RP:When Darkness Incarnate Attacks!
Darker Path
The path here darkens and swallows you whole in the shadows. In the distance you can however see a ray of very pale moonlight. From your sides come noises that could come from no human, the sound of hissing and clicking. The soil beneath your feet can no longer been seen, but whatever you are stepping upon, is very soft, like flesh.
Ignatius was not the sort to be as phased by frightful sights and unpleasant sensations as more common men when he was alive, and such a fearless demeanor in the face of these more darker bits of reality had only become moreso since his death so long ago. Even now, he just stood amidst shadows with those inhuman noises with empty eyes gazing in the direction of that moonlight. Clenched between ancient lipless teeth was his aged oaken pipe - easily a valuable antique by now and very well-maintained by its owner - with a thin wisp of fragrant earthy scented smoke fluttering towards the sky as he puffed upon it, exhaling of clouds like weak patches of fog from holes that had rotted in face and in chest. No doubt, he was a frightful sight to look upon, standing motionlessly in that darkness - all decaying flesh and tattered clothes.
Ranok was really welcome in the Dead Forest. But he knew that. He'd come here for a specific reason, though he hadn't really found what he was looking for. He was hunting, for all intents and purposes. Dangerous magical creatures to slay in order to harvest their blood. As such, he was dressed to impress fully. His armor was completely in place, and he was fully armed. Duster hung on his body, open and loose, all of the weapons on its interior ready to be accessed. He was hoping to find a wraith or the wisp that stalked the area, or had rumored to be. However, what he found, instead, was this darkness. The Dead Forest was incredibly dangerous as it was, he didn't need darkness swamping him to increase it. The man was hard to spot, amidst the gloom. Seven feet tall, clad in a half plate sort of armor that covered his vitals but not the joints to reduce weight and increase mobility at the cost of protection. Trailing after him were a trio of electric blue lights which were dimming even as he could be watched. Lighting up even like a candle was a good way to be attacked by something. His weapon was drawn. The noises and chittering emanating was setting him on edge. The runic stave was held in a light grip, and the man was in a fighting stance, moving slowly, trying to determine the direction and just what was lurking. It seems he'd found something to kill, but not exactly what he was hoping for.
Ignatius drew in another deep and slow breath, filling shriveled useless lungs with the sweetly flavored smoke of the herb that smoldered in the mouth of his pipe as his head turned to look towards the newest source of light - specifically towards the person that seemed to be leading this blue glow along. That hand that rested against the butt of his sword's hilt was brought there purely by instinct, clutching at his weapon in preparation to draw it forth at a moment's notice. Such were the habits of old soldiers, calm enough to refrain but cautious enough to already be seeking out weak points in someone's stance and armor. He chose to smile at Ranok for now though, that readied grip on his sword being the only threat he made towards this man - but it would not be hard to mistake Ignatius' grisly skeletal grin for something other than friendly. "Oi there, Estraneo. Tell me, are you, how you say... friend or nemico?"
Ranok snaps his gaze over at Ignatius. Gray eyes seem to catch and throw the light, like looking into the eyes of a feral animal. It wasn't fear that was on the man's face, but determination. His stance shifts slightly. The lights, nearly nothing more then simple specks, bob and swirl around lazily, once. A voice seems to whisper from everywhere, but in a strange language. Ranok doesn't seem troubled at all. As a matter of fact, he seems to understand it. His head had shifted just slightly towards the lights, as if putting someone who was speaking to you in your peripherals. No obvious preparations were undergone by Ranok, just in case Ignatius turned out less then friendly. Or civil. A subtle shift of stance, a twitch of the stave. Two old soldiers scoping the other out, so it seems. Again that chittering and something scampering through the underbrush. Ranok's head turns to track it. "Friend." was the clipped response to the undead swordsmen's question. Again the whispering voice, only this time it could be recognized, <You have selected a strange time to join us, friend. Do you not realize that we are being stalked?> The voice had come from the lights, there was no doubt about it. Dim as they were, they still seemed to be present. And they looked like they were scrutinizing Ignatius. Its 'voice' was barely more then a whisper on the breeze, seemingly.
Ignatius seemed to lazily turn his head to stare towards the sounds that Ranok was focusing upon, a sort of calm disinterest showing in his form except for the hand that held firm to his sheathed weapon. All in all, Ignatius was not as nearly as on guard as Ranok was or rather it was that he chose not to show his awareness nearly as much as Ranok. "Well Estraneo di Barba, it would seem that you are being stalked - all that tasty warm flesh and pulsing blood." At that last part, Ignatius allowed himself something of a merry laugh as he tapped out the ashes from his pipe before slipping it away into a pocket of his duster. "I jest of course, I have no taste for flesh. But it would seem that il perso..." He gave a point towards the source of the noise. "And it seems that I have to play the good cavaliere and give you a hand, si?"
