Theodore stopped to let Wick perform her magic in turn, growing anxious every passing moment at the obvious limits of his own concentration. He needed to keep his mind clear for the Light's gift to stay with him... every moment they spent doing nothing would be another moment he would risk a stray thought ruining it all. He dug out the scroll with his notes on Kingdom of Light and began, in his mind, repeating a short mantra he had written at the bottom of one page. He needed his mind to remain sharp. The opposition was not to be taken lightly, their armour was tough even if the spirit inside was easily banished on a hit.

Birbin called the magic of him and his companions weird, to which Theodore responded by turning his masked face towards the short Wizard and letting out a few choice words: "I am aware your arcane shenanigans differ from our divine benefits. As long as they serve a noble purpose, does it really matter?" In reality, the zealot would have wanted to punt the gnome there and now for his blasphemy, but he held it together. He would have the time to educate the short man later when they would not be in a potentially lethally dangerous situation.

He bundled his notes back up again and stashed them into their storage tube, tossing the container onto the side of his pack where he had taken it from. "What did you see, sister of Light?" he asked of Wick now that her familiar had returned to them and they could begin choosing a route for themselves with the given intelligence. "Shall our choice be the path on the left... or the one on the right?" He would be ready to march on as soon as an answer to that question would be found.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Gordian Nought

The warlock grinned, permitting her auburn eyes to fill the white voids on either side of her witching nose. Before satisfying the monster slayer with a response, a mirage of organized slabs and fire pits began to forge, behind her, as a floating semblance of things to come. The ocular sclera again wavered back and forth, between bearing irises of ginger and hosting an avalanche riddled with tiny streams of blood. Without looking, the librarian slowly widdled the imperfections from the figment, even demonstrating the demolished ceramics and strewn weapons and armor.

“A door swivels as the only outstanding culprit.”

The shared hallucination slowly evoked a cracked portal, with a fantastical façade of luminosity, faux rays impregnated into the visual deception.

“Traffic, Theodore, at your discretion, against the solemn synod thither, where misdeeds have faltered against decrees, abandoning souls from our eventual communion.” The enmity and discord, within her trailing voice, softened the pity. The lack of threat was not intentional, but simply imperceptible to Wick. “My woes have ended with the evening sun of our yester realm. This world may now witness my exhalation of griefs unspeakable, wrought by necessity and not by vile offense.” The shroud of murky tendrils clothed her ever more tightly with its hungry protection as she endorsed the hovering vision. “The tragic instance of this body’s sequel will not be wasted on incessant weeping nor sink in a sky of wished light.”

Her hand ascended and descended like a gavel, condemning and dismissing the minor of illusions. “No longer lend ears to my severed bliss. We must move on and mold our misfortunes into tales of redeemed calamities.”

She made way, following, blindly, her unseen servant.

“Divorcing not foresight from prudence.”

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

"I am aware your arcane shenanigans differ from our divine benefits. As long as they serve a noble purpose, does it really matter?"

"But... magic is magic?" The small fellow responded with apparently no idea as to what the templar had truly meant. The concept of nobility and divinity seemed to escape him, to which the mighty Ysgardian shrugged at the gnome's confusion; the man wasn't about to argue the oddness of the outsiders or their ways - they had been much needed allies in this time.

It was then they followed the, at times, incomprehensible scholar but trusted her odd mysticism all the same. Stepping quietly from there, the entourage went about their path, keen to follow down the way of the unseen servant. Theodore however, with his sight augmented beyond just eyes, bore witness to all the ghosts here - the many lingering, drifting spirits. He knew right where they were all along but they seemed not to react to any of them in the slightest, as though the battle won before by someone else had sapped them of their energy.

Further and further they drew in, none of the invisible spectres offering reaction or rebuttal...


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

"Yes, Birbin, magic is magic. Yours is different from mine. That does not make my magic weird", he responded to the short man's flabbergasted 'question'. They did not have the time to drag this discussion on here. Not only because they needed to press onward, but also because he needed his focus on trying to piece together what these ghosts he was detecting were doing.

