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Nelinia (Deallo) Vs Al'mayaz (TheNoremac42)

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Nelinia (Deallo) Vs Al'mayaz (TheNoremac42)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Deallo on Mon Jul 30, 2012 12:52 am

Today was the second day of the Spring equinox.

The sun was directly overhead the monk's brow, hot enough to make any traveler weary if she hadn't taken refuge in the shade of the forest, walking in a quite pleasant temperature. The truth, however, was that the monk was paranoid and righteously so. It was the first time that Nel had left the monastery on her own accord, even after two days since her abandonment, she couldn't help but twist her head around every five seconds and jumping after every little sound the forest had to offer.

If only the others would have joined her; she wouldn't be in this mess. Yet the other monks hadn't. The rumors of the king's untimely illness had spread like wildfire from the capital, reaching far and wide, to the steps of Nel's own home. At first, it was to be dealt with as rumors are, to be taken with a grain of salt. However, as more time passed, loose lips bear more tales. One in particular was about the prince's request for adventurers; aid of an artifact that could help his ailing father. The argument began when the woman inquired about it with fellow monks, friends she had grew up with since she was just a child, friends which she had trained rigorously with in body, mind, and spirit, thought it to be an unnecessary endeavor. Everyone is destined to die and all attempts to deny that simple truth will lead to failure.

Nel left on that night, sneaking out the front door, to do what is right. She wasn't the only monk who knew the importance of a leader but the only one who hadn't feared (at that moment in time) the outside world. A world riddled with vice. Murder, thievery, and deception.

Even while the sun was out, she was conscious of her surroundings, jittery to onlookers if there were any. As I mentioned before; it was necessary. She was clad in bright yellow monk robes which stopped at her knees and held a quarterstaff in her right hand. It would take no master tracker to spot her in the landscape, a forest with sand for soil, small little sprouts littered across the sand among the toughest of trees that survived and grew to great heights. It would take no master swordsmen to end her, the wooden staff no match for a a cold, steel weapon. As it would seem anyway. She had nothing else besides three copper coins and a small metal begging bowl that was dug in her chest.

To merely assume things, however, is an excellent way to die.

The bandages wrapped around her calfs, the midsection of her feet, forearms and knuckles were of no injury. The edges of her robes were purposefully tucked in these bandages; ready for combat. A precaution. Her steps, light and graceful, petite body, a very misleading and dangerous weapon.

Her paranoia suddenly put her on edge, having thought to hear another sound, she turned around, pulled down her hood to clear her peripheral vision, revealing her black shoulder-length hair tied back with twine, and took a fighting stance. The left leg was back, bent low, Nel's body leaned back entirely on the left leg while her right leg was straight and practically weightless. By her chest, the staff was gripped with her right hand by the center and the lower half with her left, leaving the front half pointed upwards, spanning four and half feet of reach.

Nel's emerald eyes peered into the forest, hoping she was indeed wrong like the day before, and she called out:

"Come out! I know you're there!"

Immediately greeted by her own echo, she waited, bound to let eventually turn away if there wasn't a true presence afoot...

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Re: Nelinia (Deallo) Vs Al'mayaz (TheNoremac42)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby TheNoremac42 on Wed Aug 01, 2012 2:48 am

Darkness.

Void.

Emptiness.

A flash of light.

Just outside the border of the Milky Way galaxy, a flash of light erupted in the dark emptiness of nothingness, giving chase to the endless shadows. A swirling vortex of purple, blue, red, and gold forged a violent tempest where there was once a calm blackness. Like a raging sea storm the energies churned, gathered, dissipated, and thundered as a funnel in the fabric of space and time began to form. Blue and violet lightning illuminated the cosmic maelstrom.

From within the vortex emerged a blinding light. It was a small golden sphere that shone with a radiance that humbled even the stars. Darkness fled from the object as an animal flees from its hunter. Its crystalline surface glistened and illuminated a golden light as the phantasmal energies reflected off of its hull. The vessel appeared globular yet faced in shape, like a finely crafted gem, and its surface appeared almost liquid in nature.

The vessel seemed to hover above the violent mystical maelstrom, yet was unhindered by its wrath. It floated motionless for a moment before the hull began to pulse with a vibrant golden light. Then just as suddenly as it emerged, it flew off into the vast emptiness of the cosmos.

Several moments passed, and the vortex continued to rage and churn. The fabric of space and time warped and flexed around the mystical anomaly. Suddenly, another light erupted from the eye of the storm with a shock wave of cosmic energy that surged with majestic purple and cerulean. This object was much smaller, narrower, but longer. Like an arrow released from the marksman’s string, the second object volleyed itself across the void and did not cease in its trek - unlike its predecessor.

As the vessel sailed the expanse of the galactic sea, it weaved through a maze of majestic fiery stars, sluggish barren planets, and humble schools of asteroids and other space debris. It eventually came across a lonely planet that was nearly void of sentient life. There were oceans, vast forests with sandy floors, and small towns that dotted the landscape like acne. Suddenly, without any warning or sign of deceleration, the vessel halted and hovered over the lonely planet. The ship made a gradual descent through the world’s atmosphere.




Several weeks passed since the eerie light shot across the sky of the desolate world. Whispers of a mysterious silent figure circulated through both rural villages and crowded cities like a calm breeze. Clad in a tan cloak and cowl, the man wandered the hushed forests, ominous mountains, and unruly bars – watching, waiting, and listening. He came and went without warning, and without a word.

