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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Oct 18, 2022 2:27:46 GMT -5
Through muck and grime a large horse cantered, hooves impressing green flames that danced in it's path. The sun lowered itself behind the wall of black cypress, turning the scene dim and the sky orange with streaks of violet and lillac. Autumn had taken the marshland, leaving the needle-like leaves of the trees a dusty brown. Whilst the leaves plummeted, it left the branches to reveal vile and gnarled contortions. The air was almost acrid. The conditioning only worsening as the horse and it's flame haied rider entered the vicinity of grim Gazablaak.
The rider placed a handkerchief of fine alabaster chiffon across his pallid face. The sound of carrion birds squabbling before him as the horse slowed to a walk; draped in a black veil this Nightmare Steed. It's bridle tugged as the rider had it pace around a bovine skeleton; being picked clean by three vultures. The battle noise of a crowd slowly drowning out the sound of the birds as he appoached astride. The huddled group; all manner of goblinoids, lizardfolk, troll-kin and half dozen other lineages. Torch light wavering around a large wooden construction. A makeshift arena of salvaged lumber and rusted steel.
Interesting. He pondered.
Brining the undead stallion to a halt; the exposed skeletal nose bellowing out a short burst of flame, he dismounted. Two knee high riding boots were sullied as they sank slightly in the mud; splashing over once pristine and polished black leather. He ventured not as a Necromancer, but as a courtier and completely out of place. His vest adorned with golden buttons and white shirt beneath was pressed and collared, a extravagantly bowed cravat held in place by a black diamond pin. His curiousity had gotten the better of him, a gloved hand guided a burly shoulder out of the sorcerer's way.
A vendor sold mugs of ale; warm, flat and spiced with copious amounts of juniper to disguise the poor base flavour. Yet, for a mere copper, bad ale was better than sobriety. At least for the man known as Bellighul. His red eyes traced the figures, which howled and cheered as a savage fight between gnolls took place in the dug out fighting pit. Cackling and steel upon steel sounded into the sunset.
Blood was everywhere; it's metallic tinge a far more welcoming scent. To him, at the very least.
The Lord of Ghouls travels from Moonglade brought him to this place. He despised the Marshflats intensely. It lacked not only the dark comforts of home but also any form of refinement. It was a savage place. Gazablaak being the only outpost able to find a suitable meal...easy enough, considering all the drunkards and utter lack of law.
Perfect.
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Post by Eameia (Zarius unavailable) on Oct 18, 2022 10:16:40 GMT -5
He wasn’t here to fight. Well, not yet at least. Zarius was no stranger to fighting pits and back alley street brawls, but despite being in the perfect place to pummel some faces, he was mostly here for more delicate work. An irony given the surroundings.
The charcoal-skinnned tiefling is sitting at a table propped up over the mud by a wooden platform and attached to a hulky cypress that shades the nearest fighting pit. He hasn’t touched the tankard of what passes for alcohol in the Marsh Flats and is instead having a hushed conversation with another individual in a dark cloak. Normally, the inn would have been his choice of venue to discuss business, but since he was barred from entering the establishment due to a previous incident involving a pesky ooze, this would have to suffice.
His companion is covered in layers of dark clothing and has a longbow slung over their back and a quiver at their side. Despite being mostly covered, the hands and the feet are not, revealing paw-like features.
“This is all I can give you for now.” The ranger says in a hushed tone as they slide a pieces of paper over to the tiefling.
“It will do for now. Thank you for your hard work.” He folds the paper and tucks it away in his bag as the ranger nods.
Zarius gets a contemplative look on his face. “You know my offer still stands.”
They shake their head. “I appreciate it, and I would like to agree. But the risks are still too high. Surely you can find others to work under you.”
“I certainly could, but I would prefer them to have already proven themselves trustworthy as you have.”
The hooded figure considers it. “I will think more on this. For now, the answer is still no.”
“I understand. There are no hard feelings, Snow.”
The figure nods and gets up from their chair. No longer hunched over, they appear to be some sort of leopard cat-folk, though their fur looks too thick and heavy to be from the hot muggy climate of the Marsh Flats.
“I will be in touch.” The tabaxi says before leaving the table and walking past the new arrival, and disappearing into the swamplands beyond.
