• Graded • Show No Mercy

Atop a stony plateau overlooking the lands of central Idalos, and growing wealthy from the gem stones pulled from the rocky soil, Etzos is a bastion of independence; firm in its belief that man should rule Idalos, not be servants of the vain Immortals who nearly destroyed it. But can the many factions set aside their conflicting agendas and see this through?

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Navyri
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Show No Mercy

Tue Feb 13, 2018 5:19 pm

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"What if I fall?"

Oh but darling
What if you fly?
2nd of Cylus, 718
  • Truthfully, the "training" facilities we're hardly anything at all. Empty, spacious rooms, where the drones ran around and tossed boulders to strengthen their physique. It was a bit disheartening to the Naer who once upon a time, had trained in Augiery - the underground city with a bone to pick. Back then, there had been every weapon imaginable, with life sized dummies to brutalize or even live slaves of that was one's preference. Whips, swords, daggers, maces, bows, nothing short of the imagination. By Delroth's gold, there was even poisoned darts. And now?

    The dark haired woman was dressed comfortably, her supple leather boots barely a scuff against the cold floor, the length of a blackened bullwhip like a snake coiled at her feet. With the flick of her wrist, she brought up the weapon, familiarizing with how it struck through the air with every shift of her arm. Whips were curious things, far more unpredictable than swords or daggers but, as her mother had always said, held great power. Capable of splitting open muscle and fat, choking an enemy or even breaking bones in the possession of a skilled user, they came in a variety of deadly shapes and sizes.

    Navyri had gotten hers from a slaver who had spent some time in prison in Ne'haer for brutality and in his old age, decided to retire. After a few drinks and a lost game of cards, he had simply slapped it on the table, and with a shake of his head, motioned for her to take it, "Only cruelty can control it."

    She heard his voice even now, swinging her arm cautiously, her own arm spotted with red welts from where the weapon had reared back and bit her. Trying to get it under her power was proving to be a challenge, but with each swing, she felt a mocking familiarity with it's thong.

    Hissing in surprise when she reared her arm back and the tip nearly smacked her across the cheek, Navyri growled and cast aside the weapon. She prowled around it like a displeased panther, hands on her hips as if deciding if it was worth the trouble or not. How many times had she been whipped in her life? She remembered how her mother would swing effortlessly, giving only moments to roll out of the way before another crack of the whip became a lightening bolt in a storm of pain, striking down without mercy.

    Why now, could she not conquer the secrets of this weapon? Why did it elude her so? Running a hand over her braided hair, Navyri crouched just as a figure clad in armor caught her attention from the entrance. She knew who it was without even needing to look at the man, as her companion sat perched upon a stalagmites, ever vigilant in his watch over her. There was only one she knew of that never appeared without protection, and from her familiar's vantage point, she could see the singular dark wing elegantly folded against his shoulder blade.

    Still looking at the discarded weapon, she finally slipped her clawed hand beneath it and rose, "Good morning, Mercy. It's a bit early to train, is it not?"
Last edited by Navyri on Fri Jun 29, 2018 4:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Tue Feb 13, 2018 6:26 pm

There was a surprising amount of detail that needed to be adhered to and examined before one had settled upon a weapon appropriate for themselves. It was not simply enough to take hold of a sword or a bladed instrument, and suddenly become a swordsman, or an assassin. One had to understand genuinely how a weapon was meant to be used, what scenarios it would be best to operate within when using the weapon, where they could find repairing instruments and services for their tools, and generally what the capabilities of the weapon were in regards to assorted forms of combat.

For example, the mace that he had chosen was picked from a long list of available weapons, but he had chosen it for several reasons. The first reason was that it had been granted to him freely by the Immortals before the Battle for Treid’s Heart, and so he had managed to skimp out on having to pay an exorbitant price for the valuable adamantite metal. Next, he had recognized that his physicality leaned more towards brutish force than towards feigning and sliding maneuvers, which meant that he was more a warrior than a duelist, and a mace was certainly a blunter instrument than one which required fancier footwork. Simultaneously, a mace was common enough that repair services would be readily available for it, and it would be extremely useful in dispatching armored opponents; the Black Guard and other enforcers of law came to mind in the choice, since those were typically the sorts that he would be facing in his travel to the top of Etzos’ political ladder.

