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| The Bridge; All shall be settled | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 26 2008, 04:38 AM (115 Views) | |
| Silent Cacophany | Nov 26 2008, 04:38 AM Post #1 |
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Grey skin and black fingernails contracted into a fist, tendons popping beneath the dark flesh, studded half-finger gloves creaking with the slow movement. Heavy steel-plated leather vambraces trimmed with crimson covered his forearms, from wrist to elbow. The pallour of his skin was shown to the world at his bicep, while his shoulders were hidden by a blood-red thigh-length overtunic, buckled at the waist. Black leggings tucked into banded combat boots hid the muscles in his legs, built up from decades of running, climbing and fighting. A cloak the same shade of grey as his skin hung from his shoulders down to his ankles, the hood drawn up to mask his slim, arrogantly beautiful face in shadows. It also helped mask the bandolier slung across his chest, twelve throwing knives in the open, plain for all to see. Withered black leaves crunched beneath his boots with each elegant, predatory step. He moved with a savage grace more befitting a feral tiger or equally ferocious monster than an elven hybrid. Each footfall only announced his arrival because he desired it to. At will he could have made himself soundless, but for the moment he wanted all creatures within hearing distance to know that he approached. The better to fear him. At five foot nine he wasn't terribly tall, and his frame, while perfectly formed with wide shoulders and slim hips, weighed a mere one hundred thirty-five pounds. His muscles were toned and slim, wiry and hard like a snake. Only one aspect of his physical appearance frightened people, and that was his slitted yellow eyes that burned with an all-consuming hatred and contempt for every single living being. In lieu of viewing his eyes, it was simply his demeanor that scared even demons. He carried an air of death, of psychosis that was barely in check. Something about being in his presence made people cautiously check that their weapons were handy, just in case this cloaked apparition suddenly transformed into a multi-armed grim reaper, a monstrosity more akin to nightmares than the physical world. If his reputation preceded him, it was only worse. Some people had actually attacked him on sight, just to try and kill him before he exploded in a fit of maniacal rage and went on a spree of rapine and homicide. He was Luther Trevanos, spawn of hell, Assassin, hunter of everything that walked or breathed. Hell, even if it didn't breathe he had no qualms about killing it. No sunlight pierced the clouds of the shadow outlands. The entire world was draped in a constant aura of darkness. The name, although uncreative, basically summed up what the place looked like. Dead trees dotted the wasteland of the rolling plains. Every now and then a shimmer that was a building could be seen upon the horizon, but that was a rarety. Whatever was intelligent to make structures and survive in the outlands wasn't something to be trifled with. A gust of wind blew the leaves off the dirt trail that passed as a road, causing Luther's footsteps to once again make less noise than a mouse thinking. His destination was in the distance, only a few miles more until he arrived at where the sun shone. A piece of myth for most of the Shadowfolk, inpenetrable, uncrossable, a legend even of its existance in some circles. The great bridge. And because some disbelieved, he had made it his goal to cross the bridge. If it was said to be impossible, by all earth and hell he proved the saying wrong. He had no inhibitions, no moral issues, no delays in judgement about whether something was wrong or right or grey. Everything in life simply was, and would remain to be until the world ceased to exist. Senses on constant alert of course, Luther was surprised when something suddenly appeared in front of him, nothing more than a black shape in the road, vaguely human, bipedal, no extra limbs or protuberances visible. How it had manifested itself without any warning began to set off alarms within the elf's horned skull. His muscles tensed as he quickly ran through a mental checklist of his items and accessories, just so it was fresh in his mind what he was carrying. Worst-case scenario: The Trevanos guild hired a wizard or mage to finally eliminate him, growing tired of him no longer being on their leash. If such was the case, he had twelve crossbow bolts and eighteen throwing knives, coupled with his resistance to magic he had a pretty decent chance of survival with his prior knowledge of combat against magical opponents. If it was an extraplanar creature that could teleport or grow invisible it would be less of a threat, as the ten inch combat knife hidden at the small of his back had been forged partially with silver. Invisibility could be an issue, but thermal vision had the chance to counteract it if he