|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Aug 19, 2007 9:01 pm
Nerull sat in the valley of the dead, the plagued southlands, on a decaying tree-stump, a goblet of finest conceivable crystal sorrounding high elven blood. He held it up to the ray of sunlight, the exact hue as the blood in the crystal. He drank silently, his long, thin form sipping at the life of his favorite victim race. Rystika walked up behind him, silent to mortals but perceptable to her father, her naked flesh tinted bloody in the hue of the suns set. Silual was swathed in the only cloth touching the moon godesses body, a bundle of dark red cloths around the baby with the too-deep eyes. Nerull rose and looked down at the child, the runes in his eyes standing out to their fullest against the purple orbs that were his eyes true color. He was as fond of Rystika's rape-borne child as he was of her but all he did to show it was to mutter softly "Dream-Bathed waking" in the tone of the darklings, Vampyric. Rystika smiled warmly at her father, her white skin as red as the stolen blood that flowed slowly beneath it, and continued into the coming dusk. Balsin approached the death god before he retook his seat, always close to Rystika, too close almost. . . "Silual barely sleeps, should that be expected?", he asked. The shadow lord didn't turn to his father, and they stood together watching the spot where Rystika vanished. Balsin couldn't as effectively dissapear his near-mummified form in the light nearly as effectively as she could. "Yes, I don't think she will be the best rested child all and all." Nerull continued watching the spot along with his eldest son, neither of them paying full attention to what their eyes were taking in, both mostly considering other things. Balsin nodded very slowly up and down a single time and ran at his full, breakneck speed near the same way Rystika vanished into. Nerull drained the goblet and tossed it idly onto the fertile grave-grounds this valley consisted of, a hand of one of his infinite serveants raising to catch it and dissapearing as quickly as it sprung from the soil. He reached to the far side of the stump, picking up the shaft of his scythe, holding it with his right hand perfectly paralell to the ground, drew his cursed cloak in around himself, and took off into the red death of another day, and the nightly re-rise of the Vampyric race.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2007 5:37 pm
From from the abode of Nerull was there many an establishment. Various kingdoms, both devoted to their own cause and to that of the gods. Despite the cries of slaughtered clans, dying in the name of their gods, foolishly did an aura of defeat surround the Earth.
One of the Gods who heard these many screams was the ever-aging son of Ignis, the Fire God. His name was Kynera, Watcher of the World, Lord of Aftermath and that to come.
~Enter Kynera's Cove~
For the few who've had the chance to enter, one would not expect Kynera's hut to be in such an ungodly state. Books littered around the den - definately a sign of restless nights spent between the covers of literature. Books scattered about, chronologies of the times, arcane lore from the likes of Iruven, Goddess of Nature, and the wisest of the Gods, Posa of Water. Beneath all these books, various items and artifacts from long collapsed kingdoms. Banners of Arthedain and Azog-Gul, tattered and showing their age. This hut was truly a marker of times past.
Beyond the literature one could find a small fire pit, next to a small cove in the corner. This spot is where many a night were spent, alone. This spot was shared with those he had loved, but most importantly, this spot was where he would watch over his daughter sleep, during the frosty winters' nights.
It was so that only three things could warm the soul of this aging god: The smiles of his wife and daughter, and the small but powerful fire which would burn in his shotty pit.
Today, out of all days which has passed since the long ago, the time of yesterday, today would be the day in which the fire would go out. Kynera knew not what would come from this omen.
....He would soon find out.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 23, 2007 5:33 pm
((~TED says: Hey readers, and Y Cult. I'm glad to be part of the new Guild, as Reaper says lots of good things about here, so I should fit in. I've read some of the stuff currently up and am impressed, eager to begin new rps with the lot of you. Uh, aside from that I'm Pyroy, of the Y-Cult, and I'm happy to be able to bring "Gods" to you, with Fuinuy (Reaper). Enjoy!)
- Minerva, Caves of the South -
*Posa is seen navigating his way through the tightly cramped stalagmite cave, struggling to pass each stretch due to his rather large build. Albeit a space crawl-worthy, he moves space to space slowly: so as to not ruin his garb*
Posa: *yawns, mid leap* It's not like it once was....I long for the days of youth - my spry body being able to leap whatever obstacles befell i...uhh.....o....*faltering, his right foot slips from it's footing.*
*A younger woman leaps past Posa, grabbing his arm. As she secures her footing below her, he stumbles forward, clutching the closest stalagmite. A crash is heard quite near their position*
Neo: You'd be better watching your step, you know. It's dark in here - I don't know how those damned elves can stand it.
