The Nierika Of Faustus (Open)

[Jennifer Oakley]

The Nierika Of Faustus

Come into the hearth of legacy, where the shadows dance twixt the bough and branch, unified in Loren’s whim.

The pledge of the elves to allow her to grow in strength as she searched for other summons had been too strong for the priestess of Nina. For so many months she had slumbered in dual light sorrow, for so long she had been nothing in the dark. Here, in the Dansdel, she could find her roots and placate the saprolings she called her children, her protégées to be. She entered in silence until her soft leather boots touched the outer edge of autumnal leaves that covered the floor. There was nothing else except for the outer circumference of their fighting pit, which was decorated with a thousand strands of bright coloured wool and she smiled at the familiar sight. The strings were an ancient Druidic rite to the forest, danced on the first day of summer in praise of the Commune that were the tree spirits of old.

The ominous presence of the door on the far side sent a shiver down her spine. She had no doubt that her opponent would emerge soon enough, with all the curiosities of a thousand dying suns nestled in his or her heart.

“They will be done, oh Call and Creed,” she spoke the old mantra of the Nina tribe as a readying motion, and pulled her hand from her pocket to take a firmer grip of reality. The atmosphere was a shrill and bridling quagmire of lethargy and excitement, a siren song calling all men to slumber once more as the world awoke from it's dreams. The bleakers were all but empty so early in the day, where otherwise they would be full to the brim with eager spectators. Jennifer was glad that she was all but alone to her thoughts and deeds, it was calming.

Jennifer nestled her heart into her finger tips, pushing the magical energies of nature down her limbs. The Dansdel was ablaze with morning bird song, and she meant every bit of her intention to echo nature’s glory with a battle to brazen the soul. It had been too long since she had encountered another human, the long depths of winter were finally cast away and spring’s new found vitality embraced her bones and long chestnut hair. “Succulent buds and mighty oaks bring forth the deadly strength of the mind!”

With a small explosion of light and spiralling ribbons of energy, a satyr appearance before the summoner, braying and stomping its hooves with eager abandon. Jennifer floated into the air briefly and span on a axis with her back and neck arced; she was stricken with the majesty of the tree canopy above. The colours of spring drowned her vision in a sepulchre of splendour, “In the timely bond of servitude bring forth the ancient weapons, the blade and the bray, and deliver the paean of Althanas true!” Her voice increased in pitch as she felt the swell of manna rise in her body before she fell into silence.

She landed with a delicate flop and propped her frail form up with the oaken staff she carried as a walking aid. The faun suddenly found itself armed with an elven short sword and a desire to fight, to protect, to shield its creator from any harm. Jennifer smiled with a warm summery glaze and pointed to the far side of the arena. “Lo, the darling buds of may, summoned to the floor of the wood’s bough, destroy their temptation and yield fruit for the forest from whence you came!” His battle cry made the faun bray louder and it stepped towards the centre of the autumnal foliage, its hooves rustling through the dry leaves that had fallen across the duelling ring in its exile.

He was Faustus, the provenance of the Thayne servants of Concordia; a gift from the earth itself. Jennifer smiled as he advanced like a proud guardian to their noble cause . It would be by his hand that her opponent fell, or by his failure, her failure that she would fall in his body’s stead. “Y’edda be praised, may we be fortunate this day.”

They were bound in pledge and blood - this woman and her spirit, and she felt every sway and every tensing muscle as he prepared himself to do his bidding. In turn, he felt every breath of hers, every nuance and every swirling and alien emotion – a strange and sycophantic relationship, if ever there was one.

The scent of elderflower and honey perforated the edges of the arena and the distant sound of life stilled the chill morning air for a few brief moments, before the great gates on the far side of the Dansdel opened and the first battle in the forest’s heart commenced. With a stoic and firm stance the summoner brought her staff before her body and concentrated on the link between her heart and that of Faustus, united in a common goal, an autumnal regret for the death to come.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The sun shined down brightly on the wanderer’s face, his eyes fuzzily opening as he looked to see the world around him on this new day. He listened as the birds chirped, watched a flower struggle to bloom and the gentle breeze of the wind rustle his skin raising his flesh in small bumps. With a tired sigh he tossed one of his throwing glaives at the singing bird, stepped on the blooming flower, and tossed on his jacket as he went to retrieve the glaive.

