The Prophecy

[Autumn Leaf]

A flash ripped across William's mind as the door slowly pushed open. At least her first line of defense was not strong enough to keep out William's manipulative abilities. Then again, he had yet to meet someone who could lock their secrets from William if he wished to know them. His figure was dry, unlike his physical form, and the flash blinded him momentarily before his silver eyes adjusted slowly to the vision behind the shape-shifting massive doors. As soon as his eyes found the sight of Annabelle, fully ready for combat, he knew he had to escape. If Annabelle killed him in her own mind, his body would remain a shell, his mind slain. His mental vision began to blur as the rest of Annabelle's army began to show itself, and William broke the bond.

His hand flew back against his chest swiftly pounding against it from where it had been placed on Annabelle's head. He was disorientated, but she was as well, though she gained herself much faster because William's mind was still under some effect of piaan. He gasped for breath, but saw no air that flew into his lungs. His mind then processed that air was invisible and he did not need to see it fly into his body to know he was breathing. However, as he gasped a strong hand slapped him across his face. A woman had never slapped William before, due to luck or otherwise. It surprised him, it was remarkably painful, and she turned with a scowl and continued on her way, past the young deigan girl. William raised his right hand to his cheek, which was red from the slap. He brushed it off, however unfamiliar it was to suffer such disrespect. The deigan girl before him, after Annabelle was out of sight, offered sympathy, questioning if he was alright.

William smiled, his mouth slightly open before he shut it and swallowed. He bowed to the deigan girl, examining her closely. She was young, though it was difficult to tell with deigan sometimes. She seemed like she had only recently matured. William remembered the day he turned forty, so young back then... He guessed she was around fifty or so, maybe a bit older or younger. William's smile faded a bit when he recalled his father, but it returned when the memory was dashed away by the guardsman in his head that did his best to keep such pains from entering William's thoughts. William's mouth parted again to speak, just as Zacharias came beside him and gave William the assurance that he needed. Zacharias would not kill Annabelle if he could help it. Still, Zacharias would need to actually be victorious to be granted the chance to show mercy, and of this William had doubts. Zacharias then followed Annabelle and her young underling outside of the manor.

William had no desire to watch, and felt that at least now they had a break from Annabelle's insanity for awhile. All he could do was hope that the outcome was to William's liking, and that no one would have to die or suffer more pain then necessary. William's gaze fell back on the girl before him and his smile grew back again. He spoke now, uninterrupted, as he backed up a bit.

"Come along, you intrude on nothing but tension, and if you could be the blade that severs it for me I would be eternally grateful."

He turned around, hoping she would follow him back to the laboratory. He slid past the large Brian who remained, and who William wished would follow his matron so they could be spared of all memory of her for now. This would not be the case. William's still soaked form moved over to where Aemoten and Gerald still were placed. He crossed his arms then, and spoke.

"What is it you then know, Gerald? While Zacharias subdues Annabelle we will be free from the mad paladin, and I hope to learn as much as we can before the possibility of her madness decending upon us again interrupts us."

[MeinKampfyChair]

Once she asked her question another deigan man walked into the hallway and placed his hand on the other's shoulder. From what she gathered this man and the blond woman were... Going to kill each other? Once he said what he had to he gave Meila a nod which she smiled back at in reply sheepishly. He was then as gone as quick as he came.

It was then the other deigan male looked to her and smiled. He replied, "Come along, you intrude on nothing but tension, and if you could be the blade that severs it for me I would be eternally grateful." Before Meila could reply he turned and began to walk in the direction that he and the blond woman from earlier had came in. Meila blinked and with a nod followed him through the mansion.

Soon enough they arrived at a laboratory in the mansion. Meila looked around at the room with widened green eyes. She was surprised such a place would be in a mansion in a town like this! Her eyes soon went over to the others in the room. The deigan man had called one of them Gerald... From his speech it was now clear that the other deigan, Zacharias was it? And that woman, Annabelle, did indeed intend on fighting.

Meila, whose attention had been the deigan male's at the time, turned to the other men in the room. She greeted them with a bow but said nothing. She didn't want to interrupt anymore then she probably already has. The girl couldn't help but wonder why the deigan had said what he did in the hallway. Her being the blade that severs tension for him? Meila wanted to feel confident that she had the ability to do it but the threatening appearance of 'Annabelle' was still fresh in her mind. The sadistic smile the woman had worn didn't help her self confidence much, either.

