CH vs Lily Round 1: Abomination & Aurelianus vs Hysteria & Zook

[Tobias Stalt]

Large spires reach skyward on all sides, halted only by their ruination. Shards of the once glorious buildings lay imbeded in the dirt around you, and a thousand lifetimes of snow have washed away the intricate designs that remain as blemishes of inky color. The air feels stale and broken, and magic screams through time when it is beckoned. In this place, the Tap feels wrong, but it acts as normal.

You have 48 hours until the battle starts, and the round will end in 2 weeks No time-frame on daily posts.

[Hysteria]

Cold… damned cold.

A small dark figure floated through the air chased by a white spot. The movement was haphazard and unsure as it circled around one of the large stone spires that marked the giant building’s grave. Talen didn’t wonder at the ruins, nor did he really care that the air was thick with strange magic. He could feel it certainly, in fact the magic twisted through his every fibre. The child simply was uninterested. The magic had the taste of opulence that he had come to hate in sentient races. Pride shattered by inevitable folly, too him this was a marker of the futility of man.

Talen glided towards the spires or more correctly his unique form rode the waves of reality. He twisted his legs around and landed with a thud on the snow covered ice. The ground was hard, packed in by years of continual snowfall; it was nearly rock hard below the small fresh surface. Talen’s feet crunched the soft outer layer as he walked towards one of the giant relic and placed a small white hand on it. It felt cold beneath his hand, not just the temperature; it felt dead.

The dark child turned and lent against the spire as the small white spot that had been dogging him sailed in and landed on his shoulder. The creature looked like a cat, and its fur was even whiter than Talen’s pale skin. Talen raised a hand to it without thinking and it in turn nuzzled into it. Snacks shared many traits with its master, one of which being that it wasn’t really a cat, or even alive for that matter.

“I’m fucking lost,” said Talen to no one in particular.

The child pulled on of the long dangling length of scarf handing around his neck and looped another layer to fight the icy air. His face was cold, and the rosy touch to his cheeks was certainly not normal. Flying across the landscape had quickly turned into a trial of futility. Everything looked the same no matter which direction Talen had travelled, and the moment he had deviated slightly he had sealed his fate and become lost. This series of spires marking the ancient building had called to him as the only thing for miles that at least stood out. Talen was starting to regret his decision to help the Gilded Lilly.


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Talen sat in a room deep in the metropolis of Scara Brae. His body was calm as light streamed through the window and Snacks lay in his lap. The child was meditating. His mind wandered, moving freely across his subconscious and conscious. It was in this state that he could partially contact his dark mistress. The fallen god rarely spoke directly, at least not in places that lacked the right magical alignment. Talen was searching for direction and guidance when the image of a bloody hand crushing a golden lily appeared. Underneath the image with a feeling of anger; this action should be stopped.

That sun drenched day had led to a series of interactions with the females of the Gilded Lily. The last of which involved Talen agreeing to do some reconnaissance in this icy wasteland. Fast forward a few days and Talen was cold, lost and angry.

[Abomination]

A spattering of dog-like footprints were winding around the spires in the snow, the creatures that made them on the alert to what they wind. The wind carried their foggy breath into the sky, and they whined in impatience. There were four of the eyeless creatures, bereft of any facial features aside from their gigantic, toothy jaws. Despite that, their sense of smell was impeccable, allowing them to see further than eyes would. They combed the icy pathways, but staying within a certain range of their host.

A little ways behind them, the metallic sound of something grinding across the ice was heard. The monster known as Draug was dragging his massive sword, The Damned, across the ice. It was too unwieldly to carry, and the grinding sound echoed throughout the derelict graveyard of buildings. He hummed a famous lullaby from Salvar, his notes crisp, taking pauses every few seconds while the sound carried deep into the surroundings.

While he didn't care for these types of conflicts, they generally brought out a lot of promising specimens for his growth. They had something at stake, which meant they generally wouldn't run. That was, of course, the biggest problem with Draug's hunts. He walked with a listless gaze, his mouth agape and drool dripping down his chin. It was too big... too many places to hide. Even with the hounds, checking every spire for a hidden enemy was tedious.

So, he wanted them to come to him. He lifted The Damned and looked up at one of the spires, seeing it reach nearly to the heavens itself, or at least it would have if it wasn't broken halfway up. Rather than checking inside, he pulled the sword back, dug in his heels, and swung the sword at the walls of the structure. Anyone within a mile would have heard the crash that came from the impact. Cracks grew from where the blade was embedded. The Abomination pulled the weapon back, but only to swing again, digging deeper into the stone, watching bits of rock crumble from its foundation. If he had to, he would fell every single of one the spires until his opponents had nowhere to hide.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius, smirking around the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, stalked deeper into the ruins. The wind tore through the remnants of the once-city, plucking at the tiefling's lean, leather-clad frame like the caress of knives over his skin. He suppressed another shiver, warming himself with flickers of Hellfire as he trudged through the ruination. His hobnailed boots crunched through the permafrost, each step sending echoes rebounding through the still air.