Jensen Ambrose was Senior Knight of the mysterious Knight of Apocalypse order, a group of men and women dedicated to bringing balance into the world to turn it back to grey. No overwhelming darkness, but no blinding light to lead the masses of mankind astray. Lately his faith in this mission was tested thoroughly as he learned that he was blessed with the gift of immortality.

Three days of consistent testing, including the final test of decapitation, eventually dulled Jensen to the whims of life’s majesty. He just hated life now, a dejected hate that could only bubble up into a laugh at the pit of one’s stomach and roll out the tongue like a sickly putrid deluge of vomit. If life wouldn’t let him enjoy it, he would instead enjoy life with or without it’s blessed permission.

He stretched his fingers up into the air, his middle and index finger just tapping the glaive in the tree trunk and he cursed his rotten aim. The bird had flown away, only a white and black messy dropping it’s thanks for Jensen trying to end it’s miserable, useless life. He began to hop in one place eventually wrapping one hand around a blade of the glaive and pulling. Blood streaked down his fingers and he winced as he placed the throwing weapon onto his belt, looking at the wound with disinterest as walked back to his make shift campsite and pulled out a bandage from his little traveling sack.

“Day fifteen,” Jensen muttered. “I made contact with the spirits of the world. As I had thought, they hate me as I hate them. This gives me hope that one day I can make the earth itself want to vomit from my feet treading upon it’s path. I tried to kill a bird. Blasted thing flew away.” Jensen looked up into the sky, saw a flock of birds, and stuck his tongue out at them.

His response was a single dropping right upon his left sleeve.

“Not my day,” Jensen mused using the bandage to wipe off the insult before wrapping it around his wounded hand. His brain began to protest the sterilization of a bandage dripped in bird turd to keep a wound clean, but he really didn’t pay much attention to it. His brain got him in more trouble than it was worth.

With a yawn and a scratch to his lower backside he looked lazily upon the world again, seeing a path and a sign that read ‘Underwood’. His training within the order began to shift gears inside his mind as he processed the information about this undeveloped piece of rubbish land. It was a new haven for adventures to get their bearing straights, something of a place for travelers to learn a few of life’s lessons in a peaceful setting.

Sounded boring.

He picked up his sack and walked down the dirt road kicking anything in his path to add to the excitement of his traveling. Walking always bored the enigmatic immortal and walking towards a scrubby backwater town didn’t seem really fascinating to him. Yet something inside his blood began to stir and he decided it was worth at least a continental breakfast and a quick lay.

The road widened as the footsteps began to grow heavier and heavier with every adventurer who stepped upon this beaten path before him. He noticed that most of the wildlife didn’t seem to run in fear of civilization and he began to wonder if this town was more akin to a barbaric tribe of idiots all dancing around a pile of crap praising some heathen god of bodily waste.

Jensen could see himself getting behind that.

Instead of seeing the tribesman dancing while the half naked woman sung a siren’s song he was greeted with what could barely pass for a small little town. It had an inn that seemed to be able to house no more than fifteen people at a time, a makeshift bar and restaurant, some usual town buildings and a stall for the world’s bazaar trade network. It looked more like a fair ground than an actual town and he sighed as he looked upon the people within the area. Dwarves, Humans, druid’s in cowls, and his favorite type of grouping; elves.

Jensen hated elves. Not just loath them like he did life, not just an unhealthy grudge from an elf showing him up, but a deep seated racial hatred for the pointy eared bastards. They just irked him something fierce and he wished the scrawny twigs would go have some giant orgy of lust and kill themselves since they were just sooo superior to the other lesser races. He shook his head in irritation as he entered the small town towards the central hub of activity. He saw a place along a bench where he could sit and with a brashness he pushed a dwarf over with his hips so he could make sure he had all the room he needed.

