Fight:Kaydar v Parsithius

From HollowWiki

What began as an insult to ones mother...




Kaydar does not shift his gaze in the direction of whom he speaks, but it is clear his words are meant for Parsithius, "It is wise to keep your filthy Human nose within the matters where it belongs." The Drow shrugs his shoulders, as if to say it was a suggestion, yet the threat was undeniable.


Parsithius is immediately in motion, bringing about his halberd in a wickedly-swift pendulum toward Kaydar's neck, laced with malice; his face, a contortion of grim resolve. "Call upon your god now."


Kaydar simply leans back. His chair, close to toppling backwards, as well as himself, is only saved with the easy effort of his foot catching on the underside of the vandalized table he sat at. Therefore, such an attack was easily avoided, and still, not a glance is spared in the direction of the easily-irritated, and perhaps even angered, Parsithius. Slowly, he 'clunks' back down to the floorboards, all four legs letting out a low moan of displeasure by the impact.


Parsithius flips his blade around in his hand, turning the axehead away from Kaydar, facing toward the bar, and bringing the hook's tip to rest at the man's neck.


Kaydar, this time, allows the blade to silently grace his neck. Not a hint of fear would twist onto the Drow’s face. His outward appearance was as serene as the eye of a storm, yet within, was the storm. What a futile attempt at silencing him. Kaydar’s arms lash out within the breadth of a second, not to grasp the halberd, but to shatter the blade with refined ease—both hands move in the same direction, yet from different starts. Left hand coming up, from under the blade, right hand swinging in an arc, downwards; impact would shatter the otherwise deadly weapon. The Drow would kick with his feet, in effect, spinning him within his chair to slide away; he stands up as the chair falls and skids to slam into a nearby bulkhead. “You incessant Human. Leave, or you will wish you had not been born to that whore of a woman you call ‘Mother’.”


Parsithius's blade, reinforced of mithril and steel weaving, and once imbued with the strength of a Light Immortal, is far too strong to be shattered with mere hands -be it magical or otherwise. Thereof, the knock causes a distinct effect; parrying the halberd downward and up in some show of furious motion from the Drow, but otherwise the slightest smirk -a rare quality- crossing the human's face. As Kaydar slides away, the man's haunting steps begin, as if some sort of impending doom; wardrums, one could liken them to, with solid 'thumps' of his boots against the floorboards at a slow steady case. "My mother? You just do not realize the best time to keep silent, do you, masked man?" 'Thump', 'thump', 'thump'. Should Kaydar continue his insults, he'd find his quest of bringing about the age of a vague 'Great One' ending before it even started.


Kaydar lets out a low moan in displeasure. “Suit yourself, Human.” His left hand rises, to idly swipe back the hood of his cloak, allowing such silken locks of silver hue to stir about his face, yet not past his ears. His right hand, no longer grasping at the air, does something different now. Forefinger and thumb rub together, producing an almost silent ‘Crack!” This was the calling of he, and his kin—The Ebony and Crimson Elite. Shadows begin to stir about the Drow, as the very tavern begins to rumble with a ruckus akin to that of an earthquake—foreboding something unearthly, and perhaps to upset Parsithius’ stride. Dust falls down about the place from hidden locations within the tavern, poisoning the air. Abruptly, it all ceases. Silence rings within the tavern once more, betraying the fact that something sinister had just happened. And then, it happens; a blade best described as a wicked flame, blacker than the devils own heart, cuts into reality within the grasp of the Drow’s now clenched right hand. The sizzle and the crackle of the blade spoke of the horror in which it was intended to inflict. The grisly weapon is brought up, brandished before Parsley’s face. The mock smile frozen in time on the Drow’s face was akin to his own smile, just beneath the mask. Ice cold, instead of heat, radiates out from the blade, building an aura of a thick cold about it’s wielder. “Come, child.” Are his words, devoid of any emotion, yet as sinister sounding as his own blade.


