and then, if all goes well, a full-blast bar-b-q? How about you and I get re-acquainted? C'mon Nid... you know you wanna.
As long as you choose the arena-- I always seem to have a hard time cranking out decent venues after taking time away from my writing.
OOC: I hope it is a venue worthy for this. I will do my best to respond in good time and in good kind, which may mean my posts are short of perfectly edited, but I'd like to make sure this fight gets the length (in posts, time and enjoyment) that it deserves. =) Thanks for accepting, Nid.
[COLOR="Navy"]A peaceful silence occupied the ancient grounds of Sera'd. What remained of the once-great temple were now only crumbling stone and mortar. The building had been made without human hands, and withstood eons of weathering. Once, legends had clashed here, and the resulting upset in energy had spawned a new world, a new branch of life. The upset in energies, which never had really concluded, had exploded into matter that thrived on it's own, and now only a few remains of rocky walls jutted from the ground at the edge of a cliff.
The precipice's slope stretched down for countless thousands of feet. They went on to the end, or the beginning, of the world that had spawned. A fountain of water spouted grandly from the edge, falling downward and downward into a sea of mist that was impossible to measure by human means. If one had eyes to see far enough, they might see the ocean beneath, the vast length it stretched before it met land, and the great kingdoms which had sprouted, grown strong, and withered.
Eons had passed. The two angelic beings whose clash had begun this all had not visited since, nor were they foretold to arrive until the end of this world. Whether that end meant the location, which was both the beginning and end of this world, or whether it referred to a time of ending or rebirth, no one knew. It is possible even the angels did not know, though they would be the ones to perform it.
Yes, tens of thousands of years, at least, since Sera'd had come into being. And now, those responsible for it would meet again.
The ruins were low and crumbling, with no high walls let alone ceilings, and yet the very vastness of the land on which they stood made it obvious that it had been great, in height and girth. The stone floors had cracked on the surface, but stood on such solid foundation that it was still entirely whole beneath. No root nor storm had broken it, even the splitting of an old world to create life anew had left it in tact. Roots jutted through the cracks of the surface, and plants grew here and there, but nothing went deep. Even in all this time, the ruins awaited their masters.
The forest surrounding were tall and curious. No earthly trees compared to the height or style of their canopy, nor could explain them fully. They were as various from one to the next as they were numerous, in a land that began (or ended) from the rocky shelf and extended on without end. Humans could not come here, but in death, a death that brought a life without death. Was this place heaven? Yes, and yet no. Purgatory? Not quite. It was a land that went on forever, and those who walked it, could walk it forever. The life of things here was of a different nature
This land was not as he left it; at a glance, that much was certain. The once majestic and monstrous temple, host of that ancient and epic encounter, now was present as nothing more than the rubble from whence it came. While most of the building withstood the wrath of the legends that fought within it, its formidable walls were of no defense to the ageless power of Time. Years, decades, and centuries alike had come and gone at their pleasing, leaving but fragmented shards of the past so distant and often forgotten.
Nido rose from his kneeling state at the southern end of the temple, clutching a sample of dust and debris in the palm of his rough-skinned hand. No, he thought, he couldn't forget; his spirit and mind forbade it. This land so crafted by way of his being was nothing less than his child. Although being born of the chaos and pain that engulfed its very foundation, the life that sprouted and bloomed thereafter rewarded the land for its suffering. Yet just as Time had allowed its beginning, Time now called for its end. Nido felt nary emotion for this; he was, in the end, but a servant.
He opened his hand and released its contents into the breath of the wind, watching the weathered and crumbled stone return to its rest underfoot. The past was quite unimportant now in this prelude of imminent future.
"It seems as though in the call of fate," Nido called out to Strike, "we both remain accountable for our basic responsibilities."
He advanced, then, in a comforted stride, closing the distance between them. Strike had turned, in an equal calm, at the sound of Nido's voice; he held not the slightest amount of surprise for this present impromptu reunion. Sera'd's day had arrived at last in the midst of their mutual patience. Facing each other, their stances assumed, they knew no more words were needed. Their purpose here on this sacred day could only be met by their actions.