“Lad,” the dwarf said gruffly. “It wouldn’t have killed ya to say excuse me.” Jensen turned towards the dwarf and looked over his head, pretending to search for the sound of the voice. This only caused the dwarf to sigh as Jensen lowered his gaze to meet the beady black eyes of the dwarf sitting next to him.

“Oh my!” Jensen exclaimed. “A little person! My apologies tiny one.” Jensen smiled a toothy grin of disrespect. The dwarf turned his face away, ignoring his insults. This wouldn’t do. “Had you actually not been a short fat sack of greedy crap I wouldn’t have so rudely pushed you! My most sincerest apologies to you and your stunted kin!” The dwarf’s knuckles began to turn white as he hopped off the bench and walked away from Jensen, fuming in Dwarvish about how the immortal could go die in a fire or something, he wasn’t sure. Dwarven dialect wasn’t really his thing.

“Quite a mouth there, child.” Jensen turned to see a man dressed up in a cowl, only his own disrespectful toothy grin looking down upon the immortal while the remainder of his face stayed hidden. “I’m impressed that you think you have the right to speak so hatefully in a world that has given you so much.”

“Listen lord of the losers,” Jensen said, mentally wincing as he couldn’t’ think of a better insult. “What the hell do people do for fun in this piece of crap town?”

“If you are like the normal outsider, they would look towards the fighting ring in Dansdel. I hear there is someone looking for a competitor.” he let the words linger for a moment.

“Hmmm.” Jensen scratched his lower chin. “I take it you want me to fight this person then?”

“If only to see your mouth shut by fist and sword.” he admitted. “Your ignorance and disrespect of our people in this town should be based upon your merits in combat. Maybe the people would play better to your head games if you showed them you were a horrible person that they should fear. Maybe there you can learn the things you sorely lack in life.”

Jensen drunk in those words as he nodded dumbly. “Don’t care about fear, don’t care what a bunch on inbred hicks think of me. I just like the idea of caving something’s head in.” He watched the druid turn around, motioning for Jensen to follow. Jensen grinned picking up his pack and turning towards the dwarf he chatted with not moments earlier.

“HEY!” he pointed right at the man. “If you find a booster chair you can have your seat back!” he chuckled at his own joke as the dwarf began to waddle towards him in a threatening manner, two other dwarves and one elf holding him back.

The druid merely laughed in a low whisper at Jensen’s antics as he led him towards the Dansdel, and when Jensen saw it he wanted to scream. It looked like a small circular arena with multitudes of watching bleachers. On a small wall was a list of fighter’s and what times, including some odds of who had the upper hand and so forth for friendly gambling. What chaffed him was that this arena was just a circle with a metal ring. It was like a sumo ring, but larger. He looked to see his competitor, and he tried not to laugh in hysterics at her queer motions and praises. He sniffed the air, taking in an almost honey sweet scent before he pretended to choke on the substance, laughing wildly as he walked forward into the ring.

“Why hello!” Jensen said waving towards the woman with a gluttonous eye like a fat sailor who wanted the nearest piece of ass he could find. “And oh!…Goodbye!” he said in a low threat as he bowed to her lifting up with one glaive flying out at her.

[Jennifer Oakley]

Jennifer riled her wits about her and stoically stepped back as the glaive travelled through the air. The man who entered the arena solicited such an air of arrogance and disgust about him, the sheer force of nature was not strong enough to repel the transcendent sate of nausea. She closed her eyes in preparation for the worst.

Ching.

The weapon fell to one side as Faustus spiralled up and around and deflected the projectile from its trajectory, his sword held in two hands with deft delivery of denial. It turned to the newcomer and roared, braying and stomping it’s hooves at the transgression against its kin. The last leaves of autumn drifted down from the overhead canopy, adding to the patchwork quilt of death and decay on the arena floor.