Posa: *brushing himself off, reaffirming his balance* Heh...heh...You've already forgotten what I've taught you? Yeesh. Were my lessons all in vain?
Neo: *slapping her face in comic agony, slowly reciting a school lesson once learned* "....the Drows are prone to live in caves, having existed before both the Sun and the Moon. In times before the Godstrife ended, such beings were prone to exist. They, along with the Kin of Nightstalkers, were the first beings which the Gods themselves created.....blah blah blah.......blah blah blah.....something about water.....and finally, because of their inability to handle the rays from Iruven's Sun, the Drow took to hibernation from the surface in caves and hollows, to be beckoned only at World's Destruction...." *she stops, having regurgitated his words verbatim* Um....Oh....Oh right....*she giggles* Now I remember.
Posa: "...."
*The two continue to traverse the cove, steps away from the City's Gate. They slowly come to a halt, reaching the now squared off corridors. From the ceiling, small stalactites are heard plummeting to the hard coral-like ground. Dips of water echo throughout the corridors, trailing them the very sound of silence which the drops once disturbed. The two continued through the arched opening, with the clatter of conversation and footsteps in the distance. They had almost reached their destination. While Neo nor Posa could know how the Drows would react to their news, the Drows could have never predicted what news Posa and Neo would bring them: The Death of Ignis, and a Civil War.*
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Sep 06, 2007 6:49 pm
((Oy try to get those other bastards on here, at least Finners and Glaury))
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 18, 2007 7:14 pm
(Finners did. Besides....I don't really SC much anymore. You and Mav aren't there.)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Sep 20, 2007 2:08 pm
Nerull looked non-plussed out of his eyes, their hue the never-ending void of resignation to inevitbality. His eyes were gazing down the curved shaft of his weapon, across from which a high elven blade-maiden bared two rapiers held in front and behind her, and her teeth, in purest hatred. Her daughter's already small body lay shrunken and waxy several yards away, his first chosen of the young night. How fitting, he thought, his lips twisting into a small smile. There it was, the little things that always amused him. With a scream to the heavens that were quite literally abandoning her, she charged in wrath, the death-gods battle prowess legend to even the people who dispised him most, and their was much competition for that title. With a flick of his wrist, Nerull tossed his weapon aside, instead ducking into the attack, the not quite perfectly aimed stab for his eyes not adjusting with the rapidity required to duel the gods. And he was against her, lean form pressed fully against the elves own, his sadism taking control as with the speed few mortals could catch, he embraced her, his lips clamping over hers, and time stopped for a moment, the womans hatred welling up slowly but the moment was his for shearest suprise. The lean figure of the maiden recovered its poise, the rapier at its weakest point but still potent as she scissored her arms down onto where his chest was, now where his hands were, glowing with a soft purple radiance. The blades dissolved, rusted to nothingness in as much time as it took the metal to reach the small sphere of influence of the spell. Her fists came down onto his, though the elven woman was still in the few instants it took for her reactions to adjust. Nerull took advantage, brutally, spinning around on her left arm, pulling it free of its socket in the process and pulled at the waist of her breeches. She reacted quicker this time, her waist jerking forward as a boot-clad-heel approached his face with rapidity. The god was still though, faster than the elf, and with another flick of his wrist, her leg stopped its movement, her thighs in roughly a one hundred and fifty degree angle. There were seconds, real seconds instead of a warriors heightened sense of time, in which rage turned to fear, knowledge that death alone was not her fate. Denial, of course, was the next stage of grieving, and she entered it, struggling frantically to move her ankle from his grasp. He let her struggle for a moment before taking his other hand to the bottom of the leather and pulling, harder this time, and rewardingly the breeches gave way, her skin pale, though not as much so as the vampyre lord, shivering in natural terror at preys helplessness in a predators game. Another irony, he thought and his smile grew, for he was going to play with her for a long time. He took, now, what was his, her remaining clothes being ripped away as she screamed, bit, kicked, and clawed to try to prevent his steady advance, and for three minutes he toyed with her, feeding off of her terror until it began to subside. He couldn't let her fear die away so soon. No. . . He lunged at her thighs, sinking his teeth in and reveling in the renewed terror that new and fresher agony brought, her shoulder popping back into place with the force she tried to wrench her body from him with. But there was no escape. . . not yet. . . He stopped shortly after her heart