Returning

[Ladislas]

Tongue lashing in questing taste, an impingement hammering his senses for only one presence could defy all reasoning in such fashion, she whom was all appearing in the tangled skien to further submerge the relavence of where they were. Her words sharp, the girl put aside for Atra had spoken thus all else slipped to insignificance. Face without expression as he stopped before the descent of her blade, a single nod given in response, not his place to explain the misconception of others reasoning, for he himself knew not why Malice and the others played their hand in this place and why they had chosen to simply gather in such fashion, for Ladislas had only stumbled upon their presence by accident.

His gaze sweeping the others, for now he would simply obey his mothers bequest, disdain for all else within the empty furnace burning within. Pitiful reiterations unnecessary, loyalty the only thing of importance and Ladislas held loyalty to one and one alone. Again tongue woulf flicker, forked tips vibrating in the moment, he had after all sought his mother, so perhaps her appearance had meaning after all. The words of Malice grating upon his ears, such turning from earlier expression. Ladislas would say nought, his thoughts unreadable buried deep behind the serpentilia presented. Turning as Malice began his waves of destruction, Ladislas would simply move to step through the portal, all else dismissed from thought as being too unimportant to consider, only Atra'Lamia held import and all else existed beneath notice.

Disorientation as the twisted energies threw his body back to Naethryn, the ponderance of Malice saying ”Maybe there are some of you that prefer this land of cowards and cockroaches though, for Naethyrn is the home of real warriors”. How therein did one define a real warrior from that scene and statement, was a real warrior one whom killed those without defense rather then facing his own doom and death, did a 'real warrior' place his pleasures above the need of strategy and focus, was a real warrior so potent that death could not take them, thus meaning their 'kills' had no opportunity to even blood their opponent. Ladislas thought not, skill, the risk of being killed as one killed high in the twisting affinities within himself. He too would kill without mercy those whom came unarmed, yet he made no boast upon it, an epiphany of conceptual understanding arising, since as yet he had seen nothing defining any except his mother as a 'real warrior' for she stood against those whom would fight back with skill and virulence, providing the model for Ladislas to base himself. Death to all, but the true thrill being to square an opponent with teeth of their own.

Her portal releasing him to a region in which he felt completely at home, Meshki Aranea Kuh... chill gloom enveloping his form as tongue flickered, savouring the arachnidic essences then in a loping run, moving amidst the heavy ropes of web, waiting for the call of his mothers essence to lead to whatever plots she had laying in wait. For now, Ladislas would venture forth seeking to make slaves for the benefit of Kain's worship, a profitable venture indeed, for to worship his mother was something Ladislas valued and he could almost respect Kain for his action.

[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:3beb5e6f2a]With every eddy and churn in the atmosphere, smoky tendrils of shadow and equilibrium of moon-fire and darkness seemingly giving unto each others properties and darkest whims; yet blending perfectly to form the mystique and sinister ribbons gyrating around this broken and battered place. Energies spinning faster on the outside yet indeed calm and tranquil within the centre, like the eye of the storm- that soft dainty hand exploring the features of metal beneath coat, enjoying that cold rapture from the palm of her hand, wrapping around the hilt in nefarious grasp yet so gentle at the same time and no effort would be made to remove her hand from that embrace although it provoked Atra to take a step closer, and closer again to the bringer of such pandemonium. Amongst the rubble of broken  rock and debris…so close, hand and heart enraptured by this dark libertine of elucidations and scene of destruction; basking in the shredding horror befalling a world; the walls of mortal reality being stripped away piece by fleshy piece as if flaying the nightmarish world from the back of an abysmal Leviathan. Worlds crumbled, haemorrhaged, inverted, gnawing upon the tail of its own bitter end as the worlds of darkness untied in a perfect tryst like lovers beneath the black silk matricide, shift parent flesh to birth a land of darkness, plague and ashes.

Beneath the billowing veils of ravenesque and silvered strands those black emotionless eyes would peer, looking out across the land in a static effervescence, daggers reflecting and portending from those unfathomable orbs bearing nothing but the cursed revelations yet to follow, marking the world in the crux of voodoo intent and the blackest of intricate magicks- spinning those ebony webs of reaping atrocities, chaos spat from the wombs of Utopia- storm choirs gathering in a pestilential choking, hissing sound awaiting for the blackened and brooding skies to burst open like a knifed orifice and drown the sin from the ivory towers of Saturn, crashing against the elements like a thousand suns dying.  The grinning, unfurling winds of hatred harmonizing with the screams of blasphemy and the howling of worlds colliding, a fury rousing the disease of biblical litanies before sending flames hurling towards the unprotected masses as they attempted to flee or run for shelter. What Gods had rained such terror?

What Gods would tear the firmament asunder to wreck havoc and torments upon the faithful swine that had done nothing but serve? When in reality, nine were unmarked by sin, the corruptive Vis generated by the energies of this master were of far darker spheres than most she had ever crossed, and whom had now created these diverse effects over the lands of Naethyrn. Darkness seeping slowly into the realms beyond, bleeding the darkness like one would remove a cancerous abomination from flesh and bone; though this darkness had now struck its roots deep into the earth, corrupting the very earth, strangling the earth mother slowly, but surely- until even she lay still...the realm still as if no life remained except for the bloodcurdling screams in ascension from the cities and countryside and those whom accompanied this destroyer which sparked so much intrigue within the labyrinths of torturous mind. The people screamed to the skies, hands pleading in gesticulated motion as if that would bring down the sword of justice and protect the lands from these foul malignant beings which held no heart save for the death of whom they saw fit to point a finger upon. Cries arose of abandonment, the fleeting hope of salvation- the tattered remnant of faith slowly oozing from the cavities of realization for what Goddess would allow such suffering?