Ranok tilts his head slightly, "Hyu hef no idea vat's out dere, do hyu." It wasn't phrased as a question, really. All at once, and in complete and utter toneless calm, the lights say, <Creature located. Proximity alert. You should duck...now.> All at once, out of the gloom and darkness rushed out an absolute horror or limbs, chitin, teeth, and claws. Ranok was already moving, thanks to the alert of his own guardian angel. The snap of his duster through the air, a streaking of light as the motes of lights kept up with its companion, and the whoosh of air as a clawed attack nearly took off his head. Ignatius wouldn't be spared, either. With a swiftness that took the breath away, tentacles with hooked claws shoot out of the darkness to try to snag the swordsmen, going for his legs and attempt to drag him into a perceptible darkness that seemed...heavier then the rest. Ranok doesn't so much dance away from the creature as he does stride. He wasn't a graceful dancer, like some blademasters that ran about the lands. He didn't sway and bend like some stalk of wheat. Instead, he had a brutal sort of grace all his own. It would best be described as a simplistic and conservative brutality of a predator taking down its prey. No movements wasted, but not exactly pretty. Still it served all the same, and Ranok didn't have much breathing room. Already a mouth, dripping with difficult to see saliva, was rocketing out of the heavy darkness to reengage the soldier turned smith, only to be smacked with a well time swing of the stave.
Ignatius had his sword in his hand in a mere instant, the swiftness that was the boon of choosing such a light weapon being displayed with a deft twirling of his backe swerd. Hollowed sockets stared in the direction the onslaught of clawed tentacles. While Ranok seemed all strength and fury, Ignatius was the yang to his yin - agility and finesse. He picked his strikes carefully, slashes meant to cut deep while this beast was focused on Ranok. His attacks were fluid, each one moving in such a way that even if that thrust missed then another could easily be made to make up for the prior failed effort. "Well Estranerio en braccio, seems we have ourselves a bestia to deal with."
Ranok was holding his own, but barely. Claws ripped at his duster, nicking skin, a tooth finding purchase for a moment. The creature was simply too...abstract to really be fended off easily. Crab claws could be crushed, tentacles ripped, and teeth broken, but none of it really seemed to be harming the creature. Losing ground seemed to be about the only option, as the thing hungrily advanced. Ignatius' efforts weren't in utter vain, but something similar was happening as well. Blood of the creature would be coating the swordsmen's weapon, brackish, thick, and oily, but every seemingly decisive strike on a limb saw it withdrawn and another shooting out into place. The creature seemed to even be playing with the undead, as less claws and hooks were going his way. Instead, long scythe-like terminations on tentacles were slithering out of the heavy darkness to cut the swordsmen down to size. A pair lash out, left and right at the undead. Ranok was roaring over nearby, as the stave was dropped to grapple with a claw that was going for his throat. He was holding it off, but before either side really got the advantage, or before Ignatius could try to help, the trio of lights flares brightly, painfully so in the darkness and a jagged bolt of electricity lances out to sever the appendage that was threatening him. This switched the creature from merely 'hungry' to 'pissed off', and more limbs slither out to take down both men if at all possible.
Ignatius was slowly moving backwards, seemingly giving the creature ground against him but to the more trained of eyes the reality of what Ignatius was doing was a bit clearer. With every inch that he gave this monstrocity, his stance was constantly shifting just a bit away from the offensive position that it had been when the creature first attack. Little by little, Ignatius' stance had shifted towards the defensive - sword motions meant to merely block rather than cut or harm at all. "I daresay a less proactive approach is necessary. I'll hardly hold it against you- bloody bestia, smettere di oscillare le braccia si contorceva - if you decide to run!" It was hard to tell in his decayed facial expressions but Ignatius seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly. He was a fighter through and through it would seem.
Ranok didn't really have time to mutter angrily. Damn undead and their lack of the need for breath. They could banter all day long. Ranok wasn't jealous, persay, but he did really want to retort. Alas, making do with a a particularly vicious smash of an appendage that produces a howl of sheer rage from the darkness. Luckily, Ranok had someone along who didn't need to breath, or even break concentration: those lights. <Retreat is unwise. This creature seems capable of swift movement.> Another zap of electricity as a mouth was shocked into a stupor that Ranok swiftly crushes with the stave. The dynamic duo of man and companion seemed to be doing okay, though ground was still technically being lost. <Killing or incapacitating the creature is the only outcome that will not result in death. Unless you are willing to serve as a sacrifice?> The question didn't carry a hint of sarcasm. It didn't really carry much of anything at all, save a sort of cold sterility. Though Ignatius might be hard pressed to spare the time to answer. Four scythe ended tentacles were lashing at him, two at a time. One going high, the other low to try to hamstring the swordsmen, or two lashing at waist height to crush his guard and bisect him utterly in two. The same was happening to Ranok, though the punishing bolts of electricity pouring forth from the light kept such tactics held still *just* long enough for him to deal with it. His duster was cut up and torn, and blood seeping from various wounds, and the air began to stink of ionized air even over the stench of sweat, and the putrid smells emanating from the heavy darkness.