[Dreadlord]

Immanuel retained his position next to the door, his left foot outstretched, holding him up, while his right foot was resting on the wall. In his hand was a half filled bottle, something he wanted to change sooner or later. Immanuel lifted his pothelm off his head, setting it carefully on a table next to him, a table covered with vials and bottles filled with unimaginable things. Or, at least, Immanuel couldn't imagine what was in them. He grunted with passing laughter, or at least a chuckle. The mage, laid on the table, was helped up by two people, one of which the large man who had been threatening others. They walked him out of the room, presumably to give him a bath. Following this, the armored figure moved on to the human in one of the corners, grabbing his face in her hands before stripping him above the waist. Her hands paused on his neck, and suddenly the man reached for his weapon, for a second, and then she was apologizing and moving on - or about to, when the dark clad figure offered her water - which she promptly threw back at him violently, but not before a soaking wet mage returned, patting another deigan - was that a demon?! - and telling him something about his claws having trust. She screamed at him that he was an evil person and all of that, and then told her lackeys to keep him in the corner.

She then turned and gave the demon mentioned earlier a hug and muttered soothing words to it. Immanuel opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a Melenian came up and gave a speech about how the woman, Annabelle he saw she was called, appeared to be hated among the group. The human in the corner she had healed - or tried to kill - earlier also berated her, before asking another figure - one Immanuel had failed to notice, but saw that he was covered with taut, pale skin, the shape of the skull extremely obvious under the tightened skin. Immanuel took a swig of the rum, its taste lost on him as he once again opened his mouth to speak - but then was interrupted, once again, by the mage and the other man on the throne-like chair - who was revealed to be a necromancer - and the Annabelle woman, challenging the assassin from outside to a duel, after he arrived and for the third time berated her for being immature. Immanuel didn't really blame them - all things considered, he didn't know the people in this room, but Annabelle seemed to have the mindset of a child.

Immanuel watched as the woman stormed from the room, both of her lackeys following, before she screamed at one to go back and watch the dark clad deigan. The mage, William, followed after her, while the man who had had himself strangled by Annabelle, tried to dissuade the assassin, Zacharias, from entering into the duel. Zacharias, however, refused, stated the obvious that the woman needed her mindset changed. He said he would try not to kill her, but from what Immanuel had seen, the Annabelle woman relied on brute force; Zacharias had the look of a murderer about him, and Immanuel supported Zacarias fully in what was to come. The assassin walked out, and Immanuel, deciding he wanted to witness the battle, took a last swig of the now-empty bottle, set it on the table, recovered his helmet, and turned to walk out - but the mage, William, returned, a handprint on his face. Following him was another deigan - where did all of them come from, anyway? - and Immanuel thought back to something. He turned in the doorway, staring at the others.

He thought clearly of his words, and when the silence lengthened, he cleared his throat. "I don't know if any of you noticed, but the woman named Annabelle," he paused, adjusting the helmet that covered his head once again, cold sweat merging with warm sweat to clash on his forehead, "but, she accuses the one named William, the one named Zacharias, and the Ismyel fellow over there of all being evil and spiteful - to all outward appearances, such as to me, a stranger, seem unstructed and absurd." He slammed the visor down dramatically, to get the attention of anyone not listening. "However, when the woman, apparently sworn to Liya, also decided to hug and give affection to the demon that walked out of this room not too long ago. That raises the suspicion, of course, that mayhaps, just mayhaps, she ain't what she claims to be." His muffled voice sounded oddly clouded to him; maybe that was just the embarrassment. He grinned under the crimson mask. "By the way, my name is Immanuel." He did a mock bow, turned, and strode from the room.