Jennifer opened her eyes slowly, and took a tentative step forwards, in defiance of her aggressor. “Forgive me, good sir, but goodbyes are pre-emptive only if you leave yourself. ” She smiled politely, and nodded to her simulacrum as he stood in a neutral stance halfway between the opponent and the summoner. “You will also forgive me for this respite, as this combat is not between you and I, nay, it is between you and he, for he is the Faustus, the challenger. I am merely the vessel through which this being is tied to the world we know mutually as Althanas.”

“I…” Spoke Faustus, with a voice that transgressed time and space and season, “I am the sword hand of nature.”

“If you defeat this satyr of summer, then you will be victorious sir. Harm me, and you shall incur the wrath of the spring jack fae, the anger of the winter woe, the brachial nature of the autumnal regret, and most certainly, the scorching heat of summer’s first kiss.”

“Do not harm the Priest….ess.” Faustus hissed the last syllable, at the same time as he jumped and span the sword around in a spiral. With a force akin to the wind, he charged the opponent, Elvin blade lowered to his right, left fist raised and ready to strike, and his horned head tilted slightly in a reckless charge into the glory of nature’s recombinant wrath.

“Fight the charge of my people – fight the ideals, the very soul of the guardianship – keen this satyr’s blade in battle my friend.”

Silence reigned as a gust of wind swept away the motion of the Dansdel.

Jennifer raised the staff into the air and smiled, the gust bellowing her hair and the folds of cloth that formed her attire. For a moment, she let the Masque drop, revealing a horned witch of the summer months beneath the pretty visage of human desire.

“For this pitching of wits, even in loss and death, shall be the Niereka of Faustus!” Her voice ripped through the atmosphere with a fae malefic, and she brought the oaken staff down with a cleaving conviction. Her human face returned with a smile, and she watched her summon rush on.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen mulled her words over in his head. Something about the forces of nature raping him if he touched her or some garbage he couldn’t really comprehend. Maybe it was because he was a human, maybe it was because he didn’t actually listen to a word she was saying, or maybe it was because he ate some rather bad cheese. The list was endless for excuses, but there could only be one answer in his mind to her threats.

Like hell I care. He moved forward towards her guardian, meeting it’s gaze as it charged forward with a zealous speed. Jensen matched it’s pace with the best of his human limits, his tongue flailing to the side as he pulled out another Glaive and his punch dagger matching it’s movements. When they were in a close enough limit that they would collide Jensen lifted himself forward and balled himself up ready to stab out towards the beast.

Had that worked, he would have really laughed.

Instead Jensen felt his feet rotate without his consent as the beast pushed him over his head, rolling the Knight upon his back as he landed with a hard thud. The Satyr kicked his glaive away and stomped another hoof down towards his face forcing the enigmatic immortal to roll away. When he was up to his knees he swung his blade in a blinding arc, Faustus’ blade allowing it to roll off as the spirit slammed it’s full body into Jensen crumpling him to dust. He coughed up dust as he rolled again, getting back to his feet and lifting a single throwing dagger up as a parrying weapon.

He slowly advanced forward, his punch dagger and throwing weapon testing the beast at each turn. When blade nearly met flesh, the elven blade would parry it down allowing him a stiff punch into Jensen’s exposed flesh. Yet each opening was just a test for Jensen, not allowing the beast to get any vital hits or opening himself to wide to retaliation. He just wanted to see what would make this warrior tick so that he could break him piece by little piece. Faustus didn’t seem to eager on exploiting moves, but one opening did allow him to kick the Knight of Apocalypse away. Jensen had to tap two fingers on the ground as he rolled back to a rolling crouch knocking the autumn leaves everywhere before smoothly standing up, pushing his jacket behind him as it blocked his vision for a mere second.

Now at a vertical basis the beast slowed down on the reckless advance, and Jensen knew he wouldn’t be doing much of that anymore either. The beast had a weight, height, and strength advantage. So he smirked as he thought of another tactic that may work. He rolled his shoulders back and began to softly shift in place before his left foot made a half circle in the dirt before him.

