Name: Mountain Monastery.

Size: Varies. Court Yard 200 feet long, 75 feet wide.

Properties: None.

Player Capacity: 2.

Description: This Monastery in the mountains is home to a peaceful order of religious monks. It is beautifully kept with sand gardens and banzai trees. There is a small 25x25 foot raised platform in the center of the court yard that is often used for meditation.

Flavor Text: Soft chanting often fills the narrow winding mountain paths that lead to this secluded monastery. In the winter the paths are full of snow, making travel all but impossible. It is in the spring that the true beauty of this divine place becomes apparent and life blooms all around it.

The mountain spring time air was more than pleasant to Nicoli, who was expecting the mountains to be a cold and harsh place. He had heard the horror stories of travels that attempted to cross a mountain range in the dead of winter, it was a foolish thing to do from all that he had learned. Luckily that was not the case. The breeze that wound through the mountain trails came from the south and was warm to the skin.

The path was far from treacherous with the light of the moon high overhead. Looking up at that moon Nicoli was not sure if that was a good thing or not, it was a Bloodmoon and it's light was tinted the appropriate color. As educated as Nicoli was he didn't know what caused the moon to become that deep red color. If he were to listen to the wives tales it would mean that the blood of innocent was spilled earlier that day and now the moon was weeping tears of blood for those killed.

After taking a moment to ponder the significance of the lunar event he pushed the thought out of his mind and focused on the task at hand. He was here for a purpose, a mission. The Veiled-Ones had been contracted to dispose of a man that was supposed to be here, a murderous man who's deeds Nicoli had heard of on more than one occasion. A man that fancied himself an assassin, but was what the Veiled-Ones called Sahir'ka, which meant Red Butcher.

Nicoli came upon the buildings before the thousand foot plateau, they were simple in their construction. But Nicoli had no time to admire their simplicity, instead he was drawn to a crumpled form only a few feet in from the slightly opened gate that lead to a spiraling stair case that circled around the plateau and lead to its top. The smell of death was staved off by the wind blowing at his back, but he knew once he approached that would not be the case and in his memory he knew what the smell would be, it was one he was accustomed with.

A few feet up the stairs he saw another form, another past that, and then another before the stairs turned out of his view. Keen dark blue eyes searched the immediate area and took in several more dark, unmoving forms. The monks had been butchered, every single one. His gaze went up higher and higher up the thousand feet to where he knew his target would be. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and grabbed the small baton like rod that was kept under his cloak in a holder against his back.

His eyes found a suitable spot and he pushed one of three buttons on the rod, a grappling hook came out of on end and a leather loop out the other, he hit it a second time and it shot out at a blinding speed, covering two hundred feet up in the matter of a couple seconds. He looped his hand through the leather piece and hit the button a third time, this time he was drawn straight up to a foothold where he could repeat the process.

What would have taken the better part of an hour took fifteen minutes to accomplish. Nicoli now stood on a tiled roof over looking a courtyard, there were a handful of bodies littered around, slumped over in unnatural positions. If it was anything like the corpses below the were near all torn apart, and all at least a half-day old if not longer. He leveled his rod again and repeated the earlier process. He swung down, coming to a roll in what had once been a beautifully sculpted sand garden but now was ruined by foot steps an stained the same crimson color as the moon that hung low above him.

He stepped onto the raised platform in the middle of the yard, eyes looking about once again at the carnage and destruction that was all about him, disgust was evident on his normally stoic face and two word came to mind, which he spoke at barely a whisper.

"Sloppy and Unprofessional."

He slide his tool back into its holder on his back and looked straight north to the large square tower that dominated the area, the single digit reaching high to the sky. He knew his target would be somewhere inside there. Nicoli thought it likely another trail of bodies would lead him to exactly where. He pulled a necklace he wore out from under his shirt and held the red lens to his left eye, the lens that allowed him to see body heat, perhaps he could make out something in one of the windows or doorways.

A low chuckle resounded in the otherwise nearly silent antechamber that made up the first floor of the ancient monastery tower. Only moments before another sound had risen above the light whistle of the surprisingly warm spring breeze, that of a man hitting the sand outside in the courtyard and rolling to his feet.

At the back of the room a figure straightened, stretching his arms over his head languidly as though he had been sitting upon the altar from which he rose for some time. Finally. The thought was accompanied by a slight smile as stooped to pick something up from the carpeted floor at his feet and strode toward the door.

Jahar had been waiting for some time now; perhaps he had been overeager in arriving so early in the morning when assassins tended to operate at night. In the end, excitement had simply gotten the better of him. Still, he had thought that his preparation of the arena for the confrontation would have taken much longer than it had. Weren't monastic types supposed to be trained warriors? Certainly more so than these, at least, who had refused to even put up a fight.

As he neared the threshold of the antechamber, Jahar had his first look at the man who was here to take his life, standing in the sand garden only fifty paces from the bottom of the stair leading to the opening to the tower. Knowing that no eye but his could likely pierce the gloom of the room in which he stood, he simply studied his opponent for a few moments as the man looked about himself, likely appraising the new changes in decor, then put some sort of monocle to his eye and focused on the tower.

