Post by spitfire on Mar 2, 2010 12:29:15 GMT -5
(crossroads part 2)
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*The door is unbarred and pulled aside to reveal the heavily armoured figure of Lothryn, his left hand resting easily on his sword. His eyes still glowing a vague blue, but he reigns in his magical buzz. You could tell he had magic, but not how much. He looks you over with assessing eyes before nodding* Good eve. What ails you friend?
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He chuckled* Ails me? The stench of Satan’s creatures hangs in the air that is what ails me.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
I fear you're still shaking off the stench of the woods. It's rife with creatures I would rather not mention. *He'd had you placed as some manner of knight, your talk of satan leading him to the next step. Templar. His hand doesn't stray far from the hilt of his sword and his eyes don't leave you* We've been trying to sweep them clear, but we do not have the manpower as yet.
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He lifted an eyebrow, still casualy holding the dagger in his left hand.* Well, it would seem you missed a few, namely yourself.
.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
If that comment was intended as offence, I'd suggest you draw your sword. *His voice changes from easily conversational to the hint of threat only a battle hardened soldier can hold, his eyes narrowing* There's no evil here, your God will not protect you on this crusade.
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He chuckles, keeping an even tone.* I meant no harm, friend. *He put a slight sarcastic edge on the last word* I detected a witch at this location. *There was now no doubt in his mind he had the right place.* You wouldn't be her would you? *a muscle twitched at the corner of his lip.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
There is no one in this house but me. So if you would accuse me of witchery, out with it so that I may call you a fool. *His voice is icy, not defensive, far from it. He sounds a lot like a man who's been on duty for far too long without relief. Leaving his temper short and his manner edgy. His face, hidden as it was behind his helm, giving nothing away. He's quite clearly male however, leaving your witch theory to burn as you would her.*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
So touchy, i do not accuse you, but i do know you are lying about being alone. *His tone changed immediatly after that, to one of authority.* I am Marshal Foucher, servant of God and in His name i demand access to this place.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
I am Lothryn Aeducan, of the warrior clan Aeducan. I warn you, there is no one of note here, should you enter these halls it will be without your head *He makes no move to step aside and seems utterly unphased by your decree of devide providence. Hell, he doesn't even ready himself for battle. But could you see it, the half smile on his face may have been unnerving*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He taps his dagger against your armor, in the same way a father might wag a finger at a child who misbehaved.* It is I who warn you. Do not stand in the way of God’s will. I have tarried long enough. This is your last chance, if you choose not to take it, heads will indeed roll, but it will not be mine.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
I see. *He wastes no further time, snapping a hand up to grab your wrist as your dagger taps his armour, the other hand? Well, it was resting on the door. He gives you a tug, hoping his speed will keep you off balance as he does what any cruel twisted bastard would do. Slams the door on your arm*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*His chain mail armor does little, if anything, to brace against the pain of the door catching his arm. He does not cry out, instead he jerks his arm backwards gaining what little ground he can with you holding it. Swiftly he says a small prayer and lashes his left foot out to kick the door, packing more force then any human should be capable of.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*He slips forward with the pull on his arm, the door exploding inward and catching a plated shoulder, throwing him against the wall. He keeps a hold of your arm however, a low stream of latin spraying out near under his breath as the full force of his magic becomes apparent. The buzz filling the air with the tang of power. The spell is a sharp one, a painful one. Requiring physical contact and a taste for the macabre, but in short, it boils the blood of an opponent. A normal joe would be flash fried in an instant, but you're a big tough boy we're all sure, so it'd probably just burn like hell it's self had jumped ship, leaving you to raise whatever defenses you had. Meanwhile, he backs up to draw his own blade, a vicious looking longsword, blackened steel and etched with runes of magical power. The thing pretty much radiates bloodshed*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*Not even his high threshold of pain could stop a gasp from escaping his lips* Through the fire I am I am tested. *He says, more to himself, then to anyone else. He quickly recovers, drawing his own blade which reads “Gods vengeance is swift.” It looks like a regular blade except that it has a slight glow to it, radiating a soft white light. The blade, a gift from his treacherous father, Gareth, was expertly crafted. He quickly salutes you* Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam *He then shifts into a defensive posture, a small grin breaking on his face.