Faustus approached cautiously, sniffing the air for foul magics before it lowered into a defensive stance. It wasn’t stupid either, that was clear to the Knight. So he had to test it’s pride. He rolled forward in a quarter rotation, his feet moving in a rhythm to a beat only he could hear in his mind as the blade in his hand felt loose and heavy all that same time.

When the two competitor’s met Jensen howled out in excitement as his blade began to swing at each apex of his movements, his feet rotating and rolling as his body danced in twirls and flips. Faustus seemed to have trouble with this increase to Jensen’s agility and the warrior of the end times shrieked in pleasure as he increased the pressure on the spiritual being.

“Come dance with me!” Jensen joked as he rotated both feet upwards into a flash kick, his hands bracing behind his head to add to the momentum of his pendulum like swing and allow him to keep his momentum going.

[Nayeli]

~*~NAYELI'S HELPFUL TIPS~*~

Hello to both of you! First of all, congratulations on starting the first thread in the Dansdel, and in Underwood in general. The winner of this battle will receive Underwood Reputation points proportionate to the experience they receive. I thought I'd wait until the thread progressed a little bit to post, just to gauge your writing, but let's see, I may have a few points to make.

Jennifer Oakley: Duffy, your writing is very, very flowery. I've seen this same problem in a lot of your threads, so I'm sure you're aware of it. Sometimes this is good and pretty, but mostly this is making you lose in clarity and technique (maybe even in mechanics). I'd recommend that you try cutting some of the unnecessary verbiage out of your subsequent posts. On the other hand, you have a very interesting character concept that's quite well suited to Underwood. I'd definitely like to see it developed further!

Enigmatic Immortal: First of all, just a brief note and warning about bunnying. You haven't been powergaming (don't worry) but I'd keep an eye on controlling people's characters and NPCs without their explicit permission, even if you aren't making them take hits. It's best to ask before you do, anyway. Also, on the subject of OOC notes, those are to be avoided when possible. Try and work out that sort of thing over PM, so that it isn't distracting to the judge reading your thread. I'm quite enjoying your writing, though, keep it up! Again, interesting character. Just be careful that you don't get too caught up in the technical details of the fight and lose the flow of your writing.

Feel free to PM me if you'd like to discuss this further! I'll be keeping an eye on this thread as you guys work through it.

~Ella

[Jennifer Oakley]

Faustus took the kick to the square centre of his chest, and stumbled back. The fae caldera that boiled up from his stomach boomed out from his lips, and he spat and brayed in a ferocious show of strength. The attack was agile, and contemptible, and without honour, and the faun would have no part to play in the man’s attempts at beguiling him with words.

“Dance?” Jennifer asked, somewhat amused. She brought her stave up to the left and brought it down with a heavy thud into the leaf bed. “Oh, we shall dance my friend, as sure as the stars go out in the dawn’s call.”

Her summon glanced over his shoulder momentarily, enough to catch a glimpse of the priestess in the stance he recognised all too well. “So it comes to the parting of ways, human. The only dance I shall partake in,” he scuffed the ground and ruffled the leaves with a hoof, a clear sign that he was ready to charge, “Is a dance of mourning for your passing. In the fae-folk tongue, it is called a Dunharrow, the Stone Sound.” He galloped forwards and brought the elvin blade down in a hefty cleave.

The sun shone intermittently through the canopy as the swordsmen and the performer exchanged a flurry of blows. The quicker the dancer moved, the more angered Faustus grew, his determination boiling to the brink of frustration. Jennifer feigned interest for a moment, content that her simulacrum could defend her long enough for her spell to work. She arched her head back and looked upwards, and then closed her eyes. In the depths of her being she pleaded for aid, sending out her will into the depths of Concordia. Only once had she been successful in conjuring the divine beast Quickalli to her side in battle, and that had been a spurious event that had scolded her for being so greedy.