What Goddess would allow the cremation of alive infants, writhing and contorting in defiance of the very flames which licked along the soft succulent limbs before melting them like wax; their twisted facades of torment bent into hellish expressions, flesh peeling away from bone as the fatty substance evaporated over scorching coals leaving nothing but black smoke and the stench of burning corpses; however it was perfume unto her senses. Cranium lifted, chin pushing upwards inhaling that sweet, astringent fragrance- exuberating in it as if basking in the ambiance of the summer's sun; nostrils flaring slightly as air rushed in to fill those infernal lungs, pumping the energies throughout her entire form before allowing it to leave in a wintry exhalation; frosted tendrils dancing into the tempestuous atmosphere....kissing the frosted tongues and intermingling into a sinister parody of lover’s tango- spiralling like miniature tornado's before evaporating only to welcome yet another invitation to such a haunting dance.

Death blossomed, its black hankering wings unravelling to gyrate within the very atmosphere, colliding against the elements as they cashed upon the mortal shore inwardly, rearranging not just the physical appearance of the realms but also the molecular structure of the very atmosphere creating a heavy and jagged effect, oxygen harder to inhale and fill the lungs, instead it would cause pain- like pins being pierced through lungs with each inhalation and exhalation; such essences of power released into the atmosphere would indeed provoke a sense of change in every other being within its radius. There was no place to hide within the shattered remains of what remained, leaving the tenebrous embrace of shadow, Atra would stand in full view- her diminutive figure reasonably tall, draped in the same hue of the darkness which now swept in like a brooding tempest eclipsing the very natural elements of the world, speaking to Ladislas. “Amusing is it not?”

The word sung so profoundly through dark vermillion lips tinctured with the blood of opiate puppets; simply there because it was within her will…but this event would not inspire any desecration of another’s powerful influence- dust covered boots scuffing against the rubble as she motioned through the ruins and broken citadels. Delicate hand leaving the cold embrace of hilt only to extend outwards as elongated fingernails traced the symbols of archaic lore inscribed upon smashed remnants- lithe physique swaying with a voodoo pendulum motion as the first influence of what Xanthe could determine as a confident voice, and none that would show mercy to weakness or something considered less than a tool or pawn in which to use to full advantage; it was a voice of cruelty and passion- one that caused her attention to directly shift and compel her to seek these passionate one's who wished to bare the name of Darkbane.

Moving through the obsidian rock passes, through the rubble as dark-liquored eyes studied surroundings in close scrutiny, using perceptions and intuition to guide through the remains of the Church in ruins…would they meet her face to face by mere chance or would other fractions and equations come into play? Sleek leather-clad tourniquet form slid through the cracks of piled stone and wood and eventually finding herself within the centre of what could only be determined as the shattered heart of the Church that would become their arena. Form turning in each direction to locate, senses reeling outwardly, tendrils whipping against the blustered and piquant elements in the aid of her search…stepping over sharp remnants until finding a place in which to allow awareness to drift and search- arch of back resting against a pylon as dark eyes concealed themselves beneath film of eyelids- zephyr inspiring the ravaging of raven and moonlight cascades to gently billow, reaching out to find and discover…after all she was here so why not explore these energies further delectably…for a moment Atra would remain here waiting. A breathless murmur escaping twixt lips in heinous lustre as tongue swept to place moisture causing them to shimmer within the half mitigated light of the pylon her back rested as a whisper was flung to the elements in which would cause those words to drift in salacious dulcet tones for any to hear should they care to listen, a synchronized cacophony of sirenous timbre…coercing or casually demanding notice… "Nemesis of this forsaken world, it has been so long since a taint such as this has embraced this realm…intoxicating to say the least…but have we seen the end or is it just the beginning, dear Ladislas?"[/align:3beb5e6f2a]

[Ladislas]

With every beat of pulsating heart, with every nuance of essential being, tongue flickering in synchronous ecstasy, eyes narrowed in asphodel slits, perceptions aroused for on the very breeze, within the core area where reality met nightmare he cold taste, feel and envision…
[align=center]Pain…

Torment…

Anguish…

Fear…

Doom…[/align]

A chill wind caressing his spine, the scales upon the back of his neck standing in orgasmic portrayal, defilers abuse pouring on the lands in blood filled paroxysms of utter despair. Only one could have such effect, only one foreswore the liberties of granted pleasure instead basking in the intense agonies of prolonged sufferance, the exquisite agonies, the tortured shrieks of blossoming antagonism unleashed upon the unwary. Upon the wind, his tongue flickering to detect the sweetened semblances of burning flesh, the delicate and subtle nuance of living entities cremated, the essence of their last smoke filled breath flung outwards in chocking scream, stifled by fire and raw unmitigated agonies exciting Ladislas beyond his usual arctic façade. Head turning, a vision of beauty standing amidst the tortured remnants of the artists render. Broken landscape in stark contrast to feminine perfection, incongruous contrast heightening the perfection of her presence.

Head bowing momentarily in utter respect, lips forming the sibilant whisper of “Mother” then head raising in continuance “Indeed it is a wondrous jest…” before again lapsing into silence, pondering what she would have f him, for Ladislas knew his mother, he knew that time would not be wasted on frivolous social visits, nor would she simply pop in to see that her child was still alive. Such was not her nature and for that matter, it wasn’t his either. Social meanderings were to Ladislas, a weakness of which belonged to lesser beings, the pathetic creatures whom when a child died, wept and shrieked in anguish, no such weakness tainted what existed between Atra and Ladislas. Hence his wariness, his ponderance of what she wanted from him, not that he would or even could refuse any askance, foresooth, had she said cut off your head or tear out your heart, he would, instantly and without question for loyalty ran deep in every cell of his being, but… loyalty to her and her alone.