This place had no name on any of the maps he'd found. Nor had he been able to find any record of what had happened to leave it in such a state.

Running a hand through the three crests of quills emerging from his scalp, the warlock let his serpentine gaze wander over the desolate area. He didn't know what dark fate had befallen this area, but he could feel the cloying embrace of tainted magicks. It was like an oil-slick on his skin, a cursory glance into the aether with his witch-sight bathing the land in sickly hues and un-colours not meant to be perceived by the living. Now, while the warlock had never had to use the so-called Tap so many of Althanas' practitioners did, he was as aware of the corrupted currents as any of them. It felt like an abrasive, hostile corrosion against his mental defenses. An ever so faint ethereal sting.

The sky overhead was pregnant with storm-clouds, the dull rumble of thunder always on the edge of hearing, always just a moment away from fulfilling their promise of a downpour.

"Well," Aurelianus muttered to himself, sucking on the coffin-nail between his lips, "You couldn't 'ave picked a nicer shit-'ole, cutter."

The half-demon, keeping his ears parked for signs of anyone else in the area, let his mind wander back yet again to his situation. Lye had been reinstated as the Master of the Crimson Hand, the Briarheart assuring her half-breed companion that he could be trusted to lead once more.. and disposed of just as easily, should he fail in their expectations. Aurelianus, after spending the past year wrist-deep in the silver-haired murderer, reshaping and violating his physical form, was slightly less willing to give Lichensith the benefit of the doubt. But, when the choices were between that and taking command of the whole organisation himself...

No. Aurelianus Drak'shal preferred to keep himself out of the lime-light. And so, Lye had been released from the lovely little hell Aurelius had created to keep him contained in. And now, his first order of business had been to declare another war. Not that Aurelius minded that, of course. 'Sides, he mused, not like it's a proper war anyway.

The current events were.. how did Ulroké put it? A "test of Philomel's capabilities, and resourcefulness." A predatory grin split the half-demon's face. He had had limited dealings with the self-proclaimed Matriarch of The Gilded Lily. Limited, that is, if you didn't include slipping her the pike in front of the majority of the Crimson Hands. He allowed himself a wide grin at that, the scar bisecting his mouth twisting it into a half-sneer. Philomel was alright in Aurelius' books; hells, he had handed over his position as Master of The Word to her not long after the coup, trusting her to utilise the vast network of spies and informants he had built up. Well.. he had officially handed them over. Unofficially, most of them still whispered in his ears, and there were countless strands of that insanely convoluted web that the tiefling had painstakingly kept separate from the Crimson Hand for his own ends.

This was supposed to be a strictly friendly event; no permanent maimings, murders or mutilations. No permanent damage to Philomel's business, or the operation of the faun's Gilded Lily. Lye and Madison had both made sure to drill those points home to Aurelianus before they unleashed him on the "enemy". Both knew well his proclivities, and his over-enthusiasm when his blood was up.

But, unleashed him they had, and now the tiefling found himself in the arsehole of the world. Truth be told, Aurelianus could have gone straight to Philomel's brothels and unleashed his full nightmarish skill-set in the heart of Philomel's territory.. but no. His moods had been dark of late, and as much fun as he could have had, the guttersnipe took himself further away from the front lines. He was nothing if not pragmatic, and with the Master Hand released from his captivity, Aurelius was remaining away from anywhere any "accidents" may befall him. He liked Lye, of course. Both men were sadists and firm believers in the utilisation of pain to further their goals. And while it was true Lye and Madison had assured Aurelius there was no ill-will borne to either of them by the emerald-eyed killer, the half-breed deviant hadn't lived this long by putting his trust in anything so ephemeral as good feelings and promises.

No, instead the tiefling marched himself through the cold and snow, following the trail of a monster more akin to himself than most.

When the chant had first come to him that the Draug Remi had offered his aid to the Crimson Hand in this little game, Aurelianus' black heart had jumped for joy. He had heard tales of the walking abomination, of course - there were few souls with any sort of political or military savvy that had not heard of the Bane of the Ixians - but he had never had the opportunity to witness the infamous atrocities first-hand. He had tracked the beast for damn-near a week now, never approaching closer than he was right now.

When the first hammer-blow roared through the air, like the death-knell of a world, Aurelius crushed out his smoke and broke into a jog towards it.

He was attired for war; his coat and capotain were back at his camp, miles East of here, along with Gimmel and a dozen of his flesh-crafted Faithful. The half-breed killer wore only his trademark armour as protection against the elements. Plates of leather, interlocking and overlapping, protected most of his body. Each section of the segmented and asymmetrical suit was held in place with a multitude of straps and buckles, and bedecked with razored adornments - hooks, barbs and blades, like the spines of some monstrous hedgehog. He carried his impressive arsenal with him as well, every blade honed and cleaned, eager to spill the blood of the first poor sod to cross the tiefling's path. His right arm was bare of armour and covered in scrolling tattoos, down to the wrist. From there on down, the tiefling's hand was enclosed in his newest addition to the armoury. A dark leather and metal glove covered his marble-like claw, each finger topped with a curving razor-blade forged of titanium. The weapon weighed his arm down fractionally, but the benefits of the implement far outweighed that minor draw-back.