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*He spins his own blade around his hand idly, then takes up his own posture with a slight nod* Fate guide us both Templar. *Fate however, didn't say anything about fighting dirty. A sweep of his hand has him try and yank your legs out from under you with an unseen force, no doubt magic, even as he does so he steps in sharply, sliding to your side and striking in low with a sharp, controlled upward motion, eyes glowing a violent blue now*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*The amulet around his neck began to glow a split second after the spell was said so that he did not fall but was thrown temporally off balance, barely having enough time to twist as the dagger glided across his side, cutting open his Templar cloak and screeching slightly as it slid across his chainmail. He reached up with his right hand and swung it towards your helm. For a moment it might look as if he intended to try to punch plate armor but mid air, his right hand twitched so that a punching dagger slide out, undoubtedly from a secret sheath in his cloak which was aimed at the only opening he could find. Your eyes.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*The screech of sword meeting armour was gratifying, he was skilled, tried and tested in the fields of battle and would not be stopped by some whelp of a templar that could understand nothing of the magic he hunted. He shifted his head to parry the punch, going to roll with the blow and let his helm absorb it, but the blade snapping out of it's sheath was a surprise he'd not banked on, the blade connected hard with the side of his helmet, missing his eyes by a centimeter, gouging a slice into the top of his helmet close enough to give him pause for thought. Not that he takes it. Close as he was he could make no mistakes, he threw himself into you, hard. Playing on his own aided weight and his better balanced position to leave you off guard while he brought his sword down hard from it's high position, his whole body turning to add a little momentum to the attack. Unless you could parry or move, it'd most likely cleave into your neck in a most unfashionable way. Whatever the outcome he backs up sharply, blade in a defensive posture and mind already working through a list of spells designed to play havock with templars and their trinkets*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*With the spand of three seconds he felt three things. His blade snap off after gouging your helm. Your body slam itself into him, sending him backwards. The proximity of your blade as he fell. He let himself fall, rolling midair to avoid the blade which scored a decent cut on his neck, sending blood splattering. He quickly rolled to one knee and sprung forward the entire length of his blade coming aflame as he aimed a wide arc at your chest before stepping back to evaluate.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*His sharp step back saved him, your blade connecting with his, hard. Sparks flying from the metal on metal contact, his own weapon flaring an icy blue. He pivots, stepping in and using the crossguard of his sword to lock blades with yours, raising it high over his head with the force of the turn, half in an attempt to wrench the weapon from your grasp, half simply moving it out of the way, regardless, he continues his step and twist, pulling his blade lose from yours and making a horizontal swipe at your side, that icy blue glow turning to the crackle of lightning. It didn't seem he was going to let that attack slide*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*In an attempt to not lose his blade he goes with the attack, spinning in a full circle to bring his sword down to block yours and instantly regrets doing so as the lighting from your blade slides up the metal conductor which is his sword, jarring his arms. He turned, doing his best to ignore the pain, to the other side of your blade, bringing his down towards your right leg.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
(It did rather *Laughing*) *He had to give you credit, you were tough, as you shrug off the charge of his sword he's already moving forward, turning to bring his sword to bear, slightly too slow. Your forearm connects with the flat of his sword and deflects him before he can get in for a parry, muting, but not stopping the blade that connects with his armour, staggering him. He still snaps out a hand however, muttering again under your breath. He's going for your face while your hands were busy. But he'd settle for any part of you he can reach to grab with that outstretched hand* (Had a way to end it, but I'm having far too much fun *Grin*)
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He heard the satisfying clank as his blade connected with your legs, throwing you off balance. He turned, ready to pull up his guard and saw your hand reaching out towards him. Quickly he reached to his side and through what he thought was a dagger at you, before realizing two things. One, he lost his dagger at the door. Two, what he threw at your chest was his open water skin. His eyes widened even more at the stupid mistake he made, a look of horror coming across his face as your hand connects with his shoulder.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*The water skin spatters across his chest, doing little more than maybe shining his armour some. The hand that connects with your shoulder sends shooting pain throughout your body, it's barely a second after that before you feel the strength leaving your body, a tiredness sneaking over your limbs like someone was draining your very soul. That is of course compounded by his follow up of bringing back his armoured head and slamming it into your unprotected face to keep you stunned while he rips the amulet off your neck and casts it aside. Should you be weary enough to give him a chance, he even slams you off the wall, raising his blade to press point first against your neck* Yeild Templar. Your God is not ready to accept you yet.
