Tournament of Champions Finals: The Whole Glory vs. Whispers in the Wind.

[Tainted Bushido]

The battle begins 6/19/2009 at 12:00 AM PST. There will be a caveat to this match. While it will end at 7/11/2009 at 12:00 AM PST, if there is failure to maintain activity the thread will be closed prematurely. Failure to have a post from either side within 3 days will result in the closing of the thread. If this occurs, the Quad will be allowed to be completed, and any posts beyond the Quad are considered null and void.

Your Arena gentlemen...

"Your battle will take place across the tops of skyscraper-sized redwood trees; watch out for the birds of prey who call it home."

Arena courtesy of Shadowed who will receive 250 GP for his contribution.

[Shadowed]

The fires of Ragnarok prevailed; though the final conflict had not yet arisen, a pale precursor to its fury awoke within the forests of an island sitting amidst dimensions, home to a tournament of squalor and waste. The once-verdant foliage was alight in flame, burning with the fury of the fire giants, while several beings scurried about the underbrush with the import of ants. These creatures – man, demon, and otherwise – were engaged about the business of tournament, hastily seeking to bring their opposite numbers to a bloody end. It was the largest of the four deep in the heart of the conflagration that took the bloodied interest of combat deepest to heart; this man, abomination to his kin but beloved of the gods, was named Honuse Relaiyent.

With a thunderous roar, the Norse warrior spun about, bringing a clenched fist upwards to strike the chin of his foe, having already felled the being's partner moments before. The first man lay upon the smoldering grass, the blade of a sword lodged in his skull, eyes staring without sight at the thick smoke that obscured the heavens. The second, without fear or hesitation, sought to escape the massive fist of the one known to man as Lawmaker; twice as broad and two heads taller than a normal man, Honuse Relaiyent was not one to be evaded easily. His dark leather armor crackled with the still-dissipating current of electricity that had covered it moments before, blistering the skin of the second man as the punch drove home.

A spurt of blood erupted from the now-severed arteries of the interloper; attached to each of the Lawmaker's forearms was a small blade, extending out several inches past the fingertips. With a casual twist of his hand, the abomination removed the weapon from his opponent's corpse, letting it crumple to the ground. The fools had died before even raising a weapon against the Norse giant, let alone offering a worthy fight; they were no more worth honoring than the countless other souls the Lawmaker had sent to Hel. It vexed him – insomuch as he felt vexation – that none within this fraud of a tournament had proven worthy of delivering to his master, Thor, to fight in the conflict of Ragnarok. The soldiers of Thor's Pursuit had failed to reap any noteworthy souls, despite seeing the end of many would-be champions.

With a casual grace belying his great size and musculature, Honuse Relaiyent collected the first of his swords from the body of his first victim, wiping it clean upon the fallen man's own clothing. The twin of that blade, which was buried deep within the burning trunk of a nearby tree, had failed to strike its intended target – though such a failure had allowed the abomination to feel the dying breath of his kill, a choice reward for his centuries of combat. Returning the weapons to the sheaths on his waist, the giant looked about for his companion, the detestable son of a trickster whom Thor had sent to aid him after the death of his first war brother. Thick smoke, independent from the fumes about him, curled around the tensed shape of the demon, who had apparently settled to watch the larger of the two demolish the strangers.

With a glower made all the more potent by his lack of eyes, the Lawmaker turned from his partner, DarkStrike, before leaping into the air; the muscles in his legs dissolved, flowing through his body to emerge from his back as leathery wings. Climbing through the fumes, Honuse Relaiyent was momentarily relieved to once again feel the kiss of rain upon what little skin was exposed through his armor and executioner's mask. The cool night air was a welcome change from the stifling bitterness of the burning forest. Knowing that the demon would soon be in flight alongside him, the giant flew south, back toward the tournament village; having decided that the trivialities of tournament were wasted upon a warrior of his ability and renown, the abomination settled to raze the village, letting the valkyries take whom they would.

