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[SS] Hazy Silhouette

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Post  Atsa Tsinaajinii on Fri Nov 09, 2018 7:52 am

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 CJoeeKJ

Once again Sasha was lifted off her feet and carried by her companion in a princess carry. There was definitely a sense of embarrassment that came with being carried like this, especially considering that she was a completely capable magician herself, but in this situation it was the most logical plan of action.

Sara's speed allowed them to avoid getting hit by any of the golden explosions the blonde haired girl had released and allowed Sasha to focus solely on the events going on in front of her without having to worry about getting blown up. The nun kept her sight on the vampire and monster of a girl as their fight unfolded trying to find any exploitable weaknesses.

A wand. A sword. A cup. These were the three objects that the girl made sure to keep track of the battle unfolded. So far she had seen the wand ability to shoot fire and summon explosions. The cup seemed to be able to create a illusion of some sorts and the sword generated a slash attack of some kind. Now Sasha just need to figure out what connected all these objects. If she could figure that out maybe they could get a general idea of the symbolism involved.

"Second Question: Does a sword, cup, and wand remind you of anything?"

As the chaos of the two monsters continued Sasha directed this question at Sara. If they were going to stay in this area much longer she felt it was necessary that they tried to understand the magic being used around them. If they could understand it they had a far better chance of being able to counteract it or at least avoid it. After all Sasha was fairly certain that the blonde haired girl would kill them without hesitation if it meant she could get a good hit on the vampire.

Needless to say Sasha was also observing the vampire for weaknesses and for a few moments it seemed they had found one. The black clad girl was avoiding the attacks from the sword instead of taking them head on like every other spell. Had they finally found something she was weak against? Unfortunately it seemed not.

It had all been a trap. A rouse to lure the blonde haired girl within range and catch her off guard. The nun of Annihilatus watched as the tide suddenly turned once again and the vampire sent the monster flying. With that the last line of defense "protecting" the two girl's from the black clad bloodsucker collapsed. Despite the fact that the blonde haired girl had nearly killed them on multiple occasions Sasha heart sunk at her defeat. After all the enemy of your enemy is your friend.

As she was being carried the nun moved to remove a few nails from her pouch and looked back towards the vampire. All their attacks before had failed miserably due to the girl's insane levels of regeneration. It seemed as if nothing could ever harm the Vampire of Whitby. Fortunately, Sasha was no longer focused on hurting the vampire herself but instead at what she was carrying.

"Second Suggestion: Aim for the box"

Before Sasha got the chance to release any of her projectiles the vampire vanished into the fog once again. She knew that they were the next target, there was no escaping this predator. Yet if they could just find a way to weaken her they might have a chance and the box seemed like a likely suspect.

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Albrek16

Alongside Mark and Francesca, Albrekka had been watching the whole scene as well. The three leaders of the strongest forces in Whitby had gathered in the chaos of the battle field. It was an event of historical proportions and if everything had worked out it would've been a peacemaking story of the ages. More importantly, the alliance would finally bring an end to the battle and drive out the haze engulfing Whitby.

Whatever organization had been running the incident behind the scene would finally be brought to light and Albrekka could finally return to seeking the truth she had come here for. Who was the Vampire of Whitby? What did they want? What was the goal of the organization running everything behind the scenes? There were still many questions that had answers hidden in the haze but for a moment at least it seemed they were making progress.

At least they were until a single strike and a spray of crimson red brought them all back to square one. With a single blow any chance of an alliance had been thrown out the window. Longroad had been struck down by the Cardinal as the Knight's Leader just seemed to stand by and watch. It was a gruesome scene and Albrekka could almost feel the haze growing thicker as it unfolded.

"They are letting themselves be manipulated like puppets."

If the villain's behind the scenes plan truly was to trick the gathered magic faction to strike at each other throats it appeared as if they had succeeded whole heartedly. With Longroad's death the chance of an alliance between the Church and the Knights was gone and with Alex's challenge an alliance between the Romans and the Knights wasn't even guaranteed.

To make matters worse if Alex lost Albrekka, Mark, and Francesca would be target by the Church as well as the Knights. Their situation had gone from bad to worse at a terrifying pace and they were going to need to figure out what their next plan of attack was if they were going to survive. Turning away from the chaos in front of him Albrekka looked over at Mark and Francesca.

"This definitely isn't the will of any god, just the lunacy of that Cardinal. I wouldn't be surprised if he tore this whole town apart seeking his 'justice' and unfortunately we seem to be on the top of his kill list. So do we have some kind of plan? The alliance has gone to hell so it seems finding the truth behind this chaos has been left to us."
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Post  Sir Alexander Beathen on Sun Nov 11, 2018 11:53 pm

Once Moore finally made his move, the fight had turned real as the elder knight thrust forward with tremendous speed and might that would no longer register on the normal scale. It wasn't something he hadn't seen before at least the scale of his ability, though standing on the side and witnessing it was a completely different experience than facing it head-on.

However, Alexander despite having all reason to run in fear was prepared to face this embodiment of destruction known as Henry Moore.

He had a plan in mind.

Though it was derailed before he even knew it and even his sharpened mind would take a moment to realise what had happened.

He had dodged Henry Moore at the last reasonable second and the problem was he had gone too far. His body had moved at such a speed that was not normally possible for him. It took only a moment for him to realise what had happened and realising the truth he felt a heavy weight upon his shoulders.

It was like the sword of the stone's magic was directed towards him and him alone.

"Focus!"

He couldn't waste any time to think about what happened and had to close the distance between them and quickly. Henry Moore still held an advantage with his type of weapon and the only chance he had to do any damage was to rush his former ally.

So he surged forward while in a lowered stance with his shield tightly close to him. He would attempt to bash the spear out the way and follow through with his own thrust.
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Post  Saravati Nair on Wed Nov 14, 2018 3:06 am

Sara could take some solace in the fact that Sasha had decided it was more prudent to stay in her arms. Despite how things had gone, she was glad to see that something had been streamlined in all of the madness.

Keeping a tight grip on Sasha and a stance ready to move, she, much like Sasha, kept her eyes trained on the unfolding skirmish before them. Thanks to the newcomer, all of the attention the hunter had once directed towards them had been directed away from them.

They could observe, plan, and take action, even if the primal emotion known as fear still wafted over them, now that they had been given the illusion of some room, even if by blunt force.

“The minor arcana...” Sara muttered in response to Sasha. While the newcomer’s spells and their basis were not the main cause of concern, understanding them could provide a hint or avenue of attack.

Watch their interactions. Find a weak point. And pierce through it.

That was what it meant to be a hunter. Even if they had failed at the offset as hunters, they could still regain the flow of battle. A battle among magicians was a game of wits, much like an unbalanced chess match, after all.

So, she didn’t falter. Even when the blonde had been caught off her guard and snared in the vampire’s trap, Sara’s eyes never lost sight of what had happened.

Even if she could not read what the blonde had thought, she could say one thing for certain.

She figured something out.

The girl had said something before she had been skewered in a fashion becoming of an absurd horror movie.

«The name is ‹Vampire›!»

And now that she had been taken out of the picture, there was no longer any time to wait to act. Before she could throw a knife at the box like her instinct (and Sasha) had screamed at her to, the  vampire once again vanished into the haze.

Yet, even as she saw the vampire fade into the world around her, Sara threw a knife as fast as she could to the where the box had been.

Even if it was a useless move, one that would beget no meaningful results, she did it anyway. That would be the grounding to remind her that this was nothing more than the machinations of another human being.

She placed Sasha back to a standing position and pressed her back against that of the red nun. As she stood, she let the blonde’s words replay through her head.

"Stay on guard."

Pawn to E4. It was the vampire’s turn now.



[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Franny10

What is faith?

In the modern zeitgeist, that question was something that would commonly be dismissed or thrown to the wayside without a second glance. It was something many took for granted whether it was as they held a faith of their own or denied the concept entirely.

But, in the grand scheme of things, that kind of question was meaningless for any collective. It was meaningless to the Catholic Church as a whole.

At its base, the question only held meaning towards the individual whose mind crossed into the territory that required an answer.