The charms and talismans bound around each wrist chimed softly in the wind as he finally rounded the side of one immense tower, a broken tooth of stone sticking up out of the dead ground, and marked the lumbering monstrosity. The sheer size of the blade in Remi's hands brought a wicked gleam into the half-demon's cold eyes. He was going to adore seeing what it would do to the unfortunates caught in their path.

That's if the big bastard doesn't just pen you in the dead-book soon as 'e's marked you, he reminded himself with a throaty chuckle.

The tiefling's tapered ears perked up, alerting him to the prowling beasts accompanying Draug the barest half-second before they rounded the base of the tower behind him. They had managed to sneak up on him; an impressive feat, he granted them. They flanked him now, every hound's face open in a feral snarl. Each was a beautiful sight for the fleshcrafter to behold, their quivering flanks and vicious fangs bringing a delighted shiver up his spine. He stood his ground, rolling his shoulders and craning his neck from side to side. His brain-box was dancing with inspiration, new ideas he was already aching to attempt with his Art.

They've got you surrounded, cutter.

His lips peeled back in a wet grin, forked tongue dancing over his fangs.

The poor bastards.

The four flesh-hounds prowled closer, padding around him in a loose circle. He spared each a glare, their presumption that he was prey riling the temper coiled deep within his chest like a serpent. The plane-touched killer flexed his right hand, the blades adorning his razor-gauntlet skrtching against one another as he curled and uncurled his fingers.

Before any of the beasts could get closer, the warlock let his will manifest; in the blink of an eye, retina-scarring flames burst into life around Aurelius, the Hellfire surrounding him like a whirlwind. It rose higher, Shahab's Lash flash-boiling the snow from the ground instantly and licking at the hounds as they tried to close in. But every time one neared, the conflagration reached out towards it with writhing coils of clinging Hellfire. He kept the vortex turning, knowing it would keep the quadruped hunters at bay for the moment. He started walking forward, the billowing wall of flame following him as he went.

Putting his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, waiting for the aftershock of another enormous impact on the tower to fade slightly, the warlock let out a shrill, sharp whistle to get Draug's attention. His serpentine eyes followed the path of the enormous blade as it came back down to rest on the ground.

"Might want to call back the pups 'fore they get 'urt, cutter," Aurelianus called with a smirk. "Be a shame if they wound up deaders before you can let 'em chew their way through whatever Lilies we find up 'ere."

[Zook Murnig]

The bitter chill seeped into Alma's jungle-bred bones, and an ache had settled in on her flight from Knife's Edge. Goose pimples and shivers rippled across her dark skin where it lay exposed to the dry and erratic winds of Salvar. The witch huddled into her knotted staff, soaring over the Skavian wilds, clutching her cloak ever tighter as she eyed the darkening clouds on the horizon. The faun, Philomel, had been very precise in her instructions, and the levinstorm that brewed ahead, doubtless, marked the very ruins she sought. The child of shadow, Talen, awaited her there, and she was tasked to support him in this skirmish.

This was a rare occasion for the witch, having only rarely seen pitched battle, and never having sought the violence. Rather, she was more accustomed to avoiding such brutality, or using her skills to escape the same. But since aligning with the magician, Cohen, and his vision of a Golden Dawn, her quota of violence had grown. A brief jaunt into the dreaded Red Forest, plumbing the depths of a Durklan queen's tomb, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with an orc against half-elven mercenaries, among other adventures, were becoming the standard by which she judged such things. This shadow war was no different, it seemed, and in the interest of forging alliances between her Golden Dawn and the faun's Gilded Lily, the Concordian magician had sent her as an emissary. In good faith, her skills were promised to the horned madame, and should Philomel's spy network win their freedom from the red-handed assassins, that good faith would be returned with interest.

In short order, the were-glow of snow and ice drew her eye to the crumbling towers and spires of an ancient city. As she descended over the ruin, whispers in an ancient tongue touched on the edge of her consciousness, and deepthroated chants echoed across generations and into her skull. She felt a lack in the air, a stagnation in the Tap, that set her spine to crawling. Mot the Devourer held no power here, final Death banished with Life, and the souls of the dead, trapped, could do little more than cry, mutter, and scream at an afterlife denied them. A crash from the far side of the ruin drew her attention, followed by the rumble of rubble. Gliding nearer to investigate, she spotted the debris of a new-fallen spire, and amongst the stones and rising dust, a monster of a man. Beside and around him padded creatures that looked like dogs, but even at a distance she could see they were anything but. The beasts' snouts waved about the air, as if trying to catch her scent in the air. In a panic, she pulled her staff aside from its path, and circled back to find the shadow walker.