As D'Angelo studied the tower with his infrared vision, he would clearly see the body heat coming from the man standing a few paces inside the open black maw of the large opening, both double doors thrown wide. After a few moments, he would see the figure swing back his arm and throw something held in his right hand through the open orifice, merely standing and watching as it bounced down the stairs toward the sand garden.

It would quickly become clear that the spherical object was not a weapon by the awkward way it bounced and jolted; more telling were wet blotches of liquid it left behind. The severed head would hit the sand facing D'Angelo, the pale red moonlight clearly illuminating its gruesome visage. By the apparent age of the deceased, Nicoli could likely guess that this was the Abbot. His death had not been peaceful, and it appeared his left eye had been cut out and replaced by a flower blossom, still glistening wet from the ink into which it had been dipped.

With the red lens pressed to his left eye it took but a moment to spot the heat that the body gave off. Jahar, who would normally be all but impossible to see while hidden in the darkness of the opening, shone brightly through the red tinted lens. The man was near identical in body composition to Nicoli, perhaps slightly taller, but he couldn't be for sure at this distance, while staring up through his magic item.

Before he lowered his left hand, Nicoli shifted through the other three lenses on the necklace in a matter of seconds. It was only after he settled on the blue tinted lens that he shifted his view to the old mans head, his mouth open wide in a silent scream and eyes froze wide in terror. Again, displeasure coursed through the Veiled-One, who viewed creating death as an art, not as...well... whatever this was, he wasn't sure. A massacre maybe?

He shifted his view back to the man above him, standing at the top of the stairs in the open space of the door frame. Through his blue tinted gaze he let the magic of the lens do its work and show him any magical auras that surrounded the man or his weapons. While Nicoli wouldn't be able to devise the purpose of any such items or enchantments with the lens, it would, if given a several moments, allow him to garner what sort of magic was at work.

"You are Sahir'Ka." He stated, his voice carrying on the night sky easily enough. Nicoli assumed they were alone, for only death could be this still, this silent. With his right hand he gestured at the handful of corpses that littered the ground. "The Red Butcher." He clarified, knowing the man likely wouldn't understand the pseudo-language the Veiled-Ones had been developing for themselves.

Jahar snorted a short laugh. "The Red Butcher...." He said the words slowly, as though mulling them over, as he stepped out into the moonlight, reaching up with one hand to undo the clasp of his cloak as he did. He let the heavy garment slide off his shoulders and onto the landing at the top of the broad stair. In the red tinted silver light the dried blood upon his clothing was black as the night sky itself, standing out against even the dark colored cloth. "I think I actually rather like that one."

The callous killer began his way down the steps slowly, casually, his posture oozing confidence, looking almost at home in the macabre scene. "I've been called many names, but I can assure you that I'm the man you're here to see." His lips twitched upward in a smile, as though amused by a private joke, then he gestured about himself at their surroundings. "Do you approve of my choice of location? It was far too noisy earlier in the day, but I've since remedied that."

While his attitude and demeanor were nonchalant, Jahar's eyes were intent as he descended, taking in the assassin's size and build, what equipment he could see, and noting the many small pouches upon his belt. For the hundredth time that day, a jolt of excitement coursed through him. The reputation of the Veiled Ones was impeccable, and he was curious to see if the truth lived up to the tales; surely this man would be skilled enough to sate his....appetites for a time. At least he fervently hoped so.

If Nicoli chose to continue to simply view Jahar through the lens during his descent, he would be given ample time to discern the maximum level of information regarding the various magical implements he carries before he reached the bottom of the stairs, just as he finished his question. Most prominent would likely be the auras surrounding the strange daggers hung in their odd sheathes at his hips, with somewhat less powerful auras emanating from a necklace, the sword upon his back, his belt, another oddly shaped sheathe hung above the left dagger, and of course his left eye. There would currently be no magic emanating from the Blackvine tattoos, though the moonlight was strong enough to see them clearly with the naked eye.

As a child Nicoli had been forced to fight others his age, boy and girl. Not only had he been forced to fight them but he had to kill them. He hadn't given it much thought, truthfully, but he suspected that's where his comfort with death stemmed from. The sound, coppery smell and taste, even how it felt were all comforting to the Veiled-One. It wasn't enjoyable, never that. But there was a certain amount of peace created by the scene around him. Yet, the disdain remained evident on his features.

There was no need to look around the court-yard again, Nicoli knew exactly where each body lay and in what position it was hunched. He lowered his left hand and tucked his necklace back under his shirt as Jahar reached the bottom step. The magic had shown him each of the mans magical items and Nicoli had been able to decipher what school each of them belonged to according to what his item showed to, but he still wasn't exactly sure what they did.