A moment passed, before a white flower appeared in the red blanket of her closed sight. She smiled, dropped to her knees, and thanked the forest and Y’edda. “We shall dance, my friend…” she muttered, her masque fading as she lost the power to maintain it in her fatigue. The thorn armour and horns spiralled out, as if they had grown on the spot and her hair became mattered and leaf filled before the eyes.

Jensen’s fist fell through its spiralling arc as he pirouetted. It connected with Faustus’s chin from the right, and he bounced back to admire the handiwork. The faun stumbled back with a grunt, and slowly stood upright whilst clicking his jaw left and right, like a goat chewing the cud on a mountain cliff. There was no blood spilling from the cut on his lip, only a faint light. The magical energies which bound Jennifer and Faustus together began to seep away slowly. He brought his sword up to point at Jensen, and charged once more in silence.

“The last leaves are falling, and they fall for you!” Jennifer challenged, a madness striking her with a malefic grin. She bit her lip in anticipation, hoping that the upward thrust charge of her summons would finally cut into her opponent’s seething arrogance.

Jennifer has called for Quickalli, but the bond between her and her summons is not yet strong enough for instantaneous appearance. In fact, the two headed paragon may not appear in the Dansdel at all, but the tendrils of magic have been thrown.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Wind blew over Jensen’s skin, making little bumps upon the smooth surface as he kept his dance step in toe, locking himself into rapid beat of step punch, step punch attacks. The immortal knew these leaves falling were an omen of some kind, but he didn’t really care to know. He was having far more fun with the creature before him.

“Stomping around doesn’t get the job done, beast!” Jensen mocked as he twisted lowly to a half twirl before coming up with another roundhouse kick. The beast beat backhanded the kick, allowing him to twirl on one foot bringing in the heel of his boot with more force. This time Faustus brought up both arms to block the blow. With his defenses focused on his foot he pulled out his throwing glaive and let it loose at his foe aiming for its mid section.

Quickly he brought his foot back down and moved backwards in rhythm with the beat as he glanced over to the woman. Her tongue was getting a bit out of line for a mere sideliner who didn’t bother fighting. Her cowardice was masked behind that smug expression, her false confidence hidden behind her inability to think of how to fight for herself. She thought the world would just provide everything for her. He laughed at that, a loud echo in the dim arena as he paced in place.

His eyes focused on her as he let out a wild sneer. “I wouldn’t expect the world to weep for me, sister.” Jensen glanced over to Faustus to see where it was at and decided he had just enough time to add in one more insult. “The leaves wither and die as time marches on, crazy bitch. Only nature humping sissies like you who watch it happen seem to give a crap about these things!” he shouted as he moved back in on the attack, his movements fluid and swift as he looked to maximize each strike.

He would show this uppity woman that the world didn’t care about insignificant insects like them. He would prove her cowardice to let the world provide for her will be her undoing. Nothing mattered more than that. Nothing mattered to him but to break her spirit in this fight.

Laughing insanely he continued his attacks.

[Jennifer Oakley]

Jennifer clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, the temptation to wade into the fray becoming too much to bear. It would make no difference, she knew that much, but she was so reliant on the very thing he taunted, she was roused to its defence with every intention of dying in its name. As the sword of Faustus and the enigmatic dancer clashed in a whirling melee, she prayed under muttered breathe for the arrival of her true summon.

Faustus brayed valiantly as he deftly knocked a spiralling roundhouse off kilter, forcing it to strike the null void of the air as opposed to his already battered shoulders. As each blow had landed past his defence, the very fabric of his being slowly came undone. The gash on his face and the crack on his shoulder still poured light and charisma, but he had much fight left in him before the tantalising freedom nature’s pavane gave him faded into nothingness once more. “Nature,” he interjected before his master succumbed to his own anger, “is not a pawn or party to man’s whim – it has no answer for your questions, because it expects you to question.”