She found Talen a short distance away, in what must once have been a courtyard, and she coasted to the earth nearby. The faun had not exaggerated, she saw, when she called him a "child." The sickly-looking boy could scarce have been more than thirteen or fourteen. His pallor unnerved her, but not near as much as the power she felt seeping off of him and his cat. It felt heavy and dimmed from her mind even the haunting voices of the dead that lingered in the stones. This child's power did not surge or radiate from him, either, as mortal magic would. No, the boy's presence and aura simply asserted itself as true, regardless of what else it touched. It was plain to the witch, Talen was not as he appeared.

Scratching the head of her staff across the pillar nearest the boy who was not, Alma's boots crunched across the dense-fallen snow as she approached. She drew her hood back as she drew near, her thick black mane falling in a loose tangle about her shoulders, and cleared her throat to call his attention. "Talen, I presume?" she said softly, pausing to ensure he had heard her. "My name is Alma," she continued. "Philomel sent me to lend my support." She glanced off to the right and gestured to a stairwell with her sigil-carved staff, leading back where she had been only moments before. "One of the enemies' number waits ahead, with a pack of unnatural beasts." She eyed the grey-tinged skin of his face, knowing some measure of the power that lurked beneath, though not what to expect from it.

[Hysteria]

Talen thinking himself lost might have been an overstatement as the four combatants came together. The youth’s small frame had grown taught with excitement as soon as the crack of metal on stone had sounded. It had turned out that he has stumbled across something interesting. Even if the horned-bitch Philomel had been sketchy with the details, he thought to himself. It was probably lucky for Alma that she had arrived after the bestial bass has sounded. He had something more interesting to play with.

Talen looked at the dark-skinned witch in front of him. Idle curiously wondered where she was from. Her skin was darker than most he had met; even the tanned skin men and women of Fallien were not that dark. The questions could wait; there was fun to be had.

“Alma,” said Talen, letting his eyes drag away from her, “try to not get in my way. If this is who I think it is, don’t get too close to him either. Throw snowballs if you have to, just stay out of reach.”

Talen pushed himself off the spire and started walking towards the tolling bell. The snow crunched underfoot as he made a wandering path around two large snow drifts on their lazily movements through the ruins. The second turn and Talen lay eyes on two figures flanked by familiar looking hounds.

The child had expected Draug the moment he had heard ‘unnatural beasts’, but the tiefling was somewhat of a surprise. Draug and Talen had never been on the same side of a conflict, and he’s seen first-hand what those shark-mouthed mutts could do. Aurelianus was just as fickle as Talen was, they’d been on opposing sides nearly as often as working together. Talen didn’t have a particular fondness for either off them, in his mind magic should be crisp and clean. Explosive, fire or even poison was good, but it needed to destroy, not mutilate. In a word, it needed to be clean. There was nothing clean about Aurelianus and Draug.

Talen only stopped fifteen metres from the collection of malformed oddities. He felt eyes on him, and sent back a broad school-boy smile as he stuck his arm into the air and waved. He purposely didn’t look at the fire scorched ice, or that Aurelianus seemed to be surrounded by the sight-less dogs. He was sure the pair were on the same side, heck, he’d have given either of them a warning shot if he found himself teamed up with them.

“Well! If it isn’t Draugy-pants. I’m surprised you’re not suckling on your mother’s poison teat. How’s that bitch doing? She must be impressed with you, look at you with your big boy pants on and everything.” Talen’s eyes flicked to Aurelius.

The tielfing was not someone that you could insult with standard prose. Even the most vile, disgusting statements would only delight Aurelianus Drak'shal. Luckily Talen had received something (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?29459-For-the-Attention-of-Hysteria) that would come in handy.

“You! Shouldn’t you be having a tea party or something? I’d heard you went soft, cutter. Or should that be tickler now?” asked Talen as a box appeared in his small hands, “Funfetti!”

Talen reached in and pulled out a brightly coloured cupcake dotted with sprinkles.

“Maddy-kins said this was your favourite, Mr Tickler,” said Talen as he tossed the cupcake to the Tielfing, “Sorry I’m out of Earl Grey to wash it down with.”

[Abomination]

Me and Aure have full approval to use each other's characters as we wish. Also, everyone in this thread has permission to use Draug as they wish.

The Abomination stopped laying waste to the spire when his flesh sounds surrounded the tiefling. His glossy eyes wandered over to Aurelianus, a vacant look on his face. The Damned dropped back down to his side, and it dragged along the ground. As Draug approached the tiefling, moving slowly, he didn't pay any mind to the wall of flames, and when it looked like he would walk right into the fires, the tiefling opened a path for him.

Draug moved closer, looking right through Aurelianus, stopping just inches from his face. The tiefling held his ground, his fingers twirling at his sides, keeping the wall of flames roaring just outside the meeting of the two monstrosities. Then, the Dark Son sniffed. He took a whiff of Aure like one of his hounds, turned and walked out of the fiery enclosure. The tiefling let out a sigh of relief, and the flesh hounds moved away from him as if he was no longer there.