As the miles passed, the smoke of the raging inferno below cleared; the conflagration was well past before the Lawmaker entered a strand of massive trees, the tops of which scraped the thick rainclouds covering the sky. The air grew thick and oppressive as Honuse Relaiyent cleared the forest's borders, while the normal sounds of nightlife seemed stifled, even to the giant's sensitive hearing. It was for this reason that he was nearly pierced by the grasping talons of a large bird; the beast had glided in from above, aiming to pierce the wings of the invader with silent deadliness. Only the Elect's innate recognition of biological material allowed his sightless body to perceive the attack, twisting in midair to take the claws across his chest and stomach.

The thick leather of his armor, resilient for its utter lack of true protection, bore a trio of long gashes diagonally from the bird's attack. Hundreds of volts of stray energy fled the Lawmaker's palm, striking the bird as it passed. The creature fell with a shriek, plummeting through the thick darkness of the night, accompanied by the perpetual rainfall of the area. Recognizing that the wounds were deeper than he had initially believed the hunter capable of delivering, Honuse Relaiyent halted his forward momentum, alighting upon a tree branch as broad across the top as the thoroughfare of a large city. The muscles returned to his legs as they found solid footing – a task that proved difficult in light of the slick moss covering the bough. Verdant life was everywhere around him, a bright green haze in his mind, casting pale reflections upon the smoke that inhabited his vision.

A slight shaking was the only indication that the demon had followed, similarly touching down upon the branch to take stock of the situation. The Lawmaker did not deign to offer an explanation for his pause; the abomination saw no use in discussing his intentions or thoughts with the foul offspring of the great betrayer, whether he be a partner in battle or not. With a stony silence he got to work, using the knowledge taught to him many lifetimes ago to grow new skin upon his chest, puckering the flesh in a rough scar – one of dozens to mar his body, in conjunction with the runic tattoos burned into his flesh by Thor's lightning. Slowly, blood returned to the wounded area, restoring vitality and strength to the muscles, leaving the giant in much the same condition as he was before the attack. Such trivialities were likely useless, of course; it was unlikely that any within the tournament village would be able to resist the fury of the Lawmaker, though doubtless the fools would try. It was no matter, save for how high he would have to stack the bodies come morning.

[NightCast]

Though Morgoth will be present in this, he will not participate in the fight, as he'll assume Dark needs no help.

To all appearances DarkStrike had been content to watch as the mighty Honuse Relaiyent killed – more like butchered – the two combatants who had foolishly come to contest against The Whole Glory’s combined strength. Things were not quite as they seemed, though; Ryondel Shi’Nito – as was the name he had been given upon birth – was busy trying to discern a new presence. This “itch” at the back of his mind was one he knew all too well; it was clear that Morgoth had located him. Suppressing a triumphant smile he sought to make contact.

Morgoth? He hoped he wasn’t that far away, otherwise his query would seem as nothing so much as a whisper.

Just like the voices, eh master? Morgoth’s voice resonated clearly in his head, responding to his thoughts. And what in the hell is that around your face? DarkStrike nearly chuckled aloud, his spirits suddenly buoyed by his friend’s proximity; Morgoth couldn’t be more than a couple of yards from his present location. He turned, half expecting to see the shadowy form of his nearly ever-present comrade standing off to one side. You don’t actually expect me to just pop up with that thing standing around, do you? DarkStrike made a noncommittal sound as though chiding himself for foolishness; of course Morgoth wouldn’t just show himself while he still had the Nordic Avatar within striking range.

Now that Honuse had crossed his mind, he glanced over to see what was happening and was surprised to see that the filthy pig was nowhere to be seen. He went up, master. Startled, Ryondel looked skyward, sure enough, beating through the roaring flames, was Honuse, leaving the poor sods that had crossed their path on the ground below, their bodies broken. As though responding to his sudden need, DarkStrike felt his wings materialize on his back. Crouching, he launched himself upwards, feeling the heat roll off his body and burst from the topmost foliage of the burning trees like the debris from an erupting volcano.

