IK vs PA 2v2 B

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This Battle will open at Midnight tonight!

I will be announcing who is participating in this before hand if I get both sides match ups in time. If by that time none is given I will assign the fighter. Remember that whoever posts first sets the parameters for the fight as well as the setting!

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This Battle is going to be:

Rayse Valentino & The Phoenix vs Zerith & Margaret

[The Phoenix]

“Watch it with that load!”

The curt command halted the strained stevedore trio in their tracks. Nearby, the dock’s operations supervisor muttered angrily to himself while he watched his workers adjust the crate they were half-hazardly carrying. It, like the other three dozen crates already offloaded from the vessel Sea Merchant, was labeled “Alchemical Fire Arrows.” Alchemical fire arrows were not exactly the sort of item that the supervisor wanted dropped on his dock, especially not among three dozen other crates of the stuff. He also doubted that his clients, the two men standing behind him with the stern looks on their faces, would appreciate seeing all of their stock go up in one big accidental blaze.

He turned towards his clients with an apologetic look on his face, but before the words could leave his mouth he was waved off. “Give them a break after this one,” said Elisdrasil, leader of the allied Phoenix Ascendant group and one of the owners of Sea Merchant’s shipment. The supervisor looked over to the other client, the man called Rayse, but received only a silent stare in reply to his unasked query.

“You’re the boss,” he finally relented, “but remember that we’re getting paid by the hour.” Elisdrasil nodded his understanding as the supervisor shrugged and walked away. Though they weren’t a rich organization by any stretch of the imagination, Phoenix Ascendant’s coffers had swollen significantly as concerned third parties had handed over piles of coin in support of Corone’s defense. Money was the least of their concerns at this point, though even that stream would dry up soon enough. That was exactly the reason why Elisdrasil had given Rayse free reign to conduct business on Phoenix Ascendant’s behalf. Elisdrasil had almost assumed the Salvaran had been joking when he had first made the offer, but thus far Rayse and his contacts in The Company had paid his initial investment back three fold. Minus, of course, the contractor’s fee.

“Come on,” Elisdrasil said to Rayse as the stevedores placed the crate safely with the others and sat down for their break. They retreated in silence down the long pier that the people of Galstaff had colloquially named “Merchant’s Pier,” the sound of their boots beating a steady rhythm on the salt encrusted wood. Elisdrasil had chosen Galstaff as the port of entry for his shipment because it was a small, isolated fishing village. Most of the village’s fishing boats were already far out to sea, and the few that remained bobbed gently at anchor out in the middle of the bay. The few people that remained around Galstaff conducted their business quickly and quietly, staying out of his and Rayse’s way. It was better that way, Elisdrasil knew, safer and less likely to cause collateral damage.

It hadn’t gone over well when the Raiaeran he had first proposed using a shipment of volatile, and somewhat expensive, weapons to lure the Ixian Knights out. Rayse had relented however when Elisdrasil had reminded the contractor that the money, and therefore the equipment, was still technically his. He’d been even less pleased when Elisdrasil had requested that he personally accompany Elidrasil to oversee the operation, retorting with something to the effect of “hire a bodyguard.” Though he’d have rather had Rayse come with him willingly, Elisdrasil had again pulled rank, pointing out the fact that he knew from Rayse’s own contacts in The Company that the contractor was more than capable of handling himself in a fight.

The truth was that there was something unsettling about the Salvaran. Whenever he was around, Elisdrasil found his mind wandering back to a hazy vision that he’d had as an apprentice near the end of the Corpse War. While he hadn’t been well enough trained to lend his own effort to the war, he’d caught a vision of those who’d slain Althanas’ rogue demi-gods. Elisdrasil certainly couldn’t say with any certainty that Rayse had been a member of one of those groups, and indeed he seemed a little young to be one of them, but Elisdrasil still felt that nagging feeling every time he saw the contractor.

Elisdrasil rested his hand lightly on the hilt of his curve blade, smelling the acrid smell of Rayse’s cigarette smoke and watching the gulls flock along Galstaff’s shoreline. He was taking a chance with his ruse, a chance with his organization’s funds, and a chance with his life. He hoped that it would be worth it. He hoped that Rayse would be worth it.

[Rayse Valentino]

Rayse took another drag off his cigarette, his lips curling into a slight smile as he watched the waves roll into the rocky shoreline.

Elisdrasil noticed the expression, "Something funny?"

"Nothing," Rayse shrugged. "I just couldn't imagine neither the Empire nor the Rangers taking this kind of risk." He took a deep breath and leaned his head back, letting the smoke gently escape from his mouth.

"They're not willing to do what's needed to end this war. I am, and since you're still here, I assume you are too." Elisdrasil looked away, not making eye contact with the contractor.

Unless of course, this plan doesn't represent a risk to me. Is that what you're thinking, elf-boy? Maybe he thinks I'll run away and then he doesn't have to pay me. Maybe he just needs every man he can get, even if it's his primary distributor.

For some reason, Rayse didn't really believe the elf was tricking him. "I'll go get a drink, Eli," he said, turning around and walking up the docks, his shiny shoes causing a creaking sound in the wood. Eli was the nickname he gave the high elf after failing to pronounce his name twice. That was about his limit with elves. There was also no point repeating the mantra that he was in this for the money. He was, but there was something more to him. The way that conflict invariably draws him in, compels him to become involved.

When he reached the stall, he looked up and saw the name Restful Retreat, adding to the list of boring names this town used. They might as well name every street after a type of tree, or a color. He pulled out a bar stool and sat down. It was an open air bar, serving customers in the street. When he first approached Eli about this in their own little booze hole, they were incredulous at best. The war had already been announced, what could Rayse possibly provide on short notice? Then, seemingly from nowhere, weapons appeared at their doorstep. Armor, supplies, and raw materials soon followed. It didn't take long for them to make him in charge of their logistics. If there's one thing those Raiaeran elves appreciated, it was organizational ability. As for why Rayse did it? The easy answer is that the Ixians have their own supply chain and don't need Rayse, the better answer is that they have been sabotaging his business since they declared war on all of Corone, and the best answer is... he doesn't know. He certainly doesn't like them and their wishy-washy values, but that's not enough to join the other team. This was simply the best option to make the most money. He really didn't need any reason better than that.

So Eli wants me to get my hands a bit dirty. That's worth the fortune I'm gonna make off this.

He remembered his run-in with William Arcus back in Salvar a while ago. If the man known as 'revenant' represented the strength of their strongest members, the Generals, then Rayse had nothing to worry about it. Although, it was entirely possible that William could have improved since then, but really...

How strong could these Ixians possibly be?

[Margaret]

Nothing escapes death.

All around her was evidence of that. The very chair she sat upon reeked of its former existence as a mighty tree, slain to provide the furniture for this musky old tavern. The hot, dark tea that served as her beverage that morning was just the remnants of the crushed life of harmless plants, and the mutton serving as the meal for the three men and women sitting before her was but the sacrifice of a nameless lamb outside of Radasanth's walls.

Even the individuals in question were testament to that single, insurmountable statement. To say they had blood on their hands would be saying that avians had wings; obvious and unnecessary. Margaret had seen to it that her little meeting with these three would be given a wide berth by the other patrons of the rustic hall; purposefully she'd set it up so the mismatched trio would have their backs to the wall, whereas she sat opposite of them with her own to the rest. To some this would have been seen as an act of trust; putting one's self at such an obvious disadvantage whereas the other three would be able to witness any attempts on her life without trouble. But this was not the case; nay, not for this little gathering.

Margaret did not trust the three before her. And neither, she knew, did they trust her. The very fact that all three had agreed to even come at all was simply because she had pulled rank. Because, in a very real sense, she was their commander.

The reason she sat with her back exposed was if things got ugly, she could escape easier.

The lithe, obsidian-locked assassin held no doubts about her abilities. Nor did she have any about those of the trio before her. One-on-one, she could slay them now as easily as she had taken down one Arden Janelle...

...but three-on-one was a different story.

"I'll say, I was shocked, shocked I tell ya, when I got yer invitation, lil' Maggie!" The one on the far right exclaimed. A shortened mess of crimson hair topped the head of the vibracious woman, whom leaned back against the wall next to her propped halberd - a polearm of mighty size and weight, towering over the four murderers like a pillar of destruction. A cocksure grin decorated both sides of the armored killer; her left being completely normal, smooth and feminine, but her right showing evident signs of burnt flesh and scar tissue. Even as she spoke, the right end of her mouth curled cruelly, independently even, away from the other, in an obvious sneer; the condescension evident in her high alto. "Didn't expect our 'Quiet Death' t'request help on a mission!"

"You're too loud, Lana." Now, the one in the middle; his vocals resonating with an authorized baritone that most commanders in military professions took years to master. Harsh, blue eyes stared over gloved, clasped hands directly at the cowled form of Margaret. Silently they demanded both questions and answers from her; demands that she ignored, in the shadows of her hooded form. "Be quiet." The ginger-haired assassin merely grunted petulantly but followed this blonde-haired man's order, folded steel-armored arms across her chest as she flicked her gaze out the window.

There was silence, for a time, from all four around the table. Both food and drink had lain untouched upon the table so far. The hustle and bustle of the tavern more than made up for it, as it was in the mid-morning. To the average person, or even a trained warrior, it would only seem as if the quad were simply relaxing idly. However, to someone with the same senses as the four, a tangible feeling of danger would emanate like an insidious, poisonous cloud.

The scent of death hung over them like a ticking clock.

"William-sempai." The third spoke, a thin, albino man with bandages wrapping around his eyes, legs and arms. A gi of equally abnormal ivory was draped across his form, and his bandaged fingers laid restfully upon the table. At the soft tenor that vibrated from his lips, not only did the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man turn to acknowledge it but also Margaret and Lana as well; for when the normally silent speak, their words are something to be recognized. "...I sense no abnormal malcontent, and their thoughts are away from us. We are safe."

"Arigatou gozaimasu, Satoshi-san." The one now known as William responded in the other's native tongue, the flowing Akashiman coming natural. Margaret envied the other's talent when it came to languages somewhat, that she could not deny; it was a useful ability. But that was not to be dwelt upon as William's cold eyes refocused on her. "Then we can finally get to business. Number Eighty, why have you summoned us?"

Direct and straight to the point. She'd always liked that about her direct inferior; William, Number Eighty-One of the Organization. Nicknamed 'The Butler' for his attitude both in and out of combat, he was a deadly foe indeed; and a deadlier ally. She intended to keep it that way. Reaching into the folds of her gown, Margaret slowly pulled out a single object; a card, the color of the empty, night sky. She set it slowly on the table before her in silence before, with a twist of her wrist, flipped it over.

A single engraving of a silver eye stared upwards the foursome.

The effect was tangible, and immediate. The redhead, Lana, immediately grabbed her massive halberd; on reflex, it seemed, as she stared wide-eyed at the unmoving missive. William's glacial gaze widened physically and his knuckled audibly popped as he clasped his hands together tighter. Even Satoshi's normally passive, still person twitched in surprise; seemingly still aware despite the blindfold around his eyes.

