Fang
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October 2015
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Post by Fang on Feb 8, 2016 17:13:29 GMT
The moon shone down upon the empty arena, beams of silver light illuminating the sandy pit while leaving the stands shrouded in impermeable gloom. A whisper of wind blew through the abandoned stands and whipped the sand into a dust devil that died out as soon as it formed, the only sound save the chirping crickets that sang out their tune in erratic notes. The heavy doors of the arena were barred closed, a massive piece of lumber that would take several men to lift blocking the gates to any visitors at such a late hour.
Any visitors of the mortal coil, that is. Arie'Tal, without body to be impeded, glided over the turf outside the gate with the sound of thousands of whispers accompanying every step. The light from the moon twisted about its ephemeral form and gave it shape, ill defined but clearly humanoid with vaporous arms and legs and a head shrouded in the light mist that hung in the air in a thin veil. Barred gates did not stop the Firstborn, and it seemed not to notice it had passed through the wooden barrier as it continued its trek to the center of the ring.
Once the ephemeral being had reached its goal the sand that formed the floor of the arena began to shift even as the breeze began to intensify. A single, small line of the dusty ground began to slide toward Arie'Tal, its speed and volume increasing as it formed around Arie'Tal and gave the being substance and weight. The wind continued to howl, the pennants around the mouth of the arena straining against what held them until, finally, a single bolt of cloth escaped and flew over to the forming Firstborn. Cloth twisted around sand and attached itself in several places, taking the shape of clothing that covered only the most necessary points of the body for modesty. A long strip of the cloth twined about the newly formed throat, billowing out behind it with the Etirathian crest stamped upon its end.
As the physical body was nearly completed the wind suddenly ceased and the sand stopped moving. Where before only a presence existed now stood a scantily clad woman, toned and fit as sand and dust fell from her body in excess. Scarlet eyes stared out from under heavy lids as a single lock of raven hair fell into its face, and an almost dainty hand brushed it out of the way with an air of annoyance. A pink tongue ran over ruby lips as Arie'Tal called upon its memory to form words.
"We are ready to begin combat. Do you think you can take me?" A chorus of voices echoed at once, the leading sentence a cacophony of tones with none rising above the rest. The second sentence was led by a feminine voice that was sultry and musical, though beneath it the other voices joined her query. Still the scarlet eyes remain fixed in one position, staring without emotion into the darkness around the Coliseum. The crickets ceased their tunes as the wind stirred the dust around Arie'Tal's bare feet. The opponent had arrived.
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
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Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
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Post by blacknoise on Feb 9, 2016 20:01:32 GMT
The voice drifted across the arena like that of snake, hissing and questioning. Sinister, but also bored, it was the voice of someone who was already underestimating their opponent. "Wait, who are you, again?" The faceless form of Timore gazed absent-mindedly at the amalgamation that stood before him. The Dread Lord's for was simple, normal, faceless, tall and grey. No rippling muscles or impressive collection, seemingly to be simply a gathering of smoke. He wondered, was this that thing that went around killing mortals for fun? It didn't matter, sweeping forth his hand, he summoned forth a sword. The weapon was formed of the same smoke that covered Timore's body. Harder than steel, but otherwise containing no real special qualities, it was enough. The beauty of the world around them was lost upon the Dread Lord. In fact, reminding himself that all around were things molded from the hands of Den and the other Divines only served to anger Timore. Yes, that anger would serve him well. The moon above, the plants below, the monstrosity standing before him. They were all objects of his hatred, they would all be destroyed. In a flash, Timore charged forth, seeking to slice the being from left shoulder to right hip with the blade. He seemed reckless, as though he possessed no defensive strategy. However, his entire body was poised to react to a counter attack.
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Fang
Commoner
Posts: 37
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October 2015
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Post by Fang on Feb 15, 2016 5:34:28 GMT
Even as the other Firstborn summoned forth his weapon Arie'Tal began a soft murmur of a chant, leaving its opponent's question unanswered. Fingers interlaced, untwined, and laced together again in a series of complicated gestures that were little more than a blur. Before Arie'Tal the sand of the arena began to glow and bubble, heat rippling from the surface.
