RP:Diryon's Mercy

Part of the A Dream of Tyranny Arc

Ancient Forest

Desparrow stepped out from a portal in a small clearing amidst the trees which had been torn open by the warlock. This used to be his territory and it has since he abandoned it been repopulated by wildlife, maybe even some new wolves had moved in as it had been several months. He felt safe here, at least for the most part, that no one would be searching for him. In his hands was a book which on the cover read, ‘Biomorph’, and its contents were a recollection of the mutations he had recorded, and the process behind how they came to be, along with extensive physiological data on his experiments, mainly Xzavior. He wore a long robe over his regular civilian clothes at the moment, though was barefoot. The right arm had a frozen cast on it, covering the healing fracture in that same arm while the burns on his right leg were only visible on his foot.

Diryon 's isn't present to see the portal opening, but he does sense magic at work on his trek through the forest. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, the mage alters his initially chosen course through the woodland to hone in on the source of that sorcery. Spotting a figure in the distance, Diryon continues to close the distance until the shadowy figure's identity is revealed: Desparrow. A smirk crosses the young man's lips at his luck, striding out to meet the lycan. "Ah, wolf man. It has been some time since we last met." He steals a glance at the text in the warlock's grasp but neglects to comment on it for now, merely committing the title to memory. "You've become a popular man, so I've heard. One hundred thousand gold!" The mage whistles lowly, "Or is that just fifty thousand for you and fifty thousand for the other...I haven't bothered to ask. Either way, that's a healthy sum, don't you think?"

Desparrow didn’t catch the scent of the man before he heard him, that voice causing him to turn to face the other mage. The book at the moment was in plain sight, the title carved by hand meaning it was originally just a faceless journal. After a moment it was slipped into a pocket in his robes no longer to be seen. “Ahh, Diryon. It surely has been a long time and I’ll admit, it is a hefty sum. I believe it’s a hundred thousand for each of us, not fifty for just one. If one got us both, well then they’d surely be a rich man.” The lycan laughed then with a slight nagging suspicion that this man might have become enticed by the wealth and could very well be an enemy, after all he never declared he was an ally.

Diryon seems impressed by this revelation, his eyes widening momentarily. "Two hundred thousand, then...that's a ridiculous sum indeed. It has never been an aim of mine to accumulate ludicrous amounts of gold, but I'd certainly not argue if it found its way in my pocket." For a short time it appears as if Desparrow's suspicion may be correct, but the mage doesn't make any move to begin an attack; instead, he continues to question the lycan. "I'm more concerned about what caused this bounty to be assigned to your head in the first place...an attack on Cenril, really? What are you hoping to achieve? Cenril is a large but weak city with little centralized government or power...even so, as a port town, it's strategically important. You are jabbing a hornet's nest and inviting a massive response, surely you know this."

Desparrow stood where he was, his body tense ready to act in response to anything the mage could throw at him. “Strategy is exactly the point. Once it is crippled, and the citizens obey or follow out of fear, reverence, whatever they decide.. Well I’ll have the advantage. There are already those that follow the name Blood Moon, there are those that are willing to give themselves to me for the power to protect themselves and their loved ones. If the entire city is mine, it wouldn’t be hard to cut off Cenril from the mainland, and also dictate trade form Rynvale. Kregus also sails to Cenril, so if I make the right connections I can bolster my forces with a goblin invasion and all their crazy tech. You have no idea what I have in the works, no matter what response is made, I’m continually steps ahead because I stole the advantage. I grow stronger, while my opponents scramble trying to get past just one aspect of my power, while I’m always developing more. Silly fools.” He spoke with an unerring confidence, this idea he was infallible.

Diryon listens closely to Desparrow's plan, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. "I'd wager many of those citizens have already fled...dictators rarely remain popular, you know. Regardless, that's an ambitious plan. It'll take some time to execute, and you'll have to be nearly flawless to pull it off correctly. Surely a man of your power is certainly capable, though." The mage pauses now, summoning his staff with a silent command. The vessel of power falls into Diryon's grasp, caught with the practiced ease of one who has wielded such a weapon countless times before. "Even so, my friend, I can't allow you to do that. I'm hardly a saint and I have no interest in being some sort of hero, but your villainry is getting a bit too outrageous. Besides, I quite like walking that beach, and I can't really do that while you menace the city." That cues up a wry smirk, the mage instantly prepping a wealth of magic that causes the staff in his grasp to thrum with latent power. "It seems we are destined to dance again, wolf man...but you already knew this, didn't you?"