"Sloppy. But adequate." He replied as he reached up and undid the clasp of his own cloak. He gathered the heavy cloak up and tossed it far to his right, off of the raised platform and onto the sand below. His hands fell to rest on the swords at his sides as he worked over all the information he had on his opponent. Despite his professional distaste for the mess, Nicoli couldn't argue its effectiveness and the message it presented.

"You've set this up for yourself." He stated. "You hired us to kill you." He said again, piecing together Jahars words as he spoke about his choice of location. Nicoli knew that neither men had the whole picture of one another. While Jahar likely heard smatterings of the Veiled-Ones, Nicoli had heard the same about the individual before him. As part of their final test those wishing to become Veiled-Ones had been sent after this man before as a sort of test. None had returned, Nicoli figured he was about to find out why.

"You do not know what you've done." He said calmly, drawing out his black steel long sword in to his right hand, while his left fidgeted with the pouches on his belt, dancing back and forth over them as if deciding which cruel tactic to employ first. "But I will show you, I will bring the Angels unto you."

As he finished speaking a dark inky liquid started to cover Nicoli's skin, it wouldn't become evident until it reached his neck and face, covering them entirely so that his facial features were all but hidden beneath the dark inky veil. Every so often streaks of deep blue and dark red could be seen passing over his face, swirling as the magical concealment continued to wash over him. Where his eyes had been were two pitch-black pits darker than ink and they watched Jahar intently.

D'Angelo was ready for combat.

The tattooed killer continued his slow pace after leaving the stairs, moving languidly toward Nicoli as the man made his guess about who had hired his organization. He once again barked a short laugh at the man's words. "Of course I did. There's only one person bold enough to actually move against me anymore, and I doubt he'd hire outside help." Jahar shook his head with a smile. "No, I just couldn't think of a better way to make one of you show yourselves. I wonder...how deserved is the reputation of the Veiled Ones?"

The man came to a stop some twenty paces from where Nicoli stood, watching him draw his blade and make his proclamation, the veil of magical shadow slipping over the assassin's face. Jahar reached back his right hand to grasp the hilt of his own sword, skillfully unlimbering the heavy, wickedly curved blade from its oddly shaped sheathe. The moment his fingers touched the weapon, the smile upon the killer's face transformed, any hint of lightheartedness wiped away in an instant to be replaced by an almost predatory cast to his features. His one remaining natural eye glimmered with anticipation while the other only reflected a hint of silver moonlight.

When he spoke again his voice had also taken an entirely different tone, mostly flat but tinged with an edge of...hunger. "Swords it is then. Do not disappoint me, assassin. I've never taken well to disappointment."

Jahar took up the blade in a two handed grip before him and began to advance deliberately, the bronze colored khopesh glinting curiously as though reflecting nonexistent, intermittent sunlight. His movements had a liquid fluidity to them, evocative of a hunting cat stalking its prey through the underbrush. To one as skilled as Nicoli at reading stances, the complete lack of tension in Jahar's body would likely be evident.

Despite the dire threat before him, this man was completely at ease.

D'Angelo withdrew his left hand from his many pouches without opening them, perhaps he wouldn't need to result to any of his tricks. The dark unblinking orbs that hid his own eyes watched as Jahr pulled forth his larger than average Khopesh from his back. He remembered the particular aura that surrounded that weapon, something of the evocation school. But exactly what it was D'Angelo wasn't sure, given its origin and the unnatural way it shone light he had to assume some sort of fire enchantment. As far as enchantments on weapons went fire was one of the most common, he decided to plan for that outcome.

To D'Angelo it seemed that Jahar moved with a practiced ease, and wielded his enchanted bronze sword in a similar fashion. D'Angelo did not think for a moment that his opponents bronze khopesh would be as soft as one not enchanted by magic.

D'Angelo's left foot stayed where it was while his right slipped back, the whole of his body facing Jahar. Both of his arms were down, his right hand gripping the weapon up by the cross guard while his left seemed to rest on the pommel of the weapon. There was a slight tilt to the blade, the point of the blade pointed down at an angle and very slightly behind him. It was a common stance that many referred to as 'Iron Gate.'

"You will die up here." He stated matter-o-factly, hi voice unaffected by the darkness that covered his face despite that the inky like substance that covered his mouth didn't move to mirror his words, it was like a mask. D'Angelo held his ground, continuing to study the man that had lured him here. No, no lured he realized. Jahar had literally paid for his own executioner out of a sheer need for a challenge.

"Prepare yourself."

The reply came back in the same flat but edged tone. "I've heard similar words too many times to count." Jahar's words were true; he had literally lost count of those who had tried to end him over the years. This man's outward confidence almost disheartened the murderous warrior, for such bravado was all too common from hired swords, usually with little substance behind it. Still, when combined with the reputation of the Veiled-Ones...there was something different about this one. Almost as though he were stating fact rather than boasting. Whether or not he possessed the skill to defeat Jahar was as yet unknown, but he clearly believed it so.

