A pathway [Open]

[Graffius]

45th of Summer, 511 AV

Defiantly he peered onwards from beneath a white cowl, heavy eyes scanning the area in flashes of goldenrod and violet. After many days of traveling, he had finally arrived at the fabled city of Sunberth. A town of a darker nature, Sunberth was a vile nest of gangs, prostituting and drugs. Perhaps at a distant time he would feel calm walking amidst its bedraggled houses and tattooed denizens, but power had waned from his body upon rebirth and he was as if a child again. Much was lost in the great fall. His footsteps were barely audible against the soiled ground below as he carried forward with a lazy stride. Keeping a low profile was of utter importance and was all the more difficult with his height, elevated high above many of the Humans. He kept to the side in an attempt to relinquish attention from himself. This city was a wasp’s nest. Unfortunately it was situated near Sahova, his ultimate destination and first move upon a chess board; and a large one at that. For a moment he’d stop in his tracks and turn towards a boarded up booth, ramshackle in design with a plethora of weapons behind its oaken form. A phlegm filled cough stole his attention and pulled his eyes downwards as an elderly man smiled with cracked yellow teeth. “What can I get cha’ today?” His voice was harsh, not unlike a series of scars that littered his wrinkled face. “Yer’ not from round’ here are ya’?” Looking upwards towards Graffius with beady eyes of almond, he gesticulated backwards with a protesting hand towards his collection of weapons. With a nod, Graffius responded. “I’d like something small. Discreet if you will... If you’d be so kind sir.” “Of course! Thirty Gold Mizas. I’m sure I have just the thing. Top quality you know?” The vendor rubbed his palms together, a notion of greed while he turned his back for a moment and presented Graffius with a small rusted dagger. With a metallic clang he dropped it atop the counter. Thirty Gold Mizas was overpriced, but it’d have to do. Delving into the confines of his cloak, he withdrew a small brown pouch, opened it and laid thirty Mizas worth in front of the vendor. “Done deal. Best prices in town.” The old man hungrily snatched away the coin and pushed the dagger forward. Slowly, he reached for it, coiling his wiry fingers around the weapon’s hilt, and placed it at his side. Magic was an uncommon spectacle and perhaps this blade would help in driving vagabonds away from his coinpurse. Sadly, in Sunberth, he’d more than likely have to use it. Spellcasting would be a last resort. “My thanks.” He’d bow, turn on his heels and push forward once again, delving into the crowds of milling individuals as he made his way towards the docks of the decrepit city, already he could see the glimmering tides of the sea within the distance.

[Liel]

__________ _ Seventeen days after departing from Mura Humans were interesting. Liel, a student of Medicine and Anthropology, was especially intrigued—but she hid it all behind a sweeping hooded cloak. Her lithe grey frame slipped through the figures that linked the docks like thick ink, words in Common yelled along the morning air. If one peered closely, they’d see loose curls of ivory and strangely large eyes—but nobody did, and for that, she was grateful. Laviku would have one more offering tonight. It had been quite a journey, and Liel often wondered, as she rode Kyaluti the Seahorse underwater—as she snuck on board ships and trade carts—if this was worth it. Was it ever worth leaving everything behind, in search of something uncertain? Flitting words and images, the sun on her back. She made her way past the docks, saw the hills of Sunberth greet her like a newborn’s smile and she wished that it would be kind to her. But kindness was not one of Sunberth’s virtues—she would discover this soon enough. And yet, what little kindness it had, struck her like a vivid memory, and there he was, and she slipped a petite hand into her pocket, clutching the piece of paper. In his path, she stood still, finally daring to lift her eyes. Ethaefal.

[Darian]

The heartbeat of Sunberth was a driving one this day, a pulse you could almost feel at your fingertips, something that was almost so tangible you could see it all around you reflected in the bustling crowds that fought their way this way and that. It felt so much like home to him, and yet at the same time it filled him with disgust, so many sweaty, dirty bodies mashing together, spreading their raw odor wherever they went, and mixing it with the smell of animals from the nearby stable. It was all so disgusting, and the man with just simple cloths on today seemed rather lanky amidst the sea of bodies this day, turning this way and that as he tried to avoid any touching of the sweaty masses that crossed his path. Even with all of his dodging though he still managed to get bumped once or twice, which only served to sour his mood further, and eventually he stopped dodging all together, merely making a bee line through the market paying little mind to whom he bumbled or knocked over unless they where someone he knew that shouldn't be bumped then he would swerve to avoid them. He didn't have a death wish after all.