He walked through the halls, admiring the paintings and suits of armor and other things that his own estate had once had, items that were meant to show wealth; but wealth was just an illusion. Men used money as a means of power; but no matter how rich one was, they still died just the same as the poor. Thus, being wealthy, and using that wealth for devious, nefarious means was a conceit that none could afford; anyone who loved the unjustified killing of others, justified, if the killer was caught, that it was necessary; that the person had been treasonous, or murderous; in reality, it was eliminating a rival, to increase their own social status and power. No matter how rich, they all die the same. Words of wisdom from a peasant; don't all peasants have words of wisdom, though? Immanuel chuckled at the thought before he arrived at the front door, emerging to find the Zacharias character speaking to Annabelle, whom looked quite ridiculous in armor, at least to Immanuel. He began stretching as Immanuel approached his donkey, searching through until he found the flask from earlier; he quickly separated that from the other alcohol in there, the strongest he had. He turned to Zacharias, and Immanuel, who was behind him, began to ask if he wanted to share before he killed the woman - but the woman was already closing the distance, in a standard sword-shield combo stance. Immanuel quickly stepped back onto the stairs to the mansion, slipping his helmet off and sitting down on one of the stairs, leaving the bottle of alcohol unopened next to him.

[Dark Jack]

This infernal feeling of powerlessness seemed to persist infinitely, as matters seemed to continue in a outward spiral and delve further and further into fearsome chaos. The group that had been put together by Jaelnec - who somehow refused to accredit the assembly of the company to fate - was splitting rapidly in the seams, and it seemed that all it would take for it to either break up into smaller groups or disband entirely would be a gentle nudge. That was all it would take... and then Annabelle went ahead and smashed it with a sledgehammer, and everyone else seemed content to continue to pounce on its dying form. William had clearly proceeded to offend the paladin further, returning with the red contour of a hand upon his face, Zacharias went to meet the Pelgaidian's challenge, and the guy with the donkey - who revealed his name to be Immanuel - announced what Jaelnec presumed meant that whatever the outcome of the duel, he would side with Zacharias. Exactly how and when this Immanuel had been assimilated into the group and had come to make the group's business his own was beyond Jaelnec, and neither did he truly care. This band of adventurers was his only chance of actually achieving something in the wake of his master's death, and of doing something monumental for Rodoria and Reniam. And it was falling apart - because of him! He had postponed dealing with the tension between the conflicting members of the group for too long. He had kept pushing forward, his lack of experience with people making the others' disagreements seem insignificant to him, and had disregarded many of the duties of a leader for the sake of reaching his goals. Quietly he swore that if they got out of this, and things were no longer so hasty all the time, he would become a better leader. He would not let something like this occur ever again!
But even so, one thing Zacharias had said resounded in his mind over and over, its significance seeping gradually into his consciousness, at first only faintly defined, but then it dawned on him with horrifying abruptness. The two of them could kill each other! For the group to divide and turn hostile against one another was bad enough, and having one of his precious companions die was even worse, but the further he thought, the worse the consequences became. If Zacharias was killed, only the Oracle knew what horrid fate would await them. Had he ties with other assassins that would seek vengeance for their fallen colleague, perhaps not only against his murderer, but against anyone affiliated with the murderer? To have assassins hunting for one was always a nightmare that exceedingly few woke from, but to have assassins chasing one out of vengeance would be beyond nightmarish. It would be a certain death-sentence. And if Annabelle died? She was a revered local celebrity in Pelgaid, and a Favored One of the Temple of Liya. Not only would Pelgaid become highly unsympathetic towards their group, if not even come to view them as enemies and criminals, but they would likely also end up with unknown numbers of the Temple of Liya hunting them. People from Pelgaid doubtlessly bonded with each other over the constant risk from the Black Tribunal, but the Paladins of Liya there was definitely a close-knit group. They would not relent until the people responsible for the death of the Banisher of Evil, the Slayer of Demonspawn...

Uttering Kreshtaat's name bitterly under his breath, Jaelnec threw off his heavy coat urgently and began fumbling hurriedly with the ghiril cuirass once again. His haste worked against him in equipping the armor, however, and several times did he manage to fasten straps the wrong places, making the scalemail fit awkwardly on his body and greatly limit his movements, forcing him to re-do the buckles. By the time he accomplished putting on his cuirass and moved rapidly to retrieve the coat once again (more out of habit than for the sake of practicality), William addressed Gerald about the Withering, arguing that it was best to discuss this while Annabelle and Zacharias were getting their enmity out of their system. Hissing another silent curse on all gods and demons, the squire realized that he could not afford to miss the warlock's explanation. But neither could he just let Annabelle and Zacharias fight unsupervised, risking both them and the rest of the group!
Settling for a half solution, Jaelnec half-walked, half-ran to the great single window of the laboratory, drawing down his hat as far as he could without covering his eyes completely. Many of the fires outside still blazed brightly, and seeing anything down on the ground was extremely difficult for the Nightwalker - all he saw was a blurry field of shades of bright yellow and orange, with faint silhouettes being visible past the blinding light. Finally, in one of the areas illuminated the brightest, he spotted Annabelle and Zacharias, their clash already underway. This way he would at least know if something went wrong... though by the time he could get outside, it would likely be too late, unless he threw himself bodily through the window. Jaelnec actually considered the latter solution for a moment, but then discarded it - getting himself crippled would not help any of them.

