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Thread: Who You Gonna Call? (Closed)

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    Who You Gonna Call? (Closed)

    A dim, cramped room with no windows; and that smell was back again. The floorboards wouldn't stop moving, slowly back and forth - like he wouldn't notice. The air was a strangling hand at throat, sweat-slicked leather stuck to chest. The bed squatted sharply in corner, waiting with lumpy arms and springs to stab; not again. Black strands in his face, black talons inside, always clawing for more. Something about that smell - but the door was silent. Good; silence was good, but that didn't stop those shifty planks. They knew, and a stubble-covered jaw cracked a smirk; having his intelligence insulted by floorboards.

    The hand...gnawing.

    Surely not his hand; leather wouldn't taste nice, moth's delight under coils and cloth. Someone laughed, but sharp blue eyes pinned down the walls, and that smell was familiar. Crimson squeezed the world, and the beat was its muse...brown, everywhere. Wood wouldn't flow red, but brown stained body but for black cloak. Planks bemoaned, like they ever helped him, legs pushed the ceiling down. A bloody gem atop corpses piled; now a dead bear flies. Misshapen drawers held aloft the melting light, but cloak choked more than air. Clever, but boards had warned, and the shiny leaf whipped up behind as walls spun.

    Taste...No stars now.

    A dim, cramped room with no windows; and a chair. Plynt poked poor craftsmanship. Sap dripped out; a curious thing; vest-pockets grumbled as teeth rained on tongue. The smell, the hand; there it was. Little rascal behind a peg-leg, the gloved hands held it; a simple seat was no match. Red, it was, at the wrist, but otherwise a perfectly good hand; shame, really. Had there been more...well, probably. Constellations caught between two worlds, and gritty teeth gnawed greedily. The tasting, warm enveloping bitterness, wet copper and satisfaction; shame. Named, but no more, slept first loss under hateful bed, slumbers now inside head, tasted all in guilty corners.

    The door barked a knock, angry mumbled.

    Steeled-toes slid slowly, leathered-fingers turned carefully, and light stabbed viciously, but with it came sweet sea air. Stale clawed while fresh embraced, pulled cowering into light by lungs. Deep breaths, deck swelled and sank, crushing crimson receded. Eyes adjusting, massive mast and scattered sailors swooped into focus. Deep breaths, and the world opened up into seagulls and coughs, grunts and groaning rigging, the salt on the air and the green horizon. Deep breaths, and the paranoia and anxiety slid away like water; for the most part. He was still quite aware of the severed hand tucked into his vest, and his stomach roiled at the thought.

    "Nyadir?" asked a voice too smooth for the sea.

    The swarthy sailor who sauntered up salty let his dull brown eyes linger a bit long on the large steel hilt over his passenger's shoulder, and the tall swordsman answered curtly. He nodded as the surprisingly pale man informed him they had arrived, a fact not evident by all the massive wooden frogs squatting on the lily pads of the delta, and the dual-masted flies drawn to them. Then, the man started rambling about a missing crew member, and the cloaked wanderer just tuned him out. After many annoyingly long moments the crewman left, and the dark-haired half-elf rested his bare elbows on the splintered railing and stared out over the water.

    The many warehouses and piers of the delta drew back as the boat approached the shore, and hills of vibrant grass rolled off into the mountains. The groaning ship came to a lurching halt as they finally docked, and with a nod to the cautious crew the swordsman stepped down the boarding plank and off into the muddy gaps between squatting structures. Considering the tales of strife striking this little island nation, there were far fewer patrols than expected, and soon the road widened out into grass and sky. The air warmed as the wanderer walked inland, and dragonflies darted about the fields; it wasn't long before sweat flowed again.

    For only half the day the swordsman had sulked in that cabin, a simple trip down to Radasanth from where they had stashed the airship, but still the thought-devourer came; and those incidents were happening more frequently. Just a little more money, a few more connections, and he would find it; anything could be found with enough money and power. As he walked, high hills sank into a lush valley, and grass was replaced with orchards and crops; the dragonflies disappeared. Above all this order stood the sharp spire at the heart of the city, its shimmering dome below overseeing the stone which stretched out to the wide walls wrapping the capital of Corone.