got anything warm on the thing. Like blood. It or his, he didn't really care. Now within a few paces of the thing, Luther had two throwing knives concealed within each hand and at the ready. His posture remained casual, but each step was being taken with more care, as he was using the balls of his feet in case of a surprise attack. The humanoid turned around when Luther was three steps away, still adequate range for a knife. All thoughts of violence against it vanished the moment he caught sight of the eyes. Like his, the eyes of the person were slitted, but this demon's eyes nearly glowed they were so white, whiter than fresh snow. He was clothed completely in black, the clothes well-made and trimmed in silver. Luther sized him up at about five foot eleven, and while the demon's long coat hid most of his frame, the elf guessed at around one hundred eighty pounds. He carried no visible weapons and his hair was short and black, spiked backwards. Luther was suddenly very, very afraid of this person, feeling foolish for not drawing his fighting knife at first sight. Like him, the demon had a certain something in the way he stood, something inhuman and animalistic. But unlike Luther, this being oozed power. The air around him almost sizzled with the raw energy coursing through his veins. Luther half-expected meteors to begin falling from the sky and the earth to open up, devouring civilization. Surely this thing before him was death itself, the lord of chaos walking upon the ground one final time before delivering armageddon and apocalypse. Staring at the ground, Luther put his throwing knives away, glancing up when he heard the thing chuckle. It spoke then, in a voice deeper than the abyss, accented with something grating and harsh, but musical and captivating at the same time. "Walk with me." Those three words and Luther would have followed the creature into hell itself. He was drawn to the thing like gravity, scrambling to obey and stride beside the demon, or whatever it was. It was odd, to know he was behaving this way when all his life it had always been others drawn to him. He noticed briefly that the person left no footprints in the dirt. So he was either an astral projection, a god, or Luther had finally kicked the bucket and gone completely insane. He pictured in his mind for a moment himself writhing on the ground, frothing at the mouth and spewing gibberish like a fountain. "You are not insane. Not yet. I simply do not enjoy the attention that the knowledge of my presence seems to draw." Luther nodded dumbly, clasping his hands in front of him over his stomach, as he had been taught to do in the guild when walking with a master of the order. "The bridge will be guarded. You know this. But I have a request of you, Luther. A contract, if you will. If you survive, upon completion, another will become available and you will receive another visit from me." Luther didn't really understand how somebody or something like this thing he was walking beside could possibly need anything from anyone else, but he wasn't about to argue. His terror still held his tongue in a deathgrip. Never had he been so afraid. Even scorpions seemed like harmless curtains by comparison. "There is a creature upon Frostbite Mountain. Ask for the Iceman, use whatever means you deem fit to discover his location. His eyes, like ours, are unique, and will serve as the primary identification purpose. They are completely silver, as if you were to take a marble and dip it in mercury, then insert said marble into the eyesocket of some unfortunate creature. Secondary identification will be a ring upon his left index finger. It is a sigil ring. You know of these?" Luther nodded, not wanting to meet his eyes and incur some sort of hellish wrath that would annihilate his soul from any existance. "Very well. Now, as you may know, the city of light has a magical barrier that prevents any evil soul from crossing. You, dearest Luther, have an evil soul, one which I think I will enjoy when you depart from this world and enter the next. Not such a bad fate, I think. In any case, I will provide the means to allow you to cross. Consider the guards a test. You kill them, as you were planning, and I allow you free reign in Eternius Illuminati." When Luther turned his head, the thing was gone. First, he was pretty sure he was insane, or near to it. There was no physical evidence that the creature had ever been there. Second, only three people in the world knew his real name, and that thing wasn't one of the three. Third, it had spoken to him exactly as had been done while he was a member of the guild. Even most of the words were the same for a debriefing. Lastly, he was furious with himself for being too frightened to even speak, kicking at nothing in the air to have a physical outlet for his rage. He had acted like a child and it wouldn't happen again. Thoughts of torture for the creature began to play through his mind, until he remembered about the contract. He hadn't had one in three months. The payment