Heart of Darkness (Shinsou Osiris vs Rameses Vaeron)

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

((The events preceding this thread can be re-capped, if required, in The Gnarled Roots of Osiris))

He had been watching his various opponents around the table carefully. Shinsou smiled before calmly gazing down at the cards in his hand and contemplated his next move, placing his hand face down on the table and tapping two fingers on the reverse of his cards. He knew, underneath his palm, there were three separate cards, completely unrelated in both suit and order, with the potential to lose him his thus far respectable pot.

But he wasn’t at all worried. Experience told him that he could have had the worst hand in the game, but it wouldn’t matter one bit if he could apply the correct pressure on the other players. Judging by the intelligence of some of the knuckle draggers at the table, it wouldn’t be a particularly difficult task to convince them they were languishing at the very bottom of the pecking order.

"HA HA HA! Would you look at that!", A thick set, heavily bearded lumberjack to Shinsou’s right exclaimed, throwing his hand face down proudly down and slamming his fist triumphantly on the table, sending tremors through the room. “I’m taking this pot all night long, boys!”

Shinsou glanced casually at the mound of copper and silver in the centre of the table. Predictable. This pot is mine.

It should have been difficult to focus. Within the steady hum of idle chatter came the regular thump of boots pounding into the creaking timber floorboards; interrupted only by the crescendo of clinking glasses and the cheers of the revelling crowd. Indeed, some of those seated around the table started to lean in, cupping their ears to catch the bets as they rose. One folded accidentally, not realising the bet was lower than he thought. However, Shinsou sat, his cards flat against the wood, with a cool expression.

“I bet you don’t have higher than a pair, do you big man? Let’s see if you have the balls to play. I raise you fifty.”

The calm expression never left the former Telgradian emperor’s face as he threw in his lot, pushing his silver towards the pile. Fold after fold followed in a clockwise motion around the table, until it came back to the lumberjack.

“HA HA HA! I don’t think you have a thing, boy, and if you don’t have at least a flush you are done here! So I raise a hundred!”

Shinsou, not perturbed by his failure to sway the lumberjack, tapped his cards.

“You better think before you match me. The timber trade’s a little slower than usual these days with all these storms, and you look like you need the money. Two-hundred."

Tossing his own cards face down in reply to the meaty man’s taunts he shut out the laughter around him. The lumberjack looked flustered, and hesitated. A lot of money was on the table, a months wages for him, and he knew his own hand was a slight bluff, a king high pair. His opponent had to have at least a flush to throw in two hundred.

It took a moment before he decided to cut his losses and abandon his bluff.

“Grrr. You got fuckin’ lucky that time. What did you have?”

Shinsou smiled. “Five high.”

The lumberjack slammed his fist into the table, and exited to raucous, mocking laughter.

You can all laugh, but he’s human, same as you. Shinsou thought quietly to himself. By the time tonight’s done I’ll have had you all paying for my board here.

Taking the deck in his palm, after sweeping the coin mountain into a leather bag next to the table, the victorious Shinsou tossed cards back and forth until the next game was set and ready. However, as he was about to deal the next game, a tap on his shoulder distracted him. He turned his head and shot a glare at the hooded man stood over his shoulder.

”What? I’m playing here.”

The hooded man was unfazed. From beneath his brown leather robes, he handed over a beige, folded note, and walked away without a word.

Shinsou looked around the table, and sighed, placing the deck in front of the man to his right.

“Excuse me.”

He got up from the table, slinging his weighty coin sack over his shoulder, and unfolded the note between his finger and thumb. The handwriting was unfamiliar, and the paper looked as if a spider had fallen in a vial of ink and scurried across the page. He held it up to a nearby lamp, and read it quietly in his mind.

Shinsou,

I have received your letter, for which I thank you.

If the contents of your message are to be believed, and that itself is a matter for Kinshara’s ruling council to decide, then I understand why you need me and you need the guild.

