Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Cu Chulainn
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Cesar Lorenzo Tidesong Bolivar

The Vale, Fighting The Angry Green Giant



@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu

”Now I believe that you are a ‘Face of the World.’ It explains why you are so slow and fat!” Cesar hollered, mockingly, as he continued for the sacred flame. He believed he could use whatever power it may have to offer to help him and his friends fight this strong enemy.

Once he reached the shrine, Cesar gave a quick look over it, trying to figure out how to evoke it. Despite his quick thinking, however, Cesae was unable to figure out its latent power, although it does seem quite familiar to him. Perhaps his allies can aid him...

”Uh... what do you all make of this?”

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Theodore was well beyond reasoning. The Green Man may have caused the templar to become just as bullheaded as him by doing as little as to insinuate that his Light would be the cause of the Darkness. Their mocking words would not enter the Monster Slayer's ears. He had had enough. A certain radiance attempted to push through his eyes, his irises taking a bright shade of hay for a second before he swallowed and yet contained the searing radiance. He could let his fervour get that far.

The swing of their giant blade would find Theodore's flesh, even with the Ranger's attempt to sidestep the blow. An unfamiliar light entered his body, harming his foot before being absorbed into the contained radiance within the man. And then the opponent dashed right after Cesar, the fool proving to allow the others a brief moment of respite if nothing else. It was probably for the best that Theodore's ears were not in a state of actually delivering things to the man's brain... in his rage he might not have been able to tell a bluff from yet another insult towards the Light even Cesar was supposed to stand for.

He aligned his heavy crossbow's sights in the middle of the opponent's back, another Valhallan bolt set on the track of the weapon, ready to be launched. And launch he would, the end result of the attack appearing more or less the same as the last one, unlikely to cause any real damage. Then again, the strike of the Green Man was not visible on him either. It was simply the nature of this world, as well as the Shadows they so often fought. But now that the moment had passed and the man was preparing another attack, he noted how he could no longer feel the presence of ghosts, nor the aberrant shadows. He cursed the so called "Face of this World". If this was what this world was to be like, it would not deserve to be saved.


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Between the two attacks if the women, the only one that forced the mystic warrior to contend with it's consequence was that of the lithe monk, her claws at the ready after they struck across his face. It upset his furred crest some, knocking the fallen beast's toothy muzzle to the side in the process, but did more to distract the bearer of the sacred garment than anything else. With one hand he adjusted it and in the other, he thunderously cried out with animal rage - the unchained wrath of the wild that had originally been set for the bard who now sought to tamper with the unknowable fire.

The faint green flames of burning ether radiated across the sword and with a swing at a cross angle directed high, the leading edge of the blade caught the defender across her body. With a flash of ghost-light the vengeful attack returned and shed its luminescence across her; Katia, just as Theodore experienced before when this had been done, the odd familiarity of the Kingdom of Light's power as interpreted by their enemy. Sadly, she took the brunt of a far more powerful attack not intended for her at first in the process.

A loud pling echoed in the wake of the attack, the templar's bolt shattering into pieces as it broke upon the armored back of the man; bits of splinter from the newest hole in the old green cloak rained down upon the floor, but the man was off again with unchecked tenacity. It was increasingly clear anything and everything within his reach that was his enemy was a target and as he rushed by the reeling panther-woman, he acted again on this rampant impulse.

Another lash of the sword and the magister of many schools was soon too struck, the man responsible building combat momentum as he exploited every opportunity to attack. His assault moved with him as he carried on, summoning the energy and breath to speak as he continued toward the bard and the place of flame, now at a steady advance as he cast a greater, trailing shadow before the golden fire as he closed.

"You dare cast the Shadow behind your beloved Light, then have the audacity to bring it here? Your War of Light and Darkness ends now! Ysgard and all the Planes shall not suffer your intrusion, just as they did not of your gods so long ago! Begone!"

The Green Man carved the air before him with the sword before rolling it over in a circle with a practiced motion of his wrist. His hand tightened and he stood more straight than ever before, his composure having been regained and no longer a thrall to the power he tapped into.

"The other wanted Darkness, you want Light, but neither... neither can be allowed to have this world."
His voice grew low as he approached the sailor, a tone only he could make out clearly.