Crimson eyes peered out from the darkness, observing as the young woman scooped up what appeared to be a whip. That seemed to be a rather curious choice to him, especially since it was not necessarily a weapon renowned for its killing potential. Nevertheless, it did seem to suit her style rather well, and he could certainly understand wanting to use a tool that was more fitted to one’s physicality and talents. His thoughts shifted back to the woman herself, observing her carefully, and taking note of the comfortable wear that she had donned. The Avriel doubted that it would do much to stop any hostile person, but it was also clear that she preferred more airy clothing as opposed to the confining metallic carapace that he wore.

She spoke, her voice easily reaching him, rebounding around the empty chamber of the cave and giving it an otherworldly quality that was instantly familiar to a trick she had achieved whilst they had held a meeting upon her boat. Of course, he was not altogether convinced that that hadn’t been a somewhat different form of speech-craft, but the similarities were evident nonetheless. She discussed how early it was for training, perhaps remarking upon his sudden appearance, but in truth he had not come to train so much as to see her.

“You’ve returned, it seems.” He uttered plainly, listening as his own voice was gruffly transmitted across the room by its natural acoustics. She had not been gone for quite as long as Marrow or Maws had been, but the absence had been noted nevertheless. It was not as if though he did not occasionally leave for business elsewhere either, and so he did not hold it against her to the extent that he might have held it against the others; they had been gone for far longer. “The sentries informed me after I returned from my hunt.”

There was the brief chitter-chatter of talons raking softly against the stone floor as he entered the room in its entirety, his poise notably loose and relaxed in the presence of someone he didn’t perceive to be a threat. It was not necessarily that he thought she was untalented, or incapable, but rather that he had heard the yelp of pain mere moments prior in the hallways of the cavern, and quickly come to the conclusion that she was inexperienced in using her new martial implement.

“I see you’ve gotten yourself a new toy. Would that happen to be something you picked up on your adventure?” He questioned, he emphasized the word adventure, managing to keep most of the accusation out of his voice. Most.

“But no, to answer your question. I wouldn’t say that it’s quite too early to train… though, I would say that it is far more beneficial to have a partner when you’re doing such things. Striking the air is a pointless endeavor, it does not retaliate, nor feign, nor feel your blows.” He smiled wickedly, removing the armet from atop his head and settling it against a nearby stalagmite. “Though, I can certainly understand that this early, there are not many choices in partner.”
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As a note: Noth is a Grandmaster in Intimidation. That means that he's at least as scary as the Count from Sesame Street. Beware.

"The tyrant confuses those he can't convince, corrupts those he can't confuse, and crushes those he can't corrupt." - Anonymous
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Navyri
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Tue Feb 13, 2018 9:35 pm

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"What if I fall?"

Oh but darling
What if you fly?
2nd of Cylus, 718
  • "You've returned, it seems."

    Nav smiled, although it didn't quite reach her eyes. Mercy spoke of the sentries and their little tattling, running to their master like dogs looking for scraps of approval, "Yes, it seems I have."

    He looked to her whip, and she raised a brow at his words. She proceeded carefully, not confident whether he said this with disapproval or not. Best to cover her bases, "I did not originally plan to leave so suddenly. An old..." Friend? No... Warren was no friend. A piece eye candy, perhaps, "Annoyance... found me. Tried to threaten me, believing I could be redeemed from a past misunderstanding. Whatever that means, he failed, his poor noble heart." The dark haired woman waved a dismissive hand at the idea of the handsome man, "I agreed to follow along, but truthfully I left for the Al'Angyryl."

    "I saw an opportunity," she explained, hands reaching out to cradle the length of the whip and begin to coil it around her wrist, "He wanted to go to Ne'haer and then Rynmere. I thought it a good chance to expand our smuggling network, but... things changed." Glancing up at the half-breed, she was surprised to see him removing his helm and forced her gaze away casually when he went to set it on a rock. She had never seen him without his metal mask, only his eyes through the slits of such a helm. Now she saw his face for how it truly looked, covered with dark feathers, the visible skin of his neck and cool hue. The Avriel blood was strong in him, half breed or not, "So no," she muttered, shrugging her shoulders in embarrassment when she looked back at the new spots on her arms, "Not a new toy, just one I've forgotten to play with."