Parsithius must be facing a demon older than time itself, to see such power. It is of no matter, however, for the golden-haired knight is one of determination and ruthlessness, not fearful and cowardly; steps wane for a moment during the tumultuous resonation of the earth beneath his feet, but nonetheless, it is picked up as soon as the tremors pass. A glint of mirth appears within azure eyes, some allusion to his nature of conflict -his apparent and inherit joy at being in a fight, be it war or brawl. Though, more preferably the former. To digress, however, the 'thump', 'thump', 'thumping' cadence of the knight's steps resume, hooking the stave of his halberd 'neath his armpit and brandishing his own blade toward the floor, tilting the axehead so that it aligned with the figure before him. "Deify yourself, lovely," are condescending words, wrought from his lips, "But my sheer might is peerless." And the two stand, staring at each other for a moment; the male surnamed Mediccino knows of tact to defeat this seemingly ultra-foe, rather than might itself, but goading the other is certainly enjoyable, in an odd sort of way. The man suddenly moves into action -the hook of his halberd catches the leg of a stool, and he flings the object forward, snapping his elbows straight to launch the cheaply-carpentered furniture in a bee-line at the Drow. This, alas, is not the extent of his assault, however, as he follows path of the airborne object in swifter-than-anticipated strides. Forward, he sprints, jutting backward and forward the halberd; stalwart weapon aiming speartip to impale the masked man's chest.


Dremnin seems to move from shadow to shadow, his Goblin Mask never fully meeting the light of the tavern. At the sound of an audible crack, he knew it was time. A mark had been called, and he was all to quick to respond. A sinister voice, one which could easily send a chill up ones spine spoke out “Careful, human. You know not who surrounds you.” A half wit smiled streaked across his face, one that would have looked truly wicked if his Goblin mask had not been covering it.


Kaydar was not powerful by any means. No, for the summoning of his weapon was naught but a show, a demonstration of what the blade could do; a over-magnified version of the actual summoning. It was as simple as a weapon, yet the fact that it was from the void meant it held properties unlike a normal blade—Severing of chackras. Of energies. A swift backhand of his left hand helps in deterring the flying furniture of in a random direction, yet the toll of it’s impact is taken; ebony knuckles letting out a trickle of crimson blood. The halberd, however, was met with more… careful precision. A parrying, at first, done just so, that it would hopefully lift the weapon out of his way; his blade clashing like steel against each side of the halberd as he continues the parry, a forceful last clash of blade upon halberds shaft, would be the last of it. Once done, whether prevail or fail with his defense, Kaydar jumps, bringing his knee up with tremendous force to perhaps collide into the gleaming knights chin—his helmet even, in order to rattle the brain. Where the Human may outmatch him in strength, the Drow made up for with cunning, and agility. Circles, he would dance about the Knight. Coming back down to the ground from his leap, he would tumble to the left, keeping out of the grasp of the Blond-haired knight. This was Dremnin’s chance to have a go….


Parsithius' head is struck, right at the chin, but the force of the blow is enough to stagger the knight and momentarily throw him off balance; the buttspike of the halberd is shoved into the floorboards, used as a means to stand, before withdrawn -all in a matter of moments. Positioning himself before the two, one drow on his right, and Dremnin on his left, the man holds his halberd's axehead out before him, and the spike behind him, as it's shaft is tucked beneath his armpit. As if in some martial artist's pose, but more realistically that of a trained soldier, he slowly extends his hand forward and before him, with azure eyes slicing back and forth between the two. "Come forth."


Dremnin swiftly sidesteps towards the flank of Parsithius, moving with speed borne of his heritage. As he moves to his flank, Dremnin kicks with his right foot, with tremendous force directed at the joint behind his knee. Whether or not this hit is successful, he follows up with an opened left palm aimed to slam into the knights heavily armoured chest. As the palm moves, air begins to gather into a swirling orb touching his exposed palm, used to help the forceful slam of his left hand, hoping to place Parsithius directly on the ground.


