Congratulations for making it into the Tournament of Champions. Both teams receive two Fate Points for making it this far! Posting can begin at 1 PM EST on the 7th and the battle closes at 11:59 PM EST on January 28th. Good luck to both teams!
Arenas were arranged at random, and your prompt is as follows:
You will do battle upon the wind-swept rooftops of a sprawling city in the dead of night. The roofs seem close enough to jump, but it sure is a long way down.
Last edited by Christoph; 01-07-09 at 01:33 AM.
Retired Administrator
Elijah Belov, "Everything else is just a chef!"
Bitterwood -- Red-Stained Night
Whatever celestial being deigned to light the tournament village below was indeed no contender to Sol’s glory. Its path, while as straight as the sun god’s own, was traveled at a far slower pace, lengthening the day beyond that which the Lawmaker knew. He stalked along the cobblestone path, his massive size and brooding nature ensuring that everyone he encountered fled to the opposite side of the narrow street. Their faces, shrouded in the dark haze that filled his vision, were indistinct to his sight in all but their abject fear; this abomination, Elect of the Gods and judge of souls, was a tangible nightmare.
Clad in thick leather armor from neck to toe, crowned by an executioner’s mask, the wretched mutilation of a man named Honuse Relaiyent felt the intense heat of the afternoon sun. Yet to his companion Till, the effects were much more pronounced; no dvergr was capable of warding off the weakening and detestable sunlight that persisted in all but their mountainous homes. It was to the relief of both warriors of Thor’s pursuit – the Whole Glory – that they were instructed by a cowering shell of a man to make their way to the first field of battle, whereupon they would find their opponents.
Inwardly, Honuse Relaiyent seethed; it was not his will to suffer through the tedium of tournament to find those worthy enough to slay, to send their souls off with the valkyries to the halls of Valhalla. Yet his distaste had not allowed him victory against his companion, who had objected to the wholesale slaughter of passerby. It was for this reason that the abomination listened to the dwarf, humoring his belief in trial by fire. Yet it did not stifle his impatience at the journey required to reach their assigned battlefield.
The Lawmaker, knowing of no sure way to secure transportation, determined that the fastest mode of travel would be to fly across the great expanses of nothingness that lay between them and the ‘arena’. Dropping his massive form into a sitting position, the giant focused on clearing his mind of all but the innate recognition of the tissue within his own body; slowly, the muscles and bones in his legs liquefied before traveling through his form and out a small notch cut into the backside of his armor. Upon reaching the fresh air, the biological matter solidified as he molded it into the shape of large, leathery wings.
A light sweat broke from his skin, the only outward sign of weakness that he showed from the completed task; with a somewhat shaky start, the Lawmaker rose into the air, his legs dangling below him in an almost comical fashion. He beckoned Till, who had traveled in this manner once before, to secure the loose skin about the dwarf’s waist. It was in this fashion that Honuse Relaiyent carried his brother in arms across fields of unbroken monotony, past the long hours of sunlight offered by the doddering god above.
Having no landmarks to follow – though he had not eyes to see them should they even exist, as the smoke-filled expanse of his gaze did not extend more than two dozen paces – the giant was forced to fly in the direction they had been given. His only solace was the lack of complaints from his clearly uncomfortable companion, who had not only been forced to travel in such an undignified manner, but had a pair of short swords still attached to the leather armor about his waist to contend with for comfort. The dvergr remained silent throughout the entirety, matched by the still of the Lawmaker’s own mind.
Night had fallen entirely before Till announced their arrival. The battlefield, such as it was, comprised a large village built for a race of giants that had long since vanished from the land. Hundreds of towering structures dotted the area, spaced only feet apart, their rooftops clawing at the sky. Though the city was shrouded by the pervasive darkness, it was apparent through the description of the dvergr that it was not one of the beautiful masterpieces of architecture found in their own realms. Brown and tan paint covered every surface, hiding the natural imperfections of the wood and plaster used to construct the dwellings.
