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Retribution[P]; Graham
Topic Started: Sun Apr 24, 2011 7:53 am (538 Views)
Godfrey
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After exiting the ruined cathedral, the newly blessed paladin began to make his way towards the direction of the Hills of Mist, only to be halted by the many voices of the Arkhangelsk. "Stop. You will find nothing, should you choose to venture to the Hills. There is something you must see to in the cemetery... Go now, with haste." Not once did Godfrey question the voices of the celestial, though the fact that it seemed to be able to call out to him whenever it willed disturbed him. The storm was still raging, and had only gotten worse since he left the cathedral.

He let out a sigh and changed course. He had no idea why he had so easily retaken his former title as a holy warrior, but when faced with something as imposing as the Light's fist of judgement, only a fool could refuse. So, he started for the cemetery as fast as he could, barreling through the ruined pathways and leaping over piles of rubble that lay in front of him. Lightning arced through the sky, and thunder continued to clap, louder than before. He figured the cathedral would collapse due to the intensity of the storm, but if it had stood for as long as had, maybe it would hold up.

As he entered the graveyard, a dark mist began to form, blanketing the entire area and writhing around the weathered graves. Rain continued to pour, and a nearby noise prompted him to draw his newly acquired longsword. He examined it for a while, admiring the master craftsmanship. A light emitted from the center of the blade, and an aura of frost emanated from it. A powerful weapon indeed, one that would hopefully prove useful in his quest for retribution.

He silently reminded himself that the death of his deceiver was only one of many tasks laid out before him. It seemed strange, that he had been chosen to lead a full on crusade against the forces of darkness. Where he would find the able bodies, he had no clue. He had never organized anything before. Up until now he had always been a lone wolf, occasionally taking on contracts with others, or coming upon them mid-hunt. Now it seemed he had to find an army to lead. He dismissed the thoughts to the back of his mind, keeping himself focused on the task at hand. He gripped one of his demon-felling knives, and drew it from its sheathe. The paladin narrowed his eyes and peered around, wondering what awaited him in this dark place.
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Graham Sideas
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A storm, such a beautiful force of nature. The gods themselves stormed down their wrath, attempting to test the mettle of the living beasts that followed them. And in this tumult of wrath, the child-like necromancer stood in the middle of it all, his body barely able to feel the pounding of the rain. It was like he was holding a plastic blanket over himself, bringing a frown to his face. He missed the feeling of the rain.
He turned to his care-taker as he came from behind him, a cloak of all black covering his usually royal-looking form. They were on a dark mission now, the voices in Graham's head having grown more violent lately. The flux of holy power that came from near here had drawn them there, each one crying out that it's source needed to be destroyed. He could feel a pounding pain in his head, the only real feeling he could have anymore when he walked amongst the living.

"Let's go... I can't... feel it anymore."
His voice was hard coming, and he could feel a clawing pain in the back of his mind. He ground his teeth and shook his head, hopping down into the grass below, the feeling of wet graveyard ground being like solid stone beneath him, a comforting feeling.
Lucius simply nodded, following after his master obediently. He could feel the heavy weight in the air, the holy power burning down on the undead like a flare. The smell of it burned his nostrils, and he could just imagine the effects it would have on the rest of Graham's Cabal. He knew there was at least two others hanging around the graveyard.
And then the eyes found them, pitch white eyes burning through the tree limbs. The creature they had sent after the human camp, the camp that they couldn't even get their fingers on. Such useless husks of meat, these mercenaries. Graham felt rage pumping through his veins, like fire pushing itself to the surface of his flesh.
"I'll wait in the trees, approach him."

Lucius nodded, lowering his hood. His white hair set itself comfortably over his face, matted into his dead flesh. His purple eyes glowed with an intense rage as he stepped forward in view of the paladin. He could practically smell the living humanity in him, his eyes darted up and down his form to examine the enchantments on his weapon, wondering what exactly it would do to his modified body.
"Such a nuisance, you humans. You can never do your jobs right."
He pulled the string from his cloak, revealing his white duster beneath. He was dressed for war, knives lined on the inside of the jacket, and his hands wrapped perfectly. He wasn't alone, however, which was a point of sadness for the transcendent. He wanted to fight alone in this, but he knew his master would never give him that.
The gravestones around Lucius seemed to crack and break, stone collapsing into the dirt as cloaked forms raised from behind them. They without life, they were called, their telepathic voices echoing in the wind, lashing at the mind of the enemy in front of them. Lucius didn't quite know what type of them he was standing with now, but there was something they all shared in common.
A brutal, bloodthirsty efficiency.