    Security was tight, and many questions later the half-elf finally emerged into the bustling avenue. Despite the heat, the crowd poured down the smooth streets, and as he strolled deeper into the city he took a leather strip from a vest pocket, and tied his messy black hair into a tail. Wood turned to stone as the swordsman waded through the thickening throng to the heart of the city, and after acquiring some food and water he came to the great oaken doors of his destination. Tall halls covered in tapestries of courageous warriors past stretched tiled into the depths of the colossal Citadel, and the wanderer was led to a small side-chamber to await an opponent. Fading figures flickered on white walls for a while before another monk in earthen robes ushered him through an ornate door.

    The cold stone floor held carved coffins along the cracked walls, struck a pale blue from the shafts of moonlight between the pillars. Desiccated arms grasped cobwebbed blades, and just inside the row of columns the high ceiling gave way by jagged edges to clear night and crystalline stars. The monk and door had vanished, so the swordsman shifted his cloak back over bare shoulders, and checked the dagger and spool at his belt. The rustle of leaves and gurgle of streams floated on the breeze, and vines crept in over the remaining roof of this old mausoleum. The thrill which Nyadir sought was already coming to him, and it was with anticipation he stepped out among the dead into the moonlight.

  2. #2
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    Elthas had arrived at The Citadel a time earlier, and was waiting for an opponent to arrive.

    He was standing perfectly still in the empty combat chamber when the monks worked their arcane power. Elthas found himself in an old ruins...could have been any remnant of old Althanas. Concordia Forest lingered on the outskirts of the ruins. There were several old buildings, including a dilapidated old mausoleum. The ruined building likely contained secrets...the secrets of the old world. I am not here to unearth those secrets this time. Elthas thought to himself as a sad, melancholy breeze touched Concordia Forest and made leaves rustle. Elthas looked up at the night sky and saw the Heroes of lore present. Valentina Snow, Sei Orlouge, and many others of Althanas's greatest champions. Burned into constellations on the stars. Heroes of a different age of Althanas history.

    Elthas steadied his gaze and looked away from the stars. His hood was up, the spectral mantle moving of it's own accord. The mantle...the darkness...was hungry. Elthas sensed someone approaching the ruins the moment they crossed his large sensory array. Once he knew he was no longer alone, Elthas willed himself to move towards the stranger. They are likely my opponent. Elthas thought to himself. The wraith carefully maneuvered through the old ruins and stopped near the mausoleum. His glowing eyes narrowed as he spotted the stranger. He did not know the man's name yet...only the fact that they were meant to do battle. Elthas began to prepare his mind for the task at hand, concentration and strategy flowing through it. The veteran knife user summoned his newly acquired weapons. Spectral blades manifested with glowing energy in his hands, unsheathed from who knows where. He rotated the two weapons. The blades elegant and curved, quite deadly looking.

    Elthas lowered his hood at that point. He wore a fedora that was fashioned from old-world tailoring. It was tipped at a forty five degree angle, casting a shadow across his handsome face. Elthas prepared his combat stance, but did not attack immediately. He had never been the time to simply back stab someone without due reason. Elthas lowered his arms so that the spectral blades' tips pointed to the ground beneath. A strong sense of honour prevented Elthas from attacking the man right off the bat. Elthas favored honouring the old alliances. The alliance between Humes (Men-folks) and Elves. Old habits died hard...and his were especially hard to break.

    Once Elthas began to carefully observe the large man, he began to notice features of the man.

    Elthas studied the man very intently...there was something very familiar about the man's stature and physique.

    Didn't I fight someone like that once before? Elthas recalled the battle against the titan-man John Cromwell. He'd won that battle physically...but it had cost him many serious injuries. I wonder if this big Hume is related to John? Likely not. Elthas recalled other battles he'd conducted in The Citadel. He was thinking about what sort of tricks and strategies the man before him would use. Elthas moved slightly closer, but kept a ranged distance from the fellow before him. Elthas, a Wraith, had a see-through physical body and a glow about him. He was also fairly tall and lithe. He was an unusually built Elf, there weren't many pure Elves that were built that exact way. Elthas stood in silence, staring at his opponent the entire time.