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He feels his nose break as your head slams into him, the magic indeed draining him greatly. It is only by sheer force of will that he has remained standing and even that wavers as he is slammed into the wall. Disoriented, blood pouring from his neck and face, he mutters something to you under his breath.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
Louder boy. Or would you like me to open your throat to help? *He twists his sword slightly, the point digging into your neck threateningly. You can tell he knows fine and well how weary you are. You're also entirely sure he can make it go away in a heartbeat. Those cold eyes watching you don't waiver, he waits patiently for either your surrender, or your last request*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
I SAID. *A begging of a grin spreads on his face and though his body is tired, his eyes are gleaming.* Torch fluid. *with those simple words he touches his flaming sword to your chest, not daring to waste time with a full on attack, which sends you aflame as he jumps out of your reach. Hoping you haven’t recovered he sends a stab out towards your chest.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*The front of his armour ignites and his eyes widen in surprise, backing up and hastily barking the words of a spell to douse the flame, an icy film appearing over the metal of his chestplate as he backs hastily out of your reach, a somewhat sloppy parry sending your blade clattering into his shoulder. He spins, falling to the floor and rolling. His body was old, slow at times. But his mind was razor sharp. A few quick, sharp and foreign words are spoken and you get a sharp, peircing pain on your neck where he cut you. Your blood is spattered over him from where he slammed you into the wall and he's tracing symbols on the floor with it using his finger. The feeling of tiredness intensifies, the pain shooting through you and your bleeding? Well that gets worse. How many magical toys do you have to stop that?*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He is unable to resist the pain as it intensifies to an ungodly level. As he drops to his knees he manages to sputter out a few words and the ring on his finger, the one that led him here in the first place, glows. After that though, you would notice no change in him as he is still on his knees, a look of sheer agony on his face. The second prayer he haltingly says manages to take away some of the pain but the bleeding on his neck still flows freely. “Blood magic” he thought. “Clever bastard.”* Heh, that was the Templar Prayer of the Dead. It relieves pain so that when our time with God comes, it is not so painful. *He rips off one of his sleeves as he speaks, tying it around his neck and pulling it tight then stands up straight, looking positively pale.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*He pulled himself to his feet as you found your knees, checking the new mark scored into his armour with a shake of his head* I speak latin templar. Is it so hard to believe I'm a man of education? *He shakes his head. His blade still in hand and now back in a defensive stance. You had the will of your God, it was keeping you standing and stupid.* I told you, your place is still here in this world. You are needed, I have seen it. To that end, I have no intention of killing you. Yeild and leave. Or I will be forced to take steps.
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
It is my duty to rid the world of your kind. You are a valiant fighter, Sir Aeducan. That is why I ask. Let me be the one to kill you and the witch you are harboring. If I am killed, or if I fail, the Seneschal will send…..he will send….*a look of anger flashed over his face as he spat out one word* Aelfric.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
And who, pray tell, is that? *Curiosity plain in his voice, his stance doesn't drop and he certainly doesn't take his eyes off you. He would not fall, he could not.*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He thought about it in his head, it would take suprise away but what did he care if Aelfric died, he was not a Templar. In fact, he didn't even believe in his glorioius God.* He is a being whose darkness will emcompass your world. His very touch means death to some. Beware the Black Rose, Knight, for its sighting means your death and the death of those around you. It is what the Templars release when their is no other option. This is why i beg you to lay your life down now. No matter what may taint your blood, no one deserves that fate.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
I have my own fate. Your pet monsters will not stop me. *He's seen many things in war, one thing he does not fear is a Templar bred beast.* Meet your God with honour Templar. He will save a seat for you no doubt *He starts toward you at a simple walk, perdatory in all but motive, weapon at the ready and more than willing to injure you further to remove you from the situation. Prophecy said nothing about you owning all your limbs(