With a quick, scrutinizing glance, Jahar assessed his opponents stance; it was indeed a common one and one he himself had been taught early in his training. The Iron Gate provided for quick defensive maneuvers by sweeping the blade across the body, as well as for equally swift counterattacks in the form of thrusts and short slashes. Nicoli's stance was flawless, as expected. It was time to see how strong this man really was.

Without further word, Jahar raised his khopesh in a two handed grip over his right shoulder and dashed in from ten paces, gliding over the distance and mounting the platform in a series of short, powerfully graceful bounds. As he approached Nicoli, he swung the khopesh in a slicing diagonal arc beginning from the top right, the heavy sword appearing as light as a practice blade in his hands. Should Nicoli fail to defend, he would find the last six inches of bronze buried deep into his left shoulder. Clearly that would not be the case, as there were several avenues of defense available to the no doubt resourceful man. Still, which he chose would tell Jahar much about what sort of combatant he faced, and so as he attacked, he watched carefully, awaiting the man's response and likely counterattack.

D'Angelo said nothing else in reply, words would be wasted at the moment. The only thing that would convince the man before him would be actions. So be it. He thought. The only thing that bothered D'Angelo was his own willingness to cross swords with Jahar. While any True Veiled-One would never refer to them self as an assassin, assassinations is what they were known for, it was their bread and butter. He was thankful for the mask that covered his face so that his opponent could not see how hard is jaw was clenched.

As Jahar took the last few steps and then brought the weapon hoisted over his right shoulder down in a diagonal slash D'Angelo responded in kind. He shifted his weight at the last moment, he dropped to his back right knee, all his weight and pressured resting on that leg as he leaned his head back, he opponents Khopesh swinging by missing the top of his head by no more than an inch.

The evasive technique took only a moment. The knee touched down, the sword went by and D'Angelo kicked off that back leg while bringing his own long sword around in a two handed over-head strike that was aimed for Jahars lower right arm, the closer arm that was still gripping the Khopesh. It was a much closer target and easier to strike at rather than attempting to use time to close the gap and aim for his opponents body or head.

D'Angelo's choice of response gave Jahar just enough information to begin to confirm his expectations of the Veiled-Ones. In some ways, Jahar was actually impressed; the man had used the most concise possible movement to avoid the slash while still keeping himself poised for a startlingly quick counterattack. The choice of target was also telling, attacking the most exposed part of Jahar's body instead of sacrificing speed and position to attempt a killing blow. All in all an impressive display of poise and skill in battle.

The vestiges of his unsettling smile still upon his face, the Blackvine took one step forward, placing his weight on his front right foot. He crouched his legs for the barest moment, coiling like a spring, and reversed the direction of his own sword. He swung the much heavier blade across his body in an upward arc from left to right, driving the swing with his legs and core to connect hard with Nicoli's longsword as he drove it downward before it could reach his flesh. The impact of the blow would likely have shattered lesser blades as bronze and steel connected with a dull ring, and Jahar felt the familiar sting in his hands as vibrations shook the Khopesh.

The swift counter swing was designed to push Nicoli's own sword upward, thrown away by the superior mass of the bronze khopesh, though the force with which Jahar had swung would lose him precious moments were the tattooed man to attempt to follow with another slash. Instead, Jahar pivoted on his planted right foot, using the motion of his brutal swing to turn his body, and immediately lashed out his left leg in a perfectly executed side kick.

The kick was aimed directly at Nicoli's breastbone; should it connect it would be rather painful, though likely not enough to break bones or gravely injure the man. Rather, the combination of the sword clash and kick was designed to throw Jahar's opponent off balance. The Blackvine would waste no time after executing the move, immediately bringing his left leg back beneath him and bringing his sword to bear, ready to attack or defend should his maneuver fail.

The familiar feel of metal striking metal was something that D'Angelo welcomed. Other than in training he wondered how long it had been since he had last been challenged in open combat? This 'job' was highly unusual, everything about it was extremely unorthodox. Who was mad enough to take out a bounty on their own head? Clearly Jahar was. It was unheard of and something that D'Angelo couldn't grasp. His mind was too much like his fathers, there had to be an ulterior motive, something going on in the background that he could not yet see. A purpose beyond what was evident.

He let out a growl of frustration at his train of thought. It could very easily mistaken for the resistance his long sword met as it was pushed up high. He wouldn't let the attack compromise his balance and he so released Kardia with his left hand and let his sword be pushed high. D'Angelo then brought that left hand around from left to right, keeping it close to his chest. The result would be a make-shift palm strike that was used to defensively shove Jahars side kick to the right.

At the same time he pushed Jaharas attack wide he turned his body clockwise and shifted his right leg behind him so that it was behind his leading left leg. D'Angelos movement would end with the majority of his weight shifted to his rear right leg, his left hand was held palm facing his opponent with his fingers spread wide while his right arm was poised above him hand holding the sword above his head, blade pointed down at an angle so that the tip rested between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand without touching.