Nido came forward with forceful speed and closed their remaining distance, ramming his suddenly outstretched fist in the middle of Strike's abdominals. The muscular tone of the angel's body offered a solid resistance, and when Nido came in for a follow-through blow, Strike had it parried with ease. This brief exchange of arms and fists gave Nido renewed incentive, and just as his punch was brushed away, his boot blasted Strike in the ribs. The resulting momentum achieved with the kick found way past the angel's defenses, smashing him hard with type of force the initial attack had been lacking.
The two came apart, distanced again, preparing their second exchange. The ruins around them seemed to hum with the knowledge of what was beginning.
OOC; First of all, forgive my delay, some financial stresses on this end have consumed either my time or sanity for awhile now. But I never forgot this fight, nor would I. To the next subject; I'm going to bring in some swordplay, and I seem to remember Nido using a huge greatsword or longsword. Either way, we're talking bigass two-handed, double-edge sword with crossguard here, right? And I'm complete larky for names, so feel free to fill in the blanks for me, eh comrade?
[COLOR="Navy"]Strike grinned, finally glad to be moving. New adrenaline surged through him, making him a tad shaky in body, but all the more clearer in mind. The pain was familiar, almost pleasant in it's nostalgia, if not in the sensation itself. Like a song from good times long past can bring back memories deeper than usual, the pain was the driving force that brought Strike into a crecendo of thrilling sensations.
"Ah, I just can't wait!" he thought to himself, and rested his hand on the hilt of his katana.
"While I would never deny you a good old-fashioned dance of knuckle against bone, dear friend, the familiar crunch of your boot excites me to something else..."
And considering his warning fairly given, Strike demonstrated his battojutsu. This was the time-perfected art of drawing, Strike's right hand crossing over his waist to the hilt hanging to his left, blade pointed upward. Dashing forward, in a motion quicker than the eye, the Order of the Rose slid silently from it's case and sang sweetly through the air in a downward arc, ringing sharp and clear against Nido's own blade; which had been brought up in nothing short of perfect timing to deflect the blow which otherwise would have sheared his head.
Two notes, harmonious in their insatiable lust for blood, sang from the clash of immortal blades, wielded by immortal hands. They struck a chord all-too-familiar to Strike, and cleared his mind.
This brought a rapid flurry of cross-slashes and parries, Strike barraging Nido's defenses from every angle. Nido slashed, thwarted cruelly with The Order of the Rose's sayo, neatly slapping the claymore aside. Eager to dance and reluctant toward blood, (as ever his weakness) Strike bashed the butt of his hilt upward into Nido's visage, crushing his nose. This still brought blood, spurting in a fountain of crimson, but without all the unsightly muscle and bone beneath. "Better to savor the event," Strike thought to himself.
Taking advantage of this opening, Strike dove downward, anchoring his arms to swing his legs around break-dance style. They clashed with Nido's, sweeping his balance from beneath him, and toppling him to the gravely temple foundations. But not for long. A second swing around smashed Nido's side, sending him rolling uncomfortably over the rocky earth against a crumbling wall.
Strike scoffed. It was flashy enough, but damage was scant, and this was hardly yet a welcome for such a long friendship of fists and steel -- but they had all the time in the world for that. As a warmup, it would do.[/COLOR]
bump reminder
The crumbling wall was quick to collapse as Nido rolled into its base, breaking apart from the bottom up and showering him with debris. It hardly seemed so long ago that these very same walls were impervious, massive in their height, width and length as cornerstone parts of the temple. But faced against the clutches of Time, the temple had proved itself mortal. Glorious statues reduced to dust; majestic constructions, leveled. Thousands of lost and forgotten years had offered no fraction of mercy. The years, however, had spared these men who now returned to these ruins; warriors, legends of powers immense, beyond the reaches of Time.
As Nido pulled himself onto his feet he contemplated this notion. What, then, would be the end of this perilous age of existence? He wiped the blood from around his nose; truthfully blood, no doubt. Despite the godly strength of his spirit, he remained, in body, as human. How, then, had he mastered Time- escaped this temple's aggressor? These types of thoughts were commonplace in this age of Nido's existence. Today, however, he couldn't afford this sacrifice of his focus. His spirit had willed him here, today; the reason was painfully clear. Whatever was now to become of this day was well beyond Nido's control.