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*Just as he readied himself for a fight in which he knew he would not survive, a young man, no more than nineteen ran through the open door.* “Marshal, i-“ * The boy stopped as he looked from Foucher to Lothryn. The Marshal’s eyes snapped open in surprise, though he did not take them of his opponent* What are you doing here, I gave you a direct order to wait. *The boy’s eyes looked apologetic, he also looked reluctant to speak in front of an obvious enemy.* Out with it boy, quickly.*Snapped the Marshal* “Well sir, the Seneschal is here and I was told to finish the job here, you are to report to him immediately.” *The Marshal was stunned, the Seneschal, here! He couldn’t know, this was no ordinary job, he knew for a fact that the boy would die if he was left here alone, but he couldn’t disobey an order from someone who was second in command of the Templar. With reluctance, he sheathed his sword as Jeremiah drew his and without a word, walked out the door.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*He watches his true foe leave with a shake of his head. Nearly going so far as to sheathe his sword. But not quite, keeping a low defensive stance, blade pointed at the floor* Leave with your master boy. He was worse for wear only because of his fate, not for the lack of bite to my steel
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*A grimance of hatred appeared on his face* I'll not run from the likes of you. *With that the boy charged forward, sending an arc at your neck. Unlike the Marshel his attacks were not the ones of one who had been through many battles but rather they were the clean forward attacks that someone is first taught.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*His easy movements were almost instinctual, he steps to the side and brings up his sword to parry, turning sharply to deliver a hard elbow into the boy. Not holding back as he had with the Marshal. With the kid's blade out the way and his forward momentum carrying him, it'd be a pretty solid hit if it connected*
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*He was surprised as he saw the elbow come towards him, that wasn’t a fair blow. He tried to duck, but was too late, the plate covered elbow struck his temple, sending blood running down the side of his face. He gazed at Lothryn is disgust* Of course the servants of Satan wouldn’t fight fair. * With that he sent a straight stab towards your chest, saying a prayer that cleared his eyes of blood. *
Lothryn says to Standard Bearer Jeremiah:
*Another easy sweep sends your blade spinning wide, he lashes out with his free hand, aiming a hard punch at the side of your face with a plate lined fist, backing away again* You're but a novice. Why die so soon?
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*The punch connects sending him stumbling to the side, he rights himself, spitting out a glob of phlegm and blood.* If I die, it is His wish and I will be granted eternal glory as His servant.
Lothryn says to Standard Bearer Jeremiah:
So be it. *With a near snarl of distaste he steps forward, feigning left but stepping right to strike low, just below your hip, that buzz of electricity flaring along his sword again, a spell bubbling up in his throat. If you were to die, he would obliterate you*
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*He moves to block the blade, noticing the feint to late. He felt the sword enter his flesh and without the proctection of the higher ranking Templar he also felt the full effects of the spell. A loud cry escaped his throat.*
Lothryn says to Standard Bearer Jeremiah:
*The spell? Necrotises flesh, the blade cutting through you like a knife through butter, leaving a wound that already seems to be rotting. He continues his attack with a hard kick to your chest and a step forward if you're staggered, aiming to slide the sword cleanly through your stomach with enough force to bury it to the hilt* Foolish boy.
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*The young boy barley had time to finish the Prayer of the Dead before the blade entered him a second time, spilling his life blood all over the sword and floor beneath.*
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock
is in Kendra's private gardens
-- MacGregor Keep --
says to Lothryn: *As soon as the cry sounded, they knew he had failed and in that moment the Seneschal had to make a decision no man should have too. With a sigh he said three words that marked all those in the keep for death.* “Let him come.” Although no one could see, under the moon, the flowers and wonders of the garden wither and die. Seemingly from nowhere, black roses sprung up around them, climbing the walls, sprouting along the side of dead trees. The black roses stood alone in the moonlight, surrounded by death.*
Lothryn :
So. War it is again. *He mutters to himself. Kneeling down and drawing the blade on his back, curved and with a well in the center to allow blood to trickle down the blade, a small nick to help with pouring, used for blood sacrafice. The weapon, while not evil, certainly doesn't buzz with friendly energy. He checks the child for life, then simply slits his throat. Letting him bleed faster, the weapon is sheathed, still as clean as it had been when he drew it. Lothryn moves to the door, dabbing at the Marshal's blood on his helm with a patch of cloth pulled from a pouch on his belt. The patch is stowed and the boy left to die as the mage stares out over the entranceway* So be it. (Awesome posting with you dude. Play more later)
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*The door is unbarred and pulled aside to reveal the heavily armoured figure of Lothryn, his left hand resting easily on his sword. His eyes still glowing a vague blue, but he reigns in his magical buzz. You could tell he had magic, but not how much. He looks you over with assessing eyes before nodding* Good eve. What ails you friend?