For Francesca Purezza, that answer was never truly clear. But, as that pair of heathens at her side spoke down to her, her mind came to a clear.

Yes.

What is faith?

What was the form of that formless existence that young girl had grasped upon when she took this very same position all those years ago?

What was the form of that existence she had offered to many stray lambs over the years?

That sister of God, who wavered in His grace, finally stood. Her strength had found its way back into the muscles that made up her legs.

“The fact that it took a pair of heathens to remind me of this is nothing short of sickening.” The nun’s smile betrayed the harshness of those words.

What was happening below her—everything orchestrated by the Cardinal—was something she could finally comprehend. The perversion of the pure concept of faith. The spilling blood clearly against the will of the benevolent God. The devilish fringes of human egotism and self-righteousness that rampaged, masquerading as an agent of God’s will.

“We crush the Cardinal.”

She looked down upon that Cardinal and scoffed. ‘Justice’? ‘Saintliness’? ‘Position’? Those lights were as transient and as fluid as the chaos that had been infecting the town in this time.

But, faith was something more pure than that. Something whose wait was far more substantial than those ephemeral concepts.

What is faith?

It was the pure, white pillar that guided and supported the lost lambs who sought salvation. That was all she ever needed.

For those children.

And for herself.
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Post  Leivinia Birdway on Wed Nov 14, 2018 9:13 pm

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Blackw10
She wasn’t there and yet she was. That beast had disappeared entirely and yet they both knew it was right there. That fear, no matter what, would press down upon them. Against all odds and nature, it would stab into their hearts, poison them thoroughly.

But could they allow for themselves to be overwhelmed by it?

As the knife in its entirety was consumed by the void, it would begin again.

It came.

Right then, the fear would strike like lightning.

Much like from thin air, the black and white calamity would emerge from the shroud that was the night, her jaw wide open, rushing straight for the neck of the princess carrying princess. It was fast, precise and merciless. A quick strike to end it all. If she’d hit, those blade like teeth would tear deeply into the flesh, trapping the poor victim in some truly odd kind of hell, all the while rewinding that all too infamous scene from any lore in existence. The vampire’s lethal strike and triumphant feast.

Yet if she missed, just like she had arrived, she would return back to nowhere. Gone, without any trace at all. Or not?

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Marksp10
All of this was madness. That was the only way Mark Space found to describe the tragedy dyeing the streets of Whitby this very night. However, madness was only a single step away from miracles. Yes, both concepts were unbelievable for one watching them from outside.

«The fact that it took a pair of heathens to remind me of this is nothing short of sickening.»

It was unbelievable.

«We crush the Cardinal.»

So much that his breath found itself caught for just a moment. A moment was all it took, until he remembered.

All he had desired was to save her from the abyss that was her very suffering. Nothing more. Nothing less. And yet, that nun on her very own had made her choice. She would fight for what she did believe in, even if it meant going up against everything she had. A martyr? Or a saint in the making?

Whichever it was. The light of hope as dim as it currently was, would present itself before them right there. They could do something, couldn’t they? Never had he thought, but maybe Francesca Purezza had been the key to solving everything. Maybe she would be what they most direly needed. A holy sister of firm belief.

«But how? You of all people must know just how dangerous he is. A man surrounded by countless soldiers and a Saint no less. How are we supposed to defeat, let alone step up to that?»

He didn’t know why, but he was sure to believe that this woman knew a method. So, instead of sounding exasperated or full of doubt, only hope would be delivered by his voice. This situation was desperate and yet there was no need for fear. There was something. Something that could change it all. So, what was it? What did she have?

No, it didn’t matter what. He nodded towards her smiling confidently. Regardless of what it was, he would be by her side.

That was the very least he could do.
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Post  Vita Vesta Caesar on Sun Nov 18, 2018 10:10 am

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 ZMEuR3s

The pulverization of flesh, the crushing of bone and the scattering of blood, all those signs that naturally ought to follow a strike of the likes he had just let loose: they were absent, every single one of them. Not even the sound of steel against steel rang out. Impossibly, the attack had been dodged.

At a glance, the situation was apparent. The excessive distance he had taken was all it took. That spell earlier must have increased his physical abilities. Before there had been an incredible gap between them, but that was now nowhere to be seen. Moore wasn't yet sure precisely how much he had been reinforced, but at the very they now stood on the same stage.

But in the end, it was a momentary power gained through improvisation—frail and impossible to last. Alexander using a power that was not truly his own, versus Moore who had earned his strength every step of the way... It seemed clear to him who would be the victor in the end.

And in addition, though Moore was hardly an expert in magic, he knew that it wasn't so simple and forgiving an art for one to simply be able to craft such a powerful reinforcement spell on the fly. To ensure it's stability, experimentation and fine-tuning were necessary. Most likely, this power of his wouldn't last long, and there would be some consequence afterwards.

Whether he fought or simply stalled, he would win in the end. To the eyes of Henry Moore, Alexander Beathen did not have even a single path to victory in this duel of theirs.

So he would fight and crush that naivety of his.

There was more than one way to use a spear. Not just the tip, but the entire length of the shaft and the blunt end as well were deadly weapons that had inspired entire disciplines of their own. And Alexander had voluntarily offered up the distance they needed to shine.

He had adopted a guarded stance as he rushed forward, aiming to shrug off and parry Moore's strikes, and ultimately enter melee range. But in that case, he simply had to use an attack that would be difficult or impossible to parry.

Before he had thrust with the spear and attacked a single point with precision, but this was instead a line, or perhaps a wall. From the side towards Alexander's left, the spear came flying in a whip-like smash, aiming to crush the arm behind the shield. And if he lacked the proper technique to distribute the force of the strike, it would go behind a simple impact and do just that.

But even if he did accomplish that, there was another trap hidden beneath. Alexander had entered this realm of power, but he had yet to truly grow accustomed to it. At this stage, beyond the normal techniques for using their weapons, certain other precautions were necessary.

The strike came slightly from below, and the force was directed upwards. If they were normal combatants, that would mean nothing. But when the ones fighting were Knights, the strength behind that blow would be enough to send him flying off the ground. It was simply physics; there was no escaping it. This degree of force at this angle would lift Alexander's feet off the ground, destroy his stance, send him flying, and leave him completely open to Moore's attacks. It would spell the beginning of his defeat, if it didn't decide the match then and there.

Of course, there were methods to prevent such an outcome. Ways to use your own strength to push back against the force and reduce it to a level that you could remain standing. All in all, it was quite a commonplace, normal technique. Moore's tactic likely wouldn't work on any other knight.

But Alexander? Even if he knew the technique, he would certainly never have used it before, or at the very least not as this level. And it was indeed a technique. It required control over your own strength as well as a grasp upon your opponent's. It was something you drilled into your body, completely unlike this spell of his that was only surface-deep at best.

These were the consequences of using strength that was not truly yours. A 'right' was not something you could earn by simply pulling a sword from some stone!
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Post  Atsa Tsinaajinii on Sun Nov 18, 2018 11:06 am

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 CJoeeKJ

They had been brought all the way back to square one. No allies, a homicidal vampire on their tail, and no psychotic blonde haired girl to distract the predator. It had once again turned into a horrifying game of cat and mouse. Their was no escaping the monster that was coming after them nor could they predict where it was going to come from.

It was a horrible situation to be in and to make matters worse they were still under the influence of the vampire's spell. Fear was being driven into the young nun's heart like a stake as she once again began to break into a cold sweat. However, no matter how powerful an enemy was they had to have some kind of weakness. There had to be something they could take advantage of, they just need to find it.

Before Sasha could be anymore thought into the matter a figure launched itself out of the haze towards the neck of the nun's companion. Fortunately, there are benefits to being afraid one of them being an increased reaction time. Using the nails she had pulled out of her pouch earlier Sasha unleashed a volley of nails at the approaching monster.

"First Exclamation: Watch out!"

Two of the nails were thrown with the intention of hitting the monster's eyes. Even if the vampire could rapidly regenerate it would at least buy them a few moments of time if they managed to land a hit. It's much harder to hit something you can't see after all. The remaining nail was aimed at the box the black clad girl was holding in her hands.

