[Scalvoris Mountains] Nothing lasts forever

[Ent]

The beast did not pause and it did not hesitate, it only hungered for the living flesh that clung to Pash and Kali's bones. So it did not hesitate to attack them whether prepared or not, it did seem to flinch somewhat when fire waved near it but either fortunately or unfortunately depending on the outcome of Kali'rials arrows it focused more fully on the Empath. Launching itself at the man, beak wide open and heading for the Biqaj's head. The movement that it made was predictable yet not something that was easy to adjust for and as it turned further away from Kali the eyes would be a harder target.

Being near the top of the food chain before dying the beast had little need to look anywhere but ahead at its prey and so from the side the eyes were a small target, from behind it would be impossible. Still, Kali's first shot did hit the beast, digging into its head but missing the eye. Fortunately for the beast it had no use for its brain now and continued to pursue the Bard. If Kali wanted to take out the monsters eyes she would have to move to be directly behind Pash.

As the Hunter and the Bard fought one abomination another was about to begin but not quite how the lovers had intended. The turmoil inside Alexander that raged every trill of every trial was again switching and as his rage began to be suppressed and the scheming side took over. He still attacked, however some what more controlled than he would have before.

His red sword tightly in his hands he watched Faith and Padraig carefully as he approached. He walked, keeping his centre of mass low to avoid being knocked over or falling easily on the uneven ground. "I don't need to tell you my story, like dear Faith here you would not understand." The sword twisted slightly as he reached striking distance, considering his first move, facing too opponents was a challenge. Attacking one would leave you open to another and attacking both was near to impossible with overreaching and doing the same as before.

Instead of either of the options the necromancer resolved to test the blades of his enemies, making a small cross wards slash that collided with the different materials. His motives their were unclear as he did not follow up much besides keeping at a comfortable distance where only their blades could really reach one another.

"I can only hope that if you survive this one day they show you their true sides, the immortals lie and deceive us, they take mortals for fools as if we could not even understand how to wipe our arses." He again tested their blades assuming they had not begun their own testing or even further with attacks against him. "Yet there are no immortals here now, just those who could not perceive their divine plans." The clashing of the blades rang out over the icy mountain side as he made a braver move.

Moving his sword as if he were once again to test the blades he applied more force against the second blade he came into contact with, Faith's. With this force he would push it aside but quickly pull his blade back again towards Padraig's beginning the first proper engagement of the duel. Faith momentarily out of the picture but with the opportunity to quickly come back in while Alexander threw a flurry of fast and powerful blows at Padraig. He did not aim for the sword any longer but instead moved every attack smoothly from one to the other aiming for hips, legs, head, anything that was exposed.

[Faith Augustin]

]

For all of the terror which ran through her veins and froze her more than the snow ever could, for all of the exhaustion and emotional battering she had taken - despite the dread which she had in the pit of her stomach, as Padraig's arms wrapped around her and the ground heaved, Faith felt better. Stronger and more able to deal with whatever came than she had since she felt the pinch in her neck as she walked home. Because he was here, he was with her and she was with him. Together, they were stronger than they were apart and more than that? They were bonded by the bonds of Qylios, the mark of Famula and the love which they shared. Together, they were more than the sum of their parts and so, as the floor rocked and flung them about, she held on to him and in those trills she calmed.

So, rather than on the edge of hysteria, she was just absolutely terrified.

They were separated into pairs but Faith knew that she couldn't worry about Pash and Kali now, other than to pray to Moseke, Famula and Vri that they looked after all those souls who lived and loved here this trial. The two of them, her and Padraig stood and she felt the familiar weight of his sword in her hand as he produced a sword of light from the blessing of Qylios which granted him that ability. He was of the same mind as her, they shared thoughts and opinions on the matter; so they did not rush in, did not charge and instead simply stood firm. Together.

Alexander spoke and Faith watched carefully as he moved. His red sword flashed and he was, Faith was suddenly sure, playing with them. He seemed to be testing her sword and then Padraig's and so Faith made sure that when she parried she did so by careful moving of the sword, repositioning of herself. As much as she did not recognise it, Faith's expertise with a sword was apparent here; small movements, the smallest ones needed to simply not be where he was striking. Not meeting force with force but instead ensuring that he did not hit.