Desparrow listened to what he was saying and the only thing he could do was chuckle. The moment that Diryon had that staff in his hands a crystal had appeared in his own hand and was instantly crushed into the base dust which dissolved into the ether that would be his fuel for the fight. Diryon would sense it as a sudden increase in magic energy in the warlock, where once his signature on a magical radar would have been smaller it magnified several times over. “I knew exactly what your intentions were the moment I saw you. I wouldn’t have gotten this far if I didn’t have some ability to predict my enemies. I’d probably have died long ago if that were the case. Though I must state, this won’t be the last fight, unless you happen to die on me. I have several dates with destiny, and death is not on the schedule, if ever my friend. However feel free to try your luck, you will be surprised I am sure.”

Diryon does indeed sense the abrupt magnification of arcane power present, but it doesn't seem to cause him great concern. Rather, the mage's smirk widens to a grin. "Interesting. Are you so insecure in your ability that you now feel the need to artifically amplify your magic against me alone? You have changed quite a bit, if that's the case." At the lycan's insistence upon not dying, the mage gives what seems like an obligatory nod. "Yes, of course, and of course I'll have you know this isn't personal. We can go about trading these trite and tired words, or we can get down to business. I think we both prefer the latter. En garde, wolf man!" Just as Diryon exclaims those words, his hand snaps forward with fingers fully splayed. A tiny sphere appears in seconds, giving way to a mass of serpentine tendrils that sizzle and hiss with nefarious intent. They converge upon Desparrow quite rapidly, seeking to entangle his limbs and restrict his mobility. The business end of the mage's staff predictably fixes upon the lycan, and ancient words are spoken with practiced speed and clarity. A hail of arcane missiles materialize from the air itself, darting toward Desparrow as if seeking his form and being alone. They detonate as they near the warlock, mimicking the explosive power and charge of black powder, yet their origin assures their threat is considerably more deadly.

Desparrow was still not at full strength, and certainly not in a state where he can combat effectively, being only able to use a single arm at this moment and his right leg still suffering from burns even if they didn’t hinder him anymore. As the tendrils neared he ducked and rolled out of the way only to find himself ensnared regardless, however saving his good arm by expelling a bit of magic that destabilized the structure of the offending tendril which resulted in its collapse. The next attack was something he could not defend too well against however, though it was as it neared something that he had come to mind. His left arm became incorporeal and his face became twisted with manic glee. When they neared and began to explode he tore open a gate in front of him which also happened to lead to right behind Diryon. Des took the brunt of the blast, expelling blood from his mouth though the rest of the missiles and a good amount of the attack would redirect right to Diryon’s back. With his opponent’s vision obscured by the temporary spatial rend Des released another destabilizing wave which freed him from his prison and he immediately fled into the trees till he figured out a plan. He knew his opponent was clever and this fight was far from over, after all it was interesting and not worth running from yet. The portal would snap shut after a few moments, just enough time to give Des a head start. His wounds were internal; he thinks that his previously injured ribs were cracked again, feeling the strain when he breathed. Damn this Diryon, he thought to himself, setting him back in his healing.

Diryon narrows his eyes when the gate appears, swallowing up the majority of his concussive missiles. Having a hunch on Desparrow's intentions, the mage drops to the ground and immediately glances up at the arcane projectiles in flight. Very fortunately, the mage's magic missiles carry a degree of magical intelligence and don't descend upon their caster; instead they zip by rather harmlessly, leaving Diryon to climb to a knee and redirect the ones that remain with a simple gesture. Desparrow may be hiding in the trees, but a consequence of that magical amplification he was so eager to call into play assures that he may as well be in plain sight to the mage. The explosive darts streak through the air with crimson trails in their wake, crashing into the very tree that holds the lycan within with an explosive impact. The tree is rent apart in an instant, reduced to a shower of splinters that litters the forest floor in a viciously violent blast; needless to say, Diryon will need to make proper apologies at a later date. For now the mage rises to his feet and surveys the destruction, curious to see how his foe will escape this predicament. "You are wounded, my friend...even with your power amplified, you are a bleeding beast. I can smell it."