hadn't been discussed, but surely Chaos had something worth his while. Smiling, Luther cracked his knuckles and continued on, the border of the shadowlands and the city of light now clearly visible. It was like some great being had taken a knife and cut clear down the earth, decreeing that on one side there would be sunlight and on the other there would be shadow. Even from this distance the light began to hurt his eyes, but they would adjust and the pain would become nothing but a dull ache in the back of his mind. The path dipped below a hill, something to the side of the road hissing and skittering away, before rising again to be at the shadow side of the great bridge. Halfway across sunlight beamed down, and on the horizon the fated moonlight forest could be seen. Through the forest lay the gates to the city, and then his journey would take him northward to frostbite mountain. Long ago he had been forced to study a map of the eternal city and its smaller outlands, committing the entire thing to memory. Now he was glad for it. Checking to make sure all his equipment was present and at the ready, Luther took no more time striding onto the stone of the bridge. The bridge was huge, ornate and beautiful. Luther instantly hated it. A legion could have marched across in a line with room to spare. Why the shadowfolk hadn't torn it down or conquered it baffled him. Surely a magical barrier could be broken with the combined might of all the demons who lived in the Underground. It was no concern of his. Better the glory to be for his name, the first truly evil being to cross. Better for the histories to speak of him than some lesser demon. He deserved it. Thankful for his cloak once he entered the sun, Luther continued walking, now able to see only a handful of guards at the other end of the bridge. As he got closer he counted eight of them, two were archers, three carried swords and the other triplet appeared to be only militia. The ones with swords also carried kite shields and had finer armour. Perhaps they were knights. They would all be dead soon. Once they finally paid enough attention to their duty, the men fell into a ragged formation and demanded he halt. When he kept silently coming, an order was shouted and a warning shot was fired. It clattered off the stone three feet away from him when it should have almost hit his feet. Better that they were rusty. Two of the knights drew swords, the third walking closer to Luther and holding up a hand, shouting in the common language, repeating the demand to cease his approach. His mind was racing with calculations and outcomes, planning his attack on the fly as he strode fearlessly towards eight armed men. He was five paces away from the lead knight when he flicked his wrist downwards, catching a throwing knife that had been hidden in his vambrace. He slowed then, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I only wish safe passage, good sir, into the city of light." The knight stared at him a moment, but the elf's face was hidden in shadow from his hood. Sighing, he waved him forward, meaning to pat down the shadowlands creature for weapons. As he lowered his hands from their raised position, Luther's wrist flicked again and suddenly the lead knight was clutching his throat, a knife buried within. Falling to his knees and gasping for breath, the knight had a confused look in his blue eyes. Luther ignored him and reached over his right shoulder, drawing his crossbow wordlessly as the other men finally realized what had happened. He aimed and pulled the trigger, the quarrel whizzing away as Luther crouched behind the gasping knight's body, quickly reloading his crossbow as an arrow thudded into the dead man's back. Something in the man's eyes disappeared and Luther knew then that he was truly dead. Popping up, Luther aimed and fired again, noting with momentary satisfaction that the first archer had been killed, the crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest. The two remaining knights were rushing at him, the three militia staying behind, possibly from cowardice. Time slowed as Luther rose onto the balls of his feet, his left hand disappearing into the folds of his cloak to retrieve another knife, his right hand already dropping his crossbow to reach for the wide-bladed, curved single-edged knife at the small of his back. He lunged forward to give his throw momentum, hurling the knife at his opponent's neck. The movement caused his hood to fall away from his face, making his jet-black hair, horns, and yellow slitted eyes visible for all to see. His projectile was blocked by the knight's raised shield as the man sped forwards, sword drawn and aloft to cleave Luther from neck to navel. Luther took one step forwards, bracing his feet just as the knight began his slash downwards, longsword gleaming in the sun as it descended to smite the murderous elf. Luther kicked off to the left, dodging at the last second and charging forwards, swinging his knife in reverse grip as he flew past the