[h1][center][color=00aeef]Corban[/color][/center][/h1] [hider=Visual][center][img]https://www.baka-tsuki.org/forums/download/file.php?avatar=9580_1344348745.jpg[/img][/center][/hider] [center][@Thewizardguy][/center] [hr] And lo', the gods would descend a hail of dying stars against the Guardian's bulwark of sturdy and immaculate stones few jewel cutters could ever hope to emulate, but made of slightly lesser stuff than the hail of bolts of a thunder god's proportions. Or if they weren't made of lesser stuff, Corban leveraged it well. The structure became concave and flexed in metaphysical despair as an invisible flash of lightning foretold a half-transmutation as the core of the barrier plumed outward, and the rest of the shell collapsed into smaller and larger particles that blew this way and that in fleeting winds of obsolescence. Corban pocketed the remaining two diamonds for now. "Hm. Not quite the welcome party I would have hoped for." [color=00aeef] [/color] "Not quite. But a grenade to a new neighbor's face? Those are just bad manners." [color=00aeef] [/color] "Fair enough. But where's the mother?" [color=00aeef][/color] As man and blade ended their colloquy of minds, the witch beveled out of her flight and landed just a few yards away. She first addressed the woman who's company the mage had just rescued, spitting vast boasts and threats. This Corban was used to. He was not, however, quite as used to being praised as he was of others praising themselves. So he was taken aback for only an infinitesimally small moment by the comment, only to be ran afoul by her followup comment. Had he not been who he was, it might have hurt his feelings. This is not to be confused with ignorance: Corban was aware all of his adversaries secretly admired him! He just wasn't used to them [i]admittting[/i] it. His response was a simple one. "Challenge accepted." It seemed this mage thought she'd be the the one to bring down Saezar. She surely wouldn't have been the first with that onus. And if Ishtalle had anything to do with it, she surely wouldn't be the last. Though for now, he contained her immaculate form in her far-less-than-maculate black sheathe. He then turned his attention to the flittering hologram, and for a split moment hovered mentally over the inner circuitry before responding. "It was nothing, honest." he began. "But id be careful about thanking me just yet. Eggs before they hatch, right?" his eyes once again met with the she-mage's, though when he spoke again it was still to Alexandria. "But I must ask that you let me handle this one. Alone. It's a mage thing. If you must participate then you're in a prime position to suppress-fire." In most battles of mages, it generally came down to superior positioning, and who had the faster draw. In close quarter combat it came down, ultimately, to kinaeshesia and conservation and expenditure of momentum. Its why spell casting is the mystic equivalent of gun-slinging. Corban straddled the fence, but was even more dangerous up close than most life-devoted warriors. He planned to show why. From within her sheathe Ishtalle's multi-layered mirror flat-side cycled through a seemingly endless laundry list of runic arrays, strange materials, and various-complexity spell-circles that showed in her reflection like looking at a painting through a sheet of ice. It revolved like a gun-barrel until it found its chosen chamber with the appropriate 'bullet'. There would be no flex of magical might and no tells from the mage. This was no activation. He was merely fumbling with change, not making a purchase. Most of all, he was a professional, and every professional, regardless of vocation could appreciate the concept of discrepancy. "Now that I've bought us some alone time..." his hand rapped in a theatric twirl, bleeding onyx-grey that quickly perfected itself into a perfect crystal lattice. The complex folds and cuts were the likes of those beyond the craftsmanship of any smith or artificer, and it took the form of an incredibly long(6 feet to the blade, 2 to the hilt), slender great-katana. Its surface was aphotic black, and running along the spine are three equally black runes carved half of 1/16 inch deep. Like Ishtalle's own reservoir(but limitlessly limited by comparison), these would give off no energy, though unlike Ishtalle, whom's systems were energy neutral, this was endoenergetic. In this sense, it became a black box. One may see what goes in(ambient light, but this would be negated as a viable means of spell-detection by the blades aphotic nature anyway), but has no idea how that related to what would come out, nor what actually happened within in the first place. The left foot slid forward, and knees were bent by a slight gradient. Reinforced center of mass, positioned with both hands on the hilt of the sword, held in front of his chest with curved blade tip pointed horizontally. "Who makes the first move, [i]sweetcheecks[/i]?" Grandiloquent avowals aside, The guardian was legitimately curious. [hider]: Sorry if im forgetting someone or an interaction. Its 3am and there have been several interactions with Corban at different times, etc.[/hider]