beat began to thread, her tears quieter now, her energy all but fully depleted. With another flick of his wrist, his index fingers nail slid deeply across his palm, a small flick of blood entering the deep wound on her upper-most inner thigh, the reaction delayed there as the poison of his body flowed through her, the pain now only visible in her eyes as she was forced through a slightly premature death and unconciousness. . . and with a slow, deep breath she woke again, confused, and in pain. She opened her mouth to scream in frusturation but the sound didn't come. Shock, again, set into her as her tongue flicked against four canines, severely elongated and sharpened. She turned onto her back slowly, in fluid horror, to see the wound on her naked and now white body gone, but her captor not, smiling down wickedly from his vantage at his full height. She tensed to spring. His eyes flashed purple. Four skeletal claws shot up, clamping down hard on the only parts of her he had interest in, her neck, held slightly up to force her eyes into view, a full arm clamping her waist down to the ground, and one claw holding each of her calves very apart from the other. He chuckeled to himself at her shock and hatred before speaking to the doomed female. "I chose the service of a brittle skeleton for a reason. The pain you will feel when the sun first hits you will break their grip, I want to see you writhe in the light your kind holds so dear, holds as salvation from my influence, holds as a weapon even. . . but do not fear, for I am a kind man. I will make sure the next seven hours are quite. . . pleasurable." Her pupils retracted quickly, an involuntary gasp unavoidable as her fate was layed out in its remainder. The lord of the dead was many things. But he was not a liar, and he took much pleasure from her naked form over those hours, as he promised.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Sep 24, 2007 5:27 pm
!!-An unset amount of time later-!!
*Unaware of what would come of his intrusion, Kynera, lacking entourage, quickly finds himself in the foyer of Rystika's Temple. The overarching Gothic interior would shrowd his movements, distracting even the likes of Belius the Watcher. Stealthily, he would make his way straight into the corridors towards the inner sanctum. A howl in the distance would stop him in his tracks, wondering of the status of the not-so-newlyborn Spreaders. He could feel their eyes in the darkness, the clatter of their precious paws, the sheer power of their deathly aura, and just as these feelings began, they would soon end, for a whole new set of feelings would overtake him.
He was now face to face with the Lady of the Moon herself, daughter to his child, childhood friend, and former lover: Rystika.*
~Walking in slowly, he can't help but pay his respects to his former love. Crouching on his left knee, he lowers himself to her. As a further sign of respect, he draws his dual scabbards, placing them before her. A pointless sign, as his presence never brought death prior.~
Kynera: ......you never change, Ry. Always with the overdramatic architecture, and the pointlessly dark corridors, and the one place where I can never truly see your beautiful face, anymore. You've come to hate wha...
Rystika: ....t we once loved to bask in. But that was then; we were but children then. The lake, as well. I may have cared once....I may still care now...
Kynera: Then what of all this? Why all this wasted time? Tell me, what the hell was the point? *he can't help but raise at this time, slightly agitated. His usual appearance all but gone, slowly his face emotes a nervous and undoubtedly distraught look* Why have I been through so much, if it hasn't been worth the damned trouble invested in that time?
Rystika: *screaming* You're a damned fool, Kynera. A blind fool, who only lets his heart do all his talking. You don't even use your forsaken mind. You let it rot, lacking the logic to even understand those closest to you. I'll never forget that day where you failed to protect me...where you failed where my father didn't, and couldn't. He was always strong enough to protect me. And even when you gained sufficient power, even then you wittled it away. What you didn't know is that we blamed you for both Azog-Gor and for Arthedain! You led a losing battle everytime you led the army - You were supposed to protect our loved ones. You even left Dorthalas to be slain, not unlike his father. What kind of God are you? And what is this Aftermath? What do you truly control, and what makes you as strong as the likes of us?
Kynera: Failures?! FAILURES?! My friends, AND my loved ones died. We Gods make mistakes, terrible horrid mistakes that may not resurface for centuries. Who knew that Ignis would be the indirect cause of Nerull's disease? Your disease. Your daughter's disease.
Rystika: *she glares her fangs* This...this is not a disease, this is a blessing. *she hangs her head in sorrow, shocked at his true words - little daggers stabbing at her soul, not unlike her words on Kynera's -
*He slowly walks towards her, quickly turning into a rush. Possibly an attempt for comfort - a meaningful embrace - to link them once more. Her defenses weaken, she starts to move, suddenly shreiking with recoil. She checks herself back into her former morose state*
Rystika: No!