knight. He felt the blade connect solidly, tearing through flesh and muscle, a great gout of blood spewing out of the savage wound into open air. Now with momentum, Luther sprinted left towards a pikeman. The guard swung his spear like a staff, knowing he was too close for a thrust. Luther slid into a crouch, balancing on the toes of his boots, gravel flying as he skidded just below the swing of the spear, which would have hit his neck and knocked him unconscious. As soon as the blow passed he was up again, now easily within stabbing range from his skid. He slammed the blade hilt-deep into the center of the man's chest, relishing the surprised breath the man took. Pulling the bloodstained knife out only as far as he needed, Luther plunged it in once more, now directly into the heart. Both moves had been lightning-fast, but it had seemed like an eternity in the flow of combat. Ripping out the knife, blood poured from both wounds, dripping from his hands and staining his cloak. He spun around to meet his next opponent, a sword-wielder. Another knife appeared in his left hand and was thrown at the leg of the advancing knight. It connected and dug in, causing the man to stumble and lose his balance with a cry of pain. Luther was never one to pass up an opportunity and dashed forwards, closing to knife-range. The knight took a weak horizontal swipe at his opponent, but Luther was too close and simply caught the knight's arm on his left vambrace. With his raised arm he punched the man in the face with enough force to break his jaw, whipping his head to the left, blood flying out of his mouth. Gripping the dizzied knight's chainmail shirt to steady himself, Luther switched to a forward grip and stabbed directly up into the jaw and subsequently the brain. Gurgling, the man's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Ripping out the blade and spinning at the sound of rushing footsteps, Luther barely had time to angle his body to the left as an axe sliced downwards, the blade close enough to flutter Luther's ponytail. One quick step forward and then Luther kicked the man in the crotch. As he doubled over in pain, the elf savagely struck directly upwards with his knee, breaking the man's nose and flipping him over onto his back, unconscious for the moment. The last man was directly to Luther's left, shortsword and knife drawn, but he didn't move to attack. He walked right up and swung from the side, his knife spraying tiny droplets of blood onto the soldier. It was blocked by the sword as the man stabbed with his knife. Luther grabbed his enemy by the wrist at the last possible moment and wrenched outwards, causing the man to grunt in pain and move his body before his elbow was broken. Distracted as he was, Luther then stabbed him in the stomach, cruelly twisting the knife while it was still within. He could only imagine the agony he was putting this pitiful human through. Pain had made him forget the world, his eyes unseeing, his hands clutching at his abdomen, weapons dropped. At this moment there was no higher thought on his mind than the knife that had pierced his leather armour. Luther tore the knife out as harshly as he could beore raising it above his head with both hands, eyes alight with glee. The man met his eyes for the last time, pleading silently, one hand held up as if to view the blood and shredded organs that laid upon it. Luther drove the blade down with a snarl, almost laughing at the horrific sound of his knife tearing through his opponent's skull. Leaving it there for the moment, he spun on a heel and drew the five inch knife from his left boot before approaching the last man alive. He was just coming awake, his eyes watering as he clutched his nose, blood running down into his mouth and off his chin. Placing a boot firmly on his neck, Luther crouched down and forced the man's mouth open, his index finger and thumb darting in and grabbing the tongue with practiced efficiency. No emotion evident in his feral eyes or on his face, Luther quickly sliced off the tongue as low as he could get. Strangled cries of protest issued from the man's throat, whimpers of pain and suffering that no person should have to hear, let alone live through. Luther slowly began to apply pressure with his boot, adding choking to the list of noises that this pathetic human was making. Disgusted with the man, Luther raised his boot and then stamped downwards, snapping the neck of his last victim with brutal ferocity. He calmly wiped off his knife and sheathed it before stowing the tongue in a special cloth in his satchel. It would make a fine treat later. Blood was spattered onto the stone as he flicked his wrists to rid his hands of excess blood. He then wiped them off on his cloak, which the ichor was already running off of. It had been treated with a special oil that made it bloodproof. He retrieved his throwing knives as well as two daggers that the knights had had on them, one going onto his right shoulder, the other attached to his belt for later use. He surveyed