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The attack from the Green Man was enough to send Katia reeling, but as the radiance of his smite connected, she took hold of its energy, sending it back to her assailant, although the strike seemed less than effective. His words echoed in her ears even as the world seemed to fade. Neither Shadow nor Light shall rule? They did not come here with an intent to force a change in the balance of power. Indeed, their arrival was happenstance, and they had yet to fully understand what was happening since the inhabitants seemed more focused on attacking or accusing them than conversation.

Something else grabbed her attention: in this area of sacred light, none of the shades dared to enter. Indeed, she felt as if she were almost unable to enter the room with the shadows, almost as if Light and Darkness were fightimg a tangible war before them. Could they turn the tides?

Should they?


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The hue of blood was visibly absent on the battlefield, yet smitten with harm, which delivered the brief temptation of cowardice upon the warlock, as she beheld her Beloved become engulfed in radiance, spewing forth retaliation against the mutilation of the Face of this World, which revolved upon the wardens of light. Sooner repressed within her was a new color as the luminosity, that of pale impairment and of dire need of reparations. She stopped attentively, ignoring the Green Man who would not listen to their pleas, but slash through her armor of shadows once again, imbuing destruction, to what seemed to her very grey soul.

Because her eyes could not conduct and sway away from Katia, through the dissipation of her circumscribed black air, the cleric halfheartedly struck back against the paladin, in reprisal, missing as her concentration remained affixed upon the injured Tabaxi. Wick weaved through the heavy fog of combat, towards the monk, laying hands of healing and warmth.

“Rise, milya, that pain may not cut off hope.”

There was a word quite different from her previous cantos, a saying given slightly from fear, but also in confidence. Because the broken phrase implied another meaning of adornment as restoration permeated the feline’s body, the diviner suddenly fled, keeping a distance and mindful of the monster slayer’s range.

Gritted teeth beckoned back. “If it comes to pass that one of us transcends, let it not be you.”

The flush of anger refilled the wizard’s cheeks on seeing the pallor of the graceful mouser, encouraging the mage with blind assurances of success, but betraying her many mental convolutions, as she yearned, with a prodigious exhaled stench, to conjure the pitiless shades, not only upon her own corpus, but also unto her friend's body, as they remained both naked in the flesh and soul, against the threat of the knight.

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Her spell seemed to do little more than tickle the Green Man, and Katia felt that her radiant bolts would be about as useful. "Thanks, milya," Katia whispered before charging towards the paladin. She darted forward like a cat chasing her prey, smashing the back of his head as he moved away and following up with a scratch and a kick against his armor.

She then kicked off from her foe, blasting away from him like a streak of shadow. "You are not finished with me yet, false priest!" she called out. "I have no need of taking this world! I just want everything back to the way things were!" Back to how it was before the shadows came, to life with Wick in peace. To feeling like she finally belonged some place.


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Cesar Lorenzo Tidesong Bolivar

The Vale, Fighting The ARMY OF DARKNESS



@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@JBRam2002

”Your world?! I watched my world torn apart by this dark army moments before I ended up here! The feeling of dread as I watched millions of lives lost because I wasn’t strong enough, because I didn’t act fast enough... Watching another world torn apart is the last thing I want to do!”

Cesar knew that his allies needed him. Watching them struck one by one as the Green Man stomped forward, while the others are overwhelmed by the encroaching Shadows was painful for Cesar. He needed to call off his bluff, and get serious. Cesar needed to bring this light to fight back the darkness...

Cesae took another quick glance at the sacred fire. There was no time to drag the whole brazier to the other side of the room, not with the Green Man harassing his allies with his great blade. No... Cesar needed a faster way to bring the fire to the shadows.

An insane idea came to mind...

Cesar kneeled before the altar, whispering a prayer of healing he’s heard his more religious allies say whenever they utilized their curative magic. He needed to be healthy enough to make his idea work. Cesar did not want to end up a burnt husk before he reached the Shadows who approached ever so steadily. Cesar believed the quickest, most efficient way of extinguishing the Darkness is by bearing the Light upon himself...

... even if it meant dying in the process.

Cesar felt it would be a fair way to go. A martyr not only to the tenets of the Light, but to his own personal beliefs and morals. To be courageous and steadfast in protecting his allies, even if it would result in his own demise. To safeguard all he has left from his world from the encroaching Darkness. To be a good and honest man.