Honuse Relaiyent took in the sparse words of his comrade with only half a mind, the other struggling to discern the shapes of this arena. Though the wood used had all been alive at one point, it lacked the spark of life that would have allowed the Lawmaker to recognize its biological properties. Likewise, the electricity imbued within his skeleton failed to find an attraction to the structures, meaning that not a scrap of metal larger than a rough nail existed within them. It was through this lack of vision that the abomination nearly flew into the side of one of the few buildings to stretch above the height of its siblings; only the shadowed outline of its angular construction brought the Lawmaker to realize the imminent danger.
With a flutter of his pale wings, the man rose higher, until the thicker darkness of the night replaced the meager shadows. Maneuvering lightly, the Lawmaker set his companion upon the rooftop, waiting for his legs to become unbound before dissolving the wings in reverse of their formation. Satisfied that his sturdy legs once more grounded him to reality, Honuse Relaiyent devoted his full attention to seeking some trace of his promised enemies.
Second Poster.
Out of Character:
'So, they come.' Silthrim, the blade of elven kings, was sheathed at his side - though it had been loosened in its scabbard for ease of use. His countenance belied his confidence, a steady stance that meshed well to the Aegis upon his left forearm, its bejewelled ruby phoenix glistening upon the surface of the Illarian armament, catching the rays of the pale moon within the gems themselves. His plate armour was immaculate, layers of enchanted Eletharii steel closely fitted to provide the maximum protection possible, whilst still allowing a small space for mail rings between the joints for a decent degree of movement with which to take advantage of his racial benefits.
A cloak was omitted from his person in favour of mobility, the pyromancer well aware of the disadvantages of unwanted material flapping around your person in battle. His armour, though shining with its collection of Aelythan diamonds, was by no means merely for show. It enhanced his sense of danger, allowed for a more predatory approach to battle. He was a defender, that much was true, but it did not mean that he couldn't be the hunter. After all, which enemy would suspect a man of blade and shield capable of what the prince was?
His first opponent alighted upon the rooftop opposite and Lucien narrowed his eyes in calculation. 'Interesting... What, I wonder, is he?' the thought skittered across his mind unwanted; a contemplation of the type of person he was fighting which detracted from the thought he should have had, 'His strengths... I need to know his strengths.' Better he peruse the various tidbits of knowledge he had acquired of those that would be competing so as to understand who or what he faced.
'A brawler or blade dancer? He could be magi as well... Hrm. Best I don't take any chances.' Quickly moving through the exercise of tensing and relaxing his muscles in anticipation of the arduous call of battle, Lucien eased Silthrim from its scabbard upon his left hip, the longsword's crystal blade erupting into radiance at the moment of the paladin's armoured fingers wrapping the hilt. 'Father, I will remember the art.' He gave himself to the oneness, a warrior art any man able to use steel or bow was capable of learning; a total and complete sense of those around him. Elves especially were in strength with the way, their enhanced levels of sight, smell and hearing meshing perfectly with the awareness that came with the flame in his mind; the coldness and detachment
Feeling the ground beneath his feet, Lucien flourished his blade to summon an up to date sense of its weight and speed. His right foot slid back and he bent his knees to ground himself. His legs were slightly more than a shoulder width apart, the moonlight casting a long shadow upon the dark surface of the roof beneath him, his gem-encrusted shield and armour basking in its glow with ethereal radiance. The silvery gray surface of his armour was resplendent in the light's caress, the foreboding glow of his scarlet irises within the confines of his helmet enough to tell that he was more than a simple melee combatant.
'Where, I wonder, is his partner?' Wariness skirted the border of his mind as his eyes searched the rooftops for his secondary opponent, calm despite the expectation of some nasty surprise in the shape of an attack from the shadows, 'Not everyone has qualms with stabbing a man in the back...' Lucien was neither weak nor a fool, he knew the truth of the world, the nature of living creatures: survival. Such things as chivalry and honour were all but dead in some realms of existence. For all he knew, his visible opponent could be nothing more than a distraction whilst the other approached from some other angle.