While his armoured boots clanked against the stone floor of the crypt, following in the unseen footsteps of Wick's aide, he followed the movement of the spiritual beings with great interest. They were oddly docile, not reacting to anything but simply continuing on on their indifferent way. He pushed air through his nostrils audibly and spoke up: "There are ghosts or spirits of similar sort in great numbers here. They seem indifferent, as if defeated before we even raised our weapons. Odd." Beyond that, he didn't figure out anything of it that would be worthy of saying.

The main room was a sight to behold, but now it seemed... abandoned. The light was coming from the doors at the opposite end of the room so he headed towards it, that being their only real direction. It went somewhere and there was light. Answers would lay in said direction, unless all they were to find would only be more questions. But the way to salvation did carve its path through hardships, rather than the simple path. He raised his free hand and reached for the door, intending to open it.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity

The reincarnated sage steeped further into the hall, brewing over the monster slayer’s nystagmus, which darted, from corner to wall to shrine, over concealed apparitions. Before Theodore reached the egress, the cleric stopped his exodus.

“Halt. Let it go first.”

The avian-clad butler in the elbow of the room jarred from its statuesque hibernation; its syncytial gaze riddled with the radiance of oblivion, an Egyptian herald for the young accountants of light, of a prophecy of ten plagues yielding a briefer lifespan. The objective was simply reconnaissance, methodical and meticulous, to demolish the curious resolve of knights in order to checkmate any larcenous king cradled in this fleeced tomb. The unseen pawn entitled itself to a job security by willingly suffering any potential pyramid of pain, even to the extent of sacrificing to the very danger being sought.

Slothfully unraveling its magical position with sluggish footsteps to the Stygian exit, the invisible mute was commanded to test the darkness beyond. The excitement built within Wick, as the ranger remained still as the servant began to peer further ahead, with eyes of a Horus.

Would a rapacious nova tumble this tax collector downward into a Nekhen of its own imaginary blood?

Opening the portal, its contorted carcass suspended momentarily, slouching any attention drawn to the Memnon shadows looming over the murky unknown, distracted by the gazelles of the coming, exhaustive void.

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

"About time you got here, I was starting to wonder if the darkness swallowed you up." An all too familiar voice to the reborn sage came, that of one of her compatriots she had not heard in... months? Years perhaps now? Decades even? Time for her was a complex enough matter as it was, to say nothing of their fall into the abyss and however long that was or how time here at all flowed.

The doorway parted now revealed the last little shrine in this sharing of words, accompanied by two figures. The first of which was a younger man with dark, sleek hair that ran down his back and dressed in an open robe with light armor beneath, a single, ever so slightly curved sword in hand. Ruron, beyond a doubt was it, the child-sorcerer who the ancient wizard had taken as one of his few students.

The other figure, far more imposing in stature, peered not only at the masked templar and his aasimar accomplice from under the head of a lion who crested his head, but wore the professed dress of dull, engraved plate and wreathed in a beaten forest lord's cloak. The Green Man indeed, whose hand bore a sword of his own within a armored gauntlet.

"You... you know them...?" Came a heavier voice, one out of breath and nearly pained, but snarly and clearly simmering with underlying anger.

Despite the less than subtle, less than restrained anger, Ruron turned to look back at the seemingly wounded man, "Know them? Of course I do. They are the reason I am here."

The sword-bearing mage lifted his hands and turned to gesture to the entire room, speaking some as he walked further​ into it and away from the doors, almost within reach of the battered man that stood before the shrine, of which a gleaming, sourceless firelight poured from. Clearly Ruron avoided coming too close, lest the seemingly defeated opponent lash out.

"See all of this, Wick? Like one giant light in the darkness, drawing all the things lurking outside it right to it." He motioned with the arcane blade to the rest of the entourage that had arrived, direction its tapered point at them.

"Sort of like the entirety of you..."


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

"Sort of like the entirety of you..."