the scene before him. Pools of crimson were spreading underneath of his victims. The bottoms of his boots were sticky from the puddles he had been forced to walk through. It wasn't enough of an annoyance for things to live, they always had to leave such a mess when they died. It was already beginning to stink, even to his conditioned senses. "You dropped this." A voice to his right said. Intantly he stood up taller, all his muscles tensed as he glanced over. The demon was holding out his crossbow. He took it tentatively, hooking it on the bandolier beneath his cloak, the handle sticking through the hole in the fabric that allowed him to draw it. "Exploding heads. Very nice." The thing remarked. Luther stared at the ground before replying. "Ruins the bolts." He mumbled. Chaos nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. "Congratulations, Luther. You passed the test. Now, about crossing that barrier, if you can just-" "Hold on. I never said yes. I don't even know who you are. How do you know my name? Why can't you just cross the barrier yourself? Who's to say you aren't just some hedge wizard with a couple neat tricks like disappearing? Some things are born with the ability to become invisible." He stopped then, knowing full well that he wasn't talking to a wizard or any other sort of human. He spoke simply because he hated himself for being terrified. The demon laughed, white eyes twinkling. "My my my, you interrupted me. That has not happened for some time, I assure you. Unlike some of my lesser kin, I will not kill you for it, so be at peace. As to your questions, young one. I know your name from a friend of mine, Lian. He was your master. Did you know that the Trevanos guild was completely wiped out? Torn apart after he discovered black sheep. They will never hunt you again." Luther's eyes had widened at the mention of the Assassin Grand Master. Before he could comment, the thing continued. "I can cross the barrier. As if something that simple could hold me back. But you cannot. Which is why I am here now. Because you desire above almost everything else to be able to enter. I do this for you, you do a few things for me. I think it would be good for you to have something to do. Missions are what you live for, after all." He stepped closer, putting himself face-to-face with the elf. "Need you a demonstration, whelp, as to what I am? You think me a demon or devil, yet I am neither. You can sense both, you know when one is near." Its eyes turned pure black. No sclera or pupil was visible, it was simply like staring into a vast, lightless abyss where nothing would ever reside. It smiled, revealing a mouthful of serrated white teeth. Luther gasped and recoiled, raising an arm as if to defend himself. Chaos spoke then in the tongue of demons, darkening the air around him. "I am the harbinger of the end, the crimson hand, that which shall be feared." A vortex of wind spun about him, lifting debris and tearing earth from the ground to be whipped in all directions by the tornado. He pointed through the maelstrom with a blackened hand shot through with pulsating white veins, gleaming talons curving from the end of each finger. Horns had grown out of his head, all visible skin was the colour of charcoal. His outstretched finger motioned in a come-hither gesture. Luther obeyed wordlessly without thinking. His body was moving against his will like a puppet, the strings held by this creature. The hurricane of energy and debris parted to allow the elf entrance, where he descended to a knee, as if he was to be knighted. Chaos, the unnamed one, opened a hand and held it over Luther's head. It closed its eyes and appeared to be concentrating. A white light slowly appeared in its palm. Once it had grown to the size of a plate, the creature gripped the top of Luther's skull. He screamed in agony as fire ripped through him. His eyes were clenched shut as what felt like meathooks were driven into his skin and torn out repeatedly. Every cell in his body was burning with the intensity of the sun. Then it got worse, as the energy that Chaos commanded found something within him that wasn't physical and latched onto it. Luther would have passed out from the torment, but was being held awake. After what seemed like years he was released, to collapse panting upon the warm stone of the bridge, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. He coughed and spat out a gob of something. Supporting himself on his elbows, the assassin managed to rise shakily to his feet after five minutes. His head still felt like it was fire and his body hurt as if he had been impaled upon a spear, but he was alive. The creature was gone, whatever it was. Luther now knew that it had imparted some of its essence to him, something of its humanity. He was shocked to realize that something like that had started out as human. How could he possibly have become whatever he was now? Humans had limits. He also knew its name, but had never heard it before. He had heard other demons speak of their fated God that would bring about the end of their imprisonment in the hells. But he hightly doubted that he had just encountered it. Taking a deep breath, Luther stepped off the bridge and began walking towards the moonlight forest. The sun would be down soon and he preferred sleeping in a tree than way out here in the open. He wasn't sure yet if he had passed the barrier, or what would happen if he still couldn't. But the thing had definitely known that he wanted to. A mission was like the syrup on cinnamon bread. |