Kynera: Why do you back away?
Rystika: *slowly heaving* No! Stay back!
Kynera: But....
Rystika: I said stay away, Kynera! I'm not yours to claim. Any foolish fancies I may have had for you, have long been extinguished.
Kynera: *a bitterness appears in his voice* It's Balsin, isn't it? Everything I couldn't be? A valiant yet remorseless leader? Cold, slightly caring? *spits*
Rystika: Jealousy? *suddenly slightly maniacal* Is that what I hear? Jealousy? Someone so ******** righteous is jealous?
Kynera: Of an accident? How could I be?
Rystika: Ac.....you pompo....*she uncontrollably growls at that comment, disgusted* You truly aren't the young boy I loved. You had ambition then - A cause to fight for. You were truly caring, not like the dog you are now. Trying to shove your nose into the nearest a** of any b***h around....you're nothing more that a tramp, now. *stuttering with emotion to get the last few words out, she becomes very silent. Scared of what she's said, what it may do to his, the little love she still has for him comes out.* I loved you....
Kynera: ......but I never truly gave you the love that you deserved. I tried to hold on to the perfect union I thought we'd had. I tried to but I failed...Ry...just let me touch you....
Rystika: *her tears visibly begin to shade her rosy cheeks* No...you can't....
Kynera: Why? This is ludicrous. This is just crazy! I won't have it, I just want to feel your presence once more, the beat of your heart, your amourous scent. Is that not too much?
Rystika: *sobbing* No....don't....you can't....
*Unmoved by her plea, Kynera rushes again towards his former lover, eager to make her understand his longing. Inches in front of her, he finds himself impaled with her kunai, directly below his heart, a searing pain shooting within him. As the blood flowed, the trickle found it's way to a drip, one solitary bead of blood descending to the floor. Not unlike their relationship, it shattered as it met it's doom.*
Ky: .....*winces, and lets out a small chirp*....Ry...?.....*he looks at her complexion, finally having drawn her into the light. Indescribable even to his thought, too many features have changed. Perhaps it was her pregnant body, perhaps this was what it was for her to age, but the only thing he could think of was how it was only an evolution of her beauty. Inching himself, slowly the kunai impaled him. Finally close enough to wrap his arms around her, feeling her trembling hands shake the kunai with her, he pulls her close for one last kiss. The blood from his chest now a tiny stream, a trickle slowly puddling beneath them, he moves his lips towards hers. Unable to do anything else, her precious lips met his, as the blood continues to flow*
*As the two have their bloody embrace, Balsin emerges from the shadows, previously unnoticed by either party. Slowly he draws his sword*
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Sep 26, 2007 5:27 am
(God Nar, that post makes me ****ing hard. It's ridiculous.)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Sep 28, 2007 5:26 am
Nar, Misfit recently sent me a PM with a good point. Do we plan on opening up Gods to the Guild public?
I responded logically: I have our old draw up, I just need to finish it and clean it up. It would be a beautiful overview, but it's hard to explain how every little thing that exists in Gods, we've honest to God roleplayed. It's....not easy to explain everything, thus.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Sep 28, 2007 10:37 pm
((Condensing countless hours into paragraphs is difficult, though I did make the first post insignificant enough to later replace it with said condensation, but I would like to open this to the public somehow. . . how though? There are open positions but we don't even have Glaury and Tulky onboard here yet, and theres semantics and qualities others must possess that don't really. . . translate well to written word. The vibe can't die, this rp is sacred after all, its the holy worshipping ritual of the High Priests of the Y. Have fun with this one =P))
Balsin's hobby of forging had reaped startlingly good results the last time Kynera had seen the Twilight shaped into the paraphanelia of battle. The art had been advanced still further, the blade very obviously as sharp as the one Boren had neveer given him. But this was not the simplicity of the weapon. Balsin was darkness, shadows, and his weapon was as well. Upon it was an inscription, visible in the moonlight as he closed the ground liquidly but with caution, 'I am malice, the ill will that snuffs the final candle', and without pause he gave an artful twirl and the blade flowed through the darkness with the speed of its possesser. More easily than water, his weapon passed through the mid of his sisters back towards her former lover, but with a tortured groan the blade met her own, removed from Kynera and protecting him from the same blade that passed so easily through her being. Her eyes burned fierce in the moonlight, now in front of the God of Aftermath, Balsin looking jadedly back into hers from yards away.