A gesture to follow, heeded, breathing deepening as hands mutated to scaled ruination of smooth pallid flesh, miniscule barbs, to small to see coating the surface of every scale, blackened claws of gleaming onyx extending from fingertip. Every step taken, eyes only for the direction taken, no thought of where, or why now for command had been given. A twist in direction, a momentary disillusionment, a place which he knew not and Ladislas knew these mountains well, ruins, an archaic temple, rounding a bend to stop in his tracks, the slender physique of his mother in seeming repose, words enticing, spilling forth to caress the senses, not simply hearing but things far deeper, tongue flickering, twin points vibrating as they passes through the sweetness of her breath, the potency causing a moment of inspired revelation, for his mother’s taste hammered with profound impact against the super sensitive myriad of tasting cells upon his tongue, her words, deeming answer, his voice, soft and filled with the hissing of serpentilian “A taint?” he questioned, for to Ladislas, the fresh healthy colour of growth was a taint, death, carnage, mutilation and pain were normal… “Nay mother, I see what should be, entropic growth uninterrupted, chaotic reverence spreading, manifesting in diseased orchestration. Sweetening the senses, tormenting the palate with perverted hungers demanding satisfaction… End… or beginning, matters not methinks dearest mother, for only the now has relevance, the now in which we stand, either seizing the moment or letting it slip away to be seized by another less worthy.”

A pause, physique motionless, arachnid poised on webs edge waiting for the victim’s unwitting entrapment. Such immobility characteristic, for serpent and spider alike could freeze in perspective, head breaking the stillness, cocking to the side, nostrils flaring to draw into his body the subtle hint of his mothers sweet perfume, stimulating senses, heightening perception, his voice snaking out twixt the scaled apertures of lips “What would you have of me mother? What twisted purpose do you lay upon my shoulders, what question of bloods loyalty do you ask?” His eyes narrowed and focused , sweeping over her majestic effulgence “Only say and thy will be done…” he would not add or die in the attempt, that fact stood alone, untended and unnecessary. Ladislas was first, foremost and completely for Atra, his life was hers to command or end as the case may be.

[The End of All Light.]

OOC: Just letting you know I haven't forgotten, just trying to tie some of these threads up and focus only on a few now <33 will post here IC over the weekend. I just wanted to give the others time to get their sexy lil bums in here.

[Malice]

Even a handful of soldiers who respect you can defeat a kingdom ruled by fear.

Rising like jagged teeth towards the heavens, the mithril peaks of the Black Spider Mountains formed an imposing barrier to any that sought to venture into Naethyrn, deterring those whose minds were weak and bodies frail from the dark jewel of the Dimmu. Riddled with vast networks of caverns, this was a harsh and unforgiving environment, where the ruined buildings of the valley below stood as a crumbling testament to those that had strived in vain to prosper, only to perish in bygone years amidst the arid climate.

This potent proving ground, filled with dangerous pitfalls and unseen terrors, held a certain elegance to some people, for nature was a merciless thing and favoured the strong above all else, making it the perfect place to test someone’s potential. Tarrying behind his beloved Atra, as the portal unceremoniously spat them out, Malice didn’t seem concerned as a cascade of energy ensued in its aftermath and blanketed the surrounding area, creating a discharge that churned the atmosphere into a stifling state. Requiring neither breath nor blood in order to survive though, the Ankharu shell that held his essence carried him down the steep path at a snail-like pace, taking a more direct route than Ladislas and his mistress were to the church by walking straight through the sheer walls that they avoided.

Flecks of rubble marred the obsidian expanse of his armour, which stretched from upper chest to lower foot, and became tangled in the purple mane that framed his face as he exploded through each obstacle and eventually arrived at the church’s threshold, ensuring that he secured the ‘venue’ for their meeting whilst Atra conversed with her ‘pet’. Advancing into the gutted structure without bothering to draw his weapon, twin pits of deepest midnight surveyed the interior of the room with interest, envisioning the ancient sparring circle that Darkbane had once used for its initiations and then overlaying that image with the scene before him until he found a suitable location. Fallen into disuse in the absence of its congregation, the once pristine ‘main hall’ now lay in complete disarray, with a scattering of pews populating its centre and several peeling tapestries peeking out between elaborate arches, but the fruit of his labours would not truly manifest until the others had joined him.

Expanding before him like a decadent tide, a portion of his sentient armour adopted a liquid form and then flowed across the floor, spreading below the pews as if it were poison coursing through man-made veins whilst Malice strode off into another part of the church. When the seductive sound of Atra's voice reached his ears, he did not return immediately, but continued exploring the side-rooms of the complex as Ladislas curtly replied and, once his words had dissipated, Malice then transmitted a mental command to the ooze that had been waiting for them. Emerging from the cracks in the earth in a sudden and violent surge, the ‘liquid’ gathered into the shape of a pillar and then started rapidly rotating, elongating at each side so that it created a gigantic corkscrew in the middle of the pews.

Ripping through wood as easily as it would have paper, the mysterious pillar tore hungrily into anything it came into contact with as its speed increased and it escalated into a veritable cyclone of whirling destruction, shattering the pews to pieces in the process. Despite its chaotic appearance however, this motion was an extremely efficient and calculated one, pursuing a predetermined course and simply veering away from the companions whenever it drew near so that it posed no immediate threat to them as it twirled through the room, carving a cylindrical clearing with roughly twelve feet to its centre before gradually decelerating and coming to an abrupt stop. Malice returned to the hall then, having discovered nothing to slaughter in the side-rooms either and, with a sharp clap from his gauntlets, the liquid hastily writhed into the shape of the ancient sparring circle while he gestured towards it and affectionately commented” I am fond of the old traditions, aren’t you my love?".

The properties of this circle would become painfully obvious to anyone that was brave enough to step inside its edges, for it was designed to confine them within its borders until one of the two combatants that entered triumphed over the other, either that or they both slew each other in the bloody ceremony the Darkbane’s called ‘initiation’. This was a concept simple enough for even the dimmest of mortals to understand because, should they approach the boundary before the bout was over, then it would mercilessly strike at them, lashing skin to the bone as it spawned numerous tendrils and flayed their cowardly hides. In addition to the circle’s ability to hamper a victim’s escape however, it was also imbued with the energy required to resurrect the loser of each skirmish, though the combatants never actually knew that until they had slain their opponent, for this was a training tool that forced them to maintain a ruthless attitude and squashed all thoughts of mercy.

The stage was set and the audience waiting, so now all that remained was for those eager, or indeed foolish enough to want to join the prestigious war-band to prove themselves worthy.