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He chuckled* Ails me? The stench of Satan’s creatures hangs in the air that is what ails me.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
I fear you're still shaking off the stench of the woods. It's rife with creatures I would rather not mention. *He'd had you placed as some manner of knight, your talk of satan leading him to the next step. Templar. His hand doesn't stray far from the hilt of his sword and his eyes don't leave you* We've been trying to sweep them clear, but we do not have the manpower as yet.
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He lifted an eyebrow, still casualy holding the dagger in his left hand.* Well, it would seem you missed a few, namely yourself.
.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
If that comment was intended as offence, I'd suggest you draw your sword. *His voice changes from easily conversational to the hint of threat only a battle hardened soldier can hold, his eyes narrowing* There's no evil here, your God will not protect you on this crusade.
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He chuckles, keeping an even tone.* I meant no harm, friend. *He put a slight sarcastic edge on the last word* I detected a witch at this location. *There was now no doubt in his mind he had the right place.* You wouldn't be her would you? *a muscle twitched at the corner of his lip.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
There is no one in this house but me. So if you would accuse me of witchery, out with it so that I may call you a fool. *His voice is icy, not defensive, far from it. He sounds a lot like a man who's been on duty for far too long without relief. Leaving his temper short and his manner edgy. His face, hidden as it was behind his helm, giving nothing away. He's quite clearly male however, leaving your witch theory to burn as you would her.*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
So touchy, i do not accuse you, but i do know you are lying about being alone. *His tone changed immediatly after that, to one of authority.* I am Marshal Foucher, servant of God and in His name i demand access to this place.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
I am Lothryn Aeducan, of the warrior clan Aeducan. I warn you, there is no one of note here, should you enter these halls it will be without your head *He makes no move to step aside and seems utterly unphased by your decree of devide providence. Hell, he doesn't even ready himself for battle. But could you see it, the half smile on his face may have been unnerving*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He taps his dagger against your armor, in the same way a father might wag a finger at a child who misbehaved.* It is I who warn you. Do not stand in the way of God’s will. I have tarried long enough. This is your last chance, if you choose not to take it, heads will indeed roll, but it will not be mine.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
I see. *He wastes no further time, snapping a hand up to grab your wrist as your dagger taps his armour, the other hand? Well, it was resting on the door. He gives you a tug, hoping his speed will keep you off balance as he does what any cruel twisted bastard would do. Slams the door on your arm*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*His chain mail armor does little, if anything, to brace against the pain of the door catching his arm. He does not cry out, instead he jerks his arm backwards gaining what little ground he can with you holding it. Swiftly he says a small prayer and lashes his left foot out to kick the door, packing more force then any human should be capable of.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*He slips forward with the pull on his arm, the door exploding inward and catching a plated shoulder, throwing him against the wall. He keeps a hold of your arm however, a low stream of latin spraying out near under his breath as the full force of his magic becomes apparent. The buzz filling the air with the tang of power. The spell is a sharp one, a painful one. Requiring physical contact and a taste for the macabre, but in short, it boils the blood of an opponent. A normal joe would be flash fried in an instant, but you're a big tough boy we're all sure, so it'd probably just burn like hell it's self had jumped ship, leaving you to raise whatever defenses you had. Meanwhile, he backs up to draw his own blade, a vicious looking longsword, blackened steel and etched with runes of magical power. The thing pretty much radiates bloodshed*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*Not even his high threshold of pain could stop a gasp from escaping his lips* Through the fire I am I am tested. *He says, more to himself, then to anyone else. He quickly recovers, drawing his own blade which reads “Gods vengeance is swift.” It looks like a regular blade except that it has a slight glow to it, radiating a soft white light. The blade, a gift from his treacherous father, Gareth, was expertly crafted. He quickly salutes you* Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam *He then shifts into a defensive posture, a small grin breaking on his face.