    He wondered which ruins they had stumbled upon the entire time...
    "I'll have DEATH before DISHONOR."-Saying.
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  3. #3
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    Wisps of web floated in the cool breeze, the sole performers on this silent stage, and the wary wanderer glanced among the shadows between carved columns. The dark simply waited, the wind ever-stirred; and now the familiar feeling of a stolen gaze caressed his mind. The thought was first dismissed as simple paranoia, but the itching possibility prompted a second search. The translucent edge of ...something lay idle upon the breeze, spied through pitted pillars and sundered stone; a few stealthy steps brought the hidden hole into view. A pair of sapphire eyes glowed back from within a black fog, its edges tinted violet in the cold moonlight. The uncertain half-elf wondered if he was seeing things, but his ghoulish guest just silently stared. Surely, it should attack, or speak. Perhaps something prevented its entry, through fear or force; something in the mausoleum.

    Rusted iron and dented steel wrapped the withered warriors strewn about, and their scattered swords and shields fared no better; none of these cold corpses held anything of value. The dusty stone floor was smooth, and the columns sprouted only granite vines, nothing to indicate any ulterior purpose to this place. Though many fell here long ago, it was likely by mortal means they perished; none of their tools would be of much use in the face of un-death. Polished steel yet gleamed along one halberd's shaft, however, so the swordsman ignored the blade on his back, and walked over to heft this new ally.

    It spun easily in his gloved grip, trailing the silky wisps of age, but still held a keen edge. Though the half-elf sharply studied the shadows, the creature seemed yet to move, a fact he confirmed with a few short steps. There again stared those glowing blue eyes; the creepy bastard. The wanderer tired of uncertainty, and held now enough energy at the ready to enact his enhancement, and triple his strength and speed. Surely, that would be enough to deal with this specter, provided he could kill it in time. Solid steel would have to do; hopefully stabbing the thing at least did something. Maybe the halberd would help after all.

    "Is this a duel, or a hunt?" he called to the shade, voice echoing through the pillars as a smile crept onto his stubbled face.

    "I'll be the predator, if you want."

  4. #4
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    "The fates are not kind." Came the deep voice...old Radasanth accent.

    Elthas looked away from the approaching adventurer for a moment, his face fluttering in and out of existence. Constant flux. His body was surrounding by the darkness, but he could not yet control it. Elthas held his spectral weapons in the same deadly angle, ready to strike in the blink of an eye. However, he hesitated. The feeling of familiarity touched the wraith's heart. Have I met this one before...? Elthas was one of the old ones. His history going back to several ages of Althanas lore. Elthas's blue glowing eyes narrowed for a moment as he considered the situation at hand.

    Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. The man spoke, the accent rich with the modern baritones of the current historical epoch of Althanas.

    Across the centuries...Elthas had learned quite a bit about the various structured battles of The Citadel. It had been a constant reminder of the failure that was The Demon's War. Elthas had not been present for that war, but he has present through out other historical junctures. The man stepped closer, Elthas did not retreat or move. He simply observed in silence. After the first words he spoke, Elthas spoke again. "This place is fitting." Elthas began. "Remains of ancient heroes are present." Elthas saw the charred armaments that the fallen used. Some were Elven make, others represented several of the prominent races of Corone. "A great battle took place here." Elthas said in a solemn voice. "There has already been much blood spilled on these hallowed grounds." Elthas spoke in the same serious tone. "A duel will suit me fine." Elthas was laying down the ground rules of the battle.

    He always did favor taking charge of situations he came across.

    The wraith wanted to see what the fellow before him was capable of doing...so he stood in place.

    Ready to pounce at a moment's notice...
    "I'll have DEATH before DISHONOR."-Saying.
    Though you be chained to Hell ITSELF!!!
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  5. #5
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    Unkind fates, indeed.

    Things never went well when old ghosts started rambling about battles long-past, and the sonorous sounds that rolled from the wraith had the tone of grand halls on mountains tall, and tattered tapestries rotting in the wind. This talk of ancient heroes and hallowed ground didn't bode well either; many a careless fool lost their lives to trespassing on such places. While he listened, oily waves gnawed within, lapping static and a clenched gut. A cleansing breath and a moment of focus suppressed the mortal madman's dark passenger, though. After a respectful nod at the acceptance of the duel, he cautiously treaded over to another sizable hole in the mausoleum wall.