[Kain]

He knew, Kain knew the very moment that this filth had attempted to touch the untouchable. Who or what did this imbecile think he was, to endeavour to contemplate raping the goddess. Kain was furious for the blood pit had told all, and this upstart son of a mongrel whore... or wraith that pretended to be a god, would find himself challenged to single combat, man to man to show himself for in Kains perception, Malice was nothing, unworthy to even breathe the air that carressed the flesh of Ankhnesmera.

He had made made his way to the Black spider mountains, for Auspex had tracked down the pathos of this creature and having made his way into the mountains and firstly visiting the temple to bathe in the effulgent essence then finding the place where battle could be made, he entered then stood in the centre of the ruins, head raising high for here stood the high priest of the goddess, no weapons at his side apart from his bare hands, and the ancient wisdom which he bore.

Right now Kain had only one word to say, one word to shout with all his might into The gloom, one name that unless he was answered would prove beyond doubt a cowardice that was pathetic and that word  that Kain shouted was "MALICCCCCCCEEEE"

[Atrox_Cruentus]

Darkness, Nothingness. His traveling steed of the voidal path rears upward, Nostrils flaring from the chilling breeze of empty plane. The sweet laclustre lifeforce filtering across the spectrum with empty waves. A sheer blankness before the tearing. The light of mortal realm piercing forth, Almost blinding, Before the gaze the Darkbane few glorify upon the death pit before them. Almost chuckling upon the sight of the hell that many shall bear.

With uncharasmatic step the weaver edges forth. From dark to light. From alone to occupied. His mere presence causing the strands of existence to quiver, To buckle and to faint into the hiding of reailty. Such an action rippling upon this very realm. From the blank he steps forth hearing the cry, The demand, The challenge. "Malllliiicceeee". The cry from he whom wishes to flay the being known only as the  unbeaten. His gaze hitting that of his brother in arms, Words edgind forth...slightly mocking.

"Are you not going to quiet he whom challenges you in your own pit? He who wishes to destroy thee? He who makes a mockery of you as you stand before all? My dear brother......Myself i would never allow such a thing. Have you gone soft? Have you weakened? Or are you simply scared? The future of darkbane watches on in interest."

He stands alone...some 20 feet to the right, A smirk of mocking falling upon his lips....Maybe after all this is a simple perk run by those who hide behind it's facade.

[The End of All Light.]

Slender physique standing motionless, a subtle breeze rippling the atramentous cascades, catching the illuminations and appearing almost a separate entity in its own right. Chest slowly rising and falling, plumes of frosted effulgence emerging twixt lips rouged with treacherous camphor. Eyes deeper then midnight staring over the firmament to slowly rise and look upon her 'son'. Leather tourniquet binding svelte body, every muscle visible neath the surface, a second skin leaving nothing to the imagination yet high lighting the contrast of smooth tegument, jawline set, obvious strength defined.

Ladislas speaking,  drawing retort, Atra was legion and on this day it displayed in all it's dark and stormy inebriation,  her voice percolating with bete noire as words formulated in the darkness of spirits trapped in tormented obeisance erupted forth. "All existence is a disease, I wonder why I plague myself with these cretinous concepts, for tell me Ladislas... When have I ever needed anybody? Like my father and his father before him were cursed to walk existence tainted. So yes, even creatures as darkly perfect as we have our cross to bear that is tainted. It is a mark of black cinders that can never be washed away by rain or by blood, it remains. I had a crown of thorns once and it was called Darkbane and yet each thorn I pried out of my bleeding brow to be liberated from such trinkets and as they say once broken it can never be repaired. But I ask myself, why would I lower myself to wear such a crown again."

A single defined eyebrow raising, a smirk roiling across apertures tinctured by the toxins of entropy. Again the agonising devourment of tonal repercussion spilled forth "Who says this is the now... perhaps the now is tomorrow or it could have been yesterday. Who is to say the now is even happening or will ever happen... why creatures pay so much heed to frivolous time when it has no bearing here, for we are not on the shores of the forsaken, so why dally with their mortal nuisances. All I'm hearing is a lot of talk." Turning slightly to step closer to Ladislas, left hand rising to allow the gleaming adornment of finger armour to trace a line down his jaw, razor tips drawing the tiniest trace of ichor in their passage, then shaking her head lips clucking together "Tut tut tut, When have I ever asked anything of you? You all seem to think you're that important? I have already read the minds of the snide before the thought was even birthed, you all seem to forget that you are in MY domain and the only reason any of you have any power is because I permit it and it can be taken just as affectionately."

A disruption behind them, the loud crashing of one who displayed no grace or elegance, arriving some time behind Atra for she had first wandered the ruins after leaving the portals miasma alone... Head turning slightly acrimonious rivulets drawn over shoulders perfection as gaze wandered to the heavily armoured form of Malice, lips pursing as if to speak then  stopping, watching in silence at the uncreative creation performed, why use force, why use beating of the elements where one with the power of command should simply use that potency and demand what was ones right. From where she stood in the heart of the ruined rubble that had once been a church or so they were led to believe, amusement in Malice's belief of where he stood, the circle formed, to small to even swing a sword at full extension. Not mentioning this fact for it seemed that such a concept should have formulated in the warlords own mind.

A glisten of spiteful malevolence forming in Atra's eyes, words oozing forth in sardonic splendour, "I don't have old traditions of yesteryear and I am a firm believer that some things should remain buried. My love? How presumptuous..." Atra'Lamia would make only one minor alteration to Malice's creation and that would be, that all things were now set in stone. The landmark could not be altered and should any death match be made there would be NO coming back, nothing would be undone. What would the purpose be in bringing back one already defeated, for once a failure always a failure." Super sensitive awareness's detecting motion, perceptions defining the arrival of Kain, prancing in like a cocky peacock, entering the circle then laying a challenge... Left eyebrow arching in amused parody, a deep throaty chuckle, malicious in intention then "My my my... perhaps this wasn't a waste after all, or at the very least... light entertainment. I'm a lover of the Roman tragedies, or would this be more of an epic? After all Kain is a lover of the old traditions, I myself find them a tad... boring".