Though it was still hot above the trees, being amidst the flames and then suddenly being above them felt refreshing. While they could not have spent more than five minutes in the forest, the filth that now covered him and the stench he was sure that followed suggested he had spent months foraging in a soot heap. Feeling a slight sense of exhilaration, a sense he always felt when taking to the sky, he performed a slightly acrobatic pirouette. Then he turned his attention to following the giant who was moving away from him, his body resembling a misshapen bird while discussing the problem of the rune magic that bound him to Honuse with his newly returned companion. Glancing downward as he passed over the ever-growing boundary between the trees that were ablaze and the remainder of the vast forest, he thought he could see Morgoth leaping from branch to branch in an athletic manner, easily keeping up with Ryondel.

~*~

Alright, I think I’ll be able to counter both runes, though it’ll take a little bit of time. Morgoth said, now having been briefed on what had transpired since the two had been separated.

Can I get an estimate on how long that’ll take? If this was planned right, Ryondel knew that he could use this to his advantage and pay vengeance upon his captor.

You can… Morgoth trailed off and DarkStrike could sense the mirth.

May I get an estimate… please?

About ten minutes. Morgoth’s amusement was as barely contained as Ryondel’s annoyance. Almost immediately, he felt a spark of magic flow into his body, as Morgoth pushed a tendril of consciousness into his thoughts. Rune magic, for all its abilities, was powerful against that which it was cast, but it tended to operate very methodically. This was different in a number of ways; the advantage was that rune magic was very specific and very strong, especially against the target of the spell, but the unfortunate side affect was that it was fairly easy to counter by a third party. Spells of binding were typically weak in nature; easily broken by simple countermeasures, but using them as rune magic was where they were at their strongest.

Ten minutes? The incredulity was apparent in Ryondel’s voice.

Think of it like a knot, master, and a very tight knot at that. It’s going to take some prodding and prying to get it loose. I can’t very well just rip it off, or the damage to you might not be repairable. Morgoth was greeted by a mental grumble of acknowledgement.

DarkStrike sat down on the branch. Honuse had descended to these branches about ten minutes ago and what more was there for him to do? He had landed on a particularly large limb and had stood stock still for more than a quarter of an hour in the rain, letting the cold water clean him. Scratching absently at the cloth that he had tied around his face to help with the smoke from the fires before, DarkStrike untied it and let it go, watching it drift lazily between the branches to the ground that was lost somewhere in the darkness below.

It’s about fucking time you removed that thing,Morgoth’s musing drifted into his head, You looked friggin’ ridiculous.

Whatever Morgoth… He let the thought drift off as he rested, letting his body endure the elements while his mind plotted, dreaming of the coming future, where Honuse’s blood would stain his blade. Ryondel smiled to himself and let Morgoth’s magic flow over him, undoing the two spells that bound him to the will of a pagan god and his barbaric avatar.

[Petoux]

Long ago, a mythical bird of prey swooped down on a great calamity that covered the entire Earth. That bird, that of the legendary phoenix, was meant to save the planet.

The fiery bird spread its wings; they covered the Earth in a healing shadow. Plants, animals, and everything associated with life bloomed and flourished all across the Earth.

The planet started to grow stronger, large parts of forests and rivers began to manifest.

The loud shriek of the phoenix caused mighty winds to blow hard, spreading the thousands of seeds belonging to the trees and plants that helped germinate the land. This caused the waves to rise in the vast oceans and rivers, allowing all the mountains and valleys flourish with a wide array of life.

After seven days, the bird left the land to grow on it's own. The responsibility to maintain the order and balance of life were placed upon the shoulders of Earths' inhabitants.