There was six of them, each one only showing their chins beneath their hoods. Their hands held themselves tightly, talons stabbing into undead flesh. Their mouths were stitched shut with iron wire, their voices echoing in the air. And they all said only one thing, "By the Master, we live forever."
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Godfrey
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"Oh I did the job alright, only to find those so called 'occultists' were nothing more than a band of travelers. You will pay for your deception, you can be sure of that, beast." Godfrey scowled as he spoke, and a small flicker of gold-white flame erupted from his eyes. It surprised even himself. His entire body coursed with holy energy. Much like the pulsating feeling he had in his hand when unleashing a magic missile, he felt vibrations throughout. His body had become a vessel for righteous judgement itself.

He looked among the undead man's companions, and scoffed. "Live forever eh? My blade will put that claim to the test. For your sake, you'd better hope you hold as much faith in your master as I do in mine. Otherwise this will be a quick fight indeed."

He snapped his attention back to Lucius, and his scowl intensified. He thrust his sword in the creature's direction, and narrowed his eyes. "The Arkhangelsk calls for justice, and I call for vengeance!" Godfrey's voice thundered throughout the graveyard, no doubt reaching Graham's ears. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the rain began to pour even harder. Another heartquaking clap of thunder sounded. "Your treachery has damned you, beast. The time of your reckoning has come. Let it be known... You will die this day." He swung the blade back to his side and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He muttered a long unspoken, foreign prayer, and the hand gripping his knife began to glow with a Holy light. "The man you hired that day has ceased to exist. I am a vessel for the Holy Light itself, and I will crush all who dare threaten it, or the lives of the innocent."

He twirled his sword around, and spun, then shot the hand holding his knife out and launched a crackling jet of holy energy towards one of the minions at Lucius' side, then charged towards him. He spun around and swung the blade towards Lucius' side, aiming to ram it into his ribcage.
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Graham Sideas
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It was a sick smile that occupied Lucius's face now, the feeling of pure ecstasy as a battle neared. It was all he lived for, this iron protection of his master. His body was made, perfected, refined, and modified for this work, built upon the blood of thousands so he could rise from their corpses. He was a machine, built to destroy, and it was this work of reaping where he found his comfort. His laugh was sick, that of an artist, looking over his best work.
"I died long ago, Victus. Let me show you what happens when you surpass the greatest obstacle of all living things... Death."
He smiled wider, unfastening a few of the buttons on his jacket, revealing a brand burned into his flesh beneath. Stitches stapled the flesh together where the brand was placed, a special piece of flesh that was born of something else, something stronger. The symbol was the harvest moon, black thorns growing from it's edges like a cancer. The undead was a plant, spreading from the base of the harvest of mankind, soon to overtake them.
Lucius waved his hand, the force of his punch collapsing a nearby gravestone like a pile of cards. His smile widened as he snapped his fingers, the lifeless ones around him drawing back their hoods. The only part of their faces that weren't locked shut by iron wire was their eyes. Cold, lifeless yellow eyes staring out from beneath rotted flesh. Each of them was a failure, sewn together from tens, if not hundreds of failed subjects. So much potential lost from their research, planted into corpses that are to be used for fodder.
And that just made the caretaker smile wider.

A snap of his finger sent them flying forward, their claws sharpened and held out and their eyes bloodshot and hunting. They would follow every movement of their quarry, snapping their body to the slightest of movement they could see from their enemies. They were hunters, their skills perfected to the finest edge. Their voices kept repeating like a chant in the paladin's head, the endless droning of monotone that seemed to bleed into itself.
"They without life live forever."

"By the master, let me show you what happens when you defy death itself."
He pounded his fists together, and a sickly necrotic glow came from him. His master knew this stance well, the distraction for his strike, a powerful tactic to be sure. The wave of soldiers were rushing in, and it was time for the master to strike with a will of iron. The ghastly phantom floated above the battle, landing behind the paladin as the warriors reached him.
The child-form of the necromancer landed comfortably on top of a gravestone close behind the man, one of his hands clasping a frozen skull, his fingers rung into it's eyes like a bowling ball. In his other hand, he held a magical wand, it's very touch bringing a feeling of great joy to him.
"Nex Campana Orbis, Victus..."
He held up the wand, a sickly green glow passing over the surface of the wand, a glittering glow passing through the metallic head as the magic grew at the tip of it. His power over necrotic abilities was strong, the relic in his hand enhancing it further, but as he warped this timeless spell into his doing, he could feel a sickly strength from it.
The bolt shot forward, spiraling in the air before jetting forward, the powerful bolt pounding forward like the thunder in the sky.
"There is a beauty in the art of war, friend. You would do well to examine the battlefield and understand that."
Edited by Graham Sideas, Sun Apr 24, 2011 10:27 pm.
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Godfrey
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Godfrey let out a roar, his eyes flaring with holy flame once again. As he went to strike the horde of incoming beasts, he heard the voice of the Akhangelsk ring in his head. "I grant you one last divine gift, Marrius... Rain holy vengeance upon thy transgressors!" As the celestial's voice faded, his fighting knife let out a surge of holy energy. The runes flared up, though instead of appearing as small, dark red flames, white-gold light radiated from them.