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*He spins his own blade around his hand idly, then takes up his own posture with a slight nod* Fate guide us both Templar. *Fate however, didn't say anything about fighting dirty. A sweep of his hand has him try and yank your legs out from under you with an unseen force, no doubt magic, even as he does so he steps in sharply, sliding to your side and striking in low with a sharp, controlled upward motion, eyes glowing a violent blue now*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*The amulet around his neck began to glow a split second after the spell was said so that he did not fall but was thrown temporally off balance, barely having enough time to twist as the dagger glided across his side, cutting open his Templar cloak and screeching slightly as it slid across his chainmail. He reached up with his right hand and swung it towards your helm. For a moment it might look as if he intended to try to punch plate armor but mid air, his right hand twitched so that a punching dagger slide out, undoubtedly from a secret sheath in his cloak which was aimed at the only opening he could find. Your eyes.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*The screech of sword meeting armour was gratifying, he was skilled, tried and tested in the fields of battle and would not be stopped by some whelp of a templar that could understand nothing of the magic he hunted. He shifted his head to parry the punch, going to roll with the blow and let his helm absorb it, but the blade snapping out of it's sheath was a surprise he'd not banked on, the blade connected hard with the side of his helmet, missing his eyes by a centimeter, gouging a slice into the top of his helmet close enough to give him pause for thought. Not that he takes it. Close as he was he could make no mistakes, he threw himself into you, hard. Playing on his own aided weight and his better balanced position to leave you off guard while he brought his sword down hard from it's high position, his whole body turning to add a little momentum to the attack. Unless you could parry or move, it'd most likely cleave into your neck in a most unfashionable way. Whatever the outcome he backs up sharply, blade in a defensive posture and mind already working through a list of spells designed to play havock with templars and their trinkets*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*With the spand of three seconds he felt three things. His blade snap off after gouging your helm. Your body slam itself into him, sending him backwards. The proximity of your blade as he fell. He let himself fall, rolling midair to avoid the blade which scored a decent cut on his neck, sending blood splattering. He quickly rolled to one knee and sprung forward the entire length of his blade coming aflame as he aimed a wide arc at your chest before stepping back to evaluate.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*His sharp step back saved him, your blade connecting with his, hard. Sparks flying from the metal on metal contact, his own weapon flaring an icy blue. He pivots, stepping in and using the crossguard of his sword to lock blades with yours, raising it high over his head with the force of the turn, half in an attempt to wrench the weapon from your grasp, half simply moving it out of the way, regardless, he continues his step and twist, pulling his blade lose from yours and making a horizontal swipe at your side, that icy blue glow turning to the crackle of lightning. It didn't seem he was going to let that attack slide*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*In an attempt to not lose his blade he goes with the attack, spinning in a full circle to bring his sword down to block yours and instantly regrets doing so as the lighting from your blade slides up the metal conductor which is his sword, jarring his arms. He turned, doing his best to ignore the pain, to the other side of your blade, bringing his down towards your right leg.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
(It did rather *Laughing*) *He had to give you credit, you were tough, as you shrug off the charge of his sword he's already moving forward, turning to bring his sword to bear, slightly too slow. Your forearm connects with the flat of his sword and deflects him before he can get in for a parry, muting, but not stopping the blade that connects with his armour, staggering him. He still snaps out a hand however, muttering again under your breath. He's going for your face while your hands were busy. But he'd settle for any part of you he can reach to grab with that outstretched hand* (Had a way to end it, but I'm having far too much fun *Grin*)
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He heard the satisfying clank as his blade connected with your legs, throwing you off balance. He turned, ready to pull up his guard and saw your hand reaching out towards him. Quickly he reached to his side and through what he thought was a dagger at you, before realizing two things. One, he lost his dagger at the door. Two, what he threw at your chest was his open water skin. His eyes widened even more at the stupid mistake he made, a look of horror coming across his face as your hand connects with his shoulder.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*The water skin spatters across his chest, doing little more than maybe shining his armour some. The hand that connects with your shoulder sends shooting pain throughout your body, it's barely a second after that before you feel the strength leaving your body, a tiredness sneaking over your limbs like someone was draining your very soul. That is of course compounded by his follow up of bringing back his armoured head and slamming it into your unprotected face to keep you stunned while he rips the amulet off your neck and casts it aside. Should you be weary enough to give him a chance, he even slams you off the wall, raising his blade to press point first against your neck* Yeild Templar. Your God is not ready to accept you yet.