Without any further tedious thoughts, Nido returned to the moment, fully returned to his physical bearings and now in a forward advance. His back foot kicked at the temple floor as he shifted his weight and momentum, springing his way to an aerial leap, twisting amid his ascension. His blade, the Oath, still wielded in hand, preceded his body in landing, the obsidian tip being stabbed in the ground as Nido completed his leap. Strike bore down with blade in hand, ready to parry the blows. But instead of a fist or hilt to the face, he encountered a different offense. A riveting wave of kinetic force expanded across the ground, ripping forth through the stone and dirt from the point of Nido's blade. Caught off-guard and now off-balance, Strike was sent plummeting backwards, flung from the safety of planted feet and into a pillar of stone. He arrived back-first, a blow to the spine, the pillar still reasonably sturdy. It was nary a second of time elapsed until Nido came to follow.
Closing the gap in a dashing sprint, Nido met Strike at the pillar, lowering his shoulder and then his head immediately prior to impact. With his wielded blade cast down by his side, Nido speared Strike with his body, ramming his shoulder into Strike's sternum as the pillar at last gave way. They both broke through, Strike going first, absorbing the brunt of the damage, his lungs gone dry of feasible breath, ribs being rattled at impact. Nido rode the momentum's tide completely through to their landing, coming down almost on top of Strike and rolling from off of his chest. Nido was once again on his feet, but Strike was a fraction behind him, remaining sprawled on the damaged floor in the wake of the pillar's debris.
Nido moved back, raising his blade, preparing to opt for the weapon; he knew that now it wouldn't be long for the real war to begin.
OOC: Nid, what's a reliable way to have a conversation with ya – do you have a chat client you use or anything? If not, I've got infinite minutes on my cell phone plan, if that'd work better...
Thunder roared somewhere far away, and on the horizon a storm could be seen sweeping in from the end of the world. As Strike recovered his injury, a breeze heavy with cool moisture kissed the cheeks of both warriors, who stood facing each other. Strike held out a finger to Nid, and opened a familiar silvery capsule-container. He took out one, and opened it, removing from it a large jug of chocolate milk. He drank heartily.
[color=lightgreen]“Heard a creak in my bones on that last one, need to watch my calcium intake. Lost battles, broken bones, sour relationships, bad grades – all this could be prevented with the drinking of chocolate milk...”
Nid shifted his weight, leaning on his other foot, tapping the other impatiently. After relishing his last chug, Strike tossed the jug away, and snapped his fingers. It vanished before it touched the ground.
“Oh come on comrade, you wouldn't begrudge me my occasional silly moments, would you?”
Nid chuckled, and loosened his stance.
“I suppose not, as long as you don't take all day with them.”
Strike smiled, and attacked.
The warriors clashed. Strike's katana flitted like a cobra made of quicksilver, seeming to bend as it thrashed about constantly. Nido fought him off vigorously, so that in the tedious half-minute that followed, nobody made contact with the other. Blade clashed against blade, the ringing growing more intense with each slash, the intervals in between growing smaller as each warrior warmed up to a more comfortable, super-human speed.
But Strike began to gain an advantage. Using normal swords, each might have fought with more caution, but with blades that did not wear nor shatter, Strike lashed out mercilessly, and it was all Nido could do to keep him off. In speed and strength they matched each other wit for wit, but the disadvantage of Nido's blade began to become visible in the fray. His large double-edged blade was great for bashing in helmets, and bore girth perfect for piercing thickly-armored knights - but Strike wore next to no armor, and used a blade well-known for speed in execution, as well as a keen edge. Even when an opening was presented, Strike's sayo swiped along the large blade to the cross-guard, spinning around the warrior's wrist and relieving him his weapon.
Before the large blade clattered to the ground, Strike spun sideways, blade held outward along his arm, and jabbed it backward. There was a moment of resistance when the blade met Nido's skin, for Strike had not cut anything so impermeably tough in eons. But nevertheless, the blade slid eventually into his gut.
With his free hand (temporarily relieved of the sayo) Strike summoned a ball of energy into his fist. Presently he stepped forward with his left, into his opponent. Strike twisted like a Chinese drum, pulling the bloody blade from the wound, and smashing his left fist into it again. A bolt of lightning shot through the great warrior from the open gash, now bleeding freely. A thunderous boom sliced the air as Nido was unceremoniously thrown back by the force of the blow.
Overhead, the storm had already caught up with the battle, and darkness fell. Another flash of lightning, this one in the clouds overhead, lit the scene; Strike still in stance with his sword held behind him, palm forward, Nido floating horizontally over the ground, soon to land head-and-shoulders first.