It was like a dance and over the arcs, she had learned it better than she knew.

The first proper engagement was with her and then he turned his attention to Padraig and Faith did not believe it for a moment. Not a single one. So, the young human woman did what came naturally to her. Padraig felt and thought the same thing, she knew and so as Alexander pushed her away, she moved fluidly and seemed to be stepping in to his side, where the opening was. The opening which she was more than three quarters convinced he had left for her. She stepped towards it and then, from nowhere, the hummingbird flew in and started to flap around his face, pecking at his eyes and, hopefully, distracting him.

As that happened, Faith moved and attempted to slice with Padraig's sword, aiming not to commit any feat of great strength, but instead to simply cut off his fingers. Because then, he could not hold a sword against Padraig any more, he could not do so. They were thin and strong those fingers, she knew and she knew where they wrapped around the hilt of that blade. It was there that she struck, hopefully as he was focused on Padraig and distracted by the hummingbird.

Not where he expected, over on the other side, not where seemed obvious. In all things, Faith aimed to always be Padraig's secret weapon and here, that was an actuality. She was his, he was hers and the hummingbird was there for them both.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Unarmed Combat Reference

Forward dodge motions for reference to what Pash is attempting. The good stuff is around 1:45.

The undead beast was huge—larger than any creature Pash had been close to save for a handful of whales in the Orm’del sea—and it would have been beyond terrifying had Pash allowed himself to feel those things. He would have drown in fear, surely, but instead he denied himself the deep ochre and dark orange threads of horror and worry from even forming in his tangle by Hemming those threads back as someone would hem a pair of pants. Instead, he waved the bright glowing flames of the torch Padraig had lit, lagoon blue eyes focused with his Empathy-altared bravado on the lumbering, powerful undead minion as it turned its attentions on himself.

He didn’t miss its flinching as the fires licked toward its face when he swung the brand, and that realization encouraged the seafaring musician even though it meant he’d still need to bring his whole self closer within the creature’s reach in order to do any harm to it, in order to keep it busy.

Its beaked head swung toward him, well-preserved but still far from fresh maw looming toward his pretty face, mindlessly hungry for his silver-veined flesh. It was exactly what the tall Biqaj wanted, foolish as he was with his heart pounding in his pointed ears and his breath all but frozen in his burning lungs. As the snow beast’s head came toward him, Pash attempted to dodge forward, not back or away, ducking to one side with a roll of his upper body and a forceful wave of the torch where his head should have been as he surged bodily toward the large beast’s personal space. While he was far too tall to walk under the beast and he now exposed himself to the raking of claws if they were ready for him, he also recognized the creature was slow, much slower than himself despite its power, and so long as he kept his attention on how it began to turn in order to counter his move, he hoped to continue to dodge it as best as he could.

His aim was to distract it, to keep its attention until he either found an opportunity to shove the torch somewhere that would hurt or until he found something that made it work—did it have a stone in its chest like Padraig had shown them from the wooden dolls? Was it animated in a similar fashion? He hoped to spot it, to see some sign of what made it move and obey and mock life. Maybe he could dig it out or Kali’rial could have something to aim for, for the arrow lodged in the undead creature’s head appeared to have little effect on it. He doubted stabbing it in its mummified, unbeating heart would matter either.

They had to find whatever was keeping it in motion, and he desperately hoped this snow monster was just a bigger, hairier, deadlier doll.

Pash also had to keep himself safe—specifically alive— so he lowered his stance and attempted to fluster the beast with dodges and feints with the torch, staying close to it so it couldn’t get a swing in or so that it couldn’t get its head turned inward enough to gnaw on his handsome flesh. Growing up, his cousin and his uncle had always been stronger than him, heavier, and more powerful, but he'd learned to be faster, to be smarter, and to be patient. Where Torim would get frustrated and lash out, Pash would wait for his opportunity. This was similar, but much more risky. It was not just a face full of sand or a bruise, it was his entire life on the line. He could only keep up the Hem that held his fear at bay and the ruse of his unarmed, torch-waving dodges for so long, however, aware of his Empathy limitations as well as the limitations of his speed and prowess in the cold.