Sasha didn't know if the box was related to a spell or not but she did know that it was important to their enemy. She had to hope that at the very least targeting it would slow down the vampire's assault on them though she was making this bet on the assumption that the box's safety was more important to the vampire than their death.

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Albrek16

The girl watched as the nun rose to her feet and announced her decision to oppose the Cardinal. Albrekka could've gone without Francesca calling her a heathen but at the very least they finally had the Catholic nun on their side. Now they just had to hope that she had some plan on beating the psychopath down below, who had so shamelessly murdered a man in cold blood just moments ago.

Taking down that mad man was an inevitable challenge that they were always going to have to face at some point. He was a zealot, a man blinded from the truth by his own eccentric beliefs. The girl was fairly certain that all that man sought was bloodshed and a brutal end to anyone who's ideologies differed from his own. He was a stain on the very idea of truth and unfortunately for Albrekka she had chosen to oppose him.

"The sooner we can get that Cardinal out of the picture the better. As far as I can tell he cares far more about killing us 'heathens' than he does finding out the truth behind this whole incident. From the way you're talking it sounds like you have a plan, so what's your idea?"

As the girl waited for the nun's response to Mark and her question she had to hope it involved turning the Church against the Cardinal or atleast dealt with the situation in a way that wouldn't leave a group of angry Catholic chasing them down. Sure, taking down the Cardinal would solve a ton of their current problems but at the same time if they some how managed to take him down by force they would still have to deal with all his followers.

Albrekka doubted that anyone who followed around a man as eccentric as Coppolla would back down from a fight that easily. They would probably just be adding more fuel to the fire but at the same time at least they would no longer have a crazy saint to deal with.
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Post  Leivinia Birdway on Tue Nov 20, 2018 12:30 pm

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Blackw10
Blood would spray. The nails had hit straight where they had been supposed to hit, leaving their gruesome mark on that woman’s beauty. In fact, all three of them had hit. Two tearing through flesh and bone and the final one digging through that cage of holy symbols as though it was made from paper.

She hadn’t shielded it. Not even for a second had she stopped from moving straight forward. Not when her eyes had been pierced, nor when her greatest treasure had taken a hit. She had accepted it. She had allowed it to happen. She had simply shrugged it off like that. She was an unstoppable force. Emotionless. Painless. Heartless.

She came. However, no longer with her jaw, had that as well been torn apart by these nails.

It didn’t matter. She simply changed the approach at unimaginable speeds.

What was a bite attack just a moment ago, became a an ever reaching hand. Stretched out, wide open it would chase the girls, like a snake the tiny mouse it was seeking to devour. Her strength and speed were overwhelming and if she was so much as grab any of them, all would be over.

And while she did, the blood and flesh that had once been torn and sprayed would again collect itself right where it had originally been supposed to be, rebuilding the shattered beauty just once more.

But, while the foreign bodies were driven from the vampire’s shape, the final of the three would remain right where it had been, stuck in that box, piercing the surface…yet obviously not its contents.

Still, with cracks forming here and there, the seal was broken. And what they felt was an eerie cold. Something familiar. Something dark. Something longing to be unleashed. Bewitching. Seducing. Dangerous.

Yes, it was longing to be seen.
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Post  Sir Alexander Beathen on Thu Nov 22, 2018 12:14 pm

What had one like him had hoped to achieve? In the past, he had beaten one other knight in single combat, but they were just as inexperienced as him. Comparing a fledgling knight who was no longer a squire to someone with a wealth of experience like Henry Moore was truly absurd. His father had proved that to him many times and he was just as ruthless as they come in combat.

Despite the difference between him and all the other knights, Alexander had never stopped going his own way. He would keep trying to prove that it was possible, that his way wasn't wrong and despite how great his father was in combat he could never pull the sword in the stone. It may not mean much in the grand scheme of things, but it showed that he could succeed where his father had failed.

And more importantly by doing it his own way.

The path he took as a knight wasn't wrong or impossible.

He would continue to challenge the impossible and fight the odds for a better future. This had only proved that Alexander's heart was as strong as any other knight. And so he raced forward with a gleam in his eyes, looking straight towards Henry Moore, the young knight knew without a doubt this match was more than fair. He would not complain about the outcome or cry foul for it was he who issued the challenge in the first place.

clang!

However, it was possibly his hubris that fuelled these emotions which blinded him to what should've been easily avoided. A devastating error that could've also been caused by his lack of adjustment to his new found speed that negatively affected his ability to react in time.

The whiplash from Moore's spear had come fast smashing against Alexander's shield who was seemingly unable to properly apply the proper technique in time. It had stopped his momentum as his shield arm buckled under the weight of the blow. He even seemed to stumble towards the opposite direction of where the blow had come.

This entire time he had kept eye contact with Moore, showing a fierce determination. Though now having suffered the thunderous blow, the young knight would tighten his grip on his shield as only shock and disbelief can now be seen in his eyes.
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Post  Saravati Nair on Sun Nov 25, 2018 8:38 am

It was a curious thing. Like clockwork, the terrifying sensation that was fear had begun to claw its way into Sara’s conscious. That’s right, like clockwork. And that was all she needed. With Sasha’s exclamation as only confirmation as she acted, the girl quickly crouched down and swept one of her feet outwards.

But her target was not the vampire. She had given up on trying to knock that crazed entity out through conventional means. Her target, instead were the legs of the girl who had just unleashed an attack in response to the vampire’s ambush.

With a sweep her feet, she knocked Sasha who once again fell into Sara’s arms. Sara could bring up numerous questions about why this had become a thing, but she stuffed all of those down into back of her head as she used her crouch position to kick off.

While keeping her eyes peeled on the results of Sasha’s attack, she ran. But, this was no longer a manifestation of fear. Nor was it a sign that she had given up. On the contrary, the embers in her soul that had nearly faded away had lit up into a blaze once again.

“We’re outmatched, but she’s not untouchable. That girl had seen something, after all.” She had begun to divulge her thoughts to the girl in her arms while she maintained pace. “At its core, everything about her leads back to magic. There’s some structure we should be able to exploit. We just need to expose it.”

So, she ran. She would draw the vampire into a fatal misstep, one way or another.

“Even if we’ll exhaust every resource at our disposal.”


[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Franny10

Their opponent was a Saint. A special being whose value was on the same level as a nuclear weapon. Given the feats he had shown, it was only natural for anyone who witnessed him to be afraid and feel cornered. After all, the idea of normal magicians defeating a saint were, both in theory and in practicality, absurd.

“Of course, I know how dangerous he is. That’s why I’m saying we can defeat that.

It was a definitive statement that came from one simple reality. Fear of the unknown can drive a person into stagnation. But, even a meager understanding of the unknown is enough to be willing to fight back.

“The fact that you’ve all gone to the assumption that he’s a Saint is a sign of how terrifying he is, but that assumption veils the reality of it all.”

That’s what it all boiled down to. The initial assumption that everyone of his enemies had taken to heart was fundamentally wrong.

That man was not a saint, neither in the magical nor in the religious sense. He was a mere pretender, an illusionist, a deceiver using that sleight of hand to create that impression. In retrospect, how ridiculous was it that this wasn’t pinned as the sin it was from the start?

“It’s not Stigmata, but the Last Supper and Transubstantiation. Those are the bases of his spell. He has supporters placed in position to play the role of the supporters while he consumes bread and wine in order to give himself affinity towards the Son of God.”

So, she’d tear off this veil and bring him down. She would unknowingly take the very action that man feared enough to target her life.
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Post  Vita Vesta Caesar on Wed Nov 28, 2018 9:57 am

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 ZMEuR3s

Better than he might have thought. Moore judged Alexander like so. Perhaps in a normal fight, or even in a fight between magicians, this would be the time to voice those feelings as he continued to rain blows upon his former subordinate. A battle of words among the clashing of steel. The two being fought in tandem.

But in a battle among knights, no such liberty existed.

Alexander had barely avoided failing the first test, his guard and stance being broken but managing to keep his feet on the ground. A completely disadvantageous position, but one that could potentially be recovered from even through the difficulty. But these lessons of Moore's, drilling the true fundamentals of an actual Knight's style of combat into Alexander's body with the cost of failure being his life—they didn't end there.