    Lush grass bathed in the moonlight as the swordsman stepped out into the clearing, and he immediately noticed the two glowing blades held at an exact angle; their touch was undoubtedly no less lethal for their transparency. Beyond the ring of trees only scattered beams of moonlight cut in through the canopy, but among the rubble and remains the shadows were scarce. The cloaked half-elf turned to face his foe as he stepped out into the open, and held the cobwebbed halberd casually. Gazing again into those ethereal eyes, the dark corners of his mind swelled sharp; perhaps it simply sensed familiar un-death, or warned of menacing capacities yet revealed.

    Stone sentinels gazed perched from the crumbling corners of the few remaining buildings, their folded wings chipped and broken. Time had not been kind to this place, but the sharp-eyed swordsman could forgive it; he was about to be unkind as well. The shaded specter still stood there, silent again after its ominous speech, and staring with deadly daggers at the ready; he doubted it would be an easy foe to fell. It shared a similar height with the half-elf, but lacked the buff build; perhaps that would be his advantage. The wary wanderer finally pushed the gathered energy into his enhancement and widened his stance, sharp steel whipping up into a two-handed grip. Sweat poured down his bare arms, but not just from the technique; as long as his newfound weapon didn't handle too differently from a spear, he should be fine though.

    Deep breath drawn loud in one long moment, the halberd-wielding half-elf walked slowly towards the stoic specter. Relief spread through him as the overwhelming need to move abated, and the gutsy ghost seemed content to let him approach; a bit unnerving, that, but the swordsman stopped just in range. With the final step, he launched into a quick flurry to test his opponent's defenses.

  6. #6
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    Memories poured into Elthas's mind just then.

    The halberd user attacked and Elthas could only focus on one matter.

    Hylda Terrentius...the one woman he had ever loved.

    Her image passed across his mind and he swore he could smell her...perhaps that was the reason that Elthas felt so detached from the current situation at hand.

    The image soon passed and Elthas saw his opponent begin the flurry of his attack. He's quick...noted. Elthas thought to himself as he stood there calmly. The halberd weapon lunged at Elthas with deadly intent, Elthas did not react until he was certain of the capacity. His eyes caught it, the weapon tip blurred but his eyes were able to keep up. He had his own reflex capacity, one of his most advanced features. But Elthas was also a smart man. He was going to play this opponent for all he was worth. So instead of dodging, evading as he maybe should have...he stood there. The sting of the halberd piercing his spectral mantle. Elthas flinched, the blade tip touched his spectral body. But his reaction was a calculated risk.

    Once the boy before him was well within striking rang, Elthas reacted.

    Summoning the unnatural powers of his kind, Elthas was as a blur. He swung his left spectral blade downward in an attempt to intercept the halberd's shaft. It was a long weapon sure, but it's length was also a disadvantage. The flurry of attacks stung Elthas like a wasp and would have been deadly in his living form. Elthas's blade swung ever downward towards the halberd. Then, about half-way in the counter strike, Elthas suddenly lunged with his full speed at his opponent. He knew the weapon was not enchanted at that point beyond the current capacity of it's owner's skill set. He used his body's spectral power to it's full advantage. His right arm lunged forward with the glowing spectral blade as he aimed the secondary attack towards the man's forward shoulder.

    Elthas's face was disturbingly calm and emotionless.

    He made not a sound when he reacted, but the wind seemed to react to the two combatants...

    If one were to notice the bladed tip of the halberd, they would see a glob of black spectral substance pouring down it's length...

    Elthas could be hurt.

    But he could also take the pain...
    "I'll have DEATH before DISHONOR."-Saying.
    Though you be chained to Hell ITSELF!!!
    Of Wraiths and Shadows.
    Elthas WIKI
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  7. #7
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    Like flickering shadows on a rough-hewn wall the wraith moved, unnerving and unperturbed by simple steel. Its feint flashed with speed equal to the wanderer's own, and the second blow had the half-elf leaning back in surprise as he whipped the back end of the pole-arm up. The cobwebbed shaft knocked away the lithe arm of the specter, but not before its baleful blade cut a swath through supple flesh. Though the long gash wasn't deep, it grew cold as the swordsman swiftly stepped back to reset his stance. A brief thought flickered to the blade on his back, but having the shaft to block with seemed like a wise idea.