"Ah, yes, my discovery," the bony magus muttered, his lips creasing upward slightly as thinking of his studies seemed revitalize him. "Quite a masterpiece, if I am to say it myself. As you know, Devian, the only means by which a scholar might truly come to understand something is by casting aside all preconceptions, discarding everything previously thought to be known about a subject only to relearn every tiny bit of information, all the way from the basics - because if new information is built upon a false foundation, then it is worthless.
It has been six long years since I came to Shrubnest and moved into this old abandoned mansion, yet it was only a couple of months ago that I came to realize that even I had failed at even this basic rule of scholars, and had allowed myself to be blinded by preconceptions. I thought I had cast aside all limitations and constraints, but even I had forgotten two very vital and very basic presumptions concerning the Withering." His eyes flashed cunningly and his smile widened, showing a hint of yellowish teeth behind the pale lips. He was obviously very pleased with himself. "Every single person researching the Withering since its outbreak has done the same. The first presumption to make is that the Withering can be cured at all - something that, once I realized my mistake, quickly proved not to be the case. The other deduction people had mistakenly made was the most shocking, however: the Withering is not a disease at all."
Raising his hands in front of his face, Gerald folded his skeletal fingers around each other and held his folded hands just below his nose, chuckling quietly at his own brilliance. "If you ignore the physical symptoms of the Withering - the graying skin, the intolerance to pressure against the grayed areas and the blackening of damaged tissue - and concentrate entirely on the effects that the victims feel... then you will come to a surprising conclusion. The persistent fatigue, difficulty in breathing, rapidly physical deterioration causing degeneration of muscles, coughing and even blood to enter the lungs. These are all the same effects as magi suffer from magical exhaustion! The Withering is not a disease - at least not a typical one, or one that we have ever seen the likes of in all recorded history. It is a condition that drains the victim of magical energy until it kills them!"

[Ashgan]

“Now draw out your cursed weapons!” Annabelle roared at Zacharias and, without giving him any time to reconsider, began to charge. The muddy ground shook under her heavy iron footsteps and blades of grass were crushed beneath her metal heels. With an ominous screech, Zacharias’s weapons – both the silver shortsword and the rust-colored saw-like dagger – were drawn from their scabbards, and the assassin went into a slightly hunched, defensive position, like a crouching tiger awaiting to pounce its victim. His red eyes blurred out everything they saw; there was only her now, only his opponent. He registered her every move, every so insignificant movement was acknowledged and analyzed more by instinct than thought. Then she came into arm reach and initiated the fight with a horizontal slash, one which Zacharias answered with a parry with the backside of his silver blade – specifically made for blocking. With her shield in place, he could not penetrate her defenses with his secondary weapon, he made a few steps backwards to gain distance. Another slash – from the opposite direction – came for him, and this one he blocked by crossing his two weapons and catching Annabelle’s sword in between the two. Wielding the silver sword in his right hand, he was more prone to attacks from the left, so he would have to avoid attacks from that direction as much as possible. Without warning, the paladin stabbed after Zacharias, but this one was nimble with his feet and stepped aside so that the blade missed him. Infuriated, the paladin finished her combo with a more brute attack by attempting to bash him with her shield. This, too, Zacharias evaded with a cunning leap backwards after which he realized that this has left her open to attacks for a moment. Losing no time, he instantly leaned forward as he landed on his feet again and dashed forwards as if struck by a lightning; or having become one. His eyes were peeled on her sword, for it was the only threat that could seek him out. He was ready to either avoid the next hit or block it, depending on the circumstance. If his assault is not thwarted, he would attempt to ram his serrated dagger into her right armpit where armors were often lacking protection. Regardless of his attack's outcome, he would retreat a few paces backwards again afterwards to gain distance once more and to prepare for the next clash.

