RP:Encounter at the Glade

Diryon strolls into the opening in the forest here, a brow rising rather promptly at the unexpected sight. Benches, an altar, an array of exquisitely placed flowers...why, it seems many wedding ceremonies have taken place here over the years! The sight of a sign confirms the mage's suspicion, leading him to stop momentarily to read the names upon it. "Korike and Teira..." He shrugs and trails off with a chuckle, "Wonder where the poor bastards are now. Ah well." Finding little else of interest here, Diryon turns on a heel and makes to leave this peculiar little glade.

If only that was that easy. A place of such beauty is easily a spot to find prey, hidden and yet enticing. It wasn't exactly a 'hunting ground' she never really wanted to have one but still she was lured this way while trying to catch an animal. Its groans of pain as it escapes into the distance leaving the dryad behind as something else took her attention. The trees and shrubbery starts to move and yet there is no wind. The thick fog that the cold breeze creates covers most of the hidden glade surrounded by the forest as her red eyes look upon the man, glinting through the darkness. For a mere minute it appeared then vanished once more into the night as quiet laughter escapes her. Moving around watching him.

Diryon comes to a sudden stop when something seems to move in the corner of his eye. Something in the shrubs, perhaps? The mage turns to better regard the source of the disturbance, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Someone out there?" He turns now, knowing ambushes often come from a direction least expected. "Or am I talking to a fox or raccoon?" The thought makes him feel a touch foolish and the man prepares to move on his way again until a glimpse of those red eyes are seen. Now the mage is truly on alert, clicking his tongue and mentally willing his staff to appear, and so it does; Diryon's trusted weapon materializes from what seems like thin air, catching and bringing the weapon to bear in one practiced motion. "C'mon then, if you're really game. I know you're out there."

Chisel simply watched for now, the thick canopy above her is hiding her from plain sight as it shades her from the moon but the man knows she is there and she has no intention to hide, she was just walking... or hovering around the glade watching. "Fox or Racoon?" she spoke with a little child's voice. Laughter soon followed but after mere seconds voices started to fill the forest, from the quietest of pitch to the deepest bass. Repeating the words again and again, "Fox or Racoon?" like an army speaking one ontop of another, of different voices, races and accents with no indication of its source before it suddenly stopped. From the entrance of the glade the dryad soon comes into light, hovering as thick vines connects her to the nearby trees, pulling her around like a marionette, staring at him with a smile on her face, her lips wasn't moving but the creature was still able to speak. "Fox or Raccoon?" Completely mimicking the man's voice. A bloodied woodsman ax at her hand and the sickening sound of wood breaking was her cue. The vines started reeling her forward, about to swoop in with her weapon, aiming for the man's chest.

Diryon tilts his head aside when the voice seems to mock him, clutching the bladed staff close to his robed body. When the strange voice begins to change in pitch and tone and repeat the taunt, the mage can only groan. "Yeah, I know it was stupid...cut me some slack." The sight of the dryad finally appearing brings the young man to a more serious focus once more, though a grin still splits his lips. Very fortunately, the marionette-like dryad's first assault is a relatively simple one. The mage goes quite still, his gaze fixed firmly upon the axe-wielding girl while a faint blue light emanates from the head of his staff. The cerulean glow soon envelopes the man's entire body, swallowing the mage up and blinking him out of existence just seconds before the axe's whetted edge tastes flesh. Diryon is spat back into view some ten feet away some mere moments later, a confident smirk plastered to his face as his staff is thrust out. From the crown of the weapon comes two separate trails of light, one blue and the other red. The red one streaks forth until it erupts into a shrieking inferno like some sort of fiery comet, aiming to burn through the vines that keep the dryad attached to those trees. The cobalt colored one, on the other hand, is much more gelid in nature; it's as if the air itself begins to freeze, forming droplets of condensation from some unnatural source until there are several razor edged blades of ice. Strong enough to dice through thick tree trunks, the dryad herself is comparatively fragile. The bladed projectiles seem to sense their prey, honing in on her form with keen precision and lethal intent.

Chisel missed. He was not the first to do so and maybe not the last. Such things tend to happen when she is not sane enough to properly fight. The forest groans as it tells her where he is now, turning her head only to watch numerous projectile aimed toward her. In response she sent forth vines from the trees. It would not stop, slicing through the plant life as if it was nothing. At the last second the nearby tree suddenly reeled her out of its trajectory. The forest itself is helping her, something that is natural within this magical world. But the projectiles seems to start seeking her still. The confused dryad began to be dragged along across the forest, she doesn't know where she is going or why but the vines on her back keeps pulling her around, trying to dodge it. Either the projectile soon stops chasing her to be lodged on a tree or something similar, nonetheless she has to attack again. As soon as the vines dragged her back into the glade, with her free hand she extends it towards him, calling forth the forest in attempt to bind the man with vines to make sure he won't escape again, if successful, she will try to cleave him again, probably upon his exposed neck once his body is bound.

