[PLAYED] Game 16: Master vs. Lantis

Game Rules:

Turnbased, mutually respectful.


Points before this new game:

Master: 1519 punten, Lantis: 1000 punten.

Master's day had been slow, at best. Uninteresting just as the day before it, and the day before that ad infinitum, it was to be respected as yet another day in the passing of history that drove him to whatever goal it was that he sought. Nearly fifteen thousand years had passed without once realizing the point of life, whether it be his own or others. He had grown increasingly cynical about the subject over the years as he saw his friends grow crippled and weak, just as those whom he had slain by his own hand. Driving forward as an ox in a field during monsoon season, he continued to trudge through the daily muck, detaching himself from what little rivulets of emotion he had, clenching a slow death grip upon some primeval storm. His manner reflected his lack of human traits, as he remained silent and uninvolved through situations which others drew upon for entertainment, choosing instead to observe the simplicities of life, such as the oblivious avian who would preen its feathers in the midst of epic battles and legendary conflicts.

Today was simply one of those days, nothing more.

His eyes, marked by intertwined strokes of rich crimson, dashes of bright red, and deep hues of rose, drifted upward towards the breezy sky as it drifted lazily in the wind, using its own apathy to cast their imprint upon the world in the form of great moving shadows. Weathered as they were, they shone brightly in the light of the radiant sun, with even the black outer rim of his irises catching the warm beams of life sustainment as he took a deep breath in through his nostrils. The warm spring air wafted forth with the essence of life through his sinuses and into his lungs, curling around and dispatching its priceless cargo to his lungs before being released back into the world through the small space between his lips. These slim gates gave way to a clear shaven face, smooth and hard as riverstones, coming back into a pair of high cheekbones, chiseled back into straight cheeks, displaying no sign of age nor of wealth. His eyes drifted downward towards the field before him, allowing the light to be cut promptly in half by the blade of his strong jawline, casting a shadow upon the pillar that was his neck. They merely stared at extent of the horizon, a distant row of mountains beyond the rolling veridian hills between him and them, spattered with rocks and occasional shrub. The wind rose again as if to counter the attack made by his eyes, swaying his medium length red hair in perfect time with the motions of the grass, a bold contrast of colors in an otherwise familiar place.

Upon his shoulders rested a simple black shirt, held tight to them by a simple strip of minimal cloth, sweeping inward to his chest to meet in a curved fashion. Continuing down across his midsection as it tapers into a waist, it appears to fall perfectly on his body, as if woven stitch by stitch by some nimble sprite. Visible lines of muscle are shown in alternating patterns of light and shadow across his ribs, coming tightly enough across his stomach to show similiar displays of imagery. The end of the shirt met a similiar article of clothing upon the hips, overlapping enough to provide a sort of comfort from the breeze that shifted the more loosely fitting areas of his simple yet equally as intricately woven cloth pants. Coming to an end only to meet a pair of worn boots, laced across the center within a paired cusp of leather, recessing the laces to provide a swept look across the otherwise menacing footwear, providing termination with inch-thick leather, scored and fire hardened as the root of his form.

He turned his head to the left, the motion signaling his muscles to ripple like liquid steel in his right arm, clearly visible under his skin as they flexed to sent his right arm out into the air on his right hand side. Focusing little upon the ethereal portal which he had created so nonchalantly as he shoved his arm elbow deep into it, he instead focused on a point set upon a hill across the way, suddenly interested as if drawn to it by something beyond himself. He gripped firmly with his right hand as his body remained completely relaxed, the muscles acting on command only. Drawing back from the small portal with this arm, he drew out his famed Rune Sword, a four-handed weapon exactly six feet in total length, tiered into a two sectioned blade, the first and closest to the hilt being wider and marked by a groove that was inset by some set of vaguely familiar yet altogether unrecognizable runes, the second which terminated the groove and extended out equally to round off into a tip that shone brighter than his eyes in the sunlight.