"...I haven't seen one of these since I was but a lad." The blonde Salvaran finally spoke, his tone still containing authority but retaining a hushed, almost respectful murmur at the same time. Gently he picked the card up, the eyes of the assassins all on this single object, as he held it before his unblinking gaze, as if trying to ascertain it was real. After a couple moments of silence he let his stare return unto the hooded form of Margaret. "I want to question why you, Number Eighty, have an order of this importance. I want to know why this wasn't handed off to someone of higher caliber."

Silence, from her end. Adorned from head to toe in a gown as dark as the void-colored card now in his hands, Margaret simply sat there like a feminine reaper, gloved hands folded atop the table now; a psychological statement of honesty. Her visage obscured by the thick vlince and artic leather she'd recently obtained for specifically this mission. At her hip, the masterwork-quality shikomi-zue (http://i77.photobucket.com/albums/j52/japchick/1050zatoichi/zatoichi-02.jpg) laid, easily within swift reach of her lax fingers. Then, after almost literally a full minute of silence, she let slip a breath from her scarred lips; causing the candles passively illuminating their area to flicker with the exhale. A soft alto, completely unlike the vocals of her compatriots, slipped forth accordingly. "I cannot say. The walls have ears."

Even as she spoke aloud, however, her fingers upon the table twitched; the Organization's silent language coming into the play. Her fears that others could be listening in could be justified, for the name that she spelled out with the faint flickering of her gloved digits was one that anyone in Radasanth would have recognized; Sei Orlouge.

William had composed himself, it seemed; even at the physical utterance of the client's name, he had not paused. "Directly?" He asked of her.

A small, nearly imperceptible nod. The Salvaran grimaced. "Thaynes be damned. I hate wars." He muttered, and Margaret scowled from beneath her hood but said nothing. Further words were unnecessary, as he then proceeded to open the thin edge that contained the identity of their target within:

Rayse Valentino.

[Zerith]

“I can’t believe Sei let Taka lead the army. I trained those men, not that Ronin! It’s only fair that I should be leading them at Gisela!”

The frown on Zerith’s face was unmistakable, one of boredom and disliking every minute he spent assigned to the mundane task he was given. “Evacuate the innocent,” Sei told him back at Ixian Castle. “I need you to show the people of Corone that we still care about them. That we’re not a group of tyrants that want to control their entire lives.”

The war was all Sei Orlouge’s idea anyways, a sudden decision to create conflict against an entire nation. The halberdier wasn’t stupid, he understood that it would fulfill the prophecy of the Nine since Corone would be finally be unified regardless if they won or lost. However, Zerith really believed he was the obvious choice of who should lead the army. The public face of the Ixian Knights, Prince of Moriah and one of the Nine. The mere image of him leading a valiant charge on horseback was glorious, a scene people would tell their children for years.

Instead, Zerith told to stay out of the fighting and oversee an evacuation.

“The operation is running exactly as planned, sir.” A Ixian Knight reported to the young general, the insignia on his shoulder clearly identifying him as a sergeant in the army. As the man saluted his superior, Zerith actually emerged from his brooding and turned around to face the soldier. A casual order was all it took to put and end to the formalities, and the halberdier spoke bluntly and straight to the point.

“Has there been any sign of Imperial or Ranger forces yet?”

“No, sir. It seems like we’re in the clear today. We’re about to organize the second last group of civilians before the escort arrives. We should be done in two or three hours.”

“Good,” Zerith replied with a small smile. His blue eyes shifted to look behind the sergeant and take a moment to observe the scene playing out before him. The Knights were doing their job almost perfectly without help or delegation. The training and work they army had endure for months was finally paying off, as now they were standing in the spotlight. They manner some of the shopkeepers or housewives looked at them as they slowly made their way out of the city made it look like they were saviours, an armed group of heroes given the task of delivering them from the hard times everyone faced during the Civil War.

It all made Zerith proud to be an Ixian Knight, and honoured to be able to say he trained most of the men that were working under him.

All of a sudden a heavily armored soldier turned around the corner running. The thunderous clanging of his azure armor echoed down the street as he ran. He moved with surprising speed given the sheer weight he must have been wearing, making it obvious that he must have carried the strength of an ox. In his left hand he carried a massive polearm and on his head he wore a solid metal helmet that covered his face completely. As he moved, some of the Ixian Knights stopped what they were doing and watched the man in silence while some even saluted as he passed. Zerith saw the man for what he was immediately. A Mithranduil.

Mithranduil. The name once carried the weight of failure. Once upon a time the halberdier had planned to use for a organized group of mercenaries he tried to create, but the plan failed to lift off the ground right from the beginning. Yet Zerith never forgot the name, and promised he would find an appropriate use for it. Sure enough, he found it years later when was given control of the army from his wife’s homeland. He took a small of the best soldiers he could find in the army, personally taught them how to fight with his preferred type of weapon and dressed them in heavy sets of armor that colour the kingdom was known for. That’s how the Mithranduil were born. The Morian elite, royal bodyguard and crowing achievement of Zerith’s time spent as Captain-Commander. He had a small group of them brought over to Corone as soon as he possibly could. To see one was a rare occurance in the Ixian Knights.

“Your highness!” the armored knight cried, they always refered to Zerith with his royal title. “Prince Zerith, I bring word from the docks!”

The halberdier gestured with his hand to tell the man to slow down. “Easy, catch your breath.” He took the opportunity to find out the ranking of the knight as the man recuperated. “What exactly is going on at the docks…Captain?’

“Captain Gracus,” the soldier answered. “Word has it that a ship’s arrived at the docks carrying a shipment of weapons. Scouts speak of crates marked as “Alchemical Fire Arrows”. We believe we’ve stumbled on either a Imperial or Ranger shipment.”

“I doubt it,” Zerith responded as he scratched his chin. “The Empire wouldn’t risk damage to property if something went wrong while they were being delivered. The Rangers wouldn’t take the risk of using them. They don’t have the numbers like the Empire does.”

“But it has to be one of them,” the Ixian sergeant finally spoke up again. “Who else would try to get their hands on such a thing?|

“What about the Phoenix Ascendant?” The Mithranduil suggested.

“Now that’s an option,” Zerith thought. He had only heard of the organization until recently, a small group of people that supposedly believe in upholding balance in all things. In truth, Zerith could see the idea of why someone would want to preserve such a thing, but he didn’t agree with watching people suffer because of it. Maybe he was just too much of a stuck up, naïve, noble person to turn a blind eye to such a thing. Supposedly, that’s what some people were saying of him and the Ixian Knights. Either way, he had no hard feelings against the organization if it really existed. Yet that didn’t change the fact they were an enemy in this upcoming war.

“What do you suggest, sire?” The giant in full plate asked, hefting his polearm over his head and resting it on his shoulder.

The answer was obvious. “You and I will gather two more of the Mithranduil and head straight for the docks. The sergeant here will oversee the evacuation until we return once we've seized the shipment.”

“Looks like I may get to see some action here afterall.”

[Rayse Valentino]

A gentle tapping echoed on the wooden bar of the Restful Retreat, the cigarette in Rayse's mouth nearly spent as he pressed his finger into a hole he found on the counter. It reminded him of the festivals back in Knife's Edge in his youth, with all the various stalls selling their goods. People out in the streets with their friends and family, celebrating one of the many Salvaran holidays.

Once it was apparent that he had gotten the attention of a tall man in an apron near the grill, he said, "I'd like a cucinada. On the rocks."

"Sorry, sir," came a monotone reply. "We don't serve liquor on the street this early. You might want to try the tavern across town."

Rayse stopped his tapping, his trademark grin returning to his face, "Let me tell you a story from Salvar." He breathed in the sweet smoke of his cigarette. "I knew this lumberjack once. Hard worker, got up early every day and never complained. He was a loving father and husband, but he mostly kept to himself. Worked too hard for any sort of social life. One day, he really wanted to stop working early so he could go enjoy some free time for once. He broke personal records, chopping all sorts of logs and such, but his lack of care and patience made him accidentally chop off his own finger." He looked up. "You look like a hard worker, someone who doesn't take the easy way out. Now how about you serve me a drink?"

The intensity in Rayse's eyes intimidated the man, "Y-Yes sir." He poured a glass of the whiskey mixture and right as he was about to take away the bottle, Rayse wagged a finger in his face. The man nearly dropped it as he put it down.

"Looks like you have other customers," Rayse said as he lifted the glass up to his mouth. The man bowed and left, visibly shaken by the ordeal.

The Contractor sighed, taking a drink and thinking about his situation. How did Eli even talk to The Company, anyway? Their outside presence is often abstracted, to the point where you don't know they exist unless they tell you. Although, it wasn't that unusual to have a few underground sources mention their existence, and it was fairly common knowledge that Rayse was one of their main dealers in Corone. Still, Eli doesn't strike me as being that well-connected. It didn't help that his ability to size people up was useless against Raiaeran elves. They were downright incognito sometimes. At least with Aleran elves you knew where you stood, even if it was often at the end of a flint-lock barrel.

He started tapping his fingers again as he took another drink. Something about this didn't add up. A slight worry caused him to pull at the strap across his shoulder. On his back was his enchanted Damascus longsword, and in his pockets were an extra half dozen whiskey-based mini-molotovs. He usually carried his traveling bag around with him on trips, but today it was back at the inn. At the very least, despite his comments about hiring a bodyguard, letting his boss die was not acceptable. He didn't know when the attack was going to come, but there were enough scouts around to give him a solid heads-up. Either way, he was perfectly safe having a drink at this stall. After all, the Ixians would be after the boat, not him. Hell, they don't even know what he looked like, or so he thought.

[The Phoenix]

Hundreds of rocks littered the shores of Galstaff’s bay, the rhythmic wash of the gentle tide burying them one atop the other into the almost completely obscured sand of the beach. Generations of back and forth flow had worn them almost universally smooth Elisdrasil noted. He knelt down at the edge of the rising surf, casting a glance back at the dock to see the stevedores dutifully resting on the edge of the pier. If Rayse could afford to spare some time to indulge himself, surely it wouldn’t hurt for Elisdrasil to do the same. While supposed it was a bit clichéd for a Raiaeran to prefer solitary time with nature to drinking and making unnecessary small talk, the sword mage found that he was in quite the contemplative mood and knew that it wouldn’t clear up until he had given in to it.

Removing one of his leather gauntlets so he could feel the wet stone on his bare skin, Elisdrasil picked up an egg sized piece of grey flint and rolled in between his fingers. All of the rough edges had been ground from the stone by the stoic familiarity of the tide and he couldn’t help but make a connection between the stone and himself that was more than physical. Memories flooded over his consciousness like the tide of the bay gripping him in a somber reverie. The rotting stench of seaweed became the stench of Xem’Xund’s rotting corpse army as they poured through the breeches in the Phoenix’s walls. They had kept coming, just like the bay’s flooding waters, burying the Phoenix like so many stones on the beach. A strangled cry from the birds circling overhead brought to mind the horrid screech of the compund’s stone crumbling into a shelter over him. The elders had made it their final act to shield Elisdrasil, to save him from a grisly fate even as their own bodies were torn asunder.

Tears streamed down Elisdrasil’s face as he cast his eyes skyward. Must it always be this way? He silently entreated the slate clouds slowly drifting across the sky. Must I truly be locked to this fate of death and violence? No answer came back at the phoenix warrior, no soothing reply to ease the turmoil in his soul. But then, he thought, dropping his gaze back to the rippling water, none answer was really needed. Fighting against destiny was a burden that no one could bear without being changed. Without being altered and emotionally numbed until they were no longer themselves. He knew that he could drop the burden at any time, could just stand aside and let the flow of destiny progress towards its final destination unimpeded. He could have peace.