Smirking to herself, slyness enveloping her entire demeanour, Atrox making a late but grand entrance... listening as he spoke towards Malice, chuckling in vicious amusement, eyes moving to place their danse macabre flambeau upon Malice before giving response to Atrox... "I was beginning to think you had turned your ass around backwards and got yourself lost. What a pity it wasn't so... But who am I to deprive you of such bittersweet entertainment?" Impatience growing, arms folding across the taut leather binding her chest, right foot tapping as gaze burned into Malice's physique. She couldn't see what the big deal was really, Kain a being who could not be killed and a warlord to her side, nothing but an avatar of the true effigy that she knew. As far as Atra was concerned she was amongst strangers... except for the turkey awaiting basting in the middle of the circle, and the creation of her own flesh.

[Ladislas]

Ladislas appreciated the rare moment in which he held sole custody of his mother’s attentions. Although he lacked the basis of emotion, it still counted in honour to stand solely within her influence. Sadly that altered all too soon with the arrival of one whom Ladislas held in perspective contempt, breaking the moment into a thousand irreparable shards. A sneer forming across his lips, hooded eyes narrowing in hatred, a hiss escaping for such rare moments where a treasure beyond imagination lay, since Ladislas wanted to be all that his mother could have wished in his creation. He knew it a futile concept yet one minuscule aspect desired to make Atra proud of her child. Malice appearing then without warning proceeding to tear what was already ruined to further destruction, creating a piss poor replica of a gladiatorial ring, too small to use for greater purpose and Ladislas found himself wondering whether this would be a place where cockfights could take place for their amusement.

His mothers words distracting him from his bemused study and Ladislas nodding as her wisdom penetrated his mind, the reminder that all here only stood because of his mothers choice since this was his mothers realm and that point heeded for Atra’s word was law here and life and death held in the delicate palm of her hand. After all they were accursed to stand in the stench of all creation, surrounded by creatures whom in the smallness of their minds did not even realise that they existed in a far greater universe then belief would allow. Malice having that audacity to call her his love bringing Ladislas’s heart to beat faster, anger infusing his form, for how dare such a perversion of sanity make such claims upon his mothers person. Ladislas had high standards and unless his mother said otherwise, he would never believe one whom displayed such false arrogance to be good enough for her.

A word shouted… Ladislas turning his head to discover Kain standing in the tiny arena, making a challenge against Malice, a smirk creasing his lips and a serpentilian chuckle emerging for finally he may get to see Malice place his money where the flapping gums of his mouth sat. Talk was cheap, but Malice was supposedly a fighter and here was a fight that he could not refuse without making himself appear the master of talk and the fool of action. Another appearing, the one who had made such a noisy entrance previously, showing restraint giving Ladislas pause for it showed that Atrox was capable of restraint and his speech, essentially goading Malice to react to the challenge laid. Now… would Malice act or were his words merely words without substance, a big man who boasted then ran when action was placed in his path.

[Malice]

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Malice harboured no illusions, no dreams of grandeur or worth for in Naethyrn, what had he accomplished? What bards sung of his deeds and gave praise to his prowess? His was a legacy beaten into the skulls of the opposition, not won with well-placed words and subtle secrets and so perhaps now was the time to cast aside his mantle, such as it was, and actually earn anew what once had been his place in Atra’s eyes. When her sanguine lips parted, however, he actually found her scorn amusing and decided to retort in kind, reminding her of how she addressed the ancient warrior, along with his compatriot Atrox, in the blood-smeared splendour of the tavern in Sharvani. “ No more presumptuous then, than your earlier salutations, though who in their right minds would not think thee worthy of adoration? “ Though the gauntlet, which Malice had witnessed Atra enduring when he drank her blood, had undoubtedly robbed her of much they once lived by, he decided that he would not relent until she again felt the intensity of his loyalty for her, a thing that burned ferociously inside his own twisted heart.

There had been a time when he would have done anything for this voluptuous vixen, conquered any foe that dared to stand before her, and though the passage of ages could dull a man’s reflexes, were he not to use them, his devotion to her now remained as unwavering as ever. Innocuous to all but the most perceptive of eyes, the Wamphyri’s manipulations raised no complaint from Malice, for what worth would being defeated hold if he crawled away to lick his wounds? No that would be worse than death to him, and his honour dictated that should someone triumph over him, then they reap the glory that ensued.

Fate, who was ever the cunning mistress in these dark nights, found the moments that followed rather appropriate and, almost as if in answer to Malice’s musing, provided a challenge to sate his thirst as Kain boldly strode through the ruins, entering the designated arena, small though it may have been, with an unmistakable cry of fury. Before he could respond to this volatile situation though, Atrox, who had been dawdling behind and battling his own demons, now assailed the air with a mocking stream of syllables, inquiring if Malice would rise to the occasion and meet this latest obstacle like he always had, without hesitation. A hunger surfaced within his obsidian orbs then, an unmistakable gleam that had always appeared on the eve of conflict in the past and, with an elegant flick of his wrist, he grasped FiendWrath’s hilt firmly and unleashed it from its metal cage.

This gesture should have answered Atrox’s questions, at least without wasting any more of the challenger’s time, and so he approached the circle with calm and confident steps, utilizing the distance that initially lay between them to intently study his physique and discern any obvious weaknesses. Whilst he advanced towards his target, he analysed everything that Kain made evident and then, focusing intently, he probed deeper, peering beyond the fleshy veil of the corporeal as the armour bubbled and expanded about his left arm. When Malice finally crossed the outer edges of the circle then, he was prepared with not only his sword and the shield that his armour had created, but also the wisdom of countless wars that bade him never to underestimate his adversary, no matter how ‘feeble’ they may seem.

Facing Kain squarely, so they were effectively 'aligned' with each other, FiendWrath angled diagonally at a twenty five degree, eagerly awaiting the chance to either slice into its newest foe or simply impale him should he choose to close the already negligible distance between them. Incited to no immediate charge, the Warlord simply adopted a defensive stance, with feet mirroring the width of his shoulders so that his balance was perfectly distributed and then patiently waited, motionless as a statue as he honed his senses in anticipation of when Kain backed up his childish scream with actual action.