Was this a joke, a faux-pas, a jest indisputably to salve a sagacity of vengeance against the sins she committed? Or an outrageous debauchery, a slandered dalliance, or a gaping spiritual wound she dehisced to bleed before the once lost, but now found Ruron? Were the Gods arranging a penance to impose upon her fortified will of forgetfulness?

The cleric was surprised by the attempt of the tomb to bewilder her and the warped subconscious buried beneath the tendrils of shadows, under her bloodied breastplate and within the coffin of her heart.

But this could not be a mere illusion, as the conversational hallucination seemingly interacted with all.

Wick proffered a jeer of her lip, an uncharacteristic cocked hip, and a soft clack of mental departure; for there was no way in this world’s seven abysses, where she was going to simply subjugate herself to this prodigy’s defiant smugness.

With her golden locks, a carefully and intensely disarrayed style of long tresses spilled around her thin shoulders, for the first time again in a long time. Her joyful eyes a dark and swirling mess of carved pumpkins, enjoying the very presence of the man of careful grooming, gleaming a rioted perfection, to the expense of his tunic, to the cherry of his lips, down to the fabricated style of the scimitar. He even walked with a show of grace, his saunter a rolling expedience whilst appearing crude in the brisk exiting from the central cue.

The warlock didn’t make it far though, as floundering words drowned her confused posture.

“About time? Reason you’re here?? Light in the Darkness??? Entirety????” Her vernacular sunk deeper into a grotesque mark, delivering the abrasive message, as she bore emotions of betrayal and duplicity.

“Where the hell have you been? And... Who the devil is he?”

---

Katia had walked in silence beside Wick, either unwilling to contribute to the conversation around her, or simply ignoring the majority of it. She was lost in her thoughts, which right now was a dangerous place to be lost in. The despair she felt was deeper than any wound she had yet received as the realizations continued to sink in. She would never see her home, her family, or anyone else she had ever known. Dead, all of them, as if they had never existed. All that remained were her current company, including this daft wizard and the hasty foreigner. What even was their purpose in travel? Perhaps they could prevent this fate from befalling another plane, but what about their own world? Could they ever bring it back?

She thought back to her time when she had first met Wick. She was never smart enough or talented enough to be one of the Master's pupils, but still she had spent almost every day with Wick and Ruron, often as an example of how to not approach a problem. It was at that temple that Katia had finally managed to control her wanderlust, to consider the possibility of remaining in one place for a time, to start a family perhaps. Was it the teachings of some great wizard? The companionship of a child prodigy? The quiet smile of an angelic form?

Her musings were cut short when Wick had begun sputtering incoherently. Although much of the verbiage her friend used was well beyond Katia's understanding, this was a new level of incoherence Katia could hardly remember seeing before. She looked up, her gaze meeting that of Ruron, and froze. Was this a specter sent to mock them? An illusive man whose presence was incorporeal at best? Katia began to summon the radiant bolt, but held it in her hand as she glared at this assumedly false Ruron. "Who are you?!" she called, her voice torn between fear and distress. "Ruron is dead, along with everyone else! If this is a joke, your sense of humor is more twisted than the shadows!"

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

Easing the almost accusing point of the elegant blade, its glinting finish falling to the mage's side, the younger man shrugged; the display made by the other former student seemed to be not quite so moving for him as it was for her, rather it only welcomed an almost indifferent reaction. For a moment he seemed to allow the words to settle, but the almost surprise appearance of the pantherine woman evoked a soft smile from the corners of his lips. It was almost unspoken that they were all united again just... not how they had ever imagined.

"I'm glad you at least remember me, Ruron."

His address seemed to fold the concerns together from their words, as though he might well have been insulted by their accusations and confusion, as truly legitimate as they were. Unlike the others, whose hearts might have felt the depths of despair they began to plumb, he gave off an air of arrogance and impetuousness greater than he had before. He looked the part as always, that underlying enchanting radiance magicians of his kind oft had in appearance and dress, one too often to get the better of itself.

"As for being dead? I haven't tried it personally." Ruron continued, the free hand of the precocious sorcerer slipping into the interior of his dusky robe, plucking an odd gem that which Wick's eyes could not help but catch a glimpse of, one Katia was no stranger to either, "But that's enough about me."