The tide had risen enough that it was rolling gently against him. Elisdrasil closed his eyes, savoring the cold water as a balm for his heated nerves. Yes he could stand aside, could let destiny take its course, but to do so would mean death to Althanas. To give up would mean a victory for the unspeakable things that lived in the space between spaces. If he had to sacrifice himself, or the Ixian Knights, or all of Corone that the world may live, he would do so without hesitation.

That was, after all, why the Phoenix had trained him; to be the savior of the world.

Elisdrasil let it out with a resigned sigh and stood. Stopping Sei’s prophecy would be only the first of many steps towards thwarting destiny, but in the greater war in which he was engaging each step was a victory. Enough time had been spent indulging in his depressed thoughts, he thought, and it was time to resume offloading his wares. He pitched his arm back to hurl the flint into the bay but stopped before he could do so. Something had caught his attention, an odd sound for the small fishing village that was faint but nonetheless unmistakable.

Elisdrasil stooped low and moved swiftly off the beach and back into the shelter of the warehouses along the dock. His back pressed against the damp, peeling paint of a building proudly claiming to be “Joe’s Fish Shack” as he peered slyly around into Galstaff’s main thoroughfare. It only took a second to confirm his suspicions that the Ixian Knights had taken the bait and marched on Galstaff. He silently cursed as a second group emerged from out of sight, forcibly escorting the mothers and children who hadn’t taken to the fishing boats that morning with the explanation that it ‘was for their own safety.’ It appeared that the Ixian Knights had indeed bit down on his lure, bringing what amounted to a small military force down on his and Rayse’s heads. The odds had certainly begun to scale against him, he noted as he watched the Ixians parade around. But then, the thought brought a faint hint of a smile to his lips, these were men who were nothing more than mercenaries playing at being real soldiers while he had been trained to fight Xem’Xund himself. While his training hadn’t been completed, he was far more than a match for these human boys with their toys.

A quick look around in the other direction gave Elisdrasil more bad news. The stevedores and their director were currently engaged in running down the docks away from his shipment, which was currently the target of interest from a quartet of monstrously armored men. Three of them appeared to be nothing more than heavy foot troops but the fourth sparked a hint of recognition in Elisdrasil’s brain. This had to be Zerith Dracosius, nothing less than one of the Ixian Knight’s generals. Destiny, it seemed, was putting up a fight today.

He could handle a small horde of Ixian regulars by using hit-and-run tactics until Rayse could be dragged into the fray, but doing that while fighting against one of the Ixian generals was another matter. Still, he couldn’t exactly abandon the plan without losing all respect from his contractor, and likely the contractor himself. Cursing both himself and Rayse for managing to miss an entire army moving towards Galstaff, Elisdrasil thumped his head gently against the sun-baked boards of Joe’s Fish Shack and worked furiously to come up with a decent plan of attack. His first instinct was to skirt around the roaming patrols to find Rayse and double up, but he quickly dismissed the idea as folly.

Unable to think of anything more significant than his original plan, Elisdrasil dropped the smooth flint stone and pulled his gauntlet back on. Looking back to the grey skies once more he mouthed a prayer to ask the spirits of his order to watch over him and then grabbed his warmask off his belt and settled it into place. Unadorned he was Elisdrasil, a Raiaeran with hopes, fears, and dreams. But when the mask was on he was the last Phoenix Warrior, a blade forged to pierce the heart of a demigod.

Too bad I was a bit too late for that, he thought, unshouldering his crossbow. He stood, back still against Joe’s and thumbed the safety off his weapon but paused just before he rounded the corner and opened fire. The spark of an idea caught in his mind, flaring quickly into a fully formed plan. Working quickly, Elisdrasil thumbed his crossbow’s safety back on and bent to retrieve the flint still rolling around his feet.

There was a reason why the alchemical missiles had had to be wrapped and handled with such care while being shipped. The mixtures that sloshed inside each of them was not only extremely volatile, but was also very vulnerable to heat. Shooting a crossbow bolt into one of the crates might be forceful enough to light off the entire batch, but doing so with a flaming bolt almost guaranteed a reaction. Once one of the crates went up, all of them would go up, which would definitely give Zerith and his heavy guard something to worry about aside from him. Merchant’s Pier was situated where it was because the water there was deep enough to accept heavily laden vessels. Should the general survive the initial blast, his heavy armor would likely be the death of him under the waves.

A cruel fate for a warrior, but destiny was a harsh mistress.

Exploding the ammunition would also likely alert Rayse, though the contractor would likely be extremely displeased at the loss of such an expensive shipment. He shivered a bit at the thought of facing an angry Rayse, but it was something that he would have to deal with when the time came and hope that the contractor would be somewhat understanding.

Elisdrasil wasted no more time, tearing a strip of cloth from one of the bags in his pack and bunching it tightly against the head of the bolt. He ensured that it was thick and secured enough to maintain a flame on its flight and then used his smooth flint rock to get a spark off the back of his steel blade. The wrapped bolt caught readily and Elisdrasil watched with baited breath as it blazed to life. He thumbed the safety off his weapon once again and mouthed one last silent prayer as he took aim and fired his bolt across the docks.

[Margaret]

Margaret watched the sky light up with fire and felt the air around her warm up suddenly as she passed amongst the multitudes of varied individuals that day, her form cloaked in the protective vlince gown and her features obscured by her hood. Dispassionately she listened to the sudden screams around her, the exclamations of fear and shock as an explosion enveloped the piers not two hundred meters from where she now traversed. The crimson blast mirrored itself in her single, silver eye, the light almost reflecting off her orb as it would a blade, before she bowed her head and subsequent gaze forward slightly and continued forth, walking with unnatural ease into the chaos that had emerged.

Even from this distance she could feel the shockwave of the blast in her bones; a subtle thrum that resonated in her body. She felt no pity for those whom must have been slain in the consequent disaster; nay, her focus was on the exposed back of one Rayse Valentino, whom she had found sitting upon a stool next to one of Radasanth's common open-air bars. He possessed alcohol, she had noticed, which was odd; said establishments were known for not serving it until much later in the day, due to the troubles the city had suffered with drunkards. Whereas taverns could handle disruptive behavior behind the confines of their walls, the streets were filled with holes for men and women alike, their minds corrupted by alcohol, to stalk.

Still, it was just an idle notation; briefly, she gazed up at the still-burning sky, the mid-morning sun trying its hardest to pour through the thick smog that now permeated the air like multiple mushrooms exploding forth from the ground. She knew not what had happened, but it would be a disgrace to her identity as an assassin if she let such a perfect chance as this to go to waste; the entropy of screaming, panicked, running civilians served as the perfect cover for her unassuming approach.

Her subordinates were in place; they knew their positions, they had their orders. They all knew whom the target was; such information had been gladly provided by her handler, Caine, in that same shark-like manner he always used. The Organization was truly a frightening force; their resources came second to none, even when compared to other criminal groups and organized forces. And with those resources, Margaret and her compatriots now knew all about the foe they faced, and how deadly of a reputation he'd come by in the dark circles of the underworld.

And for all of his firepower, it would still not be enough. Even a killer of kings can be felled in his sleep, and a legend overthrown by a subtle disease. Margaret was that disease. She was the sickness spreading in the veins of Althanas's finest, a silent and unannounced approach that sung death only at the very last moment; the moment when the light faded from the corpse's eyes and sunk away in the hollow rivers of the void.

Her advance had been perfect. Her footsteps silent, her form masked and cloaked by not only the multitudes of men, women, and children about her but her subtle, passive ability to blend into her environment. That was the problem with the inhabitants of this world, and especially in Radasanth, the mixing bowl of cultures: They were too unique. The outstanding had become the norm; the exaggerated had transformed into the average. People and creatures that once may have stood out in a crowd of civilians now blended in perfectly, subconsciously, because of the very fact that they were extraordinary. In this Margaret had found solace, had found her hole in the streets of the city that she could stalk without being disturbed; despite her cowled, dark appearance and single eye, she fit in right with everyone else. It was a blessing for a murderess like she.

A blessing that she fully took advantage of as she came upon the still-unaware form of her target, moving with the flow of the panic and chaos, slipping into the stream of entropy as slippery and smooth as a fish born to the movement. He was a man of average height and build, it seemed; at least, compared to targets she'd faced in the past. Muscle toned his arms, speaking of a life spent either in combat or work; or, perhaps, both. Hair as dark as her own cascaded down to his eyes, twin, whole orbs that too mirrored the color of the void.

She took a couple of seconds to examine his armaments. He seemed to be only carrying a longsword of some design upon his back, although a close glance revealed some sort of bulging items in his pockets. The assassin doubted they were there for show. Most likely projectiles or something. If they were explosives, the murderess had no room to worry, then; she'd been sure Lana had been clear on her orders, despite her initial petulance on taking them from "someone like her". After all, the armored, halberd-wielding assassin had never been unable to resist the commands of William; for what reason, Margaret knew not. However she wasn't going to doubt it now.

It was time to strike. Best to settle this in one blow, rather than lead up to some dramatic confrontation with the infamous pyromancer. Covered in the sound of the eruption still and cloaked by the masses of flesh and fear, Margaret struck, coming from behind and slightly off to the left; her obsidian form flashing forth as she sought to pierce the exposed small of his back, severing his spine and consequently the nerves to the rest of his body with her newly-drawn mythril blade, the hum of steel that usually arrived with its unsheathing masked as well by the handily-done explosion.

If all went as planned, the masterwork-quality weapon would easily shear through the thin fabric of his clothing and enter his flesh without issue or accord, cleaving through his spine easier than her previously steel weapon had done so with Arden Janelle's neck.

But even as she thrust forth, her murderous intent hidden professionally, a feeling in her gut whispered that it wouldn't be that easy.

[Rayse Valentino]

Rayse instantly shot up when he heard the explosion, staring in disbelief at the light show with his hand still placed on the liquor bottle he was about to pour. Did that fucker blow it up for two lousy sabo-

He was interrupted by the feeling of metal being embedded into his back, the sound of fabric tearing as his severed nerves carried the shock all the way up to his brain. He couldn't move, as paralyzing pain spread throughout his body, his vision becoming blurry as his legs almost gave way. He couldn't remember the next moment, but his body did. His entire form turned to flames, moving back to a previous state, to a different time in his life. In this case, it was to the point when he was walking over to the stall. He materialized several meters away from his assassin, standing upright and short of breath. His body had turned around in the process, and he saw the bloody weapon still held by the girl near the stall. The bottle he was holding materialized with him, and he took one last swig before tossing it aside and letting it smash into the side of a neaby building.

All around him were sounds of yelling, of men ushering people into their homes, of the chaos that followed the explosion of the boat. His moment escaped the notice of most people, their panic far more important than one little contractor getting stabbed. Rayse's blood boiled, his face turning into the meanest of scowls once he realized what just happened. I died! She fucking killed me! It was an awful feeling, like his entire body just stopped listening to him. Trapped inside his own mind for those last few seconds, a faint whisper in his ear as the desire for a deep sleep overtook him. He wasted no time as he reached a hand into his pockets and pulled out two whiskey-based mini-molotovs, lightning them in the same motion with a finger.