He held this stance for but a moment and let the dark ink like blackness that was covering him fade away, oozing downwards. He decided to act against his training and let a man foolish enough to sign his own death contract see the eyes of his killer. D'Angelo's grin was like that of a wolf, and like the predatory animal he began a slow walk to his right, Jahars left, without abandoning his stance. His movements were quick short steps in attempt to make it difficult for his opponent to catch him off balance should he choose to attack. It would also force Jahar to turn if he wished to keep his eyes on the target.

"You are lying to me." D'Angelo said, doing his best to keep his voice calm and void of emotion, though some anger was evident. He had decided that Jahar had called a Veiled-One here for a different reason, or part of a different scheme. D'Angelo simply couldn't accept that this was all out of simple curiosity.

The disquieting smile widened as D'Angelo easily deflected his kick; the palm strike to his ankle sent a small lance of pain up his leg and a shiver of anticipation up his spine. However, the smile fell for a moment as the assassin dropped his shadowy facade and began to circle, replaced by a flash of annoyance. Jahar straightened out of his own stance, the khopesh dropping to point at an angle toward the ground, held only in his right hand. He had been uncertain what to expect from this day, but D'Angelo's behavior somewhat surprised him. Most assassins did not particularly care why their employers chose their targets. Jahar certainly didn't; one kill was generally no better or worse than another with few exceptions. One way or another, Jahar hadn't come here to explain himself. He wanted Nicoli's full attention on the fight.

"Are you paid to question your targets then, assassin?" The killer's voice was still flat, though tinged with both displeasure and a slight mocking tone. "Or perhaps it is that the Veiled-Ones have a habit of investigating the motives of their employers." He turned slowly in place, following the movements of his circling opponent; the only indication that he was not nearly as unready as he appeared was the way he moved, weight shifted to the balls of his feet. As he turned, his empty left hand slid into the pouch hanging above his left hip sheathe, the source of one of the magical auras Nicoli had seen earlier, and grasped his Tekko-kagi, the brace of claws settling comfortably around his hand.

"I will warn you once more not to disappoint me." Jahar growled as he slid his right foot back and out, widening his stance and resuming his two handed grip on his large sword, the claw doing little to hinder him. After a moment it would be clear he was assuming the same stance Nicoli had used earlier, the Iron Gate, though whether in mockery or for utility it would be difficult to tell. "You have a contract and a target, so do what you were paid to do."

The hairs on the back of D'Angelos neck stood on end when Jahar compared him to a common assassin. HIM, the second in command of the Veiled-Ones, someone that had earned his current position. D'Angelo seethed. Dark blue eyes flashed with the fury of an ocean storm, and the words caused him to abandon his stance and stand straight, long sword tip left to rest on the ground at his feet. He swirled his tongue between his lip and his teeth as if removing a bad taste. "Assassin?"

"You think the Veiled-Ones are... assassins?" D'Angelo paused mid-speech to add emphasis. His question was clearly rhetorical and he left no room for answer as he continued to speak, his tone low and simple, as if explaining something to a child. "Clearly, that was your first mistake. Oh Black-Vined one." He said with a mock half-bow. "However, if it is the matter of payment.." He reached into a smaller pouch that was near his back, pulled out a handful of coins, clearly not enough to cover even a small percentage of what the Veiled-Ones would have charged for a task.

He spit into his palm, on to the coins, and tossed them at Jahars feet. "We are not some dogs that you can merely command and point at a target. That is...that is..." He paused and raised an eyebrow. "...that is more your style, is it not? Point, and send the dog to go slaughter the target?" He nodded to himself, watching as Jahar pulled out a wicked looking claw, it came from the same bag that D'Angelo had seen necromantic magic emanating from. He would need to be weary of that.

He pulled his short sword, Tooth, from its resting place at his side. It was clear to anyone that had seen a weapon before that this short sword was not crafted, no. This was literally a large tooth from some ancient carnivorous creature, the which of likes Nicoli had never been able to figure out. But, its properties were extremely useful.

While D'Angel had unsheathed his weapon he mentally gave Kardia a command, switching its metal properties from the dark steel it had been to the equally dark adamantine. The only visible difference would be the lack of that minimum 'shine' quality that the sword had before, now it was simply a flat black. The sword was comparable in weight to what it had been, but now it was much, much harder and much sharper. While D'Angelo wasn't sure how it would fair against other enchanted items, he could and had stabbed right through un-enchanted shield and plate armor before, however, that was also while employing the Radiim technique.

He held both weapons out to his side for a moment, then stepped in the long sword in his right hand slashing across from right to left. His short sword stayed back and low, ready to be used defensively should the need arise. Regardless of what happened next D'Angelo decided that the 'time' for a traditional sword fight had passed, he would do what he had to kill this man, this individual who was even below assassins as far as he was concerned.