Ignatius was not listening anymore to anything but his own thoughts, the ideas of a knight locked deep in the one thing that he had ever excelled in above all else. His mind was abuzz with preplanned moves upon preplanned moves - step to the left, block high, long arc down, swing, swing, mid-block. And every time a thought failed, Ignatius began a new chain of movements. He did not seem to ever falter and every misstep was simply merged into that new series of motions. This was a dance, something so similar to the fencing that nobles partook in and yet there was such a ferocity within it that seemed so out of place with the elegance that his style had to it. Back step, stagger left, jump back. All the while though, there was nagging beneath those thoughts - a single low voice, buzzing like an annoying fly. The floor felt off, not like ground but rather more like... and then it hit him. "Ranok, il pavimento. Ah, I mean.. uh, how you say... the floor. Attack the floor." And even as he was shouting this, Ignatius was thrusting his sword towards the fleshy feeling ground beneath foot.
Ranok hits the claw of a reaching appendage so hard that it flies off to bury itself in a tree somewhere off. "Hy'll get right on dat." Not really. A stomp of another tentacle that was trying to wrap his leg, stabbing another one, flinging it into a third reaching. The bolts were emanating from Draeta, the name of the lights that accompany Ranok, with regularity. Electricity was arching everywhere that wasn't Ranok. The ground was being struck. The man followed Ignatius' logic, but it didn't really seem to mesh up. What creature's weakness was the very ground that you stood on? Sections of the spongy ground were smoking, not that it could be seen in the gloom and the flashing of light. If anything, these servings of electric justice to the sensory organ that the ground was probably covered in were pissing it off even more. The heavy darkness was getting *bigger*. Thankfully, this was the entire point, <The body core of the creature is soon to be exposed. If there will be any vulnerabilities, it will be there. You may wish to get closer to us at your convenience.> The hairs on Ranok's neck were standing up, and if Ignatius had any hair left to do the same, his would be too. The air was filling with electric charge. A real humdinger of a lightning bolt was being cooked up by Draeta, that much was obvious. It was to be the old 'wait until boss opens weak point' gambit, then, that much was also obvious.
Ignatius released his grip on his sword as its blade came to be buried deep into the ground that was flesh only so that he could spin around, letting his duster slip from his person to go fluttering to the ground in a move that was intended to help at least confuse the creature into thinking that a third fighter had joined this little shindig. It was a gambit and Ignatius knew that it could easily be failed one but that was the thing of taking gambles. Meanwhile, his hand snatched the hilt of his sword once more and began to run - dragging the bulk of his sword's blade through that fleshy ground. "At least this isn't tedioso, Estraneo!" Ignatius shouted as if he was still having the time of his undeath.
Ranok shouts out, "Eyes closed!", about all the warning he was gonna give to Ignatius as to what was about to be unleashed. The bolt that had been building up boils over suddenly, and then erupts forth. The entire area of the forest would be inscribed in harsh blue light, edges of the shadows jagged and sharp in the sudden brightness. The bolt of lightning had been cooked to full force by the armor and the intelligence that sat with, unleashed in its full force. The bolt hits the darknesss incarnate full on, the moment seeming to drag out. Electricity roils around the thing, and the pair would finally see just how *big* the thing was. Hooked claws were coiled around trees, gaping and gnashing maws all over the place. It had the disposition of a man who'd discovered that someone had just taken a dump in his cornflakes and was none too happy. Right up until the moment that the area was filled with light. All at once, three things happened. First, part of the creature, whatever it really was, fairly *explodes* from the sheer force of the lightning, the flesh cooked and boiled to the point of bursting. Second would be the high pitched and keening wail that was instantaneously drowned out by the world being torn asunder by thunder. And third, the creature coils in on itself, limbs writhing in pain at the intrusion. This was the opening that they were gonna get. Ranok was moving behind Ignatius, who was hopefully not too stunned by the shock and awe of the unleashing of a great deal of the stored power within the armor. Hands roughly seize the undead warrior, and before the man could react much, Ignatius would be lifted bodily, and then shortly *thrown* at the helpless darkness. Ranok's natural strength was augmented by the dregs of the energy Draeta had left to give Ignatius the air he needed to get right to the smoking crater where the bolt had hit. The classic 'fastball special', only with stabbing implements. Ranok was on his own gambit. Hopefully Ignatius would figure out what to stab in particular when he got there. Ranok wasn't far behind, but he had no benefit of boost. The stave was grabbed and the man starts running. Ignatius would find that the darknesses core was armor plated, but not where the lightning hit. The carapace was shattered, boiled, and generally weakened, providing ample opportunity for mortal damage to be dealt.