Cesar nodded to himself, with a smile, before stretching his arm out to the holy flame, letting its radiant heat consume him. He did not merely let his arm out to the flame, but allowed it to overtake him. Cesar accepted that he may die, and the only thing he could hope for was that he lived long enough to drive back the Darkness...



Cesar felt a strange feeling as the radiant fire slowly sheathed him. A soothing, yet somewhat painful feeling surged through his body. More invigoriating than harmful, it was nothing as if he had expected... in fact, Cesar felt vitalized, filled with purpose, to march forward. To bring Light to the Dark. Turning around as the flames continued to cover him, he looked into the eyes of the Green Man with conviction in his eyes.



”I serve the Light to protect my world from the dark forces that wish to consume it. Stand aside, Face of the World, and allow me to save what’s left of my home!”

Cesar proceeded forward, letting the flame to control his movement for just this moment, in order to march for the Darkness and stop the Shadows from harming his allies any further. As he marched along, he avoided the Green Man, both to reach his destination as quickly as he can while showing him his true intentions, to stop the Darkness from killing us all. Cesar hoped that the warrior would finally be compliant with their pleas, if only for this moment, so that he could fulfill his duty...

And if not, Cesar hoped that his allies would have his back.

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The assault on the blasphemous Paladin appeared more and more futile by the second. Very few of their attacks seemed to strike true, even with this world being unusual in the way one experienced harm. The templar was preparing his crossbow for yet another hate filled shot at the buffoon when he noticed the other fool, this one being of his allies though. Cesar reached out to the radiant flame... and the radiant flame reached out to Cesar.

Theodore could not believe his eyes. The fool who would do nothing but reckless decisions, bound to drive him and his allies to danger, was now carrying the holy radiance itself... no, this had to be but an imitation. The true Light would never choose somebody such as that man, not over somebody who has spent his whole life serving it... Theodore winced and let the light he carried within him stir for a second before tossing his crossbow onto his back and running forward next to Wick and stretching his hand towards the Bard.

"Cesar!" he called out, "the flame shines with the same radiance as my soul! It is a power that few can handle! You may be hurt! Give the task to me! I will see to the mission of the Light!" With his message to Cesar ready, he would turn to look at Katia and almost instinctively bark an order at the Feline woman of quite free will: "Hold that man!" He was unsure if she would follow the request, but what was said was said. As for himself, he kept his feet light and drew one of his two shortswords. He was ready to avoid any assault at his own person.


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"Surrender your thoughtless crusade to the Light, so-called heroes, and perhaps you might do well in service to this realm where you have failed elsewhere. No matter your choice, I will never allow either to lay claim; I did not bend knee to the Darkness and I shant do so to your Light!" The man began casting a spell, although his attention shifted to the animal monk harrying him, affording the light-bearer an opportunity to pass, at least for the moment; seeing her withdraw, the Green Man aimed his warpath squarely at the pair that had informally gathered and dove shoulder first with all the wild rampage he had before.

"By'saial a'feradrai, ulthide ela'shan!"

Of the two, the follower of the light with both his weapons drawn was the first to receive the feral blade's bite as it came alive with a wash of red flames; dodging as he was, using a blade to turn aside what might have well been the Light's final embrace of him, the masked crusader still suffered strong injury for his troubles, albeit those not nearly as grim or mortal. As foretold by the Green Man's beckoning of magic however, words uttered in the precursor Sylvan tongue, the fires of nature's rage burned and laid themselves upon Theodore with hunger. Now mantled in the burning cloak that clung to his every inch, he immediately suffered further - like whiplash between the cold bite of steel and searing heat of conventional flame guided by spell.

The attacking weapon discharged of its magic and withdrawn, outreaching arm taken back again, the man once more maneuvered between the heroes and struck out at the mage's exposed back. Yet having suffered this injury before, the woman shrewdly managed to evade the silvery point and ornate weapon unlike her past experience with it; she was not about to endure it again, not if she did not need to.

"That includes you, zealot, lest these flames suit you too." He growled, swinging the sword before him in a display of menace as it cut the air; all too clear was it that one of nature's warriors had no interest in allowing the Kingdom of Light any advantage here, but the real question was to why? Why was it these now twilight crypts so prized a tenuous balance between obvious goods and distinct evils? The Light seemed to cast a long shadow indeed, for the darkness the bard sprinted toward was almost as black as the pit in which they had fallen. Could evening the flame truly be the solution and if so... how?