The crown-prince moved as he had been trained, shifting slowly in a circular motion on the spot so as to keep the rigidity of his stance - the balance of his position, without allowing treachery to strike. 'Aralak, hurry here, burn you!' Soul Energy erupted into his veins like a torrent of fire and ice, searing his existence to its core with beautiful, endless energy. He drank it in, absorbed it to its fullest until he thought he might explode from the sheer amount of power within him. Sanguine, beautiful life filled his veins and gave him confidence, showed him the true meaning of immortality. With the energy within him, there was nothing he could not do: no feat he could not manage.
Glorious.
Out of Character:
Last edited by Lord Synical; 01-08-09 at 10:38 AM. Reason: Typo.
Originally Posted by Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008, 12:55 AM
His arms were screaming at him, well toned muscles no match for the icy breeze that cut through the air like daggers which sought to embed themselves in his limbs. The orc was not well accustomed to the cold, having hailed from one of the warmer parts of Teramil, and whilst he was not adverse to a little climbing, it was not only making progress painful but also treacherous as the occasional patch of black ice on the wall threatened to foul his purchase. His battleaxe, normally a barely perceptible extension to his arm, was like a lead weight hanging from his shoulder and his armour, a loose collection of fragments of suits made for humans, was now struggling to drag him down to the Halls of Preparation to join their previous wearers. “I will feast and spar with you by and by, worthy adversaries,” he commented dryly, hauling himself up to another ledge above his head and shifting his grip further up the forbidding face of the construction, “but now is not the time.”
First to appear over the edge of the arena was a hand, jade green and large enough to resemble a melon if curled into a fist. It was soon accompanied by another, scratched and bleeding from the rough surface that it had been climbing. For a moment they remained alone, shifting their grip from side to side a little, then they were joined by a heavily muscled forearm, a slab of shoulder and a cragged face framed with a shock of orange hair. The orc hung half on, half off the rooftop for a few seconds, until finally, with a grunt of effort, he swung his lower body onto the platform while reaching over his shoulder with his right arm to rip his axe free of its bindings.
The night was dark, with dense clouds perforated only slightly by lances of moonlight. With crimson eyes adapted better to bright sunlight that might have proved a hinderance to other species, Aralak found himself at a disadvantage, barely able to perceive his opponents save by their outlines against the comparatively darker space behind them. Silent but for an instant, his axe gripped in his right arm hanging casually by his side as he took up position next to his ally, the elf. “You are the ones called ‘The Whole Glory?’” He spoke the trade language with thick accentuation that told of a rushed attempt to learn it before the tournament had begun. The utterance was phrased as a statement, only the intonation identifying it as a question. People did not expect eloquence from an orc and while Aralak was capable of it, he didn’t want to show his hand just yet: let them go on thinking he was a dumb brute for the moment at least.
As he waited for some confirmation of identity from the shadow shrouded pair on the other side of the rooftop, the warchief took the time to study them as much as his limited vision allowed. He found himself in a strange situation that marked him as the shortest of the combatants. Whilst one of his foes was only a few inches taller than him, other towered a whole foot above him, and from the look of him he was significantly heavier. Arriving when he had done, Aralak hadn’t yet seen any evidence of Honuse’ shape shifting capabilities.
He knew at once that this was not going to be like any battle he had faced before. While it remained possible that his usual strategies might prevail against the shorter of the two titans, the taller shadow was probably a great deal stronger than him, although it remained to be seen how the blood rage might tip the balance in his favour. That meant that out of the two of them it would be Aralak who would be forced to become the agile combatants, dancing around his opponent’s guard to land a few quick strikes and then melt away before the counterattack. He hefted his axe thoughtfully, before shaking his head, his weapon was too heavy for such a strategy to work. With the darkness shrouding him from observation by his opponents, or so he assumed, he allowed his pensive uneasiness to twist his face from its characteristic scowl.
The orc’s right foot pressed lightly against the rooftop as he tested his grip on it, rolling his shoulders to keep the muscles warm and prevent them from cramping in the bitter cold of the night. The surface of the clay plaster turned to powder under his feet with a little persuasion. Given long enough, or if it were to start to rain, it could become quite slippery but for the moment at least it served to deter the ice and maintain a surface that might not provide as good footing as grass or sand but would be better than mud or ice. The only concern for the orc was that the building appeared very old and bore signs of disrepair. In addition, the roof had probably not been made to take the weight of four monolithic combatants hurling blows at one another. Aralak tapped the ground beneath his axe experimentally, but it seemed solid enough.