It wasn't like Moore had planned these lessons. There had been no need to do so. Simply by fighting, Alexander would naturally be taught, tested, and finally graded. He would determine the difference in the grades of the battles he had seen up to this point and this one here, be given a chance to gamble his life to correct his course, and finally survive or die.

And what Alexander would be taught now was speed. Moore had noticed his lack of control over his speed by this point, and the time had come to take advantage of it. The reason no words were to be spoken in a battle between Knights was not because of some sense of honor. It wasn't simply because the fight was so fierce that neither would give the other the opportunity to even move their lips, either.

It was speed. Not honor, not relentless brutality, but speed. How much time did it take to move one's lips and produce a voice? Certainly less than it took to move an arm or an entire weapon. That was why whether one was a magician, a thug, or a soldier, one could at least speak during combat. Taunts, warnings, instructions, pleads.

But for them the ratio was reversed. In the space of time it took to move one's mouth, how many clashes had been exchanged? How many times had steel rang out against steel?

It was a complete offense. Not just a single thrust as before, but countless many. Not just the skull, but the wrist, throat, shin, heart, shoulder, both shield and sword, elbow, thigh, armpit, knee, fingers, groin, and ankle were at times targeted. To call it rain would be an understatement. No rainfall in this world came quite so fast, so hard, so unrelenting.

In the space of time it took for one to utter a single word, dozens upon dozens of strikes and counters and counter-strikes would have already been carried out. That was why they could not speak. By the time even a single full sentence had been spoken—

—the battle may already have arrived at its conclusion.

Unlike Alexander, Moore had complete control over his speed. He could therefore use it to its utmost to assault. Control, reactions, power: he masterfully blended them all into one godlike technique. These were the heights that the Knights of England had reached. These were the heights that Henry Moore had reached.

The people and players in Whitby may have forgotten this, or perhaps never known it in the first place, but why was it that Moore had achieved such success that he had been promoted to the leader of a unit despite his own self-admitted lack of talent in actually leading?

It was strength. In chasing that peak, even among the ranks of the knights—Moore was strong.

Each strike accurately chasing a weak point, an opening, a vulnerability. What it took to survive this was an acuity of vision to perceive every individual attack, the speed with which to react, and the control to actually do so. Without all three and, furthermore, the ability to weave them all together and use them as one, there was no possibility of escaping unharmed.

And though it may have been forgotten, Alexander had already been off-balance when this assault had began.

The boy was in over his head.
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Post  Atsa Tsinaajinii on Fri Nov 30, 2018 8:54 am

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 CJoeeKJ

Just as expected the black clad girl put no effort into trying to avoid the nails that were flying towards her face. Why would she? Just like before the monster would simply heal mere moments after the nails pierced her skin and it would be as if it had never happened. As the nails collided with the vampire's face it, ripping her jaw apart in the process, the girl continued her pursuit.

It had all occurred as Sasha had expected. She hadn't expected the attack to do any real damage from the start, she was simply trying to buy for time. Buying for time and trying to damage the box that had seemed so precious to their opponent. Unfortunately, it seemed that Sasha had been wrong about both her assumptions. Their enemy had put no effort into defending the box she was carrying and as it cracked the Annihilus nun could swear she felt a dark presence exuding from it.

At the same time the attack hadn't bought the two girls any time as Millinda continued her charge without any hesitation. The only thing that had changed was that the Vampire of Whitby seemed to be trying to kill them with her hands now instead of her fangs. To make matters worse the unnatural fear that accompanied their opponent only seemed to be getting worse as Sasha became aware of a feeling of tightness in her chest.

The fact that she was being manipulated into fearing her enemy was rage inducing to say the least but before the girl could put anymore thought into it she found her feet taken out from under her. In an instant she was back in her companion's arms again being princess carried, not any less humiliating than it had been before. However, none of those feeling ever reached the surface. Instead she kept her focus on the task at hand.

"First Question: What's your plan on getting her to expose the nature of her spell?"

Without a moment of hesitation after asking her question Sasha spoke again as she tried to figure out what the source of the vampire's power was.

"First Suggestion: The source of the spell should be nearby. She's being chasing us relentlessly so if there's a spiritual item involved it would have to be on her person or at least have an affect over a large area. Than again...."

"Second question: What's been a constant in every place we've run from her so far?"

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Albrek16

As the Catholic nun spoke the groups chances of success suddenly seemed to be skyrocketing. Sure, the odds were probably still not in their favor but at the very least they were a lot higher than before. Their was a huge difference between fighting a Saint and fighting someone who was just drawing power from the idea of a Saint. Now all they had to do was break the spell symbolism so the mad man's spell fell apart.

Unfortunately, that was much easier said than it is done. For now at least Albrekka could get a bit of amused out of the fact that the Cardinal was using a spell that placed him in the position of the Son of God. The green haired girl couldn't imagine that it wasn't considered some form of blasphemy. Than again the girl didn't find it too unexpected considering what she had seen of the Cardinal's zealous personality so far.

"So we need to either take out the supporters or get the Cardinal away from his bread and wine. Do you think it would be possible to convince the supporters to abandon that delusional zealot?"

Of the two options that seemed to be before them Albrekka favored facing the supporters far more than trying to take the Cardinal's supplies. There was no way they were going to convince the Cardinal to back down but taking out his power by turning his own side against him could be a possibility. At the same time the odds of their group beating the supporters were far higher than their chances of beating the Cardinal head on.
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Post  Sir Alexander Beathen on Sun Dec 02, 2018 8:09 pm

He's strong.

There was no question or any confusion over Moore's power and ability. He truly was remarkable and comparable to his own father maybe even more. He was everything knights should strive for and to even excel further. However, it was that drive to almost perfection as a knight which made one thing certain.

He thought like a knight just as he fought like one.

The same cannot be said for Alexander Beathen.

This became obviously clear as the look in his eyes had turned into a hardened glare. Even before this, his body had moved with such elegance that the entire moment had seemed scripted. Already just before the first thunderous strike would descend, the young knight had moved into a loosely guarded stance that showed a tight guard which allowed some movement.

clang!

Moore's spear had snapped through the air like lightning, ricocheting off the young knight's sword that was used to guard an exposed point. This would only be the first of many as the spear strikes would rain down upon Alexander like a terrible storm that wouldn't waver.

clang! clang! clang! clang! clang!  

Over and over, the strikes struck hard though they didn't achieve their objective as Alexander stood his ground. He made no big moves as he weathered this storm of blows but still managed to move slightly closer. And behind his guard, you could see his eyes glaring with a furious light as they watched and recorded everything.

This remarkable defense was the result of what was effectively a ploy in a game known as psychological warfare. The young knight previous actions were an act based on the idea to manipulate his opponent's future actions. This was only made possible due to the previously known bond between the two former allies.

Had Moore been someone he only just met then it would've required more observation to analyze his abilities. Though in that situation, this battle would've already been over. However, Alexander had known Moore more than enough to make strong predictions and though even then it wouldn't normally be enough.

To act on said predictions would require a level of confidence that would normally be hard to get right. Being too overconfident would be dangerous to even the most careful thinker, but everything came back to the Sword in the Stone.

Not only had it brought the young's knight power to new heights it also given him guidance. It gave him the right 'confidence' to act even in the most uncertain situations. It's also why he hadn't bothered to think on how to regulate his new strength and speed; the replica he wields confidently allowed him to act naturally and in turn, his new level of power was being used as a result.

This defensive stance he had taken was rather simple, it had his shield and sword placed close to his body but not so tightly that moving them wasn't a hindrance. This allowed him to quickly move his shield and sword to block any deliberate exposed points or weaknesses in his defense. He also didn't rely just on his sword and shield as the armour he wore was as effective. He would make small movements with his body, turning and twisting slightly to change the targeted points to ensure the spear hit the strongest points of his armour in what seemed like a coordinated dance.

What really made this work and tied it all together was knowing how Knights like Henry Moore would fight. Alexander had deliberately provided an exposed defense that had lead to an offensive focusing on speed rather than pure power. While there was still serious force behind each blow, Moore's style had telegraphed the points he would strike and that was the exposed points in his guard.

