Osiris Open 2017 Round 1: Fez the Kid vs Philomel

"The gorge yawned wide before us. They called it The Rift, and the reality was that it was further across than the Twilight Mountains seperating Alerar and Raiaera. We knew if we made a mistake the consequences weren't just soaked clothes and a bruised ego. The walls were sheer rock, coarse and unforgiving; undulating with overhangs and ledges. If by luck we didn't break all our bones on the craggy surface the impact of a three kilometre fall onto water would kill us all anyway. This wasn't like anything we had experienced before and we only had one shot. One man backed up so that he could gather speed before the leap onto the next ledge, then closed his eyes and thought of his wife Miranda. If he made it she'd get the medicine for her illness in time, if not they would re-unite in the afterlife. He took the ampule from the bag he'd hung around his neck, kissed it once and tucked it back into his shirt. Gaunt, without a trace of a smile, he launched into a sprint..."

Brotherhood report #011

Like a silent onlooker, the night witnessed the convergence. A meeting of two forces, the fates of whom were entwined together for a single, bloody night in the ever-unseen paths that were their lives. The air stood still - as if too absorbed by this event to ride the currents across this water-filled gorge. A river, not too deep nor too shallow; enough, it seemed, to make out the pebblestones paving its riverbed from above.

Although the same could not be said for the ravine itself; a fall down, after all, would be enough to claim any man’s life. Not to the mention the rugged precipices that threatened to shred at the body of the one ill-fated to meet a soaked death.

A single moon sat overhead between the dusk-colored clouds - another witness to this fated battle. There would be no turning back from this, Azaranth Ubissad realized. He would have to meet this yet unknown, albeit temporary foe.

The search for Merka Ralem had taken the monster hunter far, for, if there were a death-related god, he had several times felt his acrid breath down his neck. These endeavors had taught him a few things; the world wanted him dead, for example. Or, rather, being clever didn’t mean he’d be able to keep a safe distance from his demise.

This time, he reckoned, would be no different. This arena, this battleground was far too treacherous. A misstep here would ultimately mean a quick transfer to the afterlife.

That is if it exists, he mused, crouching down by the edge to study the darkness-covered walls of the canyon. Sure, he had slain many a warrior - but this time, he could tell, would be disparate. Shinsou Vaan Osiris of the Castigars, his distant acquaintance, and once-adversary, would put him against anything but a weak opponent.

After all, there would surely be some form of retaliation since Azaranth’s one and only victory against the Telgradian. Regardless, he was here and he was prepared, notwithstanding a possible defeat.

The monster hunter rose and walked up the ragged rim whence he could clearly see the gorge below, then paused to survey the land on the other side, where stone covered a few leagues inland, almost as far as he could see, arbitrarily-shaped boulders dotting the landscape here and there. He would have to, it seemed, juggle battling his adversary as well as taking care not to tumble close to that wide, foreboding mouth.

A welcome challenge.

Thus far, Azaranth knew little of whom he would brandish his sword against - but their ever-nearing presence he could sense oozing like a faint power, a precursor to their destined arrival. His figure a two-sworded silhouette against the sky, Azaranth halted and awaited the arrival of his to-be opponent.

It is said that only particular and great beasts can traverse the Mountains of the Dawn that forge the border between industrial Alerar and extravagant Raiaera. Those who can fly mighty altitudes - the holy or unholy celestials, mystical birds and the glorious dragons - are the only ones to even dare imagine questing above the mountains, whose tips tickle the stratosphere. Only those who can dig - the more ingenious dwarves, the earth-eating wyrms and hybridic others - can even dare to dream about eating through the layers of hardened rock, diamond and poisionous lead. And only those with nimble features - the balanced snake, the adept tree frog and the Dragon's Folly born alpin goat - can begin to grasp the complexities of the sheer cliffs and sharp valleys.

Of the alpin goat, it is said their soft and independently-moving, two-toed hooves ensure a safe journey upon a near vertical rock face. Shaped like a porabola on the outer side of each toe there is balance and strength considered from every angle. Time and patience added to these creatures developing toes different to their plain-dwelling cousins, but then who can deny ever having seen a wild goat in a tree. It was sheer luck that when the goddess Drys was perusing the animals of Althanas that she happened upon the alpin goats and thought them agile, clever and beautiful. Thus it was with them in mind that she lovingly formed the faun and so they became:- though admittedly with harder hooves and less grace than their animal influences.