[xbriannova]

The assassin was nimble on his feet and quick to swerve left and right to avoid her blows- That much was expected of Zacharias, as assassins, generally lacking in offensive power, value withdrawals and dodging more than anything else, and prefers to strike weak spots and take advantage of any mistakes that may crop up during a fight, if such an insidious man were to be caught in one. Annabelle was hardly surprised by her lack of success thus far, yet, she knew this to be the beginning- Having fought some assassins before who sought the life of her fellow paladins, friends, herself and even her husband and children. The trick was to ensure the perfection of her techniques, leaving no gaps for Zacharias to exploit, and to be patient, for assassins were very slippery folks.

Upon jumping away from her shield bash, it was the Deigan's turn to attack, and he opened his moves by charging forward. Him? An assassin, charging at her? Annabelle thought him to be foolhardy, or perhaps misguided, perhaps thinking that she had opened herself to an attack. As her shield flew past his face, Annabelle could easily retract it in a tick and block her front again. Withdrawing her sword behind her shield, holding it at waist level, the Paladin decided that this was it- Her patience has yielded some results, even if it was only the beginning and not much was needed. To counter the charge, Annabelle forced herself into a sprint herself, intending to ram Zacharias, the results of which she could predict to be glorious, with him flying backwards before an armored lady. Having been in large-scale battles between hundreds before, the lady had found such a tactic to bear merit, even if it was utterly simple and required nothing but strength and nerves. Yet, there was little wrong in that- The club was utterly simple so as to exist ever since the dawn of time, and required nothing but strength and nerves to wield, and yet it was brutally effective in the right hands, and had existed to this day.

Should Zacharias fall, it would only be a simple matter of stabbing him wherever it hurts, and finishing him off. Otherwise, should he somehow come out of it brutalised but still on his two feet, Annabelle would thrust her sword out, using it not dissimilarly to a spear, only that the blade was much bigger. What was also likely however, was for Zacharias to jump out of the way, for which she would answer by continuing to pressure the assassin by rushing at him, sword poised to slash or spike- Testing his supposed skills to the limit. Should the assassin turn tail and run however, Annabelle would then have to run him down and dispatch him...

[Ashgan]

With the scent of blood in their noses, the paragon of light charged gloriously against the rapidly advancing harbinger of darkness. She was faster than Zacharias had thought; she recuperated surprisingly quickly, and left him no chance to take a jab at the leaks in her armor, and he thus realized that in order to defeat her he would sooner or later need to make use of sorcery; the problem was simply that there was too much armor on her, there were just too little opportunities to deal damage with a blade. Magic on the other hand could give him the upper hand he needed, because that was something she was figuratively naked against. It was only a question of timing; he doubted that she was aware of his magical abilities, which on top of the spells’ regular effects would give him the element of surprise, and when surprise is on their side assassins truly shine. Yet, he had to choose the moment carefully so as to not throw away this trump card. Moments before their seemingly inevitable clash, Zacharias feigned wanting to evade to her right, only to throw himself the other direction, almost flying past her to the left. He landed on his hands and feet and, a blink of an eye later, stood on both feet again, facing her. Because it took her an instant to brake, she had only just turned around and the two faced another once more, ready for the third set of exchanges. She and he were breathing heavily at this point. As his blood red eyes stared at her, he considered the option of trying to outlast her till exhaustion – she would consume a lot more energy than he simply to move in her heavy armor, and once fatigued, he would have an easier time finishing her. He discarded this option rapidly however, concluding that it gave her too many opportunities to end the fight, and it was only Zacharias’s last saving grace if all else failed.

While pondering how to assault her next, he remembered another ace that he had up his sleeve – fourteen little vials filled with volatile liquid fire. Just one of those would be sure to at least knock Annabelle off her feet, though Zacharias feared that it might as well tear her apart or at least remove some of her limbs, which could lead to death through bleeding. No, this was a desperate move that he would keep in case he had to kill her and he was far from desperate; on the contrary, he was quite collected and cool yet. With his many tricks and his superior agility, he was in complete control of the fight, all he had to do was relax and stay alive until she gave him the opportunity he needed to disable her either with sword or spell.