[Kain]

In the time from when he had shouted that abominable name Kain prepared himself for what he knew was an insane bout. Feet spread to shoulder width, knees bent slightly, arms relaxed by his side and rocking on the balls of his feet. Heart beat deepening until he could hear the deep pounding echoing in his ears, as blood thickened with every breath. From free flowing ichor, it changed altering from rich sanguinity to near black, becoming more like treacle in consistency as more and more concentration altered its properties. Closing his mind, making himself unreadable on both mental and physical levels by any except perhaps the Original Creator of all and she whom he worshipped, since this was after all her realm and as such her strength defied all things within.

Firstly Kain would begin raising his potence. Beginning with the basics, the blood would infuse his musculature, heat spreading and tensions building within the structure of every tendon and muscle. Lifting to the next level, it would seem Kain had begun to pump up like a bullfrog, for muscles swelled under the weight of powerful blood. Veins beginning to pop along his arms and legs, throbbing ropes appearing in his neck, and the tiniest hint of blood breaking in sweat across his brow. Continuing to push the levels until he peaked to levels undreamed of by even the antediluvians (Might of heroes x three), history had already proven Kain to be stronger then any of his childer.

Celerity would be next and yet again, Kain had always been faster then his kindred, it helped when nearly every undead thing wanted your head or to diablerise you for brunch Standing motionless, fingers clicking as he waited, moving through the lower levels of this discipline, the clicking becoming a rasping as blood forced its strength into speeding up his every motion. The finger clicking developing into a low buzz, like cicadas then pitch increasing with every level of blood pushing until it could barely be discerned. Continuing to raise the bar to heights unheard of, focusing in on ‘The Unseen Storm’ any motion beyond a blur, and only when Kain was completely motionless was he completely visible. Now his motion would be faster then Malice could blink an eye and he would seem almost invisible as his every action was so swift..

Lastly he would grasp on fortitude, easing through the basics, as blood was burned to fuel this transformation, skin hardening in proportion to every level applied, colour changing from normally pallid features, darkening as his skin became harder then iron. Pumping blood to lift the levels, every breath taking him deeper, in the hardening of physique, skin taking on a Apollyn glean, the sheen of onyx glowing across every discernable feature, mein becoming haughty with the final rising of ascendant fortitude (King of the Mountain with multipliers). His skin now harder then diamond, able to absorb mighty blows from hungered weapons, yet retaining suppleness that could not be matched by any armour for to the touch one would consider only the feel of finest leather.

Jaw extending as blood fury pumped within, the rage controlled, for unlike his childer, he could control the frenzy, use it to his benefit, fangs elongating in blackened mithral spires, fingernails, normally tidy and impeccable extending into violent hook shaped curves of sharpened malignance approximately six inches long and harder then diamond. Still his heartbeat echoed in his ears with every powerful thudding in his chest. Kain was ready to face whatever Malice attempted to throw at him.

Studying the circle, noting the size and that from where he stood in its centre there was scarcely six feet to the edge, pondering how this could be advantageous to one of smaller stature. Perceptions of the form, physically seeming only to be a circle drawn in the ground, yet an awareness that should one attempt to flee, or even be pushed to that boundary the circle itself would strike with savage attenuation. Malice now came, striding boldly after what seemed provocation by those nearby and Kain on seeing for the first time this huge specimen smirked as the circle would be cramped for someone as large as Malice and it was yet to be seen since Malice had created it, if the circle would treat him in the same fashion as it would others. Appearing fully armoured, his sword drawn and Kain blinking for his time in the clutches of Lilith and time spent later in the company of Demons of great potence whom had tried to get him onside for their ongoing battles with the creator made him sensitive to the feel of any demon and it seemed the sword had a demon bound within its structure. If this could be an advantage Kain was yet to see, but he would file it away in his mind for future reference.

As Malice stepped into the circle, Kain could feel the potence of the area surrounding them heighten and knew that now the embodiment would encase them until either one was dead or more likely one was incapable of fighting further, who knew. Perhaps if Kain was lucky he may see an end to his curse for he was weary with life, but somehow he doubted it would be so easy. The Creator when he cursed made sure it stuck and his power was far older then any in this vicinity. Still Kain would pay good money to see even HE take on Atra… Chuckling at the incongruity of this thought then refocusing his attention to the task at hand, studying the stance of Malice, surprised he had waived the challenged’s right to first strike, perceiving that this was possibly a flaw in his nature.

A sneer curling across black lips, fangs gleaming in the half light, snap decision of what action to take, while Kain professed no knowledge of the mechanics of what stood before him, simple physiology of attacking the weakest points seemed a good start when dealing with one twice your size. No sooner then the thought had arisen, Kain was in motion. Stepping back one pace back to give clearance, right leg then bending to lower him to a crouched position as left leg extended straight out to the side so swiftly that between the closing of ones eyes to blink and their reopening, he would seem to have vanished, right hand forming a fist to drive down against the ground providing stability and a point to push off, left leg flung forwards with all his strength in a sweeping kick, the toe lined up with the side of Malice’s right knee, should impact occur, at very least the joint would be dislocated at best shattered considering the force behind this kick.

Hopefully the size of the circle would force Malice to take the kick since as Kain had been standing in the dead centre, there would only be perhaps a foot or so between Malice’s back and the circles edge,. Body rolling with the kick, keeping low, so that the possible follow through would see Kain having spun full circle and rising to stand exactly where he had been previously should it be effective, all in less time then it would take for most to think about such an action.

1. Kain has empowered his blood and closed his mind and body to any being able to read him.
2. Kain has raised Potence… based on that a 2nd gen has up to lvl ten and Kain is considered far more then a 2nd gen due to both his creation and that he never died, it is safe to assume levels of 18 and higher.
3. Kain has raised Celerity… It is known that Kain was faster then even his childer…
4. Kain has used fortitude making his skin incredibly tough and able to soak massive damage.
5. Due to the close contact he has had with Lilith and other major demons he perceived the demon within Malice’s sword.
6. He acknowledges the circles empowerment upon Malice entering.
7. After studying Malice he attempts a low sweeping kick with left foot to the side of Malice’s right knee using all his speed and force in an attempt to temporarily disable his opponent. Due to the speed of motion, the follow through returns him to standing in exactly the same position as previous the attempt.