That was, for one exception. Philomel van der Aart was the glory and pride of Drys, and thus she had the skill, the deft movements and dextrousness to challenge any alpin goat to a cliff. And it just so happened to be that she was navigating her way upon the sharpest rise she knew of. That she had ever come across. With the most vertical of edges that it seemed to slope diagonally away from perpendicular heights as one gained towards the river bottom, to the point where one might half to dangle upside down. The only footholds were small tufts of rock and larger outcrops that could be ten metres or more apart from one another. And the other side of the gorge - why that was miles away, over on some distant shore past the slow-flowing, but possibly deathly river.

Shinsou probably thinks himself hilarious, putting the goat-woman on the gorge, Philomel grumbled in her mind.

She hefted up her left blade, a foot long dagger that could be mistaken for a sword with a waving blade whilst she let the tip of her maind hand-and-a-half mythril sword rest on the ground. Across her back was slung her not often as used new sword - tenderly called 'The Rabbit' after its namesake that it was struck from, and of the memories of the adventures it had led them on. Currently Philomel stood on a excrescence of the cliff that was perhaps a foot in length and breadth. Perfectly a minimal but easy width on which to stand upon for her. Her hard hooves curled around the stones like they were blades of grass, the smooth surfaces and gentle nicks in them comfortably holding on to balance.

Her great friend and ally, Shinsou van Osiris, had once more spoken to the world and invited all who dared to partake in his violent games of power and influence. If she knew the man well, Philomel knew that he himself would likely be watching currently, as he had been in all of her matches last time. The previous year Philomel had climbed her way through the rounds, until gaining to the last round in the centre of a daunting pyramid, facing against two mighty but familiar foes - the black haired darling Maddison Freebird, and the strong Storm Veritas. Veritas who had taken his place as Shinsou's close companion and commander of the Brotherhood forces.

Damn Brotherhood, Philomel scowled. The Brotherhood of the Castigars, who had initially sent her a message to her hidden forest fortress, saying 'We are watching'. The Bortherhood of the Castigars whom Shinsou had slain ... and taken over. The Brotherhood of the Castigars who were supposed to now be in partnership with her own feminist guild, the Gilded Lily, but were they? Were they to be seen? Was there even a point in signing up for this?

Bah. Philomel thought as she leant back, preparing for a leap onto the next ledge - a small outcrop perhaps six metres away. They probably just think I am far too amazing.

Wait! came a voice behind her. Well, in her head. She heard wheezing, hard breathing, moaning.

Twisting her head over her shoulder, Philomel raised an eyebrow to see her erstwhile and passionate companion Veridian, the fox-formed earth spirit bound mind and soul to her. His red russet fur flared brilliantly against the dull rock, lit with dazzling beauty in the fading sunlight. Though it was dark neither of them had any difficulty in seeing. Until it got properly dark they knew they could trust instinct and Philomel's inate earth-sense - of knowing the layout of the ground within fifty metres for every hoofstep. Arching an eyebrow she almost laughed at the way his legs shook and his huge golden eyes pierced in anger.

I thought you were staying behind until I found our enemy? She asked, amusement in her mental voice.

Veridian attempted to swish his tail in anger, but it came out as a weak wobble. I was, but then you got too far to follow. I would have portaled enough times to exhaust our energy.

So you have left Mao alone? She asked, speaking of their newest companion, a wild rabbit with uncanny abilities.

No, the fox said, succumbing to his fatigue and sitting down on his rear end. I left her with Delath of course.

In Philomel's mind she pictured the tiny black and white beat of prey being suddenly forced with the presence of the mighty rock dragon Delath, as he burst out of the ground in a shower of rock and dirt. She tried to bite back a chortle of laughter.

Fine. But you'll have to get up onto my shoulders.

Veridian nodded, and lifted himself back onto his small white paws. Taking a moment he summoned what little energy he had gained back from his short rest, and then launched himself from the rock base to his companion, going first from thigh to arm to shoulder -

Ow, claws, Philomel seethed, trying to relax and focus forwards again as Veridian caught her flesh. Just in the distance she could swear she actually saw a figure. A tiny shadow in the fading light, dwaddling near the top of the cliff, still some fair hundred feet away.

Ah sorry, Veridian replied, settling around her drakescale breastplate. I just sharpened them.

The single humanoid figure that Azaranth slowly and steadily made out in the distance carried itself not on feet, but hooves. The first quality to jump out at Azaranth were the pair of obsidian-black horns protruding and reclining back from the forehead like a huge, unmasked visor of some proud knight, treading along the edge with an acutely distinct purpose - one Azaranth reckoned a purpose not dissimilar to his own. A faun, a woman with the legs and horns of a goat.

