GreivousKhan — Roleplayer Guild

Arts of Blood, Ash, and Steel

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Tablurath watched his opponent carefully as the twin jets of black mist circled around him again and again. He was surprised his opponent had not made a move at this point. Perhaps the opaque wall of ash had given the construct pause? Caution was not an attribute often possessed by such machines. Tablurath took the time to collect his thoughts, he could feel the adrenaline rushing through his body, and the steady climb of his heartbeat as another strong gust of wind caused his dark cape to bellow to his right.  

Tablurath had not thought his foe would be so passive and given his apparent abilities he had expected this Isaiah Core to go on the offensive. Given the constructs apparent power to manipulate the very stones at their feet such a prediction seemed most logical. However, it seemed either his opponent was playing it safe or had some type of unknown restriction on their abilities. If the latter was the cause Tablurath would need to gain the initiative again.   

The weaving pattern of black mist had circled him in a tight sphere at this point made up of a cobweb of crisscrossing ash lines as the mibs settled into a simple defense pattern. Tablurath would not repeat his past mistakes a second time. He would the first to admit he was not flawless… but given the opportunity to learn he always strived to adapt. So adapt he would-- his mind flashing to a simple lesson years ago…

A young boy hefted his heavy wooden training swords as beads of sweat ran down his form. His instructor, standing to the far side with an unreadable expression plastered upon his face old face. The young man with no name weaved a simple pattern born from his long hours practicing the kata as a mechanical device armed with an elongated disk shaped cannon fired off a dozen spinning saucers in his direction. The device no more than twenty feet away.

He managed to batter several out of the air before two struck him-- one on the shoulder the other against his lower right abdomen. He hissed in pain as he stumbled to his knees. 

The instructor frowned. “Again!”

The young man nodded and raised his practice swords once more. As the boy known only as subject 12 made his fourth attempt the instructor uttered a few words of wisdom to his most promising student. 

“Notice the pattern changes constantly, never repeating itself- do not make the folly of many before and attempt to predict its next move. Nor believe you will be fast enough to react in time should you guess wrong. To survive on the battlefield one must always adapt… you may never be able to foresee every possibility. The best move is to simply become unpredictable yourself… that is the heart of the ash and sword fighting art.”

The black mist had now spread all around Tablurath, his sight spotting and counting every throbbing string of power between the space of him and his opponent. There were more ways than one to attack his opponent. 

“Ten percent potential...” he exhaled.  

His arms became a blur of motion then, moving so quickly no mortal eye could hope to follow the intricate pattern of flashing metal. The ground at his feet split as the concert was cut in several places lacerating the ground severely while simultaneously and carefully weaving his sword through the ash before him. A sword clone began to form in the mist, however, Tablurath had cut through it so fast the mibs had moved forward radically to compensate. Thus constructing the sword in mid-flight sending it speeding forward dangerously fast. 

Outside of the black mist it only formed the simplest parts of the sword-- only the blade thus leaving it lacking any notable hilt or handle. The blade spun through the air flying toward Isaiah Core, specifically aimed directly at the left arms attached shield. Tablurath weaved another blade in the same manner with his left hand sword, this one aimed to cut through his opponent’s midsection at a slight angle. This one two only had the edged blade and no handle. Even ‘shooting’ in this manner was second nature to Tablurath--his sight and calculations compensating perfectly to everything from wind and distance.

There was only a little over thirteen feet between him and his opponent. Not enough room for the entire sword to fully form, but Tablurath only needed the blade to cause serious damage.   

Creativity was his hallmark after all. 

His opponent had bear witness to his Blade Storm. He should feel honored.
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