It has long been the case that a culture's teachings, and most importantly, the nature of its people, achieve definition through conflict. They find themselves… or find themselves lacking.

Before I go before the guild’s council with your case, I will require a small show of faith, a little example of you “finding yourself”.

You will go to the Citadel, tomorrow, and speak to an attendant named Shalo-zier. He is of Kinshara heritage, and he has organised a duel between you and Rameses Vaeron, a Raiaeran human with connections to the High Elves. The arena for the venue will be a special one – Shalo-zier will explain this to you on your arrival.

Your victory in this battle will serve as your merit for recommendation into the Guild.

Although it has had its internal conflicts, too long has Althanas remained unchallenged by threats outside of its reach. I believe it is starting to become a stagnant beast that labours for breath.

There were many warriors who were the strong, beating heart that sustained its sickness, but now they are lost, we shall see how long our world can survive in our hands if the news you bring is true.

I look forward to our first meeting, and to seeing you victorious in your trial.

Null

This was pleasing news indeed. The Kinshara Assassin’s Guild, a secretive organisation inside Corone with Telgradian connections, had received his message that Keats was dead and Temperance would be revived in two years without any intervention. Moreso, they seemed to be taking the threat seriously, which is something he himself admitted he did not expect. Shinsou could expect to receive ample financial, military and humanitarian support from them whilst he carried out his excursions across Althanas, as long as he could prove himself in this trial tomorrow.

Folding the note along the crease and sliding it into his pocket, Shinsou made his way to his room upstairs.

“Well then, Rameses Vaeron, whether you know it or not, the fate of many worlds rests upon our shoulders tomorrow.”

---

The Citadel: Exterior

---

The Citadel loomed on the horizon, dominating the skyline. Its size and weight seemed to pull the surrounding city towards itself, and even though Shinsou was rarely intimidated he could understand why people found the journey to the Citadel gates to be surreal and frightening. Periodically glancing up at its rapidly expanding shadow, he felt the nerves in his chest melting away the closer he got. The Citadel was cowing, pressing down on his soul, but strangely he found himself feeding off it, inviting it to make him stronger.

He had made his name in war. It had been at a price, though. Even the magic of Kokushi could not completely erase his scars, but his experience had made him cold and calculated in the heat of battle. The tales of violence of the Citadel, and the dangerous affects he heard it could have on the mind and the soul, would never be a nagging problem at the back of his mind.

Rain was starting to come down in sheets now, flattening his white hood against his head. The Citadel soared over his head, its spires towering into the murky skies above. Water cascaded down its cold stone walls and out of the mouths of the granite beasts jutting out from its stone.

He had arrived.

The front doors bore down on the man from atop the wide, shallow steps leading to the entrance, easily overwhelming the pillars flanking them. They were opened, and the Citadel’s bowels were exposed for all to see.

"Well," he said, nodding slowly as he entered, as if to himself. "This is it."

---

The Citadel: Interior

---

“Are you Shalo-zier?”

The orange robed monk stood in front of Shinsou nodded.

“I am. Come, there is no time.”

As quick as a spooked rabbit, the monk turned, taking off a brisk pace down one of the Citadels labyrinthine corridors. Taken aback, Shinsou was almost left behind as he tried to follow in the monk's wake. Eventually, after a couple of left turns and a swift right, the monk reached a room that seemed to be in isolation in comparison with the rest of the wing, adorned with a single large door with iron plating.

“Through this door, quickly. You are the first one here. The world you step into will be a special one – this arena will draw from your mind and your heart, and will carve a world for you. There will be no choices. Quite simply, you will fight in a place that is a reflection of yourself. Is that clear?”

Shinsou nodded, remaining silent. The monk grasped the large iron handle of the door, yanking it open.

“Good luck.”