"As for him," He turned on a heel as his seeming foe straightened himself up with a renewed vivaciousness and vigor, "That's the person your new friend, Birbin, went looking for - the 'Green Man'."

The mage laughed while Birbin looked to the two women, utterly flabbergast in expression and apparently not at all sure of how the stranger knew that; it was the only way to interpret it without words, for the wizard's mouth was agape and he could not even rouse his hands to gesture or speak as he had always done. After blinking a few times, the wide-eyed wizard bit his lip and stroked his chin in thought, adding in a soft, humbled tone to the group around him; "But... Birbin never said that to him."

"You're right, you didn't, but you led me right here just like they followed you. Too bad he beat me here..." Ruron continued as he held the midnight gem fragment freely in his hand, the other half to the ancient scholar's own, examining it with an intense stare. The stone twinkled some, but in an off and ever so subtle way, only long enough to let the elegant arcanist shoot them a glance.

"Oh, and about that light attracting the darkness?"

Again the weapon in hand gestured toward the entourage, just behind them this time, arousing some looks from their lot. Where there was nothing before, the very corners where the mystic light of the shrine did not dare stretch to, many sets of glowing purple eyes illuminated now, seemingly attracted as Ruron forewarned. It was then, with a step backward into nothing, the other mage vanished, leaving the ornamented man by himself before the great slab and its eternal glow.

"Defilers... so it is true then." A plate boot stomped forward toward the party, rattling the engraved snarling visage upon its shin, an act of obvious menace by the member driving it.

This further spurred the brawny Valmjr to hastily draw his companion axe from her resting place, much faster than he had been moving his hands toward before in secret. Thea and Haemar, both beside the arcane warrior, prepared themselves too as they surveyed the growing number of enemies behind them. Yet the Green Man was far from finished, calling up some sort of spell with a clawing motion over the length of the blade he bore.

"I will see to it this corruption ends. Feradrai ill'falel!"

The sword glinted to life with an eerie, spirited green light at his command and the chaos of battle ensued as he set himself to charge, both hands upon the grip.



@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

---

Cesar’s tightened the grip on his blade, a look of anger on his face. He had Jarlbane already drawn, in case they encountered more dangers within these Crypts, and from what he’s witnessed, he was right to keep it ready. It seems that had betrayed them and lead the Shadows here! While the Bard could go all day cursing the arrogant little scamp for what he has done, he is aware that there is a much bigger threat to be aware of, in a quite literal sense. The Green Man’s anger towards those who intrude upon these crypts is well received, indeed, but it seems like this very same anger is clouding his judgement.

The swordsman unbuckled his newly obtained gauntlet, throwing it on the ground while giving the Warrior of Nature a fierce gaze.

”In my land, the throwing of the gauntlet is a challenge to a duel!” Cesar exclaimed to the enraged knight as he made his approachc forward. He gave his allies a quick glance as he proceeded, hoping that they will understand what he wants them to do, before turning back to the Green Man, preparing to cross swords while watching for his immediate attack, preparing to defend himself.



And with Cesar’s shout of challenge, Jarlbane ignited with a golden light...

He had to admit, he had not expected this to be what they would see when they entered the room. Wick knew the man that was in here with the other, the one that he could only consider to be the Green Man. He fit the description too well to be anything else. The discussion between them was brief, but as soon as the Shadows began to appear, Theodore sheathed his sword and began to pull out his crossbow, only to find that the man had vanished into thin air. And that the Green Man was about to strike at them.

Excluding the group that split off behind them, one that Theodore would have preferred to be a part of due to the light that shone within him, but he also understood he was needed in here. He walked behind Cesar, his eye discerning the strengths and weaknesses of the towering man before them. The information he gathered did not seem that spectacular at first, all things he would have expected from a Paladin he had long since deduced the man to be. But. "Hmm, he is a tough one... magic will not do much and fear is not likely to have anything to latch on, that I can tell", he said out loud, sharing the bare minimum his allies would need. Anything else would take time for him to say and then to process.

