Osiris Open 2017 Round 1: Storm Veritas vs SirArtemis

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

"After all the losses there was no more sentimentality for the dead. It was easier if you didn't think of them as people at all. Indeed, our senses of humour became warped and darkly macabre. We laughed at their silly expressions and gave them rude names. We made up lines for them to say as we tossed them into the murky green, acid filled grave with the others. Before us, we walk the path of sandstone that carves the corrosive pool of green in two. Fumes rise from the surface; an emerald fog rolling on the surface that bites into the stone. We stole from them without guilt. They were grey tinged regardless of race, blue lipped with blank stares. Our approach was irreverent, but it kept us sane. There is only so much horror you can take in and understand, after that your mind will snap. So we joke. Anyone who doesn't like it gets given the shovels and the rest of us walk away. No humour no helping, the curmudgeons soon come round to our way of thinking when there's people parts to dispose of."

Brotherhood report #013

[SirArtemis]

The putrid ground cried out in agony with every step as the dark figure walked out among the marsh of death. Completely covered in black from head to toe, Artemis had committed to visiting this tragic site. Coincidentally his very armor and clothing reflected the color of mourning. He had heard news of a battlefield littered with corpses in the wake of a skirmish. A member of the Brotherhood had left a report on a table at a tavern in Knife’s Edge. It seemed he sought to escape his scars and left the note hoping it would help.

So much of Artemis’ life had been sheltered from such experience. Mostly in youth, but now with every passing year, more hardship enveloped him, much like the thick fog all around. Artemis walked upon a path of sandstone. His quiet steps took him right between two simmering pools of blight. Bodies filled the green pools, skin peeling away along with hair and muscle fibers as the evidence of their sorrow melted away. Their pain and loss vanished as it morphed into a thick miasma of the same hue. The features that distinguished one victim from the next faded with every passing second, where not even scavengers would touch such a place.

’So much loss. So much pain.’

Artemis shook his head with remorse, cringing at the anguish that permeated the air. He could feel the distress of lives lost, forcing himself to be engulfed by the aftermath. He knew war better than most - an unfortunate fact that he could only wish weren't true. And with growing power came an ever-growing sense of responsibility. However much he wanted an ordinary and peaceful life, he knew it to be impossible.

He had grown too powerful in the last decade, becoming a stalwart warrior and precise weapon. The talents he'd honed, abilities he'd acquired, and experience he now possessed made turning away impossible.

So he walked along the sandstone path, flanked by acid pools of war's aftermath, and reflected on his role in the world of Althanas. He could sense the turn of a new age, with the gears of fate turning as his place become more pivotal in the coming events. Soon, he would be a member of the Tarot, serving as Justice and exacting influence upon the annals of history as they were to be writ.

He sighed wearily, letting the smells fill him. The warrior had since lost the need for air to survive, but habits remained. And more than that, he needed the smell of death to fill every space of his lungs. He needed to ensure that the responsibility that weighed on him never ceased, and so that complacency could never find a home in his heart.

Artemis was no hero, but the tragedy was that too many thought a hero was needed to make a difference. Artemis knew better; the world just needed good people to do something rather than nothing.

He walked on, slowly, quietly, as seconds turned to minutes. If it weren't for his sensory magic, he would have never noticed the arrival of someone new.

'Is it too much to hope for that this won't lead to more death?' Artemis thought, drawing his attention to the approaching figure.

"Hello!" Artemis yelled, waving at the figure. "Might you be another passerby, or something more?"

[Storm Veritas]

The gurgling song of the acid pool rang out to Storm Veritas; the sizzling, bubbling sound of the pool consuming flesh a familiar tone for the monster. Indeed, it was a satisfying sound; this sound meant exoneration. Bodies that slept in the putrid, smoking olive water were gone for keeps; there was no need to double check here for footprints, fingerprints, or stray hairs. Any evidence that touched the fluid was gone for good; eaten by the hungry earth before him.

Goodbye, Mr. Benjarvis. Thanks for the totems of gratitude.