Kaydar takes this chance to attack in anew, once more. This attack was different, however, as the Drow runs up to a nearby table, jumping at it at the last moment. His left foot, carefully placed, alights ‘pon the corner of the table, giving him a steady ground to kick off of, and redirect his attack to Parsithius, the Outcast Knight. His right foot, using the momentum carrying him through the air, is brought towards the side of the Knight’s head. Kaydar would continue with his assault, by allowing that same momentum to carry him in a complete one-eighty degree spin he brings that summoned weapon down in a sweeping angle in hopes to meet Parsley’s left shoulder where it turns into neck, to follow through and point directly at the ground.. This attack potentially a one-hit-win, as it would slice into his foes body as effortlessly as a knife cutting through butter—yet the blade would do no outward harm. No, for the grisly weapon of burning flame is used to sever the flow of energy, and it would take effect as quickly as any other weapon; the toll different ‘pon each victim.


Parsithius moves swiftly; it is his place to defend himself now from attacks upon two fronts, rather than one. That, however, is not as simple as it sounds. From the left of the man, from the human's perspective, comes forward Dremnin, shashaying in that sidestepped manner toward his flank and causing the knight to take a single step backward to keep his front facing both opponents -speed is noticed, and reacted to accordingly. While not swift enough to carry himself out of danger entirely, the meager turn of the man's armored frame offers a new defensive advantage -aforementioned armor. At his knee, now facing Dremnin, the swift kick of tremendous force is wrought against that of a proverbial iron wall, striking the mithril platemail straight on and likely to jar up the limb of his foe, even if it does cause Parsithius to stagger. Nonetheless, the pain is shoved aside within the man's mind to continue his focus upon the battle, only to be met in the cuirass by a forceful hand, which is augmented by the affinity of air, no less. A gasp of exhale is released, though reluctantly, from the golden-haired man's figure, but he does not fall backward; instead, his planted feet bear his base, sliding across the tavern before stopping finally just before Jolie's position. This recoil of attack, however, does not save Parsithius from the oncoming attack of Kaydar -mainly because his RPer needs the challenge sometimes. (Ego, ftw.) The imp-masked man uses the table as a leverage to launch himself into the air, but the Outcast Knight had not disregarded him entirely, swiveling his eyes upward to affix upon the attacking man in just enough time, by sheer luck, to respond. A duck of the head, and crouch of the body, is the salvage of a defense, narrowly missing being stuck in the temple by a foot, only to veer himself to the side at the second coming assault. Not swift enough, Parsithius makes do by counter-attack, in mid-sweep of an angle by Kaydar, the armored male finally employs that halberd pinned beneath his underarm, jerking himself forward and twisting the weapon about, aiming the buttspike directly at the man's gut. His motion saves him from the oncoming, potentially fatal attack, while placing him in position to attack the exposed midsection of the Drow. However! There is another opponent, and regardless of striking Kaydar or not, Larket's former Battalion Coordinator has not forgotten about Dremnin. Twisting about, the man allows his weapon to slide in his hands until nearly fully extended -still retaining enough leverage to maintain hold on the polearm, but giving him the reach necessary to successfully attempt an attack. Continuing his spin, the axehead gleams wickedly, slicing through air in a horizontal arc aimed for the shoulder-height of this goblin-masked foe; intending on severing torso in two. With enough force to complete momentum even if parried (meaning that he'd just keep spinning, even if it doesn't go through something), Parsithius reels back his weapon and pins the stave beneath his forearm -palm extended. "Come again."


Dremnin quickly drops to a knee, bringing his right hand upwards to lift above his own head. Simultaneously, ripples in the fabric of reality can be seen following in the wake of his own hand. In the same a murky black bladed Tonfa seems to appear, held in a death lock of this goblin masked drow. The weapon is aimed to strike the shaft of the halberd, followed by a forceful jump of his own body, aiding the power behind the clash of weapon against weapon; the intent behind this hit is meant to send the weapon reeling. The goblin masked drow, would then continue his upward momentum into flight towards Parsithius, bringing his right had back from the clash of weapons, he would attempt to slam the bladed Tonfa at the throat of Parsitius.