After many centuries, the way of the world was run by the first civilization, the high elves. There main duty was to maintain and watch over the forests from all intruders, Sara being one of these watchers.

Sara grew older and wiser and so did the trees around her. Every time she looked at a tree, she always thought to herself...

A tiny seed made that.

In the past, she frequently strolled in a little white dress, her jewelry sparkled as it laid upon her neck. Sara put her bare feet on the fine blades of grass as she could feel it brush in between her toes.

She laughed when it tickled her, for it gave her great joy.

.........................

Sara's eyes opened. She was laying on her back next to Hopper.

"Hopper, you ok?"

No response, he seemed unconscious. Perhaps it was the same void, the same unexplained mystery that keeps bringing them to distant arenas. Were they dreams, or were they real?

She dusted herself off and looked around. It was the same forest from her past; it was exactly as she remembered it. Sara was confused as how this happened and how she suddenly appeared in the forest versus a gruesome dungeon. The only thing she could think of is that somehow the void, or whatever the force was, blacked out their minds. Perhaps it was meant to erase their thoughts and actions that occurred in the previous rounds. Only certain fragments of the puzzle could be remembered, but the rest was a blank.

Hopper still lay there mentally absent...

The void must not have released it's grasp on him yet, or whatever it is that brought us here.

"Wake up! Hopper, wake up!"

As she violently shook him, desperate for a sign of consciousness, she looked around and realized they were at the canopy of a tree.

Is this the next arena?

But where were their foes? Sara couldn't see much of anything from her current level of elevation, for all the leaves and branches were blocking her vision. She started to worry that she was now alone and forced to battle two against one.

Sara began to cry until Hopper let out a cough ... He was alright!

When he came to, Sara pleaded, "Hopper? You ok? Quickly, get up. I feel our 'guests' are near, but I'm not sure where at this point."

[Mikeavelli]

"Again, we've won wit' nary' a sword drawn." 'Hopper spoke to Sara in the quiet darkness between arenas. They'd been enveloped after their "battle" in the dark, hellish dungeons filled with chains and the tortured faces trapped in stone. He was glad to be gone from there, and doubly glad the powers lording over this tournament had decided to give them this moment of quiet, rather than whisking them around like the ineffectual puppets they were.

She never spoke back, the thought that she couldn't hear him never crossed 'Hoppers mind, that she'd already arrived ahead of him seemed unimportant. "It's said've tha' canniest bloods o' tha' planes, tha' highest victory tisn't from fighting, an' winning in every battle. Tha' highest victory comes from winning without ever fighting at'tall." 'Hopper let that statement hang in the air a moment, and then spat on the ground, "Screed is what tha' tis. Sure, sometimes 'is better ta' run or scare yer' fight away, but this ain't that sorta've battle. We're comin' near tha' end o' this fight, tournament, an' I'm thinkin' that, even if we were ta' win like we done last time, 'twouldn't be proper."

'Hopper felt it before he saw it; the thick, humid air that felt like a solid mass punching him in the face, the brush of leaves against his skin, the rush of heat, and Sara's gentle voice that gradually reached his ears in a worried, then panicked tone. He saw the endless green carpet before them and mistook it for the forest floor, until the woven mesh of treetop branches became solid and real beneath him. His body fell instantly into the old rhythm of the Feywyld, he leapt to his feet, moving across mere limbs the size of an entire, lesser tree. He barely missed a beat in his pre-battle speech, instantly appraising this new arena, "Powers, a forest. Someone 'as finally decided on' bein' kind ta' us. All tha' better then, I says we return the favor, an give'em what they want. Follow me lead, Sara."

'Hopper strode forwards across the webwork of branches as though it were solid ground, knowing his opponents were somewhere close to him. He'd fought enough battles in this thrice-damned tournament to know the powers that be always put them within shouting distance. When 'Hopper announced his arrival, it was at the top of his lungs, in clear, plain speech free of his normal slurring and slang. "Come out! We'll not have another round that ends with our quarry hiding scared and helpless where we cannot find them. Whoever you are, you have come this far, you are fierce and mighty, but your time has come to an end, you should know who it is that will bury you."