Reflexively, the electromancer tapped his rubber gloves over the pocket on his overcoat before removing them. The teeth of the fool who had tried to help unseat the Brotherhood were a familiar hardness between his fingers and his hip; molars filled with gold that would extract with only a touch of current. It wouldn’t be much gold compared to the heft of the killer’s coffers, but it would afford a good bottle of something fiery, and the once-redhead disintegrating in a foul stench behind him had no remaining use for the money.

Six down, ten to go. I wonder if Attila could carry three next time?

He tapped the haunch of his great black steed, allowing the beast to walk and graze a bit from the tall, sparse grasses that sprouted sporadically from the earth in a series of angry green eruptions. With the highly acidic pools nearby, the ground bore grass that tasted like citrus; a rare treat for the horse who served Storm so faithfully.

Pressing a few leaves of his favorite plant within his cheek beside own back teeth, the adventurer enjoyed the flavor of juices layering over his tongue as he walked, transfixed in thought. The interweavings of the Council had grown complicated; much work would be needed in short order to regain stability in the Coronian region. This place was secluded, a good dumping grounds, and had become a favored place of Storm’s to sit and think. The white noise of sizzling acids was head-clearing; the tobacco in his mouth a good tempering element for his mind. His sleek, athletic frame was packaged poorly in clothes designed for work, and he rubbed a jaw that had grown uncharacteristic stubble. He wasn’t just frustrated for lack of progress; he was getting old.

We need to expand, and move it quickly. Recruits are moving in, we’ve got influence. Time to push the Hand, stop dicking around with the table scraps and take what’s…

Oh, f*ck me…

A stranger stood before him in the mists, ostensibly friendly but unmistakably the warrior. The dark hair, the crystalline eyes… this man looked familiar even in the low light. His inquiry was simple enough; was this a man Veritas could trust, a man wise enough to stay quiet?

You know you can’t trust a stranger. Not here, not now. Even if he doesn’t chirp the police on your work today, he’ll be back or let people know –something- happened here. One quick pulse to the chest and he’s knee deep in the liquid, screaming for help that can’t get here.

One quick pulse to the chest and he’s not your goddamned problem anymore.

Teeth clenched firmly together, mandibular muscles flexing as the magician considered his options. Killing the stranger was an option, however perhaps he could at least feel out the apparently lost wanderer. Perhaps discretion was the better part of valor; lightning did attract a certain amount of attention upon the plains. Besides, with his horse only fifty yards off, the possibility of his great beast getting spooked and charging headlong into a pool of the vile was not zero. Attila was powerful, and fast, and at times colossally stupid.

“Good evenin’, stranger. I certainly like to think of myself as something more, but at the end of the day, we’re all something more, no?”

Running now bare fingers through his silvering hair, Storm flashed a staggeringly charming smile, rich in dimples and deception.

“And you? What brings you to the path between hell and Am’aleh’s taint?”

[SirArtemis]

Artemis never did trust charm. He considered it a tool of the insincere and manipulative. His intuition roared defiantly with every step the man had taken to approach, and now standing a few yards away it felt like a volcano bubbled in the virtuous ranger's heart.

Artemis' enhanced vision, rooted in his very magical creation, quickly scanned the aging man's body. His focus zoomed in and out, allowing him to notice the finest details. His attention caught on the rubber gloves that the man had taken off. Tiny drops of blood decorated their surface, and even the black of the material couldn't hide the evidence. They stood out as clearly as anything in the world to Artemis' eyes.

His intuition and eyes told a story that the young warrior wished weren't true, and he confirmed his suspicions once and for all. The iris of his eyes shifted to a gold hue as he activated his Gaze of Graxis, looking into the very essence of the man before him. In that moment, he could see where the man fell on the spectrum of good and evil. The usual gray of neutrality appeared, but the distinct red hue of sinister motives bled throughout.

There was no doubt in Artemis' mind at that moment: this man was neither a good man nor to be trusted.

"I came to reflect," Artemis admitted somberly, his eyes returning to their usual icy blue. "After so much death, it's hard to imagine what kind of person could do such a thing." The ranger watched carefully for any reaction from the aging man. The certainty of the charm, the practiced smile, the measured movement of his body - they all spoke of a seasoned fighter, and the discomfort Artemis felt made it imperative not to underestimate the evil man before him.