How could the aura of golden, even painful, light shield Cesar Bolivar against overwhelming darkness? Was the fire's run some test of faith or trial, this entire ordeal leading up to this that is, or were these events just all circumstance? It was hard to say in a moment, let alone now. Although as the draw to the other shrine near pulled the man clean out of his sea boots with urgency, the words of the arrogant sorcerer, for all the frustrations he caused then and now, might well have been correct...

"Like one giant light in the darkness, drawing all the things lurking outside it right to it."

The only threat ahead was not just bound to be the warden... no, the Kingdom of Darkness and its say in this realm awaited him.



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The verdant master of this shrine spake of neutrality, an impartial objectivity of distempered intellects and mysterious verses. His hands apparently trusted in deliverance, of both affliction and redemption, penalizing those not quelled by the veil of his statements. The Face of this World flaunted blindness to his own axis, spinning doctrines yet commanding and defending the reliquary’s light. His cackling resolve sparked turbid waves as the monster slayer suffered the igniting clangor of an inferno fraught with terror and impetuous ferocity.

Laden again with murky dust, the warlock beckoned the trembling shadows to reinforce her constitution, lest the Green Man’s wind, once more, smit away the forests of shades, clinging to her soul, without restraint. The dark branches rent its illusory false life, hoping to bear the adverse heat and heart, the paladin heralded upon them.

The cleric’s eyes loosed an ounce of weariness against the knight’s sunken orbits.

Wick attempted to direct the nerve of their communed vision along the ancient foam encapsulating her, where smoke met celestial flesh. The competitive eyes of the diviner were babbling frogs before a hostile serpent, huddled in beguiling superiority. The Aasimar would sidestep, in defiance, curdling the fleeting shroud as she revolved in a positioned flank for Theodore, unmasking an unwept line of sight for the bard. Below her brows, her lashes fanned the unctuous air, waxing a Stygian ambiance with bold insubordination against their adversary’s endeavors for her very own disdainful submission, a banished anguish stemming from losing her former existence and Lyranth.

“Shameful surrender? Perish this thought as our will shalt only kneel in pained insolence!”


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The paladin was too dense to listen to them, nearly as dense as his armor. There was no reason for them to kill each other, but he wasn't about to stop now, most likely. Their only hope was... whatever the crap Cesar was doing, evidently. Katia wasn't exactly sure the end goal, but she knew that she needed to keep the Green Man from stopping them. Getting on all fours to charge forward, she used Theodore's presence as a distraction, slamming her quarterstaff into his helm, then scratching at his face and succeeding in tearing a small chunk of flesh away.

"We don't want to destroy you, really! At least listen to us instead of deciding we are only worth killing!" Katia cried in exasperation as she bounded away, placing herself squarely in the Paladin's easiest path to Cesar. Of course, she had seen him teleport forward before, but with any luck, he had run out of magical energy... or would be more preoccupied with the foes before him. In any case, she was in no position to physically hold someone who was likely twice her strength, and with regret glanced towards Theodore, she stood her ground, ready to strike.


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Cesar Lorenzo Tidesong Bolivar

The Vale, Fighting The ARMY OF DARKNESS



@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu

Seething with holy fire, the enlightened bard listened to the pleas of his devoted ally, believing he might be a better person to bear the light... That was, until the Green Man focused his ire on him and Wick. Seeing Theodore struck by a searing attack, Cesar was reminded of the burden he was made to bear, and the duty he must accomplish...

”I’m sorry, but I cannot risk the Light burning out! Bringing light to the shadows is the burden I must bear! Long may the light grace your every move, Templar!” Cesar spoke, both his voice and his method of speech sounding influences in some way. The words he has last exchanged, however, were imbued by a beneficial magic, as a means of raising Theodore’s morale as he inches ever so closer to falling from the flames of the Green Man’s blade. The swordsman then made a dash for the other side of the room, avoiding the reach of the enraged warrior, all while thinking to himself if this man truly allowed him safe passage in order to save his allies...