”It’s no’ alive, no’ like we’re used to. We can’t shoot it like it’s another hafrein. D’ y’ see anythin’ like that doll had on Th’ Muse, qua’ma?”

[Padraig]

[img]/gallery/image ... ge_id=5045[/img]

The man couldn't be more wrong. He just didn't know it. It wasn't that Padraig wouldn't understand his story, whatever it was. He liked to think he was a learned enough man that he'd understand completely. The real question was, would he care. And he wouldn't. Not in the least. He gave just the slightest lift of his shoulder as Faith's abductor approached, as if it was neither here nor there. He might liked to have heard it anyway. Somewhere, scattered in and around the tale would be details that Padraig could use against him. To manipulate him, goad him into foolish mistakes.

He wasn't going to rely on foibles though, but himself and his skill with a sword. Faith and hers. And apparently, their little hummingbird friend. A creature known for it's scrappy, territorial nature. The attacker stayed mostly out of reach, meaning that if Padraig wanted to take the offensive, he'd need to step into it. It might be what the man wanted, but he wouldn't have it. The testing blows were met with defensive blocks, nothing fancy, no indication of skill beyond the norm but more utilitarian. Block, sweep away, block the next and no more complicated than that. No real hints as to what his real skill with a sword might be.

"Wrong again," he said. "You assume that because any given mortal has blessed me with their gifts, that I actively worship the divine. I do not, and have made no promises to do so in the future." And his plans were his own. His and Faith's. If he didn't need an Immortal to lay those out for him, he certainly didn't need it from this abomination. In taking them both on at once, Faith and Padraig, he inevitably left openings that could be taken advantage of. Padraig would And apparently so would Faith and her hummingbird both. He didn't doubt his love's tenacity, even if she sometimes displayed it in unexpected ways. After all, he'd once witnessed her at work, beating a pirate senseless with an ordinary kitchen chair.

This was warfare on a very small scale. War wasn't polite, fair, sporting. It was ugly and without rules. And while his skill in swordplay had increased with Qylios' blessing, this was no game and he wasn't interested in fancy maneuvers or in drawing out what might be finished more quickly, however brutal it might be. The man would have to contend with Faith's maneuver, with the swarming hummingbird, and him all at once. He took advantage and raising his sword in an arc to block the blow, he completed the motion to swipe the red blade away completely before leaning into a thrust just below the man's rib cage.

[Kali'rial]

"Damn it!" Kali'rial snapped as her arrow embedded pretty much harmlessly in the creatures skull, missing the eye entirely and watching as the undead beast moved for Pash. Her archery was so far as useful as breasts on a bull! Clearly she needed something bigger, something bolder, to turn the tide in this battle. Watching the Biqaj roll towards the monster with her heart in her throat, the huntress swore colorfully and looked around.

The lantern.

A little boiling container of thick pitchy oil encased somewhat in a glass bauble. It was pure hope, but Kali reached to grab the handle and ran to move up closer to the battle, but more behind the creature away from it's beady line of sight.

Pash was yelling at her. Did it have something like the doll? What the...

Of course! Like the gemstone heart that Padraig had found that was buried inside the hull of the wooden doll's chest in Scalvtown. This was a much larger, much hairer and much more dangerous doll. Still, if she could distract the beast with fire, perhaps she could get a better shot of the underbelly.

Please work, please work, please work.

Moving around to get better footing, the brunette Sev'ryn twisted her upper body to throw the burning lantern at the snowy abominations exposed side like one would throw a discus, praying silently to Moseke that the oily insides would burst onto the matted fur and catch. Not waiting to watch her handiwork Kali ran forward, drawing and nocking an arrow, watching for an exposure of the soft underbelly whilst keeping an eye on the vicious beak and clawed hands.

"I don't see anything yet, but we need to open it up maybe?! In the chest, or the belly!" If anything maybe it would get tangled in it's own Immortal's-be-damned intestines and they could get the advantage.

[Ent]

Pash was a brave man it seemed as he moved forward rather than back in the face of the beast. While his movement and skill were evident it did not stop the monster from adapting to face its enemies own attacks. The claw raising from the floor ready to swipe until the beast's side was lit on fire by the lantern that Kali had thrown.