Using this to his advantage, the young knight would create those exposed points in his defense the furthermost away from each other. While this was small it had overall helped to compensate the difference in speed between them. While Moore was dangerously fast, the spear still had to travel further distance compared to the distance Alex had to move to defend those exposed points. Not only that his predictions on where he would strike next only helped him to act in time.

Still, his armour was being dangerously pelted by the blows and the force of them had started to strain his muscles and body. But it was the same reason his arm wasn't crushed from blocking that whiplash, the shield he had used went to work by supporting him through the battle.

Those visible small nicks and grazes from the spear that was showing just how close Alexander could've been skewered had healed quickly and kept Alexander's body moving under the strain.

At this point, every tool in his arsenal was being applied and not only to fight in this duel but to ultimately attempt to win. His mind was his strongest advantage and probably the only real reason he made it this far already. It also had already come up with the next step, not content with sitting there like a punching bag he was really waiting for the right moment.

That right moment had quickly come as one of those deadly strikes came from the left side. And without warning, the young knight stepped forward with his right foot and swung his shield upwards at the same time with all his new found strength to intercept the spear. Not only that his sword in his left had already started to move, coming from the right it would plunge inward aiming for the exposed point in Moore's armour which was beneath the right arm.

It came like a trap carefully placed throughout this entire duel and now threatened to snare his target without warning. It could very well be a killing blow if it succeeds.  

However, this would require the utmost perfect prediction and timing, even if does fail than it would at least succeed in exposing Henry Moore's guard and Alexander wouldn't leave him any chance to regain that footing. The trap counted using Moore's own momentum from the left and his own sword strike coming from the right. This would be extremely hard for anyone to avoid and while it wasn't impossible it could still turn the tide.

It could swing the momentum of battle too him.

However, how long could he fight at this level? It was a pressing question but that worry never entered his conscious as he remained entirely focused on Henry Moore.

Timing was everything.
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Post  Saravati Nair on Mon Dec 10, 2018 9:11 pm

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Franny10

"Do you think it would be possible to convince the supporters to abandon that delusional zealot?"

It was almost laughable to even acknowledge such a sentiment and Francesca knew that Albrekka was likely entirely aware of it. A fervent believer in the man would hardly be convinced out of their zealous warpath at this stage in the game, especially given the chaos that had unfolded down below.

“If you think that’s possible, be my guest.” There was an almost subtle sneer in her voice as she mocked that very idea. “We simply kill them one by one until none of them are left. That’s all that needs to be done.”

Without waiting for a response, she pointed to twelve locations within the town. “Given his position, we can pinpoint the locations of the twelve disciples to be where I pointed. If we can go from out and move inwards, we should be able to cut down significant chunks of the Cardinal’s power before he notices.”

The spell, required the twelve disciples, after all. Cutting off even one would theoretically be enough to destabilize the spell significantly and in all likelihood, they could cut his power off before he even noticed the difference.

“Destabilize and destroy. That should be enough to weaken him.”
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Post  Leivinia Birdway on Tue Dec 11, 2018 9:21 pm

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Marksp10
Mark Space had fallen silent in order to allow for the information to be received properly. A spell, creating a fake reality. It had never been confirmed nor denied that Enrico Coppolla was a Saint, giving no actual impact to the idea of him being an impostor, but when faced with this boastful a display of the overwhelming power it would still grant relief in this darkest hour.

«Snatch the foundation and make the construct collapse. It does not even require us to eliminate all of them in the first place. A single pillar could already be decisive.»

It was as simple as that. If his status as a fake Saint was invoked by the presence of the twelve apostles and the act of sharing bread and wine with them, altering the numbers would be more than enough to shake things up. Killing all of them would surely lead to definite success, but eliminating just a single one by only erasing their role in the symbolism could very well suffice. Indeed, it was quite simple to say the least.

«Let’s march then.»

Time to spare was non-existent. The cardinal was still moving. As long as he was it would pose a problem on too many scales to account for. Even right now.

Therefore, they would set off.



The battle between over the leadership of the knight battalion was still raging. Two wills were colliding much akin to the blades swung. However, hadn’t the battle itself been occurring on a battlefield? One that was supposed to be ruled by nothing but fierce enemies with little concept of affiliation? So, why wasn’t anyone interrupting that duel?

A flash of red, men and women were flung about, their weapons crushed, their bodies stripped and their vitals crushed. It would happen again and again. No matter how many came or tried, whenever their feet would so much as touch as that invisible borderline they were dealt with within only a blink of an eye. He was relentless, a perfectionist at bringing defeat and humiliation. There was speed, technique, yet hardly any precision. He savoured the destruction, but didn’t allow for any chances.

And while he was, his attention hadn’t been with any of the poor fools he kept slaying. No, no, no, no! They did not matter. What mattered. What truly mattered, was the clash between those two. Old vs young. Experience vs courage. Power vs mind. The most spectacular of all battles.

«Yeesssssssssss! Go on! Exceed yourselves! Grow beyond who you are! Fight! Break the boundary! Make history!!»

That insanity of crimson was cheering all the while flinging his lance to erase the pointless lives of the insignificant others. Whom he was cheering on? Neither of those two. No, the flame that had sparked before his eyes was the sole thing worthy of his cheers. The flame that had become the raging fire of their fight. Who would win and who wouldn’t didn’t matter anymore. It never had.



The core of Whitby had become a battlefield, attracting all who could fight like mindless flies. And yet, a man would stand on in the middle of a convenience store parking lot surrounded by nothing but lifeless emptiness. The citizens had been evacuated. The Magicians had all gone to fight their personal wars. So, by nature no one should be left. And yet there he stood. A single man in black robes from head to toe. His hair was perfectly cut, his features like rocks not bearing any expression at all. He was the embodiment of diligence, a statue more than a human being. And yet a fine little detail would shake that imagery: He was chewing on something while taking occasional sips from the cup in his hand.

That statue like priest was one of twelve. The twelve belonging to the cardinal’s company, currently forming the very source of his absolute power. While he would go on crushing their prey like flies, they would remain on the outer perimeters of the town, waiting among the silence of the empty streets. Sometimes they would move to adjust, but most of the time it was simply like it was right now.

Truly that man was a diligent disciple of God.
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Post  Saravati Nair on Wed Dec 26, 2018 7:54 am

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Franny10

It hadn’t taken her too long to find the first target. She couldn’t say with absolute certainty how much taking out one of the ‘disciples’ would debilitate the Cardinal—whether just one would be enough to destroy the symbolism the spell was based on or whether they had to systematically annihilate that symbolism one by one—but it would still be an important step regardless. That’s why she made quick work in closing that distance.

In that silent moment, she focused her gaze onto the first target and his surroundings. With the exception of the man himself, the area was entirely barren, bereft of humanity—though, one could question whether robed man himself had any humanity given his general, almost robotic, demeanor.

There was not much that needed to be said at this point. The more time she wasted trying to gather any more information from a distance, the more time she gave the cardinal to harvest the seeds of chaos he had sown.

While approaching the edge of the roof she had been standing on, she pulled out four nails in her right hand. The man had already taken part in transubstantiation. There was no need to worry for their efficacy. Should they hit, her attacks would inevitably be enough to cause damage.

Without a word, she threw those nails from a far.

The heart.

The common carotids.

The brain.

The descending aorta.

She aimed for each and every one of those vital organs with pinpoint accuracy before quickly jumping off that low altitude roof and charging inwards at the hooded man.
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Post  Leivinia Birdway on Fri Jan 18, 2019 4:28 pm

There was nothing giving out that stone-faced priest’s intentions. If at all he remained impossible to read until the very last moment. It wasn’t because of his undiscernible expression. Much rather his devotion to his very cause was so strong that it overshadowed all other intention. He was willing to act. But the action to be found was that only natural to any true believer. Therefore, she would never feel his killing intent or gaze upon herself. Not even when it was already too late.

The nails hadn’t been a threat at all. With the speed and reflexes of one who had harshly trained, that man would easily evade any and all of those countless projectiles, neither dancing nor hurrying, but stepping firmly like one who was not too greedy.

«Hm.»