[vaeron]

The darkness of the night embraced and surrounded him like a terrible funeral shroud of some noble patron who loved nothing but irritating simplicity. Chill and cold to the touch it stroked the backs of his hand and the curves of his cheeks, embellishing them with an ugly form of tenderness. With a woolen scarf tied tight around his neck and the lapels of his jacket turned up against that, he looked all the manner and meaning of cold, yet strode with an attitude of determination. Despite not being able to see far in this shadowy grim world of nothing but black mist and starless entropy, Rameses Vaeron had about him a firm eye and a firm mind and a firm idea of where he was headed.

Without city lights or hamlet lanterns to guide him, as is common in places of high density residence, the ex-priest made his way towards the sea shore. By his side was a long iron blade, barely used, and on his back hung a quiver with a dozen arrows and a strong yew bow, commonly used. Tucked into the back of his trousers, at the waistline and out of sight, was his very much often used dagger of magical properties. The weapons were not there to threaten, they were more or less used for defence; because for a man in Vaeron's line of work violence was often and harsh.

Eventually his boots met sand, and he knew this fact by the change of pressure under toe as well as the soft and smooth crooshhh noise. Sand led to a way of stones, and without sight but for the two feet in front of him Vaeron could only trust them and his memory to help him find his way to where he wanted to go. Them and the scent of the air, for the pungent scent of salt was thick this side of the island, especially on this beach. Silently and slowly, covering more of his flesh as he went, for the chill air turned to a bitter freeze blast at where water met earth, Vaeron maneuvered his well as best was his ken.

He knew he was there when his thighs butted into the smooth grey slab of stone. His eyes pierced in the gloom, and these, plus his memories, constructed before him an altar.

Roughly two feet by two feet by one foot in height, length and breadth, the stone was a monolith from a time before times. Worn first by erosion then carved by expert hands it had become a monument to all who passed, a shrine for all who worshipped. Various holy symbols had been etched into the rock over the years, from many various cultures and religions, in many different tongues. Here and there also holes had been drilled to insert offerings to the gods in the form of jewelry, food items and beautiful gems - that or the rock itself had been magically morphed to grow over them, creating little geode pockets.

For Vaeron, however, this multi-religion altar was nothing short of magnificently holy. Not only was it by the sea, the source and the figment of his god's love and power, but also on a good night it was surrounded by stars. With no trees and no buildings nearby there was just a glorious open sky. Stars were, after all, the focus of the High Elves' worship and Earlon was born of the mightiest. Though this night was by no means fair to Vaeron to see the light that he lived by, it was the only one he had. Perhaps it was not the most fortuitous, perhaps it was not the most 'lucky'. But for the human who had dwelt amongst elves all his life this was the only time, the only night, where he could kneel down and worship his god before he pit his skills in public trial.

Before he finally revealed himself to the world as a warrior, a paladin, a grand man of fate that others could contend with.

He knelt and began to pray.

"Father Earlon, hallowed be your name..."

~*~

Like the night before the arena was cold, dark and lifeless.

This was when he first stepped in through the door, when he first opened it to reveal the place where he could prove himself to the world. For the first time in his life he was leaving the safety of secrecy. He was moving from being a privateer mage in employ of brigands and buccaneers, and from being a one-time priest, to now following his own fate, throwing himself to the mercy of the public eye and coming into his own. Was he influenced by the ostentacious nature of Philomel van der Aart? Very likely. Had he seen her go away to tournament after tournament to show the world what just a worthy warrior she was, and then think 'What if I did that?' ... Very likely indeed. She was, after all, his best friend, and though they had been sailing together a year the only time he had ever gone with her to battle or public outing was during that war with the Assassins.

That being said, the arena was cold, dark and lifeless. It was an empty void, sucking in all light, and giving out nothing. Certainly not the type of place Vaeron imagined for his first battle. He frowned somewhat, creasing the scars on either of his cheeks, as he stepped further into the light, used to this type of shadow but still feeling uncomfortable for his feet knew not where they were going. There was no memory to guide him. Instead he just had a vague knowledge that at one point he could be hit from a person stepping from the darkness, a person stepping from the terrible nightmarish shadow that could see through this fog unlike Vaeron who was as blind as a Terran ...