Kaydar is caught, unfortunately, but the spiked-butt end of Parsley’s weapon! Yet, the spike simply skewers through cloth, the Drow’s body already twisted from the swing of his weapon, barely saves him from that potential death trap. Nimble feet touch back down to the ground, as the weapon begins to move again, most likely to launch an assault ‘pon Dremnin. With not a moment to spare, Kaydar flexes his left fist, therefore triggering the mechanism within the confines of his sleeve. A kukri, by the looks of it, glistens in the dull firelight just as it springs free of the Dark One’s shirtsleeve. The wickedly-curved blade is brought down on the part of his shirt still held fast by the butt-end of the Halberd—severing him from his restraints. That same weapon ‘clicks’ back into his sleeve, as his left hand releases it’s tight squeeze. Not a moment wasted, he takes advantage of his comrades attempt at disarming the Sentinel—his black as pitch blade, summoned from the void, is brought down ‘pon the end of the shaft. Instead of waiting for the giant of a man to fall back on him, or some such, Kaydar drops to a spinning knee, that wicked blade whirling about so, that it would slice into the ankles of his foe, and well beyond the other end, should a proper defense not be posted. This would take a heavy effect on the man, due to the fact that his ankles, and perhaps even his legs, would grow very weary from his own weight; the strength they hold soon to drain away. Taking advantage of this, Kaydar then lunges at the somewhat weaker armored knee joints, yet again, his attempt is to bring down the tree of a Man. That same lunge would continue through, until he found the other side of Parsithius, only to ignore the bone-jarring pain of blunt armor against his own flesh.


Parsithius's stave is met with the parry of a void-summoned tonfa, which doesn't have the strength behind it to disarm the man, even with the added force of a jumping drow -Parsithius wasn't exactly just talk in terms of his might. The contact of mithril and steel stave against the voidfyre weapon is resounding, like a clap of thunder itself, and harrowing throughout the venue with enough crash to dislodge liquor from their perches amidst the barkeep's venue. Parsithius is swift, however, sliding his eyes toward Kaydar in brief reminiscence of an earlier attack and finding to no surprise the second attempt at ending the man's life, a low, spinning assault. The more direct of the two, on the contrary, is Dremnin, to whom he gives attention to with divide; wretching his halberd back toward him, the knight uses the stave to catch the blade of the tonfa before his throat, only to swiftly twist about his polearm in order to face the hook toward the goblin-masked drow. At this, the man yanks down with all of his might, using the beak of his weapon (that spike that curves out the other end of the axehead) to catch hold of the width of his opponent's own summoned armament -wrenching it downward at the precise angle to place both fighting utensils in the path of Kaydar's blade. The next is an impact that is resonating, echoing off the very air of the tavern's smokey haze and expanding outward, meeting sparks with hellfire at the joining of three weapons in physical contact. Undeterred, Parsithius continues, casting aside the notion of a throbbing knee and limbs screaming of fatigue; with his opposite arm, the man throws an armored elbow right at the face of Dremnin, in hopes of dislodging the drow from the knight, and thereafter putting distance between them. Kaydar is back in the knight's sight, however, but just a little too late -"Argh!" Is the sudden sound of a man impaled, run through with a sword to the hilt, and poking out the other side. Teeth clench, blood flows forth, and the knight does something probably unprecedented in a normally formal battle -jerks his head forward to smack his forehead into the imp-mask, aiming to shatter it, and the nose of the man behind it.


Parsithius didn't let go of his weapon, hooked his and Dremnin's down to block Kaydar's, then tried to hit Dremnin in the face with his elbow. Thereafter, he turned, only to get impaled by Kaydar's blade. At this, he tried to headbutt Kaydar.