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He feels his nose break as your head slams into him, the magic indeed draining him greatly. It is only by sheer force of will that he has remained standing and even that wavers as he is slammed into the wall. Disoriented, blood pouring from his neck and face, he mutters something to you under his breath.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
Louder boy. Or would you like me to open your throat to help? *He twists his sword slightly, the point digging into your neck threateningly. You can tell he knows fine and well how weary you are. You're also entirely sure he can make it go away in a heartbeat. Those cold eyes watching you don't waiver, he waits patiently for either your surrender, or your last request*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
I SAID. *A begging of a grin spreads on his face and though his body is tired, his eyes are gleaming.* Torch fluid. *with those simple words he touches his flaming sword to your chest, not daring to waste time with a full on attack, which sends you aflame as he jumps out of your reach. Hoping you haven’t recovered he sends a stab out towards your chest.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*The front of his armour ignites and his eyes widen in surprise, backing up and hastily barking the words of a spell to douse the flame, an icy film appearing over the metal of his chestplate as he backs hastily out of your reach, a somewhat sloppy parry sending your blade clattering into his shoulder. He spins, falling to the floor and rolling. His body was old, slow at times. But his mind was razor sharp. A few quick, sharp and foreign words are spoken and you get a sharp, peircing pain on your neck where he cut you. Your blood is spattered over him from where he slammed you into the wall and he's tracing symbols on the floor with it using his finger. The feeling of tiredness intensifies, the pain shooting through you and your bleeding? Well that gets worse. How many magical toys do you have to stop that?*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He is unable to resist the pain as it intensifies to an ungodly level. As he drops to his knees he manages to sputter out a few words and the ring on his finger, the one that led him here in the first place, glows. After that though, you would notice no change in him as he is still on his knees, a look of sheer agony on his face. The second prayer he haltingly says manages to take away some of the pain but the bleeding on his neck still flows freely. “Blood magic” he thought. “Clever bastard.”* Heh, that was the Templar Prayer of the Dead. It relieves pain so that when our time with God comes, it is not so painful. *He rips off one of his sleeves as he speaks, tying it around his neck and pulling it tight then stands up straight, looking positively pale.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*He pulled himself to his feet as you found your knees, checking the new mark scored into his armour with a shake of his head* I speak latin templar. Is it so hard to believe I'm a man of education? *He shakes his head. His blade still in hand and now back in a defensive stance. You had the will of your God, it was keeping you standing and stupid.* I told you, your place is still here in this world. You are needed, I have seen it. To that end, I have no intention of killing you. Yeild and leave. Or I will be forced to take steps.
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
It is my duty to rid the world of your kind. You are a valiant fighter, Sir Aeducan. That is why I ask. Let me be the one to kill you and the witch you are harboring. If I am killed, or if I fail, the Seneschal will send…..he will send….*a look of anger flashed over his face as he spat out one word* Aelfric.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
And who, pray tell, is that? *Curiosity plain in his voice, his stance doesn't drop and he certainly doesn't take his eyes off you. He would not fall, he could not.*
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*He thought about it in his head, it would take suprise away but what did he care if Aelfric died, he was not a Templar. In fact, he didn't even believe in his glorioius God.* He is a being whose darkness will emcompass your world. His very touch means death to some. Beware the Black Rose, Knight, for its sighting means your death and the death of those around you. It is what the Templars release when their is no other option. This is why i beg you to lay your life down now. No matter what may taint your blood, no one deserves that fate.