A terrifying roar echoed across the mountainside as the creature reared up onto its hind legs, swiping immediately at the Biqaj. It was not the time to talk to his lover and the distraction of doing so would cost him as would Kali's attack. The creatures talons came into contact with the Bard's abdomen and sent him off his feet tumbling and bleeding into a mound of snow a few feet away from where he had just stood. A gash traced along the left side of his rib cage, luckily failing to pierce any major organs or break through the bone defence.

Kali was safe at her distance but she was unable to reach the creatures innards as her and Pash had believed would be the way to bring it down.

Meanwhile the creature's howls would continue as it searched for the source of its agony. It was not clear whether the flames that began to spread over its fur made the beast more or less of a threat. The burning animal thrashing and lashing out managing to cause more trouble than it solved as the monstrous tail saved its master on accident.

While the bird came to their aid and began to attack Alexander so came the tail, colliding with Faith as she swung for Alexander's flank. Meanwhile Padraig would land his attack just before the bird was ripped from his face and crushed in a tight balled fist and dropped into the snow. Oddly Alexander did not scream in agony but only winced taking a hold of the cross guard of the sword and kicking the scientist backwards to leave the blade planted in his stomach.

Then came the removal of the blade, a quick movement that again sprayed out no blood but instead came out clean. "You will have to try harder than that my friend." He threw the blade back to its owner and once again readied himself for battle, the fibres of his flesh already beginning to grow and reknit themselves together. He was ready to attack as soon as his enemy was on his feet and armed once again, a fight where the enemy was down was not a fight at all and no fun for the necromancers current personality.

Faith would quickly regain her full composure while lying about ten feet away from the two duelling men her sword somewhere in the vast white as it had flown free after she was struck. With some searching either careful and clever or frantic and messy she would find it again.

[Faith Augustin]

The roar of the snow-creature sent her skin into gooseflesh, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling and lifting at the sound. Damnit all, but that thing sounded awful. She couldn't afford to focus on that, however, Faith's attention had to be entirely on what she was doing. This was simply too important and she had to keep her focus. So, she did just that and she focused on attacking Alexander. She had a clear strike, she was sure of it and her focus was on that, entirely.

Right up until she felt a pain in her side and the floor moved. What a strange thing, she thought as she flew through the air, the ground was moving and the pain in her side was exploding. How odd that the two things happened at once, she thought, as the realisation of what had happened hit her in a rather belated fashion.That was why she couldn't breathe now, she considered, because the snow creature's tail had hit her and sent her flying ten feet away.

Faith landed, twisting to try and see where Padraig was, what he was doing and if he was alright. The snow was soft enough as she landed and Faith took in a large gulp of air. Everything about her wanted to grab her sword and run at the man. Or, if she couldn't grab her sword, to charge at him with bare hands and rip his Immortals' damned head off his accursed shoulders.But as she stood, she heard Alexander's voice. Something in it chilled her to the bones, made her feel cold in a way that snow couldn't; it was the fact that he was talking to Padraig. He was talking to Padraig and that was not acceptable; so, Faith looked around with an almost-calm expression on her face and scanned the ground, searching methodically until she found her sword. When she did, she moved and picked it up then walked over to Padraig.

In other circumstances, she'd consider that maybe she should communicate what she was thinking, but she didn't need to, so Faith just stood, retrieved her sword and moved to stand next to Padraig. Together, they were undoubtedly stronger in every way imaginable. Shoulder to shoulder, together and facing their common enemy. If Alexander thought to attack him then Faith would stop him and hurt him without hesitation and, should he think to do the same thing to her, well Padraig would not hesitate.

As much as she wanted to charge at Alexander recklessly, as much as every instinct was to run forward because she was afraid and her response to fear was always fight, never flight, Faith took fight to a different place. Standing with Padraig, not rushing in like an individual and not putting them in the position where he picked them off individually. Whatever Padraig did in response to Alexander's words, Faith worked with him. If Padraig attacked, she did the same and attempted to flank him. If he stood his ground and forced Alexander to move, then she stood next to him and with him.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

His mother, Ilynn, would have perhaps taken this moment to remind him just how often in his youth his mouth had gotten him into serious trouble. So much trouble. She would have stood over him, weft from her loom in her smooth hand, and reprimanded him for letting his words get the better of his judgement. Cassandra would have chided him, too, perhaps taunted him that he was far too sober, that maybe avoiding more stitches would have been easier had he let his cousin Torim get him wasted first, much to the chagrin of that same better judgement … Torim would have simply told him he was an idiot before tackling him back to the ground and pinning him with his superior weight.