He pulled out his crossbow and held it loosely in front of him, keeping the mask on his features. If Cesar wanted to show his spirit for adventure once again by engaging in a foolish one on one gambit, he would allow him that, if only to show that they were a unit here. They would undoubtedly do better as a group than he would alone. And experience was the best teacher. Yet it was possible the opposition would be having none of it. He was ready on his feet, just in case.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

"You are no more in your land, corrupters." The Green Man thundered with life as he moved with a spirited charge, the only thing louder than the ensuing chaos behind the party that was the other half fending off a tide of darkness.

Perhaps now, as he realized just how tremendous his foe seemed in the bulwark of tarnished steel plate, lion's head and flowing cloak, Cesar might have well regretted standing first to meet the enemy, but there was no time for second thoughts, let alone even the creeping of regret. Rather, the bard could only react and bring his own, now golden blazing blade to meet the crashing strike that fell on him; Jarlbane boomed and took the brunt of the strike for its bearer, but the longsword driven by the hand of this sanctum's unexpected warden continued. The slashing blow struck him from there, throwing him a bit off balance, but rather than score the hit it was all but destined to, an enchanted shield of watery salvation absorbed the worst of the attack for the man.

The enchantment upon the Green Man's blade flared to life, almost as if sparked by the contact, yet not roused enough to erupt into its full fruition and whatever threat it carried with. Yet things were far from over there, for the primal champion took one step further, just into the bard and erupted into a roaring mist that then raced past.

The deafening sound, like finding one's self caught upon a hurricane's leading edge or being bellowed at by a slavering tiger, fell past the swordsman and his monster slaying company, utterly ignored the rest of the challenge, instead appearing behind the befuddled scholar and just beside the feline monk. Landing and taking form again, the chill mist made flesh drew its sword back and swung in an arc that threatened the pair. Fortunately for them both, the suddenness of the strike missed its actual intended target as the two women leapt back out of harm's way; it was clear the relentlessness had an agenda beyond the obvious.

Reformed completely despite still being cloaked in a mantle of mist, the man adjusted his grip upon the weapon and addressed them, "It is you who is facing me, a face of the world itself."


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

---

As the towering knight approached Cesae, he faltered ever so slightly at his imposing nature. He had looked alot smaller from afar... The bard was reminded of the countless islands he missed on his previous adventures due to this very same reasoning. Cesar gritted his teeth as he continued to brace for impact, quickly fixing his stance, in order to show his opponent he has no fear...

The warrior then broke the distance in a quick charge. Cesar raised Jarlbane to defend the mighty attack to little avail, the menacing blow breaking through his defenses. Cesar instinctively raised his forearm in order to defend against the attack, screaming something in Elven as a disc of blue, watery energy shimmered on his arm, like some sort of shield. This magical shield managed to successfully deflect the knight’s devastating blow, leaving Cesar slightly bewildered...

... Mother?

The visualization of not only Ruron, but her master’s gem, lashed out across her mind’s temperament, catching the brunt of her anger with a harsh, nearly bestial growl of displeasure as the treacherous prodigy evaporated from the shadowy skirmish. The irony was not lost upon the ancient cleric, for everything the wunderkind was brilliant at, in every execution and performance, teamwork was where the boy historically stood at a standstill and refused to participate. Partially because no one could easily mimic and match his precocious, flawless tendencies. His now directed slander to the gnome’s ignorance portrayed an overall cruelty Wick never had witnessed, demonstrating how nefarious and astute his demons were.

Why would he use them, and to what beneficial desire, just to throw them away just as carelessly without a flicker or shadow of remorseful reflection?

Abruptly, slaughter came forward and almost overtook Cesar and then Wick by the hands of the verdant, angered admiral. The warlock’s brows quaked, in attempts to restrain and redirect the Green Man’s fury against their common foe.

“Defilers?” An offering of peace slithered from her lips in a candied bite, as the dark tendrils hugged her armor, tighter, without abandon. “We are not your enemies.”