    The damn thing had reacted like it knew exactly where the blows would land, not to mention the obvious skill difference; his advantage in strength didn't seem so great anymore. The faces of granite gargoyles took on a mocking cast as confidence faded, lit and lounging by a jealous moon. An onyx tide swelled unbidden in forgotten corners of the mortal's mind, his stomach knotting as crimson crawled along the edges of the world. Prickling doubt descended on rotting silk, but cool air drawn deep banished the black ichor.

    The swordsman's sapphire eyes sharpened as his reflexes doubled, though visceral imagery flickered through his head; unwanted help from an unnerving 'ally,' but useful none-the-less. Thirsting grass drank deeply the liquid shade which dripped from halberd's edge, a reminder of his leftover snack. Blood sat on his tongue all familiar, and the hunger crawled itching up his throat; a mere moment in the quiet night since backing away, but long enough. To the mental symphony of sawing bone and drowning screams steel soared, leather gloves gripped low on the shaft for better range. A few vicious thrusts ensued, the wary wanderer hiding behind the reach of his weapon.

  8. #8
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    Elthas was hurt and he knew it too.

    He looked down and saw that spectral blood swelled out from the injury his opponent had inflicted with the viscous strikes. Elthas knew he could not relent. His spectral weapon bit the man on it's mark but the other blade did not deter the counter strike. Elthas moved in a sideways slide, willing himself to evade some of the rough impact from the flurry of attacks. The halberd's tip bit like the bite of some twisted abyss serpent. Though he wasn't a physical form, he was still capable of feeling pain and the damned thing...hurt like hell. Elthas was already a mess, but the strike he'd inflicted on his opponent was well placed. Break him... a piece at a time. Elthas thought to himself as he ripped out of the reach of the plunging halberd.

    Son of a bitch is holding back... Elthas grinned at that point. Again, his mind focused on the battle at hand. I will have to out maneuver him if I am going to win this one. Elthas thought to himself. The last of the flurry of his second attack hit air since Elthas had moved. However, much of that second attack had also clipped the wraith as well. Elthas looked at Nyadir for a long moment as he reacted against the man's momentum. I have a few tricks in my arsenal I can use here...but what do I use? Elthas did not want to completely over power the fellow. The moon above, stared down at him, seeming to have a hunger all her own. Elthas stole a glance up at the moon, carefully studying the brilliantly shining stars of Althanas's night sky.

    Then he returned his attention back to the man.

    I clipped his shoulder...that's step one. Living blood dripped down the length of his elegant spectral weapons. They pulsed with dark energies, his body moving with tremendous skill. Elthas was on the move again, willing himself to move at best speed. The injuries the man inflicted on him hurt like Hell. I don't know why this injury hurts as much as it does... Perhaps the pain had to do with how relatively young a Wraith he was. He'd only been in that state for a few years standard Althanas time. Elthas moved in a arcing movement attempting to get around the back of the fellow. But that in itself would be difficult with the man's skill level. Elthas narrowed his eyes as he observed the man before him.

    Again, there was a certain sense of familiarity with Nyadir. He could not quite place what it was...Are we kin? Elthas thought to himself. The man had familiar features of his physical anatomy and he could have sworn he'd seen them some place before. My head is playing tricks on me. Elthas thought to himself as he attempted to move around the man. He pondered readying one of his combat stances, but that would require concentration to prepare. He did not want to loose the battle itself. As he moved he could feel the spectral energies leaking from the wounds he'd already been dealt.