    She knew he was right. Training with another living, breathing human (or non-human, really), was the best means of practice when it came to fighting. Open air or a dummy did not strike with the intent to kill or maim, nor did it use tricks or quick thinking to turn the tides of battle. But she did not respect the idle men she saw beneath her, whether by rank or otherwise, and Marrow was all magic in her eyes. And Mercy... well, Mercy was a boss. The boss. She had not yet considered him a sparring partner. A slow smile crept upon her lips, this time with amusement, "Are you offering, or am I about to be punished for my absence and you're simply hiding it with subtlety?"
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Thu Feb 15, 2018 2:42 pm

The Avriel observed as the smile creased across her face, taking notice of the way that it didn’t quite reach the remainder of her features, making it decidedly deceptive in nature. She agreed that she had indeed returned, though, it seemed quite possible that she was treading carefully when she went through the process of explaining her leave of absence. Did she think that he was upset with her? Did she believe that he would make true on his one threat to her, that he would rip her to shreds for so disloyally abandoning the cause for a season? No… nothing so severe for what was simply business. She briefly described how someone had coerced her into coming with him, and had afterwards attempted to direct her upon a pathway of good and upright behavior, before coming to the natural conclusion of failure. She spoke afterwards of how she had abandoned him for the sake of Al’Angyryl, and that elicited something akin to a smirk on the face of the hybrid.

She continued, proclaiming that she had sensed an opportunity to expand their smuggling routes out to Ne’haer and Rynmere, but that ultimately things had fallen through on both such ideas. Noth nodded sympathetically at that, considering all of the different scenarios that might have played out that would have led to her choosing to return to them, and how he himself might have reacted to them if placed in similar circumstances. Eventually, he tittered, regaining focus upon the beautiful woman before him, and spoke, “Yes, I can certainly understand a desire to spread our trade, though, experience has taught me that that is somewhat more difficult than one might consider.” His thoughts shifted back to Rharne and the events that had taken place there.

When he removed his helmet before him, he took notice of the way that she averted her gaze, as though she wished not to look upon him without it. He recognized that he was a rather ugly specimen to most of the mortal races, but that didn’t necessarily explain why she would so casually avoid looking upon him. Perhaps she was afraid that by seeing his face, she would somehow seal a fate for herself? Did she believe that seeing him without his precious armet would somehow change the social circumstances surrounding them? That it would alter the nature of their agreements? It was difficult to say for absolute certain, because he had never been in such close proximity with a Naer, and he was not entirely certain how they thought as a culture or as a group, at least, he was not as familiar with them as he was with the humans and some others such as the Biqaj.

He watched as she shrugged gently at the revelation that the whip was not an unfamiliar tool in her grasp, though her quick glance towards her arms directed his own attention to the assorted whelps and bruises which had begun to form there, lightly pock-marking and marring the otherwise pleasant flesh that could be found there. He could certainly understand that if a person did not use their equipment often, that they would forget how it operated, but it was clear that Navyri had never become an expert with the whip, or else her muscle memory would have reminded her at least enough of its operation that she would avoid self-injury.

His suggestion at a sparring partner was met with a slow smile, and a sentence questioning whether he was offering his services as a sparring partner, or whether he was simply concealing the fact that he intended to punish her for leaving. That elicited something of a chuckle from the Avriel, his crimson eyes lighting up with genuine amusement at the suggestion that he would be withholding punishment so blatantly. “It is an offer, though, the way that I train you may yet wish it were punishment.” He spoke, the grin never leaving his face. Of course, that was a clear exaggeration; the last persons he had punished had been whipped to death in the wilderness, but such banter and playful small talk were an essential part of the training process. They eased the person into the scenario so that when the time came to offer helpful tips, they would be more receptive.

The bantering voice dissipated for a few instances as he directed a new message towards her, avoiding any vestige of his earlier playfulness. “For what it counts, Navyri, I have no intention of punishing you for running off with some fellow. That happens. You needn’t worry so much… though I would appreciate a notice next time.” He smiled once more before returning to business. “Now then, are you intending to use your whip, because if you are, I’m putting my armet on? I’d rather not have you strike out one of my eyes, because I would be rather frustrated about that.”
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As a note: Noth is a Grandmaster in Intimidation. That means that he's at least as scary as the Count from Sesame Street. Beware.

"The tyrant confuses those he can't convince, corrupts those he can't confuse, and crushes those he can't corrupt." - Anonymous
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Thu Feb 15, 2018 7:39 pm

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"What if I fall?"

Oh but darling
What if you fly?
2nd of Cylus, 718
  • “It is an offer, though, the way that I train you may yet wish it were punishment.”