Dremnin watches the halberd spin about and deflect his own tonfa. At the jerking motion of being pulled forward, Dremnin releases his tonfa only to watch it disperse into nothingness, returning back to the fabric of reality. As the wicked tonfa disperses, the drow shrieks out in pain from the powerful blow of an elbow to his fleshy face, perhaps breaking his nose beneath the mask. Gathering his thoughts from such a blow, the goblin masked drow, whips out his rust ridden dagger, covered in all too much dried blood. Dremnin flicks his wrist forward with all his strength, aiming to pierce straight into a weak point in his armor; his armpit.


Kaydar is rather surprised, as his summoned-weapon meets the fleshy middle of Parsithius. A vicious grin dawns behind the Imp mask Kaydar wears ‘pon his sickeningly perfect features. With violent disregard for life, the Spell Sword rends free his weapon from his foe’s chest. Again, no outwardly damage would appear, save perhaps for the contortion of pain cross the knights face, as it would sever through the man’s chakra points in his viscera; a grim way of tearing free his weapon. That hasty head butt is taken, his attention too focused on the task at hand—his blade. The armored man’s head meets with a powerful slam against the horn bearing Imp mask of Kaydar, rattling his own brain within, and sending him staggering back, only to fall flat on the wooden floorboards. Shaking the feeling of nausea off of himself, he rises once more to combat, waiting to see if this tower of a man was still intent on continuing. Sweat beads his own brow from behind his mask, forever twisted in mock laughter. That grisly weapon was a curse, as well as a gift, sapping his strength as surely as any vampire could his own life blood. Standing steadfast, right hand turning to a mixed hue of ebony and white from the powerful grasp on the hilt of his weapon, he waits.


Parsithius's teeth are clenched, holding taut to his halberd with one hand, as the other clutches at a seemingly unharmed middle; but Sven, that pain is torturous. Hellishly so, and yet, the man manages to keep his face to a grimace -the pain. It's hard to focus on anything else; a new pain. His armpit is searing with pain, suddenly, as a blade sinks into it. In response, the man acts upon instinct, which fuels him to continue somewhat, drawing back his clutching hand, cocking it into a fist, and loosing it at the side of the Drow's head, to knock him out, all in swift succession. It's all he could do. "Come... forth..." He repeats, vainly.


Dremnin smiles wickedly as his blade pierces into the armpit of Parsithius. A cruel laugh could be heard escaping from his lips. A blood lust was filling his mind. From his peripheral vision, a wide blow could be seen. It came to fast for Dremnin to dodge, as it slams into his jaw. The blow cleanly knocking the goblin masked drow off his feet, only to land with a solid thud upon the floor. The drows breathing is obvious, yet the fact his eyes are closed, might indicate unconsciousness, or perhaps feigning such.


Kaydar issues a bold battle-cry at having seen his comrade fall down at the hands of this Knight. Dremnin, still not quite yet a full-fledged Ebony and Crimson Elite, was still a challenge to most individuals, though it was no surprise that he fell to such a worthy opponent. What starts out as a silent approach, each step as measured, and as graceful as the next, turns into a burst of speed--a charge at the Knight. His strength seemingly renewed by a sudden flow of adrenaline, the Drow bears down on his foe. Feet kick off of the ground sending the wily Drow at the Outcast Knight, left foot brought up to kick Parsithius square in the chest. That hell-wrought blade of his, however, is swung in a mighty arc at his combatants head, the impact would mean immediate unconsciousness; until a healer could tend to the damage of his spirit, as well as his energy. Though not a second is spared after such a risky attack, the Drow then meets the tavern floor, landing solidly, his left fist clenching into a tight fist, knuckles only to turn to a white-ish hue beneath the pressure. That same audible 'click' would be produced, as the kukri juts out in accordance to the spring contraption up his sleeve. A quick sidestep. Yes, to the right of the Knight, Kaydar slashes fiercely with his left arm, the kukri making a very loud whistle, humming through the air, intent on clashing into steel, and perhaps meeting the soft flesh of his side.