The tiefling watches their departure, still not touching his drink, then sees the mysterious newcomer who is far too well dressed to blend in with this crowd. His head tilts. Seems strange to him that someone dressed so finely would be without any guard if he was some sort of traveling nobility. Then again, the world was filled with strange people. This man was either blissfully ignorant of how much he stood out, or he was too powerful to care if he attracted the wrong kind of attention.
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Post by Ulrich Ambriz on Oct 19, 2022 14:33:56 GMT -5
The all too familiar sounds of metal clanging together in combat sounded out as the bespectacled traveler approached the pits. The cackling and cheering of the crowds almost drowning out all other noise. The sun was setting, casting a nice orange hue across the marsh. Ulrich would like to take the time to sketch this nice scenery... If he were in a more relaxing place.
"Ah well, there's always next time," he says to himself with a smile. A chuckle escapes him as he puts a hand on his dagger. It was as if someone had told him a joke. "No Alvis, I'm sure there will be another time," he says to no one in particular. The man is traveling alone, and to anyone witnessing this, they'd just label him as crazy. Which, of course, Ulrich had no care in the world for.
As he makes his way closer, he spots a particularly well dressed looking man. He sticks out like sore thumb in this place. It strikes him as odd, but on his numerous travels, he's come to understand that looks can be deceiving. Hell, take himself for example. Anywho, the man could be very capable of taking care of himself. He certainly looks like he's not troubled by the possibility of attracting the wrong kind of attention to himself.
He then spots a hooded figure leaving a table, walking off into the swamplands, leaving a Tiefling man to sit there all by himself. It seems that his attentions have also been taken by the well dress stranger.
Ah, no doubt we're thinking the same thing about this stranger.
Ulrich had been traveling for the better part of the day and just wanted to sit and relax at this point. So he takes a seat at another one of the tables there on the wood platform. He sets his satchel down on the table in front of him and leans back in his chair. He takes in a deep breath through the nose and exhales out, letting himself relax now. Hopefully nothing out of the ordinary would happen to this nice moment. Of course, who knows what might happen tonight.
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Oct 20, 2022 15:25:35 GMT -5
A horrible silence came over the fighting pits, the howls and cheers of the onlookers settled as a Gnoll was dragged out from it, bloodied and still. Another gnoll, in dire shape, crawled up from the pit and was met with more merriment, lifting to its feet and taken inside the hut. It had won the fight, but may not live to see the sunrise. Yet, the crowd wanted more. Bloodlust and frenzy filled the air as a goblin stood on the back of a large ogre, asking for more takers. Meanwhile, a well muscles Orc stood from its post on the makeshift arena stands. Scarred and armorless, hoisted a large axe, the cutting edge made from an elephant's jaw. Blood still encrusted the bone. Words escaped, slurred by ale and passed a broken single tusk.
"Who wantsa foight Rabiz, champ'un of the pits?" There was a bit of worry in the air, all sorts looked around in the crowd. Whispers and excuses made as the Orc marched around the pit, eyeing others intensely as they dropped their gaze at him. He had been known to be ruthless. To give no quarrel. Many had died begging to be spared. He towered over most, but something had caught his yellowed eyes. Bellighul. He had indeed stood out, not for his handsomeness but for his clothing. He was an easy target, a lone noble on the road. Or so it would seem. Rabiz pointed his finger at the red haired Necromancer and drew closer. The axe draffing through the mud as the orc stomped ahead. "Hmmm, this one looks like he gots coin. Whaddaya say? Wanna get 'ur hands dirty?"
Rabiz loomed over the table, lifted the mug of ale that the Vampire had been sipping and poured it into the muck next to the table. "I'm talkin' to yous." Grabbing the Lord of Ghouls by the cravat, twisting it in a calloused palm, he seemed to pull Bellighul from the rickety chair.
"I'd call that hardly fair." His voice was baritone, deep as the grave which contrasted his debonair and effete demeanor.
A guffaw escaped the orc's lips. "FAAAAAIIIR! You hear that lads?! The princess wants a fa..." Looking back at the crowd, half laughing still but was interrupted by a ghostly scream which struck the bones of those in the area. "For you, you craven imbecile."Bellighul sounded, as a phantasmal Spirit hovered over him, spectral chains flailing about as it's mouth extended monstrously down to it's abdomen. He detested rudeness, let alone being threatened. Most of all, he wrinkled his silken accessory.