    "Is there another way?" she countered with a smirk, at ease the more time that passed without her left in sudden agony. While she had no doubt Mercy was capable of dealing significant damage if he wanted to, the most terrifying individuals were the emotionally unpredictable, but he seemed methodical in his actions. Logical, at the least.

    Noth spoke again and she nodded, unfamiliar with his way of handling things, "I was going to write a letter but I had a little incident." When her whip was wrapped, she slid it from her wrist, "Just Etzos being... Etzori. It's fine, I handled it." She had no other way to put it politely. A woman had accused her of stealing, and while Navyri was a thief, she had paid good coin. It was a simple display of extortion, and it boiled her blood even now, the insult by the barkeep still fresh in her mind. Birdshit.

    "It happens? Do your men run off with fellows often?" The way he worded it was almost insulting, but Mercy was being as understanding as he could, so she dismissed it and laughed, "No, I don't need two things attacking me. I have enough weapons, thank you." With deft fingers she hung it from her belt, the only obvious weapon on her persons being the claw like nails that decorated her hands. 

    A new expression came over her face, not unlike one he might have seen her wearing at the fighting pit, and she eyed him openly. What could she strike that would do the most damage? Stepping with a catlike fluidity, she started to circle him, looking for openings in his armor and nodded in approval at his mace. A good, brutal weapon, "Ready when you are."

    She shifted her weight, poised on the balls of her feet and ready to dodge or strike at a moment's notice. Navyri lifted her arms with loose fists and waited, watching him decide between his own fists or his weapon. Navyri did not fight fair. A wicked smile brightened her face, and while she shot outwards, jumping to the side and slashing towards the expected opening - his face - her boot hooked behind his foot and she tried to knock him off balance, testing his reflexes.

    This would be interesting.
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Sun Feb 18, 2018 1:31 am

The Avriel observed as the Naerikk before him allowed a grin to appear upon her visage, and he found himself entranced by it for several trills. It was not necessarily the grin itself that was so intriguing, nor any physical adoration that drew him to consider it so thoughtfully, but rather the simple novelty of it. His line of work was brutal and bloody, filled with the rent carcasses of the innocent and the guilty alike, and he had felt far too much blood litter his fingertips in so short a lifespan. The actions he had committed, the assaults and murders and the frightful features he possessed had done little to ingratiate him to others, and whilst there was a fairly high degree of loyalty that could be found in his soldiers, it would be somewhat more difficult to say that they genuinely enjoyed his company.

It was a rare occurrence that someone shot the Avriel a true grin as opposed to one based entirely upon social construct or duty, or simply because they thought it might unnerve him, as though the simple gesticulation of facial features could somehow undue his knowledge of intimidation. Others had tried such tactics in the past, and they were often greeted with just enough acknowledgement from the murderous bird to recognize that it would be of no avail before they were slain like sows to the slaughter.

He shrugged himself out of the thought, refocusing more intently upon the conversation, though the smile played as an ethereal ghost upon his mind for a few trills longer, glimpsing in and out of conscious consideration, an ephemeral enigma intent on being allowed to live. She spoke of how she had initially desired to compose a letter to inform him of her departure, but spoke of how an incident involving the Etzori had kept her from being able to write her correspondence. The manner that she had described it, although vague, seemed to tell him enough to assume that one of the more racially divisive members of their fair city had decided that she was unworthy due to her exotic features or her distinct heritage. It was a frustrating faculty of the mind to fluster at the merest presence of difference. He responded with a simple nod, accepting the brutish reality of the subject.

She further responded to his attempt at appeasing her conscious, and assuring her that she was in no harm by questioning whether or not he commonly had men who ‘ran off’. Admittedly, when he had mentioned it to her, he had been leaning more towards an inclination to desert for the sake of another person, because of either one’s own feelings regarding them, or out a compulsion to do something upright and moral. Regardless, her question in return could technically include any potential deserters to the cause, and he had been quite strict about ensuring that such flagrant abandonment would not be facilitated within his ranks. “Most soldiers do not have that privilege.”

Navyri denied using her whip, and the Avriel found himself looking at her form, attempting to discern what methodology of combat she would likely perform for their sparring match. She was notably not armored nearly as heavily as he was, and without the use of a weapon, he considered that she would likely be a fairly nimble combatant; quick upon her feet, dashing in and out of striking range as best she could before he could create an effective counterattack against her. He allowed his mace to remain at his side as he observed, recognizing that there were far greater dangers involved in using the weapon, especially against a fairly unprotected opponent, and whilst he was adamant about victory, he would prefer not to incidentally slay one of his allies.