Then without any further ado he would greet her charge with one of his own. Stronger, faster, fiercer. His body was like a machine, solely built to serve the lord. Unlike her, however, his training had gone on for far longer on top of gifts she had never had. The moment their paths would cross his fist would race for her the centre of her face bearing scull-shattering power. Yet, that was only the disguise. The true attack would come the moment she would evade the first: A fist strike like a cannon ball, sent flying straight into her solar plexus. Not just strong, but entirely unseen before.

There was no need to hold back. His actions would lay bare all of his intent. He wasn’t going to let her stay a chance. No, he would crush her with those bare hands of his. Not then. Not later. Now. Right here.
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Post  Saravati Nair on Tue Jan 22, 2019 12:40 pm

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Franny10

Even though she knew she would not gain an easy victory like that, Francesca couldn’t help but find herself pouting as soon as the sight of the supposed man of God dodged her strikes with the most minute of movements at the last second. But, as disappointing as that was, she needn’t let it get to her.

Yes, she had assumed from the start that the initial strike would fail.

There was no need to upset. She just needed to lay her killer intent bare for the world before her and crush that man.

Oh sinner~


Even that man’s fist, on course to shatter her skull and smash apart her brain in one hit didn’t matter. She simply placed her next tactic on the table—she dropped down, pivoting via the ball of her left foot and pushed herself down to the ground, letting gravity add onto that force, all while slamming her right hand, holding a nail, into the ground—no, the foot of the man below her. She would simply impale the foot below.

But, that was not her aim.

Whether or not the man evaded that attack was meaningless. Whether she would strike or simply hit the ground, she would lift the rest of her body up, pivot about her shoulder, and place another nail with her free hand underneath her heel, aiming to slam the thing into the man’s skull. She would smash it straight through the side of his skull, into the pterion, and impale his brain.

REPENT!
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Post  Leivinia Birdway on Sun Jan 27, 2019 11:32 am

A battle between two servants of the Lord was not short of a true duel of wits. Both of them had been trained by the harshness of the Inquisition. Both had been taught the teachings that were required to slaughter those called Magicians. Both had been equipped with tools necessary for that task.

Francesca’s tools were those nails that were so closely associated with the Son of God’s execution. But what about that stone-faced priest?

As his strike missed, something erupted form the sleeves of his robe, bursting outside and covering the area. Countless miniscule objects were unleashed into the night, covering both the people and the area surrounding them. Like flakes of snow they would sail down upon everything, coating the concrete, the cars, the lamps, the robes and nails.

Dust had fallen everywhere.

«Be blessed, thy tools of execution.»

As the nail would scrape his shoe, cutting out a portion of both its leather and gracing a tiny speck of blood and skin, her entire being would be shaken. The other nail she was just about to readily hammer down with her foot all of a sudden became a burden unlike any other. Her foot would bend and so would her entire body. What had weighed a bunch of hundred grams just now entered the domain of many kilos the very next moment.

The sudden change in weight would certainly come to destroy her momentum right about then, especially given her rather brave manoeuvre. A condition that would clearly leave her wide open, would it come to shatter all sense of balance and with it any and all possibility right about then.

Even if it’d only last for nothing more than a second, it was enough to land a hit. And so, with perfect timing he’d spin his body for the execution of the fiercest kick, sent right for the centre of her chest.

Hoping to have sent her flying into the next best car’s windshield, the priest would no longer hesitate, bringing out a knife he had kept hidden in his sleeve.

«Come. It is not over yet, my treacherous child. Your punishment’s completion still awaits.»
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Post  Vita Vesta Caesar on Mon Jan 28, 2019 8:24 am

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 ZMEuR3s

Immediately as he felt the path of his spear diverting, Moore realized what had happened.

The bastard led me on!

Given the level of control he had shown during the first few moves of the fight, a maneuver such as this should have been completely impossible. The knowledge of his own speed and power, the experience and technique... It wasn't a matter of talent. In this short a time, it was absolutely impossible to grasp it. But the fact of the matter was that Alexander had done it anyway.

Either his performance earlier was fake, or there's more to the spell than just the strengthening. Something to reduce the acclimation period.

While Moore was a poor match for the battles of deceit that were waged in the battles of words expected of those of high station, affairs of battle and war were a different matter entirely. The weapons wielded were forged of iron and not silver, and the lies told were not of one's character but of one's ability. Not just for the advancement of your station, but for the proof of your strength—so that you may prevail, live another day, and fight on.

No true warrior would look down upon so fundamental a tactic as a feint. Tactics were just as an pivotal a part of battle as weapons and the skill with which they were wielded. And so for Moore, warrior to the bone, it was only a matter of course that he was all too familiar, and all too skilled with that variety of deceit.

Alexander's success was proof that Moore's initial assessment of him had not been wrong, even now. He was weak. He lacked the strength needed to truly be a proper knight. His experience as well was lacking, and that led to a critical naivete. But his head, and his head alone was something to be impressed by. That sharp mind was something that showed it's value not only in politicking, but also on the field of battle.

Without a doubt, this was a point. The first point he had scored so far in this battle of theirs. But...

"It's not enough!!!"

It wasn't enough. It simply, truly wasn't enough. Alexander had forgotten something all too important.

Moore's tenure had started as a Lancer, yes. And even to this day, it was his preferred weapon.

But that was all.

The Knights of England had mastered every weapon. That was the truth. And for those great warriors, would something as simple as that really count as an exception...? No. It would not be missed.

The spear veered off course, but then it strayed yet further. This was more than the deflection should have accomplished. The source was not Alexander, but Moore himself. He had abandoned his weapon, left it hanging in the air as it was. Moore had left himself unarmed. He still had his sword by his side, but there would be no time to draw it. He held no weapon in his hands.

No weapon, that is, save his hands themselves.

In parrying the spear, Alexander had created an opening in his defenses. Normally, given the success of the maneuver, there would be no way for it to be taken advantage of. And had Moore restrained himself to the use of his spear, that would be true. But with his new weapons, it was ripe for the picking.

Slipping straight into Alexander's guard, Moore would stamp his foot upon his opponent's, sealing his movement. And in the process, he would also be safe from the attack with the sword. All weapons had a range of effect, and though the safest method of escaping it was to move away, moving within worked just as well. For a mid-range weapon like a spear, the effect was more apparent, but it worked just the same with the sword. Now that Moore had broken through the wall of the opponent's defense, all that was left was to attack.

Seal their movement with the stamp of the foot. And then, from there, with one hand grasp the wrist that held the weapon and further seal Alexander's movement, also breaking it if at all possible.

And, using the two points of support as a fulcrum... Pull the enemy forward, drive the elbow of the remaining free arm into their gut, and immediately follow up with a headbutt. The presence or absence of armor no longer mattered in slightest. Moore was no longer using a cutting weapon but a blunt ones, and the knights had methods of piercing armor.

It doesn't matter how superb one's strategies might be if you don't have the ability to bring them to fruition.
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Post  Sir Alexander Beathen on Sat Feb 02, 2019 11:15 pm

It may have been overlooked and if that was the case it was exactly how Alexander wanted it to happen. While nothing goes completely to plan, Henry Moore may have not noticed the previous stance the young knight had taken when he went on the attack. From a tight defensive stance into striking suddenly from that cramped positioning would be obvious from a third observer that there was no real momentum behind it.

This was only a reminder that Alexander had become a knight not through pure strength and skill, but through merit of his mind to manoeuvre through tough situations. He was without a doubt unorthodox in style from the way he fought and down to the very armour he wore.

When others had focused on their martial skills, learning all sorts of weapons and unarmed combat styles. Alexander had focused on his mind, from reading numerous books too studying body language and advance tactics. While neither had forgone the other, it would set the young knight apart from the others.

And that mind, which grew sharper with ever moment the battle continued was entirely fixated on his opponent.

"It's not enough!!!"

Immediately the young knight’s eyes widen as he noticed the spear had strayed further then he imagined. Through his mind eye he went through all the possibilities in rapid succession to figure out what this could mean and when there was no indication to draw the sword at his side he had arrived at his answer.

He may not have the same experience as Henry Moore, but the young knight has plenty of experience fighting others much stronger than him. He had a sense of what the strong would do and knowing that helped him in this duel.