Vaeron, sucking in his breath, ducked down. In a moment of decision he threw himself flat on the ground, to protect himself. When on the ground he found that it was hard, like marble, and icy to the touch, too smooth to be anything untouched by gods. With a peer back over his shoulder to where he was sure the door had been he saw nothing but the empty gloom, the black void, and there he waited, for the second time in two days surrounded by a starless night, not knowing what to expect next.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

As Shinsou stepped through the portal in the Citadel’s chambers, he reflected upon the past, how everything was going so well in Telgradia in those final moments before it had gone terribly wrong, changing his life forever.

Emperor, traitor, fallen hero - Telgradia's easy reference tags for him would always remain the same. But he knew that, and it had to be that way, for now. Shinsou knew there was the Shinsou Osiris who had lead the Jalshey that had attacked Telgradia, under Temperance’s command, and the Shinsou Osiris who had resolved to correct a foolish mistake and destroy the very dark forces that had twisted his mind and soul before. The two were very different men.

As the portal’s edges frayed, a telltale sign that the Telgradian was arriving at his destination, he closed his eyes for two minutes. He could feel his stomach churning from the vibrations of the monk’s magic, but it wasn’t long before everything stopped, and his feet touched solid ground.

Opening his eyes at last, Shinsou surveyed the landscape that had manifested. He recognised it instantly.

This was the Valley of the Jalshey Lords.

More importantly, this is where, as the Emperor, he was born.

A jolt of sunlight bounced off of the golden desert that stretched out for miles around, an endless ocean of gold, yellow and white that peaked and troughed in towering waves of sand across the horizon. Shinsou could feel the heat beating down from the sun on his face, the heavy, hot exhales of breath heaving from his lungs and the warm perspiration on his smooth skin. His sweating, and a fair northern wind, did little to relieve the heat, and the presence of the midday sun made the temperature rise even higher.

Shinsou was uncharacteristically nervous, but he didn't want to waste his energy worrying about the battle. Not now, for he knew that when it was time to fight, there was no one who could match his cunning, his ferocity and his resilience. This trial would be no different.

He moved smoothly along the wind carved banks of the dunes, proceeding with careful but quick steps. Having been forged in the deserts of the Jalshey, Shinsou was used to travelling and fighting in barren conditions and his legs and chassis were more than strong enough to cope with the searing heat raising from the sands and the scorching sunlight bearing down on him from above. But as he looked out once more at the blanched landscape, it didn't seem at all similar to his previous visit. It wasn't like the Jalshey deserts in the south, all sand and dust clouds, shimmering mirages and graceful twisters carrying deadly volumes of blinding sand. It seemed to be an endless stretch of dunes marked with hundreds of tells - mounds of ruins that marked the sites of ancient settlements.

After travelling to the centre of the towering ruins, Shinsou came to a standstill underneath the shadow of a tall, worn marble pillar, and felt a relieving coolness sweep over him, nullifying the relentless burning of the sun. It was slightly rectangular in shape, widening at the base and seemed smooth and cool to the touch, perhaps a metre by a metre.

Through a gap in the stone pillars, about fifty foot away, he could see another figure striding towards the ruins. It didn’t look as if the figure had yet spotted Shinsou, so the Telgradian spun and pressed his back up against the pillar, hiding his presence. He peered carefully around the corner.

At last, Shinsou thought with a tinge of satisfaction. The knowledge that he would be wasting no more time waiting for his opponent to show up whilst he cooked in the sun, losing precious bodily fluids to the unrelenting heat of the desert was comfort enough for the Telgradian. He knew that his single biggest enemy was dehydration. Even standing in the limited shade wasn't going to prevent that from attacking his body, and the longer he stood there doing nothing, the less of a chance he was going to give himself in the coming battle.