Jennifer smiled as the faun stepped back, spiralled and swung his sword at full reach in a wide circle. He stomped his hooves in his crouch as the circle was complete and the leaves of the autumnal season fluttered away in the gentle rush of air. He rose slowly as the opponent chided and riled him, staying calm amidst the storm like a subtle knife cutting through any attempt to crush his or her will. “The world will not weep for you,” Jennifer shouted across the arena.

“The world weeps for none,” Faustus continued, the ancient proverb of the Y’eddan Daughters flowing freely between their unified minds.

“We weep for the world and for the cursed sons of man!”

In the hair’s breadth between Faustus’s rising advance and the gust of jasmine scented breeze, Jennifer brought her staff up into the air with both her thorn bound hands and roared a cry. “Death to the seasons of democracy and smog!” She drove it down into the ground and with a crack of light, the leaves of the arena jumped, mimicking the ripples of a stone cast into the still pond of insight. It spread across the Dansdel and formed a screen of distraction before the faun as he ran at Jensen with his sword swinging. At the last moment, he lunged forwards with the sword in a piercing thrust; dividing a single maple leaf with its tip.

The power that bound the summoner to her summon castigated the last of her strength, but as a simple white flower dropped from the canopy overhead; Jennifer fell to her knees with a righteous smile. It landed by her side, and vanished into the peat underfoot. “Soon…” she whispered, “the leaves will cast judgement on this child…” She prayed Faustus’ attacks could keep up with the enigmatic man’s calamitous onslaught.

The leaf shock-wave and the white flower are Quickalli's 'summoning' sequence, so to speak. He will not arrive until my next post.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen watched as the winds began to pick up pace from her words, both the bray creature and the woman talking as one through the power of the natural force. The threat couldn’t have been avoided and up Jensen went, his unique fighting style no match for the forces of the wind as he flipped into the air and landed upon is back.

The air left him for a brief moment as he rotated his feet in a sweep to right himself, his eyes looking to the spirit being before him. Jensen wasn’t a mage by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew for a fact this was a ritual of some kind. In time something far worse than a retarded bull goat thing would come for the immortal.

He was quick on the attack, his weapon in hand moving in a valiant display of art as his body moved in time with the beat in his head, but he did take note that even he was getting tired of keeping up this brisk pace of workout. He needed to end the fight, and end it quickly. With a maniacal chuckle he began the slow process of baiting his foe into him. Each strike Jensen did was designed to easily be knocked away, allowing the beast in closer and closer.

He had guessed that something bestial from nature wouldn’t have a fighting style, just raw power and instincts. Instincts from this beast would tell it to move inwards on Jensen, exploit his show of weakness. This suited the knight just fine as he ducked under a wide swing meant to cut his head off. He let the elven blade glide off his own punch knife, the weapons creating a shower of sparks in the air as they both looked into each other’s eyes. Yet while the beast was full of determination to crush Jensen, he was only letting his grin grow wide as his lips parted into a hideous triumphant laughter.

He twirled in his bent position, a complex advanced dance step using his leg as an anchor while the other rotated to keep balance. The effects of this allowed him to glide under the blade, off to the side of the beast and spun around him so they were back to back. With a kick off the ground Jensen sprinted for the woman with the loud mouth, leaves kicking up after him a dust trail as he laughed wildly reaching for his throwing weapons.

Why do you claw so desperately to the tit of nature, bitch? Jensen thought as his laughter echoed in the Dansdel, his weapons spinning wildly upon his fingers as he twirled them up to throw. I assure you, you deluded child, that the world may be kind to you now, but it always has a knack for turning its back on you. Allow me to illuminate your mind to this…

He howled like a wolf as the first knife was thrown, his laughter stirring the trees as the wind picked up to a frightening pace.