"I'm Artemis," he introduced himself, beginning to lift his left hand as though to offer it for a handshake. Instead, as his arm raised, the bracer upon his wrist morphed into a bow of raw energy. With his free hand, he drew back on the string of mist and quickly let fire a crimson arrow of explosive energy at the man's feet.

Without hesitation, Artemis hurried back to put some distance between them and quickly donned his black mask, completing his suit of protective armor. He drew back on his bow once more, drawing forth another arrow of crimson mist and looking to take advantage of his element of surprise. His movements were precise, practiced, and quick, but he could only hope that would be enough to give him an advantage. Otherwise, this could have been a terrible mistake.

Still, no matter whether the man before him was responsible for this tragedy or not, there was no mistaking that he was a threat and would do harm to this world. He needed to be eliminated.

'Justice will be done.'

[Storm Veritas]

The events that happened quickly to follow seemed to move in slow motion for the wizard. The suspicious stranger, a man who had happened into a very random and obscure locale, held himself with the planned hostility of one planning to strike. The magician had seen these machinations a million times; there were only so many ways to initiate combat and hope for success. The traveler spoke in tropes and generalities, attacking with a straightforward bow blast that seemed to come from nowhere. He was still human; his muscles tensed and face flushed as he prepared to strike, telegraphing his move. The first volley came at Storm’s feet, causing the villain to hop laterally some five feet. It was nimble and smooth, but still left him close enough to a pool of acid to feel the heat warm the right side of his face.

Almost got me, stranger. Smart move not getting too cute with the whole deal.

The attack lit a fire under Storm Veritas that generally ended with an array of dead men. This place was born to host combat; solid footing spotted by perilous pits of bubbling death. He would kill the foolhardy archer, and toss his remains effortlessly into the drink. Sneering, he strode away from the pool toward his freshly-masked would-be assassin, his eyes focused on the arrowhead pointed at him.

Some sort of white-blue bullshit. No metal. F*ck me.

There wasn’t much metal for the wizard to use anywhere; some of the earth felt as though it held iron, but it wasn’t likely to be useful. Worse, any metal that fell into the acid pools would have been long-since destroyed; it was almost certain his trump card would have to stay up his sleeve today. No worries; there was more than one way to skin a cat. A toothy grin was still returned to his masked assailant.

“Cute gear, slim. All that stretchy shit must really have you swimming in finishing school pussy, doesn’t it? Tell me; ever been with a woman that has seen the north side of eighteen, or are you just a child-chaser with that creepy shit?”

The taunts would burn like wildfire; Storm remembered distinctly a time when he would be enraged by the same sort of affront. His left hand extended in front of him, fingertips growing blue white with a humming, crackling energy, as his right hand wrapped long, serpentine fingers around the blade of the Rat. With any luck, this would move quickly.

A glowing orb of oscillating white and azure tumbled menacingly before his hand as the wizard waited patiently. The archer was poised to fire; Veritas held his hand forward in the feign of offensive, but did so only to disguise his real armor, the tailored bracer born from Moonwing’s scales that extended from the back of his hand to his elbow on both arms. Beneath his sleeves, they could make him appear marvelously powerful, as blocking magical and projectile attacks had a way of intimidating folks.

Alright kid, take your shot. We both know you’re pissed, no sense waiting around.

[SirArtemis]

The taunt rolled off Artemis as easily as droplets of rain down a pane of glass, but his opponent didn't need to know that. He growled as he rushed forward, doing his best to seem the overzealous and emotional youth that he might appear. The elderly always assumed they knew better; they would find out if this case proved accurate.

The ranger willed the magic of his boots to morph, giving him traction on the worn sandstone path as tiny adhesive spikes erupted from their soles. He let fly the crimson arrow, again at the man's feet, as he rushed forward. He didn't intend harm with the explosions as much as annoyance.

His steps propelled him forward as he quickly loosed another arrow, this one of white mist that morphed into a crystalline projectile as strong as prevalida mid-flight. He still didn't expect the arrow to strike the foe, but there was always the chance.

The confidence of his opponent showed that Artemis' instinct, as usual, was on the mark. A sphere of electrical energy thrummed with hunger as it floated before the older man, eager to feast on the impulsive ranger. He could almost feel the arrogance pouring out of his very being.

'How many people has this man killed? How many have fallen prey to his desires? How many more will succumb to his abuse power?