As the figure approached, Shinsou began to take stock of him. It must have been Vaeron. He seemed to be a tall, rough man with a weather beaten face, not unlike many he had faced in his times in the Jalshey plains. Well muscled, broad shouldered, a stern jaw and large feet, all signs of a strong man. He seemed to be wearing a simple tunic and trousers, as well as an askew tricorn hat. Shinsou also noticed that Vaeron had an unmistakeable scar on either side of his face. He also noticed the quiver on his back, and assured himself that he might be able to use that knowledge to his advantage.

Raising his right hand, Shinsou closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated, whispering the incantation for the seventh Dakuatsu, Dark Lance. With a quiet hum, the cone of dark energy materialised underneath his palm, slowly twisting and melding with the purple electrical current that followed until the lance was fully formed. He held it vertically, once it had manifested, to prevent the end sticking out and giving away his position.

He would bide his time and wait for Vaeron to close the distance. As soon as he was within range, Shinsou would strike.

[vaeron]

It seemed that Vaeron's wisdom had not been premature to be on guard. No sooner had the hardened man of sea and storm ducked down, flat on his belly, than a sudden glimmer of light appeared. It was intense, bright violet, and though it was in the distance - some fifteen feet away - it still made him feel rewarded. As a brief glimpse it came, a beacon in the ever-persistent darkness that surrounded him, as he lay there and caught it from the corner of his eye. It was a strange sight, sudden and brief, for it was hidden away in a moment of a second, but it was a clear sign nonetheless - a sign that some other life (be it animal, vegetable or being) was here also.

Certainly the light could have been made from some form of plant. A loose cannon of spores or some other offshoot from an iridescent, bio-luminescent flower. Equally likely was the possibility it was the outbreath of some magical beast, such as a poison or lightening dragon. The form of the light, with twisting patterns and an almost electrical sheen, gave Vaeron some other idea however. For he was in the Citadel, in a shadowy fog made of nothing but void, ready to face an enemy that could strike him at any moment, granted they could see. Chances were, he concluded, in the mis-timed night, that this was his foe, his challenger, using a form of energy - nay energy magic - that was either meant to be a light to see by or a weapon with which to strike Vaeron. Indeed, the light had disappeared now, but Vaeron did not know if that boded well. Was it absent now, or was it just concealed? Would he be shocked to find the violet bolt sneak up behind him and stab him in the buttocks?

Time to move. Definitely time to move.

Blindly, the ex-priest moved himself onto hands and feet. Tucking his heels beneath him and squinting his knees out to either side, he began to run in the vague imitation of a wild cat. Many years of being trained by his (admittedly rather quirky) hunter father had taught Vaeron how to move quickly in this form, and thus he did scuttle; in a smooth unyielding line, with his form smaller than what walking would provide and so less of a target. Not knowing what his competitor was, or how they fought, or they could actually see in this damned endless darkness, he moved for all he was worth taking a straight, but slightly off path, towards where the light had glimmered.

After two metres he stopped, sharp. There again it was, hard to define for it was but an ember, a faint whisp in the shallows. Closer this time, the self-proclaimed paladin was certain, yet smaller. Perhaps a smaller spew of power, perhaps a weaker form of spell. Rocking back onto his calves Vaeron set about in a series of very practised, fast actions. Flinging one arm over his back, he grabbed his bow. Flicking it out he used his hands and nothing more, for sight was still severely limited beyond that of being able to spot the violet spark, he grasped the shaft of the weapon with one hand and the string with another.

Whistling between his teeth he murmured to himself, "I will have light," pulling back tight on the string.

Pointing right towards where his instinct told him the light was, or had been - for, had it gone again? Was this just his mind in the darkness going mad? - he loosened the arrow-less bow and let fly the ravenous current of energy. Glowing with nothing, for it had no form but for an obvious movement through the air, it spun towards the light, leaving the kneeling privateer behind.

Leaving him to thank his god for blessing him with that power, leaving him still staring blankly at the void that surrounded him. Leaving him to struggle back to hands and feet and try to move further, faster, into what he only saw as black, black, black.