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The feeling of oblivion itself laying claim on his body was a powerful sting. The blade cut his wound proof flesh, carrying the much less radiant flame that would catch on to the Monster Slayer's armour and flesh. The feeling of pain was there no longer as he grit his teeth together and raised his sword in response. He could swear if he could see his hands through his gloves he would see straight through his skin, so great was the feeling of emptiness within him. But he knew that below it all, there would be the shining light he had not been ready to bring forth. He could now. But he was too weak. His body could not take both it and the assault of the man counted together. Calling upon it would be a waste...

And then he heard the words of the Bard. He grit his teeth and ripped his eyes away from Cesar as his spell flushed over his person, the feeling of emptiness receding somewhat as the flames dug deeper into his flesh. Apparently no plan survived contact with one Cesar Lorenzo Tidesong Bolivar... but in the end, if the choices were between fighting the enemy and backing up the antics of a fool or adding the wild card as another group of adversaries to be fought, the answer was clear. When the plan needs to adapt, for whatever reason, it does.

Theodore roared the Three Ideals of the templar out loud in the language of celestials: "The Light provides, the Light preserves, and the Light perseveres!" He had nothing to fear. Even if his act would only bring his own demise, he would have lived and died serving the Light. There was nothing more he could give than his all. And that he had done.

The man interposed himself between the two men, the Green and the running one and jumped at the former while Katia assaulted them. Despite his sheer will and determination, the adversary would draw the longer end of the stick and shake off his attempts at stopping their movement. In religious fervour, Theodore screamed the Three Ideals one more time and drew his second blade, defying any and all might the snuffer could throw his way.


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"Still you persist in this fool's tale of what is 'good' and what is 'evil'." The armored champion called up his rebuttal to Theodore as he turned into the follower's attempted grapple, using the weight of his heavy armor and his unnatural strength to prevent himself from being so endangered. Yet, his focus seemed placed elsewhere, not on the rogue bard and whatever new antics he had adopted throughout the entirety of the battle, especially now enveloped in a radiant fire, but instead this slayer of monsters; the flaring passions in the man and his faith seemed to draw a quelling rebuke.

One hand upon his blade, the other raised almost as though to strike, what came next was a sweep of the cloaked warrior's armored heel low at the templar's legs, which were well caught in the process. The mask-bearer, stepping back to initially catch himself, fell backward as the momentum carried through after having narrowly avoided being tossed to the ground in a crashing heap. In either case, the attacker stepped back and took a threatening sweep at the reborn mage, intending to keep her at bay lest she attempt anything now.

Then from beneath the lion's maw, the man turned to address the young, lithe monk who had been harrying him so, swiping the blade before him then letting it rest at hand, a fist clenched in visible frustration; "If you mean what it is you say, you will no more obsess over this 'Light'!"

As worse for wear the Green Man should well be, none of them showed the slightest of their injuries, at least not externally. Within they hurt, they well hurt at that, as they had been worn down so thoroughly by the combat and its fatigue. It tapped their motivations, their desires, their spirit - the closer they reached their limit, the more of themselves they seemed to lose in the process and become frayed.


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The throes of her senses wandered. For a moment.

Then Wick judged.

The nurturing shadows flickered upon her face as the predication of a liberating light leaped its hint nearby, with which the monster slayer burdened his corpus. A gaping freedom in the wildest sense as it cackled, faithful tendrils forgotten and lost in its own riot against Theodore’s flesh. The children of flames perceptibly breathed a holy vigor which dared a fervor and ardor, only mirrored by the masked Templar and his accompanying righteousness.

Was this the relief to the defender's guarded perception?

Perhaps, the warlock’s graceful embrace would cuddle and coddle the abrasive mind of the verdant knight, clinching a sun-kissed radiance developing in her frail palm. Her fingers outstretched, hoping her pale nails would touch the Green Man, and ignite a luminosity amidst the fog that plagued the knight’s acuity, which sought to harm the wardens who infringed upon his shrine.

She stole a glance from the Tabaxi, before breaking the invisible bread littered upon her lips.

“Do not bear false witness to the crumbling words written on a testifying heart. Betray not the soul’s devotion to your cradled tomb.”



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The paladin was apparently distracted by Theodore and Wick just long enough for Cesar to dash forward. Katia was still unsure of exactly what he intended to do and how it would help, but she was starting to get a picture. Had the Shadow overtaken the Paladin's soul? Would spreading the light heal the Green Man? Or would he still chase after them until he died? Katia said a silent prayer for the man as she charged forward swinging her staff.