[Jennifer Oakley]

In the lull created by the foliage wall and Faustus’s advance, Jennifer had closed her eyes and begun to pray. She called out to the forest through the smallest of connections to the roots beneath the Dansdel. From the smallest saprolings to the greatest Oak, she screamed divinity and hallowed her own mind to be given salvation for all of her hard work and dedication to the Thayne of the wild lore Y’edda. Her heart slowed, her body swayed, and as she slipped into the trance that typically accompanied a deep seated connection forming, she found a single white masque smiling to her from across the ether.

She opened her eyes and a faint breeze washed over her. The ivy wrapped around her horns had aged and withered before the scrutiny of the arena, and her skin was pallid and sickly. In a flash of realisation, she saw Faustus’ defence falter and the crass brawler run directly towards her. She barely had time to move before the throwing knife caressed the air and struck her right shoulder with a sickening thud; piercing the tough bark armour with ease and slicing through tendon and bone like a lightning bolt. “Argggh!” She screamed, her staff falling from her knees as she brought her left hand up to the wound to apply pressure.

Faustus roared, stricken with the same pain as his progenitor. A bow of light grew from the wound and scattered to the wind. A wave of nausea hit them both, but even as the faun dropped to one knee and the priestess reeled in the pain, something kindled hope in the ground below. The words she had thought as a mantra at the start of the battle echoed in her mind to comfort her; they were unholy sounding, bound in echo and fae malefic, but they were potent alms to sooth her rage. Come into the hearth of legacy, where the shadows dance twixt the bough and branch, unified in Loren’s whim.

“I…” she began, holding up a hand to the advancing man, “am defeated. Calm yourself, I concede the last inches of ground to the winter of discontent you bring.” Her plea was earnest and heartfelt, she had no desire to continue the conflict, and her death would serve nothing more arrogance, which she would be no part of. She waved a flourish of manna across her vision and gritted her teeth as she severed the connection between herself and her animus. With one last roar, Faustus brayed and faded from the world in a white torrent of light and a single eerie high pitched note.

With sudden shock, five roots burst from the ground and surrounded Jennifer. More and more appeared, sending earth and leaf flying into the air. They formed a tight wrought dome over her and solidified into thatch, before breaking apart into four lengths and moving to one side; moss and lichen and shape brought it to life, until it formed a cattle like creature formed of nature itself. The summoner looked up at the bestial head and smiled at the first of two appearances, accepting her defeat only in knowing that Quickalli offered a health boon to repeal her injuries. “Oh pray thank Y’edda for your soul Ancient One…I thank you for coming in this time of seasonal change.”

The white lotus flower burst through the soil with the strength of a new born raging to be free and grew before the eyes. The flower turned on its edge and curled outwards, before turning into a porcelain masque. A flurry of vines whipped out from the back of the towering beast next to Jennifer and plucked up the masque to place it on its back. It connected with a moss spine and was made whole. She took a hold of the knife and with a great reluctance, she pulled it out. The gush of blood was warm and like iron wine it sedated her and calmed her. The great beast approached her, and leant down with its cow head to lick the wound. As it moved, flowers sprung up from nowhere about it's feet, madrigals and tulips and stranger blooms still appearing through its grace and divinity.

“I congratulate you, brash one, on a victory hard earned. This is the Deep Fell Beast Quickalli, a fae lord older than any human above on this island, and one who is infinitely wise and lenient to those who show…” she stared at him resolutely, “mercy.”

For mercy, spoke the masque, is nature's true foray.

It's reprise! Boomed the deep voice of the beast that bore the masque on it's back.

"In that reprise, one can find solace. For even though we are but a grain of sand on the shore of life, or a single leaf in the maple tree of old; nature has given us chance to show our strengths to the world - even if just for a day." She dropped the knife to the ground and slouched.

"Give mercy, brother, and we will heal your soul and cure your injuries." The triad of voices offered Jensen a peace token, one which would come only with the cessation of further hostilities. As she gave him time to consider her offer, she pulled a small bundle of herbs from her waist belt and made the motions to apply a poultice to her shoulder. Quickalli's presence gave her both presence in the arena once more, and a sudden rush of blood to the head that inspired her to altruism and medicine - to recovery and strength.