The instant that he had readied himself, she shot forward towards him, a flicker of lightning flashing through the air with a brilliant intensity. Crimson eyes observed as she moved, the quickness of her step, the immediacy of her movements as she drew ever nearer in an instant, and then, much like the aforementioned electrical energies that charged the sky in the delivery of its wrath, he was shocked. The pain took a moment to come into conscious thought, but it came along with the sudden sensation of gentle wetness upon his cheek where the nails had made contact with their target.

His immediate instinct was to lash out, but the analysis he had delivered pre-fight had already declared such an attempt to be unlikely. He felt certain that he could grasp at her retracting hand, take hold of it, and reduce her mobility enough to deliver a steady amount of blows, but a different action was chosen the instant that he felt her leg scrape against his own as she attempted to disorient his footwork, and toss him to the floor.

Many people made the mistake of attempting to keep their leg upon the floor whenever someone was trying to trip them, and their insistence upon maintaining a foundational grip on the ground was often what led them to ignore more effective alternatives. The hybrid had been in several dozen fights, and had slain forty-seven persons in battle; he was certainly becoming far more familiar with the martial arts than most. Instead of repeating the mistakes of the many, the Avriel lifted up his targeted foot above his enemy’s and then brought it back down again with force, the talons jamming downwards in mock imagery of how a predatory bird would snatch at an unsuspecting hare.

For her sake, he hoped that her boots were made of good material, or else she’d feel a sting far worse than the one upon his cheek.
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As a note: Noth is a Grandmaster in Intimidation. That means that he's at least as scary as the Count from Sesame Street. Beware.

"The tyrant confuses those he can't convince, corrupts those he can't confuse, and crushes those he can't corrupt." - Anonymous
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Navyri
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Mon Feb 19, 2018 2:23 am

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"What if I fall?"

Oh but darling
What if you fly?
2nd of Cylus, 718
  • Navyri was not a coy fighter, nor was she a very noble one. She relished a mean fight, perhaps more than she should have and it was prominent in how she challenged a fully armored opponent with quiet excitement. There was just something about the smell of blood in the air, the taste of pain as it shocked your body that made you feel alive; the wish to keep on living. Her claws shot out, the feeling of Mercy's flesh splitting beneath her touch that made her hone in on the droplets of blood that began to glisten like art upon his blue skin, gasping when a searing fire shot through her right ankle. Hot liquid began building in her boot, and she jumped back as black liquid seeped from the split leather and dapple the floor with spilled shadow. Catching her breath of surprise, she laughed and forced herself to push off on her bad leg and duck away from any attack while she assimilated to the new injury.

    Any full hits from him would be devastating blow, armored enough to bruise and shatter. He was clearly skilled - and in a lesser mind, Navyri might have admitted his advantage over her. But she was a wicked, vain being, and so her submission would not come so easily, "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to break in a good pair of leather boots?"
     
    He had struck solidly against her leg, deflecting her deception and correcting her mistake. So used to the claws of the Naer and even of Garizma, she had forgotten Avriel could have talons upon their feet. There was little need to verbally teach her - Pain was often the best instructor to a Naer. She would not forget again.

    Being equally sized, they had similar reach on one another and so Navyri stayed close, hoping to use his lagging speed against him. If he had a chance to pull back and offer a hit with full power, it risked giving him enough advantage to knock her out. Blue eyes darted around at each of his limbs, amused to see he had still not drawn his weapon. Did she not say she was armed? Did he only think her a quick monster with very little bite?

    Very well.

    With immense focus, she watched for an opening and struck when she saw it, bringing her right hand across her chest while the other reached towards the sky and steel feathers erupted along her forearms, their razor sharp edges screeching when she slammed her extended arm downward and connected with his, raking along his inner arm as she knocked it away. Her right arm changed as well, Navyri's mastery of the Tarouz ability allowing her to change the length as she saw fit to wield. 