The paladin must be getting dizzy by now. The staff smashed him in the face beneath his helm, while the claw against his armor did little more than scratch it. She kept running, ducking under his weapon as she passed between the paladin and Wick and followed after Cesar. "I'm with you, Cesar," she whispered, offering a smile and a pat on his back. "Let's do this!"


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Cesar Lorenzo Tidesong Bolivar


The Vale, Fighting The ARMY OF DARKNESS



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The biting radiance continued to burn at Cesar’s health as he continued to the seat of the flame, being halted by the coming shadows. He wasn’t sure he was fast enough to get past them; not with his allies trying to hold back the Green Man’s wrath. Cesar prepared to steel himself, ready to fight through these Shadows and tear holes through them if he could, if only to make it to the other room and bring light to this place. Taking a deep breath, the bard prepared to charge...

"I'm with you, Cesar, let's do this!"

A familiar warmth filled the bard’s already burning body. He turned around to see one of his closest companions, Katia, by his side. Smiling brightly, Cesar had just realized the solution to his conundrum is right in front of him! If he gave her the flame, then she’d reach it faster than he ever could! All she needed was an opening...

”Please, Katia, deliver this flame to its seat! Do not worry too much what it means, for it will enlighten you on what you must do!” Cesar exclaimed, before placing a hand on the center of her chest. Not sure how exactly he is supposed to pass the flame on, he tried his best to will it to the Tabaxi, doing so until he felt the warmth of the flame leave his bosom...

Cesar gasped, feeling more in control of himself, once again. The Light leaving him made him feel... without, for a moment. He couldn’t explain exactly why. To Cesar, it feels like he lost a very important part of himself... but now, that part needs to make it to the other side of the crypt. Cesar knew that, and resigned himself to the duty of making sure that happens.

”... Right, now it’s time to play my part, huh?” Cesar mentioned, nodding to Katia before turninf back to the Shadows. Dropping his sword and flexing his fingers, Cesar marched towards the growing army of darkness. He needed some way to draw their attention and clear the path, and knowing how opportunistic they happened to be, Cesar needed to make himself a savory target...

”Alright, bastardos oscuros! You want a piece of me?!” Cesar exclaimed, with open arms, taking a quick shoulder glance back at Katia, giving her a nod. Hopefully she can accomplish this before he’s torn apart...

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A sneer spread across Theodore's face as he jumped back onto his feet, pushing himself off the floor with his off-hand. The flames that coated his body failed to find further purchase and withered away as he brought his blades back up in a defensive position and considered his options. The man was strong, stronger than him to be certain. But never, not ever could a man be stronger than the righteous will of the Light. Wick's attempt at placing a crude imitation of the spectacular radiance that burned in the templar's very soul failed, but that did little to dishearten the Monster Slayer.

"The only tale of a fool is what you spout, heretic!" the templar roared as he jumped at the Green Man once again, only to be shunted to the side much in the same manner as last. Yet there was no change to the conviction in his eyes. He could be thrown to the side a hundred times and he would keep coming back in the name of the Light. He would keep going until he would be lowered to his grave. He was the last of the templar, with Wick and Thea both having chosen their alternative ways. And he would live up to their name.

"The Light provides! The Light preserves! The Light perseveres!" he chanted in the language of the divines once more and stood between the adversary and his allies who were preparing to plunge into the darkness. The flame of Light was to be restored and the oppression of shadow was to be driven away. Yet he heard a few words that had his hollow feeling heart skip a beat. Now the flame was changing hands? But he had his mission and he was set on performing it to the best of his ability.


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The Vale
The Crypt,
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"A breakthrough at last!" Valmjr came to life as he noticed the bard, on an insane mission at that, dove straight into the darkness past their formerly unbreakable wall they had formed. He too charged, the pouring light to his back, into the deepening depths of darkness with his companion Hela at the ready.

He swung like a wildman, blow left and right, side to the other, angle after cutting angle and immediately the darkness surged to meet him. Perhaps the battering onslaught drew its attention, just as the formerly vulnerable and unarmed bard did, but now it had more of what it so desired - Heroes of the Light. How it so clearly wished to cover and smother them, swallow them up like it had their world before. It was beyond evident as they all seemed to clamor at the approaching entourage and the great glowing flame that danced upon the spry Katia, washing across her rich black fur like soothing waves.