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| Silent Cacophany | Dec 7 2008, 04:07 PM Post #2 |
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Luther sprinkled a few more dry twigs onto the fire he had built, blowing on them lightly to make the flame catch. He sighed and looked around, his hood down for now since he was alone. The forest really was quite lovely, even to his eyes. Moonlight streamed down in beams, filtered by the canopy of the trees, lending easily enough luminescence to see by. The pillars of light glistened off dew, making the whole scene before him sparkle and shine. There were paths winding their ways through the trees, which he had had to follow, but he avoided them when possible. He didn't want to get lost here, after all. One thing that he had noticed was the silence. Even in the shadowlands there was always some sort of noise. Wind, wild animals singing mournful songs to the stars, beasts killing one another, screams of fear, all these and more were the music of his home. Yet here there was nothing. No birds, no creatures, no people, just the moon and the moss and the trees. His fire, crackling merrily, almost seemed an affront to the silence, a disruption of the peace that would be punished without mercy. He added two of his larger pieces, urging the dancing flame higher and louder. Once Luther deemed it hot enough, he carefully unwrapped the bloodstained silken scarf from his satchel and speared the tongue with a sharpened stick. Holding it over the fire, Luther watched carefully and rotated it when necessary, adding a few dried herbs to the sizzling meat. He didn't want to ruin such a delicacy. When it was finished he gently took a bite and rolled the piece around in his mouth, savoring the taste. Now if he only had a piece of bread and some fine wine, it would be the perfect night. All too soon it was finished. Luther threw the twig into the fire and stretched his arms over his head. It had been a damn fine day. He replayed the memory of the bridge again for the third and last time, critiquing himself upon his performance, remembering how his opponents had moved and how he had countered them. Then he thought about how he could have done better, which areas or aspects of his style could have been exploited to his demise, how to turn those openings into other ways of eliminating his opponents, and so on and so forth. Luther clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in satisfaction when he was finished. He took a deep draught of his water before he clambered into a tree and climbed into the upper limbs, finding a comfortable place to sleep. The fire would burn itself out, or it would escape its confines and burn the place to the ground. He could care less about the outcome. Yawning, Luther drew his hood over his head and clasped his hands behind his head, closing his slitted eyes but keeping his other senses alert. It wasn't long before he was asleep. |
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| Silent Cacophany | Dec 17 2008, 04:19 AM Post #3 |
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Wind whipped the snow in all directions, tiny vortices of whirling whiteness blowing everywhere. Luther had to push through the hardened top crust, as the snow was up to his waist, making moving difficult. But this was where the Iceman was, near the peak of Frostbite Mountain. He had learned from some of the people at the temple that this "iceman" was actually named Revenant, but that wasn't something that he liked being common knowledge. Apparently the creature was in hiding from something, but from what nobody knew. Luther suspected that the people were simply superstitious and that Revenant preferred a solitary lifestyle. Luther wasn't sure what to expect from the fellow. All he knew was that Revenant's eyes appeared to be made out of quicksilver. Other than that, Luther had no information on height, weight, general appearance, nothing at all. The general location of a shrine that Revenant frequented was where Luther was heading now, hoping he didn't have to spend too much longer on this gods-damned mountain. The cold didn't bother him, his demonic heritage made sure of that. But the snow and ice were something he had never really had to deal with. If he had anything to say about it, he never would again either. The wind, too, didn't help anything. It completely drowned out all noise. He couldn't even hear his own footsteps. A pair of some sort of furred humanoids had already attacked