The memory of the vision, or fever dream, of his dead brother after 'Hopper nearly died two battles ago was still strong in his mind, it filled his speech with conviction, "I am Clive Folliot, son of Arthur and Irene Folliot, brother to Neville." In his youth, he'd always hated his given name, but now it filled him with an almost manic strength.

"I am known across more worlds than you can imagine, I am called Portalhopper, Dragonslayer, Demonsbane, Knight of the Post, and King of the Cross-Trade. My name is legendary across a dozen worlds, and a bitter curse across two dozen more." While he spoke his litany of introduction, the memories of earning each and every epitaph came back to him, filling him with the strength of his youth, with the idea that he might yet earn another addition to that list.

'Hopper now slid Lucky from it's sheath, willing the sun blade to life, it's light spilled forth with near-blinding intensity, such was 'Hoppers confidence that he let advertised his presence and dared the opposition to come face him. "It was I who shattered a mountain, to hurl it at the god-king of Tabmoc! It was I, who spat in the face of the abyssal lord Varsinax, and still live to tell the tale! I am the unstoppable force that will leave you as nothing more than another footnote in my long history of victorious battles. Quake with fear, and know I alone would stomp you beneath my heel, but I am but one half of the opposition you will face!"

With that, 'Hoppers boasts were done, he left the air still and quiet, empty save for the birds now circling overhead, drawn by their arrival, but at the same time kept at bay by the startling, unfamiliar behavior of a seemingly mad human.

[Shadowed]

A slew of inane babble broke the tranquil spell of rainfall; shouted words in an unknown tongue fell atop each other, jumbled with the contemptible barbarism found in the languages of lesser peoples. A flash of bright illumination pierced the cloud of darkness that surrounded the misty night, illuminating two small persons atop a branch dozens of feet below and to the side of the Lawmaker. Though obscured by the smoke in his sight, the pair seemed as children against the great bulk of Honuse Relaiyent; children, yet with the impudence to bear swords against the mightiest warrior to ever carry the banner of the gods.

Patiently observing the interlopers, who persisted in their asinine rant as though any soul but their own spoke whatever language their whorish mothers had taught them, the abomination focused a portion of his mind to discerning the vitality of the tree upon which all four warriors rested. It was a redwood of unfathomable age, bearing the telltales of such an ancient piece of vegetation. Large expanses of rot festered within the trunk and the branches, extending outward to weaken the boughs; it was at their joints that the weakness was most prevalent. Such knowledge would do the giant well.

With a pointed disdain for his partner – who had surely heard the ruckus – Honuse Relaiyent trotted closer to the edge, minding his footing in the slick moss. With a sure and practiced hand he withdrew four daggers from the pouches on his side, mindful that his supply was nearly depleted; a flick of his wrist sent the blades flying through the air, landing in a neat row across the length of the branch the strangers stood upon. Following the weapons was an elongated bolt of electricity, contesting against the luminescence of the foreign warrior's blade. A sharp crackling pierced the air as moss erupted into flames upon contact with the incredible heat flowing between the metal hilts of the daggers.

With a caress of his mind, the Lawmaker arced the stream upwards into the sky, burning through the thick leaves until it pierced the canopy. The ionization of airborne molecules attracted a similar current from the clouds, eliciting an enormous burst if light, far above the intensity of Sol's own magnificence; the lightning fled instantly down the path made by the abomination – who had the presence of mind to release his own stream of electricity – until it conducted along the metal daggers imbedded in the tree branch. A fire instantly took hold, flash burning the rotted wood at the juncture. A curtain of steam rolled up from the moist flora as the lightning came to an abrupt halt; the steam nearly obscured the vision of the great branch snapping loose from the tree.

