Antar shrugged as he watched Drysalla's reaction to the goading, readying himself for the assault. His words had been twofold in purpose, to get her angry enough to make mistakes, and then angry enough to disassociate Shai from himself. It seemed to have worked well enough, and he smiled, and calculated distances, readying his hands to slowly rest upon the pommel of his kukri, and the hilt of his gladius. All that remained was keeping an eye out for the moment to strike as anticipation began to fill his senses, sharpening them as adrenaline began to course its way through his body.
But you men, all the same.”the woman cursed, "all the same… no good. Never again.” The rogue in him smirked and prepared to twist the verbal blade of his psychological joust in just a little more. "Men, Men you say are no good? Lady I could have told you that much, any man I was ever with was a pain in the arse. It's not like I'd even want to bed you for a night, you're much too waspish and I have much higher standards."
”Never again will you utter words so foul against me.”
Soon it would come, the shrew's attack. Then the deadly dance would begin, "Oh? Is that so? If I truly was mentioning such things against such a shrew as you it would be much more than just about a rash. The truth is, you're a rather ugly woman, your wish for looks was a foolish venture, and so is the idea that I needed you to need me at all. A time for a reckoning I think approache-" The first spear came from on high and to the left, forcing the man to duck and sidestep his way towards Shai, who had just opened a doorway which lead into a busy street. Unapologetically, the man swiveled on his center of balance to plant one boot on her posterior and shoved the woman backwards through the door, hopefully to safety. ”Sorry Shai, I think you should sit this dance out.” he hissed towards her retreating backside.
Noth didn't wait and stand around though, he began to move, sidestepping the next spear in a controlled shoulder roll towards Alric as behind him the doorframe shattered from the impact. Momentum carried him into a half crouch as he bull rushed Wilmot, knocking him behind the next door with a shoulder into the gut. He quickly followed into cover, looping his left arm around Alric's waist, physically hauling him as he would a ragdoll closer to him as the other side of the door became akin to a pincushion of spears. Sure, it might have hurt the lighter man, but a bit of pain now served much better from being dead.
Coming to a knee, and bringing the stunned Alric in a carry across one shoulder, Antar shouted, "That the best you got, or are just happy to see me?" A grin broke out along the rogue's features, as a small part of his soul relished the feeling of combat. Snaking an armored gauntlet around the frame, he caught the door latch and jerked it downwards letting the wooden paneling of the door open outwards towards Drysalla as the next wave of fury laden projectiles vanished into some part of Alvadas, skewering an assortment of hooked meats from what looked like a butcher shop. Without preamble, he quickly tossed the surprised Alric through and kicked the door shut before flinging himself to one side...The next spear hit him in the back, yet vanished before even scuffing his armor. The mirror, the artifact in his chest, seemed to be pulsing with power in time with his own heart beating in an increasing tempo as the rythm of battle suffused his senses.
Diving back into cover, Antar drew his kukri in his left hand, and his gladius in his right, taking the time to draw a shallow cut on himself near his trapezius muscle where the armor wasn't fully covering. Letting the blood soak the cloth of his shirt. After all, if you wanted to get close to a raving lunatic, you had to at least let them think they were winning... "I got you. It hit… you are bleeding. And you are much too late to stop me. I no longer need you here.”
'Foolish, I'm not intending to stop you right now, only delay you until the time was right.’ As the vapid woman wasted more words, Antar began his charge, weapons in hand and closing the distance as more spears came his way, only to witness her surprised expression as they seemed to have no effect. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly as his sword found it way into her gut, followed by his kukri into her chest in a double stabbing motion bearing down on her with his weight as the illusionist was brought to ground. Switching his grip on the kukri's hilt to a hammerfist he wrenched it sideways, tearing it from her guts as a shocked howl assaulted his ears,"But how?!?!" Eyes bearing his hatred, looked into ones which reflected a fury equal to his own back at him. Antar smiled a calm and confident smile as the woman's body began its regeneration, the same way it had down in the crypt's. "It's not yet your time to die, but you never should have underestimated me or the mirror's will. All I need to do is delay you." Raising an arm in her own defense, Drysalla physically smacked him across the jaw, cracking his teeth together. Her mind was already putting the pieces of her folly together. "Damn you, you cut yourself!"
Rearing his head back he slammed it forwards, head-butting the woman with the brow of his helmet as he hissed, "Right in one, and you reacted perfectly, how's it feel to be manipulated into a position of weakness? How's it feel to have a man beat you-" Calling the res from his pores, a ball of earth and fire sprung to life in his hands, lava dripping like candlewax upon the woman's face, scalding her as the rogue attempted to force the mass of burning death down the vile shrew's throat as the iron tang came present on his tongue. His icy rage fueling his attack.
