Dark Rainian Arrival [Open to all!]

[Lord Synical]

I hate Thunderstorms.

The thought echoed in Lucien's head amidst the crackle of its namesake, the Crown-Prince eyeing the blackened clouds above with distate as he trudged upon sodden earth, the grass in the clearing stretching on into the wall of trees that surrounded it, the forest itself a collection of towering oaks and pines, all meshed together in what would be called a vivid display of greenery, were the weather more hospitable.

Bitterly regretting the inescapable call that drug him to the dismal world, Lucien halted in the middle of the clearing, pointed ears twitching slightly whilst his left hand rested on the pommel of Silthrim, crimson eyes giving a faint velvet glow from the eye slits of his silver-blue helm. I can feel it close by. His feet carried him slightly to the right and forwards, before he pivoted and peered at the ground before him, lowering to his left knee so that the hilt of his longsword, which at current rested upon his left hip, was easily accesible.

Hand still gripping his blade for comfort, the Crown-Prince immolated his hand and curled it into a fist, slamming the grassy earth with it in a practiced manner, white flames tinted red lacing out along the ground in shimmering veins of light before they erupted upwards and coalesced into a nova of fire; the inner nexus of magical energies crackling around the prince in swiftly vanishing bolts of reddish-gold energy.

Ignoring this strange phenomenon for normality, Lucien cleared away the scorched earth and dug out what was now more or less ash, his breath catching as something glimmered faintly in the ground. Moving his left hand from Silthrim, the Prince hefted a lavishly adorned wooden chest from the earth, brushing away specks of dirt from the gilded lid and examining the chest for a moment before flipping the latch in the centre; grimacing at the drops of rain as he hunched over it, blinking at the contents in surprise.

A wooden figurine sat snugly in silk-padded walls within the chest, intricate runes in a scrolling language collapsed into one another, birthing other runes as the pattern traversed the entirety of the carving. Examining the bird-like appearance and the jagged, almost fiery edges that seemed perpetual and made with purpose, the Crown-Prince could only deduce that the thing - whatever it was - was a Phoenix totem.

Peering about him, Lucien reached into the chest and grasped the totem... which immediately sent a resonance through his body. Frozen in shock, the flameweaver listened as a phantasmal voice drifted through his conciousness; detailing the tournament of champions and the cabal's request for his attendance upon their sacred grounds.

Shocked, Lucien barely had time to think before instinct threw him to the right and a lance of darkness shattered the trunk of a tree; the explosion drowned out by the thunder above. Manipulating his momentum, Lucien rolled half a meter away and used the last of the force to 'roll' into a kneeling stance, Silthrim flashing out and igniting with a blaze of inner light, crystal blade illuminating the darkness of the clearing where the flashes of light from the raging storm did not. Red eyes sweeping the area meticulously, Lucien grasped the hilt of his Longsword in his right hand, a ball of white fire appearing in his left as he watched.

By some godly luck or primal rection, the Elven warrior shifted his position as another bolt of crackling darkness splintered a tree behind him, showering Lucien in wooden shrapnel. Snarling, he hurled a small ball of flame into the direction of this attack... just in time to see the dark shape of his attacker rush towards him. Training kicking in, Lucien stepped forwards and danced the forms, a sweeping upwards-left slash supported by a straightened and pushed-back right leg correspondant to a slightly bended left knee impacted Ilythyrii steel, marking his enemy as one of the Exiled. Pulling a balanced three-hundred and sixty degree turn of his right foot, Lucien criss-crossed his legs and aimed a brute-force cleave towards his slightly shorter enemy's neck; grunting at the block supplied by the dark-skinned betrayer.

Throwing his weight behind the deadlock, he swiftly un-tangled his legs and jumped back with the aid of his foe's strength, having been pushing against Lucien's blade the entire deadlock. With an evaluating glance, the Crown-Prince grimaced under his helmet and darted forwards again, leaving his stomach wide open for reprisal. Taking the bait at face value, the assailant plunged into a stab with his blade... and hit thin air. Blinking in confusion, the dark warrior was lost to momentary shock before he stumbled and looked down to the shining transparency that was the blade of Silthrim; the tip protruding from his chest without even the slightest hint of a bloodstain. The fiend had been duped; his quarry had used the infamous point-to-point teleport to get behind him and plant his crystal blade in his back before he had time to react.

Channeling fire through the amplification of the crystal in Silthrim's makeup, Lucien burned the Dark Elf from the inside out whilst his screams were drowned by the thunder above; blade firmly lodged until all that was left were blackened ashes that scattered to the winds. Peering around him, the Crown-Prince kept a firm hold on his sword as he moved to where he had dropped the Phoenix totem and picked it up, eyeing the remarkably spotless surface of the ornament before he glanced around one final time, murmuring something and vanishing once more.

Lucien re-appeared at the foot of a colossal red war machine, its chest-mounted cockpit waiting as the Crown-Prince latched onto a lowered zipline and sent a ripple of kinetic energy up to the pulley, which retracted and allowed him to drop into the cockpit, pulley and zipline vanishing into the folds of the machine as the Eletharii steel that composed the cockpit door folded in, panoramic monitors lighting up within for the Crown-Prince as a DNA, retina and vocal array of tests confirmed his identity; the virdian eyes of the machine lighting up in a flash of power.

Hands on the control, Lucien murmured some words he knew not the meaning of and spoke in a quiet voice; "I'm ready."

Light blinded him.

--

Blinking away the spots from his vision, Lucien examined his surroundings through the eyes of the Alex-NT. Plants of exotic natures forced a unique contrast to the multitude of swirling portals placed with expert precision within the large courtyard. Peering about him warily, the Crown-Prince eased the machine into the massive courtyard, crimson eyes expecting enemies to leap from every direction as he slowly allowed himself to remember back to the events that had lead him to this climax, slight confusion apparent as he attempted to make sense of it all. Was he the first of many? Or the last?

Settling himself to wait, Lucien reached out and began to reconfigure the operating system of his machine to match the slight temporal and gravitational shifts in this new world, taking the apparent lack of attack as a sign he was welcome. All he could do now, was wait.

Only time will tell, I suppose.