Let Them Sing
EXP: 155,108, Level: 17
Level completed: 18%,
EXP required for next Level: 14,892
The lone Telgradian turned as his opponent-apparant, this mysterious Lorenor, finally made his presence known.
As Shinsou whipped around and pressed his foot into the dirt beneath, thin veins of frost jutted out from the dirt beneath and flitted between twigs and leaves, literally freezing the ground underneath his sole. Ever-watching, he took slow, deliberately careful steps towards this armored upstart, allowing his golden eyes the time to drink in everything on display about Lorenor. The man was fitted in a full suit of what appeared to be either high grade iron or steel. A shield, much too unwieldy for the man carrying it, rested by his side and the brutal looking form of a claymore was stayed level by the hand of its master, pointed at Shinsou menacingly.
So, this is Lorenor. A man caked in steel by the looks of it. Reminds me of Cromwell, but with less frame...
The beautiful flurries of light subjugated the remainder of the landscape into a muddle of earth, wood and steel. Suddenly, Lorenor began speaking, querying Shinsou’s intentions, speaking from a place somewhere above his knowledge of the situation at hand. A frown crossed the Telgradian’s face in response.
Knowing that I know Cronen is hardly news, given our names are splashed all over the newspapers, but this letter business...is someone trying to play games with me, then? Dragging me out here to fight this Lorenor character? For what reason? Why would he think I would have had a letter from him if he was supposedly answering MY call?
The query was valid. Lorenor had apparently received a letter from Shinsou asking for a fight in this place, yet the armoured brute somehow guessed the leader of the Brotherhood had also had such correspondence, without so much as Shinsou saying a word. The Telgradian smelled a rat, but it didn’t matter too much. In a short while, this battle would be over and then, if there was anything worth investigating at all at the end of it all, he’d do just that.
“I’ve had no such letter,” Shinsou lied, “and the letter you received was indeed from my office at Whitevale. I wanted to challenge someone new, an unknown, so to speak. That’s all.”
If anything, the lie would at least throw Lorenor for a loop, and hopefully the man would spend more time questioning what was going on than focusing on the matter at hand. The Telgradian’s calloused hand remained primed on the hilt of his blade, Shira; his feet set apart just so in a stance ready to strike. This was no offering of caution on Shinsou’s part, but preparation for first blood. Still, with that steel encasing his enemy, he knew that he had to choose his actions with great care.
The sword leapt from its scabbard like quicksilver, slashing in a crescent arc towards the paladin’s face. An arm’s length of icemold that could slice through a body as easily as wind through a field of grass, aimed perfectly at the old man’s neck. Years of accumulated practice and martial training birthed a masterstroke of an attack, enacted by the beautifully patterned wave of an exquisitely crafted blade. Perfection given form.
Yet, even as excellently executed as it was, the strike only served as a diversion. As his right hand brought the blade forward, Shinsou’s left wielded a nebula like cloud of shimmering ice particles that swirled and danced above his skin. Slammed forward, the arctic blast travelled with force towards Lorenor’s legs. With any luck at all, Lorenor would be welded to the ground with Dehlar strength ice, or at least be wounded by the blade.
Failing either, Shinsou would have to find another way to claim the first decisive blow in this cold, unforgiving night.
Last edited by Shinsou Vaan Osiris; 01-01-2018 at 09:04 AM.