Still, can’t say she’s completely human. She’s half-goat, after all. The monster hunter remembered his occupation, then smiled to himself. Huh, ironic.

Pigment covered the slightly bare abdomen, rising from her fur-cloaked pelvic area to cover what seemed to be the rest of her mostly human torso. The length of her hair remained hidden behind her back, the color of which Azaranth could discern as violet in the faint moonlight. Strapped to her back was a single longsword, flanked by a huge crossbow - reminiscent of his own. The two weapons sat idle in their positions, as if studying him to measure what would be required of them to reduce him to ruin.

To be able to carry around and wield weapons of such grandeur whispered of nothing but awesome strength. Not a promising sign - but an expected one nonetheless. Flitting his eyes to other arrivals, Azaranth spied a small, fox-shaped and wraithlike figure on the faun’s shapely shoulder— Didn’t come here to spectate, looks like.

Then to the massive shape lurking beside the faun, a lizard-like beast whose wings had long since gone, stumps marking its scaled flanks as an old memory of their presence. A wyvern…? No, skull’s too big. Must be a dragon, smaller kind. Lost its wings somehow. And— Spying a white-colored bundle atop the brown-colored beast— is that a… rabbit?

The monster hunter almost felt like chuckling. Shin set this up intentionally?

He would fight not warriors, but monsters. Almost feels like just another work day, albeit much more dangerous… and, I hate to admit— precarious. High time our arrivals introduced themselves.

Halting at a comfortable distance, the Salvarian nodded at the faun, whom he guessed would be the head of this band of creatures. “Greetings. Azaranth Ubissad.” He studied the other creatures - if only to discern any comprehension in those bestial eyes. “Guessing you’re my opponent. Can’t say I came here to enjoy the fresh air. Would love to chat with your little party… But I don’t think that’s included in the rules, is it?”

"Would love to chat with your little party ..."

Eyebrows furrowed, Philomel tried to think of how her and Veridian could be called a 'little party'. In truth they were more than a singular entity (though, admittedly, to some members of the Gilded Lily that sometimes did not seem true) yet, they were not quite a merry 'little party'. Veridian was, quite simply, a companion, her constant voice of reason resting upon shoulders or winding around her legs. To her the term 'little party' meant more than just the duality that was fox and faun.

But then - a sensuality, an edge of sentiment lingering at the side of her mind. Through her hooves Philomel could feel the depths and curves of the cliff-face they scaled, she could gain an impression of every stone, ledge, creeping moss and tiny creature that scrambled its way for fifty metres. There was a calling of lichen, sproutings of spruce and rock polybody, digging into the cracks of the mighty rockface for the merest hint of water. Else there were insects, though her ability was not as determined as her connected to plants was. She could sense an army of ants, a disestablishment of millipedes and a collacine of maggots, but these were scattered and undecided as to number and distinct direction. And then there was a power, a great reasonable mind that stood at the periphery of her conciousness. Just at the edge of the fifty metre extremity lay the waiting mind of the giant wingless earth-dragon, Delath.

Quite irritated by the fact that her reptilian friend had joined them, Philomel turned and fixed Delath with a stern stare. "You know you were supposed to stay behind, right?"

Great black, gorgeous eyes blinked back at her underneath softly scaled lids. Currently he was clinging onto the rockface with his huge dagger-like claws, all twenty foot of him suspended above the river by their strength. On top of him, perched like a lord on his horse, was the seemingly very un-fearful Mao, the only creature of Philomel's assembly not gifted with the intelligence of reason. Instead, she just gave blind trust and acted on instinct, very much like Philomel's enraged form.

Sighing with some compassion, the faun twisted back around to face her opponent - a muscled but slightly scrawny amber-eyed warrior, roughly the same height as her. Her lips pursed as she studied him up and down and finally admitted to the pretense of having a 'little party'.

"Oh chatting is allowed, Mr Ubissad, and since you have introduced yourself, I will me. My name is Philomel van der Aart, this scarf is Veridian Ryuusan. The giant lump behind me is Delath and on his back sits Mao." She paused, "I will not tell you if there are any more, for that would spoil the fun, wouldn't it?"

Smiling, she eyed the distance between her and the human. As he stood on a ledge, so did she, and it was a fair ten metres between them. She was unsure if his jumping was anything to be considered to hers - for she did not know if she had ever met this particular fellow in her adventures yet - but she knew she herself could clear it without any issue. She focused slightly, and began to call upon one of the plants she met before - the small spruce sapling that was situated just at Mr Ubissad's feet. As she did so she lowered herself into a fighting crouch, immediately readying herself for the fight due to happen.