"Nid," spoke Strike to his companion telepathically. To some it might seem strange that one might start a conversation in the heat of battle, but to these warriors, it was what might seem to us mortals to be a good game of basketball, or chess. "I've been wanting to find someone to ask this question lately... and there seems to be no one better to ask than yourself. My mind is weighed down by the years of eternity... does this happen to you? Do you ever think of death?"[/color]
Nido grimaced, tending his wound, hands putting pressure on the abdomen's gash. Albeit a primitive medical aid, the action proved fairly efficient. Refusing an absolute halt to its flow with respect to the blade-born wound, the bleeding instead became softened enough for Nido to fight in its wake. Still, though, the life-force drained, a spastic trickle of crimson, escaping the body through ravaged flesh and fouling the garments surrounding. The darkening fabric of his shredded shirt was enough to garnish attention, but given his prowess in body and health, Nido gave little concern. He had suffered many a worsened wound; many at the hands of Strike. As he ran his fingers across the gash, he delved into nostalgia.
"This," Nido said, answering Strike, gesturing now to the wound. "This is the constant taste of death that flavors both of our tongues."
Again, with fingers, he fondled the wound, prodding now into the orifice, allowing the crimson fluid within to coat itself on his skin. He lifted his arm, raising his hand, displaying the blood now upon it, seemingly offering the piece of himself to the powerful storm now above them.
"I know as you do that death exists," Nido said in continuance. "We have seen it time and time again at the end of our blood-spattered blades. That fiendish moment where spirit and soul abandon the body around them."
He moved, again, in pose to attack, his sword on the ground beside him.
"My spirit, my soul, my body and mind...their loyalties thrive between them."
A flash of lightning pierced the sky as if on cue to his speaking, preceding the bellowing growl of thunder that quickly followed thereafter. As the storm grew thick, the wind did the same, arising in furious gales. It occurred to Strike but a moment too late the unnatural edge of their nature.
As if being fitted inside of a mold, the wind became small and condensed, crafted in narrow containments of force that ripped through the air as if knives. The agile ways of Strike's defense allowed him a single evasion, but nearly as soon as he dodged the first, the second wave sliced through his shoulder. A spurt of blood soon followed it, erupting from Strike, behind him, the protection of clothing and flesh beneath cut through in a blade-like fashion. Refusing to stumble but flinching instead, Strike stayed true to his balance, but his efforts were quickly made useless at heart as he felt the slice to his thigh. Again, like a knife being hurled through the air, the flesh of leg tore open, a small laceration in visible size, but suitably deep for bleeding. The crimson flow seeped down his leg to match his opposing arm, wounded shoulder off to the right, and thigh cleaved through on his left. He stumbled, now, his leg in betrayal, complaining with each of his steps. With a final gust of unsharpened wind, he finally came to the ground.
"Do you think it exists?, Nido inquired, lifting his blade from the ground. "Death, as it is for mortal men, for the likes of you and of I?
The storm deepened. It extended from one edge of the world to the other, and engulfed the whole of Sera'd. Rain fell slowly at first, in fat drops which fell heavily and splashed high. Strike opened his eyes, he had whited out in mid-air on the last onslaught, but immediately he struggled to get to his feet. The heavy fall of rain on his face quickened his recovery, the dull repetitive sensation bringing him steadily back to the reality of the moment.
He breathed deep as he got to his knees, and as he did, all the rain within a five foot radius froze in mid-air, rose with the rising of his chest, and fell with a great splatter as he exhaled – reacting to his breathing. The rain fall thickened significantly, growing more intense with every moment, the drops even heavier and thicker than before. Grunting, he got to his feet, taking in another breath – regulating his body, controlling his chi, and this time the diameter of rain effected by his breathing was triple the distance. Strike brought his arms out in a windmill motion, breathing with his movements.
Strike's clothing, dark from mixed blood and rain water, clung heavily to his body. Eyes closed, Strike moved into a bull stance, swung his arms downward and slowly turned his hands vertically and out, moving his arms methodically upward. He fanned them to the side, faced his palms to the ground, and exhaled deeply as he pressed them downward. This time all the rain within the temple grounds froze in mid-air.
Nido's eyes widened as an immense pressure filled the atmosphere.