"That was the last mistake of your life," he sneered. Normally he wouldn't hurt women, but those that tried to kill him were an apparent exception.

He tossed the explosives at his attacker, the shot glasses ready to burst into flames upon any contact. He couldn't believe he was this careless, so completely self-serving that he thought himself invincible. Did he intentionally make himself a target at some point? Was so he bored with his life that he became self-destructive? He reached over his shoulder and pulled out the Damascus longsword, running his fingers along the breadth of the blade, then gripping it with both hands as his feet left the ground. In addition to its explosive enchantment, it now caused severe burns on impact. Even the slightest nick would cause excruciating pain as the victim's skin burns off from contact. His speed was as fast as a spreading flame in a barn full of hay, his form leaving a fiery after-image in his wake. He was even catching up to the projectiles he just threw.

[Zerith]

The last thing Zerith would be able to recall prior to the explosion was the conversation he was having with the operations supervisor of the docks. The man was simply refusing to co-operate, insisting he knew nothing of the shipment of fire arrows that were being unloading further down the walkway and that he was only following safety protocol by having his workers take it all of the boat before they would conduct an in depth search of the vessel. As he went on, he would constantly look down at the clipboard he held in his hands as if he was hiding behind it.

“This is going nowhere. For all I know, he could just be reading off a script or something.” Zerith thought as he rubbed his forehead like he could somehow soothe the headache he could feel coming on. Behind him, the three Mithranduil stood at attention and appeared as solid as adamantine pillar. It was a small comfort for the prince to know that he had them supporting him, and in return he had complete confidence in them. It was so much that he was just about turn around and let them deal with the supervisor and his shipment when the explosion happened.

Like everyone else, Zerith always imagined that time really did slow down when you were close to such a large blast. Yet he never really believed he could happen. It was a good thing he didn’t set himself up for disappointment, as everything happened so quickly that it felt instantaneous. The explosion happened just after he turned his back to the man he was talking to and the force of the chain reaction tossed him forwards like he was a ragdoll. Even the Mithranduil, so strong and immovable, were knocked backwards just as easily and landed flat on their backs in shock and with the wind knocked out of them. At first, the only thing he could hear was a louding ringing noise that was gradually accompanied by the sound of the chaos that followed the blast. He never heard his halberd hit the ground ahead of him or the sound of his soldiers hitting the wooden dock, be he could hear random pieces of debris land around him, both on pier and in the water. In the distance, the loud shouts of the Ixian Knights grew louder and he knew it would only be a matter of minutes until his army was breathing down the necks of his failed assassins.

Disoriented and confused, Zerith slowly climbed to his feet and surveyed the damage around him. The ship, and the dock around it were utterly destroyed, the bright flames and black smoke a testament to where they once were. A few people were either climbing to their feet, or rolling on the ground in agony while many more lay perfect still as they bled. Gracus was gone, his polearm became the only sign of him as it lay on the ground next to the prince. The other two Mithranduil were recuperating just as quickly as their general was. One had already retrieved his weapon, obviously eager to face whoever planned this surprise sabotage. Zerith had just turned his eyes to the warehouse for a second when he spotted him.

His would be assassin.

The man wore a mask, making it obvious to the halberdier that the man was too much of a coward to show his face to an enemy. It was a sign of weakness in Zerith’s mind, an indicator that one value his own identity more than anything else. “You…” the general thought to himself, the voice his in head full of violent anger. “I’m going to make you wear that mask at your burial tonight.”

Zerith picked up his halberd and was already making his way straight for the warehouses in a heartbeat. He didn’t hesitate to stop for anything, completely ignoring the blaze that was about to engulf the Restful Retreat. All that existed in his vision was the masked assassin and he stormed toward him like the warrior prince and general he knew it was. “Draconus is my shield,” he intoned. “With him, nothing can harm me.”

Elidrasil may have been a Phoenix Warrior, but Zerith was a champion of Draconus. Who could possibly stand against one blessed by a Thayne?

[Margaret]

...You can't be serious. She'd seen her blade slice through his flesh. She'd felt the thin resistance as her steel bled him, severed his spine and ripped through his nerves. She'd watched as the life in him faded away, the shock a gruesome show to her spectating gaze.

And now here he was, charging her with flame and blade alike.

Margaret felt a single, icy emotion running through her veins. This was the second time, in the past week, that a foe of hers somehow managed to return from the threshold of death and walk the material plane once more. The first had been the assassin in the citadel, whom also had seemingly managed to shrug off what should have been a debilitating blow and had continued onward; the man she'd come to call Arden Janelle. When his would-be corpse arose from the floor of their battleground, she'd been shocked, in awe even, of the seemingly impossible feat. Aside from undeath, it shouldn't have been possible.

And yet, here walked another whom had managed to reverse the tide of oblivion. But instead of feeling shocked or fearful of the man's apparent immortality, fury began to fill her body, surging at the front of her mind like a rushing waterfall.

This was ridiculous. Once, she could handle. But a second foe was simply out of the question. If he would not accept his fate, then she would simply have to slay him until he stayed that way.

He should have stayed where he belonged.

"Satoshi. Provide assistance, along with Lana." Margaret snarled a message in the depths of her mind, sending it along the mental connection that the Akashiman psionic had prepared beforehand. Her tone was cold and cruel, providing no room for argument and making it clear that she would accept none - her rage at this Rayse's defiance stripping away any patience she would have had for such. She could feel surprise on her compatriot's end, but there was no time to explain; she barely managed to send the message out even as her newly-arisen opponent burst forth, bearing anger and steel of his own.

The murderess's single, mercury-tainted eye narrowed in her focus, her expression one of deadly determination rather than open rage or pallid dispassion. It was part of the act that'd been prepared, should something very much like this happened, but her visage twisted with the natural flow of her emotions as well; scarred lips pulling down into a scowl very befitting of one in her position. With the contractor's rush she'd retreated, pulling forth not her left hand (carrying the unsheathed blade) but her right, gloved digits extending in a fashion similar to one directing a concerto or playing a puppet upon strings.

To her victim, it would seem as if the cowled woman was casting something; at least, this is what she intended. The very movement was an act, to keep his attention upon her, whilst her comrades provided support from the shadows and the chaos around them. Even as she moved, her feet would further backpedal into the screaming bodies, putting struggling men, women and children alike between herself and her swift target.

As she did, perhaps throwing projectiles was an unwise move on his part to do in the midst of all this entropy. Even the most accurate of ranged blows can find themselves intercepted by a wall, and that was exactly what the swarming bodies and screaming minds around the duo served as at that very moment. Even as Rayse would dash forth, his miniature-molotovs flying through through the air, a man and his wife happened to be crossing in between Margaret and her prey; ignorant to the deadly duel they'd just walked in between.

The man happened to be a former wrestler; having worked in the underground rings, he'd reigned champion for a few years in his brawl of choice. Never truly making it to fame, but still managing to earn enough income to get by and be well off for it. He'd injured himself in one fight, however; a blow to his knee ending his career short. His story, then, had become simple; finding a beautiful woman, he'd settled down and ended up being a farmer, using his massive strength and recovering body to work the crops, tend to his fields and all that glory. It was a simple life indeed, but good to him and his wife; a woman he'd loved now for eight years.

She was a frail thing; he could have snapped her back in two, should he squeeze too hard. But he loved her, and she loved him. And thus, it was despairingly tragic when Rayse's hastily thrown, lit explosives smashed right into her head and erupted, the consequent explosion of flame and force blowing a fatal hole right in her blonde-locked, thin skull.

The man could only watch in adrenaline-filled horror as his beloved, the love of his life, was murdered right before his eyes...eyes that turned, almost in slow motion, to the originator of the explosives. It was one of those moments people only experience when they're on the edge of death, when their mind is breaking; when everything they once had was gone. The two-meter tall giant of a man saw the murder in this black-locked man's eyes, saw the sneer of bestial rage.

He didn't know who this man was, but this was surely the man whom claimed his lover's life.

Angry didn't even begin to describe how this stranger in their midst, this muscled former warrior, felt. Margaret was furious at Rayse's resurrection. Rayse was furious at the attempt on his life.

But this man? He was the very essence of rage.

It overtook him in a matter of milliseconds. There was a roar, almost louder than the explosion had been, as his eyes became nothing more than twin, white voids. Reason fled the older stranger, as his instincts, his desire, took over. The thought, the fear of death removed itself from him completely. His body screamed for vengeance. Standing between the assassin and her incoming victim, he swung his arm; a deadly lariat aimed at Rayse's upper body, a swift blow that could surely even stop his arm when combined with the contractor's own speed and the kinetic force of the hammer-like arm.

Rayse Valentino had inadvertently brought down upon him the wrath of a colossus.

[Rayse Valentino]

His foe's quick movements annoyed the contractor. Then some idiots just had to, right at that moment, decide to cross the Goddess-forsaken street. They couldn't have just run into the first building they saw! Were people of Corone this naive? Rayse's heartless eyes ignored the women who fell to the ground in flames, they even ignored her enraged lover. His target was not these damn civilians. He was well aware that his momentum was taking his neck right into the large man's elbow, but he did not waver. Whoever this assassin was, she and her eye patch knew nothing about him. Nothing! Nobody knew enough about him, that was why he was never a target until today.

After his Knife's Edge days, he resolved that strength was in concealment of power. It was in his opponents underestimating him due to ignorance. If any of them knew what he did to Saint Denebriel, the target on his back would be permanent. The job that lead him to find his uncle was thrust upon him because his enemies knew too much. The job that put Denebriel's Great Lieutenant, Stefan Tyray, on his case until the long winter. This woman... did she know too much? She couldn't. She wouldn't have attacked him if she did. His own ignorance infuriated him most of all, moreso than the attempt on his life.

The so-called colossus of a man was nothing to him. Not even worth a passing glance. As the man's arm was about to come into contact with Rayse's neck, it passed through it as though there was nothing there, flames taking the place of flesh. The rest of the contractor turned to flames, red and yellow wisps flying around the wrestler and merging together several meters behind him, reforming Rayse's body in its entirely. His momentum was completely intact. From the light of the fire caused by the burning boat, he cast a deep shadow in front of him, as if it was also chasing the girl. He dodged all the civilians without losing any speed due to his skillful evasion skills. There was no escape from an enraged Rayse Valentino.

[The Phoenix]

Thaynes be damned, Elisdrasil swore. Not only had the explosion failed to kill the Ixian general, it hadn’t even managed to kill all three of Zerith’s heavy guard. Rayse was certainly going to have some “stern” words for him about the loss of the shipment, especially when he found that it had been wasted only to kill a single halberdier. Elisdrasil locked eyes with Zerith in a moment of stillness and then the general and his aides were moving towards him with deadly intent. Rayse would have words with him, he amended, assuming he lived that long. Which he most certainly wouldn’t, he noted wryly, unless he maneuvered the situation to his advantage.

Setting another bolt from the quiver at his side, Elisdrasil nodded at Zerith to acknowledge the general’s challenge. He knew the general’s type, overly concerned about honor and fairness and the like. And while honor and fairness had their places in life, war wasn’t one of them. Having acknowledged Zerith and his men, Elisdrasil rounded the corner into the alley, directly away from them.