It doesn't matter. It will end now anyway.'

Artemis let the bow of mist return to its form as a bracer upon his wrist as soon as the crystal arrow flew forth. He drew his blades and continued forward, enacting a sphere of silence as he did. He anticipated a strike would come, hoping his false aggression would bait the man in. If the opening appeared, he would act on the chance, but if an attack came first, then before his mark even knew it, Artemis would already be behind him and striking from silence at his vitals.

'There is no need to drag this out. The sooner this ends, the better.'

[Storm Veritas]

(OOC: two-way bunnying approved)

The young traveler took the bait, firing a straightforward arrow directly at Storm’s chest. From short range, it should have been a kill-shot, however Storm was able to turn his wrist just enough to put the bracer of Moonwing in the path of the projectile. Moonwing’s scale discarded the arrow with an effortless disregard, as if insulted by the trivial power of the arrow. A bit taken away by the speed of his counterpart, the mage felt his heart race and lungs become hollow.

Shit, he’s fast. Still coming forward.

Typically Storm would assault an archer from point blank range, trying to exploit the cumbersome nature of a bow. Here, the bow had disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and was instantly replaced with some form of armor. This one had tricks up his sleeve.

Without hesitating, Storm rotated his hand once more, directing the orb at the feet of the incoming assailant. The concussive force of his blast sent the magician sailing backwards through the air, the crack-bang of arcing lightning followed by a faint whiff of ozone above the putrefying scents of acidic death. Rolling backwards through the air, Veritas unsheathed the Rat, landing in a sliding squat as his left hand held the blade out at his flank.

With eyes up and his athletic gesture complete, the wizard was quickly displeased to see his bolt had not ended this little charade. The archer was coming, and coming fast.

Another one of the special folk. They seem to seek me out like flies to shit. Gods, why couldn’t you have sent me some simple tough-guy to toss in the goo?!

There was no time for deep thought; the blade on his side glowed a faint blue color as he began to pull it in. The cursed thing had never granted Storm anything but trouble, and he still had yet to comprehend its capabilities. Undeterred, he certainly thought the mysterious, mystical item made him look at least two shades cooler.

[SirArtemis]

Artemis had managed to react quickly enough to leap over the electrical detonation and continue his run. Traces of the blast lingered in the air and danced like floating strings of hot metal. As his body collided with their raw energy, he could feel tingling as his muscles gently pulsated. The protection of his armor and undersuit were not enough to completely mitigate the effects.

He clenched his teeth and pressed forward. His mind raced as he continued toward the mage. Flashes of the dead toyed with him with every step. The smell of the decay surrounding him as the fallen eroded from existence distracted him. He did not come here to fight. His very presence was an affront to their tragedy. He did not dare to disrespect or dishonor their loss, and yet he felt he was doing just that by fighting amidst them.

This man before him seemed the antithesis of everything that Artemis believed. Every battle that the ranger fought sought to eradicate evil from this world. Every lunge of his blade and every arrow he fired, he did so with the hope that he would never have to do so again.

Deep down, he knew that day would never come.

Balance would always exist, and that included good and evil. Worst of all, the point of equilibrium would always elude the virtuous warrior and his hope in tipping the scales would be impossible to measure.

Still, he knew he had to try.

When his run finally brought him within striking distance of the older man, Artemis cut across from his right. A spin quickly followed along with a backhand of his left blade while his leg swept out in unison to trip his opponent. Rising fast, he stabbed out with his right, carrying the momentum, but vanished from sight as he did.

He used his magic to teleport the short distance to the man's rear, hoping that as he prepared to defend, that fraction of the second would carry Artemis' lunge into the man's exposed flank.

'Evil men bleed and die like the rest of us.'

[Storm Veritas]

The attacker was relentless, coming forward at the aging villain with a hard charge. Instinctively, the catalog of potential moves that he had seen in his travels spun through the mage's mind. Guess the correct assault, and a fighter can position themselves for a lethal counterpunch. Storm twisted his right toe into the earth plant and secure a hard push with whatever the archer decided to do.