    His facial expression was serious, there was a dangerous intent in the wraith's glowing eyes. However, the wraith was also hesitating. He did not attack as he moved...at least not just yet. He needed a few moments to gather himself and his thoughts...and think. Elthas was a deadly thinker, and a veteran of The Citadel. A few moments passed as Elthas moved, his sense of reality seemed to slow down. He knew he could have easily crept up behind the man, but he felt something was holding him back and wasn't sure why at the time. Elthas readied his spectral blades as he planned his next move. The pain...never completely faded and never let up...something about the pain drove Elthas to focus harder...
    "I'll have DEATH before DISHONOR."-Saying.
    Though you be chained to Hell ITSELF!!!
    Of Wraiths and Shadows.
    Elthas WIKI
    My Blog
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  9. #9
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    A wicked grin spread above blackened chin as the spirit slid sideways, but despite the crawl upon his spine the mortal madman matched the specter's smile. That crawl sharpened as the thing unnervingly flickered out of view, so the swordsman crouched as he drew in his last thrust. He hadn't known thrill like this since stealing the Aleran airship a few months back, and it was intoxicating. Though a twinge in his shoulder recalled the growing numbness, and the abyss ever-gnawed, he planted a steel-plated boot in the thick grass behind him as he began to turn.

    Ebony hair sliced the breeze as the wanderer's head whipped to the side, steely eyes snapping to the spirit, and crimson runners raced crooked down his arm as he pulled the halberd ever-closer to the wayward wraith. The groan of great oak's sway rose as a canopied chorus, and droplets of sweat shimmered like gems stuck in a trail behind the nimble swordsman. His stance shifted as steel arced through the air beside him, eyes locked on the specter despite the sting of sweat. His attacks so far had been as effective as stabbing a puddle, but perhaps if he cut that black mist clean in half it would stop staring at him.

    Stars shone through its shadowed shape from the deep night beyond, its glowing azure eyes two great galaxies in the constellation of a vengeful soul. It was an unusual sight for a smuggling run; if only more of them were this interesting. The swordsman drew in cool night air as he finished the turn and stepped into the slice. The steel halberd sailed up from below to the chest of the specter as one of its daggers flickered, and the cobwebs trailing the shaft floated up over cleanly cut metal as the blade of the pole-arm flipped off into the night. The wraith yet stood, silent and grinning.

    Shit.

  10. #10
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    Elthas_Belthasar's Avatar

    Name
    Elthas Belthasar
    Age
    Appears in his early youth.(Immortal)
    Race
    Forest Elf
    Gender
    Male
    Hair Color
    Platinum
    Eye Color
    Blue
    Build
    6'3"/200 lbs.
    Job
    Adventurer Folks.

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    The expression on the wraith's face was consistent.

    Externally, it appeared as a grinning death's mask but it was only a volatile emotion that the wraith was going through at that precise moment in time. His emotions were in constant movement, he was a kinetic being. As Elthas instinctively reacted to the man's attack. He wasn't entirely certain what had happened, only by instinct he'd reacted. Elthas sliced the haft of the halberd in half. It was purely a reactive action, he didn't even fully understand the why of it. Only that he'd seen the lunging attack at the last possible moment and that was the end result. Etlhas's eyes narrowed as he looked his opponent. He's panicking... The wraith suddenly had a thought occur to him. Is this the best that he can do?! The wraith felt sorry for the Halfling. Elthas's grinning smile was ever present as he planned the next part of the assault.

    Only one thing left to do. He thought to himself.

    The pregnant moon overhead stared at the combatants with her ghostly gaze as well. Elthas new he had his opening. To him, a few seconds was an eternity to plan. He accessed the terrible power of his spectral weapons, and suddenly attempted to lunge right at his opponent. The attack was one-fold. He aimed his left weapon right at the man's forehead and struck forward with all the speed momentum he could muster. He was attempting to stab the man's head with his spectral attack. The spectral power of his weapon would prove dangerous if the man had dormant psoinic abilities. Time slowed down for Elthas. In the back of his mind, he wonder what would actually happen in the next few moments. He unleashed the full power of the spectral weapon at his command, and would wait to see the results should his attack connect. His face, maddeningly and ever grinning.

    The grinning...it would never stop.
    "I'll have DEATH before DISHONOR."-Saying.
    Though you be chained to Hell ITSELF!!!
    Of Wraiths and Shadows.
    Elthas WIKI
    My Blog
    Shiny New Daggers!!!

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