Going with the idea that Vaeron saw the first instance of the javelin being made. In the darkness he can only see magical things that give off their own light. The second time he sees it is when he moves, and he sees the glow through a window crack or a crack in the wall. He will be able to see when he gets inside of the ruins. Maybe next post.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The vicious bolt of energy loosed by Vaeron’s bow struck the front of the pillar that Shinsou had opted to use for cover with frightening force, an almighty crack echoing around the vicinity. Burning chunks of shrapnel suddenly exploded out of the mid section of the column, scattering in all directions, accompanied by a cloud of grey dust that erupted from the wide gash in the masonry.

The intitial impact of the attack startled Shinsou, who had his back pressed against the stone pillar and the Dark Lance still firmly in his grasp. Up until that moment, he had believed his presence to have gone un-noticed whilst he had scouted his opponent through the ruins, but it now seemed that he had gone from being the hunter to the hunted in a matter of seconds.

But how? He wondered as he caught his breath, trying to regain his senses. There is no way that he could have spotted me before I got here.

Shinsou looked behind him, back towards the labyrinthine ruins that made up his section of cover. They towered over him and around him, threatening to wrap him up in their cold shadows and swallow him up to be forever lost in their midst. There was definitely no way that Vaeron could have seen him coming from the direction he came from.

Unless…

Shinsou looked down at his Dark Lance. He was suppressing its size, for now, to a metre, although it usually extended to two. He gazed at its purple electrical lattice melding and intertwining with the main black shaft of the weapon as he pondered.

The attack came moments after I summoned the Dark Lance. An attack with as much power as that could evidently have killed me, so if he had spotted me beforehand, he could have finished me in one strike and I would have been helpless. However, it wasn’t until after I used my magic, whilst using this pillar for cover, that he decided to strike. And, when he did, he probably aimed for what he thought was me, but hit the pillar instead…which he wouldn’t have done if he could see me properly. So he can either sense magic, or see it through walls, but can’t see ‘me’…

Shinsou was happy enough with his reasoning. It made sense that his magic was attracting unwanted attention, and with that in mind, he dismissed the Dark Lance with a wave of his hand. It shattered into a million tiny particles of black matter before fizzling out of existence, waiting to be recalled at the proper moment.

Now, time for a change of scenery.

Shinsou once again turned back towards the ruins, surveying the towering slabs of stone. They were flat faced and pointing up to the cloudless sky, angled in all sorts of directions and arranged in close quarters, creating a maze of sand and stone that stretched for a good couple hundred of metres. Shinsou moved quietly, tucking his arms into his sides and walking softly over the sand, making sure his body was still in alignment with the pillar as he left so that he wouldn’t be spotted through the gaps in the debris. By now, Vaeron would likely be on the move himself, preparing for the eventuality that he hadn’t connected with his intended target and most likely readying a counter-attack or a follow up.

He began to quicken his pace as he reached the mouth of the stone maze. As Shinsou arrived, he realised that the stone slabs, towering to about twenty foot above him, seemed to funnel into narrow, corridor-like passageways. There was no way, unless his opponent had some sort of climbing equipment or ability to defy gravity, that he could climb the smooth surfaces of the pillars and, even if he could, there was nothing much to stand on at the top.

This is where I’ll make my stand. I’m still an unknown quantity to him, but he has already shown me some of his hand. I need to press the advantage while I can.

Satisfied with his choices, and his confidence growing, Shinsou slunk around the first corner of the maze, and then disappeared from view, waiting for Vaeron to follow suite. Once again, he had re-established himself as the hunter in this little game of cat and mouse, and all that remained to be seen was how the mouse responded.

[vaeron]

A scuttling crab held nothing to the way Vaeron moved. It was with ease and high dexterity that he crawling ran across the face of the earth, feeling the strange ground beneath him fade away in metres. With his bow and quiver very tightly tied against his back he went like a man possessed. Possessed with nothing more than to be out of this rapidly worrying darkness.