Bellighul hovered his hand over the heart of Rabiz and a ghoulish glow of violet energy illuminated the darkness. The orc was hurled across the landscape, several feet and crashed through the tables that Ulrich and Zarius had been sitting. Carried by the dark energy of a Chromatic Blast that was magnified by his Spirit Shroud. Turning the already powerful beam into a pulverizing ray of doom. A purple hued smoke danced from the chest of Rabiz, skeletal faces appearing within, he groaned, broken and unable to breathe. Rolling over, his face in the muck, tried to reach for his axe that was a meter away. Only for the tall riding boots of the Vampire to tread closer, mud covered, and one placed on the back of the fallen orc's head. Putting his weight into it, he buried the orc's face deep into the filth. Gurgling. Flailing. Silent.
Reaching into his vest pocket whilst the dark deed was performed, he tossed several pieces of gold at the feet of Ulrich. "Apologies..." He said with a smirk, ruby red eyes gazing at the other mage with a bit of hostility. Masked by charity."Here, buy yourself something proper." He said, with an air of contempt and vile amusement.
However, the Tiefling had his attention, his long locks of scarlet hair rustling in the dreadful wind. The torchlight flickering off pallid skin as he eyed Zarius and spoke, stepping away from the body of the orc now and towards him. "I suppose this makes me 'champ'un' of the pits now...perhaps you would fare better than that one. Considering the squalor of this place and yourself...I assume you could use the gold." Bellighul made a nasty assumption towards Zarius, his arrogance evident and a sense of superiority marking one of his many fell traits.
The Zeinavian Nightmare yet, walked away towards the pit, pulling one of his black leather gloves off with his teeth. Large canines visible as he gazed at the moon now reigning. Leaping down, his way made for him by the crowd as the specter shrieked above him once more, his boots crashing into the blood soaked mud and sand.
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Post by Eameia (Zarius unavailable) on Oct 20, 2022 16:43:06 GMT -5
There is a brief moment when Zarius’ eyes catches the gaze of another. A rather unassuming human male with a studious appearance. He doesn’t stand out nearly as much as the red-head, but he still doesn’t fit in with the rough and tumble crowd gathered here in the mud. He keeps the human in his periphery as he turns his attention back to the escalating situation between the fancy man and a particularly loud orc.
The tiefling doesn’t flinch as his untouched drink and the table gets smashed into pieces by the orc’s hulking form flying past into the mud on the other side of the platform. Ah, so this fancily dressed man was a mage. No wonder he walked around like he owned the place.
He sits back in the chair and crosses his arms as the pale-faced man finishes subduing the orc brute. The red-head then tosses a few coins to the man with the glasses before turning his gaze towards him.
There’s a strange tension as their eyes meet. Both assessing the other, trying to determine how much of a threat they were to one another. Bellighul’s words result in the slow tilt of the tiefling’s head to one side. A wisp of shadow only he can see floats around Bellighul’s head and an echo of whispers nag at the back of his mind. He ignores it and a smile spreads across his face.
As the Lord of Ghouls turns back to the arena, Zarius can’t help but laugh. This man must have his drawers in a bunch to randomly pick a fight with an observer. Fine then, he wants to cut loose against someone? He’d oblige. Uncrossing his arms, he gets to his feet and slings his bag across the back of the chair.
He steps across the platform and hops down to the base of the fighting pit to face the peacocking necromancer.
“I appreciate the offer, sir, though I have no need for your coin. I will, however, happily feed you your teeth.” The tiefling says with a toothy grin as he cracks his knuckles. “No charge, of course.”
The crowd, previously stunned to silence from Bellighul’s smack down of the arena champion, regain some of their energy at the prospect of this new match up. The goblins start collecting bets on who would win, with most betting on Bellighul considering he had already demonstrated his strength and very clearly used magic. Underestimated as usual. Perfect.
Why the man singled the tiefling out was a mystery. Maybe he had something against those with fiendish appearances. It wasn’t uncommon, though there were many more monstrous beings in the Marsh Flats. Still, this man’s dress was not of this land. In fact, the materials seemed to be of Zeinavian origin. He recalls his mother’s dresses which are of similar fine quality.