[Kain]

A sneer curling across black lips, fangs gleaming in the half light, snap decision of what action to take, while Kain professed no knowledge of the mechanics of what stood before him, simple physiology of attacking the weakest points seemed a good start when dealing with one twice your size. No sooner then the thought had arisen, Kain was in motion. Stepping back one pace back to give clearance, right leg then bending to lower him to a crouched position as left leg extended straight out to the side so swiftly that between the closing of ones eyes to blink and their reopening, he would seem to have vanished, right hand forming a fist to drive down against the ground providing stability and a point to push off, left leg flung forwards with all his strength in a sweeping kick, the toe lined up with the side of Malice’s right knee, should impact occur, at very least the joint would be dislocated at best shattered considering the force behind this kick.

Hopefully the size of the circle would force Malice to take the kick since as Kain had been standing in the dead centre, there would only be perhaps a foot or so between Malice’s back and the circles edge,. Body rolling with the kick, keeping low, so that the possible follow through would see Kain having spun full circle and rising to stand exactly where he had been previously should it be effective, all in less time then it would take for most to think about such an action.

I am editing this section of my post since the entirety of my attack was based on the initial reading of Malice's post being that the circle was a twelve foot diamter. Since this has now been explored and revised to what was originally meant, I am replacing this last paragraph. It appears the circle has a twenty four feet diameter and is thus to be played that way... I am highlighting the sections that I have actually altered so there can be no misinterpretation and have added one tiny aspect to the actual attack where the minimum influence hoped for would be simply to knock Malice off his feet.

A sneer curling across black lips, fangs gleaming in the half light, snap decision of what action to take, while Kain professed no knowledge of the mechanics of what stood before him, simple physiology of attacking the weakest points seemed a good start when dealing with one twice your size. No sooner then the thought had arisen, Kain was in motion. Stepping forwards three paces to bring himself within range, right leg then bending to lower him to a crouched position as left leg extended straight out to the side so swiftly that between the closing of ones eyes to blink and their reopening, he would seem to have vanished, right hand forming a fist to drive down against the ground providing stability and a point to push off, left leg flung forwards with all his strength in a sweeping kick, the toe lined up with the side of Malice’s right knee, should impact occur, at very least Kain hoped to knock Malice off his feet, at best the joint would be dislocated or shattered considering the force behind this kick.[/i]

Hopefully Kain's blistering speed would force Malice to take the kick possibly taking Malice off balance or off his feet. Body rolling with the kick, keeping low, so that the possible follow through would see Kain having spun full circle and rising to stand exactly where he had been previously should it be effective, all in less time then it would take for most to think about such an action.

[Malice]

All war is deception- Sun Tzu

White moves first in this game of chess, like the mouse wandering into the jaws of a cat, and so even before Kain began his daring approach, Malice’s patience and experience had given him an edge, however small, in the battle that would ensue. To know thy enemy is more dangerous than a thousand horsemen, mighty as they were, for while the challenger girded himself with protection he was subtly betraying himself before a merciless gaze, revealing powers so blatantly that a toddler could have discerned them. Muscles bulged and skin strained beneath the formidable tide of ancient blood, empowering Kain to heights that most mortals dreamt of, though each and every miniscule twitch painted a familiar picture before Malice’s eyes, resembling the ability that so many kindred clung to.

Potence was the greatest equalizer in any fight, multiplying your strength exponentially and allowing you to crush people twice your size with naught but a punch, though it did little to rattle Malice, who actually thought that the prospect of Kain being able to injure him just made things even more interesting. The secret behind his survival you see, when it seemed everyone he met sought to destroy him, was not that he was invincible, a trap of arrogance that many Gods had fallen to, but instead the ability to admit and then defend his vulnerabilities. Since his opponent had decided to surpass the limits of beast and man, however, Malice followed suit as Kain summoned forth Celerity, producing a sound that would have proved deafening to normal ears as it increased in intensity and pitch.

Deep within the bowels of the Ankharu, amidst the darkness of his hollow chest, sloose gates opened in the dam that held his energy, ushering it through his prosthetic veins far swifter than any river. Few were the people that realized these juggernauts true potential, as they had been bred for battle and destined to dethrone deities with their inhuman touch, because inside their ravenous hearts lay a vast reservoir, the very essence of Malice himself. Augmented with this tremendous force, an Ankharu struck harder than the Titan’s themselves and was quicker than the wings of Hermes’ slippers, allowing them to perform the kind of feats that went down into history as legend. Rather than attempting to exceed the growth of Kain though, he halted the infusion of energy, which crackled about his limbs like a live thing, when he believed he had reached a similar plateau, ensuring that this would be a confrontation settled by strategy and skill, not the ‘overwhelming odds’ that Kain’s offspring favoured.

Poised and ready, like the adder in the grass, Malice’s features remained as placid as a lake’s waters as Kain advanced towards him, providing no indication that he was simply waiting to attack when his foe ‘played his hand’ whilst he tracked the creatures movements. Bottomless chasms pursued him relentlessly as the distance closed, incapable of blinking had they ever desired it, as the challenger’s steps lead him nearer to his doom, for even as he moved Malice studied him, reading his limbs and the way they contorted like an avid scholar would a book. Adoring the brutality of Melee, far more than the mayhem magic could wreak, he had fought countless times with his blade, watched countless things be slaughtered by its devastating path and it was that knowledge, that seasoned calm that informed him of the ways in which Kain’s next action could form.

This was hardly an exact science you understand, and only provided a talented observer with the outcomes that a shift in weight could herald, but Malice simply calculated each within his mind as Kain approached, preparing for every eventuality, outside of supernatural powers, that could result from his position. When Kain’s fist descended toward the ground then, and his knee bent in submission, Malice hastily lurched forwards towards him, intending to take advantage of the way that his foes balance was now distributed by introducing it to the sheer bulk of his armoured body. Stepping diagonally right, with his right leg leading, Malice unwittingly put himself further into the path of Kain’s impending kick, though it would probably catch his leg sooner than the ‘vampire’ had intended and leave an extremely painful bruise on his upper shin in the process.