Jahar merely listened to the man's tirade, a look of amusement growing on his face as the spittle coated coins bounced at his feet. When D'Angelo finished, he shook his head with an exasperated chuckle. "I don't really care what you call yourself, and the only thing I know for sure about the Veiled-Ones is that they talk too damn much." If the man thought Jahar could be affected by mere words and gestures, he could not be more wrong. No, it took far more than that to rattle the hardened killer.

He watched his opponent unsheathe his short sword--what in the hell was that off white blade...possibly carved from bone?--and come at him, the long sword whistling through the air. While examining the shorter blade, he had missed the color change and so was unaware of the transformation, though the adamantine would likely do little to damage his own enchanted weapons. At the last moment, Jahar moved with practiced grace, his clawed left hand leaving the sword at his side to snap out and intercept the path of the blade, effectively catching it between the two center claws against the crossbar over his knuckles. A slight twist of the wrist would lock the longsword in such a way that only reversing its motion would easily free it.

Simultaneously, he raised his sword in his right hand and slashed down, the strangely gleaming blade moving in a diagonal arc that would likely hack deeply into Nicoli's arm below the shoulder should it land. Jahar knew that the angle of the attack would make the blow difficult to dodge effectively without sacrificing Nicoli's grip on his longsword, but it was certainly slower and less powerful than it would have been had he used two hands. Therefore, it would be possible to parry or block with D'Angelo's much smaller blade; in fact, Jahar was counting on it, for the moment his gleaming khopesh neared his opponents torso and head, he would with a mental command ignite its ability, producing a brilliant flash of pure blinding sunlight, accumulated over hours of absorption during the previous day. The light was bright enough to cause a momentary sensation of searing heat on any exposed skin for both combatants, though not enough to cause actual harm. The only warning Nicoli would have would be the closing of Jahar's own eyes the instant before the flash.

D’Angelo could see that his words were having no outward effect on Jahar, which was a pity. The words, while filled with heat had truth in them as far as he was concerned. Yet, he knew that his truth would not be Jahars truth.

When Jahar’s claw came up and intercepted Kardia, twisting to lock it in place one of D’Angelos questions had been answered. Yes, enchanted weapons could stand up to the superiority of adamantine. He silently cursed magic for making things an even play ground, without that enhancement he likely would of carved straight through the claw and into his opponents hand. He knew It was a double standared.

Jahar had been partially right when he compared D’Angelo to an assassin. The man had trained extensively in the same weapon-set and skills as most classically trained assassins. He watched for the small tells a body gave. It was more than the rudimentary watching swordsmen did as far as body position, hand and foot placement; it was the shifting of the eyes, twitching of the nose and perspiration that almost always occurred. He watched so that he did not fall prey to his own style of combat, one filled with deception and tricks.

Of course, such a skill was far from full proof and could be tricked or countered. One way D’Angelo made up for that was by wearing a small bracelet around his left ankle, hidden inside his boot. That bracelet held seven out of eight possible charms, one of which vibrated with the use of magic within a hundred feet of him. It was not perfect, but in close combat situations such as this it had often proved the difference between life and death.

With his body square to his opponents D’Angelo knew he presented a large target to be struck at, all of the classical points on the body were ripe to be aimed at. Yet, it appeared that Jahar chose to attempt to hack his arm off below the shoulder. D’Angelo shifted his stance, stepping further to the right with his right foot and bringing his left quickly in line after that. Because his long sword was locked in place he had to turn his body to more of a fencer’s stance, only presenting his right side to Jahar.

The step would take him out of the Khopesh’s path so that it never neared his torso or head. His short sword was snapped out and down to block any follow up strike if Jahar attempted to reverse the downward motion with his one handed grip and swing it up, or level it off to a larger broader horizontal strike.

If Jahar still decided to unleash his blast of pure light then he would find D’Angelos left hand retracting from it and his head turning to the side, eyes closing as his opponent. It wasn’t a fear of being blinded, but rather an attempt to get away from what D’Angelo assumed would be a weapon erupting in a sheet of flame.

The result of the weapons blinding flash would be that the left side of D’Angelos face would be a bright red, as if sunburned, the rest of his body was protected by clothing. However, the blinding flash, while disorienting, would be mostly avoided by D’Angelos preemptive actions. He had the charm on his left ankle to thank for the briefest of warnings as well as his opponents tell-tale sign to avoid his own attack.

Either way there would be no counter attack from D’Angelo.

The blinding flare from the curved sword was bright enough that even through his closed eyelids Jahar felt a spike of pain lance through his head. Small retina burns danced before his vision as he opened them an instant later, though muted enough that he could see his opponent having similarly avoided the flare. His lips twisted into a disturbingly contented smile as he simply released his hold on Nicoli's sword and stepped back, his own blade held before him defensively in a two handed grip in case Nicoli simply attacked. His real eye glittered almost as brightly in the light of the blood moon as did his false one.