The first four Ixian foot soldiers that Elisdrasil had noted were still standing in the alley, as were the two mothers and their three children that the Ixians had been ‘escorting’ to safety. All of them stood as still as statues, frozen in shocked surprise by the explosion that had just claimed Merchant’s Pier. The silence of their surprise was cut by the low hum of Elisdrasil’s crossbow as it fired point blank into the side of the closest Ixians’ head. A second bolt was set and loosed with practiced speed, felling a second Ixian before the first’s body could hit the ground.

The danger of the situation kicked in and the remaining two Ixians, to their credit, reacted as quickly as their training allowed, bringing their weapons to bear against this new threat. But as well trained as they were, they could only react with the speed of a mere human, while Elisdrasil had not only the element of surprise, but a natural speed and grace gifted to him by virtue of his Raiaeran birth.

Elisdrasil leapt into the foremost Ixian, using his momentum to shove the human back into his companion, knocking both of them off balance. The butt-end of his crossbow came down in an overhead chop that struck the man right in the nose, shattering it and filling his face with blood. And that, Elisdrasil thought, his sinister smile hidden by his warmask, is why I don’t use a bow.

“Run,” Elisdrasil yelled at the civilians, scattering them back into their homes. Satisfied that the innocents were out of the direct path of harm, Elisdrasil drew his blade and dispatched the two fumbling guards in front of him before they could regain their footing. Zerith and his men would be coming around the corner now, assuming they still followed him that way.

Elisdrasil dug his sword into the soil of the alley, knocked a bolt, spun, and aimed to fire at the first man around the corner.

[Margaret]

Surprisingly, the little killer stood her ground. It was strange in the fact that she'd just seen this man evaporate into flame and pass almost through the veritable mountain of flesh between them. Any lesser individual would have turned tail and fled at that point; how do you face a foe whom can turn their very body intangible?

It was testament to Margaret's will, training and subtle throbs of fury that she did not give up the mission there and then. Long had she discarded her fear of death; or, rather, the inhibitions of it. As a messenger, she was closest to its touch, felt its breath upon her neck every day; and had grown far more used to it than your "average" dweller of the world would be comfortable with. And with that discarding of fear came a lack of respect for this Rayse.

She knew exactly whom he was. His resurrection from the grave had been a surprise, but other than this the information given upon him had been correct, right up to the explosive cocktails he'd so haphazardly tossed. His speed was swift, yes, but not unsuspecting; even a bullet from an Alerar flintlock could be dodged with relative ease, if one knew its origin. And whilst Rayse burnt forth like a flash-fire, he was no bullet.

"Margaret-sempai. The barrier is up, and Lana-san is standing by." The Akashiman's calm, passive tone resonated in her head the moment the contractor re-materialized, the shocked screams of the practically faceless citizens around them coming forth now as the last of the flames from the explosion began to dissipate into the air, and now the chaotic individuals that had previously been blind to the duel happening betwixt and within them began to panic for an entirely different reason; a reason that was evermore apparent by the enraged roar of the nameless man, whom spun with the momentum of his lariat and, in his fury, turned immediately to his back to chase after Rayse once more.

"Thaynes above, he just killed that woman!" One voice cried out in fear.

"Wait, I recognize him; he's working with the Phoenix Ascendant..." Another fearful murmur, as Rayse flashed forth towards the stationary Margaret.

"He's attacking that woman too!" Another cry, this time more angry than fearful; and within milliseconds a righteous cry had begun to arise from the crowd; a crowd turning swiftly into a mob.

"Th'Ascendants are attacking!" This last, fearful exclamation sent the crowd over the edge, and a combination of enraged, adrenaline-filled panic with Rayse's careless rush caused a swarm of bodies to push forth, desperate to subdue this traitorous murderer in their midst. It would seem that Galstaff protected its own, as hidden knives were unsheathed, bottles were broken to create make-shift weaponry, and even the clicking of firearms could be heard as bartenders and shop owners along the street armed themselves to join in this crusade to defeat the villain in their midst.

They still wouldn't be in time to prevent him from reaching the cloaked form of Margaret.

They wouldn't have to.

Flicking her palm forth in a stopping motion, the assassin performed her masquerade perfectly; her contempt-filled visage staring in glacial fury at the oncoming pyromancer. With his rushing momentum, it would be difficult to avoid slamming into the invisible wall of force that Satoshi had conjured forth. Normally, it wouldn't something that the psionic would be able to do on pure command, making it unpractical to use in battle situations like these. However, the building blocks to this pure blockade of unseen resistance had been building from the very point Margaret had left the tavern, and this gigantic man's interference, momentary as it had been, had provided just enough idleness for its existence to be reinforced.

As such, this wasn't exactly something that the flame-bearing Rayse, even with all of his kinetic force, explosives and weaponry, could burst through. It was no protection of glass; it was like the boundaries of a building, manifested by thought and will. It stood about two meters tall by two meters wide, and about a foot in thickness; a total concentration on Satoshi's part. His finest work. Margaret would have felt pride for her subordinate's ability if this were on any other situation than this.

As it stood, the wall was but two feet away from the assassin; just the length of her extended arm. And if Rayse didn't find away to slow himself down in his ignorant rage, he would find his face smashing into this immovable construct in seconds.

[Rayse Valentino]

The yelling and braying of the angry crowd left no impression on the contractor. Their voices were muffled out, his own thoughts superseding his attention. She looked like she was vanishing in the shadows, her palm facing forward as if telling Rayse to stop, maybe to show mercy. That wasn't happening. As he ran, he let go of the sword with his left hand, reaching into his pocket and flicking a Damascus throwing knife at the assassin.

To his surprise, there was a 'tink' sound and the knife bounced off something in-between them, which changed Rayse's expression immediately. The knife fell to the ground. His eyes opened wide, his mouth slightly agape as his instincts took over, his right foot taking one last step before halting his sprint. His shoes dragged along the dirt road until the tip of his right shoe touched something that felt solid. With a grunt, he tried to swing his sword at whatever stopped his knife, causing a small burst of fire to spread around the impact point before disappearing, but the recoil after hitting something hard sent him back a few steps, holding the sword above his head. What the- is it a Goddess-forsaken invisible wall?! All around him, angry faces closed in, wielding all manner of peasant weaponry.

What's more, Rayse could hear the sound of his own heart beating, of his own short breaths. His body... it suffered when he used too much of his power. His own rage hid the strain in his arms, legs, back, and neck, but now he felt it. He wasn't completely exhausted, but it felt like he just ran a mile while lifting a barbell. With his new awareness, he realized what people were saying. How the fuck did I get made?! None of these backwater hillbillies should have any idea what's going on beyond their incestuous hovels! Not to mention the fact that a small town's reaction to their pier exploding was highly unusual. Generally, they would either run out to a safe distance outside of town, or flee to their houses and lock the door behind them. He never expected them to pay this much attention to the added chaos in the street.

He had no choice but to show the assassin something important, something risky. Something that could only be used in unavoidable situations like this one. Putting the sword back into its sheath on his back, he once again fished through his pockets for two items: One was the Forget Orb (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?21217), and the other was a tar-based mini-molotov known for creating a quick spread of thick, choking smoke. The Orb was an experimental enchanted orb that theoretically could replace the memory of him with that of a complete stranger in a short time frame. He had no idea how it would work on those that already intimately knew him, or what happened if they had a strong enough will. He didn't know how some of the townspeople knew who he worked for, but he guessed that they were working for the assassin, planted in the crowd in the event the murder attempt went sour.

He lit the mini-molotov with a flick of his finger, taking one last look at the cloaked assassin with a determined expression before taking a deep breath and throwing the shot glass into the ground. Black smoke immediately spread from the point of impact, filling the street with noxious fumes that obscured everything inside. As he ran out of the crowd, pushing through the choking cluster of people, he held the Forget Orb tightly, hoping that it would work. He emerged from the smoke, finally letting his breath out and breathing in some fresh air, running towards the burning remains of the pier. He kept trying to work out in his mind how this assassin knew so much. Maybe she worked for the team of assassins in the Ixian Knights, maybe they had some sophisticated way of gathering intelligence not just about who he was, but who he worked for and where he was. He couldn't believe it, for he was far too careful. Even most of Phoenix Ascendant did not know who he was, merely that Elisdrasil was working with an arms dealer to supply them for the war.

Then, it hit him like a slab of furboar meat. A rat! That had to be the reason. Someone high up on the food chain in Eli's little club was a sneaky, conniving, dirty rat. It couldn't have been anyone Rayse talked to, so the only option was someone in the damn high elf's circle of trust. The killer couldn't have known about his abilities at least, unless she was some sort of mind reader. Ultimately, he couldn't answer any of these annoying questions. As he ran through the street, the sky changing as the dark cloud above the pier rose into the heavens, he saw a familiar face staring at the fire with a confused face. The man wore a green tunic with matching pants and bandanna, in order to camouflage himself better among the bushes outside the town.

He didn't quite remember who it was, but when he ran by he heard a "Hey!" coming from behind. He stopped, turning to finally recognize one of the scouts he sent out.

Rayse exploded at him, "You... Why the fuck didn't you tell us they were coming?!"

"I was going to!" said the scout. "But... most of the scouts fled. There's a lot more Ixians coming than we originally thought."

"What?!"

"I was going to deliver the report directly to the elf, but then the boat blew up. Some of the Ixians must've got here before me."

"Damn it! Fuck, look, I need you to go to the goddamn inn and get my bag. I'm going to need a lot more firepower than I originally anticipated."

"Yes, sir!" he said as he ran off back the way Rayse came. The contractor knew it was a good idea to pay some of the scouts extra.

His priorities changed severely right then and there. If the assassination attempt meant that they were already compromised, then his employer was likely in a heap of shit as well. He broke into a sprint again, the strain in his legs becoming more pronounced. The sun was still high up in the air, telling him that this terrible day was far from over.

Meanwhile, the smoke cleared around the crowd back near the stall of the Restful Retreat, leaving a group of confused people who had no idea what they were just doing. The large man who lost his wife looked upon her still-burning body and fell to his knees, slamming his fist into the ground. He didn't know how this happened, and looked around wildly trying to find a cause for this terrible incident. All the other people backed away, putting their faces in their hands, while others ushered the women away from the scene. Many of them thought that they saw a person do this to her, but they couldn't remember what he looked like, or how he did it.

[Margaret]

She'd almost had him. His shock at the existence of the barrier had been the perfect opportunity to strike, to slip beneath his upraised arms and sever him in two. The chance was there, and as he recoiled from the strike of his blade, Margaret sought to take advantage of it. Gripping the smoothed hilt of her silver steel in both hands, she could almost taste the victory at hand; the balls of her feet pressed firm against the dirtied cobblestone, her knees bending to better slip in between the shield of bodies that now separated the two pinnacles of will and deliver the debilitating blow. She saw what would happen in her mind's eye; her cloaked form slithering like a swift viper, wasting no movement, letting no space go to waste, before she would upraise before this ignorant fool's recoiling flesh and defile it with her cold taint. She could practically taste the bitter tang of his sanguine life force as it splashed across her, his own gaze once more widening in the telltale, aging stare of one slipping into one's own demise.

Needless to say, that wasn't what happened.