Ignatius drew his sword from the earth that was flesh just as Ranok shouted his warning, to which Ignatius chose to respond with a flourish of his blade that ended with the blunt reverse-side of the sword being used to tip down his wide-brimmed hat so that he might be better shielded from the brightness of that light. Truly though, it was but a formality given that Ignatius did not see in a conventional sense due to a general lack of eyeballs within his skeletal face. "Vedo." Was all that the ancient knight errant said as Ranok grabbed him and it was spoken in the truest of been there, done that fashions. He was not heavy, being that most of him had rotted away long ago and so Ranok's throw sent Ignatius flying far and flying fast - momentum building for the blow that was to come. The weakspot was exposed and that is where the corpse warrior would lay his attack, backe swerd pointing out in front to turn Ignatius into something of a sentient spear. And when that swordtip finally met its mark, Ignatius drove it in deep - planting his feet on the armored flesh around the opening as he used the sword as further leverage to hold himself against the beast. Gravity soon played its role though, slowly drawing Ignatius back towards the ground but such was not unforseen and was actually anticipated. Ignatius was using his slide down the creature's form to drag the blade through flesh, rending the monstrosity open further. He wanted this to be a killing blow.
Ranok didn't think that the darkness was going to die that easily, mortal or wounding as the blow Ignatius had delivered had been. "Keep goink!" As in, keep stabbing that mofo. Ranok ascribed to the school of thought of 'there is no such thing as overkill'. If it was dead, it wasn't gonna get any *more* dead. If it wasn't, you were saving yourself trouble. As for thedarkness, dark ichor was draining onto the ground, its limbs were flailing around randomly. Either man might have to duck, now and again, as the things death throes carried a sharp appendage their way every now and again. As for Ranok himself, he had drawn out a projectile weapon, just in case the darkness wasn't as dying as it appeared to be.
Ignatius hit the ground and as per Ranok's request, just proceeded with continuing to lay into the creature - assaulting the gapping wound that he had made within its flesh with thrusts and slashes. His every attack would seem thoroughly calculated despite the speed with which Ignatius was using, each strike hitting in such a way that it would deepen the wound here or widen it there rather than just mindlessly flaying open the flesh. It would become clear soon enough to those with the eyes of a swordsman that Ignatius was boring himself a hole into the creature, slicing an opening as deep as his reach could manage, occasionally weaving beneath a flailing tentacle as he laid into this monster's body. And when that gash was finally deep enough to Ignatius' liking, he thrust forward to bury the blade within torn flesh and released his grip on it. "Dormire bene, bestia!" Ignatius roared as he gave a sudden kick, the flat of his boot slamming into the butt of his sword's hilt to drive the sword into the monster like a hammer might drive a nail through wood. If that did not kill it, surely Ignatius did not know what would.
Ranok draws up behind Ignatius. "Dat'll do, pig, dat'll do." The creature was certainly, assuredly dead. Mirabelle, the name of the projectile weapon, was hefted on a shoulder as Ranok inspects the creature. Gurgles, and the dripping of ichor, were the only sounds in the Dead Forest now. Streaked with grim, his own blood, and the blood of the creature, Ranok didn't look all that much better off then the dead darkness. Ignatius probably looked even *worse*, since he was the one that was thrown at a big ass monster. But, the thing was dead. <Well done. Shall we commence with harvesting?> Ranok tilts his head towards Draeta's avatar, the lights, "Yeah. Best if ve do. Don' vant to stay here too much longer." Where there was one, there was probably more.
Ignatius gave a clear of his throat and a tip of his hat to the dead creature as a gesture of thanks for a good fight before his head turned to grace Ranok with an eyeless stare. "Oi, Estraneo. Methinks that we are amicos now, yes. how you say... friends, si?" He smiled that morbid skeletal smile of his before granting a tip of his hat to Ranok as well. "Well amico, my name is Ignatius. If you are ever having another worthy avversario in need of slaying, do not be to shy to send a corvo my way, yes?" And with that, Ignatius turned away to let the man harvest in peace - taking his leave back towards the city of the dead. "And to think, all I was looking for was a quiet place to smoke..."
Ignatius exits east.
Ranok comments after the departed swordsmen, "Vat a strange fellow." With a shrug, then, Ranok reaches into the gore filled wound in the dead creature. The black ichor of the thing was drawn up towards the armor plating on Ranok's hand, slowly but surely. Once again, the armor was feeding off the blood of a magical creature to use its power as its own. This would take awhile. And the effects of such energy remained to be seen.