His temper had already been tested to its limits today with the arrival of that mouthy woman in the market place that wouldn't stop yammering on about whom the petch knows. It had taken all of his strength to not merely gut her right then and there and all the pent up frustration and anger was wearing at his nerves. Such was it that when he found a man clothed in white and with exotic eyes in his path, he did not stop his stride, actually increasing his pace, and would lower his shoulder at the last second in hopes of bowling the man over. If his ploy work, all of the rage inside of him would come out then, and he would try to kick the man on the ground hard as he could, and as many times as he could, or at least until he had worked through his temper tantrum. If he didn't manage to knock the man down and nearly nudge him or cause him to stumble, then he would draw his dagger from the sheath attached to his waste, but conceal it in the palm of his hand, and just try to punch the man wherever he could. If he missed the man completely, he would simply draw his dagger and spin around trying to plant it in the center of the man's back, and if that missed he would simply try to conceal the dagger in his hand again, and try to punch whatever venerable spot presented itself. He was out for blood today, and for whatever reason, the winds brought him here today, so full of malice, and regrets from the past that he couldn't think clearly enough to realize the error of what he was doing. So this day would begin, blood spilt on the sands, from he or them, to fall again.

[Graffius]

A subtle gust of wind coupled with a swiftly bolting shadow stole Graffius’ attention to his rear. On reaction, he’d turn on his heels and catch a fleeting glimpse of dark leather and the metallic sheen of a dagger. Having little time to react, he was soon toppled over; he’d roll on reaction, allowing the heavily swung kicks to collide with thin-air. Already he was being targeted? With a mental sigh and in a single fluid motion, he’d stand, grip the fabric of his cloak and tear it from his body, throwing it towards the renegade thug in an attempt to obscure his vision. Already Res began to pulse beneath his flesh, snaking in a writhing path down his forearm before accumulating within his palm. “You putrid gnat.” His arms outspread as he spoke, his piercing eyes narrowing inwards towards his quarry. “It is unfortunate that your grave is marked here. However, the coast of your filthy shores seems to be a fitting resting place.” Glowering with transcended irritation, Graffius heeded the boy while ardent locks of white hair unfurled down his back. Already people began to clear the area, their eyes watching with mild amusement towards the both of them. In Sunberth, this wasn’t an uncommon act to witness. With a vibrant pulse, the Res hovering before his hand spontaneously combusted, embers of liquid fire dripping from the fulgent sphere. Flames lapped upwards and licked the sky. Then, gritting his teeth, Graffius catapulted forward, the remains of his cloak whipping violently behind him as dust spewed in his wake. No mercy. A flash of dark crimson within his irises would soon be followed by a gust of wind as he neared Darian, his right arm locking back as his spindly fingers spread widely apart. He’d then, with his other hand, reach forward and discharge a small amount of Res. Instantaneously, the gaseous other-wordly energy would force a large gust of air in Darian’s direction. It wasn’t much; just enough to awkwardly interfere with his balance and allow Graffius a small window of time. Afterwards, and without delay, he’d release his grasp upon the hovering ball of aflame liquid. The blazing ball would rocket forward at high speeds, aimed for Darian’s midsection. Luckily to Graffius’ advantage, the gust of wind would more than likely topple Darian just enough for him to have to focus on regaining his footing, rendering any evasive action short of falling down obsolete. If the fireball met it’s mark shortly after, it’d burn through the fabric of his leather armoring and probably set him ablaze as well. Fortunately neither technique was overly taxing and both relatively simple. He still felt alive and invigorated. “Come now and introduce your body to the worms as they eat your rotting skin.”

[Darian]

He'd managed to knock the man down, but failed to see his rage satisfied, and it infuriated him. The missed chance didn't drive him over the edge though, and he recognized the flared cloak for the ploy that it was, and similarly looked around to see any way he could escape whatever onslaught was coming. He found his salvation in a winding alley way, and underneath the cover of the still billowing fabric he leapt forward clearing the few feet into the alleyway, and rolling as he hit the ground, a bit rougher than he intended since he was not used to such expressive movements. A bite of unnatural wind followed him into the alley though, and quickly he learned both the nature of his victim, and the fact that he hadn't managed to dodge as quickly as he wanted. Still he managed to salvage things by rolling with the strong wind for its brief duration just enough till he was parallel with a alcove and grabbing the grit of the brick work, swung himself inside feeling the heat of a flame fly by him as he narrowly missed the strangers second attack. Taking only a moment to catch his breath, he turned around so his back would face the wall of the alcove, and moved the dagger over in his hand so that he was holding the hilt with just enough pressure.