Surrounding by the onrushing mob, he did the strangest thing; he sheathed his weapon. From the way he was panting and the dripping sweat running down his face, she'd thought that maybe he was going to plead forgiveness or surrender; a foolish, but reasonable tactic to take in the face of these overwhelming odds. However, in the next moment he also performed something completely unexpected; he pulled out two objects. One being a bottle similar to the molotovs he's initially tossed, and the other an orb. It was this latter object that drew her concern forth to the forefront of her mind, replacing entirely the fury she'd held for his naive defiance.

Her right eye, concealed beneath the folds of her eyepatch, pulsed in wakeful recognition as Rayse's unveiling of the item caused it to sense one of its own; the parasite stirring in content surprise of its own. Margaret on the other hand was far from content. Apprehension stirred upon seeing this strange little sphere, and that apprehension caused her to hesitate. A mistake on her part, for without delay her prey smashed the miniature shot glass onto the ground, causing an eruption of smog to burst forth, clouding his presence and causing several of his would-be attackers to stumble backwards in shock.

Perhaps, she would have chased after him nonetheless, despite the obvious disadvantage she would be at, being unable to see momentarily. Perhaps she would have gripped her blade and continued forth, striking blindly and worrying about the consequences later. But before she could do either of these things, or even think about doing them, a strange sensation began to fill her mind.

It was soft. Surprisingly so. Like a silent, subliminal voice, it whispered to the recesses of her brain, sending waves of what could only be called fatigue through her body. It whispered that she was exposed, and should find shelter; leave the silly little man behind. As she attempted to focus, perhaps question whom this little man was, it slid in even more insidiously: What little man? She'd just been going for a peaceful walk when a stranger had begun to stir up trouble in the streets of this little fishing village. It wasn't any of her business; now to find somewhere to lay down, sleep...

"Sempai...Sempai!" A voice called to her, muffled behind the thick cloud of the comforting cloak that was attempting to infiltrate her mind. She recognized it, dully; it was Satoshi, number Eighty-two of the Organization. But what would he be doing here, of all places? "Margaret-sempai, Valentino is fleeing! What are you doing?!"

Valentino? Valentino...yes, she thought she could remember a Rayse Valentino...but wh--

Before she could think further, the soft cloud in her head transformed in the blink of an eye into a thunderstorm, lightning bolts spiking at the walls of her mind that she instinctively arose to protect herself. They were solid, firm, but nothing she could have erected, even with preparation, could have prevented this level of psionic assault. The power of the crackling energy blasted through her partitions, and she cried aloud at the sudden pain to her mind as her training sought to battle the the effects of this unknown force.

Her body, however, could not resist the strain, and her trembling knees gave out, causing her to collapse in silence in the middle of the street; nameless and unconscious amongst a crowd of individuals as confused as she.

[Zerith]

As expected, the assassin ran the moment he realized the general has seen him. “Go ahead and run,” Zerith thought, “I’m still going to kill you quickly to make up for the loss of Gracus.” In his mind, Zerith knew that the stranger probably believed his best chance at beating the halberdier was from a distance, but he still thought it was cowardly. It just wasn’t really fair to take a life without giving someone a chance to defend themselves, especially in circumstances like Gracus’. The man had left a wife and three children back at home in Moriah, and now he was taken from them without warning.

Zerith didn’t want to think about how he would tell them what happened.

Instead he focused on the present and tried to figure out how he would proceed. He started with what he knew, that he was baited into a trap by someone clever (and desperate) enough to set off an explosion using volatile weapons and didn’t dare stand up against the prince face to face. It only made sense that the man would try to take another shot when the opportunity arose. If he wasn’t careful. Zerith would die before he hit the ground. He needed some sort of defense, some sort of shield.

He needed to improvise.

Stopping briefly, the general looked for anything that could work for him. The two remaining Mithranduil, having just caught up to their leader, stopped and couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. “Sir, Is everything alright? Did you find him yet?”

“Don’t you think we’ve have a body lying here if I found him already?” Zerith snapped, the loss of his Captain caused to him be a little edgy. “I’m just thinking ahead.” Running over to one of the warehouses, Zerith grabbed the lid that covered one of the wooden barrels that stood grouped together. He tested its weight and checked it’s thickness to make sure it would be able to withstand a shot from a bow or crossbow. While it definitely wasn’t the steel shields the Ixian Knights were normally issued, it was light enough for Zerith to carry with one arm while holding onto his halberd with the other. It would have to do.

The three Morians move onwards as a unit, with the prince leading and the two trailing behind him single file. They paused only once the moment they heard a man yell at others to run. Any questions of if the voice were friend or foe were dismissed as they cries of two remaining knights were dealt with. “That’s Ixian blood on his hands now. He better not expect any mercy from me,” the halberdier told himself before he turned back to his followers and mouthed three words silently.

“Alright, on me.”

Zerith rounded the final corner slowly, scanning from left to right for any sign of his assailant. His eyes found his target, standing defiantly in the middle of the alley, just as the bolt was released. The prince didn’t think, he just acted and raised his wooden lid to his face on the belief that any marksman would aim for his skull. He didn’t have to wait long for his faith to be rewarded. The solid “thunk!” of the bolt hitting the edge of his shield meant he was safe for just a little longer.

Throwing his defence to the side, Zerith seized the initiative and rush forwards, intent on finally bringing the fight to a more up close and personal encounter. A rune on his halberd flashed a shade of red for a moment before the weapon lit itself ablaze with righteous fury. To try and ensure that Elisdrasil wouldn’t get another shot with this crossbow, the general stretched his free hand toward him and reached out with his mind to seize the weapon and force it out of the elf’s grasp.

[The Phoenix]

”Well, it was worth a shot,” Elisdrasil muttered, seeing his bolt thud infectively into the barrel lid. Zerith was proving to be a canny opponent, but Elisdrasil had no doubt that he could continue to draw the encounter out until he had somehow found and reengaged Rayse. After all, he still had plenty of bolts left in his quiver…

With a gesture of power, Zerith grabbed the crossbow out of Elisdrasil’s hand and pulled it towards him. Behind the warmask, Elisdrasil’s eyes widened in surprise for a split second before closing in weariness. Was there anything that was going to go according to plan today? First the Ixian Knights marched an army against him, then Rayse disappeared, then his trap failed to do anything spectacular, and now he had been disarmed. Destiny wasn’t pulling any punches.

Elisdrasil wouldn’t either.

“Quite the trick,” he said, grabbing the hilt of his curve blade as he broke into a sprint towards Zerith and his heavy guard. An outside observer might have called his charge one of suicidal glory, a lone, lightly armored warrior charging against three well trained and heavily armored opponents. But that observer wouldn’t have been able to see the grim smile on Elisdrasil’s face, a smile which would have told them that the Raiaeran wasn’t out of the fight quite yet.

Sand and grit sprayed from underfoot as Elisdrasil charged, sword held back as if for a slash. He came on fast, feet working quickly to propel him forward with a speed that the heavily armored halberdiers could only hope to match. That, he thought, was one benefit of wearing lighter armor.

Here’s another.

Just before reaching Zerith, Elisdrasil swung his sword in a savage, cleaving arc. But it was a blow never intended to land, merely to bring the blade of Elisdrasil’s sword forward into view.

“Flash,” he whispered, unleashing the magic in his curve blade and causing it to pulse bright with blinding light. Using the flash as a distraction, Elisdrasil dexterously dove aside of Zerith in a dodging roll, moving completely past the general, came up long enough to slash at the hamstring of one of the general’s guards with his razor edged blade, and then bolted off to one side and out into Galstaff’s main street.

[Rayse Valentino]

As the scout ran back up the street, his mind on retrieving Rayse's items, his pace slowed to a walk, and then eventually stopped altogether. He stood there unblinking, staring at nothing in particular... What was he doing? He just saw some guy, did he talk to him? Why was he going this way? He turned around, but nobody was there. Houses were scattered on either side of the street, their wooden frames indicative of the common architecture in this part of Corone. Then, it hit him. He had to find Rayse or Elisdrasil and tell them about the approaching Ixians!

Rayse stood at the entrance to the pier, which was now nothing but a big piece of flotsam. Sweat dripped down from his forehead, causing him to wipe his eyes when he blinked and some got into his eye. As his hand passed over his eye, his thumb touched the tip of a spent cigarette which was still hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Upon this realization, he spit it out and watched it fall into the water between two burning pieces of wreckage. He didn't realize how natural it was for him to be smoking, how he could breathe and talk as if the cigarette wasn't even there. Another thing he didn't notice...

God damn it! He was still holding the Forget Orb. The moment that scout lost sight of him, he likely forgot ever meeting him in the street. He stuffed it back into his pocket before it could do more damage. He had no time to think about that assassin and what she knew, locking his memory of her into the back of his mind. Whoever she was, she would pay for this. What he needed now was to find Eli and figure out what was going on. Many men were working on the docks, making sure nobody entered the area until they figured out what happened. Since they weren't screaming or hiding, Rayse assumed that an army had not passed through here. He should've had the scout elaborate on exactly how many Ixians they were dealing with. He looked behind him, taking stock of the various side streets that diverged from the pier, and the countless alleyways between them. Eli could be anywhere. He could already be dead. Rayse clenched his fists, experiencing the sensation of helplessness. Since he left Knife's Edge years ago, it was his goal to put that feeling behind him, but here it was, tugging away at his sanity. In his rage he killed a woman, and would've likely killed more if they got in his way.

He shook his head. There was work to be done, and in the end all that mattered was that big paycheck in the end. This is what he did, and he had no regrets for this life. The next thing he knew, a flash of light could be seen coming from one of the alleys. While he wasn't sure what kind of abilities Eli possessed, he knew that several Ixian Generals possessed light magic. It could've just been a coincidence, a burst of light from some other innocuous source, but in his line of business there was no such thing as coincidence. He darted down Galfstaff's main street, and it didn't take much running before he saw his elven partner. He had just burst out of an alley and was running, which wasn't a good sign. Rayse needed to buy time, so he pulled out another whiskey-based mini-molotov, lit it, and chucked it into the alley as he moved past it.

The elf, however, was getting away. Rayse considered catching up, but the sensation from earlier flared up. To run away with him... is that who he was now? Maybe this wasn't the best situation now that they were so compromised, but he had to know something. He stopped running and turned around, bending down to pull up his pant leg to reveal his knife, Kapteyn. He still remembered how it felt to deliver the final blow to Denebriel with it with Teric Bloodrose. Pulling it out of its hidden sheath, he stood back up, ready to deal with whoever came out of that alley. While his enchanted sword still sat dormant in its sheath on his back, steam rising from the blade as it was barely able to contain its heat, he knew that the knife was his weapon of choice. He could feel calm and comfortable with it.

He had to know what they knew. If he had to burn all their skin off to get the information he needed, so be it.

Oh it was never mentioned but all bunnying between myself and The Phoenix was approved before the first post was made.

[Zerith]

Just when Zerith felt like the elf was finally in his reach, the masked man slipped through his fingertips again. However he did it, the sudden flash of light was just enough of a distraction to let him slip past the halberdier unharmed. It was close though, as Elisdrasil was forced to duck underneath a wild swing from the general’s halberd. Once he passed Zerith, the elf was even brave enough to attempt an attack on one of the Mithranduil as he zipped right on by.