"Rys!?", Kynera exclaimed in a voice of mixed panic and rage. "Twilight scores only the unworthy sons and daughters of the sun. My sister is a darkling, however far her loyalties have wandered", the dark lord said in a pleasent tone of conversation. His demeanor was his fathers, though never quite as sinister. "I'm your sister Balsin, your blood and mine are identical. Cease this foolishness or you'll force me to spill it." She glared at him, her eyes and body glowing slightly with her power. Balsin adopted many of the traits of his father, but never his mastery of battle. Balsin had until fairly recently wielded only energy, and his sister was more than his match. Kynera though, who stepped in front of Rystika while drawing his knives and ignoring the steady drip of blood dropping to the floor, was even more-so the accomplished duelist. He had more experience and skill in the art of a duel than Balsin at least eight times over. Reason was a by-product of sanity though, and sanity had vacated Balsin almost entirely over the past months. Rystika stepped back, sheathing her blades to bear witness with physical impartiality.
Balsin charged, covering the extended distance between himself and a spot several yards behind Kynera in the time it took him to dodge right one and three quarters of a foot, the dark blade finding not Aftermaths skull but merely his hair, which floated down slowly, bursting into black flames shortly before hitting the ground. Shadow flew again, jousting and aiming this time at Kyneras waist, but despite his massive strength in speed, Kynera was not at all slow. His blade intercepted the twilight blade, deflecting it and its wielders path, the other reaching for where his neck was, but missing due to his own expertise. Balsin knelt where he skidded to a stop, facing his opponent already and considering increasingly less orthodox attacks.
((For Mother Russia))
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 29, 2007 12:59 pm
Omnis Necros
In the heat of battle, the only thing to think of is what can come next. Some call this precognition. Some call this pattern reading. Some, although few and far between, call this the now ancient order of magicks. Slower and slower the world came to Kynera, in the heat of battle. As if being able to read and re-read, meticulously analytical viewpoints on each and every option available to him. Sometimes, although he would never admit it, his defeat would come through a myriad of thoughts, mentally unfit to handle such a surge of energy: One mis-step, and those plans vanish. Such a problem may have not existed mere minutes ago, but now the mind was as a steam-engine, constantly chugging for more power, devouring energy for quickness of thought. Kynera's proverbial Harvest Moon.
*Cackling* "A mighty fine time for a standoff as this", Kynera muttered with a grin. Balsin's apparent lack of sanity seemed to eminate from his stance. Having never truly fought him in battle, aside from the odd duel or so, Kynera failed to draw up the information which could give him the edge. As far as he knew of Balsin's power, the shadows could prove to be his most dire enemy. His setting seemed to mirror this very truth - the most inner sanctums were almost void of light, save the small candle-lit chandelier.
"It truly is a shame that he never forged me such a weapon, and yet there is also a blessing. Who could have thought that something as ethereal as the shadow could take such a magnificient form?!", Balsin exclaimed, his bloodlust slowly culminating. Chuckling, he continued, "And yet, would I not ruin this moment of sheer serendipity by muttering something as foolish as [Have at you, Kynera!]". Kynera chuckled. Sighing, so as to fully enjoy the mood present, "Have at you, Balsin". "Omnis Necros, Diem e Noctum", Balsin could not help but reply.
Such was the mood at that very moment. Neither time nor mood could deviate the minds of these two warriors. Seconds would flow as quickly to the amused, and as slowly to the tortured, at this very time. In battle, it is irrelevant. All that matters is that is flows.
((At this point, I'm not vehemently wanting to write a battle, for I'm quite impared. A little verbose dialogue never hurt, so as to stretch the scene a bit. Hopefully it was enjoyed, haha. I think Tulky and Glauy need to be informed better, is all. I'll mentioned it to Jacob via Facebook.))
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 29, 2007 7:21 pm
((Trippin shrooms tonight, you're less impaired than me))
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Sep 30, 2007 4:25 am
((Lucky ********. Tyler messaged me today, I'll force him St. Louis a** to get here.))