Knowing that he would soon catch his death if he continued to hide, he sprang from the alcove, and as he did so he would turn in the air pump his arm out, hurling the dagger towards the robed man, and quickly going into another roll forwards this time. He had little hope that the dagger would hit the man, but he hoped that it would at least distract him enough that he could get in close and go for the kill. As he came up from another rough roll, he would draw his longsword from its sheath, the cold iron pulsing in his grip, and he would slash out at the man if he was close in an attempt to back him out of the alleyway entrance, and move to the side of him. The move would of course be a feint meant to get him in close to the man and allow him little time for his magic tricks. If the dagger throw didn't distract as much as he hoped or the man managed to throw another attack at him, he would try to either dive into one of the numerous alcoves lining the side of the alley, or roll under the attack, and try to get closer to the mage. His pulse quickened with every move, adrenaline taking over his mind slowly, and he saw the man's face only in flashes tinted with red, sometimes not seeing the man's face at all but instead a woman’s, a woman he hated most of all.

oocLiel sorry for popping in and inciting violence like this. Planned on dropping into this thread, and your poor character got caught in the crossfire.

[Graffius]

Graffius’ ether fueled eyes darted to the side, following Darian’s sporadic movement as the glimmering ball of fire failed to meet its mark. With a hot sizzle it dissipated into the ground, sand melting subtly around, leaving a patch of glassy luster. A moment would pass as his opponent dove into a nearby alcove, granting him an opportunity to gather more Res. All the while it had been pulsing over his emaciated figure, painting across his fluttering alabaster robes and porcelain flesh. With an unfalteringly stoic façade, he watched as the brutish thug emerged from the alleyway, descending downwards with a dagger firmly in his grasp. Graffius would simply swing his arm forward in a wide arc with a sudden muster of strength. As planned, the blade would collide with the sleeve of his robe yet would fail to penetrate. Instead it would bounce backwards as if being deflected by a spring, causing a small crack to form across the ethereal light which surrounded him. It’d churn, thickening in other areas while thinning in others. Without delay however, he’d regain control of the alien shield. “You’re a fool. Does rage surge throughout your body child?” He hissed as Darian would withdraw a long, iron-forged blade from his hilt and attempt to slash clumsily at his midsection. His stance would remain fortified and instead of retreating from the entrance to the alcove, he’d instead push forward as his thin lips upturned into a vicious snarl composed of glowing ivory teeth. Forcefully the longsword would strike the shield of Res as Graffius continued to advance boldly forward, cornering the young bandit. With a series of splinters and cracks, the shield exploded and flakes of glimmering dust floated downwards. “You know not who you face.” Res output had been consistent during the assault and already a gob of haunting light surrounded the whole of his hand; his fingers formed into claws within it as a deviant fire erupted, casting a terrible orange light which flickered off the dark alleyway walls, illuminating his unforgiving features, pushing out against the darkness. The alleyway was narrow and unfortunately for Darian, a dead end. Missing in such a small space would be difficult; however, he’d take the necessary precautions regardless to ensure the hungry flames met their target. Outstretching his hand hastily and giving Darian little time to react, Graffius pushed from his heels backwards, just a bit, careful to stay out of reach. With his hand outstretched and engulfed in hellfire, he’d take his other hand and gesticulate a motion outwards, as if attempting to push the flames forward. Then, the fire would erupt as the air quickly surrounded the pulsing orange, funneling it forward with oxygenated particles, fueling the flames to a high level of trajectory and heat. In such a cramped space, there would be little Darian could do, and with the oxygenated wind feeding the hungrily beating fire, it turned violently into a flamethrower which roared from his hand, seemingly engulfing the alleyway several meters before smashing into the wall of the alcove behind Darian, overcoming the entire pathway before Graffius in which his enemy stood. Reaching outwards and leaving virtually no room to evade, the Zenith fueled flames harnessed enough raw heat to peel flesh from bone and burn Darian alive within a short timespan.

[Darian]

The feint had worked to his surprise, but there was no time for elation, even if that petching shield finally came sundering down. The man was obviously a riemancer, and a talented one at that. He picked up easily on the fact that the man was gathering a weird looking material that he only knew as something that practitioners of the art did to use their power, and he knew that there would be only one way for him to avert this coming disaster. However he couldn't react to quickly or risk the man simply adjusting his aim, and frying him where he lay so he bided his time till he saw the wicked stuff flare to life, and at the last moment when he was extending his hand to hurl the fire stuff, he simply went limp, and fell to his belly on the ground. It was a action a second later than he would have liked, but now was no time for mulling over what he should have done, now was the time to act. A flare of heat singed his back as he fell down, and he could feel it melt the silk armor to the skin on his back, and grunting in pain, he pushed off his prone position, and rolled quickly as he could towards this man he so hated.