He rammed his newly consecrated knife into the chest of the first of those without life that rushed him, then spun around, hearing the crackling of a spell, with the beast stuck to his weapon. It wriggled and writhed, the holy energy burning it from the inside out. He used it as a meat shield, then kicked it off of the blade towards Graham, again twirling around and slashing his blessed longsword at the oncoming pack of undead.

"It is you who defy death, abomination! You're very existence is blasphemy! And insult to nature, and the Light! If any are to die here today, it shall be you!" Godfrey was overtaken by a holy rage, and twirled towards Lucius with both blades extended, entering into a whirlwind attack in order to decimate any that stood between he and the man that had led him to slay the innocent travelers.

His blades tore through undead flesh, the holy enchantments placed upon his sword and knife burning through their rotting skin and cleaving through bone. Two of them fell to the ground dead, the others stumbling back, wounded and stunned for the moment. He halted his whirlwind strike, and eyed Lucius menacingly, the holy flame erupting from his eyes once more. He let out a cry and charged towards Lucius, his cry growing louder as he neared him. He leaped into the air and swung both blades down, aiming for the transcendant. "You will fall!"
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Graham Sideas
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One. Two. Three of them fell in the attack, and Graham didn't care. He couldn't feel their pain-they couldn't feel it either- and he truly couldn't care less about any of them. They were fodder, and his brain was far away. Inside, the voices were quiet again, a thing of great discomfort for the young necromancer. He loved to hear them whisper, and talk, and bicker amongst themselves. It felt like he was with family, listening to their voices comfort him and keep him warm. But now they were gone, and all he could hear were whispers and echoes.
It was lonely in the mind of Graham Sideas.

Lucius watched and smiled, not moving an inch while his allies-his underlings- were being slaughtered. They had no chance compared to others of their kind, carrion were weak compared to their allies. They were ducking and moving out of the way of attacks as best as they could, but he could tell their master wasn't in the fight. Every wound that came to them wasn't remotely healed, limbs fell to the dirt, monsters that should have had an iron will fought like untrained soldiers.
They would all fall soon, and he knew that. He watched, he waited, and he hungered. He hadn't seen real combat, not any sort of challenge that would push a real warrior his limits. Not really, anyway. He was raised from the blood of heroes, and he had never been able to test the limits of that perfect body.
When the final undead fell, he rushed forward as fast as he could. His legs could pump hard, leaving imprints of his feet in the dirt with every step. They were heavy, and his arms were just as strong. He didn't hold back, his body coming in low towards where Godfrey's kidneys should be, pounding with the strength of a bull behind his punch. As soon as the punch found anything to hold against it, the impact of a defense, he twisted his body, throwing his momentum to the side and bringing his other fist at the man's calf, on the side of the bone and bringing himself next to Godfrey. He didn't wait for a response, forcing himself forward and sliding across the rainy ground, his back pressing against the first gravestone he came to.
"Let's play, Victus. I have this.. hunger.. in me. I want-no... I need to kill you."
His eyes became a blood red, a hunger in his blood from long before his life as a living dead. The blood of his father pumped harder in his veins then he would ever realize, the phantom in the mist was bred into his bones. He waited, the perfect hunter waiting for his target to come in on him. What came next was pure ecstasy. Even if this was his final fight, even if this was the Rapture of Lucius Sideas, he would face it with a smile.
That was just the sort of man he was, the sort of man he used to be.

"Lucius..."
Graham watched absently, a battle raging in his mind now that the fodder was gone. He could smell it, the death in the air. It was a beautiful thing, the poetry that came with battle. But he couldn't enjoy it now, he usually reveled in the dance of his minions, the beauty of someone else being willing to die for him.
But not tonight. Something in him screamed, told him to toss himself in front of the blade to defend Lucius, not the voices or anything inhuman, but something primal. But one of the voices was awake, fighting against it. Rationality spoke against instinct, and he knew that if he did toss himself in front of the blade, Lucius would probably die. If he didn't, the paladin would kill him soon after anyway.
There was nothing the phantom could do now but wait, and see who would win this battle.
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