Surely this man must be of some repute, and if he is from Zeinav, Zarius very well may recognize his name. It would be good to know if this person was someone he needed to hold back against or not. He hoped not. He really wanted to break his nose. And his jaw. And his dignity.
“Before we begin, sir, I must ask who you are and where you hail from?” The tiefling asks as slides his knuckle knives onto his hands and assumes a defensive stance. "It is important if I am to send your broken body back to the correct household."
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Post by Ulrich Ambriz on Oct 22, 2022 4:16:15 GMT -5
Ulrich watched as the two men strode into the pit, ready to tear each other apart from the looks of it.
He gave out an exasperated sigh, "I don't need to get involved in this. I'm just trying to relax."
He's stopped by a hand on his chest. He looks up to see a large orc holding him in place. Ulrich looks down at the hand placed on his chest, and back up to the orc attached to it. A bit comical, to say the least.
"An' where do ya think yer goin', Four Eyes?" He picks up Ulrich up with two hands by the collar of his jacket. "Th'way I sees it, you owe us a bit of a fight too. That pretty lookin' one gave ya some gold so you're involved now too."
Ulrich lets out a chuckle, "Come now, gentlefolk, no need to get hasty here. Those two down there look like they'll give you all more than enough of a show." There was no talking himself out of this situation. This crowd wanted to see a good fight. Yes, they knew they would have a show with the two currently down in the pit, but they also liked the idea of throwing in an easy looking target.
Before he could say anything else, Ulrich found himself thrown into the pit. At first, he was falling wildly through the air, but to everyone's surprise, he'd managed to right himself mid air. He landed onto the ground with a grace that someone of his studious appearance would not be expected to have.
He looks up at the two men in front of him, "Hello gentlemen, it would seem that the crowd up there also wanted me to join in." He was totally ignoring the fact that he'd just landed gracefully inside the pit after being thrown. Surely the crowd up above them would be confused.
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Oct 22, 2022 14:49:49 GMT -5
Bellighul's lips began to part, about to speak as Ulrich descended into the pit. His ruby eyes caught the rather stylish entrance, something mysterious was about. He was indeed studious, but even his clothes betrayed a warrior's physique. Not to mention the hilt of a sword about him. Curious. Though it mattered little to the Lord of Ghouls. Indeed, he was a sorcerer and member of the Mage's Guild, but his reputation of violence preceded him. Amongst his regular peers, he was the weakest in raw power but balanced by a wicked temper and willingness to bleed. He did not fear death, as many do, his fanatical loyalty to the Dark Maiden ensured, at least to him, a place in her Lunar Palace.
"Welcome to the festivities, friend." He said with malice and charm.
He took his eyes away from Ulrich and back at Zarius, his threatening comments amusing. There was a fire within the Tiefling, he understood this deeply.
His other glove now tossed onto the ground, the bloodlust of the crowd growing stronger. Pulling his cravat from his neck, it too danced away in the wind along with the black diamond tack. Swept into the distance of the rolling gale that fluttered the torch light.
His voice carried a bit of resonance, the high walls of the pit were earthen and gore stained, reflecting sound slightly. "I am called Bellighul..." His pearl white canines betraying his nature, behind blued lips of bloodlessness. Yet, spoke of his name as a title rather than a given. His true name, yet revealed to all. "I am master of the Villa of Lost Souls in far Zeinav. Necromancer and Exalted in the Dark." His boastfulness is a common trait of his, not many were more arrogant than he. Futher, he loosened several buttons of his pristine white shirt, revealing a pale barrel chest and a musculature not befitting a scholar. Yet, strangely, a scar resembling one of funerary rites lined the center of his chest and beneath the collarbones. As if his organs were once removed and placed in jars as typical of ancient Zeinavian customs. Though, a black heart beat like a war drum in his chest still.
"Your concern for my well-being is appreciated. Though, I would focus more on staying alive yourself....I'll bury you both in my gardens. A far better place to rest than your otherwise pauper deaths."
His spectre floated above him, a deathly screech escaping it once more as Bellighul's left hand glew with more of that dark energy, purple arcana smoking upwards before he fired forth another Chromatic Blast; the force of which made his scarlet hair dance backwards as if in a powerful wind. The beam was aimed not at Zarius however, but at Ulrich's lower torso. Meaning to put his newfound foe on the defensive.