The mysterious figure’s path soon came across the lonely monk. Like a slithering serpent stalking its prey, the cloaked figure silently strode outside the lone monk’s peripheral vision – mocking her with his unseen presence. Cloth wrapped feet glided across the sandy soil beneath him. Observant eyes gazed with fascination through the dark concealing shadow of his tan cloth hood and cowl at the enormous brown... things... that towered around him. He lifted his wrapped hand and ran his fingers across the ragged rough brown skin that covered the cylindrical titans.

”This world is strange indeed…” he thought to himself as he tightened his grip on the bark, which creaked beneath his hand. With one smooth motion, the cloaked figure braced a wrapped foot against the trunk of tree and thrust his frame into the lower branches. He grabbed the base of one of the branches and ascended higher into the tree in virtually complete silence.

The man crouched upon a branch in the mid-section of the tree. His feet and left hand were braced parallel against the limb while his right hand gripped on a higher branch for support. Through the dense foliage of the tree the predator observed his quarry. Frail. Vulnerable. He could smell the fear resonate from her. Beneath the darkness of his hood, Al’myaz Malgun – the Muhari assassin – grinned wickedly.

"Come out! I know you're there!" he heard the lone monk cry out.

Limited armor. Bulky weapon. Small frame. This should not take long.

Al’myaz reached within his cloak and retrieved a small charm crafted from bone, beads, leather, and twigs. It was circular with a runic triangle in the center. He delicately gripped the charm in both hands, tucked it close to his chest, and began to murmur words in an unknown tongue. Below the trees, the sandy soil slowly flowed and churned as if stirred by a gentle breeze. Gradually the sand increased in its ferocity and swirled about the lone monk. Grains lapped at her feet, legs, and hands like waves as the sand steadily rose higher into the air. Then suddenly, the fierce currents of sand erupted from the ground and formed a powerful cyclone around the woman. Like a blinding veil, the sandstorm would play with the monk’s vision, and reveal only a sinister shadow dancing along the outer rim of her peripherals.
Constructive criticism welcomed.

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Re: Nelinia (Deallo) Vs Al'mayaz (TheNoremac42)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Deallo on Sat Aug 04, 2012 10:51 pm

Nel waited for her paranoia to slowly diminish and breathed a sigh of relief as no-one heeded her call. She was wasting time, jumping at every sound and shadow, her mind was playing tricks on her. Such was to be expected of her first time traveling the lands of Calisma all by herself. Her stance softened, more relaxed now, just as she was about to turn away, a simple breeze lifted the sand from the ground and twirled itself around.

The monk could feel the air circling her, surrounding her, and see the sand that was gradually caught up in the wind. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before and the only idea she had was that it could've been the infancy of a tornado, vicious winds that ate up everything in it's path, clearing out small villages in the dead of night. Just as the yellow-clad warrior was about to run from her position, sand shot up from the ground, pulled up by the powerful cyclone and created a powerful sandstorm.

The grains of sand obscured her vision, riddling her eyes, forcing her to squint just as the shadow reached the far edge of her sight. She turned and turned, unable to get a proper glance of the beings, bandits most likely.

Bandits were of common talk amongst the villagers. Savage thieves who struck in numbers, murdered, and pillaged.

It dawned upon the monk it was useless to try to pinpoint each and every attacker if she couldn't get a proper glance at any of them. She kept a closed stance and ever so slightly bent her knees to ground herself; to keep the pull that the twister had from pulling her up in the air. Her hands traversed to the center of the quarterstaff, dextrous fingertips twirling the weapon around slowly, gradually building up speed, shifting the weapon left and right. Her feet moved in patterns, body following and turning as well, movements smooth and controlled but still in the center of the cyclone.

The technique was strictly defensive and, unintentionally intimidating, something that she learned upon training with it. One of the exercises for mastering this technique was to close one's eyes and wait for the enemy to attack. The enemy's strike would stop the quarterstaff's spinning and instantly grant Nel the opportunity to counterattack in the direction the weapon was stuck at.

So the monk closed her eyes and waited for one of the bandits to strike her during the technique. Her heart pounded in fear at the thought of fighting an opponent outside the confines of the Monastery but she kept her breath steady; patiently waiting.

Her first battle and it seemed she was going to break the simplest of rules: Always land the first strike.

The first strike was supposed to be the last.

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Re: Nelinia (Deallo) Vs Al'mayaz (TheNoremac42)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby TheNoremac42 on Wed Aug 08, 2012 12:14 am

The cloaked figure watched in mild humorous interest as his prey made a futile attempt at discovering the visage of its predator. His cloth wrapped feet glided across the sand like the bellies of two desert serpents. Al’myaz’s cloak snapped and flowed in the winds that held the sandstorm aloft.

As the quarterstaff joined the sand with its own cyclone, he only raised his brow beneath the concealing shadow of the tan hood. He observed its complex pattern of rotation amidst the storm, and noted the holes within. The warrior in cloth had seen this method of defense before while observing the Aryites – the courageous lion men of Kroniktus – train with their magical blades. There was always a hole in the system… He would not be intimidated.

He was Muhari. He was a Desert Phantom.

Al’myaz slowly slid his leg in a wide arc across the golden soil, forming a line in the sand, and spread his feet from his body. With the speed of a cobra, the cloaked figure reached across his torso with his left hand, behind his right side, and dove into his cloak. His hand shot back across in a blur, and released a small metallic object. A narrow blade glistened in the sunlight as it spiraled toward the monk like a merciless viper striking a defenseless field mouse. Immediately after the blade took flight, his left arm followed its momentum and gripped another throwing knife that was strapped to his left shoulder blade. The blade soon joined its predecessor in its deadly voyage.

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