His thumb, calloused as the rest of his working man's hand, shifted it's position upon the braided leather grip as he brought the blade to lay flat against his arm, drawing it across his chest as the portal closed behind it, causing the air to shimmer as if were heated across the whole length of the blade, refracting the light for just a moment as it subsided. Finally bringing the blade back with his arm as he returned it to it's normal position at his side, Master smirked slightly as the tip of his sword extended upwards above his head, angled backwards as to change the center of mass to a place behind him, flexing his forearm to keep the enormously heavy weight of the blade from drifting to the ground under the impression of gravity. This was quite visible in his arm, as his bulky yet seemingly insufficient muscle rippled under the years of conditioning, quite prepared for battle. His left hand lay unclenched at his left side, slightly extended with a crooked elbow as if he were a gunner in the far west, yet aiming to quickdraw nothing but air as he spoke, barely audible.

"Let us dance."

The confluence of time meant little to his kin and kith, the inexorable crawling grasp of the seasons and even the days wearing into a habitual monotony he no longer observed. Indeed there was but one cycle he would ritualistically immure himself within, that being the progress of day into the night. He was nocturnal, the hold the dawn of the eve had upon him inevitable. For centuries they had been entwined within the chill sheath only their partner the darkness could possess. It made sense for predators such as they to move undetected, slipping through the cracks for reality, through the perforations within the fabric of darkness to snare those of less wary sense where nought would suspect their hasty departure. It was thus that the man would be made to wait, as the influence of the sun dwindled in its submission to the lunar, gentle platinum falling where once golden strands pierced.

It was then he appeared, stalking with grace only another predator could truly appreciate, almost soundless as between the umbra he slipped effortlessly. Fragile digits touched upon paled lips, an expression of faint amusement drawn across the masculine countenance. Against the rounded tip an ivory razor was pulled, tantalising the flesh as he drew his fang upon it. So strong a palpitation, a cacophony of life that surrounded him; inviting, tempting him to snatch away at the deafening din and still yet one more heart. To kill. Yes, he would enjoy that, the rapture and ecstasy death would endue to his senses. His spine arched at the mere thought, his abused digit trailing down the chiselled edge of his jaw. The predatory gleam within the daunting sapphire orbs only intensifying upon identifying the man.

The chill of azure crept over the heat of garnet, at once such orbs evocative of emotions deep-seated within the would-be attacker. Digits clenched, flinching almost as a desire overtook even that that tainted his veins, weaving its insanity within his every waking moment. The desire to pluck those eyes out of their sockets. For a second he revelled in the depravities of his psyche, the squelsh of the fragile orb between his fingers, the inevitable fade as crimson glass replaced the vibrant hues within.

Ire, however, was not displayed upon the nonchalant façade that otherwise portrayed his emotions, though ire was definitely wrought upon his form. It was not towards the man though that such abhorrence would be unleashed, rather to the lascivious figure that represented his sire. Such torment wrecked his form, such rending upon his delicate state of consciousness. He had lain dead at his feet and he had done nothing to prevent it. In the name of his submission his master had seen fit to tug upon his fragile psyche, to further drive the pain of his loss within with endless visions of his death. The death of the only creature that had matter to the man since he had been turned.

It was hopeless, the man’s mastery over him was irrevocable, it had been as pointless fighting it as it would have been trying to turn the world from morn to eve as just one man. So he had submitted to his dominion once more, to every whim and desire that his lord dictated, the use of his body, of his mind and whatever he saw fit to demand. It was thus he had been ushered forth to seek prey, to ensnare some unwilling creature into their bed of sin. In the only resistance he could offer to the over-ruling male he would not return live prey should it have crimson colouration within its irises in tact for his pleasure. He would not allow that his sire, to observe crimson orbs glassed in pleasure as their prey writhed between them. They would be removed in the memory of his chylde. Of course this practice mildly disgusted the man who was so intent on the inherent beauty of all things, to gaze into the lifeless sockets no doubt chilled him to the core, which perhaps satisfied Lantis, if only a little.