Ignoring the tremendous din that assaulted his ears, Honuse Relaiyent turned away from the carnage; it was not that he did not care to see the destruction of another pitiful team, but rather that his mind was being assailed by the anger of the forest. The ancient trees did not truly have a will, yet still bore the lingering elements of pain any form of life held through times of mutilation and destruction. While the Lawmaker viewed Freya's creations in nature to be his servants, his innate connection with life necessitated at least a partial commiseration with that which he destroyed. He recognized its simmering anger, and worked to sooth the primitive redwood, assuring it that the pain it suffered had prevented a greater pain. The reconciliation assuaged the grief of loss, yet did not entirely remove the bristling hostility of the forest. It would do the Lawmaker well to abandon this wretched world, returning to the verdant lands of his own; all that stood between him and a triumphant return was a mountain of corpses, a task suitable to Thor's elect.

[NightCast]

The nearly incoherent rambling and the sudden lightning strike upon a tree – not far from where he sat – did little to distract him. Despite his demonic companion’s estimate he knew he was nearly finished with the process; already he felt the magic that bound him to the will of the Nordic creatures fading. In a nearly dream-like state he felt his wings lift him from the moss-covered boughs, beating against the shifting winds lazily and keeping him aloft; it was better to fight from the air than try to circumnavigate large, wet branches in the midst of a mild storm.

It’ll hardly be a minor storm if that big brute keeps calling down fucking air strikes, Morgoth’s sniggering punctuated the remark. Ryondel rolled his eyes and ignored the comment.

Not particularly in a mood to toy with any other combatant, he figured he would just destroy the arena and be done with this bothersome tournament. Since he knew he lacked the sufficient power to control the trees, DarkStrike reached for the one element he knew better than all others: Spectura, otherwise known as Spectral energy. This energy was unique because it did not exist on any plane of reality; rather, it existed in between the dimensions that living organisms dwelt. Particularly powerful mages who had mastery over dark and light energies could create a corrupted version of Spectura because those energies derived from the Spectral element. The corrupted form was naturally more powerful than most spells created by mages whose power came from shadows and photons, but a weak Spectura mage could be defeated by more powerful mages of the lesser elements. A true Spectral mage was something to be feared; they could call the energy forth from its source, and through intense control, they could prevent the energy, the Spectral Seeds, from corrupting into darkness and light.

Stretching his senses forth, he began pulling the Spectura seeds into the air above the arena, just below the ceiling of undulating clouds, and slowly a glow began to brighten the dark, rainy night. To all appearances, the colorful display that was growing steadily brighter looked like the Northern Lights of his most recent home. Typically the Aurora Borealis was visible only at the poles of his world, but here, amidst a nearly tropical forest, a panoramic scene of effervescent colors – stretching the whole spectrum – rippled in the air. Strangely it seemed opaque, as though it had mass to it.

Admiring his handiwork, Ryondel raised his left hand and the rippling of the colors stopped like a billowing sheet of silk had suddenly been frozen in time. Reaching out with his mind, he willed the lights to take on a substantial nature and making it more than just a colorful display. With a sudden drop of his hand, the lights from the sky seemed to rear up, and like a wave it came crashing down to crush all the trees within a one hundred foot diameter and sweep away all competition.

He turned his back as the light came down from the heavens and began hovering away quickly knowing that as soon as he completely let go of his control, the Spectral energy would corrupt into light and dark matter, devastating a large swath of the landscape around them. Calling over his shoulder he simply said, “You might want to follow my example and leave the area, partner.” Through the thunderous roar of mighty trees splitting beneath the onslaught of brilliant energy, DarkStrike could only smile to himself as he felt the band of energy that connected him to Thor and Honuse snap.