A slender, delicate seeming form began to rise; first a twining shaft of reflected light reminiscent of flowing water, then a brilliant blade of translucent scarlet with a razor thin edge. The pool of molten sand cooled as Arie'Tal ceased it's work and snatched the short spear from the air, giving the weapon a few deft spins before facing its attacker.
Centuries of battle instinct judged the angle that the opposing Firstborn held its sword, instantly calculated the speed of its steps. It pushed the female form Arie'Tal had taken forward, into Timore's swing, and it's left while ducking under his arm. Arie'Tal pivoted, spinning on its right foot, and turned to its attacker's left, the spear in its left hand brought reversed upward with a slight angle to the right and aiming for the ribs.
Before the blow could have any effect Arie jumped back far enough to effectively be out of Timore's range. The hand that wasn't holding the spear shot forward, a single finger extended and wagging to the left and right.
"If you're not going to give this all you've got I don't want to play with you," Arie'Tal said in its amalgam voice. As before the female voice was barely discernible above the others. "We know you're capable of far more, Brother."
Again Arie'Tal spun its blade, this time setting the butt of the spear upon the sand and using it to lean to the side. The wagging finger stopped and pointed directly toward Timore, and a harsh, unearthly word word echoed through Arie'Tal's voices. A lance of sky blue energy formed a straight line toward the Firstborn from the tip of the finger, a split second of searing heat that left an afterimage upon Arie'Tal's physical eyes and a charred fingertip upon its right hand.
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
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Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
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Post by blacknoise on Feb 15, 2016 6:00:54 GMT
Timore easily sidestepped the opposite direction of the amalgamation's strike. It appeared as though she had made the mistake of assuming Timore was slower than her. However, she pulled back before even allowing her weapon to pass through the space Timore had occupied moments before. Stopping, the smoking form sighed deeply and cast aside his sword. The fake weapon exploded into smoke upon the ground the moment it touched the dusty earth. As the horrible experiment continued talking, Timore simply 'watched' her movements through his faceless form. The Dread Lord pulled no stops for this strange being. It knew of what it was, it knew of its origins, but it cared not for it nor its purpose. Twisting his fingers with the sound of snapping bones and ripping tendons, Timore made enough noise that the last sentence Arie could almost not be heard. Effortlessly, Timore dodged the bolt, his form creating a hole for it to travel through rather than actually move at all. As the hole reformed, Timore finally spoke with a bit more sincerity. His voice like fingernails shredding themselves on a steel bowl. "You call me brother, but I do not know you. I have no family, wretched mortal, were you but anything more than mortal then you would realize this. But you are nothing. You beg for me to give this my all? Then give me a reason, because right now you bore me." With every word, his body tightened and snapped. A chorus of tendons ripping, bones snapping and blood splatterin emenating from his fingers. Whether or not he was just creating an ambiance or preparing for an attack was indiscernable.
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Fang
Commoner
Posts: 37
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October 2015
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Post by Fang on Feb 22, 2016 7:27:37 GMT
Arie'Tal lowered its hands slowly as its opponent appeared to mutilate himself in a loud series of cracks. As Timore spoke Arie shifted, sliding it's right leg behind it and shifting its weight onto it while crouching. As soon as Timore uttered his final word Arie darted forward, spear trailing behind it with its tip centimeters above the ground.
"Only mortals fear," echoed the voices of a thousand warriors. "And only mortals doubt. We are not mortals."
The tip of the spear cut a glittering arc through the air toward Timore's chest, a shimmering radiance coalescing at its tips and sending streamers of steam trailing behind it. Arie'Tal halted its moment just at the end of it's spear's range, right hand guiding the spear as the left formed several gestures with seemingly practiced speed. In the same instant that the blade entered the space where Timore stood Arie'Tal slammed its hand to the sand beneath it.