The burning torture was intolerable to the woman, as he face boiled with lesions, and puss as well as flecks skin all burning and melting and attempting to heal again all at once. An inhuman scream of pain met his actions, as two things happened... beneath his chest plate the mirror began to glow, and a shard of glassen ice formed around Drysalla's hand, diving deep into the nothingness of the ether, rippling as Alvadas reacted to her will to summon a hail of cobblestones before Antar was consumed in a barrage of stone and brick. Flying backwards across the space of nothingness, the rogue seemed to be tenderized a little, even with the cushioning of his armor.
Cursing, and spitting out a bit of phlegm he regained his feet only to see the regenerating woman struggling to do the same, "I see, so as the mirror's conduit, I can't harm you with direct attacks of my will, only with the physical and the environment could I harm or contain you. Truly, I don't usually make the same mistake twice. But... you are interesting, perhaps interesting enough to keep alive to serve me." As the words were spoken, a pain in Antar's chest seemed to resonate, the mirror's light, shining impossibly for him to see beneath the breastplate of his armor. The woman's eyes seemed transfixed upon the strange afterimage. "I see, all I have to do to get the mirror is to physically rip it from you or get my hands around it. Then ... then I could make my wish. A wish I never realized was so simple to make with all my plans..."
"It'll be tougher than you think to do that you petching wench." Antar coughed as he brought himself back to his feet. With scorn in her eyes, Drysalla pulled his gladius from her chest, as the incorporeal light of energies began closing the wounds, "You think your face would stay like that ? It's certainly a better look for you."
"Shut up, you damn ma..." the rage seemed to return a moment, only to stop as suddenly as an iron clad control seemed to come to the woman's eyes. "Wait, you're doing it again. Keeping me off guard like that. Well played."
Drysalla would toss the gladius to the ground, letting it's clang resonate in the empty void as she stared at the rogue, assessing him in a different light. 'He had wondered when the woman would have caught on... though many of those he fought before would have been dead by now from the first mistake. Only the most experienced fighters seemed to ever realize that an opponent who controlled their emotions would control the battlefield. Truth be told, Drysalla did not have much experience in life in such things, if she had, she never would have been killed by a bunch of men to begin with. But... such a realization did hold a bit of merit in the rogue's eyes. "Likewise," Antar said, adjusting his grip on his kukri, menacingly weaving it through the air in the beginnings of a flurry of swipes one would usually use to keep an opponent at bay, "So what would a cretin like you wish for now anyways since you already got your first cursed wish?"
The woman seemed to smile coldly, staring him down. "To win of course." Minutes began to wear on, as Antar relished in the greatest fight of his life (so far) as the pair thrashed each other in a no holds barred brawl. A kick to the stomach, followed by dowward chop at the neck to destabilize her footing followed by a drawing of his blade to slice her spine.
Only to be aware of dodging back as clawed fingers reached up to try and drive themselves, and their diamond studded nails into his throat before he launched another counterattack, breaking bones and muscle. Crushing joints, and kneecapping the woman with a well place kick. All to watch the woman keep getting back to her feet, time and time again. The weariness in his bones was exquisite, and the building pain was a sure reminder that he was still alive as the mirror pulsed in time with his own heartbeat. The entire focus of his being was centered on doing as much harm to his opponent as possible, for as long as possible as a silent wish echoed in his mind.
He yearned for hope, so badly.
Hope that he would stay the course and gain enough time for those of Alvadas to see Drysalla's end.
Hope that he could hold out and live to be one of those people to do so, to be among those who wanted to tear the wench's heart out. No matter the cost, he wanted to be there when they won.
It was a wish, half mumbled under his breath, formed from an aching mind, and the mirror was reacting. It’s energies pulsing out into the night even as spears of some Alvadas merchant's weapon's shop mounted him to a wall, holding him by the assortment alone as the woman advanced upon him to tear off the buckles of breastplate as she crowed her victory.
A hand reached around the mirror's hilt, even as Antar wrenched an arm free of his impediments to grab Drysalla's arm. The woman's mouth moved, screaming out her wish, and he could feel the mirror still pulsing with his own heartbeat responding to her desires as his world's view became disorienting. Only to knock it from her hand deep out into the void of nothingness, willing the mirror itself away from the woman which was becoming Alvadas' reigning tyrant. Watching it disappear into the abstract grey as the castle walls rippled into full-fledged existence leaving him pinned like a valued prize upon an entomologist's wall.
For the longest time, they had seemed to fight and with his last bit of strength he tried to deny her efforts, only to succumb to weakness. His last thoughts of his own were wondering how he could be so pathetically wretched to lose to such a creature.
His vision faded to blackness as Drysalla laughed, and spoke words at his helplessness before his unconscious body fell down to bitter cold stone. He had lost, lost and been defeated, bowed, and perhaps broken. What had once been a place of doors, which had now become a central Hall with Antar's still tenderized half- corpse lying at the foot of Drysalla's new throne before he was dragged away in darkness... |