It is done, master! Morgoth’s triumphant cry rekindled a fire within Ryondel, and any who might have looked into his eyes at that moment would have sworn that they had seen his eyes alight with a malevolent gleam. With a great spurt of energy, his wings beat quickly and he flew the distance between the treetops and clouds with vigorous energy. No longer would he be the slave to a pagan god, though it had been mere hours; he was through with them, and now he would send that misbegotten son of a bitch straight to Hell. Entering the clouds he was buffeted by water, but didn’t care. Judging himself safe from any pending blast, he released his hold on the Spectura element. There was silence for a moment, and then with a thunderous bang a brilliant display of yellow light shot through the clouds, followed by a wave of black energy that he narrowly avoided by flipping onto his back in midair. Then all was silent – except for the roar of the wind and the final crashing of trees that he could not see – and he let himself laugh manically; the strange glow in his eyes giving him a truly demented look.

[Mikeavelli]

'Hopper, was off in his own little world. That was the only explaination for it.

He'd flat out ignored Sara in favor of making his little speech to a pair of mouth-breathing dullards too (insult) to appreciate it.

He'd watched in idle fascination of a quartet of daggers flew into the wood near his feet with a series of impotent PLUNKs, followed by associated sizzle sounds from a swiftly-spreading fire, a point he would later think back upon and wonder, 'Hopper, ye' know daggers dinnae' start fires wit'out magic involved, why the soddin' hells dinnae' ye' use yer ring then?!.

He didn't quite yet, because he obviously wasn't paying enough attention. He did have the presence of mind to step to the side of the flames, and realize the opposition was trying to keep him at range, build a wall of fire that would prevent him from ever coming close. The only logical choice now was a headlong charge into the fray!

AND CHARGE HE DID! 'Hopper sprang forwards just as eight point eight jiggavolts of wood-shattering electricity crashed into the wood that had been holding him, and again from above into the base of the particular branch 'Hopper had been standing on only moments previously. Wood chips flew at his back with frightening velocity, embedding themselves in his armor, and slicing visibly into the exposed skin of his face and neck. The pinpricks of pain and deafening noise left 'Hopper alone with his thoughts, Ye' knew it, ye' KNEW they were spellslingers, an' ye' jus' let that 'appen. Get it TOGETHER, 'Hopper!

Nevertheless, 'Hopper recovered quickly, far more quickly than his opponents must have been expecting. He tried to piece it together, why they were using such a massive strike merely to throw him off balance, even though they had seen him leaping across the densely-woven webwork of branches only moments before. only sense I ken' make've it is they're not takin' me an' Sara seriously. Pikers.

It all comes together when the sky lights up, apparently at the command of the second of his opponents. Magic, lots of it, and a kind he's honestly never seen before. 'Hoppers doesn't hesitate a moment to consider what might happen once it all comes crashing down, he speeds as fast as he can towards the two towering titans, hoping to disrupt the caster before that spell is fully completed. While a younger 'Hopper might have actually managed that, he fails. The Spectura energy, seemingly more powerful than any other kind of energy, comes crashing down with intent to annihilate him, capable of simply overwhelming any other magic in a straight contest of wills.

But, in a 30 foot radius surrounding 'Hopper, nothing happens.

On 'Hoppers right finger is a golden ring inset with an expertly cut diamond, the sort of jewelry that would be worth a fortune even if it were just a mundane ring. This particular ring is valuable beyond price to 'Hopper, his insurance against the many terrible magics of the multiverse, an enchantment that simply nullifies all other magic for 30' around him. There's no contest of wills, no great battle of mages, simply nothing. He's finally realized he has it on him, and has willed it to turn on.

Behind 'Hopper, the excess area of the spell still works, and the forests come crashing down. ahead of him the huge, mighty wizards are within reach. 'Hopper ends his charge at the dagger-throwing, lightning-spewing giant, slashing down with the jet black, sawtoothed blade called Styx for his right ankle, at the same time he's stabbing straight ahead for the giant's stomach with Lucky. Even though they're currently nonmagical, the twin blades are sharp and strong enough to inflict a pair of wicked wounds if they strike true.