Before they could separate again, one of their opponents showed up to meet them. The hounds dispersed, not to attack this newcomer, but to root out the one he was with. He said some things and Draug turned his head, a gesture more of boredom than confusion. He lost count of how many people taunted him, how all their bravado meant nothing when it came down to it. He drooled with anticipation, a faint smile crossing his lips. He started walking over to Talen, dragging The Damned behind him. When he was close enough for Talen to be in his sword's range, he would grab it with both hands and swing it across the Ixian's body. He was sure that the force from the blade was enough to complete tear the shadow user apart.

[Zook Murnig]

As the shadow spirit wound his way along the path, through the muttering city to the monsters that awaited, Alma kicked off astride her staff, knots prodding gently at her inner thighs through her skirt. She rose above the battlefield, sweeping between towers to keep her charge in view below, and edging inexorably closer to the misshapen monstrosity and his hounds.

Approaching the site of the abomination's destructive act, the witch tucked into a dive along the inner wall of a hollowed and crumbling keep. As the rocky earth rushed to meet her, she slipped a leg over and off of the staff, gripping the rod in both hands. Her descent slowed, and her boots touched down softly on the rubble, only gently shifting the broken stones. Creeping to the edge of the wall, the witch spied Talen approaching the monster of a man, Draug, and his flame-wreathed compatriot, a shotan, a devil, covered in spines and quills. She could see the shadowy child approach, talking and waving confections, but could only barely make out what he was saying.

Ducking back behind the etched stones, the witch considered her options. Nothing could prepare her for the dark forces now arrayed against her, and her meager magicks would likely only annoy them. Talen appeared unafraid, however, and it seemed he would gladly match himself against their strength. She knew little of her enemies, however, and less of her ally. The shotan, at least, appeared to have a bent for sulfurous fire, and the dogs, revolting as they were, seemed little more than that.

Steeling herself, she began a low chanting prayer to Anat, the Slayer of the Flame. The warrior goddess' blessing flowed through her aura, and her dress stiffened about her torso, and pliable boots and gloves hardened about her hands and feet. Gripping her witch's staff in one hand, she traced the other down its knotted length, and the spell-worked oak tightened under her fingers, prepared to trade blows. Even as the spell coalesced, she heard the rasping growl of Draug's hounds rounding the wall. A pair of the shark-toothed beasts appeared, and, saliva dripping on the loose stones, charged at the priestess.

Practiced fingers darted into a belt pocket, drawing two pebbles from within, and, the barest whisper of apas tinging them, she loosed them at the naked wolves. One was struck full in the face, the stone bursting into a frozen sheath around the creature's head and forelegs. It stumbled, limbs snapping against rock, and smashed headlong into an outcropping of rune-carved marble.

Its brother, however, ducked under the bullet, and it broke harmlessly against the earth behind it, covering it in a sheet of rime and frost. She gripped her staff tight, raising it high overhead, and as the creature lunged, long sharp teeth bared, she brought the leaden head down on the beast's with a grunt of effort, crushing its skull with an echoing crunch. The unholy creature was not wholly smote, though, and its paws scrabbled against the gravel beneath it. Kicking the beast over, she drew a knife from her belt, knelt over the wretched thing, and slit its throat. Too-dark blood spilled against the loose stones, and its writhing ceased within moments. She walked to its kin, and similarly snuffed the dazed beast, offering its sanguine strength to Anat in thanks.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Irony.

Aurelius allowed himself a moment, still smirking, to muse on the irony of the elemental's attempts to rile him. Calls me pikin' soft, then starts yellin' "funfetti" and tossin'.. whatever the pikin' Hells that is. Adorable.

The.. whatever it was Talen tossed to him was turned to ash in the blink of an eye, Hellfire consuming the item on the off chance it wasn't as it appeared. He was peery - paranoid, as some would call it - as a matter of course, and he was taking no chances of being laid low by some sneaky little trick. If anyone was going to win through deceit, Aurelius decided, it was bloody well him. The tiefling sneered openly, the scar across his lips tugging tight. He had faced off against Talen before, most recently in The Cell; the tournament had been a close fought thing, but the shadow-elemental had eventually remained victorious over the half-demon. Aurelianus knew his strength and speed, and had seen some of the little shit's abilities. Talen was, in the warlock's outlandish vernacular, a planar. He was about as native to this world as the tiefling himself. The shape-shifting, gaunt sod was a channel for one of the myriad realms that constantly bled into other realities.

An' no doubt he fancies his luck again, the half-breed thought with a dark smile to himself. Aurelianus' powers had only grown since then, but even that was irrelevant. There was one single, shining thing that promised the Red Right Hand victory today.

He had a Draug.

The abomination lumbered towards the "youth", dragging the enormous blade behind him, and just like that, the fight had started. Aurelius, razor-fingers caressing each other, was just about to wade in himself, when something caught his eye. He flicked a glance towards whatever he had marked, backing away from Draug and Talen as they squared off.

The flesh hounds, or at least a pair of them, were padding off through the permafrost. Sparing one last glance at the towering monster and the waxen-skinned planar, Aurelius bared his serrated fangs in a predator's grin.