Parsithius grinds his teeth further as the dagger is forcefully ripped from his armpit at the sudden knockout of Dremnin, narrowing his azure eyes as new adrenaline begins coursing through his body; he cannot sustain it for long, and -forsaken hell, the pain is unbearable. Coursing through his stomach, just utmostly torturous, even held in check by grinding teeth and white-knuckles 'neath armored gauntlets. Azure eyes turn then, perhaps too slowly, toward Kaydar flying toward him; struck in the chest immediately with that foot. The knight staggers backward hellishly, crashing against someone or other's table in vicious reprieve, and thusly saving him from an intended beheading. However, this does not rescue the golden-haired man from the wicked kukri, even as Parsithius shakes off his growing grogginess -"Gah!" It's the only sound he could make, a painful exhale, as the blade sinks into steel, and into the muscled flesh beneath. From here, however, the knight is close to Kaydar. He has a single chance. The halberd is dropped in favor for his fist, the proximity too close. Parsithius' eye twitches in reflex of pain, for he cannot hold out beyond this. The gauntlet closes, and with every ounce of his strength left, the man fires one mean left hook toward Kaydar's temple.


Kaydar was indeed, close enough for that powerful swing, and yet he still had enough time to react, if only a little. Out of instincts, more than a thoughtful defense, he leans his head back; just in time, too, as that fist slams into the Drow's…. mask! Yes, a horn is violently broken off of Kaydar's Imp mask, as well as causing the same mask to dig into his face, and draw blood enough to turn a common man white in the face. The Imp mask killer was far from done, in fact, he revels in the pain--masochism at it's best. The only thing keeping him from renewing his assault with another burst of strength is because even his adrenaline was failing him. Fighting back with the man, Kaydar was as stubborn as stone when it came to giving in. Now he was done with martial tactics. It was time for the blade, and his blade alone. His left hand releases yet again, it's tight squeeze, and the kukri disappears back into his sleeve. That same hand now moves to grasp the hilt of his weapon--flame burning wickedly, all the while sparking and sizzling with cold desire--he assault is launched, giving himself over to the blood lust within. He moves to the right, a feint, the sidesteps with enough speed to dizzy a man, a one-eighty degree spin ensuing, to allow a backslash to the torso of Parsithius, only minimally hindered by the table behind the Knight. And another slash, angled horizontally across Parsithius' torso, and another spin, back to the front of the man, or perhaps was the front of the Knight only moments before. Either or, he would continue this onslaught, once, twice, and thrice, he hacks at the Sentinel before himself, his hope was to keep the beast of a man pinned up against that table, with no where to turn until unconsciousness took him, or a sudden attempt at fleeing! His muscles burn as fiercely as his red eyes with the strain of this prolonged battle, and yet, miraculously he was still able to prod on…


Parsithius felt the first, the second, and even the third slash with groans of pain. Afterward, nothing, as darkness swept over his eyes; his body slumps against the table, limp.


Kaydar only allows his grasp 'pon the blade of his weapon to go slack, as the Knight slumps to the floor. His blade quickly disperses into nothingness, cast back into the void from whence it came. His shoulders slump, he moves to tend to his fallen comrade, his brother. "Wake up," Kaydar shouts, as he kicks the unconsciousn Drow in the ribs. His body turns quickly, his red eyes burning fiercely, despite the fact that his body was held languidly, due to the strenuous battle only moments earlier.


Parsithius is definitely unconscious, the effects of that meta-physical blade yet to be seen on the slumped, bleeding figure of the knight.


Dremnin feeling the solid slam of the Imp masked drow into his ribs, he chokes for air, as his eyes suddenly open. Dremnin was awake again. Slowly raising his body up from the floor, he was still shaky from the battle. Dremnin looks towards his fellow brother and nods. Taking slow strides Dremnin then exits the tavern.