Yet in the other, with a wicked smile, he utilized Summon: Possession, calling the haft of his Harvest Reaper into his palm. A blood red eye mounted the scythe blade, a black handle of horror-infused dryad wood. It gave off a sense of mourning and pain, the long blade of his scythe hovering over the mud and sand and upwards into the air behind him. It's sheen reflecting the images of his foes and pulsed with a dark hunger.
"Now...come forth and die." He spoke to both simultaneously.
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Post by Eameia (Zarius unavailable) on Oct 22, 2022 16:52:38 GMT -5
The tiefling gives a curious head tilt at Ulrich. He was armed and clearly had some magic about him, but he didn't seem like the malicious type. He would do well not to underestimate any caster, but it was pretty clear that he was no ally of the more aggressive red-headed combatant.
As Bellighul introduces himself, Zarius' golden eyes narrow then a fiendish smile spreads across his face. "You? Really?" He asks in mocking skepticism.
It wasn't the name he recognized, it was more the association with Zeinav that gave away Bellighul's connections to the tiefling. In his line of work it was crucial to keep tabs on those making big moves across Charon, especially the closer those people are to his homeland of the Ash Lands. He had first heard whispers of the necromancer raising an army of undead while stuck in a sand storm in Zeinav, but he never imagined he would run into the morbid mage himself, and especially not here in the humid murk of the Marsh Flats. He also did not expect the necromancer would have such delicate, fragile features. He hardly looked the part of someone with such a heinous reputation.
If this really was the same man, what in Charon was he doing here anyway? Collecting floaters from the bog for his legion of undead? Surely they would shrivel up and turn to dust in the Zeinavian heat.
He glances about at the crowd. Perhaps the necromancer was here to slaughter those already risking life and limb for entertainment and raise their corpses as his loyal servants. A find idea. He would almost be impressed if it wasn't for the man's pretentiousness.
His smiles fades to an unimpressed expression as Bellighul reveals his chest. Who exactly was he trying to impress? The tiefling's tail twitches though, he recognizes the scars. His mother was very knowledgeable with the traditional practices of Zeinav, and had such passed much of her occult knowledge on to her children. Zarius widens his stance a bit, his boot sinking deeper into the mud as he lowers his center of gravity. This man was not just a necromancer, he was literally a dead man walking.
"My most sincerest apologies, Bellighul of Zeinav, but I will have to decline your generous offer." The tiefling hisses with sarcasm.
His eyes lock on the necromancer's magic, briefly seeing the magic flowing within all of Bellighul's form as if it was blood flowing through his veins.[1] He doesn't wait for Bellighul's dramatic challenge before a shimmering veil falls over his form, causing him to become invisible, though it was not as effective as usual given the mud caked on his boots.[2] He figured that since the necromancer clearly was out for blood, it would be at least a little helpful in lowering the mage's accuracy and obscuring his vitals.
Zarius wastes no time in darting towards Bellighul, closing the gap quickly and then grabbing the shaft of his weapon.[3,4] His invisibility breaks as he ducks under Bellighul's arm and slams his fist into the back of the mage's elbow to try and make him release the nasty looking weapon.
[1] Sworn Enemy [2] Invisibility [3] Dashing enchantment [4] Iron Grip
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Post by Ulrich Ambriz on Oct 23, 2022 13:31:58 GMT -5
Ulrich sees the blast shoot forth from the man named Bellighul, and it does indeed put him on the defensive. An expression of panic washes onto his face as the blast nears. It nearly makes contact with Ulrich, but he manages to flip over into a handstand to the side of it's trajectory. The beam flies past him barreling into the ground that was behind him.
Still upside down on his hands, he looks back and forth between the impact, and the man that the beam was cast forth from. He also notices that the other man had disappeared for a slight second before reappearing in front of Bellighul, initiating his counterattack.
Ulrich flips out of the comical handstand, a slight smile on his face as he realizes the Tiefling is also a hand to hand combatant. He looks at his mud caked hands, makes a disgusted face, and whisks his hands back and forth.
This was not how he thought his day would end. All he wanted to do was relax, and now, he's found himself in one of the pits.