Content that he had gleaned all the information he could at present, the warchief brought his axe up into a guarding stance, gripped firmly in his right hand just above the spiked end, and held loosely in his left just below it’s head, the shaft at a slant across his body. He would see how his opponents moved, learn what he could about their battle style from that before closing to engage.
Out of Character:
In the pervasive darkness surrounding the desolate city, thick clouds had rolled across the sky, blocking what scant moonlight existed beforehand. The air was thick with the smell of an approaching storm; mildew and sulfur, the raw and untamed scent of Thor’s fury. Such a portent bode well for the Lawmaker, whose glory and honor were tied to the god’s own – such was the blessing bestowed upon those undertaking the giantslayer’s task.
Now that the Elect understood what had blocked his perception of the pair of enemies before him, he could actively filter his own senses to ignore the powerful emanations of life blowing upon the air; his focus was settled squarely upon the strange creature that had appeared a mere twenty paces away. Though the being was clearly attempting to communicate with Honuse Relaiyent, its words were foreign and incomprehensible to his ears, an inane babble of sounds with no relevant meaning. Such trivialities were the mark of those who were ignorant to the will of battle; pleasant words did not need exchanging before the song of blood took place.
The abomination remained standing in the center of the rooftop, secretly motioning to Till as he turned to the left to confront his enemy. The dwarf, who had wandered to the opposite edge to observe a ridiculously luminescent warrior below, caught the signal to busy himself with whatever prey stood apart from the first. Bristling at the casual air of supremacy his comrade wore as a cloak, the dvergr nonetheless did as he was told, leaping from the rooftop in a grand arc. His silhouette altered visibly while in midair, as Till used the tip of a wicked polearm to inscribe the rune of Iwaz upon the soles of his boots.
With confidence borne of a millennium of combat, the Lawmaker slowly advanced upon his enemy, unsheathing one of the paired swords that rested upon his hips with the right hand; the blade, styled with shortened guards and a thick pommel, was stained a deep black to match his armor. Bright sparks of electricity moved across the steel surface of the weapon, casting wicked shadows to dance upon the masked face of the abomination; energy continued to pour slowly from his body as he walked, coalescing into a tangible aura surrounding the blade. The first peal of thunder boomed its approval across the barren cityscape, a malevolent fanfare to the slaughter at hand.
As the hazy features of the beast grew in sharpness before Honuse Relaiyent, he quickened his pace for two more steps; making one last feint at his foe, the giant instead leapt to the side, flinging his great mass across the sky to the rooftop below and to the right. While rotating through the brief fall, the electricity that had been gathering upon his sword released in a blaze of white light, illuminating the drifting smoke to the degree that it drowned all else in the Lawmaker’s sight. It was with a stumbling roll that the abomination found his footing upon the wooden roof, his weapon dragging upon the chipped plaster remnants still clinging to the surface.
A wave of heat pounded against the Lawmaker’s body, coinciding with the scream of a collapsing building. The structure, which had stood taller than all its nearby siblings, was already sinking to the earth in a massive conflagration. Having no metal skeleton for support, the ravenous flames consumed it within moments of their birth; the electricity found ample fuel to ignite in the dry wood and plaster. Without giving thought to his enemy – should the creature even continue to exist in this life – Honuse Relaiyent leapt across the rooftops to reach his companion, who was still standing upon the edge of the rooftop before their second opponent.
Last edited by Shadowed; 01-11-09 at 07:44 AM.
Out of Character:
Out of Character:
TÃ*ll alighted on the rooftop with about as much grace as could be expected in the situation, unbinding himself from the Lawmaker's loose and useless skin, falling shakily to his knees, and barely resisting the temptation to hug the wooden boards beneath him. He hated flying almost as much as he hated fire, and the process always made him feel profoundly nauseous. He would have preferred the comfort of solid ground under his feet, but at least he wasn't suspended in mid air any more, and it was night. The sunlight in the transient zone they had passed through to reach this place had been searingly painful, many times stronger than the Söl he knew and loathed in the Nine Worlds, and he could feel his papery skin beginning to redden even after only a short time's exposure.