Oh, 'e's a canny cunt, 'im, he thought, looking at Draug. The Remi had tumbled to it before Aurelianus ever considered it - the shadow-bastard was not alone.

Opening his eyes to his witch-sight, the horned warlock quickly found what he was looking for. There, lurking behind the shattered crown of one of the immense towers, now cast into the earth as if by the hand of a titan, was new prey. He allowed one last look at the other combatants before breaking off in a sprint.

Never could resist an easy target, eh? the voice in the back of his mind chuckled.

The tiefling covered the distance quickly, allowing his perception to slide back to his more mundane senses as he went. He heard the deliciously wet crunch of bone being shattered, and hoped that it was not his new plaything. He wanted at least a little fight left in them before they were allowed to enter the dead-book. Instinct kicked in, and the murderer turned his hobnailed boots in the opposite direction the hounds had taken. The tracks in the freshest dusting of snow told him no more than the pair had come, so he decided it was his job to flank the cowardly little sod hiding back here. He had the curving talons of his newest toy adorning his right hand - the sadist was more than eager to test out the masochistic enchantment he had imbued the dark metal with - and into his left he snatched the vicious throwing knife (http://s636.photobucket.com/user/Anarchist147/media/mabo-tribe-rdc_zpsc065fadd.jpg.html) from its leather cord at his belt.

The crack of thunder overheard, he hoped, would mask his approach; with the profusion of blades and barbs on his armour, not to mention the mystical charms and tokens adorning his throat and wrists, stealth was difficult to maintain at a full run. Either way, whether they heard him or not, the end result would be the same.

Blood, pain, a fervent prayer for death.

Aurelius, serpent-eyes shining like balefires in the gloom, rounded the crumbling edifice and finally set eyes on the soon-to-be-deader. A chit, her skin dark and smooth under sable locks of hair, was just getting back to her feet. In the woman's fist was a bloodied knife, the thick, coppery tang on the wind setting the tiefling's lusts stirring. In the space of a heartbeat, his brain-box was already dancing with flickering notions of the atrocities he would heap on her flesh. This war may have been called "friendly", and no death would be permanent - so the high-ups on both sides promised - but as he had so often proved in his lifetime, the damage inflicted to the mind long outlasted that done to the body.

Forked tongue lashing wetly over his teeth, Aurelius closed the distance as much as he could before finally throwing himself into a leap.

Steel-capped boots kicked off of the hard earth, sending the blade-covered devil airborne, his razor-gauntlet drawn back for a disembowelling swipe.

[Hysteria]

“No hug? No witty retort?” asked Talen as he reached into the wooden box and pulled out another cupcake, “Is this what you want?”

Talen let the box disappear as Remi ignored his verbal jabs and continued dragging the giant sword behind him. Aurelianus was off too; chasing that fool of a witch no doubt. Just don’t die before keeping him busy. For the moment she was on her own, even if Talen had wanted to help, it would only bring both Draug and the Tiefling together and most likely bring about her death quicker.

The moment’s thought was all the child could spend on his partner. The giant sword’s grinding song came to a halt as the abomination of flesh gripped it with both hands and ripped it around towards Talen. The child lifted the cupcake towards Draug and smiled as his free hand reached towards the blade. A crack of force meeting force erupted in a blast of snow as Talen released sheer kinetic force from his palm into the blade. The giant metal weapon slowed, but didn’t stop. It moved under Talen’s small hand and bit deep into his side. Talen’s hand came down and gripped the far edge of the blade to hold it fast embedded deep into his waist.

The pain tickled across Talen’s mind. It was enough to end normal men, but to the child it was nothing compared to the embrace of his mother. A thousand times Talen had died in her arms, and a thousand times he had risen with less of himself to fear losing. Now it was nothing, there was nothing that would slow him. He had known he would not stop the sword. Instead he was focused on stopping Draug.

“If you wanted one too, you just needed to ask,” said Talen, his eyes burning with excitement as he held the cupcake towards Draug, “didn’t your momma tell you it’s rude to hit a child?”

Talen thrust his head forward and flames burst from his mouth. The rolling green curled over itself in the air as it shot towards the abomination’s head and chest. The tiny terror’s flames were not normal by any means. He pooled the energy from within, mixing it with unique properties that he had come to house within his small frame. For someone like Draug the Abomination, it would have been silly in the child’s mind to throw a simple flame attack. Instead he had woven in a unique poison causing a sort of necrosis that deadens and weakens the affected area. It was poison he had taken from the dead dragon Stinky, a mutated form from the Terror of Eiskalt herself; Madison Freebird. Should it hit straight on, then it could end the battle very quickly. Talen didn’t entertain such hope, this was a game, and it was only the first move.