This is the pits, he thinks to himself.
The other two seem to be paying more attention to each other so he decides that he'll just be on the defensive until another attack comes flying his way. He can hear some of the crowd above them start to chatter and boo at him. He shrugs and keeps his focus on the other two as fists are thrown and caught, in a sense.
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Oct 23, 2022 23:53:53 GMT -5
The flickering dance of torches gave way to strong shadows in the pit, a meancing glow that highlighted the features of those within. Far from home, the Zeinavian engaged in battle, a testament to his versatility and honoeing the title of Dark Lord. The blood of gnolls assailed his senses, his crimson eyes darting across the pit as Zarius vanished. While the gore soaked mud betrayed his invisibility slightly, the speed in which he came forth was impressive. Further, Bellighul watched closely as the acrobatic Ulrich evaded his ranged attack with relative ease. Ulrich seemed to be a kinder soul, more prone to whimsy and calm. Intriguing, nonetheless he was his foe. He would not be playing in the mud for long.
Zarius' attack was well timed befitting a member of the Fighter's Guild; a fact the Lord of Ghouls was unaware of at the time. Yet, it meant little to the Vampire. Latching onto the long handle of his scythe to lock him into place or forego his weapon made the Tiefling seem calculating. Likewise a blade adorned fist aimed for his elbow to rend his flesh and severe tendons of his dominant arm.
An effective tactic, if the Maniacal Mage was simply a bookish arcanist. Bellighul witnessed the Invisibility spell fade coupled with the mud, he was able to react quickly and relinquish his grasp on the Harvest Reaper. For now. A well-timed Blink spell caused him to teleport a mere meter behind Zarius, his once free hand now fitted with strange dark manifestions extending from his fingers. A quick motion of his hand, the cruel Death Swipe spell unleashed. He focused on likewise disabling Zarius' speed. Just as he Blinked he lowered himself low with that slashing motion, the dark energy of his claw-like hands aiming at the back of Zarius' rear knee. Whilst the other hand, similarly adored flicked at the wrist and forearm upwards to bleed the left flank if connected.
Leaping backwards in a tumble, his silken shirt and leather pants now caked in earth and blood, he rose to his feet quickly. His now nefariously clawed hands nearly came together, a flash of a bright purple energy emitted from between the palms. His spectre, magnifying the spell still. The ground trembled for a split second as a Death Wall separated the pit in half. A blockade of grave-touched bone and spiraling shadows, fearsome ghoulish hands clawing from its structure. Beckoning forth. The wall was angled in such a way to separate him from the others briefly. Utilizing Summon: Possession once more, he called back his Harvest Reaper into his mire coated hand.
Thus, a dreadful circle appeared under his muscular frame, rotating spirals and unspeakable ruins igniting in a ghastly glow.
"By my Dark Power..." He uttered. As the mammoth hand of his Undead Hulk tore through the mud, bearing the sharpened head of a large rusted axe.
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Post by Eameia (Zarius unavailable) on Oct 24, 2022 23:04:56 GMT -5
Shit. He’s fast. Zarius knew that his own invisibility wouldn’t completely mask his movements, but he didn’t expect Bellighul to react so quickly. He swears in Infernal under his breath as the necromancer uses a spell that reminds him all too well of a previous encounter with displacer beasts. As such, that meant he would probably use the same tactic and strike from behind. Sure enough, Zarius feels a his skin crawl as Bellighul appears behind him.[1]
The tiefling manages to kicksup one leg out of the mud and avoid the lower swipe to the back of his knee, but he isn’t able to completely evade the second swipe against his wrist. He releases the scythe and springs back from the red-headed man who also widens the gap between them. Zarius sneers at him. There wasn't much he could do against a spellcaster at range.
As the arena splits in two and the wall of bones rises to fence off the fighters from the caster, Zarius recognizes that Bellighul is attempting to buy himself time for a larger spell.
"Oh, like I will just sit back and let you do that!"