Either way his ‘act’ was now over, the young knight once again showed remarkable control of his movements as he suddenly went from his supposed attack to something more of a tactical retreat. It was like he had used his right leg like a spring to send him flying backwards and away from Moore.

Though his opponent was fast and doing just this would amount to nothing, so immediately afterwards the more important manoeuvre would follow as what seemed to be the most unlikely action would come from the young knight.

Showing he was willing to use the unexpected.

As brightly as it could the sword erupted with light from its previously dimmed appearance with the intention to blind both knight’s visual senses. Even with his helm, Henry had been so close, the light and his narrower vision would hinder his responses, but the surprise was what mattered and should earn Alex precious moments to act.

“Turn your hand level...”

Should this succeed he wouldn’t waste a single moment as he landed back on the ground, the young knight would grip his sword with both hands and swung it back behind him.

“So you can appease your anger...”

And with a sudden surge of magic; the golden light being produced from the sword in the stone had immediately turned into an array of colours.

“WITH THREE GREAT STROKES!!”

Like lightning, he swung his blade in an arc like the shape of a rainbow and would do it again and again with terrible warlike blows as bursts of destructive magic was unleashed each time towards Henry Moore.

It had mattered not the distance between them as the attack would reach out hitting anything in its path.

This was his final move and it was only possible once Henry Moore had abandoned that spear.

Everything since the beginning of the duel had to lead up to this moment. Using his mind, the young knight had used the unexpected and what was expected of him against his opponent. He even tarnished his honour to use a manoeuvre one never should expected him to use to gain an advantage.  

But this battle was never about him or his fleeting sense of honour, but the fate of Whitby and maybe even the country.

He couldn’t afford to loose and even though he couldn’t foresee his victory, the young knight tried nonetheless. Knowing that doing nothing was a betrayal of everything he stood for and believed in.

Happy endings weren’t given, but earned through effort and sacrifice.

He had hopped through this duel he had given them enough time, but he may never know like the outcome of his final move. As the magic he had performed would overload his blade and the strength and courage that guided him would vanish.

And as the consequences of his magic throughout the battle, pain would lash out across his body as he crashed into the ground marking the end of his defiance.

Had he succeeded or not it didn’t really matter.

The duel was over.
Sir Alexander Beathen
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Post  Saravati Nair on Sun Feb 03, 2019 2:55 pm

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Franny10

Even as she had fervently pushed those thoughts through, Francesca heard those words the man uttered from his lips.

Be blessed, thy tools of execution.

While her decoy attack had made some strike into its mark, her true strike had been immediately made doomed to failure with the falling of his words and those minuscule particles. And so, her body bent. Those few distortions and weights were enough.

Some things could not be easily reacted to and no matter how much she tried, she could not readjust in time to make the blow connect. As the enemy reduced the killing blow to nothing more than a dud, she gripped down on the pavement with the hand that held the nail that had been driven firmly into the ground.

With her remaining arm, she did the same, only without the firm grip on the nail to hold her. And the conclusion was forgone. The foot sank into her rib cage and threw her back. Though she had transferred some of the momentum onto the ground with her hands, she still flew back, her fingertips searing as the friction from the ground tore at the keratinous upper layer of their skin.  

Though she flew, she did not fly as far back as the man had intended, landing only seven meters away as she rolled across the asphalt, scuffing her habit.

Despite the disorientation, it did not take long for the young sister to get off her back as she placed herself back on her knees. She shot her hand towards the nails she had stored reflexively, but kept stopped partway.

The trigger for the effect seemed to be the flakes in the air.

Your punishment’s completion still awaits.

If that was the case, she just needed to drive the nail into the man before it got covered. Therefore—

I’ll go in close.

Taking heed of the knife in the man’s hand, she ran straight towards him. There was no point in running away. Sniping wouldn’t work. Distancing herself wouldn’t. The best method to kill this man was through infighting.

She would confront it all. She would drive a fist straight into his solar plexus.
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Post  Leivinia Birdway on Tue Feb 05, 2019 9:19 pm

A silent sigh escaped the firmly built priest’s mouth.

«Even in your blasphemy your will remains unbroken, does it not Francesca Purezza?»

Much like any man in his profession he had been a friend of words, even though he may not look like it. Instead of letting the conversation come adrift, he would not waste an opportunity to fill the silence with words of his own – whether they would be heard or not.

However, that would not change the fact that the traitor would come relentlessly.

With motions as swift and relaxed as those of a bartender mixing his signature drink, the stone-faced priest would remove numerous golden coins of foreign currency from his pocket tossing them up into the air. Then in quick succession he would pull back his sleeve, quickly running the knife across his under arm.

Blood was spilled.

«Be blessed my coins of contribution.»

A piece of skin sent into the wind.

Then as he’d step backwards all too lightly, the coins would come raining down again. However, unlike before each would bear enough force to cause the asphalt below to crack and shatter upon their landing. There was no need to express how bloody the result would be if just a single one would hit.

«Do you feel the weight of your choice? The weight of all your wrongs? The weight of the divine punishment that will come upon you?»

He spoke, just as he stepped. He didn’t stop there. He wouldn’t. But this time he wasn’t charging. Instead he would secure more distance and close in to a collection of parked cars. An additional line of defence? Or…?
Leivinia Birdway
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[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Empty Re: [SS] Hazy Silhouette

Post  Saravati Nair on Fri Feb 08, 2019 4:32 pm

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Franny10

One could compare it to a bombardment of falling I-beams. Even if she wasn’t fully aware of the effect, Francesca had enough sense. The effect would be predictable. Regardless of what he used as the framework, the danger signs were there.

Yet, she could not advance. The moment her body would fall into range of the attack, she would be transformed into Swiss Cheese without hesitation. No matter how much acrobatics she may try, she would inevitably be crushed.

Yet, she would still advance.

Do you feel the weight of your choice? The weight of all your wrongs? The weight of the divine punishment that will come upon you?

The weight of sin, the ridiculous farce of a punishment. None of it all mattered at all.

Before getting in range of that meteor shower before her, her shoes heated up as she decelerated to zero before the edge of the coin’s range. There was not a second to be wasted though. Without squandering even an iota of time, she leapt to the side avoiding every last coin before continuing her advance.

She may have been slowed down, but she would still push through. Bracing herself for the next attack, she continued her charge to the parked cars.



Use every resource at their disposal, she said. Bare its core and expose it to the light of scrutiny, she said.

As much as she hated to admit it, this entire encounter with the vampire, as bone-chilling as it may have been, was a poor showing. As a witch hunter of Necessarius, her actions driven by fear, leading on a cat-and-mouse chase, were a blight on them.

But, it was necessary.

They couldn’t counterattack. They couldn’t chip away at their pursuer.

Carrying Sasha, she jumped once again, landing off from the rooftop of a building into an unlikely scene.

Unceremoniously, the presence of Sara and Sasha encroached upon what looked to be a duel between the two knights who made a mess earlier and the Cardinal who was in the process of making a mess now.

To be frank, a lot was running through that girl’s mind as she ground to a stop in that open space—between the vampire and the current scene. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place in that one moment, and so there was only one proper thing she could say as her mind tried to catch up.

“Eh?”
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Post  Leivinia Birdway on Wed Feb 27, 2019 8:27 pm

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 ZMEuR3s
This was the end…

By all means Henry Moore and Alexander Beathen had managed to push themselves to their limits and beyond. Moore by dropping his weapon and unleashing the fury of his bare fists and Beathen by forcefully closing the gap between their skill levels. Until then the hardened master had been on top of the weak amateuer.

But, as gold transformed into rainbow a miracle occured.

«Impressive! Marvellous!»

Invoking Caladbolg?! You mad fool!

That man who had held no power himself, had called upon mythical strength, familiar to any and all British men. It was horrendous, impressive and beyond imagination. Something that was worthy of any warrior’s full strength. Worthy to be met with respect by even Henry Moore and Enrico Coppolla. One inhaled bravely, the other whistled amusedly.