As he came around just under the mage, he would extend his right hand as he rolled painfully on his back, and jab it viciously forward aiming to pierce the man's midsection with the blow, or at least cripple one of those legs of his. His life was so fast paced at the moment, every event he had ever witnessed flashing through his mind, all centering on such a profound hatred few could ever feel in their lives. If his jab missed, he struggle to his feet quickly and try some very brutal slashes at his opponent, all of them wide and sweeping, aiming to take of a limb or head, most of the time only wanting to maim the man, but not outright murder him. No, this man wasn't good enough for that and he needed to pay for the pain he had caused Darian all throughout his life. " Die Sophia! " he growled, sounding more beast then man, his eyes wild with pure loathing directed towards the man who stood so obstinately before him. " I'll have your heart you vindictive petching soul sucker " he yelled, sweat and blood flying off of him wildly, and continued to launch a flurry of slashes at the man before him. All he wanted to do was cause pain, so so much pain to this woman who had hurt him so, and at last he would taste his revenge, all it would take is a simple slip up for his blade to sink satisfyingly into her flesh. Gone was Darian to his madness now, so much so only a few voices in the world could save him from it, but any words from the man that stood before him would be perceived to have a feminine taint to it, further fueling the man's ire.

ooc3rd degree burns on his back, and unless you planned on aiming the improvised flamethrower downwards and risked your own health, he would escape with his life. Also just wild slashes besides the first carefully aimed one, hope you enjoy

[Graffius]

Infernally the torrent of flames roared, lapping at the walls with tongues of primal savagery. His hand would billow hellfire, obstructing his vision with a wall of intense light. This man, a renegade and apparently confused individual was no less savage however. Graffius would watch with keen radiant eyes as Darian rolled through the flames, his back blazing with fire. He had survived? Truly it was an anomaly that the man still had the ability to even move; he’d have no less than third degree burns at the very least and visibly, the silk armor had grafted to his skin. With a cool demeanor, Graffius gritted his teeth tightly, witnessing as the lengthy iron sword would propel outwards, bursting from the flames. With little time to react and no time to muster a proper shield of Res, he instinctively - upon reaction lifted his forearm, attempting to bat away the opposing sheet of iron while simultaneously backpedaling on his feet. Still, he’d continue to draw Djed from his body, letting it accumulate until a proper amount encircled the both of his forearms. With a metallic clang the iron blade easily slashed through the material of his cloak, cutting through the flesh of his forearm beneath. Graffius hissed as crimson liquid began to stain the white threads of his outfit, pooling slightly and dripping from his hands to the ground below. He kept his distance however afterwards, taking care to stay out of reach from the man’s weapon. “You putrid and ignorant thing. You still continue to oppose me?” “This ends now.” A sudden flare of cruelty glinted in his crimson orbs, an other-worldly fire, orbs of tenebrous red forged from a fervid intolerance for men such as Darian. “This life. Your life. A life of brutish actions guided with the sense of an animal. Do you regret them child?” As he spoke, he quickly threw his arm forward momentarily. Res dripped downward onto the ground in an arc, flinging from his hand. As it made contact with the ground, a sound much like water became apparent. Visually, it held similar traits as well; it was a line, created between both him and Darian. “Do you regret them now as you stand here before me, consumed with senseless rage?” With his other hand, he gesticulated in a similar manner. This time, the liquid Res was flung across Darian with a wet plopping sound with the intention to drown the collar of his armor in ethereal water. “Those burns that singe your back…They are fatal and without immediate attention you will not live long. Let me put you out of your misery.” A snap sounded as Graffius would flick his fingers and like clockwork, the liquid Res ignited, combusting into a ghastly fire, a wall that separated the two; then, immediately after, he’d oxygenate the air around Darian, fueling the flames to an overwhelming length. With the sudden increase of oxygen thrust forward, the wall of self contained energy would blow forward, leaving no room to maneuver from its burning grasp; along with this, the second throw of liquid Res would also ignite and if it had connected with Darian’s collar as planned, he’d find himself erupting, greeted by fervent energy which would quite literally melt his face. Their close proximity coupled with the narrow pathway effectively destroyed almost all options that his opponent had. “A baptism by fire… Your sins, child, are all hereby forgiven upon your death. May you reincarnate beautifully.”