Diryon clicks his tongue as the projectiles do indeed bury themselves into a particularly thick tree trunk, not quite powerful enough to cleave through the entire thing. When the vines begin to encroach the mage lifts his bladed staff, a single stroke severing one of them with relative ease; unfortunately however, the man isn't an expert with bladed arms, his own staff included. As such, the rest of the those dreaded vines entangle and envelop Diryon's form before he has a chance for further swings, though he keeps a viselike grip on his staff as if it is his only true lifeline. With the dryad beginning to swoop around for another swing of that deadly axe, the mage is forced to act quickly if he wants to keep his head. His eyes narrow and his lips part to the tune of a sharp incantation, causing the staff in the mage's hand to visibly pulse in reply; rather than fire as one may expect, the staff begins to emit a chilling frost that quickly spreads through the vines like some virulent plague. It brings a terrible shudder through the young man's body given his proximity to it all, but being cold is small price to pay for keeping one's head. Soon the vines are encrusted with ice, and just as quickly the staff thrums with previously concealed power; an unseen eruption of force bursts forth, shattering those vines and sending the mage tumbling away haphazardly just as Chisel closes in again with the axe. Diryon comes to a rolling stop some several feet away, a slight trail of red seen in his wake that proves the axe has tasted flesh, if only barely. The mage's robe is torn at the shoulder, exposing lacerated skin beneath that oozes hot blood. Wounded but unbeaten, Diryon rises and bares his staff at Chisel again, narrowing his eyes as if fixing on a target. No great gout of flame or cone of ice comes forth this time; instead the ground beneath Chisel's position begins to quake and a fresh round of chanting is heard from the mage. From the earth itself comes a fast formed collection of natural minerals and soil, shaping itself in the appearance of a massive hand akin to a giant's. It hesitates for a half second before darting toward the dryad, those massive digits seeking to close themselves around Chisel and crush her with such vicious ease; should she prove too fast, perhaps it might catch and tear her vines like mere threads of fabric.

Chisel :: It is unfair, then again it is what home field advantage means. As soon as she swooped in and the man escaping the vines of the forest, the trees around her that can see every bit of detail within their playing field warns her of the attack, turning her head to him only to feel the earth shaking underneath her. She isn't exactly standing on it but she could hear and feel the rumbling as the hand escapes from the earth. Unsure what to do but as the forest starts to drag her away again, just in time to save her... more or less. Her weapon, left arm and leg were held by the earth roaring loudly as the powerful pressure clings upon her while the trees pulls her body with all its might, causing some of the vines to snap off but instead of leaving her behind, more trees came to her aid eventually ripping off her limbs out of its socket before throwing the dryad across the glade and smashing its wooden form against a tree. She stayed there motionless for a full second before the vines starts pulling her up to usual altitude. Greenish liquid escape from the empty sockets and plant life starts to grow as soon as the fluid reaches the soil, craning her head toward the man as she stared at him down. Turning her head toward the hand as vines started to wrap upon it, working on its way to breakdown the earth to free her limbs before all of a sudden, the marionette moves in for an attack but this time she is no longer swooping in to pass by and attack, the dryad wraps her right arm with vines before forming it into a weapon and attempts to confront him at close quarter combat. Swinging her arm violently at him with no proper technique nor strategy.

Diryon takes some degree of delight at the sight of the earthen hand snapping some of those vines and sending the dryad in a satisfyingly violent collision with one of those nearby trees. Seeing the marionette rise and prepare another approach causes the mage to shake his head, growing a bit weary of this encounter that has clearly gotten out of hand. Not trusting himself to swing around his bladed staff with the wound on his shoulder, Diryon begins another call to the many wells of magic he so often draws upon while that summoned hand of earth breaks apart, perhaps no longer having the stamina to hold two spells in play tonight. When Chisel comes close enough to begin flailing about her vined weapon so viciously the mage lifts his staff in a defensive stance, a newly birthed burst of flame burning to life around the crown of his weapon. The mage is able to avoid the first few swings, but another comes a bit quick for his fatigued state; it smashes into his chest and nearly takes the wind from him, prompting Diryon to thrust the business end of his staff at Chisel. The flames leap from the staff of the mage and coalesce into spheres of fire, though the nature of this inferno is rather unstable; soon they resemble more like molten globes. They surround Chisel on all sides and lunge in, breaking apart midflight and leaving the dryad to deal with a hellish hail of molten liquid.

Chisel wanted to land more blows against her target but without her bladed weapon, all she could do is to wield her arm like a blunt edge. Mid swing the man struck at the center of her form and pushed her backward. Taken by surprise and due to the missing leg, the vines were unable to properly gauge the length of her links and causing the doll to fall onto the floor without her other leg to help her standing. Forcing herself to stand as fireballs starts to descend toward her direction. The trees attempts to pull her upwards only to catch some of near the end, sending her burning form flinging across the forest as the tree had to disconnect from her in fear that it would burn the forest as well. The reeling gave her enough thrust to send the woman a few feet away from the glade.