him at random. He had just been slogging his way through the snow when they had appeared almost out of nowhere, their white fur giving them natural camouflage in the blizzard. If he had been a few minutes earlier or later, they wouldn't have been there, and subsequently wouldn't be lying dead a couple miles down the mountain. It was just a chance, random encounter, albeit fun. He wondered why they had attacked on sight. The local populace had said they were very friendly, even helping lost travelers or pilgrims. Maybe the Iceman could answer that question, provided he didn't try to tear Luther's head off the moment he saw him. The snow suddenly disappeared down to a normal ankle-height level. The whole area, what his yellow eyes could see of it, was brushed clear of the whiteness. He drew his hood closer and stalked forwards, wary of what this meant. A hazy outline of black came into view then, the entrance to a cave. Luther's right hand went to the small of his back, his left reaching inside his fluttering cloak and retrieving three throwing knives. He looked all around outside before entering. The temperature was a few degrees warmer, thanks to torches set into carved stone pillars that lined the entrance. The cave consisted of one chamber that ended two hundred feet in front of Luther at some sort of altar surrounded by lit candles. The ground had been altered with human hands, slabs of engraved stone forming the floor. More pillars extended from the entrance all the way down to the curved end of the cave. Kneeling in front of the altar was a hooded figure, the cape dark grey like Luther's, but mottled with white and trimmed in a dark blue fur of some kind. Luther sniffed and wiped his nose on his arm before continuing further, making no noise as he approached. Which made it surprising when the creature rose and turned as he got closer, taking off it's hood as if it knew he was there. If this was Revenant, he was either psychic or wielded some other sort of magic. What Luther could see of him was thus: It's skin was completely white, whiter than the snow. Short, uneven white hair, cut raggedly. Silver eyes. It wore light grey leggings tucked into knee-height boots, the knees of the creature protected with dual-spiked pads. From the pads up to the waist was unprotected. A sky-blue tunic was mostly covered with a studded black leather chestplate, complete with pauldrons that extended to cover most of the bicep. The left pauldron had a huge eight-inch bladed horn of some kind, sticking out horizontally but curving upwards to the roof. The right pauldron was studded like the chest and stomach. Black forearm guards of the same material as the rest of the armour. The right vambrace had a six inch slightly curved elbow-blade that glinted harshly in the candlelight. The left vambrace was studded. A six foot long leaf-bladed spear and large metal roundshield rested casually against the altar. An unstrung black horn shortbow and quiver, as well as a carrying apparatus of some kind, were off to the side. At the figure's left hip was a black-leather longsword sheath, over his right shoulder protruded another hilt of a shortsword, while from his right hip dangled a peculiar weapon that looked like an icepick. All the weapons and armour on another creature would have seemed awkward perhaps, but this thing had a warrior's confidence in his stance. Luther stopped at a respectable distance, close enough to throw a knife from. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Are you Revenant?" He heard a chuckle, much like Chaos had done when Luther first met him. "I suppose you're here to dispose of me." His voice was deep and grating, harsh like the winter, piercing. "You'll soon find, child, that I am not easy to kill." Luther bristled at the term. He hated being talked down to. He hated this thing in front of him. At the same time he had no idea what Revenant was. He had the same graceful features that all elves shared, but he simultaneously looked alien, hard and hostile. As if he had been carved out of ice and had never thawed. "I hope your prayer was worthwhile, freak. It's the last time you'll ever do it." Luther threw two of his knives then in the same motion. Revenant caught one in each hand and simply dropped them on the ground. He unclasped his cloak, letting it fall from his shoulders. Then he slowly picked up his spear in his right hand and his shield in his left. He cracked his neck and took a step forwards. "Words are nothing, assassin. Only actions. We shall see who walks down the mountain today." Luther threw his third knife, drew his crossbow and fired. Revenant caught the knife in the wood of his spear and deflected the exploding quarrel without detonating it somehow, the bolt arcing off towards the back of the cave. Luther drew a knife from within his right vambrace as well as his combat dagger as the two combatants rushed eachother. The spear came humming towards him, nearly catching his stomach. Luther barely had time to move, slapping away