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
I have my own fate. Your pet monsters will not stop me. *He's seen many things in war, one thing he does not fear is a Templar bred beast.* Meet your God with honour Templar. He will save a seat for you no doubt *He starts toward you at a simple walk, perdatory in all but motive, weapon at the ready and more than willing to injure you further to remove you from the situation. Prophecy said nothing about you owning all your limbs(
Marshal William Foucher says to Lothryn:
*Just as he readied himself for a fight in which he knew he would not survive, a young man, no more than nineteen ran through the open door.* “Marshal, i-“ * The boy stopped as he looked from Foucher to Lothryn. The Marshal’s eyes snapped open in surprise, though he did not take them of his opponent* What are you doing here, I gave you a direct order to wait. *The boy’s eyes looked apologetic, he also looked reluctant to speak in front of an obvious enemy.* Out with it boy, quickly.*Snapped the Marshal* “Well sir, the Seneschal is here and I was told to finish the job here, you are to report to him immediately.” *The Marshal was stunned, the Seneschal, here! He couldn’t know, this was no ordinary job, he knew for a fact that the boy would die if he was left here alone, but he couldn’t disobey an order from someone who was second in command of the Templar. With reluctance, he sheathed his sword as Jeremiah drew his and without a word, walked out the door.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*He watches his true foe leave with a shake of his head. Nearly going so far as to sheathe his sword. But not quite, keeping a low defensive stance, blade pointed at the floor* Leave with your master boy. He was worse for wear only because of his fate, not for the lack of bite to my steel
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*A grimance of hatred appeared on his face* I'll not run from the likes of you. *With that the boy charged forward, sending an arc at your neck. Unlike the Marshel his attacks were not the ones of one who had been through many battles but rather they were the clean forward attacks that someone is first taught.*
Lothryn says to Marshal William Foucher:
*His easy movements were almost instinctual, he steps to the side and brings up his sword to parry, turning sharply to deliver a hard elbow into the boy. Not holding back as he had with the Marshal. With the kid's blade out the way and his forward momentum carrying him, it'd be a pretty solid hit if it connected*
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*He was surprised as he saw the elbow come towards him, that wasn’t a fair blow. He tried to duck, but was too late, the plate covered elbow struck his temple, sending blood running down the side of his face. He gazed at Lothryn is disgust* Of course the servants of Satan wouldn’t fight fair. * With that he sent a straight stab towards your chest, saying a prayer that cleared his eyes of blood. *
Lothryn says to Standard Bearer Jeremiah:
*Another easy sweep sends your blade spinning wide, he lashes out with his free hand, aiming a hard punch at the side of your face with a plate lined fist, backing away again* You're but a novice. Why die so soon?
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*The punch connects sending him stumbling to the side, he rights himself, spitting out a glob of phlegm and blood.* If I die, it is His wish and I will be granted eternal glory as His servant.
Lothryn says to Standard Bearer Jeremiah:
So be it. *With a near snarl of distaste he steps forward, feigning left but stepping right to strike low, just below your hip, that buzz of electricity flaring along his sword again, a spell bubbling up in his throat. If you were to die, he would obliterate you*
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*He moves to block the blade, noticing the feint to late. He felt the sword enter his flesh and without the proctection of the higher ranking Templar he also felt the full effects of the spell. A loud cry escaped his throat.*
Lothryn says to Standard Bearer Jeremiah:
*The spell? Necrotises flesh, the blade cutting through you like a knife through butter, leaving a wound that already seems to be rotting. He continues his attack with a hard kick to your chest and a step forward if you're staggered, aiming to slide the sword cleanly through your stomach with enough force to bury it to the hilt* Foolish boy.
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock says to Lothryn:
*The young boy barley had time to finish the Prayer of the Dead before the blade entered him a second time, spilling his life blood all over the sword and floor beneath.*
Standard Bearer Jeremiah Brock
is in Kendra's private gardens
-- MacGregor Keep --
says to Lothryn: *As soon as the cry sounded, they knew he had failed and in that moment the Seneschal had to make a decision no man should have too. With a sigh he said three words that marked all those in the keep for death.* “Let him come.” Although no one could see, under the moon, the flowers and wonders of the garden wither and die. Seemingly from nowhere, black roses sprung up around them, climbing the walls, sprouting along the side of dead trees. The black roses stood alone in the moonlight, surrounded by death.*
Lothryn :
So. War it is again. *He mutters to himself. Kneeling down and drawing the blade on his back, curved and with a well in the center to allow blood to trickle down the blade, a small nick to help with pouring, used for blood sacrafice. The weapon, while not evil, certainly doesn't buzz with friendly energy. He checks the child for life, then simply slits his throat. Letting him bleed faster, the weapon is sheathed, still as clean as it had been when he drew it. Lothryn moves to the door, dabbing at the Marshal's blood on his helm with a patch of cloth pulled from a pouch on his belt. The patch is stowed and the boy left to die as the mage stares out over the entranceway* So be it. (Awesome posting with you dude. Play more later)