[Darian]

All he heard from Sophia was that she kept jabbering on and on about something, her annoying voice scratching against his mind. It was giving him such a headache on top of the intense pains that marred his back, and gritting his teeth tight together, he let out a low guttural growl towards the man, as he stood up. He stared at the woman who kept calling him a child with what could only be described as pure hate, the inner fires within his blazing to life. Seeing his blade bite into her blasted flesh had been a pleasing site, and watching he was almost mesmerized by the crimson rain. It splashed beautifully against the ground and a cruel smile found its way to his lips. Then his eyes flickered up to the woman’s, a splatter of the strange stuff drawing his eye, and he saw that the man had made a line in the ground, and he could guess what would come next. There would be no way for him to get to the mage in time he knew, and so he simply stood there smiling eerily at the woman that would be his executioner, the blasted Sophia that had tormented him all of his life. Oh if only she knew what awaited her he thought amusedly, and through his head back to laugh.

His roaring laughter filled the alleyway, and didn't even stop when he stepped to the side to avoid the strange stuff she tossed at him, and only got louder when the line of flame burst to life. Oh she expected to teach him a lesson, and purify him he thought, and the subject was laughable. So before the flames finally rose, his eyes locked on to the woman, now man again, and he saluted to the mage, forming a wicked smile on his face. " You'll see me yet, before you breath your last, I promise you " he said in a cold tone, his eyes level with the man's and he laughed again, a haunting kind of laughter as the flames rose and obscured the man's vision. In those few moments left to him, he stepped quickly backwards, and turned into the alcove knowing that even this slight shelter would not save his body, but he didn't care, perhaps he who he followed now, diligently as ever would create him a new body to continue on his work, and his revenge at last could be brought on all their miserable heads. Hate was his friend, his lover, his everything, and he nurtured in like no other. As the cleansing flames washed over his skin, causing it to blacken and flake, he knew what it was like to truly hate, and he smiled, letting the flames consume the outside of his form till all that was left in the alcove was a blackened body, skin peeled to the bone in some places, and wisps of smoke rising from his form. But there was no peace.

oocJust to let you know, I do not consider him dead quite yet because depending on how my gnosis quest with Uldr goes. As of now though you may consider him dead, and continue the thread on with Liel. Good battle, was a fun thread, you might be seeing me again later on if all goes according to plan.

[Darian]

All he heard from Sophia was that she kept jabbering on and on about something, her annoying voice scratching against his mind. It was giving him such a headache on top of the intense pains that marred his back, and gritting his teeth tight together, he let out a low guttural growl towards the man, as he stood up. He stared at the woman who kept calling him a child with what could only be described as pure hate, the inner fires within his blazing to life. Seeing his blade bite into her blasted flesh had been a pleasing site, and watching he was almost mesmerized by the crimson rain. It splashed beautifully against the ground and a cruel smile found its way to his lips. Then his eyes flickered up to the woman’s, a splatter of the strange stuff drawing his eye, and he saw that the man had made a line in the ground, and he could guess what would come next. There would be no way for him to get to the mage in time he knew, and so he simply stood there smiling eerily at the woman that would be his executioner, the blasted Sophia that had tormented him all of his life. Oh if only she knew what awaited her he thought amusedly, and through his head back to laugh.

His roaring laughter filled the alleyway, and didn't even stop when he stepped to the side to avoid the strange stuff she tossed at him, and only got louder when the line of flame burst to life. Oh she expected to teach him a lesson, and purify him he thought, and the subject was laughable. So before the flames finally rose, his eyes locked on to the woman, now man again, and he saluted to the mage, forming a wicked smile on his face. " You'll see me yet, before you breath your last, I promise you " he said in a cold tone, his eyes level with the man's and he laughed again, a haunting kind of laughter as the flames rose and obscured the man's vision. In those few moments left to him, he stepped quickly backwards, and turned into the alcove knowing that even this slight shelter would not save his body, but he didn't care, perhaps he who he followed now, diligently as ever would create him a new body to continue on his work, and his revenge at last could be brought on all their miserable heads. Hate was his friend, his lover, his everything, and he nurtured in like no other. As the cleansing flames washed over his skin, causing it to blacken and flake, he knew what it was like to truly hate, and he smiled, letting the flames consume the outside of his form till all that was left in the alcove was a blackened body, skin peeled to the bone in some places, and wisps of smoke rising from his form. But there was no peace.

oocJust to let you know, I do not consider him dead quite yet because depending on how my gnosis quest with Uldr goes. As of now though you may consider him dead, and continue the thread on with Liel. Good battle, was a fun thread, you might be seeing me again later on if all goes according to plan.