[color=lightgreen]“Death,” he spoke. “I think of it often, almost all the time. I am not sure if it exists for us, and if it does, I'm not sure if I'm prepared for it...”
Strike lunged toward his opponent, spinning in a cartwheel. In one fluid motion he caught the hilt of his silvery blade in his left arm, and dealt a double-kick toward Nido's chest. Both were swept aside, and as Strike rose from his circular motion, his blade sang against the thick drops of rain that hung suspended in the air in a vicious upward slash.
Both swords clashed violently, but Strike had the lower center of gravity, and plowing full-force into his opponent sent Nido flying backward vertically. The suspended droplets of air now flew inward toward Strike, to his very whim. They congregated before him in an orb which churned and spun, and then divided. Nido landed deftly, both knees bent in a position ready to pounce, and both pounced simultaneously at the other.
Strike lashed out with a quick snap-kick, which sent out large appendages of water, blowing Nido back relentlessly. He followed by flicking his body around in a swift circular motion, throwing a powerful roundhouse with his right. This was followed by another torrent of water that blew Nido back, smashing violently against his head and neck and chest, throwing him down and to the side. Struggling for balance, Nido knelt to the right, keeping his legs beneath him, but Strike did not stop.
Continuing his circular motion flawlessly, Strike spun both arms in a vicious downward strike with his blade, which brought with it many pounds of solidified water. The air chilled around his blade, around his arm, and the water effectively became a large blade of ice. Six feet in length, heavily one foot in girth, and the edges of which were as hard and sharp as diamonds, the blade came crashing against Nido's left side, for which his stance was already weakened. He brought Omen up in a feeble defense attempt, but his weakened footing did not support it, and the large slab of hardened ice batted it aside effortlessly, and cut into Nido's side unabashed.
It cut deep, shattering ribs on his left side, stopping short of his heart (But not that short.) Strike loosened his hold on the water molecules (which he had slowed down very much indeed and reinforced with his control on air, making the blade harder, sharper, and tougher than might have been found with most ice) and let the large blade, which extended from his wrists, shatter from the impact.
Nido fell hard against the ground, bleeding heavily. The blade broke into hundreds of sharp pieces, which hung in the air. Above them, a dome of water from rain that had not yet been allowed to fall loomed precariously.
“But then again,” Strike spoke softly this time, his words sharp and clear in the silence of the water dome, “I'm not sure I'm prepared to live forever either...”
All at once, the dome's hold was released, and the water came crashing down in an instant. The broken sword's pieces all turned sharp edges toward Nido, and the many tendrils of water which had hung above them froze into pieces like them. They turned sharp edges toward the larger warrior and rocketed toward him with blinding speed.
The dome of ice shards imploded in on Nido, Strike commanding their movements with his outstretched blade pointed at his opponent.[/color]
(I'm no fan of the “Orthadox/Non Orthadox” thing, but it felt more interesting to leave this last part open.)
OoC: I'll have it up tonight, I promise. Been a tad busy at work having just begun these 60 hour weeks and have been in need of a sufficient moment to sit down and take some time with this but later tonight I'll certainly have that opportunity. Sorry for the delay.
OoC: I don't know what's wrong with me-- I'm trapped in a serious rut. I know you're expecting a faster pace of posting, and at the moment I'm not sure I can supply that to you. As much as I'd love to use this space to lament on how depressing it is to finally feel that I'm losing my touch in writing, I'll spare you the sob-story and instead request your patience in giving me one more crack at this by tomorrow night. If I'm still so dry at that point I can't muster a simple enough reply, I'm going to concede this one to you; I refuse to keep you waiting forever for poor and sub-standard content. I truly am sorry for this; I don't know what's come over me...
no apologies nid, and I can appreciate not feeling it, especially if work tires you out. But if I can request this, don't give it up totally, just post if you can and don't if you can't. I'd rather leave it open then take a win I didn't deserve.
If I can offer a bit of advice, when I have a hard time getting to writing something, it helps for me to take a few minutes to "free-write" where I plug my ears into my ipod and write whatever the hell comes to my mind for 10 minutes. It's great for clearing your head, gaining some perspective, and warming up the writing cogs of the brain so that by the time you're done, you want to keep writing. That's how I got back into Sim this last time was by free-writing first and wanting to keep going after I was done.
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