Then again, when one Hemmed away their fear with their own spark, what exactly was left to weigh such better judgement down with?

Pain.

Oh, pain.

Pash had quite literally turned just in time to catch the undead snow beast’s slash to his chest, mid-step into a movement that may have by some slim chance moved him out of the way had he not been talking, thinking, desperate to find some way to bring the creature down. Instead, he was too slow, distracted, and the last words that hung on his cold lips were ripped into a howled noise of surprised pain with the swipe of talons through winter layers and into his own tanned flesh. The force of the blow cut his vocal expression short by knocking the rest of his breath from his burning lungs and tossing him down roughly into the snow.

The torch slipped from his grip, flames sputtering and wavering against the frozen moisture. The tall Biqaj groaned, curling into the cold ground not just in pain, but more so suddenly overwhelmed by the tidal wave force of his own fear as his careful hemming unraveled like a tightly-wound spring into his tangle, ripping through his bravado and humor without mercy. The creature roared and its sound resounded off stone and ice, Pash barely aware that Kali’rial had succeeded in setting it on fire. The rush of feelings threatened to keep him down more than the wound that burned against the snow, the liquid warmth of his silver blood spreading against the under layers of his clothing a clear sign of the depth of his wound.

Still, the seafaring musician grit his teeth and began to move, aware that the lives of others were still at stake and in his mind mattered much more than his own. The dazzling, chaotic swarm of threads that was his own tangle blinded him as he shifted to shove himself up to his knees as quickly as he could muster, and he found himself unable to even attempt to hem back his fear again with the angry, deep sensation of pain gnawing so hungrily at his attention. He’d just have to embrace those feelings, too, and not fight against them: the fear that hitched his breath and stung his lungs, the worry that ate at his resolve, and the concern that burned his bravado like a candle lit at both ends, not to mention the hot awareness that he was steadily leaking steaming stardust onto the pale snow. He had to sail those currents, into the wind.

Pash snatched for the torch with an angry hiss, now-dark, stone grey gaze returning to focus on the thrashing beast in time to see its tail toss Faith and Padraig impale her undead captor.

Who didn’t care. Of course.

Immortals, have mercy. They had to be enough. There just couldn’t be any failure this trial.

“Get up. Get up. By Zanik’s strength, get up!” He growled to himself in Rakahi, though his baritone lingered on the sounds as he repeated them until the words became a hum, a song, and he shoved himself up onto his feet, the rush of terrified adrenaline thrumming in his pointed ears like the beat of a drum on the shores of Lake Rea in Ne’Haer. Fear tasted far too much like blood and the colors of terror were vibrantly ugly in his tangle. He looked to the dark-haired Sev’ryn, wanting to assure her, wanting to make sure that something foolish didn’t happen in her fear for his safety, but at the same time, it wasn’t as if the undead creature really gave them much breathing room to discuss their plans.

The snow beast was writhing and desperately suffering as heat and flame from Kali’rial’s thrown lantern caught and spread across its fur but it was far from dead (again). Pash lifted the fiery brand that had begun to burn brightly once more, set his jaw, and leapt upward, forward again. His true goal was the safety of the lithe huntress over himself, though still he desperately wanted to find some kind of weakness in the undead beast—did it work in the same way as a doll? Was fire its only weakness?—there had to be something to see. There had to be a better way. There had to be some chink in its armor, though as the creature thrashed, it could very well cause even more trouble for the four of them instead of for its master, smashing into them all or worse.

Whatever the case, the pain from the gash in his side became a fresh wind in his sails instead of an anchor. First blood could go to the beast, so be it, but, by his Zanik-touched lute, that ugly undead minion wouldn’t be getting another ounce of it from the salty bard if he could help it.

Damn it all.