He snarls and springs forward towards the wall. He faces down the reaching hands and terrible shards of bone and lashing shadows towering over his head but it hardly slows him down. He plants a foot against the wall of bone and runs right up and over it as a few claws slash and grasp at his legs.[2]
Once he clears the top he leaps off, flipping upside down and looking down at Ulrich. "If you do not want to die then do not just stand there!" He twists in midair to land properly from the fall, but landing on the ground is not his objective in the least.[3]
Aiming for the necromancer's plume of fiery hair, he pulls his fist back and goes for a precise blow to the side of the skull, attempting to halt the caster mid incantation with a stunning shock to his system.[4] His knees plow into the the caster's chest as the fighter's body weight comes down on the Lord of Ghouls in an attempt to knock him off balance. The tiefling springs back off Bellighul, wary of the scythe back in his possession and seeing that the summoning spell had still managed to pull the Undead Hulk from the grave.
Tch!
The shimmering veil of invisibility falls over his form once again in a vain hope that it will keep him from getting bodied from both sides as the undead and the necromancer have him flanked on either side.
[1] Fighters Sense [2] Spider Climb Boots [3] Cats Grace [4] Stunning Blows [5] Invisibility
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Post by Ulrich Ambriz on Oct 25, 2022 15:10:32 GMT -5
Ulrich lets out a sigh as the Tiefling shouted for him to get off of his ass and do something. The Necromancer, Bellighul, had summoned a wall of undead right through the center of the pit. The Tiefling had initiated his attack upon Bellighul, but now the man, most likely, had himself cornered on the other side of the wall.
I guess it is time to do something then.
The expression on Ulrich's face changes from warm to cold as he readies himself, bobbing up and down, warming up his muscles. He quickly dashes forward into a run towards the wall of undead, and they quickly react to him. They clawing and reaching in his direction anticipating him to make contact, but he doesn't. Instead he's witnessed hopping into the air as if there were platforms for him to step and jump off of.1 As he reaches to the top of the wall he can now get a clear picture of what was happening on the other side. The Tiefling had most definitely been flanked on both sides. To make matters worse, the Necromancer had managed to summon another gigantic undead from the grave.
Leaping off from the last pad of air beneath his feet, he angles himself in the air towards the monstrosity clawing it's way out of the earth. A blast of air2 shoots him downward towards the Undead Hulk currently halfway out of the ground. Not much of an attack— a bit more so of a nuisance than anything— Ulrich lands on the back of the Hulk's skull. His momentum drives it's face back into the mud, and gracefully hops off in a back flip landing next to Zarius. He's readied into his battle stance, wisps of wind still attached to him from the magic he just casted moments ago.
"Hello again, gentlemen." Ulrich says with a slight smile cracking on the side of his mouth.
Spells used: 1. Step of the Wind; 2. Gust Thrust
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Mage's Guild
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Post by Bellighul//Amilcar on Oct 25, 2022 17:23:17 GMT -5
Zarius and Ulrich proved to be worthy opponents, a grim smile on the face of the Vampire formed as the Tiefling vaulted over his structure. While preoccupied with his summoning spell however, Zarius was airborne and launched a well timed strike to his head. Before Bellighul could react, he felt the metal enforced fist collide. His vision pulsed. Hair flung backwards in a stream of red locks as he attempted to adjust his footing to compensate. Driving his heel into the mud as a sharp pain radiated just in front and above his ear. A short spray of blood flung out, as a laceration continued to pour down his cheek slowly. Yet the Lord of Ghouls had been hit harder. His eyes flared for a split second, just as the dual knee strike would have sent him barreling back and cracked his collarbones. Touching his bellowing shirt from the near staggering head impact.
His body became blurred. Dodging to his left as nearly an afterimage, he felt his connection to Mana severed, the strike taking away his ability to cast spells. Utilizing Raw Speed, just as Zarius landed on his feet and was to activate his Invisibility, Bellighul lashed out with his scythe. Attempting to reave the Tiefling across the back of his legs with the long blade in a powerful sweeping strike. Though the assault was unfinished as the Vampire planted the top of the scythe into the ground, using it to vault upwards into a handstand and then into a front flip. To drag the scythe blade in a lunar like arc behind him and down onto the Tiefling's core with incredible speed.
Yet, in vain, his Hulk was present in this plane already.