Desparrow was not waiting, hiding behind that tree as he thought up of something. It was disappointing to know that Diryon had such control over his own magic that he could avoid getting struck by his own redirected attacks. That meant that using spatial rends would be out of the question; however he could perhaps think of something else similar. The moment he heard the creaking in the tree at his back moments before it exploded he turned to face it and threw up a flame barrier. The splinters were incinerated upon contact and left only cinders on their way through which singed Des’ skin in small areas but overall leaving him relatively unharmed. The barrier was rescinded and salvaged for its magical fuel, at a percentage of what it cost, to save on the energy he needed to continue this fight. “I can defend all day Diryon. You are going to have to up your game before I show you what I can do, and you won’t like what I do.” He laughed, however it was a bluff, his mind truly blank on how he would assault the fellow magic user.

was not waiting, hiding behind that tree as he thought up of something. It was disappointing to know that Diryon had such control over his own magic that he could avoid getting struck by his own redirected attacks. That meant that using spatial rends would be out of the question; however he could perhaps think of something else similar. The moment he heard the creaking in the tree at his back moments before it exploded he turned to face it and threw up a flame barrier. The splinters were incinerated upon contact and left only cinders on their way through which singed Des’ skin in small areas but overall leaving him relatively unharmed. The barrier was rescinded and salvaged for its magical fuel, at a percentage of what it cost, to save on the energy he needed to continue this fight. “I can defend all day Diryon. You are going to have to up your game before I show you what I can do, and you won’t like what I do.” He laughed, however it was a bluff, his mind truly blank on how he would assault the fellow magic user.

Desparrow halted with a raised brow. “You want to know about Mihael.” He mulled it over for a bit, knowing that Diryon had the upperhand in this fight and it was these situations that he intentionally tried to avoid. “I’ll talk, but not only did you not see me tonight, you didn’t hear this from me.” He wouldn’t say a word until Diryon agreed, even if he didn’t trust the man’s word at this point. “Actually you can tell ranok you saw me in sage, that this used to be my old territory. You’ll get a reward for that. But about Mihael, he is a loose cannon, far older than me, more powerful, unpredictable, violent, unstable. He is merely my spear. I point and he launches of his own volition under the idea that I am merely growing our race. This is not my intent, lycanthropy merely being a tool at my disposal. The numbers and strength are just a boon. I know where his lair is but I won’t lead people there, there are innocent people there, ones that haven’t murdered, but are victims of our blessing. I also have my pack there and although they are tools, I have use for them, and the tower itself. It is of importance to us.”

Diryon nods agreeably. "Very well, that's fine with me. I'm a man of my word, you know. Not once have I deceived you about my intentions. If I decided to attack you, I did so quite openly every time. You can doubt me if you wish, but consider that." Assuming that the lycan has no intention to fight further, the mage dismisses any magic he had readily summoned, causing the glow within his staff to dim and die out. "Fair enough. How will I know him when I see him? Is he still in Cenril now?"

Desparrow rested the magic back into his body and shrugged, “To be honest I don’t know where he is. He isn’t at his tower, and as far as I know he isn’t in Cenril. He usually appears as a man with a mask, and smelling of.. strawberries I believe. Though I haven’t seen him in some time. I have no idea where he is, he just vanished. Rather cowardly if you ask me, when you are sporting so much destructive power like he has. He is just easily manipulated, the perfect weapon to throw at a wall, he is a bomb.. I don’t know when he will go off.”

Diryon brings a hand to his chin, stroking in thought as he listens to Desparrow's description. "Strawberries? Interesting. He should be fairly easy to pick out. I thank you for this information, wolf man, and I trust it is true." He levels his gaze upon the lycan now, proceeding to make his intentions quite clear once more. "Make no mistake, I don't intend to allow your plans to come to fruition. We'll do battle again, but in the future it will be more decisive. There will not be another series of inconclusive meetings, my friend. But for tonight, I'll leave you be as promised."

Desparrow nodded, “I do not lie, and I have given you what I know. Since you have promised to leave me be, so it will be that I take my leave of this place.” With that he turned and walked off into the trees. He didn’t know where he was going, probably back to Kregus, or maybe make a quick stop in Cenril to drop off his research in his hiding spot before retreating to Kregus. He wasn’t sure.