An indeterminably long trip through the void had brought them to this place, a huge island of rock suspended in nothingness, with no discernible connection to any other landmass. On its uppermost surface sprawled the city in which the Whole Glory now found themselves. As far as TÃ*ll could tell, the buildings were largely primitive in construction: wood held together with stone bolts, hempen rope, and little else besides. Although the architecture itself was foreign to him (as he explained briefly to the Lawmaker as they had begun their descent), the simple elegance and functionality of the buildings, alongside their massive scale, implicitly put him to mind of the towering homesteads of some of the races of the jötnar. While the frost giants of Hel and the other monsters of the outer worlds had constructed their buildings from more esoteric materials, the great bergrisar of Midgard that he had knowledge of were known to build only with such basic materials as these. The fire giants had also built with wood in another time, but the results had been a source of particular embarrassment to them for some time and were rarely mentioned.
The roof they had landed on was more or less flat and more or less square, punctuated only by a chimney of sorts in one corner and a trapdoor in another, and littered sparsely with the debris of construction and regular use: a few stray broken planks here, a small cairn of scattered stones there, but it did not otherwise look like a much used area.
TÃ*ll quickly moved to the roof's edge, ducking to obscure himself with the half wall. As a scout here, he would have clear advantage over the eyeless Lawmaker, blessed as he was with the perfect night vision of an almost entirely subterranean and nocturnal species, although an enemy as large as a jötunn -which he was rather sensibly expecting to come across in a jotunn-sized city- would not be incredibly difficult to spot, even in pitch black. He did not have any particular wish to be seen himself, however, the average giant was harsh, implacable, and prone to violent outbursts. He couldn't even remember what the latest quarrel between the jötnar and their sworn æsir enemies had broken out over. Someone probably forgot to return the hedge trimmers.
He found the first opponent as he peered over the half wall at one of the building's corners, if “found” was a word that could be used in this instance whilst keeping a straight face. The creature was wearing far too much armour, to the point that his -at least TÃ*ll assumed it was male: the steel garb was leaving everything to the imagination- entire body was encased in jewel-studded metal, and it was gleaming so brightly in the dim light of whatever moon shone overhead that the dwarf's eyes were slightly pained. He could tell even at this distance that it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship and skill, covering all bases, but to call it “tasteful” would probably see the owner of the offending tongue cast into Hel for spreading grievous falsehood in the worlds. As if to make things even worse, the creature was holding a longsword with a blade so highly polished that the dvergr was almost offended. Whatever this thing was, its language clearly lacked any concept of subtlety. At least, he supposed, it wasn't a giant, though the figure was tall. It was difficult to judge from so far, but he guessed he would be of a height with it, or near enough.
The enemy seemed to be reading TÃ*ll's mind, and, abandoning any hope of avoiding detection, yelled a string of sounds which made absolutely no sense to the dwarf: they were certainly not words akin to any of the tongues of the north of Midgard, where he had dwelt for most of his existence. TÃ*ll turned back slightly towards the Lawmaker, who seemed to have discovered the second of their foes. The hulking figure waved a hand in the dwarf's direction, seeming to indicate that he should deal with what he had found himself. By his reckoning, this was fine, as he had intended to do so anyway, but the pair had been tasked to work in tandem, and he suspected that the Lawmaker's talents would mesh well with some of his own. For this reason, as he made the leap from his present rooftop to the one below, upon which his gleaming foeman stood, he pulled his feet up to his chest, and used the tip of his polearm Mörkharmr to scratch a rune on the sole of his right boot.
The rune in question was Ingwaz, the rune holy to the god Yingvi, who is called Freyr, Lord. Life and fertility were his province, and he had leant his power to the Lawmaker in no small measure, as TÃ*ll had learnt to his cost in their first meeting. Thor had also given him strength, strength that TÃ*ll could not hope to increase, for the whips of the giant slayer responded to the Lawmaker's every beck and call. But Yingvi's province was the living, and the wood around them was dead. However, the Lawmaker's power was fearsome, and the rune on his foot was one of healing and plenty. A tiny spark of Yngvi's holy power and his gift of breath spread here and there where the dwarf trod would hopefully be all the giant would need.