Delath, you and Mao retreat into the cliff. Veridian and I will handle this boy for now. Do not come out until I say, or until you are truly bored.

The dragon huffed a little, and pronouced into her mind that he was already bored, but he twisted his head away and began to gnaw into the granite, limestone, clay or whatever other mineral the scar was made from. Quite literally he ate into the wall beneath him, the rabbit on his back doing naught but pricking up her ears high as he began to rapidly disappear. The area behind Philomel was thrown into disarray as stone, soil and grit was thrown into the air by the earth-dragon's burrowing, all becoming a cloud of mystery and magic behind her.

Philomel smirked, prepared. "Shall we dance, then, for the sake of Osiris' amusement?"

Azaranth observed in silence as the wingless dragon pierced the hard, raw earth underfoot, punching through the aggregate in a manner that would do the Kachuck dwarfs proud. A heartbeat later the huge, bunched shape of the creature was replaced by a haphazard pit in the ground. It would not help in this fight. Not in a way that’s planned, at least. Least there’s that. But still got that… ‘scarf’ - Veridian, was it? That’s no ordinary fox. Will have to look out for it.

And that rabbit. Might not look like much, but damn if it doesn’t look threatening.Said she wouldn’t tell me if there were others… Great, there could be more.

Azaranth adjusted his sword strap, sighing. Why am I fighting more than one opponent?

For a moment Philomel seemed to consciously focus on something in Azaranth’s immediate vicinity, yet he did not brace for what seemed like a premature attack. An unwise decision coming from a vigilant monster-hunter - but, until this moment, nothing mildly untoward had occurred.

I’m at a stupidly obvious disadvantage here.

Hand rising for his silver sword, Azaranth smirked slightly. Gotta be careful, he thought, slipping the weapon in its sheath. Don’t even know her fighting style yet. This is bound to end as fast as it’ll start.

Silver blade leaving scabbard with a ring, the weapon’s unsheathing echoed in the vast depth of the ravine like a harbinger to the battle about to commence. “Osiris… See that we have a mutual acquaintance. But yes, let’s. I’m betting he’s watching us this moment.

Somehow.”

Lowering into a wider stance to match the one Philomel had just employed, Azaranth steadied his grip on the hilt of his sword, readied himself then broke into a forward dash, covering twenty pace-distance between them in three heartbeats— and when he was within range swung his sword outward - clumsily enough, and hopefully not obviously deliberate enough, to gauge his opponent’s reflexes and decision-making.

Man… sometimes I just hate life.

"Oh my he is a fast one," Philomel murmured as she saw the man run - and clear the gap between them with a few lithely-made footsteps. Intrigued, she watched him soar over the deathly void of air that made up part of the ten metre distance, a few nimble footsteps making the pace.

Hooves moving into place at the supernatural speed of which only gods could hope to imitate, Philomel met his rapid sword clash with her own blade, swinging it up at the last moment with a smirk of amusement on her face. Straight in, fine dining and dashing was his style it seemed - to make a mere comment and come and meet his foe. His remark about Shinsou watching was very likely true, for the Telgradian had revealed to her in their first 'proper' meeting in the Citadel battle of mettle and test that he had watched the entire last competition. The impression she often got from the Brotherhood hero was that he was a proud, stubborn type who longed to get his manhood between her legs before -

Clang. Silver steel met white mythril. Truly they were dancing. A waltz of some kind, most likely. It was a rhythm composed of two swords as drums and their hooves (feet for Mr Ubissad) as the melody. The wry wind picked up their hair to add a note of harmony, whistling in the dusk like a lover lost.

Certainly Mr Ubissad was deft at the sword, but he was not swifter nor more skilled than the faun. Indeed, her initial reaction to being able to beat him was somewhat underwhelmed; they were near to equal, although with Philomel's increased speed and strength she began to consider that she might win this - if it were just a simple sword fight. She kept up her will against his, dodged his blows with ease and used both blades as one. Her plynt dagger - what else might be termed a short sword - swung in the dim light like a brilliant green hummingbird fighting for its succulent delicacy whilst the white blade of Nameless aimed fast, true, and defending. Her hooves kept her from slipping far off the ledge, but Philomel began to feel that this testing of one another's skill could only last for so long. Soon she was going to have to press her advantage and discover if Drys had increased her speed in her infinite wisdow, or she was going to have to move.