She gestured to the obsidian threads of dusk and damnation, now surrounding them.

---

The Green Man finally appeared, and it seemed he was as bull-headed as everyone else Katia had met in this place, accusing them of bringing shadows into whatever this place was supposed to be. Cesar wanted a duel and Wick wanted to parley, but the enemy wanted to fight. What should she do? Her instincts told her this man would not easily back down, but to attack now would be to betray the plans her allies had made. The only option she could do was to test him.

Without concern for her own safety, Katia backpedaled away from the Green Man, knowing that if he were bent on serving their destruction, he would attack her before she moved too far. She gripped the handle of her quarterstaff tightly, and braced herself for what was sure to be a painful exchange, but hoped that somehow Wick's words had gotten through to him. Come on, Green Man, don't be stupid. We don't want to hurt you, she pleaded silently.


@Cu Chulainn - Cesar (Next!)
@The Harbinger of Ferocity - DM

---

The expression on Cesar’s face was that of pure anger. Not only does this knight think of his challenge as something so small, but he goes on to attack his allies, as well? And despite their pleas of peace, he continued to press on like some aggravated boar. Cesar knew that taking out the shadowy invaders was the biggest priority, moreso than this petty squabble. And the least he could do was somehow draw the Green Man’s ire long enough so that his allies could take care of the main threat at once.

So the scoundrel, for once, began to think like a scoundrel.

”You call yourself the Face of the World, yet all I see is an Ass! If you won’t face me, then I will piss and spit all over your sacred shrine!”

It was a bluff, unlike any other. Despite his iffy beliefs on religion, he knew well enough, especially after hanging with the Templar, that one should be respectful in such hallowed grounds. But Cesar needed to draw the knight’s strong emotions towards himself. Cesar could only hope the rest of his allies could interpret this taunt as a mere ruse.

And so, the swordsman dashed towards the shrine.

Theodore jumped as the Green Man, apparently also known as the Face of the World began his assault on his allies, ignoring the words of Wick just as well. His hand hopped onto his mask and was swiftly slammed onto the side of his bolt case. He drew one of said bolts to his weapon in a smooth move and began taking aim. He could feel the Light blooming in his chest, fighting to be released in a grand display of righteousness. But the divine insight he had received through his Slayer's Eye told him that would likely only sere to hurt him more that the opposing Paladin of the wilds.

The words of the man hurt Theodore's pride deeply and he roared his own response at him: "Hah! Without Light, there would be nothing but Darkness! Without Light, no wholesome life would flourish! Without Light, we would all be driven to madness!" At this point he released his bolt, unfortunately seeing it snap into the man's armour. It didn't pierce all the way through, so he could not be sure if it had actually hurt him, but he wasn't seeing his chances as too high on this one. Nonehteless, that would not stop him from continuing his tirade as he prepared for another shot.

"The Light nurtures! The Light protects! The Light feeds and cherishes! And those who would seek to snuff it out are an enemy to the temple!" The templar would not be dissuaded from fighting the Green Man any more. They had gravely insulted him by even remotely suggesting that the Light could somehow be blamed for this.



@The Harbinger of Ferocity

The Vale

The Crypt,
Currently

"You are as much fools as the one before you, filled with nonsensical ideas of what is 'good' and what is 'evil'!"

The enchanted weapon bound with primeval magic, moved with the astoundingly spry attacker as he spun to face the shooter. Closing in with an assaulting step, he landed a blow against the woman and changed the direction of the sweeping strike which then fell upon the armor of the zealot. Both of them felt the wash of life seep from them, wounds that only some time ago would have been followed by blood and pain, but instead only that tapping of spirit. It was eerie as ever, unnerving by any implication, as was the fate of things that fell in battle. What if the opposing man-at-arms and his savage magic felled them? Would they become like the birds and merely wait until dawn or... or would they fade away, just as their world vanished?