The complicated mid air acrobatics had been difficult to pull off, and the dwarf landed somewhat uneasily on the second roof, stumbling for a fraction of an instant before pulling himself into his fixed battle-crouch, Mörkharmr outstretched before him, the three feet of gleaming steel jutting forth from the weapon's long haft inviting the creature before him to come forward. To attack would be to show an enemy far more than they needed to be shown of his manner and movement. He would wait.
Rain was not often a guest to the Great Plains from which Aralak hailed, however that was not to say that the portents of an approaching storm were wholly alien to the orc. The night air carried with it a heavy stillness, it was that of a foe held immobile for a heartbeat by fearsome wrath that would in but a moment hasten his sword arm to action. In just such a manner would the fury of the storm break over this desolate city soon to be torn apart by battle. The orc welcomed its coming, for the fury of nature echoed the anger that festered in his heart as he gazed at his foes. Aralak’s blood was as fire in his veins, every nerve tuned to the finest change in the air around him and every fibre of his being longed to carve into the beings who stood opposite him with his axe. He could feel the blood rage rising within him, the gift of the war god to the orcs: strength to annihilate their foes, but he fought it down with rigid self discipline perfected through years of gruelling preparation. He would save that strength for later, when his foes began to tire. As the jade skinned warrior of Teramil observed the pair, the shorter of his foes leapt towards an adjacent rooftop where he assumed his ally must have drawn the dvergr’s attention. The inscription of the rune upon the creature's heel went unnoticed in the darkness.
Aralak realised that his question was going to go unanswered as the towering monolith made his advance and for that he felt a mixture of irritation and approval. He was annoyed that his foe had not deigned to reply for it reflected a lack of mutual respect between him and his enemy. In contrast, the orc held all his enemies in the highest respect affordable without it being considered fear. To respect your foe was to come that step closer to understanding him and so, eventually, defeat him. To Aralak, it also cautioned that this ensuing conflict would be short of honour, against a foe you did not respect there were fewer moral complications with using underhanded combat techniques and deception.
On the other hand, the orc shared his foe’s dislike for conversation. To talk and to make known your grievances to your enemy, with a mind to render battle unnecessary was not an orcish way to meet a resolution. It was right and proper in the society with which Aralak was familiar to end an argument on the blade of an axe. It seemed that on this point at least, he and his foe were of similar minds and so the warchief’s estimation of the Goliath-like figure he faced increased by a small measure. It did not cross his mind that while he had struggled to learn the language used by the tournament hosts, others might not have taken the time.
It no longer mattered to Aralak whether these were the foes that he and Lucien were meant to face, here was an enemy worth fighting.
Light leapt from the blade of his foe in the form of sparks that hissed and spat in distaste at the air and for but a moment the orc had a clear view of the being he faced. His outline was still indistinct, the light from the blade insufficient to provide contrast between the coal black leather armour and the seething clouds behind. The being’s musculature was of orcish proportion, though the superiority of his stature betrayed the presence of a strength superior to that which Aralak could summon, however the orc could still not be certain whose power would be found lacking when he called upon the blood rage. The blade itself was of a size that most creatures would consider akin to a broadsword but the giant held it effortlessly in a single hand, a feat which Aralak himself would probably find difficult to accomplish if not outright impossible.
Aralak did not often take the time to study his opponent’s face, for when faced with a skilled foe it was always but a mask, an article of deception to show only what its wearer wanted it to show and never any more. It was not often, however, that he took the field against a foe whose face was so literally a mask, although a pale mess of scarred flesh was visible around what the orc assumed to be the nose and mouth of the horrific spectacle. Of the being’s eyes there was no sign, but Aralak attributed that to the shadows created by the mask as opposed to a lack of their presence. Unease crept from the core of his bones. The scars that lacerated the giant’s face were beyond anything the orc had known a creature to survive. He hoped he hadn’t been thrown against an undead for they were notoriously difficult to kill; having no need of vital organs or body fluids the only proven method to dispatch them was to carve them into so many pieces that they could no longer move effectively.