Overhead slash, side swipe, bullshit slide attack, bullshit jump attack, projectile, hidden magic, spin move, lunging stab, shoulder block, front kick, spinkick…

Deciding the archer seemed precise and efficient, the wizard readied himself for attacks which didn’t overextend the aggressor: projectile, stab, or side swipe. As his assailant planted his right foot, Storm readied for a driving left step towards his hip, allowing a quasi-flank move that would grant access to the older man’s back. On the contrary, the smallish fellow pivoted off the foot, spinning athletically about with a backhanded slashing assault.

Oh shit spin, f*ckf*ckf*ckf*ck…

Like a flail on the end of a heavy chain, the sword swung hard, trailing the body of the smaller man by a great deal. Veritas pushed hard off his right foot, flipping forward and rotating a wide counterclockwise slice with the Rat. The cool blue blade felt as though it purchased nothing but air; it was unclear to Storm if it had dined on the blood of the wicked.

As he slashed, a remnant of age caught up to him. Storm had not leapt quite high enough, and felt the spinning blade slash miserably across the top of his foot. It knocked the airborne mage off his neat somersaulting path. Desperate and angry, the wizard clenched at his abdomen as he fell, knowing that if he didn’t pop up instantly, he’d be all too vulnerable. The forced-round arch of his lower back hit the packed earth first as Storm rolled forward, forcing himself to sit up ready to slash at his enemy.

Where the blue hell is he!?

Panic tore at the experienced fighter as his opponent had vanished. The cold taste of metal bit at his left hip area from behind as a sword seared its way through exposed frame, carving its way through his fine overcoat and dress shirt like a hot knife through butter. It was a deep strike, and the old champion pulled himself away from the menacing metal just as quickly as it had gored him. His right foot had very little drive, the unaddressed bleeding from the first wound screaming at him with an angry reminder.

Desperate, Storm Veritas still had tricks up his sleeve. If his feet wouldn’t drive him, his iron-heeled dress shoes certainly would. A quick burst of electromagnetic energy beneath his feet sent the wounded wizard flying up and away from the source of his agony; a second blast sent a fresh bolt of twisting white hate down at his enemy only a moment later.

[SirArtemis]

Artemis had dropped to a knee after the mage had burst away into the air. The electrical energy he'd blasted down in his wake reached for the ranger hungrily. Artemis had lifted his daggers up, crossing them in the path of the bolt and letting the dehlar coating soak some of its force. Even with that, and his armor, still more made its way through.

'If it wasn't obvious before, this man is no novice. That magic is powerful if it can get through my layers of defense.'

Even the older man's clumsy somersault had left Artemis with a slight cut across the top of his left thigh. The wound wasn't deep, but something felt strange about where the weapon had opened his skin; like fog on glass, a sort of lingering presence remained.

As soon as he'd absorbed the blow, his muscles again spasming in reaction to the current that trickled through various parts of his body, he'd sheathed the blades quickly and willed Judicis back into his form as a bow. He stood up and began firing a volley at the general area of the floating mage.

An array of colors flew forth within seconds as Artemis launched dozens of arrows of magical mist. The magic of the bow didn't need to be nocked and drawn, so his fingers strummed in place like a bard on his lute, creating a barrage that most would think could not be from one man. More crimson set to explode flew forth, clear and colorless mist quickly crystallized and shimmered with the green reflection of the acid pools below, royal blue which sought to weaken his foe lit up the sky, and finally, black projectiles meant to knock the stubborn man unconscious.

Artemis never assumed his shots would strike their mark, but experience had taught him never to ease pressure on a dangerous foe. He could not allow the man to regain his footing and comfort.

'If only these arrows were capable of tracking their mark,' the ranger lamented as he continued to fire.

As he fired, Artemis felt his leg pulse with discomfort where the sword had bitten him. He clenched his teeth and pushed through the feeling, but instinct screamed at him once again.

'Artemis, you're running out of time,' he heard in his thoughts. This time, the thoughts were not his own, but rather those of Judicis - the sentience that lived within the artifact he wore. 'I can sense the sinister magic entering your body. Whatever it is, it's hungry and dangerous. You need to finish him off and get out of here, or you will die.'

Artemis gritted his teeth in response and continued his barrage. Judicis would not have spoken at such a time if the warning had not been important.

'C'mon you electric bastard, let's get this over with.'