A powerful howl escaped the Undead Hulk, rising upwards as it lifted is hand towards the crowd to its left. Ulrich's attack was delaying but not devastating. A bright purple glow emitted from the center of its palm. The portion of the crowd scrambled. Fearing for their lives they leaped out of the way or scurried into the mud and darkness. The Hulk sent out a twisting wisp of dark energy, the violet beam danced and engulfed the corpse of Rabiz. A singular Raise Dead spell. Thus, with creaking bones and ghoulish wails, Rabiz bolted from the muck. His appearance warped, a long splotched tongue escaping from his mouth. Eyes a bright yellow. Lifting its great axe high, without fear or caution, leapt into the pit while it swung its vile axe down attempting to cleave Ulrich at the skull.
Meanwhile, the Hulk, swung its enormous axe just after Rabiz's suprise attack. Attempting to meet the quick foe's legs with the steel of its unearthly weapon. The upper portion of the axe striking the pit's wall, carving deep into the side.
Yet, as the crowd either scattered or found the nerve to cheer amidst the monsters. The treeline crashed, snapping limbs in the darkness. The blood and commotion drew some enormous closer.
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CCS Courier
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Ash Lands
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Post by Eameia (Zarius unavailable) on Oct 26, 2022 23:53:45 GMT -5
Zarius tries to dodge the first swipe of the scythe but Bellighul's speed is overwhelming and the ground is too soft. He feels the scythe slice through the backs of his legs, cutting in deep and knocking him onto his knees. He grits his teeth as he feels a wave of heat and pain wash over him. His heart pounds in his ears, but there's something else as well. A symphony of layered whispers which for a brief moment join in unison utter a single word. Move. The command snaps him out of it in time to see the scarlet stained blade of the scythe swinging down at him from above. He thows himself to the side to dodge the blade then reaches forward as the haft of the scythe continues to rotate through the circular strike. He gets a hold of the weapon and uses the inertia of the strike to yank Bellighul up and over his head and attempt to slam him down against his own bone wall. [1]He pants and looks at Ulrich. "I would not call this man gentle."
He winces and pushes himself up to his feet as blood runs down the backs of his mud caked boots. Seeing the Undead Hulk cast a spell was not reassuring especially as both it and its undead thrall turn their attention onto Ulrich. Zarius uses the diversion of the unassuming man to staggers out of melee range of Bellighul and his summons. Knowing that the effects of both his intent and the stun on the arisen man would end soon, he curses in Infernal. There was little he could do about it though as his mobility had been greatly diminished by the laceration of his calf muscles. He turns to face the fray and backs up against one of the thick wooden piles supporting the platform above the pit. He braces his arm and keeps it at the ready, he just needs the necromancer to target him with a spell. As he waits for the necromancer to recover, there is a loud hissing noise from beyond the arena. Trees snap and tumble over the platform, scattering splinters of wood through the air. A looming multiheaded creature with snake-like features drags itself up onto the structure. Its heads lash out at the fleeing fools who were too enthralled with the fight to notice the massive creature's approach. Zarius breathes another string of curses in the devil's tongue. Just what they needed, yet another heinous beast out for blood for no good reason. [1] Reverse of Momentum
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The Expedition
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"Ulrich, you will have to let go of what you loved then to protect the things you love now."
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Post by Ulrich Ambriz on Oct 30, 2022 14:12:25 GMT -5
Ulrich witnesses the Undead Hulk cast some sort of magic up above, but he has no idea what is happening up there at the moment. All he hears are the panicked screams and scurrying of the crowd. Then all of a sudden, an undead Rabiz flies through the air from up above— straight for him— attempting to cleave him in half with it's great axe.
Ulrich manages to react just in time, quickly pivoting to the side of the attack, but it wasn't quick enough. The angle at which the undead Rabiz swung it's great axe down at had managed to slice at the back of Ulrich's jacket. The blade of the axe slammed into the mud while Ulrich spun away. It took a moment for him to feel it, but the axe had not only sliced through his jacket, it had also sliced through his shirt to his skin underneath.
He could fell the trickle of blood down his back as he gave a slight pained grunt. He quickly takes his jacket and satchel off, throwing them to the ground in a pile. The sensation of feeling his shirt poorly absorbing the red liquid became uncomfortable, and so, the shirt was ripped off and thrown onto the pile as well.
Then the multiheaded snake creature enters the fray. It's dragged itself onto the structure, while the remaining onlookers started to scramble and scream.
Ugh, another headache to deal with...
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