One use of Sonic
One use of Dwagon and Stinky (I’d have used Draug’s Kiss but I had to lock it last update >:[ )

[Abomination]

When his blade met purchase, Draug reveled in the feeling of digging into flesh, the smell of fresh blood, the sensation of pain from his opponent. The Shadowmancer used some sort of telekinesis to keep the sword from completely rending him in twain, but the damage was done. He did not escape after the attack, but instead shot some sort of green fire from his mouth. The Abomination cocked his head, calculations and memories trying to make sense of this sequence of events. Talen was familiar to him, but he could not remember the where or when.

Either way, magic users were dangerous, and Draug wanted to end this while he was still close to one. He let go of The Damned and beady yellow eyes grew from the back of his hands. The transmutation circles on his hands glowed with alchemical power, attempting to form a symbiotic link between Draug and Talen. If it was successful, Talen would feel the effects of the spell just as deeply as Draug.

Right before the flames hit hit, he took a deep breath and thrust his head forward and down, taking the full brunt of the spell directly onto his skull. The flames spread across his head, burning his flesh. The poison tore apart at his skin, blackened his blood, and shriveled his facial muscles.

"Hahahaha!" he roared in laughter as all of the skin on his face dripped down to the ground. "Gwahahaha!" The pain was unimaginable, and he could barely move because of it, but he made sure to keep Talen in his line of sight with the eyes on the back of his hands.

His hair burned to a crisp, his eyes popped out of his skull and fell to the ground, and his tongue shriveled up inside his mouth. Finally, he pulled out a mace from his chest and smashed what was left of his head to pieces that quickly burned away. His body wobbled for a moment, looking like it was about to fall down, and then a golden light traveled up from his neck stump, growing in luminosity. Skin, muscles, and bone all rose up from his neck, guided by the light, reforming the features that were just destroyed. Within moments he was a back to normal, and eager to see what had become of his filthy-tongued opponent.

One use of Recoil.
Used up The Egg.

[Zook Murnig]

Alma felt the shotan's approach even as his metal-shod boots crushed the gravel far behind her. A sickness pressed against the edge of her aura, burning off in wisps. Her nostrils filled with the acrid scent of sulfur and burning flesh. Knife in hand, she dug a finger into another belt-pouch, palming a dark and lustrous stone under the blade's hilt. With a spark of power biting from her touch into the lodestone, the spell took its charge.

The witch whipped her head around to the demon, just as it began its running leap, dark talons drawn for the strike. Crouched as she was, there was little chance to parry with her staff. Instead, she dove aside as his shadow, cast long in the glow from which the devil had come, encroached beneath him, dropping the enspelled stone. It fell, as if forgotten, and snapped to the shade, as she rolled away, jagged edges drawing small cuts over her bare arms. The wounds stung in the frozen air, droplets of blood congealing, from crimson to pitch, against her coppery brown skin.

Momentum carried her unceremoniously to the crumbling wall, and the breath was forced from her lungs in the impact. Mind racing for an escape, a distraction, something to keep the quilled villain busy, she recalled the abominable monster in the snow outside -- Draug, Talen had called it -- and the tension and distrust that seemed to settle over the pair before. The man-beast made this demon nervous, it seemed, and she channelled its image, and its little dogs, too, into the wall.

Just beyond, the working dissolved a piece of the outer edifice, taking on the shape of the abomination and a pair of its beasties. Solidly crunching through the snow outside, the trio stalked to the gap from whence the real dogs had tracked only a minute ago. The towering golem clapped slowly as it advanced, a toothy grin spreading across its grim visage and, and the flesh hounds panted on either side. Its jaundiced eyes were fixed on the shotan, and a long, pink tongue flicked out to slide over teeth like razors.

"Draug," the witch breathed. "Nice of you to join us." She prayed silently to Qadeshtu, the enchantress, that this ruse held, if only briefly.

[Hysteria]

The bite of triumph, sunk into slow painful tendrils that caressed Talen’s face. He closed his eyes on instinct, but as the flames burnt away his eyelids he caught a momentary glimpse of Draug’s face being torn away just as was his. Snacks leapt from Talen’s shoulder and to the ground. It could feel the magic flowing between the pair, and then so too could Talen. It may not have appeared to be much, but as the connection died away it appeared that the strange magic had run its course. It was also Snacks that perceived Talen’s face cave away to little more than pulp.

From the small of Talen’s back two tendrils of darkness burst outwards. The dark tentacles wriggled and twisted around their headless owner’s body and around the sword embedded in his side. They took the weight as Talen, headless, stumbled backwards. With a shudder moving through Talen’s body the dark limbs pulled the sword from the child’s side. A spurt of what was left of Talen’s blood sprayed onto the ice and more oozed into his cloths. A wrap of darkness burst out of Talen’s wounds and filled the space on his side and what should have contained his face. The same dark energy that composed Talen’s body flooded the voids of the wounds and as the dark wrap retreated Talen wore the same smile he had moments ago.

The youth opened his mouth and took a bite of the cupcake still gripped in his hand.

“Are yoush sure youph don’t wanph one?” asked Talen through sprays of cupcake.

Such a disgusting ability, thought Talen behind his slightly unhinged smile, still as dirty as ever.