    Not quite as physically strong as she should have been, normally this meant just a protective barrier on her limbs in order to save stamina, but a full metal wing emerged just as fast from her crossed arm, and she squared her stance, and slammed into him, the terrible crying of the jagged shield echoing in the cavern as it bashed into his chest plate. The move was not as cruel as she craved, the pain of her bleeding leg keeping her from digging her weight down and pushing off with the same force she had imagined. This was perhaps her biggest regret. With gritted teeth, the protective feathers retracted to a short length and the Naer snatched at his collar, hoping to hook her claws into the armor and use any chance of surprise to slam her head into his face.
     
    Honor was for the birds.
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Tue Feb 20, 2018 2:23 pm

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The Prince of Eternal Mercies, much like the Naerikk thief who stood before him, was not inclined to consider himself to be a noble nor honorable fighter. It was not necessarily that he preferred to see more savage and brutal fights, though he had certainly taken part in several in his lifetime. No, it was simply an understanding that the purpose of combat was to defeat an opponent, and in many cases to exterminate them, to eradicate them from existence so that they could no longer work to resist or deny ones’ plans. Given that context, he couldn’t understand why anyone would intentionally limit themselves for the sake of a social construct. Did it really matter whether people thought that you were scum if the alternative meant that you died? The Avriel had never truly cared about the thoughts of other people anyway, recognizing that their opinions on such things were trivial, and beyond certain social strength granted by following their rules and regulations, there was little to be gained from adhering to the constructs they had set into place.

That was the reason that he had not hesitated to slide his talons into Navyri’s foot. It was not that he necessarily wanted to hurt her, because they were simply sparring, and at no point did he believe that he would lose control of himself to the point that he would legitimately attempt to slay her, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to win, to exert his dominance. He felt the stream of blood continue to pour down his cheek, and pressed his tongue against the spot on the inside of his mouth, feeling the weakness of the flesh there; he thought that if he pushed he could probably send his tongue directly through the wound.

He observed the effects of his own blow, taking note of the shadowy and black blood that began to seep out onto the floor. It was fascinating that her blood was so dark as opposed to the typical crimson that was embodied within the veins of the mortal beings. He had heard stories of course of the Naerikk as most persons had throughout their lives, and Marrow had spoken of how she had possessed some unnatural qualities involving shadows, but the sudden revelation that even her blood was marred with a sort of wicked quality seemed to strike home the point even further that she was beyond a simple human woman. The brief pause in the fight was intense and delicious to the Avriel, and that inner predatory portion of him desired to pounce forward in the moment of weakness, to wrap his gauntlets about her throat and thrash her harshly into the wall until she submitted.

His blood was crimson like others, but a certain ferocity flowed through him that was unnatural in most other races, a savagery that had been birthed into him by heritage, a predatory and natural sensation to inflict pain and suffering, to slay and brutalize in a manner that was wicked and evil. Sometimes it was difficult to discern how much of that was his Avriel blood, and how much was his lifestyle taking a toll upon his mental state, reinforcing the already murderous instincts he felt to a heightened point.

He focused upon the Naer, allowing her to recover until she began to position her hands upon herself in what could only be a martial stance. He expected her to lance forward offensively as she had before, but instead felt a tug of surprise rip at his heart as a series of steely feathers sprouted forth from her outstretched limbs, their metallic nature causing them to glint and flash in the torchlight of the cave. That was certainly not an ability of the Naer, was it? Could it be one of the accursed abilities granted to her by her cruel patron?

For all of his martial talent and familiarity with the strange and arcane, he could still be shocked enough to lose a modicum of focus. Perhaps that was the reason that he was somewhat unprepared when the feathery appendages flashed into movement once more, one of them connecting with his arm and striking it away where it could not assist in the defense. Wicked talons dug against the ground, shrieking harshly as a sudden force slammed into his chest, another scream added to the choir created by the metal impacting against its rival constructions. He was quite weighty in his armor, and that combined well with his digging in and the wound on Navyri’s leg to reduce much of the intensity of the charge, but he was nevertheless pressed backwards until he was nearly touching the rock wall.

Unfortunately, her onslaught did not end there, and as quickly as they had appeared, the steel feathers dissipated to a more miniscule form, allowing her to press the distance between them. Her hands gripped upon the collar of his armor where it normally would have connected with his armet, and he immediately regretted having removed the metallic helm. Nevertheless, he recognized the signs of a headbutt inbound, and ducked his head, allowing it to impact harshly against the top of his head to avoid damage to the more sensitive portions of his face. His teeth clacked against each other with vicious force, and he felt blood begin to swell around them as gums were burst from the force.