Once upon a time he had read a book. Or rather, it had been read to him, by his priest-mentor in the quieter times when prayer had not been demanded by the prior. It was called Heart of Darkness and told of a man sailing up a river - a river that was as black and murky as a starless night. Up this river he went, stopping at various settlements on the way, each stranger than the last and more discomforting, ending with a golden city that had been painted red with the blood of sacrificed babes. Truly this city was 'the heart of darkness,' but what the man found was that during all this time he himself had been growing more and more bitter about the world, and in actuality it was his heart that was the darkest one of all. It rose in epitome when he slew every inhabitant of the golden city, including the animals, and then went back to his ship on the black black river, muttering to himself, "I have brought about justice."

But what even is justice, Vaeron's mind voice muttered, Who even defines what is 'right'?

In some ways he felt like the man now, going blindly up a path he didn't even know, going to places he didn't even know. Maybe at the end of this strange world he would find a golden city, and maybe, in his ferocity, after being condemned to blindness for so long, Vaeron would slay every creature, down to the last animal, in it. For he had not come here wanting an adventure, but rather practise for a wider world in which he would live by his own name, making everyone know it as well as they knew Philomel's. He would do it, he almost had to do it, if only for the glory of Earlon.

Thump.

Vaeron stopped, and rocked back onto his haunches. A smarting welt emanated from his crown. He raised his hand, only to wince as he felt a raw red wound, as if he had hit-

Pausing, he took a moment before leaning forwards again.

Thump.

His temples and head burst into agony, as if on fire. Growling out and scowling as only as best as an unsmiling man can, Vaeron complained to himself in a low voice for a great long time before he had the want to discover what just the 'thump' was. No doubt it was something approaching ... well, a wall, and no doubt it was the centre of this arena, perhaps the city that he needed to discover before he set about bringing this massacre. Huffing a little in agitation the ex-priest and proud mage leaned out with (finally cautiously) with his hands, and then felt the stonework in front of him. He felt the cool touch of the granite and gneiss, with its multi-faceted surface, with rises and falls like a seabed. There was a softness to it, a strength that was undeniably satisfying after all this time of utter nothing, and it gave Vearon a security like no other.

Pressing his face against it, he found himself closing his eyes, gently, succumbing to the peaceful touch that the stone gave him. For a while he just rested there, flesh to stone, stone to flesh, with no light to guide them but only feel to hold them together.

Cold. Satisfying. A rock abounding no other. Vaeron slipped his hands further around in order to embrace the rock and -

The shock startled him as his left hand found a corner. It was right-angled, sharp and definite, standing out beyond all else. He felt more and found that the entire side from that fell away. So this was not a wall but rather - well a wall of a building it seemed, a construct. At least something large enough and complex to have borders and corners that allowed for more than darkness and an alienly smooth floor.

Vaeron eagerly moved forwards, taking steps as quickly as he dared. No sooner as he stepped three paces than sudden brilliance hit him, a light and a sunrise like no other, glory returning to the world. He saw white, brown, green, grey, and a scrap of purple. As his eyes only just began adjusting to this - what was it, an ability to see - he grabbed his bow, the violet jogging memories of something before.

Savagely as LIGHT! that was LIGHT! and never just 'light' smashed into his cornea and vision swung back into being, Vaeron released another wave of energy from his bow, this time defensive other than anything. The purple haze disappeared, only to be replaced by hazy shapes and strange sensations such as sound, and the mage was left standing there. The bolt whisked out, away, uncertain of its target and probably not going to hit anything, for its owner was still learning how to not be blind.

Vearon buckled down to his knees, blinking harshly, tears brimming, trying to remember how sight worked again. He hoped the bolt would at least warn his enemy here that he was something of a challenge, if not a contender. Only time could find out, but for now he needed to be able to see.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Thread to be closed and submitted as no judgement, with a rematch scheduled for later as agreed by both parties.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou receives 310 EXP and 35 GP
Vaeron received 245 EXP and 35 GP

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards have been added!