I move first.

Surprised that he had actually been there this long, Philomel felt the warm, soft body of Veridian release himself from around her neck. Hopping down her back he slipped to be in a place behind her, standing at where the rocks were broken and shattered in the wall of the cliff - the remnants of Delath's disappearance. Now that the dragon had eaten his way back into the stone he had covered his tracks partly by smoothly replacing what he had dug out initially - but in doing so had entirely destroyed any reasonable foothold behind Philomel. In this case she knew she and Mr Ubissad could not go backwards in their fight, but would rather need to advance towards where he had been, go up or down. Her lips pursed. She focused on the sapling once more.

Then she leapt, hooves suddenly pounding on the rocks, hard and beautiful. Over the warrior's head she sailed, recieving just a light bloody scratch on her leg as his blade caught her. But it was nothing, a morsel. Instead she was there, twenty metres above and beyond, sailing up and over his head back to where he had begun. Majestic, like a bird. Veridian was poised on the side where Philomel had been and he had his tiny teeth bared, facing Mr Ubissad who would now find himself quite, quite flanked.

Very nice, Veridian commented, ruffling his mane in readiness to fight. His practise had made him well - he could now change from mere fox-formed earth spirit to mighty dire fox-on-fire in less than half a second. His lips pulled back, grinning and egging the young man on.

Thank you, Philomel replied, bending down and waiting for Mr Ubissad to make his decision. Her or Veridian, faun or fox.

A discordant symphony of clashing blades tolled in the dead of night, the silhouettes of two warriors cavorting deadly steps against the full moon’s light. Stabs, slashes and feints were equally met with timed parries and blocks, the goat-legged woman positioning herself as would a mistress of the sword. Only once had Azaranth’s founds its mark over faun flesh, wounding the originator’s leg as she sailed up high and above the monster hunter in his pirouettes.

The height alone covered in that leap was ridiculously high. Reckon a kick from those legs would mean a broken ribcage, so much so that I doubt my quon shield would do much to prevent that from happening.

Landing like the shedding leaves of fall, Philomel seemed almost unfazed by his efforts - without worry. And fox-less. Looks like her pet got bored and decided to watch from the sidelines. Azaranth paused for a moment, then turned. Or, it seems, actually take a part in this and help. Those are some impressive fangs for his size.

Cunning eyes held him like prey, filled with intent. Azaranth could discern little of the thing’s true origins - he’d never seen a fox-shaped spirit, after all. Lips peeled, Veridian stood in wait, apparently for the signal to engage. It seemed they were giving him the decision of whom he would continue this rather young fight with - and in light of his situation, Azaranth found it quite difficult to choose.

Veridian’s capability was a mystery in and of itself— Funnily enough, I don’t know that much about her either, he mused, eyeing the dual-wielding Philomel.Delath, hidden in the bed underfoot, planning, of course, to appear at the right moment. Who knows what else this faun has up her sleeve.

Sighing, Gotta be particularly careful when that dragon shows up, Azaranth unlimbered his crossbow, clinching back the quarrel already set in the groove. He did not bother to aim, for that would prove unnecessary in this next set of maneuvers. Crossbow in one hand, blade in the other, the Salvarian twisted on his heel and blindly fired at Veridian.

Azaranth attached the weapon back, simultaneously striding toward Philomel, silver sword glinting on its own accord.

Then suddenly roared ablaze as sorcery played along its seams, a sparkle that cloaked the entire blade in raging flames. Fire trailed him like crimson ink spilled in water. Azaranth stepped forward as silver and fire merged to create one formidable weapon - the one he now swung inward to carve faun flesh.

Crossbow bolt, silver blade alight. Two weapons, both alike in dignity, yet their victims truly differing.

A blind fire meant a misfire. For Veridian, lithe and graceful as he was, it was easy to jump aside from the ranged weapon flying with vehemence towards him. A sweep of his white-tipped tail, a snicker of his tone, and the sharpened metal end barely grazed his back. It whizzed by with a whistle, snapping off some distant rock whilst the fox himself found pawholds on the thin ledge he stood on. Grinding his teeth down he watched as the warrior boy twisted to raise his thin sword against Philomel, exposing his back to Veridian.

Stupid mistake boy. Never underestimate the fox so small.