"You have no idea how many men have fallen to this sword's ability, simple as it is." It was clear from his tone that Jahar was unnervingly pleased with the outcome of the clash. "I think its safe to say that I finally have your full attention." As he spoke, so long as the flare did not affect Nicoli for the worse than it did Jahar, the Veiled-One would likely see the tattoos upon his face and left hand, the only places where his dark toned skin was visible, writhe and change over the course of a few seconds. Each vine grew dozens of small tattooed thorns, appearing to pierce the killer's skin anywhere the vines crawled. Most visible would be the blooming of the two black rosebuds upon his face and hand into beautifully inked flowers, each with intricate gradations of black that clearly defined the separate petals.

A small wince was all that showed on Jahar's face as the brief but intense pain of the tattooed thorns washed over nearly his entire body, but it was a familiar, welcome pain. He had been convinced by the last exchange; this man was truly excellent at his craft, able to read his opponents movements and react almost instantaneously to avoid danger. His defenses were impeccable, but he was clearly holding back in attempting to kill his opponent, likely held back by his desire to unravel some sort of imagined plot. That simply wouldn't do, not for today, not for the fruition of weeks of waiting. Patience had never been Jahar's area of strength, and he had decided to force his opponent's hand. The wash of power from the tattoos felt like vibrant liquid fire across his skin and in his veins, though there was no associated pain other than that of the thorns.

For D'Angelo, his charm would certainly sense the intense flare of magic as the darkly beautiful tattoos began to gather the ambient energy in the atmosphere, easily found most everywhere but especially so in areas such as this one which were mostly untouched by men. The process would take a few precious seconds before Jahar could begin to actually utilize his abilities, and so he was prepared to defend himself during the entire process, ready to buy himself the necessary time.

D'Angelo felt no small amount of surprise when he didn't decide to push the two small advantages he had gathered. The burst of light and having his long sword trapped. Adding to the surprise, along with a bit of confusion is when Jahar released the trapped long sword and instead felt the need to let D'Angelo know how effective that little trap had been on others. Wisely, however, D'Angelo decided not to reply.

None of his words had any sort of desired effect on Jahar. When words wouldn't work for the designed purpose then all they were was a waste of breath. Like any other tool, they too could be discarded. As Jahar spoke D'Angelo took a step back and sheathed both of his weapons. That first step back was followed by another, and another. The reason behind those steps back was because of the sensation he felt around his left ankle again combined with the active tattoos that his charm was no doubt warning him about. Though, exactly what those tattoos did, D'Angelo didn't have the slightest clue.

With the sort of practice movement that comes with hours spent training every day or over a decade D'Angelo reached into one pouch with his pinky and ring finger on his left hand while his thumb and pointer finger worked free a small darkly colored bag on his belt. In the same motion that was used to pull both out his wrist snapped out and downward.

The resulting affect would be doubled, the first item was a pellet of smoke that when broke would cover the area thirty feet out in all directions wit a heavy dark grey smoke that made it difficult to see the hand in front of your face for a couple seconds before it dissipated over the course of a minute, or more quickly if there was a constant wind. The other was an adhesive gel that would splash out like water but quickly dry like cement. Granted, getting the solution wet again would make it easy to remove. If Jahar didn't move he would find that the ten foot by ten foot area that adhesive gel covered would be enough to root him to the floor.

For his own part D'Angelo took a final step off the edge as he threw the items down. Though where Jahar might expect to hear the crunch of boots on sand when the smoke became to thick to see that far, he would hear only something whizzing through the air to his left, on one of the roofs, then a clinking sound as if metal striking tile.

D'Angelo activated his Cloud Step charm when he stepped of the edge, the magic that slowed his fall gave him ample enough time to remove the Baton shaped item on his back. With the few presses of a button the Rod of Ropes would carry the near weightless form through the air to stand roughly thirty five feet to Jahars left and ten feet up, on a slanted roof. As D'Angelo touched down he would mentally command the charm to stop so that he landed lightly on the balls of his feet and at the same time slipping the Rod of Ropes back into its spot on his back.

The whole process took less than a handful of seconds and D'Angelo was at a spot where he felt he could safely analyze the situation, away from whatever sort of magic Jahar was using. But, more importantly he was on a ground of his choosing, and not letting the man he had been sent to kill control this meeting like he had been this entire time.

Jahar widened his smile as the assassin took several steps back; he would easily have the seconds he needed for the tattoos to gather the requisite energy. This was what he had been waiting for, a chance to test the full breadth of his skills against one of the most feared contract killers in the realms. His long weeks of planning and waiting had come to this moment. All that remained was to see whether his suspicions were correct about the true skill of the man he fought. That D'Angelo had been holding back he was certain, likely taking the time to assess his strengths and weaknesses; it almost made Jahar laugh aloud...the man had no idea what he faced. He soon would, however, and Jahar would finally know whether this man was good enough to give him what he wanted, the Thrill of true life or death battle that was the only thing that made him feel alive again.

