of this newest development. His off balance, finishing strike was never to be met with any resistance but the shallow protection of leather and tissue. It was easily batted away, and feeling as if in third person, he watched on in horror, as An unseen bladed fell into him, cutting through the black armor of his dark god, and into him. He slid closer on the still unwavering sword, his body falling closer to the ground. He looked up into his brother's eyes from one knee with a smile. "Enjoy your stay in hell, Son of Bhaal." The light fell from his eyes, and the dimming of the unearthly glow signaled his return to the abyss... this time for good. "Well played... you've gotten better. Next time you're in hell... look me up."
"You did good son... It was to protect what you love. The people that have become your family are safe from him." the light grew again, to the same intensity, but storm felt no pain in this. His father stood by his side as the corpse of the Dark Lord's son drifted away as ashes in the cold wind, leaving no trace but the wounds left on Storm's body.
He sheathed his sword and turned to his father.. And their eyes met, both nodding that it was done.
His eyelids wear heavy, and he was tired now... his body grew tired, sore. Collapsing to the sand, he let out a sigh of relief. This night, this battle was over. In the morning, I can start over.
He didn't know it then, but when he awoke in the morning, he would find only scars in place of the wounds, still wrapped in bloody bandages, and he'd find himself in his own bed.
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