Predatory instinct took over, and he retaliated rapidly, his talon lashing out at her closeness and striking at her already wounded leg, focusing not upon stabbing into it, but upon inflicting a harsh physical blow for the sake of causing pain. A great black wing would snap free of its constraints, propelling him with additional forward momentum as he charged forth, his gauntleted hands outstretched to hook around the woman and carry her with him to the ground where’d promptly attempt to straddle atop her, using his excessive weight to keep her pinned.


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Credit to Pegasus


As a note: Noth is a Grandmaster in Intimidation. That means that he's at least as scary as the Count from Sesame Street. Beware.

"The tyrant confuses those he can't convince, corrupts those he can't confuse, and crushes those he can't corrupt." - Anonymous
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Navyri
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Race: Naerikk
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Show No Mercy

Tue Feb 20, 2018 5:33 pm

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"What if I fall?"

Oh but darling
What if you fly?
2nd of Cylus, 718
  • Their collision sent a pain through her skull, a throbbing that made Curio bristle from where he perched. She had to mentally command him not to come to her aid, for she could feel his desperate desire to claw at the half breed’s eyes and rip open his face. Navyri only saw a flash of great black extend outward and then pain once again erupted across her injury ike hot fire. She almost fell to her knee but used her good leg to stumble backwards, giving Noth the opening he needed to swoop towards her.

    The Naer tried to resist but it was too late. His arm locked around her like a vice and they went crashing to the ground, the armored terror closing in on his victory. There was a tension in the air, the brutality of their scuffle not often seen in simple spars.
    One could argue it was a battle between two monstrous races, such violence common between their ancestors and even now. But to an onlooker, it was more than just a spar. It was a challenge - a means to solidify the hierarchy. Navyri came and went as she pleased, not a high ranking officer in the organization, nor a means to fully justify it. She knew their location without it having been revealed to her and took liberties where she wanted. An open agent of Delroth,she was clear in her support of the immortals while she stayed in the city of Etzos. Perhaps it was time she got put in her place.

    Not that Navyri would ever admit it.

    The sounds alone were terrible. A great roar of metal grinding into stone, Navyri thrashed liked a wild animal when she felt his weight press upon her and did not make it easy for the heavier opponent. She retracted her defenses and tried to squirm free from his clutches, suddenly a bunny in the vice of a hawk. As they wrestled upon the ground, his armor dug into her and crushed her, her chest rising and falling in quick succession as a panic began to seep into her composure.

    Navyri growled in frustration, her own white wings unfolding in beautiful power. They controlled the wind with great gusts, stirring up dust with each willful resistance. She gripped at his arms, her nails scratching into the surface as her legs tried to dig in enough to get some leverage and push him off. But the Naer was tiring, her muscles warm from exertion, and so Mercy pinned her between his knees, the smell of his sweat suffocating her.

    He reared back a hand and brought it down like divine justice, rocking her pretty face to the side. Curio became more restless in her mind, so much so it almost bleed into her own emotions - Something that had not happened since her childhood.

    Her face ached and throbbed, her leg hot in its pool of black blood. Smears of the dark substance glistened upon the floor and her mouth held a familiar metallic taste from biting her own tongue upon impact. She wheezed and then smiled, her teeth stained in horror. A break of her illusion - a glimpse of the terrible thing she was underneath her skin.

    Twisting beneath him, Navyri pushed upward and spat the ebony fluid at his face, watching as it splattered upon him like spilled ink. She aimed for the eyes, hoping to blind or slow him, needing an opportunity. As soon as it left her mouth, she began bucking beneath him, throwing her hips upward to slam against his, each bit of momentum used to unpin her wings and push off from the ground beneath her.

    Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to turn the tide. After all, two wings are better than one.
Last edited by Navyri on Wed Feb 21, 2018 1:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Noth
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Show No Mercy

Tue Feb 20, 2018 6:47 pm

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The Avriel felt assorted aches and pains flare across his body as he continued to struggle with the thief. Gradually, deeper and deeper breaths were being forced from his chest, his torso heaving as he attempted to suckle in enough air to supply all of his musculature in its battle against the foe. He had certainly been in worse scraps throughout his life, though there was little doubt that this was the roughest training he had ever attempted before. Typically, rules were established beforehand which dictated the winner, and often they were simple things like whomever drew first blood, but they had not attempted to restrain themselves in like manner, and so now they continued their struggle far beyond the point where it would normally have ended.