The warchief’s musings were cut short as the heavens roared out their impatience. The sky wanted blood, the orc wanted blood, and it seemed that the giant wanted blood too, for at that moment he darted forwards. Aralak had already resolved that the best option open to him was to dodge and counterattack. Before his foe had taken his second step, the orc had braced the flat of his axe head against his right forearm and was gripping the shaft just below the blade with his right wrist twisted around it so that the spike at the opposite end was facing outwards, spear-like, towards his foe. Aralak shifted his weight to his right foot, ready to push away to his left as soon as his foe struck, but the blow never came.
Even in the darkness, Aralak saw the shift in his enemy’s weight as he landed heavily on his leading left foot ready to launch himself to the right. The orc’s lunge with the spike of his axe came fractionally too slow to catch the giant as he leapt away to the warchief’s left. Aralak turned at once, stepping to the right to get out of range of an attack he anticipated coming from the direction his foe had sprung away to, but realised at once that he had underestimated the distance that The Lawmaker intended to travel, and he had in fact landed on another rooftop.
What happened next evaded the orc’s comprehension. There came a sudden burst of heat from below, as if some long dormant volcano had perceived the time was right to release its fiery fury. Running to the edge of the roof, Aralak saw a blazing inferno had taken hold of the building he was standing on, black smoke rising from a point just a few floors down like the cowl of the reaper. It would not be long before the rooftop itself was aflame; the ravenous blaze consuming cracked plaster and dry timber, already the heat haze was making it difficult for him to see over the edges. Realising that this firestorm was not of chance but of his foe’s design, Aralak issued forth a bestial snarl, this was not honour. Anyone with the courage to face his foes in battle did not attempt to leave them in a firetrap. It was an insult, and not one the orc intended to suffer without recompense.
The ground beneath his feet shook and parts of the rooftop began to break away, their supports yielding the uneven battle against the firestorm and crumbling to ashes. Aralak knew that to stay atop the building was to invite an early departure to the Halls of Preparation, and as he had already said, now was not the time. He took two steps backwards from the edge, wrinkling his nose against the acrid smoke that threatened to overwhelm him, and sought out his foe through the wall of flame. Keeping his axe, close against his body to stop it catching alight, the orc rushed forwards, leaping through the fires towards the roof from which the giant was watching. In the air, he switched the grip on his axe to a double handed hold at the end of the handle just above the spike. With a grunt of effort, Aralak swung the axe downwards at the giant as he landed, a heavy blow given added weight by his momentum that would, if it struck, cleave The Lawmaker in two from right shoulder to left hip.
Last edited by Aralak Mogra'thir; 01-18-09 at 06:30 AM.
And in the hour of reckless disgrace
The time of wolves on a throne of fallen aspirations
Lead us not unto the shattered halls of fate
But unto the bright fields of day
For unto this eve shall we kneel
Supplication of one unto honor
A sacrifice of blood and a song of glory
Even unto the bitter taste of death
Onward we gaze, unto the morn
As had happened many times through the Lawmaker’s lifetimes of conflict, the prayer of his childhood came once more into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome in its distraction. The verse, which had held him so captive in his youth, was now a bitter reminder of the simpler days of his life, when he had been content to pray to Freyja for a good crop, or ask Tyr and Thor to help him defend his village from marauders. Those days were long past, replaced by a single, eternal calendar, one writ in the blood of millions who had died at his hand. Such was the rule of honor, to slay at the command of his lord, to share in the bloodlust of retribution.
It was to this same purpose that he found himself leaping across the flimsy tops of ancient dwellings, a hard rain skittering across his armor. The task was appointed to slay the worthy and unworthy alike, calling upon the valkyries only when a combatant proved his worth; in the service of warfare, the recruitment of soldiers stood as the dam blocking a river of defeat. Without turning, Honuse Relaiyent could feel the pulsing rhythm of life that bespoke of his opponent’s continued survival; the being was now upon the roof that the giant had vacated several great leaps before, whether through a failed attack or simple luck, the abomination did not know.