Yet these were the Mirthranduil, the Morian elite. They were given their title for good reason.

As Elisdrasil passed by, the Mithranduil pivoted and swung his massive polearm upwards, in anticipation of something coming for his legs. Instinct paid off, and the sharp steel of the larger weapon easily knocked the blow aside like it was just a minor nuisance. Unfortunately, the elf was far too fast for the heavily armored knight to even stand a chance at retaliating with a blow of his own. So instead the warrior remained on the defense and looked to his prince for guidance. “Are we going to follow him?”

Zerith was just regaining his full eyesight again when the question was asked to him. He turned around just in time to witness Elisdrasil dart onto Galstaff’s main street, and realized that any further pursuit was pointless. The elf would just continue to run, obviously too much of a coward to stand his ground. So until he had an army to surround that particular enemy, the general wouldn’t waste anymore of his time. However, he swore he’d bring a swift end to the phoenix warrior when the elf was backed into a corner and forced to fight. “No, let’s just head back to the docks and get things back under control.”

Control? Zerith had no control here. It was something he would soon realize when fire soon spread into the alley

The mini-Molotov shattered on the ground without any interferance, and the small inferno that spilled into the soil began to spread rapidly. “I don’t have time for this,” Zerith thought, “I need to start getting everything in order before the rest of the Ixian Knights arrive.” It was true; any reinforcement he could expect would be there in just a manner of minutes. The shouts that came from deeper in the city was all the proof he needed, and the fact that they were loud enough to be heard over the growing fire was reassuring.

As for the fire that was before him? He didn’t need to worry about it. It was still relatively small and both he and the Mithranduil would have no maneuvering around it.

Moments later the prince and his soldiers emerged unscathed and unharmed, possibly appearing immune to fire to anyone that may have seen them. Immediately Zerith’s sapphire eyes were drawn to a new figure that stood not far from him, apparently waiting patiently with a weapon already drawn. The halberdier merely looked over the man casually, not noticing anything of significance other than the sword he wore on his back. Zerith considered asking the stranger what side he was fighting on, but the idea died after a few seconds. Knowing his luck, the general already knew the answer. If he was right, the man was definitely not with the Ixians.

Either way, Zerith just watched and waited. He’d let the stranger decide how he wanted to play his cards first.

[Rayse Valentino]

The knife's handle twirled on the tip of Rayse's right index finger, his eyes scanning the three men who emerged from the alley. Already he wanted a smoke, that unquenchable urge filling his mind. His left hand reached into a pocket, lightning his Chili bomb and holding it tight in his hand, with no visible evidence that he was holding anything at all. He knew exactly how long the fuse would last before the bomb would explode, and kept a mental count in his head. The knife's handle fell into the grip of his right hand after it stopped spinning. He went through his memories, his intel, trying to piece together exactly who he was dealing with here. Being well-known heroes, the identities of the Ixian Generals were no secret. Hell, maybe he would even tell him if Rayse asked, but where was the fun in that? The one in the middle was the only one whose face wasn't obscured. The halberd was one hint, although all three had polearms. Then there was the case of the brown hair and blue eyes. It was certainly a face for the public.

"Zerith Dracosius," he said assuredly with a grin. The contractor could hear the shouts, the faint sound of yelling as the Ixian army approached. There's nothing like blowing up a boat filled with expensive explosives to draw an army in. It was a shame the entire town wasn't one big bomb. He wasn't opposed to a little collateral damage, although Eli might have been. Sometimes between the mantras of saving the world and the greater good, he couldn't tell the Ixians and Phoenixes apart. In any case, he needed his answers fast. "I'm only going to ask this once. If you give me a satisfactory answer, I may give up the leader of Phoenix Ascendant." He neglected to mention a few things. If you give me a wrong answer or take too long, you die. "Who is the assassin? Name, organization, everything you know." Whoever that woman was, her failed attempt at his life would not be forgotten.

He wasn't going to live Zerith long to answer. If he gave the wrong answer or tried to stall for the encroaching army, Rayse would throw his Chili bomb with seconds to spare, then charge in after the explosion with his knife in an attempt to finish off the General. If not the woman, then Zerith would pay for the murder attempt.

[The Phoenix]

Galstaff's main street was beginning to fill with a mixed variety of very panicked women, children, and the occasional Ixian Knight who had gotten swept up into the fray. Knowing that the crowded street could pose a problem in escaping from Zerith and his heavy guard, Elisdrasil looked behind him to see how close the Ixian General was.

Rayse!

A spray of pebbles shot from Elisdrasil’s feet as the Raiaeran slid to a halt. He’d finally found Rayse and could hopefully rejoin the contractor and focus both their efforts together to fight Zerith. Before he could return to the fray however, he saw another group of Ixian Knights approaching at a dead sprint, the sea of civilians parting in front of them like waves cut by a pointed prow. These men had presumably been part of the Ixians operations at the edge of town and had come running when the dock had exploded. Unless these were the last remnants of the force that Zerith had brought to Galstaff, which Elisdrasil doubted, then he and Rayse would soon be dragged down by sheer numbers, regardless of their fighting prowess. Had he still possessed his crossbow he knew that he could hold them for a far more significant time but Zerith had ended that threat with his telekinetic trick.

“We need to get out of here,” he yelled down the street behind him. While he didn't know if Rayse would understand the vague address in the midst of the chaos he did know that the contractor would be extremely unhappy if he didn’t keep the man's identity a secret. It was something that Rayse had been very specific about and Elisdrasil figured that he already had enough of a shit storm coming his way thanks to the loss of the shipment. He didn’t need any more grief from the contractor than he already had, again assuming they both survived. Unfortunately, the contractor hadn't seemed to hear him, or if he did was choosing to ignore his words. Even as Elisdrasil watched, Rayse had drawn another item from his belt and appeared to be preparing to go one-on-three with the General and his men. Unless the contractor was much faster than Elisdrasil himself, the odds of the two of them making a clean getaway were slimming to nothing.

This just didn't seem to be Elisdrasil's day.

The Raiaeren had a couple of options available to him. He could rejoin Rayse to lend the man some fighting power, but then the two of them would be caught in the middle when the reinforcements arrived. He could use his superior speed and athletic abilities to escape the town on his own, leaving Rayse to whatever fate awaited him, also not a great outcome for Phoenix Ascendant as they would most certainly lose Rayse's skills should he survive the battle. That left him at this point would have to trust that the big man could hold his own against Zerith's forces while he fought off the newest Ixians on the scene.

A ray of light caught the edge of Elisdrasil’s curve blade as he turned to face the three approaching Ixians, ready to make a stand.

[Zerith]

Being interrogated by Rayse Valentino was something the halberdier didn’t expect to ever happen in his lifetime. If anything, Zerith expected to fight the man if the two of them ever crossed paths. He had already heard about Rayse from Jensen Ambrose and William Arcus, and the two said close to nothing besides agreeing that he was an incredible fighter, clever and always with a trick up his sleeve. Yet as he finally stood face to face with the contractor, he didn’t see anything the other two Ixian Knights said they saw in the man.

As far as he could tell, Rayse was unimpressive.

The prince tilted his head to the side as stranger demanded answers, and wonder what could have possibly been going through Rayse’s mind to make him think he had the authority to throw so many questions at the warder. He had called Zerith by name afterall, so he had to have known he was speaking to one of Sei’s Generals and a member of royalty. Where was the respect that the halberdier believed he deserved?

“I’m not some nobody you can boss around.”

“The only person I know that served Sei Orlouge and could have been seen as an assassin was Cassandra Remi, but by now everyone’s knows what happened to her.” The answer was honest truth, the halberdier had no idea what had gotten Rayse all riled up. He lifted his halberd and rested it on his shoulder as he watched the knife twirl in its owner’s hands. Surely the contractor wasn’t considering to charge at him? It would be stupid to even try; Zerith would run him through with Amenzanil long before his new assailant could get in close to him.

Crazy or not, Rayse seemed to have a way at making the prince feel uneasy even when Zerith had nothing to hide.

[Rayse Valentino]

Rayse was pretty good at telling when people lied, and Zerith didn't sound like he was lying. Damn... The fuse on his Chili bomb was reaching its end, and he had to make a decision. It was possible that the halberdier was a good liar, after all he was the one talking to the public and giving them empty promises. On the other hand, the Ixians are mostly a bunch of goody two-shoes who believe in love and peace. Then again, half of them were psycho immortals with serious issues and right now Sei was waging a war for the 'greater good' in order to take over Corone and decide its fate for himself. Yeah, Zerith was probably lying.

With seconds left on the fuse, the contractor tossed the Chili bomb at Zerith, hoping that it would explode inches from his face. If Zerith tried to dodge, Rayse was preparing his next move. If not the eye patch woman, this man would pay for the assassination attempt.

[The Phoenix]

The urgency in the Ixians’ approach was replaced with practiced caution when the soldiers caught sight of Elisdrasil’s waiting blade. They approached the Raieaeran with wary hostility, their unified movement a testament to how well Sei’s legions had been trained.

“Throw down your weapon in the name of the Ixian Knights,” the lead soldier barked, the authority of his command weighted by the three unwavering spear points directed towards their foe.

“No,” Elisdrasil simply replied, and though he made no motion to attack, the air around the sword mage grew thick with hostile intent.

“I say again,” the soldier commanded, “throw down your weapon and come peacefully or we will be forced to put you down as an enemy of Corone.”

“Says the lapdog of the usurper.”

“What we do is for the good of the people! If you want to help them then throw down your weapon.”

Elisdrasil looked around at the frightened masses huddled about, their eyes eagerly on the altercation in front of them. “It seems to me that these people weren’t having any problems until your army marched through their front gates.”

The solder gave a resigned sigh and signaled his men forward. “Know that it gives me no pleasure to do this.”

Elisdrasil bolted forward suddenly, his heightened reflexes allowing him to react before the humans even knew that they were moving. He feinted left, drawing the Ixians spears out of line, then whispered the command of his blade flash spell once again, stunning the trio. With their spears held high towards his presumed position, Elisdrasil easily executed the same maneuver that he had used against Zerith and his men, dropping into a roll opposite the Ixians’ weapons and slashing at the back of the rightmost Ixians’ leg as he did so.

Though the soldiers were well trained, they lacked the heavy armor or specialized training that Zerith’s bodyguards had, meaning that Elisdrasil’s sweeping attack found purchase this time. The edge of his curve blade caught the soldier just below his outside knee, severing the limb cleanly. The knight screamed like a woman as his leg came away. Elisdrasil shoved against the man as he came back to his feet, toppling the soldier into the center one who had addressed him.

Distracted by the flash of Elisdrasil’s blade and the sudden screams of their companion, neither soldier was prepared to defend themselves as Elisdrasil vaulted over the tangled two, splaying the third’s throat open wide as he came down upon him.

“Help!” the lead solider cried as he struggled to push his wounded comrade away so that he could bring his weapon to bear.

“Know that it gives me no pleasure to do this,” Elisdrasil said and jabbed his blade through the soldier’s chest, ending his cries.

A chorus of shouts from further down the street drew his attention. More Ixians were approaching, much more than he could handle himself.

“Damn,” he hissed and turned back to yell once more to Rayse.

“Contractor, we need to get out of here now!”