The dark killer prepared to lunge forward in an attack, following the assassin's swift retreat, but his smile froze on his face, eyes widening fractionally as the man darted his nimble fingers into the pouches upon his belt, flicking a pair of objects toward him. Jahar had faced a great many assassins and was familiar with some of the tricks they employed in their work, though he eschewed such tactics himself, preferring the visceral feel of a blade tearing through flesh. His mind whirled with the possibilities, none of them pleasant. With only a moment's hesitation brought by his interrupted plan of attack, Jahar instead took a series of short, swift bounds that carried him back and to his right, away from the impact of the thrown objects.

The adhesive gel struck the ground, covering the cobbles in a tarry substance, but the Blackvine did not even see it as the smoke pellet exploded and he was caught in the outer part of the cloud mid movement. Inwardly he cursed, assuming the worst and holding his breath against what he assumed was some sort of toxin as the grey smoke filled the air around him, stinging his eye for a moment before he cleared it to land upon the sand a few paces from the corner of the platform. He heard the sound of the grappling hook striking the roof tile on the other side of the smoke cloud and instinctively turned to face it, his sword held out before him. After a few moments he relaxed slightly and drew another breath, reasonably certain that he was far enough from the already dissipating cloud.

At that moment the storm of energy gathering inside of him reached a roaring crescendo, and Jahar could suddenly feel the enormous well of writhing, seething power filling the tattoos surrounding his body, ready and almost begging to be used. To him, as it always did, the power felt vast, infinite, and it very likely was as the tattoos continued to absorb ambient magic from his surroundings. Jahar knew from experience, however, that while he had a near infinite well from which to draw, his body could only handle so much of the raw energy before it would literally destroy him from the inside. Reflexively, he glanced at the flower blossom upon the back of his left hand. Of course, he had not yet utilized any of his power so all the petals were yet fully intact, but he still found it strangely reassuring.

As the smoke cleared, Jahar easily located the Veiled-One upon the rooftop with the aid of his Onyx Eye, fifty feet away from where he stood. A loud echoing laugh resounded about the arena, tinged with an edge of contempt. "Are we playing cat and mouse now? One might begin to think you're afraid of me, assassin." Jahar's tone was full of equal parts amusement and mockery as he began to walk casually across the sand toward Nicoli, letting his sword drop to his side in a one handed grip. "Try not to feel badly about it, most cowards are." If Nicoli did nothing in response, Jahar would come to a stop near the other side of the platform, twenty feet or so from the edge of the courtyard below the rooftop upon which the assassin stood. He assumed no stance, appearing completely relaxed as though clearly goading D'Angelo to attack.

The smoke was not quick to dissipate, though the light breeze that was constant at these heights did help speed it along. D'Angelo took all that time to once again run through the array of lens's he wore on his necklace, he stopped on the blue tinted lens and was transfixed by what he saw. Since the cloud of dark smoke was not magical it did nothing to hinder the magic of his lens. But what exactly D'Angelo was seeing he hadn't the slightest idea. It was clear to him that the tattoos were a at the heart of whatever was happening, or rather, to him it looked like they were responsible for transporting whatever sort of magic was at work.

Again, no answers, only more questions.

He watched even as the smoke faded and Jahar stepped out of the other side, his mouth moving with insults. They made D'Angelo smile in turn. Of course Jahar didn't want to come up here, up on this uneven footing D'Angelo's training and array of magical items gave him every advantage. He made no move to reply, again he knew that Jahar was employing the same tactic that D'Angelo had failed at earlier. D'Angelo reached for his belt again.

He removed a small wooden instrument and for a moment held it in two hands than looked at Jahar as if debating to throw it. Clearly he decided against the action when he put the Ocarina to his lips and began to play a rather up-beat, fast paced song. They were at a stalemate it seemed. D'Angelo, not knowing what sort of magic was coursing through Jahar was extremely hesitant to go fight the man, while Jahar likely recognized the folly of fighting D'Angelo on a ground of his choosing.

If Jahar did nothing than D'Angelo would stop after roughly a half-minute of playing and let out a little laugh. "Music calms the beast they say." He paused and slipped the instrument away. "I can still feel whatever magic your using, whatever it is that your tattoos do, I do not know. You claim I am afraid? No, Butcher, I am not afraid of you...nor do I take you seriously." He spun on his heel and gestured to the blood moon in the sky.

"You have hired the Veiled-Ones to come kill you. So, clearly you know what we do. Yet you decided the battle-ground and demand open combat. While we are not assassins, though I do not expect a man like you to understand the difference, we employ similar methods. Most of the Veiled-Ones are not warriors in the traditional sense. If another had come in my place they would have likely left the moment they realized it was a set-up and struck you when the situation best suited them. However...curiosity has always been a weakness of mine."

He leveled his eyes back on Jahar, one hand still raised up as if supporting the dark blood red moon in his palm. "A coward? No. I merely recognized a superior fighting position and am utilizing it to its maximum effectiveness. Even a warrior of your particular skill-set should understand that. Yet, if you cannot find a way to match me then I will come down to your level." He finished with a smile and raised one foot, as if ready to drop off the roof back onto the sand below.