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Oct 04, 2007 6:13 pm
((*kicks Nar*))
~Kynera takes the first offense, a left to right volley attempting to gain ground on his adversary. Relieving his left hand of his katana's hilt, he hastily draws his tanto, his left handed scabbard falling to the sanctum floor. Within the duration of it's descent, a rally of clashes can be heard, particles of both damascus and crystalized shadow crashing, of bone and sinew gnawing away. Sweeping gracefully, Balsin finds his way to a standstill, stroking at an opening seen for miles. The blade finds its way into Kynera's side, piercing his organs, dug into his spine. A damp coolness emanating from the Twilight, pain ceased to be. With this, a quickness of the wrist navigated his tanto directly into the femur of Balsin's right leg. Both drawing their weapons back, though Balsin's pierce found much more resistance, the two took defeated positions.~
Blood spilling out of his side and mouth, Kynera stood, struggling. His robes, wrinkled and smeared with blood from battle, appeared tattered. Attempting a quick chance at first aid, the coat of his robe was soon cut into long strips meant to clot his wound. With the help of a tiny vial, kept in his waist, a coated tanto finds its way slowly into the side of Kynera, he wincing with pain at every inch. Igniting the very same blade, the damascus cauterizing his wounds, sealing the very veins once spilling blood, though failing to cease the raising blood to his lungs. Wretching, he comes to, ready to fight.
Balsin, watching his comrade mend himself, can't help but chuckle. "....Amusing....amusing.....still using traditional means...." he sighs. "I suppose the powers of deduction aren't too....malliable." Snapping quickly, the shadows formed by the candle burning chandelier slowly started to sprout. Like streams of water moving about the earth, they slither towards their target, the very Lord which controls them. The Shadows gather about his right foot, moving to find their abode. Helixing about his thigh, the shadows dive into the abyss above his femur. Liquifying into the wound, they slowly set to harden, shadows fading in the very light about his leg. Adjusting his shoulders and frame, he faces off. His enemy, like he, ready to continue.
((<3))
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Oct 15, 2007 8:29 pm
The tortured mind of the mad-man was oozing lust. Upon his prey's breath there was blood, proof of his mortal weaknesses, the superiority of his races blessing which those of the light called a curse, calling it something as simple as undeath. It was instead life everlasting, a blessing bestowed by his father for his own enjoyment. His sister was such a blessing of the night as well, something to be used to his full effect. But he must wait to use his blessings. They are powerful alone but he was powerful too. Inferior, but powerful. He must wait for his blessings power to be fully utilized.
And Balsin lunged, looking to impale the heart, but holding his speed back. Testing him. Kynera reacted just as he had last time, blade slashing low as last time, though slower. And he took his opportunity, the blade stopping as Balsin turned for a decapitator, and Kynera's fake came close to going straight through his throat. A burst of speed like only Balsin could deliver turned it though, dragging his blade behind him as he darted back and then forth, a roundhouse slash with his blade beind swung as a hammer behind his back and towards Kynera's mid-section, the blow powerful enough to cut him in two. With a shower of twilight and white sparks, though, he realized it had trouble slicing through Kynera's damascus, his Boren-forged blade was stronger, but not significantly enough in this case. They held the blades locked for seconds that seamed like hours, until Kynera let out a breath, infinitely slowed by the scent of the blood pooling slowly in his lungs.
Red. All is red and blackness, and Kynera the deepest red, his neck blindingly bright in its radiance. As the bloodlust took him victory no longer mattered. Only blood. His neck was gaurded, and his stance was shifting to defensive in the instant that took days to Balsin's heightened senses and speed. He released pressure on the hold, the blade swinging unbalancedly towards his own chest, but so very very slowly. Balsin took the blade in his left palm, jamming it fully through his wrist and grabbing the hilt, his own stolen blood flowing into the shocked void of Kynera's perception as he continued to back away to a defensive stance, his mind not keeping pace with Balsin's lust, and that was his advantage, as the blade of pure darkness rammed into his rib cage, the sensation of comfortably cool stone prevalant along with a tightness in the Lord of Aftermaths chest. His vision began to fade, though as it waned he saw a thin line of blood shoot from the back of his victim in a diagonal wave, a long chain coiling backwards through the air.
A pale girl, familiar but only similar to bleding memories, stood before his naked form in a pool of water. She wore a sheer veil and nothing more, yet she seamed draped in pounds of silk as her slightest movements were amplified. Their eyes locked for a moment, before she spoke, though he knew what she was saying instead of hearing her, "Rest. You must dream more before sleep." And unconciousness consumed him, the vision vanishing altogether from any memory he could access.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