Pash looked to see what his Sevir lover was doing, either to move to support her in her choice with a well-timed swing of his torch or to bodily get her out of the way of danger, whichever came first, resisting the urge to simply charge the snow beast and bury the torch into its face. It was so tempting that he had to let the sharp edge of his own pain temper that thought, but it was difficult.

Off Topic

If there’s an opening, a torch is going to go somewhere vulnerable to set the beast more on fire, disable it, or otherwise bring some more pain. If there’s something obvious like the dolls had to keep it animated, Pash is gonna go for that. If Kali does something endangering, Pash is going to attempt to prevent injury. Alexander’s feels. I want to eat them. Nom nom nom. Give them to meeeee. If I don’t bleed all over the mountain. Touché.

[Kali'rial]

Yes! It worked, by the Grace of the Immortals it had worked. Kali felt a surge of joy as flames caught heartily on the beasts matted wiry hide, short lived however when she watched with horror as the monster caught Pash with sharp talons across his torso.

"NOOO!" She let out a primal scream of rage, wanting to run to him as fury boiled in her veins. She saw red, heart thumping in her chest and periwinkle eyes bright with anger. As the stupid creature managed to take out Faith in it's desperate attempt to find the source of its pain, the huntress drew her arrow back and took aim at the hind leg of the beast in the hope of hamstringing it, releasing and moving to draw another even as she moved towards the abomination. Not once did she look at Pash, the terror of possibly seeing her lover dead in the snow was too much to handle now, too much of a distraction.

If he was dead, then...

Releasing another arrow at the undead monsters ankle, she pressed to move around in front of it, a guttural sound still coming from her. Shooting another arrow, and another, Kali'rial grit her teeth and aimed for anything that came near her. Head, claws, tail...it honestly didn't matter anymore. She knew that her arrows would run out soon, and the brunette's ire burned deeply, but she had a goal. A purposeful mark. She just needed to get it grounded.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the Biqaj, silvery life force draining from the gash in his side yet still the foolish bard went for the beast. Relief and renewed anger swept over the huntress. He was alive, and yet ran into the face of the beast as though he didn't care for his own well being.

Damn it all, did he have a death wish?!

If the bard managed to live through this trial, Kali was going to tear strips off him...after she kissed him.

"Look at me you Immortals be damned abomination!" The Sev'ryn screamed suddenly in Xanthean, drawing another arrow and aiming at the vile beasts eye again. If she could get the shot, maybe they could get it down long enough to get close with blades, cut it's throat or it's belly.

Screaming at it again, Kali'rial would wait until it's beady eye was on her before releasing the shot.

[Padraig]

[img]/gallery/image ... ge_id=5045[/img]

Padraig inwardly damned the creature that inadvertently stepped in to save its master. He hadn't been able to spare it much focus, except to hope that Pash and Kali'rial managed to survive the fight. The scholar only vaguely caught sight of it's great tail, sweeping in with all the thing's weight behind the gesture. One that would knock Faith off her feet and prevent her own blows from landing. And his own sense of satisfaction, come of sinking a blade deep into the man's belly was short lived. In a sense, he wasn't actually alive after all.

Under other circumstances he'd have rushed to Faith's side when she was tossed off into the snow. But knowing that she was alright, it would have split his focus, a mistake that could cost her life. At the same time, as he was pushed backwards and was forced to scramble tor retrieve his own sword, Padraig also opted not to rush in again. In spite of the aggressor's taunts. It was what he wanted, after all, and the scholar resolved that he wouldn't have it. He'd force the bastard to advance. Defending meant guarding the vulnerable spots. Advancing and attacking meant, by virtue of necessity, leaving some of those open. He'd take advantage of those, so soon as Faith was by his side again.

And she was. He knew what she was feeling, thinking, and he knew the same of her. And what reason to rush in anyway? He'd already plunged his blade into the other man to little effect. But what had Faith said? Fire. And behind him, the torch was presumably still burning. He knew that where he went, Faith would move with him. With that in mind, and an eye on her abductor, Padraig seemed to retreat backwards. At least until he was able to reach the torch and pick it up off the ground. And then? Let the bastard advance. Step by step, he'd sweep the lit torch in an arc, hoping to catch fire to their opponent. Sufficient predictable steps backwards, then Padraig would finally advance, jabbing and slashing with the torch in an effort to make contact.