[Rayse Valentino]

The Chili bomb exploded, but Rayse could not discern its effects. He felt the pressure from the blast, but so much goddamn dust was kicked up that he couldn't see what happened. At about this time, he finally heard the elf call to him. Ixians were closing in, and he likely only had minutes before he was complete swarmed. Maybe less. Why does nothing go my way? He took a step back, trying one last time to see what became of Zerith, then turned around and began running in Eli's direction. He temporarily stuck his knife into a strap on his belt.

While he ran, he saw the face of the scout in an alleyway to his side, causing him to stop when he noticed the scout was holding his traveling bag. The scout threw the bag over to him, and without stopping, he caught it and continued his run towards Eli. Did the Forget Orb not work? The scout, meanwhile, had indeed forgotten meeting Rayse. It was the fact that Rayse instructed him to deliver his things in the event of an evacuation that prompted him to get his bag. He would've likely stolen the bag instead if the contractor didn't know precisely where his mother lived. Rayse caught up to Eli, pointing him towards an alley as he shuffled through his bag while on the run.

"Where are you going?" Eli wondered out loud, trying to keep pace with the man whose movements were so fast that he could barely see shoes hitting the ground. "They're likely going to have that street blockaded."

"It's the fastest way out of here," said Rayse. "What, you scared?"

"Not in the least."

"Good. No matter what, keep running until you hit the next alley."

He finally pulled out one of his tar-based mini-molotovs, lighting it and throwing it out into the middle of the next street. Both of them closed their eyes as they ran through a dozen Ixian knights to get to the next alley, finally opening their eyes and taking deep breaths. This alley connected to the small back-street that ran along the walls. Following the wall would lead them to the gate. Sweat poured down the contractor's face, his over-use of abilities visibly affected him. However, he still had plenty of stamina to escape. When they reached the gate, another large group of Ixians stood guard. This time Eli had the distraction, as he instructed Rayse to look away while he jumped out into the main road and used his blade magic to blind the knights one last time. The two of them ran through the open gate, thinking they were finally free.

Far from it. Before them stood at least one hundred Ixian knights, all in formation and alerted to their presence. The duo stopped, a look of panic upon the elven half's face. Rayse, however, was unintimidated. He set his bag down on the ground and pulled out two full-sized whiskey-based molotovs.

"When I say go," said Rayse with certainty. "You start running at them as fast as you can." He put his remaining pocket mini-molotovs into the bag.

Eli turned his head to look at the conviction in Rayse's eyes. If it were not for his visions, he would be highly skeptical of the words he was hearing. In fact, he still was. After all, maybe he was just using Eli as a distraction for himself this time. He chose to believe in the man. The contractor lit both bottles and threw them at the army, watching them explode, sending flaming shards all over the formation, creating huge bonfires at the points of impact.

The enraged knights immediately started charging the two, which prompted Rayse to yell, "Go!" Without hesitation, Eli charged forward with a shaky grip on his curve blade, praying that he did not have to use it. Rayse threw his bag into the air, letting it fly past Elisdrasil before flicking a spark at its opening. The chain reaction sent all of his remaining mini-molotovs in every direction, exploding into the charging knights as if they were being bombarded by cannons. Some of them landed far from Rayse's left and right sides. Finally, he pointed his right index finger slightly to the right of Eli's head, a small flame forming on the tip of the finger. He placed his right thumb on the steel ring of the pointed finger, pressing down on it and causing it to shake. It was a feeling like he pushing two magnets together, an invisible force trying to push the thumb off of his finger. Then, he slid the thumb back across the ring, letting a small pellet of white fire fly from the tip of his index finger. The flame flew past Eli's right side quickly, trailing blue smoke as it crashed into the ground, causing an explosion that created fifteen foot radius of smoke. He mimicked the same actions to the left of the elf, creating an area in front of Eli that was completely obscured by smoke. He put magic into those last two attacks, causing the fires to persist after impact, grow, and merge with the other fires he caused, lighting up nearly two hundred feet of ground outside the town. There was something calming about making so much fire to the contractor. Sometimes he considered his acts of arson to be more enjoyable than making money.

Rayse left his position, running so fast that it took him only a few seconds to catch up to Eli. By this point, the knights were almost in fighting range, and Eli was shielding his eyes from all the light that was created by the burning plains. As the contractor passed Eli, he put his hand on his shoulder. The next moment, the elf felt himself surrounded by flames, his vision completely engulfed by red and yellow. The duo had transformed into fire, separating into a dozen different wisps of flame and passing through the charging knights, past the smoke and flames, emerging on the other side with both of them reforming and still running, their momentum preserved through the ability. As the confused knights slowed down, looking around desperately for their targets, they could only look back and see the wall of flames. As they looked to try to navigate around it to pursue the Phoenix Ascendant, they realized that the wall of flames was more of a half-circle, extending out from the walls on the left side of the gate out to the field, then curving back towards the walls on the right side of the gate. The knights that weren't in the fire had been completely cut off from their prey.

The duo did not take any chances, pushing their legs to make as much distance from the town as possible. Once they reached the nearest patch of forest, they would be in the clear. The feeling that engulfed Eli when his body was turned to flames, when he traveled with Rayse through his ring of fire, it completely his divination. He saw the same Rayse Valentino with Teric Bloodrose, making the final blow on Saint Denebriel. He saw her turn to dust and crumble, the magic violently sapped from her body with magicide blades. It was then that he was certain that he wasn't dealing with a normal arms dealer.

He was working with a God Slayer.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Closed

[Enigmatic Immortal]

PG Clan War: IK vs PA


2v2 B – Rayse Valentino & The Phoenix vs. Zerith & Margaret
Scores displayed as PA/IK


Plot ~ 19/11


Storytelling ~ 6/3


Phoenix and Rayse – you did attempt to create a real story here. The alchemical arrows setup was a good concept, but I never really knew what your characters hoped to achieve with it. Obviously, you stated you wished to draw out the IK, but to what end? What's the strategy?


Zerith and Margaret – Zerith - Why in the world was the IK evacuating that town? The setting was established; this is a small port town, seemingly under no threat. Had it been mentioned that the IK was aware of the shipment of arrows, and feared for the safety of the town, it would have made sense. Margaret – it would have been nice to know how your group knew Rayse's exact whereabouts, and what he looked like. Otherwise, all this with Zerith just happening to be evacuating a town and Margaret just happening to be assigned to Rayse, at the very same time that the PA laid its trap is far too coincidental. Also, for your part in storytelling, you had no ending, no resolution. You just disappeared. I can only assume Margaret is still wandering the town confused, or if found in the state she was in, killed by her peers, and Zerith was killed by the blast.


Setting ~ 7/4


Rayse and Phoenix – There is no question that you took time to flesh out the setting, and use it to your advantage. There were nice descriptions of the dock, the bar, the various alleyways, the beach, even the type of town. However, many of these settings lacked life; they needed to be better integrated, like when Phoenix used the beach to recall his past.


Zerith and Margaret – It seemed like you simply reacted to the setting provided in the most basic ways, and in some cases outright ignored what had been established about it... more on this in 'Action.' The character-centric nature of your writing left your posts without a place to happen.


Pacing ~ 6/4


Rayse and Phoenix – Overall your pacing was pretty good, though at times, specifically, Rayse, during your retaliation for Margaret killing you, you spent far too much time explaining things... and the action suffered for it. It was slow motion. Phoenix, your pacing was generally great.


Zerith and Margaret – Zerith, overall I have no real complaints for you. Margaret, your pacing dragged consistently. Your writing and imagery are both very good, but when they are used in the bulk that you did, it takes away from what's currently taking place.


Character ~ 20/14


Communication ~ 5/5


For both groups, there was nothing spectacular. You both missed a lot of opportunities for dialog that would have served to show instead of tell what was happening and going on in your characters' minds. What was present was decent, with the exception of the exchange between Margaret and her peers – that was rather good. But the lack of communication elsewhere dragged the score to a tie.


Action ~ 7/3


Rayse and Phoenix – You did well here; most of your character's actions were logical, and the battle scenes were within bounds. There were some minor hiccups where the actions described could not have happened in the time frame given.


Zerith and Margaret – Some very major issues here. Zerith, I'm not saying you can't escape every battle unscathed, but you had better have a darn good reason why. Simply saying your opponent failed isn't good enough. Margaret... this was a small town who were partially evacuated. It was already stated that very few were actually in the town since many were out in fishing boats, and not to mention at an open air bar that doesn't serve alcohol before a certain time of day. Using a panicked crowd against your opponent made no sense at all. Aside from the fact that they were running and screaming for how many posts, they suddenly decided to turn on Rayse because they all happened to be armed? People don't act the way you described. And exactly how big was that explosion? How long did it last? As I read what you wrote, it was way too long to make any sense, especially since you used it to cover your actions.


Persona ~ 8/6


Rayse and Phoenix – I see where you strove to develop your characters, and I had a clear sense of development for the two of you. I knew why you were fighting the war, though your reasons were very different. As the two of you pre-approved bunnying, I would comment that you did a very good job with it. I think Rayse focused a bit too much, repeating yourself, on how no one should know him.


Zerith and Margaret – While Zerith came across as completely one-dimensional, Margaret really carried this score, though many times at the cost of pacing, as the narrator's introspection often came in large helpings in the middle of a fast-paced action sequence.


Prose ~ 22/18


Mechanics ~ 8/7


Rayse and Phoenix – Your mechanics are, for the most part, solid. One problem I noticed, specifically with Rayse, is a tendency to slip out of past tense into present. (Your first post, end of 6th paragraph.) Phoenix, you had some typos and overlooked problems that proofreading a little better would have caught.


Zerith and Margaret – Margaret, you were overall very good. Zerith, there were a plethora of typos, word deletions, incomplete sentences that were begging for a proofreading. You seemed rushed.


Clarity ~ 7/6


Rayse and Phoenix – Overall good, although there were some parts I needed to look at again, specifically the fight scene between Rayse and Margaret, and the part with the scout.


Zerith and Margaret – Better than average, although Zerith's mechanics problems required some re-reads. Margaret, your constant wheel-spinning right in the middle of the action had me lost on several occasions.


Technique ~ 7/5


Rayse and Phoenix – There was some beautiful imagery used, but just not enough. Also, especially toward the end, there was a whole lot of telling and not enough showing.


Zerith and Margaret – Margaret, your imagery was very good, just not always appropriately used. By the end of your posts, I felt like I had been bludgeoned by 'the character isn't emo but the narrator is' stick. As I said, you are a talented writer, but use it sparingly or it's just too much and weighs down the reader. Zerith, you need to incorporate higher literary techniques – you can still have the same style, which is brevity, but you've got to paint a picture in your reader's mind with your words. Simply putting an adjective in front of a noun all the time doesn't cut it; broaden your scope.


Wildcard: 8/3


I raised my eyebrows that the IK both brought extras to the fight, and used them. Margaret, you survived a possible death at Rayse's hands because of your NPC's barrier spell. It doesn't seem right that it was not your own. Not to mention that you caused another PC to kill a person. Zerith, you brought an entire army to a battle against two enemies, one of which you refused to engage, and you managed to avoid any real negative effect on your character without adequately explaining why.

Rayse and Phoenix, you were good sports in this.


Total ~ 67/46

The Phoenix Ascendant Advances!