the shaft as it flew past. Then Revenant's shield was there, the lead edge being used as a weapon, scything towards his neck. He ducked beneath it and kicked at Iceman's leg. Revenant stepped backwards before the elf's boot got there, his shield now in a defensive position and ramming forwards in a shieldbash. Luther jumped up and kicked off the shield to the left, spinning upside-down in mid-air, slicing with his right knife at Revenant's face, twisting and landing on the ground in a roll, instantly regaining his feet. The thing was totally unharmed, circling, moving with predatory grace. Luther came at him, leaning out of the way of a thrust, swooping under a horizontal blow, dancing back as the shield once again was used as a weapon. Right when Revenant started his strike with his shield, Luther threw the knife in his left at the thing's momentarily exposed chest. Revenant punched forwards, dropping his spear to grab the knife. Before his weapon hit the floor he had it in his white fist again, moving with lightning speed. Luther grinned and laughed. Finally, he had a challenge on his hands. Hiding what he was doing, he deftly plucked a crossbow bolt from the quiver at his hip. Revenant stabbed again, three times in succession, high to low, each thrust nearly connecting. When his spear was closer to the ground, Luther tried to stomp down on the shaft and snap it, but the iceman was just too fast, and now Luther was exposed. The shield came to smash Luther's skull in face-first, but he had actually been bracing himself to leap away. As he did so he threw the quarrel like a dart at the center of the shield, protecting his face from the blast. He quickly regained his feet to see the ruined remnants of the shield already discarded, now replaced with that pickhammer weapon. From this distance Luther could tell the bladed spike was made out of mithril. A useful weapon. Despite having just had an explosion right in his face, Revenant looked unharmed and unphased. If anything, he appeared more focused, as if he actually preferred fighting with two weapons instead of a shield. They met. The spear, lancing for Luther's neck. He dodged and caught it in his left hand, pivoting on a heel and pulling, bringing his right elbow around, snapping the shaft in half. Revenant's icepick was already descending towards the crown of the elf's skull, a killing blow. With his knife in reverse grip, Luther dropped to a knee, catching the spike on his blade, sparks flying, the steel shrieking as it held against the razor-sharp mithril. The moment he had defended against the attack Luther rose, snapping his left leg out in a brutal roundhouse kick at Revenant's head. The creature ducked and spun, rising once the kick was past, momentum gained from the spin being put into a backhand that would have shattered stone. Luther leaned so far backwards he almost fell over, then lunged with his knife at Revenant's heart. The icepick was there in a flash, locking their weapons together. Luther punched with his left hand at the ribs of his opponent, but was blocked with an elbow, which was then swung at his face, the elbowblade flashing in the torchlight. Luther cocked his elbow and swept his arm outwards, now locking vambraces with his opponent. Hopping up one foot, his knee collided with Revenant's ribcage with enough force to break human bone, but the creature showed no pain. Now Revenant attacked, using his shins and knees to bash at Luther's lower body. Most of the strikes were blocked, but some got through, just as some of Luther's attacks also met their marks. It would have been almost comical to a third party, these two warriors dancing about alternately on one foot, weapons grinding, free arms clasped together as if they were friends. Luther was skilled, but as time passed and their foot-duel continued, he realized that Revenant had the upper hand. Just as he landed from another failed attempt to break Revenant's legs, his foot slipped on a chunk of shattered shield. He fell forwards just as his adversary brought his spiked knee upwards. Luther grunted in pain, reared his head backwards, then slammed it directly into Revenant's nose. He heard cartilage snap as they disengaged, Luther taking a moment to examine his stomach, where two concentric holes had been drilled into his abdomen, one directly above the other. As far as he knew nothing vital had been hit. He looked up just in time to see his opponent grip his nose and re-set it with a terrible cracking, but no sign of pain. Revenant was completely emotionless, his face a mask that revealed nothing. It was sort of frightening in its blankness. Luther had been trained to read people thoroughly, but he could deduce nothing from this creature's visage. A rasp of steel and the shortsword on his back was gripped firmly in Revenant's free right hand. Luther drew another long knife from his person and gave it an experimental twirl, readying himself for what was to come. |
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3:48 AM Jul 11