Spires of glass erupted from the ground in a cone before Arie, razor sharp and several feet in length. Arie allowed the momentum of its assault with the spear to pivot to the left and straighten, it's eyes locked on Timore without expression.
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Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
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blacknoise
I don't have kik.
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Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
blacknoise
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Post by blacknoise on Mar 13, 2016 4:44:31 GMT
Timore wasted no time as the echoing being responded to his taunts. As it spoke, Timore's left hand cracked and instantly reformed itself. The hand breaking and snapping, seemingly meaningless in its motion, had a purpose in creating an elemental seal below the ground in front of Timore. His blood seeped into the sands and buried itself deep, creating another magical trap much, much deeper into the ground.
Before Arie struck forth with her spear, Timore simultaneously snapped his own spear up in a defensive position, ready to smack away her strike when it came, and brought his left hand down in a fist by his side. When Arie struck, Timore was already striking her spear aside before it came close enough to strike the black hearted Firstborne. As Arie's hand descended into the sand, Timore's free hand struck up from his side and into the air between the two. Instantly, the ground beneath the cones melted and flung upward and backward, carrying the spires with it away from Timore before they even finished forming to enter the space of the lesser divine.
Immediately, he sprung backwards. His body seemed to dissolve into smoke, the spear barely following him as his grip was incredibly weak. The floor of the entire arena, starting from the center outwards, began melting and flowing into molten magma. Timore watched Arie closely as he moved, his feet never fully reforming as his body would not be able to take the unshielded heat of the lava. If possible, he would stop to watch her movements, but if she continued moving then so would he, keeping his distance.
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Fang
Commoner
Posts: 37
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Fang
37
October 2015
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Post by Fang on Apr 10, 2016 16:30:50 GMT
The momentum of the sand and the lances of glass that had been intended for its opponent carried Arie'Tal away from Timore. What had originated as an attack against the Firstborn of Fear became a danger to Arie, each spire of glass sent back with the added force of Timore's counter. Arie used the momentum to its advantage, springing backward away from the wall of sand and glass even as it began to melt into the scorching magma. As the spires of glass melted glowing hot droplets rained down on Arie, burning through its body and setting its clothing made of banners ablaze.
The expanding circle of magma reached Arie'Tal's feet before it could react, too distracted by the magma above to have seen the threat below. Its feet smoked, then began to melt into molten sand as the wave of slag above crashed down around it. The Firstborn disappeared beneath the wave and the magma settled, Timore's victory apparently clear.
A small ripple on the surface of the red hot pool darted toward the center of the arena; the only indication that Arie'Tal had not yet been defeated before magma erupted into the sky. From the column of rising magma a form stepped out, formed of the same substance which it was buried. Massive arms, barrel-like chest, and powerful legs gained definition as the magma cooled on the surface. Veins of flowing lava rested beneath the black surface of its skin, casting a glow around it in the smoking air. In its hand rested the scarlet spear created previously by the female form Arie'Tal had taken.
This form was far from feminine, however, and in its gargantuan hands the spear seemed little more than a twig. Arie looked up at the misty form of Timore and uttered a guttural roar reminiscent of crashing boulders before it leapt into the air. The spear slipped from its grip as its fist rose. The smoke rising from that massive fist drifted on the air, forming a web of ephemeral glyphs as it traveled.
The falling spear hit the surface of the magma and cast out a ripple of blue energy upon the surface of the pool. The energy followed the surface of the pool and traveled up the walls of the coliseum, forming a ring around the combatants as it traveled upward into the air. The ring stopped its progression as the smoking glyphs touched it, hanging in the air threateningly though it seemed to do nothing.
Fruitless though Arie knew it would be, it used its rising fist to attempt to snatch at Timore even as it fell back to the pool of magma. It landed on its back with a spray of lava, its eyes fixed on Timore above it while it remained motionless and slowly sank.
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