Keeping his stride, the Lawmaker neared the edge of the building closest to his companion, and launched himself across the gap. While in midair, his left hand clutched his opposite side, gathering a fistful of daggers from their horizontal sheaths, which he flung unerringly at the beast he had left behind. The weapons flew in a slight arc, spreading out through the rain in a circular pattern, the six blades whistling in their flight. With a terrible roar, lightning split the distant sky in two, its radiant fury silhouetting the giant as he landed heavily upon the already-shaky rooftop. Grand splashes of foul water announced his arrival even further, forcing the man to halt his momentum by dropping to one knee, rather than sliding into a waiting blade held by this strangely luminescent soldier that shared the wooden peak.
As he took to his feet once more, Honuse Relaiyent found himself gazing upon the Glowing One for the first time; whereas before, the amalgamation of sheer visual intensity to the otherwise ordinary metals cast about the warrior had brightened the very sky, to view the being directly was a dazzling, if not revolting, event. Thick tendrils of smoke surrounded the polished steel, reflecting such a vast quantity of light that the Lawmaker could scarcely bear to continue his scrutiny; it was only the lingering perception of something foreign to the battlefield that distracted him away from the Glowing One.
Clawing for attention at the back of his mind, the giant’s affinity to the living elements of the worlds was beckoning him to recognize the blossoming return of life to the dead timber below him. The flow of vitality spread from the feet of his companion, redoubling with every inch it revived, a constant river of strength amidst the decay of construction. Though no smile etched itself upon the Lawmaker’s grim visage, he felt a deep gratitude to this detestable villain at his side, the dvergr of mountains so deep no life save their own could thrive. It was the cunning of his people that recognized the vital importance of a living battlefield, one that would breathe and sway to the abomination’s command and would further tip the scales in favor of their divine mission.
Distant thunder echoed the giant’s appreciation, while the driving rain continued to aid the spread of Freyja’s bounty across the building; the rooftop was fully alive by the time the thunder faded from the darkness. Turning to the dwarf, the Lawmaker nodded his thanks at Till’s foresight, though he still did not defer to the dark one as a true equal in this endeavor. It was with an air of dismissal that Honuse Relaiyent spoke, his words coming softly in the language of Odin.
“Your cunning does you credit. The Glowing One does not concern me, yet his companion is sure to stumble back eventually. Spread the will of Freyja, that I might not be hindered in this conflict.”
Spreading his booted feet wide, the Lawmaker kept his sword in a one-handed guard, ready to intercept whatever attack came his way. While his perceptions were thus occupied, the deeper parts of his brain set to work, beckoning upon the bright sheet of life below, its willingness to aid the abomination regardless of cost. Such was the might of his power that it dominated the passive unconsciousness of life itself, bending and manipulating its force to the ends of the gods that he served. The plants of this distant realm were no exception in their submission to the giant’s will, for they teemed with excitement at the chance to serve such a noble cause as the one that had restored life to their being.
With trembling limbs, Honuse Relaiyent slowly forced the living rooftop to do his bidding, dissolving from the center and outward, leaving only enough strength to keep itself from collapsing under the weight of the Glowing One. As the biological material gathered in a circle near the edges of the building, it suddenly shot up, forming a thin, dense wall around the now-opening pit. The giant, who was so taken by the concentration, did not notice if his enemy had remained in the makeshift cell or not; sweat poured from the opening of his mask, and his breath came in deep heaves. The implementation of the assault did not require the foreign warrior to remain trapped within, yet it would possibly aid in the process; however, the final stage would bear to be held for a moment, as the Lawmaker filled his body with a rush of adrenaline, artificially produced and stored within his body for just such a time.
With his intellect exhausted from the sheer strength of will the task required, it left only his reflexes and honed instinct to stand against an assault from his opponents, unless the dvergr had failed to follow orders and instead stood at guard, neglecting the ultimate strategy required for a swift victory. Heaving one last mighty breath, the abomination returned his mind to the task at hand, bending and manipulating with such eager fury that even the distant thunder had silenced itself to watch in awe.
Last edited by Shadowed; 01-18-09 at 08:16 PM.
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