Whilst he was surging in that direction however, Malice had adjusted the angle FiendWrath had been pointing in so that by the time the kick actually landed, Kain would not only be ‘off balance’ from the impact, but also find a wickedly timed slice from the blade speeding down toward his unprotected chest. This manoeuvre not only harnessed the reach-advantage that the Ankharu already held over the miniscule man, but also the momentum that was still carrying him in the attacks direction as well, as physics themselves conspired against the unfortunate combatant. Should Kain fail to mysteriously halt his momentum then the monstrous blade would undoubtedly careen through his chest and split the poor fellow in two, for this was no ordinary weapon and not even Lillith herself could impede the path of the sword that had been forged to slay Gods, piercing fortitude as if it were corn before the scythe.  

1. Malice was never probing Kain's mind (I explained this earlier to Scott in pm, but thought i'd clarify it here too since other people read this thread). Malice was actually looking for supernatural powers that might have been enhancing/effecting Kain's physical prowess. (He subsequently posted activating Potence etc, so I guess that worked out nicely lol).

2. Malice lets Kain get close, though remains poised to strike at a moments notice, intending to use his longer reach+ reach with weapon to his advantage.

3. Malice seizes the opportunity when Kain shifts his balance (bending his leg and placing his fist on the ground o.o), since they're like 3 feet away at this point. Charging diagonally right towards Kain, Malice would probably take the kick earlier than intended, however he is using the momentum of the Kick -against- Kain to carry FiendWrath in from the opposite angle, effectively letting Kain 'force' himself into the ensuing attack as the sword approaches.

An important thing to remember here though, is my post is VERY timing specific, so pay careful attention to -when- I have Malice react to certain things (because he wouldn't be standing still unless he had a reason). If there are any questions/comments about the timing I have used CJ, feel free to pm me on surgically_numb at your leisure.

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[Kain]

Ancient eyes filled with rage studied the scene before him, knowing far more then he had previously. even petty godlings may be decieved and the one called Malice was no different. a simple test, to discover if it was worthwhile continuing further, showing full well the fruitlessness of even bothering to interact with the false God. Kain knew 'Gods and Goddess's' and this one came across as a blundering buffoon in comparison to those whom deserved such titles. He now had the measure of Malice, for whilst it appeared Potency, Celerity and Fortitude had been raised, the signs given were not of the order which truth revealed.

It mattered not, Kain was bored with the entire affair, the actions of the buffoon predictable in their egotistical splendour, so afraid of an unarmed and unarmoured man that he had to enter the circle in full heavy armour waving about his big sword, a possible substitute for something lacking from his persona. If he had entered sword in sheath, unarmoured maybe Kain would have considered entering in reality, but this display furthered Kains conviction of Malice's unworthiness.

Turning away, right arm rising, middle finger of right hand extending to face the reverse, a simple arrogant gesture, 'flipping the bird' so to speak, invisible to any except she whom fought with honour and 'The One True God' the gesture symbolic on more then one level for with this he would drop the illusion within the circle, the figure of Kain therein fading into mist and dissapating. What was reality in this, or any realm for that matter, only what one had offered to believe in, nothing set in stone, nothing permanent, only what the eys thought they saw and nothing more or less. He remaining invisible outside the circle, moving away, to return to Her temple to ponder the situation, to study the signs and portents and to further fuel his hatred.

[Malice]

In the darkness of the Abyss, there is no mercy, no remorse, only Malice.

False bravado had always followed in the footsteps of arrogance and, apparently, this creature had reconsidered facing the formidable adversary that stood before him, for even as eyes it believed to be ancient stared in horror at the spectacle of the juggernaut, Malice’s own met them with an unwavering glare. There was no compassion in those black depths, no hint of fear or even concern because he had discerned what lay behind the exaggerated boasts of the ‘father of kindred’ and was far from impressed.

Unprepared he enters, with borrowed strength and delusions of worth, how fitting then that he leaves like a beaten dog with his tail between his legs the Warlord reflected, as his lips writhed into a disgusted sneer, no doubt a real warrior would expect no quarter. Did Genghis Khan throw down his bow because his enemies couldn’t counter his devastating tactics? The very thought was almost laughable and so all that Kain really demonstrated with his hasty retreat from the arena was that he lacked the skill to use his imagination. That was what separated the weak from the great, the ability to adapt and overcome a situation, and though discretion was often the better part of valour, Malice viewed the challengers retreat as nothing short of cowardly.

Spitting towards the disappearing form, even as it fled and undoubtedly received several wounds for its trouble, he snorted derisively as he considered Kain’s deeds when weighed against his own, for whilst Malice had been crushing kingdoms beneath his heel, Kain had been worshipping on his knee’s and so it seemed his existence of petty grovelling could never hope to compare to the experience he had accumulated. In that brief moment that their stares had locked, he knew that Kain had witnessed his doom and so now that he had vacated the circle, perhaps in search of ‘safer’ pastures, the essence of Malice coursed through its Ankharu shell like adrenaline, sparking memories from his past and a time that the overconfident fool would have actually stood a chance.

In the days of his youth, when the chill of the wind still sent a shiver down his spine, the world had been different and men proved their worth with blade, rather than word. Those had been the times when the word ‘Viking’ struck terror into the heart of every villager and the tales of their conquests were used to scare children into obedience. Yes Gods would always be pompous swine, Malice reasoned, but there would never be something as satisfying as feeling warm blood stain your hands.  

Note- I typed this post up quickly whilst at work so that it provides a bit of 'closure' for Malice and paves the way to the next scene that continues in Midgard (where I intend to Roleplay out his youth). The reason I felt I needed to make this was because Kain decided to leave the scene without concluding the fight and so I am trying to tie things up so we can all move forwards with RP.

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