In comparison he was the much more lithe of the two, neither holding astounding height nor musculature, instead only topping 5’10’’ and being rather more slender than buff. As a prerequisite to his sire’s almost Toreador nature he was also extremely handsome, to the point of beautiful even, that indeed what had caught the otherwise non-committal creature who had lead a rather taciturn existence before the acceptance of his chylde. Ivory flesh was flawless, unblemished despite the obvious skirmish his posture indicated, dilute of the flush of life that had been stolen from within. Ebony silk jostled about his countenance, rather unruly sheaves of hair falling around his eyes, two longer strands reaching down to his shoulders, at the back cut neatly into his neck. His garb was somewhat simple, though crafted from fine materials, perhaps assuming some affluence from his sire, both of whom had been terrorising the general community for a number of centauries. A fairly non-descript linen shirt of ivory hue and flared cuffs was hidden below a well cut double-breasted jacket, juxtaposing the ivory with its stark ebony colouration, perhaps suitable for lurking within the umbra un-noticed. About his throat was a simple silken stock cut of a sapphire that accentuated his eyes whose shade it mirrored. He wore simple trousers, matching the jacket and finally a set of comfortable leather shoes, looking for all the world he inhabited like a fairly respectable high-class businessman. Completely unassuming to the untrained eye.

Digits twined about obsidian metal, the delicate caress one of reassurance as the object was unfurled from the recess of his garb. Perhaps much to his would-be preys surprise the identical shafts of steel ushered forth did not appear to be a weapon of great note. Slowly with a fluid motion the length of steel were released, each new sheave of metal slipping silently across its counterparts as around the fulcrum his weapons spread, a pair of razor-edged fans. Lips parted though not a word was spoken, not imparting words to the man stood before him for he could not, even if it would have pleased him to. Instead only wisps of mist caressed his lips as the weave of the night’s frigid air worked over his form, a slight breeze tousling ribbons of raven hair. It was not his usual intent to render physical harm upon his prey; he was a seducer and inherently disliked over-exerting himself too much in the quest for sustenance as it seemed wasteful to expend too much energy on such a task.

(( *Bows and apologises for rustiness.* ))

His own wicked eyes still focused upon the point of interest, even after the long afternoon of boundless patience in the same stance, never shifting once. He let them blink twice to clear their parched surface, drenching them with the tears that so timidly had been held back, before sliding his right foot back to the ground behind him, sinking his body into a lower stance. His eyes taking little to no time coming back into use, yet failing to focus due to the dusklight about the area. Adjusting his grip upon the blade that was so delicately balanced behind him, he clenched his teeth in frustration as his opponent appeared to know the exact moment at which to attack him.

Bringing his energy about into his chest, his focus shifted inward, and fell harshly upon his senses. Not yet closing his eyes as he dare not transfer the trust from them to the others, he began to push outward a sort of aura that extended it's own warm tendrils, sending them around and through the objects he knew that were there. As he further pushed upon his energy, causing the tendrils to split, defining deeper and deeper the environment around him, he began to drill down into detail the location of each blade of grass around his feet, each grain of pollen in the air, and each root and rock in the ground below him. Continuing forward with this energy, he began to abandon his eyes, causing them to drift further out of focus. He considered them to be useless at this point in any case, and finally brought them to a close, not trusting them.

He yet again adjusted his grip on the sword, this time sliding his left foot into more of an outbound stance, bringing his hind foot up slightly to place the weight upon the ball of his foot, slightly leaning forward to balance the distribution of just the same. Bringing his legs in slightly, he pulled upwards from the ground his base, pulling his left hand in towards his chest as he inhaled through his nose. His legs now coiled like springs, tensed fully as a pair of spring steel supports, preparing him for the onslaught that he was ready to unleash upon whatever enemy may come. Once again centering his energy with his hand, he focuses upon his surroundings as detailed by the vinelike aura he puts forth, as his mind begins to hone itself, polishing the tarnished combat edge within his mind.

The game has been won by: Master


Points after this game:

Master: 1619 punten,

Lantis: 848 punten,

Game has been validated by the administrator. Reason:

Lantis forfeits winnings due to inactivity and lack of interest, may continue combat without ranking reward.