[Petoux]

Like the buzzing of lazy and bloated flies, the display of magic bumped up against the outskirts of Sara's ever-guarded mind. Mentally she swatted away the mutterings as her fingers briefly slid through her hair. The slightest arc of her right eyebrow was the only display of wonderment at her opponent's impressive magical maneuvers.

"Nice trick." She glanced over to the other opposing teammate. "Tell me, did you teach him to sit, roll over, and fetch too?"

A slim smirk slid across Sara's lips as she regarded the people that were her opponents. While she did respect the power that oozed like toxic sludge from the pair, Sara refused to show them the respect the poor misguided souls deserved.

Without any further ado, Sara's right arm lifted and came around to the front of her body. As it did, the dagger that hung idly at her left hip lifted and broke free of it's binding. The smooth hilt of the weapon jumped obediently into her waiting palm.

Sara spun the weapon twice in a complete circle for show; then, with arm fully outstretched, she pointed the weapon up at the towering man in the sky that unleashed the nice lightning dagger trick. A split second later she was but a barely visible blur of shadow and light as she leaped off the burning branch before it fell, faster than the they eye could detect, towards her foe's neck protected by Hopper's magical ring radius.

She smiled. Now things were getting interesting as she went in for a knife in the throat kill.

[Shadowed]

With a hellish burst of energy, the stormy night erupted into chaos. The screams of burning creatures assaulted Honuse Relaiyent's ears, while a barrage of catastrophic mayhem reduced entire branches into splinters. Against all logic, one of his opponents had somehow instantly moved from his position strutting about a lower branch to climbing upwards, moving past the lightning strike that had severed the bough with the man on the opposite side. Whatever foul trickery Loki had bestowed upon this interloper warranted a degree of separation; already the child was approaching, swords drawn and prepared to strike.

Below, a lithe female tumbled along with the burning branch, somehow springing through nearly two hundred feet of air, a small dagger thrust ahead at the giant. Wondering if he had stumbled upon a nest of humanoid insects, the Lawmaker attempted to leap backwards away from the assault; however, in his consternation at the tactics of his enemies, the abomination had failed to mind his footing. His boots slid across the slick moss, dropping the Elect to his back across the branch. The move, despite being a potentially fatal mistake, proved to save his life. The woman flew past, her feet mere inches above the Lawmaker's face. The first of the opposing warriors, however, scored a lucky hit; a wicked blade pierced the outside of his right calf, drawing a grunt of surprise from the Norse hunter.

Without a thought, the Lawmaker's ingrained defense maneuvers forced his body to react, releasing a caustic acid within the veins. The corrosive covered the blade as the abomination spun his body, kicking aside the second of his enemy's weapons while the first slid out of the armor-clad leg. Digging his armblades into the thick wood below, Honuse Relaiyent stood himself upon his hands, cartwheeling backwards to gain separation from the stranger. His footing was sure this time, as he had remembered a valuable lesson, one that should never have been forgotten. Realizing a second mistake, the giant noticed that he had not tracked the female of the two enemies; aware that any second could bring a knife to the back, the Elect dove to the side, pulling a small ax from a loop on the small of his back.

Aiding the throw with a spin, the Lawmaker loosed the weapon at the boy, hoping to gain time until he could find all those involved within the sudden melee. His feet landed once more upon the uncertain ground, sliding momentarily before regaining control. With a broad sweep, the abomination pulled Alsvid from its sheath on his back; the demonic blade, invisible to the eyes of all but god and demon, whistled angrily as it sliced through the air. Honuse Relaiyent adopted a formal Norse combat stance – knees bent, left foot slightly leading, the seven-foot-long sword held with both hands at the ready. His smokey vision swept about the branch, angrily seeking the tiny one; whether children of Loki or fools, no grasshopper would surprise the Lawmaker a second time.