The dark limbs gripping the giant sword lifted it high above Talen and hurled it into the snow drift behind him. The giant weapon smashed through the bank in a shower if ice and was left half submerged. The twin tentacles retreated back to sway slowly behind Talen and Snacks leapt back up to Talen’s shoulder.

“Seriously, I can make heaps of these,” said Talen as he pointed at the cupcake.

Used Whisper of the Night’s come back to life (aka, get out of jail free card) part.
Used two Arms of N’Jal

[Abomination]

Draug stared at Talen, a glint of recognition in his eyes. Did he know someone who used shadow manipulations? He thought back to The Cell, and the memory of a masked fighter surfaced in his mind. He was the Ixian... the one who fought him and escaped. Back then, he fought only using his shadow magic, but now he had access to a variety of different abilities. The Abomination's demeanor changed so drastically it was like he was a different person.

Chilly air escaped Draug's lips as he spoke, "I remember you. You were the coward who ran from me." Earlier he felt a twinge in his brain like a nerve snapping, the psychic link with two of his flesh hounds were severed by one of his prey. What's more, the tiefling was gone as well, likely in pursuit of whoever killed the hounds. He planted his foot into the ground, causing the ground to shake and cracks to form beneath his feet. "You've gained confidence since then. Enough to spout your absurdities."

The Dark Son did not want to put him down nor remind him of his inferiority. No, it was better to keep Talen thinking he had the upper hand. And why not? Maybe he did. He already showcased the kinds of abilities that give a monster like Draug pause. The Abomination roared and grew six limbs from his back. They were sharp, spindly limbs that resembled spider legs, with sharp bones at the end of them. They dug into the ground and lifted him off the ground. While floating, Draug clasped his hands together, and the transmutation circles on them glowed. The effect traveled through his body and escaped from the end of his spider-like limbs. The ground beneath him shook and a thick cloud of snowy dust rose up in the immediate area, enough to effectively blind anyone within its thirty foot radius.

As soon as he was obscured by the dust cloud, Draug used the spider legs to launch himself at Talen like an arrow. His main two arms ballooned in size, gaining twice the thickness and rippling with muscles. He was planning to wring the Ixian like a wet towel. Even if he could not see him, he could smell Talen's position from his nearby remaining flesh hounds. He didn't know what other tricks the shadow mage had in his arsenal, but if they were anything like what he's seen so far, they required Talen to have a good idea of where the Abomination was.

[Hysteria]

For a long time Talen had struggled with how to use his own powers. Despite being able to manipulate darkness, he still needed to see himself. ‘What use is my ability to blind people, if I become blind myself?’ The initial inability to answer that question had led him into some very odd situations. Attempting to flee a room and tripping over a chair and falling into a bookcase was just one example. This had led him onto a series of abilities that allowed him to perceive the world without the use of sight. First he had used sound. Abilities similar to the pure blast of force he had used to slow down Draug’s sword had allowed him brief moments of clarity in the darkness. They had been surpassed by using his energy to flood areas and receive the information through any disturbance. This too had its limits, and now the pinnacle of his journey was sitting on his shoulder. Snacks was a ball of energy, not unlike Talen in some respects. The key difference was that while Talen’s energy was trapped and released upon his demand, Snacks absorbed what was around it. Everything within fifteen metres of the small white creature was monitored, and relayed back to its child master.

Talen lifted the cupcake to his mouth and took another bite before the dirt and ice dust washed over him and soured his food. The wave broke around him as a grey mess of obscuring light. Snacks’ ability came into play quicker than Talen had imagined. It was that perception that allowed Talen to stay calm as he felt Draug’s hideous form shooting at him like some sort of deformed human spear. The youth lent forwards, letting his weight and gravity pull him towards the icy ground. His hands, soiled cupcake dropped, pressed into the ground and for a moment the rough cold ice sent a shock up his arms. Small white fingers clenched around the icy, and both they and the tentacles pushed Talen’s small body across the ice and under the human harpoon.

The moment Draug passed overhead the twin tentacles on the youth’s back slammed into the ground with a thud. The youth lifted back into a standing positing, twisting as he did to bring his body around to face his opponent. Talen’s feet skidded in a spray of ice as he found his footing. All around him was a sea of blue touched grey, but Snacks was deftly holding into his shoulder, and Snacks was Talen’s lighthouse in this ocean of obscurity.

There would be no games for now, for in Talen’s mind getting the abomination Remi to speak was the win itself. Now he needed to finish off the creature with enough reserves left over to face Aurelianus. Talen lifted both hands towards Draug and dark liquid exploded outwards. The twisting mess of shadows made solid ignited as it lifted into the air. Talen was small in comparison to the large form that unfurled its huge burning wings. The dark phoenix cut a path through the dust as it descended on Draug. With a wing span of three metres, the phoenix wasn’t going to contest directly with the abomination’s strength. It was going to smother him with flames. Take away the very air that something breaths and see it’s true fragility.

One use of Ink Heart and Dwagon.
I was seeing of Aur was going to post

[Tobias Stalt]

Closed for judging.