As bright and as fluid as the flames upon Mr Ubissad's own sword, Veridian's coat began to flare. Small wind-swept tufts that were mere unbrushed locks became whispy and colourful, as the power of the broken fire whisp within him began to dance into life. As Philomel's lip twisted into a smirk, and she herself summoned into life the flames around the waving green blade of the Lover, Veridian ground his claws into the rock beneath him and silently condemned himself to the transformation. Golden eyes glowed like the heart of the sun, tail brushed the dirt of the side of the ledge, straight into the gorge, tumbling twenty kilometres down. Like a hurricane it cleared a swathe of a path as it, and his whole body exponentially grew, doubling, tripling, quadrupling in size - all in the time it took Mr Ubissad to stride the few paces to lock swords once more with Philomel.

Clang.

Once more, blade met blade, except this time it was the dance of the flame-wielders.

Philomel's fiery sword was not as big as Mr Ubissad's, and she very much doubted it could last as long, but with her own having the material of plynt it could only sieze up the enemy's blaze and endure. Her other sword, Nameless, stayed back, being more of an attack than anything. And thus, she gladly drew the human back into a fray, using the Lover as defence, Nameless as attack, the two in harmony, dodging the enemy's flames with intentional verocity.

Keep him busy whilst he is distracted, she thought, but also communicated thus to Veridian. Keep him busy, just defend, hold back and have him have what he assumed to be nothing be his death.

Delath? Veridian commented, crouching low into the ground, his whole body now a furious furnance. Eyes, ears, back, paws, tail; entirely he was a forge in the midst of Hadia.

Philomel struck out with Nameless, aiming for Mr Ubissad's abdomen, whilst the Lover on fire blocked another attack. Now! she yelled mentally, ignoring the sarcasm. Now!

His paws the beat of a mighty drum, Veridian suddenly moved. His paws now the size of dinner plates needed to be careful as they trod the ground far too small for him, but with care and precision he would make the strive. The sound of crackling embers could be heard in the air around him, as his coat tasted the oxygen from the atmosphere and devoured. His spirit roaring, his heart racing, he took one, two running paces and leapt for the back of the Itinerant.

The dual blades of Philomel matched Azaranth’s own with a calculated vigor, never failing to riposte with the same fervor that played along the monster hunter’s hands. All his opportunities to land a direct hit had been choked off. Philomel had practically nullified his plan to distract Veridian whilst he dealt with his master. Too much time had passed for it to succeed anyway, and Azaranth doubted that the the fox-spirit was anything but unsheathing his claws.

Philomel’s blades worked together in almost perfect synergy - one protecting its master, the other attacking her foe. The latter now impelled forth to impale his abdomen.
.
To which Azaranth responded with his quon shield - orangish glowing armor, appearing in time to absorb most of the impact. Still, not unexpectedly, he could feel the blade. And when he looked down, saw that it succeeded in drawing some blood. Straining, Azaranth drew back a fist to suddenly feel an incredible weight dawn on his back, felling him like an old tree.

Azaranth felt claws, then fire pierce his shoulder blades.

Veridian seemed to have multiplied in size. To bring down a full-grown man with little effort, Azaranth found no other explanation for it. Testing Veridian’s strength, the Salvarian attempted to push himself up, yet the gap he created from his body to the ground was too miniscule for him to continue his futile efforts.

Azaranth brought his sword-wielding arm back and attempted a counter-strike but found himself completely immobile under the fox, the pressure of his huge paws almost crushing him underneath. Air leaving his lungs, more pressure seemed to add by the second, his ribcage constricting between stupendous strength and the stone-paved earth underfoot.

He could not tell if he madness was finally getting to him, or if his entire body was truly decreasing in girth. Shit, if I’m held down like this for too long I’m probably dead. They can’t always be on their guard - gotta think ofsomething while I still can.

Before his mind’s eye, Azaranth realized that he’d have to respond to sorcery with aught that was sorcery. Whispering the magic words, he managed to bring back his free hand, trace the designated symbol that would save him from a crushing demise.

Anesthetizima. Bone-white magic rose in a single column, trailing upward and out of sight.

Targeting the mind of Veridian.

And moments later, the fox’s paw came off Azaranth, his body released from the force like a balloon that had just been bound to burst. Ragged air filling his lungs, the Salvarian turned on his back, his vision hazed from the fox’s efforts. Hastily he wobbled to his feet, and without batting Philomel an eye, Azaranth attempted what most would reckon as useless, if not foolish.

Never tried striking a spirit, but shit, not much else I can do against one. Like a serpent striking for the kill, Azaranth’s silver sword carved its way down and hard - targeting the fox’s ghostly head.