He acknowledged that simply attacking her would bear no fruit and expose him to unnecessary danger against such an enemy; better to remain defensive and counter when possible. Preparing himself for whatever onslaught she envisaged next, Zacharias slyly beckoned her to attack him by motioning with his left hand, a motion that he hoped would taunt her as he attempted to prey on her unstable psyche.

[xbriannova]

The assassin was as he was- Avoiding a confrontation when there was one to be had. An abject corward- Annabelle thought, as she took a swing at Zacharias, only for him to side-step her attack before throwing himself in the opposite direction. He was fast, being able to squeeze two actions into a slim moment in time when Annabelle could only barely cram one in. For a brief moment, Annabelle could not see where he had flown off to, with the limiting field of vision her Sallet helmet visor had given, but her combat instincts got her in the right direction just in time to face him again, fortunately, or the honorless cur would have easily backstabbed her, with some chance of killing her, even if her back was layered in plates.

After the charge, Annabelle's limbs were starting to feel the biting sensations of tiredness- She had little time to rest her aching arms and legs, and far less than an hour to let her skin breathe by removing her protective harnesses. Even in her time out of combat, after miraculously, and utterly chastising the Crusaders in the local area, she had spent her energies on helping the rest selflessly rather than to sit down, remove her gold-and-silver protections, and conserve her strength. Still, she was far from incapacitated- Having remembered her time in participating in frequent skirmishes and operations, when mobilisations and constant action took over her life, having remembered the hellish conditions she had to endure and the pain back then had all but bolstered her confidence, that if she had endured forteen years of hectic Paladin service, then she could certainly take ten minutes of a second battle.

As she was trying to catch a breath of fresh air, Zacharias motioned for her to come forward, daring her to charge again. Remembering her crossbow, that it would give her the range she needs that would counter this trick- Whatever trick the assassin had in store for her, Annabelle could only mentally berate herself for not bringing it along- It would have been useful, and faster to reload than the average rank-and-file crossbow, as it was of advanced design, "Coward! Fight like a man!" Annabelle screamed at the assassin, her anger inflamed- He was toying with her, mocking her skills in battle. The Paladin was not berserk enough to fall for the tactic, but she had to move forward nontheless, instead of starting a skirmish between them that consisted solely of imaginary arcane bolts from their eyes.

She would need something less expected, yet something within her sub-par (as compared to her colleagues) ability to wield her current weapons- It wouldn't do to flail her weapons about without purpose. With that, the Paladin charged again, and when she was about due to enter melee range, she took a leap, and spinned in mid-air, delivering a wide-arc and powerful sweep with her sword- Something hard to escape from, especially if it was unanticipated. Should he do that, Annabelle could then proceed to pursue the snake as per normal, and hopefully get a cut or two on him. In the back of her head however, Annabelle was sure that he might counterstrike her- Knowing this, her shield-arm tensed...

[Ashgan]

Annabelle took the bait; she called him a coward and implored him to fight like a man. To hear it from a woman’s mouth made Zacharias sneer under his dark cape. What did “fighting like a man” mean to her? To fight like her, like a blood drunk bear? To Zacharias, fighting like a man meant to fight with your head, with the cold precision and logic that dominated a man’s mind, not the wobbly emotions and unpredictable intuitions of a woman’s. During this time, the assassin had been steadily walking backwards, gaining distance ever so slightly but certainly. He needed every second for his plan to come to fruition. Then, wanting to force another confrontation, the paladin zealously charged at him once more and Zacharias knew that he had no time to waste.

His red eyes closed, for he could not afford to become distracted by vision. Her steps were clearly audible, and he could estimate where she was about. Arcane words slipped from his tongue and his nervously shaking lips, while his hands returned the weapons to their rightful place; his tactic was a risky one, but the reward would be endless. To Annabelle, he would simply appear to stand there, immobile and unmoving as if petrified. She would need a Nightwalker’s eyes to notice him chanting in the dark of night and the shadow of his hood and because he relied solely on a spoken incantation, she would not see any visible signs of the spell that was prepared. Five steps until she could slay him – four – three – and then he heard no steps no more.

Crimson eyes shot open and all he could see was an iron angel homing in on him. He shouted the spell’s final words back at her just like a paladin would yell out a prayer before sending their foes into the ground.