Wordlessly, as the first strike came, the battle hardened knight would strain his muscles. His charge had never been interrupted, his aim set. He would close in to his enemy at all costs. The first strike would come, he’d knew, he’d invite it. And then with what he deemed the right timing, he’d evade. Or so he would hope. The blade would miss him, did he attempt to slide right past it. However, even if he wasn’t cut, the pure force of the strike was another story. With loud cracks emerging from his shattering armour, Moore would realise just how far off his assessment of the situation had been. His balance would be lost, but his will wasn’t. Even then he would push through with the full force of his hardened muscles.

Below the second strike he’d dive, ducking as far as he could, did he now fully understand the scale of the spell’s power. The recoil was strong as before, but the danger barely visible to him.

And then right before the final swing, he’d strike. His fist was prepared. The force of his many years of experience, of fighting, of pride, he’d unleash them all. The boy, Beathen, he had been impressive, but that wasn’t enough. That would never be enough to defeat him. No, Henry Moore could not afford to lose. Not here. Not in this duel. Not before his mission had been complete. This went beyond protecting the motherland. This went beyond protecting the innocent. This was something more personal than anything.

He had something else dominating his heart. A goal that was far from the knightly honour their bout had been about.

Just then.

That feeling would creep up to him.

Just then.

It would be as clear as it had been that very day so many years ago.

It was there. It was here!!!

The third strike came.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

[SS] Hazy Silhouette - Page 15 Marksp10
It struck with the full might of its momentum, tearing through both the thick brick walls as well as the building’s interior up to his hiding spot.

As the debris was flung towards him, the man in the black formal suit quickly flung a card into its path. The Eight of Swords. In its most simple meaning it would represent a hindrance and such it would become, would a protective wall of wind be evoked.

The debris and the source of the violent force would crash into it. However, instead of simply dissipating something unforeseen would happen. The wall would blur, lose its outer shape and entirely malform. It was no longer still. No longer a means of protection. No, it was coming.

Mark Space had been outwitted yet again and was thus struck by a chaotic wave of both physical and abstract nature. Wind, rock, wood, plastic, whatever had been assembled struck him with the brunt of a merciless impact not only knocking him off his feet but a few metres across the open street.

«Filthy pagan. Filthy sinner. Filthy fool.»

«Believing that mere sorcery is a valuable tool.»

«But the Lord’s wrath is cruel.»

«His victory the sole outcome to this duel.»

«The blessing of Saint Thomas is my fuel.»

A nun in robes as black as the night with hair as golden as the day, was slowly crossing the asphalt. Her age was far beyond his own and so was her height. Her fingers were covered in scars born from tedious hand crafting. However, the tools in her hand were both appropriate and not appropriate at all for both crafting and combat. Yet, in the end she would use them to do both. Two antique wooden and metal objects bearing the size of lances, all the while appearing like tools most often used in carpentry.

Yet, the most threatening detail about her clearly were the two presences gathered around her back. In the shape of wings a turrent of wind had assembled all kinds of foreign objects and structures, weaving them like threads of a carpet.

«Now, kill you I shall.»

«Obeying the Lord’s call.»

Speaking triumphantly the nun had missed out just one tiny detail. Mark Space, who had fallen down to lie limply on the ground was clinging onto something. A card. The Nine of Swords.

Among the many interpretations one would find the idea of passive resistance. Resistance granted by the winds’ protection.

He was still breathing. In fact, unlike the impression he’d left, he was perfectly conscious, had the twisted meaning enabled him to put a final barrier between himself and the surprise counter. And while it hadn’t negated it all, it had been enough to brush off the most bothersome found in the rocks and stones.

Still, there was no denying that he was in a tight spot.

Would he move to early he’d mess it all up. But if he would wait too long...he’d be done for before he’d even get there.

«May the curtain fall.»

☆☆☆☆☆☆

«I see. You will let your actions speak instead of words.»

The man remained still, unmoving, strong.

«Your conviction is impressive. Yet, that does not change the outcome. Fate has already sealed it.»

Without any hesitation he would run his knife across his arm once more, again slicing off another piece of skin.

«Be blessed, thy robes of faith.»

It happened again. This time she would be shrouded by the phenomenon entirely. Her robes and each piece of garment covering her skin had been dyed by the dust of benison. And as they had they would all bear the effects of his all too powerful magic. Their weight would become the shackles binding her, pressing down on her, drowning her. Her charge would end, would she find herself dragged down almost immediately.

«Feel it. Feel the weight of your betrayal. You are no longer worthy of those robes. You are no longer worthy of bearing his honour, his pride, his blessing. Fall, crushed by the weight of your sin. This is the end you deserve, traitor.»

Moving his knife into the opposite direction he’d cut off just another slice.

«Be blessed, ye iron tools of transport.»

Showing the effort of a child picking up their toy, the stonern priest would grab and lift a nearby car. Then slowly with the theatrical effect of heavy steps he would close the distance to his fallen enemy. Upon arrival he’d stand still, lifting the car ever higher and higher.

«This is is it. Requiescat en pace.»

☆☆☆☆☆☆

All of a sudden everything stood still.

As that presence stepped upon the raging battlefield, everything changed.

The world shook.

That pale woman in black dress had become the centre of absolutely everything.

The duel of the knights?

The crimson cardinal?

The countless of Magicians?

The brave warriors fighting them off?

It didn’t matter. It never would. After all, there had been a single thing that had mattered to everyone from the beginning on.

All of which could be expressed by a single word.

The word that had drawn each and everyone of them in.

The name given to that beast.

Vampire.

And as she arrived something dug deeply into the bones of everyone present. Powerful warriors, mighty sorcerers, mischievous criminals, undying masterminds. No matter who. No matter what they were doing right then. It all invaded their minds equally. Fear. Unending fear. Fear so strong it would shake their entire being. Their strength would be forfeit. Their momentum crushed. The fear was unforgiving. Relentless. Absolute.

Enrico Coppolla felt stunned as his breath caught in his lung.

Alexander Beathen lost the momentum of his very final strike.

Henry Moore found himself abandoned by his unending adrenaline rush, experiencing the pain of his broken it had helped him ignore.

With a loud boom, the leader of the Knight’s of England sent to Whitby met the remains of the rebel’s last ounce of strength.

He wouldn’t fly. He wouldn’t fall. He would take it standing in his might. He would not...ever...fall...not...with this...befo––

«...that hurt.»

Pure white.

...yes, this was the end.

«Now then, let’s see how this gamble’ll go~»
Leivinia Birdway
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Post  Sir Alexander Beathen on Sun Mar 03, 2019 11:23 pm

With a flurry of blows and surge of adrenaline, the duel between knights had come to a sudden end.

And for a moment from that abrupt finish, and the loss of adrenaline had caused the young knight to blank out. As his vision would begin to return there was a notable struggle for breath an onset of nausea and the feeling of extreme weakness throughout his body. This was only the start as once his vision had become clear, there was an overbearing sense of fear and dread only met with a pounding headache.

And among that dread, the pain and weakness his eyes had met Henry Moore as he struggled to piece together what happened.

"How?!" Alexander gasped as he struggled to keep his breath let alone speak further. His grasp on his sword, which was now embedded within Henry Moore would weaken before a sudden surge of energy would jolt his body, causing immense pain as it felt like his entire nervous system was on fire and with the weight of fear bringing him down he would collapse to his knees before finally losing his hold on the Sword in the stone.

He hadn't suspected this in any sense of the imagination. He knew he couldn't use that spell without caution, but the young knight was determined to offer everything he had and not lose without a fight. However, Alex was sure his best would have failed with certainty hadn't it been for sudden interference.

It wasn't hard to tell who was the cause as while his core was shaken to the point he couldn't even look in their direction; he could at least see them standing at the corner of his eye. That fear was mindnumbing at best and without the power of his sword, there wasn't much he could do at this point.

He couldn't even move and was just an open target to be picked off.

Was there even a point to his defiance? Why did he decide to duel his now former ally?

He was so confused and the doubt had infected his mind as he questioned his motivation up until this point. Not realising the fear he was being burdened with had taken advantage of his now unprotected mind.

Everything he had done he had believed was only possible because of his sword, which not only provided him with courage but the power to challenge the strong.

These dangerous thoughts would cloud the rebel's mind as he remembered how truly weak he was among giants.
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