A part of the Avriel recognized why neither of them had surrendered, why it would be so anathema to the both of them to admit defeat. Theirs both were races of dominators, of subjugators, conquerors, and perhaps most obviously, enslavers. The two of them had come from bloodlines that relished dominance, and some semblance of that likely leaked into their modern thoughts, their intentions, the way that they felt about certain activities. This entire process, the fighting, the verbal quips, the threatening, and perhaps even the better moments, the smiles and the jests and the good-natured gesticulations… all of it was a part of that ancient activity of determining who was on top, which of the pair was the Alpha, and which was the Omega.

The Prince was a warrior, a killer and a fighter, a person who had been in a great number of armed conflicts and survived, and that experience had granted him some wisdom in regards to himself, in regards to his capabilities, strengths, and occasionally even his weaknesses. He recognized that he would tire out soon; a side-effect of using heavy armor in combination with the vigorous movements he had attempted, and so he would need to end the fight as quickly as possible lest he suddenly lose whatever advantage he had mustered with his greater martial talent.

Thankfully, his offensive had worked to his advantage. The instant that he had made contact with her wounded leg, she had very nearly tumbled to the ground. That would actually have been rather unfortunate for the hybrid, because his assault had hinged upon a successful combination of rapid attacks culminating in the final tackle, and it would be nigh impossible to redirect his momentum after it had already begun. The Fates themselves seemed to be on his side, however, because instead of falling to the ground, she managed to keep her footing, which allowed him to slam into her like a comet slams into the Idalosian soil.

It had been evident from the beginning that her physicality did not support the lifting of heavy weights, nor did she seem particularly inclined towards physical labor involving excessive strength or toughness. That was partly the reason that he had instinctively regarded her as a being capable of inflicting somewhat lesser damage unarmed, though clearly he had been rather wrong in the assumption. Nevertheless, now that his platemail was pressing down upon her, it became evident that she was struggling to rid herself of the weighty mass crushing her. He held her against the floor as best as he was capable, taking note of the way that her wings thrashed and slammed against the air and the floor, spastically moving so as to allow her to escape his grasp.

He attempted to quell and subdue her violent movements somewhat by striking her in the face, intent on disorienting her, listening intently to the dull thud that it made as the gauntleted fist made contact. He did not bother so much with restraining himself, instead allowing the blow to fall heavily, recognizing that too hold back so late in the fight could spell disaster for his chances at victory. She wheezed from the impact, and then smiled upwards at him, her mouth painted in the black and shadowy blood that had been expelled by the blow. He matched her smile with his own, displaying the wet crimson that too had swelled within his mouth, and allowed a quick single-note chuckle to escape from him at the similarity between the two.

Whatever kinship might have been possessed was tossed away in favor of continuing the fight, and he felt somewhat wet and liquid splash across his face, blinding her for a few moments as he attempted to blink away the substance. The difficulty with wearing armor as opposed to standard cloth was that it was rather difficult to wipe away things stuck in one’s eyes upon plate, and so he released the grip on one of his arms and promptly cleaned off his vision with a quick swipe of the hand. Underneath him, the Naer bucked and shifted like an unruly mare, refusing to be broken even after she had so plainly been dominated.

Perhaps he had been mistaken. It took only a few moments of the bucking to remove part of his balance, and the sway and swing of her wings allowed her to wiggle out partially from underneath of him. The Avriel was beginning to lose his straddle upon her, the wriggling wretch managing to slide out from underneath him even as he pressed downwards. His hands worked quickly, clutching at handfuls of meat and cloth and leather without thought to modest decency. One hand clutched roughly upon her thigh, and he yanked himself forward by it, allowing himself to fall rather heavily atop her once more.

No more was he straddling her in nearly as dominant a position, but now he found himself laying atop her, not altogether like how a person lays a wooden board atop another one. Crimson eyes glared into blue, and the Avriel cackled softly to himself, his tone full of amusement and wickedness.

“Clever.” He uttered, refusing to re-position his limbs any further for fear of losing his place atop her once more should she begin to wriggle.


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Credit to Pegasus


As a note: Noth is a Grandmaster in Intimidation. That means that he's at least as scary as the Count from Sesame Street. Beware.

"The tyrant confuses those he can't convince, corrupts those he can't confuse, and crushes those he can't corrupt." - Anonymous
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