“Ignis carn!” his voice echoed through the night, and from his black palms sprouted arcane flames – an explosion that shattered the night’s silence for good. As Annabelle was in the air at the time, she was inevitably blown back by the burst, and with a singed armor she slammed with her back against the ground. Zacharias too was thrown back, an effect that the assassin did not anticipate, and he instantly presumed that he had made a minor mistake during his dared incantation. Zacharias landed on his right heel, but had lost too much balance and fell on his back regardless.

“Kreshtaat!” he cursed and rolled to the side, then quickly launched himself onto his two feet again. His weapons were drawn a second time, and he eagerly looked for the paladin, whom he hoped would still be on her back and unable to get up, like a turtle.

[xbriannova]

As Annabelle closed in, unwilling to start an exchange of imaginary arcane bolts with their eyes, she was very close to decapitating her opponent duelist when a real arcane bolt appeared in an instant with a daring shout of the assassin's incantation. The missile of darkness hit her like a Tarken's punch, and sent her flying back a fair distance- The last she saw of Zacharias was that he was caught in the blast as well. The bolt of destruction was a fairly damaging, and Annabelle could feel her armor heating up quickly, even burning the fabric walled behind the steel.

As she flew back, Annabelle could no longer feel anything in her hands and legs, her mind entirely occupied with the pain surging through nerves, and when she landed, she was entirely numb. It took her a while to recover, and when her mind did, she realised that she was entirely exposed to an assault. Gripping her sword tightly, the Paladin realised that there was none on her right- Her prized longsword, which was imbued with Liya's holy power, was gone, sucked up by the darkness that was slowly encroaching upon them, as the fire around them were dying an inevitable death.

There was pain all over her body, yet the pain was more concentrated around her left arm and head. It didn't take her long to figure out why. Her shield and helmet had taken a huge chunk of the incantation's power- She could see steam rising mostly from her kite shield, which was burnt black by the assassin's trickery. Having been forced to charge, and took quite a beating from it, Annabelle was brought out of her calm, cold state of mind- She was angry that she'd want to wrench the breath out of him slowly, but surely. Yet... She knew her limits were drawing nearer, as she could feel it in her lungs, and her aching brain- Cursing all the known Demons of the wide world in the depths of her mind, she hoped and planned that she would kill Zacharias before hitting that limit.

Discarding the shield, quickly unclipping her chinstrap and throwing off her helmet violently, her hands shot back to above her buttocks, unsheathing the two same gladius she had threatened Zacharias with at the very beginning of the day. Her hair had somehow come loose somewhere during the battle and fell all over her back, no longer in the tight bun that was preferred for an active lady. Some parts of her hair were burnt black like her shield, but, unknown in the heat of battle, it had magically regenerated itself, retaining its light golden hue. Some of it fell over her left eye, but jerking it back, she cleared her vision, freeing it from the entanglement. Lowering her profile, she stood at a low, defensive stance, her shortswords, that was probably of a design that came from the Barbaric age, only improved upon with the latest technology, held outwards. This time, she was more calculative, cautious, her serpentine cat-like stance indicative of such. With a change in arsenal, so too did her tactics and style change.

Circling around Zacharias, Annabelle was patiently deciding what to do- The assassin was ready for her, his two weapons drawn, and without a shield, she was more exposed... Yet... Without a shield, she felt so free, so much more capable, her potential all but unleashed. Deciding to take advantage of this, this time more enlightened about Zacharias' capabilities, she launched herself forward a second time, and in her mind queued a series of deadly and hard to predict attacks that would start with the spinning slash that she had so wanted to introduce to her opponent, this time more deadly with her twin blades- After flying in, she would then proceed with a flurry of slashes, and end with a scissor-action cross-cut that had already taken a life in the morning.

Having used the twin gladius ever since the dawn of her occupation as a Paladin, much to the amusement of her elders, she had doggedly trained herself to perfect elegance with it, being able to smoothly blend in one attack with another, such that there was no stop in between, yet so different were each slash that it was as hard to predict as the head of a Cobra. Even after retirement, she had continued maintaining her skills by joining a sword-dancing troupe, teaching what she developed in actual combat and learning what the other girls had mastered in the peace she had helped earned for them. It was such a huge change from the rigid and brutal swordsmanship she was taught as a recruit in the Pelgaidian Order of Liya, to the dance-like gracefulness and elegance of her own invention, with the aid of others, that Annabelle hoped it would catch Zacharias off-guard and possibly rend him a few times over, bringing the battle in her favour.