All the same, a matter none could delve into now, the first of the two attacks cast to life a surge of magic that filled the air with the scent of flora. Vibrant green, wild vines erupted from the warm stone floor and wrapped their thorny tendrils around the arcanist, threatening to fix her in place, but the latter swing instead bloomed with a mystic spark of pale green light; the burn of radiance, the almost soothing heat in spite of the harm it dealt. The Green Man seemed to command many forms of unusual magic, that of which was clearly drawn from the world but he was no druid, not by any obvious metric, neither was he some figure from this land that had been supposed as Ysgard.

At the ready to seemingly attack yet again, back or not turned to reborn magician, the enemy beneath the lion's fanged maw grinned at the holy warrior for a moment; before a breath otherwise could interrupt him, his reckless onslaught veered again to a dead pursuit of Cesar, armor booming as he charged full board.

"So much for your 'beloved' light." He snarled with mocking rebuttal at their disorganization in apparent views.

While in the middle of this charge, a phantom, ethereal green glow much like the burning radiance that singed Theodore made itself manifest from the palms of his hands. This spiritual fire trailing after him, burning off menacingly, some other fell attack was due soon as they both neared the golden flame.


@Cu Chulainn, @Gordian Nought, @Hekazu, @JBRam2002, @Rig

From the haunted knight’s infelicitous reprisal, the realms of light and darkness congealed into a haze, by his perspective, where neither setting nor rising horizon mattered. Clothed with transcendental and ancient brightness, a myriad of pain dispersed, from the guardian, unto the dark mantle of shadows guarding the warlock’s petite constitution, scurrying the capricious wisps away, far from the mortal angel. The enraptured celestial soon suffered another mighty blow by the hand of the cryptic paladin, as she suddenly became entangled in a brief web of ethereal lianas. The face of this world revolved slightly, turning his attention to fight and smite the slayer of monsters.

Their undesired foe was resolute with the accosted defenders of luminosity, as he turned his back, allowing the league of obscurities to return, shrouding Wick with dim and cloudy strength, once again. Her staff glimmered the other broken twin, in furious angst, searching for its other geminin of the jewel heralded from the lost Shujaat. The Green Man made a mistake, as the sailor tempted him with further desecration of his shrine, about facing away from the wizard, seemingly angered with the bard’s recent misery of events. Fostering a glorious enterprise, Wick hazarded a strike, that shouldered united mistrusts and thoughtful counsel, landing and securing a hope against such a mighty adversary.

But to no apparent avail.

The reincarnated cleric realized the defiant light, to which Birbin’s former friend, seemed partial, hastening with equal ruin, the pit that Cesar now plunged further into. The race was thunderous, as the force of those dire arms scrambled to reach the pirate and his insults. The diviner desired to aid her friend but to also to seek out the recently vanished Ruron, the reagent in this affliction of repentance and infliction of revolution. Summoning strength, the outward luster of the vines, intemperate against the murky miasma hovering about her breastplate, withered. With a fixt mind and high disdain, her boots quickly prostrated the temple’s floor with a sensed of injured merit, hoping to seek eventually, once more, the fierce contention of her master’s prodigy.

Only after the throne of this unconquerable will was usurped.

---

Katia watched her allies with a look of dismay. The antics of their bard certainly was not helping their case, and the others had already taken shots at the Green Man. Everyone in this world seemed to be fools: Birbin with his naivete, Valmjr with his lust for glory, and now this man would turn away assistance without talk. His armor was thick and tough to pierce, but it seemed his head was even thicker.

"There was no need to fight until you attacked us," Katia called out even as she rushed forward. But now there was a need. He had struck at her friends, attempting to tear them down, accusing them of spreading the blight on this world. Maybe he was right, that they might have caused more darkness to spread. But if that was the case, they should have dispatched the shadows together, working in unison against evil. But now they were fated to duel this defender of the ancient ways.

"But I will protect my friends!" With a flurry of wood and claws, Katia attacked ferociously, although sge felt her strikes barely got through the armor. Her last claws swiped straight across his face, and she hopped away a few feet. Now, he would have to get through her.


@Cu Chulainn - Cesar (Next!)
@The Harbinger of Ferocity - DM