The fire that had leapt to her, gifted by the sailor captain, urged her with no direction but forward to the unlit shrine. It had no voice, no words of wisdom, no pervading thoughts, other than it must return itself there. Were it not for the fact that the soothing flames were so pure and so great, the welcome presence of it might have been encouraging to keep hold of, but in the end, a fire such as it was still fire; it could and did burn.

Their own paladin on the other hand, wrought with nothing calm or serene but rather vengeful frustration, cried out with a blast of arcane energy that shot past the front lines. It hurtled like a glimmering, unstable blast of white-silver lightning and vaporized one of the tiny dark things, one less foe for them to worry about now. Though it wasn't alone, not in the slightest, for a purple, curling ray of glinting and dazzling magic lanced out as the tiny wizard Birbin danced along upon his stubby feet as fast as they could move him.

"No, no, no! Friend Cesar must not be alone in the dark! Birbin will come too!" The purple robed man cried as he kept running until he near tripped over himself, stopping then finally to prepare more magic of the same before.

But all was not well in the throne room of the flame, for as the zealot clambered to his feet and threw himself with all his tiring strength he could muster against the wild knight, whose body and its magical resilience deflected the light, he found himself under attack; vicious attack as it were no less. One had shunted them both away and a terrible retort came with it as the Green Man drew back a gauntlet, that of which was an inlaid snarling maw of a lion upon its fist, delivered with it what well would have been a bloodying strike in a realm apart from this surreal Ysgard, striking down the templar and laying the man unconscious. His entire posture shifted without delay and he turned to face the woman beside him, keeping her at sword point.

"Enough of this, outsider." He spoke low to Wick, oddly ignoring that the golden flame exchanged hands, starting to circle the woman at a slow pace, "You haven't any idea of what it is you and your troupe are doing. That must not come to pass. Not this one, not any other."

The man came to a stop, adjusting the point with his outstretched arm ever closer to her throat, he paused only then to look back to those who were about to dare the depths of the seemingly infinite darkness. Returning his focus to the ancient woman, rather quite young once more, he narrowed his eyes from under the great cat's teeth. There was more to be said, much more. Though perhaps between only these two ears, for that room behind where he had glanced, was alive with teeming shadows; black within black.

They descended upon the bold and brave sailor and his cohort in arms, the former of which was harassed and struck countless times while the latter evoked an arcane shield that buffered his enemies at bay, dropping his weapon to do so. Things were terribly desperate, growing only worse by the moment, for the warrior and his magic looked as though they could no longer hold - the man crying out under the great strain he found his ward being assaulted by.

"Do it, outlander! Do what it is you must! We will hold them off!"


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

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An entropic gasp infused the arena of a worn day, now with a darker ambiance, multiplying and releasing shades of titans elapsed and behemoths forgotten, around an enlightened pirate and the wielder of Hela. A feline monk scurried between the pair of duets, with daft paws. A monster slayer lay stricken on the floor of a reliquary, with the sleep of defeat, dreaming of a dawn never to come. The emerald nightmare before them did not fancy death upon their fragile constitutions.

The Green Man had mercy. Why?

He spared her a blow and sated a fatal strike against Theodore, a lover of righteous secrets and bearer of reticent amends. He was a templar, not unlike the knight they all now faced. However, his sworn masquerade was not to his morals, evidently transparent in honesty and loyalty, never forcing an estimation of moral stance or questioning his maxims of ethics, from his allies. At present, though, the war cleric’s body strewn upon the dust sprawling under their feet, peppering and provoking a priestly recompense from the diviner. The warlock crouched over him, gracing his unconscious physique with a shadowy stroke, dimly caressing beneath his ghastly visor.

Cheek. Chin. Throat. All moving subtly.

Evidence, the man was still alive.

Ignoring the threat looming above and abroad, the ancient librarian whispered in his ear as she gifted the supine, girded frame with vitality and stamina, a blameless order from the smoldering chaos.

“A twined requiem of fire boils inside, awaiting your next, glorious advent. Time to transcend, friend.”



@JBRam2002@The Harbinger of Ferocity
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